#paris holds the key to your heart

[thephantomofanastasia]

Additional photos from the production of Anastasia the Musical at the University of Mainz in Germany.

Photo credit: vidhyavictoria on IG

[elijones94]

✨ Young Anastasia ✨

[whaleiumsharkspeare]

It’s a good thing I’m not athletic in any sense of the word because if I was an athlete going to Paris for the Olympics this year I would just be annoying the heck out of my teammates by constantly singing songs like “Paris Holds the Key (To Your Heart)” and “In the City of Love” all day long

[earlgreyandanime]

[anastasiamusicalupdates]

Antonio Fago and Iñigo Etayo in Anastasia Madrid.

[loverboybrightsideghost]

that part of paris holds the key to your heart where all the instruments just briefly cut out as the ensemble sings "the city of light, how it glitters and glows." you agree. reblog

[graveyardfullofstars]

[jimmymushroomisdead]

why do i think that adding paris holds the key (to your heart) from anastasia to my french oc's playlist is funny even if he's not even from paris he's just french (he's from marseille)

[specialagentartemis]

in middle school during my Intense Greek Mythology Phase, Artemis was, as you can likely guess, my best girl. Iphigenia was my OTHER best girl. Yes at the same time.

The story of Iphigenia always gets to me when it's not presented as a story of Artemis being capricious and having arbitrary rules about where you can and can't hunt, but instead, making a point about war.

Artemis was, among other things--patron of hunting, wild places, the moon, singlehood--the protector of young girls. That's a really important aspect she was worshipped as: she protected girls and young women. But she was the one who demanded Agamemnon sacrifice his daughter in order for his fleet to be able to sail on for Troy.

There's no contradiction, though, when it's framed as, Artemis making Agamemnon face what he’s doing to the women and children of Troy. His children are not in danger. His son will not be thrown off the ramparts, his daughters will not be taken captive as sex slaves and dragged off to foreign lands, his wife will not have to watch her husband and brothers and children killed. Yet this is what he’s sailing off to Troy to inevitably do. That’s what happens in war. He’s going to go kill other people’s daughters; can he stand to do that to his own? As long as the answer is no—he can kill other people’s children, but not his own—he can’t sail off to war.

Which casts Artemis is a fascinating light, compared to the other gods of the Trojan War. The Trojan War is really a squabble of pride and insults within the Olympian family; Eris decided to cause problems on purpose, leaving Aphrodite smug and Hera and Athena snubbed, and all of this was kinda Zeus’s fault in the first place for not being able to keep it in his pants. And out of this fight mortal men were their game pieces and mortal cities their prizes in restoring their pride. And if hundreds of people die and hundred more lives are ruined, well, that’s what happens when gods fight. Mortals pay the price for gods’ whims and the gods move on in time and the mortals don’t and that’s how it is.

And women especially—Zeus wanted Leda, so he took her. Paris wanted Helen, so he took her. There’s a reason “the Trojan women” even since ancient times were the emblems of victims of a war they never wanted, never asked for, and never had a say in choosing, but was brought down on their heads anyway.

Artemis, in the way of gods, is still acting through human proxies. But it seems notable to me to cast her as the one god to look at the destruction the war is about to wreak on people, and challenge Agamemnon: are you ready to kill innocents? Kill children? Destroy families, leave grieving wives and mothers? Are you? Prove it.

It reminds me of that idea about nuclear codes, the concept of implanting the key in the heart of one of the Oval Office staffers who holds the briefcase, so the president would have to stab a man with a knife to get the key to launch the nukes. “That’s horrible!,” it’s said the response was. “If he had to do that, he might never press the button!” And it’s interesting to see Artemis offering Agamemnon the same choice. You want to burn Troy? Kill your own daughter first. Show me you understand what it means that you’re about to do.

[tomriddleslove]

Latch.

✩ Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Summary: The one where the two of you have been selected for a 3 week apprenticeship right in the heart of Paris. With it being your last week, you can’t let the reserved and broody Mattheo not have one night out. Alternatively: All it takes is one moment for the boy to realise he’s in love

A/N: Listen to the damn song or i’ll fight you 🤺

Songs: Latch - Sam Smith, Disclosure (do me a favour and listen to this one slightly slowed)

“Oh come on, Mattheo.” You plead, an exasperated tone edging into your voice as you face the impassive boy.

He sits in on the chaise lounge in his room, a book held in his hands. He doesn’t even entertain your pleas, remaining silent as you walk over to him.

You crouch down in front of him, pulling the top of his book down into your hands. This forces him to look down at you, and you swear you see him momentarily falter as he finally notices what you wanted to do, or rather, where you wanted to go.

“It’s our last week here. Soon we’ll be stuck with only the common room as the best place to go out to.” You say with a small huff.

You get up, dusting down the front of the dress you wore. It was a deep, almost blood-red colour, and If Mattheo didn't have such an aversion to anything remotely resemblant of the Gryffindor house he would have complimented you on it. It was made of a delicate fabric, not quite silk but close enough. It draped over your form and came down to your mid-calf, and you had put on a bit of makeup too.

Mattheo had always thought you were beautiful. Whether you had your hair tied up and you were in your school uniform, or if you were out on the quidditch field barking out orders to the terrified 3rd years. But now, you truly were something else.

He looks around his room with a small, impatient sigh. Both Mattheo and you had been selected for a 3-week apprenticeship that would take place near the end of the summer holidays. Had it been anyone else, Mattheo would have been far less enthusiastic. However, it was you, and you were the only person he could tolerate. So, the experience was….

Enjoyable.

“Where do you want to go?” He says, quirking a brow as he dog ears the page.

“Out! Merlin, I don't know, to a restaurant, or on a walk. We’re in Paris, for heaven's sake, let’s do something on our last day!” You plead, continuing.

“Mattheo, I know you hate crowds, but this is Paris," you continue, emphasising the city’s name as if it holds all the magic in the world—which, you suppose, it does. "You can't come to Paris and not do something worth remembering. Besides, I’ve put on a dress! Don’t you like it?"

You do a little twirl to demonstrate, and Mattheo’s gaze follows the fabric as it flares out, his eyes momentarily softening. You know you’ve got him; he’s never been able to resist you when you’re like this, energetic and full of life. The fact that it’s his last day with you here makes the idea of staying in his room seem utterly bleak.

He finally sighs, closing the book and setting it on the side table. "Okay, fine," he says, standing up. "But I’m not dressing up like you."

You grin, tugging his hand as he stands up.

“I don’t expect you to. As long as you’re coming with me.”

You grab your jacket, shoving the keys to the dingy little inn into your pocket as you step out into the cold night air. The streets become livelier as you venture out of the twisted back alleys, lively with chatter and the smell of street food.

You lead him along the Seine, pointing out little things that catch your eye, like street performers and boats with glowing lanterns. Despite his scepticism, Mattheo seems to relax a bit, keeping pace with you and even cracking a faint smile when you tease him about his grumpy expression.

He keeps shooting wary glances at the crowded streets, clearly uncomfortable with the throngs of muggles milling about. You can't help but chuckle at his discomfort, finding it endearing in a strange way.

"Relax, Mattheo," you say, "It's just a walk. What could possibly go wrong?"

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Famous last words," he mutters under his breath.

You hated to admit he was right. You could only pray he didn't notice as you take a turn and venture down an alleyway that seems to be getting impossibly narrower. Just as Mattheo’s about to speak up, the clearing opens up into a small square. At the far end, there's a line of people outside what looks like a converted warehouse, with neon lights casting a soft glow over the scene.

“Nope," he says flatly. "I'm not going in there."

“Oh come on Mattheo, please?” You pout, turning to him. You grab his hand with both of yours, looking up at him earnestly as you continue. “Just for a little while! Its our last weekend here, and I doubt you’ll be coming back to go clubbing in Paris anytime soon.”

His eyes flicker between the queue of people and you, and you swear you see his resolving cracking slowly. But, just as quickly as it came, it left, and he shakes his head.

“Absolutely not. Those are muggles. I refuse to mix with them like this." His voice was stern, but there was an edge of uncertainty, his eyes darting around the lively square.

"Mattheo, it's just one night," you said, squeezing his hand, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his reluctance. "It's Paris, and we're young. Besides, I need you with me, just in case something goes wrong." You threw in a playful wink, knowing that he couldn’t resist the call to play the role of protector.

Mattheo groaned, running a hand through his hair. "This is not my idea of a good time," he said,. "I don't like crowds. I don't like muggles. I don't like... all this."

You took a step closer, your voice softening to a near whisper. "But you like being around me, right?” You say, and he grumbles under his breath.

There it was, the moment of hesitation, the crack in his resolve. He looked into your eyes, and you could tell he was wavering. His stern facade faltered just enough for you to push him toward the line, one step at a time.

Hook, line, and sinker.

"Fine," he grumbles, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. "But if anyone asks, I'm here under duress. And if something goes wrong, I told you so."

“Yes yes, I’m the bad guy. Heaven forbid you go clubbing and live a little .” You mock, dragging him to join the queue. You don't miss the way he shields you, standing protectively around you as you wait in the cold. The line moves fast enough, and before you know it you're in the club. You grab hold of the hem of Mattheos sleeves, not wanting to risk getting him lost before he curses you to hell for eternity.

Neon lights flash erratically, casting shifting patterns over the dance floor. Music booms from speakers positioned at every corner, making it nearly impossible to hear anything but the thumping bass. Bodies press against one another, dancing and swaying in a chaotic rhythm.

You glance at Mattheo, and his discomfort is written all over his face. His eyes dart around the room, looking for any sign of danger or trouble. It's not just the crowd that has him on edge; it's the sheer volume of it. It’s far more chaotic than anything he's used to, and the fact that it's packed with muggles only amplifies his anxiety.

You give him a reassuring squeeze on his sleeve, knowing he's on high alert. "Relax, Mattheo," you shout over the music. "We're here to have fun, remember?"

He doesn't look convinced, but he nods reluctantly. "Just be careful," he mutters, his voice barely audible above the din. "This place is a madhouse."

You head to the bar, weaving through the sea of people, and order a couple of drinks. You notice that Mattheo is hovering close behind you, his body language protective as if he's ready to jump in at the first sign of trouble. You hand him his drink, but he barely takes a sip, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd.

You weave through the crowd with practised ease, all the whilst Mattheo barges through with little to no care. You sip your drink with reckless abandon, tipping it back as you begin to dance to the music.

It's silly, and it sounds like a nightmare if you were to describe it. But it’s so freeing, so addictive. You’re far from wizarding high society, not having to worry about upholding a certain appearance or looking over your shoulder for those who may have grievances against you. You're surrounded by people who don't know your name, don't know who you are, but they dance alongside you, and won’t bat an eye to a thing you do.

This, is what freedom was.

People move and dance, a blur of faces and limbs. It's hard to tell where one person ends and another begins, and Mattheo is on high alert, trying to keep you in his line of sight.

But then, in a moment of chaos, you disappear into the crowd.

He starts to push through the crowd, not caring who he elbows out of the way, his eyes scanning frantically for a glimpse of you. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion—the throngs of people, the flashing lights, the relentless pulse of the music.

His anxiety builds with each passing second, the worst-case scenarios racing through his mind. He curses himself for letting you drag him into this. He's always been cautious, always careful, and now you're lost in a sea of strangers, and it's all his fault.

Then, suddenly, there's a break in the crowd.

He sees you. You're on the dance floor, surrounded by people, but to him, it feels like you're the only one there. The lights seem to focus on you, casting you in a soft glow.

Mattheo feels his breath catch in his throat. It's like the world has stopped, and all he can see is you. The way you move, the way you laugh, the way you just... shine. It's mesmerising, and he realises instantly that he's never felt this way.

Rather, he’s never realised he’s felt this way before.

All of a sudden it was clear as day. He loved you. There was nothing more to it. No one, and truly no one, could have convinced Mathteo to come here. But the second you had asked, he was a goner, even if he tried to convince himself otherwise

You spot him, your eyes lighting up with your god-forsaken impish smile as you beckon him over. He’s there in an instant, his body carrying him over to you before he even realises it. His hands find home on your hips, and he's stuck staring at you as though you've hypnotised him.

Bodies press against him from all around, but all he sees is you. The way the silk of your dress feels against his fingertips, the way your perfume smells, the way you gaze up at him in an equally as entranced way.

It’s you. All you. It’s always been you.

And who were to deny it? Mattheo, the boy who came with scars and even more secrets, the dark and brooding boy who no one wanted to befriend. The boy who, no matter how hard he tries to plead otherwise, is the most caring boy you know.

When it's raining outside and you're caught without an umbrella, he's the one who magically finds one and holds it over your head. When you're studying late into the night, he's the one who leaves a cup of tea by your side, even if he's long gone by the time you notice it. He'll take the fall for you when you're caught sneaking out after curfew.

How he listens, really listens, even when you talk about the most mundane things as if every word you say is precious.

Mattheo, the boy with the dark hair and the darker secrets, who keeps everyone at arm's length. Yet, he lets you in, inch by inch. He doesn’t talk about his past, but you know it’s there, lurking beneath the surface. You see it in the way he flinches when someone gets too close unexpectedly, or how he tightens up when someone mentions the Dark Arts. But with you, he’s different. With you, he’s at ease.

So when you ask him to come to the club, he comes. Even if he’s not comfortable with it, he’s here because you asked, and he’d go anywhere you asked him to.

The music seems to fade into the background, nothing really mattering when your hands come up to rest on his shoulder. You mindlessly twirl one of his dark curls with your finger, tucking it back as you gaze into his eyes.

You dance with him, The flashing lights and the crowded dance floor don’t matter when you’re in his arms. There’s something about the way he holds you, protective yet gentle, that makes you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and he leans down, his lips close to your ear. "Are you having fun?" he asks, his voice low, barely audible over the music.

"Only because you're here," you reply, smiling as you wrap your arms around his neck.

It’s in this moment that you know you love him. You love the way he acts like he's tough and detached, but he cares more than anyone you’ve ever known. You love how he’ll stay up late to help you study for an exam, even if he has one the next day. You love that he’ll share his favourite books with you, the ones he never lets anyone else see. You love the way he makes you feel safe, even when he’s terrified of certain things.

Mattheo, the boy who’s never had much use for friends, who finds it easier to keep people at a distance, is the same boy who would drop everything if you needed him. The boy who looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

As you dance together, you know that it’s him.

Because it’s him. It’s always been him.

He pulls back slightly but pauses when his face is right in front of yours. Breath mingling, lips just barely brushing. You're so damned close, yet so far, and all he needs to do is lean ever so slightly forward.

“Mattheo-” You murmur, taking every last bit of his restraint with your words as he surges forward, lips meeting yours in a kiss.

It’s sheer longing, years of suppressed feelings coming to the surface. It’s as though you can feel the emotion ebbing off him with the way he kisses you, his hands gripping your waist firmly as he pulls you into him.

He feels like he can breathe now, like he had been suffocating all this time and all he needed was you to breathe freely. He can’t get enough of you, pulling you so impossibly close you'd think he's trying to merge your bodies until you were both one. Now he's had a taste, he needs all of you, every last bit.

Mattheo's breath is hot against your skin as he pulls back for just a moment, just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze is intense, his pupils dilated, and you can see the emotions he's been keeping hidden.

He loves you, and it's written all over his face.

He presses his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged, and you can feel the tension in his shoulders starting to ease. The corner of your lips curve upwards into a small smile as you look at him, playing with the curls on the nape of his neck.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” You hum, and he nods, following your lead.

-•-

You take his hand, interlocking your fingers with his as you navigate through the throngs of people on your way out of the club. It's still loud and crowded, but none of that matters now. There's a calmness between you and Mattheo, a sense of understanding and connection that feels as natural as breathing.

As you step out into the cool Paris night, the change is striking. The noise and chaos of the club fade away, replaced by the soft hum of the city after dark. The streets are quiet, lit by the glow of streetlights and the occasional flash of a passing car. The atmosphere feels surprisingly warm, though you can’t tell whether it's the warmth you feel being with Mattheo that makes it feel that way.

It's like stepping into another world, one where it's just the two of you. You walk side by side, Mattheo's hand warm in yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. It feels so natural, so right that you can't help but wonder what you were doing before this. Everything’s faded into nothingness, there’s nothing that could be more important than Mattheo.

You walk in silence for a few minutes. You admire the views, and Mattheo admires you.

“Are you excited about leaving?” You ask, breaking the silence with your words. Mattheo doesn’t respond for a second, the silence punctuated by the soft clicking of your heels against the cobblestone path.

“Not really.” He says, and you turn to him, raising a brow.

“How come? You seemed more than happy to leave when we first came here.” You jibe as you fumble for the keys, unlocking the door. Just as you unlock the door and push it slightly open, Mattheo wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you inside swiftly. It's so unexpected that you squeal in surprise, and then you're pressed against the door, the wood cool against your back. The lights in the hallway are dim, casting shadows across his face, but you can see the smirk tugging at his lips.

He doesn't give you time to react before he leans in and kisses you, his lips finding yours with an urgency that leaves you breathless. His hand cups your cheek, tilting your head just so, deepening the kiss. He kisses you like he can’t get enough of you, a kiss that says he’s right where he belongs. A small sigh escapes your lips, your hands coming up to tangle in his messy curls for the second time that night as you return the kiss. And as he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, you can feel his breath hot against your skin.

“Because now that I have you in my space,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a line along your jaw, “I won’t let go of you.”

You laugh, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the fireplace that crackles away in the room beside you. "Is that a promise?" you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"More like a guarantee," he replies, his smile widening.

Your smile broadens at his promise, and you can’t help but tease him. “I’m happy to hear that, because I was worried I’d have to tie you down to keep you around.”

Mattheo chuckles, his grin spreading as he leans in for another kiss. It’s soft and playful, but there’s a hunger belying it, like he’s making up for lost time. You giggle as he peppers you with quick kisses, his hands never leaving your waist. The way he holds you is both protective and gentle, as if he’s found something precious and doesn’t plan to let it go.

He scoops you up in his arms, carrying you upstairs as he steals kisses from you. Its messy, and you bump into the wall far too many times. He can't wipe the grin off his face as he pushes the door to your bedroom open. The way you laugh between the kisses, the way you hold onto him, the way you gasp his name when you both almost topple down the stairs.

Everything about you is burnt into the recesses of his mind, a presence so strong the only thing Mattheo knows is you.

But that’s alright with him. Besides, it’s only ever been you.

[thephantomofanastasia]

Anastasia production in Italy!! This looks amazing!!

[ghouldump]

Just read your Armand fic and it was SO good, I was wondering if we could get a prequel or separate piece on vamp reader in the theatre?

Masquerade | Lestat x Reader

ෆ even with your horrific background, he fell deeply for your heart.

thank you, i enjoyed this very much. the fact that this is a month old is embarrassing. someone else requested loustat + Claudia w/ vamp reader and theater but i accidentally deleted it. also in this Lestat hasn't had Akasha’s blood yet.

“Mr. De Lioncourt, you’re on in five,” the stage director said nervously, peaking into the dressing room.

Staring into the mirror, he couldn’t stop the heavy weight on his lifeless core. Perhaps it was due to the homage he had been contemplating.

Fixing his soft hair, he stood, adjusting the half-buttoned top. Taking large steps, his walk emitted confidence, his head held high, in his mind, a recessed warfare.

The piercing screaming became louder as he moved closer to the stage. After months of traveling and backlash from other vampires, as well as the media, he was finally at his last show of the world tour.

“Lestat! I love you,” he could hear his fans screaming.

Smirking, he chuckled, while his thoughts drifted to the ancient days, enjoying the sight of mortals marveling at his presence. In Paris, the city adored him with a love so great, while also managing to shred his heart into pieces. Stopping next to the backstage staff, one of them held the box, protecting the precious relic of his. Opening the lock, he carefully placed the delicate mask on his face.

Holding his head elevated, he closed his eyes, it all seemed like only a little while ago when he met the one who would make him fall deeply in love, through music.

“Y/n, do you have any new songs written? We will be having a special guest joining us tomorrow,” Armand asked, as you slowly met his eyes.

“Yes, I’ve made a few ideas,” you nodded, timidly.

“May I see them?” He asked you, smiling as you hopped out of your seat, handing him the papers with haste.

“Thank you, my love,” he told you, leaning to place a soft kiss onto your lips.

“You’re welcome,” you nodded.

“The others will be hunting later, you are free to join them,” he said, reaching for your veil, and covering your face, before walking away.

Once Armand was out of sight, you slowly sat back down, your fingertips lightly brushing against the piano keys. Humming the melody, you smiled, knowing he would be satisfied with the song that went beautifully in his play.

He was a few decades away from being two centuries old when you first met. In a sideshow, you were the most popular act of the next night. The circus was traveling throughout Europe when they finally arrived in Paris. ‘Come and see the Devil’s Mark’, they called out, catching the interest of people passing. Inside the large tint, they'd gasp at the sight, confused by the sight.

“Why does she have that on her head?”

“She was kissed by the devil himself, and it left her with the face of a monster, Y/n, entertain your guest,” hearing the sound of the whip cracking, your fingers moved on their own, against the stringed instrument.

A few left out of boredom, some through peanuts at you, while others through coins. You were seen as nothing more than a show, no more than the animals kept. Although you knew better than to act against them, this place, these people, they were all you'd ever known.

Suddenly, a scream broke out, filled with agony, others rushed out, wanting to either get away or find out what was happening. You could see the shadow of people, running further away, some of them getting tackled, screeching for help. When the man came into the tint, your trainer, backed away, turning to run, before the man quickly killed him.

Your eyes widened, seeing the man move quicker than the blink of an eye. Lifting his head, he looked your way, and instantly, he was in front of the cage, tearing the door off. Staring at him, you watched his milky white teeth, dark red blood covering his mouth, and icy blue eyes.

Slowly moving to the ground, he tilted his head at you, before ripping the sack from your head. Immediately, you turned your face, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face him.

“This face is something else,” he laughed. Moving his hand, covering the left side of your face, his grin widened.

“You aren't so bad on the eyes, as long as this side is covered, maybe I should keep you, how old are you?” he asked, you struggled to understand him, through his thick broken English.

“18”

“Beautiful and you want to die?” he smiled, listening to your thoughts, the entire time you had been bracing yourself, waiting for the final blow to take you out of this life and into the next.

“Yes,” you admitted. Stiffening as he caressed your cheek with his glass-like nail.

“Those who love their life will lose it, and those who hate this life gain anew, your greatness will make up for the misery this face has brought you,” he told you before his fangs sank into your neck. Draining every ounce, you could hear your heartbeat escaping your body, as you weakened. Pulling away, he cut his wrist, pressing it against your mouth for you to drink.

“Do you have a name, child?” he asked you, as he pulled his arm away.

“Y/n,” you mumbled, lying on the ground, your stomach was beginning to churn.

“My name is Nicolas, and I am your maker,” he smiled at you, as you began groaning.

“Nicolas, is there a reason you're hunting in territory that isn't yours?” hearing the voice, he turned around, facing the brown man, or boy, he couldn't tell from the youthful face.

“What are you talking about?” Nicolas asked, frowning.

“My coven resides here and you have been wreaking havoc, never once making your presence known, it is punishable by death,” the man explained, meanwhile, you began puking up your insides.

“My apologies, I could sense others nearby, but it didn't cross my mind that it could be a coven-

“You are careless, to kill by the hundreds out in the open and thoughtlessly create a fledgling, you are unworthy of the gift, and a threat,” he said, fire appearing in his hand, before Nicolas was set ablaze.

Dropping to his knees, you watched as he turned into ash before he could completely hit the ground. Wiping the vomit from your mouth, your maker, whoever he was, was now gone. Armand’s gaze went to you, and lifting from the ground, he floated to you.

While his face held no emotion, he thought of himself, and his past, feeling a bit of compassion for you.

“Would you like to join our coven?” he asked you. Nodding, you didn't know what you had become, whatever Nicolas was, but you knew you didn't want the same fate from this man.

“Then come along, we will find a place for you in the theater,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows as you grabbed the sack, placing it onto your head. Slowly standing, you felt like a new creation, your head lowered under the man’s gaze.

“You will feel very hungry, but I will show you how to hunt adequately, what is your name?” he asked.

“Y/n,” you whispered.

“I am Armand, come now, the others are waiting,” he said, turning as you attempted to keep up with his steps.

Armand was not only the coven’s leader, but the director of a popular theater. Humans came nearly every night to them all, everyone having specific roles. The others weren't the nicest to you, but they also weren't mean. You stayed to yourself, and they let you be.

It wasn't until one night, the theater was closed, and you were supposed to be cleaning, everyone had left for hunting. Cleaning each seat, you scrubbed any dried food under the chairs. Humming lowly, you couldn't get a certain tune from an earlier play from your mind. Making up your own lyrics, you continued humming the melody. Standing from your knees, you jumped, seeing Armand standing on the stage.

“That was you singing?” he asked, surprised.

“I-I’m sorry,” you cowered.

“I never asked, why you wear this?” he motioned at the sack.

“I was born different, no real reason, my old trainer, Agnes, said I was probably kissed by the devil,” you said.

“May I see your face?”

“I don't kn-

“Please?” he asked. It was the first time I heard the word, someone saying it to you or even coming from Armand’s mouth.

Sighing, you pulled it off, shutting your eyes, bracing for the nefarious critiques. However, he didn't say anything, his hand softly holding your jaw. The entire left side of your face was in short observations, scarily scarred. Briefly after birth, you had been in a terrible incident, leaving the left side of your face comparable to a healed fourth-degree burn.

“This isn't as horrible as you make it out to be, and to be wearing this old sack on your head,” he told you, grinning.

“I don't want to scare anyone,” you told him.

“I think that is scarier than your face, you obviously didn't hear it enough, but you are beautiful with an angelic voice, would you like to be in the play?” he asked.

“I don't feel comfortable-

“If we found a way around that, would you be willing?” he asked, smiling as you, hesitantly nodded.

And so, he stuck to his word, surprising you with your very own custom masquerade mask. Fitting perfectly against the side of your face, while leaving the other side free. You felt more confident with the mask, as it hid that side of you. Soon after, Armand introduced the veil to you, along with the equally theatrical dress.

His reasoning, he said he would make you the star of the stage, without anyone pointing out the mask or having questions about your face underneath. You went along with his words, trusting him, and onward with practicing the lines.

The show was a captivating success, with roses being thrown at you, along with whistles and claps. Bowing, you thanked everyone, waving your gloved hands. Later that night, when you were helping clean up, Armand scared you.

Sneaking up on you, he congratulated you, while you blushed, your face burning profusely. Praising his judgment, you thanked him, before he kissed you. Ending your night in Armand’s coffin wasn't a part of your plans, but it seemed right.

Your relationship, despite blossoming, was unconventional. You acknowledged it, overhearing a few coven members gossip about you. In your eyes, Armand became your idol, he taught you new abilities, helped learn new instruments, and provided intimacy. You eventually recognized that he wasn't as serious about you, as you were about him, but rather possessive.

He forbade you to form any other companionships, persuading you to wear your stage costume continuously. While a piece of you was hurt by these actions, you had no experience before him, and were sure you would have none after, so naturally you accepted his terms.

Now over a century since then, you remained at Armand’s side, being the lead vocalist in nearly all the the plays. If only you knew, how much things would change in a matter of months.

Standing from the piano, you went to your coffin, the others would be returning soon, and the sun would be rising. You were interested in seeing the special guest Armand spoke of, but you would have to wait and see.

“What are you doing? Use your fucking brain?” you could hear Armand yelling at the coven members. They were setting up the stage, as he stood in front of the chairs.

You sat alone in a booth, far off, a small xylophone in your lap. Tapping each key, you hummed the tune of your song. Opening your mouth, you began to sing lowly, your eyes widening as you felt a gust of wind behind you.

“Is this an original piece? It sounds lovely,” the voice said, making you turn around, revealing the handsome man. Lofty, blonde, sharp jawline, full lips, you had never seen him before.

“I-yes,” you said, moving your eyes to floor, as he squinted trying to catch a glimpse of your face.

“Lestat,” Armand called out, turning to face the two of you.

“I told you I’d come,” The man named Lestat said, a smirk in place, as he bowed.

“And you are?” he asked you.

“Busy, Y/n, go read over your lines,” Armand said, watching as you nodded, appearing in front of him, accepting the papers from his hand, and disappearing into his office.

“Keeping her to yourself?” Lestat asked, tilting his head.

“Y/n is a century older than you, she isn't interested in a newborn like yourself,” Armand grinned at him.

“But you are,” he said, making the older vampire roll his eyes, walking to continue making preparations.

You could feel the eyes of Lestat on you, as it was time for you to come from Armand’s office. You never had actual words for the play, rather allowing your singing to move the audience. The others complained and muttered that it was Armand’s way of not forcing you into reciting with everyone.

Sitting on the prop, you looked towards Armand, as the curtains opened. Singing to him, for the people, is how you always looked at it. He smirked in pride, satisfied with how everything played out. Your role, the grim reaper, serenading your victims as they pleaded with the audience to save them. Finally, death came to collect, the coven members attacked their prey, while the crowd cheered loudly for you.

Bowing your head, you waved at everyone, as the curtain closed. The show was now over, and it was time to hunt. You didn't exactly hunt with the coven, despite everyone sticking together like a pack. Even after over a hundred years, you didn't feel confident to lift your veil around anyone, except your targets. Armand was a bit lenient, letting you stray away from the others.

Watching the young man leave the bar, you followed him, leaving a bit of distance between the two of you. He was beautiful, doll-like, with youthful features on his glowy skin. The further he walked, the more empty the area became. Slowly lifting your veil, as he approached a nearby alley, you attacked, dragging him into the darkness. As his body went limp, the flames appeared in your hand, before you burned his body.

“Did Armand teach you how to do that? Is he your maker?” you heard as you covered your face, turning to face Lestat.

“Yes and No,” you said, going to past him, when he blocked your way.

“Why do you cover your face? Like…a bride,” he smirked.

“Armand will be expecting me back”

“With a voice as beautiful as yours, you shouldn't hide your face, everyone should see the countenance behind the magnificent voice-

“Y/n,” Armand stood behind Lestat, slowly walking around him.

“Oh, I think he's jealous Y/n, he wants to keep you locked away for himself,” Lestat told you, as you approached Armand.

“Meet with the others, straight to your coffins,” he instructed, reaching for your cheek. Nodding, you kept your head down, leaving as quickly as possible.

As you closed your coffin, comfortable, mask off, you smiled, thinking of Lestat. He was carefree, he didn't care about rules, and wasn't scared of anyone, or anything. If only you could be like him, maybe one day.

“Everyone get in your positions,” Sam ordered, as everyone ran around.

Armand was away for business, meaning you had the night off until he returned. You never complained, accepting the rare days, and watching the plays from Armand’s booth. Sitting comfortably, you smiled as the lights dimmed.

“Hello, ma chérie,” you heard, a hand pressing against the veil to stop you from gasping.

“You frightened me,” you mumbled.

“Shall we go out for a walk?”

“I'm watching the play,” you whispered.

“The same play that ends the same way every single night, it won't do you any harm to miss one,” he said, sounding persuasive before you took his hand, allowing him to take you away.

“Now that we're alone, will you tell me why you wear this veil?” Lestat asked as he walked in the direction of the park, your hand still in his own.

“If you knew the reason, then you wouldn't be so nice to me,” you told him.

“How will I know, until I see,” he said.

“You have no reason to see it,” you put your head down, taking your hand back, and speed-walking away.

“I yearn to see the face behind the beautiful voice?” he smirked, as he was instantly in front of you.

“Armand said you are a newborn, when were you turned?” you asked him.

“A year or two ago, I lose count,” he shrugged.

“You sing too? Why not travel outside of France?” you asked him.

“I could ask you the same thing”

“I am a part of a coven, I couldn't just up and leave” you shook your head.

“Armand wouldn't approve”

“Is Armand your maker?”

“…No, but he is dear to me”

“But are you to him? I've heard a few things about your…situation, you're not even his companion, but he keeps you to himself, why?”

“He has had compassion for me”

“And so you feel you owe him everything?”

“I do”

“Even denying yourself more, more than simply being his doll, that he can play with and toss the side whenever he wishes,” he said, as he moved closer to you, his body centimeters from pressing against your own.

“Just a peak, ma chérie, I won’t utter a word after,” he said, as you slowly stared at him, unmoving as he lifted the veil.

He gazed at the mask but didn't say anything, as his cool fingers touched your cheek.

“You exceeded my expectations,” he said, as he took in your facial features, your skin texture, marks, moles, freckles.

“No need to lie,” you said, a bit harsher than you intended.

“I have seen men and women of all kinds, and I have no reason to lie when I say, you are beautiful,” he said, as he grabbed your hand, pulling you back.

“I need to get back to the others, it is best that we stay away from each other,” you told him, turning back to the theater.

“I can't promise I will be as obedient to your leader's commands,” he said, watching as you walked away.

Lestat kept his distance for a while until you received the sudden news he'd be joining you in a play. It was a renowned success, something the theatre hadn't experienced in years, bringing humans to tears at the heavenly duet, before punishing your victim of the night.

He became a recurring guest, who refused the idea of joining the coven. Everyone was surprised Santiago wasn't jealous of him, but he admired him too much to be bothered by him taking the position of leading actor.

You steered clear of him, outside of your performances, to avoid upsetting Armand. Yes, he was jealous, and no, you may not have been companions, but you didn't blame him. He was extremely traumatized from his past and for that became controlling and untrusting to most, but once you gained his trust - he was a godsend, and you didn't want to ruin that for a newborn vampire you'd just met.

Then it happened, after the usual set, you found yourself sitting on the roof, watching as the others left to hunt. Holding the small music box, you humming the melody, your heart aching. You'd overheard a few members gossiping about you, questioning your secretive nature.

Masquerade, Paper faces on parade

Masquerade, Hide your face so the world will never find you

Masquer-

“You don't think sitting up here alone is a bit gloomy,” Lestat spoke.

“It will sound different once it is performed,” you mumbled.

“Then I hope you don't mind me joining, perhaps I can add my touch,” he said, moving to sit next to you before you could answer.

“Lestat, Armand won't be pleased,” you shook your head.

“It is ridiculous how much you care for his feelings, considering he isn't your companion”

“He has been more than generous to me”

“By making you wear a masquerade mask, along with a gown as if you are a widow, I trust your judgment,” he said, sarcastically.

“He spared me, he could have killed me, as he had done to my maker, but he helped means taught me how to even live as a vampire,” you confessed.

“But he did not give you your talent”

“No,” you shook your head.

“Then I see no reason for this appearance, you have a voice unlike any other I’ve ever met, your eyes-

“My voice has nothing to do with my eyes, my face, he saved me and in return it is his”

“What could have happened to you for you to willingly settle for so little?”

“Excuse-

“Take off the mask,” he said, catching you off guard.

“No,” you said, awkwardly.

“We won't be able to fix this deep-rooted insecurity, whatever it is until you remove all of the layers that hide you,” he said, standing up, and hovering over you.

“Or you could mind your own business,” you said, seconds before screaming. Lestat had quickly taken the mask off, watching as your hand covered your face, nearly clawing in disgust to cover up.

“Please, I beg of you, give it back,” you cried, holding out your other hand, your head down.

“Y/n, look at me,” his eyes softened, it was one thing to see you quiet and standoffish - that was normal. However, seeing you bitterly weeping, your nails almost piercing into your face, he was concerned.

“Please, I’m sorry, just-give it back, please,” you said.

“Look at me first,” he said sternly, inaudibly gasping as lifted your head.

“Are you satisfied? Am I still the beautiful star you thought me to be, or do you finally see the monster hidden under the veil,” you spat, the blood-stained on your cheek.

“Is this what he has told you? This is nothing comparable to a monster, if anything, it makes you stand out. A beautiful voice, with an equally beautiful face, you just HAPPEN to be unique,” he told you, reaching to hold your chin, making you look at him.

“That isn't true, I don't want pity-” You were caught off guard as he pressed his lips against your own.

“You are very beautiful Y/n, you haven't been reminded of it, but you are. I haven't been able to get you out of my head since that night, you lifted your veil for me. You tug at my heart, with the simplest glances, don't ever think I am saying anything about you for pity,” he said, pulling you into another kiss.

“Come with me, to my place, we wouldn't want your leader interrupting,” he said, in between kisses, as he kissed along your neck.

The last thing you expected was for his place to be a dark abandoned dungeon, but his attentive skills made you indifferent to the environment. Finally, the passionate tango, you straddled his lap, your head on his chest, as he sat up leaning against the wall. Reaching for your mask, he stopped you.

“You don't have to be so quick to put it back on, I enjoy seeing you this way,” he said, kissing your scarred skin.

“I have to get back soon,” you told him.

“I want you to leave with me, be my companion, and we can travel the world, you can be the star I know you are,” he said, wrapping his arms around your body.

“You want to be my companion?” you asked, confused.

“I want nothing more than to be your companion, to love you for an eternity”

“What about Armand?”

“How he feels is irrelevant to me, he has kept you around as his toy, but I will lick your wounds if you accept me,” he said, wiping your tears. Nodding, you mumbled, ‘Yes’, as he kissed your lips.

“I have to get back now, we can start planning after tomorrow night,” you said, as he nodded in agreement, kissing your lips, before you look the mask, pressing it to your face.

By the time you were in the basement of the theatre, everyone was in their coffin, but Armand. He sat in his office, the light dim, looking up at you, as you came down the stairs. In an instant, he was in front of you, going to speak, you stared confusedly, as he lifted the veil, smashing his lips against your own.

“I missed you,” he said.

“Sorry, I changed my mind and ended up going hunting,” you lied.

“It is alright, will you join me tonight?” he asked.

“I’m too tired to do anything,” you put your head down, but he quickly lifted it, pecking your lips.

“And that is fine, I will hold you, come,” he said, grabbing your hand, and leading you to his coffin.

“I don't tell you too often, but I am proud of what you've become,” he wrapped his arms around you, as he shut the top.

“Thank you”

“No, thank you”

Watching from behind the curtain, you peered at Santiago as he recited his typical lines. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your lower back, making you turn around, your eyes widened, seeing Lestat.

“Why are you all the way over here?” you asked, but he ignored the question, pecking your lips.

“You look perfect, it will only be a short while before we are together away from this place,” he said reassuringly, lowering your veil, moving to the side, as the curtain opened, closing behind you. Looking towards the crowd, before setting your eyes upon Armand, you began to sing. However, mid-song, a commotion could be heard backstage, as the music sped up.

Glancing at Santiago, you noticed the unusually dark gleam in his eyes. The curtains opened again, revealing coven members, dressed as judges. Your heart immediately sank, as others brought Lestat onto the stage.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the true show of the night has begun,” Santiago chuckled. Going to rush to Lestat, you fell to your knees as pain shot through your body.

“This, my dear friends, is Y/n, our grim reaper, she takes hold of souls that face judgment, but who judges her, you will,” he said, making the audience cheer.

“What are you talking about? Armand, what is he talking about?” you asked, but they both ignored you.

“The gracious vampire Armand has done nothing but save her, she was in a freak show, her maker, she didn't even know, and instead of killing her, he took her in as his own, kept her secret,” he smirked, as you realized this was real.

“Armand-

“The ancient vampiric laws, she has broken number two, and while it wasn't her fault, she chose to leave with this secret,” he continued, watching as the audience cheered in anticipation.

“Y/n, be a doll and take off your veil,” he said. Frozen in your mind was all over the place, trying to understand why this was happening, how you could save Lestat, how you could save yourself.

Taking too long for the judges, with a simple glance, you began screaming, pulling the veil from your hair.

“Stop it,” Lestat screamed, trying to get up, but they seemed to have had him stuck in his seat.

“The dark gift, it shall never be given to children, the crippled, OR THE MAIMED,” he screamed, ripping the mask from your face, cutting your cheek in the process.

Lestat grunted and growled, trying to get up, but the more he fought, the more pain he felt.

“I’m okay,” you tried to reassure him, yelping as Santiago picked you up by your hair.

“See this hideous face, a face, not even a mother loved, yet Armand cared about this abomination, and in return, she went behind his back, planning to leave with a newborn,” he spat.

“Armand, I’m sorry,” you cried, but he kept a straight face, watching from his book.

“And Lestat de Lioncourt, from the moment he has stepped into this theatre, he has been puffed up with arrogance, and while that isn't a sin, he was willing to be an accomplice to help Y/n escape, despite seeing her monstrous face, so we will begin with him, guilty or not guilty?” he asked.

Using all of your strength, you controlled every human in the room, blood leaking from your eyes.

“Not guilty,” you muttered.

“g…NOT GUILTY,” everyone screamed, catching Santiago by surprise, but Armand saw you, and it only infuriated him, even more, to see you protect Lestat.

“And Y/n, her pathetic excuse of a maker is thankfully dead, but she is nothing more than an abomination that should have never been created, so I ask you, guilty or not guilty?”

“GUILTY”

“and her punishment?”

“DEATH”

“The jury has spoken,” he said, tossing your mask onto the floor.

“I am sorry Armand, that I didn't leave you sooner, I’ve allowed myself to be used for far too long for your benefit. I am grateful for your compassion, but only because through it, I was able to meet my companion. I love Lestat and I have no regrets, all I ask is, for you to do it the same way you did to my maker,” you said, smiling, as Amrand clenched his jaw.

His thoughts were loud and clear, you were his, and he could do whatever he wanted with you, sure, this ideology partially came from his own maker, but you knew this already. You could never leave him, your loyalty was owed to him alone, he hadn't made you his companion but he cared about you, in an unhealthy way, and for you to want to up and leave him for some guy you only known for a few months, he would rather see you dead than for you to leave Lestat.

Facing Lestat, you kept the sad smile on your face, taking in his face one last time.

“I love you, mon chér,” you said, before Armand set you ablaze. Your screams of agony flooded Lestat’s mind, as he cried, trying to come to you, but you quickly turned to ash, leaving nothing more than the remains of your gown and your mask.

Releasing him from their hold, he grabbed your mask, before rushing out of the building. Due to his judgment being not guilty, none of them could stop him, as he went to the dungeon. Your lingering scent only made him cry harder, as he clutched the mask. He would keep this mask, as an heirloom, as remembrance, as a promise. He’d love you always, and never forget the feelings you brought upon him.

As the song ended, Lestat opened his eyes, the fans screaming loudly for him. Reaching to remove the mask, he bowed, but seeing the figure in his peripheral, his eyes began to sting. Rising, he fought the urge to cry, seeing you standing next to him, bowing alongside him.

“I couldn't be more proud of you, mon chér,” you told him.

“I’m sorry, my love, I-

“No, you are seeing the entire world, and they love you, that is all that matters to me,” you smiled.

“I love you,” he said, reaching out for you, as you faded away.

The once heavy feeling has left his body, now replaced with sweet memories, you looked just as beautiful as the first time he'd laid eyes on you. He could go on, knowing that maybe, just maybe, you had been with him all along.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Phantom's Adoration

erik deslter x reader- 538 words

tags- kinda angst mostly fluff, stalking, low-key submissive erik (even though this isn't smut) cause thats the truth :) canon true stalking/yandere themes

In the grand opera house of Paris, shadows danced and whispered secrets of love and tragedy. Among them lurked Erik Destler, the Phantom of the Opera, a figure veiled in darkness and mystery. From the depths of his hidden lair, he watched the world above with a heart heavy with longing, knowing that his disfigured face would forever keep him hidden from the light.

Yet amidst the bustling theater, there was one soul who captured his attention like no other – you. You, with your graceful movements and enchanting voice, seemed to float through the corridors like a melody, filling his solitary existence with warmth and light.

From the shadows, Erik watched you rehearse, your every step and note igniting a fire within him. He listened to the passion in your voice, feeling his own heart swell with a love he knew could never be. For how could someone as wondrous as you ever look upon him with anything but fear and disgust?

But still, he couldn't help but dream. Dream of a world where he could stand beside you in the brilliance of the stage, where he could hold you close and whisper his love into the night. In his mind, he spun tales of romance and redemption, where even the darkest of souls could find solace in the arms of an angel.

Yet reality was a cruel mistress, and Erik knew that his fantasies could never come to pass. So he remained hidden, content to watch from afar, knowing that the shadows were his only refuge.

As the days turned into weeks, Erik's love for you only grew stronger, his every thought consumed by the image of your radiant smile. He longed to reach out to you, to confess the depths of his affection, but he feared the rejection that would surely follow.

And so he remained silent, resigned to his fate as the Phantom of the Opera, forever condemned to love from the shadows.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

One fateful night, as the opera house lay shrouded in darkness, you wandered into Erik's domain, a curious light in your eyes. Startled, he watched as you explored the cavernous halls, your laughter echoing off the stone walls.

In that moment, Erik knew that he could no longer hide. Stepping out from the shadows, he revealed himself to you, his heart pounding with fear and anticipation.

You gasped at the sight of him, but to his surprise, there was no trace of fear in your eyes, only curiosity and perhaps a hint of something more.

"I have watched you from afar, my dear," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "And though I am but a man in truth, i can assure you my love for you burns brighter than any angels could."

Tears welled in his eyes as i reached out to him, my fingers trembling as they brushed against his teary cheek.

"you're...," i started softly, my voice a gentle melody in the darkness. "You’re…my angel of music?"

In that moment, Erik knew that his love for you was not in vain. For even in the darkest of places, there exists a glimmer of hope – a chance for redemption, you. 

[oldfashioned-lovergirl]

Can I suggest a lewis hamilton fic where the reader is their teammate they've basically been through through thic and thin and they have an argument abt lewis not tell you abt going too ferrari and they confess their feelings and let their frustrations through sex??? (( THIS IS LITERALLY SOO MUCH TOO ASK FOR SO UF YOU CAN WRITE IT ITS FINEEE)) - anon 🌺

☆ LOST IN THE FIRE — lewis hamilton x reader

tags: smut, switching control, sexual tension, angry sex, dirty talk, age gap

note: first ff I write in a while, please y’all be kind with my english :3 hope you like it, I thirst way too much for this man

masterlist

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

The way the evening is ending is making you nervous and you’re not very good at hiding it. Well, you didn’t expect to discover the worst news possible in the middle of the after party of a fashion show in Paris and above all you didn’t expect to hear that from a stranger and not from the person concerned. Such person concerned is now driving you back to your Paris hotel because according to him you are “too upset” to take your own car.

Now, while you’re looking outside the window without saying a word, you hope he told someone to take your car to the hotel, or you swear to God you’re gonna scream to his face. You want to scream to his face so bad.

The city night lights are magical but you can’t think about anything that isn’t what you had just discovered. The atmosphere is awkwardly silent. Lewis is keeping his sight straight on the road, hands on the wheel. His profile is a picture you know way too well. It’s obvious he wants to say something. Anything.

“You know we’re still gonna see each other every week, right?”

“That’s not the point.”

He lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“I’d rather not talk about it right now.”

“Then what do you wanna talk about?”

“Nothing.” You miss the awkward silence.

You already had arguments during your friendship/coworking/whatever that is, but never like that. That’s different. You feel hurt.

He finally reaches the hotel. He can’t stop right in front, so he parks in the next street. You open the door.

“I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to.”

He gets out of the car anyway. You’re not surprised he’s acting like a gentleman even when you’re so angry you could punch him. “It’s 2 AM and I won’t leave you alone.”

You walk alongside him, trying not to look at his open jacket. The fact that he’s wearing absolutely nothing under it isn’t helping. Damn this man and his impeccable fashion sense. “You weren’t so kind when you lied to me about your new contract.” At this point you don’t even care if people hear you argue.

“I didn’t lie.”

“Oh right, you just forgot to tell me.”

“I was going to.”

“When? When you’re already driving a Ferrari car? Don’t worry I’m not colourblind.” Great, now you reached the point where you can’t keep your mouth closed. And he’s following you to your room because he’s just like you, he has to have the last word.

“Soon. And stop using that sarcastic tone with me, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Of course, my bad, you’re always right about everything. You’re so selfish and childish, running away from the things you love just because you’re scared.” You ask yourself if you’re provoking him too much. No, he deserves that. You’re about to open the door with the electronic key when he takes you wrist and pulls you away. He stands right between you and the door, preventing you from getting in. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m not scared, I don’t like to be ignored. You are the selfish one here, not trying to see things from my point of view. You think it’s so easy for me?” He’s raising his tone. He never did it with you and now you find yourself holding back the tears. “You can’t even imagine what does it mean to leave my team, to leave my friends, to leave… you. But I can’t stay anymore, it’s dragging me down and you know it.”

Those words touch your heart. You feel sorry for him but you just can’t forgive him. You simply can’t stand the thought of racing without him as your teammate. “Then why didn’t you tell me? We can fix this, we can make changes and…”

“I don’t want change, I want to be myself and I want to be listened to. I would have told you sooner but I didn’t want to hurt you. See, now you’re hurt and I don’t know what to do because…” You’re eyes are on him but he’s looking down. He’s still holding your wrist and you bet he feels your heartbeat going faster than him in a Mercedes. “Because I care about you and I don’t want to lose you.”

You try to release from his grasp but he pulls you close. “Well done, now you lost me.”

“You sure?”

“I hate you.”

He kisses you, immediately moving his other hand to your neck to pull you even closer. His dreads brush your shoulder. You try not to shake for the emotions filling you. You lose yourself in the kiss. You can’t think about anything else than your tongues tangled, so you completely forgot you’re still in the hallway. Lewis takes the electronic key from your hand and unlocks the door. He brings you in and closes it behind your back, pushing you on the door. It frustrates you that he always has you under his thumb, no matter how much effort you put into escaping it.

He wouldn’t force you to do anything, ever. You know that he will keep away his hands if you won’t make a move in that direction. However the moan you let slip makes him inevitably smile. You lick the gap between is teeth and proceed to kissing him more passionately.

He shouldn’t dare to laugh at you right now, not even if you’re probably about to explore each other bodies. You put your hands on his chest and push him on the wall of the bedroom so violently that you worry you’ve hurt him. Bold of you to even think you can hurt a F1 driver’s back. A seven times world champion F1 driver’s back.

Your hands travel under his jacket, brushing his nipples and causing him to hold his breath. His naked chest feels smooth. There’s no better feeling than having him finally in your hands. It’s a dream coming to reality.

“Oh you hate me so much.”

Can he read your thoughts? Or did he just say that because you’re mapping his upper body with your fingers? His kisses continue on your chin, then on your jaw and then on your neck. They’re soft yet so hot. You want to reply but you’re too worried to make another sound. His strong hands are now on your hips, they slide up to your waist, stroking it up and down, his mouth now reaching your naked shoulder and leaving marks on it.

He’s definitely now in control of the situation, as always. You want to regain it, but he’s good at making you melt under his palms. You want him in you so bad and you’ll have him. You take him by his jacket and drag him in front of the bed, quickly getting rid of his jacket. You push him on the white bed sheets, climb and sit on top of him. You can feel him hard.

He has the body and the face of a young god, he’s so flawless that makes your almost 20 years age difference look 0.

“Take off your clothes.” He commands.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

You pin his hands on his sides and begin slightly moving your hips. His eyes turn to the ceiling for a moment and his breath becomes louder. “You can’t torture me like this.”

“I think you deserve that.”

You stop and sit back in his lap. He looks up at you with his dark bambi eyes. They’re the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. You take a moment to appreciate the sculpted inked chest he likes posting on instagram so much, thinking about all the times you spent trying to hide how jealous those fuckboy pictures make you feel. Maybe the jokes you always make on the topic betray you.

“Does this mean you forgive me?”

You’re unsure about that, but what you’re definitely sure of is that you’re falling deeply in love with this man. Those puppy eyes are making you regret all the bad things you said to him.

That doesn’t change that you’re still mad. “We’ll see.”

He helps you unzip your dress, moving his hands across your back and slowly down on your ass, and you let him. The straps of your dress fall down on your arms and he stands in order to press his mouth on your collarbone. He takes your dress off, it falls down on the moquette. “I want you.” He gets rid of your bra and begins kissing your breasts like they’re the sweetest fruit on Earth. “I want you so bad.”

Years of friendship colliding into that moment. You want to shout, insult him, hurt him because it hurts you so much watching him leave, but the only words that escape from your mouth are: “L-Lewis I–“. You bite your bottom lip.

You can see through his pleased smirk that he couldn’t wait to make you eat that “I hate you”.

He takes advantage of your moment of weakness to take back control. He flips your positions and frees you both from the last clothes. God, his arms are perfect. “Open wide for me, darling.” His hands on your thighs are making you unable to speak. “Good, just like that.” He licks his lips at the sight of your wetness.

You can’t take it anymore. “Stop playing Lewis, just… just do it.”

He bends over you, a few centimetres from your mouth. “Pretty please?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

And so he does.

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The cast of Anastasia Madrid during Paris Holds the Key to Your Heart.