#thank you for all the kind messages and comments

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (10)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: as dictated by the results of poll #6, this chapter will include stunt training, clubbing, and an accident. Plus, you've got tub anon to thank for... well... the tub scene :) Oh, and this is kind of 18+. Just a tad.

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Matt and the reader eagerly explore the uncharted waters of their budding relationship. Ewan is booked and busy with the preparation for his new franchise. Will Ewan and his darling even find time for each other, or should they just take this opportunity to let go?

The internet, ever so informative, lets you know that Ewan and Jenna’s arrangement is in its initial stages before he even calls to tell you. 

Their first interview with Josh Horowitz is immediately followed by another feature on the movie set, with the two talking about the pre-production, what they liked about the script, and their chemistry, which according to them, came naturally and did not require much work at all. It was practically the thing they had to work on the least. How lucky. 

A lighthearted reprieve came in the form of a meme that started circulating not long after their interview with Josh. In it, Ewan is caught looking like he's either malfunctioning or deep in a philosophical crisis. The internet ran with it, with captions like, ‘When you realise you left the oven on at home’, to comparing him to an NPC glitching out.

When you asked him about it, he quickly stammered that he simply spaced out. Sure. It was hilarious, nonetheless.

Your publicist Mallory had commented that soon Ewan and Jenna would be obliged to go on pap walks, something that would appear casual and separate from the confines of the project that they’re working on. Something that signals that their relationship is making it into the real world.

“That whole casual ‘just friends hanging out’ vibe they’re gonna push? It’s all part of the gig,” Mallory shared. “Next thing you know, they’ll be taking long walks on the beach or grabbing coffee in some trendy LA spot.”

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting. Even just a little. Sure, you know what the business is like. You’ve been on that same end of that stick just recently, with your own film’s PR efforts. But this arrangement that Ewan has doesn’t seem like the usual short-term fling to drum up buzz. It feels… heavy, like something that might actually stick.

“I’d be lying if I say I don’t find it all annoying, darling, but I try to look at it now as part of the job, you know?” he had said, when he phoned you one evening – his afternoon – to let you know that his stay in LA would be much longer than expected. 

You responded with, “Oh, yeah, I completely understand.” What else can you do? You aren’t together – you don’t have a claim to him, and vice versa. You thought that would make things better – easier – but you’re still waiting for that sense of comfort to kick in.

This is for the best, you would remind yourself every time a new headline surfaces. 

It’s only been a month since you last properly saw Ewan, since that night on the rooftop. In the early days, he messaged every day, called whenever he had a spare moment. But slowly, the calls have become shorter, more sporadic – chalked up to his increasingly busy schedule. Your tones have become more dispassionate – he blames it on his exhaustion, profusely swearing that he misses you so fucking much, but something feels different. 

Your job keeps you busy, with your commitments related to the new season of House of the Dragon, event appearances, and gearing up for the release of your film with Jacob. You are even invited to the upcoming Vanity Fair Young Hollywood Ball, an exclusive party to be held in New York.

And Matt is a more than welcome distraction. 

Matt, who has begun spending more time in your apartment after Ewan’s temporary move to LA. Matt, who brings you flowers that are apparently ‘beautiful, but pales in comparison to you’. Matt, who is unfailingly a gentleman, respecting your boundaries and not making a move since that time on your couch after your first date, when you told him to wait. 

He sits with you by your kitchen counter, in a disarmingly tight white shirt that leaves little to the imagination, one sturdy hand nursing a cup of coffee and the other on the small of your back to support you as you sit on the high stool, and you suddenly don’t want him to wait anymore. 

“Have you decided on what you’ll be wearing to the screening tonight, love?” he asks. 

“Why? Does it have to be pre-approved?” you playfully quip, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Ah,” he nods, smiling, playing along, “of course, of course. You think I’m an easy man to date? You’ve got to keep up with my standards, as beautiful as you already are.”

You laugh, playfully mussing his hair, and he catches your wrist before it drops back on the counter. He says, “I ask because I wanted to match you, so to speak. We’d be like two peas in a pod.”

“Oh,” you snort softly, “or you know, like Tweedledee and Tweedledum?”

“Funny girl,” he muses, before leaning forward and capturing your lips in a soft kiss, caffeinated and warm and Matty. You notice that his hand on your back is pressed firmer – he didn’t want you to slip when you leaned in. 

Charming bastard. He isn’t making things any easier… or maybe he is. 

Maybe he’s it. 

But the moment’s broken by a loud, offended-sounding meow. You look down to see Sansa, staring at Matt like he’s personally responsible for all the world’s problems.

“Hey, babygirl,” Matt croons, extending a hand toward her. Sansa, the biggest diva of a kitten, just gives him a slow blink before trotting off, clearly unimpressed.

“Calling her babygirl isn’t going to make her warm up to you,” you tease.

“She already doesn’t seem to like me,” he replies, scoffing. “Which is a shock, pretty much, how can she not?”

“So humble, Matthew.” You smile at his effortless charm, his easy personality. That’s all you seem to be doing nowadays. Matt is like your personal ray of sunshine. 

“I’ll win her over,” he declares confidently, sitting upright. “Anything for my lady.”

You roll your eyes. “How very Daemon of you.”

“Actually,” he laughs, “Daemon would probably feed her to Caraxes for being difficult.”

“Matthew!”

“I’m kidding!”

Sansa meows even louder, bounding away towards your bedroom. 

“Leave my Sansa alone,” you say, pointing at him accusingly.

He gives you a sly grin. “I will… if you come here and give me another kiss.”

Before you can respond, he slides your stool closer to his with a smooth movement, catching you off guard. You find yourself practically in his lap, his thighs pressing against yours as he waits, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Okay,” you sigh deeply, narrowing your eyes, unable to mask the smile that graces your lips. “One kiss, but only for Sansa.”

“Oh, shush and kiss me already, love.”

The film screening had been a private event, by invitation only from those who worked on the film. Edward Bluemel, Matt’s good friend, is a fellow actor marking his directorial debut with this film. For a first go, it was impressive, gripping from start to finish. Almost as much as Matt’s hand resting just above your knee, his thumb absentmindedly tracing soft circles into your skin.

Your cheeks had flushed when a particularly steamy scene came on the screen, and it might have been the nervous gremlins in your mind, but you swore Matt’s hand inched higher up your leg.

Now, on your couch, his hand is even higher. He hovers over you, his breath heavy and uneven as his fingers tease at the warmth between your thighs, so close to where you’re already aching for him. 

Maybe it was all the dirty martinis you drank at the open bar after the screening, or maybe this was a long time coming. Either way, you want him, and from the way his lips move urgently against yours, he wants you too.

It dawns on you that the tension is no longer something you can talk yourself out of.

He pulls away, and you protest with a mewling whine, your body arching into him. He nearly growls in frustration, the unspeakable sound you just made having a direct line to his hardened cock. With a gentle tug at the nape of his neck, you pull him back down to your lips, but he resists. 

“We have to slow down,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Because we’re about to cross a line that I won’t be able to hold back from, love.”

“Matt – ”

“I understand – ” He licks his lips, letting out a slow and controlled breath. “ – that you want to wait – ”

Your confession comes out slow and measured, letting him know that this is what you really want. “Maybe I don’t want… to wait anymore.”

“Say that again,” he says slowly, his eyes darkening in lust. 

“Maybe I… I want you to fuck me.”

“Maybe?” he whispers, his voice rough, practically pleading.

“Oh, just fuck me.”

That’s all it takes for him to snap.

He undresses you in record time, ripping off every item of clothing from your body with an eagerness that betrays just how hungry he is for you.

Neither of you even bother to travel to your bedroom. At some point, your entwined naked bodies slip off the couch and onto your plush carpet. 

And you have a heated… What was it called again? 

Oh right – a damn good roll in the hay. 

The water is still warm in your deep clawfoot tub, steam rising gently from the surface. You lean back, head resting against the porcelain, that blissful post-sex daze settling over you. 

Matt slides into the water opposite you, his movements slow, deliberate. His eyes haven’t left you since he stepped in, and you can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on your skin. It isn’t just the remnants of your earlier intimacy – though that heat still hummed in the air between you – it’s something more. Something you can’t name and maybe you’re afraid to, but it tugs at you all the same.

A small smile plays on his lips, the kind that made your chest tighten – half teasing, half dangerous.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and smooth.

You exhale a soft laugh, running your fingers lazily through the water, trailing small ripples across the surface. “I’m not exactly complaining, am I?”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to have second thoughts.” His tone is light, but the undercurrent of meaning isn’t lost on you.

You close your eyes, letting the warm water soothe your tired muscles, but even with the comfort of the bath, you can’t quite escape the one person lingering in the back of your mind. 

Matt isn’t Ewan, but he’s here, his presence steady, his charm disarming. He makes you laugh, makes you feel wanted in ways that are simple and uncomplicated, and maybe that’s what you need right now. Maybe it was okay to let yourself enjoy this, to live in this moment without overthinking what it meant.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Matt asks, leaning forward.

You open your eyes, catching the glint of amusement in his. “Just... thinking.”

“Dangerous territory,” he teases, reaching for your hand.

“Hmm, maybe,” you murmur, meeting his gaze. “You’re too charming for your own good, you know that?”

He chuckles deeply. “I’ve been told. But I like to think it’s part of my appeal.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Cocky bastard.”

He grins, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Takes one to know one.” His hand travels to your leg underneath the water, massaging gently.

“I’m serious, though,” he says softly, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. “I don’t want you overthinking this. We’re good, yeah?”

You nod, but there is a flicker of something else in your chest. Guilt, maybe? But Matt is right here, and he isn’t asking for anything more than what you could give, and for now, that is more than enough.

“We’re good,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

He smiles against your mouth, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. “Good,” he whispers back, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You laugh, the sound muffled as he kisses you again and positions you on top of him. You shuffle forward and discover a very obvious indication that he’s ready for round two of rolling in the hay. Or in the tub. Whatever works. 

He looks absolutely enraptured when you ride him, your motions causing tremors in the water. 

And in the sheer pleasure he gives you, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the smell of lavender, you allow yourself to let go.

The event has the industry buzzing - an exclusive event by Vanity Fair celebrating the rising stars of Hollywood. A masquerade party, the notion of which excited you to no end. You’d only read about such in books, all puffy fromps and velvet coats, the whole concept full of prestige and mystery. 

You spent days prepping with your team, the anticipation building until it felt like a living thing inside you. Your dress, a beautiful piece from Atelier Versace, fits like a glove, one side made of draped black sequins shimmering like liquid night against your skin. You looked every bit the rising star that you are. The theme is Midnight Elysium – and you look every bit the part, dangerous and glamourous and untouchable. 

Your makeup team did an impeccable job. Your eyeshadow resembles a swirling galaxy, a blend of silver and noir. Your lipstick is a perfect nude shade that matches your skin tone and your features.  

But then there was the mask. The final, necessary touch. Delicate black lace that settles over your eyes, framed with gold filigree and flecks of silver – sharp and ethereal at once. It was a piece of art, something you personally commissioned from a local designer in your hometown.

In a room where everyone claims to know everyone, a mask can be more than just a costume piece. It can be a weapon – giving you the freedom to be both seen and unseen. 

Stepping into the nightclub is like slipping in between worlds. Black velvet drapes line the walls, catching the glow of the minimal lighting – gold and silver chandeliers hanging like constellations. The bass from the music pulses underfoot, sending vibrations through your veins. Faces are obscured by extravagant masks, but you are able to recognise some of them if you look close enough. Milly is speaking to someone by the bar, and you remind yourself to pull her aside for a chat later. Timothee is introducing his date to a small flock of people. And Jacob is bounding right for you the moment you make eye contact. 

“There’s my leading lady,” he greets cheerfully, swooping down to kiss you on both cheeks. He’s wearing a metallic silver vest and trousers, along with a white mask that covers one side of his face like The Phantom.

“Wow,” you say, making a show of appraising him, looking at all 6 foot 5 inches of his figure up and down. “You look like a handsome disco ball.”

He laughs, the sound unmistakable even in the bustling nightclub. “And look at you! What are you, a cyberpunk witch? A sleek dominatrix?” 

“Careful now,” you warn him, “or I might just hex you into getting me a drink.”

“Coming right up,” he says, but his attention is pulled by someone calling his name. “Hold on a sec, I have to introduce you to some of my friends.” You let him lead you further into the room, and you’re swept into the rhythm of it all, moving through the crowd as if you belong – because you do. You’re slowly getting used to the weight of eyes on you, but tonight, it feels as if there’s a shadow you can’t quite shake. 

Your personal shadow in a room full of masked shadows. Your skin prickles, an awareness blooming under your ribs. In all the fuss leading up to this event, you hadn’t really bothered to check the full roster of attendees.

After several rounds of conversation, you excuse yourself for a moment and stand off to the side to take a breather. 

And then you see him.

Ewan stands across the room, a drink in hand, his black leather overcoat tailored to perfection. The mask he wears, a sharp cut of black and gold, adds a dangerous air to him. His effortlessly tousled hair sports a smattering of gold embellishments, like streaks of pale blonde hair. You take him in, every inch of him, that mischievous curve of his lips and the glint of his blue eyes underneath that mask. 

It hits you like a tidal wave, like a fucking hurricane, the longing you’ve tried to suppress for weeks. 

You shouldn’t want him this much, not when you both agreed to the break. To keep some distance. His fake romantic arrangement had made sure of that. And after everything, you knew that some separation was what you both needed. 

But seeing him now, looking at you like he’s starving… it’s enough to unravel every careful thread you’d stitched together since you last touched. You want to look away, pretend that this is just another night, that he’s just another fellow actor among the crowd. But the pull is too strong. It’s as if your legs move on their own volition, and you slowly move through the crowd, almost subconsciously drawn to him. 

He steps deeper into the shadows of the club as you approach, disappearing into one of the more secluded alcoves draped in heavy black velvet. No one will see you there. No one will know any better.

The world narrows down to just the two of you, and the music becomes a distant hum. It’s quieter, darker, and for all the trappings of the Hollywood elite, Ewan is far more intoxicating. 

“You’re here,” you whisper, half in question, half in disbelief.

But he’s already moving towards you, his eyes dark and hungry behind the mask. The air between you crackles with an undeniable need – weeks of distance, of longing, building up to this moment. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his body through your dress, and you so badly want to forget that this is a bad idea.

“I can’t stay away,” he says, his voice low and raw, like it’s costing him to hold back. “Not tonight.”

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest, every rational thought slipping away as his fingers skim the bare skin of your waist through the slits in your dress. “We… we can’t,” you manage to say, but even to your own ears, it sounds weak. Oh, who are you trying to fool?

“How can I not? Fuck, how can you look like that and expect me to just walk away?”

You want to say something, something sensible, something to remind him of the stakes. But nothing comes to mind, not when his hand brushes up your arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. His other hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you. He dips his head down, breathing against your shoulders and your neck, taking you in like a vice. 

“Ewan,” you finally croak. “We agreed not to – ”

“I don’t bloody care,” he cuts you off, his mouth inches from yours. “We agreed to give it some time, sure, but I never agreed to stop wanting you. Besides, I make good on what’s asked of me. I play the part. I deserve to be rewarded, don’t I? And you’re the only prize I desire.”

His words hit you hard, melting any resistance you’d been clinging to. 

“Oh? So… so I’m just a prize now?”

He only smiles. “The only one worth winning.”

Before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you pull him closer and crash your lips into his. 

The kiss is hard, fierce, his mouth feverishly attacking yours. He tastes bittersweet, all hard bourbon and cigarettes. You’re certain that the lipstick your makeup artist painstakingly applied would be wiped clean off. His hands grip you harder, fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you closer, deeper, like he can’t get enough.

You break apart, gasping for breath. His lips are slick, shining in the occasional flicker of neon blue and red lights, his mask casting shadows across his sharp features.

A bright flash from the party's official photographer erupts in the corner, thankfully not pointed in your direction. Still, it momentarily shakes both of you back to reality. 

“Come with me.” His hand slips into yours, fingers curling tightly around your wrist as he pulls you away from the cacophony of the club. You barely have time to react before you’re being led down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. He pushes open a door, leading you into a smaller room bathed in that same cold, electric blue. Plush seating is arranged haphazardly in the corners, but the space is mostly empty. The low hum of the bass still thrums in the distance, but it’s reduced to a faint echo. The smell gives off cigarette smoke and spilled liquor.

“Smoking area,” he says with a half-smirk, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time himself. “I think.”

“You think?” You raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs, utterly unconcerned. “Who cares? It’s just us in here.”

You shoot him a look, glancing back at the door. “Someone could walk in.”

He chuckles, stepping closer, that familiar heat radiating off him like a furnace. “It’s a party, darling. They’re probably wasted out of their minds. And besides…” He taps the edge of his mask, his eyes glinting mischievously behind the black and gold. “The masks?”

You bite your lip, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “And if someone does walk in?” you ask, arching a brow. “What then?”

He steps closer, crowding into your space, the tension thick between you. “Then they get a show,” he says, his voice playful and teasing, but laced with something darker. 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

“You can still walk away, darling,” he offers, trying to bait you when he knows full well that he already has you hooked. “Or, you can just shut up and kiss me.”

So much for giving it time. Ewan’s lips find yours once more, just as desperate, and you barely notice when he directs you to the seating, your back colliding with its velvet exterior. His low groan sends a wave of heat pooling in your stomach, and you think to yourself, this was a terrible idea. 

Your hands roam, finding the planes of his chest. He smoothly takes off his leather overcoat, revealing his bare torso underneath. The sight of it makes your head spin, and you croak unsteadily, “Ewan… not here, baby, we can’t – ”

“I know, darling,” he croons, his hand cradling your face. “I just wanna kiss you. I just want you… to touch me…” His other hand takes yours and drags it down the firm lines of his stomach, a desperate plea in his eyes. “Please, just – ”

The moment is abruptly shattered by the sound of giggling from the hallway, getting louder. Suddenly, the door opens and in stumbles a pair of girls, one of them you recognise to be Jenna. 

“Oh!” The other girl exclaims, clearly delighted by the situation she’s just walked into. She pulls off her mask, revealing herself as Emma Myers. “We found him! We finally found your date.”

Your heart plummets, right down on the liquor stained carpet.

“Hi,” you manage to squeak, getting to your feet and smoothing down your dress which had ridden scandalously higher up your thighs. “I’m – ”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Jenna says, shaking your hand, not the least bit bothered by the state she found you and Ewan in. “I love your work. I’m Jenna.”

“Oh… thank you – ”

Emma steps in, grinning. “Hi! I’m Emma. I’m such a fan.”

“Oh my god, I should be saying that to you guys!” you blurt, feeling a rush of relief at their easy demeanour. “I love Wednesday.”

They both gasp, and soon the three of you are exchanging compliments like old friends, chatting about each other's work with enthusiasm. Ewan, still seated, watches the scene unfold with barely concealed frustration. He eventually stands, shrugging his leather coat back on, and glances at Jenna.

“One of our producers is here,” Jenna explains cheerfully. “She’d love to chat with both of us.”

Right. Ewan’s her date. The word echoes in your mind, but the jealousy you expected to feel is oddly muted now. 

Ewan speaks, addressing only you, “Darling, will you – ”

“I’ve got her,” Emma declares, looping her arm around yours. “I’ve got so much I want to ask you!” Before you know it, she leads you out of the room like you’ve been best friends for years.

Ewan’s eyes stay on you, full of frustration and yearning, even as he and Jenna follow you out the door.

But you barely see him for the rest of the night.

The club is a blur of celebrities and conversations, but your mind keeps drifting back to that stolen moment in the blue-lit room. Eventually, your social battery runs out, and you slip out of the club early, unnoticed by most. 

Back at your hotel, you peel off your dress and drop onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the events of the night replay in your head. The feeling of his hands on your skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours – it’s all too much.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, snapping you out of your thoughts. Ewan One-Eye flashes across the screen.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen, but you pick up. His voice is low, almost cautious. “You left early.”

“I was tired,” you reply, voice soft. “The party was great but it was... a lot.” Mainly because of him.

A beat of silence follows, and you can almost hear him wrestling with what to say next. “Are you okay?” You can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched, eyes dark with worry. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say, unable to hide the tremble in your voice. 

Another long pause, with only his slow breathing on the other end. 

“I hate this,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper, the raw emotion in his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I fucking hate that he gets to have you, and I don’t… and I can’t… ” He cuts himself off, and you hear the snap of his lighter followed by his sharp exhale.

You bite your lip, your throat tight with emotion. You’ve both been so careful, dancing around each other, pretending that you could stay apart.

“I’m flying back to London tomorrow night,” you blurt out, the words rushing out before you can stop them. It feels like a confession, like you’re admitting defeat.

“I need to see you before you go.”

“Ewan, we agreed – ”

“Fuck what we agreed!” His sudden outburst takes you by surprise, and you hear the raw need in his voice. “I don’t care about the arrangement, I don’t care about the distance. I just... I need you.”

You want to tell him that you need him too. You want to throw caution to the wind and agree to being together in secret despite the false romance he has to portray to the world. But you can’t. 

“I...” Your voice falters. “We’ll see each other soon.” It doesn’t feel like enough. With a soft sigh, you add on a lighter note, “Alyna still has to kick Aemond’s ass, you know.”

A beat passes, and then you hear his tired laugh on the other end. “Right,” he chuckles softly, the sound both comforting and heartbreaking. “Wouldn’t want to keep the fans waiting for that.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, trying for casual, trying not to let your voice crack, “someone’s got to put Aemond in his place.”

“Hmm, well if that place happens to be right in Alyna’s arms, I doubt you’ll hear any complaints about the script from me this time.”

You can’t help but smile at his teasing, but it only deepens the ache in your heart.

“Ewan…” you begin, but the words hang in the air, unspoken. 

“I know, darling,” he replies, his tone resigned yet gentle. “I miss you too.”

The training room is alive with the sounds of clashing swords and laughter, but you can’t help but feel a different kind of electricity buzzing in the air. Maybe it’s just the way Matt looks at you, as you rehearse a scene where Daemon helps Alyna brush up on her sword fighting. 

You lunge forward, initiating the first move with confidence, and he counters effortlessly, the blades clashing in a symphony of steel. The practice moves are intense, each swing bringing you closer. His eyes darken with focus as he follows your movements, and for a moment, it becomes easy to forget the rest of the stunt crew in the room. 

“Nice footwork,” Matt compliments, stepping in closer. His body brushes against yours, sending a rush of heat through you. Ever since your night together, he has only been more brazen with his affections. “But you’re leaving yourself open here.” He demonstrates, his sword brushing against your side as he adjusts your stance.

“There,” he says, his voice dropping lower, “feel that?” You swallow nervously, grateful that the stunt coordinator had moved on to Harry in the far side of the room.

“I think I might be too open,” you manage to say, trying to keep your tone light.

“Maybe,” Matt murmurs, stepping back slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “But I can’t help but want to close the distance.”

As you move through the choreography, you both fall into a rhythm, and almost inevitably, the fight turns into something more playful. You circle each other, exchanging faux blows and laughter, the distracting banter causing the stunt director to approach and get you both back on track. 

Next up, you have to train for Alyna’s pivotal scene where she attempts to mount Caraxes as per Daemon’s command. 

As you practice the mounting technique on the mechanical dragon, you’re hyper-aware of every movement. The crew watches closely, ready to offer guidance. You grip the handles tightly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, and for a brief moment, you lose yourself in the character, feeling the thrill of the scene.

But then it happens. The Buck jolts unexpectedly, throwing you off balance. Time seems to slow as you feel yourself slipping. You try to brace for impact, but it’s too late. You land hard, the pain shooting through your ankle as it twists at an unnatural angle.

There is a stinging sensation too, by the side of your head, and all you think is – oh fuck. The world around you fades to a blur, just as chaos erupts.

When you finally regain consciousness, the sterile scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils. Your surroundings come into focus slowly, and your heart races when you realise you’re in a hospital room. The steady beep of a monitor is the only sound, punctuated by the faint rustle of fabric.

You feel his hand on yours before your eyes even land on his figure, slumped on a chair beside your bed. His head rests on his shoulder, his grip still lightly holding your hand. His brow is furrowed in worry, even in sleep. 

You feel lightheaded, and for a moment you worry that your concussion might be worse than it is, but no. It's just him. 

Then, the sound of your movement catches his attention. He stirs, his eyes fluttering open, and when he meets your gaze, relief instantly washes over his features. 

“Love… you’re awake.”

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Some notes in the margins...

Well, well, well. Yous were convinced that Matty would get the clubbing scene, helped by the red herring of his dancing video. Alas!

Is that Matty at the end there? Or a certain Mitchelly man? Hmm... one wonders. 💖

Complaints? Refund requests? Please direct your thoughts in the comments section below. I can 100% guarantee a satisfying solution. Or 70%.

Or, you know, bugger it. We're all in this together, better or worse ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[kidvoodoo]

Solitaire

The long drive from the airport passed by with a dizzying blur and Joost found himself barely taking in the scenery of the snowy streets, preferring instead to be captivated by the man in the back of the limo with him.

Käärijä. The upstart his own ex-boss had been complaining about not even a year ago. This was his savior and temporary bodyguard. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘He’s so much different than I pictured…’ he thought to himself. The man couldn’t be older than his early thirties, he was expecting some grizzled Fin with hard eyes and an even harsher demeanor, not an eccentrically stylish man with eyeliner, silver piercings and a bowl cut…

But the man, for all his oddities, was surprisingly warm.

He patched Joost up without question, risked his life and the lives of his people just to get the Dutchman out of danger. Joost doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand even in the slightest. He barely has a chance to process anything from the last twenty-four hours.

“Um,” he softly clears his voice, “I was gonna ask, where is a good place for me to lie low for a while? I have some cash I can use to pay rent…”

Käärijä looks at him with a puzzled expression, Joost shrinks a little under the stare.

“Why you need to rent? You coming to my place of course.”

Joost’s eyebrows shoot up and he nearly drops his glass of brandy.

“Wha-ah wait, I couldn’t do that, I would be bringing danger directly to you if I’m found out!”

The other man snorts a laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“You think I scared of old Dutch gangsters? They are afraid of me! Besides, you try and go into hiding and they probably find you anyway.” He shrugs nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just declared war on the entire Western Mafia.

“They always gonna find you, but they are stupid to try and take you while I’m watching,” he grins, those sharp canines giving his expression a vicious edge.

“Not the first time they try and cross me, now their men underneath a frozen swamp in pieces.”

Joost swallows, he forgot for a moment this isn’t just an excitable newcomer with a deathwish, he’s the Nordic Crime Lord for a reason. You don’t get far in the Underworld if you can’t get your hands dirty and bare your teeth.

“Still…it’s an imposition. I can’t in good conscience accept more help from yo-“

“Shh! Enough.” He silences Joost with a sharp word. “I say you are coming with me, you are staying at my compound. It is safest place in Finland I promise.”

Käärijä leans forward and fixes his gaze on Joost, much softer than before.

“Tommy doesn’t vouch for a lot of people. I hear you take two million from your former boss. I don’t know why you did it, maybe you need the money, but I do know a clever money man when I meet one.”

He smiles, he looks almost too sweet and genuine to have just been talking about butchered people and tossing their remains in a swamp.

“It take a lot of guts to do what you did Mr. Klein. We need people like you in the Union, if not as members, than at least allies.”

Joost drops his gaze to the ground.

“I didn’t steal the money for myself,” he says under his breath, ‘Am I really going to admit this right now?’

“What you do with it?”

“I emptied sixteen accounts and forwarded it over to INTERPOL, the two million is what the investigation is willing to discuss publicly.”

He looks up into Käärijä’s eyes and almost bashfully admits it.

“The total sum is around two Billion.”

<><><>

The rest of the journey was spent in silence, Käärijä seemed to adopt a more thoughtful demeanor as he no doubt was processing the depth of Joost’s gambit. He doesn’t blame the man, it still sounds absolutely absurd when he says it out loud.

Absurd, dangerous, stupid…

But does he regret it?

The scenery changes and it’s a while before Joost realizes they aren’t in Helsinki proper anymore. His abysmal grasp of the Finnish language isn’t helping as they pass sign after sign, the only one slightly recognizable is a larger sign displaying the name ‘Vantaa’.

Käärijä must have caught his puzzled look, as the man is beaming with pride when Joost turns to face him again.

“My city, my rules.”

Joost manages a shy smile of his own.

“I’ve always wanted to see Finland…didn’t think it would be like this of course.”

The gangster chuckles, Joost is caught off guard by the casual openness of it all.

“No worries, you gonna have a good time, a lot of fun things around here!”

“Have a good time fearing for my life you mean?” He means it in a joking way, but the concern on Käärijä’s face is evident.

“Hey, I promise you I keep you safe okay? I don’t break promises, and if I do? You can steal my money, I give you 10 seconds head start.” He winks and Joost can’t help but smile at the man, for someone supposedly so dangerous, he jokes around a lot.

A little while later the vehicle descends deeper into the city, the sky had quickly fallen dark and the twinkling lights of the streets and buildings illuminate the snowy walkways. The people are scarce on the streets, the occasional gaggle of pub-goers making their way around town seem unaffected by the cold and icy night.

“Here,” Käärijä says, tapping the glass of the window and gesturing outside. “This my place.”

Joost looks out the window at an imposing high rise building, towering twelve stories at least above the snow covered streets; It’s bright blue lighting casts a cold glow over the block, it’s massive, illuminated and worst of all, highly visible.

This…this is the hideout?!

The Finnish gangster grins and before Joost has a moment to process his now increasingly troubling situation, he’s being ushered out of the back of the car and into the frigid wintery night, up the short flight of stairs to the entrance where another bald gentleman in a black suit is waiting to open the door and welcome them inside.

His eyes adjust to the bright lights of the…lobby? The floors are a white marble and the walls equally as stark. Aside from a couple of comfortable and trendy looking leather couches, the ground floor is empty of any decorative features. At the back of the large room is a double set of silver elevator doors and sat in front of them is a concierge-type of desk. Its matte black surface stands out against the stark white room as does the figure sitting behind the desk.

Another bald man…could they be triplets? No, on further inspection Joost realizes they all seem to resemble each other, but not perfectly, not identically.

Brothers?

Joost startles and lets out an undignified yelp as the bald man who let them through the door grabs his shoulders and begins patting him down without a word.

“Hey! What are-“

“You really should have done this before he got in the car, Jere…”

Another presence startles him further causing the bald man to squeeze his shoulder threateningly.

“Be still.” The man growls. Joost freezes.

His attention is drawn back to a tutting noise, a taller blond man casually strolls up to the three, his hands in the pockets of his navy blue suit pants. He’s wearing a relaxed style shirt in crisp white and sports an easy grin. Around his neck is an expensive looking black camera, the man’s face looks…similar to-

“Jakko, relax. I don’t think Jere would let a spree shooter in the building, no matter how much of an air head he is.”

“Fuck off Mikke,” Käärijä snarls beside him, petulantly crossing his arms. “I know what I am doing.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” the blonde man winks at Joost and holds out his hand expectantly. “It’s lovely to meet you Mr. Klein, I’m Mikke, the boss’s older brother, welcome to the Union headquarters.”

The man grasps his hand for a firm albeit friendly greeting just as the bald man, Jakko apparently, digs out the meager belongings Joost had somewhat hidden in his suit’s inner pocket.

“H-Hey! That’s-“

He’s doesn’t have time to react before his wallet, phone and little vial of pills are passed off to Käärijä.

“We get you set up with secure phone card yes?” He says matter-of-factly, checking the edges of the device for any obvious tampering or bugging. “You smart to not turn it on yet.”

“Thanks I guess, but-“

“Mr Klein,” the blond man interrupts. “Look over here.”

Joost does, and is for the moment blinded by a flash of white light, having had his photo taken by the man’s black camera completely unexpectedly.

“Hey, wha-“

“For your fake ID, we’ll have it ready for you by tomorrow, also we can get you anything else document-wise within the next three days so please let me or any of the staff know! Good to meet you!” And without another word, the blond man is gone out the door behind him.

What the fuck is happening?!

“Come, let’s get upstairs okay? We have a lot of things to do before the night is over.” Käärijä says to him, passing his phone back but holding onto the wallet and pills.

He doesn’t have a moment to breathe or process anything as they make their way over to the elevators, a quick nod from the bald man at the front desk relays some unspoken information to the mafia boss and the sound of the elevator dinging echos in the empty lobby.

Loading into the elevator, Joost takes in the panel of floor numbers . Thirteen floors in total, one labeled as a basement beneath the building, the top floor button has a number pad next to it, off limits to anyone without the code.

“Fifty Euros? That’s all you have?” Käärijä asks in a shocked tone, he’s digging through Joost’ wallet now. “You say you have money for rent? This not enough!”

Joost moves to yank the wallet out of the Fins hand but one look from Jakko behind his dark shades and his hand lowers. He still resolves to clear his throat and holds out his palm in a gesture of polite request.

“May I please have my wallet back? There isn’t anything dangerous in there I promise, I shredded my ID and bank cards. I was planning on fencing some information for additional funds.”

Käärijä cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at that as he pulls out the only other thing in Joost’s wallet, an old folded up Polaroid.

“Wait! Please don’t-“ he begs, the gangster takes one look at Joost’s face and his desperate tone must have struck something, because the man is carefully tucking the photo back in and returning his wallet and phone.

“Sorry, Mikke was right I should have checked sooner.” His tone is apologetic and Joost sighs, pocketing his phone and wallet again.

“It’s…it’s fine, really. I understand you can’t be too careful in this business. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” He offers a shy smile, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. Käärijä pats him on the shoulder and the elevator dings to announce their arrival to the eleventh floor, the silver double doors parting to reveal new space.

The space is huge, penthouse sized with clean looking floors and expensive, elegant furnishings. The lighting is studio style with the sliders able to accommodate whatever level of visibility is needed, for now it’s a soft glow that doesn’t strain the eyes. The windows are large and have a breathtaking view of the cityscape below, there is a full sized kitchen, an alcove off to side where the bedroom and bathroom must reside, a comfortable looking leather couch, a desk, dinner table and chairs, a frankly ridiculously large flatscreen tv…

It’s…very nice.

“Here it is!” Käärijä claps his gloved hands together and practically drags Joost into the space, his excitement evident. “We getting you a new laptop and there is plenty of food if you are hungry, oh! Here is the bedroom, you have a great view of the river, we get your phone working tomorrow don’t worry-“

Joost can’t help but sputter in amusement a little at the man’s energetic enthusiasm, for a moment he forgets he’s being hunted by the most dangerous gangsters in all of Western Europe and instead lets himself be whisked away by the gangster. He forgets he’s in the company of the man upheaving one hundred years of underworld tradition, he forgets, as he looks out the window of his new bedroom at the glittering lights of the city below, dots of yellow and gold reflecting off the snowy cityscape. He nearly gasps at the beauty in the night.

“You want to hang onto these?” Käärijä asks from behind him, Joost turns and sees the man holding his little bottle of pills, a soft yet sad look on his face.

“Oh, I…I guess I should.” Joost stammers, staring down at the two little pills. He nearly forgot he had these. His just-in-case. Last resort.

“You know,” Käärijä says quietly, taking a second to choose his words wisely. “I hope you can be comfortable here. I am sorry this all happening.”

“But my place is right above, you can use call button by elevator if you need anything, okay?”

Joost feels almost guilty in this moment, it’s obvious Käärijä knows what is in the bottle but he won’t say it aloud. The man has risked his life for him, taken him in and is using all his collected resources to protect him. And here Joost is taking back the bottle.

Like he would thank the man with the gift of his corpse.

“Um,” Joost begins, taking it all in. “I really do want to thank you. I don’t have…many friends out there, at least not many who would go out of their way to help me like this…”

You don’t have any friends anymore, you robbed them blind and put a target on your head.

“So if there is anything I can do to repay you, please let me know. I don’t want to just take something without returning in kind.”

Käärijä looks into his eyes and a smile blossoms on his face though the sadness in his eyes stays. He squeezes Joost’s hand, the bottle of pills a barrier between them but the warmth in there radiating through the leather glove he wears. Joost can’t help but blush a little.

“The only thing you need to do is relax now, we gonna take care of this okay? Tomorrow I give you actual tour of the place, we get your phone secure and get you ID card.” He gives Joost’s hand one last squeeze and then he’s heading towards the door, Jakko standing vigilantly by the elevator waiting for him.

Joost watches him go, the bottle still clenched in his hand. The glass is warm as is his palm.

The man gives one last wave goodbye before the elevator doors close and it begins to descend, leaving Joost in the quiet of his new residence.

He takes a minute to let it all sink in. In twenty-four hours, his life has completely shattered and was simultaneously reconstructed in an instant. From the moment he ended the phone call with Tommy, his heart hasn’t stopped pounding and the eventual adrenaline drain finally begins to make his body tremble.

He needs to sit down.

He all but collapses on the bed, his bed, with the dark blue duvet cover and soft looking white pillows and stared at the ceiling, feeling the manic fight-or-flight instinct dissolving in his blood.

Minutes passed, maybe hours. Joost’s mind calms and he takes in his surroundings properly. There is a bedside table with a small reading lamp, next to it is an ashtray with a pack of unopened cigarettes and a lighter.

It’s his usual brand.

He should probably be more concerned about that, how could Käärijä know that? If Tommy is their only mutual contact, a man he has only ever communicated with long distance, who did Käärijä have in place to know this information?

He’s too tired to care as he reaches over and opens the pack, shrugging off his suit jacket and carelessly tossing it on the floor. Lighting up a cigarette, he stares at the bandage on his hand, the non-functioning phone on the bed, the little bottle of pills…

The photo is old and creased, the edges of the Polaroid turning yellow with age. There is a skinny boy with a head of bright blond hair and a huge smile on his face, his front left tooth missing, his second baby tooth to go that year. His glasses are busted on one side, held together with tape and willpower alone. He sports a striped polo shirt that has grass stains all over it, a result of his recent roughhousing in the field behind his home. Behind him is a man giving holding up two fingers behind the boy’s head, a mocking bunny ears gesture and a jovial expression on his face. He shares the same jawline as the kid, same smile and same joy.

Joost exhales a plume of smoke and looks out into the darkness of the night, the sea of lights below seemed miles away.

What have I gotten myself into now?

<><><>

Hey! I am now posting this story on ao3! Come check it out and leave a comment if you like!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The Start of the Truth [End of season 1]

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[wellfine]

Hey I found ur art uncredited on tik Tok

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMreQSnaw/

They said they "found it on Reddit" so they just decided to steal it and post it ig?? Ugh!!

Wow, that's a whole other repost to the one I thought it was going to be, lol. It's been reposted to TikTok once before, and I'm also not surprised this person got it from Reddit, where I doubt I was credited either.

At the end of the day I appreciate the heads up but there's nothing I can really do about it. The most helpful thing anyone can do is to leave comments on the reposts to provide credit,* because if artists ever try and comment then we pretty invariably get attacked. Don't be mean or aggressive, that just builds their animosity towards the artists, but I do think people respond positively to outside pressure to do the right thing 🤷

*Remember to make sure there's enough context - eg. something like "art by @ landegart on Twitter" is more searchable/useful than "artist is Landeg" to someone on TikTok who has no idea who I am haha

[canisalbus]

I'm sure you get loads of these but heck I said I'd give it a shot anyway!

Your artwork is so inspiring and beautiful. I recently graduated from art school with a degree in Animation Production but I've decided I'd love to be an illustrator some day. Your work really motivates me and gets my brain juice buzzin. Keep it up!!!

.

[simplykorra]

the bittersweet between my teeth - final chapter

Tonight, she thinks, is the perfect night to let Ava know how glad she is to have her in her life. It’s something she’s wanted to do for a while now. To thank her, to tell her how important she is.

To tell her how she feels.

It’s scary, because she isn’t magically okay. Not every broken part of her is fixed, they may never be entirely. She thinks of kintsugi - the practice of repairing broken items with gold to make them more valuable even in destruction.

That’s what Ava is to her, she’s the gold that has helped Beatrice mend herself back together.

Some part of her likes to think she has been that for Ava too. They’ve been there for each other, built this little life together and Beatrice understands now that Ava isn’t going to leave her.

Ava isn’t going to send her away or decide she’s not good enough.

Ava has seen her at her absolute worst and never wavered.

So Beatrice wants to give Ava her best.

That comes in the form of a suit she wore once to Shannon’s graduation a few years ago.

It still fits her well, but Beatrice forgoes the tie and decides to leave a few buttons of the white shirt she wears underneath the jacket open. She wrestles for a few minutes with whether or not to put her hair up.

Then she remembers the way Ava looked at her the first time she let her hair down and the decision is made for her.

She fans it out just a bit, then pushes it to one side before looking at herself in the mirror.

Beatrice can't remember the last time she dressed up like this for anything. She put on an entirely new outfit for her first day on the dig in Spain, only to quickly realize that it was too warm for that weather and not at all useful for the physical parts of the job they did.

So this, knowing that dressing up won’t backfire, allows her to truly enjoy it.

When she steps out of her bedroom, Ava leaves the bathroom right across the hall at the exact same time.

At the sight of her, Beatrice’s heart quite literally skips a beat.

CONT ON AO3

[arcadechan]

I love how colorful and stylized your art is

lately, i've been hitting that point in learning and practice where my eyes and brain are starting to outdo what my hands can keep up with. not quite an imposter, but also not quite satisfied.

compliments like this are really...very grounding. I appreciate it. thank you for such a simple, direct compliment. i receive comments about my color work often (thank you for that also), but style and stylization is actually what i've been trying to work on the most lately, so this...feels especially kind.

i feel like i'm ready to enjoy the ride again. thank you and yeehaw!!

[kangaracha]

hello i love you how are you and your broken pelvis doing?

hope that you heal quickly 💕

hello thankyou, i wouldn't say we're best friends but we are back on speaking terms. come to a truce. we're discussing terms and conditions.

[malmagmafr]

A winter-y veilspun!

[stupidcanofpeaches]

i just wanted to say your portrayal of five in your works is one of my all time favourites. you understand his character so intricately and i can picture him so well in the way you write, nothing ever feels ooc and you're able to write him into scenarios that actually feel realistic in the ways he would respond to them. all in all your work is amazing and thank you for sharing your writing with the internet.

thank you thank you thank you!! i always worry about writing five bc i feel like my headcanons and the way he's actually like don't always align haha. so that means a lot! im still pretty amazed that people like the stuff i write as much as they do and its a great comfort in times of doubt when i feel that all of it is irredimable garbage. thank you again and im happy you like it!

[casualhedonists]

also also

[sadgirlautumn]

.

[risewriter]

Question!

Any lil’ turtle fics ideas anyone~? I’d love to hear some if you got any~!

Or some random words~

I may need some help to queue some quotes atm-

So ye! Feel free to bury me in comments, messages, asks- I don’t mind. I can survive. I hope.

-Risewriter 🐢 🧡

[frick6101719]

Any possibility of you taking “sponsors” of your own to write new chapters of It Might Kill Me? I’d pay good money for updates of your amazing writing and storytelling ❤️ honestly, you could definitely do creative or script writing as a side hustle - you are GOOD

Hi Anon! You are the absolute sweetest and truly comments and messages like this ARE sponsorship 🩶 I mean if you happen to be fabulously wealthy and would like to hire me as a full-time fic-writer I would certainly quit my day job, so please do let me know if this is the case 😘 I have been working on the new chapter, but it has been slow progress. I'm trying to keep it interesting, because as I'm writing it it is feeling a bit like filler, which absolutely shan't be borne. I haven't figured out exactly how I want to keep things alive and spicy yet, but my approach has always been just start writing and the solution will eventually come. That's what I'm doing now!

Also, on a personal note, I did recently reduce my hours at my day job because full-time, fully remote work was sucking my soul and left me feeling like the last thing I wanted to do on my evenings or days off was look at a screen. I'm glad to be working a bit less now, but it has been a season of trying to figure out what I want to do with my life and my two shiny new degrees, and the truth is: writing is what I want to do. I don't know how that could work yet, but this message has actually been such an encouraging ray of sunshine. It feels so good and reassuring to hear that someone likes my writing and thinks it's good enough that it could maybe make me a bit of money someday. So thank you for taking the time to brighten my day, and give me some much-needed encouragement in these twisty-turny days.

And please do reach out if you really are an eccentric millionaire who wants to hire a full-time fic-writer. I am very eager to hear more about this opportunity 😁

Much love

[beesinspades]

being a little emotional because I've received so much love over my ace!vash vashwood fic ;a; all the comments I got on the fic itself make me so so happy but on top of that you guys have been leaving such nice tags as well and several of you even sent me dms about it I'm just!!!! waahhhh 😭 thank you so much.....

[chuluoyi]

Chu! Chu! Lovely Chu! Chu! Chu!

I love your 'Love Entries' so, so much!! He's so cute!!! I want to squish his cheeks!!! <333

You're a brilliant writer!! So funny and so, so lovely!!!

Wishing you all the very best!! Xxxx

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

thank you so much for contacting but chu isn’t able to respond as she has turned into a mush of potato fluff after reading this ask. rest assured, your kind words will be resonating with her for days to come