#the best fucking oliver quick fic

[aurorag98]

sorry Bestie I wanted to underline the whole fic, this is too long hahaha🫠

“I do. It’s peaceful really. But I hate being looked down on by people like your boyfriend. I sometimes want to be the way he is, not give a shit about anything and have fun.".

I always wanted to be like that, but I couldn't and to this day when I'm out of college, I still can't, things matter too much to me, I identify so much with Oliver 🫠

His eyes were the colour of water, but they were burning through you like fire.

what the heck am I reading? it's a masterpiece, I was raving about it all, but THIS is on another level, I love it Bestie, I really love it.

“You are pretty when you cry, has anyone ever told you that?” He asks. You shake your head and continue to cry softly, “So quiet, so small, like a little mouse. Your eyes look all glassy when you cry, it brings out the beautiful colour of them more.”

one step away from dacryphilia, I think he definitely loves (in a twisted, sexual way) to see Reader cry and he listen to Lana del Rey.

You shake your head and continue to look into his eyes, “Why are you doing this? How- why can’t I stop you?”

god, I don't know Reader I'm in the same condition, who this weird short man that has me so captivated...I love him, I'm freaking out about this Bee, you definitely captured this character on a level that none of the other fics I've read have ever achieved.

“Now, when I remove my hand, you are going to smarten up. You are going to be quiet and give in to what you want. No more lies, all we want here is truth, okay?”

Yes, whatever you say, please, thank you 🥵 (Feminism has abandoned my body, help!😦)

“He won’t find out. If you stay quiet, it will be easy; he won’t catch on. All you have to do is be quiet about it. Be quiet like me. You get away with a lot more things when you keep to yourself.”

I am horrified and fascinated because this is exactly what Oliver Quick is, a secretive little man who gets away with murder.👀

He ate your pussy as if he was starving.

😶‍🌫️🥵👏😵‍💫👀 Bee I'm really freaking out about this. aaah.😵

Your boyfriend wasn’t that bad at sex, but something about how Oliver was working you made it feel like your boyfriend was completely clueless on how to fuck. Oliver fucked you with such need, with a mixtare of love and hate.

Girl, your boyfriend knows nothing, NOTHING aaah 😩

aaah Bestie this is off the charts, I absolutely loved it from start to finish, it is so well executed EVERYTHING Oliver's personality is so well captured throughout the fic, his weird charm and dominance are so intoxicating, I think you knew how to write the character so well and the story seems so plausible, relatable, it even has a moral behind all the twistedness of Oliver's intentions.

I am in SHOCK it is the best Oliver Quick fic I have read (and will read).

I NEED a sequel, I beg you, I implore you, this is my official request for a sequel! I need to know what will happen with Reader and Oliver (Girl, leave your boring pretty boy and fuck like an animal with Oliver, you can do it, DO IT!)

Quiet as a Mouse

Oliver Quick x fem!reader

Summary: You attend college with Oliver Quick. He is quiet and a little strange. You think you are nothing alike, he proves you wrong when you are assigned partners for an assignment.

Notes: This is different from what I usually write so bear with me here👀 I needed to write about Oliver as soon as I watched Saltburn because I love little freaky men and I know you do too, don’t lie😏 Hope you enjoy it😊

Also, go read my bestie’s, @aurorag98’s, Saltburn fic if you haven’t already, it is perfect in every way.

Read here on ao3

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It was your second year of college when you first spoke to Oliver, he was in one of your classes. You thought you were different from one another as he was quiet and you were more talkative and went out to a lot of parties. In your first year, you weren’t as extroverted, it was actually your boyfriend who helped you come out of your shell more, he was the one who dragged you out to all the parties. Now that you have been with your boyfriend for a while, you became more like him and enjoyed things that he liked, which was mostly drinking and partying.

It was hard to focus on studies when you went out a lot as it would give you less time to study and actually focus as you would sometimes go to class with a hangover. You were very smart though, so even when you felt like shit from the other night, you managed to keep your grades high.

The only reason you had spoken to Oliver was because you had been assigned as partners for a big assignment. You would much rather have the professor let you pick your own partners but he said that it was better that he picked as it would make people fool around less. He also said that it was good to get to know others.

You figured Oliver was pretty smart, he’d attend every class and you had seen him in the library often either studying or reading. You didn’t really want to be his partner though because you knew nothing about him and he didn’t know anything about you, so it would probably be awkward.

“Switch tables and sit with your partners, this will be the seating plan now as you will be working on this project until the break. You have three weeks to complete it.” The professor says.

You sigh a little, not wanting to have to sit next to him because you knew you’d most likely have to do all the talking, but you had no choice, you collect your things and go to sit next to him.

He looks up at you, and to your surprise, he’s the first one to speak, “Looks like we’re partners.”

“Looks like it.” You reply and sit next to him, “So, I guess we just decide which part we will each work on. I’ll choose mine and you’ll choose yours, we work on it individually then share them and put them together the last week before it's due.” He just looks at you with his blue eyes before looking down at the paper, you could tell something was on his mind, “Unless, there was something else you had planned.”

“Well, the professor said we work on it together, not individually.” He says quietly, continuing to keep his eyes on the instruction paper.

You grew annoyed easily when things didn’t go your way, it was something you got from your boyfriend. You didn’t let your annoyance show as you knew that you’d be with him for the next three weeks. You had to get along with him otherwise the three weeks would feel even longer.

“Yes, it’s just harder to work together as we, you know, don’t know each other well. But it’s fine, we can figure something out.” You say and then your phone buzzes, it’s a text from your boyfriend and you immediately smile and text him back. Oliver was now annoyed with you, but like you, he didn’t let it show.

“So, I think we should pick our parts now, class is almost over, I want to start early so we can finish early. That way, we’ll have free time for a while in the end.” He says as he looks at you typing on your phone.

“Alright, you can pick your parts, I’m fine with whatever.” You say, still looking at your phone. Oliver just takes a deep breath in and exhales before he looks over the papers while you stay on your phone. A few minutes pass and he has read them over,

“Okay, I think I’ll do part 1, 5, and 8. You can have the others.” Finally, you put your phone down and look at the parts he gave you, they are a lot of work but you shrug it off.

“Cool, sounds good to me.”

“Would it… be okay if you started tonight? You don’t have to do much, even a little research is fine.”

You look at him, “Yeah, I’ll start some, no problem.” You give him a fake little smile. You knew that you most likely wouldn’t start anything. Soon, class ends and you are done for the day. Your only plans now were to go to the library after dinner to help your boyfriend with his school work, he wasn’t the brightest at school, it was almost like his party life was more important to him.

Hardly anyone was in the campus library as it was later in the evening and it was closing in an hour or so. The two of you enter the library and laugh together as you hold hands and you walk with him to find a computer. When you sit down next to him, you look up only to see Oliver sitting at another table a few feet away from you.

“Shit.” You say quietly and laugh.

“What?”

“My project partner is here. I told him that I’d work on the project. I haven’t even started.” You can’t help but laugh quietly.

“Just lie to him, no big deal. Now, help me with this essay before I fall asleep.” You begin to help him and Oliver soon notices you. He can’t seem to stop studying you. He was watching you to see if you were working, seeing who you were with. He hesitated for a second but when he sees you laugh with your boyfriend and put your hands in his hair, he stands and makes his way over to you.

“Hey, sorry I don’t mean to bother you.”

You turn and look up at him, “No, don’t worry about it. Is there something you need?”

“I just come over here to tell you that I’ve got part one started, you know, for the project.”

“Oh, okay um, that’s good. You can share it next class.”

“Yeah, okay. I was just wondering if you… got any work for the project done?”

You side glance at your boyfriend before answering. Oliver captured the small glance, he was good at catching the small details of a person, the side glance told him everything he needed to know. He knew you hadn’t started, but he let you finish speaking anyway.

“Oh, yeah. I got a little research done earlier today.”

“Great, you can share it with me in the next class.” He grins a little, knowing now that if you were going to keep lying to him, you’d have to get work done now as you’d have to show it to him next class.

“Uh huh, right. It’s uh, that’s not a problem. See you next class Oliver.”

“Okay, see you.” Before he leaves, he looks over at your boyfriend for just a second with a blank expression.

Your boyfriend leans into you and speaks into your ear when Oliver is walking back to his own table, “Yikes.”

You playfully hit him in the arm and laugh. Little did the two of you know, Oliver heard the words leave your boyfriend's lips and he felt upset. He already hated your boyfriend. Oliver wanted to be better than him in some way, he didn’t know how yet, but he would find a way. He always found a way to get what he wanted.

…

The next few classes, Oliver knew that you didn’t start the work. He had listened to so many of your lies, hearing you say that you forgot your notebook, saying that your laptop with all of your work on it was dead, or that you had forgotten your USB stick. He came up with a plan, he knew how to make sure you would actually start working.

“Why don’t you just come to my dorm room tonight? That way, we can work together. I can even help you with yours.” He looks down at the table, “... Or start yours.”

You look at him, “I have started.” You lie.

This only makes him look back at you, “Look, you don’t have to lie to me anymore. I know you haven’t started. I won’t get angry with you if you come and work with me, just this one time. Please?”

You think for a moment, you really didn’t want to go to his dorm because you felt as if it would be both awkward and boring, but you did have to get work done eventually, “Okay, I’ll come over, but just this once. You can just help me get started and I’ll go from there.”

He smiles a little, “Perfect. How does six o’clock sound?”

“Six sounds fine.” He soon gives you where his dorm was located and unlike you, he was actually excited to have you over. He wanted to get closer with you, not just for the project, but in general. He found a lot of people pretty or handsome, you were one of those people.

…

You went out to dinner that night at a little pub with your boyfriend. You went out at four, you knew you had to be over at Oliver’s by six, but you didn’t see a problem if you would be a little late.

Coincidentally, he was at the pub too. Well, he was outside of the pub. He was on the street when he saw you a few feet ahead of him with your boyfriend and he watched you enter the pub. He slowly made his way closer to the building and gazed through one of the windows and he spotted you sitting at a booth. He watched you for a moment and you didn’t notice him watching. There were a few tables outside, so when one of the waiters asked if he needed something, it kicked him back into reality.

“No, sorry. Just looking.” He says, but before the waiter can walk away further, he stops her, “Hey, actually could I just get one drink?”

“Of course, would you like to sit inside or outside?”

“Inside please.”

“Of course, we should have a table open for you.” He follows the waiter inside and she begins to lead him closer to your table, you still didn’t see him as your back was to him.

He notices that the booth next to yours is empty and he knows that the waiter most likely was leading him to it, he stops in his tracks, “Hey, actually, I might just sit at the bar on one of the stools. Thanks though.” With that, he turns and walks to the bar and sits down. You were still in his vision.

While he is sitting at the bar counter, you are still at your booth just a few feet away. Your boyfriend is facing where Oliver was sitting and he sees him, “Hey, isn’t that the guy? Your nerdy project partner?”

You stop smiling before turning you back to look where your boyfriend was looking and you spot him. He is looking at you but when he catches your gaze, he quickly turns to face forward again.

“What is he doing here?” You say, half laughing and half annoyed.

“Maybe he is following you.”

“What’s the time?”

Your boyfriend checks his phone, “five thirty, why?”

“He wanted me to come over to his dorm at six so we could start this stupid project early.”

“You’re going to his place?” Your boyfriend asked with a concerned look on his face, “You didn't tell me.”

“Well, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Why can’t you just work on it at school?”

You shrug, “He seemed to really want to work on it at his place.”

“The campus isn’t far, I wonder if he walked here as well. You should ask him to walk back with us.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think we should just leave him alone. He’d probably rather walk back alone anyway.” You reply. “We should actually head back.”

He pays for your meals and begins to walk towards the door with you. In order to get to the door, you’d have to walk right past the bar where Oliver was sitting.

Your boyfriend tends to always do what he wants so when the group walks past Oliver, he stops right next to Oliver, “Hey, you’re my girlfriend's project partner, am I correct?”

You turn back to look, annoyed that he said anything even after you told him not to.

Oliver looks at him, then to you, and then to him again, “That would be correct, yes.”

Your boyfriend gives him a fake little grin, “We were just heading back to the campus. She tells me that you two are planning to work together soon. Would you like to walk back with us?”

Oliver just looks at the two of you. Before he can say anything, you speak, “You don’t have to. I can just meet you at your place. I have your dorm number.”

Your boyfriend barges in, “No, no. We insist you come with us.”

You give your boyfriend an annoyed glare but he ignores it. Oliver speaks again, “Alright, sure. I can walk back with you guys. I was planning to leave now anyway.”

“Great.” Your boyfriend replies, and soon, you along with Oliver make your way back to campus with you both.

Your boyfriend was the one who did most of the talking, once in a while, his friends would join in. They paid most of their attention to Oliver.

“So, Oliver, what brought you to the pub? We maybe thought you were following us.”

“No, I came for the same reason as you, I wanted to get out for a bit.”

“Right. But you went out alone.” Your boyfriend replies. “This must be weird to you, hey? Walking with us. I seen you around, you seem like you don’t hang out with people like us, or you are and I’m just not seeing it.”

You stay quiet and listen to what Oliver replies with,

“People like you?”

“Yeah, people like us. We party, go out, get drunk. It’s fun, you should try it sometime.” Your boyfriend continues blabbering, “I’m curious now as to why you chose my girlfriend as your partner.”

You finally speak up, “He didn’t choose, the professor did.”

“Ah, I see. That’s a shame for you isn’t it.” He jokes and nudges his arm into yours playfully.

You look at Oliver then at your boyfriend, “Stop.” You say quietly. He was beginning to get on your nerves a little. The one thing you didn’t really like about him is that he could be mean at times and he would be cocky about it.

“What? Oh, come on. It was a joke. It was a joke Oliver, clearly you aren’t offended, right?’

“No, I’m not offended.” He replies coldly.

“See? You are too soft sometimes.” He wraps his arm around you and kisses the side of your head. Oliver watched as your boyfriend held you close to him and kissed your head. There was some sort of anger building up in his stomach.

Soon, the three of you finally make it back to the campus and it is now time to break apart. You were going with Oliver to his dorm. Your boyfriend whispered “Good luck” to you before he left the two of you and it now grew silent for a moment as you both just stood still in the hallway.

“It’s just down this way.” Oliver says, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

You follow him down the hallway, the whole time your mind was only thinking about how you wanted to apologize to him for how your boyfriend was treating him. You don’t apologize right away and just walk in silence beside him. You couldn’t help but notice that Oliver smelt good, you didn’t know exactly what he smelt like, maybe a flower of some kind, but all you knew was that he smelt good.

He breaks you out of your thoughts as he makes it to the door of his dorm and unlocks it, “You don’t have your things. It’s okay, I probably have paper or something you can borrow.” He could have just sent you to go get your things as it would probably only take you about ten minutes, but he was growing impatient and he even thought that maybe if you left him, you’d run away.

When you enter his room, you look around and see that everything is clean and so organized, crazy organized. Everything everywhere was straightened out, the things on his desk, the pillows on his bed, everything. The one thing you did realize was that he had no pictures or posters on his walls, they were bare.

“No posters?” You ask.

“No, I like how it is.”

Something was on his mind, and you could tell, “Hey, I’m sorry about him. My boyfriend can sometimes say a lot of stupid things. He is kind of cocky.”

“Cocky?”

“Yes.”

He looks at you deeply and says your name, “Your boyfriend’s a dick.”

Your eyes widen, “I’m sorry?”

“He’s a dick. I don’t know why you are with him. You deserve someone better.” He walks over to his desk and gets papers out, “We should start now.”

“Hold on, you just called my-”

“Yes, I did. Can we work now, please.”

“So that’s why you are alone often. You are quiet but when you speak to someone, you insult them.”

“I am not insulting you, I am insulting your idiot boy.”

“Okay, and? That’s basically the same thing.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to hurt your little feelings, all I’m saying is,” he pauses for a minute, “What’s happened to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Last year, you were like me. Quiet, smart, focused on work. You were these things but not a total ‘nerd’. We were similar and now ever since you met this guy, you’ve acted differently. I liked you better before.”

Hearing him say all of this just makes you still in silence for a moment. You barely even remembered him from last year and he seemed to remember you so well, as if the two of you had spoken before.

“How did you know that?”

He shrugs, “I’ve seen you around. Is it fun hanging out with them? Do you like it better than how it was before?”

You think for a moment, you honestly had never thought about it before, “I don’t know.” You reply softly, “I can’t remember what I liked about being quiet rather than outgoing. Do you like it quiet? Do you like it this way?”

“I do. It’s peaceful really. But I hate being looked down on by people like your boyfriend. I sometimes want to be the way he is, not give a shit about anything and have fun.”

“Then how come you don’t go out more? You can come out with my group of friends if you’d like.” You saw Oliver in yourself now, he was alone but was too afraid to go out because everyone else felt different than him. He felt alienated.

“They wouldn’t like me. I am not like you anymore. You have changed into a copy of everyone else. At least I stay the same.”

Just as you thought you were finally getting along with him, he gets on your nerves again and you get on his. You would just be annoyed with him but his annoyance felt different, he was annoyed with you but felt a weird connection to you. He wanted you to like him but he also wanted to show you that he could be strong and that he didn’t just pretend to be strong.

“I was trying to be nice. You make it really difficult for me to like you more, you know that?”

“I don’t need you to like me, I just want you to respect me. Look at me as if I am the same as you.”

“Well, we are not the same. Maybe we were a year ago, but not anymore.”

“We are the same. Deep down, you are just like me.” He walks closer to you now, “I can see right through you.”

“You’re crazy. I came here to work on this stupid assignment and all you’re doing is insulting me and speaking nonsense.”

He chuckles softly, “You’re boyfriend was right, you are too soft, aren’t you? I am not insulting you, I am just telling you the truth. Truths aren’t always what we want to hear, most people hate the truth, but you can’t run away from it. You can’t run away from reality no matter how hard you try. Trust me.”

Your faces were inches apart now and it seems as if he has trapped you in place somehow because you feel as if you can’t move back or push him away, you just stand still and let him inch closer.

“You need help Oliver. You need fucking help. You are even crazier than I thought.”

His smile only grows, “I think you’ve got the wrong word. I am real, raw, not crazy. God, there are not enough real people here. That’s why I liked seeing you last year, you were real like me, I could feel it.” He brings his hand and tucks hair behind your ears and you let him, “You don’t have to be scared.”

“I’m not scared.” You whisper back.

“Then why’d you change yourself? You changed yourself to be better for him, changed to be how society makes people like your boyfriend cool and people like us strange. You didn’t want to be strange, so you changed.”

All of his words were true, you couldn’t believe that you only started talking to him and he was revealing truths that were hidden deeply in your mind. You thought no one else knew about your truth, but he did.

You begin to cry very quietly, a couple of tears run down your cheeks. “You are pretty when you cry, has anyone ever told you that?” He asks. You shake your head and continue to cry softly, “So quiet, so small, like a little mouse. Your eyes look all glassy when you cry, it brings out the beautiful colour of them more.”

He leans in closer and brings his tongue to your cheek, licking the tear off your skin with the tip of his tongue. You could feel his warm breath on your skin. He moves his lips to the left side of your face and does the same, bringing his tongue to lick away your tears.

He holds the sides of your face in between his hands and looks at you in the eyes, “You are like me, and I am like you. Just give it up, give in and admit that it’s the truth.”

“Okay.” You whisper.

“Let me hear you say it. I need you to say it. Tell me what I just told you.”

It takes you a couple of seconds before you obey and repeat his words, “You are like me and I am like you.”

“Good girl. Say it again.” His voice was soft but demanding. You’ve never been in a situation like this. You were under his control, his power. You were too weak to move, you couldn’t do anything else but listen to him and do as he told you. You didn’t know how he did it. Oliver was quiet, but had so much control, he had you at the palm of his hands, right where he wanted you.

“You are like me and I am like you.”

“Again.”

You keep on repeating the same sentence over and over again. You only stop when he runs his tongue along your lower lip very slowly before he kisses you. He still has his hands at the sides of your head as he continues to kiss you. You kiss him back and part your lips, allowing him to slip his tongue inside of your mouth to meet your tongue.

Your mind was running with so many thoughts, it was so loud and everything didn’t seem like it was real, you felt as if you were in some crazy dream, a crazy nightmare. He begins to push you gently backwards so you make it to his bed. When the back of your legs hit the edge of his bed, he pushes you so you sit on his bed.

“Who are you Oliver?” You ask.

He leans down so his lips are close to yours again, “Do you want to find out?”

You shake your head and continue to look into his eyes, “Why are you doing this? How- why can’t I stop you?”

“You can’t stop me because you want me. You want me just like I knew you would.” He begins to drag his fingers up your thigh, “Are you going to take off your clothes, or are you just going to sit there and stare?”

You finally snap back into reality, “No, Oliver. You are not doing this. I can’t. I have to switch partners, I have to tell the professor-”

He stops your words by putting his hand over your mouth, “Can’t you just give in for just a moment? You are so difficult. Are you this difficult with him? Does he even know how to fuck you?” He doesn’t remove his hand yet and he just looks you in the eyes. His eyes were the colour of water, but they were burning through you like fire, “Now, when I remove my hand, you are going to smarten up. You are going to be quiet and give in to what you want. No more lies, all we want here is truth, okay?”

You can’t help but nod your head and he removes his hand and the room falls silent for a minute. You were wet between your thighs and that was no lie. You shouldn’t have been, you liked your boyfriend. You felt like you couldn’t say you loved him yet but that didn’t mean that cheating on him was not a big deal. It was a huge deal, if he found out about it. Oliver was quiet, the secret would be in good hands.

“I don’t want to take my top off.” You whisper, “I will feel guilty.”

“Then take off your pants.” He brings the back of his hand to stroke the side of your face, “He won’t find out. If you stay quiet, it will be easy; he won’t catch on. All you have to do is be quiet about it. Be quiet like me. You get away with a lot more things when you keep to yourself.”

You look at him the whole time you begin to remove both your pants and panties, you are soaking wet, you shouldn’t be but you are. He is already hard in his pants, he was dreaming about having you like this ever since he first saw you.

“Now it’s my turn. I am going to remove everything and you are going to watch.” He says and pulls his shirt over his head. You couldn’t believe what you were doing, sitting half nude on Oliver’s bed and watching him undress himself. First of all, you had your boyfriend, and second, you never thought Oliver would be like this. You saw him like a deer, quiet with pretty eyes. But he wasn’t a deer when he was alone with you, if anything, he was the opposite. He still looked like a little deer, but he didn’t act like one.

Soon, he is standing in front of you naked, you don’t even look at his body and just keep your eyes on his, feeling as if it would make you feel less guilty of cheating on your boyfriend if you didn’t look at his body.

“What now?” You ask innocently.”

“What now? What do you mean ‘what now’? Has your boyfriend never fucked you good enough? I bet he just gets right into it doesn’t he, bet he doesn’t even excite you first.” He chuckles a little, “That dumb boy. Spread your legs, quit being so scared.”

You do as you’re told and just sit there, waiting for what to be told to do next. He kneels down in front of you now and admires your pussy, “Does he ever eat you out before fucking you?”

“Sometimes.” You reply, “I don’t want to talk about him, Oliver, not when I’m like this.”

“Like what?”

“Having you in front of me while my legs are spread. It’s so wrong.”

“Oh, but it’s so right. You want this, look at how wet you are. Stop pretending to be someone you’re not just to get him to like you. You’ll regret it, trust me.” Right after he says this, he latches his lips onto you and tastes you, gliding his tongue along your walls. Your hand falls down to his hair and you brush your fingers through it. A loud noise leaves your lips and it makes him hum into you in satisfaction. He ate your pussy as if he was starving.

He doesn’t let you cum, he removes his mouth from you and brings his lips an inch away from yours, “Kiss me. Taste yourself on me to know how good you taste.” You thought he was crazy and doing such a thing was bizarre, but you bring your lips to him and kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on him, “Now, I’m going to fuck you.” He says bluntly when he pulls away, “I was going to fuck you with my fingers like I’ve wanted, but you’ve got me so hard I can’t wait any longer. Maybe next time.”

“There will be no next-” You can’t finish what you were going to say as he pushes you down so you are now on your back and he stands. He pulls you by your legs to get closer to you,

“You’re going to see just how much pleasure you’ve never received, how much time you’ve wasted by fucking pretty boy when you could have had me this whole time.” He grinds his hips forward and fits himself inside you and you both let out sounds. He grins as he fucks you, thinking that he has won, he finally has you like this and made you pick him over your boyfriend.

He watches every part of you as he fucks you, looking at your stomach, your breasts, your face and how you reacted to the pleasure he was giving you. Your boyfriend wasn’t that bad at sex, but something about how Oliver was working you made it feel like your boyfriend was completely clueless on how to fuck. Oliver fucked you with such need, with a mixtare of love and hate.

“Oliver, wait.” you whimper out, “Let me ride you.”

He paused inside of you for a moment, “You want to ride me? You’re more of a slut than I thought.” He pulls out of you then the two of you immediately switch positions. He leans against the headboard of the bed and you climb on top of him and lower yourself down. You couldn’t get yourself to look at him, otherwise guilt came over you, so you just put your face in the nape of his neck as you kept moving your hips up and down to ride his dick.

Hearing your sounds in his ear along with having your hot breath against his skin already made him close. He grabs your hips tightly, digging his nails into your soft skin. “Fuck, I need to cum inside you.” He groans out.

“No, no, you can’t Oliver.” You don’t stop your movements, you wanted to let yourself come over the edge too, it felt too good to stop

“Why not? Let me cum inside you.”

“No.” You reply. He growls and then suddenly flips you over so you are underneath him again and he begins to fuck you harsher. The change of pace makes you even closer. He brings his fingers down to play with your clit and that’s all that it takes for you, you moan out loudly and cum around him. He finishes right after you. He wanted to spill inside of you so badly but he decides not to, he pulls out and spills onto your stomach.

In the end, you never ended up working on your project. You only let him fuck you and then you left and went back to your own dorm room. Your boyfriend called you later in the night and you have no choice but to answer it and act as if nothing happened. You smiled and laughed at his stupid jokes through the phone. You pretended and lied to yourself that nothing between you and Oliver ever happened. You knew that it would never happen again, hoped it would never happen again. But you wanted him so badly.

You ended up switching partners, telling your professor that you and Oliver were not getting along and having a hard time working together. The professor thought about it for a while but then gave in and switched you to work with someone else. Oliver was angry but he didn’t tell anyone the real reason why you wanted to switch so bad. He wouldn’t be that cruel to you, he still wanted you to like him. He liked that you and him had a little secret between the two of you.

He grew more than angry as more days passed of you ignoring him and his glances, he practically grew obsessive. He’d follow you around the hallways when your boyfriend wasn’t with you and you were alone, asking you why you didn’t want to sleep with him anymore and why you didn’t even want to speak to him anymore. You got angry at him every time he mentioned the two of you sleeping together and told him to keep his voice down even though he was already talking quietly.

Oliver was always sneaking around now, watching you. One night, your boyfriend's dorm room window was open, facing the campus fields, and Oliver stood there watching through the window. Watching how your boyfriend would kiss you and how your body and your face would react to his touch and his kisses. He felt himself getting hard the more he watched but soon, the two of you were out of his view as you moved away from the window. Oliver was only mad now.

He wanted to find a way to have you again; he would find a way, he always did.

[mercurytojupiter]

the labyrinth - chapter one

a/n: do you guys have any idea how hard it is to get my friends to beta for saltburn?

warnings: farleigh being farleigh, which includes underage drugs, drinking, cigarettes and sex 18+

fic summary: ariadne gavin and her childhood best friend turned enemy return to saltburn for the last time

Ariadne is twenty-one now, and can hardly recall the last civilized conversation she had with Farleigh Start while sober. Everything about him is grating. She can't even imagine how he used to be her best friend.

He bites his lip as he throws an arm around his girl-of-the-week, whose name has come and gone from Ariadne's mind so quickly it was like she'd never heard it at all. Alicia? Felicia? She doesn't know and doesn't care. She doesn't. And she absolutely cannot smell the mix of his citrus and sandalwood cologne - a signature scent that they had picked out together when they were twelve, and yes, hers was the matching, feminine version of the same collection - and the sharp tang of cigarettes. She is not looking at his hair and thinking about how he's using the wrong conditioner because it's frizzing, and probably not even wearing his durag since he's waking up in a different bed every morning.

She's not paying attention to any of that.

She sits comfortably on India's lap, laughing breathily at whatever joke the girl just made. She doesn't know and doesn't care, but India tightens her grip and presses a red lipstick print into her neck, she takes another hit off of her blunt and waits for Farleigh to fade away.

Ariadne and India aren't dating, but they are fucking. Poor replacements for the two boys at the table, but replacements nonetheless.

Besides, if Ariadne had learned one thing during her education, it was that boys got off on girls making out. She liked it personally, but she knew some girls did it just to catch Felix's eye. Their loss, Felix didn't find Ariadne hot so he found none of the girls she kissed hot either. India has yet to learn this lesson.

Felix is talking about how some nerd was his hero or something because of the flat tire on his bike, Ariadne doesn't know and certainly doesn't care when the nerd himself catches Felix's eye.

Ariadne takes one look at the man and knows that Felix is going to string the poor boy along for months without even realizing it. Or, maybe he did. Ariadne doesn't care. She doesn't care much about anything these days, and when she does, she takes another hit, another shot, another something until the world fades again.

When she's sober and has no homework, she remembers to care about Farleigh, so she makes sure those two states never occur at the same time.

Against her will, she notes the way Farleigh's jaw tightens when Oliver Whatshisface approaches the table. This must be Oliver "Thus" Quick from his tutoring sessions.

Ariadne snorts as Farleigh shifts in discomfort and sinks back again as the conversation turns to who Ollie is, what college he's in, and other shit she wouldn't even care about sober.

Her attention tunes back in when the shot chant begins.

"Jagerbombs!" She and Farleigh demand at the same time. She shoots him a look of annoyance.

Farleigh makes a low rumble in his throat that only she knows to watch for. "It's your round, man!"

"I should go to bed," Oliver mumbles, suddenly green.

Farleigh shakes his head and curls entrancingly, so much so that she almost forgets to pay attention to what he's saying. "No, no, no, no. You can't snake out of your round."

Oliver squirms in his seat. Something about him is offputting, now that Ariadne's finished her blunt and is coming down from the high. "I'm not," the boy mutters.

"It looks like you are." Farleigh laughs, but Ariadne knows he's not joking. She knows that the alarm bells in her head are going off in his, and even more so, she senses his competitive streak flaring up.

The table boos except Felix, who seems to sense Oliver's unease. Ariadne rolls her eyes. Ever the angel, their Felix.

He's going to get himself killed that way. It's unnatural to Ariadne that anyone could be as trusting as he is.

"Okay, okay." Oliver concedes. Maybe Ariadne's imagining the way he seems to sneer at Farleigh as he gets up.

Oliver manages to get to his feet and heads for the bar, and Ariadne's final assessment begins to click into place. This kid was a gold-digging little weasel, but probably too weak to do any real damage, except for Farleigh, who seemed to be pissed off by the dude's very existence.

"Farleigh," Felix scolds.

"What?" Farleigh fakes innocently. She sees the way his round eyes widen and his lips open just enough that even India's head falls onto her palm in adoration. There's no denying that Farleigh is pretty.

"Just cut him a break, mate." Felix pleads.

It's not going to work. Whenever Felix asked any of them to be nice to his strays, they always got meaner. Her and Venetia included.

For example, poor old Eddie last year.

"What?" Farleigh repeats lower.

He'd never liked receiving orders from the Cattons. When they were younger, she might have soothed him back down, but it was no use now. She couldn't even if she wanted to.

The crack had become a canyon, just like her dad had foretold.

"That round's gonna cost a fucking fortune." Felix continues.

"Pub rules, Felix." Farleigh grins.

Silently, she agrees, but she decides she can't be here anymore. Farleigh's pretty, white and fox-like smile, had very suddenly become too much for her.

"I'm off." She declares suddenly, sitting up. The group groans and complains good-naturedly, and she watches Farleigh stare at her with an intensity she had grown used to.

She sits in her car for twenty minutes, smoking a cigarette and trying to pretend every time she's with Farleigh she can't feel him in her skin when she hears a tap-tap-tapping on her passenger window.

The man himself, grinning his evil grin.

She can't help herself. She unlocks the car.

"There you are, pet! I looked out the window and I saw you hadn't even driven away! How weird is that, hm?" He teases in that tone which he only takes with people he can't stand. She'd never imagined she'd be on the receiving end of it.

She takes another long drag of her cigarette. "You used to hate when they called me that. You almost broke Felix's nose over it."

"Pass." Farleigh demands. She hands him the cigarette and he puffs it gently. "You gave a shit about me then too. Venetia called me a dog and you fucking bit her. At fourteen."

"I was a weird fucking kid," Ariadne mumbles.

"What the hell happened to us?" Farleigh asks. His long fingers twist a ring, which she deciphers as nerves. She hates that she knows that. Because she wonders, if they aren't friends, and they aren't lovers, why does she know him better than she knows herself? Why does she think about the little things he's done since they were children and worry about his health? Why does she make sure with a glance that he's eating well?

What the hell happened, indeed.

Ariadne knows exactly what happened to them. She had a crush on someone incapable of loving her back and took the lowest of all low roads in her envy. She doesn't say that. She just shrugs. "I dunno, Far. I really don't."

Farleigh leans across the console, palm resting on her cheek, and kisses her.

For a moment, Ariadne sinks deep into the feeling. How many years had she craved his affection? How many times had she let him ruin her life just for a chance of this? His soft, plush lips on hers, their foreheads pressed against each other, his hot, warm tongue twirling with hers. It felt beautiful and religious and, above all else, right. Just fucking right. Like this was how it ought to have been all along.

But then she realizes that this isn't what she was waiting for. She pulls away, gasping.

"My dorm or yours?" Farleigh asks breathlessly.

Ariadne wants to cry. She doesn't want this. She wants him, but she wants all of him, not a night like he gave everyone else.

She shakes her head. "I can't. I can't, I-"

She scrambles for anything to say that isn't "I like you, and I've had a crush on you since we were seven."

"You can't cheat on Alicia." She settles on instead.

"I don't give a fuck about Alicia!" He huffs.

Ariadne sobs. "I know! I know and that's the problem, Far. You used to be so sweet. You used to love everyone and you would never hurt someone's feelings without a reason and I don't even recognize you anymore!"

Farleigh stares at her. "Is that why you stopped talking to me? Because I'm too mean, because newsflash, princess, you're not exactly all sunshine anymore either."

"I stopped talking to you because of Arabella Vaillancourt." She whispers before she can stop herself. Why would she say that? He's going to know exactly how immature and obsessed she is and-

Farleigh scrunches his nose. "Who?"

Ariadne bangs her head against her steering wheel. "You don't even remember. You shattered my worldview and it was so insignificant you don't even remember."

"I-"

"Get out of my car, Farleigh," she begs. She wishes it had venom in it. She wishes she had yelled or something. Instead, all there is left is exhaustion and heartbreak.

He doesn't argue, and that hurts even worse.

She doesn't speak to him again until graduation. Steals glances at him sometimes, after he breaks things off with Alicia, and shares twin looks of annoyance every time Oliver does something irrevocably stupid, but never words.

She misses it. Even arguing with him had been better than not having him at all.

Until, suddenly, on the last day of term as she packs her things, Farleigh bursts through her door.

"Felix invited Oliver to Saltburn." He says like he's announcing a death.

Ariadne groans. "You've got to be fucking kidding me, Start."

"He's worse than Eddie from last year," Farleigh complains, throwing himself on her bed like they're fourteen again.

Ariadne nods. "Like, times ten. Am I the only one who can tell that this kid is fucking insane?" She whines.

"No," Farleigh hums competitively. "I know it too."

"Shut up, this isn't about you," Ariadne commands.

Farleigh holds his hands up in the air in surrender before he gets distracted by her bookshelf.

"Is this that old copy of Pride and Prejudice I got you?" He asks.

Ariadne shrugs. "Yeah. I wasn't going to get rid of a perfectly good novel just because I was mad at you."

"Was?" Farleigh grins.

Ariadne sighs. "Am." She amends. "You are a mistake and a scourge on the earth."

"And," he licks his lips, "The first friend you ever had."

She doesn't dignify that with a response and sets about finishing packing her clothes.

"Do you ever miss Bel-Air?" He asks suddenly.

Ariadne closes her eyes and can almost smell the sea salt of Malibu Beach. Remember the small staff of her home rather than the expansive staff at Saltburn.

She also remembers her and Farleigh's mothers at the mini-bar drinking themselves into oblivion and her father yelling at her to be perfect and finds she even misses that too.

"Every day. You?"

"Yeah," Farleigh says, suddenly sounding very small.

He perks back up. "Arabella Vaillancourt was the girl I lost my virginity to at prep school," he declares proudly.

Ariadne bites back a smile. "Good. Now prove to me you've changed since then."

Farleigh practically skips out of her room.

Later that day comes the six-hour night drive back up to Lowick from school. Ariadne cherishes the drive. It's the only time she spends with the Cattons now when all of them are sober.

Venetia stretches her arms, as catlike as ever. "So, what're we going to do about the O-word?"

"Orgasm?" Ariadne guesses.

Venetia smirks. "Maybe for Felix, but I meant Oliver."

"Dad didn't get you the flat in town so you could be a bloody spy, y'know." Felix huffs.

Venetia pats his cheek. "But he never said it wasn't."

"I don't want to fuck him," Felix says sternly.

Venetia raises an eyebrow. "Then why the fuck did you invite him?"

Ariadne sighs. "I wish I fucking knew, Vee."

"Ari and I agree; the dude's a fucking creep," Farleigh says.

"I swear to god I saw him watching me change. And did you know he almost fucked Annabelle but he kept bringing you up and that's why she stopped hanging around?" Ariadne complains.

"Wait, what was that?" Farleigh raises a hand.

Ariadne doubles back. "He tried to fuck Annabelle. Little weasel-freak."

"I think he meant the part about Ollie watching you change, Pet, which I don't believe. He's gone through a lot. Did you know his dad died last week, right before exams?" Felix sighs sadly.

Ariadne rolls her eyes. "He's such a little snake I wouldn't be shocked if that was a lie. And I'm not kidding, I straight up saw him outside my bedroom window just staring at me."

"God, he deserves a good fuckin' punch, maybe it'll set him straight," Farleigh mutters. He's seething, and for once, Ariadne can't even tell why.

"Well, clearly not straight if he's hanging off Fi like you guys say," Venetia snickers.

They all laugh - even Felix- and the topic shifts to god-knows-what.

Ariadne scoots closer to Farleigh in the backseat, feeling like she did that first summer on this road.

On the first day at Saltburn, while they await Oliver-the-Golddigger's arrival, Ariadne holes herself up in her room to avoid running across the Weasel.

Ariadne only ever reads Pride and Prejudice at Saltburn. It is her yearly reminder that love is fickle and takes time and sometimes cannot be seized at all.

On her eighteenth birthday, she had gone with Vee to get the words "from admiration to love; from love to matrimony," along her wrist. Once, she had told Felix that the only people who understood her were him and Elizabeth Bennett.

A knock at her door has her scrambling up. "Dinner's in an hour."

She's shocked Farleigh came for her instead of Vee or Felix.

Farleigh leans against her doorway, already in his slacks and button-down, though his bowtie is disastrously loose.

"How'd you know to get me?" She hums, opening her closet.

Farleigh shrugs. "You always read when we're here. Figured you might lose track of time."

Sometimes she thinks that he must observe her as much as she does him.

"Is this a part of me telling you to show me you've grown?" She asks, pulling her tee-shirt off to slip on the black, floor-length dress for dinner.

Farleigh whistles lowly. "Maybe. Or maybe I thought it was unfair that Oliver saw you naked before me."

"You jealous bitch." She snarks. "Zip me?"

He strides across the room towards her - it doesn't take long, because he's always been much taller than everyone except Felix - and slowly zips her dress up. His fingers barely ghost over her skin and her whole body shudders.

"You look good, Gavin." He mutters.

She turns and fixes his bowtie. "Back at ya, Start. Y'know, you'd be gorgeous if you could keep your mouth shut."

"How will I lick Uncle James' boot, then?" He hums sarcastically.

She kisses his cheek. "You're improving, you should know." She pats his chest.

She walks past, but she knows he pumps his fist in the air from the sound of his clothes rustling.

Loveable damn idiot.

Dinner is an absolute bore. Elspeth gushes over Oliver, Poor Dear Pamela retells her sob story, and Venetia takes two bites of her dinner. Oliver is wearing one of Felix's suits. she can tell, the arms are too long, and the cufflinks are some old ones he had gotten for his sixteenth birthday.

She says nothing but shares a long glance with Farleigh. He rolls his eyes and she snickers.

Farleigh follows her up to her room. She was expecting it, to be fair.

He undoes his tie and throws it across the room before releasing the top few buttons of his shirt.

"Zipper." She reminds him. His lithe fingers are skimming her waist and her back, all the way up to the top of the zipper, and then back down again.

She throws on a tee shirt. "Go grab some house clothes from your room." She huffs. "Your hair has been bothering me since Oxford 'cause you've been doing it alone, I've got to do something about it."

He exits and returns in a tee shirt of his own and a pair of Fila sweatpants.

Ariadne missed this more than anything. The feeling of churning her fingers through his scalp. The way he simply relaxed into her palms. She loves it. She loves him.

Oh. Oh fuck. She loves him. She doesn't just like him, or have a crush, or want to fuck him out of her system, as she had been insisting since she was a kid. She loves him.

She breathes deeply, finishes his hair, and wraps it up in his durag. "When your curls pop back tomorrow, you'd better thank me."

He snorts. "Yeah, sure. Night, Ari."

"Night, Far." She watches him close the door to his room across the hall and scrambles over to Venetia's, swinging the door open.

Venetia is on the bed, painting her nails. "What?"

"I'm in love with Farleigh," Ariadne whispers, still shocked.

"Sorry," Venetia said automatically.

Ariadne slows her breathing to be heard. "I'm-"

"No, I heard you." Venetia interrupts. "I just think it's unfortunate."

Ariadne lays down beside Venetia and allows the girl to pet her hair. "What am I going to do?"

"Seduce him," Venetia says simply, petting and swirling a curl off Ariadne's head.

Ariadne groans, rolling away. "It's not that simple and you know it! I don't just want to fuck him, if I did I would have said so."

"So what, you want to marry him? Because I'll tell you now that's a bad idea." Venetia hums.

"No! Well, maybe? I don't know!" Ariadne whines

Venetia pins Ariadne to the bed. "Do not do anything stupid until you've decided what you want from him. I mean it, Pet."

Ariadne shrugs her off. "I'm not going to hurt him." She mumbles.

Venetia giggles. "Wasn't him I was worried about, Newmo."

Ariadne climbs off the bed, flipping off Venetia. "I'm going to sleep. Night, Vee."

"G'night Pet!" Venetia grins.

When the morning rolls around, Ariadne stretches out of bed at first light, throwing on a pair of house shorts and a cropped tank top. She would never have the old money urge to waste her nice silken robes on a simple breakfast at Saltburn.

She waves hello to Miss Portia, the maid, as she makes her way down.

"Morn' Liam, Joshie." She grins.

The two footmen wave to her. "Good Morning, Miss Ariadne."

Liam clears his throat. "Your boyfriend's already at breakfast."

"Oh fuck off, you nosy little-" Ariadne starts, but silences before Felix can pass them.

"Enjoy Breakfast, Ma'am," Liam grins.

Ariadne scrunches her nose and blows a raspberry at him before she makes her way to the table.

Farleigh's curls look decidedly better, she notices smugly, and she knows he's aware. He's already holding a cup of coffee and is probably the only one in the house who takes coffee instead of tea beside her.

"G'morning, guys." She hums. Everyone gives her similarly apathetic greetings. Felix looks like he fell out of bed.

She's halfway through her scrambled eggs when Oliver makes his way down the stairs. "Morning."

She waves, zoning out. Weasel.

"You sleep well, mate?" Felix asks, leaning a little over the table to look at Oliver closely. From an angle where she knows at least Farleigh and Felix can see her, she pokes her cheek with her tongue and pokes her finger in the air, mimicking a blowjob. Farleigh snorts so hard that coffee almost shoots out of his nose.

"Uh, yeah," Oliver mumbles. He's so mumble-y. It's grating.

"Hey, Oliver, have some breakfast." Felix coaxes.

Ariadne looks at Farleigh and rolls her eyes hard. She watches him smirk and feels a flutter of pride at the effect.

Duncan places Felix's boiled eggs on the side of his breakfast platter and retreats quickly.

Ariadne raises a hand and awkwardly points to her coffee cup, and a maid - Amelia, she thinks, the nice ginger one - pours her a new cup and then places the appropriate amount of creamer in it.

Ariadne silently mouths thank you and shakes her hands in a prayer-like stance. Amelia blushes and disappears from the room as if she were never there at all.

"Can I have a full English breakfast too, please?" Oliver asks quietly.

Ariadne looks at the table housing the food, and then to Farleigh, and then at Oliver the Weasel, and then to Farleigh again. She watches his eyes follow the same path and dip down to the magazine in his lap to keep from laughing again.

"Breakfast is on the side, darling," Elspeth says helpfully. "Just help yourself."

"How would you like your eggs?" Duncan asks, returning.

"It’s fine. I can get them." Oliver stammers. She rolls her eyes. Didn't he just see Felix's eggs delivered onto the plate?

"Not the eggs. The eggs are made for you." Farleigh corrects.

Felix gives him a sharp look, but in Farleigh's defence, he wasn't even being mean that time.

"Exactly. And everything else is on the side." Auntie Elspeth finishes.

"Fried over easy, please," Oliver says queasily.

"Ollie, we were just talking about the Shelley biography." Felix interjects, sweeping in to rescue the weasel.

Ariadne was sure they were, but she surely wasn't paying the conversation much mind. Until Oliver's arrival, she had been at peace, shockingly enough.

"Shelley who? Shelley, Belinda’s sister Shelley?" Poor, dear, idiot Pamela asks. Ariadne looks at Oliver. Pamela was Oliver's best future. A leech and an idiot who couldn't help but overstay their welcome.

"Oh, Percy Bysshe Shelley. The poet. The Romantic poet." Sir James explains as though speaking to a child.

"Oh." Pamela says simply because she is simple.

"Do you know the story about Shelley’s doppelgänger?" Venetia hums, hidden eagerness just below the surface of her tone.

Ariadne rolls her eyes. She couldn't count the amount of times Venetia had brought this up since she'd learned it.

Sir James, clearly sensing his daughter's nefarious tone, looks at her warily. "His doppelgänger?"

"Mmm. Shelley’s housekeeper was cleaning one of the rooms when Shelley walked past the window and waved at her. So, she waved back before she realized that Shelley was in Italy. And she was on the top floor of the house." Venetia had always had the perfect voice for telling a scary story.

"Oh, Vee. Stop, stop, stop. I won’t sleep." Felix balls up his fists and covers his ears.

Felix had always been a bit of a wimp, though Ariadne meant it in only the most loving of ways. Over countless summers they had held bonfires and told scary stories, and without fail, every time they did, All of them had to sleep in Felix's room because he was too scared to go to sleep. Ariadne is never annoyed by it though. It's a reminder of how sweet and pure their dear Felix is.

It was a stark contrast to Venetia, their resident investor in the macabre and overall gloomy and grotesque.

"A few hours later," Venetia continued, undeterred, "he drowned."

"Oh! Oh, that’s just given me goosebumps. Look, Pamela." Elspeth says dramatically.

"Oh, no." Pamela sighs in the same dull tone she says everything else.

"Look, Fi, the only important thing about Shelley was that he was married to the mother of science fiction." Ariadne comforts.

"I heard he fucked his sister, so there's that too," Farleigh adds helpfully.

Ariadne snorts, and so does Venetia.

"Oh, for God’s sake!" Sir James chides.

The weasel pokes his evil little head up. "I think that was Byron."

"Fucking English majors." She mouths to Farleigh. He gives a slight smile and nods.

Pamela and Elspeth talk nonsense about people Ariadne doesn't care about, so she reaches over the table, snatches Felix's apple from his plate, and bites in.

"What the hell, pet?" Felix whines.

Ariadne rolls her eyes. "You don't even like apples that much!"

Duncan delivers the eggs to Oliver's plate. "Thank you so much," he says, big blue eyes darting around like a frightened animal. then, the eyes peer down, and Oliver grimaces at the eggs.

"Is everything okay, Ollie?" Felix asks, that sweet, tentative sound in his voice that, when directed at the right person, could make you spill your deepest secrets and greatest fears.

The way he calls him Ollie, the way the Cattons always take to nicknames for their pets, makes her jaw tick. It's such an odd but effective way to claim possession over someone, and it didn't even occur to them that they were doing it.

"Er, ‘course, yeah. It’s just. Runny eggs. I get a bit sick from them."

Ariadne can't resist the urge. she whistles, quietly. Duncan is going to be pissed. The Cattons, especially Elspeth, will be horrendously embarrassed. The whole kitchen staff will have their asses handed to them.

"Sorry." He says as Duncan clears his plate of eggs, and again when Duncan leaves for more.

Farleigh smirks into his magazine. "Well, I'm goin' up to my room." He declares.

Venetia nods. "I'd like to head back to sleep an hour more."

Ariadne snorts. "I'm sure you can show Oliver to the pool by yourself, right Fi?" She grins wickedly, making a good show of yawning.

Farleigh waits in the doorway for her, and she flicks him in the chest as she passed him. He sets to follow her, undeterred. "Later, losers." She hums as she swings out.

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Come Go With Me

A Michael Gavey fic.

EDIT: Now with art! (just a sketch tho)

Summary: It's the spring of 2007 and Michael Gavey has so far kept to the vow he made to never socialize again after Oliver ditched him. Then he meets a cute girl at a coffee shop. Will the vow stand strong or immediately go down the drain?

Word Count: 3986

Rating: T (plenty of swearing, instances of misogyny, objectification of the female body, atrociously incorrect bagel eating, New York City slander, etc.)

Author's Note: yes, the title is the song by Expose. Also, I'm a corny writer.

Divider by @cafekitsune

“I don’t know or care what Oliver Quick is doing this summer,” Michael said, continuing to type on his laptop, not even making eye contact with whoever asked the question.  The guy who asked left without saying anything further.

Some random guy in the library asked Michael if it was true that Oliver was going to be spending the summer with Felix on his family’s estate.  It was more about prying into Felix’s business than him wanting to know anything about Oliver, Michael thought.  Oliver was not on the same level of being interesting (in the eyes of the general student populace) that the Cattons were.  

Michael didn’t give a shit that Oliver was going to fancy fucking Saltburn with his new, snobby, loser, nepo baby friends for the summer.  Really, he didn’t.  When Oliver humiliated him at the bar, he made the decision then to swear off any further socializing at the university.  It was the best thing he ever did.

Already, he felt less anxious.  He had more time to focus on his coursework.  More time to read new books, attend off campus lectures.  Walks in the park by himself were quite relaxing when he didn’t have to think about topics to keep a stilted, dying conversation going.  He even went so far as to set aside time to play video games again.  Every weekend, for one hour and a half, he lost himself in Fable on his Xbox.  

Michael still felt the sting of the bar betrayal from time to time, as he thought he had finally found a true friend in Oliver (or at least, the potential for him to become one).  The new, lone path taken had helped him realize that he was not the problem.  Oliver was just an asshole, like the majority of those who went to Oxford.  

Sometimes Michael wondered why people didn’t like him.  Must be how smart he was.   There was nothing weird about being good at math.  What was so awful about being good at math, anyway?  He guessed that most peoples’ biggest issue with his smarts was that it reminded them they were stupid. Oh well!  Plenty of time for activities by himself now.

One of those activities was fast became his favorite, after only his fourth visit.  Visiting a little coffee shop he had discovered near the river, he was able to “mingle” among people without having to talk to anyone. No one would bother him here and he would still get his dose of human contact which, after all, was vital to the psychological constitution of a person.  As rigid as he intended on being with his new No Socializing At Oxford vows, Michael did not intend on becoming a psychopath.  Besides, the baristas never got his order wrong. They never talked to him beyond the perfunctory taking of his order but after the third time, when he walked in, instead of asking what he would like the person at the register had asked “The usual?” and Michael would just say yes, thank you, and then pay.

Michael packed up his laptop, shoving it and the charger into his reusable Tescoe bag along with his notebooks. He stood and adjusted his sweater, checked all his pant pockets were buttoned up and zipped closed.  He kept his visits only to every other day so as to not have the monotony grate on his nerves. The coffee shop made fresh bagels every day, however, and he had been looking forward to enjoying one all morning (his favorite was blueberry).  He liked to eat his a certain way, scooping out the insides of each slice before finally eating the hollowed out crusts.  Someone at school would surely have an opinion about his bagel-eating method (not that he cared) but at the coffee shop, Michael was left in peace.

 Walking briskly through the library doors and outside in the crisp spring air, he didn’t even look in direction of Oliver walking up the steps into the library with Felix.  They were laughing about something but Michael didn’t even breathe in their direction.

—---------

The delicious smell of bread baking hit him in a wave as he stepped into the coffee shop.  It looked like a rush had just hit, the baristas busy cleaning and restocking various items.  

“Hi! I’ll take your order right over here.” came the chipper voice.  Michael turned.

Oh god, a new hire. An American one (he was pretty sure the accent he heard was American) Maybe he wasn’t entitled to feel irritated about changes in the store, it's not like he owned the damn thing, but Michael felt irritated just the same.  This was HIS spot and someone new had just invaded it.

The new girl had long hair parted in the middle, tied back in a bun.  The hair was turquoise. A very bright turquoise, almost neon, he would say.  It pissed him off even more. Dyed hair was so fucking tacky.

He trudged to the register, hating every second of anticipating having to deal with someone new, someone chatty, even for something as impersonal as coffee.  

The girl was almost as tall as he was, eye-level to him, smiling the fakest fucking smile he had ever seen.  I mean, it had to be fake.  Who looked this happy to be taking a stranger’s order? He didn’t even bother attempting to smile back.  Whatever.  Get my coffee, bitch Michael though.

“I’ll have a large vanilla coffee, sugar free, with a blueberry bagel.” 

“Ah, so just cutting back on the sugar but can’t quite quit it altogether, eh?” the girl said with a wink and another smile, totally unperturbed by his attitude.

Michael pursed his lips and said nothing.  The girl, still unbothered, looked down and clacked away on the touch screen.  He quickly looked over her in the few seconds she imputed his order.  

She had long, acrylic nails, painted a pastel kind of purple.  Her name tag said Cat, which he guessed was short for Catherine.  Maybe.  Also her boobs were big.  Not normal big, but stripper big.  Not that he would know, but still.  Too big for the word “boobs”, for sure.  Tits seemed like a more appropriate word.  If he had ever been to a strip club he was pretty damn sure stripper tits would look exactly like hers.  And she had tattoos covering the entirety of her left arm.  Classy, he thought condescendingly. No wonder she was working here instead of somewhere like a bank.

Michael wondered if she had tattoos on her chest as well…he was so sure he could avert his gaze before she noticed but suddenly her fingers snapped and her head lowered into his line of vision, a smug look on her face.  Small wisps of hair hung in front of her ears, he noticed.

“You lose something. buddy?” she asked.  

“I didn’t mean-I was just looking at your name tag.” he sputtered, fidgeting with a cuff of his sweater.  

“Look, it's fine. They’re tits.” 

Michael flinched slightly at her casual use of the word.  It was one thing to talk like that with other guys, but girls? What was she trying to prove?  Tits tits tits. He made a point to stare straight into her eyes and not look away while she continued to speak. “Its not a big deal, I promise,” she said, finishing up his order on the register and offering her hand to take payment. 

Choosing not to respond, Michael set his Tesco bag on the counter so he could unzip one of his pockets to get at his credit card.  The pocket it was in was hard to open and the zipper always caught, so two hands were needed.  

“You can look, you know,  just don’t be creepy about it.” she continued, as he struggled slightly with the pocket.  

Michael did not look at her as he handed over the card. 

Being branded a “creep” was the last thing Michael needed.  He was already the Lonely Nerd at university, he really did not want to become the Creepy Lonely Nerd (that ogles stranger’s tits).  Not that he would give a shit what people thought, but one less socially crippling label was better than one more.

“I mean, it’s not like I can leave them at home, right?  I don’t mind a little look here and there!” she said with a laugh, handing back his card. Unbelievable.  She was still talking about her tits! 

“Can I get that to go?” Michael answered more than asked.  

“Sure thing. Uh, what’s your name?”

“I’m Michael.” He was not staying here. He was not going to stay and become the Creepy Tit Guy.  Given her outgoing nature, Cat would probably have something to say about the way he ate his bagel, too, he was sure of it.  He would become Creepy Tit And Weirdo Bagel Eating Method Guy if he stayed. Maybe dealing with this at university would have been easier but this was supposed to be his relaxation spot. The coffee shop was ruined for him now, he would never come back.  Ever.  Fuck this place and fuck her.

“Alrighty, dude. Be right back!” 

“My name is not…dude..” Michael stepped away from the register, his voice fading away to nothing as Cat got his order ready, unable to hear him.  There was no one else coming in right now, it seemed he came during a lull. The other employees were still cleaning and restocking. 

“Here you go!” Cat said with a smile, handing him his bagel in a paper wrap and his coffee. 

Still not looking at her, he took his bagel and his coffee and got the fuck out of there, practically powerwalking away. 

 It was only until he made it to a nearby park bench that he finally saw what Cat had written on the other side of his bagel wrapper.  A whole paragraph, practically.  Michael, sorry for making you feel uncomfortable. I was just trying to be funny, I swear.  Enjoy your coffee.  Hope you come back! 

Michael felt relief for a moment, before loudly groaning and spilling some of his coffee as he made to slap his forehead with that same hand.  He had left his fucking Tescoe bag at the coffee shop.  His bag that had his computer, his notebooks, his finished papers for a couple of classes. 

He had to go back.  Fuck.

“Yeah, sorry, but she said she knew you.”

Michael swore. The cashier informed him that Cat had just left, her shift was over.  She had taken the bag with her to the Oxford library.  Apparently, she was a student there?  Who fucking knew!?

“You need me to call the police?”

“No, that’s all right, I do know her.”  Michael lied.  “I told her earlier I’d be headed to the library later.  She probably figures she can catch me there.”  Without a single, civil ‘thank you’, Michael practically fled the shop.

He didn’t care how dumb it looked that he was frantically looking everywhere in the library for the familiar, turquoise hair.  People always looked at him funny.  It’s not like he could go to each of them individually and ask them hey could you please stop snidely whispering every time you look in my direction? Old Michael would go back to his dorm, have a cry, wonder why no one liked him and then quickly finish his homework in his dungeon of a bedroom before crying some more and then going to sleep.

New Michael didn’t give a shit.  New Michael was focused 100 percent on his academics and self-care, and right now his academics were in jeopardy because that Tesco bag held papers he had yet to type (Michael liked to hand write his work first, he felt it was more thorough). Also, maybe New Michael should better remember to not forget his shit at random shops.  Old Michael wouldn’t have forgotten. Whatever. 

After scanning the entire first floor of the library, he stomped to the second floor.  If she was a student here, how had he never seen her?  The hair would have been hard to miss.  Of course, it's not like he made it a habit to people watch anymore, especially in the library. 

Suddenly, he saw her.  Way in the corner, at a table right under a huge window, he saw her returning with her nose in a book from the shelves.  On the table, his bag.  

“Give it here.” Michael said, approaching the table.  Cat looked up from her book.

God, she was pretty.  He felt like a troll next to her.  It was so fucking unfair. More importantly though…why was he telling her to hand the bag back?  It was HIS.  He should just take it and go, without a word.  She had basically stolen it.  The girl was a thief and took it to give him a hard time because she was a bitch, like every other pretty girl he had ever interacted with and been cut down by. Maybe he could like her if he gave it a try…but the days of trying to get people to think he was cool or amazing were over.  She was a bitch and he knew it.

Mmm not what the note on your bagel showed, an annoying voice in his head began. That note could only have been written if she liked you because who would write that for a random customer?  You should talk to her an-  

Oh, fucking christ.  Old Michael.  Desperate-to-be-liked-by-someone-ANYONE Michael.  Shut the fuck up, Old Michael. You are dead.

“Yeah, no problem, I mean it is your bag!” Cat said cheerfully, closing her book and holding the bag out to him. “Sorry you had to run all this way to get it, Michael.”

“Um, it’s ok.  I run fast.” Michael said, immediately regretting it. God, that sounded so fucking stupid. He reached out for his bag.

Oh, so we’re no longer on that socializing ban, huh, Mr. Comedian?  I mean, what was THAT?!  Old Michael thought slyly. Shut up shut up shut up shut up!!!!! And, look!  She remembers your name! SHUT UP.

“-couldn’t just leave it there, you know?” Cat had finished saying.

Michael froze. “Huh?” 

What had she been talking about?  Shit. “Uh, why not?” Please let that be the right response.  Please let that be relevant to what she was fucking saying, Michael thought desperately. 

Cat rolled her eyes, but still sounded…not like a bitch?  “The laptop would definitely have been long gone if I hadn’t taken the bag.  I couldn’t just leave it there.”

Oh.  That was it.  That had been all she had said. Michael nodded and mumbled his thanks, ready to go…except Cat still held onto the bag. And stopped him with her next words.

“You play Fable a lot?”she asked.

It’s a trap.  She is going to make fun of you, he thought to himself.  Just get your shit and go. His hand was also still on HIS bag.  That she was not letting go of, for some reason.

“Yeah, I like it a lot.” 

Oh, how riveting.  That will make her swoon! Old Michael chimed in. 

“Really?” Cat responded.  Her tone wasn’t mocking.  It was…interested?  “I like it too but it feels unfinished, somehow.  I wish they would release Fallout 3 for these new consoles already, I bet it would be 1000 times better than this crap that Lionhead put out.”

Michael nodded.  She liked Fallout? She was impatient for the release?? Ask her to go with you to the midnight release next year!!! Ask her ask her ask her ask- No.  Shut up.  Be normal, for once in your life, be normal and chill about something. 

“-able doesn’t feel like it’s TRULY a good rpg, where you can do whatever you want, you know?  You can only go in one direction and can’t put off the main quest at all.”

She was still talking about Fable.  She was still talking about video games, something they both liked, something they had in common.

This is your chance, you know. Old Michael piped in.  Did any of those other people ever show even the slightest interest in the stuff you were into?  Ever? Ask her out!

“Ok,” Michael began. “I see your point, but the mechanics of the game aren’t the star so much as the incredible story and character designs-” 

While he continued to go on a tangent of Fable’s good qualities to Cat, trying his best not to sound too rant-y, Michael frantically gave the idea of asking her out some thought…

What if she said no? Hm what if she says yes? 

It’s stupid. The release for Fallout 3 is next year.  No, not even.  It’s October of that year, so…over a year away!  Almost two fucking years! What kind of weirdo would ask someone on a date almost two years from now?! Plus, she isn’t even into me.  She just likes video games, like any other person.  

Why is she still holding onto your bag, then? Old Michael thought smugly.  Why did she write that little note on your bagel? Why did she remember your name? Why-

All right, all right.  

“Right, so…want to come? To the midnight release for it?  For Fallout 3?” Michael asked, throwing all caution to the wind and swallowing his preemptive rejection rage that already was bubbling up.

“For Fallout?” Cat said, still holding onto the bag. “Which store you going to?” 

“Target.” Please say yes.  I don’t even know you and I know it’s weird to ask you somewhere practically two years from now but PLEASE SAy YES, Michael thought.

“Mm, nah.” Cat, said, letting go of the bag to dig in her bookbag.

Shit. 

Michael’s chest began to hurt, the hand holding his bag falling limply to his side.  He could feel his eyes begin to water.  She was just like the rest of them. Pathetic.  So pathe-

“You should come with me to Game on Queen Street, they always price cut!” Cat said, whipping out her blackberry. “Whatever price we show them for the game, they’ll shave 5 off it!  I mean, it’s not much but I’ll take what I can get! Here, put your number in.”

On sheer autopilot, Michael put his number in.  He felt ashamed the entire time, having choked back a scathing insult at the last minute before Cat had shoved her phone at him.

“Are you ok?” Cat took her phone back, eyeing him with a concerned look.

“I’m fine! It’s just-probably something I caught the other day, I can already feel the sniffles coming on and whatnot.  It’s nothing!” Michael babbled.

It cannot be this easy, Michael thought.  It’s been this easy the entire time?  Hanging out with a girl?  Talking to her?  Making plans?  Why did Oliver never like him when they had so much in common?

Holy shit, forget about fucking Oliver! You have a date with your future wife! Old Michael practically screeched. Jesus fucking Christ, you are desperate. Shut the fuck up!! Be Normal!

“You wanna go back to the shop and get another bagel?” Cat asked, putting her books away and sliding on her bookbag. “ We could use my discount, that way-”

“Yeah, let's go.” Michael cut in.  Grabbing her wrist and not waiting for her answer, he turned and began to swiftly move through the library.  He tried not to get excited as Cat uttered a quick ‘cool’ and kept pace with him.  

He also tried not to think about how awkwardly he was holding her hand. Everyone in the library was staring, he saw it in his peripheral.   It had looked so cool in his brain but now everyone could see how his stupid hand around her wrist slightly resembled him holding his limp-no no no no noooo shut up shut up SHUT UP. 

“Blueberry runs out quick.” Michael said, as they both briskly walked.   “I went one time at around this hour instead of my usual time and I had to settle for onion, which is gross as shit.” You’re rambling, Old Michael chided.  She fucking works there, she doesn’t need a play-by-play of bagel supply issues. Let her say something, idiot!  The reason he never noticed her before, it turned out, was that she hadn’t dyed her hair yet.  Cat also began to tell him about her history degree.  Something about the American Gilded age and how she was deep into research of the British Astors or something.  Michael surprisingly found himself not bored.  Were her eyes fucking green?  Oh, fuck, they were green!

They finally saw the shop in the distance.  Right after his anti-onion bagel tirade and her talk of her studies, he set straight into a long-winded verbal onslaught on the statistics of how rare green eyes were.  Micheal thought his heart would fall out of his asshole when Cat adjusted their hands so her fingers were laced with his.  About halfway through the distance, he had cut in when she mentioned her favorite bagel flavor (pineapple) and talked her ear off the rest of the way about his bagel eating method, insisting on its practicality but really prepping her so that she wouldn’t be horrified when she saw him do it and ditch him like fucking Oliver.  She laughed. 

“That’s so L.A. of you.  New York would hate your fucking guts, though.” she said, with a grin.   “Good thing I’m a California girl!  I’d rather deal with horrible traffic and scooped bagels than having to fight rats for sidewalk space.”

Right before they got to the doors, Michael went for it.  “I’m telling people that you’re my girlfriend.”, he said seriously.  She hadn’t run off when he had taken her hand (wrist).  She had noticed the Fable stickers on his computer.  She had remembered his name after one interaction. The American thing was a slight issue but hey, no one was perfect! 

“Cool, because I already told the staff that you were my boyfriend when I took your bag!” Cat responded. “I told them you like to pretend you don’t know me when you get mad and I just play along to pacify you.  It was the only way they were comfortable letting me take your bag!”

Be cool!  Do not fucking freak out! Act fucking normal! Do NOT scare her away! Say something a fucking weirdo would never in a million years say! Old Michael reminded him.

“Let’s go back to my place after and study some calculus.  Your grades in that sound horrendous.” Fucccccck.  You just got yourself a girlfriend and this is the shit you respond with?! Old Michael panicked. 

Cat smirked. “Only if you promise to fuck me into your mattress after.”

Michael stared at her, almost daring her to say she was kidding.  When she didn’t and her gaze briefly dropped to his lips, he abandoned any doubts he had and turned to walk away from the shop, practically dragging Cat with him.  

Cat giggled and adjusted herself to clutch at his arm with both hands, her legs and his in perfect sync as they made their way to Michael’s room.

—------------

“What the fuck?” Felix said to Oliver, pointing. Both were sitting on a bench, relaxing a bit before their next class.

 “Didn’t he go fucking mental at you the first day? Not to be a dick or anything but is she safe with that guy?”  

Oliver followed Felix’s finger and froze.  

He gaped at what he saw:

Michael fucking Gavey, math genius slash freak of nature, walking happily with the pretty American girl who had said no to their bar hopping invite just last week.  It was definitely surprising, but Oliver was now more determined than ever.  If a fucking social reject like Gavey could get what he was after, then someone like himself was sure to have the same luck if he continued to put in the effort.

THE END

[short-black-diamond]

Hello i loved your luna story can i request for the smut asks Top towards their sub number 3 for him ( if you are not comfortable writing about him could it be aiku instead)? Thank you in advance😊

Yeah I'd rather take Aiku because since Luna is like--more like a side character and stuff... I think I'll make a list who I don't want to write for...

Also lemme turn Blue Lock into a brothel real quick yeah?

There's also something I've wanted to say about this fic. I have never had intercourse and I'm still a proud virgin. So this fic will be based solely on what I imagine would happen, and I hope you guys will llike it because I've spent a lot of thought and time into this.

Warnings: Oliver Aiku x reader, Smut., Vanilla sex because first times should be sweet as fuck, also Oliver is the biggest dork in here but tries to be hot and attractive, also Oliver will cry at some point, strangers to lovers I guess?

I will proofread that on another day. please ignore the possible writing mistakes.

taglist: @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife, @hsxhype, @shirayuki-ayumi, @luysim, @mayincharacter

Word count: 5,924 wtf 😭✌💀

---

"Lemme quit my job for ya..."

It was embarrassing. Pretty much so, with you being a virgin, your friends having thought it would be a great idea to bring you to the freakiest place in town, and that on your birthday.

Yeah, you were in for something.

...

"For the last time,", you seethed angrily at your best friend, "I am perfectly fine being a virgin!"

"Yeah, sure you are. But your browser history and your dildos say otherwise~", she mused as you blushed.

"It's called loving myself, and putting myself first. I enjoy doing things alone, and that includes pleasing myself.", you grumbled as you defended your dignity.

She sighed. "____, you're twenty-one today. It's time you get the feeling of a man's touch on you.", cue you giving her a disgusted look. "I'd rather die than let a man touch me, and where are we going exactly??"

"Oh, you'll see soon enough."

...

"What the...?!"

"Welcome to Blue Lock, where the boys here are specialised for pleasing lonely women like us!", she cheered before she dragged you inside, who tried running away.

"Please, let me go!", you yelled in fear, but her grip was relentless as she led you to the counter. "Hello, could we have Aiku and Otoya please, Anri?", she asked, and the woman on the counter smiled.

"Of course, please enjoy yourselves!", she exclaimed and she and your best friend laughed as if this was a joke. Which it was...but you didn't find it funny.

And in the next moment, you found yourself in front of a room, where your friend was in the other storey. You took a deep, exhausted breath before you softly knocked.

"Hello..?", you asked politely before you opened the door, and it was dark. You sighed before you went further into the chamber. You closed the door softly, and only after the click did you hear something.

It sounded like somebody stood up from the bed which was right in front of the door, and before you knew it, you were laying on it, and a man on top of you.

"Damn, what a pretty thing you are..", he rasped, looking into your wide eyes. Heterochromia, two different sets of eye colours on each eye.

They were truly mesmerizing, but you couldn't really focus on that when you felt something hard poking you, and the man above you biting his lip at your pretty face.

"Huh..?", you only said, still a little bamboozled that a stranger threw himself on top of you.

"So, what's it gonna be today, sweetie? Bondage...butt plugs...roleplay?", he breathed, wetting his lips when he thought about ravaging you.

"I-I'm a virgin..?", you only answered and hoped you wouldn't regret this. You had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

And sure, the guy who was hovering over you was hot and all, and the LED light did a great job casting him into a red light, making him look all the more attractive, but you didn't really want to get your world rocked at your first time.

Fortunately, the guy had the dignity to quickly turn away from you and sit upright as he stared ahead of him as he scratched his neck. "Damn, sorry baby...But really? Are you really a virgin?", he asked as he looked down at you.

You were still laying there in your coat and boots as you looked at him. You turned to the side to face him better. You blushed at his question as you played with the scarf around your neck.

"yes...and please don't tease me for it..", you grumbled when you thought about how your friend bullied you on your entire ride there.

You heard faint slapping and moaning noises and you curled in yourself as you squeezed your eyes shut and you put your hands on your ears. Yeah, you were jealous at the other girls who got laid here.

The guy sitting next to you looked up at the ceiling, thinking about his boner and how pretty you looked.

'There's no way a woman this pretty is still a virgin..right?', he thought as he looked down at you again, only to grow concerned when he saw how you've turned into a ball.

"Shit, are you okay?! Hey, you hear me?", he asked in a worried tone as he scooched closer to you. You looked at him.

"Yeah, it's just...the noises.", you said, and the guy understood.

"How about..we kiss? Have you ever kissed anybody?"

"I've never even had a crush.."

"Damn.", the guy said and you whined in protest. But, he didn't mean it like that. He was surprised that you were a hard-core virgin who had yet to smile at a boy.

He huffed in amusement. "Would you like to do something? Or do you not wanna kiss me?", he asked.

Normally, he would've told a girl off when she didn't want to do anything, but it was different with you. If you didn't want to do anything then he'd be ready to cuddle you, and if you also didn't want that, then he'd just lay there with you on the bed, either talking, looking at the ceiling and just chilling.

"mh...well...I k-kinda do...but i dunno...", you murmured as you closed your eyes again.

"Can you...tell me a bit about yourself?", you asked, and hoped that you didn't break a rule. 'Maybe he just likes to fuck strangers and get paid? Can I even ask that?', you thought as you awaited his answer.

"The name's Oliver Aiku. I work here as a people pleaser in Blue Lock and I hope I can please you too, sweetheart."

you giggled. "That was a nice introduction. I can't believe my best friend brought me to a brothel on my birthday though.."

At that, Oliver laughed. "What?! She really did that? Damn...she must've been desperate to have you get railed, huh?"

You groaned in embarrassment. "Being a virgin is not so bad.."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one?"

"Happy birthday, virgin."

"Please don't call me that."

Oliver chuckled again before he laid down next to you as he looked at you. "Sorry...it's just...I can't believe a pretty gem like you has been untouched for over twenty years- ouch!"

Yeah, you pinched his shoulder hard. He rubbed the sore place with a grin, still having a hard dick as he grinned at you. "But it's true. But how could you last this long without a dick?"

"...dildos?"

"Hehe.."

"What's so funny?", you asked. You slowly got irritated by his teasing, but then he just looked at you fondly.

"Sooo...you're a virgin, who got dragged by her best friend into a brothel, and that on your birthday, just to get laid?"

"It's not like I wanted to be here, you know..?"

Oliver sighed. 'poor thing..', then he went on top of you again. "what if we do what your best friend says then? hm?", he asked softly before he moved a strand of hair out of your face.

Your face heated up at the gentle touch Oliver gave you as you looked at his two-tones eyes. You gulped. "Promise to be gentle with me?"

Oliver huffed in amusement. "I'll try my best, sweetie.", and he was still above you, looking down on you. you looked at him for a moment, before you decided.

"Then...let's do it."

And just like that, Oliver sat up, pulled you up by your collar, held the back of your head with one, then the other hand on the small of your back as he leaned down to your level (your body was smaller than his) and softly brought his lips to yours, and you only felt a slight brush.

Then he leaned back. "How was that?"

"... What was that?", you retorted, a confused expression on your face, but still, you had a slight blush as well on it.

Oliver scoffed. "I-it was a kiss, y'know?! You wanted me to be gentle with you, and I am!"

"Y-you can be a tiny bit rougher with me...", you grumbled under your breath, and Oliver smirked.

"Well, if that's so...", he breathed before he pressed his lips down on yours in a much more passionate kiss.

Oliver flinched. You flinched as well, after he did. "wh-what?"

"Your lipstick...it tastes amazing!", he exclaimed before licking at your lips. "mmh...", he whimpered before he kissed you again.

You had to surpress giggles when you felt him eating away your cherry lipstick more than kissing you, but you let him. It felt nice...whatever he was doing.

'Gosh, why does this taste so good!? Why can't I stop!?...it's so addicting...!'

He then suddenly stopped himself. "S-sorry...", he mumbled, holding a crouched finger in front of his lips as he looked to the side with a blush. He only said sorry because he couldn't taste the lipstick anymore and he only realized then that he's been lapping at your mouth like a thirsty dog.

"It's okay.", you said with a smile. 'he's so cute..!'

and then, you scooched closer to him as you pulled away the finger from his lips as you slowly kissed him again.

Oliver didn't know why he felt like that. He felt shy, but good. He felt so...different with you than with all the other girls he's been spending time with.

Maybe it's also because of the fact that you were a virgin and Oliver didn't really know what to do. Experienced girls knew the drill. you didn't.

But, he knew that he'd let you do anything you liked, since it was your first time, so all he had to do was to relax, no?

Easer done than said. Oliver wanted you on his lap as he slowly took off your coat, shawl and beanie. He took a moment to snicker at your dishelved hair and you giggled as well before you tried to brush it neat a little.

And then, Oliver sat you on lis lap, where he rested against the headbord, and looked at you. Your heartbeat quickened when you felt something poking your clit and you forrowed your brows.

"wh-what's that?"

"An erection. Guys get hard when pretty girls like you sit on 'em.", he spoke as he tired to subtly grind up in order to get some friction. You gasped.

"i...are erections always so...big?", you asked as you shifted around to feel it some more, but you flinched when it gave you a sweet sensation.

Oliver hissed before he smirked at you through his bangs. "well...my dick's big, ...don't know about the other guys though."

You huffed in amusement. But, you turned serious again. "um...could you take these off?", you asked with a slight blush as you pulled at his pants.

Now, Oliver didn't know why he blushed, but he did. Maybe he liked the feeling of you on top of him, maybe he liked it when you grinded down on him a bit just a few moments ago...and maybe he liked getting ordered around?

He nodded. "Aynthing ya want, pretty-"

you startet to take your clothes of too, and his breath got caught in his throat. What he saw must've been the prettiest woman he's ever seen, stripping herself off of the clothes she's been wearing, becoming almost more naked than the day she was born, and Oliver never sprung out of bed just to rip off his pants so fast as well.

He panted when he whipped his head to your figure again, who just sat there in nothing but cute stockings, and a sweet lingerie set. All pastel coloured.

Oliver gulped nervously.

"So...what now?", you asked as you looked to the side. Oliver chuckled as he sat by the headbord again, and beckoned you closer. You were glad that he didn't take off his boxers...yet.

"Sit here, pretty...", he instructed to you, motioning for you to sit between his legs, with your back facing him. He grunted when you 'corrected' your seat before his dick, intentionally rubbing your ass against his hard groin as he took in a sharp breath.

"S-slowly, baby...", he gasped before you finally settled down.

You looked back to him. "Are you okay?"

He nodded quickly before he kissed your cheek and whispered for you to spread your legs. As you widened them, Oliver kissed you along your neck, and his warm fingers ghosting over your cold skin, brushing against your knees, thighs and belly softly, sending shivers around your body and you flinched a little.

"Are you okay, doll?", Oliver asked this time as he nibbled at your ear a little, his hands moving up to grope at your tits a bit. You took a deep breath.

It all felt foreign. You being here, nearly stripped off of all your clothes, with a man in his briefs sitting behind you with his boner pressing agains your rear, and letting him grope you.

You sighed dreamily.

It could be that your first time wasn't really what you expected-

"Ah!", you yelped, closing your thighs reflexively when you felt Oliver's right pointy and index finger prod and rub your clit through the fabric slowly. He stopped.

"Sorry..!", he said, and tried to take his hand away from yours, but you held it in place. "wait..d-do it again..I was just thinking of something else for a moment..", you mumbled as you gently pushed his fingers against your bud, enjoying the feeling of a man's touch for the first time.

Oliver blushed a little when he felt your tiny hand grab his and push his digits against your pussy. He realized now that he was falling for you. He looked up at the ceiling as he closed his eyes.

'dammit...falling for a customer..?!', he thought as he slowly circled his middle finger around your bud, applying pressure here and there, feeling you writhe under his touch as you press your back towards him and your breathing quickened as it also got heavier.

It felt good. Very good. Not even half as fast as your cheap vibrator, but still good. His fingers felt nice against your bundle of nerves and you gently rocked your hips against his palms as he massaged your sensitive area.

"mmh...feels good...", you moaned slightly, accompanied by a soft sigh, and Oliver kissed you again. He somehow loved kissing you more than wanting to fuck you.

Was it because he was falling for you? Even though he didn't even know your name? Was it because of your sweet vanilla scent? Your smaller frame against his as your butt which got harrassed by his hips as he humped you subtly? Or was it because he could take things easy for once?

Where he could do as he pleased, and not being bossed around so much. I mean, sure, you ordered his hand to stay where it was and for him to rub your clit, but he didn't mind it. He found it cute how you caught his hand between your thighs to keep it where it rested. He found it cute how your hand held his thigh, right above his knee as your other hand was above Oliver's hand which was pressed against your pussy, wanting to feel some more friction.

He found your sweet moans and sighs cute, where he could kiss you however he wanted. Where he could hug you tightly to him, and where you didn't mind.

He loved having the freedom to take your virginity, but he loved the idea of acting as your lover even more. He loved the idea of acting as your boyfriend, hell, he'd even become your husband if you'd say yes.

He didn't know why, but he wanted to please you in other ways and not just sex. He wanted to make you pancakes, take you out on sweet dates, and make you smile.

Damn, he fell for you, even though you guys only knew each other for an hour.

"yeah? want me to take it a step...deeper?", he whispered as he kissed your temple, and you nodded with a smile.

you heard the slapping noises again, but you didn't pay them any mind as Oliver pushed a finger into your vagina, and you whimpered. Meanwhile, Oliver's mouth stood agape as he struggled pushing his middle finger deeper into your core, and he didn't even put in half of it.

He couldn't even imagine fow his dick was supposed to fit inside that sweet pussy of yours. He groaned.

"S-sorry..", you started, wanting to apologize in embarrassment upon him feeling your tight entrance, but you only felt and heard a breathy chuckle.

"Don't you dare apologize, doll,", he said, one hand grabbing from under your thigh and pushing it up as he pushed his finger deeper inside upon the new angle, and you arched your back in response.

"mmnnh!"

Oliver giggled. Yes, he fucking giggled. "Gosh, you're too cute...and innocent...fuck...!"

And he then pulled out his slick-coated finger before he pushed it back in. The feeling was weird, having something warm go in and outside of you, and it even curling around.

None of your dildos worked like that.

____.exe has stopped working.

You moaned when he did it a few times, growing accustomed to the feeling of his finger in your core, and Oliver smiled. "Feels good?"

"Yes..", you breathed heartily. Oliver blushed, and sped up a little more, making your breath hitch. He slowly added a second finger, and you let your head fall back.

'This feels so good..I feel so full...!', you thought as you closed your eyes in bliss. Oliver used the moment to lean down and lick a stripe up your neck, making you shiver.

"damn...yer making me wanna quit..", he mumbled, but you still heard it.

"h-huh?", you asked as you tried to pay more attention to him and not his nice fingers, who were pumping into you at this point.

"Lemme quit my job for ya...", he said a little more loudly as his thumb caressed your clit again, but this time a little more with aggression, and applying more pressure as he sped up.

You moaned loudly. "Ah...O-oliver..!"

you felt flattered, even in the midst of this type of affection. You felt flattered that his words were sounding so sincere.

But you had your worries and concerns. Your best friend told you about all the guys she'd encountered as she had been in countless relationships. And she told you that boys would tell you anything as long as you stayed together with them.

Oliver just kept going faster and faster, circling around your bud as his hand nearly made slapping noises against your pussy, and your face got hot as you listened to the sound.

"Wanna make you mine...wanna...make you smile...", he muttered as he sped up more and more, listening to your voice which raised octave for octave, and he laid his head on your shoulder.

"I think i fell in love with you, even though I don't know your name."

Shit, you could have just come from that.

He suddenly stopped and took out his hand from your core, leaving you panting, and stolen off of your high. He took the fingers which were inside of you into his mouth, motioning for you to look down to him as he licked and sucked at his fingers in bliss, moaning at the sweet taste and fluttering eyes closing shut as he blushed.

But, you flushed in embarrassment. "wh-why did you do that? You could've just wiped them on the sheets, you know?", you said softly as you kept stealing glances at his blissed out face as he still licked at his lips, wanting to take whatever was left from your fluid from his palms.

When he only tasted his own saliva and not your sweetness anymore, he took out his fingers. "Why do that? You just became my favourite meal. And one shouldn't throw away a meal like that.", he answered with a pout as he stood up to take off his boxers.

"you know? there's a saying. My coach told me this by the way when he taught me how to eat out a lady..."eating out a woman is the same as eating something oily or juicy. For example you're eating a hamburger, and you still have some crumbs, or salad or cheese or something on your palms. You wouldn't take the napkin first, would you? It would be a waste. Just how the hamburger was a blessing, food to be cherished, what is left and still visible on the fingers is a blessing too. This is why you should always lick it away before using a napkin." And that's why I always lick away the essence, and not wipe them.", Oliver explained as he took of his boxers.

"Did your coach...always compare women to food?", you asked, half curious and half jealous of the realization that you were in a brothel with a man who had most likely gone down on countless women.

"Well, food tastes good, and women do too, so I don't really see the difference. But you...", he trailed off, smirking proudly as you ogled at his schlong with wide eyes, and thus boosting his ego, as he sat down again.

"you taste sweeter than honey, doll."

"_-____."

There was a moment of silence as he registered your answer. ____. Heh, what a pretty name. However, his heartbeat pounded against his ripcage so hard that he feared it might burst.

Normally, he wouldn't ask for a stranger's name. And if they told them, he still would call them petnames.

Normally, he couldn't even give two shits about his customers, he just wanted a nice fucking session and gain some money.

Normally, his heart wouldn't act out like that.

Normally.

It seemed like you were an exception.

It seemed like his heart found a new reason to work.

It seemed like he didn't wanna do this filthy job anymore.

It seemed like you were comfortable with him, trusting him as you gave your name price.

And oh, what a price it was.

Oliver would be packing his things tonight and just follow you home, because the brothel's been his home for the longest time.

Sure, he'd miss Blue Lock, mostly because of his friends and the money, but that was about it.

Yeah, Oliver would ask to move in to your apartment.

...if you had other feelings than lust for him.

...he hoped you did.

"____...", he breathed out. If came so naturally off his tongue, and he fell in love with the name as he looked at you with a smile.

A genuine smile. Not the one he'd show anyone else.

He had a sweet smile.

You averted your eyes as your cheeks burned. 'ahh he's so pretty! And I love how my name sounds from his voice!!!'

Then, he took a condom out of his drawer and gave you a show of putting it on his dick. Your eyes widened in lust and wonder as you watched him pull the gummy down his dick, and he just had to do it very slowly as he watched you stare.

He felt shy and nervous all of a sudden.

Oliver quickly leaned forward to take your hand as he gently pulled you towards him, making you walk on your knees until his dick rested under your pussy.

"Are..you sure that... this ...will fit?", you asked with a nervous smile as you looked at the size of his dick.

He was certainly bigger than any dildo you've ever had.

"hm...there's only one way to find out.", he answered as he looked up at you with a closed eyed smile, and if the tension wouldn't be so damn sexual, you would've slapped him.

But you felt like caressing his cheek now. You still held his hand as you gulped. "Well...y-you were fingering me before, right?", you asked with a stutter, but Oliver didn't pay it any mind as he started kissing your chest and collarbone.

"Yes, I did. We can also not do anything at all, ____."

You looked at him for a moment. Then your hand came in contact with his cheek. His eyes widened. He then pressed the side of his face into your hand and nuzzled himself against it.

It felt like you two knew each other for a long time, like you weren't strangers. Oliver had never experienced a touch like...that.

He never got touched so softly, and when you looked at him with such a gentle smile, and treated him like he was the most expensive thing in the world...

"Oh, Oliver, my love!", you exclaimed as you hugged him. You embraced him the moment you saw his right eye suddenly collecting more water, and you grew panicked.

"Did I do something wrong? Am I not allowed to touch workers? Please my love, answer me...!", you said in a hushed whisper as Oliver slowly brought his arms to your back and hugged you as well.

His shoulders were shaking as he sniffed and sobbed. "N-no...I just..I love you!", he cried and you just hugged him tighter.

It took him a few seconds to collect his thoughts, to let loose, to calm down. Oliver felt...safe, in your arms. He was surprised when you suddenly embraced him, as if you were protecting him, and maybe that was what he needed.

Maybe he just needed to breathe a bit. Yeah. That was it. Catch a break from this place.

He hugged you a little tighter and you reciprocated the gesture. Oliver sighed contently. That sweet moment however, got ruined when your knees couldn't support the weight of Oliver -who was laying on your chest with his whole upper body- anymore, and you had to sit down.

It was a wonder, truly.

Your pussy sucked his dick inside in one go, without any difficulties as you gasped sharply and Oliver moaned shamelessly. Oliver cursed under his breath as he massaged your sides, trying to tell you sweet nothings as he tried to refrain from thrusting up his dick.

your breath was ragged as you tried to process how in the world you could've taken such a huge cock like Oliver's in, let alone so...easily.

But, you also felt more full than you ever did, none of your dildos were that good. Gosh, Oliver might get you addicted to his own dick if you didn't hop off anytime soon.

"mmh...c-can I move?", you asked after a few minutes, and Oliver looked at you in confused amazement. He was underneath you, panting as he tried to get accustomed to the tightest cunt he's ever had the pleasure of getting inside, and here you were, all ready to ride him.

Oliver nodded as he closed his eyes. "Lift your hips- s-slow--ah~!", he instructed, but you lifted them too fast and Oliver's shaft was robbed from your warm walls as you raised yourself, sucking him a little up and he shivered when he felt the cool night air from the slightly opened window hit against his wet cock.

You hissed in frustration when you didn't feel his thick dick fill you up and you let yourself down again, but this time much slower, and you moaned out in bliss. Oliver did as well, and he looked at the place where your entrance took in more and more of him.

His heart started hurting. "Yes..j-just like that..!", he breathed as he felt you rise again. your eyes were closed in concentration of Oliver's breathing, his twitching dick, his hands holding your hips to guide you around on his cock and the lewd noises both of your genitals did.

Gosh, it felt so right to ride him. It felt good. His hands felt good. His cologne was the only air you've wanted to breathe ever again. His face and body and dick were the only things you ever wanted to see again. His voice was the only sound you ever wanted to hear again.

Was it possible...that you fell for Oliver too?

...Was it possible to kidnap him?

I mean, you could disguise your doings as a form of wanting to get to know him better, and later on use him as your personal dildo or plaything, but we'll see about that.

Right now, you went down again, and Oliver's legs trembled a little. You noticed of course and stopped your ministrations. "What's wrong?", you asked with an innocent face, your brows frowning in concern and your wide eyes searching for any discomfort in his face.

The fucking audacity you had.

Oliver was seconds away from cumming!

He just wanted to kiss you in order to shut you up -french-kiss you, to be precise- and force his tongue down your throat until you couldn't think anymore and fuck you senseless.

But he just shook his head. "No, it's just... I'm close...", he sighed, dissappointed in himself. But could you blame him? He's had a painful boner the moment you stepped into this room.

You giggled. "So...I'm making you cum? Does it feel good? want me to change the pace?", you asked in an excited tone, and Oliver was left in amazement at your behavior for the nth time tonight.

what were you, exactly?

"Do you like the idea of me cumming so bad, ____?", he mused, wanting to see you blush, but his eyes widened when you nodded happily.

"I can finally brag about my friend that i made a man and myself cum! Then she'll for sure leave me alone!", you cheered, and Oliver grew depressed.

"Oh...is this...like, the only reason you're here? Just because of your friend?", he asked, making you stop altogether.

You grabbed his cheeks and gave him a big smooch. "Listen, Oliver. I came here with the intention to just get fucked around a little and then leave, but you make me want to stay by your side and love you.

And you know...about what you said earlier...

...I think I fell for you too.", you chuckled as you smiled at him fondly.

Oliver's eyes stared at yours for a moment before he pulled you to him and kissed you a hundred times. You giggled when he peppered your face in sloppy kisses, pecks, and kitten licks, but you wouldn't want to have it any other way.

You let him do as he pleased, letting him trail down your body with kisses, biting your neck gently, nibbling your collarbone, and his thumbs rounding your nipples as if they were these joints from a playstation controller, making you whimper a bit.

You sighed happily as he pushed you down, making him go on top of you again, and you laying on the sheets, his dick still inside you and you gently rocked your hips against his to gain some friction.

"Really?", he asked as he tried catching his breath. You nodded with a smile. "Really."

Oliver smiled back. "Good...now, let me make love to you, ____."

You giggled and Oliver kissed your nose with a grin before he held one of your hands and kissed it gently. You looked up at him with heart eyes.

Oliver blushed furiously as he kissed your lips and thrusted into you at the same time. You moaned against his lips as you felt your stomach forming a knot, with Oliver repeatedly hitting a certain spot inside you which made your eyes roll back and your toes curl.

You arched your back at the feeling, your clit pulsing in a strong rythm and Oliver kissed you again and again as he kept thrusting into you.

"mm...nngh~...y're s'good t'this...", you mumbled, already losing yourself in the feeling of his dick filling you up and massaging your walls with his veins and girth as you tried meeting his snaps.

Oliver gritted his teeth as he tried not to cum at the moment. He didn't know what was more hot; being inside of you, or seeing your blissed out face, with your body moving upwards a bit at every of his hips' movements.

He groaned before he buried his head into your shoulder and adjusted his legs for a moment, where you caressed the back of his hand with your thumb as you waited patiently and combed through his hair in a comforting manner with your other one.

Then, Oliver snapped his hips into yours, his dick drilling into you at a fast pace as you gasped at the sudden change and reflexively pulled at his hair, making him hiss in pain and pleasure.

"Does, ah..does this also feel good..!?", he grunted as he felt tears stream down his face at the feeling of pleasure and pain, because he tried not to cum, and it hurt, a lot.

"Yes...but please, Oliver. Cum."

Oliver's breath got caught in his throat as his cock just started to let out the pent up and held back white spurts of semen inside the condom, but it felt like he was cumming inside of you, which made him scared.

So, he quickly pulled his dick out, relieved as he realized he was still wearing a condom and sighed.

He still had to overcome the fact that his body reacted upon your request, cumming when you told him to. He felt like he could've held it in for five more minutes, but you proved him otherwise.

"How...how did you know I wanted to cum?", he asked in bewilderment when he hugged you close to him. You caressed his torso after you pulled the condom out of his now-soft penis.

"I read a lot of books."

"Oh...b-but you didn't cum...!"

"There's always a next time, Oliver."

And Oliver looked at you with a surprised face. Why was he so forgetful today?

You had a smile on your face when you held one of his hands and kissed it. "It was a perfect first time."

"But you didn't cum.."

"I didn't want to in the first place. I just...wanted to know what it feels like, being touched by a man, making love to a man...and, well, experiencing something like that. I'm glad I went with my friend."

"hm, me too. But was it a...good first time?", he asked as he played with a few strands of your hair. You huffed in amusement.

"I couldn't imagine a better first time, Oliver.", you confessed, and Oliver had a precious smile on his face as he looked at you.

...

"So...I was thinking...maybe...just maybe! I could...move into your apartment?", he asked, already having packed his things as he followed you.

Your best friend stared at you with an open mouth, who looked at him with a smile. "I'd love to! But, I must warn you, I don't really cook or clean around the house, so I might need a-"

"Maid? Cook? I can totally do that.", he answered quickly and with a determined expression on his face.

"Hey...are we maybe skipping a few steps here?", your best friend chimed in as she raised her eyebrow.

"Huh? Uh, no? I love him. He's just my type, and he also took my virginity. And apparently, he says he can do house chores and cook meals. So why not live together?", you answered as you looked at her.

She scratched her head. "Damn. Once I bring you out, and bam, now you have a husband. Jeez, ya need to teach me your ways, ____!!!", she yelled, and you giggled at her desperation.

Then you bid her goodbye as your Uber came and you stepped in with Oliver. The ride was silent as you snuggled up against him and he kissed the top of your head.

---

hellyu, how was that?!

If it wasn't what you wanted then I'm sorry, but I don't wanna rewrite it again. However, please write feedback in the comments, alright?

Read you in the next post!

[crisalidaseason]

In the midst of your divinity

Well, here it is! Ancient time ineffable bureaucracy and also the first Halloween fic of this month!! This is long as fuck, about 5k so that's your warning. READ CONTENT WARNINGS BELOW:

Set in 1200 B.C - 300 B.C (Iron age to Ancient history).

Mostly canonverse, but a bit canon divergent. A bit of fun but it turns a bit sad really quick.

Mostly historically accurate (philistine research is still modest)

They/them pronouns for Beelzebub, He/him for Gabriel.

Mentions of nudity and very very brief sexual innuendo (still, minors DNI).

Mentions of war and blood.

Beelzebub is called "Ba'al Zebul" as a deity and "The Prince" as a demon, mentions of mind fragmentation (not trauma related)

Mentions of abandonement issues and angst

Conflicted Gabriel and Beelzebub

Heaven

Despite being known as the messenger, Gabriel was not the default angel to deliver Her messages. The high order angel was requested in more crucial situations and he would soon announce the birth of the Almighty's son, only a millennium and some centuries ahead. While he waited to deliver Her highest and most honorable message, Gabriel was sent to the vast earth in order to perform miracles amongst the impressionable humans, strengthening their devotion to Her.

“Gabriel”

The archangel sighed in frustration. Patience, Gabriel, just for 5 thousand years more.

“Yes, Michael”

“We have an issue”

When don’t we have an issue?

“Proceed” 

His fellow archangel was in distress - as often Michael was - and fussing about something happening on earth - as always. Gabriel learned to ignore and just send a guardian angel or a minor archangel to solve the problem, maybe give Aziraphale a call if the issue was earth related. 

“...reports of demonic activity in the mediterranean…”

Gabriel wondered if he needed a new tunic. He had been wearing the same one for a long time and grew quite bored of it. 

“We assume that the Prince of hell might be involved”

The name alerted Gabriel immediately.

“The Prince???” 

It was Michael’s turn to sigh in frustration. You could not expect much focus from Gabriel once the demon was mentioned.

“If you had paid attention-”

“What’s with them? They rarely ascend to earth”

Michael seemed ready to impale the supreme archangel with her sword. 

“Yes, Gabriel. The Prince” she continued “it seems they are playing false god in the promised land and we would be very grateful if you could spare some of your time-”

“I’ll descend to earth” he said “where to?” 

Ekron, Philistine, 1200 B.C

Ba’al Zebul, as they were known amongst the aegean descendants - was lounging on the comfort of their temple, indulging in olives offered by the worshippers, a well earned after so many blessings and prosperity brewing in the beloved city of the pentapolis. Despite Ba’al Zebul’s dislike for earth and the people in it, they had to admit that meddling with Her humans, becoming a deity amongst them, was the most delightful form of blasphemy. Besides, they did enjoy their work creating certain things, specially the little flies - they were the best way to bring pestilence - but also the crops, fruits, cereals, the blessing of rain and rage of the storms. There was an interesting side to serving those human creatures.

“Fiend” a voice rumbled outside their stone temple, the loud thunder cracking was an indication that a certain, and not welcome, archangel had arrived. 

“Satan, give me strength because I will in fact discorporate this bird” they grumbled. 

Beelzebub, not bothering to change their godly manifestation, left the temple and stepped into the hard ground, the sun harsh on their copper skin. 

“Archangel” Zebul called “how unpleasant it is to see you”

It had been a few good centuries since the demon prince last saw of the angel. The bastard was wearing a pompous tunic, but his hair was what almost sent the demon right back to hell. That hair was an atrocity, shoulder length and had a few strands that stood in the air, most likely because of the lightning, 

“Uh?” he was beyond confused.

The demon noticed as the angel stared intensely, as if he had never seen another being. Zebul could only imagine that their very different appearance was enough to dissolve the angel’s mind. 

“It’s my deity form, archangel” they explained “it’s how the people down there manifest me, you know?”

He did not, his face said it all.

“I don’t know you” the angel blurted.

Oh Satan, give them more strength. 

“It’s me. Demon Prince of Hell, Gluttony and also Zebul” 

“Is this some kind of game?” Gabriel completely ignored what the demon had said “you are nothing similar to my archenemy”

Ba’al Zebul’s eyes flashed red and hellfire danced upon their feet. 

“Is it enough or has your feather head finally given up?” 

Gabriel was still confused, eyeing their frame carefully and cautiously. The Ba’al had to admit that it was a stark contrast to their demonic corporation, but it could not be this strange to the point the archangel could only stare stupidly. 

“Could you please change into your original corporation?”

“No” they bluntly said.

The angel raised his hands in defeat.

“Alright, alright. I was just used to the usual corporation”

“What do you want, archangel? I assume you’re here for some speech on how much I am being blasphemous and all that-”

“Why would humans envision you like this? That is so odd” the angel commented, distracted from his own purpose. 

Sometimes the demon wondered how Heaven was still intact if he was their supreme archangel, but the demon also enjoyed turning his stupid words against him. With a wicked smile, Ba’al twirled elegantly, showing off their regal clothing and adornments.

“Like what you see?”

Gabriel scoffed. 

Besor River, Philistine, 1000 B.C

The settlement was new, shy of a few dozen families. The homes were fragile, the food was scarce, the children were weak. Women labored while the men fell ill and some died, War coming to collect its prize each time. The few survivors grasped in fraying ends of hope.

"Ba'al Zebul" a woman cried, trembling knees and hands, her prayers begging for the deity to spare the life of the children, born and unborn, to rain famine and pestilence over their enemies.

“Ba’al Zebul” said an ill man, praying for his god to give him strength to yield a blade one more time.

The Ba’al heard the cries from the pits of Hell, from their hellish throne room. While ascending to earth, they closed their blue colored eyes, allowing their manifestation to take place. The storm gray eyes watched their worshippers with a simmering heart. The wind started to violently flow across the land, the deity would avenge their precious Ekron, now taken by the people of Jacob,l Zebul’s beautiful temple burnt to the ground. As the deity watched their worshippers scattered around and dying of famine and illness, they raged and swore bloodshed on Her people. If She wanted war, Ba’al Zebul would gladly give it to her. 

Heaven

Gabriel was not able to solve much that first encounter, he left before he could embarrass himself more. The angel did not want to admit that the new corporation was distracting him. The demon’s manifestation kept the short hair, dark as the night, but with thick curls adorned with iron jewelry. The copper skin contrasted with the body accessories and elegant tunic, the proportionate face and small hands were painted in beautiful shapes. The archangel was ashamed to admit that the demon distracted him in any form, but at least he had gotten used to the old one. The new form sent him again into a spiral of thoughts he should not have. 

“Gabriel”

Great. As if Michael isn’t already irritating enough.

“Yes, Uriel?” their worried eyes were unusual. 

“It’s the Prince again. We do not know how, but the Hebrews were defeated by the Philistines and we all suspect it’s their fault”

Gabriel let go of the scroll he was reviewing. What about the Ineffable Plan? This was not good, the Prince was interfering with the plan. The Philistines were to be stripped of everything they built - easily - not win the war! 

“I thought War was informed on which side was to win, and where is Aziraphale? And Hel’s representative? They sure could have done something!”

Gabriel was already walking towards the floating earth representation, he was fuming, Uriel barely able to follow his large steps.

“We contacted Aziraphale, he informed us that everything was sudden. The Philistines were loosing and, as if a miracle happened, the Isrealites were dying of pestilence, their food supplies were rotten and their weapons rusted overnight”

Gabriel watched the floating globe, a red smoke coming from the mediterranean. While preparing to descend upon earth again, the archangel wondered how the Prince was able to overthrow heavenly miracles thrown upon the Israelites and Judahites. Michael herself had blessed them and losing the war should not have happened. Her plan needed them to triumph.

Gerar, Philistine, 1000 B.C

Zebul walked through the dying vegetation, soaked with blood and human remains. The battle was gruesome, just the way the deity enjoyed it. The winners were chanting to their god of storms and war.

“Ba’al” they cried with gratitude.

He watched as the winners celebrated. Soon enough, the philistines would reclaim their beloved Ecron, reestablishing their beloved temple and begging for the deity’s abundance and fertility, to once more expand their land to its former glory. Zebul had done their part, they had avenged their city, their people. 

Lighting in the distance cut the demon’s prideful moment.

“Demon!” the archangel was furious.

Zebul laughed, they saw the celestial being expand all six wings, in a pathetic attempt at intimidation. 

“Oh no” they mocked “such a terrifying angel, what will become of me after your wrath?” 

“You are interfering with Her plan” the angel quickly analyzed the demon’s appearance “return to your original corporation, demon, now is not time for games”

Zebul felt anger boil under their inked skin. The angel had an audacity like no other, barking orders as if the deity owed him anything. 

“I will not” they said through gritted teeth “speak, archangel”

“I will speak to you as a Prince, not a false god” 

“Then you will be disappointed” they said to the angel “I quite enjoy this form”

Gabriel watched the group of people nearby, still celebrating, and the pile of dead bodies around them. Zebul noticed the panic in the archangel’s eyes, and they felt pleasure. If the supreme archangel was in distress, so was She. 

“Stop this nonsense, Prince of Gluttony” the angel’s voice had a sinister touch “you cannot play god forever, She will not allow it. We have a plan and you agreed to follow it!”

“I agree with the plan that leads to the War of wars, but I never agreed upon the details of it. I can do as I please” they said, circling the archangel, wondering if they could finally have their long awaited brawl. 

“If the Philistines are not defeated, we suffer consequences. You cannot interfere, I will not allow it” Gabriel’s voice rumbled through the field. 

“Are you even certain that the plan is even in motion?” Ba'al's voice was calm “that you are not causing war after war for nothing, destroying entire cities and cultures for a plan that nobody knows or understands?”

The archangel narrowed his lilac eyes, ready to defend his Mother, but a realization fell upon him. Gabriel almost smiled wickedly. 

“You are attached to them” 

“I am not!” the demon barked “I am merely pointing out that you don’t know the plan, you just follow orders mindlessly”

“You care for them” the angel reinforced. 

Zebul refused to stay there, listening to that nonsense, the ground cracked and hellfire engulfed their form. They could stop this whenever they wanted, all this playing god situation was perfectly under control. 

Ashdod, Philistine, 1000 B.C

“You could have a taste” the demon tempted.

“Coming from you?” the angel barked “never”

“Then eat the ones She made, although I believe mine are better” Zebul commented as they ate another olive. 

The angel had once again descended upon earth to warn the demon about their actions of war. Instead, he was distracted by pouring rain and needed to seek shelter in a small temple - dedicated to Ba’al Zebul, of course. He could return to Heaven, but he would not return with another failure. 

“I do not taint my heavenly corporation” the angel said. 

“This is why your face resembles an old woman” the deity mocked “you never felt the joy of a good olive, or lamb meat, never even sipped pomegranate wine”

“As the sin of Gluttony, you are to enjoy those blasphemies” he argued “I am holy”

The demon laughed and lazily lounged on their offering table. They felt the angel’s eyes as their stained fingers caressed the olive branch nearby, prompting the fruit to ripe faster.

“I know you want to ask” they tempted again “be my guest”

Zebul knew curiosity was not a trait well seen in angels - Lucifer and all his companions was proof of that. And they would not be a demon if they did not tempt him with questions. Gabriel had a good restraint, and it prompted the deity to indulge his answer to a silent question. 

“I do not know either” they said “I just made an entire field of cherries bloom out of pure temptation for the humans, and soon I was a deity and they named me”

The angel tilted his face, asi if contemplating the possibility of a lie. 

“Why Zebul?” the angel finally broke “If you are a false god of fertility and abundance, why call you that?”

The demon smiled at the ‘false’. Oh, how they enjoyed irritating the angel. 

“I do bring pestilence. My little sweet flies are wonderful at it” they explained ”but the name is not really referring to my flies”

Zebul knew the angel was dying to ask what they meant, but held it back. 

Heaven

The angel left the encounter with another failure, but enough to report to heaven about the demon’s developing powers. Heaven was ablaze, Metatron went silent for some time, probably pondering with God about what to do with the demon Prince. Gabriel kept descending to earth, observing the demon’s actions and influence, watching as the war deviated more and more from their original plan.

“There is something strange” Gabriel said to his fellow archangels.

The supreme archangel feared his next words, but they were necessary.

“I am not sure the Prince of Hell is fully conscious when they’re manifesting on earth” 

“And what does it mean?” Uriel asked.

“That the philistines have a strong hold over them” he concluded “which means banishing them will be nearly impossible. The humans will bring them back as soon as a prayer is uttered”

“The humans are giving them more power as they grow” Michael completed his thought “we need this to stop and it can only be done if we destroy the false god’s worshippers”

Gaza, Philistine, 900 B.C

On Gabriel’s next visit, he saw the demon in a long linen gown dragging through the crops about to spring. The angel watched as the plants seemed to bow to them, as if thanking their maker. The thought that a demon was creating life, blessing and influencing even powerful manifestations of the weather, sent a chill down Gabriel’s spine. There was a spark of questioning that he needed to drown immediately, no matter how curious he was about the demon’s acquired abilities.

“Came to warn me of my blasphemy again?” the demon said, not sparing the angel a glance “I said it before, the war stops when I wish for it to stop”

Ever since the demon started to interfere in the palestinian conflicts, the supreme archangel suffered enormous pressure to put his archenemy under control, with failure staining his record. All the archangels and Metraton were expecting Gabriel to find the solution to the demon’s growing influence and power region, they all feared the false godhood would spread to other peoples.

“I believe you’re in need of Hell” he said “I believe you might be losing control”

The demon - or should he say deity? - stopped their strolling, facing him completely. Their eyes were the color of heavy storms, and he could see the demon behind them unmistakably before. That moment though, he could not see the demon at all. 

“You do not know what you speak of” their voice, a usual soft and bored tune, had a contained fury behind it. 

“Then tell me, Prince of Gluttony” the angel continued “Why have you not returned to Hell in centuries?” 

“Hell is under trusted hands” the demon’s voice was louder “and I am on earth on my King’s demands”

“Then why do I see Ba’al Zebul and not the Prince?” Gabriel referenced their latest encounters “You never speak to me as the Prince”

“I told you this before, archangel, I enjoy this form. I can return to be the Prince as I see fit”

Gabriel wondered if the Prince of Hell was really in control of their manifestation as they thought. They seemed more Ba’al Zebul than the Prince of Hell, and this division seemed to worsen with time. 

“Then I trust you to stop this eventually, demon” the angel insisted “I am sure you understand that this has to end, you had your fun, now let Her plan take course and let these people be destroyed”

Ekron, Philistine, 900 B.C

Zebul watched their beloved Ekron from above the canyons. The city was in glee, celebrating one more victory and the defeat of the invaders, finally reclaiming their home. The Lord of Flies observed as the festive city praised their patron deity, uttering their love and gratefulness for their Ba'al.

“Enjoy your victory, it will be one of few" the archangel's voice finally sounded behind him.

"It’s more than enough” Zebul smiled wickedly "If even for a second we can meddle in Her plans, I am satisfied"

Zebul flipped their dense long braid over the shoulder and the storm eyes gazed upon the archangel. The angel’s hair was still atrociously falling over his shoulders, but the tunic fit him nicely. The deity sometimes wondered how much fabric it took to dress someone as large as Gabriel.

"Return to Hell" the archangel rumbled, but his tone was tired, as if he could only hope the command would be taken.

"You cannot banish me" they returned their gaze on the city "not while their hold on us is this strong, not when they feed us with belief"

"You are a false god" Gabriel continued "and once they are conquered, you will be forgotten"

“We’ll see, archangel” the deity confidently said “I quite like how frustrated you are with my interferences, I might make this war last longer” 

“You will not succeed” the angel confidently said “there are limits to your abilities, we will triumph” 

“You might” the demon sat down, taking their curved long blade and sharpening it with a single touch “but I will be an inconvenience while it lasts”

The archangel scoffed, a habit of his whenever the demon was near. He had changed his tunic, but the hair remained just as hideous. Zebul wanted nothing more than to cut it all off, for some strange reason. 

“Your hair could use some attention” Zebub blurted.

“Excuse me?” 

Oh Satan, he was dense. The deity laughed once more.

“Sit” he commanded, standing up and pointing to the ground “The invaders won’t defeat my worshippers today, so we might as well use this opportunity to fix the atrocity in your head”

 “Never! A demon touching me is out of the question, specially on this disgusting soil” the outrage on Gabriel’s face was delightful to see. 

“Awww, the angel does not want to stain his gown” Zebub mocked “or maybe he is afraid of being close to such a powerful god”

“Oh, please, me? Afraid of a false god? Never, demon”

“Then sit down, if you are so courageous and holy”

Reluctantly, and surprising Zebul, the angel did sit down. They had to refrain from saying ‘good angel’ afraid the celestial being might combust. 

“I can miracle my hair cut” Gabriel said. 

“Then why don’t you?”

The angel did not reply. Zebul miracled a fire, the orange hue illuminating the angel’s large frame. The small blade was quickly shortening the graying strands of Gabriel’s hair. The angel would not admit, but the calloused hands of the deity were relaxing.

“Such a bold angel, trusting a demon with a knife”

Gabriel’s chest vibrated in amusement.

“I would be across the field the moment you thought about striking me, demon”

Zebul chuckled, their hands softly combing through the angel’s hair, admiring the silver color in his temples.

“You look decent, now. Worthy of being seen with me” Zebul mocked.

Gabriel stood up, his towering frame sending strange sensations down Zebul’s abdomen. The deity shook their head, in an attempt to ignore those sensations. The angel was their mortal enemy, one day the two beings would find death at the hands of one another. In the same breath, that moment between angel and not-quite-demon felt different, as gray eyes stared into dark violet ones, Zebul wished they could be something else entirely. 

Joppa, Philistine, 900 B.C

The Ba'al was bathing in the delta of the river. They watched as the water droplets danced around their body, following the curves and dips of their shape until reuniting with the deep colored water. There was a sense of peace in the sky - despite the horrors of war still raiding the land and terrorizing the people - until it was disrupted by lightning. Zebul smiled, not bothering to stop their moment of relaxation.

"I can feel your eyes, archangel"

They saw as Gabriel deviated his gaze, suddenly aware of his staring. Zebul left the water, quietly walking towards the angel, nude as a newborn. The archangel, to their amusement, held his gaze down to his feet. 

"This is becoming repetitive" they said, soft voice barely audible above the river's stream.

Gabriel did not lay his eyes on them, nor did he reply. He was not certain of what to do. He could not banish them yet, the deity's essence strongly tied to the philistines, despite them finally losing the battle. Only She could command the Prince to Hell once more, and the Almighty was silent. Gabriel could find no alternative and the war kept going, Heaven was extremely upset and yet nobody could solve this problem. 

"She must have plans for you, for this war" he finally replied "I will wait for the next commands, until then I am here only to observe"

The Ba'al laughed quietly, still standing a few steps away from the archangel.

"Bathe with me, angel"

Gabriel set his eyes on their storm colored ones, astonished. 

"I have no need for cleaning myself" he uttered "I am an angel, perfect by nature-"

"And also extremely irritating. Are you afraid of water, bird?"

Gabriel felt the anger simmering inside him. His majestic wings manifested, trying to intimidate the deity. 

"I am not a bird" he said "and I am not afraid of water"

"Prove it, then" they said, not minding the three pairs of wings. 

Gabriel, despite not admitting, was quite vain and proud, Zebul could see that. He would not let himself be seen as a coward in front of a demon, after all. The angel quickly walked towards the water.

"No, No!" the deity scolded "Remove the tunic, nobody bathes dressed"

He focused his eyes on theirs once more, trying not to wander around their frame as the lord of flies approached him once more.

"Do you even know how to undress?" they mocked.

Gabriel huffed, snapping his fingers, the tunic reappearing neatly folded next to Zebul’s own regal clothing. The deity turned their back on him- a bold move for a demon in the presence of an archangel - and entered the river again. Gabriel felt the cool sensation of the water on his feet, not certain if he enjoyed the sensation.

"What do you think?" they inquired once both were covered with water up to their shoulders.

“I don’t see the appeal” he complained.

Zebul laughed, their voice a beautiful tune. Not that Gabriel had noticed. 

“Your hair looks decent” they commented “I am good at this, after all”

“It was your first time cutting someone’s hair?” the poor angel’s eyes were wide.

“Oh, hush, angel. I am naturally talented. Besides, nothing could be as horrendous as your previous hair. Lightning and long hair is a very bad combination, you know?”

Gabriel sighed, threading his fingers through his hair as if he was suddenly worried about its shape. 

“Tell me” the Ba’al swam near the angel “why are you really here?”

“To observe, I told you this-”

“No, no! Why are you really here? You could send any other angel to spy on me”

Gabriel did not reply, and that fueled the deity.

“You wanted to see me naked yourself? That is a sin, angel” they mocked.

“I did not- I don’t” he groaned, deciding to leave the river “this was a waste of my precious time”

Zebul laughed in delight as Gabriel’s well sculpted back side walked towards the riverbank. 

“Oh, angel, come back, I was merely jesting”

“On my account” he barked, dressed with the snap of a finger.

Gaza, Philistine, 700 B.C

Gabriel’s next visit on earth was the start of a crumbling scene. He had heard of the latest loss for the philistines and soon found a reason to descend upon earth. When he did not find the deity blessing crops and walking by rivers, nor crafting blades. Gabriel wondered if the deity had finally returned to Hell. However, soon enough, the angel found them on dry land, trembling and wailing.

The angel approached, one of his hands hesitant to touch their shoulders, afraid of a violent reaction. Surprisingly, it never came, instead they laced their arms over the angel's shoulders, and he could do nothing but embrace the devastated deity. He wanted to ask what had happened, but the angel knew well about the Philistines' growing demise. The Ba’al wailed until their eyes had dried, muttering incomprehensible words. Gabriel could only hold them, protecting their figure from the harsh sun with his wings. 

When the apex of the Assyrian dominance arrived, Gabriel returned to earth once more, knowing the impact it would have on the deity. But he did not find Zebul. The archangel seeked for miles, the villages terrified of the amount of lightning crossing the sky.

"Ba'al Zebul!" a deep voice shook the world around. 

No answer. No response. The archangel returned to heaven with a worried mind. He should have felt glee, with Zebul’s people falling and blending into other societies, the false god would finally be forgotten enough to weaken and return to Hell. The ordeal that lasted a few centuries more than it should would finally end, Gabriel would finally solve the matter with the demon Prince once and for all.

The angel should sing victory, but Gabriel felt nothing.

Nile Delta, Egypt, 500 B.C

The Nile delta was a beautiful sight, the deity of fertility would never grow tired of seeing the dark colored river blend into the sea. They walked through the soaked sand, the linen tunic dirty on the bottom. The angel was gliding beside them, not so fond of having the mud color staining his clothes.

"I am sorry, angel" Zebul said "It’s been difficult to manifestate, I should have warned you about it"

Gabriel smiled discreetly, the Prince of hell would deeply regret once they recalled their godly self asking for an angel's forgiveness. The amusement soon died, Gabriel knew that the Prince was not there, not aware of their own actions, lost in their own identity. 

"I thought you had returned to Hell once and for all" he said.

"Still dreaming of the day I'll be forgotten?" they murmured, smiling wickedly "wait a few more centuries, my dearest angel, there are still old enough of my people alive to remember me"

The angel smiled, with no real happiness. They did not notice how dull their appearance was, how less regal they seemed as the winds of forsakenness blew upon them.

"Zebul” the angel said.

The deity stopped walking, staring at their companion. Gabriel had never called them by their godly name. 

"Return to Hell” he said, but his voice bore no anger or distaste, it seemed to be the advice of a long time friend. 

"I wish I could, angel”

The angel, most likely against his own beliefs and morals, touched the deity once more. His hand held theirs, admiring the ink patterns on the fingers that extended to their arms. Gabriel had felt the waves of desperation, when he found them kneeling on dead crops, wailing the slow loss of their people’s love. 

"I know this all started as a fun blasphemy” they continued “but I think…I think the Prince lost themself on it”

“When this ends” the angel replied “they will forget and you’ll be able to cut your ties to earth, tend to your hellish demands. You will be the Prince once more”

"I know" she interrupted "but I fear...I was their god for more than a millennium, angel. I think I can’t just be the Prince again and forget what I became here on earth"

Their eyes landed north, where the few ones who still worshiped Ba’al Zebul were trying to survive. Their identity slowly dying conqueror after conqueror. Zebul felt the sheer fear of losing love forever. First Her love and now...

"I don’t want to be only the Prince of Hell, the sin of Gluttony" they continued “I found joy in being the lord of flies and storms, to sprout the most beautiful pomegranates and olives, to inspire the blacksmiths…I cannot let go of this”

Gabriel held their hand for longer than he should, but the Ba'al could not bring themself to let go of his warmth. The deity felt cool fingers on their face, lilac eyes focusing on theirs, the iron colored tears staining the angel’s hands.

Heaven

Gabriel was not able to return to earth for a few centuries, and his mind was riddled with guilt and pain. The last he saw of Ba'al Zebul sent a wave of sorrow his way. The angel watched as Zebul's mind broke, not sure of who they were anymore. Their corporation oscillated between both forms while the angel held the deity delicately on his arms, encasing his wings around for protection.

"Gabriel" Michael interrupted his thoughts, but Gabriel did not even felt the usual irritation 

The supreme archangel nodded, asking for more details.

"We have good news and congratulations on your way" the other archangel started “it seems like the Prince of Hell finally left and their influence dies every passing day on earth”

Gabriel's heart sank. They were in hell, but how much of the deity remained inside the demon? He should not feel sadness over a demon, his designated enemy even, but he could not help himself from wondering about their well being. 

Pela, Macedonian empire, 300 B.C

The Prince of Hell was already impatient. They adjusted their tunic once more, not at all pleased to be on earth. They had spent confusing and nebulous centuries there, it was the last place the demon prince wished to be. Even worse considering that the archangel wanted to meet in such a crowded market. The Prince was considering leaving and sending a hellish message to the messenger, but before they could settle the decision there was a familiar sensation of holiness.

“You are late, archangel” the demon Prince complained.

Gabriel, wearing a fancy alexandrine outfit, stood beside the enemy.

“Long time since we met” his voice did not hold the usual scorn, something that sent the demon’s senses of danger into overdrive. 

“Let’s find a more private place” the demon soon distanced themself from the angel. 

They were nervous, for reasons unknown. The Prince attributed it to the fact they had not met the angel for quite some time, in contrast to when their meetings had always been frequent before.

“There” the demon said, pointing to a square. There were a few children playing around, others passing by, but the place was rather calm. 

“What is it that you wanted to speak about?” the angel finally asked. 

The demon went silent, they had called the angel to discuss the usual: the War of wars, the Plan, but there was a sheer curiosity within the Prince, a demonic nature that even high ranking beings could not ignore. 

“What…” they paused, they had a chance to not speak of it, a last chance.

The angel was patiently waiting, an odd reaction. Gabriel was never a patient archangel, specially dealing with the Prince of Hell, his sworn and eternal enemy. 

“Dagon informed me that you were a frequent visitor in the last few centuries” they said, against their own judgment.

“I was, more than I anticipated considering I am no ordinary messenger” the angel replied.

The Prince wanted to laugh at his words, the angel’s vanity a familiar tune.

“Well, archangel, since you were here quite often” they began “and you are my designated enemy, I have to ask you something important”

Gabriel seemed tense, eyes diverted to the ocean far away. He nodded, the Prince could smell the fear coming from him. The demon wondered if it had something to do with their nebulous years on earth, had they connected when the Prince was not quite conscious?

“Did we speak over those centuries?” they finally decided to say it once and for all.

The angel sighed, lilac eyes closing and then landing on the demon’s shorter frame. 

“Yes”

The demon felt their insides cold, what had they done? What happened? While under the claim of the humans, they had forgotten enough of their hellish duties, and surely Gabriel would take advantage of it.

“And what happened?” the demon did not notice their hand on the angel’s forearm, gripping strongly “tell me, Gabriel”

The use of the angel’s name was a surprise for both of them. The Prince had never dared give the angel the benefit of uttering his name. 

“You do not remember” the angel said.

“If I remembered anything other than glimpses of the past, I would never seek you for…help” the words felt sour in their mouth “and the others won’t even dare acknowledge my time on earth, not even Dagon tells me a word, and she also was claimed by the humans”

The archangel’s face was unreadable, he was silent for more than the Prince could ever tolerate. All they wanted was to understand what had happened, not simply forgetting and continuing their journey, something deep changed inside the demon and they could not access any of it, it drove the Prince mad. 

“Forget I ever asked you” they decided, not patient enough to rage against the angel.

They should have known Gabriel would not cooperate, that he had probably involvement on the demon’s confusion and memory loss, that-

“Ba’al Zebul” his voice was above a whisper, his hand held the Prince’s arm softly.

The demon stopped, choking as if air had become necessary for them. The name sent a strange vibration through the Prince’s skull, opening the gates of more than a millennia of memories. Memories that they always knew were there, but nobody dared to help the Prince open them. 

“You did not want to forget” the angel said behind them “being Ba’al Zebul”

“This name…”

The demon, turning to stare into the eyes of the messenger, nodded. The memories flooded in at a peaceful pace, reminding them of long years on earth, each part of their divine self aligning with their current one as a Prince, harmonically connecting. 

“It’s yours” the angel let go of their arm “It’s you”

In the heart of the Macedonian world, awoke Beelzebub: Prince of Hell, Sin of Gluttony, Lord of the flies, the ancient god of storms and fertility, of pestilence and cure.

See masterlist for more Halloween content!

[hackedxy0x]

My Darling Narcissus

🌸🌸🌸--- Hanahaki fic --- 🌸🌸🌸

Pairing : Oliver Quick / Felix Catton

Rating : Explicit

Word Count : 28k

Summary : Oliver had heard of the flower coughing disease before. Or hanahaki, as it’s best known. The first case was found in Japan, who knows how many years ago, where the person affected had flowers growing in their lungs. Symptoms included extreme coughing fits that wouldn’t go away, watery eyes, tightness in the throat, and many other inconveniences a person with a plant in their respiratory system might have.

Unrequited love. Completely illogical and medically improbable, but there it was.

It didn’t take him long to realize who his unrequited love was. After all, there was only one person who occupied his every thought.

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

It started with a tickle in the back of his throat.

He was sitting in the ancient-looking Oxford library, books laid out in front of him, dusty and heavy. The ones no one ever borrowed because no one ever really wanted to read. Why dive a bit deeper into your studies when you can just breeze through a textbook and write whatever you wanted without putting in any effort at all.

Oliver was honestly wondering why was he even doing this himself, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do with his time. That’s probably why.

Maybe Michael would've borrowed these books if they had anything to do with his major. He'd probably aggressively demand for Oliver to give him a page number, so he could recite a fucking citation for him.

So right now, Oliver was busy studying. Or busy pretending to study, that is.

He was studying at first, for a good hour or so, trying to find out as much as he could about the influence of foreigners on medieval English (he was expecting more from Oxford). Thus, the book thick enough to kill someone or at least give them a good dust-induced asthma attack. Unfortunately, his efforts came to an abrupt halt when one Felix Catton walked in through the door and sat a few tables away from him.

Felix was with a group of his friends, vaguely familiar faces mixing with the constantly rotating ones. Oliver mentally referred to them as Alpha Hotties for obvious reasons. Leaders of the pack, attractive, young and rich. The center of attention, with Felix as their leader - the world was theirs to claim. They all huddled up at the same long table, chattering too loudly for a library, but of course no one came to shush them. Even the librarian was carefully minding her own business. Oliver suspected that they came there to study, but apart from opening a few books (contents seemingly random), nobody seemed willing to study much of anything.

Oliver couldn't help but glance at that table every few seconds, sneakily trying to catch a glance of him, the one and only star of the show.

Felix Catton.

Oliver only recently found out his name. It wasn't all too difficult of a task, really. It seemed to circle around the halls, a fond whisper on everyone's lips, Casper the friendly ghost haunting the Oxford halls. An adornment of Hey Felixs followed by friendly Hey yous from the man himself.

Even if Oliver didn’t hear his name from his peers, it would’ve been hard to miss something like having an entire building named after your family right there on campus. Another thing he learned about Felix, he was apparently stupidly rich.

From what Oliver observed, Felix was a god among mortals and everyone wordlessly seemed to be aware of the fact, his name always spoken with an appropriate amount of worship and awe. Everyone seemed to be drawn to him, people always surrounding him like little ants desperate to get their hands on Felix as if he was the first sugar cube they had ever seen. Even Oliver, always detached from everyone, always the odd man out, felt Felix's pull from the moment they locked eyes through the window.

A shock through the system, a spear through the heart. Before, he wondered if he even had one. Empty like that Tin Man for The Wizard of Oz. And now he couldn’t get it to shut up - his heart constantly singing hymns bearing Felix’s name. And it hadn’t stopped doing so since.

Oliver wished for nothing more than to be one more ant to eat away at Felix's presence, but he was more of a praying mantis than an ant, and it was something everyone could plainly see. Maybe not actively, but something about Oliver made their fight or flight instinct kick in; his presence was an obvious discomfort, and they always chose flight. Oliver had no place among them.

Never had Oliver hated that fact more than since he saw Felix. If he were more like everyone else, he could've easily wiggled his way into the group, stay happily at Felix’s side until he decided that he was sick of Oliver gnawing on him.

Unfortunately, he was an Oliver, and an Oliver didn’t even live on the same planet as a Felix.

A tickle in his throat was almost an afterthought when he looked at Felix who was leaning back in his chair, laughing, completely unaware of Oliver watching him over the rim of his glasses. Oliver dismissively thought about buying some mints to bite on before his mind snapped back to Felix.

God, what a beautiful laugh he had. Oliver longed to hear it play again and again.

------

Continue on Ao3 : Link

[ninoochat]

About me

Mina • 39 • french • bi • multifandom • depressed, lazy & horny

Asks and messages open, feel free to tell me to fuck off and call me out on my bullshit, always happy to learn. I'm not very smart but I try my best. Come and go as you please because I don't control when I change obsessions.

Tags masterpost (wip because aaahhhhh)

Barry Keoghan:

main • art • behind the scenes • boxing/working out • dancing • movies • nudity • photoshoots • press/interviews • shitposts • social media • thirst

Barry's movies & shows:

saltburn • the banshees of inisherin • the batman • eternals • the green knight • short film • calm with horses • chernobyl • black '47 • american animals • dunkirk • the killing of a sacred deer • light thereafter • candy floss • for you • mammal • north • '71 • stay • wasted • stalker • top boy

Barry's characters:

Ben • Curtis Biddick • Dominic Kearney • Druig • Dympna Devers • George Mills • Jonny McGee • Joe Walsh • Joker • Martin Lang • Oliver Quick • Pavel • Pavel Yefremov • Scavenger • Sean • Sean Bannon • Spencer Reinhard • Tommy

People I love:

Julian Casablancas • Pete Doherty • Britney Spears

Things I love:

horror • vampires • the libertines • the strokes • cinema • cinematography • favorite movies • letterboxd • art • photography • knitting • dancing • music • reaction videos • fics • smut • edits • favorite posts

Gaming:

stardew valley • skyrim • sims 4 • fallout 4 • fallout new vegas • fallout 3 • fallout 76 • rimworld • gta v • enderal • nexus • modding

Ships:

pete and carl • liebgott • gallavich • speirton • winnix • ranson • hannigram • quickstart • clegan

Misc:

personal posts • wisdom • memes • made by me • resources • made me laugh

[galaxostars]

iris i need to know your fav rarepairs immediately

hi robyn !!

HA so this question is hard cause I’m a huge multishipper and fall in love w pairings reallll quick so you could basically name any pairing and… I’d be into it, but I’m gonna try and keep it short (or my definition of it at least)

Mauraudeurs era :

Remus/James (my absolute babes the most underrated)

James/Sirius (they shouldn’t be a rare pair ohmygod they’re SOULMATES)

Remus/Regulus (seriously? those introverted book nerds who are done w prongsfoot? need I say more?)

James/Barty (the potential for these two to be UNHINGEDDDD is so so good plus it brings out dark!james which i love—but on that topic I ship James and Barty w pretty much anyone sooo)

James/Narcissa (this proves my theory of me shipping James with everyone but also, it’s not my fault if a friend wrote the hottest fic ever w those two and now I’m brainwashed)

Golden trio era :

Ron/Krum (…this one’s my friends’ fault, they cough cough gently bullied me into writing them and now I’m obsessed)

Ginny/Cho (the way they’re both so powerful, smart and hot and so done w Harry lmao)

Oliver/Marcus (idk how I fell into that one but the flintwood fics out there are so fucking good it’s not even funny)

Blaise/George (yes yes yes I blame ‘here’s looking at you, kid’ but also George and Blaise are both so hot and I ship them w everyone)

Harry/Sirius (I’m a sucker for age gap—and these two! ohmygod the ANGST is amazing??? to rlly hurt myself I like to think of this ship as Harry being so lost and in need of a masculine older figure in a fucked up way and Sirius still mourning James, trying to navigate his feelings towards his best friend and his son, his guilt, the way he’s literally touch starved, probs like Harry… they fuck me istg)

Next gen era (including cross gen):

Harry/Teddy (this one’s like sirry but cuter? there’s more hope? two orphans finding family and love where they can…. and age gap my love)

James Sirius/Teddy (again idk why they’re so good but THE FICS OUT THERE HOLY SHIT)

Draco/Albus Severus (I read ONE 100k long fic abt them and now I’m soooo fucking hooked, they’re both soooo slytherin which makes the dynamic super fun, and petty abt not being Harry Potter lmao)

I have not mentioned my dead dove fave ships for my… protection and peace haha but I have a lot of those too !

So, ahem, there ya go 🤣

[kissingrhi]

oh wowowowowow

so so excited to sit down and DIGEST the absolute art that i know this fic is going to be!! gotta thank op for tagging me and being so sweet — and for providing such wonderful writing! 💕✨ here we goooo

notes notes notes and comments and annotations, whatever you wanna call them idc:

- “For so long as Oliver wormed his way into Felix's life, into his circle of friends, that's all Farleigh had been; dismissive looks and long, enticing fingers poised with cigarettes and disdain like he was a model for Marlboro.” quite delicious characterization if i say so myself… you write perfectly for the delicate lines and nooks and crannies of their dynamic and it scratches my brain

- “Anger and lust have never truly been strangers.” ????????? oh that ATE

- "my etiquette teacher would be rolling in her grave if she heard that!" LMFAOOOOO goodnight

- also love how you give the reader a personality and sort of characterize them…. reiterating this from before but it just SATISFIES MY SOULLL!!

- “desperate for a hungry-eyed academic like Farleigh who'd actually put in the work to study how to best tame a beast like you.” sexy. all i can say. sexy. hozier poetic lyric depicting the ins and outs of intimacy kind of sexy

- "your etiquette teacher know you beg like that?" 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

- “And your reactions to him; the way your fingers curled, the shiver he could see run down the length of your spine, and how quickly you had to press your face into the mattress, most likely embarrassed by whatever Farleigh would have seen in your expression.” HIII???!?! HELLO???😊😊😊

- “The chain around his neck hangs like the sword of Damocles above your own throat, and with the blue, searching, hungry eyes of a man who remembers every last cruel remark you'd tossed at him in the past week.” jaw dropped at this. are you fucking kidding me? gorgeous. stunning. art.

- “Now that Oliver knew inside and out - pun entirely intended - you were deliciously predictable. Easy to lull into a false sense of superiority.” giggle and also, again with this divine characterization of the reader themself!!! THANK YOU!!

- the way i started GIGGLING at the entire “sit” passage needs to be study… op you scratched an ITCH WITH THAT — Wowowowowowow

- “Oliver's lips are inches from yours, leaning into your space with intent, "stay," and you go quiet.” this Tension??? oh i’m flushed. Haute.

- “There's something intoxicating about you, the way everything you do in these moments is a war between your cruel nature and your hedonistic desires.” OH FUCK. OHHHH FUCK

- “You have spent all week treating Oliver Quick like nothing more than a dog; you hate that it turns you on when he returns the favour.” this exploration of oliver and the reader’s dynamic is so fucking good omg

- this food is so fucking good lois.

- ofc farleigh would know how to properly (erotically) choke someone. adds up

- "Didn't say speak." BITCH. i could write a thesis on that line ALONE — i can hear his cadence VIVIDLY echoing in that.

- “This malevolence is its own kind of fun; your desire to hurt, to wound, to sink your teeth in like a cornered animal betrays you to Oliver.” dog motif methinks…..art

- LMFAOOO THE COLLAR IM CRYINGGG (so incredibly Haute)

- "If I can't make you bark like a good girl, princess," Oliver murmurs, catching your lips in a kiss even as you try to bite him, pulling back with a cold smile, "then I'm going to make you beg." AHHHHHHDRJEORHEKENFME

- something so so so degrading about making the reader beg for a sip of water and i’m EATING IT UP

- "and aren't you pretty when you cry." 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😊😊😊😊😊

- “Oliver will give you this - and only this - before he drags every bit of satisfaction out of you that he wants. So he is careful, doesn't let the water spill, lets you breathe between mouthfuls when you indicate.” i know it’s about to get WICKED

- “"Yes sir," you managed sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you drank more of the water, but something snapped, rewired in Oliver's brain. Farleigh could see it too.” my brain also just short circuited because i can see this so fucking VIVIDLY!!!! like…

- we know that oliver’s got his weird, festering psychosexual quirks — i think control plays such a huge role in all of that and a sir kink with him is just… Right

- "Is that how you think you're going to get fucked tonight?" No response; Oliver's thumb begins moving on your clit, pressing insistent circles as your breathing grows deeper, "are you going to be a good girl?" Oh. My. God??????????????????????

- “you swallow hard, eyes opening to meet his; he can see this almost pains you, "please Oliver Quick, can I have the last of my water?" Those two fingers inside of you, curling, teasing, pulling a groan from you, eyes fluttering closed, and your voice barely above a whisper, "may I finish my water, sir?" to say this storybuilding and creation of the bond between these characters has altered my brain chemistry is an understatement — this CLIMAX and snap of all that built of tension is so satisfying andddd… Haute.

- "You fucking bit my hand," his voice ice cold, you see there's no humour in his eyes as you pull back and try to stammer out something, anything, genuinely caught off guard, "so thanks won't cut it, princess; you can start with an apology." OH??? where do i even… omg i’m like lightheaded rn

- i can quite literally HEAR farleigh’s voice in my head rn… oh em GEE. i mean the script does say he has a “cruel streak” … mhm yup this is delectable

- “This confidence becomes him.” love this detail

- “It's almost cute, your eagerness, the way you lean down in anticipation before.” who wouldn’t be eager let’s be real

- "You want this?" Just like a pet owner with their clearly eager dog, Oliver teases you.” i’m like HEATED… lord have mercy i’m not gonna make it

- “Beg for it.” started growling instantaneously

- “Mouth hanging open, panting like a desperate whore, you beg for Farleigh's cock in your mouth, your throat, to be facefucked and used, whatever - you felt like you were going insane from the suspense. All the words come spilling out from you, begging and dripping with need that Oliver almost gives in right there.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

- "Good dog," Farleigh mumbles, desperately working his own hand up and down his shaft.” i’m losing my fucking mind omg

- “I got you here, Farleigh, Oliver thinks with bitter triumph, everything else is sloppy fucking seconds.” this dynamic + the way you wrote the act itself??????? oh Wow

- “he murmurs as he takes your face in his hands, and immediately you're his, "crying for me?" The teasing starts warm, but as he's wiping the first of the tears from your cheeks, as you're nodding with embarrassment, his teasing turns mean and sharp and smug, "crying like a desperate, little cockwhore," he doesn't even time to let you react before he's giving your cheeks a gentle squeeze; "open up," he orders in that same cruel, loving, smug tone that makes Oliver's hairs stand up on the back of his neck.” this switch???? OH MY GOD O HFKMGORMDMF

- “Never felt someone so fucking desperate for someone they hate," Oliver bites out, almost impressed by how easy it was to bury himself in you.” speechless 😊

- “But your cunt still clutches at him like it was made for his cock, so slick with how much you need this, need him in this moment, that it's already dripping down your thighs.” this + taking farleigh in the mouth..:!3&;&3&;’d

- “Oliver is genuinely impressed that you're able to take all of Farleigh like that; he wonders if he'd dedicated time to training you.” (he definitely has)

- “Thank- thank you, Oliver Quick," your voice is demure and grateful among your sniffles and whimpers, and Oliver can't help but smile to himself. His pride in you extends only to your final show of submission, though it's pride nonetheless.” IM SICKKKK

op… somehow. SOMEHOW. you were able to top yourself from the first part of this. this absolutely scratched some kind of itch for me (and maybe opened many new doors, because holy shit). you write this dynamic deliciously and i know it has to be insanely hard to mend and mesh these characters together in this way — but you’ve got it down to a science. this was just… Gorgeous. i don’t even know where to start!!! just wow. wowowowowow. 💕💕💕💕💕💕

baby, put your back into it {Farleigh Start/Reader/Oliver Quick}

2/2: think about me while you do it [SMUT]

{ part one here }

Summary: In which Oliver puts you in your place, and makes you beg to be there.

Need to Know: She/Her. AFAB!Reader. Established FWB Brat!Reader/Brat Tamer!Farleigh

Warnings: PWP!! smut; fingering, oral (M receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, lots of arguing, reader is very very bratty, dehumanising language and overall incredibly degrading talk, BDSM, leashes, dacryphilia(crying), reader being treated like a dog, bondage & restraints, creampie, so much begging, sir kink, oliver having the time of his life as a manipulative dom, pet name used for the reader "princess" and being referred to as "good girl"

A/N: 7434 words. never ever as long as i live will i ever write this pairing (farleigh/brat!reader/oliver) again, and not only can you quote me on that, but you can take it to the fucking bank. that being said, i did genuinely LOVE writing this, i think they're dynamic is so incredibly fun to explore, and honestly there's something hot about the mind games they all play on each other. it's just that it takes FUCKING FOREVER for them to do anything because they all hate each other. well, you and farleigh hate oliver and he hates both of you, but you also like to cause problems on purpose which pisses them both off. i love it. i never want to write them again. 10/10 LETS GET WEIRD WITH IT i would love to know what you guys think about this all :) oh also we definitely get heavy on the farleigh/oliver in this as well

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Farleigh has always had these long, delicate fingers that Oliver's been fascinated by since they'd met, since he'd grabbed his thigh - so achingly briefly - in their tutor's office and levelled a grin that surely read as apologetic to the professor for running late, but turned so immediately dismissive the minute his gaze flicked to Oliver himself. For so long as Oliver wormed his way into Felix's life, into his circle of friends, that's all Farleigh had been; dismissive looks and long, enticing fingers poised with cigarettes and disdain like he was a model for Marlboro.

But the coldness in Farleigh's eyes turned warmer, especially over the Summer at Saltburn, and Oliver couldn't deny the heat of his frustration didn't have some kind of want pitting in his stomach. Anger and lust have never truly been strangers, at least not if he was judging by the way Farleigh had been looking at him tonight.

Now, Farleigh was looking at you with that heat in his eyes, looking at your parted lips and breathless smile like he wanted to devour you whole after so readily giving in to Oliver's degradation. Then he's watching the gentle way Oliver caresses your face in the moments that follow, and that heat too turns degrading.

"You really have no self respect," he scoffs; the mood shifts sharply to the left. There's that look in your eyes again like you're on the verge of causing more trouble.

"He said I had no manners!" You protested as Farleigh moved back from you, "my etiquette teacher would be rolling in her grave if she heard that!"

"Etiquette teachers aren't a real thing, are they?" Oliver, genuinely baffled enough to be pulled out of his earlier mood, automatically shuffles back as Farleigh gently pushes you over. You land on your stomach with a humph, hands still trapped at the small of your back, though now Oliver can see the skilled, tight way his belt was binding them. It conjures up images of expensive leather contraptions, restraints, and you on display, desperate for a hungry-eyed academic like Farleigh who'd actually put in the work to study how to best tame a beast like you.

"Do you think she ever stops to think why we call her a princess?" Farleigh scoffs in a brief moment of solidarity as he reclines on the bed. Oliver actually, genuinely laughs at that, much to your chagrin, at least until Farleigh's hand, those beautiful fingers, pushing down the waistband of his own boxers to finally give his cock some sorely needed attention. "Don't think your manners are the most scandalous thing you've been a part of tonight," he adds, turning his head to you with a deliciously sly smile, "your etiquette teacher know you beg like that?"

Oliver had caught sight of the way you were pouting, legs kicking ineffectually against the end of the bed considering how you were trapped in your position, like a little worm. You turned your head to face Farleigh with that same sulky expression, like all three of you didn't know exactly what he was talking about.

"My arms hurt," is all the response you give.

"Good," Oliver hadn't meant to say that out loud, nor had he entirely realised how fucking pleased he'd sounded as he'd said it, but it had seemingly escaped him nonetheless. His focus had been caught on the lazy rhythm Farleigh had been using to keep himself hard, but he still found himself enjoying the sound of your complaints, it seemed.

And your reactions to him; the way your fingers curled, the shiver he could see run down the length of your spine, and how quickly you had to press your face into the mattress, most likely embarrassed by whatever Farleigh would have seen in your expression. It seemed Farleigh himself wasn't even immune, cock momentarily twitching in his hand before Oliver realised how long he'd been staring, and that Farleigh's bright yet smug expression had meant he'd definitely noticed.

"You are taking to this remarkably fast," Farleigh sounds almost pleased, almost proud. You tell him to shut the fuck up, face still pressed against the duvet, but can't kick anyone from this angle, much to his ongoing amusement.

Surfacing, but still rather flustered, you announce sharply that you're not touching either of them until you can use your hands again. Oliver remarks that that's the point, and there's a part of him that's far too pleased about how it makes Farleigh laugh too. Of course this sets you off - he should have known - but it's easy enough for Oliver, sitting on his knees beside you on the bed, to keep you from sitting up too far once you've managed to roll over onto your back.

He knows he's different in this light, leaning over you, everything awash with the blue and silver of the night. For just a moment, it's as if you know you're helpless, his hand flat and warm on your chest, on your sternum, and you can see it in his eyes that he thinks you're helpless beneath him too. The chain around his neck hangs like the sword of Damocles above your own throat, and with the blue, searching, hungry eyes of a man who remembers every last cruel remark you'd tossed at him in the past week.

"Can I at least get some water?" You break the moment, and Oliver almost has to laugh, "it's not funny, I'm thirsty and for some reason," you pointedly rolled your eyes, words dripping with sarcasm, attempting to regain some of the composure you liked to carry yourself with, "I can't move my arms."

"Of course, your highness," Oliver briefly acquiesces, lips twitching into a smile as he made his way to the adjoining bathroom, hoping their was some kind of cup in their. Re-joining the room, he finds Farleigh to be amused, and you to still be on your back, annoyed -

"- not kidding, I'm not doing anything with either of you if you don't take this belt off of my damn hands," you were still insisting. Farleigh just grinned.

"Yeah, Miss Green-Light-Princess, we'll see about that."

Considering how your expression scrunched up to something almost flustered, and you didn't have any kind of comeback, it was safe to say you were still on board, just as Farleigh was delighted to call you out on it. Oliver reintegrates himself, sits himself on the edge of the bed and wears a little smile even as you call him your hero with more bitter sarcasm than he's ever heard from anyone in his life.

"Sit up," so gentle, so opposite of the ways he's been speaking to you just before he'd left; Farleigh is regarding him curiously, but you just roll your eyes. Now that Oliver knew inside and out - pun entirely intended - you were deliciously predictable. Easy to lull into a false sense of superiority.

"I can't."

"Roll over," the sweetness is quickly disappearing. For a brief moment, Farleigh's gaze meet's Oliver's, and he knows exactly what Oliver's doing, even if you haven't clued in. There's a spark of devilish glee that they share in this moment, but Oliver can't let it show on his face.

"What?"

"Roll over, I'll help," Oliver's smile doesn't reach his eyes, but you dubiously agree. Perhaps you think he'll undo the restraints around your wrists. Of course he won't, you should know better than that.

With you obediently on your stomach, Oliver puts the water on the nightstand. One hand goes to your shoulder, the other holds your shoulder.

"Now princess," he murmurs low in your ear, tone oozing condescension, "sit," like ordering a dog when he pulls you upright; you don't even fully notice at first, the pressure from the angle that he pulls your arms makes them ache once more, but then you're sitting up on your knees, and Oliver's lips are inches from yours, leaning into your space with intent, "stay," and you go quiet.

There is fury when he looks in your eyes; your jaw twitches as you bite down on a hundred different retorts. There's something intoxicating about you, the way everything you do in these moments is a war between your cruel nature and your hedonistic desires. You want to kick him, you want him to spit in your mouth, you want to ruin him, you want him to ruin you. All of it is written in your eyes.

You have spent all week treating Oliver Quick like nothing more than a dog; you hate that it turns you on when he returns the favour.

Farleigh is eating this interaction up, watching like a hunter who lay in wait for his prey, content with how Oliver so skilfully toyed with you -

"There's a leash in the bottom draw of the night stand -"

"Farleigh Start, I'm going to kill you with my bare hands when I get them back," you hissed, but Farleigh's comment had piqued Oliver's curiosity. Before you could even look back to give Farleigh a withering glare, Oliver's hand found your throat. Thumb and fingers against your delicate pulse points, not yet cutting off the blood flow, but right where they needed to be.

Ironically it's Farleigh's voice in the back of his mind, a night out at the pub where it had just been mostly guys, and somehow the topic of their sex lives came up. It had been Farleigh who had rolled his eyes and explained - it's here, idiot - reaching over to demonstrate on Felix himself - it's cutting off the blood flow that makes their head spin, not actually choking them to death. Gorgeous fingers momentarily placed on his cousin's throat, Oliver had memorised the placement. Considering what he now knew of Farleigh's relationship with you, he didn't need to guess why he was so sure back in the pub.

"Didn't say speak."

"I'd kick you if I could," your lip curled, even as his grip on your throat tightened. That fire in your eyes was betrayed by the way your heartbeat practically danced beneath his fingertips, "give me my water, I wasn't kidding about that."

There's a long, tense moment where Oliver deliberates. Then, very slowly, he lets you go, and turns, reaching over to the night stand. Out of the corner of his eye there's a very sudden flurry of movement, and of Farleigh moving unexpectedly fast. The water actually shakes with it, spills and splashes several drops onto his thighs, cold in the humid room, before he turns to see the tableaux of attempted rebellion. Farleigh looks still amused, but rather exasperated, like he expected as much, expected to have his hand in your mouth, your teeth in his palm, other hand digging nails into your shoulder as he attempted to hold you back.

"It's like you forgot, Ollie," Farleigh says with a mean little smile, "my dog's the kind that bites," still he plays along, the words coming out lazily despite how he seems to actually have to work to pull his hand from your mouth. Your anger at being thwarted seemed to simmer just beneath your skin; this smile you now wear is laced with malice that hadn't been there before.

"Just having some fun," you practically spat, with both of Farleigh's hands now on your shoulders, holding you in place. This malevolence is it's own kind of fun; your desire to hurt, to wound, to sink your teeth in like a cornered animal betrays you to Oliver. Your pride is starting to win over your desire; your capacity for cruelty is overcoming your desire to be put in your place. Perhaps it was getting to real, perhaps you remembered how much better you supposed you were than Oliver himself. This is exactly how he wants you.

Princess. Collared.

Taking a deep, deliberate breath, Oliver levels a flat, unimpressed look at you. Both you and Farleigh are waiting, watching, letting him lead in this moment, and he does. Water in one hand, he carefully reaches down to the bottom drawer of the nightstand - when you move, the bed moves with you, but Farleigh's grip on you never yields, never lets you lunge at Oliver the way you keep trying. The collar is sleep and simple, padded on the inside, with a leash to match. It even has a little bell, and an engraved tag.

Bitch.

Oliver chuckles a laugh as he reads it, he can't help himself.

"Farleigh thinks he's very funny," you roll your eyes, knowing exactly what Oliver had found so amusing. Farleigh does look particularly pleased with himself over your shoulder.

"It was true when I got it engraved and it's still true now."

But Oliver's moving on again, asking Farleigh to hold the glass of water for him as he fiddles with the collar. He is quiet, intense, arms around your neck as he takes his time doing up the collar; his face is so close to yours, sharing your furious, shaking breathes.

"How is our princess feeling?" Oliver takes the moment to check in, genuine, though it seems to irritate you further, "green light?"

"Do not flatter yourself into thinking I am yet speechless," you spit, "if I truly thought you offered me nothing, and wanted nothing more from you, I am more than capable of making that abundantly clear." You were endlessly fascinating to Oliver; you wanted to maim him, but you wanted him nonetheless. He tightens the collar around your neck. Farleigh still has one hand on your shoulder; his thumb comes to press against the edge of the collar, against your skin meeting the leather as he makes a pleased hum. "Green fucking light, scholarship boy," you give a mocking little smile to Oliver, the bitterness never leaving your eyes.

"Good -" the moment Oliver has latched the collar, has the leash curled at the back of your neck around his fist, you strain forward against it. The bell rings with the movement, a delicate sound for an indelicate moment -

"But I am warning you," forehead pressed against Oliver's, you're straining for any inch, any millimetre more you could get from his unyielding grip on your leash, you practically snarl against his lips with venomous hatred, "about what you will get when you treat me like a dog." Yet Oliver makes sure to remain impassive, perhaps even a little amused, in the face of your threats.

"If I can't make you bark like a good girl, princess," Oliver murmurs, catching your lips in a kiss even as you try to bite him, pulling back with a cold smile, "then I'm going to make you beg."

"Are you going to be a good girl?" Farleigh's voice purrs in your ear, and some of the viciousness about you eases. You sit back, back out of Oliver's space, and watch as Farleigh hands the water back to Oliver's waiting hands, trading him for the leash.

"For you," there's contempt in your eyes as you watch Oliver while addressing Farleigh, "I'll think about it."

Oliver's gaze meet's Farleigh's as he presses his laughter to your shoulder; something in his eyes almost says, well, good luck, I tried. Like Oliver isn't revelling in this chance you've laid before him; like he doesn't know how quickly your body betrays you at every single opportunity.

"If you want some water, you have to ask nicely," Oliver offers. A pause follows, and he watches you change tact.

You relax, letting the fight leave you, pressing yourself back against Farleigh as much as you could. Feeling his face so close to yours you turn, practically nuzzling against him.

"Even if I'm nice, he's going to be mean about it," your voice comes out so sweetly, so transparently manipulatively, "I just want a drink of water, you wouldn't make me beg for a drink of water, Farleigh," you insist, voice plaintive, all doe-eyed and pouting and not looking at Oliver.

"I can and I have and you didn't complain this much," Farleigh saw fit to remind you, giving a wide, mean smile. Your lip began to quiver.

"You're not even fucking me and I'm going to cry," you tried whimpering.

"Funny how none of those sound like any of those safe words," Oliver points out. Your lip stops quivering, in fact, you glare at him out of the corner of your eye as you pout, still trying to be soft and gentle with Farleigh.

"That's because they're not," Farleigh says far too knowingly, far too smugly, muttering into your ear once more, though loud enough for Oliver to clearly hear how sharp and praising it is, "and aren't you pretty when you cry."

"Can't cry if I'm dehydrated," you huff, and finally Farleigh, with a roll of his eyes, gives in with a sigh.

"Give her the water."

You immediately perk up, looking far too pleased to be getting your way, and lean forward expectantly. Oliver will give you this - and only this - before he drags every bit of satisfaction out of you that he wants. So he is careful, doesn't let the water spill, lets you breathe between mouthfuls when you indicate.

"All of it; it's good for you," still he tells you, tone like a teacher, cup insistent at your lips.

"Yes sir," you managed sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you drank more of the water, but something snapped, rewired in Oliver's brain. Farleigh could see it too.

"Oh he liked that," he commented, eyes alight with intrigue, and you frowned as you indicated for Oliver to lower the cup.

"I'm not saying it again."

"The optimism you have about what you will and won't do tonight is adorable," Farleigh tells you, planting a teasing kiss on your cheek, while you tell him to piss off.

"Give me the last of my water, you fuck," you finally manage, and Farleigh finally feels like he can lay himself back down, cackling at your audacity in the face of everything that had just happened. He also drops the leash, at least confident in either Oliver, or his own reflexes, for the time being, "do you want me to drink it all or not? Pick a lane."

Oliver, glass in one hand, reaches between your legs with the other. Immediately, you close your eyes, breath catching, knowing exactly what he was playing at.

"Is that how you think you're going to get fucked tonight?" No response; Oliver's thumb begins moving on your clit, pressing insistent circles as your breathing grows deeper, "are you going to be a good girl?"

"I'm not going to bark for you," you manage through gritted teeth, though after a moment, you half stutter out a moan, "please can you let me finish my water?" Two fingers slide teasingly down your slit, "please, Oliver -" you swallow hard, eyes opening to meet his; he can see this almost pains you, "please Oliver Quick, can I have the last of my water?" Those two fingers inside of you, curling, teasing, pulling a groan from you, eyes fluttering closed, and your voice barely above a whisper, "may I finish my water, sir?"

Oh yes, he did like hearing that from you.

"Of course," Oliver sits back, pleased, licking his fingers clean like a pleased cat while assisting you with finishing off the glass of water. You can't meet his gaze, already embarrassed by how quickly you'd given in. He watches your tongue dart out across your lips, collecting the few drops that had strayed, clinging to the edges of your lips. Beautiful mouth, he's sure he can put it to good use.

"All better, princess?" Farleigh snarks from behind you. Oliver thinks he can see you bite back on a harsh retort, and once again watches you change tact. Shifting away from him, half turning so you were now perpendicular to Farleigh and able to properly look at him, you wriggled your legs out from under you, perhaps a little more comfortable to your side, like a Victorian woman on a fainting sofa, it's an unassumingly sweet pose for the situation. Though it clearly matched the energy you were trying to give off.

"Yes, Farleigh, thank you, Farleigh," without even sparing Oliver a single glance. For a long moment, Farleigh's gaze slides from your innocent act to Oliver, looking unamused and still holding the empty glass. A strange moment of understanding passes between them the minute Farleigh sees Oliver's gaze snap to the leash down your back. So he sits, leans in close to you, and takes your face in one hand. It's clear you're leaning in to this perceived moment of tenderness, but Farleigh stops, a breath from your lips.

"You fucking bit my hand," his voice ice cold, you see there's no humour in his eyes as you pull back and try to stammer out something, anything, genuinely caught off guard, "so thanks won't cut it, princess; you can start with an apology."

"I -" you begin to frown, but then the bed dips behind you, and Oliver's cool hand is grasping at the leash, pulling gently.

"Didn't say speak," he warned, and didn't even give you a moment to butt in before continuing, "show Farleigh you're sorry."

Farleigh, clearly delighted by this turn of events, sits himself up, shuffling back to lean comfortably against the headboard. This confidence becomes him, legs spread in invitation, generous cock resting hard and wanting against the smooth plane of his stomach. For several long moments, Oliver watches Farleigh lazily stroke himself, simply watching you and Oliver through a smug, half-lidded gaze.

"You should see yourselves," the teasing barely hides how his voice is dripping with want. Unsurprisingly, you try to play it off, becoming flustered at the implication of you staring, of how much you knew you wanted him. But Oliver meets Farleigh's gaze, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Farleigh's smile widens.

"Aren't you lucky?" Oliver murmurs into your ear, grip on your leash tight as he keeps his eyes locked with Farleigh's. Though you've gone quiet, Oliver's unsatisfied with your lack of proper response, and gives a pointed yank on your collar.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I'm lucky," you sighed faintly, "sir." Farleigh snorts a laugh, and Oliver grins, shuffling himself to sit on Farleigh's other side, by his hip, and looks expectantly at you before giving your leash a tug. At least you seem to be getting into this, considering you actually perk up, scrambling as best you could to sit yourself between Farleigh's legs.

There's something about the gleeful little grin that you give Farleigh in this moment that give away how much genuine joy and anticipation you have to have your mouth on his cock. He too seems at home in this moment, settling back against the headboard with his hands behind his head. It's almost cute, your eagerness, the way you lean down in anticipation before.

"Can I have my hands back now?"

Farleigh goes to sit up, goes to say something, as if he'd realised you'd probably need your hands for the act, but Oliver cuts him off before he can.

"No." And it's too firm for him to argue with. When you look at Oliver this time, there's something there that wasn't before. A moment of genuine doubt, a moment of genuine submission.

"Sir, I think I need my hands for this," instead of argumentative, it's almost pleading. This is the moment he knows he's starting to win. Oliver tips his head to the side, as if regarding you curiously.

"Do you?" He can see the doubt in your eyes grow; it's driving him mad the way he's holding himself back, but good things take time.

"I think so," you don't sound sure.

Oliver moves slowly, deliberately, and makes sure you're following his movements. Farleigh's cock twitches in Oliver's cool hand, but all Farleigh does is let out a low, pleased hum. He starts simply, thumb gliding over his slit, collecting the precum that had been beading there, hand then moving up and down in even strokes. For a moment, he chances a glance at Farleigh, only to see his head lolling back against the bedframe, pleased smile on his lips.

When an actual whimper escapes you, and Oliver feels you tug on your leash in his other hand, he remembers his task at hand. There's lust in your eyes as you wriggle, thigh clenching and rubbing together at the sight of Oliver working Farleigh's cock. This might be far easier than he thought.

"You want this?" Just like a pet owner with their clearly eager dog, Oliver teases you.

"Yes," your practically bark, breathless and eager and embarrassingly fast. It actually seems to catch both Oliver and Farleigh off guard, Farleigh's cock clearly reacting positively in Oliver's hand to your obvious desire, and Oliver giving Farleigh a genuinely impressed look.

"Never seen someone so eager to get their mouth around a cock before; you must've done something special to her."

"Do you want me to teach you or do you want me to show you?" Farleigh's eyes shine as brightly as his smile in the silver-blue glow of the night. Oliver's mouth goes dry at the thought, his own cock aching at the mere thought of what it would be like to look up at Farleigh with his smug approval - knew you could be boy for me, Oliver - and he wants to hate the idea, but he can't. But he doesn't get the chance to respond -

"No, mine," slips from you like a whine, unexpectedly possessive. It brings both boys' attention back on you, however, and you seem to realise your slip up. Mouth opening and closing, you can't even seem to find the words to defend yourself; at least you've learned to shut up.

"Careful princess," Farleigh says surprisingly coldly, slipping back into dominance with practiced ease, "you're lucky, remember?"

"I'm lucky," you nod emphatically, but you're straining against your leash, wetting your lips.

"Good girls get treats," he yanks your collar back to remind you who still holds your leash, "this a treat for you, princess?"

"I do genuinely enjoy it," you admit honestly, seeming a little flustered to be saying as much, looking to Oliver with a sheepish smile, "not with anyone else though," it's actually a very sweet moment.

"Really?" Farleigh seems genuinely flattered, wide, bashful smile on his face as he sits forward a little.

"You seriously don't understand how hot the noises you make are," you laughed a little self consciously, "I came completely untouched once just from going down on you."

"Are we here to stroke Farleigh's ego or his cock?" Oliver rolled his eyes, already tired of this, but Farleigh sat back obliging, while you tried to bend down, but very much couldn't.

"Pick a lane, Oliver," you groaned, before quickly amending, apologetically, "sir." Farleigh snickered. Oliver's gaze grew cold.

"Beg for it."

He pushes his hand between your shoulder blades, forcing you to double over and bend down, but then kept his grip on your leash tight as he held the shiny, plump head of Farleigh's cock just inches from your lips.

"Please," already you were back to playing along, mouth open, breathing heavy, whimpering as you hear an impatient moan from Farleigh himself, "please, sir please -"

"Please what?"

Mouth hanging open, panting like a desperate whore, you beg for Farleigh's cock in your mouth, your throat, to be facefucked and used, whatever - you felt like you were going insane from the suspense. All the words come spilling out from you, begging and dripping with need that Oliver almost gives in right there.

Oliver's hand has been skilfully fisted around Farleigh's cock this entire time, keeping him hard and ready and in the perfect spot to drive you made, just out of your reach. He'd half forgotten he was even doing it, getting him all worked up, leaking, slick, fingers shiny and sticky with Farleigh -

"Oliver -" Farleigh chokes out in a kind of warning tone, as if to tell him to stop playing around one way or the other.

"You think you deserve this?" Oliver finally lets Farleigh's cock go, and you actually whimper. Oliver wipes his hand off messily against your mouth, once more demanding to know if you think you deserve this. You're begging, please tumbling from your lips even as Oliver presses two fingers into your greedy mouth.

"Please, sir," muffled so much that it's almost indistinguishable as your thorough tongue laps at Oliver's fingers, "please, I need him," and the desperate tears are welling in your eyes as he keeps his fingers in your mouth but pushes you back up onto your knees.

"Will you sit for me if I give you what you want?" He pulls his fingers slowly from your mouth. You nod, heartbeat alive when he wraps a firm hand around your throat, "will you stay for me if I give you what you want?" Another nod, lip trembling and breathing so desperately hard. He applies more pressure.

"Anything," you gasp, hips moving again, insistent, desperate for friction; he'd see to that soon, "speak, shake," you wet your lips, "roll over."

Oliver glances over his shoulder to where Farleigh is watching with rapt attention. Good.

"Good dog," Farleigh mumbles, desperately working his own hand up and down his shaft.

Oliver lets go of the leash carefully, and your eyes snap back to him. Just as you promised, you sit, you stay, a good dog, watching him move closer to Farleigh with intent. He hears your breath catch the moment he takes Farleigh's cock in hand, and the desperate chanting of 'pleasepleaseplease' as he lowers himself down. For a moment, he looks to Farleigh, a silent question of permission, but considering he too can hear how desperate and needy you're behaving at the mere sight of this, he realises, at least in part, what Oliver's doing and seems entirely on board.

You were right, Farleigh moans and whimpers like a whore with a mouth on his cock. A wanton melody made all the sweeter for your begging having turned simply to needy noises. What Oliver can't fit of Farleigh in his mouth he continues to jerk off, momentarily slipping down to gently squeeze Farleigh's balls, earning him the most beautiful series of swears Oliver's ever heard. Tongue always moving, caressing, often lapping at Farleigh's slit and the sweet, salty slickness, Oliver works hard to make him feel good - which he knows he's more than capable of, despite his demeanour he's nothing near a virgin in any realm - without getting him to close. He'd still leave that for you.

For a moment he glances up at Farleigh, and the bitterness in his eyes at the edge of the obvious lust, like he resents Oliver for being so good at this, makes it all worth it.

I got you here, Farleigh, Oliver thinks with bitter triumph, everything else is sloppy fucking seconds.

When he pulls away, he makes sure there's a distinctive, lewd slurp before he takes a deep breath.

Looking to you, the fight is back in your eyes, but it doesn't fucking matter; Oliver won. He pulls you in for a rough kiss -

"I hate you," you snarl at him through your intensely frustrated pout, even as his hand grabs your jaw, "interloping little slut, where the fuck do you get off -?" But the minute he pushes his tongue into your mouth you still try to press yourself against him, to kiss him harder, taste all of Farleigh in him that you could. You know you're sloppy fucking seconds to him, and you hate him for it.

"I was thinking it was going to be in you," Oliver says blithely as he pulls away from the kiss. In the back of his mind he knows it's a loaded statement - ha - but he hasn't forgotten the colours if this was a bridge too far -

"Fucking finally you have some common sense," you sneer, as if you weren't still on the verge of tears, "I was going to say that if you ruined my sheets I was going to have you arrested."

"No you weren't," pipes up Farleigh with an eyeroll. Immediately embarrassed you tell him to shut up, "no, I don't think I will; I'm beginning to think you guys are a bunch of fucking teases -"

Oliver gives him a thin smile, handing over the leash, having gotten all the permission he needed.

"Are you going to be good for Farleigh?" He whispered low in your ear, "didn't you want this?"

"Weren't you just begging for it?" Farleigh smirked down at you, lust-filled approval in his voice, "come on, baby," he murmurs as he takes your face in his hands, and immediately you're his, "crying for me?" The teasing starts warm, but as he's wiping the first of the tears from your cheeks, as you're nodding with embarrassment, his teasing turns mean and sharp and smug, "crying like a desperate, little cockwhore," he doesn't even time to let you react before he's giving your cheeks a gentle squeeze; "open up," he orders in that same cruel, loving, smug tone that makes Oliver's hairs stand up on the back of his neck. But you seem to react with relief the moment you have your mouth around him.

There's something that even Oliver finds entrancing about Farleigh in this moment. He'd been leading you both for so long that he'd forgotten where it had all started, the way Farleigh had spoken so early on, and how even in your most vicious or playful, part of you would always refer back to him. Part of Farleigh had earned your respect, and in the end, he had been the only one in the house who made the princess feel like her place was on her knees.

"Now your little power trip is over," Farleigh's voice cuts through Oliver's thoughts like a fucking knife, as always, painful and clean and precise, "do you need my permission to -" but Oliver's done with his bullshit tonight too.

"Shut it Farleigh," he rolls his eyes and starts to move once more. Time he focuses on your bound hands, finally deciding that you'd probably had enough, or at least were willing enough to listen to either Oliver or Farleigh in a way that mattered.

"Oh my god, freedom!" You immediately announced, sitting up to throw your hands in the air with a genuinely delightful glee.

"You see what you've done," Farleigh looked over your shoulder to Oliver, tossing his belt to the side, but you were already using your freedom to crawl up to meet him. Oliver's surprised by how genuine and affectionate you are when you tell him to be quiet for a moment. With one hand still working on him, the other being used to brace yourself up, you kiss Farleigh gently. What surprises Oliver even further is the momentary look of actual love in Farleigh's eyes as he cups your jaw and kisses you back.

Then you're moving back, making sure to let them both know that you weren't kidding about how much you enjoyed going down on Farleigh. However you do give pause, looking at Oliver through narrowed eyes for a long minute where he's sitting by your knees, watching the exchange, not quite sure where he was meant to go from here.

Your foot lashes out at him. Hard. It's unexpected. Somehow, so is the second kick that follows immediately after. The third he anticipates, but by that stage you'd shunted him to the edge of the bed, and though he tries to catch your leg he falls off, unsuccessful.

"What kind of problem do you have?" Oliver is scowling from the floor, his shoulder and hip sore from the fall, while Farleigh is laughing his ass off.

"What are you, a coat rack suddenly?" You demanded, matching his scowl with one of your own, still braced on your hands and knees over Farleigh, "also fuck you for making me beg for water." Careful, Oliver thinks, he's not quite done making you beg.

"Maybe his dick's broken," Farleigh snorted, "which would be a fucking shame; have you had a proper look at it?" Oliver bristled at the implications, though he knew he'd be thinking about the compliment tucked in there for days to come.

"You are both right fucking insufferable," Oliver snapped, getting to his feet and brushing himself off with indignation.

"Yeah, I'll cry about it in the shower later," you could clearly be heard rolling your eyes. There's a few pointedly obnoxious moments where you make a point of gagging on Farleigh's cock before coming back up for air and to add, "fuck me or fuck off - woah, okay, good choice!"

Before you can even finish your ultimatum, Oliver's decided he's come too far to, well, not. Grabbing your thighs with all the strength he could muster, he pulls you almost entirely away from Farleigh, to the end of the bed, half off the bed, causing you to faceplant into the duvet the moment your knees were no longer supporting you. Farleigh's protests fall on deaf ears, however, as all Oliver allows himself to focus on is keeping you stable, bent over the end of the bed like this.

Still, Farleigh shifts down to accommodate your change in position, despite his eye rolling and claims that Oliver's being dramatic, it's overshadowed by the sudden, loud moan that escapes you.

"Never felt someone so fucking desperate for someone they hate," Oliver bites out, almost impressed by how easy it was to bury himself in you. In the moment he gives you to adjust, his hand pressed to the small of your back to which you eagerly arch back against him, he watches Farleigh. It's his turn to be smug.

After a moment, he gives a few, shallow, experimental thrusts. Each time you rock back to meet him, to take him as deep as possible, and each time he hears a faint, pleased whimper. Your body and it's desires has betrayed you at every single opportunity, which is information Oliver gladly keeps in the back of his mind.

"Come on princess," he leans over to you to murmur in your ear where you'd pressed your face to Farleigh's thigh for the moment, attempting to keep going with your hand on him when your body could only focus on the rhythm of Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, "you've got a job to do, don't you want to be good?"

"I want to be good," you keened, before making the effort to prop yourself up, taking Farleigh in your mouth once more.

It's the last moment of care that Oliver affords, however, as he very quickly sets a rough pace, nails digging so hard into your hips that he thinks he might draw blood. But your cunt still clutches at him like it was made for his cock, so slick with how much you need this, need him in this moment, that it's already dripping down your thighs.

The three of you get lost in each other, each desperate moan from your muffled by Farleigh's cock hitting the back of your throat. The sensation soon sets him off and he can't keep his hands off of you. Up on his knees he takes over, takes your face in his hands as you look up at him, teary-eyed with a heady kind of bliss, and he matches Oliver's rhythm as he fucks your face.

Oliver can only imagine the kind of mess you look like right now, but has to focus on sustaining himself, making sure he doesn't leave you with any more excuses to belittle him tonight. So he reaches around, between your thighs, and his fingers find your desperately sensitive clit.

Immediately your stance slips, widens, gives him better access to your clit, and he hears your muffled moan become a choked sob. The beginning of the perfect end.

Farleigh's getting close, his pace is faltering, his hips are stuttering, you're whining and gasping desperate breathes between each of his thrusts, that have turned to wordless, overwhelmed sobs in the past few minutes. Oliver is genuinely impressed that you're able to take all of Farleigh like that; he wonders if he'd dedicated time to training you. He can't dwell on it, not when Farleigh's eyes have fallen closed and he's started mouthing what Oliver can only assume is a string of swear words.

For just a moment, Farleigh looks like an angel. Ethereal. He almost glows. Perfectly at peace and content and not a total, unbearable smug asshole. Then he pulls his cock out of your mouth and lets his legs give out again, flopping back onto your bed with a wide grin.

"I thought Oliver couldn't make you speechless," Farleigh teased, while you had in fact moved past words almost entirely, except -

"Please," you sobbed desperately. Farleigh, who'd never gotten to see you like this from here, lights up, moving back to you. You're shaking, barely able to support yourself, and he finally sees Oliver's hand between your thighs, and puts two and two together.

"Please?" He wears a smile that's all teeth, gently taking your shoulders and the pressure of keeping yourself up. In return you find yourself holding his face, his arms, everywhere, for support as he moved you back to press against Oliver. Taking the hint, Oliver wraps his arm around you, firm against your back, keeping you secure as he fucks up into you.

"Pleasepleaseplease -"

"Words, princess," Farleigh tells you as he brushes Oliver's hand out of the way, letting him focus on the new angle, the new sensation, the way you're trembling and so close to cumming on his cock. Before you can even formulate proper words at first, your head falls forward onto Farleigh's shoulder, sobbing, aching with how good you've been made to feel.

"I'm so close," you choke out, "please can I -"

"Selfish," Oliver admonishes coldly, and the reaction is immediate.

"No, no," you whimper apologetically, something Farleigh's never heard from you before. Lifting your head you lean back, fitting yourself against Oliver further, trying to placate, "please, no I promise- you, I need -" you take a deep, shuddering breath, "Ollie, please, it feels like I'm going to fucking die if you don't cum in me," you blurt out. Farleigh actually laughs, he's never seen you so fucking weak for another person.

Your begging and desperate pleas spur Oliver on, holding you tighter, fucking you harder, until he finally leans forward, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. It sends you over the edge, has you seeing stars as you cry out. Shudder and sobbing with your release, you feel Oliver bury his cock deep in you as it twitches and throbs and paints your inside.

Oliver lets you go, lets you fall onto Farleigh as your orgasm is still quaking through you. Oliver's hands grip your hips, keep you flush to him, keep you from pulling away.

"That's a good girl," Farleigh murmurs in your ear. He's holding you close with one arm, the other gently running his fingertips up and down your back in a comforting rhythm. He doesn't bother sparing Oliver a second glance, Oliver isn't an important part of this equation to him anymore. Not that that matters to Oliver.

It was far easier to pick you apart, to own you inside and out, than he'd ever imagined. He'd brought you to tears, made you beg for every last bit of fucking pleasure including every inch of him and then some. He would leave you aching, leave you knowing that you both knew the truth of where your place is in his world.

Finally Oliver pulls out of you, wiping his softening cock on your thighs before he thinks about getting dressed. He does take a few moments, while you're still half bent over the bed and being supported by Farleigh, where Oliver watched with a detached kind of approval, the way his cum starts to leak out of you, down your thighs with your own shining arousal.

The princess had been collared, cuffed, and his, inside and out.

"Thank- thank you, Oliver Quick," your voice is demure and grateful among your sniffles and whimpers, and Oliver can't help but smile to himself. His pride in you extends only to your final show of submission, though it's pride nonetheless.

"Good girl."

[sluttywonwoo]

pretend || j.ww x reader

Summary: reading thirst tweets with your co-star/boyfriend’s best friend makes things a little tense

Warnings: swearing, smut mentions (18+)

Word Count: 1.8k

a/n:  originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

The sound of Mingyu cracking his knuckles next to you sent a shiver down your spine, making you cringe instinctively. You turned to glare at him and leaned away from the noise.

“I hate when you do that!” you groaned.

He smirked. “I know, that’s why I like doing it.”

You looked over at Wonwoo, who was sitting across the room with the crew, and pointed to Gyu. 

“Can you tell your best friend to stop being annoying?”

“Can you tell your girlfriend to stop being dramatic?” Mingyu retaliated.

“I’m not picking sides!” Wonwoo shouted back and held up his hands in surrender.

You let your jaw drop. “I’ll remember that, Jeon.”

“Baby, I-” Wonwoo started to defend himself, but fell silent when the producer got up from her chair and approached you and Mingyu who were sitting behind the camera. 

“Which one of you wants to take this?” she asked, holding up a large insulated jug full of paper strips. 

“I’ll take it,” Mingyu offered and set the cup in his lap. 

“What a gentleman,” you said, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. 

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he muttered, “because you’re so fucking annoying.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

The producer gave you both a sideways look. “Are you guys alright? Should we take a minute before starting?”

“No, we’re fine,” you assured her.

“We don’t actually hate each other,” Mingyu added, “this is just how... we are.”

She didn’t look any less concerned, but nodded anyway. “Okay, well remember what your director said about playing up your chemistry to promote the show. And when we call action just give a quick slate and start reading the tweets.”

She walked back over to her spot next to the cameraman and took a seat before looking over a checklist that had been handed to her and writing some notes on it.

“Nervous?” Mingyu whispered to you as you both waited for your cue.

“A little,” you admitted. “You?”

“I’m a bit on edge,” he concurred. “Mostly because your boyfriend is about to watch me read filthy comments about you on-camera.”

You glanced over at Wonwoo who gave you an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up. “He’ll be fine. How bad can they be?”

From a distance, the producer you had just spoken to called for everyone to be quiet on set and signaled the cameras to start rolling. You perked up and straightened your dress, waiting for Mingyu to take the lead. 

“Hi guys, I’m Kim Mingyu.”

“And I’m y/n y/l/n.”

“You might recognize us from our new Netflix series, Breaking Curfew, where we play opposite each other in what you might call a... complicated romantic relationship.”

“We’re enemies with benefits,” you summarized. “And today we’re here with Buzzfeed to read thirst tweets about each other.”

“Ladies first,” Mingyu said and held the cup out to you.

You closed your eyes and sifted through the strips of paper with one hand, selecting one at random. 

“Okay, this one’s about you. ‘Kim Mingyu has the prettiest eyes’.” You grinned as you watched your co-star’s cheeks turn pink. “He’s totally blushing right now! We haven’t even gotten to the good stuff!”

“Thank you very much to whoever tweeted that,” Mingyu said and cleared his throat. 

“I agree with this person,” you continued, “you do have really pretty eyes.”

“Aw, thank you, y/n.”

“You’re welcome.”

“My turn.” Mingyu closed his eyes and rummaged around the cup before picking one. “‘Someone tell y/n y/l/n that I’m single and I get a discount at Olive Garden if she ever wants to let me take her out on a date’.”

You chuckled. “I do like Olive Garden.”

“She’ll get back to you on that one, mate,” Mingyu said quickly and let the crumpled piece of paper fall to the floor. 

You took that as a sign to move on so you reached into the jug and pulled out another tweet.

“Oh, this one’s about me again. ‘Y/n y/l/n scissor me challenge’.” You clapped a hand over your mouth in shock and thrust the slip of paper towards Mingyu.

“You know what, props for being so bold. What do you think, y/n? Are you going to take them up on the offer?”

“I’ll think about it,” you managed to choke out, sending Mingyu into a laughing fit. You fanned yourself with your hand as you tried to recover and motioned for your co-star to read another one. “Your turn.”

“‘Kim Mingyu and y/n y/l/n are my dream celebrity threesome,’” he read. “What a compliment, don’t you think?”

“Oh, for sure,” you agreed and winked as you held your hand to your ear in a call me motion. 

“These are just getting more and more vulgar, aren’t they?” Mingyu asked. 

“I don’t know that anything can beat the scissoring one,” you pointed out as you fished another tweet from the bucket. “Another one about Mingyu, okay. ‘I wanna suck Kim Mingyu’s soul through his dick then spit it back in his face’.” You blinked at the piece of paper in front of you in shock, scanning back over it to make sure you had read it right the first time. “Jesus... christ.”

Mingyu smirked and nudged your shoulder with his. 

You ignored him and pointed a finger at the camera in disgust. “I cannot believe you made me read this with my own two eyes. I could have lived my entire life without seeing those words in a sentence together!”

“I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever received,” Mingyu countered, running a thumb along his jawline cockily. 

“No, I have beef with whoever tweeted that now.”

“You’re just jealous that I like this tweet better than the threesome one.”

You sighed. “This interview was a bad idea. Your head is already so god damn big.”

Mingyu opened his mouth to retaliate, but paused like he had thought better of it and took a deep breath to compose himself. 

“Anyway, moving on.”

You watched as he sifted through the tweets and chose one from the bottom, reading it to himself and grinning slightly before reading it aloud. 

“‘Petition for y/n y/l/n to start an OnlyFans because I just know her tits are incredible. I can feel it in my bones’.”

You brought your hands up to your boobs self-consciously and laughed. “I don’t know about that, but thank you.”

“I’ve seen them,” Mingyu added nonchalantly, “and I can confirm that twitter user ‘geminisuns’ is correct.”

“Mingyu!” 

“What? Do you know how many sex scenes we had to shoot? We’ve seen each other naked plenty of times.”

You looked back over to the crew and made eye contact with the producer. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”

“Maybe we should take a quick break,” she suggested and motioned for the cameras to stop rolling. “Get a drink, freshen up and be back here in five.”

“Do you think they’re going to use that part?” Mingyu asked as he followed you over to the water cooler. 

“I don’t know, dude,” you sighed in annoyance, “but great fucking job. The whole world already thinks we’re boning.”

“I don’t know about the whole world.” You glared at him. “Wonwoo knows we’re not.”

Wonwoo. You had nearly forgotten that your boyfriend was there on set with you. You looked around for him, and saw him still sitting in his designated guest chair looking at his phone. You could only imagine what he must be thinking of all of this. You should probably say something to him. 

You told Mingyu that you’d be back and made your way across the room to Wonwoo. Even from a distance you could tell that he was upset. 

His knuckles were pale and his jaw was tight. He didn’t look up at you when you approached him. 

“Sorry this is taking longer than expected,” you said, brushing a stray curl out of his eyes. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured in response, still not looking at you. 

You sighed and draped yourself across him, slinging your arms loosely across his shoulders as you leaned down to see what he was doing on his phone. He was scrolling aimlessly on Instagram, not even liking any of the posts. 

“If you’re bored you can leave,” you said curtly and stood back up. 

“I’m not bored.”

“You’re not even paying attention to the shoot.”

“Trust me, it’s impossible not to. I’ve been trying to tune it out for the past ten minutes with no luck.”

“Why would you not want to pay attention?” you demanded even though the answer was sitting right in front of you. “This is a big deal for me.”

Wonwoo swallowed and finally looked up at you. “I know, baby. It’s just- do you know how hard it is to listen to my best friend talk about doing all of these dirty things to you-”

“He’s my best friend too,” you pointed out in a quiet hiss. “The only reason we’re together is because of him.”

Sometimes you felt the need to remind Wonwoo that you had known Mingyu longer than you had known him. If Gyu hadn’t brought him to set all those times back when you were filming in the fall, you wouldn’t even know about each other’s existence. 

“I know that.”

“You’ve done interviews like this before,” you argued. 

“I know,” he repeated.

“Then why are you being like this?” He didn’t answer, so you kept going. “You know my bare ass has been on tv, right-”

“Don’t,” Wonwoo warned and grabbed your wrist.

You gasped and flexed your fingers gingerly in his grasp, challenging him. “Don’t what?” 

“Y/n,”

“Don’t... act like I want to fuck your best friend?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You’re enjoying this.” It wasn’t a question.

“Don’t pretend like I’d rather fulfill those tweets with him instead of you? Give the people what they want?”

You had to bite your tongue before you went any further and said something you might regret. Your words had already had the desired effect. You didn’t even have to look at Wonwoo’s lap to know that he was struggling not to get hard. 

You could see it in his eyes. The arousal that had turned the warm brown into black. The way he was looking at you told you everything you needed to know. You wondered if you would even make it back home before he’d break, if he would pull the car over on the side of the road and take you then and there. 

Your knees were weak at the mere thought of what you were in for later that night. Making Wonwoo jealous was admittedly one of your favorite pastimes, purely for selfish reasons. Possessive sex was arguably the best sex. The teasing, the hair-pulling, the choking, the face-fucking, all hit different when Wonwoo was reminding you who you belonged to. 

Wonwoo released your wrist from his grip and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Are you finished?”

You shook your head and grinned. “Just getting started.”

lmk what you thought; i always appreciate feedback!!

wonwoo tags: @wonw00t

shoot me an ask to be added/removed from my taglist

[bubblyhoney]

can i request a fic where sapnap takes the reader to his hometown? like the classic going to places he went to when he was younger. maybe playgrounds and ice cream shops idk

places i used to go

warnings: language of course, an allusion to virginap, my uneducated guess of what sapnap was like in highschool, tiny detail of long haired!sapnap, singular canon detail of underage drinking, jokish about marriage

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

words: 2191

A/N: you are a god, anon. i love comfy and nostalgic fics like these and it was so fun to write. if you hate it dont tell me but if you like it lemme know akskdjd

inbox/requests: open

-

The wind whips fast on your bare fingers, cool and quick and raising goosebumps in its wake. You blink in the haze of the early sunset, head lolled to the side of the headrest. It feels good.

“That’s where I went to high school.” Sapnap interrupts your thoughts and points a finger at a collection of tall brick buildings down a side street. The silver of the lettering is dull, but you can still feel the nostalgia.

“And you’re about to see the park that me and my friends used to hang out at after work and—actually, nevermind.” His arm drops to the middle console and he looks straight ahead with slightly pinker cheeks.

“Do what?” You ask, voice all sweet, and a grin grows on your face. You turn towards him and wiggle your eyebrows.

“Nothing. Homework.” He avoids your eye contact and hikes his hand up higher on the steering wheel. “Anyways— Do you want to get some food before we head out? I know a great place.”

You two were just coming to a close on your little trip to visit his family; it was his step-mom’s birthday and you decided to make a week of it. It was your first long-term trip with Sapnap, and also your first time meeting his dad’s side of the family. You were proud to say she loved you. His little sister took a little more effort to talk to you of her own volition, but soon enough she was on your side.

You have a couple hours to kill before making your flight back home, so Sapnap has taken it upon himself to give you a quick tour of his hometown.

“Yeah,” you decide, bottom lip popped out. “Can we get ice cream after?”

“Uh, duh.” The Neighbourhood’s Stargazing starts through the speakers and he reaches to turn it down. “I’m so ready to get home and sleep.” He stretches his neck in his seat, letting out an uncharacteristically inappropriate grunt when his bones pop. You make a disgusted face, nose wrinkling, but stretch your own back, slumping down in the seat. The day had been full of packing up and this horrible hike his dad liked to do early in the mornings, so you two were pretty beat.

“Okay, we’re here,” he announces three sleepy minutes later in his best attempt at a whisper. Lifting your head off of the corner of your seat, you blink in the setting sunlight as a yawn splits your face. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and struggle to get your seatbelt off in that post-nap haze. You’d barely been asleep for thirty seconds, damn it. The air is a swampy heat when you step out of the car onto rocky gravel and nearly twist your ankle climbing over the curb. Sapnap catches you by the lower back, trying to hide his laugh but failing miserably. You slide him a dirty look, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can manage while limping towards the front entrance.

The door jingles when you two breach the doorway, alerting a bored-looking hostess that the circus has arrived. She looks at Sapnap a second longer than she should, eyebrows screwed together in silent confusion. But she leads the two of you to a booth near a large window, handing you sticky menus and promptly fucking right off to the host station. She nearly runs.

“Do you know her?” You ask, inconspicuously hiding your face in the search for their 24/7 breakfast menu. You feel his eyes on you.

“Don’t think so.” He leans on one elbow and slides his phone out of his jeans’ pocket. In the 25 seconds it takes for you to find their french toast and sides menu, he has browsed and closed his phone with an animatedly shocked look on his face.

“What?” You give him a weird look and put down the menu.

“I totally went to homecoming with that girl.” He eyes the hostess. You glance over at her again, meeting her gaze, and offer a polite smile. She turns away quickly, eyes wide.

“She’s cute,” you say, voice high and fake, and he drums his fingers on the tabletop as an amused look makes its way onto his face.

“Are you—?”

“What?” You reply right back.

“Nothing.”

Thank God the server comes up to your table then and starts asking for drink orders, or else you’d have to admit (sheepishly) you were a tiny eensy-weensy bit annoyed. Only a tad. But after requesting a Dr. Pepper and a water the conversation surrounding the nervous-looking hostess dies.

“I’m so hungry I think I feel my stomach shrinking.” You flop your head onto your arm on the table top and make a whiny noise into the stack of napkins your server left at the table. Sapnap rubs his thumb into the side of your forearm, touch warm and nearly dissolving the pangs of hunger and jealousy.

“You weren’t hungry an hour ago.” He lifts your hand to his face and plants a kiss on the back of it. Oh, pulling out the big guns, huh? “I would have made you something.”

You tilt onto your chin, pouting, and stare up at his cute face. His cute, scruffy, perfectly-kissable face.

“I think I got hungry staring at you for half an hour.” A mischievous grin grows on your previously-petulant face and he just shakes his head.

“I do have that effect,” he admits with cockiness in his tone, lifting his eyebrows and leaning back into the booth with his lips pursed.

The server returns with two glasses and takes your food orders onto their little yellow notepad. You chug the water down when they leave for the kitchen, getting your lap and chin thoroughly wet in the process. Sapnap just snorts at you and shoves the napkins your way.

“So,” you start, patting dry your jeans. “tell me what you were like in high school.” You cross your arms and settle into the booth, smirk on your lips.

“What I was like?” He parrots, sipping at his soda, looking thoughtful. “Firstly, a virgin.” You make a noise. Duh. Dude had a buzz cut his junior year. (You’ve seen the pictures. His step-mom particularly likes them.) “Secondly, I was actually— well, I wasn’t popular, but I had a lot of friends. We were all semi-athletic lonely band kids but we had fun. Had one girlfriend senior year but she went to Cal Tech in the fall and I didn’t. I, um, worked at a Dairy Queen in the summers and gained so much weight I had to lose all over again for Unified Track.”

“Relatable,” you comment, drinking noisily at your water. He fiddles with the paper straw wrapper and crunches it up into a ball. It goes soaring into your drink with a quiet “Kobe” and you just give him a look. He smiles toothily right back at you. “Stop being cute, I’m trying to listen to your story.”

“Oh, my bad,” he mocks. “Anyways. That’s what I was like in highschool.” You fish the paper ball out of your water and flick it wetly at his arm. It sticks and you choke on a laugh, cheeks puffed.

Two plates of warm food are set down loudly onto the table and you thank the server with a surprised smile, Sapnap mirroring you.

Two minutes of wordless chewing passes, minds occupied just by “food, me eat” instead of anything related to your previous conversation. You realize that Sapnap is one of the loudest chewers ever, and he realizes that you fail to notice the streak of maple syrup in your hair.

“C’mere,” he mumbles through a mouthful of omelet and hash browns and beckons you with his hand. You lean closer, chewing slowly, as he pats a napkin at the strands of hair trapped in syrup.

“Thanks, baby.” You take the napkin from him and pause your assault of the warm french toast before you to clean the sticky sugar out of your hair. He just watches you, half of a smile on his lips.

You two finish your food in record time. It’s borderline vacuum-like. There’s a short grace period where you just sit like two lazy cats, slumped down in the booth and holding your full stomachs. But the check comes soon after, and you both pay your way and are out of the restaurant without any mad dashes for the bathroom. A miracle, really, because of the American-like amount of butter you both consume.

“I’m a much more functional person now,” you mutter into the cotton of his shoulder, swinging your hand in his. He just hums in agreement.

“I guess we’re not getting ice cream, then,” he teases, and you just groan in response.

“I don’t feel like having diarrhea on a plane, unfortunately.” You sigh heavily when you have to split and get into your respective sides of the rental car.

The entire trip (somewhat roundabout because of the amount of side quests to show you things from his childhood) to the airport Sapnap is a chatterbox. He’s like this when he has sugar: either bouncing off the walls with energy or talking your ear off.

“That’s where my dad proposed to my step-mom. I was kinda young but I remember being surprised at how big the ring was— dude broke the bank for her.” It’s a little gazebo you catch a glimpse of through the trees in a park. It probably was an incredibly picturesque moment, and you can sense how much she must have loved it. With just meeting them this weekend, you can already see how much love those two have for each other.

You hope people can see how much you love Sapnap.

“Oh my God, it’s still there.” He points out the side of your window to what looks like a Dairy Queen that has been through World War 3. “My buddy Eric and I once spilled a gallon of that liquid ice-cream-shit all over the men’s bathroom.”

You shoot him a horrified look. “Why was it in the bathroom?”

He just smirks.

“—And that’s my Uncle Ron’s house. Had my first beer there.”

“And last, hopefully,” you add, pulling a disgusted face. The two story bungalow is cute, and one of your favorite colors: olive green. “That shit is nasty.”

He just shrugs and continues down the side street.

“Is this the park you were talking about?”

He pulls into the gravelly parking lot of a small clearing of tall trees, a picnic table and campfire sat squat in the middle. But he doesn’t respond, just turning the car off and climbing out. He reaches the passenger door without speaking, and opens it for you. You climb carefully out, confused.

“Come on.” He takes your hand and starts for a small path to the left of the picnic table. The mid-sunset shade envelopes the both of you.

“I hope this isn’t where you kill me.”

“No,” he snorts. “I just wanted to show you something.”

It’s just a few moments of stumbling through the damp underbrush before you’re coming face to face with a small, mossy pond that sits right underneath an incredibly old willow tree. He stops right on the edge of the rocky path and turns toward you.

“This your make out spot?” You ask between a grin as he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush to him. Your innocent smile fades when you feel the press of his lips to the side of your neck, light and ticklish. Oh.

“No,” he murmurs, and just breathes you in. “I came here once—the night before I graduated highschool. And I told myself when I really really loved someone I’d take them here with me.” He sways with you in his grasp, a gentle and song-less dance.

You grip his shoulder tighter in your hand and lean into him.

“That’s— awfully romantic, huh?” Your voice is quiet. Almost nervous. He just makes a noise of agreement.

“So here we are.” His voice is the opposite of yours, all strong and confident.

You two just move together for a moment. The sun breaks through the tree canopy, shining bright orange down onto the glassy surface of the pond. Crickets and frogs chirp back and forth as the willow vines swing in a cool evening breeze. You watch nature come alive around you, suddenly grateful for the man in your arms.

“Don’t propose,” you whisper, breaking the gentle tension. A laugh breaks the silence and he’s pulling away to look at you. Maybe in disbelief. A strand of hair falls into his eyes and you brush it away, fingers stilling on his temple and sliding down onto his cheek. Stubble scrapes against the skin of your palm and he stares at you through those meadow eyes.

You realize in that moment that he is exactly himself. Of course he is. He’s Sapnap, and everything that encompasses that. Dark and light and fiery and cool. He always has been, and always will be.

You realize you wouldn’t mind if he proposed.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. let me know what you think

[lucidmagic]

My gay brain couldn't stop thinking of this so here you go:

Flower shop (Donna) and Tattoo Parlor (Reader) AU-- may likely expand on this in a later fic once done with Phyto's Guide, but anyway here are some ideas I have in mind to hold ya'll over until the next chapter:

Donna's shop is the best in the region, known for its beautiful blooms and healthy plants, it's been passed from Beneviento to Beneviento-- called Beneviento's Blossoms, and people of all walks of life order there for the magnificent flowers.

Everyone claims that Donna is a witch or the very least blessed with her talent to upkeep and maintain such bountiful blooms, even if they are out of season.

However, though Donna owns and operates the store, the face of it is Angie-- a short spitfire with vitiligo-- she often interacts with the customers and the delivery people. Some assume she is Donna at first meeting because of how present she is at the front desk.

How Donna lost her family is up in the air at the moment, but the initial thought was a fire or a sudden tragedy took most of the Beneviento's before Donna was 13-- also leaving her with a scar across the right side of her face. Idk yet.

Anyway, one day, Donna and Angie are opening in the morning and notice that the vacant shop across the street has finally been taken down the for rent sign, and a moving truck is before it.

At the end of the day, the new shop's sign is up and illuminated: Waning Moon Ink: Tattoo Parlor (name may change)

Angie is IMMEDIATELY ECSTATIC AND OVERJOYED . . . Donna not so much. New shop means new people and she has preconceptions that tattoo parlors bring unsavory individuals.

But as the day goes by and people are going in and out of the previous vacant shop, loading tattoo chairs, equipment, and computers, people start talking about the new shop, since it's a bit out of place for the area.

The Dimitrescu Daughters however are just as excited to see the parlor as Angie. They immediately begin hounding their mother for permission to get some.

It is with their and Angie's insistence that Donna gives the new owner a shop warming gift of some kind-- extending an olive branch. After a while, Donna relents and gives Angie instructions to give simple Mayflowers to the new resident.

Angie does and Donna is surprised that she is out so long on such a simple errand.

Angie finally comes back after several hours-- Donna not so hiddenly freaks the fuck out-- and just gushes about the new tattoo parlor and the new owner. Young, dashing, quick-witted, you name it Angie is happy to tell Donna all about them.

Anyway, a few days pass, and Donna is in the back watering and taking care of her flowers and Angie interfacing with the customers. It's a good, long day... until an unfamiliar name screeches past the door. Followed by Angie's incessant voice.

Curious Donna emerges from the back.... oh, there you are, charming smile, kind eyes, beautiful interweaving tattoos up your arms, and a few creeping up your neck....... Donna will never admit it but she was immediately intrigued by you.

Making sure her hair is covering the scarred part of her face, Donna silently comes up behind Angie, who is still talking wildly about tattoo ideas and designs. You're taking it in stride, listening to the newest retention of a skeleton riding on a flaming motorcycle, with a parrot on its shoulder and maybe a pizza in its hand.

You came by to thank Donna for the shop warming gift and maybe repay the offer by getting takeout or dinner-- it's only fair-- the Mayflowers are absolutely beautiful and surprisingly go along with the shop's interior.

...Oh so this is the mysterious owner you keep hearing about... it's her dark eyes that draw you in first-- they're a wonderful inspiration for some tattoo concepts

Angie introduces you two, though mostly you speak while Donna only nods and politely smiles. You remember vaguely that Angie blurted out about her employer being shy and quiet, so you don't blame the other woman for being so silent before you. Maybe if you gain her trust you can finally hear her voice.

So... it became a common occurrence: You visiting during the later hours of the Flower shop's hours, highlighting Angie's (and Donna's) days by your tattoo tales and clients. Sometimes you even help out in the back with some heavy lifting-- for some reason Angie doesn't suddenly want to do

But regardless it lets you and Donna share space and that's all you can really care about. You mostly just talk about nothing and everything while she listens and hums along in acknowledgment. It may be your imagination but sometimes you sneak glances at the other woman and you can swear there is a dusting of red on her cheeks when you heave a particularly heavy box or sack and have to roll up your sleeves.

Donna definitely doesn't stare when you remove some of your outer garments and she can see your intricate inked sleeves-- she definitely doesn't wonder if they go past ou shoulders and continue along your torso.

You specialize in cover-ups, self-inflicted scars, double mastectomies, burn scars, amputations, and other skin conditions, often at a discounted price because most people coming by your shop have been afflicted for so long so it's the least you can do to help them move past. Donna's respect for you skyrockets when you tell her.

Anyways, several months pass and it becomes routine that you visit at least once a week, either helping with some supplies or just stopping by to drop off some take-out and chat.

The shop gives you dozens of ideas for tattoo designs and often you find yourself sketching while Angie talks both your and Donna's ears off. Flowers are suddenly becoming a staple of your concepts.

(You definitely don't sketch out the flower shop's owner when she isn't looking-- nope you definitely don't)

....

I have other thoughts about this AU but maybe in a part two I'll elaborate hehehe

[writinggremlin]

Ok alright we know the drill we know what's up it's fucking soup time lets fucking goooo!!!

Also I just wanted to say that I spotted this 20 minutes after it was posted lookit me go!

1815 hmm?? Teehee

Lets go Lex backstory time!!

Oh hey!! It's the thing I was randomly thinking about last week!! "How did Lex end up under the Maestro himself? How did they even meet?" I'm predicting the future yet again!! /joking

Maestro name reveal? Maestro name drop??? Hello????

Awwwww!!!! This banter is adorable holy shit. Also is it just me or is Lex a little too... "fond" of Anders?

XJDBSUSBSBS I SAY THAT AND THEN LITERALLY THE NEXT SENTENCES ARE, "Anders looked down at Lex with that beaming smile, and Lex couldn't stop his heart from fluttering. He was a handsome lad, and Lex had been struggling with feelings he'd rather not entertain for some years now." LMFAO!!!

They're cute tho. I love that for him. Also Lex has a type confirmed.

Oh. Oh. Ok so not Maestro name reveal. Got it. But-- wait a second... doesn't this imply that Master Laurent is either a thrall or a spawn under Maestro?? Because if so then... Oh no. Oh no. This is sad.

I'm gonna take a quick guess on what's gonna happen from here: Maestro is there to find another... "student". You know, for his totally legitimate and not at all torturous "gifted student program". Uh-huh! Totally! Personal tutoring with one of the best! That's all it totally definitely is! Yep!

Anygay-- as the session goes on, Maestro singles out Lex, probably picking up on some of the magic within him due to his siren based lineage, sees his potential, and is like "yep. I'll be taking that one thank you very much." And thus, the wet cat era begins.

Let's see how right I am. Because THATS JUST A GAME THEOR--

An... acquaintance haha... (nervous) 😅

"[...] but that thought was quickly driven from his head as he concentrated solely on his music." Uneasy thoughts suddenly being dismissed? Check. Focusing all attention onto one single thing? Check. Hm... Is this going where I think it's going? Probably not, but that's a phrasing choice that caught my attention either way. (Update: it wasn't. I've just been reading too many hypnosis fics.) (...I'm not gonna stop anytime soon.)

NOOOOO!!! HE USED TO LOVE MUSIC SO MUCH!!!!! MAESTRO RUINED MUSIC FOR HIM THIS IS HORRIBLE NOOOOOOO MY POOR PATHETIC WET CAT BOI NOOOOOO!!!!!! WAAAAAAAAAA 😭😭😭😭😭😭

(Also I meant to mention this sooner but ey! Fellow choir kid! :D!)

The strange man is staring right at Lex and only Lex you say? Hmmmmmmmmm-- Well that was fast.

NO LEX DONT SHOW OFF!!!! NOOOOOOOOOO (his fate is already sealed. RIP Alexander 😔)

Maestro is whispering to Master Laurent like, "Yep. You know which one I want. Give him to me."

"You go ahead, Anders. I'II catch up to you once l'm done." NOOOOOOOOO!!!! DON'T MAKE THAT HIS LAST WORDS TO HIS CUTE LIL CRUSH NOOOOOOO!!!!! PLEASE DON'T LET THAT BE HIS LAST WORDS I CANT HANDLE THIS IMMA CRY MAN

"One which you shouldn't refuse." That is a warning. More like, "If you refuse, we are both fucked."

"...So anyway, how's about some one-on-one lessons with the best teacher there is? Eh? Eh??"

"Stop-- don't deny this offer. Take it. Take it. Please." *glancing fearfully over at Maestro, wherever the hell he went*

More than just his reputation is on the line.

"Something felt wrong about all of this, but Master Laurent always had a way of setting Lex at ease." And does that way happen to involve subtle enthrallment magic? Hmmm??? Something tells me~

"Excellent!" More like, "Oh thank the heavens!"

Lex better not be even a single minute late.

"...You're a good student, Alexander. One of the best. You always have been." What he actually means, "Goodbye. I'm sorry."

WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH 😭😭😭😭😭😭

At least "I'll catch up" presumably weren't his last words to Anders, BUT STILL-- IMMA CRY MAN NOOOOOOOOOOO D: D: D: D: D: D:

WAAAAAAA 😭😭😭

Oo! More Lily! and Oliver getting his ability to read back next! Ough! Soup!

This soup was salty. ...10/10 would eat again!! :D!

(Also damn, my theory was more accurate than I thought it'd be. Nice. The fortune teller is back at it again /j.)

The Rare Bookseller Part 54: Alexander's Tutor

Prev > Masterlist

December 1815

Despite being wrapped in several layers of wool with hat, gloves, and scarf to match, the winter wind was chilling Lex to the bone. The evening was clear, with a bright moon overhead, and deceptively cold. Lex couldn't fathom why his voice teacher had chosen to hold practice so late in the dead of winter, yet another of his eccentricities. If he weren't one of the finest tutors in the region -- stern but fair and deeply knowledgeable -- Lex would have surely gone elsewhere by now.

But music was his heart's great passion, and he'd already seen such improvement under Master Laurent's tutelage. He really had no choice but to brave the winter and hope that his vocal cords weren't frozen solid by the time he arrived. So he soldiered onward, trying hard not to think about how much more pleasant it would be back in his chambers, curled up by the fire with a good book.

"There you are!"

Lex was suddenly clapped on the back by a strong hand. He turned to look into the grinning face of his close companion Anders. Anders was wearing only a sweater, not even a hat, his unruly mop of blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight. "Aren't you cold?" Lex asked.

"No. I'm made of sturdy stock," he said, laughing. "But you must be cold, seeing as you're bundled up so tight I could barely tell who it was."

"If you ask me, I'm the one who is being sensible," Lex said. "Without a hat, your ears are going to freeze and fall off. What would Master Laurent say if you went deaf?"

"I wouldn't mind. I wouldn't have to hear Thomas's awful squawking right behind me." Anders leaned in to look at Lex's face. "Are your teeth chattering?"

"No," said Lex, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Poor little princeling, can't handle the cold."

"I'm certainly not a princeling."

"A little lordling, then. Don't worry, my lord, if you can't make it to your practice, I'll have to carry you."

"What --" Lex had no time to protest before Anders scooped him up in his arms and began to dash down the street, laughing at the top of his lungs. He couldn't help but cling to Anders's sweater. "Anders! You're going to slip on the ice!"

"And drop my lordling? Never."

"I hope your ears do fall off."

"What a rude thing to say to me, while I hold your very life in my hands!"

Anders looked down at Lex with that beaming smile, and Lex couldn't stop his heart from fluttering. He was a handsome lad, and Lex had been struggling with feelings he'd rather not entertain for some years now. Stunts like this were certainly not helping.

When Lex and Anders arrived at their lesson, cheeks red with cold and laughter, the choir room seemed strangely colder than usual. Master Laurent had a roaring fire in the hearth, as he always did -- it wasn't the temperature that was different, exactly, but the atmosphere. Master Laurent himself was standing behind his podium, busily arranging music sheets. Some of the other young men were huddled in the corner, whispering amongst themselves.

There was a strange man standing near Master Laurent, tall and thin and dressed all in black, with a foreboding nature about him. He was looking at the students with an expression that somehow conveyed both indifference and disdain, and seemed to be the source of the frigid mood. Something about his sharp gaze made Lex feel uneasy -- but thankfully, he barely paid Lex and Anders any mind as they took their places for practice.

"Quiet and take your places. It's time to begin," said Master Laurent, standing up straight. "Today, I've invited… an acquaintance of mine to observe the class, one who also happens to be an excellent music tutor. Now, let's begin our vocal exercises…"

Lex thought it a bit strange that Master Laurent hadn't introduced his acquaintance by name, but that thought was quickly driven from his head as he concentrated solely on his music. He had the finest voice in the choir, and it wasn't mere boastfulness for him to say so -- he had been told by respectable men, even Master Laurent himself, that his voice was unusually clear and arresting, effortlessly capturing a listener's attention with its rich tones. His voice, his skill at the piano, and his carefully curated collection of books were his chief joys in life, and it was easy for him to become lost in the music as he sang, feeling almost driven by a power greater than him.

That is, it was usually easy for him to focus. Tonight, however, he was becoming all too aware that he was being observed. A nervous glance revealed what he suspected -- the stranger in black was no longer regarding the group of boys with detachment. Instead, his gaze was trained on Lex and Lex alone, piercing as an arrow.

Lex swallowed hard and steeled his determination. Well, if this man wanted a performance, he would give him one. He'd show Master Laurent's acquaintance why he was the finest young voice at the university, and make his teacher proud. With confidence backed by talent, he hit every difficult note in the solo, his voice ringing from the rafters and holding the rest of the chorus spellbound.

Finally, practice was over. The stranger finally left his post to whisper something to Master Laurent, and freed from the weight of his gaze, Lex turned to Anders.

"Impressive," said Anders. "I've never heard you sing like that. You performed that solo as if you were possessed by a muse."

"I felt like I had no choice. That strange man was staring at me the entire time."

"Was he? I was trying to ignore him."

"Alexander?" Master Laurent was waving him to the front of the classroom. "A moment of your time before you leave."

"Yes, sir," said Lex. "You go ahead, Anders. I'll catch up to you once I'm done."

As he walked over to Master Laurent, Lex realized that the stranger was already gone.

"I have an exciting opportunity for you, Alexander," said Master Laurent. "One which you shouldn't refuse."

"What is it?"

"My acquaintance was so impressed by your voice that he wants to offer you private vocal lessons."

"I'm flattered, sir, but I already have private lessons with you."

Master Laurent looked pained for some reason. "His talent surpasses my own, I'm afraid. You won't find a finer music tutor in the country. It's one reason why he's so secretive -- he only takes on students of his choosing, and he chooses very few. He told me that your voice surpasses any he's heard in many years."

"It's kind of him to say so."

"…I don't think he's saying it out of kindness," said Master Laurent. "I strongly encourage you to accept the offer. My reputation is on the line."

Something felt wrong about all of this, but Master Laurent always had a way of setting Lex at ease. Besides, what harm could extra vocal lessons do? "…I suppose I don't see why not, if he's as skilled as you say."

"Excellent! Now, just one thing. My acquaintance is very private. He even keeps his name hidden. What's more, if the rest of the chorus learns that you've received an opportunity they have not, it might create bad blood between you. That's why I'm asking you to tell no one about this, not even Anders."

Lex wanted to protest, but truthfully, he knew Anders probably would be jealous. "All right. May I at least write to mother and father about this?"

Master Laurent looked oddly pained. "He really prefers his privacy," he said. "Besides, won't your parents be surprised when they attend the holiday concert and hear your improved voice? Don't you think that would delight them, if they didn't know beforehand?"

Lex nodded slowly. His parents didn't always take his musical talent seriously, preferring if he went into a more practical trade. It would especially be good to impress his father.

"Good, now that that's decided," his teacher said. He took a slip of paper and scrawled an address on it. "Here. It isn't far. Go here tomorrow evening at eight o'clock sharp, and knock three times at the door. Don't be tardy -- he won't accept tardiness. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Lex said, trying to shake off the odd dread that had consumed him.

"Good, good. Run along now."

"Thank you, Master Laurent, and have a good evening."

"Wait!"

His teacher's voice stopped Lex at the door.

"…You're a good student, Alexander. One of the best. You always have been."

What an odd thing to stop Lex to say. After all, he had another lesson with Master Laurent in just two days, and he always praised Lex when he'd done well. "Thank you, sir," he said, putting the slip of paper in his pocket and heading back out into the harsh winter wind.

Prev > Masterlist

Thank you for reading this brief interlude into the past. Next, back to Oliver.

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[mrs-gucci]

A Sackler Family Christmas {dad!Adam Sackler x pregnant wife!Reader} [blurb]

anonymous:

sackler for the Monday prompt, but domestic and married with a couple of kids sackler. sweet, lovey family time decorating cookies and being together but Adam still having the time and space to dote on and love his pretty wife 🥰

author’s notes: hello, hello! I...I am so soft for this prompt. I have yet to venture into Sackler fics, but I gotta say...dad!Sackler has stolen my fucking heart <3 <3

warnings: dad!sackler. oh so much fluff. general shenanigans. kissing.

(possible) tw’s: pregnancy.

"Mooooooomy!!” Regan calls to you from the pantry. “What does the sugar container look like?”

You chuckle, beginning to make your way over to the pantry before a pair of large hands on your hips halts you. Adam reaches around and places a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Let me get it, bumblebee. Go sit that sexy ass down on the couch or at the table; you know the doctor doesn’t want you on your feet too much.”

“But I--”

“No ‘buts’, except that sexy butt,” He gestures to your rear end, then points towards the living room. “On the couch. Now, Y/N.”

You huff, but a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you make your way over to the couch at your husband’s direction. A long, soft sigh leaves your lips when you settle on the couch, hands rubbing over your swollen stomach.

“Mommy!!”

He runs around the corner to the pantry goofily, quickly scooping up the oldest Sackler up in his arms. “Hey! What are you yelling about, crazy child of mine?”

“Daddy! Stoooop!!” She giggles loudly as her dad tickles her sides. “Mommy asked me to get the sugar but I can’t find it.”

Adam looks around briefly, then squats down and points out the small container. “There it is, bug. Why don’t you grab it and bring it out to the kitchen?”

Regan nods, eagerly grabbing the sugar and rushing back out to the kitchen. You can’t help but smile as you hear Adam dad-ing. He’s truly an amazing father, always so helpful and kind and goofy, but he can get very serious when something negative happens. The perfect mixture of friend and authority figure.

The second youngest Sackler, little baby Oliver, comes waddling up to you from where he was playing on the floor. You hold out your arms for him and he walks right into them, cooing as you hoist him up onto the couch next to you.

He begins touching and tapping gently on your enlarged stomach while you aimlessly scroll through your phone. Soon, commotion from the kitchen begins and you turn around from where you are on the couch, looking back at your husband and daughter.

“What in the world are you two doing in there?” You ask, chuckling and shaking your head.

“Following the recipe!” Regan chirps happily, dumping practically half the bag of sugar into the mixing bowl before Adam can stop her. 

“Woah there, cowgirl. You’re gonna give everyone an overdose with that much sugar.” He laughs softly, emptying some of the sugar back into the bag.

You bring Oliver over to help out once the cookies are baked and you all begin frosting and decorating them together. Well, of course you let the kids decorate all of them, you and Adam are more just the supervisors. 

Soon, the kids begin to get tired, so you and Adam get them all ready for bed before coming back down to clean up the kitchen. It quickly turns to something else, more of a make out and loving session more than a cleanup.

Adam’s hands remain on your swollen stomach the entire time his lips move on yours, tongue licking into your mouth. The baby begins to kick and he smiles, resting his forehead against yours.

“God, I love you.” He whispers. “I love you so fucking much. You’re...god, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You smile, eyes beginning to swell with tears. “I love you too, Adam. I’m so happy that we get to raise a family together; it’s such a treat to see you get to be a father. You’re an incredible dad, Adam, an incredible dad.”

He kisses you again, then, cradling the back of your head in one of his massive hands gently, still keeping his other hand on your stomach. “Thank you, Y/N, for everything you do for me and for the kids.”

Your heart warms at his words. “You’re welcome. You all make it all more than worth it. Love you, Adam.”

“Love you too, Y/N.”

[honeysidesarchived]

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

interlude ii ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 2.4k

warnings: none really! just an impending, pervasive sense of doom.

rating: m/t

notes: so happy to have finally gotten this little interlude edited and pieced together! just more soft moments because they deserve it considering what's going to be coming up. thank you everyone who has been reading/interacting with this little love project of mine; it took a minute to get myself dug out of the trenches and posting bite-sized chapters because this is a short-fic is definitely doing something to me (lmao) but we're here!

as always you can find translations on ao3, where it's easier to store them in a place that doesn't get in the way.

There is very little time between when Santino cooks her dinner and when he moves her into his apartment. It happens without much acknowledgment from her; she finds herself swallowed up in moments of casual intimacy that break her down to nothing except a girl in love.

Santino wakes her up by kissing her neck and pulling her against his chest; she makes him dinner barefoot in the kitchen, all of the recipes that her mother taught her, and he drags his hand along her hip to reach over her into the cupboard; he stands still and obedient while Euphemia slides his tie into place, and when he zips her dress for her, he peppers her shoulder with kisses. He tolerates taking a walk through the park, even in the chilliness of late Fall or Winter, because Euphie can’t stand to not get some fresh air once a day. When one of her friends asks why he lets her bully him into the cold weather, he wraps his arms around Euphie with a sly smile and says, “How could I not, when I am the one who gets to warm her up after?”

He is an exceptionally tactile man. There is always a reason for him to touch her, trace each line of her, put his lips against her skin. Santi isn’t a man who loves; he covets. And Euphemia shouldn’t like it as much as she does, but she does. Her therapist says that it isn’t uncommon for a girl who grows up without touching to crave it, desperately, like an addiction.

So, she finds herself living in his loft to feed that addiction—which becomes their loft—and teaching him words in French, and feeding him olives while sauce simmers (and does not boil), and kissing the red-wine taste from his lips. It’s all very romantic and greatly overshadows the moments where Santino comes home raging mad, or when his bad mood takes over their conversation and stirs a fight between them. They’re both hot-headed—her more so than he—and he knows all of the ways to diffuse her while she knows none about him.

But it doesn’t matter, in the end; because Santino always kisses her, and always says, Mi dispiace, cara mi, ti amo, ti amo, ti amo, lip-locking between each break in words until her lungs ache.

Euphie has never wanted to be loved sensibly, anyway.

Making money stops becoming an issue. Santino might have been fine letting her wrap up her loose ends, so to speak, encourages her, even—“You should never leave business undone, my Euphie,”—but he’d never tolerate her continuing to skim out of the pockets of his associates. Not out of respect for them, of course, but because Santino is more than happy to provide.

“I have to do something,” Euphie insists, often. But Santino clicks his tongue and shakes his head, inspiring indignation in her. “That money goes to my mother, Santi.”

“Princesa, what are you worrying for?” He replies every time. In this instance, he is reading over some documents, his voice casual, simple, effective at bringing her to heel. “If your mama needs money, she’ll get it. Tutto quello che vuoi è tuo.”

Euphemia used to think that he was doing it to be generous, but as time goes on, she knows that isn’t the case. If Santino didn’t think he was benefitting from sending her mother money every month, he wouldn’t do it: but he does. Euphemia stops playing at arm candy for other powerful men; he endears himself to her by taking care of her mother; he endears himself to her mother; he’s afforded a sense of control. There is no facet of it where he isn’t getting something out of it. And she thinks, too, that maybe Santino likes it like this, where she is completely reliant on him for everything.

She doesn’t mind so much.

She would, if Santino didn’t drench her in his longing, if he didn’t make her feel, every day, that he is desperate to treasure her. She has always heard about this kind of love—and it is love—and never thought she would have it for herself.

But she does now, and she doesn’t want to let it go.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Tea or coffee, mama?”

Santino is busying himself in the kitchen. They’ve been together for a little over a year now, and they’re on a tour of Italy—not for fun, necessarily, but for integration. They have just spent the last week with Santino’s father and sister, and now they will spend the next two days in the Tuscan countryside with her mother.

Two days for her mother, instead of the week that they gave Santino’s father and sister, in part because his father deserves more time and in part because Euphemia doesn’t think she can tolerate her mother in much more than two-day increments.

“Coffee, please,” her mother says, very charmed by Santino.

“Tea,” Euphemia interjects. She looks at her mother—her face is tired, and older than she really is. Euphie knows that this is a side effect of heavy, abusive drinking and years spent in emotional terror, not the passage of time. Still, she finds it hard to drum up anything except distant pity in her heart. “You don’t need the caffeine.”

“Oh, you always ruin my fun.”

Santino re-enters the room with a small cup—it’s an espresso cup, but he’s poured it with regular coffee.

“A compromise,” Santi explains, handing the cup to her mother, smiling handsomely. “To make both of my girls happy.”

Her mother preens, glows under the affection. “You are so sweet, Santi. A perfect son-in-law.”

He has always called her and her mother his girls. His own mother had passed since before Euphemia; and while he knows that Euphie’s relationship with her mother is strained at best, he does what he can to ease it. Because it makes her happy, he says, and if she’s happy, he’s happy.

“Not yet a son-in-law,” Euphie corrects, and Santino flashes her a quick, amused little smile.

“You see how cruel she is to me, madonna? I have asked her to marry me, you know.”

“Santi,” Euphemia sighs, but it has had its desired effect; her mother looks scandalized, mortified at her daughter’s resistance to marrying a man as good and handsome and charming as Santino.

“Effie, tell me that you haven’t been bullying Santino like this?”

“Mama, there is no reason—he is just teasing. Ascoltami, you don’t need to look so horrified.”

“I do not know where I went wrong with you, Euphemia Sancia.” Her mother clicks her tongue, muttering something under her breath and taking a drink of the coffee Santi made her, and Euphemia can’t bring herself to say that not everything she has done wrong in her life is a slight against her mother’s parenting skills.

Santino smiles and leans across to Euphie, bringing her hand up to kiss it.

“Don’t worry,” he says to her mother, his voice blooming with practiced warmth. “I will ask her as many times as it takes for her to say yes.”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest. She knows that he means it; he’s suggested it to her three times, now. It seems to be the only thing he doesn’t mind asking more than once.

“She’s always been fussy, my Euphemia,” her mother says, breaking the magic of Santino’s eyes on her. “Never happy with what she has, just like her father. Except for you, Santi—you are the only thing she holds onto.”

Exasperation and disgust flood over her. Both the mention of the man considered to be her father and any similarities they might share has her mood souring. “Mama—”

But Santino is sweeping in, like he always does when he can tell Euphie is getting tired of her mother, coming to a stand and asking her, “We should get started on dinner, cara mia, don’t you think?”

Just like that, he’s taken control of the conversation again. He sees her flailing and steadies her. Euphemia is certain that he doesn’t love her mother—that he doesn’t even like her—but that he can spend his time tolerating her with charm and grace despite knowing what her mother allowed to go on under their roof is indicative of the man that Santino is.

“Yes,” she replies, standing as well. “You look tired, mama. Take a rest while Santi and I make dinner.”

She wanders into the kitchen with Santino trailing after her. As soon as they’re alone, he winds his arms around her waist and kisses the juncture between her shoulder and neck.

“Is it true?” he asks coyly. “That you don’t hold on to anything except for me?”

She doesn’t want to tell him very much, because he knows already, and because to say it out loud will give it legs. A year together, and she still doesn’t want her feelings for him to have legs. Santino splays his fingers against her sternum and kisses her jaw.

“You know that it is,” she says at last, her voice a little unsteady. She can feel Santi smiling against her skin.

“Euphie,” he purrs, “marry me.”

Yes, she wants to say, as her eyes flutter shut. Yes, I’ll marry you, Santi. Anything that you ask. I’ll do anything for you, if you would just keep saying my name like that.

She wants to say it but the words won't come out. There is nothing quite like the feeling of Santino peeling back each individual layer of her defenses, piece by piece; so close, she knows, he is so close, but not quite. Not yet. She is most comfortable keeping him at arm’s length as much as possible—to kiss and to fuck and to let someone hold you at night is one thing. To let someone in past the barbed-wire of defenses is yet another, impossibly reckless. To be seen feeling anything deranges you, as the poets like to say.

“Sancia, hm?” he continues instead, when she can’t bring herself to answer, as the words stick in her throat. It’s one of those things where Santino seems to exercise a surprising amount of patience, this whole ordeal of to marry or not to marry; later, Euphemia will come to understand that it is because Santino believes their life together to be inevitable, that she will always say yes to him, one way or another.

For now, she turns in his arms, cocking a brow at him. He continues, “It means sacred.”

Euphemia nods sagely and props herself up on the counter. “Buon ascolto, my love. I suppose that means you should work very hard to worship me well.”

Santino laughs. He leans in, trapping her against the counter—though it isn’t much of a trap if she’s a willing participant—and noses the slope of her jaw.

“Yes,” he murmurs, “I suppose that it does.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

On the last leg of their tour of families, Santino insists that they spend a few days in Rome by themselves.

The days are used mostly for doing a lot of nothing; neither of them are particularly interested in sight-seeing, but rather interested in seeing each other, a thing which they don’t seem to tire of particularly quickly. Instead, they shop, or lay in bed together until the afternoon, or go out to eat when street lights kick on and the city takes on a life of its own.

“You are much happier, Euphie,” Santino says one evening, smoothing out his napkin on the table absently, “when you are not around your mother.”

It’s not a question, per se, though she knows that he expects an answer. But she is still young and a little petulant, and she likes to push his buttons and make him say exactly what it is he means, so she takes a sip of her wine and replies, “Yes.”

He arches a brow at her. He looks particularly handsome like this, she thinks—not around his family, just eating dinner in a streetside restaurant in Rome, illuminated in warm candlelight and the glow of the streetlights outside.

“Are you going to tell me why?” he asks, amusedly.

“If you ask.” Euphemia sets her wine glass down on the table, and when Santino reaches for her hand, she lets him take it, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But it is so boring, Santi, to talk about my mother. Why don’t you ask me about something else?”

The brunette’s mouth is curving in a little smile. “Like…?”

“Like…” Euphie gestures with her free hand, like she has to really think about it. “Euphie, how did I get so lucky to have a woman like you? That is a good place to start. Or, what will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel? Or, Euphie, will I ever be so fortunate as to call you my wife?”

Santino laughs, leaning into their conversation, bringing her fingers up to kiss them. He has long lashes; soft, and dark, and they brush the tops of his cheekbones when his eyes close. Santino glances from her fingers up to her, that boyish grin on his face.

“I already know the answers to the first and last question,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal, but he’s grinning wickedly at her when he says it. She scoffs.

“Dimme poi,” Euphie insists. “I am dying to know, Santi.”

His expression is very sage, very wise, and he nods his head. “Il destino,” he says, winding their fingers together, “e tra un anno.”

There is something very heart-stopping about the way Santino articulates il destino, as though it is fact, as though there is something undeniable about their coming together.

“How do you know?” she asks. “In a year?”

“Because if you do not want to marry me by then,” Santino replies matter-of-factly, “then I am certainly not suited for marriage at all.”

She rolls her eyes, taking a drink of her wine and savoring the way his eyes trail over her, admiring, drinking her in.

“Well?” he prompts. She looks at him expectantly, and he reiterates, his gaze set on her, “What will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel, belladonna?”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest when he looks at her like that; like she is the only person in the entire universe, like she has become the sun that snags him in her planetary pull, like he will never, ever grow tired of looking at her. It sweeps the breath out of her.

“Anything, mio amato,” she murmurs. “Anything you want, if you promise to never stop looking at me like that.”

[deifiliaa]

I'm going down a Cho rabbit hole rn!! Do you have any Cho fic recs?? I'd love to read more Cho

hello anon, welcome to the rabbit hole, just wanted to let you know that this is one of those asks i dream about getting because cho chang? oft-overlooked-and-underappreciated-in-fandom cho chang?? why yes i would LOVE to stand on this soapbox and talk endlessly about her and my favorite writings that feature her <3

i get that a lot of the pairings featured in these fics/drabbles are very not mainstream lol but please don’t let that scare you off because honestly?? these are all a mix of fun, brilliant, stunning, transcendent stories and i have spent approximately a million hours thinking about each one of these because the character building and emotional payoff and dimensional portrayal of cho is overwhelmingly just so satisfying. so capable of filling that void canon left. so chef’s kiss.

gonna do my best to pick a line from each fic/drabble that i think does a good job of capturing its ✨ essence ✨ so. here we gooo. (mature/explicit fics noted with an asterisk * ).

record scratch * by @provocative-envy — modern, best man and maid of honor au (cho x marcus flint)

“You and Cho—my best and dearest and most precious friend in the world, Cho—you know each other, don’t you?” Marietta asks, just a bit too sweetly.

There’s a beat of awkward silence, then, and Cho very responsibly avoids the heavy, frantic weight of Marcus’s gaze, which has suddenly—coolly—intently—snapped over to her.

“so it starts at the tail end of the war...” by @provocative-envy — canon divergent au (cho x marcus flint) 

“i don’t want to get away,” she tells him, wincing at the strain on her vocal chords. “this is–this is it, can’t you feel it? this is how it ends.”

good behavior by @provocative-envy — canon divergent, postwar au, also the sequel to the above drabble (cho x marcus flint)

Well, his “muggle integration counselor” needs to be able to find him.

“marcus flint knows a lot about destruction...” by @provocative-envy — high school au (cho x marcus flint)

“I’m bad at math,” he blurts out, jaw working as he folds his arms over his chest. He feels defensive. Frustration prickles a familiar dance across his scalp. “This is, like, my third time taking trig. They always—I get lost when that fucking—when the circle thing with the dotted lines shows up.”

tick tick boom by @provocative-envy — superhero au (cho x marcus flint)

Cho Chang now works for the nonprofit across the street, a legal defense fund for superheroes who aren’t lucky enough to have corporate sponsors or full-fledged PR teams.

Marcus sees her, occasionally.

heads or tails * by @provocative-envy — thief acquaintances au (cho x marcus flint)

“We aren’t jack shit, sweetheart,” she mimics obnoxiously. “Yes, I know.”

His nostrils flare. “What’s the fucking problem, then?”

flying before falling by andtheyfightcrime — canon compliant (cho x cedric diggory)

Cho sniffs, "Maybe we just think there's more to hello than sticking your tongue down someone's throat." Cedric groans at that and says, "You shatter my illusions, Chang. We could have been in Hufflepuff together."

fifty ways by andtheyfightcrime — canon compliant (cho x cedric diggory)

Being in like with Cedric is a lot like being friends with him, only with more private smiles and demure nods.

big head boy by @cocoartistwrites — university au (cho x percy weasley)

She makes him nervous, with her shiny hair and her firm, straight brows and her piercing dark eyes and the haughty way she argues with him, and how she slams everything he says, how she sounds like his sister, Ginny, sometimes, when Ginny hears him talking, how assured she is, how angry, how sometimes she argues with their tutor – their brilliant, famous tutor – once, memorably, calling him an outdated sexist pig and –

“the thing about cho chang...” by @provocative-envy — zombie survival au (cho x cormac mclaggen)

Out of everyone? Back at camp? That he could’ve gotten trapped in a fucking abandoned Bass Pro Shop with? While a horde of fucking razor-talon zombies mashed their rotting gray faces up against the tastefully organized display windows?

Cho Chang would not have been Cormac’s first choice.

the sweet spot by @provocative-envy​ — modern, celebrity au (cho x cormac mclaggen)

His smile is authentic in ways that she doubts he’s aware of, in ways that she doubts he’s even capable of understanding, and it unnerves her a little bit, having all that energy, all that intensity, all that smug, self-fulfilling excitement directed right at her, totally unfiltered.

hiding in plain sight by @mxrcusflint — high school au (cho x cormac mclaggen)

Cormac McLaggen, she thinks, has probably broken more hearts than earned A’s.

descent (or how to stop being a national hero) by watername — canon divergent au (cho x viktor krum if you squint, but also not really)

At the second task, when the competitors dive beneath the lake, he drums his fingers against the railing and wonders what kind of person inspires such loyalty.

when the lights go out by thatdarkhairedgirl — second war resistance au (cho x viktor krum)

He missed her. He’s known her for less than a year and he missed her.

flights of fancy by namelessamelie — canon divergent au (cho x draco malfoy)

“You don’t have to defend him,” he interrupted, cutting her off. “Potter’s not as wonderful as he’d have everyone believe, and you know that better than anyone.” Then, before he’d fully thought it through, he added impulsively, “One hero isn’t a replacement for another.”

caught by blood sugar love — canon divergent, postwar, rebellion au (cho x draco malfoy)

Cho blinks. "I mean... I-I sit, and I think about it. How much you've ruined everything. It's really amazing, when I tally it all up. How much you owe. Especially if your father dies."

the sporting life * by blythely — canon divergent au (cho x pansy parkinson)

Cho wins but it's probably because on the last match point Pansy is looking at Cho rather than at the ball.

seeking * by Gelsey — postwar, ministry au (cho x charlie weasley)

“Fucker,” she said, righting her clothes in quick, economical movements, though her hands were trembling. She tossed her hair.

a moment’s silence (happens grace, happens sweet) by disinclinant — second war order au (cho x charlie weasley)

“I’ve no idea who you are,” Charlie replies, amused and vaguely charmed by this explanation of how she knows him through the process of elimination.

moon walk * by @provocative-envy — modern au (cho x antonin dolohov)

She stares at him for a minute, blatantly astonished and visibly apprehensive, and then she blushes. Hard. Gnaws on her lower lip and sweeps her eyes from his face to his chest and—very, very quickly—even lower.

even the score * by themidnightguardian — olympics au (cho x ginny weasley)

It’s a tepid rivalry at best—something that’s fierce on the field and almost entirely absent off it—and they’ve only spoken a handful of words to each other since their college days, but when it comes to women’s soccer, the Chang-Weasley rivalry is the hot gossip because it’s the only gossip.

Which is why twitter loses its shit when they both make the Olympic team.

that’s what she said by @provocative-envy — hockey au (cho x ginny weasley)

“Hey, why don’t you like me?”

Cho’s face twitches oddly. Defensively. “Why don’t I—excuse me?”

playing favourites by Slumber — postwar, healer au (cho x oliver wood)

The first time Cho catches Oliver Wood wandering St Mungo's ward nowhere near his own, he at least has the grace to look embarrassed.