#yes I'm a bit inebriated

[sea-dukes-assistant]

Look at this PEREGRINE FALCON LOAF ok I fuckin' can't...

IT IS A LOAF. OF FALCON.

IT NEEDS CUDDLES.

[the-offside-rule]

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Go To Sleep

Requested: yes

Prompt: 32) "I could kiss your lips all day."

Warnings: none, just quite short

The dimmed lights blurred as Max Verstappen stumbled slightly on the carpet of the hotel, his arm wrapped around Y/n for support. They had just left a lively celebration, and Max's cheerful laughter echoed through the night. "You know, Y/n, you're like the best thing that's ever happened to me." Max declared with a drunken grin, his words slightly slurred. Y/n chuckled. "I think you've had a bit too much to drink, Max." Y/n whispered, careful as to not wake their neighbours. "No, I'm serious!" Max insisted, his eyes sparkling. "You're beautiful, smart, and you put up with my bullshit. What more could a guy ask for?" Y/n couldn't help but smile at Max's intoxicated sincerity. "Well, I guess I'm pretty lucky too." Max nodded. "Yeah. Oh, and your boobs?" He paused as they reached the door. "They're like... like the best thing ever." Max fumbled with the keycard, finally managing to open the door.

Once inside, Max collapsed onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh, pulling Y/n down beside him. She gently ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. "You're so sweet, Max." She murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "You're amazing." He whispered, his lips now peppering kisses all over her face. "Max, come on. We should get to sleep." Y/n whispered. "I know, I just... I need to tell you how much I love you." Max slurred, his eyes filled with sincerity. Y/n smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "I love you too, Max. Even when you're a little... tipsy." Max sighed contently as his eyes closed. "You're so warm. Like a human blanket. I could stay like this forever." Y/n chuckled, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "I'm glad you're comfortable, babe." She said, finding herself growing tired now too. "Your lips, Y/n. They're like, the softest thing I've ever felt. I could kiss them all day, and it still wouldn't be enough." Y/n laughed, finding Max's drunken affection utterly endearing. "You're quite the charmer, even when you've had a few too many." Max grinned mischievously. "Maybe I should get drunk more often then. It brings out the poet in me."

"Or maybe, we should get you some water and let you sober up a bit." But Max was having none of it. Instead, he pulled Y/n closer, his lips finding hers with a gentle insistence. "I mean it, Y/n. Your lips are like... magic. I could do this forever." Max grinned lazily, his eyes half-closed. "And I know what you're going to say, but I'm not tired. I just want to cuddle with you forever." Y/n smiled as Max finally laid his head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat as it calmed him. "You're my everything, Y/n. Seriously, everything." Y/n ran her fingers through his tousled hair, smiling down at him. "And you're my slightly intoxicated, but utterly adorable, everything."

As the night drifted on, Max's words softened into contented murmurs, and soon, he was peacefully asleep, still holding onto Y/n. She watched him sleep, thinking about how even in his most inebriated state, he managed to make her feel cherished.

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

HIIII OMG I LOVE YOUR WRITING. Its so comforting but also quite accurate to the character’s personality.

I wondered if u could make a part 2 of Drunk, with Adrian and the reader.

Be free with your imagination i am sure it will turn out great!

🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Hi anon, sorry it took me so long to answer but I had no ideas what to write for this request. 😳

My writing has changed a little since I wrote part 1 of this. Hopefully, it'll be still up to standard.

Days after the incident, Adrian was still haunted by the things he had said and might have said while inebriated. It seemed rather silly, considering you haven't mentioned anything about that night, kind as you were. However, the son of Dracula was shaken after exposing himself to you, in more ways than one.

At the memory of him practically showing his naked chest in your face whilst rambling drunkenly about his loneliness, he could feel his face warming up. He undoubtedly has that unflattering shade of pink on his right now. Adrian lifted his chin from his steepled fingers, pressing his forehead against them instead. Instead of moping behind the wooden table, he should be making dinner as he watched bits of dust dancing in the last rays of evening sun streaming through the Tudor windows.

At this moment, you're probably getting both their beds ready for the night. Pulling back the bedspread and making a fire in the fireplace. You made a habit of slipping a stem of lavender from the garden and putting it under the pillows. He can hear you fussing about it, even though you're one floor higher. The dhampir's senses were finely attuned to your every breath and every movement. It came to the point where it was torturous. He wasn't just trying to dull away the pain of his past, but these pressing feelings as well.

Damn him, again and again, he's becoming attached to people only to be left every time. No doubt you will leave too, once you're able to. He'll be nothing but a fond memory...

"How's the dinner? I hope there'll be someplace left on the stove for teap-"

He's dragged away from his gloomy thoughts by the sudden sound of your voice nearing the door. You stopped mid-sentenced when you saw him sitting at the kitchen table, instead of working at the stove. He felt an immediate pang of guilt.

"Apologies I've seem to be a bit addle-brained today."

Adrian offered an apology as he started pulling the cutlery from its hooks. Hopefully with his back turned and his hands occupied, you won't notice his rather obvious fluster.

"Ah, it's alright," you waved him off in a placating manner as you rounded the table towards him. "Head still spinning from the vine, I see." you teased him as he made a fire in the stove, almost making him set his brows on fire.

As you walked past him, you gently put your hand on his back to make him step away. A whisper of a touch, yet he was tingling all over, his heart beating irregularly.

He clutched the edges of the stove, ignoring the rising heat. It can't go on like this. He has to do something.

You prepared the dinner in relative silence. You chopped mushrooms as he prepared pastry into small pans. Soon, bulky savory tarts were pulled out of the stove. He watched you wolf down four tarts in the row, while his plate was left neglected, safe for the few pokings with the fork.

"Adrian?"

His head snapped to you at the sound of your voice. He noticed you were looking at him in concern.

"What is it? You've been spaced out for days now." It was your turn to study your plate as you mumbled, "Is it...about the kiss?"

He was definitely blushing now. Adrian took a generous gulp of water from his chalice as he contemplated his answer.

"Yes and no."

You looked at him in confusion and he sighed in resignation.

"I'm sorry...my friend. The thing is..." He caressed the grooves in the ground glass. Would she even understand? What kiss meant to him?

"There have been several attempts in my life. There have been people who stayed in this castle pretending to be my friend and then turning on me as soon as I became vulnerable."

Adrian closed his eyes momentarily, chasing away the tainted memory of their hands coiling around him like vines of a poisonous plant. The pleasure, and the pain. So, so much pain... He opened his eyes and there were your eyes, filled with some much tenderness he had to suppress the urge to look away again.

"But last night, you didn't... and you could, easily so."

"I'd never-"

"I know, I know," he gently cut you off by putting his hand over yours. Your palm was much warmer than his, dainty fingers covered completely by his long ones.

"Believe it or not, but you singlehandedly restored a great deal of my hope in humanity. What once had been destroyed..."

He hasn't allowed his mind to wander to dark places, not this time.

"I don't mean to bring up such depressing subjects. But when one leads a life such as mine, you tend to... figure some things out."

"Things?" You carefully prompted, pity overrun by curiosity at last.

Adrian smiled in a self-deprecating fashion. "Well, for example, I have now discovered that in this entire world, I only have one close friend. You are my only solace, the only person that I can talk to regularly."

There was Trevor and Sypha, of course, but they found solace in one another, something deeper than friendship. Adrian understood now, what those feelings meant. His next words were full of emotion.

"I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I don't know if more demons will come and I'll be forced to fight them off. I don't know if the world will end tomorrow... and that used to not bother me. I used to not mind the idea of death. To slip into the quiet sleep..."

He trailed off, and you squeezed his fingers in encouragement. He squeezed yours right back, so you know he's not spiraling again.

"However, whatever courage I have towards that cause always sours at the thought of what comes after. What does come after do you think?"

You looked over his shoulder in contemplation, you traveled places far away from here, no doubt. Thankful you're entertaining his silly musings, Adrian patiently awaits your response.

"I'd like to think it's a place where I meet all my loved ones once more." You gave him a warm smile.

He chuckles at that. "Interesting response."

"What about you? What do you think?"

Adrian shook his head, golden locks tumbling over his shoulders, "As I said, the fear of not knowing that is the only thing that kept me alive for quite some time. But now, now that I've spent some time with you, it allowed me to clear my mind of that sort of dangerous thought. I think I may have an answer, maybe not a very good one but..."

He gingerly trails his hand from yours to the curve of your elbow and you let him. He leans closer, tone bordering on a soft whisper as he looks into your eyes.

"It doesn't matter what comes next, that shouldn't dictate our actions while we are still here. If you want something, chase it." He puts the other hand on your cheek, making his intentions clear with his actions and his words. Carefully, so you can pull away at any time.

Please don't.

"You have allowed me, to come to this mindset," he sighs. "The thought that what I want is worthwhile to pursue. So I will pursue that which I want. I will pursue... you."

It is evident that his words left you speechless. You stare at him with your mouth slightly parted. Adrian lets out a small breathless chuckle.

Is it really that shocking? After our lips have already become acquainted?

"I know...I know that I'm... half human, half vampire, so at the very least I know it can work, but it's up to you, really." His thumb caressed your cheekbone, "I will continue to pursue you for as long as you allow me."

He can see your eyes glistening with emotion, and he hoped his words touched the part of your soul he wanted them to. However you still haven't said a word and Adrian needs you to voice your desires, or lack thereof, directly.

"I bid you command me now. My devotion is solely placed at your feet. I truly cherish you. Every step you take and breath you breathe."

You close your eyes and choke back a sob as he places one small kiss on your forehead.

With a voice clogged up with emotion, you finally release him from his torment.

"I... would love... nothing more... than to be pursued by you." You say as you give him a watery smile.

He lets out a relieved sigh as he presses his forehead to yours.

"Then pursue you I shall."

It takes only a moment for the atmosphere to change around you. With hunger, you never saw in his eyes, he whispers to you hoarsely.

"Come here, you..."

The kiss is devoid of any sweetness the first one had. This one is full of fire and blood and passion that takes your breath away. You don't have time to react as he pulls you to his lap. His kiss goes down your throat and settles in your belly like a fine liquor.

[fanfiction4sooya]

Hiii!!

May I request top Jennie using dub reader as her little fuck toy, or something like that

Like with Jennie being a top I mean degrading the reader and riding the readers face

Thank you bby 🫶🏻

I am sorry for answering these just now after months... I'll do my best to write the requests I had before the hiatus thing. That being said... I hope you like this one. 💖💖💖 (ps: i'm getting back to writing just now so this isn't my best work of all times lol)

cw: humiliation, face slapping, face sitting, fingering, gagging, age gap, power imbalance, face fucking, not proof read, etc.

You were finally at the place you were supposed to be.

Alright, okay, it was an internship but it was an internship at the design department of Chanel. That basically meant you could only climb further to the top, and nothing and no one could stand in your way.

It was your third week and everything was going smoothly... sort of.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you quickly answered.

"Hello, is this the Chanel intern speaking?" You heard your best friend's voice and smiled.

"Yes it is" You sounded way too cocky but that was the fun of it. "Is this the new Versace intern speaking?" You asked and Ning exploded in a mix of screams and laughter.

"hell yes it is!" You guys briefly spoke about a few matters until she finally popped the question you were waiting. "So... did you meet my sister there?"

"I already know your sister from your house" You rolled your eyes.

"yes but here you only met Jennie" She said. "In there she is Ms. Kim, CEO and head of the department. Believe me, I know the difference."

"I know, I know..." You took a sip of your coffee in your desk on the lobby of Jennie's office. "Of course we met, I am basically her assistant" You sounded defeated.

"Why the sad voice? Is she giving you a hard time?" Ning sounded concerned and you pouted a bit.

"I think she is trying to state that it's not because me and you are friends that she is going to treat me any different..." You were interrupted by the sound of her private elevator. "Gotta go!" You immediately hang up, getting up to wait for her by the door.

As soon as it opened you felt your heart drop. Jennie was everything you aimed to be, had everything you wanted to have. Of course she didn't spare you a glance and of course that made her feel even more alluring to you.

"Good morning, Ms Kim" You bowed and she handed you her bag and coat, going straight to her office and shutting the door off. You took a deep breath, the perfume on her coat being the most inebriating thing you've ever felt in your life. Of course you knew it was not just her perfume, but her natural scent as well.

🌸🌸🌸.

The afternoon went smoothly, you two went to one meeting and that was it. Jennie let you go alone to your place of work to finish a few documents for her as she went to check a few things.

You got back and went straight to work, knowing very well she hated when you delayed anything she asked you to do. She commanded everything with an iron fist.

As you worked you could see the expensive coat hanging from the corner of your eye. It was so beautiful and smooth and... it smelled like her. It was as if you were in a daydream, you could feel yourself walking but with no real thought in mind, reaching it but not really minding that you were still inside the building and that she was there too.

You stopped in front of the huge mirror in front of her office, she loved looking at herself and you knew exactly why. She was perfect. You wanted to be like her.

You tried the black fur coat over your tight outfit, a baby pink mini skirt and matching blazer over a white button up.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, engulfed in her perfume, her scent, imagining how it would feel being her for a whole day, feeling the coat as if you were feeling your own skin in an almost erotic motion, up and down; But it wasn't your own self you were lingering to touch. You wanted to feel her, touch her.

"Having fun?" Her voice felt like a bucket of cold water, not only alerting you to what you just did but scaring the hell out of you.

"Ms Kim, I-" You stuttered and she raised her perfect hand in a 'Stop talking" kind of motion. You swallowed your words, along with the tears threatening to escape your eyes.

She felt even more overpowering standing there with her eyes on you, her perfect posture and incredibly expensive suit did nothing to help your heart lower the crazy beating.

"Who gave you permission for that?" She said, slowly walking towards you, her gaze heavy on your already shaky body.

"I am sorry i just- I thought..." You tripped over your words as her eyes roamed over your figure. She scoffed.

"You thought?" She arched one perfect eyebrow. "I really didn't knew you were capable of such thing" Her voice was venomous and you lowered your gaze, pouting.

"I am sorry" You finally managed to say, starting to take off the coat.

"Keep it on" You stopped and she continued, grabbing your face between her fingers, her nails sinking in a bit. "I think we should play a little game" Her body was so close to yours your knees were almost giving up on holding your weight as her breath fanned over your lips. "You give me something good and I don't kick you out for touching what's mine" She scanned your beautiful face: red cheeks, furrowed eyebrows, closed eyes to avoid her cat like ones.

A single tear escaped your eyes as she rolled hers in annoyance.

"What should I give you, ma'am?" You asked but she shook her head, turning your face towards the mirror and you whimpered. She smiled, nearing her lips to your ear.

"What could a little dumb intern possibly give me that I don't already have?" She whispered and you felt goosebumps, watching your reflection on the mirror. You were pretty sure that was a wet dream of yours.

"Please..." Your hand held her wrist and she made you look into her eyes again. They were like a fire, slowly burning yours. "I will give you anything you want but please don't fire me" You gulped, feeling yourself getting wet. What she wanted crossed your mind and you really prayed you were correct.

"Anything?" She playfully said and you took her by surprise when your knees touched the floor, both hands on your thighs, lowering your eyes to her expensive shoes.

Of course the dom inside her saw the erotic side of kneeling when you did it, she just didn't think you'd be bold enough to do what you did next.

You reached for the button of her trousers and she followed your movements with her eyes, not moving to see until where you'd go. Your trembling hands unzipped them, and you pulled them down to her ankles, a drenched mess as you saw her lacy underwear visibly shining with wetness seeping trough.

You whimpered when she held your chin up, staring at your pleading demeanor with a smile forming on her lips.

"I could report you for sexual harassment right now" She said and you panicked a bit.

"Please don't..." Your eyes were full of tears now. She smiled even wider, her thumb caressing your lower lip.

Oh Jennie Kim... not just her eyes were a cat's, her actions were much like a feline's as well, playing with her prey before actually devouring it. Enjoying the despair on your face as she pushed the digit between your lips and you promptly sucked on it, rolling your tongue over it and closing your eyes.

She kicked her trousers off her ankles, taking you off of that trance when she pulled you by the hair so you would open your eyes.

"Tongue out" She commanded and you did what she said, whimpering and bawling your fists. "Unbutton your blouse" Your trembling hands did as she told and her eyes darkened by seeing your boobs and tummy. She spat on your tongue without warning, watching her saliva and yours trickle down to your boobs and chin. "Fuck"

Without saying any more words she pulled her panties to the side and mounted your face, lowering her pulsing cunt to your lips, feeling the vibrations of your moans against her core.

She tasted like heaven, her thick wetness made you roll your eyes as she held your head with both hands to grind better on your gorgeous face.

"I knew you had to be good for something" She growled, speeding up the pace so her clit could get stimulated faster as your nose bumped it.

The pleasure she felt was not only on the fact that you were so willing to give her good head, no; it was in the way you so willingly submitted to her. That was a dream of hers since the first time you entered her parent's house with her sister: short little skirt and a gullible expression, ready to be thrown around like a little doll.

But Jennie was a patient woman and of course she picked on your personality traits to realize you enjoyed being degraded , ignored and of course, coerced by the right person. That's why she put on some effort to have you under her eyes at all times, under her command.

You thought she was your obsession but little did you know she was the one obsessing over you.

"That's right, keep going" She said, rolling her hips against your lips. She saw in first hand how your pupils grew wider, your hands tempted to hold her by the ass so you could savor her better.

Suddenly she forcefully pulled you away by the hair, your hooded eyes and glistening face made her pride grow inside of her. You whined trying to get your face back where it belong.

"Please, more..." You were shaking, drooling like a mad animal.

You felt a sharp sting on your cheek and that made you clench, specially when Jennie kneeled in front of you to lick your cheek up and down until she stopped on your neck.

"Dumb little thing" She said, harshly sucking on your skin. "Do you want me back in your mouth, pup?" She said and you mewled, nodding. Another slap. "Use your words, slut" She held your hair by the nape so you'd look into her eyes.

"Yes ma'am, please let me lick you please please" You cried out, desperate to make her feel good. She smiled, pushing you to lay down as she pushed open your legs, a satisfied grin on her perfect lips.

"Oh, I knew you'd enjoy eating me out but you are soaked" she admired the wet patch on your panties, promptly pulling them from you. "Open your mouth" She commanded and you did as she told, feeling the fabric being pushed past your lips deep down almost in your throat. You gagged, gasping for air and she stopped. "Keep it there and don't you dare touch my hair" her voice was dangerous and you almost glued your hands to your sides.

She spread your pussy lips, admiring your hole and pretty pussy, spitting on it before giving it a tempting lick to taste you. Jennie nearly growled, latching her lips to your clit and your scream was muffled by the fabric in your mouth. You saw not only stars when she licked your slit next, humming upon feeling your taste.

Her nails dug in your thighs and you hissed, trembling a lot and making her smile against your wet pussy; Her tongue kept circling your clit and with not much effort she plucked two of her digits inside you to harshly thrust them up, quickly finding your gspot and rubbing it.

"I wanna hear you now" She got up to your face, puling the panties from your mouth and you gave her a relieved moan, your eyes full of tears as you felt her relentless pounding, knuckles deep inside you. "Such a good little slut" She said, finally kissing your lips.

Her lips felt delicious and you clenched when you managed to feel your taste on them, creaming on her fingers, rolling your eyes when her tongue didn't stop the assault on yours. She gave your tongue a harsh suck and you almost cried, hugging her against you, trying your best to feel her. You needed that woman; everything, anything.

You could feel your heartbeat in your ears; she ws your best friend's big sister, the unapproachable Jennie Kim.

Oh you were fucked. So fucked.

Without stopping her fingers she got up enough to fully sit on your face in a 69 position and you could finally feel that heavenly taste again, moaning against her core and hooking your arms on her thighs to hold her down. Who cares if it was suffocating? You got the chance to make the Jennie Kim feel good, it was worth dying for it.

"god" You felt her mutter against your clit, humping your face full force, you could see her hole clenching and unclenching the more she moaned against you. "I'm gonna paint your pretty face with my cum" She said through gritted teeth and without much warning you came, melting under her, shaking like a leaf in the wind, going limp as she kept the relentless pace of staining your whole face with her juices while she came as well, that creamy liquid delicious against your lips and face.

You just laid there, taking whatever she wanted you to take as she kept humping, trembling on top of you, her breath heavy as she tried to recompose herself.

Without warning (again because of course she didn't need to tell you shit) she got up, dressing herself as you tried to do the same but you only managed to sit on your ankles, knees on the floor again. She collected your juices from her chin on her fingers, stretching her hand out to you and your foggy brain thought she was helping you get up.

"Don't be dumb" She said, rolling her eyes. "Clean my fingers, pup" You pouted, obeying. Your tongues swirled against her fingers as the two of you made eye contact, her dilated pupils following every move you made. "Enough" She said and you got back to positioning yourself on your knees, lowered head. "For a dumb little intern you are quite a fast learner" she held you by the chin. "I wonder who else you kneeled to" She said, annoyed by that thought.

Jennie let your face go, bending to get your panties from the floor.

"Keep the coat" Her eyes sparkled. "I'll keep these" She put it in her pocket as prize, taking a black card from it. "You are mine now" She handed you the card. "Buy more lingeries and nice outfits for you" Jennie said leaving to get in her office. "I still want a lot of things from you, pup" She said, closing her door and leaving you dumbfounded on the floor.

[manicpixiefelix]

love the hand that feeds you {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

One-Shot for head, heart, hand. but can be read as a stand-alone.

Summary: Everyone's always called you Felix's Dog. Felix has always had a problem with this. You've always wished that he didn't. Oliver's never been much of a cat person anyways.

Need to Know: They/Them. NB!Reader. Oliver's POV. Set after the Summer at Saltburn but with a happy, poly ending. Established Felix/Reader/Oliver. Reader's AGAB/sex is never made explicitly clear so hopefully all of y'all can enjoy.

Warnings: SMUT. Porn with plot. Pet play, obviously. Demeaning language (dog is the main one, obviously), oral, threesome, unprotected sex, d/s dynamics (all three of you go back and forth but there's mostly Dominant!Oliver), teasing, praise kink (and praise kink by proxy), pet names (ha). Felix & Reader being horny puppies who love Oliver Quick (and each other) very much.

A/N: 9494 words. i told my girlfriend about this fic and how long it is and she said 'at that point is it a oneshot or a cry for help' and idk man it's definitely a cry for something 👀

----

It starts because Felix likes having his hair played with.

Actually, it starts the week before with you, drunk and giggling at a house party, playing with the chain Oliver's always wearing with more fascination than usual, when you admit that Venetia once bought you a collar. Of course you provide the caveat that it was more to piss Felix off, which it had, and that it had been thrown into the fire before you ever got to wear it. Oliver, who'd been watching Felix playing beer pong across the room, has to take a moment to process what you'd said.

"Wish she didn't make it all weird," you sighed a little forlornly, and you give the chain a faint tug, "I'm such a good dog, everyone says so," then you huffed a faint, flustered laugh, "not everyone. Not you and Fi, you guys are lovely, but sometimes I am a bit like a dog; I'm okay with that."

In the next moment you're humming along to whatever trashy pop is playing, and Oliver's pretty sure you've already forgotten what you'd just said, but even in his own state of inebriation, he can't.

The next day, on one of the many lawns across Oxford's beautiful campus, Oliver's sitting with Felix's head in his lap, fingers running through his hair as you and Felix are brainstorming gifts for Venetia's upcoming birthday. Felix has his eyes closed, enjoying the warm afternoon and the sensation of Oliver's gentle petting, while you're splayed out on the grass beside them both, focusing on your notebook.

Yes, you've always been a good dog, but you'd been well trained; the more Oliver thinks about it, the more he finds himself also drawing comparisons between Felix and an excitable, affectionate, pampered pup himself. But there was potential there, Oliver could see it clear as day.

So he'd started to come up with a plan. A simple plan, thankfully; knowing you both it wouldn't require anything too complicated, it wouldn't be particularly manipulative. At least not maliciously.

A simple, two step plan to show the impossibly beautiful, rich, loving heirs how much he loved and appreciated them for all their qualities, especially the dog-like ones, in certain circumstances. Really it's not even his idea; Felix's whole family had drawn the comparison with you before it had even really occurred to him. He couldn't be blamed for being intrigued about following it to its logical end, and showing you both it's not the negative it usually comes across as. At least, that's how he phrases it in his mind when he's justifying it to himself.

And if he thinks you and Felix would both look pretty in a collar, well that's just a perk he keeps to himself.

The first step is submission.

All three of you fluctuated between dominance and submission on any given day, an enthusiastic ebb and flow of control amongst the three of you, in every combination imaginable. Except Felix seems unable to fully commit himself to submitting to Oliver alone; oh he plays along without hesitation, will get on his knees for Oliver at the slightest firm tone, but he always seems more thrilled knowing your hand is on his metaphorical leash.

So Oliver takes his time figuring out what exactly will make Felix long for Oliver's hand on his throat. The solution is shockingly simple.

Praise.

It couldn't be just any praise. He'd lived his life hearing sweet words about how good he looks, or how lovely he was, it had to be deeper than that. Praise only you or Oliver could give, praise that he craved to hear, praise for the parts of himself he quietly put effort into.

Praise for being helpful, for being diligent, for being caring and genuinely thoughtful to the two of you, for being good.

"God, you're so good to me, Felix," Oliver groans in the bathroom of a house party, back pressed against the door while Felix was on his knees, Oliver's cock in his mouth. When Oliver looks down, sees Felix with a faint blush on his cheeks that's far sweeter than the rest of the debauchery of their situation, Oliver cards a hand through his hair, giving him a look that radiated just as much love as he felt for the man himself, "always so fuckin' good to me," he murmurs this time.

Felix, now bright red, all kinds of flustered, pulls back for half a second, unable to fight back a smile as he swears under his breath, but Oliver's hand in his hair tightens. Felix eyes flutter closed as Oliver, tone on his voice like a warning, tells Felix that he didn't say stop.

And Felix seems more than delighted to obey, to be as good to Oliver as he'd just been deemed.

Praise like this always made Felix all smitten and obedient and eager to please. Of course Oliver had always been quick to praise Felix, but this was different, was concentrated and specific. Once Oliver had started with these efforts, Felix seemed to grow more relaxed and eager to let Oliver become dominant over him when the mood struck him, even without the specific praise. Though the praise always helped.

The second step is acceptance.

Considering everything that had happened at Saltburn - the voyeuristic games you'd played with Oliver, the adventurous ways and places in which you and Felix would fuck, the handjob you'd given him after you caught him drinking the bath water that Felix had gotten off into that ended with you also managing to come untouched while Oliver moaned Felix's name in your ear, just to name a few - Oliver knew your sex lives would be more than a little kinky before he even officially joined this relationship. He was not disappointed.

Both you and Felix seemed more than willing to try anything, though Oliver was delighted to discover just how much you'd both already done, and were more than eager to do again.

All this to say that pet play was barely a step removed from roleplay, so he shouldn't have been surprised that you jump at the chance. At first it stays between you and Oliver, for obvious reasons that have everything to do with Felix's hangups about the derogatory way other people had often called you a dog. But when Oliver calls you 'pretty pup' for the first time, you react just the same way Felix does when praised.

Flustered. Bashful. Obedient.

Except Oliver quickly learns that you react far stronger than Felix. It seems not only were you telling the truth about being okay with the title, simply hearing it said so lovingly by Oliver, even in the most innocent situations, was enough to turn you on. It was validation you so desperately wanted, craved, your efforts and constant place by their side acknowledged and appreciated. There are times even when you're in control where you demand praise, and the words slip out.

"You're a good dog," Oliver gasps out, your legs over his shoulders, his head between your thighs. A pleased noises rumbles from somewhere in your chest and you laugh low and heady.

"You're fucking lucky to have a dog like me, Oliver Quick," comes out all lazy and confident, but his nose of agreement isn't enough for you, clearly, as your thighs momentarily tighten around him, trapping him, and he feels one of your heels press insistently against his back, "aren't you lucky," you say pointedly, warning in your voice, "to have such a good dog?" Echoing your words in agreement, they come out sounding like a breathless prayer, one he's eager to chant to see the heady, powerful smile you wear when you hear it.

Fuck he feels dizzy with lust in this moment, desperate to devour you, have his mouth on you, like his life depends on it, hoping you'll grant him the chance to fuck you - there's something about you in control that will always drive Oliver utterly mad. Actually, no matter the situation or who's in control, knowing you and Felix continue to want him, love him, choose him to share these moments with... sometimes he still can't believe he got here in the end.

He never thought he'd hear you beg, let alone for him. It's like fucking music.

When he's got you like this, under him, desperate, eager to please, mind a messy haze caught up in this fantasy being played out with you as his perfect pup - so good, so loyal, fuck you're precious, pet - where he can do or say practically anything to you, where you want him to.

"Fuck I love how pathetic you sound, pet," he mumbled into your ear, pressed against you, thrusting slow and deep, "can't even form a proper thought, can you?" He teases. Your hips stutter up into his in an inconsistent rhythm, desperate. Chiding you for it, he sits back, even as a disappointed mewl escapes you. As if moving out of instinct, you reach out, as if to try and pull him back in, and your fingers catch on the chain he still wears around his neck.

"Drop it," he orders immediately, to which you let go as if the metal had burned you. However, Oliver can feel you clench around his cock, hips rolling, pressing close to him, instinctively, "good dog," he purred, pleased, deciding to reward you by finally fucking you with intent.

So it's not you who still has to come to accept this concept. But Oliver's fairly confident you will be the main reason when Felix does come to accept it. In fact, he doesn't even bring the concept up to Felix himself; he knows you well enough that it will only be a matter of time.

It doesn't take long.

One night at the club, all three of you drunk and feeling indulgent under the lights and haze, you hear a resentful -

"Felix really can't go anywhere without his dog -"

You have to hold Felix back from searching for the girl who said it to start shouting at her, assuring him it's fine, but Oliver then has to drag you both of the dancefloor when you start unexpectedly arguing with each other. He actually genuinely can't pick exactly what the argument is about until he's got you both in one of the marginally quieter side rooms, you and Felix still arguing animatedly -

"- shouldn't even be talking about you like that, they don't even know you -" Felix snapped, while you stepped up into his space, having him in the chest.

"When the fuck have I ever cared what anyone but you thinks of me?!"

"I don't think of you as my dog!"

"How many times do I have to say that I don't mind being called your dog before you figure out that maybe I want you to call me that?!" You glare up at him, watching the confusion and mixed emotions about the idea pass over his face in rapid succession, "I'm getting sick of you taking issue with the title, and refusing to understand why I don't; am I not every fucking thing the perfect dog is to you? I am loyal," with each descriptor you gave an instant push against his chest, as if to punctuate each point, "diligent, protective, you know I'd follow you to hell and back, it makes me happy to make you happy, and yes, Felix, just like a dog, I can be obedient," Felix's gaze is shocked as you lay it all out before him. Your voice lowers, Oliver can barely hear you over the music in the next room, "but unlike a dog, I was not trained to love you, to stick by you like I do; that is a choice I made. That is a choice I continue to make happily every single day of my life. Every other asshole who calls me a dog can see it, most of them are fucking jealous because I am the one you choose to keep by your side. Why would I ever take issue with being called that? What do I have to be jealous of? I am the dog, Felix Catton, and I am yours."

It's... reductive, Oliver thinks, but it has to be to get your point across, so he keeps that to himself. He knows all too well how old this sore spot is between you two, far older than his place in your relationship. Perhaps if things hadn't worked out quite so well for him, or if he weren't so secure in his relationship with you both, perhaps he'd worry, be jealous of how you're speaking once more like you and Felix only have each other. But her knows you're not, knows that you're speaking to the version of Felix who can't let go of his discomfort at the title's implications. Part of Felix would always listen to you above all others, even Oliver, but Oliver himself had in part fallen for the way you two loved each other, he lives seeing that connection still strong, bright and alive, and knowing that you've both still chosen to love him too.

Felix, a few feet away, looks suddenly conflicted, almost upset as he tries to process and reconcile your words. However, when Felix can't seem to give a proper reaction, a look of disappointment crosses over your face, and you turn sharply, stalking from the room, from the club entirely.

"It still feels demeaning to them," Felix has been sulking the entire walk back to campus, he and Oliver having left not too long after you. Oliver bites his tongue on the fact that he knows you get off on being demeaned in the right circumstances; Felix is off course aware of this, but not the true extent. Instead, all Oliver offers is a non-committal hum. Felix pouts, still mostly talking to himself, "'s rude," he mumbled, "'s a mean thing to call someone; dog..." Though it sounds almost like a question.

"So you'd be mad if someone called you Y/N's dog?" Oliver says with a surprising amount of casualness considering he has no idea where his boldness came from. Beside him, Felix goes very quiet. Oliver pointedly doesn't look at him.

"That's different," Felix finally managed after several long, strained moments in which he'd thoroughly considered Oliver's words. Except Felix hasn't managed to sound nearly as casual as Oliver, the poor boy sounds rather abashed at the thought, though he still tries to play it off, albeit unsuccessfully, "Ollie, that's- that's completely different."

"How's it different?" Oliver needles him subtly, still giving Felix a modicum of privacy from his ever watchful eyes.

"Because it is," Felix insists, before blurring out - "because it's never happened!"

When Oliver finally looks over at Felix, he keeps his expression just on the positive side of neutral, only to be met with the sight of Felix, wide eyed, and faintly flush. Oliver blinks.

"But you are," he says easily. Felix's lips press into a thin line, face turning steadily darker with his blush as he finally stops walking. Oliver can read the 'the fuck do you mean by that?' all across Felix's flustered, intoxicated features before the man can even open his mouth to ask, so Oliver stops walking too, elaborating without hesitation, "if we're going by Y/N's metrics for what a good dog is, aren't you one too?"

This conversation was completely unexpected for Oliver too, despite how he was the one who pushed it in this direction. Beautiful, expressive Felix is already growing less tense as he turns the thoughts over in his mind. Oliver, eager to help him along on his path to acceptance, reiterates the values you'd laid out in the club -

"Loyal, diligent, protective," he lists easily, "you know you'd follow them anywhere, and do anything to make them happy," he doesn't have to say that Felix can be obedient to you to know they're both thinking it. Instead, Oliver shrugs, "but you're Felix Catton, of course no-ones going to call you a dog."

"What?" Felix's deliberation finally gives way in the face of confusion.

"Everyone knows Y/N loves you, but they don't want to think about you loving Y/N back."

"But I do," Felix's soft voice sounds so hurt by the very idea, "everyone knows I do." Oliver's own expression softens as he steps forward. Felix's brow creases in what can only be described as disappointed confusion.

"I know," he assures smoothly, "that's other people's problem, its not fair on either of you." Oliver's hand is gentle on Felix's shoulder, but Felix is still clearly bothered, even as they start walking again.

"Maybe that's why it bothered you so much," Oliver finally speaks again when they're back on campus. Felix doesn't speak, but does look to Oliver with an expression of clear confusion, "because you didn't like the idea of people thinking Y/N loved you more than you loved them." After a moment, Felix sighs, making a faint, disappointed hum of agreement.

"Did you think that?" Felix asked softly after a moment, "before you really knew us, is that what you thought of us too?" He sounds almost disappointed at the thought. Oliver, however, has to fight back a smile.

"Not even for a fuckin' second," he admits with a sharp laugh, and Felix immediately perks up with intrigue and something almost like relief, though Oliver's tone is amused as he continues, "I honestly couldn't believe no-one else could see it; never seen anyone quite so dedicated to taking care of their dog as Y/N was to looking out for you."

Felix turns bright red once more, but he's wearing that big, bashful grin Oliver's always loved.

"I am, aren't I?" Felix sounds almost giddy at the thought. Oliver feels like there's fireworks going off in his chest.

"Y/N really can't go anywhere without their dog either," Oliver teases, lovingly parroting the words that had been so cruelly overheard at the club. If Felix were any drunker or happier, he probably would have started actually skipping. As it was, however, the two of them approaching Felix's dorm building, he wraps an arm around Oliver's shoulders.

"You know all that stuff they said, all that stuff about being a good dog, you know that's how we feel about you too, Ollie," Felix can clearly tell the minute Oliver's brain short circuits, because he laughs and plants a kiss on Oliver's cheek, "sorry if you're more of a cat person, mate," he teases, as if he hadn't just suddenly rewired something in his boyfriend's brain.

You and Felix. YouAndFelix. Both love him the way a dog loves their owner. It goes beyond even any lewd fantasies he'd had; a year ago he was watching you both through his window, talking and laughing in the afternoon sun, wishing desperately that he could work up the courage to talk to either of you, befriend you.

But you and Felix - YouAndFelix, together, individually, in every single way Oliver can conceive the idea of you - both love him. Our Ollie, the way he's heard spoken so lovingly, sounds so much sweeter than he'd ever even imagined.

"You're both very sweet to me," Oliver hears himself mumble as he and Felix finally find themselves outside of Felix's door. Everything feels like it's spinning, in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol, and everything to do with the way Felix is smiling at him. Instead of answering, though Oliver's sure there's half a dozen teasing or sappy comments trapped in the tip of Felix's tongue, he kisses him instead. Felix always seemed to know exactly when Oliver was overwhelmed with their shared reality, and always took his time to admire that look in Oliver's eyes. Now was no different.

He's always thought Oliver was so strange, so queer, so different from everyone else in his life, and so clearly loved him for it.

Felix finally is the one to break the moment, knocking lightly on the door, knowing you well enough to anticipate where you'd be despite your earlier anger. As if on cue, you sighed heavily on the other side of the door, before inviting them in.

While Felix barely gives you time to react where you're in your pyjamas, sitting in his bed in the lamp light, not even kicking off his shoes before he throws himself into your lap, wrapping his arm around your waist as he pressed his face against your thigh, Oliver hovers by the door.

"Hi, sorry, hi, love you," escapes Felix in a rush. Despite your conflicted expression, the way your hand comes to rest on his head, carding through his hair is automatic. It's an endearing, amusing sight to Oliver, considering the night that had just passed. He knows you're looking at him, questioning gaze searching for some kind of explanation for Felix's change of behaviour, but Oliver lets himself linger a few moments longer on watching Felix's almost childishly clingy behaviour.

He struggles to kick off his shoes for a moment before he finally managed, and hitch a leg up, over both of yours, still in his jeans and jacket but refusing to be anything but wrapped up in you.

"I'm not staying," is what Oliver finally says, despite the gentle affection in his voice. You frown faintly, but still seem more confused than upset, "I think you two need to talk," he explains. Despite the way your mouth flattens into a thin line, you're still gently petting Felix's hair. Still, Oliver steels himself, giving you a strange little smile, "you're a good dog, Y/N," he says pointedly. This seems to surprise you, but not as much as Felix's sitting echo.

"Such a good dog," he agrees with a fond sigh, half muffled against you. Immediately your confusion, your concern drops in favour of sweet, hopeful shock. But Oliver continues before he shuts the door, smile growing into a grin.

"So are you, Felix," and Felix's head shoots up so he can level a bright, sunny smile over his shoulder at Oliver. Christ, Oliver can practically see his tail wagging.

"Love you, Ollie," Felix beams cheerfully. While Oliver echoes the sentiment back at you both as he closes the door, you can't seem to look away from Felix.

Something warm and pleased and satisfied curls itself comfortably in Oliver's chest on the brief walk back to his own room. It goes beyond any selfish, sexual desires he's had, not that there wasn't an element of that, of course, but he can't stop thinking about the joy in Felix's expression, or the way you'd disbelieving smile you'd been wearing when Oliver had closed the door. An old ache beginning to heal.

The change is subtle at first. At least, from the outside.

After that fateful summer, the three of you had made no secret of your relationship. Felix had always been tactile and clingy and prone to shows of affection, you had always made a point to make Oliver feel included and welcome and like you craved his company, while Oliver himself had never made any secret of whose attention and contact he preferred in any group setting. So he's sure, to their friends, the three of you seem to be the same as you've always been.

Farleigh had once scoffed at the pub that the three of you were insufferably gross, and while the rest of the group at the table had agreed, it had been more teasing than malicious; on one side of Oliver, you'd pressed your laughter into his shoulder, while Felix had throw his arm around Oliver and chided Farleigh not to be jealous, wearing a wide, easy smile.

Oliver and Farleigh still may not exactly see eye to eye, but things had gotten easier between them. Across the table, Farleigh met Oliver's bashful gaze and though he'd rolled his eyes, though he seemed exasperated by all three of you, there was warmth in his eyes. He may not love Oliver, but he still loved you and Felix; baby steps.

So all that to say that at first the change is so subtle that even the ever-watchful Farleigh, who knows you and Felix better than any of your other friends, doesn't even notice.

But oh, Oliver feels the change right away.

He honestly thought the three of you weren't able to get closer, but he's never been more thrilled to be wrong. Never afraid or jealous of each other living your own lives, it just seemed that when you're around each other, you weren't interested in being seen as an individual. More possessive in the most affectionate way. Always in some kind of obvious contact, arguably too close for the comfort of others, not that any of you cared. Oliver, always shadowed by his beautiful guard dogs.

"Can I wear this?" You ask casually one evening, drinking cheap vodka and juice as you waited for Oliver to get ready to go out. When Oliver turns, half dressed after a shower, he sees you holding one of the chains he always found himself wearing. He doesn't think twice before agreeing, doesn't even think much of the request at the time. The significance is missed on him until the two of you meet up with Felix in the line for the club and he pulls you by the chain, in for a kiss. You're still holding Oliver's hand, fingers linked with his. Reading Felix's kiss for the compliment it is, you grin sharply as you pull back, stepping up beside him in line.

"Thanks, it's Ollie's."

"I know," Felix snorts a laugh, throwing an arm around you as he gives Oliver himself a sly smile, "you look good too, mate, how're you going?" You squeeze Oliver's hand, leaning into him for a moment with a coy smile. Your free hand is playing with his chain around your throat. Like you know exactly where his mind has suddenly gone.

Oliver already knows how this night will end, and it doesn't disappoint.

Neither he nor Felix can seem to leave you or the chain around your neck well enough alone, and you're clearly love it. You let yourself be lead around, let them lavish you with affection in dark corners, wearing a smile that's all teeth when you meet the surprised, scandalised gazes of those who gawked rather than averted their gaze.

In the back of the taxi on the way to campus, you're impossibly affectionate, like an excited puppy as you try and split your attention to your boyfriends either side of you.

"Settle down, love," Felix takes your hand in his, keeping you momentarily still, even as you pout.

"We'll be home soon," Oliver murmurs quietly, trying to act casual as he looks out the window, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. A faint, impatient whine escapes you, but you acquiesce, leaning your head on Felix's shoulder even as a fond laugh rumbles from his chest.

The cabbie has the radio on in the front, pointedly ignoring the three of you. But the music is loud enough that he doesn't hear the soft, approving way Felix mutters in your ear -

"Good dog."

But Oliver hears, feels the way your thighs momentarily clench together, hears the breathless, needy 'fucking hell, Fi' that escapes you. His grin grows wider.

On the walk back to your room - always cleaner than Felix's, and with a bigger, nicer bed than Oliver's - you're quiet, seemingly focusing very hard on staying that way, even as Oliver and Felix are bantering easily either side of you. Hands to yourself - well, metaphorically, Oliver and Felix are both holding one of your hands, Felix, feeling particularly joyful swings your linked hands in wide arcs between you - you listen diligently, and chime in whenever you felt your input was needed. Oliver thinks you're being incredibly endearing, but once the door is closed and the rest of the world is cut off from the three of you, Felix softly asks if you're okay.

Surprise lights up across your face the minute the question is spoken. It hadn't even occurred to you that Felix wouldn't understand your behaviour in this moment; this is far newer to him than it is to you. But then you look to Oliver, almost like you're afraid that he wouldn't understand either.

But he does, of course.

There's a faint thrill that courses through him realising that for what is perhaps the first time since he'd met you, he can read you better than Felix. That Felix was yet to understand how far from reluctant or uncomfortable you were in that moment.

Felix had told you to settle, called you a good dog when you had. So now you were trying your hardest to remain settled, to remain good. How delightfully obedient you were in these moments, in this headspace.

Oliver finally gave you a warm smile, shrugging off his jacket.

"They're being good is all," he says casually, drawing Felix's confused attention as you broke out into a wide smile at the praise. Again, Oliver has a flash, a mental image of a tail wagging with joy behind you.

"I'm being good, I'm being settled," you reiterated pointedly, standing carefully by the foot of the bed. Once more, however, you've started fussing with the chain around your neck. Felix looks back to you, as if he still can't quite grasp the full scope of what's happening, and laughs lightly.

"You're so fucking cute," he grinned, "love, you didn't have to stay settled all the way back here."

"I didn't?" Your eyes go wide with confusion, and you look again to Oliver, as if for confirmation, "but I..."

Oliver can feel his heart beating in his throat. Oh, right, he's the one who's done this before, he's the one who started this all, at least this version of this dynamic. You aren't Felix's dog in this moment, you are his.

"You did good, pet, don't worry" Oliver assures you, soothing you with a gentle tone as he steps towards you and takes your face in his hands, kissing you on the forehead. Wearing a grateful little smile, you regard him lovingly for a few moments, before he steps away and you turn your focus back to Felix. There's a hungry kind of intrigue in his big, brown eyes now as he takes the scene in with newfound understanding.

"You really are a good dog," Felix marvels approvingly. Your whole face lights up at that, stumbling a few steps forwards, as if you hadn't meant to move but needed to be close to him. Nodding furiously in agreement, your fingers fidget like you're trying desperately not to reach for him. Felix steps towards you, his smile growing wider as he does so, "mine- ours?" He corrects, wrapping his arms around you, and finally your resolve breaks.

"Both," you assure in a rushed breath before you're pulling him in, kissing him frantically, as all the longing you'd held back since you'd been told to settle floods through you. Once fidgeting hands now start frantically tugging at clothing, both yours and his, but Felix is matching your energy entirely. Oliver gets hit in the face with your jacket as it's flung across the room but neither you nor Felix notices. In his enthusiastic haste several of the buttons on your nice, expensive shirt are ripped off, pinging around the room.

Not that Oliver actually minds.

Still in his jeans, he leans his hip against your desk and watches for a few long moments with both a lewd appreciation, and amusement. Perhaps another day, or when it was just the two of you, Felix would invest himself properly in a version of this fantasy where you truly are his dog. Tonight, however, Oliver sees opportunity in the obvious, messy, needy way Felix is pawing at you. An opportunity for his plan to finally be realised, and he's not letting it pass him by.

When you fall back on the bed, Felix braced over you, your hand finding his fly while the two of you still haven't stopped to really breathe, Oliver sticks two fingers in his mouth to let out a sharp whistle.

Immediately there's silence, the attention of both of you having immediately snapped to Oliver. Shaking his head with faux exasperation, Oliver sighs loudly, as if terribly put upon.

"Can't take you two anywhere," he tsked, crossing his arms over his chest, "pair of naughty fuckin' puppies, you can't leave each other alone."

Felix blinks quickly, as if caught of guard by the shift in tension, the dynamic.

"Ollie, what are you -"

"Ollie, don't be mean, Fi's the best dog, take that back!" You chided despite your wide grin.

"Is he now?" Oliver asks archly, smirking at you both. Felix isn't quite looking at him, expression drawn and thoughtful as he processed this change, turned it over in his mind. Slowly, he looks down at you, at your soft, warm smile. A silent conversation between you both, one of many that Oliver will only ever be able to guess at, and you close your eyes as you sit up enough to press your forehead to Felix's.

Felix visibly relaxed, which you must feel judging by the way you grin.

"It's fun, I promise," your whisper, though in the cool, quiet night, Oliver can still hear it clearly.

"But he called me naughty, I can't believe it," Felix whined playfully, causing you to laugh as the two of you sank back down on the bed. Felix tucked himself up beside you, face half hidden where he was pressing his lips to your shoulder to hide his little smile, "you're so mean to me, Ollie." It sounded as though he was pouting, but his eyes betrayed him, nervous and tentative to be adapting and playing along with the bit, but clearly more than a little excited too. There's also something tearing, almost challenging about the way Felix was running his fingertips up and down the side of your chest.

"You are being naughty," Oliver finally pushes off of the desk, sauntering over to the bed, "both of you acting like I didn't exist."

"Can you blame me?" You actually giggled, sounding downright gleeful, "look at who we get to play with!" Felix flushed at that, pressing his bashful smile against your shoulder. Oliver finds himself really quite taken with how you've chosen to adapt to having Felix by your side in this fantasy.

"If I can't blame you," Oliver says with faint notes of faux warning in his voice as he sits by you both on the bed, "are you saying I should blame Felix? Is our new pet a bad influence." You stumble over your words for moment, searching for a denial, but Felix's head shoots up at that, his eyes wide as he props himself up on the bed beside you.

"Hey, I'm a good influence! I'm good!" He insists, the words coming to him so automatically that it seems to startle even him before he properly focuses back on Oliver's fond amusement. Felix grins sheepishly at his own enthusiasm, ducking his head to look instead at you as he reiterated with a soft giggle, "I'm good."

"I think you're very good," there's love on your tongue, in your eyes as you gaze up at him. Then, in the next moment, you wriggle yourself over to rest your head against Oliver's thighs, gazing up at him with a pout, "come on, Ollie, don't be mean," you practically whined, while Felix himself half draped himself across your middle, his head resting on your belly as he turned his full attention and hopeful brown eyes upon your boyfriend. It was far more convincing than Oliver had been expecting, and he actually feels his hard resolve beginning to falter under the combined force of both your longing gazes.

"We're sorry for neglecting you," you add sweetly, expression earnest as your fingers begin to card through Felix's hair. For a moment, Oliver watches the way Felix's eyes fall closed, leaning into the sensation.

"Can we make it up to you?" Despite Felix's soft voice, his smile was already all kinds of pleased and contented, "we're good at that," he insists. God, Oliver knows all too well that you both are; fucking hell, part of him may never believe this isn't a dream. Except he knows his definitely not dreaming when he feels the delicate touch of your free hand on his knee, moving higher - or as high as you're able given the awkward angle your arm is at.

"Play with us, let us make it up to you," giving Oliver thigh a squeeze you grinned up at him. Without giving him a moment to respond, however, you made a tsk noise in the back of your throat, "you're so overdressed. Fi -" you tap Felix's head gently to get his attention once more, and Felix's eyes open, alight and at attention, "he's so overdressed, don't you think?" Immediately Felix is sitting up, agreeing.

"Think we should help him with that," Felix says frankly, wearing a pleased little grin like he's excited to be helpful. All over-eager and enthusiastic, both you and Felix are suddenly all over Oliver, working together to get him out of his jeans before he can even wonder where he'd lost control of the situation.

Playfully victorious, you're peppering Oliver's face with excited kisses as Felix is kneeling by the bed, tugging the now free jeans down his thighs. Despite the chaos of it all, Oliver's laughing loud and bright, trying his best to get his arms around you to still some of the kinetic love you're showering him with.

"Come on, Ollie," Felix, however, gets caught up halfway through his own job, and presses a kiss to his knee, hands coming to rest, flat and warm on Oliver's thighs, "how'd you expect to get off with those on?" But he sounds so light and joyful; Oliver's heart is fucking singing in this moment.

"Oi, sit," Oliver tries to order between his own laughter and your lips on his every few moments. It takes him another second to claw back some of his composure, "both of you, sit," at least this time you both listen, despite him still radiating breathless amusement.

Felix looks to you for a moment, watches the way you settle yourself, cross-legged and hands in your lap as you fought back a smile, and sits back on his heels, wearing a sheepish grin of his own as he looks back to Oliver. Oliver has to take a moment to compose himself, barely restraining his own laughter, before he kick his pants off from around his ankles. Felix takes the opportunity to then lean in and rest his chin on Oliver's knee, wide, affectionate grin on his face that Oliver practically melts at. He can't help himself -

"Who's a good boy?" He teases Felix, reaching over to scratch at Felix's scalp lightly. Again, Felix eyes close at his nose scrunches with a strange little smile.

"If it's not me I'm actually going to be so upset," he mutters, sounding almost embarrassed by the thought. It takes a moment for his words to sink, and he followed it with a snort of amusement, before all three of you are laughing in the warm privacy of your bedroom, and this moment.

"Of course it's you," Oliver reassures him, coaxing him up onto the bed, shifting to sit back against the headboard with room for you both on either side. Felix looks far less embarrassed and far more pleased now, leaning in when Oliver coaxes him in for a kiss, "my helpful, good boy," Oliver murmurs against his lips, and Felix lets out a breathless, pleased noise as he wraps an arm around Oliver's neck, kissing him back almost desperately. Oliver would always love how Felix was so wonderfully consistent when it came to his praise kink.

Beside him, he can feel you shift on the bed, and in the next moment, your hand is on his thigh. When he and Felix both look to you, breaking their focus on one another, you've settled yourself by Oliver's thighs. Leaning in, you gently nudge at his cock where it's staining against the material of his boxers with your nose, before proceeding to kiss softly up his shaft through the material. Sing when you reach the head, you sit back a little, giving pause as two of your fingers hooked into the elastic of his waistband. Finally met his gaze, looking up at him through your lashes expectantly, want in your eyes that has Oliver's already quick heartrate thundering in his chest.

"Thought I told you to sit," he says wryly. You wet your lips, hips shifting a little.

"I am sitting," you pointed out, which set Felix off, had him pressing his amused chuckle against Oliver's shoulder. You did, however, remain obediently still. Except for the challenging smile that graced your lips, "wanted to make up for ignoring you."

Felix's laughter, however, had died down at that, and the hand that had been around Oliver was now trailing feather-light down his bare chest, past your own, to wrap around Oliver's aching hard cock, still trapped behind a thin layer of cotton.

"Just gotta say the word," Felix murmurs into his ear. His hand begins to slowly work up and down Oliver's cock. Oliver watches you lean down and press a kiss to the soft skin of his belly, by his hip, just above his waistband, while Felix was pressing languid kisses along his jaw.

"Both so good to me," Oliver groaned, gently pushing at Felix's shoulder, though he takes the hint and joins you by Oliver's thighs.

A moment passes between you both, Felix taking your face in his free hand and pulling you in for an intense kiss that only somehow manages to make Oliver even more painfully turned on than he already was. Both still half dressed, you're both practically overflowing with love for each other and Oliver in this moment. The kiss breaks and youre both grinning foreheads pressed together; Oliver's never been truly able to read the exact things that pass between you in these moments of silent communication, but he thinks he sees 'see, I told you this was fun' in the way you smile.

And as much as he adores this moment, he's pretty sure if someone doesn't actually touch his dick soon he's going to die.

"'s there a reason you're keeping me waiting?" Oliver asks archly; Felix's grin grows wider, while you give him a faintly guilty smile, apologising softly before you pull down his boxers. Finally.

Oliver's hips buck the second your fingers wrap around him, leaning down with intent to -

"Hey!" Felix almost sounds indignant that you'd taken his place, a thought which sends a thrill through Oliver. You look up at this, but the minute you're distracted Felix has bent down to run his tongue along the head of Oliver's cock, tasting the precum beading there before he's taking Oliver into his mouth.

"Fi, that's cheating!" You whined, pouting with your free hand braced against Oliver's thigh - "Ollie, Fi's cheating!" You pouted, to which Felix raised his head to defend himself, gleefully and entirely submersed in this roleplay.

"I'm not cheating," he tried to declare, however you dipped down in an attempt to usurp him. Felix, seemingly anticipating this, refuses to move, instead letting you headbutt him, the two of you in a playful stalemate while you attempted to keep up a consistent rhythm with your hand still on Oliver's cock. Tension, with neither of you backing down, breaks only when one of you - though Oliver's genuinely not sure which - seems to realise the reality of the situation, and how close you both are, and suddenly you're aggressively making out.

Not in Oliver's wildest dreams would he ever have imagined that he could have the two of you fighting over who gets the privilege of going down on him. It's going to take all of his willpower if he wants to last much longer. But he needs to last at least a bit longer, needs to take back control, to make sure this plays out well for both of you too.

So Oliver calls your name, and you and Felix break apart. Your eyes are on Oliver, wide eyed and breathing hard.

"No fighting," he chided, and you wet your lips, sitting back a little as Felix takes this as his victory. Oliver coaxes you up to him, part of him sad to lose the feeling of your talented fingers around him, but Felix is more than capable, and more than makes up for it. Oliver wraps an arm around you, his free hand guiding one of yours to Felix's head as it bobbed up and down between Oliver's thighs, "you're going to help him, you can do that, can't you?" His words are gentle, commanding, and even as you still seem to be playing at sulking, you give a small nod. Felix groans appreciatively as your grip tightens on his hair, which Oliver echoes as he feels it himself.

You're beginning to squirm. Good. He's been utterly thrilled by how tonight has been playing out, but Oliver always enjoys when you finally fall into being desperately obedient. He wants to show Felix how good of a dog you really are.

Oliver pulls you in closer, nose to nose, smirking as the playful fight in you was giving way quickly to pure desire.

"Our good boy, isn't he? Our Felix," Oliver's voice is loud enough for you both to hear; Felix moans around his cock, shifting to get a better angle, to take Oliver deeper, as deep as he can. Your breath catches, pupils blown wide. There was something truly, almost sickeningly fascinating about what he could only describe as your Praise-Kink-By-Proxy; you clearly got off to the way Oliver lusted over Felix, that much was made clear that night in the bathtub at Saltburn, and Oliver could see it in your eyes again now.

"Our Felix," you'd mumbled breathlessly, casting your gaze to him as Oliver lazily trialled kisses down your jaw and throat. Felix doesn't stop, your hand on his head still making sure he keeps a consistent rhythm, but he does look up, does meet your lust-filled gaze, does see how your hips and thigh are shifting. Oliver brings your gaze back to him by tugging at his chain around your throat, and it's all you need to kiss him. He doesn't let it go. Sloppy and passionate, he moans Felix's name into your mouth and you whimper desperately at the sound. His hips are rolling, matching Felix's rhythm as his cockhead presses insistently against the back of his throat, and you're panting and whining and unable to find any real relief -

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" Oliver murmured sharply the minute he feels you reaching for the waistband of your own pants with your free hand. You whimpered, and his grip on the chain around your neck grows tighter. Squeezing your eyes closed as you shook your head, traitorous hand moving to dig your fingernails into your thigh, "are you going to settle down for me?" He whispered, lips brushing yours as you squirmed helplessly.

"This is unfair," you moaned, and Oliver's grip around you grew tighter, "Ollie, please -"

"You fucking love when I'm unfair to you," he hissed with an almost cruel smugness as you gasped, hips beginning to roll and rutt against nothing.

"Ollie, don't be mean," Felix raised his head, hand going still on Oliver's desperately twitching cock, an actual note of warning in his voice. Oliver smirks at him, all lazy, arrogant confidence. He maneuvers you, pulls you back from him to let Felix properly see the way your lip is beginning to tremble with how desperate you were for satisfaction or even just a hint of relief. Still, you tried to press yourself against him, even as your back arched wantonly and your thighs pressed together, shifting in search of friction that was still upsetting absent from where you desired it most.

"You think I'm being too mean right now?" Oliver whispered in your ear; unfortunately for you, Oliver knows all too well how much you love this game. After a moment of hesitation, your gaze locked with Felix's. It's as if you're embarrassed to be seen in this state, the way you'd so willingly let Oliver drive you mad with desire. Averting your gaze from Felix's, you swallow hard.

"No," the single word comes out as a sulky kind of whimper.

"And why's that?" Oliver prompted, adding slyly, "you made Felix worry." He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

"He's -" you tired your head back with a desperate groan as Oliver raked the nails of his free hand up your side, "he's always good to me in the end." You pouted, clearly still thinking it was unfair being denied in the moment.

"You promise?" Felix asks firmly, looking Oliver in the eyes now.

"Promise," Oliver smirks back, whispering against your skin that if you're a good for him, he'll let Felix play with you. The desperate noise that escapes you is incredibly telling, and one Oliver knows all too well as the indication that you were on the edge of being incoherent. Good, he loves getting you to this point, and loves even more the way Felix is looking at you right now.

"You're doing so well, Felix, don't keep them waiting," Oliver insisted. At that you reached out once more, hand coming to rest on Felix's head, petting him gently before he allowed you to guide him back down to Oliver's spit-slicked and waiting cock. Oliver's grip on the chain shifts, the metal loose between his fingers as he carefully, delicately, wraps his hand around your throat. Your pleading expression is so deliciously needy when Oliver pulls you back in against him.

"Good dog," he presses the praise against your trembling lips.

It's like a beautiful symphony, better than any wet dream or fantasy he'd ever had, and he hadn't even fucked either of you yet. He moans Felix's name into your mouth when he finally comes undone, his hand resting on yours atop Felix's hair as he takes it all and swallows every last drop.

"So fucking good, Felix," Oliver's breathing hard as he comes down from the euphoric high he'd just experienced, scratching gently at Felix's scalp as he raised his head, pleased grin on his face. When Felix sits up, out of both of your grips, your hand immediately goes between your thighs, desperate to touch yourself but still fighting the urge, trapping it while still making your intent obvious.

But while Oliver is more than satisfied, you, tucked up against him, are all but a mess as he cradled you close.

"Come on, Ollie," Felix climbs over his legs to be by your side. His smile is warm and fond, and when Felix's hand comes to rest on your hip, your soft, whining noises become more audible, "the poor thing deserves a treat."

Oliver feels the way you shiver and tense with anticipation at Felix's words, nose then bumping insistently against Oliver's jaw, keening noises catching in your throat. You were begging in the only way you have left, now that you'd found yourself deep enough in this headspace.

"Look at him," Oliver murmured, sounding almost proud as you turned your desperate, hopeful gaze upon Felix, "he's even being good to you."

Taking it as a blessing, you're immediately scrambling to your knees by Felix, no longer whining, and clearly overjoyed. One hand pulling him in for a kiss, your other was frantically trying to remove your pants.

"Not ignoring you," Felix insisted to Oliver as you'd broken the kiss if only to pitch yourself back on the bed in an effort to wriggle desperately out of your pants, "just -"

"Settle down," Oliver ordered suddenly, and you suddenly went still, ceasing the way you'd been fighting with your pants around your ankles, "help them, Felix," she sighs with fond exasperation. Of course Felix does, but it's like a switch has flipped; he's back on board, a good dog still, just like you. Once your pants are off, Felix is trailing kisses up your legs, much to your clear glee -

"You puppies are so stupid," Oliver shakes his head, affection in his words, "you're lucky you're cute," but still both of you turn to him with a a sad kind of confusion. Oliver tries not to laugh, he really tries, you're both somehow hot and adorable at the same time, "Felix, you're still wearing pants."

Somehow, this seems to surprise both of you, and again you're up 'I can help, I can help, I can help' radiating enthusiastically from you as you make quick work of finally undoing Felix's fly, as you'd attempted to earlier in the evening. The two of you share soft giggles as Felix's hard cock is freed and his pants are tossed to the side, leaving him standing on the floor at the edge of the bed where you're up on your knees, looking up at him. Like this, he still manages to dwarf you, and Oliver watches with an aroused fascination as this moment plays out.

Felix doesn't speak, it's as if he's matching your energy, understanding your headspace, he's confident and even cocky in a way that Oliver doesn't often see from him. He remembers saying 'if you're good, I'll let Felix play with you' and it seemed some primative part of Felix's mind has taken that to heart as he held tight to the chain around your throat, leaning in with an unmistakable huger in his eyes. It has you practically melting, hands on his hips, not daring to stray further without his approval. He doesn't even kiss you, he holds you at bay with his lips inches from yours and a hand firm on your collar, drinking in your desperation. You begin to whimper again, shifting your weight back and forth, hips rocking in anticipation; Oliver's sure he'll be able to see the marks your nails leave on Felix's hips when you finally let go.

Another silent conversation between you both, but so clear, so loud, so simple Oliver can hear it loud and clear. Felix is telling you, in no uncertain terms, that in this moment you are his, and every part of you agrees. Yet Oliver knows with a smug, self satisfaction, that he with one word you would both be by his side. So he'll let you both have this.

A year ago, he would have paid his entire life savings and then some to get to see you two in a moment like this. Already, he's getting hard again; a familiar, voyeuristic thrill runs through him as he drinks you both in, taking his cock in hand.

Felix barely has to tip his head, letting go of your necklace, before you're moving quickly, a moment vague and indecipherable to anyone else is a clear directive for you to turn. It's a flurry of movement after that, of Felix's hands on you, on your hips to pull you close, your lower back to have you bending, face pressed to the mattress. Your ass in the air, presented to him perfectly, he slides into you, drawing unholy noises from you both after so long spent waiting already that night.

Oliver basks in this moment, can only imagine how good you must feel right now, all tight and warm and completely and utterly desperate to be filled. Felix's groan is its own kind of beautiful, finally finding his voice again as absolutely filthy praise spills from his lips. Hips rocking back to meet each of Felix's slow, deep thrusts, your breathing is shaky amid the low, pleased noises that escape you. Beautiful, a creature of mindless want and desire, you've got one shaking hand between your thighs as the other reaches out, searching blindly for Oliver.

Face pressed into the plush duvet, you link your fingers with Oliver's the moment he reaches out to you. Your grip is tight, and he runs his thumbs in comforting rhythms against your hands, something pleased, loving, and so fucking turned on as Felix was quickly coming to fuck you like an absolute animal. The way you so desperately craved.

"Perfect," Felix moaned, "god you're so fucking perfect for us, pet, aren't you?" Nodding weakly, as much as your able, you clutch at Oliver's hand; his teasing had clearly already worked you up, brought you close. Both of you.

"Our good dog," Oliver murmurs, just to hear you whimper.

Fuck, he can't wait to watch you come undone.

Can't wait to make you both sit, roll over, beg.

[coquelicoq]

Xiao Heng had managed to get his very inebriated wife into their room without carrying her, but only just. He had in fact tried to pick her up at one particularly tricky part of the hallway (a lip in the floor had threatened to trip her up, literally and figuratively), but she had insistently pushed at his arms until he let her get back to her very important business of navigating around the obstacle. Now he led her to the bed and sat her on the edge, hovering for a moment to make sure she wasn't about to fall over, then settled on the floor to take off her shoes.

He had just gotten the first one off when she spoke. "Hey," she said.

He looked up. A'Li was staring at him, a bit glassy-eyed, a furrow between her brows. "Yes?" he said, and when a reply was not immediately forthcoming, added, "How are you feeling?" She needed to drink some water, though he had been hoping to get her in a more stable position first before going in search of a pitcher.

"You," she said suspiciously. "Whatchu doin' down there?" She squinted. "Gongzi," she tacked on after a moment of consideration.

Gongzi? That was a new one. "I'm taking off your shoes," he ventured, and held up the one in his hand. "Since I think it may be beyond your capabilities at the moment."

The brow-furrow deepened. "Your face," she said.

She wasn't always the most eloquent drunk, but she'd get to a sentence eventually. "My face?" he prompted.

There was a pause as she inspected him with half-lidded eyes. "'s good," she said finally.

Waiting for her to make a sentence had been worth it. "You like my face?" he said, delighted. His wife was a delightful drunk.

"'s good face," she said, sounding defensive. Her lips were turning down at the corners. Adorable.

"I'm glad you think so," he said, still feeling, despite all the intervening years, just as warm as he had that night in the rain in Luyang.

She must have found something about his reaction unsatisfying because her frown deepened. "'s'not that good," she said. "Not as good as th' face--" A hiccup cut her off and she startled, losing her train of thought. She stared at him in surprise. "What?" she said, as if he had been the one interrupted.

This would be the perfect opportunity to move the conversation in a more productive, sleep-adjacent direction, if he weren't dying to know whose face his wife liked better than his. "You were saying, you've seen better faces than mine, apparently," he said. He was not pouting, because he wasn't a baby.

"Yeah," she said, emphatically. "Face of Xiao Heng. M' husban'."

"Your…husband?" he said slowly. "Your husband Xiao Heng? You like his face better than my face?"

"So what?" she said, belligerent. "'m allowed. He's mine."

"That he is," Xiao Heng agreed, nonplussed. She must be drunker than he thought. Drunk enough to forget who he was--but thankfully not so drunk that she forgot he existed. Theoretically. Somewhere.

"Well," she said, seeming appeased. "You got good eyebrows."

"You like my eyebrows, huh?" He raised them at her.

"Yeah," she said, jabbing a finger in their general direction. He caught it before she could poke out his eye. "Nice an' hairy."

"You like my eyebrows because they're…hairy?" he asked, but she had already moved on, her gaze now trained hazily on his mouth. "What?" he said, curious to know what she would have to say about that part of his anatomy, but she just kept staring. "You are so drunk," he teased.

"'m not," she said, frowning again. She pushed at his hand until he released her finger.

"No? You're totally sober right now? Could have fooled me," he said.

"Not drunk. Don't get drunk," she said. "Not safe."

Now it was his turn to frown. "How come it's not safe?" he said, though he wasn't sure why he was asking. He already knew the answer.

"People can do stuff. To you," she said, enunciating carefully, "when you are incap…sasitaded."

"Incapacitated," he said automatically.

"Sapsidated," she agreed, nodding her head, then stopped immediately and clutched her temples. He put his hands on her thighs to steady her, then thought better of it. She thought he was some stranger, after all.

She squinted at him again. "You're not gonna, though," she said matter-of-factly.

"Not gonna what?"

"Do stuff to me."

"That's right," he said. "I won't do anything. How could you tell?"

"Just know these things," she said loftily.

"Oh?" He smiled, relieved and endeared. She felt safe with him, even when she didn't know why. Teasing, he asked, "But how do you know these things?"

"Tell you a secret," she said, leaning forward precariously. He caught her by the shoulders, propping her up. In the whisper-shout of drunks everywhere, she said, "'m a very. Smart. Cookie."

He loved her. To the ends of the earth, he loved her. "Is that so?" he said, and thought about how much he would kiss her in the morning. She would be cranky, and her breath would be horrible, and he would kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. "And that's a secret?"

"What's a secret?" she asked curiously, and he laughed, and she glared at him, and he felt his love for her like a balloon about to burst inside of him. "I think it's bedtime for you, sober-niangzi," he said.

If looks could kill they'd be scraping pieces of him off the walls tomorrow. "Sober-furen," she corrected, and then added, "'s'not for you to decide," managing to sound imperious despite her drooping eyelids and the fact that only his intervention was keeping her from faceplanting onto the floor.

"That's true," he said. "That was just this one's humble opinion. What does sober-furen think? Perhaps she'd like to play a game of Go?"

"'m very good at Go," she said, and then, emphatically, "very good. Better'n you def'nitely."

"Yes, I believe that," he said. "Well, you would be doing me a great favor not to challenge me to a game of Go this evening. My ego is very fragile, you know."

"Yeah, I bet," she said, much more confidently than he thought was warranted, then she smiled at him. "'s'okay," she said, reaching out and haphazardly patting the side of his topknot. "Least you got good eyebrows."

Xiao Heng felt his heart clench inside him from an excess of tenderness. One of the things he had learned from knowing A'Li was that hearts could do that. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than for her to recognize him, to remember that they played Go all the time and she was in fact better than him, specifically. For her to love his eyebrows because they belonged to him, her husband. "Have you told him?" he asked. "Your husband. Does he know how much you like his face?"

"He knows," she said. "I told him."

"Maybe you should tell him again," said Xiao Heng. "The next time you see him. I think he'd like to hear it again."

"You think?" she asked, and then, before he could reply, she started to rise from the bed, as if to find him and tell him that very instant.

He caught her and pulled her back down. "Not right now. Just sit and rest your eyes for a moment. When you open them, he'll be here and you can tell him anything you want. Okay?"

She looked down at him, still on the floor. "He'll be here? How d'you know?"

He smiled. "Just know these things," he said. "I'm something of a smart cookie myself. I get it from my wife."

She was quiet long enough he thought surely she had lost the thread of their conversation. But eventually she said, "Okay. Then I'll wait here fr'im."

He thought of the long years she had already waited, and wanted to tell her, he's here, I'm here, I'll never make you wait again. But her eyes were closing, and she trusted him, both the him-that-was-here, to be a safe person, and the him-that-was-her-husband, to return to her. He knew what a gift that was, to be trusted by her.

So he took off her other shoe, then made quick work of her hairpins. He swung her legs onto the bed, one hand behind her shoulder blades to lower her back onto the cushions. He lifted her head and repositioned the bolster under her neck. He hadn't had the chance to make her drink water, and he'd surely hear all about that tomorrow. But he was looking forward to it--tomorrow, that is. Tomorrow she would recognize him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "See you when you wake up," he murmured, and looked toward the east, willing the earth to turn faster, willing the sun to rise.

[fayes-fics]

Coitus Mahemium

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Crack fic. Sex can result in injury, but you keep going anyway...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, inebriation, vaginal sex, minor injury with blood, substance high, crack content.

Word Count: 0.8k

Author's Note: This is an anon request fill (from HERE) I got during Kinktober but held onto as it's pure crack. I'm dedicating this to a lovely friend, @chaoticcalzoneranchsports, who enjoys a bit of silly crack content as much as I do. <3

“Oh god, this feels so good…” you shudder, dragging yourself up and down in his lap forcefully, climbing towards orgasm.

“Fuck, I know….” he moans in your ear, hands wrapped around your bum cheeks, encouraging your bouncing, the vein in his neck pulsing hard as he, too, skates close to coming.

You didn't even make it off his sofa tonight; you both just tugged off your trousers, perhaps a touch inelegantly in your tipsy state, deciding to ride him right here.

You look down to watch his cock disappear between your legs, and he growls when he realises what you are doing. Unfortunately, the noise he makes has you snapping your head up just as he leans in….  And your noggin smacks hard into his face.

Benedict cries out and collapses back into the sofa cushions, his hands flying up to his face as he hisses.

“Shiiitttt! I'm so sorry!  Are you alright?!?” you fret, stilling your movements, unsure what to do. 

What is the correct etiquette here? Is it impolite for one to climb off a cock mid-fuck? Or is it more impolite to keep going after such a faux pas?

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” he assures, muffled behind his hands cupped over his mouth and nose.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.. please don't stop,” he implores, surging his hips up to indicate he wants you to keep going, even as he doesn’t remove his hands.

You start to move slowly, holding his shoulders, your brow knitted in concern.

“Show me,” you request quietly when his face looks oddly contorted, slowing your moves to a stop.

“Please, please don't stop. I really want this. So much,” Benedict campaigns again, almost whiny.

“I want this too, but…” you reach forward and pull away his hands, shrieking slightly in surprise.

His lip is spilt, and his nose is bleeding, his hands are covered in blood.

“Fuck Benedict! We need to get that seen to! You might need stitches!” you fret and start to climb off.

“No!!” he gruffs, grabbing your hips. “I'm fine, just please, please. We can go to A&E… later,” he pulls you back down onto his cock, still impressively rock hard.

“Later?!” you echo in disbelief.

“Yes, look… fuck I want to come so bad, please…. just please…” he beseeches, pouting in a way that would look adorable, were it not the cause of another pulse of blood to appear.

“Benedict… I can't fuck a bleeding man…” you sigh, even as he attempts to do it himself, rocking his hips.

“Yes, you can!” he cries desperately, “just okay, look, wait….” He twists and reaches to the side table and grabs a box of tissues, quickly stuffing one up each nostril and jamming one between his lips. “There, all better…” he argues, muffled, even as they turn pink. 

“Ben…” he looks utterly ridiculous, and you can't help the tipsy giggle that bubbles up at the absurdity of the situation.

“Ha! See?! You can see the funny side,” he contends, waggling a finger at you even as he rocks into you. You just stare at him with fond exasperation. “Please, y/n, pretty pretty please. I can't go to A&E with an erection and a bloodied face. That will just cause all sorts of questions. I don't want to be a doctor's anecdote. Think about it; you are actually doing me a favour here…” he wheedles, pulling that puppy-dog expression.

He has a point.

You shake your head affectionately, then start to move. He crows triumphantly, and his hands grab your bottom, smearing traces of blood onto your shirt where it hangs low.

“You don't think they will have questions that I have bloody handprints over my bum?” you point out sardonically with a groan, his cock so good, you are already right back to pleasure.

“You have a great arse; they will just assume I grabbed it to deal with the anxiety of my injuries,” he ripostes with panted breath.

“My arse is not a stress toy, Bridgerton!” you dispute, gusting each word as you climb towards ecstasy.

“It's a bloody fantastic one,” he lobbies back cheekily, “quite literally tonight…” he adds drolly, raising a comedic eyebrow.

You can’t help another giggle even as you ride harder, both of you groaning loudly now as you slam onto his cock, both so eager to come.

—

Half an hour later, the triage nurse raises an eyebrow as she clocks the large bloody handprints on the shirt-tails hanging over your bum and the blissed-out look on Benedict’s face. In hindsight, perhaps giving him some leftover codeine you found in his bathroom cabinet before you ordered the taxi to come here was not such a good idea after all. 

He’s now high as a damn kite.

“I use her arse as a stress toy,” he offers sincerely by way of explanation to the nurse, then lolls his head and shoots you a goofy grin.

“Clearly…” she deadpans.

“She’s so lovely; she made sure I didn’t have an erection, too,” he continues, confessional on the mix of alcohol and painkillers.

You slump your head into your hands as he reaches out and pats your shoulder haphazardly.

Yeah… Great way to avoid being an anecdote, Bridgerton.

No taglist as this is goofy silliness.

[meownotgood]

a very inebriated aki comes stumbling up to you at the work party you're both attending. he's swaying from side to side, and he puts a strong hand on your shoulder to steady himself. his face is a little pink, up to his ears. he clears his throat, hesitating. and then he asks you, "erm, sorry if this is a little forward. I'm a bit... drunk right now. but are you- I guess- dating anyone?"

you stare at him blankly, taking another small sip of your drink. "yes, I am. and normally, he doesn't act like this."

"huh." aki muses, "is it, hiccup, someone I know? probably someone from the division, yeah?"

you sigh. "it's you, idiot. we started dating last week."

"ah, that's... oh," aki hums, in a shy moment of realization. he almost seems to get a little emotional over it, smiling slightly, his expression going soft. "oh. I'm really lucky then, aren't I?"

[ohitsjustgen]

DRUNK DABI X READER

You hear the window to your bedroom open so you glance at it not too alarmed knowing that it's probably someone you know personally. It was Dabi.

You and Dabi have been having a problem trying to figure out what you guys mean to each other. So you both settled that you're "Friends with Benefits". Which is fine by you. Mainly because your ex has treated you like shit for the past 5 months and you needed a person to help you in your time of need. (Time of need meaning getting knocked up).

As Dabi is climbing into your window you look at him noticing something is off. Even under the moon's reflective light you could tell he was a bit wobbly and wonky, and has a pinkish hue to his cheeks and forehead. You suddenly add 2 and 2 together when you notice a bottle of booze rocking in his hand.

Anyone homeee~? Yells Dabi slightly slurring at his words. He leans against the wall. You walk over to him and caress's his cheek. "Dabi? What are you doing here? You would usually warm me before you decide to come?" Dabi blinks at you and glances at your hand that is placed on his cheek.

"Hello, pretty I'm just having a drink, thought I'd stop by and visit you!" His words were barely audible but I got little snippets of it piecing words together.

Dabi looks at you with a tired look in his eyes and leans closer near your ear mumbling something about your hair being soft.

You glance at the half empty bottle in your hand. "Yea your hella drunk" You swiftly walk over to your window to lock it, hoping no one had seen him come in. You then take the bottle of booze and throw it away. Making Dabi a little sad in the eyes. Chaperoning Dabi to bed, you push away the stuffed animals that spread onto your bed and let the man lay down. The man groans and rolls onto his back.

"Come here and lay with me pretty girl." The raven hair man says stretching out his arm to look for your thigh.

"Dabi stop, you don't mean that, you're just drunk talking" You say as you get up to head to the restroom.

Dabi has stated many many times before that what you guys have going on doesn't reflect your feelings. It's just a mere hookup is all. Although you said you agreed to those terms, you just couldn't help but to catch feelings for the handsome man. (Whoopsie #1)

You begin to walk to the bathroom to grab 2 Tylenol pills and a warm washcloth. As well as grab a cup of water from the kitchen. You then return back to where the man lay placing the items on the night stand next to the queen sized bed.

"I'm not drunk talking! I'm serious. I've wanted you ever since we've started this whole charade"

You ignore his comments and attend to nurse him back to health. "Are you hungry Dabi? I could make you something to eat to ease the hangover once it comes." You ask symptomatically looking into his cerulean eyes.

Dabi's eyes soften as he nods. "Yes please that would be great~" As he nods he attempts to lean over to give you a small peck on the cheek. But ends up tumbling off the bed instead due to his inebriated state.

"Tch" is the only sound that comes out of your mouth. You lean down to help the man back onto the bed. The sound of soft snoring hits your ears and you realize he fell asleep (Pun intended). You tuck the man under the blankets and place the man onto his side making sure none of the contents of the drink comes up to choke him.

You kiss the man on his cheek admiring his beautiful features.

"I love you Dabi"

A small smirk forms onto the man's face as he whispers the words back; "I love you Y/N"

[filmtv2022]

Ineffable Agony

Pairing: Aziraphale x Platonic!Reader x Crowley

Synopsis: One quiet night, Aziraphale and Crowley's world is rocked. A fallen angel is dropped on their doorstep. Their very presence shoves the reality of their Earthly partnership back into view and calls into question the very stability of Heaven and Hell. Aziraphale and Crowley struggle not only to understand the depth of the situation they've found themselves in but also to save the reader.

Warning: bleeding/blood loss + death.

A/N: I tried my best to use gender-neutral language in this one. The reader does have hair, but other than that, I think their physicality is fairly nondescript. As always, I apologize for any mistakes. It's getting late & I'm super tired.

-----------------------------

Warm light spilled out of the wide windows of A.Z. Fell and Co: Antiquarian and Unusual Books. Inside, surrounded by unruly shelves and half-empty bottles of red wine sat the oddest and most right pair in celestial history. Aziraphale had long since set aside his glass of wine, forgoing further intoxication for a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Crowley on the other hand had continued to sip away, which glass or bottle he was on remained a bit unclear.

Feeling his head turning fuzzy, the demon slowed his pace of consumption, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion and inebriation. In the days post averting the apocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves settling into this new life. One free from apparent oversight from both Heaven and Hell. The two indulged in human luxury wherever and whenever they liked, unencumbered by the pull from their respective head offices. For the first time in millennia, they felt truly free to live as they liked, and what a life it was.  

“How does breakfast at the Ritz sound, Angel? I think I could do with a nice morning out, feeding the ducks, fancy tea… or perhaps we'll pop over to France for some crepes?” 

“That sounds lovely. ” Smiling sweetly at Crowley, he swallowed the last bit of his drink before standing to return the dirty cup to the sink in the back. 

A sudden burst of white light flashed like the sun, flooding the space before being replaced by the wretched orange and red of hell fire, stopping him in his tracks. Inky darkness replaced the flare as fast as it happened. Snapping his attention to the entrance, Aziraphale stood in observation waiting in anticipation for something more to happen. Having seen, the display from his seat, Crowley stood and joined the Angel.

“What’s going on?” 

“I…I don’t know. There was a…”

A sudden thump of something heavy smacking into the door forced him to stop speaking. To the human senses, nothing seemed out of place, the world continued to move just as it always had, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The air began to thrum with energy, the waves pouring into the store erratically, their intensity growing stronger the longer it went on. Crowley hissed, a guttural reaction to the feel of pain that roared through them both. Fighting to stay upright, Aziraphle gripped the demon’s shoulders as he doubled over in pain.

“Are you all right?” Pushing aside the ache that filled his own head, Aziraphale struggled to focus on the present, caught between concern for Crowley and whatever… or whoever was causing this to happen. 

“I’m fine, just dandy, but I’d be better if my insides weren’t twisting around knots.” 

“Yes, of course.”

Closing his eyes, the angel searched for a miracle, one strong enough to put an end to the horrific suffering that flowed freely into the room. Celestial magic hummed over his skin but died as he worked to make it so. Trying again, and failing, dread bubbled hot in in Zira’s chest. 

“It’s not working!”

“Obviously!” 

Groaning, Crowley clutched at his stomach as Aziraphale whimpered next to him. The angel’s head was full to the bursting point as if his mind was being ripped apart at the seams.

“I… I don’t know what to do!” 

Forcing himself to stand to his full height, Crowley removed himself from the angel’s hold, “Fine, I’ll finish this myself.” 

He too searched for a miracle. The darkness of his own magic flooded over his senses as he worked, but nothing happened. The lick of heat that always accompanied his miracles ran cold, leaving a chill over his skin in its absence. Aziraphale’s knees buckled as the pressure in his skull intensified. Dropping to the ground with him, Crowley held onto his angel.

Then as quickly as it started, the vibrations ceased to exist. Panting hard, the pair stood up on shaky legs. Crowley’s hand stayed firm on Aizraphale’s back, helping the Angel along as well as grounding himself. Stumbling toward the door, Zirh’s fingers trembled as he reached for the handle. Glancing at Crowley, he waited for some sign of reassurance, which was freely given in the form of a nearly imperceptible nod. Opening the door, their eyes immediately fell on the torn figure slumped face down on the ground before them. Slashes cut through their jacket and pants, the flesh below ripped to shreds and bleeding heavily. Ichor coated the surface of the stoop, pooling in a wide swath before spilling down the step. Kneeling down to see things more clearly, Aziraphale gently rolled over the stranger, the gore staining his hands red. 

“They’re an angel.” Laying them on their back, his fingers felt for a pulse. It was weak, barely more than a flutter, but it was there.

“Not anymore.” Crowley gritted his teeth as he spoke, the realization of what had happened hitting too close to home, “They’ve been cast down.”

“Cast down? But Heaven they’ve… they’ve taken…” 

“Taken their wings, yes.” 

“That’s not supposed to happen?” 

“And yet it did.” 

“Why?”

“Why not? It certainly makes a statement.” Reaching for their hand, Crowley slowly unfurled their fist, removing the gore-soaked paper from within. 

“A statement for who?”

“Us.” Peeling apart the folds, Crowley read the smeared words aloud, “To the attention of one A.Z. Fell & Anthony J. Crowley. Your actions have consequences that reach far behind the realms of Heaven and Hell. You’ve set something in motion that must be stopped.” 

Locking eyes with the demon, Zira struggles to find words, “What does this mean?”

“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.” 

Scooping the fallen angel into his arms, Crowley deftly made his way toward the second floor of the bookshop. Finding the first door on the right partially open, he pushed it open with his foot. A couple of strong strides had him standing next to the bed, scanning over their face for any sign of familiarity. Finding nothing, he placed them down on the mattress on their side before turning his attention to the wounds. Trying yet again to use his magic, Crowley reached out in search of a way to staunch the flow. The stream slowed slightly, but not nearly enough.

“The bleeding won’t stop.” Waiting for an answer, he pushed his palms into the worst of the gashes, but when no response came, he shouted for assistance, “Angel, a little help here!”

“Oh, yes!” knocked back into reality, Aziraphale made his way to the bed, his stained hands once again reaching for the being before him. Using what little magic he could muster, he managed to lessen the bleeding to a trickle.

Feeling it still running between his fingers, Crowley’s head dropped between his shoulders, a deep exhale releasing as he tried to let go of the panic coursing through his system. It was an unnatural state for the demon, one that he’d only felt a few other times in his 6,000 years of life. He’d done a keen job of compartmentalizing the memory of his own fall, relegating it to the deepest depths of his mind. This, however, hit too close to home. While he’d been lucky enough to keep his wings, the transition from Heavinly Being to a Demon of Hell was horrific at best. The darkness, the pain… the loneliness. It was all too much to think about even now, all these years later. 

Letting go of his hold on their wounds, Crowley gingerly placed them on their back, hoping the pressure who stop the rest of the bleeding. Sinking down beside the bed, he rested his head back on the mattress and closed his eyes tightly.

“What could they possibly have done to deserve this?” Aziraphale’s voice cracked as he spoke, his eyes never leaving their face. Brushing his fingers over their hair, he pushed the blood-coated strands out of the way.

“We better hope they wake up so we can find out.” Standing up, Crowley stalked out of the room, pounding down the hall toward the bathroom. 

Turning on the water, he let it pour from the faucet until steam rolled from the stream. Hot enough to scald, he scrubbed vigorously at his hands. The red of the gore was replaced by the angry color of his skin beneath as he fought to rid himself of the stains. Standing in the doorway to the bathroom, Aziraphale watched in concern, his brows furrowed at the sight before. Losing control of himself, Crowley snapped off the water, slamming his fists down upon the porcelain and letting loose a rage-filled growl. Pushing his way past the angel, he pounded down the stairs toward the front door.

Following in his wake, Zira called to his demon, “Where are you going?”

“To find out what in the hell is going on?” 

“But what if something happens… I-I should come with you.”

Snapping around, Crowley’s yellow eyes stopped Aziraphale in his tracks, “Stay here, take care of the angel… demon… thing. I’ll be back, I promise.” 

Nodding in agreement, Aziraphale watched Crowley drive away, the Bentley tires screaming along the pavement.

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Agonizing flashes of pain radiated from the jagged wounds as cold sweat coated your skin turning into a slick mess of drying blood and perspiration. Spasms racked your body, each one more powerful than the last. You were dying, or so you thought. But what did that really mean for angel turned demon? You were even really alive to begin with? Where would your ‘death’ leave you? Certainly not in Heaven, they’d made it quite clear you were no longer welcome amongst their kind. So that left two other options. One being an eternity in Hell, rotting away with the other demons. The other was much more frightening… nothingness, your soul relegated to the black void somewhere between the realms. Alone. Cold. Unneeded… Unwanted. Stuck in purgatory for all time. 

Time ceased to exist, and all sounds and feelings apart from the physical and mental torment fell away as you were trapped in the endless cycle of pain. Giving into it all, you allowed yourself to fall further away from the light. The beacons of Heaven were only a dim glow on the horizon. Their cool white was replaced by the furious red of the gates below. It was warm, welcoming even. It would have been so easy to let go, to surrender, and yet some small part of you keep a firm hold on the life you’d had before. Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to relinquish it fully.

The gentle press of a hand against your cheek pulled a quiet whimper from you, the touch kind and comforting. A tender voice spoke in a low mumble, their words unclear, but their intentions certain. There was something familiar about it as if a long-lost friend had come to visit. 

“I’m so sorry, but this is going to hurt.” 

Undoing the buttons of your shirt, the person gingerly pulled you into their chest, your forehead resting on their shoulder as they removed your top. A strangled groan fell from your lips at their ministrations.

“I know, I know.” Smoothing over your hair, they laid you back on the bed, this time on your side so they could access your body. 

Walking around to the other side of the bed, they began the delicate work of cleaning the wounds. Rag and after rag came away crimson, and the cloths were discarded nearby on the floor. Slowly, but surely, the gashes were stitched and covered. Finished closing the wounds, they began to wash away the rest of the blood as best they could. The task was slow and tedious. 

“There, that’s better. Now. let’s get you some fresh clothes.” 

Standing from the bed, Aziraphale sought out a pair of his pajamas. Returning to your side, he slipped the jumper over your head and shoulders, taking great care to not bump your most tender spots. Moving on, he carefully peeled away your trousers, the white was splotched with darkening red. Dropping them on the pile of used rags, he then shimmied the plaid bottoms over your frame. His hands were unsure and timid as he moved. 

Once again laying flat on your back, Zira pulled a blanket over you. Taking a moment to adjust the pillows, he sank back down into the spot next to you, his hands wrapping warmly around your own. 

“Who are you?” 

The previous question was barely more than a whisper, making the utterance of a name from your lips even more surprising. With eyes closed tight, and no other signs of consciousness, a singular word tumbled out for him to hear.

“Aziraphale…” 

Zira was left speechless. What about him? Why were saying his name? 

In a measure of cosmic timing, the telephone downstairs began to ring. It’s incessant trill bounding off the walls, calling to the angel. Leaving his spot, he was forced to let go of your hands. The loss of his touch caused a pained look to contort your features.

“I’ll be right back, don’t you worry.” 

Silence fell over the room, as Aziraphale quietly closed the door behind himself, leaving you alone. It was as if in his absence the darkness began to creep back in, closing the distance between you and the void. Black hands reached for you, threatening to drag you away from the world of the living. Fighting against their searing grip, your body twitched and thrashed on the bed. Soon the motions were followed by gasping screams, the sounds shrill and bloodcurdling flew down the stairs toward Aziraphale. The pounding of footfalls was masked by the blistering screeches from Hell that rang in your ears. Soft hands gripped your shoulders, calling to you through the panic.

“I’m here, I’m…” Placing his palm on the side of your head, the heat rolling off your skin nearly burned him. Knowing he needed to act quickly, he flooded your mind with celestial light. Instantly, your body began to relax and your temperature dropped.

Falling limp against the pillows, your chest rose and fell in rapid succession. Sweat had soaked through the collar of the shirt, staining it darker than the rest. Aziraphale’s fingertips ran in soft arcs down your face as he continued to murmur words of comfort. Fearful of leaving your side again, he yanked the chair from the corner of the room to the side of the bed. Clasping your hand in his, he took a seat and waited. Crowley would be back soon enough, he’d promised.

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Hours passed and eventually, sleep overtook Aziraphale. Slumping back in the chair, he managed to keep a hold of your hand. Returning to the bookshop with little to no information in hand, Crowley made his way upstairs in search of his Angel. The door to the first guest room was flung wide open, and he was greeted with the image of Zira fast asleep, the lines of worry still creased between his brows. With his promise to return in mind, Crowley softly shook the angel awake. 

“You’re back.”

“I promised, didn’t I.” 

“Of course, What did you find out?”

“Not much. Nothing seems out of place, and the lines between Hell and Earth are quiet. Whatever this is, it’s either from Heaven alone or somebody’s going to dangerous lengths to keep it hidden.” 

“Hidden? They were dropped on our front porch! How is that hidden?” 

“You’ve got a point, but it doesn’t change the fact that there's nothing on the radar.” Turning to look at the stranger on the bed, Crowley’s tone softened as he spoke again, “How are they doing?” 

“As best as can be expected… there was so much blood.” Shifting forward, Aziraphale adjusted his grip on your hand, “They spoke in their sleep while you were away. It didn’t make sense, but they spoke.”

“What did they say?”

“My name…”

“You name? As in Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, giver of the flaming sword and forestaller of the end of days” 

“That’s what I’ve said isn’t it?” Impatience touching the edge of the question.

“Yes, but how would they know your name?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea…” 

Crowley’s thoughts raced at the realization of what that could mean for Heaven. If they had fallen so far as to mutilate those they cast down then things were much worse off than he’d ever expected.

“Perhaps Heaven’s become more like Hell than they’d ever care to admit.” 

Stunned into silence, the pair sat quietly for a while, observing the rise and fall of your chest. The steady movement was just enough to ease some of the worries that festered. 

“There was one other thing they said while you were gone?”

“Yes?” 

“The phone rang while you were out, when I left to answer, they… they started to scream—terrible screeching wails, as if… as if Hell itself was coming for them. And when I returned, their skin… it was burning like fire. Between the screams, they were calling for you.”

“Me?”

Nodding yes, he continued on, “Over and over, begging… pleading for you. They know us Crowley, and yet I’m sure I’ve never seen this face before.” 

“Neither have I.” 

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Morning broke over the quaint yet busy street, and the rumble of cars and voices floated in from outside. Your eyes fluttered open, and the unchecked sunlight beaming into the room assaulted your sensitive eyes. Hissing at the daggers of light, your whole body recoiled. Slamming your lids shut again, you scrambled back to retreat from the intrusive light. The mangled flesh of your back crashed against the headboard in your attempt to flee from the light. The sudden movement sent shockwaves through your body as the stitches in your wounds tugged sharply. Hearing and feeling your stir, Aziraphale and Crowley sat bolt upright in their respective positions. Zira in the same chair as the night before, and Crowley in the vanity chair across the room. 

Catching your attempt to flee from the overwhelming sensations, Aizraphale reached for your shoulders and tried his best to push you back down into the pillows. His sure hands were commanding and gentle as they kept you from hurting yourself further. 

“You’re all right. Careful now or you’ll rip your stitches.” 

Simultaneously, Crowley was up out of his chair, his own hand coming up to grip your chin, holding your face in his direction. Your eyes flew open again as if called to look by some hell-born bond. And what he saw brought a moment of hesitation. The whites of your eyes were flooded with a sickening crimson as if every blood vessel had burst. While your pupils were blown large, covering nearly the entirety of your eyes. Shaking off the unsettling nature of your appearance, the demon deftly removed his sunglasses and placed them on your face. 

“It’s their eyes, they’re not used to the light.” Stepping back, Crowley reached out a hand to Aziraphale, pushing him away from you, “Careful, Angel, emotions can be a bit unsteady.” 

“It’s all right, Crowley. As you said, they’re in pain, why don’t you let me help.” 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” 

“Nonsense!” stepping back to your side, Aziraphale’s fingertips aligned with your temples as a gentle light filled the room.

Your breathing began to slow as the ache faded both mentally and physically. Slowly, you opened your eyes, finding that the dark lenses made the world around you much more bearable to view. Weakness replaced the pain leaving you incapable of moving, your power sat dormant, but hot beneath your skin. The heady mix of emotions melded together in what was certain to become an explosive combination. 

Pushing down the flames, you spoke as if greeting old friends, “Crowley… Aziraphale… finally.” 

“How do you know our names?” Zira’s question was far from accusatory.

“Oh Aziraphale, I’ve known you for thousands of years… the same goes for you, Crowley.” 

“Who are you? Why do you know us?” Crowley on the other hand couldn’t help the accusation that threaded over his words.

Tilting your head to the side, you focused on him. The yellow of his snake-like eyes glinted in the sun, strong and fierce in demeanor. 

“It was my job, to know you, to follow your biddings here on Earth. Like a celestial watchdog, I suppose.” 

“Watchdog?” Crowley tensed at the very thought of Heaven having watched him for millennia after his fall. 

“Yes. It was my job to track your movements, particularly in the years since your delivery of the AntiChrist. Well, you and Aziraphale. There was some… hesitation regarding the pair of you, given your shared history of questionable decision-making. Need I mention your flaming sword and apple debacles?” Your voice was weak and breathy as if speaking drained you of what little energy you’d recouped.

“All right, no need to rub it in. Enough about us, you’ve yet to answer our other question, demon. Who are you?” 

“Well, I don’t know how this works exactly, but I suppose my angelic name will do for now. I’m Y/N.” 

“And why are you here… Y/N?” Aziraphale uttered your name sweetly as if to encourage you to continue. 

“It’s simple really, I’m the same as you, Crowley. I asked too many questions… I doubted the ineffable plan.” Sinking further back into the pillows, you turned your head to look at the demon. 

“You what? Why?” Aziraphaled asked in shock.

“Because… you were happy.” Shifting your body slightly so that you could gaze at him, you felt a warm hand wrap around your own, “And the more I watched you here on Earth enjoying your lives together, the humanity … it made me think. Why were we going to end it all? And after such a short time as well? I saw how you looked at the world and couldn’t imagine it ceasing to exist. But even more than that… I couldn’t bear the thought of…” 

Your voice caught in your throat as a fresh spasm racked your frame. The tightening of the muscles along the expanse of your back ripped the air from your lungs causing you to gasp and groan. Folding forward at the waist, the glasses slipped down your nose exposing your eyes to the blinding rays once again. Desperate to block it out, you pressed the heel of your palms into your eyes knocking the sunglasses onto the blanket covering your lap. Steady vibrations rolled through the space around you as your power spilled out unchecked. A blood-curdling wail tore from your lips as your skin flushed hot from the touch of Hell once more. Shocked by the sounds, Aziraphale took a few steps back, putting some distance between the two of you.

Crowley had returned to your side, his strong hands holding tightly to your biceps. The heat of your skin burned and blistered his palms, and yet he remained unfazed. 

“Y/N, Y/N, listen to- listen to me. You’ve got to push away, you’ve got to fight against it!”

Gripping you tightly, he watched as your body spasmed beneath his touch. Blood soon tinged the light cream of the jumper you were wearing, the sudden movements having torn the stitches from your flesh. Furthermore, the heat radiating from within you singed the fabric, leaving behind blackened holes in its wake. A wet gurgle accompanied your labored breathing as if you were drowning on dry land. Coughing and choking, a blackish liquid oozed out the corners of your mouth, the scene grew more horrific as the substances ran down the exposed column of your neck. Crowley’s palms smoothed over it, wiping away the mess as best he could, but it just kept coming. Every wet hack brought more of it flooding out to replace what he’d tried to clean up. 

“Crowley! Crowley, what’s happening?” Stammering, Aziraphale was frozen to his spot.

“They’re dying, the transition is consuming them.”

“But I thought-”

“Whatever you thought about this was wrong, Angel. This is the reality.”

“But I… what we can do?” 

“There’s nothing we can do except ease their pain and hope for the best. It’s up to them now. Either they find the strength to fight against the darkness or it consumes them.” 

Trembling, Zira moved to your side and eased himself down onto the bed. Cautiously, he reached out to touch you, his hand brushing over Crowley’s as he sought out your temples. 

Turning his head to look at the demon, Aziraphale whispered one simple word, “Together.” 

Understanding what he meant, Crowley nodded his head silently. Placing the pads of their fingers along your hairline, the two worked to rid you of the pain. A calming wash of peace flooded over you, chasing out the panic and terror. Your hot skin now sat cool to the touch, and the blisters covering Crowley’s hands began to heal. Slowly, your breathing regulated and the crackling wetness ceased to hinder your lungs. Serene peace settled over your features as they untwisted from the pain. Sensing that the limit of help and available miracles for this situation had been reached, both Crowley and Aziraphale sat back. Their eyes never left you as they watched for signs that their magic had failed. Zira was the first to speak

“What do we do now?”

“We wait.” 

“For how long?”

“Not long now I think.” Crowley’s voice was thick with emotion. 

Tracking the rise and fall of your chest, the pair watched as the movement became more erratic. The time between inhales turned more inconsistent and further apart the longer time went on. Eventually, it stopped altogether, and the last vestiges of pain fell from your features leaving behind a mask of perfect peace. 

“What do we do now?” Zira asked in shock.

“We find out who the hell is responsible and we make them bleed” Looking Aziraphle in the eyes, Crowley's own brimmed with emotion, “But more importantly, we live, we live for them.

[romanoffsbish]

How to Mend What’s Broken

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Prompt

"I feel your absence in everything that I do alone, in every place I go without you."

Warnings: Angst; Breakup, Jealous Nat.

This is the first of many ghost posts, I’m queuing up my requested blurbs/fics as I finish them, but I won’t really be here.

She'd thought you were bluffing, that this year long mission would be like any of the others, and that when she came home with flowers and chocolates that you'd just happily embrace her. That wasn't the case though, she came back to find you'd not only moved out of your shared apartment, but that you apparently moved on. Hearing it through her family, the one you now shared after half a decade together was hard, but actually seeing it was truly devastating.

—————-

—————-

"Nat, if you go on the mission, then I'm gone.," the words replay in her fractured mind, on a continuous loop as she's forced to watch you dancing with another at Tony's New Year's party—it wasn't right, she felt nauseous seeing the way her hands sat on your hips, pulling you in for a kiss, and the worst part being the way you beamed back at her, pushing her fallen hair behind her ear, the same way you did hers.

Natasha could feel the bile rising up her throat, she couldn't stomach the sight of you two so happy together. Shifting on her feet she faced the bar again, chasing the obnoxious burning in her throat down with a different kind. She could hear you giggle from across the room, and in turn the next shot was thrown back. Every time she saw her hands on you flash in her mind another shot was taken, her high tolerance aside, the woman smelled like a distillery, and truly needed to be stopped.

"Sestra, slow down.," Yelena hissed, yanking the shot glass from her sister's hand, sending her a warning glare as she tried to grab it back., "Natasha, you made your choice, live with it.," The redheads shoulders deflated instantly at her words, because they were the ugly truth.

Months—you gave her so many of them to get it together, to finally put you first for once, but she continuously failed to do so, leaving you behind for those fleeting rushes of adrenaline, but that high she so desperately craved wasn't the same when she didn't have your arms to crash into after she finally returned home.

No, instead of welcome home cuddles, and whispers of 'I love you' between steamy kisses she's met with cold sheets, and nightmares. The kind that shows her how bleak her future is going to be without the love you two had fostered, she shakes her head as the aforementioned images began to flood her inebriated mind again., "It wasn't worth it."

Yelena clapped her sister on the shoulder, a smile riddled with pity sent her way., "Da, tupitsa, nakonets ty ponyal, teper' ispravlyay.," the redhead glared at her unbothered sister., "Good luck Natasha, you better succeed. I want my future sister in law back like yesterday."

(Yes dumbass, finally you understand, now fix it.)

Natasha didn't know how, or when, but she knew she'd get you back, because in the grand scheme of it all, you're definitely her soulmate. Part of her wondered if tonight might be the time, since she could feel your intense stare from a mile away, her heart even fluttered a bit at the premature hope it was filling up with.

It wasn't fair to your girlfriend, Clara, but you couldn't remove your gaze from your first love. The clueless girl was clinging to you, her head laying over your chest, and you hoped she didn't hear the skip in your heartbeat every time you got to see the other woman's face.

Natasha looked stunning in the black dress that clung to her every curve, the swell of her breasts visible to the naked eye due to the surprisingly low cut of the fabric. Part of you wondered if she did it on purpose, she had to have known you'd RSVP'd to the party, and as exciting as it is to know it might've been for you, you know she's no longer yours to gawk at.

Still, your eyes managed to linger on her all throughout the night, wandering her body in its entirety. Eventually catching the necklace that you got her for your second anniversary. Your fingers ghosted over the imprint of yours through your dress, causing your heart to ache, and for you to run off the dance floor as if you were Cinderella herself and the dreaded clock was about to strike midnight—which it was.

Natasha watched you run off the floor and onto the balcony, your hand clutching at your chest, and the other covering your mouth. To most you looked like you were going to be sick, but she knew you were trying to hold back the tears to keep your tough front up. She wasted no time running after you either, the door had barely shut before she was bursting through it, and catching the way your body shook with sobs, an ache consumed her as she watched all the pain she'd caused you come flooding right on out of you. It was painfully humbling...

"Natasha...," you went to tell her to leave, even if that's the opposite of what you wanted, you knew you needed her to go, because just one smile would be enough for you to crumble, and you didn't want that again. To be putty in her deceitful little hands, the ones that loved you so well on the sparingly good days, and left you craving so much more on the bulk of the rest., "I need you to...," the redhead however had other plans, ignoring you, and desperately blurting out a truth of her very own.

"I feel your absence in everything that I do alone, in every place I go without you.," her voice was not but a whisper as she moved to cage your trembling body in between hers, and the balconies metal rail., "I love you so much Y/N—my precious little dove."

"Natasha, please.," your hands gripped the rail even tighter as you pleaded for her to stop, to walk away like she always does; to let you go., "Tell me to stop, to go," she pressed her lips to the nape of your neck., "I- I can't.," a tear left your eye as you shamefully crumbled at the simplest of affections. How could you not? Natasha's touch had the power to set your body alight with need, no one else could compare, and deep down you were content with that.

Without giving you room to slip away she was able to turn you to face her, a soft smile on her face., "But God, Nat, I desperately want to.," you shakily admitted, causing her face to fall., "because I deserve so much better.," though your voice cracked, the conviction in your eyes was strong, and a ghost of a smirk befell her face as she filled with pride at seeing you fight for yourself so very well., "I'll do better!"

She could see you already registered her words as empty., "Fuck, detka please, I'll do anything you want or need if it means you'll just be mine again.," your brows furrowed at the sight of her being so vulnerable, it wasn't foreign for her to be like this with you, but this public display of it by her surely was. It honestly made you more willing to listen, and maybe take her seriously.

"I-I can't sleep another night without you Y/N, that damn apartment could never be a home without your laughter filling it, and my heart.," she paused, frantically grabbing at your hand so that you could feel the organ's steady thumping beneath your fingertips., "It will never be whole again without yours beating beside it, do you feel that? How hard it's beating against my ribcage? That's all you. Without you it's forever been out of sync."

Silence followed up the Russian's monologue. It consumed the air around the both of you, but it wasn't suffocating, the party was thankfully silenced by the compound's thick panes of glass, and the streets below were just quiet. The world continued to fade away as you stared into her gorgeous, viridescent eyes, and felt her heart beating in sync with your very own. If not for Natasha leaning in you're certain you could've been lost in her gaze for an eternity.

Natasha bit back a sob as the hand on her chest lightly pushed her back, fear of your incoming rejection rising steadily, but then she watched you smile as your hand slid over to the charm. A golden chain with her trademark spider dangling from it, your initials engraved in the bottom of the piece, and the color of your eyes matched the color of the jewel adorning it., "You kept it?," she frowned immediately., "I'd never dream of taking it off, it's a part of me as much as you are Y/N; a testament to our love."

To prove her point she gently tugged on your own chain, pulling the nearly identical charm from where it was hidden beneath your clothes. She smirked at your nervous fiddling while also admiring the piece that mirrored hers, the gem was an emerald, and her thumb ran over the markings that were her own on the bottom., “You kept it?,” she teasingly threw your words back at you causing you to pout., “Well yeah, it was really expensive.,” you groaned playfully, but she saw the way you clutched onto it as she dropped it, safely returning it to beneath your clothing., “Plus, it was all I had left of you.”

“Y/N, you have all of me.,” her thumb lovingly stroked over the apple of your cheek, you melted into the affection with so much ease that the former assassin nearly broke down. You’ve always put your unwavering faith in her, and that’s one of the many reasons she fell for you—hard and fast. The Avengers title, and culmination of her past meant nothing to you. To you she was Natty, with the strong arms, hot smirk, with horrible cooking abilities, and to her you were the definition of everything. Your soft voice pulled her out of her reverie., “Are your sure Nat? Because I can’t go back to being your second choice, I won’t do it.”

“You never were Y/N/N.,” she quietly admits, and before she could try to kiss you again you moved to whisper in her ear., “I’m no cheat Natalia, give me a few minutes, maybe let the Winter chill calm the ants in your pants, hm?,” she rolled her eyes, then smirked as you stared back at her skeptically., “Ants aren’t all I have in these pants by the way.,” she winked, then cackled as you subtly flipped her off before venturing off to find your unfortunate date.

Natasha watched over the city of New York, every second you were gone a spike of panic shot through her. What if the woman isn’t all that understanding? What if she hurts you? Before her mind could make her travel to rescue you the door slid open, she turned on instinct, but also she was feeling a bit hopeful., “Catch me!,” you squealed, running full force at the slightly sobered redhead, she mirrors your excitement as she spins you around though, then she tries to kiss you again in the thrill of the moment, but your finger slips in between your lips and she groans., “What is it now?”

“The countdown.,” you huffed, and she listened closely to hear all the shouting from indoors., “10,9,8…,” she tapped your dangling legs, and you got the message to wrap them around her., “3,2,1… Happy New Year!!!,” your cheers were abruptly brought to a close as Natasha’s lips met yours in a needy way, but you certainly weren’t going to complain, especially not when your ability to have done so was sullied by the tongue that was pretty much down your throat.

The kiss was messy, it’d been 387 days since she’d last been able to kiss you like this, and if you were aware at all you’d better be preparing for a long night, her roaming hands a sign that she isn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. Not that you’d want her to, your body was a squirming mess beneath hers as she’d laid you on a lounging chair, then quickly mounted you. Her lungs burned, but it wasn’t until you had tapped at her shoulder that she retracted with a displeased growl, reluctantly allowing you to breathe while she admired the dishevelment.

“To new beginnings.,” she whispered against your lips with a smirk as you panted wildly. Your eyes squinted as her bright phone screen was brought up to your face, the words slowly coming together as your cognition returned with each gasp of oxygen you inhaled., “Nat?,” your lip wobbled as you read it, and she leaned down to kiss you again, but far more tenderly like your quivering voice told her you needed., “Effective immediately detka; I’m all yours.,”

“No more missions?,” you sought out clarity with a bright smile and nervous stomach, and your beautiful woman beamed down to you, nodding her head while cupping your cheeks. The soft look she gave you warmed your heart, but you were a bit more focused on the way your entire body warmed at her great news., “Please, take me home Natasha.,” her eyes widened when your breathy plea came out, surveying your eyes she could see the lust at the forefront, so she scooped you up, and ran., “Whatever my detka wants, she fucking gets.”

——————————

2,264 Words.

❤️🤖

(Image source)

[izvmimi]

a/n: part of cursed!reader series of drabbles. sfw.

"y'know, it'd be nice to be loved like that," you muse as you follow nanami into the subway station. it's almost 3am, and both of you have sobered up a bit, knowing that satoru and his partner are probably stumbling into one of their apartments' drunk in their own right. you think for a moment that perhaps you should have actually explicitly made sure they made their own way safe, but you're pretty sure even piss drunk gojo can protect him and your friend.

nanami looks tired as usual, but he has a content smile on his face. you wonder if he heard you speak as you sit by him.

"oi, are you even listening to me?"

nanami turns his attention to you, a gentle flush of red on his sharp cheekbones letting you know that he probably is a little more drunk than you expected. it must be nice - you're often careful because you're a chatty drunk, and waking up after blacking out with multiple senses stolen from you is probably not ideal.

"always," he says. you raise an eyebrow. the train doors close and you start moving.

it's a strange answer from him but you allow it.

you sigh, stretching your legs out in front of you. there's just a singular man in the front part of your subway car, and he looks nonthreatening so you lose interest quickly. not much is there to look at, and when you look back at your friend, kento is peering at you through his glasses.

"what part of it do you like?" he asks. he chuckles, and you feel like you're being teased.

"i didn't say i liked it."

"you literally just said 'it would be nice.'"

heat rushes to your cheeks, but then you bite your lip and decide to own it.

"you know what, yes! i'm tired of being single. why would i want to be going halfsies on a tiny apartment with a sourpuss like you when a man should be appreciating my charm and treating me like a queen?"

it's nanami's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"do you think you deserve better?" he asks. you make a show of gasping in shock.

"why i never-"

nanami laughs louder this time and crosses his arms over his chest leaning back into the plastic covered seat. any time he laughs this much you're filled with an odd feeling, dread because he's probably making fun of you, or confusion... perhaps jealousy? you don't think you're that funny, but he doesn't seem to find anyone else as amusing. you hate that.

his hand rests on the top of your head suddenly and you kick him gently in the ankle.

"i deserve it," you remind him. you try to keep your eye contact fierce, making sure he doesn't patronize you; he lets his hand drop back to his side but continues to give you a pretend bemused look.

"perhaps."

breathing out through your nose, you decide you'll get him where it hurts.

"are you gonna pretend you're not bitter that your love life sucks?" you ask. he peers again at you sideways, then grins.

"i try not to think about it too much," he replies, promptly.

his ankles cross, and you consider kicking him again but the second time might actually hurt and you don't actually intend to hurt him. you purse your lips to the side and avert your attention instead. the shadows in the subway station start to hypnotize you the longer you focus on them, then you realize you are kind of sleepy. one of you has to stay awake to make it home safely, so you decide to return to antagonism.

"are you still pining over women who are inaccessible?"

nanami's eyes have closed shut by now but they open again.

"whatever do you mean?" he hasn't turned to look at you yet, and you're looking for the tick in his jaw that suggests annoyance but there's nothing yet.

"i told you to stop falling for lesbians, remember?" you tease him.

nanami gives you a look that lasts a bit too long, and for a moment you wonder if you've actually wounded him. you breathe in sharply and you're preparing to say the words, "sorry" but then he interrupts you quickly with the following,

"are you a lesbian?"

the question catches you off guard in the slight inebriation of hours after karaoke, where trot and enka play on loop and the taste of overpriced sushi swallowed not on your dime still ghosts on your tongue.

you would ask, "what's that supposed to mean?" but it's clear. kento's leaned into you and the train is slowing to a stop. you think your heart might slow to a stop too. he must be joking with you.

"i think you're too drunk, you're not making any sense." you finally say through your teeth, but the fact that you're suddenly flustered is apparent in the waver in your voice. kento snorts but it's soft and accommodating, not petulant.

the overhead PA tells you to unboard and kento moves first, getting to his feet but looks back at you and catches you as you stumble on heels too high for just karaoke and meeting with your closest friends.

your hand is in his and he lets go once you're steady.

you thank him but he can't steady your heart too.

[patrophthia]

bad habit | remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x reader

genre: flirting, pass flirtings, suggestive, idk, not proofread!

wc: 1.6k

originally posted on wattpad

"are you kidding me?" she laughed brightly. "i had the biggest crush on you, remus. i thought that was obvious."

"no." he was surprised to say the least. finding himself smiling at the thought. "no, it wasn't. if i only i knew."

"if only you knew," she said, smiling as big as him. dimples, remus had dimples. and now she doesn't know what to do with that knowledge.

the potters wedding ceremony had just wrapped up and the groom men are now free to do whatever they please. and in remus' case, he finds it best to sit around with glasses of champagne and chat with his old friends from hogswart.

it was nice catching up with them and despite it only being two years since they graduated, he still find it extremely fascinating to find out about what everyone has been up to in a slightly inebriated state.

especially when feelings from the old days are brought up.

remus chuckles, taking another sip of his champagne. and then, "i wish i knew you wanted me."

"really?" she asked with a short giggle. "why?"

"it's just— i wish i knew. maybe things would've different had i knew—" remus bit his tongue, stopping himself. "i just wish i knew. why didn't you say anything?"

"because it's embarrassing to," she told him kindly, scooting to make space for the best man, sirius, to sit. "you rarely —if ever gave me the time of day, can you imagine just walking up to someone you never really talked to and telling them that you fancied them?"

"touché." remus admitted. "but you could've at least hinted it at me, made a move or something. if i knew i'd be with you and maybe we would've been here as a couple."

"are you saying what i think you're saying?"

"that moony was whipped for you during the last couple years of hogwarts?" sirius asked, eyes lingering on her with something she can't read. "yes."

now it was her turn to be surprised. "why didn't you say anything?"

"i think this is my cue to leave," sirius said exuberantly, his eyes shifts between the pair. "there's a spare bedroom if you want to —you know, fuck your feelings out, just make sure to use protection okay? okay." and with a final wink, sirius left them to it.

her eyes met remus' for one, two, three long beats before she found herself breaking into a fit of laughter, one that remus too was chuckling at. green eyes gleaming under the venues light. "do you want us to fuck our feelings out?"

"if you want to," remus shrugs. "that's assuming if you'd let me. or is it too late for me to pursue you now?"

"i don't think it could ever be too late for you to pursue me, remus." she told him truthfully. "that is if you tell me why you never said anything."

"well." he huffed, setting his glass down and ran a palm over his face. "when i was younger—" remus smiled distractedly when she scrunched her nose at him referring to himself being younger when it wasn't that long ago. "—i had this habit of biting my tongue and not saying a thing when i wanted to, and i had always thought you were way too good for me which resulted in me thinking that it'd be better if i didn't pay so much attention to you so i never gave you the time of day even when i wanted to."

"do you still have that habit now?"

"yes. i think." he pauses. "yes, definitely. i think i'm mad that i never took a stab at it."

"don't, that'll be painful." remus had been smiling so much today that his cheeks were hurting. "plus, you could be using it to do something else when we fuck out our feelings."

"of course," he concurred, smiling, and nodding, doing both at the same time. and he was so, so attractive in that stupid groom men suit and his hair that was overdue for a haircut, that she was more than willing to give him anything he'd asked. "if we do fuck our feelings out, i think i might be grateful that i never said anything."

she gasped, a short and dramatic one. "and why is that? am i just sex to you?" her tone was light and teasing with no real malice or offense. "just a one night stand, that all?"

"never," he told her. "you would never be just a one night stand. my heart could not handle letting you go that easily."

"is this how you get the ladies?"

"absolutely." another smile and then, "can i bite your tongue like my bad habit when we fuck out our feelings or would that be too much?"

"too much i think." there was a shift in her behavior, one so small and subtle that he couldn't read into what it was. "but i'm willing to let you make a pass at it."

one, two beat passes. things happen for a reason, there must be a reason remus was sat here with her, wearing his heart on his sleeve. there must be a reason she chose now out of every other time to tell him everything she told him.

maybe he had overthunk it. maybe she wasn't too good for him. and even if she was, maybe he deserves someone like her. maybe he deserves something that makes him happy after all the years of pain and agony from a condition he never wished to possess.

he called out her name, her giving him her full focus with an attentive smile. "do you—" remus paused. "is there still something? at all?"

he needs to know because he can't afford to be in love with her all over again, because he can't afford for her to play around with his feelings, because he wants this to work so bad. because he wanted it to work then and he still does now more than anything.

he doesn't need to clarify because she understood, and was already answering. "i don't know," she says first. "but with all the flirting aside i think there is something." and turned the question onto him. "do you feel something still?"

"yes." more now than ever.

"do you want to go out?"

he hesitate for a second. "yes. i would love to."

she was trying not to smile, it was so clear and it had such an effect on remus that it was embarrassing. "so we don't need to fuck our feelings out anymore?"

"no." he shook his head. "now that we've established that i still like you so very much, i don't think we need to fuck out our feelings. but if you want to do it for the shits and giggles then sure. i'd do anything if it meant i'd be doing it with you."

he's losing his ways, he thinks. whatever. "you have my number right?"

"don't need it. i can just owl you, remus."

"you can." he stood up, scrambling around for a piece of paper and something he could use to write on that piece of paper. "but i want to hear your voice."

"it's called a howler," she says lightly. "have you ever heard of it?"

he fixes her a look, one of perplexion and annoyance, both at the same time and snickered, "smart ass."

he wasn't giving up on his pursuit though, finally finding a pen (one he definitely didn't snatch from a guest) and wrote his number onto it before handing it over.

"i don't want it," she told him, her action contradicting her words when she put it away carefully. "i could just owl you a howler or if owling is too time consuming for you, visit you via fire place."

"would you just stop being a smart ass for a second and accept that i just want to hear your voice without having to look at you through my fire place or wait for days for a reply? just call me. is that too much work for you, darling?"

"oh we're pulling out the pet names now?"

remus rolled his eyes and walked over, towering her from where she sat. his scarred hand found its way to her face, flattening itself against her cheek. remus leaned forward and waited for any —and he meant any, bit of resistance and when he found none, pressed his lips onto hers.

his hand dropped down, fingers cradling her jaw while his thumb made work at caressing her cheeks. is this heaven? though songs writer would say that that isn't the truth. heaven is a place on earth with their lover. or in this case, heaven is a place on earth her.

remus deepened the kiss, intending to show her —without words— how much he really really liked her. and when he finally pulls away, he couldn't help himself from grinning. dimples. his hand never left her face when he asked her, "will you just call me, please?"

"yes." she fail to tell him, that she would do anything he'd ask of her. "maybe."

—from bee: everytime i listen to bad habits i think of remus so of course i had to write him with this song arghhh

[shellybee456]

Fuck It, It's Fine

February 2025, Monaco

1 week to the first 2024 car reveal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Émilie stared at her phone.

Haven't heard from you in a couple of months

But I'm out right now, and I'm all fucked up

And you're callin' my phone, you're all alone

And I'm sensin' some undertone.

She was at a bar in Monaco with her friends, having stepped over to their reserved table to get a drink when her phone started ringing.

Émilie took another sip of her drink and watched it ring.

She should have him blocked.

Like she'd done with all her other exes.

And I'm right here with all my friends

But you're sendin' me your new address

But he was also her best friend’s teammate.

She continued to stare at the phone even after he stopped calling, watching as a notification popped up.

"Everything alright Ém?" Danny asked, appearing beside her.

Émilie nodded and picked up her phone. "Yeah, just a text. I'll be back out on the floor soon."

Danny nodded and grinned at her before walking away.

She tapped on his text, watching as her phone unlocked with Face ID and opened her messages.

She'd deleted his messages right after their fight, too disgusted and angry with him to continue to see them on her phone.

And I know we're done, I know we're through

But, God, when I look at you

She should have picked a worse photo for his profile picture. But then again, Émilie wasn't the smartest person on the grid.

My brain goes, "Ah"

Can't hear my thoughts (I cannot hear my thoughts)

Like blah-blah-blah (blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah)

Plus they were sort of friends again.

Kinda.

Ish.

The confessions and hurtful words they'd exchanged still hung between them, making the air awkward any time they were left alone.

Then of course there was the night Émilie was refusing to acknowledge.

She hadn't told Elena about that just yet, not quite ready to admit that lapse in judgment out loud.

But she had told her everything else about her and Lando's fallout.

"Who are you texting?" Elena asked, carrying two shots to the table.

"An ex." Émilie copied the address he'd sent her and put it into Uber, out of curiosity.

Seein' you tonight, it's a bad idea, right?

She took another sip of her drink, waiting for the app to load.

Seein' you tonight, it's a bad idea, right?

10 minutes wasn't bad. And the Uber could be at the bar in 5. Her thumb hovered over the confirmation button.

Seein' you tonight, it's a bad idea, right?

Fuck. That night still haunted her in her weaker, lonelier moments.

Seein' you tonight, fuck it, it's fine

"Oh? Are we still pretending you don't like him?"

Émilie glanced up, rolling her eyes at her older sister's suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

"I only see him as a friend," the biggest lie I ever said

Oh, yes, I know that he's my ex, but can't two people reconnect?

"We've talked about this Lena." Emilie huffed in annoyance. "We're just friends, back to what we used to be."

Elena didn't look the least bit convinced but thankfully she didn't press further, instead holding up the shot. "Yeah, like y'all were ever just friends. Shots?"

Émilie nodded, setting her phone face down on the table, Uber temporarily ignored.

Both sisters took the shots and Émilie shook her head at the burn. Drinking Tequila wasn't a problem for Émilie having grown up with a Spanish half-sister, but shots of the alcohol always burned going down.

"I might go home early," Émilie said, raising her voice over the sudden roar of the room. Quickly she added, "I have to be in Switzerland tomorrow for little Emilie's birthday. Seb said he'd disown me if I wasn't there."

Elena nodded, "want Osc to take you home?"

Émilie shook her head and held up her phone, "I'm just gonna Uber."

Thankfully her inebriated sister took the lie at face value and gave Émilie a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"See you on Monday, chaton, okay?"

Émilie nodded and grabbed her purse before making her way outside to wait for Uber.

She looked at her phone and sent a message to Oscar (the only other person who knew about that night.) and asked him to distract Elena and keep her off her phone until she had to fly to Milton Keynes.

She watched his text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear several times before he sent a message.

Aussie buzzkill: Yeah I got you.

Aussie buzzkill: Don't do anything stupid, please.

She hearted his messages but didn't reply since her Uber showed up.

Now I'm gettin' in the car, wreckin' all my plans

I know I should stop-, but I can't

But mostly because she was about to do something stupid.

And I told my friends I was asleep

But I never said where or in whose sheets

The shot she'd done with Elena before leaving kept her mind pleasantly quiet, letting Émilie mindlessly browse Instagram on the short drive to his apartment building.

She thanked the driver and collected her purse from the seat beside her and walked into the lobby.

And I pull up to your place, on the second floor

And you're standin', smiling at the door

She buzzed his apartment and was unsurprisingly let in immediately.

She walked down the hall to the elevator and pressed the button, taking her up to his floor.

His place was only a few doors down, the door wide open with him leaning against the doorframe waiting for her. 

And I'm sure I've seen much hotter men

But I really can't remember when

Lando’s curly hair was mussed, a few stray curls hanging down against his forehead and the top two buttons of his black button down were open. 

He must have been out partying too, but 1 am was an awfully early time to call it quits.

He grinned at her, that stupid, smug grin that infuriated and made her warm in all the right places.

He had a glass of something alcoholic hanging loosely from his hand, which he lifted to his lips.

Seein' you tonight, it's a bad idea, right?

He was really fucking hot.

Seein' you tonight, it's a bad idea, right?

And He knew it.

Seein' you tonight, it's a bad idea, right?

"Hey, Princess. You look flustered."

Seein' you tonight, fuck it, it's fine

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A story I wrote in my best friend @fictional-babes-inc and I's Formula One dr. I might write a part 2 of what happens after.

Émilie and Elena are half-sisters and racers on the grid, Émilie races for Redbull, and Elena raced for Mercedes from 2019 until she became Émilie's race Engineer in 2023. Émilie and Lando are the same age, but Emilie made her F1 debut in 2022. Émilie, Logan, and Oscar are best friends, having grown up karting together.

[f1daydreamers]

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 [𝐋𝐒𝟏𝟖] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

photo credits: Pinterest

Pairing: Lance Stroll x Fem!Reader

Summary: Asking the driver of the team you work for to attend a wedding with you as your fake date is possibly one of the dumbest ideas you've had ever.. but also one of the best.

Warnings: fluff, brief mentions of alcohol and being drunk, a tiiiiiny bit of sexual tension

Word Count: 3k words (11 mins reading time avg)

...

At some point, the boys had peeled away from the group after dinner when everyone headed for the club across the street.

After a little while of dancing with a few girls, and working your way through four or maybe six shots, you squeezed through the crowd to head over to an unoccupied table.

Despite your best efforts to try and balance yourself on the outsoles of your heels, you couldn't locate the brown-haired boy anywhere.

You groaned, plopping your bum on one of the stools and stretching your feet out ahead of you. It was that time of the night where you were beginning to curse younger you for choosing to wear heels.

"Don't tell me you're tired already!" Daisy called as she approached you.

She slightly stumbled from her drunken steps and you reached out your hand to help her keep both feet on the ground.

"I guess I'm getting old," you joked, observing as she clumsily positioned herself on the stool a few feet away from your legs, her tipsy movements betraying her level of inebriation.

She took a moment to herself, neither of you saying anything but you're eventually left alone when Daisy's pulled into the crowd again by one of her friends whom she'd invited rather late.

Deafening music pierced through your ears; while it may have elicited a surge of adrenaline a few hours ago, it now proved to be nothing more than a source of a throbbing headache.

You let out a sigh, contemplating whether to text Lance.

However, amidst the chaotic environment of a nightclub filled with alcohol, people, and loud music, the likelihood of a vibration or a ping in his pocket capturing his attention seemed slim.

You made your way to the bar and placed an order for another drink.

The bartender slid it to you across the smooth wooden countertop, and you took a sip through the straw, using your palm to cover the top.

Attempting to survey the club, you found yourself momentarily blinded by the flashing lights, hindering your vision for a brief moment.

You squinted your eyes and looked away, but then felt someone's hand brush against your shoulder. Startled, you jerked away from the touch, causing you to nearly lose your balance on your seat.

Lance quickly reacted, firmly pressing his hand into your waist to steady you. His touch ghosted over your side, ensuring that you remained stable.

"Oh.. hello." You say. The corners of his mouth curve upwards as he nods towards your drink, "how much have you had?"

You dismiss his question with a wave of your hand, "I thought you were with the boys."

"Everyone's coming back together," he spoke a little louder, aware that the crowd was becoming increasingly noisy the later it got.

“I came to find you," he added, ensuring his words reached your ears amidst the bustling club.

"You found me."

Lance's eyebrows knitted together, not understanding what you were saying and he instinctively lowered his head.

"What did you say?" Your lips are inches away from his neck, you swallow your words when you feel his hand press into your body again.

"Y-You found me." You repeated and the F1 driver chuckled, your eyes met for a brief moment as he turned his head. He promptly corrected his posture.

"Yes I have." You run the tip of your tongue across your bottom lip, and tuck it in, turning your head back to your drink to take another sip, feeling his gaze trained on you.

That stupid wave of disappointment came over you once more. Eventually, you finished your drink, all the while aware of his lingering presence behind you.

You swivelled around to face him again, determined to shake off whatever emotions had been plaguing you moments ago.

Your gaze travelled from his stomach up to his face, and in that moment, you realised just how tall he was. It hadn't fully registered until now, as you were sitting down and he was standing upright.

"What?" He looked like he was assessing you, but once you called him out on it, his eyes met yours.

"What?" He copied, you furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your head. He shrugged in response, wiping the tip of his nose with his thumb.

You allowed yourself to appreciate the lights that played across his face in the dimness of the club, regardless of whether or not he noticed you staring at him.

You were starting to feel disoriented, and suddenly, he'd become a muse for only you to admire.

Even as Lance watched the two drunks on the other end of the bar socialise without there being much regard for discerning conversation, he knew you were staring.

Whether it was in admiration or confusion, it stirred on an onset of nerves he hadn't felt before with you.

"Come on, I think it's time to get you home," he suggested, your gaze growing sleepier. An urge came over you to lean your head forward and find solace on his sweater, which did look incredibly cosy and inviting but you fought it, struggling to keep your eyes open.

"You alright?" Lance tilted his head to get a better look at your face, once he'd registered that it was the tiredness consuming you, he shook your shoulder.

You forcefully blinked your eyes open, forming your hand into a fist and absentmindedly pressing it against Lance's stomach for support, preventing yourself from swaying forward.

"I'm fine," you reassured him, your voice carrying a hint of exhaustion.

"Come on," he urged, firmly gripping your wrist and placing his other hand on your shoulder. With careful determination, he guided you off of the stool and maneuvered through the crowd, parting people to clear a narrow and cramped path as you stumbled along ahead of him.

It brought a sense of comfort to know that he was looking out for you, but at the same time, it left you with a bitter feeling because somewhere in your cloudy mind, you were aware that this display of care was just an act.

You shoulders slumped when you neared the exit, blinking when nothing really happened for a moment. You turned your head, and it took a moment for you to register where Lance had gone.

His body shielded the person he was conversing with, prompting you to muster your remaining strength and stagger back towards him, to find out what was happening.

"Lance," his name rolled off of your tongue as you neared him, your shoulder grazing against his arm.

You straightened yourself and your gaze fell upon Tom. A frustrated groan escaped your lips, clearly indicating your annoyance.

"Give it a rest." You look up to find his hardened expression.

"Just saying." Tom comments.

Lance's fists clench at his sides and you find its the right time to intervene, whether or not either men have noticed your presence.

You decide to pay your ex no attention, one because he didn't deserve it but two because you were too tired to bother with him.

"Lan, can we go? 'Am about to drop dead." You didn't want to risk a full-blown confrontation between Lance and Tom tonight, especially considering how visibly drunk Tom appeared to be.

"Yeah," he breathed out when he met your eyes, his jaw unclenching.

Tom scoffed and ventured off elsewhere. Both of you left the club, walking only a few blocks before you crossed the road to get to your car.

Just as you pressed the button to unlock the vehicle, Lance stopped you.

"Don't you think you're a little.. under the influence to be driving?" Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, and you feigned offence.

"Are you suggesting I'm drunk?" You prodded shamelessly.

"No. But I'm not suggesting you're sober either." You rolled your eyes, swaying a little from where your feet were planted on the ground.

"You can't even drive a manual." He scoffed, giving you an unimpressed look.

"I got my driving license with a manual." You didn't believe him but you also knew you didn't have much choice.

Lance extended his palm out. "Keys." You dropped them into his hand, and teetered over to the passenger side of the car, dropping on to the seat and shut the door after you.

You could finally rest your head and it felt good to hear silence over the booming club music.

You felt the car underneath you start up, and with one eye cracking open, you turned your head to see the Canadian looking rather dumbfounded. You didn't say anything as his hands ghosted over the handbrake, then the steering wheel.

"Manual driving license huh?" You teased, "shut up, what is it?"

You chuckled, pausing while you were trying to visualise the movements in your head. "Clutch all the way to the floor, then put it in first gear." He hummed once he'd done that, and you continued giving him instructions.

He was about to move off and you pointed behind the wheel to where the indicators were located, "signal." He stopped and flicked it upwards to which the familiar sound followed, "just testing you." He replied and you smiled.

Amidst a half-yawn, you asked, "did I pass?"

"With flying colours," came the reply as you finally closed your eyes.

…

"Ow," you stumble along the concrete path to the house, taking the left side to the garden door.

Lance follows you, though he glances back at the front door, wondering if you even knew where you were going.

"Y/N, the front door is that w... okay." He gives up when he sees you unlocking the latch, pushing it open.

You settle onto the lounge chair while he places his phone beside him after retrieving it from his back pocket. He then occupies the chair opposite you, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

The chairs were positioned near the edge of your family's glistening swimming pool, softly illuminated by the pool lights beneath the water.

Neither one of you were drunk enough to want to take a dip, the moon cast its glow upon the water's surface, creating a reflection that danced along with the ripples.

"Peaceful at least." Lance drew his gaze back at you, doubled over to try and unclasp your heels. He realised you were struggling, having alcohol in your system made even the smallest tasks virtually impossible.

"Let me." He kneels on the concrete beneath him, his fingers navigating the straps of the heel and tugging on them to force them to come undone, he did the same for the other heel, and eventually Lance tugs them off.

You sigh with relief, watching as he rose rather effortlessly and took his seat again. You smile at him and he returns it, his gaze falling from your face to the floor then to the garden around him.

"I'll call for you everytime I need someone to take my heels off." Your joke earns a little chuckle and he nods, seeing no issue with your demand. "Always happy to do that."

You bite your lower lip, glad that the darkness of the night concealed the faint blush spreading across your cheeks. Though you'd just cracked the worst joke of the century, you couldn't help but realise that his mood had shifted rather quickly.

As his head was turned, bathing in the ethereal glow of the moon's reflection, his forehead bore faintly etched lines where his eyebrows were knitted together.

Lance was never really one to open up to you so you knew your chances of him doing so now were rather small. In place of that, you had quite possibly a more terrible idea.

You stood up from the lounge chair, and hopped down on to the concrete decking surrounding the swimming pool, wincing when the pain in your feet was a little more painful than you'd anticipated.

"What are you doing?" he calls out, his voice carrying across the short distance.

You look at him, your lips pursing together before forming into a small grin. "Take a guess."

"You want to go into the pool?" You hummed, like a teacher prodding a child for an answer who was close to getting it right. "Now?" You scoff, applying a bit of pressure on the bottoms of your feet to try and numb the radiating pain.

"It's perfect, peaceful." He stands up and follows you, but takes the steps on the side instead which you can't say wasn't a wise choice.

"It's also dark and cold." He adds but you dismiss him. "Hey, the darkness and the cold.. ness don't bother me." Lance raises his eyebrows before smiling, hardly taking you seriously.

"Alright Elsa, let's do this another time, come on.” You whine, as a means of trying to convince him that this may be fun, and he sighs, squatting to dip his hand into the water.

“That’s not how you swim.” He rolls his eyes, making sure his hand was fully wet before turning his head to you.

He flicked the water from his fingertips up to your arms and face, and you flinched, feeling the cold droplets prick at your skin. “Dude.” You kiss your teeth, rubbing your arm down your face, feeling yourself sway back and forth.

“Careful,” He gets up rather quickly to create some distance between you and the edge of the pool, to be sure you didn’t fall in. As he checks to see if you’re alright, your eyes glance to his face then to the pool and you bite back a grin.

“What’s that?” You question, feigning captivation by something at the far end of the garden. When Lance follows your line of sight, you use your force and the distraction to push him into the pool.

Amidst the bursts of laughter, he eventually emerged to the surface, running his hand down his face and then back up through his hair. Gasping for a brief moment, he released a sigh and shook his head in a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“You’re.. oh you’re a prick.” He exclaimed, exasperated and cold from the unpleasant temperature of the pool.

“You gotta stop talking to my Uncle and learning all these words, you’re hurting my feelings.” You placed a hand over your chest, playfully fanning your eyes as if you were blinking back non-existent tears.

He smiles warmly despite being one-upped and you return it proudly, placing both hands on either side of your hips, accepting the small victory. “Alright alright, now help me up, please it’s freezing.”

You knelt down to reach for his extended hand, and because of your own foolishness or the possibility that you were a little too intoxicated, the mischievous smirk on his lips as he eagerly grasped your hand flew right over your head.

You yelped as you felt yourself lose balance very quickly, and in a matter of seconds, you hit the surface of the water then felt your entire body be embraced by the pool.

You could hear Lance’s deep laughter despite being underneath the water for the brief moment it took for you to swim back up.

Once you resurface, you quickly turn around to find Lance holding his hands up in a playful mock surrender. Determined to retaliate, you attempt to reach over and slap his arm, but he pulls away just in time.

"Hey, you get what you give," he teases, reminding you of the playful exchange and the consequences it entails.

A faint shiver coursed through your body as a gust of wind swept over the pool. You had no doubt that Lance was feeling it too, noticing a light red tint of colour on his nose and cheeks.

Curiously, you raise your arm above the water’s surface, witnessing goosebumps forming on your skin. "Me too." You glance up, finally realising that the F1 driver had closed the distance, leaving only a mere quarter of a meter separating the two of you.

The proximity between you becomes apparent right in that moment and almost immediately, another spark ignites in your body, but you’re not so sure it’s solely because of the cold.

Your gaze fell to his arm, he pulled his soaked sleeve up and you noticed the similar goosebumps on his skin. You couldn’t help the smile that overcame your lips and Lance grinned, “stupid idea.”

You let out a chuckle, which emerges slightly breathier than you had anticipated, and you notice your teeth starting to chatter a little from the cold.

You swallow nervously as his gaze fixates on you, reminiscent of this morning and in the club when you called him out for his lingering stares.

The air between you carries a hint of tension, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection. Rather this time, you didn’t have the intention to say something about it, whether or not it was the alcohol talking, you wanted to see what he’d say or.. do.

He draws closer to you but you don’t move away, your hand beneath the water instinctively gravitates towards him, as if guided by a force of some kind.

But, much to your disappointment, his attention is abruptly diverted as the kitchen light flicks on, capturing his focus. You shift your gaze and notice your sister stumbling her way into the room, followed closely by your parents.

You mask your sigh, attributing it solely to the cold, and Lance tilts his head towards the ladder, suggesting it's time to dry off.

The words you had on the tip of your tongue seem reluctant to escape, so you simply nod in agreement and follow him out of the pool. Accepting the towel he throws your way from the rack, you begin the process of drying off, silently acknowledging the untaken paths of conversation and connection that now retreat into the background.

When you walk into the kitchen to acknowledge your family that had returned, well your parents since your sister had already passed out on the couch, they only exchanged weird looks between them.

Neither of you were dripping wet but neither of you were dry either. You both eventually carried yourselves upstairs and you allowed Lance to go before you, as you settled on using your sister’s bathroom.

The night finally began to wind down after the pool escapade since neither you nor Lance had initiated another conversation. The lingering excitement and connection that existed earlier seemed to have faded away, perhaps because neither of you knew what to say or how to address what had happened.. or what was happening.

...

Part 5

Masterlist

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[ineffablenlghtingales]

My poor boy. The episode opens with Crowley driving to Aziraphale's (burning) bookshop. He's understandably upset as he figures that Aziraphale is dead/discorporated. We see just how upset because he gets a bit inebriated. This is just me wondering, but is it just because Crowley and Aziraphale have been friends for that long (I mean 6,000 years is a long time) that if he's under the assumption that Aziraphale is gone, he'd feel that? Or is his character just like that, reacting dramatically to things. (I'm not criticizing him! I ship Aziracrow and will go down with that ship). Just poor demon's sad remembering his fall (is it just me or does his voice break a little when he's babbling about it). "I lost my best friend" had me. But Aziraphale's reaction was curious. Did he know that Crowley was talking about him? I mean the angel didn't really flinch or grimace or give any sign to acknowledge that statement except a stiff sort of "I'm sorry to hear that." Not saying I don't think Aziraphale cares about him, I just wondered at that.

I also didn't miss the quiet "Oh" when Aziraphale tells him he's been discorporated. As if Crowley realizes that he's not gone forever, just momentary inconvenience. Anyway I loved the show of Crowley's emotions there. I mean, yes we've seen them before, but it's just a little glimpse into that little part of him that isn't evil, you know? It's interesting to me, how Crowley exhibits emotions that a demon, by all accounts, shouldn't have--sadness, care (caring for someone other than themselves), well also whatever comes along with friendship. Funny that in the show, it's a demonic character that is displaying these. I mean, okay, Azi's a cinnamon roll in his own right (but he's supposed to be, because he's a good guy). I might write something about this later.

The bit in Heaven when the in-charge guy gets his knickers in a bunch because Aziraphale was discorporated. I have to say, that beard is impressive, okay. Okay so I'd asked in the last recap about the exorcism and now I understand. Bc of what Shadwell did, Aziraphale lost his body. I think it's absolutely hilarious that Azi found a body to use 1) in Madame Tracy and 2) during a seance. Like okay, that's definitely a way to find your way into someone. And just Madame Tracy...I was snickering during those scenes hearing Azi's voice but seeing her.

Everyone stars to gather for the Apocalypse, the kids, the Horsemen etc. And then the bit with the M25! I LOVED that bit with Crowley in the...70's was it? "Can I get a wahoo?" 🤣 The idea of a demon with a lot of stuff to do stuck in traffic. Haha poor Crowley. Hastur shows up being the annoying ass that he is, and Crowley just deals with it. I found it really interesting that bit when Crowley's driving headlong into the wall of fire, and Hastur's losing his shit. The voiceover comments that Crowley's different than other demons because he has an imagination and I love that just because of his imagination, he can still drive the very much on fire and destroyed Bentley through the fire. Hastur discorporates, of course, but not Crowley.

Next episode's recap ➵