#[ because it looks like it would high renaissance and it’s not ]

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

I just wanna say to the OG Ewan Mitchell fans that you are right to gatekeep and in fact you should gatekeep even harder because I barely found out about the guy on HOTD and already I see people on insta and twatter making fun of his face and acting like he’s a creepy weirdo for being private and it’s literally gonna make me froth at the mouth it’s pissing me the hell off

[feretra]

I kind of hate that, as a historian, my knowledge bank is composed of two very contrasting things:

genocide/ethnic cleansing

historical textiles and fashion

like great, I can tell you about when x tried to kill a bunch of people or you can have me look at your favorite dumbass’ outfit and i can tell you all about a bunch of crazy little details you probably have no clue even existed

[andichoseyou]

i HATE stan twitter!!!!!!!!!!!

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 3.

Summary: Your second year at Oxford brings with it Farleigh, much to your delight, and you get to learn about Farleigh's personal nemesis (which he rolls his eyes at every time you call him that) Oliver. It turns out Oliver's actually very lovely, and does Felix quite the favour one unassuming morning. Farleigh's not happy to see him again, but Felix is.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: heavy drinking by everyone at the pub including the reader, and 'dog' being used to demean the reader once.

A/N: 5101 words. much longer than the last ones, and we finally have oliver!! very excited to FINALLY be able to write their weird little fuckin dynamic at oxford, i love them all very much. im a bit unhappy with the pacing of the beginning but i like how it picks up once oli is introduced, but also the bar scene is SO LONG and i will not apologise i love them your honour. id be mighty grateful for any feedback or if you have any thoughts in general about the story, i stare at so many kind asks in my inbox lovingly, i will answer them very soon i promise!! also this is so unedited, sorry lol.

Taglist: @strangemaximoff @renaissance-mama @tsach @malscorner @xhoneymoonx134 @yelchinweasleylothbrok @tarriea @florencediet @butitsbetterifyoudoittoem @belladonnadarksshade @fandom-multiamory @snazzynacho @jubileexoxo @soocore @be-lla-vie @nightingale2124 @willow-sages @null4ndv0id @gracieluvthemoon @day2dream @marvellover98 @navixfr @bitxhinthecomments @daintylovers @alesunsets @noturningbacknow @d0llysposts @alilcloudy @callsignwidow @moviequotes23 @325575 @bonnieblue0606 @osoqueen125 @hot-dino-nuggies @darkness-falls-xo @mattymurderdocks @flowerecs @weepingwitchofthewest @ilovemydinoboi @marsmallow433 @king0flies @cashtons-wife

----

At first you don't notice him for who he is. At first you hear about Farleigh's insufferable tutoring partner. At first, Oliver Quick means absolutely nothing to you.

The most important part of your second year of college is that Farleigh has finally conceded to joining you and Felix at Oxford. Once, during the last Summer break, while Felix had been off confronting his at-the-time good friend Eddie, after Farleigh had told him Eddie and Venetia had been sleeping together, you and Farleigh had gotten high in the maze to avoid the fallout.

Since the Cattons were paying for his education, he'd admitted that he wanted to remove himself as much as possible from his mother's legacy and memory and the guilt Sir James held about his sister. It would be hard to do at a college where he would be a legacy student because of his mother's attendance. You think you partly understood; certain people, usually staff, liked to kiss your ass when they found out about your own legacy status and the people your parents became, you're not so sure they'd treat Farleigh the same, all things considered.

But he's out of options.

Sometimes you're not sure what to make of Farleigh; his strange place in the Catton family was never something they seemed to like to discuss around you, but Farleigh was far more candid about it. So when he pulls these stunts, gets himself kicked out of schools, puts himself in precarious positions despite how you knew he genuinely enjoyed academics, especially literature, you can't help but wonder why.

"Don't try and pathologize it," you could hear him rolling his eyes as he attempted to scale the minotaur statue in the middle of the maze. Looking up at him from where you're laying in the grass, you watch him rise above the walls into the sunshine. Maybe it's dangerous, maybe he should stop, get down, be safe, but he looks far more content up there, on the edge. Maybe he feels freer up there, even if he knows it's not true.

So now he's with you and Felix at Oxford, a first year only academically, he slots perfectly into the group of friends you'd both already managed to collect.

The point is, you have no idea that of everything that happens in those first few weeks of your second year, the parties, the hook ups, the social dances you found yourself doing, that the guy Farleigh likes to complain about from his tutoring sessions - Oliver, Farleigh always says it with an eye roll - would mean so much more to you than you'd ever expect.

Everything about the man you would come to find extraordinary, from the outside, was completely, and charmingly, ordinary. Including how you'd met him.

Felix had overslept again, and threw a pillow at the door when you'd stuck your head into his room to remind him that he had classes. You'd left yourself enough time to walk, but Felix would have to at least run if he didn't get his ass up soon, or would ride his bike instead. Its on your way, so you duck your head in to at least check it there.

What you don't expect is the unassuming man with dark hair to have a gentle, almost caressing hand on the tire of Felix's bike. When you make a confused noise, he about jumps a foot in the air.

"Sorry," he seems to shrink in from himself, recoiling from the bike like he'd been caught red handed, "just admiring." He babbles, but can't meet your eyes. For a moment, you look over him, before turning your attention to the ludicrously expensive mountain bike that Felix has always taken for granted.

"It is a nice bike," you find yourself grinning, stepping towards the bike and giving the tire a squeeze, both as a show of your own appreciation, and to test the pressure, just in case, "didn't mean to spook you..." And you trail off, prompting for his name, holding your hand out.

It hangs in the air for a moment, and the man before you gives you a proper look over. The way he holds himself, as if trying to take up as little space as physically possible, but his eyes, his gaze, oh it longed to swallow whole every detail of everything he cast it upon.

"Oliver," he says after a very long moment. Despite his demure voice, there's something deliberate, unwavering about it, "Quick," he follows it up with, "I'm Oliver Quick." And he ducks his gaze, sparing you from his intensity as you shake his hand.

"Oliver Quick," you turn the name over on your tongue; the same Oliver that Farleigh's been complaining about, you ponder, before giving him a smile, "I'm Y/N." As soon as the handshake drops, Oliver's doing that thing again, shrinking back and looking uncomfortable in the space.

"Yeah, I think I've seen you around," Oliver nods but can't meet your gaze, "around campus, I mean -" Which reminds you -

"Fuck, I'm almost running late," you hissed, spinning on your heel, "sorry to run Ollie, you seem lovely!" You call over your shoulder as you bolt to class, hearing him calling out;

"No trouble," and awkwardly trailing off the further away you get, "you seem... very nice too..."

Bursting through the door to your tutorial with five minutes to spare, your lecture looks up from his desk for a brief moment. Giving him a nod, you try and slip past him to grab a seat by one of your friends, chatting near the back, when he raises his voice.

"No Mister Catton today either, I presume," he says with a sigh, and you again check you watch before plastering on an apologetic smile.

"He'll be here," you assured, "promise." The professor did not seem impressed.

Sitting next to India, she immediately greets you with a hug.

"Felix hung over?" She grins, and you anyway in respond with a smirk.

"After last night? I'd assume so."

"King's Arms tonight?"

"Of course."

When he does eventually show up, it's ten minutes late with an apology about how his bike had gotten a flat tire. The professor, just tells him to take a seat, and Felix does with many placating thanks, sliding into one of the open few open seats in the row in front of yours. Ruffling his hair, he throws a faintly guilty grin over his shoulder at you and India, telling you both not to start.

After the tutorial, you fully intend of having lunch with India, as the two of you don't have any other classes until the afternoon, the two of you walk with Felix to where he'd stashed his bike before his next lecture. Except -

"That's not yours," you look at the bicycle curiously, "I thought you had a flat."

"Had," Felix agrees, wheeling the unfamiliar bike from the rack with a grin, "bloody angel of a man lent me his."

"Of course someone just gave you their bike," India chuckles, reaching out to give Felix's shoulder a squeeze before he mounts the bike with intent to take off.

"Lent," Felix grinned back, "I'm gonna give it back."

"And what about yours?" You asked, eyebrows raised.

"He took it back for me."

"Your hero," you laughed, shaking your head at him.

"My absolute hero," Felix agreed, "I'll tell you about it later, okay? King's Arms tonight?"

And once he's away, and you and India are on your way to the campus cafe, her arm tucked in hers, she gives you a knowing, almost exasperated smile.

"You're already trying to figure out how to fix his tire, aren't you?" Her nails dig a little too much and her smile's a little too sly and her tone almost grates against a thought you don't like to consider, so you push it to the back of your mind and give an embarrassed little smile.

"Was it that obvious?"

"No, but you are," she leans in, lips almost against your ear, smile in her voice, "endearingly predictable," she murmurs against the shell of your ear, "you're always wrapped up in him."

"Right now I seem to be rather wrapped up in you," you rest your free hand on hers, tucked into the crook of her elbow, taking her hint and lowering your voice to something flirty.

"And make darling Felix wait?" She teased in response. Instead of answering her properly, you ask her back to your dorm under the guise of lunch and she happily accepts.

The bike shop is closed and Felix has class and you can't even be sure if this supposed bike saviour has even returned Felix's bike by now; there's no waiting, but India likes feeling prioritised, so you keep all that to your self. India likes to feel important in Felix's life. Anyone who Felix spends even a little of his time and attention on ends up rather addicted to that feeling, to feeling special to Felix Catton, and India is one of the many who have picked up on your own importance to the man himself.

So you're not dating India. You're also not not dating India; you're a placeholder of sorts, which would be cruel to you if you didn't like her well enough or if you weren't satisfied taking your fun with her. It would also probably be cruel to India if she knew the truth, that Felix thought she was hot and wasn't ready to commit to maybe dating her, but that he was getting that way he sometimes got about people, that he wanted them around, wanting to not share them, but without devoting himself to them. That's where you come in. A placeholder. A proxy. An almost. Someone who makes this pretty girl feel important and close to Felix. Someone Felix isn't worried about falling in love with India even while keeping her happy and around.

When you arrive late to the King's Arms with your own around India's shoulders, Felix lights up while Farleigh, from beside him, narrows his eyes with a smirk.

"Cute shade of lipstick," he says slyly, even as he moves over at Felix's insistence to fit both yourself and India in the booth beside him. Farleigh flicks the collar of the shirt you'd thrown on in a rush to get dressed for afternoon classes, "on both of you."

"Are you jealous, Farleigh?" India grins, taking it all in stride as you pull your collar out with your thumb to try and inspect it. India's lipstick was smeared faintly against the collar from where she'd been enthusiastically kissing her way down your jaw a few hours earlier.

"Of course," Farleigh's sly smile widens to a cocky grin, and he winks at her, while she leans over you to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth with a wicked grin.

"Right in front of her partner?" Annabel, Felix's latest fling was on his other side, reaching over Felix to shove Farleigh's shoulder with a scandalised laugh.

"Not really together," India mused, even as she shifted to lean heavily against you, her arm around you and tucking herself up by your side. You nodded in kind, shrugging as Felix had to hide his laughter in his pint.

"And besides," Farleigh declares in a voice you knew all too well, "if anyone knows how to share it's Y/N," with a cheshire-cat smile and making a show of putting his hand far up your thigh under the table. Surprised by the outright boldness of it all, Felix, who had been trying to take a sip to cover his amusement, ends up snorting beer out of his nose as he laughs, which sets the whole table off.

It's later in the night, several rounds of drinks and plates of chips, when you finally remember to ask Felix about his bike. There's this look in his eyes as he recounts the details, how he'd somehow gotten on the wrong side of something small and sharp when he'd been found by his 'absolute hero'.

"Ollie," he says brightly, "Ollie - Oliver - something, I don't -" he's babbling, and though he doesn't at the time, both yourself and Farleigh react, though in vastly different ways.

"Oliver?" Farleigh draws out the name with disdain, like it's done him some sort of personal affront, or set off a bad smell, judging by his expression.

"Don't make that face," Felix rolls his eyes, giving Farleigh a good-natured shove, but it's all becoming background noise to you as you glance over your shoulder. In your mind, all you can focus on the brief but captivating moments you shared with a blue-eyed Oliver just this morning. As if by fate, when you finally come back to reality, and realise you're staring at the bar, you see those same blue eyes staring back at you, intense and surprised.

"There he is!" Behind you, Felix's voice raises above the din of the pub with barely restrained glee, "Ollie! Oliver! Oliver!" And immediately those blue eyes snap to your attention-grabbing best friend, "come over here, mate!" Felix insists, and you drop your gaze with a faint smile.

As Felix loudly and insistently vies for Oliver's attention and company, you briefly raise your gaze, only to see the disdain on Farleigh's face having grown immensely.

Oliver. Farleigh's classmate Oliver. Insufferable tutoring Oliver. Know-it-all Oliver. 'Thus' Oliver. No regard for style in his academics or his wardrobe Oliver.

Felix's hero, Oliver.

Considering how much joy Farleigh took from ribbing you at every given opportunity, just to see your squirm for his amusement, you supposed you could take some joy from his discomfort in this moment. When he sees your smug smile he scowls at you.

"This guy's my fucking hero," you've heard that warmth in Felix's voice a hundred times over, "just telling everyone how you saved my ass today," you wonder how long it will take Oliver to fall for him too.

Oliver, for his part, plays at being abashed as the rest of the group gives him faint compliments, gaze surprisingly shallow as he takes you all in. Keeping your own eyes down for the moment, you take the cigarette from India that you'd been sharing with her. You quickly reach into Felix's jean pocket beside you for the lighter you know is there, and when you look up to light it, cigarette poised between your lips, you see Oliver's gaze momentarily focused on the lack of space between yourself and Felix, where your hand had disappeared. Felix, you know without even having to look at him, hasn't even looked away from Oliver once.

"Take a seat, I owe you a drink," Felix grins, and is already shoving the few people on his left, before you put a hand on his arm to get him to settle down.

"Could you get the next round, India?" You ask her quietly, and though she hesitates for a moment, she relents, considering it was meant to be her shout after all.

Oliver is hesitating as India stands and smooths out her skirt, heading for the bar, and finally Felix remembers that most people's worlds don't revolve around him.

"Oh, sorry, are you with friends?"

Another moment of deliberation from Oliver, before he finally relents to Felix, and agrees to join them. Looking around, there's a chair next to a table behind Farleigh that was going unused, or -

When you pat the now empty seat at the end of the booth beside yourself, you're not looking at Oliver. Chin in your hand and cigarette poised between your fingers, you're giving Farleigh a grin that's all teeth, while he looks like he's trying to stave off a sudden tension headache.

"Come here, Oliver Quick," you refuse to explain your smug smile, "I don't bite."

"Yes they do," Farleigh huffs in irate response, to which most of the rest of the group cracks up. The leather beside you shifts, and you can feel the heat Oliver radiates before you even look at him.

"Quick, Oliver Quick!" Felix, behind you, is muttering almost to himself, before adding, "wait, how did you know that?" And throwing himself practically over your shoulder as you'd turned to face Oliver properly.

"We met this morning," you say quietly, gaze fixed on Oliver's, on the way he's taking you both in. With Felix's chin on your shoulder, the two of you cheek to cheek and watching him with interest, it could be enough to send anyone else running. But his gaze isn't the shallow one he'd ghosted across the others, he's drinking this moment, and the both of you, in. Smile stretching wide across your face and you tip your head against Felix's, "just as lovely as I thought," and turning your face even slightly towards Felix means your lips against his temple, not that either of you seem to mind, "your hero."

"My fuckin' hero," Felix agrees adamantly, though you and he sit back as India approaches with a tray of pints and an exasperated look.

"And you've given up my seat," she sighs, placing the drinks on the table for everyone else to take their share. Farleigh's already passive-aggressively reached behind himself to grab the extra empty chair, and you promise to make it up to her with a heavy layer of implications that the rest of the table snickers at.

Introductions are made and drinks are had and the night carries on apace until you, at the very least, felt like you could call yourself reasonably wasted. Despite how quiet Oliver is in the general conversation, Felix makes a point of always including him, arm around your shoulders so he can lean across you to talk to him, while Oliver just tried to keep up.

Everything about Oliver shouted that these people weren't his people; his clothes, his accent, his vernacular, his very unfamiliarity with who so many of them were considering their families were often titans of industry. Still, you respected the effort he was making to keep up. Whenever even the hint of a joke at Oliver's expense could be felt in the air, Felix shut it down, and though it started out subtle, it became less so as the night wore on; the grateful look on Oliver's face, even as he tried to duck to hide it, said how much he appreciated the gesture.

It's decided almost unanimously by the time you have to buy a round that it should be the first round of shots for the table. Several more would be to come, but you were getting tequila, and all the fanfare that came with it.

Getting back to the table you find Oliver's slid into your spot by Felix. Though he tries to apologise and get up, you shush him, insisting it's fine as you sit down next to him with the tray of shots topped with lime wedges, and the shot glass half full of salt for the table the bartender had kindly provided.

"You do know this is why I was late to my tutorial this morning," Felix still helped himself to a shot glass with lime as the salt was being passed around the table.

"Salt?" Oliver frowned at the glass in front of him, "lime?"

"You've never done tequila shots before?" Farleigh scoffed, holding India's hand up in front of himself where she'd offered it to him to apply salt.

"No, I haven't," is all Oliver can say awkwardly, watching as Farleigh sprinkled a line of salt across the back of India's aloft hand, licking it up in one swift motion before he took the shot and bit the lime in quick succession.

"Salt, shot, lime," you give Oliver a nudge to bring his attention back to you.

"Salt, shot, lime," Oliver repeats, looking from his glass to the glass full of salt that Felix had reached over and brought to your side of the table, "do I have to lick the salt off of someone else?"

"Not necessarily," Felix says from his other side, while Annabel giggled and allowed him to apply salt to her hand.

"More fun that way," she adds coyly.

"Not unless you want to," your own shot glass sits untouched, salt now sitting between both your glasses.

"Do you- should I-" Oliver's stumbling over his words, fidgeting with the end of the lime.

"Lick it off their neck," Farleigh barked from across the table, and though you tried to tell Oliver that he didn't have to do anything like that, and Felix's disappointed admonishment of his cousin, the entire rest of the table, who had finished their own shots and were now invested in the drama, light up with agreement.

"You're so crass, you're gonna give him the wrong idea," Felix groaned, rolling his eyes with frustration.

"I love Y/N but I don't think there is a wrong idea about them -"

"Watch what the fuck you say about them, Farleigh -"

"Watch what I say about your fucking dog-?"

"I'll lick their neck!" Oliver announces at the top of his lungs, interrupting the vicious barb, and the way Felix had practically leapt across half the table in a sudden fury. For a long moment, tense silence hangs in the air, Farleigh half out of his chair, wearing a sneer, and Felix braced over the table with white-knuckled fists pressed into the woodgrain. Then, as Felix sits back down and things begin to ease, once again all eyes return to Oliver, who's shifting in his seat, looking at you with almost apology in his eyes, "if- if you're okay with that."

After a beat, you break into a self deprecating smile.

"I do like getting my neck licked," you laughed, and immediately angled your head and pulled the collar of your shirt to the side so he could have a better angle and more of your shoulder to apply salt. The tension dropped almost entirely as everyone but Farleigh and Felix burst out in cheers. Chatter arose again as Oliver fumbled with the salt, but you caught Felix's eyes from behind him. Tension in his brow that you longed to smooth away, and discomfort in his gaze, but when you smiled you could see him take a breath, and smile back.

"I won't bite," it comes as a surprise when you hear Oliver say this, so quiet only you can hear as he diligently applies a sprinkle of salt to the soft skin of where your throat meets your shoulder, "promise," you can't see his expression but you think you can hear him smirking. It actually sounds almost like flirting.

India's been glaring at you across the table whenever she hasn't been flirting overtly with Farleigh for the past half an hour. So you flirt back.

"Not even if I ask nicely?" You murmur back, trying to repress the thrill that the whole moment was giving you. You hear the faintest, momentary rumble of a laugh from Oliver before you feel his hand on your thigh as if to steady himself, and his tongue on your neck. It's barely a second of contact, the delicate caress of his mouth as he licked the line of salt clear from your skin. Quickly, he then takes the shot, and swallows before biting down on the lime, making a pained face as the table cheered.

His hand is still on your thigh; his grip is tight.

As he's spluttering and grinning and Felix is clapping him on the back for the effort, he's rather abashedly offering himself to you, if you'd like to repeat the same salt process on him -

"You've done enough for your first shot, Ollie," you told him with a fond nudge, happily applying salt to the back of your own hand, completing the ritual with far less fanfare. Still, when you glance past Oliver to Felix, you see the way he's regarding the newcomer, with a kind of awe and warmth. This too you know well.

Crammed so close in the booth, Felix's arm stays around Oliver's shoulders for most of the rest of the night, and while no-one can see it, Oliver's hand remains on your thigh. Sometimes he taps along to the music of the pub that you've already tuned out, sometimes he's rubbing small circles with his thumb, or give you a squeeze when he's laughing at a joke, but it never waivers.

The more drunk you become, the more you find yourself leaning into him, and you begin to tune out the conversation, focusing only on your drink, the warmth of Oliver and his hand on you, and on the sensation of Felix's hand playing with your hair since his arm was around Oliver's shoulders, and you're leaning your head against him.

Everything's become blurry, your brain is still trying to catch up after you take another shot from muscle memory alone when Farleigh starts insisting on Oliver shout the next round, and for that round to be jaeger bombs.

"We just did shots," you shake your head with a faint frown, but the movement makes you feel all kind of queasy.

"You tapping out?" Farleigh, in much better spirits considering how many he'd consumed, is all wide, challenging smiles full of teeth.

"Nope," you again shake your head, against your better judgement, "never ever ever." Everything is spinning, even with your eyes closed.

"Then you shouldn't be letting Ollie snake his way out of paying for his round," Farleigh sounds all kinds of smug, and despite how you're all kind of done with him for tonight, and Oliver is trying to insist that he's not trying to wiggle out of paying for a round, the rest of the table have apparently taken up Farleigh's crusade. They're booing him, hissing at him, while Farleigh's smugness screams social triumph; you can feel Oliver's fingers twitching on your thigh, like he wants to be fidgeting but can't bring himself to let you go.

"Fine," Oliver relents to the peer pressure, letting you go and throwing his hands in the air, "can you move a sec?" He asks, and you shuffle out to let him past, before scooting back in and back beside a once more frustrated Felix.

Farleigh argues that it's the rules of the pub when Felix asks him to give Oliver a break, but you don't really hear them. You've cleared enough space on the table in front of you to be able to cross your arms on the table, laying your head on your arms to try and see if it would help. Felix is rubbing soothing circles on your back as he argues with Farleigh, probably out of pure habit, so you try and focus on that sensation, and picking a point that you see that you can focus on.

Everything's sideways, the bar, the people, the street outside, but it doesn't matter. In the moments you find yourself focusing on Oliver in the cool light of the bar, everything else falls away. He looks antsy and uncomfortable, watching the bartender pour the shots, wallet in his hand. You'd have paid in a heartbeat if Farleigh hadn't been so insistent on attacking Oliver's pride. Everything else about him was so charmingly ordinary, perhaps that's why Farleigh was infuriated by him, and why he'd attacked Oliver's pride, one of the few things that Farleigh probably believed Oliver had of value to himself.

Tomorrow, you and Farleigh were having words.

Tonight, you wanted to somehow help Oliver without making any kind of big deal about it. Problem was, you weren't sure how. You weren't even sure if you were capable of walking in straight line right now.

"Fi -" when you turn your head to your other side, you see Felix, half finished a cigarette, with a pensive look on his face as he too was watching Oliver. When he looks at you there's a moment that the two of you share, of understanding, of compassion and a shared goal, "can you get me a glass of water?" You asked, knowing he'd take the hint. Thankfully, he smiles at you, the two of you shuffling once more so he could get out of the booth and head towards Oliver and the bar.

Leaning on the end of the booth, you wait for Felix to return before you sit back down, instead focusing on the interaction between the two men at the bar. It's not that you can hear them, but you can see the grateful but anxious look in Oliver's eyes, and the way he can't look away from Felix's smile, and something sharp and bright and intrigued lights up in your chest.

There's a moment as the interaction begins winding down, when Felix takes the tray of drinks, and looks back at your gathered group of friends. His eyes meet yours, faint flicker of familiar affection passing in the next moment as he says something else to Oliver before he's making a beeline back to the group.

"Thank you, Ollie!" He announces brightly, much to the cheer and delight of the rest of the group once the jaeger bombs are set down at the table. Caught up in the sudden influx of joy, you chant Ollie's name, clapping along, not even realising that since you'd let go of the booth you were starting to take on a lean.

"You're fucking legless," Felix crows with laughter, who had already slid back into the booth and was now taking you by the arm and sitting you back down beside himself, "I'm cutting you off, you're on the waters now," he joked, arm around you to steady you, though you weren't inclined to disagree. Thankfully, in the next moment, a water was being placed in front of you, and a cheer was once again rising from the group as Oliver rejoined you all, bashful smile on his face as everyone was lavishing praise on him for following through with buying the round.

The glass was cold and clear and faintly frosted, few ice cubes floating delicately on top of the pint of water before you, looking absolutely perfect in this golden, humid pub. Even just reaching out and holding the cold glass of water in your hands seemed to make everything a little less blurry at the edges.

As you dragged the glass towards you, surprised by your sudden craving for fresh, cold water, praise tumbles from your lips, words half blurring together, and Oliver takes his seat once more beside you.

"Ollie, you're my fucking hero."

[saintslewis]

❝ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐀 ❞

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem!oc - Nadia Hamilton

summary: a rainy day in the South of France has put you two closer than you would think.

warnings: outfit descriptions, cussing, suggestive gestures, pet names, links to visuals, a bit of smau (i’ll make a separate chapter for that 😭)

saint’s team radio 🎀: hey y’all, Nadia misses you guys! Sorry I took forever with this, it was a lot on my plate along with a whole lotta drafts that i made up 🧍🏽‍♀️ i love you guys 🥹 LEWDIA IS BACK!!!

renaissance: the masterlist • pots: social media

tags are down below! (let me know if you want to be tagged!)

fc: @/unclewaffles_ on ig!

pics are from ig and pinterest

-

It’s 8 am and Nadia couldn’t feel any lighter, a smile painted on her face as she descended down the stairs of her LA home.

Vanilla and cinnamon scented candles were lit around the living room along with the kitchen area, clean and ready for the amazing breakfast she was going to make for when Lewis woke up. The satin pyjamas smelled like his cologne and surprisingly, she felt refreshed after a wild night out with her friends.

Except it wasn’t 8 am on a Sunday morning.

“Are my earrings too loud?” Nadia exclaimed, holding her ears as she stood in front of Amara who was leaning on the Jeep she and Miles came in.

“What?” Amara slurred and giggled right after with her eyes barely open.

“You can’t hear them?” She shook her head, feeling her head sway much faster than it actually did.

Amara just laughed out loud at Nadia’s confusion. “Tinkerbell, they’re veeeeery quiet.” She managed to get her words out, her eyes barely open.

When Nadia is high, she’s a very special person. Her curiosity skyrockets and she can hold a conversation for hours about literally anything. How she got to this point was just 40 minutes before, she had asked for something sweet because she had a sour taste in her mouth and Amara just so happened to give her 2 edibles.

Miles had suggested that they all head home and the girls get some air from being the packed party. The Jeep luckily had an open roof for the cool air and the boys just watched the exchange between Nadia and Amara, laughing at almost everything they said.

“I really want pancakes. Oh! Pookie bear, can we make pancakes when we get home?” Nadia expressed her excitement when she thought of the idea although not knowing the time. All Lewis did was smile at the eager girl, holding onto his coat just in case she felt cold.

“Brotha, just as a me and you talk. How you feelin since Nadia came into your life?” Miles asked, crossing his arms as he watched the two women laugh at a bug on the window shield.

Taking a breath, Lewis began. “It’s been fun having someone around, I won’t lie. She had a whole life before me and I feel guilty watching her change her life around to help me with my image. I think she sees this as a friendship and I wouldn’t put it past her to not. She’s a breath of fresh air.” He spoke.

“Just wanna point out you did not look at me the entire time you said all that.” Miles laughed, earning an eye roll from his friend. “But it is very nice to hear you speak about someone like this. Nads is a brilliant one, so I’ve heard from the grapevine.” The tall man nodded as he talked.

“The grapevine being Amara?” Lewis teased which earned him a push on the arm. “Shush. Anyways, she went to Cambridge then Oxford and she’s a teacher. If you fuck this up, Carl Davidson, you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” Miles pointed at Lewis who just took everything in.

“Who knows? She could’ve had a line of people waiting for her but she wanted to help you out of the goodness of her heart, dealing with your stubborn ass. My point is me and the crew already love her and her personality so please.” He concluded, making the “i’m watching you” gesture and they both laughed.

“Let me go make those pancakes and I’ll let you know.” Lewis chuckled at the thought of making pancakes with Nadia at 11 pm, mere hours before they have to leave for Monaco.

Eventually getting the women into the car and them immediately requesting to play music and sing their hearts out, the group drove off into the nighttime and it wasn’t long until they reached the Los Angeles home.

“Bye Mars, bye fencer.” Nadia exclaimed, dragging out the last letter of their given nicknames. The jeep drove out of the large gates and the two walked to the front door with held hands, mainly to keep Nadia from tripping on her own two feet. Once in the house, Lewis could tell that she was about to head for the kitchen first but he held her hand much tighter which made her whine out.

“But the pancakes, Lew.” She whined as he pulled her in front of her. “I know, Nads. Let’s just take our shoes off before we go make them.” He smiled, watching as she leaned herself on the hallway wall with her eyes staring daggers into his.

“You’re no fun.” Nadia rolled her eyes but she could feel her body tingling as he continued to hold intense eye contact with her.

“Wanna repeat that?” Lewis smirked and she shook her head, feeling her high slip away a little as Nadia felt all the emotions.

Kneeling down, Lewis put his hand out to her legs so that she could get her slightly stained shoes off. With each antagonising minute that passed, she watched the man gently take her shoes off and neatly putting them next to the wall but what truly sat with her was how close he was to where her daydreams led her to.

“Thank you.” Nadia whispered out to him, watching him stand to his full height. “No problem, sweetie.” He winked and linked his hand with hers once again, seeing how gone she was, the plan of making pancakes out the window.

Going upstairs, reality started becoming clearer the closer she got to the top step. As nervous as she was, Nadia wanted something without her being the first one to make the first move. “Could you help me with my corset?” She blurted out, ignoring the butterflies flying around her stomach.

“Lead the way.” Lewis moved to the side to allow her to enter her room first. Thankful she left it clean, she slowly walked to the en suite bathroom with him following her closely behind. The mirror reflection showed him with his hands in his pockets, the coat long forgotten downstairs. Her breath hitched when she made eye contact with him through the mirror, her hands holding onto the edge of the bathroom counter.

To try and ignore the rising tension between them, Nadia played a little with her hair and Lewis took this as an opportunity to really drink her in. Every item she wore sat on her body so well, her jewellery shining representing her personality. He internally thanked the universe for bringing such a woman into his life, watching her fidget about and eventually finding a claw clip for the wig she wore.

Nadia raised her hands to attempt to take the jewels off but he reached out first, standing dangerously close to her and she could feel his fingers graze the back of her neck with goosebumps rising on her skin. It didn’t take long until Lewis gently placed the accessories on the marble counter and took a step back but she wished he stayed longer behind her, it felt all too right.

“You really shouldn’t look at people like that.” Nadia muttered, taking off her bracelets next. “So I shouldn’t appreciate my wife just existing?” Lewis smirked, his hands now behind his back.

“Said the same thing back at the party, white boy didn’t even know.” She smiled at the memory, deciding to take off her makeup before taking the corset off also just to keep Lewis in her company a little longer.

“Sweetie, he knew. Pretty sure he watched you for a while before he did that stunt.” He said, watching intently how she took her makeup off.

Scoffing a bit, she dragged the damp cotton ball across her eye. “Stunt? Dare I say you sound a lil jealous, Sir.” She chuckled. Lewis didn’t respond, he just kept his eyes on her and watched her try to shy away from the intense look he was giving her with a small smile on his face.

“You looked really good today.” He complimented. One thing Nadia didn’t want to show was how easy it was for her to fold at his words but she couldn’t help it. “Boy, you’re over here making me blush.” She gave him a smile through the mirror, appreciating the way their friendship was going.

Lewis shrugged. “Glad it was me and not that white boy.” He rolled his eyes and got a loud laugh out of her as she was dabbing her face with a small towel. “I knew you were jealous!”

“Yeah yeah.” Now it was his turn to shy away so that Nadia couldn’t see the growing smile on his face.

“Can you break down this upcoming week for me? I won’t hold you, I’m super nervous.” She asked, turning around to face him then leaning on the counter.

“We’ll be staying at home this week, first thing. Might get my hair done in time for Versace then the rest of the week is prep for the race weekend.” He spoke, scratching his head afterwards.

“I sent Tia some ideas for your outfit and she went ahead and got it, she said it’ll be in Monaco by the time we get there. She also said it’s hella bougie over there so I need to up my game this week.” Nadia said then nodded afterwards.

The two conversed about everything she could possibly expect from the Monaco Grand Prix weekend and how wild it could get. As promised, he had helped her with her corset clips and choosing to ignore that they could cut the tension with a knife.

They said good night to each other quite awkwardly before heading to bed.

Baby steps, Nadia thought.

iMessage!

The girlies 🫦

nads: i won’t lie to you guys, we had a moment

charlotte (not tilbury) : LEWDIA IS HAPPENING???

personal pillow amara: FINALLY also how are you not high out of your mind?

nataliaaaa: you got tinkerbell high?

charlotte (not tilbury): can we focus on the two lovebirds pls !!!

charlotte (not tilbury): you’re not off the hook amara 🤨

nads: my high disappeared SO QUICK but it felt so real, i blushed

nataliaaa: tink, i’m going to need you to STAND UP. it’s damn near 1 am ‼️

nads: sorry 😭 just wanted to update my girls but i’ll def tell you the deets in monaco if you guys are coming?

personal pillow amara: unfortunately i have work so i’ll miss so much iconic shit 😔

charlotte (not tilbury): oh no 😔 i’ll definitely fill up my phone storage for you mars x

nataliaaa: mars, we got you 🫵🏽. now let’s get some sleep before our flight!

three people liked this message!

(+44) 34 - *** - ****

yo nads, it’s cench

nadia: what do you want

central cee (unfort.): so me and dave are heading to mons this week for the race and what not

nadia: so what’s that got to do with me

central cee (unfort.): c’mon don’t be like that

nadia: girl wtf do you want

central cee (unfort.): we shootin that weekend so we had the brilliant plan that you could be in the vid 😁

nadia: bye cench, don’t annoy me this week. tell dave i said hi though

central cee (unfort.): nads 🧍🏽‍♂️

nadia: AHT AHT you lost the privilege to call me that after that little stunt you tried to pull in front of my boys

central cee (unfort.): it was for the beta squad vid

nadia: go talk to the wall. bye.

central cee (unfort.) has been blocked!

-

MONTE CARLO, MONACO

In Europe, it’s always raining somewhere and today, Mother Nature chose Monaco to spread her showers.

The pair had landed a few hours earlier, crashing into their beds after a quick penthouse tour which left Nadia speechless. A well deserved nap later, soft music played from the house speakers and vanilla scented incense wafted through the air while she looked through the kitchen for ingredients for pancakes, also making sure they hadn’t gone past the expiry date.

Although it was raining outside, it wasn’t as cold inside. Satisfied with how the first pancake came out, she continued pouring a bit of the batter into the pan. “Maybe I should melt some chocolate.” She muttered to herself, biting the edge of her nail while rotating the pan around.

Lewis couldn’t help but look at his wife in admiration once again, everything about her was endearing to him. He knew she was different from anyone he’d been with, despite the obvious that she wasn’t famous. He appreciated her showing her personality from the moment anyone meets her, the genuine feelings she expresses to everything and her support.

Not to mention her reactions to anything he buys for her, he loves the smile that spreads across her face when she sees something she likes and he wants to keep that smile there forever.

“It smells good in here, chef.” Lewis spoke, leaning on the kitchen counter and watched her prepare their pancakes. Nadia flinched at the sound of his voice, not expecting him to wake up anytime soon.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack one day, pookie.” Nadia said, pointing the spatula in his direction. Sliding the cooked pancakes in his direction for taste test, she continued making the others.

“I still wanna melt some chocolate so go right ahead and tell me what you think.” She informed, not realising that he had not once glanced at the food in front of him. “I’ll wait up for you to finish so that we can eat together.” Lewis spoke, going as far as to lean his head on his hand.

Turning to face him, she put her hand on her hip. “I wanna wash the dishes before I eat, it’s one of the weird things I do.”

“I’ll help. Looks like we’ve got more in common than we thought.”

With Nadia drying off the dishes, Lewis stuck to washing duty and it would’ve been a fairly quick process if the two didn’t sing all the songs that came up. “Damn you can sing sing! Might make you sing for me every day.” She joked, drying off the last bowl used for chocolate chips and moved around the spacious kitchen to put it away.

“Whatever you say, Nads.” Lewis cleaned up the sink then turn to watch her struggle to put the bowl back because the cupboard was too high.

Deciding to help her, he held her waist and hoisted her up then helped her down, the two gazing at each other afterwards. There was that tension again, one step from either of them and their chests would be touching.

Neither had made any move to look elsewhere, getting lost in each other’s eyes. Choosing to be bold, Lewis dragged his eyes to her plump moisturised lips, waiting for something to happen. Anything.

The doorbell ringing is what brought them out of their moment, both looking at the front door as if they had been caught. Hooking her finger to his infamous pearl necklace, Lewis could barely comprehend her lips on the corner of his mouth. A quick peck and her lipgloss now transferred onto him.

“I’ll go get it.” Nadia smirked then gave the shocked man a wink, moving to head to the front door, revealing Tia carrying two Versace bags. “Am I interrupting somethin here?” Tia voiced out before entering the penthouse.

“Hello to you, Tia.” Nadia greeted, closing the front door and following behind.

“I’ve got your outfits for tomorrow!”

-

“It’s way too early for this shit but but I look good that’s all that matters.” Nadia spoke to herself, spraying the last bit hairspray to the back of her head then adding one last hairpin.

Fixing her dress afterwards, she stared at herself in the mirror and was extremely happy with her choice. She was more than curious to see how Lewis’ outfit came about since she was given the opportunity to style him.

The theme for this event was all black while Donatella Versace and Dua Lipa’s vision was for the runway outfits to be the stars of the show. Going through fashion blogs and archives late at night when she couldn’t sleep, she made sure she built up a good enough outfit to add to her portfolio.

Nadia knew his braider came over this morning whilst she was styling her own wig and she was excited to see the finished product on him. Seeing her Louboutins waiting to be worn on the floor, she decided to make him take photos of her before they left.

Lifting her dress in order for her to not trip on it, Nadia walked to the main bedroom knowing very well that he was there because she could hear his footsteps. “Pookie, could you take some photos of me before we leave. I want to make…sure….” Nadia couldn’t finish her sentence as the man she was looking for walked out of his closet adjusting the black shirt he wore.

“Damn.” She whispered lowly but he had heard her and her previous request. The all black outfit accentuated his physique along with the tailored pants. On anyone else, the outfit wouldn’t be as exciting but on him, it had a completely different style to it. Very minimal jewellery but goodness did it work with the outfit.

“You look gorgeous, Nads. Extremely gorgeous.” Lewis complimented, fixing his watch. She didn’t want to show that the compliment got to her but her pursed lips and high cheekbones were a result of it. “Thank you, Lew.” She voiced.

Eventually, the pair had taken all the pictures they could before leaving. The show had been a success, Donatella had absolutely adored Nadia and how she presented herself to the fashion world. Lewis stood back and watched as she met so many people with such grace and kindness, networking without even realising. Not to mention Dua Lipa going crazy upon finally meeting Nadia, only ever interacting online. Best believe most of the garments were already being sent to Nadia’s doorstep.

-

With Friday quickly approaching, Nadia sat in the passenger seat of the sf90, texting her younger cousin who finally arrived in the uk the day before. The tension from earlier on in the week was still present but it was masked up with their friendship. Both had tried to distract themselves from it by spending time away from each other; Nadia with the other wags and Lewis with Miles and Spinz but it only got worse because of the space.

The traffic that day was awful but they had somehow gotten to the paddock in time. The atmosphere in Monaco was buzzing with excitement and people were everywhere donning their merch and waiting for their favourite driver to arrive. As always, the Mercedes garage was full with tons more celebrities than there were in Miami.

Spending most of her time with Charlotte, Nadia gathered up the courage to tell her about everything going on with a certain UK rapper. “Wait wait. So he’s still pining for you or what?” The blonde held Nadia’s hands across the table at the Paddock Club, overlooking the garages.

“I rejected him when he tried the first time. We continued being acquaintences until now, I guess. Mind you, this man basically asked if I wanted to be a video vixen.” Nadia rolled her eyes at the whole thing.

“The audacity of this man.” Charlotte said with a disgusted expression. She looked behind Nadia for a moment, watching this person walk closer and closer to them.

“Nads?”

“Yeah?”

“You said he wears a ‘23’ chain?”

“Uh huh…”

“Let’s go, he’s coming over here but he’s distracted right now.” Jumping out of her seat, Charlotte grabbed Nadia’s hand and quickly lead her out to the ever-busy paddock. “Damn, Lottie. Warn a girl next time.” Nadia chuckled as they slowed down and walked leisurely, practice not starting until an hour’s time.

Talking about anything that came to mind, Nadia had accidentally bumped into someone’s shoulder, immediately apologising until she saw who stood in front of her with a gigantic smile on his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” He apologised, several Portuguese words following right after. Neymar Jr opted to continue staring at Nadia, all his focus on the woman in front of him. “It’s okay, I’m Nadia Hamilton. Nice to meet you.” She smiled, still holding onto Charlotte’s hand very tightly.

“Ah! Lewis’ wife! I must say you are very beautiful.” Neymar spoke and just like that, Nadia’s smile slightly faltered. “Right! This is Charlotte, my close friend.” She introduced the two to each other but he had his eyes on his friend’s wife.

“You know I never thought I would meet you. I wanted to ask Lewis but as always, he’s busy.” Neymar was trying and Nadia thought it was an adorable attempt. Within the span of a second, Lewis appeared behind Neymar on his scooter, with such a dark look in his eyes.

Charlotte squeezed Nadia’s hand once more to pay attention to her surroundings and once she did, she locked eyes with the man of the hour.

The girls watched as Lewis interacted with Neymar as if he didn’t just look at him in such a way that brought chills down their spines. “I see you’ve met Char and my wife, Nads.” The driver turns to them, reaching to embrace Nadia with Charlotte immediately catching the drift and texting the girls about it.

On the outside, this interaction looked all too friendly with old friends catching up just before Lewis has to get out on track. The look in Lewis' eyes said it all and Nadia couldn’t help but be entertained. Watching the thirsty footballer walk away in defeat and Charlotte running away to go tell Miles and Spinz everything, the pretend couple stood right by his scooter with cameras clearly pointing at them.

Keeping his arm around her shoulders, he leaned down to her ear. “You know you have cameras following your every move,right? You think that was a nice move, princess?” He spoke and she felt the vibrations of his voice travel down her body, resisting the urge to cross her legs.

“No…” She replied.

“Also your little rapper friend came around looking for you. Says he’s shooting for his music video.” He lifted his head to make it look like he was having a normal conversation when in reality, she was anticipating everything coming out of his mouth.

“And what did you say?” She asked, lowering her glasses from her head, following his direction. “Told him to have fun, it’s Monaco after all.” He smirked, he was enjoying this way too much.

All she could do was nod. The last thing she wanted was for that man to meet Lewis and now he’s taken it upon himself to go above himself and Lewis was entertaining it all.

On one of the huge screens right by the grandstands, the camera man made sure to keep the camera on them but Lewis on one step ahead of him. “Smile for the camera, Mrs Hamilton.” He quietly said with a smirk, patting her lower back and that brought goosebumps on her skin.

She smiled the best way she could, showing off her tooth gems.

What the hell? Nadia thought.

-

“This entire weekend has not been real.” Nadia groaned as she put her head in her hands, her left wrist heavier than the other. The music was blasting loudly as she watched her friends partied from the booth. Their way of persuading her being “He’s driving, you’re not. Let’s go have fun!”

The ‘fun’ in question was shopping, driving around Monaco in different sports cars each, participating in random street interviews and almost ending up in that music video. Not to mention Tia gifting her an iced out Rolex signed by her crew back in the uk, a few tears escaping as she opened the watch just before Lewis left for Qualifying.

However, Nadia Hamilton had no clue what her and her friends were doing at a club as the race was being held, only on lap 12. She was exhausted, these past two weeks finally getting to her and the thought of having to return to work next week made her cringe. No drinks had entered her system but she could feel the headache coming through.

Grabbing her shoulder bag, Nadia headed to the bar to let her friends know that she’ll catch up with them later at the post-race party that apparently everyone attends. Hopping in the Lamborghini and fastening her seat belt, the woman sat back and really thought about her life at the moment.

No less than three months ago, she had finished off paying her student loan 3 years after she received her honours degree from Oxford. Thinking that she finally felt a weight lifted from her shoulders after submitting the final payment but it was nothing compared to how she was living now. Financially free to do whatever she wanted.

She knew it was a dangerous thought to have because truly, no one knows how long this ‘marriage’ between her and Lewis will last. Once he’s no longer in different scandals, will he kick her out? Will he take back the gifts and cars? Who knows. But one thing Nadia knew was that there is always going to be a plan b if the first one doesn’t work out.

Still owns her car, her apartment and places her salary in her savings account just in case this doesn’t carry through.

Hearing the roar of the sports car through the streets of Monaco had caught the attention of those outside of the track, Nadia quickly rushing to the penthouse to avoid the not-so kind weather approaching. Sending a good luck text to Lewis knowing very well he couldn’t read it, she crashed onto the couch after a shower and watched the race whilst occasionally watching from the balcony.

P4 was a good result although she wished for a podium, proud of him either way and her instagram story was evidence. After a few hours of chilling and cooking up some good pasta, Lewis got home and she made sure to hug him with excitement.

“You did the damn thing out there, boy! Those old ass motherfuckers had no idea what they were saying.” Nadia cheesed as she let go of the hug. He was pleasantly surprised at all this energy considering she was out all day.

“I mean, it’s not the result we wanted but I worked my ass off today.” He spoke, placing his stuff down on the kitchen counter. He stood next to her as she too leaned against the counter with her arms crossed.

“By the way, our friends have invited us to the post-race party at Lillie’s.” She pursed her lips then looked at his side profile. “What’s your say?”

“I don’t know, some Brazilian guy’ll be there and want your full attention.” Lewis shrugged.

“So..you?”

Kissing his teeth at her response, she burst into laughter. “I had to, that shit was funny.” Nadia wheezed as she looked at his stoic expression. “Damn,” she wiped a tear of laughter. “Let me go change so I can piss you off even more at the cluuuub!” She stood up straight and walked to her room, cackling loudly as she did. Leaving him to shake his head and laugh at her little jokes.

A good hour had passed and she was surprisingly ready in time. Wanting to keep as many memories of the weekend, Nadia took many photos be it serious or with personality. However, she wanted to change scenery so she went ahead to the living area that had a mirror and had an impromptu photoshoot.

Not noticing Lewis’ heavy footsteps walking around, she only looked up after a few moments and caught him admiring her. He sat on the couch manspread with his arm under his chin although his eyes were telling a different story.

Nadia took one glimpse at his outfit consisting of a LV sweatshirt that resembled a football jersey, large jewellery with his cap facing backwards and a fan in his diamond-clad hand and to take it a step further, he leaned back into the couch and flashed a bright smile, revealing a new set of grillz to her.

Fuck it, she thought.

“You think they’ll mind if we’re a bit late?” She asked, slowly walking towards him until she ended up between his legs. His hand connected with hers and guided her into his lap to straddle him, both hands grabbing at her waist to bring her closer.

“They’ll be fine.” Lewis slightly bit his lip and leaned in.

Instagram!

nadiahamilton:

New message from: @/juliananalu

juliananalu: hiiii

saint’s notes 🎀: pls do not be mistaken, central cee is my man lol. hope you enjoyed!

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[simpforboys]

I have a Xavier request. I dunno if it’s been done (plus its a little cringe and a little cliche) but the ideas been stuck in my head for days - partially inspired by rose “paint me like one of your French girls” scene in titanic. Xavier asks to paint her nude or she asks. It can lead to anything I just need the idea out of my head. Another idea I had that could be linked or seperate is a reader with wings and Xavier is just like obsessed

By the way I love your work. Your JJ stuff too (goodness me) -

Anon 🐣

(Ps: have a high five 🖐️, m not keen on hugs)

my angel

xavier thorpe x fem!reader

summary: you want xavier to draw you… nude.

warnings: mentions of smut, no real smut, nudity, YOU HAVE WINGS!!!! (i pictured angel wings but go with whatever u want bae) xavier is in love with you

im combining this because omg imagine xavier drawing you and hes just obsessed with your wings and body… anyways imma get writing

initially, when you approached xavier about the idea of doing a portrait of you, he loved it.

considering he had done many sketches of your beautiful face, it should be easy.

but then you clarified what you meant.

“can you draw me like one of your french girls, xavier?” you mimicked rose from the movie, titantic.

you leaned against your boyfriend, your wings wrapping around him enough to make him flustered.

he spun around in his stool, his eyes full of admiration. he put his hands on your waist and brought you closer.

“you know i always draw you, baby.” xavier told you, referring to the multiple portraits he had done of you.

“what if i want you do draw me with my wings? with only my wings…” you trailed off. the look you gave xavier was suggestive and he couldn’t help but feel excitement.

so now, as you stood in front of xavier in nothing but a robe in the center of his dorm, he couldn’t help but feel flustered.

“where do you want me, baby?” you teased, seeing your boyfriend blush.

“how about you lay on the bed.” xavier grabbed a chair and brought it over. he watched as you gracefully dropped the robe before laying down.

his eyes roamed your naked body. he had seen it numerous times before, but for some reason this seemed more intimate.

“you’re so beautiful, y/n.” xavier whispered as he began to sketch.

you grinned at your boyfriend. he always made you feel special.

the focus look on his face as he drew you was enough to make you flustered. being so vulnerable while he memorized every part of you was intimidating.

“relax, baby. your wings are moving.”

xavier knew when you got flustered or embarrassed your wings would tend to show your emotions more than your face.

for instance, your wings had began to scrunch together instead of being fully displayed.

that’s one of the things xavier loved most about you. the way he could always tell how you felt by your wings.

he loved everything about you. he was quite literally smitten by you, ever since he first saw you.

you were never scared to be yourself.

xavier finally finished your face when he began to draw your boobs. the memories of him leaving hickies, kissing them, sucking them made xavier blush.

“what’s got you blushing, pretty boy?”

“you.”

“i’m not doing anything.” you laughed.

“you don’t need to. everything about you would make me blush.”

you couldn’t help but feel your own face warm up, wings clamping together slightly.

“babe.”

“sorry!”

➽─────────────────❥

“are you almost done? i’m half asleep over here.”

xavier laughed at your comment. he was just finishing the details on your wings, leg bouncing in anticipation.

what if you hated it?

“come look.”

you stood up from the bed, sleep in your eyes as you put on one of xavier’s shirts.

you sat on his lap as he showed you the drawing. your face turned in admiration as xavier watched your eyes light up.

“oh my god, it’s so pretty. like a renaissance portrait.”

xavier grinned, his big hands rubbing your bare thighs. “my angel, huh?”

you smiled, kissing your boyfriend.

“your angel.”

[cryptotheism]

I looked into kabbalah and the sephiroth a bit before coming across the opinion that goyim should not study kabbalah because it's a closed practice, and that the hermetic tree of life is a Christian bastardization of Jewish practices. I know you said you aren't Jewish, but as someone who's familiar with the subject matter, does that ring true to you?

Btw love your blog

I think that's partially a confusion in terms. "The Kabbalah" isn't one thing, it's more akin to a sub-field of Jewish mysticism than a single set of texts.

I'll put it this way. I've read books about Kabbalah, and listened to lecture series on the history of Jewish mysticism from Jewish esotericists. I have read a few translations of non-kabbalistic Jewish texts, largely out of historical and academic interest. I personally don't see anything wrong with that. At a certain point of engagement with the occult, I think it's actually irresponsible to be ignorant of the history of Jewish mysticism. I have no plans to practice it. It is one of the pillars supporting all of western occultism.

My real expertise as an occultist has always been the late medieval and high renaissance alchemists. I've done line-by-line close readings of Agrippa and Paracelsus. I've really gone tits deep into that little sliver of history, tried to plumb it for everything I can get out of it.

As I sit now, I would never dream of even attempting something like that for the Sefer Zohar. I could literally convert to Judaism and study for 10 years and I'm not sure I would even approach the historical, cultural, linguistic, and theological background necessary to really understand that text. I've studied the Zohar in the sense that I've heard Jewish theologians talk about it. But I feel like if I sat down with a translation, I would misunderstand it to the point of irresponsibility. Does that make sense?

[gabessquishytum]

https://www.tumblr.com/athymelyreply/741449177837584384/reggyjester-skeletalroses-so-this-is-a?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/phoebo-fugiente/741458451982630912?source=share

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So between these two posts taking me out at the knees for different reasons, I now have Corset Thoughts:

Dream is corsetiere and he vends at his local Renaissance Faire. His corsets are all handmade, high quality and absolutely beautiful. He's very popular and his stall is always full of customers, especially because he accommodates so many different body types.

Hob is at the Renaissance Faire with his girlfriend, and it is her goal to get one of Dream's corsets. She's saved up her money, brought her measurements, etc. Hob decides to indulge her and try on one of the men's corsets Dream has available, and he has a million realizations at once about his body and how good it can look in a well fitting corset.

Ultimately, Hob doesn't buy his own corset even though his girlfriend agrees he looks amazing and absolutely deserves to have a nice quality corset of his own. But Hob is saving up money to propose, and he just doesn't have the extra cash to spend it on an impulse. His girlfriend leaves happily with her purchase though and swears they'll be back next year to get her a second one AND Hob's first corset.

One year later, Hob is back but he's alone this time. Turns out they wanted different things in life so they broke up and it's fine. They're still friendly. But Hob hasn't stopped thinking about that corset. Or the gorgeous coset maker at the Faire. And now that he no longer has a girlfriend to buy an engagement ring for, he now has a lot of extra cash to buy himself a corset... or three.

Hi this is so good!!!! I’m super obsessed with corsets in general and I am constantly in awe of corsetieres, their craftsmanship, and their dedication to making things that are size inclusive. The fact that we’re all acknowledging now that men in corsets are fucking incredible is a very good thing indeed.

I’m just imagining Dream’s face lighting up because he remembers Hob from the previous year and was hoping he’d come back. If he’s honest with himself he’s VERY attracted to Hob but he disguises his interest by asking if he can take a few pictures while Hob tries on the various available styles. He’s trying to get as many pictures as possible for his website so he can show that corsets are perfect for everyone! And Hob looks so good, he clearly belongs front and centre in Dream’s new marketing strategy…

So Hob hands over his measurements, and Dream brings out a selection of different designs for him to try. Most are the traditional laced up variety, but he’s also been experimenting with Velcro as some people can’t manage the laces so easy. Hob gushes on about how talented and thoughtful Dream is, and he seems to be completely in his element as he tries each one on and poses for photos. Dream blushes and stammers and asks if Hob’s girlfriend liked her corset? Which leads to Hob explaining about the breakup.

Dream feels a huge sense of relief, and doesn’t feel quite so terrible about the fact that he can’t keep his eyes off Hob’s fantastic tits. The way the corset compresses the fabric of his shirt and makes absolutely sure that his chest hair is visible is driving Dream wild. His hands are shaking so much, he’s not even sure if the pictures he’s taking will be in focus.

Hob finally decides which corsets he’ll be taking home, and he can’t resist kissing the back of Dream’s hand in thanks. And when he cautiously asks if Dream would care to meet him at the mead tent when he’s due for a break, Dream nearly abandons his stall altogether just at the mere offer. Luckily, one of the other vendors offers to watch his stall for a bit, so Hob is able to spirit Dream away just for a little while. Yes, they do spend the whole time making out in a quiet corner, and yes, Dream does finally cop a feel of the Hoboobies.

Hob is about to have sooooo many pretty outfits designed just for him, the lucky bastard. In all fairness, he was absolutely made to wear corsets. Dream definitely isn’t letting him go!

[lokisgoodgirl]

Bow to Me [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (15) Reveals and eroticism are rife at Stark's Renaissance Faire. (w/c 4.2k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smuttish. Language.

The veil fastened to your forehead by a simple gold band billowed around your shoulders. Heavy skirts fluttered around your ankles, an approaching banner of war. Thor’s eyes grew wide with alarm, seeing your determined stride through a maze of colourful bunting. There would be no escape this time. He threw a fresh candy apple to the side mid-bite, taking off with a comical run to the nearest high topped tent. It was thirty minutes into Stark’s annual family fun-day. The theme this year? Renaissance Faire. And you were already prepared to go medieval on pretty much everybody in attendance.

Several wide-eyed children looked up at you in awe as you strode between them, the heavy folds of your skirts swishing purposefully on your way to confront the cowardly god. “Fhor is afwaid of her.” one of the children lisped, to a chorus of hushed woww’s that followed you like a breeze. You smirked, lifting the luxurious panel of the costume tent to reveal a cowering Thor trying frantically to conceal himself with ye olde dust sheet. “Desist, woman!” he whined dramatically, stretching out a hand with the sheet hanging limply, the other shielding his eyes. “Do not tempt me with your corseted bosom and coquettish wiles, I beg of you. You know not what you do!" You folded your arms, trying not to laugh. “I’m not trying to make you break the Oath of Most Ass-yoor-red Recompense, idiot - your dick is safe as far as I’m concerned.” you said, watching Thor’s eye squint between parted fingers. “You know of this?” he mumbled warily. “Oh, I know of this.” you smirked. His arms fell to his sides, a look of bamboozled relief on his face. “Thank the gods.” he murmured. “I thought for sure when I saw your fiery demeanour out yonder that you had finally come to your senses and decided you must have me.” he looked at you with sudden panic. “Not that I would-I wouldn’t...oh, do not tell my broth-” You raised a hand, his words fumbling to a merciful stop. “I need to ask you something.” you said slowly, hoping he could sense the need for some semblance of sincerity. Thor's brow furrowed. “Loki said I needed to speak to you, it’s weird – so, well he can see...he says- um, flashes of things in my head and I wondered…” you trailed off, feeling suddenly foolish under Thor’s blank stare. “Go on.” he gestured expectantly, arms folded. His brows were raised, as if you had said nothing of any note at all. It was your turn to frown. “Well, what the fuck is up with that? It’s rude.” you snapped. Thor chuckled. “You are in love with him. Obviously.” he scoffed, turning over his shoulder to glance at himself in the mirror. He smoothed a rogue blonde strand, pouting. “Why do people keep saying that?” you huffed, brushing the front of your dress as heat rose in your cheeks. “Everyone knows I can’t stand him so I don’t know why you’re both obsessed with-”

“Mother used to do it to me all the time…” he continued, ignoring you as he re-adjusted the short velvet cape clasped to his shoulders. He had dressed as a king for today’s festivities. Because of course he had.

“I understand your misgivings. It is rather inconvenient. For instance, if you wish to conceal that it was you who mistakenly defecated in the pantry and your mother asks you who defecated in the pantry and you are trying to think of anything but defac-” “-OK, Thor.” you cut him off with a snap, heart thundering. “...But in my defence” he continued unwaveringly, straightening his garish plastic crown. “I was a mere five hundred at the time. Just discovered ale, you see.” he said, turning with an innocent grin which faltered when he saw your steely stare. You frowned as Thor cleared his throat. “Even you mortals have an innate barrier to the invasive sight of others, something you enact as easily as breathing.” he said, traces of mirth ebbing. “When a person feels love, that barrier falters – and recipients of that love who are gifted with magic can, you know...” “See into their thoughts?” you finished. Thor shook his head. “Read their emotions, things that make them feel. Like empathy, as overrated as is it. Or guilt – such as the guilt one may feel over allegedly defecating in a pantry.” You rolled your eyes. “Well it’s bullshit. I can’t love him – he’s awful.” Thor nodded sagely, straightening his velvet tunic. “My brother likely shares your disquiet, in all honesty.” he muttered, adjusting his crown. “In truth, I thought he would be more unbearable when this eventually happened, but he has maintained a surprising amount of decorum. You should thank him.” “Thank him?!" you snorted incredulously. "I don’t think so.” Thor preened, as moments passed in silence. “Wait…” you said slowly. “He’s never been able to do this before?” Thor shrugged, swishing his cape theatrically across his chest. He looked at you blankly as your eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean...no one’s ever loved him? How is that possible?” you whispered, hearing Thor chuckle. “You speak of love often for someone who is not, in fact, in love.” he said, raising a bushy eyebrow. “In answer to your question...those who may have developed those feelings for him became...distracted.” Thor shuffled on his feet, gaze drawn back to himself in the mirror. “Distracted?” you murmured curiously. “Yes.” he replied. “By me. An unfortunate consequence of being the unquestionable biological jewel of the family, one cannot blame them really.” You suddenly remembered the conversation which sparked their sword-fight in the training hall last month. ‘Since when did you respect the Covenant of the First Seed, brother?’ Loki had spat with fire. You remembered the casual indifference painted on Thor’s brow, radiating a confidence that was severely lacking in his present state. ‘I see not how it is my fault that you could not satisfy your lovers, Loki.’ the blonde in front of you had said. “You fucked his girlfriends? Thor, that’s sick.” you hissed, shaking your head. Thor chuckled again. “They came to me, my Lady. In their glances across the dining hall with red jewels in their hair. Flashing garters a deep shade of maroon that would make Borr himself weak. The Ordinance of the Colours is no trifle. You know yourself the power of my seductive prowess. How could they resist?”

You grimaced. “Well, I did.” you sniped, folding your arms. “Yes…” Thor conceded thoughtfully, before flicking his hair back. “But you are also in love with my brother so your unnatural tastes cannot be accounted for.”

Your mind was suddenly flooded with memories of the rage in Loki’s hands and teeth as he tore the red dress from your body the night of the shareholders party. The venom in his eyes as he watched it explode in the air in a burst of green light. The way his stare hardened at the sight of your cleavage cupped in crimson lingerie, the ancient sword conjured as deathly sharp as his cheekbones to set his brother away from you. It wasn’t Asgardian bullshit. It was more than that. And for the first time, you felt something stronger than anger. Guilt. You swallowed, chin raised defiantly as Thor’s smug gaze trawled your features. It wasn’t often he found himself on the stronger side of a debate. You ran a finger nonchalantly along a rail of cloaks hanging to your side, before inspecting the tip for non-existent dust. “Not that he does but I mean theoretically if he loved me, just you know...out of interest...I should be able to hear his thoughts, right?” “No.” Thor scoffed disbelievingly. “That is a ridiculous notion. You are not gifted.” “Right.” you said, lips hardening in a tight line. Thor sighed theatrically. “If it alleviates your malaise, I have never seen him show so much hostility towards someone he has not slaughtered moments later.” “Why would that alleviate my malaise?” you sneered, feeling your stomach flutter. “And I don’t have ‘malaise’ for god’s sake” you spat, unconvincingly, fidgeting with the loose belt at your waist. “Its not like I want him to love me I was just you know, checking.” Thor looked up coyly beneath pale lashes, a smug glint in his eye that he had doubtless learned from his infuriating brother. “My lady, if my observation does not betray his heart, then truly I do not know what does.” You stared at him mutely. He sighed again. “It is nuanced, I grant you. My brother is a frustrating creature. Believe me, I empathise.” He turned back to the mirror, admiring himself. “Rogers gave me a book this yuletide, regarding your 'Love Languages' by some alleged scholar or other. Well, my brother’s love language is... hostility.” he announced, pleased with his assessment. You rolled your eyes, fully aware the butterflies in your stomach had become a flock of sparrows. “Did you read the book?” you said flatly, hoping Thor didn’t catch the twitch of your jaw as you tried to contain the twist of nerves in your chest. “Well, no.” he said incredulously, face softening before he gave a knowing wink. “But that does not mean I am wrong.” You heard the quick succession of approaching footsteps outside the tent. “Thor! Come!” a familiar voice roared, thick and rich. “Preparations for the joust are a disaster. They intend to use horses, of all things – allegedly there are no flighting moose...on Midga-” Loki bristled, one arm frozen in drawing back the tent’s curtain.

Thor straightened the lapel of his obscenely luxurious padded tunic, tilting his toy crown askew. “What think you of my regalia, brother?” he drawled regally, spreading his hands wide to the sides. “I think there cannot be two kings.” Loki snarled bitterly, resting a hand on the hilt of a sword slung by his hip. A dull one, you hoped.

He too was dressed in costumed finery; a lapel of ermine cupping his chin above a perfectly fitted tunic of such rich green it was almost black. An ornate golden chain hung in a semi-circle around his shoulders, making a crescent on his broad chest. You ran your eyes down his long body, a pair of pale hose snug to his endlessly muscled legs. He was positively poured into them, the opaque fabric smoothing the raw animalistic power hidden beneath their cover. They ran down to a ridiculous pair of heeled, buckled shoes. Green, naturally. Loki shifted his stance, feet pointed to the exit. You watched the bulge of his thighs ripple, femurs outlined exquisite against the sinful tights which clung to carved limbs like a second skin. Your eyes lingered on his bulge, the lower curve just visible beneath the hem of the tunic. Saliva evaporated on your tongue. You tried to swallow - begging yourself to forget every historical sex scene you had ever rewound as your fingers pulsed on your clit. The god’s hair fell in luscious waves, set against the white fur tucked beneath his jaw like black paint on snow. He was beautiful. And he too, was wearing a crown. Because of course he was. “You are correct brother, there cannot be two kings at this revelry – but by a happy accident I only see one present.” Thor winked at you again. Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a flirtation I observe, brother?” Thor paled. “No, he’s fine.” you said quickly, feeling your cheeks heat beneath Loki’s glare. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since your last tense encounter in the Snack Shack six days ago, every raise of your hand during meetings causing a mighty roll of his eyes akin to the old days. The weight of your interrupted conversation hung heavily in the air. Wafting like cigar smoke. Stifling.

Suddenly Thor barged towards his brother and turned sideways to exit the tent, the width of his ridiculous puffed sleeves causing him to shuffle awkwardly past his stoic sibling. Loki shot you a cold glare, nodding expectantly towards the exit for you to follow him. You sauntered casually towards the gap, taking no mind of the smouldering gaze rolling appraisingly over your medieval dress like treacle. Loki held the curtain of the tent high, his arm stoically positioned above your head as you finally felt the waft of a fresh breeze on your heated cheeks. “Agent.” he murmured in unnecessary greeting as you passed, making you pause. The scent of him invaded alongside the breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Wood smoked leather and dusky sandalwood. Pine. It clung to his onyx curls; hanging like a un-repentant traitor on every stitch of gold thread wound into the tight tunic snug against his torso. You could feel his eyeline trail down the valley of your cleavage as easily as if it was his tongue. “You’ve been ignoring me.” you said quietly, eyes fixed on Thor standing ahead; hoisting up his hoes with an exaggerated squat. People were staring. “Have I, Agent?” Loki purred, craning down from his position. His lips grazed the tip of your cheekbone as he spoke. Was he smelling your hair? “I didn’t think you would notice. Considering how little you think of our interactions.” he murmured. You could hear a snarl behind his teeth, barely masked venom blossoming on the cusp of each word like brewing tea.

You tilted your chin, the space between two pairs of parted lips excruciatingly small. Raising your eyes to meet his, you found no warmth there. No playfulness. Not today. And to be honest, after what Thor had told you, you didn’t blame him. Loki’s eyes narrowed, readjusting his grip on the fabric panel held aside above your head. “If you have nothing further to say, Agent…” he sneered sarcastically against your ear. His body curved away from you, ensuring that not a single part of his achingly erotic form touched yours. Loki’s haughty condescension sliced through the melting desire in your core, a weirdly comforting irritation usurping it. The thick golden chain hanging against his collarbone glinted in the afternoon sun, vying for your attention. Self-centred, presumptive arsehole, you flamed, feeling renewed warmth seep across your skin. Does he expect me to tell him I fucking ‘love’ him while his brother is rummaging around his crotch twenty feet away? Your gaze locked onto the sight of Thor’s face twisted in confusion as he tried to arrange himself covertly beneath the hose. Loki’s conceited confidence made you boil, a confusion of emotions competing in your addled brain making you feel nauseous. “You’re wrong.” you managed to say, voice strained. Loki chuckled mirthlessly beside you. “We’ll see.” he replied ominously, as you began to walk forward. You didn’t know why you had stopped in the first place. The chiffon headdress fluttered around your chin. Now that the adrenaline of searching for Thor had dissipated, you could finally take in the surroundings of Stark’s much anticipated event. A calculated distraction, you would admit. Swathes of bygone-era dressed guests moved in groups from stall to stall. The faint pluck of a lute troupe audible over the buzz of the crowd, humming like birds in the rustling waves of trees surrounding the clearing. Stationary wagons holding every manner of historical food and beverage you could think of were dotted about. Tony had really spunked the budget this year. Silently, you walked sandwiched between two simmering gods towards the only group of familiar faces; hovering by the food carts.

“What were the three of you doing in the costume tent?” Wanda said coyly, wriggling her eyebrows. You shook your head subtly. Loki frowned. “I think the better query is why Lang is sporting that counterfeit phallus.” he drawled, drawing his eyes judgementally over the protrusion from Scott’s hose-clad hips. The subject of his jibe’s eyes widened, a gargantuan roasted turkey leg covering the lower half of his face. “Wha-?” he mouthed, meat flicking into the air and hitting Nat on the forehead. Scott swallowed with difficulty, gesturing at his crotch with a free hand. “Hello?! It’s a Ren faire! Cod-pieces galore am I right? Everyone’s got em. You’ve got one for god’s sa-” He stopped mid-sentence, gaze lingering once more on the draw of Loki’s hypnotic groin outlined perfectly beneath the tights. You traced the curves of your sometime-lover’s bulge covetously, remembering the smack of the shutters against your lower back as he railed into you like a furious, feral animal; fucking for survival. God, had it only been a week? It felt like years. Loki shifted his stance, folding his arms as he widened his hips. “We both know that I do not require such auspicious modifications, Lang.” he said slowly, a smile tugging his lips as Scott’s cheeks flushed.

“Please tell me we’re not talking about Laufeyson’s ding-dong again…” Steve whined over your shoulder, making you jump. He sashed into the centre of the circle, hands folded together beneath the long brown draping of his sleeves. A wooden cross hung around his neck, a thick rope of cream tied to his waist. Gone was the shock of radiant blonde hair, and in its place a questionable skullcap complete with dark bowel-cut. Friar Rogers. You lowered your eyes to the ground, feeling your chest begin to contract with laughter. For a moment, you saw Loki’s feet shuffle closer; just a little. Steve’s blue eyes widened pleadingly, every inch a man of the cloth. “Can we please try to keep lewdness to a minim-” “-I think what Tuck Shop is trying to say is that there are children, children.” Tony chided with amusement, as he sauntered out of nowhere to take his place beside the good Friar. Deep lines on his forehead danced with barely contained mirth. Or maybe he’d just been at the mead. A resplendent crown sat jauntily on his head, a tunic of red tinselled satin and silver thread replacing his trademark t-shirt and jeans. In one hand, he held a ridiculously large steak on a stick. In the other, a tankard. He took a sip, as Steve glanced around, flinching as a juggler appeared out of nowhere and disappeared into the crowd. Tony burped, before posturing thoughtfully. “Although, I think collectively we can agree we’re all obsessed with Laufeyson’s ‘ding-dong’.” he quipped, raising an eyebrow around the circle. “I mean...it’s worth its not un-sizeable weight in free PR, for one thing.” Steve flushed an alarming shade of crimson, cut off comically at the base of his skullcap. Loki sighed with theatrical exasperation. “Stark, you declared that I was to be the King in today’s farcical proceedings.” he said petulantly, with no attempt to hide his irritation. “Did I?” Tony gasped, pressing a palm to his chest. Thor snorted. “I think not, brother.” he scoffed. “The crown should fall in direct lineage to those who are worthy. I would be willing to concede my post as King of this fete if you would but grant me your renewed Oath of Most Assured Recompense in return?” he goaded, making Loki’s jaw clench. You heard him inhale sharply- “-No more Oaths!” you snapped, making both brothers jump. “This is ridiculous. You can both be kings, no one cares.” There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the group. Tony raised his hand incredulously while Loki and Thor let out a simultaneous derisive snort. “Both?!” the blonde boomed, shaking his head. “My, my it truly would never have worked between us.” he said wistfully. Loki rolled his eyes as Rogers backed slowly out the circle, seeming to glide glacially with tiny steps beneath the sway of his shit-coloured robes. “Well then one of you change.” Nat growled, as you started to feel the antsy crawl of awkward tension tingle up your arms again. Thor laughed. “There is not one garment in the tent from whence we came that would fit over one of my mighty calves, Romanoff. Tis’ my brother who shall have to concede.” “Did they really think I’d give anyone else the King job at my own damn party?” you heard Tony scoff loudly to no-one. “Asgardians, I’m tellin ya…” You saw the muscle in Loki’s cheek bob as he ground his teeth. Tony bit into the speared steak in his hand, enjoying it all immensely. The dark god’s eyes flashed, a glimmer of something sparking heat between your legs.

“Fine.” Loki snapped, “As it happens I came prepared for such traitorous shenanigans. A lifetime of dealing with you, brother, has taught me to always save my best for when you show your hand.” he smirked, eyes flickering between you and a sceptical Thor. “Besides…” he purred slowly, stalking his gaze in your direction. “I have found that people are quite willing to bow to me... even without a crown.”

He grasped one of the golden tips with his thumb and forefinger, thrusting the ornament to the ground at Thor’s feet with a flick of his wrist. You saw a green glow lap at Loki’s feet, moving slowly upwards. He could do this in a millisecond if he wanted, but he was putting on a show. His twee buckled shoes melted to thick black leather, rolling up his calves like armour. Edges appeared below the knees, shifting inward to coat his carved thighs in matching trousers which, somehow, gave the illusion of being even snugger than the cream tights. You swallowed, unable to tear your eyes away as a wave of wild fur blossomed around his torso; bear or fox or- “-Wolf.” Loki purred rakishly in your direction, his tongue taking its time over the syllable like a seductive bark. “Urgh, I love it when he does that.” Wanda cooed huskily, giving her face a dramatic fan. You rolled your eyes, shuffling with your arms folded. Suddenly your corset felt tight. Very tight. In the seconds your gaze had been averted, a thick leather belt had appeared around Loki’s midriff, cinching the fur. Heavy pendants hung from his neck, glinting in the afternoon sun against bare skin. The wolf fur ran in a deep V to his naval, every inch a slutty medieval bandit. Christ, you thought. I’m fucked.

“This will suit my new posting for the festivities all the better, anyway.” Loki sneered towards his brother as Tony took another gulp of mead. He flicked his hair over his shoulders, the haughty slice of his jaw making you flinch as it pointed to you. “I find that women prefer characters’ with a little more...depth. Isn’t that right, Agent?” Wanda elbowed you in the ribs playfully as Thor squinted; bamboozled. “What does that mean?” he scoffed. “I thought you on greeting duty, of all things…over yonder.” He tilted his head towards the line of families queued at the entrance, excited children jumping up and down. You saw a young girl burst into tears as a manically grinning Friar Steve loomed over her, draped sleeves hanging from arms stretched in greeting before her mother snatched her away. Loki smirked. “I have been re-assigned.” he said, glinting eyes making a flutter shuffle in your belly. His thumbs hooked into the thick leather belt, tugging downward. What you wouldn’t give to feel the smart of that leather whip across your ass as he took you against a tree in the wilderness beyond the faire’s boundary. Maybe he will, you thought as a thrill flooded soared beneath the anachronistic lace panties you were wearing. Loki’s lashes fluttered upwards, his lip curling before those ethereal features hardened again. He had been colder than usual this past week, and you had a feeling that today would be no different, given the circumstances.

“Yah – he’s on the archery range now.” Tony interjected casually, breaking the stare you didn’t know you were burning into the profile of Loki’s jawline.

Nat shook her head. “What the fuck? Where’s Clint?” she said, glancing around the bustling thoroughfare. Tony shrugged, talking through a mouthful of ye olde steak. “Said he didn’t feel like it today, his voice sounded a little hoarse on the phone.” Nat’s brow arched, swinging her eyes suspiciously towards Loki. The god rocked on his heels, a tiny shrug making his shoulders bounce as he tried to contain the smile pressing at his dimples. “I didn’t know you could shoot.” you scoffed, fidgeting with the veil hanging by your collarbone. “You never asked, Agent.” he drawled innocently, running a hand through his perfectly waved hair. “But truly...are you surprised?” Nat suddenly yanked you to the side of the group. She cast a quick glance back to the circle closing in on Loki, admiring his new outfit. Scott was rubbing a palm repeatedly down his pelted chest while the god smirked, pleased with himself. “He’s done something with Clint.” she hissed over your shoulder. You frowned, leaning back incredulously to see the concern etched plainly on her face. “He wouldn’t…” you whispered, glancing at a resplendent, wolf fur clad Loki stretching his ridiculously long arms to Scott's unbridled awe. “Whatever the fuck is going on with you guys, I don’t give a shit.” Nat said quietly. “Go with Laufeyson, find out where he’s put him. Barton could be passed out enchanted off his nuts in a port-a-potty and we’d never find him.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to read her face. “Nat I…” you started, fully intending to stand your ground. Suddenly there was a low whistle. Both of you twisted around, seeing Loki drawn to his full height; hair flowing over the puffed collar of his furs with his thumb and forefinger slotted in his mouth. The curve of his ass in the aged leather trousers was obscene, thick thighs creasing the material as it fought against its master. Christ, how you wanted to sink your teeth into them as you buried yourself between his achingly long legs. There were screams from the crowd before it parted, a panicked flurry of feathered hats and veils and skirts flying in all directions as citizens fell over themselves. A beautiful black steed cantered through the fray, completely un-phased. It was absolutely huge, the massive muscles of it's broad chest flexing with each long step. It’s smooth coat gleamed, rich tones of deepest blue flashing amongst the inky hairs as it trotted over and stopped with its nose pressed against Loki’s palm. “Shall we, Agent?” Loki purred knowingly snapping his fingers and making a vibrant caparison unfurl on the waiting stallion. The luxurious material fell in folds, dark emerald and vibrant gold with Loki's insignia woven through the fabric. A saddle and reins manifested snug to the huge horse, who whinnied in approval. Words failed you, seeing an ornate curved bow appear in Loki's grip through a wash of flickering magic. He slung it casually over his shoulder, palm stretched toward you expectantly. You vaguely heard Scott’s murmurs of besotted admiration as a sharp nudge from Natasha in the kidneys made you stumble forwards, automatically grasping towards his hand. Before you could protest, the air was knocked out of you as Loki’s fingers gripped around your waist, throwing you up. Your ass landed sideways on the saddle with a soft thump. You scrambled to grip the reigns, steadying yourself. With a graceful bound, Loki swung himself up behind, winding arms encasing you before his nimble fingers caressed the leather reigns from your grasp.

The disbelieving stares of the gathered Avengers crawled in your periphery as his forearms tightened around your ribs. Loki's elaborately constructed garment did nothing to disguise the hardness of the muscle beneath, thick ropes of pure power shifting as he settled. You could feel the slide of traitorous arousal leaking between your thighs, desperately wet and needy for the infuriatingly smug god steadying you against his spread leathered femurs. “You can be my first student, won’t that be fun?” he smouldered darkly, the whisper of his sweet breath skating over the delicate skin beneath your ear. He chuckled softly against your cheek. "Someone has to break me in before I am unleashed on the unsuspecting public, surely." You sighed, a quiver of anticipation betraying the roar of desire between your legs as you pressed them together, hanging off the side of his steed. The horse stamped once. Impatient, like his master. “And Agent…?” Loki murmured through a smirk, the deep baritones making you squeeze your shoulder-blades together against the expanse of rippling masculinity beneath the wolf-pelt. “I have quite the lesson in mind.”

Continued in Bow to Me: Quivering Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

Tags @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @mischief2sarawr @loopsisloops @michelleleewise @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @lovelysizzlingbluebird @fictional-hooman @filthyhiddles @maple-seed @pineappleandro @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @wolfmoonmusic @justjoanne242 @peachyjinx @praq123 @trickster-maiden @astridstark13 @lokisgoodboy @coldnique @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lady-rose-moon @nine-leafclover @springdandelixn @littlespaceyelf @ladyofthestayingpower @soldeloki @liminalpebble @psychospore

[latenightsimping]

Nothing Else Matters (Part 2)

Summary: After Jason’s plans to break you and Eddie up backfire, you go on your first date and go back to his trailer afterwards for yet another first. (You can read part 1 here and part 3 here!)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word count: 7,548

Warnings: Porn with plot 18+ MINORS DNI I’LL CHASE YOU WITH A BROOM, you guys go on a date and it’s kinda cute, mentions of parental neglect, Jason Carver is an absolute shitheel but we get him back, reader is Jason Carver’s little sister, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, protected sex (wrap it up kiddos), fluff in the first half pure hedonism on the second, not beta read

AN: Thank you so much for all the love you gave the first half!! I hope you like the second half; I worte this and thought ‘hm is this a bit flowery?’ but I decided to keep it as is because first times tend to be more about emotions and feelings, if you want one where I focus more on the act itself please lemme know!! Also I have read all your replies and reblogs, and thank you so much for all of them! Unfortunately this is a side blog so I can’t reply easily ;w; But I do read and cherish them all!! I really wanna write more of this ngl, so keep an eye out for that!!

taglist: @awkwardambition

Eddie had escorted you to your class, stealing as many kisses as he could until you playfully pushed him away with a grin on your face and telling him to get to his own lesson. He threw you a mock look of hurt as he clutched his chest, making you giggle as he walked backwards down the hall and towards where he should be. You slipped in quietly, trying to ignore the stares of curious students as you mumbled an excuse about not feeling well to the teacher as you made your way to your assigned seat. It was lucky that you had a ‘good girl’ reputation, Miss. Click seemingly buying it and letting you know that you could leave if you felt unwell again. Continuing her lesson on the Renaissance era as you found your notebook and pencil case.

A small stirring of pleasure rolled in your gut at the fact that you’d got away with a small act of rebellion, your mind wandering as you drew absent-minded doodles in the margins of your notebook. It was satisfying, being able to slip under the radar like this with the full knowledge that not so long ago, Eddie’s tongue was teasing your own as his ringed hands skated across your ass in such a delightful tease. Everyone around you thinking that you were paying attention to the lesson and being a studious nerd, when you were really thinking about what you were planning on doing when you finally got back to the trailer that felt more like home than anywhere else in the world. Eddie was forbidden fruit; delicious, tantalising, something that you craved desperately. Something that you were going to finally let yourself indulge in, and ruin that ‘girl next door image’ forever.

As much as you were excited, you were also nervous. This history lesson and the English class afterwards were going to be your last hurrah, and what would it mean to be forever changed in the societal structure that was high school? It was likely that your friends would want nothing more to do with you, and Jason would probably make it his mission to make your last year a living nightmare. But on the flip side of that, you would finally get your wish to sit at the Hellfire club, with Eddie’s arm around your waist as you sat in his lap or his hand in yours if you sat beside him. He’d told you all about his friends, and from what he said, they were pretty nice guys. Just misunderstood, and ostracized over a shameless enjoyment of their hobbies. You’d only had a very small conversation with Dustin and Jeff so far, but they didn’t seem judgemental. Protective of their friend, and guarded? Yes. But who could blame them? You would probably be the same, in their position. This change would be a lot, but it was also a chance to finally be able to breathe without the weight of your last name on your shoulders. The sword of Damocles finally falling between your feet, instead of splitting you in two.

You made your way to the last class in a daze, your mind working overtime as you took your seat and chewed on the end of your pen. Brave, Eddie had called you when he complimented you between kisses. And you’d kind of glossed it over, being too wrapped up in the feeling of being adored. But you really pondered it, as you tuned out the explanation of the themes of Dante’s Inferno. You’d never considered yourself to align with that adjective. What was brave about being under your family’s thumb for pretty much all your life, acting exactly how they wanted you to and always putting yourself second? But now, with Eddie’s words still ringing in your ears, you could finally see it. You were brave, going against the grain and choosing your own destiny by dating him. Even though it was unknown to anyone else, it was still you who snuck to the trailer park to see him. It was you who wore the bracelet he gave you every second of the day, wanting to be reminded of him every time you looked at it. It was you who was going to go to the diner with him, and take that step into the abyss, knowing he would be the one to catch you. You had been acting brave all this time, and he was the only one to see it so far. And you loved him all the more, for the fact that he believed in you.

He was waiting by his van by the time you made your way out to the parking lot. Leaning on the side panel, hands in his pockets and meeting your eyes with a lopsided grin when you spotted him. As you passed, you felt a hand grab your bicep none too gently, turning your head to be greeted with Jason’s face contorted in a scowl.

“Where do you think you’re going? Car’s this way,” he sneered, tilting his head to his side where his car sat idle. Chrissy was in the passenger seat, a small look of worry evident on her features as she watched the two of you have your slightly heated exchange. If the day was like any other, Jason would have booted you out of the back seats about five minutes away from your house, making you walk the rest of the way back so he could spend alone time with his girlfriend. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Chrissy, per se. She had never said anything mean to you, and she always looked at you with a sort of pity, whenever Jason was flexing his control over you with one of his stunts. She was under his spell, and you knew that. Perhaps she saw a side of him that nobody else saw; invisible to the naked eye. You hoped it was the case, for her behalf. Secretly hoped that one day, she would see sense and dump him.

It was knowing that Eddie had eyes on you, and would have your back without hesitation, that ignited the powder keg of anger and fuelled your next actions. Yanking your arm out of his grip, you squared your jaw towards your brother, willing yourself to not crack at his narrowed eyes as you shook your head. “I’m not coming home with you today,” you told him, voice even if not on the slightly quiet side.

“What? Just get in the fucking car,” he said through gritted teeth, eyes darting around to probably view the audience that this was no doubt attracting. “I’m not asking.”

“I know.” When he got angry like this in the past, it would have made you cower. Your will bending to him, scurrying behind and knowing full well that when he got home you’d be in for a good hour long lecture about how he expected you to listen. That was before he pulled the note stunt, though. Without meaning to, probably not even knowingly, he had officially broken the straw on the camel’s back. You couldn’t help but smirk as you adjusted the strap of your backpack on your shoulder. “I have other plans. I’m going on a date with my boyfriend. So, if you don’t mind…”

Turning on your heel, you didn’t give him an opportunity to get the last word in as you made confident steps towards Eddie’s van. He had a look of victory evident in his eyes as he pushed himself off the van with his foot, taking a few strides towards you to meet you. His arms coiled around your waist, picking you up and spinning you in a couple of circles that earned him a surprised squeal as his lips found yours. Your arms flew around his neck for purchase, holding on tight as he let you down, still kissing you as he did. You knew Eddie well enough that he would absolutely want to rub salt in Jason’s wounds, and by putting on the dramatics of kissing you with such grandeur, you also knew your brother well enough to know that it had worked without even having to look.

You pulled your lips away from his, though still held onto his neck as a grin spread across your face. “Happy to see me?” you teased, earning you a chuckle that reverberated through his chest.

“Happy? Sweetheart, I’m constantly overjoyed whenever I see that pretty face of yours,” he crooned, a hand coming up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. Not once did his gaze leave yours, seemingly not giving a fuck about anything else. It was nearly almost like this with him, though. Eddie gave you his full attention every chance he got, and you wondered if it was similar to how the sun felt when people were happy with it’s presence.

You hummed contently, only pulling away when he nodded his head towards the van in questioning. He followed you to the passenger side, a hand on the small of your back as he opened the door with the other. “My lady,” he said with a low bow as you got in, making you giggle as he closed the door and sprinted back toward’s the driver’s side. You took a moment to look towards the school entrance, noticing that Jason was already in his car a few rows away from it. His whole body animated as he talked with his hands, face as red as sapphire as he yelled. Your heart sunk for Chrissy, who admittedly looked a little frightened. But, she made her bed. One day, you would talk to her about the relationship, and hopefully make her see sense. Then again, that was unlikely. All you could do was try.

“Alright, what’s the vibe for today?” Eddie asked, snapping you out of your reverie as you looked back to find him trailing calloused fingers over the tapes practically overfilling the centre console where he kept them. “We goin’ for Metallica or Iron Maiden?”

You smiled, knowing full well that he chose those two options based on the fact that they were your favourite so far. “It’s gotta be Piece of Mind, right? As long as you crank it loud.”

“Ugh, it’s like I wished for you on a shooting fuckin’ star or something,” he groaned, plucking the cassette you requested out of the pile and wasting no time in feeding it into the slot after he turned the ignition. The van came to life, the sounds of the mechanical workings being drowned out by the first song as he twisted the volume dial up further. As he pulled away, you managed to catch Jason’s eye, his mouth still hanging open as he stared at you. Grinning as much as you could manage, a hand came up to flip him off, no doubt the Munson brand of mockery being rubbed off on you. Even over the song, you could hear Eddie laughing at your antics.

...

The diner wasn’t that busy, considering school hadn’t long let out and some clubs were still in session. Most of the patrons were the elderly of those on a late shift, barely any of them paying you any mind as you slipped into the booth. Eddie came to sit opposite you, a smile never leaving his face as he tapped his calloused fingers onto the tabletop. “Any idea what you’re craving, pretty girl?”

You hummed in thought as you pulled a menu from the holder beside the window, eyes scanning over the options as you gently bit the inside of your cheek. After a couple of seconds, you gave him a bashful smile as you placed the laminated booklet down. “What are you gonna order?”

Though you’d been to this diner before a couple of times, there was underlying nerves over the fact that this was the first date that you’d actually ever been on. And the fact that you were going in blind? What was even the etiquette for it? You’d read a handful of dating tips in magazines, but none seemed fitting right now. Your knee bounced as you tapped your heel on the linoleum as quietly as you could.

If Eddie could tell you were nervous, he wasn’t showing it. He looked down at the menu in front of you both, tapping on a picture with a skull and cross clad finger. “Well, I think their burgers are fantastic. Probably gonna go for a cheeseburger with extra pickles.”

You grinned as you leaned your cheek against your palm, elbow propping yourself up as you leaned on the table. “How much extra pickle we talking?”

“As much as I can get away with,” he nodded. “Love ‘em. Always have.”

You made a mental note of that little fact, already putting it in the ‘facts about Eddie’ box that was beginning to accumulate a lot of random information. “You can always have mine too, if you want them.”

His eyebrows raised as he tilted his head. “You don’t like ‘em?”

“You like them, so you can have them,” you countered, your words causing a small blush to dust his cheeks as he tucked his lower lips between his teeth. It was the adoration in his eyes that made you truly melt, and you decided that liking pickles or not, you’d spend the rest of your life picking them out and putting them on his plate, if only to see him look at you like he was.

The sounds of footsteps coming closer made both your heads turn, greeted with a small smile from the waitress as she brought her notepad out of her apron pocket. “Alright guys, what can I get you?” she asked as she clicked her pen, placing the end on the paper to await your order.

You both ordered; two cheeseburgers and fries, a chocolate milkshake for Eddie and a vanilla one for yourself. You thanked the waitress, looking back to Eddie who was giving you an unreadable expression. Happy, yes. But there was a small wrinkle to his brow that usually signalled he was thinking hard about something. “What?” you asked, your voice soft as you smiled.

“Just can’t believe I’m here with you,” he shrugged, arms folded on the table as he grinned. “Been dreaming about this for months.”

“Really?” you giggled, head tilted to the side as you regarded him. “You dreamed about being in a diner with me, eating cheeseburgers?”

“I’ve dreamed about us being like any other couple,” he clarified, a hand coming up to twirl a dark curl of his hair between his fingers. “Diner dates, maybe a trip to the movies… Just being together, out in public.”

You nodded in agreement, holding a hand out in offering. He took it, fingers laced between your own as he started to rub soothing motions on the back of your hand. “I’ve always had this like, dream date,” you started, eyes widening a little as you realised that you might have offended him. “N-not that this isn’t one of them! I love it here, and I love this-”

His earnest laugh cut you off, shaking his head as he grinned at you. “Tell me all about it.” His words held nothing but fondness, the words you perceived as something of an insult not bothering him in the slightest.

You relaxed a little as you let out a soft sigh of relief, your eyes lowering to the speckled tabletop as you shrugged. “I uh… I’ve always wanted to go to an aquarium. We were going to go once, me and my family, but Jason had a last minute basketball game that weekend. So my parents said we’d go another day, and we just… Never did.”

When you looked back up, his face was slightly scowled. “So your folks just drop everything when it comes to you and focus on him?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “It sucks, but… That’s just how it’s always been, you know? I’m just used to it by now.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth as he shook his head. “Well, that ain’t happening on my watch. My girl wants to go to an aquarium? We’re going.”

Your eyes widened as a smile spread over your face, blinking a few times as you gently squeezed his hands. “Really? You mean it?”

“’Course,” he said with a small wink. “Just lemme save up for a little bit and we’ll go, okay? Promise.”

You wholeheartedly believed him. One of Eddie’s many good qualities was that when he said something, he meant it. Not once had he ever let you down; if he said he’d be there to pick you up from your house a couple of blocks away to take you to his place when it was raining? Sure enough, his van was already there idling when you turned the corner. Not once had he ever lied to you, or went back on a promise. He was loyal to the bone, and you knew that he would make good on his word, and you’d be holding hands while pointing out sea life before you knew it.

“What about you?” you offered. “What’s your dream date?”

“Baby, I’m already on it,” he laughed, eyes crinkling with the intensity of his smile. “My dream date is being literally anywhere, as long as I’m with you.”

You rolled your eyes, though the look of annoyance you made was nothing but playful. “C’mon, you gotta have one. Anywhere in particular you wanna go?”

You gave him a couple of seconds to think, before he finally nodded as he chewed his lip. “I uh… I’d like you to come and see me play with my band. I guess it’s not technically a date, but…”

“It totally counts,” you nodded, heart racing at the thought of seeing him play, letting him see you in the crowd and know that you were the one cheering the loudest. “I’d really love to. Tuesdays, right? At the Hideout?”

There was a look of pure bliss that overtook him, most likely because you’d remembered what he told you. “Yeah. Maybe next week? I can pick you up at 6?”

“Deal,” you grinned, picking up your interlinked hand and shaking them in a mock handshake. He laughed at your action, still smirking as you both pulled away as the milkshakes appeared on your table.

The rest of the meal was spent in conversation between bites, about anything and everything you could think of. You’d taken the pickles out of your burger before you ate it, putting them on his plate and earning you a grateful smile of thanks from your boyfriend. It was so easy talking to Eddie. No matter what you said, even if he’d probably heard it all before, he nodded along and asked you questions and anecdotes relevant to the topic. Plus, he made you laugh. He could crack a joke, and your tummy would hurt with the amount of amusement. A couple of teenagers from your school had filtered in during your meal, but you barely paid them any mind. It felt as if nothing else existed outside your booth. Just you and Eddie, in this little bubble of bliss that you’d created together. An oasis in a desert, both truly comfortable with each other’s company.

When it finally came time to pay, you had a small back and forth about who was going to foot the bill. You had insisted paying for your food, but Eddie was having none of it. “Keep your money, pretty girl,” he said with a wave of his hand as he fished his wallet out of his back pocket. A cheeky grin on his face as he opened it to find a couple of notes. Another one of his qualities, that was both admirable and drew your ire depending on your situation. Eddie could be stubborn, especially when he put his mind to something. You knew that you wouldn’t win this argument, but you were already thinking about finding a way to sneak it to him without his knowledge. Most likely tucking it into his pocket when he wasn’t looking. You knew he didn’t have a lot of money; most of his income was selling pot, and the occasional shift at Thatcher’s Tires to help Wayne cover the bills. Part of you wondered if all those reasons were why he had difficulty graduating. Between two side hustles, his band, the DnD campaigns and needing a decent amount of sleep, was it any wonder that he had absolutely no time to study? As well as a scheme to pay him back, your mind was already filled with ways to help him academically by the time you were halfway across the parking lot to reach the van.

When you got to his place, you wondered if you should make a call to your house, just to let your parents know where you were. No doubt Jason had spun a yarn about the situation, making himself look like the victim. Honestly? You weren’t ready for the drama. You were having a good time, and nothing was going to ruin that. You had a curfew, and that was hours away. You could face the music when you got home, and could try and convince your parents about it all then. Besides, when Eddie kissed you as soon as the door to his trailer closed, all worries slipped away like sand between your fingers. When he made you feel this good, it was impossible to think of anything else.

He pulled away from your lips, his hands gently on your waist as he tilted his head. A gentle smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you. “What’s the plan, sweetheart?” he asked, a slightly raised eyebrow in questioning. “We could watch a movie, if you want. Or we could read, or-”

“I wanna do it,” you blurted out, interrupting him before you chickened out. You could feel your whole face growing hot, tips of your ears no doubt a deep shade of pink as you bit your lip. But you could also feel that stirring in your core, at the possibility of it all.

His eyebrows shot up as he blinked a couple of times, mouth opening and closing a few times as he let out a nervous laugh. “Define what ‘it’ is, baby. Need to hear it.”

Taking a shaky breath, your hands found his shoulders as you pressed your chest to his, eyes fluttering shut to try and focus on speaking. “I uhm… I wanna h-have sex,” you finally managed to stammer out, a soft gasp leaving you and eyes opening when you felt his knuckles tip your chin up gently.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, a small look of worry in his features. “I don’t want you to feel obligated. We can take it slow, if that’s what your comfortable with.”

You were starting to get a little frustrated. Eddie was a gentleman, and you knew that he’d never pressure you. You knew that he was only asking because he respected you. But right now? Right now, you needed him to quell that growing, aching need that coiled in your gut. You leaned up, capturing his lips in yours in a kiss that was filled with passion. Trying to non-verbally communicate to him just how badly you wanted this. When your tongue flicked against his lips, you felt him groan as his grip on your waist tightened, mouth parting to let you in.

You pulled away, though barely an inch, feeling his breath fan against your dampened lips. “Please,” you whispered, eyebrows knitted together. “Please Eddie, I need you.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed with a gulp as his eyes darkened in need, pupils blown out as he nodded. “Okay, sweetheart. But we can stop at any time, okay?”

You nodded, and his smile widened as he let go of his hold on you to place your hand in his. Leading you to the bedroom, he briefly stopped to turn on the stereo, Ride the Lightning playing at a low volume as he guided you to lay down on the bed. Your head rested against the pillows as he lowered himself on top of you, forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head as his legs slotted between your own. His head dipped down again to kiss you, and the intensity was something you’d never quite experienced. He’d kissed you breathless before, but this was different. It was passionate, intense, and full of yearning. It made you quietly mewl as you cupped his face with your hands, one threading through his curls as he swallowed back your small sounds of pleasure.

His lips travelled down to your jaw, peppering soft kisses to the warm skin as they continued down to the column of your neck. His teeth grazed a spot that made a gasp catch in your throat, causing you to arch your back in heady pleasure as he gently rolled it between his incisors and soothing it with a lave of his tongue afterwards. “Fuck, Eddie please,” you whimpered, your hands coming up to grip the back of his shirt as you rolled your hips. What you were asking for, you had no idea. All you knew was that nothing had ever made you feel so good; nothing could compare to his touches, his lips on your skin leaving gooseflesh in their wake. You could feel his hardness against you, pleasure skittering up your spine at the sensation of his cock against your core.

“Gonna make you feel good baby,” he murmured against your skin, head dipping down to kiss your collarbones. Pressing one final kiss to the top of your breast, he pushed back to rest on his haunches, his fingertips brushing against the bottom hem of your shirt as he raised an eyebrow in questioning.

You quickly nodded, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as his large hands smoothed up your stomach, pulling the fabric with it. He was taking his time, causing your breath to hitch as he finally helped you remove the piece of clothing that acted as a barrier between you. As soon as it hit the bedroom floor, he reached back and pulled his own shirt off, leaving you practically panting as you took in his topless state. The inky black tattoos that littered his pale skin, slender framed yet with muscles that flexed when he moved, no doubt from years of hauling heavy music equipment around. You’re beautiful, you thought, though your eyes grew large when he chuckled, a slight blush tingeing his cheeks. You’d said it aloud, though barely above a whisper. Evidently, loud enough for him to hear.

“Taking the words right out of my mouth,” he drawled with a soft smile, capturing your lips again as a large ringed hand travelled the expanse of your stomach. It was as if he was mapping your skin; memorising every dip and curve, pausing when he found a spot that made you mewl underneath his lips.

His kisses descended again; skittering over your sternum, shifting his weight onto his knees so both hands could softly cup your breasts over your bra. You gasped as he softly bit the flesh, soothing over the pain with the flat of his tongue in a way that was such a heavenly combination that it made your back arch. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he murmured, voice slightly muffled as his lips continued to move against you. A hand came to reach under your back, deft fingers making quick work of unfastening the clasp. You took the initiative to slip the straps down your arms, pulling off the item to be thrown beside your shirt. You noticed how his eyes darkened in need, a soft growl catching in the back of his throat as he laved his tongue over your nipple, rolling the other between his fingertips.

You let out a soft curse at the sensation, your hands running through his long hair and grasping it to pull him closer. Your needy actions seemed to fuel him, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it as you bucked against his hips. Every nerve ending seemed to be on fire; the coil in your core twisting in the most pleasant way. It was as if he engulfed you in ecstasy; he was pulling you under the surface, making you gasp and ache for more, and you found yourself needing more. He would alternate his attention on each breast, switching between his skilful tongue and fingers, pressing soft kisses in between sharp nips of his teeth.

“More, please,” you pleaded, needing to know what else he could do with his talented mouth. You felt him smile against your skin, dragging his tongue down your stomach as he shifted to lay on his stomach and crawl at an agonisingly slow pace down to where you truly needed him. You could feel your wetness soak your underwear, feeling as if you would truly go mad if he didn’t continue.

“What’dya need, pretty girl? Need to hear you say it.” The corners of his mouth upturned as he kissed your inner thighs through the thick denim of your jeans, palm soothing the other that his mouth wasn’t latched to. A part of you wondered if he enjoyed it when you practically begged him for more. And an even bigger part of you loved to indulge him.

“N-need you to use your mouth on me,” you whimpered, trying to ignore the flush of your cheeks as you focused on speaking, on keeping your breaths even. Your brows furrowed as you bucked your hips, a soft whine escaping you as you clutched the sheets underneath you with a fierce grip. “Need you to make me feel good.”

“I will baby,” he promised, the hand leaving your thigh to unbutton your jeans. “Just need you to do one thing for me, okay? Can you do that?”

You nodded frantically as he shed your lower half free of clothing. At this moment, you would do anything he asked. Fuck, if he asked you to commit a crime with him, you’d probably agree. You’d do anything to be bathed in the sheer rapture that this moment gave you. “Wh-what?”

“Need you to not hold back on those pretty noises for me,” he answered, punctuating his words with a kiss to your innermost thigh that had you reeling. You felt his hot breath fan your cunt, and heard an audible groan that you swore you could feel. “So fuckin’ wet for me, angel.”

You keened as he licked a flat stripe across your clit, hands flying to grip his hair as he drew languid circles over the bud. You could feel your muscles slightly tense as he covered your cunt with his mouth, the moan that he released causing vibrations to shoot right through your core and causing your thighs to clamp down, hindered by firm hands on your thighs. Eddie seemed to be taking his time; alternating between soft kitten licks and firm strokes, occasionally sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth and flicking his tongue over it in quick succession. It was like he was experimenting with what would make you cry out harder, what would make your grip on his hair tighten and cause your legs to shake as your back flew off the mattress.

The growing tension in your gut was so close to snapping. And with the addition of a finger, then two, slipping deep inside with little resistance, all it took was a curl that massaged a spot inside you that you weren’t even aware of to finally tip you over the edge. You tried to warn him, but all that came out was a cry of pure pleasure as you finally unravelled. It was as if you were coming apart at the seams; bathed in an overwhelming warmth that was indescribable, your mind turning fuzzy as your eyes fell shut and mouth opened into a silent scream. You bucked into his mouth, uncaring in the moment that you were shamelessly riding his face, an act of pure hedonism that furthered the blissful, heady sensation of your first powerful orgasm. You’d tried to pleasure yourself before, but never quite got to the finish line. But if this was what was waiting for you when you finally managed it? You’d do near anything to feel like this.

You finally floated back down to Earth with hard pants, slowly opening your eyes as his fingers and mouth slowly came to a stop and moved away. Taking your hands out of his dark curls and bringing them up to rub at your face, you let out a small giggle as you felt his hips connect with yours.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” he whispered into the shell of your ear, his torso gently leaning against yours as he braced his weight with his forearms on either side of you. When your eyes finally adjusted, you could see his deep umber eyes flicker over your features, a small grin on his glistening and puffy lips. From so close, you could see every detail of his face. The small scar on his hairline, and the slight stubble just forming on his jawline. He looked at you like you were the most beautiful piece of artwork he’d ever seen. Looked at you with such fondness, such reverence, that you had meant what you had said in the woods, and had said in your heart all along. You loved him. Truly loved him.

You nodded as you looped your arms around his neck, pulling into a kiss that you hoped would translate how much you cared for him, how much you truly wanted him. The kiss was soft; tongues exploring mouths, wandering hands exploring each other’s bodies, and your hips rolling against his own. “Need more,” you mumbled through the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth descended to the column of your neck. “Please, Eddie. Please…”

He came back up to look at you, his nose pressed against your own as his eyes softened, yet a hint of a furrowed brow was still evident. “A-are you sure? We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being pressured. We can stop, and cuddle, and-”

There was the rambling again, that little habit that both endeared and slightly frustrated you at this moment when you needed him so badly. Interrupting him with an experimental roll of your hips, you watched as his breath caught in his throat, eyes fluttering shut as you pressed yourself against his hard cock underneath his jeans. “I want this,” you whispered, your voice steady and even as you nodded your head. Eddie was on top of you, but you felt like you had all the control. Knowing that you could say one word, and he’d drop his pleasure just to make sure you were okay. It gave you the power to make your final decision.

His features spread into a lopsided grin when he realised you were positive, shifting his weight over to the side of the bed to open the drawer in his bedside table and rummage through the contents. You watched with interest, biting your lip with a small smile when you saw a square foil packet appear between his fingertips.

Clutching the condom wrapper in his teeth as he undid his belt – no doubt an image that would be forever burned into your brain at the eroticism of the sight – watching with eagerness as he slid his jeans and boxers off. Your eyes widened at the sight of his cock; you’d not actually seen one in real life, but you knew he was big. Thick and slightly on the longer side, with a few prominent veins running up the shaft and the tip leaking precum. Your pussy clenched at the sight of it, and you swallowed back a small gulp as you watched him carefully tear open the wrapper with his teeth and begin to roll the condom over his cock.

“Is it… Going to hurt?” you asked softly, remembering how one or two of your friends had complained about how sore they were when they finally lost their virginity. Though you were excited beyond belief, there was a small pang of apprehension, a sense that you had bitten off more than you can chew.

“It might sting a little,” he answered honestly, making sure the condom was secure before leaning back over you. “But you’re really wet, and you’ve already come, so that’s going to help. And I’ll be really slow, okay? I won’t start moving until you tell me to. And if you need to stop-”

“I’ll tell you,” you finished for him, a small smile on your face as you watched him mirror your expression.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, pecking a kiss to your temple as he lined himself up with your hole. “I’m going to start, okay? Just relax your body for me.”

You took a deep breath, holding onto his shoulders as you adjusted your hips a little. You felt him press against you, the tip of his cock gently stretching you open as he passionately kissed you. Your eyes fluttered shut as he pressed in further, a small whine leaving your lips as you felt a slight burning sensation. It was a little uncomfortable, but it didn’t hurt as bad as you thought it would. Not when he was being so slow; so attentive to your body, stopping when you let out a sharp gasp, and only sinking in further when he felt your hips slightly rock at the desperation for more.

You felt him shudder as his hips finally met yours, a low groan audible by your ear as you tried to get accustomed to the feeling of fullness that you’d never experienced before. It was overwhelming in the most incredible way; you could feel everything, could hear the soft groans that he let out as he kissed your temple, every slight shift of your body as you squirmed underneath him causing skitters of pleasure to shoot up your spine. “You okay?” he whispered, voice cracking slightly as his grip on the bedsheets beside your head turned knuckle white.

You frowned a little, wondering if he was uncomfortable at all. Though it was clear he was worried about your comfort levels, you couldn’t help but feel anxious as you lifted your hand to smooth your fingers through his hair. “It feels good, but… Are you?”

You saw the small grin spread across his face as he came into your view, dark eyes near black with his pupils blown out. “Sweetheart, ‘m trying not to come already.” Your heart warmed that even in the moment, when you could see him trying so hard to hold back his own needs just for you, that he was still trying to put you at ease with his usual brand of confidence. But you wanted him to come undone; to see him fall apart, just as he’d seen you. You wanted to see that side of him, wanted to feel that closeness that two people who had explored each other’s bodies felt.

You made an experimental roll of your hips, a soft gasp falling from your lips as you felt his length drag across your walls, that spot that he’d discovered with his fingers being massaged by the tip of his cock. “More, please,” you managed to whisper out, keening when you felt one of his hands grasp your hip as he made slow, languid thrusts that had your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“Y’ feel so fuckin’ good,” he murmured, breath catching in his throat as he pressed his forehead against yours. “So tight, fuck.” Through your haze of ecstasy, you marvelled at how his face was screwed up, mouth parted that let out soft pants. It spurred you into meeting his thrusts with your own, the discomfort that had been there in the beginning now completely gone, replaced with a blissful, heady sensation that had you reeling.

The only sounds in the trailer were the sounds of your bodies meeting, soft mewls and moans disrupted by the kisses that he lovingly pressed to your lips, music that you could barely make out when your mind was so fuzzy and blissed out. You could feel that coil beginning to become tight again, more intense this time, causing you to cry out as he shifted his hips and quickened his pace. “Gonna- God, gonna come Eddie,” you whined, brain short-circuiting when you felt deft fingers make tight circles on your clit.

“Come f’ me, angel,” he groaned, thrusts becoming sloppy as his fingers on your hip tightened, an added sensation of slight pain that mixed with your pleasure. Your back arched, pressing your chest to his own as you felt yourself clamp down on his cock and letting out a near scream as your eyes screwed shut. You thought the last climax was intense, but this was the next level. Your thighs clamped around his hips and white dots filled your vision, your hands that were on his shoulders now scratching down his ribs as your nails dug into his flesh, trying to find some sort of tether to the waking world. You felt him bury himself impossibly deep into you, small whines and gasps audible with his lips by the shell of your ear as you felt him twitch inside of you. You both reached your peaks, a tangled mess of limbs and covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you felt his body collapse onto yours. You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle as he grunted with exertion and rolled off you, onto his back.

“Christ,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face and a grin being revealed to you when he took them away. He made quick work of pulling off the spent condom, tying a knot in the end and tossing it towards the trash bin on the other side of the room. Thankfully, it went in, and you laughed at his small fist bump at the good shot.

Finding your way into his arms, you relaxed against his chest as he held you tight, shifting your bodies so he could pull the sheets over your both. “Thank you,” you managed to say, drawing absent-minded patterns into his pectoral muscle with your fingertips.

“It should be me who’s thanking you,” he chuckled, kissing the crown of your head as his grip on you tightened, as if yearning for more contact, as if that was even possible. “You’re perfect, you know that? Fuckin’ perfect…”

You couldn’t help but preen under his compliments, as you always did. Though this time, it felt so much more intimate. Laying naked, so entangled you weren’t sure where you ended and Eddie started. Still glowing in the aftermath of your orgasms, feeling so loved and adored as he peppered your face and body with kisses. Worshipped, you think is the word. And you loved it.

Looking over to the small alarm clock on his bedside table, you made a noise of annoyance as you tried to sit yourself up. “Curfew’s in an hour,” you mumbled, not wanting to leave this solace that you’d both created.

His large had flattened onto your sternum, a playful grin overtaking his face as he propped himself up onto his side to look down on you. “And your place is fifteen minutes away,” he countered, raising an eyebrow. “So… We still got fourty-five minutes.”

You chuckled, pulling him down over you as you looped an arm around his neck, your other hand on his cheek as you kissed him. “What can we do in fourty-five minutes?” you wondered aloud, a sudden yelp of surprise leaving your lips as he manhandled you into his lap, your knees positioned on either side of his hips.

“Baby, I can do a lot in that time,” he purred, resting his forearms on the small of your back as he looked up at you, features morphing into a look of slight pleading as he tipped his head to the side. “But just… Stay with me for a little while? Please?”

And how could you say no to him, when he was looking at you with such adoration? “Okay,” you whispered, pecking a kiss on the tip of his nose as you got yourself settled. You coiled your arms around his neck, pressing the side of your face to his chest, hearing his heartbeat and soft hums as he sang along to the melody of the background music you’d long forgotten about. Enjoying the way he smoothed his hand up and down your spine, lulling you to close your eyes and take deep, even breaths as drowziness caught up with you.

Would falling asleep be wise, considering you had a time limit? Probably not. But the way you were so comfortable, so content in his arms, feeling so safe… Fuck curfew. You’d face the consequences later.

[essaytime]

I think the main thing that absolutely infuriates me about the "Romeo and Juliet were just dumb, horny teens" take is this implication that because they were so young, their relationship had to boil down to them being dramatic and inventing some great romance to moan about, or lust and hormones. As a teenager, it makes me want to tear the speaker apart with my bare hands. Interchangeably with stabbing, maybe.

When you look at the text, you can clearly see that there is some emotional connection between Juliet and Romeo. Their first conversation is literally a sonnet - which already indicates some sort of understanding and mutuality, and it's also beautiful poetry. They are the only characters in the entire play that they are really fully comfortable talking to. The adults are caught up in the feud, Nurse loves Juliet, but cannot understand her (and makes a dirty joke at her expense in Act I, which for a person Juliet's age would be awfully unpleasant), Romeo's friends, though I Iove them, don't get his sensitivity - Mercutio laughing at it and Benvolio worried by it - which Juliet, in turn, appreciates. They speak of each other with respect and admiration, quite unusually in Verona, where all is conflict and even Juliet's own father insults her: look at the sonnet, the balcony scene, Romeo comparing his sweetheart to the sun or a jewel (in contrast to his earlier quotes about Rosaline, which are literally a compilation of clichés stacked on top of one another). Even when Juliet awaits their wedding night, in a speech clearly centered on sexual matters, there is a visible softness and affection with which she treats Romeo ("cut him out in little stars"...). She waits for the night because it's him, not "I want to sleep with someone because I want to sleep with someone". The two genuinely care about each other, and are fond of each other. Of course, we can wonder if this love would last if they were given an opportunity to grow older, but when the play takes place, this love is there, and it's beautiful.

(Off-topic, I'd also like to note that this is an Elizabethan play that takes place in even earlier times, presumably late medieval - early renaissance Italy. They wouldn't live in the modern world where you can date many different people and settle well into your thirties or fourties. The average marriage age for girls in Shakespeare's time was about twenty, in fifteenth century Florence it was eighteen. Both of them were from wealthy families, so they'd likely be expected - even if Juliet's parents did not force her into a marriage with Paris - to marry earlier, for financial and political purposes. There couldn't be a "growing older" like we imagine it. Even their hypothetical different relationships would be early relationships for today's standards)

And it makes my blood boil when the visible genuine bond between these two is reduced to just "dumb kids being horny". The motive behind these words being partly, of course, the high-school-acquired All Required Reading is Nonsense edginess, but also a deeper issue - the inability to comprehend the fact that teenage love is also often real love.

Being capable of having deep and meaningful romantic relationships does not come baked into your birthday cake when you turn eighteen or attached to your first ever bill. Not every single feeling a teenager might harbour is at its core shallow lust and wanting to get laid. Of course, there's lots of cases of shortsighted infatuation where the pair really have nothing in common! I could name at least a few examples I have seen personally. But still, on every street and every corner of the world, and often a few metres from these pointless infatuations, teens fall in love because there's something more to it. Because they find they have a lot in common, because they get along well with each other, because they are able to see the good in the other person - their kindness, their intelligence, their enthusiasm, you name it. "Teens" including the younger teens, from thirteen to fifteen. And this love is a deep emotional bond. Sure, in most cases it will not last until death (and to be honest, relationships not working out is not really a teenage-specific phenomenon and a sign that young love of all is inherently doomed and it has to die so the curse of growing up is fulfilled), but it doesn't make it less of a love when it still remains, and it includes all the things love is about. Young couples go on dates, and have fun. They confide in each other. They support each other through hard times, they show care, they sometimes make sacrifices for their loved one's good. As any person in love does, at any age.

When I fell in love four months ago, I did not fall in love because I wanted to sleep with someone so bad. In fact, I do not want to - not for the next several years. I realise it's something I might want someday, but it's not today; and above all, I'm way too young. If anything, what I want is to kiss someone, or run my fingers through his hair, or read with his head in my lap - but it's not something I'd go out of my way and date a random person to get, come on. I fell in love because he is actually the first boy that reminds me of myself so much, the first I can understand so well. Because I also have a penchant for history and writing, I also tend to use formal and flowery language in very informal situations, I also enjoy people's attention (though I seem to worry more about being a potential inconvenience than he does), I also believe that we should judge people as individuals, because there's too much nuance in one person to make proper statements about large groups - and I find in him so many things that I can relate to, though of course I can't say I know him well enough to speak much for sure. Besides, he's simply a wonderful person, not flawless, of course, but he has a good heart. He is always kind, and well-mannered, and intelligent, and you can laugh with him. He would care if something bad happened, no matter if he says that he wouldn't. I think I know him well enough to say this at least. And if he loved me back (a thing I consider unlikely for now, but not entirely impossible), would we stay together forever? Heaven alone knows! Maybe not! It is up to the higher power. But even if we broke up, that wouldn't erase the fact that I loved him, and I would have done a lot for him, and we were able to have meaningful conversations. Just because a love isn't forever, doesn't mean it was never there.

Because - what the "dumb kids" people don't seem to grasp - teenagers are also human beings with a functioning, even if not fully developed, brain, capable of having complex feelings and thoughts just like an adult. Note that Shakespeare's leads, at least Juliet, actually do that - hence the pre-wedding night monologue, the "deny thy father and refuse thy name", her statement (I don't know the English original of that one, to be honest) that she is too soft and loving towards Romeo already, but it's because she has such profound feelings for him she can't even pretend to be strict. It's noticeable that she has some emotional maturity, at least - she shows some critical thinking abilities, she understands the consequences of many actions, she is able to see that the feud is pointless and a name is just a name. She's a teenager, and someone in their teens is also a Homo sapiens specimen, not a being from a different planet. Teens think and feel. It might not be the same reality as the adult one, and they don't deal with emotions with such ease as an adult would, but that doesn't mean they are unable to truly love and care, to enjoy talking to someone and want the best for them, like grown-ups do - as developing an affection for someone that makes you happy is a very human thing, and I can guarantee you a thirteen or fourteen-year-old is a developed enough human being to experience it.

So, to sum it up, if I hear any "Romeo and Juliet were just dumb kids being horny" on my watch, the author of this statement will presumably be mercilessly killed, and then I'll do as Fulvia allegedly did to Cicero and stab something through their tongue, except instead of a hairpin, I'll probably use one of the darts my little brother got for Christmas. They are very sharp. We have several holes in the floor already.

[ticklishraspberries]

Ren Faire (Eddie/Steve)

Summary: Steve, Eddie, and Robin go to a Renaissance Fair and see some interesting demonstrations. (This fic is for my lovely friend @gigglyrambles!! I literally just pulled this whole plot out of my ass and wrote it in one sitting, so I really hope you like it, LOL. Also, shoutout to @wordstrings because I know she has written something similar for Our Flag Means Death, I hope you don't mind me taking inspiration!!)

Steve isn’t sure how he ended up being dragged along to a Renaissance Fair with none other than Robin and Eddie, but he found it hard to say no to either of their puppy dog eyes and incessant begging.

His outfit is simple, consisting of a white, long-sleeved shirt with laces at the neckline, tight brown pants, and brown boots. He feels only a little bit ridiculous, but after seeing what his friends are wearing, he supposes he isn’t the weirdest looking one.

Eddie is decked out in black, an intricately detailed top with ruffles and buttons. A fake sword sits in a holder on his waist. Robin has gone for a more masculine look, a cloak over her shoulders and a bow and arrow in her hand.

“Screw historical accuracy,” she’d said.

“The fact that you’re a girl isn’t the problem, it’s that you couldn’t hit a moving target with an arrow to save your life,” Eddie had teased, and Robin had elbowed him in the ribs, making Steve laugh.

Now that they’ve arrived, Steve has relaxed a bit. He used to feel out of place whenever he attended events that he wouldn’t have been caught dead at in high school. Corroded Coffin concerts, DnD campaigns, and that one time he drove Eddie and Robin to the nearest gay bar in Indiana. It had definitely been more awkward sober, and before he realized that he’s bisexual, and could have totally had more fun if he’d been aware of and okay with that information at the time.

He’s sort of glad he wasn’t, though, because kissing Eddie Munson during a childish game of truth or dare was a much funnier way to have your queer awakening, and dating Eddie Munson is way more fun than hooking up with random guys in a bar.

“They have really good beer here,” Eddie comments, to which Steve holds up his car keys and jingles them. No medieval mead is going to keep him from being the designated driver.

“I can drive us home,” Robin says, absolutely joking, but Steve still gives her a horrified look and makes a show of sliding his keys back into his pocket, patting the denim for safe keeping. She sticks her tongue out at him, and he flicks her cheek.

Eddie does end up getting some beer, and Steve allows himself a few sips. They’ll be here for at least a few hours, he’ll surely sober up by then. He also samples the gigantic turkey leg that Eddie gets, and Robin wrinkles her nose in disgust at the messy nature of the food.

As they walk around, Steve finds himself getting into the spirit more than he had expected. They eat, watch musical performances, and shop at the little stalls set up by various vendors. Eddie buys a few rings for himself, and buys a handmade mug for Uncle Wayne. Robin indulges in candles and soaps, and even dares to see a fortune teller.

“She said that I’ll meet my future husband soon,” she says, giggling. “Clearly she’s a fraud, or she’d know I’m not interested.”

When Robin runs off to find a bathroom, somehow, Eddie and Steve end up standing around a demonstration about medieval punishments and torture, which Steve expects to be gruesome, and quickly finds he would rather hear gritty, gorey details than stand her and watch this happen.

A pretty girl, probably around their age, is locked into a pair of wooden stocks, and—

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Steve mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Eddie looks absolutely delighted as he leans in close. “What’s wrong, Stevie? The demonstration isn’t bothering you, is it?” he asks. His cheeks are flushed, too. A few months ago, Eddie would probably be the one stuttering and staring at the ground right now, but ever since he introduced this little world to Steve, he’s gained a confidence about it that only comes out when he gets to tease Steve into oblivion.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up, I’m trying to watch. Maybe I can get some pointers from these guys.”

‘These guys’ refers to the two men who have started tickling the girl’s trapped feet, and frantic giggles fill the air and make Steve’s stomach flip.

“Oh, she’s handling this better than you would,” Eddie continues to tease. “I’d already be called every insult under the sun if you couldn’t kick me instead.”

“I will kick you right now,” Steve threatens. It’s a complete lie. He’s frozen to the spot on the grass, torn between watching and focusing on the grass. Everyone else in the crowd is behaving like this is so normal, no big deal, just a silly show.

One of the men has moved behind the girl to tickle her ribs, her arms secured above her head. Steve crosses his arms over his chest, subconsciously protecting his own sensitive spots, like just watching her could tickle him, too.

“You love that spot,” Eddie coos. “You make the cutest sounds when I tickle you there.”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you,” Steve grits out.

“Sure you will, sweetheart. Can it wait ‘til after I’ve made you cry real pretty for me?”

Just then, Robin appears at his side. “This looks like my worst nightmare,” she says. “I hope this girl is getting paid well.”

Steve makes a noise of agreement, but can’t bring himself to look over. Eddie Munson is going to be the fucking death of him. Thankfully, Robin is immediately bored of the display and drags them off to explore. Eddie subtly gives Steve’s side a quick pinch as he walks past him, and Steve suddenly can’t wait to go home.

***

“You are a fucking menace,” Steve accuses the moment they’ve made it through the door.

His parents aren’t home, Robin was dropped off back at her house, and now, Steve is alone with Eddie for the first time all day, and he refuses to voice how excited he is for whatever Eddie’s got planned.

But Eddie just grins, tugging off the more elaborate pieces of his costume, leaving himself in socks, boxers, and a white t-shirt. He makes his way to the kitchen, comes back with two cans of beer, sits on the couch like he isn’t ignoring the clear tension in the room.

Steve gapes at him for a minute before joining him on the couch, kicking off his boots and taking a beer as well. Maybe Eddie’s changed his mind…Maybe he just isn’t the mood, and Steve isn’t going to pressure him into anything.

But…Well, he has a sneaking suspicion that isn’t the case at all.

“If you’re waiting for me to ask, it’s not gonna happen,” he says.

“Ask for what?” Eddie tilts his head curiously, but there’s a glint in his eye that proves Steve’s theory.

“Nothing,” Steve replies, playing along. “All that talk back there just made me think you had a plan for when we got home. But if you’re not interested, that’s fine too.”

“Did you want me to have a plan?”

Steve huffs. “Maybe. But if you don’t, then let’s forget about it.”

“Oh, c’mon baby,” Eddie says, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulling him close. “All you’ve gotta do is ask if you want it so bad.”

His cheeks burn. Stubborn as ever, he shakes his head.

Eddie sighs with exaggerated disappointment. “If you insist. I guess I’ll just keep my hands to myself tonight…”

“Good,” Steve says, and turns the television on.

It takes two beers and a stupid scene in a film to break him. It’s a quick, barely there tickle, but the character’s laugh makes Steve perk up like a dog hearing a doorbell ring.

“Fine,” he says.

“What’s fine?” Eddie asks.

“Just fucking tickle me, you dick.”

Eddie grins and wastes no time, lunging across the couch and pinning Steve to the cushions.

“I knew you’d crack eventually, sweetheart,” he teases. “Sorry we don’t have quite the same set up, but I’ll hold you down real nice, okay?”

Steve is already grinning. He can’t help it, he’s so lovestruck by his boyfriend and desperate to laugh his head off. And laugh he does when Eddie goes straight for his ribs, scratching at the dips between each little bone.

“There’s that pretty sound,” he says, pressing a kiss to Steve’s jaw that is both sweet and ticklish under the current circumstance.

The stupid shirt with the laces is pulled over his head and discarded on the floor, and Eddie pins Steve’s wrists and tells him to stay still before exploring each ticklish spot on his torso, making him shriek and cackle and snort like a fool.

He doesn’t stay still for very long, arms shooting down to his sides when Eddie attacks his belly with blunt fingernails, and Eddie scolds him but doesn’t stop.

As he squirms on the couch, giggling like mad, he wonders if they sell some of those bondage contraptions there. He thinks that they should go back to the Ren Faire sometime. 

[anchoredarchangel]

Thanks for the tag @anincompletelist ! I’ve never played this one before 💫🤍

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

beneath the cut because I’m wordy as hell oops.

From No Consequences:

If Alex revisits the metaphor about his brain at the best of times, this is the moment where the toddler holding the flipbook exchanges their sugar addiction for straight cocaine. The good stuff. High quality. This is Alex’s brain on drugs.

From Hope is a Five-Alarm Fire:

Alex stares at him without blinking the way other people probably look at renaissance art: like magnificence beyond the scope of words, a pinnacle of creation, something meant to be kept pristine, locked away from the ruining touch of the masses. Except he’s putting his filthy fucking hands all over it, leaving smudging fingerprints behind. And the art likes it. 

From The Cosmos in His Palms:

Alex thinks about Henry, about pulling the stars from the sky just to tuck them carefully in Henry's chest beside his heart to keep him company, so he'd never have to look for them again; about what Alex would be willing to do to put the cosmos in his palms.  He’d do the impossible. He’d defy the gods that put them there. 

From The Throne He Deserves:

Who kisses Alex like he’s the water in the desert and he doesn’t care if it’s a mirage so long as he doesn’t die in pain, and who fucks him like it might be worth the pain of dying just to do it again and again. 

From The Wait Before the Fall:

“This is not all that I am,” Henry tells him, turning back to the statue, something tumultuous in him settling, going just as still as the museum air. “Not anymore.” He looks up, that beautiful, defiant tilt to his chin; not to the man being crushed, but at the plaster of the woman—head draped in a lion’s skin, club in hand, kneeling on the shield in victory. Valour and Cowardice: Valour.

From A Spark and Flash Paper:

In a rare moment of courage, he does the latter. He chooses himself. No bloody consequences.

From A Sin Better Than Heaven:

“Imagine how I will feel to your cock,” he says boldly, and Alexander meets his eyes; the brown all but eclipsed by a full moon of darkness.  “I will not,” he murmurs, “because I intend to know with certainty.”

From The Very Portrait of Temptation:

Alexander’s mouth slows, a kiss longer and deeper and felt in every nook of him—the king's tongue sliding expertly past Henry's teeth, like a dagger through the widening crack in what remains of Henry's armor. This—it is everything, and everything that it is is enough to drive men to madness beyond the point of hysteria, enough to lose what remains of his wits, enough to foolishly hope for an unlikely change of fate. One where he is not a deceitful seducer, but rather a trusted confidante. One where he is even, perhaps, an actual lover, true as North.  A beautiful agony, most mad indeed. 

my tumbling has been iffy lately and I’m not sure who has already played—so if you see this and you haven’t posted one yet, here’s an open tag from me to you 💌

but also @firenati0n when you’re back I want to see!

[inchidentally]

that person has me blocked so I'm guessing I shouldn't link to the post but I got the picture from it (I tried finding the original source but just got a dead link to pinterest)

but god yes I would love to talk about Oscar's beautiful face, holy shit

I did a very small amount of research and apparently the primary region of Italy that's produced Piastris is Tuscany - which was also why I have my vampire AU of Fernando discovering Oscar as a youth in Renaissance era Florence and that's also where I have his family set for my F1 royalty AU.

and when you look up 'people from Tuscany' wowwww you can see how much Oscar's features come from there:

and like holy shit the expressions on Modigliani and Botticelli?? that is Oscar's proud little lift of the head and cool appraising eyes !!

idk the other people but they're the ones closest in particular to Oscar's features with the almost heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, soft and sleepy looking almond eyes, a high nose bridge that ends in a soft round tip. and apparently gorgeous hair is pretty common in Tuscany wowwwww.

but I think apart from the soft romantic looking eyes my favorite features - especially for his profile - are those straight brows on a very low brow ridge which tbh make the unwavering stare even more unnerving bc his eyes aren't hooded or shaded at all and the light always catches his eyes

and the little flat cursive 'm' of his mouth with lips that are actually pretty plush and sit in a pout when he isn't speaking

which actually also adds to his look being kind of unnerving because his lips don't thin out at all when he smiles they just stretch wider and look so pretty. the only time his face is disarmed is when he does a full body laugh (Lando gets that out of him a lot as we know). otherwise his expression settles back into that eerily beautiful look that apparently is very traditionally Tuscan.

so going back to that first image it's why I love the way softness and sweetness is in his nose and his pretty mouth but then it's set in this very fine but well-defined bone structure and then those intense eyes and straight eyebrows. it's why vampire Oscar works so well to me bc he has that seductive stare but his face is so pretty that you think he can't possibly be dangerous!

that's when he gets his sharp top and bottom biters into you

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 2.

Summary: Felix and Y/N's first year of university means being more open with how close they are, while perhaps growing a little more distant than Felix would like. Also the Catton family have bestowed Y/N their own title, which Felix hates, and Y/N and Farleigh have a moment of connection over Christmas.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader with Felix, Venetia, and Farleigh in this chapter. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: Smut (reader bottoming but their gender is not made explicit), Degrading language (reader is referred to as as dog & pet)

A/N: 3071 words. i definitely meant to get to the start of their second year/first run in with Oli..... but this chapter got long enough, so instead we'll meet Oliver at the start of the next chapter and instead we get Felix and Reader at university, best friends who hook up shenanigans, Venetia being a pot-stirrer because she likes to rile up her brother, and Farleigh and Y/N bonding and boning. i feel like the pacing is a bit strange so id love some feedback <3 ALSO I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT UK COLLEGE CALANDERS IM SO SORRY LOL

Taglist: @strangemaximoff @renaissance-mama @tsach @malscorner @xhoneymoonx134 @yelchinweasleylothbrok @tarriea @florencediet @butitsbetterifyoudoittoem @belladonnadarksshade @fandom-multiamory @snazzynacho @jubileexoxo @soocore @be-lla-vie @nightingale2124 @willow-sages @null4ndv0id @gracieluvthemoon @day2dream @marvellover98 @navixfr @bitxhinthecomments @daintylovers @alesunsets @noturningbacknow @d0llysposts @alilcloudy @callsignwidow @moviequotes23 @325575 @bonnieblue0606 @osoqueen125 @hot-dino-nuggies @darkness-falls-xo

----

To absolutely no-ones surprise, least of all yours, Felix takes to the social aspects of college like a duck to water. Neither of you missed a single day or night of activities during first year orientation, and you both left the various pubs and bars with a different hook up each night.

Felix sees a poster for a band in town, and crows with laughter as he talks about how his mother would hate if he ever got a piercing, but you know the look in his eye too well, and tell him there's a piercing place a block away.

"God I miss Farleigh," you sigh with a smile, watching him size himself up in the mirror of the tattoo parlour where the piercer had drawn approximate dots to mark his soon-to-be eyebrow piercing.

"Oh he'd love this, wouldn't he?" Felix agrees, grinning from ear to ear, catching your gaze in the reflection. Despite the piercer's reassurance that it doesn't actually hurt that bad, Felix plays up the bit of being concerned, insisting that you hold his hand.

It's easier in this environment to be affectionate. Perhaps its the way that all nights liked to blur together, lips and teeth and tongues and hands, and you find yourself invited to parties and into bedrooms and Felix is in the crowd, pupils wide and drugs in his blood and knowing you can take care of yourself.

Fruit flies mistaking his light in the night for the rot they're used to.

That being said, while of course Felix is gorgeous and the life of the party, your own magnetic aura and love features draw in your own crowd of admirers; you proximity to Felix was merely a perk.

You yourself find yourself blooming at college; with a far stronger sense of identity than you'd had for most of your teenage years, you shed many of your adolescent insecurities and begin to embrace yourself and the people around you as more than just Felix's friends.

"I miss you," he teases, eyes shiny and pupils huge, looking at you with that look that made everyone else weak in the knees. The two of you are crammed too close in a booth at a club, everyone else having left to dance or find something interesting to snort in the bathrooms.

"I'm always around, Fi," you murmur, just as high, lips twisted into a bleary smile, your finger beneath his chin to lift his face to you.

"They love you here," he grinned, lips inches from yours, skin glowing with sweat from the adrenaline and high of the night, "knew they would," it's not especially jealous, more proud, and you sigh against his lips with the kind of warm contentment his praise always brings you.

"Don't care if they love me," you say, very tellingly, voice low and flirty. Anyone could see the two of you, but the unspoken rules of high school had fallen away; the rules of college seemed to prioritise a lack of judgement, especially with the people you surrounded yourself with. Felix giggles, flushing red, leaning into your touch, leaning even heavier against you in the little, otherwise empty booth.

"You miss me, Fi?" You prompt, letting his face go as you wrap an arm around him, drawing you in close to him. Despite his height, he folds himself up to lean into you. Felix giggles again, mostly to himself, clearly shitfaced, without answering, he angles his face up to press a kiss to your neck, "we see each other every day, we still fuck around, we -"

"Do you think I could live without you?" He asks suddenly, and surprisingly frankly. His chin is on your shoulder, eyes wide and demanding an answer. It's not a joke, nor some strange attempt at flirting, and your throat turns dry as the lights spin around you both.

"You're drunk," you tell him gently, "and high."

"Why would I ask that?" He frowns, suddenly, sitting up, as if he's talking more to himself than you, "that's a fucked question actually, sorry Y/N, I shouldn't have -"

"I think it's more about how you feel about it." You tell him gently, "we should get water. You sit here, I'll get it."

You're unsteady on your feet when you head to the bar, collecting two cups of water, almost overflowing, from the end, trying not to think about it all. It didn't matter either way, how he thought or felt about it. It was a foolish, drunken question, it doesn't matter. Right?

Except he's bopping back and forth in his seat, tapping the rhythm with surprising success on the table top, eyes shining in the light where all he seems to look at is you. Felix grin wide and bright, thanks already in his smile before the words reach his lips as you sit back down next to him.

You could live without him, but you know you'd never want to, so long as he'd want you around.

"Think I'd rather die than live without you," he says with little prompting, holding the cup with both hands as he downs half in a single gulp. What?

"What?"

He turns those perfect, brown eyes upon you like you don't already live your life in his shape, like he hadn't validated every choice you'd made since you'd met him. He smiles.

"You're my best mate, you're always good to me and help me with shit and never get mad at all the dumb ideas I have and you've made sure I haven't gotten kicked out of any schools, even if I probably deserved it," he rambles and takes another drink, this time choosing to look out at the nauseating crowd of haze and lights and bodies, "I love you, I don't think I could live without you."

"Is that why you miss me?" Your voice is barely audible above the music, but Felix still hears it. Putting his mostly empty cup on the table, he shoves his shoulder against yours, refusing to let up until his full weight is against you, the two of you toppling down in the booth, him draped over you wearing the absolute goofiest grin. It's a good reminder that you're both incredibly drunk.

"Just miss you."

You stumble out of the bar together, and back to the dorms. Felix is insistent that you stay with him.

"No funny business," he mumbles against your ear, breath hot and smirk in his voice, "promise."

"You couldn't get it up if you tried," you snorted, "whiskey dick." Though he tries to protest, you gently elbow him in the ribs and he sulkily admits that you're probably right. Still, in the warmth of his room and the two of you stripped to your underwear, it's kind of irresistible to not make out like teenagers for a good while. You get you both glasses of water to put on the nightstand, and Felix tells you he loves you while on the brink of sleep.

"Love you too, Fi."

"Couldn't live without you, meant it," he hiccups, cracking an eye to smirk up at you from where he's splayed out on the bed, "probably."

"Don't think I could live without you either," you shuffle yourself into the bed beside him, letting him roll over to wrap an arm around you, "even if you are a fucking wanker sometimes," you grin, and hear him laugh into his pillow.

Felix has more game than anyone you've ever met without even trying, stealing and breaking hearts from all areas of the university. You watch it happen with amusement as you find your own slew of pretty guys and girls to keep you company when you feel like it. Still, for all the charisma and charm Felix had been blessed with, his touch-starved nature becomes both a blessing and a curse when he finds himself drunk and tactile and desperate for touch.

A desperate, affection Felix loses all of those carefully-curated social barriers that the two of you had put between yourselves as teenagers in public. Girls are more open and supportive around here; perhaps you should be offended, that many, once they learn he's prone to clinging to you, to kissing you, they end up rationalising it. It doesn't count.

Or perhaps they think they can shift the affection to themselves. Felix always learns to be more affectionate to them, but will find himself with you more often than he's not.

And those girls don't even know about the sex.

"I think about you," he huffs between short, jagged breaths, with you bent over the end of his bed, "is that weird?"

His latest breakup isn't even twelve hours old yet, but when you'd showed up at his room with a six-pack of beers and the offer to let him vent, he'd taken it without hesitation. While they hadn't been going out for long, she'd been pretty, but an apparently lousy fuck. When you'd jokingly offered to remind him what a decent lay was like, Felix had genuinely jumped at the chance.

"A bit - ah," you mused for a moment, hips rocking back to meet his in a pleasant rhythm. He takes a pause to tap one of your ankles with his foot, and you adjust your stance to be a bit wider, "what context? Just in general - fuck, Fi, there," and you find yourself lost for words as he presses his hand against the small of your back. His pace remains steady as he fucks you, and you obliging lean further down; he knows you well, know how to fuck you just the way you both enjoy.

Then you're in his bed, straddling him, riding him with his hands on your hips, your thighs, bouncing as his nails dig pleasantly into your skin.

"Think about me?" You finally continue, breathless, and something about the way he holds you steady, lets you pause as he laughs, flushed cheeks growing even more read, makes you grin too, "you mean like this, don't you?" And you rolled your hips, eliciting a groan from him that was like music to your ears.

"Shut up," he'd laughed, giving you a squeeze, unable to meet your gaze.

"Did you ever call out my name?" You lean down, across him, and for a moment his hands slide up your body to wrap around your neck, bringing you in for a gentle kiss.

"Thankfully not."

"Still, those poor girls," you teased.

"Poor me," Felix argued, "having to try and power through terrible sex while thinking about someone who's not even there, just because I know you're better at it," and he played at pouting for a moment, looking for sympathy.

"You really didn't have to tell me all this," you laughed, sitting back up and setting a gentle pace, smiling down at him, "you're such a perv." When his fingertips trail down your body, a shiver runs down your spine. There's this look in his eyes for just a moment, something knowing, something teasing, something you'd seen on occasion that made you feel so wanted and seen and -

He likes you knowing.

"You gonna give me something to think about?" That tone of voice, the teasing, the faintest hint of authority, like he's pretending like he doesn't know all the ways you'd debauch yourself if only he asked.

Venetia gets you a collar for Christmas, and Farleigh's already been kicked out of several universities by the time your first Winter break had arrived.

"Oh Pet, that's so cute," Elspeth coos at the designer, velvet collar that Venetia had smugly handed over while Felix had scowled, "is that Cartier?" Much to Felix's dismay, Elspeth and Sir James have apparently taken to calling you Pet as a pet name. He blames his sister entirely.

"Pet's easier, sweetheart," Elspeth had tried to argue when you'd sat down at your first breakfast of the Winter break at Saltburn, and she'd asked Duncan 'don't forget about our dear pet'. Naturally Felix had frowned the entire time while arguing with his parents, who insisted it's easier to use Pet than a whole new set of names and pronouns.

"It's been years mum, how have you not adjusted?" He demands, while you have shrunken in your chair and tried to divine life's secrets from your breakfast.

"What do you think, Pet?" Venetia said with a venomous kind of sweetness. Looking up at her, she's wearing this smug kind of smile, directed not at you but at Felix next to you. When you look to him, you see Farleigh across the table trying to hide his amusement in several pieces of toast eaten with no break in between.

"I think," you paused, looking past an annoyed Felix to his mother at the head of the table, "that if you want to call me Pet, you can, I think it's sweet, but please don't expect Felix to refer to me as such," you said with a surprising amount of firmness. Then after a beat of surprise from the rest of the table, you took a deep breath, "and for events and guests, I really wouldn't appreciate being introduced as such."

"Of course," Elspeth quickly amends, adding, "Y/N," for good measure.

"It's a pet name, Pet," Sir James gives an awkward little smile, nodding in agreement. Farleigh met your gaze for a moment, and you could see only the bread was keeping his laughter from spilling out. Beside you, Felix relaxes, and finally you look at him. Dark, serious eyes, with something grateful shining faintly in the morning sun.

Of course you let him throw Venetia's collar gift in the fire in front of her, despite her protests.

You get used to the sweet way the Cattons refer to you as Pet; as much as Felix despised it's connotations when it came from his sister, there was something comforting, something almost secure about the way the whole family had picked it up so easily.

"Was wondering where I'd find you," Farleigh's voice is warm while you're raiding the expansive kitchen for some kind of easy midnight snack. You could have asked one of the many staff members who reside on the property, but you hadn't wanted to bother them over probably some crisps.

"Farleigh!" You light up upon hearing his voice, turning, refrigerator door still open in your hand. He approaches, and you close the refrigerator, hugging him tightly, "oh this is great, it's been so long since it's been just us!"

"Darling pet," he says with a surprising amount of gentleness.

"You should come to Oxford, Fi and I miss you terribly," you tell him, leaning into his touch with a sincere smile as he holds your face gently, while you still hold him is a loose embrace.

"I've already been accepted into another college; you'll be fine without me," and he grins, kissing you on the nose, pressing a kiss to each cheek, "pet." He adds, almost to himself, and your face falls as you think about what he'd said.

"Everything's better with you," you insist, "and you'd love it; we could party like we did that Summer in France, but every weekend -!" Farleigh cuts you off with his lips against yours; you can taste the sweet smile he's wearing before he deepens the kiss.

Later, in Farleigh's bed, bathed in moonlight and the afterglow, you light up a cigarette and open his window.

"Fucking freezing," Farleigh mutters.

"Sorry," but you don't close the window. Silence stretches out between you both. You hope Farleigh enjoyed himself, hope he's happy -

"You don't need them," he says quietly, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment, you breathe out a lungful of smoke and turn to him with a frown, "this family; we all know where you're from. You don't need them." There's something strange about his tone, clearing his throat when he finally looks at you, "but you still want them to love you."

"They're good to me," you finally say, dropping your gaze as you reach back to offer the cigarette, "to us," you tell him, and he hums with the smoke in his lungs. Then, taking back the cigarette, you inhale the sour-sweet smoke and tap off the ash off the window sill.

"I'm not their fucking dog, Farleigh," you mumble, surprising frustration escaping you, anger you hadn't even realised you were holding on to.

"I know, pet," he says softly, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, "you'll let them think they have you kept, but you're not their dog, I know."

"I like you, Farleigh," you say with a faint smile, leaning back to see the way he's grinning too, "and I love you a bit as well I think."

"I know, I love you too, Y/N."

"We miss you a lot." There's something about the quiet that follows your words that you know all too well; Farleigh's about to tease you for something. Probably Felix related.

As if on cue;

"Does he know you like being his dog?" Grin widening, Farleigh gives you a slight shove, though the truth of his words has you hiding your own embarrassed smile.

"He thinks it's an insult to me, which is sweet of him," you chuckled, and Farleigh eases the cigarette from your fingers, "but it's like he has no idea the effect he's had on me for over a decade now. Yeah, I'm my own person, I have hobbies and friends outside of him, but -"

"You're a service bottom and desperately in love," Farleigh cuts in with a surprisingly sage tone, nodding like he hadn't absolutely called you out. Shocked with his vulgar kind of accuracy, you practically shove him out of the bed, laughing that he needs to fuck off, and the discussion is left at that.

The next morning, sitting down to breakfast, Duncan quietly informs Sir James that there had been a disturbance during the night. Immediately you throw Farleigh under the bus and declare that it's his fault.

"Hey!" He shouts back, grinning, "it takes two to fuck in the kitchen!" Which has all four of you, Venetia, Felix, Farleigh, and yourself, cracking up with laughter as Elspeth and Sir James were exasperated by your collective antics.

There is so much affection in Felix's eyes in this moment, this simple, strange moment of admitted sexual deviance. Except it's never felt like that to either of you. It's one of the ways you've both shown love, and he loves that you love those closest to him.

And you love to make him happy.

Farleigh was right, not that you'd ever tell him.

[apoptoses]

Armand lived in Venice during the absolute sluttiest period for mens’ clothes and I gotta talk about it.

Anne constantly used Botticelli as a reference for clothes (who was at his peak in the 1470s/1480s) but Armand was in Florence when Savonarola died, which puts him in Venice the late 1490′s. Fashion was moving fast, there was a big moral panic over society falling apart and becoming too secular, and in Venice it was time to let your inner ho out.

The look: Short. Tight. Made of as many expensive scraps as possible.

Let’s get into it.

The words used to describe clothes in TVA have zero basis in reality but were probably chosen because the average reader can picture a tunic easier than they can suss out what a cioppa was. So for quick reference:

Shift: a shirt (made out of linen, unless you want Armand to be the stinkiest boy in Italy. Shirts needed to be white, which meant they were bleached with piss, and ammonia eats away silk. So he could not have worn a silk shirt unless it was never going to be washed and he was happy to run around with pit stains, which would have been horrible). Considered an underwear layer.

Doublet: the renaissance equivalent of your shirt. Wool or silk, either is fine.

Cioppa: a pleated ‘tunic’ worn over your doublet, always sleeveless. Wool or silk.

Gamurra: your coat. Wool or silk.

Hose: pants, always made of wool flannel

So most folks reading probably picture Armand in something like this, ala Botticelli’s time:

Long cioppa, down mid thigh or to the knee, puffy sleeved doublet, not too risque. But this is like 25 years out of date by Armand’s time, and when he goes shopping it’s with a bunch of teenage boys with Daddy’s credit card. Marius, with his ever present Botticelli hard on, might have had them wear this stuff sometimes but this is not what a fashionable boy at the time would go out and buy himself.

Now the dude on the right here:

This is the look.

Doublet? Tight

Cioppa? Short

Ass? Out.

The entire point of the style was to show off your snatched waist and manly thighs and boy did the Venetians do just that.

Also doublets by this period were basically scraps of fabric tied together to show as much shirt as possible. Which was scandalous because your shirt is your underwear, so running around like this was the renaissance equivalent of wearing a sheer shirt with your bright pink bra exposed.

As a little rich boy and Master’s favorite, Armand would have been able to afford the finest linen, so sheer it would have been nearly see-through. Which makes a helluva statement when your doublet was split down the front like this:

His hose would be bias cut wool flannel for maximum stretch and maximum ass sculpting. Until the later 15th century hose were just thigh high stockings, and your doublet had to be long enough to cover your underwear. Now that doublets were being worn cut off at the waist hose had to be joined like modern pants. But how did you keep your junk safely in the trunk?

Enter the pre-cursor to the codpiece, which I mentally refer to as The Dick Flap:

This was a little triangle of fabric, shaped to hold your goods. It tied to the waist at each upper corner. Hose were so tight you couldn’t wear underwear (!) so you just had to tie your flap tight and go about your day. Like the modern zipper, it made for easy access (do with that info what you will)

This was the first time in European history that men just ran around with their full crotch emphasized and on display, so having your doublet so short it just all hangs out was both sexy and shocking to people.

But how did these pants stay up, you wonder?

Your pants would be tied to the hem of your doublet. Which meant that every day, Armand had to have someone lace him into his super tight clothes. I personally headcanon that he and Riccardo helped each other get dressed every day while he was mortal but you can feel your own fantasy on that one.

Another fun trend during the period was having your family emblem or a symbol of your trade embroidered on the sleeve of your gamurra:

Which Marius would have taken full advantage of, and put his fleur de lis in pure gold thread on every gamurra Armand had.

Here’s some more fashion fit pics just for fun:

Fleur de lis branding on the gamurra and the hose? Marius would have been into it.

The tied on sleeves! The shift pulled out of every seam! The renaissance man ass everywhere!

A plump and juicy young man indeed.

Anyways I hope this was useful or inspirational, or at least makes your next reread of the Vampire Armand more fun. Because the clothing descriptions in there don’t even begin to touch the painted on fashion fantasy that was going on in 1490s Venice.

(also if anyone really, really wants to see details on what Armand would have seen when he put on his clothes, I’m making a 1490s fit with all historically correct methods right now and I can post some of that if there’s interest)