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azrielbrainrot · 3 months

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You

Azriel x Reader

Description: Azriel would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Angst, Mourning, mention of suicide

Word Count: 3652

Notes: I don't even know where this came from. I was listening to sweet music by hozier and thought "what if I gave Azriel more trauma". The idea popped into my head and it basically wrote itself. I can't believe I have to say this but with this fandom I'm not risking it: this wasn't written to hate on Elain (or any other character) or incite anyone else to do so. Keep your stupid fights off my post, please and thank you. Hope you enjoy!

Part 2

Another family dinner at the river house meant another night of watching everyone around him happy and in love. Azriel didn't think of himself as egotistical, would never think the love his brothers are experiencing is undeserved either, but it reminds him of a time where he was the only one in the Inner Circle with a partner, of when his brothers were the ones confessing to him how jealous they were of how he had found someone that loved him so much, of a time he never thought would have an end. It reminds him of you.

He looks himself in the mirror as he buttons up the navy shirt, trying to ignore the vacant room behind him. If you were here with him you would have been making jokes about his insistence on keeping the blue theme going in his clothes even though he swears he doesn't think too much about what to wear or his appearance in general.

On a good day, you'd be helping him with the small buttons right now, with shadows swirling around your legs and looking up at him the way you knew would take his breath away every time. On an even better day, he'd have your back pressed against his chest, his fingers inside your familiar heat, the other hand wrapped around your throat so you could watch him play with your body, panting his name and clawing at his arm, pleading with him to keep going, to let you touch him. He'd be late for an entirely different reason, not for getting held up talking to his spies, and then getting lost in his memories.

Sensing his thoughts, his meddling shadows move to his desk, filtering into the drawer they knew held a small velvet box. The dark wisps carefully picked it up and set it on top of the dark wood. Leaving it there and moving back to their original places around the darkened room, letting him decide for himself if he wanted to open it or not.

It had been a while since the last time he touched it, busy as he was these days. There were times he would sit and look at it every day, sometimes without even daring to open it and look inside. But there were also times where even the sight of the navy velvet would suddenly suffocate him with the reminder of your sweet scent, one he would never be able to smell again. It would make him hide the box at the back of his drawer, the back of his mind.

Over the last few years, his reactions to it had gotten milder, an unwilling acceptance of the fact that he would never see you again allowed him to reminisce on the happy memories you had together, even the sad ones, every little fight you had seemed so inconsequential now, he'd give anything to be able to have any moment with you back, to hear you say his name one more time.

He walks to the desk, only hesitating for a beat before grabbing and opening the box. His heart throbs as he stares at the ring sitting inside, thumbing at the empty space left behind by it on his finger instinctively. He had never liked rings, didn't like anything that brought attention to his hands or rubbed against the rough skin but the moment you slid the silver ring into his finger it felt right, he had never wanted to take it off. Azriel would wear a ring on each finger if it showed the world he was yours.

He wore the ring for an entire decade after you died, even after all hope that you could still be alive had left him, he couldn't bring himself to let go of it, to let go of you. His mother had been the one to tell him he needed to stop wearing it, that holding onto it, onto the past would only bring him more heartache. He could still hear her begging him with tears in her eyes, not bearing to see her son in such a state, but he had only actually taken it off when Rhys was taken by Amarantha.

He had thrown the ring into the Sidra that night. He's not sure if it had been anger, frustration or simply hopelessness that drove him to it in that moment. He was tired of not being able to protect anyone, tired of losing his people, the people he never thought he would even find when he was just a boy sitting in a dark humid cell. It must have been that boy's pain, still inside him, that drove him to act like that. If it hadn't been for his shadows immediately flying after it he would have lost it, wouldn't have this reminder of a happy time sitting in front of him right now, it had helped him ground himself more than once during the years following that night. His shadows had saved him from himself once again.

He closes the box gently, rubbing at the smooth texture of the velvet, trying not to let himself get lost in your memory and the bitterness that followed at the injustice of it all. Your marriage had only lasted a little over a decade, he's had to live with your ghost for much longer than that now. Still, he knows he won't forget that time no matter how many more years he lives, and, even if it's another five centuries, he knows he'll still wish he had had the chance to spend them all with you.

Some of the pain has dulled, most days at least, but the guilt still eats at him. He should have known something was going to happen, should have reached you sooner, should have told someone to go with you, should have gone himself, should have been the one to die in your place. The millions of possibilities will likely invade his brain until his last breath, after which he'll finally be able to see you again. That was another thought that had consumed him far too often in the beginning. If it wasn't for his mother, his brothers and Mor, if it weren't for the pain it would cause them, he would have taken Truth Teller to his neck just for the chance to see you one more time.

Azriel? His wings go rigid and he tightens his hold on the box at the sudden intrusion. He tries to push his thoughts as far back into his mind as he can before lowering his mental shields, almost letting out a sigh of relief at finding them in place, hoping his brother couldn't get a glimpse of his thoughts. He hands the box to his shadows so they can safely place it back inside his drawer. Are you still coming, brother?

Yes. He moves back to the mirror and finishes buttoning his shirt while trying to keep his tone as nonchalant as possible. However, the hesitation on the other side tells him Rhys sensed exactly what was holding him up in his room, he knows him better than anyone after all.

Hurry then. We're all waiting for you. Azriel closes his walls as soon as he feels his brother's absence in his mind. He knows they miss you too. They had welcomed you with open arms and considered you part of the family after their marriage. Everyone in the Inner Circle took a big hit when you went missing. He will never forget Cassian's face when he arrived to see Azriel kneeling down in a pool of your blood, with no body to be found. His brother wore his heart on his sleeve and it had shattered that night. There were countless sleepless nights for everyone following that moment.

They all threw themselves at finding you in any way they could. There was enough blood on the floor to tell them you had died but none of them wanted to believe it. Azriel talked to every single one of his spies multiple times, ordering them to track every movement in their respective areas. Rhys sent letters to every ally he had and then joined Cassian and Mor in searching every corner of Prythian personally. Even Amren, ever the logical emotionless one, searched for you with every means she could, contacting friends the spymaster didn't even know existed. But, one by one, they all had to accept the truth, Azriel ending up being the most hesitant to.

He had long since killed the attackers, putting them through as much pain as possible for as long as he could keep them alive, making them regret ever touching you. But that didn't help with the gaping hole in his chest, nothing helped. They didn't know how to find your body either. Rhys looked through every corner of their minds and only found them leaving you behind, bleeding on the cold ground.

Rhys refused to show him the memory, no matter how much he begged him to let him see you one more time. Now he knows his brother was just trying to protect him, not wanting that to be Azriel's last memory of you, with the amount of blood left behind he knew you couldn't have been in good shape, but at the time he lashed out at his brother like he had never done before, probably would have killed him in blind rage if it hadn't been for Cassian trying to hold him back and if Rhys wasn't Rhys. Thinking back he should have thanked him instead, for holding onto such a painful memory and keeping it to himself so no one else had to suffer from it.

Even if he couldn't see you again, he still wishes that he had your body to bury at least. Azriel doesn't know how the Mother could be so cruel as to not only let you die so soon, so painfully without at least letting him find your body so he could put you to rest next to your parents' graves. It would also give him a place to talk to you, to feel as close to you as possible.

The pain almost came back in full when Rhysand first told him about Feyre. Jealousy had reared its ugly head at the fondness in his brother's gaze, the slight tint to his cheeks at just saying her name. He was happy for Rhys, especially after everything he'd been through, but that happiness couldn't hold a candle to the pain he felt. He remembers the night he confided in his brothers about the lovely female he had met, how she had told him she loved him, it had been much like that one.

To make matters worse, the first thing he remembered when Rhys told him about his mate was a stupid bet the two of you had made - you had been adamant that Cassian, as sweet as he is, would be the next to get married, Azriel had voted for Rhys, one of his many conquests were bound to work out one day. He won and yet he didn't feel victorious at all. He couldn't even tell you of your loss, see how pouty you get when it happens, ever the sore loser. Didn't even remember the prize but there was no way for you to give it to him now either way. What hurt the most was that he couldn't even tell you his brother had found his mate. These were the best news in over a century and he just wanted to share them with you, wanted to share everything with you.

He takes another look at the mirror with a small sigh, straightening his wings and making sure his face doesn't give anything away before calling to his shadows. He feels them wrap around him slowly, giving him some comfort before taking him directly to the river house.

“Almost thought you weren't coming.” He was still half covered in shadows when he heard Cassian's voice. Everyone was standing around talking to each other, waiting on him. The guilt was tugging at his heart strings again. Why would he ever feel like he needed more than a family that loved him? Who was he to think this wasn't enough for him? It was something he could only dream of when he was younger.

“He's here now. That's all that matters,” the smile Feyre gave him was warmer than usual and her hand lingered on his shoulder for a second too long. Azriel looks over to Rhys, finding him already looking at him, studying his face. He had told his mate of whatever he sensed in his mind then. He hoped neither of them brought it up at least, now or later. What good would admit he misses his dead wife do? No one can bring you back to him.

“Finally. I'm starving.” Cassian clapped his shoulder as he passed by him on the way to the already set table, sitting down immediately. Everyone followed in his footsteps, greeting Azriel and finding their seats. Seems he really had kept them waiting.

Conversation picked back up naturally and he let himself fall into the usual rhythm of these dinners, letting his body relax around his family, forgetting about his old life for the moment. He walked over to the already set table and took his seat next to Elain, as it usually was these days. The seating arrangements had moved around a bit over the last years to accommodate not only the new additions to their little circle but also the relationships in them. He used to always sit next to Cassian but now had given the seat up to his beautiful mate. It left him next to Elain most times since they were the only single fae at the table.

Elain gave him a soft smile as he sat down and he nodded at her with a smile of his own. They had been getting closer ever since she was turned to fae and started living in Velaris. Her quiet nature quickly drew him to her, feeling at ease almost immediately with the middle Archeron sister. But he had to have been blind not to see the way she looked at him, not to notice the enamored smile she gave him.

Sometimes he let himself wonder if things could work between them. She had a mate but it was clearer with each passing day that she didn't feel anything for the male tied to her. It was also obvious how well Azriel and Elain got along, fitting into each other's lives almost seamlessly. He didn't love her but couldn't say seeing himself fall for the lovely female was such a far-fetched idea. She was a beautiful and kind fae, loving her would probably be as easy as breathing.

When everyone had been made aware of the mating bonds, he had even considered if the Mother had made a mistake. His two brothers had ended up with two of the sisters after all. Now he can see he was just desperate for a bond like theirs. In truth, he wouldn't even know what he would have done if Elain had truly been his mate. Would he finally put you behind him? Would he have thrown the ring away again, for good this time? He knows he couldn't bring himself to even with the power of a mating bond. You were etched deep into his skin just like the bargain marks inked into his shoulders.

As the dinner moved on and they made their way to the sofas in the sitting room, his family was already more than lively. Mor had busted out one of Rhysand's old wine bottles, setting the mood for the rest of the night. Azriel had completely relaxed by then, letting himself enjoy their company, his shadows retreating almost completely around the room. Finally having some reprieve from the particularly insistent thoughts that were plaguing his mind today.

Cassian was telling a story he had heard a thousand times now but he still laughed along with everyone else. Listening to Cass tell the story so many times wouldn't make the fact that he had flown straight into a river any less funny. Azriel even remembered the following part, the one Cass doesn't include in the story which was after they pulled him out and he had gotten sick for a week, making him miss practice and lose every spar with him and Rhys for the next months.

Even old stories had a new life with new people around, it was the first time the sisters heard this one, judging by the slight tint to Nesta's cheeks as she laughed at her mate and how hard Feyre was clutching at Rhys' arm to ground herself. Even Elain was laughing hard enough that her body was shaking. Her laugh was soft and melodic, a lovely sound really, but it suddenly opened a familiar pit in his stomach. It reminded him of you. She wasn't quite as loud and her eyes didn't immediately water like yours but the way she raised her hand to her face was similar. And just like that the illusion of happiness he had created shattered.

She was nothing like you but he still found you in every thing she did, in everything anyone did. He couldn't go to half of the city's bakeries and shops without thinking of you and every moment you spent there. He had even changed rooms in every one of Rhysand's houses, not bearing to sleep in the same bed you had held him in. Everyone in the Inner Circle had learned to avoid certain topics, certain stories in fear they would remind him of you. Even your name was rarely mentioned unless he did so first or strictly necessary. Every thought of getting over you was nothing more than wishful thinking. It was like his entire soul was begging him to go to you, but you weren't anywhere in this world.

This had to be one of the worst parts of his routine lately, having to take extra care to school his features when spending time with his brothers and their mates. If his face showed any sign of how much he missed you, how much he wished he could hug you to him just like they can do with them, they would immediately look at him with pain in their eyes, pain for what he lost and will never get back.

It had taken too long to get used to how differently they treated him after what happened. He had to start a fight to get them to stop treating him like he could break at any second when it was the truth. They knew it as well as he did, but they also knew that they had to let Azriel mourn in his own way, that there was nothing they could do besides stay by his side.

You weren't mates - maybe the pain he feels would never compare to what his brothers would go through if their mates ever met the same fate as you - but that had never mattered to him. His soul sang for you the same way he sang for his shadows, you were written into his very being just like they were. And, most importantly, there wasn't a single fiber in his body that wanted to live without you.

Even a mate could never erase you from his memory, even if you had been alive. He doubts if a mating bond had snapped between you two at the time, you would have gotten any deeper into him than you already were. He can't imagine loving you, wanting you more than he already did was possible.

He felt his shadows move to him, almost sending them away thinking they were coming to comfort him again, hiding him from the world as usual. Their urgency gave them away, and by the way Rhysand's body tensed across from him he also had noticed something amiss.

“What happened?” The High Lord's voice cut through the atmosphere immediately, everyone looked to him for an explanation and got ready for any possibility. His entire body stood still when his shadows told him they felt someone winnowing into the townhouse.

“Someone's in the townhouse,” he stood up as he spoke, sending some of his shadows out to find out as much as they could and the rest around Velaris to check if there were any other disturbances.

“Who could get past the wards?” He felt a shield around them, Rhys had likely set it up around his house. Cassian's siphons were flickering red as they all prepared for what could come next. Velaris was more than well protected, especially after the attacks before the war, but the High Lord's homes were nearly impossible to get into uninvited, Azriel himself had helped make sure of it.

“I don't know,” he held onto Truth Teller as he waited for his shadows or his High Lord and Lady to find something. His shadows were being strangely lax about the whole situation, maybe this was someone who knew of a way to go around his gift, keep them distracted.

It took longer than usual to receive a response from them, making him and everyone around him more concerned by the second. By now everyone was donning a sword or weapon of some sort, only waiting on more information before splitting up to keep Velaris safe and find the intruders.

When his shadows finally appeared they wasted no time rushing to his ear, at last sensing his urgency in the matter. Their answer was one nothing could have prepared him for, his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

His shadows came back carrying a once familiar tune. They came back singing your name.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel fic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fic #divider by saradika

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motherlvr · 10 months

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just friends?

she fell first, he fell harder

wc: 2.2k

pairing: Earth-42! Miles Morales x f! reader

Summary: In the early years of your adolescence, you made the grave mistake of asking Miles to ‘practice kissing’ for future suitors. That mistake would come back to bite you every following day.

Warnings: cursing, childhood friends to lovers, friends that kiss, jealousy, started off the fic with a bang cuz i dont believe in small talk, possessiveness

A/N: what happened to hello? what happened to how are you?

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Your current predicament was straddling Miles' lap as you both kissed like this would be the last time you ever did. His hands grabbed onto your thighs that encased his legs. Pulling away for a second, you watched as a small string of saliva binds both of your lips.

Looking down at him, you asked out of breath, "We're still just friends, right?" The question caught him off guard. But he responds with a teasing smirk, "Yeah, yeah ma. Just friends." You nervously bit your bottom lip, nodding at his response. Wrapping your hands onto his braids, you smashed your lips against his yet again to ignore your conflicted thoughts.

It's times like this when your past mistake comes back to haunt you. And he made sure you never lived it down. The mistake in question was made on the playground with Miles when you were both ten. Being the young and innocent child you were, you proposed to 'practice kissing' for potential lovers in the future. As all kids do. He accepted and it all sprouted from there. You were each other's first kiss.

That first kiss was only one of many to come. You both had urges, after all. Since your younger days, it turned into something a bit more than just practice. But you never gave it a second thought. Until of late. What used to be a silly playground crush on Miles only grew stronger as the years passed by.

In all honesty, you had no clue where you stood with Miles. What were you, friends that kiss periodically? That was how it was, you suppose. But what you did know was that you'd stay by his side no matter the circumstance. Even if it meant that your friendship would never develop into more. Although occasionally you wished you never initiated to 'practice kissing' with him in your naive and prepubescent years. That would solve your problem at its roots and prevent the rapidly growing feelings you had for him. It was no doubt a mistake in your mind.

Separating your lips for a second time, you pulled away again. He stared at you in confusion. You looked frantic, "Shit, what time is it?" Glancing at the time on your phone, you cursed. It was 3:30 pm. "Fuck, I have a date at four o'clock. I gotta go, Miles." You jumped off of Miles' lap on his bed and swiftly started packing up your things.

Miles felt jealousy start to boil within his stomach as his lap felt empty. He was right here, why would you need to go on a date with some other guy? Furrowing his brows, he irritably questioned, "Fuck you mean you gotta date? With who?" He tried to conceal his annoyance but failed miserably.

"Some guy from my physics class asked me out, sorry but I gotta go." Grabbing your bag, you pecked his cheek lightly as a goodbye. Glancing in his mirror one last time, you tamed any stray strands of hair.

Your response only fueled his jealousy, "Do you even know his name?" He started interrogating you.

"Of course I do, it's..." You paused for a second to think, and your conclusion was unclear. Your mind was foggy. "I think it's Javi? Or maybe Jake? Jacob? Shit, I think you kissed the thoughts right out of my brain." You rambled. Your words made him crack a slight smirk, and he said, "Nah, you ain't going on that date ma." pulling you back into his hold by your hips.

"I can't just stand him up, Miles." You told him, starting to regret agreeing on going on the date. "I could take you on a better date than he can, mami." He suggested.

He was full of surprises this afternoon. Usually, he didn't display such possessiveness. You didn't even like the supposed guy you were going on a date with. You just thought he could help you get your mind off of Miles for a few minutes.

Raising an eyebrow, you asked, "Is that an offer?" "It's a promise." He responded without an ounce of hesitation. The way he was staring at you almost made you take him up on it. "Tempting, but I'll have to take a rain check. See you tomorrow. Alright, Miles?" You waved goodbye and walked out his door.

"'Ight, ma. See you." He gave up. As he watched you walk out the door of his room, he groaned in frustration.

The unfortunate recipient of his frustrations was a punching bag in his Uncle Aaron's apartment. Striking the bag with all the force he could muster, the punching bag rumbled on the chain it was strung upon. His knuckles were slowly getting bloodier with each hit, but he couldn't feel it. He could only feel you. It was the only thing he wanted to feel, anyway.

His Uncle inevitably noticed his behavior. Cleaning off one last knife, he set it down and walked towards his nephew. He held the punching bag steady and questioned him, "What's up with you, man?"

Continuing to throw punches at the unsuspecting punching bag, he responded sharply. "It's nothin'. Just my girl going on a date with some other guy." His nostrils flared slightly.

With those two sentences, his Uncle understood his sour mood. "That doesn't sound like nothing. And you just let her? I don't think you're my nephew, man." Shrugging, Miles took a quick water break. Taking a long swig of water, he replied, "You know her, she's stubborn." He had introduced you to his Uncle a while back. His whole family knew you, in fact. Every time he went back home, his mother asked about you. How you are, and when he’s going to tell you how he feels. It seemed everyone knew. Except you.

"Hey. If you want this girl, you gotta show her before someone else does." His Uncle wisely told him. Miles stopped hitting the punching bag and started wrapping his bloodied knuckles in bandages.

Those words stuck with Miles for the rest of the night as he made his way back to his dorm.

Laying on the bed of his dorm, Miles stayed up thinking about what his Uncle told him. His dorm felt empty without you there, he realized.

The next afternoon in his dorm again, you laid on your stomach on his bed, kicking your feet in the air. You frequented his dorm so often that you were more of a roommate to him than his actual one. Glancing at Miles, you noticed the bandages on his knuckles. “Ay, Miles. What happened?” You asked him, taking his hand into yours to inspect it. He disregarded it, "Don’t worry 'bout it.” He continued, addressing the elephant in the room. “How was your date with Javi, Jake, or Jacob?"

You casually respond, "Actually, his name was Jason. And it was fine, I suppose. Although I called him by the wrong name a few times until he corrected me." You mumbled the last part, embarrassed. Not to mention, you almost called him by Miles' name. Not just once but multiple times.

"Just fine, huh?" He replied, intrigued. And slightly satisfied that you didn't have too good of a time.

"Yeah. I mean, he tried kissing me by the end. But his breath reeked of garlic, so I looked the other way and pretended I didn't notice." You said with a grimace, pretending to get flashbacks. In reality, Miles ruined kissing for you. You couldn't stop seeing Miles' face as your date was leaning into you. He wasn't him.

Stifling a laugh, he grinned at you. "So, that mean you wanna take me up on my offer?" You whipped your head to him in surprise as you said, "You were serious about that? I mean, I'm down." Friends go on dates, don't they? You thought to yourself.

Nodding his head, he said, "I made a promise, ma." He started to stand up, gently grabbing your hand to pull you up with him. Locking your hand onto his arm, he led you out of campus.

Miles brought you to an endearing cafe only a few blocks away from the campus. A diamond in the rough, you thought. As you both sat down across from each other, you felt your nerves spiking.

Truth be told, he still made you nervous at times. Although you've undoubtedly been friends with him for longer than either of you could remember. The both of you ordered food and you started to speak, "So, you take all your girls here, Miles?" Putting on a calm facade, you teased him. You were glad he couldn't see your leg bouncing with anxiousness underneath the table.

He let out a slight puff at you, "What girls? Solo eres tú, mami. You know that." Your heart fluttered slightly at his words. Widening your eyes, you murmured, "I didn't know that, actually." You cleared your throat and enunciated, "How'd you find out about this place then?" Your voice piqued with interest. You didn't believe he would frequent this cute cafe in his spare time. It wasn't exactly his scene, so to say.

"This is where my dad took my ma on their first date." He said with an unusually soft tone, staring into your eyes for your reaction. You would never guess it, but he saw a future with you. Ever since that day on the playground, he knew it was real. His affection for you never dimmed since then.

As you both locked eyes, you realized then that he took you to a place that was sentimental to him and his family. This cafe was where his parent’s story first started. All of a sudden, this date felt a bit more serious than he had originally let on.

Under his stare, you felt your face go warm, "That's beautiful, Miles." After a few moments, you continued, "I suddenly feel like I'm intruding, though." His response came quick, "Never, mami. What makes you say that?" You confessed the thoughts that swarmed your brain right when you walked into the cafe, "I mean, this place feels a bit intimate for people that are 'just friends'" You said with air quotations.

"I think we're past that stage. Don't you, princesa?" You nodded at him. He was right, you thought. After all, friends don't usually have an oral fixation for their friend's mouth.

Your orders came at the same time. You both comfortably conversed. It was a nice change of pace after your date from yesterday. After you both ate your orders and paid, Miles and you walked down the street with his fingers settling on your waist. You spoke up, "Thanks for bringing me here today, Miles. I had a good time with you." You wanted nothing more than to reach up and kiss him til he couldn't breathe, but resisted.

"Anytime. If it meant you'd stop going on dates with other guys." He said casually, but his grip firmed on your waist. Your head turned to him at his words. After your date with Miles, you were sure he ruined dates for you as well. Just like he ruined your ability to kiss anyone else. "Yeah, I'm not even sure I'll want to go on a date with anyone else after this." You said under your breath. He silently grinned.

As you both made your way back to Miles' dorm, the urge to brush your lips against his only became stronger. You could tell he felt it, too. You noticed how he walked a bit faster to go back to his dorm.

Once the door to his room opened, you gave in to your desires and pulled him in by his hoodie to connect your lips. He backed you against his door as his hands traveled all over your body like it was a new territory he was unfamiliar with. He couldn't get enough of you. Groaning into your mouth, he deepened the kiss impossibly more. You both parted for a moment to get a quick breath of air.

Staring into his eyes, you told him before you lost the courage, "I don't want to be just friends. Friends that kiss sometimes when they feel like it." He looked at you like you just told him he won the lottery. In his eyes, this scenario was better than winning the lottery. He grinned as he kissed you again. Full of heat, his kiss spoke louder than words. "Then why don't we be lovers that kiss?” He pulled away to whisper against your lips. “Yeah, I think I like that idea.” You smiled against his lips.

That kiss from yesterday would be the last kiss you shared. As friends, that is. And this would be your first kiss as lovers. From the very first chapter of your life, he was there. And to the present-day chapter of your life, he's still here with you. In the end, It'll always be him and you.

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solo eres tú - it’s only you

princesa - princess

#earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miles morales spider man #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #spider man #friends to lovers #prowler miles #jealousy #childhood friends to lovers #childhood friends #prowler miles morales #miles morales #miles morales prowler #spider man: across the spider verse #friends that kiss

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e1dritchjackal0pe · 3 months

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𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔮𝔲𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰

Summary: Your relationship with Farleigh Start has always precariously walked the line between friends and enemies for years.

But maybe there's something else there, too.

Warnings: 18+ content; MDI. AFAB, Oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex (this is fiction, please use protection in rl), hints at s and d dynamics; brief, barely there choking, outdoor/technically public sex. Sex while under the influence ( takes place during Oliver's party, so drugs for Farleigh and alcohol for the reader). Farleigh being an a*s, but what's new. Reader is American. Heavy denial of feelings in the beginning.

Notes: 14.6 k words. There is an abhorrent lack of Farleigh content on this site, so I thought I'd contribute. Not proofread, divider by @saradika-graphics

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎𝖎 - 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦𝔦

Honestly, it's a wonder how you always manage to forget the sheer opulence of the Saltburn Estate - even when it wasn't in the throes of a celebration that costs more than your yearly salary. It's like some sort of dream almost. While you're in it the details are all startingly intense. Overbearingly so. Flaunting in front of you with all of its details and sights; like a kaleidoscope. The memories never do the estate any true justice. The soft, rolling lush fields; the crystal blue skies that loom over the tall gray spires. It's all painted behind your eyelids with a haunting clarity. But as soon as you leave - as soon as you wake up - the entire experience never truly feels real. Bits and pieces slip through your fingers. It loses its tangibility somehow and you can't help but wonder if you had imaged the whole thing, even with Felix's number programed into your phone; a physical reminder that Saltburn is indeed a real, tactile place.

But even here tonight, while walking the halls and strolling through the courtyard, it doesn't feel like reality. It seems as though you've stepped into a fever dream, crossed some imaginary threshold and entered some mirroring realm. The air is charged. Electrifying. And you swear you could feel the magnetic net of adrenaline and excitement prickling at your fingertips. A cocktail of emotions amplified by alcohol and drugs and endorphins.

Everywhere you looked there were jovial, writhing bodies. People dancing and laughing. Some full on making out - and others dangerously close to toeing the line of having public sex - and others were having a less enjoyable time by collapsing in exhaustion or blacking out in an inebriated haze. One unfortunate soul had thrown up all over the floor boards of the foyer, and you had just narrowly missed being sprayed by the projectile vomit as you had passed. It was like the Exorcist.

Thank God it hadn't been on one of the Persian rugs.

It was someone's birthday, it seemed. A little impromptu. Not initially planned. Oliver's - at least that's what you believed it was. The same Oliver that Felix had mentioned during one of your phone calls. He had spoken of him fondly, but when Felix had rushed outside this evening to greet you from your taxi and help you gather up your bags, he had seemed less interested and even a little irritated in the mention of his newest companion - or as harsh as it sounds, charity case (he seems to have a new one each summer). And he had been quick to divert your line of questioning, stopping you with a somewhat curt, "he's just a friend from Oxford. That's all." And that was that. You knew not to press him over it.

But your time with Felix was cut short when he was pulled aside by an excited Elspeth, who had spared you a quick glance and a "hello, darling," before eagerly trying to get his advice on the party preparations. Which he didn't seem particularly enthused about being dragged into. And it left you to stand awkwardly on your on in the middle of the foyer, trying to force your bleary eyes open. Jet lagged with your will to live paper thin from only having a rough five hours of sleep to back it up. And for a moment you had feared that you might actually pass out on your feet but luckily Venetia had sought you out and saved you from feeling too awkward amongst the others. Occupying the time by gossiping and interrogating you about your time back in the States. All of which, you had confessed have been rather boring. Filled with exams and dead-end dates and careless flings. And even though the initial arrival always leaves you feeling like a fish out of water, you were thankful to have been invited back over to Saltburn. The sprawling, golden fields and fresh crisp air always a welcome reprieve from the loud, chaotic clamoring and the smog blanketed horizon of Los Angeles.

Even though the wild, scattered throng of sweating bodies that were bumping into you honestly weren't all that different from the clubs you frequent back home. Of course, the sheer show of wealth and splendor that had been rolled out for Oliver was nothing that you had ever seen before with the only thing to rival it (and surpass it, probably) being Felix's very own birthday party that you had been able to take part of a few years back. One that had been themed after a strange but no less entertaining amalgamation of cowboys, space and disco, and the costumes and decorations then had left you in a state of awe, much like tonight.

Everywhere you looked there was something else to gawk at. Glittering lights, a hired contortionist and at one point you had even seen a swan rush past you out on the courtyard - which you had only felt sad and a little angry for.

It was pure, unbridled pandemonium. Noisy and cloying with the scent of perfumes and marijuana and alcohol; and you couldn't escape it. Not even when you had gone outside to take advantage of the dark, balmy summer breeze to cleanse your lungs. And everything had been going well until a drunk man had lunged out of the crowd towards you. Wobbling on his feet with a loud wail akin to a war cry as he aimed a narrow tube directly at you. And you only had a fleeting second to wish that it was one of those party canisters full of tensile when he had set it off with a loud pop! And a large, shimmering cloud of glitter had burst over you like a mist, layering across your hair, and costume and skin like a sheen of sweat. You didn't even have time to yell at him before he was scurrying off into the crowd with a demented cackle, probably on his way to find some other unfortunate person to glitter bomb.

And even worse a quick glance downward had revealed that the drink in your champagne glass had been tainted by a thin coat of sparkling silver. Even if you wanted to be lazy and drink around the floaters, the amount drifting around in the champagne was too much. You probably would have ended up choking on all of it. It was with a defeated sigh that you tossed out the remainder of your drink onto the trampled lawn.

For the first time tonight you're actually thankful that Venetia had chosen to leave you for some tall, dark, and handsome stranger that she had met near the beginning of the party. You hadn't seen her since, but maybe it's a blessing in disguise. You would hate for her to see the state of her dress. It is just glitter, easy to wash off in the grand scheme of things, and too be fair she had said that she didn't even like the garment. It was just some random piece from another one of the Catton's wild parties - themed after Renaissance art and fables, you think. And she had sifted it out from the depths of her closet with little fanfare. "It's just some old thing, " she had told you plainly, even though the dress probably cost more than your monthly rent. Clearly, she wouldn't be distressed over some glitter, but you were still having a hard time fighting the sinking feeling in your gut. It was borrowed. She was letting you wear it. And now it was covered in a dust of silver because some guy decided to be a dick.

It could be worse though. It could have been a glass full of wine that he had dunked on you instead. You suppose you should take your wins where you could get them.

A part of you thinks about returning inside the manor and calling it a night. Taking a much-needed bath to clean off the layer of glitter from your skin and just going to bed. But really, you aren't sure if you'll even be able to manage falling asleep with the sheer volume of the music playing throughout various sections of the house, and the sound of the raucous cheering and laughter. And you could imagine what Venetia or Felix would tell you, to quit being so reclusive and to get out and socialize.

You did fly all the way over here. Planned this trip for a few weeks and made preparations with your job and roommate when Felix had called to invite you over for the summer. It would be a complete waste to turn in for the night and huddle yourself up in your quarters.

And with the fog of alcohol draping over your body you know you should probably put a pause on it for a bit but fuck it, it's a party and you need another drink.

You glance around the courtyard, hoping to spy one of that servants that have been forced to parade platers of alcohol around for the many guests but all you see are the scattered throngs of people dressed in fairy wings, strange animal masks, and plastic swords. Honestly, it never amazes you how many people get invited to these events. Even with all of the family members combined, there's no way they all know every individual here directly. There's probably enough to fill a damn stadium.

In your search your gaze sweeps over the steady bonfires, the temporary lovers grinding against each other and a pair talking amongst themselves - wait. That catches your attention. You feel heat prickling at your chest; irritation rising in some subconscious sort of reaction and as if they have a mind of their own your eyes skitter back over to them to confirm if what you thought you saw was true. And lo and behold, there he is. The bane of your existence. Farleigh Start.

Your eyes flicker across him from his head to his old-fashioned boots. He's holding some sort of mask in one of his hands. A big bulky thing with long protruding ears and an equine shaped face and you have to squint to come to the concussion that it appears to be a donkey.

He seems to be talking to someone. A person that you don't recognize but they both seemed to be engaged in some sort of heated stare off from near a rotating pig on a stick. It looks like he's found another unfortunate victim to prod at and humiliate. Not that it was difficult for Farleigh. He was always eager to find someone to harass and belittle. And the more that someone fought back, the more interested he seems to become. He's been a personal thorn in your side for longer than you'd like to admit.

Of course, you knew he would be here, but that didn't necessarily mean that actually seeing him made it any easier. It had to have close to a year since you've last interacted with him, which had to have been during that awful Christmas party back in the States. Why Graham had invited both of you when he knew that neither of you get along is a mystery. It could have been some lame attempt to get two of his closest friends to finally clear up whatever animosity was between them, but in all actuality it had just made worse. All of the passive aggressive barbs and thinly veiled sneers had nearly reached a boiling point that night when Farleigh wouldn't just leave you alone. Seeming to make it his mission to antagonize you at every turn with childish insults. But as childish as they might have been, they added up over time until you were giving him what he wanted, lashing out in response to his nasty little comments.

And to think at one point you had actually been excited to meet him. As Graham's close friend and roommate, you were interested in getting to know the guy that he couldn't stop gushing about. The one who he had praised nearly nonstop. Farleigh had been nice enough in the beginning. And you even enjoyed his company for a time. His humor had always been a bit snarky, and the jokes he told were usually at another's expense. But he had been - as much as you hate to admit it, fun. And at one point, you had even considered him a friend of sorts. Or at the very least an acquaintance whose company you enjoyed while you both rambled on about nothing and everything, often gossiping about others.

It had all been fine between you. That was until Felix had come down to L.A. to visit. He had gone out with Farleigh and Graham to go and sightseeing, which eventually steered into hopping from club to club as the day wanned into night. And when the invitation had extended to you, your relationship with Farleigh had taken a turn. For whatever reason talking to Felix was easy. But that was just Felix you suppose; always able to make friends with just about anyone in the room. And the closer that the two of you had become, the more strained your association with Farleigh had grown until it was filled with nothing but sardonic remarks and passive hostility. And instead of being a sort of surface level confidant, he gradually became a presence that you detested. And your relationship had gone from a mutual respect and cordial conversations to some sort of strange cat and mouse game. The both of you exchanging snarky jabs in an attempt to see if the other would crack.

You would be lying if you didn't admit that some part of you enjoyed your little spats. And maybe you had hoped that he would be here tonight. Not that you'd ever tell him that. You'd rather trip onto the sharp end of a knife.

Suddenly Farleigh is stepping towards the stranger, shoulders rigid and body pulled taught, seeping with irritation. And he takes ahold of their face, forcing the shorter man to look into his eyes in some sort of intimidation tactic. Farleigh's nearly seething. And his expression is firm with an apparent frustration. You don't think you've seen him so visibly aggravated before. You can't help but wonder what the mystery guy may have done to warrant such a response from him.

And then Farleigh is pulling away, releasing the stranger from his grip with a smug smile. But on him it looks more like a sneer with the way his lips are stretched and showing off his teeth. He's moving towards your direction now, probably intending to head back to the house, and he's yet to notice you. You contemplate leaving. Of slipping back under the cover of the scattered crowd and disappearing before he sees you, but your body doesn't move. Instead, you're stock still. There's some awful feeling in your gut that seems horrendously akin to anticipation; fluttering and soft and nauseating.

You should just leave. You could leave if you'd just move. But it's too late. You swear there's some awful full body reaction that occurs when Farleigh's gaze meets yours and he stops in place to assess you. For a moment it's like you've been sucked into a black hole. It's like time has dilated and shrunk down around you until it's frozen solid and suddenly the lively chaos around you falls quiet, muffling down into an insignificant hum in the background. Recognition flickers in his eyes and something else crosses his face too. Something that you don't quite recognize but regardless, it feels as though the both of you are engaged in some sort of wordless exchange. There's another smile growing on his face. It's mischievous but still much more relaxed and familiar than the previous one that he had worn, and you can't help but return one of your own.

It's then that you're finally able to gain control of your own body, walking backward a few steps before you twist around to slip amongst a gaggle of passing girls with something that is suspiciously close to excitement bubbling in your gut. You briefly use them as cover to get you closer to the house entrance, and they're all too occupied with giggling and gossiping to notice your presence. But you're able to remove yourself from the cluster when one of them drunkenly trips on her skirt, and she saves herself by latching onto the shoulder of one of her friends with a wild laugh. The others all gather around her to jokingly reprimand her as they assist her in righting herself but you're already stepping through the back threshold of the manor, and you're thrown headfirst into the alcohol infused, neon casted mayhem. Party streamers, glow sticks and blaring upbeat music. It's complete madness. You can hardly hear yourself think and trying to work yourself through the tight gaps between people's swaying bodies proves to be a challenge of its own and it's a heavy reminder as to why you had even gone outside in the first place.

The atmosphere is cloying and thick; you feel as though you might actually be able to choke on it like it's a physical thing. As otherworldly and exciting as this party is, it's another experience entirely when you're being elbowed in the ribs by an oblivious drunk girl who isn't aware of her windmilling arms and all the intoxicated men who think that you're trying to feel them up and flirt with them when in reality you're just trying to get by. And for a split second you feel as though you may never make it out of the tumultuous sea of bodies. That you'll be cursed to wander around aimlessly in the wild, dancing masses for eternity. Subjected to the ear shattering music and scent of spilt wine and bourbon and sweat.

But then you hear something that sounds suspiciously like your name. It's distant and damp as though your ears are plugged and for a second you had thought that you imagined it before you hear it again. This time louder and there's no mistake that someone is calling you. It has you pausing for a moment to analyze your surroundings and then you catch sight of someone familiar at the far end of the room and for a moment you think that your eyes might be lying to you with the aid of the dim lighting. The deep, saturated, shifting hues of purple and blue and red tinting the chaotic space doing very little to aid you. But someone is waving their arm up the air for you to spot them better and a long glance confirms that you were right in your assumption. The relief that sweeps across your bones is insurmountable and the glimpse of a hand raised up in the air to beckon over you is even more incentive to press forward. And you have to shoulder past people until you enter a small break in the crowd.

"There you are!" Venetia shouts triumphantly, swaying to the rhythm of the song playing at full blast. "I've been looking all over for you!"

You don't bother refuting her. Of countering that she was the one who had wondered off without any plans to meet up afterwards. Instead, you just move up closer to her, doing your best to match her movements and energy but you're entirely too self-conscious to actually meet her. And you feel the fleeting sense of relief that she has yet to notice all of the glitter covering her dress or doesn't care.

"I had to go outside and get some fresh air, " you confess and even underneath the low lighting you can see the way that she nearly rolls her eyes at you, but even then, there's a well-meaning smile on her face.

"You're at a once in a lifetime party, and you were spending it outside?"

"Just for a minute." But she looks completely unamused by your apparently flimsy defense and suddenly she's grabbing you by the shoulders and leaning towards you like it might seal in her words better.

"Well, you're supposed to be inside. Dancing and partying and getting drunk." She squeezes her hands against your skin. "Seriously, it's like you're allergic to fun."

Okay, a little bit rude. And you try to remind yourself that she's just saying it because she's probably drunk. For the most part, all of the younger Catton's (Farleigh included) have a tendency to be social butterflies and party animals. It was something that you had struggled to keep up with when you had officially become friends with Felix. Luckily, he was typically the most understanding out of all of them, and he was aware enough to take notice when you were burning out. It was something that you had thought that Venetia had come to terms with as well, but every now and again she always makes sure to voice her objections.

And you open your mouth to protest but you hardly get anything out. "That's not tru-"

"And as your friend it's my duty to ensure that you do exactly all of the above!" She pulls away with a smirk that is entirely all too satisfied, and it immediately has the alarm bells inside your head blaring. "And maybe even a bit more."

You don't like that last bit.

"There's someone who I think you'd love to meet!" And you swear you can feel your stomach drop at those words but exasperation bleeds through the discomfort until you're holding back an irritated sigh as she practically gushes some stranger's name. "Reuben!"

And at the call of his name, the guy seems to appear from the darkness and shifting bodies like some sort of spirit. It takes you completely off guard how closely and quickly he moves, and you have to physically keep yourself from flinching back. The entire situation is jarring, and you feel like an insect pinned to a corkboard with how both Venetia and this stranger - Reuben are watching you expectantly. And it takes everything to muster up a smile that you know must look strained and unnatural. "Hi," you greet lamely, but he doesn't seem to be the least bit deterred or put off.

And he is cute, you'll admit. Kind, joyful eyes that you think are hazel but it's honestly impossible to tell in this lighting and there's a dusting of freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. He seems inviting enough if first impressions are anything to go by, but for whatever reason you don't find yourself gravitating towards him or longing for any sort of conversation with him.

"It's nice to meet you!" He returns, loudly projecting to be heard over the stereo system. "Venetia's told me a bit about you."

"Uh-huh, " you nod for him to continue or maybe divulge, but he doesn't. He just stands there silently without removing his gaze and you can't tell if it's because he's just oblivious or if maybe he's just socially awkward, but it has you shuffling on your feet all the same, desperate to move or do anything to make this less weird. And you glance over at Venetia who still has that hopeful expression on her face, doing your best to telegraph your discomfort without tipping Reuben off. And she does seem to notice but she doesn't tell him to leave or direct him somewhere else like you had wanted.

"Reuben said that he's been to America before," she reveals. Apparently trying to salvage this little interaction and cultivate it into something more.

"Oh, really?" You perk up a bit, or at least try to. "Where did you visit?"

"Uh, New York. City, " he clarifies at the end before his demeanor shifts into something a bit sheepish and playful and the gold plastic crown perched atop his head glints in the lights. "It was a bit of a bore, I won't lie. But that was probably because I was there on a business trip and not on holiday, so feel free to put the blame on me."

His attempt at joking does thaw at some of the unpleasant tension that had burdened the air, but even with the initial ice broken there's still just a simple, straightforward uninterest underneath it all. You aren't stupid. It's obvious why Venetia had pressed to introduce him to you, it's obvious why he had agreed. And you don't fault him for trying to get lucky at what might just be the party of the decade (for you at least) but keeping him here and stringing him along is a complete waste of everyone's time. You aren't going to sleep with him. Not tonight or any other night. And then you go to tell him as much, parting your lips to just get to the point and lay all of your cards out on the table but then Venetia is tapping on your shoulder, making you pause to look over at her.

She has this strange, delighted smile on her lips that's even worse than the one she was wearing when she had invited Reuben over. She nods her chin over to your right, watching eyes trained on something or someone. "Your shadow's here."

You nearly break your neck to follow her line of sight and your heart skips a beat when you see Farleigh standing several feet away from a gap in the crowd and you have to wonder just how long he's been standing there for. And you don't know why you suddenly feel as though you've been caught doing something wrong. Why your body flushes and prickles with shame and you feel like cringing. Maybe it's because of the way that he's looking at you. How his eyes dart from you to Reuben like he's assessing something. Most of the emotions flickering across his face are unreadable. But for second you think that you catch glimpses or what might be anger or irritation and worst of all betrayal before it leans into something neutral and flat. And then just as you had, he's turning on his heels and vanishing. But unlike you, he doesn't smile as he leaves. He doesn't walk away with a silent invitation to follow.

And then Venetia is turning to Reuben with a sweet smile and tilting her head. "Alright, you can go now."

He looks just as confused as you do, and he turns to look at you like he's expecting you to jump in to defend him or at the very least offer an explanation, but you don't have one to give. You're just as lost as he is and when you don't speak and tell him to stay, he backs away, spreading his arms out in a sort of silent 'what the fuck?' gesture and vanishes back into the throng of bodies.

"What . . . was that?" You ask, tense with a mutated type of bewilderment and anger.

"I just wanted to see it." She says cryptically and irritatingly, begins to dance in place before finally disclosing on that little comment. "The look on his face."

"What?" You snap.

"Please, the way you two dance around each other is getting dreadfully old. It's boring and tired. I just did something to get the ball rolling."

This in particular isn't new by any means. You had heard it all before from the two Catton siblings. Their vehement insistence that you and Farleigh had some unspoken attraction for the other that you both refused to act or speak on. It had nearly become a joke for the both of them. To prod and poke at you and Farleigh with to their hearts content. It was something that the both of you had learned to accept over time - somewhat - and ignore. But this. This new and entirely strange.

"So, what? You were trying to make him jealous?" Your forehead crinkles as you watch her; incredulous and perplexed.

"Trying?" She echoes amusedly." I succeeded. Did you see the way that he was looking at you? He was practically seething."

You almost scoff. He wouldn't be jealous; he had no reason to be. And you don't know why Venetia's little ruse has pissed you off, or why that strange look on Farleigh's face had made your heart drop, but it did.

"The two of you are so dense that it's honestly as frustrating as it is entertaining," she says with pure exasperation. "I mean, whenever you're here, you're practically fused at the hip. Bickering like cats and dogs like we can't all see the truth." She laughs but it's more of a scoff really. "He speaks about you. All the time. Always whining and complaining about something you've done. But it's different. He practically has hearts in his eyes while does it. And it's exhausting." And then she's backing away from you, leaving you to settle and drown in the disarray of your own thoughts and come to terms with that. Does he really speak about you like that? Surely, there's no way.

"So can the two of you, for all of our sake's, sort whatever mess you've got going on between you and just fuck already? "

And then she's spinning away her heels, sending you a wink over her shoulder and the silver chains wrapping around her body in a delicate draped halter glint and twinkle underneath the lights; showcasing that elaborate weblike shape that they've been constructed in. And she just leaves you. Abandoning you in the middle of the temporary dancefloor while you fight with an upstream of odd emotions. You just standing there while you tussle with the urge to find Farleigh and apologize (apologize for what?) and tell him that it was just some weird joke from Venetia (why does that matter?). You don't know why you feel the need to go and try to repair whatever damage Venetia may have just done. What that said 'damage' may even be, you don't know. And you also don't know why you're suddenly heading off in the direction that Farleigh had disappeared in, scanning the crowd for him with some ugly sense of desperation that you don't want to unpack and analyze. Not even as you yield to it.

You aren't even sure how long you search for; your gaze jumping over every face and person that you see in the hopes that you find him. But the room is packed to say the least, and the odds of you actually stumbling across him must be low. He might not even be in this specific room anymore. And if that's case then you might as well as give up now. The estate is sprawling; if he doesn't want to be found, then he won't be. And you think about giving up. Of turning in for the night and trying to talk to him in the morning when you inevitably see him at the breakfast table.

But then you see him. Only this time there's no double take or reason to reconfirm that it is him, this time you spot him immediately.

He seemed to have shed his doublet at some point, leaving him in his pale undershirt. His mask is gone as well. And it takes your mind a second to realize that he's not alone. That he's pressed against some girl like he might kiss her. There's a smile on his face; inviting and flirtatious and the tips of their noses brush together as they lean in close.

You're an unintended observer. You shouldn't be here watching them in a moment that clearly isn't meant for you but it's as though your feet are glued to the floor. It's like watching a car crash. You don't want to look; you don't want to be here but some awful part of you is making you stay. Your muscles have gone still from something prickling and cold and disarming. You can feel it in your chest too. It's making your lungs seize and for one long, paralyzing moment it's almost like you can't breathe. But you don't have a right to be bothered by this. Farleigh's entitled to have one-night stands or flings or to go on dates with people if he wants to. There's no reason why he can't. And there's no reason why you should be feeling shame and betrayal and hurt right now. Absolutely no reason. You wonder if this is what he had felt just a few moments before while you were standing with Reuben and that odd little side of you hopes that he had.

God, what if Venetia had been right? What if -

Their lips brush together.

They're going to kiss, some hideous part of your brain whispers and even worse your body tenses and coils like it's bracing for some sort of dreadfully anticipated impact. This is it. The moment the car crashes and erupts into burning flames.

But then Farleigh goes still. Pausing as though someone had called his name or he's remembered something. The girl that he's pressed up against leans back with a confused furrow pinched between her eyebrows when he turns his head and his eyes land on you.

Your mouth goes dry, and your tongue seems thick and useless, and you try to swallow around it. Now that you're here you don't even know what to do with yourself. You aren't even sure what you had gone after Farleigh for. You didn't have a plan to begin with; you didn't know what to say. You have to internally curse yourself for following after him and putting yourself in this situation. It's strange and awkward and it takes everything for you to even manage a smile. To try and look casual and pretend that maybe you had just stumbled across them and hadn't intentionally tracked him down. And you lift a hand up in a lax wave while your mind ceaselessly chants for you to leave. To just go.

You can feel Farleigh's gaze searing into you, drilling holes into your head even as the girl that he's with leans towards him and you can't hear over the distance or the music, but she appears to be saying something if the way that her mouth is moving is any indication.

You're quick to turn on your heels and all but nearly speed walk away from the both of them, eager to create as much distance between you and them as possible. You don't feel like you're apart from your body. It's like you're disconnected from it, uncomfortably aware of your limbs and movements as you rush away. And it's like your emotions are stuffing your body full and threatening to tear it at the seams. Emotions that you don't recognize; that you don't want to recognize.

A warmth and pressure suddenly encircles around your wrist, much like a hand would and for a moment you think that you've imaged it. But then you're being pulled back gently by the strength of someone's grip, and it forces you to stop. You know who it is before you turn to look at them. You can smell the burn of tobacco from his cigarette habit on his clothes, and it blended with the delicate musk of his cologne. The woody notes of amber joining along with vanilla and bergamot and cardamom made your mouth water in some horrid Pavlovian response. It was humiliating.

Then your eyes are meeting his; dark and glimmering underneath the flashing, sweeping lights dancing about the room. And for one agonizing moment neither of you say anything. It's like you're both simultaneously drifting away and stuck in place. The energy looming over the both of you is foreign and strange, and Farleigh can feel it too if the blank, unsure expression on his face gives away as much.

And then he's releasing your wrist and you let your arm drop down at your side. He shifts on his feet and the weird tension in his shoulders drop as easily as if it were a piece of clothing and a smirk takes shape on his face. This is the Farleigh that you're more familiar with, with the condescending look in his eyes and a prideful tilt to his head. It puts you at ease. Dulling the nervous butterflies in your gut and allowing you to settle underneath his presence.

"Well, if it isn't Felix's favorite little pet." It's meant to be an insult. Most would read it as such, but for you it brings nothing but relief. It feels like a consolation almost. That whatever these strange little interactions have been they haven't damaged your relationship with Farleigh (what relationship?) and made things odd. He glances around the room and all of the festivities, the swaying crowd and streamers and flowing alcohol. He wrinkles his nose in a way that comes off as falsely apologetic. "Or I guess I should say second favorite now."

"Then it's a good thing that I didn't come here for him," you respond easily enough. Internally thankful that the last remaining remnants of tension in your throat hasn't prohibited your ability to speak. "I just know how thrilled you always are to see me, and so I couldn't possibly bring myself to skip out on the trip."

"Thrilled," he echoes with a scoff. "Is that what you think? Because personally I feel like drowning myself in the pond right about now."

"No one's stopping you, " you quip back easily, finally slipping back into your old dynamic.

His forehead scrunches as he pins you with an incredulous look, tilting his head as he moves in closer towards you. "And leave you here all alone? What would you do without me?"

"Thrive. Live. Experience peace."

"Sounds boring."

But you don't have time to respond. He's leaning back on his feet and stepping away from you while he digs one of his hands into the pocket of his costume's pants. And when he removes his hand, it comes out clutching a packet of cigarettes, which he's quick to ruffle around in. "Come on, I wanna smoke."

You don't ask any questions as he moves, leading you out from the dancefloor and throughout the house. Every so often he glances back over his shoulder like he's reconfirming that you haven't wandered off and left. He guides you up a set of staircases, past the couple planted by the first step who are openly making out and grinding on each other and up into the twisting, changing hallways.

"Where are we going?" You ask, nearly getting shoulder checked by a pair of girls who rush down the corridor in a fit of giggles.

"I told you, " he replies and hardly looks back. " I want to smoke."

You want to press him about. About how suddenly he's unable to smoke inside when you've seen him do at least a thousand times. Even at the breakfast table. He probably does it on the toilet too. It wouldn't be a surprise. You aren't sure how long the two of you walk for, higher up into the highest floors of the house until he's finally stopping and opening a door at the end of the hall. He pauses in the threshold, dipping his head in and looking in like he's checking to see if it's occupied. He could have just knocked. It would have been an unpleasant surprise for the people inside if it actually had been unavailable. But the coast must be clear because he's slipping inside and nodding his head for you to follow after. He shuts the door behind you, closing it with a click and gives you a passing smirk when you shoot him a curious glance.

You follow him into the room, vacant apart from some paintings and a few pieces of furniture - an old office maybe, and he leads you across the floors towards a pair of large glass double doors.

He tugs on one of the handles, swinging it open, revealing what appears to be one of the balconies. He's outside before you. And by the time you slide up beside him he's already leaning against the chiseled stone railing on his elbows and the cigarette perched between his lips is lit and smoldering.

The air outside is still warm, sweet and earthy with the scent of moister in the air, like some distant, unseeable storm is brewing. And you can see so much of the estate from this high up. The frolicking people down below in their costumes and those massive, glowing lotus lamps drifting in the pond. But even with all of the guests down on the courtyard engaging in various kinds of trouble; drinking and shouting and singing amongst themselves, up here their voices can harldy reach you. It sounds like a faint murmur on the soft summer wind. And for maybe the first time tonight you actually feel a sense of calm.

"He's a selfish lover, " Farleigh says randomly, flicking the butt of his cigarette to sprinkle the dead ash onto the far grounds beneath. "And a notoriously fast one too. Eliana Merrick said he busted as soon as he put it in."

He notices the lost look on your face and sighs, twisting around on his feet to lean his back against the railing instead. "Your little boytoy from earlier. Reuben Amory." He spits his name out with something that sounds suspiciously like contempt. Venomous and irritated and he lifts the cigarette up to take another drag. "His father's a friend of the family. To James specifically. That's how he always manages to weasel his way into our parties."

"I guess I dodged a bullet then." You joke, absentmindedly fiddling with one of the elaborate pearl earrings dangling from your ear.

"What? He didn't scratch your itch?"

"No," you shake your head with a light shrug. "He was fine. It's just . . . I don't know, I wasn't interested."

Farleigh snorts, making you glare at him, eyebrows furrowing. "What?"

"Nothing." But his tone is a little sarcastic, and unconvincing and the nasty smile on his lips reveals as much. "He just seemed to fit the bill of your type pretty well. Well-meaning, polite and a little pathetic."

You nearly laugh but it comes out as more of a scoff. "That is not my type."

"Oh, really?" He challenges, moving closer towards you and you can smell his cologne again. The vanilla sticks out the most this time. Delicate and sweet. "What about that guy you used to flirt with at IHop? "

"He was a server. It's literally his job to be nice-"

"And then there was your neighbor back at the apartment. The one across the hall with the abysmal amout of plants. And then who could possibly forget, what was his name? Adrian? Who you dated for all of four weeks."

It has you falling silent, unable to counter his argument even though you have a remark waiting on the tip of your tongue. You've never realized that Farleigh had ever paid that much attention to you and your affairs. It has that syrupy, fuzzy feeling pooling in the center of your chest despite that fact that you're actively telling yourself that it doesn't actually mean anything. It's normal for people to notice things about people that they're forced into proximity with.

"Wow, I never knew you were so interested in my love life, " you say, gripping onto the rough texture of the railing. Stroking your fingers over the soft groves and bumps. "Maybe you should get one of your own."

"But yours is always so entertaining," he snuffs out the cigarette and carelessly drops the butt onto the ground near his feet. "You know, with the way that it always seems to crash and burn."

It probably would have stung to hear if you weren't able to say that you were the one to end all of the relationships that you had been in. That you were always the one to take the first step in severing ties. Even with Adrian you had been the one to sit him down and explain that you just hadn't been able to see it progressing anywhere. The both of you were too different. Your goals and wants in life were polarizing and the only things that had brought you together were superficial at best. You just weren't built to last.

"Please, like yours has ever been any better." But he doesn't look the least bit offended. Instead, there's a satisfied quality to his expression. Your lips purse and something akin to defeat weighs down your shoulders. "Besides, they were all too sweet anyway. A little too nice. They could never keep up. I'd always end up saying something to hurt their feelings on accident and they would think that I meant it and then I'd get the silent treatment."

"Not like us, huh?" Farleigh responds a little softly. And he was right. There was always something about your dynamic with Farleigh that you had never been able to achieve in your relationships. The constant push and pull. The competition of your endless banter and insults. The way that you could be completely bare and unrestrained with your words without putting your standing with him at risk. There was . . . an intimacy in it that couldn't compare with anyone else. You had seen the worst of Farleigh. The sneers and jabs and heated sarcasm. And in turn he had gotten the brunt of your own ire and jokes, but it still didn't change a thing. Neither of you ran from it. Instead, you both seemed to revel in it. To seek it out even. It was a type of security that you had never found with any other friend or lover.

And you don't know what it is, but some invisible element shifts and rises between the both of you. Something that's always been there. Simmering and quiet, building up underneath your every interaction like water boiling on a hot stove.

"No. Not like us," you admit in a near whisper like if you spoke to loudly that it might disrupt whatever magnetic thrum has fallen over you both. So low that he might not have heard you. But then you see something flash in his eyes. Something hungry and eager and he's moving closer until you can feel his body heat pouring over your skin, seeping underneath the delicate fabric of your dress and into your bones.

"I hated all of them," he says it like a confession. Hushed and passionate. And you suppose that it is one. Told in total confidence, with a certain fervor like a sinner tucked away in a confessional booth. "I hated them because they should have been me."

It makes you gasp lowly. And your fingers squeeze around the banister like it might ground you and keep you from floating away. And suddenly Venetia's previous statements are echoing around in your skull; mocking and satisfied. You feel slightly stupid now. Blind. But never in a million years would you have guessed that Farleigh had actually ever been jealous of the men that you had dated. It seems like such a silly concept. Or else it would have in the past, but now here he is confirming the very thing that the two Catton sibling's have been vehemently trying to drill into your head for years. And you like it. God, you actually like it. Some nasty little side of you is completely satisfied and even elated that he's been seething over all of your old flings and exes. It feels good because you've been doing the same thing you suddenly realize. Every time that stinging burn had caught up in your chest at the sight of him curled up with some other person - it hadn't been irritation for Farleigh. It was jealousy. You had actually been jealous.

"Can I tell you something?" You ask.

He just hums, low and soft. You can't even glance away from him. Not even if you wanted to. Not with the way that he's looking at you. His stare is heavy and intense, and it feels like you're being held by the throat, forced to maintain eye contact with your breath steadily being stolen from your lungs. "I wished they were you, too."

It's like something breaks free from you when you say it. It was heavy, oppressive and suffocating and in its absence, it's replaced by a sense of ease and a freedom that makes you want to laugh and maybe even cry. And maybe if you weren't preoccupied with the entirety of your attention zoned in on Farleigh you might would have.

Now he's stepping even closer than before, and now you can actually feel the press of his body against yours. The pressure of it has your lips parting, and you have to angle your head to maintain your shared gaze without breaking it. Then his hand is tucking underneath your chin; the pad of his thumb lifts to brush over you, tracing the shape of your bottom lip with something that feels close to reverence.

"Can I kiss you?"

Something inside of you breaks apart at the question, crumbling and washing away like sand underneath the crashing power of a wave. You nod before you even fully register it, and your body is buzzing with a honeyed heat. And you understand that if you do this then whatever relationship you have with Farleigh is going to fundamentally altered. It will be the point of no return and the consequences, positive or negative, will be unavoidable. Maybe tomorrow things will go sour. Maybe by then you'll be back to hating each other, even worse than before. But you want this. Consequences and all.

"God, yes. Please."

His lips are soft and warm, and they taste sugary and faintly floral with what might have been the flavors of some beverage that he had drank earlier. There's the bite of tobacco on his skin too, sharp and smoky. It's usually something that you had never enjoyed when kissing people in the past, but right now it hardly even registers. You're too busy getting lost in the feel of him. The warmth of his hands framing your face, the way that he shifts you on your feet and nudges you back against the railing of the balcony. Your hands are everywhere that they can reach, stroking down his chest and dipping down to grip his hips, pulling them flush against you like any amount of space left between you might kill you.

He groans into your mouth at the gesture, nipping at you lip before soothing the sting with his tongue. It has heat, liquid and thick building between the cradle of your thighs. And you know that it's just kissing, but you can't help but internally berate yourself, because if the both of you hadn't been so horribly bullheaded you could have been doing this the entire time.

And he pulls away from you all too soon, making an embarrassing whimper bubble up from your throat, but he's hushing you with a soft coo, snickering lightly under his breath when he ducks his head beneath your chin to suck at the skin there. Taking it between his teeth and lips and you can't help to soft, breathless pants that start to leave your chest in response. It's purely possessive and you're sure that he's trying to leave marks there, and you can't find it in yourself to tell him not to. It's like your muscles are melting, going boneless at the sensation of his tongue tasting your skin, licking up the salt from it. You can feel the shape of his smug smile against your throat, and it makes you want to slap him. But instead, you're reaching a hand up to cradle the back of his neck, keeping him close to you.

You're wet already, soaking through your underwear. It's something that you would have been awfully conscious of in the past with another partner, but here and now you can hardly think around the red fog that's beginning to cloud your brain. And then he's shifting, sweeping a hand underneath the silk skirt of your dress to clasp around your thigh so that he could pull it to the side, allowing him to nudge his leg between the both of yours.

"Farleigh," you gasp, and he cruelly grinds his thigh against the heat of you, steadily feeding the pressure thrumming there but not letting it build towards anything more. It's frustrating. Mean. And it has you clawing at his shoulders impatiently.

"Yeah? What is it?" He asks, nipping at the sensitive skin on your ear, making sure to be mindful of your earring. You don't respond at first, unable to with the way that he's still steadily moving his thigh against you. It's simple, but with the way that you're already so pathetically worked up, it feels like agony. "Come on, you can tell me."

And to make it worse, that hand that had been gripped around your leg is now moving further underneath your dress, slipping between the press of your bodies to settle above where you want him. His fingers play with the elastic band of your panties, teasing, implying more. But then he hooks it in the crook of his fingers and pulls, letting it snap back against your skin. The sting is dull, but it has you gasping regardless. You mindlessly reach for his hand that's still underneath your skirt, taking it into your own. And you briefly fear that he'll pull it from your grip. But he allows you to guide him. He removes his head from your neck to look into your eyes, watching your expression when you finally slip his hand underneath your underwear, and you can feel the shocking chill of his signet ring trailing across your heated skin. He takes over from there and you can't help the way that you arch into him when his fingers finally move down to where you need him the most. His face pinches when he spreads you open, and he nearly groans at the feel of you. "Jesus, baby, you're fucking soaking already."

Your eyes flutter from the drag of one of his knuckles brushing over your clit and it's like it's directly connected to every individual nerve in your body, making you squirm and moan raggedly.

"Is this all for me?" He asks, dipping one of his fingers lower, teasingly circling the entrance of your cunt but he doesn't go any further.

"Yes." Your lungs feel tight and your nipples brush against his chest with each breath that you take, doing little to help ease the tension and desire threatening to tear you apart. "Yes, it's 'cause of you. Please, Farleigh. C'mon."

"What's the rush?" He taunts, angling his head to take your bottom lip between his teeth and biting. "The night's still young. "

He rocks his thumb against your clit, smirking at you with pure arrogant satisfaction from the way that you shudder underneath his touch. You know that he's absolutely delighting in the way that you've been practically turned into mush by what is essentially some heavy petting. Especially after all of the years of trying one up each other, you're sure that this is doing wonders for his ego. Like it needs to get any bigger. That little prickle of irritation peeks out from underneath the saccharine haze shrouded over you, and you can't keep it down. "I fucking swear, Farleigh, " you nearly hiss, nudging your hips in the hopes that it'll drag the pressure of his fingers closer. "If you don't do something, I swear I'll-"

"You'll what?" Comes his immediate reply, the low rasp of his voice sounds completely unbothered.

"I'll leave, " you say firmly. Or as firmly as you possibly can with the way that the knuckle of his thumb has begun to rotate around your clit in tight, but soft sweeping brushes. But he doesn't appear to be worried in the slightest. He just grins at you. And shakes his head as he lowers it to nudge his nose against yours.

"No, you won't." He says it so certainly. Like he's omnipresent and has already seen the decided future. Like your fate is already sealed. And he's right as much as it pisses you off to admit it. You won't leave. But you don't want to tell him that and give him the satisfaction. " 'Cause you need me don't you, baby? Need me to make you cum."

You're nodding in agreement before you even realize it, throwing whatever semblance of control that you had right out of the window.

"Yeah? Gonna let me taste you?" Just the words alone nearly makes you keen aloud like some desperate slut, and you just barely swallow the sound down. But he must see it in your eyes. The sheer want and desperation that you feel coursing through your body like a drug. The need possessing you might actually be debilitating and you're back to clawing at his shoulders and arms in an attempt to just do something. To pin your focus on something other than the heavy ache between your legs. And you can just distantly hear yourself chanting a string of 'yes' like a broken record.

He tugs his hand from your underwear, and you can't help but mourn the loss, even when he's lowering himself down on his knees and planting kisses down across the expanse of your body as he goes. But then he's rucking the skirt of your dress up over your hips and tucking his fingers back into your underwear like he's getting ready to pull them down. Instead, he's just staring, and his eyebrows are pinched together almost like he's pained.

"You really are soaked," he says with a sort of awe. A thrum of embarrassment rings through you when you realize that he's probably admiring the noticeable wet spot that has dampened the crotch of your underwear from your arousal. You try to close your legs, mostly out of reflex but the sharp, reprimanding smack on the outside of your thigh that you get in response makes you freeze in place. He glares up at you and you have to reach behind you to grip the railing to keep from collapsing from underneath the intensity smoldering in his gaze.

"Keep them open," is his only warning before he all but rips your panties down your hips. Guiding one of your legs up with a hand for you to step out of them, but he leaves your lace underwear to hang from the high heel on your opposite foot; apparently too impatient to fully remove them. And he barely gives you time to think or breathe before he's taking ahold of you by your waist and swinging both of your thighs over his shoulders.

The feel of his tongue laving over the heat of your pussy in a long, greedy swipe makes you scream, completely uncaring for all of the guests down below. And all some distant, buried part of you can do is hope that you're up too high for anyone to hear you. That no one happens to glance up and see you clutching onto the railing for dear life. There's no build up to it. He's completely unrestrained, apparently having the goal to make you cum as quickly as possible with the way that he's working his mouth on you. Swirling his tongue over the swollen, sensitive nerves of your clit and lapping at the dripping entrance of your cunt like a man possessed.

You mouth drops open with heavy pants, and your hands scramble across the cool chiseled stone for something to ground you and keep you pinned to reality. You can see the glint of your arousal smearing across his lips and cheeks and the look in his eyes is a blend of determination and a dazed kind of contentment, and you can feel him groaning against your pussy, amplifying your pleasure. And if it wasn't for the way that you could barely stop whimpering and crying out, you'd nearly think that he was enjoying this more than you with his pleased hums thrumming throughout your body.

He takes your clit into the cradle of his mouth and sucks, and you think that you actually sob but you feel miles away from your body and also helplessly, deliciously trapped inside of it. "Farleigh, " you keen, humping against his face in a debauched display of hedonism. One of your hands reaches down, gripping onto his hair when your eyes roll back from the hot suction of his mouth.

"You taste so good, baby, " he huffs, lapping at the entrance of your cunt with firm, maddening strokes. "So fucking good."

It's too much. You feel like you're on fire. Like he's pulling you apart with each swipe of his tongue and putting you back together again one agonizing piece at a time. It feels cruel but it's also utter bliss. Your thighs are shaking from how tightly they're seized, clamped around his head in a tight squeeze. But he doesn't seem to be bothered about it, because when you try to be mindful and spread them open, he just takes them into his hold and presses them back up against his ears again like he wants to be suffocated. And the thought of that alone has something sharp and electric zipping through you. You file that little theory away for later.

And that familiar ache is rising up like a high, simmering tide. Building and rushing towards you with a quickness that takes you by surprise and you can feel your entire body winding up and coiling tight in anticipation. He drags you closer to his mouth, scooting you down lower against the railing. You're pretty sure that your back is going to be covered in scratches from the rough texture digging across your skin, but as of right now you couldn't give less of a shit. You let your head loll back on the stone, unable to find the concentration or strength to keep it up yourself. You stare up at the sky sightlessly, just barely taking in the winking glow of the scattered stars above while pure, liquid heaven seeps across your limbs.

That overwhelming looming pleasure is right over you now, just a few good strokes off. And with the way that he's licking and sucking at you with his mouth it won't be long before you're breaking apart for him.

"Farleigh," you whimper, choking around a wanton moan, trying to warn him.

He doesn't give you any verbal indication that he hears you. But the grip on your thigh's tense in response, and he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue before dipping it down inside of you; fucking you with it. You can't help the way you're grinding against him, crying out breathlessly when the point of his nose nudges against that swollen bundle of nerves, urging your orgasm to rush towards you at a breakneck speed that you can't brace for.

"Farleigh!" You nearly shriek this time while that wild, rush of pleasure crashes down on you with the intensity of torrential downpour. It tears through your body in a way that's almost violent, making you twist under the heat of his mouth and the iron grip that he still has secured around your legs like you've been jabbed with an electrical current. You sob through the brunt of it, probably alarming the entirety of the Saltburn Estate of your current position. And even after the most of it has made its way across your body, he doesn't stop lapping at you, determined to make sure that he wrings every ounce of your pleasure out of you. It isn't until you're weakly nudging his head away from your sensitive cunt that he pulls his mouth away, but he occupies it by kissing at the inner stretch of your thighs. He massages your hips gently and the sensation works to help guide you back into your own body and return a sense of coherence to you.

All you can do is just sit there and catch your breath, panting raggedly into the night air. You stare up at the stars with complete disbelief while your brain tries to catch up with the fact that Farleigh had just casually sucked your soul out of your body. Sure, you had heard stories of his sexual prowess from some of his past flings before. Heard all of the people gushing and praising his technique in the bedroom, and you had never not believed them per se, you had just never imagined that he was actually this good.

"You doing alright up there?" He asks and his voice is ragged and a little raspy like he was the one screaming and not you.

"Yeah," you confirm after a brief pause. "Just give me a minute and I'm gonna suck your dick."

You can feel him chuckle against you, playful and more than a little cocky but he's more than earned the right to be. "Take your time."

Thankfully, the strength has begun to come back to your body. And even though your limbs are still a little bit shaky you're more than determined and able to ignore it and push through. You raise your head up look at him, using your arms to shift and lift yourself up. He looks up at you expectedly, eyebrows raising with amusement while he aids you in removing your wobbling legs from his shoulders.

He must notice something in your gaze; desperation, want, determination, because he just moves to lean back on his elbows with a relaxed smirk.

"Right here?" He asks. You just nod wordlessly as you lower yourself down on your knees. You could go inside. You probably should. There wasn't a bed in the room that you had entered the balcony from, but there was a couch. Hell, even the floor in there would probably be more comfortable for the both of you than the harsh rock underneath you right now, but you don't want to wait. Not even with the room being so close. Your knees are going to absolutely hate you tomorrow but as of right now, you can't find it in yourself to care.

He parts his legs for you to settle between them and you're fast to crawl over him while he lifts himself up to kiss you. Your lips connect with teeth and tongue, and you moan into each other's mouths when you reach down to cup the length of him from over his pants. He's hot and heavy, even with the layer of fabric covering him. You're still sensitive from your recent orgasm but when you feel the weight of him against your palm, your pussy flutters and tinge of heat settles in the base of your abdomen.

"Baby please, just take it out, " he whines. His voice is petulant and quivering. On any other night you would have used it as an excuse to tease him, but as of right now, you don't have the heart (or patience) to. The urgency in his tone has you thumbing at the buttons closing his pants, but it doesn't help that they're so small and that its dark. You have to squint underneath the dim moonlight to find them and your fingers slip more than once. But luckily you manage to pop all of them through their opening in the fabric; even with the way that Farleigh impatiently grinds into the air, trying to use your hand and forearm as something to grind his cock against.

It's so desperate and dirty but it's also so fucking hot. Seeing him all laid out and begging has a heavy anticipation fizzling underneath your skin, prompting you to grip at the edge of his pants. He's eagerly lifting his hips up, aiding you as you tug the fabric down, working it around the swell of his ass and his hips. And he audibly groans in relief when his cock springs free from the restraint of his clothes. It's so hard that it looks like must be uncomfortable, and there's a steady stream of precum pouring from the tip and trailing down along a thick, throbbing vein in a pearlescent sheen.

Your mouth waters at the sight, and you have to swallow it in the fear that you might actually drool if you don't. He catches the way you're admiring him, and something smug bleeds into his dazed expression. A reversal from the way that he had outright begged for you earlier. You really want to wipe that look off of his face.

Then you're giving into your basest desires and leaning forward to lick at the head of his cock with long, steady sweeps, scooping up the salt of him into your mouth. He's rewarding you as soon as you touch him, breathing out a strained, "fuck," while his fingers come up to grip your hair, already knocking a few of the fake flowers clipped along your updo free; honeysuckles and pink camellias. He doesn't force your head down, but he doesn't remove his hold either, gently urging you to keep going and you can't help but concede. Stretching your jaw open further to slip him inside your mouth before slowly pulling off of him with a firm suck, lapping at the slit of his cock when you do.

He isn't the biggest you've taken, but he's still thick enough for you to feel a slight strain at the hinges of your jaw, but it doesn't deter you in the slightest. You nod your head down to take him in your throat, making sure to be mindful of your teeth as you go and luckily, you're aided by the lubrication of your saliva. You don't stop until you feel the faintest hint of your gag reflex and even then, you have to push off the thought to just keep going, to let yourself gag on him. You'll save that for some other time. As of right now, you want to be able to savor every little movement and twitch and whimper.

You've just started and it's already so sloppy, wet with the way that your drool smears around your lips and chin, and Farleigh seems to be struggling to keep his hips still, resisting the urge to fuck your mouth. His thighs are tense underneath the palms of your hands, muscles flexing and twitching with frayed restraint and each jerky hitch of his hips is punctuated by airy sighs and moans.

A glance up from your place between his legs has you appreciating the way that his back is already arching. He looks gorgeous like this, all splayed out with the thick of his eyelashes fluttering against the jut of his cheek bones. You've always had the sneaking suspicion that Farleigh would lean a bit on the submissive side in bed. Always overcompensating with his arrogant attitude and sarcasm, but you didn't think that he'd be this sensitive. You aren't sure if it's just because he might have already been so worked up from eating you out, or if he's naturally just responsive, but either way the way that he's acting is doing wonders for your ego. The power that you're getting from seeing him already so pleased and dazed is filling your head full of a syrupy sort of satisfaction.

You pull off of his cock with a pop, delighting in the way that he whimpers in protest. You just hum in response, smirking at him while you nuzzle your nose down the line of his shaft and all of his complaints die out once you take one of his balls into the warm cradle of your tongue, reaching up to grip him in your hand while your mouth is occupied.

He moans raggedly, a string of whispered, "so good, don't stop - please, don't stop." Like you'd ever do that now that you've got him underneath you. And not to sound dramatic, but the sky could split open with brimstone and hellfire and the apocalypse could reign down on Saltburn and you still wouldn't pull away from him. Not when he sounds so sweet. Not while he tastes so good. Salty and earthy across your pallet. And the way that he pants into the balmy night air, already breathless has the heat between the apex of your thighs back with a vengence; burning and wet, and you have to rub them together in an attempt to ease the tension there.

You can't help the way that you moan around him, lightly sucking at the sensitive point between his balls and the base of his cock while you smear your thumb over his slit. You the use the fluid to aid in few more pumps from your hand before you're licking back up his shaft again, swallowing him back down while your hand switches places to fondle his sack and the cry that he lets out in response is heavenly. Urging you to bob you head down on him in a steady rhythm. You try to remember to breathe through your nose but in your fervor, you often find yourself neglecting to take in lungfulls of air and as a result an oxygen deprived haze has begun to fizzle over your head. But you can't bring yourself to be worried over it. It feels good. The fuzzy, drunken buzz stuffing your skull full while you work his cock is stupidly addictive.

He must notice the glazed over look in your eyes because he's smiling at you from around the way that his lips have dropped open to release a bout of heavy pants. He drops the hand that had been clutching your hair to sweep his fingers across your face in a gesture that's way too sweet for a guy who's getting head. And it has something soft and sweet blossoming in your chest when he strokes your cheek with his thumb; it makes you feel delicate and adored even while your chin is smeared with spit and cum and your jaw is starting to ache.

"You're already a little fucked out aren't you?" It's rhetorical, you know, but you find yourself moaning in response regardless. "You look so georgous like this."

Liar. There's absolutely you look even remotely attractive right now. You can feel the prickle of tears threatening to slip past your water line and down your face, and you're sure that your lashes have begun to clamp together from the damp. Your lips are swollen and there's a sheen of sweat glittering on your forehead. You probably look like a wreck but it still has you melting, and you begin to lick and suck at him with even more passion than before.

And it must have felt good for him because his head is rolling back on his shoulders and his elbows nearly collapse, leaving him to drop onto his back with a gutted groan. His eyes roll back, and his thighs seize. His white undershirt has ridden up around his ribs, showing off the stretch of his abdomen and you can see the way that his muscles flex and tense with the same pulse of his hips. He's close and it only has you doubling your efforts with even more vigor, desperate to taste him on your tongue, to feel the heat of him in your mouth and throat. The sound of his gasping has changed in pitch, rising into something that sounds close to a sob.

But then you're being torn off of him without warning and you can't contain your mournful whimper when the weight of him leaves your mouth. Irritation and betrayal flares and you can't keep yourself from glaring at him even while he looks close to wrecked, rambling underneath his breath something that sounds like, "I'm sorry baby, I need to feel you, " as he hauls you onto his lap.

And your scattered brain is still able to grab onto what he wants. You gather up your skirt to settle your knees on either side of his hips and you're quick to grab ahold of his cock to line it up with your entrance. Neither of you have the mental capacity to tease or draw the process out longer than it needs to be, and you're thankful that he had already ate you out earlier, giving you some semblance of prep. And without any fanfare you're sinking down onto his cock, and your pussy flutters around his girth, stretching until he's buried in at the hilt.

The shared groans that you let out are ones of relief and pure bliss. Your body shudders at the fullness nestled within the apex of your thighs and Farleigh impatiently grinds his hips up into yours, rocking his pelvis into your clit with a petulant huff. "Come on baby, ride me, " he urges. "Fucking take it."

You can't find it in yourself to deny him. Or yourself. And he lets you plant your hands onto his chest for support when you lift yourself up with your thighs to begin wildly bouncing on his cock, grinding and swiveling your hips with each downstroke. That thick, heated pleasure is already building up near the base of your spine, and you already know that you aren't going to last long. Not with how worked up you are. And you don't think that he's going to be able to hold off either.

He's watching you with something akin to wonder in his eyes and his lips are snagged between his teeth like he might be trying to quiet himself. Like he's trying to selfishly hide those punched out little moans. And you don't know why he tried to be hushed now after he's been groaning and whimpering this entire time but that petulant expression on his face tells you all you need to know. He's doing it on purpose, the brat. It has you leaning over him to pepper soft kisses over his cheeks, nipping at his chin and jaw sweetly, before you squeeze your pussy around his cock like a vice and you place your hand around the base of his throat. You don't tighten your fingers around it, but let him feel the pressure of your grip, testing the waters to see if your earlier theory had been right.

And his body goes taut underneath you while his hips thrust into you with a harsh twitch. A gutted moan follows closely behind, and he grips onto your thighs like he needs it to ground himself and keep himself present.

"Feel good?" It's admittedly a little condescending but even then, you can't help the softness that bleeds through your tone. He nods his head drunkenly, tilting his head back to bare his throat to you. The way that he's melting underneath the ceaseless roll of your hips and mindlessly fucking into you with deep, heavy thrusts is already driving you towards that tide of heat and ecstasy, and they way that you openly keen reveals as much.

Your knees are already stinging from the harsh stone floor digging into them and your thighs are already burning with exertion from the ruthless pace that you had set. But you have no desire to stop yet. To switch positions or ask him to take over, not with how beautiful and fucked out he looks beneath you.

You're both already messy and incoherent, chasing after your pleasure desperately. The noises coming from the place where your bodies are joined is filthy with the repetitive smack of skin on skin and the crude squelching of your cum echoing off of the rock walls around you. And maybe if your brain wasn't practically mush you might would have had the capacity to care, but you just can't find it within yourself while you watch every minute, rapturous expression flit across Farleigh's face. Not while his plush lips are parted for him to gasp, and his eyes have nearly gone cross.

"Baby, " he whines brokenly. A warning for the way that he's quickly hurdling towards his release from the constant rock of your hips. Yours isn't far off either, simmering and curling within the pit of your abdomen and you can already tell that your orgasm is going to destroy you. It's so close. So, so, so close and you find yourself nodding shakily in response to him.

"I know, I know, " your jaw goes lax at a partially hard thrust from his hips, muscles spasming around the drag of his cock.

"Where - where can I- "

"Inside," you answer, choking on your breath." I'm on the pill - it's safe, you can- "

He cuts you off with a gutted, shredded groan of your name and his entire body seizes up from the power of his orgasm. The warmth of his release spreads throughout your lower stomach and another choppy, wild thrust from Farleigh grinds his pelvis into the tender nerves of your clit. It just sneaks up on you. Sweeping you up and dragging you down before you can even register that it's ravaging your body and making you scream. For a second you completely forget what it means to have a physical body. You don't have hands, or feet, or a mind. You don't have a favorite song and there aren't any bills to pay, or an apartment back home in America, and the chaotic party downstairs doesn't exist. The cold stone floor beneath your knees isn't there. You're just floating. Suspended in a state of bliss and pleasure.

For a moment you just are.

And then your lungs are gasping, filling up with oxygen. Clarity comes back to you in pulses and the feeling in your limbs follows behind. Sensation returns to your toes and fingertips and then your eyes are fluttering open. The first thing you hear is the rapid pulse of a heartbeat and when you breathe the scent of something like vanilla and cigarette smoke nestles within your lungs. It has you rubbing your cheek against the heat of their chest - Farleigh's chest, your brain supplies sluggishly. You don't remember collapsing on top of him but apparently you had.

"God damn," he slurs, prompting an amused, tired laugh from you. For a moment the two of you just lay there, taking the time to return to yourselves and grasp your senses. And with it, reality rises up too. That you're laying here with Farleigh on an open balcony with his cum dripping from between your thighs. And apart from his confession earlier there's some small insecure part of you that's worried that he hadn't fully meant it. That this was just a simple fling. Something to ease the tension that's been brewing between the both of you for the past few years. But you don't get to wallow in your fears for long before he's tapping on your thigh and shuffling up onto his elbows.

You just hum at him questioningly, not yet trusting your voice.

"Need a cigarette," he answers.

That has you moving, lifting yourself from his hips and you both hiss, sensitive and raw when he slips from you. Your knees are tender too, aching and you inelegantly plop yourself on your rump beside Farleigh to give them some relief. And you briefly occupy yourself with your underwear, slipping it back underneath your dress and smoothing out your skirt as best as you can.

He works on slipping his pants and tights back over his hips, digging into his pocket as soon they've been righted for a cigarette and his lighter. You watch him with something nervous in your gut. And you tell yourself that you're being stupid and overdramatic. So, what if this was just a one-time thing? It was an amazing time. And if this turned out to be some random fling then that would just make it even more special, right? And he said that he was jealous of your past exes but that didn't necessarily mean that he had feelings for you. You had been the one to jump to conclusions and assume.

And even if by tomorrow he pretends that this never happened then that would be fine. You'd make do. You'd survive. It won't be the end of the world.

"Do you want to spend the night with me?"

The question tears you from your thoughts. Saves you from them really and pulls your attention onto Farleigh. His eyes are glimmering from the burning embers at the end of his cigarette, laying some strange quality in his gaze bare. But whatever it is looks uncertain and hesitant. And it serves as reminder that this is new territory for him as well. That he's just as unsure as you are. It gives you a little boost of confidence that you aren't alone in your self-induced doubts. It makes you smile; soft and relaxed and you hope that it helps whatever thoughts he may have running around in his own head.

"Sure," you say. "But I want to rewatch House of Wax. "

His face scrunches up in response, but he's already rising up to his feet and holding a hand out for you to take, helping to pull you up on your wobbling feet. "That movie is shit."

"Well, I wouldn't be able to tell with the way that you wouldn't stop talking the last time that we all watched it." You grip onto his forearms while you find your balance, lowly cursing your heels and unsteady ankles. The energy has shifted into place, as easily as breathing; thawing all of the worries and insecurities that had initially clattered around in your brain as though they hadn't been there at all.

"That's because the characters were nothing but cliches and one note, " he scoffs and promptly drops his cigarette on the balcony, snuffing it out by grinding it with his shoe.

"I also need a bath."

A smile curls on his lips, a little teasing. " Want to share?"

You stare at him, a little disbelieving. There's absolutely no way that you could do that again tonight. At least not so soon. You're exhausted, barley holding yourself up as it is and you're still clinging to one of Farleigh's arms for support.

"Really? After that?" You question, eyebrows raising, but you can't keep yourself from trying to joke despite your surprise. "You're terrible."

Farleigh chuckles, guiding you towards the double doors gently, "Oh, don't look at me like that," he says, purely amused. "I wasn't suggesting another round, you're the one with your head in the gutter."

You don't reply. Too caught up in the fuzzy way that it makes you feel; his request to share a bath with you. A small gesture maybe, but it also feels wonderfully domestic and intimate. It has you leaning into his side as you step into the adjacent room, breathing in the scent of his cologne, soaking up the body heat that radiates from his skin. Whatever new chapter between the both of you has opened has still left you two with a lot of unsaid questions and answers. You still don't know what you two are. If there's a label to apply to you both of it was just a one-night stand, but you don't have to get those answers right this second. For now, you can just bask in his company and come morning, once you've both had time to think and adjust you can sit him down and have a conversation. And maybe (hopefully) your relationship will finally become something more.

But as for now, you don't mind spending the night in his room. Of cuddling up underneath the covers of his bed after a nice bath and watching a movie together, even though you know that the duration of it is going to be spent with him criticizing every line of bad dialogue and griping over plot holes, no matter how insignificant they may be.

It sounds like the perfect night, honestly.

But still there is still one burning question that's searing at your brain like a hot coal, and you can't keep yourself from voicing it.

"Do you think anybody heard us?"

And his answer is blunt and honest.

"Oh, yeah, there's no way they didn't."

#farleigh x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh saltburn #farleigh start #farleigh start x you #farleigh start smut #farleigh catton #saltburn #saltburn movie #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn x reader #saltburn x you #oliver quick x reader

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olivianyx · 4 months

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OMGG I JUST GOT RESULTS WITHOUT BEATING MYSELF UP WITH ROUTINES 😭 + RANT ✨

HEYY LUVS! I JUST WANNA SHARE MY RESULTS I MANIFESTED WITHIN 2-3 DAYS! THIS YEAR'S GONNA BE MY BEST YEAR Y'ALL ✋AND GUESS WHAT I DID? NOTHING. LITERALLY NOTHING. NUH-UH. PERIODT.

⚠ LONG POST AHEAD, SWEARING ⚠

WHAT I MANIFESTED:

🪄 PASSING MY FRESHMAN YEAR WITH HIGH SCORES

🪄 MY FAMILY BOUGHT A NEW APARTMENT WHICH WERE PREPARING TO MOVE IN 3 WEEKS

🪄 ME GETTING INTO THE VOID STATE 😭 AND MANIFESTED CLEAR SKIN! (DAYUM GETTING INTO THE VOID IS DEFO VERY EASY OMGG)

🪄 GETTING LESS ANXIOUS LATELY!

🪄 MY GASTRITIS AND ULCERITIS GETTING CURED

🪄 GETTING MORE COMPLIMENTS IN MY UNI!

🪄 GETTING TALLER! I WENT FROM 5'3" TO 5'7" IN 2 DAYS 😭😭

🪄 GETTING DREAMS OF ME SHIFTING TO MY WR 🥺 (ACTUALLY RESPAWNING LOL, AS THIS THING IS REALLY CONTROVERSIAL IN HERE, PLEASE DON'T GET ME CANCELLED- I'M DOING DEATHLESS RESPAWNING ✋)

🪄 MY MIND IS SURPRISINGLY CALM 😌 THERE'S STILL INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS THO (THOSE ARE ANNOYING ASS BITCHES) BUT I JUST IGNORE EM LIKE I IGNORE PEOPLE AT SCHOOL 🗿

🪄 GOT MANY CONFESSIONS TOO 😭 AND I REJECTED EM ALL, CUS I JUST WANT TO BE SINGLE FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE ✋🗿 JK

🪄 GETTING COOL CLOTHES THAT MY MOM DENIED A LOTTA TIMES! (ACTUALLY I'VE ORDERED EM BUT STILL HAVEN'T SHIPPED TO MY ADDRESS YET LOL)

🪄 MY CRUSH BECOMING CLOSE TO ME HEHE 🤭 LIKE SHE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT ME MUCH, BUT LATELY SHE'S BEEN TOO CLOSE TO ME AND ALWAYS WANNA BE WITH ME LOL, 3 DAYS BACK SHE AND I WALKED HOME TOGETHER, WHILE WE GRABBED SOME SNACKS, SPOKE ABT EACH OTHER AND ALL (I FELT LIKE BEING IN A SHOUJO MANGA 😩)

🪄 A NEW PHONE! THAT SAMSUNG GALAXY S22 😩

I MANIFESTED EVERYTHING WITHIN 3 DAYS 😭 I REALLY CAN'T BELIEVE MY EYES, JUST. 3. FUCKING. DAYS. GODDAMMIT.

HOW I DID IT:

JUST FULFILLED IT IN MY IMAGINATION

YEP, YOU HEARD THAT RIGHT. I LIVED IN THE 4D REALITY, I NEVER GAVE A SHIT ABOUT THE 3D AT ALL. OK LEMME BREAK IT DOWN FOR Y'ALL SO JUST PAY ATTENTION FROM HERE ONWARDS.

🪄 SUPPOSE SOMETHING UNDESIRABLE OR UNFAVORABLE CIRCUMSTANCES ARE HAPPENING IN YOUR 3D. WHO'S THE CAUSE FOR THAT? YOU. 'BUT I DIDN'T IMAGINE OR THINK OF THESE 😭' BABY, YOU'RE THE SOLE CAUSE, EFFECT, AND THE SOLUTION. THERE'S NO OTHER EXPLANATION TO THIS.

🪄 AS WE ALL KNOW, 3D IS A MIRROR. RIGHT? WHATEVER YOU THINK ABOUT, YOUR ASSUMPTIONS, YOUR THOUGHTS, YOUR FEELINGS, YOUR PERSPECTIVE EVERYTHING WILL BE REFLECTED. SO WHY NOT THINK THE WAY YOU WANT SO YOU CAN EXPERIENCE THE SAME? GET IT.

🪄 IF YOU WANT TO CHANGE THE 3D, CHANGE YOUR 4D FIRST. CHANGE YOUR PERSPECTIVE TO HOW YOUR DESIRED SELF WOULD SEE THE WORLD. KEEP DWELLING IN IT. IF THE 3D SHOWS UNFAVORABLE CIRCUMSTANCES, DON'T FUCKING GET TRIGGERED. GO BACK TO YOUR IMAGINATION AND DENY YOUR SENSES.

🪄 EVERYTIME YOU SEE SOMETHING ELSE IN THE 3D, GO 'BRUHH THIS IS MY OLD STORY, I ALREADY HAVE WHAT I WANT, THIS IS JUST FAKE' AND MOVE ON. DISTRACT YOURSELF. CUS THE 3D WORLD WHICH YOU SEE IS AN ILLUSION, IT'S NOT REAL. IT'S YOUR CREATION, WHY WOULD YOU TRY TO CONTROL WHAT YOU CREATED? IT'S ALREADY IN CONTROL. YOU ONLY GOTTA REALISE YOUR GODSELF. YOU ARE THE CREATOR, NOT THE CREATION. STOP FUCKING VICTIMIZING YOURSELF.

🪄 I GET IT THAT MOST OF THE PEOPLE ARE CONFUSED BETWEEN LAW OF ASSUMPTION AND NON DUALISM. EVEN I WAS, BUT SLOWLY I REALISED THAT WE'RE ALL NOTHING. WE'RE JUST LIVING IN OUR OWN CREATIONS. VICTIMIZING OURSELVES IN OUR OWN CREATIONS. IRONIC RIGHT?

🪄 THOSE THOUGHTS, ANXIETY, FEELINGS, EMOTIONS ARE ALL IN YOUR PHYSICAL REALM. YOUR MIND, YOUR BODY, YOUR EGO EVERYTHING IS NO REAL, WE ASSUME IT TO BE. WE'RE ARE SHAPELESS, FORMLESS, WE'RE NOTHING! AND EVERYTHING AT THE SAME TIME. CUS EVERYTHING COMES DOWN TO ONE THING, I AM.

🪄 K Y'ALL MIGHT BE SUPER CONFUSED, WHAT I'M TRYNA INFUSE IN YOUR BRAINS. SO WHAT YOU DO IS, LIVE IN YOUR 4D.HOW? IMAGINATION. NO MATTER WHAT YOU SEE IN YOUR 3D, GO BACK TO YOUR IMAGINATION, AFFIRM OR VISUALISE. ANYTHING IS FINE BTW. JUST STAY IN THE STATE OF WISH FULFILLED.

🪄 STOP RELYING ON METHODS, FUCK THEM. JUST BE. DON'T TRY TO CHANGE SOMETHING WHEN YOU ALREADY HAVE THEM. JUST STOP, SURRENDER, STOP FIGHTING, STOP TRYING SO HARD WHEN YOUR ALREADY IT. SO GO LIVE IN YOUR IMAGINATION, FULLY SURRENDER. DO THINGS WHICH YOU LIKE. GO LIVE YOUR LIFE. TAKE YOUR POWER BACK.

LIKE AREN'T YOU TIRED? TRAPPED IN YOUR OWN CREATIONS? YOU CREATED THEM, YOU HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE WHATEVER. TELL ME HOW LONG ARE YOU GONNA LIVE THIS BULLSHIT LIFE? YOU'RE REALLY GETTING COMFORTABLE BEING UNCOMFORTABLE. SO LISTEN UP, DO WHAT YOU LOVE, AFFIRM, VISUALISE, OR DAYDREAM, ZONE OUT, WHATEVER. ALL I DID WAS DO THIS MEDITATION IN THE MORNING, WENT ABOUT MY DAY WATCHING JUJUTSU KAISEN LMAO. THEN RANDOMLY AFFIRM, LIVED IN MY 4D, NEVER PAYED ANY FUCKING ATTENTION TO MY 3D, CUS I'M GOD. I REALLY LOVE VISUALISING, SO I PUT ON A SONG AND START DAYDREAMING IN MY ROOM SMILING LIKE AN IDIOT. ALSO, I DID SATS BEFORE GOING TO BED. THAT'S IT. THAT'S ALL I DID FOR 3 FUCKING DAYS, AND GOT WHAT EVER I WANT. ALSO I MADE A CUSTOM TAPE TOO (IT'S A GENERAL SELF CONCEPT ONE) I LISTENED TO IT FOR 30 MINS AND JUST WENT ABOUT MY DAY THINKING I HAD WHATEVER I FUCKING DESIRE, CUS IT'S ALL MY CREATIONS AND I HAVE IT ALREADY. THERE'S NOTHING TO GET, IT'S ALREADY IN ME.

LUV YOU, BYE 💋

#non dualism #law of assumption #neville goddard #reality shifting #affirmdaily #dream life #frequency #loa success #manifestations #manifestyourreality #scripting #3roe #self concept #higher self #consciousness #Spotify

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moonfireshadow · 4 months

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Rewatched Saltburn and I'm obsessed with Farleigh and Oliver's tutoring scene. The essay specifically. For those who don't remember: Oliver did his homework and all his assignments and genuinely gave a well thought out essay for their summer assignments. Farleigh shows up hungover and late and didn't even read the books. But the teacher immediately loves Farleigh and is chatting him up with an interest he barely tried to show Oliver. Even after Oliver gives his presentation and shows that he's clearly a much better student than Farleigh. Obviously this is the real start of their rivalry. But it's also such a beautiful look into their characters and how they mirror eachother. Farleigh understands Oliver's essay, I believe. But like the teacher he's bored by it. The knowledge and work is there, but the presentation of it is boring and strange. Academic and correct, but lacking the appeal to the audience. (Which, can we talk about the fact Farleigh was genuinely listening at all? The teacher zoned out and switched channels, but Farleigh was interested and paying enough attention to know the exact number of times Oliver used the word "thus" in his essay. They respect each other truly even if they despise eachother at this point, and refuse to acknowledge the grudging respect.) So Farleigh does what he does best, he gloats over Oliver. He picks apart the style of the essay and it's presentation rather than addressing the central argument or topic. This delights the teacher and frustrates Oliver who is like, "so you're going to critique the style of my essay rather than it's substance? Seems a bit lazy" and that's the core component of these two characters.

Farleigh is ALL about presentation. He knows how fragile his pedistal is placed up and in view for everyone to see. He's a charity project, just like every other rando of the month. Sure he has some familiar connection, and that's given him a leg up in this world. But it's still shakey at best. He always has to give the correct performance, say the right words, keep his audience on HIS side. Unless he wants to get knocked down with the rest of the common rabal that he knows he's belongs with, but can't stand the idea of. So yes, of course he picks apart the one thing he knows Oliver is failing at. He takes his one advantage over Oliver and uses it mercilessly to both entertain and secure his audience on his side. (I wonder if the positions had been different some how, if Farleigh would have had anything to say about the substance of the essay itself. He was paying attention to it, did he want to have a real academic conversation? Did he possibly want to try and connect to Oliver in that way? A real and non performative way with someone who's so similar to him?)

As for Oliver, obviously his character is intelligent. He does the readings. He does the research. He puts the time and effort in to *learn* in the way Farleigh never does. And it must infuriate him that his essay is so easily pushed to the side for a cheep critique that doesn't even address the central argument of his essay. Of course he would hate Farleigh from the start for that. It's such a quick negation of all that Oliver has to offer and give just because it's not wrapped up in a pretty bow. And that's just his character. The substance is there, the intelligence is there. But it's not enough. It will never be enough. Because Oliver doesn't know how to translate it to his audience in a way they'll care about. He learns and tries to mimic, but it always falls short because he just can't seem to figure out the way to blend in and present himself so seamlessly as Farleigh.

And that's why they're such perfect mirrors of each other. They're both intelligent and clever. But they've found different ways of getting what they want and proving themselves. Farleigh is the face and the presentation, Oliver is the substance and body. In another world imagine what these two could have done and been if they hadn't been pitted against each other for the same prize. And the fact Oliver definitely deliberately shoved Farleigh out at the perfect time so he wouldn't get hurt and killed? Oliver and Farleigh respect and admire the other. But their tragedy is they can never be on the same page or team because the world they're in says there is only room for one. And they'd both do anything to get that title.

#saltburn #farleigh start #oliver quick #saltburn spoilers #character analysis #i just really feel gay for these two #its about the narrative foils #im obsessed

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moondirti · 7 days

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simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror) tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.

It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.

He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.

Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast – thrown the most delectable fucking bone.

Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.

He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.

"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.

"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."

Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"

"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.

"Well, he must be soft in th'head."

She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."

"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."

"Hm?"

"His loss is my gain."

"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"

And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.

Instead–

"Could be."

"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"

"Tha' obvious?"

"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"

"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"

She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?

"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."

And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."

It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.

"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.

"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."

Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.

He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.

(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!

I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)

Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.

And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.

When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.

But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.

So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.

(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)

"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "

"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."

Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.

But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.

"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.

"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."

He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.

Just wanna be fucked.

Daft, silly girl.

She should've chosen anyone else.

It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.

"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."

And he means it.

It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.

Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.

Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.

The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.

"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.

"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.

(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)

His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.

"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."

Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.

What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.

"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.

"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."

"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.

"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."

Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you. Johnny: I don't believe you. Johnny: Pick up my calls. Johnny: SIMON.

#should've made this a proper fic #it's longer than i expected it to be #anyway.#simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #ghost #x female reader #call of duty #fanfiction

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theangeliczen · 7 days

Note

nct dream’s reaction to you in lingerie? 🙏🏼

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♡ scenario: you order lingerie online and want to see your boyfriend’s reaction when you try it on.

♡ genre: fluff, suggestive

♡ minors do not interact

♡ 'art' and' jump' by tyla and 'slow it down' by benson boone

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mark

the minute that you step out of the bathroom, mark's eyes bulge, and his jaw drops in complete awe. mark already believes that you are a goddess walking among humans, but to see you in such revealing and gorgeous attire pushes his belief further. his eyes are already scanning your body shamelessly as you let out laughs at his state. when you turn around to look in the mirror, mark almost moans at the sight of you from behind. i mean, come on, we all know mark is an ass guy.

you step closer to him, a smile on your face as you stand right in front of him. his hands fidget to touch you, looking between your body and your eyes as if asking for permission. your smile widens as you nod, resting your hands on his shoulders before you feel warm palms enclosing your waist. i don't see mark being horny at first, more in awe of your beauty. it's only later that he will come to you and ask to wear it later that night, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

renjun

although you and renjun are quite vulnerable with each other, he still goes red in the face when seeing you in lingerie for the first time. you can visibly see him gulp from the other side of the room, his hands in his lap to hide his visible problem. his eyes never leave your body, hoping to burn the memory of your angelic body in his mind. he is speechless, trying to find the perfect way to tell you that you're beautiful, but no words can describe the feeling. his eyes will venture your body, taking in everything.

he will stand immediately, moving across the bedroom to stand in front of you. his hands find your hips as his eyes trace each detail of the lingerie, his hands moving down your thighs and then back up your waist. once he has admired every part of your body, he leans in to capture your lips in a kiss, hoping to portray how he feels in the simple action. he feels successful once you push him towards the bed, kneeling down with a smirk on your lips.

jeno

within the first few seconds of jeno seeing you, he would be amazed with his famous puppy eyes, his lips parting slightly to let out an inaudible gasp. though, it wouldn't take long for a smirk to appear on his face, eyeing you up and down hungrily. it was actually jeno's idea to try on lingerie, as it was obvious he had a thing for it. he just really loves seeing you all pretty for him. jeno doesn't need to say anything when he wants you closer to him, leaning back on his elbows and spreading his legs which has you drooling (i mean come on, we've all seen the jeans)

he will ask for you to spin for him slowly, running his tongue over his lips as you do so. he pats his lap as his smirk grows because he knows he got you worked up just from his gaze. once you're in his lap, he isn't holding back, pressing his lips to yours and hands exploring your body. he will definitely be throwing praises left and right, wanting you to feel more confident in the lingerie as he wants to see it more often.

haechan

haechan is excited long before you come out. he is another one who worships the ground you walk on, so when you said you got new lingerie, and you wanted to show him, he was shaking from excitement. a boner had already formed in his shorts, even if he was only picturing you; that's the effect you had on him. once you walk out, he feels like he came on the spot. you looked way more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. he doesn't bother hiding the effect you have, jaw-dropping dramatically and his eyes scanning over your body.

of course, haechan being haechan, starts whining that he can't see you properly and wants you closer to him. the minute you step closer, his arms are around your waist and pulling you until you're standing between his legs. his fingers trace along the details of your outfit, his eyes meeting yours as you gasp at the contact. he traces his fingers along the hem of your underwear until you let out a whine, begging him to do something. there is no way it was coming off anytime soon.

jaemin

very much like mark, jaemin would not look at it in a sexual way immediately. as soon as you step out, he smiles widely, admiring how elegant and stunning you look. his eyes are all over you, especially your own face. as much he loved this, he knew it was a vulnerable state to be in and he didn't want you to be uncomfortable. once he sees that you're comfortable, he doesn't stop himself from looking everywhere. he loves the contrast of your skin and the lingerie, highlighting some of his favourite parts about you.

another one who would be proud to be your boyfriend because, in all seriousness, no one else could come close to comparing to your beauty. he stands from the end of the bed and makes his way to you, taking your hands in his as he presses kisses to your cheek. he lifts one hand, spinning you slowly as praises leave his lips. he spins you to face the mirror, standing behind you and pressing a kiss to your shoulder. i feel like he is one to want to make love afterwards, and did I say praise? yeah.

chenle

this man is already smirking when you walk out, although his cheeks are the brightest shade of red. the type who will pretend it doesn't have an effect on him, but it really does. the only thing he doesn't hide is the boner growing in his pants, adjusting himself so you can see it clearly. he's in complete awe, obviously not showing it (but actually is) as your eyes meet his. he looks down at his lap, gesturing to his problem, and you make your way towards him with a smile on your face.

he thinks you don't notice his shaking hands or the red on his cheeks as he pulls you to him but you definitely do, letting out a giggle as you poke his cheeks. he doesn't let you do much more as he pulls you to the bed and hovers over you, getting straight to the point. he wants to see the lingerie from every angle so it's safe to say that the lingerie will be staying on.

jisung

jisung would turn red the minute he sees you in revealing lingerie. he would be giving you glimpses but he wouldn't have the confidence to keep his eyes on you. he laughs nervously and covers his face, looking down at the floor as he feels himself become hard in his shorts. this would make his face even more red, using a pillow to cover himself. you would have to be the one to make the first move, walking over to him and lifting his chin to make eye contact with you. once you give him a nod, jisung slowly scans your body and takes in his view of you.

he would be so nervous to touch you, his hands fidgeting on the pillow in his lap. you reach forward and grab his hands, placing them on your hips. you move the pillow from his lap, blushing a little when you notice how hard he is before sitting in his lap. i feel like jisung would like seeing you in lingerie, so i can see him asking you to wear it more often once he gets more comfortable. not without stuttering though.

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#nct dream #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct dream smut #nct mark #nct renjun #nct jeno #nct haechan #nct jaemin #nct chenle #nct jisung #mark lee #huang renjun #lee jeno #lee haechan #na jaemin #zhong chenle #park jisung

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norrisleclercf1 · 1 month

Text

They're My Future, You're The Past

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader x Lando Norris

Rating: PG

Warnings: Light Angst, fluff

Words: 3.6K

A/N: I can't believe this series is over, I think I've cried 4 times over writing this and I just, wow, the love it got and how patient you all have been waiting for this, I could never thank you enough for the support. Thank you! Peace Out

Our Boy Series Masterlist / Prev: Just Come Home To Us

The sun's glow casts on your face, warming your cold body. It was customary for you to sit here and watch the people move along the cobblestone. "Would you like some more?" Craning your head, you nod to the waiter, who smiles as they fill your mug with fresh tea. You turn back, watching the people as they pass the cafe. The same restaurant that was the one you met Charles at. Right up the road was where he asked you out, and now you're waiting for your past to catch you.

"You're actually here," The voice behind you sounds out of breath like they ran here, but you knew it was due to the cold. His blonde hair looks like silver strands, and his blue eyes look like bright orbs of stars. "Nico, sit." You open your hand to the chair across from you. Nico shifts his weight from side to side, wondering if he should. "Nico, we're not going to argue, we're not….we'll. I'm not who I used to be. Now, please, sit." You urge, wanting to put this to rest.

You initially didn't want to meet with Nico; you were perfectly fine with just leaving things as they were, not talking. But Elijah wants you to speak to him, having given you his letter, and all it left you with was annoyance and pain. It's been 16 years. Why did your son want you to deal with this now?

"Elijah called me," Nico clears his throat, looking everywhere but you. "He told me Lando was next to him the entire time." It was one of Lando's new rules: no more secrets and Lando wanted to be there when Elijah talked to Nico. He didn't want his boy exposed to whatever hatred Nico had to spill. "I wouldn't trash talk you to our son." You scuff and look into the sun, letting it warm your skin. "My son, he's not yours." You held no anger or venom in those words, more so truth.

"He is, my blood, my," "Nico Rosberg, stop right now." Your voice holds a stern edge that has Nico sitting up straight. "Let me make this clear," You lean onto the table, staring deep into those blue eyes your son mirrors. "Charles and Lando are his father's. You either accept that or will have no part in Elijah's life. And I don't care if Elijah wants to be a part of it; you will respect the two men who stood up and supported me from the moment they knew me." You hiss, keeping your voice low so you don't draw any attention to you two.

"Y/n," Nico huffs, tugging at the once vibrant blonde, now dull with specks of grey lining. "I don't have a problem with them, but that respect needs to go both ways," Nico pleads, but you roll your shoulders back, refusing to back down. "No, Nico, it doesn't. They will be "respectful" in front of Elijah, and I will only stand beside them if you give my husbands any reason to cut ties." Nico and you fall silent, staring each other down.

Nico cuts his eyes away, and you get a little thrill at how you could make Nico Rosberg back down. "Nico, we'll never be what we used to be. You taught me many lessons and some I didn't deserve to learn, yet they landed me two men I should've valued and trusted more. I damaged our relationship because of the lies I carried from us, and I won't do that anymore. I won't carry this hate we both hold into my life." You whisper the last part, fiddling with your tea.

"You're drinking tea?" Nico notices, and you look up, his eyes locking with yours. "Yes," Looking away first and watching a new yacht dock. "That's….good." He smiles at you softly, and you feel your lips curl slightly. "Um, Elijah texted me; he wants to come over and meet Vivian and the girls; is that okay?" Nico seemed happy about his son meeting his daughters and wife. You remember Vivian. She was a wonderful person and always so sweet to you.

"It would be wonderful; Vivian is a wonderful person. I just want Elijah to have another place he can go to. I want him to be welcomed, Nico; he deserves it. Elijah is a wonderful boy," Nico nods and sighs deeply. "I know we'll have to work on our communication, but we're going to the Alpes, and if Elijah wants to come, he can even bring Cecile." Nico smiles brightly at the thought of the two Leclerc-Norris children joining.

"I'm not going to replace Charles or Lando, Y/n. But I want to be a part of my so- of Elijah's life. However much you let me be there, I won't cross any boundaries or parent him, but I will be…..firm." You nod and sip the tea, letting it warm your bones. "We'll figure something out; I must get home now." Nico nods, stands up, and moves to hug you but stops. You smile; you have no ill will toward him; stepping forward, you let him hug you, and all those memories of being in his arms come rushing back.

"Do you think you could do a favor?" You give him a confused look, and Nico looks almost ashamed to ask you this. "Do you think you could talk to Lewis?" You raise an eyebrow, and Nico groans, rubbing the back of his neck. "After what happened to us, we haven't talked in a while." You admit, and your eyes grow wide. "Are you serious? He stopped talking to you because of you and I?" You couldn't believe this.

"Yeah, I didn't really appreciate me hurting you." You have to cover your mouth to stop laughing and sigh. "I'll see what I can do; he's coming over for lunch anyways." Nico nods, and you both stand there, unsure what else you could say. "I'll see you later, Nico." Nico nods and lays down some money, more than enough for the both of you.

"I love Vivian, Y/n, but you were the one thing I regret getting away. But," Nico takes a deep breath and smiles. "I think it was for the better, don't you?" You smile, a genuine smile that made Nico always stop and stare. "It was all worth it,"

"Cece baby, you can't give up just because it's hard," Lando begs, really hating that they're in the stage where if something was hard, Cecile would just stop working on it. "But, I don't understand it, Dad. Can't I just stop?" She whines, and Lando sighs, rubbing his hair. Sometimes, Lando really hates being a dad because he remembers what it was like growing up and how hard things were, but he just takes a deep breath and tries again.

"Cece, sit down. You need to know how to do this for your school. Now, you and I do it, or I get Papa or Uncle Max to help you. Now, which one do you want?" Lando asks, trying hard to keep his stern voice. "You," She whispers and throws herself down into her chair beside him. Chuckling, Lando fixes her hair and kisses her temple. "Math wasn't easy for me either, baby," Cecile whines and shakes her head.

"It's not that, Daddy. All the words get jumbled when I read them." She whispers, casting her head down, and Lando freezes. He tries to wipe off the panic look on his face and clears the knot in his throat. "What do you mean the words get jumbled?" He asks, not wanting to jump straight to his first thought. "I mean, the letters move across the paper, and it doesn't make sense. I try my best, but it makes it harder, and then it gets harder when I get frustrated. What's happening?" Cece turns, eyes wide and filled with tears.

"Nothing is wrong; we just need to schedule an appointment with your doctor. There's nothing wrong with you, Cece; your brain is wired differently, like mine. It's called dyslexia, I have it, and after we talk to your doctor, then I can teach you tricks on how to deal with it?" "Does that mean we can stop with the homework?" Lando chuckles and, kisses her forehead and nods. "Yep, go." Lando smiles as he watches Cecile run off into the house.

Lando sighed and buried his face in his hands and tugged his hair gently, "Shit," Lando didn't want Cecile to be trouble in school; he remembered and still how hard it is for him sometimes to read, but taking a deep breath he leans back in the chair and smiles at the doorway. "How long have you been there?" Charles chuckles and steps into the room, holding a tray of snacks, clearly about to go to waste. "Not long; you think she has dyslexia?" Charles places the tray down, and Lando scoops up an apple slice and munches it.

"Yeah, she said the same words I said when I was her age and finally admitted to having trouble." Charles hums, reaching up and tugging on his husband's signature curls, making him groan from the slight pressure. "You're stressing, stop stressing." He whispers, and Lando chuckles, swallowing down another apple slice. "She's our little girl, Charles. I don't want her to struggle." Charles sighs and sits in Lando's lap, who smiles and pulls him closer.

"Lando, she's not going to struggle, she's got you, me, Elijah, and Y/n. She'll be good." Charles whispers and wraps his arms around his husband's neck, who hums and rests his head on Charles's chest. "How's Elijah? Is he doing okay?" Lando asks, knowing your relationship with Elijah has been challenging since you returned. He's been a little stand-offish with you, something Charles has been trying to fix.

"Fine, he's with Arthur and Mama and wants to spend the night, but I told him he's coming home. I think he's worried that Y/n will be gone again when he comes home." Charles's fingers tangle in those curls he loves so much, and he takes in the hint of lemon in his shampoo. It was a weird scent, but Lando loves his lemon and mint shampoo. "Good, he needs to be home. We can have a movie night or something," Lando's words trail off as you step into the house laughing, and Lando tenses, hearing the familiar laughter of his fellow Brit.

"Be nice," Charles whispers; Lando grumbles and pats Charles's thigh so they can stand as you and Lewis come into view. "Hey guys," Lewis smiles, and Charles happily hugs his old teammate, and Lando stands there glaring. "Lando," Lewis smiles, and Lando bites his tongue but fails. "You knew everything, didn't you?" "Lando!" You and Charles blurt, having wanted lunch first before Lando jumped Lewis.

"What? He's in our house and probably knew where you were and didn't tell us! Why should I be nice?" Lando asks, and Lewis chuckles and lays his coat over the back of the chair. "Lando, let's sit this straight. She is my family, and you and I are friends, but she is my baby sister, and I'll toss everything away between us for her. Understand?" Lewis's eyes narrow at Lando, who stands there, trying to make himself look bigger.

"I don't like that," Lando grumbles, and you roll your eyes and fix your sweatshirt as Charles comes over and kisses you gently. You smile and pray he doesn't notice, but he doesn't and kisses you again. "They're going to kill each other," You whisper, but Charles rolls his eyes at Lando's childish antics. "Lando, I don't give a fuck if you don't like it. She's my sister, fucking deal with it." Lewis rolls his eyes but stops seeing his niece's dirty blonde hair.

"Uncle Lewis!" Cecile screams and comes barreling at him. "Hey, gorgeous." He smiles and picks her up a little bit as she giggles and hugs her uncle tighter. "Guess what?" Cecile asks as Lewis sits her down. You notice him wince, his back still hurting him. "What?" "I'm just like Daddy!" Lando turns and looks at his daughter, and you notice his eyes grow a little shiny.

"Yeah? How are you like Daddy?" Cecile gets the biggest smile on her face as she bounces around. "Daddy and I both see letters moving! How cool is that?" She laughs as Lando turns and clears his throat. "I think that's very cool, gorgeous; you and Lando are very good to each other." Lewis smiles, and Cecile gives a big, toothy grin. "Yeah, I think so too! I'm even going to work for McLaren one day." She smiles up at Lando, who walks over and pulls her close, hugging her.

"Hey! I'm home, Pa!" You smile and turn, greeting Elijah, who stops and stares at you like a deer in headlights. "Hey Ma," Your smile drops slightly, hearing the hesitancy in your boy's voice. "Hi, honey, um, your Uncle Lewis is here." Elijah seems to relax at that. "Sweet, I want his advice about my driving in F4." Elijah brushes past you and eyes Lando and Cecile weirdly. "Why is Dad crying?" "I'm not crying! Lewis stupid ass cologne is burning my eyes!" Lewis scuffs and hugs Elijah as they walk deeper into the house, discussing F4.

"Daddy, can you let go of me now? I'm hungry." Lando sniffles pulls back, and rubs the top of her head. "Yeah, go. I'll join you in the kitchen soon." Cecile nods and stops at you and Charles, kissing your cheeks. The silence around you three grows, and you smile at Charles and Lando.

"So I might've told Nico he can come over later tonight," You blurt, and Charles and Lando whip their heads your way. "Why?" Charles sputters, and you laugh gently and fix the back of his hair. "Elijah wants a relationship with him and his half-sisters; who am I to stop that?" "His mother," Lando groans, sitting down as he knows arguing with you is useless. "Lando, that is Elijah's fat," You stop yourself, knowing calling Nico Elijah's father before Charles and Lando wasn't the wisest thing in the world.

"I think it's a good idea," Lando whips around, staring at his husband in shock, but Charles has a delicate smile. "Of course, if he still comes home to us, yes?" Hearing such vulnerability and raw emotion, your throat tightens, and you waver momentarily. Charles was still scared that you and Elijah would be gone without notice one day. He'd come back from a race, and you're just gone. It's been his nightmare since he's gotten you back. "Yes, Charles, he won't stay the night there." Charles nods, the tension soaking out of his shoulders while Lando turns and scuffs.

"Dad, I want this." Lando turns and sees Elijah standing there, bag in hand, ready to go to Nico's place. Elijah, ducky, I know you do, but it scares me." Lando whispers; Elijah places his bag down and sighs. "I know, Dad, but I'm not a kid anymore. I know my real parents, but I deserve to see the man who could've been my Dad. I get that right, but you, you're the one who raised me, Dad. That's never going to change." Lando rubbed his hair hard, a sign that he was getting anxious. "I don't want you to be hurt." Lando mummers, and Elijah moves closer.

"Come here, old man." Lando chuckles, and Elijah hugs his Dad, kissing his cheek too. You smile, noticing they hug the same way by burrowing their noses in the person's neck. "I love you, not him. You and Pa raised me, my fathers, and that will never change." Lando nods and tightens his arms before dropping them as Elijah steps back. "I got the girls gifts. Nico says they like dress-up, and pink and mint blue are their favorite colors." You giggle, seeing the way Elijah lights up talking about his half-sisters. Elijah's phone buzzes, and he looks at his watch, smiling. "Nico's here. See ya'll later." You wave and walk outside, seeing two little blonde heads run up and hug your boy. Your husband walks out and glares at Nico.

Nico, taking it like a champ, waves and walks toward you. You step forward, and Nico goes, still seeing Lewis step out of the house with Cece. "Ignore them so he can stay as late as he likes, but he's not spending the night. Also, please be careful with nuts; he's allergic." Nico nods, listening intently as Elijah groans, the girls crawling over him. "Sometimes he gets anxious and hides it well, but he pulls his hair or runs his hands through it pretty hard. So if he does get anxious, just ask him to run an errand, and he'll be okay." Nico smiles and stops you by placing a hand on your shoulder.

"I've got it. You have to let me learn. But I'd rather ask him what he needs than hear it from you." You smile and move, hugging Nico back. You take a breath and start to giggle. "God, you still wear that god-awful perfume." Nico begins to laugh, and you shake your head. "Jesus, man, get a better perfume." Nico rolls his eyes and turns to his girls. "Girls, leave your brother alone," Elijah laughs and lifts them up, making them squeal. "Come on, little Rosbergs, in the car." Elijah opens the door, helps them in, and even buckles them in.

Your breath catches as you notice how similar Nico's girls and your boy look alike. "Bye-bye, Eli!" Cece yells from Lewis's side, and Elijah turns, smiling brightly. "Bye-bye, Cece." Elijah laughs and climbs into the car, and Nico smiles and nods at the men behind you and jogs to the vehicle. You hear giggles as the car drives off slowly.

You smile while watching Lando and Charles follow a recipe, something you've been craving from home. You miss how your relationship used to be, but you know you'll never get that back and must embrace the new dynamics in your life. Lando giggles when Charles kisses his nose, and you lean back, barely sipping from your wine glass—something Lewis clocks immediately.

"Y/n, can you show me the new flowers you planted?" You turn and nod, and Charles and Lando smile at you. You leave the wine behind and walk outside into your small private garden. You got lucky in Monaco to build an actual home and have a little bit of land. No one really wanted to live in the mountains anyway. "How far along?" He asks softly, turning you to smile brightly at your best friend.

"For a couple of months, I haven't told them yet," you whisper, touching your stomach and feeling happiness wash over you. "Lando or Charles's?" You laugh and hook your arm with Lewis's, staring at the fading tattoos, remembering all the nights you'd come to his room crying and tracing them as he nursed your broken heart all those years ago. "Charles's," There was no doubt in your voice.

When you returned from Finland, Charles and you were all over each other as Lando had to go to Mercedes headquarters and take the kids with him to visit his parents. You and Charles didn't leave the bed and may have gotten through a pack of condoms and said screw it, laughing as you both didn't care if you had another baby. Your therapist might judge, though.

"Great, just what the world needs, another one of you," Lewis teases, and you giggle, walking up to the gorgeous new butterfly bushes you had planted. "What do they mean?" Lewis asks, and you rock back and forth, sighing. "New beginnings. I think we all deserve a clean slate, don't you?" Lewis smiles, touching the flowers gently, admiring the vibrant purple. "Yeah, I think it's time to forgive the past," Lewis turns, running a hand over his braids before taking back your hand. "So, who'll be the godfather of this one?" You slap his chest, which makes him snicker.

"Nico," "I'll fucking sue!" Lewis barks, and you throw your head back laughing, seeing the smoke coming from his ears. "What happened to forgiving the past?" "Not for him! He's dead to me," Lewis lets go of you and storms inside, and you hear the giggles of Cece and Lewis grumbling as they come back out and head towards the karts. "Be careful!" "We will, Mama!" Cece waves, and you shake your head, like her father, with wild curls.

Stepping inside, you kick off your sandals and enjoy the cool tiles as you enter your open kitchen. The same kitchen you told them about, Cece. The memory makes you get choked up, but you quickly push it down, not wanting to worry the boys. Stepping deeper, you see Lando pull away, smiling as Charles chases him for another kiss and blushes to see you. You move between them and hug Charles, melting into Lando when he presses you into Charles more.

It's silent, and you enjoy it, hearing Charles's calming heartbeat and Lando's hums, which make you shiver. He chuckles, kissing your bare shoulder. "Did you not like the wine?" Lando asks, knowing you usually had a glass as they cooked. "Nah, it doesn't sit well with the baby," Charles chuckles. "Yeah, babies normally don't, wait." He pushes you back, his face filled with joy.

"Wait, what, baby?" You burst out laughing at those exact words said from the beginning. You knew this was the last chapter of your old life, your new one beginning. And you're going to love this new chapter.

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taglist: @thomaslefteyebrow @a-stray-soul @formulas-bitch @mickslover @myescapefromthislife @glow-ish @kittyfluffypaws28 @ryntro @copper-boom @allabouthappiness @jaydaaasworld @christianpulisic10 @lyraleclerc @daddyslittlevillain @dreamerrosie @driveswiftly13 @harrysdimple05 @sueesstuff @why4anne @nataliambc @cwiphswmwasohmm @buckybarnessweetheart @makingmyway-downtown @elijahslover @kapsylia @zeusmyster @adalynneva @babyvinnie @80sloverry @janeholt3 @silscintilla @ersamn @fanboyluvr @erinnorris @shamelesspotatos @roseseraj @champomiel

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pia-nor481 · 29 days

Text

Charles Leclerc NSFW alphabet

A-Aftercare (what they're like after sex?)

He's very passionate and so will want to just lay there and cuddle for a while before picking her up and carrying her towards the bath, where they continue to bask in each other.

B-Body part (what is their favourite part of theirs and their partner?)

I'm lead to believe he doesn't have a specific favourite. But he likes ass and tits equally, I think he's one of those men who would slap your ass when you stand up. He also loves to hold her waist, no matter the situation.

On himself he really likes his arms. He loves seeing them around her body.

C-Cum (anything to do with cum)

Charles cums a lot, and pretty often. He definitely likes to cum inside of her, it doesn't matter whether it's a cunt or her mouth. He just loves it.

D-Dirty secret (just a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s not a big fan of deep throating when getting a blow job. He’s not too sure why, but he never understood the appeal. He does however a little bit of pain when getting head.

E- Experience (how experienced are they)

Have you seen him? Very experienced. He's not a big fan of hookups but he doesn't need to be guided too much as he's able to read her body language easily.

F- Favourite position

He actually loves missionary, especially when her legs are wrapped around him. He also loves bath sex so much, it's also so soft and comforting, she's usually on top of him, but he's thrusting up.

G- Goofy (how serious are they in the moment)

from time to time sex can be filled with giggles and jokes. But usually he's pretty serious as his focus is pleasure and how much he loves her.

H- Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes)

He definitely shaves pretty often, or at least in neatly trimmed. It makes the clean up easier, and he thinks it just looks better.

I- Intimacy (how are they during the moment? Romantic? Pleasure driven?)

He's SO intimate, he loves to watch her come undone and just wants to show her all of his love. He's very romantic and he loves to fill the bedroom with candles or take her on a lovely date and once they get home he makes love to her.

J- Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't masturbate very often as he like to wait for her. But if that's not possible, she would definitely be receiving a call. He doesn't like to masturbate while just thinking, he wants to hear or see her.

K- Kinks (one or more of their kinks)

Mommy kink- but he is too scared to say so. He wants it's so bad, and he's been planning on how to tell her for months. Maybe it just slips out while she’s on top and he’s very shocked at what he’s said, but it’s very happy when he realised she liked it

Mirrors- he knows he’s hot, let’s be honest Charles is a little vain and wants to watch himself fucking her

Recording- is this a kink? Anyway, he likes to watch so his favourite thing is recording them and watching it a few weeks later on race weekends

Food play- even just the concept of licking syrup off of her body gets him going. That’s not to say he doesn’t like it on himself. Feeling her touch makes him lose his mind.

L- Location (their favourite place)

He likes hotel rooms because it can get pretty mess a lot of the time. He likes his yacht, it can be quite risky, but nothing he'd shy away from.

M- Motivation (what gets them going?)

Post race sex, that high he gets. Her wearing any of his clothes, it turns him on so much that he just can't resist.

N- No (what turns them off)

Anything usually considered gross. Or extreme pain.

O- Oral (preference on giving or receiving. Skill)

He LOVES giving, he could spend hours between her legs, lapping up her cunt. He just loves it so much, so he is very skilled. He does like getting head, but he much prefers to go down on her. He knows all the techniques and is prepared to learn more.

P- Pace (Are they fast or slow? Rough or sensual?)

Definitely more slow and sensual, he is NOT a lazy lover. He wants her to feel his passion and love, and that is the best way to do it. He definitely likes to be rough, but not particularly fast., this is usually after a bad race, or sometimes even after a win.

Q- Quickie (their opinions on them? How often?)

He has a very neutral opinion and so is not opposed, I think if they were short on time he'd prefer to just wait, or if he was that desperate, he'd happily have a blow job. Overall he prefers to take his time.

R- Risk (will they experiment? Do they take risks?)

He probably really dislikes taking risks, but that does not mean he's completely vanilla. He just doesn't want anything to end badly in any way, so this is kind of his way of preventing it. But don't worry he does switch things up quite often.

S- Stamina (how many rounds do they go for?)

He's very fit!!! So can go for quite a few rounds most days. Other days he's cumming almost immediately and has a pretty short refractory period. But that's partly why he's so good at oral, he just doesn't want the sex to end

T-Toys (do they own any? Do they use them? On a partner or themself?)

Mostly likely some form of vibrator, he did use it on himself and few times, then he asked her for some help with it ;) but he does like to use them on her, just no very often, he sees it as a good way to tease or build up an orgasm. He probably owns some form of couples sex toy that he was too scared to talk to her about until she found it. They definitely had a good night.

U-Unfair (how much do they tease?)

He likes to tease a little bit, but he knows eventually he's going to get teased back. He likes teasing physically, using the lightest of touches or suddenly stopping all movement in one area and moving his hand somewhere else.

V-Volume (how loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

He like to be loud, whether he's a sub or not. Usually groans or even a bit of panting in a hot way. If he's subbing then definitely the most beautiful whines and moans you've ever heard. Don't get me wrong, he loves to hear her voice, it lets him know he's doing a good job

W-Wild card (a random headcanon)

Charles wants a baby so bad, so he's developed a massive breeding kink. He's constantly trying to fill her up, wanting to see her carry his child.

X-X-ray (how big are they?)

Have you seen the images? He's big and he's thick. Based on my terrible estimates probably 7 inches.

Y- Yearning (how high is their sex drive)

Not too high that it could be annoying, but still very high, especially if he's not seen her for a while, then they're fucking like rabbits. He just needs her so desperately.

Z-Zzz (how quick do they fall asleep afterwards?)

Very quickly, he loves cuddles and so that can just put him to sleep. Don't worry, he keeps her on his chest while they sleep, big arms wrapped around her.

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x reader smut #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #charles lechair #charles leclerc x reader smut #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #Ferrari #ferrari f1

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authorhjk1 · 1 month

Text

Interlude: Venice

(IU X Male Reader )

Lee Jieun puts a strand of hair behind her ear, before smiling at the camera. The photoshoot is turning out really well. She got more than enough gorgeous pictures taken and only half of the day has gone by so far.

She is already excited about the second half of the day. You had to promise her that you would spend your time with her throughout the next three days. More than enough time so satisfy every single one of her needs.

"Alright."

IU smiles as the photographer stops taking pictures.

"We are finished with the first part. The second one will start in ten minutes. Miss Lee, we are going for a couple shoot this time."

The Korean woman politely bows her head, before heading towards her dressing room.

As she opens the door, she stops in her tracks.

"W-What are you doing here?"

You look up from your phone, seeing a stunned IU.

"I'm your partner for your shoot."

"But-"

You get off the sofa.

"You don't think I'm handsome enough?"

"Y-You are, but-"

Jieun seems afraid that someone could find out. The relationship between the two of you needs to be a secret.

"I just didn't expect you to be here."

"Why not? I promised to fuck you, didn't I?"

Jieun glances behind her making sure the door really is closed.

"But not here!"

She whispers a shout, visibly scared that someone could find out.

"Relax. We have 10 more minutes, don't we?"

You sneak your hands around IU's waist.

That black dress highlights her slim figure. Her blonde hair makes her look even better than her natural colour.

"What do you want me to do? And where do you want it?"

You feel the older woman shiver slightly with excitement. The thrill of possibly getting caught arouses her even more now.

"Your mouth."

She kisses your cheekbone.

"C-Can you please eat me out?"

You see her blush. Now that she is actually asking you for something, she becomes a little shy.

"You want me to bury my face in your pussy?"

IU's mouth escapes a needy whine as you plant an image in her head.

You take that as a yes. Your hands on her waist turn her around, before bending her over the make up table on your right. The mirror on the wall is decorated by a couple of lights.

Kneeling behind her, you admire how fine IU's body looks in that tight dress. Especially her butt, since it's right in front of you now.

You start to slowly rise the hem of her one-piece. More and more smooth skin gets revealed, the further you hike it up. Finally bunching it up around her waist, you expose IU's matching panties.

The black fabric is the only thing that now seperates you from your delicious meal.

Aware that you have limited time, you quickly pull down her underwear. Enjoying the feeling of her skin, you give each of the blonde's butt cheeks a kiss.

Jieun let's out a delighted moan. She is excited for the next three days. And it seems like they are starting out really well.

As promised, you bury your face deep in IU's pussy. You take in her scent and the slight sweetness of her juices as you hear her moan. Parting her lower lips with your tongue, you enter her hot cavern.

"Mmmm."

IU let's out another satisfied moan.

You feel her hand reaching for your head, trying to push you further into her, while she backs up a little. Your own rest on her hips as you eat her out.

Jieun's wide eyes stare into the mirror as she feels your tongue, burying itself deep inside her pussy. She can't believe how horny she is, when she sees you. She just needs some sort of pleasurable outlet, whenever you are close to her. Maybe that's because of that night in Paris.

She still doesn't know who the other woman was. It makes her feel really weird. Especially when she meets other idols during award shows, music shows, or other events. A shiver runs down her spine. The person, who buried their strap on inside the most intimate part of her body, might be someone she interacts with on a daily basis.

For a moment she thought that her best friend, Yoo Inna, could've been that person. But she quickly got rid of that suspicion. The woman's voice sounded different.

IU moans into the mirror as you feast on her delicious pussy.

The fact that it could be someone she knows, someone younger than her, someone who knows what a slut she is, turns her on even more.

You use that to your advantage, knowing that you don't have much time.

Jieun's legs quiver harder with every passing second. Your fingers dig into her flesh, pulling her plump cheeks apart to give you better access to her hot core.

"Oh fuck!"

With a loud and deep moan, Jieun let's her head sink onto the table. Juices start to run down her thighs in small streams as she orgasms inside her dressing room.

"Took you long enough."

You tease her as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Please put an arm around her."

You do what the photographer tells you to do. Your hand finds its place on IU's waist. The soft black fabric reminds both of you, what you just did mere minutes ago.

"Turn to the side and place a hand on his chest."

Jieun follows the man's orders, placing her hand on your white shirt, right about your heart. You didn't move yours, which means your hand is now resting on her back. Only inches away from her ass.

Being the professional she is, Jieun grabs your tie, while looking up at you.

"Very nice!"

The photographer keeps taking pictures.

"You like this one?"

You whisper out of the corner of your mouth.

"You like being blindfolded, do you?"

While looking at the camera, you can't see IU's reaction. But you can hear how her breath hitches. She knows fully well what you are talking about.

"Who was it?"

A question she asked before. A question you are not going to answer.

The photographer stops Jieun from asking again, making the two of you do a more mature concept.

IU stands now directly in front of you, leaning her head to the side. You reach around her waist, holding her tight. For the photo, you are only supposed to pretend to kiss her. But when you burry your face into her neck, you can't help yourself.

Jieun's mouth opens a little in surprise and enjoyment. Everyone thinks she is just doing this for the photo. But you know better. Your lips move across her smooth skin.

Only the sound of IU's moans echo through the room. The tie you wore earlier is covering her eyes. It takes her back to the night in Paris, turning her on even more.

"Oh fuck!"

Jieun moans loudly as you take her from behind.

The sun is slowly starting to rise over the roofs of the beautiful houses around your hotel. Which means you were fucking her the whole night. Only taking a break to recover your stamina and eat.

But now, 12 hours after the photoshoot, Jieun is bend over the edge of the bed. Her knees are placed on the carpet in front of it, while you kneel behind her.

She looks smaller than usual in this position. You hold her by her wrists with one hand, while the other presses her shoulder into the mattress.

The blue dress she wore at the end of the shoot is probably still lying in the shower. Wet from the shower the two of you took around midnight. It's probably lying there since you came into your room though. You remember throwing it somewhere, after ripping it off her small body.

Jieun kept her boots on at first, partially because you threw her onto the bed, before she was able to take them off. They are now lying near the windowsill. You took them off her feet as you fucked her back against the glass. There wasn't much space there.

Her underwear must be lying around somewhere too.

"Oh my good! You are bruising my pussy!"

You probably do. You haven't gone longer than ten minutes without you fucking Jieun in the last 12 hours.

That thought reminds you of where the rest of her clothes are. Her bra is dangling from the chandelier in the middle of the room. Don't even ask how it got up there, you don't even remember. It's blue, matching her dress and her panties. Her panties...

"I'm! Fucking! Cuming! So! Hard!"

As IU orgasms violently, her pussy squeezing your cock, you do your best to hold on. You are almost at the edge yourself.

"Oh my god! I'm such a mess."

You hear her mumble into the mattress, probably to herself.

Now you remember where her panties are. Or rather with whom.

During dinner time, most of the guests in the hotel visit the restaurant next to the lobby. At that time, the hotel stuff goes through the rooms and cleans, preparing them for the night.

They usually only come in, when no one answers to their knocking and if they don't hear noises behind the door.

That's why the two of you got caught by a very surprised hotel maid.

IU's panties in her mouth, muffling her screams, while you fucked her into the leather couch. The two of you were too lost in the act itself to hear the door.

It didn't take much work to convince the beautiful Italian woman to join. The brunette was more than willing to share with IU, when you eventually came on both of their faces.

She stayed for an hour or so, leaving with a souvenir. You don't know her name, but maybe she will be back today. It's not like the two of you are going anywhere.

"Damn you whore. How are you still so fucking tight?"

Jieun weakly laughs into the sheets as you keep fucking her from behind.

"A-Are you close?"

The longer you fuck her, the longer it takes for you to cum. Your body just doesn't seem to be able to keep up with you.

"Soon."

You groan, thinking about a position, where you can drive yourself faster to another orgasm.

"Do you want my ass? It's tighter, you know."

Jieun gladly tries to help you to decide. She knows how hard it is for you to cum consistently every hour almost.

"Where is the lube?"

You search the room, IU is unable to do so.

You try to remember the last time you used it. Your thrusts slow down as you try to think about it.

A couple of moments later, you start to fuck Jieun's ass, right where you found the small bottle of lube.

"You're stretching me out really good."

She moans against the white tiles of the shower as you plow her from behind.

The water is turned off this time. IU's hair is wet. Not because of the shower a couple of hours ago, but a lot of sweat and some of your cum. It sticks to her neck and shoulders.

"Why can't we spend every night like this one?"

She weakly moans, trying to sneakily convince you to do just that.

"Not a chance, Jieun."

"Please?"

Her cute whine makes you press her cheek against the cold tile, her ass slightly tightening around you as a result.

"I still have a girlfriend to satisfy. And work."

Another pitiful mewl escapes her mouth.

Your thrusts become harder and faster, knowing how much the older woman needs you. The last couple of hours proved, how much Jieun has started to become addicted to the feeling of your cock inside of her.

"I never want this trip to end."

She sighs in disappointment as you keep fucking her ass.

"I'm getting close."

You see her smile, her eyes still covered by your tie.

"Please cum in me. The last time you left a load there feels like ages ago."

"Beg for it, slut."

Her begging is necessary for you to reach the edge at this point.

"Please, cum in my ass."

You slightly pick up the pace. There is not much juice left in your body. In more than one sense.

"Use my hole like a cum dump."

"That's the only thing it's good for."

"You're right, daddy. Use my body properly."

With both hands holding onto her ass cheeks, you thrust deeper into IU.

"You ruined me for anyone else, daddy."

Red marks, produced by your grip, mark her cheeks. They ripple, whenever you thrust into her from behind.

"This body is yours now. Only you can make me cum."

"That's a good girl."

You kiss her neck as you feel yourself closing in on that edge of the cliff. You enjoy how much control you have over her. A woman who is older than you. A woman who is a globally known singer and actress. Offering her body to you and begging you to cum in her.

"Yes, daddy. I'm a good girl. Please."

Your last couple of thrusts are slow but hard. You hit Jieun's cervix with every snap of your hips, making her jolt forward. The tight ring of her muscles squeezes you hard, begging you to fill her body with your cum.

"Damn, Jieun."

You groan her name as you finally cum.

It's honestly not much. It's a small load compared to the one you gave her right after the photoshoot. But your body is drained of all it's fluits. You don't have much more to offer. IU's body has soaked up every last drop of your cum. You wonder how much you came inside of her. Probably a week's worth of cum.

You have to hold onto the glass wall as you watch Jieun slowly glide down along the tiles. When she reaches the floor, she looks up at you with big eyes. Her blonde hair partially covers her face.

"I think I need a longer brake this time."

You can see how much she is trying to hide her disappointment. Although, she is visibly tired as well.

The lock on your hotel room door beeps, letting you know that someone is coming in, using the second key card.

"Mr. (Y/n)?"

High heels click on the marble floor in the small hallway at the entrance.

Her Italian accent seems to always try to seduce you.

You know that voice. You heard it last night, when she sucked you off, asking you to fuck her on the balcony.

"Looks like your new best friend is hear."

You're kinda glad. The two of them can take care of each other for a while and you can recharge.

Once the young maid stands in the door, your tired body starts to react. The break is gonna be as short as possible.

-----------

Hope you guys enjoy this.

I'm going to sort some of my smaller stories and make posts, where you can find all the chapters, so don't be surprised if I post something with a title you've already seen.

Stay healthy!

#kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #lee jieun #iu soloist

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nsharks · 4 months

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part sixteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"I can't believe I woke up early for this."

You loosen your muscles, turning to dead weight in Ghost's arms, before using the awkward position to slip away.

"No one said you had to be here," Ghost throws over his shoulder before his gaze fleets back to yours. "Good. Again."

Blue groans as you reposition yourself for the basic defense maneuver. You can see why she'd find this boring— Ghost started you off with a move so basic it was almost insulting when he explained it. But you quickly realized his reasoning. Each time you do it, your pulse tampers down less and less while in his arms. He's had to remind you a few times to "Breathe, Twix"— the order so quietly uttered into the shell of your ear that Blue likely didn't even notice. Perhaps you have grown used to taking orders from him, or maybe having Blue close by is helping, because you've been able to ward off the threat of panic so far.

"Fine, I'm out of here," Blue rolls her eyes the second you've finished the move again. "Let me know when you—" she jabs a finger at Ghost, "—decide to make things more interesting." As she leaps off the log she'd been perched upon, she adds: "Oh, and don't get too close, Ghost. She might bite."

"So I've heard."

Heat rises to your cheeks. And then— you're alone with him. You take a swig of water from the canister Blue lent you to ignore the awkward feeling in your chest. "Again?" You wipe your mouth. "Or have I passed your test?"

"Test?" he repeats, the gravel in his voice rolling over the word as his brow lifts in question.

"Well, I haven't... had a repeat of last time, and it's been an hour. I think I've proved that I'm ready for something a little more..."

"More what?"

More interesting.

"Hand-to-hand, I guess. Something harder."

He rubs his jaw, as if to feign consideration. "Right, then. Let's try another one."

The next one he shows you is still simple, except you fail every other time. Basically, he gets behind you and you have to sidestep to avoid the trap of his arms. Somehow, Ghost's movements are light as a feather even though he's built like a rock.

But then you get better at it. The next two days pass in much the same manner until you start to react a bit faster. He teaches you a few more basic tactics. How to wriggle your wrist out of someone's hold. How to avoid being grabbed from the front by rolling to the ground. All defense. After hours spent with him, he doesn't even have to remind you to breathe anymore. Chopping wood in the evenings helps, too. You go to bed exhausted and wake up ready to practice before Ghost even touches your shoulder.

On the third day, he gets you up even earlier. You cram your wool-covered toes into boots, confine your hair in a hasty bun, and follow him to the clearing that has become your makeshift training ground. It takes you a moment to register that some things are different: his boots have been replaced by sneakers, and his jeans by loose, black gym shorts. The exposed skin is strange, making your eyes widen. If Blue were awake, she'd certainly comment.

His calves mirror the strength of the rest of him, and on the left leg, swirling ink catches your eye, reminiscent of the tattoos you discovered when tending to his wound. Skulls and a dagger; perhaps corny, but fitting for him.

"Have you tried it?" His voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Tried what?"

"The bow."

A white cloud forms around your mouth as you nod. "Needed some getting used to, like you said."

Yesterday you had a hard time shooting a chipmunk you wanted for lunch, so you spent the early afternoon firing arrows at oaks until the new bow started to feel like an extension of your limbs again.

"Let me know if I need to adjust the string."

"Will do," you say, almost mumbling.

When you reach the familiar circle of trees, you bounce once on your toes and crack your knuckles. Ghost retrieves something from his pocket. A roll of gauze. It is tossed at you without warning, and your hands fumble to grab it.

"Wrap up," he commands. "Your hands will thank you for it."

You look up at him, brows raised, but begin covering your palms and knuckles. When you're done, you throw the roll back to him. Ghost stretches his arms above his head and splays his feet into a firm stance, jerking his chin at you in a go-ahead motion. Your brows furrow as you try to understand what the fuck he's doing.

"Go on. Get ready."

"Um. Ready for what?"

"A little hand-to-hand."

Your mouth falls open. "What?"

He shrugs. "That's what you wanted, right? I think you're ready for it."

"That's not what I meant," you almost laugh, shaking your head. "I didn't mean I want to— to fight you. I just meant we don't have to stick to the basics."

"We won't." There is the slightest trace of amusement in his voice, so faint you wonder if it's even there. "You have ten seconds to get ready, Twix."

"I don't even—" you sputter, eyes flying open. If you weren't awake before, you are now. He seems completely serious, his hands in fists and his shoulders squared.

"Five."

"Oh, fuck me," you exhale, balling up your bandaged hands. Did he get you up at this hour so there was no chance of Blue joining? He didn't want her to watch him finally annihilate you? You don't think he would seriously hurt you, not after everything, but that doesn't mean your heart doesn't begin to thump wildly when the seconds are up. Neither of you makes the first move; you are focused on keeping yourself distant, and he is circling you like a predator, flicking his eyes along the length of you.

"What the fuck is that stance? I could just tap you and you'd fall over." His amusement has faded. "Is that how I showed you to stand when chopping wood?"

You shake your head, teeth gritted, and fix it, spreading your boots against the soil.

"Better."

Then, he's lunging. You forget everything about your stance and prance to the side like a skittish deer. There is a moment of relief when you successfully dodge him, only for it to abruptly end when he darts around your back and hooks an arm around your neck. Your heart skips over a beat. Holy shit is he fast.

"Be aware of your surroundings at all times," he chastises against the top of your hair. His hold is not aiming to fully restrain you, so when you claw your nails into his arm, it loosens and you slip away, staggering three strides before facing him with your fists up.

"What's the point of raising your fists if you're not going to hit me?" Ghost circles you again, and you have to shift your feet to keep up with him. "Come on, nurse. Where should you aim?"

"You're too tall." Your chest heaves. "I... I can't reach your face or neck without you blocking."

"Use the height difference to your advantage. Reach places that I can't."

You pause to think about it, studying him.

Ghost almost growls. "Stop hesitating. I could have killed you by now."

A mix of annoyance and determination makes you leap forward, jabbing your knuckles at the part of him where you know his liver would be. He captures you by the elbow before the blow can land, and sends you stumbling to the side, a few wisps of hair cascading over your face.

"Liver. Not bad. I might've let you have it if you moved quicker."

A hiss leaves your lips as you whirl around and punch directly into his core this time. He allows the hit, but your knuckles ram into solid muscle instead of the vulnerable stomach you hoped for, and you recoil with a wave of your hand, cussing under your breath.

"You hurt yourself more than you hurt me."

"Well, should I just kick you in the dick then?" you retort without thinking, flexing your fingers. Luckily, the gauze absorbed most of the damage.

"That's always an option."

His tone is serious, to the point that you almost give it a try, but then he's closing in on you again, sending you back to the defensive. He doesn't hold back. You run in circles and duck frantically, earning a few hits to your ribs. He doesn't use enough force to send you down to the ground, but enough to knock the wind out of you. Rapid breaths fire through your lungs and beads of sweat percolate your hairline. Ghost, on the other hand, appears unaffected.

"Fight back," he says in a mild voice; almost bored.

You nearly throw your arms up. "I would if you'd give me a fucking chance."

"You said not to coddle you."

"I'm aware. That doesn't mean you have to—"

Your spine suddenly meets something hard. A tree. He's backed you into it without you even realizing. When Ghost takes another swipe, you dip your head down and then use his recovery time to grab onto a branch and hoist yourself up.

You're barely perched upon it when a hand grips your ankle and drags you back down, an audible gasp reverberating in your chest as you land flat on your back with Ghost on top. His hand quickly cradles the back of your skull before it can crack on a hard tree root, while his other hand captures both of your wrists.

"You good?" Although he is the one who has you effectively pinned, his tone seems sincere. He scans your face from your forehead to your parted lips.

"Just... peachy."

His brows furrow. "What was your plan once you got up there?"

Labored breathing splinters your voice. "I didn't have much of a plan, really."

He speaks flatly. "I can tell."

"You had me cornered," you point out.

"You should have been—"

"Aware of my surroundings," you finish for him, exhaling deep through your nose. "I know."

Your eyes shift around, from his covered face to where his chest just barely presses into yours. It's all so close. Uncomfortably close. You can feel the steady pace of his heart against your sternum, and make out the faintest flecks of green in his eyes.

An ounce of fear and something else you can't quite discern balls up in your stomach, making you swallow. You've been pinned like this before and nearly had your face eaten. Ghost simply stares at you, as if waiting for you to make a move, but when you tug on your wrists, his grip doesn't relent.

"Could you... could you maybe get off of me?"

He shifts some weight off you, if only by a little. "Relax and think," he murmurs. "What are your options here?" The curve of his lips tightens before he adds, "Besides biting my nose off. I'd like to keep that for now."

With a sigh, your eyes slide up to the awakening sky. Hues of violet and orange stare down at you. "Do I... do I even have any options? You must weigh like a ton." The words are past your lips before you can shut your mouth.

"You always have options."

"Doesn't mean any of them will be effective," you say.

His eyes darken, and the green disappears. "Why do you do that?"

"Um... do what?"

"Doubt yourself. After all that you have survived." He sounds irritated.

"As if you haven't doubted me?" You can't help it; you scoff. "You told her I wouldn't come back that time I went on my own. I mean, I'm still weak, remember? No amount of chopping wood will make me as strong as you or those men who almost killed us."

"It's not about strength," he replies.

"That's easy for you to say," you wiggle your wrists for emphasis. "You have nothing to be afraid of. You were cut out for this shit from the start."

"I have everything to be afraid of." His eyes narrow, but his voice softens. "And so were you."

"Me?" Your voice slightly elevates, and a lick of anger curls within you. "I should be in grad school right now, or maybe I would've quit nursing and gone into something useless and hate my life, but I was never meant to kill anyone, let alone fight them. I was meant to be young and stupid and make mistakes. Now, if I make a fucking mistake, it will cost me my life." Your nostrils flare as you huff, sending a piece of hair flying up into his face, and you writhe beneath him. "Get off of me, Ghost."

But he doesn't.

Beats of silence linger in the small gap between your bodies.

You should feel embarrassed for saying all those things, but instead, you think about what he said:

Don't hesitate.

The ball inside you is a fiery mix of emotions that you usually try your damn hardest to ignore and break and shove away.

But now you let it spread through your body like a sizzling tide, from the tips of your fingers down to your toes and... to your knee. Before you can change your mind, you slam it upward as hard as you can into the apex of his groin.

"Fuck," Ghost mutters, the only sign of any pain aside from the brief moment that he closes his eyes.

His hold loosens only by a little, but it's enough for you to slip out from under him and find your way back to your feet, your chest rising and falling.

He clears his throat after a moment and rises.

"Good." The two of you share a stare-off for a few seconds before he shakes his head, saying again: "Good, Twix. More of that."

You rip your gaze away from him, cheeks hot, and say nothing as you snatch the canister and bring it to your lips, but the water does little to cool you down.

You shiver in the bitterness of twilight, your fingers red and numb, wishing for a pair of gloves. The fireflies are coming out, dots of luminescence darting around you. You swing the axe down again, throat raw as you grunt, and then you add the broken logs to the growing stack. Sudden light footsteps announce the end of your alone time.

"It's me," Blue greets kindly.

You drop the axe, hands feeling stiff, and turn to face her with a breathless smile. "Hey. What are you doing out here?"

"Checking on you. Ghost went hard on you this morning, huh?" she says with a sigh. "I could hear you guys. You were a bit... loud. Made it hard to sleep."

"Not too hard. I'm… I'm good."

If she is unconvinced, she doesn't comment on it. Rather, she hugs you. A warm one. You return the embrace before she pulls away.

"I also came because I wanted to invite you to a bonfire."

"Bonfire?"

"Well, with all your..." her eyes flicker to the pile of logs you've conjured over the past hour. "...special workouts, we have a lot of wood now. I told Ghost to make a big fire outside and we can cook dinner over it. It'll be fun, come on. Ghost is making tea, too."

Soon enough, your sore fingers are tingling, holding a warm, ceramic mug of tea. Ghost chucks another bundle of wood into the fire, spitting out smoke and embers, and sits on a tree stump while Blue takes the folding chair. Your hair is down, tucked behind your ears, and a patchwork quilt Blue grabbed from her room lays across your lap. The mug burns pleasantly against your lips when you take a sip, the herbal taste sliding down your throat. Whatever plants he used to make it work together perfectly. It reminds you of the tea your mom used to make when you were sick.

"Do you like it more well-done or is this okay?" Blue asks, meticulously spinning the skewered squirrel meat over the fire.

"That's good, thank you."

Ghost cooks their dinner, and the three of you eat and sip in a comforting silence. You avoid looking at him, opting for the starry sky above your head, where bold stars beam even brighter than the fireflies. It's quite nice. When you're done, you toss the bones into the fire and listen to them splinter.

Blue breaks the silence. "Would you rather be burned alive or be attacked by a bunch of squirrels with rabies?"

You take another sip of tea. "How many squirrels, exactly?"

She taps her chin. "One hundred."

"I think if it were fifty, I could handle them. One hundred, probably not. I'll choose being burned."

She makes a face. "That is a terrible death."

"Most deaths are terrible."

"Fair enough. Ghost?"

For the first time since this morning, you steal a glance. His elbows rest upon his splayed knees, and the orange flames reflect in his eyes as if they were twin black, mirrors. "I could handle the squirrels."

She snorts a laugh. "Even you can't survive rabies, though."

He shrugs. "Takes some time to kill you."

"Let's play a different game," you interject. "Maybe something a little less... morbid tonight."

"Like what?" Blue chimes.

You shrug indifferently. "What other ones do you know?"

"Not that many. You tell us one, Twix."

"Well, I know one good one. You have to act something out and then we'll guess what it is. But you can't talk."

"Oh, that's easy."

"Try it, then," you nod at her.

She leaps up from the chair, nearly spilling her tea in the process. Without hesitation, she puts on a stoic expression and begins shooting finger guns. Quiet laughter shakes your shoulders.

"Are you, um... Ghost?" you guess, making her throw her arms up.

"How did you guess so quickly?"

"It was a bit obvious."

"Not to me," Ghost murmurs. "Terrible impression, kid."

Across the fire, you glance at him again, and his eyes meet yours, reminding you of the events that took place and the words that you spat. Emotions pulse against your ribs, like a swarm of flickering fireflies, but you fail to catch and examine any of them.

A tug on your arm ends the shared look. Tea splatters around the rim of your mug as Blue ushers you up. "Your turn now."

"Alright, alright."

You decide not to feel humiliated with both pairs of eyes on you. They've both seen much stranger things than you act out a squirrel, which must be a good impression because Ghost guesses it right away.

A sudden crack of lightning in the distance puts an end to the game before Ghost can have a turn, which you suspect he is pleased about. He puts out the fire just before clouds roll in, blocking out the stars, and a drizzle of rain begins. Back inside, you kick off your boots and sink to the sofa as Blue says goodnight. Once she’s in her room, Ghost pauses in the threshold of the hall and speaks over his shoulder.

"Get some sleep. You'll need it for tomorrow, even if it's raining.”

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction #cod #zombie apocolypse au

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