french-goodbye - Tumblr blog

french-goodbye · 13 days

Text

Not Your Boyfriend, Baby

Farleigh X Reader, SMUT - tw for cheating, reader both cheats and is cheated on

part two

Being Felix’s girlfriend comes with a set of rules.

Always stand to his right, so that he can hand you whatever he’s holding without having to think about it. Let him pull you into his lap whenever he wants, even if you’d really rather just sit next to him - always sit next to him. Laugh at the jokes he makes, even if they aren’t funny. Help him with his coursework when he asks, pretend that you need help with things that you know he’s good at so he doesn’t feel stupid. Pretend that he can make you cum. Pretend you don’t know he’s cheating on you.

Being Felix’s girlfriend comes with a set of rules - but the perks are worth it.

The necklace he got you for your birthday costs more than your first car, and if you ever sell it, will easily cover rent for at least a year. Designer clothes have a habit of appearing in your dorm room unannounced, always in your size - just because Felix likes when you look good next to him. No clubs are too exclusive to get into, there’s always a booth in the back of the pub reserved for you, people bend over backwards just for the chance of being in Felix’s vicinity - so naturally they’ll do anything for you.

You’re using him as much as he’s using you - it’s mutually beneficial. You get to live within his innermost circle, he gets to have someone to bring home to his parents so they don’t start looking into arranged marriages after graduation. You have no intentions of actually marrying him, god no - you’ve heard him talk about how many kids he wants, there’s no way in hell you’re pushing out six - but you’ll take what you can get. Felix is a comfortable rung on the social ladder you’re trying to climb.

“Right, love?”

Felix’s voice drags you out of your thoughts and back into reality - the warm lighting of the pub casts everyone around your table in a warm golden glow. You’re pressed against Felix’s right side - always his right side - his arm perched on the back of the booth around your shoulders, casually possessive. It’s a little funny how possessive he is, considering how often he cheats on you. On his other side, Annabel nurses a pint, her overlined eyes locked on Felix, utterly enraptured.

Across the table, India looks at him with the same hunger, even though her head rests on Farleigh’s shoulder. Farleigh looks how you feel - utterly bored, his eyes wandering the room as he idly smokes a cigarette. He’s always been prettier than Felix. More interesting too. If you weren’t trying to climb the social ladder high enough to marry rich and not have to work a day in your life, he’d be who you’re pressed against instead of Felix. There’s something about him that’s always given you the sense that he sees right through you, but it’s exciting. You know he knows why you’re here next to Felix, with a diamond he bought you around your neck. But Felix has no idea - he thinks you’re in love with him.

It’s laughable, how in his own head he is.

Still, you feed into the delusion, that practiced sugary-sweet smile playing at your lips as you look up at him. “Mhm.” You hum, picking up your pint and sipping at it.

Felix grins wide, and turns back to Annabel. “See?”

Annabel rolls her eyes, leaning around Felix to pin a look at you. “You weren’t even paying attention.”

The animosity that every other girl within a fifty mile radius directs at you is the one drawback of being Felix’s main piece. Your smile turns a little sharper. “Yeah.” You admit easily, setting your pint back down. “But I know Felix enough to know that he was probably right.”

Across the table, Farleigh snorts.

Your eyes slide over to him, and he meets your glance. Ever so slightly, he tilts his head, a dry smile playing at his lips - a silent, really?

You tilt your head in the same direction, mocking - yes, really.

Felix turns back to Annabel. “I’m always right, Anna - best get used to it.”

She rolls her eyes again, but this time it’s playful - flirty, even. You can already see how the rest of tonight is going to play out - Felix will make some excuse about drinking too much or not feeling well or whatever else his idiotic brain can come up with, and disappear back to his dorm room to fuck her. Tomorrow, of course, you’ll act like you’re none the wiser. In two weeks time, when the guilt starts to get at him, a new pair of heels or a Dior skirt will find its way into your closet.

Simply the way of things.

Pulling away from Felix’s hold, you make to get up. He glances at you, concerned, but you only smile, and kiss him on the cheek so that you can slide out of the booth. “Gotta use the loo.”

You brush your hands down your skirt as you stand up, and start towards the back of the pub, where the bathrooms are, tossing a look over your shoulder back at the table. You catch Farleigh’s eye, and hold it for a moment. His lips curl upward around his cigarette. With Felix likely going home with Annabel, your schedule for the night just opened up…

Maybe tonight’s the night you do something - someone - just for yourself. Set your plans for the future aside for once, and just have fun. After all, you’re confident Felix will be none the wiser - you know exactly what not to do after watching him fumble around with any and every other girl that’s caught his eye.

You disappear into the bathroom, Farleigh’s gaze still on you.

The noise from the pub is quieter here, just a dull hum seeping in through the walls. You lock the door behind you, and inspect yourself in the mirror. You smudge the dark eyeshadow around your eyes a little more, and fluff up your hair so that it doesn’t sit so lifelessly against your head. Your sex appeal back in place, you splash some water on your hands and pat them against your skirt before you leave, stepping back out into the pub.

As expected, Farleigh is waiting for you, leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door, finishing off his cigarette. A quick glance back at the table lets you know that you were right - Annabel and Felix are gone. India’s moved onto Jack now, laughing a little too loud at something he says.

“Felix said he wasn’t feeling well, all of a sudden.” Farleigh drawls, bringing your attention back to him. “Annabel’s walking him home.” There’s a touch of humor in his voice that you appreciate - he knows just as well as you do what they’re off to do.

“Shame.” You say, not bothering to try and sound actually sad at all. It wouldn’t fool Farleigh anyway. “Got tired of India?” You snatch the last of his cigarette from his fingers, finishing it off in one drag and dropping the butt to the floor, stamping it out with my boot.

Farleigh watches you, his eyes half-lidded. “Is there such a thing as not being tired of India?”

“She’s not all bad.” You say.

He tilts his head, that wry smile coming back to his face. “She’s not trying to fuck you.”

You can’t help but grin at that. “Touche.” You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of India’s flirting - but if Farleigh’s boredom is anything to judge by, she must not be very good at it.

Silence falls between us, and you let yourself look at him, eyes tracing down the lines of his neck until you reach the hollow at the base, and then back up to his lips.

“So.” Farleigh says.

You meet his eyes again. “So.”

He grins, foxlike and charming. “You wanna get out of here?”

The walk back to campus is short, but it feels longer with how much you talk about with Farleigh - school and America and family and money and Felix and a million other, less important, things. It’s the most intellectually stimulating conversation you’ve had in a long time, and the most you’ve genuinely laughed in a while too. It’s everything you’ve been missing with Felix - and it makes the war between your want for fortune and fame in the future and your want for genuine connection rage all the more.

It comes to an end all too quickly for your liking, as you reach the steps to your dorm.

You slow to a stop, and Farleigh stops as well, looking down at you, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Does it ever bother you?” He asks.

“What?” You reply.

“That he cheats on you.” Farleigh clarifies.

It’s a complicated question to answer, so instead you turn it around on him instead. “Does it ever bother you that he’s fucked India?”

Farleigh rolls his eyes. “That’s-”

“He does it to literally everyone.” You press on. “I stopped caring a while ago.”

Something contemplative washes over his face, and he just looks at you for a moment, eyes searching yours for something. His next question is quieter. “Who would you pick, if you weren’t stuck with him?”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “I’m not stuck with him.”

Farleigh looks at you, obviously amused. “I can see you trying not to roll your eyes every time he opens his mouth.”

You shrug. “The pros outweigh the cons.”

“So cynical.” He taunts, stepping closer. “You still haven’t answered the question.”

“I think it’s fairly obvious who I would pick if I wasn’t with Felix.” You say, letting him back you up the steps until your back is against the door. You look up at him, and meet his eyes.

He grins. “Yeah, but I want you to say it.”

“It’s you.” You say, voice barely above a whisper. “Like it would be anyone else-”

He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, a moan leaving him as you deepen the kiss without waiting, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like cigarettes and vodka and it’s made all the more delicious by the little noises that keep working up his throat, elicited when you grab him by the belt and pull him closer so that you’re chest to chest. He groans when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip and pull away, tugging him with you by the mouth. When you release him, he still follows after you anyway, chasing you for more.

Fingers still dancing on his belt, you smile. “Come up to my dorm with me?”

“Yes, fuck, please.” He already sounds debauched, and it sends a spike of heat straight down to your core. Felix would never deign himself to beg.

You push open the door to the dorm building, and start up the stairs, Farleigh trailing only a half step behind you. You fumble with your keys once you reach the door to your room, and Farleigh latches onto the back of your neck, trailing kisses across the sensitive skin that send a shiver up your spine.

Once you get the door open, you drag him inside and kick it back shut, locking it behind you.

Farleigh’s back on you in an instant, mouthing under your jaw. You wind a hand into his curls, pulling his head back from your neck. “Don’t leave any marks or Felix-”

He rolls his eyes, and cuts you off. “Duh.”

Without any more preamble he dives back into your neck, kissing along the length of it until he makes his way back up to your lips. You meet him in a kiss greedily, pushing off the door behind you and walking him back towards your bed. He hits the bedframe and breaks the kiss to sit on the edge. With a grin, you’re climbing into his lap and gently pushing him down until his backs flat against the mattress.

He’s so pretty like this - curls splayed out across your duvet cover, hands gripping onto your hips like you’ll float away if he lets go. You run a hand under his shirt, rucking it up so that you can see the way his stomach flexes when you touch him. Slowly, you dip your head down to lick a trail up his abdomen, never breaking eye contact.

He tips his head back with a shaky groan. “Oh, fuck.”

You grin, shifting forward so that you can nose under his jaw, lips ghosting across the shell of his ear. “What about you? Will India get mad if I-”

“Don’t fucking care, I want you to do it anyway.” He says, a little breathless. He’s so responsive - every little groan and whine shoots heat straight to your core. If sex with Felix was like this, maybe you wouldn’t have to pretend to be in love with him.

You sink your teeth into his neck just below his ear and he keens, his hips knocking up into yours. His fingers dig into your hips, bunching the fabric of your skirt into his fists like he’s holding on for dear life. You take the opportunity to start the slow roll of your hips as you work a chain of hickeys across his neck, scattering them artfully around his collarbone.

Deft fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up your spine until you get the message and pull it off yourself, flinging it somewhere in your room. Farleigh wiggles out of his own shirt underneath you, pushing the offending garment off the edge of the bed. Freed of your shirt, you reach behind you to unclasp your bra as well, tossing it in the same direction.

Farleigh’s eyes fall to your tits immediately, and you swear you can see his pupils dilate. “I see why Felix keeps you around-”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say with a smile. Even when you have him in your bed, he’s the same old Farleigh. It’s a breath of fresh air after having to pretend you like when Felix calls himself ‘daddy’.

Your skirt is next, and then the tights you’d had on underneath it as Farleigh works on his trousers, kicking them off the end of the bed. Only your underwear left, you resume grinding against him, watching as his eyes flutter shut for a moment as he uses his grip on your hips to work you over him harder.

“How do you want me?” You ask, leaning down to press more kisses along the length of his neck.

You expect him to respond - to tell you to turn over on all fours or ride him reverse cowgirl - but he only sighs in the back of his throat. “Whatever you like, baby.”

You press your lips to his in another greedy kiss, licking into his mouth and swallowing up the moans that slip past his lips. He’s not making it easy to think about going back to Felix after this. Felix, who calls himself ‘daddy’ and manhandles you around however he likes and hasn’t made you cum a single time. You can feel your wetness starting to seep into the fabric of your underwear from how malleable Farleigh is underneath you - how he looks at you like he’d gladly do anything you ask him to.

You slip your fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers and shuck them down his legs. Your own underwear are next, and then you’re grinding on him again, spreading your wetness up and down his length.

Farleigh’s grip tightens, and he tips his head back again. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he moans. “Mm.” He picks his head back up enough so that he can look at you. “I was going to ask if you wanted me to go down on you but - mm - I don’t think you need it- oh fuck!”

Rising up on your knees, you line him up and slide down him in one drop of your hips, lodging him inside of you. He’s longer than Felix is, but skinnier too so the stretch doesn’t sting as much. God, it’s like he was made for you, with how easily he reaches right where you need him to without even trying. You start to bounce, planting your hands on his chest for leverage and tossing your head back, losing yourself in the feeling.

Farleigh whines, a high pitched breathy thing that sounds like it’s been forced out of him as you start to move. Gently, you pry his hands away from your hips and pin them down over his head, just because he lets you do it. It’s a rush - that he’ll let you do whatever you want and take it happily - and it goes to your head. He strains against your grip but you don’t let up, working yourself up and down his cock just to watch his eyes roll up into his head.

“What- ahh, what are you doing?” Farleigh chokes out, straining against your grip again.

“Whatever I want.” You croon, whispering against his lips.

He snags you in a kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth hungrily as he plants his feet on the mattress, thrusting so that his hips meet yours on every downstroke. A sharp gasp forces its way out of your throat as the coil in your stomach starts to tighten, and you can’t help but smile at him. It’s almost a novelty, the way he works with you instead of against you like Felix often does.

He grins back up at you, and tilts his chin upward to kiss you again. Breathy, he says, “Felix is an idiot.”

You choke on a moan as a particularly hard thrust jolts through you. “Why’s that?”

“He doesn’t know what he has.” Farleigh says. “I’ve fucked India and - fuck - Annabel and they’ve got nothing on you.”

You laugh and moan at the same time. “You don’t have to - mm - be nice just so I’ll let you cum in me.”

“I can be nice.” He breathes.

You ghost your lips over his neck. “You’re never nice.”

“I can be nice.” He insists, turning his head so that you can litter kisses along the length of his neck. You trail upwards until you reach the lobe of his ear, biting gently at the skin. “To you.”

“Careful.” You say. “Better stop now or I might think you’re in love with me or something-”

Farleigh tenses up beneath you, as a long groan escapes from his lips as he throws his head back. He thrusts three more times before he stills, slumping back down to the mattress, panting hard. His eyes flutter open, blown wide as he looks up at you.

You can feel a smirk playing on your lips. “Did you just cum?”

He has the decency to look a little ashamed. “Maybe.”

You laugh, and kiss him. “Well, what are we supposed to do now?”

“I’m good.” He insists, working his wrists free of your hold. “I can still- here, just-”

He pulls you to his chest and rolls on the mattress so that you’re underneath him now, and resumes fucking into you, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. The change in position makes the feeling all the more potent, and a moan slips out from your lips.

Winding your arms around his shoulders, you rake your nails up his back, and feel him shiver against you. “Farleigh…”

“Don’t fucking do that.” He laughs. “I’ll cum again.”

You toss your head back against the pillow as he speeds up his thrusts, obviously trying to get you to cum before he’s too spent to keep going. You let your eyes flutter shut and enjoy the feeling of him against you, the tickle of his curls against your neck, the breathy moans that slip from his lips into your ear, the feeling of his teeth against your neck as he sucks a hickey into your skin-

“Farleigh-” You start, only to cut yourself off as the coil finally snaps and pleasure shoots through you. “Oh fuck-”

He groans, and shoves his face deeper into your neck as his thrusts slow to a stop. He slumps again, flopping on top of you with a long sigh.

When you come back to your senses, you tug on his hair until he grumbles. “You are such a dick.” You say. “I said no marks.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles into your skin.

“No you’re fucking not.” You retort.

He lifts his head out of your neck, that foxlike grin on his face again. “No I’m not.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” You ask.

He pulls out, and flops back down on the bed next to you, nosing back into the crook of your neck as he slings an arm over your chest. “Makeup. Wear your hair down.” He shrugs. “It’s Felix - he’ll probably think he did it.”

You rest your chin on the top of his head, the aftershocks of pleasure running through you. “‘M never having sex with you again.”

Farleigh snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

You smile into his hair, because he’s right. Of course he’s right. There’s no way in hell this isn’t going to become a regular occurrence.

#farleigh 💖

807 notes · View notes

french-goodbye · 13 days

Text

warnings: drug use, language, description of being semi-naked, suggestive content (fem!reader)

✰ ⊹ ˚.

Your whole body seemed to sink deeper in the plush material of the bedsheets, the last bit of sun stretching across the estate's plain peeks through the half-shut curtains and warms your face, only enhancing the dreamy state you found yourself in.

"That's ticklish," you smiled, sucking your stomach in to escape the feeling of Farleigh's lithe fingers. "Stay still," he murmured, faux sterness trying to hide his own laugh before returning to the task at hand once your giggles (and his) subsided.

The white line lies stark against your skin, only further alluminated by the warm yellow-pink light slowly disappearing behind the horizon.

He spares you a quick look, your face already trained on him to try and figure out his next move, eyes heavy and half shut but still focused on the way his tongue dragged across his bottom lip.

His body moves up on the bed till his face is equal with yours and his lips are attacking yours. He's aware of the compromising position you're still in and pulls away from the kiss reluctantly. Without so much as a word, his head dips lower until it's once again level with the soft pudge of your stomach.

That ticklish feeling returns, but this time it's Farleigh's nose that drags across your skin. A few sniffs and a deep sigh follow and then the warm wet feeling of Farleigh's tongue returning to greedily catch anything he has left behind.

His lips don't leave your skin, placing kisses to your stomach, up your sternum and between the valley of your breasts, taking detours to press a few wet kisses to the tops of your breasts that peak from within the lacy confines of your bra. "You're so sexy," he says, words muffled in your skin as he becomes further intoxicated by the smell of your vanilla perfume.

His greedy mouth once again finds yours, and as with most things Farleigh loves, he consumes it with a passion you're yet to get used to. His lips play the familiar game against yours and if you focus hard enough, you could taste the bitter tang that left your tongue numb within the overpowering taste of Cherry Heering.

#farleigh 💖

183 notes · View notes

french-goodbye · 16 days

Text

being in a weird situationship with farleigh... <3 inspired by the song boyfriend by ariana grande ft. social house

WARNINGS ✧ none i think? ooc farleigh maybe, situationship? my bad writing… it’s been 7 years. written on my iphone at 1am while sleep deprived </3 sorry in advance! i also suck at writing endings ◡̈

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ︶︶︶⠀⠀୨୧⠀⠀︶︶︶

‘you ain’t my boyfriend and i ain’t your girlfriend but you don’t want me to see nobody else and i don’t want you to see nobody’

you could feel him glaring at you from all the way across the room but made no move to look his way. if he could go around hooking up with random people, then you had the right to do as you please also.

wether he’d like to admit it or not, farleigh was a jealous man, especially when it came to you and there was only so much he could take before storming your way, his long legs reaching you in record time and dragging you away from the confused boy who you’d been previously talking to.

‘even though you ain’t mine, i promise the way we fight make me feel like we just in love’

“what do you think you’re doing?”

you couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped your mouth. was he being serious? the only thing holding you back from causing a scene being the people around you guys and the not so subtle eyes of his cousin and friends watching everything unfold. god.. you knew coming to this party was a bad idea. “not sure what you mean.” you shrugged.

he nodded his head in a mocking way, pursing his lips. “hm, right. so this isn’t you getting back at me for the other day, is it? because i told you-“

“getting back at you?” you cut him off shaking your head in disbelief. “get over yourself farleigh. am i not allowed to talk to other people? not everything’s about you, you know.” except this totally was about him. you almost groaned when you saw the smirk forming on his lips. that bastard. he knew, of course he did.

‘i know we be so complicated lovin you sometimes drive me crazy cause i can’t have what i want and neither can you’

you refused to meet his eyes when he called out your name, arms crossed looking at the people dancing around you. farleigh chuckled, taking a step closer. you took one back in return. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were jealous.” his tone was teasing, and you didn’t have to look at him to know he still had that infuriatingly attractive smirk on his face. i am. “of what? you’re not my boyfriend, you can do whatever you want.” you looked up at him, doing your best to appear nonchalant. farleigh laughed, throwing his head back like you had said the funniest joke he’s ever heard, which only served to agitate you more.

his eyes were practically sparkling when he looked down at you, his hands reaching to cup your face despite your failed attempts to push him away. “i didn’t fuck her. if that’s what you’re pissed about, all we did was make out...” he trailed off unsure if he should say what he was thinking. the way he was looking at you made your cheeks warm up, but you refused to speak. you wanted him to say it. you knew what he wanted to say, and as stupid as it sounded, you refused to be the first one to break. “i haven’t slept with anyone for months now actually.” his hands now resting on your hips squeezed them lightly.

farleigh admitting that shouldn’t of felt as good as it did, but it was as if you could feel a weight lifting off your shoulders. you hoped for a different kind of confession, but this was also nice to know. although you weren’t all that happy that he was still going around shoving his tongue down other peoples throats you couldn’t exactly complain either. he wasn’t your boyfriend. you had to remind yourself of that.

‘but you ain’t my boyfriend and i ain’t your girlfriend but you don’t want me to touch nobody else baby, we ain’t gotta tell nobody’

“like i said, farleigh, you’re free to do whatever you want. nothing is stopping you.” farleigh let out a mixture of what sounded like a groan and laugh, pulling you closer to him without you attempting to push him away this time around. “you” he paused to pinch your cheek softly. “are so fucking stubborn, did you know that?”

you couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped your lips as you looked up at him, finally giving in to his touch. you had only been ignoring him for a few days, but it felt like a lifetime to you and even if he wouldn’t say it, you knew he felt the same way if the way he was gripping your hips was anything to go by.

“were you really going to fuck that loser to get back at me?” farleigh suddenly asked, looking over to where the guy whose name you’d already forgotten now sat talking with a different girl, his face in that permanent scowl he seemed to have when he wasn’t around you or his friends. “i tuned him out the moment he opened his mouth to be honest.” you could feel your cheeks heating up once again as he laughed at your honesty. “yeah, i figured once you wouldn’t stop eye fucking me from across the room.”

“shut up!” you groaned, swatting his chest. “you’re the one who has a staring problem, you creep. seriously, you’re worse than that fucking ollie kid.” farleigh huffed, somewhat offended that you would compare him to oliver but said nothing else as he pulled you towards the table where felix and the rest of his posse sat, all of them immediately pretending like they hadn’t been watching when you both approached except for felix, who gave farleigh a not so subtle smirk when he pulled you to sit on his lap.

‘if you were my boyfriend and you were my girlfriend i probably wouldn’t see nobody else’

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ︶︶︶⠀⠀୨୧⠀⠀︶︶︶

i suck at endings can u tell ꃋᴖꃋ i know i said i wasn’t gonna write and i probably won’t for a while but i had to get this idea out of my head! i ♥︎ farleigh start. also sorry for any errors! i’m nervous just posting this, bye

#farleigh 💖

647 notes · View notes

french-goodbye · 26 days

Note

I remember you saying something that Farleigh doesn't intentionally make reader jealous, and when reader is jealous she doesn't act possessive/snubby and stuff and actually COMMUNICATES like a mature person, but does Farleigh?? 🤨🤨 I think not. How would reader deal with the bbg's jealousy? 🤔🤔🤔

Summary: Farleigh needs to learn that he's not the only person in your life but until then, he's gonna be a little shit about it.

Or,

The one where Reader becomes a brat tamer.

Warnings: insecurities, talks of dom/sub shit, blowjobs, face sitting/pussy eating, PinV sex, begging, crying from overstimulation. Talks of cheating but not the way you think.

Notes: I don't take requests, i say as i write every cool ask i am sent. This is 3.7k words, unedited but I need it out of my drafts 💀 so I'm closing my eyes and posting.

Farleigh hates Todd Foster.

He hates his smile and his annoying wheezy laugh. He hates his messy hair and his blue eyes. But most of all, he hates how Todd fucking Foster has just spawned into your life on a random Tuesday and how you couldn't seem to shut up about the man.

Farleigh's fingers twitch over his keyboard as he turns to peer back at your half dressed state. You're giggling. It shouldn't make him annoyed but it does, you're giggling– your makeup is smeared, his blanket is pulled up to cover your chest, the hickeys he left on your neck are on display, you're waking up in his bed after he's thoroughly fucked you to sleep hours prior but you're giggling at another man's text and it makes his skin itch.

“Baby.” He calls and you give a halfhearted hum. You don't look away from your phone, your fingers flying across your screen as another giggle slips from your lips. Farleigh turns, his arms crossing over his chest as his tongue drags across his teeth, “What round y'all on?”

That catches your attention. You blink at him, your head tilting as you take in the furrow of his brow— how his bare biceps bulge over his clenched fists to how low his sweatpants sit on his hips and how they shift even lower as he spreads his legs. He's pissed but lord above, he is hot. You have a hard time dragging your eyes away from his body but when you do, you're a little startled by the heat in his eyes, “What?”

“I said,” He starts, a humorless smile pulling at his lips. “What round are you and Todd on– seeing as you've been ignoring me for him since you've woken up.”

Your phone buzzes in your hand and you look down briefly to see Todd's response flash across the screen and Farleigh sucks his teeth. You jerk at the sound, your eyes finding his as a confused laugh leaves you, “I woke up to you studying, I didn't want to bother you and you don't even know if it's Todd-”

Farleigh can't help the sneer that pulls at his lips. “It’s always Todd.” He says. “‘Todd did this-’, ‘Todd did that -’ and ‘Babe did you know Todd-’ I would think he was your fucking boyfriend with the way you talk about him.”

An annoyed heat shoots through you and you swallow, blinking at your boyfriend. “What, so you want me to apologize for having friends?”

“You know what?” Farleigh is shaking his head,a scoff passing through his lips as turns back to face his desk. “Nevermind. I don't care.”

“But you obviously do.” You sigh. “Do you want to talk about it or–”

Farleigh speaks before he thinks, his head swimming in the anger he's so clearly trying to swallow back. “No, I wouldn't want to take time from your precious Todd.”

Farleigh can feel you gaping at the back of his head before a disbelieving laugh leaves your lips. Your hands are trembling as you push from his bed, your legs are a little shaky but you don't let that stop you from gathering your clothes off his floor. You throw them on haphazardly and Farleigh doesn't turn to look at you once, his shoulders drawn nearly to his ears in his effort to ignore you. “You’re a fucking asshole.” You spit once you slip on your shoes and Farleigh shrugs. You see his ears turning red from your place near his door and scoff. “Call me when you're less of a dick.”

You make sure to slam his door on the way out.

“No offense but your boyfriend is a whiny bitch.”

Todd dodges the fry you throw at him with a laugh and you roll your eyes. “You don't get to call him names when this is your fault. He thinks we're fucking or something!”

Todd steals one of your fries, dipping in his milkshake. “No offense or anything coz’ you're a proper looker but you aren't my type.”

You throw your hands up. “I know that! I've said plenty of times we're just friends and I don't know today just got to him–” Todd opens his mouth and you silence him with a look. “And I'm not breaking up with him, that's stupid and I'm not going to drop you because that's not fair to me.”

“Well there goes two of my plans.” Todd jokes. He takes another one of your fries, looking away in thought. “He’s never done this before, right?”

“No, never.” You answer. “We always talked through our issues, you know? He's never snapped at me before.”

Todd hums, his eyes flicking back to you. “Fuck him.”

“Todd–”

“I’m serious.” He continues, he rolls his hand the fry flopping around limply in his grasp. “If this is the first time he's ever been jealous like this, fuck him. Show him there's nothing to be jealous about when you’re only rocking his world. Make him forget his name and all that.”

Flustered, you fall quiet. Your fingers drumming across the table as you think, “I don't– We experiment, yeah?”

Todd nods, eating the fry. “Naturally.”

“And he's always been the one rocking my world.” You continue slowly. Saying this out loud sounds wrong, the words feel like tar leaking from your mouth, sticking to your teeth. You love what Farleigh does for you and to you in the bedroom, you've been bent in half, fucked upside down, and tied up more times than you can count but it was always you never him. “I don't think he'd like it any other way.”

Todd snorts but when he sees your rather serious look he laughs. “You’re joking, right?”

“What?”

“Lovebug, no offense but your man wants to be dominated.” Todd starts his voice flat, “From what I've seen and what you've told me about him— he's practically begging for it. He even got this dreamy look in his eyes that one time you pinched his thigh and told him to behave.”

You sink in your seat. “You saw that?”

“I see everything but that's not the point.” Todd waves his hand. “The point is– the signs are there and your man is a brat. You just have to fuck him dormant.”

“Jesus.” You hiss, your face hot as you throw a cautious look around the diner. “Can you be any louder?”

Todd snickers at your embarrassment but falls silent to pick through your food and you're momentarily left with your thoughts. You wouldn't lie and say the idea didn't sound appealing to you— you liked being in charge, the rare times Farleigh let you do what you want while on top of him had been the hardest you've ever cummed. You had once ridden him so hard with your hand around his throat and that was hot—He hadn't stopped you nor pushed you off in the moment, in fact, his eyes seemed to have rolled to the back of his head as you bounced on him. There have been other times now that you've thought about it, times where Farleigh seemed to instantly cave when you put up a little fight, how his cheeks used to flush when you argued with him. Hell, you should have known when Farleigh had told you he loved you on top that one time he was drunk!

The groan that leaves you is pitched with embarrassment and self-realization. You've been blind and Todd was right— Farleigh had been fucking begging for it. “He could have just asked.” You speak mostly to yourself, your voice filled with annoyance but thinly veiled want. Your blood is running hot as you begin to imagine Farleigh under you. Truly, under you and him begging. “He’s so annoying.”

Todd laughs, his eyes twinkling. “Glad you've figured it out. Now, can you do me a huge favor and get me his cousin's number–”

Farleigh nearly breaks his phone when he gets a notification from your Myspace account. It's a picture of you and Todd, he's the one who took the picture, his wide toothy smile front and center with you in the background, a half smile on your face, your chin resting on your palm. It's been four hours since you stormed out, you didn't call, you didn't text him, you didn't even update your mood on Myspace to be passive aggressive. You spent four hours away from him and Farleigh could only assume you spent the entirety of that time with Todd.

His mood only worsens when he sees that your mood status has finally changed. Touched. The first thought that flies through his mind is ‘He bets you are.’ Before he shakes it from his head almost violently— Farleigh knows you and knows that you'd sooner die than ever cheat on anyone let alone him. Farleigh knows better but he can't help the bitterness that boils in his blood, he can't but be jealous. The very thought of him, Farleigh Start, being jealous makes his stomach turn. He was used to making his partner jealous but you had quickly nipped that in the bud when you first started dating and you had sat him down and explained that he hurt your feelings and before then, before you, Farleigh wouldn't have cared. Farleigh tries to ignore his thoughts that are telling him why he cares so much— it's a word he's barely ever used but it settles in his head, makes his bones ache as he closes his eyes with a groan.

Farleigh loves you. He knows he does, he wouldn't have stuck around this long if he didn't and he's fucking scared of it; of this hold you have on him.

It's been four hours since he's seen you and it's been four hours of him starting to text an apology, only to delete it. Four hours of him punching in your number before turning off his phone before he could dial it. Farleigh wants to say he's sorry but it's like pulling rotten teeth out with a pair of rusted pliers. It's good to get the rot out, to stop it before it turns deadly but there's always a chance of the rust making it worse.

Farleigh is typing out what feels like his hundredth, ‘I’m sorry–’ text when his door knob jiggles. He shuts off his phone, tossing it as he throws his feet over the edge of his bed, ready to answer the door, assuming it's probably Felix when he hears the key slide into its slot. He freezes, if only for a moment before his heart starts to pound— only you have a key to his room. An illegal little copy he slid to you when the two of you got really serious.

You don't see him when you enter and Farleigh doesn't dare speak. You're huffing to yourself, shrugging your jacket off and kicking off your shoes— your whole outfit is different from when you left; it's cute but comfortable. A sweater skirt clings to your hips, a matching in color oversized sweater sliding off your shoulders. Farleigh swallows at the sight of you and you turn, nearly jumping out of your skin when the both of you make eye contact.

Farleigh shifts. He hasn't bothered to change— still in the same sweatpants and shirtless, he feels underdressed before you. “You’re back.”

You quirk a brow at him. “Of course I'm back.”

The way you say it makes him feel warm. Like he's an idiot for thinking you'd ever walk away from him. It's that warmness that has him throwing his arms open for you and it has him melting when you come without a fight. Farleigh loops his arms around your waist, pulling you so close you're arching into him. His head rests on your chest, ear pressed against your steady heartbeat and he mumbles. “Sorry.”

Your hands rub their way up his arms before they settle on his shoulders. “That’s it?”

Farleigh groans against you. “I’m really, really sorry for snapping at you. Wasn't right and I'm an asshole.”

You hum, your fingers sliding up the base of his neck. You angle his head up and press a kiss against his lips. Farleigh sighs into your mouth— the kiss is sweet, slow as leaking syrup and warm so when you make the move to deepen it, your tongue licking into his mouth and fingers curling into his hair, Farleigh lets out a startled gasp. This kiss is filthy. More than he's ever gotten from you, you're kissing him like you're starved, it's all tongues and teeth– and when you suck on his tongue and bite on his lip and Farleigh feels himself swelling in his pants. “Fuck,” He gasps, leaning away to suck in air. You don't stop kissing him, trailing kisses across his face and down his neck. “I thought– I thought you were mad at me?”

You shake his arms free from your waist as you begin to kneel before him, your lips find his neck and your teeth scrape against his pulse and Farleigh bites his lip and even though he's confused he bares his neck to you and you wonder how you never noticed. “I am.” You mumble against his skin. You're careful with how you press your teeth into his skin and Farleigh moans all the same, his hands clenching at his sides. You soothe the darkening skin with a small kiss, “I’m really upset with you, Far’.”

Farleigh starts to apologize again, his lips start to form the words but when you settle to your knees before him blinking up at him, he feels his heart skip several beats and his teeth clack with how fast he shuts his mouth. You palm him through his sweats, your cheek nuzzling against his crotch and if he didn't feel you through his pants, Farleigh would be sure he was dreaming. “I’m– Baby, I'm so confused right now.”

You smile up at him. “You remember our safe word?”

He's sure his brain whites out. Your lips are moving, he sees them but he doesn't hear you— his blood rushing everywhere but to his head. The breath that leaves him is little, punched out of him but he's nodding his head so quickly he sure his brain is rattling in his skull. “Yeah,” He whispers and Farleigh thinks he's shaking from his building excitement. You give him a look and he bites back a smile. It's cute to see you trying to be like this– he thinks the dominance doesn't fit you but you're willing to give and he's eager to take.“Yeah I remember, it's ‘basket’.”

You nod and your hands find the tops of his sweats. Farleigh is quick to help you pull them off and you lean back and watch as he kicks them off his legs as his dick springs free. You nearly roll your eyes at the lack of underwear but Farleigh works a quick down himself out of reflex and it has you smacking his hand away. He opens his mouth to protest, maybe, but you're already leaning forward, your hands falling on his twitching thighs as you pepper kisses along his cock and his mouth slams shut. It's rare that you do this with him, a bad experience in the past made you hesitant and Farleigh would never force you to do so, so it was usually saved for birthdays, anniversaries or the rare day you felt confident enough to do so. Your tongue drags across the underside of his dick and he allows a soft moan to fall from his lips, he guesses you're feeling confident in your anger.

It's embarrassing how quickly he becomes undone. You only give him small teasing kisses and licks, your tongue dances across his flushed tip and he's dripping, his cock twitching in your steady hands. When you finally take him in your mouth, the sound that punches out of him is tortured,“Oh, fuck, please.” He moans. His legs clench in effort not to fuck up into your mouth, his fingers digging into the bed sheets. Your cheeks hollow as you bob your head, drooling down the length of him, your lashes flutter as you take him. Farleigh has always been a mouthful, he's warm and salty but it's not unpleasant— he tastes faintly of his body wash. You swallow around him and his stomach clenches, a moan of your name tumbling out his lips. “Do that again, please.”

And you do, over and over again till he's panting and moaning above you, your jaw aches but you don't stop. He chants your name like it's something sacred and the sounds send a red hot rod of desire shooting through you, “I’m gonna cum.” He warns his voice breaking and you only feel a little bad when you pull away, a glob of spit connecting you both.

Farleigh whines, dragging out your name but you're pushing to your feet, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. You have an odd, heavy look in your eye and Farleigh thinks— how angry could you really be when you're guiding him to lay back against his bed as you pull your clothes off. How mad can you really be when you're climbing on top of him, putting your soaking cunt in his face and telling him,“Make a mess.”

Farleigh drags you down till you're resting heavy against his face, his arms round tight around your thighs as he licks into you. He grinds his nose against your clit, his tongue dipping in and out of your clenching hole as your hips roll against his face. Your hand is clenched in his hair, pulling him closer and he moans, drooling as you guide his head to move faster against your pussy. He's mouthing against you, swallowing everything you have to offer and you moan, grinning, “You like that?” You ask, yanking his head back and away from your cunt. His face is shiny with your slick and his eyes are glossy, he licks his lips nodding as much as he could in your grip. It makes your smile grow, “You like eating my pussy?”

Farleigh can't even pretend to be embarrassed when he moans out a desperate ‘yes’ because you're guiding his head back to where he wants to be most and your hand is reaching back to stroke his still sensitive dick. He tries to keep his focus on you, sliding his tongue through your folds but your thumb slides over the head of his cock, smearing precum down his length and his hips jump to chase the feeling. He attempts to lean back to see what you're doing and the moment he does, your hand stills. You're looking at him with a raised brow and he's whining again, trying to jerk his hips into your warm hand. “I’m just– baby, I'm so close.”

You blink, “So?”

His mouth drops open, he stutters, “I just–” He licks his lips again, his hands tightening on your thighs. “I really, really want to cum and I promise I'll make you cum so hard after just please, baby it feels like my heart is gonna explode.”

Your hand tightens on his dick and moans softly. “I thought you were sorry.”

“I am but–”

“So show me your sorry instead of begging to cum like some sort of–” You stop yourself and Farleigh watches with curious eyes, you already got this far, you might as well commit to it. “–Some sort of slut. Make me cum and I'll think about whether you deserve it or not.”

Farleigh takes a breath, his eyelashes fluttering. How bad can it be? When even at your meanness, you're stumbling over your words and you're still touching him, giving him little taste of pleasure. How bad could it really, really be?

An hour later, he realizes he fucked up. He's choking back a sob, a fist pressed to his mouth as you bounce on his dick. You're chasing your own pleasure, you're ignoring his begging, his choked moans. You've already cummed twice, on his mouth and the second time you had just warmed his cock while you touched yourself till you were shaking, clenching around him so tight he nearly bursted but you know him, you were quick to pull off of him and even the drag of that had him moaning. You've cummed twice and Farleigh still hasn't reached his peak, you smacked away his efforts to try, you had called him names but then kissed his tears, you had kept his hands to your breast so he couldn't change your pace. He was shaking, broken versions of your name falling from his lips.

“Oh, god– please.” He gasps, his hand flying from his mouth and to his side. He knows he can't touch you by now, you always slowed your pace when he tried. “I’m sorry. I'm so fucking sorry– I'll be g-good, I'll be so fucking good baby, I needa– oh fuckfuckfuck–”

You smile, leaning forward with a small moan. “Yeah? Y-you'll be good?”

Farleigh is nodding his head so fast you momentarily fear it'll fall off his neck. But he's babbling, drooling— his eyes on how your pussy swallows his dick. “S-so fucking good, please, please–”

You press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Go ahead, baby boy.”

His hands find your waist instantly as he fucks up into you at a pace that has your breath hitching. You grasp for his shoulders as he moans in your ear, he's slurring his words but it sounds a little like–

“Oh, fuck– I fucking love you– Love your pretty fucking pussy, oh shit, o-oh shitttt.”

When he cums it's warm, sputtering and endless. He continues to roll up into you, his teeth sealing over your shoulder and he bites, groaning from his own prolonged overstimulation and you have no choice but to take it, clenching and milking him for all he's worth. When he's done, he gives his hips one last thrust before he leans back, his arms still wrapped around you and lets his back hit his bed with a tired huff. “G-give me like two minutes and I promise I'll make you cum.”

You laugh softly, drawing a pattern across his sweaty chest as you look up at him. “I’m fine, Far’. Are you okay?”

He looks down at you with a wide smile. “We are so doing that again.”

#farleigh 💖

737 notes · View notes

french-goodbye · 26 days

Text

𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔳𝔬𝔴'𝔰

Summary: It's been a few months since that haunting morning at Saltburn, and life hasn't gotten any easier. You aren't sure if either of you have truly left that day behind, even though your bodies are miles away from those grand, boundless walls.

But together, you know you'll both survive.

Warnings: 18+, MDI! Oral (F! receiving), Face sitting, unprotected sex, AFAB, American!Reader. Some decent amounts of angst. Farleigh is going through it after Saltburn (follows canon and Felix's and Venetia's death's), but there's some corny, domestic fluff to take the edge off. A little small dose of jealous Farleigh. Mentions of alcohol and (implied) cocaine usage as a means of coping (but it's brief).

Notes: 16.9k words. Not proofread yet. @saradika-graphics, placed on Halloween night because I'm already missing fall and I'm completely shameless. Thank you to everyone who has ever left a comment and praise - it's always very much appreciated! Seriously, it makes me so happy! And I am sorry to anyone who I may have kept waiting for this. I hope you enjoy.

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦- 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦

You could still taste the party on your tongue; the scent of the alcohol that had been in the air, pungent and sharp. It was like the blaring music was still playing, vibrating across your skin from the volume of the stereo system instead of the mellow country classic faintly warbling out of the diner's tired speakers. It was a harsh juxtaposition and your brain, still a little sluggish from the chaos of the night is still trying to catch up. You could still feel the sweaty bodies bumping up against you own, smelling with the salt of sweat, the artificial fragrance of face paint, and that sweet plastic scent of fake blood. It was practically embedded in your nose, even with the warm plume of steam wafting up from the plate of food sat directly underneath your face.

You had scarfed down most of it already. You were practically starving after all of the dancing you had done. It always manages to make you hungry, regardless of the previous meals you've had. You've forgone a sense of decorum in your famished, sensitive state and shove the entirety of your last piece of toast into your mouth, leaning over in case any of the jam wiggles loose and falls. Oh, course that's when the server makes another appearance. When you're wolfing down a mouthful of food. You try to smile up him around your chewing, awkward and apologetic, before lifting a hand up to hide your mouth.

"Need a refill?" He asks, gently shaking the pitcher of water in his hand while he looks down at you with a polite smile of his own. He's making an odd amount of eye contact with you too, but you try to tell yourself that it might just be the light adrenaline induced buzz humming through your veins making you a little hyperaware. Something about his mannerisms seem strangely familiar, but your slow-moving brain comes up empty when you try to chase after that thought. Instead, you just nod wordlessly, humming out a short "mm-hmm" in lieu of a verbal response and nudge your glass closer to him across the scratched and Sharpie defaced tabletop to make it easier for him to pour.

The few quick seconds that pass seem entirely too long, and the sound of the flowing stream of water seems to enunciate the time passing by. It feels embarrassing for no reason, and in your effort to shed some of the shame prickling over you, you glance over at the other end of the table to Farleigh.

It's then you notice the way that he's outright glaring at the waiter without even trying to conceal the look. His mouth is twisted into a scowl as he props himself onto the table with a single elbow, and he takes another drag of his cigarette like he needs it to keep him tethered in place. His habit has skyrocketed these past couple of weeks in the absence of his other vices. You aren't a particular fan of the indoor smoking, but you'd seen the cook pass by a few minutes earlier on the way to the bathroom with a lit cigarette dangling between his lips, so it didn't seem to be a problem. Not to mention, the server had even provided him with a tiny little ashtray which he promptly flicks the embers of burnt tobacco into.

You send him an inquisitive glance, but he's too caught up with glowering to notice. All you can figure is that they may have some kind of history, but then you can't help but wonder why he'd let you drag him to this particular diner if that were that case.

The server - Daniel, you note, and the name is familiar too - hasn't seemed to notice Farleigh's displeased expression, and he's gone just as quickly as he had appeared, conveniently just as you're able to swallow your toast. You chase after it with your water before settling your attention back on Farleigh who still looks just as grumpy. Sure, his mood had admittedly dampened a little bit while you were both out celebrating, but that could go the same for you as well. As much as the both of you tried to shrug it off and move on, parties of all kinds have become a little bitter, a little raw after . . .

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat, ignoring the way the polyester cushion clings to the bare skin of your legs despite the chill in the diner. He perks up a bit, peering at you from over his mug as he takes a sip.

"What was that about?" You ask, but he just raises an eyebrow at you like he's confused. Even while he looks so disgruntled, you can't help but muse how adorable he looks with those dark kitten whiskers smeared across his cheeks, made from your eyeshadow pallet.

"What do you mean, 'what was that about'?" He sits his drink down on the table, letting himself recline against the backrest of the booth.

You shrug, letting your eyes rove over the window beside your shoulders and the cut-out paper decorations pasted to the glass; retro styled Jack o' Lanterns and ghosts. Though it was probably the condensation from the since passed storm that's really keeping them secured to their places. "I don't know. It seemed like you may have known him."

His brows perk up, almost unamused while he shakes his head. "No. Not really," he responds cryptically.

He doesn't seem to be lying. Farleigh's ability to be convincing when it comes to concealing the truth is sort of on a spectrum. No matter the scope of the lie, he's never great at hiding them. His eyes can get shifty, or he'll get a little too animated like he forgets how to express himself normally, becoming too self-conscious. It's obviously the smaller ones, the white lies usually, that he's able to be a bit more convincing with. But whatever this is, it's enough for him to be a little restless, fidgeting with the handle of the porcelain mug like he needs to distract himself. But from what, you aren't sure. And despite claiming not to know him, there must be some reason why his mood had taken even more of a decline since seeing the server.

"He does look familiar though," you mumble absentmindedly.

"I'm sure he does," Farleigh replies lowly, like the comment was only meant for him. But you hear it regardless and it's said with a kind of snark that you hadn't heard aimed at you in a long time.

The expression on your face is incredulous. For a second you just stare at him silently and the music drifting across the quiet does little to make the atmosphere feel any less foreign. The old, florescent panel lights flicker above and buzz in an insistent drone, making everything even more bare and alien than it already is. You hadn't taken the brunt of Farleigh's ire in a long time. Okay, 'ire' might be a little dramatic. Irritation is probably more accurate. But it feels so weird - uncomfortable - to have him genuinely annoyed with something that you've apparently done. You're used to his sarcasm and quips, you're on the receiving end of them on a daily basis, just like he's on the receiving end of yours. It's normal. It's a part of your dynamic, and your shared, taunting and impish kind of humor is how the both of you grew close. Long before either of you had even realized. You can count on a single hand the number of times that you've had an actual disagreement or argument with Farleigh. But you don't enjoy them in the slightest, so you'd like to find out the root of this little problem before it builds and blows up in both of your faces.

"First of all, what is that even supposed to mean?" You ask, pulling back to cross your arms. "And secondly, what's wrong?"

He shoots you an exasperated look, like he's unconvinced of something. You don't reply aloud. You just shrug, openly confused.

"Seriously?" He says with what sounds like disbelief.

"What?"

He scoffs and pins you with a glare that's simultaneously annoyed and relieved. You can see the minute way that his shoulders seem to relax, shedding the bit of stress that had been winding his body up tight. "You really don't recognize him?"

The question makes you feel a little dimwitted. It prompts you to lean a little in your both, towards the end of the seat and you let your eyes move away from Farleigh. Scanning the diner, searching for the sight of the waiter in the hopes to toggle free that sense of familiarity that shrouds him. Maybe you'll finally be able to remember just who he is. It's been searing at your brain all night, and Farleigh's insistence that you know him just drives the urge deeper. You finally spot him behind the C shaped bar, refilling the salt and pepper shakers that he must have collected from the vacant tables. There is something there. The kind of acquaintance that comes with seeing the same cashier at a gas station more than once, or noticing the same neighbor trimming the bushes in their lawn when you go out to check the mail. But there isn't anything more than that. The sharp jut of his chin and the tattoo peeking out from underneath the short cut of his sleeve are features that you know that you've seen before, but you just end up drawing another blank. You'd like to blame it on alcohol, but despite having spent the entire night dancing and singing at the top of your lungs in a party, you haven't drank a single drop.

You tilt back into your seat and return your focus to Farleigh with a lost shrug.

"Jesus Christ," he huffs. "He's served us at least four other times."

"Oh, that's it?" You say, a little indifferent. You were expecting something more . . . exciting than that. Maybe some drama involving a drunken fight that you couldn't remember at a bar or house party, and he had been the culprit. Literally anything other than he was just you're regular server. Plus, you hardly found that enough to warrant the heavy scowl that Farleigh had been giving him earlier.

Farleigh sags even further against the cushion of the booth, and the expression on his face is outright petulant and soaked with annoyance. When he speaks next, his voice is at this odd cross of defeated but passionate. "He flirts with you all the time."

Ah, there it is.

You want to counter the argument. You yourself have been a waitress who's been accused of flirting with customers boyfriends just because you had come across as overtly friendly when asking for a drink order or dropping off the bill. An exhausting symptom that seems to come with serving the public and insecure lovers out on dates. But that little comment does manage to jog something free. Vague memories of said waiter - Daniel - staring at you for a little longer than necessary or brushing his fingers along yours whenever you'd hand him a cleared plate during past visits. But that's about all. Just subtle, otherwise harmless interest that he's apparently garnered for you. "Well, clearly he didn't do a very good job, because I hardly remembered him."

The stormy expression doesn't slip from Farleigh's face, and as much as you're trying to joke, you know that this little bout of jealousy has stemmed from something deeper. Sure, he's always had an inclination of being a little possessive. You've caught glimpses of it in the past with his old flings and exes, but the way that he grips you is entirely different from that. He makes sure to touch you in some capacity when in public; a hand on the back of your waist to guide you through crowded areas, keeping his fingers laced with yours on walks, or pulling you into his lap whenever he's able to. He always makes sure to stake his claim on you somehow. Especially whenever he feels as though someone could be a threat to your relationship, even though you do your best to talk to him and placate those insecurities. On any other occasion, you would have been annoyed that he felt intimidated by some random guy at an IHop, but for whatever reason, this just feels off. But you know that this is different. Tonight is different.

You had seen the shift in him at the party. It was just some get together for Halloween that one of his old friends had thrown for the holiday. It was meant to be small, and that was really one of the only reasons that you had agreed to go. You had wanted to stay inside your apartment for the night, as lame as it may sound. To just spend time curled up on the couch with him against your back while you both gorged yourself on candy and junk food and watched a few horror movies that you had rented from the Block Buster down the street. But Farleigh had insisted that he wanted to go, complaining that spending the entire Halloween night inside was lame.

A part of you had been a little reluctant. The first weeks after Saltburn had been particularly hard on Farleigh. He had been on a path of self-destruction, like he was insistent on punishing himself for Felix and Venetia. He had made sure to frequent any and every party that he could manage, drinking and snorting whatever he could get his hands on. For a moment you thought that you might have lost him too. It put a strain on you both. With you constantly voicing your concerns and him always insisting that he was fine. It had all come to a head one night when Farleigh had made a snarky comment towards someone he shouldn't have. Despite all of his sarcasm and harsh words, Farleigh isn't a fighter. At least, not in the physical aspect. But that's all it had took. Some drunken, scathing remark, that honestly, you can't even remember. But you do remember the fist that came after it. How it had cut through the air, and the loud thump of bone hitting bone, leaving a tender bruise, blue and purple in its wake.

Even then, you could still see the temptation in his eyes while you had dug around in your freezer for some a makeshift ice pack, the temptation to curl back into a bottom of a bottle and never come back out. Finally, you had been the one who broke down, right in the middle of your kitchen, clutching a pack of frozen peas in your hand while the anger, and fear, and anxiety welled up to the surface. He had been quick to jerk up from his seat at the table, crossing the space between you and pulling you from the fridge and into his arms with broken, "I'm sorry's" spilling from him.

"I can't lose you Farleigh," you cried, burying your face into his chest, breathing in his scent like it might vanish. "I can't."

His self-hatred and the blame that he held his cousins didn't just clear up overnight after that. There were times where you could still see the temptation and loathing glimmering in his eyes, but he was getting better. He was starting to work past it a little bit at a time. To finally let go of all of the booze and writhing, dancing bodies; the sound of laughter and streamers drifting down in the air. The reminders of that summer night back in England, and the morning after, when Felix had failed to show up to the breakfast table. It was hard for both of you. The vacant, bleeding wound that was left in his absence. The pain that comes with it. But even worse, was the reminder that if you must be hurting from the loss, that the sheer agony that Farleigh feels is something that you'd never truly be able to understand. The anguish and torture that must weigh over him every waking moment from his cousins' unexpected death - the death that he had been blamed for in the eyes of James, all because of the words of a stranger.

Farleigh holds you like you're a ghost. He holds you like you might disappear if he doesn't. That you'll vanish and turn to smoke, or you'll turn your back on him like the Catton's - his family - have. God, even Venetia. Sweet Venetia is gone too. That's what Elsbeth had said to Farleigh when she reached out in a phone call one random evening. The last call - the last favor, she had said that Farleigh would ever receive from her. He had been inconsolable after that. Collapsing on the floor with violent, heaving breaths tearing from his chest after she had hung up on him. He had gone completely still before the flip phone had slipped from his hand with a harsh clatter. That was the only warning that you got before he had looked up to you, and the tears threatening to spill from his eyes had ripped your heart in half. It was the pained, lost sob that tore from his chest that ripped you from your shock and had you dropping down beside him and pulling him into your embrace.

You can't recall how long you had sat with him on the carpet, clutching him to your body while he cried and gripped at your arms, and shoulders, and back like he didn't know what to do with himself. It had been your turn to cling to him like he might have been the one to disappear if you hadn't, doing your best to swallow back your own tears as he cried into the junction of your neck.

You know that's all that his jealousy is. Fear that you'll leave him behind like the rest of his supposed family has. Sure, he has his mother and his father. But truthfully, he's always been saddled with the responsibility of keeping the relationship between them cordial; perpetually caught between the both of them. And his relationship with his mother is strained at best. Taxed by his constant worries for her recklessness with her monetary spending, and her inability to keep track of her expenses and bills. A defect of growing up wealthy, you suppose.

So when Farleigh insisted that he wanted to get out of the apartment. To go out and celebrate you were reluctant. You voiced your concerns about it, but you didn't fight him on it. You knew that he needed the distraction. A break from all of the loneliness, misery and pain. You both had come to the agreement not to touch any sort of alcohol or drugs during the duration of the little Halloween get together, and that was enough for you. You trusted him completely.

The first few hours at the party had been great. Even when way more people than planned arrived; all of them bringing friends and those friends brought their own until the house filled to its maximum occupancy. The floorboards and walls had practically been pulsing with the volume of the music blasting. Everything from Rob Zombie's Dragula to old Halloween classics like Thriller and The Monster Mash had blared out from the stereo system hooked up the living room. It had been nice to just let go and relax, letting yourself enjoy the first positive party experience in close to a couple months. For a while you allowed yourself to dance, grinding and moving against Farleigh, soaking in his heat and scent from around the chaos, feeling the warmth of his palms sweeping underneath your skirt and gripping onto your hips. It had been peace despite the excitement and havoc tainting the air like a sharp, heady buzz. But you knew something was wrong when you felt the brush of his lips pause over the skin of your neck, and his body had stilled against yours. It made you stop in turn, looking over your shoulder to check him with the confused whisper of his name on your tongue. And when you caught his eyes, locked onto something past your shoulders like a deer staring into the headlights of an approaching car, you wordlessly turned to track his sight.

It was a pair of wings. Tinted in shades of a fiery orange and violet from the lights strung around the circumference of the room. Their true color must have been a shade of soft white, but some broken part of you waited for them to shift into a rich, glint of gold. And in that moment, for a quick but painful second you could remember the scent of the summer air. Tinged and damp with dew and sweet with pollen and the alcohol that had been spilt across the lawn. The shifting bodies around you weren't people at all, they were the looming hedges of the maze, and the soft leaves sweep and scratched at your skin. It wasn't a girl in an angel costume wearing those wings, but Felix, dead and sprawled out on the lush grass while the heavy music mutated into the anguished cries of Venetia and Farleigh -

Farleigh.

You had snapped out the trance with a gasp. You had turned to him as quickly as you could. Gripping onto his forearms firmly, strong enough to break him from his lost stare. When he had looked down at you then, he was so broken. You could see a layer of tears glittering over his eyes from the cast of the lights; lost and defeated. "Let's go outside " you had said, sliding a hand down to thread your fingers into his own, gently tugging to lead him towards the front door, weaving through the shifting, wild throng of people who were caught up in the night.

You left without warning, desperate to get outside to breathe in the crisp autumn air. But once you both had made it out onto the front porch, neither of you stopped. You had both kept walking with your hands tightly fastened to each other as you set off down the street, vacant now that all of the trick r' treaters had long since purged the houses of all of their candy and turned in for the night to gobble down their bounties. Soon the loud pulse of music projecting from the house party faded into silence, and the only sound was the sharp clap of your heels and the thump of Farleigh's shoes against the damp concrete while the insistent barking of an unsettled dog a couple of blocks away range out distantly. It was still. Calm. And you just walked with no particular destination in mind, focusing on the feel of each other's presence underneath your hands. You would glance up at him every now and again, silently checking on him and you could tell by the look in his eyes that a part of him was still there. Still trapped in Saltburn; seated at that grand table in a room bathed in red.

And you suppose that you're still there too. Trapped in that chair, looking across the space that separated you to try and meet Farleigh's shocked, unseeing gaze. And so now you did your best to be there for him. Reminding yourself that you aren't there anymore. You're in the present now. You both are. You did what you could to remind Farleigh of that as well. Talking about anything that would pop up in your head to try and draw him out. You rambled about work, particularly your coworker Joy (which had to be the most ironic name ever) because he's always interested to hear the newest scoop of drama that comes from working with her. He hates Joy even though he has yet to meet her. He dislikes her just because you don't like her. It's always the highlight of your night to come home from a shift and just being able to sit down at the tiny kitchen/dining table for two and venting to Farleigh about your day. He always hangs onto each word like your gossip is an update on his favorite reality TV show. It's ritual of sorts that you'd usually save for at the night, when you were both unwinding from the day, but you found yourself rambling regardless.

You ranted about today's most recent bout of drama. Drama that he had already heard before when he had gotten home from his own shift, but it didn't keep the story from spilling in some desperate attempt to get him to come back to you. You reiterated how Joy had been caught sleeping with two of her ex's close friends without either of them being aware of it. Adding minute details that you had previously forgotten in an attempt to liven up the story. Retelling the drama that had blown up quite fantastically this morning, with both the both of her boyfriend's showing up to confront her, with the sort of coincidental timing that should have been impossible. You and the customers scattered around the store had been quite entertained for a good ten minutes before your manager had grown privy to the situation - mostly due to the loud shouting match that broken out between the scorned men - and threatened to call the cops on the pair.

"She deserves it," Farleigh had responded. The sound of genuine mirth had been enough to put you at ease and a quick glance had confirmed that he was smiling. It was faint. Hardly there, but you could still see the light impression of it perking at the corners of his lips. It motivated you to keep talking. About anything and everything that came to mind. But this time you felt less anxious to get the words out. Less worried. It was all relaxed and at ease as you strolled down the street, idly admiring the decorations strung up the houses along the road, burning string lights in varieties of purple, and green, and orange bordering their roofs. There were quite a few cemeteries made in the front lawns this year; fake Styrofoam headstones with skeletal arms propped up beneath them to mimic the dead rising from their graves.

But it seemed that your gut had other plans when you eventually found yourselves coming to a stop in familiar fractured parking lot belonging to a frequented IHop. One that could easily be mistaken as abandoned with its faded yellow paint dividing the parking spaces and the sun damaged pylon sign; muted to a dusty robin blue from all the years in the weather. You supposed that it wasn't all that odd that your subconscious brought you here. It was you and Farleigh's go to spot after a night of bar hopping.

Before you could even ask Farleigh if he was hungry, he was already leading you across the parking lot towards the double front doors with those corny decals stuck on the windows in the shape of witches on brooms and the silhouettes of soaring bats.

Now you watch Farleigh with a bittersweet smile on your face, tracing over the shape of the cat ears secured into the thick of his curls. It was some random headband of yours that he had dug up from the depths of your closet. To be completely honest, you aren't even sure where it had come from, but you're glad that he found them. You never knew that seeing Farleigh in a pair of cat ears was something that you needed to see.

It's in your blatant admiration that you realize that you're being watched as well, and it's enough to break you from your trance to look back over to the main dining counter where Daniel is finishing up with refilling the pepper and saltshakers. His stare catches yours and it catches you off guard how confident he seems. There's a playful, assured glimmer in his eyes while he watches you from behind the bar. You can't help but wonder just how long he's been staring at you for, and he makes it even worse when he winks at you.

Ugh.

Okay, Farleigh hasn't been wrong about the flirting you suppose.

You don't even bother hiding the disgust that seeps into your features, pulling your mouth into a scowl and you can see the way that he deflates with disappointment when you pull your focus from him and back onto Farleigh, who thankfully hasn't noticed the exchange. With the hand that balances the lit cigarette between its fingers he's absentmindedly fiddling with the handle of his mug, shifting the cup around like he's studying the way the porcelain glints underneath the pale glow of the fluorescents. You don't even think when you shuffle from your side of the booth. Farleigh watches you curiously when you step around the table to slip onto his seat until your nestled up against his side, smushing your cheek against his shoulder. A wistful smile lifts at the corners of your mouth when you feel him tilt his face onto the crown of your head, going lax against your body with a soft, inaudible sigh. You drag in his cologne in a lungful, taking in the warm spice of it, amber and cigarettes; infused with the subtle saccharine notes of vanilla and it has you relaxing even more. And with a full stomach, the influence of sleep is already beginning to pull at your limbs.

"We should head home," you suggest, tilting your chin up to peer at him from underneath your lashes - or you look at him as best as you can with him still leaning his cheek on the top of your head. "It's getting late."

"It's barely three," he counters. You can hear an amused puff of air leave his chest, but his tone almost sounds playfully offended, like he couldn't believe you'd propose such a thing. You just barely fight off the urge to roll your eyes.

"Don't you have work tomorrow?" You ask, reaching for his coffee to steal a sip, drinking down the sugared beverage without a shred of remorse. Even though you can practically feel the way that he's side eyeing you.

"Thanks for reminding me," he grouses with no real bite.

"You're welcome," you reply easily, tone lightly teasing and good-natured. You let your head roll back onto his shoulder, knocking his chin free from its perch so that you're fully able to look at him. He's already focused downward to watch you; the dark of his eyes glittering underneath the harsh glow of the fluorescents, highlighted with flecks of honey and bronze. "C'mon, you can't say that being home right now doesn't sound at least a little bit nice. We could be curled up underneath a warm blanket right now, watching bad scary movies. And we could finally knock out that bag of candy I bought," you tempt. "Or maybe you're just blowing it off because you screamed like a girl that last time we watched horror."

"I did not!" He denies, sounding and looking wildly offended.

Your eyebrows perk up, an unattractive snort leaving you. "You absolutely did."

You can recall that night quite vividly. You'd experienced Farleigh's . . . eh . . . incompatibility with horror films in the past, during movie nights and little get togethers at theaters with friends. So you had done your best to try and pick out something else to watch but he had been insistent that he could handle the movie. Unsurprisingly, he had flinched every time the harsh sound of that iconic chainsaw had blared through the speakers and had tensed up every time the camera had panned off the characters to imply a jump scare or oncoming attack from the unseen slasher. You had given him your hand to squeeze for moral support, but he had decided about midway through the movie that it wasn't enough and had practically begun to use you as a human shield, trying to wedge his body between you and the couch. His excuse had been that he just wanted to hold you, and for a moment you had believed him with how he had all but scooped you into his lap. But the way that he would nearly hide his face into the crook of your neck during the gory parts of the film was pretty telling. And when he wasn't using you as a buffer, he had tried to preoccupy himself by pointing out any plot holes and the dumb decision that any of the characters made. Not that you minded. His commentary is actually pretty hilarious when he gets nervous.

"That's not how I remember it," he counters confidently, prompting a light laugh from you.

"My mistake then," you reply softly, voice low but jesting. "I must have remembered it wrong."

He hums lowly in agreement and there's the hint of a smile on his lips. With the way that your faces are angled towards each other the points of your noses brush just a bit. You can feel the gentle warmth of his body heat wafting over your skin and sinking in deep. For a second you forget that you're curled up the booth of some ratty diner, that it isn't just the two of you in the world. You think that you could stay here forever, huddled up against him with the scent of coffee and his cologne in the air. His head angles closer to you, and you can feel the hint of his lips on yours making your lashes lower, threatening to slip closed.

"Let's go then," he says suddenly, and the gentle sensation of his lips vanish.

You jerk back with a look of betrayal on your face, but he doesn't seem offended in the slightest. If anything, there's a sort of satisfaction and mischief glinting in his gaze. You want to offer some kind of retort, but your brain is sluggish, a little addled with the desire to sleep and the waning influence of alcohol that nothing smart makes its way to the tip of your tongue. But you do pass a cursory glance at the table and the empty plates scattered along the countertop. "What about the bill?"

He looks at you like the answer is obvious, a sassy "really?" type of expression, leaning back against the backrest, stretching his legs out to give himself the leverage to reach into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. "We eat here all the time, and you always order the same thing. I know how much the bill cost."

"Damn, all right then," you mumble, watching as he throws a couple of bills onto the table between the plates and cups. Then he's nodding his chin at you, silently asking for you shuffle out from the booth, snuffing out the end of his cigarette and wedging what's left of it between the divot made into the edge of the ashtray. He's quick to follow after you with his body nudging along yours as you both slide from the seat. He tucks his wallet back into its place once he's up on his feet, already reaching to take one of your hands but the sudden projection of a familiar voice rings out, making you both pause. "Do y'all need the check?"

You turn to see Daniel who's leaning himself away from the bar and pepper shakers like he's ready to move and make his way around towards your table. Farleigh passes the server a look that seems nonchalant, but you know him well enough to still be able to notice the subtle curl of his top lip, judgmental and unimpressed. You just barely resist the amused urge to roll your eyes at the display.

"No, we're good," Farleigh says as he shrugs off his tux and then he's twirling the jacket around so that he's able to drape it around your shoulders in a single flourish. It's an obvious way of him trying to put a silent claim on you, but you find yourself exchanging smiles regardless; soft and almost private. He steps closer to you, and you turn on your heels to face the exit as he secures one of his arms around your waist, tugging you close against the warmth of his body. "Money's on the table."

He gives Daniel one last glance as you press one of the double doors open; it's just a pointed as the last and the smile on his face is just a little bit smug when you lean into him. But you don't let him revel in his gloating for long before you subtly grip the hand that he has around your waist and tug him out from the cozy shelter of the diner and into the night, tossing a quick, courteous "have a goodnight!" to Daniel from over your shoulder.

The walk back to the house seems quicker than the one before it, and before you know it, you're both slipping into the little Civic situated along the curb. Farleigh had rolled his eyes when you had expectantly held you hand out for the keys, which he had relented you to you with a small scoff. It's all for show. There's nothing he loves more than being chauffeured around; sitting in the passenger seat to tell you when the light has turned green and where to turn (even though he might just be one of the most directionally challenged people you know).

You take the backroads home, ignoring the main drags in an effort to avoid the scattered throngs of traffic that still occupy the popular streets. It's a short drive, but that doesn't stop Farleigh from digging around in the CD binder for music. The song only gets to around the halfway mark by the time you're sweeping the car into the designated parking space underneath a glowing streetlamp, decorated with one of those Halloween tensiles with those tiny pumpkin silhouettes. He doesn't let you turn off the engine, having you let the vehicle idle until the chorus of the song is over. Then and only then are you allowed to shut off the car. Not that you can complain much, you're always more than content to hear Farleigh sing.

Before you know it, you're both jogging up the steps of the second floor, passing by the door of your close neighbor; bordered with a garland and decorated with a Christmas wreath, already in preparation for the next big holiday. A juxtaposition to the Jack o' lanterns posted outside of your door like guards. The both of them are complete opposites of each other, with the face that Farleigh had carved in his made from smooth, seamless lines. Yours on the other hand . . . is a little less fortunate. To put it lightly, it looked like you had been under the influence of every drug and alcohol known to man and went at the pumpkin while you were seeing double; all jagged edges and overlapping corners. Carving had never been a particular talent of yours.

You have to wiggle the key into the lock when you twist it, the damn thing always sticks and snags on some inner mechanism that you don't know anything about. And when you nudge the door open, you have to firmly push it with the point of your shoulder to help it swing on its hinges because it always drags over the threshold. But you feel nothing but relief when you step inside with Farleigh closely trailing behind you, making sure to close the door and lock it once he's inside.

It was a comfort to be home after such a long night out, and the fragrance of a candle that you had burned earlier, fusing with old traces of laundry detergent and the distant scent of the Eggo's that you had toasted this morning (still somehow going strong) feels inviting. It's a small space. Hardly enough room for two people. But you and Farleigh happily make it work. The tight walls feel cozy, decorated with pieces of you both; framed photos from vacations and past road trips, and that painting of a gorgeous golden field that Farleigh had reluctantly gravitated towards at a thrift store (he had snubbed his nose at buying anything second hand for a while, but you had gotten him to come round to it eventually). It was your home. A safe space, a shelter from everything, and everywhere you look there are little hints of him.

After landing back in America from that awful flight from England with James' cold, harsh words still echoing around both of your skulls, you and Farleigh had practically become inseparable. You clung to each other. You were buoys for each other, keeping yourselves afloat with the unforgiving torrents flooding through your minds. That night at Saltburn feels like a dream. A ghost story. And no matter how hard you tried; you couldn't get that morning out of your head. The flashes of golden feathers; the sight of limp, pale skin; those wine-red curtains pulled over the windows, dousing the room in an awful crimson light, making the streaks of tears pouring down Farleigh's cheeks glitter lowly, his face pinched with confusion and anguish. The memory always has something bitter and sharp washing over your tongue; your chest tightens like your heart might rip in two and burst.

It had been you who had suggested moving in together. Only a few weeks after returning home from Saltburn. You and Farleigh had practically been cinched at the hip since then. It was odd for everyone on the outside looking in. You had always been at each other's throats before, lashing out with insults and sarcasm, but ever since returning back from England, neither of you could manage to pull away from the other for long. It was clear to see that something had happened during the trip, something to cause a fundamental shift between you and him. But neither of you ever bothered explaining much more past the fact that you had both "made up," so to speak, back in England. And you only told the necessary people about what had happened to Felix, such as Graham, who had built somewhat of a friendship with the Catton during his visits to the States. But that was all.

For a time, you struggled to find your rhythm in everyday life, to get out of that strange, muddled rut that your brain had sunk down into since Felix and Venetia's passing's. Farleigh, obviously, had struggled more than you. The cloud that loomed over him was thick and suffocating, and you could tell that it was threatening to tear him down and burry him underneath its weight. You made more of an effort to be near him, doing you best to visit him, to keep him out of his head and his guilt whenever you had time off from work and personal affairs.

He had, for the most part, moved in with his mother. Not because he had to, Farleigh had been able to save up a small cushion of money when he was still in the good graces with the Catton's, but because he needed it. He needed to be close to some part of his family. A part of it, no matter how small, that hadn't turned their back on him. Frederica did her best to console him too. But it wasn't always a help when she would often wind up just as equally as distraught as he was. Just as ravaged by grief of her niece and nephew's deaths and the hurt of her own brother fully cutting ties with her and Farleigh and renouncing them as part of the family.

As a result, Farleigh would often spend most of his spare time with you back at your old, shared apartment with Graham. Sometimes you wouldn't even talk. You just sit quietly and feel. Soaking in each other's warmth and scent. Reminding yourselves that you were both okay. That you were still present and here. That Saltburn hadn't taken you from each other and eaten you alive. It was one quiet night just like that, with Farleigh curled up in your arms while you reclined on the old outside couch on the balcony, gazing at the neighboring complexes and looming office towers with that particular question heavy on the tip of your tongue. Your eyes idlily skipped along the glowing windows of another nearby apartment building, taking in the sight of distant silhouettes shifting within them. Of other people going about their task, glimpsing into people's lives. Like the man pacing along his living room floor, angerly shouting into his phone; a young woman a few floors above him gently rocking her infant within the cradle of her arms as she halfheartedly watched something playing on the TV; but what caught your attention the most was an older couple shuffling along their carpet, arms wound around each other in a firm but soft embrace as they danced. Just enjoying the other's presence. Like they were the only two people left alive.

It had that question back with a vengeance, searing your tongue with the insistence to get out. But you held back. From fear, reluctance, anxiety. You weren't sure if he was ready for a step yet. The timing was admittedly a little awful. He was still mourning. Still bound and wrapped in grief. But you still couldn't help but hope that maybe this would be just what he needed. Maybe this could help to soothe him. It wouldn't heal his wounds. Not entirely. Only time could do that. But maybe it would be enough to let him know that he wasn't alone. That you weren't going to leave him. That you wanted and needed him just as much as he wanted and needed you.

The lease was coming up in about a month. Something you and Graham had talked about extensively before, mostly because he was planning on moving out to Nashville. Something about his music career because L.A. wasn't panning out how he had imagined it to. He said that he has put out an ad for possible roommates if you wished to stay and keep the apartment. But truthfully, you didn't need a space that expensive, that big. A fresh start was in order, a place to make new memories. And you knew exactly who you wanted to make them with. Who you wanted by your side. All you had to do was ask. It was just a simple question, that's all. But it really wasn't, was it? You don't just ask your boyfriend to move into an apartment with you after not even a full two months of dating. Especially after two of his family members died and his uncle disowned him. But you have known him for years, to be fair.

"Farleigh?" You spat it out before the anxiety could seal your jaw shut. For a second you had thought that he'd fallen asleep; the puffs of his breathing are warm and steady against your neck. You felt it more than you heard it, a low inquisitive hum that reverberated across your skin. You contemplated about lying, coming up with some kind of excuse and pretending that your question had never existed in the first place. Your silence must have caught his attention or concerned him, because he was shuffling himself back, nudging himself along your body and curling up along the sofa as best as he could without falling off of it, so that he was able to peer up at you from his place on your chest.

"What is it?" He asked, eyes glinting softly in the warm, pale lights strung up along the ceiling of the balcony. You saw something flash in them. Something vulnerable and worried, and you knew then that his brain must have been leaping to the worst possible scenario, hardwired in after all of the misery and tragedy that's fallen over him since Saltburn. It hurt you to know that he was jumping to the most horrible conclusion because of you, as unintentional as it was. It was more than enough incentive for you to spit it out.

"Do you want to move in with me? " You nearly cringed when you said it, and you made an effort to look anywhere else but him. You were afraid to see even the faintest possibility of hesitance or disgust cross over his features. "Not here. I mean it's fine. The rent and the utilities are honestly insane, and the landlord is kind of an asshole. So, maybe we could try something new? A fresh start for the both of us. I just - it's just an idea. You don't have to agree, obviously. I know it's a lot to sort of just ask you."

You tensed up when he moved himself fully off of you, and you adjusted yourself against the arm of the couch, drawing your knees close to your chest so that he had room to sit himself up beside you. It felt too stifling. Suddenly everything had been too loud. The sound of the traffic humming down below, the sharp honk of car horns and the squeal of bad brakes. The gentle breeze suddenly felt like it was howling and deafening in your ears.

"You're serious?" Farleigh's voice split through the chaos, drawing you attention onto him. The expression on his face had struck you. It didn't look betrayed or uncomfortable; it was hopeful, if not a little disbelieving. All of the anxiety lumped within your chest had thawed in an instant, vanishing like it had never been there at all, melting into something warm.

"I'm serious," you answered, the slight shake in your voice shifting into something firm and assured.

His throat bobbed, eyebrows slightly furrowing as he stared at you like he didn't know how to react. You wanted to say something. To tell him that he didn't have to answer so soon, or at all for that matter. He didn't have to agree or disagree with you. Either would be fine. His lips parted, the corners quirking with what might have been the faint pull of a smile. "I -" he drew in a short breath like he was trying to ground himself. His throat bobbed, while his gaze roved over your features like he was searching for something. The hint of a lie or a joke maybe, but he found none. "Yeah, " he answered, wincing slightly before correcting himself. "Yes. I'd love to."

It had only taken a couple of weeks to find something that seemed promising. Though it did help that neither of you had too many requirements to meet. As long as it was affordable (a near impossible condition to meet in a place like L.A. unless you want to live in a complete hole in the wall, but you got lucky - somewhat), and Farleigh also wanted a place that was close enough to his mother, and something that wasn't too far of a commute from your either of your jobs. Not much later, something had come up. It was . . . quaint to say the least. The size of the space was nowhere near the amount of room provided in your past apartment, nor Farleigh's old place. Something that he was less than enthused about when you were given a tour by the landlord, but it was something that he would eventually look past. Mostly. It wasn't perfect. On some nights, you can hear one of the neighbors practicing on their piano - luckily, they're pretty good at it, so it's more of a nice background music than a nuisance - and it takes close to a good ten minutes for the water to heat up, but it's yours. And with Farleigh with you, it's your home.

And now that you're finally back after a long night out, your first goal was to change out of your costume and clean up the makeup and grime of the night. You and Farleigh went about your usual routines, putting away your clothes and somehow the both of you wind up jumping in the bath together for a quick rinse. Exchanging soft kisses while basking in the warmth of the water and sneaking gentle touches under the guise of spreading bodywash along each other's skin. It didn't surpass any further than that. Not even with that delicate warmth and longing smoldering along each and every touch, the potential to become something more. You can see it in Farleigh's eyes too, glinting like something eager and hungry. But it's also soft when he looks at you. It makes you feel cherished and so wholly wanted, that for a moment, it's almost like your chest could burst open and all of the love and devotion filled up inside might come spilling out.

It's always been these little private moments between the two of you that you really hold dear. That you cherish and replay over and over again during idle moments throughout the day; quiet lulls in your work shift or when you're home alone. You can only hope that you can offer the same solace for Farleigh. A reprieve from his anguish. His guilt. He feels responsible for Felix, and by proxy, Venetia. You know that he does. You've seen it in his eyes, heard it from his mouth when he's distraught with the tears that come and go. He still jolts awake some nights, harsh enough to rattle and pull you from your sleep. He'll be disoriented, hazed over and still caught within the stubborn hold of sleep and bad memories. His eyes are always a little wild, glassy and damp from tears that have yet to spill over. On others, he does his best not to disturb you, doing his best to swallow down his quiet cries and slipping out of bed. But it's almost like your body can tell that he's gone. Whether it be the loss of his body heat, or the absence of his weight nestled beside your own, you never fail to wake up, slipping a handout over his side of the mattress to check for him. Clarity always rushed over you whenever you feel that he isn't there. Thankfully the panic has finally left after the first couple times he's done it, but the drive to find him never goes away.

He's usually in the living room, absentmindedly watching the TV. Or sometimes he's at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee or tea while he looks through old pictures on his phone. You always announce yourself with a small 'hey' as not to startle him, and he'll always greet you with a smile. Sometimes it reaches his eyes, sometimes it doesn't. But you always refuse to leave his side. Not until you're able to get a genuine laugh from him, not until you can see some sort of peace reflect in his eyes and you know that the horrors of that morning in the maze finally release their claws and sink back into the recesses of his mind. Not entirely gone, but not at the focus at least.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice pierces through the reminiscent fog clouded over your brain, drawing you from your thoughts and onto him. You have to tilt your head at an angle from the way that you have yourself tucked towards his chest with some of your back nudging against the chilled enamel of the tub. There's amusement flickering in his eyes, glittering like a dark bronze and molten honey underneath the glow of the warm bathroom lighting.

"You." A bit of a corny response maybe, but an honest one, and it comes out low and gentle.

"Sap," Farleigh smirks, an amused huff rising from his chest, but he presses his forehead against yours, sighing deeply when your skin brushes over his. A smile tugs at your lips, but you can't find it in yourself to form a response to his light teasing. Not with the dull lull of sleep in your system. The water is too warm, too pleasant, making your limbs pliant and heavy. And the feel of his body pressed against yours doesn't help fight off the sense of ease weighing your body down. "Come on," he calmly urges. "Let's go watch those movies you've been harassing me about all night."

"Don't act like you don't want to," you grumbled. "You even picked out one."

He doesn't verbally reply to you, but he does make sure to land a slap on your ass when you rise up out of the bathtub to slip into the clothes you had left on the sink. You shoot him a playful glare over your shoulder, but all you get in response from him is a cheeky smile.

That's fine, you'll tag him back. You're patient. He's quick to pull the drain on the tub before rising up and stepping over the enamel boarder, and you're hyperaware of his movements, quietly waiting for an open window to strike. You go about your business, trying not to make your anticipation obvious as you apply lotion over your body before slipping into your comfy clothes, all the while watching him out of your peripherals as he towels himself off. But he's still fully facing you, running the thick linen over his damp skin. He must pick up on your focus because his eyes skirt up to you, suspicion flickering in them and he squints at you with a smile curling on his lips. "What?"

"Hmm?" You hum cluelessly, doing your best feign ignorance with a light shrug. "Nothing."

He doesn't seem to be fully convinced, but he doesn't speak on it. For a quick moment you forget about your revenge completely. Getting caught inside the intimate atmosphere built within the bathroom; the humid cloud lingering over the space, perfumed with the fragrant notes of your bodywashes and lotion; vanilla, nutmeg, and cardamon. It's warm in here from the moisture, not uncomfortably so, but soothing like a rich balm. And with Farleigh here, it just helps to make the mood that's settled over you feel even more private and placid, like being wrapped inside a familiar blanket. But as peaceful as this is, you can't forget that easily, and a moment presents itself when he turns away from you in favor of reaching for his sleep plants, slightly bending over to tug them up and around his knees. You don't wait, reaching out and cracking your palm down on the soft swell of his cheek just before he manages to tug his sweatpants over his hips.

His head turns in your direction so quickly you briefly fear that he might get whip lash, but you see the warning flash in his eyes before he even moves, and luckily your body is quick to jerk into action before you have to consciously make an effort for it. You dart out of the bathroom, making sure to keep your footing and not slip on the tiles as you all but leapt out onto the carpeted junction situated between all four of the apartment's spaces. You could practically feel him coming up on you, even without the rapid patter of his feet tracking across the distance between you. There's a quick, playful shout of your name, urging you to make a split-second decision and you sharply veer off into the living room, just narrowly escaping the reaching fingers of one of his hands; you could feel them brush over your back as you flinched out of their grasp.

An excited, breathless laugh bubbles up from you, triggered by a combination of delight and an unserious sense of nerves; a primal instinct urging you to just move and avoid being grabbed. It guides you to swing around the end of the coffee table furthest from the entrance of the room just in time to see Farleigh bolt through the threshold. He's stops himself short before he could all but slam into the coffee table, and his body is pulled taunt, muscles bunched in preparation to sling him around the small piece of furniture and in your direction at any given moment. It has you on edge, even more so than that competitive glimmer in his eyes. "You know I'm gonna catch you," he taunts, leaning forward with a type of confidence that pisses you off. "So you should just give in now, and cling onto what little bit of dignity you have left."

You can't hold in the scoff that leaves you, the way that your mouth twists into a playful scowl. "Like I'd give in so easily."

You know realistically, this game isn't going to last long. There's only so many places to run to in the apartment. He's going to catch you at some point, but that doesn't mean that you can try to avoid it for as long as you can. He's growing impatient, you can tell by the way that he keeps shifting to different sides of the table, trying to trick you into flinching close enough for him to reach out and grab you. But that's fine. It's good even. You use it, pretending to jerk over to the left when he moves, prompting him to lurch forward to get ahold of you. But you anticipate the move, darting back on your feet and rounding around the side of the table before he can so much as blink. A loud surprised swear rings out behind you, a strained 'fuck' as you bolt towards the open threshold.

There's the hope that maybe if you get to the kitchen, you can hold him off better. The space isn't massive by any means, but the sparing amount of furniture provides more of an open area to move around in. The table there is bigger than the compact one in the living room, making it a better shield to provide distance. Your heart rate spikes with excitement as you dash towards your chosen destination, intent to put as big of a gap between you both as possible, tearing across the floor with a laugh. You come up on the kitchen in a matter of seconds, but before your feet can step from the soft carpet and onto the fake, vinyl flooring a sturdy arm snakes around your middle and pulls you into the firm expanse of a chest, ripping a sharp gasp of his name from your lungs.

It's his turn to laugh now, but it sounds smug and mocking as he backs up deeper into the living room. Every step just drives in your loss. You make idle efforts to get free, squirming and shifting in his grip, but his arms might as well as be steel bands around your abdomen. "So much for putting up a fight," he teases. But you don't get time to make a comeback before you're being spun and shoved down onto the couch. The push was light, but the fall steals the air from your lungs regardless, and the abrupt change in perspective leaves you a little disoriented. It's the sensation of the cushions around you shifting from someone's weight that reorients you, forcing your eyes to focus on the figure that sweeps over your body. His body heat rushes over you with the smell of amber and spice that has you sinking further into the piece of furniture when you should be trying to shuffle out from underneath him to escape.

The expression on his face is fully gloating, dark eyes twinkling with mirth, and the sight of it is enough to finally have some sort of retort spilling from your mouth, as delayed as it is. "Fuck you," you snap, but it does nothing to snuff out his apparent delight. If anything it seems to amplify it.

"Careful," he warns, dipping his voice down that low rumble that you love. His hands are placed on either side of your head, keeping you comfortably trapped underneath him. He angles his head with a teasing smile, the tip of his nose ghosting over yours. The shift in mood is obvious, but not jarringly so, nor is it unwelcome. It falls over you both as easily, and suddenly the intention of calming down for the night and enjoying a horror movie marathon leaves you just as the air from your lungs has. "I might just take you up on that offer."

"What makes you think I was offering?" You query, tilting your head so that his lips brush against yours, soft and inviting. The little amount of space between you gives you enough mobility to rearrange your legs, lifting to them to wrap securely around his waist, and he lets you draw him closer into the gap between your thighs with a light nudge. His eyelashes flutter, a minute gesture that you just barely catch underneath the intimate, dim glow of the lamp in the corner. Farleigh can hardly resist, draping himself against your body until his hips and stomach are pressed along yours and you can feel his body heat radiating from both of your clothes. Your body shifts in its own accord, softly rolling against his in a desperate motion to seek out more of him, and the thrilled look on his face makes a dull sense of embarrassment prickle at your cheeks.

"Call it a gut feeling," he answers and the pout of his lips whisper of yours when he speaks.

You fleetingly contemplate on taunting him back, but you toss that train of thought out the window. Instead, you tilt your chin to seal your mouth over his, swiping your tongue over the delicate skin, sweet and bitter with coffee and the smoke of a cigarette. He moans into you, light with what almost sounds like relief, and the noise, as simple as it is, is more than enough to have a dull throb of heat ripple down your spine. You slip your hands up his neck, reaching to scratch your nails up the base of his neck near the curls there, and it you're gratified to pull the desired response from him, satisfaction flaring in you when a pleasured shiver goes down his back. He licks into your mouth, languid and hungry.

His hips grind over yours, drawing a gasp from your chest when you feel the shape of him, already hot and heavy, through the material of both of your pants. It's more than enough to get you to chase after the sensation, working your own in a desperate attempt to build the warmth smoldering deep inside the base of your abdomen until you're both humping at each other on your living room couch like a couple of teenagers. One of his hands moves to your thigh, drawing it up higher and spreading it further open so that he can lean more of his weight, dragging himself across your clothed cunt meanly. You're already a little wet, slick between your thighs, but even then, you don't feel any urgency to rush. You just want to feel him. To focus on the press of his body against your own, and to breathe in the scent of him.

But the clothes you both wear serve as an irritating barrier. A buffer that dulls his warmth and the sensation of his skin on yours. The only thought swirling around in your head is that they need to be off, gone and tossed somewhere across the room. You slip your hands underneath the edge of his shirt, wadding it up within your hands and tugging. It earns you an amused laugh with him breaking the kiss to pull back and look at you, but not without a teasing bite against your bottom lip. "Is there something you want?"

"Yes," you say, voice almost petulant and determined. "Off. I want it off."

You don't stop trying to slip his shirt off, shooting him a glare when it hitches underneath his armpits, and he doesn't make any effort to assist you in shedding his clothes. "Okay, okay, " he relents, shuffling on his palms to readjust himself but he must have caught onto your hair because it has a stinging heat blossoming on the side of your skull, tearing a surprised yelp from your mouth. "Fuck! Hair - you're on my hair!"

"Wha - shit! Sorry!" He jerks back onto his haunches like you had struck him, thankfully drawing his hands back. The relief is near instant, but you can still feel the side of your scalp throbbing from the pain making you swear lowly. His gaze roves over you like he's expecting to find some kind of visible wound, and the concern in his eyes has affection curling in your chest despite the sharp tenderness echoing throughout your skull. That's what you get, you suppose, for trying to make out on a couch.

"It's okay," you assure, and the gentleness in your tone has him relaxing. A smile makes its way on his face, and he leans down again, this time making sure to be mindful of your hair, to place soft kisses across the expanse of your face. Peppering the cushion of his lips over your cheeks, your nose, your chin; each one an apology. Neither of you can hold in the small puffs of laughter that spill from you, lighthearted and close. You stroke your hands back up his neck again, curling your fingers over the nape to draw him in closer to return your own bout of kisses along the corners of his mouth and jaw.

"Still, I do feel bad," he says. That familiar cadence is back already, dipping low into a smoky rumble that you swear you can feel thrumming over your skin. "Let me make it up to you."

And even with the little slip up and the brief shift in mood that had come from it, it isn't enough to have dampened that coil of desire and want that burns in the cradle of your hips. Not in the slightest. The look in his eyes is consuming, dark and glinting with hunger and longing type of want. It's a look that never fails to weaken you, it's one that you've yet to build an immunity against, and you don't think that you ever will. It's honestly a little embarrassing how quickly it never fails to make you crumble. "I can't say no to that." You try to sound collected and unbothered, but there's a pale quiver in your voice regardless; a gasp nearly catches in your throat.

The smirk that tugs across his face is impish, entirely too complacent and a little mischievous for your liking. It's the type of gaze that you've been pinned under probably close to a hundred times already, and it's one that spells trouble and pleasure all in one. Just a pleasure that's always given on his time. But maybe . . . if you play your cards right, you might just be able to him underneath you instead.

Not just yet though.

"Atta girl," he purrs.

He moves himself off of you in a nimble blur - a complete opposite of the guy who had just awkwardly caught onto your hair earlier, to situate himself down on the floor. He doesn't wait for you to follow. Choosing to grip you by the hips and tug your body to face him, threatening to pull you right over the edge of the old polyester cushions and sending you ass first onto the carpet. But you manage to get a good grip on the headrest of the sofa to secure your seating. Which proves to be helpful when Farleigh hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear in a single pull and begins to jerk them down without fanfare. His movements are impatient but fluid, working the fabric from your legs in fast rush, balling them up and tossing them across the room. He hardly gives you any time to process anything before he's grasping both of your thighs and spreading you open by hooking your knees over his shoulders.

The tepid air brushing over the damp heat of your cunt is almost jarring and the gasp it pulls from you shudders across your ribcage. The anticipation welling up inside of you is already unbearable despite having done so little to warrant it; some dry humping and making out. But when it comes to Farleigh, you're damn near insatiable, and even the simplest things about him can set you off and dangle you over the edge. His scent, sweet and syrupy with the subtle notes of vanilla, but also warm from amber and cardamon. There's that spiced musk of cigarettes always on him too. It's never been a habit you've liked, a smell that you've ever enjoyed, but coming from him it still manages to make your mouth water. And then there's his eyes; expressive and bright despite their dark shade; dipping from what almost looks like a near black to a heated bronze, glimmering with flecks of copper and gold depending on the strength of the casted light. The sight of them pinned on you always has your body humming like a live wire and watching them skip around a room or from the faces of people, animated from the fervor of his passion or opinions never fails to make you flood with an array of emotions: peace, happiness, adoration. And then there's the sound of his voice and all of the various shades of it, from the soft, nonchalant rumble it takes during day-to-day conversations; that inflection that hits it in a playful spike when he's feeling particularly mischievous or sardonic; how low it can dip when he's got you malleable and eager underneath his palms, just like he does now.

You love all of it. All of the various sides of him and all of his qualities and imperfections. You could blame it on the honeymoon phase. That it'll just all wear off once the freshness of your relationship has worn off and sunk in. But truthfully, everything about Farleigh has always set you on fire, practically from the moment you met him, and you don't think it'll ever go away. That the sheer amount of heat and desire that you feel for him - that the aching way that you crave him will ever dampen or dull.

It's a realization that you've come to a while ago, but it still never fails to surprise you from the sheer scope of your feelings and adoration. Just how much you love all of him. From something as simple as waking up next to him every morning. Especially when he's asleep while the city is still sluggish and casted with the lavender and champagne hue of dawn, giving you time to admire him while he's relaxed and safe from all of his troubles. How expressive he is, all snark and sarcasm and sharp, quick-witted comments that never fail to get a laugh from you. He sometimes uses British terms and slang when he talks, and every now and again you swear you can hear a little bit of an accented lilt on his words when he speaks - especially if he's upset or impassioned in some way. And it even though it pisses you off to no end and you've given him plenty of ear full's about it, you can't find it in yourself to hold it against him when he's rarely able to keep track of time. Not even with red little watch secured around his wrist or the alarms on his phone; dates and schedules always seem to slip his mind. But he's gotten better. He's made and effort to try. And you love that little fact about him, because it's a part of him. Of who he is. And you love him so much that you wonder if it might just eat you alive and light you on fire. God, you really do love him. You love -

"Farleigh," you nearly whimper. He snags the tender skin of your inner thigh between his teeth and lips, nipping and sucking to tease you and wind you up.

"Be patient," he says, dragging the point of his tongue next to where you need him the most, leaving a blazing trail along your flesh in its wake." I haven't even started." There's that smug amusement saturating his tone, and you want to snap at him. To say something. But then he's slipping his hands underneath you to cup to the swell of your ass within his heated palms, slipping his thumbs towards the front of you to spread you open even more. You can feel how wet you are, smearing a little along your skin, leaving it chilled. Shame doesn't even register for you. You're already too worked up, too desperate. At this point you just want him to touch you. You know that begging him won't really get you anywhere. Not when he's like this. All you'll end up doing is stroking his ego, but you can hardly care about that right now.

"C'mon, Farleigh, pleas-" you fully choke on your words when his tongue drags over you, dipping into your entrance before dragging up to your clit in a single stroke. Your legs twitch from the surprise and you can't help but reach out to grasp onto his hair, threading your fingers into his curls as your lungs swallow down a moan in a shaky breath. He's working his mouth against you like a man starved, like he's desperate to drink down your taste and savor every bit of you. Sure, you've been with passionate lovers in the past, people who genuinely enjoy the act of eating someone out, but the enthusiasm that Farleigh always has when he goes down on you never fails to shock you. It takes every bit of conscious effort not to cry out. You do your best not to be loud, reminding yourself that it's got to be around three a.m. by now and you have neighbors. You've already had to deal with that once before. A little after the first week you and Farleigh had moved in, he had made it his mission to fuck you on nearly every available surface in the apartment, and it's safe to say that you two had been a little louder than intended. It had made checking the mailbox compartment outside near the front desk and taking out the trash to the dumpster unbearably awkward with all the side eyed glances and glowers you had gotten. Not that you could necessarily blame your neighbors for being a little disgruntled. Still, it's safe to say that you'd rather not do that again.

But it doesn't help that Farleigh seems to take your silence as some sort of challenge. You see it flicker in his eyes when you glance down at him, catching sight of his eyes from between your arms and the frame of your thighs. The look that glimmers in them is lethal and almost defiant, but it isn't something that you can brace for. He's always been talented with his mouth. The first night that you had hooked up on that stone balcony back at Saltburn you're pretty sure that he had damn near killed you with his tongue. And in the few months you've been together, somehow, he's gotten even more dangerous with it. He's had time to learn everything about you. How to take you apart piece by piece. What makes you twitch, and shudder, and scream, and you can tell concentrated glare that he has that he's going to do his best to pull you apart by the seams.

He curls his tongue around your clit and sucks hard, making you jolt and then he's laving the muscle down to sweep it along your entrance. That's the only warning you get before he slips inside, dragging it slow to make sure you feel every bit of it. He's only just started, and that molten heat is already curling down your spine and building between your hips. His hands slip upward to grip onto your thighs, squeezing the sensitive skin there and mushing them against his ears. He moans against you, sending vibrations across your cunt that makes your toes curl. But even in the midst of the bliss searing at your body, your brain is still able to cling onto the fact that the noise he made almost sounded doleful. It's with a ragged gasp that you force yourself to pull your focus onto him, trying to center your attention through the low haze that's already clouding your brain. You can see the way that his eyebrows are pinch closed, almost like he's displeased or annoyed. But before that nervous flutter in your gut can become anything serious or unignorable, he's jerking away from you, forcing a mournful whine to spill past your lips from the absence of his mouth.

"Far, what -"

"Sit on my face."

His request - command, really - comes out a little ragged. Breathless. And he all but flops back on the floor, letting his limbs sprawl out carelessly. But his eyes don't drift from your in his descent, they remain locked onto you with a sort of depraved yearning. For a moment your brain seems to lag, and in turn your body straggles behind, leaving you lie across the couch and stare. Too caught up in the sight of Farleigh. His breathing is already slightly labored, causing his chest to rise and fall, forcing air from his lips, which are glistening and smeared with your arousal. And you don't miss the fact that he's already hard, heavy and straining against the burgundy fabric of his sleep pants. Even with of tempting of image that Farleigh is spread out in front of you, there's still a question on your tongue. He must have been able to see your hesitance, something in your body language or a glimmer in your eyes because the look that he fixes you with is steadfast and maybe even a little exasperated. "Sit. On my face." He enunciates the words slowly, like he's giving each of them time to really sink in through your skull.

That's really all it takes for the majority of your doubt to waver. Farleigh isn't one to ask for things that he doesn't want. And in your small time together you've already managed to build up a strong level of trust between each other, especially in regard to sex. It's enough to give you the confidence to slink off of the couch, kneeling yourself down over his legs to work yourself along his body until your hovering over his chest. But even with his anticipation palpable in the air, you still can't help but be a little bit nervous and the torrent of thoughts raving your mind does nothing to ease your concerns.

What if you smother him? What you're too heavy? What if -

"Hey."

His voice gives you something to cling to, centering your thoughts with something as simple as its sound. His hands cup your thighs, gripping them with their warmth and caressing the skin with their fingertips. It pulls your focus downward where he gazes up at you from between the apex of your legs, eyebrows raised and the hint of an amused smile perking at the corners of his lips. "You've literally choked me before."

The comment has a small bubble of laughter leaving you, despite its truth. He isn't wrong. It's not like breath play is a new development between the two of you, so you honestly aren't sure why the idea of sitting directly on his face seems so daunting. Just two taps against your thigh. That's all it would take, and then you'd be pulling yourself off of him in an instant. This really isn't unfamiliar territory in the slightest. It's just nerves, is all. That little realization, no matter how small, is enough to have excitement and heat burning through your veins; flaring and needy.

"Ready?" You ask, trying to swallow down the faint flutter of nervousness in your stomach.

The expression that flickers across his face is absolutely delighted, if not a little wicked. "Fuck yes," he pants, sending a warm puff of air across the slick that's smeared across your inner thighs. His hands clench around the grip they have on you when you adjust yourself forward and begin to lower yourself downward. Apparently, you were going much to slow for his liking because he's lifting his head up to meet you, tongue first. It feels as though it's been doused with liquid heat when it lashes along cunt, forcing a sharp cry from your lungs from the pressure of it. It's enough to catch you by surprise, making the muscles of your thighs twitch and give out. The full brunt of your weight would have collapsed onto his head if you hadn't managed to grab onto enough awareness to catch yourself with your palms.

"Farleigh," You hiss, equally elated and scolding.

All you get from him is a moan in response, but it sounds purely happy. Almost euphoric. The vibrations of it thrumming over you and the pressure of his nose nudging across your clit fully douses over what little reservations you have left. His fingers flex tight, and his strength bears down on your legs to fully seat you on his mouth, sealing the heat of it over you. If it wasn't for the fact that you're already supporting your weight on your arms, you probably would have doubled over from the sensation of it. It's completely involuntary when your hips begin to roll, seeking out the friction of his nose and tongue. You can't even find it in yourself to be worried about crushing him or cutting off his breathing with the wanton groans that start to pour from him in an uninhibited stream. It's almost as though he's the one . . .

That trail of thought has you leaning yourself back, just barely managing the coordination and thought it requires to pull your weight into your thighs again and off of your arms. You turn your head to glance over your shoulder and the sight of his hand stroking up and down his cock is enough to tear a whine from you. Your cunt clenches around nothing, achingly empty while he laps and sucks at your clit, stroking molten bliss throughout your veins. You aren't sure when he had pulled himself free from his pants, and you aren't sure how you didn't manage to hear the low wet sound of his palm dragging over his length, slick with the flow of precum, but you're unable to pull your attention away from the sight of it now.

You can already feel the pressure of that sultry heat coiling deep inside of you, dangling you precariously close towards that delicious edge. You mouth drops open in a silent whine when his tongue slips inside, lapping deep like he's trying to drink you down. Pleasured tremors zip up your thighs and stomach with each drag and suck from his mouth, threatening to make your eyes roll. Even then, you still have enough clarity and drive to want to return the favor. You reach behind yourself, managing a cursory glance over your shoulder just long enough to be able to grab ahold of his cock, just above his own hand. The position is admittedly a little awkward, and you can feel the strain of it simmering along the taut muscles of your back as you squeeze his length and twist your wrist over his heated skin. But it isn't enough to get you to even consider stopping. He whines against you at the feel of your palm on him, and his hips jerk up into both of the holds you have on his cock, desperately seeking out more friction with fervent thrusts from his hips.

The two of you easily fall into a unanimous, rhythmic pace, and his hand brushes against your own as they both slip and down his girth. You make sure to squeeze the head of his cock with each upstroke, pulling a frayed moan and another flow of precum with each tug. The broken, sharp moans that spill from him help to hurdle you towards that rising, frenzied tide of bliss. The way that his tongue works inside of you makes your muscles seize, threatening to sweep you under quickly. A little too quick. You don't want this to end just yet. On just about any other time, it wouldn't have been a problem, but you don't think that you have more than one round in you tonight. Not with all of the dancing and partying you had done earlier; the emotions that had run; the small glimpses back into Saltburn and wounds that had reopened with just the small glimmer of a pair of Spirit Halloween costume wings. You wanted to feel him. You needed him. But you had to stop now before the smoldering warmth licking across every nerve and cell in your body lit up and engulfed you entirely.

"Farleigh - wait." You gasp around a choked moan, trying not to mourn the loss, to focus on the heavy ache that racks through your body at the absence of his tongue. "Wait, wait, wait."

Even though you can feel the hesitance in his grip he allows you to pull your cunt from his mouth, but there's a torn whine from his chest and for second he chases after your hips before letting his head plop back down on the carpet with a defeated sigh. There's a confused furrow set between his eyebrows, though you're sure he's getting mixed signals based on the way that you haven't paused or released the grip you have on his cock.

"As much as I'd love to cum from your mouth, I need you to fuck me." It's then that you remove your hand from him.

"Okay - fuck - please, yes." He nods his head vigorously and the look that burns in his eyes is bright and eager. Suddenly the hand that he was jerking over his length is now on your waist, following as you begin to shuffle down his body until you can feel the crown of his cock drag across the heat of you, spreading your lips open around the shape of it and dragging along your clit in a delicious grind. You both moan at that little bit of friction, and as worked up as you are, you can't help but stay that way for a moment; slipping a hand down to grip the base of him so that you can roll your cunt over him with tight circles from your hips. His head tilts back against the floor and the expression that melts over his features looks tortured and dazed all at once. You take the time to just watch him; the mixture of his spit and your arousal that gleams over his lips like a perverted sort of balm; the short, almost labored gulps of air that shudder across his ribcage, only concealed by the fabric of his T-shirt; and you can see the light of the lamp glittering dimly across his hair, showing up like streaks and winks of amber and cinnamon.

"Don't tease me," he complains, hitching his waist up to thrust the head of cock against you in a way that has you crying out in surprise; sending a smoldering shot of lust into your veins. Even then, you can't hide the amused smile that stretches across your lips. But that's as much as you bother to taunt him considering that you're already plenty of worked up yourself. You don't bother with any smug comments or sarcastic quips. Instead, you're taking ahold of him and lining him up with your entrance. And you don't bother giving him time to breathe before you sink down around his girth, taking him in with a single motion that makes him choke on an inhale. Maybe it's a little mean of you, not letting him catch up and adjust to the sensation, but the sheer delight that burns in his eyes lets you know that he isn't bothered in the slightest.

That doubled with the flexing grip he has on your hips lets you know that he doesn't want you to stop. You press your palms flat on his chest, not enough to be crushing, but enough to provide you the leverage that you need to rotate your hips over him in smooth, deliberate rings that have you both quivering and plunged in an ecstasy that frays your senses and pulses over your nerves. He helps you along by meeting the shift of your hips, thrusting into you with deep, heavy strokes. He's insatiable, running his hands all over you. Like he's afraid you'll vanish, and he has to commit you to memory before you slip through his fingers. It has you dipping your head as low as you can without disrupting the rhythm you've built, and he props himself on his elbows to meet you so that you're able to lock your lips with his. You come together with the brush of teeth and tongue. It's clumsy and messy, but even then, it has nothing but pure want melting over your bones like wax and honey.

The hold his hands have on you is greedy and fervent, like he wants to soak your warmth in through his palms and keep it to himself. He slips them underneath your shirt, coasting along your skin until they meet the swell of your breasts, kneading them with his fingertips. It's enough to have you keening aloud and fucking yourself on him like you'll die if you don't. Each stroke tips you that much closer to burning alive, and you can tell by the way that Farleigh's muscles tense with each grind and push from your hips, that he isn't that much better off either. You're both going to pull each other under into something alive and lambent until there's nothing left of yourselves but heaving, wrecked pieces clinging to each other. And you want nothing more than to singe and ignite with Farleigh.

The thought alone gives you the motivation to work yourself on his length, squeezing the walls of your cunt over him, making him groan and swear under his breath against your lips. It has his head tipping back, severing the press of your mouth against his. But you don't have time to mourn the loss when he all but whines into the air, pitched and raucous like he's been overstimulated. Though the near bruising grip he has on your tits and the way that he vigorously meets your thrusts lets you know that he's far from at his limit yet.

But you can already feel it, rising up and threatening to take you apart. You can taste it on your tongue; sweet and electric, and you chase after it with a desperation that might knock you into oblivion. And God, do you want that. It's so selfish, but you want nothing more than it to be just you and him, tangled together for eternity; caught within the push and pull of reaching limbs and constant desire and love; suspended in time - in this moment permanently. You try to warn him as best as you can, but it comes out as a jumbled pile of mess and a breathless sob when your body seizes tight around him like it wants to take him for all he's worth. It zips up over you like something white and hot and consuming. Stars blanket over your vision, sweeping over your limbs and spine with a weight that knocks you down into his chest despite the hungry grind of your hips.

It's with a worn gasp of your name that you feel him pulse deep inside of you, filling you with a warmth that you swear settles so far in the pit of your stomach that it has you going boneless. The colorful array of stars blinding your vision blot out and fizzle like you're staring into a sky full of fireworks as pleasure fizzles and wracks through your body bone deep. You seize over him, clamping down on his cock one last time and you distantly register him hissing lowly like he's been wounded. You aren't sure how long you lay like that. Suspended and doused in pleasure and heat, floating above your body. But when you come to, Farleigh's panting beneath you, drawing in heavy lungful's of air while his fingertips run along your ribcage, tracing over the bone.

You take him in. The moment: the weight of him still nestled within your cunt; the scent of his cologne and sex in the air and the sound of your labored gasps. This is peace, you decide. Just him and you. His heat, his presence. Him.

"I love you."

The confession hangs heavy. For a moment you don't register who spoke it. If it was you or him. But the tone of it, smoky and rumbling, paired with the vibrations of a voice thrumming throughout the chest pressed underneath your ear let you know who had spoken. It has you lifting your head to look at him, but his gaze is focused on the ceiling like he's afraid to meet your astonished stare. Your lip's part, ready to speak and assure him. To share a confession of your own and let him know that his feelings are returned but then his voice is drifting out again, cutting you off before the words even leave your throat.

"I've been wanting to say it for a while," he says. Something flickers across his face, vulnerable but steadfast. "But I waited. I just . . . I didn't want you think I was saying it because of what happened - because I was hurt."

The admission breaks something it you. It isn't angry but sympathetic and loving. It's warm - gentle. It guides you to prop yourself on your elbows so that you're really able to look at him, and it draws his attention enough to have his eyes flickering onto your face. "It's . . . I have regrets from that night. That morning -" he pulls in a deep breath to steel himself and you move a hand to cup his face, hoping that it'll help to center him somewhat. You feel a bit of relief when he leans into your touch instead of pulling away, and some of the tension in his muscles slip. His eyes suddenly seem as though they're pinning you in place; dark and certain even though there's the hint of tears welling up around them. - " things I would have done differently. You aren't one of them."

You can feel tears of your own threatening to spill over. But these are of joy. You swear you might actually burst. That the sun might appear within your chest and eat you alive. "I love you too."

The smile that breaks across his face is euphoric and light. Like the weight of the world has just been lifted from his shoulders from your words alone. It has you dropping your head forward until your forehead nudges against his own and you're breathing his air. His hands sweep up to cradle your face, guiding you to look at him. And for the first time in your life, you truly know what it means to be gazed upon like you had hung the stars in the sky. Like you had suspended the moon in its dark cradle and lit the sun alight. To be looked at like you are everything. "Say it again."

"I love you," you answer without hesitation, and all you can do is hope that your own eyes convey the sheer magnitude of your own feelings. That your voice properly projects the scope of your love for him.

"Again," he begs like he's been starved, placing soft kisses along your face.

"I love you, Farleigh Start. I always have."

You hardly get time to register the fact that he's flipping you over, swapping your positions with a single move until your back is pressed into the cushion of the carpet. Suddenly he's taking up the entire expanse of your vision; dark eyes twinkling and alive. The laughs that leave you both are chiming - almost musical. Airy and entirely carefree. His lips brush over yours and his breath coasts over the shape of your face, and the only thing that you can smell, and feel is him. The warm, soothing weight of his body and the familiar scent of vanilla and cigarettes.

"We're gonna get a noise complaint one of these days," you warn without any bite.

His eyebrows raise, and the smile that stretches over his face is entirely unapologetic. "If the dude with the piano hasn't gotten any shit yet then we should be fine." He runs his nose along yours, nudging you to angle your head so that he can brush his lips over yours. "Fuck 'em."

You can't hold back the small bout of laughter that puffs from your chest, even as you playfully roll your eyes. "Fuck 'em," you agree just before you meet in a burning kiss.

#farleigh 💖#screaming crying throwing up i'm absolutely devastated

239 notes · View notes

french-goodbye · 1 month

Text

the slut, the prince, the freak | steddie x fem!reader

♡... got lovestruck went straight to my head

got lovesick all over my bed...♡

summary: eddie munson always thought he was invisible. with a cigarette in his mouth, he observed the world of hawkin’s high school from his usual parking spot outside. he was there when you and steve broke up and he started dating nancy wheeler while you played with the heart of almost every popular boy in the school. he was there when the rumours of your reputation turned cruel and steve lost his crown. and he was there when you started secretly fucking your ex-boyfriend in the boys’ toilets during lunch break.

word count: 10.5k

popular!fem!reader x king steve x loser!eddie | exes with benefits (reader x steve) | no use of y/n | no upside down | no mentions of specific race, hair type of body type

warnings: this blog and the content i write are +18, minors do NOT interact. NSFW. a bit of angst at the beginning. mentions of blood, bullying & slut shaming. voyeurism, fingering, finger licking, oral (m & f receiving) p in v, use of the word daddy, use of good girl, threesome, anal play, double penetration, unprotected sex, overstimulation.

author’s note: hello ♡ im not usually a steddie girl but i’ve been thinking about this idea for months !!! kinda inspired on miss americana & the heartbreak prince and slut! by taylor. loosely edited so pls be kind if you find any typos. it started being very smutty but it somehow turned out kinda fluffy too because you know i loooove a throuple and steddie is very sweet in this. enjoy x

masterlist

[dividers by @cafekitsune]

You were too young when Steve Harrington became your boyfriend. It was destined, your parents said, when they first found out you were dating. You were both sixteen, clumsy and unexperienced, and while he wanted to make his parents proud, you enjoyed the fact that dating King Steve made you popular.

But after two years together, your realised that there was something missing between you two. Steve was sweet for sure; he was nice to you, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t like him.

One day, as you were taking your books out of your locker, you saw him leaning on the wall talking to Nancy Wheeler. She looked at him from under her lashes, cheeks rosy and smile shy while Steve looked back at her with that flirty stare that once drove you crazy, and you just knew.

The next Friday you were in his car after dinner with his parents and you looked at him from the passenger seat, no pain in your heart, just knowing that whatever had bloomed between you two had run its course.

‘I think you should ask her out.’ You said then, eyes fixed on the windshield. Steve’s stare was overflowing with confusion at your words.

You had been his first everything. Neighbours since you moved to Hawkins when you were nine, best friends since the first day as the new girl at school, first kiss, first girl he slept with, first love.

‘What?’

You tried to read his eyes, knowing him so well, but that night his pupils seemed to be hiding something behind them. The sudden distance between you and the boy you knew like the palm of your hand made you feel insecure.

‘Nancy. She’s pretty. I think you should give it a shot.’

Steve’s eyes turned soft at your words. You weren’t angry, there was no sign of jealousy on your tone, and that was enough for him to know.

You gave him a sad smile and leaned in to kiss his warm cheek, your coconut perfume that stuck to his body like a second skin filling his lungs. The cold yet familiar texture of your lips lingered on his cheek after you stepped out of his car and walked back to your place.

Rumours flew around the school and though you and Steve smiled at each other in the hallways, it was obvious that you were no longer the It couple of Hawkins. A few weeks after that, guys from the sports team started to ask you out and Steve was seen making out with Nancy after classes.

It was weird the first months, but after a while you had to make peace with the image of them walking around the school holding hands, and you started going out on dates again.

But you got bored quickly. It was the same every couple of months, a cute guy from the football team would ask you out, you’d go on a date, make out or if you were in the mood, have sex and when they started showing feelings for you, you ended it.

You weren’t sad or disappointed, it was just boredom. Some of them took it nicely, others… not so much. But what if they called you a slut in the hallways? You were still pretty and inaccessible to most. You were having fun.

And Steve, well, he had heard of your reputation, but if he saw anyone talking shit about you, he was always quick on telling them to shut up. He knew he’d always be protective of you, waving from his bedroom’s window when you played with your dog in the backyard every evening, and closing his curtains when he saw you kissing some guy in your bedroom on weekends, sometimes staying in rather than going out as he meant to, just in case. In case something happened. In case you needed him. In case you called.

But that never happened.

There was another person in the school that was willing to defend you from the rumours, but you didn’t even know about his existence until one day outside school, when Jason Carver lost his temper with you.

‘I mean it was nice…’ He overheard you say as you stood in front of Jason. ‘I just don’t really feel we’ve got that much chemistry.’

Eddie Munson was leaning against his car from the other side of the parking lot, hiding his amused expression behind a cigarette. Whenever he saw your pretty face around the school, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Eddie had always admired the confidence with which you talked to boys, dressed in those little skirts and knee socks he loved even if the autumn chill was too cold for them. Internally, he kind of liked how careless about dating you were, using those guys for a few weeks before dumping them. He’d argue you had terrible taste in men, from Harrington to Carver to any other pretty boy in the school, but he knew he would never have a chance with you.

‘What the fuck?’ Jason said, but no muscle from your face moved.

‘Come on, Jason.’ You tried to be kind but God, was he annoying. ‘Don’t be silly, I’m sure there’s a bunch of girls in Hawkins that would kill to be with you.’ He opened his mouth to say something, but you didn’t let him speak. You never let them. ‘Anyways, I’ll see you around.’

‘Wait a fucking minute, you slut.’ You didn’t even have time to blink when his hand grabbed your arm so tightly it hurt. Eddie observed how you frowned in pain at Jason’s grasp. ‘You don’t get to break up with me.’

‘We’re not even dating, asshole.’ You said trying to get out of his grip. ‘Let me go.’ But the pressure on your arm became even stronger and more painful. ‘Seriously, Jason. Let go!’

Eddie didn’t wait for it to escalate when his fist hit Jason’s jaw and the boy’s hand finally let your arm go. ‘She told you to leave her the fuck alone.’

But Jason was not going to let someone like Eddie Munson walk away just like that. His fist hit Eddie’s nose, and you took your hands to your face when he fell on the ground with a loud noise. Jason kept hitting him even when you screamed at him to leave the boy alone, trying to push him away from Eddie while a bunch of students surrounded you.

It wasn’t pretty. By the time they were separated, Eddie’s face was full of blood and Jason only seemed to have a small bruise on his cheek.

‘Hey!’ You called as the guy that defended you walked back inside the school. But Eddie felt too humiliated to talk to you, and all his bravery had been replaced by a deep sense of shame.

Steve didn’t think he’d find such a scene in front of him when he was about to walk out of the toilet. Eddie The Freak Munson walked inside the toilet with a bloody swollen face. Standing on his place as Eddie opened the sink, he observed the way the boy features clenched in pain when he took his hands to his face.

‘Do you need anything, Harrington?’

‘That just… that looks pretty bad. Should I call the nurse?’

But Eddie only laughed bitterly, not really used to anyone caring too much about him. He had always been invisible in front of people like you or Steve.

‘I’ll be alright.’ He said indifferently, and Steve nodded hesitantly, eyes lingering on the ringed bloody knuckles for a couple of seconds before leaving.

Steve didn’t think too much about it until he heard why Munson had been hit. The rumours said Jason Carver almost hurt you and The Freak had intervened at the right moment, but you felt weird talking about it, so you didn’t answer anyone’s questions as the bruise on your arm started to go from red to purple.

You searched for Eddie the following day at school but didn’t see him. His car was missing in the parking lot and when you tried to drive to his place to thank him, his uncle told you he wasn’t in, even if you heard the clear sound of a guitar being played behind the man on the threshold. So, you got the message.

Next Friday, you found yourself drinking and looking at Steve and Nancy from the other side of the party. Steve made eye contact with you as he danced with his girlfriend, and you gave him a sweet smile that he returned. It would never be strange for you to see him with someone else, but at the same time, you told yourself you weren’t really jealous.

But maybe Nancy Wheeler was.

‘Why do you keep looking at her?’ She asked. They were in the toilet after Steve had accidentally thrown his drink on her.

‘What? Who?’ His hands were a bit shaky at the anger behind Nancy’s eyes as he offered her some tissues to clean her clothes.

‘Who?’ She mocked, ‘Your ex-girlfriend, it’s like you’re obsessed with her or something.’

‘I’m not–’

Just then, the toilet’s door opened. Their eyes lift up to find you face, blood rushing to your cheeks quickly at the sight of your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend.

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ You said, to what Nancy rolled her eyes.

Steve saw the way you looked at her confused. He opened his mouth to apologize for his drunk girlfriend when his eyes caught the purple bruise on your arm, quickly looking back at you. You knew those eyes so well, he was worried. A question in his pupils as his mouth opened slightly. But you turned shy then, embarrassed by the bruise and by your drunkenness, feeling like you had somehow disappointed him.

‘Hey–’ He started, but you closed the toilet’s door quickly before walking towards the living room to tell your ride you wanted to go home. You shouldn’t have come to that stupid party anyways.

On Monday, everyone knew that Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were no longer together. You started wearing long sleeved sweaters on top of your usual cute tops with the excuse of the low temperatures, but you were just covering the bruise that had made you feel so humiliated when you last saw Steve.

Eddie thought he was probably the only one that noticed you were wilting after what happened with Jason. He started to be more careful after the fight too, face still purple and swollen by the bruises that cost him the stares of people who called him a weirdo in the hallways. So, he decided to start eating his lunch in the school’s toilets rather than in the cafeteria.

But he still observed you in between classes, when you were distracted taking your books from your locker, keeping your eyes low. When you started to turn down the dates the popular boys invited you to, punishing yourself for what you thought you had caused. Eddie saw the way you hid your pretty eyes from Steve, who often stared the back of your neck during class or in the hallway, and with narrowed eyes he silently noticed Harrington’s face full of confusion and sadness as you ignored him in the parking lot.

Steve would lift his eyes to find Munson’s gaze on him, not breaking the eye contact as his ringed, scarred hands reached for a cigarette in his pocket. His cheeks would turn hotter at the piercing look in Eddie’s pupils, as if he had been caught doing something stupid, or as if he knew something Steve didn’t. All he could do was open the door of his BMW to go home and try to get you off his head as his knuckles wrapped tightly around the wheel.

It all went downhill for Steve after that.

Months later, some rich kids called Eddie to bring some weed over for them at a party, and when he opened the big wooden door of the fancy house, he found Steve’s swollen face on the other side of the door.

The boy ran past him, not even noticing when Eddie stood next to the door and watched him get inside his car. He should’ve done something, he should’ve offered him some help like he had done months ago when he hit Jason, but Eddie was paralysed. He didn’t realise he had been standing outside like an idiot, watching Steve’s car get lost in the distance, until a familiar body walked past him again.

Your coconut perfume made him take a step back into the shadows of the night. You were standing on the street now, your bare back exposed by a nice little dress, trying to see through the darkness. But Steve was gone. The night’s cold air made you shiver, and Eddie decided to walk inside the house before he could do something stupid, like talk to you.

When Eddie walked in, he looked around, trying to find any of the people he had spoken to on the phone earlier. He was about to walk into the kitchen when the sight of Billy Hargrove’s bloody knuckles made him walk away in the opposite direction.

You saw Steve’s bruises heal from the distance.

The laughs of Carol Perkins and Tommy Hagan made you lift your eyes sometimes, but Steve no longer hung out with them, the empty space where he belonged once making you frown your eyebrows with curiosity.

Sometimes you stared at the phone next to your bedside table, laying on your bedroom’s floor with your hair wet after a shower and your feet bare against your green rug, thinking about calling him. But you never felt brave enough to deal his number, and you had grown fond of walking your dog around the block instead of playing with him in the back garden of your house. Or that’s what you told yourself.

You thought he and Nancy would eventually come back together, hopeful that it might all have been a misunderstanding and completely unaware of how you had caused the breakup on the first place, but she was now dating Jonathan Byers. He must be feeling lonely, you thought the morning you found the new couple kissing against Jonathan’s car.

Yet you would still look back to your locker when you saw Steve walking down the hallway, a little red scar marking his lower lip, purple bruises around his nose fading. You were dying to talk to him, repressing a sigh as the smell of his familiar woody cologne invaded your lungs when he walked past. But you abandoned the idea, closing your locker’s door a bit too harshly before heading to class.

Didn’t everyone feel utterly miserable in high school, anyways?

It all changed two weeks after that, when you were on your way to the cafeteria and Billy Hargrove tried to ask you out. You stood next to your locker in shock, lips partly opened but nothing coming out of them. You had turned more introvert after what Jason Carver did to you, and you figured Hargrove would treat you worse than him. You’d seen what he did to Steve, and the way his little sister seemed so tense around him all the time sent shivers through your body. You almost felt your hands shaking next to your sides as you looked back at him, but the fear quickly turned into something else: anger. Why did you have to be so careful around all these assholes?

‘I don’t… I don’t think so, Billy.’ You said before trying to walk past him, but Billy placed his arm on your locker and blocked your way out, making you roll your eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but you pushed his chest with your hand. ‘I said I don’t want to. Leave me the fuck alone.’

‘What? You’re getting picky now after half the school has slept with you?’

And that’s what made you snap.

You kicked him on the shin by reflex, the first thing you brain could come up with. But when he reached for his leg trying to soothe the pain, your rage was too much for you to hold in.

Everyone in the hallway was looking at you when you bent a little to be at the same eye level as him. ‘Listen to me, asshole. I fuck whoever I want to, not the other way around. Maybe you’re not half as hot as you think you are, so if you really want the full thing, you’re gonna have to masturbate until your little dick falls off.’

Your angry words echoed through the walls as Billy’s eyes filled with fury. Under his breath, he was still able to bite back, ‘Who wants to fuck the school’s slut, anyways.’

‘That’s it–’ you said, but as you were about to jump on him, you felt someone’s arms on your waist.

‘Okay, okay. That’s enough.’ Steve said as he walked you backwards, his hand around your waist while you kicked your feet in the air and Billy composed himself. ‘Come on.’

‘Let me go, Steve!’ You screamed as he kept dragging you away from Billy and the rest of the students.

But he didn’t until you were inside the boy’s toilets, your cheeks red with anger and scalp a bit sweaty by the adrenaline.

‘You need to calm down.’

Eddie stood still inside the toilet’s stall when he jumped to the sound of Steve Harrington’s voice. He thought it was weird of him, or anyone, to be in these toilets that he found almost no one in the school used. Until he heard your voice.

‘I don’t fucking want to calm down.’

Eddie stayed silent, trying to look through a little crack on the stall’s door. Steve had both hands on your shoulders while you seemed to be breathing heavily with rage.

‘He could’ve–’ He started.

‘Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it.’ You removed his hands from your shoulders, screaming at him. You knew it wasn’t Steve’s fault, but you were burning with anger. ‘I’ll fucking fight him, Steve. Hargrove, Carver, all of them. I’m so sick of this shit.’

You let out a sigh, trying to relax, but it was impossible. Eddie smiled at your words; he loved how tough you were despite the fact you seemed like a really soft girl. He repressed a laugh at the sight of Steve standing in front of you with his hands on his hips, trying to figure out what the fuck do with you.

‘I know, I know.’ He said, eyes serious as he looked at you through brown strands of hair that fell on his forehead, ‘But that’s not the solution–’

‘You’re such a hypocrite!’ You clenched your fist on either side of you, ‘You hit Billy–’

‘Yeah, and I fucking lost.’ He interrupted you, his hands were aching to touch you again. Your cheeks red, coconut smell everywhere around him, he was softened by the way your hands got lost inside your oversized sweater. He missed that, he missed that so much, making him suddenly nervous like when he was sixteen. He swallowed before speaking again, trying to keep those thoughts out of his head.

‘I would’ve had to fight him again if he’d touch you and I would’ve lost again.’ His words almost made you smile, stress and anger dissipating and his eyes lighting up at your reaction. ‘Would’ve ended up like Munson when he hit Carver.’

Eddie noticed how you shut your eyes at the sound of his name, tilting your head back and biting your lip. ‘I still feel so fucking guilty about that. I was never able to thank him and now I feel too awkward to do it.’

Eddie held a sigh at your words. A part of him felt kind of flattered, but another was relieved you never spoke to him again. As creepy as it sounded, and as pathetic as he felt for it, he preferred to observe you from afar.

‘I think maybe I should too.’ Said Steve as his eyes got lost on the tiles of the toilet’s floor. You lifted your gaze at his words, but he didn’t feel brave enough to look back at you. ‘I mean, that wouldn’t have happened if I…’

He let the words hang in the air. You turned your gaze to your shoes, arms crossed over your chest as the air turned tense. He took the opportunity to look back at your face and study the subtle changes that had somehow turned you even prettier after your breakup. No wonder you had so many guys after you, the air of confidence you radiated now made you irresistible. But he knew you. They didn’t deserve you.

When you licked your lips, Eddie couldn’t ignore the way Steve’s eyes followed the movement of your mouth.

‘We can be friends.’ You said then, looking up at him.

Steve nodded sightly, but you knew the darkness in those eyes too well. He wasn’t looking at you the way friends looked at each other. Eddie noticed the way your body shifted next to him, looking at Steve from under your lashes and biting your lip unconsciously, unaware of the effect that simple gesture would have in the two boys that were looking at you.

Steve looked down to your shoes when you took a step towards him. God, he was so pretty. You took your time to study the scars that now adorned the skin around his nose and mouth, dying to kiss them.

You remembered that summer night you had sneaked into his bed for the first time two years ago, the way his weight over your body felt so right, the safety and tenderness of it all. You remembered how Steve Harrington fucked: slowly, devotedly, sweetly, sloppy.

Maybe it was the habit that made his hand lift to stroke the little space of skin between your skirt and sweater. His fingers hadn’t forgotten, you were still soft as silk, and your coconut smell that used to perfume his bedsheets brought the same memories of your body beneath his. Mind clouded by images of your open mouth and arched brows as he guided you with the movements of his hips.

There was a time when you trusted him.

‘S that what you want?’ Steve whispered. His eyes met yours then, not trace of shyness in them, but the same endless devotion he so dangerously gave away as if it was nothing.

‘Maybe.’ You pondered in silence as you got closer to him, and your eyes asked for what your mouth didn’t. ‘I mean, I can be a really good friend.’

Steve’s hand found the back of your knee, fingertips following an invisible line from there towards your ass. Eddie couldn’t look away at the sight of your skirt lifting just enough to see the curve of your butt cheek when Steve’s hand found the lace of your thong. You gasped at his touch; this wasn’t boring at all. Not like the sex you were having in the cars of all those guys you had been dating the last few months.

‘Hmm, ‘m sure you can.’ His hand was playing with the lace of your panties now, he held the thin fabric strip before lightly letting it go, hitting your skin just nicely. He knew you liked that. His fingers moved to the fabric in between your legs, finding it damp. A breathy laugh left his lips in disbelief. ‘So wet already?’

Eddie couldn’t help but shut his eyes at Steve’s words. He couldn’t help but imagine what a wet mess your underwear was, the way he’d kill to put his hand under your skirt like Steve was doing right now. You moaned in response, and Eddie opened his eyes to find you looking straight into your ex-boyfriend’s, dark brown taking in the pretty scene in front of him. Eddie had a thing for girls that knew how to keep the eye contact, and you seemed to be fucking fantastic at it.

Your eyebrows met in the middle when Steve opened your legs slightly, with so much confidence behind, like he had never forgotten the little things that made your body melt.

Steve’s eyes stayed on you when he lifted your leg towards him, your knee resting on his hip. ‘What d’you say, sweetheart?’ He whispered, lips brushing yours as he spoke, ‘Just once for old times’ sake?’

‘Fuck, Steve.’ You rolled your eyes at his cockiness. ‘Just touch me.’

He let out another breathy laugh as his fingers dived inside your underwear. Eddie rolled his eyes when the sounds of Steve’s hands getting in and out of your wet cunt echoed through the toilet’s walls. You took three of your fingers to your mouth, trying to hide your moans by sucking on them. Steve placed his forehead on yours as you looked up at him, eyes overflowing with that purity he loved so much.

‘D’you like it, baby?’ He said putting another finger inside of you, ‘Did your pretty pussy miss me?’

It was the way you nodded innocently as your fingers came in and out your mouth what made Eddie unzip his jeans. How many times had you been in his fantasies? Way too many. And now you were here, being fingered in the school’s toilets, your frail body turning into nothing. He couldn’t resist to touch himself, the noise of your choked whimpers making his cock throb.

Eddie started stroking up and down his dick when your hand found Steve’s big erection under his jeans. ‘Wanna fuck me ‘gainst the sink?’ You said then, voice soft but hot, just how you knew Steve liked it. That voice had always made him dumb, and you knew by the way his eyelids had turned heavy and his pupils shiny, that his brain was struggling to process your dirty words as your hand rubbed against his bulge. ‘Can keep the skirt on and you can fuck me from behind, hmm?’

‘Fuck.’ Eddie whispered under his breath. He was trying not to cum so quickly, but you were making it hard for him.

Steve couldn’t resist your offer, unzipping his jeans clumsily while you bent over the sink. You looked behind your shoulder, innocent eyes inviting him as you stood all exposed for him.

Eddie’s clothes were wet with sweat at the look of your ass and your wet pussy ready for Steve, but when Harrington moved his boxers down and his cock fell out hard and big, something inside him betrayed him, trying hard to repress the loud moan that almost got him caught.

‘Shit.’ He whispered then, as Steve positioned himself behind you and the noise of skin against skin filled the toilet. Eddie had to angle himself properly before all his cum fell promptly on the stall’s door, staining the floor too. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’

It didn’t happen just once.

You didn’t know what this meant, and you didn’t care. You and Steve found each other in the school’s toilets at least once a week. In person you were still polite, but it wasn’t like you were dating again.

But it seemed like that’s what made the whole thing so nice. This was different from any other thing you had experienced before. In the time you had spent apart, you and Steve had definitely learned some nice new stuff, but you had never forgotten what could drive each other insane. And through all your encounters, Eddie sat down inside the stalls making sure he kept quiet as he heard your precious moans echoing through the walls.

He had also learned that Steve was very vocal. Growls against your neck, some pretty nice noises when you got on your knees for him… That was Eddie’s favourite sight while he looked through the familiar crack of the same stall’s door: your little mouth taking Harrington’s big cock so well. At times, he closed his eyes while Steve moaned, fantasising about stroking your hair and calling you a good girl while you made out with your ex-boyfriend’s cock.

But things are always bound to change, and one particularly cold day you found yourself getting fucked in the toilets once again. Your back was against the wall, heel on Steve’s shoulder as his dick touched that spot he knew how to find so well.

‘Hmm, you’re desperate for it today, baby.’ He said before thrusting into you, ‘Like it like that?’

‘Uh-uh.’ Your nails were leaving nice half-moon marks on his back as your head hit the wall every time he thrusted himself inside you. ‘Fuck me like that.’

Eddie could notice your hard nipples under your soft top, since you had taken your sweater off earlier. Steve was right, there was something freaky about you today, something that made Eddie even harder for you as the boy in front of you fucked you faster, and faster.

‘Hmm.’ You moved your hips against Steve as he fucked deeper into you. His eyes almost absent because of how good and tight you felt. You loved when he looked at you like that. ‘Shit, daddy, fuck me harder.’

Steve would’ve cum for you right there if it wasn’t for the soft growl that startled you two. You covered yourself with your skirt and he instinctively stood up in front of you, his hand finding yours right after he zipped his jeans and interlacing your fingers together. There was no noise for a second until something caught your eye, a shadow under one of the stalls. There was someone here. You decided to walk past Steve, standing in front of one of the green metal doors.

You placed your ear on it and heard the clear sound of a heavy breath behind. Holding your own breath, you pushed the door lightly, finding no other than Eddie Munson on the other side.

He was holding his face on his hands, cheeks red in embarrassment when you laughed with relief.

‘Fuck, Eddie. You scared the shit out of me.’

He looked up confusedly at you when Steve walked the distance towards the stall. ‘Munson.’ Steve’s cheeks turned rosy at what the situation looked like. ‘Were you…?’ He swallowed hard trying to find the right words.

‘I’m sorry.’ His anxious voice echoed through the walls, and you noticed the subtle shaking of his hands. ‘Shit. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

‘Hey.’ You walked inside and bent in front of him. His hands were freezing when you held them in yours. ‘I’m not mad. It’s fine. It’s hot stuff, don’t worry.’

Eddie looked up at Steve then, who stood with his hands on his hips. Steve considered the situation for a second and shrugged in resignation. ‘Whatever, man. If she doesn’t care, I don’t care.’

Eddie let out a sigh of relief then, and you gave him a sweet smile. Your shoulders relaxed when the terror dissipated from his eyes, and something inside you turned soft. The idea of him being so scared almost broke your heart.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ You said standing up, a cheeky smile on your beautiful, angelical face as you spoke, ‘I’m feeling quite generous today.’

Eddie thought he was dreaming it all for a second when you walked towards Steve, wrapping your arms around his waist. You were still wearing no underwear, your skirt just short enough for Eddie to look at the soft lines of skin underneath. ‘What do you say, Steve? Should we let Eddie watch?’

Steve looked from you to Eddie, trying to process what you were asking. His dick twitched inside his jeans, still needing the sticky wet walls of your pussy wrapped around it.

‘Babe.’ He said unsure. His hands found your hips by reflex, the soft and warm skin above the hem of your skirt calming his nerves.

‘Steve.’ You said then, face turned serious before you looked behind your shoulder at Eddie, then back at him. ‘Are you really gonna tell me this doesn’t turn you on?’

Steve seemed hesitant. Not because he wished to say no, but because he wanted to say yes so badly it scared him. Something in his eyes made yours turn softer for him as you realised he seemed a bit insecure, heart beating hard against his chest.

‘Hey.’ You cupped his face with your hands and looked into his sweet brown eyes, brows arching when your thumb stroked his cheekbone. You didn’t know what this was anymore, but if you were going to do this, it was going to be with Steve and only Steve. ‘It’s just me. You know I’d never judge you.’

He nodded once and swallowed hard before letting out a deep breath.

‘Still wanna do it?’ You asked once again, to what he nodded more eagerly now, eyelids getting heavy as the heat of his body increased.

You took a step aside then, getting rid of your top, showing off your hard nipples and enjoying the idea of being observed by the two boys. You felt your pussy getting wet once again as your back rested on the cold metal wall of the stall.

Feeling Eddie’s eyes on you, you grabbed Steve’s shirt and pulled him towards you.

‘Now fuck me so Eddie can cum.’

And just like that, things changed. Now you and Steve met with Eddie at least once a week in the toilets. You enjoyed it too much. Steve would say he was just happy to indulge you, but you also saw the looks exchanged between the two boys when they were about to cum, the way Steve often looked at Eddie to check that he was enjoying it. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your orgasms harder and sweeter.

You found out quickly that Eddie loved to see you sucking cock, and Steve noticed Eddie loved to look at you from the other side of the toilet while he fucked you from behind. And almost in an implicit agreement, you indulged his fantasies too.

Eddie never touched either of you, though. He was just a mere observer on those occasions, and he didn’t feel brave enough to ask for it, scared it might offend you and Steve. He wasn’t sure of how things worked between you two outside the toilet’s boundaries either.

When he smoked his usual cigarette while leaning on his car after school, he noticed that you and Harrington never left together. He saw how Steve still looked at you during class though, the way the pretty brown eyes that often focused on his dick seconds before cumming followed your silhouette in the hallways. How his face turned red whenever you waved at him right after you caught him staring from the other side of the classroom; the tense frown on his face as some guy tried to flirt with you in the parking lot, mediocre speeches leaving their mouths before you simply replied no to their date offers.

Eddie noticed everything. And Eddie knew that Steve had never gotten over you.

You were more difficult to decipher. You seemed to be extra caring of Steve most times, always leaving needy kisses after finishing before you turned back to look at him and ask, ‘You okay, Eddie?’ with your sweet smile, but that’s just who you were. Outside the toilets, you kept being the girl you had always been, comfortable in that careless solitude that made you seem so unreachable.

Another Friday, another party; and you were considerably drunk, sitting on the kitchen’s counter with some girls from school, joking about the possibility of doing body shots while Steve looked at you from the other side of the room.

You had noticed him earlier, sitting on the couch next to Robin Buckley, but you promised yourself you wouldn’t give it too much thought. At the end of the day, he kept coming back to fuck you in the toilets every week. His pretty eyes lingered on you, that cocky smile that used to fill your stomach with butterflies at sixteen adorning his face, causing you to bite your lower lip as you tried to ignore him.

You looked down to the drink one of the girls offered you, when the familiar silhouette of Eddie walking into the house caught your attention. He seemed kind of lost, looking for someone or something. You knew what Eddie did in this parties, he wasn’t exactly invited, more like called when he was needed. But a part of you somehow wished he would stay tonight.

His dark eyes found yours and you gave him a sweet smile, too sweet, he would argue, bringing back memories of the little meeting you’d had with Harrington the day before.

He had to try hard to keep the image of your body against the sink counter off his head, Steve kneeling in front of you and his pink tongue softly stroking your clit while you moaned nonsense, your beautiful body turning into nothing just for them–

Weren’t you the sweetest secret he’d ever kept?

You noticed he tried to return the smile, but it was just a shy gesture that lifted the edges of his mouth subtly. You followed his body with your eyes as he got lost between the dancing bodies in the living room before realising Steve wasn’t on the couch anymore.

That was it. You stayed on your side of the party, Steve on his, and Eddie doing business like it was supposed to be.

Until your boredom saved your ass for once.

You stepped outside the house with a red cup on your hand, the loud music still bouncing through the walls of the house. It was too cold to be wearing the top and red skirt you had on tonight, but the alcohol made you feel warm, and you felt alone. God, you were always alone. The girls you had been hanging out with hours ago were either puking or getting laid in the rooms upstairs, gone as soon as they found someone else to talk to or a guy to flirt with.

Sometimes being popular felt too much like being pathetic.

You let out a deep sigh and downed the liquid in the cup, feeling the alcohol burning your throat. You cleaned your mouth with your wrist when you noticed the familiar BMW parked a bit further away from the house. Steve, your Steve, was leaning against the door, arms crossed over his chest, hair falling on his forehead.

You walked down the front steps and got closer to his car with a smile on your face.

‘Hey.’ You murmured.

‘Hey.’ He said back. Your eyes followed the way his leather jacket hugged his arms so nicely before you turned your head to the night’s darkness. You were trying to hide how cold you were as the wind blew your hair.

‘Had fun tonight?’

He laughed softly at your question. ‘Not really. Just drove Robin here but she left with… uh, someone else.’

You lifted an eyebrow with a flirty smile on your face. Steve couldn’t help but repress a laugh as his eyes got lost beyond your shoulder, anything to avoid the way you were making his body temperature increase.

‘King Steve’s date leaving with someone else? That’s new.’

Steve wanted to tell you it wasn’t at all new, and that he didn’t remember when was the last time he went on a date or the last time someone had called him King Steve.

‘You know that Robin is not my girlfriend, right?’

You lifted your eyes at him, studying his face before taking a step forward.

‘I know.’ You said, the candy gloss on your lips reflecting the lights of the road.

He could see the way your skin was full of goosebumps, but his eyes lingered shamelessly on the red mark he had left on your neck the day before. The sweet melody of your moans mixing with Eddie’s heavy breaths came to his mind.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the reflection of red and blue lights in the distance stopped him.

‘Shit.’ Said Steve. You’d recognise Jim Hopper’s car anywhere.

‘Eddie.’ He looked back at you at the sound of the boy’s name. ‘Shit, Steve. Eddie’s inside selling stuff.’

You were about to move when Steve put his hand on your shoulder. ‘Get in the car. I’ll get Eddie, then we’ll leave.’

You stayed in your place, confusion all over your face as Steve climbed the front steps.

‘Get in the car!’ He said before getting lost inside.

You didn’t waste time and quickly walked around the car to sit on the passenger seat. The red and blue lights were much closer now, music still loud mixing with the laughs of the people inside the house.

You observed how Hopper walked out of his car with other two police officers, your knees were shaking but the cold had nothing to do with it. Your parents were going to kill you if they found out. You sat deeper into the seat when they walked next to Steve’s car, before climbing the front stairs of the house.

You didn’t notice Eddie and Steve sneaking out through the garden gate until the driver’s door opened, making you jump.

‘Let’s go.’ He closed the door quickly as you heard the screams of people and Hopper’s loud voice over the music. ‘Eddie, let’s go.’

But Eddie stood outside the car as people started to run out of the house. He was paralysed at the absurdity of the situation, unable to move until you looked behind your shoulder at him. ‘Eddie, get in!’

He nervously opened the door and sat in the backseat as Steve turned the engine on. You let out a sigh of relief when he started to drive in reverse.

Eddie looked down at the strange looks of the few people realising the three of you were inside Steve’s car, his own sense of shame telling him maybe you wouldn’t want to be associated with the school’s freak.

But all you did was roll your eyes and show them your pretty manicured middle finger through the windshield. You could imagine what the whispers would say about you on Monday, but it was out of your control at this point.

‘Let’s get the fuck out of here.’ Said Steve.

He had been driving in silence for a few minutes. You were warmer now that Steve had turned the heating on. Eddie stood at the back, trying to ignore how the seats of Steve’s car smelled so much like him. Like cinnamon and cedar. Like pretty boy and money.

‘I can’t go home like this.’ You said looking through the window. Eddie frowned at the note of sadness in your voice. ‘If my dad sees me like this, he’s gonna kill me, Steve.’

He noticed how Steve licked his lips and took a worried glance at you before looking back at the road. ‘My parent’s aren’t home. You can stay there tonight.’ Eddie almost jumped when Steve looked at him through the rearview mirror. ‘You okay with that, Munson?’

Eddie looked up at the worried brown eyes on the mirror, piercing and protective in a way he didn’t know Steve Harrington could be.

‘Sure.’

You stepped out of the car as soon as Steve parked in front of his house, making sure to walk in quickly in case your parents were around. But your body visibly relaxed once you were inside the Harrington’s living room, leaning against the wall and closing your eyes to let out a breath of relief. Steve couldn’t help but stare at you, body full of goosebumps as you tried to calm down.

Eddie looked around the spacious house, at the green couch that must’ve costed more money he would ever make in his life, at the elegant lamps that fell from the ceiling, at crystal walls on the other side of the living room. He looked back at Steve, who hadn’t taken his eyes off your profile and was so evidently and pathetically in love with you, and Eddie knew then that he didn’t belong there or anywhere else.

‘I should probably go home.’ He said.

Your eyes opened wide at his words. ‘No.’

Your hand found his quickly, not even giving him a chance for his brain to register the cold touch of your fingers. ‘Eddie, come on.’

He stayed silent for a second, thinking about what words to choose, when Steve spoke.

‘Why?’

‘I…’ But couldn’t bring himself to say it, instead he just shook his head slightly.

The confusion in your eyes made his chest hurt. He looked from you to Steve, but he couldn’t hold the deepness of his stare, he would rather drown in the tenderness of yours.

‘Listen, I–, you two–,’ He couldn’t help but get distracted at the way your fingers stroked his rough hands. ‘You two work really well, sweetheart. I don’t know what I’m doing here.’

‘Hey. Eddie.’ Steve took a step towards him, his shoulder brushing with yours, tone filled with urgency as he searched for the boy’s eyes. ‘Come on.’

Eddie let out an unsure breath before brushing the curls of his head with his free hand. He didn’t know what Steve and you were asking, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. If he was ready to.

It was almost a whisper, the way Steve said it, but it was loud enough for you two to hear it. ‘We came back for you.’

You looked back at him then, vulnerability overflowing from those eyes you had loved since you were sixteen. And you knew. You knew that the something you and Steve were missing was right in front of you.

Your other hand found Steve’s then, making his gaze fall on you, pretty and beautiful under the soft lights of his empty house.

Your movements were slow when you placed Eddie’s hand on your stomach. He had never touched you, so he couldn’t repress the deep breath he let out as you guided his hand upwards, ringed thick fingers touching your ribs over your shirt.

You were still looking into Steve’s eyes when Eddie’s hand reached your chest under your guidance, feeling your nipples getting hard under your bra. He was so warm now, burning against the fabric that covered your boobs.

‘Tell me to stop.’ You told Steve, voice weak as he observed the way your cheeks were turning rosy and your eyes needy. ‘Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.’

He shook his head, a subtle gesture interrupted by his eyes following the trace you drew over your body with the other boy’s hand. You took Eddie’s fingers to the space in between your clavicles, then your neck, then your chin.

‘Jesus Christ.’ Eddie couldn’t help but swear under his breath when you took two of his fingers inside your mouth.

Your saliva was thick and sticky as you took them into your pretty mouth, tongue soft when it came in contact with his fingertips. You closed your eyes and let out a deep breath as you took his fingers in and out of you. Your eyes finally looked back at Eddie when they opened again, and he looked so entranced by you and your damn mouth taking his fingers so well that he knew he was gone.

You couldn’t help but pull him towards you, his body crashing softly and heavy against yours and Steve’s, the sweetest smile on your face as your hand found his cheek. You felt Steve’s arm wrap around your waist, chin sitting on your shoulder and erection hard against your ass while Eddie’s lips brushed yours, hesitating even when your noses rubbed against each other and one of Steve’s hands started to draw an invisible line from your knee to your thigh.

‘Just… just kiss me, Eddie.’ You whispered.

He finally got the courage to close the gap between you two. His lips were needy but tender. You were dying to bite him, to feel him. This wasn’t just sex, and you knew it by the way Eddie’s lips stroked yours slowly and his hands found your face while Steve left sweet pecks on your neck and temple.

‘Take me to the couch.’ You whispered breathily as Eddie’s lips brushed against the skin of your neck.

‘Uh-uh, sweetheart.’ His voice was velvety as he kissed along the curve of your boobs. ‘M not fucking you on some couch.’

You let out a soft laugh at his words. Your hand found the back of Steve’s neck as you looked back at him, he loved the way your eyelids turned heavy as Eddie started to kiss the skin next to your knee.

‘Want to share you.’ You whispered then. Steve’s eyebrows arched at your words, it overwhelmed him, how willing you were to give him everything so devotedly. His eyes almost rolled when Eddie’s hand found the bulge under his pants, and you smiled at him as the curly haired boy observed his reaction from below. ‘Re you gonna let me, Steve? Wanna share you with Eddie.’

Steve’s head was clouded by desire and fear, and his dick was getting harder the more the big hand of Eddie kept rubbing his bulge. His forehead fell on yours, the sigh that left his mouth stroked your lips, as he shut his eyes hard. His breaths heavy in between shaky words, surrendering to what his body wanted, ‘Fuck. Yeah. Yeah, okay.’

His heart was still beating hard against his chest when he sat on the bed. You got rid of your top as soon as you walked inside his room, pushing Steve’s chest lightly towards the bed just like you loved to do when you were younger. Eddie’s hands found your shoulders to push you into Steve’s lap while his lips started to bite your neck, his long curls tickling the skin of your arms.

Steve got rid of your bra when Eddie’s tongue found its way back to your mouth, swallowing the moans you let out as the other boy started sucking on your hard nipples. Your skin filled with goosebumps, Eddie’s cautious hand sneaking into your underwear to feel your pussy so deliciously wet for him. It caught you off guard, the way he seemed to know your body even if it was the first time he touched it, making you moan as two of his fingers massaged the spot he had seen Steve hit with his fingers so many times.

Your mouth opened to let a loud moan out while he still kissed you, making his dick throb as you felt Steve’s hand lifting your skirt to have a better look at the pretty image of Eddie’s fingers getting in and out of you. When the pace of his fingers turned faster you couldn’t help but throw your head back to rest it on his shoulder, breaking the kiss.

Eddie’s hungry eyes turned to Steve then, looking at the way the pretty boy’s cheeks were rosy under his gaze, the leather jacket he was wearing long forgotten on the bedroom’s floor, the tight white t-shirt he wore accentuating his arms nicely. Eddie’s arm still vibrated by the rhythmic movements of his fingers inside you when Steve swallowed hard at what he knew was coming.

You fell on top of his body when Eddie leaned in to kiss him, being nicely crushed by Eddie’s weight and caught in between their bodies, feeling his dick hard against your ass. Always used to being a giver, Steve got overwhelmed by all the attention he was receiving as Eddie’s demanding tongue stroked his and the smell of your hair surrounded him. He felt your lips climbing from his neck to his jaw, the way your tongue played with his earlobe before you bit it sweetly, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you felt his hand squeezing your thigh in response. You could feel his heartbeat, hard and fast under your naked chest, and your own body’s response, the sound of your pulse on your ears. Eddie’s lips started climbing down to Steve’s neck, and you took the opportunity to climb off his lap.

It was a sweet dance of an implied agreement between you and Eddie to make Steve feel good and safe. You sat down behind him to help him get rid of his t-shirt as Eddie left a trail of kisses down his chest and stomach. You kneeled on the bed so Steve’s head could rest on your thighs, pretty eyes looking at you with fear and excitement. You bent to kiss his forehead, his nose, the corner of his mouth while his lips let out shaky breaths that reminded you so much of the fear you both felt the first time you had sex. His shaky hands found yours as you smiled at him from above, and his eyes shut hard when Eddie finally teased the tip of his dick with his lips.

‘Fuck.’ He whispered in your mouth as the curled haired boy started to take his cock deep into his mouth, making sure of getting it sloppy the way you had done all those times he watched from the stalls. Steve ran his fingers through his hair as he looked down to the scene of Eddie taking his big dick into his mouth and feeling the tip of his cock hit the back of his throat. ‘F-fuck, yes.’

Eddie slightly smiled at you from the other side of the bed. You loved how moany Steve could get with blowjobs, whining in agony, turning needy as he let out the sweetest noises. He looked up at you then, brown eyes looking dark and desperate. He let out a breathy laugh before squeezing your thigh with one of his hands. ‘Come sit on my mouth, babe.’

‘Keep the skirt on.’ Eddie’s voice made you lift your eyes. His stare dark now, taking in the beautiful sight of you: nipples hard, mouth shiny and swollen by their kisses.

You nodded slightly, not breaking the eye contact with him as you moved to open your legs and sit comfortably. You made sure to lift the piece of fabric around your hips a little when you finally sat down on Steve’s perfect tongue. You couldn’t help but bite your lip as you kept your eyes on Eddie when he took Steve back into his mouth, rolling your eyes at the sweet sensation of skin against skin.

He loved the way Steve’s tongue rubbed against your sensitive clit, his big lips hungry and pussy drunk for you. How you moved your hips slowly, the way you held one of your boobs and Steve’s hard grip around your thighs as he ate you out, making his arms look veiny and strong. There was not one inch of skin in front of Eddie Munson that he wasn’t dying to taste that night.

‘So sweet, fuck.’ Steve said in between licks, ‘Such a perfect pussy.’

His hips had started moving up and down unconsciously, fucking Eddie’s pretty pink mouth repeatedly. You never thought such a sight would turn you on so much, but there was something about Eddie that was so rough and messy as he took Steve in. A thread of saliva falling from one the sides of his mouth, head moving with violent devotion. God, did you want to be fucked. The thought made your eyebrows arch in desperation as your orgasm started to slowly build up from the bottom of your tummy.

‘I’m gonna c-cu–’

‘No, you’re fucking not.’ Said Steve against your cunt, but he resumed his movements right after.

‘I-I’m going to.’

‘Fuck no, princess.’ Said Eddie then. You lifted your eyes to find him cleaning his mouth with his sleeve. His ringed hands pulled Steve’s thighs, getting him out from under your legs.

You looked flushed and desperate as you waited for them to do something, anything so you could get what you wanted. Eddie got rid of his clothes as Steve shook his jeans off his ankles, before cupping your face and kissing you hard, your sweet taste on his tongue mixing with the remains of your candy gloss. You whined in disappointment as he kept kissing you, begging to be touched.

‘Steve, please.’

‘What?’ He laughed as if he was completely clueless. You didn’t like being teased, always expecting to get what you wanted without working for it. His hands found the cheeks of your ass when you felt Eddie’s body behind you, emanating a warmth that made you feel so small, but so safe and cozy.

His curls were tickling your back when the tip of his dick started stroking your ass hole. ‘Is this okay?’

His voice was raspy but sweet. You let out a shaky breath but your eyes rolled as your pussy got wetter at the possibility of having both boys inside you.

‘God. Yes.’ You head rested against his shoulder as Steve’s mouth left love bites on your neck. ‘Yes, it’s fucking perfect. Steve, t-tell me you’ve got lube.’

‘I do.’ He said, lips brushing against your skin, enjoying how desperate you grew every second you didn’t have a dick inside you. ‘Baby wanna be fucked in the ass, huh?’

‘Steve.’

His face came out of your neck to find your needy, demanding eyes. His pupils were dark, moving to your lips as he spoke. ‘Tell Eddie.’

You frowned at his words as he kneeled in front of you, hands still on your hips, looking down at you and taking in the beautiful image of your curves. ‘Tell Eddie you want him to fuck you in the ass.’

You rolled your eyes half annoyed, half turned on at his authority. The soft stroke of Eddie’s laugh against your cheek made it much worse. Steve sweetly smacked your butt cheek at your lack of words. ‘C’mon. Say it.’

But you took your time, head turning slowly to your side. Your eyes lingered on Eddie’s mouth and then on his eyes for a few seconds before you let out a soft moan. ‘Hmm.’ Your nose stroked his and he almost started searching for your mouth when you whispered against his lips. ‘Want your cock in my ass, baby. Please.’

Eddie let out a sweet laugh, the shyness he showed downstairs had disappeared completely, instead you had found a devotion as overwhelming as Steve’s.

‘You always ask so nicely, don’t you?’ He whispered against your lips.

It took a few minutes of playing with your body to get you to relax. Steve stroked your clit with his fingers while Eddie kept teasing your tiny hole with a finger wet with warm lube. There was no distance between your bodies as your back still rested against Eddie’s and your hand stroked the hairs of Steve’s chest lazily.

‘Thought so much ‘bout this you know,’ Eddie whispered on your ear as his dick teased you once again. You could feel your body ceding as he pushed lightly inside you. You looked up at him with those angelic eyes he’d grown to love the last few months, Steve’s pretty mouth ghosting above your cheekbone as your nails left half moons marks on his arm whenever Eddie pushed deeper.

‘Fuck.’ You moaned. ‘I need you. P-please. I need to feel both of you.’

Steve was done teasing you, too turned on to say no to you. You saw the ways his eyes shut and his mouth opened in pleasure when his dick came in contact with the inner walls of your cunt, feeling Eddie’s hard cock on the other side of your body. A loud growl came out his chest at the overwhelming sensation.

You were gone. All you could feel was how you full you were, how cared for you felt as one of Eddie’s hands grabbed at your hip firmly and he fucked you slowly and deeply, taking his own time.

Steve’s movements were a bit faster, desperate with need as his eyes got lost in your beautiful body, boobs moving rhythmically with the pace of his hips as he went in and out of you.

‘Shit.’ You heard him say as your eyes lingered absently on the tiny drops of sweat adorning his crown. ‘Come here, Munson. Fuck.’

Steve grabbed Eddie’s hand over your shoulder and took two of his fingers into his mouth as his speed inside you increased. Your blurry eyes got lost in his beautiful, flushed face: eyebrows arched in pleasure but eyes dark with desire as he kept fucking you. Eddie couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of Steve’s warm wet tongue before he took the big hand out of his mouth, a thread of saliva hanging in between you two, and guided it towards your centre.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and arch your back at the overstimulation. There was no inch of your skin that wasn’t burning, no curve that wasn’t worshipped, no stare that wasn’t met with overflowing adoration. No part of your body that wasn’t being loved by the two boys.

‘Come on, baby.’ You heard Eddie’s voice in the distance as his hand touched the sensitive nerves of your clit and his dick kept stretching out your ass hole. ‘You can cum now, you can let go. It’s okay.’

You could only reply with moans, high-pitched needy sounds that made them move closer to you, crushing you in between them. Your back against Eddie’s chest, boobs pressed against Steve. Something hot wet your face, you were fucking crying at how good it all felt.

Steve cupped your face with one of his hands then, lost in the way your lips opened slightly, eyes absent and body focused in just feeling. His head found a comfortable place on your neck as your grip on his arm got even tighter and you felt the walls of your cunt and ass contract before your body exploded in pleasure.

‘Fuck, baby.’ Said Steve on your neck. ‘Look at you. Fuck, fuck, fuck.’

Something hot and sticky fell from your thighs. Eddie’s lips left a wet kiss on your shoulder as your convulsions became less intense, you could feel his hard breaths while he kept hugging you from behind. ‘You did so well, princess. So well.’

You stayed there, crushed in between their bodies for a few minutes, or maybe hours. Eddie was still stroking the skin next to your belly button when you felt the weight of Steve’s body lift. The sound of water running in the distance. Crickets outside or maybe the birds waking up.

‘Let’s go clean you up, babe.’ Said Eddie, leaving a sweet kiss on your temple.

You opened your eyes to find him smiling at you, eyes full of tenderness. A tickling touch made you lift your eyes to the end of the bed, where Steve’s stood up, sweet smile, tired eyes and hair messy while his fingers wrapped around your ankle.

‘Come on, pretty girl. You can take a nap later.’

You let out a silly giggle. This was absurd.

I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written works anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

#steddie 💙#eds 🖤#stevie 💖

3K notes · View notes