tyra

she/her • 19 lvergirl

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

Statuesque Lovers

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

But maybe there's something else there, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't like that last bit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" You snap. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their lips brush together. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thrive. Live. Experience peace." 

"Sounds boring." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What? He didn't scratch your itch?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I tell you something?" You ask. 

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

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

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

"Can I kiss you?" 

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

"God, yes. Please." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where - where can I- " 

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

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

For a moment you just are. 

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

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

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

"Need a cigarette," he answers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I also need a bath." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

It sounds like the perfect night, honestly. 

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

"Do you think anybody heard us?" 

And his answer is blunt and honest. 

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

[nonpoppin]

One More Chance

Summary: Farleigh doesn't want to lose you.

Warnings: Cheating, drug use, drinking, slapping (you dont get slapped!!), oral (f receiving!), pussy eating, overstimulation (?), talks of stds, P in V sex, lemme know if i forgot anything.

Notes: Guess who's back and being ANNOYING! Lord when i say this took me forever to write and it's long. Whatever, but hi this is like 5k+ words not including notes, warnings or summary! Enjoy!! Leave comments n all that!! ALSO Shout-out to @cocoamoonmalfoy for putting up with me while i wrote this 😭 okay im running away now.

You think you're getting too old for clubbing.

Everything is so loud, dizzying, and sweaty and your outfit sticks to you uncomfortably. You pull at the laces, at the latex that annoyingly catches against the meat of your thighs as you sway to the music. Annabel, seemingly ignorant to your stiff movement, leans her whole body against you, grinding to the beat of the song, and out of instinct you wrap your arm around her waist and pull her closer. She melts into your arms then without missing a beat, she turns her head and even with the flashing lights you can see that her mascara runs, “You used to be good at this.”

You swallow thickly. You were good at this— clubbing, partying, getting so drunk you'd feel it the next morning but he had to ruin it for you, take the fun out of partying. “Sorry,” You say, nosing against her ear, “It’s just a lot.” Her hands clench over yours, her lashes fluttering.

“You didn't have to come.”

But you did. You couldn't spend nights in your dorm crying for the rest of the semester, not when you had an image to uphold. People were talking, half the campus knew that something happened between you and Farleigh, something bad enough for you to suddenly drop him and his family despite the looks he still sent you whenever you were in the same room. You had to come, if not for yourself, for Annabel who's going through the same thing as you, even if the cousin she got stuck with was a lot more cruel about what he did. “Couldn’t let you do this alone,” You smile. Couldn't let her sit in her dorm and cry over Felix who dropped her for India, she had lost two people in one night(—her boyfriend and best friend.) and while you two weren't the closest before this, you're friends— someone who understood what it was like to date a Catton.

Annabel smiles, turning to face you and it makes you laugh, her lipstick is smeared. You reach out and wipe out at it and she watches, her smile slipping off her face as her lip begins to wobble, “I wish I met you first.”

You smile and it's twinge with sadness. “You don't like girls, Anna.”

She shakes her head, tears falling from her eyes. It's been off and on all night and the booze running through her system isn't making it better. “I could though, I could like you.” She sniffles, “It’s not fair. I could have loved you instead but I'm here and– and crying over him while he's probably off fucking her in some dark corner. He said it was all a bit of fun– that we had the rest of our lives and it was wrong to tie him down when– when there was so much to experience. You would have thought I asked him to marry me, I just–”

Her face falls, “I just wanted him to be my boyfriend.”

Then, it's like a switch flips in her because she suddenly gags, lurching forward. You jump back in fear of getting puked on but she claps her hands over her mouth, pushing you and others out of the way and runs to what you hope is a bathroom. You stare after for a few moments, making sure you can actually see her go into the women's bathroom and when she does, you look away with a deep sigh, a hand running down your face. She's done this twice already and you know when she comes back this time, you'll cut your losses and drag her back to bed before she gets alcohol poisoning.

Politely, you try to dance your way off the middle of the dancefloor. You smile at people who seem to know you, they say your name in greeting and quickly go back to their dancing and just when you're at the cusp of exiting the crowd, a hand grabs yours. You jerk, whirling around and—

“Oliver, what the hell?” You snap over the music, you yank your hand free and his face falls. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Felix sent me over!” He shouts over the music then he draws closer to you, forcing you to take a step backward and out of the crowd. “Said you'd punch him if he came over–” Well, he's not wrong. “–and he said he needed your help, Farleigh–”

Your face crumples at the mention of your ex-boyfriend and you're already shaking your head, “No, Oliver–”

“Oh, love, come on–”

“I already told him I wanted nothing to do with him or his family-!” You quiet yourself when you notice the looks you're starting to get when you notice the group of kids near you quiet down as if to listen in. “Just no, Oliver. I can't leave Anna alone for too long–”

Oliver instantly begins to look around, “Annabel is here?”

You frown, “Yeah. Why?”

Oliver makes a face, “I have to chat with her too,” You start to sneer and he throws his hands up, his face paling. “Not for Felix, I swear. I just– we need to talk, how about we switch off– I stay with Anna and you go find the guys–”

“No. She's fucking drunk I'm not leaving her with you–”

“Oliver!”

Annabel appears from down the hall behind you, smiling as if she didn't spend the past few minutes puking up her stomach. She slides up next to you, bleary eyes peering at the both of you, “What are you doing here, Ollie?”

Your eyes narrow on him. The girl beside you is looking to make some mistakes tonight— trying to make someone jealous and while she didn't like girls, she loved boys and Oliver happened to be pretty and a close friend of Felix. You roll your lips together, eyes flickering to her when she prowls closer to him, and Oliver's hands clench and unclench at his side. She'd be picking the wrong friend to do this with, Oliver obviously had a thing going for Felix and Felix wanted something from Oliver, Farleigh had told you as much. Felix was still experimenting with his sexuality and didn't want to be kept in the straight category when he liked boys too, he had liked Eddie before he slept with Venetia and gave him head allegedly so bad, that he was gone from Saltburn by sunrise.

But that's neither here nor there, not when Oliver smiles at Annabel and you can see traces of Felix in it. It looks too practiced and painted and when he speaks to be heard over the music, it's like his accent changed to match the tallest Catton. “I just wanted to talk to you. Alone, if you don't mind–”

“Annabel–”

The girl cuts you off with a big, lipstick-smudged smile. “Of course, we can talk. I think I was just about to go back to campus, walk with me?” Then she looks back to you as if to say; ‘Relax, it's only Oliver.’

A little annoyed she's ditching you so quickly for a chance at fucking Oliver, you snap your mouth shut. It's only Oliver and that's what worries you, maybe you're being paranoid or maybe, Farleigh stuffed your head full of nonsensical claims but there's something weird about Oliver, like he's pretending to be something he's not. “Fine– just, just call me when you get back okay? If you don't I'm calling S.W.A.T on the place.”

Annabel smiles and presses a kiss on your cheek, “Thank you for being my very American guard dog tonight.” Then, to Oliver, “Let’s go, yeah?”

Oliver clasps hands with her, letting her pull him from the club but not before he turns to you and looks past the moving dance floor, “They’re all the way in the back, got a private room. You should go.”

You scowl at him, “Fuck off, Ollie.”

He smiles at you and it's like he knows you're gonna cave and go before you even decide to do so. And once you lose sight of Oliver and Annabel, you count to ten before you turn and push your way through the crowd trying to get to the private section behind them. Once you breach the crowd again, the security guards posted outside the private section only glance at you and then away, stepping out of your path as you pass them. You swallow at the feeling that evokes— that power that came with being seen with a Catton, a cousin or otherwise, was nauseating. You could ask those guards to do whatever you wanted and they would in hopes of a good tip, you could murder someone back here and they'd turn a blind eye because at the end of the day, if you weren't a friend of the Cattons’, you were against them and no one who stood against them survived very long.

You stop outside the door and you realize it's quieter back here. You can still hear the music from the club, yes, but if you pressed your ear against the door, you could hear crying. You could hear Felix talking, shuffling, and then more crying, choked and muffled and you think he's trying to silence himself and you ignore the way your heart aches. You should have ‘died’ a while ago. Should've been cast aside the moment you broke up with Farleigh and cursed Felix out, but they kept you close. Their gold-coated talons had dug too deep, you saw too much blood and bone, you saw too much of the real them and knew, in a way they'd never let you go. No matter what you did or said.

You take a breath and open the door.

Felix is crouching in front of Farleigh, his hands cupping his face as the man before him cries so hard, he heaves. He's cooing, using his thumbs to rub soothing circles on his cheeks, “It's okay, mate. It's okay, you just got to breathe– yeah, that's it, Far, just breathe with me.”

Your hand clenches around the knob and you clear your throat, praying your voice sounds uncaring.“Is he high?”

Both men look up, Felix faster than Farleigh but that doesn't stop the other man from staggering to his feet at the sight of you. “Baby,” He hiccups, he walks to you— stumbling and nearly tripping in the process and you enter the room, closing the door before any passersby can see. Farleigh reaches you and his eyes flutter, tears freely falling from his eyes as he sinks to the floor before you, his arm winding around your waist and his face placed firmly against your stomach. He's still crying, you note but he's mumbling too, “You came. You came back.”

Your hands clench at your sides to hide their shaking, you won't touch him. Even as he unbalances you and presses you flush against the door, you don't touch him as he cries which means, you won't push him away either, so you settle on ignoring him instead, your eyes on Felix who's still crouching. “Felix, is he high?”

The man sighs, running a hand through his hair before he stands, rolling his shoulders. You can't decide if he looks pissed that you actually showed or happy to see you after weeks of no communication. He looks like he's forcing himself to frown, “You’d want that, wouldn't you? Give you another reason to run away from him.”

You flinch as if he hit you and Farleigh holds you tighter, pulling you closer to him, “You don't get to say that, Felix. You don't even know what fucking happened.”

“Exactly!” He bursts. Its loud enough he throws a glance at the door, he takes a breath and you hear him struggle to keep his voice level. “I don't know what fucking happened between the two of you and he won't tell me. You won't tell me. Then, I try to call you– try to make it right and you– you fucking blocked me?”

“There’s no making this right, Felix. You can't fix everything–”

“Yes, I can!” He insists, his voice raising. “I did so before when you two fought, I did it when your scholarship fell through and you were going to get kicked from Oxford, I fixed it when Farleigh and you went streaking through the bloody campus, I can fix this but you have to tell me what happened– you just– you're family now and we just don't drop each other, we don't block each other and don't answer when the other comes knocking for answers. Just let me fix this because all I know– all I know is Farleigh fucking flushed it, okay? Flushed it all down the loo and hasn't been high in weeks and it's been fucking hell, he's been such a prick about it always snapping and blowing up over the littlest things. I can't even mention you without him trying to bite my head off.

“Please. Just tell me what happened. That's all I ask, that's all I want to know, we used to tell each other everything. We used to be friends.” He pleads.

Annoyed you snap, “He cheated on me.”

Felix draws back, surprised. “What?”

You lick your lips, trying to force the memory from your mind and Farleigh starts to cry again, he tries to curl into you, trying to bury his face and cover his ears. If he's not high, he's drunk out of his mind and you're not sure what's better, he's always been a bit of a baby when drunk, clingy, and emotional. You used to have patience for it, you used to be able to stare at him without wanting to cry, “He cheated on me with Alicia. He and her got super fucking high after I begged him to just stay in my dorm with me instead of going out and I don't know– they fucked, I guess.” You look down at Farleigh and try to force that image out of your head, how he came to you already crying and begging for forgiveness, he said he didn't even know what happened, how he even ended up alone with Alicia but the damage was done. You broke up with him then and there.

Felix makes a face like he sucked on a lemon. “Farleigh wouldn't do that. Not to you, there has to be a misunderstanding– there– Farleigh, mate, tell me it's not true.”

Farleigh doesn't answer and you didn't really expect him to, not with the desperation coating his cousin's voice. For a moment, Felix looks more hurt than you and you understand it— he had been the one to get you both together, two Americans in Oxford why not stick together, he had invited you to Saltburn last year where Farleigh worked up the nerve to kiss you whilst Felix and Venetia cheered from a balcony above. Felix in the course of it all, became your friend because you never asked for his wealth, never asked for gifts or privileges, and the only thing you ever asked for was notes in a class you shared. Notes that he had never taken before then but started taking almost instantly after and the rest was history.

“Fucking Christ, mate.” Felix curses, he's shaking his head at his cousin. He looks at you, then past you frowning, “Where is Oliver?”

“He left with Anna.”

Felix freezes, “What?”

“He took Annabel home, you remember Anna, don't you? Your ex-girlfriend?”

“We weren't dating.” Felix snaps then shakes his head, “Look I gotta go find Oliver–”

“What? No, you have to stay with Farleigh–”

“I don't even want to be in the same room as him right now. Leave him with the security guards, he'll be fine come morning.”

He kisses your cheek, ignoring your protest as he storms from the room, slamming the door behind him. You think he has no right being this angry when he did something worse but Felix sees himself differently from everyone else, and sometimes it took someone copying his actions to see how fucked up he treated someone.

With a sigh, you look down at Farleigh who somehow managed to doze off in all the bickering, slumped heavily against your smaller figure. You hesitate for a second before attempting to push a hand through his hair and get annoyed when it doesn't go through as it usually would— he wasn't taking care of himself but you can't say you were doing so either. You frown, debating.

“Fuck it, Farleigh wake up, we're going back to my room.”

He only groans against you and you know the hangover he gets tomorrow will hurt.

A part of you missed sleeping next to Farleigh.

You always ran cold and he ran hot, he'd tangle himself around you and pull you flush against his body and the warmth that bloomed made you feel like you were a bear waking from hibernation each morning. You'd shake the sleep from your bones while he'd grumble and try to pull you closer to him, trying to coax you back to bed.

A part of you missed it and you'd probably always miss it but you knew where you stood with Farleigh, you couldn't– you wouldn't go back.

He shifts next to you, his head falling off the pillow and resting in the crook of your neck, his lips ghosting over your pulse that steadily picks up the closer he draws. You've been awake for an hour now, passively texting Annabel as she updates you on her almost sleeping with Oliver, how she managed to give him a handjob (— she took several minutes to describe the size, shape, and feel of his dick to you.) before Felix burst in and dragged him out. You turn away from Farleigh, arm tucking under your pillow as you debate telling Annabel that Felix only showed up to drag Oliver out because he wanted to be the first one to fuck Oliver.

But you remember how eagerly she ditched you for Oliver. You remember how the two of you were just friends, barely acquaintances if you took away all the conversations about Felix or Farleigh so instead, you huff, turning off your phone and chucking it away from you. Farleigh follows your movement, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back against him, his leg slotting between your legs and you freeze.

“Farleigh?”

The man hums, pushing his leg higher in an attempt to pull you closer and a startled breath leaves you. That shouldn't feel good, you won't let it show that it does. You shift, subtly trying to lift your weight from him, “If you can hear me, you should leave. Classes start soon and–” His leg presses higher, directly against your clothed cunt and you jerk, fingernails digging into the arm around your waists. “Farleigh–”

“I missed you.” He whispers against the skin of your neck and you shiver but trying to twist away only makes you grind against his leg or back against him if the breathy groan he lets out is anything to go by. “Can we– can we talk?”

“This isn't talking, this is–” He begins to kiss your neck, tongue swiping across your pulse before he nips at your skin and you nearly choke on your words. “You can't fuck this better, Farleigh. You– I don't even know if you're clean anymore.”

He stills against you and it allows you to pull yourself from his arms, to twist and sit up over him as your heart pounds. You should get out of bed, you think when he stares up at you with wide brown eyes, You should kick him out. You do neither, at least, not yet. Not when he's this close and staring at you like that. “I am,” He finally says and his voice breaks, he blinks quickly, shifting. “I got tested. Twice. I can show you–”

“No.” You say quickly, “No, it's fine. It's not like it matters anymore.”

Farleigh frowns up at you. “It does matter, baby. I shouldn't have– I shouldn't have fucked Alicia, okay? And I know you don't want to hear it but I was high.”

You instantly look away, hands clenching and unclenching. He wants to talk, fine, you could talk. “So that makes it okay?” You ask, “What if I got high and fucked Oliver, huh? Would you be okay with that?”

Farleigh scowls. “It’s not the same thing and you know it. Oliver is a fucking freak and I've told you that–”

“And I told you to stay.” You snap, “Stay in my dorm with me, spend time with me, fuck me. But you went out and fucked Alicia– so excuse me if I don't give a fuck about what you said about Oliver.”

The both of you sit in silence for a minute and you are the first to break it with a sigh, “Just leave, Farleigh. This isn't good for–”

“Do you want to get even with me?” He asks, sitting up. His eyes search your face, looking for…something. “Do you want to fuck Oliver?”

You gape at him, “Are you fuckin’ insane? No!”

“Felix, then. Do you want to fuck him?” He asks, his voice shaking. “‘Cause I'd let you. I'd let you fuck whoever you wanted if it meant you'd come back to me once you were finished.”

You try to get out of bed but he stops you, grabbing your hand and pulling you back in. A gasp rips out of you as you tug your arm away from him, anger pooling in your gut, “Do you hear how fucking pathetic you sound?!” He reaches for you again and you smack his hand away, “Don't fucking touch me!”

“Baby–”

“No!” You shout and when you stand, this time he doesn't stop you, only rushing to follow. “You can't do this shit, Farleigh. I didn't do this to us– I didn't fucking cheat on you!”

“I know–” He tries but you can't hear him, your heart is beating too fast, and your head is pounding. You're sure you're sweating in your effort to keep steady on your feet, to meet his eyes.

“You need to leave, Farleigh. We're done.”

“We’re not.” He insists, stepping closer to you. “Baby, I love you–”

You slap him before you can even stop yourself and you regret it as soon as you do. His head snaps to the side and his jaw flexes as he processes what you've done. He shakes his head, his hand coming to ghost across the reddening skin of his cheek before it drops, his eyes blown wide as he stares at you and you stare back, your hand falling to your side.

You have two seconds to brace yourself. To lock your knees and not bend against his body crashing against yours, his lips on yours as he backs you against the door. He kisses you like he misses you— like he's sorry for everything, for hurting you, for existing. His teeth bite into your bottom lip and when you feel the skin break, you turn your head with a sigh, allowing the man to kiss down your neck. “I’m so fucking sorry,” He mumbles against your skin, “So, so, sorry–”

He sucks a hickey into your skin and your hands clench at the fabric of his shirt, “Farleigh?” He hums, “That’s not how you're supposed to apologize.”

He drops to his knees before you without so much as a blink. He's nosing against your pajama shorts, his hands sliding up your thighs to pull at your waistband. “Take it off.” He orders, tugging at the material and the tone of his voice makes you frown and when he sees this, his tongue swipes across lips as he looks up to you. “Take it off, please.”

And you do so easily, giggling when Farleigh kisses your hands as you do. You push Farleigh back to kick off your shorts and the man leans forward between your legs, placing an open mouth kiss on your pussy– his tongue finding home almost immediately to flick against your clothed clit. “Oh– fuck, wait, wait–” You bend, trying to push him away once more but he shakes your hand off and pushes his face closer, mouth suctioning over your cunt. You thread your fingers through what hair you can, a choked moan leaving you before y anking him away from you, ignoring his choked groan. “Farleigh, what the fuck–?”

“I missed you,” He says, his lips parting as he pants, trying to shift closer to you. “Missed your pretty pussy too.”

Your fingers curl against his scalp, nails ghosting flesh and he moans. It's a filthy sound that makes something hot and warm pool in your gut— makes a breath punch out of your lungs. You missed him but you realize it's deeper than that, that this feeling— this want is something primal and it mixes with the anger that still lingers within you, it mixes and it makes you want to hurt him as much as you want to fuck him. “You’re so fuckin’ greedy,” You mumble, your whole body warm. “You’d eat me whole if I'd let you.”

One hand still in his hair, you use it to pull him further away from your pussy and he goes easily, watching wide-eyed as you use your other hand to pull your panties to the side. You can't bring yourself to be embarrassed about how wet you are, Farleigh has seen you naked dozens of times and you're sure half the wetness is his saliva that leaked through the thin fabric but this time it's different. He stares at you and your pussy like it made the stars, the sun, and the moon and he waits— panting, sweating, his dick straining against his jeans, looking up at you with big brown eyes. It's a good look on him, you decide, this obedience. You move your hand, fingers parting your soaked folds, “Apologize.”

And god, he does so eagerly. He jerks forward, his hands finding purchase with the meat of your thighs as he drags you forward, closer to his mouth. His tongue licks, circling your clit. You bow away from his mouth out of instinct, moans tumbling from your lips and he follows, riding the waves your hips roll to— you back away from the pleasure and he drags you forward, making you ride his tongue with each twitch. “Oh my god,” You whisper, whimpering as you roll your hips. You feel Farleigh smile against you before he slips, his nose replacing his tongue against your clit as he uses both tongue and fingers to fuck you open. “Oh my– O-oh fuck–” You clench around him, your muscles tightening and he parts them as if you're made out of wet tissue, slurping and drinking up the mess you leak onto his hand.

Your body curls away from him and he twists with you, hooking a leg over his shoulder and pressing you flush against the door, his tongue shoved up your pussy and nose against your clit and shakes his head and you nearly scream. You're so wet you can hear yourself, hear flesh sliding against flesh, hear his near-silent moans. His fingers curl into you, snagging against something that makes your legs weak and makes you babble out his name and he finds it again with a little prodding and bullies it with his fingers, rubbing and twisting till you're gasping, grinding down, and chasing the pleasure instead of running from it, “Oh sh-sh-it!” You cry, trying to pull him closer as you hump against his face, “You’re gonna m– I'm gonna–” Your lashes flutter as Farleigh shifts to kneel, hiking you further up the door and forcing you to grind down harder against his tongue and nose.

With a sharp cry, you cum. Your chord snapping as the warmth inside of you boils over. Farleigh makes you ride it out, keeping you closing and still working his tongue through your folds as you come down, he hums— drinking what you give him as your legs shall, and disbelieving giggles leave you. He's slow to stand, kissing his way up your shaky body, slowly coaxing the rest of your clothes off before he meets your lips and you taste yourself on his tongue. “You forgive me?” He asks, once he pulls away and he's still somewhat crouching to be able to look in your eyes, a smug smile pulling at his lips.

You force yourself to frown, to look annoyed despite your shaking legs and racing heart. “Did you make her cum, too?”

Farleigh has the audacity to groan. He hooks his arms around your waist and stands to his full height, lifting you easily and it sends a thrill down your spine. He wraps your legs around his waist as he carries you back to your bed, his teeth ghosting against your collarbone. “Does it fucking matter?”

“Yeah.” You say with a pout as he drops you on your mattress. You watch as he begins to strip, his shirt goes first, then his belt, and he slowly unbuttons his jeans clearly deep in thought so he doesn't notice your impatient looks. You watch eagerly as they drop and his hand slips into his boxers, clearly fisting himself. “Farleigh, did you make her cum?”

“I don't fucking know.” He admits with a frown, “I don't think so. Doesn't matter either. She didn't make me cum,” He lets out a little near-silent moan and you watch the fabric move over his fist, “Haven’t cummed since you left, not even when I touched myself. Closest I got was when I was thinking of you but it's not– fuck, it's not the same, baby. Missed you so bad I nearly fucked a hole into my mattress thinking of you.”

You bite your lip at his words. You bite it harder when he finally pulls down his boxers and his dick springs free and it is weeping, red at its tip and leaking. He rolls his thumb over the head of it before jerking his hand away when his hips try to buck against the feeling. “You’re sick.”

He fucking moans. “Say it again when my dick is in you.” He asks and despite the teasing smile on his face, you have a feeling he's deadly serious. He drops down to the bed, his lips once again connecting with yours. Farleigh rolls his hips against yours, his dick sliding against your pussy and the friction is not enough— you're too wet for it to be grinding at this point and you mumble this against his lips. Farleigh snickers, “There’s no such thing as being too wet.”

You roll your eyes. “Let me on top.”

Farleigh considers you with an odd look in his eyes before he bites his lip and grabs your waist. Your world spins as he settles back against your pillows, pulling you on top of him and he sighs, as his dick catches your entrance in all the movement. “Mm, sit on it, baby.”

You scowl, “Shut up.”

He doesn't, he smiles, his hips humping up towards you. “Know you missed my dick too, I know you missed me fucking you–”

You take him in your hand and he's hot, heavy and it throbs in your grip as you stroke him. Farleigh moans, his little rant getting cut off as he humps into your hand. “You gotta be patient.”

“But I missed you.” He gasps when you grip him harder, his voice cracking as you slowly, slowly sink down on him. “Missed you so fucking bad, missed your laugh, your smile, your beautiful fucking tits–” He gasps as you roll your hips against him. “Oh, fuck, go faster.”

You ignore him, rolling your hips at the same slow pace. Your bed creaks when you move too fast and you're suddenly uncomfortable, aware of the sunlight shining through your blinds, the possible students in the room next to you or below you— you try not to cringe about who heard you cum when you were pressed against the door. You roll your hips again, bracing yourself against his chest, grinding firmly against him, a soft moan leaving you. Farleigh only curses, his feet planted firmly on the bed and he bucks up into you, forcing you into the galloping pace that he wants. Your hands scramble, nails scraping across his chest as he momentarily brutal pace— he's panting in your ear, small and desperate, ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck-’s leave his lips like a prayer as he forces your hips down to meet him, the slap of skin nearly sounds like a song and it's nearly enough to make you cum all over again.

You gasp his name in disbelief, one hand rushing to push at his thigh because it's too much. You've just come and you're sensitive and gushy and he's making another mess out of you. Your other hand flies to his neck and you grip hard, pushing yourself up and then down in an attempt to stop his thrust and you're shocked when Farleigh almost completely goes still. He's still panting and his fingers are digging into your hips but he's staring at you with a glazed-over look in his eyes, his parting in a silent moan as your fingers flex against his throat. “I love you.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“‘m not.” He whimpers as you begin to ride him again, bed creaking be damned— he's never not fought you like this. He gasps as you pick up your pace, “I love you so fucking much, wanted to– want to marry you–”

You clench around him and he chokes out a moan. He continues, babbling. “‘nd I'm so fucking sorry baby– fuck– I-I am, I'm so sorry–” Your fingers tighten around his throat and his hips roll to meet your pace, chasing the pleasure. “I love you, fuck– I fucking love you and– and–” His breath catches as you lift your hips and drop back down, he bites his lip, his eyes rolling back. “Please?”

You let out a confused hum and he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing under your hand. “I'm so close, baby. Haven't cummed in weeks– just please, a little faster, a little harder.” When he asks like that, you don't have in you to deny him, you shift and he answers with a moan as you bounce on his dick. One hand still on his neck, and you bring the other one up to rub messy circles against your clit. The both of you are a mess, moaning and chasing pleasure and when he cums it's with a shuddering gasp— he doesn't warn you as he spills inside of you and you continue to ride him fixated on your pleasure. You cum only a few short minutes after him, collapsing against his chest and he wraps his arms around you.

“Come to Saltburn.”

You're too tired to pull away but you tense in his arms, a sigh leaving you, “Far–”

“Please.” He begs, his voice a near whisper. “Only Felix knew we–” He pauses, a choked breath and starts over. “I didn't tell anyone else we broke up and he's bringing Oliver. Don't let me go back outnumbered.”

“I don't know, Farleigh.” You mumble against his chest.

“It’s only for the summer.” He says. “It’s one summer. Then– then if you mean it, if we're done you can leave. I'll never speak to you again.”

You draw a soft pattern against his chest, a shaky breath leaving you. It's one summer, he's right. Nothing could go wrong in only one summer, you have nothing to lose. Still, “Promise?”

He hugs you tighter, almost as if he's afraid you'd disappear at that very moment. “Promise.”

[saintlopezlov3r]

Sebastian Sallow🐍

Hogwarts Legacy

Credits to(first three pictures): @shenko

[orobaxis]

melting under blue skies (belting out sunlight)

ominis gaunt x reader (hogwarts legacy)

summary: you really wanna hold ominis' hand. "coincidentally", anne sallow has somehow dragged herself and her brother away from you and ominis during hogsmeade weekend

reader is not hogwarts legacy mc

word count: 2398

beware of spoilers in the comments/tags/reblogs!

"close your mouth, you're staring again!"

you hmmph, turning to anne sallow who giggles before stuffing her mouth again. you both sit in the great hall, waiting for sebastian and ominis to arrive.

"i wasn't staring," you retort, "i was just relieved that they finally arrived. i thought seb was going to make them late for breakfast again."

the boys finally make their way towards you, sebastian seating himself beside his sister and ominis finding his way by your side. you don't miss the smirk anne gives you behind her goblet when you turn red, blushing profusely. "he very nearly did," ominis sighs, although there was no venom in his voice, "it turns out that it was a good idea to send you both to the great hall early instead of leaving you to starve waiting for him in the common room."

you watch him fiddle with his hands, fingers digging into his palms to massage them. oh, you wonder what his hands must feel like.

"well, i don't hear you complaining," sebastian starts to argue, but stops himself, "actually no, you complained about it all this time, wallowing about making y/n wait."

you almost spit out your drink, but mask it as a cough behind your goblet. the idea of ominis complaining that he doesn't want to make you wait surprises you. you subtly turn your head to look at ominis' face, but like always, you cannot gauge his expression, his face blank.

"anyway," anne inhales, excited to change the subject, "any shops you're excited to go to at hogsmeade?"

it's a hogsmeade weekend, and anne is excited to go to visit shops in the neighbouring village. her brother chatters about going to the owl post to send a letter to his uncle solomon about a book he had forgotten.

ominis, as always, is quiet. he prefers to listen, but ever since getting to know you and the sallow twins, he also does not hesitate to chime in here and there. despite his quiet disposition, you certainly think he's become more engaged with sebastian and anne, now offering his opinions, sassing the sallow boy, and speaking his own mind.

you also started to notice how it's almost the opposite for you.

not that he has started ignoring you, no, not like that. recently, he just seems...reserved. when talking to you, he prefers to speak in a lowered voice, almost whispering. he would nudge you with his shoulder before leaning his face in your direction, asking if you stayed up late to finish your transfiguration homework, or if you dread the next potion class with professor sharp. you also remember how stupid you looked one time when you were certain that ominis gave a little chuckle, before asking, "remember how you gushed about that niffler in our beasts class but the little devil actually emptied sebastian's pockets of all the galleons?" like he was trying to make you laugh. when anne wasn't around, he would find you in the common room, helping you tell stories to other students about seeing merpeople in the water, the two of you smiling when the students would wait there for hours for any sign of merpeople swimming about.

oh, and it certainly didn't help that anne knew of your...infatuation with the gaunt boy.

you're not really certain when anne first noticed. you're not even sure when you first noticed it yourself. but you and anne are best friends, "we're sisters!" she'd say, "i know you like the back of my twin brother's own hand!"

her face was both mischievous and sincere when she told you, "y/n, you fancy ominis!"

-

after finishing up in potions, almost as though ominis can see the frown on your lips, he turns to you, "is something wrong?"

you purse your lips, trying to ignore how your heart flutters as you watch him tilt his head in curiosity, and shake your head, "no, it's just...we don't have enough mongrel fur to brew an edurus potion for next class."

ominis hums as he nods, "that shouldn't be a problem, y/n," he reassures you. he fiddles with his hands habitually, and you almost feel bad for taking advantage of his blindness to look at him like he hung the moon. "we can pick those up at j pippin's potions this weekend."

you thought about asking him to hold your hand before, whenever you four were up to no good, sneaking around the palace. you wonder if he would have let you.

"we really should learn that spell to clean up our potions station," anne sighs, "every time garreth brews something, he blows things up instead."

"and it's always us who end up getting splashed," sebastian bemoans.

-

"well, don't you look charming."

you roll your eyes as you watch anne grinning at you through the mirror.

"i look the same as i always was," you tell her.

"hm-mm," she hums at you unconvincingly, "if you only ominis could see you now, am i right?"

"anne!" you cajole her, turning beet red, "stop saying stuff like that!"

"what?" she raises her hands in defense, "i'm just saying you look beautiful, and if i didn't know any better i'd say you were going on a date!"

you ignore her, as well as the butterflies in your stomach at the thought of being on a hogsmeade date with ominis. you heard about couples who go to hogsmeade for dates, going to honeydukes for sweets, steepley and sons for tea and other confectionaries, and snogging in alleyways. but this is not a hogsmeade date, this is just the four of you going to hogsmeade to buy as many candies as you can afford at honeydukes.

turning to your best friend, you frown, "well, what about you? don't tell me you're going to hogsmeade wearing your night clothes!"

anne blinks at you slowly before she shrugs, "i'm not going to hogsmeade unfortunately."

you double take, turning to her in shock, "what do you mean? you were all excited about going to hogsmeade!" she laughs as you gape at her.

"yes, i was excited about it, but i got detention. remember? the duelling?"

you close your eyes in resignation, flashbacks of what happened a few days ago brought you back to when anne and imelda were rough-housing each other and ended up whisking their wands in the hallway--which was not allowed. duelling was only allowed during classes (and in crossed wands duelling club, which you were certain by now was not as inconspicuous as lucan and sebastian insisted).

-

disappointed by the lack of anne on your trip to hogsmeade, you exit the castle and expected to find the boys hanging out by the fountain. many students are situated there today, enjoying the heat of the sun, while droves are also walking to hogsmeade, and some took the opportunity to play quidditch (you can hear imelda reyes all the way from the quidditch pitch). to your surprise, however, the sallow boy was not there to greet you and complain about anne missing hogsmeade weekend, only--

"ominis?"

you were almost certain he could see you, from the way he stood up from the stone bench even before you finished crossing the lawn to greet him. he is expecting you, you gather, but how does he know that you were walking towards him?

"i didn't wait long, if that's what you're concerned about," he starts, the edges of his lips quirking upwards as he fiddles with his hands again. you look at his hands, then his face, trying to admire it like it was the first time you've seen it.

"and-"

"sebastian had detention," he cuts you off, but not in an unpolite manner. you take the time to admire how carefree, relaxed, and comfortable he looks outside of his uniform, "he got caught trying to sneak into the restricted section again."

your pace was slow and relaxed as you stroll outside the castle grounds. lots of students walk the path going to and from hogsmeade, the sounds of laughter in the air. you try to tell your heart not to do backflips at the absence of ominis' wand in his hand, trusting you enough to guide his way.

"what was he doing there this time?"

"i think he was trying to get back at peeves for locking him in the bathroom the other night."

at the sound of your laugh, ominis smiles.

-

you think of three different times when you were sure you realized how much you cared for ominis.

it could have been in your first year, when you sat next to him in charms and he would lose (let you win) summoner's court every single time even though you know that he was good at it (you saw him play against sebastian and leander and won). when you confronted him about it, there was an almost smirk in his otherwise blank face, "i like that whooping sound you make when you win."

it could have been when he told you and the sallows, whom he now call his friends, about his past, his family, and his resentment towards them and the dark arts. you didn't think any less of him and you don't now, and you don't think you ever will, but the look on his face seemed like the world was lifted off his shoulders. he began to smile more, make jokes, pass you some confectionaries and tea while you wait for your next class.

or it could have been that day in hogsmeade-

-

your hands kept brushing against each other.

you want to blame it on the other students-hogsmeade is too crowded!-making you squeeze through people and making sure that ominis is alright. you didn't want to break off the distance between you two (just to make sure he's alright, of course, nothing else). you two are now walking so close together that you can feel his body heat emanating, and you can smell him up close, and you mutter a quick thanks that he cannot see you because of how red you've become.

ominis let you drag him to j pippin's potions to buy those potions supplies--you tell him you can go there last, but he insists, "it's better to get it out of the way now to leave us free time to visit other shops."

leave us free time to visit other shops. yes, right, you have to focus.

the first time your hand brushed his you recoiled in surprise, hurriedly apologizing. you know that some people value their personal spaces, and it's bad enough that you're almost bumping shoulders with him because of the density of students in the village, you didn't want him to think you are also invading his own bubble.

he chuckles at your apology, but says nothing.

-

you bring him to tomes and scrolls next, and lets you toddle here and there looking for books to read. you didn't tell him what you were looking for anything in particular, so it surprises ominis when you skip over in front of him (he can almost hear the giddiness in your footsteps).

"did you find a book you want?"

grinning, you nod, "yes, finally! i had to order this, had to wait weeks! good thing it arrived just when we came here."

ominis feels the package being softly pushed against his chest, you standing in front of him almost expectantly, "what?"

"it's for you," you swallow, "i couldn't get you anything on your birthday, but here it is. belated happy birthday!"

you hold your breath as you watch him process what you said, afraid that he'll refuse it. it had been a special order that you had to wait weeks to get, hence why his gift is a bit delayed. you watch his face, the beauty marks on his forehead, his mouth opening (you hope it's not a refusal of your gift), and you realize that ominis is gaping. he is shocked.

"for me?" he asks, chuckling in disbelief. he finally raises his hands to hold it, fingers grazing against yours ever so softly, but you don't flinch this time, nor do you apologize.

patiently waiting as he runs his fingers on the cover of the book, you wait until he finishes reading it.

"bestiarum magicum?"

you nod, grinning proudly, "in braille! it's one of my favourite books, and this version goes in-depth with descriptions of the magical creatures," when he says nothing, you continue, "you seem to like it when i read it aloud so i thought..."

ominis clears his throat, feeling it becoming tighter. you ordered a braille version of your favourite book, the one he would ask you to read because you enjoy it so much and he enjoys listening to you. "i...thank you," he whispers, now giving you a shy grin, one that makes you blush, "i look forward to reading it."

-

the third time you realized just how much you cared could have been the time you two finally decide to go to the three broomsticks, hungry and eager to rest your feet. the alley is crowded again, and you try to make sure no one bumps into you or ominis, who now carries the book under his arm.

your fingers graze again.

you jolt, moving your hand out of the way and turn to him to apologize, but his head was turned your way, tilted in that same way he does whenever he's curious, and there is a smile on his face.

before you can open your mouth to apologize, you feel it again.

first, the heat.

then his skin.

his fingers touch yours slowly, as if asking for permission.

if ominis can see you, he would see your eyes wide in shock, surprise, cheeks tinted red.

finally, his fingers tangle with you, and his face turns forward, the smile never leaving his face.

he squeezes your hand gently, like saying "is this okay?"

you squeeze back, and shift closer to him that your shoulders touch. "yes, it's okay."

-

inside the three broomsticks, sirona greets you two. "hello kids, go upstairs, there's people waiting for you, i'll bring the butterbeers right up."

you and ominis are both confused, but his hand doesn't leave yours as you guide him up the stairs.

in one of the tables sat the twins, mischievous and victorious smiles on their faces.

-

hp phase is back so much i started rereading my fave fanfics on fanfiction.net lmao

49 hours into the game, 55% progress

[petrichor-idyllic]

I loved your Minho x female reader so could I please request another one? So the main idea is Minho teaches the female reader how to fight so she can protect herself if its needed. And ya know there's some liking between those two building up and it includes some spice as well. I trust your writing skills to fill the gaps of this idea ;). Thank you so much

Oooo, I really like this idea, tysm for your request :)).

□ Firecracker □

MASTERLIST

SUMMERY: see above. Takes place before the arrival of Thomas.

WARNINGS: inappropriate language, violence, implied sexual content and spice.

"It's not happening, dude," you groan at Minho's clear reluctancy to listen to you.

The past few months had been rough. Rougher than usual. You were the only girl in the Glade- something you'd come to accept and live with fairly quickly, especially when the next Greenie came up and was male.

But now, every month, another boy came up in the Box, had a meltdown, then tried to flirt with you. It was like clockwork.

And you hated it.

It was like every person who joined the Glade saw you as some kind of trophy. And every single one of them, without fail, would try to hit on you at some point after their arrival. It would be a flex for them to have the only girl hanging off their arm and wanting their attention.

But that wasn't how it worked- and these dumb boys couldn't seem to work that out.

As more and more hormone filled teenagers joined the crowd, you started to grow more anxious. Sure, Alby has put some strict rules in place about respecting your boundaries, but if they decided to break the rules, then the damage would've been done before Alby could stop it.

You knew that the boys wouldn't dare do that, but with some becoming more pushy and their drunken flirting becoming less subtle; you knew you had to do something.

And that something was Minho.

No- not like that.

You wanted him to teach you to fight.

Minho's the best of the best. He always has been, for as long as you'd been there, at least. He's fast, strong, brave and completely and utterly stubborn.

That's the problem. Minho is a busy dude. He's one of the most resilient people in the Glade because of the traumatic shit he deals with on a pretty much daily basis. He wants to help you defend yourself, but he's also one bad thing away from collapsing from exhaustion. Not to mention, he thinks you're kind of hot, which could become a problem.

Kind of.

Not that that's anything new to you.

Minho's not like them- of course, he isn't. He respects your boundaries and treats you like he would any other Glader. Which is why you asked him in the first place.

Apart from Newt and Alby, Minho is grouped in with the few boys here you actually trust. You saw Minho as a leader with one-track-mind and you seriously admire his drive and determination.

You guys aren't exactly close. You're friends with Newt, he's friends with Newt, the Runners are also friends with Newt- damn, Newt's popular. Anyway, because of your friendships entangling with one another, you knew Minho pretty well.

Sure, he's irritating occasionally and talks too much, but he's got a good heart. And right now, that's what you need.

"Minho," you whine, following him towards the stone Doors. You'd managed to catch him before he ventured out into the Maze for the day, something you'd become incredibly good at timing. Much to his dismay. "C'mon, man! You want me to be able to look after myself, don't ya?"

"I'm sure you can manage that without my help- half of these shanks will be buggin' to help you out."

"Yeah, but I don't want them to help me; I want you," Minho stops in his tracks, trying to hide the slight smile playing on his lips and you take this as a hint that he actually might listen to you, "you know I don't trust these slintheads." You pause, rocking on your feet and shoving your hands in your pockets. "And," you drag out the syllable, "you know I'm not gonna leave you alone until you agree."

You're persistent, alright. Something he admires about you. You're going to get what you want, one way or another.

Minho sighs, pinching his brow as rumbling fills the Glade. With you preventing him from following his cue to leave for the day, you flash him an innocent smile. He huffs again.

"Fine."

"Yes!" You exclaim, having a slight premature victory.

"Meet me tonight by the Map room once the Doors close. I got klunk to do and my job comes first. Once I'm done, we'll get started, okay?"

You nod, "Yes, Sir." He rolls his eyes and turns away, jogging towards the Maze.

"Wait, what about dinner?" You shout after him.

"Not my problem!"

So you went about your day, eagerly awaiting for Minho to get back to the Glade. You knew there wasn't much point going after him when he arrived because he still had shit to do. So you wait about fifteen minutes before making your way to the Map room.

The minutes feel like hours as you impatiently bob your foot up and down, leaning against the side of the wooden hut.

After what must've only been ten minutes, Minho emerges, though he does seem slightly shocked to see you.

"You forgot, didn't you?" You sigh and he shakes his head.

"No," he clears his throat, taking his trade-mark stance as he pulls down on his harness, "just don't know why you're so eager to get your ass kicked."

"I'm eager to learn, shuckface, and who says I won't kick your ass?"

"Lotta spark for someone who's begging for my attention."

You shove him. It's playful but still warning. You let Minho get away with a lot more than the other Gladers. Maybe it's because he's easy on the eyes and is too smart for his own good.

You'd never admit it to him, hell, you can barely admit it to yourself, but Minho is pretty. He's the definition of a pretty boy. The dude is stuck on a farm in a Maze full of monsters and he looks like he's broken out of a magazine.

It's unfair.

It's just a dumb surface level attraction, though. You don't know much about Minho apart from what you've seen in a group and what Newt's told you. But the boy is good-looking. Painfully so.

He leads the way, coming to a more open part of the field, but far away enough from the main civilization to not get disturbed.

It starts simple. Minho talks you through some basic self-defence moves. How to block and dodge- something that is basic enough, and you get the hand of pretty fast.

Minho knows you're observant and you learn fast, effortlessly copying him and managing to follow his instructions with little to no problem.

He swings at you, and you step back, letting his fist brush past you. He goes again, and this time, you block it, already feeling the bruises starting to form on your forearms.

"Not bad, Firecracker," you throw a sarcastic grin his way as you try to ignore his wicked grin. It definitely made you feel some type of way- that cocky smirk of his.

He lunges forward again and you go to block, only for him to grab your wrist and spin you around. He steps side-way, spinning himself and yanking you towards his back. He flips you over his back and you hit the floor with a thud.

You groan out, sharp pain lacing your spine as Minho cackles.

"You shucking.. bitch," you grunt, sitting up, your hands flying to your head in an attempt to stop your brain bouncing around your skull.

Minho just continues to chuckle as he kneels in front of you, his hand outstretched and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. "I think that's enough for one day."

"Yeah," you mumble, "it might just be."

"Same time tomorrow?" Minho asks as you dust yourself down, fully back on your feet. You smile at him.

"Sure thing, slinthead. You wanna eat?"

You fell into an unusual routine. Minho would come back from the Maze, you would finish your job, then you'd go meet him and you'd fight for a couple of hours before raiding the kitchen and get shouted at by Frypan.

It was surprisingly fun, and over time, you noticed that you weren't waiting nearly as long for Minho to finish up his job in the Map room.

And you were getting good. Like, actually good. Your simple blocking and dodging had turned into full-out fighting. Minho's faster than you, obviously- he has years of training hanging over your head and can run for miles without even breaking a sweat.

The man has the stamina of a God. And even though you are improving, you doubt you'd ever be able to match him. But you're starting to give him a run for his money.

"That all ya got, Runner boy?" You hold you hands in front of your face, fists loose and guarding, one leg pushed behind you as your gaze holds on his.

It's tense. The competitive spirit only makes it even more so.

"Please," Minho scoffs, "I'm going easy on you." He darts forward and you swerve out of the way as you both make accurate and relentless hits at each other. It's more methodical than aggressive. You block him, he blocks you and it's obvious despite your training that neither of you have any intention of actually hurting one another.

He swings and you manage to avoid it, stepping to the side as he moves back away. In a last second decision, you move your foot behind his. He doesn't react fast enough and it catches, making him stumble backwards.

But not before he grabs you.

In a meaningless attempt for stability, Minho accidentally grabs fist fulls of your shirt, making you yelp and swiftly forcing you down with him.

You both land in a heap on the grassy floor. You're lay on top of him, your legs tangled together as you nearly swallow a mouthful of his shoulder.

Minho's hands fall from your chest as you both let out pained as slightly stunned grunts. Your hands go to the floor as you push yourself up, moving your leg from between his and swinging it over his thigh to make it easier to get up. You freeze when you meet Minho's gaze.

This looks... bad. Minho's face is mere inches away from yours, his breathing heavy, and you realise he moved his hand prior to try and stabilise you from falling further, meaning they're firmly planted on your waist. You also failed to notice that your other leg was already on the other side of him, so now you're basically sat on his crotch- casually straddling him.

You feel your face begin to go red. Minho's hair is dishevelled, a thin layer of sweat sticking to his forehead, and the tight harness acts like a corset in showing his defined chest through his blue, already tight shirt.

This looks like something straight out of a poorly scripted porn scene. What do you even do now? What is the appropriate move to even start thinking about getting out of this situation?

"Are you, uh, you okay?" Minho speaks, thank God, and you collect yourself.

"Uh, yeah, I'm okay- are you?"

"Mhm, yeah, but we should probably, uh-"

"Right, yeah," Yep. It would be a smart move to get off of him as quickly as possible. Not that you go about that in the right way. Minho cautiously takes his hands away from you, like if he moves slowly enough, you'll never notice they were there in the first place.

You sit up straight, so you're no longer hovering over him and in your attempt to get one of your legs up to stand, you accidently shift forward.

Now, in most normal circumstances, this wouldn't be a problem. You're sparing partners- things get physical sometimes. No biggie.

Except Minho is a touch-staved permanently-stressed teenage boy who has more frustrations and problems than a fully grown adult. And the only girl he can even remember meeting has just accidentally ground against his dick.

Not ideal.

His hands fly to your legs, forcing you to completely still. His jaw is tense, and his eyes flutter open. He notices the concern on your face and manages to mumble out:

"Don't do that. Please."

Please.

Since when did Minho ever use his manners? There's a certain rasp in his voice that goes straight to your core and your body feels on fire from embarrassment as you realise what just happened.

"Sorry," you squeak, moving as fast as physically possible to get up. You stumble to the side slightly, catching yourself and not daring to meet the Asian boy eyes.

He sits up, leaning forward as you extend a hand to him to help him up. "Sorry, I didn't mean to- yanno, I-I just-"

"It's fine," he stands without taking your offering, "let's just... just call it a day, yeah?" You give him a rapid and awkward nod. "I'm gonna," he clears his throat, throwing his thumb over his shoulder, "take a shower."

You watch him walk away. There's no way you're about to ask him if he wants to eat after that shit-show.

Minho thought that the cold shower would calm him down. He'd always been respectful; never joining in on the gross jokes or the staring, and he often told other Gladers to shut up or knock it off. The bare minimum, really, and he knew that.

But now, suddenly, that was hard. And that wasn't the only thing.

He understood teenage hormones and sexual frustration, he sure as hell heard enough about it from the assholes he lived with. And it wasn't uncommon for him to experience his own frustrations. But this? This is embarrassing.

You'd barely done anything. You'd been pulled on to him and then, what? Moved slightly? And he's reacting this way? Jesus, he felt pathetic using the cold water hammering against his nape to lower his blood pressure. He's better than this.

You weren't doing much better in all honesty. Except, you're not as good at keeping your mouth shut.

"Please tell me you're joking." Newt sits across from you, his face in his hands and his elbows resting on the table in front of him.

"I didn't mean to!" You whisper-yell between mouthfuls of bread. You'd approached Newt before, face burning, on the verge of tears because you thought you'd just fucked up your blossoming friendship with Minho. Newt's first move was to feed you. You'd calmed down since.

Though it was embarrassing explaining why you were so upset- especially since the whole ordeal was kinda of, well, you didn't want to admit it, but it was hot.

"God, he hates me," your hands also go to your face and Newt holds back a laugh, resulting in it coming out as a strained snort. "It's not funny!" You throw a stray piece of bread at him and he swats it away.

"It kinda is, mate," you glare and Newt drops his hands to his lap.

"He looked so uncomfortable! I don't think he's gonna forgive me, man."

"Trust me; he's gonna forgive you," you blankly look at your companion, "look, from what I've heard, the problem probably comes from him, uh... enjoying it."

"But that doesn't-"

"Bloody hell, let me finish!" You immediately silence, your mouth closing like a trap. "But he's a nice dude- probably didn't wanna seem like a perv."

"Whatever," you brush off the thought, not wanting to get into that conversation right now, "I don't think I'll be training for a while."

And you were right.

It'd been radio silence on Minho's end, and you were too awkward to change that. Newt became very much piggy in the middle for the next few days, but he quickly had enough.

You had been moping around because you'd started to actually like Minho. You enjoyed being around him, and you liked seeing the looser, more free version of himself he became when he was teaching you.

Minho had apparently been more snappy too. The Runners were being pushed to their limits this week as Minho became more demanding and frustrated with himself, resulting in pushing it on them.

"Talk to him," you'd been staring into the flames of the fire in the middle of the main area for about fifteen minutes, contemplating that yourself. "Please, for the love of God, just talk to him."

Newt hovers over you, standing behind the log you're sat on. He'd spoken to Frypan about it, who had told him he'd been letting you guys get away with stealing his supplies because it was rare for Minho to be so joyous.

And that's when it clicked for him.

"No."

"Shuck it," the blond lets out a frustrated groan, "if you don't talk to him, I will and that'll be a lot shuckin' worse for ya." You finally look at him, a warning glare. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He grabs your sleeve pulling you to your feet. "Go, now."

"You can't tell me what to do." You shove him off and he rolls his eyes.

"Actually, yeah, I can- it's my job. He's in his hut. Go. Now."

You huff, giving him a 'seriously?' type of look before he jolts his head to the left, silently telling you to move.

You dramatically turn, stomping away and walking in the direction of Minho's place of rest. As you progress, your footsteps become lighter. The nerves start to build up in your stomach and your anger at Newt suddenly seems so small.

You suck in a deep breath, shaking your hands as you glance at the ground. You can see flames dancing in between the cracks of the poorly constructed building, but you can't make anything else out apart from shadows in the candlelight.

You force your fist to hit the oak before you have the chance to take it back. Newt's right; this is dumb. And far too petty considering everything else you have to deal with on a daily basis.

There's no response.

So you knock again.

"Shuckin' hell, give me a damn second-" Minho rips the door open, startling you, and you jump back slightly. "Oh. Hi."

"...Hi."

Minho stands, tall, shirtless, slightly damp and with a towel in his hand as he dries his hair. He's clearly just gotten out of the shower and only bothered to sort himself out once in his room.

Terribly inconvenient for you.

"You good?" He's surprisingly casual, draping the towel around his neck and holding either side, just like how he holds his harness.

"Uh, yeah," you clear your throat and force yourself to look at his face, "I was just wondering if you wanted to keep training me?" Minho raises his eyebrow. Honestly, once he opened the door, your mind went black.

What exactly were you meant to say to him? 'Just talk to him' is incredibly vague.

"Uh, I thought you didn't wanna do that anymore?"

"I mean, I didn't say that, did I?"

"No, but you haven't shown up at the Map room for a couple of days- I just kinda figured."

"Oh, right..." This was your fault? Of course it was. Minho had assumed you didn't want to after your unexpected interaction and had taken it at face-value. And when you ghosted him, he assumed he was right. "I didn't think-"

"But if you wanna keep training, then I'm down."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, cool," you grin at him, "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Yeah," you push your lips into a thin line before turning around and walking away.

That wasn't that bad.

Things were going to go back to normal.

Sike. Of course they weren't.

Your fighting sessions picked up easily enough, but now there was something else. Everything went fuzzy when he stood too close, or when he put his hands on you to correct your fighting stance. Which only made you lose focus and become sloppy, which only led to more physical contact.

It was a vicious cycle. Yet, a welcomed one.

People started to notice, too. They caught Minho staring at you more, and the way you'd change your demeanour the second he joined a conversation.

But you didn't want to make things weird again. Well, weirder at least.

That was until Minho decided to teach you to tackle. An odd decision on his part, all things considered, but you agreed nonetheless.

For the most part, it consisted of you barging into him from the side at high speed and almost always resulted in sending you both flying and landing separately, several metres away from one another.

"Come on, you can do better than that," Minho encouraged you.

"Dude, everything fuckin' hurts, man," you grumble, composing yourself again.

"Suck it up, sweetheart, you wanted to do this."

You growl at him, teeth bared like an animal. "Fine." You charge towards him with no warning, clashing into him.

It easily knocks him down since he wasn't even trying to stay on his feet, but this time you hook your arm around him.

You both roll, bodies connected and close and after a couple of turns, he lands firmly on top of you. Not wanting a repeat, and wanting to use some previously learnt methods, you react.

You go to kick his legs from beneath him as he kneels to give you the upper hand, but he predicts this, blocking you with his other leg.

You try to shove him instead, but he grabs both of your wrists. It's effortless, smooth and incredibly dominating, holding both your arms against the dirt with one arm.

"Okay," he mutters, mainly to himself, "this is something we definitely have to work on." He's referring to the vulnerable situation you're in- something he's meant to be teaching you to fix.

But you're too distracted. A lot of his body weight is on you, not all of it because he doesn't want to crush you, but enough for you to feel him. His arms bulge out of his shirt and you watch the muscle flex as it holds you firmly in place. Oh God.

You stare at him, completely hypnotised as the setting sun breaks free over the Maze walls and bounce off of his tanned skin, creating a golden effect. His long eyelashes fan as he seems to be examining the position you're in so he can figure out how to tell you to get out of it.

His eyes flicker to your face, and he suddenly tenses. Your slightly parted lips and deep breaths make his brain short-circuit. He's got to get off of you.

He moves to do so, but before he can, his grip on your wrists becomes loose, and you lean in, pressing a kiss against his lips. It's gentle and nervous, completely taking the Runner by surprise.

You pull away when he doesn't reciprocate. You don't know what came over you. You acted completely without thinking, like some kind of instinct came over you.

Your eyes widen- the dizziness of his closeness evaporating.

"Oh my God," you stutter out, your head resting back on the ground, "Minho, I'm so sorry. I didn't think- shuck, I'm sorry!"

"Don't be," his voice is barely above a whisper as he leans back in. Your noses brush against one another as his grip tightens again.

He's testing the water; seeing whether or not that was a dumb mistake you just made or if you accidentally just showed him what you wanted.

He smells almost sweet, a mix of the soap sent up in the Box, his sweat and plants from rolling around in the grass for the past hour. It's intoxicating. He's intoxicating.

You connect your lips to his once again. It's deeper this time, gaining almost an instant response from him. It's still short, though, as he pulls away for a second to look at you.

"Shit," he mumbles into your mouth before you connect for the third time, this time your lips moving against each other, becoming more sloppy and desperate.

Minho is a surprisingly good kisser for someone with so little experience, and you let him take the lead, copying his movements as your mouths mold into one another.

He lets go of your wrists, instead using both arms to stabilise himself, and you take the opportunity to wrap your arms around the back of his neck. Your fingers run through his hair and he shivers at the contact, humming into you.

He, completely instinctively, rolls his hips against yours, causing some much needed friction to the last couple of tense weeks. You whimper quietly, telling him that he's doing something right at least.

Bucking your hips up into his, you feel him harden against you and he brushes his tongue against your bottom lip.

Your tongues meet, slipping into one another's mouths, somehow even closer than before. His hand travels down to your leg, grabbing your thigh and hiking it higher, almost hooking it over his shoulder so he can move more.

It's all getting heated very fast, especially when your hand drops from his shoulders and slips under hit shirt, forcing it to expose more skin as you dig your nails into his back. This earns you an almost moan, more of a grunt, but it still sends butterflies through your lower stomach.

"What the shuck?" Someone shouts from a fair distance away, "Jesus! Get a shucking room!"

Minho breaks this kiss, glaring at the Glader before looking at you and grinning, the bright red state of your face bringing him great amusement.

"You know," you start, dragging your finger down his chest, "that isn't such a bad idea."

"What isn't?" He raises his eyebrow slightly. What are you talking about?

"Getting a room," your bashful gaze avoids him, but your blown-out pupils and puffy lips are more than enough to convince him.

Minho doesn't even hesitate to climb off of you, yanking you to your feet with him and throwing you over his shoulder. You shriek, and he barks a laugh as he starts to carry you in the direction of his hut.

"You've done it now, Firecracker.

Woo, another request done. I guess writing for Minho is kinda becoming my thing, huh? Not that I'm complaining.

Let me know what you think and whether you like it, he's definitely a fun character to write for. Requests are still open :))

[petrichor-idyllic]

And just because I love your writing and definitely love Minho I would like to make another request (yes your personality now is to make Minho x fem!reader stories sorry :) ). So it's bonfire night and reader gets kinda drunk being somewhat flirty with Minho and when the bonfire is over Minho takes her to bed safely so she doesnt get taken advantage of some drunk boy and she confesses that she feels safe with him. Thank youuuu :)

Oooo yessss. This is right down my alley aha. I guess writing for Minho really is becoming my thing. Not that I'm complaining since I've been in love with him since I read the books when I was like twelve. That being said, I have a list of other characters I will write for pinned on my blog :))

○Under The Influence○

MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Takes place before the arrival of Thomas.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, some suggestive language and actions, teenage drink and dumb drunkenness.

Greenie Day had always been your favourite time of the month, even since you experienced your first day in the Glade.

Because it meant it was Bonfire night. It's the one night that everyone let loose a little bit. Under the night sky with the burning flame dancing and people enjoying themselves.

It was rare for people to have a break during the month, so you're not the only one who impatiently waits for the next day a scared Newbie shows up.

And now, it's even better. The boys were getting used to you and you them, earning a mutual respect where you aren't as scared to have some fun.

"Yes!" You exclaim, punching the air in celebration as the empty cup lands on it's head, beating Gally who is just hairs behind you. Claps and cheers from the small crowd of observers break out as Gally has to down another glass of his mystery liquid.

You'd been playing some dumb drinking game with a fair few boys for a while now. The faint buzz of the alcohol sinking in feels good, and you know Newt's nearby to step in if he needs to.

It's nights like these where the Glade doesn't seem so bad. Sure, the Maze is shit, but the Glade is like a mini heaven slapped right in the middle. When things goes smoothly, you really don't mind living there.

You fake bow, chuckling to yourself before you fistbump Gally, showing some true sportsmanship.

You continue playing some games, including a game of truth or dare, which ends up with Frypan sitting on the floor with no shirt on and you having to down an entire glass of moonshine.

"Okay, (Y/N), truth or dare?" Clint asks you between sips of his own drink.

"Hmm, truth."

"Ugh, again?"

"There's no way that I'm taking dares off of you slintheads."

"Okay, okay, uh," Clint thinks for a second, trying to think of a question, "Okay, I got one. Who, out of everyone here, do you think is the most attractive?" The boys seem to perk up at this question, all eyes falling on you.

You have an answer. Of course, you do. But you're not gonna answer.

You give Clint a smirk before taking a swig from your glass, silently forfeiting and earning a series of growns.

Subtly, your eyes wander last the group you're sitting with and over to the Runners. They normally sat on the outskirts of the group, and tonight isn't any different. They didn't really involve themselves with the events of the party, preoccupied with thinking and talking about the Maze.

It makes you feel bad for them. They sound all day, everyday out there and then they come back and can't get it out of their heads.

Which sucks for you because the answer to Clint's question is Minho.

The man is drop-dead gorgeous. He's athletic, quick, witty and respectful. You always find yourself staring when he comes back to the Glade- the sweat makes his already tight shirt stick to him, the harness exaggerating his features, his hair is always perfect to the point of it almost being comedic the casual glances he throws your way make butterflies form in your stomach. Not to mention, he's always been respectful, even jumping to your defence when the other boys try taking things too far.

It's not like you'd never spoken. You'd had a couple of brief conversations and you liked talking to the Runners- you seemed to brighten their grim days.

Someone sitting next to you suddenly clicks their fingers in front of your face, snapping you out of your trance. "Hello? You in there?"

"Sorry, what?"

"It's your turn to ask a question."

"Oh, right, sorry," you fake laugh, "totally zoned out there."

The drinking games continue, and by the end of it, you are drunk. You don't normally drink this much, but you've been having fun, so you lost track of yourself, and with Newt too distracted to stop you, you've slightly overdone it.

The light from the flame stretches in front of your eyes as you sway slightly. And all it takes is one glance at Minho for the liquid confidence to take over.

You strut- sorry, you attempt to strut over.

Minho has been left to his own devices, the other Runners have probably called it an early night, and no one else has approached him yet.

"Hey," you basically flop onto the log next him and he immediately raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly at your drunken state.

"Hi?" It comes out as more of a question, his natural curiosity taking over.

"You know," you slur slightly as you lean forward on your knees, "we don't speak very much."

"Yeah? Well, I'm a busy guy."

"Yeah, but it sucks."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Because we don't speak? Duh." A smile slowly creeps onto his face.

"I didn't know you wanted to speak to me so bad," he takes a sip out if his own drink and you watch as it leaves his lips and settles between his legs as his arms loosely fall between them.

"Yeah, well, you're hot, so," you drag out the 'o' sound and Minho sits there in some form of confusion and amusement.

You think he's hot? The only girl in the entire Glade thinks that he's attractive? That's got to be a flex if he's ever heard one.

Of course, Minho was just as bad as every other straight boy in the Glade- he's attracted to you. Unlike the other boys, he's respectful and keeps his distance. Even now, he's treading on thin ice, and he can tell you're under the influence.

Drunk words are sober thoughts and all, but he's not about to risk something you'll regret. He's smarter than that.

You take a swig from your glass, your lack of sobriety causing you to not even pay attention to Minho's lack of response.

"Okay," he leans over, taking the drink away from you and making you whine, "I think you've had enough."

"What?" You move towards him, swiping at the glass, which he moves behind him and above his head, completely out of your reach. "Give it back, Minho! You can't yell me what to do!"

You pay little attention to how close he is, too focused on retrieving your questionable beverage. But that doesn't mean Minho does. You're half sat up, nearly sitting on his lap as you lean forward, you shoulders almost connecting.

"Absolutely not," he puts his hand on your collarbone, careful with the placement as he pushes you back down and away.

"You're drunk."

"And?"

"You're too drunk."

"No, I'm not."

"You just called me hot."

"You're hot sober, too."

Minho snorts. Like, he actually laughs. There's no way this is happening. You're going to be kicking yourself in the morning, that's for sure.

"You're gonna regret this," Minho warns you.

"Why? You scared you'll have some fun?" You attempt to make a suggestive face, which comes across poorly. It just makes Minho hold back a laugh.

"We're not having any fun. There's no way I'm letting you do something you'll regret."

"Who says I'll regret it?"

"You, probably, a few hours from now."

"Find. Shuck you, then," you stand up dramatically, "I'll flirt with someone else then."

You walk away, not giving him a chance to say another word as you approach the closest Glader.

He can't hear what you're saying due to the chattering buzz that surrounds the Bonfire. But he watches as the other boy lets you hit on him, something you're doing in a very poor attempt to make Minho jealous.

It doesn't make him jealous. Well, it kind of does, but he can see what you're doing. More than anything, he's concerned. If you keep this up, you're going to get yourself in a very uncomfortable situation.

So when the Glader rests his arm around your waist, Minho is left with little choice but to act. He's on his feet fast, storming over and grabbing your wrist.

"Hey! What are you doing-?"

"Come on, I'm not watching this klunk," you let him pull you away from the dude. Minho leads you away, having to slow down slightly to make sure your drunken dumbass doesn't fall over.

"Changer your mind, pretty boy?" You coo, and he rolls his eyes, not even glancing at you.

"No." He's blunt. Understandably so.

He practically drags you to your hut- it's essentially a couple of twigs tied together with cement and rope. It was thrown up in a couple of days due to your unannounced and shocking arrival. Alby thought it wouldn't be a good idea for you to be out in the open in a hammock like most other Gladers. The only real requirement for the Builders was a locking door.

"Where's the key?" He says after trying your door.

"Huh?"

"The key? For your hut? Where is it?"

"Huh? Oh! Oh, okay," you've probably got the wrong idea about what's about to happen here. He wants to take you to bed. You want to take him to bed.

You fiddle with your jean pocket, pulling out an iron and slightly rusted key, which Minho basically snatches off you before kicking the door open.

Once you're inside, you grab his shirt, giving him no time to respond. "I knew you'd cave," you mumble, thinking that you're victorious, only for him to grab your arms and direct you towards the bed, pushing you and forcing you to fall backwards.

You screech, hitting the old mattress with a heady thud.

"Okay, sleep," he demands, pulling the covers from under you and making you fall again though you're quick to sit up straight.

"What? No! I don't wanna sleep- unless you-"

"Sleep. Now."

You groan, flopping back, your head fortunately hitting the pillow. He takes this opportunity to pull the blankets over you, tucking in the sides the minimise the chance of you moving again.

"You've gotta sleep this off, dude, this is concerning."

"But I'm still wearing my shoes!" You drag out the final word and Minho pauses, grumbling to himself.

"You gotta be shucking kidding me."

He moves the bottom of the blanket, untying your laces and struggling to get your boots off. You try to help by kicking them off, but it really doesn't do much.

"Okay," he stands up straight, "bedtime. Go to sleep."

He goes to leave, planning to lock the door behind him and then to just slip the key back under the door.

"Wait, Minho," he huffs,looking at you over his shoulder.

"What?"

"Thank you," your voice is quiet and suddenly he knows he's talking to you. "You make me so... safe. Thank you for protecting me."

Out of everything you've said and done in the past hour, that's the comment that almost makes him blush. He lets out a content sigh before offering you a soft smile- a gesture that few people get to see.

"Yeah, whatever," he manages to get out, "sleep."

The door slams behind him, and he does exactly what he intended to, leaving the key for you to find in the morning.

The walls begin to spin as you lay there, groaning into your pillow. You quickly start to wish you hadn't drank so much.

You don't remember when you fell asleep, but your head spins as you rise from your slumber. Your body hurts, but you're pleased to find yourself in your own room with little to no information of how you got there.

Your eyes fall to the key sitting on you floor, not that far away from the door.

"The hell..?" You stand up, swaying slightly and reaching for the wall as a wave of nausea hits you.

You struggle to pick up the key, but slowly, the pieces fall back together. It takes about fifteen minutes, but your brain manages to put the story back together.

"Oh, shit," you rub your face in your hands, sitting on the edge of your bed, cringing at yourself and not daring to leave just in case someone saw or heard how you interacted with Minho.

But you have to leave. You also play a role in the Glade, and you have to go to work.

Shit.

Eventually, you force yourself to get ready and head out. You let the shower wash away last njghts events and head to your job.

No one seemed shocked that you were late, but they also didn't seem to know anything that happened, which at least meant Minho had kept his mouth shut.

You'd missed breakfast and were too queezy for lunch, so when dinner came around you ate as much as you could.

You're so focused on your food that you don't even notice the Runner approach you until it's too late.

Minho clears his throat, scaring the shit out of you and making you physically jump.

The second you look at him, your face starts to burn. Oh God. It doesn't help that he looks so good after returning from his days work.

"Hi," he grins at you, making you shift under his gaze.

"Hi," you spit out and he sucks in a deep breath to try and stop himself from laughing before he can get his words out.

"So," he clears his throat, leaning on the table in front of you from the side, so he's close enough for other people to not hear, "you still think I'm hot?"

You practically choke on your unfinished mouthful, trying to compose yourself but your burning ears and avoiding eye contact is enough of a giveaway.

You finally manage to speak.

"Shut the fuck up."

Minho just laughs.

Another Minho piece so I can feed your guys' addiction. Sorry, this one isn't that long, but I felt like some light-hearted shenanigans were appropriate for this request. I know the plot is kinda vapid and not up to my standards, but this was fun to write.

Hope y'all enjoy :))

[petrichor-idyllic]

Heyyyyy i think your writing has become my drυg so here I'm again with another request. So Minho comes back from the maze really stressed so female reader offers to give him a massage and it ends up spicy obviously. TYSMMM! :)

The Minho brain-rot continues. Let's goooooo.

□ Let Me Make You Feel Better □

MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Takes place before the arrival of Thomas.

WARNINGS: Spicey content, inappropriate language, scenes straight out of the start of a porno ngl, but no explicit smut.

You wait in front of the Doors, eagerly awaiting your best friend's return to the Glade.

This was your routine. Wake up, say bye to Minho, do your job, lunch, do your job, greet Minho, chill. Of course, Minho had to go to the Map room, but at this point, the Runners weren't fazed to find you in there with him.

From the outside, it probably seems strange to onlookers, but it's a perfectly normal relationship for the two of you.

When you first arrived, you were treated like a sideshow freak, and your forward and aggressive nature led to even more interest. It wasn't until Minho returned and acted like it was no big deal that you started to relax. He told everyone to get a grip and quite staring and it finally provided you with a much needed moment of peace.

You thanked him, and the pair of you started talking.

And you've been close ever since.

Though, you were starting to grow anxious. Where is he? He's already five minutes late and the other Runners have already returned.

This is weird.

Your excitement dwindles into anxiety as another few minutes pass, only for Minho to finally emerge from the last corner. He slows to a jog as he approaches, sweaty and tired, it's unusual for him to be this dishevelled upon his return.

What's even more unusual is that he completely blanks you, walking past without so much of a glance.

"Minho?" You jog slightly to catch up to his power walk.

"What?" He snaps, almost biting your head off with a single word.

"Shuckin' hell, what's up your ass today?" Minho freezes to snap his head towards you, but his expression melts when he sees that you're clearly upset just from the brief interaction alone.

Minho would be lying if he said he didn't have a soft spot for you. How could he not? You're the only girl in the Glade and maybe it would've been easier if they sent someone that, well, wasn't you. You're exactly Minho's type, easily matching his sarcasm and not taking his bullshit mood swings- not to mention you're gorgeous in his eyes.

"Sorry," he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, completely unfazed by the rumbling of the Doors shutting. "Just... had a klunky day, dude."

"Yeah, well that's not my fault, is it?" You cross your arms, tilting your head at an angle. You'd been waiting for him to return and this is how he treats you? Typical.

"Yeah, I know."

"Did something happen?" Your bitterness quickly turns into concern. It's rare for Minho to take his anger out of you, so you can tell something has seriously got under his skin today.

"Just... a lot of little things, and-" he sucks in a deep breath "-we've nearly fully explored the outer sections, and we still haven't found shit. It's just... yanno." You give Minho a sympathetic smile which he doesn't bother returning.

"You gotta learn to relax, man," he scoffs at this.

"That's easier said than done."

"Well..." you think for a second, trying to come up with a way to help, "I'm always here to talk to- and we could always go for a swim in the pond or just have a walk," you pause, trying to conjure up another option, "or I could give you a message?"

Minho seems to spark up at this, though he just shakes his head, your attempts to lighten the mood already working.

"A massage?" Sarcasm drips from his voice as he raises his eyebrow, "Seriously?"

"Sure," you shrug, "why not? If it helps you to slim down for a little bit, then sure."

"Alright, then." He almost laughs at the absurdity, expecting you to tell him you're joking any second now.

"Okay, I'll meet you in your hut once you get back from the Map room," you flash him a smile before walking away.

"I'm gonna hit the showers, too, first," he shouts over to you, playfullness evident in his voice as he predicts you to turn around and tell him you're messing with him. But you give him a thumbs up, not even bothering to turn around.

You both seem to come to a realisation as the distance between you increases.

What the actual fuck just happened?

You were just spit-balling; throwing out ideas that could make Minho feel better. And now you've arranged to meet so you can rub your hands all over his body?

Fuck.

Despite your closeness, you've somehow managed to unintentionally take a step in a more... intimate direction.

Minho actually hasn't moved from where you left him as the cogs slowly start to turn in his head.

He thought you were joking. He agreed as a joke in response to your joke. And now it was actually happening. Or maybe this was still a joke? Maybe you're one-upping his joke?

His brain is fried.

You let yourself into his hut. How do you even do a massage? It's not like you've done this before, and if you have, you don't remember it.

Where do you put your hands? Do you make him lie down? Sit up? Should you ask him to take his shirt off?

Oh, Jesus.

You feel heated at the thought. Minho is attractive and well-built; easily the only guy you find yourself daydreaming about or staring at for a bit too long. And you actually enjoy being around him. You'd be lying to yourself if you said that you hadn't developed a crush on the boy. Which was something you forced yourself to ignore and push down.

Especially with Alby putting in a pretty strong "no touching" rule in place when it came to you. You didn't want to make things awkward or cause any potential problems for Minho.

This is a terrible example of your precautions.

Somehow, you both reach the same conclusion.

Let's just go with it. Let's see what happens.

Trust sexually frustrated teenagers to make bad choices- not one person is shocked.

Minho found himself eager, quickly getting through his work and attempting to use the cold shower to keep himself under control before making his way over to his hut. Curiosity driving him more than anything. What exactly were you planning to do?

You, however, have taken to pacing the room like a mad woman.

You're quick to compose yourself as the door opens, and Minho smirks at you, slipping into his own space. You are very visibly awkward and shuffling on your feet. Something Minho thinks is cute.

"Hi." You squeak out, your voice sounding like anything but your own.

"Hey," his hair is still slightly damp, making his normally spiked up quiff lie flatter. He quietly closes the door behind him. "So, how, uh, how we doin' this then?"

Minho's plan is to push you far enough that you crack and the joke ends. The problem with that plan is that this isn't a joke.

Sure, you might've said it with some underlying comedic tones, but the second Minho agreed, it kind of stopped being a joke to you. After all, you have this deep need to please Minho- something else you're never going to confess.

"Oh, well, I- I was thinking that, um- maybe-" you make eye contact with him, amusement swimming in his dark eyes, and you give up, letting out a sigh of defeat, "I don't know."

He laughs, dropping his head for a second before looking back up, "Look, you don't have to give me a massage. We can just chill and talk like we always do. It was a nice gesture and all, but I don't wanna make you uncomfortable-"

Yeah, okay, cool- it was a joke, right? You definitely don't seem to want to take this any further, which is proof enough to Minho.

"No," you say, a little too quickly, "I mean, I already said I would- you've had a shit day, and as your friend, it's my job to change that."

"Yeah, but it's really not your job to make me feel better- I kinda thought you were j-" it had actually started to sink in now. The thought of you caressing him and trying to ease him with your hands suddenly felt very real.

"I want to make you feel good, Minho." That was the final straw. The words made his expression fall, and his heart rate pick up. The change of the word 'better' to 'good' catches him completely off-guard.

Good, huh? You want to make him feel good? How good, exactly? How would you-?

Shuck, Minho- stop.

His head flies through about a hundred different scenarios, none of which he'd ever say out loud. He clears his throat in a poor attempt to hide the room feeling very hot all of a sudden.

"Alright," watching him suddenly become tense gives you a weird confidence boost and a strange feeling of dominance takes the place of your awkward anxiety. Minho is just as, if not more, flustered than you. "Take your shirt off and have a seat."

You sit down on the edge of the bed with your legs open, leaning forward and patting the ground in front of you, sending a friendly smile his way. He looks at you, then at the bed, then back at you.

"Yeah, alright." He murmurs, deciding to just accept his fate. He's in too deep now. All he has to do is keep himself under control and let you be a good friend. That's not so hard, is it?

Wrong.

He turns around, facing away from you as he takes off his weird harness/backpack thing that he religiously wears. He fiddles with the buttons on his blue shirt, the fabric is faded and sun-kissed from being Minho's favourite item of clothing. It's also your favourite item of clothing on him.

You can't help but stare at him as he lets the un-buttoned shirt fall to the floor. His back is toned with prominent shoulder blades. He stretches, and you watch in awe as the muscles tense before he turns around.

You have to force yourself to not have any kind of physical reaction as you look at him. He looks like he's been carved out of stone. There's the odd scar littering his tanned skin- something you're actually shocked there's not more of. A few dark hairs dust across his lower stomach, and his V line is sharp and dangerously on display as he makes no effort to readjust his low-hanging pants. You're assuming that the shirt added some extra padding for his belt to hold onto.

Shit- it's making your mouth water.

Though you maintain composure and Minho clears his throat, "You want me to sit on the floor?"

"Mhm," you hum, taking another second to make sure your words don't fail you, "back towards me."

Minho scoffs. Some part of him is still trying to understand what's going on, and the other has completely given up. He wordlessly does as he's told, and you're baffled that he's being so obedient.

He grunts softly as he lowers himself, clearly still aching from the rough day he's had. He sits between your legs, his back pressed to the bed frame. It wasn't exactly an uncommon position for you both to take, especially when you're spending time in his hut and you decide to play with his hair.

Honestly, you still don't really know what you're doing, but when you put your hands around his tight shoulders, just at the base of his neck, and start kneading the muscles loose- you seem to be doing a good job.

Minho wasn't expecting much, but the second your hands touched his skin, he knew he was a goner. You seem to effortlessly find the tension in his back and shoulders, relieving him of the days events.

He doesn't know how, but everything you're doing is lowering his stress and causing adrenaline to course through him at the same time.

You take to working in methodical circles, occasionally changing your approach. When your thumbs gaze the back of Minho's neck, softer than before, barely ghosting over his skin, a soft smirk appears across your face. Goosebumps creep across his skin, his breathing hitches slightly, and he leans back, further into your touch.

His eyes are shut and despite this being to relax him, his fists are balled as he attempts to will his sexual frustrated body to calm down. You guys are friends- you're doing this to be nice because you care about him.

"Did you like that?" It comes out as barely audible, something that you mainly said to yourself. Your own mind is starting to become foggy with desire.

He hums in response.

"Yeah?" You push, now knowing he heard you.

He hums again, but with an added nod this time.

He's turning into putty in your hands. You repeat the simple gesture. This time, Minho releases a noise. It's more of a hum than a moan, but it's deeper than the noises he made in agreement.

"You sound really pretty," you coo. It's almost like you're not meaning to even say these things but it keeps coming out. It's almost second nature to praise him and push him to answer you. You didn't even really know there was this side to you.

Neither did Minho. Minho was also blissfully unaware that he was into praise, but now he has to shift slightly at your words as a tightness fills his pants.

Not ideal.

"Don't say that," he mumbles, sounding a lot less assured than he intended. His brain feels fuzzy, and his body is a lot warmer than before.

"Why not?" The coyness fades from your voice for a second, your question becoming more genuine. You don't want to make him uncomfortable, but you're getting some mixed signals here.

Minho doesn't respond. He's too drunk on the skin-to-skin contact. So, you push him further, "Minho? Why shouldn't I say that?"

"Because I want you bad enough, and this is just driving me mad." Your movements slow, Minho's barely coherent grumbling takes a second to sink in.

He's also too high on lust to process it straight away.

"What?" You can hear your pulse in your ears as Minho's eyes flicker open, his head is resting back- pretty much in front of your crotch. Your face quickly grows red and it clicks what just happened.

"Shit- sorry, I didn't-" his head shoots up, but he doesn't get up, just rubbing his face with his hands. "I knew this was a bad shucking idea. Listen, alright, I didn't mean it- well, I did mean it, but I wouldn't have ever said it. You were just- you're just so-"

Minho's stunned into silence as you lean forward, your lips connecting to his nape. Electricity jolts through him, and he physically flinches. A shakey breath escapes him.

He wants you?

He wants you.

He's just said it. Maybe it's the sexual tension in the air or the fact you've been crushing on him for so damn long- but you don't care anymore. So, you press another kiss to his neck.

He accepts the gesture, moving slightly to face more to you, giving you easy access to his jaw. You kiss up his neck, lightly nibbling his jaw, and he purrs against your touch when you take his ear lobe between your teeth.

"I want you, too," you whisper into his ear.

Minho struggles to believe the words he's hearing, so he turns to face you fully, moving his body to the side with his legs crossed still.

He looks up at you. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, the sudden eye contact making your confidence dwindle. Your pupils are blown wide, and you desperately want to squeeze your legs together, but Minho is, quite literally, in the way.

A few seconds pass whilst he just looks at you, seemingly weighing his options out.

"Shuck it," you barely have time to react once the words leave his mouth. He raises suddenly, turning his body fully towards you. He catches your face in his hand as his pushes forward, leaving you resting on your elbows as he hovers over you on the bed- taking the power from you in one swift motion.

Your noses brush against each other, and you jolt forward. The desperation and heat is starting to drive you insane and he's too close to not be doing anything.

But he pulls away.

Shit.

Does he not want this after all? Have you almost ruined your friendship for nothing?

"I really like you, (Y/N), okay?" Minho's breathing is heavy. "But I don't wanna ruin our friendship- so if this is just dumb, teenage hormones to you... please just tell me, and we can stop this before we destroy everything."

His words are sincere, a tinge of pain creeping into his voice. Minho is used to taking risks, but this feels so current and scary. He's never put his heart on the line before, and it's a different kind of stress.

You take a second to think of the right words. There's so much you want to say, but there's also so much you want to do.

"It means everything to me," you lean further forward, "You mean everything to me."

Your foreheads bump and his lips ghost yours, making you whimper before he finally caves. Pushing his lips to yours, it's feverish and hot.

You follow his lead, feeling all the built-up tension and wants as he puts it into the kiss. Minho is basically on Cloud 9- he's been dreaming of this for what feels like forever.

You flop backwards, letting Minho put more of his weight on you, resting himself between your legs. He basically growls into your mouth when you grind your hips against his, trying to get some kind of friction. You'd take anything to soothe the throbbing sensation pooling between your thighs.

His mouth dips down, kissing along your jawline, then down to your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh, and he sucks down, causing you to claw at his back and let out a gasp.

He travels lower, hands under your shirt, and working their way up, brushing against your bra.

It's all moving very fast, and Minho is quickly becoming more needy, almost animalistic as he digs into your skin.

That's when the thought hits you.

"Minho, wait." He stops immediately, pulling away. Panic flashes across his face and concern washes through his body.

Shit, he hasn't done something wrong, has he?

"You okay?" He pushes off of you, standing up straight, making sure to give you any space you might need. "You want me to stop?"

"No," you confess, scooting back over to the edge of the bed and standing up yourself. Minho furrows his brows as you stand in front of him.

You stand on your tiptoes, pressing against his lips once more. He immediately melts, his hands going to slip to your waist but you grab him, taking him by surprise and spinning him around. You push him backwards, making him hit the mattress with a heavy thud.

"(Y/N)? What are you-?" You silence him with a kiss, using one arm to stabilise yourself as you hover over him, your free hand fiddling with his belt.

You pull on Minho's bottom lip with your teeth, watching his eyes roll back into his head as you palm at him through his underwear.

"I'm meant to be making you feel better," you talk into his skin as you start to kiss down his chest, "remember?"

This ended up being slightly more steamy than intentioned, but tension is what I'm good at writing so tension you shall get.

Love y'all, hope you enjoy :))

[parkjammys]

he's so grumpy....I love him

[cultemis]

TWEETS WHILE BEING FRIENDS WITH AVATAR CHARACTERS (multiple !)

content — implied neteyam x gn!reader and lo'ak x tsireya. i see these on tiktok and they crack me tf up so i made my own bc i don't feel like writing. the idea of tuk having twitter but under neytiris name bc she basically stole the account is making me laugh. nba yb!loak stan bc i think that shit is funny lol

[parkjammys]

"I'm alright mama" 🥰

[bloodwrittenballad]

pedro dilf pascal strikes again

[the-abyss-of-fandoms]

Me immediately after TLOU EP 1:

[caileeflavoured]

trust your heart, not your numbers - bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw

© glodessa 2022, do not repost, modify or translate!

synopsis: Your new job as Top Gun’s data analyst turns out to be anything but easy when your work and love life start bleeding into each other.

a/n: wow this took longer to proofread and edit than to write lmao. it’s set after the events of the movie but doesn’t contain any spoilers/it’s not important to the story itself, just nice to know so you won’t be confused <3

warnings: data analyst!reader, SLOW BURN, angst, fighting, tiny bit of smut, p in v, no protection (reader is on birth control), mentions of near death experience, unprofessional behavior, probably some a lot of inaccuracies cause idk anything about pilots/jets and just worked with what google would tell me

wc: 16.5k

MAIN MASTERLIST • TOP GUN MASTERLIST

“Good morning everyone,” Admiral Bates greeted the pilots as he walked up to the front of the group. You were still standing in the back, waiting for him to call you to the front, too. 

You’d noticed several fleeting glances in your direction, some pilots turning around and then turning to each other, obviously talking about you. Nervousness rose to your head, and you prayed to God no one would notice anything. 

Keep reading

[atomicblondeweirdodaceeryontwt]

[nowadayz]

Havana Rose Liu as Darby Thorne NO EXIT, 2022 dir. Damien Power

[imagines-tmr]

imagine #22

character - Minho

words - 944

warnings - n/a

description - Part 2 to this imagine

a/n - requested anonymously ; like i said before, i’m sorry this is so late! i had a lot of fun writing this, though! hope you like it :))

Keep reading

[m1lk-y]

PETE DAVIDSON IN THE NEW SUICIDE SQUAD MOVIE 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗