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k-hotchoisan · 2 months

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the scentist

Your neighbour—Choi San—is such a gentleman on top of being a complete hunk and smelling so fuckin good. Especially so when he offers his hoodie when he sees you being drenched. Well, nothing could come out of such a simple gesture of kindness, right?

Genres/Warnings: perverted & obsessed scentist!San, Olfactophilia (sexual arousal from scent), masturbation on clothing, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex, cumming untouched, armlock (light) breeding, pussy drunk San💙

💙 @san-network 💜

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify

A/N: WE BEEN KNEW THAT I’D LEAVE MY FAVOURITE MAN FOR THE LAST!! 😮‍💨 don’t be sad that this event is ending ok,, we got more to cum come 🥰 thank u for giving my fics so much love as always!!

🩷back to staying perverted

Lavender. Sweet pea. Azalea. Gardenia.

The scents of the florals fill his lab, something he’s so used to already. As the concoction bubbles, he walks over to the other flowers potted along the shelf, pressing the petals against his nose, taking in their smell before he pulls away. He pulls off his goggles, walking over to his desk, staring at the standing whiteboard, filled to the corners with flower names, chemical compounds, and other miscellaneous details. Even though he’s doing fine, he feels that something is missing. Choi San feels stale and stuck.

The rain is pattering down heavily against the pavement, he stares at the raindrops hitting the leaves of his plants. San often gets compliments on how beautiful his plants are, and how natural he is at gardening. San would don his signature smile and he would thank them for the compliment. Sometimes, his neighbours would come by to ask for gardening advice and San would gladly entertain them. This evening was no different. Another one of his neigbours who was growing greens had wanted to express appreciation by buying San his favorite fertilizers. Stacking them neatly in his cabinet, San then decides to head down to the reception to receive his parcel.

Fuck. The downpour was so sudden. It totally caught you off guard, and you were drenched before you realised it. You make it to the entrance of your apartment complex, shivering slightly from the air conditioning. You shake off the excess water off your arms, and when you look up, your heartbeat quickens—your apartment complex crush is standing at his letterbox, filtering through his mail while he holds a parcel in his arms. He’s in a grey hoodie, and for some reason, it makes him look big, and it’s driving you insane. Shit, shit, shit. You pray that he doesn’t turn around and see you.

“Hey. Good evening y/n”, San greets cheerily. You force a smile, “Good evening San.”

San has his eyes on you, and you swear he’s eyeing you down—probably judging you for being drenched and shit.

“Looks like you reached back just in time”, he teases, and you pout.

“I feel like a drenched dog. Is this how dogs feel after a shower?” You reply, brushing your hands through your wet locks, all in an attempt to stop yourself from staring at San laugh—his voice is hypnotic enough to make you melt into a puddle already. The cold air from the air conditioning hits you once more, and this time you’re beginning to shiver uncontrollably on top of struggling to open your damn letterbox and not looking like a circus in front of your crush.

You focus on fidgeting with your letterbox keys, your fingers reaching out to snatch the letters. When you close the latch, San has his hoodie unzipped, and he’s removing said outerwear.

“San, what are you-“

He’s about to hand you the hoodie, but he instead opts to put his parcels in your hands, and he fucking fits the hoodie around your shoulders, and when he does, his smell floods your senses. He smells like a mix of floral—with hints of spice and citrus, and although for a brief moment, you have it locked in some part of your brain. His fingers brush against yours as he takes his parcels and letters from you, and it doesn’t help that he’s in a black shirt that hugs his biceps, shoulders, and chest a little too well. You barely muster the strength to peel your eyes away, feeling your heart flutter when his fingers brush against yours as he retrieves his packages back from you.

You look up, hoping that the fluorescent lights don’t highlight the heat that’s rushing to your cheeks. You’re still shivering, but suddenly you don’t feel as cold as before.

“Thank you, San”, you smile. “I’ll wash it and return it to you ASAP.” San smiles in response and the both of you walk to the lift together, light conversations and laughter filling the spaces as your body and your heart gradually warm up.

San is exhausted—he’s been at the lab back to back, drafting report after report, and it’s been taking chunks out of him. Palm against his neck, he tilts his head, shutting his eyes as he stretches his neck, and then he sighs. His superiors finally approved his reports and now he has the god-given chance of going home and catching up on his sleep for the night.

The muffled sounds of his doorbell stir him up from his sleep. He doesn’t shift for a couple of seconds. Then his hands shift across the bedsheets to feel for his phone. The doorbell sounds a couple more times and San grunts in his groggy state, his fingers hitting against the edge of his phone, which he pulls closer to him to check the time.

It’s 2 pm. He crashed for 14 hours last night.

He slowly sits up, letting his sight adjust to the afternoon sun filtering through his windows before he walks over to the front door. He’s slightly grouchy from the amount of sleep he clocked in, but as he swings the door open, the remainder of his sleep dissipates when he sees that it’s you standing before him.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” You ask, rubbing your neck. “I wanted to return you this..”, you bring up a paper bag to San’s view. San is still registering this.

“But you weren’t home for the past couple of days, and I don’t have your phone number..”

San blinks. Then his hands reach out to take the paper bag, and his eyes glance downwards.

Ah, it’s his hoodie.

He looks up back to you. “Thank you. Don’t tell me you’ve been coming here every day to try to pass me this?”

“Yes and no..?” you answer with a smile. It spreads to San, who suddenly feels a shot of guilt for making you come to his unit when he wasn’t even there half of the time.

“I’ll treat you to dinner for the trouble I’ve put you through”, he says hastily. He thinks the way your eyes widen and how pink is flushing at the tip of your ears is so adorable, and then he cuts you off before you attempt to decline his offer, “Pass me your phone.”

The phone in your hand is in his now and he types in his phone number before he hands it back to you.

He leans in slightly closer, and there is a particular scent that slowly starts to make its way to his brain. Is it coming from you? For some reason, he hasn’t been able to get it out of his head since the day he lent you his hoodie. And there it was again, faint, but it was definitely there.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, y/n?”

He’s almost disappointed when he sees you shake your head, but at the same time, he has lab work to do, so he shuts the door after he sends you off with a smile, not knowing that you omitted that you wore his hoodie a couple more times after washing (mostly due to the cold weather).

He drops off the paper bag on his bedroom floor before he heads off to his home lab.

Unfortunately, the extra 14 hours of sleep still doesn’t spark inspiration for his chemistry, and he ends up spending barely an hour in his lab, mostly tending to his flowers, before he decides to call it a day.

San is back in his bedroom, and he decides to unpack his hoodie from the paper bag. His hands reach into the bag and retrieve the hoodie, and when he unfolds the hoodie, his mind immediately hazes at the scent coming off the garment. Fuck. It’s even more prominent. It’s the scent that he can’t get out of his fucking head, and now it’s pretty much in his hands.

You smell like fucking heaven, San thinks, placing the outerwear under his nostrils once more, inhaling, the smell completely entering the crevices of his mind. He groans and curses at the way his erection is pushing against his pants just from your fucking smell. It’s more than just the detergent you use—it’s so much more intimate and intoxicating than that, and it’s undoubtedly driving San fucking crazy. He’s so sure that this is the scent that he’s been chasing after.

San walks over to his bed, comfortable on the mattress while he pushes his pants past his thick thighs, his cockhead pushing against his underwear, forming a dark and wet spot. He inhales shakily, teasing himself, the precum thickening and staining more of his underwear. It doesn’t take him long to kick off his sweats and underwear completely, letting his cock spring out with a relieved sigh, before he slowly starts fucking his hand while his other hand has his head filled with your pheromones.

The thought of you on that rainy evening, the way the rain had drenched your white shirt through, your bra showing, cupping your tits so fucking teasingly. San wonders if you did it on purpose because he would have just ripped your shirt open right then and there. His repressed fantasies begin to bubble up—the thought of him inviting you to his unit instead, letting his hands feel you up, making sure your goosebumps are from his touches rather than the cold because he swears he can warm you up quickly. He would press himself against you, taking in your scent, before he’d slip his hands underneath your pathetic white shirt, cupping your tits, then sliding your pants off—he knows he can’t even wait till the both of you reach his bedroom—the furthest the both of you would go? The fucking couch.

Your smell floats, and it’s dragging him deeper and deeper. San bucks his hips against his hand, soft moans pouring out his lips, whining your name against the fragrant garment, his precum turning thicker by the minute. He’s liked you ever since he met you when you first moved in, and now you’re filling up every part of his olfactory senses. He’s desperate to fill you up with him, make sure you’re holding your shirt up with your teeth, your eyes filling up with tears as he slams his cock into your warm pussy, over and over, forcing yourself to stay quiet so the neighbours don’t hear.

Fucking hell. San’s thighs shake slightly at the thought of it. He takes another inhale, and it’s like a dopamine reset once more, perfect at the moment when he’s bringing himself to the edge. Your voice echoes in his head, the pretty sounds you’d make, the expressions that he would indulge in for himself.

Thick streams of cum bubble from his silt, and he almost suffocates himself from the sick pleasure of burying his face in his hoodie drenched in your scent, he catches his breath as the scent slowly fades when he pulls the hoodie from his face, panting from an orgasm that he knows will never be enough one time.

As San washes off his high in the warm showers, he decides to attempt to recreate your scent, wanting to keep it all for himself. And he knows just a hoodie isn’t gonna be enough.

You’ve been flipping your apartment upside down, looking for your panties. At first, you didn’t notice that one pair went missing—chalking it off as you misplacing your laundry. But when the second one you swore you dropped off in the fresh laundry hamper disappears, along with a third, you realise something was amiss. You retrace your steps—you did have a couple of people over recently, but the majority of them were your girl friends, if you minus off how you and San have been going over to each other’s places for meals ever since the both of you exchanged phone numbers. Undoubtedly, your feelings for him have grown exponentially, especially when the both of you spent time with each other in (almost) close proximity. San had always been polite and helped around with cleaning up the dishes, and he had a very endearing habit of leaning in closer to you—whether to just tease you or to hear you better—it would never fail to make you act flustered around him before you would roll your eyes and push him away.

Needless to say, the relationship had blossomed since that rainy evening. You just didn’t expect to grow so close with your apartment complex crush, and while there were nights where San’s face, San’s voice, San’s body would bubble up to the surface when your orgasms washed over you, leaving you squirming and shy once the post nut clarity hit, you thought to yourself that the relationship between the both of you was good enough for now.

You scratch your head, racking your brains as to where your panties might have magically disappeared to. You’re lost in thought until the ping from your phone brings you out of it. You go over to check, and it’s from San—reminding you of dinner at his place. Right, the panties can wait for now.

“I hope I’m not late”, you smile as San opens the door for you to let you in. San returns it, “No, I just placed the order. It’s gonna take awhile.”

You take a seat on his couch. No matter how many times you’ve been to his place recently, you always feel that it’s still so spacious.

Then he breaks your train of thought.

“Is there something you’d like to do while waiting?” You let your eyes wander around his apartment again, and they land on the potted plants on his window sill.

Your eyes dart away from how San is staring down—his body is facing towards you, giving you his fullest, and it’s making you slightly self-conscious.

“I’m wondering what you’re always so busy with.”, you say. You’re ready to be rejected when San doesn’t answer right away. Right, it’s probably something personal to him too. But you can’t help but overthink when he doesn’t reply immediately sometimes. It makes you feel so childlike.

He stands up, gesturing you to follow him. “It’s a little embarrassing”, San replies as he guides you to the tightly shut door. He presses his fingertip onto the keypad—it lights up green and San pushes the door knob down, and the door pushes open.

It is as if it is another world. The lights are dim and the air is a lot cooler, albeit slightly more humid thanks to the myriad amount of plants littered around the room. He has so many species—differentcolours and different flowers. The scents hit you next, the floral scent floating around your nostrils at different intensities.

“A whole nursery?” You exclaim, walking near to some of the flowers.

“Yes and no. It’s more of a lab”, San corrects you, walking over to the heavy desk just full of lab equipment. “Sorry, it’s kinda messy.”

You shake your head, still taking in the sight of his botanically busy room, amazed.

As you near more of the equipment, the scents grow stronger. The whole lab smells so fragrant, and you’re surprised that it’s not overpowering, to say the least.

“So, what do you do here exactly?” You ask, taking another whiff of the fragrance while staring at the rows of test tubes before you.

“I make scents. It’s just a side hobby of mine on top of my research”, San explains. He picks up a test tube and gestures you to take a whiff, and so you do, pleasantly surprised at how much the scent smells just like him.

“Then what’s your little project now?”

San pauses. He doesn’t look you in the eye for that split second. As he parts his mouth to answer, the doorbell rings, and it jumps him out of his thoughts. The food is here.

Seated across San, as you always do, San is plating the takeout while you prepare the utensils. The topic of his lab comes up again, but you completely forget about asking about his projects.

Midway through the conversation, the rice cake that you were trying to eat somehow slips off the utensil and drops onto your clothes, causing you to jump in surprise, somehow toppling your plate with the leftover sauce, on top of staining on your clothes, much to your dismay.

“Shit”, you curse, casting an irritated glance at the splatter on your clothes. The plate clatters on the floor. You stand there, slightly dumbfounded at the situation. You’re wondering if you should just head home to change out, considering that your unit isn’t too far from his. But before you have the chance to bring up that suggestion, San cuts you off.

“You can drop your clothes into the washing machine. In the meantime, you can borrow my hoodie. It should be on the clean laundry hamper.”

“San-“

He turns to you with a comforting smile. “It’s fine. Rice cake sauce isn’t the easiest to clean off when you leave it for too long. I’ll clean up the floor.”

You realise arguing with him isn’t work out in your favour, nor will it get the rice cake sauce off your clothes any quicker, so you decide to heed his words and head to his room.

Undressing yourself once you shut the door, you drop your soiled clothes into the washing machine. It was then you realise that you are pretty much naked, in Choi San’s fucking bedroom. Struggling to keep your head out of the gutter, you decide to focus on finding that damn grey hoodie. Your eyes scan his room, trying to search for the grey hoodie. And your eyes land on a thick-looking piece of garment on one of the laundry hampers. You walk over to pick it up.

You put his hoodie over, and there it is again—the spicy citrus smell. Choi San’s smell. Your thighs push against each other a little tighter this time. Then something in your peripherals catch your attention—a lace garment. You inch closer, and your heart drops.

It’s a pair of lace underwear.

Fuck. Is he seeing someone and he didn’t tell you? A thick lump forms in your throat.

And then it goes away when you start picking up another two more panties from the hamper, and the realisation hits you like a fucking truck—these are your fucking panties.

Things are not adding up in your brain, that’s for fucking sure.

At that moment, San bursts into the bedroom, and a panicked expression scribbled across his face. His eyes are blown wide open when they land on the three pairs of panties in your hands.

You stare back at him, almost mirroring his expression, the only difference being confusion for you instead.

The corner of San’s lips pull into a half smile. “Oops.”

“San, what’s the meaning of this?” You ask, feeling your face flush rapidly.

“Well”, San pauses. “you asked what scent I’m making next right? It’s yours.”

“My scent?” You echo back in question to him. San sighs, his shoulders relaxing as he inches closer to you, trapping you underneath him when you finally hit his bed.

“Yes, darling. Your scent”, his voice almost turning into a whisper, dropping octaves lower. “You’re so cruel—keeping something so intoxicating to yourself.”

You swallow hard. San’s eyes still reflect his usual gentle demeanor, but now it’s slowly being tinted with something else. Something more ominous. Despite that, it only draws you in, like a prey being slowly hypnotized by her predator. You should be shocked, terrified even, but the only thing streaming through the nerves of your brain is the internal begging for San to just eat you up right now.

You suddenly realise that the hoodie isn’t zipped up, the outerwear slipping down your arms. You remain still, your heartbeat slamming against your ribcage.

“You can run out of my apartment now. I’m giving you five seconds”, San tells you, and your mind is spinning at the thought of him even giving you a chance to leave.

Five seconds pass. You’re still staring up at the male above you, whose lips are curling into a satisfied smirk.

His fingers cup your jaw, and he tells you, “Open up.” Sparks splatter across your eyelids the moment his lips collide with yours. You pull him closer on instinct, the feeling of his thick erection behind the two layers of fabric sending you into an orbit on top of his tongue teasing yours. He pulls back, licking off the strings of saliva between the both of you. His gaze is locked onto yours.

“Please? Let me taste you. I promise I’ll make you feel so fucking good”, his request sounding more like a beg. Your mind is hazy. Choi San? In between your fucking legs? You swallow hard, and then you nod.

San lowers himself to your clothed cunt, his eyes shut in bliss when he presses himself against your pussy.

“Heaven”, is all he mutters, his eyes casting you a glazed expression that was definitely about to drive you fucking insane, before his fingers pull against the waistband of your panties, slipping them off you.

The moment you feel his tongue press against your pussy, your mind threatens to shut off. San is breathing heavily against your soaking pussy, taking in the sight, taste, and smell of what you’re finally giving to him. Every time your thighs jerk to shut at the sensation of his tongue licking you up, his hands push you open for him forcing you to take his tongue in your cunt, and it’s wiping out any remaining rational thoughts you didn’t even know you had.

Your fingers tug against his scalp, pushing your hips deeper onto his tongue, your back arched from how fucking good he feels. His tongue is lapping you up, teasing your clit over and over again once he hits the sweet spot, his fingers leaving imprints on your thighs when he hears you whine and moan his name.

All San can think about is how fucking amazing you taste—he knew it would be another fucking level than pressing his nose against the fabric of your panties and fucking into his hand for the past few weeks, but actually letting you fuck his face? He’s on fucking cloud nine.

His glazed-out eyes shift to look up at you, watching the way you’re squirming under him, the sounds of his wet tongue fucking you, tasting you, echoing around his room. Your cream and pussy are the only things he can register, and he wants to keep it for himself, forever.

“S-San-“, you cry out, your mind just threatening to blank out at every flick of his tongue. He’s building your orgasm at such a dangerous pace, and tears are pooling at the corners of your eyes when you feel something funny bubbling at the pit of your stomach. “I think I’m gonna fuck-“

“That’s it. Let it go for me. That’s a good fucking girl”, San encourages, before his tongue presses against your clit, giving you another lick before white washes over you, your cunt pulsing violently against his tongue from the sheer pleasure, then clear fluids splattering onto San’s pretty face—who seemed unfazed, considering he’s still lapping your cunt up, while you’re almost thrashing above him as the overstimulation starts to sink in. Your moans sound like cries when you beg him to stop. San doesn’t relent, and he only stops when he suddenly whimpers, switching over to kiss your thighs, decorating your plump flesh with love bites. He pushes a finger in, letting you stain and coat his fingers, enjoying your whines before he pulls out and towers over you.

“Fuck, if I’d known you’d taste this good, I would have stolen your panties sooner”, he mutters, cleaning his fingers with his tongue, desperate to taste you again.

You’re catching your breath from going through the most mind-blowing orgasm, watching San pulling his shirt over his head, and then slipping out of his sweats, your breath caught in your throat when his fat cock comes into view, thick and heavy, and covered in thick cum.

San’s fingers curl around your neck, and he lowers himself to litter kisses across your neck and jaw, it’s giving you goosebumps, your arms automatically wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

He pauses right at the shell of your ear.

“I want to wear you over and over again. I want to lock you up in me—bottle you up so I can keep you for myself.”

“Then do it. I’m here for you to dip into your pretty little fantasies in, San.”

You swear you see something snap in the poor male, especially from the way he takes a deep inhale—shakily— before he parts your lips with his, leaving you breathless when your little steamy make-out session ends.

“You don’t know what you do to me, darling”, San cautions when he pulls back. His hair is tousled but fuck, he still looks so fucking good. “And I’m not stopping even if you’re screaming.”

Fuck.

He fucks his hand, soft sighs leaving his lips, as his cum dribbles down his length, before he lines up to your hole and pushes in easily.

You hear him groan above you, your eyes are fixated on the way he’s losing himself in your pussy, and your mind is finally growing blank the more his cock fills you up. He’s stretching you open so fucking good, filling you up to the hilt.

“You’re squeezing me so much, darling. Fuck. Are you fucking kidding me?” His eyebrows are scrunched, his hands holding your legs up while he lets you adjust to his cock.

But he doesn’t warn you before he starts moving, his impatience completely overriding any ounce of rationale he has left in him.

“So good. San, you feel so fucking good”, your moans sounding like cries whenever his hips snap against yours, the obscene sounds only adding to the tension.

“You take me so fucking well, darling”, San’s voice is ringing in your ears. “Look at your fucking pussy just swallowing me up like that.”

You don’t even reply to that, your eyes are rolled to the back of your head, and your head is somewhere in fucking heaven where San is definitely fucking you into.

Just when you feel that you were about fucking fall apart on his cock, he pulls out, and you barely manage to catch your breath when San instructs you to turn over. You do, your ass up for him, and he enters your cunt once more, before fucking into you from the back. You don’t fucking know how, but you swear that his cock feels even thicker from the back.

His hands press against your hips, fucking you deep before he lets his hands slide down your body and he stops at your neck, gesturing you to look up at him as he leans down to press his lips against yours—all while rearranging your guts from the back.

He lets you pull back when you feel your neck is growing sore, and then he puts his body weight onto you, his arm tucking underneath your neck.

“Such a good fucking girl for me. You feel so fucking amazing”, San whispers, tickling every crevice of your brain as he presses his nose against the curve between your neck and shoulder, his thrusts turning more like ruts. The arm lock around your neck isn’t cutting off oxygen thankfully, but the thought of him choking you out only drags you closer to your high.

“Cumming, I’m cumming San-“, you whimper, tears trickling from your eyes from how much his cock is constantly hitting in such deep fucking spots of your pussy.

“Me too, babe. Gonna fill you up so nice and good, that’s what you’d like, right?” San teases, his cock twitching in you before he groans, his warm cum filling you up so good right at the same time your orgasm hits you once more, making you squeeze even more cum from San, perfectly milking him dry in your pussy.

“So fucking perfect”, you hear San mutter, and you can’t help but flush, even though he just fucked every ounce of sanity out of you. His lips trail down the nape of your neck, his eyes are locked onto you, hazy and tinted with a hint of a growing obsession you could never tell.

He’s not letting go of you.

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2K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 8 months

Note

hiii! with the chaos that was today’s career, could I request one with driver reader that she started telling her team that she wasn’t feeling good but still wanted to continue but the next moment she isn’t answering her radio because she fainted in the car and the car goes out, the marshals take her out of the car and she doesn’t wake up, maybe she has extreme dehydration and is hot to touch, etc.

How the other drivers react when they found out, her team, etc.

Thank you

Too Hot To Handle

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: the Qatar Grand Prix pushed every driver to the limit … and some past the limit

Warnings: heat stroke, dehydration, crash, medical conditions

The Lusail International Circuit hums with electric anticipation, its asphalt ribbon shimmering under the floodlights. The roar of the crowd fills the night but the oppressive heat weighs on everyone, creating a contrasting atmosphere of excitement and cautious apprehension.

Standing alongside your Red Bull Racing car, you wipe a bead of sweat from your brow. In only your first year with the reigning double champions, you already have a record that has quickly become the talk of the paddock. But for all the praise and whispers, there is one voice that stands out.

“Remember, liefje, it’s not just about speed tonight. Keep hydrated, alright?” Max’s voice is full of warmth and concern. His hand rests gently on your arm.

You flash him a confident smile even though you’re battling your nerves internally. “I’ve raced in heat before, Maxie. I won in Singapore. I’ll be fine.”

He pulls you into a quick embrace, the temperature doing little to dampen the spark between you. “It’s different here. This heat ... it’s like nothing I’ve ever raced in before.”

Pulling back, you raise an eyebrow teasingly. “You worried about me, Verstappen?”

He laughs but there’s a hint of steely seriousness in his blue eyes. “Always. Just ... promise me you’ll be careful out there. For both our sakes.”

You nod, touching your helmet to his. “Promise.”

The intercom in your ear crackles to life. “Drivers, to your cars!”

You both exchange a final glance. Racing is in your blood, it’s what brought you together, but it also keeps you apart, if only for the few hours you’re no longer partners in life but competitors on track.

Sliding into your car, you secure your helmet and gloves. The world outside becomes a bit muffled but your focus sharpens. The engine’s purr is a familiar comfort, but tonight, it’s edged with the unease Max’s words left behind.

Your race engineer, Hugh Bird, checks in over the radio, “Everything good, Y/N?”

You take a deep breath, “As good as it’ll ever be. Let’s light up this track.”

“Give them a show.”

Lights out and away we go.

***

The Qatar Grand Prix unfolds with its usual mix of intensity and skill, drivers navigating tight turns and overtaking with precision. But beneath the spectacle, a subtle tension mounts. The oppressive heat, the stark floodlights, and the weight of expectation — all of it seems to be building to something.

In the garage and on the pit wall, your team closely monitors the race and your performance. Hugh occasionally chimes in with updates, “You’re doing great, Y/N. Remember to hydrate whenever you need to.”

You nod even though he can’t see it, “Understood. The heat’s something else in here.”

A pause. Then, “Just keep stead. And Max told GP to tell me to tell you to remember what he said.”

A smile touches your lips, “I always do.”

***

The track is a blur as you push your car to its limits, feeling the adrenaline surge in tandem with the roar of the engines. It’s as if the heat has seeped into your very core, burning with intensity. Each lap feels slightly longer, every turn a tad sharper, as the humid air takes its toll.

“Y/N,” Hugh radioes through, sounding distant and slightly distorted by the pounding in your head, “you’re P2. Great pace. Remember to sip some water.”

A trickle of sweat runs down the side of your face, stinging your eye. Blinking rapidly, you reach for the button that activates your hydration system.

“Got it,” your voice sounds foreign even to your own ears. The water is lukewarm and tastes metallic, not as refreshing as you had hoped.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he urges.

With every lap, the world outside your visor seems to grow brighter, the floodlights shimmering like mirages in a desert. The race has become a battle, not just against other drivers but against the environment and, increasingly, against yourself.

“You’re dropping pace. Is everything alright?” Hugh’s concerned voice crackles through.

A knot tightens in your stomach. “I don’t know. I ...” You trail off, the words catching in your throat as a wave of overwhelming dizziness hits.

You can hear the alarm in your engineer’s voice becoming more pronounced. “Y/N, talk to me. Do we need to pit?”

The heat wraps around you, constricting, making it difficult to breathe. Your hands, slick with sweat, struggle to grip the wheel even through your gloves. “Guys ... I don’t ... feel ...” The world spins and your words falters.

“Y/N? Y/N, talk to me!”

But before you can respond, before you can even finish your sentence, the world tilts and blurs into an incomprehensible whirlwind. The sweltering heat, the relentless pursuit of victory, and the weight of expectation converge into a maelstrom that engulfs you entirely.

Your hands, once deftly steering the RB19, now hang limply by your sides. The car veers off the track, careening towards the barriers. Panic rises in you but it’s too late. Your body refuses to act.

The deafening sound of metal against metal fills your ears, followed by the nauseating sensation of impact. The world outside your cockpit twists and spins, a kaleidoscope of colors and chaos. Then, abruptly, it all goes dark.

In the garage, your team watches in horror as the monitors show the violent crash. The radio falls silent, the connection severed. In that heartbeat, the world goes eerily quiet, punctuated only by the distant echoes of screeching tires and the blaring alarms.

Moments pass like hours and finally the static on the radio clears, replaced by your frantic race engineer, “—please respond. Y/N? Are you okay?”

But there’s no response. Your world remains shrouded in darkness as the circuit comes to a standstill, gripped by an eerie silence that drowns out even the most deafening of cheers.

The track is plunged into chaos. Red flags wave fervently, signaling danger. Marshals rush towards your wrecked car, their fluorescent jackets contrasting brightly against the night.

“Get her out! Get her out!” One of the marshals shouts as they reach your car. Your limp form is carefully extracted and they begin immediate first aid. The severity of the situation is clear — the heat, the dehydration, it’s all taken its toll.

The crowd watches, a collective gasp filling the air soon replaced by a thick, heavy silence. As your unconscious form is stretchered away, the weight of all those warnings crashes down.

Back on the pit wall, four words whispered into the radio are the first of many about to turn your boyfriend’s world upside down.

“Safety car, safety car.”

***

“Max, we’re pitting this lap. Box, box,” the calm, steady voice of Gianpiero Lambiase, Max’s race engineer, instructs over the radio.

Max’s voice is curt, his mind still on the race. “Why? Tires feel fine.”

“Non-negotiable. Safety car is out. We need you to pit now.”

The urgency in GP’s voice is not lost on Max and he immediately senses that something is wrong. “What happened? Why is there a safety car?”

Silence follows for a heartbeat too long. “There was an incident. Just focus on your race.”

An icy dread seeps into Max’s bones. The circuit is massive yet his world feels terribly small at this moment. “Who was it? Who crashed?”

His engineer hesitates, and in that pause, the weight of a thousand possibilities presses on Max.

“Who. Was. It?”

GP wavers, “It’s … Y/N.”

Max’s breathing becomes ragged. Panic and fear flood his system. “Why the hell wasn’t I told immediately?”

“It was team orders. The decision was made to keep you focused on the race.”

Max laughs but it lacks any humor. “Team orders? You’re saying Christian decided not to tell me that Y/N ... my Y/N is hurt?”

“Yes,” the reply is uncharacteristically soft, “It was believed to be in everyone’s best interest for you to be fully focused on the race.”

Max has never felt such white-hot rage. He spits into the radio, seething with fury and pain. “You tell Christian that if he ever makes a decision like that again about someone I love, I’ll cut his balls off with a rusty spoon.”

“Max, I understand you’re upset. But right now, we need you to stay focused.”

Stay focused? When the love of his life is in potential danger? The weight of what that means presses down, threatening to crush him. “I need to see her,” he finally rasps out, voice breaking.

The plea hangs in the air, met by another long silence. Finally, the radio clicks on again, softer than ever. “Y/N would want you to finish. You know that. Win this for her.”

Tears blur Max’s vision, mixing with the sweat already pooling in his helmet, but he nods, a silent assent. The roaring engine now sounds distant, the glinting lights a backdrop to the storm that rages within him. Every second is an eternity, every turn a test of his resolve to keep racing. But Max drives on, pushing his limits for you.

Every fiber of his being silently screams your name, a prayer or a promise or both, Max doesn’t know. All he knows is that the faster he crosses the finish line, the sooner he can be with you.

For the world watching, the race continues, cars whizzing by. But for Max Verstappen, each lap, each second, is a race against his own heart, torn between duty and desperate love.

***

“Her pulse is erratic! Get the defibrillator ready!” A medic shouts as the emergency team frantically works around you, the ambulance parked haphazardly nearby.

Another voice, calmer but filled with urgency, counters, “Wait, give her a moment. She might come around.”

“Come on, Y/N,” A young medic mutters, pressing an oxygen mask to your face. “Don’t do this.”

The ambulance door opens again, the head medic speaking into a radio, “We need an airlift, now. The situation’s deteriorating rapidly.”

Another voice, muffled, replies, “The helicopter’s on its way! Clear the area.”

As the medics continue to administer aid, working desperately to stabilize you, the chief medic tries to maintain order, “Every second counts. This heat stroke is severe, coupled with dehydration ... it’s a nightmare scenario.”

“We should have had more cooling stations,” the younger medic mutters. “The humidity coupled with the heat ... it’s brutal tonight. And we’re not even the ones out there driving.”

The older medic takes a deep breath. “That is on the organizations. We can’t fix there mistakes but we can focus on what happening now and do everything we can to get her through this.”

The thrum of helicopter blades soon overwhelms the noise of the circuit, growing louder as it approaches. Soon, the bright light from its landing spotlight punctuates the night. “The helicopter’s here!” Someone shouts.

“Alright, team, on three,” the chief medic commands. They work in perfect sync, lifting you carefully but quickly, your body still unresponsive.

As they approach the helicopter, the pilot shouts over the roar, “We’ve got the best onboard. She’s in good hands.”

“She’s one of our best,” the younger medic shouts back. “She has to be okay.”

The chief medic, securing you inside, murmurs more to himself than anyone else, “Come on, Y/N. The race isn’t over. Keep fighting.”

***

“You expect me to smile and stand on that podium knowing she’s been airlifted to a hospital?” Max’s voice trembles with rage as he confronts the FIA officials blocking his way.

“Mr. Verstappen, there are rules, procedures,” an official replies stiffly.

“Rules? Y/N might be fighting for her life right now and you want to talk to me about rules?” Max’s hands clench and unclench as he physically holds himself back from throwing a punch.

Another official steps forward, trying to mediate, “Max, we understand your feelings but millions of viewers are watching. The podium is an essential part of the race.”

Max’s eyes flash with anger. “You think I care about a trophy when my girlfriend is in a hospital? Do you really think that piece of metal means anything to me right now?”

“We sympathize— ” the first official begins but is cut off by Max’s heated response.

“You sympathize? Do you even know what that word means?” He’s on the verge of breaking, voice barely above a whisper as he continues, “She is everything to me. Everything. And you want me to smile and wave for the cameras?”

The air grows thick with tension. The two drivers from McLaren waiting for their cue to go to the podium are silent, their eyes darting between Max and the officials.

A new voice interjects , “Let him go.”

It’s Lewis Hamilton, who despite DNFing early in the race, made his way across the paddock after seeing the distress on his rival’s face. “There are things more important than a ceremony.”

The officials exchange glances, clearly not expecting this intervention. But before they can reply, Max levels them with a final scathing look. “Fine me if you must! Penalize me! Suspend me for all I care! But I am going to her.”

And off he goes.

***

A nurse at the desk recognizes Max immediately when he runs into the hospital. “Mr. Verstappen,” she begins hesitantly, “Miss Y/L/N is in the ICU. Room 302.”

He doesn’t need any further prompting to sprint down the hall. Reaching the room, he stops dead in his tracks. You’re there, surrounded by machines that beep and whirr, tubes running to and from you, an oxygen mask on your face. The sight of you, once so full of life, now frail and vulnerable, breaks him.

His voice, when he finally managed to finds it, is a choked whisper, “Y/N ...”

Approaching the bedside, Max gently takes your hand, feeling its clamminess. “Hey, liefje ... it’s me,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. His tears fall freely, wetting the back of your hand.

“Come on, love,” his voice cracks as he continues, “You’ve got to pull through this. For us.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tracing the familiar curves and lines he’s come to adore. “Remember that time in Monaco? When we snuck out for that secret dinner that our trainers would have killed us for? We promised each other forever that night. You can’t leave me now. Not when we’ve got so many more memories left to make.”

The room’s silence is punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor in a cruel reminder of the fragility of the moment.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs. “Please ... please come back to me.”

Leaning in, he rests his forehead against yours, allowing the weight of his anguish, love, and hope to flow between the two of you in the sterile room.

***

Nothing has changed. The steady beep of the heart monitor still punctuates the silence of the hospital room. Max sits vigilantly at your bedside, his hand gently clasping yours.

It’s been three days since the crash and you still have not woken up. The doctors say your condition is stable but uncertain.

Max leans in close and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Morning, liefje. I’m still here. Not going anywhere.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle as if you might break. In the stark hospital lighting, the dark circles under his eyes are visible. Sleep hasn’t come easy to him, not with you lying here.

A soft knock at the door draws Max’s attention. Hugh pokes his head in hesitantly. “Hey, Max. Any change?”

Max shakes his head, swallowing hard. “Nothing yet. But she’s fighting. I know she is.”

Your race engineer steps further into the room, his expression solemn. “I should have seen the signs earlier. Pushed her to hydrate more. Slowed her pace.” His voice catches, “It was my job to look out for her.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Max says firmly. “Y/N is stubborn. We both know that. She wanted to prove herself.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “It’s what makes her brilliant.”

Hugh pulls up a chair on the opposite side of the bed. For a moment, the two men sit in pensive silence. Then your race engineer speaks again, softer this time. “Has she ... has she responded at all? Squeezed your hand or anything?”

Max clenches his jaw and stares past Hugh at the blank wall. “No. Nothing yet. But I know she can hear me. I tell her about training, the team ... I update her on everything. She’ll want to jump right back in when she wakes up.”

Footsteps approach and a nurse enters, checking the equipment and your vitals. After making some notes on a chart, she offers an encouraging smile. “No change but she seems stable. Just keep talking to her. Familiar voices help.”

After she departs, Hugh leans forward, clasping your still hand. “Hear that, Y/N? You’ve got to wake up. The team needs you. Your fans are all rooting for you. And ...” His voice cracks. “I need my driver back.”

Max looks at him gratefully. “We all need her back.” Reaching out, he gives your race engineer’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Another knock sounds. This time, it’s Christian. His face is etched with guilt and worry. “Max. Any improvement today?”

Max’s expression hardens. He hasn’t forgotten Christian’s decision to withhold news of your crash. But his voice remains even as he responds to the team principal. “Nothing new.”

Christian pulls up a chair next to Hugh. He chooses his next words carefully. “Max, I need to apologize. I made the wrong call that night. You deserved to know immediately about Y/N. My priorities were skewed.” His voice shakes slightly. “Seeing her like this ... I would give anything to go back and change what I did.”

Max studies him for a long moment and some of the hardness leaves his eyes. “I appreciate that. But right now, the past doesn’t matter. All that matters is her getting better.”

Christian nods. Reaching out, he gently smoothes your hair. “You hear that, Y/N? We’re all here for you. Your whole team. Now you need to come back to us.”

A heavy silence settles on the room once more. The three of them remain clustered around the bed … keeping vigil … willing you to show any small sign of recovery.

After some time passes, the ringing of Hugh’s phone snaps the three men out of their thoughts. “Sorry to interrupt,” your press officer’s voice filters through the speaker, “but the team’s on the line. They want to send their well wishes to Y/N.”

Hugh glances at Max questioningly who nods, “Patch them through. Let the whole team remind her why she needs to wake up.”

A smile tugs at your race engineer’s lips. “You got it. Go ahead, team. She can hear you.”

A chorus of voices floods the room. Your mechanics, pit crew, strategists, PR team … everyone chimes in with encouraging messages.

“Come on, Y/N! We need our star girl back on the grid.”

“You can do this, kid. You’re the toughest one out there!”

“We all believe in you. Keep fighting!”

Max grips your hand tighter, emotions threatening to spill over. Even Christian and Hugh have sheens of tears in their eyes.

“Alright,” your race engineer says after the team signs off. “You heard them. Time to wake up.”

And that’s when Max feels it. A short, weak squeeze of his hand.

Then your eyelids begin to flutter.

“Y/N?” Max leaps to his feet, leaning over you anxiously. “Can you hear me?”

Slowly, painfully, your eyes open, taking in the scene around you. Confusion clouds your expression. “M-Max?” You rasp.

A brilliant smile breaks across Max’s face. Relief floods through him so powerful that his knees nearly buckle as he chokes out, “Yes, yes it’s me! You’re back, liefje. You’re really back.”

Hugh lets out a shaky laugh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Welcome back, superstar.”

You try to speak again but Max hushes you gently. “Save your strength. We’ve got all the time in the world to talk.”

Christian grins, looking years younger. “Oh thank god. I need to tell the team. They’ll be thrilled. Welcome back, Y/N.” He hurries from the room, phone already in hand.

Your race engineer squeezes your shoulder. “Get some rest. We’ll all be here when you wake up.”

As he and the nurse move discreetly out of the room, you gaze up at Max. “You ... you stayed.”

Max lifts your hand to his lips, blinking back tears. “Of course I stayed. I’ll always stay by your side.”

He leans down, pressing his lips against your chapped ones. All the fear, the uncertainty, the heartache of the past few days melts away.

You’re back. You’re really back. And Max knows, without a shred of doubt, that your lives from this day on will be greater and more meaningful than all your wildest dreams.

***

In the following days, drivers from across the grid make the pilgrimage to your hospital room. They come bearing gifts — flowers, balloons, even a nearly life-size plush race car. But more importantly, they come bearing a message.

“That race should never have happened,” Lewis says solemnly, handing you a get-well card covered in signatures. “The heat was dangerous. We should have acted sooner.”

Esteban grips your hand tightly. “I’m sorry, Y/N. We should have spoken up about the conditions sooner. We all suffered but you suffered most.”

“Your crash woke us all up,” Lance adds. “No trophy is worth risking drivers’ safety even more than we already do each race.”

You’re moved by their solidarity but sigh knowingly. “The FIA would never have listened to just one driver saying something. But maybe they’ll listen to all of us.”

Max’s jaw clenches, residual anger simmering beneath the surface. “They have to listen. We won’t race in unsafe conditions again.”

The other drivers nod, They know the power that you all wield together and for the first time in a long time, you are going to use it.

In a show of outspoken unity, the GPDA drafts a strongly worded letter condemning the lack of caution around extreme heat and demanding tangible changes to make sure drivers aren’t put in avoidable jeopardy.

All twenty of you threaten to strike.

To your surprise, the FIA not only apologizes for the oversight but pledges to implement the requested changes immediately.

“Your crash was a wake-up call,” the FIA president says solemnly during a visit to your hospital room. “We should have protected you better. That will never happen again.”

When he departs, you let out a long breath, leaning back against the pillows. The anger and hurt from that night haven’t disappeared entirely but you feel a sense of hope, that some good has come from the experience.

Max clasps your hand between both of his. “What you went through is unacceptable but you used that to make the sport safer for every driver out there. I’m so proud of you.”

You give him a tired smile. “We did this together. All of us.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest. When you’re better, we’ve got plenty more checkered flags to take. Side by side.”

The long road to full recovery still lies ahead. But with Max by your side, and all the drivers behind you, you know everything will be okay.

The race goes on but it will be a safer race thanks to you.

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prettyboyfucks · 3 months

Text

so in need of a pretty pair of lips suckling on my tcock. ugh. i just wanna condition a cute, obedient little pups’ mouth to water every time they see even a hint of my hip or torso peeking out from my pants. can barely keep their tongue in their mouth. their brain goes stupid and they just crave to be face fucked. crave the sensation of burying their face in my cunt. humping the air when their tongue finally gets a taste of me because its turning them on so intensely… like a dumb, slutty, desperate fucking mutt. lips glued to my clit while they use their tongue to explore my taste. moaning into me every time i yank their hair or buck into their face. fuck, i need to make a sloppy, slippery mess of a slutty pups’ face. watch their eyes roll back while i hump their mouth, watch their brain shut off while i use them like a fucktoy.

#ftm sub #ftm nsft #ftm t4t #ftm bottom #ftm dom #t4t nsft #trans bottom #trans nfst #trans top #ftm top #trans nsft #queue #prettyboyfucks.fucks

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kakushino · 6 months

Text

The Queen

Ryomen Sukuna x F! Reader

He never orders you around - rather, he requests.

Tags: slight gore, suggestive, fem reader, true form Sukuna Word count: 1,7k

Masterlist

AN: Fanart used in banner made by the amazing @innaillus - be sure to check out their divine fanart Written as a Secret Santa's gift for @zoyakuna - Merry (early) Christmas! (and pls stop slandering Giyuu, it's causing me undue stress)

There was little to amuse you in your secluded throne room underground.

Correction - there had been little to amuse you out of your throne room, so you had retreated back into your palace - and even then, was it a palace, when there were no servants, no great halls, no music, and no consort?

Just you - the Supreme Sovereign - and your throne made of roots and vines.

Which made it odd to hear a sound echo in your chamber. You feared nothing, no one, and your heart remained steady, not a beat out of place, your eyes closed as you rested from lifetimes of exhaustion.

“Who goes there?” you called out, not moving from your reclined position.

You were it to him, the holy grail of his searching - the Queen of Curses. Your name was feared enough that it had been scratched out from all written sources, the feats accredited to you terrifying… yet thrilling to Sukuna. He had needed to meet you, though he knew not why… A deep hunger for companionship, another who could stand at his level, who could reign with him from his Shrine, a craving so consuming he nearly went mad with his searching.

And he did find you, though hardly in the condition he thought he would.

“This is what You have become? The cynosure of all mortals reduced to a wretch.”

The voice was rough, forceful - distinctly male - though the tone held a hint of remorse and confusion. “All beauty is short-lived,” was all you said, a slight irritation churning your stomach for the first time in - decades, centuries, millenia? Who knows?

“Not for curses. We are eternal.” You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, and intense. It lashed out at your own, but like water parting around a blade, yours did too, accepting and redirecting the angry force, dispersing it, and eventually absorbing it. It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being suffocated under the weight of the world, a drop of water quenching a soul-deep thirst in the desert of life.

You opened your eyes and sat up properly as you studied him.

The man - curse - was tall, broad, and regal. A king would be a title befitting his posture. His hair was a light color you could hardly make out in the darkness of your abode. The dark marks adorning his face stood out starkly against his skin, as did the shape of the disfigured flesh on the right side of his face. Four gleaming eyes were focused on you, four arms relaxed at his sides.

This man was fascinating, and beautiful; he could easily sway the hearts of humans, bring them to their knees. Too bad you were not human.

“Join me, your Majesty.” Despite the wording, it was a plea. How odd.

“Who are you to ask anything of me?” You blinked slowly. You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, intense, … defensive, lonely. It enticed you, spoke to you in a language you understood all too well. It wasn’t in your nature to deny an honest request.

“Ryomen Sukuna, your Majesty,” he introduced himself. There was a sense of pride in the way he spoke, as if his existence was created, carved out, into the world by his own hands.

Perhaps Ryomen Sukuna would be the cure to your continued boredom.

You stood up from your throne, your figure hardly atrophied as your cursed energy kept you in peak form. The roots and vines retreated into the cave walls, leaving no trace of your royal seat, the chamber empty again for centuries to come.

“Very well.”

Living with Sukuna was hardly boring. Each day, you felt your apathy falling away as you spent time with the King of Curses, until you smiled freely in his presence. The day you realized he softened you to this degree came all too suddenly.

His cruelty to humans who sought to undermine him was but a flimsy curtain of who he truly was. Like a displeased cat, claws exposed, he scratched up those daring to approach him, but with you -

With you he was as playful and borderline affectionate as the tabby you used to feed back in your human days. It warmed your heart, and your cheeks, to feel his eyes on your figure. It made you feel unsteady on your feet. It made you question who was the ruler of the other, who held the power over the other; the power imbalance slowly became a balance - your energy dimmed by the way he could play you like a puppet.

All these feelings weaved together and knotted around your heart, snaring you in a complex web too tight to escape, exposing your throat to him like a delicacy to be gorged upon.

Only if you let him know, that is.

You somehow felt that a man like him wouldn’t settle, and more importantly, he was a man; just another one of the hordes who wanted a demure consort, you could bet. You were not a dainty flower he likely sought; you were a weed - growing strong despite the harshest of conditions, clawing out a place for your existence where there had been none before. The Curse of Curses.

So you buried those feelings like a female buried herself under layers of junihitoe - though you refused to wear that monstrosity despite the latest fashion in Japan, as all the fabric was too heavy for comfort. You made do with the yukata you stole from Sukuna’s wardrobe. It was definitely not because it smelled like him.

You kept away from the humans and the ruling in his Shrine, spending time with Uraume, him, or alone in the gardens - until you could not. He’d left you in charge of his Kingdom when he had business to do.

Human men were deplorable, thinking you were just a weak curse to be manipulated and slandered. You didn’t raise your voice at all, yet it shut everyone up in the hall - save for one local lord thinking himself too mighty to listen. No amount of flattery would have kept him alive after that. A wave of your hand made vines grow out of his guts - burrowing through his flesh as easily as tearing paper apart; sweet-smelling white flowers bloomed from the mess of red-coated plant matter in the middle of the chamber.

You sat in Sukuna’s throne of bones, regal and untouchable.

That was how he found you - presiding over his subjects like the Goddess you were, and bloody Spring sprouted in front of him, rubies glinting upon the stone floors like a grotesque decoration.

At first, he had wanted to study you - the Queen of Curses, the Supreme Sovereign, older than him, wiser, more powerful. Forgotten, yet not forgotten enough for him not to find any sources mentioning your title. He had been curious about you, and then he became curious about the feelings you evoked in him. Your presence in his home converted from an adornment into an emollient to him, smoothing the rough edges and softening the spikes of his defenses against you, yet you remained the centerpiece of his attention, even when you weren’t in his presence. He found himself thinking about you in all his waking moments.

“Everyone, out.”

He could not hide his devotion to you if he tried now - it had grown roots in his soul and fed off of his life-force, yet strengthened it twice as much. His heart was set ablaze every time he laid eyes upon your form, the blood in his veins searing hot, branding him from the inside - a slave to you forevermore.

And so he knelt at your feet, the bottom two of his arms supporting him as he leaned forward, his top pair carefully reaching for your foot and raising it to his face.

The King of Curses kissed your ankle, closing his eyes in silent worship to his Goddess, his World.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted you in a whisper, his lips caressing your skin.

Your eyes grew soft as you studied him, your posture proud but your expression fond. “Sukuna.”

Wet, hot tongue darted out to taste your skin, making you jolt and tear your leg from his grasp with pursed lips. The tabby was particularly impertinent today.

“You have no respect for your Queen, do you?”

“On the contrary, I hold all the respect for you.” His smirk was mischievous, he knew as well as you did neither of you were serious about this. Just a harmless teasing, if a bit skewed.

You used your foot to lightly push against his chest to tip him over onto his back - which he let you do, for he could have as easily resisted. Even falling down, he looked graceful. It made you feel warm inside your ribcage as you pushed a joyous smile down.

Sukuna turned the fall into a backwards roll, ending up on his knees again.

“At least you know your place - on your knees before me…”

“I-” he licked his lips, “I would gladly be on my knees for you all day, Your Majesty.”

Oh? It was your turn to give him a smile full of mischief as he slowly moved back to you. You remained silent.

“Has a cat got your tongue?”

Sukuna shuffled forward on his knees, his top pair of arms resting on the bones of his throne as he came even closer. Palms trailing to your thighs and covering them with his hands - an easy feat with his size.

You could do naught but marvel at the contrast of your limbs and his - each powerful and deadly in their own right, each in a different way. There was no tremor of fear in your muscles, only anticipation, even while he lightly spread your legs to fit his torso between them as you lounged on his throne.

“Let me feast on your nectar.” His voice, smooth like silk, a plea rather than an order, the nuance of his tone telling all you needed to know. He appeared unreadable to others, but he was as exposed and vulnerable as a newborn babe to you at this moment.

Even so, your lips parted in surprise at his request for you didn’t expect him to say it out loud at last. “Forward, aren’t you?”

His carmine eyes - all four of them - focused on yours with an intensity you were only just getting used to with him. Sukuna said nothing as he waited for your response.

The devil didn’t bargain, after all.

“Very well… Show me how you would worship your Queen, my King.”

dividers by the divine @benkeibear

network: @enchantedforest-network

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candy69gurl · 2 months

Note

can you do hybrid! Wolf toji claiming you during his rut?

THE HOWL OF DESIRE

Hybrid! Wolf toji x f!reader

Warnings- 18+, dark, slight non/con (Toji does not intend to harm you), size kink (both are adults), cave sex, multiple orgasms, nipple biting & play, fingering (Toji has black big nails), raw sex (cumming inside many times), breeding, pussy eating

wc - 2.6k

ART NOT MINE !

As you traverse through the dense woods, you find yourself getting increasingly disoriented, unsure of which way leads back to civilization. The sun's rays barely penetrating the thick canopy above, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. You begin to worry, knowing that spending the night here could lead to dangerous consequences.

Suddenly, your senses pick up on the sound of rustling leaves nearby. You freeze, trying to discern whether it is an animal or something more sinister.

A figure emerges from behind a tree, and you gasp involuntarily. It is a creature of height 6'1ft, he appears as a magnificent wolf-human hybrid. He is slender but muscular and athletic, and his wolfish aura makes him look intimidating. As he closes on your position you notice his ears flattened on his head and his tail is pointed upright, his body has chiseled muscles and trademark scars, his green sword-like eyes looking through your soul. His mouth bore fang-like teeth that you swear are more vicious than natural canine teeth of humans.

His eyes lock onto yours, a mixture of hunger and desire burning within their depths.

"Hello, human," he growls softly, his voice tinged with an animalistic quality. "Lost, are we? Well, I don't normally go for humans, but you seem intriguing enough."

As you stand frozen in fear and confusion, Toji takes a step closer, his form shifting slightly, the wolf aspects becoming more pronounced. His eyes gleam with lust, and you can faintly smell his pheromones in the air – a testament to his overwhelming need to mate. "Ah finally," he says, taking another step toward you. "It's just my rut, and I need a mate to breed with. Normally, I wouldn't ask a human, but I cannot wait anymore."

His voice is calm, almost soothing despite the terrifying situation. Your heart races as you contemplate your options, but you realize that running might only agitate him further. Nonetheless your legs unconsciously start to move. There is only one way to get out of this- by running.

"So," he continues, his back facing you but when he turns to you, he sees you running, " What's a prey if they don't try running".

With a grin spreading across his face, Toji starts running after you, muscles rippling as he leaps after you. His movements are fluid and quick, darting through the trees with ease. You feel your adrenaline surge, pushing your speed to its limit as you navigate the unfamiliar terrain. However, he seems to know these woods intimately, and your panic increases as you realize you're unable to shake him off.

"Caught you little bunny" he exclaims, grabbing your neck. Despite his triumphant words, there's a hint of concern in his eyes. He pauses, contemplating his next move. "Running isn't going to solve anything, and believe me, you don't want to get hurt.. Or do you?"

"P-please let me go.. I have to get back home."

Toji weighs your plea, his gaze lingering on you thoughtfully. His need for release is urgent, but he doesn't wish to harm you unnecessarily. "I can let you go, but I'm afraid you won't find your way back alone." His voice holds a note of genuine concern, his eyes softening momentarily.

Then, his expression shifts, the wolfish hunger returning. "But," he adds, "If you agree to stay and help alleviate my… condition, I promise to guide you safely back to where you belong. You won't regret it, trust me." He leans close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, "I'll make sure you enjoy it too."

You stand there, contemplating your options. The thought of being alone in these woods, possibly lost for another night, is daunting. On the other hand, submitting to Toji's demands is equally terrifying, but there's a strange allure to it as well. His promise of safety and pleasure seems almost too good to be true.

As you weigh the pros and cons, Toji watches you intently, his eyes never leaving yours. He can sense your hesitation, and it fuels his desire even more. "I understand if you're scared," he says softly, reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "But I promise, I won't hurt you. I just need someone to share this with, and you seem like the perfect one."

His touch is warm and comforting, despite the situation. You can't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence, as if he truly means what he says. "So, what do you say?" he asks, his voice low and seductive. "Will you help me, and let me help you in return?"

"O-only if you promise to be gentle..", you reply, your voice shaking from his intimidating aura.

Toji's eyes crinkle at the corners, a rare smile gracing his features. "Gentle it is," he assures you, his grip on your cheek gentle but firm. "I can't promise but I will try since you are my first human mate.. Come, let's find a suitable spot. We don't want to draw attention, do we?" His voice is smooth, radiating confidence and control. You hesitate, but there's a sense of safety in his presence that you can't deny.

With a deep breath, you take his hand, allowing him to lead you deeper into the woods. The fear is still there, but it's tempered by a growing curiosity. You're stepping into unknown territory, but for some reason, you don't feel threatened. Instead, there's a strange excitement coursing through you, making your heart beat faster.

As you follow Toji deeper into the woods, you begin to notice subtle changes in the landscape. Brambles part before you, revealing a hidden trail leading to a small clearing. In the center of the clearing lies a cave, half-hidden by the surrounding foliage. This is where Toji leads you, guiding you inside with a gentle push.

The cave is surprisingly cozy, lit by the dim light seeping through the entrance. There's a palpable sense of warmth and security, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. Toji observes your reaction, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"This is my den," he explains, gesturing around. "Now, shall we proceed?" He tilts his head, his eyes holding a mix of anticipation and expectation. You can tell that his rut is still strong, but he's patiently waiting for your lead.

Your nod sends a wave of excitement through Toji, his eyes glinting with eagerness.. He quickly steps closer, nearly ripping your pants and panties off. He hovers over you, his eyes locked on yours as he positions himself between your thighs.

Surprised by his sudden movement, you struggle in his grip, "W-wait you need to loosen me up"

Toji pauses, confusion clouding his features for a brief moment. "Loosen you up?" he repeats, his voice heavy with confusion. Then, understanding dawns on his face, and he chuckles softly. "Tsk, I can wait no more but fine since you beg me so obediently", moving between your legs. He gently parts you with his fingers, feeling your dampness.

"You're already prepared," he murmurs, a note of approval in his voice.

"Ah~", your back arches at his finger movements, your back hitting the ground of the cave.

At your response, Toji's eyes darken with lust. He thrusts his fingers into you roughly. You arch your back,

"Are ya loose yet?" His eyes remain locked on yours, his expression a mix of impatience and excitement.

"n-no not yet.. a-ah", your voice cracks up in pleasure.

Toji's eyes narrow, his brows furrowing in concentration. He inserts a third finger, thrusting harder this time, stretching you wider. You cry out, a mixture of pleasure and pain washing over you as you near your edge.

"Humans are so responsive..." he mutters, his voice thick with desire as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity between you and him building, is only heightened by the dim light of the cave.

Finally, after several more thrusts, you reach your orgasm and he withdraws his fingers, a satisfied smirk gracing his lips. "Ready?" He asks, his gaze locked on your face, waiting for your answer.

"mghh.. n-not now.. I need sometime.. I am sensitive right now", you protest.

Toji's eyes squint in annoyance "Shut up, I have been patient enough. I can't wait any longer."

With that, he positions himself between your legs again .With a sudden powerful surge, Toji thrusts into you, his giant cock stretching your poor hole wide. You gasp, your nails digging into the cave floor as you struggle to adjust to the intense sensation.

"Please.. A-ah .. be gentle"

"Shush..I am trying .. You humans are so fragile.. But", he grunts in pleasure, "ya feel so good. I never thought humans feel this good"

Though he is trying to be gentle, but your insides feel so good that he can't help but move relentlessly, his hips pumping in a primal rhythm. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure and pain through you, your body responding to his dominance.

Despite your initial protest, you can't help but moan loudly, writhing beneath him. His roughness sets you ablaze, and you find yourself meeting his thrusts eagerly. His scent, his strength - everything about this experience overwhelms you. Your body cries out for release, and you know you won't last long.

"That's it, take it!" Toji growls, his eyes locked on yours. His primal nature is on full display, and it's intoxicating.

Your toes curl up as Toji's thrusts intensify, his eyes widening at your reaction. "Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his voice thick with lust. "You feel incredible." His pace quickens, his hips slamming into you with brutal efficiency. You cry out, the cave echoing with your sounds of pleasure and pain.

His rut is nearing its peak, his body trembling with suppressed energy. With one last powerful lunge, he buries himself deep within you, filling you with his seed. "Take it all," he rasps, his breath hot against your neck.

In that moment, you surrender to the sensations, your own climax washing over you. Together, you collapse onto the cave floor, feeling spent but incredibly fulfilled. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, holding him close.

As he recovers, Toji nuzzles your neck, his breathing ragged. "I hope I was gentle enough," he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction.

"No .. you are so mean..", you reply panting.

Toji laughs, his chest rumbling against your throat. "Mean? Maybe, but effective, wouldn't you agree?" He teases, his grip on you tightening. "Besides, don't lie, you enjoyed it too."

He's right, you did enjoy it - despite the roughness. The intensity of the encounter left you shaken yet exhilarated. He turns you on your stomach "don't think it's over yet.. It's just a starting"

"w-what?", your pupil dilates at the though.

Toji pushes you on your stomach and he enters from behind. You moan, feeling him stretch you once again. With a smirk, he begins to thrust relentlessly, his body slamming against yours. His large hands grip your sides, holding you steady as he takes you from behind.

"We are going to do it whole night" he growls, each word punctuated by his thrusts.

You cry out, your body responding eagerly to his advances. You can't deny the pleasure surging through you. His dominance excites you, the raw intensity of his actions sending you spiraling towards another climax.

"God, you're so good," he praises, his voice thick with lust. "I could spend hours with you, sweet human."

"P-please can't no more", you plead.

Toji stills, pulling his cock out, your body shaking from oversensitiveness. "Already?" then he thrusts into you again. "I know you can handle this."

You cry out, feeling him entering you again.

Time skips, and you and he are still at it, you don't know what time it is, you don't know how many orgasms coursed through you.. The only thing you know is the pleasure you are getting from this.

Toji's eyes shine with lust, his hands firmly grasping your hips as he bounces you on his lap. Your hair falls in disarray around your face, your skin flushed from exertion. Each thrust elicits a soft moan from you, your body responding to his every command.

"Feel good?" he asks, his voice low and sultry. His eyes hold a mixture of satisfaction and hunger, his gaze never leaving your face. You nod, breathless, your nails scratching lightly at his shoulders.

"Good," he growls, increasing his pace. "I knew you'd love this." His hips buck, driving into you harder, faster. You cry out, your body reacting to his every touch.

"p-please play with my nipples too.. mhmm", your face flush with shame as you beg him to pleasure you. Unknowingly removing your hands remove your top and push up your bra, revealing your breasts with stiffening nipples.

Toji's eyes light up at your request, his hands immediately moving to your breasts. He pinches your nipples gently, then harder, eliciting a mix of pleasure and pain from you. You cry out, your body arching in response.

"You like that?" he asks, his voice thick with lust. "Is this what you wanted?"

You nod, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He leans to catch one of your bouncing tits in his mouth, licking and sucking. His fangs brush your nipples, nibbling on them gently

"f-fuck .. dont bite them.. ahhh."

Toji pulls back, releasing your nipple with a wet pop. He looks at you, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "My apologies," he says, feigning innocence. "It seemed to please you though."

He resumes his thrusts, his movements fierce and unrestrained. His hands pinch and twist your nipples, his tongue lashing over them in turn. Each touch sends waves of pleasure-pain coursing through you, your body responding eagerly.

"I'm close," you whisper, your voice hoarse.

"Not yet," he growls, his eyes darkening. "I'm not done with you."

His words send a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You cry out, your body writhing beneath him as he plays with your nipples, fucking you relentlessly.

"R-really can't anymore.. please let me .. let me cum", you beg him, tears falling from your cheeks.

Toji's eyes meet your teary eyes, his breath ragged.

"Don't cry little human", he licks your cheek wiping off your tears. "Then cum," he growls, his voice rough with pleasure. "Let go."

With a final, hard thrust, he drives into you, the motion perfectly synchronized with your climax. You cry out, your body shaking as you crest over the edge. He follows suit, his cock pulsing within you as he finds his own release. He growls which sounds more like a howl, as he fills your womb with his thick seed.

Exhausted, you slump against him, your breathing ragged. He holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

Soon you pass out. Toji catches you easily, his grip firm yet tender. "Awww. I wanted more though," he whispers, his voice softening, "but fine.. I have had enough fun.. I will help ya return tomorrow"

He gazes at your sleeping form, a hint of tenderness in his eyes. Despite his rough exterior, he cares for you. He wraps his big arms around you covering your fragile body, ensuring you stay warm throughout the night.

You awaken slowly, feeling warm, wet warmth between your legs. Your eyes flutter open, landing on Toji's face, his eyes gleaming with desire as he licks your cunt. The sight is both erotic and overwhelming.

"Morning," he greets, his voice thick with lust. "How are you feeling?"

You swallow hard, your heart racing. "W-what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" he responds, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Cleaning you up after last night's fun."

You blush, your body reacting to his touch whether you want it to or not. Your eyes squeeze shut as he licks and kisses your most intimate places.

"Mmm, you taste delicious," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Like sweet honey."

"H-hey you said.. you will help me return back home.."

Toji raises his head, his eyes locked on yours. "Go home?" he repeats, surprise clear in his voice. "Oh yes.. But I want to fuck you before I leave you alone for good"

Your skin is already sensitive from his licks and touches, your body ready for more. You bite your lower lip before nodding.

He grins, his eyes filled with lust. "What we waiting for then?" He quickly moves, positioning himself between your legs.

He chuckles as your walls devour his huge girth. "I love how good your taking me.. Fuck.. I'll always find you during my rut, my little bunny."

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rottenomelet · 8 months

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yandere jjk thoughts

warning:: nsfw! i’m eighteen and you should be too! hints of kidnapping, non-con, and coercion. nothing is ever really explicitly stated but - still.

a/n: there’s no real rhyme or reason behind this - winter is just my favorite time to snuggle up and read about crazy ppl. also i wrote this in lowercase originally so u see a spot i missed, no u didnt. u can leave requests for different characters if u wanna

Gojo Satoru

In no world could I ever imagine Gojo Satoru treating you like a real human being.

He is the strongest. There is no one who could destroy him. He can see all. And the issue isn’t just that he’s the best, it’s that he’s been told that since the day he opened his bright eyes. He has a big ego and it’s justified because there is no one better than him.

And sure he’ll indulge you. He'll laugh at your jokes and console you when you cry. But in the back of his mind, in every kiss to your forehead, in every smile, there will always be a domineering aspect. Because he knows that you are insignificant in the grand scheme of the world. you are only important because he deemed you worth something.

You’re not quite a toy or a pet to him. You’re more like - an indoor plant to him. Something that needs nurturing from his caring hands, watering and sunlight granted to you by him. You adapt and grow according to his needs and his conditions. But at the same time, you are to be cherished. never handled too roughly, case you begin to wilt. You don’t have to do much but sit and be nurtured and be pretty while he gives you whatever he deems necessary for your survival.

It fascinates him, really, how simple your little life is. How much you don’t know and never will know because as a flower, all you need to understand is that water and sunlight and love are given to you before you’ll even realize that you need it.

But you still have a job to be pretty and sometimes that’s sitting on the bed, still, as he observes you or bouncing on his cock. It just depends on the day.

Geto Suguru

Suguru is a calm man, a quiet man. He makes decisions based on logic. He is not exactly one for emotional outbursts, and even at his angriest, he rarely raises his voice.

But you.

A little non-sorcerer that can’t even see curses somehow made him look twice. Little unimportant you constantly runs through his mind. What you’re doing, what you’ve eaten, what places you’ve gone to. Who you’ve talked to, who your friends are. Your hobbies, your interests. Your lips and your eyes and that special something between your legs.

Just thinking about you, even innocently, makes him harden. It’s uncomfortable, it’s infuriating, it’s maddening.

He thought, surely someone in your family was a sorcerer, a powerful one at that. But no, your family is normal. You are, genetically, as average as they come.

He doesn’t treat you softly at first, doesn’t have a mind to. You’re a filthy little nothing, after all. When he fucks, he fucks without care. Suguru treats you like a doll, not made of porcelain but made of cloth, one he can throw around and still be in decent condition. He keeps a hand pressed to your mouth, to keep your voice down. A blindfold around your eyes so he doesn’t have to look into them. Your hands are bound behind your back so you don't touch him even by accident. Flat on your stomach, unable to see or feel or say anything is how you find yourself every time. He doesn’t even come inside of you, the only thing you’re grateful for.

It’s scary, how roughly he treats you. But it’s downright terrifying when he begins to lay softer hands upon you, begins to kiss instead of bite, caress instead of pinch.

Nanami Kento

He is a very traditional and stern man.

You are, silly, to him. stumbling and bumping and in general, unsure of yourself and what to do. But he sees potential. Even when you’ve tripped over thin air or broken something by accident, there’s a certain grace to your movements. A grace he wants to harvest and invest in.

And while he wants to give you direction, he also doesn’t have the patience or time to teach you like he wants. So, it’s best to ‘learn on the job’ when it comes to Kento.

Learn how to cook his favorite meals and bake the sweets he loves just right. When he’s okay with speaking and when he needs quiet. Remembering to kiss him goodbye every morning and remove his coat for him every night.

Learn how to suck his cock right - which vein is most sensitive, when to suckle and gag and slurp, what noises to make, and remember to always always swallow. He hates messes after all.

Learn his favorite positions. The lingerie sets he like best. How loudly he wants you to be. Accept his cum in your tummy with a smile.

It’s not hard - please him and you will be rewarded. Rewarded with pleasure, with time outside, with gentle hands.

And if you stumble or forget, he will easily remind you of your job.

Mahito

You’re his personal entertainment. You’re an experiment.

Mahito is incredibly laid-back, even lazy to an extent. He lets you roam and explore and fall. He doesn’t care what you do as long as you stay within the four walls he’s placed you in.

It's hard to understand him. For a curse, he’s always laughing, finding almost child-like joy in the most odd things. Whether that’s watching an animal documentary or wondering if a human’s neck can extend like the turtles on TV.

One thing you do know is that he likes games and he likes playing with you. The only problem is you don’t when the game starts and ends, the rules or even if you’re playing right. Oftentimes, you find yourself playing a game that you don’t know the rules of and Mahito has named himself the gamekeeper.

He usually starts by asking a question. Something simple like “What time did you wake up?” or “What did you eat today?”. You find out the hard way that no matter what you say, you’re always wrong.

Say you woke up at ten? Then you’ll find yourself pressing into the mattress, drooling on your pillow as he drills you, punishing you for waking so late in the day. You had a slice of cake earlier? Then don’t be surprised when you’re in the kitchen licking icing off his cock as punishment for an unhealthy lunch.

Itadori Yuuji

He's the jock that gave you a chance. That made you feel special and pretty and popular.

He's sweet. He gives you his hoodie when you’re cold. He drives you home after school. Buys you lunch when you can’t afford it. Takes you on nice dates.

He wants you sitting front row at all his games, wearing his varsity jacket so everyone knows you’re his girl. He twirls you and kisses you in front of the whole school when he wins, the whole thing right of a cheesy rom-com.

But, surely, you didn’t think he was doing all that for free? No, he wants compensation. He deserves a reward for treating you so sweetly. It's only fair.

It doesn’t matter if you’re ‘not ready’. No, no, you’re just nervous, sweetheart. But he’ll be gentle with you so calm down. Yeah, calm down when he slides a hand up your skirt on a date to the movies. Be quiet when he asks you for head in the janitor’s closet between classes. And don’t make a fuss when he slips his cock inside of you, raw, even though you begged him to use a condom.

‘Rubbers hurt,’ he says. ‘It feels better raw’,’ he pleads. ‘Don’t worry - I'll pull out.,’ he promises.

And you better be understanding when he comes inside of you. Afterall, he’ll buy you a plan b.

Choso

Whatever you do, do not stress this man.

He’s going through enough as is. The last thing he needs from you is any attitude or ungratefulness. Even an upset face will have you with your knees pushed beside your head and Choso making you scream, all while watching you with that same tired expression.

Choso is the oldest of ten siblings. He is used to dealing with bratty behavior. He handles your tantrums with grace - once you’ve finished throwing things and screaming, he’ll only ask if you're finished. And then he will be upon you.

But, beyond punishment, he is caring and quiet. He prefers it when you speak, likes it when you prattle on about your day or your favorite show. He likes it when you’re happy.

#yandere #yandere jjk #tw yandere #yandere gojo satoru #yandere gojo #yandere geto suguru #yandere geto #yandere mahito #yandere nanami kento #yandere nanami #yandere itadori yuuji #yandere itadori #yandere choso #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #rottenomelet

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bandgie · 3 months

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On Your Knees Pt.2

ONE | TWO

synopsis: They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but this one seems eager for a treat.

warnings! MDNI 18+, fem!reader, incel!seungmin, pussy eating/fingering, PIV (raw), edging (m!), blue balls, multiple orgasms (f!), dom reader (kinda), banter, prolly more that I missed lol

3.1k words

Seungmin doesn't think there'll be any way for him to live how he has been. Even the friends he spends time with hardly compare to the time he spends on the bathroom floor eating you out. Embarrassingly enough, it's all he can think about. Even as the podcast he's watching blares through his headphones, he can barely make out what they're saying.

Something about how it's submissive for a man to eat pussy. How demeaning the act is for a man to do. Yet, Seungmin questions the validity of what these so-called 'alpha' men are saying. Is it truly so terrible to have the taste of a cunt on your lips? To suck and lick on such a delicious flower?

He shuts his computer off, ripping the headphones by the wire to hone in on his conclusions.

Okay so maybe this is normal. Seungmin's a big boy; it makes sense that he would eat pussy sooner or later. And if he liked it, that's also fine. He's a man, after all, it makes more sense to like giving girls head than to hate it.

Just as long as he doesn't try to reach out to you. Now that would be submissive of him. And if there's anything Seungmin is dead set on, it's that he is not submissive.

But days after not seeing you with Han, days of not getting a taste of the pussy that has him whipped has him doing things he's sworn not to do. He found your number, he texted you, and he's going over your house on your conditions.

He's so fucked.

It's too late to turn back by the time he's at your front door. Seungmin only waits a few seconds before the door swings open. He's seen you about a dozen times, but it's the first time he's felt his heart swoop at the sight of you. He reasons it's just because you're in a t-shirt.

"Oh wow," you take a step back and look at him up and down, somewhat in disbelief. "I can't believe you actually came."

Seungmin can't find it in himself to believe he came here on his own violation either. "Whatever," he shivers from the cold, night air. "Are you gonna let me in or what?"

You take a step aside to make room, "Since you asked so nicely."

Seungmin takes awkward steps into your apartment, noting the cozy setup and simple plants littered in your living space. His fingertips run on the soft material of the couch, pulling on the loose threads automatically.

You walk past him, taking a seat on your couch and reaching for the remote. "I was just about to put something on," you turn and look up at him. "Come on."

Tentatively, Seungmin walks around the sofa to you. Just before he takes his seat, you click your tongue. "Nope. On the floor." You point to the space between your legs. Seungmin hands close and open, unsure what to make of the situation. You sigh and loll your head to the side, looking at him unamused. "You gonna sit down or what?"

Seungmin glowers at you, "I am. You don't need to be such as ass about it." He grumbles a little more before bending down and crossing his legs to face the TV. "Nope, wrong way," you twirl your finger in a circular motion to indicate him to face you instead.

He looks at you confused, "But you said we were gonna put something on." You shake your head at him, "No. I said I'm gonna put something on. I never said anything about you." A hint of red begins to show on Seungmin's face, but before he has the chance to most likely curse you, you spread your legs.

You can practically see the words die in Seungmin's throat at the sight of your bare cunt. He acts before he can think, twisting his body fully and gripping the underside of your thighs to spread you further. It's better than he remembers.

"This is why you came, right?" You look down at him. "Missed the taste of this pussy?"

Seungmin licks his lips, nodding mindlessly. Something about taste and pussy, but he understood nonetheless. His tongue pokes out, but you grip his hair and yank him upwards. Seungmin whines, like an animal tore away from his meal, but you ignore it. "You're just here to make me feel good, got it? You don't get to cum, only I do. Do you understand?"

You have to shake his head to force an answer out of him. "Yes yes yes." He shifts anxiously in your hold. "Only you. I'll make you feel good."

Despite his desperation, you smile. "Good boy. Go ahead."

The moment your grip loosens, Seungmin latches onto your core. It's soft, it's warm, it's good. He moans into your cunt, inhaling through his nose and he dips his tongue between your folds. It's only been days since he's tasted you, but it feels far too long. How could he go a single minute without tasting you? Getting that sticky arousal on his lips so the taste could mingle in his mouth the entire day? Seungmin puckers his lips and kisses your cunt, a thank you for introducing him to a whole new world.

Your fingers mindlessly click on the buttons of the remote as you try and find a show. You keep switching back and forth between options, clicking random buttons until you accidentally set the caption to a different language. One of your hands pet the top of Seungmin's head, pushing back his hair and twirling it in your fingers.

His tongue slides down until it catches your entrance, barely prodding it until he slides it back up to your clit. He swirls your bud in his mouth, sucking and licking until your hips buck. "Shit," you breathe. "You really missed my pussy, huh?"

Seungmin opens his eyes to look up at you. He turns his head sideways to place your clit in his mouth, flicking your clit rapidly. That's as much of an answer as you're getting, but it does the job. He lifts his head back up and sucks harshly, pulling on your sensitive flesh before releasing it. You shiver and moan, feeling your arousal drip onto the couch that you'll make him clean up later.

"Fuck yes," your grip tighten on his hair. "Finger me." Seungmin leans back and uses his hands to rub your pussy. His fingers rub and swirl around your core until they're drenched. He trails them down until they catch your entrance, pushing his middle and ring finger in.

You throw the remote on the couch and grip the cushions. The stretch is slight, but his fingers are long. They reach much deeper than you could ever do yourself, and you let out a loud moan when they finally settle all the way inside. Seungmin pumps you slowly, getting used to how your walls pulse and clench around him. He watches as your cunt swallows his fingers. His cock throbs in his pants.

"Shiiit," you throw your head back onto the headrest. "I'll cum if you keep doing that."

That's all he's ever wanted. Seungmin places his mouth back onto your clit where his tongue flattens against your cunt. He moves his head up and down while thrusting his fingers in and out. Both of your hands are tugging on his hair, pulling and pushing him away.

"Already?" He pulls away for a moment to speak. "Didn't think you'd be this easy, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised." A devilish smile appears on his lips as you lift your head to look at him. You wish you could come up with a snide remark, but your head starting to feel fuzzy and all you can focus on is how close you are.

You push his head back to your pussy and wrap your legs around his body, locking him in. "I'll make you regret saying that."

Seungmin laughs into your cunt, happy that he succeeded in pissing you off. Now that he's pushed against you, it's a little difficult to finger you as rapidly, but you rather like the shallow thrusts. It gives you more to clench down on and ride while he licks your clit. You buck your hips and ride his face inelegantly. The first hints of your orgasm build in your stomach, making your body feel unbelievably warm as your hips stutter.

"Fuck," you rasp. "Imma cum." You blink a few times and lazily smile at him, "Did you miss the taste of that too?"

As an answer, Seungmin buries himself so deep into you that his nose is pressed against your clit. The extra texture is enough to send you over the edge, creaming on his fingers and twitching in his mouth. He happily gulps down your arousal, slipping his fingers out to replace them with his tongue instead.

You just taste so good. Seungmin is delightfully reminded of how it felt to swallow you for the first time, how the taste settled on his tastebuds. His tongue scoops out the white cream your pussy flooded out and spreads it on your clit before licking it back up again.

He hums, shoving his cum-stained fingers when you finally release him from your hold.

Seungmin wants it again. His hands splay over your thighs to spread them. After all, it's you who gets to cum. It's only fair he makes sure you can as much as possible. But before his tongue has the chance to find its rightful place in your pussy, you snap your legs shut.

He looks up at you like a wounded dog, "Hey! Open them back up!"

Seungmin isn't sure what he's expecting to see, but it definitely isn't how you look right now. Flushed with a heaving chest, eyes that are wide and full of arousal, and a cheeky smile on your bitten lips. He's reminded of how pretty you actually are.

"Get up," you snap him out of his thoughts. "Take off your pants too."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Seungmin rises from his aching knees and fumbles with his belt. He unties it quickly before undoing the top of his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers. You gasp, eyes locking with his cock for the first time.

"Holy shit," you slap a hand over your mouth. He's hard. His cock is red at the tip, leaking with so much precum you think he's had to stain his underwear. You can almost see it twitching from lack of attention, begging to be touched.

Seungmin smiles, grabbing the base and squeezing it. "You like it, huh?" It's not easy to take your gaze off his length to look into his eyes instead. The sight of him has you aching to be filled. Your pussy clenches around nothing, but you keep your nose upturned, "It's alright."

He scoffs, but the smile never fades. You widen your legs and welcome him, watching as he gets into a half-squat position to angle his cock towards your entrance. Seungmin rubs his tip over your sensitive clit. When it catches your nub, you jolt. You wrap your legs around him and bring him closer. He does it again, this time pressing the head of his cock down to apply pressure.

You reason he's doing this on purpose. Making your pussy squelch and your hips jolt to try and get him inside. As much as you hate to admit it, he's good with his dick. Teasing you by slowly dragging the fat of his head down your slit, slapping his tip and your wet cunt. You're annoyingly reminded of what he said days ago; 'I can make a girl cum. I just don't care to.'

The words echo in your mind and you scrunch your nose. "God, fuck! Stop pissing me off and put it in already."

For a moment, you think he's going to defy you. His tip trails lower and lower until it's against your entrance. Seungmin steadies his cock at the base and pushes forwards, barely spreading you open. "Didn't think I'd ever hear you begging for my cock," he smiles at you teasingly. "You were being such a feminist the other day. What happened?"

Not-so-nice words begin to form in your head and before you get the chance to spew them out, Seungmin pushes all the way in. His cock stretches you out more than you anticipated, and it's whines that leave your lips instead. He doesn't give you the chance to adjust as he pulls nearly all the way, save for his tip, before slamming back in. Your entire body jolts and you whimper again.

Your pussy can't keep up with his pace, but you hardly mind the pain. It blurs into white pleasure that burns hot in your cunt.

"You hear that?" Seungmin pants through his thrusts. "That's the sound of your pussy getting fucked by an...what was it again? An incel?" He laughs as your eyes darken with anger, seething with a type of emotion you're not too familiar with.

You reach out the grip his wrist that's placed on the side of the couch, digging your nails into his flesh. Seungmin hardly notices the pain, his teeth shining in his shit-eating smile.

The words are stuck in your throat. You want no more than to tell Seungmin how much of an ass he is, that his cock is merely adequate, but you can't. Every drag of his length rubs against your walls deliciously. You can practically feel every vein on him as he fucks you raw. He makes your hot pussy even hotter and he, unfortunately for you, keeps dragging his cock against that sweet spot deep inside you.

"You," a breath from you, "are a dick."

Strangely enough, your words seem to spur him on more. He tears his hand from your iron grip to place them both under your hips. Seungmin angles your hips upwards and drives forward, shoving his cock unbelievably deeper. Your hands shoot up to your face, trying to block all sounds of pleasure, but Seungmin can hear them. He can hear the gasping behind your fingers, the high-pitched moans muffled in your hands.

Seungmin laughs, but it sounds winded. "A dick huh? That's funny. You seem to like being fucked by one."

It occurs to you that you've been too lenient on him. Letting him eat the very same pussy he's thrusting into, letting him fuck you raw. His attitude needs some shaping.

You let him keep fucking you. You let his cock throb and twitch in your pussy. He's close, but he's doing good at holding back. Seungmin must be used to dumping his cum and leaving, but he seems to hold out just for you. It's cute, but your plan is better.

Your head bounces with every thrust. Seungmin makes sure to keep his long fingers at your clit the entire time, switching between pinching and flicking against it. It helps to build your second orgasm. Your jaw falls open and your moans become more frequent.

"Shit," he breathes. "Pussy gripping me so tight. Is someone gonna cum again?"

Blinking up at him, you nod. Your hand grips your chest, squeezing your boobs underneath the material as you keep nodding. "Mhm. Keep fucking my pussy and I'll cream all over your cock." That does it for him. Seungmin has been holding back his orgasm so much that his ears feel like they might burst.

With new vigor, he fucks into you harder, deeper. Seungmin doesn't try to hide the animalistic sounds he makes, groaning and moaning as your walls wrap around his cock. "You want my cum, huh? Acting all big and strong when it's you're begging for it. Say it. Tell me you want my cum."

You don't, not because you're prideful, but because you can't. He's thrusting into you so roughly that words seem to leave you. His hand pulls your clit roughly, and the harsh tug drives you over the edge. You squeeze your breasts so tightly to anchor yourself. You can feel how your pussy floods with your cum, leaving your legs trembling and shaking.

Seungmin can feel it too. The pulsing, the wetness. It's enough to finally let him release. His balls tighten, his dick twitches, and he-

"Pull out."

Seungmin doesn't know why he listens. He was so close to his orgasm, he could still taste it on his tongue. But your demand outweighs his need to cum. With a wail, he pulls out. A small whimper makes its way past you as he finally slips out, cock shining in your cum.

His cock is red, rubbed nearly raw from how good he was keeping himself at bay. You can see the head of his cock pulsing, worse than the first time you saw it. A wicked smile finds your lips.

"Do you remember what I said earlier, Seungie?" You speak with artificial gentleness. Seungmin is too busy trying not to cum, squeezing the base of his cock almost painfully. You have to repeat your question before he finally looks up to you. "Huh? About what?"

"About who gets to cum," you remind him. "Who is it that gets to cum tonight?"

Seungmin thinks back about how you presented your cunt to him, bare and wet. He briefly recalls how you said something about being the only one to cum, but he was so entranced by your sweet pussy that he hardly cared.

He frowns, face flushed. "But that's not fair! I ate you out. You came on my tongue. You came on my dick. I'm so hard and-"

"And that doesn't matter," you interrupt him. "I never said you can cum. That's your fault for assuming you could." You have to bite back you smile at his pitiful reaction.

Even with his dejected look, you can't help but find it somewhat cute. You fake a pout and click your tongue, "Poor thing. Here, kisses will make you feel better."

Seungmin wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't you widening your legs and him falling to his knees. Yet, he does just that. You feel his warm, wet tongue on your throbbing clit. Sucking and licking eagerly like he forgot about the aching cock between his legs.

You fondly brush the hair from his face as he eats you out for the second time tonight. His eyes look up to you with your clit in your mouth and you shiver. Seungmin will be a handful for sure, but you can't help but think you've found the perfect diamond in the rough.

a/n: omfg I actually had a whole different idea but I scraped it and did this instead :p. if you wanna ask for a third part, please don't, I have no more plot for this fic tags: @mynsung, @andassortedkpop, @jminnnnnnn, @geneziesm, @applekiwi3202, @i6gyuu, @lazycarolinamoment, @lewoh-ot8-wh0re, @ihave-atummyache, @seeeeking-skz, @loeyscock, @blankdyean, @dini-recs, @yzsqu, @desirehorizon-recsextra a/n: I need to start asking if people want tags rather than looking through my comments and see who was asking for a pt 2 :(

#smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz #stray kids #skz seungmin #stray kids seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin smut #seungmin #seungmin stray kids #seungmin skz #seungmin skz smut #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours

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vampsywrites · 10 months

Text

I — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Sun & Moon couple, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped

Word Count: 2.4k | AO3 LINK

SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

"With the return of the sky people, our journey led us far, far up the horizon, where a towering mountain stood. Beyond the winding paths of its rocky terrain, nestled in the heart of nature's embrace, lay the village of the Iuva'ri clan—the ikran people of the mountains.

Iuva’ri was a beauty which both awed and intimidated those foreign to it. The village was tucked deep in a sheltered valley, bathed in the warm golden glow of the setting sun against the snow-capped peaks. A sanctuary hidden from the outside world. A perfect place for us to disappear without a trace.”

Flutters of the ikran's wings echoed loudly through the crisp air, alerting the people of their arrival. The once peaceful ambiance of the secluded village turned into a stir of commotion. Warriors sounded their horns, their urgent calls spreading like ripples through the village. The sight of the newcomers had ignited a sense of both curiosity and apprehension among the villagers, for rarely did travelers venture into their remote home.

As the crowd gathered at the center of the village, their gazes fixed on the newcomers, a mix of intrigue and wariness painted their expressions. Jake dismounted from his ikran gracefully, gesturing for his family to do the same. Neytiri's hand instinctively moved towards her bow, a hint of concern in her eyes. But before she could react, Jake rushed to stop her, his expression urging caution.

"Don't. Leave it," he murmured lowly, gently easing the weapon away from her grasp and tucking it back into the banshee's pouch. His mate sent him a disgruntled look in response but made no attempt to fight his decision.

"Alright. Come on," with a wave of his hand, Jake began to lead his family into the village, arms spread at his sides in an attempt to appear as docile as possible. "Let's be nice."

Neteyam followed in his father's footsteps, carefully observing his surroundings as he ascended the treacherous mountain slopes. His calculating eyes swept across the rugged terrain, taking in the awe-inspiring beauty of the snow-capped peaks and the vast expanse of the chalky landscape.

As they climbed higher, the air grew colder, and Neteyam shivered from the biting chill that enveloped them. The icy wind gnawed at his bones, and he pulled his shawl closer around him, seeking any respite from the relentless cold. This mountain was a stark contrast to the warm and humid forest he was accustomed to, and he felt the tingling sensation of numbness spreading across his exposed fingers.

As he navigated through unforgiving terrain, he found himself yearning for the comfort of home, longing for the lush green forest that offered a familiar warmth. Despite his reservations about this desolate place, he remained silent, his lips drawn into a tight line as he focused on the task at hand.

His attention was momentarily drawn away when a low whistle lanced through the air. Tilting his head up, Neteyam's gaze followed the sound, and he watched as a banshee glided gracefully through the skies.

With a thud, the beast landed before them, sending a thick cloud of dust into the air as its rider dismounted. The rider was a tall, elderly woman, her midnight black hair contrasting against her milk blue skin. Her frosty eyes scanned their features, taking in every detail with a sharp intensity. A thick coat of fur was draped over her shoulders, and a billowing cape trailed behind her as she sauntered towards them, her expression a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Olo’eykte Ìumayi,” Jake bowed his head low, fingers extending from his forehead in a gesture of welcome. “I see you.”

Neytiri too bowed her head, gaze drawn to the ground as she murmured out her greeting, “I see you, Ìumayi.”

The woman continued to remain silent, circling them like vultures. Neteyam stood firm in his spot, his eyes never leaving the chief’s stalking figure.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she broke the silence, her voice dripping with a leering caution, "Why do you come to us, Toruk Makto?"

Neteyam observed his father's reaction to the title, noting how he tensed up and his face contorted into an unsightly grimace. Given that the Iuva'ri clan's culture revolved around their sacred bond with Ikrans, it came as no surprise why his title held such immense significance to them.

In contrast to her husband's visible unease, Neytiri stood tall, her demeanor unyielding as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"We seek uturu," she declared.

In response to Neytiri's words, Ìumayi whipped around violently, her expression hardening as she directed a stern glower towards them. "Uturu?" she questioned sharply.

“Yes,” Jake affirmed. “Sanctuary. For my family.”

The people around them erupted into a hushed, agitated chatter, but the chief was quick to silence them all with a snap of her fingers.

“We have heard tales of your times at war, of your blood from the sky people, and of the victories that have earned you praise among many Na'vi," Ìumayi spoke with a measured tone, her voice heavy. "But my people are not at war. I apologize, but I cannot allow you to bring your bloodshed here."

Jake's response was immediate, a mix of desperation and determination evident in his voice as he hurriedly spoke, "I'm done with war," he asserted, lowering himself to scoop up Tuktirey into his arms. The little girl sought refuge in the safety of his embrace, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. "I just want to keep my family safe."

Observing the tender scene, Ìumayi's stern exterior softened slightly, her warm eyes studying the family before her. Bowing her head in contemplation, she took a moment to weigh the consequences of her decision, fully aware of the significance of this encounter. With a heavy sigh, she finally lifted her head and made her verdict, "I will allow it."

The relief that washed over Jake was palpable, but before he could express his gratitude, Ìumayi raised a bony finger, signifying there was more to be said.

"I will allow it. On one condition," she continued, her gaze now turning towards Neteyam, holding him with an inquisitive gaze. "I understand you are the eldest, correct?"

Neteyam acknowledged the chief's attention with a nod, his heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

With a wave of her pale hand, Ìumayi turned to the crowd before her, calling out a name as she gestured for someone to come over. The crowd parted instinctively, revealing your figure. As you stepped closer and closer, Neteyam found his mouth growing dry once he fully took in your features.

Inky jets of midnight-black hair cascaded over your shoulders like a shimmering waterfall, adorned with an enchanting array of bioluminescent gems woven into each braid. Your skin, a mesmerizing hue of cool blue, appeared as though it were delicately bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Jagged, milk-white stripes adorned your limbs and face in an intricate pattern, reminiscent of a celestial canvas. It was as if the very hand of Eywa herself had delicately painted them onto you.

“This is my eldest daughter, Y/N," Ìumayi spoke with pride, gently guiding you to stand by her side, a strong, protective arm enveloping your shoulders. "With the recent passing of my beloved mate, she has stepped forward, assuming the role of Tsahìk."

You took a moment to study their curious expressions, your eyes reflecting an understanding for their situation, “It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

Neteyam stood in awe, watching as you gracefully acknowledged and greeted his family members. The solemnity of your father's absence was palpable, but your calm welcome brought a glimmer of warmth to the otherwise tense atmosphere. And as you turned to face him, the warrior felt his heart leap to his throat.

“Neteyam,” you called out, his name dripping off your lips like a sweet, thick syrup. The Omatikayan watched intently as you curled your fingers, tracing your hand up from your chest up to your forehead before extending it out towards him, icy gaze piercing through his very being, “I see you.”

Fuck.

Neteyam feels his mouth go slack, skin breaking out into a cold sweat as a rich, deep warmth spreads through him. It was a simple greeting, no more. You were merely welcoming them into your village—Trying to be courteous. And yet, why is it that the way you were looking at him left a searing burn in his chest? Twisting at his heart and sending his pulse into a rapid thrum until he could barely breathe?

Both Lo’ak and Kiri observed his reaction with amused grins. To knock him out of his trance, Kiri roughly shoved at Neteyam’s side, gesturing towards your awaiting figure. Almost immediately, he grounds himself, cheeks burning into a dark indigo.

"Tsahìk Y/N," he uttered shakily, his fingers clumsily returning the respectful gesture. His heart pounded blaringly in his chest as he gazed at you, trying to steady himself in your presence. "I see you."

Your smile, gentle like a soft breeze, acknowledged his greeting before you turned your attention back to your mother.

"I have reason to believe that this meeting with Toruk Makto's family is fated," your mother spoke out, "Many nights ago, before his death, my mate was blessed with a vision from Eywa herself. In the sacred embrace of dreams, the spirits revealed to him a profound prophecy of two clans uniting as one—a woman and a man forging an unbreakable bond."

The words of their chief hung in the air, and a hushed silence fell over the gathering as the significance of her statement registered with everyone present.

"As you all know," she continued, her gaze sweeping across the crowd, "I am not getting any younger, and my time draws nearer to its end. And I remind you all that the weight of this responsibility was not one I bore alone; a Tsahìk needs an Olo’eyktan by their side."

A moment passed as the implications of her words settled into Neteyam's mind, and then realization dawned on him.

"This vision bestowed upon my mate," she began, "is not to be taken lightly. It is a direct call from Eywa herself, and as I stand before you today, I believe that the very individuals foreseen in that vision are here before us."

Ìumayi's gaze locked onto Neteyam, her eyes seeming to peer into his very soul. "With Eywa's guidance," she continued, "I propose a union between my daughter and Toruk Makto's eldest son."

The people around them erupted into chaos, their voices rising in a cacophony of opinions. Some had cried out in agreement while some were outraged at the idea of an outsider leading the clan. And as the concerns of his parents too filled the air; Neteyam felt a tumult of emotions within him. He knew their apprehensions were driven by love and care, yet there was an unexplainable energy surging through his veins, compelling him to step forward, to embrace the path laid out before him.

Before he could fully process the weight of his decision, his lips moved with a life of their own, the words escaping him faster than he could think, "I accept."

The crowd falls deathly silent at his declaration.

As the weight of his own words settled in, a storm consumed Neteyam. Accepting this union had been an unforeseen choice, one he had never anticipated making. It led him down a path he had never imagined walking, and uncertainty clawed at the very core of his being.

And yet, as he turned to look at you, he found these worries falling silent. The sight of you ignited a surge of emotions within him, an overwhelming rush that defied comprehension. It was as though an irresistible, magnetic force was drawing him closer to you, as if every beat of his heart called for your name.

The warrior heaved a sigh, lowering his gaze to the ground and bowing his head as a gesture of respect to your mother.

“I am willing to accept this union," Neteyam affirmed, his eyes flickering back to meet yours, "Only if she will have me.”

Lo’ak's lips twitched, a hint of a grin threatening to break free, but he bit down on his lips, holding back the laugh that threatened to escape. His gaze met Kiri's, and they exchanged a knowing look, both equally amused and astonished by their older brother's unexpected behavior. Neteyam had always been the pillar of stability and composure in their family, making his impulsive acceptance of the proposal all the more surprising.

Lo’ak turned to glance at their parents, noticing his mother's eyes which were wide with concern. It was evident that she wanted to say something, but their father subtly pulled her back, silently urging her to hold her words for the moment.

Neytiri took a moment to study Neteyam's face, the resolve and determination etched across his features. Their gazes locked, and she saw a depth of conviction in her son's eyes that she hadn't witnessed before—a fierce certainty that he had made the right choice, even if it was sudden.

In that moment of silent understanding, Neytiri nodded her head, her concerns momentarily quelled. "If that is what he wishes," she said, her voice softening with acceptance, "we will support him."

Ìumayi’s smile grew slightly wider, her eyes shimmering with approval as she turned her attention to you. "Good. Now, ma’ite, what say you?" she inquired, her tone gentle yet expectant.

The world around you seemed to blur for a moment as you locked eyes with Neteyam, the unspoken bond between you both intensifying.

From the days of your childhood, you had already accepted the prospect of a planned marriage, or at best, one founded on companionship. To you, as long as your partner proved amiable and undemanding, it would be enough. And yet, you could not have even begun to imagine that you would end up in a marriage with Toruk Makto's son.

In the face of the unexpected proposal, you responded with a firm nod, your voice steady with conviction, "If Eywa wills it, then I shall accept as well."

The sight of Neteyam's smile and the exuberant whip of his tail around his feet brought a surge of unforeseen warmth to your heart. The moment felt surreal, like a dance with destiny that had been set into motion long before this day. Perhaps, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad after all.

Your mother nodded, her expression reflecting satisfaction and pride.

"Then it is settled," she declared firmly, "Toruk Makto and his family shall stay with us, and his son shall be promised to my daughter. We'll teach them our ways and treat them as our own."

“May Eywa bless their path."

SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

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m0uchie · 1 month

Note

hello!! First time requesting something, but could you maybe write something wanderer and fem.reader testing out those aphrodisiac chocolates?

Thank you!! <33

— pairing : wanderer x fem!reader

— warnings : NSFW; using of drugs (the aphrodisiac); they fuck a lot; honestly this is so badly written im sry; creampie; oral (m!receiving); she rides him at some point

— a/n : let’s pretend it’s close to Valentine’s Day bc I said so

He insisted a lot until tonight came. He pestered you to buy these stupid chocolates, and you accepted in the end for the sake of the smile on his face. And when they finally arrived and you tasted them together, you felt nothing but sleepy.

“Maybe we just need to wait a bit-”

“We've been waiting since 9:30, do you know what time it is now?” You contradict his insistence, eyeing his pouting face to search for a response. He shakes his head.

“Past midnight.” He frowns at you, looking away when you stare at him for too long.

“I told you it wasn’t gonna work. I’m going to bed.” You stretch your back and sigh deeply before standing up from the couch and going to your shared bedroom.

“I’m right behind you then.” He says, still a bit disappointed that his little experiment didn't work this time.

He really liked the idea of testing things out with you, as long as you weren't opposed to that. And you were almost always open to trying new things for him to see what would work better for you two.

His co-workers wouldn’t stop talking about their private experiences with this aphrodisiac chocolates like horny teenagers, and although he was annoyed by it, he couldn’t help but get curious. Valentine’s Day was approaching after all.

He didn't like sweets, quite the opposite, he hated them. However, anyone could tell otherwise by the way his face was covered in chocolate right now, like a child. He wanted to make it work. He was excited to see what would unfold after.

Unfortunately this time, you weren't going to end up on all fours with your body covered in his cum on the bed because it was already late and you were tired, but he still had a lifetime to do it.

Wanderer was sleeping soundly next to you when you woke up. Chapped and dehydrated lips, the complete opposite of what they’d been in the morning, but perhaps these were the consequences of the cold weather.

… cold? No. In fact, since when has it been so hot?

Your body was sweating and the air conditioning, despite being on, didn't seem to work. You cautiously remove the arms that embraced your body, and remove the blanket that covers you to touch your feet to the floor slowly, not wanting to make any noise.

Only now were you thinking about how terrible the idea was of trying to get to the kitchen in the early morning only to drink some water without disturbing your loved one's sleep. After all, where was the switch? You knew it was on the wall next to the door, and that there was a lamp next to your bed, but it was on Wanderer's side, and you didn't want to bump into it, much less go over his body to turn on the light, so the switch was the safest now. Or so you thought.

“Oh shit.” You bump into something, hearing it fall to the floor. It didn't seem that loud, but when you heard him suddenly rumbling and calling out your name, you knew you fucked up.

You guide your body carefully to face the bed again, climbing onto the mattress and moving closer to the warmth of Wanderer's body.

"What is it?" You say with a subtle tone, not wanting to completely wake him up since it was still late.

“Mm… need it here…” you frown in confusion.

"What do you mean? What do you need?” You now carry a hint of worry in your voice, quickly towering over Wanderer’s body and reaching out to turn on the lights since he was closer to the lamp.

“I-I feel… something…” his voice drops as his eyes wander to his blanket covered body. Your hand reaches out to pull it off his body, assuming whatever he had was under the blanket since he couldn't stop looking.

However, the sight that beholds you is that of a man only in his boxers. Clothes thrown to the floor at some point in the night that you didn't notice, and a tent formed beneath the fabric of his underwear, which was wet enough to be discarded.

The feeling you felt faintly in your body before suddenly becomes more present and obvious, as you had ignored it until now. From now on there was nowhere to run. Besides getting hotter all over, an uncomfortable need made itself known between your legs, screaming to be relieved. You were wet like a fountain.

“Mmh? Y/N… it hurts.” He mumbles one more time. You clear your throat and look in his direction, realizing now that he had opened his eyes, without even a drop of tiredness on his face.

“I-it does?” Your legs close in an attempt to hide your intimacy discovered under your nightgown, — since you slept without it when you were at home — embarrassed for thinking about such dirty things after insisting that you sleep without touching each other.

Maybe you were just frustrated that the aphrodisiac didn't work. You two were very active and this time you rejected him because of his “mistake” in buying something that didn't work without seeing the reviews again. So it would be embarrassing to call out to him now knowing that you were the one in the wrong.

He nods, drawing his eyebrows together and diverting his teary gaze to the walls. You try to get your head straight and focus on your boyfriend. He's in pain, so whatever you're feeling right now isn't important.

"Where does it hurt? Show me." You struggle to express your concern, despite the tingling you felt throughout your body and the immense desire you had to simply tear off all his clothes and make him feel better with your body. But let's agree that that's not how things work in reality (or they shouldn't work like this for normal couples).

He grabs your hand. The trembling, anxious pulse as he guides you to his crotch. Your lips part in an “o”, and you instinctively begin to massage him through the fabric, drawing thin moans that you never thought you would hear coming from his lips.

“Nnngh use it! P-please- oh just use me—!” he arches his back to receive more contact with your hand, tears streaming down his face. "help me."

And that's when you completely lose control.

On the average, with a standard dosage, the effects of an aphrodisiac can begin to be felt within one to three hours of ingestion. You assumed the effects would be noticed right away, but it seems like it will only get more intense over time. How stupid were you to not realize this sooner?

You were dripping just like Wanderer, whose dick just freed by you was slick with precum from top to base. The “pulling out method” wouldn’t even have a chance of working this time if you weren't on the pill, not that you would care about the consequences if that were the case, clit aching to be touched.

You admire the treat in front of you, drooling to put it in your mouth and make your throat its home.

“N-no, wait— fuck! Wanna cum inside youuu.” He moves his hips and tries to push your face away, but it's not enough to stop you from lubricating your lips and mouthing his dick. The fingers around your hair loosen as he starts to soften and give up, eyes rolling into the back of his head with so much pleasure.

“Ohhh baby, feels so good around my c-cock.” Soon he gives in against you without much resistance. You hummed around his cock, sucking and making wet noises that left his ears red. The rest that you couldn't put in your mouth, you stimulated with your hands in a back and forth movement.

However for Wanderer, everything fit if you put your mind into it.

“T-take it good mmmn.” He starts to throw his hips against your mouth and hold your hair in a ponytail with one hand, using you to get off like a fuck toy, making you gag a few times until his cock was so deep in your throat that your nose touched his pelvic hair.

He holds your head still in that position. It becomes difficult to breathe and the only thing you can do is move your tongue randomly from one side to another. You are about to call him when you feel warm ropes of cum going down your throat.

“I'm still hard. Do something about it.” He asks demandingly, wiping his dripping seed from your lips with his thumb and then shoving two fingers inside your mouth so you could swallow it all well.

When he’s finished, you take a deep breath. Face red as you open your legs slightly to show your messy situation. A slimy substance sliding between your folds and glistening pussy, along with a throbbing clit, so sensitive to the touch!

He gets up from the bed, still limp from his recent orgasm, and brings his face closer to your intimacy, fascinated. “You’re as wet as when you’re ovulating. Even needier, I bet.” His finger passes between your folds, lining up with your entrance.

“Think it worked.” He smiles to himself, proud of having eaten so many chocolates earlier, and sticks his finger between your walls, just the act itself being enough to make you clench around it and let out a deep breath.

“And she’s so tight too. She must be even more sensitive today. Fuck, that way I can’t even move my fingers further.” He leaves his finger inside you without moving, feeling you grow impatient and start to rock your hips against the source of pleasure.

“T-then why is it going in? H-hah-“ your voice cracks, eyebrows draw together to match your melted eyes. Wanderer just smirks at the sinful scene.

“Ahh using me just like I said…” a gooey liquid escapes you when he suddenly pulls his finger out and manhandles you into being on all fours to fill your mouth with his sticky finger, distracting you so that you were unable to speak. “But you can very well use something bigger.”

He parts your legs, positioning his dick underneath to let your juices fall all over him and lubricate him completely as he rubs his dick between your folds, grunting every time the head reaches your hole and you clench needily.

“I-it’s so hard… it wants to be inside your pretty pussy.” He places a soothing hand on your waist and caresses it, looking so pleadingly at your body while slowly entering you when you wiggle your ass as a response.

With a heavy sigh coming out of both of you, he holds your waist very firmly and thrusts hard into you, changing positions every time he came inside you.

Finally, you were on top of him. He loved seeing you on top of him, tits bouncing up and down as you roll your hips in order to grind your clit on his pelvis at the same time you moved on his cock. He could never resist the urge to pinch your hard nipples and squeeze your belly to intensify your pleasure and to show you how deep he was inside you.

“Just one more time, please baby.” He kisses between your boobs, holding your waist in place when you told him you were getting tired and tried to go away. He knew you weren't done either, but he'd do all the work for you and make you feel good all over again until you came this one last time.

So when you replied with a “mhmm” he promptly pushed you down and slammed his cock all the way to your womb, pumping his cum from his previous orgasms back up into you once again, trying to reach another one with you.

“Ah- I don’t know if I can cum again!”

“No no, I know you can. Give it to me, hm?” He insists, silencing your uncontrolled blabbering sounds and sobs with his mouth, swallowing said noises while he flicked your swollen clit until your mind became all foggy again.

He slowed his ministrations when your walls tightened around his cock with a loud grunt, gushing out a thick stream of sperm inside you. Your faces parted for him to see your fucked out state and the line of drool connecting the two of you, he couldn't help but smile.

“You look so pretty like this. Almost makes me want to ruin you again.” He leaves a sweet kiss on your forehead, making it impossible for him to see your surprised face that comes after.

“I- I think that’s enough…?” Your voice comes out, although a little hoarse and low. There were still some chocolates left, and now you knew that you had to be careful to hide them from your boyfriend, as he seemed to have enjoyed this a little too much.

“You’re right, we can see about that tomorrow.” He teases, chuckling as you gulp down.

For a while, you both remain silent. He waits for you to start yawning and close your eyes to clean you up so you don't wake up uncomfortable in the morning. When he lies down with you again, he pulls you closer and leaves you lying on his chest.

Wanderer isn't accustomed to showing love through physical contact, but he knows you like it more than anything, and he can't deny that the feeling of your warm body on his makes him feel... things. The next day, he won't be there anymore, and your chest will tighten as you make your way to the kitchen, finding the smell of coffee strange until you’re looking at his back facing you.

For a moment, the tightness in your heart is replaced by the familiar butterflies in the stomach, and you sit on the counter as he smiles innocently and places a warm coffee in front of you.

Your hands hold the handle to bring the drink to your mouth when you notice the small candy on the saucer where the cup was and raise your head towards him to arch a doubtful eyebrow.

“To sweeten your coffee since I didn’t add sugar today.” He justifies himself.

Apparently, he’s addicted to chocolates now.

#𝜗𝜚 [ m0uchie posts! ]#+18 content #꒰ requests ꒱ྀི #divider by cafekitsune #wanderer smut #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #scaramouche smut

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e1dritchjackal0pe · 4 months

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𝕮𝖚𝖕𝖎𝖉'𝖘 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖞𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖘

Summary: You've been pinning for Farleigh for years. But you've never been able to manage in finding the courage to confess. It isn't until a friend of Felix, who's visiting for the summer raises up a mirror to your longing that you force yourself to admit your feelings.

Warnings: 18+ content. Minors DNI. AFAB. American! Reader. Unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, oral (F!receiving), guided masturbation, overstimulation.

Notes: 21.6k words (this one got away from me a bit!) Not proofread. Banner by @saradika-graphics

The heat that hung over Saltburn was almost unbearable. Parching and thick; some days it felt as though it was choking you by filling your lungs with a heavy, muggy air and peppering your skin with perspiration. The sweat beading your body was near constant, and it was close impossible to escape the swelter. And the Catton's, who are dreadfully old fashioned at times didn't have any air conditioning to speak of, and if they do, then the units weren't a fixture in any of the rooms that you had ever personally been able to frequent.

The servants have taken to opening as many windows as they could around the house to achieve even the faintest semblance of airflow, but their attempts, even though appreciated, were hardly successful. Often times you'd catch glimpses of them stealthily slipping around the house or standing around in vacant corners with drops of sweat glinting on their foreheads and necks. Even you have had to start shoving the window of your temporary quarters open, tacking an unused bed sheet that you had soaked in the bath with cold water to the sills in a desperate strive to get even the faintest hint of a cool breeze. Luckily it does work somewhat. But it's hardly enough to make much of a difference. Most of time you feel as though you want to crawl out of your own flesh. It's like it's been sewn on too tight. Suffocating and restricting. And the only reprieve that you get is when you fill up the bath with water chilled enough to keep ice solid and lie in it.

It was awful. And despite being in a literal castle in England for the summer, surrounded by low, slopping green hills and ancient stone walls that were older than your grandfather's father, there were times where you felt as though you had unknowingly accepted an invitation into the lowest pits hell.

It was because of the absolutely demonic heat that you had all taken to spending the majority of your days alongside the pond. Filing away hours of the day with the support of a colorful pool floaty underneath your body while you drift along the rippling surface of the makeshift pool or sit beneath the shade offered by one of the patio umbrellas while you reclined on a lounge chair. It was the only respite from the heat. The only thing that kept you from feeling as though you might actually die.

But honestly, if death was going to greet you at Satlburn then it wouldn't be by the dealings of the temperamental summer weather. It would be at the hands of a someone rather than a something. And that particular person had you wondering if maybe you had done something to warrant a punishment. If perhaps you were a bad person in your past life. That this might be some form of karma. Some sort of cosmic retribution for a crime that you had committed once long ago. Maybe reincarnation was a thing, and this was your sentence for . . . stealing a loaf of bread or something.

But unfortunately for God or the universe or whatever, you were a hopeless and pathetic masochist because this was an absolutely beautiful punishment as much as it was a torturous one. And if you were going to spend the golden months of the year perpetually slick with sweat then at least you'd spend it being able to see him.

Admittedly, you'd often make yourself look away from him. You didn't want to be a creep, and even though you were pretty sure that he hasn't even noticed your blatant admiration, you couldn't fight off that little bit of self-loathing that would seep into your bones whenever you'd catch yourself staring for too long. It was honestly sad, the way that you've just been helplessly pining after him for all of this time and he hasn't as so much as batted an eye in your direction. Hasn't noticed your pitiful little crush. It's probably a blessing that he hasn't though. You aren't sure you'd even survive it if he ever was to become privy to your feelings.

It would be cataclysmic. It would completely alter the very foundation of your friendship with him entirely and forever. No doubt a terrible rift would rip between the both of you and you don't think that you'd survive that. You've always been so close to Farleigh for nearly as long as you could remember, ever since the early years of high school back when he was still unsure of how to navigate it, having spent a decent amount of his life receiving his education in a private, preppy facility. But then his mother had begun to lose more and more of her financial stability and as a result he had been enrolled in your school. He had been clearly unimpressed with the state of the building and the students that made up the body, but for whatever reason he had intrigued you. Maybe it was all of his snark and bite, but regardless the both of you had just seemed to seamlessly gravitate towards each other then and it's remained that way to this day. If a divide were to suddenly rip through your relationship all because of your silly feelings then, as sad as it sounds, you wouldn't even know what to do with yourself. He's been such a constant fixture in your life and for so long, that his absence would no doubt leave you scrambling.

But just because Farleigh himself hasn't noticed, that doesn't mean that the other's haven't. They never spoke of it, at least not whenever he was around - thank God for that. But you could see the knowing side long glances that they would give you whenever the both of you happened to be in the same room. The way that Venetia and Felix would conspiratorially lean towards each other and whisper and giggle amongst themselves like a pair of awful, gossiping old ladies. Even James has taken notice. You could see it in the way that he would squint at you from the head of the dinner table whenever Farleigh would pull your chair out for you to take a seat beside his own. The silent judgement searing from his eyes whenever you could barely contain the helpless, cheerful smile that would always grow on your face from Farleigh's presence.

Even with James' apparent distaste for you it never kept Farleigh from repeatedly inviting you over for vacation, always so persistent. And the family's patriarch could never keep you away, not with his glaring and skulking. Not with the younger Catton's always backing you in your corner, insisting that you come. Even Elspeth, as airheaded and admittedly two-faced as she could be, had apparently taken a liking to you and you know that it must absolutely drive James up a wall to know that his entire family is always vying to get you to stay over at the estate. After all, the last time that you had visited he had somehow come to the conclusion that you were just here to seek out the family fortune. According to the bits of gossip that Venetia had slipped you, he had referred to you as 'a lazy American,' and a 'leech.'

As petty as it may be it is always a little nice to know that you get underneath his skin so badly. The old, cranky bastard that he is. It could almost a highlight of your trips to Saltburn if it wasn't for the fact that little bit of satisfaction was constantly being upstaged by Farleigh and the torrent of pathetically overwhelming and warm emotions that bubble up every time you see him.

Much like the sugared, mushy heat that flutters inside of your chest now. A stark kind of joy. Something happy and entirely too secret and tender for a person that's so unabashedly bold and outspoken. But you really just can't help yourself or the emotions that seem to drag you behind them by your heart and head and limbs like some sort of powerless marionette.

It honestly has to be one of the most humbling reactions, to be embarrassed by your own emotions while also being unable to do a damn thing about them. It has you strung up in some perpetual state of exhaustion and it seems that you're not the only one that's become exasperated with your pathetic yearning, because a long, weary groan drags out from Felix's throat and makes you force your gaze away from Farleigh who is currently relaxing along the placid surface of the pond. Making the water glitter in flashes of champagne and silver from the wake of his legs dragging in the gentle current while the side of his floaty brushes up against the lily pads scattered along the peaceful body of water.

And when you glance over at Felix, he looks tired and ragged, and the cigarette dangling from between his lips is a good sigh away from falling from its perch and falling onto his lap. You go to warn him, but he saves your breath by quickly plucking it between two fingers while he snaps his book shut with a huff and carelessly tosses it onto the mini table beside his lounger.

You can't help the furrow that pinches between your eyebrows while you scoff amusedly. Felix has never been good at handling his irritation or anger and seeing him get upset is almost akin to watching a toddler wrestle with their feelings. It's always been sort of entertaining to observe, if it wasn't also so draining.

"What's up with you?" You ask, shifting along the fabric support of your chaise to evaluate him better, squinting when it briefly has you tipping out from underneath the cover of your umbrella and into the harsh glow of the evening sun. He shakes his head like he doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to waste his time, but you can tell by the way that his top lip scrunches up that he won't be able to contain his complaints for long.

"It just between you with Farleigh, and Venetia and Eddie, I honestly don't think that I'm going to survive this summer." He grouses, glaring at something to the both of your rights from over the rim of his sunglasses. And when you lean up in your seat and track his line of sight it has your own taking in the previously stated pair who are huddled up on the grass, leaning into each other and laughing while they clutch a bottle of chilled beers in their hands.

You're surprised that they haven't noticed the way the Felix is outright scowling at them. Though, you're sure that Venetia has grown accustomed to his displeasure with the way that he's been openly upset about her infatuation towards his friend. He's been uncomfortably overprotective of Edward this summer, though you suppose that you can't blame for it, considering that Eddie has been outright ignoring Felix in the favor of loving on Venetia during his entire stay.

And you too, can't deny that you too have been a little disgusted with the blatant flirting that has been near constantly exchanged between Venetia and the newest focus of her ever-shifting intrigue. You were just waiting for the fall out once the wonder finally wears off and she finally discards of him the favor of something fresher and shinier. And she, much like her brother, will grow bored of him eventually. They both burn through people like they're dolls and trinkets.

The two of them nearly go sprawling in the grass from Venetia knocking Edward onto the wrinkled picnic blanket in a playful lunge and the both of them fall back with a burst of laughter, just narrowly avoiding spilling their drinks all over themselves. It would be sweet if it were genuine, but this was just a passing fancy for the girl. Not that you could fully blame her. As wonderous as the estate is, everything can get boring if you spend enough time in it, and you can't even remember the last time that she was able to sneak away from the grounds for longer than a week. You have to entertain yourself somehow.

"Oh, come on, I'm nowhere near that bad with Farleigh, " you turn the page of your own book even though you've hardly paid it any attention. You're on page sixty-two and you still have no idea what the plot is.

"That's because you aren't able to be, " he counters without an ounce of delicacy. " I think my only saving grace is that he hasn't noticed the way that you've been helplessly pining after him. Either that or he's just playing stupid. But I think if the two of you managed to get together it might actually do me in."

You scoff to try and distract yourself from the prickle of shame and hurt that dances across your skin. You hope that Farleigh isn't just playing dumb. You hope that he hasn't noticed your feelings at all. If he has been pretending to not see the way that you've been harboring a crush for him over all of these years, then you might actually keel over the weight of the embarrassment alone.

Even then, you can't fight the way that your eyes flicker up from the pages of your book to admire Farleigh as he floats along the pond. Taking in the way that the sunlight emphasizes the edges of his hair into a light bronze hue and sparkles along the droplets of water that decorate his skin like flecks of gold and pale, bright diamonds. Looking at the way that his happy trail traces down from his navel and vanishes underneath the band of his swim trunks. He hasn't noticed your staring and based on the way that his body seems to be completely lax, and his head is lolled back against the rounded edge of the floatie, he might have passed out from underneath the warmth of the balmy air.

"Christ, you've got it bad, don't you, " Felix's voice says, breaking you from your horrid little trance like a gun shot. It wasn't a question at all, but a simple observation. You want to refute it regardless. To try and deny it, but the way that your heart flutters in your chest like some trapped, homesick bird makes you lose your half-baked argument.

"Shut up," you snap dumbly. You drop your focus back down to the novel in your tightening grip and this time you do actually try to read it and make sense of the words lined up along the page.

"Have you actually thought about talking to him?"

"Excuse me?" Your head jerks up and you pin him with an incredulous glare and for a moment you think that you might have misheard him. But he doesn't look intimated in the slightest. He just shrugs, careless and relaxed while your body bunches up nervously.

"Farleigh," he reiterates, tone light and conversational. "Have you thought about talking to him about it?"

You can't help the way that you're openly gawking at him now, staring like he's gone insane. "No!" You almost shout it out, and you flinch as soon as the word makes its way from your chest. The volume of it making you glance back over towards Farleigh to check and see if he's perked up at the sound of it and looked over to investigate, but you're relieved to see that he still seems to be in the clutches of a nap and completely (thankfully) oblivious to the conversation happening just a few feet away from him.

"Well, why not?" He asks.

"Are you kidding me?" The laugh that leaves you is entirely humorless, devoid of a single ounce of joy or amusement. "And put the friendship that we've had for literal years at risk? No. Nope."

"Oh, come on." Felix sighs, and that exasperation that had tinged his voice before is back. He lets his head fall back on the head rest of his lounger and he shifts to get more comfortable, taking another drag of his cigarette like he needs it to keep dealing with you. "You don't even know if it'll effect you badly. You're just letting your nerves get to you."

'Well, I'm sorry that I don't want to let something like a stupid crush get in the way of my relationship with my best friend."

" 'Crush,' " he repeats it like it's a foreign word, nodding his head slowly; clearly unconvinced and it has irritation skirting up your back. "Is that what you're calling now?" He scoffs. "I mean, honestly, the two of you are practically dating anyway. Just without any of the fun stuff."

You visibly bristle at that. It was true that you and Farleigh are quite close and at times physically affectionate. Touching has never been something that neither of you had ever shied away from, but that didn't mean anything. That's what friends do. It's completely normal.

You can stop the scowl pulling at the corners of your mouth, not bothering to hide the weight of your clear vexation, but he doesn't look like he's in the mood to back down from whatever this is. The sudden need to berate you and give you unsolicited relationship advice. And honestly, it's almost ironic, the fact that Felix Catton, the man who goes through women like they're tissue paper and is virtually allergic to healthy dating, is trying to get you to confess your feelings - your crush. That's exactly what this is. A crush. Just a simple, dumb crush.

"I am not in love with him, if that's what you're implying," you say. And the look that he fixes you with unsettles you. It makes you harshly vulnerable and delicate with the gentle, almost pitying glimmer in both of his eyes. And the light but firm way that he speaks your name just drills those emotions in deeper, teetering you on the edge of confronting something that you aren't ready to face yet. The weight of it has you trying to swallow around your tongue which suddenly seem too thick and sticks to the roof your mouth. And all you know is that you need to switch gears before you're forced to finally notice something that you won't have the strength to handle and your eyes flicker around helplessly, searching for something to change topics.

A light smile graces your lips when you land on Venetia and Edward. A part of you does feel bad for throwing her under the bus, but to be fair, her brother's exasperation won't be anything that she hasn't delt with before.

"Besides, I don't think that my love affairs should be the one that you're worried about," and the nod of your chin has him looking back over to the pair who appeared as though they might be a few good moments away from making out.

He sighs through his nose, stamping out the burning end of his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table, all while he's mumbling something underneath his breath that's too low for you to hear. And then he's sitting up from the lounger with a small huff. " Let's go inside, yeah, " Felix calls, gathering their attention and making them scramble off of each other to focus on him. And you could see Edward's skin flush, most likely from embarrassment rather than the heat, no doubt feeling like a kid who got caught with their hand in a cookie jar. "We can go get started on watching that film you wanted to see earlier. Which one was it?"

You have to smirk when Venetia and Felix pin each other with brief but angry glares and Edward has definitely caught sight of them based on the awkward way that he seems to deflate from his place on the ground, like he wants to curl in on himself and vanish. Poor guy.

"Eh, Anchorman, I think it was," he responds with an unconvincing smile and Felix does his best to return it, though his is much more relaxed and less strained. And then he's turning his focus to you as he shifts on his feet to walk back towards Edward. "Go get your lover boy, we'll see you both inside."

You don't bother hiding the way that you flip him off, but he unfortunately looks completely delighted by the gesture, jogging away from you with a low laugh trailing after him as he heads towards his friend, slinging his arm around the shorter man's shoulder in a subtle way of dragging him from Venetia's side. And the perturbed sneer that she sends him doesn't dull his grin either. What a complete bastard.

You watch as the three of them head around the bend of the pond towards one of the rear entrances of the castle as you hop up from your place on the chaise, making sure to dog-ear the corner of one of the pages before you snap the book closed. Even though you plop it on the lounger and you're sure that you won't even finish reading it. Not this summer, at least. But you don't dwell on that for long before your attention flits over to the pond, and you start of towards the glittering water, padding across the soft grass until the bare soles of your feet meet the aged boards of the dock.

Your focus immediately zeros in on Farleigh who still appears to be asleep, or at the very least dozing off, but it is difficult to tell by the Burberry sunglasses propped on the bridge of his nose and obscuring his eyes from your view. He looks entirely relaxed like this. Practically lazing upon the puffed up cherry red plastic with his head tilted on his neck, chin nudged up against his shoulder. And when a gentle, buttery breeze pours across the face of the pond, perfumed with the scent of summer flowers and fresh cut grass from when the gardeners had trimmed the lawn earlier this morning, it has his floatie rotating over the water. From this angle you can see the closed delicate curl of his eye lashes peeking out from the cover of his shades, and that paired with the steady, measured breathes expanding his chest confirms that he is indeed asleep.

Damn, he looks so peaceful. You really don't want to wake him up yet . . .

You suppose that you don't have to. Not right this second at least. You lower yourself at the edge of the dock, letting your legs slip over the edge and your feet dip past the layer of lily pads and into the cool, crisp water underneath, supporting your weight on the palms of your hands. And you just sit, basking underneath the warmth of the sun, which for the first time for this entire week feels soothing instead of scalding. Probably because you've been spending the past thirty minutes underneath the cover of an umbrella and the real scope of its heat has yet to sink into your skin yet. But for now, you're just able to relax and enjoy it. Savoring the sound of the syrupy breeze shifting through the trees and whispering over the leaves, and the enthused trill of some bird singing in the distance. The silence is nice now that Venetia and Edward are gone and are no longer here to chase off the peace with their squawking and laughter.

But maybe you're just being bitter and jealous.

Jealous. Jealous of what exactly?

The acidic, harsh feeling stirring in your gut eats away at the tranquility that had just nettled around you, tearing it from you like the warmth of a blanket being pried from your skin and it leaves you reeling. Like you've been left bare and exposed. You don't have anything to be envious of. It has you struggling with your own emotions; they're completely foreign and unrecognizable. Sharp and pungent like a lime. And that all-knowing, perceptive part of you rises up from the fringes of your mind, and you suddenly do know why you're jealous. Of why watching them playfully insult each other and openly flirt had left something bitter in your mouth and a hollow pit tearing at your chest.

It's because a big, burning piece of you wishes that you could be that open and unabashed with Far-

Ugh, God, not right now. Please, not right now.

But even with you trying to explicitly ignore the welling of emotions rising up within you; shoving them to the side and burrowing them down deep, you can't fully fight of the aftermath of them. The sensation almost akin to nausea that remains in its wake. Like you've taken one too many shots of vodka back-to-back.

"Farleigh," you say suddenly. And for a moment you haven't even caught up with the fact that you've said it. You clear your throat once you realize, sucking in a deep breath to collect yourself. You look downward, eyes roving over him to see that he hasn't heard you call for him. That he's still sound asleep and for some reason it soothes you to know that he hadn't picked up the sound of his name from the dredges of his unconsciousness. But now that the peace that you felt before has been effectively shattered by your own internal struggles you can't really bear the idea of just sitting out here to stew within your own mental hellscape, and it has you leaning forward towards Farleigh, who has drifted closer to you thanks to the brush of the light wind.

"Farleigh," you call, but with time there's much more intent behind it, even from within the gentle hold of your voice.

He doesn't so much as move an inch. The breathes making his abdomen rise and fall remain soft and calm, undisturbed from his nap. You shuffle closer on the edge of the dock, and the front of your legs brush against the rounded edge of his floatie and you can feel the seam of the plastic press against your skin.

"Farleigh," you try again, much firmer and this time it seems that he does hear you. He sucks in a deep inhale, and a grumpy, low groan follows closely behind. Clearly upset to have been roused from sleep, but instead your body outright thrums at the raspy sound. Prickling with an embarrassing heat and you try to focus on the cold water soaking your feet as a distraction.

"And just why are you waking me up?" He grouses, shifting on his floatie as best as he can to stretch his back, rolling his head on his shoulders to peer at you from over the rim of his shades, squinting a little underneath the unforgiving shine of the sunlight. But 'peer' might be too soft of a word. Glare was more accurate, even though there wasn't much bite behind it. It was more playful if anything. Purely impish and good-spirited.

"Everyone's headed inside. They're waiting for us." You reply, swirling your feet along the water, watching it shimmer around your skin.

"And that requires my presence because . . ?" He lets the question hang open in the air, and you smile at the little bit of snark seeping through his tone.

"I suppose it doesn't. But your cousin is struggling to keep Venetia and Edward from jumping down each other's throats, and I think he could use all of the help that he can get."

He just hums, idly tapping his fingertips across the plastic, disrupting some of the droplets of water that have sprinkled it, sending them down to slip into the face of the pond. "You know I'm not one to cockblock," he says, making amusement puff from your chest. "If they want to fuck then let them."

You have to laugh at his bluntness. He's always been so candid and plain-spoken, often to the determent of others. And despite how sharp tongued and often downright rude he could be to those who he doesn't inherently gravitate towards or find a kinship with, it's always been one of your favorite attributes of his. "While I share your sentiment, Felix said that if one of us manages to hook up that it might actually 'do him in.' "

"What a drama queen," he scoffs, and you hum in response. But then he's pausing, tilting his head down to fully make contact without his sunglasses entirely blocking his view. "What do you mean 'one of us'?"

It makes your stomach drop a bit. Like you've doused with a bucket of ice even though there's sweat dampening your skin and the sun is beating down on your scalp from above. "Did I say that?" You speak casually. Or you try to sound that way at least, but your voice isn't smooth enough. There's something almost shaky about that even you can pick up, and a part of you hopes that you're just being too self-conscious. That he hadn't noticed the mild tremor that taints your inflection.

"You did, " he assures quickly.

"Slip of the tongue." You shrug, doing your best to act normal but you feel too aware of your own limbs and the fluttering in your chest. For a fleeting moment he just stares at you. And in truth you know that in real time it was only for a few scant seconds, but in your mind, it felt as though he was staring at you for hours. Scrutinizing you and searching for something. His eyes gazing into yours like he's trying to find an answer that you won't verbally give. And you have to say something, literally anything to ease the tension. "Are you going to go be a cockblock with me, or do I have to go suffer alone?"

A smile perks at the corners of his lips. "Oh, I don't know." You can hear the teasing lilt in his voice, and he shuffles his hips in further within the ring of the floatie like he's getting more comfortable, making the water cradled within the divot between his lower stomach and thighs splash a little. "I'm enjoying my time out here."

"Come on!" You groan with exaggerated chagrin. "What? Do you want me to beg?"

You can the delight flare in his eyes; full of mischief and it has that sugary, buzzing warmth dipping back over your body and seeping into your bones.

"I mean, I wouldn't be opposed," his eyebrows briefly perk up and he tilts his head with a playful smirk. It's awful. Because as disgruntled as you're pretending to be, you would actually get down on your knees and beg him if he actually pressed you about it, as shameless as you are. But fortunately, you're able cling on to your shredded sense of pride because you don't pull yourself from your seated position and kneel. Instead, you're fixing him with a stare of your own and for a minute it feels like you're both challenging each other, with something intangible but heavy and vinous passing over you. And you do lean towards him just a bit, or as best as you can with the height between the dock and the pond keeping you apart. But even with the distance, this strange tension doesn't break, if anything it seems to build.

"Please," you nearly coo, tone dipping down into something low and soft. "Please,��Far."

His mouth slightly parts when he draws in an inhale, and you swear he nearly takes the plush of his bottom lip in between his teeth and you can tell that his eyes are roving over your face. The dark bronze shade of his irises skipping over each of your individual features. And you think that you see his eyes drop down to your breasts where they're held from the material of your bikini top. It makes you feel as though you're being studied. But it isn't invasive or uncomfortable. It feels so much more intimate than that. It feels more like admiration. It's a look from him that you've caught in the past here and there, but you've never fully been able to place it until now. And you tell yourself that you're just imagining the cherishing quality to his gaze. That you're just projecting your own feelings into the moment. It sobers you up somewhat, and you pull back, straightening your spine to create some distance, hoping that it'll clear your head.

The huffed sort of laugh that he lets out is almost awkward, somewhat strained and the smile that perks at the corner of his mouth nearly looks forced.

"You know that I can only survive them for so long when they get like this" you say, desperate to disrupt the weird energy that has taken over the air. "Please," you bat your eyelashes, coquette and dramatic and jesting to dispel the remaining bits of self-consciousness.

" All right," he concedes. And then he lets the back of his head flop back on the floatie. "Just give me a minute. They're going to be unbearable."

You both chuckle at that before a nice silence falls back over the pond, and you're back to listening to the gentle sounds of nature chiming around you. And there aren't any expectations hanging on your shoulders or the responsibilities of your life back in the States looming over you anymore. It's just peace and quiet. And honestly, as bad as it sounds, as spoiled as it may be, that's what Saltburn has always been for you; not some weak attempt at make believe, or a game to try and pretend to be one of the one percent; it has always just been a break. A brief reprieve from the constant stress and the dog eats dog mentality of real life. But truthfully. You weren't here for all of that either. You were here for a someone. A very certain someone and not all of the champagne and parties and frivolous display of wealth that the Catton's constantly show.

You feel something brush against the outside of your leg and glance downward has you taking in the sight of Farleigh who has rotated towards you by the guide of the water. His head is settled near the edge of the floatie, close enough for his hair and forehead to graze your skin and his eyes have closed again. And you can't fight the fuzzy, peachy sensation that takes root inside of you. Something that you easily recognize as pure fondness.

"Did you have any good dreams?" You ask, tilting your head on your shoulder, trying to make simple conversation to hide away from the weight of your own endearment. His eyes flutter back open, immediately landing on you and you have to crane your neck to meet his gaze from your place above on the dock.

He hums again, soft and a little gravely, and you can tell by the way that he nuzzles against your leg that he's still only half-awake, nosing along your skin, still caught within the web of that soft, velvet grip of sleep. "Yeah, I did, " he answers with an almost dopey grin on his face while he watches you. And for a moment, as masochistic and sick as it may be, you pretend that he feels for you the same way that you feel for him. That he too is constantly being consumed by want and desire and lov . . . Devotion.

"Tell me about it," you say.

It's almost as though a flip is switched. That hazy, clouded look in his eyes clear and his muscles become rigid, no longer relaxed and lounging. He's reaching to grip the edge of the dock, taking ahold of the last board, right next to your knee. It has you scrambling to rise up to your feet, trying to assist him onto solid ground, but by the time you're up on your feet he's already pulled himself up from the floatie and onto the front of his legs. And once you're standing, so is he. Your eyes meet for a moment, and one of those unexplainable, odd impressions trickle over you both, and you can tell by the unsure look on his face that he feels it too. You want to speak. To say anything - what, you aren't entirely sure, but then he's speaking, filling the void and saving you both from the awkwardness.

"Shall we go inside?" He offers, already moving past you towards where the dock meets the grass, but he looks back over his shoulder at you with a smile on his face. "I'll race you there. "

That's the only warning you get before he's setting off into a run, using the distance that he had already created between the both of you to give himself a head start.

"Farleigh!" You call, mirth and disbelief melding through you as he bounds off around the pond in the direction of the castle. You push yourself in a sprint, set on trying to win even though a part of you already knows that he's got you beat. And sure, enough by the time you're dashing up the steps of the back entrance he's already disappearing into the threshold. And when you meet him in the house, already a little winded from the quick run, you can't help but to playfully shove him, desperate to restore a sense of normalcy with that little bit of awkwardness still tinting your dynamic. He does give you a smile, snickering underneath his breath before you both part your ways without an exchange of words. You take your time in in the bath, washing off the pond water and sweat without hurry; entirely thankful for the break from whatever that was. But all too soon you've changed into more comfortable clothes and are walking into the library where the TV has been set up. The chatter and noise that clamors within the room is uninhibited and Venetia and Edward are piled up together on one of the couches, leaning into each other while they watch the movie playing on the screen, like they're caught up in their own little world, entirely ignorant to the happenings ensuing outside of their bubble.

Your eyes scan over the room, noticing Felix who's settled on the floor with a lit cigarette smoldering between his fingers while a heavy scowl mars his features. And it's a knee jerk reaction to want to go over and try to soothe him as best as you can. But then you catch sight of Farleigh who's seated on the other coach, leaning against the far end with his back to the arm rest like he's trying to get away from Venetia and Edward even though they're on an entirely different piece of furniture.

He's spotted you too, if the pleading, disturbed look that's aimed directly at you is any indication. And as awful as it may be, it has you forgoing any urge to comfort Felix and moving over towards Farleigh. You plop yourself next to him on the sofa, shoulders brushing from underneath the fabric of your respective shirts. He curls towards you, moving so he could whisper conspiratorially into your ear. " I'm with Felix on this: If they start fucking on the couch, I'm killing myself."

The laugh that leaves you is unbridled and free. It rises up before you realize it's leaving your chest, and you find yourself easily leaning into each other, like the strange air that had come over you both outside at the pond had never existed. "No, " you chuckle, breathing in the scent of the fresh laundry detergent on his clothes, lavender and vanilla, crisp and smooth. "You can't do that. We have to suffer together. I mean, they can't be that bad, can they?"

And almost with a humorous sense of timing, Venetia leans forward to nip at the lobe of Edward's ear, her teeth briefly snag on the diamond earring pierced there and she all but coos at him while they giggle amongst themselves. And you can catch bits and pieces of their conversation from your place on the couch, fragments of "oh, Eddie," and playful but secretive "quit it's." God, they make you feel like some kind of sick voyeur. Not that you could be paid to watch this shit - Jesus, this is awful.

You look up at Farleigh whose top lip has raised in naked revulsion while he watches the pair. And if it feels bad for you then it must be downright horrid for Felix and Farleigh being forced to endure. Venetia and her new toy aren't even watching the movie, far too caught up in their own affairs to pay attention to the movie that Edward wanted to see.

"How about a game?" You blurt.

The sudden sensation of everyone's focus on you makes you feel like you've been strapped to an operating table and flayed open for inspection, but the warmth of Farleigh's body heat seeping into your skin helps ground you somewhat.

"What sort of game?" Felix asks, intrigued and no doubt thankful for the reprieve from Venetia and Edward's sickening flirting.

"I don't know. Never Have I Ever?" You say with a shrug, grasping at straws. It's an admittedly somewhat juvenile game, one that you haven't played since you were at least a late teen, but at this point, you'll take any excuse to disrupt the pair from fully kissing in front of the three of you. "Break out the alcohol, we'll think of something."

The five of you have curled up on the floor, situated between the space made from the gap where the TV and the couches are set, creating a somewhat odd sort of circle. Felix had long since made Edward go and raid the kitchen cabinets for liquor, and he had returned with a few bottles of booze clutched to his chest, whiskey and wine and brandy and vodka individually. And of course, Venetia had managed to tag along, returning with a few cans of Tango and Coca-Cola held in her own grasp, meant for chasers. As a collective, you were all quick to toss back a few rounds of alcohol. All in the attempt to loosen up. And you and Farleigh and Felix were unquestionably trying to get rid of the residual discomfort of bearing the horror of Venetia and Edward's blatant flirting.

You were already feeling a bit tipsy with the buzz of a couple of shots fizzling at your fingertips and toes and making your head covered with a thin but pleasant haze. The past few rounds of Never Have I Ever had all passed by quickly, with all of you participating with your own stories and playfully being berated by laughter and comments. And the game had led to some startling revelations, like how one of the old servants had caught Felix when he had nearly lost his virginity during an old New Years party, or how Edward had disrupted his old cantina sometime during primary school by setting off a round of fireworks that he had lifted from his older brother, which had resulted in a few students getting first and second-degree burns.

And the questions had dipped all over the spectrum, from the more lighthearted 'never have I ever stolen from a store' to somewhat heavier topics like 'never have I ever cheated on a partner' or 'witnessed a crime.' But despite the subtle morbidity of some of the questions they had helped in shifting the energy hanging over the room into something jovial and affable, with a near constant string of delighted howling and giggling bubbling up into the air.

You and Farleigh had taken to reclining on the floor, using one of the sofas for back support with some of the decorative silk and cashmere couch pillows to cushion yourselves. Though for you, the pillows almost weren't necessary with how you've practically draped yourself across Farleigh. Settling your cheek against the stretch of his shoulder with your legs tangled with his own. But you don't feel too guilty over it considering that he's secured an arm around your waist, effectively keeping you pinned against his body while he uses the crown of your head to prop his chin up.

It's a position that you've found yourself in a million times with Farleigh. The gravitation towards physical touch came naturally to the both of you, and as a result you always seem to make some form of contact with each other to some extent. It's been this way with him for as long as you could remember, and it was easy as breathing for the both of you. It's normal. Whether it be by walking side by side with your arms looped together or by sitting in his lap, you both wind up in each other's space somehow. But even with how common it is, the brush of his body against yours never fails to make that flutter in your chest stir up and run wild. It didn't help either, that you could smell his body wash still fresh on his skin from the bath that he had taken, musky and rich with notes of chamomile and amber.

You do your best to focus past it and participate with the game and conversation flowing around you. Laughing at Felix's jokes or nodding and smiling at Edward and Venetia in response to their quips and witticisms.

"Never have I ever gone streaking," Venetia says.

"What a complete lie," Felix scoffs from her left, propping his elbows on both of his knees. "You literally striped down and went swimming in Arthur Lennon's pond."

"That's skinny dipping, " Farleigh corrects. You can feel the tremor of his voice vibrating over your back from your place nestled against his chest. "Streaking is more public. Like running down a street. "

"Oh, sorry for confusing the politics of public indecency, " Felix replies with a light glare furrowing his eyebrows.

You raise the bottle of alcohol to your lips but pause once the rounded glass brushes against your skin. "Does it count if you were only topless? And the street I was on was vacant." Thank God, for that too. You could vividly remember waking up the morning afterwards with that bitter, awful taste that comes with a hangover covering your mouth like a film and the memories of the previous night had nearly bulldozed you. The mortification and shame that came with them had been so unbearable that you hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol for a good month or two afterwards.

"Wait. When was this?" Farleigh asks, and even though you can't see him from this angle you can tell that he's probably got that cute, confused scrunched up look on his face.

"I told you about that, remember?" You roll your head back on his shoulder, shifting yourself to the side a bit so that you're able to actually look at him. Sure enough, his eyebrows have pinched, and his top lip has curled like he's trying to force the memory to come to the surface. "On Halloween a few years ago? Me and Amelia got shitfaced on Lemon Drops and Green Tea shots."

His mouth parts and you can see the realization come back to him, like a light sparking and reflecting in his eyes. "Now I remember," he nods. "You sent me pictures. That was the year you dressed up as a slutty Hex Girl."

You hummed lowly in confirmation, and take a swig from your bottle, forgoing the need to clarify on if your public display of nudity fit the criteria of 'streaking.' But then someone is snickering from across from you and a quick glance has it revealing that the sound came from Edward, who was smirking sharply over the rim of his cup. "She sent you pictures, huh? I'm sure you used those to have a good wank or two, didn't you Farleigh? So much for just 'friends,' am I right?"

For whatever reason the comment has annoyance flaring inside of you. It feels unusually mean spirited, whether it was the particularly resentful tone that he had used or the petty glint in his gaze, you don't know, but it has an irritated heat prickling at your stomach. There's a subtle shift in the room too, barely noticeable but still skimming under the surface. It's touchy and thorny.

"At least I have people sending me pictures to jerk off to," Farleigh sneers. It's an obvious sore spot for Edward and he shifts uncomfortably where he sits. It's never been a secret that he struggles a bit when it comes to love and even sex. There wasn't much of anything to draw in the attention of the opposite gender. He didn't have many prospects in life and overall, his personality isn't the most inviting. And as much as you often feel pity for him, he's usually insensitive and obtuse, and the jokes that he often tells are usually told with poor timing and a lack of a punchline. And it hardly helps his case that he's best friends with Felix who overshadows him with his generational wealth and modelesque looks.

You suppose that's why he's started to cling to Venetia, with her being one of the first people to seek his attention out, even though a part of him has to be helplessly aware that she only uses him as means to pass the time. As a short, fleeting form of entertainment. But he's been hopelessly pining after her since the day that he arrived about a month ago. You suppose that the both of you have that in common. And you don't miss the way that Edward's eyes flicker over to Venetia, like he's waiting for her - silently pleading with her to defend him. But she doesn't do anything of the sort. She just takes a drag from her cigarette, tapping at the bits of the ash building at the burning end to shake them loose into her empty cup while her eyes scan over everyone, like she's enjoying the sudden spike of drama.

"Anyway, who's turn is it?" Farleigh asks, tilting his head to lean it back up against you own. "I think it's yours, isn't it, Eddie? Try to pick a fun question. You are here out of pity anyway. The least you could do is be entertaining."

"Farleigh, mate," Felix hisses, eyes glaring and reprimanding. "That's enough."

"What? It's the truth," Farleigh says with a somewhat suppressed laugh. It has you leaning to the side again, gently nudging him with the point of your elbow. And as much as you're enjoy watching Edward get torn into, it really was only a small joke that he had made. A little bit condescending but it didn't necessarily warrant him getting bashed the entire night. And when Farleigh glances at you, you can see something soften in his eyes, features molding into something that is reluctantly apologetic. Though you know that the little bit of repentance in his expression wasn't for Edward, at all. He sighs somewhat in a somewhat exasperated way, like not being able to pick on Felix's friend truly was the worst inconvenience.

"No, it's all right," Edward clears his throat, gulping down mouthful of his beverage. "I might have deserved that a bit."

Farleigh hums like he's agreeing with him, a low and thrumming ' mm-hmm, ' and you can hear the patronizing quality of it. Even while it's a little wrong, you struggle to fight off the smile forming at the edges of your mouth, and you try to hide it by taking another generous swig from your bottle. Hoping that the mild burn will serve as some sort of distraction, but it does little to dull the bit of amusement flaring inside of you. And the way that Farleigh huffs a few, small breaths of laughter into your hair doesn't help. It makes you feel like a couple of mean old gossips, but luckily no one else has noticed your shared mirth, with the three of them being too caught up in trying to revive the game.

Edward's focus shifts around the room, unsteady and a little embarrassed but he's putting on a strained smile regardless, like he's trying to convince himself to be in a good mood. "Uh . . . well. Never have I ever had sex in a car."

And after that the evening veered back on track. The little bit of animosity that had previously bled over you all had gradually dissipated until it was as though it had never been there in the first place. But even with the energy returning to its carefree and lax state, you couldn't fight off the bit of weariness that has begun to seep into your bones. The closer that the sun drifted towards the horizon the more weighted down your eyelids had become with the temptation of sleep, until soon the soft champagne hue that had been casted across the room from the windows had melted into something dim and lavender. Combined with almost an entire afternoon of swimming underneath the warmth of the summer air and the alcohol coursing through your veins you were extremely close to passing out on top of Farleigh.

"All right, " you relent, speaking loud enough to be heard over everyone's voices and the volume of the second film of the day playing over the speakers. "I think it's time I turn in for the night." You begin pulling away from Farleigh's chest, shuffling onto your knees, making to pick yourself up from the floor as you sit your unfinished bottle a few inches away from you.

"You're leaving?" He asks, allowing you to slip his arm from around your waist, though he keeps his hand on your thigh.

"Yeah," you confirm, and there's the playful, scattered sound of protests from the other three sitting across from you. You just meet his questioning gaze with a soft look before you lean down to plant a soft goodbye kiss onto his cheek. "I'm just getting a little tired. I don't think I'll be able to keep up with all of you. Not tonight, at least."

You stand up on your feet, feeling how his fingertips brush free from the skin of your leg, just above your sleep shorts and he lets his hand fall back onto his now vacant lap. You turn to give everyone a half-assed wave as you start to make your way out from the room, but not without throwing a quick, "have fun!" over your shoulder as you go. And the echoed calls of returned "goodnights!" follow you on your way out.

And the entire way to your room, up the high winding staircase and down the twisting, turning hallways you had this awful, nauseating feeling in your stomach. For a moment you had feared that it was all the alcohol that you had drank. But you hadn't consumed nearly enough to have a bad reaction to it. And honestly, the queasiness burrowing at you was more of gut feeling - an intuitive one - rather a physical sensation. It hangs over you like a confusing, horrible cloud and it follows over you through your entire night routine. Making you feel oddly self-conscious while you brush your teeth and do your skincare. Once you're done you all put storm out of the bathroom, desperate to get away from your own reflection in the mirror.

It's driving you absolutely crazy because you can't figure out just what it is. It also doesn't help that your brain keeps fliting back over to Edward's snide little joke from earlier. Replaying those words over and over again like some broken record. Repeatedly showing the image of how his features had twisted up in clear indignation and what may have been . . . envy.

Envy over what, exactly?

And you could remember the way that his eyes had flickered over you and Farleigh throughout the day. You figured that it had just been unintentional. That he hadn't meant it. But then he kept doing it over and over again. Something about a quality in his gaze had been awfully familiar, and as to where that familiarity came from you aren't sure. You can't place it. It leaves you completely bewildered and for a quick second some part of you dreads that idea that maybe he was jealous because he could have been secretly harboring feelings for you, or maybe even Farleigh this entire time. But that doesn't feel right either. That doesn't fit.

You try to shrug off the constant humming rattling around in your mind, flopping back onto the plush cushion of your bed in the hopes that it'll soothe the disquiet running rampant within you, but it doesn't. Not even with the dark, velveteen breeze sweeping through your open window, carrying in the scent of the night helps to put it at ease. You try to funnel all of you attention onto small, tangible things. Like the distant singing of the crickets trilling outside in a gentle chorus or the distorted, aged shapes that you find within the old wooden ceiling above you. But neither does much to anchor you down. You aren't sure how long you just lay there for, trying to distract yourself as best as you can, but it's enough passage of time for that last remaining sliver of lavender casted in the horizon to officially melt into a dark black and for the final remnants of your alcohol induced buzz to officially drain from your body. And frustratingly, that initial desire to sleep that had saturated your limbs before has vanished. Fully replaced by what could only be described as a type of chaos and the alarming sense of being helplessly awake. It has you prickling with frustration.

And a little scrap of your subconscious zones in on the that one word, 'familiar.' You had referred to the gleam in Edward's eyes as familiar, and it really was. Almost startingly so. It was almost affronted. Hurt. Like how he had looked when Farleigh had insulted him - defended himself, really . . . kind of - and he had turned to Venetia as though he had been waiting for her to do that same. And he had all but outright deflated when she hadn't. Like the hope inside of him had been singlehandedly snuffed out by her indifference. That little bit of yearning that he has to have for more. The wish that perhaps, she too would recognize that maybe she had developed feelings for him and would try and pursue something more. But he has to know that there was no way that would ever happen. That he was waiting on a pipe dream. That much like you, there wasn't ever going to be a real future with the people that you both long for.

That simple train of thought pours over you like a metal pail full of frigid water. It shocks through your system, sobering you up and it has your mouth running dry. Jesus, are you going to end up like Edward? Helplessly latching onto the coat tails of a person who just sees you as a means to an end. But that wasn't right. Farleigh does care for you. And even with how brash and sarcastic he can often be, you know for a fact that he does covet your friendship. But that's just what it is, isn't it? Just a friendship.

Fear sparks inside of you. A worry that you'll end up like Edward. Bitter and resentful while you watch the person that you hold your affections for move on and live. That you'll be perpetually cursed to loom within Farleigh's shadow, watching from the place at his feet as he falls in and out of love, experiences heartbreak and infatuation. But one day he might meet someone who he doesn't break up with. Maybe he'll actually marry that person. Maybe he'll start a family with them too. And you can honestly admit to yourself that you aren't sure if you'll have the strength to sit in the pews of an old church and watch while he takes someone else hand, while he slips a ring onto their finger. It might actually gut you, completely bittersweet; pleasant and paradoxically regretful to watch him grow old with someone who isn't you. But you know that you'll just be there on the sidelines regardless because you're too scared to move on or admit to yourself that . . .

Admit what?

You know what, some deep, unforgiving part of your subconscious whispers.

An uncomfortable sense of gravity rises up over you, nudging you over to the edge of some daunting, profound precipice. Some deep chasm, that if you choose to take the plunge and dive in, you might not be able to crawl back out of. But if you're going to be honest with yourself now, then that endless, spiraling abyss has always been there, directly underneath your feet this entire time. And you've just been dangling yourself over it, precariously balancing yourself on shaky limbs with a blindfold willingly tied around your own eyes.

But the bottomless pit underneath you isn't dark or cold or vicious. It's the complete opposite. It's inviting and warm and candied. It makes you want to give in to it. To just relent and stop fighting. To quit pretending to be so blissfully ignorant and to finally just tear the self-imposed blinders off and accept that burning, wanting part of yourself before it dies out and takes you along with it. Eventually the sweet longing inside of you will turn sour and twist into something marred and nasty; mutating into something diseased and festering and it'll infect you. Make you into someone distant and loveless.

And that's what all of this has been about. All of this self-made torture and the prison that you had fashioned yourself out of fear and the dread of possible rejection, it's been because of love. You're in love with Farleigh Start. Always have been. Helplessly and pathetically in love.

The acceptance of it is like breathing after suffocating. Like being caught up in a supernova and feeling the heat and cosmic light engulf you. It has an almost dopey smile taking over your face, and you can feel an elated laugh bubbling up in your chest. It has you scrambling up on your bed and sightlessly reaching for one of your pillows, desperate for something, anything to ground yourself while every facet of your being is swept up and drowned over with can only be described as pure exultation.

But as absolutely free as you feel, you know that it's only temporary. The sense of peace and bliss that taken over you will only keep you afloat for so long and eventually you'll be dragged back down to the dredges again. Pulled in deep while you watch Farleigh from the murk and dark. You'll only be able to live off of his friendship for so long before you all but starve, drinking up the scraps of his affection like it's sacrosanct. But that type of survival doesn't promise forever and eventually your devotion will catch up with you and eat you alive once you fail to feed it with something more substantial. Something real and returned.

And that. That terrifies you. But there's a way out. Maybe if you can't have Farleigh - if he doesn't want you like you want him, then you'll just have to learn to live without him.

But a little bit of hope bleeds through you like a second heartbeat. Low and fragile, but alive and steadily pulsing, accompanied by Felix's words from earlier. The faint echo telling you that you don't even know what the outcome may be. That the prospect of rejection isn't absolute. The reminder of it is enough to have you eyeing the door to your room and contemplating on slipping outside and searching for Farleigh. But even then, that trepidation is so great, hulking and dipping over you like a layer of ice, sinking into you like a set of frigid, steel talons.

You flop forward on your bed, going face first into the mattress while defeat sags at your shoulders and gnaws on you from the inside out. You groan out loudly, an exasperated, weary sound that claws up from your lungs with a ragged huff, in an amalgamation of a tired laugh and a dry sob follows after it. But despite how utterly lost you feel, one thing that you know for certain is that you're going to have to confront whatever this is. You're going to have to confront Farleigh.

You prop yourself up with your hands, once again looking over to your door warily while you try to get a grip on the deluge of emotions swirling around in your head and chest. You try to latch onto anything, searching for that little bit of hope that you had felt earlier. Weakly tethering yourself down while you guide your whirling consciousness into something still and motionless. Your grip on your emotions is shaky, held with a delicate but determined hold and it's enough to have you slipping out of the comfort of your bed despite the nausea bubbling in your stomach.

You cross the floor in a hurry, trying to outrun yourself and your insecurities before they can get to you. It has you twisting the doorknob sharpy and shoving the door to your room open, making it creek on its hinges in a dull, weary cry. It has you cringing and peering down the hall like you're expecting to see someone. Fearful that one of the servants might materialize out of the shadows and pin you down with a judgmental glare.

Once you're officially outside of the security of your quarters a sense of relief blooms. Small and light, but there. And it makes you feel that much more confident in confronting the single thing that has haunted your dreams for years.

The door clicks shut behind you with a sense of finality and it's enough to get you moving. You steel yourself with a long inhale, swallowing around the nervous lump in your throat before you head off down the hall in the direction of Farleigh's room. And suddenly a single step feels like a thousand. You know that it must be a trick. Made from your mind or the oily cast of the lamps that are fixed to and lined down the walls but it's as though the corridor is expanding; stretching long and far until it feels as though you've been walking for an hour and not a few minutes. It's dangerous. It gives you too much time to second guess yourself and you find yourself glancing back over your shoulder and towards the direction of your room more than once. But when you turn back around the face the hall, suddenly you're standing in front of Farleigh's door. And now something so ordinary and rudimentary seems so daunting. It's like being in the presence of Goliath. The panel of glazed wood blocks a threshold that you've passed through a number of times, but never has it felt as nerve-wracking as it does now.

Your heart is heavy inside your chest, like stone and yet it's beating so quickly. It almost makes you feel pathetic and small. God, you're a grown as woman and something as simple as a confession of feelings is making you so unsecure and astray. It's more of a kneejerk reaction when your hand raises to knock against Farleigh's door and you nearly cringe when the sharp, repetitive rap cracks out across the hallway. It almost sounds like a gunshot, but then again, your mind is probably amplifying the sound from all of your anxiety.

For a moment you wished that he wasn't even in his room yet. That maybe he's still downstairs in the library, drinking and partying with the others and that you can just return to your room and pretend that this never happened.

"Yeah?" His voice calls out, muffled and distant from behind the shield of the door.

"Fuck," you hiss under your breath quietly. You bite at your bottom lip nervously while you try and fight off the barrage of anxious butterflies that go off in your stomach. Maybe if you slip away now, he won't even notice. The old walls and bones of Saltburn are constantly shifting and creating noise. Groaning in its old age while drafts and pipes creak. It also isn't uncommon to hear mice and servants silently rustling down the corridors at all hours of the night, slipping around the shadows and corners like phantoms. Farleigh probably wouldn't think anything of it if you ran back to your room before he could catch sight of you. The knock at his door would just be another bump in the night.

No.

You aren't doing that. You owe this to yourself. And to him.

"It's me!" You shout before you can officially convince yourself to turn tail and flee. And it isn't long before a hushed, "come in!" greets you through the door, prompting you to clasp the doorknob and twist. When you enter his room, your eyes immediately zone in on him from his place on his bed where he's sitting up in a crisscross fashion with his laptop open in front of him. It relieves you to know that you didn't wake him up at the very least, but the expectant look in his gaze is quick to snuff out any sense of solace with a quickness; unpleasantly reminding you as to why you're even here.

"What's up?" He asks. But even the sound of his voice, something that you usually react positively to, it doesn't help you function. Your words are lodged in your throat and suddenly everything is too real. And it clicks into place harshly, that you're here. You're actually going to do this. God, you don't think that you can breathe, it's as though all of the oxygen has been stolen from the room and it makes it difficult to even think. You want to be delicate about this. To try and have some tact, but now that you're in his room, you don't even know where to begin. There's no plan or angle of approach. You're completely lost and you're floundering underneath the pressure, and you're so caught up within your own turmoil that you don't even realize that you've just been standing dumbly in the center of his room.

"Are . . . you okay?" He says slowly, closing the screen of his laptop and sitting it on the edge of the bed. His eyebrows perk up and he scans over you from his place across the room like he's searching for the source of your apparent discomfort.

It's too warm in here. Too stuffy with the summer humidity that the breeze from the open widow has yet to drive out. It makes it difficult to focus on anything. And then all of your thoughts are clamoring. Crowding within your skull with the chaos and sharpness of plates breaking, of cymbals clanging together, of a million people all shouting as a collective. Just say it. Say it! Jesus sweet fuck, just say it!

"I'm in love with you!"

You just blurt it. Spitting it out into the universe without fully registering that you have. It isn't until you notice the absolute shock shifting into Farleigh's expression that you understand that you had just thoughtlessly confessed. His lip's part, dropping open with what can only be bewilderment. And you know that you've completely blindsided him. Hell, you've blindsided yourself. The gravity of what you've done settles deep into your bones and threatens to buckle your knees. The deafening silence that falls over the room is worse than if he would just laugh at you. And for a moment you wish that he would just say something. Make a joke or try and brush it off, but he doesn't. He just continues to stare at you like you're a complete stranger, leaving you to struggle and trying to cope with the new trajectory of your reality. That you have just completely altered your entire relationship with Farleigh forever. Nearly a decade of friendship gone. Obliterated and tossed aside all because of your feelings.

"I have to go, " you mumble, more so to yourself than to him. You twist on the balls of your feet, rushing towards the door like the walls of his room are closing in and might crush you. And the entire time you're already planning your escape. Thinking about how the first thing that you're going to do once you get back to your quarters is pull out your computer and look up the cheapest and earliest flight back to America. And all you can do is hope that everyone else won't ask to many questions about your sudden departure back home.

But as soon as you start to twist the brass knob and the door begins to slip open from the threshold a hand comes out from behind you and shoves it closed with a heavy slam. You almost flinch at the jarring nature of the sound.

"Wait," he says. Firm and somewhat breathless. You're very aware of his presence standing behind your back with the pleasant, buttery heat of his body brushing against you. "Jesus, you can't just drop something like that on someone and then just leave."

Guilt takes root at those words, and it has you squeezing the doorknob in your hand to try and build some semblance of resolve. "I'm sorry, " you gasp, staring straight ahead at the paneling in the door.

"Can you look at me?" He asks.

You immediately shake your head. "No. No, I don't think I can," you answer truthfully. You really don't think that you'll be able to meet his eyes right now. It might actually tear you apart.

"Please. Please, just look at me." His voice is soft. Probably the softest you've ever heard it and almost pains you to hear it this way. It makes you want to crumble. To lean into him and soak in the feel of him. You can't resist the urge to obey his need despite the discomfort rippling throughout your entire nervous system. You find yourself turning, leaning yourself up against the door for some stability as you rotate on your feet until you're fully facing him. Even then, you can't meet the weight of his stare. You won't. Instead, you focus on the fabric covering his chest. It's one of those quote shirts he wears every now and again, and you find yourself studying the lettering on it with a rapt fascination, as forced as it is. Tracing the words with your eyes. 'You Wish' the tee declares in a bold, bright yellow font. Just a playful, sarcastic statement. One that's pretty in theme with all of the other text form shirts that he can be seen wearing, and on any other day it wouldn't have gotten any other response out of you other than some mild amusement. But here and now, in this specific moment, the statement feels so oddly and coincidentally personal, an omen of sorts. Like the universe is waving up some bizarre warning, an you could laugh if you weren't so on edge.

You hear him say your name. Low and gentle. His hand raises until the curled cusp of his fingertips are nudging underneath the point of your chin, delicately influencing you to look at him. The movement is unhurried and light, giving you ample time to pull your face from his hold if you wanted to, but you don't. You let him direct you until your eyes are meeting his in an unsure gaze.

And it's startling, the vulnerable and stunned expression on his features. But paradoxically, it's also almost a relief, to know that the shock riddling your body and mind is shared. That you aren't the only one who's completely lost and struggling. It comes with a sense of guilt, too. Stinging and unforgiving. You fight to forgive yourself to know that you're the one who's completely knocked him off kilter. You want to soothe that little bit of confusion wavering in his gaze. To try and right the dazed sort of panic that's choked the air.

"I'm . . . in love you," you repeat, swallowing around the tightness of your throat and luckily, you're able to speak with a bit more conviction. And once you get it out, it's like a dam has broken. Fracturing down the middle before it gives, cracking and tearing apart from underneath the frothing weight and turmoil slamming up against the damaged concrete. "I love you. I think I always have, but it finally caught up with me and I had to say something about it, and I'm sorry if this has fucked up what we have - " you're outright rambling now. Caught up within the slew of your own emotions. Honestly, you're too scared to stop speaking; terrified of what may come after with the silence. But it also keeps you from focusing on Farleigh, the sound of his voice seems too distant, like it's miles away, but you just barely catch onto a bit of calming words, the way that he tries to reassure you with your name and a soft "it's okay."

"No!" You almost shout it, looking at him with something fervent and afraid. "It's not! Because when I'm around you, there are times where it feels like I can't even breathe-"

"Hey, it's all right, " he tries to soothe you. And you can feel him gripping your forearms, rubbing sweeping circles against your skin with the swipe of his thumbs, trying to coax you from your thoughts. It doesn't pull you from their hold completely, but you can feel your body responding regardless, going lax and a little pliant underneath the warmth of his palms. "It's okay."

But it isn't. None of this is. You've completely ruined it. Everything.

"I love you."

Except it wasn't your voice that said it this time. It was his.

It all pauses. Like the world has simultaneously gone still, shifting into something hushed and private, like every individual life on the planet has put their priorities on hold to suck in their breath and wait. For a moment, it's like you and Farleigh are the only two beings left alive. Held within a small pocket of time around the walls of his room. It's only the gossamer breeze rolling in through his window; perfumed with the velvet fragrance of summer blossoms and a distant petrichor that reminds you that the earth is still rotating in its orbit around the sun.

He said it with so much conviction, but even then, you could pick up the worry fraying the edges of his words. Like he's waiting for a pen to drop. Like something is going to break.

"What?" You almost gasp.

A smile perks at his lips and you can see something relaxed melt back into his posture which had turned rigid during your panicked babbling. "I guess I should be relieved. I was always worried that I was being too obvious."

A breathless sound leaves your chest, both a sigh of release and a joyful laugh, all bubbling and soft. You shake your head minutely, a gesture made from disbelief rather than refusal or frustration. "I don't . . . Why didn't you say anything?"

Farleigh steps a little closer to you, reminding you that you're fixed between him and the door, but it isn't suffocating. It's pleasant. Comforting. You find yourself leaning towards him, your body seeking out the presence of his own in a subconscious pull; like how the moon affects the tides.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replies with a low laugh melting through his tone.

Your body suddenly feel weightless, like the gravity keeping you pinned down to the world has vanished and left you floating. You tip on your feet, leaning into Farleigh's chest easily. His scent surrounds you. Billowing over you with notes of something buttery and earthy and subtly sweet; creamy. And he moves closer towards you until his face is nosing against your head and his hands come to cradle your waist. You've been here a thousand times. Held just like this in his arms before. It's familiar. It feels like safety. Like home. But there's something decidedly different now too. An element that you've never felt before. It's new. But not uncomfortably so. It's nice. It's warm and accepting but simmering; driven by a sort of hunger.

You aren't sure who makes the move first. Suddenly both of your faces are angled towards each other, the tips of your noses brushing. You can feel the heft of his gaze when it meets your own. Your eyes transfixed upon the others like they're being guided by some invisible string, a magnetic pull. So many different emotions are passed through the exchanged stare. Something asking and delicate but also wholly wanting. It's all-consuming and fizzling at your skin, prickling like hungry, coveting teeth.

Your body thrums, blood singing when you feel the brush of his lips over yours. But he doesn't go any further than that, and you can feel that heat of him hovering over your skin. There's a question in his eyes, bright and burning and it leaves you feeling a little bit breathless; a little drunk. You want to answer but you can't bring yourself to speak. The words are stuck inside your chest, left useless and idle in your lungs in the form of shapeless air. But he must see the answer in your own eyes. Just as strong as his own desire because suddenly his lips are molded against yours, soft and plush with an ardent type of need.

You moan into it, and in his enthusiasm, he shoves you back against the door, but you're too swept up the sensation and emotion of it all to even register the dull throb in the back of your skull. Instead, syphoning every bit of your being into pouring your attention onto him. Soaking in the press of his body against you own, the subtle nip of his teeth against your lips and the low sound of his pleased, rumbling sighs. You can't manage to pull yourself away from him. Entirely focused on learning the shape of him through the layer of his clothes, running your hands across his hips and chest like you're mapping him out. He's got you pinned to him by his palms on your upper waist and the back of your neck, securing you to his chest like he's worried you might vanish.

It's zealous and a little desperate, but it isn't inherently rushed. Neither of you are fueled by the sort of urgency that comes with a time crunch or the expectations of meeting some inexistent due date, it's more like you're both trying to make up for lost time. Moving against each other like you couldn't manage to be apart.

It has you slipping a hand underneath his shirt, unable to ignore the need to feel his skin underneath you, even if it's in such a small way. He gasps against your mouth at the tepid sweep of your fingertips running over his ribs, nearly holding his breath once they travel up his chest. You jerk against him, body running hot at the almost whiny moan that rises up from his lungs in a sharp rasp. And when you both sway back against each other, you're the one who winds up gasping into him when the feel of him, heavy and rigid grinds on along your front through the barrier of your respective clothing.

You consider teasing him over it. Of making a joke over the fact that he's already hard because of a little making out, but the steady throbbing from between your legs keeps you from doing so. You're sure that if you were to slip your own fingers into your heat that they'd come up wet.

Suddenly he's backstepping away from the door, pulling you along with him by the cradle of his arms. You don't separate from each other for a single moment, too caught up in the drag of his lips, and you nearly go breathless when he licks into your mouth. You blindly follow his sightless lead, trusting that you'll both successfully reach your destination - the bed probably, and you nearly trip on the borderline of the center rug in your blind shuffle across the floor. If it wasn't for Farleigh's hold on you, you definitely would have fallen and busted your ass in an embarrassing, clumsy heap.

He's slipping his hands underneath your shirt, rucking the material up your body when the backs of his knees hit against the edge of his mattress. As your body follows his downward, he uses it as leverage to slip the article of clothing free from your torso and carelessly flings it somewhere across the room. You don't think that he was expecting you to be braless based on the way that his attention dips down to your chest, scanning over the swell of each breast and the rigid bud of your nipples with a rapt sort of fascination.

"Fuck," he whispers lowly, watching as you shift to settle your legs around his waist. And you can't contain the pleased chuckle that leaves you as you lower yourself over him to reconnect your lips, rekindling the fervent kissing that had transfixed you both before. You brush your tongue over the plush swell of his mouth, silently asking for permission and he gives it with a heady moan, parting his jaw to let you taste him. Caught under the spell of your need you haven't even noticed that you've both started to hump against each other like a couple of horny teenagers. Seeking out the pleasure of each other's bodies in any way that you can get it.

"Farleigh," you keen suddenly. God, you can feel him, the head of his cock nudging against the slick, sensitive nerves of your clit through his boxers and the thin fabric of your sleep shorts. It's already so good. And you chase after it while you continue to nibble and pull at each other's lips, steadily churning your waist in deep, sweeping grinds against the hard shape of him.

His hands are traveling again, moving from your ribs and upwards until he's taking your nipples between his fingertips, rolling and plucking at them until you're panting. You pull back just enough to look at him, ignoring the way that he whines, airy and pitchy, so that you can admire him. Marveling at the lustful, clouded over sheen in his eyes, how they shimmer, dark like melted amber and bronze underneath the buttery, golden glow of the lamp. His lips are parted, a little puffy and glimmering with all of your kissing, releasing deep, labored breaths from his chest while he gazes at you.

God, he really is gorgeous like this. It isn't fair.

You settle one of your palms on his sternum, making sure to shift yourself to bear most of your weight on the balls of your feet and the muscle of your thighs so that you can drive powerful, teasing thrusts over the rigid swell of his cock. His mouth drops open a little bit more, eyebrows pinching close as something liquid and carnal drips over you both like melted sugar. You could make you both cum like this. If you just kept on with this steady, torturous pace that you've set. And it would feel so, so good. You know it would, with how that sinful burn is climbing deep with the apex of your thighs. But you can't. Not like this. You need to feel him. You need him inside of you.

"Farleigh," you cry again, leaning over to breathlessly moan in his ear. "I need you. Please, please. Fuck me - "

He's grabbing you by your ribs and flipping your places in a disorienting blur, slipping a hand underneath one of your knees to spread you open around the circumference of his waist. He dips his face underneath your jaw, sucking at the hallow of your bared throat with the hint of teeth and tongue before his voice sounds out in husky rasp, making you arch into the weight of his body above yours. "Is that what you want, baby? "He hums, a little low and somewhat condescending. "Need me to fuck you?"

His knuckles brush over your abdomen, dragging around the band of your shorts in a teasing glide. You groan out in frustration, impatiently writhing in the hopes that it'll make him do something, but he just pulls back enough to stare down at you with a satisfied smirk. You don't hide the irritation in your expression, but your clear vexation doesn't do anything to dull his delight. You shuffle your hips, working to grind them in a heavy, agonizing swoops over his cock. And you feel a little surge of delight when you see that bit of arrogance in his eyes shift back into something eager and carnal, urging him one step closer to just giving in and taking you.

"God, you're so fucking desperate," he mocks, but there's almost a kind of wonder in his voice too. You find yourself preening underneath the tiny little shred of awe, nodding in agreement, well past the point of trying to cling onto your pride. Not after wishing and waiting for so long to be in this exact position. You'll have plenty of time to knock him down a few pegs later. As of right now, you just want him inside of you. He chuckles lightly at your desperation, nosing along your cheek like he might kiss you, though he stays far enough away to keep you from being able to join your lips with his.

"Stop teasing me, please, " you gasp, peering up at him from underneath your lashes, hoping that you're conveying all of that searing, devouring want that's clawing up inside of you and threatens to consume you, bones, flesh, body and soul. You don't even have the mind to acknowledge the blow to your pride that you're taking. How pathetic that you've become from nothing but his touch alone. And it must work, because something in his expression breaks, crumbling away until he looks as dazed and starved as you feel.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of you." He promises and straightens himself, removing his own shirt and discarding it somewhere on the floor before he's finally taking ahold of your shorts, ripping them down your legs and slipping them from around the heels of your feet. As soon as they're off of you, his mouth settles on the inside of your knee, hot and wet in its ascent up your thigh, nipping the sensitive skin with his teeth and soothing the sting with the lave of his tongue and lips. The sensation has you sighing out into the humid, balmy air, reaching down with your fingers to grip onto his hair, trying to softly guide him back up and over you. But he's clearly in the mood to take his time, or maybe he's just determined to drive you up the wall. He plants a kiss on your mound, just above your dripping cunt and your body prickles and vibrates in anticipation, waiting for him split you open. To lick and take you into his mouth.

Then something sweltering and wet runs up the expanse of your abdomen, leaving a chilled trail in its wake, and it isn't until Farleigh's head raises up from your chest that you realize that it had been his tongue dragging over your skin, tasting the fresh salt on your body. He continues to shift upward until his lips seal back over yours and he notches his hips above your own, dragging them down to rub against your clit in a wicked grind, making you whimper into his mouth. And you're ready to start begging again when some distant, tattered part of your mind registers that the feverish, silken warmth pressed up against you is the shape of his bare cock.

You aren't sure when he had managed to slip his boxers off, but you don't bother dwelling on it for long, too focused on him to care. It has you keening and grabbing onto his shoulders, tossing your legs over his hips in the hopes of urging him to finally relent and give you both what you want. He grunts against your lips before he tilts his head back enough to look into your eyes, and you immediately recognize the glint that flickers within them, that silent question. It's all you can do to manage a simple nod, whispering 'please' over and over in a broken, windless request.

And then you feel him, thick and warm slipping against the entrance of your cunt. He doesn't glance away from you for a single moment, attention fastened to you like he's gauging your reaction. The whine that's pushed from your lungs is one of pure elation from the way that you're stretched around the length of his cock, eyes nearly going cross as he works in every inch. It admittedly has been a little while since you've last had sex, and the girth of him nearly burns while it buries in deep, but it's not enough for you to ask him to stop. It actually feels gratifying. Giving you a pleasant ache that has you feeling full. And the ragged moan that he releases makes you all the more worked up, pussy clenching tight around him, making his face twitch in a way that almost looks wounded.

He just grinds against you without pulling out, rocking his pelvis on you like he's struggling to keep still, trapping the buzzing nerves of your clit between the shifting press of his groin. "Baby," he warns, voice thin and a little shaky. "I don't know how long I can hold back."

It takes you a moment for your scattered mind to even grasp onto what he's said, but once you do, you're able to gather that he's trying to let you adjust to him. To get used to the weight of him inside of you. While you appreciate the consideration, you have absolutely zero patience to wait any longer than necessary. It has you reaching up to take ahold of his face, pinning him with a stare that you hope is sufficient enough to telegraph what you want. What you need. "I don't want you to wait," you say with as much conviction as you can while he's balls deep inside of you. "I want you to fuck me."

Something that looks like relief flows over his expression, and he drops all of his weight onto his arms, caging your head in between both of his elbows while he pulls his hips back from yours, slipping his cock from the slick of your cunt before plowing back into you with a thrust that steals all of the oxygen in your body. Pure white-hot ecstasy sizzles throughout your nerves and muscles, setting you alight with smoke and honey from the ardent pace that he's set. But despite the pleasure coursing through your body, your gaze is stuck on Farleigh the entire time. Captivated by the way that his face twists up in bliss, eyes fluttering and threatening to roll back; engrossed from the choked-up moans that pour from his mouth with each wild cant of his hips.

"Oh God - fuck," he huffs, leaning into your touch while your caress his face with your thumbs, fingers smoothing over the shape of his jaw and cheekbones with complete adoration. And he allows you to guide his head downward for your lips to messily meet, moaning into each other, utterly uninhibited and shameless. He whines, brazen and lecherous when you take his tongue into your mouth to suck on it. You can feel him twitch inside of you and his hips jerk for a split second, choppy and dazed, before he's able to fall back into the smooth, relentless rhythm that he had created while he pants into your mouth.

You work your own body to meet his thrusts, trying to create as much pleasure between the both of you as possible. You can feel his spit slick against your lips, but you can't be bothered to care, releasing his tongue from the suction of your mouth to nip at his bottom lip; swollen and soft. Somehow it makes him drive into you all that deeper like he's absolutely hellbent on ripping you apart and filling you, building you up again in his own image until the only thoughts in your head revolve around him and solely him. It has your brain going fuzzy, liquifying in your skull and your head rocks back on your shoulders until it plops back on the mattress. Your spine bows, arching sharp and tight until your stomach melds against his. The laugh that leaves you is already a little fucked out; slurred and mindless.

"Far - I - shit - " it's all a scrambled mess. You can't even form a sentence. Your tongue is lax and useless, unable to make a single syllable, and the only noises that rise from your lungs are moans and cries of total rapture. But a glance upward confirms that he isn't fairing much better than you. He looks just as gone as you feel. Skin glittering with a sheen of sweat that sparks low in the luminescence of the lamp in the corner, shinning like a layer of dusted gold and his eyes are glazed over and dark, ensnaring you completely. It's a little nasty, the outright lewd wet repetitive smacks of skin hitting skin coming from where your bodies meet; the scent of sex in the air, tainting the delicate summer wind like a depraved aphrodisiac. But you can hardly focus on any of that when you've got Farleigh suspended over you, looking outright debauched.

"You're s' pretty," you manage to weakly say between your panting.

You can tell that he heard you. You see the recognition flicker across his face, the space between his eyebrows furrowing when he looks down at you. There's a smile too. Faint from the way that his mouth is dropped open in pleasure, but you can still make out its influence around the shape of his lips. "I love you," he whispers it with reverence. The confession is still so brand new. Delicate and tender, but it has your body thrumming with something intense and feverish, bleeding into your chest, fluttering and wild. A fiery, dazzling heat courses its way throughout your entire body, making your toes curl and your fingers scramble for purchase; bunching up the bed sheets.

You want to return the sentiment. To tell him that you feel that same, but as soon as you go to speak, he's punching into you, making you feel the thick drag of his cock, effectively ripping the breath from you, choking you on it. He takes ahold of one of your thighs, securing it tighter around his waist like he's trying to get as close to you as he physically can without disrupting the flow of his thrusts. You can already feel that giant wall of heat and electricity rising, looming up like a violent ocean or a storm, giving you a taste of what's about to sweep over you. You can distantly feel yourself reaching onto Farleigh, drawing him closer by looping an arm around his back and latching a hand around his forearm, clawing for anything to center yourself. As much as you want to be doused and consumed by the shifting, liquid nirvana quickly forming within your abdomen, you also don't want to lose the sensation of his body pressed against yours.

You settle your mouth over his throat, not biting but tasting. Tracing your tongue over the tendons flexing underneath his skin, smelling and taking in the salt and vanilla and spice there. And you can feel the vibrations of his moans and whimpers humming against your lips. He's saying something, but you're unable to make out the words through the intoxicated stuffing that's been packed into your skull. But you do catch a ragged groan of your name and few scattered swears that follow after. You smile around his throat, trailing your lips down to his clavicle to lightly nip.

Your muscles start to seize, body winding up tight in preparation for the melted heat that's burning at you, about to set you alight. You slip your hand free from around its grip on his upper arm, lowering it down between your shifting bodies. Your mouth drops open when your find your clit, sensitive and slick, aiding you in drawing compact, heavy circles around it, making your cunt clench around him. The way that you squeeze him steals more whimpers from his chest, pitchy and wanton, tipping him closer to his own orgasm.

You try to warn him. To tell him that something raging and overwhelming is cresting over you, but not a single word makes it way out. Your lungs are caught and drawn tight, keeping you silent. In your daze, you haven't even noticed that you've begun to drag your fingertips across his back, scrambling for some sort of security to keep you in place and present, grounded to the bed and Farleigh's body without your mind turning into complete mush and drifting away. Your nails are slipping down just above his spine, leaving marks down the expanse of his skin. It makes him lurch his hips into you sharply, not disrupting his rhythm, but deepening it into a thick grind and it has them pressing into your knuckles, nudging your fingertips over your clit with more pressure.

"Far-" you choke helplessly, voice ragged and near raw.

"Come on, baby," he coos around his own shaky breath. "Just let it go. Cum for me."

You feel it everywhere; in your hands, your toes, soaking through every piece of your body, down to your nerves and bone marrow. But regardless of the utter weight of it, your mind still hardly has time to compute the scope of what you're feeling. That tight coiling band in your abdomen snaps like a frayed rubber and rope, releasing a deluge of bliss that devours you like a burst of flames and embers, taking away all of the oxygen in your lungs to feed the fire searing through your entire being.

You aren't sure how long you're suspended in that state of rapture for. Lost and wonderfully held captive to the pure ecstasy saturating every inch of you, wracking across your muscles in full delicious tremors like your body is determined to ride out every ounce of possible pleasure. You seize tightly, cunt gripping around his cock, and clenching over and over again, effectively shoving him over that sinful precipice along with you. And you distantly register him hunching over your body, bucking his hips deep to chase after his own orgasm with scattered moans. He cums with a strained grunt, spilling himself inside of you with a gentle rush of a pleasant warmth that makes your toes curl.

The comedown is syrupy and soft, settling over your skin low and mellow, like curling up underneath a blanket. It's the feel of Farleigh over you that guides you back to a state of coherence, the sound of his labored breathing leveling out close to your ear and you find your heaving lungs working to mimic the pace of his own. He's gone boneless over you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck with a pleased sigh that puffs over your skin. It has you relaxing your thighs, unwinding your legs from their hold around his waist to let him sag against you further. And the two of you just stay that way for a long peaceful moment. Basking in each other's presence and the afterglow.

You absentmindedly drag your fingertips over his back, tracing the faint divot of his spine in gentle sweeps. But your eyebrows furrow when they feel thin, long raises in his skin, and it has you lifting your head to try and peer over his shoulder. He grunts in objection when it has you shifting him a little from where he's tucked himself snuggly into the junction of your throat. But you can't be bothered to pay it any mind when you spot the light but angry scratches that decorate his back, spanning around close to the nape of his neck and down past his shoulder blades.

"Shit, I'm sorry," you apologize with something close to guilt settling in your gut. He hums questioningly but doesn't make any effort to articulate a response, so thankfully it must not hurt that bad considering that he doesn't seem to be paying them any mind, though you find yourself elaborating regardless. "Your back. I scratched it all up."

Another low vocalization leaves him, it's close to a purr almost, something that sounds suspiciously satisfied as he presses a kiss to your neck, just over your pulse. "Don't be sorry. I liked it."

That makes you feel a bit better at least, even though you can't help but to playfully roll your eyes at the comment. Then he's moving, pulling back from you and you suddenly find yourself as the one who's protesting when he shuffles from your body. You hiss underneath your breath when he slips his limp cock from you, making you clench around nothing, still sensitive and a little tender. He whispers something that sounds like it might be an apology, bending down to kiss the inside of your knee. You let yourself relax again, allowing your limbs to dip back into the plush of the mattress while you enjoy the pleasant buzz of endorphins still rushing around in your veins.

The bed shifts, leaving you to assume that Farleigh is probably getting up to go and clean himself in the bathroom and retrieve you a towel so that you could wipe yourself down. But instead, the shape of what feels a lot like a pair of shoulders nudging between your legs and spreading your thighs apart is what pulls you from your buzzed headspace. You shift yourself onto your elbows, lifting your head back up on your neck to glance down your body and you're somewhat surprised to see that Farleigh has nestled himself between your hips. His eyes have fluttered closed while he's begun to trace kisses along your inner thighs.

"Farleigh," you say, a question hanging heavy in the air.

You get another hum in response, but he does focus on you enough meet your gaze.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He asks, nuzzling a little closer to the apex of your thighs where you're still a little sore and soaking and admittedly a little filthy with your shared release. And there's a fleeting little thought that bounces around your head, a quick, disbelieving: There's no way he's going to do what I think he's going to do.

"I'm not sure," you reply, swallowing around the thickness in your throat, even though you've got that heavy suspicion looming over you. But he's not going to do that surely. And almost like a sort of answer, his lips curl into a smirk, dark eyes twinkling with what could only be described as mischief. He plucks the delicate skin of where your groin and thigh join between his teeth, not enough to be uncomfortable but just enough to tease before soothing it with the brush of his tongue.

"Oh, I think you do." That's all he says before he's leaning forward and sealing the searing wet heat of his mouth over your cunt. It's like a shock to your system, the blazing warmth suddenly basking over the sensitive nerves of your clit, and it has you gasping. You jerk helplessly underneath him, still raw and recovering from the intensity of your previous orgasm, but Farleigh doesn't budge so much as an inch in your body's mindless writhe. He just tosses one of his arms across your waist in an effort to keep you pinned down, and it works in successfully fixing you to the mattress, keeping you splayed open underneath the unforgiving drag of his tongue across your frayed, thrumming nerves while he chases after the faint, impeded rock of your hips. It's torturous and entirely too much, with the pleasure feeling so raw and direct that it might split you down the middle and it actually has you sobbing.

"Farleigh!" You cry, latching your fingers onto his curls like you don't whether to pull him closer or away from you. "I can't!"

"Yes, you can," he insists, pulling back just enough to speak. "But just say the word and I'll stop. Just tell me ' no.' "

But you can't do that. You don't want to, you find, even while it feels like you're being set on fire and every little atom that makes up your existence is being pulled taught and dipped in a melted vat of wax. And there's a moment where he stops. Waiting patiently for that single little word and when it never arrives, he's scooping you back into his mouth. Dipping his tongue down inside of you and taking the mixture of your combined cum into his mouth and drinking the both of you down. It's so dirty. Filthy and utterly debauched, but it's so good, too. And you just hardly manage to glance down and observe him from the gap made between your outstretched arms, and you can't help but gasp when you find that he's already watching you. His eyes are shimmering with a deep satisfied copper and the dark of his irises have been eaten up by his pupils; now overblown with hunger and want. There's an intensity that leaves you so completely breathless and captivated.

Honestly, your body is already so hypersensitive that you aren't sure that you'll even be able to cum a second time, not on the back of your first orgasm at least. Not so close together. But you don't even really care if you do or not. He looks so beautiful between your legs. His expression is drunk almost, a little blissed out and glazed over.

It takes you a moment to even recognize it through the satin smoke and fog covering your own mind, but you can see past the view of your own body and his head that his hips have begun to thrust against the mattress, moving his cock against the bed sheets and covers in an attempt to achieve his own pleasure. The sight alone has liquid heat cascading down your spine and humming between your legs, making your clit throb underneath the perfect lashing of his tongue.

It's all so desperate and charged, you can practically taste the atmosphere sizzling at your skin like something electric and alive. You can feel the dampness of tears beginning to trickle down past your water line, from the overstimulation or the sheer gravity of the pleasure taking over your body, you aren't entirely certain. And then he's removing the hand that had been gripped around one of your thighs so that he can slip a finger into the entrance of your cunt, groaning when you clench around him wildly and cry out from the overwhelming sense of torturous ecstasy. Your eyes roll, mouth dropping open in a silent sob and then you can feel it again, prickling at your toes and scattering over your skin. You were wrong. So, so wrong. He's going to make you cum again.

It's hurtling towards you with a speed that's jarring, threating to eat you up and leave bare bones behind. And you want it. A part of you wishes that he would just use you up until there's nothing left. It has you chasing the ceaseless curl of his finger, and gasping out when he slips a second in alongside the other, shoving you that much closer to the edge with the stretch. "Oh, God, " you whine in a jagged whisper. "You're gonna make me cum."

He moans against you heavily, sparking electricity over you with the ripple of his voice. You let one of your hands move from his hair, using it to prop yourself up, ignoring the way that the muscles in your arm tremor and shake with the exertion, but you can't find it in yourself to give in, not while you're completely enraptured in the way that his hips continue to steadily grind into the bed. His breath is snags with each inhale, frayed and bordering on a whine with each grind as he pleasures himself on the mattress, desperately seeking out his bliss. It has your body locking up tight, and that's the only warning that you get when you're absolutely blindsided by your orgasm. It isn't as searing or all-consuming as your first, your body already too sensitive and worked to give much, but that doesn't make it any less euphoric.

It has you thrusting yourself against his face, using his nose to prolong the molten heat simmering throughout your veins, and then his mouth cradles around your clit, sucking at the tender nerves until your jerking against him and sobbing. The fingers that you still have in his hair clinch tight when you drop back against the bed in a useless heap, losing yourself to the sensations spreading over you and burning you alive.

He laps at you a few more times, cleaning up the taste of you on his tongue and moving away only when you start to shift your hips in an attempt to get some reprieve from the stimulation. For a moment you dangle within that in between of consciousness and unconsciousness, simply existing without a thought. It's just that sugared, voltaic thrum coursing over every inch of you, making you hazy. But then you hear it. The sound of his labored, breathless breathing and it has you perking up to look over at him from his place on the bed. He's readjusted himself, having shifted onto his knees, and he's taken himself in the hold of his own hand. Stroking his grip down his girth, using the cum that's smeared across the velvet skin of his cock to aid himself in his movement.

But what gets you the most is the way that he's watching you. Almost as though he's enthralled by how fucked out he's made you. Using the sight of how he's reduced you to a panting, boneless mess, to get off.

You have had trouble with making eye contact with partners in the past, having always found it too . . . invasive almost. Too embarrassing. But now you're meeting his stare head on. Unwavering, emboldened by your own lust. You collect yourself until you're shuffled closer and place yourself into a sitting position. His eyes are glued onto you the entire time, a heady anticipation burning within them that would have had you tempted to go for another round if your body wasn't already so spent.

He leans towards you, the both of you drifting close to each other's space but never touching, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, soaking against your skin. He's already close, the way that his eyebrows are furrowed has already become familiar. The low pitchy moans that are steadily pouring past the pout of his mouth are an obvious tell. And that desperate, starved look has clouded over his gaze again and he almost looks drunk, fogged over with pleasure while his hips chase after the warmth of his own hand. He groans when he squeezes the head of his cock while he strokes, pressing his thumb down over a vein that throbs across his shaft, and it makes his thrusts skip shakily before he's able to regain his rhythm.

A part of you wants to reach out and touch him, to bat his hand away and take over, to feel him pulse in your hand. But there's also something that's undeniably arousing about watching him greedily chase after his own release, too captivated to do much else other than just sit and admire. Quietly roving over how his chest rises and falls in an entrancing pattern, the sweat glittering on his forehead and how his thighs subtly clench with each upward stroke from his fist.

"Please, " he's suddenly gasping and it's so faint that you barely hear it. It has you leaning even closer until your noses brush and the scent of him is thick and heavy in your lungs. That pleading look in his eyes gives you a pretty good indication of what he wants, but you want to hear it from him directly.

"What is it?" You ask softly, moving yourself just a little bit closer until your knees are pressed against his.

His breath snags, lashes fluttering when he gives himself a particularly firm tug. "I want- " he swallows heavily, thrusting deep into his hand and temporarily distracting himself with his own bliss. "I want you to touch me. "

And as much as you just want to remain an observer, you can't deny his supplication. It has you reaching out to place your palm on his stomach, basking in the way that the muscles underneath jump in surprise from the contact, and something in his stare focuses just a bit, zeroing in on you through the haze with something that looks a lot like anticipation. You brush your fingertips over the spars happy trail the leads down to his groin, moving slowly to tempt. "Yeah? " You tease. "Your own hand not doing it for you?"

He shakes his head; panting. "No, " he answers, voice wavering before he nearly starts to chant. "Need yours. I want it, I want it -"

You hush him softy, brushing your lips over his and you can't help the coil of satisfaction that winds tight when he chases after the press of them. But you pull away, a little cruelly to be honest, before he could join his to your own. He almost whimpers at the loss but falls quiet as he watches you move across the mattress, slipping down past the edge of the bed until your knees settle on the floor. You nudge both of your hands on his thighs, and he silently listens to your request, shifting around until his legs are draped over the mattress and you're settled between them.

You're still resisting that urge to knock his first aside and take him in your own hold, but something tells you that with how wound up that he is he'd probably cum as soon he feels your fingers slipping around his length, and as hot as that'd be, you also don't want this to be over just yet. You want to drag this out just a little bit longer. You lean close enough to smell the salty musk of him, letting the low rush of your breath caress over his throbbing cock.

"Baby, come on," he pleads, still pumping his hand over himself, and it has another trickle of precum slipping over his knuckles. You gaze up at him through your eyelashes, a little coquette and sweet but the smug smile on your lips the exact opposite.

"You're going to jerk yourself off," you say, firmly but not without affection and you can tell that he wants to argue with the way that his face twists into something petulant. "And you aren't going to stop until you cum in my mouth."

Whatever bratty quip he had at the ready seems to die on his tongue. He swallows heavily, adjusting his feet on the floor so that he's able to get the leverage to thrust up into his hand with a new vigor. And yeah, he definitely isn't going to last much longer at all. Not at how passionately he going at it. And even with sweat and saliva and cum smeared across your skin, and the rush of oxytocin still thrumming around in your system and your muscles lax and warm from your previous orgasms, reality is finally settling over you. That you really are here in Farleigh's room, sat up on the floor with the Persian rug underneath your legs doing little to dull the sting in your knees while he jerks himself off just a few scant inches from your mouth. But your confession hangs heavy over the atmosphere - his too - dulcet and balmy like the summer weather outside.

It has that consuming, fuzzy sensation back and glowing within your chest, even with the lewd sound of his cum soaked grip and hitched panting filling the air. It's utterly filthy and yet, it's completely intimate and gentle. It all bubbles up inside of your chest, puffing all of the endearment and devotion upwards until it takes shape into the three little words; the ones that have been already spoken several times tonight, but that didn't make them any less felt. Any less true. "I love you." You all but whisper. You aren't sure if it's the statement itself or if maybe there was a certain expression of your face, but something seems to push him all that closer to his release. It makes him groan, ragged and a little gutted while his hips stutter.

You run both of your hands up his thighs, letting him feel the warmth of your skin on his and it makes his eyelashes flutter, mouth dropping open. "Baby - I'm - "

"Do it, " you say, leaning closer until your bottom lip smears against the leaking head of his cock. "I want to taste you."

And then you're suddenly gripping onto his erection, taking ahold of him right above his own hand in a firm, smooth grip. That seems to be enough to finally push him over the edge because he's punching his hips up into both of your fists a couple more times, hurtling himself into his orgasm with a long grunt of your name. His abdomen clenches, toes curling, and his balls draw up tight. But his vison doesn't stray from you for a single second, keeping his eyes fixed to you while he watches you with rapt attention when you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out and up against the head of his cock just in time to collect the cum that spurts from it. He gasps out a string of frayed curses, a few strained "oh, fuck's" and a low call of your name while you squeeze his length a couple more times, dragging out the waves of his pleasure even when his own grip slacken around his girth. You only let him go before it tetters on the edge of being too much, obediently settling your palm back onto his thigh.

"Swallow," he commands shakily, admiring the opaque fluid still collected on your tongue with a filthy kind of fascination. You don't deny him, closing your mouth and tilting your head back so that he can see the way that your throat bobs when your drink down his release, savoring the taste of the earthy salt of him.

He doesn't even bother catching his breath. He's leaning down and gripping your forearms to help haul you up onto your feet and back against his body until you're both falling back onto the security of the mattress. You can't fight off the delicate, twinkling laugh that leaves your chest when he rolls you onto your back, showering your face with quick but loving kisses. You wrap your legs around his hips to draw him closer, eager to feel him against your body, to soak in his warmth and scent. And that's how the both of you stay, idlily skimming your fingertips over each other's skin and pressing your lips to whatever places that you can reach, scattering them over the others neck and the apples of both of your cheeks. It's almost disgustingly sweet, so much so that you feel as though you might choke on it.

But honestly, that might also be from the muggy heat that still clings over the room, sitting on your skin like a layer of steam. Even the breeze from the open window and the steady current coming from the oscillating fan that's chugging along in the corner, spitting out air from the rotating head, does little to help chase out the stifling warmth. It has you groaning into his chest, a little annoyed. "This heat is awful," you complain.

"If you think today was bad then you're going to be psyched about tomorrow. It's supposed to be worse." He says, drawing shapes on the back of your shoulder.

The news nearly makes you sob. "Why don't they get an A/C?"

"Some bullshit about it damaging the house," he replies. And admittedly, you can recall James mentioning something about that in the past. And he had gone into an explanation about it possibly warping the flooring or causing corrosion and wood rot. "But they've got one in their bedroom."

You fucking knew it, but the admission still makes you bristle, propping yourself up enough to look down from his place against the pillows. "You're kidding."

He shakes his head, eyebrows perking in a way that tells you he's just as exasperated about it as you are. Even more so, considering that he's here at Saltburn more than he's back in the States, and is left to deal with the sweltering weather on a semi regular basis. "Nope," he sighs.

You let your head rest back on his chest, finding comfort in the sound of his heartbeat steadily thrumming underneath your ear. You hum lowly, trying to settle but the sweat prickling at your skin suddenly feels awful and disgusting. "We should go swimming again," you propose. Right now, the idea of the cool water lapping against your skin sounds like absolute heaven.

"Skinny dipping," he supplies quickly, humor melting over his words, but that doesn't make the offer any less true.

"What about Venetia? Doesn't she usually go for her little walks on the grounds around this time?" You ask, absentmindedly playing with one of the curls close to the nape of his neck.

"So? You see each other naked in the field all the time," he responds. You can't exactly argue with that logic. You've probably seen her and even Felix bare more times than you can count on your fingers, so if she were stumble across the two of you it really wouldn't be all that shocking. "And Duncan? I've seen him out this late more than once."

Farleigh scoffs, tilting his head down to peer at you from your place settled over him. "He's probably up in the attic, jerking off to some porcelain dolls or something."

"You're such an ass, " you say, even with a smile nudging at the corners of your lips. He's quick to return your amusement, a light chuckle bubbling from his lungs, racking your body with small tremors.

"You like it." He smirks, nose wrinkling a bit with his mirth. "It keeps you on your toes."

You can refute that. Not even if you wanted to. You nuzzle against him instead, planting a kiss onto his cheek before lifting yourself up from the comfort of his body, swinging yourself onto the floor. His eyes track you while you search for your discarded sleep shorts, and you pluck them from their crumbled-up state near the base of the fan with a small 'ah-hah!' And when you turn around towards the bed, you've noticed that he's sat himself up now, observing you with his head slightly tilted and some indiscernible glint in his eyes, but it's soft and undeniably fond.

"What?" You ask as you slip your feet into your shorts, slipping them up until they're hanging from your hips.

"Just watching," he answers.

You glance away from him long enough to snatch a shirt from near your feet, and gauging from the familiar scent of vanilla and amber and the sight of the familiar sunny yellow words, it seems to be his, the same one that he had been wearing earlier. But you don't let it stop you from pulling it past your head and slipping your arms through the short sleeves until the fabric is draped over your body. It feels good against your skin, like it belongs there, and the pleased expression on his face tells you that he's enjoying the sight of you in his shirt. And the moment that's slipped over this little private space between the both of you feels so profound and mellow. But you find yourself stepping backwards towards the door, knowing that even if you leave the comfort of the room now that you have no reason to fear that this little bit of safety and adoration that's been built between the both of you won't shift or leave. That it'll always be there.

He tracks your movement, eyebrows raising in a silent question as you cross the floor without turning, placing your hand on the knob.

"I'll race you there," you announce before twisting the door open to slip out from the threshold.

You see the realization slip onto his face as you dart out into the hallway, the shouted sound of your name following after you as he scrambles to collect himself from the surface of the bed. "That's not fair!" He calls after you, but you're too busy padding down the hall with laughter bubbling up from within you to shoot anything back at him, determined to reach the pond before he does.

It looks like you'll survive the summer after all.

#farleigh start x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh start #farleigh start smut #farleigh saltburn #saltburn #saltburn x reader #saltburn fanfiction #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh x you

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chososdiscordkitten · 4 months

Text

Good Boy.

MDNI

Pairing: Sub!Choso x GN!reader Content: SOFT DOM!reader, no plot, just filth, watching porn together (?), use of a vibrator, no penetrative sex, hand job, lube, PRAISE, conditioning(?), readers a lil mean, use of good boy, pup.........ect. multiple orgasms,...power play...., light Bondage (leather cuffs), use of mommy is HINTED, a sprinkle of Sadism, male squirting (?), AFTERCARE!!! Word Count: 4.4k

(a.n) I just about went insane writing this. and I over indulged- a lil too much in this one. (／≧ω＼)

What he sounds like: twt link

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You and Choso had started this routine before sex- wanting him to fully explore what he liked and what he didn’t like. When there was time, you put your laptop between you and him, fully clothed- and watched porn. Not for any other purpose but for research. You found it easier to show him certain kinks and acts rather than explain it with your words. Oftentimes leaving you both with furrowed eyebrows and tilted heads not knowing how people find interest in what was being shown.

At first this little act before sex was awkward- sure. Oftentimes squirming next to each other when you both found something intriguing, flashing your eyes over to him to see if he saw attraction in it as well. But with time, this became more like studying- preferring to watch it together than watching it alone. Finding humor when there'd be horrible acting, sometimes repeating the corny scripts while making out for a laugh.

But tonight, you had clicked on one video. It was 10 minutes long, but the first few seconds caught both of your attention. On the screen of your laptop, a man laid on his back. Cock in the air as an exploratory hand came onto screen, carefully grasping onto the base to hold it still. The head of a vibrator coming onto the screen, you side eyed Choso- seeing his adam's apple bob harshly. Looking back to the screen when you heard a quiet whirr start to come from the vibrator. Inhaling when you saw the vibrator circle the tip of the man's cock.

Usually around the 5 minute mark one of you would speak up- saying a comment to indicate if it was a yes or a no. But you both watched in silence as the man on the screen came, over and over again from the vibrations forced on his tip. When the video neared its end, you clicked pause on the screen, looking over at Choso who was trying to cover the growing bulge in his sweats. “You-” he started, looking into your eyes with parted lips and blushed cheeks.

“You have one of those… Don't you?” he asked, breath caught in his chest as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. You nodded your head, making him inhale sharply.

“Do you-” your breath hitched, ears burning red from the question forming on the tip of your tongue. “Want me to do that- to you?” the corner of your lips curled into a smile.

Seeing him shyly blush ‘yes’ at your question. You hummed quietly, reaching your hand over and closing the laptop.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, leaning down to his ear and feeling him squirm beneath you. “Take your clothes off.” You urged quietly with a smile, placing a small kiss to the shell of his ear before leaning over the edge of the bed, hand trying to reach the box that held what you were looking for.

Hearing hasty shuffling as you reached into the box, a triumphant ‘aha’ leaving your lips as you turned around to see Choso in his briefs. You thought of chastising him for it- but instead you used it to your advantage.

You hummed contently, placing the wireless wand onto the sheets. Looking over his body, making him writhe by feeling your heavy gaze. Taking an inhale, placing your hand to his chest lightly, tracing it down to his torso. Leaning down- noses brushing against each other as you smiled.

“God you're a treasure.” you hummed against his lips, hand trailing down his abs and grazing the band of his bothersome briefs. Choso hummed at your praise, cock dribbling in his bottoms as your fingertips threatened to push past the band.

Pressing an opened mouth kiss to his expectant lips, smiling against him as the palm of your hand brushed against his clothed cock. Pulling away from him and smiling as you caressed him slowly through the thin fabric of his briefs.

“You're already this hard for me?” you hummed contently. Hearing a shuddering exhale leave his lips as the corner of his lip perked up,

“Mhm, just for you.” he exhaled, pressing his lips up to yours with a groan vibrating against you, tongue slipping past your lips with an over excited whimper.

Pulling away from his lips with a playful tsk, placing your other hand on his bare chest. Holding him down lightly as you looked down at him, nodding your head ‘no’ with a smile.

“Impatient aren't you?” You teased, brushing your thumb over the forming wet spot on his briefs. A small huff leaving his lips at the gentle sensation, bucking up into your hand as you smiled. Choso furrowed his eyebrows, reaching for your wrist.

“Hurry-” he huffed making you smile at him sinisterly.

“The best part is in the anticipation-” you lectured, trying to pull your wrist from his grasp only for him to tighten it- Pulling you close to him again, breathing the same air as a smile crept onto his gasping lips.

“I disagree.” he hummed, making you quicken the small circles you were making on his clothed tip. Causing him to gasp, releasing your wrist and planting it back onto his chest.

“I think you're just too eager Cho~” you hummed, seeing him close his eyes as you pulled your hand from his briefs. Taking the hand on his chest and going to pull his cock from the strained briefs.

Making him purse his lips with a sharp inhale, cock standing at attention, ‘just for you’ as he said. Crying silent tears as you smiled, taking the tip of your pointer finger, looking from his pained cock to his expression that tried hiding how excited he was.

“I'll make you a deal.” you cooed, hearing a choked whine leave Choso’s lips as your finger made light circles on his tip. Leaning down and pressing your lips to his ear, “Be a good boy and I'll be extra nice to you-” you whispered in his ear, making him shut his eyes.

“How's that sound hm?” you asked, already knowing his answer from his soft pants.

“I'm always good-” he gulped, feeling your tongue lick a long stripe on the shell of his ear, you smiled with a huff against him.

“That's what I'm hoping for.” you hummed, pulling your finger from his tip and trailing it down his shaft. Making a light trail of his precum down the skin. Feeling his cock twitch against your fingertip.

Trailing gentle kisses from his ear to the side of his neck. Softly wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, making him let out a struggled whimper.

Choso’s hips involuntarily bucked up to your hand when you tighten your grip, “Be good.” You hummed against his collar bones, soft goosebumps forming on his arms.

“I’m-” he huffed, feeling your hand halt its movements, “I’m trying-” he defended with a whine, making you let out a soft giggle, looking at his hands unknowing where to grip, clutching tightly on the sheets as you continued dragging your hand up his shaft as slow as you could. Hoping he'd lose his patience and you'd get to punish him if you kept going.

Feeling the sleeve of your shirt start to bother your slow movements, you pull away from Choso quickly. Making him let out a defeated whine in your absence, slipping your top off and seeing his eyes crack open, scanning your bare chest.

Mentally asking you to take your bottoms off too and forget this tedious scene. Only for his lips to part in amazement as you pulled your cupped hand to your mouth, gathering the saliva you could and spitting it onto your palm, reaching down to his cock and grasping it in your hand.

Taking a quicker pace as you stroked him, looking down at his desperate expression. A small smile forming on your lips at how worked up Choso got from a few touches, closing his lips tightly.

Trying his best to contain the whimpers that made an embarrassing blush form on his ears. Furrowing your eyebrows at his denial of letting you hear his pretty sounds, you licked your lips before quickening your hand, rolling your palm around his cockhead as he inhaled sharply.

A small tsk leaving your tongue “Lemme hear you pretty boy~” you cooed, making his nose crinkle at the pet name. With a small gasp you felt his cock pulse in your hand, knowing how much he liked your praises.

With one more roll over from your palm, he let out a strangled moan from deep in his chest. Making you grin at his obedience, cracking his eyes and looking up at you, mouthing a soundless- ‘can I cum?’ as your hand sped up.

You smiled, looking into Choso’s big eyes, struggling to hold himself at that edge waiting for you to say the words- his bottom lip pouting as you watched him writhe. Needing to hear the words you had conditioned him to hear anytime he wanted to cum.

His hands balled into fists with the sheets clutched between them, cock twitching from ignoring his question. You smiled seeing his hips start to shudder from your grasp, “Go ahead.�� you smiled with a huff, hearing him let out a soft whine at your words, your hand stroking his shaft faster. Choso’s eyes fluttered shut- hips lifting from the sheets as his body trembled in your hands. “There you go~” you hummed. With one hearty groan, his tip started dribbling small pumps of thick cream colored tears. His chest panting softly, feeling your thumb caress his frenulum. “Wait-” he gasped, taking his hands from the sheets and going to stop your wrist from continuing. Looking up at your unimpressed expression, “Just-” he huffed, shaky hands holding onto your halted wrist. “Just one second-” closing his eyes and relaxing back into the pillows. Trying to catch his breath as you pulled your hand from his cock.

Hearing him settle his breathing, and look up to you. Smearing an overly sweet smile onto your lips as you looked at him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his temple. “If you can't keep your hands to yourself I'll tie you up.” You smiled, making his eyes flutter closed, mumbling a quiet ‘okay.’ in defeat.

Guiding him to sit up a little more, cock twitching as it awaited your hand again. “Where do you want me?” you asked sweetly, giving him a single thing to control. Choso looked at you with soft eyes, blinking them back to the discarded wand you had left on your side of the bed. “Up here- with me.” he whispered, not wanting to sound demanding, knitted eyebrows knowing you'd be crueler if you couldn't see his face up close. You hummed a quiet response, taking your free hand and pushing a few strands of hair from his forehead.

“One more with my hand then i'll use the wand, kay?” you cooed against his skin, looking at him sweetly as he nodded.

With a small sigh from Choso’s parted lips, you pressed your hand to his cock again, starting slowly to drag this out as much as you could. Wrapping your other arm around his head, laying your palm flat on his temple as you stroked his cock with the other. Smiling as you felt his head ease onto your chest with a sigh.

His eyes closed as he felt your gentle hand twist over his cockhead, with a shudder he parted his lips, “F-feels so so good-” Choso moaned with a hic, making warmth pool in your tummy. He placed his palm onto your knee and pressed his fingers against your skin.

Planting a light kiss to his ear, “I know sweet boy, I know~” you crooned, making a tingle rush to his cheeks. Slightly twisting your wrist on the upturn as his hand started gripping harder into your skin.

A throaty whine left his lips as you quickened your pace, making sure not to work his tip too much so he wouldn't start squirming. “You wanna cum for me again baby?” you hummed, seeing his blushed chest start to heave and his cock pump out a fresh string of precum at your words.

A choked ‘Mhm-’ from his lips as you tightened your grip on his shaft, a few firm strokes on his cock was all it took for the tips of Choso’s fingers to turn white against your skin.

Making sure to keep his head nuzzled close to your chest as he let out a drawn out groan, “I’m- I’m close-” he muttered in the shape of a whimper, you huffed a breath against his ear with a smile.

“Go on then~” you premissed, watching intently as your hand twisted around his tip- with a shuddering inhale his abdomen flexed. Exhaling as his hot seed cried from his reddening tip.

Your hand unwilling to halt its movements as Choso tried his best to keep his hands to himself. Though there wasn't as much of it as the first time- his seed was still thick, burning with adoration as you kept your pace on his shaft. Back arched and spasming, shameless moans and whines pulled from his chest as you thumbed the edge of his tip.

Pulling your hand from his jumping cock with a content hum, looking at his expression with an endearing smile. Pressing a tender kiss to his damp forehead, hearing him let out a hum at your softness.

Slowly shifting from his side, Choso slumped against the wall as you shifted to rest your bottom on the back of your calves. Holding the wand in hand as you scanned the sight before you. Trembling lips as he caught his breath, beautiful blushed cheeks and trailing droplets of sweat. You hummed contently at how you left him from just two orgasms, excited to see how he'd take being over-stimulated.

“Ready pup?” you hummed, making Choso’s eyes flutter open and his cock to ooze a clear tear at the name. Only nodding his head up and down limply with an inhale. The feigned sweet smile plastered on your face let Choso know that your patience was wearing thin. He saw it in your depraved eyes.

He gulped harshly when he heard the low vibrations from the wand, holding it in your hand. Placing the palm that was previously on his cock back onto his shaft.

With a wince from his lips you gave him a few shallow pumps, inching the silicone wand closer and closer to his member. Pressing it lightly onto his base to start, earning a small huff from his lips at the light sensation. Trailing it up the bottom of his oozing cock slowly, your lips parting in a small ‘o’ at how pretty the wand looked pushed up against his cock.

“It’s not so bad now is it?” you crooned, Choso looked at your entertained expression with a pout.

Flashing your eyes to look at him as you rolled the edge of the wand head against his tip, mouthing the words again, ‘Is it?’ making Choso bob his head up and down, “Use your words.” your tone dropped into a demand.

“No- no.” he breathed, feeling you trail the wand back down his shaft slowly, “It's-” he huffed, “It’s actually nice-” he gave you a half smile. Placing his hand back onto your knee and caressing it gently with his thumb.

Holding your thumb on the button that accelerated the speed, seeing his eyes blink shut softly at the gentle vibration. With no warning you clicked the button. Hearing a louder whirr from the wand in your hand. Choso involuntarily bucked his hips up, making the toy brush against the v formed beneath his cock head.

A choked whimper fled from his throat, easing his hips down in hopes to relax. Not wanting to see if you were being serious when you said you'd tie him up.

Balling his hands into fists to keep from pushing the toy away, but Choso’s hips didn’t listen to his own thoughts. Biting his bottom lip with hot tears brimming in his eyes, trying his very best to focus on not cumming so soon- but all it took was a breathless “Doin’ so good for me-” with an upturn of your voice, not being able to see it but he knew you were smiling.

Thick trembling thighs as you held the edge of the wand to his purpling tip, this time he didn't even show signs that he was close.

Without warning his cock spurt out a good 3 pumps of clearer cum- lips parting in a silent whine as his hips aimlessly bucked up, knuckles turning white from how hard he was digging his fingers into his palms. Moving the wand in small circles on his tip.

Choso’s fists threatened to unball and pull the toy from his oozing cock. He cracked his eyes open, feeling the hand that you planted at his base to keep his cock still applying pressure. He looked at you in hopes his whimpers would be enough to convince you to pull the toy from his tip.

They weren't.

He knew it the second you flashed your stern eyes to his face. Knowing his fists were close to unballing, “I don't want to have to tell you again Choso.” you clarified in an unforgiving tone, all but reading what he was thinking.

Choso closed his lips, a hum with the sound of an ‘m’ threatening to form the pet name he only used to win you over.

He inhaled sharply as you pressed the toy firmer onto his tip. Eyes clenched tightly as he pinched his eyebrows together, with a frustrated whine his hands extended, pushing your wrist away from his cock without thinking.

Cracking his eyes open not feeling the vibrations torture his cock anymore.

Trembling lips stuttering to find the words to say- seeing the last of the patience you held for him dissolve in your eyes.

“M’sorry!” he huffed, releasing your wrist. “M’sorry I won't do- won't do it again-” he swore, worried eyes scanning your expression. You looked at him- forming sweet smile on your lips giving him hope that you'd forgive him- “I'll be good from now on-” he huffed, “I promise.”

But the darkness in your eyes showed him you were serious about what you threatened earlier. Placing the toy callously on the bed, not caring if it dirtied the sheets.

Leaning over to his face, taking the hand that held the toy to his warm cheek, thumb brushing away the tear that fell from his eye. “S’okay,” you assured quietly, pressing a quick kiss to his plump lips. “It's okay.” Shifting your knees back, standing from the bed calmly as his eyes followed you. Reaching into a drawer, calmly searching for the tool you've been itching to use. Choso gulped watching the aura around you turn dark, hearing the clink of metal in your hands as you turned around.

Worried eyes looking at the black leather cuffs in your hands. If you weren't a lil sadistic, you would've put them on him since the start, knowing he has grabby hands and a tendency to squirm.

You kneeled back on the bed, looking at him softly, your expression a firm contrast to the aura you had around you. Choso swallowed harshly, accepting the punishment you inflicted on him.

“Take your briefs off.” you demanded, and he did as you asked. Not wanting to push you further.

Back flush against the wall, cock leaking from the sight of you holding those cuffs like a crazed person. Choso looked away from you, shaming himself as he reached his wrists out to you. Obedient as he was- this was needed.

Choso held out soft fists as his wrists rubbed against each other. “Awe-” you let out a tsk, “Don’t pout Choso-” you cooed, buckling a wrist into the snug cuffs, making him avert his eyes from your quick working hands.

Tugging the strap to make sure he wouldn't be able to remove them, the short chain making you grin. With a forceful tug you pulled him close to your face, “Your cock is telling me how much you like this.” You whispered, making his blush deepen and his pupils to dilate even further.

Shimmying out of your own bottoms that had been bothering you since the start, his eyes followed your movements. Trying to figure out what followed next. When he met your gaze, he dropped his head, looking down at the mess of his leaky cock that betrayed him by telling you how he really felt.

You looked over at the discarded wand, knowing this wand business would be fruitless. Looking at his cock for a solid second as you thought of how to fully overstimulate him.

Choso didn't like that you were taking a second to think. He didn't want to imagine what you were conjuring up in that pretty little head on your shoulders. With a smug smile you reached into your nightstand, reaching the small bottle of lube that you knew would do the trick.

Holding it in your hand as you kneeled above his thighs, looking down to his fearsome expression that made the sadist part of your brain itch.

“You love me Choso?” you smiled, eyes soft as you coaxed a soft huff from his chest.

“With everything I have.” He looked up at you with sparkling eyes, pouting lip showing you just how much he meant it. Easing down his thighs as your bottom pressed against them.

Now straddling his lower thighs, to fix that little squirming problem. Straightening your back as you cracked open the lid of the lube, “You're always so sweet to me.” you smiled, Choso’s eyes followed your hands, squeezing a plentiful amount of the slippery substance onto your cupped hand.

Choso made sure to listen to your tone, “Even if I'm a little mean to you,” a toothy grin on your lips, almost in disbelief.

His hands were placed softly on his tummy, the short chain clinking as he tried to hold his hands back.

Pressing your slick hand onto his cock, seeing him squirm from the sudden sopping liquid that leaked down his shaft, he let out an appeased huff from his chest. Feeling your hand give him a few gripping strokes, “You like me even if I'm mean?” your tone sounded pleased with the state you put him in.

The question sounded irrelevant to him, if he could think straight he would've asked himself ‘how is that even a question?’ but at the moment Choso trying to focus on the wet squelches that invaded his ears.

You gave his shaft a few firm strokes, waiting for him to answer. “Yes-” he breathed, “I lo-” your palm brushed over his tip quickly making him let out a high pitched whimper, “I love y-you even if-” he tried his very best to form the unfiltered sentences that oozed straight from his heart.

“Even if your m-mean.” He finished, making you let out a pitied ‘awee.’ slowly tightening your grip on his lathered cock as his moans became clearer.

“My sweet boy.” you enunciated the pet name he all but cried for. “I think you like when I'm a little mean.” you whispered, brushing the ridges of your cupped fingers over his tip as the cuffs clinked at his lowering wrists.

His thighs trembled beneath you, his shivering lips that spewed out whimpers and whines mouthed one thing that made your cheeks tingle, ‘I do-’ and with those two words, you felt merciful, no longer wanting to tease him, you cupped the head of his cock, loud squelches coming from your hand as you swished your palm on his cockhead.

He did a good job in keeping his hands to himself, inching them further up his chest as various throaty groans left his lips.

“There you go~” You smiled, “Good boy.” you cooed, Choso’s bottom lip quivered. Threatening to curl into a smile at your praise, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Pride swelling in his chest knowing you were pleased with his restraint.

A whine huffed out of his mouth when you quickened your palm, the warmth from your ass making it very hard to concentrate.

His shoulders shuddered, mouth opening with a jagged exhale. “F-fuck-” he practically forced from his throat, throwing his head back as you worked his poor tip.

The corner of your lips curling into a cruel smile as his back started arching. Hips trying their best to not move below you. Only for your hand to refuse his soft pleads, unknowing what he himself was asking for. ‘pleasepleaseplease’ The back of his head tilted onto the soft pillows, mouth hung open in a silent moan as his lower body started bucking up.

“S’okay sweet boy-” You cooed, knowing he was waiting to hear the special words, “Cum.” you spewed, seeing his pearly teeth tug his bottom lip between them and squeeze.

“Cum for me Choso.” You huffed with an entertained smile, making his cock to twitch in your palm. With a loud groan his cock gave you a few spurts of clear liquid.

Sloshing against the copious amount of lube you had purposefully used. Your hand was persistent- not even working him through his orgasm. If anything, immediately pushing him to the next one.

He muttered various pleads of ‘wait-’ and a slew of jumbled words, but you could only make out one, ‘please.’ If you thought he could take it- you’d tease him with a sly ‘That doesn't sound like a safe word.’

Only for those pleas to go into one ear and out the other, smiling happily at his chest heaving and his hips trying. Trying to escape your ruthless hand, the other planted on his lower abdomen firmly, ready to push off any attempts at pulling your hand away again.

You admired your work with an adoring smile, seeing the tears spill from his closed eyes and his hips moving recklessly. Face scrunched together as he used every effort to not call you the name that was on the tip of his tongue.

Working your fingers to the ridge of his cockhead, not wanting him to get used to the circles you made on his tip. Your thumb moving up and down gently on his frenulum. Giving him a brief second to catch his breath.

Only for your trailing thumb to reach over and rub harsh circles on his tip. His body started spasming, not being able to feel it- but his shut eyes and bucking hips told you he reached that pinnacle once more, kindly gifting you another with knitted eyebrows.

Turning your fist over his tip, wrist flipped over as you slowly pumped him. Choso’s knees bent quickly, pushing your ass up along with them, now inches away from his expression.

Being able to feel the heat radiating from his searing skin soak into yours, “If you wanted a kiss you just had to ask~” you hummed, firming your grip on his tip, leaning in and pressing your parted lips to his. The lube descending down his shaft, making a mess of his emptying balls and the sheets below him.

Giving his all trying to kiss you back, tongue in his mouth slotting against yours sloppily as you hummed. His whimpers spilling onto your tongue as he took heavy breaths from his nose. Pulling away from him as your palm cupped around his tip once more, looking up close at the expression you fought tooth and nail to see.

You couldn't help but smile, “Just one more-” you demanded, “I know you can do it for me.” your tone was more urging, making him buck his hips up- almost simulating he was fucking into you.

His bound hands started reaching for your wrist weakly, so very close to the point you were getting him to.

Only for his bound shaky hands to press atop the hand you held on his tummy, assuring you that what you were doing wasn't a cruel punishment.

With one throaty groan, his wet eyelashes opened, looking into your eyes as he inhaled a heavy breath. His cock twitching violently in your palm, feeling the last orgasm he could muster drip out of his overworked tip into your slowing hand.

Panting softly as you pressed your lips to his again, being able to feel his heartbeat pumping against your chest, planting a gentle kiss to the side of his lips.

His eyes fluttering shut as your hand pulled from his cock, trailing kisses on the side of his face, placing a lasting one on his side burn. “You did so well-” you smiled softly, earning a mindless hum from his closed lips.

“M’so proud of you Choso.” you cooed into his ear, making goosebumps form on his arms from the praise.

Straightening your back and looking down to the mess you made of him, hazy eyes looking back up at you, his skin dropping in temperature little by little. Shifting off of his limp thighs and untucking a clean edge of the sheets, placing it on him as he eased himself up to sit up.

“How're you feeling, hm?” making sure to keep a soft tone, his lips curled into a warm smile, nodding his head weakly “M’okay.” you hummed at his response. Leaning over slightly and placing a kiss onto his forehead, seeing him ease back into the wall with a blissful expression. “Hands please.” you smiled, seeing his cheeks blush at the reminder of the cuffs. Hesitatingly he raised his wrists, watching your hands slowly undo the silver buckles. Scanning his wrists and seeing there weren't any marks. In the moment he expected to see light indents but his skin was as untouched as you meant it to be. “I'll get you some water okay?” You whispered, placing the cuffs onto the sheets with the discarded wand and easing off the bed with a spring in your step as Choso mumbled a small ‘okay’.

Stopping at the bathroom quickly, plugging the bathtub drain and turning the knobs, pouring a tiny bit of foaming soap into the water, sitting on the ledge as you checked the temperature. Humming quietly as you walked into the kitchen and filled a glass of water. Walking back to the bedroom and seeing Choso waiting for you patiently, eyes lighting up when you walked through the door. Seeing his easing hand reach out to you, sitting on the edge of the bed as his hands clasped the glass and drank slowly.

Watching him intently, “Hows a bath sound?” You hummed, glimmering eyes blinking to look at you. Holding the glass in his hand as he leaned in to kiss you, welcoming him with soft hands on his shoulders.

Batting his eyes open to look at you gently, “Sounds really good.” he murmured, placing the glass on his nightstand as you eased off the edge of the bed.

Holding his hand as his wobbly legs stepped off of the bed, making sure to hold his hand tightly as he took an exploratory step, assuring himself he could walk.

A few stumbling steps before you reached the cold tile of the bathroom, hand in hand as you eased him into the tub. Seeing the bubbles engulf his lower half, crouching next to the white porcelain as you looked at his blissful expression.

“M’gonna clean up okay? I'll be quick.” you muttered, scanning his peaceful expression as his eyes closed, ‘mhm’ he hummed as he eased his shoulders into the rising water.

You tried to be quick, stripping the bed and throwing a few stray blankets from the closet onto it. Sitting bare on the bed as you cleaned the tools you were thankful for. Making sure to put them where they went before slipping off your panties and walking back into the bathroom, Choso looked like the epitome of peace.

Turning off the knobs of the bath and looking down at him, seeing him crack his eyes open and smile. Tilting your head and raising your eyebrows to get him to scooch forward, for him to comply. Stepping into the warm water and easing down behind him, feeling the ends of his wet hair press into your chest with a sigh.

Pressing your damp hand to his temple and a kiss to the back of his head, “I love you too.” you smiled, placing your hand onto the edge of the tub, only for his hand to follow. Caging the top of your knuckles with his as he clutched onto you tightly. Basking in the warm silence that hung in the air.

the cigarette I lit as a reward once I finished this was insane.

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