#in case anyone hasn't already seen these
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Via Jake Sherman's website (x)
#noah reid#adjustments live#adjustments#adjustments bts#jake sherman#in case anyone hasn't already seen these
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This article made me weep.
“Yeah, yeah. Cody was the big one. I love the idea of Obi-Wan having a buddy on Tatooine. Like a secret buddy. So like the first time he goes into town, you see, Cody, and he’s following him through the streets and attacks him, takes him into an alley with a knife to his throat and says, ‘You’re dead.’ And then you realize, ‘Oh, no… Cody’s making a point.’ Like, ‘Come on. You got to be more careful.’”
We coulda had it alllllll...
#Commander Cody#Obi-Wan Kenobi#Codywan#Obi-Wan show#Star Wars#yes I know people have definitely already posted this link before but I didn't know about it till yesterday#so in case anyone else still hasn't seen it#sobbing#I enjoyed the Obi-Wan show I did#but this#this would have absolutely taken my heart
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Welcome... to the SHADOWS
The Knight Umpire has sent me to the shadows. Currently I am unable to message anyone, can't look at my message inbox, can't comment on posts, can't @ anyone, and can't send asks. So if you've attempted to contact me and I haven't responded, it's not you!
The only way I can communicate with anyone on here right now is via reblogging posts, so, at least there's that. I can see your comments on my posts, and any tags or additions to posts you reblog from me as well. I can also receive and reply publicly to asks.
It's been about 3 weeks now since I sent a support ticket, and I've responded to my ticket once a week, but haven't heard anything back so who knows how long it will be before I am no longer in the shadows.
#I don't even know what my quest is#I don't hear any skittering or anything#I'm posting this to be able to pin it in case anyone hasn't already seen or figured out I'm shadow'd btw
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youtube
It's that time of year, folks
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After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.
Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.
Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.
By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.
When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.
Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.
Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.
Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.
For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.
Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.
That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!
So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.
People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.
Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."
They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.
Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.
#palestine#free palestine#gaza#free gaza#may allah protect them#may almighty allah see our pain#hopefully she'll message me tomorrow
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lost phineas and ferb episode where perry is called to investigate what dr doofenshmirtz is up to because carl the intern got ahold of some intel that doof has been seen speaking to lawyers and looking up the endangered species act at internet cafes and as major monogram says, "something fishy is going on"
meanwhile phineas and ferb's subplot of "i know what we're gonna do today!" is that isabella needs her environmentalist fireside girls badge so they start researching which species are in urgent need of help in the tri-state area so that they can use new cloning and gene therapy technologies to bring at-risk animals back from extinction
(yes there is a c-plot where buford and baljeet argue the ethics of this idea, i don't have time to explain it all for you rn)
we cut back to🎵doofenshmirtz evil incorporated🎵where we see perry carefully maneuvering around doofenshmirtz's lab scared he might fall into a trap but he hasn't set off a single booby trap and it's clear something is off
he runs into doofenshmirtz and goes to kick him in the gut action movie style but doof steps back one overly confident and says, "nuh uh uh, you see perry the platypus, you are TRAPPED! by the danville section of the endangered species act of 1973!"
doof goes on to explain his tragic backstory: "you see, perry the platypus, when i was a child my parents did not show up for my own birth! but you know that already, yadda yadda yadda they did not love me and then they loved roger more, ANYways i was raised by ocelots! i had a lovely foster mother who took me in and made me one of the pride, and so you see, perry the platypus, i am still legally considered an ocelot. did you know that there are only 50 recorded ocelots still alive in the continental united states? very sad for me as a member of a near-extinct species. it would be immoral for you to hurt someone critically endangered... in fact, you have made many attempts on my life this summer"
[montage of doof's security camera footage of their battles]
"which is why i have decided to bring you... TO COURT!" we cut back to phineas and ferb's back yard where they've decided to start cloning ocelots in their kiddie pool
candace storms outside enraged and says, "phineas and ferb are you cloning ocelots in my duckie momo kiddie pool!?"
ferb's one line of the episode is "well, i guess it's more of a kitty pool, now"
candace storms away saying, "i'm going to tell mom!" and isabella turns to phineas and says, "oh, does your mom have experience in wildlife conservation?"
we cut back to the doof and perry plotline where the two are now in the danville hall of justice and we learn that doof has spent his monthly alimony check on a defense lawyer and perry turns and sees the lawyer and then vanessa helping her organize her briefcase and perry chitters at her and vanessa shrugs and says, "i'm thinking about going into legal defense. sorry perry."
the rest of the doof and perry b-plot is spent in court and perry is about to ask for a public defense lawyer when carl runs into the room and explains that he's owca's official legal defense and perry looks at him like, "uhhh is that even allowed?"
it doesn't matter because apparently the judge is out sick today but because it's danville roger's the judge now because he's the mayor and everyone loves him.
the court case continues.
meanwhile phineas and ferb have successfully cloned multiple ocelots from the original ocelot dna they had on hand and isabella asks phineas if these clones will experience health problems like premature aging, phineas casually explains that ferb figured out the problem while they were experimenting with stem cell harvesting.
back in the courtroom, doof's ocelot foster mother has been brought to the stand along with an ocelot to english translator. doof gets emotional seeing her after so long. she says that he was one of her favorite child and he was as strong a hunter as anyone else in the family. it's incredibly sweet. the jury's in tears.
meanwhile, isabella has established connections with a group in texas who are going to release the ocelots back into their natural habitat and, using the cloned ocelots to prevent inbreeding, help establish an ocelot breeding program. the group explains that they are going to send a helicopter to retrieve the cloned ocelots from danville and bring them to texas soon.
isabella gets her fireside girls badge.
candace manages to get mom to see the backyard only after the ocelots have been helicoptered off to coastal texas, their primary habitat.
mom makes it into the backyard as phineas stares wistfully over the fence and says, "if you love something, you have to let it go." candace goes, "look mom look look look!" and points at the ducky momo kiddie pool, devoid of cloned ocelots, where baljeet and buford are now chilling out, having settled their philosophical debate about the ethics of animal cloning.
back in the courtroom drama, doof looks like he's about to win when an attendant walks into the courtroom and whispers something in roger's ear.
roger looks up, grinning, and says, "good news, everyone! my attendant here has just enlightened me that ocelots are no longer considered critically endangered!"
this settles the case, with perry being decreed not guilty and the entire affair being called off. the courtroom cheers, roger walks over to doof and personally congratulates him on his species' return from the brink of extinction.
doof shouts, "curse you endangered species classification system!" at the ceiling of the danville hall of justice.
perry arrives back home just in time for mom to say, "who wants pie?"
the end.
#cricket.chatterbox#phineas and ferb#pnf#dr doofenshmirtz#perry the platypus#phineas flynn#ferb fletcher#greatest hits
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Congratulations! It's Triplets. Part 3
@unadulteratedsoulsweets said:
In Congratulations! It's triplets! As much the entire thing is so wholesome I wanna see some bit of angst.
Imagine dis the entire family is out in public.Includes the Batfam, Jazz and the triplets for a huge family bonding activity. Some random person( a karen) commented on how Jazz is a teen mother, an irresponsible person, a whore... Etc (you know the usual comments of being a mother too young) and the Batfam reaches the conclusion that the Pit Rage transfers onto the kids as two of the triplets have already green glowing eyes with rage filling it by the second and ready to tackle/punch the person who made the comment but the last of the triplets have their other "siblings" by their collar but despite holding the two back they too have their eyes switching from blue to eery toxic green and was one second to join them to murder whomever bad mouthed Jazz
It's not that Jason didn't think that the Pit would only have repercussions in his life. He just always assumed it would only be his life.
He never considered the possibility that it would affect his offspring in any way. (Besides having a father that was completely mad in Pit Rage)
Maybe it was a pipe dream to think that or maybe it was just having hope that his messed up second life had already been hard enough so the universe was going to give him a break on this one.
The three small children currently growling at a reporter, eyes flashing in and out of green, told him that wasn't the case.
It had started off as a fun little day out. Jazz and the kids mainly kept to themselves in Wayne Manor. Bruce had housed them in the west Annex, a place usually only used when guests of high importance would stay in the Manor's history.
It came complete with its own kitchen, bathroom, sitting room, seven bedrooms, and three bathrooms. It even had its own entrance that usually stayed out of sight of the main gate- a compelling feature for Jazz, who didn't want her kids in the limelight until everything legal was settled.
The distance between the two buildings was one acre, giving the family of four the privacy they needed and keeping them close for Jason to get to know.
As far as Jason knew, Jazz had not revealed the father of her children to anyone.
As far as the world knew, Jazz had recently moved to temporary housing until her insurance could help her rebuild her house or, if she was at a total loss, find new housing.
Thankfully, no one thought it strange as they weren't the only ones displaced. Poison Ivy's latest Save the Earth stunt targeted overpopulated neighborhoods guilty of destroying the land to build upon (in her own words).
She returned the favor and broke down the buildings to give back to the Green. Never mind the people inside the buildings or the livelihoods she destroyed in progress.
Ivy had gone through five streets before the Bats stopped her and returned her to Arkham Asylum.
It's been a week since the incident. Jason hasn't seen much of his kids, not for the lack of trying, but it was hard to fit their schedules. The three were in school most of the day, and when they got out, Jason usually had to run to prepare his "nightly" job.
He couldn't just slack off- doing so would mean those scum bags that didn't directly work for Red Hood would think that they could get away with breaking his rules.
He had slowly been dividing his responsibilities among his men- drug dealing, weapon dealing, illegal car races, prostitution, and protecting kids and street workers- so that he could have one night off without worrying.
That didn't mean he didn't see his kids at all. Jason usually had two hours a day with them, where he tried his best to connect to his kids, but the triplets seemed weary of him.
He could tell they didn't feel comfortable with him invading their space, so he tried to stay outside the annex. As someone who worked a lot with street kids, he knew never to break the sense of safety their hiding holes were to them.
Instead, he decided to meet his children in the open space between the Annex and the Manor.
The four-five with Jazz casually reading on the Annex floating balcony. Jason pretended not to notice she was doing so to keep an eye on her kids- would sit down at the garden table to have an after-school snack, enjoying the multiple rose bushes nearly as tall as him that Alfred cared for.
It was always one of Jason's favorite Wayne gardens because it often made him think of magical castles with giant mazes and lovely scattered flowers.
He noticed that his eldest- Dan- might have felt the same, given how the boy would sometimes spread his arms and run through the rose bushes pathways. He even picks up sticks and plays knights against invisible enemies.
(Jason pretended he was a knight in these gardens when Bruce first took him in.)
Danny, his second, seems more interested in lying underneath the rose bushes and reading about the stars. If Gotham had clearer skies, he think his boy would be a cat napping in the sunlight and sitting around at night to glance at the starlights.
His daughter seemed even more adventurous than her brothers. She often would test Jazz's patience because she wandered away from the Annex garden to explore the others. Jason had seen her climb statues and trees to get a better viewpoint, marking whatever she saw on a little map.
He got a look at her map and felt his heart swell at the childish little drawings- Damian's painting corner in the east Garden was now "Artist Alley", the south garden had a dragon fountain so Dani had decided it was "Dragon Keep" and she had found the north floating balcony where Bruce liked to go practice his not so secret love of singing.
Dani had marked her map as "Siren's Side" with a cute little drawing of Bruce singing.
The more he learned about his three kids, the more Jason loved them.
Jazz wasn't kidding when she said she didn't mind him in their lives- she was just worried that he would try to take them, and with his money and connections, she wouldn't be able to stop him. Her worry bled into the three children, and with intelligent eyes that belied their five years of age, they would watch him with guarded caution.
The moment they would finish their snack, the three would make excuses to run off and do their own thing. Jazz would continue reading, but Jason wouldn't be a Bat if he didn't see the way she relaxed whenever the kids left the table.
It was rough....to want to be accepted by them but also understanding why a random man wanting a family connection would be difficult to establish.
That's why Jazz's suggestion that they all visit the zoo had been such a shock. She gave Jason a strained smile, but her eyes were soft. For a moment, Jason felt his heart skip a beat. "It would be nice for the kids to see the zoo with their...dad."
The five had headed to the zoo- with Bruce and the rest following behind in disguises because they are all nosy assholes. He had gotten so used to the clicking of Tim's camera- as his brother was over-excited to capture his nephews' and niece's first zoo outing- that he hadn't realized a second camera was following them.
They had just finished watching the penguins swim when Danny tugged on the leg of his pants. "Mr. Dad, sir. Can I tell you something?"
Jason's heart jumped. Is Danny starting to like him? Sure, he put Mr and Sir, but he called him Dad! Grining widely he kneed down to get to his level.
"What up, bud?"
Danny leaned in to whisper in his ear. "There is a man taking pictures of me in the bushes."
Usually, Jason would have told him something like, "Tim is weird, but he's harmless." However, he knew for a fact Tim was on the roof of the Penguin exhibit and that meant some random man was taking pictures of his kid.
Green bleeds into his vision slowly, and Danny jerks back, surprised by the sight. "Go with your mother-"
"Pervert in the bushes!" Dan's voice cuts Jason off. They both turn to the little five-year-old throwing stones into the surrounding bushes and a man stumbling out of them with a shout. "Pervert in the bushes"
Danny facepalms, which is not the reaction his son should have. How in the world did Dan even know the word pervert?
"Dan! What on earth are you doing!?" Jazz screams alarmed. She raced back, a tray with four ice cream cones in her hands, and Dani, not far behind, also carrying her own cone. The girls had gone to get some frozen treats for everyone not too long ago.
The man turns to her with a very familiar predatory glint in his eye. Shit, Jason knows who he is. He is a paparazzi and one of his kids called him dad in front of the stranger.
The man takes Jazz's picture, momentarily blinding her with the flash, before firing questions and taking more pictures of her reaction to each one, "Miss, are you the baby momma of Bruce Wayne? Or one of his many kids? How did it feel to be a mother so young? Were your intentions to get pregnant to have access to the Wayne Will? How much money did the Wyanes pay you for a night?"
What?
Jazz's eyes go wide, her face drained of blood, and she looks frozen in fear. "I don't-why would- I'm not!"
"Not a whore or not a gold digger?"
"Neither!" Her voice wabbles like she's about to break into tears.
Jason sees green. He is about to beat the disgusting pig to the ground but his children are faster. Dani races forward, little arm pulled back and throws her whole body into a jab at the paparazzi's manhood.
The man drops his camera in a wheeze. Dan smashes it with another stone, hitting the lens five times just to make sure it is broken and starts to advance at the man.
Dani is currently yelling at the top of her lungs, swearing, and punching the man with her belt buckle wrapped around her knuckles. It's satisfying to watch- his kids beating down a full-grown man with no training, just vicious righteousness to protect their mother.
That is, until Danny- the apparently more level-headed triplet pulls them both off by the back collar of their shirts. Jason sees it for the first time.
The kids eyes are glowing green.
Horror creeps into every part of his mind, and he doesn't even realize the creep is screaming about suing them or Tim and Bruce's fantastic entry to get a handle on the situation.
He is distantly aware of Steph and Cass, helping a silently crying Jazz walk away, and that Dick, Damian, Duke, and Harper form a protective circle around the kids, but it's Cullen that realizes Jason is frozen.
"Jason? Are you alright?"
No, he is not alright.
Pit's madness ruined his life. It left blanks in his memory. Left him lashing out and killing quickly. It makes him attack Tim and others. It made the child Jason used to be, feel sick and revolted.
It made it hard to look in the mirror and not be disgusted. It was everything that was wrong with him since the Joker took all his innocence away with his blasted crowbar.
Pit Madness is a curse that he has to live with sometimes where he claws at his own skin in a pathetic attempt to get away from it. But he could never escape its taunting whispers, its controlling green, or its presence sitting somewhere behind his eyes that turned him into a monster.
A curse he gave to his children.
He truly is Wills Tod's son, isn't he?
#dcxdpdabbles#dc x dp crossover#Warning: bits of self-hate#Paparazzi are scum#Jason trying to connect to the kids#The kids: You shall not succeed#Jazz thinks Jason is sweet#In a strange turn of events it's Danny the voice of reason among the triplets#Congratulations! It's Triplets#part 3#angst???
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>Simon doesn't go to clubs, yet he'd do anything for bimbo!reader, even if it's out of his comfort zone. Adding a small dialogue of Simon being painfully brit when drunk from this post because I still giggle about it ejhfehjb
“C'mere, baby.” Your bare feet make contact with the floor as you walk to your boyfriend, who's waiting for you on the couch, a pair of stiletto heels next to him. It's a routine you know too well, putting your feet on his lap before you even realize it while he massages your ankles, offering you a small smile.
“Make sure you don't fall.” He teases and you push him away with your feet, only making him hold them in both hands and push back until your legs are folded, getting up just to steal a kiss from you.
“You rat!” Your giggle rings across the room as you try to push him away again, yet he's too strong to even move until he feels like it, sitting back down and starting to put your heels on, making sure the straps are safely secured before he helps you get up from the couch. He still can't wrap his head around the fact that you walk around in 6-inch stiletto heels with ease, but they were on your wishlist and whatever his princess wants, she gets.
Simon doesn't do clubs. It's loud, it's crowded, and he looks just about ready to take you back home until you strut to him, a big smile on your pretty face as you pass him a third glass of bourbon. He downs it after mouthing a small ''thank you'', feeling the warmth travel down his body.
“Come dance with me, Si!” You have to scream over the music, taking his free hand before he can even think about it. He reluctantly lets you pull him to the dance floor, despite feeling so out of place. He can't resist denying you, not when you look so happy and excited to be here with him.
Your arms wrap around his neck, your body rubbing against as you dance is almost intoxicating. He looks down at you, brown eyes fully taking in the sight— your hair moving with your body as you dance and sing, a happy smile on your face before you take a sip of your pretty drink. You're the most breathtaking thing he's ever seen.
His hand goes down to your waist to support you in case you twist your ankle while wearing your pretty stilettos. He looks down at your lips for a second before his gaze locks on yours, unable to look away. Maybe it's the alcohol affecting his body, but he dares to lean down to capture your lips with his, pulling you closer and allowing your bodies to move together to the rhythm of the music. He pulls away, his hand going up to the middle of your back before he does something really stupid.
“I'm getting us more drinks!” You yell over the music, already walking away before he can stop you. He's used to drinking one or two glasses of bourbon, not four while out in a club, the flashy lights just making him dizzier. He pushes the thoughts to the back of his head, feeling your arms wrap around him from behind, taking the glass from you before you can spill it.
“Thank you.” Simon was never one for PDA, yet he's leaning down to kiss you again, his hand lingering on the small of your back for way longer than it should have. You turn around, sipping on your drink as you grind on him, too used to the clubbing scene to think about how Simon hasn't done anything like this before. Despite his stoic expression, he's actually having plenty of fun, his hand holding onto your waist to support you as you dance.
His attention is focused strictly on you. He loves how you're dancing for him and him alone. You're not dancing like this for other men or flirting with anyone— you're simply having fun with your boyfriend, and despite some of the men looking at you, you're only looking at him.
Simon lasted way longer than he thought, only making you turn around after an hour or so of dancing.
“Tired yet?” He lets your bodies sway to the generic pop song playing in the background, half-lidded eyes struggling to stay open. He drank more than he should— more than he has drank in public, and he's aware of it, yet he wants to bring you home before he's too drunk to be aware of his surroundings. You plant a small kiss on his nose now that he's laying down and he offers you a lazy grin, letting you guide him out of the club.
“Buss me a blem, love.” You raise an eyebrow at his words, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as you help him walk, not wanting him to stumble around as you make your way back home. You have the route memorized, unlike him.
“A fag.” He clarifies, making you giggle nervously as you look up at him.
“Why do you want a gay m—” A stifled chuckle comes from above you, looking at the way Simon is trying to hold back his laughter. He's way too drunk for this shit.
“A cigarette, angel.” Realization hits your face as your glossy lips turn into an ''o'' shape, face lighting up when you can finally understand what he's saying.
“Don't have that either. The other one would have been easier to get...” You drag out, fumbling with the keys to your shared apartment before going inside, locking the door behind you. You go sit on the couch and Simon immediately beelines towards you, managing to sit down in front of you and attempt to undo the straps of your heels.
Was the buckle always this tiny? His fingers feel way too fucking big for the strap, yet he somehow manages, softly rubbing your feet to help ease the pain he knows you always feel after wearing them for a long time. His cheek is resting on your lap, your hand instinctively running through his short hair, massaging his scalp with your long acrylics.
“You okay, baby?” God, he could die right now. Your words are slurred, voice becoming even sweeter, your tone laced with concern. He can only manage to nod, trying his best not to fall asleep despite how comfortable your lap is. He can barely register how you get up, dragging him up by the arms— or well, trying. The bastard is way too heavy and tall for it.
“Up.” You say softly, not wanting your boyfriend to fall asleep on the couch. He grumbles before getting up, letting you make him lay down on the couch, making sure he's on his side. He didn't drink enough to throw up, but... just in case.
You disappear into the bathroom, coming up with a wet cloth and a basket full of skincare that you want to use on him. Your drunk brain is absolutely brilliant— wanting to take care of his skin while he's about to fall asleep. You steal a kiss from his lips before running the wet cloth over his face with care, wiping down all the sweat and grease on his skin.
His brown eyes focus on you as you start to massage a cool liquid all over his face, massaging it in circles with the pads of your fingers, careful not to poke him with your long nails.
“I love you.” It slips out of his lips before he can even think about it, looking away from you. You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down, anxiously waiting for something— anything. He flinches in surprise as your arms wrap around him tightly, small giggles of relief and happiness escaping your lips.
“I love you too, Si.”
Bimbo!Reader Masterlist
#simon ghost riley#cod mwii#call of duty#simon riley#stray answers#ghost mw2#ghost cod#cod mw2#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x bimbo!reader#simon riley x bimbo!reader#bimbo!reader#simon fluff#mw2 simon riley#ghost simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon x reader#ghost x female reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost x y/n#ghost x f!reader#simon riley imagine#simon riley x f!reader#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x you#simon riley x female reader#mw2 fluff#simon ghost fluff
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not a fucking day goes by without an american on this hellsite pondering whether they can justify voting for Biden, despite omg! he's supporting Israel!!!!11!
as if Trump didn't literally say just last week that he would not defend America's Nato partners and would in fact encourage Putin/Russia to "do whatever the hell they wanna do"
as if he hadn't been open about his disdain for Nato and his unwillingness to actually adhere to the treaty in case of aggression
as if Russia weren't currently waging a war of territorial expansion fueled by imperialistic delusions of grandeur the likes of which haven't been seen since fucking WWII
Putin has put out an arrest warrant against the Estonian head of state, as if she were a russian citizen. He recently said of course he wouldn't attack Poland unless they attack Russia first - hmm, I wonder if that could be an allusion to a historic precedent? Has anyone ever faked a polish attack on their territory to kick off a massive war???
Putin has all but explicitly stated that he does not want to stop after Ukraine. Now add to this a US president who would encourage - not just stand by, actively encourage - further russian aggression. The campaign for presidential election hasn't even fully kicked off yet, I shudder to imagine what Trump would do or say if he actually held office again.
Of course the situation in Gaza is horrible. Of course we need deescalation (and hey, if you weren't getting your news exclusively from ragebait you'd know that even its closest allies are criticizing Israel, that they will become isolated if they continue on like this. Support for Israel isn't nearly as unwavering and unanimous as you may think).
Please. I'm begging you. Another Trump term could be catastrophic in ways that can't be fully anticipated. Already his party has backed him on (or tried to downplay) his latest attempt to undermine Nato.
We are dealing with an very delicate and dangerous geopolitical situation right now. China observes Russia very carefully with one eye, and looks at Taiwan with the other. And they're far from the only global player with imperialist ambitions.
The US government unfortunately has a huge effect on the whole world, and making your vote hinge on a single issue (when that issue won't even be solved in a way you'd like by literally any imaginable US government! No US president will completely cease supporting Israel, like come on)
making your vote hinge on a single issue like that is incredibly irresponsible
#i am so tired yall#yes the situation in gaza is horrible. war is hell.#but. yk. there's no conflict trump wouldn't immediately make worse and the israel-hamas war is no exception#current events#thoughts
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Genshin men dealing with separation anxiety.
You didn't really specify any characters except for the men, so I just picked out some who I think fit this description. Hope you're okay with that.
Characters Included: Xiao; Wanderer; Tighnari; Diluc
Content: gender neutral reader; separation anxiety; mentions of insecurities; reverse comfort
Word count: 1,8k words
Thanks again for your request!
Xiao
Xiao is relatively new to the whole concept of dating and relationships in general
He tries to get used to it, but it's difficult for him. For so many years, he saw himself as nothing but a weapon. So this new situation is just something he never thought would happen to him
once he fully trusts you with everything about him would be when this particular "problem" starts to show itself
would have one of the worst cases, in my opinion
he is so used to loss, yet he can't imagine having to deal with your loss. He's sure that should this day ever arrive, it would ultimately destroy him, too
he can deal with a few hours alone, he doesn't need you by his side 24/7
but, once a certain time frame has been reached and he hasn't heard or seen anything from you, he starts to grow restless and anxious
Xiao tries to play it cool, but deep down, he worries about you
are you okay? are you hurt? could you possibly need his assistence? But you haven't called for him.. so everything should be fine, right? But what if you just didn't get the chance to call for him and you were already....
he tries to keep his thoughts under control, but he can't seem to redirect the course his mind has taken
he tries to reason with himself, not wanting to immediately assume the worst possible things
but soon, he can't take it anymore, so he starts looking for you. He searches the places you frequent the most, while maintaining a safe distance so you don't immediately spot him
he soon finds you in the streets of Liyue Harbor, talking to one of the vendors, laughing happily
as he sees you like this, his heart suddenly grows lighter, the impending feeling of dread slowly going away as it's replaced by this warm, loving feeling he always gets when looking at you or spending time with you
he waits until your done with your chat, watches you as you walk away from the booth. Once you're in an area with less people around, he appears in front of you
you're slightly startled, but you start to get used to his random entrances and dissapearances
you smile at him, and the last bits of Xiao's worries are instantly blown away as he allows himself to take in your calming presence
somehow, he always feels at peace with you. No matter what life might throw at him in the future, he's sure he will be able to conquer it, as long as you're there with him..
Wanderer
definitely the worst case out of all the others
but can you really blame him? He endured so much already, has experienced so much pain and heartbreak... can you blame him for not wanting to loose you as well, after he let you in?
it takes time and effort to convince him that your feelings for him are genuine and that you would never, ever leave him behind
it's not like he doesn't want to believe you. He really does, but he just can't imagine anyone being actually interested in him and wanting to maintain a relationship with someone like him...
like I said, time and effort is the key into his heart. And even once you managed to take your place there, he won't openly show it. He's awkward about those kinds of things, it's a whole 'nother issue
once you've successfully broken down the walls around his heart and marched your way in, he really can't handle being away from you for more than a few hours
as soon as you talk about leaving (be it to go to work, or groceries) he begins to feel anxious
because... what if you don't return after all? What if you finally realized how insufferable he is and you decided to not deal with it anymore? He knows you proclaim your love to him daily, but he can't help it
the doubts just start to act up like it's second nature to him, and no matter how hard he tries to suppress it, he can't seem to win against his own mind
his imagination runs wild, painting a hundred different scenarios on how you might leave him and run away
he wants to get up and out there, looking for you, but that would make him seem desperate and he most definitely does not want to be percieved in that way
so he sits it out at your shared home, trying to deal with all those intrusive thoughts in his head, intently watching the clock hanging on the wall, counting the minutes until your return
as soon as he hears the door opening, he is up and "greeting" you at the door
"Took you long enough. Where have you been all this time?"
he tries to sound indifferent, but to you, you can clearly tell that his voice lacks the ususal bite and he seems to be frantic
instead of an answer, you pull him into an embrace, lightly stroking his scalp
the Wanderer is taken by surprise at your actions, but that quickly fades and he melts into the touch, knowing that this was your silent reassurance to him
he acknowledges it, but doesn't comment on it
maybe one day, he'll be able to openly talk to you about everything that bothers him and be completely vulnerable to you. But that day is not now...
he just hopes that you can wait for him until this day finally arrives..
Tighnari
as cool and composed as the fox hybrid likes to think that he is, he has his weak moments as well
although... this problem probably won't arise until after the two of you are mated
he's not becoming overprotective of you and he's also not controlling or anything. He just.... he can't really deal with being alone anymore
in the past, before knowing you and even while dating you, it never really bothered him. He was used to not seeing you for a few days, sometimes even weeks, thanks to your position in the academiya
but now... he can't seem to deal with it anymore. Whenever you tell him that you have to leave for a few days, he dreads for those days to arrive
He's perfectly fine for the first two or three days, but anything that comes after that... total nightmare for him and his crew
He is restless, anxious, constantly thinking about you and your well being
Tighnari knows that you're more than capable of protecting yourself, but still! He's not there to protect you, how can he be sure that you're fine?
Sure, you write letters to him almost daily to keep him up to date and reassure him that you're fine... but what if those letters are written by someone else, who just happens to be extremely good at forging handwritings?
During that time period, Tighnari is also not able to sleep very well, if at all
he tosses and turns througout the entire night, hugging your pillow close to him, imaginig that it was you laying next to him, hugging him and stroking his back like you always do
he thought that this might help him to calm down, but all it does is increase his intense longing for you
he whines, calling out your name in the dead of the night, hoping that by some miracle, you would hear his cry and return to him
when you do come back to him, he doesn't care for any work he has to take care of that day
he will leave it for the other rangers to take care of, he has more important things to attend to now
namely, cuddling you in his bed, wrapping his tail around your thighs and burrying his nose in your neck, breathing in your scent that he missed so much while you were gone
he feels your fingers stroking along his back and he can't help the shiver that runs down his spine when you do so
he won't let you out of bed for the next few hours, after all... he has to make up for the days that you and him were separated..
Diluc
oh boy.. another one with a pretty bad case
Diluc has lost so many important things in his life, he couldn't bear losing you as well
He is a busy man, he knows he can't be by your side 24/7, even if he really wants nothing more
time spent with you is always the most treasured to him. With you, he always feels safe and loved. He had no idea how much he has missed feeling like this until you walked into his life
Now that he has those feelings back again... he won't trade them for anything else in this world
being as busy as he is, he doesn't really have much time to see you. Sometimes, you both go days without seeing each other, this fact made worse thanks to Diluc's unpredictable time management
only when his anxiety keeps getting worse, when thoughts from back then start to flood his mind again, does he give into his desires
in the dead of night, he seeks you out, knocking on your door, hoping, praying to the Archons above that you're not asleep yet
and it seems like his prayers were heard, as he can hear footsteps cautiously approaching the door
"It's me, darling. Please... can you open the door?", he calls before you even have the chance to ask who is out there
without hesitance, you open the door, seeing him standing there causes your heart to ache
without questioning him, you pull him inside, closing the door and then immediately turn to hug him. You instinctively know that he needs this right now
Diluc wastes no time in reciprocating your show of affection, burrying his face in your hair, breathing in and commiting your smell to his memory
standing here like this for a few minutes, you are the first to pull away, asking him to lay down with you
he nodds his head in agreement, following you to the bedroom where he pulls you close into him as soon as you are both comfortable on the bed
night like this have become a common occurance for you, knowing where the roots of his actions lie
without him having to ask for the much needed reassurance, you give it to him, trying to further the comfort with your touches to his arms and back, lightly stoking the skin there until his eyes start to grow heavy and he falls asleep
he has never told you the full story about the things that had happened in his past, and you don't pressure him to do so. Once he's ready, he will come to you on his own, you're sure of that
Until that day arrives.. you can wait and help him in any other way that he needs..
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact headcanons#genshin headcanons#genshin scenarios#genshin impact scenarios#xiao x reader#xiao comfort#xiao headcanons#xiao genshin impact#xiao x you#wanderer x reader#scaramouche x reader#wanderer headcanons#scaramouche headcanons#wanderer comfort#scaramouche comfort#wanderer x you#scaramouche x you#tighnari x reader#tighnari x you#tighnari headcanons#tighnari comfort#diluc x reader#diluc x you#diluc headcanons#diluc comfort
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uh ok uhm malleus and uh silver uhm with a reader that's obsessed with iced coffee and without it they js get tired very easily? :3 this was very rushed
I really like this request <3 You have good imagination.
Silver
Silver would be interested in this.
He would be interested in how iced coffee would keep you awake.
Silver would have already tried normal coffee.
But maybe iced coffee would have new effects?
He would be disappointed when he realized that this is not the case.
However, Silver would drink it sometimes.
Maybe not that often, but sometimes.
Lilia would advise him where there were good places to get an iced coffee.
A good father would offer dating ideas to his son.
At least that's what Lilia thinks.
And Silver probably would.
He would like to help you.
Silver would know that you didn't have much money…
And he would also know that for some reason Azul would have raised the price of iced coffee this school year.
( cough cough Azul planned this cough cough )
I'm sure you would really appreciate this.
Maybe this would be the start of a new relationship?
Malleus Draconia
Malleus would not have heard of iced coffee until he started studying at NRC.
But he hasn't tasted it yet.
It's not the first thing on his "to do list".
First, Malleus would like to learn how the washing machine works.
Also, buying iced coffee wouldn't be… such a pleasant experience.
Customer services would usually freeze when they saw him.
This is a sad reminder of how people fear him.
And Malleus really doesn't like being reminded of that.
However, it would be different with you.
Malleus noticed your addiction quickly.
It would actually be really hard not to notice.
He's never seen anyone in such a bad mood as the day Grim spent all your money on tuna and you couldn't buy ice coffee.
Lord help everyone that day.
Malleus would like to taste iced coffee now…
Your iced coffee.
He thinks it would be a cute couple thing.
The only problem is that you are not excited about sharing your coffee.
Your coffee is yours.
Malleus should become cunning.
He would definitely succeed.
And he wouldn't get hugs for the rest of the day.
But Malleus thinks ice coffee would be finey.
#twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst x you#twisted wonderland x you#Malleus Draconia#malleus draconia x reader#twst malleus#malleus x reader#silver#silver x reader#twst silver#twst headcanons#twst hcs#twst imagines#twisted wonderland imagine#twisted wonderland headcanons#twisted wonderland hcs#malleus imagine
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new beginnings
an; Joel has completely overtaken my brain and I'm not mad about it. I kept thinking about how Joel would feel about being approached, and openly desired after everything that happens between game one and game two-although here, he doesn't lie to Ellie. (I won't say more in case anyone hasn't seen the full play through but iykyk) Enjoy a semi-well adjusted Joel. Thanks to @wheresarizona for talking me through this💜 and to @foli-vora for being the bestest cheerleader 💜
reblogs are appreciated
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader
Word count: 5.2k
Warnings: 18+ no minors, big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, creampie, a few spanks, generally clueless Joel, Ellie being a little shit (affectionately) alcohol, let me know if I missed any!
Masterlist part 2
He’d barely taken a sip of his drink when she sat down at his booth.
“Hi.” She smiled brightly, mischief and amusement shining in her pretty eyes. He frowned at her.
“Hi-” He took a look around, vaguely wondering if she’d mistaken him for someone else but she pressed on, introducing herself.
“Now’s when you’d introduce yourself back.” Her smile remained, her eyes scanning him, something like interest arranging itself on her features.
“I’m Joel.” He straightened out, watching her with growing confusion.
“Hi Joel, it’s nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand, waiting for him patiently. He obliged, giving hers a firm shake.
“You need somethin’?” His tone was neutral, maybe a bit gruff but she laughed.
“Depends. You offering anything?” She bit her lip, her drink grasped against her chest and for the first time in years Joel was shocked into silence. She was flirting with him.
“I–uh, I’m good.” He kicked himself mentally. It wasn’t how he’d meant to decline, she wasn’t deterred though, instead she rose, smile still present.
“Come find me if you change your mind.” She winked then, and disappeared through the crowd. Leaving him with his drink, and his thoughts.
-
You asked about him as you went about your day, bringing him up as casually as you could with your hands elbow deep in the dirt.
“Joel? Joel Miller?” Tommy had been looking for Maria, overhearing you mention his name.
“Joel yes, not sure about his last name-” He was smiling curiously and it clicked. “Is he your brother?”
“Well, if we’re thinkin’ of the same guy then yes. Big, grumpy old man? Grey hair? Sour expression?” The horse he was leading knickered softly behind him.
“Gorgeous older man, broad as all get out? Yes–is he single?” The dirt clumped by your feet as you transferred seedlings into bigger nursery pots. Tommy laughed.
“Shit yeah, he’s single. Not sure how he’d react to you hittin’ on him though.”
“He seemed a bit annoyed, and confused.” You conceded, “I am very interested in him.” You sighed to yourself, remembering the broadness of him.
“You already hit on him?” His eyebrows flew up into his hairline. “God I wish I coulda been there to see that. What’d he say?”
“Well, he basically said -I’m good- and frowned, he seemed a little lost which leads me to believe he doesn’t get approached much.” It was a crazy thought, that no one else would take their chance and speak to him.
“Yeah I bet he did-” he was leading the horse away. “-he’s a bit closed off, but a good guy. Be patient with him!” He was off then, leading the horse towards the stables.
-
It was another few days before you saw him at the bar again, that same annoyed expression on his handsome face. You wasted no time.
“Hi Joel.” You slid into the spot next to him, looking up at him through your lashes. “Nice to see you again.” He frowned at you.
“Hi–” He signalled to the bartender, “You need somethin’ from me?”
“Some company?” He pursed his lips and thoughts of kissing him flooded your mind. “Thought maybe you could teach me where you learned to be such a great conversationalist?” You raised your eyebrows and almost despite himself, he let out a bark of laughter, but caught himself quickly.
“I am only here for a drink.” The bartender brought a glass over then, pouring him a healthy measure of something a dark amber colour. He turned with the cup in hand, facing you with something like uncertainty before making his way to the same booth from your first meeting.
“So, Joel. Tell me about yourself.” You sat across from him, making yourself comfortable.
“Not much to tell.” He took a gulp of his drink, scanning the room before his eyes fell back on you. They scanned you just as they did the room. “What about you then?”
“What about me?” You raised your eyebrows.
“I don’t think you were here when I came the first time.” He took another gulp. “Or maybe you were. I don’t know.”
“I wasn’t, I arrived about a month ago and now I work in agriculture.”
“Agriculture.” He repeated, “Growing the food.”
“That’s right, growing the food.” You nursed your own drink, taking in his features in the low light of the bar. “How old are you Joel?” He lets out a heavy sigh.
“I’d say fifty-six, fifty-seven come fall.” He gulped down the rest of his drink, “And you?”
“Somewhere in my mid thirties in a few months, could be thirty-seven or thirty-eight. I stopped counting a long time ago.” His frown deepened for a moment before he rose abruptly.
“Enjoy the rest of your night.” With that he was gone.
-
The food always surprised him, no matter how long he’d been in Jackson, it always floored him how good it was. Warm and comforting, nothing like the dry stale things he’d eaten for–well years.
Ellie was speaking to him but he was too focused on the food in front of him, hadn’t even realized he wasn’t listening until he felt her smack his arm.
“Hello? Earth to Joel? Am I talking to my goddamn self?” Her face was pinched in annoyance.
“Sorry, what?” He tore his attention away from his bowl and made himself listen.
“I said—“ she sighed big, “Tommy says he can help us fix the garage for me.” She spooned more food into her mouth, “I want it to be like a loft.”
“Mhm.” He grunted into his bowl, “Sure.”
“Hey Joel, nice to see you during the day.” He hadn’t noticed her come in. Seeing her standing there with what looked to be a basket of different produce made him sputter, luckily he didn’t choke. “Hi-“ she spoke to Ellie then, introducing herself with that same beaming smile she always wore. He found himself thinking about how pretty she was.
“I’m Ellie, nice to meet you.” There was something in Ellie’s voice he didn’t like, a cheekiness and he just knew he’d be hearing about this later. “So, how do you know Joel?”
“Oh we met at the bar, are you two related?” She gestured between the two of them.
“Somethin’ like that.” He spoke low, unsure how to answer the simple question.
“He’s just my asshole caretaker. The bar sounds fun though, Joel—should I leave you two alone?” She was enjoying this way too much.
“No need, I’m just making a delivery, but hopefully I’ll see you around.” She bit her lip, watching him intently as she moved a few steps away. “It was nice to meet you Ellie.” With a final blinding smile, she was off towards the kitchen.
He sighed big at the way Ellie practically vibrated next to him.
“Don’t.” He warned.
“Oh but you know I fucking will!” She was giddy with excitement.
“Stop it Ellie.”
“So, when’s the wedding?” He pinched his brow, “Can I be your best man or person or whatever? I’ve never been to a wedding—“
“Ellie quit it, it’s nothin’.” He pushed his food away, no longer in the mood to eat with the way his stomach felt, chucking it up to annoyance at Ellie and definitely not adrenaline at seeing her.
“What? Joel are you fucking blind? That woman likes you! She likes you a lot, you gonna ask her out?” He sighed again, rising from his seat.
“Ellie, I am beggin’ you, please don’t make a big fuss.” He gave her a hard stare. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.” He quickly put his jacket on, ignoring the way she rolled her eyes at him.
“Yeah yeah, you goddamn grump.” She went back to eating, leaving him to get on with his day and he couldn’t have been more grateful.
-
You found him at the same booth a few days later, nursing what looked to be his regular drink of choice and once again sat with him. This time though, as you tried to make conversation it finally hit you. His attitude didn’t change, his frown remained in place, his answers were short and your heart sank.
What you’d hoped was just a gruff exterior, a facade waiting to be taken down was now looking more like his general personality.
I think I’m barking up the wrong tree here.
The realisation weighed heavy in your gut as you sat there with him, forcing a conversation he obviously didn’t want to have. You watched him struggling, the cogs in his mind turning, no doubt looking for a way to get out of having to entertain you.
“So–you got any family alive–?” His voice was unsure and suddenly you felt foolish.
“Nope, all dead. Well, thanks for the company, I’ll leave you to it.” You shot back the rest of your drink and rose quickly, ignoring the shame and hurt swirling in your chest, moving away from him to lick your wounds by yourself.
-
“What do you want me to say Joel?” Tommy was irritated, his back turned to Joel while he went about cleaning his weapons.
“I’d like to know why is all, I don’t get it.” He stood at the door to the workshop, his arms crossed.
“God knows why but she’s sweet on you.” The rifle was taken apart on the workbench, holding most of Tommy’s attention. “But like I said before, just talk to her, or let her know if you aren’t interested.”
“She’s a beautiful young woman, and I’m a grumpy old man.” He couldn’t help but kick at the floor, his mind a whir of inadequacy and confusion.
“You got that fuckin’ right.” It was said under his breath but Joel heard it just the same.
“I haven’t been with anyone since Tess, Tommy.” He sighed out loud. His brother's attention turned to him fully then, the tools in his hands now dropped to the table.
“I know that, you don’t have to be with anyone if you don’t want to. Now this girl likes you, and it sounds to me like you like her back. So be a grown-up and talk to her.” His younger brother gave him a half smile, sending Joel away with more than enough food for thought.
-
He’d had a pep talk with himself on the way over to the bar.
Smile.
Ask questions.
Be nice to her.
It was a simple list but ever since things had gone to shit, Joel had found it hard to keep up with friendly niceties. Not much room for that in the world of today, things were different here though and he had to get with the program, or he’d be looking at the rest of his time on this earth alone.
He thought back to how things had been with Tess, how naturally they'd come together, how easy–but it only seemed easy to him because Tess had been the one to go to work. She’d taken the raw anger and muscle that was Joel and shaped him, honed him and directed him towards their common goal. She’d initiated every aspect of their relationship and it was only now that he realised how grateful he’d been.
The bar was busy, his usual booth was taken so he stood near the counter, waiting for the barkeep to bring him his usual drink. His eyes raked through the room. He ignored the relief he felt when he finally spotted her sitting with a group of people he didn’t know, watching the easy way she smiled, the way her face lit up when she laughed. She spotted him then and he frowned to see her dim a bit. She raised her glass to him in greeting, but she didn’t join him like he thought she would.
So he waited.
He had one drink, thinking maybe she didn’t want to be rude to her friends. He had another drink, his eyes finding their way back to where she sat every few minutes, perking up when finally she rose from the table. He ran through his notes to himself as she weaved her way through the patrons, but instead of finding him, she waved goodbye to the bartender, and walked out into the night.
Maybe she was tired.
He thought to himself as he walked back home, ignoring the tiny voice in his head, the one that told him she changed her mind.
He shook the thought away. She just needed some effort, what he needed to do was walk up to her and sit with her for a change. He needed to take the initiative and the next time he saw her at the bar, he would.
-
She wasn’t there.
He asked around for her, noting that no one had seen her at the bar in a few days.
He didn’t want to admit that he was worried about her, didn’t want to say the words out loud, not to himself, or to Tommy, or god forbid Ellie. He was, though and the feeling lingered in the pit of his stomach, a boulder he carried alone.
He sighed, annoyed with himself at not having been able to just express the way she made him feel, to tell her that just as she’d been looking at him - god knows why - he’d been looking back at her. He sighed again, thankful her house was just another block away, reminding himself that this town was safe, that she’d probably be busy.
-
The sky was clear enough to see the stars, the Milky Way a great swathe across the sky. Too bright to be inside and so you’d made yourself comfy on your porch, the cooling cup of tea in your hands your only companion for the night.
I should see if I can find myself a dog or something.
The thought bounces around with growing interest, would be nice to have something to cuddle and keep you company.
There’s movement just beyond the walkway up towards your porch and for a second you think it might just be people walking home from the movie but the shape is familiar.
“Joel?” You’re surprised to see him here, “does Maria need something?” You’re on high alert.
“No, I-uh, I came lookin’ for you,” he slows his stride midway up the walkway,
“Oh, okay—you need something?”
“I was just wonderin’ where you been. Haven’t seen you at the bar, and last time you didn’t come talk to me. Wanted to see if you were okay.” He scratched at the back of his neck, his discomfort apparent.
“It’s alright Joel.” You let out a breath, grateful for his worry but resigned. “You don’t have to check up on me. I can take a hint, I figured I’d leave you be.” You gave him a small smile.
“What do you mean?” He took another step forward, inching his way to the foot of your porch.
“I mean, I get it. You’re not interested and it’s okay. I can deal with a crush, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable because you don’t like me back. I’m a big girl I’ve been rejected before and no doubt I’ll be rejected again—“
“I’m not rejectin’ you I just—“ He took one step up.
“Really Joel, It’s okay, I’ll be fine and you don’t have to explain yourself.”
“What is it you like? I mean physically, you find me attractive I guess but why? I’m a grouchy old man.” He crossed his arms, his face pinched with an almost angry curiosity. You couldn’t help but laugh a little.
“Why am I attracted to you? I don’t know Joel. I think you’re gorgeous for one. You’re big and strong, and I like that you’re older than me. I like your face and your hands, and when I look at you I just wanna sit in your lap and kiss.” It came out without your permission but there it was, honesty. “I won’t say you aren’t a little scary, in the way that I can see you’ve probably done some things you thought you’d never have to do, but that’s the world we live in now I suppose. Can’t say I haven’t done some of that stuff too.”
“You think all that of me?” He took another step up.
“Yes, now if you don’t want that kind of attention from me, I can understand that and eventually I’ll get over you.” His hair was combed back, the grey of it catching the light of the moon.
“I don’t want you to get over me.” One final step and now he’s standing over you. “I’ll never understand why you think those things about me but I’d like to try, maybe get a drink together like a real date.”
“You want to take me out on a date?” Your heart raced, butterflies fluttering around in your belly.
“Yes ma’am. I think you’re real pretty, and I’d like to take you out for a drink. ” He smiles, making you swoon a little. “Come on, we got time.” He holds his hand out, and you take it without hesitation.
—-
The walk home from the bar and your official first date was more akin to a stroll, the two of you weaving your way through the streets until your little house came into view. His voice was so soothing, the low pitch of it the soundtrack for the trip back and you did your best to enjoy the sound of it. He stopped when you reached the walkway and that pesky honesty bubbled up and out of your mouth.
“You ever gonna kiss me Joel?” His lips looked so soft, the plush of them a subject of many of your daydreams.
“I was plannin’ on it, was waitin’ til’ we got to your front door.” His hands dug their way into his pockets, a nervous gesture.
Wordlessly you threaded your arm with his and led him up the steps towards your door, hardly able to contain the smile and once you’d made it there, he went for it. Shy and tentative at first, a soft press of his lips to yours but it quickly changed. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, begging for entrance just as his hands moved from your shoulders to rest at your hips.
You can’t help but whimper into his mouth, can’t help but press yourself closer, stand on your tippy toes to be as near to him as you can be.
“Come inside-“ you breathe the words onto his mouth when you both finally pull away. “Come inside and kiss me some more.” You wrap one arm around his neck, pressing the palm of the other onto his face, satisfying the urge to run your fingers through the greying patches of hair.
“Yeah? You want me to come in?” He pulls you close, his big palms on your back, the warmth of them seeping through your layers.
“Yes, do you want to?” You press kisses to his jaw, to his lips and neck, the beating of his heart thrums against your lips with every kiss you press to his throat.
“God, yes.” His breathy admission makes you drip, makes you rush to open the door and pull him inside.
He falls onto the couch and you’re close behind him, your knees bracketing his hips to fulfil all of your favourite fantasies. The smile on his face when you settle onto his lap heats your blood, it urges you to slip your hands around his neck and hold him close, to grind your aching core against the hardening pillar of his sex underneath you while you kiss him just how you’ve been wanting to.
He moans into your mouth. His hands sweep downwards from your ribs, they land heavy on your ass and pull you closer, coaxing a steady river of slick to drip out and onto your panties.
“I want you so bad Joel.” You bite his lip, relishing the groan he gifts you with. “I’m so fucking wet for you.” Your fingers slip through the soft waves at the back of his neck. His eyes find you and he lets out a low Fuck, his eyes lustblown in the low light of your cozy little livingroom. “Can I sit on your cock?” You ask him in your sweetest voice, “Please?”
He lets out a shaky breath, his forehead pressed to yours and he nods.
“Yes baby, you can have whatever you want.”
Within a few frantic minutes, his cock was out, resting heavily against the softness of his belly. You can’t help but stare at it while moving away to quickly shed your bottom layers. Your mouth watered at the sight of him. He’s so thick, the head of him an angry red and sticky with his own arousal.
You sat back onto his thighs, moving up to notch him at your dripping entrance–his hands guided you down slowly, until you sat flush and he was sheathed to the hilt.
“Fuck, fuck you feel so fucking good.” His eyes are shut tight and you sit motionless for a moment, breathing through the delicious stretch of him.
“So do you, you’re fucking huge Joel.” You clench around him and relish the filthy moan he lets out. His hands are heavy, gripping the globes of your ass, holding you tight to him.
Your heart is pounding, both in your chest and in your cunt, you bounce to its beat–unable to hold out any longer. You let out a hiss at the way his fingers dig into your flesh, relishing the thought of feeling the evidence of your coupling in the days to come.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He grits the words out, his mouth pressed against the collar of your shirt—too many layers. It only takes a moment to open your shirt, to pull down the cups of your bra and even less than that to have his mouth attach itself to the stiff peak of your nipple.
It was obscene the way he moaned into your skin, his mouth a steady suck while you did your best to bounce, slick seeping out around him, finally finding the rhythm that inches you closer to your peak but his eyes close tight, reinforcing his grip on your hips.
“Oh fuck, fuck baby wait—oh god I’m gonna come—“ he let out a shudder against the spit slicked skin of your breast and you felt him twitch inside you, felt the spurt of him deep.
It was much faster than you expected. Faster than you’d hoped; you couldn’t help but be incredibly flattered.
“Jesus Christ–” His face was pressed up against your chest, his hands sweeping slowly from your ass, up to rub your back. “I’m sorry, feel like a fuckin’ teenager again.”
“Don’t be, hell of a way to make a girl feel good about herself.” You tried to ignore the way your own climax was slipping away from you. “Makes me feel sexy.” You pulled his face up and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth.
“You are sexy, incredibly sexy.” He looked so beautiful in that moment, with the flush crawling up his neck and stars in his eyes. “But I want you to come.” His hand moved, his thumb slipping into your mouth, the pad of it sliding against your tongue for a moment before he slipped it between the lips of your sex to circle around your neglected little clit.
You couldn’t help but clench around him–couldn’t help but tighten your hold onto the grey waves of his hair as he kept up his dizzying rhythm,
“I want you to feel good.” His voice was a velvet rasp, “I want you to come around my cock.” His mouth found your nipple then, his tongue laving at it mercilessly.
It was right there. The friction of his thumb just right, his mouth a steady suck. Heat crawled up your spine, bloomed in your core and with a final swirl you clenched around him, waves of pleasure crashing through you like waves on a shore.
“Good god—“ you folded into him, arms wrapped around his neck tight.
“I feel like I could melt into this sofa.” He was blissed out, softening inside you.
“Me too.” You pressed kisses to his cheeks, showering him with post coital affection.
“We won’t though.” He had a mischievous glint in his eye when he looked up, “let me catch my breath, then you’re gonna get it.”
-
His grip is tight on your hips, the span of his hands on your skin is almost dizzying but you couldn’t focus on that just now. Instead you focused on the way he filled you, on the way his cock was splitting you open in the best way possible. You focused on the wet, obscene sounds coming from between your legs.
You focused on how wet you were, on how it seeped out around him and down your thighs, on the comforting feel of his body pressed against yours.
“That’s it baby, take it–” He snapped his hips faster and you had to put your arms up in front to keep from moving up and bumping your face into the headboard. “This what you wanted?” He bent forward, one hand sliding up the soft skin of your belly, up to hold the weight of your breast in his hand, your nipple tightening almost painfully against his palm. All you could do was moan, throaty cries of pleasure escaping from somewhere in your throat.
His confidence was high, you could hear it in the breathy laugh he let out at your inability to speak. Could feel it as he slowed down from a heavy thrust to a slow grind, his groin pressed up tightly against the swell of your ass.
He gave you no warning.
A loud crack–a heavy spank made you gasp into the damp sheets under your mouth.
It was a shock, but a very welcome one. Heat spreads through your face, it tingles its way along your skin; into your breasts and through your core and you feel a wave of slick drip out around you but he’s silent. There’s a flicker of doubt in the way he stays completely still.
“Talk to me baby.” His voice is soft; chaste. His hand soothes over the stinging skin where his palm had landed.
“Do it again.” You barely recognize your own voice, a low wanton thing.
He obeys, another loud crack on the other cheek as his thrusts pick up. This time his pace is brutal, his hands landing yet another smack before he’s bent over and reaching around, his fingers a delicious swirl at your clit.
“Soak my cock, be good for me and come.” His voice is in your ear, his teeth taking your lobe into his mouth while he bodily shoves you over the edge and into a blinding climax. You clench around the thickness of him, the muscles in your thighs tensing as you crest and the force of it pulls him under with you. A filthy moan in your ear before you feel the hot spurt of him deep inside.
“Jesus Christ Joel–” You breathe hard into the sheets. He pulls out with a hiss and rolls to lay beside you.
“Good?” You can hear the pride swelling in his chest. “Did I redeem myself for comin’ too quick downstairs?” His drawl is more pronounced now with the way he almost slurs his words. You see the relaxation in his face when you turn to look at him. It looks good on his handsome face, almost like seeing a glimpse of a younger Joel, some long lost carefree version of him. If there had ever been that version of him at all. It was a nice image to hold in your mind, him–young and smiling.
You laugh, giddy with pleasure.
“It’s not a big deal, really flattering actually.” You trace a scar on his chest idly, the solid beat of his heart reassuring under your fingers.
“Embarrasin’ more like. I didn’t want you to think I was some two-pump chump.” His hand holds yours to his skin and you ignore the way your heart races, ignore the way it has nothing to do with the remnants of your orgasm. “You got somethin’ I can clean you up with?” He pulls away to sit up with a groan.
“What a gentleman.” You follow him. You can feel him dripping out of you when you slide to sit next to him at the edge of the bed, the perverse pleasure making you beam. “I got a better idea–” You stand and pull him up, “shower time.”
“Yes ma’am.” He smiles, and follows you to your bathroom.
---
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#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joelyyyy#joel x reader#joel the last of us#joel miller x female reader#joel miller#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#tlou#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal
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Can you do some Twst men and how would they be when they're pining for their crush?
Pining is good, makes things more... hardcore when feelings explode to light.
Pairing: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, Malleus x Fem!Reader
Tags: angst, pining, hurt/comfort, jealousy, kissing, desperate kisses, confession, fear of rejection, insecurity
A/N: This is just straight up angst, be ready.
Riddle has been pining after you since the moment you became part of his House. He sees how hard you work, he wants to reward you, he's scared of you thinking him to strict and not lovable outside of his role as Leader. The conflict of these emotions makes him keep his distance, only giving you short, fast nods when you do things right and scowls at you when you do things wrong, immediately cursing himself for making you feel sad. That being said he is a little bit less strict with you then everyone else, which is your first clue that he might be more then a heartless tyrant.
Leona wants to have you all to himself, a selfish desire when he hasn't even confessed to you yet. All he's done is shamesly flirt with you and confuse you about if he does have feelings or not. When you kiss he is passionate and wild, but when you separate he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, like it never happened. He's playing with your heart as much as he is with his own, pulling away before any stronger feelings can form but never far enough to let anyone else have a chance with you. You can always feel his eyes on you, watching over you, a lion watching his prey, or his lioness, to him you are both.
Azul keeps finding reasons for you to spend time with him, just a little excuse to see you more and distract himself from the drowning feeling inside his chest. He knows what it is and he knows that it goes away when you're with him, so that's what he tries to achieve without actually saying the words out loud. He's seen what romance and love do, how they can ruin people. He's already ruined, he's made so many contracts, he can't get any worse, and he can't let you sink down with him, no matter how much he'd love to see that. He's happy keeping things as they are, with the longing gazes on both ends. Even if you try to tell him how you feel he will suggest a no strings option, it's better that way, for both of you.
Kalim has been friends with you since you were kids, and has had a crush on you for almost as long. He knows that as someone of royal blood there are expectations placed on who he should marry one day, the thing is that he already has his heart set on someone: you. As scared as he is of you rejecting him he would hate himself, and his life, if he didn't at least try to make you see the amount of love he has for you. He was afraid, avoiding you until he came up with the perfect words, making you think you did something wrong. It wasn't until he took you on a magic carpet ride under the stars that he poured his heart out to you, asking you to rule beside him one day.
Vil will gladly let you know how he feels... when he determines that you're good enough for him. He keeps trying to find flaws in you so he can tell himself that he's above you. It never works, for every flaw he finds ten more things to love. It only makes him more anxious to be perfect in front of you, doing everything he can to impress you to get you to be the one to make the first move and confess to him instead of the other way around. If that's the case he can save face and pretend that this whole pining thing never happened, that he didn't want to kiss you for the past year, like it wasn't all he was dreaming about.
Idia always flares up when he's around you, his flames running hot, running like a wildfire until he gets ahold of himself. Difficult to achievable with some breathing exercises. These become so frequent that you begin to worry that he's sick. You visiting him at his dorm and offering to cook for him and his brother doesn't make his feelings simmer down, they boil over. As you get ready to leave he stops you by holding you by the wrist, his face pink as he tells you how his flames burn brighter for you.
Malleus can't help but make himself scarce whenever you're around. He's missing enough classes as is, he does not need this. When he sees you talking to other students, laughing and smiling at them he wishes so badly that its him, but it can't be, he shouldn't be around you, it would only bring the same scrutiny it does him. Jealous as he might be of your friendships and closeness to everyone he feels its better to keep loving you from the shadows, he's happy as long as you're happy, even if he himself isn't the cause of that happiness.
#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst#twst x reader#riddle rosehearts x reader#leona kingsholar x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#kalim al asim x reader#vil shoenheit x reader#idia shroud x reader#malleus draconia x reader#twisted wonderland imagine#twisted wonderland headcanons#twisted wonderland fluff#twst imagines#twst headcanons#twst fluff#riddle x reader#leona x reader#azul x reader#kalim x reader#vil x reader#idia x reader#malleus x reader#twisted wonderland angst#twst angst
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𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔳𝔬𝔴'𝔰
Summary: It's been a few months since that haunting morning at Saltburn, and life hasn't gotten any easier. You aren't sure if either of you have truly left that day behind, even though your bodies are miles away from those grand, boundless walls.
But together, you know you'll both survive.
Warnings: 18+, MDI! Oral (F! receiving), Face sitting, unprotected sex, AFAB, American!Reader. Some decent amounts of angst. Farleigh is going through it after Saltburn (follows canon and Felix's and Venetia's death's), but there's some corny, domestic fluff to take the edge off. A little small dose of jealous Farleigh. Mentions of alcohol and (implied) cocaine usage as a means of coping (but it's brief).
Notes: 16.9k words. Not proofread yet. @saradika-graphics, placed on Halloween night because I'm already missing fall and I'm completely shameless. Thank you to everyone who has ever left a comment and praise - it's always very much appreciated! Seriously, it makes me so happy! And I am sorry to anyone who I may have kept waiting for this. I hope you enjoy.
𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦- 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦
You could still taste the party on your tongue; the scent of the alcohol that had been in the air, pungent and sharp. It was like the blaring music was still playing, vibrating across your skin from the volume of the stereo system instead of the mellow country classic faintly warbling out of the diner's tired speakers. It was a harsh juxtaposition and your brain, still a little sluggish from the chaos of the night is still trying to catch up. You could still feel the sweaty bodies bumping up against you own, smelling with the salt of sweat, the artificial fragrance of face paint, and that sweet plastic scent of fake blood. It was practically embedded in your nose, even with the warm plume of steam wafting up from the plate of food sat directly underneath your face.
You had scarfed down most of it already. You were practically starving after all of the dancing you had done. It always manages to make you hungry, regardless of the previous meals you've had. You've forgone a sense of decorum in your famished, sensitive state and shove the entirety of your last piece of toast into your mouth, leaning over in case any of the jam wiggles loose and falls. Oh, course that's when the server makes another appearance. When you're wolfing down a mouthful of food. You try to smile up him around your chewing, awkward and apologetic, before lifting a hand up to hide your mouth.
"Need a refill?" He asks, gently shaking the pitcher of water in his hand while he looks down at you with a polite smile of his own. He's making an odd amount of eye contact with you too, but you try to tell yourself that it might just be the light adrenaline induced buzz humming through your veins making you a little hyperaware. Something about his mannerisms seem strangely familiar, but your slow-moving brain comes up empty when you try to chase after that thought. Instead, you just nod wordlessly, humming out a short "mm-hmm" in lieu of a verbal response and nudge your glass closer to him across the scratched and Sharpie defaced tabletop to make it easier for him to pour.
The few quick seconds that pass seem entirely too long, and the sound of the flowing stream of water seems to enunciate the time passing by. It feels embarrassing for no reason, and in your effort to shed some of the shame prickling over you, you glance over at the other end of the table to Farleigh.
It's then you notice the way that he's outright glaring at the waiter without even trying to conceal the look. His mouth is twisted into a scowl as he props himself onto the table with a single elbow, and he takes another drag of his cigarette like he needs it to keep him tethered in place. His habit has skyrocketed these past couple of weeks in the absence of his other vices. You aren't a particular fan of the indoor smoking, but you'd seen the cook pass by a few minutes earlier on the way to the bathroom with a lit cigarette dangling between his lips, so it didn't seem to be a problem. Not to mention, the server had even provided him with a tiny little ashtray which he promptly flicks the embers of burnt tobacco into.
You send him an inquisitive glance, but he's too caught up with glowering to notice. All you can figure is that they may have some kind of history, but then you can't help but wonder why he'd let you drag him to this particular diner if that were that case.
The server - Daniel, you note, and the name is familiar too - hasn't seemed to notice Farleigh's displeased expression, and he's gone just as quickly as he had appeared, conveniently just as you're able to swallow your toast. You chase after it with your water before settling your attention back on Farleigh who still looks just as grumpy. Sure, his mood had admittedly dampened a little bit while you were both out celebrating, but that could go the same for you as well. As much as the both of you tried to shrug it off and move on, parties of all kinds have become a little bitter, a little raw after . . .
You clear your throat, shifting in your seat, ignoring the way the polyester cushion clings to the bare skin of your legs despite the chill in the diner. He perks up a bit, peering at you from over his mug as he takes a sip.
"What was that about?" You ask, but he just raises an eyebrow at you like he's confused. Even while he looks so disgruntled, you can't help but muse how adorable he looks with those dark kitten whiskers smeared across his cheeks, made from your eyeshadow pallet.
"What do you mean, 'what was that about'?" He sits his drink down on the table, letting himself recline against the backrest of the booth.
You shrug, letting your eyes rove over the window beside your shoulders and the cut-out paper decorations pasted to the glass; retro styled Jack o' Lanterns and ghosts. Though it was probably the condensation from the since passed storm that's really keeping them secured to their places. "I don't know. It seemed like you may have known him."
His brows perk up, almost unamused while he shakes his head. "No. Not really," he responds cryptically.
He doesn't seem to be lying. Farleigh's ability to be convincing when it comes to concealing the truth is sort of on a spectrum. No matter the scope of the lie, he's never great at hiding them. His eyes can get shifty, or he'll get a little too animated like he forgets how to express himself normally, becoming too self-conscious. It's obviously the smaller ones, the white lies usually, that he's able to be a bit more convincing with. But whatever this is, it's enough for him to be a little restless, fidgeting with the handle of the porcelain mug like he needs to distract himself. But from what, you aren't sure. And despite claiming not to know him, there must be some reason why his mood had taken even more of a decline since seeing the server.
"He does look familiar though," you mumble absentmindedly.
"I'm sure he does," Farleigh replies lowly, like the comment was only meant for him. But you hear it regardless and it's said with a kind of snark that you hadn't heard aimed at you in a long time.
The expression on your face is incredulous. For a second you just stare at him silently and the music drifting across the quiet does little to make the atmosphere feel any less foreign. The old, florescent panel lights flicker above and buzz in an insistent drone, making everything even more bare and alien than it already is. You hadn't taken the brunt of Farleigh's ire in a long time. Okay, 'ire' might be a little dramatic. Irritation is probably more accurate. But it feels so weird - uncomfortable - to have him genuinely annoyed with something that you've apparently done. You're used to his sarcasm and quips, you're on the receiving end of them on a daily basis, just like he's on the receiving end of yours. It's normal. It's a part of your dynamic, and your shared, taunting and impish kind of humor is how the both of you grew close. Long before either of you had even realized. You can count on a single hand the number of times that you've had an actual disagreement or argument with Farleigh. But you don't enjoy them in the slightest, so you'd like to find out the root of this little problem before it builds and blows up in both of your faces.
"First of all, what is that even supposed to mean?" You ask, pulling back to cross your arms. "And secondly, what's wrong?"
He shoots you an exasperated look, like he's unconvinced of something. You don't reply aloud. You just shrug, openly confused.
"Seriously?" He says with what sounds like disbelief.
"What?"
He scoffs and pins you with a glare that's simultaneously annoyed and relieved. You can see the minute way that his shoulders seem to relax, shedding the bit of stress that had been winding his body up tight. "You really don't recognize him?"
The question makes you feel a little dimwitted. It prompts you to lean a little in your both, towards the end of the seat and you let your eyes move away from Farleigh. Scanning the diner, searching for the sight of the waiter in the hopes to toggle free that sense of familiarity that shrouds him. Maybe you'll finally be able to remember just who he is. It's been searing at your brain all night, and Farleigh's insistence that you know him just drives the urge deeper. You finally spot him behind the C shaped bar, refilling the salt and pepper shakers that he must have collected from the vacant tables. There is something there. The kind of acquaintance that comes with seeing the same cashier at a gas station more than once, or noticing the same neighbor trimming the bushes in their lawn when you go out to check the mail. But there isn't anything more than that. The sharp jut of his chin and the tattoo peeking out from underneath the short cut of his sleeve are features that you know that you've seen before, but you just end up drawing another blank. You'd like to blame it on alcohol, but despite having spent the entire night dancing and singing at the top of your lungs in a party, you haven't drank a single drop.
You tilt back into your seat and return your focus to Farleigh with a lost shrug.
"Jesus Christ," he huffs. "He's served us at least four other times."
"Oh, that's it?" You say, a little indifferent. You were expecting something more . . . exciting than that. Maybe some drama involving a drunken fight that you couldn't remember at a bar or house party, and he had been the culprit. Literally anything other than he was just you're regular server. Plus, you hardly found that enough to warrant the heavy scowl that Farleigh had been giving him earlier.
Farleigh sags even further against the cushion of the booth, and the expression on his face is outright petulant and soaked with annoyance. When he speaks next, his voice is at this odd cross of defeated but passionate. "He flirts with you all the time."
Ah, there it is.
You want to counter the argument. You yourself have been a waitress who's been accused of flirting with customers boyfriends just because you had come across as overtly friendly when asking for a drink order or dropping off the bill. An exhausting symptom that seems to come with serving the public and insecure lovers out on dates. But that little comment does manage to jog something free. Vague memories of said waiter - Daniel - staring at you for a little longer than necessary or brushing his fingers along yours whenever you'd hand him a cleared plate during past visits. But that's about all. Just subtle, otherwise harmless interest that he's apparently garnered for you. "Well, clearly he didn't do a very good job, because I hardly remembered him."
The stormy expression doesn't slip from Farleigh's face, and as much as you're trying to joke, you know that this little bout of jealousy has stemmed from something deeper. Sure, he's always had an inclination of being a little possessive. You've caught glimpses of it in the past with his old flings and exes, but the way that he grips you is entirely different from that. He makes sure to touch you in some capacity when in public; a hand on the back of your waist to guide you through crowded areas, keeping his fingers laced with yours on walks, or pulling you into his lap whenever he's able to. He always makes sure to stake his claim on you somehow. Especially whenever he feels as though someone could be a threat to your relationship, even though you do your best to talk to him and placate those insecurities. On any other occasion, you would have been annoyed that he felt intimidated by some random guy at an IHop, but for whatever reason, this just feels off. But you know that this is different. Tonight is different.
You had seen the shift in him at the party. It was just some get together for Halloween that one of his old friends had thrown for the holiday. It was meant to be small, and that was really one of the only reasons that you had agreed to go. You had wanted to stay inside your apartment for the night, as lame as it may sound. To just spend time curled up on the couch with him against your back while you both gorged yourself on candy and junk food and watched a few horror movies that you had rented from the Block Buster down the street. But Farleigh had insisted that he wanted to go, complaining that spending the entire Halloween night inside was lame.
A part of you had been a little reluctant. The first weeks after Saltburn had been particularly hard on Farleigh. He had been on a path of self-destruction, like he was insistent on punishing himself for Felix and Venetia. He had made sure to frequent any and every party that he could manage, drinking and snorting whatever he could get his hands on. For a moment you thought that you might have lost him too. It put a strain on you both. With you constantly voicing your concerns and him always insisting that he was fine. It had all come to a head one night when Farleigh had made a snarky comment towards someone he shouldn't have. Despite all of his sarcasm and harsh words, Farleigh isn't a fighter. At least, not in the physical aspect. But that's all it had took. Some drunken, scathing remark, that honestly, you can't even remember. But you do remember the fist that came after it. How it had cut through the air, and the loud thump of bone hitting bone, leaving a tender bruise, blue and purple in its wake.
Even then, you could still see the temptation in his eyes while you had dug around in your freezer for some a makeshift ice pack, the temptation to curl back into a bottom of a bottle and never come back out. Finally, you had been the one who broke down, right in the middle of your kitchen, clutching a pack of frozen peas in your hand while the anger, and fear, and anxiety welled up to the surface. He had been quick to jerk up from his seat at the table, crossing the space between you and pulling you from the fridge and into his arms with broken, "I'm sorry's" spilling from him.
"I can't lose you Farleigh," you cried, burying your face into his chest, breathing in his scent like it might vanish. "I can't."
His self-hatred and the blame that he held his cousins didn't just clear up overnight after that. There were times where you could still see the temptation and loathing glimmering in his eyes, but he was getting better. He was starting to work past it a little bit at a time. To finally let go of all of the booze and writhing, dancing bodies; the sound of laughter and streamers drifting down in the air. The reminders of that summer night back in England, and the morning after, when Felix had failed to show up to the breakfast table. It was hard for both of you. The vacant, bleeding wound that was left in his absence. The pain that comes with it. But even worse, was the reminder that if you must be hurting from the loss, that the sheer agony that Farleigh feels is something that you'd never truly be able to understand. The anguish and torture that must weigh over him every waking moment from his cousins' unexpected death - the death that he had been blamed for in the eyes of James, all because of the words of a stranger.
Farleigh holds you like you're a ghost. He holds you like you might disappear if he doesn't. That you'll vanish and turn to smoke, or you'll turn your back on him like the Catton's - his family - have. God, even Venetia. Sweet Venetia is gone too. That's what Elsbeth had said to Farleigh when she reached out in a phone call one random evening. The last call - the last favor, she had said that Farleigh would ever receive from her. He had been inconsolable after that. Collapsing on the floor with violent, heaving breaths tearing from his chest after she had hung up on him. He had gone completely still before the flip phone had slipped from his hand with a harsh clatter. That was the only warning that you got before he had looked up to you, and the tears threatening to spill from his eyes had ripped your heart in half. It was the pained, lost sob that tore from his chest that ripped you from your shock and had you dropping down beside him and pulling him into your embrace.
You can't recall how long you had sat with him on the carpet, clutching him to your body while he cried and gripped at your arms, and shoulders, and back like he didn't know what to do with himself. It had been your turn to cling to him like he might have been the one to disappear if you hadn't, doing your best to swallow back your own tears as he cried into the junction of your neck.
You know that's all that his jealousy is. Fear that you'll leave him behind like the rest of his supposed family has. Sure, he has his mother and his father. But truthfully, he's always been saddled with the responsibility of keeping the relationship between them cordial; perpetually caught between the both of them. And his relationship with his mother is strained at best. Taxed by his constant worries for her recklessness with her monetary spending, and her inability to keep track of her expenses and bills. A defect of growing up wealthy, you suppose.
So when Farleigh insisted that he wanted to get out of the apartment. To go out and celebrate you were reluctant. You voiced your concerns about it, but you didn't fight him on it. You knew that he needed the distraction. A break from all of the loneliness, misery and pain. You both had come to the agreement not to touch any sort of alcohol or drugs during the duration of the little Halloween get together, and that was enough for you. You trusted him completely.
The first few hours at the party had been great. Even when way more people than planned arrived; all of them bringing friends and those friends brought their own until the house filled to its maximum occupancy. The floorboards and walls had practically been pulsing with the volume of the music blasting. Everything from Rob Zombie's Dragula to old Halloween classics like Thriller and The Monster Mash had blared out from the stereo system hooked up the living room. It had been nice to just let go and relax, letting yourself enjoy the first positive party experience in close to a couple months. For a while you allowed yourself to dance, grinding and moving against Farleigh, soaking in his heat and scent from around the chaos, feeling the warmth of his palms sweeping underneath your skirt and gripping onto your hips. It had been peace despite the excitement and havoc tainting the air like a sharp, heady buzz. But you knew something was wrong when you felt the brush of his lips pause over the skin of your neck, and his body had stilled against yours. It made you stop in turn, looking over your shoulder to check him with the confused whisper of his name on your tongue. And when you caught his eyes, locked onto something past your shoulders like a deer staring into the headlights of an approaching car, you wordlessly turned to track his sight.
It was a pair of wings. Tinted in shades of a fiery orange and violet from the lights strung around the circumference of the room. Their true color must have been a shade of soft white, but some broken part of you waited for them to shift into a rich, glint of gold. And in that moment, for a quick but painful second you could remember the scent of the summer air. Tinged and damp with dew and sweet with pollen and the alcohol that had been spilt across the lawn. The shifting bodies around you weren't people at all, they were the looming hedges of the maze, and the soft leaves sweep and scratched at your skin. It wasn't a girl in an angel costume wearing those wings, but Felix, dead and sprawled out on the lush grass while the heavy music mutated into the anguished cries of Venetia and Farleigh -
Farleigh.
You had snapped out the trance with a gasp. You had turned to him as quickly as you could. Gripping onto his forearms firmly, strong enough to break him from his lost stare. When he had looked down at you then, he was so broken. You could see a layer of tears glittering over his eyes from the cast of the lights; lost and defeated. "Let's go outside " you had said, sliding a hand down to thread your fingers into his own, gently tugging to lead him towards the front door, weaving through the shifting, wild throng of people who were caught up in the night.
You left without warning, desperate to get outside to breathe in the crisp autumn air. But once you both had made it out onto the front porch, neither of you stopped. You had both kept walking with your hands tightly fastened to each other as you set off down the street, vacant now that all of the trick r' treaters had long since purged the houses of all of their candy and turned in for the night to gobble down their bounties. Soon the loud pulse of music projecting from the house party faded into silence, and the only sound was the sharp clap of your heels and the thump of Farleigh's shoes against the damp concrete while the insistent barking of an unsettled dog a couple of blocks away range out distantly. It was still. Calm. And you just walked with no particular destination in mind, focusing on the feel of each other's presence underneath your hands. You would glance up at him every now and again, silently checking on him and you could tell by the look in his eyes that a part of him was still there. Still trapped in Saltburn; seated at that grand table in a room bathed in red.
And you suppose that you're still there too. Trapped in that chair, looking across the space that separated you to try and meet Farleigh's shocked, unseeing gaze. And so now you did your best to be there for him. Reminding yourself that you aren't there anymore. You're in the present now. You both are. You did what you could to remind Farleigh of that as well. Talking about anything that would pop up in your head to try and draw him out. You rambled about work, particularly your coworker Joy (which had to be the most ironic name ever) because he's always interested to hear the newest scoop of drama that comes from working with her. He hates Joy even though he has yet to meet her. He dislikes her just because you don't like her. It's always the highlight of your night to come home from a shift and just being able to sit down at the tiny kitchen/dining table for two and venting to Farleigh about your day. He always hangs onto each word like your gossip is an update on his favorite reality TV show. It's ritual of sorts that you'd usually save for at the night, when you were both unwinding from the day, but you found yourself rambling regardless.
You ranted about today's most recent bout of drama. Drama that he had already heard before when he had gotten home from his own shift, but it didn't keep the story from spilling in some desperate attempt to get him to come back to you. You reiterated how Joy had been caught sleeping with two of her ex's close friends without either of them being aware of it. Adding minute details that you had previously forgotten in an attempt to liven up the story. Retelling the drama that had blown up quite fantastically this morning, with both the both of her boyfriend's showing up to confront her, with the sort of coincidental timing that should have been impossible. You and the customers scattered around the store had been quite entertained for a good ten minutes before your manager had grown privy to the situation - mostly due to the loud shouting match that broken out between the scorned men - and threatened to call the cops on the pair.
"She deserves it," Farleigh had responded. The sound of genuine mirth had been enough to put you at ease and a quick glance had confirmed that he was smiling. It was faint. Hardly there, but you could still see the light impression of it perking at the corners of his lips. It motivated you to keep talking. About anything and everything that came to mind. But this time you felt less anxious to get the words out. Less worried. It was all relaxed and at ease as you strolled down the street, idly admiring the decorations strung up the houses along the road, burning string lights in varieties of purple, and green, and orange bordering their roofs. There were quite a few cemeteries made in the front lawns this year; fake Styrofoam headstones with skeletal arms propped up beneath them to mimic the dead rising from their graves.
But it seemed that your gut had other plans when you eventually found yourselves coming to a stop in familiar fractured parking lot belonging to a frequented IHop. One that could easily be mistaken as abandoned with its faded yellow paint dividing the parking spaces and the sun damaged pylon sign; muted to a dusty robin blue from all the years in the weather. You supposed that it wasn't all that odd that your subconscious brought you here. It was you and Farleigh's go to spot after a night of bar hopping.
Before you could even ask Farleigh if he was hungry, he was already leading you across the parking lot towards the double front doors with those corny decals stuck on the windows in the shape of witches on brooms and the silhouettes of soaring bats.
Now you watch Farleigh with a bittersweet smile on your face, tracing over the shape of the cat ears secured into the thick of his curls. It was some random headband of yours that he had dug up from the depths of your closet. To be completely honest, you aren't even sure where it had come from, but you're glad that he found them. You never knew that seeing Farleigh in a pair of cat ears was something that you needed to see.
It's in your blatant admiration that you realize that you're being watched as well, and it's enough to break you from your trance to look back over to the main dining counter where Daniel is finishing up with refilling the pepper and saltshakers. His stare catches yours and it catches you off guard how confident he seems. There's a playful, assured glimmer in his eyes while he watches you from behind the bar. You can't help but wonder just how long he's been staring at you for, and he makes it even worse when he winks at you.
Ugh.
Okay, Farleigh hasn't been wrong about the flirting you suppose.
You don't even bother hiding the disgust that seeps into your features, pulling your mouth into a scowl and you can see the way that he deflates with disappointment when you pull your focus from him and back onto Farleigh, who thankfully hasn't noticed the exchange. With the hand that balances the lit cigarette between its fingers he's absentmindedly fiddling with the handle of his mug, shifting the cup around like he's studying the way the porcelain glints underneath the pale glow of the fluorescents. You don't even think when you shuffle from your side of the booth. Farleigh watches you curiously when you step around the table to slip onto his seat until your nestled up against his side, smushing your cheek against his shoulder. A wistful smile lifts at the corners of your mouth when you feel him tilt his face onto the crown of your head, going lax against your body with a soft, inaudible sigh. You drag in his cologne in a lungful, taking in the warm spice of it, amber and cigarettes; infused with the subtle saccharine notes of vanilla and it has you relaxing even more. And with a full stomach, the influence of sleep is already beginning to pull at your limbs.
"We should head home," you suggest, tilting your chin up to peer at him from underneath your lashes - or you look at him as best as you can with him still leaning his cheek on the top of your head. "It's getting late."
"It's barely three," he counters. You can hear an amused puff of air leave his chest, but his tone almost sounds playfully offended, like he couldn't believe you'd propose such a thing. You just barely fight off the urge to roll your eyes.
"Don't you have work tomorrow?" You ask, reaching for his coffee to steal a sip, drinking down the sugared beverage without a shred of remorse. Even though you can practically feel the way that he's side eyeing you.
"Thanks for reminding me," he grouses with no real bite.
"You're welcome," you reply easily, tone lightly teasing and good-natured. You let your head roll back onto his shoulder, knocking his chin free from its perch so that you're fully able to look at him. He's already focused downward to watch you; the dark of his eyes glittering underneath the harsh glow of the fluorescents, highlighted with flecks of honey and bronze. "C'mon, you can't say that being home right now doesn't sound at least a little bit nice. We could be curled up underneath a warm blanket right now, watching bad scary movies. And we could finally knock out that bag of candy I bought," you tempt. "Or maybe you're just blowing it off because you screamed like a girl that last time we watched horror."
"I did not!" He denies, sounding and looking wildly offended.
Your eyebrows perk up, an unattractive snort leaving you. "You absolutely did."
You can recall that night quite vividly. You'd experienced Farleigh's . . . eh . . . incompatibility with horror films in the past, during movie nights and little get togethers at theaters with friends. So you had done your best to try and pick out something else to watch but he had been insistent that he could handle the movie. Unsurprisingly, he had flinched every time the harsh sound of that iconic chainsaw had blared through the speakers and had tensed up every time the camera had panned off the characters to imply a jump scare or oncoming attack from the unseen slasher. You had given him your hand to squeeze for moral support, but he had decided about midway through the movie that it wasn't enough and had practically begun to use you as a human shield, trying to wedge his body between you and the couch. His excuse had been that he just wanted to hold you, and for a moment you had believed him with how he had all but scooped you into his lap. But the way that he would nearly hide his face into the crook of your neck during the gory parts of the film was pretty telling. And when he wasn't using you as a buffer, he had tried to preoccupy himself by pointing out any plot holes and the dumb decision that any of the characters made. Not that you minded. His commentary is actually pretty hilarious when he gets nervous.
"That's not how I remember it," he counters confidently, prompting a light laugh from you.
"My mistake then," you reply softly, voice low but jesting. "I must have remembered it wrong."
He hums lowly in agreement and there's the hint of a smile on his lips. With the way that your faces are angled towards each other the points of your noses brush just a bit. You can feel the gentle warmth of his body heat wafting over your skin and sinking in deep. For a second you forget that you're curled up the booth of some ratty diner, that it isn't just the two of you in the world. You think that you could stay here forever, huddled up against him with the scent of coffee and his cologne in the air. His head angles closer to you, and you can feel the hint of his lips on yours making your lashes lower, threatening to slip closed.
"Let's go then," he says suddenly, and the gentle sensation of his lips vanish.
You jerk back with a look of betrayal on your face, but he doesn't seem offended in the slightest. If anything, there's a sort of satisfaction and mischief glinting in his gaze. You want to offer some kind of retort, but your brain is sluggish, a little addled with the desire to sleep and the waning influence of alcohol that nothing smart makes its way to the tip of your tongue. But you do pass a cursory glance at the table and the empty plates scattered along the countertop. "What about the bill?"
He looks at you like the answer is obvious, a sassy "really?" type of expression, leaning back against the backrest, stretching his legs out to give himself the leverage to reach into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. "We eat here all the time, and you always order the same thing. I know how much the bill cost."
"Damn, all right then," you mumble, watching as he throws a couple of bills onto the table between the plates and cups. Then he's nodding his chin at you, silently asking for you shuffle out from the booth, snuffing out the end of his cigarette and wedging what's left of it between the divot made into the edge of the ashtray. He's quick to follow after you with his body nudging along yours as you both slide from the seat. He tucks his wallet back into its place once he's up on his feet, already reaching to take one of your hands but the sudden projection of a familiar voice rings out, making you both pause. "Do y'all need the check?"
You turn to see Daniel who's leaning himself away from the bar and pepper shakers like he's ready to move and make his way around towards your table. Farleigh passes the server a look that seems nonchalant, but you know him well enough to still be able to notice the subtle curl of his top lip, judgmental and unimpressed. You just barely resist the amused urge to roll your eyes at the display.
"No, we're good," Farleigh says as he shrugs off his tux and then he's twirling the jacket around so that he's able to drape it around your shoulders in a single flourish. It's an obvious way of him trying to put a silent claim on you, but you find yourself exchanging smiles regardless; soft and almost private. He steps closer to you, and you turn on your heels to face the exit as he secures one of his arms around your waist, tugging you close against the warmth of his body. "Money's on the table."
He gives Daniel one last glance as you press one of the double doors open; it's just a pointed as the last and the smile on his face is just a little bit smug when you lean into him. But you don't let him revel in his gloating for long before you subtly grip the hand that he has around your waist and tug him out from the cozy shelter of the diner and into the night, tossing a quick, courteous "have a goodnight!" to Daniel from over your shoulder.
The walk back to the house seems quicker than the one before it, and before you know it, you're both slipping into the little Civic situated along the curb. Farleigh had rolled his eyes when you had expectantly held you hand out for the keys, which he had relented you to you with a small scoff. It's all for show. There's nothing he loves more than being chauffeured around; sitting in the passenger seat to tell you when the light has turned green and where to turn (even though he might just be one of the most directionally challenged people you know).
You take the backroads home, ignoring the main drags in an effort to avoid the scattered throngs of traffic that still occupy the popular streets. It's a short drive, but that doesn't stop Farleigh from digging around in the CD binder for music. The song only gets to around the halfway mark by the time you're sweeping the car into the designated parking space underneath a glowing streetlamp, decorated with one of those Halloween tensiles with those tiny pumpkin silhouettes. He doesn't let you turn off the engine, having you let the vehicle idle until the chorus of the song is over. Then and only then are you allowed to shut off the car. Not that you can complain much, you're always more than content to hear Farleigh sing.
Before you know it, you're both jogging up the steps of the second floor, passing by the door of your close neighbor; bordered with a garland and decorated with a Christmas wreath, already in preparation for the next big holiday. A juxtaposition to the Jack o' lanterns posted outside of your door like guards. The both of them are complete opposites of each other, with the face that Farleigh had carved in his made from smooth, seamless lines. Yours on the other hand . . . is a little less fortunate. To put it lightly, it looked like you had been under the influence of every drug and alcohol known to man and went at the pumpkin while you were seeing double; all jagged edges and overlapping corners. Carving had never been a particular talent of yours.
You have to wiggle the key into the lock when you twist it, the damn thing always sticks and snags on some inner mechanism that you don't know anything about. And when you nudge the door open, you have to firmly push it with the point of your shoulder to help it swing on its hinges because it always drags over the threshold. But you feel nothing but relief when you step inside with Farleigh closely trailing behind you, making sure to close the door and lock it once he's inside.
It was a comfort to be home after such a long night out, and the fragrance of a candle that you had burned earlier, fusing with old traces of laundry detergent and the distant scent of the Eggo's that you had toasted this morning (still somehow going strong) feels inviting. It's a small space. Hardly enough room for two people. But you and Farleigh happily make it work. The tight walls feel cozy, decorated with pieces of you both; framed photos from vacations and past road trips, and that painting of a gorgeous golden field that Farleigh had reluctantly gravitated towards at a thrift store (he had snubbed his nose at buying anything second hand for a while, but you had gotten him to come round to it eventually). It was your home. A safe space, a shelter from everything, and everywhere you look there are little hints of him.
After landing back in America from that awful flight from England with James' cold, harsh words still echoing around both of your skulls, you and Farleigh had practically become inseparable. You clung to each other. You were buoys for each other, keeping yourselves afloat with the unforgiving torrents flooding through your minds. That night at Saltburn feels like a dream. A ghost story. And no matter how hard you tried; you couldn't get that morning out of your head. The flashes of golden feathers; the sight of limp, pale skin; those wine-red curtains pulled over the windows, dousing the room in an awful crimson light, making the streaks of tears pouring down Farleigh's cheeks glitter lowly, his face pinched with confusion and anguish. The memory always has something bitter and sharp washing over your tongue; your chest tightens like your heart might rip in two and burst.
It had been you who had suggested moving in together. Only a few weeks after returning home from Saltburn. You and Farleigh had practically been cinched at the hip since then. It was odd for everyone on the outside looking in. You had always been at each other's throats before, lashing out with insults and sarcasm, but ever since returning back from England, neither of you could manage to pull away from the other for long. It was clear to see that something had happened during the trip, something to cause a fundamental shift between you and him. But neither of you ever bothered explaining much more past the fact that you had both "made up," so to speak, back in England. And you only told the necessary people about what had happened to Felix, such as Graham, who had built somewhat of a friendship with the Catton during his visits to the States. But that was all.
For a time, you struggled to find your rhythm in everyday life, to get out of that strange, muddled rut that your brain had sunk down into since Felix and Venetia's passing's. Farleigh, obviously, had struggled more than you. The cloud that loomed over him was thick and suffocating, and you could tell that it was threatening to tear him down and burry him underneath its weight. You made more of an effort to be near him, doing you best to visit him, to keep him out of his head and his guilt whenever you had time off from work and personal affairs.
He had, for the most part, moved in with his mother. Not because he had to, Farleigh had been able to save up a small cushion of money when he was still in the good graces with the Catton's, but because he needed it. He needed to be close to some part of his family. A part of it, no matter how small, that hadn't turned their back on him. Frederica did her best to console him too. But it wasn't always a help when she would often wind up just as equally as distraught as he was. Just as ravaged by grief of her niece and nephew's deaths and the hurt of her own brother fully cutting ties with her and Farleigh and renouncing them as part of the family.
As a result, Farleigh would often spend most of his spare time with you back at your old, shared apartment with Graham. Sometimes you wouldn't even talk. You just sit quietly and feel. Soaking in each other's warmth and scent. Reminding yourselves that you were both okay. That you were still present and here. That Saltburn hadn't taken you from each other and eaten you alive. It was one quiet night just like that, with Farleigh curled up in your arms while you reclined on the old outside couch on the balcony, gazing at the neighboring complexes and looming office towers with that particular question heavy on the tip of your tongue. Your eyes idlily skipped along the glowing windows of another nearby apartment building, taking in the sight of distant silhouettes shifting within them. Of other people going about their task, glimpsing into people's lives. Like the man pacing along his living room floor, angerly shouting into his phone; a young woman a few floors above him gently rocking her infant within the cradle of her arms as she halfheartedly watched something playing on the TV; but what caught your attention the most was an older couple shuffling along their carpet, arms wound around each other in a firm but soft embrace as they danced. Just enjoying the other's presence. Like they were the only two people left alive.
It had that question back with a vengeance, searing your tongue with the insistence to get out. But you held back. From fear, reluctance, anxiety. You weren't sure if he was ready for a step yet. The timing was admittedly a little awful. He was still mourning. Still bound and wrapped in grief. But you still couldn't help but hope that maybe this would be just what he needed. Maybe this could help to soothe him. It wouldn't heal his wounds. Not entirely. Only time could do that. But maybe it would be enough to let him know that he wasn't alone. That you weren't going to leave him. That you wanted and needed him just as much as he wanted and needed you.
The lease was coming up in about a month. Something you and Graham had talked about extensively before, mostly because he was planning on moving out to Nashville. Something about his music career because L.A. wasn't panning out how he had imagined it to. He said that he has put out an ad for possible roommates if you wished to stay and keep the apartment. But truthfully, you didn't need a space that expensive, that big. A fresh start was in order, a place to make new memories. And you knew exactly who you wanted to make them with. Who you wanted by your side. All you had to do was ask. It was just a simple question, that's all. But it really wasn't, was it? You don't just ask your boyfriend to move into an apartment with you after not even a full two months of dating. Especially after two of his family members died and his uncle disowned him. But you have known him for years, to be fair.
"Farleigh?" You spat it out before the anxiety could seal your jaw shut. For a second you had thought that he'd fallen asleep; the puffs of his breathing are warm and steady against your neck. You felt it more than you heard it, a low inquisitive hum that reverberated across your skin. You contemplated about lying, coming up with some kind of excuse and pretending that your question had never existed in the first place. Your silence must have caught his attention or concerned him, because he was shuffling himself back, nudging himself along your body and curling up along the sofa as best as he could without falling off of it, so that he was able to peer up at you from his place on your chest.
"What is it?" He asked, eyes glinting softly in the warm, pale lights strung up along the ceiling of the balcony. You saw something flash in them. Something vulnerable and worried, and you knew then that his brain must have been leaping to the worst possible scenario, hardwired in after all of the misery and tragedy that's fallen over him since Saltburn. It hurt you to know that he was jumping to the most horrible conclusion because of you, as unintentional as it was. It was more than enough incentive for you to spit it out.
"Do you want to move in with me? " You nearly cringed when you said it, and you made an effort to look anywhere else but him. You were afraid to see even the faintest possibility of hesitance or disgust cross over his features. "Not here. I mean it's fine. The rent and the utilities are honestly insane, and the landlord is kind of an asshole. So, maybe we could try something new? A fresh start for the both of us. I just - it's just an idea. You don't have to agree, obviously. I know it's a lot to sort of just ask you."
You tensed up when he moved himself fully off of you, and you adjusted yourself against the arm of the couch, drawing your knees close to your chest so that he had room to sit himself up beside you. It felt too stifling. Suddenly everything had been too loud. The sound of the traffic humming down below, the sharp honk of car horns and the squeal of bad brakes. The gentle breeze suddenly felt like it was howling and deafening in your ears.
"You're serious?" Farleigh's voice split through the chaos, drawing you attention onto him. The expression on his face had struck you. It didn't look betrayed or uncomfortable; it was hopeful, if not a little disbelieving. All of the anxiety lumped within your chest had thawed in an instant, vanishing like it had never been there at all, melting into something warm.
"I'm serious," you answered, the slight shake in your voice shifting into something firm and assured.
His throat bobbed, eyebrows slightly furrowing as he stared at you like he didn't know how to react. You wanted to say something. To tell him that he didn't have to answer so soon, or at all for that matter. He didn't have to agree or disagree with you. Either would be fine. His lips parted, the corners quirking with what might have been the faint pull of a smile. "I -" he drew in a short breath like he was trying to ground himself. His throat bobbed, while his gaze roved over your features like he was searching for something. The hint of a lie or a joke maybe, but he found none. "Yeah, " he answered, wincing slightly before correcting himself. "Yes. I'd love to."
It had only taken a couple of weeks to find something that seemed promising. Though it did help that neither of you had too many requirements to meet. As long as it was affordable (a near impossible condition to meet in a place like L.A. unless you want to live in a complete hole in the wall, but you got lucky - somewhat), and Farleigh also wanted a place that was close enough to his mother, and something that wasn't too far of a commute from your either of your jobs. Not much later, something had come up. It was . . . quaint to say the least. The size of the space was nowhere near the amount of room provided in your past apartment, nor Farleigh's old place. Something that he was less than enthused about when you were given a tour by the landlord, but it was something that he would eventually look past. Mostly. It wasn't perfect. On some nights, you can hear one of the neighbors practicing on their piano - luckily, they're pretty good at it, so it's more of a nice background music than a nuisance - and it takes close to a good ten minutes for the water to heat up, but it's yours. And with Farleigh with you, it's your home.
And now that you're finally back after a long night out, your first goal was to change out of your costume and clean up the makeup and grime of the night. You and Farleigh went about your usual routines, putting away your clothes and somehow the both of you wind up jumping in the bath together for a quick rinse. Exchanging soft kisses while basking in the warmth of the water and sneaking gentle touches under the guise of spreading bodywash along each other's skin. It didn't surpass any further than that. Not even with that delicate warmth and longing smoldering along each and every touch, the potential to become something more. You can see it in Farleigh's eyes too, glinting like something eager and hungry. But it's also soft when he looks at you. It makes you feel cherished and so wholly wanted, that for a moment, it's almost like your chest could burst open and all of the love and devotion filled up inside might come spilling out.
It's always been these little private moments between the two of you that you really hold dear. That you cherish and replay over and over again during idle moments throughout the day; quiet lulls in your work shift or when you're home alone. You can only hope that you can offer the same solace for Farleigh. A reprieve from his anguish. His guilt. He feels responsible for Felix, and by proxy, Venetia. You know that he does. You've seen it in his eyes, heard it from his mouth when he's distraught with the tears that come and go. He still jolts awake some nights, harsh enough to rattle and pull you from your sleep. He'll be disoriented, hazed over and still caught within the stubborn hold of sleep and bad memories. His eyes are always a little wild, glassy and damp from tears that have yet to spill over. On others, he does his best not to disturb you, doing his best to swallow down his quiet cries and slipping out of bed. But it's almost like your body can tell that he's gone. Whether it be the loss of his body heat, or the absence of his weight nestled beside your own, you never fail to wake up, slipping a handout over his side of the mattress to check for him. Clarity always rushed over you whenever you feel that he isn't there. Thankfully the panic has finally left after the first couple times he's done it, but the drive to find him never goes away.
He's usually in the living room, absentmindedly watching the TV. Or sometimes he's at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee or tea while he looks through old pictures on his phone. You always announce yourself with a small 'hey' as not to startle him, and he'll always greet you with a smile. Sometimes it reaches his eyes, sometimes it doesn't. But you always refuse to leave his side. Not until you're able to get a genuine laugh from him, not until you can see some sort of peace reflect in his eyes and you know that the horrors of that morning in the maze finally release their claws and sink back into the recesses of his mind. Not entirely gone, but not at the focus at least.
"What are you thinking about?" His voice pierces through the reminiscent fog clouded over your brain, drawing you from your thoughts and onto him. You have to tilt your head at an angle from the way that you have yourself tucked towards his chest with some of your back nudging against the chilled enamel of the tub. There's amusement flickering in his eyes, glittering like a dark bronze and molten honey underneath the glow of the warm bathroom lighting.
"You." A bit of a corny response maybe, but an honest one, and it comes out low and gentle.
"Sap," Farleigh smirks, an amused huff rising from his chest, but he presses his forehead against yours, sighing deeply when your skin brushes over his. A smile tugs at your lips, but you can't find it in yourself to form a response to his light teasing. Not with the dull lull of sleep in your system. The water is too warm, too pleasant, making your limbs pliant and heavy. And the feel of his body pressed against yours doesn't help fight off the sense of ease weighing your body down. "Come on," he calmly urges. "Let's go watch those movies you've been harassing me about all night."
"Don't act like you don't want to," you grumbled. "You even picked out one."
He doesn't verbally reply to you, but he does make sure to land a slap on your ass when you rise up out of the bathtub to slip into the clothes you had left on the sink. You shoot him a playful glare over your shoulder, but all you get in response from him is a cheeky smile.
That's fine, you'll tag him back. You're patient. He's quick to pull the drain on the tub before rising up and stepping over the enamel boarder, and you're hyperaware of his movements, quietly waiting for an open window to strike. You go about your business, trying not to make your anticipation obvious as you apply lotion over your body before slipping into your comfy clothes, all the while watching him out of your peripherals as he towels himself off. But he's still fully facing you, running the thick linen over his damp skin. He must pick up on your focus because his eyes skirt up to you, suspicion flickering in them and he squints at you with a smile curling on his lips. "What?"
"Hmm?" You hum cluelessly, doing your best feign ignorance with a light shrug. "Nothing."
He doesn't seem to be fully convinced, but he doesn't speak on it. For a quick moment you forget about your revenge completely. Getting caught inside the intimate atmosphere built within the bathroom; the humid cloud lingering over the space, perfumed with the fragrant notes of your bodywashes and lotion; vanilla, nutmeg, and cardamon. It's warm in here from the moisture, not uncomfortably so, but soothing like a rich balm. And with Farleigh here, it just helps to make the mood that's settled over you feel even more private and placid, like being wrapped inside a familiar blanket. But as peaceful as this is, you can't forget that easily, and a moment presents itself when he turns away from you in favor of reaching for his sleep plants, slightly bending over to tug them up and around his knees. You don't wait, reaching out and cracking your palm down on the soft swell of his cheek just before he manages to tug his sweatpants over his hips.
His head turns in your direction so quickly you briefly fear that he might get whip lash, but you see the warning flash in his eyes before he even moves, and luckily your body is quick to jerk into action before you have to consciously make an effort for it. You dart out of the bathroom, making sure to keep your footing and not slip on the tiles as you all but leapt out onto the carpeted junction situated between all four of the apartment's spaces. You could practically feel him coming up on you, even without the rapid patter of his feet tracking across the distance between you. There's a quick, playful shout of your name, urging you to make a split-second decision and you sharply veer off into the living room, just narrowly escaping the reaching fingers of one of his hands; you could feel them brush over your back as you flinched out of their grasp.
An excited, breathless laugh bubbles up from you, triggered by a combination of delight and an unserious sense of nerves; a primal instinct urging you to just move and avoid being grabbed. It guides you to swing around the end of the coffee table furthest from the entrance of the room just in time to see Farleigh bolt through the threshold. He's stops himself short before he could all but slam into the coffee table, and his body is pulled taunt, muscles bunched in preparation to sling him around the small piece of furniture and in your direction at any given moment. It has you on edge, even more so than that competitive glimmer in his eyes. "You know I'm gonna catch you," he taunts, leaning forward with a type of confidence that pisses you off. "So you should just give in now, and cling onto what little bit of dignity you have left."
You can't hold in the scoff that leaves you, the way that your mouth twists into a playful scowl. "Like I'd give in so easily."
You know realistically, this game isn't going to last long. There's only so many places to run to in the apartment. He's going to catch you at some point, but that doesn't mean that you can try to avoid it for as long as you can. He's growing impatient, you can tell by the way that he keeps shifting to different sides of the table, trying to trick you into flinching close enough for him to reach out and grab you. But that's fine. It's good even. You use it, pretending to jerk over to the left when he moves, prompting him to lurch forward to get ahold of you. But you anticipate the move, darting back on your feet and rounding around the side of the table before he can so much as blink. A loud surprised swear rings out behind you, a strained 'fuck' as you bolt towards the open threshold.
There's the hope that maybe if you get to the kitchen, you can hold him off better. The space isn't massive by any means, but the sparing amount of furniture provides more of an open area to move around in. The table there is bigger than the compact one in the living room, making it a better shield to provide distance. Your heart rate spikes with excitement as you dash towards your chosen destination, intent to put as big of a gap between you both as possible, tearing across the floor with a laugh. You come up on the kitchen in a matter of seconds, but before your feet can step from the soft carpet and onto the fake, vinyl flooring a sturdy arm snakes around your middle and pulls you into the firm expanse of a chest, ripping a sharp gasp of his name from your lungs.
It's his turn to laugh now, but it sounds smug and mocking as he backs up deeper into the living room. Every step just drives in your loss. You make idle efforts to get free, squirming and shifting in his grip, but his arms might as well as be steel bands around your abdomen. "So much for putting up a fight," he teases. But you don't get time to make a comeback before you're being spun and shoved down onto the couch. The push was light, but the fall steals the air from your lungs regardless, and the abrupt change in perspective leaves you a little disoriented. It's the sensation of the cushions around you shifting from someone's weight that reorients you, forcing your eyes to focus on the figure that sweeps over your body. His body heat rushes over you with the smell of amber and spice that has you sinking further into the piece of furniture when you should be trying to shuffle out from underneath him to escape.
The expression on his face is fully gloating, dark eyes twinkling with mirth, and the sight of it is enough to finally have some sort of retort spilling from your mouth, as delayed as it is. "Fuck you," you snap, but it does nothing to snuff out his apparent delight. If anything it seems to amplify it.
"Careful," he warns, dipping his voice down that low rumble that you love. His hands are placed on either side of your head, keeping you comfortably trapped underneath him. He angles his head with a teasing smile, the tip of his nose ghosting over yours. The shift in mood is obvious, but not jarringly so, nor is it unwelcome. It falls over you both as easily, and suddenly the intention of calming down for the night and enjoying a horror movie marathon leaves you just as the air from your lungs has. "I might just take you up on that offer."
"What makes you think I was offering?" You query, tilting your head so that his lips brush against yours, soft and inviting. The little amount of space between you gives you enough mobility to rearrange your legs, lifting to them to wrap securely around his waist, and he lets you draw him closer into the gap between your thighs with a light nudge. His eyelashes flutter, a minute gesture that you just barely catch underneath the intimate, dim glow of the lamp in the corner. Farleigh can hardly resist, draping himself against your body until his hips and stomach are pressed along yours and you can feel his body heat radiating from both of your clothes. Your body shifts in its own accord, softly rolling against his in a desperate motion to seek out more of him, and the thrilled look on his face makes a dull sense of embarrassment prickle at your cheeks.
"Call it a gut feeling," he answers and the pout of his lips whisper of yours when he speaks.
You fleetingly contemplate on taunting him back, but you toss that train of thought out the window. Instead, you tilt your chin to seal your mouth over his, swiping your tongue over the delicate skin, sweet and bitter with coffee and the smoke of a cigarette. He moans into you, light with what almost sounds like relief, and the noise, as simple as it is, is more than enough to have a dull throb of heat ripple down your spine. You slip your hands up his neck, reaching to scratch your nails up the base of his neck near the curls there, and it you're gratified to pull the desired response from him, satisfaction flaring in you when a pleasured shiver goes down his back. He licks into your mouth, languid and hungry.
His hips grind over yours, drawing a gasp from your chest when you feel the shape of him, already hot and heavy, through the material of both of your pants. It's more than enough to get you to chase after the sensation, working your own in a desperate attempt to build the warmth smoldering deep inside the base of your abdomen until you're both humping at each other on your living room couch like a couple of teenagers. One of his hands moves to your thigh, drawing it up higher and spreading it further open so that he can lean more of his weight, dragging himself across your clothed cunt meanly. You're already a little wet, slick between your thighs, but even then, you don't feel any urgency to rush. You just want to feel him. To focus on the press of his body against your own, and to breathe in the scent of him.
But the clothes you both wear serve as an irritating barrier. A buffer that dulls his warmth and the sensation of his skin on yours. The only thought swirling around in your head is that they need to be off, gone and tossed somewhere across the room. You slip your hands underneath the edge of his shirt, wadding it up within your hands and tugging. It earns you an amused laugh with him breaking the kiss to pull back and look at you, but not without a teasing bite against your bottom lip. "Is there something you want?"
"Yes," you say, voice almost petulant and determined. "Off. I want it off."
You don't stop trying to slip his shirt off, shooting him a glare when it hitches underneath his armpits, and he doesn't make any effort to assist you in shedding his clothes. "Okay, okay, " he relents, shuffling on his palms to readjust himself but he must have caught onto your hair because it has a stinging heat blossoming on the side of your skull, tearing a surprised yelp from your mouth. "Fuck! Hair - you're on my hair!"
"Wha - shit! Sorry!" He jerks back onto his haunches like you had struck him, thankfully drawing his hands back. The relief is near instant, but you can still feel the side of your scalp throbbing from the pain making you swear lowly. His gaze roves over you like he's expecting to find some kind of visible wound, and the concern in his eyes has affection curling in your chest despite the sharp tenderness echoing throughout your skull. That's what you get, you suppose, for trying to make out on a couch.
"It's okay," you assure, and the gentleness in your tone has him relaxing. A smile makes its way on his face, and he leans down again, this time making sure to be mindful of your hair, to place soft kisses across the expanse of your face. Peppering the cushion of his lips over your cheeks, your nose, your chin; each one an apology. Neither of you can hold in the small puffs of laughter that spill from you, lighthearted and close. You stroke your hands back up his neck again, curling your fingers over the nape to draw him in closer to return your own bout of kisses along the corners of his mouth and jaw.
"Still, I do feel bad," he says. That familiar cadence is back already, dipping low into a smoky rumble that you swear you can feel thrumming over your skin. "Let me make it up to you."
And even with the little slip up and the brief shift in mood that had come from it, it isn't enough to have dampened that coil of desire and want that burns in the cradle of your hips. Not in the slightest. The look in his eyes is consuming, dark and glinting with hunger and longing type of want. It's a look that never fails to weaken you, it's one that you've yet to build an immunity against, and you don't think that you ever will. It's honestly a little embarrassing how quickly it never fails to make you crumble. "I can't say no to that." You try to sound collected and unbothered, but there's a pale quiver in your voice regardless; a gasp nearly catches in your throat.
The smirk that tugs across his face is impish, entirely too complacent and a little mischievous for your liking. It's the type of gaze that you've been pinned under probably close to a hundred times already, and it's one that spells trouble and pleasure all in one. Just a pleasure that's always given on his time. But maybe . . . if you play your cards right, you might just be able to him underneath you instead.
Not just yet though.
"Atta girl," he purrs.
He moves himself off of you in a nimble blur - a complete opposite of the guy who had just awkwardly caught onto your hair earlier, to situate himself down on the floor. He doesn't wait for you to follow. Choosing to grip you by the hips and tug your body to face him, threatening to pull you right over the edge of the old polyester cushions and sending you ass first onto the carpet. But you manage to get a good grip on the headrest of the sofa to secure your seating. Which proves to be helpful when Farleigh hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and underwear in a single pull and begins to jerk them down without fanfare. His movements are impatient but fluid, working the fabric from your legs in fast rush, balling them up and tossing them across the room. He hardly gives you any time to process anything before he's grasping both of your thighs and spreading you open by hooking your knees over his shoulders.
The tepid air brushing over the damp heat of your cunt is almost jarring and the gasp it pulls from you shudders across your ribcage. The anticipation welling up inside of you is already unbearable despite having done so little to warrant it; some dry humping and making out. But when it comes to Farleigh, you're damn near insatiable, and even the simplest things about him can set you off and dangle you over the edge. His scent, sweet and syrupy with the subtle notes of vanilla, but also warm from amber and cardamon. There's that spiced musk of cigarettes always on him too. It's never been a habit you've liked, a smell that you've ever enjoyed, but coming from him it still manages to make your mouth water. And then there's his eyes; expressive and bright despite their dark shade; dipping from what almost looks like a near black to a heated bronze, glimmering with flecks of copper and gold depending on the strength of the casted light. The sight of them pinned on you always has your body humming like a live wire and watching them skip around a room or from the faces of people, animated from the fervor of his passion or opinions never fails to make you flood with an array of emotions: peace, happiness, adoration. And then there's the sound of his voice and all of the various shades of it, from the soft, nonchalant rumble it takes during day-to-day conversations; that inflection that hits it in a playful spike when he's feeling particularly mischievous or sardonic; how low it can dip when he's got you malleable and eager underneath his palms, just like he does now.
You love all of it. All of the various sides of him and all of his qualities and imperfections. You could blame it on the honeymoon phase. That it'll just all wear off once the freshness of your relationship has worn off and sunk in. But truthfully, everything about Farleigh has always set you on fire, practically from the moment you met him, and you don't think it'll ever go away. That the sheer amount of heat and desire that you feel for him - that the aching way that you crave him will ever dampen or dull.
It's a realization that you've come to a while ago, but it still never fails to surprise you from the sheer scope of your feelings and adoration. Just how much you love all of him. From something as simple as waking up next to him every morning. Especially when he's asleep while the city is still sluggish and casted with the lavender and champagne hue of dawn, giving you time to admire him while he's relaxed and safe from all of his troubles. How expressive he is, all snark and sarcasm and sharp, quick-witted comments that never fail to get a laugh from you. He sometimes uses British terms and slang when he talks, and every now and again you swear you can hear a little bit of an accented lilt on his words when he speaks - especially if he's upset or impassioned in some way. And it even though it pisses you off to no end and you've given him plenty of ear full's about it, you can't find it in yourself to hold it against him when he's rarely able to keep track of time. Not even with red little watch secured around his wrist or the alarms on his phone; dates and schedules always seem to slip his mind. But he's gotten better. He's made and effort to try. And you love that little fact about him, because it's a part of him. Of who he is. And you love him so much that you wonder if it might just eat you alive and light you on fire. God, you really do love him. You love -
"Farleigh," you nearly whimper. He snags the tender skin of your inner thigh between his teeth and lips, nipping and sucking to tease you and wind you up.
"Be patient," he says, dragging the point of his tongue next to where you need him the most, leaving a blazing trail along your flesh in its wake." I haven't even started." There's that smug amusement saturating his tone, and you want to snap at him. To say something. But then he's slipping his hands underneath you to cup to the swell of your ass within his heated palms, slipping his thumbs towards the front of you to spread you open even more. You can feel how wet you are, smearing a little along your skin, leaving it chilled. Shame doesn't even register for you. You're already too worked up, too desperate. At this point you just want him to touch you. You know that begging him won't really get you anywhere. Not when he's like this. All you'll end up doing is stroking his ego, but you can hardly care about that right now.
"C'mon, Farleigh, pleas-" you fully choke on your words when his tongue drags over you, dipping into your entrance before dragging up to your clit in a single stroke. Your legs twitch from the surprise and you can't help but reach out to grasp onto his hair, threading your fingers into his curls as your lungs swallow down a moan in a shaky breath. He's working his mouth against you like a man starved, like he's desperate to drink down your taste and savor every bit of you. Sure, you've been with passionate lovers in the past, people who genuinely enjoy the act of eating someone out, but the enthusiasm that Farleigh always has when he goes down on you never fails to shock you. It takes every bit of conscious effort not to cry out. You do your best not to be loud, reminding yourself that it's got to be around three a.m. by now and you have neighbors. You've already had to deal with that once before. A little after the first week you and Farleigh had moved in, he had made it his mission to fuck you on nearly every available surface in the apartment, and it's safe to say that you two had been a little louder than intended. It had made checking the mailbox compartment outside near the front desk and taking out the trash to the dumpster unbearably awkward with all the side eyed glances and glowers you had gotten. Not that you could necessarily blame your neighbors for being a little disgruntled. Still, it's safe to say that you'd rather not do that again.
But it doesn't help that Farleigh seems to take your silence as some sort of challenge. You see it flicker in his eyes when you glance down at him, catching sight of his eyes from between your arms and the frame of your thighs. The look that glimmers in them is lethal and almost defiant, but it isn't something that you can brace for. He's always been talented with his mouth. The first night that you had hooked up on that stone balcony back at Saltburn you're pretty sure that he had damn near killed you with his tongue. And in the few months you've been together, somehow, he's gotten even more dangerous with it. He's had time to learn everything about you. How to take you apart piece by piece. What makes you twitch, and shudder, and scream, and you can tell concentrated glare that he has that he's going to do his best to pull you apart by the seams.
He curls his tongue around your clit and sucks hard, making you jolt and then he's laving the muscle down to sweep it along your entrance. That's the only warning you get before he slips inside, dragging it slow to make sure you feel every bit of it. He's only just started, and that molten heat is already curling down your spine and building between your hips. His hands slip upward to grip onto your thighs, squeezing the sensitive skin there and mushing them against his ears. He moans against you, sending vibrations across your cunt that makes your toes curl. But even in the midst of the bliss searing at your body, your brain is still able to cling onto the fact that the noise he made almost sounded doleful. It's with a ragged gasp that you force yourself to pull your focus onto him, trying to center your attention through the low haze that's already clouding your brain. You can see the way that his eyebrows are pinch closed, almost like he's displeased or annoyed. But before that nervous flutter in your gut can become anything serious or unignorable, he's jerking away from you, forcing a mournful whine to spill past your lips from the absence of his mouth.
"Far, what -"
"Sit on my face."
His request - command, really - comes out a little ragged. Breathless. And he all but flops back on the floor, letting his limbs sprawl out carelessly. But his eyes don't drift from your in his descent, they remain locked onto you with a sort of depraved yearning. For a moment your brain seems to lag, and in turn your body straggles behind, leaving you lie across the couch and stare. Too caught up in the sight of Farleigh. His breathing is already slightly labored, causing his chest to rise and fall, forcing air from his lips, which are glistening and smeared with your arousal. And you don't miss the fact that he's already hard, heavy and straining against the burgundy fabric of his sleep pants. Even with of tempting of image that Farleigh is spread out in front of you, there's still a question on your tongue. He must have been able to see your hesitance, something in your body language or a glimmer in your eyes because the look that he fixes you with is steadfast and maybe even a little exasperated. "Sit. On my face." He enunciates the words slowly, like he's giving each of them time to really sink in through your skull.
That's really all it takes for the majority of your doubt to waver. Farleigh isn't one to ask for things that he doesn't want. And in your small time together you've already managed to build up a strong level of trust between each other, especially in regard to sex. It's enough to give you the confidence to slink off of the couch, kneeling yourself down over his legs to work yourself along his body until your hovering over his chest. But even with his anticipation palpable in the air, you still can't help but be a little bit nervous and the torrent of thoughts raving your mind does nothing to ease your concerns.
What if you smother him? What you're too heavy? What if -
"Hey."
His voice gives you something to cling to, centering your thoughts with something as simple as its sound. His hands cup your thighs, gripping them with their warmth and caressing the skin with their fingertips. It pulls your focus downward where he gazes up at you from between the apex of your legs, eyebrows raised and the hint of an amused smile perking at the corners of his lips. "You've literally choked me before."
The comment has a small bubble of laughter leaving you, despite its truth. He isn't wrong. It's not like breath play is a new development between the two of you, so you honestly aren't sure why the idea of sitting directly on his face seems so daunting. Just two taps against your thigh. That's all it would take, and then you'd be pulling yourself off of him in an instant. This really isn't unfamiliar territory in the slightest. It's just nerves, is all. That little realization, no matter how small, is enough to have excitement and heat burning through your veins; flaring and needy.
"Ready?" You ask, trying to swallow down the faint flutter of nervousness in your stomach.
The expression that flickers across his face is absolutely delighted, if not a little wicked. "Fuck yes," he pants, sending a warm puff of air across the slick that's smeared across your inner thighs. His hands clench around the grip they have on you when you adjust yourself forward and begin to lower yourself downward. Apparently, you were going much to slow for his liking because he's lifting his head up to meet you, tongue first. It feels as though it's been doused with liquid heat when it lashes along cunt, forcing a sharp cry from your lungs from the pressure of it. It's enough to catch you by surprise, making the muscles of your thighs twitch and give out. The full brunt of your weight would have collapsed onto his head if you hadn't managed to grab onto enough awareness to catch yourself with your palms.
"Farleigh," You hiss, equally elated and scolding.
All you get from him is a moan in response, but it sounds purely happy. Almost euphoric. The vibrations of it thrumming over you and the pressure of his nose nudging across your clit fully douses over what little reservations you have left. His fingers flex tight, and his strength bears down on your legs to fully seat you on his mouth, sealing the heat of it over you. If it wasn't for the fact that you're already supporting your weight on your arms, you probably would have doubled over from the sensation of it. It's completely involuntary when your hips begin to roll, seeking out the friction of his nose and tongue. You can't even find it in yourself to be worried about crushing him or cutting off his breathing with the wanton groans that start to pour from him in an uninhibited stream. It's almost as though he's the one . . .
That trail of thought has you leaning yourself back, just barely managing the coordination and thought it requires to pull your weight into your thighs again and off of your arms. You turn your head to glance over your shoulder and the sight of his hand stroking up and down his cock is enough to tear a whine from you. Your cunt clenches around nothing, achingly empty while he laps and sucks at your clit, stroking molten bliss throughout your veins. You aren't sure when he had pulled himself free from his pants, and you aren't sure how you didn't manage to hear the low wet sound of his palm dragging over his length, slick with the flow of precum, but you're unable to pull your attention away from the sight of it now.
You can already feel the pressure of that sultry heat coiling deep inside of you, dangling you precariously close towards that delicious edge. You mouth drops open in a silent whine when his tongue slips inside, lapping deep like he's trying to drink you down. Pleasured tremors zip up your thighs and stomach with each drag and suck from his mouth, threatening to make your eyes roll. Even then, you still have enough clarity and drive to want to return the favor. You reach behind yourself, managing a cursory glance over your shoulder just long enough to be able to grab ahold of his cock, just above his own hand. The position is admittedly a little awkward, and you can feel the strain of it simmering along the taut muscles of your back as you squeeze his length and twist your wrist over his heated skin. But it isn't enough to get you to even consider stopping. He whines against you at the feel of your palm on him, and his hips jerk up into both of the holds you have on his cock, desperately seeking out more friction with fervent thrusts from his hips.
The two of you easily fall into a unanimous, rhythmic pace, and his hand brushes against your own as they both slip and down his girth. You make sure to squeeze the head of his cock with each upstroke, pulling a frayed moan and another flow of precum with each tug. The broken, sharp moans that spill from him help to hurdle you towards that rising, frenzied tide of bliss. The way that his tongue works inside of you makes your muscles seize, threatening to sweep you under quickly. A little too quick. You don't want this to end just yet. On just about any other time, it wouldn't have been a problem, but you don't think that you have more than one round in you tonight. Not with all of the dancing and partying you had done earlier; the emotions that had run; the small glimpses back into Saltburn and wounds that had reopened with just the small glimmer of a pair of Spirit Halloween costume wings. You wanted to feel him. You needed him. But you had to stop now before the smoldering warmth licking across every nerve and cell in your body lit up and engulfed you entirely.
"Farleigh - wait." You gasp around a choked moan, trying not to mourn the loss, to focus on the heavy ache that racks through your body at the absence of his tongue. "Wait, wait, wait."
Even though you can feel the hesitance in his grip he allows you to pull your cunt from his mouth, but there's a torn whine from his chest and for second he chases after your hips before letting his head plop back down on the carpet with a defeated sigh. There's a confused furrow set between his eyebrows, though you're sure he's getting mixed signals based on the way that you haven't paused or released the grip you have on his cock.
"As much as I'd love to cum from your mouth, I need you to fuck me." It's then that you remove your hand from him.
"Okay - fuck - please, yes." He nods his head vigorously and the look that burns in his eyes is bright and eager. Suddenly the hand that he was jerking over his length is now on your waist, following as you begin to shuffle down his body until you can feel the crown of his cock drag across the heat of you, spreading your lips open around the shape of it and dragging along your clit in a delicious grind. You both moan at that little bit of friction, and as worked up as you are, you can't help but stay that way for a moment; slipping a hand down to grip the base of him so that you can roll your cunt over him with tight circles from your hips. His head tilts back against the floor and the expression that melts over his features looks tortured and dazed all at once. You take the time to just watch him; the mixture of his spit and your arousal that gleams over his lips like a perverted sort of balm; the short, almost labored gulps of air that shudder across his ribcage, only concealed by the fabric of his T-shirt; and you can see the light of the lamp glittering dimly across his hair, showing up like streaks and winks of amber and cinnamon.
"Don't tease me," he complains, hitching his waist up to thrust the head of cock against you in a way that has you crying out in surprise; sending a smoldering shot of lust into your veins. Even then, you can't hide the amused smile that stretches across your lips. But that's as much as you bother to taunt him considering that you're already plenty of worked up yourself. You don't bother with any smug comments or sarcastic quips. Instead, you're taking ahold of him and lining him up with your entrance. And you don't bother giving him time to breathe before you sink down around his girth, taking him in with a single motion that makes him choke on an inhale. Maybe it's a little mean of you, not letting him catch up and adjust to the sensation, but the sheer delight that burns in his eyes lets you know that he isn't bothered in the slightest.
That doubled with the flexing grip he has on your hips lets you know that he doesn't want you to stop. You press your palms flat on his chest, not enough to be crushing, but enough to provide you the leverage that you need to rotate your hips over him in smooth, deliberate rings that have you both quivering and plunged in an ecstasy that frays your senses and pulses over your nerves. He helps you along by meeting the shift of your hips, thrusting into you with deep, heavy strokes. He's insatiable, running his hands all over you. Like he's afraid you'll vanish, and he has to commit you to memory before you slip through his fingers. It has you dipping your head as low as you can without disrupting the rhythm you've built, and he props himself on his elbows to meet you so that you're able to lock your lips with his. You come together with the brush of teeth and tongue. It's clumsy and messy, but even then, it has nothing but pure want melting over your bones like wax and honey.
The hold his hands have on you is greedy and fervent, like he wants to soak your warmth in through his palms and keep it to himself. He slips them underneath your shirt, coasting along your skin until they meet the swell of your breasts, kneading them with his fingertips. It's enough to have you keening aloud and fucking yourself on him like you'll die if you don't. Each stroke tips you that much closer to burning alive, and you can tell by the way that Farleigh's muscles tense with each grind and push from your hips, that he isn't that much better off either. You're both going to pull each other under into something alive and lambent until there's nothing left of yourselves but heaving, wrecked pieces clinging to each other. And you want nothing more than to singe and ignite with Farleigh.
The thought alone gives you the motivation to work yourself on his length, squeezing the walls of your cunt over him, making him groan and swear under his breath against your lips. It has his head tipping back, severing the press of your mouth against his. But you don't have time to mourn the loss when he all but whines into the air, pitched and raucous like he's been overstimulated. Though the near bruising grip he has on your tits and the way that he vigorously meets your thrusts lets you know that he's far from at his limit yet.
But you can already feel it, rising up and threatening to take you apart. You can taste it on your tongue; sweet and electric, and you chase after it with a desperation that might knock you into oblivion. And God, do you want that. It's so selfish, but you want nothing more than it to be just you and him, tangled together for eternity; caught within the push and pull of reaching limbs and constant desire and love; suspended in time - in this moment permanently. You try to warn him as best as you can, but it comes out as a jumbled pile of mess and a breathless sob when your body seizes tight around him like it wants to take him for all he's worth. It zips up over you like something white and hot and consuming. Stars blanket over your vision, sweeping over your limbs and spine with a weight that knocks you down into his chest despite the hungry grind of your hips.
It's with a worn gasp of your name that you feel him pulse deep inside of you, filling you with a warmth that you swear settles so far in the pit of your stomach that it has you going boneless. The colorful array of stars blinding your vision blot out and fizzle like you're staring into a sky full of fireworks as pleasure fizzles and wracks through your body bone deep. You seize over him, clamping down on his cock one last time and you distantly register him hissing lowly like he's been wounded. You aren't sure how long you lay like that. Suspended and doused in pleasure and heat, floating above your body. But when you come to, Farleigh's panting beneath you, drawing in heavy lungful's of air while his fingertips run along your ribcage, tracing over the bone.
You take him in. The moment: the weight of him still nestled within your cunt; the scent of his cologne and sex in the air and the sound of your labored gasps. This is peace, you decide. Just him and you. His heat, his presence. Him.
"I love you."
The confession hangs heavy. For a moment you don't register who spoke it. If it was you or him. But the tone of it, smoky and rumbling, paired with the vibrations of a voice thrumming throughout the chest pressed underneath your ear let you know who had spoken. It has you lifting your head to look at him, but his gaze is focused on the ceiling like he's afraid to meet your astonished stare. Your lip's part, ready to speak and assure him. To share a confession of your own and let him know that his feelings are returned but then his voice is drifting out again, cutting you off before the words even leave your throat.
"I've been wanting to say it for a while," he says. Something flickers across his face, vulnerable but steadfast. "But I waited. I just . . . I didn't want you think I was saying it because of what happened - because I was hurt."
The admission breaks something it you. It isn't angry but sympathetic and loving. It's warm - gentle. It guides you to prop yourself on your elbows so that you're really able to look at him, and it draws his attention enough to have his eyes flickering onto your face. "It's . . . I have regrets from that night. That morning -" he pulls in a deep breath to steel himself and you move a hand to cup his face, hoping that it'll help to center him somewhat. You feel a bit of relief when he leans into your touch instead of pulling away, and some of the tension in his muscles slip. His eyes suddenly seem as though they're pinning you in place; dark and certain even though there's the hint of tears welling up around them. - " things I would have done differently. You aren't one of them."
You can feel tears of your own threatening to spill over. But these are of joy. You swear you might actually burst. That the sun might appear within your chest and eat you alive. "I love you too."
The smile that breaks across his face is euphoric and light. Like the weight of the world has just been lifted from his shoulders from your words alone. It has you dropping your head forward until your forehead nudges against his own and you're breathing his air. His hands sweep up to cradle your face, guiding you to look at him. And for the first time in your life, you truly know what it means to be gazed upon like you had hung the stars in the sky. Like you had suspended the moon in its dark cradle and lit the sun alight. To be looked at like you are everything. "Say it again."
"I love you," you answer without hesitation, and all you can do is hope that your own eyes convey the sheer magnitude of your own feelings. That your voice properly projects the scope of your love for him.
"Again," he begs like he's been starved, placing soft kisses along your face.
"I love you, Farleigh Start. I always have."
You hardly get time to register the fact that he's flipping you over, swapping your positions with a single move until your back is pressed into the cushion of the carpet. Suddenly he's taking up the entire expanse of your vision; dark eyes twinkling and alive. The laughs that leave you both are chiming - almost musical. Airy and entirely carefree. His lips brush over yours and his breath coasts over the shape of your face, and the only thing that you can smell, and feel is him. The warm, soothing weight of his body and the familiar scent of vanilla and cigarettes.
"We're gonna get a noise complaint one of these days," you warn without any bite.
His eyebrows raise, and the smile that stretches over his face is entirely unapologetic. "If the dude with the piano hasn't gotten any shit yet then we should be fine." He runs his nose along yours, nudging you to angle your head so that he can brush his lips over yours. "Fuck 'em."
You can't hold back the small bout of laughter that puffs from your chest, even as you playfully roll your eyes. "Fuck 'em," you agree just before you meet in a burning kiss.
#farleigh start x reader#farleigh x reader#farleigh saltburn#farleigh start#farleigh start smut#saltburn fanfiction#saltburn x reader#farleigh catton#saltburn#felix catton x reader
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would it be a sin if i stayed?
pairing: ghostface!sam carpenter x fem!reader
summary: you find out your girlfriend is hiding something from you
words: 3.120k
warnings: mentions of murders, gf!sam, knife, scream shenanigans, stab wounds, treating wounds, fear of cheating(?), swearing, bad writing
authors note: so it's been a minute huh, excuse the rusty writing i've been in pain and in a writers block
Everyone's entitled to their own secrets; there's nobody in the world that doesn't have at least one secret.
Some people have small secrets such as not liking a certain food but saying they like to please the other person. Others don't have such sweet secrets.
The darkest secret you have is the fact you slit your ex's tire once after she cheated on you, it's not insanely dark or even cool, it's simply just a secret that you don't want people to know about.
Yet there's people in your life that hold such darker secrets, ones that could never be revealed to anyone; not even their most loyal loved ones.
Unbeknownst to you that person is Sam Carpenter, your girlfriend of over a year.
—————
Me (17:29pm): i'll get started on dinner soon then?
Sammy<3 (17:32pm): Yes please. Hopefully I'll be done soon with my shift and can hopefully even help you a bit with the cooking! 👩🍳😊
Me (17:33pm): maybe i'll postpone for a bit then
Sammy<3 (17:33pm): No, start cooking. You need to eat and Derek is a bastard who won't let me off early anyways 😂😂
Me (17:34pm): fineeeee
Me (17:34pm): see you soon then, love you <33
Sammy<3 (17:36pm): I love you too, Y/n ❤️
Me (18:12pm): i finished making dinnerrrr:))
Me (18:22pm): sammmm
Me (18:29pm): sam?
Me (18:31pm): please answer me sam, where tf are you?? ik you finish your shift at six
Me (19:06pm): Sam this isn't funny, please answer my calls.
You bite your bottom lip nervously as you reread over the messages hoping to see that small bubble pop up any second.
Sure traffic was a reasonable reason to why Sam's late but she'd always message you after finishing her shift at work.
Sam's one of those people who never leaves the house without her phone being higher than 80%, meaning her phone being dead wouldn't explain it. She always made sure it had more than enough battery in case Tara or you called her and there was an emergency
So why the fuck isn't Sam answering your texts? You can't help but worry after everything that's happened to the poor woman and her family with Ghostface.
You've already tried calling her three times to no avail. Nervously you switch over to Tara's contact as your thumb hovers over the call button, debating whether you should ask her if she's seen Sam or not.
If Tara hasn't seen her and Sam is in fact just running incredibly late then you're just going to worry the younger Carpenter for no reason.
"Fuck." You mumbled to yourself as you lowered your thumb to dial Tara, deciding it's worth the risk.
Just as you're about to press down you hear the doorknob to your front door jangle, immediately you whip your head around to see Sam entering calmly.
You drop your phone and rush over to her throwing your arms around her desperately as you cling to her.
Sam doesn't say anything as she slowly raises her hand to your back, rubbing it up and down slowly.
"Where were you, Sam? I thought something had happened." You say worriedly as you pull away staring into your eyes intently, noticing a glimmer in her eyes that you have never seen before.
Her eyes looked darker, almost a lustful look in them.
She sighed as she smiled apologetically. "Some girl puked all over the place so I had to clean it up so I wasn't done till six thirty, then my phone died so I couldn't text you."
You ponder for a second on the possibility of Sam's phone actually being dead since the messages and calls went through, meaning it would be impossible for her phone to be dead.
Biting your tongue you nod as you smile at Sam, just relieved to have her here.
"Okay, glad you're safe then. I've made a plate for you so you just need to reheat it." Sam grins as she presses a quick kiss to your cheek making your ear burn just as they did the very first time they kissed you.
"You're the best." She says and you chuckle giving a weak smirk. "I know right, the best girlfriend."
Sam pulls away from you as well, finally giving you a proper look of her. You tilt your head confused as you notice the baggy black hoodie she's wearing, practically devouring her and hiding her arms and upper body.
"You didn't leave wearing that this morning." You comment mindlessly as you grab the end of the sleeve, rolling your fingers around the soft texture.
Sam stiffens as she roughly pulls her arm away from your grip, crossing her arms over her chest. You frown at her abruptness.
"It was in the trunk of my car." Sam replies dismissively with a wave of her hand before turning to enter your room.
You remain where you stand a little frown toying on your lips. What was that about? You thought as you glanced at the doorway to your bedroom, the light being flickered on by Sam.
"I'm just gonna take a shower real quick then I can eat dinner and we can watch some movies?" You hear Sam yell from your room also hearing the erratic movement from her as you walk closer.
Leaning on the doorway you see Sam placing her phone, car keys and work badge on the dresser.
"Want me to reheat your food for you?" You suggest with a smile. Sam nodded her head as she turned to face you, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead this time as she whispered, "I love you so much." before passing you and locking herself in the bathroom.
A few moments later you hear the loud sound of the shower water hitting the bottom of the tub before it gets muffled by Sam entering the shower.
Against your better judgement you glance back into the room where Sam's phone is kept, the desperate urge to check it gnawing at you.
You didn't want to snoop through it, no, you just wanted to see if she was lying or not. Which you basically already knew she was.
You glance back at the bathroom door before rushing into the room to look at Sam's phone.
Reaching the drawer you picked up her phone and to your horror the movement of you picking it up lights the screen up.
Sam's phone wasn't dead.
She lied to you.
Sam wouldn't cheat on you, right? No, Sam would never. She loves you too much for that.
Right?
Shaking your head in hopes of getting rid of those thoughts you place Sam's phone back into its original position, staring at it before leaving the room to reheat Sam's plate of food.
You trust Sam with your life and more and don't believe she's cheating on you since she's already quite possessive and protective of you after Ghostface.
After placing the plate into the microwave you move back into the living room, dropping down onto the couch with a sigh as you wrap your fingers around the TV remote, pressing the on button.
The TV started up and immediately you were introduced to the loud male voice of the news reporter. You pulled out your phone and didn't pay much attention till you heard him utter a line that made your blood run cold.
"-two male victims stabbed to death near Parker Street, the police have no lead suspects as of now but a CCTV footage has been leaked showing the brutal murder and the killer wearing the infamous Ghostface costume."
Your eyes widened as you slowly lowered your phone, pushing yourself up the couch as you straightened your posture.
Ghostface is back? It doesn't help that Parker street, that's the street where the bar Sam works at is at.
"Sam!" You yelled and panicked as your eyes remained focused on the screen.
You could hear the shower stopping before moments later the door the bathroom being thrown opened and Sam rushes into the living room soaking wet with a towel wrapped around her body.
"What's wrong?" Your girlfriend asked as she moved to your side, holding your face with a possessive grip as she turned it to the side to see if you were hurt.
You shake your head making her let go and nod towards the TV, Sam takes your hint and turns to focus on the screen.
She's silent for a moment, her breathing eerily calm as her eyes meet with yours.
"Ghostface is gone, we don't have to worry." She says as her hand glides into yours.
Your brows furrowed in confusion as this is a total 180 reaction to how she reacted last time when Tara's classmate was murdered, and it wasn't even confirmed it was Ghostface at that time.
"Sam, the person was literally wearing a Ghostface outfit and two people were murdered on the same block where you work! This cannot be a coincidence." You rush out as you look down at your phone where it lay on the couch. "We have to call Tara, Mindy and Chad. I'm not letting you all go through this again." You say as you grab your phone but you're stopped by Sam's hand wrapping around your wrist.
Looking up at her confused you see a blank expression on her face, not a panicked look you expected to see.
"This is not our Ghostface, Y/n, calm down, please." Sam replies, moving her hand to interlock with yours with a tight grip.
Your jaw slackens as the crease between your brows gets even bigger.
"A dude in a Ghostface outfit killed two people near where you work, Sam!" You insist on trying to make Sam notice how dire this situation is.
She shakes her head as she shuffles a bit closer, the droplets falling off of her and a few dropping onto you.
"My Ghostface doesn't do random public killing, this is very out of character. It's probably just some psycho who's using it as a disguise, Y/n. It's fine. I'm safe, Tara's safe, the twins are safe and you're safe." You're speechless at Sam's smooth words, never hearing her so calm and confident.
Last year she threatened to move countries instantly when it wasn't even confirmed it was about them.
You let out a humourless chuckle as you shake your head. "And what did Mindy say when Tara was acting like you right now last year? It's a bit too close to home."
Sam shakes her own head as she flashes a smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. "You trust me, don't you?"
You let out a barely audible scoff as you nod your head at the question as if it was a stupid question to ask.
"With my life and more Sam." Sam's smile softens as she nods her head gently, as if knowing what you were going to say.
"So trust me on this, my love." She whispers, raising her wet hand to lay on your cheek lovingly. "Please." She adds in a whisper as her thumb runs up and down your cheek slowly.
You maintain eye contact with Sam as you begin to feel yourself getting lost in her dark brown eyes, unconsciously nodding your head slowly.
Sighing you snap out of your trance as you smile weakly at her, squeezing your interlocked hands.
"I trust you."
—————
A few days have passed and the only person other than you who's showing concern over the murders is surprisingly Tara. The girl who was very adamant last year that this almost exact scenario wasn't related to them in any way.
You've been texting her non stop about your worries about the entire situation but you haven't said anything about your concerns about Sam.
She lied to you, sure it was something very niche but with the timing of the murders; something just felt off.
You have also noticed that Sam has been even more loving lately, not that she isn't always wonderful to you, but it's more than usual.
You love the attention but you still can't help but feel that there's something wrong.
It's a Saturday night and Sam's working the night shift again, you're not doing anything special so you decided to sleep in early.
It's around two in the morning when you get awakened by a slam of the door, it immediately sprung you out of sleep since you've always been a light sleeper since the entire Ghostface incident.
You rub your eyes as you slowly sit up, glancing around the room and notice Sam isn't in bed.
Concern runs through your veins immediately as you push yourself off the bed to stand up, your feet hurting the cold floor as you move towards the door. Is it a complete dumb move to investigate the random loud noise? Yes, absolutely. But you can't help but think it's most likely Sam and maybe she's having another one of her attacks.
"Sam?" You yell out softly as you open the door and glance around your small apartment, squinting your eyes to see better in the dark.
There's no sign of Sam but then you notice the light peeking through the bottom of the bathroom door. You definitely didn't leave the bathroom light on.
You head towards the bathroom door and go to open it but it's locked, you frown as your concern grows.
"Sam? Are you there?" You ask as you keep trying to unlock the door but to no use.
A muffled grunt is heard through the door before you hear Sam's raspy voice.
"Go back to bed, Y/n, I'll join you soon." Sam's muffled voice says as another low grunt is heard. That doesn't help your nerves at all.
You can feel your heart pick up a pace as you desperately keep trying to unlock the door.
"Open the door, Sam, please." You beg as you keep trying to open the door, shaking the doorknobs desperately.
"No." Sam says sternly, making you shake your head at her stubbornness. "Sam if you don't unlock this door I swear I'll kick it down. Please open the door."
"No I-" Sam goes silent for a moment before continuing her words. "You can't see me like this, you'll leave me."
"Sam I love you more than anything in this world, if you're hurt I want to see you and help you. Please." You say sincerely as you still your moments on trying to open the door, trying to show Sam how much you care for her.
She doesn't say anything for what feels like an eternity, your fear growing with each passing second as you swallow nervously.
Then you hear it, the door unlocking but Sam doesn't open it for you. Immediately you throw the door open and scan your eyes to find Sam sitting on the edge of the bathtub wearing her usual grey tank top, tight black cargos and thick black boots with bruises and a singular stab wound on her arms.
Your breath hitches as your eyes widen dramatically, your fear about Ghostface attacking Sam again being confirmed.
Sam refuses to make eye contact with you as she sloppily tries to patch herself up, wrapping a bandage around below her shoulder that's already staining with a ruby red shade.
"Let me help." You whisper as you move to stand in front of her knowing in the frenzied state Sam is in she wouldn't tend her wounds properly.
She finally looks up at you and you notice the look of pure fear in her eyes, it breaks your heart.
Sam stiffly nods her head as she lets go of the dirty bandage and lets it fall gracefully onto the floor.
You don't take notice of anything else around you as your entire focus is only on your bleeding girlfriend.
As you focus on the slash below her shoulder you see that she's sterilised it and only needs help with bandaging it up.
You grab a new roll and gently hold onto her elbow for a grip as you begin to tightly wrap the bandage around her wound.
As you keep wrapping enough layers around your eye's unconsciously flicker over to the bathtub, and the moment you see the objects scattered inside you feel your heart drop.
A bloodied knife is peeking out through a thick pile of black which almost looks like a blanket but that isn't what catches your attention. The bloodied Ghostface mask thrown carelessly near what you presume is the cloak is what makes your heart come back to life and rapidly speeds up.
Suddenly everything makes sense.
The lie about her phone being dead when it wasn't, coming home late and the very calm reaction to the murders.
Sam wasn't attacked by the Ghostface on the news; Sam is Ghostface.
You can pull your eyes away from the hollow eyes of the Ghostface mask as you keep bandaging Sam's stab wound up, the feeling of shame making your throat tighten.
Not ashamed of Sam but the fact you don't immediately want to run away. Call the cops or even scream. Instead you stand there as you treated her wound.
"That's enough layers, Y/n." Sam's quiet voice breaks you out of your stare as you avert your eyes back to hers, stilling your hands as you lock with her brown eyes.
Oh those big brown eyes.
Grief swirls around in her eyes as if she's already grieving your relationship; grieving her life.
You take a deep breath as a shaky smile slowly forms on your lips making Sam's eyebrows scrunched together confused.
"I'll never stop loving you." You whisper to her as you finish bandaging her wound up, dropping your hand from her elbow to place on her cheek.
Sam leans into your touch laying her own cold hand over yours, looking up at you with a softer gleam in her eyes.
"I'm not a bad person, I only hurt bad people I promise." Sam whispers in a gravelly voice. You feel some reassurance from that but what shocks you the most is the fact you're not sure if you wouldn't have minded if they were bad or not.
Would it be a sin if you stayed with her? Probably. But killing is most definitely a bigger sin which only makes you think of one thing.
You and her will still be together in the afterlife.
"Let's go to bed, my love." You whisper as you offer Sam your free hand to take to help stand up.
Sam stares at it for a moment before she complies and slides her hand into your hand, a small smile grazing her lips.
Everyone has their secrets and who are you to share them with?
—————
authors note: i'd do anything for sam (i hate this so fucking much)
#sam carpenter#sam carpenter x fem!reader#sam carpenter x y/n#sam carpenter x you#sam carpenter x female reader#sam carpenter x reader#melissa barrera x reader#scream six#sam carpenter angst#gf!sam carpenter#my fanfic stuff#my writing
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Theory: Ryuji was popular, before.
I'm not entirely sure if anyone has really talked about this but I maintain my interpretation that, in the canon of Persona 5, Ryuji used to be very (or at least moderately) popular prior to the events of the story.
This is something I've gotten into before when talking to friends who like the game and the character, but I haven't really considered writing it down until now. The main argument I have is based on three things:
Things Ryuji alluded to in canon (but no one believed him on)
The deliberate choice of making him a track athlete
Typecasting for voice actors
1: "There were girls all over me!"
I don't really have the time to go on a deep dive through all the instances in which he hints at his reputation before the Kamoshida incident, but I think the most clear-cut representation of this was during the scene where he and Ann spend the day with Futaba during her post-palace social rehabilitation:
So here's the thing...I don't think he's lying about this. Nobody in the room would be that impressed to find out whether Ryuji was popular since they are already friends (or in Mona's case, he really just doesn't care), so it wouldn't make sense for him to lie.
Regarding everyone's reactions though, here's my impression: Ann was simply not aware of what was going on with the track team, being predominantly focused on dealing with rumors, her friendship with Shiho, and her modeling career (and eventually Kamoshida's advances once he started doing that shit) and she mentions a few times that she and Ryuji weren't actually close before joining the PT; they were just in the same class in middle school. Futaba hasn't interacted with anyone her age in years and isn't the most reliable source when it comes to what people generally find attractive; just because she doesn't have any interest in Ryuji doesn't mean that nobody her age would. And Morgana is a cat that brags constantly about how cool he is, so he shouldn't be throwing rocks.
There are many other times in the game when you get little glimpses of his social savvy, and from my understanding of Royal (I'm an OG vanilla P5 player and haven't done 3rd-semester yet, so don't kill me) when the track team returns to "how it was", he is getting along extremely well with everyone. Not only was he the team's ace: this kid was also expected to become the captain by his senior year (as briefly mentioned when he bumps into his former senpai at the gym, iirc). That's huge! If his team held him in such high regard, then the general student body of Shujin surely had a similar opinion. This brings me to my next point:
2: Girls like boys that run fast(???)
This is honestly something that baffles me. It's also really difficult for me to substantiate; any source material on this is obviously in Japanese and if I could find any of it, I sure as hell can't read it. The only English-language source I know of I cannot find anymore; I think it was an old Tofugu article? However. If you've watched any romance anime set in a high school during the last 20 years, you might have seen this trope at some point: the school sports festival is happening, and the relay race is kind of a huge deal (it's the final event! a make-or-break moment for the class!). The boy thinks to himself "If I win this race, I'll be able to win her heart/ask her out/etc." Low-stakes drama ensues. Maybe a confession happens.
This is (from what I've been told) based on a long-standing trend of girls and women self-reporting in surveys about how, oftentimes, their crushes in junior or senior high school were simply "the boy who ran the fastest in the races". I have no idea what this means in a broader cultural context. It makes no goddamn sense to me at all. Do not cite me on this. But I think it's worth keeping in mind, even if it's almost entirely speculative (and possibly outdated) information. And even if it's just based on rumors, don't you think it's pretty in-character for Ryuji to go for a track scholarship—despite being adept at other sports like baseball and football/soccer, as mentioned in P5 and P5D—because he was aware of the potential of being more popular with girls? Of course, his priority would be getting the scholarship and paying his way through school to lighten his mother's burden, but hey, getting a girlfriend on the way up wouldn't be half bad!
I think this could also inform us as to why Kamoshida (as a predator who wanted attention from high school girls) felt so threatened by the track team in particular, and why he felt a need to specifically knock Ryuji down a peg and sought out a weakness to do so (as opposed to targeting any of the probably just-as-popular boys on the many other athletic teams and clubs in the school). Just some food for thought on this one! Also, if anyone can find a source or has any insight on the relay race thing, please share. I am so confused about it.
3: Typecasting
So this is something that you really only notice if you are very into keeping up with seiyuu in Japan. I am not one of those people. But I do have some favorite voice actors! One of these being Mamoru Miyano.
So I freakin' love this dude. He's voiced a lot of my favorite characters, sings incredibly well, and has an unreal sense of comedy. He's stated in interviews that his acting inspiration is Jim Carrey, and let me tell you: it shows. He is also quite consistently typecast into certain roles, predominantly as princely pretty-boy types, Coolguys, or complete fucking nutcases. Sometimes all three at the same time (shoutout to my boy Ling FMA!)
ATLUS definitely cast him for P5 because of his comedic chops. But I think they also cast him because having him voice someone like Ryuji is a great way to subvert expectations for the player. I think it's supposed to give you whiplash—"what do you mean the voice of LIGHT FUCKING YAGAMI is coming out of this guy's mouth?" "why does the delinquent character sound like king of the host club Tamaki Suou?" "isn't that Rin Matsuoka's voice?" etc. etc. etc.
(here's a quick list, just to really get the idea across. maybe you recognize a few.)
This is obviously a non-comprehensive list, but something that a lot of the characters he's voiced over the years have in common is that they were considered cool, handsome, or popular. Not just for fans, but within the canon of their stories! So...what does that mean? What does that say about how we should see Ryuji?
I think players are supposed to expect that he will fall into one of those categories too, and then be surprised to find that it's not the case—that he's been isolated and made bitter and resigned by what happened to him the year before.
Speaking of his tone, I think it's very telling that Ryuji actually forgets to keep up the delinquent act a lot in the original JP audio, which unfortunately doesn't really carry over in the ENG translation. The delivery of his JP lines sounds a bit more subdued in comparison too—yeah he's got a lot of energy and is very hotheaded, but when he gets to talking about serious shit, he sounds a lot more regretful and melancholy as opposed to the EN delivery which depicts him as more resentful and outwardly angry. I think before Shit Went Down, he probably had the Coolguy vibe. Still a bit of a rowdy idiot and a showoff, but I think he probably came across to most people as a very friendly, sincere, and popular guy.
So yeah, the girls probably were all over him, at least for a short while.
#persona 5#ryuji sakamoto#character analysis#LONGASS POST SORRY#I JUST REALLY LIKE HIM AND WANTED TO THINK MY THOUGHTS FOR A WHILE#pita.txt
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