#farleigh start smut

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔮𝔲𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰

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

But maybe there's something else there, too.

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

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

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎𝖎 - 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦𝔦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't like that last bit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" You snap. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their lips brush together. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thrive. Live. Experience peace." 

"Sounds boring." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What? He didn't scratch your itch?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I tell you something?" You ask. 

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

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

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

"Can I kiss you?" 

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

"God, yes. Please." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where - where can I- " 

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

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

For a moment you just are. 

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

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

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

"Need a cigarette," he answers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I also need a bath." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

It sounds like the perfect night, honestly. 

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

"Do you think anybody heard us?" 

And his answer is blunt and honest. 

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

[mphountitled]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞

Farleigh Start x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hating Farleigh had never stopped him from using you

Content Warnings: Language, Fwb, Forbidden Relationship, Unedited, Dark Fic, Dark Humor, Coarse Jokes, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smoking, Weaponizing!Ollie, Smut (+18), Minors DNI, Slight CNC, Breeding, Neediness, Exhibition Kink, Grinding, Extreme Degradation, Humiliation Kink, Praise Kink, Hate Sex, Hair Pulling, Rough sex, Messy Sex, Spitting, Orgasm Control, Dirty Talk, Choking

He'd definitely bully me if he was real, and I'd be in love with him

"It's not like we're actually going to eat anything. Mother only insists we all make use of the furniture," Venetia's rambling is incessant as she walks briskly into the dining hall. You know her irritation is the by-product of the undiagnosed anxiety that comes with being forced into an uncomfortable Dior slip on such short notice.

In all fairness, you weren't doing so well either. The dress you are currently wearing is just as suffocating and Venetia's Saint Laurent heels dig into your bone. Your outfit is a velvety, laced up nightmare.

A torture chamber.

You wholeheartedly wanted to crawl into your own bed and forget about everyone and everything. In fact, the only thing keeping you mildly excited for dinner with The Henrys happens to be-

"Gentlemen!" You exclaim, before cleverly adding, "And you've brought Farleigh with you."

You all congregate at the left side of the dinner table, while the Henrys and The Henrys wives all mill about the dinner party. There are'nt any rules to things like this. It's all so self explantory.

What was not all too self explantory was your seating positions. Venetia forces you to sit in between herself and a very vexed Farleigh.

"How interesting," Farleigh barely addresses you in his tired monotonous lilt, "You're almost, nearly, just about, decently dressed." You bristle as you lower your behind to your chair, all while Farleigh shoots you a tight-lipped smile.

"Wow!" Your words drip with sarcasm, promptly halting Farleigh from flirting with the man to his immediate left - one of the Henrys closeted sons, no doubt. "That almost, nearly, just about sounded like a compliment!" You exclaim before leaning over beside him in a daring display of confidence. You place your hand tentatively on his thigh before whispering, "Am I going to have to use my rape whistle?"

Farleigh's scoff sends a string of lightning shooting down your spine.

"You're such a slut, I think you'd enjoy probably enjoy it." His breath is hot against your cheek and would be considered vile.

It should be vile.

Why can't you bring yourself to find Farleigh as vile?

With his elbows lowered underneath the table like a good little gentleman, Farleigh lets his fingers crawl tentatively over your thigh.

The games are on.

Your heart is beating at a million miles an hour with your mind reeling at not only Farleigh's large warm palm finding its home on your ample thigh but his words.

They are in complete contrast to everything you two have experienced together thus far on your stay in Saltburn.

As his fingers inch their way towards your inner thigh you're absolutely breathless. All you can think about is your escapade in the pool the evening before.

Both Catton siblings had been immersed in a very Catton argument, leaving you and Farleigh to your own devices on the banks of the stone pool.

With both your arms leaning over the ledge of the pool and Farleigh pressed to your side, no one could barely tell that Farleigh already had two digits dipped inside your weeping cunt. His hand moved slowly and deftly, so as not to cause too much of a stir in the water and give you two away. And he did it all while leaning his free hand out of the pool, cradling his copy of Jane Eyre with his eyes glued on the pages.

"F-Fuck Farleigh, can I cum?" He sighed at your agitated state.

"Not until I'm finished with Chapter 18." He mumbled almost distractedly, as if your needy voice was something akin to a pesky fly interrupting his reading.

Chapter 18, as you'd probably guessed, had never ended.

His cousins were back from their argument and his fingers left your cunt just as quickly. You had both went back to pretending to hate each other and you were left to 'rub one out' in the safety of your room like some hormonal teenager.

You truly are furious with him.

"What's this I'm hearing about a rape whistle?" Felix pipes up from the other side of Farleigh, equally dressed up all spiffy for the Henry's "You didn't rape anyone, did you?"

Farleigh's response is more of a hiss, "Of course I didn't-"

"Surely there must be more savory topics of discussion at the dinner table other than rape?" Comes the quick mediation of Elsbeth, who sits at the head of the table, clutching her string of expensive pearls as if they weilded the power to rid her of all these insolent little kids.

"Of course there is," you exclaim before turning your head to smile at the presence beside Ventia, nestled quietly in his seat like a little pauper.

Farleigh's manicured fingernails sink half moons into the skin of your thigh, peeking up from the slit of your dress as you lean away from him and say, "You must be Oliver! It's a relief to see another commoner around here." It was so undeniably petty to weaponize Farleigh's greatest foe, but the vexation of not being made to cum the night before still hangs heavily on your shoulder. And at the end of the day, you really just were a petty bitch.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ollie!" Slightly leaning over Venetia, the boy looks pale. As if he was biting down on his words. God, his tongue must be riddled in scars.

"Pleasure to meet you." Oliver cooly mirrors the warm and inviting smile stretched across your face.

"Don't lean over me," Venetia mumbles, "I'm not a child."

Meanwhile, Farleigh scoffs once again. While he injects himself in your conversation, his hands move swiftly to cup your vagina, nearly raking a gasp out of your throat in the process. "She won't sleep with you, mate." his brown eyes are trained on Oliver's. "She's a slut but not that big of a slut."

The extreme degradation laced in Farleigh's voice is enough to have you nearly moan out in front of all your friends, their family, and all the bloody Henrys.

Farleigh knew exactly which buttons to push to have you melting catastrophically against his fingers. He knew what words could have you slipping into subspace and he knew how to get your cunt weeping.

"Jesus Christ, could we not do this right now?" Venetia asks, staring pointedly at her cousin, and not at the sight of your legs parting to further accomdate his lazy rubbing against your cunt.

"I'm sorry, Cousin," Farleigh replies, "but it's not my fault your best friend is a raging bitch."

A breathless chuckle escapes your clenched teeth, "I-I'm not a-"

"Yeah, I am so completely done with this conversation," Venitia says, before strangling the stem of her wine glass and chugging it down as if it was nothing but water.

You turn back to hiss into Farleigh's ear, "You're such an a-asshole-"

"Say that again but don't sound like you're on the verge of squirting on my fingers in the middle of dinner." His grin is shadowed by the dimness of crystal chandlier and all the little candles posted along the table. "This is what you get for being a bitch," he says, socasually it makes you break your resolve by shifting in your seat, to better grind your cunt against his fingers, even for a mere second.

It's almost enough to make you cum right then and there.

"Oh-ho!" He aims a guffaw at the sky, "You really are a needy little slut-"

"This dress is shit," you suddenly push yourself out of your chair, creating the minimal noise of wood scraping against the floors. Most eyes are on you and Farleigh slyly removes his hands from in between your thigh. He leans over the table, bringing his fingers to his lips before spreading them over his gums like you would cocaine.

"I have to go change." You say to Venetia, before promptly (and very rudely) bowing out of the dinner.

A few seconds later, you hear Farleigh mumble something about needing a smoke and your heart rattles wildly in its cage. His footsteps are brisk behind yours, and you can feel his eyes sinking into your figure.

While your feet carry you to your destination and you let your brain catch on, you're already sneaking into Farleigh's room.

"Ah! Trespasser!" He exclaims excitedly behind you, with his hands stuffed in his pocket.

"You're so fucking annoying!" Your complains barely escape your throat before he's attacking you in a sloppy, open mouth kiss. He steals the air right out of your lungs, until he's breathing for the both of you. Farleigh slips out of his Abercrombie suit blazer, discarding the material as if it truly meant nothing to him.

His hands are everywhere, with special interests in your breasts compressed tightly by the uncomfortable stitching of your dress.

"This dress..." you mumble distractedly.

"Fuck this dress." He says, and you wholeheartedly agree. Perhaps it was desperate of you to turn in haste. Lifting the ends of your hair to present the zipper to him.

"You look fucking ravenous." He admits in a grave whisper, with his lips grazing the side of your neck, "I wanna fucking eat you." He says, "I wanna be inside you."

"You have such a dirty mouth, Farleigh," the groan that escapes his throat as he zips down your dress lets you know that you may have found your way in.

As the dress spills around your heeled feet, followed by your lacey underwear, Farleigh reattaches his full lips to the skin of your back. "What did you say?" His voice is like the rough gravel encircling Saltburn and you let your eyes roll to the back of your head as you arch backwards against him. His hardness presses against your ass and your fingers weave their way into his curls.

"I said youre a dirty boy, Farleigh." He ruts against you, almost as a second thought. "A dirty fucking boy,"

"Fuck," his hands dig into your hips, rubbing you against him. All as he pleases. "Fucking, fuck. I'm not gonna cum like this-" He says suddenly before spinning you back around.

It is few and sparse moments when you're reminded just how much taller Farleigh is than you and eventide it happens, the wind is knocked out of you. Farleigh advances on you like a literal predator until you're forced to fall backwards on his bed.

He barely undoes the bowtie, and only a few buttons go loose enough to showcase the beautiful expanse of his chest.

"You're absolutely soaked aren't you?" He asks, hovering on the bed above you.

"I need to cum, Farleigh, please-" You knew it was the only way to get what you wanted. You had unashamedly resorted to begging for a man who hooked his nails into your hair, forcing you to sit upright as he parted your legs.

"Look at you," he whispers before cackling maniacally. "You're so stupidly wet, you filthy fucking girl-"

"O-oh fuck, Fuck Farleigh," Your try by all means to grind your cunt into the mattress but is doesn't happen.

"When are you going to learn that I own your orgasms?" He whispers, with his other hand furiously undoing the belt of his fitted pants. "You don't cum until I say. You don't touch yourself until I say. You don't even fucking think about cumming until I say-"

"You're such a big little baby," you spit back, "A big needy, little b-"

You're once again pushed backwards and Farleigh's mounting you with his leaking cock locked tight in his fist.

You automatically lift your legs to present your cunt to him and he groans at the sight.

"I'm going to cum inside of you." He promises.

"I want you too."

Farleigh's eyes are heavy as he slides himself inside you. He looks down at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. A treasure trove.

"Fuck- I need you to carry on talking." Farleigh says before shutting his eyes tightly. "Fuck you feel so good-"

"You're doing so well, baby," his hips rut inside you, accidentally pushing his cock in way too deep, way too fast and you both hiss and moan. "Such a good boy," you say with your hair finding his own curls, "You're being such a good fucking boy, Farleigh-"

"Open your mouth," you comply robotically. Farleigh places his hands on the underside of your chin before tipping your head backwards. His chains dangle above you as you stick your tongue out and he spits directly into your mouth. "Such a slut," he says, "Such a filthy fucking good girl." His words have you grinding your cunt against his cock until soon, you're both on the precipice of cumming.

"F-Fuck-"

"Such a good girl," he whispers, with his breath ghosting yoir face and the sound of skin slapping against skin only grows louder and louder. "S-So fucking good-" He whispers over and over again until your cunt clenches around his cock, promting Farleigh's orgasm with a quickness.

His cum spilling inside you has you slipping unceremoniously into your own orgasm and Farleigh wails in both the pleasure of your cunt milking him dry, or your fingers still pulling his hair like crazy.

"Fuck!" He exclaims before slumping on the bed beside you, "Get your fingers out of my hair, you psycho-"

"You love it, though," there's a teasing lilt in your voice, and all Farleigh does is scoff before patting down the pockets of his pants.

"You give me endless reasons to smoke," he says, before tipping his head back, unknwongly leaning into your embrace as your fingers coil through his soft curls.

"You'd smoke anyway."

[xsaltburnx]

Jealousy

a/n: let's make our precious Farleigh a little bit jealous

warning: 18+, smut, swearing

word count: 1,975

Ever since you and Farleigh first hooked up, he became a little bit possessive. Always aware of who gets close to you. Whenever there was a chance, he had you however he wanted. Outside in a dark alleyway, in his dorm pressed against the window, on his desk, his messy bed or in the middle of that goddamn maze in Saltburn, you gave in because it was something you always craved ever since you met him. There was no one else for you except for Farleigh. If only he felt exactly the same.

Yes you didn't agree to be together officially and let's face it, nobody even knew about you two and if you asked Farleigh, you and him were just fuck buddies, here to help get each other off whenever you wanted but little did Farleigh know that you felt something more than just that. Maybe some would say that you were being selfish but you didn't care. You wanted Farleigh all to yourself.

And that's what you were planning on doing and telling him until you saw him stand in the corner of one of the rooms in Saltburn, some girl giggling at something he said. His arm was resting on the wall right next to her head as he was leaning in, his head bent down.

One of the Henrys was butchering a song, thinking he's smashing it. Watching Farleigh flirt with someone and on top of that you had to listen to that god awful sound, you felt like you were going to explode, like your blood was boiling inside your veins.

You were sitting on the couch next to Venetia with a drink in your hand, your eyes steadily fixated on Farleigh across the room. You watched her touch his chest, her hand gliding down to his stomach and he didn't even move an inch.

"Fucking hell." You whispered and drank the rest of your cocktail as you scanned the room, looking for Felix. If Farleigh wants to play that game, so be it.

You got off the couch and walked over to Felix, stumbling over your own two feet, almost falling down but his strong arms wrapped around your body, catching you just in time.

"Hey, are you alright?" He asked softly, his eyes scanning your face, looking for some kind of signs of wrong.

"Yeah, I just can't listen to this one anymore." You pointed towards Henry who just got interrupted by Farleigh by snatching the microphone and listing through the karaoke songs. He did find one and brought Oliver into the spotlight this time, his singing not any better than Henry's, but hey atleast it was a vibe. You started moving your body to the rhythm of the song, your hips swaying from side to side as you felt Felix's hands on each side of your body. You swallowed hard because you knew exactly what this would do to Farleigh.

"Whoohoo, you tell 'em!" Farleigh shouted, a cigarette in his hand as always.

"Farleigh." Felix said in a quiet voice, sounding more like a warning.

"This is your song as well Farleigh, come finish it." Oliver turned to Farleigh, holding out his microphone as you saw Farleigh moving gracefully towards him, grabbing the microphone. His voice was something else, melodic, actually a joy to listen to. Suddenly you felt Felix move closer to you, your body now completely glued to his as you felt his crotch pressed up against you. He leaned down and kissed your neck gently, your head falling a little bit to the side, giving him access. Your eyes were still glued on Farleigh and then there it was. He saw you and the way Felix's hands were roaming over your body and that was the last straw. He stopped singing and just dropped the microphone to the floor. He stepped over it and left the room without saying anything, everybody in the room confused as they looked at one another, trying to understand what exactly happened.

You swallowed hard at the mere thought of Farleigh not wanting to speak to you ever again or not wanting to touch you like he always did.

He didn't return for the rest of the night, probably locked in his room. Even the thought of him taking that girl to his room and fucking her brains out crossed your mind and made your stomach turn.

You waited until everybody was asleep and the halls were empty to go to Farleigh's room. You didn't even need the light because it was as if he was calling out to you, drawing you in like a magnet. You reached his room and gently opened the door, careful not to wake him up in case he was sleeping. You closed his room and leaned against the door, not sure what to do exactly.

There he was, laying on his back, upper half of his body exposed to the chilly air circling around his room. He looked so peaceful and suddenly you felt extremely bad about how you let Felix touch you in front of him. A few minutes later he started squirming, his eyes glued to you still standing by the door.

"What are you doing here?" You flinched a little bit as his low and sleepy voice echoed throughout the room.

"I wanted to see you." You trailed off quietly.

"Why? You finally had Felix all to yourself, why don't you go and bother him." He pulled his covers a bit more down, exposing the rim of his boxers.

You chuckled at his words and finally realized why he was acting like this. He was obviously jealous, the thought of Felix touching you driving him crazy. You walked over to his bed as you climbed on top, straddling him.

"I don't want Felix." You whispered and leaned forward, your nightgown falling open a little bit, your chest exposed to him. "I want you." You moved back slightly, your ass now sitting on his legs. You trailed your fingers around his belly button and right above where his boxers started. He swallowed hard when you pulled his boxers down, freeing his cock and seeing that he was already hard as a silent moan fell from his lips. You spit on your palm and wrapped your hand around him, moving it around his tip, caressing it slowly. The pace you set was absolute torture for him because even though he was enjoying this, he still wanted to be mad at you.

His body jerked at feeling of your small hand squeezing him a little bit harder, now embracing his entire length. You leaned down a bit more so your face was right above his, his lips parted in pleasure.

"Is my Farleigh a little bit jealous, huh?" You said teasingly, your hand keeping a steady pace. "You don't like the tought of Felix's hands on me?" You sped up a little bit, his moans getting louder.

"No." You chuckled at his short answer, but that was all he could muster at that very moment. You were driving him crazy in every possible way. Yes, he was jealous and yes he hated the thought of Felix having his way with you like he does, but that doesn't change the fact that he wanted to fuck your brains out.

"Is my Farleigh going to behave from now on?" You whispered in his ear as your hand stopped moving, another whimper falling from his full lips.

"You want me to behave?" He asked and not even a second later he got up, throwing your body on the bed. He wrapped his big hand around both of your wrists and pinned them down while his other one was around your neck. "You liked being a little slut today? Right in front of my eyes?" He moved the hand that was around your neck down to your nightgown and pulled down so hard that it ripped right down the middle, exposing your chest to him. His hand travelled down to your stomach and then to your clit, his finger brushing it for a split second before he pushed two of his long fingers inside of you, stretching you out.

"Farleigh.." you whimpered, the feeling of his fingers moving fast inside of you in a scissoring motion being almost too much for you.

"You're mine." He pulled his fingers out and flipped you over. Your nightgown now pooling around your waist, exposing your bottom half to him. In one quick motion he pushed his entire cock inside of you, a whimper falling off your lips. He was so big that it was almost impossible to handle. He reached forward and pulled on your hair, wrapping it around his hand while the other slapped your ass so hard that the sound echoed throughout the room.

"You're taking me so well, baby." His thrusts were merciless, the tip of his cock hitting that spot inside of you every single time. You tried to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake every single guest in Saltburn but with Farleigh's brutal pace, it was almost impossible to stay quiet. You felt that mindblowing, euphoric feeling begin to build up in the pit of your stomach, your moans turning into cries as a single tear fell from your eyes.

"Farleigh, I can't" you cried out and felt him pull out, your body suddenly feeling so empty. He flipped you over again and climbed on top of you, his cock sliding inside you once again with such ease, moving at the same fast and hard pace as before.

"Yes you can baby, c'mon, cum for me." He whispered in your ear, his lips resting right next to your ear, grazing your earlobe before he put his head in the crook of your neck, his lips sucking on that sweet spot.

"Fuck me." He placed his hands on each side of your body, your legd wrapped around his waist so tightly, you were scared to let go. He threw his head back in pleasure, the feeling of being inside of you, you wrapped around him so beautifuly felt like heaven and if he could, he would stay burried inside of you forever. "I'm so close."

He licked his fingers, gathering a little bit of saliva as he reached down between your bodies, his fingers skillfully cirlcing your clit getting you closer to your release, but it didn't take long. You arched your back as much as you could as you felt your orgasm taking over your body. Your vision suddenly blurry and you felt like you could pass out any minute now.

You noticed how close Farleigh was because of how sloppy his thrusts became, so desperate for his release. He looked down at you, his eyes literally staring into your soul when finally he let himself go, filling you up with everything he had. A deep groan fell from his lips, his hips thrusting inside of you a couple of more times before he stilled his movements and collapsed on top of you, his head once again burried in the crook of your neck.

You laid like that in silence, listening to each other's heartbeats and your fast and shallow breathing.

"I'm sorry." You said quietly, your voice cracking.

"I'm sorry too." He trailed off and his words caught you by surprise. "I wasn't thinking tonight. I should've been there by your side."

"I'm sorry for trying to make you jealous."

"Oh so that's what that was?" He chuckled and moved a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand carressing your flushed cheek.

"You know you're the only one I want." He touched your nose with his and placed a gentle kiss on your lips before pulling you in closer for a proper one, his hand cupping your face.

"I know."

[celandeline]

Not Your Boyfriend, Baby

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

part two

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

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

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

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

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

“Right, love?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Across the table, Farleigh snorts. 

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

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

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

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

Simply the way of things. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s not all bad.” You say. 

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

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

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

“So.” Farleigh says. 

You meet his eyes again. “So.”

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

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

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

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

“What?” You reply. 

“That he cheats on you.” Farleigh clarifies. 

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

Farleigh rolls his eyes. “That’s-”

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

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

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

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

You shrug. “The pros outweigh the cons.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can be nice.” He breathes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.” He mumbles into your skin. 

“No you’re fucking not.” You retort. 

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

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

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

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

Farleigh snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

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

[foxevxid]

me clocking tf out after reading every farleigh start fic on this godforsaken app

[glossgojo]

farleigh start oxford bf brainrot is real

18+ under the cut! (manhandling, hand kink idk i’m sorry, afab reader, fingering, dirty talk, service top far)

or in which farleigh distracts his stressed girlfriend the way he knows best

you were in your room at oxford working on your laptop, deep in the throes of your thesis paper. you were so focused that you didn’t even hear the door unlock nor your boyfriend huffing at the sight of your narrowed eyes. he always thought you looked so hot in your glasses, he wished you wore them more often. he knew you had been stewing away, your responses sporadic over the phone and with it being near the end of term you were rushing to perfect your work.

he could tell you that it was already perfect and you didn’t need to reread it for the sixth time. farleigh, despite his academic record, was incredibly smart. he just never applied himself, until you slightly forced him to. you had goaded him into caring about his studies the only way you knew would work, by making it a competition.

“hey baby,” you jumped in the spot where you sat on your bed. your back was leaning against the bedframe and it hardly looked comfortable as you craned your neck to look at your laptop. your glasses slightly slipped down your nose from your jerking and farleigh cooed at the sight, pushing them back in place as he climbed onto the bed. your cheeks were warming from his attention already and your lips pouted at the scare he’d given you, you looked fucking delectable.

due to the state of accommodations at oxford, your bed was never big enough to fit both of you comfortably and you let him move you to his lap as he did dozens of times before. your back rested against his chest while your legs lay over his own, outstretched with your laptop on your lap.

“hey far, i’m almost done just reading it again.” you pressed a kiss to his cheek as you turned to look at him, he nodded at your words, hand splayed on your hips as he looked over your head at the words on your screen.

“read it out to me.” he could easily read the words but you didn’t bother questioning him, you’d read to him before and he liked hearing your voice. you began from the beginning of the section hoping that would be enough context for him to understand. you didn’t know that farleigh had practically memorized your paper and could see the words flashing in his head before you even said them. yet you kept reading.

his legs slowly spread, taking yours with him and you stuttered in your reading as you felt the laptop slip off your lap, you picked it up quickly so you could still read. you didn’t let farleigh’s motions distract you, he was just getting comfortable and you clasped your legs together again. farleigh regrettably realized you had no idea what his intentions were, he’d have to be clearer. you were still reading constantly, the words all familiar to him as he pressed a open mouthed kiss to your neck, drawing a gasp from you. and then he bit at your neck, curling his head around the side of it to leave a mark where others could see. you stuttered again and farleigh could see your grip tighten on the laptop.

“far you’re not listening.” it was a whisper, a departure from your reading and he hummed at your words, one hand snaking down your front to part your thighs. you shuddered in his hold as his cold signet ring grazed your bare skin, his fingers splayed on your thigh looking gigantic. you willed away images of all the times he’d put those large hands to use on you.

“i am, your voice is enough to drive me crazy baby.” you scoffed at his words, he was always so needy for you, you imagined if you wore a cardboard box and ski mask he’d have popped a boner from your eyes alone. you weren’t looking especially sexy in your oversized hoodie and loose shorts.

“you’re sick.” he huffed a laugh at your words, you both knew this was the least unsavory turn-on both of you had expressed. he hadn’t missed how you stiffened as his hands roamed your body.

“just let me make you feel good, keep reading it helps to spot errors.” he knew you wouldn’t find any, but it served his purpose. if he could hear you stutter and gasp while reading in that stern academic voice he might just see god.

“o-okay.” you conceded, and he deftly stripped you of the shorts you’d likely stole from his closet. he groaned at the sight of your pussy, he’d have to steal his shorts back if he knew you were wearing them without underwear. you hissed as cool air hit your sensitivity, goosebumps rising on your skin.

“so pretty, always so pretty.” he murmured and the vibrations rumbled your chest, you barely had time to continue reading before he was licking his own fingers and spreading the saliva on your folds. your legs were spread wide and his own were caging them. you started reading again, long fingers sliding saliva and cool air making it feel all the more sharp. you hissed as his thumb found your clit, grinding slowly as a finger teased your hole.

you knuckles were turning white as you continued to read, a gasp breaking your vocation as the thick finger pressed into you. his thumb combined with the feeling of his now hard cock pressed against you, made you get slick easily. his finger slid into your wet heat, curling up to where he knew you wanted him.

“one must wonder if Kant-fuck Farleigh!” you moaned as he fucked into you fast and hard, the obscene sound of your pussy filled the room, you clenched around his finger sucking him in. farleigh was losing his mind on how tight you were just around one of his fingers, you could take him to the knuckle, but your warm walls hugged his finger tightly. he slipped another into you, earning another moan from you.

“so fucking tight, you can’t even take my fingers how will you ever take my cock?” he punctuated his question with another harsh thrust, you were grinding down on his knuckles as your slick slipped down his hands. you whined at his words, one hand gripping his hand now as the other continued to hold your laptop for dear life. you steeled yourself as best as you could and kept reading, the background noise of your wetness making your cheeks burn. you were so wet farleigh was fighting every urge to flip you around and devour you. if you ever put down your laptop maybe he would’ve.

his fingers curled against the front of your walls, his thumb resumed his ministrations and fucked you deep and intentional. you were sure you had never been so fucked out from just his fingers and you were now stuttering through every sentence.

“oh shut the fuck up.” farleigh had had enough, prying the laptop from your hold quite easily with his free hand sticking his fingers into your mouth. you groaned at the intrusion of three large indexes pressing against your tongue, you began to grind against his hand as a third finger teased your entrance. it was your last straw finally giving in and you sucked on his fingers like it was his dick, sloppy and desperate. farleigh twitched against your back at feeling of you grabbing his hand with both of yours and forcing him further down your throat.

his stupid large fingers bullied your cervix as his thumb rubbed vicious circles along your clit, your mind was numb as his third finger slipped inside and stretched you deliciously. you would definitely have to change your sheets after this, a steady stream of slick had been dripping down your ass. the overstimulation became too much, you were so close and farleigh knew it he was keeping you on the edge as he moved away from the spot you needed him most.

your legs threatened to clamp and he slipped his hand from your hold, to pin one of your thighs open. you had properly drenched them and it made his hold a little difficult but he managed. “stupid girl, so eager to come. i thought you wanted to work?” he muttered harshly into your ear and you groaned, you could tell he was enjoying this from how rock solid he felt against your back. your drool had fallen out of your lips and the emptiness made your tears prick so you craned your neck to kiss him. he gave you what you wanted instantly, letting you suck his tongue and you bounced fervently on his fingers.

finally when he could feel your tears wetting his own cheek, he hammered against the fleshy spot against your sopping walls and a string snapped inside of you. you jolted in his hold, gasping against his mouth as you jerked away and you squirted onto the sheets in front of you. the sheets definitely would be changed now. you had never done it before and it felt like a pressure lifted off your shoulders as heat flooded your system. you squirmed as he continued to fuck you through it, pulling as much as he could from you until a puddle formed on your sheets. you were twitching and whining for him to stop. releasing his grasp on your legs and removing his fingers he let you curl in on yourself.

“that was so fucking hot, we’re doing it again.” he licked his fingers clean, humming at the sweet taste of you and you stiffened at the sound. farleigh might as well have been sucking a lollipop if you didn’t know any better.

“farleigh i have to-“you started to pick up your laptop, it had fallen to off the bed and he pulled you back into his lap as if you’d tried to walk out the door.

“i love you baby but you are going to lose your mind if you try to improve upon perfection.” he cut you off, tapping yourcheek to draw your gaze to him and you could smell your ichor on him. you found his eyes were sincere and it only added to your confusion. he could see the cogs turning in your head, his eyes flashed in amusement from how unaware you were. you were the smartest person he’d ever met and you had no idea. “you were about to cite Foucault right? i know your paper as well as i know her,” he patted your pussy making you wince, “trust me when i say no amount of time will make you find a flaw. let me distract you.” your eyes glazed over from his compliments, it was rare for him to so genuinely praise your intelligence since you were always competing.

“you mean it?” you let him pull you over him by your waist, his warm hands eased your hoodie off your frame as you looked into his eyes from above. you were lying on top of him, naked save for your bra and still talking about your paper. you would be the death of him.

“i’m serious baby, you’re overthinking it.” one of his hands cupped your cheek, swirling patterns of comfort into your skin as you found adoration in his warm brown eyes. you loved when he called you that, when he called you his in any way really. you both loved each other endlessly but farleigh was still so private and enigmatic you wondered if you would ever know him like he knew you. you could feel him against you, painfully hard and fully clothed. you were again overthinking, a new victim for your mind.

“i love you, please distract me” you resigned, resting your forehead against his as he unclasped your bra and finally gave in to the desire burning through him all day.

[candied-heartss]

𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑

(𝑓𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑥 𝑔𝑛!𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑟!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟)

(tagged: @melanin-eclipse, @xrainbow-unicornx, @lieonme, @celestialexxperience, @slut-for-m3)

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘁𝘆 𝗱𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗲𝘅.

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮: 18+ (𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑶𝑹𝑺, 𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑭𝑼𝑳𝑳𝒀 𝑷𝑬𝑨𝑪𝑬 𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑶𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑶𝑵𝑬!), 𝑴!𝑺𝑼𝑩, 𝑹𝑰𝑫𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑷𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑺𝑬 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑲, 𝑵𝑰𝑷𝑷𝑳𝑬 𝑷𝑳𝑨𝒀, 𝑫𝑨𝑪𝑹𝒀𝑷𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑰𝑨, 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹'𝑺 𝑨 𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻 𝑫𝑶𝑴 𝑳𝑶𝑳, 𝑭𝑨𝑹𝑳𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯 𝑯𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑲𝑬𝒀 𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑺 𝑺𝑳𝑼𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑳𝑴𝑨𝑶, 𝑺𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑬𝑫𝑮𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑨 𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻 𝑻𝑩𝑯

ᴡᴏʀᴅs: 1,191

𝖺/𝗇: 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖼 𝗂 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗆𝗀𝗀𝗀 🫣

If someone had told you that part of your plans today involved you, on top of your boyfriend as you rode him like he was a prized stallion, you probably would've just laughed it off. But now, with him beneath you, panting and practically on the verge of tears, you definitely would have been more receptive to the idea in the first place.

"Fuck... Fuck!" you heard him whine beneath you and it nearly made you laugh as you kept your hips moving at a steady pace. You sighed before looking down at him with a loving gaze, chuckling softly as you reached out and stroked his face.

"Aw, hey... You feelin' okay, honey?" You asked him teasingly, now slowing down the movement of your hips, just as a means to keep him on his toes. You watched as his eyes widened and his breathing began to quicken before you felt him reach out and grab onto your hips with an almost bruising grip.

"Please... Please, go faster!" he begged, pleading with you to do something, any-fucking-thing, just as a means to aid him in getting off.

"Farleigh, sweetie," you persisted with your tormenting of him and his already fucked out mind, "I can't go any faster if you keep whining like this. What happened to my good, sweet boy who used his manners when he wanted something? Use your words, huh? Can you do that f'me, honey?"

You watched as Farleigh nodded almost enthusiastically, like a child who's been told they're being rewarded with candy for good behavior. With this, you sighed and finally gave in to his desires, grinding your hips against his and letting yourself bask in the sounds of your boyfriend's sweet cries of pleasure. You never realized how vocal he could truly be until now, and up until this point, you never knew how much you would end up enjoying the sounds he would make.

With a sigh, you continued rolling your hips back and forth, now rebuilding that steady pace that he had grown to crave so much. As you did this, you looked down at his flushed face and saw that his plump, rosy bottom lip was trembling, clearly from the weeping that he had done. You then reached down and wiped away any stray tears that had begun to slip down the soft skin of his cheeks before licking your thumb to taste the saltiness flooding across your tongue and then settling down over the plush flesh of his bottom lip, not necessarily doing anything, just resting there.

"Oh, love... Don't cry, you're doing amazing. You'll get your treat in no time, I promise, okay?" You reassured him comfortingly, placing soft, small kisses wherever your mouth could reach on his face, both of his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his eyelids, and of course, his lips. Farleigh sighed as he felt your lips caressing his flesh, the newfound tenderness filling him with warmth.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you..." was all that he could manage to babble over and over again, his lashes fluttering softly as he looked back up at you, his gaze dripping with adoration as he watched you have your way with his body. He then gasped as he felt you drag your nails down his chest before your fingertips gently grazed over the exposed and sensitive buds of his nipples, making his eyes practically roll back as he bucked his hips upwards before you groaned and pushed him back down with your other hand.

"Oh, sweetheart... You like me touching your nipples, hm? That feels good for you?" you teased him, doing it again and being met with a shiver on his end, and you could tell by the way that the rate of his breathing picked up that he was steadily arriving at the edge of his climax. He let out a shaky breath and nodded slowly, too transfixed on the pleasure that he was currently on the receiving end of.

"Please... Please, I... I wanna come... Please don't take it away like last time..." he so much as sobbed, pleading with you as he kept his hands wrapped around your hips. You sighed and ground your hips against him once again, hearing him let out a sharp gasp beneath you.

"Don't worry, it's okay... I'll make sure that you do. I don't want you to go empty-handed, now do I?" You assure him, caressing his face and the action combined with your words alone was enough for the heat in his abdomen to continue gradually building.

Farleigh nodded and you could see the ghost of a smile on his lips, "Thank you... I love you..." he told you softly as he reached up and grabbed onto your wrist while you touched his cheek. With another deep roll of your hips, he let out another sound, a mix of a deep, guttural moan and a cry.

"I... I..." he mumbled, stumbling over his words as the pleasure began to melt his mind, leaving him in a dazed state. You continued the steady grinding of your hips, hearing him hiss slightly as his cock began to become more sensitive as he got closer and closer. You then leaned down and whispered in his ear, one of your hands drifting upwards and gently stroking his dark curls.

"It's okay, sweetheart. You can let go, now... Come for me." you whispered before leaning down and locking lips with him. At this, he practically exploded, his back arching off of the bed as he let out a pornographic-sounding moan. You shifted off of him just in time, his cum painting the flesh of your thighs.

You watched as he slowly, but surely came down from his high, panting softly and his cheeks flushed from the heat of your shared activities. With a smile, you got off of him, laying beside him as you wrapped your arms around him, embracing him sweetly with your skin sticking together from the warmness.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to come..." Farleigh whispered to you, looking at you with a semi-guilty expression on his face while you lay closely together. You chuckled softly and shook your head, clicking your tongue.

"No, no, no. This was all about you, remember? I can take care of myself later, but I'll always be able to take care of you like that whenever you need it, okay?" you reassured him, tracing nonsensical patterns and shapes across his cheek.

"But, I-"

You then silenced him by pressing a soft kiss to his lips, before pulling away and gently placing a finger on his lips to keep him quiet.

"I mean it, Farleigh. This was all about you. I would go to the ends of the Earth if it meant that you were satisfied, alright?" and with that, he nodded after you took your finger away from his lips.

"Alright."

[uch3na]

𝙛𝙪𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙙

| pairing - jann mardenborough x afab reader

| warnings - smut, cursing, jann taking out his anger on you??? mdom, blowjob, doggy, creampie (wrap it b4 u tap it chat), a bit of a make out sesh before the actual smut, slight aftercare

| synopsis - jann comes home after losing a race, and you make him feel better

| a/n - yo this cut is insane… shoutout to my barber dawg. anotha 1 for @ludicdoll xx. (i was thinking of this song the whole time while writing)

you were sitting on you and jann’s shared bed in a (his) t-shirt and some underwear reading when he suddenly walked stormed into the house. you could hear the door slam and his keys hit the coffee table by the TV.

when he walks into the bedroom he instantly walks over to the bottom of the bed and takes off his shoes. once they’re off he stands back up to leave to go to the bathroom. you immediately know why he’s mad; he had a race earlier today. you sadly couldn’t made it due to work but could have watched it on the TV, and you ended up watching him lose. but he wouldn’t get mad at that.

would he?

“jann?” you call out to him from the room. you slowly climb out of the bed and walk up to the closed bathroom door. you can hear the sink water running but jann is still silent. when you reach to open the bathroom door you freeze a bit at first. you think you should just leave him alone, but you just wanna make sure that he’s okay.

you open the door to find him drying off his face with a towel. when he looks up into the mirror his eyes are boring into yours. “wanna talk about what happened at the race?” you finally speak out after a few moments of stillness.

you swear you see his eyes go wide just the slightest bit. he turns around and you think he’s gonna finally talk to you but he just brushes right past.

you follow him out of the bathroom into the living room. when you get close enough you reach out to grab his arm. he turns around pretty quickly but not enough to make you flinch. when he finally looks at you, you walk up closer to him, causing him to look down at you with those eyes.

the hand that is on his arm moves to his hand instead, rubbing circles on the back of it with your thumb. “tell me about what happened today.” you say while reaching up to grab his one hand with the both of yours.

jann brings his hand up to pinch his nose bridge and let out a sigh that leads into a groan.

“it’s stupid.” he says, a slight annoyance in his voice. you freeze again. shit. is that why he’s mad? he notices how you don’t say anything, and how your eyebrows furrow slightly. he also notices how your thumb stops moving on his hand. he lets out another sigh as he removes his hand from the bridge of his nose and uses it to move your hair out of your face. “i-it’s nothing, really… it’s not that important.”

you remove your hand from his when he utters those last few words. what does he mean ‘not that important’? does he not think i care about his races?

“‘not that important’ jann? what the fuck do you mean it’s not that important?” you speak out quickly.

he chuckles lightly and looks down at the floor with a shitty smirk on his face. “what else would i mean? it’s a dumb reason to be mad about. the whole crew agreed it was.” he says while reaching up to rub his eyes. he obviously is stressed from the race and just wants to relieve himself.

you reach up to his face with one of your hands and cup his cheek. he leans into your hand and takes one of his hands and puts it on top of yours. and then you guys just sat there. you loved little moments like these. where he used you to calm down, like you knew you were his safe place. your hand moves a little more towards the back of his head, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck to calm him down some more.

but then he lets out a deep exhale and when he opens his eyes he says; “i need you so bad…”

his words catch you a bit off guard but you almost immediately pull him down by the back of his neck to connect your lips with his. he lets out a soft moan of relief when he finally feels the plush of your soft lips against his. his hands go down to your hips almost instinctively to grab at your hips with his large hands. he pulls you into him, to make sure you feel his dick getting harder against your stomach.

jann slowly slips his tongue into your mouth and uses one of his hands to reach behind your head and grip your hair into a ponytail. he tilted your head back to be able to have access to your neck and jawline, leaving little kisses and licks on the skin.

he was sucking tiny hickeys into your neck, then soothing the bruises with his tongue right after.

your soft moans and whimpers at the pleasure cause him to twitch in his pants. jann was never really the type to just grab at you like that but he was just so fucking pent up right now. plus he knew if you didn’t like it, you would have made him stop by now. when he pulled away to take off his jacket you let out a whine from the loss of contact, but less than 5 seconds later his mouth was back on yours.

soon enough he carried you to the bed and sat you on his lap, groping your breasts through the fabric of your shirt. when you pulled away from his lips you could see a look of confusion mixed with lust on his face. but as soon as he saw you climbing off his lap onto your knees in front of him, his confusion turned into a more relaxed expression.

when you got to his pants you could already tell he was painfully hard just by looking at the tent in his pants. you cupped his clothed dick in your hand, rubbing it to give him a bit of relief but soon enough he got impatient. jann grabbed your chin to make you look up at him. “cmon… enough w the teasing. be good f’me baby.”

its almost like a trance. right after he utters those words, your fingers nimbly began to unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly. when you pull his pants down you can see a stain of precum on his underwear. you put your hand in his boxers, causing him to hiss out suddenly from the way your hand felt around him. god. he felt like he was gonna come undone already.

you look up at him with full eye contact as you slowly pull his hard cock out of his underwear fully. his eyes are low and his mouth is slightly parted, tiny groans escaping him. when you take him into your mouth he chokes out a moan and instantly reaches up to grab your hair in a fist. jann got lost in a daze watching you suck him off. he always thought you looked so pretty with your lips around his dick.

soon enough, he started to pant out and his groans began to get louder as you bobbed your head up and down on him. then all of a sudden he lifted your head up — grabbing you by the chin to bring you into a kiss. you two were sloppily eating at each others faces. almost like starved animals.

you were already soaked from everything that was happening so when jann pulled you into arms again just to flip you onto your hands and knees he could see the wet patch that stained your panties. “so fuckin’ wet… so damn greedy — just want me to fill this pretty pussy don’t you?” he leans down behind you to whisper in your ear.

jann reaches down between the both of you to pull your underwear to the side, revealing your sopping wet cunt to him. he then fisted his cock, stroking it a few times before lining himself up with your slick entrance. when he begins to push in inch by inch you swear you begin to tear up with how big and thick he is.

he was fully nestled inside of your warmth when he reached up to grab a fistful of your hair and setting his pace. jann’s hips started smacking against the plush of your ass with each thrust.

“jann… ple—ase,“ you whimper out.

“sh- shh sweetheart… don’t talk just lemme hear those little noises you make.” he said as he picked up the pace of each thrust. he was going fast and deep. he moved his hand from your hair and used it to grab your face, thick fingers digging into your soft cheeks.

he started peppering tiny, cute kisses across your face. he was doing such a sweet thing while breaking you.

when jann looked down between the both of you, he swore he was in heaven. he could see where he was sliding in and out of you perfectly and the white ring you left around his pretty cock. it was like a mark you left on him to show that he was yours and you were his.

you could feel his pattern faltering as his hips began to stutter. his groans turned into moans and they went higher in pitch each time your hips smacked back onto his. he leaned down to plant kisses along the small of your back as your voice began to crack from how loud you’ve been. “oh- oh fuck — im gonna cu-“ is all you hear before you can feel jann spill into you.

soon enough after, you let out a loud whine as you feel yourself cum on his cock.

the room smells like sex and the air is hot and heavy. the only thing you can hear is the sound of both of you panting, trying to catch your breath. when jann pulls out of your warmth, he hisses sharply though his teeth. he was still kissing from your neck to your jawline all the way down to your lower back.

a little while later, jann had cleaned the both of you up and gotten some new clothes for you to wear to bed. you were on top of him with your face buried in his neck while his hands were tangled in your hair. every so often he would lean down to plant a kiss onto your lips or cheek. his large hand went underneath your (his) shirt to trace small shapes on your back.

“was i too much?” he finally says to break the silence.

you stirred a bit in the position you were in but he could feel you shake your head ‘no.’ jann lets out a dry laugh at the way you responded to him. he reaches up with his free hand to grab your chin and gives you a sensual kiss on the lips.

“thank you for helping me love…”

[bonnieblue0606]

If anyone has written or is planning to write a Farleigh x reader, please let me know

[girlboybug]

Haunted

“my wicked tongue, where will it be, i know if i’m onto you, you must be onto me.”

or the one where it’s halloween at saltburn and you and farleigh ditch the party downstairs to celebrate with a little weed in your bedroom.

what’s playing 🎧: haunted by beyoncé

pairing : farleigh start x fem!reader (afab bodied)

*UNEDITED*

word count : 6k

CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUT, virgin!reader, bi coded! reader, heavy petting, grinding and dry humping, oral f!receiving, mentions of fingering, mentions of blowjobs, little bit of tip sucking oops, handjobs, light hair pulling, boob worship, sub coded farleigh for two seconds, smidge of overstimulation

TRIGGER WARNINGS : both reader and farleigh are high when they engage in the sexual activity but it’s all consensual they’re both equally high, ummmmmmmm hints of slut shaming in the beginning by farleigh but it’s not fr fr bc his ass is mother slut let’s be honest

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY FROM ME TO YOU :3!

a/n : comments rlly motivate me so if you enjoyed this plz lmk down in the comments <3

venetia and felix are nowhere to be found amidst the neon mess of bodies that inhabit every orifice of what was once an almost eerily quiet and empty corridor just this morning. leaving you to be doomed to a fate of enduring a poorly put together semblance of…you think frankenstein, having a one sided conversation with you. “can i get you another drink?” he asks over the booming music and for the first time in the entire interaction you smile a genuinely smile, and nod with urgency. “god yes—please,” you respond eagerly, handing him back your cup. he takes it with an undeserving great sense of pride, and you exhale with relief once he disappears from your line of vision, hoping he loses you in the crowd.

“interesting costume choice,” a familiar, annoying, voice comments behind you. without even turning around yet, you find yourself rolling your eyes. you give him a once over and scoff. his fangs protrude from his smile, and you wish it looked cartoonish and stupid, but alas, he unfortunately looks good. really good. but over your dead body you’d ever admit that.

fake blood is dribbled from the corners of his mouth and two neat dots rest near his pulse on the side of his neck. a brow rises and crinkles your forehead, aiding in the faux judgment you cast upon him. “rich coming from the guy who’s wearing the most generic costume known to man.” you retort back, subconsciously withholding a level of snideness. you like the build of veiled insults you two toss back and forth, it’s never fun if you start off too strong. you enjoy the way you both ease into it. it’s a flow you’ve both unknowingly created for each other.

his head shifts to the side when he rolls his eyes and exhales under his breath, and your heart falters just a little lower within your ribcage when you see a bright red kiss stain on his jaw.

“it’s in reference to bram stoker’s dracula, a classic piece of literature, but you?” his eyes flicker over you, a little upward curve growing in the corner of his mouth. “i thought you’d be better than defaulting to a sexy version of marie antoinette.” he folds his arms over his chest, peering down at you, unbeknownst to the excitement that bubbles in the depths of his chest as he awaits whatever response you’re brewing in your head to bite back with.

heat plants itself like a seed in the pit of your stomach and extends its branches through your chest and across your cheeks at his observation. but a hefty cloud of pride quickly replaces it when his words ring through your head again.

he thinks i look sexy?

“i’m not a sexy marie antoinette. i’m just. Her.” you reply with a sense of smugness, seemingly stealing his, when a look of oh fuck flashes across his face. he’s quick to rid himself of it but you caught it, and you’ll be damned if you let go of the one time farleigh let himself waver in front of you.

“i meant slutty.” he replies cooly, uncaring, and you nod, a stupid grin on your face that he wishes he could wipe off. “you called me sexy.” your grin only grows and he’s already rolling

his eyes once more. “i know no one compliments you like you wish they would, so anything that remotely sounds like one is enough for you to latch onto, but i promise,” he steps forward and leans his neck downward towards you, not bothering to bend down to meet your height. “i meant slutty.”

a rush of something you don’t want to distinguish floods the shoreline of your lower stomach and trickles heat between your inner thighs at the way he speaks to you, but you hide it, barely allowing yourself to even acknowledge it. “the biggest slut i know calling someone else slutty, that’s funny,” you internally groan, knowing your reply wasn’t as witty as you’d intended.

before farleigh can verbally retaliate, your name is called out and you recognize who it belongs to, your dreaded frankenstein. you panic for a moment, dreading being back in conversation with him and you glance up at farleigh, hurriedly switching your bodies around, successfully shielding yourself with his stature.

he’s confused for a moment before realizing what you’re using him for. he laughs and you smack his back, hushing him. while you hide behind him you take the fleeting moments you have to outline his broad shoulders with your eyes, and how they trail into a slim little waist. his perfectly tailored suit hugs him just right, and it makes your throat get a little tight. you never took the time to notice farleigh’s physique, rather opting to semi-playfully belittle him. you find hints of regret in that.

he turns back around to face you and you snap back into the present, not the paused moment in which saltburn was empty and all that occupied it was you and farleigh and his broad back and small waist. “coast is clear.” he says, switching his weight onto one foot. “frankenstein? really?” he seems unimpressed, almost… irritated? you’re unsure.

you grumble and smooth down the invisible

wrinkles in your corset. “don’t start.” but he does anyway.

“didn’t know that was your type.”

“what?”

“somewhat stupid looking, bumbling.”

“what’s it matter to you?” you ask, wondering how far he’ll go with his dissertation on why the guy he has zero knowledge on is an idiot. “it doesn’t. it’s just getting a bit sad seeing that the only people who are interested in you are so…lacking.”

you suck on your teeth and nod, shrugging before you reply. “least i’m not fucking my teachers.” he heartily laughs, sticking his tongue in the bottom corner of his lip. “and yet, they all still trump your sorry excuses of flings.”

you open your mouth to correct him but you shut yourself up before you embarrass yourself. instead you just shake your head dismissively. you perk up when you remember a little secret pick me up you’ve been hiding. you reach into your cleavage, unaware of the way the sight stirs something inside of farleigh. you pull out the joint you tucked away for safe keeping, waving it with an offering smile. “wanna share?” you ask and he chuckles in shock at the proposition. “weed? you’re a pothead now?” you sigh annoyedly and glare up at him. “you wanna share or not? quick before i change my mind.” he smirks and nods, eyeing the joint then you. “i’ll oblige.”

he follows you to your room, holding your waist to wade through the pool of people, with you flush against him. you ignore the way his hands mold around your waist, his long fingers curled across your dress, and you especially ignore how you feel his rings through the thin material of your dress.

you don’t care.

you lean against the open window of your bedroom with the joint, not wanting to taint the air with the stench, knowing elspeth’s keen nose would immediately clock it the moment she walks into your room.

farleigh coughs a lot more than you would’ve expected him to and it makes you beam with a feeling of superiority. “you smoke like half a pack of cigarettes every day, how on earth is this making you cough so hard?” you snicker, handing him a water bottle you keep by your bed.

he glares at you, taking a hefty swig from your bottle, setting it down before extending his hand back out for the joint, determined to prove a point. “forgive me for not being used to smoking weed, unlike you, you addict,” he mutters through an exhale of smoke. you actually guffaw at his snippy little reply, for once in shock of something he has to say. “me? an addict? weed is probably the most harmless drug like—ever, whereas you, keep a keychain of literal cocaine on you almost at all times.”

he hates that he happens to have exactly what you just said on his person in this very moment. he tucks it away into his pocket and huffs. “i just do it socially, you’re probably up here all the time smoking alone like a loser by the window,” he has an infuriating self satisfied smirk when he speaks to you and you laugh sardonically, nodding along.

“well,” you say, taking in a hit, and letting it gently fan over his face when you exhale. “no one’s forcing you to engage in something apparently so below you,” you motion towards the door with a lazy jab of your head. “doors that way if you’re not enjoying yourself.”

he remains unfaltered in your cloud of smoke, letting it envelope him. he breathes it in, leaning against the windowsill. “do you want me to leave?”

“i always do.” you don’t miss a beat, a look that tells him you don’t really mean it is thinly covered with a fake smile, eliciting a chuckle through pursed lips from him. “i don’t believe you.” he murmurs when he inches back toward you, plucking the joint from your fingers. he takes another hit, it’s smoother, he’s more in control of it, and something flutters inside you seeing the way he closes his eyes as he exhales the smoke out the window.

“you’re insufferable,” you say hushedly, gently, and he chuckles quietly, handing you the joint. “and yet you keep me around anyway.”

“not by choice.”

—

as the night rages on, the joint you both share dwindles down into a dull roach, and you crush the bud into your porcelain ashtray, tucking it away and beneath your nightstand.

your legs feel a little wobbly, your body has significantly loosened up and your center of gravity feels a bit off, but you feel good, and it seems farleigh feels the same. his eyes are low and hooded, they look a little red — it’s cute, kind of endearing too but you keep that to yourself like a bashful secret. his face and overall demeanor seems to be relaxed as well, a lot more loosened up than he was just an hour prior.

you smile at him, and there’s nothing hidden under the action, there’s no cover up for anything. you’re just happy to be with him in a moment like this. and he returns it to you, full sentiment and all, filling you with a sense of contentment. “feel nice?” you ask breathily, collapsing onto your bed. he joins you, plopping down beside you when he replies. “mmhm. i like it,” he says, and his voice sounds a bit rougher from the smoke, his words laying on the edge of a rasp.

you shuffle around to lay on your side, your palm supporting the weight of your head, settling into a comfortable position. he copies your actions, switching around on his side to properly face you. he looks beautiful with the way the moon creeps in through your parted window, the pale light complements the highlights in his curls and makes them look golden; he looks golden. but when your eyes fall on the red kiss on his jaw, everything turns back to copper.

“who gave you this?” you question him quietly, sadly. like it physically hurts you to ask him. your fingers hover just above the lipstick stain, unable to get yourself to touch it. in your induced state you’ve convinced yourself that if you were to ever touch farleigh’s face, it won’t be in the spot someone else tarnished with their own touch first.

“why?” he answers your question with another question and you huff under your breath, your filter too worn out from the weed to hide your frustration behind a poker face. “why can’t i ask?” you push a little further and he snickers lazily. “why do you wanna know?” he counters and you roll your heavy eyes, letting yourself fall onto your back once more.

he scoots closer to you, angling his neck to look downward at you, and he pouts with faux concern. “you jealous?” he asks, perking up and leaning towards you with a beaming smirk. you scoff, swallowing the lump in your throat as you turn to look away. the proximity of your faces is too much to bear, but not for him, his index and thumb guide you right back by your chin to face him. he keeps your gaze on him in place, his wide palm cupping your cheek. your skin tingles under the coldness from his rings.

“tell me which one it is,” he says through a hushed exhale, leaning on his elbow, his eyes still angled down at you, his lips in an unintentional pout. “are you jealous of me, because why wouldn’t you be,” he hums on an airy note, drawn out and easy. his gaze flickers down to your lips and back up to your eyes. “or of whoever left it?” your mouth goes even dryer than you thought it could, and you’re unsure of what to say, what to think, and between the lack of space between both of your lips and the questions he’s asking, you’re left frazzled. scrambling for something, anything to say.

you’re not sure how to reply, you’re shocked he even asked that to begin with, and now it’s your turn to visibly falter in front of him. he looks at you expectantly, and a little part of him feels he’s won some mini challenge in your ongoing battle to embarrass the other. but there’s a different type of smugness in his small victory, perhaps a confirmation on something he’d been wondering about for awhile.

“i’m not jealous of either of you,” your voice falls upon a faint breath and his brows push together, nodding patronizingly. “oh i’m sure.” he pushes a little harder on your buttons, waiting for when you finally do something about it.

“why would i be jealous of someone who gets with just anybody?” you add, sitting up on your elbows, unintentionally leaning in closer, engaging him in the push and pull. he follows your flow in motion, inching in closer, just a little, keeping the space between you both minimal. he laughs softly from the center of his belly, flicking a brow up. “versus what? someone who doesn’t get with anyone? sounds boring.” he adds, tilting his head, your noses brushing against each other’s. “boring is better than whatever you bring back home at night.” his chuckle falls across your lips at your response, and you find yourself parting your lips to breathe him in.

“are you admitting to having a non-existent sex life? i’d say i’m shocked but i’m not,” he replies, his voice at the end of a whisper, a hazy, knowing smile rising in the corner of his lips. you take in a deep breath, smoothing out the duvet beneath your palms as you reply without a second thought to what you’re confessing to. “i’d rather get none than contract every std ever by fucking everyone who roams the halls at oxford,”

farleigh laughs initially, taking your playful jab before he pauses and looks at you a bit more seriously. a little too serious for your liking. it makes you burn up and inwardly panic. did you say something wrong? go too far?

“but you’ve had sex before…right?” he asks to clarify, sitting up a little straighter now. the burning sensation in your cheeks only heightens now. “um,” you’re once again left wondering how to reply but your pause acts as his answer alone. he sits all the way up now and you groan when you begin to hear the gears in his head shifting.

he says your name like he’s awestruck and you grab a pillow, pretending to suffocate yourself with it. he tosses it off of you and pulls you up to look at him. “you’ve really never…done it?” he asks again, unbelieving to this revelation. normally he’d find this to be a pot of gold chock full of new material to use against you but right now he’s in too much disbelief to act on any of this.

“no,” you huff, avoiding his stare. “why not?” he asks, lowering his voice in a softer tone this time. “dunno,” you shrug. “no one really caught my eye enough for me to wanna do it, and then you know college rolled around and i was just too busy for it.”

he half scoffs half laughs but it all stems from shock. “it’s impossible to be too busy for sex,” he opposes and you laugh dryly. “yeah for you, but i actually care about my grades,” he shakes his head, shooing any topic of academics away. “yeah yeah whatever,” he waves you off, as if he’s clearing the air for his next round of questions. “you’ve at least kissed someone right—“ you’re shutting him up with a pillow thrown against his chest and he laughs, pushing it out of the way. ”of course i have farleigh, don’t be stupid,” you laugh, embarrassment still blooming in the depths of your chest.

“i had to check!” he says defensively and your embarrassment grows when you realize he really was genuinely asking, meaning it’s believable that no one’s ever kissed you.

god.

you bury your face in the pillow that acted as your weapon just seconds ago, unable to face him.

his laughter rings pleasantly in your ears, his hands prying you away from the pillow, wanting to see you. “have you done…anything at all?” he asks, like it’s sensitive information he’s pulling from you, he’s gentler when he questions you, easing you into the topic. you nod, biting on your thumbnail as you recollect your sparse experiences.

“tell me about them,” he says, leaning back on both elbows, still turned to face you. you rest on your stomach, your forearms supporting your weight, situating yourself to share your run ins with fleeting intimacy. “well, it was freshman year back at oxford, some guy i think his name was theo—“

“theo wright?”

“uh yeah i think so—“

“well there’s your first mistake.” he says matter of factly, his words dying down towards the end when he sees your irritated expression.

“can i finish please?” you glare and he laughs, nodding. “is what you probably asked him right?” you stifle the laugh that almost slips out, opting to narrow your eyes at him annoyedly instead. “shush.” you huff.

“anyways, i dunno i think it was at some dumb welcoming freshman’s party and we went upstairs and we kissed in some guy’s bed and he rubbed my inner thigh for like 5 minutes, completely under the impression he was touching my clit.” you can barely make it through the description of your time with theo without farleigh doubling over and laughing, nudging your arm with his head.

“oh my god that’s good,” he exhales at the end of his laughter, pretending to wipe a tear from the corners of his eyes. “you poor thing,” he sighs, patting your cheek. “and did you say anything? like…correct him maybe?” and you shake your head dejectedly. “no. i had to pretend to cum so he would stop.” you admit, the regret from that night pinging through you.

farleigh coos at you apologetically, “poor baby,” he hums, patting your cheek, his ringed pinky casting away an imaginary strand of hair, finding any excuse there is to be near you, to touch you. you melt under his touch, fighting the urge to lean into it. “that’s the closest thing you’ve had to a hook up?” he asks, fully focused on you, making you a bit nervous from all his attention being directed at you. there’s no audience to perform your shared act for, it’s just you and him, and you think you like this change of pace.

you shake your head, laying back against the headboard, resting your legs across farleigh’s, to which he welcomes without hesitation, throwing an arm over them casually.

“i had one more. it was with noa…” you trail off, a bit shyer expressing this particular experience. farleigh however is nowhere near shy, the word is nowhere near his vocabulary, instead his interest has been piqued and it’s visible in the way his ears just about perk. “wait, girl noa or boy noah—uh keaton or deacon?”

you’re silent for a moment, letting the muffled thrum of music fill the air before you speak again. “keaton.”

he laughs, shocked but impressed, his tongue poking the hollow curve of his cheek as he nods. “noa keaton, interesting...” he repeats back, mostly to himself, somewhat in awe.

“don’t be weird about it,” you groan and he shakes his head, rubbing your calf comfortingly. “no no i’m not i just wasn’t expecting that. good for you though,” he winks at you and you’re rolling your eyes.

“yeah. anyways she um…she fingered me in the library,” a fluttery feeling lines your stomach at the memory and farleigh catches onto your pauses, noticing a more positive physical reaction when you mention her. “yeah? was it good?” he asks lowly, his voice huskier than it was a moment ago and you nod, leaning your head against the cold wooden headboard. “it was—thankfully; she actually knew what to do, you know?” he nods, chuckling. “makes sense. did you get to finish that time?” he asks as if he’s actually concerned, and the way his hand keeps running up and down your legs makes you feel as if he just might be.

you’re not used to discussing such topics with farleigh, it’s unfamiliar and his bluntness and shamelessness in being open with how curious he is as to whether or not someone has made you cum is catching you off guard, but most concerningly, it’s making you ache. “no,” you finally answer, sighing sadly. “almost did. but we also almost got caught and then you know, she dropped out. haven’t heard from her since.”

you expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. he takes a moment of silence and it acts as yet another surprise tonight; farleigh is capable of being quiet.

“so you haven’t had any experiences worth writing home about then, huh?” he verges on a whisper, his voice cradling the sides of your face, guiding your eyes back to his. you nod and he hums in tune to something similar of patronizing. “let alone any real ones,” he adds, his thumb swirling over your knee. you shrug lightly, anxiously fiddling with the ruffles at the skirt of your dress.

“do you want one?” he asks, his eyes keeping you still in place and you gasp silently, swallowing thickly. “want what?” you manage to reply, your nerves blanketing over you. “a good experience.”

you stare at him for a second, unsure if he’s really just said what he said, but in the case that he did, you nod like you’ve been entranced by a siren song. with the way that farleigh speaks to you while maintaining eye contact, the way his hand tempts you alone with a few gentle touches upon your leg, you might as well have been.

he smiles at your agreement, sliding his hand down to your ankle and tugging you towards him. you gasp, yelping with low volume as you slide down your bed. he pulls you in close, climbing further into your bed until he’s on top of you.

his hooded eyes peer down at you, drinking you all in, so beautiful and pliable beneath him. he brings his thumb to your bottom lip, running along it and smearing your lipstick across your chin. he dips between your lips, smirking to himself when you kiss the pad of it.

he pulls away leaning downward until his nose nudges yours. “tell me i can kiss you,” he tells you, his words fanning out against your lips, and you nearly moan from the proximity itself. “i want you to kiss me.” you whisper back and you sweat you see a smile on his lips before they’re on yours.

you moan with relief, embarrassingly desperate to have farleigh on you. you’re chest to chest, lips interlocked with his cock pressed up against your clothed crotch, grinding lightly. he groans in your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip as if it were secreting nectar. he’s starved from the weed consumption, and all those months of this incessant back and forth you two shared is all coming back full force, and you can feel it in how hard he kisses you and the hunger that lies underneath it all.

his hand travels from the back of your knee, gliding over your leg and up your thigh, squeezing your hip when his hand finds purchase there. he ruts into you in waves, breaking apart from your lips, much to your dismay, to kiss and nip at your neck, rinsing you of the disappointment from the momentary lack of closeness.

“farleigh,” you breath out, your knees locking him in on either side of his hips, pushing up to meet his grinding motions. “what baby?” he mumbles, raspy and heavy and it makes your clit throb. “feels s’good,” you sigh lazily, arching your back into his chest. he chuckles, his ego rising with every little moan you give him.

“better than what theo did?” he asks, pushing his bulge right up against your clit, and you whimper, nodding stupidly. his signet ring tickles you through your thin panty hose when he inches closer between your thighs. your breath stops in the middle of your throat as he nears your cunt. “can i touch?” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours. you moan under your breath, nodding. “please?” you beg, heavy eyes of yours gazing at him from beneath your eyelashes, lips pouted desperately.

he doesn’t make you ask again, he’ll save that for another endeavor he hopes you two will indulge in again. for now he’ll give you what you want without making you work for it. at least, too hard.

he rubs you through your panty hose, sucking in a sharp breath. “fuckin’ soaked through baby,” he groans, kissing you hard.

the wind in your lungs has abandoned you, the air in the room playing cat and mouse with you amid your struggle to keep up. farleigh’s touches making the feat all the more increasingly difficult. he sends you one last kiss on your lips, sponging one to your chin, then down your chest, nipping at the swell of your breasts.

“can i take this off?” he murmurs, his chin just beneath your sternum, fingers toying with the laces of your corset. you rest on your elbows, looking down at him, the way he peers up at you alone could convince you to commit the most heinous crimes. you nod, reaching down to untie them, but he’s quick to stop you. “let me do it,” he says, grasping your wrists. you swallow thickly, glancing at how his large hand easily holds both your wrists with ease.

he takes his time unlacing your corset, wanting to savor this juncture in time. he’s slower than you thought he’d be, treating you like a ribbon wrapped present, if he’s too rough it may all fall apart and honestly you just might if he doesn’t move any faster.

“farleigh,” you whine, sitting back up. “hurry up or it stays on,” you nearly growl and he laughs, tugging everything undone with a harsh tug, opening your corset and baring your breasts. you gasp, instinctively covering yourself. he shakes his head, tsking you when he pulls your arms away. “thought you wanted me to hurry up?” he bites back just a little, playfully, and you glare at him. he doesn’t care, he’s already lowering himself back between your thighs, holding you by your calves to spread you open.

he grips your calf, the other squeezing your thigh, using them to keep you wide open for him. his hands are warm and firm around your flesh, and his tongue is wet and hot against your clothed cunt.

the small act alone propels you into hedonism, reminding you of how good pleasure can be, how all consuming it is, and in this moment it feels as though farleigh is the only one who can provide any relief for the burning engine grinding in the pit of your stomach, aching to be satiated.

“farleigh,” you whine, throwing your head back when he mouths at your cunt, his tongue burns through your thin layers but it’s not enough, you want his tongue to brand itself right up against your clit.

your desires and needs are caught through your drawn out breaths, tugging at the air in jagged gasps. he reads through all your little sounds, and without any coherent words needed, he digs a nail into your pale pantyhose, ripping them in the crotch and pushing your panties to the side, burying his tongue right where you need it to be, searing your soaked flesh with every broad flick of the wet muscle.

you gasp almost like it hurts, but it’s quite the opposite. he laps you up and devours your cunt like he’s trying to reach your heart, grappling around your legs and gripping your hips to keep you in place, starved for something sweet. his eyes that have held you inside silent conversations amidst a gathering of people are now shut, tucked away behind his eyelids and long lashes, too focused on the way you taste and how he can’t seem to get enough of you.

he’s never been this hungry before, and maybe it’s the weed or maybe it’s the simple fact he’s fantasized about this more often than he’d like to admit. on more than just a singular off handed occasion, his hand has slipped beneath his boxers, jaw clenched, eyebrows drawn together and teeth gritted, almost begrudgingly to the act itself.

but he always gives in.

the fantasy is always the same, it’s prompted by whatever stupid argument you two found yourselves in, and he shuts you up with his mouth latched onto your cunt, erasing any quips or snarkiness left in you and replacing them with the sounds of you struggling to barely even moan his name. and now that it’s real, he can’t just stop now, he wants to prolong this moment for as long as he can.

his nose swipes across your clit, pulling a drawn out moan from the depths of your chest, and you shudder, trying to find something to hold onto for security, but farleigh’s a step ahead of you, eagerly offering his hands for you to take. you do so, desperately, lacing your fingers together and whimpering when he takes in a dull quick breath before pouring himself into your cunt, flicking his tongue right there, and moaning to himself at the way you just melt into him.

you roll your hips into his mouth sporadically, with no real rhythm, your body reacting with violent jerks as if his tongue were electric, and he takes it all in stride, squeezing your hands lovingly.

and when he sucks on your clit, it’s too much, you can’t take it, it pulls you into a state of thick molasses, gleaming and aureate, only to settle into the center of your stomach, pushing inward and arching you forward into pure ember, sizzling through you until it reaches your fingertips.

you can hardly hear or feel yourself breathe, everything’s buzzing and muffled, honey coats your skin and encases you in its sweetness.

you can’t help the twitching in your hips and lower stomach, whimpering in pleasured agony when you come back to earth and feel farleigh’s mouth still on you, moaning to himself and toying with your clit between his lips.

you’re untangling your fingers, and he grunts when you try to squirm away from his mouth, but he’s not having it, gently smacking your hipbone, silently chastising you.

you whine, taking in hefty gasps, it’s starting to hurt but in a way you can’t say is bad. it’s just so overwhelming, it makes you burn from the inside out and you can’t stop the thin stream of tears that escape from your heavy eyes. your bare breasts heave in the thick air, your mouth is parted with a choppy flow of pleadings with farleigh.

he slowly relents, planting one last firm kiss against your clit, peppering smaller ones across your hips and lower tummy, making his way back up to you. “hi,” he smiles as if he wasn’t just tongue deep inside your cunt. he swipes away the streaks of mascara tinted tears from your eyes, laughing breathily at the sight of your lack of coherence. “hi,” you exhale, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. his eyes shut when he leans into you, taking your lips in his. the taste of you is heavy on his tongue, heat fanning across your cheeks when you realize that bittersweet taste in his mouth is you.

your hand rests on his chest, slowly slipping lower and lower until you reach his bulge, palming him with fervor but maintaining some form of sensuality, albeit fueled with a sense of rushed desperation. you break apart from his lips and his head tilts forward, chasing after your kiss. you sponge a kiss against the corner of his lips, angling a downcast tilt towards his cock, mouth agape and eager to take him in. but he’s holding your jaw, stopping you and bringing you back to meet his gaze.

your eyebrows knit together with almost a betrayed curiosity. “why not?” you ask, almost naively, and he shakes his head, his thumb gently swiping across your bottom lip. “you don’t have to do that baby,” he promises, and it only increases your desire to take him in your mouth when you can practically hear all the inhales and exhales of smoke he took prior, how it leaves a rich rasp in his voice.

“i know i don’t have to, i want to,” you just about cross your heart for him to emphasize the genuine ache to suck him off, already feeling that familiar throng of tingles set off again between your thighs.

“another time, it’ll be too much for you right now,” he unintentionally sounds patronizing and it rubs you the wrong way. you let out something that’s a more annoyed version of a scoff, folding your arms. “i can handle it farleigh, if you think i’ll be bad just be honest and don’t hide behind fake reasons.” a cloud of insecurity beginning to muddle your mind.

he rolls his eyes, a faint smile on his lips betrays his act of annoyance. “you and your pride,” he mutters under his breath, a veil of adoration lacing through it.

“don’t be a brat,” he murmurs with a luster of playfulness, “i just don’t want to overwhelm you with too much too soon,”

you frown, moving away strands of hair from his face, sighing. “is this okay then? too much?” you whisper hotly in his ear, leaning up into him. you reach beneath his dress pants and boxers, wrapping your hand around the thickness of him and hiding your surprise at how big he feels in your palm, and how you can barely wrap around him with your fingers.

he falters above you, groaning in the crook of your neck with whimpers of please. you take this opportunity to guide him a little further on his side, lightly pushing him onto his back. you tuck yourself into his side, his arm pulling you in and holding you close. you shove his pants down just enough to fully free his cock. arousal thrums all along your cunt once he’s freed from his pants. a twinge of gratefulness is in your gaze when you look back at farleigh’s low eyes. taking him down your throat admittedly would’ve been a difficult feat and you’re relieved he stopped you from doing so.

however you won’t admit to that, instead you wrap your hand around him, dragging your thumb around his tip, giggling when he winces with pleasure, curling into you.

you rest your chin on the top of his head, whimpering above him when he takes one of your nipples between his lips, swirling his tongue around them as you jerk him off.

“fuck,” he bucks his hips into the warm curl of your palm, running his fingers across your ribs, tugging you in closer towards him. he moans your name like its a saving grace into the valley of your breasts, inhaling your sweet perfume deeply. “does that feel good?” you ask softly, genuinely, and he groans, nodding.

“j-just, squeeze me right there,” he swallows hard, wrapping his large hand around yours when you travel a little further up his cock. you nod attentively, taking note of everything he likes. “tell me what else makes you feel good,” you murmur through kisses, planting them across his cheekbone. he fucking whimpers into your dampening flesh and your clit throbs at the sound.

“i like when you touch me right here,” he admits breathlessly, guiding your thumb to his tip. you nod, taking longer strokes, tightening your slickened grip and glazing over his sensitive tip.

“just like that, fuck,” he groans, panting heavily at the rhythm you’ve developed together. “you’re so cute like this,” you giggle lightly in his ear, teeth grazing his ear teasingly. you pump your wrist a little faster, feeling cocky at the way he falls apart in your hold, completely and utterly at your mercy.

he can’t help the way he tries to fuck your hand, grinding his hips desperately, neck bared for you when he throws his head back. you slide your arm a little further underneath his neck, cradling him close to your side, using your free hand to scratch at his scalp. his hips jerk and he moans, leaning into your gentle touches.

your eyes fall onto the wretched kiss stain on his skin once again, clenching your jaw. you smear it off of him, the flare up of jealousy sanctioning something in you to start dragging your wrist up and down a little faster, squeezing him a little tighter. pride rises within you when you see how receptive he is to it, trembling in the confines of beneath your wings.

you kiss the top of his head as he defaults right back into the sanctuary of your chest. his stubble tickles your skin, and you grow fond of the sensation. your poor hole clenches around nothing when your eyes peer down to see his cock weep in your hand, precum leaking and dribbling down your knuckles, agonizing over the same desire you possess.

the wet sound eliciting from your hand and his cock is stirs a familiar buzz in your clit and you wonder what the tip of his cock would feel like rubbing against your clit. skin to skin. with each drag of your hand over him, you start to feel the ache settle back inside you, wishing your hand was your cunt taking him in. feeling each vein you feel right now but inside you, feeling his fat tip prod and hit right where your fingers could never reach. your fantasizing shows through the way you continue to jerk him off, growing hungrier and hungrier with each stroke.

“baby,” he groans into the thick air, as he lays helplessly beside you. “i wanna see you cum,” you whisper in his ear, unintentionally cushioning his face with your breasts and the act alone almost has him cumming in your hand.

he grips your lower back, burying his face in your chest, his body going rigid and firm, his cock twitching in your hold. “shit i think i’m— fuck baby tell me i can cum,” he begs, pressing needy kisses across your chest. you nod, pulling at the back of his curls forcing him to look at you. “you can cum for me farleigh,” you pour your words out to him like a rich wine and it’s all he needs to let go.

he can’t stop his eyes from falling shut in a tight pinch. his body locks up, his mouth parts open to pant in the air, his neck still displayed for your teeth to sink into, hips sporadically fucking into your pumping wrist.

you quickly release him, ducking down to wrap your lips around his cock head. you hold back the smile that threatens to pluck the corner of your lips upward when he gasps loudly and whines your name with a pure churning ache.

you shut your eyes when he cums on your tongue, pleasantly surprised at the taste. he cums more than you would’ve expected but you take it all, eager to please him.

you gently lap at his tip, pushing your forearm on his stomach when he convulses from the sensitivity. “f-fuck, baby,” he breathes out, pulling you back up to him. he brings you down to his lips, guiding you onto your back when he kisses you.

it’s his turn to taste himself on your tongue and the thought of his cum gracing your mouth has his softening cock giving one last twitch. his hands run up and down your sides, savoring your skin and praying his hands and fingers memorize each curve and indent. “you’re so hot,” he whispers against your lips. you peck him, feeling warm. “i know.” he smiles, pecking you back.

he collapses beside you, straightening out the charm from your necklace back to the center of your collarbones and despite everything that transpired between you two, the small action still makes you feel flushed.

“would it be okay if i slept with you in your bed tonight?” he asks quietly, anxiously. you nod, turning to look at him with a delicate smile that tells him you’re more than happy to have him stay with you. “i’d be upset if you didn’t.”

relief floods him, in return allowing him to abide by his instincts to scoot closer towards you. he curls into your side completely, long limbs overtaking you and intertwining you two until you feel like you’re one.

“night.” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your shoulder, unsure if he’s still allowed to plant a kiss there. you’re too sleepy to notice, content enough with being in his arms. “goodnight,” you repeat back softly, pulling the blankets over your bodies.

[ludicdoll]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

farleigh start ☆

pairing: farleigh start x fem!reader

contents: smoking, sexual tension, farleigh being yet again an arrogant cunt, fingering, littleeee bit of degrading but for the most part there’s praise, farleigh’s slightly toxic, dom farleigh, situationship type relationship

synopsis: you and farleigh share a cigarette on the staircase.

a/n: farleigh lives in my mind rent free 24/7, for my bby @uch3na

there’s something so chilling and unnerving about the saltburn corridors at night, everything appeared so much more closed in. felix would usher you to come to saltburn with him every summer, and you always declined. however, this year you gave in. you constantly got lost within the house, always walking loops around the castle. unfortunately, you couldn’t sleep and felt antsy—so you decided to explore the manor. as you slowly creak open your door, you poke your head out and look around. when you’ve confirmed no one is awake, you tiptoe across the polished floors, bumping into several obscuring objects in your way due to the darkness. you walk past a room before stepping back and looking through the cracked door.

the lamp was still on inside, and it only occurs to you when you gloss over the posters on the walls that it’s farleigh’s bedroom. you immediately step back, afraid he would catch you in his door. but you realized he wasn’t in his room at all, in fact he was behind you staring you down.

“what are you doing?” his voice is low and sultry which causes you to jump back and yelp, holding a hand up to your chest. “holy fuck, farleigh—you scared me.” you whisper, worried about waking up the cattons. he’s sitting on top of one of the many staircases in the home, a cigarette between his fingers (as always)

“you stalking me or something?” he asks with a raised brow. you cross your arms, not impressed by his joke. “no, i was just—” you trip up on your words for a moment, distracted by his intense glare. “i couldn’t sleep.”

farleigh looks at you up and down, a thin line of smoke flowing out of his mouth. “so you decided to come to my room instead?” of course, he flipped the narrative to make it seem like you were purposely looking for him. his voice was laced with arrogance, a smirk plastered on his lips. “you cheeky minx,” he mutters as he draws out another exhale from his cigarette. you roll your eyes, tugging at your sleep shorts that were a little bit too small to your liking. farleigh’s eyes darts down to your smooth legs, an intrigued look on his face. the blue moonlight lit the side of his face perfectly, just enough for you to make out his expression shifting.

you dig the balls of your heels deeper into the cold floor, slightly nervous from him examining you. you walk over to the railing, sitting down on the step next to him. farleigh leans over to your shoulder, offering his cigarette to you. you stare up him for a moment before taking it from his fingers, sighing when you feel the cold menthol flavor on your tongue. “you sleep in those clothes?” he asks with a soft judgmental tone while sliding his hand across the soft fabric of your shorts, almost groping at your ass. you groan, rolling your eyes in response. “i didn’t know i packed my old clothes. they obviously don’t fit me, farleigh.” you smack his hand away, turning to look out of the large window. the view of the garden is enchanting and gorgeous, almost beautiful enough to distract you from farleigh inching closer to you.

“mhm, yeah. you look sexy in it though.” you snap your head at him, brows slightly raised from his confident remark. he looks at you funny, shrugging his shoulders innocently as a way of saying “what?” your friendship—well, situationship with him was definitely something. you hated that term, situationship. it felt so condescending to you, just like a more loose term for fuck buddies. farleigh didn’t like when you got too friendly with other guys, he made that known to you because every time he caught you with another boy, he would take you back to his dorm and fuck you dumb. but, for some reason when he would talk and flirt with other girls, you weren’t allowed to do anything about it. and as much as you wanted to tear away from the grasp he had on you, you simply couldn’t. you’d find your way back to him eventually, and he knew that.

ever since you arrived at saltburn, farleigh has made sure that he annoyed you in every way he could, keeping you on your toes as much as possible. for example, during breakfast this morning his hand kept riding up your dress, fingers dancing across your panties teasingly—and during events, he would bounce his leg up and down with you in his lap, his knee rutting up against your pussy. the way he would tease you drove you insane because although he touched you, he never fully went through with it. he didn’t fuck you, finger you, or eat you out even though he would initiate the heavy situation.

“what are you thinking about?” he asks, his chin resting on your shoulder. he’s looking at you, chestnut eyes burning into yours. you hum, passing the cigarette back to him. “just about how much of an ass you are.” you reply with a bitter tone. farleigh tilts his head to the side and you feel him breaking into a smile even though your head was turned away. “it’s not funny.” you groan in annoyance. his hand finds its way to your waist, pulling you close. “it’s a little bit funny.” your leg bounces up and down, a nervous habit you had developed from all the stress you endured at oxford. it’s silent for a while, the sounds of crickets chirping and the soft patter of rain outside filling the long halls. “you keep teasing me, far.” you mumble, ashamed at how needy you sounded right now. he chuckles lowly, kissing your neck. “how so?”

his voice is quiet but somehow it still makes your insides turn and your thighs close tighter. farleigh seems to notice this slight movement and it gets a rise out of him. he smirks mischievously before shifting over on the stairs, moving so your back was now pressed against his chest. “c’mon then. tell me, princess.” he whispers in your ear. his voice is smooth like velvet, yet low and coarse. you watch as a layer of smoke evaporates over your head, then he puts his cigarette out against the cream colored tiles. “elspeth will freak if she finds your ashes on the floor.” you rasped in an attempt to advert the conversation. farleigh clicks his tongue, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. “i’ll just blame it on felix.” you feel the warmth radiating off of him, a slight tent in his pajama pants against your ass. farleigh presses a wet kiss on your neck before peppering a few more down tenderly.

“farleigh,” you breathe out. you let out a small moan, lulling your head back on his shoulder. he looks down at you with predator eyes, a half-lidded stare boring into yours. you moan out his name again, trying to get his attention but his hands are roaming further down your body. “farleigh, not here.” you whisper. he groans, letting out a quiet growl. “yes here, just be good f’me, baby.” you watch as his large hands settle on your hips, his fingers probing at the band of your shorts. slowly, he pulls them down your legs, sliding his fingers between your folds against your clothed pussy. you gasp softly, shifting in his arms nonstop. “you’re soaked through your panties. you like me that much, huh?” he taunts arrogantly.

you felt so sensitive right now, yearning for his touch. he continues to spread his big hands across your stomach, inching closer and closer to your dripping cunt. you twitch from anticipation, needy and desperate in his hands. “oh god, stop it.” you hiss. he pokes his head up, lips parted slightly. “uh-uh, say please.” his hand stops traveling down and you whine in response. a quiet groan escapes your lungs when you realize farleigh wants to hear you beg for him. of course, you’re just as stubborn as he is so you stay quiet at first—trying to prove to him that he didn’t have as much control over you that he thought he did. “say it.” his voice is a bit louder now, more clear with a harsher tone. you bite down on your bottom lip and scoff at his demands.

“i know you’ve been touching yourself to me.” this makes you freeze, and your bratty attitude drops for a split second. and while yes, it was true—you didn’t know he knew about it, which was even more embarrassing. your face heats up quickly, your body feeling like jelly against his large frame. “imagine how much better i can make you feel.” his voice is driven with lust, eyes dark with ardor. you turn your head away, rubbing against his hard dick with a pout on your face. you sigh out of frustration before whimpering a quiet “please,” but he still doesn’t seem satisfied. “what did you say?” he asks hauntingly—his hand resting on your chin and moving your face so you’re looking up at him. you feel your insides coiling in anticipation and frustration all at once. he was such a bitch but you liked it.

“farleigh—” you go to protest.

“nonono, let me hear it.” he interrupts. “please,” you beg instantly, you can't wait anymore, you need him now. farleigh grins, planting a kiss on your parted lips before pulling off your panties down to your ankles. you wince slightly from the cold air hitting your bare skin, gasping when his thumb circles your swollen clit. his fingertips ghost past your dripping slit, drawing a quiet cry from you. his touch is slow and sensual in a way that makes you dissolve further into him. you think that if his arms weren't holding you up, you'd fall right down the steps. his finger probe at your wet hole, sliding it in with a lewd squelching sound. your back arches slightly, hips stuttering upwards against his slender hands. you whine and cry out softly as his finger curls up, sliding in and out of your cunt mercilessly. you try to keep quiet, terrified of felix walking out of his room and seeing farleigh fingering you into oblivion.

“let me hear your pretty little voice, baby,” he mumbles into your neck. you shake your head, pressing your lips into a thin line to suppress your moans. then, farleigh dips in another finger, stretching you out. you pant and sigh, running your hand up to his face then to his curls. you softly tug on them, grinding against his fingers with a stuttered jerk of your hips. “fuck, you’re such a bitch.” you whine. “you love that, don’t you?” he chuckles back in return. you don’t have to see him to know that he had a wide grin plastered on his face right now, you can hear it. although the summer heat was decently cooler at night, the air seemed hotter around you now. your skin is coated in a thin layer of sweat, lips wet and red from you biting down on it. you throw your head back as soon as his thumb grazes past your sensitive clit again. farleigh sighs at the sight, seeming to get off from you whining and tearing up under his hold.

farleigh pushes his fingers deeper inside your walls, running his other hand on your waist up to play with your tits. your shirt slightly slips off your shoulders which causes you to shudder from the tickling feeling. farleigh keeps his deliberate pace, taunting you. he breathes in your scent, lining wet kisses along your shoulder with ease. “farleigh, go faster.” you moan out, he clicks his tongue, narrowing his head further into your neck. you groan, “please,” and he obeys surprisingly. his fingers speed up as his hands massage your breasts softly—drawing a choked sob from your throat. eventually, his hand from your chest moves away back down to your clit, rubbing at it roughly. your breath hitches, back arching into him. you slowly feel a overwhelming sensation over your body, dazing you out like an intense high. you can barely keep your eyes open when he starts spitting out dirty words into your ear. “such a slut,” he sputters out, “you’re lucky you’re fucking gorgeous.”

you roll your hips into his hand, increasing the pleasurable ache between your legs. farleigh sees your desperate attempt and decides to rapidly slide his fingers in and out of you at a more ragged pace. you mutter a string of curses, his name following after in a lewd moan. your hand reaches down to his, trying to stop his intense motions. in an instant, farleigh grabs your wrist and presses it back down against the floor. now, his hand is on top of yours, holding it tightly. you try to close your legs but you realize his legs are over yours, trapping you down. you couldn’t wiggle your way out of his grasp either, he was far too big and strong.

farleigh watched as you squirmed and cried, his fingers performing a vigorous rate against your dripping pussy. and for a moment, everything goes completely blank. it feels like you’re drifting for a second, stars glazed over your eyes. it feels like a rope being split inside your body, you squirt all over his fingers witha piercing moan—a moan loud enough to wake up the entire house. “oh fuck!” you cry out. you try to catch your breath, basking in the silence. farleigh hums, satisfied with your reaction. you feel your gummy walls spasming around his long fingers, “you’re such a whore, y’know that?” he asks. you roll your eyes, the hand in his hair falters back down to your abdomen slowly and you lean your head away from his arm, staring down at his hand still pumping in and out of your pussy slowly. farleigh pulls his hand away from your hole with a pop. you hear him licking at his fingers behind you loudly. he wants you to know that he's a fucking perv. and as much as you want to hate it, it only makes your knees weaker.

his other hand that is on top of your much smaller one loosens, but he's still making sure your fingers are intertwined with his. farleigh untangles his legs from yours, tilting your head up to make eye contact with him. he smiles, eyes glinting from the moonlight. he kisses you, a delicate and tender kiss at that—you taste yourself on his tongue.

when he pulls away from your soft lips, he looks at you up and down. he bites down on his bottom lip, a slightly depraved look on his face. you turn away shyly, grabbing your shorts and underwear from the stairs, stumbling slightly forward. as you get up, you feel an abrupt slap on your ass. you look down in shock, frowning at farleigh underneath you. he grins widely, leaning back on his hands to get a better view up your loose shirt. your face quickly heats up at his lust-driven stare. you pull down your shirt to cover your butt then carefully step past him to find your way back to your room. in the far distance, you hear him laughing.

“goodnight!” he shouts out. you wince at how loud he was, patting the back of your hand against your forehead to wipe off the faint sweat on your skin. you no longer felt the need to go wander, you were just tired.

© please do not publish my work on other sites.

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝕮𝖚𝖕𝖎𝖉'𝖘 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖞𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖘

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you actually thought about talking to him?" 

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

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

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

"Well, why not?" He asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But maybe you're just being bitter and jealous. 

Jealous. Jealous of what exactly? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You did, " he assures quickly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me about it," you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How about a game?" You blurt. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Envy over what, exactly?  

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

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

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

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

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

Admit what? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. 

No. 

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm in love with you!" 

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

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

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

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

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

"Can you look at me?" He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you." 

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

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

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

"What?" You almost gasp. 

A smile perks at his lips and you can see something relaxed melt back into his posture which had turned rigid during your panicked babbling. "I guess I should be relieved. I was always worried that I was being too obvious." 

A breathless sound leaves your chest, both a sigh of release and a joyful laugh, all bubbling and soft. You shake your head minutely, a gesture made from disbelief rather than refusal or frustration. "I don't . . . Why didn't you say anything?" 

Farleigh steps a little closer to you, reminding you that you're fixed between him and the door, but it isn't suffocating. It's pleasant. Comforting. You find yourself leaning towards him, your body seeking out the presence of his own in a subconscious pull; like how the moon affects the tides.  

"I could ask you the same thing," he replies with a low laugh melting through his tone. 

Your body suddenly feel weightless, like the gravity keeping you pinned down to the world has vanished and left you floating. You tip on your feet, leaning into Farleigh's chest easily. His scent surrounds you. Billowing over you with notes of something buttery and earthy and subtly sweet; creamy. And he moves closer towards you until his face is nosing against your head and his hands come to cradle your waist. You've been here a thousand times. Held just like this in his arms before. It's familiar. It feels like safety. Like home. But there's something decidedly different now too. An element that you've never felt before. It's new. But not uncomfortably so. It's nice. It's warm and accepting but simmering; driven by a sort of hunger. 

You aren't sure who makes the move first. Suddenly both of your faces are angled towards each other, the tips of your noses brushing. You can feel the heft of his gaze when it meets your own. Your eyes transfixed upon the others like they're being guided by some invisible string, a magnetic pull. So many different emotions are passed through the exchanged stare. Something asking and delicate but also wholly wanting. It's all-consuming and fizzling at your skin, prickling like hungry, coveting teeth. 

Your body thrums, blood singing when you feel the brush of his lips over yours. But he doesn't go any further than that, and you can feel that heat of him hovering over your skin. There's a question in his eyes, bright and burning and it leaves you feeling a little bit breathless; a little drunk. You want to answer but you can't bring yourself to speak. The words are stuck inside your chest, left useless and idle in your lungs in the form of shapeless air. But he must see the answer in your own eyes. Just as strong as his own desire because suddenly his lips are molded against yours, soft and plush with an ardent type of need.  

You moan into it, and in his enthusiasm, he shoves you back against the door, but you're too swept up the sensation and emotion of it all to even register the dull throb in the back of your skull. Instead, syphoning every bit of your being into pouring your attention onto him. Soaking in the press of his body against you own, the subtle nip of his teeth against your lips and the low sound of his pleased, rumbling sighs. You can't manage to pull yourself away from him. Entirely focused on learning the shape of him through the layer of his clothes, running your hands across his hips and chest like you're mapping him out. He's got you pinned to him by his palms on your upper waist and the back of your neck, securing you to his chest like he's worried you might vanish. 

It's zealous and a little desperate, but it isn't inherently rushed. Neither of you are fueled by the sort of urgency that comes with a time crunch or the expectations of meeting some inexistent due date, it's more like you're both trying to make up for lost time. Moving against each other like you couldn't manage to be apart. 

It has you slipping a hand underneath his shirt, unable to ignore the need to feel his skin underneath you, even if it's in such a small way. He gasps against your mouth at the tepid sweep of your fingertips running over his ribs, nearly holding his breath once they travel up his chest. You jerk against him, body running hot at the almost whiny moan that rises up from his lungs in a sharp rasp. And when you both sway back against each other, you're the one who winds up gasping into him when the feel of him, heavy and rigid grinds on along your front through the barrier of your respective clothing. 

You consider teasing him over it. Of making a joke over the fact that he's already hard because of a little making out, but the steady throbbing from between your legs keeps you from doing so. You're sure that if you were to slip your own fingers into your heat that they'd come up wet. 

Suddenly he's backstepping away from the door, pulling you along with him by the cradle of his arms. You don't separate from each other for a single moment, too caught up in the drag of his lips, and you nearly go breathless when he licks into your mouth. You blindly follow his sightless lead, trusting that you'll both successfully reach your destination - the bed probably, and you nearly trip on the borderline of the center rug in your blind shuffle across the floor. If it wasn't for Farleigh's hold on you, you definitely would have fallen and busted your ass in an embarrassing, clumsy heap. 

He's slipping his hands underneath your shirt, rucking the material up your body when the backs of his knees hit against the edge of his mattress. As your body follows his downward, he uses it as leverage to slip the article of clothing free from your torso and carelessly flings it somewhere across the room. You don't think that he was expecting you to be braless based on the way that his attention dips down to your chest, scanning over the swell of each breast and the rigid bud of your nipples with a rapt sort of fascination. 

"Fuck," he whispers lowly, watching as you shift to settle your legs around his waist. And you can't contain the pleased chuckle that leaves you as you lower yourself over him to reconnect your lips, rekindling the fervent kissing that had transfixed you both before. You brush your tongue over the plush swell of his mouth, silently asking for permission and he gives it with a heady moan, parting his jaw to let you taste him. Caught under the spell of your need you haven't even noticed that you've both started to hump against each other like a couple of horny teenagers. Seeking out the pleasure of each other's bodies in any way that you can get it. 

"Farleigh," you keen suddenly. God, you can feel him, the head of his cock nudging against the slick, sensitive nerves of your clit through his boxers and the thin fabric of your sleep shorts. It's already so good. And you chase after it while you continue to nibble and pull at each other's lips, steadily churning your waist in deep, sweeping grinds against the hard shape of him. 

His hands are traveling again, moving from your ribs and upwards until he's taking your nipples between his fingertips, rolling and plucking at them until you're panting. You pull back just enough to look at him, ignoring the way that he whines, airy and pitchy, so that you can admire him. Marveling at the lustful, clouded over sheen in his eyes, how they shimmer, dark like melted amber and bronze underneath the buttery, golden glow of the lamp. His lips are parted, a little puffy and glimmering with all of your kissing, releasing deep, labored breaths from his chest while he gazes at you. 

God, he really is gorgeous like this. It isn't fair. 

You settle one of your palms on his sternum, making sure to shift yourself to bear most of your weight on the balls of your feet and the muscle of your thighs so that you can drive powerful, teasing thrusts over the rigid swell of his cock. His mouth drops open a little bit more, eyebrows pinching close as something liquid and carnal drips over you both like melted sugar. You could make you both cum like this. If you just kept on with this steady, torturous pace that you've set. And it would feel so, so good. You know it would, with how that sinful burn is climbing deep with the apex of your thighs. But you can't. Not like this. You need to feel him. You need him inside of you. 

"Farleigh," you cry again, leaning over to breathlessly moan in his ear. "I need you. Please, please. Fuck me - " 

He's grabbing you by your ribs and flipping your places in a disorienting blur, slipping a hand underneath one of your knees to spread you open around the circumference of his waist. He dips his face underneath your jaw, sucking at the hallow of your bared throat with the hint of teeth and tongue before his voice sounds out in husky rasp, making you arch into the weight of his body above yours. "Is that what you want, baby? "He hums, a little low and somewhat condescending. "Need me to fuck you?" 

His knuckles brush over your abdomen, dragging around the band of your shorts in a teasing glide. You groan out in frustration, impatiently writhing in the hopes that it'll make him do something, but he just pulls back enough to stare down at you with a satisfied smirk. You don't hide the irritation in your expression, but your clear vexation doesn't do anything to dull his delight. You shuffle your hips, working to grind them in a heavy, agonizing swoops over his cock. And you feel a little surge of delight when you see that bit of arrogance in his eyes shift back into something eager and carnal, urging him one step closer to just giving in and taking you. 

"God, you're so fucking desperate," he mocks, but there's almost a kind of wonder in his voice too. You find yourself preening underneath the tiny little shred of awe, nodding in agreement, well past the point of trying to cling onto your pride. Not after wishing and waiting for so long to be in this exact position. You'll have plenty of time to knock him down a few pegs later. As of right now, you just want him inside of you. He chuckles lightly at your desperation, nosing along your cheek like he might kiss you, though he stays far enough away to keep you from being able to join your lips with his.

"Stop teasing me, please, " you gasp, peering up at him from underneath your lashes, hoping that you're conveying all of that searing, devouring want that's clawing up inside of you and threatens to consume you, bones, flesh, body and soul. You don't even have the mind to acknowledge the blow to your pride that you're taking. How pathetic that you've become from nothing but his touch alone. And it must work, because something in his expression breaks, crumbling away until he looks as dazed and starved as you feel. 

"Don't worry. I'll take care of you." He promises and straightens himself, removing his own shirt and discarding it somewhere on the floor before he's finally taking ahold of your shorts, ripping them down your legs and slipping them from around the heels of your feet. As soon as they're off of you, his mouth settles on the inside of your knee, hot and wet in its ascent up your thigh, nipping the sensitive skin with his teeth and soothing the sting with the lave of his tongue and lips. The sensation has you sighing out into the humid, balmy air, reaching down with your fingers to grip onto his hair, trying to softly guide him back up and over you. But he's clearly in the mood to take his time, or maybe he's just determined to drive you up the wall. He plants a kiss on your mound, just above your dripping cunt and your body prickles and vibrates in anticipation, waiting for him split you open. To lick and take you into his mouth. 

Then something sweltering and wet runs up the expanse of your abdomen, leaving a chilled trail in its wake, and it isn't until Farleigh's head raises up from your chest that you realize that it had been his tongue dragging over your skin, tasting the fresh salt on your body. He continues to shift upward until his lips seal back over yours and he notches his hips above your own, dragging them down to rub against your clit in a wicked grind, making you whimper into his mouth. And you're ready to start begging again when some distant, tattered part of your mind registers that the feverish, silken warmth pressed up against you is the shape of his bare cock. 

You aren't sure when he had managed to slip his boxers off, but you don't bother dwelling on it for long, too focused on him to care. It has you keening and grabbing onto his shoulders, tossing your legs over his hips in the hopes of urging him to finally relent and give you both what you want. He grunts against your lips before he tilts his head back enough to look into your eyes, and you immediately recognize the glint that flickers within them, that silent question. It's all you can do to manage a simple nod, whispering 'please' over and over in a broken, windless request. 

And then you feel him, thick and warm slipping against the entrance of your cunt. He doesn't glance away from you for a single moment, attention fastened to you like he's gauging your reaction. The whine that's pushed from your lungs is one of pure elation from the way that you're stretched around the length of his cock, eyes nearly going cross as he works in every inch. It admittedly has been a little while since you've last had sex, and the girth of him nearly burns while it buries in deep, but it's not enough for you to ask him to stop. It actually feels gratifying. Giving you a pleasant ache that has you feeling full. And the ragged moan that he releases makes you all the more worked up, pussy clenching tight around him, making his face twitch in a way that almost looks wounded. 

He just grinds against you without pulling out, rocking his pelvis on you like he's struggling to keep still, trapping the buzzing nerves of your clit between the shifting press of his groin. "Baby," he warns, voice thin and a little shaky. "I don't know how long I can hold back." 

It takes you a moment for your scattered mind to even grasp onto what he's said, but once you do, you're able to gather that he's trying to let you adjust to him. To get used to the weight of him inside of you. While you appreciate the consideration, you have absolutely zero patience to wait any longer than necessary. It has you reaching up to take ahold of his face, pinning him with a stare that you hope is sufficient enough to telegraph what you want. What you need. "I don't want you to wait," you say with as much conviction as you can while he's balls deep inside of you. "I want you to fuck me." 

Something that looks like relief flows over his expression, and he drops all of his weight onto his arms, caging your head in between both of his elbows while he pulls his hips back from yours, slipping his cock from the slick of your cunt before plowing back into you with a thrust that steals all of the oxygen in your body. Pure white-hot ecstasy sizzles throughout your nerves and muscles, setting you alight with smoke and honey from the ardent pace that he's set. But despite the pleasure coursing through your body, your gaze is stuck on Farleigh the entire time. Captivated by the way that his face twists up in bliss, eyes fluttering and threatening to roll back; engrossed from the choked-up moans that pour from his mouth with each wild cant of his hips. 

"Oh God - fuck," he huffs, leaning into your touch while your caress his face with your thumbs, fingers smoothing over the shape of his jaw and cheekbones with complete adoration. And he allows you to guide his head downward for your lips to messily meet, moaning into each other, utterly uninhibited and shameless. He whines, brazen and lecherous when you take his tongue into your mouth to suck on it. You can feel him twitch inside of you and his hips jerk for a split second, choppy and dazed, before he's able to fall back into the smooth, relentless rhythm that he had created while he pants into your mouth. 

You work your own body to meet his thrusts, trying to create as much pleasure between the both of you as possible. You can feel his spit slick against your lips, but you can't be bothered to care, releasing his tongue from the suction of your mouth to nip at his bottom lip; swollen and soft. Somehow it makes him drive into you all that deeper like he's absolutely hellbent on ripping you apart and filling you, building you up again in his own image until the only thoughts in your head revolve around him and solely him. It has your brain going fuzzy, liquifying in your skull and your head rocks back on your shoulders until it plops back on the mattress. Your spine bows, arching sharp and tight until your stomach melds against his. The laugh that leaves you is already a little fucked out; slurred and mindless. 

"Far - I - shit - " it's all a scrambled mess. You can't even form a sentence. Your tongue is lax and useless, unable to make a single syllable, and the only noises that rise from your lungs are moans and cries of total rapture. But a glance upward confirms that he isn't fairing much better than you. He looks just as gone as you feel. Skin glittering with a sheen of sweat that sparks low in the luminescence of the lamp in the corner, shinning like a layer of dusted gold and his eyes are glazed over and dark, ensnaring you completely. It's a little nasty, the outright lewd wet repetitive smacks of skin hitting skin coming from where your bodies meet; the scent of sex in the air, tainting the delicate summer wind like a depraved aphrodisiac. But you can hardly focus on any of that when you've got Farleigh suspended over you, looking outright debauched. 

"You're s' pretty," you manage to weakly say between your panting. 

You can tell that he heard you. You see the recognition flicker across his face, the space between his eyebrows furrowing when he looks down at you. There's a smile too. Faint from the way that his mouth is dropped open in pleasure, but you can still make out its influence around the shape of his lips. "I love you," he whispers it with reverence. The confession is still so brand new. Delicate and tender, but it has your body thrumming with something intense and feverish, bleeding into your chest, fluttering and wild. A fiery, dazzling heat courses its way throughout your entire body, making your toes curl and your fingers scramble for purchase; bunching up the bed sheets. 

You want to return the sentiment. To tell him that you feel that same, but as soon as you go to speak, he's punching into you, making you feel the thick drag of his cock, effectively ripping the breath from you, choking you on it. He takes ahold of one of your thighs, securing it tighter around his waist like he's trying to get as close to you as he physically can without disrupting the flow of his thrusts. You can already feel that giant wall of heat and electricity rising, looming up like a violent ocean or a storm, giving you a taste of what's about to sweep over you. You can distantly feel yourself reaching onto Farleigh, drawing him closer by looping an arm around his back and latching a hand around his forearm, clawing for anything to center yourself. As much as you want to be doused and consumed by the shifting, liquid nirvana quickly forming within your abdomen, you also don't want to lose the sensation of his body pressed against yours.

You settle your mouth over his throat, not biting but tasting. Tracing your tongue over the tendons flexing underneath his skin, smelling and taking in the salt and vanilla and spice there. And you can feel the vibrations of his moans and whimpers humming against your lips. He's saying something, but you're unable to make out the words through the intoxicated stuffing that's been packed into your skull. But you do catch a ragged groan of your name and few scattered swears that follow after. You smile around his throat, trailing your lips down to his clavicle to lightly nip. 

Your muscles start to seize, body winding up tight in preparation for the melted heat that's burning at you, about to set you alight. You slip your hand free from around its grip on his upper arm, lowering it down between your shifting bodies. Your mouth drops open when your find your clit, sensitive and slick, aiding you in drawing compact, heavy circles around it, making your cunt clench around him. The way that you squeeze him steals more whimpers from his chest, pitchy and wanton, tipping him closer to his own orgasm. 

You try to warn him. To tell him that something raging and overwhelming is cresting over you, but not a single word makes it way out. Your lungs are caught and drawn tight, keeping you silent. In your daze, you haven't even noticed that you've begun to drag your fingertips across his back, scrambling for some sort of security to keep you in place and present, grounded to the bed and Farleigh's body without your mind turning into complete mush and drifting away. Your nails are slipping down just above his spine, leaving marks down the expanse of his skin. It makes him lurch his hips into you sharply, not disrupting his rhythm, but deepening it into a thick grind and it has them pressing into your knuckles, nudging your fingertips over your clit with more pressure.

"Far-" you choke helplessly, voice ragged and near raw. 

"Come on, baby," he coos around his own shaky breath. "Just let it go. Cum for me." 

You feel it everywhere; in your hands, your toes, soaking through every piece of your body, down to your nerves and bone marrow. But regardless of the utter weight of it, your mind still hardly has time to compute the scope of what you're feeling. That tight coiling band in your abdomen snaps like a frayed rubber and rope, releasing a deluge of bliss that devours you like a burst of flames and embers, taking away all of the oxygen in your lungs to feed the fire searing through your entire being. 

You aren't sure how long you're suspended in that state of rapture for. Lost and wonderfully held captive to the pure ecstasy saturating every inch of you, wracking across your muscles in full delicious tremors like your body is determined to ride out every ounce of possible pleasure. You seize tightly, cunt gripping around his cock, and clenching over and over again, effectively shoving him over that sinful precipice along with you. And you distantly register him hunching over your body, bucking his hips deep to chase after his own orgasm with scattered moans. He cums with a strained grunt, spilling himself inside of you with a gentle rush of a pleasant warmth that makes your toes curl. 

The comedown is syrupy and soft, settling over your skin low and mellow, like curling up underneath a blanket. It's the feel of Farleigh over you that guides you back to a state of coherence, the sound of his labored breathing leveling out close to your ear and you find your heaving lungs working to mimic the pace of his own. He's gone boneless over you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck with a pleased sigh that puffs over your skin. It has you relaxing your thighs, unwinding your legs from their hold around his waist to let him sag against you further. And the two of you just stay that way for a long peaceful moment. Basking in each other's presence and the afterglow. 

You absentmindedly drag your fingertips over his back, tracing the faint divot of his spine in gentle sweeps. But your eyebrows furrow when they feel thin, long raises in his skin, and it has you lifting your head to try and peer over his shoulder. He grunts in objection when it has you shifting him a little from where he's tucked himself snuggly into the junction of your throat. But you can't be bothered to pay it any mind when you spot the light but angry scratches that decorate his back, spanning around close to the nape of his neck and down past his shoulder blades. 

"Shit, I'm sorry," you apologize with something close to guilt settling in your gut. He hums questioningly but doesn't make any effort to articulate a response, so thankfully it must not hurt that bad considering that he doesn't seem to be paying them any mind, though you find yourself elaborating regardless. "Your back. I scratched it all up." 

Another low vocalization leaves him, it's close to a purr almost, something that sounds suspiciously satisfied as he presses a kiss to your neck, just over your pulse. "Don't be sorry. I liked it." 

That makes you feel a bit better at least, even though you can't help but to playfully roll your eyes at the comment. Then he's moving, pulling back from you and you suddenly find yourself as the one who's protesting when he shuffles from your body. You hiss underneath your breath when he slips his limp cock from you, making you clench around nothing, still sensitive and a little tender. He whispers something that sounds like it might be an apology, bending down to kiss the inside of your knee. You let yourself relax again, allowing your limbs to dip back into the plush of the mattress while you enjoy the pleasant buzz of endorphins still rushing around in your veins.

The bed shifts, leaving you to assume that Farleigh is probably getting up to go and clean himself in the bathroom and retrieve you a towel so that you could wipe yourself down. But instead, the shape of what feels a lot like a pair of shoulders nudging between your legs and spreading your thighs apart is what pulls you from your buzzed headspace. You shift yourself onto your elbows, lifting your head back up on your neck to glance down your body and you're somewhat surprised to see that Farleigh has nestled himself between your hips. His eyes have fluttered closed while he's begun to trace kisses along your inner thighs. 

"Farleigh," you say, a question hanging heavy in the air. 

You get another hum in response, but he does focus on you enough meet your gaze. 

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He asks, nuzzling a little closer to the apex of your thighs where you're still a little sore and soaking and admittedly a little filthy with your shared release. And there's a fleeting little thought that bounces around your head, a quick, disbelieving: There's no way he's going to do what I think he's going to do. 

"I'm not sure," you reply, swallowing around the thickness in your throat, even though you've got that heavy suspicion looming over you. But he's not going to do that surely. And almost like a sort of answer, his lips curl into a smirk, dark eyes twinkling with what could only be described as mischief. He plucks the delicate skin of where your groin and thigh join between his teeth, not enough to be uncomfortable but just enough to tease before soothing it with the brush of his tongue. 

"Oh, I think you do." That's all he says before he's leaning forward and sealing the searing wet heat of his mouth over your cunt. It's like a shock to your system, the blazing warmth suddenly basking over the sensitive nerves of your clit, and it has you gasping. You jerk helplessly underneath him, still raw and recovering from the intensity of your previous orgasm, but Farleigh doesn't budge so much as an inch in your body's mindless writhe. He just tosses one of his arms across your waist in an effort to keep you pinned down, and it works in successfully fixing you to the mattress, keeping you splayed open underneath the unforgiving drag of his tongue across your frayed, thrumming nerves while he chases after the faint, impeded rock of your hips. It's torturous and entirely too much, with the pleasure feeling so raw and direct that it might split you down the middle and it actually has you sobbing.

"Farleigh!" You cry, latching your fingers onto his curls like you don't whether to pull him closer or away from you. "I can't!" 

"Yes, you can," he insists, pulling back just enough to speak. "But just say the word and I'll stop. Just tell me ' no.' " 

But you can't do that. You don't want to, you find, even while it feels like you're being set on fire and every little atom that makes up your existence is being pulled taught and dipped in a melted vat of wax. And there's a moment where he stops. Waiting patiently for that single little word and when it never arrives, he's scooping you back into his mouth. Dipping his tongue down inside of you and taking the mixture of your combined cum into his mouth and drinking the both of you down. It's so dirty. Filthy and utterly debauched, but it's so good, too. And you just hardly manage to glance down and observe him from the gap made between your outstretched arms, and you can't help but gasp when you find that he's already watching you. His eyes are shimmering with a deep satisfied copper and the dark of his irises have been eaten up by his pupils; now overblown with hunger and want. There's an intensity that leaves you so completely breathless and captivated. 

Honestly, your body is already so hypersensitive that you aren't sure that you'll even be able to cum a second time, not on the back of your first orgasm at least. Not so close together. But you don't even really care if you do or not. He looks so beautiful between your legs. His expression is drunk almost, a little blissed out and glazed over. 

It takes you a moment to even recognize it through the satin smoke and fog covering your own mind, but you can see past the view of your own body and his head that his hips have begun to thrust against the mattress, moving his cock against the bed sheets and covers in an attempt to achieve his own pleasure. The sight alone has liquid heat cascading down your spine and humming between your legs, making your clit throb underneath the perfect lashing of his tongue. 

It's all so desperate and charged, you can practically taste the atmosphere sizzling at your skin like something electric and alive. You can feel the dampness of tears beginning to trickle down past your water line, from the overstimulation or the sheer gravity of the pleasure taking over your body, you aren't entirely certain. And then he's removing the hand that had been gripped around one of your thighs so that he can slip a finger into the entrance of your cunt, groaning when you clench around him wildly and cry out from the overwhelming sense of torturous ecstasy. Your eyes roll, mouth dropping open in a silent sob and then you can feel it again, prickling at your toes and scattering over your skin. You were wrong. So, so wrong. He's going to make you cum again. 

It's hurtling towards you with a speed that's jarring, threating to eat you up and leave bare bones behind. And you want it. A part of you wishes that he would just use you up until there's nothing left. It has you chasing the ceaseless curl of his finger, and gasping out when he slips a second in alongside the other, shoving you that much closer to the edge with the stretch. "Oh, God, " you whine in a jagged whisper. "You're gonna make me cum." 

He moans against you heavily, sparking electricity over you with the ripple of his voice. You let one of your hands move from his hair, using it to prop yourself up, ignoring the way that the muscles in your arm tremor and shake with the exertion, but you can't find it in yourself to give in, not while you're completely enraptured in the way that his hips continue to steadily grind into the bed. His breath is snags with each inhale, frayed and bordering on a whine with each grind as he pleasures himself on the mattress, desperately seeking out his bliss. It has your body locking up tight, and that's the only warning that you get when you're absolutely blindsided by your orgasm. It isn't as searing or all-consuming as your first, your body already too sensitive and worked to give much, but that doesn't make it any less euphoric. 

It has you thrusting yourself against his face, using his nose to prolong the molten heat simmering throughout your veins, and then his mouth cradles around your clit, sucking at the tender nerves until your jerking against him and sobbing. The fingers that you still have in his hair clinch tight when you drop back against the bed in a useless heap, losing yourself to the sensations spreading over you and burning you alive. 

He laps at you a few more times, cleaning up the taste of you on his tongue and moving away only when you start to shift your hips in an attempt to get some reprieve from the stimulation. For a moment you dangle within that in between of consciousness and unconsciousness, simply existing without a thought. It's just that sugared, voltaic thrum coursing over every inch of you, making you hazy. But then you hear it. The sound of his labored, breathless breathing and it has you perking up to look over at him from his place on the bed. He's readjusted himself, having shifted onto his knees, and he's taken himself in the hold of his own hand. Stroking his grip down his girth, using the cum that's smeared across the velvet skin of his cock to aid himself in his movement. 

But what gets you the most is the way that he's watching you. Almost as though he's enthralled by how fucked out he's made you. Using the sight of how he's reduced you to a panting, boneless mess, to get off. 

You have had trouble with making eye contact with partners in the past, having always found it too . . . invasive almost. Too embarrassing. But now you're meeting his stare head on. Unwavering, emboldened by your own lust. You collect yourself until you're shuffled closer and place yourself into a sitting position. His eyes are glued onto you the entire time, a heady anticipation burning within them that would have had you tempted to go for another round if your body wasn't already so spent. 

He leans towards you, the both of you drifting close to each other's space but never touching, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, soaking against your skin. He's already close, the way that his eyebrows are furrowed has already become familiar.  The low pitchy moans that are steadily pouring past the pout of his mouth are an obvious tell. And that desperate, starved look has clouded over his gaze again and he almost looks drunk, fogged over with pleasure while his hips chase after the warmth of his own hand. He groans when he squeezes the head of his cock while he strokes, pressing his thumb down over a vein that throbs across his shaft, and it makes his thrusts skip shakily before he's able to regain his rhythm.

A part of you wants to reach out and touch him, to bat his hand away and take over, to feel him pulse in your hand. But there's also something that's undeniably arousing about watching him greedily chase after his own release, too captivated to do much else other than just sit and admire. Quietly roving over how his chest rises and falls in an entrancing pattern, the sweat glittering on his forehead and how his thighs subtly clench with each upward stroke from his fist. 

"Please, " he's suddenly gasping and it's so faint that you barely hear it. It has you leaning even closer until your noses brush and the scent of him is thick and heavy in your lungs. That pleading look in his eyes gives you a pretty good indication of what he wants, but you want to hear it from him directly. 

"What is it?" You ask softly, moving yourself just a little bit closer until your knees are pressed against his. 

His breath snags, lashes fluttering when he gives himself a particularly firm tug. "I want- " he swallows heavily, thrusting deep into his hand and temporarily distracting himself with his own bliss. "I want you to touch me. " 

And as much as you just want to remain an observer, you can't deny his supplication. It has you reaching out to place your palm on his stomach, basking in the way that the muscles underneath jump in surprise from the contact, and something in his stare focuses just a bit, zeroing in on you through the haze with something that looks a lot like anticipation. You brush your fingertips over the spars happy trail the leads down to his groin, moving slowly to tempt. "Yeah? " You tease. "Your own hand not doing it for you?" 

He shakes his head; panting. "No, " he answers, voice wavering before he nearly starts to chant. "Need yours. I want it, I want it -" 

You hush him softy, brushing your lips over his and you can't help the coil of satisfaction that winds tight when he chases after the press of them. But you pull away, a little cruelly to be honest, before he could join his to your own. He almost whimpers at the loss but falls quiet as he watches you move across the mattress, slipping down past the edge of the bed until your knees settle on the floor. You nudge both of your hands on his thighs, and he silently listens to your request, shifting around until his legs are draped over the mattress and you're settled between them. 

You're still resisting that urge to knock his first aside and take him in your own hold, but something tells you that with how wound up that he is he'd probably cum as soon he feels your fingers slipping around his length, and as hot as that'd be, you also don't want this to be over just yet. You want to drag this out just a little bit longer. You lean close enough to smell the salty musk of him, letting the low rush of your breath caress over his throbbing cock. 

"Baby, come on," he pleads, still pumping his hand over himself, and it has another trickle of precum slipping over his knuckles. You gaze up at him through your eyelashes, a little coquette and sweet but the smug smile on your lips the exact opposite. 

"You're going to jerk yourself off," you say, firmly but not without affection and you can tell that he wants to argue with the way that his face twists into something petulant. "And you aren't going to stop until you cum in my mouth." 

Whatever bratty quip he had at the ready seems to die on his tongue. He swallows heavily, adjusting his feet on the floor so that he's able to get the leverage to thrust up into his hand with a new vigor. And yeah, he definitely isn't going to last much longer at all. Not at how passionately he going at it. And even with sweat and saliva and cum smeared across your skin, and the rush of oxytocin still thrumming around in your system and your muscles lax and warm from your previous orgasms, reality is finally settling over you. That you really are here in Farleigh's room, sat up on the floor with the Persian rug underneath your legs doing little to dull the sting in your knees while he jerks himself off just a few scant inches from your mouth. But your confession hangs heavy over the atmosphere - his too - dulcet and balmy like the summer weather outside. 

It has that consuming, fuzzy sensation back and glowing within your chest, even with the lewd sound of his cum soaked grip and hitched panting filling the air. It's utterly filthy and yet, it's completely intimate and gentle. It all bubbles up inside of your chest, puffing all of the endearment and devotion upwards until it takes shape into the three little words; the ones that have been already spoken several times tonight, but that didn't make them any less felt. Any less true. "I love you." You all but whisper. You aren't sure if it's the statement itself or if maybe there was a certain expression of your face, but something seems to push him all that closer to his release. It makes him groan, ragged and a little gutted while his hips stutter. 

You run both of your hands up his thighs, letting him feel the warmth of your skin on his and it makes his eyelashes flutter, mouth dropping open. "Baby - I'm - " 

"Do it, " you say, leaning closer until your bottom lip smears against the leaking head of his cock. "I want to taste you." 

And then you're suddenly gripping onto his erection, taking ahold of him right above his own hand in a firm, smooth grip. That seems to be enough to finally push him over the edge because he's punching his hips up into both of your fists a couple more times, hurtling himself into his orgasm with a long grunt of your name. His abdomen clenches, toes curling, and his balls draw up tight. But his vison doesn't stray from you for a single second, keeping his eyes fixed to you while he watches you with rapt attention when you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out and up against the head of his cock just in time to collect the cum that spurts from it. He gasps out a string of frayed curses, a few strained "oh, fuck's" and a low call of your name while you squeeze his length a couple more times, dragging out the waves of his pleasure even when his own grip slacken around his girth. You only let him go before it tetters on the edge of being too much, obediently settling your palm back onto his thigh. 

"Swallow," he commands shakily, admiring the opaque fluid still collected on your tongue with a filthy kind of fascination. You don't deny him, closing your mouth and tilting your head back so that he can see the way that your throat bobs when your drink down his release, savoring the taste of the earthy salt of him. 

He doesn't even bother catching his breath. He's leaning down and gripping your forearms to help haul you up onto your feet and back against his body until you're both falling back onto the security of the mattress. You can't fight off the delicate, twinkling laugh that leaves your chest when he rolls you onto your back, showering your face with quick but loving kisses. You wrap your legs around his hips to draw him closer, eager to feel him against your body, to soak in his warmth and scent. And that's how the both of you stay, idlily skimming your fingertips over each other's skin and pressing your lips to whatever places that you can reach, scattering them over the others neck and the apples of both of your cheeks. It's almost disgustingly sweet, so much so that you feel as though you might choke on it.  

But honestly, that might also be from the muggy heat that still clings over the room, sitting on your skin like a layer of steam. Even the breeze from the open window and the steady current coming from the oscillating fan that's chugging along in the corner, spitting out air from the rotating head, does little to help chase out the stifling warmth. It has you groaning into his chest, a little annoyed. "This heat is awful," you complain. 

"If you think today was bad then you're going to be psyched about tomorrow. It's supposed to be worse." He says, drawing shapes on the back of your shoulder. 

The news nearly makes you sob. "Why don't they get an A/C?" 

"Some bullshit about it damaging the house," he replies. And admittedly, you can recall James mentioning something about that in the past. And he had gone into an explanation about it possibly warping the flooring or causing corrosion and wood rot. "But they've got one in their bedroom." 

You fucking knew it, but the admission still makes you bristle, propping yourself up enough to look down from his place against the pillows. "You're kidding." 

He shakes his head, eyebrows perking in a way that tells you he's just as exasperated about it as you are. Even more so, considering that he's here at Saltburn more than he's back in the States, and is left to deal with the sweltering weather on a semi regular basis. "Nope," he sighs. 

You let your head rest back on his chest, finding comfort in the sound of his heartbeat steadily thrumming underneath your ear. You hum lowly, trying to settle but the sweat prickling at your skin suddenly feels awful and disgusting. "We should go swimming again," you propose. Right now, the idea of the cool water lapping against your skin sounds like absolute heaven. 

"Skinny dipping," he supplies quickly, humor melting over his words, but that doesn't make the offer any less true. 

"What about Venetia? Doesn't she usually go for her little walks on the grounds around this time?" You ask, absentmindedly playing with one of the curls close to the nape of his neck. 

"So? You see each other naked in the field all the time," he responds. You can't exactly argue with that logic. You've probably seen her and even Felix bare more times than you can count on your fingers, so if she were stumble across the two of you it really wouldn't be all that shocking. "And Duncan? I've seen him out this late more than once." 

Farleigh scoffs, tilting his head down to peer at you from your place settled over him. "He's probably up in the attic, jerking off to some porcelain dolls or something." 

"You're such an ass, " you say, even with a smile nudging at the corners of your lips. He's quick to return your amusement, a light chuckle bubbling from his lungs, racking your body with small tremors. 

"You like it." He smirks, nose wrinkling a bit with his mirth. "It keeps you on your toes." 

You can refute that. Not even if you wanted to. You nuzzle against him instead, planting a kiss onto his cheek before lifting yourself up from the comfort of his body, swinging yourself onto the floor. His eyes track you while you search for your discarded sleep shorts, and you pluck them from their crumbled-up state near the base of the fan with a small 'ah-hah!' And when you turn around towards the bed, you've noticed that he's sat himself up now, observing you with his head slightly tilted and some indiscernible glint in his eyes, but it's soft and undeniably fond. 

"What?" You ask as you slip your feet into your shorts, slipping them up until they're hanging from your hips. 

"Just watching," he answers. 

You glance away from him long enough to snatch a shirt from near your feet, and gauging from the familiar scent of vanilla and amber and the sight of the familiar sunny yellow words, it seems to be his, the same one that he had been wearing earlier. But you don't let it stop you from pulling it past your head and slipping your arms through the short sleeves until the fabric is draped over your body. It feels good against your skin, like it belongs there, and the pleased expression on his face tells you that he's enjoying the sight of you in his shirt. And the moment that's slipped over this little private space between the both of you feels so profound and mellow. But you find yourself stepping backwards towards the door, knowing that even if you leave the comfort of the room now that you have no reason to fear that this little bit of safety and adoration that's been built between the both of you won't shift or leave. That it'll always be there.

He tracks your movement, eyebrows raising in a silent question as you cross the floor without turning, placing your hand on the knob. 

"I'll race you there," you announce before twisting the door open to slip out from the threshold. 

You see the realization slip onto his face as you dart out into the hallway, the shouted sound of your name following after you as he scrambles to collect himself from the surface of the bed. "That's not fair!" He calls after you, but you're too busy padding down the hall with laughter bubbling up from within you to shoot anything back at him, determined to reach the pond before he does. 

It looks like you'll survive the summer after all. 

[xsaltburnx]

One more?

a/n: this goes out to all the Farleigh girls, I got you and I hope you like it, even though it's a bit long, I got carried away

warning: 18+, smut, smut and some more smut, swearing, just sexy time, P in V (wrap it before you tap it)

word count: 3,550

The Catton family. You've been friends with Venetia and Felix for years, always celebrating your birthday at Saltburn, which has always turned out to be the craziest party of the summer.

You loved spending time there with them because you got away from all of the shitty problems you had at home, everything that was bothering you suddenly disappeared into thin air the moment you stepped on Saltburn ground.

Another reason why you loved being there was Farleigh fucking Start.

Tall, curly headed, as Felix called him "little shit-stirrer", is the most gorgeous fucking man you have ever seen in your life. He literally had everything. Everything about him was absolutely perfect.

The way his lips wrapped around a cigarette butt, the way his gorgeous hair flopped around when he walked and especially the way his eyes sparkled everytime he looked at you.

His attitude though was something else, sometimes he acted like a fucking toddler, sometimes he was so cocky that even he himself was surprised but to you he was always kind of sweet. Sometimes coming to your room late at night to talk to you, it was if not favourite, one of the favourite things to do with him and it gave you a chance to listen to his beautiful voice. Oh,that thing about him has always made you weak in the knees. Deep voice, sometimes a little bit raspy when he talked quietly or when he was mad but that raspiness was more like warm butter, spreading through the air so beautifully that sometimes you got lost in his words.

Yes, you were totally in love with him. But did he feel the same? You never asked.

*

You and Venetia were laying on the freshly cut grass on your stomach, your legs dangling in the air with your hands under your chin, the smell spreading through the air. That was one of your favourite things about summer. Well that and Farleigh in shorts, shirtless.

You swallowed hard when you saw Farleigh walk out of the pond in front of you, small drops of water cascading down his beautifully sculpted body, his hair perfect like always. You used your index finger to lower your sunglassed a little bit, wanting to properly see him and enjoy the view a little bit longer when Venetia interrupted your daydreaming.

"Something interesting down there?" You quickly snapped out of it and pushed your sunglasses up your nose, trying to hide your embarrassment, but it was too late.

"What? No, I was just.. looking at.. that bird over there." You pointed your finger to the left, clearly a totally different direction you were staring in just a minute ago.

"Yeah right, I saw you looking at Farleigh, you're so into him it's ridiculous." She trailed off, not taking her eyes off you. "You should tell him because he's into you too." You scoffed and looked at her.

"What?" The confusion is clearly audible in your voice.

"Yeah, he's always staring at you when you're not looking, I told him and Felix told him like a million times to try something but he's being a little bitch, so that's why we're still here, you staring at him, him obviously now staring at you."

She pointed at him, you followed her finger but when you laid your eyes on him, he was already walking away, his back turned towards you.

"If you guys don't hook up tonight at the party, I'm seriously taking matters into my own hands." She picked up her phone and got up, leaving you alone outside, the only company that you had were your thoughts. You wanted him so much, to feel his lips on yours, to bury your fingers inside that beautiful hair of his, you had to do something or you were going to lose your fucking mind.

*

"Are you ready?" You heard Venetia's voice travel down the hall all the way to your room, as you checked yourself in the mirror one last time, straightening your short lavender glittery dress. Silver wings sitting perfectly on your back, giving you the look of a fairy.

"Ready!" You yelled just as Venetia entered your room.

"Wowza, Farleigh will go absolutely bonkers when he sees you." She complimented you as she looked you up and down one more time, making sure that everything was in perfect place. You gave her a smile and took one more deep breath before you intertwined your hand with Venetia's, ready to join the party.

As soon as you walked downstairs, the smell of cigarettes and probably 20 different kinds of alcohol invaded your nostrils. There were some people you've never even met before because of course Elspeth had to invite everybody and make it the best party of the century. You can't blame her, she lives for these kind of things.

You looked around the room, Venetia instantly catching on to whom you were looking for, a slight grin appearing on her face. While still holding on your right hand, she lifted her left one and pointed straight all the way across the room.

There he was. Leaned against the wall with a cigarette between his index and middle finger. He leaned his head back and blew the smoke out of his mouth, your eyes catching just a small glimpse of his tongue licking his top lip. He was wearing a white button down shirt, unbuttoned probably half way down, exposing his chest, the sweat on his skin literally looking like glitter and that was just enough for you to almost choke on your own saliva. He looked so fucking gorgeous.

He caught your gaze and smiled at you and you took that as a sign to go up to him.

Venetia let go of your hand and slapped you playfully on the ass as a 'good luck' sign. You winked at her and made your way through the crowd, now and then accidentally bumping into a few people. Thank god you were wearing high heels so you could actually see where you were going and had Farleigh in front of you the entire time.. You reached the other side of the room and were met with those familiar dark brown eyes and a smile worth more than all the diamonds in the world.

He bent down and leaned forward because even though you were wearing heels, he was still so much taller than you. "You look incredible." He yelled in your ear, trying to speak over the music and again locked his eyes on you. You smiled at him.

"Thank you. You look incredible too." You answered as calmly as you could, but in your head you had a totally different answer. Somebody bumped into Farleigh, making his body bump into yours.  At that moment, the scent of his perfume and just him invaded your nostrils, feeling like the toughest drug you have ever encountered. He looked down at you and bit his lip, his hand reaching towards your face as he tucked a thin strand of hair behind your ear. It felt like electricity floating through your body when you felt his hand graze your cheek.

"Wanna dance?" He asked and you nodded instantly, maybe too fast but you didn't care. At that moment you didn't care about anything else but Farleigh.

He gently took your hand and led you through the crowd, finding a place that wasn't as crowded as the middle of the dance floor, so you could dance properly and that was more towards the corner of the room. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you closer, his hips swaying together with yours to the rhythm of the music.

You placed your hands around his neck, his eyes never leaving yours. You smiled at him and threw your head back, your hair moving through the air like silk, the glitter on your collar bones and your face illuminating under the colorful lights, literally making you look like a fairy.

Farleigh swallowed hard and suddenly stopped moving and stepped back a little bit, making you look at him, confused.

He took your hand in his, the back of your facing up. He put some of the very familiar white powder on top of it, creating a single line. He put the rest of it in his pocket before he bent down and inhaled what was on your hand, his nose following the line smoothly. He threw his head back in what could only be described as pleasure. Your lips parted at the sight of him in that state, your desire to kiss him even bigger now. You needed him so much, your body feeling like it would explode from the desire and want for this curly headed man.

He looked down at your hand, stepped closer and smirked as he stuck out his tongue and licked the remaining powder, his tongue licking it in one quick motion, his eyes never leaving yours. You swallowed hard at his intense gaze, the room suddenly feeling 20 degrees hotter. A few seconds later he pulled you in and locked his lips with yours in a deep, passionate kiss filled with desire and need for each other.

You finally intertwined your fingers in his hair, pulling at the roots a little bit, earning a quiet moan from him. He cupped your face with his large hands, his tongue easily slipping inside your mouth. You couldn't believe what was happening, afraid to let go because you thought you would wake up and see that it was all just a dream. But it wasn't. His lips fit yours like they were made for each other, melting together. He broke the kiss and looked at you, his fingertip grazing your soft cheek, only now noticing the glitter on your cheekbones.

"You look like a fairy." He whispered more to himself than to you, but you heard him loud and clear. You smiled at him and wanted to look down at your feet but before you could do that, he placed his index finger under your chin and lifted your head up, your eyes meeting his again. 

"Wanna get out of here?" he asked, his fingers tucking another strand of hair behind your ear, his palm now resting on your cheek. You didn't even notice you leaned into his palm, feeling like it was made for holding your face. 

"Like you even have to ask." That was all you let out before he smirked and placed his hands on your hips, turning you around so you were in front of him as he led you through the crow, his hands never leaving your body. You couldn't tell how you felt at that very moment because it was all mixed. Nervous? Horny? Happy? You name it, it was all there, but what you wanted even more to be there were Farleigh's hands all over your body in the ways you only imagined in your head. 

You walked through the long hallway, passing some of the people until you reached the part of the house where Farleigh's room was at. Farleigh opened the door, his hand resting on your lower back, leading you into his room. You stepped inside and walked around a little bit, looking at some of the pictures he had hung on the walls, slightly unfamiliar to you. It was somehow weird how his room was exactly the way you imagined it. Every bit of it.

"You know I've always had a crush on you?" He said quietly, his voice a little bit more raspy than usual, probably because of all the yelling over the music. You turned around abruptly and locked eyes with him, his arms crossed on his chest, his back against the wooden door. 

"What?" 

"Yeah." he trailed off and took a step towards you, his arms now behind his back. "Every time I saw you I wanted to tell you how much I liked you and then Felix said something about how you would never go for me because I'm an idiot" you laughed a little bit at that part. "which is not far from the truth because sometimes I am, but still." he took a few more steps and now your bodies were almost touching. "god you're beautiful." you looked down at your feet again but he did exactly the same thing he did when you were still down there, he lifted up your chin with his index finger, his eyes looking directly into yours, it was like he was staring into your soul.

"I can't tell you how many times I have wanted to do this." he leaned down and kissed your lips in such a gentle way, his fingers gently grazing your cheek and then your jawline. "or this," he then placed a kiss on your cheek, on your jawline and followed that line until he reached your neck, his lips planting a kiss right on your sweet spot, instantly sending shivers down your spine. 

Your head fell back and you closed your eyes. your heart feeling as if it would jump out of your chest. You laid your hands on his arms, trying to hold onto something because you felt like your legs would give out at that very moment. You let out a quiet moan and felt him smirk against your neck, your hands finding their way to his curly hair. 

"Farleigh" you whispered and cupped his face, lifting his head up to see it before you smashed your lips against his in a desperate kiss. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, working around as his hands roamed all over your body, like they were trying to remember every single curve. His hands reached behind you to find the zipper, his fingers skillfully pulling it down, exposing your back to the cold air of his room. 

"May I?" He asked against your lips and the only thing you did was nod and move back a little bit so he could pull it down until it hit the floor, now pooling around your feet. "Fuck." he whispered and looked down, his teeth pulling on his bottom lip so hard it turned white. He lunged forward and picked you up, your legs wrapping instantly around his waist as he carried you to his bed and gently laid you down. You pulled him down for another kiss, your hands never leaving his face. His one hand cupped your covered breast while the other travelled slowly from your chest to your stomach, his fingers drawing invisible circles around your belly button, but they didn't stop there. He placed them just above your panties and then inside, moving them further down until he found what he was looking for. 

"Damn you're already wet and I've barely touched you." His finger slowly slipped inside of you, grazing the front side of your inner wall as he watched your lips part in pleasure. He repeated the movement a couple more times and then removed his finger from your body, a whine escaping your lips.

"Farleigh, I need you." you said desperately. your body squirming from how badly you wanted him. He chuckled quietly and moved off the bed, his hands grabbing your ankles as he pulled you closer to the foot of the bed. His fingers hooked under the sides of your panties, very slowly pulling them down, the cold air in the room hitting your bottom half. He got down on his knees and pulled you even closer, his lips planting a gentle kiss on your right inner thigh, then your left one, his hands resting on your legs. He leaned forward and blew slightly on your cunt, your body jumping at the sensation and your lips parting when he connected his lips to the place where you needed him the most. He gave your clit a few gentle licks before he started sucking on it and then went back to moving his tongue in figure eights all around your clit, grazing it every now and then. He could see how frustrating it was to you, him playing with you like that, teasing you but just seeing him down there, eating you out like his life depended on it, like you were his favourite candy turned you on even more. 

You arched your back and grabbed the sheets, your hips bucking up every now and then, desperate for something more. You were on the verge of tears because of how frustrated you were and Farleigh could see it but deep down he was enjoying it way too much. 

"Farleigh, please." you whimpered and then suddenly the cold air hit your bottom half again as Farleigh got up and took a few steps back. You propped yourself up on your elbows to see what he was doing and oh boy did you like what you saw. His fingers skillfully started unbuttoning that white shirt he had on, taking his time with it, especially the last few buttons but once he got to that last button and his shirt flew open, your breath hitched. It wasn't like you have never seen him shirtless before, this was different. This was for your eyes only. You bit your lip at the sight of him, his fingers unzipping his pants and pushing them down as he stepped out of them, now standing in front of you only in his boxers. Fuck he looked so damn good like that. That single light that was on in the room made his skin look even more beautiful, a few drops of sweat on his chest glisten in the light. 

"I like the sound of you begging, but I want you to cum when I'm inside of you." He trailed off, his voice somehow even deeper than usual, filled with lust and hunger. You sat up and unhooked your bra, now completely naked in front of him on his bed. He quickly took off his boxers, his cock now free, your mouth watering at the sight of him. He lunged forward and laid on top of you, your legs wrapping around his waist. He looked deep into your eyes, his hand stroking his cock a few times as he lined up with you and pressed his tip in breaching your cunt. "God, you're so fucking tight," he moaned, his hips pressing into you inch by inch until he was fully inside you, your walls hugging his cock nicely. 

"You ok?" he said gently, his body shaking a little bit. You could see that he was holding back but you needed him. You need him so desperately to move and to feel him fully.

"Please move, Farleigh:" That was all he needed to hear. He pulled his hips back almost all the way, only the tip of his cock resting inside of you before he slammed back in, earning a loud whimper from you. With each thrust he gave he hit that beautiful spot inside, your hands finding their way to his curly hair as you pulled on the roots making him throw his head back. 

With each thrust he was getting faster and harder and you suddenly felt that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

"C'mon baby, I can feel you squeezing me, let go for me" He moaned between his thrusts, focusing on hitting that beautiful spot inside. He gave you a few more of his hard thrusts and your body exploded around him, your orgasm tearing through your body, his name falling off his lips loudly. He fucked you through your orgasm but he didn't stop there, he wasn's stopping.

"Baby I know you can do more, c'mon, one more?" it didn't take long for that familiar feeling to appear again. You knew you would cum fast this time, especially with the brutal pace Farleigh has set. You dug your nails in his back and scratched him from his shoulder blades to his lower back when you felt your seconds orgasm washing over you, your legs shaking and your back arching. Just at the sight of you like that, cumming because of him and in how much pleasure you were in was enough to finally send Farleigh over the edge. He quickly pulled out of you, his hand stroking his cock at a fast pace. You quickly sat up and took him in your mouth, your hand stroking what you couldn't fit inside as you felt his sperm shoot down your throat, drinking every drop he gave you. You looked up at him and saw his head thrown back in pleasure, his lips parted and his torso flexed. It was easily the hottest thing you have ever seen in your life and you knew you would get to experience this whenever you wanted. 

He laid down on the bed beside you, both of you trying to catch your breath. He laid on your side to admire you, how beautiful you looked like this, freshly fucked. Somehow he couldn't believe what just happened. You turned your head and saw him stare at you, his lips curled up into a smile.

"What?" You asked quietly.

"I can't believe how beautiful you are and all mine." He placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb gently massaging it.

"Only yours."

[celandeline]

Because We’re Doing This For the Thrill of It

Farleigh x Reader SMUT, sequel to Not Your Boyfriend, Baby, tw for cheating and being cheated on, you know the deal

part one

Felix’s hands on your hips keep you pressed to him as you dance, your back pressed against his chest as you dance, the music pounding through the club keeping time with your heartbeat. The smell of sweat, vodka and cigarettes invades your nostrils, but you’re too drunk to care about the stench, too focused on the scene in front of you. 

It’s been two weeks since you fucked Farleigh, and you don’t think his eyes have left you for more than a few seconds the whole time. 

India grinds against Farleigh, one hand wound up around his neck for leverage as she clumsily dances, eyes closed. You couldn’t care less about her. Your eyes are locked on Farleigh’s, the green/blue lights of the club painting him in unusual colors, making him all the more entrancing to look at. The top few buttons of his shirt hang open, and you can see where some of India’s body glitter has rubbed off on him, catching the light and reflecting it away. He lazily dances, that perpetual air of boredom hanging around him even in the midst of the club - you get the sense that he’s just humoring India for something to do at this point. After all, he hasn’t even spared her a glance in the past five songs. 

You smile at him as you dance, wishing that it was his hands on your hips instead of Felix’s - but at the same time, this is fun too. Watching him watch you, knowing that he couldn’t care less about the girl that he’s with. Knowing that he’s thinking the same things about you. It’s intoxicating - more so than the green tea shots you’ve been downing. 

Felix leans down, his nose dipping into the crook of your neck, breathing heavy. A bead of sweat drips from his face onto you, and you tip your head back onto his shoulder, eyes still locked on Farleigh. You watch him wrap his lips around a cigarette as Felix’s voice booms in your ear. 

“Come do a line with me?”

You nod against his skin, and let him steer you off the dancefloor, through the crowd and towards the bathrooms at the back of the club, leaving the rest of your group on the dancefloor. You toss a look over your shoulder as Felix takes your hand, and find Farleigh again. He smiles around his cigarette as you throw him a gaudy wink before the crowd shifts and you lose him from your sight. 

Felix leads the way, tugging you along behind him until you reach a quiet corner of the club near the very back. You grin up at him as he digs out a little baggy from his pocket and hold up your forearm for him to shake a line out on. His eyes meet yours as he runs his nose along your skin, the cocaine disappearing and a line of goosebumps rising in its wake. He inhales sharply, blinking a few times as he scrunches up his nose. “Here.”

He passes the baggy to you and holds out the palm of his hand. You shake out a line and quickly hoover it up, almost nuzzling into Felix’s palm as you do. He always offers you the palm of his hand for that reason you think - he likes to watch you eat out of it. He likes to watch everyone eat out of it. He gets off on being a white knight - you’ve seen it a million times. 

You hand the little baggy back and watch him tuck it back in his pocket, his pupils already starting to dilate as the coke sinks in. You watch him watch you, and you can see in his eyes what he’s about to do before he does it, so it’s no surprise when he roughly grabs you by the jaw and kisses you, too much teeth and tongue to be really loving in any sense of the word. 

It’s nothing like how Farleigh kissed you. Farleigh kissed you like he loves you. You bite Felix back. 

He laughs when he pulls away, and grabs you by the hand again to drag you back to the dancefloor. You follow along in his wake as the crowd parts for him until you’re back where you started. India and Annabel pull Felix back into the throng, smiling up at him with that familiar hunger in their eyes as he lets go of your hand in exchange for theirs. You let Felix’s sweaty palm slide out of yours without protest. Let them have him - your eyes scan past Jack and Oliver as you look for who you really want to be here with. 

He finds you first, grabbing your wrist and spinning you around to drop down to his knees, comedically sexy, holding onto your hand for leverage as he shakes his ass. You laugh, even though you can only barely hear yourself above the music, and he stands back up grinning at you, cigarette trailing smoke like a halo around his head. He doesn’t let go of your hand as you start to dance. He keeps it friendly, just in case Felix glances over, which you appreciate. To the common observer, you’re nothing but friends. 

The way he looks at you is anything but friendly. 

Playfully, you pluck Farleigh’s cigarette out from between his fingers and tuck it between your lips, a pseudo-kiss. He watches you take a long drag, and bats away the smoke that you blow into his face with a dry smile before he steals the cigarette back. Still dancing, you spin around, facing the rest of the group again. 

The first thing you see is India’s hand skirting up Felix’s shirt and the way her eyes are half-lidded as she looks up at him. He doesn’t seem to care too much though - he’s too busy swapping spit with Annabel, his tongue bullying its way into her mouth. Your lips curl in disgust before you can stop them - you really hope that's not what it looks like when he kisses you. 

Maybe it’s the vodka, maybe it's the coke, maybe it’s the culmination of the months of watching him do this to you, but you’re really not in the mood to just let it slide tonight. You’re standing not even two meters away - he can’t think you wouldn’t have noticed? You turn back around to Farleigh, and grab his hand, tugging him back towards where you and Felix had hidden away before. He doesn’t protest, his eyes flicking between India and you before he follows along.

The crowd doesn’t part as easily for you as it had for Felix, so it takes you longer to find your way back into the recesses of the club, amidst the more debaucherous partygoers - you breeze past a couple very obviously about to fuck against the wall, a group of people gathered around a table taking turns doing lines and a girl in tears as she storms away from the bathrooms with her phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. Pushing past them all you pull open the door to the mensroom and pull Farleigh inside.

He grins at you, obviously amused. “Someone’s pissed.”

You roll your eyes, and push open the door to the stall at the very end of the row. “You wanna fuck or not?”

Farleigh raises his hands in surrender, and walks into the stall, still grinning. You follow him in, and slide the lock into place behind you, even though you’re fairly confident you’ll be uninterrupted. If it were the women's room you’d chosen, there would be no way in hell you could get away with this - too many drunk girls crying in the mirror - but the mens room is blissfully empty. Farleigh still looks like he’s about to laugh. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You say, pushing him against the wall and starting on the buttons of his shirt, picking up where India left off. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, not really sounding sorry at all. “It’s just - you said that you didn’t care about the cheating, but it looks like-”

“I don’t.” You insist. And you don’t in the sense that you couldn’t care less about Felix being faithful. He’s never going to hurt your feelings by choosing someone else over you when the only reason you’re with him in the first place is to live off of his excesses free of charge. But you care in the sense that he’s not even trying to hide it anymore. He wasn’t even two meters away from you with his tongue down Annabel's throat. He surely can’t think you’re that fucking stupid. 

“It seems like you do.” Farleigh slips his hand under the hem of your dress, pushing the glittery fabric up until it’s above your hips. He trails a finger under the lace band of your underwear, playing with the elastic. 

“He was not even two fucking meters away.” You say, undoing Farleigh’s belt, and then moving to the button of his trousers. “It’s like he thinks I’m actually stupid.”

“I thought that was what you wanted?” He teases. “I mean, I thought that was the point of pretending that you don’t know he’s cheating on you.”

You push Farleigh’s trousers down his legs, and start to palm him through his boxers. “There’s a line.” You say. “Like, yes, I want him to think I’m a little stupid so he doesn’t figure out that I don’t actually like him, but this is just insulting. I’m not blind.” 

He tips his head back against the wall, watching you through half-lidded eyes as you work him to full hardness over his boxers. You take the opportunity to attach yourself to his neck, kissing over the same spots you had before, renewing the mostly faded marks. You never asked him if India noticed - or if she cared. Judging by the way she was dancing on him earlier, it didn’t even register. Not that she has room to talk really, with how she was feeling up Felix in front of you. 

“Why do you care anyway?” You ask against his neck. “Me being pissed at Felix is a good thing for you.”

“Why do I care if you’re upset?” He drawls, sarcastic, looking down at you. “Beats me.”

The implication hangs heavy in the air, and you pull back from his neck to look up at him. “Farleigh.” When you’d joked about it two weeks ago, when you fucked, it was just that - joking. You didn’t think he actually cared about you as anything more than friends-

He leans down to kiss you - soft, tender - everything that Felix isn’t. Your hands wander to his hips, and then up the sides of his stomach, trailing your nails along his skin to make him shiver. You slip your tongue into his mouth and he groans, his fingers dipping beneath the band of your underwear to push them down your legs. You step out of one side, and let them hang on your ankle.

When he pulls back, a string of spit dangles between your lips. You can’t tell if it’s yours or his. His pupils are blown wide, and he looks at you in the way that Felix used to when he first asked you to be his girlfriend. It makes something flutter in your stomach - something you haven’t felt in a really long time. 

He starts to say something, but you stop him, scared that it might be too vulnerable, too tender. Tracing your finger along the column of his throat, you drop your voice into a sultry whisper. “Fuck me against this wall Farleigh.”

You see him twitch in his boxers as he shuffles you around so that your back is up against the cinderblocks. He dips a hand into his waistband to pull his dick out, a bead of precum already collected at the tip. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he places his hands under your thighs, and work with him as he lifts you so that your hips meet his. The cinderblocks scratch the skin of your back that your dress doesn’t cover, but you don’t care - it barely registers, your body thrumming with the coke you did earlier and need. 

You dip a hand down to find his cock and line it up, pressing the tip against your entrance. You watch his eyelids flutter at the simple touch, and smile. He tucks his head into the crook of your shoulder as he pushes in, and the moan that leaves his lips trickles right into your ear. The stretch doesn’t even burn this time, and pleasure shoots through you when he bottoms out, reaching that spot inside you that Felix can never seem to find. You let out a sigh, and press your lips to the side of his neck, tounging at the shell of his ear. 

Farleigh gives a few experimental thrusts, readjusts his grip on you, and then begins to snap his hips against yours in the way that you’ve been craving since the first time you had him. You have no idea how India can still want Felix after having Farleigh - after having this. The way he pants and whines and groans as he fucks you makes the feeling a thousand times more potent, and you take the opportunity to wind a hand into his curls, tugging his head out of your neck so that you can look at him. 

Lips still spit-slick from before, he presses them against yours hungrily. You swallow up his moans as soon as they leave his lips, trading them for your own as he forces choked little sounds out of you with each snap of his hips into yours. His fingers dig into the backs of your thighs like he’s trying to leave a bruise there on purpose. If you were more sober, you’d tell him off for it - but you can’t bring yourself to care. Felix wasn’t even two meters away when he’d stuck his tongue down Annabel's throat. 

Farleigh pulls away from the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours, watching his cock slide in and out of you. “Fuck.”

You cast your eyes down to follow his, and the sight makes you clench, causing Farleigh to groan, his eyes rolling up into his skull for a split second. 

He drops his head back into your shoulder, leaning so that your chests are pressed together, breathing heavy. “Don’t do that, I’ll cum.”

“I want you to cum.” You say, running your fingers up and down his spine, savoring the feeling of his warm skin under your touch. 

“Fuck.” He keens, mouthing at your shoulder. “You can’t just say-” He cuts himself off with a moan as you clench again - this time on purpose. “Stop. I want you to cum first, I came too quick last time.” He breathes, sounding absolutely debauched. 

“Farleigh.” You clench again, not on purpose, as heat rushes through you. You busy yourself with pressing wet kisses against the side of his face and neck as he fucks you, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he wants you to cum first. He’s putting your pleasure before his, something Felix has never done - and likely will never do. You picked the wrong cousin. You’re sure of it now - even though being with Felix has elevated you to a status you could have never reached before. 

Fuck. 

Spurred on by the fact that he actually cares about your feelings, the coil of heat in your gut tightens. You grip onto his shoulders tighter, mouthing at his collarbone to try and ignore the fact that he cared when you seemed upset and that he wants you to cum first since he did last time is making you feel a particular way. 

He doesn’t have to worry about making you cum first, because you do, muffling your moan into his shoulder as you tense in his grip, pleasure shooting through you, hot and tingly. “Farleigh-!”

He presses his lips to yours, muffling the moan that escapes from him as his thrusts lose their rhythm. You kiss him back with everything you have, and wind a hand into his hair, holding him close to you as he pants and whines as he cums, high pitched and breathy against your neck. “Oh fuck, fuck-” He keens. “Mm, you’re so good, you’re so good, love you-”

“Farleigh?”

The cold touch of death shoots up your spine as Felix’s voice rings through the bathroom. You hadn’t heard the door open, you have no idea how long he’s been standing there. Still panting, Farleigh lifts his face out of your shoulder, wide eyes locking with yours. Hurriedly, he pulls out, stuffing his softening dick back into his boxers and pulling his trousers back up his thighs. You slip your underwear back into place and push your dress down, strangely calm. You should be panicking - Farleigh’s panicking, you can see it - but you’re not. Startled, sure, but panicked? No. You’ve known this was going to happen eventually. 

You slide the lock in the stall door, and pull it open, coming face to face with your boyfriend. 

He’s pissed - brow drawn tight, mouth tilted down into a tight frown, nostrils flared like he’s ready to fight. “What the hell is all this then?” He says, glancing between you and Farleigh. His eyes fall on you. “You’re cheating on me with my own fucking cousin?!” His gaze shifts back up to Farleigh. “And you’re fucking my girl- I thought we were mates, Farleigh. Family. I can’t fucking-”

You cut him off with an incredulous laugh that echoes around the tiled room. “What can’t you fucking believe, Felix?” You say, the anger you felt from earlier coming back full force. “That I finally am cheating on you back?”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at you, his eyes still locked with Farleigh’s. He doesn’t even have the decency to be ashamed at all, too full of self-righteous anger to realize what a massive hypocrite he is. And you’re fucking sick of it. 

Reaching up, you grab his jaw, forcing him to look at you, uncaring about the way your nails dig into the skin of his cheeks. He might be mad, but you’re enraged, filled with months of resentment like a thousand bullets. 

“I’ve known the whole fucking time.” You spit. “You’re not slick, you know, but I let it slide because you’re Felix Catton and Felix does what he wants, whenever he wants to and never suffers the consequences.” You sing-song. “I knew what I was signing up for when I said yes when you asked me out.”

“Sue me for wanting to enjoy my university years.” He says. “It’s different-”

“How?” You cut him off, searching his eyes. “Because it doesn't seem different to me at all. To me, it seems like you can dish it out, but you can't take it.”

He exhales, anger steaming from his breath. “Fuck you.”

You mockingly pout, pulling him closer by the jaw. “What are you going to do, break up with me?” You taunt. “What then? Who’ll protect that golden good boy image you work so hard to curate for your parents? Golden good boy Felix needs a girlfriend, or else Mummy and Daddy will find one for him, right? Or are you finally going to come out to them as a slag?” You tilt your head, waiting for him to respond. 

You know he won't do it - he uses you as a shield from his parents expectations, that was half the reason he asked you out in the first place. You keep them off his back, and in return you get to live the life of a rich girl. That’s the deal, and he cares too much about his end of the bargain to let you go.

He rips his face out of your hold, still scowling. He glances once more at Farleigh before angrily stalking away, the door to the bathroom slamming as he leaves. 

You let out a long breath, expelling the last dredges of anger from your system before you turn around to face Farleigh. “I’m sorry for dragging you into-”

“I love you.” 

He says it too loud, it bounces around the tiled room before it finds its way back to your ears. Your gut flutters. “Farleigh.” You say, pursing your lips. 

He closes the distance between you, kissing you like he wants to go for another round. “I’ve had fantasies about calling Felix out for being a bitch for years - mm - and you - mm - he can’t even do anything back to you.”

“That doesn’t - ah - mean that you love me-”

“I can’t stand that you let him fuck you.” He confesses, backing you up against the wall again. You watch him sink to his knees, pulling your underwear back down and pushing your dress up again in the same motion, wide brown eyes looking up at you in sheer admiration. “I get so jealous-”

“That doesn’t mean you love me either.” You gasp as he starts to kiss your thighs. 

He sits back on his heels, looking up at you with such vulnerability and sincerity that you find yourself almost uncomfortable. “I care about you, and that’s close enough for me.”

It’s not ‘I love you’ but it is at the same time. He cares about you. 

“I care about you.” You say. “Too.” And it’s true, you do. From the moment Felix introduced you, you’d thought he was interesting, and the feeling had only grown the more you’d gotten to know him. He’s smart, and funny, and a bitch in the same way that you are, and kisses you like he cares. Because he does. 

Farleigh grins against your thigh, pressing another kiss to the sensitive skin. “I know.”

A moment of loving silence passes between you, and your gut flutters again. 

“I still can’t believe you said all that to his face, that was so fucking hot.” Farleigh breaks the silence, nosing between your legs eagerly. 

You just laugh, and let him in. 

[pervertedreams]

imagine wanting to ride farleigh for the first time and he noticed u getting tired after a while so he takes over and he’s all mean about it and starts teasing u

afab!reader

and he has this goofy bass in the throat of his laugh, eyes rolling in playful annoyance while the two of you are repositioning. you can’t help but slightly poke your lip out at his mean cackle, back pressed against his fresh satin sheets you look up at him with greedy eyes. already missing the stretch of his girth.

he replaces his smirk with the same pout that plays on your face, curls slightly falling forward so gorgeously framing his cheeks. you can hear the mocking tone laced in his voice, “well you couldn’t ride me. the least you could do is put it in. or are you incapable?” you suck your teeth, hands frantically searching for his shaft. you push your hips forward, manually stuffing yourself with his cock. the two of you push out a similar groan of relief, the pressure of his dick and the tightness of your cunt being just what the two of you need.

his pace is regular not too slow nor fast. he hums with faux sympathy, “it’s so embarrassing you couldn’t even last long enough to ride me. what am i gonna do with you hm?”

you don’t really give a coherent answer, and he chuckles at your poor attempt to respond. a large hand places a firm pressure to your throat, “it’s okay baby you don’t have to answer.” his hips snaps harder against yours, a soft slapping sound coming from the way he’s fucking you. “you just have to take it.”

a strangled moan squeezes past your lips, back hunched when he places a misguided kiss to the corner of your lips, bottom lip barely ghosts against your jaw until his mouth is right under your earlobe. “wait until i tell everyone how pathetic you are.”

[manicpixiefelix]

baby, put your back into it {Farleigh Start/Reader/Oliver Quick}

1/2: i'm gonna talk you through it [SMUT]

Summary: You're the daughter of one of Henrys, and known to be a snobby, entitled Princess of a woman; neither Venetia nor Felix seems to like you. Farleigh, however, claims that you and he have an ongoing arrangement. Felix says that arrangement is that you and Farleigh bitch together, then fuck like wild animals every time you hang out. Turns out you're even bitchier in person, and after a cruel joke played on Oliver by you and Farleigh at the Henrys dinner, he decides to take a bit of power back. Not that it goes as intended... nor that it goes completely wrong.

Need to Know: She/Her. AFAB!Reader. Established FWB Brat!Reader/Brat Tamer!Farleigh

Warnings: PWP!! smut; fingering, oral (F receiving), dirty talk, lots of arguing, reader is very very bratty, demeaning talk, bondage & restraints, explicit discussions around safewords (it does happen a little bit into the action but before anything major), pet name used for the reader "princess"

A/N: 4730 words. okay turns out i can write pwp. i cut out like 1.5k of background and you get the gist of it in the summary. there will be a part 2 thats heavy on the smut, but this trio takes a while to set anything up because they can't stop arguing. hints of farleigh/oliver. this was a lot of fun but again i can't stress how long its been since ive written full, proper smut, so id really appreciate feedback. <3 unedited, i love you.

{ masterpost : 1/2 }

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Fucking Farleigh Start. Oliver feels the fury as it burns and bubbles inside of him, stalking quietly through the halls of Saltburn. There, at the end of the hall, Farleigh's bedroom door, quiet and unassuming, and right next to it, Oliver's target; your door. Farleigh isn't the only one in the house who can wrap people around his little finger; he isn't the only one in the house who can get the Princess to kneel.

Trying the handle, he finds it unlocked, and eases the old, wooden door open.

"Farleigh was right," upon hearing your voice, bright, amused, and very much awake in the dark, Oliver jumps, "you're an A-plus lurker, I didn't even hear you come in."

"Was a nasty thing you did to me tonight," Oliver tries to regain some of his composure, some of the ire he'd built up on the way here.

"So you've snuck into my room, I assume you assumed I was asleep, to- what, wake me up and berate me?" There's something smug and biting in your voice, something that fuels the fury coiling deep in his gut, "that doesn't sound like enough for someone like you, tricksie, little, pauper boy." When you start to move from where you've been sitting up in bed, crawling to the end to sit on your knees as the moonlight streaks through your window and finally paints you in sharp relief, he sees you're already nude.

But even your stunning body in the moonlight cannot compare to the look on your face, the sharp, hungry, mean amusement he's never seen a person wear so well.

"Go on then, shout," your eyes shine dangerously in the moonlight; "don't you want Farleigh to hear?" They might have been right. You might be the devil. Your smile gets wider, and Oliver can only watch, rather transfixed, as you start rolling your hips with purpose, "or do you want him to hear something else?" He hears, quietly at first, a soft tap, getting louder as you keep insistently thrusting against the air, against the mattress, the sound of the bedframe hitting the wall behind it, the wall that you shared with Farleigh on the other side.

Then, all at once, you stopped. A loud, mean laugh is pulled from you as you pitch yourself back on the bed, kicking your legs out in front of you to hang off the edge, completely relaxed, completely exposed. You give a loud, amused sigh, looking up at the canopy of the four poster bed.

"God, you're such a little bitch, Oliver, Farleigh was so right," you snorted, "I was the one who actually saw you eating Venetia like your life depended on it, on the lawn of all places," you shook your head, "I don't know what you told Felix to get out of that one but I know what I saw," clicking your tongue, you raised your leg, pointing a foot at him, not even bothering to look at him, "now you won't even touch me in my own bedroom when I'm practically begging for it. I'm choosing to be offended about that; you've offended me, Oliver."

Slowly, your leg lowers, and you kick your heels idly against the end of the bed in the silence.

"Where do you get all your attitude from?" Oliver finally speaks, tone turning scornful as he approached you.

"The money," you fire back with ease, "which is why you always seem to have none." Then, in the furious silence that followed, you grinned sharply at the roof, still not bothering to look at him, "try harder."

When he touches your knee, his fingers gentle against your skin, you kick him hard in the thigh with your other foot -

"The fuck? Did you just kick me?"

"Yeah, and?" He can almost hear you rolling your eyes, "what did you think it was, the wind? Ghost of Grandma Catton?"

"Do you fuckin' want me or not?" He's still standing within kicking range, he learns too late. All the while you've never even looked at him, always looking at the ceiling, hands comfortably, casually behind your head. There's a smug grin on your lips now, something teasing and once more mean.

"Do you want me?" You respond, legs gliding open, an open invitation to your slick, moon-drenched cunt, "I thought you wanted to use me to get back at Farleigh," you said mockingly, finally looking up and meeting his deep, furious gaze. Propped up on your elbows, you give a grin that's all teeth, "wanted to show us who has the real power, that you can get us back for the stunt we pulled after dinner," you sat up further, intense, hungry amusement in your eyes that drew Oliver in to you, leaning in, his hands coming to rest on your thighs as you were almost nose to nose. Your voice lowers, gaze on his lips as your voice turns to almost a moan, "wanted to show Farleigh that you could take anything he thought was his; even me," and you start fake moaning, softly at first, but getting exponentially louder as you leaned back again, against the bed, arching and writhing from nothing, putting on a show that ended with you shouting - "Oliver's a fucking bitch!" At the top of your lungs, and cackling with glee.

Rage exploded within Oliver, and for a moment, overcome with a strange sense of betrayal at your demonstration, he smacks at your inner thigh with all the might he can muster. He can tell it stings, your laughter stops for just a moment, leg flinching up for just a second, but then you're laughing harder if possible.

"Your first mistake - of many - was letting her talk at all," Farleigh's voice from the door is frankly annoyed. You, however, gasp with delight, sitting directly up and looking at Farleigh with absolute glee.

"That's not his fault, I wasn't going to tell him," you pointed out, before looking down at your thighs, and Oliver's hands still on them, and the part of you that must have still stung from the slap, "why is your grip so soft?" You looked up at him with a derisive expression, and immediately Oliver's grip on you goes tight, nails digging into your skin; you're fucking laughing at him again, still, "awe, you're getting there -"

"Could you stop that already?" Oliver leans in, scowling at you. Eyebrows raising in mock surprise, you grinned with devilish intent.

"Stop what?"

"All that fuckin' talking you're doing."

"I don't know, can I -?" But then out of seemingly nowhere, Farleigh sits himself down at the end of the bed next to you, flush against your side. He's still in his crisp, white shirt, and black slacks, looking so put together next to your brash nudity. When his hand comes up to your jaw, barely two fingers beneath your chin to guide you, to have you looking him in the eyes, you have to bite your lip to keep yourself quiet. Both he and Oliver can see how badly you want to laugh, to make any kind of sound, but you hold yourself back.

"Okay, your fucking highness," Farleigh's voice is low and dangerous, full of warning, and Oliver sees you take a sharp breath in, gaze fixed on Farleigh's, "you don't get shit from either of us if you can't keep your dirty mouth closed." Though you nod adamantly, you puff out your cheeks, amusement in your eyes as you're clearly desperate to say something; "what?" Farleigh frowns.

"I have really bad news for you about what I have to do to suck dick," you point out, trying to keep your composure. It's not working, giggles are escaping you at a rapid rate.

"You are testing nerves I didn't even know I had," Oliver admits, desperately trying to sink his nails into you as hard as he could. If he could draw blood, perhaps that would be enough penance for having to endure your infuriating company.

However, it's Farleigh who speaks, lip curling with frustration as he smacks Oliver's hand away from the thigh closest to him. With a solid grip on that thigh, he pulls you leg close to him, forcing your legs wider, exposing you further.

"Then do something about it," he practically orders, and something about the tone sparks a kind of indignation in his chest, "you need me to talk you through it?" He snaps. This, however, quickly turns smug and mean as Farleigh leans in, nose to nose with Oliver and his building frustration with them both; "you know how to eat pussy, right?"

"You should both be very careful what you wish for," Oliver's eyes flash with a dangerous confidence as he sank down on his knees between your legs. You, thrilled and delighted by how the situation was no unfolding, lay yourself back on the bed with contented laughter, hands coming to rest confidently behind your head once more.

Farleigh watches Oliver with intense scrutiny, and for reasons he's not quite sure of, Oliver meets his gaze, refuses to break eye contact. His hand moves first, no longer holding your left thigh, he digs his elbow into your soft inner thigh, bracing his arm against you, forcing your leg further open and keeping it that way, letting him comfortably rest his hand with his thumb on your clit.

"Smart boy," you hum appreciatively, shifting your hips back and forth a little as his thumb is rubbing circles against your clit, "knows where the start button is." He takes his thumb off of you, much to your confusion. His gaze is still locked with Farleigh's. "Fucking hell, are you tired already -?" You sat up on your elbows, scowling at him, but Oliver looks sharply to you.

"Weren't you listening to Farleigh, princess?" Oliver asks, and there's something so deliciously satisfying about the look of flustered surprise on your face in this moment. Beside you, Farleigh huffs a laugh to himself and stands, pulling off his tie. Oliver's full attention, however, is still trained on your. Slowly, as he speaks, he again begins to rub circles against your clit, teasing, never enough proper pressure to be satisfying.

"I -" you started, but he immediately stopped again; out of the corner of his eyes, Oliver sees Farleigh's approving nod. Something about this all has his blood rushing in his fucking ears. You press your lips together, giving him a now expectant look, as if here, I've done what you've asked.

You're so wet, so wanting, ready and waiting, right thigh inching closer, leg curling around him, heel pressing insistently into his back. God you look so fucking good, he wants nothing more than to eat you like a man starving, tasting every inch of you -

"Give me your belt," Farleigh interrupts, and Oliver pauses, mouth literally an inch from your cunt, looking up at Farleigh like he can't quite believe him right now.

"Farleigh!" You exclaim with utter frustration, right leg lashing out to kick him, but he grabs your ankle and holds it tightly. With his free hand he makes an expectant, grabby hand at Oliver.

"Belt, now please." He practically orders.

"Use your own belt, Farleigh," Oliver nods to the belt Farleigh had just tossed to the side of the room, and Farleigh gives him a thin, unamused smile.

"Mine's nicer, and I don't want your cum on it," he explained with a mean, humourless smile. Oliver sat back for a long, furious moment, undoing his belt. The minute his hands were off of you, you tried to whine, but Farleigh, now just in his boxers, sat further up the bed beside you.

"This is overkill, I'll be good," you pouted, twisting to lay your head on his thigh, looking up at him with as pleading eyes as you could manage.

"You're not even being good right now," he pointed out; "both your thighs are over Oliver's fucking shoulders, and you haven't gone thirty seconds without saying something," but clearly you're pleased and flustered at being called out. Farleigh says your name more insistently, and you try and play innocent before he practically orders, "get your fucking legs off of him!" Like he can't quite believe you're still trying these tricks, even though you both seem comfortable in this dynamic.

"Oliver~" Farleigh then practically sings like a warning, gaze turning much colder as it falls back on Oliver himself, "where are we with that belt?"

"What's it for anyways?" Oliver finally pulls his belt free, awkwardly half throwing it to Farleigh, who does actually thank him, before his attention is back on you, bare and warm and wet and - "princess," he says suddenly before Farleigh can even answer his initial question, looking up, and you make a noise of acknowledgement, "you want me to touch you like I mean it, then keep your legs spread like you actually fucking want it," voice going low and sharp, immediately you widen your legs as best you can.

"Oh, he's good," Farleigh says, surprisingly appreciatively, watching as Oliver makes a meal of you.

Finally, finally, Oliver's mouth is on you, tongue gliding playfully along your slit, his nose continually bumping his thumb as it continues to work your clit, firmer this time. You hips wriggle and roll with him, desperate for more, growing frustrated with his teasing lightness.

"The belt can be for several things," Farleigh began, matter-of-factly as he began to loop the belt through itself, focusing on his task at hand, "if she insists on closing her legs, I'm not above using both belts to make sure she keeps them open - this bedframe's especially good for that -" a hot spike of desire passes through Oliver all at once, picturing you bound and open and begging -

"Oh, don't joke about that Farleigh, come on, you know I love that -" you actually whimpered, but Oliver, still keeping in mind the earlier warning, once more stops entirely. You gasp, as if betrayed, before remembering for yourself, actually whining, "you guys fucking suck," you whimper petulantly. For a moment, Oliver wonders if he really aught to be here, if this strange, psychosexual encounter was really worth it.

"You're fucking loving this," Farleigh countered without a moment of hesitation, saying it with such confidence that it almost surprised Oliver, "you just hate that you can't shut the fuck up for any amount of time, and that Oliver isn't actually as much of a little bitch as you thought," clearing his throat, Farleigh cast an evaluative look, before trying to shrug it off nonchalantly, "as either of us thought, I guess."

A moment of quiet stillness passes, and Oliver looks to you, face scrunched up with embarrassment, as all of Farleigh's words apparently rang true.

"Are you hourly, Oliver?" Farleigh then scowls, much to Oliver's confusion. Farleigh looks at him like he's a downright idiot, "the princess is actually being quiet, which means..." he trailed off pointedly. Oliver sat back on his heels, frowning at Farleigh for a long moment, his hands coming to rest on your knees. You, yet again growing incredibly unsatisfied, groaned into your hands.

"Not if you're gonna talk to me like that," Oliver takes a deep breath, sitting tall, gaze unflinching as he meets Farleigh's sneering gaze.

"Then fuck off, Little Orphan Ollie, we don't need you," he spits, "you should really feel lucky that you even got this far -"

"You're all talk, Farleigh," Oliver, with a newfound confidence, and his hands on you, rubbing small, gentle circles against your inner thighs with his thumbs. Farleigh's eyes narrow, but Oliver's smile turns knowing, "I know you can throw her around, and tie her up, and give her orders, clearly," he tips his head ever so slightly to the side, gaze slipping to you, to where you've still got your face covered by your hands, "but we both know no-one can speak for her, but her."

The faint, frustrated whimpering that had been escaping you this entire time goes dead silent. Oliver feels the way you go very still. Farleigh, realising what Oliver meant, also turned to look at you properly.

"'s your bedroom, princess," Oliver leans in, presses a kiss to your inner thigh, murmuring softly against your skin, "what do you think?"

"I think you're edging each other with psychosexual, power-play, bullshit-banter that's doing fucking nothing for me," you snap behind your hands, "and I'm gonna start kicking people again very soon," you warned. Farleigh rolled his eyes.

"Sit up," he sighed.

"No."

"Make a choice," Oliver told you, tone firmer this time.

"Also no." Your voice was sounding particularly petulant, and you even brought your knees together, closing yourself off in front of Oliver. After a long, vaguely irate silence, Farleigh takes a deep breath.

"Is something wrong? Are we at a yellow light? Red light?" He asks, tone far gentler, he leans over, fingers gentle against your hairline by your fingertips.

"Light... colours?" Oliver asks with genuine confusion. Farleigh is far less patient when he turns on Oliver, like he's frustrated to even be explaining this.

"Like a traffic light; instead of a safety word like pineapple, we have green - go, yellow - slow down, red - stop," said like he wanted to include duh, obviously on the end, but refrained, turning back to you.

"And... they're for her?" Intrigued and surprisingly endeared by the concept, Oliver leans forward with a little smile, resting his chin on one of your knees, looking between yourself and Farleigh. He watches you sigh, even with your hands over your face.

"How do you not know how safe words work? What kind of sex have you been having?" Farleigh's judgemental tone hits Oliver square in the chest, but before he can even answer, you finally sit up, expression wide and overwhelmed with frustration.

"Farleigh look at him; he's like if they made repression a person! He's been having the most boring, vanilla sex known to man - if any - and getting off in his spare time to things that would make God cry. Look him in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong -" Farleigh's gaze flicked to Oliver, who suddenly felt himself begin to flush scarlet, and had to sit back again, frowning at his hands. There was something about the shame at being so concisely called out that was... thrilling. Something about how clearly you could see through him, through his persona to the raw want at his very core, it was freeing. You sat up further, with purpose, grabbing Oliver's chin so roughly it shocked him, forcing him to look in your eyes for a long moment.

"You came in here with purpose thinking I was asleep; creepy, hot, deranged; I'm into it," you told him sternly, "I literally could not care less about you otherwise, you're nothing to me the rest of the time. You came here to put me in my place, I don't want you here if you can't do that." Fucking hell, Oliver can feel his heartbeat racing as you shove his face away, your expression almost bordering on disgust.

"So you're..." Farleigh, as if frustrated by this little tirade you saw fit to go on, was unimpressed as he once more checked in.

"Green light, obviously," you threw your hands into the air in exasperation, "it's like you've never met me before -" but before you can slump back against the bed like you so clearly wanted to, Farleigh catches you, shifts behind you to prop you up.

"You're a brat," Oliver says, finally finding the words for the dynamic, and rather charmed by it all. Still, Farleigh has to get a word in edgewise.

"How long 'd it take you to figure that out?" He muttered sarcastically, doing something behind your back while you made a show of struggling and wiggling, refusing to keep your left arm with whatever he was doing.

"So," Oliver clarified, testing out the code, "green light?" You grinned at him, giving a pleased nod. Farleigh, finally having caught your left hand seemingly for good, reiterates the statement distractedly. Then, with a sense of triumph and relief, he pulls the belt, and his makeshift handcuffs, tight.

"Why are you still dressed?" You ask Oliver sharply. You may have had a point, but the game was back on. With your hands secured, Farleigh sat back behind you on the bed, pulling you flush to him, arms secured and pressed between the two of you that was just edging on uncomfortable.

"Why are you still talking?" He mutters into your ear, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, one hand coming to wrap over your mouth, while his other curled around your middle, pulling your legs apart, wasting no time in dipping two long, elegant fingers into you. Your eyes light up, gasping against his hand as the two of you watch with lust in your eyes as Oliver begins to undress.

"The belt," Farleigh's voice has that lazy kind of smugness that Oliver usually hated, but now kind of makes his head fuzzy and kind of like he wants to sink his teeth into him, "is to keep the princess in her place, because someone," he says pointedly, not that you seem to notice; your eyes are closed, and Farleigh's thumb is on your clit while the fingers he has inside of you curl lovingly into your sweet spot, "manages to escape every pair of padded handcuffs either of us have ever bought," he explains, turning his attention back to Oliver, "and she complains about metal handcuffs, and zip ties, has undone every rope knot I've ever tied, and ruined every single tie I've ever tried to tie her up with."

"I bought you new ones," your voice is faint, half a moan muffled behind Farleigh's hand, and Oliver, still unsure of how to respond to any of that, finally turns back to the two of you on the bed. There's something desperate about the way you're arching against Farleigh's firm hold on you, legs having fallen open as your hips rolled in time with his fingers, lewd and needy. But Farleigh's eyes are only on Oliver, watching him with hunger in his eyes, pupils blown wide, gaze roaming over Oliver's physique.

At the sound of your voice, Farleigh's gaze meets Oliver's his smile widening just a touch before he stops entirely. A desperate keening is pulled from you, hips shifting for friction, for anything, as Farleigh rests his hand on your thigh, fingers slick, practically dripping with you.

"No, I'll be good," you whimper, eyes fluttering, half closed, "I'll be -" you were already breathing heavy, "so so good."

"Hear that?" Farleigh murmurs with a vindictive little smile, hand uncovering your mouth, moving to hold your chin, your mouth falling open in a moan as his nails scratch up your thighs. Oliver advances on you both, entranced by the sight of you both, desperate to have a taste, to play along.

"Think she even knows how to be good?" Oliver teases, once more between your thighs. Still, instead of giving you the same kind of proper relief that Farleigh had been offering, he starts out gentle once more.

"Oliver, you're so cruel," you whimper. Farleigh's hand moves from your jaw to wrap around your middle, holding you secure, while the hand that had sat on your thigh moves to your open mouth, Oliver watches, rapt, as he slides both slick digits past your lips, but it shuts you up well enough, lips closing on his fingers as you diligently lap up your own taste from him.

"See, can't trust a word she says," Farleigh purrs. You bite gently on his fingers as you moan, Oliver finally deciding to do more than just tease you. Oliver's fingers are shorter than Farleigh's, but damn if they can't still hit the same high notes. Curling and pressing in a steady rhythm, he alternates dipping his tongue in as much as he can, and circling your clit. Farleigh's hand has moved from your mouth, spit slicked fingers pinching at your nipples, lightly dragging his nails across your skin, while he's started rolling his hips against your back, cock unbearably hard and still confined to his boxers, pressed against you.

You're whimpering and moaning in his ear, straining against your handcuffs, arching, writhing, but Oliver's holding your thighs still and secure and Farleigh is captivated by how enthusiastically he's going down on you, how its shining on his cheeks, his nose - he reaches out, cards his fingers through Oliver's hair. Oliver looks up through his lashes, a fucking gorgeous sight that you're too lost to appreciate. Just for Farleigh.

God he could say something snide, something about sloppy seconds or something about this being the most expensive meal he'll ever have, but he doesn't. He gives a sly, approving smile, and his grip on Oliver's hair tightens.

"Teeth and tongue," he tells Oliver quietly. Oliver doesn't seem to get it at first, but you choke out a whine, arching further into Farleigh, tipping your head against his.

"That's cheating," you gasped, but Farleigh kept running his fingers through Oliver's hair, whose mouth had never left your cunt, nor his eyes Farleigh's face, "you're helping him cheat; you want me to cum this early?"

"You know what's cheating?" Farleigh once more grabbed your chin, angling your head so you could watch Oliver working hard to get you off, "look at him," Farleigh murmurs in your ear, "eyes open, on his," the commanding tone was hard to refuse, and your eyes fluttered open; the fucking sight of him, a mess between your legs, Farleigh's hand in his hair, was almost enough to send you over the edge, "tell him what I mean."

"Gentle- uh, gentle teeth on me- on my-" you desperately tried to string two words together as Oliver began to get more of an idea. Farleigh's hand on his head becoming more insistent, firmer, nose pressed firm against your skin when he finally took the hint, focusing on your clit, sucking and lapping at it, teeth gently teasing as you completely lost the ability to speak. The rhythm of his fingers was consistent and firm throughout it all, pressing just right -

"Keep your fucking eyes on him," Farleigh ordered, almost snarling it into your ear, "I want you to watch Oliver Quick make you cum." But Oliver had eyes only for him, feeling you clench around his fingers, thighs pressing desperately against his shoulder and the hand that had kept them apart, he could feel Farleigh's nails on his scalp and see the heady, smug pride in his eyes.

As you start to come down, breathing hard and heavy and leaning all your weight against Farleigh, you giggle with out of breath contentment.

"Princess's got not manners," Oliver shook his head with an air of disappointment, and Farleigh smirked, brushing some hair from Oliver's forehead before he reached up and tapped your cheek gently.

"Say thank you, Oliver."

"Thank you, Oliver," you grinned, tone surprisingly sincere, as Oliver crawled up onto the bed beside you both. But there's something dark and hungry in his eyes as he watched you both; reaching out, he presses the fingers against Farleigh's lips, your cum coating them like syrup. Farleigh is more than happy to lick them clean, tongue dancing lewdly around Oliver's digits, all kinds of inuendo and promise in his eyes.

Then, Oliver's attention turns on you something dark, hungry, almost deranged in his eyes. He takes your face in hand.

"And you, princess," he says derisively, not even respecting you enough to look you in the eyes in this moment, "this is not your place that I am putting you in," god it almost sounds like a threat, but you're already squirming with want and anticipation, "but we'll get there," he squeezes your cheeks and your mouth opens on command, tongue as pink and wet and desperate as your cunt had been. He spits in your mouth, sudden sneer curling his lip, blue eyes ice cold and demeaning; "and it's thank you, Oliver Quick."

You feel fucking filthy, can taste yourself in his spit.

You want him to do it again.

"Thank you, Oliver Quick."

{ part two here }