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artbiter · 23 days ago

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wolf in sheep's clothing

art donaldson/reader nsfw summary: art falls for you first yet patrick gets the fortune of having you. what else is art supposed to do but play dirty? tags: stanford!art, stanford reader too, art is a borderline homewrecker, art donaldson is a SNAKE, patrick gets cucked right under his nose </3, oral, slight body worship, TBH idk note: hi this is my first time writing ff since .. 2021 .. and this is definitely a diff style from the ao3-approach i usually take to writing but please enjoy i really like art donaldson i really like challengers and i really like art taking what he wants (and i really like mike faist in blonde curls)

art donaldson is not a homewrecker, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't waiting for his chance with you.

he first meets you at one of his games, eyes flitting over the crowd and panting hard after a rather close singles win, before his gaze is magnetically drawn to your pretty face in the bleachers. smiling with your friends, you look so happy to just be watching this game, and when you make eye contact with art you wave excitedly like he's a celebrity, and whisper to your friends after he salutes back with a grin, trying to catch the breath your gorgeous smile has knocked out of him.

he wants to find you so bad after, and so he does. your friends are tennis groupies, hanging behind to flirt with any guy with a racket in hand, but you're just there for moral support. he chases after you just before you leave, just to say hi. an innocuous greeting and thanks for your support. and he sees how jealous your friends are that you tag along once with them and immediately get picked up by art freaking donaldson, but you seem to be oblivious, beaming at him and clasping your hands to your chest. you tell him he was great out there, that you've never "gotten" tennis but that you can feel he's a pro anyway. you part ways and he can't stop thinking about you.

when he tells patrick that he's met the prettiest girl he's ever seen at one of his matches, patrick thinks it's endearing and the epitome of dumb puppy love.

"did you even get her name? or were you just drooling over her?"

"nah, that would've been weird... right? oh shit, should i have? i was trying to be normal about it, i don't know." art beats himself up for not even picking up on your name in conversation, and resolves to seek out your identity and ask you out.

so when he finally has the fortune of seeing you again at a party, he's heartbroken when you smile and wave to patrick in tow.

"patrick!" you laugh and bound up to the pair. "didn't take you as a stanford party type of guy."

"i'm a plus one tonight. lucky i ran into you, huh?" patrick is eye-fucking you and doesn't even try to hide it, and art feels like doubling over in pure grief.

patrick notices but says nothing, only introducing you to art. "yeah, i'm here with my buddy art." he slaps art on the back lightly and art finds out that you and patrick met at another party before this. he remembers you from patrick's anecdotes over lunch, where patrick wouldn't shut up about the hottest chick he's ever seen who wouldn't go home with him, but has been texting ever since.

some other girl, presumably one of your friends, attaches herself to art's arm for the rest of the night, but he can't bring himself to notice or care when patrick kisses you and you lean into it.

patrick got to you first, and art hates himself for it. he won't admit it, but he feels the resentment festering inside of him as soon as patrick announces it's official.

the next best course of action for art is to play the best friend role, obviously. except like the unassuming snake art is, he's going to be your best friend, too.

he's your puppy, waiting on your beck and call — whatever you need, he's got it. your bio homework is impossible? sure, you can copy his. you got no sleep last night? he has your regular order from your favorite café committed to memory. patrick's being such a bad boyfriend? oh, tell him all about it.

"he's so inconsiderate," you whine, slumping over your pillow. "can you believe he forgot our six months? and when i brought it up, he didn't even say sorry. he was just, like, 'i didn't know we were still in high school.' i wanted to die, art, really."

art clicks his tongue in sympathy, criss-crossed on your dorm floor and nodding along to your laments. "no, he's definitely wrong here. i'm sorry he forgot something so important." for good measure, he adds in, "guys should be looking out for their girlfriends all the time. i'd be celebrating monthly anniversaries if i had a girl."

"ugh, right? i thought so, too." you flop back onto your bed, turning your head to gaze at art. he thinks you're so beautiful like this, clad in a t-shirt and shorts, bare faced with tears tinging your eyes. "you're a good guy. i don't know why you don't just date."

he doesn't want to date anyone if it isn't you, but he doesn't say this.

art watches you and patrick continue for another few rocky months, marked by arguments spawned from patrick's chronic nonchalance and your sensitivity to his perceived lack of care. and art gets the full report from both sides; patrick tells him all the time about how he's really trying to make you happy and support you, but he doesn't see why you value such small things. and you cry to art, sobbing that patrick never takes you out anymore if it isn't to fuck, that patrick is too friendly to other girls. art thinks to himself that patrick doesn't deserve you, but he rubs small circles on your back and reassures you that you need to do what's right for yourself.

(he's elated when you don't remove yourself from his touch.)

when you finally break it off with patrick, he hears it from his best friend first.

"dude, she dumped me." patrick's voice buzzes over the phone. "not gonna lie, i saw this one coming. but i thought i was doing good, seriously. fuck, what am i gonna do?"

"i'm sorry, man," art sympathizes before he hears a knock on his door. "yeah, it really does suck. take a breather for a few days. i'm sorry, but i really have to go right now." he peeks into the peephole and sees you standing outside. "let's talk more later?"

patrick is still rambling on the other end, but art hangs up and opens the door for you to immediately come spilling.

"art, i broke up with him. i really couldn't do it anymore." you tell art more things he already knows, like that you liked patrick a lot but you were just uncompatible in the end, and that you wished he listened. as always, art feeds into you, agreeing with your every word. something deep inside art tells him it's wrong to coax his best friend's girlfriend into breaking up with him, and that he's messed up for offering you his support when patrick technically should come first. but when you look up at art through wet eyelashes, sniffling and yearning for comfort, who is he to deny you?

art cups your face gently and presses his lips to yours. he doesn't miss how your eyes widen, but you don't jerk away. his heart pounds in his chest as he holds the small of your back with one hand while the other caresses your cheek. you smell so clean and warm, and your lips are so soft art wonders how patrick could ever give you up without a fight. it solidifies art's need for you, that if patrick won't make you happy, he will.

when you pull away from him, you're breathless, voice barely above a whisper. "art, i don't think we should—"

he can't contain himself from kissing your neck, relishing the soft, smooth expanse, inhaling your scent so deep into his lungs he finds it oxygen. "tell me you don't want this." he laps at your jaw, sucking light bruises onto the sides of your throat. "tell me you don't want me to treat you the way you should be, and i'll stop."

you moan his name involuntarily, and art takes it as the green light to carry you to his bed and kisses back up to your lips. "i'm sorry," he murmurs into your skin. "i'm sorry. i want you so bad."

"then show me," you sigh softly, hands rooting themselves into his blonde curls as his tongue probes your mouth.

like you even had to ask.

tugging down your sweatpants and feeling like coming just as the sight of your underwear, art immediately tears it off of you. he latches himself to your cunt, already weeping, and he looks up at you through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide. "already so wet for me, baby?"

"mmf..." your fingers, still tangled in his hair, tighten their grip as you push his head forward, and he obliges.

he licks wide stripes, feeling you convulse and twitch every time his tongue comes in contact with your clit. his dick throbs in his pants just from eating you out.

"you taste so sweet. fuck, you're delicious," he pants, making out with your pussy like it's your lips. "don't know how i survived this long without you."

you buck your hips up into his mouth, mewling and spasming as he suckles and licks at just the right places. your cunt is soaked, but neither of you can tell whether it's from your arousal or how much art is slobbering over your pussy. "right there," you squeak out, a hot wave washing over your body as you cum on art's face.

and fuck, art almosts busts on the spot with you. his mouth doesn't cease, swirling patterns all over your vulva, grazing over your clit, dipping his tongue inside of you as you lock your legs around his head desperately.

"too much, too much!" you feebly try to pull his head up from your cunt, but he's so addicted to your taste he barely notices how sensitive you are now, how your clit twitches and aches for a break.

art can only laugh softly as he pulls himself back up to you, kissing you gently as his hands roam underneath your shirt and to your bra clasp.

"mm, you're so good," you gasp into art's mouth as his kiss becomes sloppier. "so good to me, art."

"it's what you deserve," he mumbles back, unhooking your bra and clumsily pulling your shirt off so your tits spill free. and even art is admired by his own self-restraint, just staring at your perfect body on display for him. he's been dreaming of this day for months now, jerking himself off late at night to thoughts of you sucking his cock, to pictures of you smiling on his phone, to the memory of your voice the day he met you. it's so wrong of him to fuck his best friend's ex fresh after the split, but why do you feel so right beneath him? "i've been waiting for this," he whispers into your neck. "been wanting to show you how much i want you. want to make you feel good. want to treat you so much better."

"fuck me, art, please," you beg him, relenting and palming at his boxers. you're so fucking easy, letting him touch you like this and being compliant as he undresses you, kisses you all over, shrugs his boxers off as you help him position his cock right at your entrance. it's not your fault that art has been nothing but kind and gentle to you. it's not your fault that he's been flirting with you since day 1, and now all his desires have culminated into head of a lifetime. and art finally has what he wants now: you.

and even when he barely pushes the tip in, he wants to cum inside of you so badly he feels dizzy. "so fucking tight, i'm gonna cum, gonna cum right now," he gasps in your ear as he unsheathes himself, stretching your warm, tight hole. "so perfect, holy shit. fucking made for me, baby, you feel so—" he can't stop himself from rutting into you, and he just about comes undone when he hears his name tumble from your lips in pained moans. it takes all the self-control in the world for art to not pour himself into your wet heat right now.

"slow down, art, fuck, you're so big," you sob, clawing at his back. he wishes he could fuck you nice and slow, the way he always envisioned his first time with you would be. he'd fantasized about nights with you full of languid strokes, making you scream his name with calculated, intentional thrusts straight to the spongy patch buried within you. but art is just a humble man, and when your walls, silky and warm, are choking his dick, he can't resist fucking into you like a jackhammer. you cry, moaning uncontrollably as your hands clutch tightly at him, letting his cock ruin you.

art's head goes fuzzy, and all he knows now is your pussy trying to milk him dry and that he can't say anything coherent besides strings of guttural moans telling you how warm, how tight, how good you feel on his dick, how your sweet cunt was made for him, how beautiful you look and sound at his mercy, how he wants you to be his so bad and that he'll do anything for you to be his. that his only regret is not claiming you first.

you keep crooning in his ear, honeyed moans that intoxicate him dizzier and dizzier as you tell him that he can have you. with a few more stutters of his hips, and a convulsing squeeze from your walls onto his cock, his head falls into the crook of your neck as he pulls out and shoots ropes all over your stomach, right as you cry out his name uncontrllably, heaving beneath him. a low, resounding grunt rips from his throat while his seed paints your abdomen, and he feels you shiver upon the warmth touching your skin.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes again like the gentleman he is. his breath still heaves at an uneven rhythm, staggering as he attempts to regain his composure, but every time his eyes fall upon you it feels like he wants to go for round 2. "i'll clean you up, pretty girl. you were so perfect." he presses his forehead to yours, sweaty and damp, and whispers, "you were made for me."

some sick sense of pride fills art from head to toe as your body trembles in an attempt to catch your breath, your hair disheveled and lips puffy, patches of skin blooming pink and red from art essentially making out with every inch of your body. and you blush when you catch him staring, covering your face and murmuring for him to come back to bed.

he did this to you. he made you such a picturesque image of ruined perfection, splayed out on his bed and stained with his cum, pleading for his embrace.

patrick would have to pry you from his cold, dead hands.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #challengers smut #challengers x reader

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drefear · 1 year ago

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Daddy Issues

Best Friend’s Dad!Miguel x Reader

TW: smut, p in v, roughness, dirty talking, fingering, some fluff, some angst, teasing.

might make a part 2, we’ll see.

Nothing beat the way it felt to dance, nothing made you feel as alive. This was evident in the way you leaped across the stage and spun into a pirouette. You smiled and panted a bit and continued your routine, jumping into an arabesque as if you were in flight and completely weightless.

The applause filled the auditorium and you felt the out-of-beat rise and fall of your chest as you begged for air silently. You saw your father stand up with tears in his eyes and your best friend as well, who came to watch you for support. You’d finally gotten the lead in the show your dance school was doing, The Nutcracker , and being Clara was like walking on air. You ballet-ran off the stage and waited for the curtains to close, signaling the end of the show. You’d done it, and with perfect timing as you were about to graduate college and no longer have your dance team anymore, since you would officially reach the age limit in the fall of next year and auditions were in the winter. Your heart pounded as you saw Gabriella from the wings, happily waiting for you to come out and take your final bow, and then it was time. You milked the hell out of your curtain call, waving and smiling like a total idiot, but it was worth it. Everything had paid off to finally be at this moment.

But… they were gone? You searched for your father and Gabriella’s faces, but they weren’t in the seats they’d just been in. Did they leave? Maybe went to get the car before everyone rushed to the exits? You felt a little tinge of hurt in your heart, but you would try to understand. They came to watch and that’s all that mattered.

Feeling a tap on your shoulder as you masked your confusion on the stage, you turned to see the two missing familiars holding two large bouquets of flowers. You eyes welled with tears and you hugged them tight, crying happily as they wrapped their arms around you. The moment was perfect.

Well. Almost. There was only one person missing, one person who you already knew wouldn’t make it.

Gabriella’s dad, Miguel. He’d been one of your biggest fans since you and Gabriella became friends in middle school, about the time you began to blossom into the woman you were today. The two of you were inseparable from the moment you’d met, and soon, both of your families were just as close.

You’d been through everything together. Puberty, getting your periods, your parents divorce and your mom leaving, Gabriella’s mother passing away, everything. You two had even decided once you graduated high school, to go to college together and share an apartment.

Which is exactly what you did, and now you both were graduating. Gabriella was finishing her undergraduate for medical school, and you’d gone on to major in the arts, so you could become a professional choreographer. No one could get in between the two of you.

Except her father, you thought for a brief second before shaking the thought from your head.

No! That’s bad, very bad! You chastised yourself for your subconscious wishes.

Gabi’s dad was so nerdy as you grew up, doting on her mom every waking moment. You’d even gone as far as to call him a simp once, to which Gabi laughed about it for days. Your mom and dad barely got along at all through your childhood, so it was no wonder how much her parents loved each other was foreign to you, but things changed when you two became juniors in high school.

You’d had your first kiss, and Gabi begged for details in her room. The two of you sat up and talked about this boy you’d kissed all night, but she was definitely way more excited than you were. It just wasn’t what you’d expected, shoving his tongue into your mouth instantly and basically just pushing your head into his passenger window as you somewhat wanted to get away from him.

Plus, he wasn’t even that cute.

But Gabi hadn’t experienced anything around boys yet, and so you indulged her and made it seem way more romantic and nice than it was. Batting your eyes, you made smoochy sounds as she smacked you with a pillow and you both giggled.

“Girls, lights out.” You heard Gabi’s mom say and you furrowed your brows a bit at Gabi, who just rolled her eyes in response. You waited to hear the footsteps fade before you asked her what that was about.

“My mom and dad have been seeing this counselor. Something about the spark needing to be reignited, so now they go into the guest bedroom every Saturday to have sex.” She made a disgusted face and your eyes widened.

“They plan it?”

“I guess? It’s been every weekend now for like three weeks, and I’m going insane! Let’s sneak out and see a movie or something before my brain dies.” She moved towards her window and waved me over, but you glanced at her bedroom door.

“Wait, I gotta get my shoes from downstairs, I’ll meet you in the backyard.” You spoke and she gave you a thumbs up, before tucking out of her window.

You tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room when you heard it.

“Miguel- right there!” It was hushed, but you heard it clearly. Not being able to resist, you peeked into the kitchen where you’d heard the sounds and your mind was never the same. “What if the girls come down-”

“Shh, we’ll hear them, now focus on me, cariño.” He had his head tucked into her neck as his pants were pulled below his ass, showing his toned bottom as he fucked up into her. Legs wrapped around his waist, he was so much larger than her. How did you just notice this?

Your eyes fluttered downwards to where the two of their bodies met and you gasped. He was huge. Could dick even be that big? He was beyond anything you’d seen in the health textbooks or on twitter.

You stumbled backwards and immediately knocked over the lamp on the table, the house then suddenly becoming quiet. It was as if there was no air inside of your lungs anymore, freezing in place until you saw the swinging kitchen door begin to move, running faster than you ever have for your shoes and bolting back up the stairs. You jumped as you tried to get your shoes on as fast as possible and sat on the window ledge as you heard someone coming into Gabi’s room as you were about to climb down the gutter into her backyard. Looking up, your eyes met his.

His face was sweating lightly and his eyes were blown with lust, watching you like a predator. You glanced down where you’d seen what you should never have, and his pants were pulled up now, but the bulge was still prominent and hard. You gulped and practically fell out the window backwards as you collapsed onto Gabi, who was waiting for you.

“Go!” You whispered harshly and dragged her hand, “Your dad is right behind me and he saw me!”

“Shit, how?” Gabi asked and your mouth went dry, the scene replaying in your mind like a broken record that kept skipping to the same place.

“You don’t want to know.” You hushed and ran to her fence as the lights from the back door flashed on and you two were met with the large shadow of Mr. O’Hara.

“What are you two doing?” His voice was like a death sentence to the both of you, who were sitting in the grass now. You scrambled to get up and your hands were shaking. Nothing was processing in your head. Why were you so sweaty?

“We were just gonna jump on the trampoline, dad.” Gabi lied and you just nodded, eyes avoiding his as he walked closer and folded his arms. You looked at his hands, and you thought back to where they’d just been, rubbing Mrs. O’Hara’s clit. Your eyes flashed back down to the grass.

Your name broke you from your haze, Mr. O’Hara’s voice making your knees tremble a bit. “You don’t look well, maybe I should call your dad and have him come get you.” he spoke and moved to touch your forehead, checking for a temperature. You flinched and moved backwards.

“You know what, you’re right. I’ll walk home I think. See you tomorrow, Gabi.” You rambled and a hand caught your wrist.

“You can’t walk home now, it’s dark out. I’ll just call your dad-”

“He’s working late, can’t come out. I’ll just walk home!” You tried again, begging for whatever higher power could hear you to just let you die.

“No, I’ll drive you then.” He said and your fate was sealed.

You just quietly nodded as Gabi looked at you with a bad feeling showing in her emotions. You two were in so much trouble.

Sitting in the car, your knee bounced with anxiety.

‘Please don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me, please don’t-’

“So, where were you two actually planning on going?” SHIT.

“Uh. Just to see a movie.” You mumbled, staring out the window.

“And why sneak out? You both know that we’d happily drive you, even give you some money for snacks.” His tone made your skin crawl, now recognizing it as the moaning and grunting you’d heard prior.

You cleared your voice and tried to not look guilty. “We, uh, didn’t want to… bother you guys.” You hoped he wouldn’t even hear you, would just let it all go.

“It’s never a bother, especially when it’s about your and Gabi’s safety.” He spoke and pulled up to a red light. The silence was drowning you, but it was better than answering his questions.

“Gabi said you two were busy tonight, so we thought it’d be better if we just snuck out.” You shifted your legs in the passenger seat, begging the world to strike you with lightning.

“Ah. So Gabi figured it out.” He said and the light turned green again. “Gabi’s mother and I have been married a long time, and sometimes we need to do things to keep-”

“The flame alive, yeah I know. Can we please not talk about this, Mr. O’Hara?” You begged, and your eyes met once more, making you blush wildly. You couldn’t help but remember the way he looked as he thrusted into his wife. You turned away fast so he hopefully wouldn’t see your red cheeks. “Gabi and I will never sneak out again, I promise, just please stop talking about this!” You covered your ears a bit. That’s when he put it together.

“Oh.” he just said and continued to drive, hands white knuckling the steering wheel. “I’m… sorry you saw that.” His tone was hesitant, like he wasn’t even sure what the words he was saying meant.

“Cool, yep, see ya tomorrow Mr. O’Hara!” You chirped and practically jumped out of his moving car as he pulled to a stop outside of your house, no cars in the driveway and no lights on. You ran to the front door and burst inside, locking it behind you and panting.

That night, you’d had your very first orgasm thinking about him fucking you like that and nothing was ever the same.

A year later, and Mrs. O’Hara was diagnosed with terminal breast cancer and had only a few months to live. She pulled through to around a year and you felt your heart break the moment she was gone. Your mother had abandoned your father and you a little into your freshman year of high school, so you’d leaned on Mrs. O'Hara, like she was your own mother, learned her ways and how to be a good cook, and she taught you many things about life that you’d eventually need.

Gabriella and Mr. O’Hara were both devastated, and you could understand why. Nothing was the same for them. After the funeral, you, the O’Hara’s, and your father had a meal together, and that would be a weekly dinner from then on. Most of the time, she would cook for everyone when you all would hang out together, especially after your mom disappeared, but now with her gone, you picked up on cooking duties. It wasn’t as amazing as hers, but it fed you all and it was similar, so you kept up with it every week.

Flash forward to tonight, graduation looming over you like a rain cloud on a summer day. All of your grades were final, your dance team was about to disburse, and you’d be a woman of the world soon. Oh how the times had changed, and tonight was your official family dinner. Instead of cooking at home, your father insisted on you all going out to eat and your and Gabriella’s favorite restaurant.

And so here you were, sitting with that too tight bun still bobbypined and an easy-to-throw-on dress you’d yanked out of your closet in a rush to wear home after your performance. Gabriella held your hand as she chatted about what her and her new boyfriend were going to do after graduation, how he was going to med school with her and she wanted to get an apartment with him. You nodded, excited for her. You weren’t surprised, as she’d mentioned them moving in together multiple times recently, which would mean you'd be looking for a studio apartment soon. That was fine by you, since she’d still be in school and you were about to begin your own career.

The Latin food filled your senses as you enjoyed the food and light conversation. Gabriella spoke with her boyfriend to her other side and your father laughed with a glass of bourbon in his hand. You felt a hand on your shoulder from above and saw that looming figure you saw in your late night fantasies.

“Dad!” Gabi perked up and stood to hug her father, making you also stand to give him a polite peck on the cheek. As you leaned up to do just that, the corners of your lips brushed and your body froze, the feeling soft and… addicting. You snapped out of it almost as fast as you felt it and blinked a few times quickly to look like nothing happened, not meeting his eyes as you sat once more.

When you looked back to where he was hugging your father and shaking Gabis boyfriends hand, your eyes met and he was staring a bit. He sat next to you and you straightened up in your dress. This was new…

You’d done well at hiding your crush on him in the years, you thought. The first few months after you saw him and his wife have sex, you couldn’t look either of Gabi’s parents in the eye, but you’d gotten over it once you lost your virginity. ‘So that’s what it’s like’ you thought once you were done and the boy you were with was in the bathroom.

Dinner was served relatively quickly as you all ordered and drank. Your father had another bourbon neat, and Miguel had a Manhattan, as Gabi and her boyfriend each had a few vodka sodas, and you just slipped on your little tequila drink. It was a special for that week or something and had some sort of juice that made it look blueish purple.

Once you all had a drink in your each, you’d all begun laughing and chatting louder and as the night went one, you’d had a few more. The live band started and you swayed a bit at the music. When you turned your head, Miguel was looking at you already with his arm behind your chair. You blushed a bit, warm from the liquor in your veins as he chuckled.

“Drunk? I thought you could handle more than that.”

“No no, I don’t… I don’t like to drink too much, so I’m already pushing it.” You smiled and glanced at your dad, who just nodded in agreement.

“My little girl did not get the drinking gene.” He added and sipped the bourbon he had. Gabi laughed and spoke up.

“Should’ve seen her in Miami on Spring Break! She was so drunk, she was dragging strangers to dance with her-“

“Gabi!” You chimed in and glanced at your father and Miguel, the men laughing at your embarrassment.

“You’re a great dancer, even drunk!” She added and her boyfriend smiled at the memory as well. “How about we dance?” He nodded and pulled her hand to dance to the live music, enjoying the soft singing of the Hispanic music. You glanced at the dance floor and saw all couples, where Gabi now stood with her loving boyfriend.

“Go, find a partner!” You dad added and you shook your head. “Come on! A professional dancer who won’t dance alone?” He teased and you smiled again, just ignoring the comment.

“Here, I’ll dance with you.” Miguel stood and reached for your hand. You froze once more for that moment and nodded. “That way, you can still dance and not be alone.” He smiled wider and pulled you up, walking with you to the dance floor. You stood in front of him and heard the next song begin. Preciosa by Marc Anthony began and the beat made you move your hips gently, as he held your hands and followed your movements.

“They didn’t teach Latin dancing to you, did they?” He asked, a playful tone in his voice. You looked up with a small ‘no’ and he chuckled, moving you in close to his chest and putting one leg in between yours. “Follow my lead, and loosen your hips. No ballet here, amor.” The roll of his tongue on the ‘r’ made your hips stutter in their movement. You’d never been so nervous to dance. He held one hand up and placed the other hand around your waist, swiveling you and twirling you both as he moved with precision and ease across the dance floor. You felt the eyes of everyone around you, but you couldn’t care. This was a moment you knew you’d waited your whole life for, and this was probably as close as you’d get to being with Miguel, so you’d ignore everyone and enjoy it while it lasted. A smile tugged at your features and you let him lead you. He even lifted you at one point like you were nothing but a piece of paper, a feather.

When that song ended, Vivir Mi Vida played and the tempo became faster, making you both continue with hast and creating a bit of sweat on both of you. He took control of the dance and spun you around the dance floor, making sure no one got in either of your ways as you laughed with glee.

The night moved in a blur as you and Miguel moved like a couple who’d been together for years, two who moved as one. A slow song played and the strum of the guitar moved your bodies close, making you lean back and forth intimately against each other. The song ended and you both realized there was very few people left in what once was a bustling restaurant, and when you turned back to your table, your father was handing the bill to the waiter. Miguel stopped and walked back.

“I told you I was taking care of it tonight.” He caught your dad’s wrist and took the check, replacing your father’s credit card with his, and giving it back to the poor confused server. They hurried away as your dad shook his head.

“Couldn’t let me have that, O’Hara? You and Gabi came to support my little girl, and you even swept her onto the dance floor and made her smile. Least I can do is buy ya dinner.” He laughed and Miguel smiled.

“Not a chance. She’s been a wonderful friend to Gabriella for years, and she’s like my own mija. Let me treat you all and celebrate her.”

The words echoed in your mind and broke down your wonderful night.

His mija? As in… his own daughter?

You cursed yourself silently and painting a fake smile onto your lips as you all got up to leave once he took back his card. Gabriella was speaking to you and rambling about the apartment her and her boyfriend were looking at tomorrow, but all you could hear was the white noise of your own thoughts crippling your ability to think.

You tossed and turned all night after hearing Miguel say those words and you pushed down the feelings you’d pretended were not there for years, as they threatened to roll over your being and blow through your eyes without grace. How could you let yourself think anything like that again?

A few weeks later and you sat with Gabi in her backyard, tanning in the chairs by her pool as you both heard a low “I’m home,” from inside. The back door swung open and you saw Mr. O’Hara standing there. He was silent for a moment before getting a bit irritated. “What the hell are you two wearing?” He barked, angered.

Gabi shrunk back. “Dad, what are you talking about? They’re just bikinis!” She tried to call him down, but he seemed to get even worse.

“Just- those aren’t even bikinis, those- that’s less than underwear, you both might as well be wearing nothing!” He yelled in upset, like a lion roaring in pain.

“Maybe I should just go.” You mumbled and his eyes snapped to you. Uh oh…

“Not a chance. Yours is worse than hers! You look naked!” He stepped towards you and instinctively you took a step back, behind the lawn chair.

“M-Mr O’Hara, no one can see us. We’re in your backyard.” You spoke carefully, trying to make it better. “So no one even saw us, right? We'll change.” You nodded, obediently as you grabbed Gabi’s hand and slipped back into the house, hearing him grumble to himself as you passed him.

“I’ve never seen him talk to us like that.” Gabi spoke, putting on a t-shirt. She sighed and pulled her hair up. “Not even when I had that hickey sophomore year!”

“Maybe he just had a rough day and that was the last straw?” You hadn’t changed yet, staring at yourself in the bikini in the mirror. It really wasn’t terrible, maybe a bit more of a cheeky back than a full one, the straps of your bikini fairly thin. Just a regular red triangle bikini. Maybe you’d just gained weight? You huffed, “my bag is downstairs with my clothes, I’m gonna go grab it.”

“Do you wanna just borrow a shirt?”

“I mean, maybe. Anything baggy, so he doesn’t freak out again?” You asked and glanced at her hamper of clean clothes.

“Yeah, grab whatever.” She waved you off and you reached in, grabbing a large t-shirt and a pair of soccer shorts. “I’m gonna go start making some dinner, come down when you’re done changing to help.” She spoke and walked out of the room. You sighed and pushed your hair behind your ears, sitting on her bed and holding the discarded bikini. Was he really upset? Well, maybe he was since he saw you as his own daughter. You begrudgingly got up and walked down the hall, passing by his office and spotting him.

“Come in here.” His tone was sharp, almost nerve wracking. You followed the voice and saw him with his arms folded over his chest, an irritated glare in his eyes. “I’m disappointed in both of you for thinking something like that is appropriate to wear.”

“Mr. O’Hara, we weren’t out in public, and no one else was around!” You answered, regretting your decision to stand up for yourself, as you notice the look in his eyes and realize you’re just digging your own grave.

“So you two weren’t taking a snapchat in those outfits? No videos or TikToks?” He asked, making you bite your tongue and avoid laughing at hearing him say that stuff.

“Maybe one tiktok…” You trail off and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But, we didn’t post it, and I can delete it.” You justified and he nodded, concern still etched into his beautiful face. You take out your phone and as you begin to delete the video, his eyes narrow.

“...are those my clothes?” His head cocked to the side like a confused dog and you looked down, just as curious to see what he was talking about.

“No, they were in Gabi’s clean clothes.”

“Well, that’s my t-shirt from high school and those are my workout shorts.” His words made you quiet, forgetting about deleting the video. You blushed a bit and immediately starting searching for your bag, making a bee-line for the living room. “Oh my god, I’ll go change, I’m so sorry.” You rambled some flustered apologies before he could say anything else and ran off to the bathroom with the bag on your shoulder. Locking the door, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Could today get any worse? You leaned your head against the wall and kept your eyes shut, then took your clothing off once more to change into the clothes that actually belonged to you.

Tugging your skirt down to a suitable length incase Mr. O’Hara decided to berate your fashion choices once more, you glanced at something on the floor. It was another shirt of his, this time obvious by how large this one was, and the smell.

It was definitely something he’d just worked out in, having a particular musk to it, and the smell of his aftershave and body wash. It was him to a tee, and something in your body lit on fire just from the scent.

Without a second thought, you stuffed the shirt in your bag and exited the bathroom.

That night was filled with stifled moans and bitten knuckles as you quieted yourself while using your vibrator. His shirt stayed stationed in the hand you were biting down on, smelling his scent while you touched yourself until you were seeing stars and having trouble remembering your own name.

You hid that shirt the next day, stuffing it behind your pillows for safe keeping.

A day later, Miguel and Gabi had come over to watch some sport together. You’d never really been interested in sports unless Gabi was playing, but you enjoyed the company, so you often cooked for them all while they enjoyed the show. You mixed the guacamole as you heard someone walk into the kitchen behind you.

“Smells great.” Miguel spoke as he opened the fridge.

“Homemade chips, for the guac.” You nodded, still somewhat keeping it short with him after the prior day’s events.

“You can’t still be mad, right?” He asked and you turned to him fully, pausing the work on the mashed avocado and staring at him. He was holding two beers.

“I was never mad, but I still don’t get it.” You shrugged, “it just didn’t really seem like a big deal.”

“Really?” He seemed to get a little upset at that, placing the beers down and leaning on the kitchen island. “Because I think it was a huge deal. You’re barely an adult, you can’t be dressed like-”

“Like what? A woman? It was a bikini, it’s not like I was standing on the corner!”

“Watch how you talk to me.” He got cold and serious and your temper was flaring up.

“Why should I? You’re not my dad or my boyfriend, so you don’t get to tell me how to dress.” You shot back and he was quiet for a second. This prompted you to continue your winning streak. “And I don’t think you get to tell me what’s appropriate in front of people.”

“What are you talking about?” He hissed, taking a small step closer to you. “You don’t remember? When I caught you fucking on your kitchen counter? Cause I remember. Vividly.” You jabbed back and his eyes widened, the anger on your face apparent. Without another word, you stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs to your bedroom, slamming the door and sitting on your bed.

You shouldn’t have brought that up, you knew you shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t help it. Who was he to tell you what you could and couldn’t do? He was just your friend’s dad, he had no right to yell at you about how you dressed or what you did. It wasn’t his place.

“Honey?” Your dad said from outside your door and you got up, opening it for him. “Miguel told me that he upset you, so I told him that he and Gabi should go home for the night so I could talk to my little girl.” Your dad always called you ‘his little girl,’ no matter how old you got. Tears started welling in your eyes, and you didn't know why, but you started crying into your father’s chest. He hugged you in a tight embrace as you continued to let out the tears you didn’t know you were holding in.

Some time went on and after about a week, you’d gone to Gabi's childhood home to hang out and watch a movie while Miguel was out. It was perfect. You didn’t have to see him and you could have some one-on-one time with Gabi.

Until she fell asleep halfway through the movie. You sighed, getting up and getting a glass of water. The week had been stressful. Every free second you had, you were touching yourself to Miguel’s shirt, tracing your clit, biting your lip to avoid making sounds. Even just the memory of his smell made your knees wobble a bit and you held onto the fridge handle a bit tighter while getting the water. The front door opening signaled you that he was now home. Time to leave as fast as possible, you thought to yourself, and placed the full cup of water in the sink.

Before you could walk out of the kitchen, Miguel was in the doorway staring down at you. “I just got off the phone with your father.” His voice was monotone, which wasn’t abnormal.

“You can tell him I’ll be home soon.”

“Well, he had a few questions for me. About you.” He spoke and something was off about how he was speaking. Was he… taunting you?

You finally met his eyes and you were right, something was off.

“He said the cleaning lady found a man’s shirt in your bedroom.” Your heart dropped. No no no no!

“Oh.” Was all you could muster up as he watched your reaction. “He asked if you and Gabi had any new boys around, any new friends. He said you randomly started crying the other day and he was worried you might be going through some sort of relationship that he’s unaware of. So?” He asked and you just clenched your jaw.

“Mr. O’Hara, that is none of your-”

“Say my name,” he demanded.

“What?” You questioned, taking a step backwards.

“Say my name. You want me to treat you like an adult? Say my name.”

“Fine. Miguel, that is none of your business.” You barked at him, a smirk forming on his lips.

“I think it is my business, though. Since it’s my shirt.” He announced and your eyes swelled to the size of dinner plates. How did he-

“It was just so strange, how one of my shirts went missing, one I had been wearing the day I yelled at you about that bikini, and then suddenly your dad finds a shirt that matches the one I’m missing. Weird coincidence, hmm?” he folded his arms and you felt your body running cold. How could you steal from a genius and think he wouldn’t realize? “So let me get the facts in order. You watched me have sex in my kitchen, you stole my dirty clothing, and you pranced around my house in a skimpy bikini.” He spoke in a lower voice, as if he was just thinking out loud, and you noticed the look in his eyes was becoming hungry.

“Y-Yes ok I did that, I’m sorry. Don’t tell anyone it was yours!” You begged and he chuckled at you, looking to the side.

“I’m not telling anyone anything, but I have a question.” He paused and brought his thumb to his lip, as if thinking about something he was trying to word correctly. “What were you doing with my shirt?”

Your blood ran cold, the sound of your heart beating in your ears too loud to even think. He… wanted you to say it. Heat began to rise up your neck and cover your cheeks and ears with a tint of red.

“C’mon, say it.” His lips twitched to a smirk and you squeezed your legs together at the view you had of him. Dress shirt slightly unbuttoned, belt around those slim hips, slacks tight in all the right places from how muscular his thighs were.

Embarrassment filled your head as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, and as you lifted them up his body, red rubies claimed your sight like they owned you.

“I-I… thought about you.”

“Be specific, amorcita, what about me?” He moved forward and tilted your chin up to keep eye contact with him as you spoke.

You gulped and closed your eyes, too humiliated to say what you were about to while seeing his face. “I thought of you and I having sex… touching me and stuff.”

“Eyes on me, mi corazon.” You opened your eyes and he was bent down to where he could kiss you. His breath smelled like mint. “Tell me more.”

“I imagined you on top of me, b-behind me… kissing me.” You trailed off as his lips ghosted over yours, then smiling and crashing together like a crescendo of a symphony. His hands gripped the sides of your body, picking you up and placing you on the countertop.

“You thought of me touching you here?” His hand trailed down your torso towards the front of your jean shorts, tracing where your pussy sat, hot and waiting. Your breath hitched as you nodded, and he smirked again. He liked the effect he had on you, it was obvious.

“Words, mi amor.”

“Yes, Miguel, please.” You spoke, your words shaky as he laughed at your shyness. “Where was that attitude from before? All that sass?” He whispered against your ear as he unzipped your jean shorts, pulling down the material to expose you more to him. His fingers rubbed against the lacy fabric of your panties, and you lost your mind for a minute, panting a bit just from the slight contact. “You’re that sensitive? Just from a little touching?” He purred and yanked your panties off as well, your naked core against the chill of the air sending a shiver up your spine. “Where’d all that shit you were talking from the other day go?”

“Miguel,” You beg and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Gotta open you up first, Princessa.” His words were low and rumbled in your body as he gave you pet names.

A finger slipped into you without issue, and your back arched into his chest as he massaged your thigh with the other hand. A moan erupted in your throat and he quickly took the hand on your thigh to cover your mouth. “Shhh, we can’t have Gabi finding us like this, right?” You nodded and practically saw your eyes cross as he pushed in another finger, beginning to feel full with just the two digits. He worked them back and forth in you as he placed soft kisses against your throat. Your whole body jolted, like an electric current was rolling throughout your body.

His fingers began to curl against that spongy spot that had you rolling your eyes back, letting out more muffled sounds against his other hand, his eyes hooded and watching you through his thick lashes. Like a predator, he moved them faster and you felt yourself about to teeter over the edge. His thumb brushed against your clit and you were sent into a full earth-shattering orgasm, gripping his shoulder for stability as he let you ride his fingers through it.

“Preciosa…” he mumbled and unzippered the dress pants, pulling himself out and watching your face change from blissed out to fearful. “Don’t worry, I’ll go slow…” he whispered and lined himself up. Pulling you to the edge of the counter, he pushed the tip into you and you closed your eyes, feeling the stretch of his size already. He moved slowly as you adjusted and once he was fully in, you hissed a bit. You both were completely breathless, like two wild beasts waiting to see who would make the first deadly move. “Look at me while I fuck you good, I want to see that pretty face while I’m inside you.” Keeping eye contact, he moved his thumb back on your clit, making you shake a bit and let out pretty little sounds again. He started to move at this, feeling so good and overwhelmingly full. It was as if you’d been speared onto something, he was impaling himself into you and you loved every second. You began to thrust back against him and he practically lost it then and there, watching you frantically chase your own high making him almost feral. He yanked you off of the counter top, flipping you over and pushing you down flat against it. Shoving himself back inside of you, he began a relentless pace, bruising your cervix over and over. As you got louder, he pulled your hair back to make you arch against his chest.

“Yeah? You like how I ruin you?” He taunted, slamming into you from behind and causing the sound of skin slapping skin to echo across the room. “This pussy is mine.” He growled and gave your clit a gentle slap, making you practically scream out.

“M-Miguel…!” You were panting from how he’d made you so breathless, so overwhelmed by him.

“Be quiet, or do you want Gabi to know you’re a slut for me? That you love when I fuck you better than anyone ever could.” He went on and you nodded along. He was right. He’d ruined you for any other man. You’d never be able to fuck anyone else without comparing them to him.

“That’s right, amorcita, moan for me.” He egged you on as he bottomed out once more, making your legs shake. He lifted one of your knees to lean on the counter beside you and pounded into you from a new, deeper angle, giving you chills. That was it, that new spot he’d found made you come around him instantly, muscles tightening from the orgasm. You felt someone warm fill you, and realized he had finished as well. Grabbing your face harshly, he pulled your face sideways to give you a rough kiss as he kept himself inside of you for a few more moments.

You gasped for air as you felt him slip out of you, his seed dripping down your leg a bit and making you hyper aware of what just happened. You both stood, half dressed and heaving in silence. Your eyes found his, and everything hit you all at once. Grabbing your underwear and jean shorts off of the ground, you rushed out of the kitchen and began getting dressed as you walked.

“Wait-” He called out and yelled your name, but you were fast and he was still tucking himself back into his pants. As you reached the door, there was a knock and you buttoned your shorts as you swung open the door.

A nicely dressed woman, beautiful and tall, stood there holding a jacket. The two of you stared at each other for a second before she looked past you and smiled.

“Ah, Miguel! I realized you left your jacket in my car.” She spoke, then looked down at you. “Is this your daughter?”

Tears built up in your eyes and you looked back at Miguel, shocked.

“You were on a date?” Your words could’ve been poisonous with how you spoke to him, because they stung him terribly. His mouth was parted, still in shock.

You’d had enough. Your body pushed past the woman’s and you ran down the street to your home, only a few blocks away. It wasn’t your apartment, but your dad should be home and you could just tell him you didn’t want to talk about it. He never pushed you.

Knocking on the door, he opened it and immediately was afraid.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to stay here tonight, ok?” You spoke and he nodded, hugging your crying frame. Tonight had been too much to think about, and as he walked you in, you finally felt the exhaustion hit you. You trudged off to your bed and fell asleep.

Part 2

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel smut #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #Miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader

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murdrdocs · 6 months ago

Text

death do us part

description. there's murders happening at camp half blood, and you and LUKE CASTELLAN care about them. really, you do. but you can't help but sneak off and break a few of the rules of survival laid out by luke's brother. besides, what's really the worst thing that can happen?

includes. SMUT 18+, mutual masturbation (kinda), oral (f receiving), fingering, handjobs, mentions of vibrators (m and f receiving), shower sex, some mentions of death, subby luke vibes, dom reader vibes, whipped luke, situationships, slightly bitchy reader

wc. 3.4k+

a/n: art is record separator by phil hale. barely edited

Both of you are being selfish.

Distantly, in the back of your mind beneath the raging hormones perhaps, you’re aware that this is not only disrespectful but also irresponsible.

Luke’s brother’s words ring in your head, reminding you over and over again.

You had been sitting around an unsanctioned campfire at the time, a dozen or so of you all passing around bottles of alcohol that had been snuck in by one of Luke’s younger siblings who was desperate to impress and please all of you. With the buzz taking over your body and providing a general feeling of elation, you must admit that they impressed you. Maybe Luke too, who was surely delighted to have you all over him. Your little game of cat and mouse was finally coming to an end, likely spurred on by the havoc that had taken over Camp Half-Blood. Everyone was on edge, wondering who was next. Because according to Chris and a few other kids who were slasher fanatics, there would be a next. And soon.

Which is likely why all of you were down by the shore and letting off steam. Simply existing before something happened by the time the sun rose.

Usually, come morning you would blame your touchiness towards Luke on alcohol. But now, if either of you made it to the morning, you swore you would stop playing hard to get, throw caution to the wind, and kiss him during first daylight, a signifier that your relationship, whatever was going on between you two, withstood the test of the night and could now be official.

You two could do it. If that was tipsy delusion or rationale talking, you didn’t know.

All you knew was that Chris Rodriquez was definitely drunk, but there had to be some truth to his words.

“Listen, listen.” He stood, raising his beer bottle as if he were about to toast. You hoped the bottle wasn’t empty yet, for Chris had a habit of pulling you all into a game of spin the bottle whenever he got like this. Sometimes, you didn’t mind it. Not when you got to kiss Luke. But watching Luke kiss someone else always left a sour taste on the back of your tongue.

When Chris took a swig, you sighed a bit and slunk further into Luke’s side.

“If we’re going to survive this–” each of you knew what he was talking about. The grieving families and empty beds made sure you each knew what was happening. “We’ll have to live by a set of rules.”

“Rules?” Luke spoke from beside you for the first time in a while. You turned to look at him and immediately got distracted. His scar shined in the warm lighting, the orange making the slight flush along his cheeks a little more distinct. His eyes were heavy. They were relaxed. He was relaxed, and the irony didn’t fly over your head.

Weirdly enough, you found yourself relaxed, too. Tucked into his side with his arm slung over your shoulder like the two of you were together. It was normal for you both to get like that late at night, but the difference in the air made it seem more sentimental.

Luke, likely sensing your staring, turned to look at you. He smiled just a bit, and you didn’t hesitate as you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. The two of you separated soon enough to hear Chris’ rant.

“Yeah. Rules.” When no one around the bonfire seemed to understand what rules he was referring to, he took a swig of his beer, sat it on the log behind him, and stood on his soap box.

“There are a set of rules to surviving something like this. Rule number 1: never say you’ll be right back. Trust me, you won’t.”

One of the girls raised her hand, her face scrunched into a pout. Chris stopped to look at her, pointing a finger as an indicator for her to speak. “What do we say instead?”

Chris took a second. He hesitated, his dark and glassy eyes searching around him for an answer, then, “Just leave and come back. Don’t announce it.”

The answer seemed good enough for her and Chris continued.

“Rule number 2: don’t shower alone. This is just an invitation for the killer to sneak up on you, and slash you up. Next thing you know, we’re finding you stark naked.” This rule seemed to make sense for everyone else and no one spoke up. “Rule number 3: do not have sex. And if you’re a virgin, now is not the time to lose your virginity.”

This incited a low level of outrage from a few people around the camp. Your hand settled on Luke’s thigh, and you could feel him staring at you. Still, you continued to stare ahead at Chris.

“It’s not safe!” He exclaimed. “You’re left vulnerable, just like in rule 2, and for some reason, killers love to prey on the promiscuous. Just keep it in your pants until whoever is doing this is caught. That’s all. And rule 4, the most important one: never ever, ever go off alone. This will single you out and make you an easy target. You follow these rules, and maybe you’ll survive.”

Chris finished his rant, took a final swig of his beer, and sat back down.

Luke’s hand fell to your thigh. He ran his touch up and down once, and then squeezed your flesh twice. From the corner of your eye, you saw the grin grow on Luke’s face and turned to him. Neither of you had to say anything. Luke raised his eyebrows, smiled at you, and you nodded.

Luke opened his mouth to likely spew out some bullshit excuse, but everyone’s attention turned towards one of the kids sitting next to Chris who suddenly broke out of a stupor to protest Chris’ rules. Which left you and Luke an opening.

He took his arm from around your shoulder, placed his hand out for you to take, and then stood with you on his heels.

“Where’re you two going?” Silena asked from beside you.

You grinned down at her and communicated all you needed to in that one look. “To sleep. Chris said not to leave alone, right?”

She was clearly unconvinced, but she still nodded and kept her mouth shut.

And the two of you walked away to the sound of Chris pitching yet another spin-the-bottle game.

Which brought you here, in the bathrooms instead of your cabin. Your poorly formed excuse spoken to Luke was something along the lines of needing to scrub off the grime from the day, and especially the thick layer of bug spray that you’ve recently had to use. Some of the more superstitious kids in camp attributed the increase in bugs to the increase in deaths. You attributed it to a malfunction of the Mist.

You knew that Luke, being the gentleman that he is, wouldn’t dare let you shower alone. Not since his brother laid out the rules. You also knew that Luke, being as infatuated with you as he is, would take any chance he could to get with you, even if it was selfish and irresponsible.

But you don’t think he’s considering either factor right now as he’s kissing you as if he has a one-track mind.

One of the showers is running behind you. The two of you had originally been waiting for the water to turn hot, but that happened a while ago, and now Luke was keeping you busy in the center of the bathroom, his hands gratefully roaming over your body, feeling you up.

He has one hand settled along the back of your thigh, just right under the end of your jean shorts. His other hand grips your cheek, holding your face steady for him to messily kiss you. You don’t mind the mess of it, you’re not bothered by the way his tongue clumsily slips outside of your mouth a few times, because it’s a sign of how he’ll fuck you. Unabashed, uninhibited, maybe he’ll even whimper in your ear when he cums.

Just the thought alone is enough to encourage you.

You hook your fingers under Luke’s shirt, a faded graphic tee you thrifted and brought back to camp for him, and lift it just over his navel. He gets the message and pulls away from your lips, but there’s a force pulling him back once, twice, and one final time before he pulls back just enough to pull his shirt over his head. He looks like something out of a movie as he lifts the black shirt off by the neckline and tosses it to the floor. You don’t know if he means to, but he flexes while he does it, his abdomen taunt and the veins in his arms popping out more than usual.

You’ve seen Luke’s body many times and in many different scenarios, but each time you have to take a moment. And he knows you well enough to anticipate it.

He stands within arms reach, watching you watch him. You can’t tell since your eyes are focused on the way his abs frame his navel, the way his skin has deepened a shade, and the scars and moles that are dotted across his body, but he’s smiling. A small, barely there quirk of his lips.

Eventually, you take a step closer to Luke, pressing your fingers into his skin and sliding your hands back until your fingers interlock around his back. You pull Luke closer to you, lifting your head and nudging the tip of his nose with yours.

“You done?” he asks, referencing your prolonged staring.

You hum, nodding as you reach for Luke’s lips with your own. “‘m done.” And then Luke kisses you again.

There’s some repetition when Luke lifts your shirt over your head, but he appreciates your frame with his lips. He kisses your shoulders and neck as he unclasps your bra and pulls it off of you. He litters kisses into your stomach as he sinks to his knees, pulling your now unbuttoned shorts with him. He helps you step out of them, taking your shoes off as he does so, and when you’re only left in your panties, he looks up at you.

“Mind if I do the honors?”

You answer him through a grin. “Only if you let me return the favor.”

And he does.

It has been clear that your shower with Luke was likely going to be more than a shower, even though it was previously unspoken between you both. It doesn’t need to be spoken, not whenever there’s an obvious wet patch in your panties when Luke pulls them down, or when you’re face to face with his semi when you pull his boxers off of his hips.

You look up at Luke, your eyes slightly narrowed and a tiny smile on your lips. You don’t say anything, but Luke still rolls his eyes. He scoffs, jerks his head in a motion that tells you to stand. As soon as you do, he has your face in his hands and his lips on yours. Your hands grip his sides, keeping him pressed close to you.

Luke blindly walks you both back to the shower. He turns when your back faces the shower head, and lets the water flow down onto him first, pulling away only when his hair starts to get wet.

He has his eyes shut, water cascading down his body in a way that makes him look like one of the Greek sculptures that now sit locked in museums.

He pushes his hair off of his forehead, tipping his head back.

“Hair,” he tells you. And it takes you a second to tell that he’s asking you if you’re gonna put yours back. You quickly throw your hair up and out of your face, putting it back enough to avoid the stream of the shower, and then you pull Luke closer to you.

“Not even gonna pretend to shower? Maybe do a quick rinse?” He’s teasing, but you roll your eyes, move Luke out of the way, and then stand beneath the stream, lifting your arms and turning around to let the water roll over your body.

You look up at Luke and catch him staring. His eyes trail along your tits, deep gaze following individual droplets of water as they collide with your shoulder and roll all the way down to the peak of your tits, where they drop off to fall to the shower floor.

You scoff but don’t say anything. You’re not a hypocrite.

“Happy?” You ask him as you step out from the water.

His answer comes in the form of grateful hands pressing into your lower back. His fingertips pinch your hips as he directs you to the side wall. You don’t have to be told to tilt your head up. You’re already waiting for him, unable to resist smiling into the kiss when Luke brings his lips down onto yours.

He trails a hand down between your thighs, knocking them further apart with a tap of his knee against yours.

When his fingers, the middle and index, pull your lips apart, you sigh into his mouth. When they press against you, spreading the wetness already gathered there, you mewl against his tongue.

Luke’s good with his fingers, you both know it. At this point in your relationship—or whatever both of you decide to call it in the moment—with Luke, he knows you well. He knows that you like it when he hooks his fingers and slightly grazes the top of your walls. He doesn’t have to ask if you’re feeling good, but he does it anyway.

“Good?” Spoken against your lips, the ghost of his own lips brushing against yours as his words enter your mouth.

You nod, knocking your head back against the wall without much care of the water there.

Luke’s other hand clasps behind your knee where he lifts your leg, pressing the inside of it to his hip. He has you opened up for him, giving him free range to practically piston his fingers inside of you. It’s a fervorous pace, more hungry than you’ve known Luke to be. But you don’t mind it.

It’s late, the two of you are as tired as you are horny, it’s nice to rub one out quickly and then knock out. It’s a routine both of you are used to.

Like usual, you reach forward and wrap your hand around Luke’s cock.

It’s no surprise when you swipe your thumb over his tip and are greeted with precum. Truthfully, you’re shocked there’s not more. But tonight, unlike other nights, you hadn’t given Luke the workaround. You wanted him. He knew you wanted him. And you were tired of pretending, tired of acting like you didn’t want to really and truly be with Luke.

You would tell him. You were gonna tell him tonight.

… After you came.

It doesn’t take much more of Luke’s work for you to feel the beginnings of an orgasm creeping in. The urge to reach it is what has you locking your fingers in Luke’s wet curls and nudging him down.

He doesn’t protest. He just smiles and sinks to his knees, settling his head between your thighs. Without much hesitance at all, he latches his lips onto your clit.

Soon thereafter you’re arching into his mouth, your standing leg locked while your bent one hooks over Luke’s shoulder, pulling him closer even though your hand in his hair has already assured that he’s as close as he can get. His fingers curl within you, massaging your fluttering walls as you cum around them. Your moans are loud, echoing off of the walls and barely shrouded by the thunder of water meeting the tiled floors. Distantly, you hope that no one else has decided to come for a shower tonight, but the thought in the forefront of your mind is that you hope your orgasm never ends.

It feels so good when Luke makes you cum. It always does. Rather he does it like this, with his fingers and mouth, or even his cock, or if he does it with one of the toys you brought back from home with you, a recent fascination of his.

The image of when you had used the toy on Luke, pressing the vibrating shape onto his tip, pushes an aftershock out of your body, one that is pulled to completion by Luke’s eager work between your legs.

When he pulls himself from between your legs, he swipes his palm, spread out as flat as it can get, along your cunt. You don’t realize that he did it to gather your wetness until he has that same hand wrapped around his cock. He tugs, spreading your arousal with the movement.

It does the trick, Luke’s eyes fluttering shut as he twists his wrist.

You tut and pull his hand away from his wrist. He doesn’t question it, only watching you through heavy eyes as you spit a large glob into your hand and replace Luke’s work with your own.

His arms wrap around your waist. They wrap around your shoulders. He rests his forehead against yours and then lets his head fall to your shoulder whenever you pick your pace up a bit.

He’s noisy, you can feel his chest vibrating from where you have your hand pressed into his sternum. But he’s too quiet for you to hear. His volume, paired with the noise of the shower, frustrates you. You dip your head to the side, attempting to get your ear closer to Luke.

It works a bit, you’re able to hear his low groans, but it’s not enough.

Eventually, you call his name. It comes out as a mix between a request and a demand, existing somewhere in the middle where you hold a considerable amount of control of Luke Castellan, practically the leader of leaders at Camp Half-Blood.

Yet, you’re his pied piper.

He hums, his eyebrows pushed together. You can’t tell if his look is one of confusion or pleasure. You figure it’s both.

“Look at me. I wanna see you.” This is a plea.

Luke nods once, and then he looks at you.

It’s something you wanted, but it makes you flush a little. Having Luke’s undivided attention always made you squirm a bit, even when it usually made your ego flare. But that was when you weren’t here. When you were fully clothed and surrounded by the protection of your friends. When they giggled and nudged your side to tell you that the Luke Castellan was staring at you. This look isn’t much different from the one he gave you then, but there’s weight to it. He’s staring at you, with something so sincere in his eyes. Beyond just horniness, beyond a desire for you to make him cum.

It’s so much, too much, but you were the one to request it, so you don’t back down.

You square your shoulders and jerk Luke off with more determination.

His eyes start to flutter shut as he gets closer, getting heavier and heavier as if he’s fighting off sleep. But each time they close, they open back up in a couple of seconds. He’s so determined to obey you, it’s flattering. It’s impossible for the way Luke Castellan treats you to not go to your head. Especially when he starts speaking to you.

“Feels so good. ‘m so close. A little bit more.”

He knocks his forehead against yours, holding you still by cupping the back of your neck when your head lolls from the force of the collision.

He kisses you as he cums. His cock twitched in your hand as warm cum spurts onto your stomach and thighs. His lips move slowly, languidly, not kissing you as much as they just linger.

But it’s fine that way. You don’t mind it that way.

By the time both of you have come down, really came down, you’ve washed yourselves clean of the bug spray, cum, and general grime of camp. Luke shuts the shower off, he pads over to the linen closet at the end of the bathroom and you’re momentarily grateful that the kids have actually done their chores and restocked the closet with fresh towels whenever you realize neither you or Luke have clothes.

Not only did you not have clean and fresh clothes, but the clothes you were wearing before were gone now.

When you alert Luke of the problem, he groans. He tosses you a towel, wrapping his own around his waist, and stands in the center of the bathroom with his hands tossed onto his hips. He thinks for a second, clicking his tongue a few times.

“Okay,” he turns to face you. “I’m gonna go grab us some clothes. You stay here.” He kisses your forehead, readjusts his towel on his hips, and tells you, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

#lukesworld!#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #celeste writes pjo

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smilelikeacheshirecat · 3 months ago

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Duty is to her

Pairing: Bridget Hearts x Fem!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warning: kissing

Word Count: 2030

Summary: Reader and Bridget are attending a party and notice Bridget was getting tired so you decided to step in.

Being the princess and the next ruler of your kingdom, you are expected to go through all sorts of training, education, classes and more in preparation for your coronation and to inherit the throne from your parents. You have hours of classes, discussion of various topics from your basic education to politics, history of your kingdom and all the other neighboring kingdoms, etiquette classes, dance lessons, how to manage your kingdom and many more.

You also undergo training not only with physical activities such as fencing, ballet, horseback riding, and many more. But your parents also added managing paper works and affairs happening in the kingdom for you to be familiarize with, along with hours and hours of discussion with other officials, and to also prepare for the future mountain of works that will probably pile in your desk as soon as your in charge.

Needless to say, you have been very busy with all your duties and since you're still young and wanting to have a social life, you also attend school so that adds up to the mass of work needed to be done. It’s hard to be the princess and heir to the throne.

Being the princess, it is also one of your duties to attend various events such as balls, charities, parties, or any sort of royal gathering. There, it will test how good you are able to recognize and know the other royals, to mingle, chat, interact and meet more other people.

But with everything happening in your daily life, there is one person that has been by your side each time. Princess Bridget of Hearts. She is the daughter of the rulers of Wonderland, their family is a close friend of your family. She is also attending Merlin’s Academy with you and the two of you have been inseparable ever since you bump into each other in the hallways of the academy.

“I can’t wait to visit”

You heard from across the room, you turn to look for the owner of the familiar sweet voice, to see Bridget talking with the other guest. The pink-haired princess has the personality and the energy to draw in people to her direction. She’s the most kindest, sweetest, approachable and brightest person you’ve ever meet. Yet it still baffles you how she claims that you and Ella are her only friends in the academy.

Right now, it was winter break and most of the students in Merlin’s Academy went home to spend the holiday with their families. You and Bridget were no exception and right now their parents had ask them to attend this party much to your dismay since you planned on relaxing during your winter break but when you heard that Bridget is also coming, reluctantly, you agreed but with a little enthusiasm inside especially knowing that the particular pink princess you quite adore and have been for a while now, will be coming.

“Of course” You watch as Bridget giggle again after her reply to whatever they were saying.

You had been unfortunately separate with different people wanting to talk to you and not wanting to appear rude to them, you indulge in their conversation and try to at least look like you were interested but sometimes would still steal glances at a certain pink-haired princes just across the room.

At least she’s having fun. You thought as you tried to avert your eyes from Bridget’a figure and refocus your attention on the conversation with your group.

“Yes I’ve contacted with them and had their support on the matter” you replied. You may have master the art of communication and forming connection but that doesn’t mean you’d enjoyed it since you’d very much like to be with your princess rather than having this formal conversation.

At an early age, you’ve been attending party to party so you’re quite use to all the standing, talking and polite smile. Like the perfect princess but Bridget, on the other hand is still getting use to attending this sort of parties so you can’t really help but worry.

After a few minutes you glance back to where Bridget was again just to check on her. That’s when you notice Bridget was getting tired and is only fighting to stay and keep up with conversation.

It is getting late and Bridget hadn’t had enough rest since yesterday with all the preparation for the party going on.

You took that as your cue to leave.

“Excuse me everyone but I may have to retreat for the night, enjoy the rest of the evening.” You said, curtsying before biding your farewell to them.

The group said their goodbyes in understanding before continuing their conversation. You gracefully walk towards where Bridget’s group.

Bridget still has a smile on her face but you already notice how she was trying to stay awake.

“Excuse me ladies but I might have to steal Bridget from you” you said smoothly as you swiftly take Bridget’s hand and pulled her away from her group. The girls giggle and let you both go as they continue on their own again.

In just a few minutes, Bridget was already leaning on to you as you walk out of the ballroom. The moment the door close behind them, Bridget let out a sigh of relief. Her fatigue kicking in already as she cling on to you for support.

You chuckled and wrap your arms around her waist as you support her weight with your body. “Tired?” You ask the princess who’s eyes are already half close.

Bridget nodded, her eyes are now close as she soaks in the warmth of your body. The ballroom may be buzzing with guest but she still feels cold from the lack of your presence.

Truth be told, she was having fun meeting everyone but she still yearns to be with you since the only reason why she agreed to attend is because she was inform that you’d be there. And you were but she didn’t expect that she would only spend a few minutes with you before you were whist away by the other guests in the party.

The corridors were empty since most of the guest are at the ballroom and the staff are either attending to the party's needs or have already retreated to their quarters.

Since Bridget was already tired to walking straight on her own, you had to half carry her as you guide her to her bedroom.

Bridget notice the direction they were going and stopped.

"what's wrong?" You asked looking at the princess in your arms.

"can I stay in your room?" Bridget asked softly but you still heard her.

You smiled and agreed before changing course to the direction of your bedroom.

“We stayed longer than expected.” You said as you open the door to your room, finally.

You lead Bridget's half asleep figure to your bed. Walking here was hard enough due to the heavy dresses you were wearing and the heels weren’t much help. You tried to gentle pry Bridget’s embrace from your body as you lay her down on your bed. You left out a breath of relief as you had successfully lay Bridget’s body on your bed.

After you remove the torture device on your feet that people called shoes, you started removing Bridget’s gown and her own shoes and change them to a much more comfortable sleeping attire before proceeding to remove her complicated hairdo. Then after that you pulled out the make-up remover kit on your vanity table. Gently, you stared removing the layers of makeup on Bridget’s face carefully not to wake her up and disrupt her peaceful state.

During the process, you couldn’t help but admire Bridget’s beauty as she closely examine her face, making sure no makeup was left.

For months you have been close with Bridget but never this close and intimate. You have always been there to care for her, to be here for her as she did to you in those months with each other. Unknowingly that your time together had brought feelings inside you. Feelings that you’re not quite sure what they are yet but slowly, you’re starting to realize them as time past by and you couldn’t help but fear for what it may cause and affect your relationship now.

The thought of losing Bridget, fuels the growing fear so in conclusion, you buried those feelings deep down to remain what you two have now. But sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder what would it be like. To be more than just friends.

Just imagining it made you sigh, one last look, making sure no make up was left. You smile on your work before starting to change as well.

With her last bit of consciousness, Bridget stir from her sleep, her hands started moving, searching for something. When she realize that she was alone, she lifted her head up to see you just putting on the last sleeping garment before you sat infront of your vanity mirror to remove your make-up.

Bridget couldn’t help the frown forming on her lips, you were still far from her. Slowly she got up from the comfort of your bed and wobble to your direction.

You didn’t notice Bridget had got up from bed since you had your eyes close as you remove your eye shadow. A soft squeal left you when you felt someone’s arms wrap around your shoulders.

“Bridget?” You called out to her, she was still half asleep.

“Come to bed. Please” she mumbled to your ears.

“But I’m not done removing my make up yet” you said but then what she did next was unexpected.

Bridget let you go from her embrace before placing herself on your lap,. with her legs on each side, your hand automatically rest on her waist to steady her figure. You were confuse to what was happening but you sat still as Bridget pull the wipes from the table and began to remove the rest of your make up she may be sleepy but each stroke was firm but gentle at the same time. Removing the remaining make up, she took one last look when there wasn’t any left she cupped your checks with your hands making you look into her eyes.

Bridget was still half asleep so her body was still a little unstable as she slowly leans forward, your faces were only centimeters apart now.

“You’re really pretty’” she mumbled with a smile on her face.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. Everything seems to fade around them as you gaze into each other’s eyes. But yours keeps flickering from her eyes to her lips, plump and pink even without lipstick. So close yet still so far away.

For a while, you didn’t know what you felt. At first, you thought these feelings were the same feelings you felt for Bridget, the love for a very close friend but this moment confirms your realization. You wanted her, you needed her. You wanted something more, more than just classmates, more than just friends. You wanted to be something more with her and only her.

It took everything in your power not lean in and kiss those lips, which was the only thing running in your head, her lips. But then . . .

“Are you gonna kiss me or not?” Bridget suddenly ask breaking the silence of the room.

Your eyes widen at what she said. You look back up to her eyes, wanting to make sure you heard it right. “May I?”

Bridget smile as she leans in, closing the gap between your lips. Soft. Her lips were soft. Sweet, like the strawberry short cake she baked the other day for you. And slow. She wasn’t in a hurry, and neither were you. You were both savoring the kiss.

Your stomach flutter as the warm feeling flooded you. Her scent invaded your senses and all your focus were on her lips and the warm feeling it comes with it.

You pulled away for air, already missing them but Bridget lean her forehead on yours with a smile still on her lips. “Took you long enough” she said giggling as buries her face on your neck.

You may be the princess of your kingdom but your duty is always to her, to your princess.

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sweetbans29 · 5 months ago

Text

Teach Me: The Art of You (THE END) - PB

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Previous Part

Summary: You and Paige have been best friends for the last 6 years. You trust her completely. And it is because of that trust that you ask her a rather forward question. AKA - You ask Paige to teach you.

Warnings: mature, like mature - mature

Word Count: 3.2k

Sweetbans Masterlist & Teach Me Masterlist

AN: Here we go...for the last time 🫠

Paige's lips met yours for what feels like the first time in forever. The kiss starts off gentle - her hands cupping your face as your hands rest on her chest. You can taste the saltiness of both of your tears mixed in with her lips.

You pull away, resting your forehead on hers.

"Can we go to bed?" You ask.

"Of course," Paige says and helps you up from the couch. The two of you make your way to her room. You crawl in her bed and open your arms to her. She looks down at you with the biggest smile and finds her place in your arms.

"Never wanna sleep without you again," Paige whispers into you.

"You never have to, B," you say and kiss the top of your head.

Over the next few weeks, life goes back to normal - well mostly normal except for the fact that you and Paige have actually started dating. No more having to restrict touches or steel glances. Paige was free to show the world she has been and will always be completely in love with you.

The regular season is coming to a close as the team prepares for March Madness. You alongside the other coaches are spending a lot more time reviewing film and watching other teams. Paige isn't a fan of how much time you are spending in the office but can't be mad that you, without fail, come home to her.

The team decides to go out for one last hurrah before they lock in and decide to do it at their favorite bar. Everyone is over at your apartment getting ready for your fun night out. You are in your room finishing getting ready as Paige is lying on your bed and scrolling through her phone. When she sees you are almost done she gets up.

"Mmmm ready?" She asks as she comes behind you snaking her arms around your waist. Her head finds its place on your shoulder as she looks at you through the mirror.

"Yep!" You say. "It's been so long since I've been out, long overdue."

Paige would be lying if she said she hadn't been thinking about you. Ever since the two of you officially got together the lessons had stopped. She didn't mind the fact that they stopped but each day kept getting progressively harder for her to keep her hands off of you.

"S'not the only thing overdue," Paige says as she moves your hair to one side of your neck and begins to leave a trail of kisses down the other.

You sigh, leaning back into her and letting her grace your skin with her lips. She holds you firm against her front as she makes a meal out of your neck. One of your hands rests on top of hers while the other comes up and holds her head in place on your neck.

"No marks," you moan as she sucks on your sweet spot.

"Gonna show them your mine," she breathes out sucking a little harder, her teeth grazing your skin.

You try to move away from her but she isn't having any of that.

"B, no marks," you say again. "I'll show them whose I am another way, trust."

She kisses down to your shoulder. "And how do you plan on doing that?" Paige asks.

"Well, you will just have to wait and find out," you say, your eyes struggling to stay open. "But won't have to if I'm all marked up."

Paige immediately removes her lips from your skin and you want to whine but know you are the one who stopped your girl in the first place. You look at her through your mirror and take in how beautiful she is. Your eyes trace every feature of her face.

Paige feels your gave and her cheeks begin to brighten.

"Why are you staring at me like that, ma?" She asks and hides behind you. You found it to be incredibly cute when she would get nervous around you even after knowing you for years.

"Can't you just let me admire my girlfriend," you say and turn around to face her. She no longer has a place to hide. Your eyes burn into her skin. "Stunning."

"Yo, you two ready or what?" You hear one of the girls yell and you respond.

"Ready, B?" You ask.

"Could just stay here," she says. You laugh.

"Ya right, come on B," you say grabbing her hand and leading her out of your room.

The team heads to the bar. Once you are through the door Paige grabs drinks for the two of you. When she comes back you down half of it in the first sip.

"Woo, slow down there. It's not going anywhere," Paige says, grabbing the glass from your hand.

"Hey!" You say, your hand reaching for the glass she just stole from you.

"Let the girl have some fun," Azzi says. "She has been working her ass off for us."

Paige looks betrayed that Azzi chose your side over hers. Azzi grabs the drink from Paige's hand and gives it back to you.

"Woooow, I see who the favorite it," Paige says.

"I have always been Azzi's favorite," you say and lean over to the curly-haired girl and away from Paige.

"As long as I am your favorite, we won't have any issues," Paige says grabbing your hand and intertwining her fingers with yours.

"Well..." both you and Azzi say at the same time. The look on Paige's face practically has you and Azzi laughing on the floor.

You pull Paige into a hug, moving your head to whisper perfectly in her ear.

"Don't worry, B - you know you're my favorite. Always have been, always will be," you say as you bring your tongue to the shell of her ear. A move you have learned riles her up faster than most.

Paige jerks away knowing it is way too soon to be leading you out of the bar. She wants to enjoy hanging out with the team before taking you home. She gives you a warning look and you just smile up at her and take another sip of your drink, a smaller sip than the first one.

You both spend time with the team, enjoying each other's company. You are three drinks in when you start dancing with some of the girls. All of which are letting loose and having a good time. Moving your body to the music, you raise your arms and sway your hips. It doesn't take you long to find your girl leaning against the bar watching you dance. You smile at her and make your way over.

"Dance with me B," you say grabbing her hand. She puts her finished drink on the bar and follows you to the middle of the dance floor.

You face her and wrap your arms around her neck, connecting your bodies and moving to the rhythm of the music. Her hands rest on your hips as she looks down at where your bodies connect.

You turn around, making sure her hands stay planted on your hips. Your arms go up in the air again as you begin to grind on her. You hear her let out the lightest gasp as you bend over. When you come up again, you move her hands to rest on your boobs. She gives them a squeeze before running her hands down your stomach, bringing your shirt slightly higher than it already is. Your hips never stoping.

One of your hands comes to cup the back of her head, guiding it to yours as you turn your face to the side meeting your lips together. The kiss is sloppy and rushed, filled with lingering hints of alcohol from your drinks. You turn to face her cup her cheek.

Your tongues fight for dominance, Paige desperate to win.

Before she can, you break the kiss and begin down her neck like she had done in your room. You pay attention to all right places causing the blonde to throw her head back. Your free hand toying with the string at her waistband.

"Take me home," you whisper in her ear.

Before you know it you are being pulled out of the bar. Paige storms past the team, your hand firmly in hers as she makes a beeline to the door.

"Where are you two going?" Evina yells.

"Evina, just enjoy your drink. We all know where they are going," Azzi says sipping her drink.

Paige has you back at your apartment in no time. The second the door shuts she has you pushed up against it. Before her lips connect with yours, you put a hand on her chest.

"What?" She asks until she sees your next move.

You push her back, taking your shoes off in the process, and have her walking backwards all the way to the couch. You push her to sit down as you ever so slowly move on top of her, straddling her.

She watches you in awe as your hands come to her torso, moving your hands up under her shirt. You lean down and plant a kiss on her shoulder.

"Imma need a little more than that, ma," she says, her breath already rigid. Paige has never been a fan of slow - all the hookups she has had have been quick and straight to the point. But as she was teaching you, she slowed down to match your speed. Now though, now she feels like she has made a mistake as she is eager to get to the finish.

"What's the rush babe?" You ask. "Plan on taking my time, still new to this ya know."

You bring your lips to kiss all along her collarbone. She leans her head back against the couch and lets you work. Your hands move to cup her breasts under her shirt and she removes it for you.

Your lips find their way to one of her nipples, swirling your tongue around it and sucking it lightly. Removing your lips from her skin, you cup both of them and kneed them.

"I love these," you say as you continue to massage your girls chest.

"All yours, ma," Paige's voice husky as she struggles to get the words out. You smile.

You kiss down her stomach, peppering kisses over the waistband of her pants. You hook your fingers in her waistband and look up at her for approval.

"Fuck ya, ma," she says as she lifts her hips up and you pull her pants down.

She is now watching your every move as your hands rub up and down her thighs and your lips sprinkle little kisses along the inner more sensitive parts of her legs. She spreads them for you as you park yourself on your knees in front of her.

Your trail of kisses makes its way to the bottom of the last piece of fabric separating you from where she wants you most. You begin to kiss over them, inching closer to her center. When you finally get to the place Paige has been patiently waiting for your lips to meet, she jolts forward.

You look up at her and kiss it again.

"So sensitive baby," you tease her as your hands bring her boxers down. She watches your every move anticipating the next. Never in a million years would she expect you to be the first to please her, she always imagined her pleasing you first. Yet here you are, on your knees just for her.

"May I?" You ask, your eyes trained on her center. Paige doesn't trust her voice and nods vigorously.

"Need to hear you babe," you tease her again. "Can't forget the rules now."

"Fuck the rules," she says and you take that as a green light.

You spread her legs even further apart as your tongue licks a strip of her. The moan she lets out is ungodly. One of her hands is placed on the back of your head while the other shoots its way to cover her mouth. You kiss her bundle of nerves and begin to work.

"Fuck ma, so good. So so good," she mutters as you work on her. One of your hands comes up to massage her left breast. You pick up the speed as moans fall freely from her mouth.

"Just like that, YES, oh fuck," her words coming out in breathy strings. "Close," Paige yells, not able to think of any other words.

You slow your movements to a stop and Paige whines. You look up at her with raised eyebrows as she looks down at you with furrowed ones. She watches you as you bring two of your fingers into your mouth sucking on them. She bites her lip as she watches you - anticipating your next move.

You brush over her sensitive bundle of nerves and her hips jerk forward, begging to be touched again.

You smile as you slowly line your fingers at her entrance. You kiss her thigh as your fingers enter her. Paige moans your name and you watch her in awe. All you want to do is make her feel good.

Your fingers work in her as your begin to suck on her center again. Paige is fisting the couch as she lets out moans left and right.

"Don't stop. Please don't stop," she moans as her back arches off the couch pushing her core closer to you. You work her through her high as she repeatedly says your name.

When she slumps against the couch, you remove your fingers and begin to kiss back up her stomach.

"That was so hot," you say as you kiss her lips.

"You are so hot," she says breathlessly. Her hand coming to cup your face and kissing you again. She tugs at your shirt and you break the kiss, allowing her to remove your shirt.

Paige stands and tells you to jump, which you gladly do, and wrap your legs around her waist. She immediately establishes dominance in the kiss as she walks you to her room. She lays you on the bed and in one swoop has your shorts off. You stare at her with your mouth agape and she just smirks down at you.

Paige crawls over you, causing you to squirm, and comes to kiss you. Your hands come to cup her breasts as she hovers over you. She breaks the kiss and laughs.

"What?" You ask.

She looks down at your hands on her chest and you feel yourself blush, immediately removing them.

"Don't stop," she says shifting her weight to bring your hands back to them. "Touch them, kiss them, suck them as much as you want - I meant it when I said they're all yours."

You smile and bite your lip.

"Never thought you would be a boob girl," she says chuckling, lowering herself to kiss you again. She kisses down your neck leaving all the marks in the world.

"Just yours, you say. "S'cute and little."

"Hey!" Paige jokes but you just pull her back to you. Your hand s come to claw at her back as you stifle moans whenever she finds a particularly sensitive spot.

She kisses down your stomach and grabs the waistband of your intimates, pulling them down with her teeth. You watch her as intently as she watched you just ten minutes ago.

Her lips meet your inner thighs as she hooks her arms around your legs to spread them and grab your ass.

"I've been dreaming about this forever," she says as kisses closer to your center. "How you would look spread out on my bed." You moan at her words and buck your hips craving any sort of friction.

"How you taste," she says as her tongue finds your center. She then goes to work making you feel good. You are a moaning mess as she is now the one feasting on you.

She slows down, removing her lips from your skin uses her thumb to keep a rhythm.

"Open up for me, ma," she says bringing two of her fingers up to your lips. You obey and welcome them in, swirling your tongue around them.

"Good girl," she says as she removes them, sinking down to where she just previously was. Her fingers begin to work in you as her lips attach to you once again.

"Paige," you moan. "Yes, Paige. PAIGE."

You are releasing in no time. Body twitching as you ride out your high. She removes her fingers from you but Paige doesn't stop. Her tongue keeps working on your overstimulated center. Your hands come to her head as your thighs close around her head.

"Paige!" You scream but she keeps going. She doesn't care if you suffocate her - hearing your moans and tasting you has her on a whole new high she never wants to come down from.

"Paige! Ahhh!" You are now trying to pull her head from you. She is relentless. Before you know it you are on cloud 9 once again.

After your ride your second high you fall back against the bed. Paige finally removes herself and lays next to you.

"Holy shit," you say breathless.

Paige laughs and pulls you into her side.

"Babe, we are just getting started," she says and begins to kiss your shoulder.

Your relationship with Paige grows. The two of you continue your time at UConn and are now known as a couple but will always be best friends first.

The two of you walk side by side into Paige's multiple injuries - you being there every step of her recovery and keeping her sane when she feels like she is going crazy. Encouraging her to work on her mental game and not rush the healing process, knowing she wants to get back on the court as soon as possible. You keep her grounded.

Side by side when she decides to stay at UConn for a fifth year - which Geno gladly accepts and knows you would be staying on the coaching staff. He hires you full-time after you graduate but knows you will be going wherever Paige gets drafted.

Side by side when she carries the team back to the final four and then to the championship. Although if anyone were to ask you, and they did, you would say you played a major part in getting them back to the championship. Ultimately winning it all.

Side by side when Paige goes to the draft and gets drafted to the WNBA - moving to a new city and beginning life outside of Storrs.

Side by side when she asks you to marry her, with your dad's permission of course. Letting you plan the wedding of your dreams which really only included her. She watches as you plan the perfect day for both of you and always makes sure that she is okay with your decisions.

Side by side in life. When you tell people about your story, Paige tells them that the two of you have been together since before high school. She likes to say she knew you were the one for her when you walked into the gym during summer training before freshman year. This always gets you to roll your eyes, knowing she actually didn't like you until the end of freshman year but you let her tell the story her way. And you do, you always let her tell your story her way because it never ceases to amaze you how her eyes light up even brighter each time.

You look at Paige and you know. Know that there is no one else on this earth who is a better fit for you. No one who could ever love you better or be better for you than she. You know when you are side by side with her, you have nothing to fear, nothing to worry about because it's Paige. And to you, Paige is your home.

AN: WE DID IT BAN-FAM! WE DID IT! Let me know how you feel about this whole journey, I would genuinely love to know. And as always, thank you for the love and support 💙

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers imagine #paige x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers masterlist #teach me series

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mayuichi · 9 months ago

Text

How your partner reacts when you're on your periods.

Include:

Genshin Impact [Heizou, Lyney, Wriothesley, Alhaitham]

Honkai: Star Rail [Veritas Ratio & Kafka]

Bungo Stray Dogs [Tetcho Suehiro & Jouno Saigiku]

Moriarty the Patriot [William James Moriarty]

Content warning: fem!reader (I'm not comfortable enough to include transgender, I don't know enough about it, sorry :(), blood, and just.. anything related to menstrual cycles, mention of past encounters [More into Ratio's part, slightly in Tetcho and Jouno's part, lots lots LOTS of petnames [especially in Kafka's part].

note: im on my periods, im literally dying if im not on some specific painkillers, so im fucking numb and it makes me sleepy but i wanted to do something extremely fluff for it. and i have lost my yellow...

Every art used are the official one (except the chibi of Jouno, Tetcho and William, credit to the rightful owners of which I don't have any name!), I've just poorly edited them!

You have agreed to join your boyfriend for lunch, and so now, you're in his office at the commission. But what you have not expected is that while chatting together, a sharp pain flood your stomach. You curl up, eyes wide from the sudden pain. Heizou stares at you, and chuckles. He grins, crossing his legs, “Is my darling in pain? How sad. Are you on your monthly?„

He isn't taking your pain seriously that's for sure. You give him a death glance that he ignores. He leans closer to nudge your elbow, giving a gentle kiss on your temple. But you pushed him away. Heizou's eyebrows raise, and when you wince in pain, he sighs and moves his chair next to yours. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pressing you against him.

“Baby, it'll be okay. Do you need anything?„ he stares at you. He knows he can't actually understand the pain you're into, but he doesn't want to just leave you like that. He carefully takes your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. His breath brushes against your ear, “I'm here. I know you can handle it. I'll go get some medicines and you stay here, alright?„

It isn't like you would go on a walk right now anyway. He feels bad for leaving you alone, even if for just a short time. He kisses your cheek one last time before hurrying out. You can't do much in the meantime, except bear with the pain.

But when he comes back in with some medicines, he praises you. He gives you a glass of water with it, and waits for you to take them. He is supposed to have work, but honestly... He knows even if he takes a day or two for you, he'll manage in time. Nothing escapes him after all.

All he wants right now is to ensure you're comfort... despite this time. He'll take some paperwork he needs to do anyway to work onto at home. Whenever you need help with something, you just need to call his name, even in the faintest voice possible, and you'll hear his footsteps coming closer.

You need help to stand up without falling? He'll support you. You want him to make your meals? He'll do it, no matter what you want. You need help to shower? He'll be there. You can stain your clothes or the sheets, it won't bother him. He'll change it and clean it.

Even if every month you have the right to see him joking around, if it gets as serious, he will take the time to make it easier. He loves you too dearly to let you go through this by yourself.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *. *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ☽ ✧˖*°࿐ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lyney and Lynette's magic show. Despite what happened on their first show in the Opera House, they continued. And now, they can even do a second show there! Of course, as his beloved girlfriend, he asked if you could watch over their rehearsal. You couldn't leave him now, could you? So you accepted. And beside, a free show just for you, from your boyfriend and your sister-in-law. Who would refuse?

His piercing gaze is on you, all the time. Only flickering over Lynette from time to time. He wants to make you proud, to let you see how perfect he is in what he does. Well, you already know it, but he wants you to be sure of it. And like a child, you're amazed an every tricks, even the tiniest.

But that joy is soon replaced by a sudden discomfort. Luckily, it's right when they're done. So when you see him head backstage to check on some things, you curl up on your seat. You hoped it wouldn't start now, but sometimes life loves to annoy you. You whine quietly, feeling blood trickle down. It's an awful feeling, but right now you can't do a single thing about it.

Footsteps echo in the empty place, and suddenly nothing. You hesitantly look up, to see his figure towering you on the stage. His eyes are filled with worry. He hates to see you like that. Jumping off the stage, he closes the distance between the two of you and caresses your back carefully.

“Ma chérie, what's wrong? Why are you...„ he sighs. He kneels down before you. He leans closer, pressing his forehead against yours. “I'm here.„ it isn't much, but that's all you need. You breath out heavily, your cheeks flushed pink. It's embarrassing, but it isn't like it's not natural.

With his gentle strokes on your back, you see Lynette on the stage, staring at the both of you emotionlessly. She then crosses her arms and clears her throat. “... I get it. Wait here.„ you don't actually get what she means, but Lyney just tells you to dismiss it. He knows his sister well after all. She won't do anything bad to you. Plus, she grew rather fond of you too. As long as you don't hurt Lyney, she'll be glad he found the right person for him.

Several minutes after, she comes pack with a small package in hands and places it next to you. She gives you a discreet smile, and proceeds to pull Lyney's ear, which makes him wince in pain. “Come with me, let her some privacy for a minute or two.„ she brings him with her, allowing you to be alone in the Opera House. If we forget about the backstages, but they don't see you.

Opening the box, there's a few protections in it. You're glad she's willing to help you. After some moment alone, Lyney barges in again, and wraps you in his arms. Lynette did for sure tell him.. “I'll fetch you any medicine, anything you need. Just say so, darling. I'll be here.„

He's so loving, especially to his family. And well, aren't you a part of it now? His family is everything, and so are you. He's busy with his duty as a fatui of course, as well as his shows, but whenever he has the time, he checks on you. Either because you accompany him, or by coming home for a bit. But he knows while he's away, he can ensure you to Freminet or Arlecchino. Even if the latter can be dangerous... She has seen great things coming from Lyney ever since he's with you. So if taking care of you means having one of her children being even better, she would do it.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ . ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

The Duke. Someone to fear, to never question. He knows what he does. He may jokes around with some of the prisoners, but one wrong movement and he'll make them understand their place. But if there's one person that can make his heart melt at any of their words, it's his girlfriend. Oh, how much he loves her. She's his everything. The amount of time he mentions her to Sigewinne. It became clear to everyone. If they mess with her, they'll experience Wriothesley's wrath.

And once more, he finds himself thinking of you while doing some paperwork to give to Neuvillette. You're just so much more appealing than some papers.. But he has to do them, so he will. He sighs loudly, the only sound in his office is the paper he puts aside. But then, he hears the door downstairs being opened. At first, he just thinks it's Sigewinne once again, coming to give her report.

But instead, he sees you climbing up the stairs, tears threatening to spill. His mind fills with worry and anger at the thought of you being in pain. Is it because of him, or did someone hurt you? He stands up to meet you, a hand resting on your lower back for support. You cling on his shirt, as if your life depends on it.

He helps you sit down, before his voice reverberates through his office. “Dear, what is it? Did anything happened?„ the worry isn't even hidden in his voice. He just wants you to be okay, but you're currently not. You try your best to not whimper your pain, but it's seemingly impossible. He shushes you, his strong arms envelopping you in a warm embrace.

After some minutes, you manage to croak out your problem. It doesn't faze him. Of course, it isn't something he will ever fully comprehend, but he isn't bothered by it. You aren't the first one he gets with, but you'll be the last for sure. He lets out a relieved sigh. “It's only that? I'm reassured. Let me go find Sigewinne. She will know better than me.„

He kisses your forehead, leaving his office. The minutes seem endless, alone in there. But it's not long until their voices echo. Sigewinne carries some medicine and Wriothesley has a warm patch to press against your belly.

Needless to say, you spend the rest of the day in his arms while he works. He soothes you and goes to warm again the patch whenever you mention it's getting colder. He's careful to carry you back to your quarters when his work is over. He helps you in any way he can and that you need.

He looks tough and cold on the outside, but he's just a softie for you. He wants to give you the best care when you're unwell. And he will do just that for the rest of the week.

-ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ‧̫‧ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛-

It's always weird to people. How can Alhaitham has been capable to get a girlfriend? And more specifically, someone like you? It's probably one of the reason why Alhaitham can still handle Kaveh. It's thanks to him he met you. You're Kaveh's best friend at first. And well, now... You're his girlfriend.

You don't actually live with the both of them, but you do spend a lot of time to their place, that much is true. Kaveh is locked in his room, working on his current project. In those moments, impossible to make him get out of his cavern. So you can't call him out for help. Your stomach, or more precisely, your womb is painful. The joy of being a woman one would say!

Yet, you're not sure Alhaitham would be the person the most... suitable to help you. You're in an incapacity to stand up without risking to fall. Your legs are too shaky from the pain. But he's the only one who could help. So you call his name.

Maybe he is too busy reading, or that he is once again wearing his soundproof earbuds. In any case, he just doesn't hear your calls. Whimpers fall from your lips as you support yourself, keeping your hand against the wall. It's painful, and you wish you didn't had to be all alone. You hardly manage to get to the living room.

Finding him reading, you get closer, falling in his lap, your head pressing against his torso. You take the book from his hand and throw it on the other side of the couch. He gives you a cold stare, sighing. “Go on, explain your behaviours.„ he's stern. He doesn't like the actions you just have done.

He waits for an answer, but all you can mutter is that it hurts. You look up at him, trying not to tear up from the pain. He tilts his head, a hint of worry in his eyes. “Mind if you start from the start?„ he wants to help you, but he can't if you don't spit out what troubles you, can he? You just whisper that it's that time of the month, and his eyes open a little wider.

He isn't embarrassed, this man knows. It isn't such topic that could cause him to lose his cool. He's just unsure of what to do. He has read about what could alleviate the pain, but never tried it for.. obvious reasons.

He carefully places you on the couch, so he can stand up and go to the kitchen. Heating some water, he fills some sort of bottle once he thinks it's hot enough. He sets it on the table, gently pushing you to lay down. He then lifts up a blanket, making sure you can't be cold.

After making sure you're comfortable, Alhaitham picks up the bottle once again, and let it settle over your stomach. After what, he pulls a chair to sit on, letting the couch to you only. He strokes your head with one hand, and with the other, he picks his book once again. He can't just leave you alone, knowing that no one would be here in the meantime. So he'll wait for Kaveh to come out of his room to request him to go find some medicines for you.

Even if he isn't one to be overly affectionate, he wouldn't leave you to rot there. He can even read to you if it can occupy you! Well, not that he has any books of your interest but... His voice is soothing enough to guide you to sleep to be sure you won't be in pain that way. And throuhough your nap, he'll be looking over you. Perhaps you've became his weakness, but he loves it. But don't dare try to make him admit it.

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐒˚ ◌༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ⋆·˚ ༘ *︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚༊*·˚

Is it wise to have him as your boyfriend? Probably not. Especially when he wants to play a board game with you. The worst is probably chess. You know how to play it, but Veritas... He knows every move you're about to do. He can predict you in an instant. You're too easy to read for him.

But today, it's different. It isn't that he can't predict you but... You aren't even making sense. You seem lightheaded, unfocused. It isn't even fun to play with someone who isn't trying. He sighs and stares at you. It isn't amusing anymore, so he'll find his fun somewhere else.

A smirk spreads on his lips, and he leans in closer. “Oh, dear. Are you so lost now? Is it that you don't believe you will ever beat me?„ he enjoys it. He knows you'll never beat him on his own territory, after all. But you're just... Off. Even his words don't make you flinch. “Even ignoring me now. What will I do of you.„

And yet, you still don't react. That pain in your stomach, those cramps.. They make you incapable to register anything. But when he leans over the table to tower you and sliding two fingers under your chin, your few strength focus on his upcoming words. “Have I fucked you so good last night you're still on cloud nine?„

That grin. It makes you want to punch him so bad. It isn't about that, even if of course, he had done a great job. You let out a soft growl, pushing his hand away. You're tempted to yell at him, but he has nothing to do with your predicament. So you take a deep breath.

You crudely mention your periods, and the colours on his face fade away. As if life has left his body. He didn't saw it coming. He coughs slightly, clearing his throat. He may have forgotten that women like you have those. He straightens himself up, glancing away.

“Ahem... It seems my comments were... Unwelcomed. How could I help you, darling? Perhaps some... some medicines could help the pain?„ you have rarely seen the Veritas Ratio so.. nervous and unsettled. His confident trait disappeared in an instant. You can't help but smile at that.

But he is a man of intellect, he had to study those type of things before. He doesn't know much, but from what he knows, medicines can help, as well as some positions, or even hot water. He gathers some pillows for you, as well as a blanket. He pampers you, not only because he loves you, but certainly in an way to apologise for his inappropriate words.

He'll still have some work to do, but he'll check upon you, he'll make sure to be there if you call for him. And everytime, before leaving you, he makes sure to let you the TV remote, and to kiss your cheek. He may be arrogant, he wouldn't let you down.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ੈ✩‧₊˚ೃ⁀➷˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚.ೃ࿐

Dating a Stellaron Hunter? Are you actually crazy? Well, perhaps you are. But it isn't important now... Is it? Kafka hasn't seen you the whole day. You stayed in your shared bedroom! How impolite of you to not come and say hi. She knocks on the door, her seductive voice reaching your ears. “Sweetie, why don't you come out of your den? It isn't nice to not come greet everyone.„

She doesn't care. She just wants you with her when she's not on a mission. To your silence, she opens the door, clicking her tongue, her heels tapping over the floor. “Tsk tsk, darling. You shouldn't keep me... Oh.„ she sees you, curled up under the blanket, and a giggle escapes her lips. Her heels are the only sound in the room as she approaches the bed.

Kafka sits next to your laying form, her hand reaching out to caress your hair. “Is my baby struggling? How unfortunate. Well, I understand more why you didn't came yet. Come on, come here dolly.„ she slowly cradled you in her arms, kissing your forehead. Her arms wrapped around your waist, she sees the stained sheets and sighs.

“You should've called me. Now, sweetheart. Let's get you cleaned. I'll accompany you to the bathroom, and while you shower, I'll prepare everything, alright? Just think of yourself.„ she helps you stand up, opening the bathroom door and steadying you when you get in the bathtub. She then closes the door behind her, allowing you some privacy.

She knows a bath, even just a shower, can help a little with the pain and the dirty feeling. So while you wash yourself off, she takes off the sheets and casts it aside for now. Pulling on some new ones, she leaves the room to get to the kitchen and prepare a hot water bottle, wrapped in a silk cloth to prevent the heat from burning your poor skin. She also gathers different medicines, in different ways to take.

Once everything is settled on the nightstand, she makes the bed, preparing it in the way you love the most when you need comfort: like a little nest for you to hide in, and for her to join you.

Several minutes pass and you still don't come out, so she knocks on the bathroom door. “Princess, is everything alright ? Do you need help?„ her voice, it's so evident she can hypnotise anyone with it. It's what you love the most, with the way she treats you.

You tell her she can come in, and she sees you, waiting for her to help you stand up. Your feet are wet now, and with how unsteady you are, you could fall and hurt yourself. She can't allow her baby to get hurt now, can she?

Kafka tends to your every needs, helping you drying and dressing up, showing you the different medicines. Once you take it, she lets you get comfortable in your nest. She carefully places the hot bottle against your belly. Even if the medicine is supposed to ensure the cramps aren't as painful, she wants to make sure you won't be in pain.

She lets a water bottle on the nightstand in case you get thirsty, and also gathers books on it. As well as the TV remote. She won't let you get bored. She closes the curtains, letting you use the soft lights of the room to be all cozy.

She'll go back to Blade and Silver Wolf, but every now and then, she comes in. And if she doesn't and you need something, she warned you to use your phone. It's one of the rare time where she'll be at your services. She knows how painful it can be to some women, and she's glad she doesn't experience it that way. But she can't help the pity when she sees her beloved in pain every month. So all she wants is to pamper you until you're feeling better.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.✧☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

It was weird. To be seen outside with a Hunting Dog. But you got used to the stares eventually, and he did too. On his days off, if he even has some, he isn't a Hunting Dog but you're lover. But needless to say there is time you don't see him in a week. Those times.. They make you sad, or upset. But you can't just ask him to change that. He wishes to keep on going, and you just want to support him. So you will.

And whenever Tetcho comes back home, hearing the door slamming shut, you come to him like a happy puppy to its master. He loves it. It's so sweet of you. Most of the time, when he warns you beforehand of his arrival, you prepare a little something for it. Either being a gift, a snack, or even sometimes some more.. naughty things.

But today, he doesn't even see you at the doorstep! He calls out your name when his head pops from the living room's doorframe. And he sees you watching TV with a blanket over you. He smiles at the sight. It's so nice, to come home to his beloved. Even perhaps his future wife when the day will come!

He steps closer, sitting beside you and instantly wraps his arms around your waist. He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, taking in your sweet scent. You usually wore either sweet scents like vanilla, chocolate, and such, or flowery ones. You look down at him with a faint smile.

He hasn't seen the pills over the table. Well, good for you, it avoids some unecessary questions. It's always so cute to see him wanting to spend some quality time with you once he's home. Under your confused gaze, he takes the remote and turns of the TV, before trying to carry you bridal style. But you're fast to ask him to stop.

And so he does. He places you back down on the sofa, and tilts his head. “... Is something wrong baby?„ he inquires in a low yet gentle tone. You look away in embarrassment. It isn't easy to actually mention anything relating your menstruation, but well.. You couldn't let him worry. In a whisper, barely audible, you admit the issue.

His cheeks take a soft pink tint. Tetcho hasn't seen that coming, but it doesn't change the fact he'll spend quality time there! He slowly reaches out to squeeze your hand in his, “Have you taken medicine for the pain? Do you need me to go get some? Or would you like some hot water?„

You shake your head vigorously. That man is so caring. You point the box of pills on the table, and he nods. Yet, he still checks how many remains. “There won't be enough for the week.. I'll get you some when you'll be napping.„ he smiles. He's glad the medicine works their magic on you. He gets you back under the blanket, to the only exception he's beside you now, under it too.

And instead of watching some sad and upsetting news, you just get on some random kids' shows to keep in the background while he cuddles you. He has too much love to share. He faces pain and death on a daily basis, he can't allow it upon you yet, not while he's here. He'll always do anything within his powers to make it more comfortable for you.

⌦ .｡.:*♡◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

How can someone like him be so... Upsetting ? It's incredible. You hate his guts, and yet, it made you fall for him. You fell for someone you didn't wanted to love. But you can't actually complain.. Jouno makes you happy, doesn't he? He isn't so often home, but whenever he's, he loves to piss you off.

Starting by the tiniest of it. He knows cooking isn't what you exceed in, so whenever he doesn't smell any food scent in particular, he mocks you for ordering. But today, the scent in the apartment... it makes him smirk.

He can scent it, your blood. He has bitten hard enough on you during those nights to recognise that scent. But if you would've been in danger, you would've called him, and no one could have bitten you so hard. So you could only have your monthly.

Coming in the bedroom without knocking, he leans against the doorframe and stares in your direction. If he could, he would bury you with his gaze. “My, my, what do we have here? Someone laying there like a little worm, doing nothing at all.„

“To say I'm almost getting killed while you lazily wander around, I've truly decided to have such a girlfriend. What a pity, isn't it?„ you know deep down he just messes with you. But you hate it. Right now, you wish he would just shut up and leave you alone.

“Come on, it doesn't hurt that much. Beside, I've had worst, didn't I? It's not like you're getting stabb-!„ he abruptly stops. It surprises him. He was too busy mocking you he hadn't seen the pillow coming to his face. His eyebrows raise, and he sighs. He can sense you, there, helplessly curling up. He knows you had taken some medicines that were just a little effective, but not enough to calm you down.

Jouno doesn't want to show his weaknesses, not to you, not to anyone. He has been weak enough before, he can't let himself be there again. But he can't let you suffer alone. So he takes some steps closer, sitting on the bed. And reluctantly, he opens his arms, “... Come on. Before I change my mind.„

Your eyes widen in surprise, but you wouldn't deny such an offer. You slowly crawl to him, sitting in his lap and nestling your head against his chest. His arms wrap around your frame, embracing you against him. His breath is softly brushing against your hair, and you could hear his heartbeat like that.

You're content, his left hand caressing your back in soothing motions, as he tries to shush your whimpers, and take your pain away. “There, there. You're not alone. I'm back home. It'll be alright. The medicine will eventually work. For now, take a nap. Once you're asleep, I will get you some more to try.„

His voice, it soothes you. He isn't bad deep down, it just takes time for him to let his guard down, even for you. But he loves you, oh so dearly. If his morals weren't there, he could kill for you. You're his only weakness, the only thing he'd get on his knees for.

As sleep embraced you, you could hear a faint murmur falling from his lips. “I love you too much to let you stay in that pain, darling.„

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The famous Lord of Crime. Throuhough London he is known, even feared, despite no one knowing his true nature. No one beside his associates and you, his fiancée. Well, he hasn't properly proposed to you yet, but you both have talken about your wishes and.. It's obvious he wants to marry you. You have caught his heart. And Louis is thankful for that! Better you than Sherlock apparently...

And in the morning, William has seen a stain on the sheets... Ah, that explains your groggy behaviour when you left for the bathroom. It makes him chuckle, he can't lie. But it pains him, truly! He has to attend to work today... So while waiting for the bathroom to be free, he goes to Louis, informing him of a “very important mission„ only he can take care of.

Louis rolls his eyes at the mention of your menstruation. But it made him laugh that William takes it so seriously. The latter goes and changes the sheets while waiting for you. He knows you'll take quite the time, so he borrows the second bathroom. Wearing his signature brown three piece suit.

When you emerge out of the bathroom, he comes to meet you half way, giving you a lingering kiss as he takes your hand. “You're quite aggressive this morning, aren't you?„ he chuckles sweetly. His laugh.. It's the sweetest thing you ever heard. He guides you to the library, letting you rest on a plush armchair. Louis comes behind him with a soft and fluffy blanket to put over you.

“Just rest for today, darling. I am sorry I have to let you, but you know how it is.. I can't do otherwise for now. But I'm sure Louis will be wonderful to take care of you while I'm away.„ he gives a slight nod to his younger brother, before leaning to kiss your forehead.

And so, Louis is the one to tend to your needs while your fiancé is away. He even asks Fred if he can't go find some things, so he could make a concoction that could help your pain. Even if he dislikes the idea of William getting away from him, Louis appreciates you. You aren't disrespectful, on the opposite. He even likes the way William is around you.

You're glad you're accepted in their little family, and even toward his associates and friends. You busy yourself reading books or chatting with Louis. He even gets you the perfect tea for you.

And by the time William gets home, you're fast asleep on the chair. You look so peaceful, he can't bring himself to wake you up. So he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, and presses a kiss on your cheek. Exceptionally, he spends his time in the library instead of his office, just to keep an eye over you.

Every chat he can have, he's cautious to not be too loud. And when you'll stir awake, he'll cautiously step closer to ask if you're feeling any better. The rest of the week goes on the same way, and every night, William carefully carries you to bed, and soothes you to sleep, caressing your belly.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚︵‿︵‿୨✧༺♥༻∞୧‿︵‿︵‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

/ᐠ - ˕ •マ Ⳋ mayuchi's property. do not repost, copy or translate without permission.

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andy-wm · 4 months ago

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Back to WHO : the MV

This is a continuation of the earlier post that discusses the song WHO, by Jimin. That post was a first impression focused on the lyrics - while this one looks more closely at the MV.

(Remember this is my interpretation, not an official statement by Hybe)

The more times I watched the music video, the more I wanted to yell, because look...

IT'S REALLY STARING US IN THE FACE.

And again, kudos to Jimin's team because it's the most obvious thing in the world ever but only if you ALREADY KNOW what's going on.

Here's a summary:

The music video loosely represents Jimin's attraction/sexuality/love life as a timeline.

New colours - a new spectrum shall we say - filter into his life even though he's trying so hard to 'keep to the program'.

He searches high and low for a girl to love, but alas, nobody makes the fireworks happen for him. Then Billboard Boy crashes into his life, threatening to destroy everything. Jimin has to weather the storm and figure out where his place is because Billboard Boy is a major disruptor - a tornado in fact. In the end, the fireworks are popping and the chaos is happening, and Jimin has to just go with it and finds his place again. His colours have been getting brighter and louder as he goes along and in the end he's prepared to walk away from everything in order to be the spectrum he is.

<<I'm not saying it's literally a count of how many girls or boys or enbys he's kissed. I hope his kissed all of them and then some, frankly, but that's none of my business.>>

A few things to pay special attention to:

Burning cars > cars = masculinity. fire = hot. 1+1=2.

Dancers > people he's interacting with

Rough weather, as represented by the wind-whipped papers and eventually even cars being tossed about the set > His attraction to men (and dare I say it, culminating in a focus on one man in particular)

Colour flares, machine text, and marks on the tape (horizontal lines etc)

Are you ready? Let's go...

Jimin enters the scene looking like sex on legs (no surprises) and strolls casually onto the road. Immediately our view of hm is blocked by a pop-art style poster blowing across the screen. It's immediately followed by a car coming around the corner onto the road. The car is on fire. Jimin watches it pass by and follows it.

He follows the burning car.... and so it begins.

The narrative starts from before BTS even exists. Jimin encounters several female dancers who he has brief and sexy interludes with. In fact i don't think there's a single woman in this MV who he doesn't at least look at. He really does try everything (and everyone) in his efforts to find HER.

BUT WAIT.... rewind...

Let's go back to the poster... it depicts a street scene much like the one we see here, with the words:

WHO IS!! TORNADO OF LOVE

Note: those are exclamation points not question marks.

It's not a question. This is telling us UP FRONT IN BIG LETTERS that 'WHO' is tornado of love.

I could probably stop here and just say 'ok go watch it again' but it's too much fun to go through all the details.

So let's continue...

Jimin has a little more steamy choreo with the female dancers before the lyrics tell us he has so many people to see and places to go, and he leaves them and joins 6 other men in what looks like a work environment....

Hello we are BTS!

Yes you guessed it... like Yoongi did in Haegum, Jimin has his members represented here. (Fan chant going off in my head...) and more delicious choreography follows.

Notice that while Jimin was dancing with the girls, the only signs of rough weather were a few glittery specs floating through the air, barely noticable. Those bits of glitter multiply when he joins the 6 men, and instead of a sprinkling of glitter, it starts looking like a light snowfall.

That's all about to change....

The first moment of reckonning:

At the end of this section of choreo, as Jimin sings 'who is my heart waiting for' and moves into the next phase we have a barely visible flash of light across the screen and rainbow colours bleed into the footage (at 1.14).

This is also the moment the significant rough weather starts. I'd say this is where Jimin starts noticing how he feels, and the turmoil begins, because this is also where he makes eye contact with the camera (1.23).

He sees us watching.

Fuck. I had a moment here. There's a look on his face as he walks past the camera and stares right into it.

AUTO CALLIBRATION...

As another millisecond flash of light and rainbow colours seep into the footage, The machine text 'AUTO CALLIBRATION' appear on the screen and flash there for a couple of seconds.

CALLIBRATE: To standardise... by determinning the deviation from a standard so as to ascertain the proper correction factors (Meriam-Webster definition).

"Get a hold of yourself, Jimin. Reset (your behaviour and desires) to correspond with expectations"

Jimin makes a very determined bee-line for the nearest girl and dances with her, ignoring the burning car in the foreground.

This brings us to the next phase of the narrative, and the next location - the performance space in front of the OASIS cinema.

(Do you see the doors of the cinema - BTS referenced again).

As he dances with this girl, the camera zooms out and we see that a crowd has gathered outside the cinema, watching them, but the crowd does not seem friendly and the dance seems performative - the movements are exagerated and obvious. The girl has Jimin in a headlock at one point and then she pushes him away and leaves. All in all it's an unpleasant event.

At this point the BTS members return (Although now there's one missing) and they dance with and around a number of female dancers. flashes go off in the crowd as the choreo is performed.

As they dance the wind picks up quickly and papers and cans are blown about. Even when Jimin is obviously interacting with female dancers the weather continues to pick up. Dancing with the girls isn't helping.

The camera pulls back and we see the same car as before, still on fire.

This is the moment when the penny (or billboard) drops.

All the other dancers scatter, dissapearing in a matter of seconds as the billboard comes crashing down. The billboard blocks his path. Wherever he had been planning to go - or whatever course of action he had planned to take - this man on the billboard forces a new decision. Jimin has to rethink his plans.

Jimin turns and goes in the opposite direction to everyone else. (A similar scene occured in Like Crazy, Jimin going the other way, rejecting the norm, going against the tide).

The machine text flashes "REWIND ... REWIND" on the screen and we see Jimin heading back to where all this started... where the original car on fire was seen.

He's travelling his own path now, but as he walks, alone in what seems to be the wrong direction, we see the store lights brighter, reflecting off cars and filling the space around him.

He's going through the motions with the girls he passes but the interactions are brief and in one case he actually dodges the girl completetly.

He retraces his steps amidst the chaos, and the weather really goes nuts. Now there are cars being thrown through the air, streetlamps exploding. The storm is almost upon him.

As Jimin steps into that original street again, the one with the neon letters spelling BLISS, the machine text reads PLAY. It's almost ike he's having a redo, where he accepts who he is from the start and allows the chaos to happen. And the chaos DOES happen, because the tornado has arrived.

THE TORNADO OF LOVE.

There's a flash and the whole screen is flooded with colours, blanking out the footage.

Jimin can no longer dance in step with everyone else at this point. He's doubled over, belting those high notes at the climax of the song while the chaos rages in the background. Without the music to give his actions context, it almost looks like hes in agony.

Sparks fly, lights flash, even the film itself is affected...

He eventually gets it together and rejoins the choreography, picking up his life so to speak. But his callibration is forever changed. the colours that bled into his life are there for good now, and and as he walks away after the music stops, we see that those colours are not just for the performance, they exist outside of that.

A note about the light flares we see throughout the MV:

It was really hard to catch these, some of them were literal milliseconds. I had to slow the MV down to play at .25 original speed and even then they were fleeting - well hidden.

Only the one at the very end was really visible.

In this one, the word PAUSE appears, as the MV ends. I wonder if that relates to their military service?

The flares of light and colour, those rainbow flashes, aren't always easy to find. Youvhave to be prepared to seek them out.

We will find them if we look for them, but i think Jimin won't show his true colours until after the lights go down and the performance is over.

I respect his decision (if that's what that is) and i will continue to meet him here his stands. I'll support everything he does knowing what I know and I'll continue to search for and uncover the hidden messages he sends us.

#park jimin #jikook #국민 #bts jimin #park jimin who #jimin who #tornado of love #jimin muse

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dailypenpen · 10 months ago

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What do Genshin Men think of with you in their arms? (pt. 2)

characters: Alhaitham, Wriothesley, and Childe

notes: overworked reader (Alhaitham). gn reader, only you pronouns used.

a/n: hello hi um make sure to like and subscribe!! Thank you all for your nice comments on my previous post :) this might not be as good as the prev one 🙇

HERE'S PART 1

Alhaitham thinks you're quite the unique person. You're on the verge of sleep, yet you insist on fighting the urge to shut your eyes. You try, and fail, to rub it out. Your pen is gripped loosely in your hands, your handwriting starting to appear like gibberish.

Alhaitham frowns at your actions, observing you with lidded eyes. Why are you so persistent in keeping yourself awake? Don't you realize that your body is already telling you that it wants to retire right now? He wonders if you got any sleep last night, with how your head is drooping so much. His eyebrows knit together in worry at your state.

You aren't even listening to him anymore, brushing it off with something along the lines of you're not tired. Your lies aren't backed up properly, Alhaitham points out, with how much you're yawning. You groan, now moving to ignore him completely. Your writing is now incomprehensible. You almost planted your face on your papers.

Well, drastic times call for drastic measures. You are in mighty need of a nap.

He grabs you by the shoulders, much like a mother cat with its kitten. He drags you away to the couch with ease. Your sleepy protests are left unheard as he gently sets you down onto the cushions. The moment your body feels the softness of it, your face melts with satisfaction. Alhaitham sighs, sitting next to you. He reaches for your head, letting it lean against his shoulders as the two of you relax.

He glances at you, your tired eyes finally closed. He looks down at your hands and intertwines them with his own. The corner of his lips turned up at the soft sight of it. Who would have thought that someone like him would end up with someone like you? It's puzzling, really. But he chooses not to question it, settling on focusing on you.

Alhaitham presses a soft kiss on your head, his other hand running through your hair. He takes in your features, taking in the ethereal beauty that your entire being exudes. He leans in close, wanting to look at you even more clearly. Tracing the curves of your face, studying it with precision. His eyes trained to look at every part of your face that he deems the most wonderful piece of art his eyes ever laid on. Beating even Kaveh's best work, he muses to himself.

You stir, blinking awake your eyes in hopes that you can catch a peek of him. You try to subtly glance at him but you didn't expect him to look at you like that. To look at you with such softness, with such fondness. With such great intent, great purpose. You can feel your cheeks flush at his heavy gaze. Like by just looking at you, he might find all the answers he seeks.

"Take your rest now, sunshine. You deserve it."

Wriothesley thinks that he is one damn lucky guy. The two of you decided to go on a much needed date after not seeing each other for so long. You wanted to go to this one restaurant, fancy decorations and equally fancy food to be paired with a lovely night together. Of course, who was he to say no to you? He missed spoiling you, hugging you, giving you all the love you rightfully deserve. But work had made both of you busy, so it's no wonder why he immediately jumped to the offer of a date.

He leans against a building near the restaurant, occasionally looking at his pocket watch. He's wearing something more formal, yet still so distinctively him. Wriothesley tugs on his tie, Sigewinne must have tied it a bit too tight for his own liking. It takes half a mind for him to resist the urge to loosen it.

He glances at the people around him, whispering amongst themselves. He knows that some people are looking at him with surprise. The Duke, out in public? Not on official business? He smirks at the thought of their potential questions. The people here can't live without their gossip, can they?

Your voice suddenly calls out for him, Wriothesley instantly perking up. You're running towards him, a huge smile on your face. He opens his arms wide, and you take the cue to jump forwards. He doesn't so much as stumble when you both collide against one another. He wraps his arms around you, taking in your scent and warmth.

At this very moment, he thinks that all is finally well in this world.

You're almost floating off the ground, with Wriothesley lifting you up so that your face is close to his. Your huge grin from before is still present, your hands moving to cup both of his cheeks. He softens instantly, akin to a dog receiving pats from their owner. You could almost see a tail tagging from behind him.

He thinks you look absolutely gorgeous— almost ravishing if anything. You don't often wear clothes like this, but when you do he just relishes in it. He preps kisses on the palms of your hands, smile softening as he hears you chuckle at his actions. He sets you down, not before staring deep into your eyes and leaning ever so closely. He whispers to you, intending that you and only you can hear his proclamation of love. That only you can know about what he truly thinks of you.

"Sweetheart, do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

Childe thinks he might be in heaven. The two of you just finished a round of sparring with one another, covered in sweat and grim from it. He sighs in satisfaction, knowing that you beat him this time. He'd want nothing more than to shout out to the skies that he lost against his lover. Childe is proud that he lost, because it was against you. He'd be ok with losing, if it was you who was winning.

You lazily lean against his back, gasping for air. You wipe your sweat with your shirt as it hurriedly drips to the ground. All the while Childe is starring intently at you. You don't even notice the way he's looking at you, eyes focused on your exhausted figure. He whistles lowly, eyes glinting with a plan.

Who was he to deny himself of this opportunity?

Before you know it, you feel a weight on your back and you somehow manage not to fall under it. You screech in surprise, turning your head to look at Childe with wide eyes. You try to shake him off you but he's persistent in staying put. He only grins at you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling your neck. He doesn't care that he's sweaty or that you are too. All he wants right now is to be close to you, even if both of you are filthy and in desperate need for a bath.

You eventually give up, grumbling under your breath. Your hand unconsciously moves to his hair, ruffling it to get the dirt out. He hums in glee, eyes closed and hands tightening around you more. Childe wishes to stay like this forever but he knows that you'll immediately protest to his suggestion. What a bummer, he thinks to himself. You are much too comfortable to let go of. If he had it his way, he would have brought you both to the ground. That way, you won't be able to escape his hugs.

He kisses your cheek, reluctantly releasing you from his embrace. You turn to look at him, wanting to scold him. And dread goes to your face once you look at his playful face. What was he thinking this time? Surely he wouldn't want to spar again? Childe laughs at your expression, and he can almost hear what you're thinking. Really, can you blame him? You give him so much joy and happiness! Who was Childe if he wasn't going to chase that high?

Plus, it's you. He'll never get tired of you, no matter what you both do.

"C'mon babe, you can't be tired already! Come at me!"

Please consider liking and reblogging!!

#I was struggling help KSNIABEJS #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fluff #al haitham fluff #alhaitham #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley x you #childe x reader #childe x you #childe fluff #childe #tartaglia #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #penguin writings!!

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eddiediazismyhusband · 6 months ago

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Married Buddie Headcanons

==========

This came about from an ask by @mattsire and I have FINALLY gotten around to sitting down and typing them out— i would like everyone to know i now have a note in my notes app full of these with no context

==========

- everyone assumed buck would be the bridezilla, but in reality he was pretty tame compared to eddie who using the subtle excuse of “i never got to do this with my first wedding” to get his way on everything

- buck constantly made suggestive jokes about their wedding night in the weeks leading up to it, but when the night finally got there, buck passed out as soon as they reached the hotel room; eddie thought this was super adorable

- they don’t spoon in bed; they will spoon on the couch watching tv (alternating big spoon/little spoon) but when they lay down to sleep, they prefer to face each other so that the last thing they see before sleep and the first thing they see when they wake up is each other

- buck wakes up first every morning to make breakfast— he’s a big morning person anyway and he loves to cook for his boys— he absentmindedly hums or lightly sings as he cooks breakfast, and eddie will stand in the dining room, hiding behind the wall, to listen. buck has never caught him to this day.

- buck loves driving and eddie hates it, so more often than not eddie is buck’s passenger princess in the Jeep.

- eddie remains very professional when they are at work; there is the occasional stolen kiss, hand holding under the table, kiss on the cheek/forehead, but for the most part they stick to simply sitting next to each other whenever they can- their knees often pressing together. At home, however, eddie hangs off buck like a koala; as soon as he realized his feelings for buck, he could not get enough of touching/holding on to buck as often as he could, whether it be holding hands at dinner, wrapping his arms around buck from behind and tucking his chin over buck’s shoulder (or vice versa), cuddling on the couch, laying his head in buck’s lap, leaning his head on buck’s shoulder

- buck and eddie cannot agree on a shower temperature; they have only attempted the forray into sharing one time and ended up bickering about the temperature before eddie gave up and let buck win— they’ve never tried since

- eddie slips into saying spanish sweet-nothings to buck constantly, buck taking the time to learn all of them whenever he heard a new one

- buck will sometimes pull eddie close in his sleep so that their chests lie flush against each other and he can feel eddie’s heartbeat.

- they love going all out for their anniversary; fancy restaurant, night at a hotel, grand gestures. eddie likes to spoil buck and buck lets him because he knows how much eddie likes it

- buck is intento on following the anniversary gift list by year; hiding a secret clipboard on which he plans all future gifts for eddie as new ideas come to him (for their first anniversary, buck had gotten eddie a paper-scrap art piece that was a portrait of chris)

- eddie followed the anniversary gift list for their first anniversary only when he gifted buck official adoption papers for chris

- eddie kept his paper vows and keeps them in an antique box that was passed down from his abuelo; alongside it he keeps a small wallet-size photo that buck had taken of them early on in their friendship

- buck made a scrapbook photo album of their wedding and keeps it displayed on the coffee table as a coffee table book

- ik some people like the buckley-diaz hyphenation (and i am absolutely not against that at all) but i am one of the Buck Diaz girlies who hc’s that he drops Buckley altogether

- he and eddie have complimentary tattoos on their ring fingers; buck has an “E” for eddie, and eddie has a “B” for buck.

- buck also got a linework tattoo based on a photo of him, eddie, and chris tattooed on the left side of his chest, over his heart; in the same spot, eddie has “e-c-b”

- they both have their wedding date tattooed under their chest ones

- even after a fight, they don’t sleep apart, because buck has nightmares and can only be grounded by eddie holding him; eddie has nightmares too, but they are less frequent than buck’s

- their wedding bands are simply gold bands, but inside they are engraved; inside buck’s it says “have my back any day” and inside eddie’s it says “and you can have mine”

#911 abc #911 on abc #911 #911 headcanons #eddie diaz #eddie diaz headcanon #evan buckley #evan buckley headcanons #buddie #buddie 911 #911 buddie #buck and eddie #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #eddie diaz x evan buck buckley #eddie diaz x buck #eddie diaz x evan buckley #buddie headcanons

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arts-bloody-rose · 5 days ago

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Blood of A Rose - One of A Kind (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - After having been together in their unspoken relationship for some time, (Y/n) suggests that they have their own first date.

Notes - Y’all I’m alive 🤚🏻 This is for a request from @odditycircus-2002 asking for a date night between this beautifully twisted couple 💕

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or have a request!

Word Count - 2,739

Warning(s) - Art honestly, violence, minor gore

Song Inspiration -

Matt Maltese - As the World Caves In

(Y/n) stood next to her bed at her house, folding her laundry while Art was curled up on top of the sheets across from her. Only the lamp on one of her nightstands was lit, casting a warm and dim glow over the room. Soft music filled the room, creating a calmer atmosphere as they soaked in each other’s presence.

Art’s eyes traced her every movement, fascinated by how meticulous she was with such a simple task.

As she grabbed her clothes that were put on hangers and opened the larger wardrobe to put them away, she eyed the clothes inside. There wasn’t an overwhelming amount, but there was enough for every occasion. Though she never participated in such occasions. As she hung up the last article of clothing, she was struck with an idea.

“Hey, Art?” The clown perked up at her delicate voice. “I was wondering about something.” (Y/n) continued as she finished putting away the rest of her clothes in her dresser.

Art sat up enthusiastically, hands folded in his lap with his legs outstretched in front of him as he grinned in anticipation.

She smiled in adoration at his behavior. “What if we had a special night together?” (Y/n) asked timidly, moving to straddle his lap and began to fiddle with his ruffle collar.

Art’s expression was thoughtful. Curious, yet it held a sense of confusion.

“I don’t mean what we usually do. I mean just us… going out and enjoying each other’s company.”

Art gave her an almost offended expression, motioning between the two of them and then holding his hands up in question with a level of sass.

“Listen!” (Y/n) giggled and placed her hands against his chest.

Art crossed his arms, leaning in with his ear impatiently.

“I mean like a date.”

His expression turned into surprise, hands coming up to his cheeks.

“We can go out and grab some good food, watch a movie together.” (Y/n) continued persuasively, reaching to take his hands and held them together in front of her. “I can dress nice and pretty for you.”

Art looked her up and down seductively, wiggling his eyebrows as his tongue peeked out between his teeth.

“We’ll see.” (Y/n) chuckled. “Does that sound good to you though?” She asked seriously, thumbs brushing the back of his gloved hands. He nodded eagerly and she leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. “Good. Tomorrow then.”

In her small, dimly lit room, (Y/n) stood in front of her dresser, carefully applying her makeup in front of the mirror hung above it. Music hummed in the background, giving her a boost of confidence as she stood back and admired her more gussied-up appearance. Her reflection was striking yet soft, a haunting beauty.

The personification of her work.

The air smelled faintly of old paint, charcoal, and the earthy scent of the countless roses and odd trinkets Art had collected for her over time. But there was also a new scent that clung to the air; the smell of her perfume that she kept for special occasions such as this.

A small smile played at her lips as she thought of him. How he’d watched her work in silence, eyes gleaming with admiration, his chilling presence somehow making her feel seen and safe. She felt his encouragement in ways no one else could understand.

(Y/n) pulled herself from her thoughts and took a deep breath. It was their first official date, and she wanted to look perfect for him in her own way. Wanted the experience to be perfect in their own way.

She reached for a necklace Art had gifted her; a small, golden locket with a delicate engraving of a thorny rose. Inside was a piece of paper, a drop of both his and her own blood dried into it - a blend that was terrifying and alluring, representing their unspoken vows to each other.

She fastened it around her neck, letting it rest close to her heart.

A knock on her door brought her out of her thoughts, sending a flutter through her chest, settling into her stomach as nerves began to set in.

The knocking turned into impatient pounding and (Y/n) took one last look in the mirror, feeling a surge of butterflies that she only ever felt when she was with him.

She opened the door to find Art standing there in his signature outfit, his face painted with that wild, almost taunting grin. There was one subtle change to his attire, however.

At the base of his neck sat a simple black bow-tie. And it oddly fit into his usual monochromatic look.

When she met his eyes, his expression softened - just slightly - when he saw her, as if she were his masterpiece.

He didn’t need words to express himself, his eyes saying all that she needed to know.

Perfection.

There was no need for small talk or pleasantries; they shared a quiet understanding, a mutual appreciation for the darkness they both embraced.

“Hey.” (Y/n) nearly whispered abashedly, hands fidgeting in front of her as she burned under his gaze.

Art’s head suddenly shook, knocking him out of his frozen state and snapping to attention with a wide grin. He playfully adjusted his bow-tie, then bowed low, holding his hand out to her dramatically as he held eye contact.

(Y/n) giggled and delicately placed her own into his palm, watching as he began to kiss it, slowly working his way up her arm before finally landing on her cheek.

Her cheeks reddened as his hand still held onto hers, then linked their arms together and led them out of their hideout.

The streets of the city lay quiet beneath the shroud of night. Beneath the glow of scattered streetlights, accompanied by the eerie stillness of their surroundings, it felt like a hidden stage set just for them. The night’s chill bit at her skin, though she didn’t mind. It was refreshing, almost calming, matching the small flickers of excitement she felt in Art’s strange company.

Even then, she simply stepped closer to him, practically molded into each other as they strolled towards the town.

It felt odd seeing Art out and about without his bag, and even weirder for himself as it felt like a piece of himself was missing. But as strange as it seemed, he agreed not to bring it for the sake of their experience.

Beside him, (Y/n)’s heart fluttered as she snuck glances at the man she called her own. She could burst with tears, break down in front of him and fall to her knees with praise and pronounce her undying love in cliche romance.

But she could only stare.

And for the first time, Art nearly felt an unfamiliar flutter in his own stomach as he, too, snuck glances at the woman beside him. His grin was plastered, unwavering and unreadable to anyone who saw it. But inside, behind his stone-cold eyes, he was more confused than ever before as his chest threatened to twist itself at the sight of her.

As they approached a rather new take-out restaurant on the edge of the city, (Y/n) wondered if he’d even be interested in a simple meal. Art’s appetite, she suspected, leaned more towards the bizarre, but he seemed to humor her. He cocked his head, miming curiosity in her culinary interests, his odd, silent laughter filling the spaces between her nervous suggestions.

Art nodded in agreement and patted her hand, remaining outside while she went in to order.

Following a few moments deliberation over the menu, she chose a few dishes she thought might suit both of their tastes. Anything with rich flavors, meats, and smoky spices, all packed neatly in small cardboard boxes.

After what felt like an eternity, Art jumped when he heard yelling from inside the building and busted through the door, figure tense and expression twisted into violent determination.

Behind the counter, (Y/n) pulled out a pen from a man’s jugular, a bag of food sat on the counter beside them. Blood spewed out of his neck as he held his hand over the wound, gargling for help and collapsing onto the floor.

Art immediately relaxed, watching as she tossed the pen onto the counter and finally looked over at him with an indifferent expression. She huffed and rounded to the other side, grabbing the bag of food with her clean hand and making her way over to him.

Art crossed his arms and tapped his foot, looking at her impatiently. When she reached him she casually wiped off the blood on her hand onto his suit as he rubbed at his stomach with a frown.

“Trust me, I’m hungry too.” Art pointed at the counter in question. “He called me a slut.” (Y/n) pouted.

Art took her wrist and lowered it, eyes set on where the still-gargling man was before making his way over to him.

“Art, I thought we were hungry.” She practically whined as she watched him disappear behind the counter as he crouched down to the man.

(Y/n) sighed and took a seat in one of the booths, picking at her fingers as she waited for him to finish.

Eventually, they left the faint glow of the restaurant with food in hand and strolled towards a cemetery just down the road that they had passed.

The night felt alive in that stillness, and (Y/n) found herself unwinding in ways she never did around others, and the same seemed to occur with the notorious clown.

The iron gates creaked as Art swung them open with a flourish, bowing theatrically as (Y/n) stepped through. Her cheeks warmed, and she smiled shyly, clutching the take-out bag. They found a secluded spot under an ancient oak tree, far enough from the main path to avoid anyone who might’ve been around.

Taking their seats, they ate in companionable silence, Art gleefully tearing into his food with exaggerated enthusiasm, each bite accompanied by silent laughs and approving nods. (Y/n) found herself chuckling, feeling at ease as she nibbled at her food.

There was something strangely poetic about it, about their peaceful picnic among the tombstones, two souls savoring the comfort of isolation in a world that rarely understood them.

At some point, (Y/n) set down her food, watching Art as he looked down at his food while he ate, behavior deceptively innocent when he looked up and around every now and then with wide and curious eyes.

Her own turned to look at the tombstones with a kind of reverent curiosity. Her mind began turning, imagining stories for each name etched in stone. She leaned back against the oak before speaking.

“Do you ever wonder what they’d think of us?” she asked, motioning to the graves. “Sitting here, sharing a meal. As if… we’re normal people.”

Art cocked his head, his silent laugh haunting but surprisingly warm. He raised his hand, pointing a gloved finger at her before tapping his own chest and waved his hand. He found amusement in the thought of two misfits being perceived as ‘normal’, finding solace where others might see only fear or strangeness.

(Y/n)’s smile softened. She felt understood, and that feeling lingered in her chest like a fragile ember, warming her.

She looked back out at the tombs, scanning over them before she found one she thought was particularly amusing. She nudged Art with her shoulder as she chuckled.

“Look at that one.” She pointed and Art squinted to read it.

Guess I have tomorrow off. The epitaph read.

Art nodded and held his stomach in laughter, (Y/n) joining him as she held onto him with her head on his shoulder as she cackled and wheezed.

Art popped up at the new sound, pointing at her and impossibly laughing even harder as he watched her cover her mouth in embarrassment.

Her hand lazily slapped at his arm. “Asshole!” She choked out as she struggled to catch her breath. Art wiggled his eyebrows and used his fingers to tell her for shame.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes as their laughter died, moving to stand as Art stood quickly beside her. He pushed her back down and she collapsed back into her spot, looking up at Art with an offended expression.

Her expression flattened when he brushed himself off and held out his hand in a gentlemanly manner.

(Y/n) clicked her tongue and reluctantly took it, then shrieked when she was suddenly yanked up and collapsed into his chest.

She looked up at him and he gazed at her promiscuously, looking her up and down. (Y/n) swatted at his chest, then pulled away to pick up their mess and tossed it into a trash bin as they left hand-in-hand.

When they entered her house, (Y/n) pulled off her shoes and made her way to the couch, Art trailing closely behind her. She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, clicking through until she found a slasher film that she thought he would enjoy.

“Have you had ice cream before?” She asked him curiously as she walked to the kitchen. She looked back to see him shaking his head. “You want to try some?”

Art grinned excitedly and rubbed his hands together, shoulders hunched as he creeped over to where she stood at the fridge.

He watched as she pulled out a tub of neapolitan ice cream, followed by two bowls, spoons and an ice cream scooper. When she opened the tub, he eyed it for a moment before he dug his finger into the chocolate portion and brought it to his nose to smell it.

(Y/n) watched him with a small frown, raising an eyebrow at him. He finally ate it off of his finger, and with it still in his mouth, his eyes widened.

Art suddenly snatched the tub, knocking over a bowl in the process, and practically trotted over to the couch to plop down onto it.

“Hey!” (Y/n) tried, but he ignored her and simply dug into the ice cream with his fingers.

She sighed and crossed her arms, contemplating before she grabbed one of the spoons and rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past her lips, giving up on the irritation and instead finding his behavior adorable.

She met him at the couch and curled up next to him, starting the movie before she became too comfortable. She was careful as she scooped her own ice cream, mindful of where his fingers touched to not get any of the grime that inevitably contaminated it.

As the movie played, (Y/n) would be lying if she said she was paying attention to it. Truthfully, she was more so focusing on his reactions, however minuscule they were.

Despite his sadistic behavior, he seemed so innocent in this state. Almost childlike with the tub of ice cream in his lap, coating his fingers and lining his mouth as his wide eyes took in what played before them. He laughed whenever someone was murdered, but that was only to be expected from him.

She chuckled softly to herself, grabbing a napkin from the coffee table in front of them once he set the now nearly empty tub aside. (Y/n) waited patiently as he licked at his fingers until they were nearly pristine before she wiped at his mouth. He flinched at first with a frown, throwing her a side-eye, but eventually gave in.

When finished, she fully snuggled into him, Art reaching an arm around her to pull her closer and resting his head on top of her own.

As he watched the movie, she closed her eyes, closely listening to the rhythm of his heart. She noticed how it picked up with his laughter, with his anticipation before the next kill. How it slowed during the more calm scenes of the film.

Before she knew it, she had fallen asleep. And when the movie ended, Art went to slap her thighs in his enjoyment for what he watched, but stopped himself when he noticed her peaceful form wrapped around him.

His mouth formed an ‘o’ and he looked around, wondering what to do. Art then relaxed his face with content, shimmying to get himself comfortable before he closed his eyes alongside her.

Tag List: @callsignwidow @hoe-for-daddywise

#art #art the clown #art the clown x reader #damien leone #david howard thornton #terrifier #terrifier 2 #x reader #blood of a rose #fanfiction #david howard thornton x reader #terrifier 1 #terrifier x reader #terrifier 3 #franchise #slashers #slasher movies #art x reader #fanfic

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leqonsluv3r · 9 months ago

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the art of cruelty

— in which leon meets you in a coffee shop and the rest is history, a blurb

masterlist taglist

when leon walked into the coffee shop that one dreary day in february, he didn’t think much of it. all that surrounded his mind and swirled around were the thoughts of all that he felt.

hopeless, lost, like he could save and save and it wouldn’t always matter. or matter at all.

he felt like no matter what he did, he would be stuck.

that was until he saw you, you were so beautiful. sitting in a tiny booth in the corner, hunched over a book while you sipped on your coffee. your hair was tied back in a beautiful ribbon to match your clothes.

you were a sight for sore eyes, and damn, was he lucky to have come out to get coffee here today or else he wouldn’t have awkwardly striked up conversation with you. asking you what book you were reading, what you were drinking, getting to know you.

and suddenly, things didn’t seem so dark and chaotic anymore. he found his mind a little clearer as he talked to you. even as days passed, you two going out on dates, getting to know each other more.

you both saw the deepest darkest parts of each other when you began officially dating. you had a compulsive need to clean his apartment and he had a compulsive need to protect you from harm.

even though it was all out of his hands, he still found himself anxious at the thought of something happening to you. of you dying by some mysterious virus, monster…things he had encountered personally in his past.

but that never happened. you never died, thankfully. each day you breathed and lived around leon, was another day proven successful in his eyes. you got to love him and he got to do the same in return. meeting you was probably the best thing to happen to him.

the thoughts of not being useful, not being needed were changed instantly as time went by. you gave his once dark past, rays of hope and possibilities. things he hadn’t seen since he was a bright eyed rookie.

he eventually told you everything, letting the scary hypothetical skeletons out to play. he thought you would run away, deem that his baggage was too much for you to handle like so many had before. but you didn’t.

you stayed with him, you kissed and caressed the tears from his devastatingly beautiful blue eyes. told him all the things he wanted/needed to hear. they were genuine and real, just like you.

and he was forever thankful for you, for all you would do for him. simply because you understood him, gave him a shot at something that seemed so impossible for so long.

he loved you, you loved him. the world was a much happier place for him after that.

his favorite thing when he met you was the ribbon in your hair, the way your eyes danced over the book you were reading in the coffee shop. he never was one for books, but you could make anything look enticing enough.

the ribbons didn’t end that day, neither did the books.

after you had moved in with him after 7 months of dating, you had an endless amount of ribbons for your hair. he would tease you about them, say you looked like a present (and damn if you weren’t the most beautiful present to unwrap). you would roll your eyes at him and say, “at least i don’t have an obsession with knives.”

okay, he kinda deserved that one. he laid off after that with a small chuckle. the books though…

the way you would just sit on the couch after work, devouring a book page after page. it was almost like magic to watch. and eventually as days passed, you’d run out of books to read so of course, he’d take you to go get more.

asking you if you really needed 6 books and you would say, “i’m indecisive. i need variety.” and that was enough for him to hand over his debit card and pay for all 6, as long as you were alive and happy. he was willing to pay for that.

he was hooked after that, letting you devour book after book while he would sit next to you and watch tv. when you’d get excited and make little noises when the plot thickened in the book. it was one of the many things he loved about you.

you were so visceral, everything about you was different from women he had been with in the past. constantly doubting himself, but you never did.

you were simply something precious in such a cruel world and leon would do everything and anything to keep you that way.

an: my first blurb, if you guys want to request those, you absolutely can now. as well as headcanons, pls repost <33 i hope u guys enjoyed. i love u all so much.

#leon kennedy #leon x reader #leon kennedy smut #re2 leon #re4 remake #leon kennedy au #re2 remake #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy blurb #leon kennedy fluff #re6 leon x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #re6 leon #leon kennedy imagine

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manicpixiefelix · 8 months ago

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 19.

Summary: We follow Oliver Quick in the aftermath of that night in the bathtub. In the days that follow, however, and the Arts Collective dinner drawing ever closer, you seem unusually upset. However, once he meets your mother at the party, a lot of things start to make an unfortunate amount of sense.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT; masturbation, fantasies and memories of bathtub activities, pervert/enabler dynamics. Also reader's mum is in this chapter so we have warnings for implied child neglect & family trauma, as well as reader talking negatively about themselves a lot.

A/N: 8997 words. OLIVER POV and a huge chapter to sink your teeth into. goes many places, and we finally get to meet at least one of the reader's parents. i believe this is what the kids call 'conflict' in a narrative. Also the reader's parents now officially have names; Pearl & Andreas. Also nana's name is Bijou. let me know what you guys think ! <3

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Every time Oliver closes his eyes, one of about seventeen million different, lewd images pops into his head of either you or Felix. It seems his mind literally will not allow him to think of anything else, which is fine when he's alone in his room - your room, your bed - but less than ideal when he's sitting across from the two of you over breakfast. Nothing about the way either of you interacted with him was at all different from any other morning. Part of him feels like he's going crazy when you give him a sleepy smile and drop a kiss onto the top of his head in passing on the way to get yourself breakfast.

"Morning Ollie," mumbled affectionately, like it always was from you.

Though it should be noted that Oliver isn't often at breakfast before you and Felix. Both of you are reasonably punctual, and usually seem far less tired than you both seemed to be, so that at least pointed to what happened last night not being a dream. That, and Felix grinning at him as he sat down, placing a mug in front of your setting at the table, and held his own.

"How'd you sleep, mate?" With mirth shining in his eyes; he knows. What he knows and how much, Oliver isn't sure, but there's no way he'd be smiling like that otherwise. What does it mean for him if Felix knows? Where do they go from here?

"Bit restless," Oliver hears himself saying, and trains his eyes on his breakfast, feeling the heat creeping up his cheeks already. Felix makes an apology that sounds completely insincere, and punctuates it with a loud yawn, stretch, and groan. Eyes drawn to Felix, the response almost Pavlovian, and most certainly desperate, all Oliver sees is the pleased little smile Felix wears, still watching him. In the next moment it's gone, turned on you as you place a plate of food in front of him and then at your own place, settling down beside him, as you always do.

The talk over breakfast seems to be the same as it ever was. Plans for the day, with you sighing and declaring that after spend the day before in the garden, you'd be doing quite the opposite, and leisuring in the library, watching something yet to be decided if anyone wanted to join you. He could have sworn there was something pointed in your eyes as your gaze swept over the whole table, landing on his briefly. But then the conversation was moving on, and Oliver had to act like he had any room for decent thoughts in his head at that moment.

Breakfast has become unappealing. He already misses the taste of your blood.

He has to excuse himself, despite having barely eaten half of what he'd served himself. Everyone else enquires after him, asking if he's okay, and he hopes the smile he wears is good enough to stave off further questions.

"Just not hungry this morning is all."

He wishes he'd been as lucky as you, wishes you'd drawn blood; a scab he'd pick forever, a reminder of how thoroughly you'd gotten under his skin. Something in him burns to be scarred by you, marked by you both, a want so violent that you're reduced only to instincts. Bite and touch can be one in the same.

Oliver wasn't stupid. He knew what had been happening. It had been hard enough before last night with this game you'd been playing, the show you'd been putting on. A thrilling chase, tension stretched thin, waiting for Felix to finally make a move to prove that he wasn't just stringing Oliver along. The things he's seen you and Felix doing, the noises he'd been hearing -

Back in his room, he doesn't even realise how hard he's breathing until he slams his door shut, slumping against it, his heart racing.

He never thought it would have been you who broke the rules of this game you've been playing. But now Oliver's left picking up the pieces of his understanding, trying to figure out what the fuck it all meant. He locks his door frantically as he recalls something Venetia had once said to him on one of the few nights he's joined her for a cigarette outside before he would head up to the study -

"Felix hasn't needed since he was ten years old," Venetia's eyes flash with something more than amusement in the moonlight, "he was a desperately needy little brother growing up, clinging to me if mother wasn't clinging to him." The two fingers not holding her cigarette curl into a half fist. With a sly smile, she cocks her hip and leans against Oliver, "he wants, though."

A strange spark of desire arks through Oliver at her words, her knowing, teasing tone, like the flare of a starting gun, a confirmation of what he knew he'd already been working towards. It was nice to hear nonetheless. He tries to act like it doesn't effect him.

"Don't you all?" He glances at Venetia out of the corner of his eyes, tone smooth and unwavering, "you Cattons are the kind of creatures who all seem to want." Then, wetting his lips, "that's what that butler is for after all, and Y/N?" Venetia smiles broader, faint laughter escaping between her teeth.

"Oh, we all want, Ollie," with unrestrained condescension, "but so does most everyone; I know you want, I've seen your eyes. But we Cattons always get what we want, that's the difference you can sense."

"I get what I want, Venetia, I just have to work for it," he says eyes flashing as he looks at her through his lashes. Charming Felix's sister was more habit than actual desire, but he wasn't above using underhanded tactics to win over the Cattons as a whole. Even in the moonlight, he catches sight of Venetia's faint blush. Again she laughs, but her gaze drifts over the grounds.

"Then my brother's mutt must not like you that well," she mused, and takes another drag from her cigarette, "if you still have to work for what you want." The remark catches Oliver off guard for several reasons. After a moment he has to confirm that it's you that she's talking about; Venetia's look says obviously, "haven't you noticed that they can't want for themselves?"

Curled up on his your bed, hand wrapped around his own cock in what's become something of a ritual since he'd arrived and you'd begun playing this game with him, he wonders, not for the first time, if Venetia was right. It seemed as though you'd confirmed as much the other night, that you simply loved him, perhaps even wanted him, because Felix was so fond of him. Even when you'd first slept together you'd danced around the idea of what you'd really wanted, even as he pressed, insisted.

He picked up early on - and told you as much - that you want to be wanted, but Venetia's words had shaken even that belief, or at least, it's origins. At times it seemed like Felix was the kind of creature who fed on the adoration of others, who's to say that you simply wanted to draw people into his orbit, to feed his ego, rather than for your own satisfaction. After all, Oliver couldn't imagine you without Felix, anyone who was drawn into your warmth would find themselves eventually in Felix's light.

And Felix was impossible not to love.

Did that explain last night? Were you afraid you were losing Oliver? Was it simply to keep that spark of desire in his chest burning bright? Except if you knew why he'd been in that bathroom in the first place, surely you could have intuited that his desperation for Felix hadn't waned.

His free hand goes to his own throat, fingers catching in the metal chain that rest there, tangling up the same way yours had last night. Cold, sharp pressure against his throat, he squeezes his eyes closed and sees Felix's head tipped back, steam curling, sweat and water clinging to his gorgeous skin as he gasps and moans and -

"Good boy," the memory of your voice in his ear. A mess of memories from the night before, of the lewd sloshing of Felix's bathwater caught up in the eroticism of the moment, leaving Oliver's imagination to run wild. The memory of how your breathing became stuttered, the way you'd shuddered, getting off to Oliver whimpering your best friend's name in your ear as he came. Were you too thinking of Felix, or getting off believing that Oliver was?

Can't want for themselves.

Except there had been a look in your eyes, in your smile, that dangerous, thrilling thing that lit you up as you licked his spend from your fingers like you were relishing the taste of him. Self satisfaction, a kind he'd never seen on you before.

Perhaps Venetia was wrong. Perhaps he could make you want him for your own sake. Perhaps you had already started.

The fantasy warps again, this time to something entirely new, flickering back and forth between debauched depictions of you and Felix, both coveting him for your own.

"My Ollie," possessive echoes of what he hopes to one day hear, until he's conjured an image of you both, lavishing him with affection without sparing each other a second glance. Wanted by both in your own right, "our Ollie," but still wanted as a collective. Loved by your shared love, not just by extension.

Then the fantasy returns to just last night. The fantasy returns to watching Felix and desperately hoping the man was thinking about him while making those noises. The fantasy returns to you, pressed against him, hand slick with Felix's bath water and both getting off to the idea of him. The fantasy returns to the taste of your blood on his tongue knowing his cum was on yours.

The fantasy returns to you both getting off to him.

Oliver finishes embarrassingly quickly. Again. As he does most days here; there's no shortage of memories to pull from, you and Felix have made sure of that. It's also why he finds very little shame in the act anymore; surely you both know that his mind wanders to you like this, why else would you continue to put on such a show when he still hasn't made a move. After cleaning himself up, and still not quite sure what to make of your intentions last night, he decides to put that from his mind for the time being, and enjoy the day he has with you at least.

In the library, it's you, and Felix, and a box set of Classic Doctor Who; the fourth one, Oliver's pretty sure, judging by the scarf. The smile you both give him is nothing but warm and completely innocent. Oliver grins back easily, and takes a seat. It feels the same as it always has. Like nothing has changed.

But Oliver learns quickly that they have.

That night, he finds you in the lilac study in only your underwear. Underwear too nice to be worn by pure chance. Feigning innocence you tell him you can change if you're making him uncomfortable, but that it's a warm night. It's no warmer than any other night has been thus far.

"Does Felix know you're in here with me, dressed like this?" Oliver leans in the doorframe, arms crossed, unashamedly gazing over your body. Instead of a real answer, all you do is grin, raising your eyebrows at him, as if in challenge. So this is for Felix's benefit too, Oliver thinks, perhaps showing off his willingness to share you, trying to coax Oliver into making the first move on the man as a way to continue using his most beloved toy? Wanting you, and by extension, wanting Felix.

For a moment, Oliver marvels about how easily you're able to catch and manipulate his focus according to your every whim, it seems. Who are you outside of the showmanship? Is there a real person under there? Maybe he should walk away, ponder this on his own or ask you in the light of day when you still at least pretend around the others and each other.

"I thought they were cute," is what you finally say, sitting forward, "I'm quite fond of blue," you add, snapping the waistband of your underwear against your hip. Blue like Oliver's always wearing, blue like his damn eyes, blue like he once told Felix was his favourite colour. Fuck. Fine, he's just a man after all, and a lesser man probably couldn't even hold out as long as he has against you and your gorgeous fucking body in the lamplight, and that look in your eyes.

It's not as intense as it was the night before, but he still gets you off through your underwear, and at his foolish encouragement, you leave a bruising hickey on his neck. Before you part ways for the night, you walk with him to his door, which rather unnecessary, just to let him know there's concealer in his shade in the top drawer on his side of the bathroom.

"You planned this all then?" He smirks at your nerve to be so casual about this all, pressing you against his door.

"You give me too much credit," you teased, gaze flicking from his eyes to his lips, "call it wishful thinking on my part," and you both know he doesn't believe you, but he still kisses you, grinning.

He tries to use this shift in the dynamic to find out more. Perhaps the physical intimacy meant you would be more open to emotional intimacy, even even he hears Felix in the back of his mind.

The day after he'd enquired about your father's work, the day after he'd pressed his ear to Felix's door from the bathroom and heard you sobbing about your parents, Felix himself had pulled Oliver aside with a tight smile shortly after breakfast.

"Ollie, I'm sorry I didn't mention it earlier mate, but about yesterday; we try not to bring up Y/N's mum and dad much around here."

"I'm sorry, I didn't -" Oliver tried, but Felix waved him off easily.

"No, I know you didn't know, you didn't mean anything by it," he assured warmly, but as he went to leave, Oliver couldn't help himself.

"Why?"

Felix stops. For a very long moment there is absolute silence. Stillness. Felix's smile doesn't reach his eyes when he turns back. There's a practiced easiness to him, something about it rehearsed and unfamiliar compared to the levity with which he usually carried himself.

"Because they don't have a kid."

And Oliver has no idea what to say to that, what he could possibly mean by that, so he lets Felix leave.

So when he starts to ask more questions, he careful about them. But he can't seem to catch a break. He gets confirmation that you and Felix have known each other since you were ten, and you're more than forthcoming about your life since then, but for all intents and purposes, you didn't seem to exist before then.

Tensions are running high the day before the first event, for you especially it seemed, even though you'd made it clear you wouldn't be in attendance. When he overhears you speaking with Elspeth, he hears something in your voice he'd never thought possible; despair.

"Do you have to host them in my garden, Elspeth?" You sounded like you were on the verge of tears. The matron of the house's voice is soothing as she reminds you that it's one of the most beautiful spots in the Estate. Your garden? "But every time she's in there she breaks my statue -"

"No she doesn't," Elspeth tries to dismiss, but you huff a surprisingly petulant whine.

"She does! Twice now! The seeds, there should be six, and I know it's her, Farleigh told me -"

"I won't let it happen again, pet, I promise."

"She knows it's mine, I know it, she's doing it on purpose -"

"It won't happen again."

Oliver doesn't know enough about your issue with the Arts Collective that is coming over, or whoever this specific member is that has you so upset, so he has to bide his time to get the answers he wants.

And he's not getting them from you. Clearly.

You're withdrawn during dinner. No-one else comments on it; it's like they all understand whatever it is you're going through, and only Oliver's left out of the loop. Not even Felix seems particularly worried, and that's the bit that surprised Oliver.

In the lilac study, much later, Oliver finds you in your pyjamas, sitting on the windowsill. When he asks if you're okay, you bark a humourless laugh.

"By all accounts," you give a thin-lipped smile, fidgeting with the unlit cigarette between your fingers, "I should be completely fine." It's not even close to being believable. When he sits, chin gently coming to rest on your knee as it hung down the back of the sofa, you sighed, dropping the act and lighting your cigarette. 'It's nothing," you mumbled after a moment, dropping his gaze and taking a draft of your cigarette.

"It's not nothing," Oliver assured softly. Looking up at him, the barest frown creased your brow.

"I never went through the kinds of things you had to," you admit softly, unaware of the cogs suddenly turning in Oliver's mind, "my life is," you laughed without even a hint of humour, "blessed," but the word comes out bitterly. With your free hand, you reach out to run your hand through Oliver's hair, pushing it back off of his forehead, "you don't need to worry about me, Ollie." Shame pulses through Oliver all at once, his lie weighing heavily on his consciousness. He leans into your touch, lets his eyes closed, terrified you'll see the guilt there.

"I do worry 'bout you," he pushes, voice faint and demure, his eyes still closed. He lets the words hang in the air, lets you turn them over in your mind, won't overplay his hand. There's the sound of the cigarette sizzling, then a long, deep sigh from you.

"You don't know me, Ollie."

It's strange to hear you say it, hear you finally admit it. Oliver hasn't been imagining things, you've managed to evade his attempts to genuinely get close to you. Part of him wants to scream, wants to shout well whose fucking fault is that, wants to holler with some kind of vindication. Instead, he kisses your knee, and whispers that he'd like to.

"You'll get there, I'm sure," you tell him with what he's sure is an attempt at warmth, once more carding your fingers through his hair, "spend enough time with Fi and you won't have a choice." It comes as a surprise to hear the forlorn notes in your voice. But then, as quickly as they were there, they'd disappeared, and you start telling him about the guests that would be in attendance at the dinner the following night.

"Why do you know all this if you aren't going?" He's struggling to retain any of the information you've dumped on him - whose married to who, who are the artists and who are the appreciators, the scandals each have been attached to - but it seems to come so easily to you. You're on your third cigarette when there finally comes a lull in the conversation.

"So I can tell you?" You gave him a confused little smile, but he still doesn't understand.

"But what if I wasn't going?"

"But you are," you frowned a little, confused smile becoming more forced, as if his lack of comprehension almost pains you, "why wouldn't you be?" Oliver blinks, "I always knew I wasn't going, but I always knew you would, and I -" you shrugged a little helplessly, "I know things. Now you know things." This time your grin is genuine, as if pleased to be able to help him in your own way.

"Does any of this really matter?" He doesn't mean for it to sound as blunt as it comes across, but thankfully you don't seem offended. Instead you bark a laugh, leaning back against the windowsill and casting your gaze to the navy sky outside.

"They seem to think so," you groaned, as if you'd been subjected to these people and their egos one too many times, "and they love to feel like they matter. Taking the time to know people makes them feel like they matter, at least that's how I was raised." It's a crack, the barest hint to your past that Oliver will ruminate on for days to come. He remembers very sharply how you'd blurted out that you weren't meant to matter. Slowly but surely he's piecing together a picture of your past. So far, he's not liking the image it's coming to form.

So he steers from dangerous conversational territories.

"'s that why you let Venetia talk to you the way she does?" It's not hostile or judgemental, he makes himself sound as genuine as he's able. A thoughtful hum escapes you while you keep looking out across the Estate's gardens, "like you don't mind if she's mean because you know that at least she feels good about herself around you?"

"I adore Venetia despite her sharp edges," you say softly, "and she and I both know this, but she's..." looking back to Oliver, your smile is sad as your mind drifts to Felix's sister, "insecure," voice low, you give a tired shake of your head, "if I knew how to draw lines in the sand, I'm sure she would have crossed it long before now."

"All these Cattons need to be wanted, don't they?" Oliver grins widely, leaning back and reclining on the sofa, watching you crack a genuine smile.

"Why do you think they keep me around?" You joke, but Oliver takes this moment and locks it away in his mind for further pondering, along with all the other revelations you'd afforded him. At least you look brighter when you leave then when he'd walked in. The last thing you tell him is to be punctual to the garden the following night; Elspeth thinks highly of punctuality.

"Am I not going to see you before dinner tomorrow?" Oliver frowns, also standing.

"Oh," you stall by the door, something awkward in your tone, "I'll be around at breakfast, and maybe lunch, but I'm probably not going to be much company or conversation."

The next morning, Oliver finds your words to be true. At breakfast, your gaze is glassy, your movements robotic. Pamela appears to have overslept, but Oliver seems to be the only one who even notices. There's a strange air in the house. Farleigh's more terse than usual, while Felix and Venetia seem to have glued themselves to your sides, the two of them chattering quietly between each other despite how you don't even appear to be aware of their presence.

Over lunch, you too are missing from attendance, as is Pamela once more. Elspeth spends a good portion of the meal trying to encourage her children to adopt a lighter mood. Neither cooperate with her request.

"This might be the best you get from them," Farleigh glanced at Felix and Venetia wearing near identical pouts, both focusing entirely on their lunch, "unless you're planning to surprise us all with dropping a house on the wicked bitch of the -"

"Farleigh, please," Elspeth cut him off sharply, "don't call her that." Farleigh's sharp gaze flicks to his aunt, but his mouth stays shut, "it's one night, can you please just be civil?"

"One night for her," Felix says pointedly under his breath.

Oliver is at a complete loss. Trying to think back on all the guests you'd told him about, he can't for the life of him recall which they might all be referring to. It bothers him enough that once lunch is finished, he looks for you; he'd like a little more warning if he really was to be walking into some kind of lion's den that evening. When he asks Felix, all he gets is a sighed 'study' and little else.

The study door is locked, so he knocks. On the other side, he hears a sigh.

"Go away, Ollie."

How had you known it was him? But that was a question for another time.

"I have a question about tonight -"

"I don't want to think about tonight, just go away, enjoy yourself -"

"I need to know more about the guest list; there's someone who seems to really bother Felix, Venetia, and Farleigh, but I can't remember who it could be that you told me about." He lets himself sound desperate, sound a little helpless and lost; you'd gone so far out of your way to make him feel at home here, he knew you'd -

"Um," after a moment, the door creaks open. Barely. Peering out, you don't look quite right, "it's- um, I think -"

"'re you alright?" Genuine concern wells up in him, but you pull back when he reaches out for you.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine, I'm just- fuck, Ollie, I'm high; what are you, my -" but you cut yourself off with a soft, angry swear, as if mad at yourself for reasons well beyond Oliver's understanding. Gaze unfocused, you frown deeply as you lean heavily against the doorframe. Oliver bit back further concern, taken aback by your relative hostility, "there's this curator that really gets under their skin," you recall after a moment, unable to meet his gaze, "last I checked she was about Elspeth's age; Pearl L/N."

Oliver doesn't remember you even mentioning a Pearl last night amongst all the rest of the guests.

"What's she done that's so bad?" But his words curiously cause your expression to scrunch, "do you not like her either?" You shook your head so hard you almost lost your balance; this time you don't shy away from Oliver when he holds your shoulder steady, "what'd she do?"

"She's just vapid," your voice is so small; there's so much you're not telling him in this moment, Oliver can tell, "you don't need to make her feel like she matters, she knows she does," you swallow thickly, looking at the doorframe, "but if you compliment the work of Bijou L/N in her general area I'm sure she'll jump at the chance to tell you how she sold her Aurora triptych for the same amount that her mother's first house cost." You advised bitterly, lip curling, "she loves hearing herself speak," you spat as an afterthought, immediately trying to slam the door as if you'd forgotten Oliver was even there.

Catching the door, he asks once more if you're okay, and you finally look at him, pain in your eyes like he's never seen before, tears, unspilled, turning your gaze glassy.

"I do hope you have a good night," despite the sadness in your voice, you sound sincere, and Oliver lets you close the door once more.

As he's getting himself ready for the event, Oliver finds himself musing over the information he'd gotten from you. It's no surprise the Catton siblings aren't a fan of this woman; he can't imagine they enjoy being in the presence of someone who craves the spotlight even more than either of them do.

Your advice about an early arrival paid off at least, as Oliver finds himself in the fairy garden with Elspeth in her lavender gown, as always being an incorrigible gossip. With very little genuine care for her own daughter, Elspeth's gossip finds a home amid disparaging remarks. If he carefully files Venetia's insecurities and less noticeable flaws away in the back of his mind, he does so only in case of emergency. Despite their disagreements, Felix clearly loved his sister too; how Oliver would use the information Elspeth gives him to his advantage would remain to be seen, but he reasoned it was good to have.

When finally he's given the chance to comment on Pamela - indirectly, every possibly sharp remark was wrapped in layers of silk at Saltburn - Elspeth's guilt is unmistakable. So Oliver does what he does best; he tells Elspeth exactly what she needed to hear. He drives a wedge in her memories of the woman she'd kicked out, shut the door on the guilt and the thought of return, soothing the Catton matriarch in the process. Sometimes it really was shockingly easy to make the Catton Family Players dance.

"You know it's very good of you taking Y/N the way you did," Oliver adds for good measure, "eleven years I think they said?"

"Oh," Elspeth's brow creases for just a moment as she thinks back, "I suppose it has been that long, hasn't it?" There's a faraway look in her eyes, but Oliver sees an opportunity for information you and Felix were always rather evasive about.

"I would have thought it would be strange," Oliver offers, his tone carefully neutral, but of course light, "having so many people here all the time; Y/N, Farleigh, Pamela, me. You're very generous, very kind." Elspeth gives a gracious smile at the compliment, eyes shining in the twilight. The same grace with which Felix accepts Oliver's soft spoken compliments when it's just the two of them.

"Saltburn was built for company, Oliver dear, nothing strange at all," she tells him in earnest, "James and I have always welcomed our loved ones with open arms, and I am proud to have passed that sentiment on to my darling children."

"Venetia certainly seems fond of Y/N."

Something about Elspeth's expression tightens for the barest moment, and she takes a sip of her wine with a hum that almost sounds like an agreement.

"Y/N seems to believe as much," she says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, "and I suppose she hasn't run them off yet, though I suspect their loyalty to Felix has far more to do with that than whatever apparent kindness my daughter has afforded them."

"I'm sorry...?" Oliver tips his head to the side, confusion masking his intrigue.

"Lord knows I try not to judge my darling children and their friends, so I of course would turn a blind eye to their youthful trysts and experimentation, but really Venetia's been using the poor pet in bad taste for years now, treating them like a dog; you've seen the way she antagonises them, I can't imagine what she's like behind closed doors, nor why Y/N puts up with it!"

"You haven't tried to stop it?"

"Felix has come to me about some of the things Venetia's apparently said, but he seemed more miffed than anything, said Y/N wasn't at all bothered," Elspeth sighed, shaking her head, "I think they pity her, honestly."

"Sounds like Felix and Y/N have pretty inseperable, and you obviously care about them a lot too."

"Felix has always been wonderful at making friends," Elspeth gives a sweet smile, casting her fond gaze at Oliver for a moment, "but Y/N was this tragic, little thing; the first time they met us their parents enquired about whether James and I would like to host them for the Summer, of course I wasn't even aware I was talking to their parents when the offer was made, but Felix had taken quite a shine to them so of course we were more than happy to agree. Then," she gives such a dainty shrug, expression fond and blithe, "they called again as schools were breaking for Christmas, something about how fond Y/N had grown of us all; after that they didn't even have to call."

"So they've been coming back here all this time?"

"Oh the children would often holiday elsewhere during the break, but Y/N was almost always with Felix, wherever he was," she smiled wide, mind alight with memories of your shared youth, "their parents have always afforded us a generous stipend for allowing them to remain with us and Felix so consistently through the years, so it was never any trouble or burden to take care of them."

A long pause follows, and Oliver lets himself mull over all he'd learned, fascinated by it all. But he keeps coming back to one thought;

"You didn't know you were talking to their parents?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You said back when you and Felix first met Y/N, you hadn't known you were talking to their parents?"

"Well, no," Elspeth says, and takes a moment to think carefully about the past, about her next words, "but we were at a business event, I suppose they wanted to remain somewhat professional." Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. There's something there, something more. Something about these memories has softened the matriarch, even more than discussing her own daughter.

"Well I know they love you," Oliver tells her, though he's only rarely heard you and Felix talking about the family, "and I know they're grateful to you, and your husband, and all you've done for them, the care you've shown." And there it is, that faraway softness, that hint of maternal love that almost looks foreign on her.

"We haven't done all that much," Elspeth admits gently, soft smile gracing her features, "just what anyone would do, I think."

"More than what their own parents did, it sounds like."

Elspeth's expression falls, her gaze dropping to her hands. She takes a long sip of her wine.

"They're lovely people, really, please don't take what I've said as any kind of inducement on them as people, I think you'd actually find them quite charming," she says, almost forcibly cheerful, "they're exuberant, fascinating people; they've been wonderful friends to myself and James for quite some time, long before we welcomed Y/N into our home, actually," she laughs a little, looking back up, apparently having shaken her just moments ago, "I will say it was quite the surprise to find out they had a child just the same age as Felix." It's an evasive answer, one Oliver doesn't want to let her get out of but doesn't quite know how to turn the conversation back. The silence is not uncomfortable, but Oliver is still grateful that it's Elspeth that breaks it once more.

"He's never been particularly fond of them," Elspeth somehow gives him an in without Oliver even needing to pry further. Her tone is dismissive, like her son's distaste is simply childish, "but Felix has always been loyal," she smiles warmly once more after shaking her head, "I really do think you'll like them; so much of Y/N comes from them."

"I'll like them?" Oliver frowned with confusion, to which Elspeth nodded, reiterating the sentiment, "you think I'll meet them?"

"Of course, darling, they're coming to dinner tonight," she shakes her head after a beat, seemingly correcting herself, "well, their darling mother. She was at Oxford with James, studying Art History, if I do recall -" but she's cut short as Duncan announces the arrival of the first guests, and Elspeth stands, smiles, slipping comfortably into the role of the perfect hostess.

Oliver feels like he almost understands. Like he's right on the edge of putting all the pieces together. There's too much new information, too many social rules he still doesn't know; part of your discomfort was almost definitely related to your mother being here, and that vapid curator Felix hated -

"You are going to need this," Farleigh presses a glass of champagne into Oliver's hands. He seems more irate than usual, but unusually, it doesn't seem to be directed at Oliver. As the guests begin to filter in, they stand side-by-side at the edge of the garden. Farleigh looks like he belongs there, long and elegant, hand in his pocket and his own champagne glass poised delicately in his grip as he glowered at the others.

"Not a fan of the Arts Collective either?" Oliver enquires, carefully taking a sip.

"Tell me that isn't Fredrika's boy!" Comes a call from across the garden, and Farleigh plasters on a smile as he nods and tips his glass to the gentleman who'd gleefully identified him. They both hear him exclaim to some others he was with, "look how tall he's gotten!" But thankfully the man makes no move towards them, choosing instead to blatantly discuss Farleigh, and-or his mother, with little regard for the man himself.

"They've always been kind to my mother," it's the most diplomatic and genuine Oliver's pretty sure Farleigh's ever been while speaking to him. Still, his discomfort does not seem to ease.

"So I suppose there's just a few bad apples then," Oliver muses, "Y/N warned me about Pearl." It takes several seconds of silence for Oliver to finally give Farleigh his full attention. There's a curious look in his eyes, one Oliver hadn't quite been expecting.

"Did they?" He says very carefully.

"The woman sounds like a pain," Oliver says easily, trying his best to ignore the sudden strange vibe that has picked up around them, "but I assumed all these rich folks have an ego on them, so she must be some kind of something since they barely mentioned their own mother and I know they're not fond of her either."

"You are an idiot," Farleigh looks like he can't even believe the words coming out of Oliver's mouth. There's that lost feeling again, like everyone knows some kind of secret that he's not allowed to, like they all want to keep dancing around the truth, afraid of giving him real answers. Farleigh shakes his head in disbelief, an unsettling, quiet anger in his eyes, "you are a fucking idiot -"

"Oh my god, wow!" Comes a bright voice from far closer than Oliver had been expecting, "I'm getting flashbacks, Elle, are you getting flashbacks? Doesn't he look just like Freddie making that face?" Farleigh, beside Oliver, freezes.

When Oliver turns, he sees Elspeth approaching him with a painfully familiar woman on her arm, saying that this is the one I was telling you about; Oliver -

Oliver recognises your mother by her smile. It lights up her whole face, so comforting, so warm and full of affection as her gaze lingers on him.

"Oh, Oliver, I'm sure you're darling, but I must say hello to Freddie's youngling," she enthuses with a laugh. Farleigh looks like his body is three seconds away from engaging in some kind of fight or flight response.

"I see you remember Farleigh, my nephew," Elspeth points out, and the woman wraps Farleigh up in a hug that he does not reciprocate.

"Of course," she gleefully identifies, and Farleigh makes an uncomfortable noise to the affirmative. When she lets him go, she doesn't do so entirely, holding him at arm's length for a moment as she looks him over, "you are such a marvel, darling, every time I see you!" Glancing over her shoulder at Elspeth, she wears a charmingly teasing smile, "never tell James that his sister got all the good genes," and Elspeth, despite the backhanded compliment, seems only endeared by this woman's antics. Finally she lets Farleigh go, stepping back and continuing to size him up, sparkle of mirth in her eyes, "how is your mother, darling?"

"Elsewhere," Farleigh answers shortly.

"Of course, is she still in New York?"

"For the time being," it seems to be enough for her for now, letting him go. Then, she turns her attention onto Oliver, letting Elspeth make the introduction.

"And this is Oliver, a dear friend of my Felix's who's staying with us for the Summer," Elspeth rests a warm hand on Oliver's shoulder, but the woman forgoes propriety to also hug Oliver tightly.

"Oh wonderful to meet you, Oliver - Ollie, can I call you Ollie? Do they call you Ollie?" She says as he awkwardly hugs her back, running on autopilot. Oliver makes some kind of noise, he's sure, but apparently your mother takes that as an affirmative. Pulling back, she smiles with such genuine warmth it's almost jarring to think about what he knows of her, "oh Ollie, so lovely to have you here, it's so good to see beautiful, bright, fresh faces as fans of the arts; you are a fan of the arts, I take it?"

"I suppose," he offers awkwardly, to which your mother gives a laugh. It doesn't sound like laughter should, there's something a little mean about it, something condescending.

"Darling boy you're with the Arts Collective, at Saltburn of all places; one would think to do their research before attending an event such as this -"

"Wine and cheese in the garden were we get high -?" Farleigh's snide aside that hopefully only Oliver hears as he mutters it under his breath is cut off by Oliver's quick apology.

"It's my first Summer here; I'm a fan of the arts but I thought it would be best to set expectations low considering the calibre of guest. I'm not much of an artist but that doesn't hinder my appreciation," he bullshits quickly, and your mother's eyes light up, taking the bait entirely.

"Nice save," Farleigh mutters under his breath while your mother all but swooned at Oliver's humility.

"Oh! Then I do apologise, dear, I'm glad to have you here, glad to see not all hope is lost for the youth," she shook her head with a fond exasperation, "your friend Felix has never taken much interest unfortunately," she chuckles, "one of his very few flaws, I'm afraid."

"I'm also friends with Y/N," Oliver adds quickly, and immediately feels Farleigh's hand on the small of his back, voice in his ear - don't.

"Sorry darling, I don't know who that is," your mother sounds completely and utterly sincere; nothing in her smile or her body language betrays it as a lie. Despite Farleigh's warning, Oliver pushes.

"Your kid, Y/N," he can feel Farleigh actually grabbing onto the hem of his jacket, voice a snarl now - stop.

"Ollie, dear, I don't have any children," she says with what appears to be complete earnestness. Oliver blinks quickly, stepping back, faintly apologising.

"Sorry, I must have gotten some wires crossed," he says weakly.

"Are you feeling alright?" She puts her hand to his forehead, sweet concern written all over her face. God, she looks so much like you, he really thought - "can we get darling Ollie some water?" She snaps her fingers at one of the servers insistently, rudely, directing Oliver to sit down. He did so, and Farleigh took a seat next to him, wrapping an arm around Oliver's shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," Oliver hears himself speak almost automatically, "I don't think I caught your name." Immediately the woman's expression morphs into a pantomime of apology, offering her hand.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so used to being known at these things - god, listen to me I must sound like I have such an ego, sorry, Ollie, darling," the woman's smile reeks of practiced perfection, "I'm Pearl L/N." Everything stops for a very long few moments as Oliver shakes her hand and processes this news. He blinks a few times, and Pearl laughs airily in the twilight, "oh, maybe he does know me; look," she tips her head to Elspeth, "the boy's starstruck." He's liking her less and less and the moments go on; he can see exactly what the others' problem is with her.

"Sorry, Pearl L/N?" Quickly retracting his hand, he tries to remember what you'd told him mere hours ago, "are you the same Pearl L/N who managed to sell Bijou L/N's Aurora's to..." he trails off, having no actual idea of where the paintings had gone, but banking on what you told him about Peal enjoying the sound of her own voice. As anticipated, she looks frankly delighted, throwing her head back as an uncannily familiar laugh echoes from her. In his peripheries, he sees the approving look Elspeth is giving him.

"My word, yes, they're still up at The Met," she tells him, "I suspect it will be a cold day in hell before they're taken down; they paid more than my mother paid for the house she painted them in."

"Your mother -?"

"I'll take care of him," Farleigh cuts him off with a cold smile to Pearl. It's enough to distract the woman, who coos fondly.

"Oh you really are Freddie's, she must be so proud of the man you are, Farleigh."

Farleigh gives a jerky nod, robotically thanking her for the compliment, and she swans away to greet some of the others who've just arrived.

"Sorry, I thought... she just reminded me so much of Y/N," Oliver mumbled. Farleigh extracts his arm from around Oliver's shoulders, something dangerous in his eyes as he watches the woman, now talking and laughing and socialising with such exuberance and ease.

"You are a fucking idiot," Farleigh bites out venomously, not even looking at Oliver. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest. They both watch for a moment as Pearl takes the arm of another guest, coaxing them and the group they're with to sit over on the picnic bench.

"Can you stop calling me that if you're not going to tell explain to me why?" Oliver finally snaps back, turning to level a glare at the tall gentleman beside him. Farleigh meets his unimpressed look with one of his own, gazing into his eyes as if his next words were of the utmost importance.

"Why exactly do you think that Y/N L/N has a problem with Pearl L/N?"

Oliver feels like a fucking idiot. All the pieces are finally in place, and the picture, Oliver realises, is much bleaker than he'd realised.

Farleigh looks back at the picnic table. The general chatter has died down now, and it seemed that catching up between members of the collective was in order. But his focus was captivated by the woman with your smile. Your mother. Everything familiar about her started to make his skin itch. Everything about you started to make a lot more sense.

There was an effortlessness to how she dazzled the collective, pouring affectionate praise onto the artists as they shared their creativity and triumph, offering support and suggestion to other curators and appreciators like herself who found themselves looking for advice.

Charming, exuberant, fascinating, just as Elspeth had told him she's be. Oliver just remembers hearing you weep about how, in the eleven years since you'd been welcomed into Saltburn, she'd never once asked about you.

"I'm in talks with the Vatican about doing a documentary on the Sistine Chapel," Pearl tell the collective airily when it's finally her turn to share. Chin in one hand, the other picking at the statue at the back of the table that's just behind her, Oliver remembers the argument you'd had with Elspeth just yesterday, "but it's been such a runaround," she groaned, reaching up for one of the stone seeds the sculpture was trying to eat, "so many legal meetings and all this red tape; I've got a meeting with the pope and several high ranking members of the clergy to see if I can get their blessing and bypass all this nonsense. I swear Michaelangelo would be rolling in his grave if he knew the effort one must put in nowadays to appreciate his work." A meeting with the fucking pope?

"Pope Benedict the Sixteenth?" Elspeth says with disbelief, the gaggle of women scattered around the garden echoing the sentiment.

"Has there been another one instated while I wasn't looking?" Pearl smiles, teasing edge to her tone that's uncomfortably familiar, but then there's a faint crack, and she looks up guiltily. Or at least, she looks exactly the way a guilty person should look.

"Darling, you do that every time," Elspeth laughs lightly, while the woman puts the stone seed down on the table before her.

"Surely it hasn't been that many times," she responded, though Farleigh's voice is in Oliver's ear.

"That's the third."

"Fine, let me get you another one," the woman offers, "a proper nymph for this darling little fairy garden, something pretty and fitting, not this..." She looks up at the statue, at the myth of Persephone gleefully eating what seeds are left, at the figure with your unmistakable likeness, "strange, sad little thing," she laughs, before adding that the garden itself was beautiful, and that Elspeth had to get her in contact with the landscape artist. Elspeth, surprisingly, suggests that they should head inside since it was swiftly approaching dinner.

Felix and Venetia are already sitting at the table, a mostly empty bottle of wine on the table between them, both cups far less than full. Farleigh takes the seat opposite Felix, and pulls Oliver down to sit across from Venetia. Neither of the siblings speak, but both are looking at Farleigh as if they can divine some secret message from his wordless expression alone.

"No, I take it back," Pearl's voice fills the dining room, drawing all attention as the others filled in around her. The way she's looking at Felix and Venetia is so painfully endeared; if Oliver didn't know any better, he'd say their glares in her direction were cruel, "Elle, I think Cattons are just cursed to have beautiful children," sighing with a teasing, faux disappointment to Elspeth as she passes behind the siblings to take her seat, she greets them both warmly.

"Children," Elspeth prompts, sharp look in her eyes like she's embarrassed by their lack of grace, both Venetia and Felix nod in greeting, her name coming out as a robotic mumble.

"How lovely are they," Pearl sits, fawning over the Catton siblings to the other guests, who all chatter in faint agreement. As expected, however, Oliver finds he can hear Pearl's voice over all the others, even though she sat herself across from Elspeth, at the other end of the table, "Elle, really I'm in endless awe of you and James, Saltburn has never looked so spectacular as it does under your care, I'm sure my home would go to ruin if Andreas and I ever attempted having a child, let alone raising one half as lovely as you've managed; twice!"

"Pearl," Elspeth told her, voice loud enough that it too carried, "I'm sure that if you had a child, they would be -"

"Oh you're just being kind, Elle, don't waste your breath on hypotheticals."

Across the table, Felix looks like he's about to cry.

Oliver feels... unexpectedly hollow. Every word Pearl speaks reminds him of the state he'd seen you in that afternoon.

"I hate her," Venetia snarls, loud enough for only the four at the end to have heard. There's something about this moment, looking at the siblings and their cousin so completely united against this common enemy, that finally makes Oliver realise and believe just how deeply they all cared for you. Even Farleigh was regarding him in solidarity.

Somehow Pearl still hadn't noticed the black cloud that hung over the other end of the table, or perhaps after eleven years she was used to ignoring it. At least the rest of the collective didn't seem too bothered by it, making bright conversation amongst themselves and leaving the furious youth to stew in their collective anger.

"Why didn't you tell me Pearl was your mum?" Oliver heads immediately to the lilac study. The door opens right as he's about to knock, like you'd heard him coming; you look better than you had that afternoon, but his words have your expression falling.

"I'm sure she didn't see it necessary to tell you I'm her child either," you snapped back, hostile. Oliver goes quiet. You crossed your arms, gaze dropping to the ground, "exactly."

"I don't know you," voice faint, Oliver steps back. Finally it starts to hit him, everything that's happened, everything he'd learned and witnessed and heard. The ache begins in his chest and blooms as he looks at you and tries to reconcile all he now knows. How had he not realised that in all the time you'd spent together, you'd never even given him your last fucking name? "I don't know who you are."

"I don't owe anyone anything -"

"Especially not yourself, right?" Oliver cuts you off, at war with himself when he sees the hurt in your eyes. Still, he can't stand by and let you talk like this, let you become a secondary character in your own damn life, "don't owe yourself the chance to believe that someone cares about you, wants to know you, to make you feel like you matter? I want to know you, I want to I love you," the words sound so raw, and he aches, shudders with each deep breath in, "but there is something wrong with you."

There was no anger in your eyes when you'd closed the door, nor any kind of betrayal. Oliver wonders if that would have been easier to stomach than the guilt, the look of apology. You agreed; you believed he was right. Regret begins to claw at his gut the moment he stumbles back, towards his room; he should have waited, given himself time to think, to process before going to you. Fuck, he really shouldn't have gone to you knowing the state you were in.

Oliver is hollow with want, despite his outburst, desperate to be close to you. But there's no way he can come back from this tonight. All he has is the people who care about you. If Oliver had learned one thing tonight, it was the Catton children and their cousin all did love you, each in their own way.

And Venetia Catton was smoking outside his window in a see-through nightgown.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick smut #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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