I Have Been Unable To Think Of Anything Since Finishing It.

write the fic i’ve been brainstorming since i watched saltburn : ❌

draw scene from the fic that has been stick in my head instead of writing it: ✅

*sigh*

He was a sad one, that you could admit but he wasn’t bad. You liked hanging around Oliver and occasionally Michael who had only tolerated your presence if for but the fact that you always gave him a crunchie bar whenever you two studied together. Oliver was the better option, someone you could sit in complete silence with and have small conversations about random nerdy shit that you couldn’t talk about with Felix. The boy would listen, sure but he got bored easily and soon enough the conversations about Doctor Who or The Hobbit were switched to small moans, slick sounds and gagging or fuzzy memories clouded by the essence of the weed you would pass back and forth to each other. 

But lately you couldn’t find yourself comfortable anywhere execpt with those two boys and even then something was off. You didn’t know what it was but one night you couldn’t take it anymore and knocked on Felix’s dorm room door. 

“Hey,” he says confused and slightly concerned. His hands cup your cheeks, his dark eyes registering the fear that clouds your face. “What's wrong?”

You only look behind your shoulder and clutch your blanket and pillow tighter to your chest. “Can I stay the night? Please.” He only opens the door wider, inviting you in and checking behind you as well, making sure that no one was waiting in the dark. 

And like with all things with Felix, it got out of hand.

Your legs are thrown over his shoulders and your sweat slicked hands brace themselves against his hard chest as he pounds into you. The sound of your slick against his cock, an echoing sound that joins your muffled moans under his hand to make sure that his entire floor doesn’t come banging on his door in the middle of the night. His breath is hot against your ear and small strands of his dark hair tickle your nose. Words are muffled, his dirty talk only white sound as you lose yourself to the pleasure. 

Your head falls to the side and your eyes are now looking out the window. And despite your fuzzy vision in the start, it soon tunnels onto one thing: a pair of bright blue eyes staring right into your own.

its me. im the girl

Jason Todd rugby player AU…

No one questions his physical build anymore. They just assume he worked for it as he played and improved his skills.

Bumps and bruises gained as Red Hood are easily explained away with a word: “Rugby.”

Plus, the girl cheering him on during every game makes sure he survives his nightly duties and knows he has someone on his team, no matter what uniform he wears.

if i combust?? what then

Oh my lord.. what sentences do you think jacob would whisper in bed??🫣🫣

Hehehehe Jacob gives off dominant and very passionate. I would never get over that man.

“Whose pussy is this?”

“This is what you wanted right?”

“Take it…fucking take it”

“So fucking beautiful, look at you baby”

“Fuck…you’re so tight”

“Look baby, look at how daddy is stretching you”

“Stop running from it”

“Move your hand”

“I missed you my love”

“I need you, I need this, I need us”

“My pretty girl”

“So wet….is it for me?”

“Good girl y/n”

“you’re made for me”

“Let go for me, I’ve got you”

“I love you”

the way he whimpered while he talked!!!

might as well rip my damned heart out

Poor baby girl, I just want to hug him tight in that scene 🫶🫶

“Stay. Please?”

Andrew!Peter x Reader

Peter and Y/n are best friends, but both of them want to be a little more than that.

Authors note: I love this man.

The moon sat still in the sky, glowing a silvery white casting shadows upon the city. Despite the time, cars and trucks raced along the roads, the noise never ending. But you didn’t mind, in fact you were kind if used to it. You lay still in your bed, the darkness surrounding you. You waited patiently. For what, you don’t know.

Time seemed to move slower than usual, you checked the time on your phone it read : 1:34AM, sadly only two minutes had passed since you last checked. you sighed loudly and sat up in your bed. you got out and hopped into your bunny slippers that Peter bought you for your birthday three years ago. You had thought they were stupid at first, but now they were one of your most prized possessions. You opened your door with much difficulty, seeing as your hand had been swallowed by the sleeve of one of Peter’s hoodies that he had given you when you were cold one night, plus your bedroom door was already a pain in the ass to open.

You walked toward your kitchen and went straight to the pantry. you grabbed two croissants and the Nutella, carrying a knife in your mouth. You cut the croissants in half horizontally and dipped the knife in the Nutella. you spread the nutella on the croissants and put them back together. You walked back to your room, croissants, a spoonful of Nutella and a glass of water in hand. You placed them down and sat on the edge of you bed, and as you did that, there was soft knocking at your window.

You checked the clock on the wall to see that the time was only 1:40AM. You froze in your tracks, turning slowly as your parents and sister were asleep in their rooms so you had to be as quiet as possible. You tiptoed to the window, unlocking it as quietly as possible after looking and seeing peter’s stupid grin.

“Peter!? What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the freaking night, your 14 storeys up and you could fall!'' you whisper-yelled. “Well i- i would have tried your front door, but i figured it’d be a bit awkward since its late. so i- well now i'm here. And~ I bought snacks. ” he spoke. his teeth were chattering and he couldn’t seem to stand still. “Well you best come in then, Parker.'' you sighed, letting him in and closing the window as quietly as possible. He stumbled to the other side of your bedroom.

“So why are you here then?” you asked, moving back to your bed. “I don't mean it in a rude way, it’s just usually when you come over it’s because something happened, you’re here for Gwen or you need patching up.” you explained, beginning to eat one of your croissants. he sat on your spinning desk chair, watching you eat your food. He grabbed the spoon of Nutella and began eating it happily. “I just- I was in the neighbourhood, you know and i uh, i guess i wanted to swing by.” he said hurriedly, inhaling sharply. “You got hurt again, didn’t you.”

“yeah.”

“lemme see it.” you sighed, he smiled sheepishly, holding his side in pain, this boy.

He took off his jacket , sucking in a breath. He lifted up his shirt, revealing a large bleeding gash on his waist. “Gods sake Peter.”

You quickly grabbed a first aid kit from the bathroom and began fixing him up on the desk chair beside your bed. You poured rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball and began disinfecting the cut. He made little noises as the alcohol got into his cut. “Ah! Be gentle Y/n.” He whined, frowning at you when you looked up at him in frustration.

“What even happened this time?”

He gasped dramatically, placing his hand on his chest in ‘shock’. “Does the y/n- who hates everyone on this dear planet- care about little old me?” he pouted, bringing his face toward you. You pushed him back and gestured your eyes back down to the bleeding wound.

“Just the usual, you know. Mutant lizards and burning cars. No biggie.” he shrugged, placing a gummy worm into his mouth.

“No biggie!? You could’ve died, Parker. I know you have ‘super spider healing’ or whatever, but you are not invincible!” You almost yelled at him. He just muttered a quiet “I know.” and let you continue your rant.

“You’re Peter Parker, My Peter. Stop throwing yourself into the belly of the beast like you’re going to come out unscathed every time, coz you’re not! One day if you’re not careful you’re going to get seriously hurt, or worse! So please for the love of God.. Stop acting like no one loves you because i do! I Love You peter Parker, you and your stupid glasses and your stupid face and that goofy little smile you do when i’m mad at you.” You huffed at the end. You took two deep breaths and resumed cleaning his wound.

“You.. love me. Did I hear that right? ” he mumbled, grabbing your hands and making you look up at him. He looked so pretty. His hair was messy, yet still so soft and fluffy, his doe eyes stared at you intently with so many unclear emotions hiding behind them.

“Yes because you’re my best friend, now can I finish?” you asked, wriggling out of his grasp. He let you finish up, but it was already starting to heal.

“Just your best friend, huh?” he said, as he looked at your lips and then back up into your eyes. When you finally looked back up at him, he was blushing. He shuffled forward on the chair and leant in a little. You pulled back in realisation before he could get any closer.

“No. Peter, we’ve talked about this.” he put his hand on your cheek and pulled your face closer to his so that your lips were barely touching. “I can’t.” you whispered. A tear rolled down your cheek.

“I should- i should probably go.” his face was still centimetres from yours, your noses touching. You didn’t want him to leave, and he knew that.

“Peter don’t- Don’t go. Please.” You chewed on your bottom lip, looking up into his eyes.

“Y/n.”

“I- I don't- You know what, I'm just gonna say it. I think you’re great I- it’s just that you’re my best friend Pete.” you spoke quickly.

“I know.”

“And Gwen. She’s my sister. And, she really likes you, you know.”

“I know but-“

You cut him off. “No peter. There are no ‘buts’. You know how I feel about you, but there are things we can’t risk. We cannot do this to Gwen. So please Peter, don’t do this.” You stayed looking up at him. He swallowed hard and held eye contact.

“How can I not when you look up at me like you want me to hold you in my arms forever and never let you go? How can I not when your eyes are the only thing i want to look at for the rest of my life? How can I not when there’s nothing on this earth that makes me feel the way you do? Tell me Y/n. How?” He breathed against your lips.

“But she loves you.”

“Do you love me?” he asked, staring down into your eyes.

“I- I do. More than anything.”

“Then kiss me.”

His lips were soft and warm. They fit perfectly with yours, it was slow and so filled with passion. He tasted like gummy bears and chocolate. The kiss was so gentle and loving despite the slight clumsiness on your part, but in the moment all you could think of was how perfect it felt. His hand slowly settled on your waist, rubbing the smooth skin under your hoodie. He kissed your cheek and pushed you back on the bed, breaking the kiss.

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t leave.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. “

he looks so grumpy. Ugh im in love

the way Oliver cocks his head at Venetia over breakfast the morning after their vampire scene while he watches her eat and Felix literally just sits there like this :

It's just so...*chef's kiss* and i'll never recover lol

sweet jesus

art fucking me while wearing nothing but his backwards cap would have me like 😵‍💫😵‍💫 i would do anything for that slutty blonde man and his slutty backwards cap.

frat boy!art …. oh god…. he’s sweet art and he’s a gentleman but the fraternity has given him an ego. when he started college he was shy, timid, didn’t know how to talk to girls. and then he rushed to get more friends and girls started throwing themselves at him faster than he could keep up. he went from a shaky make out session in august to a body count of seven by halloween and that didn’t count the girls he wasn’t interested in.

and you like art; he’s smarter than he lets on even though he tells people he isn’t, that he’s only at stanford because of athletics. but you don’t want to fuck him because you know his type. the guy who realizes now that he’s hot and has a good body and he doesn’t wanna be held down by a whiny girl. it just screamed problematic to you. so you let him down politely.

but there’s something about how fucking charming he is. how he takes the rejection with grace. still invites you to the parties his fraternity is throwing, tells you and your friends to find him if there’s any trouble.

art sees it before you do. a creep from another frat who somehow snuck in the door and was about to grope your ass before art socked him in the face.

you hated to be so easy but watching him punch a guy with zero hesitation, shaking his hand and sucking his blood from the cut on his knuckles—made your previous rejection nullify.

because now you’re in his room asking him if his hand is okay but you’re pushed against his door and his mouth is opening so you can push your tongue inside. you do. his hands roam down your back and he carries you to his bed and then his shirt is off, his shorts, his tiny briefs.

his body is fucking perfect and you don’t want to ogle but jesus christ.

your hand quickly wraps around his cock and it’s so hard already. his moans and mewls tumble into your mouth as you milk him with both hands. head lolling back so you can kiss his throat, his bobbing adam’s apple.

but he wants to be in control. he wants your pussy wrapped around his cock—he’s been thinking about it since he met you two months ago.

you realize his hat is still on; it’s backwards and his curls poke out from the bottom, drops of sweat plopping onto your stomach as he pushes into you in missionary and god his cock is fucking perfect. why did you ever say no?

he pushes your knees back to get so deep that you’re arching your back and begging for more than he can even dream of giving you.

“it’s all in baby, you want me to fuck you hard?” he asks, thrusting in sharp, precise motions, a staccato. “or do you want me to fuck you deep?” he slows down, and that’s what makes you want to cum right then and there, the feeling of every inch of him. in and out so fucking slow and deliberate.

but then he wants you to ride him and you do, clawing at his pretty pale chest, marking him up. reveling in how his big hands feel on your tits, your ass, the small of your back.

it’s uncomfortable for him to lay down with his hat still on so he puts it on you instead. you’re not sure why it turns you on. you ride him hard and fast.

“fuck—you’re so big—“ you hiss, throwing your head back.

art pulls you into him so your stomach is flush against his, your tits pressed against him. he palms your ass and fucks into you and you’re squeezing him harder and harder. you’re about to cum, and so is he.

“yeah? want me to fill this little fucking pussy up?”

you’ve never heard art be so vulgar.

smth abt being added to a taglist makes me feel so special!!

uh oh?

masterlist

synopsis: what happens when the daughter of the CEO of a major film company and the son of the president of a successful food company move in next door?

taglist (open): @seungzzzz @thvvcut @ywnzn @nattys-girl @lovelyannoyingcher @blurryriki @xyxlyn @lovandr @lcvehee @sobun1est

employees of the month sungho and his kids

episode 1: 🚨 this 🚨 is 🚨 not 🚨 a 🚨 drill 🚨

episode 2: still filming

episode 3: still filming

WHAT THE FUCK?!?!? AND IM JUST SUPPOSED TO LIVE MY LIFE KNOWING THIS EXISTS??? NO FUCKING WAY.

baby, put your back into it {Farleigh Start/Reader/Oliver Quick}

1/2: i'm gonna talk you through it [SMUT]

Summary: You're the daughter of one of Henrys, and known to be a snobby, entitled Princess of a woman; neither Venetia nor Felix seems to like you. Farleigh, however, claims that you and he have an ongoing arrangement. Felix says that arrangement is that you and Farleigh bitch together, then fuck like wild animals every time you hang out. Turns out you're even bitchier in person, and after a cruel joke played on Oliver by you and Farleigh at the Henrys dinner, he decides to take a bit of power back. Not that it goes as intended... nor that it goes completely wrong.

Need to Know: She/Her. AFAB!Reader. Established FWB Brat!Reader/Brat Tamer!Farleigh

Warnings: PWP!! smut; fingering, oral (F receiving), dirty talk, lots of arguing, reader is very very bratty, demeaning talk, bondage & restraints, explicit discussions around safewords (it does happen a little bit into the action but before anything major), pet name used for the reader "princess"

A/N: 4730 words. okay turns out i can write pwp. i cut out like 1.5k of background and you get the gist of it in the summary. there will be a part 2 thats heavy on the smut, but this trio takes a while to set anything up because they can't stop arguing. hints of farleigh/oliver. this was a lot of fun but again i can't stress how long its been since ive written full, proper smut, so id really appreciate feedback. <3 unedited, i love you.

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

----

Fucking Farleigh Start. Oliver feels the fury as it burns and bubbles inside of him, stalking quietly through the halls of Saltburn. There, at the end of the hall, Farleigh's bedroom door, quiet and unassuming, and right next to it, Oliver's target; your door. Farleigh isn't the only one in the house who can wrap people around his little finger; he isn't the only one in the house who can get the Princess to kneel.

Trying the handle, he finds it unlocked, and eases the old, wooden door open.

"Farleigh was right," upon hearing your voice, bright, amused, and very much awake in the dark, Oliver jumps, "you're an A-plus lurker, I didn't even hear you come in."

"Was a nasty thing you did to me tonight," Oliver tries to regain some of his composure, some of the ire he'd built up on the way here.

"So you've snuck into my room, I assume you assumed I was asleep, to- what, wake me up and berate me?" There's something smug and biting in your voice, something that fuels the fury coiling deep in his gut, "that doesn't sound like enough for someone like you, tricksie, little, pauper boy." When you start to move from where you've been sitting up in bed, crawling to the end to sit on your knees as the moonlight streaks through your window and finally paints you in sharp relief, he sees you're already nude.

But even your stunning body in the moonlight cannot compare to the look on your face, the sharp, hungry, mean amusement he's never seen a person wear so well.

"Go on then, shout," your eyes shine dangerously in the moonlight; "don't you want Farleigh to hear?" They might have been right. You might be the devil. Your smile gets wider, and Oliver can only watch, rather transfixed, as you start rolling your hips with purpose, "or do you want him to hear something else?" He hears, quietly at first, a soft tap, getting louder as you keep insistently thrusting against the air, against the mattress, the sound of the bedframe hitting the wall behind it, the wall that you shared with Farleigh on the other side.

Then, all at once, you stopped. A loud, mean laugh is pulled from you as you pitch yourself back on the bed, kicking your legs out in front of you to hang off the edge, completely relaxed, completely exposed. You give a loud, amused sigh, looking up at the canopy of the four poster bed.

"God, you're such a little bitch, Oliver, Farleigh was so right," you snorted, "I was the one who actually saw you eating Venetia like your life depended on it, on the lawn of all places," you shook your head, "I don't know what you told Felix to get out of that one but I know what I saw," clicking your tongue, you raised your leg, pointing a foot at him, not even bothering to look at him, "now you won't even touch me in my own bedroom when I'm practically begging for it. I'm choosing to be offended about that; you've offended me, Oliver."

Slowly, your leg lowers, and you kick your heels idly against the end of the bed in the silence.

"Where do you get all your attitude from?" Oliver finally speaks, tone turning scornful as he approached you.

"The money," you fire back with ease, "which is why you always seem to have none." Then, in the furious silence that followed, you grinned sharply at the roof, still not bothering to look at him, "try harder."

When he touches your knee, his fingers gentle against your skin, you kick him hard in the thigh with your other foot -

"The fuck? Did you just kick me?"

"Yeah, and?" He can almost hear you rolling your eyes, "what did you think it was, the wind? Ghost of Grandma Catton?"

"Do you fuckin' want me or not?" He's still standing within kicking range, he learns too late. All the while you've never even looked at him, always looking at the ceiling, hands comfortably, casually behind your head. There's a smug grin on your lips now, something teasing and once more mean.

"Do you want me?" You respond, legs gliding open, an open invitation to your slick, moon-drenched cunt, "I thought you wanted to use me to get back at Farleigh," you said mockingly, finally looking up and meeting his deep, furious gaze. Propped up on your elbows, you give a grin that's all teeth, "wanted to show us who has the real power, that you can get us back for the stunt we pulled after dinner," you sat up further, intense, hungry amusement in your eyes that drew Oliver in to you, leaning in, his hands coming to rest on your thighs as you were almost nose to nose. Your voice lowers, gaze on his lips as your voice turns to almost a moan, "wanted to show Farleigh that you could take anything he thought was his; even me," and you start fake moaning, softly at first, but getting exponentially louder as you leaned back again, against the bed, arching and writhing from nothing, putting on a show that ended with you shouting - "Oliver's a fucking bitch!" At the top of your lungs, and cackling with glee.

Rage exploded within Oliver, and for a moment, overcome with a strange sense of betrayal at your demonstration, he smacks at your inner thigh with all the might he can muster. He can tell it stings, your laughter stops for just a moment, leg flinching up for just a second, but then you're laughing harder if possible.

"Your first mistake - of many - was letting her talk at all," Farleigh's voice from the door is frankly annoyed. You, however, gasp with delight, sitting directly up and looking at Farleigh with absolute glee.

"That's not his fault, I wasn't going to tell him," you pointed out, before looking down at your thighs, and Oliver's hands still on them, and the part of you that must have still stung from the slap, "why is your grip so soft?" You looked up at him with a derisive expression, and immediately Oliver's grip on you goes tight, nails digging into your skin; you're fucking laughing at him again, still, "awe, you're getting there -"

"Could you stop that already?" Oliver leans in, scowling at you. Eyebrows raising in mock surprise, you grinned with devilish intent.

"Stop what?"

"All that fuckin' talking you're doing."

"I don't know, can I -?" But then out of seemingly nowhere, Farleigh sits himself down at the end of the bed next to you, flush against your side. He's still in his crisp, white shirt, and black slacks, looking so put together next to your brash nudity. When his hand comes up to your jaw, barely two fingers beneath your chin to guide you, to have you looking him in the eyes, you have to bite your lip to keep yourself quiet. Both he and Oliver can see how badly you want to laugh, to make any kind of sound, but you hold yourself back.

"Okay, your fucking highness," Farleigh's voice is low and dangerous, full of warning, and Oliver sees you take a sharp breath in, gaze fixed on Farleigh's, "you don't get shit from either of us if you can't keep your dirty mouth closed." Though you nod adamantly, you puff out your cheeks, amusement in your eyes as you're clearly desperate to say something; "what?" Farleigh frowns.

"I have really bad news for you about what I have to do to suck dick," you point out, trying to keep your composure. It's not working, giggles are escaping you at a rapid rate.

"You are testing nerves I didn't even know I had," Oliver admits, desperately trying to sink his nails into you as hard as he could. If he could draw blood, perhaps that would be enough penance for having to endure your infuriating company.

However, it's Farleigh who speaks, lip curling with frustration as he smacks Oliver's hand away from the thigh closest to him. With a solid grip on that thigh, he pulls you leg close to him, forcing your legs wider, exposing you further.

"Then do something about it," he practically orders, and something about the tone sparks a kind of indignation in his chest, "you need me to talk you through it?" He snaps. This, however, quickly turns smug and mean as Farleigh leans in, nose to nose with Oliver and his building frustration with them both; "you know how to eat pussy, right?"

"You should both be very careful what you wish for," Oliver's eyes flash with a dangerous confidence as he sank down on his knees between your legs. You, thrilled and delighted by how the situation was no unfolding, lay yourself back on the bed with contented laughter, hands coming to rest confidently behind your head once more.

Farleigh watches Oliver with intense scrutiny, and for reasons he's not quite sure of, Oliver meets his gaze, refuses to break eye contact. His hand moves first, no longer holding your left thigh, he digs his elbow into your soft inner thigh, bracing his arm against you, forcing your leg further open and keeping it that way, letting him comfortably rest his hand with his thumb on your clit.

"Smart boy," you hum appreciatively, shifting your hips back and forth a little as his thumb is rubbing circles against your clit, "knows where the start button is." He takes his thumb off of you, much to your confusion. His gaze is still locked with Farleigh's. "Fucking hell, are you tired already -?" You sat up on your elbows, scowling at him, but Oliver looks sharply to you.

"Weren't you listening to Farleigh, princess?" Oliver asks, and there's something so deliciously satisfying about the look of flustered surprise on your face in this moment. Beside you, Farleigh huffs a laugh to himself and stands, pulling off his tie. Oliver's full attention, however, is still trained on your. Slowly, as he speaks, he again begins to rub circles against your clit, teasing, never enough proper pressure to be satisfying.

"I -" you started, but he immediately stopped again; out of the corner of his eyes, Oliver sees Farleigh's approving nod. Something about this all has his blood rushing in his fucking ears. You press your lips together, giving him a now expectant look, as if here, I've done what you've asked.

You're so wet, so wanting, ready and waiting, right thigh inching closer, leg curling around him, heel pressing insistently into his back. God you look so fucking good, he wants nothing more than to eat you like a man starving, tasting every inch of you -

"Give me your belt," Farleigh interrupts, and Oliver pauses, mouth literally an inch from your cunt, looking up at Farleigh like he can't quite believe him right now.

"Farleigh!" You exclaim with utter frustration, right leg lashing out to kick him, but he grabs your ankle and holds it tightly. With his free hand he makes an expectant, grabby hand at Oliver.

"Belt, now please." He practically orders.

"Use your own belt, Farleigh," Oliver nods to the belt Farleigh had just tossed to the side of the room, and Farleigh gives him a thin, unamused smile.

"Mine's nicer, and I don't want your cum on it," he explained with a mean, humourless smile. Oliver sat back for a long, furious moment, undoing his belt. The minute his hands were off of you, you tried to whine, but Farleigh, now just in his boxers, sat further up the bed beside you.

"This is overkill, I'll be good," you pouted, twisting to lay your head on his thigh, looking up at him with as pleading eyes as you could manage.

"You're not even being good right now," he pointed out; "both your thighs are over Oliver's fucking shoulders, and you haven't gone thirty seconds without saying something," but clearly you're pleased and flustered at being called out. Farleigh says your name more insistently, and you try and play innocent before he practically orders, "get your fucking legs off of him!" Like he can't quite believe you're still trying these tricks, even though you both seem comfortable in this dynamic.

"Oliver~" Farleigh then practically sings like a warning, gaze turning much colder as it falls back on Oliver himself, "where are we with that belt?"

"What's it for anyways?" Oliver finally pulls his belt free, awkwardly half throwing it to Farleigh, who does actually thank him, before his attention is back on you, bare and warm and wet and - "princess," he says suddenly before Farleigh can even answer his initial question, looking up, and you make a noise of acknowledgement, "you want me to touch you like I mean it, then keep your legs spread like you actually fucking want it," voice going low and sharp, immediately you widen your legs as best you can.

"Oh, he's good," Farleigh says, surprisingly appreciatively, watching as Oliver makes a meal of you.

Finally, finally, Oliver's mouth is on you, tongue gliding playfully along your slit, his nose continually bumping his thumb as it continues to work your clit, firmer this time. You hips wriggle and roll with him, desperate for more, growing frustrated with his teasing lightness.

"The belt can be for several things," Farleigh began, matter-of-factly as he began to loop the belt through itself, focusing on his task at hand, "if she insists on closing her legs, I'm not above using both belts to make sure she keeps them open - this bedframe's especially good for that -" a hot spike of desire passes through Oliver all at once, picturing you bound and open and begging -

"Oh, don't joke about that Farleigh, come on, you know I love that -" you actually whimpered, but Oliver, still keeping in mind the earlier warning, once more stops entirely. You gasp, as if betrayed, before remembering for yourself, actually whining, "you guys fucking suck," you whimper petulantly. For a moment, Oliver wonders if he really aught to be here, if this strange, psychosexual encounter was really worth it.

"You're fucking loving this," Farleigh countered without a moment of hesitation, saying it with such confidence that it almost surprised Oliver, "you just hate that you can't shut the fuck up for any amount of time, and that Oliver isn't actually as much of a little bitch as you thought," clearing his throat, Farleigh cast an evaluative look, before trying to shrug it off nonchalantly, "as either of us thought, I guess."

A moment of quiet stillness passes, and Oliver looks to you, face scrunched up with embarrassment, as all of Farleigh's words apparently rang true.

"Are you hourly, Oliver?" Farleigh then scowls, much to Oliver's confusion. Farleigh looks at him like he's a downright idiot, "the princess is actually being quiet, which means..." he trailed off pointedly. Oliver sat back on his heels, frowning at Farleigh for a long moment, his hands coming to rest on your knees. You, yet again growing incredibly unsatisfied, groaned into your hands.

"Not if you're gonna talk to me like that," Oliver takes a deep breath, sitting tall, gaze unflinching as he meets Farleigh's sneering gaze.

"Then fuck off, Little Orphan Ollie, we don't need you," he spits, "you should really feel lucky that you even got this far -"

"You're all talk, Farleigh," Oliver, with a newfound confidence, and his hands on you, rubbing small, gentle circles against your inner thighs with his thumbs. Farleigh's eyes narrow, but Oliver's smile turns knowing, "I know you can throw her around, and tie her up, and give her orders, clearly," he tips his head ever so slightly to the side, gaze slipping to you, to where you've still got your face covered by your hands, "but we both know no-one can speak for her, but her."

The faint, frustrated whimpering that had been escaping you this entire time goes dead silent. Oliver feels the way you go very still. Farleigh, realising what Oliver meant, also turned to look at you properly.

"'s your bedroom, princess," Oliver leans in, presses a kiss to your inner thigh, murmuring softly against your skin, "what do you think?"

"I think you're edging each other with psychosexual, power-play, bullshit-banter that's doing fucking nothing for me," you snap behind your hands, "and I'm gonna start kicking people again very soon," you warned. Farleigh rolled his eyes.

"Sit up," he sighed.

"No."

"Make a choice," Oliver told you, tone firmer this time.

"Also no." Your voice was sounding particularly petulant, and you even brought your knees together, closing yourself off in front of Oliver. After a long, vaguely irate silence, Farleigh takes a deep breath.

"Is something wrong? Are we at a yellow light? Red light?" He asks, tone far gentler, he leans over, fingers gentle against your hairline by your fingertips.

"Light... colours?" Oliver asks with genuine confusion. Farleigh is far less patient when he turns on Oliver, like he's frustrated to even be explaining this.

"Like a traffic light; instead of a safety word like pineapple, we have green - go, yellow - slow down, red - stop," said like he wanted to include duh, obviously on the end, but refrained, turning back to you.

"And... they're for her?" Intrigued and surprisingly endeared by the concept, Oliver leans forward with a little smile, resting his chin on one of your knees, looking between yourself and Farleigh. He watches you sigh, even with your hands over your face.

"How do you not know how safe words work? What kind of sex have you been having?" Farleigh's judgemental tone hits Oliver square in the chest, but before he can even answer, you finally sit up, expression wide and overwhelmed with frustration.

"Farleigh look at him; he's like if they made repression a person! He's been having the most boring, vanilla sex known to man - if any - and getting off in his spare time to things that would make God cry. Look him in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong -" Farleigh's gaze flicked to Oliver, who suddenly felt himself begin to flush scarlet, and had to sit back again, frowning at his hands. There was something about the shame at being so concisely called out that was... thrilling. Something about how clearly you could see through him, through his persona to the raw want at his very core, it was freeing. You sat up further, with purpose, grabbing Oliver's chin so roughly it shocked him, forcing him to look in your eyes for a long moment.

"You came in here with purpose thinking I was asleep; creepy, hot, deranged; I'm into it," you told him sternly, "I literally could not care less about you otherwise, you're nothing to me the rest of the time. You came here to put me in my place, I don't want you here if you can't do that." Fucking hell, Oliver can feel his heartbeat racing as you shove his face away, your expression almost bordering on disgust.

"So you're..." Farleigh, as if frustrated by this little tirade you saw fit to go on, was unimpressed as he once more checked in.

"Green light, obviously," you threw your hands into the air in exasperation, "it's like you've never met me before -" but before you can slump back against the bed like you so clearly wanted to, Farleigh catches you, shifts behind you to prop you up.

"You're a brat," Oliver says, finally finding the words for the dynamic, and rather charmed by it all. Still, Farleigh has to get a word in edgewise.

"How long 'd it take you to figure that out?" He muttered sarcastically, doing something behind your back while you made a show of struggling and wiggling, refusing to keep your left arm with whatever he was doing.

"So," Oliver clarified, testing out the code, "green light?" You grinned at him, giving a pleased nod. Farleigh, finally having caught your left hand seemingly for good, reiterates the statement distractedly. Then, with a sense of triumph and relief, he pulls the belt, and his makeshift handcuffs, tight.

"Why are you still dressed?" You ask Oliver sharply. You may have had a point, but the game was back on. With your hands secured, Farleigh sat back behind you on the bed, pulling you flush to him, arms secured and pressed between the two of you that was just edging on uncomfortable.

"Why are you still talking?" He mutters into your ear, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, one hand coming to wrap over your mouth, while his other curled around your middle, pulling your legs apart, wasting no time in dipping two long, elegant fingers into you. Your eyes light up, gasping against his hand as the two of you watch with lust in your eyes as Oliver begins to undress.

"The belt," Farleigh's voice has that lazy kind of smugness that Oliver usually hated, but now kind of makes his head fuzzy and kind of like he wants to sink his teeth into him, "is to keep the princess in her place, because someone," he says pointedly, not that you seem to notice; your eyes are closed, and Farleigh's thumb is on your clit while the fingers he has inside of you curl lovingly into your sweet spot, "manages to escape every pair of padded handcuffs either of us have ever bought," he explains, turning his attention back to Oliver, "and she complains about metal handcuffs, and zip ties, has undone every rope knot I've ever tied, and ruined every single tie I've ever tried to tie her up with."

"I bought you new ones," your voice is faint, half a moan muffled behind Farleigh's hand, and Oliver, still unsure of how to respond to any of that, finally turns back to the two of you on the bed. There's something desperate about the way you're arching against Farleigh's firm hold on you, legs having fallen open as your hips rolled in time with his fingers, lewd and needy. But Farleigh's eyes are only on Oliver, watching him with hunger in his eyes, pupils blown wide, gaze roaming over Oliver's physique.

At the sound of your voice, Farleigh's gaze meets Oliver's his smile widening just a touch before he stops entirely. A desperate keening is pulled from you, hips shifting for friction, for anything, as Farleigh rests his hand on your thigh, fingers slick, practically dripping with you.

"No, I'll be good," you whimper, eyes fluttering, half closed, "I'll be -" you were already breathing heavy, "so so good."

"Hear that?" Farleigh murmurs with a vindictive little smile, hand uncovering your mouth, moving to hold your chin, your mouth falling open in a moan as his nails scratch up your thighs. Oliver advances on you both, entranced by the sight of you both, desperate to have a taste, to play along.

"Think she even knows how to be good?" Oliver teases, once more between your thighs. Still, instead of giving you the same kind of proper relief that Farleigh had been offering, he starts out gentle once more.

"Oliver, you're so cruel," you whimper. Farleigh's hand moves from your jaw to wrap around your middle, holding you secure, while the hand that had sat on your thigh moves to your open mouth, Oliver watches, rapt, as he slides both slick digits past your lips, but it shuts you up well enough, lips closing on his fingers as you diligently lap up your own taste from him.

"See, can't trust a word she says," Farleigh purrs. You bite gently on his fingers as you moan, Oliver finally deciding to do more than just tease you. Oliver's fingers are shorter than Farleigh's, but damn if they can't still hit the same high notes. Curling and pressing in a steady rhythm, he alternates dipping his tongue in as much as he can, and circling your clit. Farleigh's hand has moved from your mouth, spit slicked fingers pinching at your nipples, lightly dragging his nails across your skin, while he's started rolling his hips against your back, cock unbearably hard and still confined to his boxers, pressed against you.

You're whimpering and moaning in his ear, straining against your handcuffs, arching, writhing, but Oliver's holding your thighs still and secure and Farleigh is captivated by how enthusiastically he's going down on you, how its shining on his cheeks, his nose - he reaches out, cards his fingers through Oliver's hair. Oliver looks up through his lashes, a fucking gorgeous sight that you're too lost to appreciate. Just for Farleigh.

God he could say something snide, something about sloppy seconds or something about this being the most expensive meal he'll ever have, but he doesn't. He gives a sly, approving smile, and his grip on Oliver's hair tightens.

"Teeth and tongue," he tells Oliver quietly. Oliver doesn't seem to get it at first, but you choke out a whine, arching further into Farleigh, tipping your head against his.

"That's cheating," you gasped, but Farleigh kept running his fingers through Oliver's hair, whose mouth had never left your cunt, nor his eyes Farleigh's face, "you're helping him cheat; you want me to cum this early?"

"You know what's cheating?" Farleigh once more grabbed your chin, angling your head so you could watch Oliver working hard to get you off, "look at him," Farleigh murmurs in your ear, "eyes open, on his," the commanding tone was hard to refuse, and your eyes fluttered open; the fucking sight of him, a mess between your legs, Farleigh's hand in his hair, was almost enough to send you over the edge, "tell him what I mean."

"Gentle- uh, gentle teeth on me- on my-" you desperately tried to string two words together as Oliver began to get more of an idea. Farleigh's hand on his head becoming more insistent, firmer, nose pressed firm against your skin when he finally took the hint, focusing on your clit, sucking and lapping at it, teeth gently teasing as you completely lost the ability to speak. The rhythm of his fingers was consistent and firm throughout it all, pressing just right -

"Keep your fucking eyes on him," Farleigh ordered, almost snarling it into your ear, "I want you to watch Oliver Quick make you cum." But Oliver had eyes only for him, feeling you clench around his fingers, thighs pressing desperately against his shoulder and the hand that had kept them apart, he could feel Farleigh's nails on his scalp and see the heady, smug pride in his eyes.

As you start to come down, breathing hard and heavy and leaning all your weight against Farleigh, you giggle with out of breath contentment.

"Princess's got not manners," Oliver shook his head with an air of disappointment, and Farleigh smirked, brushing some hair from Oliver's forehead before he reached up and tapped your cheek gently.

"Say thank you, Oliver."

"Thank you, Oliver," you grinned, tone surprisingly sincere, as Oliver crawled up onto the bed beside you both. But there's something dark and hungry in his eyes as he watched you both; reaching out, he presses the fingers against Farleigh's lips, your cum coating them like syrup. Farleigh is more than happy to lick them clean, tongue dancing lewdly around Oliver's digits, all kinds of inuendo and promise in his eyes.

Then, Oliver's attention turns on you something dark, hungry, almost deranged in his eyes. He takes your face in hand.

"And you, princess," he says derisively, not even respecting you enough to look you in the eyes in this moment, "this is not your place that I am putting you in," god it almost sounds like a threat, but you're already squirming with want and anticipation, "but we'll get there," he squeezes your cheeks and your mouth opens on command, tongue as pink and wet and desperate as your cunt had been. He spits in your mouth, sudden sneer curling his lip, blue eyes ice cold and demeaning; "and it's thank you, Oliver Quick."

You feel fucking filthy, can taste yourself in his spit.

You want him to do it again.

"Thank you, Oliver Quick."