Bel Has Once More Blessed Us All With An Ewan Mitchell Fic And Its With Soft Tom Bennett

Bel has once more blessed us all with an Ewan Mitchell fic and it’s with soft Tom Bennett

All rise

"A Gift" - Tom Bennett x Reader

a/n: massive thank you to my wifey @aemondsbabe for helping me with the title. from an anon request 🩷

Summary: Tom falls hard and fast for the General's daughter.

TW: profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns, mentions of war, daddy kink if you squint, orgasm denial, oral f receiving, slight innocence kink?, loss of virginity, p in v sex

Word Count: 2,365 words

Rating: MDNI, 18+

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the World On Fire characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

The moment Tom sees you, he knows you’re out of his league. And you probably always will be. It doesn’t stop him from staring at you though, admiring the way you look in that pretty little dress, standing on the top deck of the ship, gazing off into the distance. He wonders who you are. You don’t look like you’re one of the Wrens. You’re strikingly beautiful, and it makes his stomach twist in a way he’s never quite felt before. Seaman Tom Bennett is no stranger to flirting with pretty girls, but you’re something else entirely. As if you notice his gaze, your eyes move to him, and you frown slightly, noticing how intently he’s staring at you. Tom smirks, raising his hand in a form of greeting, but you just look away, turning to leave.

Though he’s disappointed, it gives him hope when you turn back to glance over your shoulder at him, eyes shining with something akin to curiosity. It’s enough to have him up on his feet, racing up the stairs and down the hall you went. By the time you turn around again, having reached your stateroom, there he stands. Tom gives you a cheeky little grin and you sigh, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, sailor?”

He leans against the wall beside your door, arching a brow as his gaze travels along your curves, lingering in places it has no right to, “Hey, can’t a guy enjoy the view?”

“The view has a name,” you reply, your tone biting.

The sly grin on his face grows wider as he leans in, invading your personal space, though you don’t entirely mind. Not when those blue eyes gaze into yours with an intensity that makes your entire body shudder, his voice like melted honey in your ears as he continues to flirt shamelessly.

“And what would her name be?”

You tell him your first and last name, watching his brows knit in confusion at the latter, a saucy grin spreading across your lips as you confirm, “As in the General’s daughter.”

“So,” Tom leans in, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to face him and look him in the eyes, losing no amount of his cheek, “I have the honor of being in the presence of Navy royalty, it seems.”

You slap his hand away, feeling rather satisfied at the yelp he lets out, “You’re too cheeky for your own good, sailor. It’s going to get you into trouble one of these days.”

That only makes him grin wider, his knuckles brushing against your cheeks, reveling in the feel of your soft skin. You’re so beautiful, so delicate, unlike any girl he’s ever met before. And yet, you’re so full of fire. He can’t help but be drawn in, like a moth to the flame, teasing and playful, trying to see how much he can push your buttons.

“Is the General’s beautiful daughter too good for me?”

You wrench your face out of his grip and stand, hands on your hips, “I’m just trying to spare you, Seaman. My father will kick your arse if he sees you trying to chat me up.”

And he laughs. A hearty, confident laugh that has the corners of your lips turning up ever so slightly. He’s completely unphased by your threat, taking it as a challenge. He gives you a devilish little smirk, leaning in close, his body crowding you up against the door.

“Oh, is that so? What’s the General going to do? Send me to the brig?”

“Probably. I doubt it’s particularly comfortable down there.”

His lips brush against your ear, his breath tickling your skin as he whispers in a low, flirtatious tone, one that would have a less haughty young woman blushing like a schoolgirl. But not you. You stand fast.

“Oh, come on, love. Don’t be like that. You can’t deny there’s a spark between us. You’re not a snitch, are you?”

You bite the inside of your cheek before asking, “What’s your name, sailor?”

Tom’s grin becomes wider as he gives you a wink, “Seaman Tom Bennett. But you can just call me Tom. Or lover, Daddy, a variety of other names-”

You burst into laughter, and the sound warms his entire body. You’re smiling at him, looking so very radiant, the ice around you thawing at his good humor. He’s getting through to you. He knows it. That’s when you glance around and lean in to whisper conspiratorially, as if you’re asking him some state secret.

“Is it true that they dance and drink below deck after dinner? It’s so awfully boring up here.”

Before Tom can reply,you hear your father’s voice calling out for you. You and Tom exchange panicked looks, knowing it won’t bode well for him if your father finds the two of you in this rather intimate position. You have a split second decision to make, and Tom is rather pleased when you grab his hand and pull him along behind you, saying just one word.

“Run.”

He races after you down the halls of the ship, away from your father’s voice. Your dress trails behind you as you run and Tom can’t resist the urge to reach out and touch the soft fabric, imagining how gorgeous you look beneath it. He doesn’t think he’s ever fallen for a girl so hard or so fast. It’s almost terrifying, how one encounter has his heart so entirely bewitched, but when you glance back at him, making sure he’s keeping pace, and your eyes meet, he forgets all his reservations and just grins at you, feet pounding against the floor as you make your way to the hiding place you have in mind.

The two of you finally come to a stop in the corner of the boiler room, filled with steam and heat that’s almost overpowering. You pause to catch your breath, hands still intertwined, both your heart and his pounding against your chests. You gaze up at him, the air hot and sticky around the two of you. Your hair is damp and tendrils of it cling to your face, your dress clinging to your skin as you meet his eyes.

“I figured he wouldn’t look for us here.”

Tom’s gaze moves to your lips. They look so soft, so plush, so fucking inviting. He can’t help himself, admiring the way the heat from the boiler room has given your complexion an almost dewy, ethereal look to it. He leans in closer, one hand resting on your hip, pulling your body flush up against his. You rest your hands on his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Tom’s lips hover over yours for a long moment before he finally closes the distance, kissing you.

Tom’s kiss is passionate as he leans in, his hand moving to the back of your neck to hold you in place, his mouth melding against yours, tongue licking at your bottom lip, begging for entrance into your mouth. You part your lips and he kisses you like he wishes to consume you, his hand moving to grasp at your throat, squeezing gently, loving the little mewl you let out against his lips. Your hands twist in his shirt and your heart beats hard against your chest as Tom’s chapped lips move against your own, pulling away for only the briefest of moments to catch his breath before his tongue once again begins dancing against yours.

Tom’s hand trails down to your chest, squeezing gently, groaning at the feeling of your soft flesh, biting back a laugh at the way his hands sully your pristine dress, pressing himself up against you, continuing your intimate kiss, the heat between you two growing to a crescendo.

You hear the sound of a few sailors whistling and pull away from Tom, laughing breathlessly. He gazes down at you, his hand resting against your cheek, wanting nothing more than to kiss you again.

“Come with me,” you say, taking his hand again, “I know somewhere we can go.”

Tom nods eagerly, “Lead the way, love.”

Tom raises an eyebrow when he sees you’ve brought him to the deck where the automobiles are stored, a grin spreading across his face. Tom looks at you and gives you a cheeky grin, bowing and opening the door of one of the cars for you, extending his hand to you as if he’s your chauffeur. You burst into giggles, allowing him to help you in. Tom moves to get into the driver’s seat, honking the horn, making you laugh again, the sound of which again brings that warm feeling to his chest. 

“Where are you taking me, driver?” You ask playfully.

He snickers, admiring how beautiful you look sitting back there, like a dainty princess, “Anywhere you wish, Miss.”

You lean forward, brushing your lips against his cheek as you whisper, “Will you take me to the stars, Tom Bennett?”

Tom’s breath catches as he brushes his nose against yours, murmuring back, his voice barely audible, “I would take you to the moon and back if you wanted it.”

Your lips meet his in a kiss, more tender and softer than before, but no less passionate. You help Tom over the center console, and he gently pushes you to lay back on the leather of the car. You wrap your arms around him and he wraps his around you, holding you close as he kisses you, lips moving to your neck.

“I’ve never done this before,” you whisper.

“I’ll be gentle,” Tom promises, lost in the feeling of your soft, warm body against his own, “Do you trust me?”

You meet his eyes, seeing the sincerity in them and reply, your voice breathy, “Yes.”

Tom kisses you again, slowly moving your dress up to your hips, revealing your legs, your thighs, his hands squeezing at them gently. He moves to press a kiss to your ankle, up your calf, your knee, to your inner thigh. You watch as he pulls your knickers down your legs, his eyes focusing intently on the apex between your thighs before giving a slow lick along your core. You gasp at the feeling, your fingers threading through his soft, golden hair as he gazes up at you, his tongue flattening against your pearl, making you whine softly. Tom smirks against you, his tongue delving between your folds, his nose pressed against your pearl as he tastes you. Your head falls back against the seat, hips bucking against his eager mouth as he brings you closer and closer to your peak, the knot in your stomach tightening until you reach the pinnacle of your pleasure, crying out his name as you spill yourself against his tongue.

He moves to press his lips to yours in another heated kiss, the windows of the car steaming up as Tom moves to rid himself of his shirt, undoing his trousers. You pull your dress over your head, tossing it aside, pressing your bare body against his.

Tom gently parts your legs, giving his cock a few quick strokes before pushing the tip inside of you. You wince for a moment, but you exhale sharply and do your best to relax your body, letting him push further and further inside you until he bottoms out. The two of you stay like that for a long moment, him filling you as you gaze into each other’s eyes, waiting for you to get used to the feeling. Tom presses a kiss to your temple, your jaw, then your lips, feeling your body relax around him. He slowly rolls his hips against yours, reveling in the sweet little moan of his name you let out. You feel so perfect around him, your legs moving to wrap around his hips as you try to meet his movements with your own. Tom moves one hand to caress one of your bare breasts, moaning at the feeling of your soft, warm flesh against his hand.

His movements grow faster and faster, the car growing steamier with each passing moment. Tom braces his hand against the window as he pounds into you, gritting his teeth, trying to keep his climax at bay, the feeling of your squeezing around him being almost too much to handle. His hand slides down against the glass, leaving a print in its wake before he kisses your neck, hands squeezing at your chest as you hold him close, feeling his hips slot against yours over and over. Tom presses his thumb against your pearl, feeling your walls hugging him so very tight until you reach your peak, your entire body going lax as you cry out his name.

Tom reaches his own end moments later, pulling out of you and spilling himself against your stomach, his entire body shaking from the intensity of your encounter. He wraps his arms around you, resting his head against your bare chest, nuzzling against you, your warmth making him feel more safe and loved than he’s ever felt in his life.

“You’re trembling,” you remark softly, running a hand through his hair as he presses a kiss to your arm.

“Don’t worry,” Tom whispers, “I’ll be alright.”

You rest a hand against his cheek and he leans in to kiss you again.

“What happens when the boat docks?” You ask between kisses, “I… I don’t want to be without you.”

Tom smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “Don’t worry love. The way I see it? Life’s a gift, and I don’t intend on wasting it. And I think I was meant to share my life with you,” he swallows thickly, resting his forehead against yours, saying the three little words he never thought he’d say to another person. But it feels so right to tell you, “I love you.”

Your voice is barely audible as you gasp and reply, “I love you too, Tom Bennett.”

Neither of you knows what the future may bring, what might happen over the course of this war.

But Tom knows he loves you. And you know you love him.

And that is the greatest gift life ever could have given you.

CALLING ALL FANFICTION AUTHORS!

please reblog this. i've talked about this twice before, but obviously not everyone has seen it. i am calling for anyone who writes fanfiction or posts about a certain game/show/universe in any connective manner to please, please- PLEASE, copy this memo below comprising links to supporting palestine, education on the situation in gaza, and a must-need for those who engage in TLOU tumblr; links regarding the creators (neil druckmann) zionism, and how the plot of tlou2 is based on the israeli occupation of palestine. i don't care if what you write seems "insignificant" or "small" in the grouping of larger fics. no. everything that is not related to palestine in any form NEEDS these links. because, when we stray away from reblogging, or writing up our own posts in support of palestine/sharing journalists stories/etc. even for a SINGLE piece of writing, we could be missing people who are unaware (which, shouldn't be the case atp, but..) and fucking especially because in these fandoms, fics are the most popular thing. not reblogs about palestine, unfortunately; there are so many fanfiction accounts who very clearly don't give a fuck about the whole situation, seeping in silence, posting fics during strikes, not taking accountability for it now, so on and so forth. please, for the love of all that is good- CALL THEM OUT! people gaining hundreds of notes, tens of reblogs, supportive comments on a post that completely disregards what is happening SO BOLDLY right now, should irk you. i swear, if i see one more fuckass "i didn't know!" apology from an author who is CONSTANTLY on tumblr, REGULARLY posting fanfiction, i'm going to fucking lose it. if you are on tumblr to begin with, being this active- you have time to reblog. actually, educating yourself and reblogging is way quicker than writing up fanfiction of any length. are you fucking kidding me? you are laughable. comical, not real, and i have nay an ounce of respect for you. ever. but besdies that; the memo. i want everyone to copy this, or make something similar. put this above your summaries, authors note, whatever comes before the writing. every post you make should link back to supporting palestine, cause you never know how many eyes it will reach. it could change a lot of things. on pc, i believe copying it completely will preserve the links, but i'm not sure if mobile will. again. do whatever you can to add it. don't be lazy. put this in ur masterlists/navigation too.

for all fanfiction authors:

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

for tlou fanfiction authors:

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

you may add what is necessary, i wanted to keep it short for attention span sakes, and to avoid people skipping it entirely, and so on. i may edit these, fix up anything, but again, if you're using them you can edit them however. as long as you are linking anything in general, that is what matters. thank you, love from aestra. from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 3

Previous Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. But goddamn, Oliver Quick was a fucking close runner-up.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, slight mention of blood, sexual harassment, Felix is delulu and kind of a pig, Reader just wants some fucking peace, Michael is Michael and the best, Oliver is Oliver (the worst)

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who commented and reblogged! I didn't expect this story to gain so many readers, and this was a challenging chapter to write - but only because there were some scenes I couldn't add because it would have gotten too long otherwise.

If there was a God out there, you prayed for the coming term to be as wonderful as this holiday had been for you.

You really wanted to kick yourself in the pants for making such a fucking cheesy wish at night watching the stars with Michael.

Right now, you were leaning to rest your head against a bookshelf in a slant position. You had a splitting migraine that began from the moment you woke up and worsened with nausea from your tutorial. And you couldn’t even go back to your dorm for the rest of the day because your lab course for your gen-ed didn’t allow for absences.

“What’d she do now?” came a voice on your right.

You looked to the right and were blinded by a white and blue-striped button-down shirt with short sleeves tucked into a pair of tan khaki pants.

Your knight-in-silver-framed glasses, Michael Gavey, everyone.

All the guy was missing was a pocket protector with pens and tape wrapped around the bridge, and he would have matched every bullied kid in every high school movie set in the 80s.

You turned around to lean your back against the bookshelves and slowly lowered yourself until your butt was parallel to your feet. Blowing the stray hairs out of your face, you remembered to take deep breaths to prevent you from blowing up at your only friend.

“No,” you sighed, “well – yes, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Do you love your classes? Yes. Was Daria Martin still your art teacher, and did she still like you? Yes. Are the rest of your teachers mostly assholes that think all Americans are Appalachian hill-billies? Also, yes. But were you still not excelling and scoring in the top ten after every exam? Naturally, no doubt about it.

But were you as invisible and unnoticed as you were before the break came? No. Did anyone with a pulse give you side-eyed glances after your stunt with the 24/7 shit-faced He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named? Pretty much, yes. Did most of your problems come from one mythic bitch in a 5’3” flesh suit that had the ‘Juicy’ logo plastered on her ass? Namely, one in particular, Annabel – who was your assigned student partner in your tutorial.

Was your new name among the student body now “Psycho Bitch”? …Unfortunately, yes.

…Okay, so this term has not been going as well as you had hoped during the break.

Annabel hated you – like hated-HATED you. And you had no idea why.

You were pretty sure you were less than blank air to her last term, but now she was determined to make your life a living hell. Last term, she skipped every other session to do whatever Annabel did. But now, it felt like she came to every tutorial for the opportunity to tear apart your work.

You’re pretty confident she was the one who started your new “name” about a few weeks ago when the weather began to warm up.

It’s not as if you were a stranger to being picked and prodded by the people born with silver spoons on their tongues and blessed with golden-tipped wings. You were a public-school kid from grades K-12 who went to Townsend Harris for those last four years. Townsend Harris High School was a public school, but make no mistake – it was just as full of the same bullshit hierarchy that made up every private school in Manhattan.

"Open the doors to all. Let the children of the rich and the poor take their seats together and know of no distinction save that of industry, good conduct, and intellect."

What crock. You only survived those years because every kid knew that your dad was an NYU professor who knew the Dean of Admissions of Columbia. You couldn’t recall how often you wished you had joined your friends at Flushing High or even Bayside.

However, regardless of the snide snarks and bullshit snickers pointed at you, you were left alone for the most part.

Sure – it sucked; that goes without saying. It was naïve of you to assume that people would grow out of the need for drama once they walked through the ivory doors and marble floors of higher education. It was stupid of you to think that everyone would forget about your outburst at Bodleian while they were getting drunk on the New Year.

And while Annabel was one migraine-inducing problem, she wasn’t the worst part of returning. No, that title belonged to her boyfriend, a whole other can of monkeys.

The worst part – the worst part of EVERYTHING – was how Felix fucking Catton was incapable of just leaving you the hell alone. It was like he had a little antenna sticking out of his head specifically for you whenever the two of you were within a ten-foot radius of him. Everywhere you went, it was as if you had a giant blinking arrow above you screaming, “Felix Catton’s New Toy”!

No, you were less than a toy – you were a joke, a gimmick.

God, you should have just stuck to your original plan and applied to any SUNY school that would have accepted you without even looking at your application.

But no, your good-Samaritan-obsessed college counselor called your parents and complained that you weren’t “putting yourself out there” enough. And now you were over thirty-four hundred miles away from home, stuck with the worst people ever. It was like a thousand tiny prickles were running on your skin as your mind filled with static.

Whenever Felix called out to you, it was to invite you to a party or get wasted. One time, he walked up to you insanely plastered and invited you for a quickie in the men’s bathroom. You were in an empty lecture hall since your usual spot in the library was taken, and Michael was still in class, so you didn’t see the point in trying to find an open spot.

Somehow – without you noticing – the guy plopped himself next to you and asked if there were any rooms in the building where he could smoke a joint in.

“Pretty sure you could open the window in the bathroom to smoke in there,” you replied absentmindedly.

And then he put his hand ON YOUR THIGH, leaned to your ear to whisper, “Wanna get out of here to join me? We don’t have only to get high.”

You grabbed all your shit and booked it – out of the building and all the way to your dorm to take a shower that lasted for around twenty minutes. You wanted to get rid of the smell of nicotine and overpriced aftershave. The scent of him on your skin made you wish you could tear it off.

And in your panic, you left your bike at the building’s entrance.

When you returned to retrieve it, it was after dark, and you recruited Michael as your tall and bony human shield.

“Do not ever walk home alone at night,” your mom told you every morning you left for school.

You tried not to think about the haunted look in her eyes each time she told you.

“Wanna skip the dining hall tonight? We can walk to Crowley Street and order take-out at that Pakistani place you like so much.”

Oh, that perked you right up. Jannahs Express was a broke college student’s paradise. The food was cheap, and the owners took pity on the international students. It was slightly more expensive in the UK, but it was the closest you could find with food on par to Kababish on Broadway in Queens. You stifled a laugh remembering the sight of Michael drinking the entire pitcher of water after you dared him to try a dish at ‘regular.’

“Seriously? Do you think you could take more than ‘English-mild’?” you asked as you stood up. “How did you survive your mom’s cooking for so long? She made us Indian food on our last night.”

“Mum grew up in London, and she had neighbors teach her how to make it the traditional way. You’re the only person who could take that level. Lilypad and I got Dad’s taste buds.”

Choking on your spit from laughing at the image of Gregory Gavey’s face turning firetruck red, you felt the migraine slowly disappear.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. God, I can’t imagine the look on his face when –”

A familiar voice that left a bitter taste in your mouth after hearing interrupted your conversation.

“Hey, (Y/N). Can we talk?”

You and Michael turned your heads to find Oliver Quick – Michael’s former friend, your former acquaintance – and the sight of him soured the mood instantaneously. You narrowed your eyes to dangerous slits to show your displeasure seeing him as one corner of your lip curled to show a sneer. You never liked the guy. There was just something about how he acted and presented himself. He had a profound desperation to impress everyone around him.

So much so that he immediately dropped Michael after becoming Felix Catton’s new pet. As evidenced by the oversized gray zip-up hoodie blanketing him. Felix’s, no doubt.

Fuck, you hated him.

“Ugh, what do you want?” you snapped, taking a bit of pleasure in seeing how your voice made him flinch.

“Look, can we –” his eyes hastily darted to Michael, then you, then behind him to make sure no one was watching him “– can we talk in private?”

Seriously? That’s how he wants to play this?

In the corner of your eye, you saw how tightly Michael clenched his fists. He was obviously still hurt from the time his ex-friend treated him like shit.

Oh, this will not do.

“Oliver,” you snarled as you crossed your arms over your chest, “whatever the hell you have to say to me, you can say in front of Michael.”

“Can you please not do this now?” he begged with pathetic eyes. How very in-character of him.

“Tick tock, Quick. Are you going to talk, or do I have to throw a drink in your face again? But this time, I’ll smash the glass on your face, too.”

Seeing the look on his face gave you almost a perverse sense of joy. Maybe this is why bullies exist.

“Do you think you’ll be at the pub sometime this week?”

What the fuck? Was he serious? His question caught you completely off-guard. You expected him to ask for notes or even help with homework, as his grades have slipped since becoming an official Felix Catton fanboy.

“At the pub – Oliver, when have I drunk alcohol in the entire time we’ve known each other?”

“You’ll turn nineteen this year, right? It’s only illegal if you’re under 18,” he tried to put out convincingly.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. But you’re forgetting the part where I’m still an American citizen. Just because it’s legal for me to vote doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to drink yet.”

“No one cares about that here!” he almost shouted. “Just come with me to the pub at King’s Arms for the next few nights.”

“No fucking way,” you scoffed. “My parents would kill me if they found out I drank on a school night. Also, in case you forgot, we still have our test tomorrow in History. And I, for one, don’t need to get sloshed every night to feel important.”

Michael tugged on your sleeve and nodded at the small crowd forming around you three. You sighed in silence, agreeing that it wasn’t worth it. You both tried to walk away, but you were grabbed and stumbled back, which caused you to drop your books.

“Ow! Are you kidding–” but a wince broke your complaint as Oliver’s hold on your arm tightened to a painful grip. Your eyes traveled to his face, and you were shocked to see the anger shining in his eyes.

“Why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” he grit out. “Are you trying to ruin my life?”

The way his nails dug into your skin made you curse under your breath. Seeing you in pain broke Michael out of his shock at how someone as meek as Oliver Quick could show so much aggression. He rushed to get him off you.

“Are you fucking mental?” he hissed at Oliver once he managed to separate to two of you.

But Oliver’s nail left red scratch marks down to your wrist, even breaking the skin enough to cause little beads of blood to escape. This enraged Michael like you have never seen. Staring at the evidence of his former friend’s clawing, he walked forward and pushed him to the bookshelf before grabbing his shirt with both hands.

“What’s wrong with you?” Michael yelled. “She already said no!”

You wiped the blood off your arm with an old travel tissue pack you stole from the plane you took from JFK to London last summer. God, everyone was staring at you guys now. You needed to find a way to contain the situation. If any staff catches you, all three of you may risk trouble. Trouble that would jeopardize your scholarships. You grabbed Michael’s hands to get him to loosen his grip.

“Look, I’ll hear you out–” you looked around and cringed at everyone’s stares, “–just not here.”

This calmed Oliver’s rage enough to get Michael to let go.

“Okay,” he whispered, “okay – yeah. Let’s go outside.”

The three of you grabbed your shit and quickly exited the library. You went to the same area behind the building with no windows – ergo, no bystanders to gawk at you.

“Okay, we’re outside. Look, I’m sorry about your arm. But can you please just –”

You lifted your hand to stop him.

“Okay, look. I only said I would hear you out to make you and Michael stop fighting,” you stated matter-of-factly. “None of us could afford to get in trouble with the faculty and staff, and it was getting too out-of-hand. Oliver, I am not going to King Arm’s tonight or any night you ask me. I have my own life, so don’t drag me into yours.”

Oliver gaped like a fish for a few seconds before speaking.

“But you have to! Please! If you do, then maybe he’ll –”

“WHO?” you interrupted, shouting. “Who will be there? Who is so important that you act so fucking psycho for five minutes ago?”

This was too much for you to deal with everything on your plate already.

“Cut the vague bullshit already! Why are you desperate for me to be there? It’s so –” You froze as an epiphany struck down you.

Oh, hell fucking no…

“Are you hoping that Felix will be there?” you asked through clenched teeth.

You felt like a volcano ready to blow with his slight nod. And like a volcano – you blew.

“You mean to tell me that you risked all our asses, attacked, and humiliated me for fucking FELIX CATTON?!”

You couldn’t believe it – you couldn’t fucking believe it. Felix Catton took up so much of your life already; once again, he felt it necessary to take more of it for himself.

How much more could one man take? How much more did he want until it was enough?

He had taken so much – more than any person other than yourself had any right to own. Your education, your peace, and what was next? Your body? Your life? Did he intend to bleed you dry of everything like a parasitic vampire he and his kind pretended not to be?

You were going crazy, insane, and running yourself tired all at once. The absurdity of it all made you laugh. You laughed and laughed and laughed until you were gasping for air. You laughed so hard that tears spilled from your eyes as you doubled over.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, “oh my god! That’s it. Of course, it is. What else could it be?”

Standing straight, you kept laughing, but you were staring at Oliver with an answer clear in your eyes.

“He got bored of you,” you accused him, “didn’t he? So quickly?”

God, how you relished how red his face turned. If you were smart, you would have stopped taunting there – but you were too tired of everything to care.

“It’s been what? A month? Maybe two?” you further pressed. “He really just loves to go through all his toys, huh?”

“(Y/N),” Michael whispered in your ear, “let’s just go.”

He looked at Oliver with disdainful eyes before softening them to look back at you.

“He isn’t worth it. Come on, let’s get your cut cleaned up before we leave.”

You let Michael gently drag you away from the hurricane mess that was Oliver Quick, leaving him to stew in anger and wallow in self-pity on the chilly spring night.

A few days later, you and Michael were walking back to his dorm after watching one of the most notable movie franchises starring one of Hollywood’s best actors.

“How could you not love Pirates of the Caribbean?” you cried. “Johnny Depp is beyond brilliant!”

“Oh, so acting drunk in front of an expensive camera is now considered brilliant?” he quipped back. “Shit, I should have just gone into acting instead.”

“I’m sorry, do you not remember his jar of dirt? That scene was completely improvised, by the way – including his fall.”

“Oh – not the stupid jar of dirt! Lil’ kept buggering me all summer doing that scene after I took her to see it!”

“Oh, I meant to ask. What did Lily think of the books I got for her birthday? Were they weird?”

“Are you kidding? She loved them. She keeps going on about how she wants to be Annabeth for Halloween. Oh, by the way, she’s making me dress up as Luke and wants you to go as Thalia.”

Your jaw dropped in shock. “Seriously?! Yes, let’s do it. I am so in.”

“She is aware that Luke’s the villain, right?”

“Don’t worry about it so much. She wants to share these memories with you. And you are such a good brother, Mikey.”

“I am never going to escape that name with you,” he groaned, “am I?”

“Nope!” you happily confirmed. “Never! When I write my speech at your wedding, I will mention it at least fifteen times.”

“I’ll allow six.”

“Twelve.”

“Ten, take it or leave it.”

“Ten it is. Pinky-swear.”

You held out your pinky to show sincerity. And like someone raised correctly, Michael respected the sanctity of the swear by reciprocating.

“Perfect! Now that that’s settled, is it okay if I crash at your place for the night? It’s so late, and we don’t have classes tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied. “Just make sure you – Annabel.”

Wait, what? You stopped walking and turned to look at your friend in confusion.

“Annabel?”

He pointed it out in front of him with a slight nod.

“Annabel,” he confirmed.

Indeed, it was Annabel. But she was sitting slumped against the hallway’s walls with vomit all over her blue dress.

Felix had been going mad for the past few months since his and Farleigh’s return to Oxford. It was already almost May, and he hadn’t come any closer to getting (Y/N)’s attention.

What could he possibly be doing that was so wrong?

He invites you to parties or a drink with you every time he sees you. He had hoped that being friends with Ollie would have given him an “in” with you, but there was no such luck. Did you really have no idea how he felt about you? How much more obvious could he be?

He remembered how happy he was when he realized that Oliver knew you. It was that night at the pub at Kings’ Arms. He recalled it so vividly.

Felix was silent throughout the entire transaction. The sight of you coming over entirely transfixed him. Your hair had two small braids on the side that were attached with small yellow butterfly clips. You were wearing black denim overalls with vintage-looking patches sewn onto the fabric. Your shirt was a light blue-dyed shirt-sleeved t-shirt with splotches of navy blue. It must have been something you made when you were little. The fabric looked soft and worn down. But the size was small enough to hug the curves of your upper torso perfectly. The way the fabric stretched across your tits made him salivate.

After he introduced himself to you, you only responded with a grimace and a slight nod of acknowledgment. He invited you to join him and his friends for a drink, but you only ignored him. His words were meaningless breezes to you – white noise in the background that added to the clang and chatter in the room. He wasn’t even paying attention to Oliver until you threw that drink at him.

“Fucking cunt-rag!” you called Ollie after throwing Farleigh’s drink in his face. You shoved a middle finger for added effect. “Don’t ever show your face in front of me again.”

Grabbing your coat, you stomped away from the table.

Absentmindedly handing his friend some tissues, Felix had to know what your deal was with Oliver. Were you two dating or just friends? He didn’t know how he felt about his new friend being romantically involved with his angel.

“Wait, do you two know each other?” he asked.

“What?” asked Oliver – not understanding his idol’s question before his mind finally registered it. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, she’s a friend of a friend.”

“Were you two ever, like ‘together’?” Felix had to know.

Oliver’s eyes widened a bit before shaking his head and panickedly answering.

“No, no, no. We have a few classes together – that’s it.”

Felix couldn’t believe his luck. Ollie must really be his hero.

“Do you think you could introduce us?” he asked excitedly – his molten chocolate eyes were shining ablaze with hope.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Oliver quickly agreed – anything to keep his attention on him.

Felix felt like leaping to the sky. He could run a marathon with how much energy was flooding throughout him. He clapped his hands before grabbing Ollie’s face with both hands and smacking a wet kiss on both cheeks.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Felix went up to get him another pint. “You’re my hero, Ollie. You really are.”

As he lay on his bed, he tried to remember every interaction with you. His last one with you was something he could admit went horribly wrong.

He wandered on the grounds when he stumbled on a building with your bike on the rack. Figuring that you were just in a lecture, Felix figured he could try to catch up with you when it was done. It wasn’t like he had anything important later. He would stay near the entrance and try to catch your attention when you walked out.

Simple.

And because he was God’s favorite, he found you sitting in the middle of an empty classroom. You were taking notes while reading a massive textbook while lightly bobbing your head to whatever was blasting through your earbuds.

Sliding to the seat next to you, he smoothly asked you if there was any room where he could smoke. You didn’t even bother to look at him while answering him – too fixated with your studies to pay attention to him.

Knowing that he had to get you to look at him through more direct actions, Felix impulsively put his hand on your thigh before asking you if you wanted to join him. He even joked, saying that you didn’t only have to get high.

But seeing the terror in your eyes threw him off. He quickly wanted to tell you that he was only joking. If you knew that he wasn’t being serious, maybe you would ease up around him. But before he could apologize, you frantically stood from your seat to gather your books in your bag before running out of the room.

Felix groaned into his hands as he recalled how fast you ran out of the room and away from him.

“Felix, you’re a fucking idiot,” he softly insulted himself.

God, what the hell was wrong with him? Why did he think that someone as studious as you would ever consider getting high with some bloke in the bathroom of an academic building?

Every step he tried to take forward with you felt like he was going ten steps back. He needed to find a way to get on your good side.

Maybe Ollie could – no, that was a dead end. Fuck, he needed a drink.

Lying on his bed, Oliver stared at the ceiling of his room. Annabel had just left with the bottle of vodka they had been drinking out of for the past half hour. He wanted to cry.

Why was everything going wrong?

But he knew the reason. It was you.

He was so naïve to think you wouldn’t be an obstacle. You had practically ruined everything from the beginning. It wasn’t just when you refused to help him the other day but also that night at the pub at Kings’ Arms.

While Felix was ordering him a drink, Oliver sat bewildered at the sequence of events that had transpired in the past five minutes. First, Felix invited him over to sit with him and his friends. And when things had been so well, you interrupted his excellent time by asking where Michael was. When you realize he has left your friend alone, you ask for Farleigh Start’s drink before throwing it in his face. You then called him a “cunt-rag” before storming off like a goddamn child.

Luckily, Felix hadn’t listened to you speak. But that was only because he stared at you – stared at you like he was born to worship you. Even worse, Felix asked him if he could introduce the two of you at some point. The way Felix’s eyes widened in glee when Oliver agreed enraged him – even more than when you insulted and almost humiliated him in front of Felix.

Staring at his back, Oliver figured Felix’s attention on you wasn’t something to worry about. He was only interested in you because you were pretty. As much as you infuriated him, Oliver admitted that you had a rare and genuine beauty to you. He didn’t know whether it was your indifference for Oxford’s gods and kings or your dedication to keeping in touch with your American roots – but it was enough to enrapture Felix Catton temporarily.

No, Oliver Quick had no reason to worry. He would be enough for Felix. And then you would be an afterthought, and he’d be Felix Catton’s everything.

Oliver had to find a way to ensure you wouldn't be a problem anymore. You'd comply - there would come a time when you won't have a choice.

Let me know if you want me to write the full scene of Reader throwing the drink at Oliver!

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindnow, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes

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Ok but farleigh, felix and oliver being in love with y/n would be a chaotic mess... a very good and entertaining chaotic mess...

Oliver is probably the one who she would like more, maybe michael would contribute to that given that they were "friends" the first part of the movie, felix would see this and kinda use him to get close to reader, trying to get him to hang out, farleigh would be a passive agressive little bitch who would try to turn everyone against oliver

PEEP THE MATERIAL

...Girl, I'm still working on my current au. But I wish I had time to write out this one! THis would be so fun to write out!

hellooo this is so weirdly coincidental omg but i just haaaaddd to tell you!! i came across your saltburn fic and while i usually only read hotd.. i just had to read! ive never watched saltburn or any of jacob elordi’s work but i saw your header image and the queens sign and was instantly like ooh! interesting! bc im from queens! and i was hooked by your beautiful storytelling! and your recent chapter about peking duck from flushing??? my mom actually gets that for us on christmas/new years??? and to make it worse! my brother’s name happens to be michael??? and i major in art!!!

idk if that was like.. too much info to give out on tumblr but i just… ahfjlkaj im screaming and ik michael is totally not a unique name and millions of ppl live in nyc and queens and major in art but ive just never ever come across a fic in the fandoms i frequent that share so many (**delulu**) similarities with my life (though im definitely very far from being a yn 😂)

and while i know nothing about felix catton or the saltburn plot, your writing in fuck everything is phenomenal! so vividly captivating and truly showing, not telling! i live for your writing. thank you for sharing it! 💚💚

Listen, I can’t tell you how many times I read this with this biggest smile on my face. It’s literally such an honor to have you experience and read my fic. The idea was something I thought about for a while, and I have always wanted to go to Flushings! I am actually from NJ, so there’s a lot of love from one New state to another!

I actually am so relieved that you were able to connect with the reader in this fic. I never would have imagined that my writing to make such an amazing connection with someone else. I have always admired people who are courageous enough pursue art, especially since I was encouraged to pursue science and math as a child. So I wanted to make a reader who also had that courage.

And that’s who y/n and x reader’s fics are all about! A way for people to connect to the story and feel a connection and see themselves in the story! I’m y/n, YOU’RE y/n, we are ALL y/n!

I am really glad to have reached another person to read my stories and interact with! I also write HOTD x reader stories too! I recently wrote a Christmas Aemond x Reader fic too! Please check it out and tell me your thoughts! Not only is it super encouraging, but if there’s any tips to share, it helps me as a writer!

Once again, thanks so much for your kind words! And I am so glad for you to join along the ride! I do recommend watching Saltburn, because it’s definitely an experience, albeit an odd one.

Your writing for fuck everything but most importantly fuck you is mwah chefs kiss. So damn good and I look forward to reading more

Thank you, my love! I am so grateful for your kind words!