Saltburn 2023 - Tumblr Posts

Honestly good for her. Oliver is that girl.

personally if i was deeply in love with a guy and managed to get with half of his family but not him despite our intense sexual chemistry i’d throw a fit and murder him too

fr

waiting for good saltburn fics on ao3 is agonizing. the demons are talking and i might as well write them myself out of spite

thinking about cattonquick on valentines day.

i know some people would think felix is big into valentines, and oliver isnt but?? honestly i see kinda the opposite. felix cannot stand valentines day. it's the day where girls fawn over felix, and he's gotta turn them down, and it's tiring... its annoying. oliver would get jealous too!! it's his felix. not some snobby girls. oliver would try and be extra lovey on felix in private, but felix cannot stand the damn holiday

Match Burns

A/n saltburn rewired a part of my brain

also my original idea was way too long for a one-shot so now i'm splitting it into 2 (maybe 3?) parts, if you'd be interested in that pls lmk lol

Summary: Despite your charm and kind disposition, Oliver has never been able to let himself be fond of you. Not with the way that Felix gravitates to you and your obliviousness to the attention. When you're invited to join him and Felix at Saltburn, his wariness of you morphs into an oddly suffocating dislike, until he realizes how to turn you into a way to get 'in' with Felix.

Pairing(s): eventual felix x reader x oliver, current oliver x felix (unreciprocated) and felix x reader (unreciprocated)

Warnings: potential typos (i'm tired yall), first time writing characters so potentially ooc?, canon-level toxic thoughts/plotting, some canon deviation (felix is alive and well to me and it's staying that way), oliver lowkey hating reader,, but kind of in the grown up version of a kid pulling another kid's pigtails when they have a crush lmao

----

The qualities that make the others adore you, that leave them with no choice but to treat you as some kind of dorm hall trapped princess, are the parts of you that make it difficult for Oliver to tolerate you.

You may not be the heir of some great fortune, the kind of commodity that can only be created through generations of pristine breeding and a lifetime of wealth that comes attached to that kind of pedigree. But you do have something.

His peers may see your self sacrificing nature in the ear you're always willing to lend or the time you're willing to give away without a second thought as instinctual kindness. But Oliver knows how to look beyond careful facades, the stained glass people use to warp the way they're perceived. He knows that your too sweet smiles and soft eyes are just your forms of social currency.

And the most off putting part of it all? The only person that can get away with pretending to not notice the way people react to you, is you.

Sometimes, when his thoughts drift to you without his permission, Oliver convinces himself that it's impossible for anyone to not see your softheartedness as the compensation that it is. And then someone--Felix, says something that is so transparently devoted, Oliver knows that it's worked. Give people what they want, and eventually you'll ensnare them.

Oliver let himself believe that he was finally reaching the peak of Felix's favor after being invited to spend the summer at his family's estate. Then, two days into his stay, Felix informed him that you'd be joining them at the end of the week.

The thought of you and your sense of humor that always seems to toe the line between witty and sarcastic; and the warm feel of your hand on his, or anyone's, arm, because when you listen you do so with your entire body; and your bright eyes that seem to see through everything but yourself, at Saltburn seemed to take something from this away from him. You didn't even need a sob story or to flash an indicator of something in desperate need of repair to get invited.

You were just you, and that was enough.

The way Felix told him only strengthened his chargin. She's friends with you, isn't she? I've seen you two together at the library.

The two of you. Not something that Oliver chose. You appeared one day at his side, on a too warm day for late November in Oxford. A too crowded library had the universe dropping you onto his lap. He accepted your presence because of the way the world seemed to light up for those around you.

But now there are no crowds of admirers to divide the attention. There is only Felix and his family, and with just two guests being invited to spend the summer, it'd be easy for the ultra wealthy to turn this into a competition for favorite pet.

It's also more than that. Alone here, it was easy to pretend Felix's attachment to you didn't exist. But now--now he could easily be the second favorite out of a set of two.

----

There was only one part of your arrival that Oliver was looking forward to, and you stole it from him.

He wanted to witness a crack, a wavering in your assuredness. The size of the estate would get to you, would make you--for once--seem small. You'd hesitate, maybe even see Felix in a different way that'd have you rethinking your friendship.

Your eyes had widened, a combination of shock and awe meshing together behind your gaze. Oliver could feel it, the moment that you'd reveal yourself as susceptible to shrinking in on yourself...and then your eyes met his, and the look vanished before it could fully take root.

You grinned at him and then at Felix, abandoning your luggage next to the car that picked you up before approaching them with unashamed enthusiasm. You pulled each of them into a quick hug, your warmth an ache against him. You didn't attempt to suppress your joy until Duncan appeared, standoffish as ever as Felix introduced you. That was just enough satisfaction to make Oliver want it more.

He's still thinking about it now, imagining just what it'd take to leave you vulnerable. You don't sense the resentful nature of his thoughts. You never do. Not even when Felix tells you that you'll be staying in the room connected to his through a shared bathroom.

Felix suggests giving you some time to rest before dinner. You accept the offer, tired from the back forth traveling from the UK to the US. Your visit to your mother had been so brief, you accepted Felix's offer so quickly. Maybe there's more tension in your family than you've admitted.

"She likes you a lot." Felix's low tone snaps Oliver out of his thoughts. It's a strangely nervous statement that doesn't make sense. You're friends with both of them, and if Felix means the statement in the romantic sense, he's wrong. Oliver's in the habit of taking note of the way people see him, and he can't remember instance in which you've ever looked at him like that.

He could see you feeling that way about Felix easily. You're around Felix often and while there is an underlying hint of stiffness when you're around him, it isn't a sign of dislike. You're determined to like him less, you're dedicated to not loving him. An amicable, but ultimately pointless goal. Who doesn't end up loving Felix?

Oliver doesn't know where this conversation is going, so he decides to keep his response simple. "She likes you, too."

"N--" Felix starts to deny the point, but realizes a full dismissal wouldn't be true. You do like him, it's just--it's different. "She trusts you." Felix shakes his head once, still uncertain. "I know we're friends, but sometimes, especially when we're alone, it-it feels like she sees me as a match that's starting burn too close to her fingers."

There it is. Oliver can't blame you for your precautions. Felix has turned the heads so many women--and some men--and he allows them to hang around him openly. His desirability, his options have never been secret. And your only overlap into his world is going to the same college. Oliver's even heard of you deciding to spend the night alone instead of with Felix because you don't always feel safe at those kinds of parties.

You're playing it safe, like a very good girl from suburbia, USA. It's your way of surviving, but Oliver can't quite respect the choice. You're smart enough to realize that loving Felix is like playing with matches, but you're not strong enough to realize that the proximity would be worth a few burns.

"I know we're a little different, but I don't want her to think I'd ever make her do anything." The obliviousness in Felix thinking that this is just about social circles is endearing in an odd way. "How'd you two get so close, anyway?"

Oliver isn't sure so close is the right way to phrase things. Sure, you're attentive and a little touchy, but that's just how people like you move through the world. Besides, if anything, Oliver thinks you choose his company so often because he's never given you the kind of desperate attention everyone else gives you.

Oliver forces a smile, pushing against the thought of being the one to bridge the gap between the two of you. It twists at his stomach. "What? Are you asking me for girl advice?"

Felix cracks a grin, playfully nudging Oliver with his shoulder. "You know how I meant it."

The words are light, but still another attempt at getting a concrete answer. There's an edge there that Oliver's familiar with, an implication of a feeling he's gotten used to. That chest tightening, what's so special about them? And now the Felix Catton is viewing him in that light.

Personal emotions aside, this--you--could be more useful than Oliver thought.

Omg since we're talking about the birthdays on the gravestones, I did not realize that Venetia was the oldest sibling. Throughout the entirety of the film, I figured Felix was the older one, but nope if the graves are to be believed then she was born 10 April 1986. I mean she's not older by much, but wow Elspeth and Sir James were really putting the work in trying to get a son. I find it very fitting that Felix is the baby of the family lol.

omg love this detail!!

i've always thought felix has youngest sibling, golden child, prodigal's son energy lol and venetia is def the older sister that has accepted that her parents will never see her the way they see her little brother to the point where there isn't even a rivalry, it's just how it is and has always been

i've seen so many discussions on different birth orders for them and what that could mean for the family dynamic as a whole and the characters as individuals

there are so many that bring up interesting points about felix being older,, one time i saw a post on here (that i wish i could remember 😭) that analyzed venetia and felix as twins and i thought that was so interesting and felt so fitting bc i feel like elspeth would hate pregnancy/birth bc if you think about it,, pregnancy is the kind of thing that could horrify someone like elspeth

no hate to pregnancy i promise 😭 i just feel like elspeth's character would be kind of disgusted by it--you grow, you're prodded at, you're prone to morning sickness, and your skin and hair can lose their luster (which is part of the reason i love the interpretation of felix and venetia as twins, bc i think it's extremely conceivable that she'd get pregnant once and be like okay that wasn't for me)

maybe that's why felix is so special to her, he brought the relief of never having to be pregnant again

anyways that was a bit of a tangent <3

Ever since I watched Saltburn I love these three motherf*ckers

This is fucking amazing bro I'm so-AHHHH

Match Burns

A/n saltburn rewired a part of my brain

also my original idea was way too long for a one-shot so now i'm splitting it into 2 (maybe 3?) parts, if you'd be interested in that pls lmk lol

Summary: Despite your charm and kind disposition, Oliver has never been able to let himself be fond of you. Not with the way that Felix gravitates to you and your obliviousness to the attention. When you're invited to join him and Felix at Saltburn, his wariness of you morphs into an oddly suffocating dislike, until he realizes how to turn you into a way to get 'in' with Felix.

Pairing(s): eventual felix x reader x oliver, current oliver x felix (unreciprocated) and felix x reader (unreciprocated)

Warnings: potential typos (i'm tired yall), first time writing characters so potentially ooc?, canon-level toxic thoughts/plotting, some canon deviation (felix is alive and well to me and it's staying that way), oliver lowkey hating reader,, but kind of in the grown up version of a kid pulling another kid's pigtails when they have a crush lmao

----

The qualities that make the others adore you, that leave them with no choice but to treat you as some kind of dorm hall trapped princess, are the parts of you that make it difficult for Oliver to tolerate you.

You may not be the heir of some great fortune, the kind of commodity that can only be created through generations of pristine breeding and a lifetime of wealth that comes attached to that kind of pedigree. But you do have something.

His peers may see your self sacrificing nature in the ear you're always willing to lend or the time you're willing to give away without a second thought as instinctual kindness. But Oliver knows how to look beyond careful facades, the stained glass people use to warp the way they're perceived. He knows that your too sweet smiles and soft eyes are just your forms of social currency.

And the most off putting part of it all? The only person that can get away with pretending to not notice the way people react to you, is you.

Sometimes, when his thoughts drift to you without his permission, Oliver convinces himself that it's impossible for anyone to not see your softheartedness as the compensation that it is. And then someone--Felix, says something that is so transparently devoted, Oliver knows that it's worked. Give people what they want, and eventually you'll ensnare them.

Oliver let himself believe that he was finally reaching the peak of Felix's favor after being invited to spend the summer at his family's estate. Then, two days into his stay, Felix informed him that you'd be joining them at the end of the week.

The thought of you and your sense of humor that always seems to toe the line between witty and sarcastic; and the warm feel of your hand on his, or anyone's, arm, because when you listen you do so with your entire body; and your bright eyes that seem to see through everything but yourself, at Saltburn seemed to take something from this away from him. You didn't even need a sob story or to flash an indicator of something in desperate need of repair to get invited.

You were just you, and that was enough.

The way Felix told him only strengthened his chargin. She's friends with you, isn't she? I've seen you two together at the library.

The two of you. Not something that Oliver chose. You appeared one day at his side, on a too warm day for late November in Oxford. A too crowded library had the universe dropping you onto his lap. He accepted your presence because of the way the world seemed to light up for those around you.

But now there are no crowds of admirers to divide the attention. There is only Felix and his family, and with just two guests being invited to spend the summer, it'd be easy for the ultra wealthy to turn this into a competition for favorite pet.

It's also more than that. Alone here, it was easy to pretend Felix's attachment to you didn't exist. But now--now he could easily be the second favorite out of a set of two.

----

There was only one part of your arrival that Oliver was looking forward to, and you stole it from him.

He wanted to witness a crack, a wavering in your assuredness. The size of the estate would get to you, would make you--for once--seem small. You'd hesitate, maybe even see Felix in a different way that'd have you rethinking your friendship.

Your eyes had widened, a combination of shock and awe meshing together behind your gaze. Oliver could feel it, the moment that you'd reveal yourself as susceptible to shrinking in on yourself...and then your eyes met his, and the look vanished before it could fully take root.

You grinned at him and then at Felix, abandoning your luggage next to the car that picked you up before approaching them with unashamed enthusiasm. You pulled each of them into a quick hug, your warmth an ache against him. You didn't attempt to suppress your joy until Duncan appeared, standoffish as ever as Felix introduced you. That was just enough satisfaction to make Oliver want it more.

He's still thinking about it now, imagining just what it'd take to leave you vulnerable. You don't sense the resentful nature of his thoughts. You never do. Not even when Felix tells you that you'll be staying in the room connected to his through a shared bathroom.

Felix suggests giving you some time to rest before dinner. You accept the offer, tired from the back forth traveling from the UK to the US. Your visit to your mother had been so brief, you accepted Felix's offer so quickly. Maybe there's more tension in your family than you've admitted.

"She likes you a lot." Felix's low tone snaps Oliver out of his thoughts. It's a strangely nervous statement that doesn't make sense. You're friends with both of them, and if Felix means the statement in the romantic sense, he's wrong. Oliver's in the habit of taking note of the way people see him, and he can't remember instance in which you've ever looked at him like that.

He could see you feeling that way about Felix easily. You're around Felix often and while there is an underlying hint of stiffness when you're around him, it isn't a sign of dislike. You're determined to like him less, you're dedicated to not loving him. An amicable, but ultimately pointless goal. Who doesn't end up loving Felix?

Oliver doesn't know where this conversation is going, so he decides to keep his response simple. "She likes you, too."

"N--" Felix starts to deny the point, but realizes a full dismissal wouldn't be true. You do like him, it's just--it's different. "She trusts you." Felix shakes his head once, still uncertain. "I know we're friends, but sometimes, especially when we're alone, it-it feels like she sees me as a match that's starting burn too close to her fingers."

There it is. Oliver can't blame you for your precautions. Felix has turned the heads so many women--and some men--and he allows them to hang around him openly. His desirability, his options have never been secret. And your only overlap into his world is going to the same college. Oliver's even heard of you deciding to spend the night alone instead of with Felix because you don't always feel safe at those kinds of parties.

You're playing it safe, like a very good girl from suburbia, USA. It's your way of surviving, but Oliver can't quite respect the choice. You're smart enough to realize that loving Felix is like playing with matches, but you're not strong enough to realize that the proximity would be worth a few burns.

"I know we're a little different, but I don't want her to think I'd ever make her do anything." The obliviousness in Felix thinking that this is just about social circles is endearing in an odd way. "How'd you two get so close, anyway?"

Oliver isn't sure so close is the right way to phrase things. Sure, you're attentive and a little touchy, but that's just how people like you move through the world. Besides, if anything, Oliver thinks you choose his company so often because he's never given you the kind of desperate attention everyone else gives you.

Oliver forces a smile, pushing against the thought of being the one to bridge the gap between the two of you. It twists at his stomach. "What? Are you asking me for girl advice?"

Felix cracks a grin, playfully nudging Oliver with his shoulder. "You know how I meant it."

The words are light, but still another attempt at getting a concrete answer. There's an edge there that Oliver's familiar with, an implication of a feeling he's gotten used to. That chest tightening, what's so special about them? And now the Felix Catton is viewing him in that light.

Personal emotions aside, this--you--could be more useful than Oliver thought.

I love this, it feels so in character I'm so- I just can't even!

thinking about bestfriend!felix who's known for being touchy within his social circle, so when he holds your hand as you walk around campus and leaves giggly kisses against your cheek, your jaw, your neck after a few drinks, you think nothing of it.

especially because it comes up in conversation from time to time. everyone that hangs out with him regularly enough has at least one story: felix smoothed circles against my back until i fell asleep on the bathroom floor after a party; he's kissed the top of my head twice; i've never seen him end a hug first.

and you've seen things--at parties, while studying, while out with friends in general. so you genuinely have no reason to think there's anything strange or different about the way he treats you, and neither does anyone else.

at first.

one night, when you're still new enough to felix and his world that you feel extremely out of place at a party that he invited you to, he calls you over to where he and his friends are sitting. you walk over to them, greeting everyone politely before moving to take the available space next to felix.

he grabs your wrist before you can actually sit. you're confused, but given little time to react. felix mumbles an absentminded, "c'mere" before pulling you towards his lap. it's a little flustering, but you sit, because that's just how felix is.

okay. normal enough. conversation continues. no one thinks twice about it. farleigh thinks it's a bit of overkill, but just assumes it's a combination of alcohol and maybe an attempt at laying the groundwork to hook up with you a little later in the night.

then, someone asks about potential vacation plans over break and farleigh brings up an inside joke from the last trip he and felix went on. it's casual, but it's clear that felix is supposed to say something.

farleigh looks over in time to see felix holding one of your hands to his lips. alright. still not the most egregious display of platonic affec--felix takes his time pressing kisses to each of your knuckles.

it's not just the gesture. it's the way felix watches your reaction through his lashes and the amount of care in his focus. as if you're the only one in the room. there's a patience there that's practically devoted.

maybe farleigh had it wrong. he thought you were just one of those platonic friends that felix would cart around for a few months before getting bored. maybe it's more romantic, or at the very least sexual.

then felix's eyebrows draw together. "you're cold." you start to say that you're fine, but before you can get the words out, felix is holding both of your hands between his.

in the beat that it takes farleigh to recover from the slightly nauseating display, the rest of the group has gone quiet. they're all watching felix dote on you like you're the reason for the moon hanging in the sky. annabel whispers something about the "unsuspecting".

farleigh eventually tries again, directly stating felix's name. he finally looks up, a little confused, as if coming out of a trance. farleigh repeats his earlier comment, finally getting a reaction from felix. the group recovers because while the moment had been almost uncomfortably intimate for something so casual, this is far from the first time felix has started (casually) seeing an 'outsider'.

some time passes and you finish your first drink. when felix notices, he asks if you want another. you tell him that you don't mind getting your own, but felix is insistent. you stand so that he can get up.

a part of you wishes you could have found an excuse to go with him. the gesture, in theory, is nice, but without felix's protection, being left with his friends feels like he's thrown you to the wolves.

annabel, a little tipsy and now curious asks, "so, how long have you and felix..." she trails off with a knowing look.

you kind of get what she's implying, but it feels like too random and too unfitting of an assumption to be accurate. "oh, we've been friends since around right after syllabus week, felix ask--"

"no," she shakes her head, "i mean--" she tries again, this time asking with precise language.

your face grows a few degrees warmer. "oh." the slight laugh that follows the syllable is too genuine for it to be you playing coy. "no, it's not--we're friends."

friends. you genuinely believe it. annabel fixes you with a tight lipped smile that makes something in your stomach knot.

you decide that her question must have been prompted by you sitting on felix's lap. you've also heard enough stories about them to assume that they have an on again off again, sort of thing, and because you really don't want to make an enemy of her, you try to justify it, "that was just--you've known him way longer, he's just like that."

oh my god. he's fooled you. completely convinced you that that's normal. before annabel can really react, felix comes back. he hands you your drink and kisses your cheek before sitting down next to you. he doesn't ask you to go back to where you were sitting before, but he does keep a hand on your knee.

Saltburn Crack Incoming

Don't mind me, just going to give in to the Saltburn madness going around and write some Saltburn AU Crack!

Dear God @ethereal-athalia, I'm actually gonna do it!

We all know that Felix Catton is a dumbass with a savior complex, but we still love him, including me! 😇

But it cannot JUST be me who thinks that a good majority of students at Oxford probably HATED his guts. Especially American scholarship students. That's why I am basically making a very crackish au where Reader lowkey despises Felix's ass! I might make a couple of these, but the reader may or may not be the same reader each time. This idea was super funny to me, and I wanted to explore it. I do not intend to bash Felix, Venetia, or Farleigh; I might for James and Elspeth.

I also have a personal headcanon that Michael Gavey is on the ace spectrum, so I'll also include that in these fics. Some may be where he's straight. Who knows? 🤷🏻‍♀️

If this is something you think would be interesting to read, let me know in the comments if you want me to tag you!

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @saltburnedme, @succnfuccubus

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You

Next Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Felix is delulu, Reader is stressed and homesick and kinda crazy but she a baddie, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver will be Oliver (a creep), and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: This fic is a follow-up to this post and I would like to thank grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

“FUCK!” you yelled at the top of your lungs just before your nose slammed down on the dewy grass.

Groaning in pain before the mortification of realizing what had just happened kicked in.

You didn’t know what was worse: the fact you had a full front view of the giant’s junk or that he body-slammed you onto the ground and caused you to land on top of the painting worth 30% of your final grade.

You wanted to scream your head off. The paint had finally dried, and you could finally leave the studio at two in the morning. It was close to finals, and pretty much anyone on campus who didn’t get accepted because of their daddy’s bank account was in their dorms. You had hoped that this fact would mean that the paths were empty and, therefore, safe to transport your 30” x 40” canvas.

“SORRY!”

You shot your head up to locate the person who just apologized. Lo’ and behold, it was the same plastered, pasty cunt with a bird’s nest disaster of a haircut drunken idiot who decided it was a good idea to go streaking across campus. His only other distinguishable features were that he was at least 6’3” and that he had a small steel piece pierced on his face.

After the “apology,” he and his friend continued running off to God’s knows where in the dead of night—leaving you behind on the lawn with a bleeding nose, bruised knees and palms, and an oil painting that was torn and caked in mud three days before its deadline.

There was no way to redo it. The project was assigned at the beginning of October. It took 5 hours to set up the models with the motifs and lights, 3 hours to take pictures, and 10 hours to underdraw the preliminary sketch. You didn’t even want to think about the sheer number of sleepless nights you spent in the studio mixing colors and layering. On top of that, you also had your other finals in other courses to study for.

You had practically been living in that studio for the past month. All of the custodians and security guards knew you by name. You got first dibs every day when they refilled the vending machines. It was a true godsend when you didn’t have time to visit the dining halls. Everyone had been so kind and sweet to you. It was a warm welcome compared to the snark and snobbery you experienced from most of your classmates.

Crying from the devastation of the loss of your situation, your shaking legs carried your body and what remained of your work into the building. You knew that your professor stayed in her office late for grading. You could only hope that she would sympathize with your pitiful appearance.

“Wait, so did you get the extension?”

Lifting your head from the sticky library table at Bodleian’s, you stared at your best only friend, Michael Gavey, with a blank stare. You didn’t react to his wince after he took in your haggard appearance. You didn’t need a mirror to know that you looked terrible.

Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot red with dark mulberry bags underneath them. You had paled since coming to dreary England, but now you looked straight-up sickly. And if that wasn’t enough, your eyes had less life than a dead fish rotting at a Sunday Market.

Your voice was so meek that you were sure he had to strain to hear you.

“Yeah…I got it.”

You knew you had no choice but to beg your Studio Arts professor for an extension. But it killed you doing it. Professor Daria Martin was your favorite teacher and the only faculty member who actually liked you. Her support toward you meant everything to you; the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint her, let alone be the reason why she lost her job.

Your usually so snarky four-eyed friend perked up at the news.

“So, is everything okay?” he asked with hope.

Your head fell on neon-yellow ink-stained pages that filled the paperweight your ethics professor called a textbook. A bitter laugh fell from as your lips lifted to a wry, dry grin.

“Oof, not that simple, is it?” he asked.

“Is it ever?”

“So what do you have to do now?”

“Well-,” you lifted your head to take a deep breath as you started to explain, “- I still have the photos and copies of the sketch. But because the canvas was so large, it was special-ordered. That means I need to wait until another one can be delivered, and since all the works need to be completed in the studio, I can’t leave the campus.”

As you finished your explanation, Michael nodded his head in understanding before he paused, and a look of devastation painted his features.

“Wait, so does that mean-”

“I won’t be able to fly back home for the holidays.”

Fuck, you were about to cry again. You had been so excited to see your old friends and family. You remembered how absolutely homesick you were at the beginning of the term. Because you were a scholarship student from America, your parents encouraged you to settle on campus by moving to your dorm earlier than everyone else. It was bad enough that you missed Thanksgiving, but you had really set your heart on coming home for Christmas and New Year’s. What made it worse was that your parents had told you all about the dinner they had planned for your homecoming. It was going to be a feast of all your favorites.

English food sucked balls.

Your only saving grace was the Crunchie bars Michael got for you when you studied together or when you had to rewrite edit his essays.

You really DID cry after first reading his essay for Introductory English class at the beginning of the year.

“Did you try to report it?”

“Report what? ‘Hey, there’s a wasted asshole running naked across campus, and he body-slammed me to the ground and tore my fucking massive campus that blocked my view of the jackass. He’s probably richer than the goddamn Queen, given how he’s wasted right before finals.’”

“Do you have any description of him?”

“He’s a giant with a small eyebrow piercing, and his fat ass looked like it had never seen the sun.”

Without lifting your head, you heard the scrape of Michael’s chair before he walked across the table to sit in the chair next to you.

“Hey,” he began, bringing you into a warm arm hug, “it’ll be okay. You called your parents about it, right?”

“Yeah -” you sighed before continuing, “- they told me they understood and would Skype me daily.”

“See! Everything’s going to be – wait, did you say that this guy was tall?”

Furrowing your brow in confusion, you looked at your friend at the change in his tone from light and supportive to sharp and interrogative.

“Yeah?”

“How tall?”

“Umm,” you had to think about that, “I’d say he was about 6’3” or above? He was really fucking tall.”

“And he had an eyebrow piercing?”

Ok, now you were really confused. “Yes? Michael, where are you going with this?”

“I think the guy who ran you over was Felix Catton.”

You shot your favorite idiot with a deadpan glare.

“Felix Catton? The same Felix Catton who just so happens to be the same Felix Catton you hate?”

Michael solemnly nodded. “It’s him. It has to be. The only person on campus as tall as him is his cousin, and he doesn’t have piercings.”

“And he’s black.”

“Yeah, that too.”

You were skeptical, and it showed. You didn’t want to callously dismiss your friend, but you knew more than anyone how much his hatred for Oxford’s Golden Boy could impair his judgment. You were by no means a fan of the guy, but accusing someone of anything they didn’t do just because your friend thought so went against your principles.

He grabbed your arm and dragged you to the bookshelf in front of the table where Felix and his groupies sat. Both of your books and bags were in your chairs, but you managed to keep your spiral notebook with you. It wasn’t hard to find them – they were the loudest table in the entire library. They also reeked of cigarettes and booze.

“See?” Michael hissed. “Giant, pale, and eyebrow piercing. It’s him!”

“Michael,” you softly groaned, “just because you hate Felix Catton doesn’t mean you can –”

An extremely shrill voice interrupted you.

“I can’t believe you and Farleigh actually ran around campus naked!”

A petite girl with full pink lips and dull red hair latched on the arm of the man of the hour. “It was so hot to watch!”

This girl has weird-ass tastes in guys.

“And then how you crashed into that dunce at Ruskin! Brilliant!”

Your blood ran cold while another one of Catton’s faceless droning puppets chimed in.

“God, what an idiot! It’s their own fault, anyway. Who the fuck walks in the middle of the walk path with a fucking big canvas in front of them?”

One of the lessons hammered into your skull young was never to move before you think. That lesson had saved you ten ways from Sunday. But this was not one of those times.

You’re pretty sure that you hear Michael calling out your name as you walk away from the shelf and towards the overcrowded table. Tunnel vision took over you as you made your way to the overgrown idiot who almost cost you your entire future.

Grabbing the back of his shirt collar, you dragged the 6’5” towering fool on his ass all the way outside. You finally let go when the two of you reached the back of the building that had no windows.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, did you relish the crunch that immediately followed your swing.

Fuck, was his head killing him.

Felix should have known better than to have gotten cross-faded last night, but Farleigh had practically goaded him to do it. It’s not like his cousin ever had to worry about his grades for any of his courses during finals – the little shit-starter had always been so fucking academically gifted.

He skipped pretty much all of his morning classes and barely made it to his afternoon schedule on time while completely zoning out the entire time.

If he bombs on all his finals, his dad was going to absolutely murder him. But chances were he and his mum were going to be too busy entertaining whichever new friend his mum brought in for shelter.

“You alright there, champ?”

Felix swiveled his head too quickly and immediately groaned in pain. The motion made his hangover even worse. Rubbing his eyes to try to soothe the pounding in his head, he slowly opened them to look at his cousin.

The slag didn’t have the decency to look even a little bit affected from last night’s event – the fucker. No, he was sitting there with all Cheshire grins and gleaming eyes while Felix was two seconds from heaving his guts out.

“Yeah, I’m alright, mate.” He replied in a tired groan.

“Must have been quite the night. Wonder if it had anything to do with that little cocktail you took from our sweet Annabel’s belly button?”

Disgust was clear on Felix’s face as he recalled the body shot he had taken from his ex-FWB’s navel. He truly must have been off his rocker last night – he thought he was over with body shots since graduating secondary, but apparently not.

If he somehow got an STD from doing it, V was going to kill him.

But even with all of his horrible actions that caused the raging war inside his skull, that wasn’t the main cause of his misery.

Farleigh’s grin dropped as judgment painted his features.

“Oh,” he moaned, “please tell me this isn’t about ‘your angel’ from last night.”

He didn’t just take the dare of streaking across the grounds just for the hell of it. He needed an excuse to pass through the art building – all for the chance of seeing you.

You. His angel of paints and books who lived in the empty studio rooms of Oxford University’s Ruskin School of Art and whose presence harangued him every hour of every day. Everywhere Felix went, he would unconsciously look for you.

It was his soul calling out for yours – he knew it.

Felix had never felt so drawn to another human being in his entire existence. He’d never seen you outside of the libraries, art building, and maybe the dining hall if he was lucky. You never went to any parties or even had a drink at the pub at King’s Arms. He didn’t even have classes with you, but he knew Farleigh did. Word was that you and his cousin had shared a few classes – what’s more was that you were likely the only person who could go head-to-head with him in academics.

And to make it worse, the prat refused to tell him anything about you – not even your fucking name.

“Believe me,” he told him after Felix had been begging his cousin for hours to share anything about you, “she is way above your league.”

Which really hurt his feelings, by the way – sure, you were probably way above in book smarts, but there wasn’t a girl that remained indifferent to his charms after a good talking fucking.

“I still can’t believe you won’t at least tell me her name,” Felix complained once more, “or even just give me her number!”

“She’s an American here on scholarship and a bore,” he quipped back, “what’s there to tell? And can you please shut up? I want to get some reading done before tonight. You do remember the in-class essay we have tomorrow, right?”

Bloody hell, he did not. Pushing down the bitter feeling in his chest, he and his cousin made their way to meet everyone at the back. As soon as he sat down, Annabel clung on to his arm. Thank fuck he had been wearing one of his thicker jumpers – otherwise, her claws that she called nails would have ripped open the fabric.

“Hey, Felix!” she made sure to offer a very generous sight of her cleavage, “are you ready for tonight?”

Felix chuckled lowly before responding. “Aren’t I always?”

And just like that – he completely zoned out the rest of the conversation.

Annabel was probably saying something to get him to notice her, and Farleigh was likely responding so he wouldn’t have to – but Felix couldn’t be bothered to pretend to care.

He was lost in the living daydream that was his angel that haunted the art studios of Ruskin School of Art.

He was desperate to learn everything about you.

If he asked you to talk about your favorite books, would your eyes sparkle in delight, or would your smile widen in glee?

If he grabbed your hand, would your palms feel marred by his rough skin, or would you press your callouses to his?

If he pressed his mouth on yours, would your lips feel as soft and plump as they look? Or was their luster forever damaged by your teeth biting them whenever you were in deep concentration?

If he breathed in your scent at the crook of your neck, would your skin smell like the paints forever on your brushes or the musky pages of heavy ancient books you always carried in your arms?

If he planted kisses from your throat to your breasts, would you mewl in pleasure or whimper in anticipation?

If he touched your cunt, would you arch your back in ecstasy? Or would your legs crumble, and you would have no choice but to sink into his arms?

Felix’s thoughts were rudely interrupted when Farleigh jammed his bony elbow into his ribcage and hurriedly whispered.

“Look alive, Golden Boy.”

Looking forward, it was better than any of his wet dreams combined. It was you.

Your hair was loose, and your fists were clenched. You reminded him of a ferocious lion goddess with how focused your gaze was on him.

But before Felix would prepare himself to make a good impression, you walked behind him and grabbed the back of his shirt collar before fucking dragging his ass out of his seat and outside.

Bloody hell, for someone so much shorter than him, you were fucking strong.

When you finally released your grip, he fell on the ground like an idiot before he tried to stand and steady himself as quickly as he could.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, you might have actually broken his nose.

After staggering back, you started using the spiral notebook in your other hand to land blow after painful blow on his body.

“YOU. STUPID. FUCKING. INGRATE –” Each word that left your mouth was emphasized with another hit from your notebook “– I. HATE. YOU. YOU. RUINED. MY. PAINTING. I. SPENT. SO. MUCH. TIME. ON. IT. AND. NOW. I. CAN’T. GO. HOME. FOR. BREAK. BECAUSE. OF. YOUR. STUPID. SELF!”

Felix was confident you had more to say, but you were pulled off him by your friend – he’s pretty sure it’s Mitchell – by the waist with you kicking and screaming out profanities to him as your friend called out your name to try to calm you down.

He wondered what it said about him if he told anyone how much you looked like an angry cat. His parents would send him to a shrink if he told them how adorable he found you right now.

If you were this wild while fighting, he could only imagine how riled up you would get in bed.

Fuck, you might have just unlocked a new kink in him.

Catching his breath as he watched your friend drag you away into the distance, he heard a slow clap to his left.

Farleigh was leaning on the corner – his smug expression making it clear that he had seen the whole thing – as he looked at his cousin with a bemused expression before walking toward him and giving a sympathetic pat on his back.

“Well,” he started to break the tension, “at least you know her name.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, “I know her name.”

And he knew that you smelled more like the paints on your brushes than the books you carried with subtle notes of gardenias.

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @barbiedragon, @valeskafics, @lexyysworld, @punkiwiki, @saltburnedme, @arcielee

Let me know if you want to be tagged for future Saltburn fics!

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 2

Previous Part, Next Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. But silver linings exist in the sticky toffee pudding Mrs. Gavey made for you.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Sex, Felix is Felix (a ho), Reader finally eating some good fucking food, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver is Oliver (a creep), alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: BRUH??? HOW DID I GET SO MANY NOTES IN PART 1??? Everyone has been so wonderful and supportive. I received so many questions and comments, which have all been great! Thank you for reading this story, and I hope that this part lives up the first one. Also, this is technically a Christmas fic bc it just fits with the story's timeline. I would like to thank Grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

Christmas Eve - Saltburn 2006

“Oh! Oh – y-yes, yes, yes! FUCK!”

Fucking the girl underneath so hard to the point where she likely saw stars. Meanwhile, Felix was trying to finish as soon as possible.

“So big! God, you’re so fucking big – FUCK!”

He brought her to his room and in his bed because he thought her hair just barely matched yours, and if he didn’t think too much about it – her voice sounded a bit like yours too.

But he made a mistake.

The girl – whatever her name was – sounded nothing like you. Her hair was nowhere near as pretty and shiny as yours, and her nails were fucking long and sharp that they were digging for his blood. Her makeup too – fucking hell, it was like she trying out for the opera with how much she caked onto herself.

Every time Felix saw you – whether in the library or under a tree – your nails were trimmed short. And from what he remembered, you didn’t plaster yourself in cheap cosmetics.

No, you never needed to. Your style of choice was simpler and more elegant than most girls he knew, including his sister, Venetia. Granted, he loved his sister to bits and pieces, but the girl loved her spray tan in the winter.

But worst of all – she didn’t have your eyes. Her gaze was too mindless and soft, a mix of adoration and unparalleled lust. Your eyes held vivacious rage and

“Felix?” What’s-Her-Face asked. “You okay?”

Fuck, he was getting soft.

Closing his eyes, Felix knew the only way he would get to finish was to think of you. He thought about the last time he saw you. He remembered how hard the wind blew and how cold it was that night. He felt himself harden at the memory of how alive your eyes were right before and after you broke his nose. His back still had the welts from the blows of your notebook. Every time he saw them in the mirror, he would lovingly stroke each bruise because they were the only evidence that you were real.

That you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

Letting his mind run wild, Felix imagined you here instead of this imposter. He’d imagine you on top – no way a woman like you would let anyone be on top, not even him. Fuck, you’d be the most wild thing ever to exist, he’s sure he’d let you do anything to him.

His heart, his soul – whether you cared for him or wished to crush him under your shoe – everything of his would be yours.

He wondered if you were the type to be into using a riding crop.

Regaining his vigor with his eyes still closed, he imagined you riding him until oblivion. Your breasts would fit perfectly in his hands as you would still be bouncing on his cock. Your head would be thrown back, and his eyes would roll to the back of his head at the feeling of your pussy tightening.

Oh God, he was going to blow.

Quickening his pace, the girl that wasn’t you was full-on howling in unbridled pleasure. When she climaxed, he could finally let go and come. Ropes of his cum spilled into the condom as he shouted out your name.

Falling to his side, he hadn’t bothered to check if Lady Not You remained in the sheets. It didn’t matter if she did; Felix was too exhausted to care. Finally feeling like he could rest, he fell into a dream about the day he felt his life truly begin – the day he met you.

First Week of Oxford University Michaelmas Term of 2006

Felix remembered the first time he saw you – it was after the first week since the term began. He and his mates were fucking around in Radcliffe, and the old bag running the desk was having a cow with them. He was bored out of his mind when all of a sudden – he spotted you on the upper level. You wore dark wash blue straight-leg jeans with rolled-up cuffs and white high-top Converse sneakers. It looked like your shirt must have been at least a decade old, given how the black-dyed cotton was faded to dark gray, and the paint looked cracked and chipped. Your thick locks were gathered in a loose but simple braid. Unlike everyone else, your eyes weren’t focused on him – but on the structure and life around him.

He had to know more.

Slipping a tenner to one of his friends to cause a distraction, he used the diversion to make his way to your spot on the second floor. Having a closer view, you were the most vividly gorgeous creature he had ever laid his eyes upon. He was worried that his movement toward you would alert you of his presence, and you would only scurry off – and away from him. But judging by the slight bobbing of your head, you wouldn’t be able to hear him since you were listening to whatever was playing through your earbuds.

All the better for him to keep observing you.

As he inched closer, his eyes caught the tiny wisps of your hair that weren’t contained by your messy braid, creating a lovely frame of your face while also bringing out the shine in your eyes. You had a simple gold chain around your neck with a circular locket hanging. From the side, Felix could faintly distinguish the words “Bon Jovi” in blue cracked paint and “1989” underneath a skull wearing red aviators.

He didn’t know who the fuck Bon Jovi was, but clearly, he was someone pretty fucking important to you.

But what captured Felix’s interest was how engrossed you were with the scene unfolding underneath you. Your eyes very rarely broke away from the view – only to quickly glance at the hardcover sketchbook you balanced on the white-painted railing. Whenever you glanced down at your sketch, Felix could see how long and thick your eyelashes were. Each time you blinked, it was like his mind broke down the movement of your eyelids frame by frame as if he were editing a Garry Marshall film. He wished he could be your cheek at that moment. If only to feel the gentle flutter of your lashes’ touch. Deep in your concentration, your lips were slightly pursed in a way that brought out their luscious fullness.

He couldn’t help but imagine how they would look around his cock. If he came inside your mouth, he was sure that some of his spunk would leak past your lips before you tried your best to swallow it down.

He was so lost in the fantasy of you and him that he hadn’t realized you had been calling out to him. Breaking out of his reverie, he looked down to see you right before him. And you looked downright pissed at him.

“Hey! HEY!” you exclaimed while waving your hand to his face to catch his attention.

You were American. How adorable.

“If you could stop staring at me like a fucking serial killer, I think your ‘mates’ are trying to get your attention.”

You pointed your finger at his group of friends still on the first floor. It seemed that they successfully drove away the grounds' warden. The old bat was now fixated on putting away all the returned or misplaced books on the shelves.

Must have been Farleigh’s idea.

Anyway, back to you.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Hey, can I get your –” but you were gone by the time he turned back to you.

Instead, he found himself alone on the second floor. He quickly glanced around to see if you had just moved to a different area. But you were gone. Racing the stairwell, hoping to catch up to you, he found that you had already walked too far for him to call you out without seeming completely desperate.

Except that he was.

He watched you walk away – shoulders back, posture straight, and head held high – and thought at how utterly unfair it was to him that you walked away from him so beautifully without giving him your number, or at least your name.

Felix woke up in a dark room; he was confused as to why the maids hadn’t drawn curtains – until he realized that Mum had likely sent them for their holiday after the party was finished.

It's too bad that he wasn’t there to see everyone out like a good son. But he wouldn’t beat himself over about it too much – chances were that his parents were also hungover off their asses too. He didn’t even want to imagine V’s state right now.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Felix dug into his closet to find whatever someone wore the morning after fucking a completely faceless stranger to scratch an itch meant for someone else. In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a little note on his nightstand. Swiftly plucking it with two fingers, he could barely make out the words written in swirly cursive.

My name’s Cassie. Just thought you should know for next time. Call me: XXXX-XXXXXXX 💋

Felix scoffed before tossing the dingy paper to the floor – destined to be forgotten before the next hour came – before locking himself in the bathroom to take a piss and wash off the smell of booze and cigs off his skin.

By the time he was finished, it was probably close to noon. He would have made his way down to the kitchens to fix something up – but he was immediately met with Farleigh as soon as he stepped out of the doorway. Bastard startled him up so bad that he practically jumped a foot off the ground.

“Fucking – really, Farleigh?” he asked. “Practically gave me a heart attack first thing in the morning.”

“It’s almost one so that ship has sailed.” He quipped back. “Aunt Elspeth and Uncle James were quite distraught when their golden son wasn’t seen by any of the guests when the party ended. It wasn't good when the Carltons’ daughter was gone for almost an hour. But at least she returned to her loving parents’ arms by the time it was to go home.”

Farleigh shot his cousin a curious look.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you? I’m pretty sure her name was Cassandra.”

Felix just shrugged.

“Don’t know about any Cassandras. Fucked a Cassie last night, though.”

Farleigh snorted a laugh as they went to the kitchens to see if any food was prepared.

“Merry Christmas, indeed.”

A few minutes of companionable silence passed before Felix asked his cousin something important.

“Hey, do you think she’s thinking about me?”

“Cassie or Cassandra? Because the answer’s probably yes anyway.”

“No, not them. Y/N, Y/N L/N.”

Farleigh immediately stopped. He genuinely wondered how Felix managed to get into Oxford sometimes. Sure, he was a legacy kid, but the line had to be drawn somewhere.

“You really think,” he slowly began, “that the girl who dragged you out of the library in front of everyone, broke your nose, beat you bruised with only her flimsy-ass notebook – because you ruined her painting – would be thinking about you?”

Judging by the look in his cousin’s eyes, yes. Sighing at the incredulity of it all, Farleigh could only shake his head before finding something to eat and drink away the migraine he could feel was coming.

Watching his cousin walk away from him, Felix knew he thought he was fighting a losing battle. But he wasn’t too worried. Everything would change during the upcoming term. Oxford was its own world – broken away from everything else. All that mattered to anyone in Oxford was this world's history, present, and future. And now – as it was made clear now to Felix – you were also part of that world. He would get to find you again and make sure to bring you to the point where you would look for him the way he would look for you.

Still, a selfish part of Felix hoped that you were even just the slightest bit miserable being away from him as he was being away from you.

Manchester, December 2006

You were having the time of your life.

Michael invited you to his home in Manchester for Christmas to spend the holidays with his family. You refused, at first, the idea of being a burden to your best friend during a time when it should be spent with family. Michael liked to put up a big front, but you knew that he was just as – if not more – excited to spend Christmas with his folks than you were before the “incident.”

But he insisted, and you could not have been more grateful for the invitation. But you wish you were a tad bit more graceful with your reaction when he first brought it up.

Oxford Dining Hall December 2006

You were angrily shoveling pasta into your mouth at the time. Sadly, the appallingly bland marinara sauce paired with the overcooked spaghetti and dry meatballs was the university's most flavorful dish.

“Come home with me.” He told you one evening during dinner time at the dining hall.

Caught off guard, you half-choked on the mountain of overcooked noodles in your mouth. Immediately, you reached for your glass of water to wash it down and to prevent a truly horrifically dull death.

“What?” you croaked out.

“Come with me to my house for Christmas.” He clarified, utterly unfazed by your near death. “Come on, you’ve been complaining to me all week about not being able to fly back for the holidays. And no one should have to spend Christmas eating whatever slop they’ll end up serving.”

“Michael,” you began, “I am not going to impose on your family like that. And you seemed to have forgotten one key detail: I can’t leave until I re-do the painting.”

“So, come over after you finish,” he reasoned, “I know you remember what to do, and that already cuts the time you originally spent on it in half. You won’t need a whole month to do it again, so come over when you finish. Plus, you don’t have your other classes to worry about.”

You knew that he was right – he was right about a lot of things – but the offer still made you uncomfortable. Scholarship student or not, you were no one’s charity case. If there was one thing you hated more than being underestimated, it was being pitied by people who didn’t know you. That wasn’t the case with Michael, but the feeling made you feel small.

You hated feeling small.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I would be imposing on your family. Your mom’s a nurse, right? She’s probably been looking forward to your homecoming for ages now. Informing her that she should be expecting a complete stranger, who would be staying for two weeks, would be a huge burden on her. She shouldn’t have that kind of stress burdening her during the holidays.”

He rolled his eyes at your concern.

“Don’t be a drama queen. I already have one in my life, and I’m genetically attached to her. And you’re hardly a stranger. Mum’s always asking when you would be visiting anyway. She’s worried if you’re eating enough or getting enough sleep. She’s a bit looney like that.”

You shot your friend a glare. He was trying way too hard to keep a cool, nonchalant façade. Michael Gavey was a total sucker for his family but in the sweetest way. During the long study sessions that stretched into the night, Michael’s defenses were lowered, and you could get more information about his life and home.  

His mom was a Manchester Royal Infirmary nurse practitioner, while his dad was an accountant at Pearl Lemon. They met at a coffee shop. He was working as a barista to pay off his student loans, and she was a nurse just starting her residency. He wowed her with his terrible jokes, and she charmed him with her infectious smile, and the rest was history. Three years into their marriage, baby Mikey was born, with the addition of his baby sister Lilypad a decade later.

When you remained silent, Michael knew your stubbornness would give him endless headaches. But you were his best friend, the only person he saw worth befriending in the infinite sea of prats and slags that overpopulated their university. You laughed at his shitty jokes, and he snorted at yours. You would try to trip him up with out-of-pocket sums; he’d laugh when he answered them before your calculator. You had his back when some rugby bloke pushed him around, and he had yours when some fake tanned bitch called you a tramp.

“Look, I can’t promise it’ll be anything like your home. I know you miss your mum’s cooking and your dad’s drunk stories. But my parents already made me promise that I would get you to visit because it’s Christmas and no one should be alone and you’re going to die without me here and blah blah blah. Just say you’ll come? Lil’ will murder me if you don’t come. She’s been dying to hear all about the Great Apple and Broadway.”

“…It’s actually called the Big Apple.”

Your comment brought a loud and rather unattractive snort to leave his mouth. And the chuckle that came after brought a small and tentative smile on you.

“Look, are you coming or not?”

You had to admit, the invitation sounded welcoming. You were dying to put faces on the people that made Michael Gavey, well, Michael Gavey. He rarely talked about his family, but his tone was warm and soft when he did. It was such a sweet contrast to the snarky little shit you were used to, and so temptation won in the end.

“…Fine.” You agreed after dragging out the tension. “But I am bringing presents for all your family members, and you have to help me. And any funds that were spent on me are going to be paid back before summer. Got it?”

A true, genuine smile crept across Michael’s face.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“…Will I be seeing any baby pictures of you?”

“Don’t push it.”

You weren’t sure what exactly to expect from Michael’s family – maybe they were wonderful, or maybe the idea of an American that hailed from a city with some of the highest crime rates in the US gave them hives – but you were sure that you wouldn’t be alone if Michael were with you. Safe to say, your expectations were set way too low.

His dad's arms immediately enveloped Michael after you two exited at your stop and the station. You had always assumed most British father figures to be a bit cold and distant, but it seemed that stereotype didn’t apply to his dad. You went in for a handshake but were also caught in a warm hug. You introduced yourself while expressing your gratitude to him and his wife’s generosity.

“Oh no, please,” he insisted, “please call me Greg. Mr. Gavey was my father’s name, and I don’t think I’ve grown that many wrinkles yet.”

When you arrived at his home, it was a medium-sized red brick building in the suburbs. After entering the door and Greg announcing your arrival, quick footsteps ran down the stairs, and a young girl with golden honey curls in pajamas and a pink tutu ran to Michael.

“MIKEY!” she exclaimed. “YOU’RE HOME! Did you miss me? Why did it take you so long? You said your tests were done by the third. It’s the fifteenth today!”

“Lily, Lily,” Michael breathily laughed, “calm down. Of course, I missed you. But I had to wait for my friend because she’s hopeless with directions.”

“That is not true!” you blurted. “It’s not my fault I come from a grid system!”

“Anyway, this is my very good friend, Y/N L/N. Y/N L/N, this is my little sister, Lily.”

Lily turned to you with a big smile and curtsied like a perfect ballerina.

“Hello! My name is Lily! I’m eight, but I’ll be nine in April!”

You almost squealed at how adorable the sight was. You crouched down and mirrored her smile.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Lily! I’m Y/N, and I’m turning nineteen this coming b/m! Your brother here told me so much about you.”

“He did?” she asked with wide eyes.

“He did! He told you how smart you are in math and that you’re an amazing ballerina.”

Lily shyly looked down as a massively cute blush bloomed on her cheeks.

“I wanna be good at sums like Mikey. That way, I can help Daddy with his work like Mikey did when he was my age.”

“Ok!” interjected ‘Mikey,’ cheeks equally flushed at the slipped detail from his baby sister. “Time to find Mum. She in the kitchen?”

“Yep! She’s making roast chicken and mash with peas!” She turned to you. “Is Y/N allergic to anything?”

“Nope!” you replied, “Only dust, but I’m pretty sure that won’t be in the dishes.”

Meeting Michael’s mom – who was absolutely gorgeous, by the way – was another huge highlight of the break so far. Hearing you three entering the kitchen, she immediately turned off the stove and dashed over to hug you and her son.

“Oh, Y/N!” she warmly greeted you. “I’m so happy that you were able to come. Michael has told me so much about you. Have you adjusted well in Oxford? The time difference isn’t putting too much strain on you, is it? You both look so skinny – are they feeding you at all at that school?”

“Careful, Mum. You might scare her off.”

You shot him a mocking glare before answering his mother.

“Don’t be mean! And I think I’ve adjusted well enough to the university. Jet lag wasn’t too much of an issue because my parents made sure I moved into my dorm early and adjusted to the time zone changes before classes started. The food they serve at the dining halls doesn’t compare to homecooked meals, so I haven’t had much of an appetite. But after walking into the kitchen, I think I’ll be able to regain it once I have your cooking!”

“Oh, you are so sweet! I’ll let you get settled. Greg and I cleaned up the guest room for you. It’s next to Lilypad’s room. She’s excited to hear any stories you have about New York. It’s just on the second floor at the end of the hall.”

Walking back to the entrance to grab your bags, you were just in earshot of Michael and his mom’s conversation.

“Michael! Why didn’t you tell me she was so beautiful! I thought she was a model from Vogue when she first walked in! Are you sure nothing’s going on between you two? Should I expect any grandchildren in the near future?”

“Mum!” he loudly groaned as you softly chortled.

Christmas with the Gaveys was so much fun. You played a dozen board games. Michael was a beast in Poker and Uno while you cleared the board with Scrabble and Black Jacks. Mrs. Gavey was a fantastic cook – you couldn’t remember the last time you had any meal that had more than salt as a seasoning since coming to England. You tried sticky toffee pudding for the first time – you almost cried at that first bite. Everyone was so warm to each other and showered one another with so much love. Most of the neighbors watched Michael grow up, and many shared his childhood stories. It reminded you a lot of the Christmases at your parents’ apartment back in Queens.

The community and camaraderie- it was like you were back at home with your family. Your mom would pick up a roast duck from Peking Duck Sandwich Stall in Flushing while you and your dad would go to Eileen’s to wait in line to pick up your favorite cheesecake. The building would have a huge potluck on Christmas Eve, and everyone would bring a dish. Your neighbor, Mrs. Wong, would bring out everything necessary to make her famous dumplings. Everything was made from scratch. You and the kids of the building would learn how to wrap the fillings in the wrappers while the adults made the wrappers and fillings. You would play White Elephant with the other kids on Christmas Day, which usually ended in a fistfight.

You still missed home. You missed your parents and cat. You missed making cookies with your parents because Christmas was the only time when both of them had time off from work. While his school was still on break, you and your dad would take advantage of your mom’s employee benefits and watch a bunch of live Broadway shows.

When your parents skyped you, you cried after seeing their faces for the first time in so long. School was so stressful, and you were starting to regret traveling so far when you could have easily gone to a school so much closer to home. You tried your best to reschedule your flight, but round-trip flights were expensive, and they increased exponentially during the holidays.

You cried for an hour after seeing the prices online.

But thanks to Michael, you felt so much less alone than you would have if you had stayed at Oxford for the entire break. You introduced him to your parents during the call, and they loved him. It was such a massive relief that they liked your friend, especially because of how much his friendship meant to you. When he left the room, your parents basically forced you to ensure he would come with you to stay with you when you returned for the summer. They were shocked when you told them he had never had fresh jianbing or a decent slice of pizza. After the call, you were confident they were making a list of every store and stall you and Michael would visit during his visit.

Classic Queens’ family behavior – showing love by forcing food down your throat whether you like it or not.

At the moment, you were at the window in your room and looking at the moon. It was about three in the morning, and the rest of the household was asleep.

Well – everyone except one.

Michael had crept in about half an hour ago, and the two of you were just looking at the stars. You hadn’t expected to see so many – you could only see the lights from planes and aircraft at night back home. There wasn’t any talking, only comforting silence. The scene outside your window with the fresh snow on top of the rooftops and ground. Each house had a slight outline of their Christmas tree lights shining from their lower windows.

Your fingers itched for your pencil and sketchbook to immortalize it.

Ever so softly, Michael broke the silence while looking at you.

“So,” he began, “how would you rate your first English Christmas in the Gavey Household?”

You looked back at him with the biggest smile that Michael had ever seen on you.

“Ten out of ten. Would pay to see lightsaber reenactment again.”

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

Suburban Prescot, Liverpool December 2006

In a well-established suburban home in Prescot, a short boy with crystal blue eyes and inky black hair locked himself in his room. The noise and babble from downstairs gave him a headache. He hated his parents. He hated his sisters. He hated being invisible and being from nowhere.

He had to get out of here.

In his backpack, a photo of a specific heir of a manor was safely tucked in the bottom. The new term was going to be different for him. He would make sure of it.

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @valeskafics, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindnow, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list by commenting!

After I finish my current Saltburn fic? Does anyone have any ideas for Dark!Felix x reader ideas?

I have another idea in the works of dark/toxic!Felix with ex!Reader

I am also be open to writing dark!Oliver x Reader once I am don’t with the fic I’m writing currently.

Let me know in my ask box!

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Masterlist

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. AKA: a more realistic approach to Felix's character, not in the eyes and perspective of a creepy fanboy.

Warning(s): MDNI 18+, Felix is delulu, Reader is so fucking done with England, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver is Oliver (a creep), and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Farleigh Start Ramblings and Headcanons

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

Please comment and/or reblog your thoughts and if you want to be added to the taglist!

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 4

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter. Masterlist

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. ...Well, maybe you also hated Annabel Williams as much - but you'd be damned before you let a drunk girl out in the hallway without helping her.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Sex, Felix doesn't make an appearance (but still mentioned), Reader is a girl's girl, Annabel has an epiphany, Michael hates everyone BUT Reader, Farleigh is Farleigh, alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic. Also Oliver is barely in this chapter, but who cares about that asshat?

Author's Note: I am so sorry for the prolonged hiatus! It was not intentional! My classes have upped the ante in how much HW they gave me, and I got distracted by reading my old GOT fanfics and got ideas for it. BUT - thank you all who've been reading this fic and sharing wonderful comments! They really help push me to become a better writer!

You were caught in a bit of a pickle – granted, it was a voluntary pickle, but a pickle nonetheless.

…Okay, so quick recap of the events that transpired this week:

Regularly-scheduled Annabel tormenting you

Got sexually-harassed by Catton

Had a self-pity session at Bowin

Got found by Mikey Gravy

Olly, the psychotic backstabber/bootlicker, tried to pimp you out to Felix Catton.

You almost committed aggravated homicide of said pimp before Michael dragged you away.

You went to the movies to drool over Johnny Depp.

 You and Michael decided you would crash in his dorm room for the night…leading to your current predicament.

Right now, you were dragging an unconscious Annabel, who was drunk off her ass, with one arm flung over your shoulder as you tried to make get any information of where her dorm was out of her. It was a sad picture – mascara running down her cheeks, vomit from her mouth, and lipstick messily smeared across her face. The smell of vomit mixed with cheap booze was almost enough to make you want to drop her on the ground and leave her there if you hadn’t pitied her so much.

When you realized that you weren’t going to get anything out of her that didn’t involve projectile vomiting, you just decided to bring her to rest up in your dorm.

“I still don’t understand why you’re helping her,” Michael grunted.

Oh, yeah…and Michael was helping you, too.

“Because girl code, Gavey–” you grunted, lifting Annabel’s arm higher when you felt her slipping “–no man left behind – or well, no woman left behind in this case.”

“That’s the Geneva Code.”

“Same difference,” you groaned out. Fuck, how was this girl so heavy?

Michael’s face was getting flushed from the sweat running down his forehead. “So, girl code dictates that you have to help the bitch who’s been making your term hell?”

“Girl Code,” you huffed, “wait, hang on - she’s slipping - okay, there we go. ‘Girl Code’ is more of an honor code expected to be followed by all sisters on their journey to womanhood. And one of the most sacred rules in that honor system is that – fuck, she’s heavy – that if you see a sister drunk and unconscious, you make sure she gets home safe.”

“Or your matchbox dorm room, in this circumstance,” your friend grumbled.

You tiredly nodded. “Exactly! Besides, regardless of how heinous she is, it’s the right thing to do.”

“(Y/N), you realize she won’t be getting hypothermia, right?” Michael frustratingly groaned. “It’s late spring.”

“But that doesn’t mean there aren’t people out there who won’t take advantage of her in her current state. They’d say, ‘Oh, she was asking for it,’ or ‘she’s just imagining things, do you remember how hammered she was?’ And then it’ll be their word against hers.”

You went silent for a bit. “I don’t want that to happen to her. No one should have that happen to them – girl or guy, bully or friend.”

“Well, in any case,” Michael started as the two of you finally arrived at the beginning of your dormitory. “It’s lucky that your dorm is so close to mine. Are you sure you want her in there? There’s still the chance she’ll vomit all over your carpet if she misses the bucket or even your covers.”

You opened the door with your ID card. “I’ll just have to take that chance, I guess. Look, I’ll try to wake her up long enough to see if she remembers any of her friend’s numbers. If any of them pick up, I’ll tell them to pick her up.”

Michael looked at you with heavy doubt in his eyes. “And if they don’t? Pick up, I mean?”

“Then I guess we’ll be having a sleepover,” you sighed as you reached your room at the end of the hallway. “And then we’ll never have to see each other ever again when morning comes.”

Michael loudly snorted while you clumsily reached into your back pocket for your keys. “Don’t jinx yourself. With your bleeding heart, you’ll probably end up donating your liver to her if she doesn’t die of alcohol poisoning first.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come one. Have a bit more faith in me – SHIT!” you exclaimed after you dropped your keys.

You quickly scrambled to the floor while Michael guffawed at your misfortune. You shot a quick glare at him to get him to shut up. The bespectacled bastard didn’t stop laughing until…like, three minutes passed. In response, you dropped Annabel’s arm from your shoulder to focus on finding your room key. You chuckled to yourself when you heard Michael curse to himself as he tried to balance the drunk girl’s weight without getting her too close to him. When you finally found it, you inserted it into the lock. You sighed in relief when the door opened. You were even more relieved that your roommate had decided to spend the night at her girlfriend’s dorm. You really didn’t want to have to explain to her why you were voluntarily helping the vile witch bitch who was actively trying to make your college years hell. Meanwhile, Michael grimaced and groaned as he held Annabel away from his body at arm’s length.

“Is sluttiness contagious through touch?” he asked.

“Unless pre-Sith Anakin suddenly pops into this hallway, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that,” you snorted as you opened the door to let Michael drag the unconscious girl into the room.

Michael scoffed at your choice of Star Wars beefcake. “Bitch, please. Young Obi-Wan Kenobi was far superior.”

He went to the center of the room and released Annabel from his grip to let her unceremoniously fall on the floor, and her body made a soft ‘thump.’ You wrinkled your nose and grimaced at the pathetic nature of tonight. She looked less like the glamorous Oxford party ‘IT’ girl and more like one of those sad groupies who OD’d in their favorite rockstar’s pool from a house party. You didn’t know what the hell her story of tonight was – but it still didn’t mean she deserved to be left alone, slumped against a wall in a dirty hallway with vomit all over her.

You turned to Michael. “Okay! Off you trot!”

Your favorite bespectacled blonde nerd gave you a look of complete bewilderment.

“Seriously?” he asked. “Not even a thank you? I literally dragged her body here from my dormitory and risked being the first victim of a new STD contracted through skin contact.”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics – if he weren’t such a numbers genius, he would have been the perfect theater kid.

“Don’t be such an incel,” you admonished. “It’s not a good look on you. And I carried more of her body weight than you, dumbass. If I left it up to you, we’d never get anywhere with your twiggy arms.”

You poked his arms in emphasis and snickered when he pouted. He crossed his arms and was about to leave when you pounced on him. A bit of Annabel’s “Britney Spears Fantasy” spray perfume soaked into his shirt, but other than that, he still smelled like himself. The scent of fresh laundry, freshly mowed grass, and spearmint toothpaste made you feel safe. His scent, combined with his body heat, enveloped you in comfort.

“Thanks, Mikey,” you whispered. “I know you didn’t have to help me, but you did anyway.”

Gavey wrapped his arms around you as he rested his chin on your head. He usually hated contact with anybody save his family, but you were always the exception. Michael should probably have warned you that the rotten and acidic odor from Annabel’s puke would ruin your shirt, but he just let himself replace her cheap perfume with your fragrance. The scent of your favorite honey and jasmine conditioner in your hair mostly covered the faint traces of turpentine and linseed oil on your skin.

“Of course I did,” he softly replied. “With your shit sense of direction, you would have ended up in the bottom of the ditch.”

You gasped and lightly pushed him away. “Uhhh, way to ruin the moment!”

Michael snickered at the way your jaw had dropped in shock and betrayal. You then resorted to mockingly punching him in the stomach as he did nothing to stop you. He couldn’t help but look at you in total and utter fondness as he continued to ‘beat him up.’

But in all honesty, Michael didn’t mind helping you. He loved it. He’d rather get Crucio-ed than say it, but you were his favorite person in the whole world. In a desert of fakes and masks of insincerity, you were like gentle rain with your genuine vibrance and rare honesty. He loved how endlessly kind and empathetic you were to others. He just hated it when you granted acts of kindness to the plebes unworthy of you. You’d give the benefit of the doubt to the worst of the worst on campus – Annabel being a case in point.

Remembering the drunk elephant in the room, Michael grabbed your fists and stared at you thoughtfully.

“Seriously, though,” he began, “why are you helping her? I know you told me about ‘girl code’ and all that. But is that seriously it?”

You thumped your head against his chest. “Look, I get it. Annabel is a horrible person, and with how awful she treated me – she doesn’t deserve my kindness, my help, or my pity. But that doesn’t change that it was the right thing to do. And if not us, who knows who would have picked her up? If another guy other than you ‘helped’ her…you do the math.”

A groggy voice broke the two of you apart. “Are you two going to shag? Because I can leave.”

You and Michael jumped apart as you watched Annabel lift herself from the floor and stagger to her feet. Her legs wobbled briefly before giving out, and then she fell to the floor. You turned to Michael and gave him one final hug before seeing him out. He looked disgusted at the girl sitting on the cheap carpet before turning to you, concerned. Mikey asked if you were confident you didn’t need him here to help you.

“I’ll take it from here,” you reassured him. You flexed your arm – 80s jock bully style. “I’m a tough girl. I carry my canvases and textbooks and everything, after all.”

“Okay,” he dragged out the last syllable. “But if you end up putting her down, give me a call, and I’ll help you bury the body.”

“Um,” interjected Annabel, “you know I’m right here, you arse.”

 “Hey,” you admonished, “he did help carry you here. He could have left you in that hallway alone.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed. “Probably did it so he could cop a feel, the slimy wanker.”

“Please,” Michael sneered, “as if I’d ever willingly touch someone with a higher body count than Dahmer and Bundy combined. I’m only here because I wanted to help (Y/N) – she’s the one who was worried about your sad self.”

Ugh, this was going to be a long night. You turned to Michael with apologetic eyes and reassured him that he wasn’t a wanker. You promised you’d make it up to him by buying all the Crunchie bars he wanted. Mikey’s eyes softened at your sincerity as he began to walk down the corridor to make the trek to his dorm.

You softly closed your door so as not to cause any further disturbance. When you turned around, you were startled by the dead stare Annabel was giving you. You looked down at your feet as you shifted uncomfortably in your spot. You cleared your throat to try and break the tension.

“Um, soooo…I’m glad you’re awake. You were sitting so still in that hall, I was worried you OD’d,” you nervously joked. But all she did was continue to stare at you. “So, do you have your phone with you? I figured it would be best if you called one of your friends. I’m sure they’re really worried about you. I know I’d be going out of my mind if one of my friends–”

“What kind of fucking game are you playing here?” she snarled. Her large, doe-brown eyes narrowed in anger as you stopped talking.

“Uhhh,” your mind was coming out blank. “Wait, I don’t – I don’t know what you mean?”

Annabel rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t play stupid. Why’d you help me? Did you want to take pictures of me drunk and unconscious?”

Your jaw fucking dropped. “What?! NO! I just–”

“I’m sure that would’ve made some fucking good blackmail material,” ignoring you and continuing, “I can see it: ‘Annabel Williams drunk in the hall after trying to shag fucking sad Ollie.’ You’re so obvious.”

You tried to explain yourself. “Okay, look- I think there’s a big misunderstanding here–”

“Or maybe you want to show the pictures to Felix, not that he’d care or anything. You got him all wrapped up in your little Yankee finger, you know that? It’s so pathetic and sick – it makes me want to–”

“HEY!” you yelled – finally making her just shut UP. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths to calm down. “Look, Michael and I were walking to his dorm when we saw you were sitting in the hallway. I tried to ask you if you had your phone on you and if you wanted me to call anyone, but you were out cold. And I couldn’t just leave you there, okay? That’s dangerous! And I didn’t know where you lived – you know, considering that you hate me–” you cut off your rambling with a deep breath “–so he and I dragged you to my dorm.”

The silence that followed was so stifling you wanted to open a window. Maybe if you let some fresh air in, it might calm the girl down. It would also help diffuse some of the puke odor stinking up your room.

“…Anyway, if you don’t have your phone on you right now, I can always call them myself. Do you remember their numbers? I know you and India are close. Do you think she’s available right now?”

More silence.

You began fidgeting. “I mean, you can stay over if no one is available? I don’t mind since my roommate is sleeping over–”

Annabel interrupted you again. “You’re so full of it. You just wanted to help me? For what? For the sake of being the goody-two-shoes kiss-ass, you’ve always been? Did you want me to bow and worship you?”

“Annabel,” you groaned, “it’s been a really long night, okay? And I don’t feel like arguing when you aren’t sober and in your right mind.”

“Oh yeah,” she bitterly laughed. “Be a pushover, and get everyone to love you. Tell everyone how much of a ‘heinous’ bitch I am. Play the victim – that’s all you’ll ever be. Just go back with your pathetic little nerd friend and be invisible and boring like the goody-goody who thinks she’s better than the rest of us.”

The quiet in the room was surprisingly loud. Shock and disbelief morphed into fury as your fists clenched so hard that your nails left red welts on your skin. Your body trembled in anger as your tongue felt too heavy to express everything you wanted to say.

‘Pushover’ she called you? ‘Play the victim,’ she said?

Who the hell was she to have any right to judge you? Did she have any idea what you’ve sacrificed? How much have you suffered and left behind? Could she even have the slightest decency to understand what you’ve been through? Of what she put you through?

…You know what? …Fuck her. Fuck Annabel Williams and all of Oxford’s elite. They were proof that Michael was right – that doing the right thing meant nothing to them.

Your voice was cold, and your eyes were numb. “…I’m going to take a shower,” you grab a towel and your shower buddy. “I want you to get the hell out of my dorm by the time I get back. Call your friend or don’t? Do whatever the hell you want. I don’t care.”

You slammed the door on your way out.

“Finally,” Annabel thought with some relief, “she’s gone.”

When you left, the room felt ten degrees colder the way the door slammed, and Annabel felt goosebumps form on her arm. This was the worst night of her life. She had never felt so humiliated.

Her mummy told her she was just born blessed because God knew she was exceptional, and she always believed that to be true. For her entire life, she was the girl every boy wanted to bed and the girl every girl wanted to be. She never had to fight for anyone’s attention. Her parents gladly bought her the latest versions of top-of-the-line technology. Her closet here and at her parent’s townhouse in Kensington was filled with designer-brand exclusives and limited-editions. She had everything.

For people like her, life was supposed to be easy. She was born at the top, so she would be there till the day she died.

So why was she losing to you?

When she came to Oxford, she figured it would be as easy as most of her life. She’d spend her time partying and networking with the right people. If she had to blackmail a nerd to take her classes or blow a teacher to give her an “A”? Who would say otherwise?

But then she met Felix Catton and finally felt she had met her match. Finally, there was someone who checked all the boxes: rich, tall, handsome, and fun. That part made Felix the golden sheep who stood above the rest of the flock – he was fun. Not only did he know how to have a good time, he knew how to properly fuck a girl, too.

She was so drunk off the taste of his lips and the feel of him around her – so much so that she broke her golden rule.

“Never fall first.”

Annabel felt herself falling hard for Felix Catton. She thought they were exclusive. He was her boyfriend, and she was his girlfriend. But then…he became distant. He stopped calling he and ignored her when they returned to campus after the break. But then he and she left the bar at Kings’ Crossing, and she was so happy! She wanted to cry when he kissed her hard and ripped her 100 quid top in half.

It didn’t matter if she wasn’t wet when he entered her. It didn’t matter that he didn’t wait for her to adjust when he started to thrust. It didn’t matter when she tried to moan his name; he would cover her mouth with his giant hand to shut her up. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t close to finishing when he came inside her. It didn’t matter when her windpipes were almost crushed when he fell on top of her after finishing.

They were together. He chose her! Annabel and Felix – Mrs. Felix Catton, she could see it now. They’d have a wedding in his house at Saltburn. She would have to meet his parents, but she wasn’t worried – all her flings’ parents loved her! They would be together forever, and nothing would ever–

“(Y/N),” Felix whispered above her – and Annabel’s world completely fell apart.

She immediately shoved his body off hers and hurriedly dressed before getting the hell out of his room. Annabel didn’t bother putting on her shoes before running with tears down her face to her dorm. And when she returned to her single, she flung herself to her bed and cried to sleep. She didn’t bother attending class that week – not when her heart broke.

Felix had been thinking about you – you. He called out your name after finishing. Was he imagining your naked body when hers was under him? Had he been imagining you every time he fucked her?

Annabel smelled Felix’s aftershave and wanted to rip the skin off her body. God, she never felt more like a whore in her entire life.

“God,” she thought, “I was so pathetic! How could I be so stupid to fall for Felix Catton? Why did I trick myself into hoping that we would be together?”

Felix wanted a good girl—like you—the American scholarship student who wanted to paint pretty pictures and was at the top of her classes. The lovely New Yorker who hung around losers and still held your head up high despite every professor thinking you were in over your head to come here. Some pushover bitch who was so pathetic and actually–

The door slammed open again, and Annabel’s pretty sure she’d scream if she weren’t so fucking tired. You came storming in with your towel and shower caddy in your hands, and your eyes were a raging storm while your lips were pursed like you had sucked a lemon. Your nostrils are flaring as you angrily breathe through your nose. Annabel was about to open her mouth, but you menacingly pointed at her with your pointer finger. It felt like forever until you finally opened your mouth.

“Look! We don’t have to be friends and I don’t expect us to be friends – but you know what? YES, I WOULD LIKE A THANK YOU! I dragged your unconscious ass across campus, and you REEKED of vomit and bad perfume! And not to body shame, but you are WAY TOO SKINNY to be healthy to be as heavy as you were when I carried you!”

“Excuse me?!” Annabel sputtered. “Who the fuck–”

“Oh! I’m not done!” you shouted. “I don’t know if you being horrible and a bitch is supposed to be some power trip or some shit, but it’s so cliché! Are we in Mean Girls? Are you Regina George? No, am I Janice from Lebanon? NO! And on that – I have a few bones to pick with you…MISSY!

I–” You pointed to yourself “–am NOT a pushover, okay? I fucking beat your stupid manwhore boy toy like it was goddamn ‘Whack o’ Mole’ for ruining my painting! Pushovers don’t do that!  FURTHERMORE – me calling you a ‘horrible person’ or ‘heinous bitch’ isn’t me ‘playing the victim’! You HAVE been a HORRIBLE person to me, alright? And what’s worse – I don’t have the slightest idea why! Was it something I said to you last term? Or were you born a spoilt princess who never had to work for anything in her life because mommy and daddy will always give you everything you want so you could forget that they would probably instead work than deal with their brat? Seriously – what is it? Because you’re driving me CRAZY!”

When you were done, Annabel sat on the floor, completely silent, and stared at you unblinkingly. She hadn’t expected you to come back so quickly – let alone to scream at her. She stared at your huffing and shallow breathing in awe and slight amazement. Your hair looked frazzled from your outburst, and your (e/c) eyes were bright with wild impulse.

Annabel felt her bottom lip quiver and stared at an ugly stain on the carpet. She didn’t want to show any more of herself than she had already. But what the hell? You already saw more of her than most of her so-called ‘friends.’ What was a little more? If she had to show more of the ugliest parts of herself, why not show it to someone she already hated?

Before she could stop herself, Annabel felt her shoulders sag and shake as sobs tore through her petite frame. Tears and snot were running down her face as she furiously tried to wipe them away – if nothing but to try and save some shred of dignity. Annabel was crying so much that she didn’t see the surprised look on your face morph to slight guilt since you thought you may gone too far with your rant. You reached out to tap her shoulder when you heard her speak.

“Why doesn’t he want me?” she sobbed. “What do I have to do to get him to love me?”

If you were taken aback by her crying, you were completely caught off-guard by her questions. You walked over to your desk and grabbed a box of tissues before crouching on the ground. You handed her a few tissues from the box and waved to her face to present them. Annabel noticed how you tried hard not to see how much her hand trembled when she reached forward to grab the tissues from you.

“Who?” you softly asked her. “Are you talking about Felix?”

Annabel blew her nose into the tissue hard. “Who else?! I mean…look at me! Everyone wants me! Everyone – boys, girls, teachers! Do you know how many of my past flings gladly emptied their pockets so I might wank them? But he wants you! What do you have that I don’t?”

Concern and pity shifted to confusion before realization kicked in, and you were so done with this conversation already. Maybe you were a slightly horrible person for this, but you felt so disappointed when Annabel told you that her entire drama with you had been over Felix Catton.

“…That’s why you’ve been tormenting me this entire term so far?” you flatly asked. “Because of Felix Catton?”

“He called out your name–” she gasped a heavy sob “– while he was fucking me! Do you have any idea how that feels?”

“Okay, wow,” you thought, “that’s actually really shitty – fuck.”

“Do you know how humiliating that was for me? He was still inside me, for fucks’ sake! I felt him shrink!”

Okay – that was so much more information about Annabel’s and Felix’s sex life than you ever wanted to know.

You coughed into your hand as your face flushed red. “Oh, um–I’ve never really…done it before. So…I wouldn’t really don’t know how that feels.”

“Ugh, of course, you’re a virgin,” she groaned. “Don’t tell me you don’t drink either.”

When you remained silent, Annabel let out a bitter laugh. “Damn, you think you’re hot shit and everything. But you really are a goody-goody. What – you saving yourself for God or some shit?”

“HEY! Just because I like to keep my head down and not a party and get plastered every five minutes doesn’t make me a goody-two-shoes. I just don’t like the taste of alcohol, and increased chances of lung cancer doesn’t exactly spell out ‘fun’ for me.”

But Annabel ignores your outburst and continues to dismiss you. “Yeah, right. I bet you call your mommy and daddy every night. Do you tell them that you miss them and want to go home? Or do you wish to bake cookies with your mummy as daddy watches the telly?”

Annabel’s taunting is only responded to with silence as she grows confused by your melancholic expression.

“…I can’t call them at all,” you respond. “International calls are too expensive. The best I can do is email or Skype. And planned calls can hardly be reliable since my parents’ schedules are always all over the place with their jobs.”

“When–” Annabel’s voice cracked “– when’s the last time you saw them? In real life?”

“I was supposed to see them during Christmas Break,” you bitterly explained, “but then Felix crashed into me when I was on my way to deliver it. He ruined my painting, and I had to redo it completely, not to fail and completely flush my parents’ money down the drain.”

“I thought you were here on scholarship? Doesn’t that mean you don’t have to pay to come here?”

“I’m here on a partial scholarship,” you explained. “It covers a good part of my tuition, but not all of it – and definitely not for housing and meal plans. Travel expenses alone were so expensive, so I had to leave alone. Mom cried so much at the security checkpoint, and Dad almost didn’t want me to go. I didn’t even want to go. But they wanted me to experience more of the world while I still could.”

“…Do you miss them?” Annabel asked. She felt silly asking a question with such an obvious answer. But, hearing how you talked about your parents crying their goodbyes to you compared to the simple wave she got hers after they dropped her off campus made her feel a deep longing.

You let out a shaky sob. “More than anything. You never realize how much you miss your home and family until an entire ocean separates you.”

Annabel uncomfortably shifted in her spot as she noticed your eyes getting misty. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried over missing her parents and felt that you were being overdramatic. Annabel spent her entire break with her parents at their house, but she couldn’t remember the last time they ate at the same table unless it was for one of her dad’s dinner parties. What did it feel like – to miss and love someone so much after not seeing them for a year?

What did it feel like – to have an entire lifetime of that kind of love?

Does having that kind of love make you?

“…Why did you help me?” Annabel finally asked. She couldn’t bear the tension anymore. “You could have just left me there. Why help me and bring me here of all places?”

“…Because it was the right thing to do,” you explained and shrugged. “You were drunk and vulnerable. Maybe it was fear of being a potential bystander if someone tried to take advantage of you – but I was scared something was going to happen to you. Regardless of my feelings toward you and yours toward me, no one should ever find themselves in a position where if they’re telling the truth, it’s someone else’s word against theirs. I’ve seen it too happen many times already.”

“What do you say in response to that?” Annabel thought to herself – shocked by how genuinely you answered her question. Since you were honest with her, she figured she could at least be honest with you.

“If it were you,” she began, “I wouldn’t have done for you what you did for me.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “you probably wouldn’t – but that’s neither here nor there. Because I’m me, and you’re you.”

“…Are you really not interested in Felix?” Annabel asked. She was surprised by your disgusted groan.

“Oh my god–” you put your face into your hands and loudly groaned “–I don’t understand why everyone has an obsession with this guy.”

Annabel raised her brow. “Seriously?”

“Yes! He’s so gross – I studied in an empty classroom last week. He sat next to me, basically propositioned me, and then put his hand on my thigh! Does that sound like someone I would want to date?”

“You know he’s just doing it to get your attention because he likes you, right?”

You scoffed at her input. “Pffft– and that makes it alright of him to invade my personal space via sexual harassment? I hate how everyone makes excuses for him – and why? Because he’s richer than God and has an ‘alright-looking’ face? So what?”

“Oh, believe me,” snickered Annabel, “he’s more than just ‘alright-looking’ and he fucks as good as he looks.”

You sagely shook your head. “A person like that has nothing to offer himself. He desperately clings to his family’s wealth and the benefits of his status so tightly – and he pretends not to enjoy it, but he’s the type of person to love leeching on someone’s misfortune to feel better about himself.”

You shuddered as you remembered Felix’s constant leering at you since the term began.

“He’s like a vampire – I’ve seen enough of them in high school to recognize them from miles away.”

Annabel was utterly silent at your analysis of Oxford’s Golden Boy. She never considered the possibility of someone out there who didn’t absolutely covet and revere him. She assumed that you were purposely playing ‘hard-to-get’ to get his attention, but maybe you were sincere in his disgust by him.

“Plus, he looks like the type to be absolutely shit at foreplay and only knows how to stick it in.”

Annabel was so caught off-guard by your statement that she immediately burst out laughing. You were surprised by her reaction and started to laugh, too. She was laughing so hard that tears started rolling down her cheeks, and her stomach started to hurt.

“HE IS!” she agreed while nodding. “He does the bare minimum! I’ve been giving him constant blowjobs, and I can count the number of times he’s eaten me out with one hand! The only type of prep he knows how to do is finger me!”

“Oh my god! EW!” you guffawed. “Why did you put up with him for so long?!”

Annabel shrugged. “He’s the most popular guy on campus – even the upperclassmen adore him. I was always the popular girl throughout primary and secondary prep. It just made sense.”

“My parents told me college was all about discovering new things about yourself,” you said. “Maybe…you could do that for yourself.”

Annabel looked wistful before nodding. “Yeah…you know this doesn’t mean we’re friends, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please, tonight’s the last night I’m willingly dealing with a demon like you. I’ll stick to forcing Michael to watch my favorite Johnny Depp movies—thank you very much.”

Annabel watched your eyes soften at the mention of your friend…Michael Gravy? Was he the guy who left the two of you together after snarking at her?

…Oh god, it all made sense now.

“Are you and Gravy fucking?” she bluntly asked. She huffed in amusement at how red your face became as you began to sputter.

“WHAT?! No-NO! We’re friends!” you exclaimed before getting all shy.

“You were awfully protective of him a bit ago to be ‘just friends,’” Annabel countered. “Spill it – what’s going on between you two?”

“He’s my best friend,” you explained to Annabel. “He let me stay with his family after I finished repainting my assignment – which was really amazing of him.”

She watched how you smiled when continuing to talk about him.

“I know he can seem a bit odd and rude at first,” you continued. “But Michael is one of the best people on campus. He can be really sweet when you get close to him – especially when he talks about his family. His little sister, Lily, is so adorable! He’s a total nerd but a complete sweetheart when you get to know him.”

Annabel bemusedly watched as you gushed about your ‘best friend.’ It was almost sweet how gone you were for the nerd. You didn’t even realize how gone you were for him. For a bit, Annabel could see why Felix was so enamored with you.

“Well,” she interrupted as she stood up, “I guess your obliviousness to your feelings isn’t any of my business or whatever. Thanks for…helping me – it was really nice of you.”

You warmly smiled at her. “Sure! Do you have to meet anyone tomorrow morning?”

“Uh, no?”

You walked to your closet and grabbed a towel, a worn T-shirt, and old sweats. You handed them to her as Annabel looked at you in confusion.

“Since you’re here,” you began, “and it’s already like…3 a.m. – you might as well shower and stay over since tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“…Why?”

“You still have puke all over you,” you explained, “and it’s getting really hard pretending it’s not extremely gross. Plus, I can’t imagine you’re comfortable right now.”

“What’s with the clothes?”

You shrugged. “Well, I can’t exactly have you sleep in your dress and ruin my sheets! You can shower and sleep on my bed while I sleep on my roommate’s. Now, are you going to take them?”

Annabel hesitated before she took the bundle from your hands. You then opened the door. While holding it, you looked at her as if expecting her to follow you. What confused her most was the way she did exactly that.

While in the shower, she didn’t even mind that you didn’t have any of her usual hair products. Your conditioner looked like it was bought at a cheap dollar store – you didn’t even have a loofah. But when she exited the shower stall before drying herself with your towel and changing into your baggy clothes, she felt calmer than she had these past few weeks. As she crawled under your sheets and comforter, you turned off the night and wished her good night.

Annabel stared at the ceiling for about an hour before she grabbed her phone. She managed to find it while digging through her dress pockets. She was going to wash it when she got back to her dorm. Opening it, she rolled down at the dozens of messages from India and their girlfriends. Her eyes slightly widened at the soft *ping* her phone let out when she got a new message to show it was from Felix.

To her surprise, she didn’t feel anything. She didn’t care he messaged her that he had forgotten their plans. Staring at her screen, she just felt…nothing. So she did the very thing she should have done weeks ago.

She deleted Felix Catton’s number from her contact list.

Annabel slept better that night than she had all term.

After that night with Annabel, life simply went on. She and you weren’t ‘friends’ per se, but she no longer went out of her way to torment you like she had done before. She even told off some of her friends when they talked about you behind your back.

You two weren’t friends, but you hoped that there was at least some fraction of mutual respect. If you couldn’t be friends, then at least you two didn’t have to be enemies – you were happy to settle for being a ‘frenemy.’

You found yourself sitting by yourself at one of the tables in the library. Michael had to meet with one of his teachers about an essay but promised to meet with you as soon as he finished. You were repeatedly listening to Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” when you heard the chair next to you being pulled out.

Fully expecting it to be Felix, you were ready to tell him to fuck off and bother some other poor soul that needed saving, but you were surprised to find that the person sitting next to you was his cousin, Farleigh Start. He introduced himself by stating his name and giving you a firm handshake. There wasn’t much you could do but reciprocate.

“Quite the save you gave our Annabel,” Farleigh grinned. “Very magnanimous of you, especially considering how she treated you.”

“What do you want from me?” you blurted out. “I’m busy, and I would appreciate it if you just left so I can continue studying.”

You weren’t normally so rude, but this was Felix Catton’s cousin – and if this was a ploy to get you in his pants, you wanted no part of it. But your skepticism only seemed to please the boy sitting beside you more. His wry grin curled into a wide Cheshire Cat smile as he continued to stare at you with eager fascination.

Farleigh started to lean toward you, and you instinctively leaned away from him. You eyed him with extreme caution as if he were a mad scientist and you were a paralyzed specimen. And his eyes looked like he couldn’t wait to cut you open.

“I like you,” he stated. “Let’s be friends.”

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindno, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes, @paradisepoisons, @pansexualpamandabear, @erikasurfer, @lissamans, @cookielovesbook-akie, @thesmutconnoisseur, @izzyisstuff, @lariisouz

Reblog if you liked reading this chapter and want me to continue! Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

Hey! I miss interacting with u, hope you are doing well :)

What is the song that will most describe farleighs and y/ns friendship?

Hey! This is really sweet, anon! THank you! I'm doing great, I have a ton of exams and projects with school that are kind of kicking my butt rn, but today's my birthday so I am excited to share that with my family!

This is a really tough one, mostly because I never expected this friendship to be so popular with everyone. Although I shouldn't be surprised because Farleigh Start was actually so superior in the movie.

Personally, I think these songs really fit them

Gimme More by Brittany Spears

Bad Girls by M.I.A

That's My Girl by Fifth Harmony (also works for Annabel and Y/N)

So What by P!nk

Is You or Is You Ain't My Baby by Louis Jordan and His Tympany Five (look up Marvelous Mrs. Maisel with this song and TELL me that this won't be the most amazing duet with the pair)

Let me know in the comments of your opnions!

I feel like this is a good opportunity to give off some headcanons to describe the vibes I get from Fareligh and Y/n! There are also just my personal headcanons of Farleigh and his story in my AU! I made up these with the help of my internet soulmate @ethereal-athalia!

Here are some headcanons of my personal take of Farleigh's backstory in my AU and in general:

Is it weird if I can see Fareligh coming from New Orleans, Louisiana? Because I can absolutely see him giving off those vibes. He would fit PERFECTLY as a New Yorker, but I can't help but feel he would thrive in the Crescent City.

Farleigh really misses the States, and a big part of the reason he parties so much is to forget how homesick he is. I find it very odd that we are given this extremely intelligent character who would no doubt thrive in an Ivy League like Yale, Harvard, or Brown, but he's stuck in England. James definitely could have just paid for his education there, so why send him to England? Furthermore, why does James cover him up so much? Is it really just because he's family?

Remember when Felix told Oliver that Farleigh got kicked out of every school in England bc he "sucked the teachers off"? First off, ew. Secondly, sure, Farleigh is a bit of a hedonist, but all of his behavior just kind of screams to me that he's really and genuinely unhappy in England and wants to go back. That might be a reason why he was so reluctant for Felix to get close to Y/N since Chapter 1 of 'Fuck Everything.'

Furthermore, it really bothers me how nonchalant Felix is about telling Oliver that piece of information. Even if he knows that Farleigh wouldn't really care, that is still very private information about a young boy who was taken advantage of by teachers who were in a position that allowed them to abuse their power.

Also, for a film that exposes so much about its characters, we really don't know a lot about Farleigh Start and his story, specifically his family in the States.

The part where Farleigh's mom is terrible with money and constantly needs handouts from her brother, James, is very realistic - that part, I believe. But I feel like there is a lot missing with his dad.

Was his dad actually as brutish and abusive as Felix said to Oliver? Personally, I don't really see it. Even at first glance, the way Farleigh carries himself is leagues different from the rest of the Cattons. He's observant and takes in details. He uses all this information as a weapon for any opponent he goes up against.

In my opinion, I could absolutely see Farleigh's dad being a completely normal and decent person with a job as a librarian or English professor. This idea is mostly stemmed from when Fareligh made the 'thus' argument against Oliver's essay at the beginning of the movie, and this seems like something Farleigh knows as if being explained about it from a very early age.

The reason I think his father is ill-portrayed is because I feel like Farleigh's mother met him while she was in America and was intrigued by his unassuming self and married him. But then she got bored because she wasn't living the high and expensive life she was living in England with her family.

Eventually, she got bored and decided to use Farleigh as an excuse to get money from James. Farleigh's dad might have wanted custody of his son but was threatened by his ex-wife that he would never see his son again.

Farleigh is aware of his mother's toxic tendencies, but she's his mother and he loves her anyway. He know she's leeching off of him to get to her brother. But what are his other options? Let her fend for herself?

This is probably so far-fetched and a huge reach, but the Cattons are portrayed as people who love to feed off their own sense of entitlement over others by showing of 'generous' and 'charitable' they are to take of other people. When anything bad happens to them, they wear it like a trophy. Maybe that's what happened with Farleigh?

NOW! Onto Farleigh and Reader (also ft. Michael Gavey bc he's bb):

Being around Y/N is like being at home for the first time in forever (cue Frozen song) for Farleigh. When they start talking, Y/N is extremely skeptical of his intentions because she thinks that he's just trying to help out Felix. But nope! He just wants a genuine friend.

Y/N makes it clear to Farleigh from the beginning that if he wants to be friends with her, he needs to be friends with Michael. Michael Gavey and Y/N L/N are a package deal. You want one? You get the other.

Farleigh keeps his friendship with Reader a secret from Felix and is helped by Annabel (our girl got a taste of true kindness, sees Felix Catton for the leech he is, and is now part of the Y/N protection club)

With Y/N, he doesn't feel the need to party or drink until he gets alcohol poisoning to have a good time. He learns to have quiet nights doing homework or playing stupid board games with made-up rules.

Michael and Y/N introduce him to DnD, and he's the classic Bard player who rolls for charisma and ends up f*cking his party out of danger every time. Michael is a paladin, and Y/N is a monk, in case you were wondering.

Y/N sometimes uses Farleigh to model for some of her portraits. She learns to appreciate him because she and Michael do need to be reminded sometimes that it's okay to cut loose at times and that spreading their wings won't kill them.

Y/N and Farleigh definitely geek out over art history and literature (symbolism, plot holes, motifs, etc.) and are BIG soul and blues fans. When they all hang out in Y/N's dorm, they will be listening to James Brown, Ella Fitzgerald, and Ray Charles till dawn.

Y/N is someone whom Farleigh can have actual mind-stimulating conversations with in a manner that's respectful but also wildly entertaining. They will discuss everything from rousing debates about politics and current events to philosophical queries about the omegaverse and mpreg.

Michael pretended he wasn't a fan until they caught him singing along to 'Hit the Road Jack' and they never let him forget it.

Also, Farleigh is a MAJOR Michael Gavey x Y/N fan. He wants them to get together SO BADLY! But he won't do this in a productive/uncomplicated way. Nonononono, he plans to make the most convoluted, dramatic, and needlessly complicated schemes to get these two nerds together for his own amusement. *Nudge* *Nudge* *Wink* *Wink*

Real talk though, Fareligh genuinely loves Y/N and her presence as a friend. He has all these expectations placed on him and fake friends who only want to be around him for his cousins. To be around someone who not only misses home like him but also truly appreciates him as an individual and not as a commodity for networking means the world to him.

If Y/N ever does go to Saltburn for the summer (*foreshadowing*), Farleigh will do everything in his power to make sure she won't get sucked into his relatives' fake and shallow schemes.

Also, as a bonus, he loves ranting and trash-talking Oliver with Y/N and Michael. It's like free therapy with better snacks because Michael always brings candy.

These are all the ones I can think of for now, but let me more in the comments or in my ask box if you want more! It really means so much that you guys love this AU so much!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the comments for future Saltburn AU stuff!

"Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You" Masterlist

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, @cassavacake, @paradisepoison, @@pansexualpamandabear, @erikasurfer, @@lissamans, @cookielovesbook-akie, @thesmutconnoisseur, @izzyisstuff, @lariisouz, @mioshasworld, @themorriganisamonster, @bre99, @babypinkditto

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 5

Previous Chapter, Masterlist

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. And if you end up murdering your English Professor for forcing you to be paired up with him, WHO COULD BLAME YOU???

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Mention of SA/SH, BDSM (sex dream), M/M/F sex dream, Felix is a pig, Reader claws Oliver's face, Michael loves Reader so much y'all, Farleigh is on Team Michael, Oliver is delusional and awful, alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic.

Author's Note: Finals are a BITCH, but I'm finally done...except I have to do my summer classes soon. But I really wanted to put this chapter out since it's been a while. Thank you all who've been reading this fic and sharing wonderful comments! They really help push me to become a better writer!

Michael’s head was about to explode in the next thirty seconds if fucking Farleigh Start didn’t stop digging his paws through his closet and drawers. No amount of clinking and clacking from tapping on his keyboard would be enough to dull out his shirts shuffled in his chest and hangers shrill screeching against the metal bar in his wardrobe.

“Dear God,” the Yankee, stick-figured giant groaned. “How many math pun shirts do you have? Don’t you have any normal ones? Oh my god, are all the pants you own khakis or Oxfam jeans? Do you seriously not own a single pair of corduroy slacks?”

He slammed his laptop shut. God-fucking-dammit, he was going to kill this asshole if he didn’t shut the fuck up.

“Maybe,” Michael gritted out, “if you just focused on the presentation we’re supposed to be working on, it’ll not bother you.”

Farleigh Start clicked his tongue. “Now, now – it’s not nice to be so testy. Most would consider themselves very lucky that I’m providing my services for free.”

The blonde-blind nerd balked when the word ‘services’ entered his ears. Immediately his mind thought of all the rumors that latched to Felix Catton’s mysterious American cousin – who apparently sucked off every teacher in England. Not that he was homophobic or anything – kiss, fuck, marry whoever you wanted, but he wasn’t interested in that sort of thing.

“Services – are you trying to suck my cock so I’ll do your work for you?!”

“…First off, ew,” Farleigh began. “Second, if I left you to do my side of the work, I’m about…86% confident that you’ll end up tanking my grade.” He strolled to Michael’s closet, pulled out a blue gingham-checkered shirt, and grimaced. “Thirdly, I am referring to how I am going to turn–” he nodded towards Michael in disgust “–this, into an actual suitor for our dear (Y/N). Or are you two still doing this little dance of being nauseatingly following each other around like sad puppies and giving each other bedroom eyes without actually fucking?”

Don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the–

Michael slammed his laptop shut and tiredly rubbed his eyes. With a loud and audible groan that he dragged out, he rubbed his eyelids until he could see the kaleidoscope of stars and squiggles in the dark.

Fucking damn it.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you?” he damn-near shouted. “It’s not like that between us!”

Farleigh quirked a brow. “The bedroom eyes or the not-actually-fucking? Because if it’s the former…yes, it is, but if it’s the second,” he brought his hands together in a slow clap, “then well done, Gavey!”

Michael shot up from where he was sitting and ripped the shirt in Start’s hands before throwing it back in his silky oak wardrobe and slamming it shut. Was it so necessary for him to be so fucking insufferable? Was he born this intolerable, or did his fucking cousin, Felix fucking Catton, infect him because being a coked-up narcissist was contagious via proximity or blood?

He heard a few clicks behind him, and the scent of Marlboro Gold cigarettes filled his room.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Michael turned around and stared at his completely useless study partner for this stupid project for his Classics course that he needs to fulfill his fucking “General Education” requirements. Farleigh Start was leaning against his dresser and staring at him with the most judgingly empty gaze ever worn – all while holding a cigarette between his two fingers and getting ash on the floor.

Great – like it wasn’t a bloody fire hazard to cover his carpeted dorm in hot ash.

He shrugged. “What’re you on about?”

Farleigh took a long drag on his lung cancer joystick before exhaling deeply. His disappointed look made Michael’s eyes twitch in irritation.

“About a certain mutual friend we share and adore,” he drawled. “Whom just so happens to be in my dear cousin’s room right now…at night…on a weekend…alone.” He paused to take in Michael’s reaction and smiled. “Ohhhhh, so you do care.”

Michael shook his head. “Nothing’s gonna happen between ‘em. (Y/N)’s too smart for that.”

“Yes, you see – I know that…and you know that. But my cousin?” Farleigh scrunched up his face and made a wish-washy motion with his hand. “Ehhhhh…he’s more the type to think a giant, glaring red-neon sign with blinking lights saying ‘STOP’ is another giant, glaring purple-neon sign with blinking lights saying ‘Come Hither’ in porno studio 69 font.”

Michael Gavey rolled his eyes and reopened his laptop. “Whatever, I’m not worried.”

“You’re telling me that it doesn’t bother you that our friend is currently in the lion’s den with Oxford’s king?”

“Of course it bothers me,” thought Michael, “but I trust her more than I trust you.”

But Michael wasn’t going to let his forced-upon acquaintance know his thoughts, so all he said was…

“She’s not in the fuckin’ lion’s den, alright? They’re in the Bodleian. I’m going to pick her up from there in like thirty minutes.”

Farleigh cocked his head to the side. “Don’t trust our girl to make smart choices?”

“I trust (Y/N) just fine,” Michael bitterly retorted. “It’s your fucking cousin I don’t trust.”

Because he does – he trusts you so much. He knows how sweet and kind you were to everybody you thought deserved the benefit of the doubt. ‘Deserved’ being the very fine keyword in the detailing because there was no fucking way in hell you were dumb enough to think Sir Felix Catton of fucking ‘SalTbURn MaNor’ deserved your kindness.

Mary, Jesus, and Joseph – he wanted to strangle the old kook when he announced the assigned pairs.

It was Classics English taught by Professor Radcliff Michael Charles Douglas. He droned on about what materials would be on the end-of-term examinations. Everyone in the classroom, save for you and a few others, was either passing notes by throwing them across the room or staring aimlessly at the air with red-rimmed eyes.

“Ya’ ready, partn’r?”

You pursed your lips as a groan fought to escape. You would regret introducing John Sturge’s 1960 American Western masterpiece, “The Magnificent Seven,” to Michael Gavey if he kept up with that god-awful Texas accent.

You turned to your left and shot a blank glare at Michael. “Listen, Billy the Kid, we don’t know if we’re going to be assigned together,” you said.

“Come on, Professor Douglas always pairs the people sitting together as partners so far in the entire term. If it’s not broke, why fix it?”

“Melanie Brown…paired with Bryce Landon…Kemi Brown…paired with Amelia Sanders…”

You leaned on your elbow to whisper in Michael’s ear to drown out your professor’s blasé voice.

“Can we do our project on Hercules?”

He leaned back. “Why him?”

“I want to present on the glorification of toxic masculinity in mythology, and he’s the prime example.”

Michael chuckled. “You just want to piss off old Douglas up there.”

“Katie Caldwell…paired with Oliver Quick…”

“Is that so wrong?” you asked with a smirk. “You can either be one jump scare away from seeing Jesus or a product of institutionalized glorification of misogyny – but you cannot be both.”

Michael stifled a laugh. “You realize that takes away pretty much half of the English, Math, Science, and every fucking department on campus, right?”

You innocently tilt your head to the side. “Does it?”

“You’re terrible,” Michael snickered. “Completely evil.”

“Oh, please,” you swatted his arm. “You love me anyway.”

“Michael Gavey…paired with Farleigh Start…”

You and Michael turned to the front with disbelief. Wait…if Michael was paired with Farleigh…then that meant…oh, no.

“(Y/N) (L/N)…paired with Felix Catton. That will be all – no changes.”

Michael watched with wide eyes as your head slowly turned to the back of the lecture hall. He watched your face pale in disgust and horror when your eyes stopped at Felix Catton. Michael’s blue eyes narrowed at the lecherous grin Felix shot to you before he puckered his lips to blow a little kiss with a wink.

Your body involuntarily shuddered at the predatory implications. Michael watched as his best friend buried her face in her hands. He heard her say the exact same thought he was having.

These are going to be the worst few weeks of my life.

To say it bothered Michael that Felix Catton was making the moves on you, so to lure you to his sex dungeon of a dorm was an understatement. It was killing him to know that you were essentially forced into a vulnerable position, but when he brought it up to your professor, the old cunt-rag didn’t give two flying fucks.

“Professor Douglas, please,” Michael pleaded. “I really think it’d be in everyone’s best interest if you could make this exception this one time. I promise it has less to do with me and more for (Y/N)’s sake–”

But the ancient windbag wasn’t interested. “Whatever accusations you and Miss (L/N) intend to throw at Mister Catton, I am uninterested. Honestly, Mister Gavey, I expected this kind of nonsensical drivel from your friend, but to see you being caught in her schemes disappoints me greatly.”

Michael bit his tongue to choke down the tongue lashing he wanted to give. He wanted to tell this wrinkled ballsack about how the ‘fine Mister Catton’ basically assaulted you. He wanted to scream how worried he was when he didn’t see you for the rest of the day. He wanted to shout how when he knocked on your dorm and entered, he froze and paled at the sight of you crying your eyes out until they were red and puffy. He wanted to roar out the fury he felt when you revealed to him the incident with Felix Catton that morning in the empty lecture hall. The very same one where Professor Douglas taught.

*TRIGGER WARNING: THE FOLLOWING SCENE FEATURES PAST SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND A DISCUSSION OF THE TOPIC, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THAT, PLEASE SKIP OVER*

“I couldn’t do anything,” you whimpered. “I felt like…like such an idiot! I just froze and stared and did nothing!' You started to cry all over again, and Michael wiped your tears with his thumb before holding you close to his chest. “Hey, hey, hey – it’s okay. Freezing and doing nothing are two different things. You were stunned by what happened, and your body reacted the same way – anyone who tells you differently is a liar.” You shook your head. “I couldn’t even speak…it was like my body – it ju-just shut off on its own. My brain kept screaming, ‘Let go,’ ‘Get off,’ or ‘Stay away from me!’ But I…the words and my voice just failed me when I needed them the most.” Michael blurted out the first thought: “(Y/N), you need to report this.” Your eyes shot open in fear. “Michael, no–” “Look, I know you’re scared, but this is assault. He touched your inner thigh, and you clearly didn’t consent – that’s sexual assault, or at the very least sexual harassment! If you report it, at least the campus police know about this and keep an eye out for you.” But you weren’t listening. “Nononononono—Mikey... that’s not how it’ll go down. Even if I report it, they won’t believe me.” “You don’t know that!” “But I do!” you cried. You shot up and started pacing across the room. “I do know because I’ve seen it happen! Almost every girl I knew growing up—it happened to them! At school, on the trains, some at their own homes! Whether they knew every detail of their assaulter or just saw just a patch of skin – it didn’t matter!” You weeped. “And if I tell the cops, they’ll just throw away the report because they’ll think that ‘all he did’ was touch my thigh. Consensual or not, I’ll be labeled as some fucking crazy man-hater who’s grasping at straws to ruin a fine young man’s life and reputation.” You collapsed back on your bed. “I just…I can’t deal that kind of shit right now. Not with…” you took a deep breath, “Not with everything that’s happening right now.” “…What can I do to help?” Michael hated how his voice cracked. He hated how completely useless he felt at that moment. More than anything, he wanted to march to the campus police and report it. But he knew that by doing so…he took even more control away from you by going behind your back. And then he would be a no better monster than Felix Catton. The idea of him going beyond the point of no return made him clench his fists until his knuckles turned white. But when you touched his hand, all the tension flowed out of him like a creek. “You already did the best thing anyone could do for me right now,” you reassured him. “You listened to me. You cared enough to look for me when you felt something was off. You reached out to me and stayed and listened. And most of all…you believed me.” Michael felt his throat go dry. You looked at him with so much trust, as if he were the safest place in your world. He wanted you to look at him that way forever. “I’ll believe you,” he swore. “I’ll be there for you – no matter what. I promise. Whenever you need me, I will be there.” No words can describe the relief you felt from hearing Michael’s promise. When you entered Oxford's campus, you never expected to meet someone as endlessly loyal and trustworthy as him. You were prepared to keep your head low and remain friendless for the next four years. You were ready to spend the next 1460 days crying your heart out from homesickness and imposter syndrome. But somehow, near the beginning of your first term here, you met Michael. And you were so grateful for him. You leaned in and lightly kissed his cheek. “I know. I know you will.” And you believed that with all your heart.

*TRIGGER SCENE END*

Michael promised you – gave his word – that he wouldn’t say anything to anyone. But, fuck, this asshole was making it hard to keep that promise.

“Mister Catton is a fine young man…”

No, he’s not.

“…one whom I have full faith will end up as remarkable as his father and grandfather before him.”

They probably pulled that same shit, too.

“A man with a future as bright as his does not need some upstart with delusions of grandeur to dismantle an institution as fine as Oxford blatantly spewing out trash about him.”

It’s not trash.

“Unless it was something with proof and worth my time?”

Michael looked at his Classics professor with empty but enraged eyes. “…No, professor. It’s just a personal matter between me and Felix – (Y/N) has nothing to do with it. She’s just…protective, I guess.”

This surprised the sagging skin suit. “Hmm, well, that sense of loyalty from such a strange girl is surprising, to say the least – especially when you take account of her…troubling background as an American from that horrible city. But perhaps there is a chance of decency in her, after all.”

Michael’s right eye twitched slightly. “And what do you mean by her…background?”

“Oh, come now, Mister Gavey. She’s a New Yorker. That city is full of…of…gang-bangers and drug addicts.”

“Her dad’s a professor at NYU, and her mum works for the buildings that host Broadway shows.”

Douglas scoffed. “HA! New York University – what a joke. A campus that’s filled with hippies and no class. And Broadway? Of course, Miss (L/N) is connected to the theatre community. Now, if that’s all, Mister Gavey, I have an important meeting to get to with the chairman of my department. I trust that this matter is settled?”

No, not even close.

But all Michael could do was clench his fist over his backpack’s strap. He forced an unconvincing smile and tersely nodded.

“Yep, won’t get any more problems.”

When old man Douglas replied with his patronizing smile, Michael wanted nothing more than to knock out the rest of the tenured professor’s teeth with a fire hydrant.

So…no, Michael Gavey was not at all okay with the fact that you were with Felix Catton. He was not OK with the idea that you were within ten feet of that depraved vampire.

All he could do was be reassured you were in a very safe and very public space with lots and lots of people who could serve as potential testimonial eyewitnesses if Catton tried anything.

…Provided that Catton Sr. wouldn’t be able to pay off everyone, their third cousin, and their dog.

You wanted to die. You wanted to literally sink into the ground. You wanted there to be a sinkhole to open under you, swallow you whole, close up, and you would never see the light of day again.

…Actually, you wanted all those things to happen to your useless fuck of a project partner.

“Y’know, if you’re bored here, there’s a party going on at one of my mates’ flats not far from here.”

Felix moved to the seat right next to you and limply swung his arm over your chair. “So why don’t we–”

You shot up and moved one seat over. “Considering how we’ve been working on the research for almost two hours, and you haven’t gotten any work done,” you bit out. “Getting wasted and losing more brain cells isn’t the right call.”

Taking your open hostility as a challenge, Felix continued to move closer to you. “Exactly! We’ve been at this for two hours, and nothing got done!” His face was inches from yours, and you could smell the rank stench of craft beers and rancid cigarettes on his breath. “So, what’s the harm in having a bit of fun?”

Oh my – this is getting fucking ridiculous.

You started to pack your bags and gather all the borrowed books. “Parties aren’t my idea of ‘fun.’ And I already told my friend to meet me–”

“So bring him too! The more the merrier!”

You took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. “Our presentation is due in a week, Felix. One week to hand the paper in and present our topic to the class.” 

You swung your backpack over your shoulder. “I take my coursework very seriously, and to say it’s frustrating to have a partner who doesn’t take it as seriously as me would be a supreme understatement.”

“I think from now on–” a swift *RIP* echoed between them as you took a page out of your college-bound notebook. You quickly jotted down instructions for topics so simplified a child could figure it out, “– it’d be best if we work separately.”

Felix shot up from his seat with a panicked look. “Wait, now hold on – let’s not get hasty.”

“I already have a basic outline for the paper - I’ll type up the paper,” you continued while not looking at him. “All you have to do is find the books I’ve so nicely labeled on that sheet of paper I’ve given you.”

“Wha-what happens after I find them?” Felix stammered; his heart broke from how his time with you was so cruelly cut short.

But your tone and body language remained as rigid as it was apathetic. “You have my email, you have a laptop – figure it out, genius. We’ll meet up at a specified time and place; you hand me the books, and we move on with our very separate lives.”

You walked out of the crowded library and toward the nearby bench where you and Michael agreed to meet when he picked you up. You barely had time to sit down before you were bombarded with the presence of a much worse pest stuck to your shoe.

“You get off on bein’ a downright bitch?”

God, was every asshole trying to piss you off tonight?

You turned around with a prominent scowl that further deepened as your eyes took in the insufferable bastard who was clearly trying to pick a fight with you. You don’t know why you bothered to look for confirmation. You immediately knew who it was just by the sheer arrogance oozing from his tone.

As an artist, you had a special relationship with the color blue. In the summer, there was a point in the early mornings when it felt like the world was bathed in it. There was even a period when you were downright obsessed with it. You loved anything and everything blue: the sky, the ocean, hydrangeas, the Obrina Olivewing butterfly – but eyes, you loved painting blue eyes.

You thought of them as these warm, magical rarities that belonged to the stuff of fairies and Disney princesses. Of course, you also knew the popularity of the usage of blue with winter and death, but you never felt that duality…until now.

Because as much of a slimy bastard Oliver Quick was, you had to hand it to the guy…he was one of two people with some of the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

Which gave you all the more reason to hate him. He made blue eyes look so cold.

 You clenched your backpack strap. “I’m not in the mood, Quick.”

Oliver scoffed. “I’d disagree – you’re always in a mood.”

“So stop talking to me,” you snarled, turning around. “And go away, Michael’s meeting me here soon.” You started to walk away when you heard Oliver speak again.

“I’m surprised he hadn’t dropped you left,” he maliciously quipped. “With you and Felix and all that.”

Your nails dug deeper into your backpack strap. “There is nothing between me and Felix – nothing at all.”

“Yeah, for now,” Oliver shook his head. “But you’ll be crawling to him with your hands and knees on the ground, worshippin’ him like he’s Hercules or Apollo.”

He leaned in closer from behind you. “And you’ll compare Gavey to Felix and look back and wonder ‘how the hell could I have missed being with Felix Catton over some pathetic’–”

Stop it. *clench*

“–unimportant–”

Shut. Up. *dig*

“– know-it-all –”

I hate you. I hate you. *pierce*

“– nobody.”

You turned around and dug your nails into his face as you poured every bit of rage and disdain for the single most insignificant person you’ve ever met in each word that came out of your mouth.

“Enough,” you roughly whispered. It was taking everything inside you to stop lashing out even further. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

“What? Plan to –” Oliver winced as you cinched onto his skin.

“Of all the mind-bogglingly,” *clench* “douche-like” *dig* “and despicable” *pierce* “crap you’ve spewed out,” you rasped. “Implying that I would ever choose as dull as Felix Catton over someone as rare and wonderful as Mikey has got to be one of the worst.”

“Do not push me any further, Quick,” You felt him tremble as you slowly released him from your grasp. “I’ve tolerated too much from you and the object of your obsession for far too long as is.”

You stepped back and gave the boy before you a good, hard stare. You never felt rage so deep, so demanding.

It was exhausting.

But you heard your name being called out from your left as you turned your head to see Michael waving to you with his arm high in the air. Had it been anyone else calling out your name, you wouldn’t have felt so quickly eased. You were about to move ahead to meet him halfway in the distance before Oliver’s voice stopped you.

“…What could possibly make him so special?” Oliver pathetically whimpered. “Why would you ever choose him when someone as bright as Felix is begging for you? Do you know what being with him means for you? What it gives you?”

…Was that it? Was that his best shot to get under your skin?

Looking at Michael, you answered him without meaning to.

“There’s no point in explaining it to you,” you calmly stated. “And I think you’ve wasted enough of my time.”

You picked up your stuff and left him alone with his thoughts. As you walked away to join your friend, you could feel his icy sapphire eyes digging into your back. Michael could feel how tense you were and asked if there was anything he could help with – but you waved away his concerns, stating that you had already wasted too much of your time with Felix and Oliver and didn’t want to waste anymore. Slipping your arm over his, you snuggled closer to his side and let the familiar scent of old math textbooks and coffee comfort you.

Oliver would make you pay for what you did – you’d be naïve to assume otherwise. He won’t do it directly, but it will happen. He’s the type to drink poison and expect you to die…only to learn too late that it worked as you lay on the ground bleeding and screaming your throat raw for help.

But right now, you were with your best friend; you two were going back to his dorm for a best friend sleepover, and it’d be enough.

…Yeah, it’ll be enough.

Oliver needed to make a plan – and fast.

Getting into your good graces was no longer a viable option for him; you made it annoyingly clear of that by the way you attempted to maul his face off. He gingerly touched the claw marks you imprinted on his cheeks as you tried to dig for his blood and bone with your nails. A corner of his mouth went up as he remembered your viciousness. He could practically taste the blood that nearly trickled down his cheek after you pierced his skin.

He hadn’t expected such a blatant display of violence from you, of all people, let alone on the campus’ hallowed grounds so near an establishment as ancient and crowded as the Bodleian.

For you, sweet, innocent (Y/N), to show such open hostility…to know he urged that beautiful, dormant impulsiveness to emerge…it thrilled him like nothing else. At that moment, he so clearly saw it. A darkness that was hidden deep inside you – bursting open from your carefully stitched seams. A deep desire for more in the dull, dull life God cruelly set upon you. Why else would a sweet, little all-American girl such as yourself travel all across the Atlantic to one of the most prestigious universities?

No, you were like him – exactly like him. Your reaction to his goading only proved that to him.

You weren’t used to it – that much was obvious…but that meant little to him. If nothing else, Oliver was resourceful. He’d learn more and more about what makes you tick before plucking you piece by piece into what he needed you to be for him. He’ll watch you explode before making you fizzle.

The idea of you at your fiercest – only for him to break it down bit by bit until all that was left was a more…subdued version of the hardheaded American girl from the Big Apple who loved to aggravate him during her first-year days at Oxford.

The thought alone made him salivate.

He could only dream how you’d be in bed. Your tight, hot little body would be squirming and writhing from the pleasure he and Felix bestow upon you. You, helplessly lying on your back while being fucked dumb by the two of them.

God, he felt himself getting hard at just the image alone – to make it a reality…that sort of victory, along with having Felix, would be nothing short of heaven for him. He unbuttoned his jeans as he took out his hardening cock into his hand. Not wanting to bother himself by starting slow, he immediately stroked himself with a rough and unforgiving pace. He wanted the pleasure from the fantasy to overwhelm him.

You looked perfect—replete, ethereal, and effervescent. Your entire body twitched as your eyes were blown wide, and drool dribbled down your chin. You put up quite the fight; the scratch marks on his and Felix’s chests proved that. But seeing you on your back on red silk sheets with your wrists and ankles tied to the bed posts made the struggle worth it. The red and pink bite marks that begin from the column of your slender neck down to your plush and tender inner thighs made for a prettier picture you could ever paint. “Oliver,” you pitifully rasped. “P-please, m’sorry – AH!” Your body jolted, and your back arched as he slapped your swollen clit. He struck his hand down one, two, three more times and watched as you thrashed and cried before another peak was forcefully ripped within you and came gushing out. God, how many times was it at that point? Three, four? It must have been quite a high number, judging by how tightly your cunt clenched onto his fingers when he thrust them inside you. “Look at her,” Felix cooed from behind Oliver. The Saltburn heir’s hulking frame towered over his lover as they watched their pet beg for mercy. “You almost feel sorry for her.” His hot breath panted into his ear as Oliver shivered in delight. The Quick boy gasped when he felt Felix’s large digits begin to enter his tight, puckering hole. “Take your fingers out,” he ordered. “And stick your cock inside her. You’ve been so good to me that I’ll let you fuck her sloppy cunt while I finger-fuck your arse.” Oh god, yes. Oliver took out his fingers and immediately positioned his hard cock at your leaking pussy as he spread your legs apart and forced your knees to press against your chest. “Wait,” you slowly blinked. “Wha…what’re you do–” Your back arched as Oliver pushed into you before thrusting into your cunt at a brutal pace. Tears were streaming down your reddened, flushed face as ecstasy-laden sobs filled the room. “Good boy, Olly,” Felix praised as he continued to push his fingers inside Oliver while the nails of his other hand dug into his hips. He let out a ragged gasp from how Felix deliciously stretched him out. He started out slow before moving his fingers at a faster and steadier pace. “That’s it, Olly. You’re so good – so good to me.” God, the contrast between the firm grips and harsh thrusts with gentle whispers of sweet nothings was like nothing he had ever experienced. And it only made the pleasure of Oliver plowing into your weeping pussy while you cried like a bitch in heat feel too good to be true. “Oh, you’re getting so tight,” Felix groaned. “You wanna come, don’t you? You wanna spill your cum into our pet’s little cumdump hole, right?” “Yes,” Oliver rashly answered before snarling to you. “You hear that, you dumb slut? I’m going to cum in you, and you’re going to take it.” “N…not i-inside,” you begged despite your walls clenching tighter around his cock. “P-please not inside!” Oliver just laughed. “You want it – oh, yes, you do.” He released one of your legs to grip your jaw and forced you to stare at him. “Don’t bother denying it. Your body knows how a whore like you is just desperate for me.” He chuckled as he thrusts into you even harder than before. “Well?” “Yes!” you cried out. “Yes, Oliver! Let me be your cumdump! I want your cum so badly!” Before Oliver and Felix permitted you to do so, you spilled onto Oliver’s cock, and the tightening of your walls, mixed with how deep Felix pushed his fingers inside him, made Oliver’s mind go blank – and soon, all he could hear was white noise.

Oliver slumped into his chair as a coat of sweat covered his entire body. Thick, white ropes of cum were still spurting out of his softening cock despite it coating his right hand. He ran his left hand through his dark curls as reality settled back in. Cold, bitter loneliness engulfed his body as he realized that you and Felix were not with him, and he remained as alone as before. A newfound determination to make his fantasy a reality soon took place.

His vision will be a reality. Felix will love him. And you will be their pet whose sole purpose in life is to take load after load of their pleasure.

But such things were too early to think about with how you were now. No…no, no, no…you were far too raw in your current state…too volatile…too stubborn…too American. He supposes it shouldn’t be too surprising that you latch onto fitfulness and inconsistency.

You were an artist, after all, and such was the fate of your kind to be destined to forever claw their way from the bottom as a means of survival.

But, however charming your unpredictability may have been in your concrete-paved, urban paradise that you call ‘home’ – that simply won’t do for him. He was more than confident that he could make you see things his way, but there were…problems needed to be resolved.

Namely, one in particular that came in ill-fitting apparel and bulky-framed eyewear – Michael Gavey.

Only an utterly blind idiot would miss how you pathetically secure your entire emotional well-being onto him. Oliver watched in total desolation and disappointment at how your glorious rage dissipated at the sight of him. But a part of him was equally as impressed at the mask you so expertly paraded, going so far as forcing your body language to adapt to the circumstances.

But…it wasn’t a mask, was it?

You looked at Michael Gavey the way he looked at Felix – complete and total worship. Michael Gavey, for whatever reason, was your sun, moon, and stars. The way you protected and so ardently adored him made the conclusion all the easier to reach.

Suddenly, it all became clear.

Of course…how did he not see it? The answer was so obvious. What better way to force you to his and Felix’s side…than to separate and condition you?

Isolation was a cruel and sadistic thing to thrust upon anyone – let alone who had so few friends in a foreign country like yourself. But he knew how much of an effective tool it could serve for him. Oh, it would be arduous initially – yes, it will. But it would all be worth it in the end. After all, in a way, this was your fault. If only you had complied with him when he was being nice, he wouldn’t have had to resort to such drastic but necessary measures.

Oliver darkly chuckled to himself.

Yes…everything would turn out in his favor. He’d make sure of it.

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Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go pray to my ancestors and beg for their forgiveness for writing Oliver's POV 🥲

Sigmund Freud would've had a FIELD DAY with this movie

bert and ernie saltburn au