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whereismymindnow · 2 months

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Twin Hearts Chapter Six

Author's Note: it’s a bit short, but I feel like this chapter needs to be a standalone.

Pairing: Niklaus Mikaelson x Twin!Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+ due to mature, darker themes. Twincest. Smut. Strong language. Death. Miscarriage. Murder. Vampire/Hybrid violence. Please read responsibly.

If this work is found anywhere other than Tumblr (@whereismymindnow) or Archive of Our Own (Mikki19) then it has been posted without my permission.

Twin Hearts Masterlist

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Chapter 6: Death

Mystic Falls, 1001

Esther hummed softly as she dabbed her daughter’s sweat-soaked brow with the cold cloth. Her face was pale, the darkness under her eyes showing just how ill she had become. Her usually full cheeks had become gaunt and her hair was limp and greasy. The infection was winning, that much was obvious. Pia hadn’t been able to break the fever despite the various potions and herbs that Esther had tried. Occasionally she’d mutter under her breath and her head would move from side to side, but other than that she had shown no sign of life. She hadn’t opened her eyes since the third night. The rattle in her chest at each breath made Esther swallow hard.

‘Another daughter… gone. A third child… taken.’

Ayana had refused to do anything more as the fever ravaged the girl’s body. The damage had been done, and at this stage even if she somehow managed to heal Pia, she would not have been the same once awoken. It was easier for the Mikaelson family to lose her like this, in a way that gave them a chance to say goodbye to the girl. “It will be over soon, sweet girl. The pain will stop soon and you will be reborn.” Esther muttered quietly, ensuring that her children further down the longboat didn’t hear her.

Niklaus was once again kneeling in front of the piece of freshly dug soil. A stubborn tear dripped down his cheek as his hand pressed against the dirt. A tree would grow here; it would be big and beautiful and represent the child that he had lost with Pia. When she was well he would show her this place and they would be able to say goodbye together. ‘Do not take her from me, please…’ He had never completely believed in all of the religious ideals that others did, but right now he was willing to do just about anything to save the life of his beloved.

Klaus had never felt so powerless before. The look of dread on Pia’s face as blood had escaped down her thighs. How she had clutched her belly. How she had reached out for him as he raced towards her. She had been in so much pain and he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. His mother had quickly shooed everyone out and had called for Ayana to assist her. Less than an hour later bloody sheets were being removed from the longboat and Pia remained silent and unmoving on her bed. Their child had died. They hadn’t even known their child had existed and it was taken from them. Then the infection came and tore his love down so quickly. All he had been able to do was run away. He felt so powerless.

“Nik…?” He turned his head to see his only sister standing behind him. “Mother says that Pia’s condition is worsening.” Her eyes were red from the tears that continued to fall. “She doesn’t think that she will last the night.”

“So, I shall lose my child and the woman that I love?”

“You need to come and be with her.”

“I cannot look at her in that state. I cannot see her in such a way and know that there is nothing I can do to save her.” Elijah, who had been nearby, appeared at his side.

“Niklaus, we must go to Pia. She needs us.”

“No, she doesn’t! Why do you all keep saying that?!” There it was: Klaus’ rage. He stood up and turned to face them both. “She is dying and not even mother can save her! She doesn’t need us; she doesn’t even know we are there! She hasn’t woken for 6 days and from the look of things that is not going to change… she’s… she’s…” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t admit to himself that Pia was ready to leave this world and move on.

“Oh, Nik.” Rebekah pulled her brother against her chest and held him as his shoulders shook. Elijah moved next to them and put a hand on Klaus’ back.

“Even though she does not know we are there, we need to be with her so that she is not alone. You will never forgive yourself if you do not say goodbye to her, Niklaus.”

“Oh, sweet girl… I am sorry…” Esther moved a stray curl that stuck to her child’s hot face and smiled down at her beautiful daughter. “I wish I could have told you the truth. I had thought that it would have been easier this way.” The witch looked behind her as Mikael entered through the curtains.

“Are you sure about this?” He held a cup in his hand; a cup filled with Tatia’s blood.

“It is the only way to make sure we don’t lose another child.”

“And what of her? Why are you doing this for Pia as well? She is just a baby that we took in out of pity.”

“She means everything to Niklaus. He will be uncontrollable without her by his side. Give me the cup.” Esther held out her hand and took the blood from her husband. She turned to Pia as Mikael moved to the other side of the bed and cupped her neck so he could lift up her head a little. “You need to drink this for me, Pia.” Esther knew her daughter could not hear her, but talking to Pia made her feel better. She moved the cup to the girl’s lips and tipped it carefully so that the blood would not spill everywhere. Mikael used one of his fingers to massage the girl’s throat to aid in the swallowing of the liquid.

“What are we going to tell the others?”

“We will hold a celebration in honour of Henrik’s life, everything has happened so quickly that we have not had a chance to be together as one. They shall drink wine laced with the blood… and then you will kill them in order to save them.”

“Very well.” Mikael turned to bring his sword but was stopped by his wife’s words.

“No. No… I- I shall do this to her.” Esther produced a dagger that she had hidden in her pocket and stood up. She carefully traced the side of Pia’s face and sighed. ‘I have denied you for so long, so I shall give you this gift. I am your mother, my darling. For once I shall save you and show you the love that you deserve.’

In her mind, she was granting Pia the gift of immortality. The one thing that every mother wishes they could give their child. A gift that would protect her child from death and pain. Esther quickly raised the blade above her head before plunging it into Pia’s chest. The girl did not even gasp, the fever proving to be too much for her to fight, as the dagger ripped through her heart. Red stained her white nightdress as her life drained out of her. Esther’s hand dropped limply to her side, the dagger making a heavy thud as it slipped from her grasp. She watched as her daughter stopped struggling to live, as her chest steadily became still.

“She is dead.” Mikael stated as he noticed his wife seemingly lose herself in a trance. There was no going back now.

“Yes… come now. We cannot have them seeing her like this.” The remaining Mikaelson children entered their home to find their parents waiting for them. “My children.”

“Mother?” Elijah was a little confused as he saw how tense his mother’s shoulders were. “I-Is it Pia?” Rebekah grabbed onto Klaus’ hand as he tried to leave immediately.

“She is sleeping still.” Esther replied shortly before correcting herself and giving her children a small smile. “We thought it may be nice to have a drink in honour of Henrik. We have not really had a chance to speak of the… incident. After watching Pia become so ill, I think we should acknowledge his life and his spirit.”

“I think that is a wonderful idea, mother.” Finn agreed and took one of the cups that had been offered. Slowly the rest of the siblings followed suit and they raised their cups.

“To Henrik, a kind-hearted soul that was taken from us far too soon. May he rest in peace and watch over us until our time is upon us.”

“Henrik.” Esther watched carefully as her children drank the wine that had been offered. Her gaze settled upon Niklaus who merely looked down at the red liquid.

“Niklaus… please…” His blue eyes looked at her and she nearly broke eye contact as the pain and suffering pierced through her. She had never seen him look so broken before… so hopeless. “For Henrik.” He gave a single nod and downed the blood-laced wine.

Klaus felt so much guilt. He had forgotten how he had failed to protect his little brother. He’d failed Henrik, his child and his soulmate. Perhaps Mikael had been right all along. He was just a failure. He was just a disappointment. He wasn’t born for happiness. He didn’t deserve anything good in his life. His head spun as his father’s vicious words echoed within his skull. There was only one person that ever managed to quiet the abuse he had been put through. He needed her. She had to fight, she couldn’t leave him too. He wouldn’t survive it. “I- I’m going to see Pia.” Mikael’s hand stopped Esther from calling him back. There was no time. They needed to act fast. They had managed to create a secluded area at the back of the longboat for Pia, only a thick curtain separated her body from the rest of them. It wouldn’t take long for him to reach her.

Niklaus had barely moved the curtain back before he fell to his knees. His chest constricted painfully and he felt as though someone had taken all of the air from his lungs.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t blink.

He couldn’t make a sound.

He was frozen in place. It was as though everything around him had disappeared and all he could see was her. Nothing existed but her.

Blood covered Pia’s chest and her beautiful face was a horrid shade of white. Her pink lips were blue. Her body was stiff and lifeless.

Pia was dead.

She had been murdered.

“NO!” Tears blurred his vision as he stumbled over to his love and pulled her against his chest. Her cold body remained unmoving as he grasped at her and curled in on himself. Pained sobs left his mouth as he clung onto Pia like a child. “Pia…” If he hadn’t been so overcome by his grief then the shouts and screams of his siblings would have met his ears. His mind was far too focused on how cold she felt. How the smell of her blood hit the back of his throat and made him feel sick.

“Klaus…” Esther’s voice was gentle as she approached her son. Her fingers shook as she noticed one of Pia’s feet twitch, showing that she was waking up, as her brother held her like a vice. This needed to be done quickly. Klaus needed to let go of his twin.

“Boy.” Mikael’s cold tone shocked Niklaus back into the present. He turned his head around and choked on another sob as he saw the bloody sword that was in his father’s hand. Esther’s eyes told him everything. They had done this.

“W-what?”

“Stand up, Niklaus. It will only hurt for a little while.” Esther muttered quietly. Klaus’ lips trembled as he carefully lowered Pia onto the floor. If he was going to die, then he was going to die right by her side. He stood on shaky legs and turned to face his parents. He wiped away his tears and clenched his jaw.

“Well? What are you waiting for?!” He outstretched his arms and challenged Mikael for the final time. “Come on then. I have nothing left to live for!” Klaus growled as Mikael stepped forward with a grin. He was ready to die. He didn’t care anymore.

“Stop being so dramatic, Niklaus.” Mikael sneered before thrusting the blade through Klaus’ stomach and out of his back. He held him there for a few moments before pulling the sword back and letting the boy fall to the floor. With his last ounce of strength Klaus crawled over to Pia and grabbed her hand. Esther covered her mouth as she watched her son choke on his own blood. The sight of her twins holding onto each other even in death would be an image that she would never forget.

#the vampire diaries fanfiction #klaus mikaelson x ofc #twin hearts #klaus mikaelson x oc #twin hearts masterlist #tvd fanfiction #twin hearts fanfiction

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whereismymindnow · 2 months

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“I think method acting gets a bad rap nowadays, but if you consider it [in relation to] people’s time, it’s certainly not a bad thing.” - EWAN MITCHELL, for The Face

[The A24 Project]

#ewan mitchell

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whereismymindnow · 2 months

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i need more

˚˖𓍢ִ🐰໋✧˚.🎀୨୧ ⋅˚₊

let’s go back to my roots. let’s talk about girly, prissy, spoiled bunny!reader with rafe.

you’re untouchable, kook royalty just for your attachment to the cameron’s but you don’t even care about all of that. all you care about, is rafes time money and attention.

he loves you a lot, but more so — he puts up with your shit. whilst you don’t have much of an attitude, soft in all corners of your life, you can still manage to be a nightmare. you clutter his sink with your makeup and skincare, decidedly a maximalist when it came to your self care and beautification rituals. he plucks a clump of mink eyelashes from the side of the sink, something he nearly mistook for a spider and sets it aside— only calling out a “jesus chr — bun, told you to clear out your shit. my bathroom looks like fuckin’ sephora. in here, now.” before he hears the soft padding of your feet come tottering along, happy to do as your told.

if that’s not making him huff and puff — it’ll surely be the outfits, moreso scraps of fabric you parade around in. expensive, according to his black card, for items of clothing that cover so little — and he can’t say you don’t get your moneys worth, toddling around in strappy powder pink dresses that leave nothing to the imagination or white mini skirts that cling to the fold of the bottom of your ass cheeks, giving not only the chumps at the country club a good look — but his closest friends too. his life had become a sequence of tugging down your hem, manhandling you to be decent. “you—y-you think i need my fuckin’ friends getting an eyeful of your pussy each time you move? are we gonna have to have another talk about what’s appropriate, bunny girl? huh? or maybe the belt will help you learn a valuable lesson. fuck.” he sulks, stomping around after his threat. you’re clung to his bicep with a dazed smile only five minutes later because his mean treatment usually flew through one bedazzled ear and came out the other. soft and dopey as ever.

back to him ‘putting up with you’, there’s a ton of reasons why that is. like aforementioned, he does love you a lot. you’re his little prized possession, his trophy. you were soft in all the ways that mattered and understanding, always listening when no one else would, even if he was admittedly in the wrong. that, and you really did fuck like a bunny rabbit.

you had a libido that was constantly set to high, all hours of the day. you were a chronic pillow humper when rafe wasn’t available to sate you, the man often times walking in to find you teary eyed with a white lacy thong binding your spread knees, pulled down just enough to grind your messy, glossy pussy against the fluffed white pillow from his side of the bed. because really, you were a chronic rafe humper— but you were well behaved enough to know that sometimes he had to handle business and didn’t have the time to feed your greedy cunt.

you’d grown accustom to taking him in any position too, whether it was in doggy style — waving your plush ass in the air, pointing that fluffy pink bunny-tail butt plug straight at him as you mewl into expensive pillows, or you’re crouched on his lap on the couch, feet planted either side of him, a high pitched whimper punched out of you each time you slam your hips back down on his cock, mushroom tip thumping your cervix. you said you liked the pain, liked when it bruised, liked when you could still feel him the next day when you missed him. reminded you of how grateful you are to have a boyfriend who dicks you good.

you had a little obsession that was serving as a problem though— having to give you plenty of ‘sit down talks’ when he talks to you real slow like you’re stupid because you keep begging him to breed you. it seemed no amount of “sweetheart, i’on know how many times i have to say this to get it through that head, but you are too young for a baby. i—i gotta get my shit together first, alright? promised you as many babies as you want after i secure tannyhill did i not? i…i really need your patience… okay?” would stop you from bouncing on his cock with a feverish and determined look in your eye, or locking your legs around his waist when he’s about to nut— babbling tearfully as you beg “please daddy, please gimme a baby. please want — want your babies!”

you’re lucky he was so much stronger than you, often wrestling you down to straddle your face and aim his cock at your mouth before he blew his load, gritting out a spiteful “well you’re gonna have to fuckin’ swallow them ‘til the time comes. fuck.” through gritted teeth as you mewl miserably (but lap it up nonetheless)

you gave him trouble, but nothing he couldn’t handle. he wouldn’t trade his spoiled bunny girl for the world.

˚˖𓍢ִ🐰໋✧˚.🎀୨୧ ⋅˚₊

#rafe cameron prompt #bunny!reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader

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whereismymindnow · 3 months

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this bat flew in through an open window & i couldn't get close enough to identify it. thank GOD i had google lens on hand.

Stingrays are definitely my favourite type of bat

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whereismymindnow · 3 months

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PREVIOUS PART MASTERLIST

Don't Fear The Reaper (Part Four/ Dark!Tommy)

Summary: In attempts to escape the continued teasing about your small mishap the previous day, and the unwarranted grand display of roses sent anonymously to you that morning, you find yourself down by the docks of Small Heath where you would attempt to escape not the playful banter from your colleagues but the heavy footsteps of a man following you, when an unexpected individual conveniently comes to your aid. Your boss, Tommy.

Warnings: Language, supernatural themes, visions, manipulation of time, angst, fluff, smut, stalking, controlling behaviour, dark romance, violence, manipulation, obsessiveness, dark!tommy (This is a dark fic, please read the warnings before continuing)

Word Count: 3577

"Early bird catches the worm" Polly said winking to you as she blew out the matchstick she had just used to light one of the many candles now scattered throughout the room whilst you walked through the offices early the next morning, Intent on making up for your tardiness from the previous day.

" Something like that" you smiled back, taking off the many layers of attire you had dressed yourself in an attempt to keep the bitter frost that had descended on the city from numbing every finger and toe you wished to keep intact. That, and a keen display to every resident of Small Heath you was adamant knew of your little mishap yesterday morning that you wasn't a woman that goes flaunting her bare legs willy-nilly to any Tom, Dick and Harry.

"Ladies" Ada said, walking through with a giggling Ethel and Betsy following behind her. "Save me from them" She whispered to you, thankful for your presence and the diversion you gave from Ethel's ever expanding list of profanities.

" Getting brutal out there already" Ethel commented, rubbing her hands together as everyone turned to face her, pleasantly surprised by the lack of artistic flare in her choice of words. " So cold it would make any fuckers bollocks shrink back up" she said, running over to the burning candle Polly had lit as she hovered her trembling hands over the warm orange flame. Never mind. "What?" Ethel asked, oblivious to everything but the four pairs of eyes now staring back at her.

" Two minutes..." Polly said pointing at Ethel who was now rolling her eyes at the Shelby matriarch and everyone else that was giving her disapproving shakes of their heads. "... I counted" Polly finished, placing a large washed out jar of Robertson's apricot jam on her desk with a thud. " Profanity pot. Has your name written on it, right there. Eth-el" Polly smiled, turning it to show her as Ethel opened her mouth to say something undoubtedly crude before she realised pay day was two weeks away and she'd never make it that far.

"I will be taking a vow of silence from this day forth" Ethel commented with her head held high, slowly pushing the glass jar out of sight behind a flower pot on her desk as Polly arched her brow." In thanks to the almighty, as the brides of Christ do" she said turning the document gracefully in front of her, a small dramatic sigh of reflection leaving her lips at her sudden founded faith, the same devotion that had seen her never step another foot in church since the day she got dunked by the priest on her baptism almost twenty five years ago.

" Bloody hell" Polly said, crossing her arms as Ethel cleared her throat, nodding to the pot that Polly was now wading through her pockets to find a shilling for.

"Oi oi!" John said as he strolled through the offices making a swift beeline for your desk, deliberately sitting on the pile of folders you intended on filing. " No show for us this morning Y/N?" he teased as you pulled the papers from under his rather plump bum. "Ay up" he winked, turning the tooth pick in his mouth as you rolled your eyes exceptionally high in response to his playful remarks.

"Alright darling?" Arthur commented, wrapping his arm around John's shoulders whilst he straightened his moustache out, a small smirk settling on the corner of his lips as you waited for him and everyone else to continue their badgering of you.

"Y/N" Michael sauntered over, cap in hand with a grin on his face like some over-zealous school boy. Oh, for fuck sake. Were they all waiting for you to go into a song and dance and finish off where things had ended the previous day? Diamond encrusted nipple pasties and feathers included?

"Delivery for Miss Y/L/N" came a small voice from behind the three gormless muppets in front of you.

" Yes, here" you said, parting Arthur and John to see a young boy standing with a bouquet of a dozen red roses in his hand, his eyes barely visible above the large arrangement of fresh flowers.

" Are you the girl that..." The young shop boy started to say before John put his hand over his mouth, muffling the rest of his sentence as your eyes narrowed in on the likely culprit behind all the stares you had received that morning on your way to work.

" John boy 'ere's got a big mouth, ain't that right John?" Arthur sniffed, patting his brother's shoulder as he turned to face him.

" That's not all I've got that's big love" the third in line to the Shelby throne said winking to you, a cheeky smile dimpling his rounded cheeks.

" Give over! I've seen your todger" Arthur laughed as an intense argument between them both as to the specifics of when, and if that event had even occurred ensued. Arthurs detailed description of John's preference to being stark naked from an early age solidifying the date said unfortunate event took place, resulting in the third-youngest brother to swear on each of his siblings lives that he was now, sizeably endowed.

"Thank you" you said with a sigh of relief at the welcome end to their bickering as you reached over the desk to take the bouquet from the poor boy whose mouth was still muffled by John's forgetful hand when your eyes shot up to see Tommy leaning against the doorway, a cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of his lips. Shit." No card?" You looked nervously at the boy who simply shook his head in response as Tommy's piercing stare heated your cheeks to an unfortunate shade of red. This was the last thing you needed, an unwarranted gesture sabotaging the understanding you had both come to the previous day in his office.

" Well that's not bloody fair!" Betsy huffed as Ethel bit her bottom lip in an attempt to desperately hold back her own thoughts on the extravagant gift and the vow of silence she was already close to breaking.

" Bit creepy, don't you think? No message, no idea who it's from" you said to the room whilst you abruptly stood up, smoothing down your dress before swiftly turning on your heel and marching over to the bin next to Tommy to discard of the large arrangement of flowers, intent on showing your boss exactly where you stood on the matter.

" Looks like you have a secret admirer love" Tommy smirked as he subtly tilted his head to get a better look at you as you bent down to pick up the scattered petals that had fallen at his feet in your dramatic display of loyalty. " Wonder who?" Tommy quietly mused to you looking over your shoulder, subtly jerking his head up to Michael's direction before strolling off to his office, hands casually placed in his trouser pockets as he winked to the young delivery boy. Michael. You thought to yourself, not missing the small gesture Tommy had sent his way as your head snapped to the man whose name kept coming up, the whole exchange also not going missed by Polly's watchful eye, who's feet found her charging over to Tommy's office to confront him about the little game she knew he was playing, and the flowers that were undoubtedly sent by him.

"Wait, hang on...wait. Who sent them? Fuck..." You said with your hand out to halt the delivery boy as he ran out the door. Your flustered state not quick enough to stop his speedy steps and avoidance of questions as the hustle of the office resumed and you stood there nervously watching the Shelby cousin in the corner of your eye. Was it Michael who sent you those flowers? Michael, who was watching you that night?

"Lucky posy for you me love?" an older lady dressed in ragged clothing asked with a small bouquet of heather bound with twine held out for you to take as you were about to turn the corner onto the docks. Some fresh air from the confines of the office had been your pathetic excuse to not join the others at the Garrison for drinks that afternoon, ultimately leading you to the very spot you were standing in that might as well have been the dodgiest back alley of downtown London after all of its unusual residents you had encountered on your little afternoon detour. In reality, you not only wanted peace from the worries that had begun to weigh heavy on your mind for the third time that week, but also from the constant bombardment of attention Michael had been giving you all that morning.

" No, thank you" you quietly replied as you walked under the bridge, clutching your coat around you from the drop in temperature a gust of wind tunneling through the overpass sent your way.

" Bad luck not to..." she pouted, her comment making you come to a sudden stop. Fuck. With a broken mirror, and a black cat adamant on popping up out of nowhere on a regular basis, you were in need of some good fortune.

" Ta love " she said, polishing the penny you had given her on the sleeve of her woolen coat before quickly pocketing it as her eyes scanned the darkened tunnel suspiciously for any chancers that wished to steal what was now rightfully hers." Good things be heading your way me love, I can feel it!" she called out as she waved you off. Good things. She had best be bloody right, you thought to yourself as you looked down at the small lilac bundle of flowers in your hand, a heavy feeling of unease settling in your stomach as your eyes darted up to the empty path with a row of narrowboats lined up against the embankment. Ten-minute walk max. That's all it would take for you to get to the end and back into the welcome bustle of Small Heath's main street. Why on God's green earth did you pick this bleeding path? You thought to yourself as you started walking dangerously close to the edge when you suddenly heard the distinguishable sound of someone's heavy footsteps behind you.

" Shit" you mumbled under your breath closing your eyes, every part of you wishing you had accepted your colleagues' offer to join them in the Garrison before you slowly turned your head, squinting through the settled fog to see a man in the distance walking your way. " Shit, shit shit!" you cursed yourself as your unhurried steps turned into a brisk, panicked pace.

" Hey!" He shouted, his low voice barely audible through the thick smog as he started to jog after you, you in turn frantically matching his speed as your eyes darted between a passage way mere feet away on your right, and the barge beside you to your left. Ever attentive to your surroundings, or more specifically, anything below eye level, your careless proximity to the water's edge had you tumbling over an iron pilling just as a hand reached out and grabbed hold of your arm before you fell into the icy water and, ultimately, to your death.

" Woah...careful there sweetheart. A bit cold for a swim, eh?"

" Tommy..." You cried, falling into his arms, hiding your head in his coat as your grip tightened at the sight of the man who had been chasing after you distance closed in. Unbeknownst to you, as you buried your head in your savior's chest, the very man you had feared had already come to a stop at the gulley, placing what could have only been your scarf that dreadful gust of wind blew off you as you entered the bridge only five minutes ago on a bricked wall before heading off, something you had yet to realise in your jittery state.

"Y/N? What's going on, eh?" Tommy said, holding you in front of him, the coolness from the leather of his gloved hand gently brushing a lone tear from your cheek." Hey...shhh, come on now" he hushed your sobs away, bringing you back into his strong arms as your cries overtook your mumbling attempts to explain what had you so frightened, the feeling of your body pressed firmly against his own sending a ripple of pleasure under his skin.

" I... I thought he was... Ethel and Betsy, they told me about this man..."

Ethel and Betsy, eh?" Tommy cut you off with a chuckle as he held you firmly by your arms. " If they told me the sky was blue on a clear summer's day, I wouldn't believe them. Two of the biggest gossipers in the whole of Birmingham, no doubt told you a bunch of fibs, hm?" He said, his own little white lie leaving his lips so naturally, so calculated as you nodded your head in response looking down at the small bouquet in your hand. " Lucky Heather..." Tommy said with a playful smile as his fingers softly brushed over your hand, taking the good luck charm from you. " Not Superstitious are you Y/N?" Tommy questioned cocking a brow, twirling the stems of the flowers between his fingers before handing them back to you.

" Lately...yes" you exhaled as Tommy rested his hand on your lower back, gently gesturing you to walk with him. " Lately eh?" Tommy said looking down at you as you met his playful stare with a smile.

" Seems we've made quite the impression on you here in Small Heath Miss Y/L/N if you're stocking up on lucky posy's already hm?" He chuckled fishing in his pockets for a cigarette. His preferred Sweet Afton's, conveniently no longer his tobacco of choice.

" It's me, I'm just...getting used to it here" you said, reassuring yourself as you pushed your nagging worries away for the umpteenth time that day. " I thought you'd be at the Garrison?" You said changing the subject as you and Tommy came to a stop at the end of the path. Always so curious. Tommy thought to himself, a subtle laugh caught in his throat leaving his lips as he brushed his hand down his mouth

" I like to come down here, to catch some quiet. Have a boat down here I check up on. The January" he said coming to a stop, the exhale of smoke from his tobacco following the curves of your body as Tommy looked you over, measuring what it was you were really asking whilst your lips curved into a smile as you looked up at him through your dark lashes. Did you look at every man that way, or was your bashful innocence only his to enjoy? Tommy thought to himself, when his next words suddenly caught his calculated demeanor off guard. " There are plenty of quieter places in Birmingham, could take you there if you'd like. This evening?" He said waiting for your response, his fingers subtly pressing into your back at your unexpected lapse in reaction. Rejection was something Tommy had yet to experience, and in his hearts attempt to do something his mind would never contemplate, he was about to get a lesson in the very thing his dashing charm had evaded him from ever encountering.

" Oh...Perhaps, perhaps another time Tommy" you said, taken aback by his unexpected offer. He was your boss, and as much as he was both devilishly handsome and dazzlingly alluring, you had promised him to keep things professional, assuming that meant being with him too. You thought to yourself sending him a small smile before slowly walking ahead, your arms crossed in front of you as you mentally scolded yourself for refusing his offer. He had been nothing but gentlemanly to you. Had he not?

It had been an hour since you and Tommy had arrived at the Garrison to join the others for the drinks you had originally turned down, and an hour since your close encounter with what you believed to be the man that had been both watching, and following you since your arrival in Small Heath.

"Whisky or Gin?" Ada asked taking your glass as you nodded your head to the bottle of London Dry on the table that Tommy was sat across from, watching you, deciphering your every movement as a cloud of tobacco smoke from his lips briefly haltered the piercing stare he had been giving you since you both arrived. You hadn't lied to him, had you? Keeping a secret boyfriend he didn't know about? Now that would be naughty. Tommy thought to himself as he stubbed out his cigarette, determined to find out why you refused his offer down at the docks, his bitter jealously at the thought of any man being with you accept him making his usually stoic demeanor unnervingly menacing.

" Where have you been? Michael?" Polly asked as her son entered the snug, the bottom of his beige coat damp from the dewy mud-ridden cobblestones Small Heath seemed to permanently possess.

"Leave it mum" Michael responded sharply as he quickly poured himself a whisky, looking at you above the glass. What did have him so late? You thought to yourself as you looked down at the cuffs of his muddied trousers, splattered with soil like your own stockings from your frightening impromptu run along the embankment.

"That'll be my fault, Aunt Pol" Tommy said lighting another cigarette, tossing the box of matches on the chair next to him his cousin was about to sit on, the tension between the two family members heightening with each passing second." Sent Michael here on a little errand for me. Went for a run as well, I see..." Tommy said raising his brow as he looked down at his cousin's grubby dress shoes." Does anybody smell, shit?...Michael?" Tommy lent forward his nose turning up in his cousin's direction as he furrowed his brow in disgust before falling back into his chair taking a drag of cigarette as an amused laugh left his lips, Arthur and John quickly following suit at the blatant dig to the unwelcome newest member to the family.

" Fuck off Tommy. Get a delivery boy next time" Michael huffed, pushing through the crowded space with an irritated pout on his face as he made his way to the empty seat next to you.

"Alright, enough you two" Polly reprimanded them both, undoubtedly trying to diffuse the animosity they felt for one another and the sinister threats Tommy had made the previous day she knew he was capable of executing.

" You alright Y/N?" Michael said, turning to face you as you found yourself putting as much space as possible between you both, now practically sitting in Adas' lap. Why wouldn't he leave you alone? You thought to yourself, feeling increasingly uneasy with his continued attention aimed solely at you at any given moment he could steal. " I was wondering, maybe you and I could, could go out somewhere this weekend?" He said quietly, but not quiet enough as the snugs chatter suddenly diffused at the perfect moment, and everyone's heads snapped to the both of you, their ears pricking up at Michaels' offer.

" Think we've found your secret admirer Y/N" Betsy hiccuped with a giggle, her third glass of gin dulling her usually sensible attitude." Give it a rest Betsy" Michael said slouching back into his seat as your nervous fumbling with the hem of your dress caught Ada's attention, her hand coming to rest over your jittery fingers in reassurance.

"Whatever's the matter?" She said quietly turning to face you before sending Tommy a look of concern as the chatter of the room resumed and Michael was left there waiting for your response.

" I'm fine, honest. Too much gin" you said as Ada's brow furrowed, suspicious of her cousin's overly eager display and the clear discomfort it was causing you as you looked up to Tommy who was also waiting on your response to his cousin.

" How about it then?" Michael said, putting his arm around the back of your chair as Tommy's eyes narrowed in, his jaw tightening. Touch her, I dare you. Tommy seethed to himself, Michael's next move sealing his fate if he was willing to take the risk.

" Go on Y/N, go 'av some fun. Even if it is with bloody Michael" Arthur said belching into his drink giggling, so drunk he was seconds away from falling face down onto the hard wooden table as Polly sent her eldest nephew a formidable stare. "Sorry Polly, but..." he said gesturing his hands out laughing as he looked to Tommy who was unable to hold back his own laugh and the scoff hidden within it.

" Ok. I guess..." you said reluctantly, feeling forced to give into his request as Michael's satisfied smirk widened in accomplishment as he looked over to Tommy. Michael's juvenile attempts to get under his cousin's skin going completely ignored by the notorious gangster, whose glare and anger was now aimed directly at you, unforgivably, straight at...you. Tommy's amused smile that graced his face mere minutes ago had fallen into a stare even the Grim Reaper himself would recoil from, his eyes darkening with each burn of the ash forming at the end of his cigarette loosely resting between his fingers as his face kept still and indecipherable from the enragement bubbling furiously like the pits of hell under his skin.

Oh sweetheart, now why did you go and do that?

Next part coming soon!

Tag list: @mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @prettywhenicry4 @smayhem49-blog @pacifymebby @indierockgirrl @globetrotter28 @theshelbyclan @zablife @call-sign-shark @red-riding-wood @peakyswritings @everysage

#dark!tommy #dark!tommy shelby #dark!thomas shelby #dark fanfiction #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders fanfic

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whereismymindnow · 3 months

Text

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You

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!

#saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #michael gavey x reader

805 notes · View notes

whereismymindnow · 3 months

Text

Creep | Oliver Quick

Though you can’t grasp exactly what, you know something is very off with your boyfriend’s peculiar new friend.

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, Stalking, Voyeurism, Cheating, Coercion, Blackmail, Drinking, Smoking, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamic

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Felix’s long digits drum over your back as he pouts, “You really brought me here just to study, babe?” His raspy, flirtatious tone tugs your lips skyward. Still, your attention doesn’t stray from your laptop screen. Sentences bleed from your fingertips at a quick-fire pace. A little under three thousand words on Bentham’s theory of utilitarianism, due by Monday. The topic isn’t exactly thrilling but you have to hand it over in time.

“If I don’t ace this essay, I’m going to fail this class,” you absently reply. Failure. The one thing you literally can’t afford right now, though you forbear sharing that particular bit with Felix. Best he perceives your single-minded determination as a core stare of your character rather than what it actually is…a necessity, one born of dire circumstances.

He takes a long drag off his cigarette. Grey smoke floats around you, smudging the words on your screen. You repress tears as your eyes burn. You wished he’d curb the nasty habit. You’ve dropped hints before.

But no one tells Felix Catton what to do. Many would kill to even breathe the same nicotin-infused air as him. Felix is the sun and everyone on campus craves to be in his orbit, eager for the slightest chance to bask in his warmth, shower in his light.

You’re no different. The day he asked you out, a little over a year ago, you pinched yourself twice to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Felix Catton wanted…you? It couldn’t be real.

This was the boy you held in your heart for a decade, the only one you ever had eyes for.

And while your relationship suffered its share of hardships, namely Felix’s wandering eyes, you couldn’t picture life without him at your side.

He’s your everything.

He could hurt you a thousand times and you’d forgive him each of those times.

Felix’s bare shoulder grazes yours as he states, “They won’t fail you, not with who your dad is.”

Your stomach knots with his comment. Still, you shrug, pretending away the guilt steadily gnawing your insides.

“I don’t want to get special treatment just because of my family name, Felix,” you say, trying your best to sound nonchalant.

Though his smile never falters, his jaw ticks. “And I do?”

The ice in his tone scatters in your veins. Immediately, you discard your homework, concerned gaze finding his.

“I’m not saying that.” When Felix doesn’t respond, panic roars inside you. You touch his exposed chest to bring his attention to you. He doesn’t move. “I didn’t say that.”

A thick blanket of silence engulfs the room and your airways constrict. It feels as if your heart is on the verge of collapse as you wait for a reaction from your boyfriend, his chestnut gaze glued to the ceiling.

His head turns to you slowly. He releases a large puff of smoke in your face. Tears rush to your eyes, filling them to the brim.

Felix shrugs.

“It sounded like you did. A little. But that’s okay.” His tone is mellow in that way that oozes displeasure. “I’m just a legacy kid getting by on his trust fund and good looks, right?”

Your mouth quakes and he bursts out a chuckle. He cups your cheek, a wide grin breaking onto his face. “I’m just fucking with you, babe.”

You swallow your budding tears, wiping your eyes swiftly as Felix reaches around you to put out his cig in the ashtray.

You punch him in the chest, your own laughter bubbling out.

“You’re an arsehole.”

His grin expands. Twining your fingers with his, Felix’s tone gets softer.

“I wanted to ask…” He trails off, brown gaze clinging to yours. “Can Ollie come to the party you and Anabel are throwing tonight?”

You tilt your head in befuddlement. “Ollie?”

He traces the lines in your palm, adding absently, “Yeah, Oliver. I told you about him. Saved my arse when my bike broke.”

“Right, bike guy,” you say, remembrance hitting you. You tilt your head. “What’s he like?”

Felix sighs.

“He doesn't have too many friends. He's also had a rough upbringing. So I thought we could help him a little, you know?” You study him. However casual your boyfriend attempts to sound, you instantly recognize what this is. Yet another try at playing knight in shining armor. Whoever this Oliver guy is, he’s now become your boyfriend’s side project. His charity case possibly.

“He’s not like us so we could try to be nice.”

Not like us. You mask your discomfort with a bright smile.

About a year ago, your dad’s company filed for bankruptcy. Thankfully your scholarship still allows you to attend Oxford, but your lifestyle has drastically changed. No more shopping sprees. No more casual leisure trips to Europe. No more frivolous spendings with daddy’s black card.

The last straw was when your father emptied every account, including your trust, and left the country without as much as a goodbye text. Since those events, your mother has taken refuge at the bottom of a whisky bottle. You can barely get a hold of her these days.

So not only are you penniless, you might as well be an orphan.

Felix is all you have left. You can’t risk him finding out the truth. He can never know about the part time jobs you’ve had to take to cover tuition costs or the small flat your mum had to move into after your father had to sell the family manor. He might think you’re beneath him now, working class, destitute. Or worse, he might pity you, treat you like a charity case too.

You follow the curve of his dark brow with your thumb, sweeping over his silver stud.

“Hm, sure. I can be nice,” you promise.

“I know you can,” he teases, large hands pulling on your thighs to spread you across his lap.

You squeal before scolding him, “Felix…I really really need to finish this essay.”

His eyes darken with lust as he licks his lips. He wiggles his hips, causing the bulge in his jeans to rub against your clothed center. Your breath hitches. “And I really really need you to take care of this for me.” His hoarse, desperate inflection makes your core clench. His palms run over your thighs beneath your short dress. “Just five minutes? Come on, I’ve been hard for like an hour, babe.”

He hums, already playfully fiddling with the edge of your lace panties.

“It’s your fault for wearing this fucking pink dress. You know the way your ass looks in it drives me crazy.”

You resolve crumbles beneath Felix’s heated stare. You can never tell him no. And he knows that. Releasing a deep sigh, you relent.

“Five minutes,” you offer.

He slides one finger inside your weeping core. As you draw a sharp breath, Felix beams.

“It’s all I need,” he coos.

The party’s at his height, loud music blasting from the gigantic speakers and glow sticks waving in the pitch blackness of the underground cellar. You thread your way between tipsy students, carrying two cups of beer in your hands.

As you reach the VIP corner, you hand Annabel her drink. The redhead mumbles her thanks as she bobs her head to the music. You peer at your surroundings, glad to see everyone having fun.

It’s a frank success. Pride trickles inside you at that. It’s been hard collecting pockets of free time to put it together between classes and assignments. But you did it.

Truthfully, you’re also craving some fun tonight. All you’ve done lately is studying. You miss the days when you were more carefree, unconcerned about your grades deciding the course of your future.

You glance down at your watch, scowling as you notice the time. He was supposed to be here three hours ago.

“Where’s Felix?” you ask Venetia. Your boyfriend’s sister lazily opens her eyes, a drunken smile spreading onto her lips. She shrugs. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen him around.”

You pivot to the rest of the group.

“Have you guys seen him tonight?”

Annabel shakes her head apologetically while Farleigh brings his blunt to his mouth with a taunting smile.

“Desperate much?” he teases.

“Farleigh, come on,” Anabel chastises. She bumps her shoulder into yours, her expression sympathetic. “Don’t mind him, you know he’s always a jerk after a few drinks.”

Farleigh sighs. “Darling, you know I love you. It was just a joke.”

“A joke, right…” you mumble. Your cheeks heat though you try not to let your feelings show. Still, Farleigh’s words linger in your head. Maybe you’re being too clingy. It’s something you should mind. What if you became too needy and Felix grew bored of you? It’s not like he wouldn’t find a replacement for you in a heartbeat.

You lie back on the plush couch, sipping from your beer cup as your friends continue their chat. The conversation has long since stopped making sense, fueled by drug-inspired ramblings. Your attention is halved by your straying train of thoughts, the current whereabouts of your boyfriend still at the forefront of your brain.

Another hour flies by before Felix’s towering frame finally pierces through the crowd. A smaller boy trails behind him, his expression mirroring that of a lost puppy. He adjusts his glasses, awkwardly avoiding the drunken bodies around him. The word “Sorry” doesn’t stop pouring from his mouth.

You realize this must be Oliver. Astonishment flows through you. This isn’t the kind of company Felix traditionally keeps. But you elect to try your best to be nice and welcoming.

It’s what Felix asked of you after all. Besides, entering a new group of people cannot be easy, your tight-knit circle having known each other since kindergarten for some.

You don’t miss Anabel’s fleeting, condescending glance as she takes in Oliver though. Getting her assent to let him come had been a hassle, as she regards him as some weird, scholarship kid who’d just bring the mood down. But you insisted and she finally caved.

You trade a meaningful look with her, silently nudging her to be nice. The redhead practically rolls her eyes but squeezes her lips shut. Annabel may be one of your best friends but even you’re aware that she can be quite snobbish at times.

A sullen expression decorates your face as Felix enters the private booth.

“You’re late,” you blurt out. Farleigh snickers behind you and your cheeks flare. But everything around you fades as Felix grabs your face and presses feverish lips over yours. Your irritation melts in the heat of the passionate kiss.

When he frees your mouth, his thumb runs over your swollen bottom lip as he explains casually, “Yeah we were just hanging out and we lost track of time.”

He then introduces the shy boy.

“That’s Ollie.”

“Nice to meet you,” he stutters.

“Likewise,’ you reply smiling.

You gauge him. Beneath the large glasses, you note the slanted blue eyes and soft, round boyish features. Felix’s friend is cute. If only he weren’t so painfully awkward.

“You should sit with us. There’s plenty of space,” you say.

Felix draws you onto his lap as he sits. Oliver takes a nervous seat next to the two of you. His eyes keep rising to Felix, as if seeking perpetual approval from your boyfriend. You’re a little perplexed. Farleigh hands Felix a spliff and he lets his hand rest on your thigh while taking a long drag from it.

“So, where are you from exactly?” you ask Oliver.

His gaze on you and Felix is sharp, somehow constantly darting to where your boyfriend’s holding you.

“Prescott,” he answers.

You mull over his response. It’s a few hours away from Oxford. You don’t know much about it. Though, based on what Felix implied about the way he grew up, you expected him to originate from a rougher area. Prescott doesn’t seem too awful.

“Prescott? They must be proud of you back home, especially your parents.”

“Probably not, actually.”

Your curiosity is piqued. “Why are you saying that?”

Oliver shrugs. His eyes find the floor before meeting yours again.

“Just don’t talk to them much,” he mutters. “They got problems and stuff…”

You slant your head. “Problems?”

Felix’s hand tightens atop your thigh. “Babe, that’s enough prying, don’t you think?”

“I’m just making conversation, trying to get to know him.”

“You’re embarrassing him, babe.”

Oliver’s blue gaze lifts to yours, his face unreadable.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, though you detect a slight edge to his timbre that wasn’t there before. A small smile tugs his lips. “I don’t mind questions. Got nothing to hide.”

You nod. An icy tickle blooms at the base of your spine, scattering outward as Oliver’s intense focus doesn’t leave you. You turn away, shifting your attention to your boyfriend. Throughout the entire night, a strange sensation thunders through you, like the lightning before the storm. You can’t explain it. It’s like the world shifted off its axis, though you can’t pinpoint the reason.

Thankfully the strangeness is cast aside by Felix’s soft lips and heady, masculine scent. As the party goes on in the background, the two of you sneak away. You end up making out in a dark corner, Felix’s greedy hands slipping beneath your short skirt to grab a fistful of your ass. He pinches your flesh and you squeal.

A warm chuckle spills from his lips as he peppers tender kisses alongside your neck.

“Let’s go back to my dorm,” he whispers.

You readily agree. He takes your hand and the two of you hitch a ride back to campus. The two of you giggle in the backseat of the car every time the driver berates you for getting too handsy with each other. You laugh it off all the way back to his room, lips locking as you cross the threshold. You jump to wrap your legs around Felix’s tapered waist. He purrs, his hands latching around your hips, pulling you closer. He pushes you against a wall, tracing a scorching path in the valley between your breasts. Moaning, you toss your head back.

As your eyes flutter however, you catch sight of a silhouette standing outside Felix’s window. Your heart bounces, your eyes growing saucer-wide. You gasp and leap away from Felix.

“What the fuck?” he curses as you race to the window. Chest pulsing with your quick heartbeats, you peel the window open to peek outside. The cold night air whisks inside the room. Goosebumps break out on your skin.

Your gaze wanders, searching the darkness. Confusion swells within you as you find nothing. Nothing but greenery, the same trees and grass flanking your path whenever you stroll through campus.

“There was someone outside, w-watching us,” you stammer.

Felix’s frustrated breath grazes the back of your neck. “Babe, there’s no one out there.”

You squint, dumbfounded when nothing but pitch blackness stares back at you. For a minute, you really believed someone stood there. In fact, whoever they were bore a peculiar resemblance to…

You catch yourself before finishing the thought.

Now that’s just crazy.

“But I saw…”

Felix shifts your body towards him. He cups your cheeks and rasps, “Hey. Hey, look at me. There’s no one but us here.” His lips collide with yours. He starts groping you again and you push him off you, stunned that he wants to have sex at a time like this.

“No, Felix, I-I can’t.”

He stumbles back and scoffs, “Oh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you inquire, glowering at him.

His gaze flicks over you, his expression cold. “All that teasing just to leave me high and dry?”

“Felix, wait…”

He avoids your touch, collecting his jacket from the bed when your fingers stretch towards him.

“It’s fine. I’m just gonna have a smoke. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Your stomach sinks.

“O-Okay,” you say as your hand retreats to your side.

The door slams shut and you collapse on Felix’s bed. Your eyes veer to the window once more. You could have sworn you caught a glimpse of someone. Maybe all those late nights writing essays and revising for the upcoming exams are slowly catching up to you, dragging you to the brink of madness.

Felix doesn’t call you the following day. Of course he doesn’t. You broke the mood. You acted weird. What reason does he have to want to be around you again? It’s bad enough you neglected him in favor of your assignments and club activities for the last few weeks. Now you can’t even enjoy the sparse time you have together.

Still, you flip your phone open all day long, longing for a word from him, any trivial, insignificant word.

You get nothing.

You gloomily drag your feet around campus and somehow find your way in one of the empty student lounges, save Farleigh and Venetia. Lying flat on the carpeted floor, eyes glued to the ceiling, the two of them are sharing a spliff. You wedge yourself between them, lying on your back also. You steal the roll from Venetia’s fingers and bring it to your lips. Your throat burns and you cough as you inhale a puff. Venetia’s lips curve upward as your eyes water.

“You gotta take it easy the first time,” she says, amusement lighting her olive orbs. “Tiny inhales.” She shows you how and you mimic her gestures. You go slower the second time and a pleasant numbness sets into your limbs. Your eyes shut. You kind of get it now. For the first time in several weeks, your mind’s almost at rest, your stormy thoughts quieted.

“You don’t smoke,” Farleigh notes near you.

“I am today.”

“You guys will be fine,” Venetia assures. “You’re always fine.”

Your eyes open, settling on the pristine white ceiling.

“I fucking hate him sometimes.” You pause, sucking a deep breath. “But I love him more.”

“Yep, that’s Felix,” they utter in unison.

You heave out a weary sigh. They grew up with him. They know better than anyone, how sweet and wonderful he can be, but also cruel and careless sometimes.

Just like the sun, Felix’s light can also burn whoever gets too close.

For a while, the three of you hang out in silence, the spliff switching hands every once in a while. Eventually, each of them rises, leaving you to your mopey thoughts.

Before taking his leave however, Farleigh whispers in your ear,

“Oh and darling, next time you wear a rental…make sure the price tag isn’t sticking out. It gives you away.”

You sit up immediately. A smile dances on the boy’s lips as he disappears. You grab the back of your neck, face warming as you feel the tag poking through the collar of your shirt.

You nearly forgot you’re due to return the designer piece in two days’ time. You can’t believe someone noticed. Though you suppose if anybody would, it’d be Farleigh. Nothing gets past his keen eye. You surmise it was a necessity with the way he grew up. Learning to read people, knowing what makes them tick, being able to spot a pretender from a mile away…which you are now.

Maybe it’s ludicrous, acting like you can still afford to live like this, like your life wasn’t turned upside down.

Still, you can’t fathom the alternative. The judgement, the pity, from your friends…from Felix. The thought alone makes you sick. The echo of Anabel’s voice as she disparaged Oliver’s background a few days ago never left you.

Dunno what Felix even sees in him. He’s some weird scholarship kid who buys his clothes at Oxfam.

That was harsh…and made you wonder what your best friend would have to say about your current situation.

So you’d rather lie, even if you sometimes look like a fool doing so.

You swallow a wide lungful, willing yourself to be calm. You repeat the mantra, again and again. You’re okay. You’re okay. You just need to keep your grades up and get through the semester.

The rest of the week is hell. Felix all but ignores you, not even sparing you a glance when he brushes past you in the university corridors. The itch to talk to him sears inside you. Unfortunately, he’s always surrounded by a swarm of people, the center of attention as usual, making approaching him near impossible. You can’t picture bringing up your relationship problems in front of so many eyes.

Besides, you don’t want to project desperation, Farleigh’s pointed gibe still resonating in your mind. You need to play it cool, wrap yourself in a disguise of indifference…despite the way you wither away every second he’s not texting you back.

The agonizing wait is made worse by him. He’s everywhere now. Wherever Felix goes, he goes too. Oliver Quick has essentially become your boyfriend’s shadow. Whether in class, at pub meetups, at parties, the quiet, nervous boy never abandons Felix’s side, always peering up at him with those round baby blues of his, a strange mix of admiration, devotion and…something else you can’t pinpoint etched on his face.

It’s sort of creepy in your opinion.

Though you’d never say it aloud. For some reason, Oliver’s his new toy. And you’re acutely aware of how Felix is with his toys. He plays with them for a while then moves on to the next fancy, shiny new one. He did it to Eddie before. Now Oliver.

And maybe it’ll be your turn one day…if you don’t do something.

It’s how you end up in front of his dorm one night, already tipsy from half a bottle of vodka. Liquid courage to get you to knock on his door. It’s pathetic. Of course it is, but you just can’t wait anymore.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and shaking off your nerves. Your knuckles are less than an inch from the door when a broken whimper reaches you from the other side of Felix’s door.

Brows furrowing, you place your ear against the wood. You hear a moan this time. Deep, distinctive, masculine…familiar. Your heart stops.

You plummet to your knees, peering through the keyhole. You feel wrong for doing so, for invading Felix’s privacy like this. But guilt crumbles beneath the weight of heartbreak at what you witness.

You almost find yourself wishing you hadn’t looked. Almost.

Rivulets of anguish flow down your face as you watch your best friend and boyfriend lip-locked, practically swallowing each other’s faces. Their clothes aren’t off but the urgent way they’re grinding against each other is a dead giveaway as to what’s to come.

Legs trembling, you stumble back from the door. You shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake. You’re a fool.

You drunkenly stagger through the corridors, clinging to the walls each time you almost trip over your own feet.

You wind up slumped on some stairs, too inebriated to carry yourself much further. Your lids sag as you exhale. More hot tears spill down your cheeks. Your chest aches, a knife piercing through your heart as the memory of Annabel and Felix lost in the throes of passion fleets across your brain. Why are you even shocked? It’s not like you never caught Anabel leering at him while she thought you weren’t looking. And it’s not like Felix is some kind of saint. Still, you can’t help but feel massively betrayed. You thought you meant more to him. You thought they wouldn’t…not with each other.

When your eyes flutter open, you find a pair of intense cobalt orbs studying you.

“Oliver…” you mumble. In your drunken stupor, you don’t bother wondering how he got here, seemingly materializing from thin hair.

He hunkers in front of you. His scent tickles your nose and it twitches. The smell of his cologne is so strikingly reminiscent of the one Felix wears. A wave of emotion engulfs you. Sobs shake your frame as you shrink against the wall.

Oliver’s gaze rises to your weeping face as he questions, “Are you okay?”

“M’fine…” you slur, wiping your snotty nose. You must look a fright, a pathetic heap of tears aimlessly wandering the university corridors.

He tilts his head. “You don’t look fine.”

You consider Oliver. He is cute, which you noticed before. And in the dimly lit stairway, his blue eyes burn even brighter. You loathe that Felix is allowed to hurt you the way he did and can just…keep on. If your friends aren’t off-limits, why would his be?

You bat your lashes at Oliver.

“You got any alcohol?”

His lips curve upward as he rasps, “Would you like me to have alcohol?”

How did you end up there? The question keeps swirling in your head as Oliver’s mouth hungrily devours yours, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer. He trails fevered kisses down your neck and you squirm. As his teeth sink into the flesh at the crook of your neck, you let out a sharp cry. You tug on his dark locks and Oliver growls against your skin. The pain mixes with pleasure in your haze. His tongue then circles where he punctured your flesh, dragging slowly as an elated purr rises from his chest. His hard-on presses into your thigh. Alarm bells ring inside your mind.

It’s all a little too real, you realize. You got carried away. You draw back, pushing against his chest. “Oliver, wait…”

You might as well have said nothing, your words falling to unlistening ears as Oliver grabs your wrists and nudges you on the bed on your back. You peer up at him. Lust darkens his blue gaze, making him appear almost inhuman in the darkness.

Your mouth wobbles.

Pinning your wrists at your sides, Oliver kisses you senseless. Soon his lips are tracing a scorching path down your body, his hands moving to peel off your short skirt and panties.

His attentive gaze doesn’t leave yours as he sluggishly drags the tiny layer of lace down your legs.

His throat bobs when your bare cunt is exposed to him.

Biting his bottom lip, Oliver crawls his way to your core. Your legs quake. There is a strange glow in his eyes that sends chills down your back.

“Oli-” you start, but the protest dwindles in a helpless whimper when Oiver buries his head between your thighs and flicks his tongue against your bundle of nerves. Oliver’s firm hands clasp around your thighs, keeping you in place when you attempt to close your legs. He greedily eats you out, fingers digging into your soft flesh. He suckles your tender button in his mouth and your eyes roll back. Your fingers get lost in his dark mane as your back arches against the sheets. Oliver’s feverish tongue sweeps around your folds and you grow weaker, slumping against the pillow.

Quickly, stars dangle in your vision. Your fists tighten around the sheets while your legs turn to jelly. A long breath flows from your lips.

You don’t remember ever coming that hard before, not even with Felix.

Tingles are still dancing over your legs as a sliver of clarity returns to you.

Oliver’s tongue slowly moves, collecting the remnants of your essence off his lips as a look of sheer bliss decorates his face. You shiver.

You try to move off the bed. “I think that’s enough,” you say, folding your knees.

Oliver’s mouth quirks lopsidedly. “Oh, we’re nowhere near done, luv.”

Much quicker than you, Oliver slithers his way up your body and cages you beneath his frame. He steals your lips in a hungry kiss, trapping your wrists above your head. His fingers are tight enough that you just know it’ll bruise. You taste your own bittersweet flavor on his tongue. His hand creeps under your shirt, groping your tits. He plants urgent pecks on your face, dragging his teeth along your jaw.

“Oliver, please…” you beseech, shock making your voice shake.

He sinks a finger between your slick walls. Your stomach tightens.

Oliver releases your swollen lips and twists his finger inside your core. Your breath hitches.

He smiles down at you.

“But you’re gushing down there, luv. This is what you want.”

Your face warms. You hate that he’s right, that your body clings to him, making space you wish it didn’t…almost inviting his actions.

But Oliver’s mouth and hands are far too good at knowing which buttons to press to turn you into a whimpering mess. Shame pools in your gut as sharp keens leave your lips.

He pumps inside you at a steady pace, his thumb teasing your heap of sensitive nerves every once in a while, pressing until you cry out. He adds another finger and the air in your lungs falters. His hands feel everywhere at once, his teeth and mouth scattering marks all over your body.

He doesn’t stop until you clench around him, soaking his hand with your juices when you shatter with a high-pitched wail.

You crash over the pillows. Your body is still coming off the high. Half-lidded eyes blindly rise to the ceiling. Oliver yanking off his shirt and discarding his pants doesn’t register, not fully, the entire bottle of vodka you emptied before making your mind slow.

He’s suddenly inside you, his thick length splitting you apart as he places his forearms besides your head.

Your lips part in a quiet shout. It feels like if you might break, your walls aching as they stretch around him.

He begins to rail into you, each of his thrusts blunt and animalistic. As if he were possessed by some beast. You know it’s ludicrous. But as the lewd clapping of your damp skin against his rises each time he buries himself balls-deep inside you…it’s how you feel. Like a wild animal somehow broke free and started rutting into you.

Your head lolls against the pillows, your thoughts going blank every time he grazes your sweet spots. Your fingernails rake down his back.

“Does Felix fuck you like this?” he rasps. He presses his chest against yours, his cock hitting an angle that draws a lengthy moan from you. A crooked smile ghosts over Oliver’s lips. “Or maybe more like this…”

His warm breath fans over your earshell.

“Tell me luv… How do our cocks compare?”

When you don’t respond, he roughly shoves inside you, his fingers cinching around your windpipe. You gasp in horror, gaping at him through tear-filled eyes.

“Answer me,” he instructs, his voice deeper than before.

“Y-You’re bigger than he is,” you sputter, struggling to get the words out with his hand squeezing your throat.

A peculiar blend of excitement and disappointment swims in his gaze when you answer.

You weakly claw at his chest, squirming beneath him. He doesn’t let you go, bending to shove his tongue in your mouth. He drags his tongue over your face, licking your hot tears. Sobs jostle your frame.

“Oliver, please,” you repeat.

He shushes you, framing your chin. His thumb follows the outline of your bottom lip, bleeding and swollen from all his rough kisses.

“Stop fighting it. Be a good girl.” He showers tender pecks across your collarbone before softly whispering against your temple, “Or I’ll tell Felix everything. That you came onto me, begging me to fuck you.” His devilish smile sears into your skin. “I’ll tell him what a good little slut you were for me.”

Your stomach drops. Oliver collects your tears with his fingertips. He shoves his fingers in his mouth, emitting a throaty moan at the taste of your despair. He then dips those same fingers in your mouth, his pelvis snapping into yours.

“It’s beautiful, how much you love him,” Oliver mumbles, growing harder inside you as a fresh wave of tears brim beneath your lashes. “You’re beautiful. I can see why he always comes back.” He rests his forehead against yours, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.

“Maybe I’ll keep you for myself when this is all done.”

The awakening in the early morning is rude, the wicked headache and ache in your limbs reminding you of last night’s events right away. Strips of sunlight sneak between the curtains, caressing your face. The usually pleasant warmth does nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Your stomach clenches as you peer at your side. Oliver’s completely naked, only wearing the silver chain always around his neck. His arm is lazily spread over your belly. You don’t dare move, fearing he’ll wake up.

What would you even say?

This is a disaster. You somehow ended up in Oliver’s room and…had sex with him.

You swallow a shaky sob as your gaze travels low. Your panties are torn, which you didn’t notice last night. At least your clothes can still be worn, lying in a messy heap at the bottom of the bed. Carefully, you writhe your way out of Oliver’s hold and grab your clothes.

You hastily put your skirt and shirt back on, trying not to cry when you realize you’re going to have to walk back to your dorm without your knickers. Heat rushes to your cheeks.

You toss a glance behind you, relieved when you find him still sleeping soundly.

You climb off the bed. Your heart leaps when the mattress squeaks as you rise.

Pulse quickening, you head for the door.

Pain radiates through your lower body when you move. You stagger the rest of the way, constantly tugging on your short skirt as you pray not to encounter any strong gust of wind on the way back.

Before leaving, you look back.

Oliver’s still sprawled on his side on the bed but his eyes are wide open now.

No word leaves his mouth as he studies you in silence.

A wide, lazy smile slowly unfans on his lips.

Your blood turns to ice. Fumbling with the doorknob, you scurry outside the door.

Once you’re outside, you slam the door closed.

You dart panicked glances around the corridor. Relief fills you when you note that it’s empty. For now. It won’t be long before students start milling about.

You shamefully return to your dorm. The entire walk back, paranoia lurks at the edge of your mind. You keep wondering if every stranger you come across can tell what you did.

And you keep hoping not to run across anyone you know.

When you reach your bedroom, you lock the door. You make a beeline for the bathroom. You need a shower, expeditiously. Oliver’s smell still lingers on you. When you catch your disheveled reflection in the bathroom mirror, you’re shocked. You approach the mirror on unsteady legs. You crane your neck, your fingertips skimming over the two puncture wounds on your neck. A cool wave ripples down your back. It’s twisted. You feel like a character in a Polidori’s tale. Except this is reality somehow.

The one where you have to face the fact that you shagged your boyfriend’s new friend…and you’re not even entirely sure that you wanted it. Your mind throbs as you search through your memories. You changed your mind midway through. Oliver did not care.

Oliver did not care…

The ghastly realization has you keel over the toilet bowl to empty the meagre contents of your stomach. You slump to the floor and start quivering over the bathroom floor.

A sudden knock on your door has you rising from the floor.

Your heart skips a beat when you glance through the peephole.

“F-Felix?” you stutter, panic hitting a peak inside you.

His deep voice penetrates through the door.

“Hey, can we talk?” he asks.

He sounds heartbroken, desperate. You almost unleash a sigh. You recognize this. You’ve been there before. This is a rollercoaster you can never get off of, the thrill when you’re high up entirely too intoxicating.

“Right now is not the best time.”

He heaves out a deep sigh. You can literally picture his kicked puppy expression, even with the door between you two. Your heartstrings flutter as you lean against the door. The craving to toss yourself in his arms wars with the sizzling betrayal still sitting in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck. Are you still mad at me?”

Swallowing the surge of tears, you reply, “No. Just feeling a bit rough. Had a tad too much to drink last night.”

“I could take care of you…”

You nibble your lip. It’s tempting. He’s done it before. Bought you pastries and showered you with kisses and cuddles until you got better. When he wants, Felix can be the perfect boyfriend. When he wants.

“No,” you say firmly. “What do you want, Felix?”

“Can’t you just let me in, just for a minute, babe?” His pleading inflection shatters your meek fences.

“The park. In two hours,” you concede. “I got microeconomics right now, can’t miss it.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

He’s overjoyed. You can’t bear it anymore. You race back to the bathroom as another wave of queasiness engulfs your insides.

Jittery steps lead you through the park as you rejoin him under an oak tree. You spent the last hour in class totally unfocused, your chest tight as you dreaded how this conversation would go.

“Felix,” you greet.

He wraps his arms around you. You remain still in his embrace, the distinctive scent of his cologne floating around you. You feel sick. Now it doesn’t remind you of Felix anymore.

“I really missed you.”

“Didn’t seem like it,” you mumble coolly.

His long exhale tickles your shoulder. “I know. I’m a wanker.”

“More like a selfish arsehole.”

His hold on you slackens as he draws back a little.

A look of hurt and shock covers his face. He isn’t used to you speaking to him so harshly. To him, you’ve only ever been sweet and forgiving. His brows crumple.

“I deserve that.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Listen I… I almost did something awful last night.”

“What thing?” You fiddle with the scarf around your neck. It’s the sole last minute resort you found to conceal the mark decorating your throat.

Of course you know exactly what thing Felix is referring to. You saw it with your own eyes, that thing. If it weren’t for that, you may not be a complete wreck today.

“Doesn’t matter, cause I stopped. It’s not who I want to be anymore.” He cups your face, warm brown gaze diving into yours. “You make me better.”

Words leave your mouth without forethought.

“Who was it this time?”

He hesitates, his jaw tensing. But beneath your heavy stare, he finally caves in.

“It was Annabel.”

“Oh.”

The knife inside your chest twists. It’s one thing to know, to have seen. It’s another to hear it confirmed from your boyfriend’s own mouth. Last night wasn’t some dragged out nightmare; it was reality. When you turn your head, Felix pivots it back to him.

Sincerity vibrates in his tone.

“I ended up kicking her out though.” He wipes the single tear that spills down your cheek. “All I could think about was you, the entire time.” He strokes your face. “You’re the only one for me, babe. This is the last time. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Fuck…”

You spot something you never heard in Felix’s voice before. Fear. And instantly, you break.

He leans his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he states.

You’re dumbstruck. Those words have crossed Felix’s lips at least a thousand times. He’s said them to so many, even strangers…but never to you.

He came close a few times, but never has he been this clear, firm, his meaning unmistakable. Butterflies swarm your stomach.

“I love you,” he repeats.

Felix plants a feverish kiss on your lips, leaving them tingling when he releases you.

“I love you too,” you whisper as your hot breaths mingle.

A sunny smile breaks out on his face.

“No more lies from now on.”

A sinking feeling spreads through you, but you ignore it, returning his smile.

“No more lies,” you echo. Guilt eats at you the second you utter the words.

Felix’s attention veers from you as he waves at someone behind you.

“Hey, Ollie,” he shouts.

The air around you plummets to a few degrees. You go still against Felix, nudging a shaky smile onto your lips.

“I need to go to class,” you chime.

You don’t even turn around, his presence alone sending your senses into alert.

Confusion scrunches Felix’s features.

“Your next class isn’t for another hour.”

You pat his chest, willing yourself to sound more cheerful than you feel.

“Just got some studying to catch up on beforehand.”

Felix’s fingers cling to yours as you try to leave.

“I’ll see you tonight at the pub?”

“Sure.”

He doesn’t let you go until you give him another lengthy kiss. You’re uncomfortable, the weight of a certain somebody’s stare drilling holes into your back.

Things recede to relative normalcy, in some ways better than before, and in others worse. Better because of your relationship with Felix. It improves tremendously. He dotes on you more than he ever has, showering you with gifts and small attentions.

Worse because he’s still there, his unsettling presence the dark cloud over your rekindled romance. Each time you’re forced to be around him, there’s a knowing, smug glint dancing in his eyes, a subtle smile tugging his lips skywards. Perpetual fright eclipses your happiness, all because of Oliver Quick.

What if he told Felix everything? This was a mistake and you’re fairly sure you tried to stop it. You still have nightmares about that night, the way he held you down and wrapped his hand around your neck, stealing your air and ability to defend yourself.

You were helpless. Even letting Felix touch you is hard now, the memory of what Oliver did to you seeping through the cracks whenever you expect it least.

He branded you. And while the marks on your body may have faded, the ones engraved on your soul won’t vanish so easily.

It’s a blessing when Felix finally grows bored with him. You have no idea how it occurred. You simply know that they seem stitched at the hip for months then, suddenly, Oliver is gone. Felix shows up at group meetups without him and stops mentioning him altogether.

As if he took an eraser and wiped him from existence. Just like he did to Eddie back in the day.

You’re relieved…for an ephemeral while alas.

Oliver’s dad's abrupt passing changes everything overnight.

Once more, Felix feels the need to be Oliver’s knight in shining armor.

And once more the two of them are inseparable. Two peas in a pod.

You elect to take some distance. While you understand that Felix wants to help him, it doesn’t mean you have to. Thankfully, with summer fastly approaching, you won’t have to bear with Oliver Quick for much longer.

As usual, James and Elspeth urged you to come spend the summer at Saltburn, particularly Elspeth who couldn’t stop gushing about what a gorgeous couple you and Felix are. And while you may have tried to decline every other year, finding his family to be an awful lot, this year is different. This year, more than ever before, you long for an escape.

Even the pits of hell would be a suitable vacation spot if it meant not having to run across Oliver Quick for two whole months.

It’s a thrilling prospect. These days you can’t be around Felix as much because being around him means being around Oliver, and you just can’t do it. You look forward to having your boyfriend all to yourself. All day long, you dream about lazy afternoons by the pool and cloud-gazing in the grassy fields.

These are the balmy thoughts floating through your mind as you return to your dorm that day after classes end. A carefree smile decorates your face. You can’t wait to finish packing your suitcase. You saved every penny from your part-time job to buy a new swimsuit. And while it made a small dent in your savings, imagining Felix’s face the first time he’ll see you in it makes the tiny sacrifice worth it.

But the smile on your lips dies when you cross the door to your bedroom. Your jaw drops, the stack of books in your hands crashing to the floor with a loud thud.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper. You shrink against the door, maintaining as wide a distance as the small room allows.

Oliver doesn’t even spare you a glance, casually lying on your bed with one knee bent like it’s his.

“Your taste in books. A bit of a letdown I gotta say, luv,” he says, flipping the yellowed pages of one of your favourite novels.

You lick your lips. “Look, I’m sorry about your dad…but you can’t be here.” He doesn’t leave your bed, engulfed in his reading. Your brows knit. “Get out of my room, Oliver,” you repeat, folding your arms as you approach the bed.

His cobalt gaze finally settles on you. He places the book on the night table, slow and unhurried as he gets to his feet.

Your pulse soars as he inches closer.

“Or what? You’ll scream?” he challenges. He circles you, gauging you in a way that summons a picture of a lion stalking its prey in your head. Your blood curdles when Oliver’s breath caresses your nape. “Then you’ll have to explain what I’m doing in your room and make a scene.” His voice lowers to a taunting rasp. “Do you want to make a scene?”

Your voice comes out shaky. “What do you want?”

Oliver takes a deep breath while placing his hands on your shoulders. His thumbs trace a slow path along the column of your neck. His lips graze your earshell.

“I want you to come over here, lie on this bed and spread your legs like a good girl for me.” You suck in a sharp breath. His fingers drag down your arm as he adds, “I’m feeling…peckish.”

When you don’t move, he releases a deep sigh.

“...Or I can tell Felix everything.”

Your heart starts hammering in your chest. “What?” you exhale, spinning to face him.

Oliver smiles.

“You guys are great right now. He says you’re the best you’ve ever been. No more lies. No more secrets.” Oliver bends close to you, his smile expanding. “How do you think he’ll react when I tell him that we fucked…” He pauses and you hold your breath. “And that you’ve lied to him about your family this entire year.”

Goosebumps spread across your flesh. You stumble back, your eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. “H-How do you know about that?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, Oliver takes small steps forward, causing you to retreat until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He places his hands on each side of you. His gaze traces the motion of your neck as you swallow the lump in your throat.

“I…It’s not the right time of the month right now,” you lamely offer.

Oliver’s blue eyes rise as he sinks to his knees in front of you. Tingles bounce over your skin as he rolls your plaid skirt up your thighs.

“And you think it’s something I’m worried about?”

A moan tears from your throat when he buries two fingers inside your core without a warning.

“From now on when I tell you to spread your legs for me, you do as I say,” Oliver informs, his fingers curving inside you. You choke on your breath. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Do you understand?” The threat laced in his tone scatters ice in your veins.

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes, Oliver,” he corrects.

“Yes…Oliver,” you sputter, legs tensing as his digits reach deeper inside you.

“I’m sure it’ll be a summer to remember.”

Between uneven breaths, you stammer, “W-What do you mean?”

He strokes under your thigh absently.

“Oh didn’t Felix tell you?” He bends over you to whisper in your ear. “I’ve been invited to Saltburn, as a guest.”

When Oliver leans away, he’s smiling from ear to ear. Excitement sways in his cobalt orbs as he studies your crestfallen expression.

“I know. I’m looking forward to it too.”

#oliver quick #oliver quick x reader #dark!oliver quick #dark!oliver quick x reader #dark!fic #saltburn fanfiction

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whereismymindnow · 3 months

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offer my hand and I'll take your name

Felix Catton x fem!Reader x Oliver Quick. (AO3)

It's yours and Felix's wedding night. That doesn't withhold you from inviting Oliver to join in on the fun of conceiving an heir.

pwp, breeding, threesome, praise, cum-eating, general filth.

“He’s good at that, isn’t he?” Oliver asks you, his voice calm and collected in the quiet of the bedroom you’re in. You choke on a sob of pleasure as you nod in agreement, feeling the corded muscles of Oliver’s thighs flex from where they are cushioned underneath your head.

Oliver’s deft fingers gently carding through your hair are a stark contrast to Felix’s, which are digging into your waist to stop you from sliding up the bed with each animalistic slap of his hips against yours. Felix’s brand-new wedding band gleams in the flames of the candles dotting the room, a welcome reminder that this is allowed now, that it’s even required of you two — the familiar slide of Felix’s thick cock inside of you unimpeded by a condom for the very first time.

“Our Felix knows exactly how to fuck your little cunny, doesn’t he?” Oliver teases you.

Above you, Felix groans, his sweat-slick skin like molten gold, “Jesus Christ, Ollie”.

Oliver lets out a pleased hum, his fingers giving a tug on your hair. His other hand wanders down your skin, first possessively curling around your throat before lowering to knead at your breasts. Your nipples harden at his attention, arching your back to urge him on.

“Look at how needy she is, Felix,” Oliver goads you, “Our pretty girl’s been begging you for this, huh? She’s been wanting you to breed her for ages, and she’s finally getting what she’s asked for. She should be grateful, hm?”.

You answer him with a desperate moan, eyes rolling back to glance up at Oliver through your eyelashes. His eyes are dark and stormy, his lips bitten red.

“C’mon now, darling, aren’t you gonna thank Felix for fucking you so well?”.

“Thankー oh fuck, thank you, Felix” you moan.

Oliver tuts, a sarcastic little sound that sends a delighted shiver down your spine, “I know you can do better than that”.

Oliver’s hand slides down over your tummy, fingers gliding over your puffy folds before thumbing at your sensitive clit, your slick easing his movements. You were dripping with it, making a mess of your marital bed. Felix’s hips stutter as he watches Oliver’s movements, entranced by the way his fingers slide against you.

“Thank you for breeding me,” you gasp in between moans, “Always so good to me, letting me have — oh god, right there, Oliver — everything I want. For making me your wife”.

Felix grinds his hips, slowing the drag of his cock inside of you. His impossibly large hands slide up, his arm brushing against Oliver’s as he gropes your breasts, looking you right in the eyes as he does, black pupils eclipsing his warm brown eyes.

“Tell me what you need,” Felix demands, looking like a modern-day Greek god as he towers above you and Oliver, his chest heaving from the exertion of fucking you, “Anything you want, you can have it”.

“Want you to fuck me full, Felix,” you moan, clenching around his cock, “want you to give me your babies”. The confession makes you blush, your already reddened cheeks deepening in color.

Felix groans at your words, a guttural sound that makes Oliver’s fingers twitch where they’re furiously rubbing at your clit. Felix readjusts you, tugging on your legs to place them on his shoulders before he leans in, almost folding you in half as he does. Oliver’s hand is squished between your cunt and Felix’s stomach, cramped but never-stilling against your sweat-slick bodies.

He fucks you with a force that makes your toes curl. The heavy press of Felix on top of you paired with the steady presence of Oliver below you is enough to make you feel dizzy. The muscles in your lower stomach clench deliciously, Felix’s cock now pumping into you even deeper than before.

Above you, Oliver has taken advantage of Felix’s new proximity to lick and suck at the taller man’s neck, adding to the smattering of red marks that were already there. Felix preens at the attention, his thrusts quickly growing sloppy.

“Fuck Ollie,” he moans, “I’m really fucking our girl raw. She’s gonna look so pretty with my cum leaking out of her little pussy”.

You sob out another desperate moan, hips twitching from the stimulation you’re receiving from both men. You feel yourself tipping over the edge, your orgasm suddenly so very close.

“There you go darling,” Oliver encourages you, “cum all over your husband’s cock for me”.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, punching the air from your lungs as Felix continues to fuck you through it, your walls twitching around him. Oliver’s praise barely registers for you, what with his fingers continuing to rub tight little circles on your pussy. The overstimulation sets in quickly, your hips twitching and whiny noises spilling from your lips.

“God, darling, your pussy is milking me,” Felix gasps, jackhammering into you as he chases his own orgasm.

It doesn’t take much more than that to push him over the edge, Oliver’s wet mouth against the column of Felix’s throat as he unloads inside of you with a drawn-out moan. Oliver’s hand stills its movements, sliding out from in between you and Felix to trail back up your torso. He brings them up to your face, Oliver’s digits shiny with your slick as he prods at your lips, prompting you to open up for him. You do as he wishes, obediently sucking his fingers clean from your own spend as you watch Felix pull away, your legs slipping from his shoulders as he pulls his softening cock out of you.

“Ollie, you should come see this,” Felix speaks reverently, sitting back on his hunches, bottom lip gripped between his teeth as he holds your thighs apart, watching as his cum slowly begins to drip out of your puffy pussy.

Oliver is quick to join him, sliding out from underneath you to join Felix at the foot of the bed. You feel exposed in a way that makes your skin tingle, having these two men stare at your dripping core like it’s the eighth wonder of the world. You throw your arms up to cover your eyes, blocking out the sight of your lovers, while you try your hardest to catch your breath.

When one of them leans in, their hot breath fanning over your cooling skin, you aren’t even sure at first if it’s Oliver or Felix who does it. All you know is that there’s a tongue licking broad strokes against your freshly fucked pussy, cleaning up the mess you and Felix had made. You choke out a shocked moan, lifting your arms to find Oliver crouched between your legs, eyes blissfully closed as he laps away at you. Felix sits next to him, lips parted in silent pleasure as his eyes flicker from Oliver to you, his cock soft but stubbornly twitching in interest.

“Look at our boy licking it all up,” Felix croons, reaching out to pet Oliver’s brown locks, pushing him closer up against your sensitive pussy.

Oliver’s hips gyrate against the plush material of the mattress, moaning against your folds as he licks and sucks at you like a man starved. Your thighs clench around Oliver’s head, a wanton attempt at keeping him close. He brings his fingers up to slide inside of you, pumping them at the same pace that he’s grinding his cock against the bed. Before long, Felix’s filthy praise and Oliver’s tongue and fingers pushed you over the edge a second time — your orgasm the drawn-out, toe-curling, shake-inducing kind that washes over you like a tsunami.

Between your legs, Oliver comes with a muffled shout, his face pressed against the sheets as his hips still their erratic humping.

“You’re both so fucking beautiful,” Felix praises, laying himself down on the bed next to you, an arm thrown lazily over your stomach. Oliver eventually scoots himself up, still breathing heavily, and lays down on the other side of you. His hand rests on your hip, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your skin. You feel calm and satisfied in a way that you know won’t last very long, what with Felix’s cock already back at half-mast next to you paired with the still-hungry look in Oliver’s eyes. You fidget with your wedding ring, feeling its unfamiliar grooves and diamonds with the pad of your fingers.

If this was your first night as Mrs. Catton, you couldn't wait to find out what the rest were going to be like.

#saltburn smut #saltburn #felix catton smut #felix catton x reader #oliver quick smut #oliver quick x reader

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whereismymindnow · 3 months

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THE FOREVER PURGE (2021) dir. Everardo Gout

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whereismymindnow · 3 months

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First and Last

Dark!Tom (The Party 2017) x ExWife!Reader

Word Count: +3,234

Warning(s): +18, Non con, ANGST, Domestic violence, Mentions of overdose/overdosing, Drug usage, Addiction, Forced drug usage, Heavy domestic violence, Forced breeding Accidental OD, Really long because I don't have a life.

Author's note(s): I wanted to post this before my trip. Idk if I want to make this into a 2 part series maybe if its good than ye 😃

You run into your soon-to-be ex-husband at a friend's party. He's determined to get a second chance. But some things never change.

You met Tom in college. Both of you were part of the same friend group and would see each other often. He was persistent in pursuing you. Eventually mustering up the courage to ask you out. You said yes because you fell for him first. But it was Tom who fell harder. He was your first love, first kiss, first everything. After a year of dating, he finally pops the question. Everything seemed to be going fine at first.

That was almost a decade ago. He's not the same man you fell in love with. Something inside him changed. There were times where you were unsure whether it was the drugs talking or how he truly felt. He would try to hide it but failed miserably. You can't remember how many times you've found his stash, which always resulted in an argument. You were sick of his excuses. It eventually got worse with his intake. He would arrive home half sober. You were sick of seeing him waste away like this. You remember finally deciding that enough was enough.

After catching him at home for the fifth time, you decide to take action into your own hands. In a fit of anger, you retrieve his hidden stash and flush it down the toilet. When Tom found out his reaction wasn't what you had predicted. Not at all. He dragged you to the bathroom and demanded to know where his supply went. It was the first time he'd ever laid his hands on you. Instead of apologizing for bringing them home, Tom held you in a chokehold until you told him where they were.

Never in your life would you imagine Tom of all people reacting in such a way. When you finally confess what had happened, he loses his temper. It terrified you how strong he became while under the influence. You were no match for his drug-fueled rage. Your wrist is still sore from how he held you down last week. There were bruises that were still healing for all the times before. But this one had been the worst punishment yet. He left you there on the bathroom floor, naked and sore. Tom hadn't bothered to look your way. He zips up his pants before leaving in search of his next 'fix'.

That wasn't the first time he put his hands on you, but it was the first time you had left him. You received a string of desperate phone calls, voicemails, text messages all from Tom. You returned home to find him on his knees with a bouquet in hand and tears in his eyes. He apologized and promised to be a better man for you. That was shortly lived. When you arrived home from a late shift, you caught Tom using it again. This time it was different, you found Tom overdosing. You lunged towards him, "Tom?! Tom!" cradling his head in your hands, holding him close. It was the first time you've caught him. A part of you feared this wouldn't be the last.

Tom had tried to make it up with sex, but you couldn't be around him anymore. You felt almost revolted how he didn't care. Having him around only reminds you of the pain. This time instead of throwing a fit, yelling, or crying. You simply packed all your things and left. What could you do with a man who refuses to change? Leave. You left for your mother's place, finally accepting that it wasn't your fault.

The divorce papers were mailed to him. For a while now, Tom knew there was something wrong with him. He was just too stubborn to admit it. You'd spoken with a lawyer and there was a court date issued. In a few months from now, you will no longer be referred to as husband and wife.

For the first time in years, you've finally let the feeling of guilt go. No longer were you going to let this define who you were. You weren't a failure as a wife. Because it was never your fault in the first place. Soon enough you were doing the things you loved again, even began to pick up a few new hobbies. That spark of joy began to return. You started dressing up in nicer clothes, going out, actually spending quality time with friends and family.

Sometimes there would be a moment when you'd feel for Tom and wonder what he'd be up to. But then again did you really want to know? It would usually be the same thing, him being higher than a kite. Still, you couldn't help but mourn at the loss of your marriage. When you were young and promised to love each other until your very last breath. You still loved Tom, but he loved other things more.

You were looking forward to your old college friend's New Year's party. A healthy dosage of socializing to get you out there again. You had the opportunity to catch up with everyone there. It felt as though no time had passed. You danced around, joined in some games, things were going well. But there was a lingering feeling that someone, somewhere was staring at you.

That's when you spot him, Tom, sitting quietly at the end of the room. Your breath hitches at the sight of him twiddling his thumbs. There's a part of you that regrets not filing a restraining order. Tom always had a habit of showing up unannounced. You weren't in the mood for whatever he had to say. So, you left his sight, down the hall, to the nearest restroom.

You sat on the counter, removing your heels for a moment. A groan escapes your lips as you rub both feet, knowing very well they would ache in the morning. Shit, you were really gonna feel that. You splash your face a few times, hoping that it would combat the summer heat. Completely unaware of the sound of the door opening. It was as if you knew who was behind you, turning around to find Tom leaning against the door. You gave him a glare, "Get out," you were in no mood for his emotional ambush. He ignores your request and calmly states, "I just want to talk to my wife,"

"We're not--"

"Legally, yes, we are," he corrects. Always so condescending. It was one of the things you couldn't stand. How he would belittle your intelligence. It was the little remarks he'd make to shut down any effort you gave. He made you feel unwanted. He was the one who decided to push you away first.

If only he could see past his own selfishness that you truly wanted to save this marriage. But in order to do so, he would need to admit that it was an ongoing problem. You didn't have to worry about a mistress, no. You had to worry everyday about finding him dead. You've caught him overdosing a few times. It eventually took a toll on you. To the point where you lost weight from the stress. Tom rakes his hand through his locks, "Of course you don't want to see me, nothing ever satisfies you," a snarky remark to try and get under your nerves.

With the amount of alcohol in your system, it worked, "Are you kidding me?" you scoff, "Don't you dare lie to me Thomas, I tried everything, everything to fix us, can you say the same?" you growl in his face. Maybe it was the liquid courage that gave you a whole new attitude. Whatever it is helped with confronting him. His reaction, however, was not what you expected.

He smothers you into a deep kiss, pulling you into his embrace. You try shoving at him in an attempt to catch breath. Finally breaking free from his grip. For a moment, he's seems visibly hurt. You scold, "What you wrong with you?!" it wasn't fair. After all the hurt you've been through, Tom still tries to insert himself into your life.

You deserved better. You try to shove him away. Instead, he shoves you against the wall, "Can't you see..." he presses his sweaty cheek against the crook of your neck, "You're my everything..." his voice sounding more desperate with each word. You scoff, "No, Tom, you can't do this..." tears began to brim, threatening to spill. His eyes are filled with worry, "No...now, baby please don't cry..." his expression is saddened but there are no tears. He kisses each cheek, ignoring your sniffling. Tom held you in place by the shoulders, "I couldn't stop thinking about you," it's true. You were his first love.

Tom had longed to see his wife again. To feel her, touch her, caress and worship every part of her. He wanted to make things right, truly. But she just got up and left him. Like he was trash. What made her so high and mighty? He's so sick of seeing you always playing the role of a saint. For once he wants to see you get downright nasty with him. His breathing became frantic, "Can't you see? I'm addicted to you," there's a mischievous look on his face that you were more than familiar with.

You place a cautious hand in front to create distance, "Tom, listen to me, you’re high right now, you're not in the right--" you were muffled by his hand, "No! No! Listen to me!" his voice booms. His sudden mood swing scares you. So much so that your nails dig into his wrist. He hisses in pain, "Stop it! Just stop!" he grits his teeth. When he releases his grip the first thing you do is make a run for it. But before you could even set foot out of the restroom you're pulled back by the hair. You fell on your back, hitting the marble floor.

It sends the air out of your lungs. That's when you start crying, shriveling up into a ball, begging for him to stop. This was how your arguments always ended. Tom crouches down, "Oh...baby I'm so sorry..." He grabs a towel, pushing it against the bottom of the door to ensure that it's soundproofed. He then pulls you into a hug, locking his arms around your waist. Tom rocks you in his embrace, "Please...please don't cry shh.." He doesn't want to see anymore tears spill. He's thankful for the music being loud enough to muffle your cries. He lifted you onto the counter.

You look down at the floor, refusing to look him in the eyes. Tom presses his forehead against yours. His eyelids flutter shut, "Let me make this right..." he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small bag, "Here... this'll help with the nerves," he swipes his fingers on his tongue before dipping it in. He swirls it a few times, coating the digits with the white powder.

When he brings it to your mouth you turn away with disgust, smacking his hand off, "Get it the fuck away from me! You fucking tweaker!" you claw at him. He's hurt by your words. How could you? He really is trying to stop. It's harder than it looks. He's tried just about anything you could name to fix his marriage. Nothing, not a damn thing worked. Every time he'd come running back to that same euphoric feeling. When you left, he started using it again, more than ever.

If only he could get you to try it out, then maybe, you'd understand. He presses you against the counter, using his bodyweight to hold you in place. You sob, "Please...please Tommy...don't do this..." he grips both of your wrists, ignoring your pleas. He looks at you with a maddening look in his eyes. You knew he was out of it. There was always that nothingness behind his irises. To think that this man was once your devoted husband.

He muffles your cries with a clean hand. He has an idea for the other. Tom hisses, “M’gonna make you take it, make you feel really good...” he reaches in between your legs, pushing aside the lace. Tom brings the snow coated fingers to your folds. He bites his bottom lip, concentrating on finding your opening. He slowly starts to insert them, ignoring your cries and pleas for him to stop. Tom starts pumping his coated fingers in and out of your channel.

You let out a muffled scream under his palm. Stray tears falling down and landed on his wrist. He felt almost bad, but you'll understand soon enough where he's coming from. Just wait and see. You'll love it as much as he does. Fuck, every vein in his body felt like it was on fire. It's easier getting hard while using, too easy. His dick almost hurts form how hard it was. He spat a wad on the tip, coating it with a bit of snow before hovering it over your folds. He presses it against your opening.

A wide grin spreads on his face, "Sh...please...don't flinch sweetheart I just wanted to feel... can I feel my own wife's pussy?" He moans. A mewl escapes your lips. Tom chuckles, he knew you'd love it as much as he does. His hands grip your neck, he doesn't know how strong he's squeezing, not while he's using. It felt nice feeling you clench on his length. He’s on an adrenaline high right now. He’s not going to stop anytime soon.

He rapidly thrusts his hips in and out your channel, indulging in the feeling. Two of his most favorite things combined. Oh, how he’s missed you. Tom picks up his pace. He leans down to plant wet, sloppy kisses across your bare neck. He retreats his lips, groaning against your ear, “I promise you I'll make up for everything, I'll even give you a baby like you've always wanted...” He knows it’s the one thing you’ve always wanted to be. A mother.

Your eyes shoot wide open as you scream into his palm to stop. Tom pops a pill in his mouth. He swishes it around a few times before forcing your mouth to open. He removes his palm only for a moment, before shoving it inside. It's too much, too much...You felt like you were flying, no, falling? Your heart couldn't stop beating and every single last one of your limbs felt like jelly. A visible vein bulges on the corner of your temple. Only a faint gargle leaves your lips, "F-fuck...T-tom...please..” sniffling for him to stop.

He coos, “M'gonna give you a baby, ok? then we'll be a happy family..." He sighs in admiration. Fuck, you looked so beautiful. Always so compliant. Don’t worry, he’s going to make sure you’ll never get rid of him, “This was mine the day I put that ring on that finger..." He finishes with a roar, coating your insides with his spunk. Tom is almost satisfied, almost. He doesn’t want to waste a single drop. He carefully removes his cock from your channel, plugging you back up with his fingers.

Tom takes the small baggie. He coats it with your arousal. A deep moan escapes his lips, "Just hide it for me, yeah, can you do that love?" Two of his fingers are buried deep into your channel, he scissors them apart a few times, testing the waters. Then he starts to push it in. You were too buzzed to even fight him off.

His fingers have always caressed that spot you just couldn't quite reach. Tom sighs, “Beautiful...fucking beautiful...” words that he hasn't used in years. Tom throws his coat on the floor. He carefully places you on it, taking no note of the blank expression on your face. He hadn’t noticed your eyes rolling back. He pressed his head against the door to hear if anyone was lurking. If the coast was clear, he could leave.

He places a chaste kiss on your cheek before leaving, placing a tie on the doorknob to ensure no one would wander inside. Tom prepares his car for the both of you. If you were thinking of escaping him, think again. He would keep you hidden until you were surely pregnant. You’ll have a part of him with you forever. He returns to the house with a pep in his step, opening the door to find you still lying on the ground.

That’s when Tom finally notices the faint frothing on the corners of your mouth. He crouches down, “No...” he should’ve seen this coming. You weren’t used to any kind of drug. You’ve never smoked a day in your life. Tom pulls you into his arms, “No no no no...no please...” he shook your unconscious form, “Please! Stay with me!” he shook harder, “Please! Fuck!” Finally breaking down. Tom couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life without you. For it to actually come true was his biggest nightmare, “Please! Don’t leave me!” He rocks both of you back and forth.

Tom tries his best to control his breathing, reaching into his pocket. He calls the one person he knows would help, "Lenn...I'm in deep shit," he chokes. Tom prays that his brother can make it on time. For years now, Lenny had been the one covering up for his little brother. He could hear Tom on the other end of the phone, “She--she’s not waking up...” That’s when Lenny races out his office in search of his twin, "Tom, listen to me, where are you?"

Whatever shit his little brother has gotten into this time, he better hope it doesn’t ruin his record. Lenny hadn't spent years in law enforcement just to lose it all in one day. If word got out that the local detective’s own brother was a tweaker, he’d have to kiss that promotion goodbye. However, Lenny isn’t going to let him get away so easily. Unlike Tom, his brother is colder, more calculated than emotional. He's always surpassed him in every way possible. Well, almost. Lenny hates to admit it, but Tom had the one thing he finally beat him at, you.

You were the color added to his life. Without you his world was just...black and white.

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whereismymindnow · 4 months

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Midpoint - Michael Gavey x Reader

Synopsis: The semester break came along quicker than you thought it would, and you decided to stay on campus for the break to get ahead in your studies. What will happen when you go head-to-head with a certain ill-tempered maths student in a war of pettiness?

Warnings: This fic is 18+, readers discretion is advised. Arguing, pettiness, name calling, low blows, tension, degradation, ripped stockings, finger fucking, rough fucking, fucking in public, p in v, creampie, cum eating.

Word Count: 8.7k

Notes: Hello my angels, Happy New Year, heres to all the filth that will continue to come from the cesspool that is my mind. Thank you all for your patience, I have been so excited to write for Michael, and so I hope you enjoy this as much as I have writing it !! heheh ;) <3

There was a soft amber glow that cast over the library, the dark wood warming with the golden light that peaked through the windows, patches of wooden floors illuminated in some spots with coloured lights from stained glass windows.

For the most part, the library was empty bar three other students who had stayed behind for the break, getting ahead on their work for the next semester.

You were one of them, and with the sheer size of the library, you wouldn’t have known there were others inside if you had not seen them when walking down the endless isles of books in search for the ‘British Working Class Movements’ for your history course.

It didn’t take long for you to find it, and by the time you settled into a secluded corner down the back, the sun had already begun to set. You flicked on one of the green and gold table lamps and began to read, periodically taking notes on a page as you went.

It wasn’t that you needed to study ahead, it simply gave you something to do whilst the break droned on, few students having stayed behind making it lonely, but a bit more bearable than making the long trip home.

You loved the library, the stained wood, smell of old books lining the walls, and the quiet of the place was a nice haven to get away from the usual hustle and bustle of college. Everyone always seemed to be in a rush to either their next class or their next party, and although you weren’t a loner per se, you didn’t always feel like being in the constant lights and sounds that came with socialising. And so the library was the one place, besides your dorm, where you could have a nice piece of solitude.

Settling over the page, you gained a steady rhythm. Read about one movement, then write anecdotes as you went, taking the time to pause, re-read, and really absorb the information as much as you could. It was fascinating, and you enjoyed learning as much as you did.

By the third hour of continuous reading and note taking, your hand began to cramp, and so you decided it was time for a short break. You stood up from the desk, stretching your arms above your head, a small sigh escaping your lips as your back cracked and muscles pulled. You twisted your upper body to each side, softly grunting as you felt your back click again and again, sighing loudly as a particular pop took away an ache that had settled between your shoulders. You continued on with your languid stretches, trying to get some of the stiffness out of your body from being hunched over the desk for so long.

You wondered how much more time you should spend writing notes, or whether you could go back to your dorm and laze about on the bed. Luckily for you, you didn’t have a roommate, and were able to make the space feel much like your own. You didn’t have too much furniture, the room not allowing for it, just your essentials and a few trinkets here and there that you had collected. Your real pride and joy however, was a Peace Lily that you had saved from sure death. Now, it sat proudly on your study desk, growing dark green leaves and flowering its soft white flowers.

The idea of going back to your dorm seemed tempting, after all, you didn’t really have to be studying, and you had just recently bought the new Harry Potter book and wished to read some more of it, make a nice cup of tea, sink into your sheets and get lost into a fantasy world.

A soft jangling came from between one of the large book shelves, and soon a man peeked through. His icy blue eyes caught yours and you watched as he assessed you from where he stood, albeit awkwardly, gaze dragging up and down your body.

He was tall and lean, with sandy blonde hair that sat messily atop his head. He had a sharp aquiline nose, and lips that pulled up naturally in its corners.

You recognised him from somewhere, but where you couldn't be sure.

Perhaps he was in the same classes as you?

He continued to stare at you, shirt tucked into his pants, small carabiner attached with a USB dangling from a belt loop, his tongue pushed into his cheek.

“You right?” You asked, shifting on your feet, wondering if he needed something from you.

His lips pursed as he looked at you from down his nose, “Are you?”

You furrowed your brows, “Huh?”

“You've been moaning in the back of the library like a tart.”

You bristled, “I beg your pardon?”

Who the fuck-

“Some of us are trying to study.” His arms were stiff by his sides, and before you had the chance to reply, he spun on his heel, shoes squeaking loudly in the aisles as he marched away.

“What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself, feeling angry and also slightly embarrassed about the encounter.

Had you been making a lot of noise?

You didn’t think so, especially since the library was essentially empty anyway. You had even chosen the furthest corner of the floor as well, tucked away behind rows of books and out of sight.

You sat back down at the desk and tried to continue writing notes, but instead, you found yourself feeling far too self conscious, and wondered if you were even breathing too loudly. But before you got too self critical, you remembered that the library was practically empty, and you had specifically chosen a spot the furthest away from the other three students.

If your stretching and little sighs had disturbed him, he was either hanging around your area, or had the hearing of a bat.

So after about an hours more of study attempts and a half a page more of notes, you decided to call it a night, packing away your belongings before taking the book with you, not bothering to check it out.

As soon as you got back to your dorm, you headed straight to bed, not feeling in the mood to make a cup of tea or even open your new book, no longer looking forward to enjoying yourself and settling in. Instead you laid on your back staring at the ceiling, stewing about how the man in the library had spoken to you, and vowing that if you saw him again, you'd give him a piece of your mind.

And by your luck, you did see him again.

The very next day.

You got to the library around midday, deciding that you weren’t going to do a late night of studying, deciding to have a relaxing night in to pamper yourself, maybe even watch a movie in the common rooms if the tv free, or do as you had intended the night before; a cup of tea and your book, and maybe even some ‘me’ time.

The library, despite all its windows and the suns rays peeping through, was cold, and as soon as you stepped foot into it a chill ran over you. You walked through the endless rows of books, not seeing a soul as you climbed the stairs to the second floor, dust settled into the crooks and corners of the staircases and bannisters, the smell almost overwhelming, until finally, you saw him.

He was sat in the centre of the room at one of the large study desks, multiple books opened around him as he furiously wrote down notes and equations. His head didn’t lift at the sound of your footsteps, too busy in his own little world studying for God knows what, so much so, that it was a wonder that you had even managed to disturb him the day prior, which now only seemed to fuel your anger.

You were never one to back down.

You walked straight to him, toes almost kicking the leg of the table as you looked down at his neat writing, his hand flying across the page in rapid succession, no calculator in sight despite the lengthiness of the equations.

It was impressive, you noted begrudgingly, the way he worked so swiftly, and just was you were about to gain his attention, he spoke to you, hand not once slowing as he worked.

“What do you want?”

It wasn’t rude, just as it wasn’t polite. If anything, it was abrasive, like the rough cobblestones outside, and not once did he look up at you.

It caught you off guard.

Your mouth opened and shut as you tried to think of something to say.

Was it really worth being hot headed and saying something the day after?

Would he even remember?

Or would you be embarrassing yourself further?

Ultimately you gave up, deciding that there was no point to saying anything anymore, sighing in resignation as you walked around the length of the table continuing to yours.

You got about three steps away before he spoke again.

“Remember that you’re in the library this time.”

You spun, staring daggers into the back of his head, hand gripping the strap of your bag, “What the fuck is your problem?” Your chest heaved in anger, waiting for him to turn around or answer you, but he didn’t.

The sandy haired man continued his endless equations, leaving you standing behind him as though you had spoken to a ghost. It was maddening, the rush of your blood loud in your ears drowning out the steady scratch of his pencil.

How dare he?

He was just like all the others, like every other man on campus who felt they could speak however they like at any woman as though you were beneath them.

You stood there for what felt like minutes, but was mere seconds.

Realising that you weren’t to get an answer from him, you continued on your way to your secluded little table, stomping through the aisles, your footsteps echoing loudly in the space on the wooden floor.

When you got to the table, you all but threw your bag down, the heavy textbook slamming onto the wooden surface, making a large bang.

Never in your life had you been so agitated, ripping the chair away from the desk, letting the legs scrape on the mahogany floor.

One after the other, you yanked your books out of your bag, your notebook and pens, throwing them onto the table without a care. You could feel the heat of your anger creeping up your neck and into your face, and despite your attempts to calm yourself by studying, you ended up just re-reading the same paragraph over and over again, not once absorbing it.

By the time you decided to give up, the sun had begun to set, and so you hastily scrambled to shove your things back into your bag, not even bothering to tuck your chair in softly, throwing it against the desk and storming out the way you came.

He was still in his regular spot when you stalked past him, his head turned down as he read through his notes, multiple empty chocolate wrappersw spread across the table.

“Fucking asshole.” You muttered as you walked past him, not bothering to spare him a second glance as you huffed and stormed away, hoping to find some peace in your dorm.

When you got to your dorm, you were so hungry that you began to feel sick. Realising that in your anger you had forgotten to eat, you wandered down to the pub not far from campus and got a cheap little meal, eating quietly in the corner, a telly playing a soccer game on the screen in the back.

There weren't many patrons that night, but you could hear the pool table being used in the distance, the loud clacking of the balls being sunk, drowning out the soft sound of the telly. The pub stunk of stale beer and cigarettes, ring stains on all the wooden surfaces from sweating glasses.

It was still early when you finished, and so you made the decision to check out the commons and see if a tv was free.

The night air was cold as you walked back to your dorm, your teeth chattering in your skull as you sped walked, wrapping your arms around yourself to get back into the warmth of the old building. Lights illuminated the old stone walls in a yellow light, casting shadows on the cobblestones and bare trees around you.

It would have been spooky if you weren’t used to it by now, and could understand how first years would become spooked at night alone, walking through the courtyards.

As you made your way towards the common room in your building, you couldn’t help but think about the man in the library. His sandy hair, blue eyes, sharp features and sharper mouth. Who needed a heater when you had this man to fire you up? You could almost hear his grating tone as he mocked you, his glasses shining in the library as he looked down his nose at you.

He made you feel small, unwanted. But you had worked hard to get into Oxford, and you, whether he liked it or not, had earned your place.

It wasn’t unlike the men you already knew in STEM to be somewhat assholes, especially towards women or any degrees they deemed ‘unfit’ or ‘unworthy’. You had heard many scoffs and sneers at the Arts students, or English Literature kids, especially if it was women, from the STEM boys who seemed to hoard together like a bunch of flies. Or better yet, like a Rat King, unable to break the connection between each other despite how much they fought it.

It was, to follow the pun, a rat race.

The hall was dark as you walked to the commons, but from the window of the door, you saw the tale tell sign of the telly being on. You wondered momentarily if it was anyone you knew that had stayed back, perhaps one of the girls.

Maybe you could settle down with them and watch whatever mind melting soap opera was on, and lull yourself into a stupor.

The prospect of talking to someone almost dissolved your sour mood, and by the time you opened the door, peering into the flickering light illuminated room, a small smile had begun to pull at your lips.

But that smile was short lived as your eyes met a pair of pale blue ones.

You watched as his lips pulled down in recognition of you, his head turning to look back at the telly. Your heart began to race in your chest again, the door clicking shut behind you, the soft sound of Doctor Who’s theme song filling the room, the screen reflecting off of his rectangular lenses.

It didn’t help that the small drinks you had at the pub seemed to ignite your previous disdain for the man, as well as dampening your, for a lack of a better word, cognition.

In that moment, you were at a loss of what to do. You wanted to watch tv, but the idea of being anywhere near him infuriated you. Yet, at the same time, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction by leaving, indicating to him that you had given up, and that he had won.

“You going to stand there all night?” He teased cruelly, eyes not once turning back to you, locked on David Tenant as he ran through an abandoned warehouse.

You bristled, teeth grinding down against each other as you stormed past him, “Fuck you.” You dropped down onto the cushion on the other end of the couch.

From the corner of your eye, you could see his lips purse slightly, obviously hearing you.

No matter how much you tried, you could not get comfortable on the couch, and it wasn’t because the couch had a natural groove from the many people who sat in it, or the obvious stains on the covers and arms, some recognisable, others dubious, nor the permeating cigarette smell that emanated from deep within the foam, but rather because he sat all too comfortable beside you, watching a show you wished you could watch alone.

You shifted against the arm again for the umpteenth, huffing softly in the room. Your ass had fallen asleep because you sat ramrod straight and refused to relax, tucking your legs beneath you not leaning back. No matter what you did, you could not settle, body gearing up for a fight.

When you shifted again, it seemed to pull his attention away from David Tenants doctor.

“You gonna keep huffing in the corner like a baby?”

Your already fragile thread of patience snapped.

“What the fuck is your problem? Have I done something to you? I don’t even know who you are.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him. The man sneered, leaning towards you on the couch, “My problem is vapid little cunts like you. Getting by on mummy and daddy’s money whilst the rest of us have to work to stay here. You just party and fuck each other like rats.” His cold eyes razed up and down your body, watching as your face morphed from anger to offence, and then, to rage.

You shot up from your seat, moving to stand over him as he looked up at you, face barely containing his hatred.

“I don’t have ‘mummy’s and daddy’s money’, I’m here because I worked hard to be here.” You hissed, hands clenched into fists at your sides, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know you’re friends with Felix Catton and every other vapid, useless cunt that hangs off of his every breath.” His voice lowered, hatred simmering behind his light illuminated glasses.

Your brows furrowed, “Felix and I have a class together. Assigned seating. We walk there together. If-” You straightened, looking down at him before it hit you.

A laugh of disbelief flew from your lips, and soon enough the cocksure anger melted away from his sharp features, replaced by confusion.

“Wow.” You huffed, a bitter laugh filling the air, “You’re jealous.” His eyes narrowed on you, “You’re jealous of Felix.” You watched as his mouth snapped open, “Maybe if you weren’t so-“

“-I’m not fucking jealous of those nobodies.”

Snorting, you shook your head, “Nobodies… Yet people know their name. I don’t even know who you are.”

You waited for him to give you his name, to finally tell you who this infuriating man was, the credits of Doctor Who playing in the background as you stared at each other. Your chest heaved, but all you felt looking down at him was irritation.

“Your anger is misdirected." You growled, "I thought you would be smarter than that.”

The man's jaw ticked, “I thought you didn’t know who I was.”

“I don’t.”

You turned away, suddenly drained from the whole interaction. You didn’t bother to turn back and look at him, or even say another word. You wanted to go to bed, no, needed to go to bed and get away from the man on the couch before you tore your hair out.

As you opened the common room door, his voice called out to you.

“Y/n L/n.”

The way he said your name sent goosebumps rising on your skin, each syllable pronounced slowly, as though he was savouring your name on the tip of his tongue. Your hand paused on the door as you pushed it open, looking back at him.

“And who are you?”

Before he could answer, you left, slamming the door shut behind you. You marched straight back to your room, hands in such tight fists that your nails left half crescent moons in the flesh of your palms.

You lay awake most of the evening staring at the ceiling with the interaction on your mind.

He knew you by name, even thought you were friends with Felix, and whilst you weren’t not friendly with him, you wouldn’t say you were closely acquainted. You drank at the same parties sometimes or saw him down at the pub, but the only one-on-one time you had with him was in class.

Whoever this man was, and whoever he thought you were, he was wrong. And now he was going to regret it.

You knew he would be there, in fact you betted on it, getting up extra early to go to the library to do the one thing you planned on doing that day.

Piss him off.

If there was one thing that men hate the most in the world, it was not being in control, and that was doubled if it was with a woman.

You sat at the table he always did, spreading your textbooks and papers, pens, notes, snacks, water bottle, and even IPod Nano on its surface. You had brought extra things with you today in your bag to spread across the table, some things not even needed to study, but used to take up more space and soil his little territory.

The sun had barely even risen by the time you laid it all out, but you knew it would all be worth it.

And it was, because not even fifteen minutes later, he arrived to the sight of you at his desk, humming as you looked at your notes.

His feet stopped not too far from your (his) table, watching as you met his gaze, devoid of emotion. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling, watching as he clenched his teeth in irritation.

He was almost shaking with anger.

Got you.

You kept the image of innocence, looking back down at your notes as you tapped your pen against the tables surface loudly. You could see his fists clenching in your periphery at his side, his pale green button up shirt with long beige pants shifting side to side as he stood angrily watching you.

“What are you doing?” The blonde’s voice cut through the quiet of the library, irritation evident in his tone.

You didn’t bother to look up, pen still clicking rhythmically against the table, “Hm?”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

Placing the pen on your page delicately, you looked up, “Pardon?”

The mans cheeks flushed an angry red as he stared down at you, lips pulling into a tight line, “Whatever you think-“

“-I’m sorry,” You interrupted him, leaning forward to look up into his eyes sweetly, “Do I know you?”

The man leant forward and sneered, “Gavey.”

“Gavey?” You titled your head, biting your lip softly in thought.

Why did that name sound so familiar?

“Yes.” He grit through his teeth, looking down at your spread notes and gear.

Then it came to you.

“Gavey! Michael Gavey!” You beamed up at him, leaning slightly forward on the desk.

Now you knew why he was so familiar.

“You’re the maths genius.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Anyone who had heard about Michael Gavey knew about his stellar intellect when it came to maths, and unfortunately for him, they also knew about his little antisocial outbursts, “You yelled at Oliver on O week.”

You watched with delight as the anger fell momentarily from his face, and embarrassment replaced it. You leant further forward, putting both elbows on the table as you rested your chin on your hands, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Is it true then? You can do any sum just in your head?”

If it was true, he needed to be studied by a team of scientists.

And maybe a behavioural therapist.

Michael stood taller, proud to have been recognised for this part of him as he watched you bat your eyelashes at him. His shoulders rolled back, eyes glimmering with determination behind his glasses.

Men were so easy.

You just stroke their ego a little and their guard comes down immediately.

“Ask me.” His voice was soft, confident, waiting on bated breath to show off his born skill.

You smiled, “Alright. Seven-hundred-and-eighty-nine multiplied by six-hundred-and-fifty-four.”

Without missing a beat, “Five-hundred-and-sixteen-thousand-and-six.”

“Divided by twelve.”

“Forty-three-thousand point five.”

“Times nine.”

“Three-hundred-and-eighty-seven-thousand-and-four point five.”

You leant back in your chair watching him. It was impressive, and if he wasn’t such a prick, you would have openly praised him. But you didn’t have it in you in that moment to give him anything but a lengthy stare, using the time to get a good look at his face without the sneer.

He was handsome, a long face framed nicely by his ‘devil may care’ hair. You wondered if he even bothered to brush it in the morning. The longer you looked at him the more you could see how his sharp features and soft lips would in fact get him the attention he so desperately craved, if only he wasn’t as insufferable as he was. In fact, the more you thought about it, if things had been different, perhaps you would have pursued him, maybe even asked him out for a drink.

Instead, he had made an enemy for himself, and being petty at this point was a hobby for you that you took great time and pleasure in doing, especially if it was for assholes who made the first move unwarranted.

“Hm.” You tapped your pen against the table, “How do I know it’s correct and you're not just making it up?”

This seemed to anger Gavey.

“I’m not making it up. I do the sums,” He narrowed his eyes, “In my head.”

“I don’t have a calculator to confirm this. For all I know, you could be lying.”

The anger was back, “I’m not lying. I’m never wrong.”

“Sure.”

“I’m a genius.”

“Uh huh.”

Then came the vitriol, his shoulders tensed in rage, “What would you know anything about maths? You’re a History and Philosophy major.” Michael scoffed, seeming to think that his disdain for your degree would upset you in the slightest.

You sighed loudly, pulling the earphones from your Ipod to begin putting them in your ears. You looked at him pointedly, putting a sad little smile onto your lips.

Show time.

“It’s a shame, you know.” You said sadly.

“What?” Michael responded, over-eagerly.

The earphones sat in your ears and you scrolled down to a song you wanted, letting the music begin to play loudly just to piss him off, the noise turned up high enough for him to hear the lyrics. You didn't show it, but it was too loud, and most certainly hurt your ears, yet it was worth it to see his nose scrunch up.

“That you’re a snob.” Your voice rose over the music in your ears, unable to hear anything but the loud bass line that bounced in your head, “You’re actually cute when you’re not sneering at me.” You let your eyes drop back to your page, ignoring his presence as you strummed the pen loudly against the wood of the desk, unable to hear if he responded, but also not bothered to hear him. You had ended the conversation just the way you wanted.

And it would drive him nuts.

What you hadn’t seen was his mouth opening and shutting multiple times as a blush spread across his cheeks. He stood idly by, utterly unable to produce a single word or sound bar clearing his throat. Michael disappeared from your periphery as he left to sit at the table at the end, dropping into his seat to begin his studies.

But it proved to be fruitless, because as he attempted to settle into the endless stream of equations, all he could hear behind him was the tinny sound of your music blasting from your earphones and the steady grating tap of your pen.

He tried, in vein, for over an hour to focus, before giving up and storming out of the library. It was only then when you lifted your head, smiling at his retreating figure in triumph.

I win.

Not a word had been written on your page, and not a thing had been absorbed in your head. You lowered the volume of your music, a ringing settling into your ears, before packing up your things to go back to your dorm, deciding that a job well done was deserving of some respite, and in your good mood you would actually read your book.

You spent the rest of your day and better part of your evening reading, lounging, and snacking on some chips as you snuggled into your sheets.

Being the creature of habit that you were, you ended your triumphant day going to the pub to have another cheap meal and a drink or two, spending a considerable amount of the evening chatting up another student who had also stayed behind during the break.

He was cute, and funny, and although he hinted more than once that he would like to continue your evening back in either one of your dorms, you didn’t have the energy to entertain a potentially dull night of barely there pleasure.

He smiled too wide and had too much confidence to really know what he was doing, and you felt immediately that he would be the type to get his and leave you high and dry. So you parted, promising emptily to get another pint together soon enough, though you knew it wasn’t your stellar verbal company that he wanted.

Sinking into bed that evening was an easy and pleasurable experience. You crawled into your sheets, smile on your face and victory on your tongue. Your tit-for-tat was successful, and now you could finally just focus on your work, and not the sandy haired Michael Gavey who seemed to invade your every thought.

The sun trickled through the curtains by your bed, a warm stream of light hitting your face. You woke with a stretch, body slowly waking up with the day.

You didn’t have much planned after yesterdays success, and didn’t have a want to do much at all, but there was only so much lounging in bed one could do over the many weeks of break, so you decided to go back to the library, at least for an hour to make up for yesterdays losses (despite the personal win).

You looked around your room and settled on a skirt and some tights with a turtle neck sweater, unable to find anything else as a pile of dirty clothes had slowly accumulated in the corner. You made a note to yourself to take it to the laundromat later with some coins and your book.

The walk to the library was the same monotonous one as it always was. The same stone walls, the same dark wooden detailing and floor, the occasional beautiful stained glass window, and the ever strange silence of an empty college. There was a light layer of frost on the grass outside, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it would snow. The trees were bare except for a handful of orange and brown leaves, hanging on for dear life, or perhaps, holding on with dead fingers.

Rigor mortus of the petiole.

The steps creaked beneath your feet as you made your way up to your usual spot, the library cold as it always was, causing you to wish you had brought a warmer jacket with you. When you got to the landing, you expected to see him, sandy hair, glasses slipping down his sharp nose, hunched over the same textbook as he wrote out his equations with dizzying speed, but the tables were empty, and the aisles were barren, and all that was in the library was you.

Briefly you wondered for a moment if something has happened to him. Had he gotten sick? Too ill to crawl out of bed, laying in his sheets with a fever and no one to comfort him?

You frowned at the thought.

Why did you care?

His ego was likely too bruised to show his face, and was hidden in another alcove or other smaller library somewhere else, or perhaps even in his room.

Maybe he even had friends, and decided to spend the day with them, likely another student in STEM.

You could have sworn you saw him and Oliver Quick in the pub one night together.

You walked past his empty table and continued down the end to where your little nook was, grazing your fingers along the spines of the books as you went. Each ridge another spine, each spine another thousand upon thousand of words that had been read, dissected, and rewritten by many a student. You liked to think about how many hands had touched the pages, how many eyes had skimmed the words, how many bags, beds, tables, couches, cars or trains they had been in over the years, and how many times you had read them, or held them in the same spot.

You emerged from the isles to your nook.

It was not what you had expected that morning.

Certainly not what you had expected any morning come to think of it, but even so, your steps halted and your heart began to quicken, anger slowing creeping up your neck, heating your face.

He was sat at your table.

Your table.

His glasses had slid down almost to the tip of his nose, a long slender finger daintily pushing them back up to the bridge, lips pouted in their natural pout as his hand flew about his notes, writing equation after equation in a speed that would intimidate even Einstein. Michaels hair was disheveled, as though he had run his hand through it multiple times, as he contemplated the pros and cons of sitting there.

He must have landed on the pros.

“What are you doing.” You bit out, an irritating sense of dejavu seeping into your bones.

Michael didn’t look up at you, your feet almost pushing through the floor, anger rooting you in place.

“Hm?” Came his noncommittal reply.

It set you off.

“You’re in my seat.” You hissed, swiftly stepping towards him.

The light from the window beside him cast shadows across half his face as he looked up at you, he sucked his teeth loudly, “Your seat?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” His head dipped back down to his notes, his blue eyes looking up at you from under his lashes as his hand continued to write, “This is a public library. It’s a public seat.”

You stormed forward dumping your bag atop his hand, his pencil scraping across his notes on the paper, “You know exactly what I mean.”

His jaw ticked, steely blue eyes flicking to where you dumped your heavy bag atop his notes and own text book.

“I’m sorry, I’m not tutoring on break.” His tone all too demeaning as he over pronounced each word.

Your hands slammed down onto the desk as you leant forward towards his face, “I don’t need a tutor and you know it, you miserable little cunt.” Anger boiled inside of you, building and building, ready to burst.

Michael bristled, “Who the f-“

“-Oh, fuck you, Michael. You’re a miserable piece of shit, thinking you’re above everybody else, sneering at anyone who dares to be happy. I’ve seen you, always sulking about in the shadows because no one can stand to be around you.”

The silence was almost deafening.

Oh God.

That was a low blow.

You had taken it too far.

You swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very guilty, “Michael,” You started, “That was-“

A pale hand lifted in front of your face, the man standing almost near silently in front of you. He went from below you, to towering above in a split second, his sheer size double your own. He stared down his sharp nose at you with a look of contempt, the rage behind his eyes flickering with barely held restraint.

“Do you want to know what I think?” His voice was low, lower than you had ever heard it go, emotion almost drained entirely from it except an icy edge which sent the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

You stayed silent, watching as he stepped away from the desk, chair scraping on the wood to come towards you slowly, your heart beating like a drum behind your ribs.

Though you could step back, his eyes kept you glued to where you were, head craned up to look at him as he came closer, the tension in his jaw growing with every passing second.

It was unnerving, and everything within told you to run, but something made you stay.

Call it guilt.

Or intrigue.

His hand dropped to his side, slow, calculated steps coming closer, each one as silent as the next as his cheek twitched whilst looking you over.

“I think,” He began, a foot away from you, voice low, “That you’re just desperate enough to accept the scraps that they give you, because you fear if you don’t,” Another step, taking him toe-to-toe with you, “That you’ll be a nobody like me.”

Your mouth became dry, lips slightly parted as a tinge of hurt spread through your chest.

You shook your head faintly, “I don’t think you’re a nobody.”

A brow lifted, “You called me a nobody.”

“I was wrong.”

“Wrong because it was hurtful? Or wrong because you have more in common with me than you do with them.”

You shook your head, “Why is it always about them?”

“It is always,” He sneered, “About them. I have watched you take what little you can get from them like a beggar. Talking to Felix in the hallways, doing his homework for him, smiling at him like a dolt.”

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“I’ve seen you.” His shoe bumped against yours as he leant forward, “You’re nothing to them. How long was it before they even learnt your name?”

“Stop it.” You whispered, feeling tears prickle in your eyes.

Michaels head tilted, “Why? It’s the truth.”

“It’s not.”

The sandy haired man clicked his tongue at you, head tilting, “You and I both know that’s not the truth, is it? What did Farleigh call you again?”

A lone tear fell down your cheek, leaving a wet track in its path. Your lip wobbled as you tried to keep your composure.

You didn’t know how he knew.

You didn’t know how he could have known what Farleigh had said to you that night, drinking in the pub together.

You hadn’t even meant to join them, but their table grew bigger and bigger until it swallowed your own and soon enough they were buying you shots. It was never a regular thing, you were never quite in the circle, but not quite out of it either. More-so lingering in the nothingness of neither here nor there.

Michael looked at you pityingly, not in a way where he held empathy for you because of it, but in a way where he pitied you for being the way you were. It was demeaning. Cold.

Detached.

“Parvenu.” His lips pronounced each syllable slowly, darkly, and it made you ache.

Another tear fell as you took a sharp intake of breath, sniffling roughly.

Shame built inside of you.

It was humiliating to relive that moment, let alone with Michael. And now that you knew he had witnessed or heard it, you wondered who else may have been there to hear Farleigh’s degrading comment and snort of a laugh followed. The way he would raise his brows at you the rest of the night as if to say ‘See? You don’t belong here, and we can all see it’, ‘We let you here because we can’.

“I don’t understand-“

Michael interrupted you, "-You let them walk all over you, and for what? Parties and accolades?” The corners of his lips turned downwards, “They don’t even respect you. Do they know that you’ve stayed behind on break alone? Do you think they’ll think of you in their mansions? Do you think Felix would ever-“

“-You talk about them as if they’re irredeemable, but they’ve been far nicer to me than you have.” Another tear fell, and your stomach tied itself in knots.

The anger seemed to simmer in his eyes, “They don’t deserve you.”

Your brows pulled down in confusion, “What?”

“You let them use you, chasing after their fleeting affections. It’s pathetic.”

Anger began to simmer inside of you, “Pathetic? You know what’s pathetic?” You leaned up on your toes, “The fact that you have so clearly been watching me, and everything that I do, and not once have you tried to be my friend. Do you know what’s pathetic?” Your voice began to rise, heat inside of you rising with it, “Your anger and hatred of them clearly stems from jealously and embarrassment because they would never talk to-“

Your eyes widened in shock, his lips crashing against yours as he yanked you forward, hand at the back of your head pulling you in tightly. You were so in shock, you didn’t know what to do, standing stiffly in his arms as the other circled your waist and pulled you against him.

It only took a second for your brain to come to with what was happening, your eyes sliding shut as you kissed him back roughly, all teeth and vitriol as you bit the soft flesh of his lips roughly. He hissed, pulling you closer, your feet stumbling against his as he backed you towards the wall of books beside the desk.

Your spine hit the shelf roughly as he shoved you back, both of you panting before you grabbed his shirt angrily, yanking him back towards you. You were so furious, so almost feral that you needed this more than you would have thought.

There was something about him, something about him that made you want to pull your hair out and also sit on his face to silence him.

His kisses weren’t skilled, but they were filled with passion as his teeth clashed against yours, a fight for dominance ensuing as you let a hand slide up into his hair and pull. A grunt came from deep within his chest as you yanked at the roots cruelly, hoping it would hurt him. Heat built in your gut rapidly, the need for him growing stronger with each passing second.

The hand on your waist slid down further, pulling up your skirt as his fingers pressed against your clothed core. You gasped into his mouth, hips thrusting forward from the pressure. With the other hand disappearing from the back of your head, it met the other between your legs, hooking into the gusset of your tights before you heard a loud rip, cold air immediately hitting your core.

You gasped loudly, Michael taking advantage as he slid his tongue into your mouth, flicking it upwards against the back of your teeth. He tasted faintly like chocolate, and it was a taste that you didn’t mind at all. His fingers immediately sought out your centre, sliding impatiently between your folds to gather the wetness from your entrance.

His movements were sloppy, yet focused, drawing it up to your clit as he rubbed fierce circles into it that bordered on painful. You nipped his bottom lip harshly again, yanking his head back and away from you to look at his face as two long digits circled your entrance.

The pupils of his eyes were enlarged, almost swallowing the blue of his iris whole. His cheeks were flushed a dusty pink, and lips a deep red after your bites. The glasses upon his face were slightly skewed and lightly fogged, the hair atop his head sticking up in different directions from your rough handling. You didn’t even get to observe him for longer before he roughly shoved the two fingers inside.

“Fuck.” You hissed, back arching towards him, shoulders roughly pushing into the bookshelf.

A mean smirk pulled on his lips as he crooked his fingers against the front of your walls, quickly thrusting his hand in and out with dizzying speed. Your breath caught in your throat, brows pulled down as you looked at him, low whine falling from your lips.

“So wet already.” Michael teased, thumb lightly brushing your pearl, a spark of intense pleasure shooting up you.

You pulled his head back towards you, moaning into his mouth as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, the sound of your arousal loud in the both of your ears. Michael pulled up one of your legs, hooking it around his hip, the cold metal of his carabiner pressing sharply into your inner thigh. Pleasure began to wind tightly in your gut, his long fingers reaching parts of you, your own couldn’t.

Panting against his mouth, your hand flew behind you to grip one of the wooden shelves, elbow bumping against the spines of the books.

His pace never once faltered, all those hours of quick equations all day boosting his hand strength and stamina. You were surprised that he even knew what he was doing, but the questions floated aimlessly in the back of your mind, not quite sticking.

Your nails dug into the wood of the shelf, hand falling from his hair to his shoulder as your head fell backwards against the shelf, your peak barreling towards you.

“S’close. Please.” You whined, rolling your hips into his hand.

A mean laugh broke your peace, his fingers pulling out of you sharply, preventing you from reaching your release. Your eyes flew open, brows furrowed in frustration as you looked at him, smug smirk on his lips as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on the arousal soaked digits.

You moaned weakly looking at him as he did it, hips rolling towards him in an attempt to get him to touch you again. Michael lips pouted at you as he pulled his fingers from his mouth with a wet pop.

“Touch me.” You breathed, pulling him towards you with your leg, the zipper of his cargo pants pressing against you sharply. You sighed, rubbing your centre against his pants, a wet patch no doubt beginning to stain the front of them.

“So desperate.” He cooed at you, your core clenching at his words as your eyes fluttered.

The hand that had been inside of you quickly made its way to the front of his pants, the other joining as he hastily undid his belt, not pulling it through the loops, followed by his button and zipper. Michael hastily reached into his pants and pulled out his hardened length, the tip pink and weeping, veins crawling up the sides.

You swallowed thickly as you looked down.

Oh shit.

Michael was very well endowed.

You didn’t know what shocked you more, the fact that he had such a sizeable cock, or how he thrust it up into you without warning. The stretch was bordering painful and you cried out loudly, Michaels hand slapping across your mouth to stifle the sound.

“Quiet.” He hissed, pushing in to the hilt, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix. Your eyes screwed shut as you whined into his palm, your walls struggling to accommodate him as he slowly pulled out, each vein and ridge catching on your inner walls deliciously.

The slow heat inside of you began to build once more.

Michael thrust into you sharply, your head banging against the back of the shelves as he kept his hand against your mouth, the other holding your hip against him. He set a brutal pace, fucking into your slick walls without abandon as he chased his own pleasure, punching the air out of your chest.

“Fuck.” He hissed, forehead pressing against your own as he looked down to where you were joined, the leg you stood on stretched on your tippy toe to meet his height as he fucked you, “Your cunt is fucking tight.”

“Mmm.” You moaned, eyes slipping shut as the coil within your gut began to wind rapidly, each brutal thrust stretching you wide against him with painful pleasure.

“You gonna cum?” He panted, his eyes shutting behind his glasses that slid down his nose, “Can feel you squeezing my cock. Fuck.”

You nodded desperately beneath his hand, eyes opening to meet his steely gaze as he pulled his head back to watch you, the book shelf creaking as he fucked you against it.

You were so close, so fucking close.

“Go on.” He commanded, “Cum on my cock like a little slut.”

Your core clenched around him, blinding white pleasure coursing through you as you came, his hand falling from your mouth as you moaned loudly, the noise echoing in the library.

“Shit, fuck. I’m gonna-“ Michael’s thrusts stuttered as a long moan burst from his lips, the warmth of his cum filling you.

You whined, hands gripping his hair as you crashed your lips against his, kissing him lazily as you both panted, his cock throbbing inside of you as your walls squeezed every last drop from him.

Michael pushed as deep as he could go, the warmth of his cum beginning to leak around the base and down your thighs as you pulsed around him. Your mind was blank, fuzzy warmth spreading through your limbs in a soporific manner. He broke away from the kiss, breathing heavily as he looked down at you, glasses slightly foggy.

You searched his eyes and his face before a smile cracked on your lips. Michael mirrored it with a lopsided grin, huffing as he breathed out deeply.

Feeling a burst of confidence, you let a hand brush between your legs, swiping some of his cum that had dripped onto your thigh up to your mouth. You licked it off your finger slowly, opening your mouth to let him see the mess on your tongue before swallowing.

Michael’s adams apple bobbed, his cock twitching inside of you, “Fucking hell.”

You huffed another laugh, leaning forward to kiss him again, sliding your tongue into his mouth so he could taste himself as well as you on his tongue. He hummed loudly, dropping your leg to cradle your head in his hands.

When you broke away once more, you couldn’t help but notice the glaringly obvious.

Michael Gavey just fucked you in the library.

His tongue wet his lips as he looked at you, “Was that good?” A beat, “For you?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, “You?”

“Yeah.”

Silence began to stretch between the two of you before you shifted your hips, Gavey took the hint and slowly slid from your walls, causing you to whimper from the overstimulation. He tucked himself into his pants as you righted yourself, looking down at the gaping hole in the gusset of your tights.

“Well this will be an interesting walk home.” You mused, a hum of a laugh tickling the back of your throat.

Michael snorted, “Made quite the mess.”

“You did.”

Michael smirked, “It wasn’t all me now. I can’t take all the blame.”

You let your skirt drop, smoothing it down as you stepped away from the bookcase, looking back up at him.

“I suppose not. There was effort on both ends here.”

“There was.”

You nibbled at your lip, the unspoken words just at the tip of your tongue, “Michael-“

“-27. We’re in the same block.” His eyes searched yours.

Room 27? Why-

“Did you want to get a drink?” Michael blurted, shifting on his feet awkwardly as though you hadn't just fought and angrily fucked against a bookshelf.

You looked at him closely. There was no sign of insincerity in his eyes.

He was offering an olive branch.

You let a smile wash over your face, enjoying how his own came to match it.

“Sure."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to any tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3

Taglist: @magnificentdelusionr @twglitching @fan-goddess @mydemimonde @itsshizyne @4v1d-m3t4l-3nj0y3r @liv-cole @lcecgg @sepherinaspoppies @marihoneywk @trashy-panda777 @bellaisasleep

#Michael Gavey x y/n #Michael Gavey x reader #michael Gavey fanfic #michael Gavey smut #Saltburn fanfic #michael gavey x you #michael gavey fic #saltburn fanfiction

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whereismymindnow · 4 months

Text

the less i know the better; part 1.

pairing. felix catton/reader & michael gavey/reader

genre. smut & angst.

Felix has a bitter feeling that his two best friends are keeping secrets from him. Both you and Eddie. (Felix never liked sharing his toys.)

warnings. fingering. exhibitionism.

word count. 2k+

author's note. this fic is set a year before the events of the movie! i picture eddie as paul mescal in this (i don't believe they ever showed who he was in the movie but correct me if i'm wrong!) but you can fancast whoever you want! i'm so excited for this, let me know what you think :')

01 | ?

---

“The creep is staring at you again.”

Looking up from your linear algebra assignment that you are breezily getting through, you meet Farleigh’s amused eyes and usual pompous smirk. He cocks his brows, the action seemingly to point out something behind you.

Slowly and inconspicuously, you turn your head slightly to peer over your shoulder. Truthfully, you didn’t even have to check, already knowing who it was. There’s only one person attending Oxford University who Farleigh had dubbed the creep.

The highly intense and very off putting —

Michael Gavey.

Sure enough, sitting at least eight tables down and all by himself (like always), is the math genius in question. And of course, his overwhelming blue eyed stare is solely on you.

Your eyes narrow at him, a silent threat to stop , and he quickly shoves his face back down to the textbook he has opened on the table.

Inhaling deeply in slight annoyance, you turn back to focus on your school work. You lick your teeth as you jot down the formula to get to the answer, tasting honeycomb sponge toffee.

“Whatever,” you shrug. “He’s harmless.”

“Who’s harmless?”

The arrival of your two best friends, Felix Catton and Eddie Lenahan, has you brightening up and beaming. The four of you had plans to head to the pub after this little study session. But maybe if you bat your pretty lashes pleadingly enough, you’ll head there sooner rather than later.

Like in five minutes sooner.

God, you really need a drink.

Eddie slips into the chair next to you, muttering a cheeky hello love while landing a sloppy kiss on your forehead, making you giggle. But Felix stays standing since Farleigh answered his question with a slow drawl, “____’s stalker.”

Felix’s gaze glides away from you and Eddie to sweep around the busy library hall. He finds who he is looking for easily enough.

Unlike you had discreetly done earlier, Felix openly glowers at Michael, who seems to be back to gawking at you again — until he gets shocked by Felix’s sudden attention on him, that is.

Once Michael is back to minding his own business, Felix turns to you with a frown, “If he’s making you uncomfortable, tell me, yeah?”

You refrain from rolling your eyes, instead heaving a heavy sigh. “Like I said, he’s harmless .”

Eddie snickers. “Yeah, like secret serial killer harmless.”

“Glad we’re not in America. He seems like someone who would snap at any minute,” Farleigh jokes morbidly.

You ignore them, packing your stuff into your Celine bag. “C’mon, let’s go to King’s Arms.”

“What do you mean?” Felix questions, confused. He lays a hand over your arm to stop you from moving. “We just got here.”

“You just got here. I’ve been here for, like, six hours—“

“Okay, Miss Exaggeration.”

“— already, and I’m tired of it! I can’t stare at numbers anymore,” you tell Felix, bulldozing past Farleigh’s comment. “ Please, Fee. I want to go have fun .”

With an exaggerated pout, you blink up at him with your signature puppy dog eyes.

Felix could never resist it — but he tries anyway.

“I thought you were worried about midterms?” He asks by way of suggesting you to stay.

“I am ,” you begin, rubbing at your temple. “But if I try to study any more today, I’m not going to take anything in. My brain is absolutely fried.”

Pursing his lips, Felix regards you quietly — from the dark circles under your eyes, your still swelling lips, to how your usual perfectly styled hair is tousled prettily (though still a slight mess by your standards). If he didn’t know you better, it would seem like you had pulled someone between the aisles of the library and had a quickie. But it can’t be — you aren’t seeing anyone, and he has been with Eddie all day. It really must just be the stress of the upcoming exams that has you looking a bit frazzled and less composed than you typically are. So he shakes away the thought and takes the worksheets you have in front of you, glancing over it. His neutral expression gradually turning to one of surprise.

“You help her with these?” Felix asks his cousin.

Farleigh makes a disgusted face, shaking his head. “I’ve been done with Algebra since 11th grade. I’ll never look at that shit ever again.”

“How’d you pass the core courses?”

“I sucked off Professor Giles,” Farleigh tells Eddie like it’s the most obvious answer ever.

“Of course you did.”

While those two were having that conversation, you had snatched your worksheets from Felix, frowning as you try to find the reason for his initial question. “Why? Is it really that bad?”

“No,” Felix says softly, his lips turning up in a prideful smile. “You actually did pretty well. At least from the ones I could do in my head.”

“Oh,” you awe, sitting up straighter.

Felix chuckles, tugging at your earlobe gently and with your chin jutting up, you aim an adorable, self satisfied grin at him.

She must really be working her ass off with revisions, Felix thinks proudly.

“So… Drinks?”

Eddie — who is probably the one who needs to revise the most out of everybody present — shrugs nonchalantly at him. “I’m down.”

“Only if you pay for the first round,” Farleigh sing-songs to Felix.

Felix claps his palms together. “Alright. I guess we’re getting drunk tonight, mates!”

You exclaim happily, jumping up from your seat and wrapping an arm around Felix’s waist. He laughs, placing his hand on the top of your head and pulling you towards him until your cheek is squeezed to his chest. The two of you walk like that, pressed closely together while Felix tells you about his day, with Eddie and Farleigh following behind.

As the four of you pass by Michael Gavey, none of your friends see the apologetic look you give him.

----

U up?

You are not usually one for booty calls. Either for receiving them or giving them. If anything, you are repulsed by them, and if any guy tried it with you, their number would be promptly blocked without any question.

But the night was looking dire. The little drinking hangout with your closest friends was rudely hijacked by Annabel — Felix’s latest fling — and her group. And soon, much to your dismay, the whole party moved to a little underground club just a few blocks away from the pub.

The first hour was tolerable. Plenty of shots were going around, and both Eddie and Felix were still by your side. But as the night went on, a girl captured Eddie’s eyes and Annabel had pulled Felix somewhere.

Both you and Farleigh could only take so much of Annabel’s friends’ insipid conversations, and so Farleigh fucked off wherever — but not without making some comment about you that made you have to stay behind to contribute to the discussion before he left. Asshole.

Then the night took a turn for the worst when Eddie informed you he’s leaving with the pretty girl he had been flirting with all night.

I think your jeans are a little too tight for your park, dump, and run strategy, Eds, you had teased your best friend, running a finger down his chest. She just might catch you.

Eddie had laughed at your joke about his notorious way of walking his one night stands to a park the next morning and then booking it before they could even comprehend what happened.

Maybe I want her to, love, he whispered in your ear sultrily in which you pushed him away with a flippant roll of your eyes.

And so with Eddie gone, you posed that extremely desperate text (in your opinion at least) to the only contact in your phone who is so ambiguously named —

Guy

If anyone looked over your shoulder and questioned who he was, you could just say he’s someone you had a fling with during your last winter vacation in Monaco — and also to mind their own fucking business.

Trying not to wait impatiently for an answer, you nurse your third martini of the night and try to follow along Audrey’s (or was it Aubrey?) latest hookup story.

You didn’t have to wait very long, receiving a new text just a minute after you sent yours.

Guy

— Yes, I am.

— Why?

Shifting slightly away from the people you are sat on the couch with, you are discreet when you message back:

— did i wake u??

Guy

— No. I’m awake.

— Are you alright? Is something wrong?

You bite your bottom lip, looking around to see if anyone is aware of what you are doing. Luckily, everyone else seems to be engrossed with Audie’s snoozefest blabber and so you were free to type out your risky text.

— can i cum over?

Guy’s next message has you smiling stupidly to yourself.

— Of course.

— You know my door is always open for you.

You can’t believe that this guy out of everyone in Oxford University is the one making your heartbeat race like this.

Just when you were about to tell him that you’ll see him soon, the couch dips so obtrusively beside you that you squeak as you slide into the newcomer.

“What are you up to?” Felix shouts over the loud music, grinning boyishly as his arm wraps around you.

“Nothing!” You quickly reply. Felix is so out of it that he takes your word for it, not noticing your flustered tone.

Felix gently moves your hair off your shoulder with care to press a kiss there. Stuffing your phone in your pocket, you turn your head to offer him a smile that he returns as he hooks his chin on your shoulder.

“Guess what I got?”

Closing in on Felix until your noses almost brush, you ask him coyly, “What?”

As his smile broadens exponentially, he holds up the little plastic baggy to your widening eyes.

Felix moves to surround you, caging you in under him, unconcerned about all the people around who will be sure to talk. With his mouth is by your ear and his breath sending a delightful tingle down your spine, he murmurs heatedly, “Wanna get fucked up, babe?”

Thighs rubbing together, you attempt to suppress a whimper by biting down your lip. It’s futile. Especially when Felix begins suck his mouth and lave his tongue along the underside of your jaw and neck, leaving his mark here and there. A melodic yet pathetic moan slips from you that has him groaning and grinding down where his jeans are pent up against your stomach.

“What about Annabel?” You manage to ask despite your fuzzy mind from his kisses.

He peels back, just enough to take your face with his large hand to keep you still as he gazes into your eyes, “What about her?”

The two of you have a little staring contest, one that you lose the instant he lifts his pierced brow up, his silly expression making you laugh.

“Alright, let’s go,” you tell him, not wanting to share him or the angel dust. Felix stands up first, taking your hand gingerly to pull you up with him. He even fixes your skirt for you like the gentleman he is. But once he pulls it down enough to effectively preserve your honor, he spanks your ass to get you moving towards the door and keeps his palm there.

“Grab a cab,” you instruct Felix. “I’ll let Farleigh know we’re leaving without him.”

Felix salutes to let you know he heard you loud and clear. But just as he turns, he twists back towards you, bending down to capture your lips, realizing he had not done so yet that evening. He shoves you against the wall, slipping his tongue in your mouth. You smile against his lips, your fingers threading through his hair to grip tight and pull, knowing how much he enjoys that. Sure enough, he grunts your name, his hands are bruising on your hips, grinding how hard he is on your thigh. Every clash of his mouth on yours is even more fervent than the last.

As much as you are enjoying yourself, you push Felix away with a giggle to get him going on the task at hand. Wiping his mouth with his arm, Felix winks at you before he jogs up the stairs to get outside.

Once he is gone, you lean back on the wall to catch your breath. You don’t even attempt to find Farleigh, already knowing he is probably in one of the washroom stalls, getting head or something similar. Instead, you use the time of reprieve to send out a fast message.

— sry nvm sumtin came up

Without any more delay, you join Felix in the back of the cab he hailed. Your best friend’s mouth on yours again and his hand crudely wedging its way in between your thighs. He squeezes his hand tight around the fat of your inner thigh, a silent demand for you to let him have his way with you. Without a care that the driver can see everything in the rearview mirror, you part your thighs for Felix. Just for Felix. He grins, good girl , his thumb expertly pressing and sliding up and down where it’s already really wet.

You’re not even high yet but you let Felix move your panties to the side and slip two of his fingers inside your cunt. You whimper, and he hushes you, teasing and condescending.

“Keep quiet, sweetheart,” he murmurs, yet he flicks his wrist faster. “Your pretty noises are just for me, remember?”

Pressing your lips together, you nod as you keep the noises at bay. Felix curves his fingers just right as a reward.

In your bag that you threw haphazardly against the door of the cab, your phone buzzes twice — but all that and the man you received the texts from are already long forgotten.

#felix catton smut #felix catton x reader #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey smut #saltburn

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whereismymindnow · 4 months

Text

+18 Dark!Rafe Blurb

It was never your intention to show up to the country club with lipgloss and a slick of mascara but it’s all you could apply on the car ride there.

When Rafe met you he was enamored with you; praising your beauty right down to your makeup. Which for a guy, is usually odd. Right? “You’d look so much better without it.” Blah. Blah. Blah. Rafe was different. He complimented your twinkly eyeshadow and inky black lashes; the way your highlighter hit the light just right.

It wasn’t until he got to fuck it off you that he knew what true beauty was.

Rafe loved the way your nude lipstick smudged across your cheek; black mascara running like rivers down your flushed face. He fed off the frazzled looks you gave him as you scrambled around, attempting to salvage the mess; you, ultimately settling on a post-sex glow and whatever the fuck you could apply in 5 minutes or less.

You got a little curious before Midsummers when he was watching you get ready in mirror; smirk spreading wider as you got deeper and deeper into the application process, fawning on you at every step. You even stopped halfway to hook-up; but, he waved you off, not wanting to get in the way of your little ritual. “Later. Later, princess.” Later ultimately meaning immediately after you were done.

But, how would you know? The man would bring you to Sephora, holding your shopping basket, egging you on as you tossed in product after product; Rafe, gliding his card through the machine with a smile on his face.

Then, one day, you went rogue; settling on a waterproof mascara and setting spray instead of your usual. He rutted it your mouth over and over, making you gag as he furrowed his brows trying to figure out what he was doing wrong. The tears were there, spit seeping down your chin; but, where was the mess?

He leaned down at eye level running his ring-adorned thumb along his tongue, smudging it roughly along your lashes; watching as it barely moved. You sat their wide eyed, looking back at your boyfriend perplexed. He was annoyed… highly annoyed. Disgusted even.

“The pink one… now.” His voice was dark and deep. Only four words said but you knew exactly what he wanted. You bent into the mirror, slicking on your usual mascara over you already done lashes as he stood behind you, strong arms crossed across his chest.

Rafe fucked you on the counter, overstimulating you to tears, demanding that you reapply just so he could fuck it off you again; throwing you down on the bed, before ruining you completely. Making an absolute mess of his favorite fucking girl.

#dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe x reader #dark rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe blurb #rafecore

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whereismymindnow · 4 months

Note

Puppy!Rafe is my new favourite image 😅

rafe is def the type to make everyone’s day awful if you don’t text him back or if you’re fighting😭😭 his mood is solely based on you and sarah’s texting you like “pls just tell him you’re fine or you miss him or something” cause he’s been stomping around the house all day

hehehehe no he ISSSSS

he’s stomping around, slamming doors and cabinets a little more than usual and everyone is like 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 and i imagine sarah going into wheezie’s room like “wtf is wrong with him???” and wheezie just doesn’t even look up when she says “Y/N’s not texting him” or “they’re fighting” bc she’s so used to it at this point (😭) and sarah is just rolling her eyes and walking back into her own room and flopping down on her bed, pulling her phone out and texting you like “can u pls just acknowledge him so he’ll quit being a fucking crybaby 😭😭😭”

WAIT✋🏻 or if he’s out with topper and kelce and he’s been pouting and silently brooding and checking his phone the whole night and being more of a dick than usual they both immediately know what’s up and after all of their attempts to make conversation with him to get his mind off of you do not work, they’re like “fuck this” and they just get back in topper’s jeep and drive to your house and when he begins to recognize where he’s at, he’s like a damn dog when their ears stand up and their eyes get all wide and they start wagging their tails 😭😭😭😭 and topper pulls into your driveway and before he can even make a smart comment, rafe’s already out the jeep and busting through your front door hehehehe

#pls can he be my crazy bf #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #rafe obx #obx imagine #obx

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whereismymindnow · 4 months

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I love the beast.

My family has started calling my cat "the beast" which is very funny considering she's a 19yo arthritic old lady who needs help up and down the stairs. Not to mention she doesn't really meow any more, just sits and stares at you, and im the only one who can reliably guess what she wants, so my parents are constantly messaging me "The beast awakens... I know not what she desires 😥😥" i feel like the chosen prophet of an eldritch god

#cats of tumblr

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whereismymindnow · 4 months

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》 FIRE WITH FIRE — rafe cameron x reader

{ main masterlist }

word count: 2.3k+ (issa long one sorry)

warnings — MDNI; mean!rafe, dom!rafe, dealer!rafe, pogue!reader, noncon/dubcon, degradation, humiliation (sorta), voyuerism (if you squint), jealousy, bondage, choking, spitting, drug use, cussing, smut, lmk if i’m missing anything else??

summary — you and rafe have been fwb for a year now, and the fact that he tells you not to pursue anyone else doesn't mean the same expectation applies to him. still, you decide to test it one night after finding rafe surrounded by girls at the first party of the year.

a/n — inspired by this ask/story!! this is my first time writing a fic so i tried to stray away from the smut while i’m still navigating how to write it and whatnot.. any feedback, likes/reblogs would be SO appreciated!! also feel free to send in requests for one-shots (go easy on me pls) and i will try my best!!

12:02am.

One hour into the first kook house party of the year.

And leave it to Rafe fucking Cameron to be surrounded by a bunch of bimbos, right off the bat.

He’s perched on the long sectional, eyes fixated on the coke he’s delegating out in front of him.

A blonde waits eagerly on either side, both leaning over the coffee table. Snorting lines of his coke, while also giving him perfect views of their asses.

Another brunutte is perched right in the kook’s lap, arms draping loosely across his shoulders.

You watch from the doorway of the basement, leaning against the wooden frame, one leg crossed over the other and a scowl on your face.

Who the fuck did he think he was?

You two had been hooking up and seeing each other for well over a year now.

When you started serving at the country club on his side of the island after graduation, your pogue status was upgraded in his eyes, just enough to make you marketable to the kook.

Maybe if you weren’t still truly a pogue, Rafe could act on the true feelings you were sure he felt, and go public with you.

But he only did that in settings like this one, when almost everyone was crossed, and even he was too fucked up to be phased by the fact that you on his arm, could hinder his reputation.

But he wasn’t this time. He was too busy getting the girls around him fucked up for free on his supply.

While he made it clear he didn’t want to date a pogue anyone, he also specified that neither of you would be persuing anyone else.

He didn’t specify that, unbeknownst to you, the demand would only be applied one way.

You were used to him being flocked by girls at functions by now, and had never made a point to dish back his own medicine before.

After all, confronting Rafe on his faults never got you, or anyone, far. It always ended with Rafe having his way with you in some secluded setting, breaking you apart punishingly rough enough to teach you not to question him again.

…But the girl in his lap? When he knew you were coming? That’s what set your emotions off this particular night. If Rafe could entertain other people whenever he wanted to, it was about time you allowed yourself that same freedom, no matter what Rafe wanted.

You down the rest of the tequila you had, only satisfied when the cup felt completely empty.

Your feet carry you straight up to the first attractive guy your eyes find before your mind even knows what you’re doing.

He’s tall and tan, flashing white teeth behind a red solo cup, quite charming for a pogue. Above all, he wasn’t Rafe. He would do just fine.

You’d already made eye contact with this guy a couple of times throughout the night. You even recognized him from high school, but couldn’t remember his name.

Still, you found yourself standing right in front of the familiar face, craning your neck to stare up at him with your best doe-eyed look.

“Wow, you’re even cuter up close,” you initiate the conversation, joining him as he chuckles slightly and gives you a slow up-down look.

“You’re looking pretty good too,” a single hand meets your waist and you don’t fight it, instead placing a hand softly on his arm. “Y/N, isn’t it? Aren’t you Cameron’s girl?”

The comment has your smile fading and your eyes rolling before you correct him with a sharp, “No.”

He throws his hands up defensively and you both laugh it off again.

You choose to ignore his comment for the sake of your plan, but you also feel accomplished in the fact that people did recognize that you two were seen together on enough occasions to draw suspiscion.

“Hey, I’m just s-“ he cuts himself off as his gaze jumps past you. His eyes go wide, like he’s seen a ghost.

You tilt your head in confusion until a strong grip on your upper arm answers any questions you have.

Before you can protest, you’re being dragged away from the boy and up the staircase.

Your eyes dart up to find Rafe’s hand tight around your arm, your body continuously stumbling into his as he hauls you straight through the front door, and in the direction of a familiar black pickup truck.

“What the fuck, Rafe?!” You struggle to free yourself from his hold, only encouraging him to squeeze your arm even tighter.

He didn’t say anything, only letting you go long enough to shove you forward into his truck door before you even had time to turn around.

Your reaction is too slow; you can’t stop your body from slamming into the door, making it easier for Rafe to quickly pin his figure into your backside, using one hand to press the side of your face into the door.

You shiver as the cold metal on your face sends chills down your body.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You cry out, wincing as he also takes hold of one of your wrists, twisting your arm behind your back.

You’re holding back tears at the unnatural angle he was forcing your arm into.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” He seethed, his voice low and gravely as he leaned into your ear.

“Get off of me!” This time, when you use your hips and free arm to push yourself away of the truck, he lets you, stepping out of the way and watching as you go crashing back onto the ground.

You land on the grass, but your hands break your fall on the sidewalk, leaving your wrists to pay the price.

You barely had time to grab them, trying to rub away some of the pain before Rafe takes them both in one single hand, yanking you back to your feet.

“The fuck were you trying to do back there? Huh?” As he says this, he shoves your hands back towards you and motions behind him, back at the house where he’d caught you flirting with a pogue.

You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest, deciding to play clueless with an innocent, “what do you mean?”

You realized you should've decided against it though as Rafe let out a sarcastic laugh, shaking his head and looking down at his feet. If there was one thing that set him off more than you showing off or giving out what he deemed to be his, it was you playing stupid after the fact.

When his eyes met yours again, the blue orbs were dark and uninviting.

“What do I mean?” He slowly approached you, and you instinctively backed away until your felt your back hit the cold metal again.

“I mean why the fuck are you parading around a fucking house party like a whore?” His words hurt, but it was nothing you hadn’t already heard from him before.

Rafe didn’t want to date you. He just wanted to claim you. And you weren’t allowed to see anyone else, but that rule didn’t apply to him. He could have bitches all over him in public, but God forbid you show even a slight interest in any other guy.

A sharp stinging on your right cheek pulls you from your thoughts and back to reality.

“Nothin’ to say now? Hmm?” He steps closer, towering over your figure as his eyes pierce down at you.

You wince as he suddenly tangles a hand in your hair, yanking your head back, giving you no choice but to look at him.

“Because you sure had a lot to say to that fucking pogue back there!” His voice was raised now.

As his grip on your hair tightens, so does yours on his wrist, manicured nails digging into the skin of his arm.

“Are you a fucking slut? You like fucking dirty pogues?!”

You attempt to push at his chest with your other hand, encouraging him to back away, but he immediately slaps your hand back down to your side.

“Fucking digusting…” he spat, holding your head in place still as his eyes scan your body from top to bottom. He was no doubt continuing his belittling rant in his head.

“Let’s go,” he pulls you with him as he steps away from the truck, yanking the passenger door open before forcing you inside.

The doors immediately lock as he climbs in and closes the driver door.

You wait for the car to start, for Rafe to drive you off to some random location and undoubtedly have his way with you.

…But the car doesn’t move.

One of his hands finds your throat instead of the car key, squeezing it just enough to scare you, but not completely cut your air off.

His other hand starts fumbling with your skirt, pulling at the hem so harshly that you hear the snap of the zipper breaking on the side.

“Rafe!” You’re cut off as soon as you speak again, your face met with another harsh slap.

“Shut the fuck up!” He booms, breathing heavy before he starts grabbing and pulling at you again.

He rips your skirt from your body before ordering you to, “get in the back,” attempting to shove you between the two front seats and into the back.

He succeeds and slides through the opening after you, wasting no time grabbing and manuvering your body to face away from him.

He pulls you up by your hips, shoving your head back down into the seat when you try to sit up.

“No, no, you wanna get fucked, right? I can do that,” He shoves your hands away each time you try to swing back up at him.

A large hand tangles in your hair as the other swiftly unbuckles his belt, allowing his pants to droop and his clothed erection to make contact with your ass in the air.

Rafe roughly forces your hands above your head, looping the belt around them. He pulls the restraint as tight as it allows before looping it through the grab handle above the window, securing your wrists in the air and subsequently making you hold your figure up to avoid further straining.

In the moments you take to readjust yourself, Rafe lets his pants and boxers fall to his knees that he’s propped up on.

“Rafe, wait,” you’re cut off again, this time by a slap to your bare ass.

“The fuck did I tell you, slut?” The sound of Rafe spitting down onto his cock is immediately followed by the sensation of his tip rubbing against you.

You can’t stop him from lifting your shirt up, your bra following suit, exposing your tits as they hang down.

He cups them, fondling both for a moment before pushing into you, suddenly and roughly. You’re rendered speechless as his nails then dig into your hips, holding you in place as he ruts into you.

It feels like you’re being split in half, the stretch all too familiar as the pain immediately mixes with pleasure.

Embarassment fills you as a knot instantly starts forming in your stomach, especially after being degraded and belittled by Rafe.

Of course, instead of driving you away to fuck you in private, he chooses to take what he wants right outside of the party, where anyone could see. Just another way to exert his power over you.

Granted, the truck was tinted, but dark windows didn’t stop partygoers from seeing the rocking of the car, or hearing the muffled moans through the cracked sliding window in the back.

And judging by the boy’s earlier comment about you being ‘Cameron’s girl’, you were assuming it wouldn’t be hard for them to guess who was inside the kook’s truck as it shook.

A particularly loud moan escapes your lips as Rafe dips his hips lower, angling up into your g-spot repeatedly.

You feel something tickling at the back of your neck, and you struggle to look back and meet Rafe’s hungry gaze boring down into you.

The kook suddenly wraps a hand around your neck from behind, fingers curling around your jaw and forcing you to hold eye contact with him.

“Who do you belong to?” You can barely choke out an answer before he’s tightening his grip.

Your hesitation is repremanded as Rafe fills his mouth with saliva, and you squeeze your eyes shut just as he spits directly down into your face.

“Maybe if you were a good girl, I’d spit in this pretty little mouth,” he taunts, giving your cheek a few quick, light taps with his palm before wiping the spit away with his thumb.

“Tell me who’s fucking pussy this is, bitch,” Your legs threaten to give way as Rafe rasps the demand in your ear.

There was no denying the burning in your stomach now.

Even as your mind is appalled at him for calling you out of your name, your body can’t help but submit to the familiar figure that hovered over you.

“It’s y-yours…” you cry out as his thrusts somehow become deeper and faster.

“Huh?” Again, the kook grabs a fistfull of your hair and tugs harshly.

“It’s yours Rafe! I belong to y-you!”

The kook’s satisfaction with your admittance is validated by the low grunts he lets out as you feel his seed spilling into you, a hand tightening in your scalp and another on your hip.

“That’s right, bitch…” He groans as he paints your tight walls.

Once you’ve milked him dry, he waits a moment before finally withdrawing from you, letting out a long sigh of relief.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into your head to make you think you could go against my word in public like that,” he starts, coldly shoving you off of him as you collasp onto your knees in the seat, arms still dangling up in front of you.

He stops to catch his breath, the heavy inhales and exhales eventually broken up by the sound of his belt unfastening as he reaches up and starts loosening the restraint around your wrists.

“But don’t you ever try that shit again.”

#rafe cameron #dark rafe cameron #dark!rafe #rafe cameron fic #mean!rafe #rafe fic #dark fic

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