Masterlist | Baby Daddy Part 1 | Baby Daddy Part 2
Pairing: Nate Jacobs x female!reader
He stood again, gaze completely focused on Y/N. While he was walking towards the bench, he took notice of her clothing: a short-sleeved black turtleneck sweater, grey suit pants, and black high heels to match. Her sunglasses were oval-shaped with silver rims, matching her silver teardrop earrings and the few rings on her fingers. He couldn’t help but compare Y/N to Cassie, their stark differences, even in something as small as clothing. He could feel her eyes following him, even if he couldn’t see them. Once he reached her, he leaned down to kiss her cheek and sat to her side, the one that wasn’t taken by her black leather purse.
“How’s work going?”
“You bitch.” She finally took off her sunglasses, amusement making her eyes glimmer. “You know perfectly well how work is going.”
After Nate inherited his father’s company, his first project solely under his name was supposed to be an estate of high-end condos on a cliff facing the Pacific. He already had three of them sold, even before starting the construction of them. But it didn’t really matter, because the same day they started working on the site, the same day they were served with a lawsuit for environmental violations.
Y/N was in her first year of Law School after getting a degree in Political Science, but thanks to Cal Jacob’s contacts, she had already worked as a paralegal for a small law firm focused on copyright and intellectual property rights. Now she was a paralegal for the environmental NGO that had spent the last six months of his life making his job impossible.
“Still waiting on that court date, right?” He scoffed and grabbed her coffee tumbler, taking the last sip of it. He had forgotten she took her coffee black.
“Yeah.” She nodded, turning her head back to look at Katherine while she played.
“We need to talk, Nate.” He knew better than to think she was going to ask for them to get back together; it made no sense to keep thinking that. But yet, that was the first thing that came to his mind. “I'm not really comfortable with Katherine spending time in your house anymore.”
He didn’t know why he kept getting surprised by the shit this crazy bitch spewed every now and then.
Summary: Years ago, Maekar chose another woman and you both went your separate ways, your brief love story ending before it ever really had the chance to begin. You hadn’t seen him in years and hadn’t thought much about him since, but when he sees you again, he starts to wonder if he made the right choice after all.
Pairing: Regretful! Maekar x Unavailable! Stark! reader
WC: 6.5k
Warnings: 18+, non-canon, dragons are still alive (maekar rides vermithor and baelor rides meleys), reader has a direwolf and so do her siblings, council drama, smut, betrayal, maekar is questionable, dyanna is still alive and so is jena, arguments, mentions of violence, talks of depression, hurt, angsty, unresolved feelings, manipulation, fade to black at the end, mentions of white walkers, mentions of a blackfyre rebellion, slightly proofread.
Part3/?| part one part two
You should’ve said leave, that would’ve been the right thing to do— the sensible thing to do. You didn’t want him to leave or to stop, because even all these years later— you still wanted him. It was like he had his roots in you and the thought or want for him would never fade, not truly.
He kissed you during your hesitation and you welcomed it, kissing him back.
A groan escaped his mouth, feeling your lips on his again for the first time in years. He brought his hands to your face, kissing you fiercely.
“Maekar.” You whined.
His hands wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer to him. The heat from both of your bodies intensifying.
“I’ll stop, if you want me to.” Maekar.
You shook your head, “don’t stop.”
He pushed his tongue past your teeth, his mouth claiming yours. The kiss was deep, hungry, and full of need.
He turned you around, his hands tugging against your laces. He gently pulls the fabric of your dress, revealing your skin.
His lips press wet, open mouthed kisses against your back— a gasp leaving your mouth.
“Have you been with anyone else?” He questioned with some arrogance in his tone.
You shook your head.
“Only.. I’ve only been with you.”
It was true, you hadn’t taken any lovers or even kissed another man since Maekar. It was an embarrassing truth to admit, something that further showed him that you never moved on. You were always stuck on the day that he told you he would wed Dyanna.
His hand came around the front of you, wrapping around your neck as his lips brushed your ear.
“Good girl.”
Your heart fluttered at his words, a heat pooling between your legs.
He led you to the bed and pushed you back down on it as he took off his boots and his doublet.
“I have missed you and dreamt of you in more ways than I can imagine. I’d do anything to be with you.”
You pulled your dress off, tossing it on the floor and only being in your shift.
Maekar sinks to his knees at the edge of the bed, pulling your hips closer to him.
He kisses your thighs like he’s asking for forgiveness, like a place of worship.
“I’m sorry.. so very sorry. I ruined everything for us and I’ll never get over it, over you.”
He weathered hands, raised your shift— your slick coating your upper thighs. His eyes flicked to yours, a groan escaping his lips as he inched closer to your cunt.
Your hands gripped the sheets and your eyes rolled back into your head as you felt the warmth of Maekar’s tongue gliding through your folds.
“Fuck.” You whined.
His tongue flicked up and down your sensitive clit with precision, your thighs trembling around him.
It was so so wrong, he was not yours to fuck— but it felt so right.
“You taste marvelous.” He murmured.
He sucked on your clit, pressing one of his fingers into you — taking your breath.
“You are doing so good for me, my love.”
His finger curled into you, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm.
“God’s.”
“You’re so close for me, don’t hold back my love.” He coached.
Your fingers gripped the sheets as you reached your peak, your thighs trembling uncontrollably.
Maekar stood up from between your thighs, his silver beard glistening with your slick. He kissed your lips again, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips.
“I want you.” You spoke.
Maekar pulled the rest of his clothes off, leaving you in awe at the size of his reddened and hardened cock as if it were the first time that you had seen it— but also at the scars that now covered his body.
You pulled your shift off, leaving yourself bare to him.
In a moment where you should have felt unbearable guilt or shame, you felt weakness— you felt neither.
He came between your legs, his arms on both sides of you— propping him up.
“You are.. so beautiful.” He muttered.
He dipped his head down, kissing along your chest— his mouth eventually finding its way to your hardened nipple. You ran your fingers through his hair as you squirmed underneath him.
When his eyes met yours again, you felt back in that moment with him years ago. The moment where you two had sex for the first time, where you realized you were in love with him.
He kissed you slow and deep, lining himself up with your entrance.
“Let me know if it hurts too much.” He added.
You nodded.
He pushed his cock into you, taking your breath as he sank in deeper inch by inch.
“You are so fucking tight.” He groaned.
He took his time with you as he fucked you, he was gentle and attentive— savoring the moment while giving you intense pleasure.
Your cunt squeezed him like it never wanted to let go as he thrusted in and out of you.
“I love you.. I love you so much.” Maekar admitted.
You kissed him, moaning into his mouth. “I love you too.”
The sounds of your pleasure filled the room without shame or embarrassment, a sound that any of the servants could have heard.
Maekar pulled out of you and had you adjust, so the two of you could change positions. You turn onto your stomach, laying flat against the silk sheets as Maekar comes behind you— his hand slapping your ass.
He slid back into with such precision, his cock filling you and a groan leaving his mouth.
His name spilled from your lips as he fucked you, the sheets doing little to muffle the moans that escaped your throat.
“You’re doing so good for me, taking me so well.” He coached.
His cock snapped into you, the tip dragging along your g-spot.
“Fuck, Maekar—“
“I’m so close.” You whined.
He grunted, the sound of your whines and moans are music to his ears.
“That’s it, my love. Take what you need from me.”
He was so deep inside you, completely claiming your body and mind as his again.
Your cunt gripped him like never before as you cried out, reaching your peak. His cock twitched inside of you as his own orgasm came upon him quickly, his seed filling you and leaving you warm.
After a moment of both of you catching your breath, Maekar slowly pulled out and crashed onto the bed beside you.
The two of you laid together on the bed, entangled in the sheets and lost in each other— a moment that could never truly last. It did not take long for you to fall asleep afterwards, but Maekar stayed awake— his eyes watching you. His heart ached in his chest as he knew that the moment would end.
Hours had passed by, the low sunlight peaking through the window.
Maekar gently climbed out of the bed in hopes of not waking you and put his clothes on, he stood by the door for a lingering moment— taking in the view of you.
As Maekar stepped out of your chambers and gently shut the door, he ran into Baelor.
Baelor stared blankly at the sight of him, taking note of the hour and Maekar’s disheveled appearance.
Baelor walked with Maekar back to his chambers, holding his tongue until the door was shut.
“Have you no shame, brother?” Baelor spoke.
Maekar pushed open the shutters to the window, allowing the light in.
“I do not understand what you mean.” Maekar replied with a grumble.
Baelor's blood boiled beneath his skin, it was rare that he was ever truly mad— but Maekar’s actions were driving him there.
“We are guests in their home! The royal family!—“
“This is not your second chance for you to fix your failures.” Baelor reminded him.
“I do not need your judgment.” Maekar mentioned as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“My judgment, my judg—“
“Your wife and children are present and yet you still act so selfishly. How do you think Dyanna would feel?” Baelor questioned.
Maekar scoffed.
“I do not care, truly.”
Baelor’s eyes widened, his lips pursed— anger brewing in his veins.
“You do not care?—“
“What has gotten into you, brother? Have you taken leave of your senses?”
Maekar pulled his boots off. “I’ve gained them.”
Baelor twisted his rings, his mind racing as he couldn’t understand his brother’s behavior or recklessness. It was as if he didn’t recognize him.
“She can never be yours and you know that. You know what you are doing is wrong, to her and to your family. All you can do is give her late night rendezvous, when she deserves so much more.”
Maekar sat there and listened to Baelor, his words stinging with a truth that he did not want to hear.
“Must you lecture me on my family? and everything that I do?” Maekar questioned.
Baelor walked towards the center of the room.
“When you mean to embarrass said family, then yes. I would’ve never let you come, if I had known that you would show as much restraint as Rhae when wanting candy.”
Maekar’s eyes flicked to Baelor, “careful.”
“Or what, brother? I only speak the truth, you just do not wish to hear it.” Baelor pointed out.
Baelor walked towards the door, his patience thinning by the moment.
“I demand that you stay away from her.. or so help me—“
“We have a council meeting in a bit and I expect that you will be there. I hope that your tryst was not heard by others.” Baelor added.
Maekar sat in the room in silence, his mind filled with thoughts— most of them about you, very few about his own wife.
He wanted nothing more than to take you and his children to a place far from here, a place where he wasn’t confined to duty. The duty that got him here in the first place, the duty that made him lose you. If only he’d never listened to his father about marrying Dyanna, let his suggestion die in the wind. If only he’d been strong enough to disobey, then his life would’ve been different— brighter with you in it.
You were the bane of his existence, the biggest what if?
He had not known true happiness since the end of your relationship, not in the way that he wanted. He did not regret his children, he never could — they were the best part of him. His mind often wondered if Aerion would be softer if you were his mother, would Daeron be so closed off about his dreams if he could talk to you? if Aemon would prefer being a Maester over being with his family? Would his family actually feel whole if you were his wife?
When you awoke, the faint sunlight stretched across your face. There was a deep ache between your legs, your upper thighs sticky and dried from Maekar’s seed. You remembered what happened, how you allowed him to crawl into your bed.
How could you be so stupid? So blind? You knew better.
You laid there in the bed longer than you should have, deep down inside— hoping that your mind had played a trick on you. The servants came into your room and prepared a bath for you, you also asked them to bring your breakfast to your chambers— you wanted to break your fast alone.
You sat in the warm water in the tub, the steam curling around you as you scrubbed your skin— on the verge of scrubbing it raw.
You wanted to be clean, be rid of the sin that you had participated in— the sin that you allowed yourself to cave to.
The smell of the fruit and biscuits lingered in the air on the tray beside the tub.
All you could do was sob, sob as you sat in the tub and realized what had become of you and your life. You were a disgrace to your family, your house, and your mother would’ve been so disappointed. She raised you to be better than that, better than a whore who’d bed a married man.
You didn’t know how you were supposed to continue being around him or his family, considering the royal family was still supposed to be in your family’s home for a few more moons. There was only so much avoiding that you could do without seeming suspicious, but you would not let him into your bed again.
Not after that.
You were dreading the council meeting that would take place, dreading seeing his face. A face that you once took pleasure in seeing.
By the time that you had decided to get out of the tub, the water had run cold. Your mind was so deep in thought that the time had passed you by.
You took your time getting dressed, your fingers running through your hair as you braided it— staring into a mirror at a person that you didn’t recognize.
Greywind sat by your door, his head titled watching your every move.
After a bit longer, you walked out of your chambers with Greywind right beside you— late to the council meeting.
When you entered the room, everyone was already present. Greywind went and laid in his spot underneath the window.
“I’m glad you’re here, daughter. I didn’t think that you’d grace us with your presence at first.” Your father spoke.
You nodded, your hands sweaty as you walked to your seat.
“My apologies for my lateness, father. The time had slipped my mind.”
You took the empty seat by Baelor instead of your usual one, the one that was beside Maekar. Everyone, including Dyanna, took note of that. You were always intentional with the things that you did, so predictable in some ways— almost like reading a book. If you weren’t willing to sit near Maekar anymore, then that meant that something had happened. It felt like a dagger to her stomach, one that was occasionally being twisted to remind her that it was there.
“Shall we begin?” Baelor spoke.
Your father leaned back in his chair, a smile gracing his lips.
“We shall.”
The meeting dragged on, discussing certain matters— but your mind was elsewhere. It was like you weren’t even in the room anymore, you were farther away. Maekar stared at you from across the table, watching as you barely participated— as you stared off into the distance.
Greywind came up to your chair, bringing you back to the conversation and the room.
You rubbed his head.
“What is it boy? The meeting is almost over.” You softly whispered.
Baelor glanced at him.
“The wolves are a beautiful thing, I almost wished we had them.” He mentioned with a soft smile.
Grey wind walked over to Baelor, sniffing him and distracting him from the conversation.
“What do you say, daughter?” Your father questioned.
You looked up with confusion as you hadn’t paid much attention.
“About what?”
Your father drank a sip of wine from his goblet.
“How would you suggest the issues with the nightswatch are handled?”
You adjusted in your seat, Greywind walking back over towards the window— but being called by Maekar in high valyrian. Maekar offered him some food that he absolutely shouldn’t have been eating.
“I think that—“
“I think that when the royal family returns from squashing the Blackfyre rebellion, we should host the Lord Commander and a few of his men to find out what has been happening.” You noted.
Dyanna scoffed, setting down her goblet.
“Host thieves, rapists, liars— for what exactly?”
You gritted your teeth, your gaze averted to Maekar.
“Not all men in the nights watch are dishonorable, just as not all noblemen are honorable.”
Lady Tyrell glanced at your father.
“How will we ensure our safety while they are here?”
Baelor sat in his seat, twisting his rings— his mind deep in thought.
“The men that he would decide to bring would not dare try anything, especially in the presence of the royal family. They are part of the nights watch, not idiots.”
Dyanna nudged Maekar with a frown on her face as he played with Greywind.
“When will your family be departing, my grace?” Lord Arryn asked.
“Tonight, as the king has requested. Once that matter has been handled with care, we will be back to properly handle this.” Baelor added.
“Let’s hope there’s still a north left for you to return to.” You responded.
Your snarky response was noticed by everyone in the room, but ultimately dismissed by Baelor as he knew that you didn’t mean it. He knew what had managed to distract you and get it’s way under your skin.
“I hope that squashing the rebellion is easy.” Lord Tyrell spoke with a smile.
“War is never easy. People get hurt, they die, they leave behind people they care about.. they don’t get second chances.” Maekar muttered, his violet eyes staring into yours.
Your fingers dug into the wooden armrests in your chair, trying to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed.
“We know that you will come back to us, husband— you and Baelor. The hammer and the anvil will keep the realm safe from the bastards that threaten it.” Dyanna smiled, rubbing Maekar’s arm.
“Yes, let’s pray to the Gods that they are returned whole.” Lady Tyrell implored.
Maekar scoffed, rolling his eyes at the notion.
“Well, I think everything that needed to be discussed has been. Let’s end the meeting here.” Baelor concluded, placing his green ball back into its holder.
Everyone began to stand up, preparing to walk out— having small conversations amongst themselves. You and Greywind walked out into the hall, leaving no time for anyone to involve you in a conversation. Maekar was hoping he’d get to speak with you, considering they’d depart tonight— he needed to. He didn’t want to leave it on this note between the two of you, he couldn’t.
The hours had passed by, the servants working to make sure the royal family was ready for departure. You walked out towards the Godswood, humming a song that your mother used to sing to you. Greywind ran around you, chasing the squirrel that ran up the tree.
The snow and ice crunched underneath your boots, small flakes of snow falling into your hair.
Greywind turned his head towards the sound of footsteps, footsteps that you recognized all too well.
“Maeakar, what do you want?” You spoke, your back turned.
“Why are you avoiding me, avoiding me like what happened didn’t happen?” He questioned.
You chuckled at his question, the ridiculousness of the situation as a whole.
“I’m avoiding you because it happened.”
He walked closer to you, closing the large distance between the two of you.
“I don’t want you to avoid me.. to regret it.” He admitted.
You sighed, your patience already thin.
“You are married.. you are not mine, not in any capacity. What happened was wrong.. disgusting.”
“It was love.” He mumbled.
Your head turned as if it were on a swivel.
“It was lust! Maekar call it what it is—“
“Lust from a man who can’t let go of what was! A man who wants to escape his duties to believe in a minuscule relationship from years ago!” You snapped.
He frowned, his hand reaching out for you.
“Is that what you think what we had was? Minuscule?”
You folded your arms in front of you, tears pooling in your eyes even when you didn’t want them to.
“When you get married and go on to have a family, it is.” You mumbled.
His expression softened, the guilt filling his stomach.
“I never wanted to marry her.. you knew that.”
You wiped your tears, a laugh escaping your throat.
“When did you decide that? Hmm? After you had bedded her like me?—“
He shook his head, his mind becoming overwhelmed by your words.
“Stop that.”
“You were going to marry her regardless of what I wanted.” You spat.
“That’s not fucking true!—“
“I’ve allowed you to believe that I was a weak man, a liar who ruined you. I had every intention of marrying you, you were my heart.. my father forced my hand with Dyanna.” He finally confessed, his words feeling like a weight off of his chest.
Your eyes flickered over to him, your chest heavy with grief.
“What?” You mumbled.
“Dyanna spread rumors that forced my hand, my fathers—“
“She’s not some innocent victim. She got close to me to ruin what we had.. what we could have had.” He admitted.
Your mouth was agape in shock as tears streamed your face. Everything that you had once believed or understood was a lie, a horrible lie.
“You allowed her to do that?” You questioned.
“What other options did I have? Huh?—“
“You know that she could’ve ruined you far worse than what she had, if I had gone against her.” He pointed out, his face red like a poinsettia.
“You were weak!—“ you yelled, shocking him.
“The two of you deserve each other. The weak man and the miserable princess, a love match made by the Gods.” You mocked.
“I love you, more than I could ever put into words. I do not know if I’ll see you again and I don’t want this to end on a sour note.” He mentioned, his eyes glassy— his words filled with defeat.
Your anger cooled, your heart stilling in your chest.
“Maekar.”
“Let’s not fight, not when so much about this rebellion is unknown.” He pleaded.
He closed the gap in between the two of you, in two strides his fingers held your face as he pressed a kiss to your lips.
“I do not want our last moment to be like this.. “
You kissed him back, not because it was right— but you felt it. You felt the spark that had once disappeared between the two of you, you didn’t feel guilty.
“Please do not die on me.” You mumbled.
He let out a low chuckle, his lips not wanting to leave yours.
“I will try my hardest not to—“
“I will come back to you and we will get our chance. We will.” He promised.
The moment between you and him didn’t last much longer as he was needed by Baelor, but even then— you had never been this confused in your life.
There was so much that you needed to think about.
You stood with your father and family as you wished the royal family safe travels, hoping that everything would go well. Egg rubbed Greywind, a giggle leaving his mouth as Greywind sneezed.
“Father will miss you.” Egg mentioned absentmindedly.
Your eyes darted down to him— his silver locks hanging in front of his eyes.
“Is that so?” You responded.
Egg nodded and gave you a hug. “I guess I will see you again soon.”
You rubbed his back.
“You will, sweet boy.”
You stood there and watched as the family departed, Vermithor and Meleys taking off in the sky— their roars heard down below. Greywind began to howl at the sound of their roars.
So much had happened in so little time, that you didn’t know what to think of anything— much less yourself and the thoughts that you had. Before they visited you were firm in your thoughts and your heart, what you wanted and now that was gone. In a matter of days he had shattered the bridge that you had spent years building.
You didn’t know what to do with yourself, you were truly lost for the first time in your life. It was just by the grace of the Gods that your tryst with the prince was not knowledge amongst anyone but the two of you, that you could hold on to. It was the only thing that you had control over in this situation.
6 moons later..
A raven came for you, a raven from Maekar. You went to your chambers and read the letter, your fingers trembled as you feared that it would be bad news.
My sweet wolf,
This war has been dreadful. I have not known peace since I left winterfell, since I left you. Maybe peace is not what I deserve after how I handled everything. I did want to leave you, it pained me to— but this rebellion forced my hand. While out here, I dream of you. I dream of the days we had together years ago. How you smiled when I’d correct you in High Valyrian, how you always said that if you could ride any dragon it would be Meleys, how you sometimes snored in your sleep.
The dreams of you and thoughts of my children are the only two things that are keeping me sane, keeping me from getting on Vermithor and coming to you. I know that you probably do not wish to hear from me right now or ever again depending on how you view the truth that I confessed.
It was not my right to withhold the truth from you, I should have told you. I should have let you have the proper feelings and facts about what happened. I was weak and I allowed you to believe what I thought was necessary, what I thought was easiest and for that I’m truly sorry.
The truth was not inherently better than what you had believed, but it was the truth.
I miss you terribly. Things with this war are growing increasingly unsteady as Meleys was wounded in battle recently, she is fine and will recover— but this is no easy feat.
I hope to come back home safely and see you again some day soon. I send my love and my warm regards to you, my sweet wolf.
Yours truly, Maekar.
A year and a half later..
The raven from Maekar did not provide you peace or comfort, not really. You were happy that him and Baelor were okay, that they were not injured— but that was as far as your feelings went.
At least you had convinced yourself so. You had convinced yourself that you didn’t feel the heat that your body radiated at his words, that your mind didn’t also dream of him, that your body didn’t crave him.
You kept yourself busy, trying not to think of Maekar often. Your home needed you, your father and your family needed you. Maekar had his own family to worry about and you were not them.
In the time since the royal family had left the north, the nightswatch had continued to dwindle — the support that was sent never made it. No one could determine if it was white walkers, raiders, or just rogue wildlings.
The Blackfyre rebellion and all its glory was crushed, leaving nothing but a few whispers of it in the air. That war had put some strain on the realm, not a big enough one that your family felt the pressure— but smaller houses weren’t as lucky.
Your life had changed in many ways since Maekar left, ways that you’d still struggled to understand and accept some days. Winterfell was once again being prepped for the arrival of the royal family within a few hours. House Baratheon had joined in on the conversations, alongside House Tyrell and House Arryn.
Greywind walked in the courtyard with your brother's direwolf, Summer. Both of them watched as people walked around and made space for incoming visitors.
The Maids came into your chambers and cleaned them, while you tidied up the council room. You dusted the windowsill and wiped off the table. You felt anxious this time around, your hands shook and your palms were sweaty.
You could not focus.
The smell of meat being cooked swirled in the air as you got closer to the dining room. The chairs, plates, and tables being organized.
In an effort to calm your nerves, you made yourself scarce and went to your chambers. You had the servants prepare you a warm bath, something to ease your mind and prepare for the night.
This stay with the royal family would be more difficult for you than the last one. You could only hope and pray that they would not be present for long.
The hours passed by and you could hear the sounds of the dragons landing, this time there were more than three. Baelor brought Meleys, Maekar brought Vermithor, Valarr brought Silverwing, and Aerion brought Caraxes.
Their stay was already costly and they’d only arrived a minute prior. Outsourcing that much meat was a task that your father had bestowed upon you, the task made you lose sleep and patience.
Your father stood outside in the courtyard, greeting the King and Queen— along with the princes.
“I’m glad to have the opportunity for the royal family to visit us again.” Your father smiled.
King Daeron shook his hand.
“Coming to Winterfell is something that I’ve looked forward to since we left!”
Your father and the king shared a laugh.
Maekar stood next to Dyanna, his eyes wandering to see where you were, how it was unusual to not have you present.
“Thank you for opening up your home to us again, along with the other noble families.” Baelor spoke.
Your father waved him off.
“The pleasure is all mine! I will have the staff show everyone to their chambers, you’ll have the same room as last time.”
Aerion scoffed.
“I know where to go, make sure they feed Caraxes.”
Dyanna glanced at him as if her eyes could pierce through him.
“You will be respectful in their home, Aerion!”
Aerion rolled his eyes.
“Apologies.”
“Is Lady Stark going to join us for the feast tonight?” King Daeron questioned.
Your father nodded, an awkward smile on his face.
“Yes—“
“Yes, she is. I’m unsure of where she is at this moment, but I will send the servants to find her. I’m sorry for her lack of appearance.”
Queen Myriah smiled, rubbing your fathers arm.
“She is fine, there is no harm done with her not being present.”
The royal family followed your father and the servants as they led them away from the courtyard.
Maekar walked away from the rest of the family, hoping to find you— somewhere nearby. He saw Greywind laying near the rest of the Kennels with Summer, both of them taking a nap.
Maekar walked the halls and there was still no sign of you, so he decided to go to your chambers. The end of the hall near your chambers was quiet, besides the few faint sounds echoing in the air.
Maekar could see you through the cracked door. You sat in the chair at your desk, your damp hair framing your face— your boot propped up against the desk.
Moans left your mouth, cries of pleasure that shocked Maeakar. He could not see anyone else present but you, he figured that you did not shut your door well for your alone time.
You gripped the desk, your head thrown back in bliss as Maekar walked into the room— startling you.
“Gods, Maekar!” You jumped, adjusting your dress.
His smirk left his face when he saw it.
Lyonel Baratheon crawling from underneath your dress and standing up.
“What the fuck.” Maekar mumbled.
Lyonel helped you up from the chair, a smirk on his face. “I did not think that we were expecting company, darling.”
You pushed your hair out of your face.
“Leave us, Lyonel.”
He nodded, his tongue swiping the bottom of his lip.
“I will see you at supper.”
Lyonel watched as the tension in the room rose, as the two of you stood on opposite sides of each other. Lovers who once would’ve ran away together, staring at each other with hurt in their veins and confusion in their minds.
Lyonel shut the door, hesitating to walk away and not listen in on what would be said.
“Maekar, I was not expecting you to just barge into my chambers.” You spoke softly, fidgeting with your sleeves.
“You and Lyonel?” He scoffed, his shoulders pulled back.
“What I do is none of your concern. He loves me.” You replied.
His brow raised.
“I love you.”
His words stayed in the air like a whisper moving in the wind.
“Do you love him?” He gritted.
“Does it matter, Maekar? Does it truly?—“
“This was never going to be a good ending for us.. that fairytale does not exist in this world for us.” You reminded him, tears painting your cheeks.
“My love.” He muttered.
You shook your head, wiping your tears.
“You should’ve never come back here. You and your family should have stayed at Summerhall, left me to pick up my life here.”
“I see you’ve picked it up quite fine.. fucking Lyonel.” He snarked.
“Pardon?—“
“Do you not fuck Dyanna? I am not your wife!” You yelled, slamming your hand against the desk.
“You have no idea what it's like, living this life of torment! Being married to someone that you cannot truly love, someone you cannot get close to.” Maekar mumbled.
You walked closer to him, your shoulder rubbing against his.
“I am glad that you were spared in the rebellion, that you could come home to your children— but I will not do this with you. I am tired and I will not allow you to tear me apart.” You cried, walking out of your chambers.
This fight between the two of you had happened one too many times, old wounds reopened just as they had begun to heal. This was not what you needed, not now— not ever. His words lived in you, made a home in you, and you had never been the same since.
Maekar couldn’t help but feel at a loss as he made his way to the dining hall. He hoped that his letter would have provided you hope, would have provided him a chance to prove his words— but that was not the case.
You were moving on from him, moving on to a man that the realm would deem more suitable. A man that had no family, no baggage, and no wife— nothing that would stop him from marrying you.
If you married Lyonel, Maekar might just die at that moment— it is not something that his heart could handle.
You are the love of his life and he wants to rectify his mistake. Maybe he could not end his marriage to Dyanna, but he could admit the truth to her— utter the words that he hadn’t allowed himself to say. His confession would taint you and that wasn’t an option either, he would not allow your dignity to be stripped from you.
His mind raced with ideas, yet none of them also carried a simple solution or a solution at all. He might very well be doomed to the shadows to watch another man love you out loud, while he can only dream of you or reminisce of your memories.
You wiped your tears and took a few deep breaths before entering the lively dining hall. The royal family stood in the middle of the room, greeting other nobles and talking amongst each other.
Lyonel approached you, stopping you in your tracks.
“Are you alright?”
You nodded, a sigh leaving your lips.
“I am fine. It was nothing.”
He chuckled, his fingers reaching for yours. “That did not seem like nothing, he was upset.”
You shook your head, trying to rid your mind of the thoughts.
“He will be fine, his feelings do not matter as mine don’t.”
He brought his hand to your face, rubbing your cheek.
“What has gotten into you?—“
“Do not let him being here throw you off.. or come between us.”
“I’m not. It has just been a long day.” You replied.
The candlelight in the dining hall was bright—illuminating the wolf sewn into your dress, the grey curls that framed Lyonel’s face.
You left Lyonel’s side, walking towards the royal family and your father.
“I’m sorry for my absence earlier, father.” You spoke, walking beside him.
He smiled. “I was worried that you had taken ill.”
Queen Myriah smiled, bringing you into a warm hug.
“It has been so long! You look so marvelous.”
You smiled.
“Aye, it has. You look stunning as well!”
King Daeron brought you into a quick hug.
“I’m glad to see you doing well, daughter. There is much to catch up on, much for me to speak with you about.”
Dyanna’s lips twitched at the way that her in-laws greeted you, welcoming you into their family. They treated you like you were meant to be part of it, like she wasn’t standing there.
“It is lovely to see you again, Lady Stark.” Dyanna smiled, her fingers intertwined in front of her.
Baelor smiled, standing beside Jena.
“It is lovely to see you as well. I’m also glad that things with the rebellion went well, that both of you came back home whole.”
Baelor’s eyes scanned yours, he could sense the sadness in you— that you and Maekar had already spoken.
“It was by the grace of the God’s.” Baelor replied.
As you stood there, Maekar stared at you— his eyes lingering on your face as if he wanted to speak to you.
“I have found several suitors that would be a fine match for you, Lady Stark. If you’d be willing to consider them.” Dyanna spoke.
Her words caught you off guard, but your attention was drawn elsewhere before getting to respond.
“Rhaenyra!—“
“Rhaenyra!” The maid shouted chasing behind the child.
The small girl clung to your gown, her silver locks and violet eyes unmistakable.
“Mama.. mama.” She spoke.
It was as if the room had gone completely silent. Baelor’s eyes wide with shock, Queen Myriah gasped with her hand over her chest, Maekar’s blood had run cold.
Lyonel walked beside you picking up Rhaenyra, adjusting her small dress.
“Where is it that you think you’re going?” He chuckled.
You closed your eyes, almost fearful of opening them again.
The maid ran over to you.
“I’m so sorry, Lady Stark. She’s been energetic this afternoon.”
He stared at you in confusion, his eyes darting between you and the small girl— his words failing him in a moment where he needed them most.
You grabbed Rhaenyra from Lyonel’s arms and quickly began to walk out of the dining room as everyone stood there in shock.
Maekar stood there, the king urging him to the hall for a word.
Summary: The reader runs the local library. Jason’s been sneaking in after hours…not to steal, but to return books he’s “liberated” from crime lords’ private collections. He’s careful not to get caught… until the reader stays late one night.
requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune
You knew someone was breaking into your library.
The evidence was subtle but consistent: books appearing on the return cart that were never checked out, the side window lock that was carefully re-engaged but slightly off-center, and, most tellingly, the additions to your collection that you definitely hadn't ordered.
A first edition of Steinbeck. An annotated copy of The Count of Monte Cristo in the original French. A rare printing of Pablo Neruda's poetry with handwritten notes in the margins.
These weren't library books. These were collectors' items, worth thousands of dollars each, appearing on your shelves like gifts from a very literary ghost.
The logical thing would be to call the police.
Instead, you decided to stay late and catch your book thief in the act.
Thursday, 11:47 PM
You'd positioned yourself in the back office with a clear view of the side entrance, lights off, patience running on coffee, and curiosity.
At 11:52 PM, you heard it: the careful sound of the window opening, so quiet you'd have missed it if you weren't listening.
A large figure in a leather jacket slipped through with surprising grace for someone his size. He was carrying a backpack that looked heavy, moving through your library like he'd done this a hundred times before.
Which, based on the evidence, he probably had.
You watched as he went straight to the returns cart, carefully removing books from his bag. He handled each one with a gentleness that contradicted his imposing frame, leather jacket, combat boots, a red helmet hooked to his belt that looked very familiar if you followed Gotham news.
Red Hood.
Red Hood was breaking into your library to return books.
You must have made a sound, surprise, maybe, or the coffee cup touching your desk, because his head snapped toward your office.
"Shit."
"Don't run," you called out, standing up and turning on the desk lamp. "I'm not calling the cops."
He froze, hand already on his helmet. "You should be calling the cops."
"Why? You haven't stolen anything. In fact," you walked out of the office, keeping your movements slow and non-threatening, "... you've been donating very expensive books to my library for the past three months. I'm more likely to send you a thank-you card than call the police."
He stared at you through the domino mask he wore under the helmet. "You've known?"
"I'm a librarian. I notice when books appear that I didn't order. Especially books worth more than my annual salary." You gestured to his backpack. "What do you have tonight?"
"You're not scared?"
"Should I be?"
"I'm Red Hood. I have a reputation."
"You have several reputations, depending on who you ask. But the version of Red Hood I'm familiar with doesn't hurt innocent people. And he certainly doesn't break into libraries to expand their rare book collections." You crossed your arms. "So what's tonight's donation?"
He studied you for a long moment, then slowly reached into his backpack. "A couple of things. Some Gotham history books, actual first-hand accounts from the 1800s. A signed copy of The Outsiders. And... " he pulled out a beautiful leather-bound volume, "... a collection of Jane Austen that belonged to some mob boss who definitely wasn't appreciating it."
"You stole books from the mob."
"I liberated them. There's a difference."
You couldn't help it, you laughed. "You're insane."
"That's what people keep telling me." But he sounded almost amused. "Look, I can stop if it's causing problems... "
"Don't you dare." You took the Austen from him, carefully examining it. "Do you know how many people in Crime Alley never get to see books like this? How many kids grow up thinking literature is just what's in their damaged school textbooks?" You looked up at him. "You're giving them access to something beautiful. Something real. Why would I want you to stop?"
"Most people would say stolen books are still stolen."
"Most people haven't seen a ten-year-old's face light up when they discover Pride and Prejudice for the first time." You handed the book back. "Where were you going to put it?"
"Classic literature section. Thought I'd slip it in with the other Austen."
"Good choice. But let me catalog it first. I need to add it to the system, put a protection plan on it." You gestured toward your office. "Come on. I'll make coffee."
"You're not, this isn't a trick?"
"Red Hood, if I wanted to turn you in, I'd have done it already. But you've donated over fifty thousand dollars in books to my library. The least I can do is offer you coffee."
Twenty minutes later, Jason Todd, he'd pulled off the mask after you'd explained that you really, truly weren't going to call anyone, was sitting in your office drinking terrible library coffee and looking uncomfortable.
"So," you said, cataloging the Austen. "How long have you been doing this?"
"A few months. Since I... " He stopped. "Since I noticed your library was one of the only places in Crime Alley that was safe. Clean. Somewhere kids could go."
"And you decided to improve the collection?"
"I was hitting a drug operation, and found the guy's library. It pissed me off, all these beautiful books, wasted on some asshole who probably never read them. Just bought them to look cultured." He shrugged. "Figured they'd do more good here."
"So you've been stealing from criminals and donating to the library."
"When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous."
"It sounds like the plot of a very specific Robin Hood story." You finished the catalog entry. "Jason, can I call you Jason?"
"How did you... "
"You're not as subtle as you think. Also, you have a library card under that name. Your signature matches the one on file." You smiled at his expression. "I'm a librarian. Research is literally my job."
"Are you going to... "
"Tell anyone? No. Your secret's safe with me." You handed him a new cup of coffee. "But I do have questions."
"Of course you do."
"Why books? You could be doing anything after your patrols. Why break into my library to return stolen literature?"
Jason was quiet for a long moment, turning the coffee cup in his hands.
"I died when I was fifteen," he said finally. "When I came back, I was angry. At everyone, everything. Batman, the Joker, the world." He looked up at you. "Books were the first things that made me feel human again. Not the killing, not the revenge, reading. Remembering why stories mattered."
Your heart ached. "Jason... "
"I grew up on these streets. I know what it's like to have nothing, to be nothing. But I had books. Bruce's library, the manor, suddenly I had access to entire worlds." His voice was rough. "These kids deserve that too. Not just the damaged paperbacks, but the real thing. The good stuff."
"So you steal from criminals who don't appreciate literature and give to a library that does."
"Sounds stupid when you say it out loud."
"It sounds like one of the best things I've heard in years." You sat back, studying him. "You know what I think?"
"That I'm insane?"
"That you're a bibliophile with a very specific moral code and terrible breaking-and-entering habits." You smiled. "Also, I think you should stop sneaking in through the window."
"You want me to stop?"
"No. I want to give you a key."
Jason stared at you. "What?"
"A key. To the library. So you can come in through the door like a normal person." You were already pulling out the spare from your desk. "You're doing good work, Jason. But you're going to hurt yourself climbing through that window eventually. Use the door."
"You're trusting me with a key to your library."
"You've been breaking in for months, and the only thing you've done is improve my collection and re-shelve books in the correct Dewey Decimal order… yes, I noticed. I think I can trust you with a key."
He took it slowly, like it might disappear. "Why?"
"Because everyone deserves a place where they're welcome. Even vigilante book thieves with terrible taste in coffee." You stood up. "Now come on. Show me where you were going to put the rest of tonight's haul. I want to make sure they're protected properly."
Three Weeks Later
It became a routine.
Jason would show up around midnight, usually after patrol, with a backpack full of liberated literature. You started staying late on Thursdays, keeping the coffee pot on, ready to catalog his latest acquisitions.
You learned things:
Jason had a near-perfect recall of everything he'd ever read. He could quote Tolstoy and Shakespeare, and Toni Morrison from memory. His annotations in the margins of books were insightful, thoughtful, and often heartbreaking.
He was gentle with broken spines and dog-eared pages, treating damaged books like they were precious.
He remembered every kid who came into the library regularly, knew their reading preferences, and started tailoring his "acquisitions" to match their interests.
"There's a girl, maybe twelve, who keeps checking out anything about space," he said one night, pulling out a signed copy of Carl Sagan's Cosmos. "Found this in a penthouse belonging to a guy running a protection racket. Figure she'd appreciate it more."
"You stole from a crime boss for a twelve-year-old?"
"I was already robbing him for the usual reasons. The book was a bonus." He set it down carefully. "She wants to be an astronaut. Kid from Crime Alley, dreaming about the stars. That deserves encouragement."
You fell a little bit in love with him right then.
Week Six: The Conversation
"Can I ask you something?" Jason said one Thursday night, helping you re-shelve the new additions.
"Sure."
"Why are you here? Running a library in Crime Alley can't be your dream job. You could work anywhere."
"This is exactly my dream job."
"Really?"
You turned to face him. "I grew up three blocks from here. Single mom, no money, a neighborhood that wanted to eat us alive. The library was my sanctuary. The one place I could go and be safe, be transported somewhere else, be someone else."
"So you came back."
"When the old librarian retired, yeah. Someone needs to be here for the kids like I was. Someone needs to prove that Crime Alley isn't just crime and alley." You smiled. "Someone needs to accept donations from vigilante book thieves."
Jason laughed. "When you put it that way... "
The front window exploded.
Jason had you behind a bookshelf before the glass finished falling, his body shielding yours, gun already in his hand.
"Stay down," he growled.
"What's happening... "
"Probably someone who tracked me here. Shit." He looked at you, and there was something fierce in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I led them here. I'll handle this... "
"Like hell." You were already moving toward your office. "I have a panic button that alerts the GCPD and Batman. Give me thirty seconds."
"You have a Bat-signal in your library?"
"It's Crime Alley. Everyone has a Bat-signal." You hit the button, then grabbed the baseball bat you kept behind your desk. "And I'm not hiding while someone destroys my library."
"That's a terrible idea... "
"It's my library. My rules." You came back to find three men climbing through the broken window. "HEY! We're closed! And that window is coming out of someone's ass!"
One of the men laughed. "Cute. Hand over Red Hood and we'll leave you alone, lady."
"How about you leave her alone and deal with me instead?" Jason stepped out, gun trained. "Your problem is with me, not the library."
"You stole from our boss. That's bad for business."
"Your boss is a drug-dealing piece of shit who doesn't deserve nice things. I improved the situation."
"By stealing fifty grand in books?"
"By giving them to people who'd actually read them. Now get out before I make you get out."
What followed was brief and violent. Jason moved like poetry, taking down all three men in under a minute. You got one good swing in with the baseball bat when one of them got too close.
"Nice hit," Jason said, zip-tying the unconscious criminals.
"Thanks. I played softball in high school." You surveyed the damage. "My window is destroyed."
"I'll pay for it."
"With what, stolen mob money?"
"I prefer to call it redistributed funds." He checked the last zip-tie, then turned to you. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Pissed about the window, but fine." You looked at him seriously. "Jason, this can't happen again. I can't have people targeting my library because of... "
"I know. I'll stop coming. I'm sorry." He was already heading for the broken window.
"Jason, wait."
He stopped.
"I didn't say you had to stop coming. I said this can't happen again. There's a difference." You stepped closer. "You're not bringing danger to the library. Those assholes are. And they're going to learn very quickly that you don't mess with Crime Alley's library. Batman's on his way, the GCPD is coming, and I guarantee every person on this street saw what happened and will identify exactly who broke my window."
"You're not mad?"
"I'm furious. But not at you." You gestured at the unconscious men. "At them. At everyone who thinks they can destroy one of the few good things in this neighborhood." You smiled. "You're one of the good things, Jason. Don't forget that."
Sirens were approaching. Jason looked torn between staying and running.
"Go," you said. "I'll handle the police. But Jason? Same time next week?"
"You still want me to come back?"
"Someone has to bring me books. And honestly, your taste in literature is impeccable." You squeezed his hand. "Plus, I like the company. Thursday nights got a lot more interesting when you started using the door."
He smiled, really smiled, not the bitter smirk he usually wore. "Yeah, okay. Same time next week."
"Bring coffee. The good stuff. My coffee is terrible."
"I noticed."
He was gone before Batman arrived, just a shadow disappearing into Crime Alley's darkness.
Batman looked at the broken window, the unconscious criminals, and you holding a baseball bat.
"Are you alright?" His voice was concerned, familiar. You'd heard it before at library fundraisers, Bruce Wayne was one of your donors.
"I'm fine. Red Hood handled it."
"Red Hood was here?"
"He's been helping with my rare book collection. These idiots came looking for him." You gestured at the criminals. "I'd like to press charges for breaking and entering, destruction of property, and threatening a librarian. We take that very seriously."
Was that amusement in Batman's voice? "I'm sure you do."
Week Seven: The Truth
Jason showed up Thursday night with good coffee and a guilty expression.
"Bruce knows," he said immediately.
"That you've been stealing books and donating them to my library?"
"He gave me the lecture. The 'proper channels' lecture. The 'you can't just steal things' lecture." Jason set down the coffee. "He wants me to stop."
"Are you going to?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you want me to." He looked at you seriously. "I'm not going to keep putting you in danger. If my coming here means people breaking your windows and threatening you... "
"Jason." You took his hand. "Look around. What do you see?"
He looked. The window was already repaired, Wayne Foundation had sent someone within hours. The library was full, every table occupied by people reading, studying, existing in a safe space.
"I see your library."
"You see our library. Yours, mine, everyone's who needs it." You squeezed his hand. "You helped build this. The collection, the safety, the knowledge that someone cares about this place, these people. You think I'm going to let one broken window change that?"
"You could have been hurt."
"I could get hurt crossing the street. This is Gotham, Jason. Danger is the price of admission." You pulled him toward your office. "Now come on. I want to show you something."
In your office, you pulled out a ledger. "This is a record of every book you've brought me. Fifty-three books, total value of approximately sixty-eight thousand dollars. Do you know what that's done for this library?"
"Made you a target?"
"Made us essential. Kids who never came in before are here every day. Reading levels are up. College applications from Crime Alley kids have tripled." You looked at him. "You did that. Your books, your faith that these kids deserve better, you changed things."
"I just stole some books."
"You gave people hope. Stories. Possibilities." You set down the ledger. "So no, I don't want you to stop. I want you to keep coming. Keep bringing books. Keep believing that Crime Alley deserves beautiful things."
"Even if it's dangerous?"
"Especially then." You stepped closer. "Besides, I can handle danger. I grew up here, remember? I'm tougher than I look."
"You hit a guy with a baseball bat."
"Exactly. I've got this."
Jason laughed, and it was a real laugh, warm and genuine. "You're incredible. You know that?"
"I'm a librarian with a vigilante book thief. I'm adapting." You handed him the coffee he'd brought. "Now, what did you bring me this week?"
He pulled out his backpack with a smile. "You're going to love this. Found a whole collection of first-edition mystery novels. Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers, Raymond Chandler..."
"Where did you get those?"
"Crime boss who definitely didn't appreciate them. Too busy with his money laundering to read quality literature."
"Jason Todd. Vigilante. Book thief. Literary critic."
"It's a niche."
"It's perfect."
Three Months Later
The library had become something of a sanctuary for more than just kids.
Red Hood stopped by regularly, through the door now, with his key. Batman had apparently given his grudging approval after seeing what the "book donations" had done for Crime Alley.
Other heroes started dropping off books, too. Nightwing brought children's books. Robin contributed an entire collection of translated texts. Even Superman showed up once with a box of books from all over the world.
But Jason was still your favorite.
"You know," you said one Thursday night, cataloging his latest acquisition, "you could just ask me out instead of breaking into crime lords' houses to impress me."
Jason froze mid-sip of coffee. "What?"
"I'm not stupid, Jason. You've been bringing me increasingly rare and impressive books for months. The annotations are getting more personal. Last week's Brontë had a note that said 'reminded me of you' next to a passage about strong women who don't take shit from anyone."
"I… that wasn't... "
"Was too." You smiled at him. "So what do you say? Dinner? Somewhere without stolen literature or broken windows?"
"You want to go out with me?"
"I've been spending every Thursday night with you for three months, Jason. I think I like you."
"Even though I'm... "
"A vigilante who steals books and has more trauma than anyone should have to carry? Yeah. Even though." You set down the book. "You're also kind, thoughtful, brilliant, and one of the few people in Gotham who thinks Crime Alley kids deserve first-edition Austen."
"That's a low bar."
"It's higher than you think." You walked around the desk. "So? Dinner?"
"Yeah. Yes. Absolutely." He was smiling now, that rare full smile that made your heart skip. "Can I still bring you books?"
"Please do. But maybe buy them occasionally? You know, legally?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Jason."
"Kidding. Mostly." He pulled you closer. "Thank you. For this. For not turning me in. For letting me be part of something good."
"Thank you for reminding me why libraries matter. Why stories matter." You leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Now help me shelve these before I change my mind about that dinner."
"Yes, ma'am."
As you worked together in comfortable silence, surrounded by books stolen and given and loved, you thought about how strange life was.
You'd set out to catch a thief.
Instead, you'd found something else entirely.
A partner. A believer. Someone who understood that books weren't just objects, they were revolutions, quiet and bound in leather, waiting to change lives.
And if that person happened to be a vigilante with a complicated past and a leather jacket?
Well.
You'd read enough stories to know that the best love interests were always a little dangerous.
Even if they did have impeccable taste in literature.
"Hey Jason?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time you rob someone, see if they have any Octavia Butler. I've been looking for a first edition Kindred."
He laughed. "I'll see what I can do."
"Perfect. It's a date."
"That's not what that phrase means."
"In our relationship? I think it is."
And really, that summed it up perfectly.
In a city like Gotham, in a neighborhood like Crime Alley, you took your romance where you could find it.
Even if it came with a side of literary theft and broken windows.
Some love stories were written in stolen books and on Thursday nights.
yandere/dark!Felix Catton x reader: Your best friend, Felix has had feelings for you for quite some time now. When your boyfriend breaks up with you around the holidays, he sees it as the perfect opportunity to invite you to Saltburn and tell you how he feels. But when things don’t go as planned, he decides to take matters into his own hands. Because in spite of his generosity, Felix isn’t above a little emotional blackmail.
If there was one thing you loved most about your best friend, it was his persistence. And if there was one thing you hated most about your best friend, it was his persistence.
There wasn’t a whole lot you couldn’t talk about with Felix. Not because you felt comfortable with him, but more so because he made it next to impossible for you to hide things from him. He didn’t mean to be pushy, not really. He never meant to hurt you. He was just being playful, trying to get you out of your comfort zone. He had always been a curious person. A nosey person, you would argue. Bringing you discomfort was all in good fun—for him, anyway. Until it wasn’t.
Today was one of those days.
He always felt terrible when he would push you to the brink of tears, which seemed to be happening a lot more lately. He didn’t understand why you were so guarded all the time. You weren’t like that with your other friends.
All he wanted was for you to trust him.
“Alright…” he sighed, stopping you in your tracks so he could stand in front of you. He reached out to adjust the collar of your jacket, flattening it down and smoothing out a few wrinkles. “What’s wrong?”
You set your gaze on a nearby weeping willow, studying its branches and snow-covered leaves just barely touching the icy pond below. You refused to meet his eyes, gazing down at the ground. He let out a laugh, crouching down so he was now looking up at you, forcing himself into your line of sight. In his efforts to get you to look at him, he slipped on a rock and stumbled backwards, landing in a sitting position. He leaned his elbows back against the snow and crossed his ankles leisurely, as if sprawling out there was a deliberate choice on his part.
You had to repress a laugh, your shoulders shaking as he smiled up at you. He couldn’t have picked a worse moment to be so overtly clumsy. You tried your best to hide your smile, but it was no use.
“Come on then, this is infuriating,” he chuckled. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”
You shrugged. “Just missing home, is all.”
You were both silent for a few moments, and Felix began to shiver. You reached down and held your hands out. He grabbed onto you and slowly stood up, towering over you. He walked closer towards the willow tree.
“Aren’t you cold?” you asked.
“You’re not alone, you know,” he said pointedly, ignoring your question as he picked a leaf off the tree. Felix was like a golden retriever in some ways; regardless of what you were doing or where you were, he had to see everything, touch everything. He could never just leave things alone. “You don’t have to stay here. You’re welcome to come home with me. You know that, right?”
You weren’t quite sure how to feel about his offer. The gesture was a sweet one, sure. But there was something off to you about Felix’s sense of charity. It didn’t seem born from pure kindness, so much as a sense of superiority. Felix knew he was special, and by extension, everyone else was not.
Especially you.
…which was what, ironically, made you so special to him in the first place: the fact that you were nothing special at all. You had a handful of close friends before Felix came along, but he dubbed them unimportant. Irrelevant. Your family didn’t measure up to his standards, either. They couldn’t afford a plane ticket for you to return home for the holidays, nor could you.
Felix wanted to make you happy, and he would. He thought about buying you a ticket himself, but then he got an idea. It was going to be perfect. Instead of shipping you off to see a bunch of people he didn’t even know—people who hardly ever called you, who never came to visit, who didn’t see your value—you would just come to Saltburn.
“Look at it this way: I’ll be bored to tears without you.”
You knew that much was probably true. Ever since meeting you, it was like he couldn’t get enough. He wanted to be with you all the time. Nevermind that you were planning on spending Christmas at the dorms with your boyfriend.
“Besides, why would you spend Christmas with him when you could spend it with a real family?”
Him. Contempt dripped from his voice as he admonished you, refusing to use your boyfriend’s actual name. Felix never liked Michael. He felt he took up too much of your time, that he was possessive and controlling. It wasn’t difficult to tell he disliked him; you easily picked up on that. Michael wrote off his comments as pure projection.
“Clearly he has a thing for you. He’s threatened by me. That’s why he hates me so much.”
…which was why he was so elated when Michael picked a massive fight with you right before the holidays. It was perfect timing. Felix almost wanted to thank him. Little did he know, this argument would lead to an actual breakup.
You couldn’t tell Felix. Not yet. You didn’t want to hear an “I told you so.”
Michael didn’t view your relationship as sustainable, whatever that meant. When he broke up with you, he was oddly vague. You couldn’t get much else out of him when you pried for more information. He figured it would be easier for you both if he simply threw in the towel.
You couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone else.
“So you’re coming, then? You’re coming to Saltburn?”
You thought about it for a moment. Your only other option was spending Christmas alone.
As you walked back to the dorms, Felix’s happy mood was almost infectious.
“We’ll get you all packed up and head out tonight. God, you’re going to love it.”
Almost infectious.
…if you weren’t so miserable.
💎
Felix’s family—with the exception of Venetia—was, in short, insufferable. Their home was decorated extravagantly for the season, with wreaths gracing every door, holly attached to chandeliers, and golden candles lining the hallways. You felt uncomfortable and out of place within the castle walls. In under an hour upon your arrival, Felix’s mother had asked you a barrage of invasive, borderline insulting questions.
“Oh, sweetheart! My darling Felix has told me all about you. You’re the one with the destitute family, aren’t you?”
On the brightside, Felix gave you little gifts each day. You didn’t even want to think about how much money he spent on the perfume, jewelry, and plush blankets he presented you with. He also forced you to change the date on his advent calendar every morning. It was ridiculous how excited he was for Christmas. He loved giving gifts, so naturally it was his favorite time of year.
You hadn’t spoken with your family much. You had been ignoring their calls, determined to forget about what you were missing out on. Michael hadn’t called, which Felix quickly took notice of.
“The fight was really that bad, huh?” he asked one evening, absentmindedly flipping through a magazine. You were curled up on opposite sides of the couch, sitting in comfortable silence as the fireplace crackled. The warmth of the fire was making you drowsy as you tried to focus on writing in your notebook. You always liked jotting your thoughts down on paper, and there was no better time to do so. It wasn’t like you could talk to Felix or his family about what you were going through. His voice startled you out of your daze, making you sit up.
“What?”
“With him,” he said. “The fight with loverboy. He’s been ignoring you, hasn’t he? Must’ve been pretty bad, yeah?”
You shrugged, biting your nails. You were avoiding telling Felix about the breakup. For one thing, you just didn’t have the patience to deal with his reaction. With how much he hated Michael, you knew you would never live it down. You could picture it now.
“I told you he was an idiot, but you didn’t listen.”
And there was…something else. Some other reason you didn’t want to tell him. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The idea of telling him about it seemed incredibly daunting, like waiting to get a tooth pulled. It made you sick to your stomach, and you couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad once you did, maybe you were overreacting, but something in your gut told you that being honest about the situation wouldn’t be helpful—at least, not right now.
“We’re fine.”
“Fine?” he snorted. “You were supposed to spend the holiday together.”
“He wanted to see his family.”
“He couldn’t have brought you with?”
“We’ve only been dating a few months. It’s a little early to—”
“Pshtt,” he waved you off dismissively, as if that was the most ridiculous thing you could’ve said. “What, is he ashamed of you or something?”
“I’m the one that didn’t want to go,” you snapped.
Felix flinched, clearly not expecting you to lash out like that. You almost felt guilty, like you had accidentally kicked a puppy.
“Michael and I are fine.”
“You sure about that?” he asked, chuckling—but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. There was a hint of annoyance in his tone, which would’ve been nearly imperceptible if you hadn’t known him very well. He was irritated with you. Why was he irritated with you?
“I’m sure,” you nodded resolutely. “Besides, does it really even matter?”
“Of course it matters!”
You flinched as he slammed his magazine down on the coffee table, raising his voice slightly. He sighed and crossed his arms, quieting back down as he leaned back against the couch. “Why can’t you just be honest with me?”
“Honest? What are y—“
He leaned forward, grabbing your notebook out of your hands.
“Give it back!” You tried to ignore the pit in your stomach as you scrambled to retrieve your diary, leaning closer towards him. The amount of fun he was having dangling it just out of reach wasn’t helping to ease your nerves.
“What? This? What’s so important about this?” he asked. He held it up in front of you only to rip it away again, and again.
And again.
“Felix!” He made it so you had to keep moving forward if you wanted any chance of reaching it. You had no choice but to crawl closer. “Please. Please just—”
“Please just what?“ He lunged at you, tossing the notebook across the room. It landed in the fireplace, making the flames expand before slowly simmering back down.
“What the fuck?” you yelled.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, holding his hands up defensively. He nodded towards the fireplace. “Didn’t mean to aim for that.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Hey, relax,” he laughed. “We’re just having a bit of fun, which you’re long overdue for.” He smiled and nodded towards the fireplace once again. “…at least, according to that thing.”
You took a sharp breath in, the little hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.
Oh no.
“You read my diary?”
“Poor thing. Got your heart broken, didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Felix!”
“You left it lying on your bed when you were having a bath last night. I came in to talk to you and got curious, alright? You can’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same thing.”
“I would literally never do that!”
“Look, I’m sorry. Okay? I shouldn’t have done it.”
“No shit, you shouldn’t have done it! Oh my god, this is so humiliating!”
He laughed. “I’m the one that just admitted to invading your privacy and you’re the one that’s embarrassed?”
“You’re totally missing the point.”
“Come on, then. I knew you fought but I didn’t know he straight up dumped you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You truly don’t get it. How do you not get it?”
“You’re right. I don’t get it. Why are you always so secretive and weird about everything? What are you so afraid of? We’re supposed to be friends. Why can’t you talk to me?”
“Because it’s none of your business!” you yelled.
Felix’s eyes widened. You felt a small sense of relief as he got up, opting to sit down across from you on the floor. He looked like he had just been slapped, and had moved away to avoid it happening again.
“None of my business?” he repeated, incredulous. Indignant. Pouty. “I invited you to my family’s home for Christmas, for christ’s sake. Do you think I do that with everyone?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because I invited you here, under my family’s roof, yet you still have the audacity to lie to me.”
“Are you kidding me? I never lied to you!”
“You lied by omission. Need I explain to you what that means?”
“I was embarrassed, alright? I know how much you hate Michael.”
“I don’t hate him,” he said, his eyes narrowing.
“No?”
“I loathe him.”
“Exactly!”
“Why is that such an issue? The boy’s an idiot.”
“He’s not an idiot. And maybe I didn’t want a lecture. Besides, it’s not like things are set in stone. After the holiday, I’m sure we’ll get back together. We’re just going through a rough patch.”
He rolled his eyes. “Right. Since he’s made such a concerted effort to keep in touch.”
You took in a sharp breath, your eyes filling with tears. Your body felt like it was on fire, your hands shaking as you stared each other down.
“Enough,” you said, standing up. “I’m done with this conversation.”
“No. No, we’re not done talking yet. You don’t get to just—”
Just as you were about to leave the room, Elspeth sauntered in, a bottle of wine and two empty glasses in hand. “My dears, is everything alright?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. She had probably been eavesdropping on the entire conversation. “I thought I heard yelling.”
You smiled weakly at her, contemplating whether or not to break the silence.
Felix cleared his throat, clearly not knowing what to say.
For once.
💎
You hadn’t seen it coming.
Snow fell relentlessly across the countryside, stacking up high on the narrow road leading to Saltburn. Even if you wanted to leave—which you did, badly—there was no possible way you could. Felix seemed determined to notify you of this, standing in your bedroom doorway late into the evening.
“Hey, you.”
You hadn’t spoken since your argument the night before, after which you shared a very uncomfortable glass of wine with Elspeth. Felix remained moody throughout the evening, barely saying two words as you and his mother chatted away. It was the first and only time you were grateful for her presence. Rude as she was, Elspeth broke the tension in the room with her tipsy, tone deaf comments about your “gorgeously affordable” clothing. The more she talked, the less you dwelled on your anger towards Felix.
“It’s blizzarding out.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the door jamb. “There’s a bad snowstorm. Just started a few hours ago. There’s a driving ban and everything.”
You burrowed beneath your blankets, turning away from him. “So I can’t go anywhere?” you mumbled, shutting your eyes. He was silent for so long that you started to repeat your question. “So I can’t—”
“And where might you be off to?”
You sighed and opened your eyes, turning to face him. You sat up and lightly knocked your head back against the wall. “Back to the dorms. Home. I don’t know.”
He sighed. “We both know you can’t afford a ticket home.”
“Maybe you don’t know nearly as much as you think you do.”
Felix stared at you for a few seconds, studying you carefully.
“You’re really that upset?”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“If someone read my diary?”
You nodded.
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t keep a diary in the first place.”
“Right, because you lack substance. What would you even write about?”
He scoffed. “Excuse me? I said I was sorry. You can’t be angry with me. And besides, I’ve got something for you.”
You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. Felix’s love language was gift-giving—or rather, attempting to buy love with money.
It didn’t take much to figure out where that came from.
Any time he messed up or needed to apologize for something, you were met with a gift. What he didn’t seem to realize was that this never made you feel any better. Not even remotely. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.
“This isn’t gonna fix it. You do realize that, don’t you? I’m actually really mad at you.”
“But you haven’t even opened it yet!” he whined.
You stared at the box for a moment, wondering if you should even open it. You didn’t want another Christmas gift. What you truly wanted was simple: just a little bit of space. You began to open the box, tugging at the thin powder blue ribbon wrapped around it. Judging by the size of the box, you knew it was jewelry of some kind.
“Oh my god.”
Felix grinned, walking closer towards you. He sat down next to you on the bed.
Many years ago, just before she died, your grandmother gave you a ring. It had belonged to her for years, and she gladly passed it down to you. You somehow misplaced the ring a few years ago, right around the time you first met Felix. You were devastated when you discovered you lost it, moping around for weeks.
You stared down at the box in awe.
“Is this…?”
“Sunstone. Just like the one your grandmother gave you. I had it made special. It’s got your name engraved on the band, if you take a closer look.” He pulled it out of the box and held it up in front of you. You grabbed hold of it and squinted. Indeed it did. You were completely taken aback.
“Felix, oh my god.” You turned to face him. “It looks just like it. I don’t…I don’t…”
“Merry Christmas,” he said, beaming. He had been excited to give this to you, that much was clear. He seemed proud of himself for moving you to tears. He wrapped you up in a big hug, burying his chin in the crook of your neck. “Feel better?”
“It’s beautiful.”
The acquisition of your new ring had somehow clouded your mind, all thoughts of the diary temporarily forgotten. He gently placed the ring on your finger. He lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles, one by one. You jumped slightly, surprised by the gesture. Felix could be very affectionate when he wanted to be, but this felt more strangely intimate than usual.
Friends didn’t do things like that.
He stared at you for a few seconds, his eyes searching your face. You weren’t sure what for.
And then it happened.
“Baby…”
He had never called you baby before.
“What did you say?” you asked, chuckling nervously.
He cradled your face with warm hands, staring at you reverently as he leaned in to kiss you. You froze, allowing it for a few moments before sharply pulling away. Your mind was swimming, your thoughts scattered all over the place. What the hell was happening? You held his hands in yours and pushed them against his chest.
“Felix,” you said, out of breath. “Wait. This is not a good idea.”
“What’s not a good idea?” he asked, holding onto you tightly as you tried to pull away. “Hm? What’s not a good idea?”
“Felix, we’re friends.”
“I know, but—”
“But what?” you asked. “What?”
“I know we’re friends, but I just thought—”
He looked at you for a few seconds before going silent. He smiled at you then, a strained smile. Dejected. Deflated. He got it. He heard you loud and clear.
It almost made you feel guilty.
“Friends. Right.”
“Felix—”
“No, no. I heard you. I get it.”
He stood up from the bed, barrelling towards the door.
“Felix!” you called out. “Felix, wait.”
You watched with wide eyes as he stormed off, slamming your door shut behind him.
💎
Hours passed. Days. A strange silence seemed to have overtaken your world, confined within the walls of Saltburn. The snowstorm refused to let up, much like Felix—steadfast in his determination to ignore your very existence. He was giving you the silent treatment. Punishing you.
In short, you felt...bad. You hadn’t meant to hurt him. You knew implicitly that you would have to be the one to approach him first. He was wounded, his ego bruised. There was no way in hell he was going t—
“You want to know something?” he asked, slamming your door open.
Your eyes widened.
"Hello to you, too."
He had finally snapped, the bratty side of him—the side that simply couldn’t control himself—had come out. You didn’t like where this was going.
He began to pace back and forth. “I don’t know if you know this, but my parents are rather important at Oxford. Alumni, both of them. Alumni, alumnus? Whatever. They went there. They’ve got connections at that vile place you love so much. Did you know that?”
You stared at him, confused. “Why would I know that?”
“Ah, well. Maybe you don’t know nearly as much as you think you do.”
You scowled at him. “Where are you going with this?”
“Connections…they’re powerful. Magical, really. One good word from my father can make a world of difference when it comes to getting accepted, or changing a grade, or switching a class. Even skipping a class. For fuck’s sake. How do you think I’ve made it through the way I have?”
It made sense, what he was saying. Felix partied a lot. A lot, a lot. He was constantly late to classes, and it was a rarity when you saw him actually doing homework. You always wondered how he was passing.
“Now, here’s something I wouldn’t know about—do you know how easy it is to lose a scholarship?” He put his hands in his pockets and looked down for a moment, then back up at you. He smiled grimly. “Of course, I probably shouldn’t speak on this. I wouldn’t know anything about it. My parents are more than willing and able to pay full price. But you know who might know about this?”
“Felix, what are you—”
“You. You might know about it, being a scholarship student and all. Do you know how easy it is to get kicked out of a place, to get kicked out of a program? You know how fragile things can be. I mean, it’s crazy, right? One wrong move and poof—it’s all gone.”
He began walking towards you then, slowly, hands still in his pockets. Your stomach lurched and your jaw tightened. You could feel yourself getting hot, you could feel yourself start to shake. The little hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Your eyes were tearing up as he approached.
“Connections can help build relationships, and they can divide them just as easily. One wrong word from the right person, and someone’s whole world can come crashing down. Now that’s something I would know about.”
He stood just a few steps away from you, leaning over you. Looming.
“You wouldn’t,” you snapped.
“I wouldn’t…” he paused. “...if I had the right incentive.”
You were trying your best not to cry in front of him, but tears began to roll down your cheeks.
“Come on," he sighed. "Don’t make me feel like a monster. All I want is a chance.”
“A chance? A chance to do what?”
“A chance to show you that I’m better than him," he said, stepping even closer towards you. He grabbed your hands. "A chance to show you I can take care of you, because I can. A chance to be more than just friends.”
In that moment, any and all handsomeness Felix possessed had faded in your eyes. He was ugly, unspeakably so. From the inside out. You had grown to expect the unexpected, but you hadn’t expected anything like this. Not from Felix. He was your friend, your best friend. He couldn’t do this.
And yet, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that something had shifted in him. His gaze had hardened. The look he gave you was one he had never given you before, one that chilled you to the bone. It was a strange look, a smug look. Mocking. An “I’ve got you now, haven’t I?” look. And “I didn’t get my way, but I’m about to” look.
And with that look alone—regardless of what he’d said, what he was willing to say, what he was willing to do—he had effectively broken the silence.
Pairing: Felix Catton x Fem!Reader | side pairing: Oliver x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 15k
Genre: Fluff, Smut
Summary: 'No other love, let no other love know the wonder of your spell' - No Other Love by Jo Stafford
When Oliver suggests an open relationship, you aren't very keen on the idea...until you meet Felix Catton.
Tags: open relationship, strangers to lovers, slightly toxic relationship (OliverxReader), daddy kink, pet names, body worship, exhibitionism, voyeurism, oral sex (m and f receiving/giving), rough sex, face fucking, choking, hair pulling, spitting, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, protected sex, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, spanking, light pussy slapping, fluffy love w/ hardcore fucking, happy ending
****
“You want to do what?”
It sounded ridiculous. You stared at Oliver with wide eyes from across the table, a pint glass melting in your hand with only a sip taken out of it. In the crowded, noisy pub, nobody heard you from your small corner. Oliver sat in front of you with his own drink halfway done and a soft pout on his face. Blue eyes that stood out under long lashes batted at you in a way that reminded you of a lost puppy. It was part of his charm, you told people. That awkward shyness he never seemed to get over might’ve died down since coming to Oxford, but you still saw it in him. Particularly right now after he revealed what he’d been wanting to say all day.
“Look, I know it’s unconventional and not something we’d do,” he continued anxiously, his accent a bit thicker in his nervousness, “But we’re young, YN. We’re university students now and exploration is something couples around here do.”
“Just because other couples do it doesn’t mean we should,” you argued. “I didn’t think you’d be that kind of guy. I thought…”
‘You loved me. You desired me and only me. You’d be loyal and faithful to me forever,’ you wanted to say, fidgeting with the heart-shaped charm dangling from your neck. A birthday present two years ago. You thought about what he’d inscribed on the inside: “love you always”.
“YN,” he held your hand in his, thumb brushing over your knuckles, “You know I love you. My heart’s always belonged to you. It’s only for a bit of fun, that’s all. We can try things with different people and learn things about ourselves and-”
“-Who is she?”
“Who is who?”
“The girl you have in mind,” you said, arms crossed. “You wouldn’t be suggesting this if there wasn’t already a girl you think you stand a chance with. Who is she?”
“There’s nobody else,” he insisted. “We’re the only people we’ve each been with, and I’m sure there’s some guy somewhere who fancies you. I know Michael does. He doesn’t do much to hide it.”
You thought of the intense, unsettling mathematician you both met on your first day. His passes at you being far too obvious, you nearly gagged thinking about it.
“Let me get this straight: you want to open up our three-year-long relationship so we can ‘explore’ and ‘experience’ new people? Because we’re in university now and that’s what couples around here do?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. He took a sip of his beer and said, “What do you say? We can try it out for maybe a month and see how it goes.”
“Oliver…” you sighed, “You had trouble chatting me up and we've known each other since sixth form. How are you going to do it to girls you don't even know?”
“I like to think I've gotten a bit more confident since we got here,” he defended himself.
“Oliver,” you began, “I don't really do things like that.”
“Don't be such a prude, YN,” he laughed softly.
“You of all people should know I'm not,” you retorted. “I just…Sex is so personal and intimate. I hate the idea of being vulnerable with another person and they take off once it's over.”
“You never know. You might change your mind,” he shrugged. “It won't hurt to try it for a little bit. We can go to a club or a pub and meet people.”
“That requires you to talk to them, Oliver.”
“Which you can be good at when you want.”
“And what you're bad at.”
“Do you believe in me so little?”
“Oliver, this is…I don't want to do this. If you have some sort of issue with our relationship, I'd rather we sort it out instead of doing this. If you're bored, you can tell me and we can try fixing it. We don't have to open things up.”
“This would be something new and different for us, babe. Don't you want to get out and do-”
“-We can still get out and do new things without opening up our relationship to other people. There's this club I saw near school that looks fun. We can go there.”
“I meant learning things from new people-”
“-Oh Christ, Oliver, you don't need another woman to do that.” You gathered your purse and made for the door, gaining a few glances in the process, but he grabbed you just in time.
“YN, really-”
-Am I not enough for you anymore?”
“What? Of course you are.”
“Then why do you really want to do this?”
“I think it'd-”
“-Oliver!” A voice called out from somewhere nearby. “Ollie! Hey, Oliver! Come here, mate!”
When you turned around, you saw a boy standing up from a large corner table. Taller than most people you knew, he waved at Oliver.
“Who is that?” you asked.
“That's Felix. He's the guy I told you I loaned my bike to earlier today.”
You recognized him more now. You had seen him hanging around campus with a few other people, but your paths never crossed. One of the rich kids who strutted around, he hardly paid either you nor Oliver any mind until this moment. Looking at Oliver, you expected your boyfriend to ignore him and focus on your conversation, but you’d been wrong.
“Come on,” he said, taking your hand.
“Oliver, I don’t know…”
Felix seemed to notice you next and said, “She can come too!”
You eyed the group Felix sat with and recognized a few of them: a red-haired girl in your art appreciation class who said your most recent painting looked like a toddler had done it. Another was a tall American boy who’d originally been rude towards Oliver, and you typically didn’t like anyone who was rude to him. You didn’t know anyone else. While you didn’t mind socialization, you preferred the solitude of your dorm room at the moment. Oliver’s suggestion still hung in your mind, and you needed a night to think it over. Being around total strangers, some not so friendly, would only jumble that more.
“Oliver,” you said his name again, “I want to go back to my room, honestly.”
“It’ll be quick.”
You ended up in front of the group before you could say another word. Their stares put you under a spotlight and it sickened you. Your toes grew numb in your shoes and your palms suddenly became clammy. This wasn’t the time. Yet, you knew leaving Oliver might be a bad idea. He didn’t always do well around others, and you often played the buffer to ease him into conversations. You saw the red-haired girl eyeing you with indifference, and the American boy staring Oliver down. You two didn’t belong here, their eyes said, go away.
“There’s my hero,” Felix said. “This guy saved my ass yesterday.”
“So sweet,” the red head said, and others agreed with her. “Really sweet.”
“And who is this?” he asked, noticing you beside Oliver.
“This is my girlfriend, YN,” he introduced you, and you gave a small nod.
“Oliver,” you turned to him, hating these people already, “I think I’m gonna go. I have an early class, and…yeah…”
“No, please, stay.” It was Felix who said this with a plea in his voice. “Your man is a damn saint, and I’m sure you’re an angel too.”
“Thank you, but-”
“-Don’t be like that,” Oliver whispered to you, only making you feel worse. “One drink won’t hurt.”
He sat down, and you wanted to throttle him. First, he dropped this bombshell of a suggestion on you and now was bossing you around. However, to argue now would cause a scene and you wouldn’t embarrass him or yourself in front of these judgemental people. You ended up between Felix and Oliver. Everything felt awkward and rigid. You noticed the girls at the table, and couldn’t help comparing yourself to them. All sleek pretty faces and perfect hair, you looked shabby in the shirt you got on sale, two-year-old jeans and even older sneakers. Of course Oliver would want them over you. You wondered briefly who this other girl was, and what she looked like. What about her made him decide he wanted an open relationship?
“YN,” Felix cut through your thoughts, “Do you want a drink?”
“Just a pint for me, thanks.”
You finally had a good look at Felix. Underneath the warm pub lighting, you saw his sharp jawline and cheekbones. Brown hair curled slightly and swished across his brow, hanging above dark eyes that were full of sincerity. With his glimmering eyes and bright smile, he carried a magnetic, charming quality that drew people into him. The sort of person with pretty privilege, nothing looked bad on him no matter how lazily put together. While Oliver appeared fresh out of the package, Felix looked more relaxed in a shirt and jeans. You didn’t know what to make of this gorgeous man sitting nearest you. Oliver had offered his bike to him when he saw Felix had a flat tire. You don’t know what possessed him to offer his own bike, but you did find it sweet of him. But, seeing Felix now and the large group of people he sat with and what he’d told you about open relationships, it started clicking.
He actually wanted to fit in with these people.
“So, what college do you both go to?” A man next to you asked, sipping from his beer.
“Yours,” Oliver answered.
“Really? I’ve never seen you two there.”
“Big school,” you said. “I doubt you would have.”
‘Unless you know every single person there, and we’re two misfits that aren’t worth the notice,’ you thought bitterly.
You politely chatted with people at the table, but you couldn’t shake off Felix’s gaze. You saw the way he stared you up and down, a special glint in his eyes. It made you uneasy. Why was he staring with Oliver right next to you? You drank your beer, letting the frothy drink soothe your nerves as you listened to Oliver talk to other people. He must be loving this, from how his eyes started twinkling through the night. Drink after drink, he immersed himself into this group while you waded in the shallows. They made you almost miss Michael, who irritated you to no end.
“How did you and Oliver meet?” Felix asked you halfway through the night. You’d ended up next to him while Oliver talked to the redhead who’d moved closer to him.
“Sixth Form,” you answered, “We met at a mutual friend’s party and we hit it off when we met.”
“Aw, that’s so cute,” he grinned, “And you followed each other to Oxford or was that a happy coincidence?”
“Happy coincidence. I was originally going to go to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, but when I got rejected, I got a scholarship offer after this essay I submitted and Oxford has a good drama program. Oliver got his through math and science achievements at school, and happened to apply here too,” you explained, finishing off another round of shots. Your head began to wade around, and you decided it was one drink too many. “I swear, we hadn’t discussed schools at all before then. We told each other we’d say it when we got accepted, and it just happened that way.”
“Plus it must’ve been a touchy topic,” he added. “You know, two teenage lovers separating and having to do long distance, if you decided on that at all.”
“I think we could have made it work somehow.”
At least, that was what you believed before tonight. You felt queasy thinking about what might’ve happened if you visited and caught him with somebody else. You looked over to see him and the red-haired girl talking. He knew her. If not know her, he knew of her. He must’ve seen her when he picked you up from class, and made his decision. She didn’t appear very interested, which made you snort and finish off your beer. You hadn’t even officially said ‘yes’ and here he was attempting to flirt. It made you sick. It irked your nerves. It simmered your blood.
“I’d say you two are a lucky pair,” he said. “Seriously, your boyfriend really saved my ass yesterday. My bike had gotten a flat tire and Oliver was passing by. He didn’t know me at all. We’d never met once-”
‘You wouldn’t have if he hadn’t seized the opportunity.’
“-And he offered to give me his bike so I wasn’t late for my tutorial. It was for a course I’d sort of skivved off twice already-”
‘Because Mummy and Daddy have you covered if you flunk out.’
“-And I was like ‘no, no, no, I can’t miss this class’, but Ollie just stopped and asked if everything was okay. He really is a good guy.”
“He is,” you agreed with a smile. “I was surprised when he told me about it. He’s typically a shy person. I end up starting conversations in groups because he has trouble sometimes.”
“He doesn’t seem to be having trouble now,” he nodded to Oliver and the girl. “He looks quite cozy with Annabell.”
“He does.”
He paused, “You two were having a row before I called him over, weren’t you?”
“What? No. I was telling him I needed to get an early start for a class and he wanted another drink,” you lied. “Our schedules don’t always line up, so it’s hard for us to sit and talk and, you know, be a couple. I know it sounds shitty and I could’ve made time for another drink or two, but my playwriting professor is such a twat and I wanted to get a leg up on this one-act I’ve been working on for an assignment.”
“That must be tough to navigate,” he said, finishing the rest of his beer, “But you seemed really upset. I thought calling him over might ease things between you guys. You know, sort of help him out in the lady department as a thank you.”
You giggled, “Trying to be his wingman?”
“In a way,” he shrugged. He leaned in closer, “Plus, it meant I got to know your name.”
Whether it was the booze or the way his smirk poked a dimple that made your cheeks warm up, you didn’t know. “Well, now you know it.”
“You know,” he began, “I’d seen you around college before.”
“Really? Where?”
“Just around,” he said, grabbing two shot glasses from a tray someone put down. The two of you downed them quickly, “Mostly the library. Well, the few times I actually went there. You were sitting with that specky math guy and you looked so uncomfortable,” he chuckled as he remembered it. “I thought about going up and introducing myself, and sort of getting you away from him but…I don’t know. I just didn’t.”
“I would’ve highly appreciated it if you did,” you said, surprised he had a story already lined up. “Michael has his pleasant moments, but he’s so intense it can be off-putting. Not to mention he’s always asking me math questions and I’m terrible with math so it gives him an excuse to neg me. I told him negging isn’t cute and girls don’t like it, but apparently he knows more about the female sex than an actual woman does so he keeps doing it. I told Oliver he keeps hinting at us having some sort of weird threesome, and how gross it makes me feel but…”
Oliver never said anything. He let it happen like how he was letting Felix halfway flirt with you. Confrontations weren’t his strong suit.
“That’s a shame,” he said, giving you another shot. You supposed one more wouldn’t hurt. You downed it expertly, ignoring the burning in your throat, and he said, “If you were my girlfriend, I would’ve told him off straight away.”
He touched a stray hair, his fingertip lightly brushing your temple as he tucked it behind your ear. Warmth filled you being under his gaze. “Oliver-”
“-Is talking to Annabell and doesn’t seem to care that I’m flirting with his girlfriend,” he pointed out, nodding over to the pair nearby. “How about we go outside for some fresh air? It’s getting stuffy here.”
The offer made your insides twist and palms get sweaty again. “I feel fine,” you said, trying to find a segway from the offer, “So, what is your ma-”
“-Oliver, next round is on you!” The American boy called out to him with a drunk smile on his face. “Jagerbombs,” he suggested, and the group started cheering with him, “And it’s your round, man.”
You held your glare. The posh prat knew Oliver wouldn’t be able to afford the expensive drink, which is likely why he suggested it during Oliver’s round. You’d gotten simple vodka shots, and that had appeased the group of people you didn’t care for.
“I should go to bed,” Oliver said awkwardly, drunk from the several shots the crowd forced on him.
“No, no, no. You can’t snake your way out of it,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“It looks like you are,” he remarked.
The group booed and jeered, and you wanted to tell them off. You wanted to tell the American off. You wanted to tell Oliver off. Someone. Anyone. Yet, you took the last shot to keep your mouth shut. If Oliver wouldn’t raise a word to Felix or Michael, then you won’t for him now.
‘That’s petty and you know it.’
“Oliver, walk me back to my dorm?” you asked him, nodding to the door.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Nope. You can’t use your girlfriend to get you out of it. Come on.”
“Oliver…”
“It’s alright,” he assured you, standing it.
You pulled him closer, “Is this really that important to you?”
“I got it,” he replied and left the table.
“Farleigh,” Felix called to the American once Oliver left, “Just cut him a break, mate.”
“What?”
“That round’s gonna cost a fucking fortune,” he defended.
“Pub rules, Felix.”
You turned to the bar where Oliver put the last of his money on the bartop. He’d spent a chunk of it on your drinks from earlier, so he likely didn’t have much. You thought of going over, slipping him what you have and helping him impress these pathetic people. But, you knew how that’d look to Farleigh and the rest. Oliver might end up feeling embarrassed or emasculated. Even if he’d ticked you off, you didn’t really want to hurt him.
“Excuse me, love,” Felix said, standing up and leaving the table. You caught the bill hidden behind his back.
You watched Felix come up to Oliver’s side. Then Farleigh quickly came over to you. “YN, what the hell are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what are you doing with a guy like him? You’re a total hottie and you’re hanging around him.”
“Wow, you really don’t like him, huh?” you said, the liquor making your mouth slip. “What did he do to you? He hasn’t said a word to you since we sat down here.”
“Let’s just say we didn’t get off on the right foot.”
“But everyone has two feet and there’s always a chance to get on the right one.” From what you’d seen, if Oliver needed to impress anyone it was the boy beside you. “Okay, so he’s a bit awkward and shy, but he’s really great once he gets to know you. He’s so smart and he knows a lot about science and politics and all that nerdy stuff. He’s like a turtle. He needs to get out of his shell a little bit.”
“He was getting out of his shell with Annabell,” he said, pulling out a cigarette. He offered you one, and took it. You’d left your case back in the dorm in your bookbag. He lit it for you and you both took drags together. “Are you two like poly or open or something?”
‘Everyone is doing it,’ you heard Oliver say in your head. “Open, but we haven’t been doing it long. I’m not really the type to just hop into bed with someone, but Oliver has that self-deprecating, nerdy charm about him that some girls like.”
“Really?” He glanced over at Oliver, “He doesn’t seem the type.”
“Like they say: it’s always the quiet ones.”
Farleigh seemed impressed, and you planned on getting a thank you for it from Oliver. You talked him up to some others in the group. Your storytelling skills came into play when you started repeating a school story involving a stolen car and a dog. By the time Oliver and Felix returned with more shots, the rich snobs thought of Oliver as a sweetheart with a rebellious streak, the sort of scholarship kid they’d want around.
“Oliver,” Farleigh called out as he took one of the Jagerbombs, “YN was just telling us that you released a bunch of chickens into the school as a prank. How’d you get that many?”
The real story was a boy named Henry had stolen chickens from his grandfather's farm and released them in school as an end of year prank. You tweaked the story to make Oliver seem like a mischievous rascal instead of the boy who ran from the small flock. Oliver glanced at you for a moment, then said.
“My granddad,” he answered, sitting beside him. “He owned a farm and I just, you know, borrowed some of them.”
“That's crazy, man,” Farleigh laughed.
Farleigh questioned him about another story, and Oliver expertly answered them. It sometimes scared you how easily he lied. People believed him because he seemed so innocent and trustworthy. You almost believed him at times. Playing with your charm necklace, you wondered what lies you'd believed when Felix placed a shot in front of you.
The two of you stayed with the group until close to four in the morning. The crisp spring breeze settling on your cheeks, you inhaled the fresh air. Your head fuzzy from the drinks, your worries started floating back to you one at a time. Oliver, having walked off with Annabell, didn't notice the tall, handsome stranger keeping you at his side.
“-I have this Monet print back in my room,” Felix said, continuing your conversation about art. “We can go back to mine and I can show it to you. I think you'd like it. It's one of his earlier works.”
“You're using a painting to lure me into your room, Felix?” you smiled, high off his attention.
“Lure sounds so predatory,” he said. “I like to think I'm gently persuading you to spend the rest of the night with me.” He took your hand and spun you into his arms. Your back pressed to his chest, arms around your waist, he bent down to your ear. “We can invite Oliver, if you want. The more, the merrier in my opinion.”
“He wouldn't go for it,” you shook your head.
“Ah, so you would, eh? I knew you were naughty,” he purred, guiding you down the street. “It's always the shy, quiet ones.”
“Sorry I'm not obnoxious about it like some girls,” you said, eyeing Annabell. “I like to keep things to myself.”
Felix noticed you watching her and said, “Oh, don't be mean. Everyone expresses their sexuality differently.”
“I bet she does.”
He chuckled, “You're only ticked because of Oliver.” His lips grazed the edge of your ear, sending ripples down your spine, “So how about it? Come back to my room and show me how naughty quiet girls can be?”
This was when your chest tightened and you turned quiet. Yet, Felix’s body was so close to yours and his hands gripped your hips so nicely. You saw Oliver with Annabell, who laughed at something he said and leaned onto him. He must be loving her attention.
“I don't know where it fucking came from, if I'm being honest,” you said, glaring at him
“Well, it started with me staring into those gorgeous eyes,” he began, “And hopefully ending with messy mascar-”
“-He had his moments, but he wasn't the sort to suggest an open relationship. He always said he only wanted me. He always said I was the only girl he saw himself being with. I felt so special because we were each other's first and it'd been such a beautiful moment and I thought we'd always have that.” Tears started stinging your eyes and you swayed as you walked, only Felix kept you upright. “Then he says he wants to fuck other girls. Prettier girls. Richer girls. Not me. He hasn't touched me since we got here. We hardly see each other but I think…” you didn't want to admit it. You didn't want to think about what had been lingering in your head.
“It happens when people come to college,” Felix said, letting you go though you wished he hadn't. “They gain new experiences and meet new people. People change, YN. All the time. You didn’t expect him to be that way forever, did you?”
“No, obviously I wanted him to open up a bit more and make friends, but I didn't think…it'd be like that,” you nodded to them. “He hasn't even noticed I'm behind him.” You wiped your cheeks, “Oh god, you must think I'm a total idiot.”
“No, no, I don't. Far from it, I swear,” he insisted, softly laughing and blocking your way.
“I am. I'm drunk. I'm cold. I'm crying in front of the most gorgeous man I've ever seen in my life who wants to sleep with me and I'm here sobbing like an idiot when I should go to yours and fuck you until I forget who Oliver is but no. I'm here being stupid.”
“First off, here,” Felix removed his jacket and draped it on your shoulders, “And secondly, you're not stupid for crying. Your boyfriend has been throwing himself at another girl all night and it's not something you're used to seeing. Most open couples don't start off doing it in front of each other, but I thought you both were cool with it so I put myself out there to finally talk to the pretty girl who likes reading outside the tea shop-”
“-How did you-”
“-Like I said, I've seen you around,” he said. He used one of the jacket sleeves to wipe your cheeks, “Now, while I'm not opposed to you fucking me until you forget his name, I don't think it's a good idea just now. I am going to make the adult decision to drop you off in your room and force myself back to mine where I will undoubtedly have many more dreams about you.”
“See? This is why I'm dumb,” you sniffled. “I have a gorgeous man who wants to shag me, and all I can think about is my stupid boyfriend and that slut he's taking to his room.”
He laughed, and wrapped you in his arms. “It's quite normal to think about your significant other when someone else is flirting with you, by the way. I mean, I wouldn't know since I don't seriously date but…”
You looked up at him from his chest. Felix had that way about him. Staring up into his eyes, twinkling from the street lights around you and full of admiration, you felt compelled to kiss him. You thought about what he had done for Oliver with the shots. He did not have to do it. He could've let Oliver suffer, but he helped instead. You hated thinking about Oliver being humiliated in front of people he tried so hard to impress. It would have crushed him.
“Thank you,” you told him softly.
“Oh, no trouble, love,” he said. “You looked like you needed a shoulder to cry on and I'd gladly give you both my shoulders for it.”
“I meant with Oliver,” you elaborated. “He isn't much in the way of money like you posh people. He doesn't get paid until tomorrow, so-”
“-I don't know what you mean,” he interrupted with a grin. “I found the money he dropped and thought I'd do the right thing and give it to him.”
“Still, that's very kind of you. He would've been embarrassed if he came back empty handed and even if he's a total twat sometimes, I don't like seeing him hurt.”
“Which is normal.” He pressed his forehead to yours, “Though, I did consider the wrong thing.”
“Which is?”
“Letting him suffer utter humiliation so I can use it to take his gorgeous girlfriend out for dinner,” he smirked.
You stood staring at him for a moment. The smell of cigarettes and booze should put you off but your attraction to him outweighed any distaste. You remembered how indifferent you'd felt when you first met Oliver. To you, he'd been Bridgette's neighbor who'd been reluctantly invited to her end of summer party. Any spark of interest in him came later on. Yet, this felt different to you. You blamed it on the booze. It made you feel sentimental and weird. You barely knew Felix. Things like that didn't happen so soon or so suddenly. Not to you, anyway.
“We should get back,” he said, pulling away but keeping his arm around your waist. “It's getting late and I can't miss my lectures tomorrow…again.”
“Right,” you nodded, coming back to yourself. “Yeah, like I said…The playwright professor is a cunt.”
He kept you steady as you walked back to college, which was thankfully not too far away. Oliver disappeared somewhere along the way. He'd once been so caring. The old Oliver would not have left you behind with a stranger. Back then, you'd both be walking back together, laughing about the night and planning on spending the rest together. Now, he wanted to go off with another girl. Perhaps it was meant to be that way in the end.
All good things have endings, right?
“This is me,” you said as the two of you reached your dormitory. “Thank you for the walk. You didn’t have to, really.”
“What? Of course I had to,” he said. “I couldn't very well let you walk home alone this late at night.”
“Or so early this morning,” you slurred, everything starting to bring you down.
“Or that,” he laughed, agreeing. “Go get some sleep, love.”
“I like it.”
“I know, sleep is awesome.”
“No…” your stomach fluttered as you said. “When you call me ‘love’. Makes me feel special, even though you say it to loads of people.”
“Then I'll call you that as many times as you want,” he whispered, getting close to you again.
Your back pressed to the door, you felt tempted to let him in. The thought of Oliver coming in tomorrow to find beautiful Felix naked in your bed felt like a satisfying revenge. His hands kept you trapped against him, your body burned to be skin to skin with him. You wanted to feel every inch of him before he disappeared forever.
“Can I call you?” he asked you, eyes scanning your face and down to your lips.
“Yeah. Sure.”
You fumbled out your number to him, and he saved it on his phone. “Night, YN,” he said, “Sweet dreams.”
“Yeah…good night.”
Lord, you're a complete idiot.
****
Three months passed since the pub, and it turned out that Felix grew quite fond of Oliver as the latter hoped. You saw how Oliver stuck to Felix so closely, always looking up at him with admiration in his eyes. It became obvious how much Oliver looked up to him; he tried being the same charming, confident person Felix was. You found it pathetic. You didn’t understand why being accepted by a bunch of spoiled rich kids meant so much to him. Personally, while you did like some of them (Farleigh chief amongst them), you found them to be very dull. All they did was drink and party. Their conversations remained so shallow and superficial. You wondered what they taught in those posh boarding schools to make them so boring.
Felix wasn’t boring, though. Far from it. The magnetic energy he showed in the pub truly was part of him. He drew people like a candle in the middle of a dark room. Whenever he pointed out a girl for Oliver to flirt with, he’d sit beside you while you both watched him. Felix said he only wanted to help his new friend get out there. He saw Oliver had trouble connecting with people, and felt sorry for him.
‘It also gives me a chance to talk to you alone,’ he once told you at a costume party. You hid your shy smile behind your drink.
You guessed being filthy rich and having a large mansion with a title made one a very popular person. The people who hung around seemed to only do so in hopes of his magnificence rubbing off on them. To them, having Felix’s attention was some sort of special award. It was the girls who disappointed you the most. They fought one another for a moment of his time; they didn’t resist when he simply came over and took their hand. Sleeping with him seemed more like a badge of honor; as if sleeping with the biggest catch in Oxford made you special. You’ll admit a droplet of satisfaction fell when you overheard them lamenting that he’d moved onto someone else. Especially pretty Annabell, who’d pouted outside his room and waited for him like an obedient dog.
You’d missed your own chance, and seeing them, you’re glad you did. Oliver might be okay with being a notch on some girl’s belt, but not you.
“It’s so obvious. Your man’s in love with him.”
You and Farleigh sat together at another posh people party, smoking and drinking as you observed the others. Despite first impressions, you’d grown quite fond of Farleigh. He might’ve been just as snobby as the rest, but it didn’t annoy you. While people danced and drank around you, you sat on the small couch with him. You’d caught sight of Felix and Oliver lounging on one of the sofas nearby, stuck in conversation with each other.
“I wouldn’t blame him,” you replied, drinking from your cup. Some concoction Farleigh invented, it nearly made you gag on the first sip, but something was better than nothing. “It’s impossible not to fall for him. I mean, look at him: handsome, insanely rich with a title? Who wouldn’t go for it?”
“If it’s so impossible, why are you sitting here with me instead of sneaking off with Felix back to his room?”
At that moment, Felix glanced over to you as Oliver talked. Being under his gaze for even a few seconds brought the world into a bright technicolor dream. You tried putting down the fluttering in your stomach whenever this happened. You’d lost your shot. You wouldn’t dare embarrass yourself again. But then you fondly recalled the other day when you’d both gone out for a drink.
The two of you sat together in the crowded pub, Oliver having gone off for an exam. Being alone with people sometimes scares you, but not Felix. You remained at ease, the conversation flowing easily. He wanted to know everything he could about you. He seemed genuinely interested, asking questions and listening intently as you both nibbled on a basket of chips and drank pints of beer. Felix’s treat, of course. He refused to let you pay a single penny when he took you anywhere. You enjoyed talking to him. It felt like ages since someone showed any real interest in you. Most guys you talked to only wanted to get in your pants. You never got that feeling from Felix. You’d gotten used to his small suggestive comments and flirting, but that day he’d said something that stayed with you.
‘You’re so gorgeous, seriously. Can I say that? I have to…No, no, I mean it. It’s like you’ve walked out of one of those Renaissance paintings. You have this softness about you that reminds me of them…I mean it, I swear…It’s otherworldly to me…I had this dream about you in my family’s maze. Yeah, you were wearing this long white dress and had your hair down with little flowers in it and it was a bit dark but I could still see you. You-You looked like an angel…Haha, no it wasn’t that kind of dream. I was just taking you in and staring. It was like I didn’t want to disturb you in that quiet moment. I woke up feeling super weird, haha.’
You hadn’t stopped thinking about it. It’s very likely he says that to loads of other girls. He probably fills their ears with sweet nothings to get them into bed with him. He tells you it means nothing, and he’s only having a bit of fun. Still, a trickle of jealousy stained your heart. It isn’t as if you had some sort of claim over Felix. You were friends, yes, but that was all. Yet, you’d think of what he said in that bar and remember how his eyes shined as he said it. Oliver didn’t say things like that to you. He’d say you were the most beautiful girl he knew. He’d say how lucky he was to be with you. But, that didn’t feel true anymore. Not when he’s been hanging around so many other girls.
“Oliver won’t care,” Farleigh said, “You guys are open, so you can sleep with whoever you want. If anything, he’ll be glad you slept with Felix. Then he can fit in better through you.”
“Oliver isn’t that sort of guy,” you said, pushing the idea from your mind.
“Then explain Annabell, Kira, Irene, Daphne-”
“-Oh, those were hardly hookups,” you dismissed, sipping your drink. “They all probably did it with hopes of getting closer to Felix, and then got pissed when it didn’t work.”
“Still, he’s getting loads while you’re sulking in a corner like a cuck.”
“I’m not a cuck.”
“Then why aren’t you playing the field? Open relationship usually implies both sides are getting some,” he said, taking a drag off his cigarette. “What’s the most you’ve done? Kiss that one guy at the club before you chickened out and walked away?”
Barty? Barry? Harry? You didn’t remember the man’s name, but you remembered how his hands made your skin crawl. You also remembered Felix pulling you in for a dance and the moment your bodies brushed together. “He was being too touchy, and it put me off,” you explained.
“No it was because it wasn’t Felix all over you,” he teased with a laugh. “You should show Oliver you don’t need him to have fun. You can do it all on your own.”
“I don’t need to prove anything.”
Farleigh paused, swirling his drink around before sipping it. You sensed something lingering on his tongue that he won’t let out. You’d learned the signs: he looked away from you, became strangely quiet and tensed up slightly.
“What?”
“I might have overheard them in the library the other day,” he said slowly, looking over at you, “And Felix said he thought it was weird you hadn’t hooked up with anyone when Oliver is. Oliver said it was that you had trouble talking to guys.”
“I do not. If anyone’s shit at talking to people, it’s that little git over there,” you snapped, which made Farleigh laugh. “I could hook up with people if I wanted to. I just choose not to.”
“Well, your boyfriend seems to think differently.”
“He can fuck off, honestly,” you glared at Oliver from across the room. “Pick someone,” you challenged Farleigh, “Anyone and I’ll fuck them tonight.”
“Oh really?” Farleigh smirked, drinking from his cup. “How would you prove it?”
“I’ll keep their underwear or something.”
“Oooh, naughty girl,” he chuckled. “Alright,” he scanned the room of faces, then decided on someone. “David,” he nodded to a blond boy in an expensive jacket, “Super rich, political family, and popular. It’d definitely make a scholarship kid like Oliver jealous.”
David stood with another man, the two of them talking over drinks near the window. Lean with flaxen blond hair hanging over his wide eyes, you might’ve not noticed him if Farleigh hadn’t pointed him out. He looked like every other posh boy you’d met so far. An easy target for sure.
“You’re on.”
He was exactly how you expected him to be: the sort to talk about himself, bragging about his meager accomplishments and how rich his family is. You listened on as Felix might, and occasionally slipped in a flirtatious comment. David fell for it right away. As the two of you leaned into one another, getting closer, you let the alcohol take over your senses. He said he’d never slept with a girl as gorgeous as you. In your black halter top and tight jeans, cleavage a bit more noticeable than usual, you suggested getting some fresh air. David went for it without a question. As you led him towards the door, you shot a look over at Oliver. His bright blue eyes widened in surprise, still as he watched you go to the door.
Felix looked stony faced, turning away and finishing his cup.
You suddenly felt disgusted with yourself.
****
It’s fine. He’s fine. Nothing remarkable or sensational. Simply fine. The low grunting filled your ears as David snapped his hips into you. You kept yourself wrapped around him, feeling his sweaty skin under your fingers. His body stayed pressed to yours, becoming one with you. He’d given you a bit of foreplay, but nothing like Oliver, whose expert tongue brought you to climax multiple times. You regretted doing this now, as David licked up the side of your neck and murmured something in your ear. You thought of asking him to stop, but you let him keep going. You’re in too deep now.
You turned your head towards the window. Pitch black, the world was quiet and still. You saw your reflection in the glass. You laid on your back, David thrusting between your thighs, and felt nothing. Oliver and you once did it in front of a mirror, and it’d been the hottest thing ever. You pictured how his arms tensed when he held your hips, fingers digging into your hips as he pushed from behind. He always slowly worked himself inside you; he’d let you feel his girth stretch you inch by inch before fully sheathing inside. Your pussy fit him like a glove, he’d tell you. He’d pull out just enough for you to see him going in and out. He’d slap your ass on both sides for that tiny pleasurable sting. Oliver was always the considerate lover, gaining pleasure from pleasuring you first. You moaned for the first time imagining it. When you pictured Felix in his place, you moaned a little louder.
“That’s it, love,” David said. “Moan for me.”
Then you saw it. It was faint and brief. You would’ve missed it if you blinked at the wrong time. A small orange glow broke the still darkness out the window. It was followed by wispy grey smoke that reached the tops of the dense bushes. You panicked for a moment, being taken out of your fantasies. You kept staring and hoped it was your imagination playing tricks. But then it happened again. Someone was watching. Farleigh? Perhaps he wanted proof for himself, but then why? The fear immediately turned into excitement when you realized who might be on the other side. Oliver. The idea of him watching you with someone else struck something new in you. An idea flourished: Oliver suggested this open relationship idea to watch you be with other men. It’d explain why he kept asking why you hadn’t sought out anyone.
You never told him it was because you only wanted one person and that person wouldn’t want you. At least, not in the same way. Felix. Charming Felix who wiped your tears and gave you all the attention in the world. You thought of his kind eyes twinkling when you laughed at his jokes or how he always scooted closer to you when you told a story. As David sunk further in, you pictured Felix in his place. His long body would overpower yours, and his weight kept you pinned to the bed. His strong, tanned muscles constricted in every thrust, his deep moans getting louder as he grew closer to his climax. You pictured him being the person outside the window, not Oliver. He’d sit there, cigarette in one hand and his cock in the other as he watched. Your mouth watered when you pictured it.
You performed for him. David simply became a toy you used to show off the most intimate parts. You spread yourself out when your back faced the window. You arched more when you rolled onto your front. Throughout it all, you occasionally glanced at the window. His cigarette must’ve gone out by now, but you sensed him there. Thinking of him there, stroking and panting softly, made your sex pulse and throb around the cock inside you.
“Fuck, fuck,” David huffed above you, jutting his hips forward from behind. “You feel so fucking good.”
You tried thinking of your boyfriend. You thought of Oliver’s hands on your hips as he kissed your shoulders, but it didn’t stay long. In your mind, Felix was behind you. Felix kept you in place by your hair, slim hips charging into you relentlessly. You moaned when you thought about him towering over you, holding your throat and telling you how beautiful you looked teary eyed and pleading. He’d be ruthless in a way Oliver was too scared to be. He wouldn’t worry about spanking or choking too hard. Your fantasies spiraled into the dirtiest of them involving overstimulating and edging you until you cried. He’d be good at it. Other girls said he was. They wouldn’t lie to each other. You wanted him. Your body yearned to feel his like that night at the club. You pushed into David, and you looked into the window again.
He was watching you now.
‘Do you like how he’s fucking you?’ You could almost hear him asking, ‘Is he going to make you cum? Cum now. Cum for me. Do it now.’
But that’s only a fantasy.
****
You thought about confronting him about it. If your boyfriend had a strange kink he’d like to explore, you weren’t opposed to trying. You’d honestly enjoyed the light exhibitionism, even if you shamefully pictured another watcher. However, sitting in the library for a study session, you decided against it. You cherished these moments with Oliver since they became so scarce. You hadn’t lied to Felix when you said your schedules did not always match up. It made you wonder if this is why he wanted to open your relationship to other people.
“...Oliver, I can’t make heads or tails of this equation,” you sighed as she turned your math book to him, “Do you think you can? You’ve always been better than me.” Oliver took the book, though you noticed his sulky expression. “Something wrong?”
“No,” he answered, though by the lack of eye contact you knew he was lying.
“Obviously there is,” you said, concern in your voice. “You can tell me. Is it that girl you told me about? What’s her name? Daphne?”
“It’s not her.”
“Oliver…” you gazed over him for a moment. He might as well be miles away from you. It stung.
“-There,” he worked out the equation for you, “Done.”
“I know we said we wouldn’t talk about the people we meet,” you began cautiously, “But…” your stomach turned into several dozen knots as you broached the subject, “Did you like it?”
“Like what?”
“Last night,” you didn’t think he’d forget so quickly. “What I did with David. Did you like it?”
“I don’t care,” he said, going back to his own work. “You can shag whoever you like.”
“That’s not what I meant…”
It slowly began dawning on you as you watched him from afar. If it wasn’t Oliver, then who? You could’ve easily imagined the light. Perhaps a trick of the light or a reflection of David’s room.
“I’m sorry, YN, but I’d rather not hear how well you're getting on in your endeavors, alright?” he said a bit harshly. “Especially if it’s Felix.”
“It wouldn’t be.”
“Psh, not yet.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know, the fact that the moment he found out you and I were open, he asked if it was alright for him to get with you.”
“He did not ask that,” you scoffed in disbelief.
“He did.”
“What did you say?”
“That he could if you wanted to. The guy fancies you like mad,” he huffed. “He even said the angels put stars in your eyes and music in your laughter. It was so cringy.”
You didn’t believe him. You sensed a fight starting to brew, and you wouldn’t ruin the little bit of time you had together. “Do you want to go out tonight?” you asked, rubbing the heart charm around your neck. “We can go see a film and get some dinner? Maybe a drink? It’s been a while since it’s been the two of us.”
“I have an early day tomorrow,” he said, not meeting your eyes again.
“We can go earlier. My last class got cancelled for today, so I have some time earlier in the day.”
“I have my history course. I can’t miss it.”
“Oliver,” you heard the plea in your voice and felt so pathetic, “Surely, you can carve out time for your actual girlfriend? We don’t get many chances to see each other and I miss you. I thought you’d want to, you know, be together. Just because we’ve opened things up doesn’t mean we can’t still spend time together.”
“I said I’m busy, YN.”
The cold knife in his voice pierced you deeply. It twisted itself until it created a lump in your throat. His phone then buzzed in his pocket. Oliver flipped it open, and a small smile graced his face.
“I have to take this,” he told you hurriedly. “I’ll be back.”
“Alright, Oliver,” you said thickly, closing your books. “Maybe another time.”
He noticed your watery eyes, and he put the phone away. “YN, no, wait-” he started, but you shook your head.
“-I hope you have a nice night with Annabell or Daphne or whoever keeps ringing you.”
“YN, I’m sorry. I really am slammed this week. I promise we’ll go out soon.” His phone buzzed again, but he didn’t pick it up.
“You know what?” You rounded on him, angry flaring up in your chest. “If you want to end things with me, you can just say that. You don’t have to play this stupid open relationship game with me.”
“YN,” he moved over to you, hands on your arms, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to break up with you. I love you.”
“Sure you do,” you said spitefully. “Goodbye, Oliver.”
“YN…I really do.”
You didn’t believe him anymore. Walking away from him, you kept your books clutched to your chest. Your fingers tightened around the sides as you willed yourself not to cry. You refused to cry over him again. Crying over men is stupid, and you’re not stupid. As much as you wished to be away from him, you still listened for footsteps coming after you. You wanted him to chase you, to grab you and take back his stupid idea. Your heart broke realizing he wasn’t there. Nobody followed you.
Walking through the sunlit pathway through college, no particular destination came to mind. Only the thought of distancing yourself from Oliver sounded right. Later on, he’ll come by your room and apologize. Then you’d forgive him because you’ll see his big blue puppy eyes and fall for him all over again. It made you so pathetic. You thought of ending it, but that meant never seeing him again. It meant you’d lose him, and you knew you’d miss him. The necklace around your neck felt heavier than ever. It felt like you wore a lie. Whatever it once represented no longer had a meaning to you. The further you moved from him, the more your bones ached with longing.
“YN?”
His cigarette, cologne scent hit you before anything else. Felix biked past you on the other side of the path, heading in the opposite direction on his bike. He stopped in his tracks beside you, a smile on his face.
“Hey you,” he said. “I was on my way to the tea shop. You want to come?”
“I’m sorry, Felix, but I’m not in the mood at the moment.” But, lord, you longed for the comfort of his strong arms and broad chest. “Thank you, though. I’ll-”
“-Wait, what’s wrong?” His smile faded and he let go of the handles. “Is it Oliver again? I told him he shouldn’t bring up Daphne around yo-”
“-I don’t care about whichever slut he’s fucking this week,” you said, snapping a bit harder than you meant.
“Kind of sounds like you do,” he said, more amused by your response than taken aback.
“Goodbye, Felix. Hope you have a good day,” you replied through a thick voice, walking away. How many times were you going to cry in front of this man?
“YN, wait up.” You heard the jingling and scraping of a bike and the faint pedaling coming up to you. “What happened? You can tell me.”
“Stupid stuff. Nothing important.”
“It has to be if you’re so upset,” he kept biking beside you. “I hate seeing you cry. It’s heart breaking, really. Please, come with me. I promise you’ll feel better after.”
“Really, Felix. I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do.”
“Nothing’s more important to me than you.” He stared at you, brown eyes pulling you into him as they’ve done so many times before. “Hop on,” he patted on the front of the bike, “I’ll take you.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I know. I want to. Get on before I kidnap you.”
“You’ll kidnap me on a bike?” You actually broke into a laugh, “A bit unconventional, no?”
“Crazier things have been done. Come on.”
“You sure there’s no class you’re ignoring to go have tea?”
“No. I’m completely free to give you my undivided attention for the rest of the day,” he grinned, though you hardly believed him. “On the bike, YN.”
You managed to situate yourself on the front of the bike, almost sitting in the basket. The fear of it snapping off terrified you the entire ride, but Felix kept a slow pace. The college tea shop was nestled near the library. The cozy, warm spot became a favorite of yours. A simple menu with various treats, drinks and sandwiches, you found comfort in the small space. It wasn’t rowdy like the pub or deathly quiet like the library. Felix chained his bike to the rack, then guided you inside by the small of your back. The subtle, light touch almost broke you. It's been an eternity since anyone went to such lengths to lift your spirits.
“Get anything you like,” Felix told you, keeping you at his side. “My treat.”
“I couldn’t-”
“-I’m paying,” he said, “It’s not up for discussion. Pretty girls don’t pay.”
You kept it simple: an Earl Grey and a croissant pastry. The both of you took one of the tables outside, a cool breeze making the patio area a nice place to sit. You noted the small garden across the road where you often saw people lounging underneath the shade. Sometimes, you thought of you and Oliver sitting there, talking and enjoying the brief scenic spot. He’d likely do that with another girl now. Not you.
“I told him it was a dumb idea.”
“What?”
“I told him you didn’t want to really do it,” Felix said, spreading jam onto a scone, “and that he should reconsider it. You obviously love him and stuff, and you think he doesn’t feel the same.”
“Felix, I’d honestly rather not talk about it,” you admitted. You picked at your croissant, seeing the chocolate filling inside. “Crying in a tea shop isn’t cute.”
“Alright,” he pulled back, “Then tell me how that play you’re working on is going. You never told me about it.”
“It’s a murder mystery,” you said, sitting up and sipping your tea. “A rich posh family is throwing a birthday party for their grandfather, and they find him dead in his study. There’s this close proximity thing because there’s a blizzard going on, so they’re snowed in until the next day…”
You went into the details of your latest work, ‘A Little Party’. Felix listened intently and asked questions about your characters and the plot. It felt nice getting to talk about something outside of your relationship. You dove into your work, speaking about it with the passion an artist has for their work. Felix let you bounce ideas off him when you started finding small plot holes halfway through; he gave an audience point of view that you needed. Oliver used to be your soundboard, but then he grew used to your constant project juggling and didn’t ask anymore.
“...No, no, no, la-la-la-la,” he said, putting fingers in his ears. “I don’t want to know who did it. I want to be surprised when I see it.”
“It’s not being performed anywhere.”
“It will be one day,” he said, removing his fingers, “And I’d want to be as enthralled and surprised as the audience.”
You smiled when you were sure you wouldn’t. “I’d love to see something of mine on a stage,” you said, finishing the pastry and washing it down with tea. “I’ve loved the theatre since I was little. My parents used to take me to this matinee on the weekends. They wanted me to be ‘cultured’, so they always took me to see different plays and musicals.”
“That’s so cool,” he said with a grin. “My parents only took me to operas or ballets and they were so boring. I hardly understood what was going on half the time. They always drag us to The Nutcracker during Christmastime. It’s one of my mum’s favorite ballets. My parents are really big art enthusiasts,” he nodded when you raised your eyebrows. “Yeah, they’re always commissioning paintings and sculptures to put around the house. My mum loves hosting artists. You know, playwrights, writers, painters and all that bunch. Do you know the author Evelyn Waugh?”
“I’m familiar.”
“Well, he stayed with us for a bit and fell in love with our house. He based a few of his characters off my family.”
“That’s insane,” you laughed softly in disbelief. “The closest I’ve ever gotten to meeting anyone of note was Stephen King at a book signing when I was ten. Gosh,” you leaned your head on your hand, “A house that old must have so many stories though.”
“Oh, loads,” he nodded, sipping his coffee. “I think you’d like it there. It’s in the middle of the country, so it’s quiet and far away and nobody would bother you there with their stupid ideas about open relationships. Loads of inspiration there.”
“It must be,” you said.
“What about you? What about your family?”
“Nothing much to tell. My mum and dad are still in Liverpool,” you said, recalling your childhood home. “My mom’s an art teacher at a primary school. My dad runs a construction company,” you shrugged simply. “No crazy stories. No interesting people. Just two working class people with their two daughters.”
“You have a sister?”
“She might as well be, honestly,” you scoffed, pulling out your small flip phone. Looking through, you found a photo of Shelby. “Here she is,” you grinned when he laughed at the surprise. “Shelby, a Scottish Terrier my dad found in a tube at a job site eight years ago. I swear, they both treat her like she’s a person,” you giggled. You put your phone away, “Any pets at yours?”
The two of you spent ages talking about your families and childhoods. Rich people truly lived differently from everyone else. Your dad used to say ‘We should eat the rich. They’re fat enough,’ which always made you laugh. As Felix and you left the shop, you wondered what he might think of you with a boy like him. You doubted he’d disapprove if Felix made you happy. Your mum would love him, that was for certain.
“Where shall we go now, my lady?” Felix asked, unchaining his bike. “You don’t have class, do you?”
“No, it got cancelled. I think I’ll head back to my dor-”
“-Nonsense, my day with you’s just starting,” he said. “Want to catch a film? There’s this James Bond remake that’s just come out. It looks good, unless you want something more low-energy. Maybe walk around town for a bit? I feel like I’ve only scratched the surface with you, YN YLN.”
You smiled at him. “Can I at least drop off my bag?”
“Of course,” he smiled back, happy with your answer.
The two of you walked his bike back to college, still chatting the way there. All thoughts of Oliver washed away in Felix’s presence. His friendly, easygoing nature differed so much from Oliver, who always seemed to be looking ahead instead of what was beside him. You recalled what people said about Felix: he liked floating from girl to girl like a butterfly in a meadow. He never stayed long. You’d met girls who’d fallen for him and had their hearts broken when he moved on to someone else. Seeing him smiling down at you, you’re sure you are his next flower. Underneath his gaze, you wondered if you’d mind it at all.
****
A film was followed by browsing the shops down the avenue, then spending dinner at a restaurant with a jazz band playing on a stage. You would’ve never found these places with Oliver, who preferred sticking to comfort spaces. While you did feel out of place, being beside Felix made it worth the effort.
“You’re joking!” Felix laughed over his plate across from you.
“No, I’m not. There we are standing around the cake, right? It was this gorgeous three tier my cousin picked out. It had those little edible pearls on it? The little fondant ones that are hard as hell? It had those with doves and flowers, and you get it: it was beautiful. Anyways, we’re watching her and her husband cut the cake and all of a sudden this black cat goes rushing down the table and Shelby is chasing it. You know dogs, they have to follow the exact trail of whatever they’re chasing so she-of course-gets on the table too. Shelby isn’t a large dog, but it was such a narrow table that she’s there knocking things over,” you laughed recalling the memory in your mind. Small, grey and white Shelby chasing a random cat through a backyard wedding, and ruining the lovely cake. “And they managed to knock into the cake. It falls back onto my cousin; it gets all over her dress, all over the grass. My little cousins are trying to catch the cat throughout the yard and house. My aunt is crying because they spent a fortune on the cake and the dress. My dad-bless him-is huffing and puffing after Shelby and sixteen-year-old me is standing there with my cousin Alfie eating what was still on the plate.”
“Just watching madness unfold,” he added, shaking his head.
“Exactly. What were we supposed to do?” The two of you laughed for a bit, then when it died down, you said, “The rest of the night was lovely though. They’d gotten a live band and they played all these slow songs. Oliver and I…” you hesitated, suddenly remembering your boyfriend back at Oxford who is likely out with someone else. “It was the first time he asked me to dance with him. He was shaking like a leaf,” you smiled softly. “He stammered and could barely look at me. I have no clue where this confident Oliver came from because he was never like that before.”
“People come out of their shells in college,” Felix shrugged, cutting into the salmon he’d ordered. “Maybe he’s finally finding himself and who he is, and that person is different than who you’re used to. It’s called ‘growing up’, or so my dad keeps telling me to do. It sounds ridiculous, but some people are into it, apparently.”
“You mean, there’s people who actually like growing up?” you asked, playing along with him in mock disgust. “No way. That doesn’t sound right.”
He nodded sagely, “I know. I don’t understand it either. Honestly, it sounds dangerous. I advise against it.”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me twice,” you said, biting into a piece of the chicken on your plate. Twirling it with some pasta, you ate it quietly before chasing it with some wine. “But, seriously, he says that loads of people at Oxford do it and that we should too. He’s…He’s always wanted to fit in, and I knew he had ambitions but…”
“But you feel he’s sort of using you to do it?”
“Or doing it regardless of how I feel.”
“Why don’t you just end things with him?”
“I…I think I sort of did?”
Felix paused, “Really?”
“Yeah at the library. I was trying to ask him if he wanted to go out, but he kept making excuses. Then somebody kept calling his phone, and I knew he was blowing me off to go out with whoever she was,” the word vomit started and didn’t stop. “I get he wants to meet new people, but he seems to care more about the ‘open’ part over the relationship part and it sucks and it hurts and I wished I’d just gone to Royal Academy or another school and broken up with him then…” you sighed and finished off your wine. Staring at him from across the table, the warm lighting making him glow, made you long for him. “The only good thing about Oxford has been you.”
“Me? Really?”
“I wouldn’t have met you if I hadn’t come here.”
“Eh, I don’t know,” he said. “I like to think our meeting was fate. Fate always happens eventually.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Romantic stuff.”
“Does it bother you?”
“No.”
“Well, then why?”
“Because it…” you swallowed the lump forming in your throat again, rubbing your necklace between your fingers, “I really like you, Felix, and…”
‘No other love can warm my heart now that I’ve known the comfort of your arms…’
“I know this song,” he said, “My parents danced to this song once. I was like eleven or twelve and I saw them outside in the garden together. It was after their anniversary party. My dad played this on a stereo, and they danced to it.” He looked over to you, then an idea struck him. “Come on. Dance with me.”
Without another word, he took you by the hand to the small dance floor in front of the stage. Couples dressed more appropriately for the place slowly danced around you both. You and Felix entered your own world when he brought you close to him. His arm around your waist, his hand holding yours up, the two of you moved in time with the music. Being held by him lessened the tightness in your throat. You thought of bringing up what you’d just said, but realized you’d have to admit you’d fallen for him. The mortifying idea that he’d reject you or say ‘let’s be friends’ killed any idea of that.
“Your parents sound like they’re very much in love,” you said, moving on from the table.
“They are. I mean, they aren’t always lovey dovey and stuff, but it was their anniversary and it was super special. It was nice getting to see that side of them. I was a kid so seeing them kiss was kind of gross, but nice-gross, you know?”
“Everyone likes to see their parents do stuff like that. A lot of people don’t get to. We always think love has an expiration date, so when we see couples in long-term relationships it’s nice.”
“But some couples do have one,” he bent down to your ear, lips brushing it as he spoke, “And sometimes it takes a newer product coming along to replace the expired one.”
‘Oh the sweet contentment that I find with you every time, every time…’
Your eyes met his. You thought about what Oliver said. “Do you really think I have stars in my eyes or is that just something you said to make Oliver jealous?”
“He told you I said that, eh?” He winced, embarrassed.
“Yeah.”
Felix tucked a piece of hair from your face, and stared over your features. You’d grown used to seeing the flirtatious, lustful looks he gave other girls at parties. This seemed different from those times or perhaps that was what you wanted to believe. Your heart willed yourself to imagine him falling for you after all these weeks of knowing each other. You wanted it to be true. All the small hints and closeness and intimacy cultivated an idea that you feared holding onto.
“I meant it,” he said. “You’re brilliant, YN. I’ve met loads of other girls. They come and go for me and I’m not ashamed to admit that, but you…”
“I’m different?”
“You make me feel at ease.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t have to put on a mask or try to impress you,” he said. “I can be myself with you and it’s okay.”
“You don’t need to do much impressing. Being a rich lord is kind of impressive on its own.”
“And that’s something you don’t care about. Every girl I meet just wants me for money and stuff,” he said seriously. “They don’t try really getting to know me. I know, I know, ‘poor little rich boy. Nobody loves him for him’, but it’s true. It sucks.”
“It’s natural to want to be loved for who you are and not what you have,” you told him, far too aware of the layers of clothes keeping you apart. “You’re saying you think I’m genuine then?”
“Yes. Sometimes…Sometimes it feels like people are putting on a show for me, you know? They’ll degrade, lie, and throw out their dignity to get me to like them. I can never tell if someone is being themselves or being who they think I want them to be. You’ve never done that. I can tell you’re being yourself with me. I feel…” he paused, standing on the threshold of what he truly wanted to say. “I feel closer to you because of it. Yes, I love Oliver and he’s become one of my best mates but if there’s anyone I feel closest to, it’s you. I feel like…Gosh, it really sounds so fucking lame and cringe,” he chuckled softly.
‘No other lips could want you more for I was born to glory in your kiss,’ the singer continued.
“What is it?”
“It’s like we’re one person.” He put his forehead to yours, both arms now around your waist, “My soul finally found its other half so it can finally be complete. I know, I know that sounds fucking wild and mad, but it’s how I feel. I’m fine simply being beside you. I feel better. It’s like you’re this beacon of comfort to me that melts away my problems for a little while. Like what we’re doing right now. I haven’t thought about my courses or my parents or anything else since I ran into you today. I’m just in the moment with you.” He tilted your chin so you held his gaze, “I’m glad Oliver helped me with my bike that day. If he hadn’t, I don’t think I would’ve had the guts to talk to you.”
‘Forever yours…’
“And I wouldn’t have had the guts to do this…”
You stood on tiptoes, and he held you firmly in his arms. Lips brushing his lightly, you tested the waters before he finally brought you into him. Nothing had stood out to you the first time you kissed Oliver. It’d been like every other kiss you had before. Not Felix. You became a flower petal floating in the cool breeze until he caught you. All the stars in the sky bursted behind your eyes, creating a beautiful euphoric high that you’d be chasing forever. His lips massaged against yours, his fingers clinging to the back of your blouse. A confession that made you melt with the final sentence. You could never go back to Oliver now. Not when you have Felix in your arms like this, and he's kissing you like the world was ending at midnight.
‘I was blessed with love to love you til the stars burn out above you…’
When you broke apart, you said, “You’re the only thing that heals me anymore. Ever since that first night outside the pub when I was drunk and crying. Oliver…He just pisses me off now, if I’m being honest.” The two of you giggled, “Every time I’m with him, I’m thinking ‘Felix wouldn’t have done this’ and ‘Felix wouldn’t have done that’. ‘Felix would’ve chased me.’ ‘Felix wouldn’t take calls from other girls.’ ‘Felix wouldn’t suggest an open relationship because he’s bored with me.”
‘Til the moon is but a silver shell…’
“I could never be bored with you, love.”
‘No other love, let no other love know the wonder of your spell.’
He kissed you again, and didn't stop. You never wanted to leave the dance floor. To leave meant returning to the confusing, pathetic life you'd been leading since coming to Oxford. It meant seeing Oliver and remembering that you loved him. At least, you are supposed to be. You kept telling people you were. Yet, as Felix led you by the waist back to the street for a cab, you wondered how untrue that was becoming.
Outside your room, you didn’t see any sign of Oliver. Not that you really noticed. Not with Felix’s hands slipping up your back and his lips sealed over yours. He pressed you to the wall beside the door. The slow, deep kisses carried a long-waiting hunger behind them. It’d take the wrath of God to pull you both apart. When he lifted you up, your legs went around his waist and your center touched his belt.
“I really liked it, you know,” he murmured between kisses. “I couldn’t stop cumming, seriously.”
“What do you mean?” you hesitated, letting him kiss down your neck as you took in his words.
“Last night,” he said, kissing up to your ear. “I thought you knew. You kept looking out the window at me.”
Rather than feel disgust or shame, your body flooded with arousal. Fingers sliding up his neck to his brown curls, you said breathily, “That was you?”
“Yes,” he finally looked at you, eyes full of lust. “I don’t normally do it since most girls I meet aren’t into it, but I don’t know…” he gripped the cheeks in his hands below, “Oliver mentioned the books you like to read and that you’ve brought up kinky things with him. I was also a bit drunk, and…yeah…” he then said, “If you aren’t actually into that, I won’t do it again but…fuck, YN, you’re so fucking hot and sexy and I came so much, my god.”
Hearing his outpour of desire for you, and finally learning it was him and not a fantasy, you breathed into his ear, “I kept thinking about you the whole time.”
“YN…” he groaned when he pushed into you, groin meeting yours.
“I felt bad because I shouldn’t but I couldn’t help it,” you whined. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you fucking me until I couldn’t make a coherent sentence.”
“Then let’s make your wish come true.”
You opened the door and he brought you inside. Kicking the door closed, he then dropped you onto your bed. Finally underneath him, you no longer held back. As he continued kissing you, you hastily undid the buttons of his shirt. Button by button, the lean frame you drooled over became real. All the fantasies you kept to yourself slowly bloomed into reality as you kissed down his long neck. When he slipped it off, he worked on your blouse. A white collared shirt tucked into a jean skirt, he nearly tore it off in his haste for you. He let out a soft groan when he saw the white cotton bra underneath, one of your nicer ones that supported them. Not that they needed it once he cupped them in his hands. A whimper fell from your lips when those fingers squeezed them, thumbs brushing your perking nipples underneath. You felt his muscled back and into his hair. You craved every part of him. It ached everywhere. The reality of it has not hit you yet. Any moment you’d wake up and this would be another wet dream of yours. You held onto him to keep him with you.
“So much better than I thought,” he groaned against the tops of your tits. He tugged down both sides for them to spill out over the wire, not hesitating to take one in his mouth. His low groan vibrated on your supple skin, and you couldn’t stop grinding into him. “Sensitive, hm?” he smirked, flicking one of them while he groped the other. He chuckled when you nodded, “Good because I fucking love them.”
“Feel free to have them whenever you like,” you heard yourself say.
You felt down his spine, feeling him curve slightly like a cat being petted. One hand trailing up and down, the other slid into his brown hair and held onto him there. It all felt so new to you. Every little touch brought on a new spark of excitement; each kiss sunk you further into the moment. He took his time exploring and touching where he knew you’d melt. His hands slid down your sides to your hips, which he gently squeezed to see if you liked it. He felt back up your front to your chest while he kissed down your stomach, knowing it made you arch into his touch. Your sex throbbed as he kissed down your thighs, anticipating the feeling of his tongue right where you needed him. Felix dotted kisses from inner thigh to your ankle, his palms carefully massaging them as he knelt there.
“Felix,” you sighed, eyes closed as he kissed close to the lips and went upwards, “Oh god, Felix…Please…”
“You’re so beautiful,” he rasped, going back to your center. “I meant it when I said you walked out of a painting. You feel so unreal to me.”
“Felix,” you giggled faintly, turning your head shyly.
“I mean it,” he turned your head to face him again. “Like in that dream I told you about. You’re an angel,” he bent to kiss your lips, “And if Oliver won’t appreciate that, then I will.”
He kissed across to your other thigh, then back to your clit. You twisted to the side when he finally licked at it in a single swipe. Hands clenched into fists at your sides, you closed your eyes and basked in the pleasure. When he pushed your thighs further apart, you knew he prepared to go deeper. His tongue lashed at the outer folds and tenderly sucked them before he found your pulsing clit. Felix groaned once your juices flooded his mouth and coated his tongue. The slight vibrations radiated there each time he did it, creating the perfect combination that tightened your insides.
“Good?” he asked, kissing your thigh as he looked up at you.
“So good. Don’t stop, please.”
“Beg,” he said, “You’re so pretty when you beg.”
“Felix, please,” you obliged instantly, pouting and looking down at him. “Your tongue feels so good, please keep going. I want to cum all over it.”
“Do you?” He lapped at your opening rapidly, brushing under your clit and making you tense. “Hm?”
“Yes!” you moaned when he lightly zigzagged over it, bending your back. “Felix, don’t tease. Please, make me cum. I’ve wanted you to for so long.”
“Have you now?”
“Yes.”
“Then I suppose I should be merciful and give you what you want, right?” He pressed his fingertip to your entrance, sliding only to the first knuckle and then dragging it back out. “Since you’ve waited so patiently this whole time?”
“Yes,” you whimpered and pushed your hips down to his hand. “It’s only right, after all.”
He kissed up your front, stopping by one of your nipples as his finger slipped right inside. You held onto your sheets tightly, your walls clenching around him the moment the digit curled. He barely moved it in and out, but instead rubbed within you while he kissed both your breasts. Then, he sat up against the wall, putting one of your legs over his lap as he focused both hands on your pussy. One hand rolled around your clit while the other slipped in and out. Your thighs lifted slightly to give him more room, keeping them open for him to go deeper.
“That’s it,” he groaned, transfixed by your sex, “Keep those open for me. Just for me.” He removed his finger to spread your juices around your sensitive clit. “Only for me, understand?” He gave it a few light taps that added to the need inside you. “Not Oliver. Not David. Nobody but me.” He slapped it again before pushing two fingers inside you, “It’s mine now.”
“Yes,” you breathed, hips bucking and rocking into his hand. He pumped in and out, “It’s yours. Fuck, it’s all yours, Felix.”
“Good.”
He spat on your clit and tapped it as he continued. Your skirt bunched up around your waist, panties pushed to the side and knee highs still on, Felix never saw a more erotic sight. His cock grew harder knowing it was someone he truly liked. No, not liked. Loved. Felix Catton had done the one thing he never thought he’d do: fool around and fall in love. He bent down and took your clit in his mouth again, fingering you deeper and hearing you cry out in pleasure. He’d never get over your taste. Never. He didn’t stop even when he felt you getting closer. When he saw your body slowly contort and stiffen, he went the same pace and curled his fingers more. When your thighs started shaking, he licked rapidly and pushed more. The moment you came, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his tongue. He needed more of you. He realized then how much he loved making you cum, but he wasn’t done. Not nearly.
“Get over here,” he grabbed your hair and brought you onto the floor in front of him. “Stay right there, hands behind your back.”
You knelt at his feet, panting and lips already parted. You waited eagerly as he undid his belt and fly, then pulled himself out. Perfect. Better than any you’d seen. Even Oliver. You swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth and opened it for him. He held your hair in one hand and pushed himself in with the other. Once his sweet taste smeared over your tastebuds, you knew you were a goner. You sucked the soft pink tip when it pushed on the flat of your tongue, humming softly from the taste. Felix’s low groan made you pulse again, already longing for more. He did this slowly, almost teasing himself with your mouth. He’d pull out the length he put in, but then push in another inch. His dark eyes stayed on yours, watching you obediently take his cock to your throat. You let out a few gagging sounds when the tip pushed the threshold of it, eyes watering and you coughing when he withdrew. He’d wipe the strings of spit that followed and pushed them back into your mouth.
“God, your mouth’s fucking amazing,” he groaned, pushing deep and hearing you choke around him, “And it’s all mine.” He smiled when you moaned in agreement. He pulled out and tapped himself on your tongue, “I can do this whenever I want. I can fuck this as much as I want.”
“I hope that’s as often as possible,” you moaned, kissing the underside of his cock before sucking again.
“Too often.”
He got a better grip on your hair and pushed you to his crotch. More precum dripped down your throat and mixed with your spit, the droplets falling from your chin to your chest. Reaching up to them, you swiped a string and wet your nipple with it. Felix caught this and groaned, pulling out and moaning when you spat on the tip and sucked him some more. Your pussy throbbed at the light smacks he left on your cheeks and lips, making you messier than before. The tears wetting your lashes fell onto your cheekbones once he pushed deep into your throat. You couldn’t get enough. When he finally let go of you, you held onto his thighs and went faster. The thick muscled thighs flexed as he got closer to an orgasm. He’d finally do the one thing you always wanted, but then he made you stop.
“Let’s get this off you,” he grunted, putting you back on the bed and tugging off your skirt. He grabbed the side seam of your underwear and tore at it. You giggled in surprise.
“Felix! You could’ve just slipped them off!”
“This was hotter,” he said panting. “I’ll get you better ones, baby.”
After rolling on a condom, Felix pushed in slowly. You realized his actual size right then, legs lifting and ending up around his waist to adjust. “Oh my god,” you whimpered. “Fuck, Felix, you’re so…”
“So what, baby?” he asked, going deeper.
“Big. It’s too much,” you breathed quickly, “It’s too much.”
“No, it’s not, baby,” he assured you gently, staying nestled inside you, “And you deserve every single inch.”
“No, I don’t,” you put your hands on his shoulders and looked into his deep brown eyes. The eyes you thought about at night, the ones you wanted to keep in your life forever if possible.
“Yes, you do,” he nodded, looking back at you. “You’re so fucking beautiful, so fucking sexy it drives me mad. You’re going to get this cock as often as possible,” he made a few thrusts that made your eyes roll back, “All you have to do is ask me. Come right to my room,” he went fully back inside, “And say ‘Felix, please fuck me’ with those pretty eyes of yours and that cute little pout and I’ll fucking fold.”
“If you don’t do it first,” you said, clinging onto him as you rolled your hips against him. “One word, I swear. Just one. Anywhere. Anytime.”
His hand ended up around your throat, holding you in place as he kept eye contact. The fingers squeezing the sides, you clenched at the feeling. “Oh yeah?” he started going faster, his hips snapping to yours, “Is that so?”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
“Fuck, that’s hot.” He kissed you deeply as he bottomed up and held your thighs apart.
Hand on your throat, cock pumping you hard, you could feel yourself reaching another orgasm. It tingled inside you, reaching your clit and making it more sensitive.
“Go on,” he egged you on, “Cum on my cock. Cum on me, love.”
You bit your lower lip as it tore through you. You couldn’t control your shaking hands or how you clawed at his shoulders. It started where he pushed on your g-spot, then went through the rest of you. Then a single word escaped you that made him smile.
“Daddy…”
Your eyes widened, but Felix only grinned. “Say it again. Say it again. I want you to call me that all the time. Say it.”
You said it even as you came down. Not that he gave you much of a break. Putting a pillow on the edge, Felix rolled you onto it and pinned your wrists behind your back. You muffled your moans to keep people from hearing, but it was hard when it felt so amazing. In long, deep strokes you felt nothing except the overwhelming pleasure he kept giving you. Your walls tightened to milk out his orgasm, dying to hear what he sounded like when he finally came.
“Does Oliver make you cum like that?” he asked, yanking your head up by your hair and slapping your ass. “Does he?”
“No,” was all you could manage without moaning.
“Are you going to cum for Daddy again?” He smacked your bottom one more time, “Hm?”
“Ye-Ye-Yes, Da-addy.”
He gave several quick thrusts, spanking you and changing angles to get deeper. You couldn’t focus on anything else. All that you felt was the sparking nub and his thick cock slamming into you. When he let go of your hands, he started pulling your ass onto him and you buried your face in the sheets. Your legs shook and you screamed into the mattress as he helped you finish once again. As you kicked and squirmed from the tenderness, Felix kept going. You felt him starting to throb within you, thrusting wildly as his own orgasm approached. He grunted when you managed to get him out and grab hold of him from behind. The condom slowly came off, stretching out with your hand until it snapped. Your hand working only the tip, Felix trembled and shook as he came. Thick, white strings fell onto your hand and ass, each one shooting out with another moan. You stroked and squeezed, loving the feeling of him twitching in your fingers. His low, deep groans sounded better than anything you’d heard before.
When everything settled, Felix wiped you down with wet napkins you kept near your bed and peppered you with kisses. You feared the daylight, snuggling close to his side and draping over him. If the sun came, then the night would end and he’d disappear. You didn’t think you could handle that. You held onto him a bit tighter than you meant to, almost willing him to stay before he left and moved onto someone else. You couldn’t face the next day after the time you’ve spent with him. You can’t face the lonely reality again.
“Don’t go,” you said softly, resting on his chest. You traced the angel wing tattoo on his ribcage, “Please, stay with me.”
“I wasn’t planning on it, love,” he said, pulling out a cigarette and lighter from his jeans on the floor. You heard the familiar flicker of his lighter, then the smoky scent of his favorite brand. “Never.”
“I mean it,” you looked up at him, “Even if you didn’t mean any-”
“-I meant every word,” he replied a bit firmly, sucking the end of his cigarette and blowing smoke upwards. “I’d never lie to you, YN. I promise.”
He kissed the top of your head and wrapped an arm around you. The two of you laid that way for a while, both of you puffing from the same cigarette until sleep started coming over you. The feeling of his fingers tracing between your shoulders coaxed you towards sleeping. Hearing his heartbeat matching yours became a comforting, quiet sound. You hardly noticed when you finally fell asleep, Felix slowly following behind.
“Stop. Stop! If you make me laugh any more I’m gonna pee!” You urge him, your stomach shaking with every laugh he pulls from you.
“Alrigh’, alrigh’.” Simon acquiesces raising both hands up in defence for a moment before they land on the steering wheel again, though the grin on his scarred lips tells you that in actuality, he’s far from being done. “They jus’ keep comin’ to me though, love. Can’ help it.”
“Yeah well, maybe you can start sharing again when they become good suggestions.” You jest back at him, unable to suppress the giggle that comes up when he pulls a face at you.
“Ouch. Jus’ for that, I got another one. Wha’ ‘bout Huey, Dewey and Louie?”
“Ugh! Terrible! Not in a million years.” You reach across to playfully shove at his arm, though you should know by now that you’ll never be quite fast enough to surprise the Lieutenant, when his hand captures your own and brings it to his mouth to press a soft kiss across your knuckles.
“How ‘bout Alvin, Simon and Theodore?”
“And what makes you so sure that it’s going to be three boys, Simon? Hmm?” You ask him, this time pulling his hand towards you and settling it across your stomach, smiling when his thumb automatically beings rubbing against you.
“That’d be because I put three boys in ya, didn’t I?” He smirks back at you, the idea of there being a tiny heartbeat inside of you still being one that seems to take his breath away. The two of you had only found out you were expecting a little over three weeks ago now, when you’d peed on the test in your shared flat and wept tears of joy together afterwards, seeing the two lines you never knew if you would get to see.
It wasn’t until about a half hour ago however, sat at the doctor’s office to confirm how far along you were, that tears sprang to your eyes for a different reason.
Triplets
Fucking triplets
Of course, the first time Simon Riley knocked his wife up he’d go and have three at once, wouldn’t he?
“Nice try, Riley. There is definitely at least one girl in here.” You retort, your mind drifting in a thousand different directions as it has been since the bomb dropped on you. Three babies. How could there be three babies inside of you right now? One was already going to be ambitious, considering how often Simon is absent, not for a lack of love for you, but for his need to answer the call of duty each and every time the phone rings, but for there to now be three? How were you meant to manage three babies by yourself? What if something happened to Simon on one of those missions? What if something happened to you during the pregnancy? What if-
“Love.” Simon’s voice interrupts your spiralling thoughts, his eyes all too knowing when he catches your gaze. “It’ll be alrigh’. Yeah? I’m sure we could think of at least one girl name if we ‘ave to.” He jokes, trying again to continue distracting you from the thoughts he knows are swirling in that head of yours, to keep the worries and fears at bay if only a little while longer.
“Well, good. ‘Cause I have a feeling there might actually be two girls.” You sniffle, pushing down the tears that threaten your waterline, your emotions having been all over the place and justifiably so.
“I mean, I was feeling particular towards Larry, Moe and Curly-”
“At those rate you’re not going to be naming any of our children if these are the ones you’re pulling out of your ass right now.” You smile widely when he genuinely laughs at you there. Putting the car in park he tugs his seatbelt off and leans across the console, holding your face gently with both hands as he comes to land a kiss first on your forehead, then on your nose, before slipping his tongue into your mouth.
“We’re gonna be okay, swee’heart. Promise ya, we’ll figure this out together. Not lettin’ anythin’ happen to the four of ya.” He reassures you, your heart feeling as though it’s beaming with the ever growing gratitude you hold for this man before you.
“That is so crazy. ‘The four of you’.” You whisper to him, slightly shaking your head in disbelief as you quote him. “Do I like- do I count as four people right now? Am I four people?”
“Maybe not yet. But we’ll see how you feel two trimesters from now.” He replies, stepping out and quickly making his way over to your side to open the door for you, reaching a hand out towards you. Knowing you were pregnant was one thing, but now knowing that you’re carrying three of his babies? You won’t be lifting a single finger for the next year if he has any say in it. Luckily and still unbeknownst to you, his retirement papers were filed the same day you showed him the positive test, his mind made up far before your family more than doubled in size.
“Oh my god. I’m going to be the size of a house.”
“Prettiest house I’ve ever seen.” He says without hesitation, helping you out of the car. “Speaking o’ which, don’t think we’re going to be able to fit three cribs in that flat. We’ll have to look at somethin’ new. Maybe build somethin’ from scratch. Did them three little pigs have names or-”
“I knew that’s where you were going with that! Ugh!” You laugh along with him despite it all, leaning into his embrace when his arm wraps around your shoulders. As exciting and terrifying and unknown as everything still is, you can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that there isn’t a single other soul in the universe you would rather raise your three little musketeers with, even if he came locked and loaded with dad jokes galore long before he got you pregnant.
I'd love to see a story of forbidden love between siblings (Arthur Guinness and Anne Guinness). Ever since I saw the series, and him lying in her lap, that image hasn't left my mind, as well as the subtle exchanges of irony between them. They are my favorite characters from the House of Guinness series.
Oh! Im sorry, I don’t write sibling relationships in that sense.
i keep updating your page to see if there is a new chapter for the derry girls fic ahahah
That is so sweet!
I’m sorry becasue I know I had said that I was going to publish the fourth part sometime this week.
Luckily for me, in Spain weeks end on Sunday and start on Monday, so who knows? Maybe I will have something out tonight, but I won’t promise just in case.
I love the Derry girls series!! It’s so rare to find anything about David 🍀
Oh, thank you!
I watched the show back when Netflix would bring the new season year after year, and now that I had a David itch, I was surprised that there was not much (although I must say that the fics about Erin’s older sister getting pregnant had me hooked).
So, like usual: if you don’t find the fanfiction that you want, you just write it yourself
I didn’t really expect so many people reading it, so all of these comments have been a very pleasant surprise.
If anyone wants to send David Donnelly requests, my inbox is wide open!
Hi can I please request a fluffy Arthur Guinness x fem!reader ?
One where reader and Arthur are married. Arthur is in a bad mood, stressed with the campaign etc and just being grumpy with everyone around him. People get sick of it and it falls to reader to calm him which he does because he's just a man in love blah blah blah 😍
In the good and in the bad
Pairing: Arthur Guinness x F!reader
Summary: the request
AN: this is my first Arthur Guinness request, I hope you like it! Also, requests remain open, if anyone wants to send anything, don’t be a stranger!
The sounds of Arthur’s yells were reaching all of the rooms in the Guinness household, making all members stiff and ready to flee if they were to be encountered with the furious firstborn son of Benjamin Guinness. Ever since the funeral and the reading of the will, Arthur Guinness and his wife, Y/N Guinness née McCallister were still trying to adapt to not being the only people in their home. After five years in London, the couple of Dubliners were remembering how boring this city was, as opposed to the capital they had been living in. It was an undeniable fact that Iveagh House was far larger than the home they had bought in London, but it was theirs, decorated how they wanted, and with the staff they wanted.
Y/N, after listening to the reading of the will beside her husband, had decided to show a strong front for the sake of their sanity. Arthur was counting on taking his father’s seat in parliament, going back to the home they had made on their own and starting with kids (more for the entertainment he found in outspoken children than the idea of heirs), but that had been completely shattered when Benjamin had shackled both sons together, intertwining Arthur and Edward for the foreseeable future. Y/N had decided to take the radical change with as much grace as she could muster, but it was true that some days were harder than others. Luckily for her, today she had woken up in good spirits, counterpointing her husband's outbursts on the other side of the building.
Sitting on a chaise lounge with knitting needles in her hands, she had been working on a small blanket for Anne’s baby, whose existence had been known a few weeks prior. The white wool was a perfect color for the child, but the piece kept wrapping into itself, making her somewhat frustrated at the shape it was taking. While she was stretching the knit, Anne barged into the room, closing the door as quickly as possible. Both women looked at each other, the older one shaking her head and the younger smiling softly.
“I swear he has become worse as time passes.” Anne moved away from the door, walking to sit on the other side of the chaise. “How have you been doing this for five years?” Y/N left the knit on her lap, shifting to face her sister by law and her closest friend in Iveagh.
“This has just started, London has been completely different.” Anne scrunched her face, confusion evident in her pale features.
“He is the same as he was before you left, but somehow worse.” Y/N shrugged, not fully knowing what to say.
“I mean- We had a low-stress lifestyle in London, his only possible chance to anger was cricket or the result of the horse races. Now he feels suffocated, none of you have gotten out of the will what you expected.” She picked up a small piece of lint from her skirt, black thread that was possibly his. “And now the campaign isn’t going as he expected, so this is how he is externalising it.” Anne looked at her with a bewildered look. “I will talk to him.”
“Honestly, the Guinness name is only alive because of the two of us. Leave it to the three of them, with Rafferty, to destroy the family.” Y/N picked up her knitting again, starting to twist the yarn in the familiar fashion her mother had taught her.
Comfortable silence engulfed them, Anne taking out of her small pouch a book of prayers that she had gotten from the church. Not long had passed before a sound of something coming into impact with a wall made both women look up from their distractions. They looked at each other and sighed. Footsteps that were moving at a quick pace became louder by the second, the owner of such movements clearly running down the hallway.
Edward stormed into the room, looking at both women and then focusing on her brother’s wife. “He has lost all control.” Closing the door behind him and standing in front of the woman, he crouched down to meet her gaze. “Between the election and the brewery, he has lost it, Y/N, I swear.”
Y/N looked at Edward, knowing what he was asking of her. “You want me to go?” He nodded solemnly. “Where is he?”
“In dad’s office.”
Standing decisively, Y/N left the baby blanket on the coffee table beside the chaise, walking to grab the door. Once her hand was touching the handle, she turned to both siblings. “If we don’t show up for supper, don’t expect us.” She smiled one last time and swiftly moved to where the sounds of crashes were coming from.
On her way there, she encountered one of the maids walking away from the office, and she gently stopped her. “Mary, how is he?”
Big brown eyes met hers, doe-like with shock coating them. “He demanded I leave the room. I have never seen him this angry.” Nodding, she gently thanked Mary and left her to keep walking towards her objective.
The tall mahogany door was closed, but in its state it couldn’t stop the sounds that were coming from the room. She wondered if she should knock, but she quickly got rid of that thought – what help would that be? Opening the door, she was met with her husband’s back, shoulders pulled back and his upper body moving to his deep ragged breaths.
“I said to get out.” His tone had progressively gotten louder with every word he said, ending the sentence with a shout.
Y/N rolled her eyes and sat on one of the chairs near the entrance, beside the world globe that showed perfectly New York and Dublin. “It’s only me, Arthur.” Recognising her voice, the man turned around to face her.
“Oh.” He walked tentatively closer to her while he was visibly trying to calm down. Finally nearing her, he spoke again. “We live surrounded by idiots.”
Usually, when Arthur would speak like this of his family, Y/N would first negate that thought, pointing out the virtues of his siblings, but this time, something told her that that wasn’t the subject of importance. Noticing the poster split in half, she stood to walk to it, passing Arthur in the process.
“Why do you have an Abe Lincoln propaganda poster on the floor?” Even if that had been one object of his ire, the fact that his wife had thought the same exact thing made Arthur smile gently. “It's not Lincoln.” Moving her head to the side to get a better view, she snickered, “It’s you?”
She turned only her head to look at him, a soft laugh leaving her mouth. He walked forwards to stand behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist and leaning his head on her shoulder. “My thoughts exactly.” Y/N responded by putting her hands over his, which were placed on her lower stomach. “This Byron bastard is not as competent as he sold himself to be.”
“Well, I have eyes that work and I think I know the basics for a good campaign poster, we will fix that eventually.” She was about to move to reach for the discarded piece of paper, but her husband’s tightening grip stopped her movements. “I only want to get it, love.”
“Leave it there, it doesn’t deserve your attention.” Y/N felt his lips move against her shoulder ,muting slightly the sound of his voice. “But I do.”
“Do you?” She felt his nose and moustache tickling her neck, the result of him pressing her face deeper against her skin.
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?”
“Mean.” She shifted in his arms, moving completely to face him. Arthur moved to place his head where it was, but Y/N held him away from her by his shoulders.
“Mean is what you have been to everyone in this house.” Arthur groaned, rolling his eyes. “You have made the atmosphere stiff and unwelcoming for your siblings and our staff.” He shrugged her off him to go and sit on the loveseat near the table with the bottle of whisky. Once he was sat, he patted the space beside him, signaling that he wanted her to join him.
She crossed her arms, unknowingly emphasising her bust more, which made Arthur smile at her attempt to be imposing. Taking a deep breath and letting a small smile reach her lips, she moved forwards to join him. Immediately after she sat down, Arthur was already moving to place his head on her lap, using her legs and her skirts as a cushion. Making himself comfortable, Y/N thought of the similarities between Arthur and a cat, but didn’t bother vocalising them. Once he had stopped moving his head to find the perfect spot, she placed her hand in his hair, playing with the brown curls that had already broken from their brushed state.
“I miss home.”
“You are home.” Arthur moved once again, this time to look into her eyes.
“I mean our home, the house we bought and put so much time into it for it to be ours.” He grabbed her hand to play with her fingers. “Every single time I wake up in the mornings, I can’t stop thinking about this not being what I promised you.” He kissed her knuckles. “I told you that we were going to leave Dublin, that we would live in London, that we would travel the world before we settled down to have kids.” He grabbed her other hand and shifted again to his side, so that she had her arms wrapped around him. “I feel like I have trapped you. I know I have trapped you. And I always think I should send you home, where you belong, but then I realize that that would take me away from you, and I selfishly make you stay with me.”
“In the good and in the bad, Arthur.” Now he laid perfectly still. “That’s what I promised you, darling. In the good and in the bad.” She took back one of her hands to gently stroke his face, just like her mother would do to her when she was in distress. “Even if I wanted to go back to London, which, surprisingly, I don’t, I would not leave you here. Arthur, we are a team, and we stick together.”
Her husband started absentmindedly playing with the fabric of her skirt. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Now you are just being foolish.”
“I don’t. Look at you, gentle, patient, kind. And here I am, crashing over a harp logo and a campaign poster.” She stopped her stroking, which made him lowly whimper.
“I am proud, stubborn and unsubmissive.”
“You are beautiful, smart and interesting.”
“You are funny, loving and fair.” This made Arthur shift to look at her, the small wrinkle between his brows making itself visible. “Why do you think my dowry was so large?”
“I don’t remember your dowry. I was too focused on other things.” His suggestive smile made her laugh.
“Well, to remind you, my father was desperate to marry me off. I had had four courtships before you.” The frown came back to his features.
“I don’t know how that is supposed to make me feel better.”
“What I’m trying to say, you jealous man, is that no one wanted to marry me, and father was growing desperate.” His arched brow showed that he was still having a hard time seeing what she was trying to say. “You, Arthur Guinness, showed up at my father’s home and asked for my hand. Knowing that I talk back, I stand my ground and that I was never going to yield to you.”
“Anyone with a brain would have married you.”
“Evidently not. And yet you did. And you have given me the happiest six years of my life.” He finally sat back, both of their faces to the same level, and coming impossibly close to the other. “So what if we’ve had a small setback? So what if we have to start all over again in Dublin? We will do it together, like we have always done.”
“I love you.”
“I love you most, Arthur Guinness.” The kiss was unlike the ones they were used to giving each other, passionate with crashing teeth and world-shattering. This one was soft, tentative, as if they were doing it for the first time again. And somewhat, they were.
A.N: I hope you liked it Anon! I had so much fun writing this!
Summary: third part of the David Donnely fic. Y/N is avoiding the guy, feeling like The other woman by Lana del Rey.
Timeline: follows chapter 2 of Season 1 of Derry Girls
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
She could swear her fingers were going numb. A whole week going directly to her mother’s hair salon after school and sweeping the strands of hair that would reach the floor were making Y/N consider the future of her hands and of her back. Today was out of the ordinary because the school had just announced the trip to Paris, and the price was something Y/N wasn’t fully willing to ask for. The teen had been considering, while sweeping light pink strands of hair from an older woman, asking her mother for an extension of the punishment but this time with some pay. Five pence an hour could have her making twenty pence a day, five days a week for a month gave her a decent amount of money to pay for the trip and getting souvenirs for everybody.
Even if the news about the trip to Paris had shocked the whole group, sending the teenage girls and James into a stressed-out frenzy, Y/N still had David taking a lot of space in her mind. Since the kiss, which she kept thinking about whenever a teacher lost her attention, guilt had eaten her body, especially when looking at Erin. The young Halligan couldn’t imagine herself as someone that would break “girl code”, in fact, she had to admit that she had been, more than once, the girl to condemn a classmate when they fought over guys. Being on the other side made her feel dirty, like a hypocrite.
These feelings had made her avoid seeing her brother at their practices, declining every invitation with the excuse that with working at the salon she was falling behind on schoolwork and was too tired to go. All lies, obviously, since Y/N had always done her tasks ten minutes before each class, like Alex had taught her. Mary was no help either. Since the both of them had had more conversations about the serousness of their relationship, Robert and Evelyn had insisted more and more for her to come to dinner, being almost family and all. This left Y/N with dinners full of Alex insisting she should go back to seeing them play and Mary saying that she needed some girl company, to talk about girl stuff.
So not only was she now avoiding David like the plague, she was stuck wondering what Mary could possibly mean by talking about girl stuff. Y/N’s closest friend was Michelle, and half of their conversations were about rides and the other half were about parties and messing in school. She couldn’t even fathom what the blonde would want to talk to her about, she didn’t seem like a girl that liked talking about cracking fellas.
Sean, on the other hand, was over the moon with Mary becoming a new addition to the family, because this got his parents off his back about the girl he had been talking to recently, or at least that was what he had told Y/N. Even if they weren’t as close as Y/N and Alex, the youngest Halligan had always been comfortable talking to his sister about things like this, probably because he was comforted by her cluelessness in the topic. Sean had met the girl during one of his football matches with his friends. Friend of a friend that had gone to watch them play, Sean had found her cute with her red hair and blue eyes and had asked for her phone number. The fact that the youngest boy wanted to keep her a secret from his parents was perfect for Y/N, because if both of her brothers had relationships, the whole family would focus on her, and on her apparent single status. She could already imagine her distant relatives asking her if there was a fella waiting for her call after the event, and her trying to bite her tongue to not admit the truth; that her fella was actually her friend’s fella, and that she would never be able to be with him because of “girl code”. Aunt Beth would completely get that, yeah.
Looking up from her broom, the clock mounted on the wall showed that she only had fifteen minutes left until closing time. Y/N looked for her mother and found her charging her last client, a girl around her age that had gone to get her hair curled for a date, she had cheerfully explained to Evelyn while she was putting the curlers on her brown hair. Both women made eye contact, mother and daughter smiling at each other. Even if her shift had been born from a punishment for bullying first years (which she hadn’t done), it had been a great opportunity to spend time with her ma without anyone else interfering with their conversation. The minutes before getting home, walking down the streets of Derry together, talking about anything had become a staple for both of them.
Finally closing the salon for the day, Y/N put her white coat over her green uniform, snaking her arm through her mother’s as they started walking down the street in the direction to their home. “Ma?”
“Yes, honey?”
“The school announced today the trip for this year.”
“Where is it?”
“Paris.”
“Your father and I went to Paris for our honeymoon.” Y/N nodded in acknowledgment. “It’s a beautiful city, I’m sure you’ll like it.”
“But the price is somewhat high, so I was wondering if I could keep working at the hair salon, but this time with pay? I’ve done the maths and five pence an hour is enough for me to be able to pay for the trip before the deadline.” Evelyn remained silent, trying to figure out if there was indeed a possibility to hire her daughter for her to save up money for the trip.
“I’m not sure, Y/N, let me talk to your father and we can all figure something out, yeah?” Y/N nodded, a small smile on her face to assure her mother that it was okay. “We will come to a solution, sweets.”
Once home, the family was in the common area, wondering what to have. Y/N, freshly out of her shower and drying her hair with a towel was sitting on the armrest of the couch, counting down the seconds until her mother would tell her to get off it before she ruined the shape of it. Sean was laying on the same couch facing the ceiling, throwing a small ball and catching it repeatedly. Alex was trying to make their TV work, wanting to put on the news for the family as they usually did at night.
Rob, in an attempt to promote the critical thinking of his children, had always insisted they watched the news together and then conversed about them, trying to get them to form solid opinions regarding the political setting they lived in. The result, unfortunately for them, was two sons that sympathised with the IRA and a daughter that got in too much trouble for questioning her teachers. But, as Robert had insisted after Evelyn had shown her concerns about the matter, better strong ideals than wavering ideologies that could be manipulated by someone smarter.
Both parents left the kitchen area and went to the living room to meet their children. “So, we’ve decided that tonight we’re eating from the chippy.” Three pairs of eyes met the two adults. “Your mother doesn’t feel like cooking, rightfully so, so we’re having Finnoula’s.”
Seeing that there was no opposition, the teens were too hungry to request something different, Evelyn walked towards the chart. A small whiteboard that hung from the wall divided the chores depending on who had done it last. “So, it seems like our lucky wain today is Y/N. Dear, write down our orders and go to the chippy, please.” Standing from her seat, Y/N walked to the small notebook in her mother’s hands and the pen in her fathers, and did so.
Once done with writing down their meal, she grabbed her coat and walked to Finnoula’s. To her parent’s surprise, she hadn’t complained about going, but this was because she knew her friends would be there too, so the trip wasn’t as tedious as it usually was. Walking into the place, she saw that Erin and Orla were already in, Erin reading the list to Finnoula, making the older woman angrier by the second.
“Give me that!” Finnoula took the small piece of paper from Erin’s hand, making the teen mutter a thanks in exchange. “Halligan, don’t even bother, give it to me too.” Y/N walked to the women and gave her her list, turning to look at the pair of cousins.
“Any news about the trust fund, girls?” They both shook their heads no, unsurprising Y/N who was in the same situation.
“What about you?” She placed her hands on the counter, shrugging her shoulders.
“Apparently they have something saved, but it’s for university or for when the car breaks, whatever comes first.” Clare came in during the girl’s explanation, placing herself between Orla and Erin.
“What about you, Clare, any joy with the trust fund?” The blonde looked at the three taller girls, shaking her head.
“Nah. According to my ma, we’re actually quite poor.”
“Aye, I think we might be as well.” After Erin saying this, Finnoula came back, looking expectantly at Clare, making the girl stutter in nervousness because of the woman. Michelle walked in, followed closely by James, both bearing similar news.
“Well, Jenny Joyce was talking through her fat hole about this trust fund thing.” James waved at the girls, being ignored except for Y/N’s small smile. “What the fuck are we going to do about Paris now?”
Orla, always the voice of reason, piped her ideas regarding funding. ”We could sell our organs.”
Sarcastically, Y/N replied: “We’ve all got two kidneys, and I know of people that only have one.” Clare glared at the girl, trying to show her opinion about accepting Orla’s ideas as reasonable ones.
“We could, we could sell our organs. And, forgive me if this is a bit left field, but could we not, you know, get jobs?” Michelle rolled her eyes at Clare.
“There’s no jobs in Derry. That’s what you hear everybody say.” Y/N turned to the bulletin board in front of them, pointing out the flyers stuck to the surface.
“They’re usually talking about real jobs when they say that. Small, menial tasks that are extremely boring are extremely available.”
After talking more about the job prospects in Derry and the missing vs. dead cat posters, James had had an outburst in the shop, complaining that the food at Finnoula was far too greasy for his interest, making him get kicked out of the place. The other girls waited for their orders to be ready before leaving, Y/N saying goodbye to James before walking home.
With the bags in her hands and her fingers sore from holding the broom, the young girl had decided to carry them in her arms, the same way you would carry a small child, which led to the plastic bags making her arms start to burn. Walking quickly down the streets of Derry, she made it home, to their green front door and opened it quickly.
“Help, quick! I’m burning myself.” Walking into the living room, she felt the bags being lifted from her arms, not noticing who was the one taking them away. “Thank you. I swear Finnoula heats up the oil more each time.”
“Ha, yeah, she’s probably plotting against all of us.” Stopping what she was going, which was wiping her hands on her jeans, Y/N looked up in shock at the voice from the person in front of her.
“Y/N, honey, you came! David is joining us for dinner tonight, I’m sure we can make the food feed one more.” She looked up at the boy that was holding the bags, a sheepish smile meeting her in exchange.
