pacifier (s.b.)
pairing: sirius black x younger potter! reader
summary: something about your relationship with sirius black had never sit quite right with you, and now that he's back after two years of travelling the world, you're beginning to think that you'll soon find out what'll happens if the two of you finally fall over the edge of whatever precipice you've been teetering close to all these years. plus, you've got to work with him all summer, so what's the worst that could happen?
warnings: allusions to sex (minors dni!!!), swearing, cocky sirius and like kind of an annoying younger sister reader (but also that's literally me lol), bad transitions between light hearted banter and angst but i'm trying my best RIP, i imagine sirius to be mid-20s and reader only 3/4 years younger (but everyone is OF AGE), mommy issues if you squint
wc: 5.4k+
note: soooo i'm back :D again :D i'm almost done with second year and actually somewhat ahead with all my papers (with very minimal finals; def recommend being a history major x) and i've just been missing the community so enjoy this! i had this first chapter posted a while back (like maybe a year) but it was actually ass so i've redone it a little :)))) as always, reblogs and comments are MUCH appreciated and i can't wait to interact w/ y'all over this because i have been DAYDREAMING about brother's bf sirius :')
“What do you mean he’s working at the shop as well?!” you screeched, chasing your Mother around the kitchen, feeling a lot like the pesky youngest child you were.
“He needs some help so we offered to give him a job. Honestly sweetheart, aren’t you too old for this childish feud?”
“Too old? Shouldn’t you be saying that to him? He’s like– thirty or something, and still continues to be the bane of my existence. Fucking Bla–”
Your Mother whirled on you abruptly, brandishing the wooden spoon she was about to stir the boiling pot with right in your face. “Language, missy! I would tell him the same thing, but unluckily for you, you’re my daughter and currently living under my roof, so you get to hear it first.” She gave you a saccharine sweet smile, the kind that had you biting back the urge to stomp your feet and pout at her until she gave in. Unfortunately for you, that hadn’t worked since you were about six years old.
“--now, he’s been gone for such a long time, and we’re all very excited to see him, so don’t ruin this reunion with any more of your tantrums.”
You opened your mouth, intent on not letting the argument die there, but your Father bounded into the kitchen at the same moment, ruffling up your hair with a “Hey there, kiddo,” before promptly moving on to snake his hands around your Mother’s waist. “Looking as beautiful as always, my dear,” he cooed into her ear. She let out an uncharacteristic giggle that had you bolting from the kitchen before you were scarred any further.
Your parents’ tooth-aching affections for each other were just that: sweet, but sickly all the same. Deep down, you knew you yearned for a romance like theirs, something genuine but passionate, able to withstand the test of time (and your ever-dwindling patience). James, your older brother, had found it with Lily, their son Harry being a product of their young but no less intense love.
And you loved that kid like he was your own. Would beg James to let you come over, play with the babbling toddler for a few hours, would even offer up your weekends, encouraging the young couple to “go out, live a little!”. But they were about as infatuated with their own child as you were, and had a never-ending supply of friends who were equally as eager to help out.
Speaking of, one of those eager friends was currently pounding his stupid fist against your stupid front door, and you were already riled up from the news that you couldn’t take seeing his face physically in front of you, as well.
You shoved past James, knocking him back a step as his hand reached for the door to let his best mate in. You caught a glimpse of him on the doorstep, the first in almost two years– hair unruly like he’d just rolled out of bed, long, black strands; newly tanned skin blushing under the heat of the sun; those thick, brooding eyebrows that raised up in your direction – eughh.
“What’s got your knickers in a bunch?” James called at your retreating figure, shouting loud enough to be heard over your heavy footsteps despite the carpeted floor.
“Ask your best mate over there!” you answered back with a bite, slamming your room door shut.
“Fuck,” he sighed, defeated, yanking his confused friend in and a chucking a thumb towards the stairs. “How’ve you managed to piss her off before you even got here?” he asked incredulously. “Peace– we had peace in this house for the past two years since you’ve been off travelling, and now look–! It’s a bloody riot!”
“Oi– I’ve done nothing,” he moaned indignantly, hanging his coat and scarf on the gold-crested hooks by the door. “--I think,” he added for good measure after a beat.
He never understood why the two of you struggled to get along. You’d grown up together, spent every waking moment in each other’s presence when he was at the Potter residence (which happened to be just about always given his own family situation). In theory, he should be like some sort of older brother figure– someone to loan out advice and shoulders to cry on and all that jazz.
But no. Something about you and your irritatingly know-it-all personality, or shrill voice when indignant (which was rather often around him), or your need to always be right – something about you made it so he just had to tease you endlessly until you were yelling, voice all pitchy, nostrils flared, breath heavy and face blotchy. When things would begin to die down, he’d find something else to point out, argue back, hit the nail on your specific head– something to really push you that little bit over the edge.
It was a little too fun to not try to get a rise out of you every time you were together. And as much as Sirius was aware that the jabs each of you threw had gotten a little more out of hand and a little less appropriate for your relationship– he just couldn’t stop.
The rest of the Potter family didn’t share your sentiments about Sirius, and rather adored him immeasurably. Had since he’d taken to hiding out in their house after a particularly brutal fight at home when he was only eleven. Heck, he’d even attended every Potter-family gathering, dinner, birthday, you name it, since then. It was why he came over every Sunday for a roast, pudding and some chat – he could never put into words what your family had done for him, the safety, security, home, even, they'd given him when he’d been lost and entirely clueless of what a real family looked like.
So he made the thirty-minute drive, every Sunday, much to your irritation. He plastered on the biggest smile for your Mum, complimenting every minute detail of the meal she cooked for the family, drank a glass of whiskey and smoked a cigar with your Dad; he was even Harry’s favourite, always humming quiet melodies into the youngest Potter’s ear.
With him travelling the world for the past almost-two-years, he’d missed out on the family time he usually looked forward to every weekend. Mondays seemed a lot less dreadful after having a belly-full of Mrs Potter’s food. Still, he’d sent postcards and printed pictures of everywhere he went, the sights he’d seen, people he’d met. It wasn’t the same, not without the lot of you to pester him (maybe you especially) but he’d needed some time to find himself.
He still wasn’t sure if he’d found what he was looking for, but the money had to have run out eventually so he was back home, ready to work and settle down in his life for once after graduating Hogwarts.
Sirius followed James into the living room where he found Lily, sipping on a glass of red, sitting by the empty fireplace. Instead, a window had been cracked in to let the temperate wind in.
She perked up as they entered, waving with that soul-wrenching smile of hers that could persuade even the most strong-willed of men into submission.
“Pads, you’re back!” she called from her seat. "And you've grown a moustache-- interesting choice of facial hair." Sirius, however, raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, ignoring her greeting-slash-judgement as he peered into the empty crib by her side, even going as far as to search under it as if the toddler might have escaped.
“Harry’s gone to bed in the guest room. There was a bit of a shouting match before you arrived,” James explained, sinking into the space beside his wife and pulling her into his side. “Actually, now that I think about it, there was a lot of shouting after you arrived as well!”
Lily snorted, snuggling into her husband without hesitation, and Sirius couldn’t help but avert his eyes, feeling entirely like he was imposing on an intimate moment as the two of them whispered in the other’s ear.
“Well, don’t mind me. Sitting here, all by my lonesome, no company or polite chatter to partake in, not even my dashing god son to entertain me” he sighed, dramatically, to no one in particular. James rolled his eyes at his best friend’s antics, chucking a frilly throw-pillow at his face (that’s what they’re for, right?) which he just as easily caught.
“Har-Har! Ever the clown, Paddy,” James mocked, flipping him off just in time for his Mum to walk in and see.
“James! Don’t aim such crude displays at my son,” she scolded, wrapping her wrinkled arms around Sirius’ shoulders from behind his chair. She leaned down, kissing the top of his head affectionately. Sirius only whimpered in agreement, leaning into her motherly touch and whining on and on about how James was being a right bully.
“My sweet child, I’ve missed you!” She beamed down at him, and that longing Sirius sometimes felt for his own Mother’s approval, her devotion or fondness, it lessened.
“But you didn’t– He was just!-- You missed– arghh!” James groaned defeatedly, head flailed back to rest against the sofa, receiving no sympathies from his giggling wife and glaring Mother. “I’m starting to understand why she hates you.”
Sirius’ eyes flashed at that– did you really hate him? Had it gotten to that point?
At the mention of your name but current absence, Mrs Potter ordered, “Go call your sister for dinner, I’ve set the table.”
He began to protest, failing to come up with a half-decent reason why he can’t walk up the two flights of stairs and pull your petulant frame from your bed– but Sirius interrupted in time, before James could make any more of a fool himself in front of his own Mother. “I’ll go get her. Got to figure out what I did this time,” he offered coolly.
Euphemia, that is, Mrs Potter, had a strict no-apparting rule in her house, had lost too many expensive vases from James and Sirius’ apparition-sprees the second they’d turned seventeen. You already had your licence, having been of legal age for some time, and had, since graduating (top of the class, as you tended to point out, much to your Ravenclaw friends’ dismay) from Hogwarts, found a job at a school in the muggle world, teaching children English Literature in preparation of some exam. O Levels, you’d called them.
Sirius thought it to be some sort of torture device - these O Levels – but you’d smacked him across the head in admonishment with the book in your hand – you were always carrying one, though he designated them to be a weapon, at least when in your possession – before he could say much else. Having a family-run bookshop made it so that the books, or the weapons, really, were in endless supply for you, much to Sirius’ chagrin.
Your love for reading had come from him, your Father, from when he’d stay up till the late hours of the night, hushed whispers under your bed sheet so your Mother wouldn’t hear, as he read you the Classics in animated voices that had you completely enchanted. He made sparks fly from the tip of his wand, bright colours that your little eyes couldn’t quite get enough of.
You loved being a wizard, were eternally grateful for the world you lived in and the undeniable awe of it all. But words, books, literature – they were enough magic for you, took you to places you could only ever dream to visit, and had you feeling such all-consuming emotions that sometimes, you wondered if you’d ever make it to the end of the page, or chapter, or book.
“Oi– your Mum’s put out dinner, she’s calling you downstairs,” he called through the thick wood of your door.
Sirius didn’t know why he was nervous. It was you, the little girl he’d watched grow up and had grown up with. But if the short glance he’d gotten of your stomping person as you huffed up the stairs was any indicated, you were by no means little anymore.
Funny what a few years can do to a person, huh.
He nudged it open when you didn’t respond, only to find you slumped across your bed, glaring, silently, at the ceiling and the pale-orange light emanating from the lamp on your bedside table.
You certainly looked different– older, possibly? He couldn’t quite place what had changed, only that he knew something had. In the way you dressed, styled your hair, held yourself. Even the look of your room– no longer plastered in butterflies and pink roses, but instead painted a burnt umber and with tapestries and muggle band posters hanging across every wall. A stack of vinyls were shoved into one side of your room, along with piles and piles of books, some old and missing a few pages, while others were untouched.
You heard the door click open, sitting up on your elbows to see a smirking Sirius, oozing an annoying amount of confidence, and leaning against your doorframe.
Something in your chest stumbled almost immediately. He looked the same, behaved the same as well. Still the Sirius that had left to see the world, leaving the rest of you behind. Though, he might’ve managed to actually tan, now that you really looked at him, imagining the broad planes of his shoulders, hidden by a thin linen button up, were more sun-kissed than milky-pale now.
Except you refused to even entertain the thought. You were not thinking of him or his skin or his bare chest or--
“What’s with the face?” you asked, already knowing you’ll regret the answer.
“Was that meant to be a greeting?” His eyebrow raised in amusement.
“Hi Sirius-- what’s with the face?” you answered, again, between clenched teeth.
“Nice pair of panties you got on there, bright pink, are they?” he nodded at your thighs, only just clocking that maybe having your legs spread so far apart when you’re wearing a skirt wasn’t the best idea.
Your thighs snapped shut just as Sirius was snickering behind his fist. “So, dinner?” he asked again, stepping into your room and letting the door shut behind him.
“Go to hell.”
“See, that sounds a little inconvenient, and a lot hot– humidity isn’t great for the hair, or skin. Anyway, I’ve just been around the world and found no place called Hell so not sure what to say, little Potter.” You hadn’t missed his sarcastic rambles, even though you were already struggling to hide the smile taking over your face as you looked anywhere but at him. “I tried, I really did, just for you.”
Your stomach dipped at that, a wave pulling you under-- for you.
“Buuuut– you know what I absolutely adore? Your mother’s cooking, and I haven’t had it in a while, so up ya’ get,” he insisted, tugging you up by your forearms until you were pressed against his front, not a sliver of space between the two of you.
Your breath caught in your throat. You could feel him everywhere. Hot skin against your bare arms, the itchy wool of his jumper, if you concentrated a little more, the hard expanse of his chest against yours. He must have felt it too because he released you like you were fire and he a mere mortal, brows pinching in confusion and something else, looking at you like you were a question he couldn’t quite find the answer to.
It was entirely foreign, the heat gathering in the pit of your stomach– it surely hadn’t been there before he’d left. You looked, or gawked, more like, at the very man you detested with every ounce of your being, but also the very man you were about to spend almost every hour of every day, for the rest of the Summer, with.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, as if realising the same thing as you now that you were stood in front of him. Suddenly, he understood what the whole shouting match must have been about, and up until a few moments ago, he might have disagreed with you entirely.
Now, though? He wasn’t sure what he felt.
“Ditto,” you breathed back. You pushed past him after staring for a second too long, hurrying on socked feet to the dining room downstairs, and not bothering to check if he was following.
The quiet jingle of the bell tickled your ears as you opened the door to the bookshop, dust immediately invading your senses as you fought back a harsh cough. Your Dad pushed in front of you, forcing the door to stay open by propping a stack of intimidatingly large books in front of it. You laughed silently to yourself, noting how they were all Dickens (he hated Dickens, said his novels were disturbingly boring and unnecessarily detailed).
You could only agree, never having had the courage to pick up any of those enormous beasts yourself.
“So, you can dust a little, and sweep the floor, before we open. Count the money in the till, as well, that’s very important,” he noted off, and you suddenly wish you had a pen and a pad of paper to write it all down. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been helping out at the shop since when you were younger, but this was the first time you’d been granted the responsibility of having it all to yourself (minus the inconvenience that was Sirius Black).
You were an adult now (barely, but that was a technicality)– loved to point it out any chance you got, and it meant that your Dad trusted you enough to not hover over your shoulder every time you took a shift. He was working fewer hours, though now, none, as he wanted to finish the novel he’d been writing for the past decade after melodramatically announcing at the dinner table that “It’s time!”
You weren’t sure what that exactly meant, but you weren’t about to argue with the man paying you an overly generous ten pounds an hour.
You didn’t need the money for yourself, what with still living at your parent’s house, but you wanted to contribute to the house and expenses and what no, even if it was a minuscule sum.
“Another thing,” he added, stopping, rather abruptly, in front of you, voice worryingly grave as he placed his large palms over either of your shoulders. “Please,” he begged, brows dipping, “don’t fight with Sirius in front of the customers.”
“I haven’t even done anything and you’re already after me,” you objected, pulling back from his usually comforting hold and pulling the broom out from behind the counter. His hands fell defeatedly against his sides as he sighed, standing in your way before you could mope yourself into a tizzy before the work day had even started.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he ensured, pulling you in for a tight embrace. “You know you’re my number one, sweetheart. Just don’t like seeing you so upset.”
James always teased you for being your Father’s favourite, and you’d never argue, relishing in his pointed fingers and sneering words, because it was true– there was something between you and your Father, an understanding that no one else had clued in on. He eased your worries like no one else could, smoothed irked creases across your face, replacing them with belly-hurting laughter lines and a grin so wide, you were worried it would fall off your face.
Anyway, James was the same with your Mum. You found her difficult to communicate with, what with her being as hot-heated as you were, so as much as you and your Dad got along, you butted heads with your Mum just as much. “It’s ‘cause you two are so similar, like twins, I tell you!” But it did little to calm your nerves around her, or stoke the flames of anger you so often felt.
You were about to respond, ready to tell your Dad just how much you loved him, when someone crashed through the door, slamming into the counter you were standing behind. You turned, eyes connecting with your (late) colleague. He looked utterly windswept, as if he’d run – or been chased – the whole way there.
“You okay, son?” your Dad asked, worry shifting from you to the panting, bent-over Sirius.
“Me? Oh– peachy, just– peachy,” he answered between heavy breaths, waving off his doting hands. “Sorry I’m late, got a little carried away with something and lost track of time.”
You were conscious of how your Dad didn’t offer Sirius the same advice, to not pick a fight or argue or whatever it was the two of you did, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how he had everyone charmed. So you busied yourself behind the till, doing as you were instructed and counting the money, writing down the number of each of the bills on a notepad you pulled from the drawer at your waist.
Your Dad left soon after, turning the closed sign out front to open as he wished you, and Sirius, good luck.
“Guess it’s just the two of us, little Potter,” Sirius pointed out, already sounding bored as he fell into a stool at your side. He leaned his head against his arm, stretching it from side to side as he groaned at his tense muscles.
You didn’t mean to stare, swore it wasn’t something you’d let become a habit, but your gaze immediately travelled to the exposed skin of his neck, zeroing in on the trail of newly-formed purple bruises down the side. You snorted, shaking your head at him, slamming the money compartment shut a little too aggressively so that it caught Sirius’ attention. He recognised your expression to be something close to amusement, jabbing you in your side until you were scowling and slapping his fingers away.
“What’s wrong with you– you’re acting like a fucking child,” you admonished, moving out of reach and resting a hand on your hip.
“Why’d you make that face?” he asked instead of answering your question, nodding at you like it was you who had started it.
“It’s nothing,” you went with, hearing your Father’s words echoing in your mind from just moments ago. You needed to diffuse the situation before you really got mad, because past that point, you weren’t responsible for what you said– or did.
So you ventured into the aisles of books, a curious Sirius on your heels, following you like a lost, yapping puppy. “If it’s nothing then why are you running away?” he pushed back.
You ignored him pointedly, stopping to stack a few books and dust along the shelves. No one had come in yet, still too early in the morning for any tourists to stumble upon your admittedly quaint but bursting shop.
The sunlight barely filtered past the dense collection of books and mahogany shelves that lined the walls, but the windows stretched to the tall ceilings, and if you went up the spiralling staircase at the centre of the store, you’d find yourself in a cosy loft space, bathed in gold and stuffed with arm chairs and sofas for people to sit and read in.
It was your favourite part of the store, and you were seriously debating hiding up there on your first day, just to get away from the walking-plague that followed you.
“Come on– tell me,” he whined, standing too close for your liking. You side-stepped away, brushing a cloth against the worn covers of the Mystery section. He followed suit, returning to his previous position, and this time, you had no way out with the wall of books you’d met.
You turned, facing him and finally acknowledged his presence. “You lied,” you stated matter-of-factly, loving that you actually had the upper-hand with him. As much as you prided yourself with being quick-witted, Sirius always seemed to find a way to stay on-top.
“Gonna have to give me something more than that, darling. Lied about what?” he countered, raising an eyebrow at you.
It took everything in you to ignore the pet name, something more endearing hidden under it that you had never noticed before, and those pesky butterflies returned to bug about in your gut.
Fucking moths, you groaned internally.
“You said you were busy and lost track of time. But those bites across your neck say otherwise,” you stared pointedly at the affected area now, though it was covered by his hair in this position. His hand flew to his neck, as if only just realising they were on display.
“That’s none of your business Potter,” he countered, now irritated and still trying to hide the hickies on his neck with only his palm.
“It actually is my business when you’re both late to your job and lying to my Father,” you threw back, shoving forward and relishing in his slight stumble back– as if he hadn’t yet noticed the two of you were so so close.
“You can’t–” his eyes were wide, worried, as he grabbed your elbow, forcing you to meet his gaze, “You can’t tell him. He’ll be so disappointed and I can’t–”
Now it was your turn to frown over the devastation so wrought over his face. And if you two were anyone else, you might’ve let it go. Might’ve–
“Well tough shit, Black. You’re an adult, now. This is the real world we’re talking about. Not whatever fantasy you’ve been away in for the past two years. And here, in the real world–” you gestured around yourself, “--actions have consequences. You slutting it up on the night before your first day at your new job isn’t much of an excuse, now is it?”
And really, you deserved it, now that you thought back. His anger was reasonable and your need to poke straight through his ribcage, wrap your fist around his heart and squeeze tight, was not.
“Oh, fuck you, Potter!” he bit out. “You’re accusing me of not acting like an adult when you literally still live at home! Not to mention you can’t have a decent conversation with anyone without throwing the most childish temper tantrum known to man. I might be slutting it up, as you’ve put it, but at least I’m getting some,” he was breathing hard now, and the more he spoke the more the anger burned away, but his words wouldn’t stop. In fact, you think you could see him cringe, in pain or guilt or some nervous tick, as he delivered the final blow.
“Maybe if you weren’t so miserable to be around all the time, someone might actually give it to you too.”
It didn’t take long for you to react. Nor did it take long for your hand to fly up and connect with his cheek, hard and final. He wasn’t even surprised, had seen it coming a mile way, maybe even from his first “fuck you”. Because he knew he deserved it and he remembered now why he had left two years ago. Sure, it wasn’t all you. There’d been others who had irked him to the point of wanting a fresh start. And even then, it wasn’t that you were one of those people– you just would get him so riled up, to the point where he could no longer trust the words coming out of his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered then, fighting the urge to look away from your glassy stare. “I’m sorry, Potter. You know I don’t mean it.”
And deep down inside, you did know. You knew you both brought out the worst in each other. Only, you could never figure out why that was. Why you wanted to hurl insults and slap him silly for every comment or look or stupid way he’d string together the most perfect sentence and his irritating eyes and mouth and–
“Excuse me? Is anyone here?”
You inhaled, all sudden, as if only just realising what you had done (or what you had thought). You brushed past him without a word, needing, more than ever, to put some space between the two of you. If not for your anger then for whatever pesky emotion was seeping through your cracks.
You were (reluctantly) pulled from wherever your thoughts had been racing to as you called into the store, “Just one moment!”
You didn’t see it, not then – too focused on keeping one foot in front of the other as you made your way back, escaping to the front of the shop, faking a polite smile as you greeted the awaiting customer– but Sirius collapsed, defeated, into the wall the moment you walked away.
Something was telling him that if he hadn’t just torn your heart to shreds with a string of insults then he might have done it some other way– some other way that might have left him in trouble with James, Lily and your parents for an entirely different set of reasons.
‘Cause Jesus Christ– he wanted to be the one to give you what you needed. Or rather, he needed to, desperately. And two years away hadn’t altered the line between the two of you from enemies to something more.
And Sirius truly debated if this was the moment for him to get back onto a train to anywhere you were not. It didn’t matter if he had no money or nowhere to be, but if it meant he could avoid killing you with words or kissing your face off– he couldn’t quite see a way out of his predicament.
James would kill him. As would your parents. And Lily– God, you prayed Lily never found out. She’d serve his head up on a platter and laugh while she did it. She was awfully protective of you, always on your side when you bickered with him. If anything, you loved her even more for it, having always noticed how you frowned a little deeper, detached a little more from yourself, whenever your parents favoured him in an argument.
“Sirius!” you shouted again, no longer faking your emotions but rather genuinely just exasperated by him once more.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” He managed to not get lost in the labyrinth of books, and found you by the travel section, chatting good-naturedly with a blonde in a tight dress.
“How can I help, doll?” he asked the blonde in question. His one tactic for almost every conundrum he’d ended up in was avoidance. And bloody hell was he good at it.
He smiled at her, the customer, doing little to hide his admiration for the legs she had on display. She flushed a pretty pink, averting her gaze, lip between her teeth. Bingo!
“Christ, you’re disgusting,” you muttered, mouth pouting and quiet enough that only he could hear.
“Only for you, sweetheart, only for you,” he bit back, not wanting the currently oblivious customer clue in on their conversation. “So, how can I help?”
“She needs that book–” you pointed to the top shelf, well out of reach. “--the green spine that says Amsterdam, but I can’t reach it and the step ladder is too heavy.”
“Alas! Only ever needed for my body, it seems,” he moaned with an irritating amount of flourish.
“Whatever it takes to get the book down– do what you must, Black.” You patted his chest reassuringly, taking your spot, once again, behind the cash register.
“So– planning a trip are you?” Sirius asked in between excessive displays of strength as he hauled the bulky ladder with a single hand. You glared at the girl as she swooned at him, wanting, rather unreasonably, for her to combust right where she stood.
But that was a ridiculous thought to begin with. You could barely stand to be even within a metre’s distance of the guy, let alone on the receiving end of his affections. You were tired, emotional and dehydrated. Must be. Though a glance at the clock had you realising it had barely been an hour since your day had started.
So, maybe just emotional and dehydrated.
“I’m going to get a coffee from across the street,” you announced, slugging your tote bag onto your shoulder as you walked past the preoccupied pair. Not waiting for a response, you stepped out into the early morning sun, frowning, for once, at the glare in your eyes and not the irritant you’d left behind.
It was easier to refer to him as something pesky, infectious, fungus-like even, rather than the only person who knew how to break your heart (and despite your somewhat impenetrable facade, you let him do just that every time).
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Midsummer Night(mare)'s Dream
prompt: ( requested ) when Oliver's obsession reaches new heights, you fear Felix might return the affection - resulting in bloody flower petals suffocating you.
pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader
fandom masterlist: Saltburn
word count: 12.9k+
note: favorite trope here to stay
⚠️ you are responsible for the media you consume ⚠️
warnings: Hanahaki Disease AU: depiction of physical illness, medical phenomenon, blood, self-destruction; alcohol consumption, brief illicit material use and brief depiction of physical aggression, Lord's name in vain, cursing, angst, hurt and comfort, spoilers, AU timeline (obviously), "friends to 'strangers' to lovers", fix it Felix, "best friends" trope too, dead parents / family angst.
requires maturity and caution.
When the first semester at Oxford started, something in your gut twisted with an unknown anxiety. Something in the air churned, a tide was turning, and there was something deeply amiss that you just couldn't put your finger on.
Your roommate was kind, your grades average with those that took education seriously, and your professors were decently challenging but in a good way. You didn't know what was wrong, why you suddenly felt anxious, but then, after asking your best mate why he was late to class the day of his first tutorial, Felix answered, "Had a flat tire."
You nodded, handing him the joint as you sucked in a sharp breath to hold the smoke in your lungs, "So you booked it?"
"No, actually," he chuckled. "Nice bloke named Ollie stopped t'help, offered me his bike."
You laughed, smoke billowing out, "Yeah? Tellin' me he just stopped and gave you his bike? Come off it - nobody's that nice. You flirt with him or something, Fi?"
"No, no, I'm serious! That's literally what happened!" He nestled his arm around your waist, "No, seriously, listen, right, I was on my way t'class, on time and all, yeah? Got a flat tire on my way. This lad, Ollie - Oliver - comes down the path, stops, asks what's goin' on, said he was in my college, so, he offered his bike 'cause he'd get it later, said he'd wheel mine back and all."
"Fuck off!" You shoved your elbow into his ribs.
"You only think people are out to do the worst, darling," Felix chuckled, flashing you a blinding smile. Neither of you could anticipate the series of events that this interaction would kick off. "Besides, he saved my fuckin' arse, I got t'class with enough time, didn't I?"
"Hmm," you agreed, a knot forming in your stomach as he handed you the joint back; both stretched out in your dorm bed as the thunder storm raged just shortly after you got back from class.
Perhaps you were too much of a cynic.
Perhaps you grew up in a rougher part of the city with considerably less money, being skeptical of gestures of kindness.
Perhaps you only knew people to be disingenuous.
Maybe you were just used to hearing these incredible stories from Felix Catton - certified spoilt best friend.
You grew up together; meeting as young children because your parents worked for one of the Catton's companies, your fathers having been childhood best friends, joining you two at the hip. You and Felix were two halves of one whole, a single functioning organism; becoming inseparable. You were meant to be soulmates, you were so sure of it, but in reality, it felt reassuring to have such a strong friendship that you never entertained the idea of romance.
Felix's friendship was genuine. It was built-on everyday, growing, evolving, forever changing to accommodate both your changing personalities. He accepted you for who you are, and it felt like he chose you everyday. Where others came and went, you remained. Where others abandoned you, there he was. There was no you without Felix and no Felix without you, and when the time came, you chose to attend Oxford together.
You knew how easy life was for him.
You knew the silver spoon he was fed from.
You knew he was the flame moths were drawn to.
Knowing Felix Catton was power-by-association, and you watched an endless slew of people come and go with the snuffed-out dream of being in his inner circle. You protected Felix (and the Cattons) from leeches and Felix protected you from, well, everything else. You were meant to be soulmates, you were so sure of it, and then everything changed the summer before senior year of secondary school when you moved in with him permanently.
Summer had just started, you were only two months away from turning 18, and then, a drunk driver drove your mother and father into a tree on the side of a road. There was nothing to be done when your parents were finally found, the EMTs assuring you they were dead on impact and did not suffer. You had been at home with Felix, who let you paint his toenails, the house phone ringing shrilly.
"Hello?" He answered for you, reporting your family's surname's residence. He hummed, then paused, looking at you. "It's St. Luke's Hospital, love?" Felix handed you the phone with curiosity.
When you reached for the landline, the nurse reported you were needed and asked if you had the means to get to them. You begged to know what happened, but all she said was, "There was an accident."
Felix drove you to the hospital.
Felix held your hand when you were lead to a private room, meeting a set of police officers.
Felix held you when you stumbled in shock upon being shown your parent's demise and Felix held your hair when you threw up after identifying bodies.
And the Cattons stood with you when the man responsible was sentenced to life in prison. They stood in the rain when you tossed two stones in the stream.
You lived with him from that moment on and sometime after, you accepted how in-love with him you were. He had always taken care of you, but that summer, he took care of you; being the glue that kept you together, the binding force that brought you into being, the reason you didn't waste away, give up, or lose yourself entirely.
When your final year before university began, you had to stomach the idea of loving him at a distance. He'd always been popular, charismatic, the sun at the center of everyone's galaxy that pulled all towards his warmth and light. But after losing his virginity at age 15, Felix was constantly running through partners and you didn't want to interrupt his "sexual awakening" despite the knife to the gut each girl stabbed. So, you kept your feelings to yourself and tried your hardest to be a staple in his life, and when you chose to attend Oxford, you made peace with the idea that you'd go another 4 years in silent denial.
Something about Oliver's little act of kindness just made you uneasy.
And then, the following night, Felix spotted his new little friend when you were out at the local pub and invited Ollie to sit at the table with you lot. You sat between Felix and Farleigh, India on your friend's other side - his cousin something akin to your own flesh and blood. After all, you had known them all for two nearly decades; marking you as one of the very, very few who could put Farleigh in his place. Eerily, you both shared a look of mild distain, but for very different reasons.
You didn't think yourself a jealous woman, but after meeting Oliver Quick in person, hearing him speak, watching him watch Felix, and witnessing how he interacted with everyone else, you grew uneasy in his presence. The night you met him officially, there was a funny tickle in your chest, and after a few too many coughs escaped, Felix whipped around at you instantly. "You gettin' sick, darlin'?" He asked, words drenched in genuine concern.
Oliver thought it was curious to use a pet name for a pretty girl while a different one was sat on his lap.
"I'm good," you assured, thinking the rain caused this reaction.
But as the night wore on, you coughed more and more. When Oliver got up to get the next round of shots, Felix, ever the sweetheart who had money at his disposal, scolded Farleigh for instigating the poor boy and stood with a note in his hand. Only you saw the real interaction of Felix subtly paying for the drinks, and when he returned, he set a glass of water in front of you.
He made sure you didn't drink the rest of the night, but you didn't want to - starting to feel unwell. "Fi, I'm gonna go - "
"Oh, no, love, c'mon, an hour longer," he pleaded as you stood. But he paused, examined your face, then standing without another word and tossed his arm around you, announcing to the table, "Right, we're off."
He ignored the jeers and complaints because he was swiftly escorting you away, and only when Farleigh clocked this did he scold the table to shut the fuck up. When you stepped outside, Felix was turning to you instantly, holding your cheeks in hand and using his thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth.
"You're bleedin', love," he muttered, showing you his hand. You frowned and wiped the area yourself, seeing the crimson stain on the pads of your fingers. "Fuck. All right. C'mon, we can get you to the infirmary - "
"No, I don't think it's - "
"You've been coughin' all night and now you're bleedin'," he snapped, shushing you, "we're goin'!" When you just stared at him for a moment, he sighed, "I-I'm sorry, that was a bit more aggressive than needed. I'm just worried, love, you shouldn't be coughing blood."
"Might've just been smoking too much, yeah?"
Felix spoke your name with a hardened edge, staring at you for a long moment as neither of you wanted to back down. Finally, he cracked, "You're not gonna go, are you?"
"Nope. C'mon, I'm tired."
"Well, I'm stayin' the night incase you throw up," he declared, giving in and leading you towards your dorm.
"No, go back - "
"Not leavin' yah, love," he refused. "So, c'mon, tell me," he changed the subject, "what'd you think of Ollie?"
You sighed, "Nice enough lad, I guess."
"Told you," he grinned, weighing your heart to your feet.
For nearly every instance there after, you dreaded hearing Ollie's name or seeing him pop up at events. But that first night, as Felix dozed off in your bed, you were set on your knees, dry heaving in vain to free your throat from whatever suffocated you internally. When you managed to trigger your gag reflex, a stream of alcohol came spewing out - dotted with long, pretty, bright yellow petals.
You stared into the toilet, blinking in shock.
You always thought Felix was the human equivalent to a golden retriever with the disposition of a sunflower. In fact, there grew a small patch of sunflowers at Saltburn just for you; you and Felix planting them one summer together, kept alive after your parents died to bring you a little sunshine when you felt overwhelmed with storm clouds. After all, they were your favorite flower... Now being hacked out of your lungs in a ghastly, tacky mixture of blood, clots, and mucus.
As the year went, you didn't have another episode, but still did any and all research you could on your current phenomenon, wanting to avoid the hospital if you could.
The year flew by without much of a hitch, outside of Felix snapping on Ollie and distancing the lad from the group. However, just before exams, Felix came to you in need of help; saying Ollie's dad died, and being as he had both parents, he wasn't sure how to comfort the lad. It struck a nerve deep within you, going with Felix to talk to Ollie, and by the end, your arm had slung around the scholarship boy in pity, trying to talk him through part of his grief.
You didn't know the lad did his research on you and discovered you lived with Felix in his grand fucking castle because you were orphaned just before turning 18. It was the perfect "in", in Ollie's mind; a way to weasel close to you, solidifying himself to Felix.
You didn't like Ollie, he still made you feel uneasy, but you did pity him enough that you tolerated him. Now more than ever. He was back in the group before the day was done.
However, when exams concluded, Ollie was acutely aware that Felix attended the celebration to your exams - dressing you, pinning you for your accomplishments. You dressed and pinned Felix after his. And you both showed up for Ollie's exams, though, you dressed and pinned Farleigh as Felix did Ollie. He supposed it counted, still having the object of his desire back in sight; within his reach; staring at him with pride and a hint of pity.
It was exactly what Oliver wanted.
"Well, aren't you gorgeous?" Felix complimented when you arrived in the courtyard, dressing for the end-of-year ball. He stooped down to wrap you in a hug, giving a spin, and setting you on your feet as you laughed at his usual antics. "Absolutely a vision, love, seriously," he praised. "And I have a li'l something for us, hey?" He held up the champagne bottle.
"Christ," you mused, "what's the occasion? They'll supply cocktails there, Fi - "
"We're going to a funeral."
"I'm sorry?"
He sighed, handing you the bottle to dig in his trouser pocket and revealed a stone painted with the word, 'Dad'. Felix looked sheepish, "I thought we could do it for Ollie, yeah? Lad's had a real rough go of it all - "
"I think that's a nice idea, Fi," you cut him off, smiling in assurance, opening the wire on the bottle. "But first, a toast," you proposed, "to the start of summer."
"And end of exams," he agreed, taking the bottle back when you handed it over and popping the cork. He cheered as you drank first, taking his own, wrapping you in a tight hug. "We survived," he laughed, sighing after. "Really glad you were here with me through it, love."
"Yeah, me, too," you whispered, holding back creeping bile when your heart began to pound with harrowing tension. "All right, pretty boy, c'mon, sun's setting."
"Right," he pulled back, "I told Ollie to meet us in the courtyard."
"Which one?"
"C'mon," he laughed, taking your hand and leading you after him. You danced after him on your tip-toes, avoiding using your whole shoe and the high heel that elevated you off the ground several inches. "Easy, watch it, careful now," he teased.
"Hey," Farleigh greeted, watching you two go with a smile.
He bet Venetia that this was the summer you two got together. Felix had confided in him that he was considering the idea of settling down, having sowed his wild oats and being tired of running through girls like he had this past year. Farleigh never thought he'd hear such words from Felix Catton, but after seeing you and his cousin running off, he knew, it was only a matter of time before confessions were made.
"There he is," You pointed.
"Ollie!" Felix called, both of you jogging up to him. "Hiya, mate."
"Hey," He greeted you both as Felix didn't stop.
"C'mon, then! Follow us!"
Upon arriving at a stone bridge that passed over a thin stream, you let Felix explain what you were doing and why you were there. "So, in my family, we have this tradition, right? When somebody dies, we write their name on a, er, on a stone," he showed Ollie the stone he made, "and we chuck it in the river. My great-grandfather started it when his son died in the war. We've only done it for Y/N's parents and my dog so far, but... You know, I don't know, I just..."
"It helped, a bit," you filled in when Felix looked at you. You took the stone from Fi's hand and handed it to Ollie, offering, "Felt like our own private goodbye."
When Oliver took the stone and looked it over, Felix anxiously excused, "This feels a bit fucking stupid now."
"No. It's not stupid," Ollie insisted sincerely - only looking at Felix, like the whole world did. "Thank you."
"It's something, right?"
This lead into Felix explaining "what to do", Ollie taking a moment after. When he looked over, he saw Felix had positioned you in front of him, arms wrapped around your neck to keep you close, both screwing your eyes shut in prayer. It would've been endearing had this been an honest memorial...
When the stone was throw, it clattering into the mud on the embankment... A foreshadow you should've paid more attention to. This lead into you three sitting on the stone bannister, skipping the ball, sharing the champagne, and after learning about Ollie's poor living arrangements, for Felix to invite him home with you two. To Saltburn, setting in motion a series of unfortunate events.
That night, you stayed in Felix's dorm, asking, "Are you sure about this?"
"Hmm?"
"Ollie - coming home with us?"
"Oh, yeah, love, it'll be fine," he promised. "Gives us one more person in the house, that's never bad, is it?"
You couldn't answer, you didn't know.
Your first night home was memorable in the sense that Venetia, Felix's older sister, insisted on 'girls night' and locked you both in her room. "So? Did you tell him yet?" She rushed with an excited grin, pouring you both a glass of wine. "Farleigh and I have a bet goin' - "
"Tell who, what?"
She glared, "Don't play coy. You're in love with Felix!"
"Venetia!"
"Oh, shove off, I won't tell him - but does that mean you haven't either?"
"If I did, you honestly think I'd be here?"
"Well, yes - "
"He doesn't feel the same," you insisted, "and if I tell him, he wouldn't want me here anymore, it'd be awkward."
"You're absolutely insane if you think any of that is true!"
"Ven."
"He's mad for you."
"He say that?"
"Well, no, but I can tell."
"It's not gonna happen," you sighed, shaking your head. "Not with all his interests, and those interested in him," you explained bitterly.
"I think you should tell him," she nodded. "It wouldn't hurt to tell the truth, but it might give you both some relief. I promise, he doesn't want you out of his life, so, even by the off chance he doesn't feel the same, he'd still want you around. Oh, know what would be romantic? Writing him a note! You've always been a talented writer."
By the end of the bottle, you and Venetia had started drafting a letter; confessing your feelings and coming up with the grand idea to ask him to meet you in the maze if he felt the same. It was where you both went when wanting solidarity, being a place of worship for you both. The center of the maze was remote, private, being where your tears could be shed and secrets shared.
It felt fitting to meet there.
Your letter wasn't perfected to your standards until Ollie arrived. His first night, you began to feel that tickle in your chest again, and for some reason, you mistook this for 'butterflies' and decided tonight was the night. So, you snuck into Felix's room before dinner, knowing he was already out, and left your note on his bed; unaware that Oliver was watching through the crack in the bathroom door.
He slithered in when you were done, slowly approaching the bed, and fingering the letter. He plucked it in hand, opened the unsealed envelope, and read your confessional; requesting, that if he even had an inkling of returned affection, he'd meet you after dinner, in the maze. At the center, beneath the Minotaur statue.
Ollie stared at your flourish of a signature and instantly crumpled the letter, surging back into his room and shredding it into bits. He swept them away into the waste bin and adjusted his jacket.
"There you are!" Felix smiled, finding you in the hall. "Don't you look nice, darlin'."
"You always say that."
"I always mean it," he grinned, escorting you to the dining room.
Dinner was... Interesting, to say the least.
You were distracted by nerves only Oliver clocked, Venetia giggling and Felix the center of attention - as usual. He reached out a few times to grab your thigh, asking muttered questions in your ear, making sure you were all right after he noticed you had barely eaten. Oliver had to hide his amusement as you just seemed anxious, and when dinner was ended, he watched you scurry from the room as if the Devil was at your heels.
"Oh, is my darling girl all right?" Elspeth asked in concern.
"She had a lot of wine," Farleigh smirked.
"Ah, yes," Mrs. Catton waved off, and Felix stood from the table shortly after.
Oliver stalked by the windows that evening, catching sight of you, still in your evening gown, cutting through the mist to head into the maze. He smirked, hearing Felix in his room - but then catching sight of Venetia through a different window. A different part of his plan roared to life that night; meeting the sultry sister under the moon, both knowing you were waiting in the dark for Felix.
You paced in the cold.
Your dress drug through the grass, bare feet tickled.
The hour drug by slowly.
You lit another cigarette, watching the mouth of the maze.
The second hour rushed by.
Your stomach knotted.
Three, four hours ticked by.
And you were left standing alone, in the middle of the maze, coughing and wheezing.
You dropped to your knees when your ailment turned physically violent; fingernails digging into the mud as you choked and heaved, trying in vain to clear your throat. When you stuck your fingers down your throat, you threw up bile, dirt, acid, wine, and long, bright yellow sunflower petals - sobs soon wracking your entire being.
He didn't come...
He didn't come.
He didn't come.
You threw up twice more, blood staining your chest and dress; teeth outlined in red, the dewy taste of pollen left on your tongue. You sobbed until your head hurt, and sobbed some more; confusion and heartache taking over. When you managed to find your feet, you felt lighter, thinner, smaller, less of yourself than you have ever before.
A piece of you had officially cracked away, being spewed into the mud and grass at the base of the Minotaur statue.
When venturing back to your room, you gasped when you nearly smacked into Duncan. You stared at one another in mild shock, his eyes taking in your state and you quietly begged, "Please... Don't say anything to Sir and Mrs. Catton. I don't want them t'worry until I know what's wrong. I-I'm going to the doctors, Duncan, please, give me time to figure this out."
He nodded sadly, shocked by the blood left behind. The following morning, he didn't wake you... He let you sleep, demanding you be left alone to the waitstaff. When Elspeth questioned your absence at breakfast as Ollie entered the dining room, Duncan was heard, "Miss L/N was up early this morning, went for a run. She went back to bed, said she didn't sleep well."
"Oh, the poor darling," Sir James Catton tutted.
"Morning," Ollie greeted, careful not to let his excitement show over your empty chair beside Felix. Venetia was staring at her brother in near anger, confusing him, but distracted instantly by Oliver's arrival. Sir James greeted him first, Venetia followed, and Felix invited the lad to help himself to a meal.
You had sobbed the whole night, puking bits of blood as the flower petals tightened your windpipe; the tackiness making them stick like glue. You didn't know what to do - there was no way you could face the Cattons now, not after Felix surely told them that you would leave Saltburn (for good) soon.
But sometime after breakfast, there was a knock at your door.
"Come in," you bid quietly, debating if you should start packing or not. When Felix entered, he was holding a bouquet of sunflowers, smiling softly.
"All right, love?"
"What?"
He chuckled, "I'm asking if you're all right, we missed you at breakfast."
You just blinked stupidly, "Uh, y-yeah, guess I am."
"Good," he chirped, approaching you and handing over the flowers. "Got these for you, thought maybe you could use a bit cheering up?"
"Why would I...? Felix, is there - is there anything you want to say to me?"
"Uh, no? Not really, I mean, I was gonna see if you fancied coming with us to the field?"
You stared at him in confusion. "You... Don't want me to go?"
"Go? Go where?" He laughed, "Cause yes, I'd like you to go with us... To the field? I just asked you - you sure you're feeling all right?"
"Um, y-yeah," you swallowed thickly, petals peeling back down your throat. "Thank you, for these," you accepted the flowers.
"Figured, with your parent's anniversary comin' up, should keep you close, you know?"
You shook your head, "Wasn't even on my mind, Fi..."
"And I just put it there, Christ, Felix, fantastic job," he cursed himself, hand through his hair in stress. "I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean - "
"You didn't, it's fine - I-I mean, I'm fine," you assured, trying to stave off tears. "Actually, Fi, I'm feeling a bit tired, think I'll nap."
"Duncan said you were?"
"No, no, I didn't get back t'sleep," you nearly whispered, needing to clear your throat again. "You lot have fun, I'll find you later."
"Sure? 'S Ollie's first time," he taunted. "Don't wanna miss that, do yah, love? And we're reading The Half-Blood Prince together, can't miss that."
"I'll catch up tonight, promise," you nodded, "just tell me what chapter you get through."
Felix stared at you, reaching to pinch your jaw and pet his thumb down your cheek. He whispered, "Sure you're all right?"
You nodded, shaking off his touch, hating how easy it was to fall in love with him. "Just tired, pretty boy. Promise."
"All right, well... Find us later, yeah?"
"'Course."
But you didn't leave your room for three days, unable to control the vomiting spells, the blood, the pain, the petals... The gutwrenching heartache. Venetia checked on you damn near every other hour, sitting, resting your head in her lap, stroking your locks in comfort as you sobbed.
"Tell me what's happening?" She begged, unable to get it out of you yet. But you felt another wave, jumping from her embrace to rush into the restroom; sliding on your bruised knees in front of the toilet. She followed, and like her brother's done many times, gathered your hair to hold back. "Jesus fucking Christ!" She gaped, seeing the blood and long, bright yellow petals. "Are those - what the fuck is that!?"
You heaved greatly, throat shredding as blooms and stubby stems cut up your esophagus. When you stared at the devastatingly beautiful blooms coated in your blood, floating atop of the water, you looked up at your friend and confessed, "I'm in love with your brother."
"I know, babe - "
"And he doesn't feel the same," you sobbed; breaking down, panting for breath, Venetia dropping to your level to pull you into her chest. "I-I-I left him the letter, Ven, I-I-I asked him to meet me..."
"He didn't show?"
"I waited hours!" You wailed, finally breaking down after the past couple of years caught up to you. "He never came! An-And then, he shows up with flowers - with fucking sunflowers! - acting as if he never saw my letter! Acting as if he didn't know! Like - Like it's easier to ignore than confront!"
"Oh, sweet girl," she whispered, gently rocking you both as you couldn't catch your breath.
Neither of you attended dinner that evening. Felix showed up again, like he had everyday, asking if you were hungry while holding a plate of toast and mug of tea. But you had passed out in Venetia's arms, the fake blonde waving her brother away, doing her best not to snap at him - remembering she made you a promise that she wouldn't interfere. You feared if she got involved, you really would be asked to leave Saltburn and you had nowhere else to go.
The following morning, you were up before Venetia.
"Hey," she grunted, stretching in your bed after spending the night. "You all right? What're you doing?"
"Goin' for a run," you answered, lacing your trainers.
"How do you feel?"
"Well," you sighed, "pretty fucking foolish, but it's summer. Yeah? Best not to dwell on what I can't have..."
"But it's killing you, love," she sat up.
"I'll get over it," you assured, not believing yourself. "If he can act as if nothing's happened, so can I. Do me a favor, though, love?"
"Anything."
"Sit between us?"
She frowned, watching you head out of the room. When she peered from the window, she saw you setting off around the ground and flopped back into bed for another hour.
"Oh, there you are!" Elspeth gasped when you entered the dining room that morning - jetting out of her chair. "Oh, darling, are you all right? Gave us a fright - thought you were sick or something!"
"Just a wee stomach bug, I promise," you accepted her embrace.
"I'm glad you've joined us," she whispered. "Felix has been dreadfully annoying."
"I can hear you, Mum," Felix groaned when you two pulled back. "Ven, hop down one," He told his sister.
"No, no, stay put, love, I can sit here," you assured the siblings, taking the seat on the other side of the sister.
Felix frowned instantly. "Don't think I've ever seen you two sit apart all these years," Sir James teased, reaching to pat your hand. "Good to have you join us, darling."
"Thank you," you whispered, Duncan placing a plate before you.
"How come she's served?" Ollie wondered without thinking.
"Miss Y/N has been unwell," Duncan replied stiffly.
"Oh, tell the truth, Duncan," you smirked, "I'm just your favorite."
It spurred the family on, Farleigh offering you a look of confusion from across the table. You waved him off, not once looking to your left at Felix - only ever answering Venetia by looking directly at her, avoiding her brother.
Felix felt something in his gut shift as you avoided him more and more. Venetia all but moved into your room, or you into hers - not wanting you alone in this time of duress. Meaning, each time Felix tried to get you alone for questioning, his sister was driving him away. When hanging out as a group, you no longer were at Felix's side, but opted for Venetia and Farleigh's.
It left a gaping hole for Ollie to fill - happily.
"Did I do something, you think?" He asked Oliver one day, floating in the lake, watching you braid Ven's hair as she read from her copy of The Half-Blood Prince.
"No, just maybe," Ollie shrugged, "it's, I don't know, girl stuff?"
"I'm her best mate, she never avoids me like this," Felix frowned. Oliver hated how genuinely hurt Felix sounded. "Seriously, what did I do?"
"I couldn't say, mate. Maybe just let her cool off, come to you when ready," he advised, watching Felix nod sadly and stare at you from behind his sunnies. He craved Felix's attention that you so effortlessly warranted.
You didn't sit with Felix during movie nights anymore, opting for the furthest seat on the floor at Sir James' feet. You didn't spend the night in his room once, nor let him into yours. You weren't on his tennis team. You didn't share sunbeds.
You no longer met for midnight swims, something that made Felix explicitly sad. He waited with his feet in the water, but this time, you were the one who never showed up.
You didn't sit with him at meals, making his family acutely suspicious. Yet neither of you seemed at odds - so, what were the truly worried over? You acted as if there wasn't a thing wrong, but they all noticed the sickly state you took on.
You thinned out, you barely ate a fourth of your meals, you went on runs as often as you could - even in the sweltering heat. You barely slept, creating bags under your eyes, dull, lifeless hair, and a concerning docile attitude. It was as if you were haunting the castle, barely visible, making yourself into a shell of who you once were.
You simply weren't yourself and the Cattons had no idea how to help. Elspeth sent tea to your room. Sir James let you pick movies for family movie nights, but you never seemed interested. Farleigh tried to engage you on the daily, but nothing seemed to register. Even Oliver put on a show by approaching you at the lake, sitting beside you, trying to strike a conversation.
"Sorry, Ollie, I was about t'go for a run," you eased.
"Been goin' on a lot of those. Want company?"
"No," you refused.
"Sure it's a good idea?" He asked. "Been throwing up a lot, might make it worse."
This made you freeze from where you had stood, slowly turning to look down at him. "Excuse me?" You seethed. "You spying on me?"
"I can hear yah sometimes," he nodded. "You're hiding it from the others, aren't yah? The blood, the tears... The way you're wasting away?"
From a short distance, Felix recognized the angry look and body language you wore. Slowly lowering yourself, you hissed to Ollie, "You keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll make sure you're on the first train back to fucking nowhere tomorrow morning. Hear me? You don't know shit about a Goddamn thing, you don't fucking know me, and if you're smart, you'll shut the fuck up, Oliver."
He watched you with a small smirk; standing over him before vacating the lake's shore.
That night, Oliver heard moaning from the adjoining bathroom. Upon his 'investigation', he spied Felix in the clawed-foot bathtub; steam wafting from the water, sweat beading down his skin, and bicep pumping vigorously as he pleasured himself. But what infuriated Oliver was the subtle, nearly slurred and unintelligible moan of your name from Felix's mouth. It seems, despite his best effort to drive a wedge between you two, there was lingering emotion that neither knew what to do with.
You were withering away, and Felix was self pleasuring to you.
Oliver had to up the ante, but how? You avoided the Cattons on a rotating basis - not letting any of them too close to figure out you were devastatingly ill, except Venetia. And the sister wasn't about to spill this darkening secret of yours, she was loyal to a fault.
Only Oliver seemed to know this dark little tale, figuring Felix hadn't even admitted his feelings for you to himself. Perhaps why he found relief in the tub, releasing into the water with a tear falling from his eye over the idea that you no longer wanted to sustain a friendship. It was all terribly confusing for the summer residents at Saltburn. And yet, in an effort to feel closer to Felix than you ever had, Oliver climbed into the draining bathtub and slurped Felix's cum as if it were water from The Holy Grail.
It made him feel superior.
It made him feel as if he were winning an endless race.
Made him feel like he was validated in pushing you out in favor of himself - no matter the history between you and the Cattons.
Made him feel like he was solidifying himself amongst the distant royalty and you were giving reason to be thrown out of Saltburn.
But he would underestimate the power of family.
He got a little too cocky the night he met Venetia outside, in the moonlight, with Farleigh watching from his window.
The following morning, there was a pounding at your door - a rare night Ven didn't sleep with you. When you opened the door, Felix came pushing in, looking purely distraught.
"Look, I know you're pissed at me for whatever reason - but I fucking need to talk to you, okay? Please - I-I feel like I'm about to lose my mind, Y/N, love, please - "
"What's happened?" You asked, shutting the door. "I was about to head out - "
"Please, love! Please!"
"Christ Almighty, all right, the fuck's goin' on with you? Hey? Looks like you're gonna give yourself a stroke," you approached him, caressing his bicep. "What happened?"
"He kissed her."
"Come again?"
"Fucking Ollie - Oliver! He fucking kissed Venetia!"
"When?"
"Last night, Farleigh saw them."
"Oh, love, c'mon, you know Farleigh doesn't like Ollie."
"So, he's lying? You think he's lying?"
"I didn't say that, but you're all worked up. C'mon, just breathe for a minute, gonna pass out from the way you're huffin' and puffin'."
"Please, be serious! This is serious!"
"I know it is, I'm just trying to be rational."
"So, Farleigh's lying."
"Well, I don't think so - kinda a huge lie t'tell, innit?"
"I thought so," he snapped, hand through his hair in anxiety. "I-I mean, how could he? How could Ollie do this - I-I mean, my sister? My fucking sister?"
"Love, if you're this worked up, just go talk to him," you tried. "Ask Ollie point-blank what happened."
"Would you ask Venetia?"
"No, darling, that's not how this works."
"Well, how will we know who's lying? Farleigh or Ollie?"
"I don't know - is this even something to lie about? What did Farleigh say?"
"He saw them - tonguing - practically eating each other!"
You sighed, "Love? You're not gonna want t'hear this."
"God, what?"
"Venetia's a big girl, she can tongue and eat who she pleases."
"It's bad form, though, innit? I mean - he's my friend, my guest, here under my invitation, and he gets with my sister?"
You shrugged slightly, "I don't know, Fi, but she's allowed to do as she pleases; Ollie, too. It's not like either are dating someone, hey? What? You jealous? Of your sister?"
"Fuck off with that, know that's not it," he snapped again.
"What is it, then?"
"It's another Eddie situation!"
You sighed, "Fi... You can't horde people, right? Ollie bein' here, he's free game to you, Farleigh, Ven."
"And you?"
"Fuck no, lad gives me the creeps," you blanched.
"Still?"
"Yeah, fuckin' still. Call it intuition, but there's something off, Felix. I know you don't want to hear it, but when I have ever been wrong? Huh? Tell me."
"You've not been."
"Exactly - I know a leech when I see one. So, you draw your assumptions, but perhaps what Farleigh saw is true, perhaps not - but you'll get more answers by confronting the truth than ignoring it."
He sighed, dropping to your bed, shaking his head. "Well..." He mumbled, "What do you think?"
You paused, "Doesn't matter."
"Does to me. Please, love, it's Eddie again and I don't - "
"All right," you relented, sitting beside him. "My money's on... Something happened, it's just a matter of what, exactly. How about we go to breakfast, see what the energy is there."
"Feels like I can't stomach anything."
"Your mother and father will be upset if we don't go down, c'mon," you whispered, standing, offering your hand. "I'll sit with you, and if you get upset, you can just lean into me, yeah?"
He took your hand, but didn't get up. He just stared at where you were conjoined, rubbing your hand with his thumb. "Does this mean we're fine? That things are... Are things okay between us?"
"Never not been fine, Fi."
"You've avoided me since we got here."
"I've been dealing with shit - "
"That you won't tell me about," he scoffed.
"Yeah," you agreed, his eyes shooting up to meet yours, "you're right, I won't tell you 'cause I can't yet. I want answers first... Then we can talk. I've gotta figure this out for myself, Fi."
"Well, I can help, you know?"
"No, you've helped plenty," you alluded. "C'mon, breakfast."
"Fuck's sake," he grumbled, finally standing, but tightening his grip on your hand. You lead the way to the terrace the Cattons decided to dine at that morning, being the last two to arrive.
There were two seats side-by-side.
"Good morning," you greeted the family that took you in, Felix silent and angry as he took his seat - but still pulled yours out.
"Morning."
"Good morning, darlings," Elspeth breathed from the head of the table.
"You sleep well?" Ollie asked as Felix whipped his cloth napkin to his lap.
"No, not really, mate," he grit, not looking at the boy and instead, reached for your hand. You handed him a cigarette, placing your own between your lips - both forgoing morning meals.
"We're 30 for dinner tomorrow night," Sir James informed the table. "Stopford Sackville has cried off."
"Oh, dear, that's a shame," Elspeth feigned sympathy.
"God, I forgot about fucking dinner," Felix tilted his head back, speaking between his stick as you lit the end of yours - then reaching for his after nudging his bulging bicep to warrant his immediate attention.
"Wait, who is coming to dinner, again?" Farleigh asked.
"The Henrys," Ven reminded.
"No, please!" Farleigh whined quietly.
"Who are the Henrys?" Ollie asked.
"Dad's friends," Ven filled in, Felix glaring at you as you laced your hand with his and squeezed in warning. "They're all called Henry."
"Not all of them," James corrected. "Just most."
"It'll be fun," Elspeth assured.
"It'll be being molested by Henry," Ven continued, swallowing a bite of croissant. "You know which one."
"Oh, I'll put you next to Oliver, then, he can molest you instead," Elspeth quipped, Felix strangling your hand.
"Don't," you whispered, Ollie's head cocking at Ven in an unspoken conversation. She hummed an amused chuckle. Felix glared at them both before looking back at you, silently begging you to let him snap. "Not right now, please, just breathe," you whispered in his ear, ensuring none others heard you.
"Oh, Oliver, I was going to say, we should do something fun for your birthday. Y/N's is at the end of the summer, we can combine efforts! A proper party! No Henrys, something actually fun. What do you think, darling?"
"Mum, you know Y/N doesn't celebrate anymore," Felix seethed with offense.
"Oh, I know, but it might be fun - a combination party?" She offered. "Darling?"
"If Oliver and Y/N would like it, I think it's a splendid idea," James agreed with his wife.
"I think Oliver looks like he'd rather throw himself out of a window," Farleigh chimed, everyone knowing to avoid asking you your thoughts since you couldn't celebrate without your parents - it just felt wrong. Like a betrayal. So, you no longer celebrated the day of your birth, but the Cattons looked for any reason to throw a party.
"What kind of party?" Oliver asked Elspeth.
"I don't know, whatever you want!" She insisted. "What do you think? About 100 people?"
"A hundred?"
"Or two! It invariably ends up being two, doesn't it, with this sort of thing?" She asked her husband, who hummed in amusement. She told Ollie, "Invite whoever you want. All your friends."
"What friends?" Farleigh leered.
"Oh! Oh!" James folded his paper messily in excitement, jumping to attention, "How about fancy dress?"
Ollie reached over and nudged Felix in curiosity, picking up on his angry demeanor. Your best mate looked down at you, making you lean your chin on his shoulder. "Oh, yes!" Mrs. Catton agreed.
"I can wear my suit of armor, Elspeth!" James giddily exclaimed with a childlike grin that made your heart weep gently.
"Good idea, darling," she agreed as Venetia stood hastily from the table; all knowing where she was going, and what she was going to do. "We could have a theme!" She distracted, you watching Venetia and knowing you needed to follow. She'd been caring for you in your illness, you could at least hold her hair back, too. "What about Midsummer Night's Dream?" Elspeth looked around for opinions.
"Lovely," James prasied.
"Bring on the slutty fairies," Farleigh mused.
"Awh, lovie, you'll still be the sluttiest fairy, don't worry," you teased, glancing back again and seeing Venetia escape inside.
"You wanna match my sluttiness?" He asked you.
"As if that was ever in question," you shot back, Felix offering you a small look. "I'll be right back," you excused yourself, standing from your seat but bending at the waist. You whispered in Felix's ear, "I've gotta go, 'M sorry, just keep calm, love. You're all right."
"Find me later," he requested, holding your hand a moment longer before letting you escape.
"So," James grinned as you walked away, leaning in towards his son, "how are things with you two?"
"Yes, darling, you two seem better! Did you finally tell her how you feel?" Elspeth asked.
If Felix was surprised by his parents knowledge, he didn't show; instead scoffing lightly, "Yeah, right..."
"Oh, darling - "
"She doesn't feel the same, Mum," he refused, sighing deeply - making Oliver's stomach coil. "Just leave it, all right? We're just friends, only ever gonna be just friends - she's part of the family. No need to mess all that up."
Farleigh smirked subtly and took a drag from his cigarette.
While hosting the Henrys for dinner, you felt another tide turn while sitting amongst the rich and fabulous. You knew them all, of course, grew up knowing them and attending these dinners with your parents. But something was amiss, something churned your stomach and clenched your heart.
You felt your chest tickle and tighten, the desperate need to cough nearly strangling you; Oliver paying close attention to your struggle from beside Felix. You coughed unexpectedly, seeing blood splatter onto your plate and without a single person noticing, you got up, excused yourself, and rushed from the dinner table with a hand over your mouth. Duncan swiftly cleared your place setting.
"Hear that, love?" Felix turned to look at you, only finding an empty seat. He looked around in case you were mingling, not spying you, and slowly got to his feet.
"Where are you going, darling?" James asked, "Sit, sit - "
"I'm only going to check on Y/N," he explained.
"No, no, sit, sit, sit, we know she's been fighting her stomach all summer," James waved off, and slowly, Felix went against his instinct and sat down. Venetia felt her heart steel in annoyance, wishing her brother would just wake up and realize what was happening.
When Oliver caught Venetia's eye, she questioned, "Felix warned you off, then?"
"Well, maybe we just need to be a bit more careful," he hushed.
"No, thanks," Ven refused, not one to sneak around her own home to satisfy her brother's jealously and possessiveness. "It's just sooooo disappointing," she snipped. "You're just another one of his toys."
"Like Y/N?"
"Y/N's not a toy," she barked.
"You're upset," Oliver noted.
"Oh, don't worry, I'm used to it - honestly. I mean, he never liked sharing his toys. Even the ones he doesn't want to play with anymore."
Oliver cocked his head, wondering, "Well, he's kept Y/N around this long."
"Y/N isn't a toy, Oliver, not to Felix, not to this family," she sneered in anger. "And he won't ever grow tired of her, she doesn't hold a temporary position in his life - unlike most." She chuckled dryly, "Honestly, do you not get it by now? She's the gatekeeper, and you're just a passing interest. You won't ever truly be his because she already is, and there's no replacing Y/N L/N - not to Felix, not in this lifetime." She offered a fake smile and turned from him to face her left, distracted by one of the Henrys.
Oliver knew all that, and he was working on removing you from the portrait - but it seemed, maybe he didn't have to work too hard. A rare disease had infected you the moment Oliver Quick laid eyes on Felix Catton - eating away at you internally, making you lose interest in yourself, plaguing you with self doubt to the point you couldn't look in a mirror without seeing a stranger. When Oliver decided to act against the pretty, rich boy, he started a chain of events that lead here: him, in a tux, at a dinner party, and you, shattering the frail skin on your knees from how hard you dropped to them - spewing blood, wine, and sunflower blossoms.
You choked harshly, make up ruined from your blood, sweat, and tears; hacking out most of a put-together flower. Your throat was shredded, dripping blood down into your lungs to slowly fill them again - floral growth breaking the barrier of your organs, sending unimaginable pain through your body.
You heard the karaoke begin, heaving over the sounds of drunken antics. You slowly crawled out of the bathroom, sniffling as you used your bed to lift your fragile body to your feet only to strip from your gown and crash into bed. Weakness invaded your muscles, exhaustion coated your bones, and your eyes stung with the endless supply of tears that would stain your cheeks.
Morning came far too quickly, and with it, Farleigh's forced departure from Saltburn. You were all dreadfully confused, Venetia explaining he'd been caught nicking items from around the house to sell for a profit - perhaps feeling desperate, wanting to help his mother without needing to ask for the help.
You weren't sure what to say to the situation, so you said nothing, but felt desperate to scream for your own help at the top of your lungs. The closer Ollie's birthday drew, the more you bent over the toilet, the more blooms that tore from your lungs and esophagus. You were at a loss over what to do, fearing you were too late for a doctor, and on the hottest day of the year, while everyone was outside by the water, you were inside, scouring the vast and random library.
"Miss," Duncan leered from behind you, no longer causing fright. "Is there something I can help you locate?"
"No, I'm just doin' some more research, Duncan, thank you, though."
"On what's wrong, Miss?"
"Yeah," you frowned, storing another book. "Nothing answers my questions, nothing explains this condition."
"Hm," he considered, "may I?"
"Please," you gestured him forward, watching in mild curiosity as he moved the ladder, ascended, looked over the spines of the many books and then made his selection.
"I've read every book in this library, and think this might help," He explained, handing you the dark green book about Japanese lore and watching you instantly finger through it.
You eyed him for a moment, asking, "You haven't told them, have you?"
"I found your request for privacy reasonable," he nodded, "and have not told the masters of the house."
You nodded, breathing in relief. "I promise, I'll tell them soon - when I figure this out."
"I think you already have," he mentioned, glancing at the open book in your hands. When you looked down, you had paused on a page titled: Hanahaki Disease.
The chapter was filled with detailed accounts of previous patients and sufferers; all giving a recollection of their battle with the unknown illness. You looked up at Duncan in shock, rereading the passage that told you what you needed to know:
"Hanahaki Disease can be fatal by making the infected vomit flora; either just petals or full blooms. There are three known variations of the disease, but all are caused by unrequited love - making the process often long, drawn out, and incredibly painful. The first variation involves the infected confessing their love to their desired, and that love being returned. This is the cleanest way to cure Hanahaki Disease. The second variation includes the desired not returning the known affection, leaving the infected to undergo surgery, a viable but messy recovery. The operation removes the plants growing in the lungs, but in turn, also removes all known traces and memory of the desired - but it does result in the infected being cured. The third and final variation is the worst, where the infected confesses, the desired does not return any affection or want, and leaves them to suffer until the bitter, bloody end. Without care or caution, this disease can become unmanageable with common side effects including but not limited to: blood loss, weight loss, avoidance, isolation, fear of food, fear of living, fear of affection, miscommunication, blood from other bodily orifices, and uncontrollable depression, anxiety, and other mental afflictions. Most infected never fully recover from the aftermath of this disease, and even when their love is returned, they are often haunted by the damaging effects of unrequited love."
You stared at the passage in shock, looking up slowly to spy Duncan staring at you in pity.
"I had a companion like you are to Mr. Felix, once," he confessed. "I was dedicated to my job, loyal to the Cattons, and in turn, he suffered greatly because I couldn't love him how he deserved." Duncan blinked at you twice in the silence that stretched between you. "My advice, Miss? Do not wait - you should come clean to Mr. Felix, let him decide how he feels, and should he not return your affection, I will take you personally to the hospital, where you might choose to undergo the procedure."
"And lose all memory of Felix? Of the Cattons? Of Saltburn?" You asked in desperation, tears swelling in your sunken eyes. "Not likely, Duncan, they're my family. I couldn't bear to forget them, even if it means I should live - I wouldn't be alive anymore. Not without him, not without this family that took me in without a moment's hesitation. I'd lose myself."
"But you'd have the chance to discover something new," he argued gently. "You have your own decisions to make, Miss, but I can only tell you my deepest regret was being so far up Sir James' arse that I missed the life that passed me by. And now," he sighed, "I live with the fact that I condemned my beautiful Roger."
"I'm sorry for your loss, Duncan..."
"I do not wish to see you suffer more than you have been," he frowned. "But I understand the fear you have, emotions are terrifying, especially for the young. But love is not conditional, Miss... Remember that. And having only a part of Mr. Felix would result in losing yourself entirely, whereas losing a part of him would result in you rediscovering all you are. Just... Just something to think about."
"How did you find this?" You asked softly.
"After Roger, I had no reason to care for much else other than the written accounts of those who passed before me. It felt like I was given a life to live, if only vicariously. I've read them all," he reminded, gesturing to the grand library, "and when I found this, I knew I had my answers. That being afraid costs us more than being brave."
You read the book in its entirety.
You soaked in every recorded account.
Duncan's words weighed on your heart, and the last few nights leading up to Oliver's party were spent on bruised knees. Venetia still slept in your room a few nights a week, begging you to seek medical attention, and you promised her, after the party, you'd take action. She didn't need to know you were lying just yet.
But as it seemed, your lies were minuscule in comparison to others.
The day of the party arrived, Felix taking Ollie out for a drive as a birthday present. Where their destination was, you didn't know, you couldn't care, because watching them drive off the property dropped you to the ground as your heart felt as if it were physically shattered. You couldn't breath, the sunflowers strangling you from the inside, and after watching the love of your life drive off with another lad, you felt as if your fate was sealed.
That was it.
He didn't love you, he had Ollie. There was only so much love to be given at a time, and Ollie soaked it all up. You didn't stand a chance, you knew Felix's infatuation was out of control with Ollie's pitiful background piquing his interest. You felt like old news, you felt abandoned, alone, cold, heartless...
"What're you wearing tonight?" Venetia asked, tossing pieces of clothing around. "Felix is wearing these sort of golden wings, want to match?"
"What are you wearing, love? Maybe I'll match with you?"
"No, no," she grinned, "I've just found the perfect outfit for you!"
She squealed in excitement, turning to show you the dress seemingly made out of strips of fabric and a corset; creating an ethereal look and design. The color was pale, moss green with shimmering pale golds and nudes paired amongst the fabric. It created an illusion that the mini dress moved and swished around your thighs, and when she handed you golden gladiator sandals, you were sold.
Venetia spent more time helping you get ready than she did herself. She ensured your hair was pinned off your neck, that your make-up was mystical and covered in glitter, corset cinched at the waist to show your figure, and that you had a smaller pair of golden wings to top off your slutty fairy look.
Farleigh would've been proud.
The dress showed off your back, only thin straps keeping it in place as the wings were small enough that you weren't hidden under them. You showed more skin in that dress than you had all summer, your thinning frame tailored under Venetia's talented fingers.
Her hands clapped when you showed her the final look.
"Love the spider web chain," you complimented, clipped her in.
"Sure?"
"It's a look, Ven, you're stunning," you complimented, smiling at your friend with genuine kindness. "C'mon, I think I can hear people arriving."
Once more, Venetia squealed and snatched your hand, racing from her room and leading you into the party on the grounds as the sun was beginning to set. After greeting Elspeth and Sir James, complimenting their chosen costumes, you were sucked into a night of young debauchery; Venetia pinned to your side.
And thankfully, she was there to witness the moment you gave up. Moving through one of the darkened rooms, you were mingling with old classmates, happy to see familiar, friendly faces, and just as you turned, your glass shattered to the floor with the last bit of your heart and composure.
You saw Felix, clear as day, dancing with none other then fucking India - the girl you felt most in competition with, besides Annabel. He was so close to her, they were practically fucking; seemingly distracted by one another, they didn't even notice the party.
"Oh, love," Ven turned to you, but you just gave her a pained look.
"I'm gonna go," you rushed.
"No, wait - "
"I need to be alone, Ven," you insisted, the tears starting as your chest felt too tight in the crowded room. "I told you, I fucking told you, he doesn't feel the same," you sniffled, her eyes widening as you felt a familiar metallic taste in your mouth.
When your hand lifted, you smeared blood from your lips and nostrils, blinking in recognition - knowing what was to come next.
"I-I-I have to go, 'M sorry," you rushed, blood oozing and dripping down your neck in artistic scribbles. You didn't bother hiding this time, turning from your fellow drunkards to escape outside - heading for the maze, like you always did when needing to be alone.
Your room wasn't safe, anyone could find you there.
The entire home was overrun with party-goers.
The grounds surrounding Saltburn unsafe for your breakdown, as well.
So, you raced to the one place you felt safe anymore: the maze.
Your blood stained the shrubbery as you stumbled through it, trying to hold together, but the moment you reached the Minotaur statue, your legs gave up, mud squishing to your knees, and instantly coughing, hacking, and heaving blood from your lungs.
Long, pretty bright yellow sunflower petals came out in an abundance, the most it's ever been, before you were vomiting full blooms again.
You felt woozy, dizzy... Less than human.
You just wanted it to stop.
When you left Venetia's side, she noted you beelining outside and knew immediately where you had run off to. In unfiltered anger, she turned and shoved through the crowd up to her brother, grabbed him by the strap of his wife beater, and yanked him after her.
"Oi! Hey, hey, hey, Venetia! What the fuck are you doing!?"
"You've fucked up!" She raged, ignoring the looks from others and lead him outside so they could hear each other.
"Are you out of your mind?" He demanded.
"Are you!?" She sneered. "The fuck are you doing!?"
"What?" He scoffed, "What am I doing wrong, dancing at our party? Hmm?"
"With that skank!?"
"Hey!" India barked, having followed them outside.
"This doesn't concern you!" Ven barked, Felix feeling on-edge with his sister so enraged.
"You're talkin' about me, I think it does!"
"Ven, what the hell's gotten into you - "
"It's about Y/N!"
Felix froze for a moment, then looked at India, "Go inside."
"What!?"
"Piss off, India! She's right, this doesn't concern you!" He snapped, the girl scurrying away with her tail tucked firmly between her legs. When Felix looked at his sister, he demanded in a rush, "What about Y/N? Where even is she - "
"I promised her I wouldn't intervene, I swore I wouldn't say anything - especially to you, but you're such a fucking idiot, if you're not fed anything, you don't get it!"
"Is this really the time to insult me?"
She glared, steeling her jaw and gritting, "Y/N's in the maze."
"Okay? She goes there - "
"No, listen to me," Ven sneered. "She's been in love with you, Farleigh and I both figured it out - but it was really fucking obvious."
Felix blanched in shock, "What?"
"She's in love with you, you fucking idiot! She's been sick the whole summer because you can't love her back!"
"How - what are you on about!?"
"She's been throwing up blood, you're honestly killing her by doing what you're doing with all these girls! By ignoring whatever you feel - by denying it repeatedly! It's not fair! All she's done is love and support you, care for you, protect you, and you're fucking killing her!"
He blinked, "She loves me?"
"Yes, you fucking imbecile! And tonight was her last straw, I fucking saw it! She lives here, you jagoff, and you're dancing with India - right in front of Y/N? In her own home? Where she's supposed to be safe!?"
"I-I didn't - I didn't know!"
"No shit, because you're both fucking idiots who talk about everything except your feelings! Do better, Felix! Now, go! She needs you to be a fucking man - go! She needs you, Felix, she's in the maze, don't fuck this up more than you have!"
He didn't hesitate to shoot off in the direction of the maze, Farleigh catching sight and pushing his brows together before realizing he was sprinting after you - I mean, who else would Felix move that fast for? Into the maze Felix went, and Farleigh knew, everything was about to change. Elspeth and Sir James didn't notice a thing, too distracted by their party, but there was another watching; a set of dead, ghostly blue eyes nearly glowing in the night as they locked onto their prey fleeing the party.
Felix sprinted his way through the maze, an expert at navigating, and when he made it to the center, his own heart constricted to a suffocating depth.
"Oh, my girl," he rushed to your side, getting on his knees and holding your weakening body as crimson dribbled from your mouth. The pool of blood was grand enough that he worried how you'd make it through the night; floating sunflowers a hauntingly beautiful sight in the dead of night. "Hey, hey, you're okay, you're all right, I got you - I'm here," he whispered, smoothing hair from your face. "It's me, it's your Felix, love, just focus on me, yeah?"
And finally, with a sniffle that did little to nothing, you looked into his eyes with yours rimmed in red. "Fi..."
"Don't talk, save your energy, I'm gonna get you somewhere safe - "
"I've gotta tell you something."
"Tell me after we get to your room, yeah?"
Your head shook, "If I wait longer, it'll get worse."
"Sweetheart, please - "
"I'm in love with you," you finally confessed to him, unable to look him in the eyes for a second longer. You stared at your demise, blood soaking into both your knees. "Have been, I think, since I moved in here," you whimpered, "and after my parents died, I fell so fucking in love with you that it hurt. But out of fear of losing this friendship, I couldn't - I couldn't tell you. And now, it's killing me, but you deserve to know: I'm so fucking in love with you, makes me physically ill. I-I can't do this anymore, Fi, I just can't - the pain is too much and I've already lost so much - "
"Felix?" Ollie called in a drunken whine, entering the center.
"Oh, Jesus Christ, man!" Felix snapped, whipping around to glare at Ollie as you folded into his chest out of sheer pain. Of course, in the midst of your confession, nobody but Oliver fucking Quick would show up. "Get out of here! Now, Ollie, I'm not fucking joking!"
"Is she all right?" He asked, stumbling a bit.
"What the fuck are you still doing here!? Get out, fucking go, this doesn't concern you!"
"We need to talk, I need to talk to you!"
"It's fine, talk t'him," you wheezed, trying to get to your feet, but failing out of sheer weakness.
"No, you need to fucking go, Ollie! Now! Y/N and I need to talk a helluva lot more than we do!"
You used his shoulders to stand, "Talk t'him, Fi, don't let this shit happen t'someone else." He glanced to your blood as you let go of him, stumbling just out of reach, towards one of the maze exits.
"We need to talk, Felix!" Ollie demanded as you slipped out of sight.
"No, you know what? Fuck you!" He barked. "You're not what's important right now, Ollie! For fuck's sake!"
"Don't go after her," Ollie sneered, stepping in Felix's way when he climbed to his feet and meant to go after you.
"Fuck is wrong with you, mate!?" Felix raged, shoving Ollie back several steps. "Hey? So fucked in the head, you think you take precedence over my girl?"
"Y-Your girl?"
"Fucking Y/N!" He shouted. "Yes! My fucking girl, that I was so blinded by you to fucking see what was wrong! Now fuck off!"
"She's nothing - "
"SHE'S FUCKING EVERYTHING!" Felix shouted, you pausing in the maze when you heard it. "You and I can talk later, if I even fucking want to, but right now, my girl needs me - not fucking you!"
"I see she's got you so blinded - "
"You think Y/N's the problem here?" Felix sneered, getting in Ollie's face; fisting the lapels of his blazer. "Huh? You blaming her?"
"No, just saying - "
"All the wrong fucking things," Felix shoved him back again. "She's all that fucking matters to me!" He shouted again, you slowly nearing the entrance into the center of the maze, remaining hidden behind a shrub. "Not you, not all your lies - but her! It's always been her, but you fucking knew that, didn't you!? You saw what we were, what we had, what we could've been, what we were dancing around, and just had to wedge yourself between us, yeah? I didn't see it before, but your fucking lies - all your fucking lies, you were trying to ruin the best thing in my life! And you might've just succeeded!"
"She doesn't deserve you! None of them do!"
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Oliver!?" Felix cried, "Leave me the fuck alone! Leave us the fuck alone! Leave my family the fuck alone! Christ! Please, stop!"
"We need to talk!" Ollie now approached Felix, making him back up into the statue.
"We can't - we can't, are you fucking crazy? Haven't you ruined enough!?"
"Me!?" He snarled. "I didn't ruin shit, it was her! It was all her, don't you see? You pitied us against each other, I had to do this! For you! You can't just throw me away!"
Felix lost his temper, shoving Oliver again, "Get the fuck away from me! I can! I can and I will throw you away - for her! I'd do anything for her, don't you fucking get that!? I didn't see before, but now I do, the slimy, scum you are - and I'd throw you away a hundred times if it meant being with her! Fuck out of here, leave us alone!"
Oliver shouted as he grabbed Felix's shirt, "Look, I just gave you what you wanted!" His voice lowered to a quiver, "Like everyone else does. Everyone puts on a show for Felix! So, I'm sorry that my - m-m-my performance wasn't good enough, like Y/N's always is."
You crept from the shadows, neither lad noticing; intrigued by the words being slurred, shouted, and weaponized.
"I think... I think you need to see somebody," Felix whispered, not willing to admit aloud that Oliver was scaring him. "You need help, okay? Seriously."
"No. No, I don't," Ollie sneered - sounding almost sober. "I just need you to understand how much I fucking love you."
And there it was - another confession. Your heart (or whatever was left of it) felt heavy, like it was being constricted and anchored to your feet.
Felix whispered, "I love Y/N, mate, you have to know - wasn't exactly a huge secret, except to us. To her and I, not you and I, Ollie."
You felt something akin to shock spark in your gut, blooming an unknown warmth through your body.
Oliver begged, "You're the only friend I ever had, Felix." His thumbs pet Felix's face despite him trying to wriggle away; being touched by the psychotic liar terrifying him - but no more than the feeling of dread he had watching you stumble away. "Okay... I mean, doesn't this just prove how much - how much of a good friend I actually am? How well I actually know you? I'm still the same person! Yeah?" He whimpered, "I'm still the same person."
"I don't know what you are," Felix whispered in reply. "But I do know you," he paused, confessing, "you make my fucking blood run cold." His head shook, "I know friendship - and it's not this, Ollie, it's not built on lies and deception. Y/N? She's everything to me, mate, and you tried to ruin that. You're a fucking liar, Ollie."
He gagged a little, releasing Felix to stare at him with a sense of defeat. Oliver gagged again, shoving the opened champagne to Felix's chest, muttering, "Wait there a sec," before stepping away to throw up on the opposite side of the statue. He knew the other boy wouldn't be able to resist an open bottle of alcohol.
However, Felix felt it was his opening to escape, and when he looked up, he caught sight of you.
Your finger rose to your lips in a silencing motion, glancing at a puking Oliver, and Felix didn't hesitate to drop the bottle and race for you. When his hands smoothed over either of your cheeks, he checked behind him - seeing Ollie still at a distance - stooping to scoop you in his arms, whispering, "We have to go, love, fucking now."
You agreed and let him rush away into the maze, and before you could exit, Oliver was heard bellowing, "FELIX!"
"What the fuck was all that?" You asked, hiding yourself in his neck; neither caring for the blood being stained.
"I'll explain everything in a minute, love, let me get you somewhere safe," he rushed, the party sounding around you once more. He deflected anyone who got in the way, shoulders bullying past people, ignoring his name being cried out. Up the stairs, down a hall or two, and he was rounding into your room. "All right, hang on," he deposited you on your bed, rushing into your restroom and locking all the doors except the one connecting your room. The main door was also locked.
"What's going on?" You asked.
"He's a liar," Felix panted, wrangling from his wings as he approached you. "But it doesn't matter right now - what matters is our truth. You were interrupted before, but I have to tell you, sweetheart, that your affection isn't one-sided. Okay?" He knelt before you, taking both cheeks in hand. "You're not alone in this, I-I should've told you so much sooner, but I love you, too. No, no, I'm - I'm in love with you and I'm so sorry I didn't say it. Hear me? I'm in love with you, Y/N, I'm so sorry I was selfish, that I didn't see the pain you were in that I was causing."
"Wasn't your fault," you whispered.
"It's all my fault."
"I should've said something, too."
"You're the one who's been suffering all this time, this is on me. Okay?" His head shook, wiping the streams of blood from your nose and lips. "You're a fucking wreck, darling, should've said something so much sooner - saved you from all this pain."
"I was afraid, and didn't want you to know."
"I made you feel as if you couldn't talk to me," his head shook. "Listen to me, I-I have to go warn Mum and Dad about Oliver, but you stay here - "
"You're not leaving," you insisted. "Call Venetia's cell or Farleigh's, tell them whatever you're worried about, and stay here, with me, where you're safe. I don't know what I heard, but I don't think Ollie's well in the head and he's gonna gun for you."
He sighed, "They won't answer. The party's - "
"Just try..."
He agreed and grabbed his cell phone from his pocket, dialing his sister as he got you a wet cloth. She answered when he was knelt in front of you again, wiping the remnants of your near-death experience from your face as he explained at a rapid speed a condensed version of events.
When Venetia assured she would tell Elspeth and James, he hung up and brought you in for a tight hug. "Should've told you," he whispered, "I'm so sorry."
"I am, too," you whimpered, holding onto his neck tightly.
"C'mon," he sighed, pulling back to gaze at you, "let's get you changed and in bed - 's been a fucking nightmare tonight."
"How fitting."
"How so?"
You half-smirked, "A Midsummer Nightmare's Dream, innit?" He matched your fleeting amusement.
That night, you and Felix slept beside each other in a secure and locked room; both unconscious when Oliver approached your door and tried to get in before being apprehended by two footmen. He was locked in the basement for the night, given the chance to sober up before morning, when the police would be phoned.
When the sun broke the horizon, Felix woke with a start. You were already awake, looking up at his pale face, begging him to tell you the truth behind Oliver. He looked as if he would be sick, giving you a detailed summary of what happened the day before - all the lies Ollie told, how his parents were alive, well, and very kind. How nothing he's told Felix was true - all some form of fucked up lie to make him seem more broken for Felix's endearment.
"Am I that bad, love?" He asked in a hushed tone.
"No, you're just... You just have an affinity for broken things," you answered. "And he gave you what you wanted, tenfold."
"I feel so stupid."
"For being kind?" You shook your head, caressing his cheek.
"Not very kind t'let you suffer in silence, was it?"
"You couldn't have known how bad it all was, I wasn't exactly truthful either."
"You protected yourself, while Ollie... Ollie put on a fucking show to get attention, to seem so different, make me feel like I'd be a fool to ignore him," he scoffed. "I'm so sorry, love," he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. "But I meant what I said - you're fucking everything to me and I'd throw everyone away if it meant being with you - keeping you."
It felt so good to assure him, "You have me, Felix. 'M not goin' anywhere."
He smiled gently, sighing in relief, asking, "Can I kiss you now? Please, love, think we've waited plenty long enough."
You didn't answer, you only lifted you lips to his and sealed your fate - meshing into one heart, soul, and one being. Two halves, made whole; cut from the same cloth and stitched together. His tongue swept across the seam of your lips, mingling with yours and never knowing when he had felt so complete while kissing a woman.
Because he hadn't. Everyone else before you was a place holder, temporary, a fleeting interest. You were a part of him, never wanting to experience life without the other, but as the house slowly woke up, you were both reminded of reality...
There was still a madman to be dealt with, and Felix wanted a front row viewing to ensure Oliver Quick was truly gone and your lives in a relationship could finally start.
requesting rules and masterlist
Saltburn masterlist
other Hanahaki Disease fics:
featuring: Eddie Munson from Stranger Things
Cherry Blossom Colored Kisses
Tears in the Rain
Gone with the Sin
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