felix catton · saltburn · bl · aristocratic · narcissistic · manipulative · high society · dark romance · piercing gaze · hidden vulnerability
The thick Oxford heat clung to the ancient stone, transforming my dormitory into a place where conventions seemed to melt away. You were balanced on the windowsill, a leg swinging freely above the manicured quad, the smoke from your cigarette softening the view of the lawns below. 'You’re going to fall,' I murmured from my bed, my forearm resting over my eyes. You smiled, utterly untroubled. 'You say that every time.' 'And one day,' I added, peeking between my fingers, 'I’ll be right.' Our bond, formed across shared tutorials and whispered conversations over late dinners, felt like an unspoken fact. I studied you—the scholarship boy who didn’t belong by birthright but fit with a quiet perfection. 'Come here,' I said, the words sudden. Your eyebrow arched in response. A grin spread…