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keraxxx · 4 months

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Hate or Jealousy? -Part 2

Pairing: Oliver Quick x Fem!reader

Summary: Oliver is starting to grow on you, physically and mentally. You can’t stop thinking about him and he knows.

Warnings: cursing, smoking, mentions of ed, clit rubbing, praising (kink), possible manipulation/coercion, spitting, not proof read

A/N: Hi guys! Again, part two is based off Oliver and Venetia a bit(sorry i couldn’t resist). Also I think i have one more request to write so i’ll get to that and post it tomorrow. I don’t know when part 3 when be out but i’m thinking around saturday/sunday, latest monday. Enjoy!

word count: 1.9k comment to be added to taglist!

Requests are open

Your heart sunk into your stomach as you looked at the cracked open door. You bite your lip nervously and quickly get up from the bath, water dripping down your exposed body. You grab your robe that was placed on the counter and look outside the room.. it was empty. Not a sign of anyone even in your room. Maybe you didn't shut the door and you were just tired and needed to rest. You cursed yourself out for overthinking and quickly drained the water from the tub before getting ready for bed, wearing your black silk nightgown. Tiredness slowly takes over and you eventually fall asleep, letting all the thoughts of Oliver drift from your mind.

Morning came and the sun is creeping through your blinds, almost blinding you as you open your eyes and adjust to the sight. You sigh as you slip your feet into your pink slipper that were just at the side of your bed. You needed to mentally prepare yourself for today, just incase someone saw you in such a vulnerable state last night. You open your blind and groan as the sun smiles at you. It was too early for this. You find your way to the dining area, your relatives already sitting down and enjoying their breakfast, Oliver no where to be found. You look at the assortment of food and your face grows sour. You eventually sit down and Duncan brings over a glass and pours water into it. You thank him with a slight smile before taking a sip, the coldness of the water almost burning your throat on the way down.

"You're not going to eat? You look up at your aunt with a smile. "No thanks. My stomach is in knots this morning." You hum and Venetia looks at you with a small knowing smirk. You ignore her uncomfortable gaze and look down at your fingers, picking at the skin around your nail bed. You hear footsteps coming near you and you look up to see Oliver. "Morning Ollie." Felix says as he practically shoves his face full of eggs. "Good morning." He smiles as he faces everyone, his eyes falling on you with a hidden smirk. Your face contorts with disgust.

"Sleep well, Ollie?" Elspeth asks as she she sits up straight with a smile. "Yes.. yes I did. I'd assume you slept well too. You look beautiful this morning." He smiles sweetly at her and she looks almost stunned for a minute. She mumbles thanks and smiles. You look at her and snicker quietly to yourself at her reaction to (in her words) "pretty boy" calling her beautiful. You look at Felix and he laughs.

"Stop being so flustered. It was only a compliment." Farleigh chortles as he looks into his almost empty cup of juice. You giggle slightly as your aunt scoffs sarcastically. "Oh stop." She says softly as she drinks her drink. Your uncle keeps to himself and so does Venetia, her eyes on Oliver as Duncan brings him his plate of eggs. Oliver picks at his eggs before taking a small bite. Everyone joins in a small conversation, enjoying their breakfast.

Its the afternoon and you, Farleigh, Venetia, and Felix are all in the fields, your clothes laid out in the grassy area. You lay on your stomach, reading a book. "Ollie!" Felix says joyfully, causing you to look up from your book. You hum to yourself as he comes in his swimwear. "No clothes in the field, Ollie." You say in a teasing tone and he looks at your body, your smooth legs lifted in the air behind you as you kick your feet. You smirk at him, your sunglasses blocking your eyes as you watched him strip himself from his trunks. Everyone's jaw dropped besides Venetia's. She smirks at the sight. "Well damn Ollie. That was unexpected." She giggles to herself as Ollie walks over. He lays down on his back near Felix and you avert your attention from him to Venetia.

"Did you see that?" You smirk and she hits your arm. "The whole world saw it. Not bad for someone like him." She bites the inside of her lip slightly, preventing herself from saying more. You smile at her and shake your head, going back to your book. You look at Oliver, his eyes locked onto Felix. He's observing Felix/s features as if he was an admirer of him. Farleigh locks eyes with you and shakes his head in reference to you looking at Oliver. You embarrassedly fiddle with the pages of your book, the paper smooth against your rough finger tips.

After a long afternoon, the family gathers yet again to eat dinner, everyone in their formal, yet usual, attire. This time, you're wearing a silky, baby blue dress with a crisscross back. You take a sip of the wine in your cup, swishing the liquid in your mouth before gulping it down. You look at your dinner plate, getting sick at the thought of taking a bite, it was repulsive just thinking of it. You just weren't in the mood to eat and Oliver noticed. "Not hungry?" He asks in a soft tone, just loud enough for you to hear. He looks at you with a concerned look. You look up at him and attempt to smile politely. "Mm no. Not at the moment." You lied and he furrowed his brows. "Okay.." He looks away from you and cuts a piece of his steak, plopping it between his lips and onto his tongue. You look away and clear your throat as you mess with the fabric of your dress, just as every other dinner.

You find yourself outside again after dinner, still in your dress. You're sitting on the same bench you were the other night you confronted Oliver for hiding from everyone. You cross your arms, a cigarette lit in your mouth. You're looking over your shoulder slightly, zoning out and unaware of your surroundings, being tipsy having to do with that. "Sleep walking again?" You turn your head and blink slowly as you look up to see Oliver, still in the same tuxedo he was wearing at dinner. “Hi Ollie..” You say softly slurring your words. He smirks at you and takes the cigarette from your lips, throwing it to the ground and stepping on it to put it out. “Rude.” You giggle as you look at the cigarette on the ground. He looks at you and cocks his head to the side. "You're so beautiful.." He whispers as he circles around you, stopping behind you. He leans down and gets close to your ear, his breath tickling you as he speaks, "You're just like Venetia. Now.. tomorrow night, you're going to eat breakfast and dinner." Your breath quickens at his words. "Do you understand?" You slowly nod your head, the affect of the alcohol growing stronger, putting you in a trance.

"Good girl.." Oliver chuckles in your ear before circling back in front of you, getting on his knees. You gasp as his hand rubs up and down your knee. "I don't want to lie to you..” He says softly as he stares at your hands in your lap. "I heard you last night.." He looks up at you, his blue eyes boring into yours. "Y-You did?" He nods with a smirk. "I bet you're begging to be touched by me.." He slowly lifts his hands under your dress, your jaw dropping open as you gasp. “Do you want me to?” He whispers as he leans closer to your face. You slowly nod and he smirks, his hand finding its way to your underwear. “Ollie we shouldn’t..” You whisper before you moan softly at his fingers teasing your clothed clit. “Oh but we should.. I know you want to..”

You lean your head back slightly and Oliver rests his free hand on your hip, pulling you in slightly. At this point, you’re practically soaking through your panties, probably soaking the stone bench beneath you. He moves his hand from under your dress and spits on his fingers as he looks at you with a smirk. You whimper softly as you feel his hand reach in your underwear. “Shhh.” He says as he hushes you, his mouth slightly agape in awe. “Oh darling,.” He hums before teasing your swollen and throbbing clit. “You’re so wet..” He chuckles. “I didn’t even have to spit…” He trails off as he focuses on your expression. Your eyes are close to shutting, your jaw open, a few groans filling the air. He takes his hand off your hip and teases your bottom lip with his fingers. You seductively stick out your tongue and tease his finger tips, the wetness of your mouth soaking them. He chuckles as he watches you. “Such a pretty girl..” His hand moves against your clit faster, causing you to choke out a whine as you now suck on his fingers.

“Ollie..” You say, slobbering all over his hand. You’re practically jumping against his hand and he’s watching you as if you’re a form of free entertainment. Oliver laughs softly. “Good girl..” He praises as he moves his fingers deeper into your mouth. “Just perfect.” He mumbles to himself. He teases your throbbing clit, your thighs shaking and closing around his hand as you get closer to your high. You see Oliver drag his teeth against his bottom lip, his eyes staying on yours. He removes his fingers from your mouth and places his lips on yours, his tongue teasing the inside of your mouth. You moan into his mouth, your hands tangled in his hair as you tug, causing a groan to erupt from Oliver. You tug his head back, moaning out loud as you open your legs, shaking at the euphoric feeling of his digits. “That’s it.. come for me.” He whispers and that sends you over the edge. You gasp while you release his hair from your grip and rest your hand on the side of his neck. You finish and he removes his hand from your panties with a smirk.

“What the fuck..” You whisper as you look at him get up. He wipes his hand on the side of his pants and he caress your cheek as he looks down at you. “Goodnight.” He says softly before walking off into the distance and back into the manor. Your jaw drops and you look out into the distance. “Oh what the fuck.” You bite your lip nervously before getting up, your panties soaked with your juices. You groan as you awkwardly walk back inside as well.

Next morning, the realization of what you had done kicks in. You feel a pool of guilt in your stomach as you lay in bed, unable to get up. You force yourself out of bed and walk to the dining table. You find everyone, again, eating their breakfast. You look at Oliver and he smiles at you. “Sleep well?” You nod slowly as you look at the assortments of food. You sit down and Duncan is about to pour you a cup of juice but you quickly grab his wrists. “Eggs.. please.” Everyone looks at you in awe. “Scrambled.” You smile at him and he nods, also a bit taken aback by your request. You look at your relatives.

“What? I’m feeling better this morning.”

Taglist: @l-ange-maudit @trashdemon04 @hahahafucku @powellssaturn

#x reader #fem reader #imagine #saltburn imagine #saltburn #saltburn 2023 #oliver quick #oliver quick smut #felix catton smut #saltburn movie #saltburn smut #smut #barry keoghan smut #barry keoghan

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pervertedreams · 4 months

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farleigh fingering you during movie night.. yeah

fingering, afab!reader

minors dni. not proofread. feedback is kewl

at his core farleigh is competitive, and also a menace, and a degenerate. so it comes as no surprise when you feel his long fingers creep up your legs. it’s movie night at the cattons, as a way to make oliver feel comfortable and more at home. you’re sat on farleigh’s lap with venetia on the opposite side of the couch. everyone else is spread out or sat on the floor, most of you having some sort of blanket or cover.

its pitch black outside of the tv that flickers before you, and both you and farleigh are fully covered with a thin blanket. you’re pressed snug against his lap and chest, can feel the way his chest rises and falls against your back. you’re nearly a half hour into the movie when you feel him lift his hips up to readjust himself, just now noticing the stiff lump that strains against your upper thigh. your stomach flips at the realization of his hard on, it’s exactly what he wanted you to notice. you almost instinctively rock your hips against his lap, the friction of his pants pulling at his sensitive shaft almost sends him into a frenzy. thankfully to anybody else it just looks like the two of you are repositioning yourselves, maybe from being uncomfortable. little did they know. thankfully at this point james and elspeth have made their way up to their shared bedroom, and the tv volume was loud enough to stifle any moans that slipped up.

you could feel his warm breath repeatedly hit the nape of your neck, noticing his breath pattern slowing down. you can’t help but lean into the hot kisses he presses against the curve of your shoulder and neck. and this time it’s his turn to rut into the swell of your ass, thankful you decided to wear a thin pair of pajama shorts.

his hands have been slowly creeping their way up your smooth legs, almost giggling at the way his fingertips tickle up your thighs. his tip is annoyed and sensitive, looking for any kind of pleasure or release. you can feel his pre-cum grow a wet spot between the two of you, he nearly hisses at a particular way you move your hips, head falling into the crook of your neck to briefly hide. “are you gonna cum already. how embarrassing.” you’re trying your damnest to vocally tease him, but the crack in your voice tells him just how horny you truly are.

silently placing condescending kisses, you feel his knee nudge your thighs further apart and his finger flex around the waistband of your shorts. he’s able to get the down far enough where he can comfortably rub you panty-clad pussy. but to his surprise you’ve decided to free ball, bare pussy on display deliciously for him.

you can feel the vibration of his groan against your skin, fingers already slipping around your slick folds. “my god you’re pathetic. and i’m embarrassing?” he chuckles under his breath, and the two of you nearly have a heart attack when venetia lifts herself off the couch, letting it be known that the movie is boring her and she’s off to bed. the two of you so occupied in your space you’d completely forgot the circumstances you were in, now leaving you with felix and oliver who were thankful back faced to you on the floor.

after your heartbeats go down, you almost throw yourself forward when farleigh’s easily sinking two fingers into your slippery cunt. the pressure from his fingers stretching you out makes you sigh in full bliss, with droopy lids and your mouth salivating. your eyes flutter shut, head resting back on his shoulder when he brings his free hand to rub slow circles around your swollen clit. nub just slipping around his manicured digits. everything below the waist is pure ecstasy and he’s soaking it all up. at this point you had forgotten there was any competition, just allowing yourself to submit to his pleasure.

he’s knuckles deep, and desperately jerking himself against any part of you he can. at this point you’ve made yourself useful by pressing a firm hand against his clothed bulge, and it’s just enough for him to get off too. hot breaths coating over your skin as he slips closer and closer to his desperate release. he quickly makes eye contact with the bag of felix and oliver’s heads, making sure you haven’t rung any attention to yourselves. you nearly cry when farleigh pulls his fingers out, his soaked fingers glisten against the light from the tv and quickly takes a taste before sinking them right back where they belong. the slight sound of a lewd squelch rings in your ears, and you can hear him moan against your ear. “think you can rub your clit for me?” you blindly oblige, messily rubbing your own clit, whiny cause he obviously does it better. one arm wraps around your hips while the free hand sinks back into your spent hole. your lurch forward, silent moans and screwed eyes. farleigh’s pressing your hard against his pleading hard on, shameless rocking his hips. there’s a tiny creak coming from you two but your both to horny and dazed to care. we know farleigh loves a show anyways.

his teeth sink into the flesh of your back, fucking himself harder against you. “i need you to cum with me baby. god i’m close.” his please his choked out and desperate, the pressure blooming in his lower abdomen getting closer and closer to snapping.

“deeper.” is all you can manage to squeak out, and he follows directions well. fingers hitting a spot that nearly makes you shout, fingers slapping to cover your mouth. you have a split moment where you take in your surrounding just to make sure the two of you aren’t caught and realize there’s only a few minutes left in the movie. in a slight panic you fuck yourself harder against farleigh, using all your senses to focus on cumming.

and almost in an instant, his grip on you tightens, sharp thrusts against you pushing him right over the edge. white flashes, and silent orgasms wash over the both of you, he completely soils himself. thick bulbs spilling from his tip and soiling his pants and your shorts. leaving a sticky substance to lie in between the two of you. you cum only moments after, and he’s doing his best not to let your walls push him out, pulsating and spasming around his fingers.

and finally when your high comes down, the two of you slump against each other, tired and spent.

hearts spike and bloom with surprise when oliver’s piercing eyes look over his shoulder whispering, “you’re so obvious.”

kinda rushed kinda sucked ass LMAO but i’m h word

#my work┊ ˚➶ ｡˚#meanie rich bf ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪#saltburn #saltburn farleigh #saltburn oliver #saltburn venetia #saltburn felix #farleigh smut #farleigh catton #farleigh x reader #farleigh start #farleigh x you #farleigh saltburn #farleigh imagine #farleigh start x reader #felix catton #felix catton x reader #oliver quick #oliver quick x reader

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eiightysixbaby · 2 months

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this is heaven, what i truly want

oliver quick x fem!reader

you’re never truly alone at saltburn. there’s always someone watching. (3.4k+)

18+ only! oral f receiving, voyeurism, unprotected piv, creampie, spit kink, use of pet names (darling, sweetheart, baby, etc.), one use of ‘sir’, cum eating (just a smidge), biting and choking (literally one brief instance of each), edging. lmk if I forgot any!

a/n: hooooo boy I wanted to try something new, so here it is! promise I’m not fully veering away from my usual stranger things content, I just desperately needed to write some filth for ollie 🤭 hope you enjoy!! I proofread this a couple times but if there’s mistakes iM SORRY. my closing statement: I can fix him your honor.

Watched. For days you’ve felt like you’re being watched. Carefully, closely, tracking your every move. Maybe the walls have eyes, who knows with a place as eccentric as this. All of the ornate fixtures and ancient paintings do have a bit of an eery, haunting feel to them.

Or perhaps it’s just because you aren’t used to having housekeepers around at all hours of the day. Duncan has always been off-putting; every summer you’ve spent at Saltburn throughout your life there’s been an energy about him that’s made the hair on your neck stand up.

Regardless, you’ve tried to shake off the feeling, wondering if you were finally losing your mind. Because here, with Felix and Venetia, Elspeth and James and Farleigh — you’re safe. They’re lifelong family friends who, as strange as they may be at times, make you feel secure. Nobody would have any business spying on you.

But oh, you should’ve known better.

You slip out of the large clawfoot tub, bare feet planting themselves on the white tile floor. Water drips from your body, the tiniest puddle forming at your feet. Grabbing your towel, you begin to dry your body with the soft fabric. You hum softly to yourself, reaching for your satin robe where it hangs by the vanity. For a moment you think you hear something, the tiniest creaking sound, and you move to look around the unnecessarily large bathroom. It’s dark in the corners where the light doesn’t quite reach, but even squinting you see nothing out of the ordinary.

You’re fucking losing it, you mentally scold yourself. It’s an old house, it’s going to make noise.

You lean against the vanity, palms flat on the marble countertop. Letting out a heavy sigh, your head hangs low, eyes closed. Get it together.

When you’ve finally steadied your breathing, you look back up to greet yourself in the mirror. You work your hairbrush through your wet hair, taking care to untangle any knots. The feeling won’t go away, your defenses raised. Eyes on you. There’s someone watching. There has to be.

You see him in the mirror before you actually see him.

Turning on your heel, a loud gasp escapes you. Your heart pounds behind your rib cage, your eyes focusing in on the figure lurking in the dark hallway. The bathroom door is open a crack, eyes you know to be blue piercing through you.

Oliver.

“What the fuck, Ollie!?” you shout, watching as he slips fully into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

You retreat, back pressing against the counter behind you. He stalks calmly towards you, caging you in. You swallow, unable to stop the way your eyes study his muscular frame, his tank top clinging tight to his torso.

“Now now,” he says, soft and steady. “We don’t want the whole house to wonder what’s up, do we?”

“What are you doing here?” you grit, nostrils flaring as you exhale heavily. Your posture stiffens, tense under his chilling gaze. “Why were you watching me?”

“Don’t act so offended, darling,” he says, stepping so close that your chests nearly touch. “Do you think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

Your lips part, breath hitching in your throat. It’d be a filthy lie to act as if you haven’t been admiring him since he first arrived, under Felix’s wing like a timid little animal. Something about him has captivated you, intrigued you, lured you in. He’s just so quiet, so skittish. So beautiful.

Being as close to family as you could get, you didn’t want to make things awkward by putting the moves on Felix’s friend, so you avoided him when you could. But that only made things more unbearable for you. Many a night was spent with your hand between your thighs, softly crying his name into your dark bedroom. Imagining he was there with you. He couldn’t know about that… could he?

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” you say, looking up at him defiantly. Lying through your teeth. You should know he can practically smell the nervousness on you.

It’s cute that you think he’d buy this.

“Oh, save the games, sweetheart,” he tuts, taking a final step closer to you. His chest fully pressed against yours now, his face dipping forward until his mouth is right beside your ear. “I know you touch yourself at night, stretching open that pretty little cunt, wishing it was me.”

Fucking hell.

“Did you really think you could be slick? Think I wouldn’t catch the way you stare at me all of the time, think I wouldn’t figure you out?”

“How long have you been watching me?” you ask quietly, your voice meek now.

“Not any longer than you’ve been watching me.”

“I haven’t—” you start, but he presses a finger to your lips, quieting you. He raises a brow, as if to say ‘Do you really want to go there?’

God, you were so stupid. Staring at him any chance you got; looking out your window at him while he’d lounge shirtless by the pool, or peering through his cracked bedroom door one evening after dinner in hopes of seeing him changing. You were sick. And here you are, chastising him.

You keep your gaze directly on his, feeling your heart rate increase under the scrutiny of those piercing, gorgeous blue eyes. He gently holds your chin, keeping you focused on him as he studies your face.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, letting his free hand come to rest on your waist. You’re reminded then that you’re only in a robe, and suddenly your skin feels like it’s ablaze.

“Oliver—” you start, your eyes big and pleading as you stare at him. What exactly you’re hoping for you don’t know, you just want him to do something.

His gaze flits to your lips, his tongue poking out to wet his own. Leaning in, his mouth ghosts over yours, barely grazing your waiting pout. He pulls back, teasing, and you chase him. Seeking out his lips until he gives in, one hand on your lower back, holding you against him as he kisses you roughly. His tongue licks into your eager mouth, swirling around yours, tasting you. It feels as though you’re nearly devouring each other, teeth clashing as your hands reach up to tangle themselves in his hair.

You whine, a high-pitched and pretty thing when he lets his mouth find your neck, sucking harsh on the delicate skin. Rolling your hips against his, you can feel the bulge straining in his boxers and he groans at the sudden friction.

“Ol— Ollie, please,” you beg, for what it isn’t clear, but he removes his lips from your pulse point to look at you.

“Such a needy little thing you are,” he says, regarding you down the bridge of his nose. “And to think five minutes ago you were acting like I wasn’t welcome in here…”

You chew at your bottom lip, thighs pressing together involuntarily at the way he speaks to you. His tone is ultimately patronizing, and you’d have no complaints if he spoke to you like this all of the time.

He dips his head back down, this time kissing over your collarbone. Every inch of skin he kisses seems to ignite, electricity coursing through your veins. He unties the fabric belt securing your robe around your front, letting it instead fall open for him. You’re completely bare beneath the black silky fabric, and you watch the way his eyes trail down your figure. He studies you like you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, and there’s an insatiable hunger behind that stunning blue. He’d eat you whole if it were possible.

Continuing his descent, he takes the nipple of your right breast into his mouth, kneading the left with his hand. You gasp, tipping your head back as his tongue rolls over the sensitive little bud, sucking on it. He diverts his mouth’s attention to the other side, then, making sure he gives equal attention to each of your tits. You can feel yourself throb for him, nearly dripping at your core in anticipation.

“Such pretty tits,” he mumbles, lips trailing against your skin. He lets his face linger between them for a moment, caressing them with soft hands.

Your mind wanders as he works his way down, kissing down your stomach, nipping at your hips. You wonder how often he’s spied on you without you catching him — exactly how many times he’s seen you touch yourself to the thought of him. It only drives you further up the wall; picturing him peering through a crack in your bedroom door on nights where you’d lay completely bare on your bed, pleasuring yourself to thoughts of his fingers and tongue. He’s sick, you’re sick, and maybe you’re perfect for each other.

You’re brought entirely back to the present when you feel his breath fanning against your cunt, his eyes peering up at you from where he rests on his knees. He doesn’t break eye contact as he brings two fingers up to swipe through your folds, collecting your slick. You shiver, mouth agape as he brings those fingers to his mouth, sucking your sweet honey from them.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet for me, darling. And you taste so sweet,” he murmurs, pressing his face against your mound. He inhales, the tip of his nose nudging at your clit, making your hips jerk slightly. “Smell even sweeter,” he praises. He’d bottle up your scent and wear it like cologne if it were possible, anything to feel close to you all of the time.

His lips part, hot breath fanning against your exposed cunt as he collects himself. You feel his tongue lick a delicate stripe up through your folds, a barely-there sensation, but it makes your back arch regardless.

“Oliver,” you moan, tangling your fingers in his hair.

You hear him exhale in a smug laugh before you feel his tongue again. He’s far more intentional this time, letting it lap up your juices from every crevice. You tug hard on his hair when you feel the wet muscle breach your entrance, lewd slurping sounds coming from the way he pleasures you. His strong hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin, keeping you right where he wants you.

It feels like you’re levitating, ascending to a higher realm as he licks and sucks at your pretty, glistening pussy. He allows his mouth to focus on your clit, teeth grazing it in a greedy little nip before he soothes the area with his velvety tongue. You’re seeing stars when you feel two of his fingers slip generously inside of you, scissoring within your walls.

“Oh— oh my god,” you whine, your eyes pinching shut as you tip your head back.

“That’s right, baby — I’m your God. Worship me like I’m your God,” he growls, in a different headspace entirely.

While he’s usually so soft-spoken and polite, in this moment he’s cocky; more confident than you thought he’d ever be. You can’t fault him for it, though, because you do want to worship him. You want to get on your knees and pray for him.

Weeks of yearning, lusting after him from afar have come to fruition. Your longing now seeps out of you, with his eager mouth to swallow it all. He fucks his fingers harder into you, curling into your sweet spot as his tongue flicks rapidly back and forth over your sensitive bud.

The thing is, it’s been weeks of yearning on his end, too. This place, warm and wet between your thighs, is his altar — his holy ground. He wants to worship you just as much as he wants you to worship him. He’s dreamt of what you would taste like, how you’d suck him right in, and now that he has you he never wants to let you go.

“Fuck, Ollie, don’t stop,” you plead, letting loud rhythmic moans fall from your lips. At this point you don’t care if the entire house hears you; so fucking be it if they do. You know Farleigh would love something to gossip about; what better topic than how Oliver gave you a religious experience right under this massive roof?

Reading your mind, he speaks from his spot between your legs. “So fuckin’ loud, darling. You want everyone to hear us? To hear how good I make you feel?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” you pant, grinding down on his fingers, nearly humping his face.

He hopes in his twisted mind that someone is listening. Hearing him claim you, mark you as his. He shakes his head back and forth, tongue laying flat as it swipes over your clit messily. You can feel yourself about to let go, to come completely undone for him.

But he can sense it, he can see it on your face that you’re so deliciously close to release, and he’s not having it yet.

Your brows furrow when he removes his fingers from your cunt, pulling his mouth away as well. You’re about to protest, about to plead with him to keep going, but he’s standing and pressing his lips to yours before you can get a word out.

There’s a painful ache in your core, and you can feel yourself still soaking wet for the man before you. His teeth bite at your bottom lip, tugging on it while he studies you with half-lidded eyes. He rolls his hips against yours and you can feel his excitement, his cock stiff in his boxers.

You paw at the waistband, attempting to free him from his confines, desperate to feel him. His fingers wrap around your wrists, stopping them from getting any closer to his cock.

“Don’t get greedy, sweetheart,” he warns. “I call the shots.”

He grabs you by the waist, encouraging you to sit on the counter behind you. You jump with his assistance, your skin cold where it rests on the marble surface.

His lips latch onto your neck once more, sucking on delicate skin, leaving tender bruises. He takes his sweet time, drawing out your agony as your arousal drips down your thighs. Pitiful whimpers crawl their way out of your throat, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access. He nips at the skin at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, licking the stinging spot afterwards to calm the ache. His thumbs tease your nipples, palms squeezing your breasts and making your back arch into him.

He removes one hand, reaching down to discard his boxers onto the floor. Finally, he grips his weeping cock in his fist, thumb running over the angry red tip. You gasp at the size of him, letting your eyes take in every inch, every vein. Committing him to memory.

“So fucking big, Ollie,” you murmur, reaching a tentative hand out, running a fingertip gently along his shaft. You’re almost surprised he lets you, and you don’t miss the way his jaw clenches in an attempt to keep his composure.

His large, warm palms move to your thighs, parting them for him. His tongue pokes out to lick his lips at the sight of you spread open for him, completely bare and wet with both his saliva and your arousal. In a moment of boldness, you pull him to you by the chain around his neck, your tongue instantly finding its way into his mouth. He exhales heavily, your tongues licking fervently into each other’s mouths, lips grazing.

You register the feeling of him lining his cock up at your entrance, the tip pressing against your folds. He slips inside, a groan leaving his lips as a shrill moan of his name leaves yours. The way he stretches you is bliss, there’s no other word for it. Pleasure that just barely teeters on the edge of pain, his cock reaching spots inside of you that your fingers could only hope to. He dips his head slightly, trailing kisses along your jawline until he reaches your ear, biting at the lobe. He starts with slow, calculated thrusts, his fingers digging harshly into your hips.

Your breathing is ragged, sinful sounds leaving you over and over as he starts to fuck you faster.

“Bet I feel so much better than your fingers, hm? Is this what you wanted all along? My cock stretching you out?” he asks, voice breathy and low. His words send shockwaves right to your core, turning you on even further.

“Yes, god, yes. Thought about this every night, Ollie. Wished you’d sneak into my room and have your way with me,” you confess, your cheeks growing warm as he smirks at you.

“Dirty little girl,” he tsks, letting his forehead rest against yours, fucking into you hard and fast.

The sounds of skin on skin mix with his pretty noises and yours; grunts and whines and sighs that reverberate off of the walls. Your nails claw at his shoulders, grounding yourself as his cock drives into your sweet spot again and again and again. Your eyes go wide when you watch him dip his head, spitting down onto your pussy, adding to the slippery mess that you’ve already created.

When he looks back up at you, your lips are parted in awe, your eyes begging for him to give you more. Spit in my mouth, please, is the unspoken cry that he understands instantly.

He grabs your face in one hand, squishing your cheeks hard enough that your lips part further. Your eyes roll back into your skull as he lets a string of saliva fall into your waiting mouth, his fingers tapping the bottom of your chin twice, encouraging you to close your mouth and swallow. You do as he wants, willing to swallow whatever he’d give you.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, slowing his thrusts briefly, giving you long and passionate strokes before returning to his previous quick pace.

“Oliver, oh my god,” you cry for him, your eyes screwing shut. “Feels so good, don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop.”

You can feel your previously staved-off orgasm approaching once more, the coil in the pit of your gut tightening more and more with each snap of his hips against yours.

“You getting close, baby?” he asks, letting his fingers wrap around your throat and squeeze. It gets the reaction he wants, your eyes snapping open and focusing on him. “That’s right, you look at me when I’m making you feel this good,” he instructs, letting go of your neck. “Otherwise, you don’t get to cum.

“Y-yes sir,” you comply. “Please make me cum, I’m so fucking close, Ollie, need it so bad,” you beg, making sure to keep your eyes on his. That stunning, icy blue pierces through your soul, sending a chill down your spine. His stare is intimidating, raising the hairs on your neck just as it did each time you weren’t quite sure who was watching you.

He bites down hard on your shoulder, rutting into you faster and faster until you’re finally tumbling over the edge. Your orgasm hits you in overwhelming waves, your walls clenching tight around his thick length.

“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver,” you chant his name, a prayer being raised to the sky as he shows you pure ecstasy.

His movements don’t slow, his lips greedily sucking at your neck before making their way back to your mouth.

“Gonna let me cum inside you sweetheart?” he asks between desperate kisses, your instantaneous nod nearly embarrassing.

“Please cum inside me, need your fucking cum, Ollie,” you respond, lips brushing against his. “Fill me up, make me yours.”

He groans low at your words, eyelids fluttering closed as you feel his cock twitch inside of you. Warm, thick ropes of his cum paint your walls, shuddering breaths leaving him as his head tips back.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he moans, giving you every drop that he has, continuing to rut into you until he’s completely milked dry.

Heavy breaths fill the room, his spent cock slipping out of you, leaving the mixture of your arousals to drip out and onto the floor. Trying to catch your breath, you watch in shock as he drops to his knees once more.

“What are you… what are you doing?” you ask, a sly smile on his face as he looks up at you.

“Just making sure you’re properly cleaned up, is all. Can’t have you going to bed like this,” he muses, collecting some of the sticky mixture with a quick swipe of his tongue. “Just lean back and relax, darling. Got to make up for all those nights you spent alone.”

#oliver quick x reader #oliver quick x fem!reader #oliver quick #oliver quick smut #oliver quick fanfic #saltburn smut #saltburn #saltburn fanfiction #mdni banner by cafekitsune

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backtothefanfiction · 4 months

Note

Hiii! i love your writing 😘 if your ok with writing this could i request some fluffy dad!felix catton if you have any in store?! again, totally understand if your uncomfortable writing this or just don’t want to 😊😊

It’s taken me a while to get to this because I’ve been struggling to find my way in when it comes to Felix as a Dad. I’m not sure if I do have a Dad!Felix fluff in me but I do have some thoughts/head canons on Felix as a Dad as a whole I’m slowly developing. So here are those…

Felix is all in in the newborn stage. It’s a novelty for him. The easy stage before they find their voices and start screaming the place down. When all you have to do is hold them, feed them, change them. He’s so there for that.

He’s happy to get up in the middle of the night, looking out the windows at the grounds with a baby in his arms, telling stories and recounting memories of his youth and that time running around the grounds with Farleigh and Venetia.

He loves see you with HIS child. He’s very protective. While you lie in his bed with tea and toast, feeding your child he shoos everyone else from the room, not wanting to share that sight or special time with anyone else in the family. Venetia is the only one who occasionally slips through the cracks. (She is a great aunt to your child by the way)

When the baby starts to grow older though he begins to struggle. You are a very hands on parent in comparison to him and he’s happy for you to be. After all his mother was very hands on with him and Venetia, however as a child he never saw his Dad there as much as his Mum and so has adopted a similar way of thinking that of his father and grandfather that fussing kids is a Mother problem.

Don’t get me wrong, he still loves showing up to be the fun dad. Running across the lawns with them. Enabling their hobbies and paying for anything they want. But when it comes to the hard stuff you feel completely abandoned.

As time goes on you realise you aren’t on the same wave length about parenting at all. And a lot of that has to do with Felix’s upbringing and family.

Elspeth is always there to step in and make a fuss, forcing herself on her grandchildren like she makes everything better, but often (especially if a child is already in a tantrum state it can sometimes make it worse until she just hands the child back and leaves you with a screaming child.

When Felix’s mates come knocking, asking him to go on golfing or skiing holidays with them it’s always “you’ve got this, haven’t you babe? Great. I love you. See you in a week.”

And because that’s how Felix was raised, what he observed from his family over the years, he honestly knows no better.

“If you’re struggling we can just get a Nanny.” He says when you confront him. It always has you seeing red. “I don’t want a Nanny Felix. I want US to raise our kids.”

You realise the only way things will change is if you all get out of that house and away from his family. So you give him the ultimatum: “it’s either us or your family.”

Of course it’s that honour in him, that unspoken traditional allegiance to your wife and kids that has him reluctantly agreeing, hoping in a few months you’ll see sense and see how difficult it is without all the servants and his daddy’s money. But you thrive, despite the way Felix shuffles his feet and does the bare minimum in protest.

After another argument where you tell him to show up or fuck off back to his family he finally takes you seriously and the more time he spends with you and your family and more modest hands on parenting and living styles he begins to thrive, seeing that the grass can be greener on the other side.

The more time away from his family he sees how toxic his families dynamic is. When you visit he sticks up for his kids and is protective of them when his parents begin to push their values and views on his kids.

You stand by him as he begins to put in boundaries and really analyse his life, his youth, his privilege and how it has in fact hindered him in life in so many basic ways. You support him and feel pride when he helps enforce those boundaries around his parents, his family as he ultimately gives them the same ultimatum you gave him all those years ago.

Although his father is reluctant, Elspeth is desperate to know her grandchildren and apologised to you both and promises to respect your parenting choices and swears to try and uphold those values in front of your children as much as she can.

With the new boundaries in place, summers in Saltburn become regular things for your kids. All of you playing together on the grounds. Chasing each other through the maze. Swimming in the pool and the lake.You and Felix set up scavenger hunts for your kids. And they ultimately grow up with the best of both worlds.

So yeah. Those are my more realistic Dad Felix thoughts. Tell me what you think….

#felix catton imagine #dad!felix #Felix Catrin #Felix catton x reader #dad!felix x reader #felix catton fluff #Felix catton headcanons #saltburn #saltburn imagines #saltburn x reader

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ervotica · 4 months

Note

ooh, tried the spinner and got wax play, what about for oliver quick? perhaps reader is elspeth and james’ goddaughter? 😊😊😊

(honestly the kink itself sounds right at home for a film like saltburn 😂)

warnings; wax play, brief fingering, biting, dom!oliver x sub!reader, 18+ only

a/n; short but sweet! i rly hate this lol but i <3 the sick little freak that is oliver quick. so here's this mess lmfao

Searing heat snakes itself around every nerve ending of your body as the wax drips onto the sensitive skin of your bare back. Your sticky lashes kiss at the corners, weighed down by the sheen of tears that cast over your tired eyes, and a cruel hand splays against the base of your spine to hold you in place atop the silken sheets of the bed.

"Shh, shh," comes Oliver's voice, rasping as his arousal grows when you squirm and writhe away from the torturous heat; the wax begins to slide and harden against your skin and the palm of his hand follows, smoothing over every curve and ridge of your flesh in reach. Dimples crater into the centre of his cheeks when you gaze up at him from under sleepy lashes and a patronising smirk cracks his face right in two.

Slick pools and sticks to your knickers when Oliver swipes two fingers across the area you want him most, and pushes them to the side to inspect your swollen clit.

"What would Elspeth say if she knew how much of a whore you are, hm?" he murmurs, thick thumbs parting the petal soft lips of your cunt.

You gasp and it wracks through you, a shudder ripping through every limb when Oliver slips two fingers into your drooling hole and crooks them to nestle against your g-spot. Teeth sink into the dimpled flesh of your bum.

"Ow!" you trill wetly, shrinking away from him; digits clasp bruisingly at the nape of your neck, and when he presses his chest to your back with a seething order.

"Behave," he growls. "Be good, and I might just be kind to you. Understood?"

#writer #writers on tumblr #writing #writing for fun #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fic #saltburn x reader #saltburn #oliver quick #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick smut #oliver quick x you #bambi's 2k dirty fic fest

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chibsandchill · 4 months

Text

Oliver Quick indeed

Fandom: Saltburn

Pairing: Oliver Quick x AFAB!Catton!Reader

Summary: Oliver never suspected he'd get caught, and he's not exactly against his punishment.

Warnings: NSFW content, a slight amount of dub-con, swearing, Oliver Quick, bathwater drinking, grammatical and spelling errors, Oliver is perhaps a smidge jealous of a bathtub, inappropriate use of a hairbrush

If you know me in real life and you found this… No you didn’t.

Masterlist

Minors do not interact (seriously, don’t)

Next part

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

NSFW content under the cut

The bathroom is eerily silent – too silent – after Felix’s door slams shut.

Well,

not entirely silent.

Was it possible to be jealous of a bathtub? Four legs, a scooped out body to rest in, and water. It held him you, and warmed you. It took care of the mess and when it was done you abandoned it, but it always welcomed you back.

Did it long for your return?

Like him?

Was he jealous?

Over a bath? He couldn’t be.

But Felix would be warmer in his arms, and Oliver would make sure that not even a speck of dirt would muddy him.

Oliver rinsed his mouth and leant his forehead against the cold mirror. He stared at himself. Blue eyes. Very blue eyes. Elspeth praised his eyes, fawned over them even when they first met. Told him about Venetia and how she’d just die.

Did Felix like his eyes? Were they blue enough? Too blue? India didn’t have blue eyes, or Annabelle.

Felix fucked them.

Has he ever seen Felix with someone with blue eyes? No.

Suddenly the praise sat wrong inside of him. Were they making fun of him? Did they know? Oliver knocked his forehead against the mirror once, twice, thrice before grinding his teeth together with a glare directed at his image.

He forced a smile, but not too happy. Then he frowned, but not too unhappy. They liked a broken thing, Felix’s family. But not too broken. Just broken enough for them to be able to ignore it, like a barbie doll missing a few fingers, or a book with a cracked spine.

Oliver’s father died, his mother an addict. No siblings, no money. Poor, poor Oliver Quick.

Felix liked feeling needed, appreciated,

adored.

Poor Oliver with a dead dad. So, so incredibly sad. No one else in this wide world other than Felix Catton. No friends, no siblings. Just…Felix.

The bathtub caught his eye. A posh thing, really. Like something out of a painting or a museum. His feet brought him to it before he’d even realized he moved. Oliver stroked the edges, pressed his nails against the porcelain until shivers ran down his spine. There was still some water in it. Warm, hot, taunting him. Felix had been there. A piece of him still lingering around the edges of the drain.

They had hugged once. Felix was a generous person, free with his affection to everyone around him. He had kissed Oliver’s helmet when they first met. Told him he loved him.

Did he?

Leaning over the tub and watching the water slowly circle around the drain filled him with an unfamiliar sense of thrill. Like he was watching something forbidden. A piece of him; of Felix offered on a silver platter.

Oliver didn’t hesitate as he got in the tub and got down on all fours. Pearly white globs swirling around below him. This was a gift.

Did Felix leave it to him?

He must have.

The door hadn’t been properly closed, and he moaned like a wanton whore. It was on purpose. Did he mean to tease Oliver? He did. He didn’t. Oliver was no one. Felix was everything,

Oliver’s everything.

Yes, it was a gift, and Oliver would take anything Felix gave.

It was still warm when he pressed his face against it. It coated his lips, his nose, his cheeks, his eyes. When he breathed, it followed, and he hated how it left when he exhaled. It clung to his hair.

Felix. Felix. Felix.

He wanted it on him. On. On. On. On,

in.

The tip of his tongue wetting his lips, a taste of heaven.

Oliver pressed himself closer, and closer as if to fuse himself together with the porcelain, but even then,

it would not be close enough.

He needed to be closer.

What was wrong with him?

Felix was so far away still, even as Oliver had a mouth full of his cum. He dared not swallow for he would not be separated from even a single piece of him.

“You’re a fucking freak, y’know that, Oliver?”

Oliver jolts up, almost banging his head on the faucet.

“W-what? Oh. Oh! No! I- I wasn’t- I mean- It’s-”

He felt sticky. Cold. His blood froze. Would you send him away? Tell Felix? Anger blossoms under his skin. Felix wouldn’t understand. How could he? How could perfection look at ugliness and understand? Even the light could not see in the dark. How could he understand the longing? The envy? The chest crushing feeling of being so close to the sun, being burned alive and yet always left craving more and more. Loving every second of losing yourself to another.

“You weren’t what?” You narrow your eyes.

“I was just…making sure the tap was closed properly. It’s been dripping all day and night.”

You scoff.

“It has!” Oliver tried to defend himself, wiping at his mouth with his wet sleeve.

“You’re pathetic, Oliver. I saw you… licking. We’ve all seen you stare at him. I mean, I’d say you were his shadow if you didn’t moon over that one as well! But Felix doesn’t see it. He doesn’t believe us when we tell him what a little freak Oliver Quick is.”

Oliver can’t help but feel smug at that. Felix believing him over everyone else? It made him hard.

It must’ve shown on his face for next thing Oliver knew your fingers burrowed into his hair and you forced him down into the water again. He coughs and splutters but you don’t let him up.

“ Stop it!” He protests. The water’s gone up his nose, he’s choking on it.

“What’s wrong, Ollie?” You coo. “I thought you liked drinking bathwater. I’m simply… giving you what you want.”

In his mind he begged for Felix to come save him, like he had at the pub, at uni. Felix would hate him for it. Would cast him away, away from him, away from Saltburn. He’d rather drown in the tub than have Felix come save him. He’d become part of Saltburn then.

“Please don’t tell Felix,” he managed to get out.

You hummed but offered no response.

Cruel. You were all cruel.

The drain cuts into his face, but you don’t let up.

Your breath fans over his ear. Oliver shivers. “We’ll see.”

You smell like Felix. You even sound a bit like him too. If Oliver closed his eyes he could almost pretend it was Felix who was taking his shirt off in the bath, who urged him to clean all his spill away.

It’s filthy.

“Do you want this, Oliver?”

You placed your hand flat over his bulge, cupping the hard outline of his cock. Could you feel him pulse?

He shakes his head no. He doesn’t.

Does he?

His head’s all muddled. All he can see, all he can feel,

taste,

is Felix.

One thought circles around in his head; more.

You squeeze, and Oliver moans.

“Thought so.” You whisper.

And then you’re gone.

“Keep your head down.” You order him, though Oliver hadn’t moved a muscle.

Despite how humiliating it was, he still wanted more. All he felt was longing, envy and pure want. Felix could stand in front of him, his spend in Oliver’s mouth and he’d still want more. When would Oliver be satisfied? How close could he get to Felix? Not close enough.

Oliver jumps when he feels your hands back on him. You tug at his boxers and his face grows red when you touch him.

“Well, well, well,” you said to him. “Prepared, are we?”

He shakes his head again.

“Liar.” You say as you bring your hand down on his ass. Oliver groaned and closed his eyes.

When had you grown so confident, he wondered? He had barely seen you at the estate, always hiding away in the library with Duncan standing guard by the door. Oliver mistook you for Felix once, but you had only laughed and walked away. Didn’t even turn to look at him.

And now your finger was in his ass and he was resisting the urge to grind back. You don’t even need to push his head down anymore, he wouldn’t raise it even if you ripped all his hair out.

You smoothed down some of his hair. “There we go, you poor thing.”

He doesn’t feel poor. Certainly not when your free hand is gripping his cock and stroking it so slowly it feels like torture. Even then the coil in his stomach starts to tighten, a delicious burn in his spine from bending over as he was; face down, ass up.

Then you’re pulling out your finger. He feels empty. Hungry. He hears the water splash as you run your hand through it, and then you’re touching him again. Spreading the wetness around his hole, in him, everywhere.

You slip a finger back in. Oliver groaned at the feeling.

“Can you take another?” You asked.

His forehead smacked against the porcelain from how hard he nodded. He thinks he might die if you don’t, stuck in this limbo of barely-there pleasure and coldness.

Oliver shut his eyes when you started pushing in the second one. He’s never had anyone there before. It was uncomfortable and it even hurt a little, but that ember of pleasure in his stomach when you crooked your fingers and touched that spot inside him made him want to beg for you to never go.

But then, you leave him again. Almost as if you heard his thoughts.

He sobs against the tub, but then his eyes flashed open in cold surprise as he felt something prodding at his entrance. Something smoother and colder than your fingers. “W-what’s that?”

“It’s a surprise.” You told him.

He almost thought you kind when you made him spit in your palm so you could wet his cock with it. He hadn’t thought it could get better, but when you spread it around him, gradually building up to pace again, he wants to thank you. It almost made him forget about the mystery object you were pushing into him. Almost. It was still cold, but felt better than he thought it would. He shuts his eyes again, losing himself to the pleasure.

It wasn’t long until you had him moaning and whining and grinding against the tub, against you, against whatever it was you were using against him. There wasn’t enough left of Oliver to think it embarrassing how he acted like a wanton whore. All he could think of was the tidal wave of pleasure that was building. It grew. Grew. Grew.

You push into him harder and harder. Your hand smacked against his skin until he was sure Felix could hear it. If not, then his moans would still tell the story.

“If only Felix could see you now.” You whisper in his ear, cruel and cold against the warmth of his pleasure.

Oliver whined. He almost wanted Felix to see. Almost.

“Freak.”

Oliver came harder than he ever had in his life. Rope after rope of cum landing on his stomach, in the water, on the sides of the tub. It seemed endless. He shook and cried as the wave fell over him. He was drowning. Drowning in you. In pleasure. In Felix. But you kept your hand on him, tugging and tugging even as he moaned from the overstimulation.

“Oliver Quick indeed.” You mock him. “I’ve barely even touched you.”

You tugged out the thing from his ass and threw it next to him, but Oliver didn’t have enough strength to even open his eyes. Not with how you forced him into a second orgasm, one almost more painful than pleasurable.

“Do you want me to stop?”

No. Yes. Never.

He never wanted it to stop. Even as it grew painful and he cried from it, he wanted more. He wasn’t satisfied. Not even close. He wanted more. More. More. More. More, until there was nothing left to give. Until he had taken all you had, and he alone was left. Even then would he want more.

You scoff at his lack of answer and tear your hand from him, wiping it off on his hair.

“Go on, Dog, lick it up.” You spat at him.

And he did,

addlebrained as he was, so fucked out from the pleasure he couldn’t even tell you his own name.

He licked and licked, until there was no more left, water nor cum. No more of him, no more of Felix. He had swallowed it all. All gone.

Oliver looked at you from under hooded eyes. Pleading. “Please don’t tell Felix.”

“You’re pathetic.”

You stormed out of the room, and then his eyes fell on the object you had thrown on him. The surprise,

it was Felix’s brush.

Next part

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

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sincerelyverena · 4 months

Text

⟡⁺ VAYA CON DIOS

. . . OLIVER QUICK X GN!READER ‘in a world so fake, i say your name praying. you are my angel and my saint.’ @ajs-222 @michael-loves-chickens @surazim @soocore

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒oliver and you form an unlikely bond over his hatred for the cattons and your thirst for revenge. but when you dance with the devil, you're bound to fall. for satan himself or something far more sinister...

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒implied sex ﹐major character death ﹐strangling (non-sexual) (sorry yall) ﹐ drowning

inspired by the pure energy of hot, smothering justice and betrayal kali uchis vaya con dios radiates. enjoy, my lovelies! also felix is so babygirl, y'all just don't like him in this.. ;]

Oliver Quick was your saving grace.

You were more willing to admit he was your soulmate. Oliver Quick. Meek, unsocial, glasses-wearing Oliver Quick. He took you by the hand — and the heart — guiding you into Oxford's inner circle. A place for you to unravel your sabotage and a root for Oliver to plant his destruction in. A place for your ascendancy to seep through the cracks and weave between the breaks.

More specifically, Felix Catton. The college's golden boy, the beloved playboy of Oxford, and why you were so dedicated to fitting in in the first place.

Felix Catton and the entire Catton name were the root of all your problems. They took every opportunity you could've been offered in their palms, tearing it to shreds, and pummelling it into dust. Without even realising it, they had sabotaged everything you could've known.

The limelight of one of the downtown bars you all had travelled to flickers upon Felix, the neon glow outlined every discreet detail he bore proudly on his face. The captured appeal in every crook and dent, to the extent that any flaw he may have possessed is gone and buried before anyone could've noticed.

Felix Catton had the school population wrapped around the slimness of his fingers. Hell, even the once hardened aquamarine of Oliver's eyes softened ever so slightly with every passing grin of Felix's mouth. Every clasp of his back. Every manipulative lie that he’d utter with a smirk pasted on his face. Every sickly-sweet word that sweetly left his lips.

But not you. Even after four rounds of whiskey martinis, you felt like the only sober person in the room. You knew Felix and his family for what he was.

Selfish, all-wanting, all-ruining rascals.

Your own family once had close-knit ties with the Cattons. Years before your mother was even impregnated. Your grandmother had whispered tales of summers at Saltburn as if it was a fairytale. Endless courtyards, wide, luxurious estate grounds. Wild parties. Even wilder sex. At a young age, you had grown a thirst for experiencing anything that remotely came close to the experiences bored into you time and time again. You needed to quench your cravings, but nothing came near.

Things may have been different if the Cattons sunk your parent's business. For good.

Even the most naive garnered a sense and even an adoration for gossip and rumours as soon as they'd step onto Saltburn grounds, reputation was adorned upon a gold-plated pedestal. The root of striking words and poison-tainted oaths is Lady Elspeth. A wheat-blonde-haired bitch that brought your family so much misery.

A couple of words that escaped the snake's mouth destroyed generations of work. A whole family business deteriorated into the dust, and she didn’t even bat an eye.

This series of unfortunate events resulted in your mother passing you onto your grandparents, fabulously wealthy (but not as wealthy) and luxurious in their own right.

They raised you under their family name. Esmeray.

This granted you easy access into the prestigious inner circles of Oxford, invited by Felix Catton himself. He had noticed you a few scarce times prior, typically on Oliver’s arm, Ollie, who took it upon himself to sneak you into various VIP parties for the cause. Any remotely attractive person is enough to catch Felix's eye, and lucky for you, you were drop-dead stunning.

That's why you weren't the least surprised when he extended an invitation to stay the summer at Saltburn. The next step is avenging the Marzena family name. For good this time.

Saltburn couldn’t have ever compared to the fairytales whispered in your ear during your childhood days. Those tales did it no justice compared to how stunning and profound the estate truly is.

The molten sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, and flecks of pure gold ascended throughout the gradually darkening sky. Pure summer drifted through the air, sending a warmth of contentment to settle in the pit of your belly. But your job here wasn't done. It was far from done.

The warmth in your belly reverberated through your shoulder as a firm hand clasped upon the brink of your silhouette.

"We're going to be late for dinner, sweetheart." Oliver's slow words reached your ears, his thumb gently tracing circles into the shining glimpse of skin that wasn't enwreathed by the inky, silk fabric you wore for the Catton’s strict dress codes.

Even though Oliver's hands were glacially cold — practically comparable to ice — the molten glow of his touch rolled throughout your frame pleasingly. This causes your lips to unfurl into a not-so-concealed smile. His words could engrave themselves into your mind, and he knew it as fact. "Come along now."

You tore your eyes away from the purely otherworldly scenery available at your will. In the minute or so that Oliver managed to garner from you, the radiant golden brinks of daytime were gradually drowned out by the raven shadows of nightfall.

"I think I’m in shock." The words escaped your lips with a half-suppressed laugh that reverberated lightly from your chest. Your mind raced to piece together the proper syllables necessary to describe the unfiltered beauty of Saltburn. “This is all so…”

"...unreal?"

Oliver finished your sentence for you in a matter of seconds, as if he plucked it out of your fluttered head. His hand shifted, arm rolled over the base of both of your bare, garmentless shoulders. Draped. Practically protectively he wordlessly guided you towards the door of your temporary suite. Temporary. For now, at least.

"Mmm… something like that." You quipped in turn, deciding with promptness to sink into the mere gentleness of his touch. The work of his hands alone arrowed straight to the pump of your heart and occasionally the heat of your core. These newly established sentiments that you’ve garnered for Oliver Quick had brought you a whirlwind of devotion to successfully come to fruition.

It wasn't an unacknowledged fact between the two of you that a spark had conquered itself, gradually. Every touch. Each glance. Every word that two of you had come to share. Oliver's intensity, his willingness to take you into his hands and never release you. And your revering homage, your tendency to treat him as if he were a god.

The Catton's were the most oblivious. Oblivious to their guest’s steadily swelling obsession. For each other and the downfall of their own, the destruction that played as a constant in their heads.

In order to play the part, you and Oliver separated from each other in front of the rest of the household to confide in both your constant alliance and devotion. You found sociability and acceptance in Farleigh and Venetia. Stingy, ego-brimming relatives to the Catton name. Oliver confided in Felix and even Elspeth, that as much as you disliked that fact. Alas, you weren't a stranger to the occasional lingering glance. The crinkle of Oliver's midwinter blue eyes, the tug of his sensually plump lips into a gradual, subtle smirk that occupied a lump in your throat. You drove him crazy the same. Or so you thought.

In the quietest hours of Saltburn, you found yourself curled up against Oliver’s silhouette. His godly arms inched around the frame of your torso, pulling you towards his strapping — and occasionally bare — chest. You often found yourself with your head buried in the crook of his neck. Inhaling the fragrances of honeydew and tangerine, the scent that virtually dripped off of Oliver’s altar of a body. A newfound pinkness tainted your cheeks.

"We live in a cruel world, don't we, darling?" Oliver proceeded to fill the silence one sleepless night with his deliberate drawls. His wide palms combed through your scalp absentmindedly. You could feel his warm breaths misting your ear every other second.

"We're living proof of that, Oliver." You gently reminded him.

"They sit on their golden thrones," Oliver raved onwards, irritation hung on every word. You didn't have to advert your eyes upward to know that his chiselled jaw was clenched, the muscles in his neck flexed accordingly. "While I had to grow up with an ignorant weasel for a father and a pill-popper for a mother."

You propped yourself up on your elbow, the pillow under your head sunk under the weight as you essentially crawled towards him. Captured his lips with your own, the taste of spearmint toothpaste meddled within your tongue as he proceeded to tangle into you. The kiss alone was fiery, frantic as Oliver poured his past and present into the serene bubble the two of you had formed, together.

"That'll all be behind us soon." You reassured him with each brush of your lips.

"Very soon, my love. They'll be the ones on their knees begging for our mercy."

Those meaning-filled kisses transitioned shortly into something more, the noises of willing gasps and the frantic rustle of garments echoed throughout the suite. In the head-whirling cloudiness of lust, you weren’t to notice the boy who stands with his ear pressed against the other side of the door. Lips thinned. Eyebrows drawn together.

Felix had heard everything he needed to know.

The racketing denouncing of the door caused your head to snap toward the cause. You’ve spent your morning in solitude, with a cup of steaming tea and a handful of your thoughts. Yet the peace you’ve marinated in over the past few hours dissipated as you witnessed Oliver stand there with promptness, hand still pressed deeply against the door handle. The silence drew throughout your suite, disturbed the slow, heavy grunts that reverberated from him.

Something was wrong,

Oliver sucked in a sharp breath.

"We're leaving after the house party tonight." He announced at last.

Your teacup almost slipped from your palms. Your breath quickened, fumbling to set the object aside before you made a start towards Oliver. And the man — who seemed more like a boy at the moment — inclined his toned arms around the sleight of your waist, clutching for dear life. He held you close. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. You felt each puff of breath escape and fill him, emptying him and deeming him whole. Your arms secured around his shoulders, triceps tucked behind his neck.

"24 hours is more than enough." You deemed.

"You think?"

"I believe."

As you spoke, you felt the muscles that once rippled rigidly against your hands loosen the slightest. Your digits traced absentminded patterns into the hem of his shirt.

“You’re tense.” You pointed out, falling back momentarily in the process. Your eyebrows drew together as you took in the strained look blatantly playing on his face. With the amount of stress filling his ocean-remanent eyes, he had looked to have aged a decade.

Oliver's hands braced towards your jaw, long digits framing your face as he leant in. He peppered a feather-weight kiss to the top of your head. You couldn't have missed his shaky inhales grazing the cuff of your ear as he inched forward.

“I have a plan.”

That's how you and Oliver found yourselves occupying the brink of your unmade bed, the cup of half-drunken tea still allocated in your hands and a look of fierce determination glowering in his unwavering gaze.

Wordlessly, Oliver lapsed a singular, broad hand in the vicinity of his dark dress pants, fingers gliding beneath the denim material. Your breath is lodged in the centre of your throat at the very sight. Your thoughts began to drift, internally perplexing if his grand plan was to fuck his griefs out on you. That was until he retrieved a ziplock bag from his briefs, cocaine weighing the plastic down.

"Oliver Quick. You are a fucking genius." You whistled at the glimpse of the thin, pale powder. Oliver's intentions were as clear as day and the motions for revenge were just as evident.

The pressure and strain that pulsated behind Oliver’s eyes softened with every syllable that escaped your lips. His gaze never left yours, deliciously prominent. A somewhat startled squeal echoed throughout the bedroom suite as Oliver hauled you up using the agency of your hips. Your legs sprawl on both flanks of his thighs as he reposed you across the sleight of his lap.

"C'mere 'n say it to my face then, princess."

The house party that arose thereafter that evening was open to all extravagant guests who were deemed worthy enough to be invited personally by the Cattons. You were bursting at the seams with scorching adrenaline at the thought of all of these unsuspecting capitalists, oblivious of what was about to transpire.

You and Oliver remained on contrasting sides of the estate, a fact that brought a sense of yearning. And you yearned for nothing more than to blow the night with the man you deemed to be your beloved. Alas, the two of you weren't established. And you both had a murder to fulfil.

One day.

"Shh..."

Oliver's voice was hushed, his whispers interlinked with a domineering raspiness as the two of you venture away from the club scene of heroin, alcohol and the prominent hue of arousal and cigarette smoke. You spied Felix, his celestial silhouette still visible from a fair distance away. He's accompanied by one of the well-heeled invitees, one of his idolizers who had spent the majority of the night garnering his undivided attention.

You crushed your drug stick underneath the heel of your footwear as you proceeded to wander behind the individuals ahead. They advanced towards the vast bridge that adorned one of the numerous rivers the estate occupied. Which acted as a hook-up spot for most, obvious by the number of condoms and cigarettes scattered upon the planks.

You gave a wordless prayer for the estate maids for their grounds inspection at dawn. But you knew God couldn't help neither you nor Oliver now for what you were about to accomplish.

It was childishly easy. Snag one of the champagne bottles from the downstairs kitchens and instil half of the ziplock bag's contents into the beige substance. Shook it until it was dissolved. Oliver seized it by his side.

By the time the couple approached the bridge, Felix already propped his midnight flings up on the fencing, palms grappling behind their thighs to keep them fixed in place. Their calves squeezed around the roundness of his hips, digits fumbled urgently to undo the leather clasps of his belt.

Within a minute or two, a strangled moan rang throughout the otherwise hushed air as Felix buried his head into the crook of their neck.

Anticipation pounded through you with each step you made. The heart of the Cattons. Soon to be executed under the guise of revenge. And what a bloody revenge it would be. Oliver's vacant hand intertwined with your own for a beat of a second, a rapid squeeze capable of sending any possible doubt into destruction. Replaced by a flutter of warmth that uncoiled in your chest.

Felix had taken notice of you both hastily, balls deep in his oblivious affair – who was spluttering and whimpering around his shoulder. The chorus of smacking flesh subsided, the strike of Felix’s hips diminishing as the man stared at his former friends with a bewildered expression.

"The hell are you doing here?" Felix demanded, grunting a half-hearted apology to his now flustered entanglement as his palms clung to their waist, pulling out with a fluent jerk of his hips. He was in every respect flaccid now, no doubt.

Oliver wasn’t phased in the slightest. "We need to talk, Felix."

“What the hell?”

The individual who once occupied the bridge had already recomposed themselves, looking daggers up at the colossal man that towered over them. Felix scarcely spared them a glance. They seethe at his lack of response, before steamrolling past you to rejoin the commotion back at the estate.

Rendering them alone.

"There's nothing to talk about," Felix contended. He broke his gaze as he heeled momentarily to adjust himself. Sloppily. There’s a shakiness in his hands.

In your eyes, he's the remnant of a fallen angel. Shadowed eyebags dominated the space beneath Felix’s whisky-glittering eyes, his wolfish-like face wiltering, hollow cheeks thinned out excessively to be presumed normal. You acknowledged it was a fact that everyone else's value of him wouldn't budge. Not even a dent. Not even in the grave.

Oliver thrust the sabotaged bottle against Felix's Herculean chest with a forceful arm, prompting him to grab hold. Your pulse rang in between your ears. You wished you could’ve engraved this moment in time into your mind.

"You're right." You reasoned. Your words seemed foreign to your ears as if it were someone else that was speaking. You could only pray that the ecstatic nervousness that jolted throughout you wasn't manifesting outwardly.

Oliver’s fingers laced within your own. The sweat that prickled along the curve of his palm signalled to you wordlessly that he was experiencing the same, intense elation that grappled at your abdomen and twisted. "We'll see you back at Oxford, yeah?"

Felix scrutinizes the somewhat empty champagne bottle in his palms (courtesy of you pouring it out an hour prior). His words falter and for a moment you begin to ponder if his perception of you two was corrupted for good. Nevertheless, Felix fixated immensely towards your linked hands.

"Yeah. I'll see you back at Oxford."

As you and Oliver diverged from Felix, you could hear the droughty gulps of the spiked substance. It was apparent to you that you'd never see Felix again after this moment. The reassurance of that fact, set in stone, brought about a flutter of relief to overtake the apprehension you once esteemed.

A slow, deliberate smile crept onto your lips.

As predicted, the entire Catton household fell apart after Felix was found. He collapsed on the wooden tiling of the bridge, sprawled out with a mouthful of his puke pooled around his ever-paling silhouette.

It was obvious he suspected. He trusted them anyway and attempted to save himself in the process.

Even though you both were invited to the funeral a couple of days after the fact, the rock-tossing (an off-putting tradition in the Catton family) was regarded as family only.

You sat, only an hour later, bare feet dangling off of the edge of the bridge as Oliver attempted to retrieve each rock from the drafts of the flowing river current.

"Don't fall in and drown, Ollie!" You exclaimed, playfulness irking your tone as you grinned down at him. The sight of Oliver, ass-up, in an attempt to grasp the smooth, memorial rock was a sight to witness indeed.

Oliver turned his head and snapped out of his focused determination to flash you a similar smirk. "I'd have to be bound and gagged for that to happen, sweetheart."

His words caused a particular imagery to pollute your thoughts.

Alas, your plans towards the Catton family and their demise were practically writing themselves. Venetia was becoming heavily depressed by the absence of Felix and Farleigh (whom Oliver framed and resulted in him having to exit Saltburn for good).

With a few metal blades smuggled into a porcelain bath and a few encouraging words from Ollie, the woman was found bathing in her crimson remains. Funeral. Rock-tossing. Rock-retrieving.

"Be careful the rock doesn't weigh you down, Ollie!"

You continued to tease him as he soon approached you. Oliver's typically straight, combed-over locks of caramel were drenched. The waterdrops highlighted the olive of his skin, and you wished desperately to kiss all the droplets away.

Oliver took hold of your waist, pulling you in. A droplet of water splashed against the end of your nose, causing a stray laugh to rise out of you.

"If I'm goin' down, you're goin' down with me."

Oliver lowered his head, his water-dripping, plump lips placed a long kiss on the end of your nose. The sudden shake of his wet strands caused water to spray all across your face.

You groaned in protest. You kissed him back anyway.

Laughing felt foreign to you. Especially when you were smuggling a dissolvable pill or two in the alcohol-infested substance of both Sir James and Lady Elspeth's glasses. It lies atop the tables decorating either side of the king-sized bed. They were preoccupied with the purposeful ruckus Oliver was causing downstairs and lurched up from their sleeping quarters to investigate.

Like all the victims before them, it was elementary. James and Elspeth evolved into a habit of indulging in a few (or five) drinks before bed. The tendency to stress drink evergrowing with the funerals and departures that lined up before them. Before their own.

Oliver slid the build of his toned arms around you, sensing his biceps straining straight into your waist. You watched as the drugged solution dissolved into nothingness while he watched you. A singular reached upwards towards your mouth which was pulled back into a grin. He bore a cool palm over your lips.

"If you keep laughin' like that, you're gonna give us away." His voice rumbled into the curve of your ear. The assertive husk of Oliver’s tone was enough to cause you to fall silent, only the ghost of a smile flickering upon your lips.

Elspeth dreaded the idea of the lovers ever considering their departure from Saltburn. James desired the absence even more. You both decided to make it easier for them.

A choked cry echoed out, barely five minutes later.

Oliver towered over the end of the bed. He never wanted it to transpire this way, but Elspeth refused to bloody die off. Your lover's fists decorated the weak column of her throat like a collar, harsh palms proceeding to crush down against skin and bone without a sleight of hesitance.

"Sweetheart, look away." He evoked.

You couldn't.

Elspeth gawked up at Oliver with wrinkled eyes. Once brimming with adoration. Now dull with despair, her calloused hands went as far as to claw against the relentlessness of his hands. Elspeth's air supply grows limited, a strangled outburst that escapes her at this realisation.

It didn't take long for her to stop fighting, and collapse against the paled corpse of her husband. You peppered lightweight kisses along the gaping nail marks dressing the skin atop Oliver’s hands. Oliver's blood was left smeared across the frame of your lips. Like he was your sacrifice. Like you were a god.

He looked at you like such.

Disposing of the bodies was even simpler. As you laboured to wipe the bedsheets clean of any possible evidence, Oliver tossed the carcasses into the wide, sprawling woods a mile or two away from the estate. The wild animals are bound to eat away at the rot infecting the pale, cold meat.

From scum, you came. Now scum you become.

The Catton Family Players music box is anchored to a table, presented in the middle of the foyer. Four smooth rocks perched on top. Even though there wasn't a funeral explicitly necessary in this case, it grew to be a game. You and Oliver took turns tossing the engraved rock into the rivers before plunging after them.

In no time at all, whatever garments you possessed were cast aside. You were shoulders-down submerged in the pummelling waters, each movement rippling the moana-blue waves.

Oliver bore his arms around you, encompassing your waist to keep you afloat so you would be able to soak in the scenery ahead of you. Submerged in the serenity of nature. With only the limelight of the sun sinking below the horizon to keep you two company.

You trusted him not to drop you. Of course, you trusted him.

Why wouldn't you trust him when he gave you everything you had ever wanted? His lips pressed warmly against the curve of your forehead. You were both skin to skin, but it didn't feel enough to you. He could’ve been inside you (in whatever way that struck the imagination). And it’d never be enough.

"What's happenin' in your pretty little mind, sugar?" Oliver hummed, his articulation was in the form of a mere whisper. Yet, the rumble of his words solicited you with so much warmth you had to take a second to respond.

"You." His eyebrows raised at the simplicity of your words. "How lucky we are."

The familiar warmth of that chuckle you love so much leaves his chest in a glowing reverberation. "We are a lucky pair, aren't we, darlin'?"

You would've never guessed for revenge and lust to be written on the same page. But through vengeance, and the motions of murder, you had gained your other half.

You had never felt happier. Never felt more whole.

And you loved him. You loved him so immensely. Nobody could have ever doubted that fact in the first place.

That's why you were the most bewildered when you stirred from rest, aroused into waking. You had foreseen residing in Oliver's arms, in the master suite the two of you now occupied. You were in Oliver's arms, yes. But not in the way you hoped for.

That's exactly how you got to this point in time.

You strain and challenge the thick ropes constricting the frame of your ankles and wrists, alerting Oliver to your consciousness. You incline your head over the brink of your bare shoulder, catching a glimpse of nothing but fields surrounding the two of you.

A river draws closer and closer in the distance.

You attempt to will yourself to speak, but your lips are harshly taped shut. Oliver doesn't need to receive your words of interrogation anyway, as he proceeds to speak.

"You were always a feisty one." He comments loosely, voice casual as if you weren't bound and gagged in between his defined biceps. His bare feet hit against the ground beneath him, muffled by the field's natural grass dressing,

"What a shame it had to be this way."

As the river grows nearer and nearer in your line of view, you spy something bland and metal perched on the rocks beside the streaming current. It's rougher today. A contrast in comparison to the passive waves you and Oliver bathed in the few days prior.

Your eyes rounden in realisation.

Fully aware of the restraints diminishing your speech, you attempt to grill the man above you on why the hell he possesses a weight. No properly audible sound manages to slip out.

A dry snigger escapes Oliver. "It would've been too obvious, my dear. I mean, we're the last ones standing." He falters in step, the waves of the river's current join the throbbing of your heart, roaring between your ears. Oliver inclines downwards, fingertips as gentle and purposeful as ever as they tease the edge of the tape. "What a tragedy it'd be for my lover to be taken away from me as well."

Tears prickle at the edge of your eyes.

The tape rips away from your lips, strangling a cry from deep within your throat at the throbbing pain that overbears you. Oliver tosses the tape aside without a second thought, the pad of his thumb rubbing easing circles into the somewhat swollen attributes of your mouth. "Shh..."

"Oliver, this isn't fucking funny."

"I know it isn't, sweetheart."

The man you thought you loved lowers his head and meets a feathery kiss against your lips. Once. Twice. Thrice. He leans upwards, and an indescribable emotion flutters in the whirling aquamarine of his eyes. "But it has to be done."

Oliver's broadened palm takes hold of your mouth harshly, sinking his slender digits into the flush of your cheeks. A sharp distinction to the flutter of his lips seconds prior. You howl your protests into his fingers, writhing in his overpowering arms as he works to lock the weight onto the rope decorating your ankle. Your howls turn into sobs that wrack your chest with each breath, the colour promptly draining from your face. Oliver stands right at the edge of the rocks lining the river, decorating the roaring waters below.

Molten tears ride down your cheeks. Your voice rasps. "Ollie?"

"Yes, princess?" He still garners the ability to serenade you with the sweet tinges of his words, as if you weren't on the way to your inevitable death.

"Venetia was right about you. You're fucking sick in the head."

There isn’t a trace of aggravation that crosses Oliver’s face. His unruly eyebrows raise for a moment, overcome by amusement as he scrutinizes you darkly.

"Now, now. Let's not forget who was by my side the entire time."

He's right. You know he's right. You glare up at him with a twisted combination of loathing and horror at the enlightenment. You took down every one of the Cattons by his side. He took you under his wing and assisted you in getting your way against the people you've despised for the majority of your life. This was your way of repaying him.

"I'll see you in hell, bastard."

These are the very last words you manage to seethe before your bound silhouette is freed from Oliver's bone-chilling palms. Before your entire physique sinks into the freezing waters, swallowing your entire body whole as the weight anchoring your leg propels you further downwards.

Your last breaths escape you in a gust of bubbles, rising desperately to the top as you reach the bottom of the makeshift hell you were tossed into.

The last thing you see is a rock with your name on it.

—Pues mírame a los ojos, dime si ves el vacío que deja amor perdido— "LOOK ME IN THE EYES, TELL ME IF YOU SEE THE VOID THAT LOST LOVE LEFT BEHIND"

WORD COUNT: 4K MASTERLIST

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lazzarella · 5 months

Text

A non-exhaustive list of Saltburn moments I think about a lot in no particular order (aside from the obvious ones that will always live rent free in my head):

The way Gavey eats the Crunchie lol

‘What? What kind of— what do you mean, problems?’ 👀

Felix lying in the sunlight in his room, while Oliver is just a shadow cast on the floor

"I can wear my suit of armour, Elspeth!" :DDDD

Felix's >:( face at breakfast after Farleigh told him about Oliver and Venetia

Felix picking grass or something off Oliver's leg

‘“She came from Greece. She had a thirst for knowledge.” It couldn’t have been me. I’ve never wanted to know anything.’

🎤she got them apple bottom jeans

Duncan pushing his hair back when Oliver sees him during the search for Felix (the first crack in his facade)

“Darling, darling boy” :(((((

Duncan totally losing his composure when he can't close the curtains

Venetia pouring the whole bottle of wine into her glass

Fjfjdjakfivifjajanc milk and cookies

#saltburn #saltburn 2023 #Saltburn movie #Saltburn spoilers #Jacob elordi #Barry Keoghan #Oliver quick #Felix catton #spoilers

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heartsdefine · 15 days

Text

elspeth in her favorite corner chair in the castle library, surrounded by dozens of dragon-related books: ...autism won today.

#re; elspeth cousland. ( you are a brutal thing made of flowers )#crack; elspeth.

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ludicdoll · 2 days

Text

𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

farleigh start ☆

pairing: farleigh start x fem!reader

contents: american reader, smoking, soft farleigh, very slight angst, fluff

synopsis: you and farleigh smoke under the sunset, reminiscing on your exciting summer.

a/n: go listen to weak for your love by thee sacred souls nowww

you sigh against the warm breeze, staring up into the golden sky. your summer was coming to an end, which means you would have to leave saltburn, which means you would have to go back home to america. you thought you wouldn’t care when summer ended, in fact you were excited to go back home—but now everything’s changed. your summer started out with felix inviting you after the graduation party. he said “everyone will miss you if you leave so early.” he was definitely just trying to make you feel better, but you caved in on his offer anyway. on the first day you arrived at the estate, elspeth almost immediately claimed you as one of her own children.

she was a very sincere woman, her blonde hair was always pinned up to frame her classic face, and her clothes always reflected her wealth. you were so intimidated by the catton’s at first, but as you got to know them better, you realized they’re quite normal. sure—the family heirloom art pieces on the walls and their 200 acres of land weren’t normal, but on the surface of their personalities, they were just average people who happened to be blessed with money. during your stay at the mansion, you found yourself talking to farleigh more often. at oxford you and farleigh never talked much, only sharing occasional glances from across lecture halls. you shared the same friend group with him due to felix and got along surprisingly well.

you both had witty personalities, a stubborn flare, and incredible fashion tastes. you recall your first real conversation with farleigh. it was on your first night at saltburn during dinner. you were seated next to him and gossiped the whole time about annabel and felix’s situationship. you laughed and smiled at his words and he seemed to be feeling just as amused as you were. now and then you would have your petty, harmless arguments, but nothing too extreme. in the midst of all of the catton’s chaos, you and farleigh found peace in each other. slowly, he even opened up a little to you. he talked about his mom, claiming that he was scared that if he left england, he would never get an ounce of money again. you pitied him truthfully. however, he was also incredibly smart, he just never bothered to show it.

farleigh also loved literature, he would roll his eyes at you whenever you’d call him a nerd but he enjoyed classics, drama, mysteries, romance, almost everything and anything. you would think that him living a chaotic, party filled lifestyle meant that he never had any time to pick up on any other hobbies or interests, but he did. he learned french and was surprisingly good at it, he didn’t speak it fluently—but he knew enough to hold up a conversation with someone random.

you sit in your window nook, closing your book and placing down on the cushion, staring out of the cracked window as you ash your cigarette out of the open panes. it’s mid september, the weather was slightly cool, but the humidity from the light rain earlier had made it slightly warmer. you raise your fingers to you mouth, dragging out the smoke from your cigarette. you lean your head back against the wall, closing your eyes as you breathe in the air around you. suddenly, you’re awoken by a knock on your door. “come in!” you call out as a head of curls poke through the door. farleigh smiles before closing the door behind him and walking over to you. he’s wearing a dark navy ralph lauren cable knit sweater (very fitting for him) and black trousers. he looked like he just got back home from something. “having your main character moment, i see?” he teases as he sits down across from you in the nook. you roll your eyes, softly shaking your head with a laugh. he grins, looking down at the book in your lap.

farleigh reaches over, grabbing it before reading the title outloud. “one hundred years of solitude,” he repeats. “how are you just now reading this?” you snatch the book out of his hand before placing it back down next to you. “oh, i’m sorry i’m not a nerd like you.” you reply mockingly. farleigh gives you a deadpan expression before cocking his head to the side, staring at you with low eyes. he readjusts himself in the cushion, scooting closer to the where his legs were touching yours. “venetia won’t be able to shut up when you leave.” he mutters. you turn, smiling weakly. you’ll miss her too, you’ll miss everyone when you’re gone. the two of you sit in silence for a minute, soaking in the beautiful shift in colors within the sky. you pull a cigarette out of its box next to you, offering it to him. he stares at you, almost like he was hesitating to take it or not. of course, he couldn’t decline so he swiftly took it out of your fingers.

you grab your lighter and ignite the flame by his lips. he immediately groans quietly, a wave of relief glowing across his face. “where were you all day?” you ask. “you just disappeared during brunch.” farleigh blows a thin line of smoke out of his mouth, shrugging. “the pub.” he looks over your empty room, biting down on his bottom lip. you used to have so many posters and polaroids littered across your walls, but you had already packed all of your stuff—leaving the room blank. “god, it’s so boring in here now.” he says. his breath suddenly hitches when he sees your suitcase in the corner of the room, packed and ready for your leave. you notice this and reach over to touch his shoulder.

in an attempt to lighten the mood, you rub at his arm. “aw, you gonna miss me, far?” you ask with an exaggerated sad face. farleigh scoffs, chuckling softly at your expression. “mmm, don’t get ahead of yourself.” you giggle, turning your head to look at the sky above you. you had made so many memories here, so many friends you wouldn’t be able to replace back in the states. a part of you wished you could stay in england, but another part of you missed your home. “do you remember the first time we met?” farleigh breaks the silence suddenly. you glance over at him, raising a brow. “it was at felix’s acceptance party. you showed up wearing a bold silver sequin skirt, very bold.” you cringe as you recall your odd fashion choices in your first year at oxford.

“oh god, don’t remind me.” you cry out as you pinch your nose bridge with a defeated sigh. farleigh laughs, exhaling the smoke out of the window. “truly … it was definitely the talk of the night.” he adds on to make you wince further. you raise a hand, waving it in front of him, hoping he’d stop talking. “but—i liked your outfit that night. i thought that you had to be interesting if you were wearing that.”

“really?” you ask. he nods, a smirk dancing on his lips. you sit up, leaning closer to him. you stare up at farleigh through your lashes, cocking your head to the side. “and was i interesting?”

farleigh seems to get a rise out of this sudden confidence from you. he leans down closer as well, just inches away from your face. “mhm,” he hums as he raises his cigarette back up to his mouth. you can’t help but stare at his pink lips as he takes a long drag. the two of you exchange quiet glances, a thick tension rising in the air. “whatever shall i do without you?” he teases as he leans back on his palm. “well, i’m not leaving until tomorrow morning.” you glance over at the grand clock in the corner of the room before turning back to meet farleigh’s gaze. “—we still have a couple more hours together.”

“yea? it’s not enough.” he muttered the last part quietly, but loud enough for you to dicipher. farleigh looked so soft under the sunset, the rays of pink light illuminating his face perfectly. your stomach suddenly flips, a wave of heat spreading to your face. he looked almost angelic in a way. you never thought about your right dynamic with farleigh. others around you would often say you and farleigh were close, maybe a little too close. you liked sitting in his lap and he liked holding you, not like it was im a sexual manner, you just genuinely enjoyed his touch. it was purely platonic to you from the start. but as you spent more time with him, you realized his demeanor would get you a nervous mess at times.

you thought you didn’t like farleigh, but the fuzzy feeling that would overtake you would make you squirm under his stare. it made you feel like you were twelve again with your first crush. “maybe we could just spend the next few hours talking.” farleigh says. you blink, examining in his soft features. the longer you stared, the more you’d notice certain aspects of him face you never acknowledged before—like how he had very faint fading freckles in the summer, or that one curl that would fall on his forehead perfectly. you nod in response to his suggestion before leaning back to your original position. for the next two hours, you and farleigh just sit there, rambling on about everything you could think of. your conversation ranged from shit talking to philosophy, then to the planets orbiting around us. you talked so long to the point where the sun started to set, slowly dipping below the horizon with a burst of pinks and oranges. you grab at his arm, gasping quietly as you gaze up at the sky. “look!” you point out. he raises a brow, glancing back and forth between you and the sunset. “what?”

“the sky!” you say in an obvious tone. “happens everyday, nothing new.” he says nonchalantly as he releases himself from your grip, resting his head against the window. you groan, smacking his arm with the back of your hand. “okay, well it’s my last sunset in england.” you turn your body fully so it’s facing the window, legs crossed underneath you as you put out your cigarette. you feel the cushions slowly sink when farleigh scoots closer. he places his head on your shoulder, sighing quietly. “m’gonna miss you.” his voice is low, rough but smooth at the same time. you tilt your head to look at him, giggling at his sudden honesty. “i’m serious,” farleigh picks his head back up from your shoulder, tracing his thumb along your jaw.

his eyes flicker back and forth from your eyes to your lips, his face show a look of contemplation. for a moment, you wish he would come back to america with you. the thought of him living with you didn’t bother you. in fact, it sounded perfect. he was a genuine person—and yes, he was a bitch but he was truthful and sweet when he wanted to be. “i wish i could stay longer.” you whisper. farleigh trails his thumb up to your bottom lip, tilting closer to you. “you could,” he says. you laugh awkwardly, “i’m sure the catton’s are sick of me though.”

“i’m not.”

you stare up at him, his dark eyes boring into yours. he looks so vulnerable right now, so calm and content. it was a rare occurrence if you saw farleigh not gushing out insults left and right. his voice made you shiver, goosebumps lining your skin with each syllable that left his pretty mouth. “i—i don’t want you to go.” farleigh stutters out with a soft sigh in a way that sounded like it was ashamed of admitting it. before you could respond, his lips crash onto yours. his pace is frantic at first then it softens, kisses delicate and slow. farleigh’s hand on your jaw trails around to the back of your head to deepen the kiss. you wrap your arms around his neck instinctively, pulling him close to your body. you could feel his warmth radiating off of yours, it was so sudden. you never expected to be making out with the farleigh start. there’s so many things running through your mind, but they all vanish into clouds as you melt against his soft lips. your stomach flutters rapidly, a slight buzz rising to your head. he grins into the kiss, a shitfaced grin at that. farleigh slips his tongue in your mouth, the subtle taste of liquor on him.

“far—” you whimper through labored breathing. he slows, pulling away from the kiss as he rests his forehead against yours. his hand falters from the back of your head to your neck. “fuck, you don’t understand what you do to me.” you crane up, looking at him with doe eyes. “please stay. just for a little while.” he begs, brows furrowed with worry as he laces his fingers into yours. you swallow, glancing over at the packed suitcase on the floor. you peer back up at farleigh, a small smile tugging on your lips. “please.” he repeats.

“okay,” you breathe out, “i’ll stay for a little longer.”

#archie madekwe #archie madekwe x reader #farleigh start x reader #saltburn #farleigh #farleigh start #saltburn x reader #farleigh catton

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drconstellation · 24 days

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Stocktaking in the Basement

Aziraphale's Edinburgh Journey: Part 3

Usually one would think of going through their memories as a learning experience as more of a "rummaging around in the attic" metaphor, since the brain, the keeper of memories, is in the highest part of our bodies. But one of S2's underlying themes is the looming Second Coming and the resurrection of the dead, so its underground that we need to head - to the basement.

Aziraphale does a great deal of "stocktaking in the basement" during his trip to Edinburgh. He recalls the encounter with the body-snatcher Elspeth and her companion wee Morag in 1827 on the way up, has his memory jolted by the statue of Gabriel to something more recent, then thinks about what happened in 1941 on the way back. We are largely going to deal with aspects of the 1827 minisode in this meta, and some possible implications for S3.

Lets have a look at why this year, 1827, was chosen for this minisode. The Anatomy Act of 1832 gave doctors and medical students legal permission to use donated bodies for research and educational purposes, and was made so to stop the distressing trade of body snatching that was occurring at the time. But this minisode isn't necessarily about stopping that activity, rather the reasons for doing it in the first place. Looking at Strong's Concordance, as we must, in the Greek, 1827 gives us "convince" or "prove to be in the wrong." This sounds about right for this minisode, which includes the conversation about poverty inducing more opportunities to be wicked, which somehow leads to holiness, from the book. The minisode shows how Aziraphale has this idea turned around for him - he's convinced otherwise, and shown how his initial beliefs about the practice turn out to be wrong.

Also, around 1827 is the time when the building of private mausoleums was at its peak. A mausoleum was (and still is) a display of wealth, so featuring one here plays into the story in the minisode of the virtues of poverty versus the rich. (It's also a call back to the origin of the Bentley's number plate, which was written on a mausoleum in a Monty Python sketch.)

Digging Up the Past

Shax does her own stocktaking when she receives the above push-back from Crowley, and realizes that Aziraphale is not in the bookshop at all at that moment, and goes looking for him. Later, she digs up his own dirty past to taunt him with, in an effort to make him crack and give up Gabriel.

But why is Aziraphale digging up this particular memory at this time? We know he is fond of Edinburgh and has visited many times, so this particular memory must contain something of importance for us to see.

There is the title of the minisode, some Masonic symbology and the metaphorical act of the snatched bodies as the dead rising from their graves which all point us in the direction of the Second Coming and Judgement Day, which we will cover in Part 4, so we'll put that to the side for the moment.

Changing Sides

Let's have a look at some of the blocking of the scenes in the Resurrectionists minisode. This wont cover everything, so if you do go back to have another look at it yourself, do pay close attention to who stands where.

When we first meet Crowley and Aziraphale in 1827, they are standing on what we think of as their "normal" sides, angel on the right and demon on the left. Elspeth, caught in the act of body snatching, is even further to the left, the real demon on the scene, which actually pushes Crowley back to the middle ground.

Straight afterwards, we see all three of them walking together through the streets of Edinburgh. Crowley is still in the middle, but now Elspeth is in the angel's position and Aziraphale on the far left as a demon, as they all discuss the virtues of poverty. Oh dear, Aziraphale, you're losing the argument here, and losing badly!

Inside Mr Dalrymple's rooms, Aziraphale decides to take matters into his own hands, where he thinks he is doing the right thing, and miracles the first body into soup. Elspeth is caught innocently in the middle of this, and Dalrymple is on the demonic left.

A conversation is had with Dalrymple following this. Crowley is hidden in the right-hand chair, Aziraphale, who needs to be swayed, is in the middle, and Dalrymple is still on the demonic left.

After heading back to the cemetery for another body, Crowley and Aziraphale inspect some of the protective measures set up to guard the graves. Crowley is still on the moral right, questioning if the rich are more worthy of being protected from body snatchers than the poor.

Despite changing his mind about body snatching, Aziraphale still ends up on the wrong side of the argument in the end. As a giant Crowley looks down on the two of them, its Aziraphale standing on the demonic left side as the virtues of poverty lose out once more.

Timely Lessons

Back to the fireside chat with Dalrymple. We have this heartfelt reaction from Aziraphale when he learns the preserved specimen he is holding came from a seven-year-old boy.

AZIRAPHALE: [takes the jar] Well, that's a foot. So it's definitely not a foot. [laughs] DALRYMPLE: That's my point. If you two smart gentlemen can't identify it, then what are my students to make of it? I removed this tumor from a seven-year-old boy. AZIRAPHALE: Oh. Oh dear. And… Is he…? DALRYMPLE: [shakes head] And that is why we need a steady supply of cadavers. We need to cut. If we can't cut, we can't learn. If we can't learn more, a lot more, then how on earth are we going to win the battle against monstrosities like this one? I'm just trying to save lives and teach students. I either end up with a knighthood or condemned as a resurrectionist and hanging from a rope.

This, I feel, is an important lesson for them, and it seems for Aziraphale in particular. Why? This part focuses more on his reaction to the tumor, rather than Crowley's, and when we focus on Aziraphale it has ramifications for the future.*

A physical problem is usually easily identified (such as the foot). But what if the problem is invisible, because its on the inside? How do you see into a body, find a problem and make it visible, if you have not been presented with this problem before? Or perhaps you know something is wrong, but don't know what to call it?

It doesn't even have to be physical, it can be a mental, or a psychological problem. One still has to learn how to "see" the problem, to identify what it is (such as a particular pattern of behaviour) and to know the best course of action to overcome it.

Crowley wishing for more murderers to facilitate Dalrymple's research is one thing, but not being able to save a 7 year-old boy...this is the theme of the death of innocent children we've seen repeated throughout the series (the Flood, Job's children, the aborted attempt on Adam, the Crucifixion, and the implications around Crowley's Fall, to name a few.)

This also plays into the "representation matters" theme from the end - you can't be what you can't see.

This is not a lesson about the fact that they care, because they do, but how they learn to see the real problem in the first place.** I'll be interested to see the matching scenes/parallels to this in S3.

The Two Dalrymples

It has not gone unremarked that there is a Dalrymple mentioned in S1 as well - Witchfinder Colonel Dalrymple, who made the fancy Thundergun that was taken to Tadfield to shoot the antichrist with.

Now we can talk about the connection between the two Dalrymples - they are both about removing "monstrosities" from humanity.

Take the line in the passage above: "If we can't learn more, a lot more, then how on earth are we going to win the battle against monstrosities like this one?"

As I've mentioned before, the root of the word monster is from the Latin for monstrum, "a divine omen (of misfortune)," but also monstrare, which means "to point out," which bring us back to this scene in S1, on the tarmac of the Tadfield Airbase:

Aziraphale took Witchfinder Colonel Dalrymple's Thundergun to remove the monstrosity that was Adam the antichrist to save humanity, and Mr Dalrymple the surgeon is trying to learn how to remove and save humanity from the monstrosity we know as cancer. I'm just making a spot now on my S3 bingo card for a third Dalrymple mention, that will no doubt have some connection to the removal of monsters and/or monstrosities from the world.

Balancing the Books

The final bit of stocktaking might just be the coldest part of the whole recall process.

When Aziraphale calls from the cemetery in Edinburgh, he mentions Dalrymple's fate to Crowley:

AZIRAPHALE: Oh, do you really think so? Um, Crowley… Do you remember Dr. Dalrymple, The one who bought, err… CROWLEY: Wee Morag's body. Not a doctor… A mister, yes! Yes, whatever happened to him? AZIRAPHALE: [reading pamphlet] He left Edinburgh in disgrace. And then he killed himself. CROWLEY: Mmm.

Mmm, indeed. They might have saved Elspeth from Hell to meet up with wee Morag again, but the count of souls was still balanced out in the end, with Dalrymple heading the other way. The last time we see him he is still on the demonic LHS of the screen in blocking as he pays for wee Morag's body. Hell had him marked well in advance of his demise.

Time to move on to Part 4: Judgment Day, where we look at all the signs that the End Times are approaching. Again.

Thanks to @vidavalor for the thematic inspiration for this post.

For further reading:

You Say Potato, I Say Excellent! Or blocking, accents and legacy of morality tales in ‘The Resurrectionists’ minisode PART II by @pommedepersephone

The linked post at the beginning Historical Analysis: class and injustice in 'The Ressurrectionists' minisode by @bowtiepastabitch is here.

An intro to Elspeth and wee Morag being parallel characters to Aziraphale and Crowley by @good-soupmens I'm going to follow up on this in Part 5.

*I explained in Part 2 that I believe we are being shown the future through Aziraphale and his parallel characters, Beelzebub and Maggie. Another reason for this is that in S1 is that Anathema is one of his parallels, and she is also caught up with living in the future through the prophecies of Agnes Nutter. In contrast, Crowley's story, and that of his parallels, such as Gabriel and Newt, are about the past and trying to live the life you want that isn't bound by expectations. Urrgghh, I can see I might have to expand on this somewhere later.

**Crowley, with most of his story in the past, shows us an example of this with his "looking where the furniture isn't" comment.

The other posts in this series can be found here:

Part 1: Detective Aziraphale Part 2: Aziraphale-Beelzebub Parallels Part 4: Judgement Day Part 5: I Know Where I'm Going

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziraphale #mr dalrymple #witchfinder colonel dalrymple #elspeth and wee morag #good omens 1827 #edinburgh 1827 #the resurrectionists #scene blocking #body snatchers #strong's concordance

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elspethdekarios · 2 months

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Last Light: Gale x Tav

NSFW!!! 🔞

This fic takes place directly after the crew return to Last Light after defeating Ketheric. It's half emotional and sweet, half smut. Yeah, I know it's unrealistic to think that anyone has enough energy to bang after the Moonrise fight, pls suspend your disbelief lol

I hope you enjoy, I put a lot of time into this and I'm quite proud of it 🥹💜

Before you read, you should know a small bit of background info:

My tav, Elspeth, has a ring she's worn for decades that was given to her by her family's housekeeper, Tessie, who thinks of Elspeth as her own. She's always felt more loved by Tessie than she has her own family. The ring is special to her, and it broke shortly into their journey.

------

A crack ran along the surface of the Selunite dome protecting the Last Light Inn, spreading in fractals like the roots of a tree. Slowly, the dome dissipated, following the motions of Isobel’s raised hands. It was still dark outside, but a different darkness–the inky depths of a night sky instead of a green necrotic glow. The air in my lungs felt cleaner, lighter. All around the inn, tieflings and Flaming Fists and Harpers rejoiced with excited squeals, hugging their still-standing loved ones and marveling at the miracle we were witnessing. A hundred years this blight cursed the land–and suddenly, it was gone.

“I won’t fully believe it until the day breaks,” Jaheira said from Isobel’s side. “But I will celebrate all the same.”

I sat on the ground nearby, propped up against a trunk of supplies. My limbs ached, my armor was bloodied, my spirit renewed and spent at the same time. I peeled off my gloves to stretch my fingers, the night air cool and soothing on my sticky skin.

“Alright, soldier?” Karlach’s familiar heat told me she was nearby before she spoke. And the smell of beer. She handed me a mug, frosty and overflowing with foam at the top, and clinked her beer against mine. “We fucking did it! You did it!”

“Yeah, we did,” I said as I gulped down the cold beer. It was the most refreshing drink I’d ever had in my life–and beer was never my beverage of choice. “Though I’m not sure how much of me is left.”

“You lose a limb or something?” she asked. I shook my head. “Didn’t think so. You’ll be good as new after some rest.”

I let my head fall back against the trunk behind me. Just keeping my neck upright was exhausting. We watched the celebration unfolding around us–the residents of Last Light draining the kegs, passing around fresh bread rolls and what fruit we had left. Dammon had even left his forge to join in, laughing in conversation with some of the others. Karlach kept looking in his direction, just briefly, before she would conspicuously look up at the sky or crane her head to the opposite side.

“You like him, don’t you?” I asked.

“What? Who?”

“Dammon.” I nudged her shoulder with mine.

“I don’t–” Karlach protested, but paused when she turned her head towards me and sighed. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone, El.”

“I’m not alone. Look at all these people,” I gestured around us. “Besides, I’m about to go and find Gale. Not sure what he’s up to, now that I think about it….”

After we finished our beers and Karlach strode across the lawn to join Dammon, I headed inside. The bar was lively, a Fist and a tiefling pouring drinks for anyone who wanted one, but not quite as crowded as outside. I supposed everyone wanted to see the sky without the shadow curse as much as possible. Among the few patrons was Gale, leaning on his elbows against the bar as he waited for a drink. Two drinks, actually.

“Are those both for you?” I teased as I slid into the space next to him. He was impeccably clean, clothes and all. He had either taken a bath already or used some spell of his devising. I felt even filthier in comparison.

“That, I am still deciding.” He kissed my forehead and handed me one of the goblets. “You were magnificent.”

“As were you.”

“We make a good team, then.”

“Are you… feeling okay? About your decision, I mean.”

“I will be,” he said. “I’m glad we’re still alive, of course. I’d choose you a thousand times over. I’m upset with myself for being so… willing to destroy myself and the people around me. But–” he took a gulp from his cup. “Tonight is for celebration. I can work through my emotions tomorrow.”

I placed my hand over his with a sad smile. I was trying my hardest to stay upright, my eyelids were beginning to fall involuntarily, my head threatening to do the same.

“Do you want me to run you a hot bath? Might be a good time for one, with everyone still celebrating.”

“That would be lovely,” I said. “But only if you can help me get up the stairs and take this bloody armor off.”

“Deal,” he smiled, offering me his arm.

In our group’s shared bedroom, Gale helped take off my armor, piece by piece, and added them to a pile of washing to be done. First the pauldrons, then the chest plate, and so on until I was only in my underclothes.

“I’ll go start the water,” he said as he walked to the washroom, turning to face me again at the door frame. “Do we have any fresh towels in here?”

“I have some on my bed. I’ll get them.”

I had placed a stack of folded towels on my bed days ago–my bed that I hadn’t been sleeping in. I’d been sleeping in Gale’s. The towels were untouched, still neatly folded where I left them. Only now, a small golden pouch sat atop them, tied with a green ribbon that also held a small scroll. I unrolled the parchment, the smallest hint of magic in my fingertips as I did, and read:

“My dearest Elspeth,

Words alone can never express how much you mean to me. Actions, perhaps, may let me get closer to the heart of it. I know not where our journey will take us. I feel it may be blasphemous to think about the future, but sometimes those fantasies are the very anchor to which I hoist my soul. When sleep is futile or all hope seems lost, I think of you. I imagine holding your hand as I show you around Waterdeep, showing you my favorite spots and learning which places will become yours. I see you curled up in front of the fire in the library, an open book discarded next to you as you sleep without a care in the world. I see a life with you–a normal life. I want that more than anything in the world.

Despite my waxing poetic about our future, this gift is simply that–a gift. I love you.

Yours always,

Gale”

Inside the pouch was Tessie’s ring. The crack had been soldered together with silver, leaving a subtle seam in its place, remnants of the molten metal’s shape before it dried. I looked up through the tears welling in my eyes to see Gale leaning against the door frame, scratching his beard and averting his eyes to the ground.

“I hope it’s okay,” he said. “I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries, and I know there are flaws, but Dammon and I–”

I bolted over to him, interrupting his rambling by pulling him into a deep kiss. I could feel the tension in his body melt away as he rested his hands on my waist. The steam from the bath enveloped us in a cloud of fresh rose and mint–where did he even get this soap?

“It’s perfect.” I embraced him, resting my head on his chest as he squeezed me back. “Thank you.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” he said. “I was worried I went too far, altering something so sentimental to you.”

“This means so much to me, Gale. You mean so much to me.” His eyes found my own,

glassy and emotional, juxtaposed against his upturned lips. “Thank you for choosing me. For staying here with me. I… don’t know if I could go on without you. The possibility of our future is the glue that keeps me together. I know it’s hard to talk about, considering everything, but Gale–I’m yours. I want to be yours forever. I want to wake up next to you every day without the lingering thought that it could be our last. To love you with my whole body and soul and declare it to the entire world.” I caressed his face, looking deep into his eyes. “You are so precious to me.”

My voice broke on the last sentence and teardrops stained the blue fabric of his shirt. He kissed me again and pulled me close.

“Sometimes I wonder if this is all a dream,” he murmured, forehead pressed to mine, pushing a section of loose hair behind my ear. “I don’t know how else I could have managed to get you to love me.”

“It’s not a dream,” I whispered into another kiss, a gentle one, lips light as air. “I love you. All you ever have to do is exist, and I’ll love you.”

He ran his hands down my shoulders, my arms, and back up again. I took his top lip between mine, my tongue gently moving into his mouth. He caressed the thin strap of my bra with the back of his fingers and gently pulled it down my shoulder, smirking.

“I have to get cleaned up first,” I whispered into his mouth.

“I can be patient.”

Once I was sunk to my neck in the hot water, Gale excused himself from the room.

“Relax, my love,” he said. “I’ll be back in just a few moments.”

The weight of my body dissipated as the heat worked its way into my sore muscles and aching bones. The fresh, soapy aroma, the steam, the twinkling lights Gale conjured across the ceiling of the dim, candlelit room–it felt like a luxury spa rather than a washroom in a nearly abandoned inn. Alone with my thoughts, images of the illithid colony flooded my mind’s eye. I kept remembering the tendons holding the place together, the bugbear dismembering bodies, the abject image of Ketheric Thorm himself…. I plunged my head under the water, which felt almost scalding hot on my face, and tried to clear the thoughts from my mind, but it wasn’t working. Nothing was working. I tried to cast a spell to calm my emotions, but my magic was spent.

Gale returned moments later with two large cups of ice cold water and a knowing smile on his face.

“I think we’ve both had enough alcohol for the night,” he said, sitting down on the floor beside the tub. “We’re already in for a rough morning after such a fight, and nursing a hangover won’t make it any easier.”

After gulping down the water, I began to wash. Gale insisted on washing my hair, his strong hands massaging circles into my scalp. It was enough to put me straight to sleep. Once my hair was rinsed and my body thoroughly cleaned of grime, Gale wrapped my shoulders in a towel as I stepped out of the tub.

“I have another surprise for you,” he said, kissing the pointed tip of my ear.

“Another? Gale, you spoil me,” I teased him and wrung my wet hair into the towel. He only held up a dangling keyring and grinned.

“I asked Jaheira for the private bedroom downstairs. It’s ours for the night.”

“You really know how to smooth talk your way into anything, don’t you?”

“She can hardly say no,” he said. “We just saved this place and killed her sworn enemy.”

I moved to pull on my nightclothes, but Gale stopped me with a gentle hand on my wrist. “No need to get dressed when I’ll just be taking everything off of you.”

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, and he could see it, judging by the devilish grin that crossed his face.

“And how exactly am I supposed to get downstairs?”

One invisibility spell and a couple of arcane locks later, Gale and I were lying naked on top of the surprisingly soft duvet in the bedroom downstairs. A very faint steam rose from my skin in the cool air as I propped myself up on my elbows like a sphynx, hovering over Gale’s devoted, sleepy face as I played with his hair.

“You went through all this trouble just to fall asleep on me?” I teased as I watched his eyelids flutter shut.

“Your fingers running through my hair may as well be an enchanted lullaby,” he said before forcing his eyes back open. “In truth, I’m exhausted.”

“I know you are, love. So am I. We can just lie here if you want.”

With a hand on the back of my head, he pulled me close for a kiss.

“I want to make love to you,” he whispered against my lips. “I want to show you that when I chose you, I meant it.”

A burst of energy ran through me with his words. I swung a leg over his body, straddling his hips as I knit my hands deep into his hair and pressed kisses into his neck. The musk of his skin was intoxicating, a warm, clean sweetness with a hint of something spicy underneath that was impossible to resist. I ran my tongue over the indented scar that trailed up his neck, sucking soft love marks down to his collarbone, savoring the salt of his skin.

He sighed with pleasure and trailed his hands down my body, gentle and deliberate–my skin an ancient carving, his fingertips an artist’s charcoal capturing its relief. I lowered my hips to match his, guiding him to me, movement taking over my body as I pressed myself into him, sliding his length through me again and again. His low moans grew guttural. He was perfect–he was everything. Exhausted as we were, I wanted nothing more than to take fully of him until the first hint of morning light.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed into my ear, pushing my damp hair over my shoulder for full access to my neck. I felt his lips start kissing beneath my jaw and move down my tattoo–over the rose, the leaves that climbed towards the center of my neck, and down to the thorny vines reaching towards my collarbone. He took his time, lingering on the dip of the bone to my chest before his hands on my waist pulled me up so that my breasts fell directly over his face. His hands–gods, his hands–were squeezing gently, fingers caressing over the peaks before doing the same with his tongue.

Gale’s breaths became quicker and he moaned into my skin as I pleasured myself with him, grinding my clit over the ridges of his cock, slick now with my desire. I was lost in him. My face was buried in his neck, my hips becoming the only alert part of my body. All the thoughts and worries in my head had given way to the carnal need I had for him, the ache I felt deep in my core as I looked upon his face. His neck was arched over the pillow, pushing his chin towards the ceiling as exhales and low moans escaped from his lips, the apex of his throat pulsing with each sound. The orb glowed a bright violet from the center of his chest and up his neck. A faint light even could even be seen beneath the skin of his face where the orb’s tendrils reached towards his eye.

Gods, I loved this man. The curve of his lips when he smiled, the stray hairs that fell in front of his face no matter how many times he pushed them back, the freckle on his temple–I was certain there had never been a more exquisite man to walk the face of Toril.

As if he could feel me staring, he opened his eyes and began to sit up, holding my waist as he moved me into his lap.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my love?” he asked with a smile, and I nodded as I fervently kissed every inch of his face. “Let me take over, dearest. It was my idea, after all.”

“You said you were tired,” I said between kisses.

“Mm… not anymore” he mumbled while my lips trailed over his. “Turn around.”

I did as he said. Still upright on my knees, eager hands found my waist as Gale pressed our bodies together and kissed the back of my neck and shoulders, his warm breath sending chills down my spine. One of his hands grabbed my breast while the other dropped between my legs. He ran a feather-light finger through the center, barely parting me. My body twitched in anticipation of his touch, but he only repeated the motion, softly chuckling into my shoulder.

“Gale,” I begged. “Please.”

I expected him to continue teasing me until I was pleading, but, to my surprise, he parted me with two fingers, swirling slow circles around my clit. My hips jerked of their own accord against his movements, and I could feel the climax growing inside me, threatening to come to the surface. I placed my hand on top of his, pulling it away.

“Not ready yet,” was all I managed to say, language suddenly nonexistent in my brain.

“Okay, love.” Gale ran both hands down my sides and over my thighs, slowly and deliberately, until I was begging for him again.

He slipped a hand between my legs from behind and pumped his long fingers into me. The breath hitched in my throat as I cried out, his fingers moving in and out at a sensual pace, eager but reveling in the moment. There was no way I could stay upright, so I lowered onto my elbows, positioning myself for him, watching him as best I could from over my shoulder as he continued.

“My beautiful girl,” he said with awe as he took in the sight of me spread fully before him. He removed his fingers from me, glistening wet, and sucked them into his mouth, humming in ecstasy, eyes rolled back like he was savoring a luxury meal. “How did I get so lucky?”

Rhetorical question or not, I had no time to answer before he pulled my hips closer to him and sank himself into me slowly. We moaned simultaneously, his cock pushing deeper until I had taken all of him. His first thrusts were tender, each of us relishing in every ridge, every sensation of each others’ bodies. An involuntary groan escaped my mouth each time he plunged into me, and I was thanking the gods that people were still celebrating outside the inn.

As much as I was enjoying the pure bliss of his unhurried pace, my body was begging for him to take me, all of me, with wild abandon. I found his rhythm, my hips bouncing along with his thrusting until he was slamming into me, my cries feral, his panting loud between moans. Gale pressed me into the mattress with a strong, loving hand on my back before taking full control and pounding into me, all caution gone, carnal desire overtaking him. I could feel sweat beginning to dampen his skin as he panted, huffing with exertion, grunting and moaning and losing himself in the moment. After several minutes of vigorous pounding, his pace began to slow, and he sank back to his knees. I rolled over to face him.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, catching his breath, orb pulsing with the beat of his heart. “I got carried away.”

“Never apologize.” I crawled towards him, gently pushing him onto his back. “I’m yours,” I whispered in his ear. “You can have me however you’d like.”

“Is that so?” he grinned and I nodded, dropping a kiss to his lips. “Then come here.”

His hands pressed into my thighs as he pulled me to kneel over his face, his tongue lapping and flicking as I held onto the headboard and tried to muffle the whimpering cries escaping my lips. My hips bucked beneath me, grinding against his face, dizzy with ecstasy and anticipation.

“Can’t… Gale… going to–”

The tight pressure in my core sprung loose. I cried out, gods only know how loud, as Gale held my thighs in place and drank from me deeply as I came. His own low moans vibrated against my already-spasming flesh, tongue still lapping against me as the wave of bliss began to subside and my limbs became impossibly heavy. Hypersensitivity made me squirm and whimper.

“Gale!” I pleaded between sharp gasps and yelps. He finally let go of my legs, a desperate desire on his glistening face when he emerged.

In one swift movement he had me on my back with a leg over his shoulder. I caught only a glimpse of his sculpted cock, stiff and flushed, before he thrust inside of me. His eyes roamed over my body, but settled on the dripping valley between my legs where he watched as he fucked me, biting his lip in concentration.

I caressed his face, and he kissed the inside of my palm before melting into me with all his weight as he took everything he needed from me. Sweat coated his back where my legs wrapped around his hips. I held him close to me, his jagged breathing loud in my ears and hot on my neck. Wild thrusts took over his body until he unraveled, panting and gasping and crying out until he was spent. He collapsed on top of me and I hugged him close, his chest heaving against mine as we caught our breath.

“I love you,” I whispered, kissing his temple. “Thank you for choosing to stay. For choosing me.”

Gale let out a long sigh before rolling onto the bed beside me and lacing his fingers through mine. “I love you, El. Although the word ‘love’ doesn’t feel like enough when it comes to my feelings for you,” he said, kissing my hand. “Unfortunately, my brain and body are currently too far gone to find a suitable alternative.”

I laughed and snuggled into his side. I felt safe. Secure. I knew Gale felt the same. We had no need to hide any parts of ourselves, no matter how flawed. We held each other as sleep closed in, our souls as bare as our bodies.

#my writing #gale fic #bg3 fic #gale x oc #gale x tav #bg3 fanfiction #gale of waterdeep #gale fanfic #elspeth #galspeth #gale

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