#india saltburn

[manicpixiefelix]

just a few modern!Saltburn social media headcanons from the oxford era

venetia is obviously trying her hand at being an influencer

she has more followers than felix and brags about it constantly but refuses to unblock him

oliver's only on linkedin at first because his high school guidance councillor told him he should be on it.

felix's oxford friends group chat is wild but nowhere near as bad as their snapchat group

their snapchat group is Feral and half the things they send while shitfaced would get them cancelled

current group chat name is SOCIALIST SLUTS INCORPERATED

felix's current name in the chat is Sir Oral Fixation 👅��� 

half the group blocked ollie when he tried to add them because only got proper social media after getting to oxford. he has a generic user name and no profile picture at first and they thought he was a bot.

farleigh gave Oliver the nickname 'WDE' in the chat but admitted that it stands for Weird Dick Energy. Felix changed Oliver's nickname to just Ollie and no-one's changed it since.

there is a second gc that felix and oliver don't know about :(

half of Oxford University Confessions on facebook are about Felix

annabel and india both follow a felix catton fan account on instagram but will say they got hacked if anyone points it out

farleigh runs the felix catton fan account and finds it hilarious that anyone follows it because he dedicates the entire thing to posting the most unflattering, blurry, up close, bizarre photos of felix he can manage to capture.

[bythenarrative]

thinking about cattonquick on valentines day.

i know some people would think felix is big into valentines, and oliver isnt but?? honestly i see kinda the opposite. felix cannot stand valentines day. it's the day where girls fawn over felix, and he's gotta turn them down, and it's tiring... its annoying. oliver would get jealous too!! it's his felix. not some snobby girls. oliver would try and be extra lovey on felix in private, but felix cannot stand the damn holiday

[crypticminx]

Unrelated but INDIA WAS SO PRETTY-

I can see why Felix liked her

[pumpkinnsoda]

Istg I’m gonna start hooking her up with India. So sorry bestie, have a hot gf

We really being putting Annabel through the works in this Fandom. I don't think I've seen one where she's happy. I think the best was she was in an unhappy marriage. RIP Annabel, Felix already fucked you over and we're continuing in his legacy!

[mylovelookup]

Modern au

[cattons]

love this line dearly. just call them a slur

[leeofthevoid]

Cold-blooded Beings - Part 3

Farleigh Start x Reader

a/n: Hello guys! I promise this chapter was hard to write because I might be advancing to Saltburn at the next one. A little less confident this time around but would love to hear your thoughts! Please always remember that Y/N is rich so her dialogue can be very tone-deaf. Keep safe everyone!

Warnings: Sex, Nudity, Alcohol and Alcoholism, Language, Applied Stalking, Death, and Drugs

Word Count: 2354

|| Part One, Part Two

Pity and Power

“I just don’t get it you know? I’ve always tried my best to please Felix and I even studied harder in case he would ask me something.” Annabel scowled while eating a handful of loaded chips from your plate. At this point you figured no one knows what personal space is at all and what is yours is theirs. “Look, Annie, you shouldn’t try so hard for a boy. He barely does anything for you and he’s…Felix. You know?”

Clearly Annabel didn’t know when she groaned in frustration and ate more of your food. “So easy for you to say, you and Oliver have him wrapped in your fingers.” You gave her a confused look and scooped up some of the food you were supposed to eat alone. “Look bitch, he makes time for you and Oliver, but me? “Oh fuck you Annie I’m too busy for you.” But then he turns around and it’s “Oh Ollie, you need me? Okay hold on I’ll make time.”” This conversation is getting too heated and annoying for no reason that you just had to take out a pack of cigarettes to clear your head. Annabel doesn’t know shit about Felix or Oliver.

You turn to look at Annabel with a genuine expression and gave her a comforting smile, “You know Annie, you’re a hot girl. Felix is just a stupid boy in a sea of stupid boys. You deserve way more than that. Oliver is just…A new friend that he wants to impress?” Annabel laughed at you and held her stomach with how much she was bursting out. “Oh god, You? Babes you’re also part of the Oliver fan club. Always making Oliver’s life be ten times better than what a scholar snot should have.” You pressed the butt of your cigarette on the concrete thinking hard on Annabel’s accusation. “He just needs help sometimes Annie, stop being a bitch…” Annabel scoffed and rolled her eyes, “He’s poor babes, not handicapped. Quit being a savior.” You sighed and leaned against the pillar behind you.

Your phone buzzed in your pockets breaking the silence between you two. You checked and it was Farleigh, “Hello?”

“Hey pretty lady, can I steal you so I can hangout with my favorite people?” You chuckle, earning a confused look from Annabel that you later dismissed. “Depends. What am I needed for?” He chuckled, a little too deep and too hot for your liking. “An eye-candy would certainly take away from the boredom.” You breathed out and laughed softly. “Alright then. Where is my presence needed?”

“Roof top. Be a doll and drag Felix along.” He said goodbye with some kissy noises then ended the call without another beat. Annabel waved her hand for you to go without a word and you simply gave her a kiss on a cheek, thankful that she didn’t ask any questions.

Dragging Felix out to the confines of the chilly night was the one of the most awkward experiences you’ve had. You were waiting outside his dorm when you could hear the lewd sounds and the bed squeaking from out the hallway. Truly a horrific way to spend your Friday night, especially after listening to Annabel talk about her problems with him. “Umm…Fee are you in there?” You heard colorful lines of curse words and a lot of stumbling around. After a few minutes of waiting outside hearing scuttling, Felix finally opened the door.

Two girls dashed out of the room holding on to their dresses for dear life while Felix leaned against the door, half naked, still sweaty and flushed. “Any reason why I’ve been interrupted?” You look unimpressed, crossing your arm over your chest. “Get dressed. Farleigh told me to fetch you.” He rolled his eyes but went back into his room to grab a shirt, took a few seconds before he was walking out of his dorm with no snide remarks, waiting for you to lead the way.

The rooftop was chilly, and weirdly when you arrived you only saw Farleigh sitting by himself with a ton of bottles next to him. “Finally, you two took too long. What happened? Did Felix fall into a hole? Spoil me, Love.” You can’t help but laugh while you sat down on a spot beside Farleigh, Felix following suit while grumbling under his breath. “Our dear Felix fell in two holes.” You said in a scandaled manner. “Would it be too mean to assume one of those holes was Oliver?” You guffawed and looked back at Felix clearly unamused as he uncapped one of the wine bottles. “Farleigh. I already told you how I feel when we talk about Ollie. He’s a nice kid so…Tone it down, Mate.” Farleigh sighed loudly and draped his arm over your shoulder, mouthing boring while looking at Felix.

“Oh yeah, would I be boring if I asked dad to cancel your Veyron order now, Farleigh.” Felix snagged you away from Farleigh and used you as a headrest. “I wonder what Elspeth would think if she found out you kissed an ugly bitch at the bar, Felix.” Farleigh stuck his tongue out at the boy who was using your lap as his pillow. Chuckling at their childish banter while you played with his hair, chugging down more alcohol.

“Hey Fee, Oliver has been asking about you…I don’t know what to tell him. Kind of weird hanging out with him when he just looks for you.” You mentioned passively.

“You still hang out with him?” Felix asked.

“Well…Yeah. Why?” Felix and Farleigh both look at each other which was both endearing but annoying thing you’ve witnessed. “What. Come on guys what did I miss?” Farleigh just shook his head and looked back at you. “Nothing. Let’s just enjoy our time together, no?” You let it pass and stole Felix’s wine bottle. You three ended up enjoying the company, dare you say that it was a needed moment of solace. Talking about your life in Switzerland and their life in Saltburn the years after you.

You even talked about Venetia and what goes in her life without the three of you. It was nice knowing how she was, knowing she was a little bit more isolated from the group due to her two-year age gap from the rest of you. In a way you empathized with the pressure and the burden of being the oldest daughter. You even dwelled into your sex lives because of Farleigh’s incessant teasing over Felix’s failed threesome. My, these boys haven’t been the most pure, but then again so were you.

You forgot how you got to your dorm room when you woke up the morning after, just glad that you were able to sleep enough to be a sane person for the rest of the day. Felix and Farleigh both sent you some messages and some photos that you don’t remember taking from last night. You lay down with a huge smile on your face, content with your life before the hellish exams start to eat at you.

A few weeks go by when you were out in the field talking to your friends, actually, complaining to them about how stupid the term was and what possessed your professors to fuck with all of you. You were immersed in the conversation when random goosebumps engulfed you out of nowhere. You realized Oliver’s piercing gaze directed at you.

You excuse yourself from your friends and walked up to Oliver from across the courtyard, alone and awkward. “Hey Ollie! How was the exam week for you?” Oliver awkwardly nodded his head, looking down to his shoes. It was a little weird that he changed so fast just because you were near him…Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing type of weird. “Um…How was it?” He finally looked up at you with those lost eyes, pursing his lips. “It was alright. I studied pretty well. What about you guys?”

“I mean…We all managed in a way.” There was an awkward silence in the air and you disliked it so much. “Walk with me?” Oliver nodded the same way and followed you down the path of the courtyard, you were careful to make your steps smaller than usual so he could keep up. “How’s Felix?” You looked back at Oliver, watching him play with the hem of his shirt while walking behind you.

“Felix? Pft well he’s okay I guess? Being a dick and a dumbass at the same time.” He looked so small. So fragile that it unnerved you. It was disturbing but you can’t let Felix and Farleigh’s words eat your own opinions. He was still your friend, you had to give him a chance too. “How have you been, Ollie? I’m sorry I wasn’t able to reach out to you these last few weeks. Been very busy with other T.A. Stuff and it was draining.” He gave a small smile and walked a little faster to keep up with you, “It’s been alright. Carrying small baggage but it’s been good.”

“Oh? Baggage you say?”

“His face fell a little when you asked, “Yeah my mum she uh…She’s a bit of an alcoholic.”

You stop in your tracks to look at him. Truly look at the whole him. He looked meek and fragile and you had conflicted feelings over it. It isn’t real, a part of you say. “Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that, Ollie. No child deserves that kind of parent.”

“My…My father he’s in the hospital and I just…It’s so hard right now especially after the holidays. He tried to look okay but deep down I knew he was struggling. Keeping himself together for me while my mum was wasting away in alcohol.”

It felt weird making a sound, even to just breathe. It felt rude and perhaps disrespectful? Oliver is going through a lot and you were doubting him like the asshole your parents told you not to be. You saw tears run down his cheeks and instinctively reached out to offer your handkerchief.

He took it, quickly wiping his tears away.

You opened your mouth to say some comforting words when some of Farleigh’s friends greet you and hogged around you. You weren't sure if they purposely pushed Oliver out of the group while they dragged you away to compliment you but it was likely. You watched as Oliver looked at you with disappointment as he walked out of your line of sight.

“You look amazing, darling what did you do to your hair?” His name was Mercutio, from what you remembered. He slowly yanked off the ponytail you had and let your hair spill to your lower back. It caught you off-guard but you were careful not to show. “Silky and smooth like feathers.” He said as he ran his fingers through it. You smiled at them while trying to register who they were, there was Mercutio who was descended from an Italian Monarch. Elise, daughter of a powerful family from East Asia. Then there was Leon. He was new money rich and Farleigh made sure you remembered that.

They always said New money burns faster than the jewels that lasted centuries.

They took you to a restaurant to eat dinner together. It wasn’t unusual for people to pull you out to eat with them, people have been doing it way more now that the Catton boys were known to be close to you at a chance to impress you. You didn’t mind the dinner or how they made you pay in the end too. You actually admired how thick-faced they were. It was just another inconvenience that you wanted to get out of the way.

You didn’t tell Farleigh about the encounter but you guessed that they did when he decided to sit you down after a party with Felix, who called for a meeting between his inner circle because of what Oliver told him. The same story about how his father was very sick, dying almost, and how his mother was dealing with it. Felix even told you about how he invited Oliver to Saltburn for the summer to cheer him up.

It started off as bouts of bad mouthing towards Oliver from Farleigh to making you spill what happened between his friends. “Why did you let them take advantage of you like that?” You looked up at him while you cradled your bottle of Champagne. You were at the back alley of the bar, trying to sober up and get away from the head-throbbing music they put on. “It’s nothing Farleigh, they were just being nice.”

“Nice my ass. Those snakes are pathetic liars who can’t fuck off. Did they really think that being all buddy-buddy with you would make them earn a spot to go to Saltburn?” He took a drag of his joint and sat next to you. “Now I hear Oliver gets the pity poor boy card and go to Saltburn because Felix was being a fucking saint.” You snicker and get a shove from Farleigh, hard enough to jolt you.

You rest your head on his shoulder while looking up at him. “What can I do to ease your mind off of it?” He leaned back and looked down at you with a smirk, “I don’t know baby, what can you do?”

You smiled up at him as your faces move inches closer from each other. No wasted moments later, when you felt the warmth of his lips on yours. How soft it felt just like when you made out in the club a few months back. It was too delicate for a guy with a sharp tongue like his. He sneakily snaked his arms around your waist and at the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. His tongue slowly swiped at your lower lip when suddenly…

“Love! Where are you!” India slurred as she walked out of the club. You pulled yourself away from Farleigh and giggled, giving him a kiss on the cheek to tend to your friend. He exhaled loudly while you walked away from him, leaving him alone again.

Previous | Next

[elspeth-catton]

some more saltburn cast pictures i adore that i haven't really seen on here as much as the others

[haredjarris]

saltburn 2: duncan’s revenge

[awalkoflife]

@felixferitas sent: you're the shit. you deserve the best. ( fee & india )

india wonders if he can sense it. her difference in demeanour. the way she's resorted to staying in instead of going out with them all. her lack of enthusiasm for what feels like almost everything lately. the compliment throws her off guard, the subtle sincerity of it even though he's still likening her to metaphorical shit . "fee." his name is shaky on her lips, doe brown eyes filling up despite herself. it's nearing the end of the school year, her nerves are frayed and she's more sensitive than ever. "you don't, we don't ---" have to do this. whatever it was. their way of preparing to say goodbye for the summer, perhaps? she finds it to be too much, his sentiments, as well as her own emotions. "ugh, it's so fucking hot." could she fool him by pretending it was merely the weather that was bothering her?

turning momentarily in the opposite direction, she swipes her hand across her face. a couple of stray tears are rubbed away with a quick flick of her fingers. she's trying and failing to compose herself in front of him, something that she thought she'd mastered. "i'm sorry." the apology is unnecessary because she already knows that he won't judge her for this. as unintentionally cruel as he'd been with her heart, she knew with certainty that he still cared about her. "my parents are getting a divorce." the weight of her words feel heavy in her throat. he's the first person she's told. as an only child, india had no siblings to comfort her or confide in. she'd been carrying the news around for a while, trying to bury it in the sand until the exams were over. "my mum is moving back to london indefinitely, but my dad's staying in italy. i'm thinking of spending the summer with him."

[manicpixiefelix]

Okay but imagine you're not a main character in the Oxford friend group.

You love Felix because everyone loves Felix, but you're not in love with him, not in any way that matters, not like everyone else. He is the sun which you all revolve around, but you know too well he's the kind to burn you. Instead you've spent two years pinning after the pretty girl with the dark hair and the bright laughter. And she loves Felix. The same way everyone else loves Felix. The same way every other girl you've tried to invest yourself in has ended up loving Felix fucking Catton when they end up, even briefly, integrated in your friend group.

So India is your best friend, and the girl you quietly love, and she complains to you about Felix's various trysts, and how Oliver looks at him (without any of her own self awareness) and all you can think about is how she glitters and glows in the light. How Felix could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve the love the world gives him. The love your best friend gives him.

She cries on your shoulder, and eggs you on to ask that cute girl in your art history class to a gallery, and you wonder if she knows how badly she's stringing you along with the drunken kisses and that one time you slept together and you thought you heard her moaning someone else's name. But you keep coming back.

When Felix finally starts showing up to the pub with your best friend on his arm, it's the most excited you've seen her in a long time. She doesn't talk about Annabel, you wonder if she even misses her. You miss Annabel. Or maybe you missed when Felix was looking at her and not India.

Summer comes and India can't help but complain about Oliver Quick getting an invite to Saltburn, until his birthday comes around and it means an invite to Saltburn for both of you. An invite to Felix.

India looks like a dream at that party, but not one you're allowed to have.

In the wake of what happens, you're the shoulder she cries on again, the receptacle for her grief. There is no sun for her anymore, only you, loyal, the one who's spent years mooning over her. You both grieve for Felix; under your jealousy he was still your friend.

"I love you," India cries, "please don't leave me too."

And you wonder how many other people have to live knowing they came second to a ghost.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Stuck On You

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Dark themes, slut shaming, obsessive behaviour, smut.

Word count: ~6k

Summary: When her email is hacked and racy photos she'd sent to her boyfriend find their way onto Myspace, she becomes the social pariah of Oxford University. She turns to the only person she believes is intelligent enough to be able to help; Michael Gavey. Could uncovering the truth of the situation make things worse than they already are?

Author's note: Written to celebrate one year of my blog existing. Sorry for the delay. Crumbageddon beat the shit out of me. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

“Using a painting of that former duchess as a conversation piece, he describes what he saw as her unfaithfulness, frivolity, and stubbornness, and implies that he prefers her as a painting rather than as a…as a living woman,” her voice shakes, stumbling over her words, watching as her essay papers slip from her hands, fluttering towards the rug of the study.

“Sh-shit…I’m sorry,” she stammers, leaning down to snatch them back up, feeling her skin heat up with embarrassment as she attempts to rustle them back into order.

“Everything alright?” Professor Ware asks, shifting in his seat and clasping his hands in his lap.

“Distracted by her own portrait, I should imagine,” snarks Farleigh, cutting her off before she has a chance to reply. 

He smirks up at her, before returning his focus to the screen of his Macbook, fingers tapping quickly across the keys as he sits on the floor with it in his lap, leaning back against the armchair she currently sits in, his legs crossed at the ankle.

Of course he’d left it until the last minute to do his essay. Lazy prick.

“Stop it,” she hisses, knocking his shoulder with her knee.

“Why? It’s up again already anyway,” he retorts with a casual shrug, not bothering to look at her this time.

Her blood runs ice cold, dread gnawing a pit in her stomach. That would be the fourth time this week.

“Where?!” She demands, leaning down to snatch Farleigh’s Macbook from him, ignoring his protestation of “hey!” as she clicks on the minimised Internet Explorer window to see her Myspace profile already open.

Just as he’d said, there she is. Her profile picture depicts her in a lacy two piece lingerie set, laying on her bed, her cleavage, stomach and thighs on full display. She’d thought the angle flattering when she’d first held the digital camera above herself and snapped the picture, but now it’s splashed all over the internet for everyone to see. It makes her feel sick.

“I have to go,” she says hurriedly, shoving Farleigh’s Macbook back into his lap and stuffing her essay papers into her bag.

She almost trips over Farleigh’s long legs in her rush to escape the tutorial room, the air suddenly feeling too thick and difficult to breathe, as her heart hammers in her chest. Her feet carry her down the hallway in quick strides, no particular direction in mind, just eager to get away.

It had all seemed like innocent fun at first. She had felt excited on the second day of Fresher’s Week when a group of girls from the floor of her accommodation had invited her to go shopping with them

They had wrinkled their noses as she had beelined for the Ann Summers in Westgate Shopping Centre, lured by the big, red sale banner in the window.

“Oh darling,” India had cooed, “don’t buy that rubbish. We’ll get the train into London and take you to Rigby and Peller in Mayfair, if it’s lingerie you’re after.”

She had balked inwardly at the thought of how expensive that would be, but had simply smiled politely, stating “this is fine”, more than happy with the matching black lace set she’d picked from the sale rail.

Back in her room, she’d tried it on, loving the way the material hugged her curves and felt against her skin. Excitedly, she’d dug out her digital camera, contorting herself into various poses that she felt best displayed her assets, until she was satisfied she had several that looked good.

She hadn’t seen her boyfriend, Jake, since she had left for Oxford and he had gone to Brighton. Their reading weeks didn’t align, which meant they’d have to wait until the term came to an end to see each other at Christmas.

Emailing him the photos had felt like a nice way for them to maintain some sort of intimacy, despite the distance, and he’d certainly appreciated it, as a couple of hours later she’d gotten a text from him which simply said “wow!”

The high from that had left her with a smile on her face for days, until she’d stepped out of a tutorial a few days later to see a missed call and a text from him.

“What the fuck are you playing at?!” It had read.

She’d called him back straight away, the urge to vomit growing acrid in her throat as he’d told her what he’d seen, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she’d scrambled with shaking hands to free her laptop from her bag, to confirm what Jake was saying.

There it was. Her Myspace profile picture had been changed to one of the lingerie photos she’d sent to him. This one was a full length photo she’d taken, aiming the camera at the mirror in her room.

The hot prickle of tears had burned beneath her eyelids, as she’d drawn in a shaky breath. “Wh-why would you do that?” She’d whispered tearfully into the phone.

“It wasn’t me!” Jake had snapped angrily. “Perhaps if you hadn't taken those bloody photos in the first place then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Are you seriously blaming me?!”

“It just looks bad. I think maybe we should cool things for a bit, I can’t with be someone that—”

Tears had rolled down her cheeks as she’d pulled the phone away from her ear, seeing the call had cut off. She’d run out of credit. In a way, she was grateful; she didn’t want to listen to Jake ending their relationship, to continue to blame her for something that wasn’t her fault.

She had taken the photo down, changed her profile picture back to what it was before, and changed the password for both Myspace and her email. However, the damage was done, the whispers of “slut” as she walked to lectures had already started.

Another two days later she had entered the IT lab to print out her essay, and saw a group huddled around a computer, laughing together. They had turned, immediately quietening down, their voices hushed whispers as they looked at her. 

She had pushed them apart, already knowing what it was they were all looking at, but wanting to confirm it. Just as she’d suspected, her Myspace profile was open. This time her photo had been changed to an over the shoulder shot. The side of her face and her buttocks visible as she’d arched her back.

Running back to her room, tears of humiliation blurring her vision, she’d taken the photo down again and changed all her passwords. But once again, it was too little, too late. A print out of the photo slipped beneath her door that same day, with the word “whore” scrawled across it.

Her friends were already starting to pull away, the invites to the pub had dried up into nothing. When another photo had been uploaded, Felix had pulled her to one side.

“Look, I think it’s incredibly daring of you to be doing what you’re doing, and I respect the fuck out of you for it, really I do,” he’d said, eyes filled with sympathy as he’d looked down at her. “But a few of us really aren’t comfortable with how you’re going about…getting attention, so I just think it’s for the best if we take some space until you’ve figured out whatever this is.”

She had been stunned by his words, her eyes going wide as her mouth had dropped open. “You think I’m doing this to myself?!”

“Well, what else are we supposed to think? We’re worried about you. There are better…healthier ways to make yourself stand out. Just come clean and all of this can stop.”

Turning away in disgust, anger and betrayal flaring white hot in her chest, she’d walked away. This was happening to her, she wasn’t complicit in it, and yet people continued to act like it was her fault. She had started to wonder if she really was to blame. Had she tempted fate by taking those photos in the first place?

Today was the fourth time a photo had been uploaded and having fled from the tutorial with Professor Ware and Farleigh, she finds herself in the Bodleian Library, having walked on instinct. 

It serves as a quiet refuge for her in moments when she feels overwhelmed, hiding among the shelves, admiring tomes that are older than she is. She’d come here on her first day, when the influx of new people, sights and sounds had become too much, and she had crouched between the stacks the first time one of her photos had been leaked. The smell of old books and the peace and quiet feels safe.

Walking silently between the study tables she spots him, alone, as he always is; Michael Gavey. He is hunched over a notebook, scribbling furious notes, stopping occasionally to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger.

She had thoroughly embarrassed herself the first time she’d met him, the only time she had ever spoken to him. It had been the night of the fresher’s welcome dinner. She’d heard his outburst in the dining hall, heard how he had answered the subsequent multiplication sum flawlessly and been bowled over by how effortlessly brilliant he was. It was intimidating.

Yet, later that evening fuelled by the courage of five tropical watermelon flavoured Bacardi Breezers, she’d stumbled over to him in the rec room, ignoring how he’d recoiled slightly at her advancing towards him.

She’d wrapped an arm around his neck, taking no notice of the way he’d stiffened beneath her touch.

“Wha’s nine hundred and ninety nine divided by thirteen?” She’d slurred into his ear.

He had bristled slightly, before answering quietly. “Seventy six point eight five.”

She had giggled, patting his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. “Don’t even know how to check that, but I’ll take your word for it, genius.” 

Kissing his cheek, she’d stumbled away, leaving him to wipe away the sticky residue her lips had left behind, while Felix and Farleigh had fallen about themselves, laughing, finding it far funnier than she’d intended for it to be. She had ended up making him a laughing stock without even meaning to.

The memory fills her with shame. She really did find him impressive. He was precisely the type of person she had wanted to rub shoulders with when she arrived at Oxford, yet she had made a fool of herself instead.

She smiled at him whenever she caught his eye on the rare occasions they crossed paths, but he’d either look away or stare at her expressionless.

Perhaps now was her opportunity to make amends. She has no friends now anyway, so it’s not as though she has anything to lose.

Walking over to his table, before she has a chance to talk herself out of it, she sits down heavily in the seat next to him, depositing her bag onto the tabletop.

Michael’s pen pauses its movements, and slowly his head turns to the side, narrowing his eyes at her in silent question.

She suddenly has the urge to run, realising this was a terrible idea. She feels enormous discomfort beneath the scrutiny of his gaze yet, determined to push through it, she offers him a bright smile.

“You’re Michael, aren’t you?” She says, attempting to sound more cheerful than she feels.

“Yes,” he replies simply, placing his pen down and straightening in his seat.

“Thought so. I’m–”

“I know who you are,” he cuts her off. “What do you want?”

“Oh,” she swallows, shifting awkwardly in her seat. She hadn’t anticipated him being quite so blunt. “Well, I wanted to apologise for how I behaved on the first night. I thought maybe we could be friends?”

He scoffs, the corners of his mouth turning up into the faintest of smirks. “As if I’d be friends with someone who’s reading literature. Why pay all that money in tuition fees for a glorified book club?”

For a moment she doesn’t know what to say. Shock, offense and hurt swirl in a hot mixture in her chest. She fights the embarrassing urge to burst into tears. Her voice is small and weak when she finally asks “How do you know what I’m studying?”

Michael nods towards the desk. “There’s a book of Robert Browning poetry sticking out of your bag.”

“Right, yeah…” She feels her skin heat up, turning to slowly tuck the book further down inside, still able to feel his eyes upon her. It’s disconcerting to be observed so closely.

“Where’s that group of losers you usually hang around with anyway?”

The question takes her by surprise, and she laughs softly, though there is no real humour to it. “I don’t think they want to hang around with me anymore.”

“So you’re a Norman no mates too then?”

His expression has softened, a slight playfulness brightens his blue eyes as she looks back at him, and she can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

He leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin up on his hand. “Hmmm. So they got bored of you then?”

“No…I–”

She sighs exasperatedly, running a hand through her hair, before digging through her bag to pull out her laptop. “It’s probably easier if I show you.”

Setting the laptop down on the table, she loads her Myspace page, the same picture she’d seen on Farleigh’s Macbook earlier still set as her profile photo. “Someone keeps changing my profile picture to this. I sent my boyfriend…ex-boyfriend…some photos and now someone has them and keeps doing this every time I change it back.”

Michael’s expression is impassive as he stares at the screen. “Have you changed your passwords?”

“Yes,” she sighs.

“So, you’ve been hacked.”

“Looks that way…I don’t suppose you know anything about computers? Maybe you could help me figure out who’s doing this?”

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, staring intently at her, “so there it is, pretending to befriend the college nerd because you need computer help. Do you not think it’s a bit of a tired stereotype to assume that because I’m reading maths I’d be able to help you with your IT issues?”

“No, it’s not like that!” She protests, her eyes welling up with tears. She turns away, defeated, deciding this is a lost cause and closes her laptop. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”

He sighs. “Well, there’s no need to cry about it. I can help you, just not right now. Are you free later this evening?”

She sniffles, her eyes going wide as she looks at him in surprise. “Really?”

He nods, closing his notebook and slipping his pen into his breast pocket. “I’ve got a tutorial in twenty minutes, but I can help trace the IP of whoever’s hacked you. I’m on the first floor of the Brasenose, second room left of the staircase. I’ll be back around five.”

Nodding, she immediately feels lighter, the possibility that this may finally come to an end instantly lifting her spirits. A chance to get her life back. “That’s perfect, I’ll see you then. Thank you so much.”

He rises, his gaze remaining fixed upon her. “See you later.” 

The way he addresses her, first and last name, sends a shiver down her spine as she watches him turn away and walk slowly out of the library. She wonders what she has gotten herself into, but with no friends and no other options there is little else to be done.

She is filled with restless energy for the rest of the day, unable to sit still or concentrate during the only other lecture she has that afternoon, until eventually she finds herself standing outside of Michael’s room at quarter past five, the hours leading up to that feeling as though they’ve lasted an eternity.

Where there is the faint sound of music or talking coming from the doors she’s passed already on her way here, she is struck by the eerie silence she is met with from his, and wonders for a moment if he’s even home.

Nervous excitement crackles like electricity through her body and her knock is louder than she intends for it to be. She hears shuffling from the other side, until the door swings slowly open. Michael stands poker straight on the threshold, staring down at her.

“Did you bring your laptop?” He asks.

Yet again she is taken aback by how forthright he is, but she nods, stepping in as he moves to the side to let her pass.

Looking around the room, she takes in the plainness of his bedspread, the shelves of mathematics and physics textbooks, the desk set up in the corner that has his laptop open on it. There is nothing that gives even the slightest indication as to who he is as a person.

The sound of him clearing his throat startles her attention back to him, and she turns with an apologetic smile to face him. “Sorry, always weird being in someone else’s room…”

“Right,” he replies, his gaze unwavering as he looks at her. “Laptop?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” embarrassment heats up her skin, as she rummages in her bag, taking it out and handing it to him.

He settles it next to his own on the desk, before taking a seat.

She stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking around, not quite knowing what to do with herself. “Um…where should I…?”

“Anywhere,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, not looking at her.

She settles on the edge of the bed, running her hands over the soft cotton of the duvet cover. It’s an odd sensation to sit so casually in the space that she knows he sleeps. It feels too familiar, too intimate.

Glancing to the side, she notices the shimmer of gold and purple in the bin. She smiles to herself, having learned something about him in spite of the lack of personal effects in his room. He has a sweet tooth, evidenced by the Crunchie bar wrappers in the bin.

“Password?” He asks, and her head snaps up towards him.

“Hmm?”

He turns in his chair, resting his arm on the back of it, glaring at her over his shoulder. “The password for your laptop, what is it?”

“Oh!” She exclaims. “Is it safe for me to tell you that?”

“It is if you want me to help you,” he sighs.

She squirms uncomfortably. He has the innate ability to make her feel small, foolish, but what’s most disconcerting is that she doesn’t dislike it, there is something about him that draws her to his condescension. 

“It’s Shakespeare,” she tells him sheepishly, “with a four in place of the first A.”

“What about the passwords for your email and Myspace accounts?”

“The same.”

“The same?!”

“I’ve changed the passwords each time a new photo has been posted, but it’s just easier to have the same one for everything.”

He groans, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “No wonder you’ve been hacked, typical fucking liberal arts student.”

She lowers her gaze, fingers plucking nervously at the bedspread. “Different passwords for every account, got it.”

“Well, that’s a start, yes,” he tells her, turning back to the screens. “Has anyone but you had access to your computer?”

“No, it stays in my bag when I’m not using it.”

She sits watching him tap away at the keyboards of both laptops alternately for a few moments before she speaks again. “I’m not stupid, you know,” she tells him, her voice sounding meeker than she means for it to. “English Language and Literature is no less of a respectable course than Mathematics. I wrote an essay on the Robert Browning poem, My Last Duchess, recently. It’s a fascinating piece, focusing on the Duke of Ferrara using a painting of his former wife as a conversation topic. The Duke speaks about his former wife's perceived inadequacies to a representative of the family of his bride-to-be, revealing his obsession with controlling others in the process. Browning uses this compelling psychological portrait of a despicable character to critique the objectification of women and abuses of power. It’s a compelling commentary on social status and elitism.”

“What would you know about either of those things?” He asks, continuing to type.

“More than I’d like to,” she says quietly, “I don’t fit in here, not really. I earned my place with a scholarship.”

He pauses, stiffening, glancing over his shoulder at her with a “hmm”.

“I’ve managed to get into the access logs for both your email and Myspace accounts,” he tells her. “There are two sets of IPs that have accessed both accounts in the last week, but both are eduroam IP addresses.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that whoever is uploading those photos is doing so from the university.”

The revelation hits her like a punch to the gut, she feels paralysed, unable to speak as his words sink in. A part of her had wanted to believe it was Jake. To think there is someone at the university who is doing this to her makes her feel nauseated. Her mind races with the possibilities of who it could be. Felix? India? Farleigh? What reason could any of them possibly have to want to do that to her?

“What should I do?” She asks worriedly, staring at Michael with her brows pinched together. “Do you think reporting it would help?”

He swivels his chair fully around to face her and shakes his head. “Not if you intend to keep your scholarship. Rocking the boat over leaked nudes won’t look good to the university board, they’ll take issue with the fact that you even took those photos in the first place.”

“So I just have to let this keep happening?” She feels her throat tighten, wetness rims her eyes.

“Change your passwords,” he says matter of factly. “A different one for every account.”

She nods, expelling a shaky breath, before standing. “I should probably get going. Thank you…for everything.”

Before she goes to bed that night, she changes her passwords - a different one for every account she owns, and deletes the newest uploaded photo, returning her profile picture to its original state.

As far as she is concerned, that should be the end of it. However, her breath hitches, icy cold fingers of fear gripping her heart when she logs on the following morning. Not only has her profile picture been changed to another photo from the set she’d taken for Jake, but the “about me” section now reads “vapid cunt”.

On autopilot, she dresses, taking her laptop and walking the six minutes from Christ Church Halls to Brasenose College.

As soon as Michael’s door opens, she flings her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest. He stiffens, not returning the gesture, until she finally pulls away.

He straighens, adjusting his glasses. His hair is rumpled from sleep, clad in a t-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms.

“God, I’m so sorry, I woke you up,” she says tearfully, “I should go. I didn’t think, I just–”

“It’s fine,” he says flatly, ushering her in.

She sits down on the bed. It’s unmade, still warm from where he’s been sleeping in it. The feeling sends a shiver down her spine, despite her emotional distress.

Gingerly he sits next to her, keeping a respectable distance as she removes her laptop from her bag and opens it. “It’s happened again. I did everything you said to do, but it’s happened again, and it’s worse this time. Look–”

Handing him the laptop she shuffles closer to him, her thigh pressed against his. She can feel the warmth of him through her leggings. It causes butterflies to flutter in her belly, it’s been so long since she’s been this close to anyone.

Michael doesn’t stiffen at her touch this time, whether it’s because he doesn’t mind it or is too distracted by what he sees on the screen, she’s unsure, but it’s progress.

“Hmm. And you’re sure you changed your passwords?”

“Yes, all of them. I don’t know what else to do. If I report it, I risk my scholarship, but if this carries on I’ll lose it anyway, because how can I concentrate when this keeps happening?”

He says nothing, closing her laptop and passing it back to her.

“I’ve worked my arse off to get here, to earn my place, this can’t be what ends it,” she says miserably, tucking her computer back into her bag.

“I’d suggest focusing on your studies and less on your peers,” Michael says matter of factly. “You haven’t made the best choice of friends since arriving here.”

“They’re not my friends,” she whispers, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “At least not anymore. Do you think it’s one of them doing this?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” he replies bitterly, “stay away from them. I’ve got a lecture this morning, but maybe when I’ve got some downtime, I can do a deeper dive, perhaps see if I can track the logins to a device type.”

“You’d do that for me?” She whispers, looking at him with eyes full of appreciation.

“That’s what mates are for, right?”

“Thank you…just…thank you,” she tells him with sincerity, holding his gaze.

She reaches for his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, desperate to kiss his cheek as a gesture of her gratitude, but remembers the first time she’d done it and cringes inwardly. Though Michael’s hand doesn’t clutch back, he doesn’t move it away and, after a few moments, she realises they’re simply sitting holding hands, looking into each other's eyes.

He is beautiful in his own way. His stare, though intimidating, is piercingly blue, and his lips are soft and plump. She swallows, lashes fluttering in embarrassment when she realises she’s staring at his mouth.

Chancing her luck, she leans in, planting a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips. “I’ll be back at lunchtime, okay?” She whispers, before standing and moving towards the door.

He simply nods, fingers raising to brush over the spot where she’d kissed him. The sight puts a spring in her step for the rest of the morning, almost enough to forget about her being hacked. Almost.

She stops at a vending machine in the rec room on her way back to Brasenose at midday, deciding to buy Michael a Crunchie, an additional thank you for him going out of his way to help her.

As awful as having her privacy violated has been, she is grateful that it has brought her and Michael closer together. She had started the term wanting nothing more than to be his friend, and had royally fucked it up.

Now it seems they have mended their rift, and the prospect of being more than just friends is on the cards. Admittedly, he isn’t her usual type, but there is something about him that excites her. She hopes that once this is all over, this can be a fresh start for her at Oxford; her and Michael, just the caliber of intelligence she had wanted to associate with when she’d first applied.

She knocks at his door, hesitating when he doesn’t open it.

“Michael?” She calls out, brow furrowing in concern when he doesn’t answer.

They’d agreed upon lunchtime to meet, where was he? She tries the door handle and it’s unlocked, gingerly she pushes it open, peering slowly inside. He’s not there, but if he’d left it unlocked then he’d surely be back soon and wouldn’t mind her waiting inside for him.

She steps into the room, finding it much the same as before, only this time the bed is made. Walking over to the window by the desk, she stops to admire the view of the church, startling slightly when her bag knocks the computer chair, disturbing the mouse and taking Michael’s laptop out of sleep.

As she is about to turn back to the window, she notices her Myspace profile is open in edit mode in his browser. She frowns, a feeling of unease washing over her, as she steps towards the desk, her hand trembling as she reaches for the mouse.

She minimises Internet Explorer, gasping when she sees a folder open on his desktop, filled with the photos she had sent to Jake, all of them, even the ones that hadn’t yet been set as her profile picture.

Her heart pounds as she selects all of them, deleting them before clicking on the recycling bin to empty it.

“You didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to not create back ups, did you?”

Turning, she sees that Michael has returned, so quietly she hadn’t noticed. His fingers clutch at the USB stick that’s clipped to his cargo shorts, lips turned up into an expression of smugness.

Tears prickle her eyes, as her heart lurches, the only word that escapes her is “why?” as she looks at him with arched brows, her face pinched into an expression of emotional hurt.

“Why?” He repeats, cocking his head, advancing towards her as she shrinks back into the corner. “Because someone needed to take you down a peg or two.”

“You’ve ruined my life!” She cries, tears slipping down her cheeks, looking at him in disbelief.

This has to be a dream, it is too surreal. Any moment now, she’ll wake up and all of this will have been a terrible dream.

Only it’s not, it’s real, real as the heat of his breath that fans across her face as he looms over her, having backed her fully into the corner between the desk and the window. 

“What life? Pretending to play a part with people that don’t really like you? Using your pretentious choice in reading material to make yourself seem intelligent?”

“You don’t know anything about me!” She says defiantly.

“Oh, I know all about you. Hiding your scholarship from those vapid cunts, so they won’t sniff out your working class background and drop you. The variations of John Browning as your password - adding a different number to each variation doesn’t make it a different password, stupid girl.”

“I was nice to you…” She offers feebly, almost pleading with him.

He smirks, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, gripping harshly, forcing her to look at him. “You felt sorry for me. But it’s not me that needs pity, is it? It’s you. Poor little scholarship slut. You love that My Last Duchess poem so much because you see yourself in it, don’t you? Think you’re being objectified, treated unfairly. Well, let me tell you something, you are like that poem, but in the sense that you’re better in pictures than you are in real life.”

“Stop it,” she whispers, trying to pull away from him.

“Truth hurt, does it?” He asks, his grip on her face remaining tight. “That’s a pity. I enjoyed those pictures, really enjoyed them. It’s a shame the real life version is so whiny and pathetic.”

“I’ll report you,” she says quietly.

“Oh, I don’t think you will, somehow. You love the attention,” he tells her, dropping his hand from her chin to her shoulder, turning her and backing her up towards the bed. “I’ve seen how you look at me. If I wanted to fuck you right now, you’d let me.”

“I–I wouldn’t!” She stammers, feeling her face grow warm.

With a gentle shove from him, she topples back against the mattress, and he is quick to move over her, caging her in. “Liar,” he whispers in her ear.

She shudders at the sensation, despising the way her body betrays her, as heat pools between her legs. She shouldn’t be turned on by this, yet she can’t deny the way he sets her pulse racing.

“I haven’t ruined your life, but I could and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” He hisses.

The weight of him on top of her, his warm breath fanning against her neck, it’s dizzying. She wants to tell him to get off of her, to push him away, yet she cannot find it in herself to do so. There is a part of her that’s curious to see how far he’ll push this.

When she doesn’t say anything, he carries on, nimble fingers moving to the waistband of her leggings, tugging them down. “I’m going to treat you like the desperate, little slut that you are, and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

She whines, lifting her hips as he rids her of the bottom half of her clothing.

“That’s what I thought,” he smirks.

His gaze falls between her legs, tentative fingers reaching out to brush through the wetness that has gathered there. She sees a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and wonders if he has ever done this before.

She knows his moment of hesitation would be enough for her to push him away, grab her clothes and report him, yet she feels compelled to stay. If this is his first time, then she wants it to be her. She enjoys the dynamic of the power he has over her, while simultaneously being able to take something from him.

Wanting to bolster his confidence, urge him to continue, she sits up, eager hands unfastening his belt and unzipping his shorts. It flips a switch inside him, and he’s surging forward once more, pinning her beneath him as he pushes his boxers down just enough to free his cock.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasps against the shell of her ear.

“I want this,” she mewls desperately, feeling the head of him resting at her entrance.

“You’re going to keep letting me do this to you, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll wear that tarty underwear from your photos for me, won’t you?”

“...yes.”

He presses forward and is met with resistance, not having fully prepared her. He draws back and pushes against her again, repeating the motion until he’s fully sheathed inside of her. It’s exquisite torture, a pleasurable hurt to be split apart by him, to feel so full.

Breathing heavily through his nose, he stills and she can feel his inexperience in the way that he tenses, but isn’t prepared to give up when they’ve already come this far. She rolls her hips against his, a breathy sigh escaping her as she feels her sweet spot rub up against the head of him.

He screws his eyes shut, jaw going slack, before beginning to move his own hips, pulling back to slam forward once more, quickly finding a rhythm that suits him. This isn’t careful, considered lovemaking, they rut against each other like animals, both of them allowing instinct to guide them as they seek out the movements that feel most pleasurable.

She clings tightly to him, meeting him thrust for thrust, their breaths coming in hot, shallow pants.

“Fucking knew this was all you needed,” he mutters, “someone to teach you a lesson, see you for what you really are.”

“Please,” she whimpers, her hands sliding down to his backside to push him in deeper, causing him to groan.

“F–fuck,” he stutters, picking up his pace when he feels her start to tighten around him. “Tell me you’re mine, you don’t need anyone else, just me.”

“‘M yours,” she gasps, pushing her hips against his, zeroing in on the precipice she is about to fall from.

A particularly harsh thrust is the final shove she needs, and white hot waves of euphoria wrack her body, as she cries out in ecstasy. Suddenly, Michael is withdrawing, leaving her to clench around nothing as he paints her inner thigh with sticky warmth.

He collapses beside her, and she stares into the lightly fogged lenses of his glasses, their noses bumping together.

“Are you still going to ruin my life?” She asks, hazy with pleasure.

For the first time, their lips meet, a messy clash of tongue and teeth, that’s sloppy and wet, their breaths still heavy and movements uncontrolled. 

“You’re going to let me,” he whispers when they finally break for air, “because you’re mine.” Resistance is futile, she will let him. She wants this, needs this. After all, Michael Gavey is the type of person she came to Oxford to associate with in the first place, and she’s gotten exactly what she asked for.

[agroteraa]

I Wanna Be Your Dog

Oliver Quick x f!Reader

My fic masterlist

Summary: Oliver's memories of one of the evenings at Oxford, where you began getting closer. And a night in Saltburn, where you try to be dominant with him.

Actaeon series spin-off, taking place between Artemis and The Wrath of the Stag.

Warnings: smut, dom!Reader, sub!Oliver, switching, oral, penetration sex.

Word Count: 2,8K

It was another spring party at Oxford. All the young people were chatting cheerfully with bottles and glasses in their hands in the slightly dim light of the dormitory's common room. Felix and Oliver were almost lying relaxed on the couch and had been silent for some time.

“Now, can you eenie, meenie India or Annabel, and take one fucking home? Because they look miserable,” Oliver suggested softly.

“Eenie, meenie, miny, moe. Catch a tiger by his toe. If he squeals, let him go. Er..." Felix seemingly forgot the text of the counting-out rhyme, but decided to finish it as soon as possible and make a choice anyway, "You're out, boy scout!"

The choice fell on Annabelle. He happily pecked Oliver on the cheek in gratitude, which made him grin widely. Oliver liked being praised. Especially by those who were important to him. Felix quickly jumped up from the sofa and, lightly slapping the contented girl on the ass, and went off with her upstairs.

“Well, what the fuck, mate? I’ve been chirpsing her for about an hour. I wanted at least a hand job...” the guy Annabelle left said in disappointment.

An hour. What did he know about waiting. How about almost a whole year, mate? Oliver smiled indulgently to himself. And anyway, how shallow that guy thoughts and desires were.

“I know. We all want a fucking handjob, mate. Get yourself a title and a massive fuck off castle.”

That where it was hard to argue. A title and a massive fuck off castle had never harmed anyone in life yet.

"Hey, here I am! And where is Felix?.." you were surprised when you returned from your dorm room and sat back down on the sofa, only this time next to Oliver alone.

"I don't know really," he shrugged, smiling, "I think he’s decided to go have some fun on his own."

"Hmm," you pursed your lips, not really surprised, but still, deep down, a little upset that Felix was acting like that again. You guessed where and why he might have gone, but decided not to focus on that thought right now. Besides, you'd already poured another bottle of your drink into yourself. There was some silence in the air. Before that, you had fun talking to the guys, mostly Felix, and you had never been alone with Oliver for long, especially at parties. You clenched your bottle tightly like a social lifebuoy.

Oliver was even beginning to interest you a little, just a little, but you still had no idea what and how to talk to him in private. He still seemed more like Felix's shadow. But at the same time, being face-to-face for at least a short time, you felt like you had to tell Oliver something meaningful, something deep... as if you should be giving away to him some of your secrets. You were vaguely disturbed by this feeling, as now you were just in the mood for small talk only.

"Um... so… how’s your study going?" you asked, not knowing where else to start a new separate conversation with him besides studying.

"Pretty well," he replied a little awkwardly, embarrassed by your close presence himself. Before that, Felix separated you on the couch, but now he wasn’t a bother anymore. Oliver definitely liked this intimacy, even though he was obviously not used to it yet. But one gets used to the fine things quickly. And Oliver was greedy for all the new truly fine things in his life.

"And yours?"

"Yeah, too," you took a small sip from the bottle, trying not to look him in the eye. At the same time, because you felt awkward and because these blue eyes have been looking at you so piercingly lately, as if they were drilling right into your soul. You couldn't tell if it was embarrassing for you, or if it was some other kind of excitement. Maybe both.

"And what about yours..." Oliver was interrupted by one of Felix's many friends, Chad, who plopped down on the arm of the sofa next to you.

"Hey, Y/N! I finally got to the party on your campus! How are you?"

"Oh, Chad! It's been a long time, it’s like you've disappeared somewhere. Have you really been studying so hard lately?" you both laughed loudly at this very bold assumption of yours. You continued to communicate, actively exchanging the latest news. Over time, you felt guilty a little. You turned to Oliver and smiled at him. He smiled back understandingly. His face visibly saddened when you turned back to the blond guy. He began to examine the empty bottom of his plastic cup, twirling it slightly in his hands. How should he get Y/N's attention? He didn't know. He had to come up with a plan. What would he do, what should he say, so that you…

"Hey, Oliver! Did you have any classes with Mr. Wharton?" you asked with interest, involving him in your conversation. He exhaled a little as he realized that you weren't leaving him in the middle of this party, where he felt like a stranger without Felix and you. You looked at him with a warm smile, and something inside him finally clicked and fell into place.

"Er, yeah... that oddball. He constantly comes up with fruit analogies for everything and even sometimes speaks on their behalf while holding them in hands."

"Ah, have you seen that too?! Y/N, I told you, he's an old weirdo! Only you are attending the wrong classes!" exclaimed Chad, and you all laughed merrily. The conversation was going well, and Oliver was incredibly happy about it. He didn't feel lonely anymore because of you.

But in return, some feelings that he had only vaguely suspected until this moment began to awaken inside him. You didn't stop drinking, and at some point, Chad put his arm around you and started lightly stroking your back. You giggled without giving it much thought, especially under the influence of alcohol. But Oliver saw perfectly well how Chad looked more and more into your eyes, lowering his gaze to your lips and lightly licking his own. It was very subtle, but Quick noticed it all. The way his hand keeps stroking your back, gripping you tighter and tighter. Oliver saw it all perfectly well, because he wanted to be in that place himself.

No, rather, he didn't really want to. He had long imagined your first kiss when you were fully conscious, willing and not under the influence of some alcohol, when you were too much mellow-minded. And he wouldn't let your kiss with Chad happen now, in this state, nor ever.

Sometimes it seemed you and him were very different. He could see through everything, and sometimes it was like you notice none of what you really should. How could you not understand that this Chad wanted to take you upstairs just like Felix did with Annabel?

You were kind and open, maybe even too friendly, oh, Y/N. Oliver was drawn to you like a moth to a fire. You were quite a complete and content person in your own right, and this was very attractive to the many-faced Oliver, who was still struggling to find a place in this life, especially here, in his first year at Oxford.

And it seems that he began to realize that he had found his place next to you. And he wanted to take this place like a guard dog, protecting it and you from all the adversity and guys like Chad.

You didn't forget about Oliver and wanted him to feel fine and less lonely, even hardly knowing him, even having so many friends and acquaintances here, even in the midst of fun of the party. You showed towards him attention and care.

Yeah, he would like to be your dog, he thought now.

Fortunately, you got up soon, freeing yourself from Chad's embrace and going to the bathroom. Great. Oliver had been carefully observing the situation in the common room all this time, so he immediately got up from the sofa and sauntered into the common kitchen, where India was smoking, still slightly displeased that Felix had not chosen her.

"How’s the party? " Oliver asked politely, grabbing a can of beer from the fridge.

India rolled her eyes, twirling a cigarette in her fingers, "What do you need?"

"Me? Nothing. But that guy has been looking at you half the evening without stopping," he nodded towards Chad and winked, "Just saying."

"Isn't he hanging out with Y/N?"

"No, he doesn't sleep with his buddy Felix's old friends. So, the way is clear."

"Oh, are they friends with Felix?" India narrowed her eyes. That was good, she needed some male attention right now, especially from those whom Catton Jr. might become jealous of. Thus, the girl went off towards her chance.

When you had returned to the common room, you saw Chad and India flirting with each other on the couch, and the girl did not let go of her hands off him. Okay. That was unexpected, but okay, it was a student party, after all. You shrugged your shoulders and started thinking about where you could sit now.

"Everyone seems to be having fun with each other tonight," Oliver, who happened to be next to you, shrugged sympathetically. Indeed, everyone around was busy with their own lively conversations, and someone was already far from just "talking".

"To singles?" he offered a playful toast, and you agreed with a grin, "Apparently so!"

"Cheers!" you clinked your drinks, continuing to talk a little more relaxed with each other. So, that how you started getting closer from that evening, and you began getting to know the real Oliver. At least that was what you thought at the time. He looked at you with a shy smile of a complete adoration as you were telling your stories full of joy and tipsy giggling. His eyes were shining like two starry sapphires at that moment.

If a guard dog wants to protect the peace of its owner and scare away other dogs, then it must inspire fear itself. Maybe sometimes not very intentionally, but instill just a little fear and sense of power even to its own master. Oliver wanted to be a good guard dog.

He would take this place next to you.

* * *

And he took it.

Now he was hovering over you, pinning you between his arms, leaning on your bed in your bedroom in Saltburn. It was the middle of the night, and finally not a single one inhabitant of this house could bother you right now.

Oliver thought all day about how he would continue his way with you at night, along the way remembering the evening of that party in Oxford, where you finally began to get closer. He looked down at you rapturously, biting his lip and breathing heavily, still not believing that all this was really happening. Not just right now, but in general, everything.

His blue eyes were gleaming with utter delight in the dim.

"What else does my sweet Y/N want?" Oliver asked you, recovering his breathing.

He bent lower, and a chain dangled from his neck, swaying slightly. The metal heated by the warmth of your bodies tickled your lips slightly. You lifted your head and gently but firmly catching the chain with your lips.

"Mm-hmm," Quick mumbled with curiosity. You smiled, gritting the chain with your teeth and began to shake it slightly from side to side. He opened his lips excitedly, inhaling sharply.

"Am I your doggie today? Oh, I'm more than willing to be, sweetheart," he said in his deep sexy accent.

He wanted to add "now and always," but didn't. Oliver was afraid that if he showed how willing he was to obey you, he would lose your interest. He was used to changing masks, adapting to different situations and someone's needs. He was an awkward and shy nerd when you first met, and that was largely true, because of his deep core nature and the new posh environment at Oxford. Fortunately, he had successfully joined Felix's company and was able to relax a little. And here in Saltburn, he almost felt like the master of the situation.

If you wished, he would always be that sweet, shy and awkward guy for you, if only you were truly happy about it. But he had learned that he interested and intrigued you mostly when he showed a more powerful, dominant and somewhat even dark part of himself. And that made him really pleased, because you viewed him the way he hoped to be in his own deep wildest dreams.

And yet, he still wanted to be your dog, an obedient dog who would do anything for you. In a sense, he was. And today he decided to demonstrate you that in more obvious way.

"What do you want me to do? I'm all yours," he leaned back next to you, belly up. Oliver smiled playfully. Right now, he was a tiger who had been caught by the toe with his own permission.

Biting your lip, you straddled him, sitting on his thighs. After enjoying this view, you ran your hand from his navel, sliding your fingers up the groove between his prominent muscles. Oliver exhaled sharply. You stopped at his neck, grabbed his chain, and pulled him to you. Now the guy was in a sitting position, he looked at you adoringly while his hands slid over your waist.

Without letting go of one hand from the chain, you slowly rose and began to descend on his cock. Oliver hissed with satisfaction, "Yes, my dear, just like that..."

"I didn't let you talk," you pulled the chain slightly, smiling slightly.

"Oh," he said in surprise, but gladly began to obey you, nodding in agreement.

You began to move slowly on his things, while Oliver's strong hands supported you with ease, guiding you, leaving hot prints on your skin.

His hands were all over you as his lips feverishly kissed everything they could reach. Finally, he reached for your lips, covering them with a hot kiss full of saliva, admiration and arousal.

When you broke the kiss, you said, a little hesitantly, but still firmly enough, "Take your hands off, next time you touch me when I tell you."

Oliver smiled enthusiastically – you learned quickly from his example, apparently. He liked the hint of his own power and dominance reflected on himself now through you.

He obeyed your request, although it was getting harder to fulfill it by every passing minute. He wanted to touch you again, guide your body and push it harder on his hard needy cock. It became unbearable after a while, and he whined a little. He looked at you a little pleadingly, but you nodded no.

He kissed your breasts again, but in response he got "Do not touch at all."

"Only I can now," with these words, you ruffled his hair and pressed harder against his shoulders. He groaned at the inability to touch you at all, it was a new sensation, or rather, its absence.

You grabbed his hair, and he put his head closer, burying it in your hand. It was the only chance to touch you in any way. Oliver closed his eyes and inhaled noisily through his nose. He didn't even mind if you squeezed his hair even harder, hell, maybe even poked his face into the sheet, where he would inhale the scent of your arousal. If you had forced him to lick it off, he would have willingly obeyed, as long as you continued to press his face to the bed, clutching his dark curls. He even imagined doing the same with the bathtub you were lying in lately. In his bathroom. This thought turned Oliver on even more.

Degrading him, talking him down, pulling his hair or chain harshly - he would not always like to be in this role, but he would like to give you that opportunity from time to time. If only you'd asked. And even if you hadn't asked. Because it was you. And because he was like that.

Reaching the peak almost at the same time, you dug your nails into his back deeply, which made Oliver's eyes darken slightly and starry at the same time. With a pleased moan, you released your grip and sank down onto the pillows. But that wasn't all of it, and you decided to play the role given to you to the very end.

Clutching his soft dark hair, you moved his head to your thighs. He looked back at you with hazy from own rapture eyes.

"Please," you said softly, still not being able to be dominant enough. But this sweetness and dissimilarity from his own, even in a situation where you could and should do it, but asking instead, drove Oliver crazy to his limit. He attacked you with a growl, delivering all the pleasure he could possibly give to you that night.

* * *

Oliver was lying with his arms around your lower back, his head resting on your stomach. Quick looked faithfully into your eyes. His face reflected the moonlight of the deep quiet night that was now in Saltburn.

You stroked and scratched him behind the ear, he rubbed his nose contentedly against your smooth belly skin.

"Is my mistress happy?"

"Yes," you laughed, starting to play softly with his hair.

"Then I am happy too," he said, closing his eyes and rubbing his cheek against your soft belly, "Now and always."

[chibsandchill]

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

[aviawrites]

the tragic mishaps of farleigh and lena start: a saltburn story

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳!𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩, 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯!𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘹, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘩!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳(?)

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘖𝘹𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘍𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘹. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘺. 𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥; 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦. (2.8𝘬)

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘴

��/𝘯: 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵?? 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦, 𝘵𝘵𝘮𝘰𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘴:𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘰... 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘪𝘭𝘺<3

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘺/𝘯 𝘪𝘴: Lena Start

📍OXFORD | June 20th, 2006

“You’re sure you need a tutor?” Oliver asks, wrinkles between his brows. “You seem to know this stuff.”

“No, it’s my fucking professor.” You roll your eyes, “He made it mandatory for us to pass.”

“What, the entire class needs a tutor?”

“Not the entire class, just us. Like, me, Felix, Annabel, India- That lot. They weren’t exactly on their best behavior that day.” You twirl your curls around your finger.

Oliver looks up from the textbook, his head slightly tilted as the golden sun beaming into the empty library reflects in his eyes.

“Felix…I’d-“ He looks back down. “I’d expect that out of him, maybe. But you?” 

“What, you think I’m a top of the class star student like you, Oliver?”

“No, no.” He shyly chuckles, “I dunno, I just thought you’d be the one to whip ‘em into shape, you know?” 

“God, no one can whip Felix Catton into shape.” You retrieve a lighter and cig from your pocket, flicking the flame until it sets alight.

Oliver’s glistening eyes dart around the dim media center like a child stealing candy.

“Are you sure you should-“

“Oh, fuck off, Oliver. Don’t act like you haven’t smoked here before.” You inhale, chuckling. “You reeked of it when you left Felix’s room the other day, please.” 

“You saw me leave Felix’s room?”

“I did.” You smirk as his expression progressively fills with some unknown yet frantic emotion, “Were you two cooking meth in there? Good God. Breathe, love.”

He nervously laughs, a hint relief in his breath.

“No, not that. I was just…I was telling him how my dad…” He trails off as you listen intently, finishing the sentence in your head. “He invited me to stay for the summer. At Saltburn.” 

“Did he, now?” Your brows raise, your smirk now forming a smile. “Well congrats on losing your soul to Felix, mate. Join the club.” You laugh, blowing smoke into his face.

“Will you be there too?” He asks, disregarding your previous comment.

“If I survive this semester, then yea. Farleigh and I are there every summer.” 

“Farleigh…” Oliver mumbles, almost to himself.

“…My brother.” You remind him, deciding to leave the ‘step’ out for the first time in forever.

“Yeah, yeah! Farleigh, I know him.” He assures you.

You just chuckle at his skittishness, “What about your academics, Mr. Einstein? You chuffed for your exams?”

“Erm, I wouldn’t say that, no. You know, I’ll do them, of course. But I guess I’d rather not. Felix says I should skip them.”

“He’s right, no? Fuck’s sake, your father’s just passed and you’re tutoring for bloody exams?”

“My tuition isn’t payed for like yours, Lena. I have to stay here.” 

You slowly nod as you lean back in your chair, your elbow perched on the arm. “You think I’m a spoiled rich girl, huh?” 

“No- I didn’t say that-“

“But that’s what you meant.” You insist. “Just because I live with the Catton’s doesn’t mean I can’t understand you, Ollie. I’m not your fucking God like Felix-“

“Felix isn’t my God-“

“Well he’s all you’re eager to talk about.” You continue, not missing a beat. “I’m not him. I’m not Farleigh, I’m not Annabel, I’m not India. I’m not built in a factory like them, alright? Maybe someone actually likes you for you, Ollie, can you believe it?”

You motion your mind being blown, evoking a small laugh out of Oliver.

“Anyway,” You tap on the textbooks, “Back to this.” You sit up straight in your chair.

📍SALTBURN  | July 15, 2006

The cold marble flooring shocks you awake as you tip-toe through the dark house. Moonlight shines through the floor to ceiling windows, the only illumination present. Your too-long-for-you plaid pajama pants do little to keep you warm in contrast to your too-tiny-for-you flimsy tank. 

You grab a glass off of the counter. Light suddenly becomes abundant as you pull the refrigerator door open. You squint, only being met with ingredients - no food. You throw your head back, a light groan escaping you before settling on wine and retrieving the already opened bottle. 

You pour a glass that may as well weigh your body weight before putting it back, slamming the door and spinning on your heels.

“Oh!” Your body jolts as you see a flash of a shadow passing the window and approaching the exterior door. Your blood runs cold and you’re frozen in place for a millisecond before seeing the shadow enter, suddenly becoming a man.

“Jesus, Oliver.” You hold your chest, setting your glass on the island. “You could’ve fucking killed me.”

“Sorry…” He holds his elbows. 

It’s now that you realize he hasn’t changed clothes from this tea time with Elsbeth. Only having his thin dress trousers to cover the prominent print underneath them.

“What are you even doing?” You inquiry, regaining your footing. “It’s like 2 in the morning and fucking freezing.”

“Oh, I was just- I was looking out of my window at the garden. Reckoned I’d-“

“Looking at the gardens at 2am, that’s completely normal.” You kid, sipping your wine, “And you just, what, went out and looked at the flowers while powering your nose?”

“Powdering my nose.” He lets out that familiar nervous laugh.

“I was going-“

You’re cut off by the door opening again. Though it’s dark, you’d recognize the grown out roots if they were inside out. 

“…Hello, Venetia.”

You get no answer. She only fiddles with her dress and continues to beeline for her room, keeping her head down.

You slowly turn your attention back to Oliver. Your eyes scan his tall frame. Nothing stands out, nothing but the glistening wetness around his lips. The moon almost makes it out to be deep red, the illusion of a vampire boy standing before you. 

Disheveled Venetia and unordinary Oliver coming in from the garden forces your mind to go to one place. The same place it went a few summers ago when you caught Eddie in the same spot.

“Hm,” You hum, sipping once more. “You’re an odd one, Ollie.”

📍SALTBURN | September 9th, 2006

Oliver rushes into the vast bathroom, throwing his cufflinks onto the floor.

“He’s humiliated me in front of everyone.” He breathes heavily, staring at himself in the mirror.

“It’s the Henry’s, they humiliate themselves.” You rest your back in the doorway, breath short from chasing him upstairs.

“No, it’s not funny, Lena. It’s serious.”

“Oliver, Farleigh’s a dick, you know this.” You scoff. “Our family’s going through something, alright - He’s already stressed. You imposing on his life only makes it worse. Just…give him time.”

He leans and rocks his hips on the counter edge, angrily wrapping a towel around his hand.

“He’s lucky people were around...”

“Ollie, please.” You laugh a little harder than you mean to, “What would you have done, fought him? Taken him back to the Oliver factory and put batteries in him? He just sees you as a threat, it’s not a big deal. He’ll get over it, I swear-“

You damn near duck behind the doorframe when Oliver’s wrapped fist makes contact with the, now shattered, mirror. He only stares at the impact point as your jaw hangs open. You linger on him, listening to his breaths becoming more frantic and his fist still shaking out of fury. 

You don’t dare speak to this Ollie. You’re far too afraid to. 

📍SALTBURN | September 10th, 2006

“I would never do this shit- Why would I do this? It makes no fucking sense.” Farleigh can barely speak through his sobs. 

“I know, Farls, I believe you.” You rub his curled up body, his shaking bones vibrating through the bed. 

The tension in the house grows thicker by the minute as the accusations against your brother spread like a virus. 

You comfort him, as he would you. But no matter how much you believe every word he says, you have to recognize how terrible it looks.

“Someone had to fuck-“ He sniffles, “Fucking blackmail me or something.”

“But who would do that, Farleigh?” You ask, knowing full well he’s a prick to half of Oxford’s student population. 

“We’re with the fucking Cattons!” He weeps, “We’re a target to everybody! It could’ve been anyone, Lena! God, they’re never going to help mom out now that-“

“Hey, hey.” You stroke his hair. “I’ll figure this out, yeah? I promise.”

Farleigh continues to bawl, incoherent. You can’t help but hear the same gossipy whispers that you’d once been a part of in the next hall over. It’s instantly recognizable.

“I’ll be back.” You press a kiss onto your step brother’s shoulder before heading toward the door, shutting it behind you.

The hushed talk gets louder and louder as you near Venetia’s bedroom. The door may as well have been wide open, as they haven’t bothered to close it. 

“You have to admit…It’s a little bit dark. Him having to go to mum and dad with a begging bowl.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo.” 

You creep into the doorway. Venetia lays on the floor propped on her elbows, her brother sitting on her bed. 

“Alright, yes, it was incredibly fucking stupid. He-“

“Felix.” She cuts him off, making eye contact with you.

You defensively cross your arms, “Oh no, don’t silence yourselves now. You’ve shit talked him all morning. Please, go on.” 

“Lena…” Felix says softly.

“No, it’s fucking sad how quickly you turned on him. How you’d even believe he’d do something so stupid. Honestly, I feel sorry for you. It’s utterly pathetic, really.” 

“He turned on us first.” Venetia calmly voices, never being one to stand down to you. 

Felix nervously scratches his head, “Venetia-“

You shrug, “Someone must have set him up. Obviously he didn’t fucking do it.”

“What if he did?” She asks, not seeming to care how it makes you feel.

“He didn’t.” You sneer, her smoky fog filling your senses. 

“Lena, how would you even know?” Felix quietly speaks up. “The two of you barely even speak-“

“Fuck you, Felix.” You directly your wrath at him, “Both of you know Farleigh. He hasn’t done anything like this before, why the fuck would he start now?”

“We had an argument…a few days ago.”

“Jesus Christ.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. 

“I’m just saying it might have been a trigger-“

“A trigger? What, is he a fucking mental patient. You argue all the time that doesn’t make him a thief.”

“Lena - If you’re so fucking sure - Please do tell us who would set Farleigh up, of all people.”

You tilt your head slightly, desperately wondering what she implies by of all people. Nevertheless, now is as good of a time as any to voice your theory.

“…I saw Oliver near his bedroom last night.”

The both of them immediately sigh, Venetia taking another puff as Felix rubs his temples. 

“Great, Farleigh’s got you believing that rubbish.” He groans.

“It’s not rubbish, Felix. It’s the only way someone could’ve sent it through his phone.”

“Lena, Farleigh’s been jealous of Ollie ever since he met him. It’s fucking delusional for Christ sake.”

“You’ve known him for- What? Three, four months? And you’re 100% confident he wouldn’t lie? Maybe he’s the jealous one Felix, he’s clearly obsessed with you.”

“What on earth would he have to lie for?” Venetia slurs, almost in her own world.

“Maybe for what Farleigh pulled last night, I don’t fucking know.” 

“Lena, just stop.” Felix raises his voice. “This…hate is so one sided it’s honestly pitiful.”

Your mouth hangs slightly open as it hits you that they truly have no intent of hearing you or your brother out. They’ve already made up their minds.

“…We’ve known you our entire lives, Felix. Our whole lives.” Your voice quivers, “Sweet baby Oliver’s been here a few months and already taken our place, yet we’re delusional.”

 A thin stream of water lines your eye, Felix seems to notice.

He stands, his voice softening as he nears you with consoling arms. “No, Lena don’t-“

“Believe whatever the fuck you want.” You push him away, storming out. 

📍SALTBURN | October 5th, 2006

“And you’ll cling on to it, and comb over it and jerk off to it.” Farleigh towers over Oliver, leaning down to be eye to eye. “And wonder how you’ll ever get it back. But you don’t get it back, because your summer’s over.”

Oliver only stares with fire in his moonlit pupils before shifting them to you. This was the Oliver you saw shatter the mirror. This was the Oliver that Farleigh sniffed out since the moment they met.  

“Has he gotten to you too, Lena?” He asks in that same frantically-trying-to-stay-composed tone that he had the night of ‘Rent’.

“Here you go, spinning your web again-“

“Fuck you.” He scolds your brother, eyes treading on you. 

“…She just sees what I always have. A fucking rat - burying his way in our family and chewing us out from the inside.” Farleigh says, his tone grave.

You lean on the stand, snorting a small pile of white dust off of your pinky. “Just go home, Ollie. Make our lives easier, yea?”

📍SALTBURN | October 6th, 2006

Your knuckles are coated with tears and your hand stays tightly over your lips. Farleigh and Venetia let out silent sobs on the grass, the minotaur seeming to laugh as he’d seen it all happen. Your bones shake in your legs, but they can’t seem to buckle. The harder you cry the more you struggle to want to breathe again.

James joins his still son on the ground, asking him to stand. The angel only lays there, a renaissance-esque feel to the image. 

“J- James we-“

“…I think…I think the police.” Farleigh suggests, hardly intelligible.

Elsbeth agrees, calmly walking off from the scene. Each grassy footstep seems to push the world around you further and further away. Now, it seems to be only you, Felix, and the minotaur. The three of you staring at the results of spotting a moth far too late.

…

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” Farleigh’s shaking voice pierced the tension filled silence. “Does no one else find it weird?”

“I wouldn’t throw stones if I was you, Farleigh…” Oliver’s eyes cut through him. 

“…Excuse me?”

“Please stop.” Venetia sniffles.

Your eyes press shut, preparing for what the two plan to blow up over now. “Farleigh…”

“What is he saying?” 

“I…I have no idea.”

“What I’m saying is I would feel guilty, too.” Oliver speaks, now with an unforgiving spite in his voice that the Catton’s seem to miss.

“Guilty?”

“Oliver, it is not the time-“

“You as well, Lena.” He says, your fingertips beginning to feel clammy. “I’d feel terrible if I was the one racking up lines the night someone died.”

The tears seem to be sucked out of your eyes only to fill up again with brutal force. They shift to your brother, his mouth agape.

“F- Fuck you.”

“That’s not a denial.”

The Catton’s look at the two of you like imposters. A wrinkle forms between your brows, looking back at them the same way. 

For you can’t produce a near good enough reason for why your family, your blood, would use the words of someone like Oliver as fuel to burn someone like yourself. He’s an alien, a foreigner, a stranger. 

“…Is that true?” James asks, seeming to jump at the opportunity to take his emotions out on anyone or anything. “Search their rooms.” He orders a footman.

Farleigh whimpers, “No.”

“He didn’t do anything!” You slightly raise your voice, slurring through the tears as you struggle to catch your breath. You turn your attention to Oliver. ��Would you let us be for one fucking second?”

Venetia numbly over pours her drink, “Please, please stop.”

Oliver slyly looks around the table, “I just thought they should know.”

“S….Shut the fuck up.” Farleigh begs, barely audible.

“What’s happening?” Aunt Elsbeth asks, miserably confused at all of what she’s feeling.

“This fucking cockroach,” You stare daggers at Oliver, fury now replacing the previous timidness in your voice. “Has only lied, and deceived, and swindled his way through this house. He made us all believe him but- Oliver, I see through you.” You lean across the table, nearing him. “You’re an obsessed maniac who fed off of Felix until you consumed him.”

“Don’t you mention his name!” James frantically tries to keep his grief at bay.

Your brother’s chair scoots out with a terrible screech as he stands. His hand is sealed over his mouth as he rushes out of the room, giving in to defeat. You can only watch him go.

The silence after he closes the door behind him is enough to deafen the four of you. You scan the table, a blank expression contrasting your tear stained cheeks. 

Your eyes rest on Oliver, though, you don’t plan to speak another word to him.

“When he devours you all…” A hushed voice comes out of you with a rasp as you target the family. “When he drives you to madness like he did your son.” Your head pivots behind you, landing on Duncan. “Do not say you weren’t warned.” 

[planetmarge]

Wondering what the pressure must have been like for Annabel. She was obviously sexually compatible with Felix and hoped to turn it into a long-term relationship with the ultimate possibility of becoming Mrs. Felix Catton.

With plenty of competition from India and others, she must have devoted a good deal of time to mapping out strategies to insure that she would prevail. The window for doing this was incredibly brief given all the distractions at Oxford -- things like studying? lol -- and once that window closes, it's over.

In this scene she made a last-minute decision to make out with Oliver hoping it would upset Felix and send him running back to her, and we saw how that turned out.

Of course, Annabel is a minor character and irrelevant to the Felix-Oliver relationship, but I just wanted to have some fun and indulge in a little Saltburn sidequest here and show some sympathy for Annabel.