#📁﹟𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .ᐟ

[sincerelyverena]

can you do ollie watching felix and reader in the bathtub plss

this was so fun to write! i absolutely adored exploring a more submissive oliver in this one. thank u for the request my lovely anon. <3

⟡⁺ SALTWATER

. . . OLIVER QUICK X FELIX CATTON X FEM!READER ‘i'm your biggest fan, i'll follow you until you love me.’ @watercolorskyy

inbox is always open to requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒oliver witnessed his most secret fantasies play out before him.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒smut ﹐dom!felix﹐oliver being a creepy little fucker ﹐felix giving princess treatment﹐reader and felix are an established pairing ﹐oh felix! you little tease!﹐felix taking control ﹐voyeurism﹐non-consential voyeurism ﹐waterplay﹐rubber duck rubber fuck﹐masturbation ﹐pet names ﹐praise﹐bite-sized oneshot

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @sparklehani ﹐@vikwrites

They always said an open door is an invitation.

What was remaining of Oliver’s good-willed conscience advised him to turn back. He turned a blind eye to the nagging voice polluting the crevices of his scalp. Alas, the musters of benevolence tumble into an attuned silence at the scene poured to life before him.

The vivid imagination from the deepest crevices of Oliver’s fantasies played out before the widening of his aquamarine irises.

You. Perched atop the broadened boundaries of Felix’s lap. The length of your legs propped on either side of his awfully prominent hips. A sight alone caused the fabric of Oliver’s lower nightwear to tighten, which caused the bridge of his throat to constrict with halted breath.

As if a single movement out of place would disturb such intimacy.

The extent of Oliver’s arm extended upward, hand grappled around the ridge of the rippled doorway. Fingers twisting, pouring the molten heat pooled behind his abdomen throughout the strain of his ever-so-whitening knuckles.

A soft moan sounded throughout the otherwise quiet air.

An even softer gasp accompanies the seemingly murmured noise. “Felix…”

Oliver’s eyes offered a singular flutter. The firmament blue hardened into an avid mirror of lust as he witnessed the scene playing out before his very presence. 

The depths of Felix’s girth are illustrated beneath your weeping cunt. Oliver had to refrain from any variation of a choked noise to escape the hollow of his throat at the depiction. The flimsy material of the garments hung by his hips seemed to be on the verge of snapping altogether in the hue of your strangled pleas as Felix teased your slit.

“Did my baby forget how to use her words?” Felix’s prodding words drawled onward, lazily at that. Each syllable bounced off of the bathroom’s sleazy walls and reverberated into the crook of Oliver’s ears. 

His left arm immersed itself in the translucent water pooling around the pair. The other extended toward yourself, the adequate length of his fingers combed throughout the dampness of your locks. Teasing each hair strand before the edges of his digits rim along your scalp.

Felix’s water-submerged hand crept toward the space sandwiched between the roll of your back and the soft fat of your thighs. His palm pressed deeply into your asscheeks, squeezed into it. You yelped.

“What d’ya want, princess?”

The tip of his girth continued to strain against you purposefully. “Felix, don’ make me beg…”

The hand that once cradled the side of your head retreated from the wetness of your hair. Broadened fingers pull around the dew-dusted surface of your jaw, stubby nails dug into whatever face fat you possessed. You moaned around his hands, the sound muffled by the pure pressure his hand possessed.

Your moans turned into pleas. “Fi, baby– I… need you in me.”

“Say please.” 

“Please..”

Oliver thought for a moment he’d release in his pants then and there.

As Felix began to ease himself into you, the bridge of Oliver’s hand wordlessly slipped into the fabric adorning his hips. Fingers itching to ease the throbbing strain of his groin, already slick with thin pre-cum. The ridge of your back arched with strangled breath as Felix’s girth disappeared into you completely.

Palms pressed toward his neck, and you choked back a whimper. The sturdiness of Felix’s hips began to shift toward you lazily. His thrusts were comparable to rolls as his girth massaged the tightness of your inner walls. You found yourself grinding desperately against him, the friction coursing speckles of pleasure to ignite within you.

As the snaps of Felix’s length gradually intensify, so does the work of Oliver’s palm. His eyes practically glazed over as he witnessed before him the writhing sensualness that occurred. If Oliver didn’t know his proper place, he’d be a whining mess as you were now.

“My beautiful girl, you’re doin’ so well.” 

Felix praised in between strained breaths. The base of his hand slipped from your dew-graced shoulders toward the roll of your hips. He bathed in the little noise that escaped the depths of your throat as he plunged himself deeper into you.

Oliver’s cock convulsed. Reams of pleasure built at the base of his spine.

You were similarly nearing the edge. Had given in ages ago to Felix’s timing rather than yours. Gone were the desperate writhing of your wetness. Replaced solely by the erratic pace your lover had built into you. 

“Fi, I’m… almost there.”

“I dunno, you feel too good ‘round me sweetheart.” Felix teased, a humorous tone alighting the drawl of his words. He pumped into you a tad hoarser for exaggeration. Upturned lips in the fashion in which you clung yourself upon him. A silent plea to go deeper. 

Oliver almost slipped a breathless curse from the hitched nature of his breath. His girth is hot in the base of his hands, dripping pure need between his fingers. The fact that he was as desperate as you are to release almost made him combust.

“On one condition.” Felix prompted at last.

“Anything.”

He continued to drive himself deeper into you. The hand Felix adorned upon your hips tightened with each word that escaped the lushness of his lips. He grunted with effort, yet kept an easygoing hue in his voice as he continued. 

“The only word I want to hear on your lips when you cum is my name.”

The renowned heir deep inside you now refused to await a proper response. Instead, the work of his hips tightened into a merciless tempo. Striking ass as he plunged into you over and over again. Prying out noises of pleasure you never knew were possible, all while singing his name with praise. 

Just as he ordered.

The pleasure that conquered the base of your torso intensified, just as Oliver, whose fingers grew warm with the strength he poured into his arm movements. He surveyed you, comparable to a hawk as he caught onto the scattered hints of your soon-to-be release. How Oliver only wished deeply to be inside of you as Felix is now, to have the opportunity to feel your tightness. He squeezed the entire wrap of his fingers around his length.

“Felix, Felix, Felix…”

You whispered his name like a prayer. Like a mantra. A mantra as you grew hot with a desire to peak, that peak approaching rapidly. The basis of your vision shifts rapidly with the pure intensity of the ecstasy that plunged into you. Oliver soon grew to repeat these mantras to himself, choking back physical moans as his digits pathetically rolled along the tip of his girth.

Felix’s release was growing closer, although he didn’t make it obvious. He never did. He just peered downward at you with a lazy drawl of a smile, soaking up the view of you sprawled out for him. Chanting his name. He reached downward into the lukewarm waters, the tip of his two fingers brushing against the pearl that lined your drenched entrance.

“I need you to cum for me. Can you do that?” Felix inquired aloud, a hint of childish glee audible in his voice. The pounding his girth offered to you never faltered the slightest in the meantime, an awe-aspiring – yet not surprising – sentiment he possessed.

In response to his words, you could only nod. Too overtaken with ecstasy.

Oliver, on the other hand, bored his eyes into Felix longingly. “Yes, yes, please.” His words too mustered to be heard over the fucking pounds of flesh and skin. It felt good to say. To good as his length pulsated in between his grip.

“Such a good girl.” Felix hummed his praises. The fingers that fidgeted with your clit fell back, pinching the bud instead. The motion is enough to pull you over the edge entirely. 

You snapped. Coming undone underneath his relentless jackings. The tide had broken, and the pleasure you had been chasing for minutes now had broken into you entirely. Felix. Felix. Felix. All you could vocalise. He was your beginning, your end. Your everything.

But the core of your fantasies. The middle. He stood blanketed in the shadows, relying on the small gap between the door and frame. His back arched with effort as he reached his peak. Oliver’s fingers squeezed around the doorway in an attempt to choke back any musters of his presence. White-hot pleasure seared through him, cock convulsing entirely as the centre of his boxers grew warm with the force of his seed. He could see stars. Hell, Oliver was convinced he could’ve taken a glimpse of the Earth’s secrets entirely with the force of his orgasm.

He came back down to reality with a single sentiment that overlooked the pure euphoria he had received. Oliver watched onward for a few extended seconds as Felix followed in his peak, and you slumped into him. Unaware of his presence, unaware of his thirst for the both of you.

You had never known the love he possessed for you.

You had never even suspected the fact Oliver would kill to submit to the two of you entirely.

Up until now, at least.

WORD COUNT: 1K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[sincerelyverena]

the oliver fic section of tumblr is SOOOOO dry rn so I'm wondering if you could write about how you've been friends with ollie since oxford and got invited to stay the summer with felix. then while playing spin the bottle you and him have something? IDK IM JUST RAMBLING BUT YEAH

i enjoyed writing this so so so much. i diiiid take this in a way different direction than i anticipated, but i hope you enjoy this nevertheless. thank u dearly for ur rambles! mwah! 🤍

⟡⁺ SEVEN MINUTES IN HELL

. . . OLIVER QUICK X FEM!READER ‘testosterone boys and harlequin girls.’ @ajs-222 @michael-loves-chickens @surazim @soocore @fedyascoffin

inbox is always open to requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒hate has no bounds. except when you're stuck in a wardrobe with oliver quick.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒implied sex ﹐fade to black smut ﹐enemies with benefits ﹐dom!oliver ﹐spoiled!reader ﹐reader would’ve probs bullied you in high school ﹐oliverrr you little stalkerrr ﹐felix and reader have a sister-brother connection ﹐ oliver brat tamer arc ﹐farleigh has naturally sharpened canines beware ﹐reader is a homie hopper ﹐YES OLIVERR USE YOUR HANDS ﹐DRUNK N HORNY, DRUNK N HORNYYY ﹐smack my ass like the drum slurp the dick til it cum ﹐forced proximity ﹐degradation ﹐phat exposition beware ﹐the plot is absolutely plotting ﹐implied incest between minor characters

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @sparklehani ﹐@vikwrites

You pushed the frame of your sunglasses upward with the pad of your thumb. The accessory nestled into the top of your hair, positioning yourself to soak up the grandeur of old money that ascended far beyond where the naked eye could see.

Saltburn. A spectacle passed down by word of mouth.

The double ebony archways are considered to be a set of doors shifted in position. Presented to you, the skyscraper-remnant entrance is extended with a gradual creak of effort. Revealing the beauty of the estate’s foyer in the process. 

“Miss Esmeray.” 

You were too absorbed in the elegance etched into every breath that was drawn in the manor alone to notice the suited male positioned behind the doorways. Declan, was it? You weren’t too opposed to not giving a singular shit about the name of a mere, working butler. 

To outsiders, those morals would’ve been doubted in the fashion in which you approached the estate’s employee. 

You inclined forward. The painted maroon of your lips puckered as you scattered lightweight kisses upon either side of the loose, wrinkled surface of the butler’s cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Declan.”

He didn’t seem particularly phased – on the surface at least – apart from the cool hardening of his formerly strained eyes. 

“It’s Duncan.”

You stifled the urge to laugh.

“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” You leaned backward with a hushed hue of voice and a poised frown. A frown that didn’t last long as you slipped by with an isolated thrum of your heels along the blemishless, maintained floors. 

The porters that had withheld your luggage followed suit, grasping the attention of Duncan. He continued to clasp his hands behind his back, surveying the situation with a stare that would put a hawk to shame.

“Leave the luggage there. The estate butlers will see to it.” The note of exasperation that tainted Duncan’s articulation caused your personal porters to arrange the stacks of luggage onto the flooring without missing a beat.

The bound of employees hit the open doorways, leaving you to bask in a well-deserved solitude. Or so you had thought.

The hue of your flickery eyes had fixated immensely upon the silhouette which overlooked the foyer. An individual that leaned along the fencing of the plank-relied stairway, slinked in the comfort of the shadows. Even in the limelight of darkness, you could scrutinize the sight of a chiseled jaw and the irises of dusked aquamarine. 

Oliver Quick. Bile slicked the crevices of your throat. That slimy, freakish companion of one of your closest friends from Oxford. The sole reason you were invited to the estate in the first place.

And that sole reason broke out into the foyer before you could’ve mustered a word.

“[Y/N]!”

Felix Catton. Gorgeous, radiant Felix Catton came bounding toward you. Arms sprawled wide open, and a grin of nothing more but graciousness broke across his lips. Devoid of awaiting a response, Felix tossed the base of his arms around your shoulders. The toned muscle propped behind the sleight of your neck, burying himself into you in the process.

“Hi, Fi.” You mumbled around the top of his broadened shoulder, basking in the familiarity of his scent and aura. The tension that had made itself known in the base of your abdomen uncoiled, just the slightest.

You had inclined backward momentarily. The palms of your hands propped themselves upon the sleight of Felix’s jaw. You surveyed Felix closely and blew out a sharp breath. “Felix, you’re looking thinner. What have they been feeding you here?”

“The summer fucks up my appetite, you know that,” Felix grumbled pointedly.

“That’s not an excuse, Fi.” Your forefinger pinched the practically non-existent fat lining his cheeks, reeling a small grimace from the male.

The dense thrums of rhythmic footsteps spliced unnervingly through the moment. You tore the unyielding hue of your stare from Felix toward Oliver, who positioned himself solidly against the foot of the stairway. 

“Ollie!” Felix unraveled his arms away from you, in turn, to acknowledge his self-titled best friend. The male was peacefully oblivious to the glowering irritation that etched itself into your gaze. “You remember [Y/N], yeah?”

“How could I forget?” Oliver quipped the mere intensity of his gaze maintained upon you. You felt as if he was staring right through you, aware of every crook, crevice, and secret of your being. Deep speckles of disgust were blanketed behind hues of feigned interest.

As the moment drew on, he extended a hand. You harshly glared into it. Whilst the remainder of the inner circle Felix had established in Oxford grew to warm up to Oliver’s meek, somewhat awkward presence. You loathed it. 

“Mum has been dying to see you all day, [Y/N].” The strained hues of Felix’s voice tore into the steadily growing silence. His lips curved upward into a thin smile. Felix could virtually feel the tension tighten between his two companions.

“She’s in the morning room.”

You pecked him on the cheek on your way out. “Thanks, Fi.”

Felix’s words of prominence held a generous truth. Lady Elspeth Catton pushed the teacup amid her hands aside the second her eyes had met the radiance of your presence. You mustered a small smile at the sight of the woman you had known for the year prior.

“Oh, darling. It’s been too long.”

The all-too-familiar scent of high-end designer perfumes assaulted your nostrils as Elspeth brought you into a momentarily embrace. You had come to terms with the preceding summer that she had grown to be more of a maternal figure than your mother ever would be. Even if you were inclined to remove your nose ring and settled for a less dramatic false lash to soothe her fear of what she deemed to be ugly.

In those logistics, you had no idea why she hadn’t thrown Oliver out the second she met his acquaintance.

“Come, come, come. Sit down, I’ll whisk up some tea for you…”

“Hot chocolate.” You had a hard time grappling with the concept of politeness.

“Oh, of course! How would I forget?”

As Elspeth handled the hot chocolate-bearing teapot, you were prompted to discuss the prior school year. Conversations flowed from academics to the selection of boys and girls alike who had the misfortune of encountering your diva-like logistics. 

Elspeth indulged in her tea. “Did Felix mention the festivities we’re having tonight?”

You propped a spoonful of whipped cream atop the chocolate goodness, a frown painting your lips. “Not at all. What festivities?”

“One of the annual dinners with the Catton’s family friends is proceeding tonight,” Elspeth explained, tone somewhat bored with the lack of any mentions of gossip present in this crevice of the conversation. The flimsy painted surface of her nail tapped away at her teacup.

“Please tell me it's the Lockwoods.”

“Who else would it be, darling?”

“Thank Christ.”

As Elspeth continued to chatter onward about the newest scandal she observed with the Lockwoods, you pertained to drifting off in thought. Concerning the night ahead. And the dread that followed with the idea of socialization with a bunch of stuck-up acquaintances alike yourself.

And Oliver Quick.

You rolled the base of your fingers around the rounded cigarette Felix had outstretched. Flimsy smoke curled outward from the plumpness of his lips, drifting upward toward the coiling stairs above your heads.

You circulated your lips around the rim of the drug stick, angling your hand backward as you took a hit – brimming with a  buzz of pleasure. The cigarette slipped back into Felix’s hand, which inclined away to pass it toward Oliver. Whom you hadn’t even bothered to glance toward once during the entirety of the night.

The remains of the others flocked behind, the light hue of conversation prominent in the air. The three others you’ve befriended – Wiona, Lincoln, and Valencia – had befriended the Catton children in their younger years. At the annual dinner that commenced the year prior, you discovered that they had developed an annual tradition for Spin the Bottle.

The sole reason why the group of eight traversed up the spiraling stairway in the first place, bottles of alcohol propped in hand.

A prominent part of you wordlessly hoped that the alcohol would loosen you up a tad. Alas, with the sensation of Oliver’s eyes bored into the back of your head. You were bound to feel a tad paranoid. Especially when you weren’t oblivious to how every movement you made was tracked. 

The minuscule smirk when the base of your nail had chipped. The glimmer of distaste when you looked up and down the outfits of the current houseguests. The burn of eyes when you laughed a tad too loudly. The indescribable emotion that blared throughout Oliver’s surveying gaze as you stared into him. An attempt of intimidation that was never accomplished.

The solid front of the bathroom’s tiles was undeniably cool, in contrast to the thin garment that shielded the top of your thighs.

You proceeded to tuck yourself across the minuscule opening between Farleigh and a most currently amused Felix. The glass-spun bottle of the night lay vulnerable in the grip of his broadened fingers.

“Care to make a bet on this year’s game?”

A short laugh stirred itself from the crevice of your throat. You inclined your head over the brink of your shoulder, scrutinizing gaze propped upon the curly-haired male sat inches away. Farleigh’s eyes crinkled with the intensity of his curved lips, tongue tracing the rim of his canines. 

You suddenly grew aware of the sheer amount of certain plastic bags you had smuggled down your bra upon arrival. Ziplock bundles of goodness Farleigh would surely die for. A sentiment visible from the mere spark of interest blanketed behind his eyes.

“You seriously think I’ll say no to a good gamble?”

With a tinge of casualty, Farleigh swung a singular arm over the bridge of your shoulders. His voice grew hushed, but the intention of his words burnt into the crevice of your ear. “One of those pretty bags of yours if it lands on Valencia and Lincoln.”

“They’re siblings, munchkin.” The force of your articulation twisted with a prominent combination of distaste and fluid judgment.

“So what?”

For someone who always had something to say, you hadn’t been rendered this speechless in a long, long time. Alas, Farleigh wasn’t the only soul that expressed his amusement with the fact.

Oliver stared right into you. Twisted amusement circulated within his gaze.

Felix proceeded to illustrate a spectacle of himself, the glass-rimmed bottle set down on the tiled ground before him. Dramatics and flairs. Nothing out of the ordinary for your beloved Fi, who expressed the rules and regulations of the game as if his company hadn’t played for the years prior. 

This excluded a scrutinizing Oliver. A prominent smirk threatened to overcome your lips at the sight of his cockiness. His prior attitude slipped away at the news of having to potentially be stuffed in one of the Catton’s family closets for several minutes – with his luck – accompanied by a total stranger.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to begin.

Felix offered a riveting motion with his hand. The echo of uproar, paired with the creak of the bottle against the tiles bounced off of the thinly-veiled walls as he gave it a fluid spin.

The uproar crescendoed into a screeching halt as the pitcher shook into a steadied pace. Its glimmering tip angled precisely toward a noriette-haired girl, who was in the midst of pertaining her slight nose toward the strip of snow-white goodness laid out on the back of her hand. 

“Wiona!”

“You better hope and pray, darling.”

“Leave your drink with me, Wynn!”

Felix stuffled the broadened nature of his fingers into his mouth. He offered a low whistle toward Wiona, whose smirk was shielded by her bob-length curls.

He inclined toward the glass-rimmed bottle once more. “Right, whose the lucky boy… or girl? We don’ discriminate here…”

Murmurs of agreement followed the winding silence of the spinning contraption. Accompanied by short-circuited laughs, and gambled musterings. Overtaken by shrill yells as the crown cork inclined precisely toward Farleigh, whose curves were still draped over you. 

“Leigh, that’s you.” Felix had confirmed, to the delight of those inclined around the circle. His eyes crinkled, appropriate to the intensity of the sparkling grin that graced his otherworldly face. “The blue room awaits you lovebirds…”

The jangling of cash and the slip of dope occurred.

The game continued as such. And with gradual time, all participants grew intoxicated by the minute with the presence of booze and crack. Two of your tit-coke bags have been ripped out of your disposal with the force of the circle’s gambles, gaining triple the amount in the process. Especially when Lincoln and Valencia slipped into the next room.

You found yourself with the curve of your head lolling atop the pad of Felix’s shoulder. An endearing warmth buzzed throughout you, rooted in the alcohol burning the crevice of your throat.

One of Felix’s broadened palms settled upon the hitch of your scalp. The other claws at the scarcely dented bottle once more, sending it into a tile-searing spin.

Commotion peaked within the room as the pitcher sloped toward Oliver.

Shadowiness engulfed your vision as the wardrobe doors closed in. Bathing in the darkness of mere loathing for two factors in this twisted, twisted equation. For the bottle. And for Oliver Quick, who had never been closer to you than in this moment. Bile rose in your throat for the second time that day.

It was just your luck that the bottle inclined towards you at that moment.

“That’s ironic.”

A slither of outside illumination managed to crack into the wardrobe, lining the crevice of Oliver’s azure hues. Speckled with what was perceived as faint amusement, tightening the knot of tension present in the atmosphere.

The sleight of your back strained as you stumbled toward the clanky side of the closet, desperate to discover an escape. To no avail. The faint ghost of a scoff reverberated from the hollow of your throat. “What’s ironic, huh?”

For some reason. For whatever reason at all, Oliver inclined toward you. The slightest indeed, but it managed to send your heart hammering between your ears. Nothing more but pure loathing pulsated throughout you with the sudden proximity. It was the alcohol. Booze does funny things to the mind, right?

Olivcr’s alcohol-tinged breath mists upon your lips. His words slurred somewhat. “For som’one that gets everythin’ she wants, you seem pretty… helpless right now.” “Anyone that finds themself in a closet with you would be.”

“I’m jus’ sayin', it’s pretty pathetic.”

A gradual grin seeped onto Oliver’s face at the undeniable loathing that flared within the depths of your eyes. You looked as if you were a tick away from murdering him with your bare hands, and it brought him nothing but pure amusement.

“Pathetic…” The word dripped off of your lips with slow, taunting articulation. A twisted of taunted tipsiness. With the fiery force of each syllable, you leaned forward and clasped a sloppy hand toward the center of Oliver’s chest, an attempt to shove him further away. 

“Pathetic?”

You had made your intentions very clear to extend the distance between you and the male. To your luck, you had found yourself even closer.

Oliver didn’t appear phased, gaze carving holes into you. “You think the complete world of yourself, I’d say that’s pretty pathetic.”

Your stare narrowed down further. Silence draped over you momentarily with the intention of cold-shouldering Oliver until the seven minutes eventually ticked by. You adverted your eyes, purposefully scrutinizing the slight gap between the worn closet doors. The illumination blurred amid your intoxication.

 “Look at me.”

A roughened palm tore you back toward reality. Accompanied by a thread of fingers that pressed into the curve of your cheeks. Your once inclined head had surrendered into Oliver’s grasp, involuntarily meeting his gaze.

“Whoa… he’s finally thinkin’ for himself for once.” You spat out around the mere brute of his hands. Even though they radiated a certain chill only Oliver could possess, a prominent warmth glowed in every patch of skin he had clutched onto.

“Instead of bein’ Fi’s little hound…”

Oliver’s grappling hand seemed to tense with every batter of your words. “Shut your bloody mouth before I do it for you.”

“Wooow… so scary–”

You barely possessed the will to blow out another sharp breath before Oliver’s lips were interlocked with your own. The breath you had been holding hitched upright into your throat. Your chest constricted. In replacement of the disgust you preempted, velvety warmth pulsated throughout your entire being with a singular brush of the male’s mouth along yours.

With the fashion in which Oliver devoured your lips, you wondered if he wished to eat you alive.

You blamed it completely on the booze and the crack.

He was the first to pull back from the embrace, hands still tucked immensely around your jaw. A glow of succession is prominent in Oliver’s aquamarine stare, a glow that brought forth a sleight of irritation to overcome you.

“I believe you liked that.” 

“Your ego is as big as your head, Oliver.”

He inclined his head, a smile wandering upon his lips. “That wasn’t a denial, now.”

The palm that cradled the sleight of your jaw loosened the slightest. It moved toward the back of your neck, utilizing the position to guide you toward him further. His lips. So close. Nearing with time. The curve of your abdomen burned with a newfound desire, christening your inner walls with its molten warm goodness.

But you couldn’t care. You just couldn’t. 

“You’re completely… fuckin’ mad.”

The seven minutes must be up now, wouldn’t it? Your ears strained themselves through the momentary silence as you processed tidbits of laughter from the next room over.

You reminded yourself to beat the everliving Christ out of Felix Catton the next morning.

The palm still collared around your neck dug downward into the base of your shoulders. In the same leering motion, the edge of a heel curved into the density of your legs. Before you can even process the situation, the rock-hard surface of the wardrobe is felt underneath your suddenly aching knees.

“Now, now…”

You inclined your head upward. The twisted hues of Oliver Quick bored down upon you, like wood to an already brewing fire engulfing the inner workings of your womanhood. The hollow of your throat bobbled as you gave a dense swallow.

An even denser zip of Oliver’s dress pants sounded throughout the wardrobe.

“How about I teach you a lesson on how a brat should behave?”

WORD COUNT: 3K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[sincerelyverena]

⟡⁺ PUPPY PRINCESS TEASER

. . . OLIVER QUICK X FELIX CATTON X FEM!READER ‘hold me, im your bunny."

comment (or dm) to be added

to the felix + oliver + reader tag-list&lt;3

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒as felix's girlfriend, you've never had a longing for anyone else. except oliver. you bring up the idea of the two of you fucking the meeker male, and surprisingly, felix complies.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒smut ﹐threesome ﹐sub!oliver ﹐dom!felix ﹐reader and felix are an established pairing ﹐reader is a freak﹐reader treating oliver like the princess he is ﹐mainly focused on reader and oliver﹐felix is the core of the pairing ﹐mutual pining ﹐public sex﹐pussy worship ﹐tongue-fucking ﹐anal ﹐pet names ﹐implied aftercare

this is a request !! any other reqs go straight to my inbox

Oliver Quick. Your kryptonite. 

Feeble Oliver from Oxford, who would’ve guessed? Over the fragile rim of the porcelain tea cup pressed to your lips, you scrutinised an oblivious Oliver. A particular aura radiated off of him, a glow you had never encountered from your brief acquaintance on campus. 

Was it attractive? Immensely.

You adverted your attention off Oliver as a skyscraper-remanent individual bounded through the doorway. A chorus of greetings rose in the air at the sight of Felix Catton, the contagious energy you esteem to be your boyfriend of six months. The manicured length of your nails tapped along your fragile teacup as Felix made a beeline straight to the vacant seat beside you.

“I told you to go easy with the wine, Fi.” You scolded him playfully, reaching upward to draw your thumbs across the thin, darkened areas illustrating Felix’s under-eyes.

The molten brown of Felix’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “I drank it like any other bottle of alcohol you offered me.”

You inclined your head upwards, heart giving an absentminded flutter as you felt the warmth of his lips encaptured your own. It was more of a peck, rather than a kiss but the searing heat you reciprocated was a welcoming sensation nevertheless.

“Wine makes you sleepy though.”

Felix responded with a joking grumble and a hand to the inner mound of your thigh. The corners of your lips quirk up endearingly. 

As you drew your attention to the lukewarm cup of tea perched before you, you caught sight of Oliver. More specifically, how the coolness of his ocean-dripping eyes bored into you. The fashion in which the thick lashes lined his eyes, which fluttered innocently. How the aquamarine speckles of his hues flickered towards Felix, who rubbed absentminded circles into the base of your thigh. A heat circulated in his surveying gaze, a heat that directly arrowed toward your abdomen. Pooling, molten warmth that dripped down the sleight of your back and ran under your skin.

The edge of your tongue flickers over your suddenly dry lips. All you can think about. All you can even render is the idea of Felix’s girth straining against Oliver’s heat. His best friend’s head smuggled between your thighs.

WORD COUNT: 368 MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[sincerelyverena]

Can you write for sub!Oliver? I'm so desperate seeing him squirming and whining😮‍💨

⟡⁺ RUN, BUNNY, RUN

oh hi guys its been a while ! never thought id manage to get this out but here it is, n i hope u all enjoy. ive missed each n every one of u (sorta) (joking). anyways im planning to lean in on the more multifandom aspect of my account, so youll be seeing a few different fandoms scattered around. nevertheless, give it a read! mybe itll be ur thing :] ty anon for this request, much love <3

. . . OLIVER QUICK X FEM!READER ‘beautiful, violent, vulgar.’ @ajs-222 @michael-loves-chickens @surazim @soocore @fedyascoffin

inbox is always open to requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒oliver got what he wanted at a price.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒smut ﹐sub!oliver﹐dom!reader ﹐y/n catton﹐reader is a cougar ﹐oliver just cant get enough﹐reader is implied to be a shorty ﹐elspeth is a hoe﹐cunnilingus ﹐degradation﹐orgasm denial﹐marking kink ﹐lowkey blackmail ﹐farleighs there too!

ON THE HUNT FOR BETA READERS! MSG ME <3

He reminded you of a bunny, an animal.

Oliver Quick was reticent compared to the hearty, high conversation around the table that night. He was stuck out like a sore thumb in contrast to the Cattons, a family line of the prestigious. High on the grace of themselves and each other. Blissfully unaware of anyone or anything past what they offer to their inflated egos. And who were you, to make such unprincipled claims against family? Against blood?

Mother  – Elspeth, as she insists all the children call her – had always made snide, discreet digs at you. Shielded with a manipulative curl of the whoreish pinks of her lipstick. Underneath those sly comments is a white-hot grudge, directed toward her only daughter of blood and the Catton heiress everybody just seemed to have forgotten about.

‘You only think of yourself.’ She says. 

‘You only believe you’re superior because you abandoned the only people who’ll ever care for you.’

But they never cared for you. Not in the slightest.

You were the only descendant of the new-age family line that didn’t reside under the roof of Saltburn, causing waves in the circles of old money when you took your trust fund (and dignity) in a single palm and vanished to New Mexico. 

Nevertheless, to maintain access to the trust fund, you have been spending the entirety of every summer with your bloodline you inherently disowned. Money was the bottom line, the bottom line of every transaction you make with your parents. Which wasn’t a problem in the slightest, considering in their eyes, how much you were worth was the only thing cardinal about you.

You had stayed summers long enough to recognize the twisted, Catton-branded pattern your brother, Felix, had fallen into. In your eyes, he wasn’t fit to be claimed the bloodline heir. His blood is unsavory and debilitated. During the presidency of his birth, Elspeth had been participating in affairs with men who would’ve directly tainted both the reputation of the family name. As well as the bloodline.

The crimson redness of your dagger-shaped nails clinks along the side of the thin wineglass in your palm. Those morals of clean blood had been hammered into your head for decades, no matter how much your mother preached her modernized values.

Elspeth was still the same harlot she was all those years prior. 

The exact reason why instead of disturbance, thinly veiled amusement is masked between your hues as you witnessed Elspeth’s conversation with Oliver. The wrinkle of her eye crinkled furthermore with maliciousness, masked with honeyed words. Oliver reacts in a manner especially foreign to you. The apples of his cheeks pinken as Elspeth momentarily offers a palm toward the muscle of his arm, a singular touch as Oliver’s lips clamped together. Unable to respond for a beat of a moment. The cogs behind Oliver’s eyes turn and work soundlessly, having to be coorused by Elspeth herself to respond. 

Oliver was a stark difference from Felix’s past pets, brought to the household each summer for the entertainment of all. You observe him thoroughly, without shame. Nobody would question you anyway, especially the Catton children. The food chain of the bloodline stands unquestioned with Felix toppling all competition. But you were there first, and the force of that power still stands. 

All that you knew was that Oliver would be at the very bottom. A stark, white rabbit amongst the lions and wolves. The sheep's clothing they wear? Deteriorated. 

And you’d die for a chance to snap your jaws around his neck.

Even though you were barely a decade older compared to the other descendants of the Catton name, your tastes in sexuality had simmered. You have had your fair share of flings, basking in sensual attention like how your younger relatives are receiving nowadays. 

You’ve made the stark assumption that only a few strains of men and woman could cause that familiar warmth to unfurl within the depths of her core. But you were solely mistaken, as the cobalt hues of Oliver Quick met yours. They withheld the sweetest traces of caramel that caused something to stir. Something that caused the top of your bare thighs to squeeze together absentmindedly.

Oliver’s once-pinkened cheeks redden once again. He was the first to look away.

Run, bunny, run. The words bounce around your skull aimlessly, as if the density of your head were hollow. Your only set intention was the young man across the cherry-wood table, and how your lips curl upward at the thought. 

An unmistakable atmosphere of tension ridged itself between the two. Unmistakeable enough for Oliver to virtually scramble from his chair with a lowly hinged creak as soon as the black-tie dinner was to be dismissed, disappearing into the estate’s foyer without another word. In the process, silencing the remainder of the table as they escape the metaphorical weight of their chairs.

‘Someone had to go.’ Farleigh snarks, expression feigning boredom.

Elspeth offers a scoff in turn, though the weariness of her hues twinkle with stuffed amusement. ‘Don’t be silly, Farleigh.’

On the other hand, Felix’s brow wrinkles. You tune out the roar of masculine voices and a battle of ego as the two relatives bicker over the treatment of their guests. The hypocritical bounds and leaps of their voices were enough for your meal of fancy, fickle steak and fluffy, mashed potatoes to churn in your stomach.

As much as Felix preaches for his adoration of Oliver Quick, the entire household – even the thinness of the estate walls – knows that he’s only a temporary fix to his hunger for the disadvantaged. Viewing himself as a saint, veiling the sin that reverberated inside. Even Felix is willing to slip unsavory words about Oliver’s history before their friendship, especially his mother’s drug addiction. 

You shortly realized you were the only one who hadn’t uttered a single word about Oliver. Yet, at least.  You were the only person under the Catton's roof. You’ve maintained formality, and politeness in the scarce cases of passing the salt along the length of the table. But there was nothing polite in the way the relentless azure of his eyes bored into your own, obstructing every value and moral you’ve ever known.

They always said curiosity would eventually kill the cat. The claws of your nails threaten to dig into the hitch of your thigh, deep to the point of drawn blood.

You needed to know about him.

The soles of your crimson-sheathed heels click against the top of the blemishless floorings. The space between your shoulder blades bur without missing a beat, bound to be from the hawk-eyes of Elspeth Catton and her descendants that followed. Nevertheless, you push past the judgment and persevere forward toward the same foyer Oliver had vanished into.

The double-storied entrance room was as grand as the rest of the estate. Dark 

strains of oak are the main attraction, revealing the old-money origins of Saltburn. Jars of incense sticks decorate the occasional corner, the passionate white musk filling the atmosphere, tickling the back of your throat as you inhale.

The peace-brimming silence is sliced with a stressed rummaging from the door placed offside, shielded behind the wood-trimmed stairway. You prided yourself on minding your own business, but you couldn’t help but shuffle a tad closer. Enough to catch a glimpse of a singular bead of light, trickling out of the gap the door had made.

You cursed the thrum of your heels as you ventured closer. Hand strained against the top of the engraved door, sending strained words to the universe as you threaten to inch it wider and wider open.

All that secrecy disappeared from your body at the sight of Oliver Quick. It took you a few, prolonged seconds to recognize the young man amid the shadows. The sight of his scruffy, pale knees pressed against the ground. A crown of wavy, brunette locks shielded the focused curve of his eye as he rummaged through something. You couldn’t help it, fingers curling to widen the door a little more.

Creak.

Nothing could prepare you for what you witnessed before you. Even the panicked alarm that flares in the cobalt of Oliver’s hues goes ignored as he virtually snaps his head toward you. Amid his hands, various Catton heirlooms have gone untouched. Useless to some, priceless to others, and you guessed Oliver had made his mark on that.

‘What in the world are you doing with Aunty Start’s Apollo earrings?’

The words escaped you in a rush. Who knew that that your snow-white, innocent bunny had nefarious means within the Catton family? You exaggerate aunty’s last name, a slight teetering edge of glee trickling into you at the sight of grieving recognition that filled Oliver’s eyes.

 You stepped fully into the doorway.

‘I wonder what Farleigh would think about that.’

Oliver didn’t take the threat lightly, notable by the slight shake in his voice. “You wouldn’t.” He insisted. His hands scrambled, and the box propped between his fingers slipped and clattered across the oak of the storage room’s grounding.

The sole of your heel slams against the bottom of the door, widening it entirely. You entered the room with a click of the underside of your shoes, reverberating throughout the suddenly too-cold, too-hollow room you found yourself in. The only sense of illumination is the light from the foyer, trickling into the suddenly too-compact expanse.

You crouched down. Knees hitting the base of the flooring similarly to Oliver’s own, barely a foot or two away. You could hear the tameness of his breaths. The sharp, panicked gasps and swallows that only made your lips twist upward. The threat was there, looming over Oliver’s head, choking him by the throat.

‘Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. You decide, Ollie.’

‘How–’

The length of your fingers curled around the curve of his cheeks, pressed into the slight hollowness that would follow. Silencing him in turn. The splinters of illumination from the doorway behind them manage to offer an iridescent glow toward the plumpness of Oliver’s lips as you squeeze half of his alluring face. 

You hadn’t expected the first, proper interactions with Oliver Quick to wind up in his manner. But you have no intention to stop. The fashion in which his eyes bore into your own, gaze hawk-like as he stared down at you. Eyelashes fluttering. Pupils dilated.

A wave of awareness rolled through you at the sight. Those same splinters of warmth unfurled in the base of your abdomen.

‘What are you doing here, Oliver?’

Your digits eased around the sides of his face to allow him to speak. The cheeks you once grappled somewhat pinkened once more, face glowing under your undivided attention.

Oliver’s breaths grew slower and slower. As if your touch drunken him.

‘Felix invited me,’ his words were borderlining a whine, scrambling to explain himself. ‘For the summer.’

The base of your eyebrows drew together darkly. The amusement reverberating in your eyes dissolved into a slight annoyance. Your fingers traveled toward the curve of his chin, taking it into your possession in a rough matter it sends Oliver’s eyes to rounden in response. He was a sick, sick liar.

He corrected himself, in seconds. ‘For revenge.’

‘Revenge?’

Despite your concentration, you hadn’t realized the lack of distance placed between you and Oliver. The proximity is intoxicating. To the point in which you felt the soft exhale of his breath fan across the form of your painted lips. His scent disturbed the twist of white musk and dust in the air, catching you off guard.

You dipped your head further upward. A single breath away from his own. 

Oliver’s words scrambled from his parted lips, each syllable trembling. ‘Revenge.’ He confirmed with a singular breath.

That singular breath that was virtually snatched away from him as you captured those plump lips with your own. A warm hum of pleasure buzzes throughout your body, sensations setting your nerves on fire as your mouth brushes across his.

You retreated into yourself momentarily. Ears perked up as Oliver drew in a sharp intake of breath, eyes half-lidded and glazed over with a glimmer of euphoria. He inched forward. A small movement that confirmed the lust that sparks behind his hues. 

Honeyed heat circulated throughout your body as your lips locked with his own. Threads of that same heat were found within each movement of their mouths. Your cheeks burnt with stuffled anticipation. 

A soft, strangled noise reverberates toward the back of Oliver’s throat as your hands enter the proximity of his caramel-like locks. Soft to the touch, feathery. The pads of your fingers curled against his scalp. Curling. Tugging. Kisses growing with heat and passion, further and further until Oliver was a mess between your two palms.

Oliver virtually whined as you pulled away. The lipstick you had carefully applied the hour prior smeared across the edge of your oh-so-swollen lips.

The pad of your thumb ran across the form of your mouth, the crimson red dirting the length of her digit. She pulled a single finger along Oliver’s lips, smearing the remnants of the lipstick.

‘And what are you doing with my family’s heirlooms?’ You inquired, words soft with sensuality. Masking it with a casualty as you press onward. Thumb pressed immensely into the dimple of his cheek, ruddiness staining the ivory of his skin.

Oliver leaned into her touch. ‘I was just curious, that’s all.’

You knew that there was a nefarious nature in his intentions. You removed your hand entirely and raised to your feet on two heels. The sound of your soles meeting the oak floor echoes out, bouncing against the walls as you approach an ancient, traditional desk. Draped with a translucent cover. It was considered to be as old as the estate itself, yet you had no problem sitting all over it. 

Oliver watched in the process. Eyes rounded a remnant of a bashful doe. A spark of recognition appeared behind those eyes as you inclined a singular fingertip toward the space before you.

‘On your knees.’

You took a bound of pleasure watching as Oliver dropped before you. Those knees strained against the ground. Trickles of arousal unfolded in your abdomen, nerves set alight and anticipation fluid within you as he came eye-to-eye with the satin fabric that shielded your cunt. And it was hard to miss the stained wetness.

‘Y’know what? I don’t think Felix would be too happy if he–’

‘You can suck off my brother later, but you’re serving me now. Or everyone will know whatever betrayal you’re planning against them.’

Oliver choked back any other remaining protests. Witnessing as your undergarments rolled down your hips, down the curve of your thighs, sliding along your calves, and dangling from the top of your ankle. Exposing your womanhood entirely to him, your legs widened a little further. 

At the sight, Oliver leaned forward. Willing to comply. A foreign, almost animalistic thirst reflects in the light of his hues. Only halted by a singular palm. Your fingers propped atop the strewn locks atop his head, restraining him from reaching the wetness he yearned for. 

‘I’m gonna ask you this again, and this time you’re telling me the truth, bunny.’

Your words were slow. Diligently pronounced and purposeful with each syllable.

‘What are you doing with the heirlooms?’

‘I just need–’ His words escaped in fluent gasps. Your skin prickled as Oliver’s trembling breaths fanned your womanhood. ‘I just needed some dirt on Farleigh.’

‘Oh yeah?’

The length of a singular leg of yours gradually intertwined around Oliver’s shoulders. Your hand eased up as you nudged him closer toward you. He willfully allows you to guide him, nose practically touching the top of your mound. 

His words continued with a shuddered puff, eyes virtually glazed over.

‘Something that’ll disappoint your parents.’ Oliver dwells upon his reasonings further.

‘And Felix?’

He nods.

‘You dirty,  dirty dog.’

Those words only fuelled Oliver further. And before you could even consider knowingly degrading him once more, the searing heat of his tongue is pressed against the slickness of your folds. He works his mouth against your cunt, movements growing sloppier and sloppier as he basks in the sexual validation he receives. The length of your fingers find themselves in his hair once more, fluffed, brunette strands coddled around your fist as you squeeze your legs around him.

The pleasure that you receive from his mouth alone is indescribable. Honeyed, warm ecstasy maneuvers throughout you. That familiar space between your thighs aches, even as Oliver’s lips latch onto them. Merely fuelling the fire that runs hot underneath your skin, alighting your nerves on fire.

“Fuck…” You can feel him grin around you.

A finger shortly accompanies the consumption of his tongue. And Oliver’s fingers are undeniably long, pale fleshed worked down to the knuckle with the force of a few pumps. He adds another. Then another. Stealing a moan or two from the depths of your throat, forcing you to clamp your lips shut. If anyone walked in. Your cheeks burn at the thought.

You bucked your hips into his fingers as Oliver worked you open, curling into you without faltering. Plunging his digits into you, again and again until you were breathless. Calves curled around him, guiding him further and further toward your sensitivities. Welcoming his mouth back onto you once more.

Oliver’s lips latched longingly onto the little pearl lining your entrance. He murmurs sweet nothings into you, fingers easing their pace until you can only hear the subtle quickness of your heaving breaths. And his whispers. Whispers of how wet you are, and how much he longs to quench that thirst. Again and again. On his knees, basked in his most vulnerable state.

Just for you. Oliver both in time, curls his fingers and squeezes your bud. Unleashing a wave of fire that takes you by the throat, walls squeezing around the length as you come undone. Shockwaves virtually gripping you. Tremors guide you back from your high as both grunts and moans of approval escape you.

Oliver glows under the attention. He peers up at you, through the intensity of his thick lashes. Doe eyes blinking occasionally, innocently, as he pops those fingers into his mouth where he once tasted you. Suckling. Tongue flittering around the pad of his digits.

‘You’ve done that before, haven’t you?’ Your words were more of a statement than an assumption. The pulsing of your newfound arousal doesn’t show in the slightest, only glimmering behind the intensity of your eyes.  You weren’t done with your bunny, not yet anyway.

Oliver’s fingers escape his lips with a reverberating pop. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

You reach downward briefly. Taking the lace of your panties with a single hand, guiding the garment around the base of your heels. Abandoning them on the dust-soaked floor. Those same heels meet that same grounding.

‘I didn’t take you for a fuckboy, bunny.” You practically spit, taking pride in how his eyes wobble slightly at the force of your filthy, filthy words. A short snap fills the room as you indicate your hand towards the oak tiles. 

‘On the floor.’

Oliver doesn’t say anything less, finding his body sprawled out before you. Essentially submitting himself to you in the process, something that ignites that oh-so-familiar heat in the pit of your belly. You stand over him, relinquishing in how he stares up at you, willing for you to do anything to him.

‘Pants off.’ Your words are snappy and insistent. You almost feel like that spoiled little one you used to be as a child, one who would get anything you would desire. ‘You don’t need them.’

Oliver’s fingers work to untangle his belt, loosening the dark fabric of his pants.  The material rolls down his hips, his hardness is immensely visible through the thinness of his boxers. The bulge accompanying the arousal that burns throughout your entire body, abdomen unfurling with that oh-so-familiar heat. 

You drop down toward him, legs clamped down on either side of Oliver’s thighs. You are squeezing them somewhat. The curve of your palm cups the fabriced nature of his manhood, causing a soft moan to escape him. 

‘[Y/N]...’ The broadness of Oliver’s hands grapple the frame of your hips, the warmth of his fingers curling around you. He virtually buckles up into you, against your bareness. A motion that causes your lips to curl up into a lazy smirk. 

‘Repeat my name, bunny.’ The pad of your fingers tease the rim of his boxers.

Oliver’s breath shudders. ‘I’m begging, [Y/N].’

A gradual, mocking roll of your eyes overtakes you nevertheless as you tug the thick material down. They roll and crinkle along the bottom of Oliver’s thighs, allowing for him to spring out for full reveality. For you and you alone. A low whistle fills the emptiness of the room as you observe his girth. Oliver is virtually trembling under the intensity of your gaze as you curl a fist around the length of his shaft, taking delight in how he buckled into you.

‘Be patient now.’ The words escape you with a scoff as you feign annoyance.

Oliver quietens in your demand. Alas, as you position yourself above him, you can still hear the raspiness of his breaths and the pleasure you take in the stink of desperation high in the air. He buries himself into you with a singular thrust, merely forcing a soft groan at the initial discomfort at he fills you. Stretches you out. Your hips slap against his own as you buckle up and down across his length, Oliver mimicking your movements to a tee.

You arch into him, soft noises of pleasure escaping you as he manages to claw ecstasy from you with every singular thrust. Your inner walls clutched around him, causing Oliver to drop his head back, gasping your name out as if it were a prayer. As if he were on the verge of life and death.

‘[Y/N]?’

‘Yes?’

It’s odd how the two of you presented the conversation as if you weren’t rutting your entire life and soul into him. Onto him. Oliver continues to writhe around some more, arching himself into you, again and again. The whiteness of his cheeks is notably flushed with arousal.

‘I’m about to –’

You slow down your pace until you’re merely mounting him, the lack of movement causing a groan of sexual frustration to claw from Oliver’s throat. The side of your thighs squeezes around his hips for extra exaggeration as you proceed to speak, merely unphased, even as you are reaching your release.

‘Jesus, Ollie, don’t be so fuckin’ greedy.’

You scold through hitched breath and hushed moans. His girth is warm inside you, and something about that is so utterly pleasing.

‘You aren’t to come unless you’ve pleased me enough.’

The demand causes Oliver’s head to loll back with esteemed annoyance, but he doesn’t say anything. It merely prompts the width of his hands to press into your hips, beginning to rock himself into you. It steals a moan out of your lips, but the sight of his desperation is a sight of see indeed. You arch further into him as he ruts against the exact spot that causes you to see stars.

The length of your hand folds around the back of his neck. ‘Right there, bunny, oh, you fuckin’ beast!’

Closer now. Closer now.

‘Say my name, [Y/N].’ Oliver heaves with strained breath, holding back on his orgasm has done numbers on him.

You wack him across the back of the head.

‘That’s my line, dickhead.’

Alas, the words barely escape your lips as the boiling and bubbling dam within you snaps and crashes. You dissolved into nothing but pure pleasure. Nevertheless, whatever you had said, Oliver’s name played on your lips in something that bordered screams. Tremors of ecstasy fill you as Oliver continues to pound into you, guiding you throughout your orgasm in your most vulnerable moment.

Aftershocks spark within you as you go limp, pulling yourself together with heaved breath and glazed eyes.

‘Have I pleased you enough, then?’

Oliver’s voice is hoarse, tearing you out of your orgasm-fuelled trance.

‘It’ll do, bunny.’

But before, Oliver can even consider his release. You rise from your previous position, his girth sliding out of you with ease, glistening with your slick. You tug the fabric of panties around your hips and back in place, glancing in a dust-covered mirror as you adjust your appearance. To make it seem as if you haven’t spent the past half hour having the life sucked out of you.

‘[Y/N] –’

Oliver’s protests rise in the air, falling upon deaf ears as you proceed to exit the room itself. The bottom of your heels thud against the wood-slicked tiles as you reenter the dining room, hope in hand. Your wordless wishes are fulfilled at once at the sight of Farleigh, who is window-watching, wine in hand.

‘Farleigh, thank God, I found you.’

Farleigh turns his head, bringing his glass to his lips.

‘What now?’ He’s waving away your presence entirely, it is clear.

As much as you despise this half of the family, you maintain a clear mind.

‘Oliver was rummaging through your mother’s heirlooms. I suggest you go, now. Heed my warning or not, I don’t care.’

A look of suspicion flashes across Farleigh’s face. His lips part momentarily in question before he thinks otherwise. Smart boy. Setting his wine down and immediately dashing past you. A yell or two sounds out a moment later, and your painted lips quirk upwards in pleasure.

You knew what Oliver was up to. It was clear from the first day you laid eyes upon the household’s guest. But no. It wasn’t up to Oliver to wipe out the Cattons from existence, even though he’d be doing the filthy work for you. It was admirable yes.

But it was your job. A job you strived to complete.

You slip your hand into the slight pocket in the fabric of your dress. Pulling out a small capsule. Your eyes narrow down on the glass of wine, vacant on the table. 

Starting with Farleigh. 

WORD COUNT: 4K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[sincerelyverena]

OMG YOURE BACK I MISSED U SM😭

the way i tried bein sly w it as well 😭 bye i thought nobody would notice me repostin shit but YALL DIDDDDD HI GUYS IVE MISSED ALL OF UUU (esp u anon <3)

i ws gon wait till i gave a teaser of an upcoming fic but oh wellll 🙇‍♀️

LOVE U ALL LOADSS HOPE EVERYONE IS DOING WELL

[sincerelyverena]

pls write more felix smut!! i love ur work <3

hi darling! i promise you, theres a bunch of upcoming smut for our boy <333

ive been DYING to write felix more (sorry ollie!)

anyways i love u sm

thanks for all ur support my lovely! 🤍

[sincerelyverena]

Hiii!! no rush or anything, but do u know when the fics will be out? again, no rush, just super excited!!

hi anon bby :]

im anticipating that the new fic will be out sometime this weekend! jus making a few final edits n then itll be all yours <3

mwah i love u guysss!