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sincerelyverena · 3 months

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⟡⁺ PUPPY PRINCESS

. . . OLIVER QUICK X FELIX CATTON X FEM!READER ‘you know me as your boyfriend's goofy friend.’ @watercolorskyy

inbox is always open to requests!

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

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

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 scrutinized 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.

The scandalous nature of these images protrudes your thoughts for the rest of the day. The heat that resulted followed you to the point where you were aware of how your arousal soaked a patch through your thong.

As the hours ticked by, the horizon continuously darkened. Ridding the atmosphere from the rays of sun illuminance. The sky is painted in a fluid darkness. Stars scattered the canvas of twilight, an immense contrast against the crystal-clear waters of the estate rivers. Shadows chased each other across Saltburn, like spirits, discovered in every untouched crook and crevice. The ideal scenery for the night swim Felix had prompted you and the three others into.

Farleigh and Venetia had made an early exit a few minutes prior, tired eyes proclaiming a desire for their beds. This left you and Felix, the two of you sprawled upon inclined lounges by one of the various lakes tucked into the estate yards. Oliver, on the other hand, drifts across the deep, clear waters that rippled around his physique. Revealing a stomach that caused the ache haunting the space between your thighs to intensify in nature.

Your horny, dazed nature had returned.

“You’re thinking hard right now, aren’t you?” Felix prompted, a soft tinge prominent in his tone. His head inclined, and the roundness of his eyes bored immensely into you. Served as a signal that he had been watching you for some time.

You lolled your head back against the lounge chair behind you. Your gaze had prominently latched onto every singular droplet of water that rolled off of the muscles that rippled throughout Oliver’s silhouette.

Your next words escaped you bluntly. “I want us to fuck him.”

“Never knew you were interested in Oliver like that.”

“I have no damn clue what happened to him since Oxford but…”

You didn’t have to complete your sentence as you sucked in a sharp breath, finally tearing your eyes away from him completely to meet the darkness of Felix’s gaze.

“Whatever makes my princess happy.” Felix complied without missing a beat.

Felix was brisk to inch towards you, leaning over the slight bridge of a gap between the both of you. The lushness of his lips met the crevice of your neck, burying himself into you. Drowning him in the fragrance that practically dripped off of you. The soft motions of his lips intensified the roar of want dripping from your womanhood. You choked back a strangled gasp as the long frame of Felix’s fingers slipped underneath the scarce fabric of your bikini bottoms. Digits rolling to explore the gushing wetness that circulated between your folds.

“Ollie!” Felix's voice rang over his shoulder, blissfully ignorant to the fashion in which you buckled upwards for a hitch of friction.

In the hue of his loudness, Oliver’s head popped upwards from his current floating state. If you weren’t overwhelmed by the heat that sparked from each skim of Felix’s fingers, you’d let out a good-hearted chuckle at how wide-eyed Oliver looked at this moment.

“Yeah?”

“Come and help my girl out, would you?”

Oliver sauntered toward you with an indescribable emotion playing in his doe remanent eyes. His expression refused to falter, not even in the slightest as his gaze adverted toward the sight of Felix teasing your heat.

Virtually, you were on the edge of release as soon as you witnessed how Oliver dropped to his knees in front of you. Felix refused to remove his hand, even as Oliver shoved the fabric of your bikini bottoms aside to reveal your wetness.

You murmured a wordless prayer to whatever god reigned above as Oliver released a low whistle, the base of his tongue wetting his lips as he took in the altar you presented before him.

“We don’t have all day, Ollie.” Felix drawled onwards, the base of his forefinger continuing to prod the throbbing pearl lining your entrance.

Oliver obeyed, leaned forward, and licked a harsh swipe of saliva across your heat. Your back involuntarily arched at the sensation that followed, prompting the man before you to virtually submit himself to you. Head between your legs, just as you imagined the hours prior.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Felix murmured into the husk of your ear.

A barely incomprehensible response escaped the edge of your lips. The combination of Oliver working his mouth between your folds and Felix’s soothing motions across the nub of your clit resulted in hot, heavy sparks of pleasure building up at the base of your spine.

You buckled your hips upwards, practically on the verge of face-fucking Oliver. “Oh, my fucking…”

“[Y/N]...” Oliver murmured into your heat, the vibrations rooted from his mumbled words arrowed straight to your pooling core. The hand that wasn’t on the verge of tearing off your bikini bottoms completely clawed around the base of your thigh, drawing himself closer.

As if your body was a temple, and you were a goddess.

The length of your legs draped over the bareness of his back, the sensations of his muscles rippling with effort felt throughout your calves. The cool, wet skin of his shoulders pressed against you was a feeling beyond words.

Your orgasm began to trickle in with a singular stuffing of Oliver’s tongue. A cry rips itself from your throat, writhing with each pump.

“Ollie– Christ, right there baby…”

Saliva gradually begins to roll down the base of Oliver’s chin with effort, peering up at you with those fucking eyes as he continues to pound your wetness. With a few more ruts of his tongue, you came undone underneath his mouth. A strangled cry escapes you involuntarily, vision blurring momentarily as shockwaves grapple your entire being.

The force of your words escaped you in slight breaths. “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that, Ollie?”

“Well…” Oliver’s cheeks flushed before he continued to lick up every last drop of your release, stimulating your throbbing heat once again.

You slumped back into the frame of the lounge chair underneath you. Amid your post-peak haze, the choked noises of Felix’s heavy breathing cut through the air like a knife. You hadn’t even noticed he had removed his hand in the first place. Through the corner of your heavy-lidded eyes, you spied Felix, palming himself through his swimming trunks' thin, flimsy material.

“Fuck… Ollie, get to your feet.” Felix mustered in between strained words, managing to hold a reign of command over the young man planted before you.

The lounge chair squeaked beneath you with a strain of effort as you prop yourself up on the bridge of your elbows. A slight smirk gradually threatened the corner of your lips as you watched Felix stalk towards Oliver, step-by-step, inch-by-inch. All whilst teasing the waistband of his summer shorts.

Felix’s taller statue practically leered downward at the shorter male like a beast, a predator to his prey. The broadness of his body strained against the muscles lining Oliver’s back. The harsh ripple of Felix’s swimming trunks being discarded sounded throughout the otherwise quiet atmosphere, accompanied by the short whimper that reverberated from Oliver at the mere concept of Felix pressing himself against him.

The broadened surface of Felix’s fingers fiddled with the top of Oliver’s summer shorts. The commanding hues of his voice corresponded with the thin rustle of fabric. “Do you want to fuck my pretty baby right here, Ollie?”

The azure speckles that lined Oliver’s eyes virtually burned into you with the intensity of his stare. As you sprawled out upon the lounge chair right in his proximity, your bikini brief dangled loosely upon the rim of your ankles. Presenting yourself to him in the process.

Oliver managed to muster a nod. “I would be honored.” His voice sounded strained with arousal, no doubt.

With a lack of warning, Felix lowered Oliver’s trunks until his erection escaped without struggle. There wasn’t any question about how undeniably hard he was, especially when Felix pressed into him.

With a signature rip of foil, the male who stood over you began to attempt to line himself up with the slickness of your heat. A soft gasp, brimmed with desperation, reverberated from Oliver as Felix continued to tease his hole. Oliver wrung his palms around the arms of the lounge chair you possessed, making it easier for Felix to push into Oliver with a singular thrust and a line of saliva.

Oliver’s breaths picked up the pace as Felix began to work his heat further. His eyes grew a tad glossier at the immense discomfort brewing in his tight hole.

“Felix…”

“Don’t keep my princess waiting now.” Felix exaggerated the intensity of his words with a simple grinding motion of his hips against Oliver’s own.

Oliver’s breath had noticeably caught in the hollow of his throat. He obeyed though, wordlessly. Was it the harsh hues of Felix’s demanding words? Or the fashion in which Felix gradually thrusts in and out of Oliver’s heat, teasing his hole further. Encouragement. If you will.

Oliver’s girth buried itself into your willing cunt, inch by inch until his cock had disappeared fully into your body. Your lips parted absentmindedly at the remote concept of his size. Molten heat pooled throughout your abdomen at the sight of Oliver towering over you, puffing out a strained breath as Felix quickened his pace behind him.

Eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed, Oliver began shifting his hips. A smooth tempo of his thrusts stimulates your inner walls, resulting in a slight moan reverberating from you. Felix’s eyes notably shift into something else entirely at the sound, his girth rutting Oliver with a spark of intensity.

“Wasn’t that hard, was it, Ollie?” Felix drawled onwards, a hint of teasing prominent as he slammed himself deeper into Oliver’s heat. The hue of Oliver’s whimpers fell upon deaf ears as Felix continued to draw out his words. “So good for us.”

The double doses of pleasure resulted in the heated flush of Oliver’s cheeks creeping down his neck. The sensual pace of his lips grew deeper, a tad sloppier as Oliver’s back involuntarily arched in protest. “This… is– fuck, Felix…”

“You can do this, baby.” You purred amid tangent breaths, peering upward at Oliver with a pair of lust-drenched eyes. Capable of causing Oliver to peak right there, right then. “Mmm… I’ll help ya’ out.”

Oliver couldn’t have gotten a word in at all before you draped the length of your legs across his bare waist. His hips inclined closer to you in the process, your pelvis tilted upward to allow the flushed male to pound into areas you never thought were possible.

“Christ, [Y/N]... [Y/N].”

The dirty sound of your name on his lips like a prayer, accompanied by the hot, searing pleasure burning through you caused your release to threaten you. Building up along your spine. Threatened to unleash with every buckle of Oliver’s hips, searing into you.

“She’s good at this, ain’t she, Ollie?” Felix taunted light-heartedly, broadened palms clutching along the bone of Oliver’s hips. Grinding him backward into his cock, still jacking away into his hole.

The newfound sensation brought a strangled gasp to rip out of Oliver’s throat, eyes slammed closed momentarily. “So… fucking tight.”

A soft chuckle bore Felix, hips striking ass as the roll of his girth grew to a brutal pace. Soft grunts of delight escaped Oliver, but his poundings grew sloppier and sloppier – signaling how close he was.

The lack of attention upon your wetness made you groan absentmindedly. “Ollie, you… fucking prick.”

Heat convulsing with a need to peak, you drew Oliver further back into you via his hips. His girth struck a key sensitivity within you, once. Twice. Thrice. Until the tension that built up within you dissolved into mere pleasure, virtually seeing stars as Oliver’s name played upon your lips like a prayer to the Gods.

By the time you returned to reality, Oliver wrothe at his peak. His hips had jerked, spilling every drop of his release into the rubbery goodness rolled over his tip. Felix had followed shortly afterward, the toned nature of his silhouette glistening with newfound sweat. His pleasure-laced groans sliced the air as he proceeded to flood himself into Oliver. Felix reached upward, palm curled around the hollow of his throat and inclining his head backward as he rode out his orgasm.

“That’s it, Ollie. So good for me.”

In the midst of you catching your breath, you witnessed Oliver bathed in the light of Felix’s praise. Mouth agape. Azure eyes speckled with nothing but absolute pride. Eventually, Felix released Oliver, leaving a blooming red mark illustrating the crook of his neck in his wake. The silence drew on momentarily as the males managed to catch their breath.

“You never answered my question, Ollie.” You prompted after a few beats, leaned over to pull your bikini briefs over your hips once more. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“[Y/N]...” Oliver started, yet failed to finish as his cheeks flushed with adoration.

“Slow down on the investigations, doll.” Felix chimed in, his once dominant exterior melted down into the playful guy we all had known to love. He clasped Oliver on the shoulder, so casually, that you wouldn’t have guessed he was inside him a few minutes prior. “I think our dear Ollie has had enough for one day.”

You gave a teasing roll of your eyes but didn't press onward. Instead, you extended your arms out in a singular grand motion. “C’mere then, both of you.”

As the two males tucked themself into the base of your shoulders, you realized that they would do everything for you.

And you would do anything for them.

WORD COUNT: 2K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

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sincerelyverena · 4 months

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⟡⁺ VAYA CON DIOS

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

in whichꕀ

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

tagsꕀ

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

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

Oliver Quick was your saving grace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Selfish, all-wanting, all-ruining rascals.

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

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

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

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

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

They raised you under their family name. Esmeray.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...unreal?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Felix had heard everything he needed to know.

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

Something was wrong,

Oliver sucked in a sharp breath.

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

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

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

"You think?"

"I believe."

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

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

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

“I have a plan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One day.

"Shh..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell?”

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

Rendering them alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A slow, deliberate smile crept onto your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His words caused a particular imagery to pollute your thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You groaned in protest. You kissed him back anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

A choked cry echoed out, barely five minutes later.

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

"Sweetheart, look away." He evoked.

You couldn't.

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

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

He looked at you like such.

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

From scum, you came. Now scum you become.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had never felt happier. Never felt more whole.

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

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

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

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

A river draws closer and closer in the distance.

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

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

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

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

Your eyes rounden in realisation.

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

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

Tears prickle at the edge of your eyes.

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

"Oliver, this isn't fucking funny."

"I know it isn't, sweetheart."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WORD COUNT: 4K MASTERLIST

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