Stalker! Michael Gavey pretending to be struggling in a class just so he can hear you talk <3
You were so sweet, your voice even and tempered as you circle your pencil around one of the many words on the worksheet. Your glasses slip down your nose, and Michael can feel his thighs press together as he tries to stave off his arousal.
He never found the whores on campus attractive, their short skirts and breasts spilling out of their tops could never illicit a response from Michael. He was a man, he had his own fantasies, but silly little bimbo sluts had never been his cup of tea.
But you...
The long skirts and sweaters you wore had never failed to have him leaking in his pants, voice so sweet it had him reeling the first time he'd heard it. Your intelligence was so fucking hot it made him into a whimpering mess almost every night. Michael Gavey was a goner the moment he met you.
He followed you to your classes, sat behind you during lectures just so he could catch a whiff of the soft vanilla of your scent. Your left behind hair ties and pencils you had nibbled on? The tie is wrapped around his cock as he fucks his pillow, his tongue laving the pencil as he imagines the taste of your saliva.
So, yes.
He is pretending to struggle with this class just so he can hear you lecture him. He can imagine his dirtiest fantasy as you talk endlessly, your words holding a certain gracefulness that has Michael palming his cock under the table. You would make a fine professor. He'd kill to see you in the same heels and pencil skirts that some of them wore.
Just as long as you wore that fucking sweater.
"Michael, you're doing so well!" You praise him, a soft smile on your full lips as he hesitantly answers the question correctly. His hand is down his pants underneath the table, his cock throbs as he jerks the leaking tip gently, precum pools in the slit, adding lubrication to his debauchery as you innocently question him on why exactly he needed your help if he was at the top of your shared class.
He hopes that you pull away and see exactly what he's doing. He'd kill to see the look of flustered surprise on your face as you watched him cum all over himself.
There's a flush to Michael's cheeks as he cups his balls in his hand, he rolls them as you flutter your pretty lashes at him, and a shudder leaves his body as his cock throbs. Hot strings of semen leave his slit, a soft dripping sound could be heard as the milky white hits the ground the library. Michael's breath hitches, his eyes roll back just a bit, and he can feel the tension in his shoulders dissolve as his cock throbs painfully underneath the table.
You don't notice, too busy pushing your glasses back up the bridge of your nose.
Fuck.
He loves those glasses.
Trying to find a Michael fic where the reader isn't a slutty bimbo is actually impossible 😭
omg guys i’m literally begging!!!! does anyone remember a multi-part saltburn fanfic? to be more specific there’s a part where the reader is going somewhere and the car breaks downnnn!!! it’s lwk like a yandere fic and oliver is sabotaging the reader
synopsis: After the fruitless talk with Felix about Oliver’s behavior, all that’s left is to try and fall asleep.
Content Warning: noncon, coercion, psychological manipulation.
This scene contains themes of non-consensual physical contact and emotional pressure. Reader discretion advised.
a touch of nostalgia for the film inspired me to write an excerpt.
my english is still a bit of a mess, so forgive any slip ups.
Night had fallen over Saltburn, wrapping the manor in velvet darkness. The branches of old trees outside whispered softly, echoing the rhythm of a racing heart. After the fruitless conversation with Felix, the sense of isolation had only deepened. The door was locked, a chair wedged beneath the handle, useless precautions, but better than nothing.
Lying in bed, sleep refused to come. Fatigue wrestled with rising anxiety. Oliver’s face, his smile, those wild eyes, they spun relentlessly in her mind. Felix hadn’t believed a word, and that gave Oliver freedom. He felt untouchable.
Sleep crept in slowly, pulling her into a viscous haze. Just as she began to slip under, a subtle shift yanked her back.
The mattress dipped.
Stillness. Eyes wide open in the dark. Every sense strained to decode the silence. Only breath shallow, uneven. Then came the weight. Heavy. Warm. Pressing down.
A hand. Someone’s hand. It slid along her thigh cautious, deliberate.
Oliver.
Cold sweat broke across her forehead. Paralyzed. No scream, no strength to push back. He lay atop her, breath scorching the side of her neck. His scent musk, expensive cologne, and something feral filled her lungs.
“Shh, darling,” he whispered, voice velvet-soft, coaxing, laced with danger. “No need to make noise. Everyone’s asleep. You’ll wake Felix. And he won’t understand. He won’t see what’s happening between us.”
A tremor ran through her. This wasn’t just a violation of space it was a trespass against body and will. She twisted, tried to escape, but his grip was firm. Gentle, yet unyielding.
“It’s not right to involve others in what we have,” he murmured, lips grazing skin. “They don’t get it. They don’t see what you truly feel. But I do. I feel it. The fear. The thrill. You’re so… responsive.” His hand moved upward, tracing her waist, ribs, stopping just beneath her chest. Her heart pounded violently. Even through the thin fabric of her pajamas, his touch burned.
“We haven’t talked much lately,” he said, feigning sorrow. “I missed you. Your sharpness. Your resistance. It excites me.” Slowly, imperceptibly, he pressed his body against hers. Heat, muscle, tension. No kiss. No sudden moves. Just presence. Immersion. He wanted to feel her every inch.
“You’re so small,” came the whisper, voice deepening. “So fragile. And yet so strong. It’s mesmerizing.”
Tears welled, but she held them back. He wouldn’t get that satisfaction. She wouldn’t cry.
“Get out,” she whispered, voice low, laced with hate.
Oliver chuckled a sound like dry leaves rustling.
“You’re adorable when you’re angry. But you don’t understand. I’m already here. I’ll always be here. In your thoughts. In your dreams. And now, in your bed.”
His hand brushed through her hair, fingers trailing along her cheek. He gently turned her face toward him, breath grazing her lips. Every muscle tensed. She braced for a kiss. But it never came.
Instead, he leaned into her cheek, nose barely touching skin. He inhaled deep, savoring.
“You smell like… sleep. And fear. And something else… something yours,” he whispered. “I’ll never forget it. It’s mine now.”
A chill ran down her spine. He didn’t just want her. He wanted possession. Total.
He lingered a while longer, heavy but not violent. Just presence. Overwhelming presence. Strength drained from her body.
Then, as silently as he’d arrived, he began to rise. The weight lifted. A faint rustle. He stepped off the bed.
She lay still, listening to his slow movements across the room. Not knowing what he was doing that was worse. Then came the soft click. The door closed.
Summary: In which Felix has one more conversation with you in order to work up the nerve to get the truth from Ollie.
{ masterpost }
Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons. Eddie and Felix used to date.
Warnings: um angst i guess. mentions of past cheating (the Eddie/Venetia situation), implied manipulation.
A/N: 5034 words. so the og a/n of this chapter (because i reread the og version 10 minutes after i posted it a few days ago and decided i hated it) talks about how i had 3 drafts of the ollie/felix conversation that i stitched together; fun fact, the cut content/alternate BITS that are leftover that i have saved for just in case for this chapter NOW are AS LONG AS THE CHAPTER ITSELF. this chapter fucked me around like you would not BELIEVE. BUT if i remain happy with this, all we have to do is sail through to the ending over this last set of chapters i have planned. prayer circle for me. or see you in a/n 3 after i revise this again?? who knows. certainly not i. Is This Anything?
TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)
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Felix knows you'll never turn him away, even when you probably should. There's a knot in his gut when he knocks on the door of your study, and your eyes are so tired when you let him in, but you smile. Like it was inevitable, that he'd end up by your side before he gathers enough courage to confront Ollie. Still, he apologises because he feels like he has to, like he shouldn't be procrastinating it by spending time with you, when you're the reason he's doing this at all.
But for one, brief moment, with the fleeting sight of your reassuring smile, everything's okay. Very few words are spoken but you put on a CD Felix is pretty sure you stole from Venetia; Snow Patrol, is it? Something she got over Christmas. Felix sits half on the windowsill, half on the back of the sofa, smoking and looking out over the grounds of the estate as you continue to type away on the computer.
A knock at the door and you sheepishly open it to reveal Duncan, apparently having magically already known that you and Felix would be taking lunch in here. Until you admit that you'd asked him to, not long after breakfast. Amid sheepish laughter you speculate that you simply know him too well, know you both too well. There's something reassuring in that.
But the distraction doesn't last long enough. After lunch, Felix feels like he's about to be sick with anxiety, laying on the dreadfully old, floral rug in the middle of the room with his face in his hands. Deep breath in. His heartbeat won't slow down. When he hears movement, he doesn't have to look to know you're laying yourself out on the floor too.
It could be minutes or hours later, but in the silence you begin to lightly card your fingers through his hair. He finally feels like he can breathe again.
The way you touch Felix, the way you hold his face with one hand when he finally lowers his own, when he finally meets your gaze, it makes him feel so precious. He wonders what your beautiful eyes see in him in this moment? The nervousness? The conflict? The confusion?
"What if it... I don't know," Felix mutters softly, worrying his lip without meaning to, "what if he just keeps lying, and I believe him because I just- I want to believe him, Y/N?"
There's the faintest crease in your brow as you take in his concerns, the fear and love and how it all plays overwhelmingly off of his naivety. Even if he's self aware, what if there's nothing he can do?
"I wish I could help you, my Felix," your thumb is so delicate where you brush it over his cheek, apology heavy in your voice," but that's something I just..." but the word sits heavy on your tongue. Perhaps it would kill you to admit there was something you actually couldn't do for him; the look in your eyes says it might.
So Felix spares you from making that admission, at least verbally, tone soft but full of both resignation and reassurance when he tells you that he knows, that he'll be okay, that he'll figure it out. Turning, he presses a kiss to your palm.
"I believe in you, though," as if you ever needed to say that out loud for him to know as much, "I always do." Still, it's nice to hear.
He wants to catch this moment in amber, and keep it forever in case he gets his heart broken later that afternoon. He wants to remember how your reassurance had made him feel, with the very sight of you painted in sunlight, on this Summer afternoon where Felix feels like he's in freefall.
Side by side, the two of you look up at the masterfully carved ceilings that Felix has never really appreciated, quietly contemplating the situation at hand, all it means, all it could lead to.
"You said that it's different from last time," Felix mutters quietly, shifting to lay with his hands behind his head as he found himself ruminating on that afternoon by the pool, when he'd first confronted Ollie about Venetia, who'd then just lied to his face - and how quiet you'd been. You'd known even then, "you say it's different because Ollie actually loves me."
For just a moment he's caught up in the memory of beautiful Eddie, telling him countless times over in moments, moments so intimate to the two men that even you were left on the outside, how much he loved Felix. Even if Felix would tell you in time, you were the only one at Oxford. Part of him wondered if anyone else could see it, just as he wondered how everyone could remain in denial about you and him, considering the way he could never help himself when he looked at you or Eddie. Simultaneously, however, he hears the sickeningly dismissive way Eddie had scoffed -
"Fuck you're dramatic, Catton. I think it's your family's fault for having hot genetics, if anything I mean it as a compliment. Your groupie gets it; you wouldn't be batting an eye if this was about the whole house running a train on them, but suddenly I'm the bad guy for thinking your sister is pretty? Seriously, I love you, but -"
Even at his worst Eddie had been like something out of a dream; so unfairly hot, even when he was breaking Felix's heart, saying the kind of shit about you that nobody who truly loved him would ever dare. But nobody could sneer quite as well as Eddie, not even Venetia.
"D' you think he ever really loved me?" Felix can't pick apart the truth in his memories, it's one of the many reasons he doesn't like talking about Eddie, even to you. When you carefully clarify that he was talking about Eddie, Felix hums in the affirmative, closing his eyes.
By his side, you are very quiet for a very long time. In Felix's mind, it means the worst, that he's always been blinded by his own desire to love and be loved. This talk he's about to have with Ollie, he thinks, is doomed from the start; he'd let himself be lead to whatever lies Ollie sees fit to tell.
"Eddie had loved you," you voice is so gentle, so why did it hurt so much worse than what he'd been anticipating, "I actually think he loved you much more than he ever told you, for most of it, at least," after a moment of hesitation, you add, "but I think a lot of that was how much he loved the idea of you."
"Have I told you lately how much I hate this so-called Idea Of Me?" Felix couldn't help but pout. Again, it's something that so often goes unspoken between you both, despite how aware of it you couldn't help but be, "everyone loves the idea of me, why can't they just love me? It's so frustrating!" If he thinks about those words before he says them, they'll choke him.
Your voice is so quiet, so apologetic, when you remind him that he knows the answer to that question. The Idea of Felix would never include a double act.
"That's-" you clear your throat, giving Felix a gentle squeeze as you tried to lighten the mood, "that's why it's different. I don't think Ollie just loves the idea of you, Fi; he loves me because he's in love with you," and sure, the way you say it sounds like a positive, hell, you're even smiling in a way that seems sincere, but the wording catches in Felix's mind, like the teeth of a knife.
"But you love him," he can't help but frown, "you're in love with him, that's what you said, right? You said -"
"Fi," voice firm but still kind, you seem so sure of yourself, "the reasons why he loves me don't matter to me; yes, I'm in love with Ollie. He's fascinating, and charming, and disarming in the way he talks to me, I like his taste in books and movies and-" Felix wants so desperately to believe you in this moment, but there's something a little forlorn in your eyes that he sees, even if he wishes he couldn't, "and I know he loves me, and I know he's in love with you."
But you're sitting up, away from him, and he can't quite read your expression but Felix thinks that might be on purpose.
"Is that enough?"
As you're getting to your feet, Felix himself is finally sitting up, watching you with worry on his mind and his brow. But you're smiling again, warm and familiar, and offering him a hand to help him up.
"Of course," despite your cheery attempt at sincerity, Felix hears the answer for what it is; it has to be.
The day is growing later beyond the ornate windows of the lilac study, with sunset not too far off. You suggest Felix take Ollie to the Fairy Garden, and wish him luck with a kiss. It's as good a place as any. Felix really tries to carry that cheerful warmth that you'd been attempting with him, but it barely even lasts the few steps it takes him to cross the long gallery to get to Ollie's door. Then he's knocking with his heart in his throat, full of conflict and the urge to run.
But Ollie opens the door and his eyes are so wide, and so blue, and so earnest. The man is also only in his swim trunks, hair damp and curling at the edges of his face.
"'s everything alright, Felix?" It's so genuine that it kind of makes Felix want to scream. Taking a second to recalibrate himself, Felix scrunches up his expression, letting out a long sigh.
"I need to get out of the house," he pouts, plays at being amicable; he desperately doesn't want Ollie to run before he's even asked a question, "I was thinking of getting myself a bottle of champagne and heading to the Fairy Garden, but I'm also not especially fond of day drinking alone," he offered before rocking back on his heels. It thankfully comes across as casual, a good show if Felix has ever put on one. Still, a smile tugs at the edge of Ollie's lips, and he looks past Felix to your study door.
"You got kicked out, didn't you?" He teases, but is already stepping back into his room, leaving space for Felix to idle against the doorframe as he went searching for a shirt. Ollie doesn't comment on how the day is clearly ending, or how twilight was a perfect time to drink by oneself, humouring Felix as always.
"I was going to make a joke about how Y/N's abandoned me, but that's not true is it, when I've got you," it's automatic, something Felix would have said without a second thought, but words grow thorns in his throat and he has to bite back his own dismissive reflex upon hearing himself speak like that.
"And you've always got me, Felix," Ollie seems to have not noticed how Felix has momentarily frozen in the doorframe, rifling through his draw until he finds a linen button down to throw on, though it remains entirely undone.
In the strangely quiet moment that follows, Ollie looks to Felix with curiosity, but Felix reanimates the moment those blue eyes are upon him again, chattering away about whether he was in the mood for champagne or wine. He's running entirely on autopilot - Felix could chatter away about bourgeoisie bullshit for hours if he had to - but that leaves all the brain space in the world to think about how betrayed he feels by Ollie right now, both for the thing with Venetia, as well as your revelation that you believed Ollie only loved you because he was in love with Felix. God he hopes it doesn't show on his face. He's doing a pretty good job too, at least until they're in the kitchen, each grabbing a bottle of champagne, and there's a lull in the conversation.
It's something about how Ollie tentatively asks if you're alright that makes Felix frown reflexively.
"They're fine, mate," he tries to cover it, but there's still that irritated indignation in his gut. He couldn't even trust that Ollie's care for you was genuine, and part of him was furious at the idea of it being some kind of insincere pantomime for his benefit. But you're in the back of his mind, soothing, begging him to find out the truth of it all from Ollie before potentially condemning him.
"Okay," Ollie doesn't sound convinced, but he doesn't pry further.
In an attempt to settle himself, Felix asks about Ollie's morning, about the pool, about how he's been enjoying Saltburn overall so far. It's no effort to appear effortless, to seem casual, at least not to Felix. At least on this walk out to the Fairy garden, he tries to forget about the betrayal. But he can't help but notice how Ollie seems to choose all of his words very carefully when he speaks, even if it is kindly.
The pool was nice, warm from the Sun, but even for Ollie the day is too strange to enjoy wholeheartedly. When he asks if Felix can feel it, the strangeness, Felix pretends he doesn't hear, instead asking if Ollie could hold his bottle of champagne as he lights up a cigarette. Of course Ollie takes it without question.
"Do you want one?" Felix offers out of habit, though Ollie looks rather helplessly at the two bottles of champagne, one in each hand, then, to Felix, to the cigarette between his lips. Pushing open one of the doors to the grounds, he takes the cigarette from his lips and holds it up to Ollie's lips, lets him take it gingerly. Ollie awkwardly thanks him as Felix lights up a new cigarette for himself, finally taking his bottle of champagne back once his lighter was back in his pocket, "no problem, mate," he grins brightly.
They shared cigarettes all the time back at Oxford. Felix had joked he was a bad influence on him, and Ollie had been so bashful, trying to brush it off, that he was just trying it out, that it was just a bit of fun. He never seemed to have any smokes of his own when he was out with you and Felix and your friends, but Felix was always happy to give him one. Usually it was his own, half finished; Ollie would insist that's all he needs, and Felix would pass it over without hesitation. He'd thought nothing of it.
Felix watches Ollie's lips as he breathes out a lungful of smoke, and wonders how many indirect kisses they'd shared just like this.
"Saltburn is... it's like it's own world," Ollie says as they get closer to the Fairy Garden, the lush grass beneath their feet.
"What?" Felix, who'd definitely been thinking about Ollie's mouth, and the memory of seeing him moan Felix's name in your ear through a crack in the bathroom door, blinks quickly, coming back to reality. His mouth is so dry.
"Y' asked about..." Ollie frowns for a moment, as if he's possibly misheard Felix earlier, "about how I was getting on here." Felix smiles reflexively, trying desperately to focus on this moment in time, and Ollie looks to the Fairy Garden as he speaks, "I said it's like it's own world. It's so far from everything else I know, you know?"
"Is that good or bad?" Felix can't help but ask. Ollie slows as they get to the ivy-covered, lattice arch into the garden. There's this look in his eyes like he can't quite believe Felix is asking him that, disbelieving smile tugging at the edge of his lips.
"Honestly?" Ollie huffs a quiet laugh, "'s like something out of a movie," and he looks over to where the sun is just beginning to set, painting the already picturesque scenery an ethereal gold, "'s wonderful, told you that when I got here."
"You still think this is all wonderful?" Felix can't help the way his own voice softens, admiring Ollie in the sunset despite the turmoil in his mind.
"'course I do," Ollie answers with complete sincerity, beaming up at him, "made all the better for you and Y/N; you both make me feel very lucky, you know?" Ah, another layer to add to the clusterfuck; even if Felix ends up furious at him, he's not going to kick Ollie out, he's not sending Ollie back to what little he has to call home. The house is big enough to play out the rest of Summer with very little interaction if it calls for it. Fuck, he hopes it doesn't call for it.
"Of course, mate," Felix wraps an arm around Ollie's shoulders as they head into the garden, "we're glad to have you here; you know we love you," and maybe he plays up the affection, looking for any hint of guilt on Ollie's face. Unfortunately Ollie just gets all cute and bashful, leaning into Felix with a fond chuckle as they get to the picnic table at the edge of the garden.
They settle, both opening their bottles of champagne, cheersing to Saltburn.
"Mum's very fond of you too," Felix adds idly before he takes a large gulp of his champagne, mind returning to his earlier conversation with Elspeth over tea, "my family's a lot like this place," he muses lightly, "I think that's why I've been enjoying Oxford so much."
"What d' you mean?"
"I dunno, I just think you could probably stick the lot of us in a museum and we'd fit right in."
"Saltburn does feel like a museum sometimes," there's something strange in Ollie's voice as he looks up at the grand, old estate, "all those old portraits, King Henry's bed; I didn't know what I expected when you invited me along," a soft laugh escapes him, and when he looks back to Felix, there's fondness in his eyes, "but I never would have imagined this."
"Like something from a movie," Felix echoes Ollie's words from just before with a warm smile, taking another draft of his cigarette. Ollie nods in agreement, but goes on to say;
"But your family's been lovely, Felix; I feel like an alien because I'm just not used to it all, not because they haven't been good to me." Some of them have been arguably too good to him, Felix muses bitterly, though he tries not to let it show on his face. Instead, he leans back, gazing over the gardens.
"That's good, glad to hear it," he mutters distractedly. In the quiet of the late afternoon, Ollie finishes off his cigarette, watching Felix drink with this curious look in his eyes.
"Why 'd you invite me out here, Felix?" It's knowing in a way that makes Felix's skin crawl; usually he loves how clearly Ollie sees him, while still seeing the best in him, but today the man's observant nature gets on his nerves. He thought he had more time to mentally prepare himself for this.
"Does there have to be an ulterior motive? Can't I just want to spend time with you?" Neither of them believe in Felix's amicable façade, considering he can't even look Ollie in the eyes. Quietly, feeling vague shame for his cowardice in this moment, Felix takes another drink, "can you just drop it?"
There is tension now that they both know something is going unsaid between them. Ollie mentions after a moment that the garden really is beautiful, but Felix is still caught up in his thoughts. He doesn't mean to be brooding, but he unfortunately kind of is.
"You know you can tell me anything," Ollie tries to broach the uncomfortable air once more; Felix bites his tongue, "I'd never judge you or anything," and with that Ollie stands, approaching the edge of the flower garden to bend down and inspect some of the blossoms there, "you're my best mate, I love you," and it sounds so casual yet so sincere that it stings in Felix's ears, "you know that." Despite everything that Ollie's been party to, he's still trying to reassure Felix in the way that it seems only Ollie can. Damn; it's working.
"Maybe that's why mum likes you better than the last one," even to his own ears, Felix's voice is rough, "you actually mean it when you say shit like that, don't you?"
"'course I do," eyes wide and earnest, Ollie makes his way back to the table with clearly careful steps. For just a few moments, in which he reaches out and rests a hand on Felix's where he was holding the bottle of champagne, Ollie looks as though he's on the verge of saying something else. A perfectly serene moment for a confession. But he closes his mouth.
Pulling his hands out of Ollie's, he raises the bottle to his lips.
Something that sounds almost like a laugh escapes him before he takes a gulp.
"You really do drive me mad sometimes, Ol," he can't help but admit, "you're so bloody strange, it's- it's-" he huffs out a vaguely irritated breath, looking over Ollie and wondering how it is you see what you do in that man, "well, it's usually one of the reasons I love you, mate, but right now I feel like I don't even know who you are."
"What do you think I've done now, Felix?" What a leading question Ollie presents him with, at least Felix is glad to recognise it as such, even if it does raise alarm bells for other potential things Ollie's been doing around the estate without him knowing. He'll put a pin in that. Though Ollie's expression is demure, perhaps bordering on nervousness as the man sits across from him, there's a deceptively guarded look in his eyes. Always in his own head, never action, always reaction.
"I think you've done a lot of things, Ollie," Felix finally manages through a world weary sigh, looking up at the sky that bled from fire to lilac above them, "and I think you've been a very good actor, and you've been lying to my face about more than the stuff I now know about - I know about you and my sister, by the way," Felix adds with a frown, his hand up to quell Ollie's immediate reaction to defend himself, continuing, "actually this time - and I think I'm out here to try and find out why you've done any of this, but Ollie, mate," he barked a humourless laugh, shaking his head, "I don't know if any of it matters."
Quiet follows.
Felix hears his heart beating in his ears, can feel his chest burning as his own intensity has somehow left him out of breath. Now that he's actually said his peace, he's got the strangest urge to drink the entire rest of his bottle of champagne and jump in the river until someone else comes to collect him. He doesn't want to think or make any more decisions today.
"What?" Ollie's expression is unreadable. Or perhaps Felix just cannot find the fucks within himself to search for any nuance in those blue eyes.
"Part of me just wants to tell you to fuck off," Felix blurts out, surprising even himself, "whore it up around the estate with whoever you want, bang my sister on the dining table, I don't care anymore." The vitriol with which he speaks startles Ollie, who for once seems to be genuinely in the moment rather than his own head.
"Where is this coming from, Felix? What's gotten into you?"
"What's gotten into me is that I'm sick to death of people thinking I'll be okay with them sacrificing their happiness for me; I'm sick of you, Ollie, and I'm sick of Y/N, thinking I want anyone around me to be in love with someone who sees them as just a- a- like they're just a stand in for me! Do either of you get how utterly fucked that is?!"
"I thought-" Ollie can't help but shrink back, "isn't that just how you all were with the girls at Oxford?" God, his voice is so fucking small, but how can he not see how different it is? "All of us knew that dating Y/N was always just one step removed from you -" the way Felix feels about India or Anabel is nothing next to how you both feel about Ollie.
"Yeah, we all knew, Ollie," Felix rolled his eyes with callous frustration, taking a swig from his quickly emptying bottle, "was it, I don't know, unethical? Maybe, but I was never under the impression that I was going to watch them actually fall in love with each other, only to find out that it wasn't even entirely true!"
"So what now?" Ollie's voice is rough. Finally Felix looks at him, lets himself breath and examine the boy before him. Ollie refuses to look at him, gaze turned up and over his shoulder to the grand estate, gilded by the sunset, "you're tellin' me you love me, after all of this, but I'm the odd one out? I'm the one who has to leave, because your best friend doesn't know how to truly want anything that isn't you?"
Even in this light, Felix can see how flush with embarrassment and upset Ollie is, the way he's trying to blink away the tears misting in his eyes. He sniffles loudly.
Felix, however, feels winded, not that Ollie has noticed. Still can't bring himself to look back across the table.
"Wish you could have figured all of this out about yourself before now, Felix," Ollie admits, wiping angrily at his eyes as if trying to put up an irate front, "because now I've done all of this stuff that I can't take back, tryin' to figure out- tryin' to be someone you could both love. I knew it wouldn't really be enough - Venetia warned me it wouldn't be enough - but that was okay," and finally he turns back, his scowl barely hiding how he was only moments away from breaking down. Felix, however, feels like he can't breathe, "if you could love me, I decided it didn't matter why they loved me, as long as I could be with you both," Ollie's lip trembles but he doesn't look away now, hurt bleeding into every second of this moment, "fuck me, Felix, I'm glad you've figured yourselves out, but I wish you didn't have to string me along all Summer to do it."
This... this isn't... but you seemed so sure...
For a very long few moments, all Felix can do is stare at Ollie as the words sink in. It stretches out long enough that Ollie stops looking at him as if to prompt a response, instead dropping his gaze, taking steady gulps from his champagne as the strange and sudden static of the afternoon settled around them.
"Do you actually not know they're properly in love with you, Ollie?" Felix can't help but blurt out; for all he turns Ollie's words over in his mind, it's the one question that keeps coming up, "we both are, mate," bit by bit, moment by moment, the static begins to dissolve around them, "that's what I thought the problem was."
"That..." the stark defiance that had seemingly been keeping Ollie composed was easing, but in it's place was a confusion that seemed to match Felix's own, "you thought I was only into you?" Though he sits a little straighter, Ollie's gaze remains upon the ornate table, on Felix's hand pressed to the white metal, fingers splayed out, "I don't think I could have done all of this, if I loved one of you by halves," he makes a face like he's almost fighting back a smile, "that sounds exhausting."
"You still did it, though... didn't you?" Whatever it may be, which Felix realises he should start caring about again. The lies, whatever they may be, beyond just his sister, if there were any.
"It's not exhausting if it's worth it."
"I still don't understand," Felix's voice softens, there's no true irritation left in him; Ollie loves him, Ollie loves you both, and he knows it, he's sure of it. But that leaves so many questions unanswered, "what have you done, mate? What part of being with us has been exhausting to you? Obviously this whole, stupid lying bullshit with my sister, sure, but is it more than that? My family's a lot, and living at Saltburn -"
"You were getting bored of me, Felix," Ollie blurted out looking surprisingly nervous once more.
"What? If anything I feel like being here -"
"Not here, at Oxford," and he's back to avoiding Felix's gaze again, fidgeting, more like himself, but in a way that put a pit in Felix's gut, "you, Felix," Ollie says deliberately, swallowing hard as he was even sounding like himself, words even and carefully thought out, "were the one getting bored of me. Or wary."
"Ollie, what are you talking about?"
"After I spent that night with Y/N, and it made you feel some type of way; you worked it out, but I- I panicked, I wanted to make sure I was still in your life when you did - work it out, I mean. And I was. And I am," looking up, all Felix can see in Ollie's eyes is regret, "and even then I knew that I was messing things up for myself, because if any of this ended up being real, how could I tell you I want you to be part of my life, if what you know about my life isn't something you'd ever touch... and isn't even real?"
Felix is pretty sure there's not enough champagne in the world to help him whether whatever Ollie's about to tell him.
Your nails softly drag down the expanse of his chest, and you smile when you see the way his stomach pulls taut at the sensation. You stop right at the waistband of his briefs, hands flattening against his stomach before they softly trail their way back up his body till they reach his shoulders.
One hand trails behind his head, playing with the curly hairs there while the other softly caresses his cheek in an almost loving way. Even in the dark of his bedroom, you notice how his eyes are dilated, the soft brown irises barely visible. You watch the way he takes deep, almost labored breaths, mouth slightly ajar as his chest rises and falls in rapid succession.
You trail kisses from his cheek all the way down his neck and against his defined collarbones, feeling the heated skin against your lips. His hands, the ones that had been clutching the bedsheets beneath him, softly grab at your waist, trying to get you to move, to do anything to satiate the ache.
He doesn't get far, though, and almost immediately, you're grabbing at his hands and placing them right next to him again. "You have to wait, Farleigh, c'mon," you chastise, voice lacking any real authority. He listens to you anyway though, hands returning to grip at the bedsheets. You'd be scared that the material might rip underneath his fingers if you weren't too preoccupied with continuing your teasing.
"Please," he pleads so softly you almost don't hear him. You smile, pressing yourself closer to him, tits now pressed against his lithe chest and cunt right against where he needed you the most. You don't move though, watching the relief on his face once again morph into desperation. "Please what?" you ask softly, hands trailing up his arms and across his chest as you wait for him to finally crack.
He stares up at you with glazed over eyes, begging for you to give him what he wants without him having to say it, but you don't budge. "Please what, Farleigh?" you try again, and you watch has the last bit of resolve in him crumbles.
"Please touch me, fuck me, anything," he says, and almost chokes on his own words when you finally move on top of him, grabbing at his hands and placing them back on your hips. Immediately, he's setting the pace as he moves you back and forth, and this time, you let him, cunt throbbing from denying yourself the much needed stimulation.
"I'm not gonna fuck you," you breathe softly, tits bouncing slightly from the frantic pace Farleigh sets. You heat him whine in response, hips bucking up desprate as he chases the orgasm that burns in his lower belly. "You're gonna cum just like this, right baby?" you say in a saccharine sweet voice, hands on his shoulders, increasing your speed, practical bouncing in his lap now. He only nods, not caring how and where he cums at this point as long as he gets to fucking cum.
The feeling creeps up on him like a thief in the night, shoots up his spine like a shot of adrenaline, and makes white spots appear in his vision. He grabs your hips, slamming them down against his and keeping them there as he cums with a stretched out, guttural moan. He's shaking as the feeling settles over him, finally loosening his grip once he comes down from that impossible high. You hold him against your chest as he catches his breath, smiling at how he presses tired kisses to the area between your breasts.
Warnings: Mentions of past dubcon, cheating, pregnancy. This is a Saltburn fanfic, so certain themes are to be expected.
I wrote this literally the day after I saw the movie in theatres, but I didn’t like it enough to post. I found it today and it’s actually kinda goooood 😭 Who tf was I trying to impress?
It was past Midnight, somewhere in the very earliest of the morning. The television’s screen lit up the library in an eerie glow. The overnight marathon of a series you’d seen numerous times before finally nearing its end.
Your head lifts as you groggily fall back to earth. Your eyes were heavy and your neck creaked from discomfort, no doubt caused by the odd angle you’d fallen asleep in. You observed the television flicker as the credits played. You sit up, collecting your thoughts.
“You’re awake.”
You turn your head, disrupted from your recollection of the night. A figure looks back at you, sitting on a lone chaise, distant. It’s hard to make it out in the low-light, but Oliver watches you.
“Farleigh went to bed.” He says.
You breathe for a moment, thinking. You remember Sir James being first to go, saying something about having an early morning, and Elspeth followed shortly after. Venetia’s hangover finally got the best of her, and she scurried off to bed with a blanket tightly wrapped around her shoulders, and, somewhere between then and now, you’d fallen asleep on Felix.
“Where’s Felix?” you ask, wetting your lip as your eyes carefully inspect the room.
“Bathroom,” Oliver answers shortly. “He’ll be back.”
You nod before stiffly occupying yourself with the television. You watch absently as names scroll, your mind carefully watching Oliver from the corner of your eye. When he shifts in his seat, you tried not to flinch.
Oliver wasn’t your friend. Before Saltburn, when you’d all been attending Oxford during the year, you’d considered him boneless and soft. You didn’t hate him, of course. He was shy, you’d firstly assumed, and he seemed to enjoy Felix’s company to a worrying degree. But Felix was good and, somewhere along the doubts, you’d decided Oliver deserved a friend like that.
You’ve since regretted the thought ever crossing your mind, the faint memory of a careless, uncontrollable drunken night drifting by.
“You’ve been ignoring me,” Oliver suddenly says, cutting through your thoughts. You hold your breath for a moment, and he waits.
“I’m going to bed,” you throw back, quick to get on your feet. When you stand, he mirrors you like a mocking reflection. The chaise he’d been occupying catches on the floor of the library with a squeal. You’re still.
“You don’t scare me, Oliver,” you assure him sternly, bitingly so. You want him to back off.
“I wasn’t trying to,” he responds, slow and agonizing. Your head stays down, eyes peeking at the flexing hands at his sides.
“Im going to bed,” you repeat.
“No,” he says, “We need to talk.”
You refuse to look up at him, but Oliver doubly refuses to be ignored. He steps forward, slowing his stride the closer he got, until he was all you could look at. You stare at his chest, nerves alight and feeling incredibly non-confrontational on this night.
His hand reaches to your chest, then, flattening his palm to your heart. Your skin crawls beneath, but you make no move to deter him.
“Talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Oliver,” you sheepishly say, tasting his bitter name as it slid out.
“Mhm,” he sounds. Oliver’s fingers tug on your shirt absently; the collar, the trim, the buttons. He didn’t pay it any mind, although you were certain the action itself had been a deliberate attempt to invade your space. It always was.
You sniff, your chest growing heavy, your guts crossing and twisting uncomfortably. Before you can speak, your throat tightens and your eyes begin to burn.
You swipe at your mouth, the threat of throwing up igniting your worries tenfold… but, even then, you knew telling him nothing was fruitless. He’d continue to pry, to poke, to prod, to rip, and to collect. Still, you struggle to open yourself to him now. You sniff, blinking away something in your eye.
When your eyes meet his, you read his thoughts. They’re knowing, and everything you’ve ever experienced feels exposed. You whimper and hold your breath as you brace for what teeters on the end of his snake-ish tongue.
“You’re pregnant,” he whispers as a shuddering sob escapes you, reluctant and dreadful.
His eyes rake over you. Below the iris is an endless abyss, a dive in is surely a deep fall, and he has just the manners to set them on you; surrounding you like a cavernous moat. You’re isolated.
He’s right, which could only mean a few handful of things. Unfortunately, you could already narrow down the possibilities.
He’d been in your bathroom, scavenging through your bins. You were many things, but you were not stupid. Oliver had been looming around your bedroom since you stopped waking up in Felix’s bed and stopped using their shared bathroom — a bit after you’d spent that regretful night together. Guilt ate at your core the morning after, but holding Felix close was comforting. He didn’t have to know, you concluded. Felix didn’t have to know anything.
Besides, Oliver must feel bad too, you thought… you thought.
Oliver huffs as his arm reaches over your head, its shadow causing you to flinch, but pulls you into a shushing embrace.
Your lip quivers as your head is nearly crushed against his chest. He coos, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he brushes through in faux affection. You’re repulsed.
“Did you tell him?” he asks, quiet.
“No,” you hesitate to respond. It’s not something you had wanted Felix to know, and it wasn’t something you felt you’d have the chance to explain.
“Tell him.”
Your heart drops. Oliver releases you from his uncomfortable hold, his eyes searching for yours through your cloud of tears. He swipes underneath them, humming delightedly.
Your mind begins to drift away, a fog settling as your thoughts travel. You feel disconnected for a moment, away from your body. Where is Felix?
When you don’t say anything, lost in your head, Oliver takes your shoulders, shakes you back to your prison, and repeats himself.
“Tell him you’re pregnant,” he watches your eyes as you come back down, your mind reeling. Oliver turns your back to his chest, his arm returning around your neck as he brings you in for another straining hug. Your hands grip his sleeve, tugging uselessly as your neck cranes up. “Let him believe it’s his.”
“No—“
“Yes,” he breathes. “What’s the alternative?”
You think, but his answer comes swiftly. It ghosts along your ear, following a stiff swallow.
“… Would you tell Felix it’s mine?”
You shudder at the mere thought.
“Let him believe…” Oliver leaves a lingering kiss below your ear. You shudder.
“Where is Felix?” you hiss quietly, looking up in an attempt to breathe unobstructed.
“He went to bed.” Oliver says, huffing before pressing another kiss to your neck.
