#Felix Catton x gn reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

defectivevillain · 3 months

Text

turning pages (for people who don't care)

pairing: Felix Catton/Reader

summary: Felix Catton is well-liked by practically everyone he meets, from teachers to peers and strangers. He catches the gazes of anyone as he enters a space; he’s often the thrumming energy that determines exactly how a night will go. Felix’s name lives everywhere, from the pulsing rhythm of rowdy parties to the quiet whispers across the school courtyard. Anyone who’s anyone knows Felix Catton. As an unassuming student at Oxford with no particular desire for wealth, luxurious parties, or hesitant smiles from across a dimly-lit pub, you’re not sure how to feel about that. However, you soon find your quiet student life thrown into a whirlwind of activity when you have to tutor Felix.

The reader’s pronouns are unspecified, but they are written to wear masculine clothing. (I'm of the opinion that anyone can rock a dress shirt & slacks, but whatever). Otherwise, no physical descriptors are used; the reader's race and gender are ambiguous.

The title of this fic is from Drift Away, the Steven Universe song.

word count: ...7.3k. i don't want to talk about it. 💀

ao3 version

You enjoy being a tutor at Oxford. It doesn’t pay incredibly well, but the work itself is rewarding enough for you to forgive the meager wages. You genuinely look forward to your sessions, to seeing the bright gleam in a student’s eyes as they begin to understand the material in a way they hadn’t before. You muse on the thought as you walk into the library, heading for your usual table and arranging your materials. Your next session is in a few minutes, so you spend your spare time reviewing your notes from your previous class.

Someone pointedly clears their throat and you look up, only to find yourself staring at another student. He has messy brown hair, warm brown eyes, and an easy smile on his face. He looks self-assured, yet there’s a slight sense of apprehension veiled in the way he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hello,” you decide to say.

“..Hello.” He responds casually.

There’s an awkward beat of silence. Feeling eyes on you, you glance to the side, only to find a few people staring at you from a few tables away. They must be his friends. You shake your head and pretend not to have noticed, instead turning your attention to your laptop. “You must be… Felix?” You ask.

“Yes,” Felix responds, amusement glimmering in his eyes as if he expects you to know exactly who he is.

“Great, have a seat,” you say, not bothering to pay him a second glance. You pull up the email you received from the tutoring center, which shows the coursework he’s bringing in. “You have… a philosophy essay?” Felix nods, taking a seat and going through his backpack. “Awesome. Can you tell me a little about the assignment?”

Within a few minutes, it’s clear that Felix is an extroverted person. Moreover, he seems to be rather popular—several people passing by clap him on the shoulder as they walk past him. Thankfully, the gestures aren’t super distracting. Still, you find yourself a little surprised at the sheer amount of friends this guy appears to have.

But that’s not important, you scold yourself. You revert your attention to his philosophy essay, which is off to a great start. Admittedly, he has a solid foundation—he just seems to need guidance working with transitioning between ideas. His citations could use some work, too, but you’re quick to refer him to the proper resources. Overall, though, his essay is well-crafted. You tell him as much, and his eyes momentarily widen before he averts his gaze, suddenly appearing flustered.

You still can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched, though. It’s not Felix’s friends this time, either. You don’t realize how preoccupied you are with the feeling until Felix draws attention to it.

“Do you know him?” He asks, just as you’re in the middle of reading a sentence. You pause and look up, following Felix’s gaze to somewhere in the distance. Sure enough, Michael is lurking in the corner of two bookshelves, his eyes nearly burning into you.

“Yeah, that’s Michael,” At Felix’s inquiring look, you continue. “I’ve seen him around. Talked to him once or twice.” You admit. We’re not really friends gets caught in your throat. Admittedly, Michael creeps you out a little, but you’d never say that out loud.

Felix raises an eyebrow, twirls his pencil around his finger. He seems to be in his element now, as he sprawls in his chair with all the ease and confidence of someone who has never needed to make an effort for appearances. “He seems to think you’re friends,” Felix remarks lightly.

“He seems to think a lot of things,” you respond before you can stop yourself. Felix chuckles. “Back to your paper.” You say, returning your attention to your peer’s work.

The reminder of the tutoring session is rather uneventful. Felix is skilled at writing, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s struggling simply because he isn’t doing the work. You suppose you have no way of knowing for sure. He’s made small comments here and there about his writing and why he’s here today—apparently his parents issued him an ultimatum and pretty much forced him to show up for tutoring. The session goes rather well, though—even despite the fact that he seemed rather uninterested at the beginning.

“Alright,” you sigh once your time is up, placing a hand over the top of your laptop and shutting it ever so slightly. “Any last questions before we wrap up?” You ask him. Felix blinks for a moment.

“I don’t think so,” he responds with a shake of his head. He begins to pack up his things, before looking at you once more. There’s a newfound conviction in his frame now. Felix slings his bag over his shoulder, pausing for a moment. “You were super helpful.” He admits, looking away as if the admission is difficult to make.

“Good!” You say relievedly. You’re always thrilled to hear that your peers feel as if they’ve gotten something from the tutoring. Your own beliefs can only go so far, after all. Just because you perceive a session to be helpful doesn’t mean it’s helpful to the other student. You shake your head to clear your thoughts. “Glad to hear it. Enjoy your day, and best of luck with your classes.”

Felix returns the sentiment, sending you one last unreadable look before walking over to the group that you had assumed to be his friends. They greet him with enthusiasm, evidently asking him questions about the time he spent working with you. Whatever he responds with must be intriguing, because the group’s gazes pivot back to you once more. You quickly focus on packing your bag, resolutely ignoring the attentive eyes burning into your back as you leave the library.

Felix slips from your mind rather easily after that day, especially when your course load increases and your work schedule grows a bit more intense. You soon find yourself in a rather stringent routine, in which you go to classes, tutor, go to more classes, eat meals in between, and go to sleep. It’s not ideal, but you enjoy tutoring and your schoolwork enough to push through it.

You’re walking to one of your classes when you hear someone call your name. At first, you’re convinced you imagined the remark. It isn’t until there’s suddenly an arm slung around your shoulder that you realize you likely heard correctly. The unexpected physical contact prompts you to look to the side, only to find Felix staring at you with a sheepish smile.

“Hey, there you are,” he remarks. “I’ve been looking for you.” You reflexively stiffen at the thought, but the gesture goes unnoticed. Felix’s grip is relentless, and you soon find yourself being pushed towards the courtyard off the stone path and near a small group of people. These must be Felix’s friends from before.

“Mates, this is the tutor who saved my ass last week,” Felix tells his friends, his arm still around your shoulder. You resist the compelling urge to shove him away. “Say hello.” He says to his friends, before turning to you again. “I owe you a drink sometime.”

“I’m not much of a drinker,” you say with a shake of your head. You don’t have much time for that with your current schedule. A hangover would be nothing but an inconvenience considering how early you’ve had to wake up the past few days. “But thanks anyway.”

“Ciggie?” He offers, his arm finally falling from your shoulders to pull a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. You’re suddenly hit with a strange shiver, a phantom sensation of the weight that rested there only a moment prior. You don’t realize that you haven’t answered the question until a few moments later.

“No thanks,” you remember to respond, ignoring his friends’ gazes burning into your skin again. Do they have nothing better to do than tear you apart with their eyes? “Good to see you.” You’re quick to try to end the conversation, but Felix is quicker.

“Hey, are you free tonight?” He asks. Somehow, he seems immune to his friends’ stares, as they’re all whispering conspiratorially amongst themselves. You resolutely ignore them and instead contemplate his question.

“Um.. no,” you say, after taking a moment to recall your schedule. You need to complete some coursework. “Why? Do you have an assignment?” You frown, trying to think back to the classes he said he’s taking.

“No,” Felix responds with a shake of his head. He gestures to the group. “We were going out to the pub.”

“I have an essay to write,” you remark, trying to sound disappointed. Maybe a small part of you is genuinely saddened at the conflict of plans, but you’re mostly just relieved to have an excuse not to go. You glance over at the clock in the courtyard, heart beginning to race when you notice your next class starts in two minutes. “I have to go to class. See you.” You turn on your heel and walk away, just barely hearing Felix’s goodbye over the nearby conversations.

“Your tutor’s kind of dodgy, eh, mate?” Farleigh says.

“No, not at all,” Felix responds with a shake of his head. The expression on his face is thoughtful, and his eyes are fixed on your turned back.

“If you say so,” Farleigh shrugs, taking another drag.

You hadn’t realized Felix was so popular. Now that you’ve met him, you hear whispers of him all around the school. Everyone seems to have an opinion on him one way or another. You’ve only conversed with him the few times you’ve seen him in tutoring sessions and around campus, but he seems nice enough.

Classes fly by, to your satisfaction. Your last class of the day ends a bit after the regular dinner hour, but you manage to sneak into the dining hall and snag some food before the space closes. After that, you’re content to return to your room. It’s been a long day and you could use some time to yourself to just relax and breathe.

Unfortunately, your suffering doesn’t end when you reach your residence hall. Instead, the moment you enter, you nearly crash into a woman waiting in front of a door. You manage to sidestep her and head up the stairs leading to the next floor.

“Hey, have you seen Felix?” Her voice echoes in the stairway. You freeze and turn to look down at the woman standing on the landing. She has bright red hair and glittering makeup coating her eyes. You feel your brows climb up your forehead as you realize that the door she’s standing in front of must lead to Felix’s room. You didn’t realize he lived in this building too.

“They’re all at the pub,” you answer after a few moments, recalling your conversation earlier. “At least, that’s what he said when I spoke to him earlier.”

She doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer, as she takes a deep breath. “Do you have alcohol?” She then asks.

“No,” you answer honestly. Felix’s friend stares at you for a moment, before huffing and walking away. You can’t find the energy to dissect that conversation, so you instead focus on unlocking the door to your room. You spend the rest of the night purposefully suppressing any thoughts of Felix and his friends.

When you wake the next morning, you feel somewhat rejuvenated and well-rested. Your essay is more than halfway done and you still have a few days before the due date. The sun is out and shining, casting a hazy glow over the courtyard that your room looks out on. You take a deep breath, before changing and brushing your teeth. You head to the dining hall for a small breakfast, before moving to the library for your first tutoring session of the day.

You’re not sure how much time you spend waiting for your peer to show, but you reckon it can’t be that long. It only feels like ten minutes pass before there’s a shadow passing over your vision, indicating that someone is standing over your table. You look up, unable to contain your surprise when you find Felix with a bag slung over his shoulder and a smile on his face.

“Hi,” you remark.

“Hey,” he responds, placing his bag on the ground and sitting down. You take the gifted opportunity to review the information given to you for the tutoring session. It appears Felix has another philosophy essay he wants you to look at. That shouldn’t be too bad. You give him a moment to get his things out, before diving right into his writing.

You’re happy to realize that he has used some of your tips from your first session. You already notice that the flow of his writing has improved, and his use of transition words at the beginning of each paragraph has aided in that regard. He has a few grammar errors—nothing major—and a few small citation mistakes. “Instead of listing all the authors, you can just say ‘Marks et al.’ here,” you point out, gesturing to the sentence that you’re looking at on the screen. Felix nods silently and adjusts the text.

“I heard you spoke with Annabel the other day,” he remarks, apropos of nothing. You’re abruptly thrown off track as your attention turns from the paper to Felix himself. He repeats his statement.

“Really?” You ask. Felix nods. “Sure, we spoke for a bit.” You return to reading his essay, confused by the sudden change in subject.

“What did you talk about?” He presses.

“She asked if I had seen you,” you answer, trying and failing to multitask. You eventually give up on reading for the time being and address his question. “I said no.”

“And?” Felix prompts.

“And that was it,” you finish. Felix still doesn’t seem convinced for some reason. You rack your brain and try to remember your interaction with the woman. It only happened a few days ago, but you’ve been so busy that it feels like a lifetime ago. “Oh, she asked me if I had alcohol. I said no. Then that was it.” You must imagine the momentary look of relief on his face.

“She called you prickly,” Felix continues, a mischievous smile on his face. You’re not sure what there is to smile about.

“I’m sure,” you respond disinterestedly. You’d like to go back to reading his paper, but he keeps diverting your attention and changing the subject. Before you can even attempt to try reading again, there’s suddenly a hand on the edge of your laptop, pushing your screen down ever so slightly. You look up to find Felix watching you rather closely.

“Who are you, exactly?” Felix asks. The library around you seems to fall silent with the remark. Your skin prickles. Why is there such an intent look on his face? Surely learning more about you doesn’t matter that much to him. Felix evidently notices you’re speechless and continues. “I don’t know anything about you. I’ve seen you around campus a few times, but that’s it.”

“I’m your tutor,” you respond, after taking a moment to collect your thoughts. Your heart is hammering away in your chest. “You don’t need to know anything about me.”

“What if I want to?”

“You wouldn’t want to,” you reply instinctively, warily. Alarm bells are ringing in your head. You can’t quite imagine a scenario in which Felix Catton, wealthy heir and avid partygoer, would ever benefit from knowing anything about you. Does he even notice how much attention he’s drawing, just sitting here with you right now? Even his friends are confused by his supposed interest in you. “I’m nothing special.” You try to look at his essay once more.

“That’s not true,” Felix says insistently, getting to his feet and placing his hand on your laptop once more. He’s ripping your eyes away from the screen and towards him. There’s an indignant expression on his face, as if he’s insulted by your claim. You blink up at him in confusion. If everyone in the library wasn’t staring already, then they certainly are now. Felix seems to regain his composure, as he shakes his head and moves to sit down once more.

There’s a palpable tension lingering in the air throughout the rest of your session. Felix seems anchored to his chair, as if he doesn’t want to leave. Eventually, you’re the one to leave first, as you have class in a few minutes. You can feel his eyes on your back as you walk away, imploring you to explain yourself further.

You’re not sure what there is to explain. Despite your prior promises not to pay attention to the rumors and whispers of your peers, you can’t help but acknowledge them. You have to wonder if some of it is true—if Felix doesn’t really do friends , if he is only interested in people for whatever they can offer him. Truthfully, Felix isn’t a person you would’ve interacted with. If not for tutoring, you’re sure you would’ve spent your entire time at Oxford knowing absolutely nothing about him and being unable to explain the strange stirring feeling of dislike in your chest. It’s too late now, though. It seems you can’t go back to the way things once were—not when Felix knows who you are now. You just have to hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll realize that there’s nothing particularly compelling about you.

For a while, you don’t see Felix Catton and you are fooled into thinking he may have actually lost interest. You feel relieved at the thought. A small, traitorous part of you may long for the company he provides—the soft smiles he sends you, the glitter in his eyes as he speaks to you and only you. It was only for the best that you drifted apart, you think to yourself as you take an armchair in the library. The end of the semester is approaching, and you’ve taken every free moment to study and review course materials. Many other students seem to have the same idea as you, as the library has been a bit busier these past few weeks.

You barely get to start rereading your notes before a familiar voice is speaking to you. “My parents were impressed.” You look up to find Felix standing over you. It takes you several seconds to process his statement.

“With what?” You ask. Admittedly, you’re confused as to why he felt the need to approach you right now of all times. You’re sitting alone at a table in the library, and a few students are throwing you dirty looks as Felix continues to speak to you. You want nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear forever.

“My philosophy grade, of course,” Felix remarks, taking the chair adjacent to you. You feel like everyone in the library is staring at you. When you look up, you find that a few students actually are—Felix’s friends at another table are among them. Felix seems immune to the attention he provokes. “They really want to meet you.” That surprises you. Why would his parents want to meet you? Because of your tutoring? All these questions must show on your face, because Felix elaborates. “They wanted to thank you.”

That’s surprising. “Are they visiting Oxford soon?” You ask curiously.

“No,” Felix answers. Your brows furrow and he shakes his head. “I meant this summer. You should join us at Saltburn.” He looks at you expectantly. You don’t have the faintest clue what Saltburn is, but you guess it must be a name for their residence. Judging from what you’ve heard of the Cattons, Saltburn is likely a very large, very extravagant mansion.

You blink at Felix once, twice. The expression on his face holds nothing but complete sincerity. You feel a laugh crawl out of your throat. It’s only until you see his face fall that you realize he’s not joking. “Oh, you’re serious,” you comprehend aloud. “Yeah, I could stop by.”

“I’d like you there,” he confesses. You feel your eyes widen as you stare at him in disbelief. “Is that so hard to believe?” Felix asks, looking at you skeptically.

Yes. Yes, it is. “...No.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Felix says lightly. It almost looks as if he’s forcing a smile.

“You’re right,” you acquiesce, “I’m not convinced.”

Felix huffs in amusement, before pushing himself out of the chair and sending you a wave over his shoulder. You watch him leave, unable to shake the feeling that, somehow, you’re going to be roped into visiting his parents at their residence this summer.

Two months later, as you find yourself staring up at the splendor of Saltburn, you think you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are. Then again, a summons from James and Elspeth Catton isn’t exactly something you can ignore. You tug your suitcase across the rocky driveway, before arriving at the gargantuan wooden doors at the entrance. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence as you stand there. A few moments later, the doors swing open and you’re greeted by a man in a tuxedo—evidently a butler of some sort. He takes you into a beautifully ornate room with sunlight streaming in past ornate golden curtains. Thankfully, you’re not left to your own devices for long, as you hear footsteps echoing through the space.

Felix walks through the doorway, his expression brightening when he sees you. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. The sincerity of his statement catches you off guard. Felix takes a step closer to break the distance between you and slings an arm around your shoulders, leading you past the butler and towards the edge of the room. You’re hit with whiplash—both because of the surprisingly heartfelt remark and the rapidity of Felix’s actions. Felix proceeds to take you on an informal tour of the residence, before leading you through his bedroom and the adjacent bathroom to your room.

“Hope you don’t mind sharing a bathroom,” he remarks offhandedly, leading you into the space that will be your bedroom. You assure him that you don’t mind and he grins, gesturing at your new room with a flourish. “Here’s your room. I’ll leave you to it.” He freezes in the doorway, pressing a hand to the doorframe and turning around for a brief moment. “We’ll be in the sitting room,” Felix adds, before turning back around and walking away.

You stare at the empty doorway for an immeasurable amount of time, before letting your gaze wander across the room. The room is quite gorgeous, with an elegant four poster bed and detailed paintings adorning the walls. The door leads to the bathroom, which then connects to Felix’s bedroom. You’re grateful that he placed you near him—you’re not sure you’d be comfortable inhabiting a room on the other side of the house, with no one around to guide you. You place your luggage off to the side—after telling the butler that you could carry it on your own—and take a deep breath. Truthfully, you’re not really sure why you’re here. You’re only going to humiliate yourself here. You don’t belong here. Why did you even entertain the thought?

You try to come up with an answer as you pace around the room, before finally deciding that there isn’t a clear-cut answer. You glance over at the clock in the corner, eyes widening when you realize that you spent at least twenty minutes just standing in the room and thinking. You take a few cautious steps into the bathroom, walk through Felix’s bedroom, and go down the hall Felix pointed out earlier. You quickly realize that you’re going in the wrong direction and backpedal, only to find a door left nearly closed, with a small crack letting the sound of conversation slip into the hall. This must be the sitting room.

You take a deep breath, steel your nerves, and knock on the door. Someone remarks that you can enter and you do so, pushing the door open more and stepping into the sitting room. The television is playing, but everyone’s eyes seem to be on you. Felix is sitting in the corner and his friend—Farleigh?—is sitting near the back of the room. You don’t get much time to take in your surroundings, as you’re quickly accosted by who you can only assume to be Felix’s father.

“Ah, you must be the tutor,” he remarks, getting up from his seat. “So wonderful to meet you. I’m James, and this is my wife, Elspeth.” You shake his proffered hand, before lingering awkwardly in the center of the room. Thankfully, Elspeth gets up to greet you, saving you from further embarrassment.

“I suppose you’re the one we owe for our son’s wonderful grades this term!” Elspeth remarks, bringing you in for a hug. Felix huffs and mutters something about not needing the help. You feel somewhat inclined to defend him, for reasons you can’t quite explain.

“Don’t give me too much credit,” you smile. “Felix is a great writer.”

Felix mutters something again, too quiet for you to hear. His mother turns to him and asks him to repeat himself. He averts his eyes and you swear you see him flush for a split second. “Not as great as you.”

“Well, aren’t you the flatterer,” Elspeth says, waving a casual hand at her son. Her gaze then turns back to you. “And you. So humble! I can see why Felix talks about you so much.” Felix freezes like a deer in headlights, before quickly leaving the room, murmuring about talkative mothers. You stare after him helplessly. There goes the only person that finds you even mildly tolerable.

“We are very thankful for your help, truly,” James says, crossing his leg over his knee. “Felix has always been a good student, but this term, he… he’s been different. We’re glad that he’s gotten his affairs back in order. With your assistance, of course! You must show me your writing sometime.”

“Thank you,” you respond sincerely. “I’d love to. And thank you so much for inviting me into your home.”

“So polite!” Elspeth remarks, shooting a dirty look at the other woman in the room. You quickly pretend you didn’t notice that. “Of course, darling.”

You’re left to sit awkwardly in the sitting room for a few moments. Felix’s parents ask you a few questions, but eventually their attention falls back to the program they’re watching. A shadow at the door draws your eye and you see Felix motioning for you to follow after him. You glance at his parents, who both motion for you to join their son. You get to your feet and walk out of the room, ignoring the sensation of a pressured gaze boring holes into your back.

“Sorry about that,” Felix apologizes, once the two of you are turning the corner and walking down the hall.

“About what?” You ask, glancing at him. “Your parents seem nice.”

Felix just sighs and shakes his head. You don’t think you can even begin to truly comprehend the emotions behind that simple gesture, so you decide to simply succumb to the silence that spreads across the air.

You spend the rest of the afternoon reading one of the books in the library. You don’t realize that it’s time for dinner until Felix is entering the space and practically dragging you along behind him to the dining room.

“I hear your birthday is coming up,” Felix’s father, James, remarks at some point throughout the meal. You look up from where you’d been absently poking at your food. There’s an expectant look on his face. You have to wonder how he knows when your birthday is. You don’t remember telling anyone about it—except for Felix, perhaps. “Yes, it is,” you agree.

“Have any grand plans?” Elspeth suggests. Her eyes quickly light up. You’re suddenly filled with trepidation. “Oh, we should have a birthday party! We could invite all your friends!” You freeze on instinct. You’re not the biggest fan of parties, and you know you definitely don’t have enough friends at Oxford to fill a place as big as Saltburn for a party. Felix’s mother glances at you expectantly, immune to your internal crisis.

You’re saved from responding by Felix’s remark. “You’re not really a party person, are you?” He asks. His parents’ gazes focus on you and you nearly sag in relief, feeling the tension seep from your shoulders.

“Oh, nonsense,” Elspeth remarks. Shit, you think. “Everyone loves parties! We’ll have to make it themed…” You resist a groan. It’s too late. Felix’s mother and father are already chattering about the details of the party, the number of people they’ll invite… You don’t want to appear ungrateful, so you stifle your objections and spend the rest of the meal staring at the wall ahead.

When dinner is finished, Felix is the first one to depart. He stares at you pointedly and gestures wordlessly to the exit. You get the idea and practically jump from your seat, grateful for an excuse to leave. You walk behind Felix, pretending not to notice how broad his shoulders are. “Sorry about that,” Felix grimaces, his back turned as he continues walking, “My mother has a bit of a one track mind, sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” you remark. You can survive one party. Besides, it may actually be enjoyable. You tell him as much and he seems to brighten up at that. That night, you recline on your mattress with thoughts flooding your mind, leaving you awake for longer than you’d like. Eventually, the curtain falls and your vision fades to black.

When you open your eyes, you find yourself standing on the balcony of the mansion, overlooking the yard. There are clothes and discarded drinks littering the previously spotless grass. What disturbs you most of all, however, is the franticness with which everyone seems to be conducting themselves. You stare out at the wreckage that must’ve come from the party and take a deep breath.

“What happened?” You ask Farleigh after walking down the steps. The expression on his face is grave and panicked at the same time. He’s wading through the pond and soaking his clothes, but he hardly seems to notice.

“We can’t find Felix,” he responds, his eyes flitting about the area. There’s a horrible tugging feeling in your stomach as you realize that Farleigh’s looking for Felix in the water. Did something happen to him? You swallow hard and walk around the grounds, trying to comprehend how Felix could have gone missing in such a short time.

Out of nowhere, Venetia screams. Feeling a shiver roll down your spine, you race over in the direction of the voice, only to find yourself running through the overgrown walls of the maze. You see Venetia’s blond hair and you quickly run over to her, only to freeze when you see what she screamed about. Felix is lying motionless in the center of the maze. You feel an itching feeling in the back of your throat, a burning sensation behind your eyes. Farleigh arrives and gasps; Venetia starts crying. You don’t know what to do, as you stand helplessly before your peer, your friend. James arrives and takes a shuddering breath, eyes glassy as he stares at the corpse of his son. For a long moment, nothing can be heard except for Farleigh and Venetia’s sobs and your ragged breathing.

“We need to move him,” James announces. You stare at him in disbelief. How is he even functioning right now? He sounds eerily calm despite the gravity of the situation.

Apparently, you don’t react fast enough, because James’s hands are soon on your shoulders and he’s shoving you towards the body. You just barely catch yourself from falling over. The patriarch grabs Felix’s shoulders and prompts for you to grab his ankles. You’re shaking. You can’t move. Tears sliding down your face, you reach down to touch the corpse—only to recoil at how cold the skin is. Suddenly, there’s a harsh sound and Felix’s body is sinking beneath the earth, engulfed by soil and pebbles—

You gasp and open your eyes, only to find yourself in your room once more. You try to breathe, but the effort burns. Sweat coats your skin and your limbs are shaky. With trembling hands, you reach out to the nightstand and take a few sips of water, before wiping the sweat from your brows. The sheets on the bed are a mess—you must’ve been tossing and turning. Your breaths are still laborious, and your chest is beginning to ache. You mechanically get out of bed and make your way to the bathroom, standing in front of the sink. Your reflection in the mirror is grim—dark circles under your eyes and a firm pull to your lips. You reach down and turn on the water, letting the freezing temperature ground you in reality. Eventually, you reach down and douse your face with cold water.

Once you’re finished, you grab a towel and dry off your face. “Hey, are you okay?” You nearly jump out of your body at the sudden voice. You wipe any remaining water droplets away, recognizing the voice as Felix’s. “I heard a scream.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up,” you mumble, rubbing a hand over your face. The water helped, but you still feel jittery and unsettled. You grasp at the edges of the sink and resolutely look down at the counter.

“Are you okay?” Felix asks again. You finally turn around, only for your mouth to go dry as your gaze settles on your friend. Felix is standing in the doorway, healthy and happy and alive. It’s such a harsh contrast from the Felix you had seen in your dreams—a pale, frozen shell of himself. Before you can recognize what you’re doing, you’re surging forward to wrap your arms around Felix. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch or push you away—instead, he pulls you close with a hand on the nape of your neck. You feel self conscious for getting so worked up about a dream, but it just felt so real. You could feel the weight of his dead body in your hands.

“Did you have a nightmare or something?” Felix whispers after a few moments. You nod quietly, not trusting yourself to speak. “I’m sorry.” He’s the one apologizing, after you made too much noise and woke him in the middle of the night with your terror. You just shake your head wordlessly.

You’re not sure how much time you spend standing there, Felix’s arms enveloping you. Eventually, the edges of the nightmare begin to fade away and your friend’s presence is undeniable. Felix is safe, you tell yourself. He is fine.

Breaking away from him feels far more difficult than it should be. You immediately miss his warmth, miss the feeling of being shielded from harm. Felix’s arms fall to his sides, before he braces them on the bathroom counter. Taken in by the inexplicable urge to touch him, you place a hand over his and pretend not to hear his startled inhale of breath.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“Of course,” Felix responds, a note of something imperceptible in his voice. You smile and briefly squeeze his hand, before letting your grip fall away. You wish him good night and head back to your room, pushing aside any lingering convictions that he’s watching your every step. It is much easier to fall asleep once you remember that Felix is but a few steps away, alive and well.

When you wake up hours later, you’re relieved to realize that you feel far better than you did earlier. You didn’t seem to have another nightmare, thankfully. You prepare for the day and change into some casual clothes, before remembering that the party is today. You try to sneak through Felix’s room, only to find that he’s already awake. After he’s ready, the two of you head down to breakfast together. The meal is incredible, as usual.

After breakfast, you return to your room to find clothes on the bed. They’re clearly not yours—the fabric is incredibly luxurious and looks quite expensive. You glance around the room, but there’s no sign of the person who left this attire for you. Upon closer examination, you realize that it’s your exact sizing. You wonder if Felix’s parents got your sizes from the butler and ordered you something. That would certainly be very nice of them.

Secretly, you’re thankful someone had the forethought to provide you clothes. You probably would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb if you had worn any of the clothing you brought from home. After all, you don’t really belong here. You’re just a temporary guest.

With those thoughts in mind, you decide to unfold the clothes—revealing an elegant dress shirt and fine-pressed pants. The shirt is a fabric you’re unfamiliar with, and it shimmers as it catches the light. The color is quite beautiful—a cross between deep green and dark blue. Whoever purchased this outfit has good taste (or a lot of money to burn, or both). You’re almost too scared to put the outfit on, for fear of ruining the expensive fabric. Eventually, you manage to convince yourself to change clothes. As you turn to look at yourself in the mirror, you realize you barely look like yourself. That may be an exaggeration, but you still feel as if you look like an entirely different person—one who fits in here. You’re not sure how to feel about that. You had maintained that you wouldn’t change yourself to fit in at Saltburn, yet here you are—dressed as if these parties are a common occurrence for you. You take a deep breath and leave your room, deciding to walk around to get rid of some of your nerves. You eventually get roped into helping Venetia choose an outfit to wear, which kills some time.

Before long, the sun is setting in the sky and the party is beginning. You have no idea where to go or what to do—you hardly know anyone here. You haven’t caught so much of a glimpse of Felix, Farleigh, or Venetia since the party started. You do manage to find Felix’s parents, and thank them profusely for the party. It’s probably not that big of a deal to them, but you still feel that expressing your gratitude is somewhat necessary.

After that, you eventually manage to find yourself standing in one of the corners of the sprawling maze outside. You feel somewhat fatigued from the minimal social interaction you’ve had thus far, and you figure your absence won’t be a huge deal breaker for any of the other partygoers. They’re not here for you—they’re here for a party. The party just happens to coincide with your birthday. You’re not naive enough to think otherwise.

“Enjoying the party?” A familiar voice cuts through the night air. You turn around, only to find Felix standing at the edge of the maze. He takes a few steps to break the distance between you. You cross your arms over your chest and try to hide how self-conscious you feel.

“Yeah, thanks,” you remark after a moment. “You?”

Felix just nods silently. He’s staring at you intently, his gaze flitting up and down your form. “You look nice.” He says after a moment of silence. His gaze is intense and you feel flames prickling up your skin.

“Thanks,” you respond. You decide to mimic his scrutinizing gaze. “You too.” Not like that’s anything new, you think to yourself. Felix always looks nice. You’re given a reprieve from questioning that thought by Felix’s next remark.

“Happy birthday,” he says.

“Thank you.” You manage to say moments later, once your tongue no longer feels ironed to the roof of your mouth.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Felix murmurs, almost too quietly for you to hear. The night air seems to still around you.

“Me too,” you eventually admit. “It’s been… fun.” You’ve enjoyed this summer, enjoyed the time you’ve gotten to spend with Felix. You never would’ve expected yourself to enjoy spending time in a place like Saltburn, yet here you are.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Felix admits. He’s looking up to the midnight sky as if it holds all the answers. The black wings on his back seem to gleam in the moonlight. He looks like a fallen angel.

“Why?” You ask.

Felix is staring at you as if the answer to that question is extremely obvious. He then rubs a hand over his face, before turning to face the statue in the courtyard. The wings extending from his turned back create a harsh silhouette on the grass. “Why do you think I brought you here?” He suggests.

“Your parents wanted me here,” you recount.

“No,” Felix sighs, “Yes, but… no. That’s not the main reason.” You wait for him to continue. Somehow, this admission seems to be torturing him. He keeps pacing around restlessly, as if unable to keep still. Eventually, he shakes his head and comes to a stop, meeting your eyes.

“I wanted to get to know you better,” Felix admits. “I hoped that, once I got to know you, everything else would go away.” Everything else? He continues, immune to your confusion and wariness. “It didn’t. You came here, and now, the more I get to know you, the more I want to be around you.”

“Why?” You feel yourself blurting out. The words are spilling from your lips uncontrollably. “I’m just a normal student, an average person.”

“You’re far from it,” Felix argues. “And you should know that by now. You have to know by now.”

“Know… what?” You dare to say.

Felix puts a hand over his face, evidently trying to gather his thoughts. You keep silent, despite your heart drumming quickly in your chest. “I have feelings for you,” he says. “Nearly this entire time, I’ve had feelings for you. All throughout this summer.”

Felix has feelings for you? Surely that can’t be the case. Hell, he could have anyone he wanted. He’s almost constantly showered in attention and praise. Why would he want to be with you of all people? You have virtually nothing to offer him that could be useful: you’re not wealthy, nor are you a regular partygoer with a penchant for trouble. You’re just… you.

“You’re the only person that has ever bothered to try to get to know me for me,” Felix explains, as if sensing your self-deprecating thoughts. “Not as the eldest son of the Cattons. Just as Felix.”

“You don’t buy into any of this bullshit,” he continues, his eyes wandering across the walls of the maze. You immediately know he’s referring to the splendor of Saltburn, the unspoken expectations that nearly suffocate the air around you. Felix inhales slowly. “Not to mention, you’re wicked smart. Compassionate. Attractive.”

He’s taking a step towards you. Then another. You don’t stop him, and he pauses in front of you. You don’t think you’ve seen his eyes sparkle like this before.

“Can I kiss you?” Felix asks, his hand slowly rising to break the air between you and fall to cradle your jaw.

You nod wordlessly. For an awkward moment, neither of you move. Felix looks uncharacteristically hesitant. You huff a laugh and break the distance between you, putting your lips to his.

In a few moments, Farleigh and Venetia will come across the both of you and you will each be teased relentlessly for the rest of the night. Felix’s parents will exchange knowing looks when Felix and you walk into breakfast the next morning hand in hand. And Duncan, the butler, will have a wry curve to his lips—an almost indistinguishable smile—to show his hard-won approval. For now, though, you are left to embrace Felix under the shimmering moonlight, surrounded by a labyrinth of hedges and gilded mansion walls that no longer look nearly as intimidating as they once did.

whewww! i really got carried away there, didn't i? i just adore the idea of Felix being bewildered by someone not falling head over heels for him. like, the irony of him catching feelings for the *one* person who doesn't actually seem to like him... it's just too good.

i *could* write a farleigh/reader fic... so lmk if that's something y'all would want to see. no promises, though. (if i were able to write it, it would probably be much shorter than this fic, bc this one absolutely ran away from me).

anyway, hope you enjoyed this! thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall

#defectivevillain #saltburn #Felix catton #Felix Catton x reader #Felix x reader #Felix Catton x gn reader #Felix Catton x male reader #Felix x gn reader #Felix x male reader #gn reader #male reader #just covering all the bases #x reader #x male reader #x gn reader #ok that's probs enough

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sincerelyverena · 4 months

Text

⟡⁺ VAYA CON DIOS

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

in whichꕀ

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

tagsꕀ

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

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

Oliver Quick was your saving grace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Selfish, all-wanting, all-ruining rascals.

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

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

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

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

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

They raised you under their family name. Esmeray.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...unreal?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Felix had heard everything he needed to know.

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

Something was wrong,

Oliver sucked in a sharp breath.

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

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

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

"You think?"

"I believe."

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

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

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

“I have a plan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One day.

"Shh..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell?”

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

Rendering them alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A slow, deliberate smile crept onto your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His words caused a particular imagery to pollute your thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You groaned in protest. You kissed him back anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

A choked cry echoed out, barely five minutes later.

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

"Sweetheart, look away." He evoked.

You couldn't.

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

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

He looked at you like such.

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

From scum, you came. Now scum you become.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had never felt happier. Never felt more whole.

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

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

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

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

A river draws closer and closer in the distance.

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

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

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

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

Your eyes rounden in realisation.

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

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

Tears prickle at the edge of your eyes.

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

"Oliver, this isn't fucking funny."

"I know it isn't, sweetheart."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WORD COUNT: 4K MASTERLIST

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