#and you know. saltburn did have its moments

[devilsskettle]

infinity pool is like what i thought saltburn was gonna be like based on the hype around how risqué people said it was. i can’t say i’m enjoying infinity pool more but at least mia goth is there

#and you know. saltburn did have its moments #infinity pool is just. more of a horror premise from the beginning + all the freak shit you could possibly hope for #and it’s fun to see mia goth wage psychological warfare on this man #and we love a doppelgänger

[blondedmuse]

MISERY BUSINESS

felix catton x reader

synopsis. ꩜ based off of this request.

author’s note. ∿ i need this man so bad it’s not even funny. smut (fingering, oral f receiving, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, praise, marking, voyeurism I guess idk) it's been a while since I wrote something on this account and its not proofread so be nice, also a bit of a rushed ending??

word count. ⨾ 2.7k

The harsh thud of the car door closing awoke you from your mid-day reverie by the lake. The sun was beaming down on you almost bare body, only covered by a bikini. It was hotter than usual and everyone else at saltburn seemed to share your complaints. The heat aside the weather was pleasant—Felix on the other hand looked less than.

He looked annoyed, almost upset, even from far away. When he exited the car Oliver and Felix went their separate ways, Oliver looking just as unhappy. You wondered what happened in just few hours that could’ve soured their moods but it was only a few moments later when Felix approached you, grinning in attempt to hide the scowl he was dressed in minutes earlier.

Once he reached your figure he towered over your body as you laid on the dock. Having well acknowledge the heat now and your lack of clothing he discarded his shirt and quickly lowered his frame over yours so that his was barely hovering over yours.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

He shook his head with a small grin. “nothing.”

You scoffed. “Liar.” He raised his brows.

“What’s wrong?” You prodded again. He dropped his head in hesitation, his lip between his teeth as he contemplated telling you what happened on his and Oliver’s road trip, what he felt, what the truth was—but he couldn’t. Not yet anyways.

He looked up at you. “I- Oliver just said something and it hurt me more than I thought it would.”

You sat up, the two of you adjusting your bodies as you did so. You stared intently at his face, watching how his eyes glossed over and how he could barely hold your gaze. It was a different demeanor than what other people knew, one of the more human parts that made people fall in love with him.

You lifted his face towards yours. “I’m sorry.” The silence that followed after your statement determined he wasn’t interested in sharing anything deeper than the surface of the matter.

He looked back at Saltburn then back at you. “Don’t be.”

You scrunched your brows. “Hm?”

“I don’t know,” He said earnestly. “It’s not your fault, I should’ve listened to you earlier. You kept saying you had a bad feeling about him and I didn’t really take it to heart…til’ now I guess.”

“Oh, Felix,” You sighed, cupping his face, your hand over his jaw subliminally believing that it would release the tension he held there.

“He’s out tomorrow.” His hand caressed yours as it rested on his cheek.

“Really?”

“Really.” He confirmed. “Maybe now I can get you, alone, yeah?” His body pushed yours back down on the doc so he was hovering over you once again.

"Felix," You laughed. "Always distracting me, aren't you."

"No 'm not," he mumbled, nipping at your earlobe. "You weren't doing anything important anyways."

"I was going to ask another question," You giggled.

"Okay," He answered, pushing himself so that he kneeled above you, a knee on either side of your torso. "What?"

When he was playful like this he was such a beautiful sight in front of you, you almost felt bad asking him a question as if you were ruining the mood.

"You're not really kicking him out are you? I feel bad."

He sighed. "I am kicking him out and you shouldn't feel bad, he’s in the business of misery it’s almost like his job to make people feel bad." He crawled back over you once again, something heavier within him now. You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw, his clouded eyes. His mouth made its way back to your body, this time trailing down your stomach, beginning to leave marks you knew you’d have to hide at the party tonight.

“Felix,” You frowned. “I just-”

He cut you off. “Enough, alright. He was a creep anyways, you said it yourself,” He told you and you nodded, internally agreeing.

“He’s going home after the party.”

The feel of his voice as he mumbled into your skin was enough for you to stop thinking about the situation for the moment. It wasn’t until nightfall you were reminded of Oliver's unrelenting presence—it was his birthday after all. Still, no matter where you were in Saltburn, you couldn't help but feel a pair of eyes upon you, you couldn’t help but feel that you were never alone.

"Can we go somewhere a little more private?" You asked Felix and he hardly registered the question. His hands up your dress the lights were dim, colored strobe lights bleeding in from the outside. The room was close to empty but the music could be heard throughout the house. You could ask him anything to anyone and it wouldn’t really mean anything—and it didn't help that the two of you were getting dizzy on champagne.

So, you didn't ask you question again but your eyes flickered to the maze that could be seen from the window and he understood what you wanted.

"Whatever you want, angel." He grinned, pulling his hands away to grab yours, taking you to the garden.

You scrunched your brows together. "I should be calling you that y'know."

He laughed with you. "You have wings too."

"But I'm a fairy"

"Close enough." You laughed to yourself as you and Felix walked through the house and towards the maze. There was a bottle of champagne in your left, Felix’s hand in your right, grounding you with each step. The more the time passed the less ideal it felt to walk in heels—you thought of ditching them all together. Still, they held the integrity of your costume, matching the chosen Midsummer Night's Dream theme. You'd dressed up as a fairy, donning flowers in your hair and a frilly slip dress, the costume obviously incomplete without wings.

Your heels pierced through the dirt once you’d made it to the grass, your feet sinking slightly with each step. You groaned to yourself, not going unnoticed by Felix.

“You okay?” He asked, stopping to turn to you.

“My heels,” You answered.

He furrowed his brows. “What about them?”

“Well…” You hesitated. “They’re killing my feet and they keep sinking into the dirt. They’re gonna get dirty.”

“We’ll we can’t have that know can we,” Felix replied, picking you in on fell swoop, your body now in his arms, your legs dangling from his grasp.

"Felix," You giggled his named through broken laughs, surprised with the immediacy of his action.

"What? You know I'd do anything for my best girl," He told you, returning the wide lipped smile on your face.

"I didn't ask you anything."

"You didn't have to."

You went limp in his arms as you sighed, comparable to an act of defiance as if you were annoyed, as if he did something wrong; but you knew he couldn't if he tried. He shook his head but the smirk on his lips was undeniable as he carried you the rest of the way to the center of the maze.

"You're insufferable, won't even let me carry you," He carped, putting you down and letting you lean against the cold metal of the statue as you put the bottle of champagne on the ground beside you.

"I did and you love me," You retorted, inching your face towards his, leaving a sliver of space between your lips. The bronze on your back that chilled your skin was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Felix's body, from the warmth of the air around you. It was intoxicating, his breath on your skin and the breeze of the wind. Looking up at him you could see that carnal glimmer in his eyes when his hands roamed your body only moments earlier, and this morning on the dock. It was something you craved and that was something he knew and savored the fact.

"Well I can't deny that," He smirked before closing the gap between the two of you. You could feel the indent of his grin as he kissed you, his lips turned up into a wicked smile, something more depraved, but still, nonetheless, Felix.

"Why don't I finished what I started earlier, love?" He asked against you not bothering to pull away and you only moaned in approval. His lips traveled from yours to the lobe of your ear so he knew you could hear him clearly.

"You need to use your words, darling."

"Yes," You keened, wanting—needing more than what was being given.

"Good girl," He hummed, his hands drawing down the straps of your dress before they traced down the rest of your body all the way to your thighs. He hooked his hands under them, lifting you to sit on the base of the statue.

"This okay?" He asked, looking into your eyes for conformation, the raise of his eyebrows encouraging it verbally as well.

"Yeah," You sighed breathelessly. "But I still need you."

He smirked again. "Let me fix that then."

Felix's hands gently lowered the front of your dress, exposing your breasts and taking one of them into his mouth, moaning around it.

"You're beautiful, darling" He mumbled, groaning as his tongue slid over your hard nipple. His words were genuine but you couldn't help but feel a little cheesy, kicking your foot playfully at his leg and you felt his erection, hard as you did so.

"And you know that already," He chuckled, sucking your nipple more aggressively. "But it's true." His words made you ache with impatience, whine with desire. Felix pulled back before lowering himself to his knees, his eyes not daring to leave yours. Only when he licked an agonizingly slow, sloppy stripe against your clothed cunt his eyes focused on the sight in front of him.

You breath hitched in anticipation as he pulled down your panties with his teeth and taking them off, shooting you a wink as he pocketed them. Immediately after his gaze moved back to your wet pussy, wasting no time in tasting you.

He dropped his head and his tongue slithered to your clit, flicking the pearl a few times before wrapping his lips around it. Your core was hot against his face, your scent, heady and electrifying; he could spend hours between your legs. Your hand went to claw at his hair, your fingers entangling with his brown locks.

"Ri-Right there," You breathed, attempting your best to string a coherent thought together, but it was hard when one of his hands massaged the outside of your thigh while the other came up to your empty hand. Your fingers interlocking, his thumb kneading the side of your palm as he sucked harder at your clit. You squeezed it as you released strangled moans, strained from the attempt to stay quiet.

"You can be louder, love. No one else is going to hear you except me." You didn't believe him, swearing you heard something in the bushes move along with the fact that there was a full blown party happening in his house right now; but you couldn't help yourself either.

He slipped two fingers into you, eliciting a lewd moan with ease. Your legs pressed together and he almost felt suffocated at the momentary feeling of being entirely enveloped by you—but it was exactly what he wanted.

"Oh God, Felix," You fingers digging deeper into his scalp and he groaned.

His movements were mindless and uncalculated, but they had you reeling each time. He knew your body like a book, where to touch to have your head spinning. The longer he spent between you legs, the louder your moans got, your hips helplessly bucking up to meet his fingers and mouth.

"Atta' girl," he murmured against you core. "Cum for me, love, I can feel you squeezing me."

Your movements got sloppier, raunchier, as your orgasm approached swiftly. It struck you like a bolt of lightning, your body overtaken with rapture and relief. Felix watched as you come down from your high, his fingers still working you over.

"You did so well f'me," He coaxed, finally removing his fingers from your core and scaling up your body, his moving to cling to yours and swallowing any soft moans you had left.

"Need you," You whispered as his lips nipped at yours.

"Need me or my cock?" He chuckled, drunk on you.

"You know what I mean," You replied, hands already to undo the buckle of his belt.

He stopped you before you could go any further. "I know, I just want to hear you say it, darling."

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, the smile on your lips indicating otherwise. His brows darted up, goading you on.

"Please?" He pressed and you exhaled in pleasure, in desire.

"Need you inside me, Felix." The corners of his mouth turned up into that smug smirk you've known for so long and he nodded in thanks.

"As you wish, my love."

He was rock hard, heavy and hot in your hands, precum dripping from his tip. You were just as wet and desperate as he reached down as he lined himself up with your entrance, sheathing himself inside you without another moment of hesitation. His arms caged your body under him as he hissed at the feeling. He gave you a a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his cock completely filling you up as he was buried deep inside of you.

"You're so tight," He praised as he kissed you, moaning into your mouth as he began to move. The pace of his hips started slow, gently rolling into yours, your clit brushing up into his pelvic bone at just the right angle. Felix tuned into how your moans falter when he hit just right spot, the sensation going straight to your core.

"Feels so good," You keened as you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

"Yeah? Tell me about it," He asked as he increased his pace, the speed of his pounding becoming relentless, evoking obscene noises from you. You wrapped your legs around his torso, heels digging into his back as you gave him the perfect angle to go even deeper as his cock hit your g-spot repeatedly.

You were sure your nails were going to leave a mark as they clawed into his shoulders while his hand slowly travelled to your core, rubbing fast circles on your swollen clit to help you reach your climax. You clenched around him in a manner so desperate, cunt fluttering around his cock. You didn’t have time to tell him you were cumming, screaming and sobbing as ecstasy hit you like a brick wall. You arched your back as his name fell from your lips again and again like a hopeless prayer. He followed suit seconds later, soaked with you as buried his head into the crook of your neck. He came with a strident cry as he bottomed out, filling you to the brim. You went limp under him as he panted weakly with his voice hoarse in your ear.

Still hazy from your climax your eyes widened as you saw Oliver walk into the maze. Felix didn't hear him, but he took note of your expression.

"What? Are you okay? What's-"

You interrupted him. "Oliver." Felix's head whipped around to the man standing behind him.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Felix exclaimed and you pulled your legs from his torso and fixed your dress. Felix pulled up his trousers, buckling up his belt before fully turning to face Oliver.

"What are you doing here, mate? I mean, really?" You didn't say anything, composing yourself as Felix stood in front of you. Oliver opened his mouth to speak but Felix cut him off before he could explain himself.

"Actually I don't wanna fucking know, I've seen enough." He sighed and looked back to check on you.

“I think you should go,” You said to Oliver. “Before you do anything more to embarrass yourself.” The words were harsh as they came out of your mouth but you didn’t know what else to say. You watched as he walked away with his shoulders slumped, no doubt some guilt weighing them down.

“Are you alright?” Felix asked you, turning back around. You nodded still processing what had just happened as it seemed the champagne had worn off a while ago. You grabbed the bottle off the ground and held it up, offering it to Felix with a smile he didn't hesitate to reciprocate back.

"To Oliver's fucking party!" You laughed confused as ever, taking a swig of the bottle before he grabbed it from you.

"To Oliver's stupid fucking party."

#jacob elordi #felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #felix catton x y/n #felix catton saltburn #saltburn #oliver quick #blondedmuse.nsfw #felix catton x reader smut #felix catton smut #jacob elordi smut

[axelsagewrites]

Felix Catton*Who is that?

Pairing: Felix Catton x f!reader

Word count: 1303

Warnings: Farleigh being judgy, pure fluff

Masterlist Here

It was during his first lecture when Felix saw you for the first time. he was sat near the back when you walked in and to Felix you were hard to miss. You definitely stood out being the only student in overalls and messy ponytail with a pencil shoved in it, but Felix found your get up oddly endearing.

He watched as you took the closest empty seat, the end chair in a row only 3 down from his which luckily gave him a great view of you. “What is she? A farmer?” Farleigh snorted when he caught sight of what Felix had been looking at.

Felix rolled his eyes at his cousin, “Lay off. I think it looks cool,”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “If you’re poor,”

Luckily the professor walked in right at that moment so Felix could tune out Farleigh who wasn’t even paying attention to the class. Neither was Felix but at least he tried but his attention kept being drawn back to you.

Unluckily however for him was that when the class was dismissed you were instantly swallowed by the excited to leave crowd meaning Felix wasn’t able to get your name.

-

the next time Felix saw you was at the fellows’ gardens at oxford. It was a rare sunny day in Britan, so Felix was currently taking a wander through the gardens with his mates when he saw you. you were laying by a tree reading a book above your head to block out the sun.

it was something he often did himself during the summer holidays at Saltburn and the sight of you doing the same filled his heart with an odd sense of nostalgia that was only knocked away when one of the girls who had joined their wander latched onto his arm suddenly.

Not wanting to deal with Farleigh’s comments right now Felix decided that he’d excuse himself in a couple minutes and double back so he could finally get your name but by the time he’d came back to the tree you were nowhere to be seen.

-

It was only a couple days till he saw you again however this time you disappeared even quicker. He was walking out of oxford with Farleigh and some friends when you came whizzing past them on a skateboard with your headphones on.

“Who even uses a skateboard?” Farleigh rolled his eyes as you disappeared too quick for Felix to catch your attention.

“Do you have to judge everyone?” Felix found himself snapping before he’d given it much thought, “You’ve not even met her,”

“Okay geez,” Farleigh said, raising his hands in mock defence, “Didn’t realise I was insulting your girlfriend or something,”

Felix scoffed at his cousin, not quite understanding why the words seemed to hurt, “I’ve not even met her mate. You’re just being an arse,”

-

-

Felix suddenly found you popping up everywhere but never getting the chance to actually say hello. He got close one time, less than a foot from you when suddenly Olly came over to get his attention and by the time, he looked back you were halfway down the corridor.

He didn’t even know you, yet you were consuming his mind especially since none of his friends had heard of you either. He decided to go to the pub tonight to try get his mind off of it when it happened again.

Felix saw you walk into the bar by yourself. He didn’t want to sound so creepy, but he was mentally relieved that you hadn’t walked in with another guy and instead walked up to the bar and ordered a drink before heading to an empty two-seater table and pulling out a book.

“Look who showed up,” Farleigh teased when he saw Felix’s eyes on you, “Your girlfriends here. I swear you need to go and speak to her, or I will. It’s getting sad mate,” he scoffed but as much as Felix hated to admit it, he was right.

“Okay,” Felix said, puffing up his chest for confidence, “I’m doing it,”

Neither Farleigh nor Oliver had seen Felix look so nervous so both shot each other a confused glance as Felix mentally prepared himself, “Just go for its man,” Oliver told him, “Worst she could say is no,”

“Which she won’t cause no girl in the history of ever has,” Farleigh scoffed, “it’s annoying really,”

Felix ignored both of them and decided enough was enough as he found himself walking to your table. As he walked to your table, he saw the book in your hands more clearly. “I haven’t read that one, but I hear its good,” Felix said, snapping you out of your daze.

“Um yeah it’s good,” you said, half closing your book with your finger in between to keep its place.

“I’m Felix,” he said, stretching out his hand for you to shake and instantly regretting it when he remembered he wasn’t at his mother’s fancy dinners.

You however graciously laughed and shook his hand putting him out his misery, “Nice to meet you Felix,” you said and finally after ages of wondering he found out your name.

“Do you want another?” he asked, nodding to your near empty drink.

You however looked to his table which were all very obviously staring at you both, “I think your friends may miss you,”

“They can survive without me for say just one drink. I don’t want to keep you from it for too long,” he said, motioning down at your book.

Another soft laugh left your lips pulling him in deeper, “Okay. one drink,”

When Felix got up to get the drinks, he saw some cheap looking cardboard coasters and grabbed one. “Can I borrow a pen mate?” he asked the bartender who gave him it before finishing up the drinks. Felix quickly wrote his number and name on the back of the cardboard before picking up the drinks.

“Here and,” he said, sitting your drink down and taking your book out your hands and slipping the coaster in the pages, “here. So, you don’t lose your spot,”

“I agreed to a drink,” you said as Felix sat down, “who said I wanted company?” you said but the teasing smile on your lips made him laugh and the conversation quickly flowed as you both nursed your drinks for an hour.

Eventually you glanced at the time then frowned, “I should probably go I have an early lecture tomorrow,”

“Skip it,” Felix said, leaning on the table, “Stay a little longer,”

“I wish I could,” you said as you slipped the book into your bag without even checking the bookmark he’d left. “I’d say id see you tomorrow but,” you said as you stood up, “apparently you’re skipping that lecture,” you said making him quirk an eyebrow at you, “You’re in my class,”

“I know,” he said with a grin, “I just didn’t know you knew,”

“How could I not know? you look like a statue the uni commissioned,” you joked, and Felix found his cheeks heating up and his face flushing and for once not because of the alcohol, “See you around Felix,”

“See you,” he said, raising his hand to wave goodbye and internally being grateful when you turned around so he could watch you leave.

-

Honestly Felix wasn’t entirely sure if that whole conversation happened or if you were simply a mirage. However, when his phone buzzed that night, he knew you were definitely real, and he was thankful for it.

Unknown number – you’re a sneaky man

Felix felt his cheeks hurt from smiling as he typed back.

Felix – I just didn’t want you to lose your place

What Felix didn’t see however was the way you were laying in bed also smiling like a Cheshire cat at his messages.

Taglist Sign Up Here

General taglist: @strvngestark @headinfantasy @meg-ro @427120lxld @obx-josie18 @ravenmoore14 @tessakate @justtilly @jjkjbhj @clairacassidy @valeskafics @perla434 @justtilly @selenestar78 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @urfavnoirette @randomstory56

Saltburn Taglist: @cdragons @zaldritzosrose

#saltburn #saltburn x reader #saltburn fluff #saltburn imagine #felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #felix catton x you #felix catton x y/n #felix catton fluff

[asumofwords]

Common Factors - Michael Gavey x Reader

Synopsis: Part 2 of Midpoint, though can be read as a standalone. Michael Gavey asked you out for a drink and you had surprisingly agreed. Will you be able to tolerate each others wit without bickering, or will you lose yourself to him once more?

Warnings: This fic is 18+, readers discretion is advised. Public fingering, teasing, degradation, name calling, voyeurism, dumbification, finger fucking, biting, bratty reader. This is porn with barely any plot.

Word Count: 6k

Notes: Hello my angels, I know you have all been waiting so patiently for part two of Midpoint and here it is! Now I can't say that there will be a third/final chapter, but I may have ideas for it. No promises though. Saltburn has made me so nostalgic, I miss MSN messenger and MySpace. I miss the early 2000s so much, the tackiness of it, how everything was just to the max. Lmao. I also miss Tamagotchis. *Sigh*, nostalgia. Anywayyyyy, thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy! <3

Part 1 - Midpoint

When Michael had asked you out for a drink, or rather asked if you wanted to get a drink, it was not really a distinct question of going on a date with him or not, and perhaps you were arguing semantics right now, but that was besides the point.

He had thought that you would go right after your little event in the library. His eagerness was riddled by anxiety, clear for anyone, not that there was anyone in the vicinity, to see or hear, you hoped. 

You had shifted awkwardly for a moment, feeling his spend slide down you thigh in the large hole he had ripped in your stockings, explaining that you wouldn’t be able to go that evening.

He wilted.

It strummed a cord in your chest, and so you quickly explained that it was because of said issue between your legs, and not that you didn’t want to see him again. The fire in his eyes lit up again, and for a moment, the hair on the back of your neck stuck up. It felt as if you were about to be confronted once more by his obnoxious spite, though thankfully, and only because of your quick explanation, did he soften and you exchange details for your respected MSN Messenger accounts. 

The night after he was busy, apparently there was some sort of important chess tourney that he would be going to with his friend, you were unaware that he had any, and so he proposed the night after. But the night after you had told your best friend that you would bus into the city centre to meet with her, so that was no go as well.

You both thankfully settled on the Friday later that week, agreeing to meet at the small pub you frequented, which you found he did too. Each time the computer dinged at his reply, a thrill of excitement crawled through you. He was rather curt in his messages, but eager, and would often would send moving emojis at the end, which you saved and would send back.

Friday rolled around quickly, and you found yourself eager to see him again. You spent a solid two hours fretting over what to wear, deciding that pants or tights were not an option this time despite the cold weather.

You settled on a cute little outfit, the skirt of it coming to your mid thigh, looking at yourself in the mirror as you left before triple checking your computer and Nokia for any messages to say he was late, or couldn’t come, but none came. The last message he had sent to you, was a smiling thumbs up that moved largely across your screen agreeing to see you at 7pm sharp. 

You left early, earlier than what was needed, and sped walked the entire way to the pub, pulling your large jacket tightly around you, scarf covering the lower half of your face. The air was particularly crisp that evening, and by the looks of it, it may snow later, and although it was quite cold, you could see from afar that the pub was full, the winter air not deterring them. 

When you opened the door, the stale stench of its beer soaked floorboards filled your senses, loud music and even louder people, drinking and smoking and laughing in large groups without any care for the world. You knew that break would soon enough be coming to an end, and all the students would now be slowly making their way back, spending their last days or weeks of break with friends on campus and the establishments surrounding. 

The air inside the venue was stuffy, and almost wet with condensation, and as you rose on your tip toes, looking over the heads of others at their tables, or at the bar, you struggled to spot the familiar sandy blonde hair from your library, and the glasses that sat perched on his sharp nose. 

You pulled out your Nokia, checking the time and also checking for any messages. 

It was 6:57.

You were early.

But not too early.

Heading straight for the bar, you ordered yourself a drink, eyes drifting back over the pub, looking at the faces to see if you could see him with anyone. When again, you didn’t spot him, you told yourself not to panic, and instead decided that you would find yourself a spot to sit. There was table in the far corner, away from most, its surface was cleared bar a half drunken pint, hidden in the shadows and pressed against the wall between two larger tables, filled with people. You paid for your drink, and headed straight for the empty seat, winding past the pulled out chairs and wafts of smoke.

You were halfway there when a figure popped into your periphery. Your eyes locked onto a pair of familiar blue ones, a twitching smile pulling at his sharp yet plump lips. He came towards you from the direction of the loo, and you watched as he wiped his hands down the sides of his pants despite them looking dry.

“Hey.” You smiled, stopping short of the table, to awkwardly look up at him as he made his way over.

“Hi.” 

You shifted awkwardly around each other before you leant forward to give him a hug, he wrapped one arm around you stiffly in reciprocation, before pulling back to straighten, eyeing the drink in your hand.

“You get me one?” Michael nodded his head to your drink.

Your brows furrowed softly, “Uh, no. I wasn’t sure if you were here.”

Michael hummed, “I’m never late.”

Here we go again, you inwardly sighed. This is just what you didn't need. Another run in with his attitude.

“I wasn’t to know that.”

Michael stared at you a moment longer before turning away to the bar. You watched him awkwardly, yet somehow confidently, move through what little people stood at the counter waiting, standing rod straight as he ordered himself another pint. As he waited, you took your seat on the side where the half drunk beer wasn’t, back to the wall and completely cornered in. 

When Michael came back, beer in hand, you let yourself graze your eyes over him. You couldn’t stifle the laugh that exploded from your lips. He frowned as he sat opposite you, a tinge of defensiveness showing on his strong features.

“What?” He almost sneered, watching as you brought a hand to your mouth to try and cover it up.

“I’m sorry,” You giggled again, having to look at the ceiling for two seconds, trying to compose yourself, pushing a breath out shakily, “Your shirt.”

You began to laugh again, watching him as he looked down at it, inspecting it for a stain or hole.

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” He asked clinically, not finding a rip or hole or bird shit which he had suspected was there for a moment on the material.

You bit your bottom lip and giggled again, “It’s awful.”

Tucked into his cargo pants and black leather belt was one of the worst shirts you had ever laid eyes upon. It was white, and in big font on the front, it read ‘Weapon of Math Instructions’. On it, small drawings of calculators, protractors, and sums surrounded the large font.

In a quieter voice this time, he replied, “I got it for my birthday.” He picked up the sweating beer to bring to his lips, the foam coating his mouth as he drank deeply.

You felt a tinge of regret for laughing at him so openly, even though it was admittedly the worst shirt you had ever seen, “Do you enjoy maths puns, Gavey?” You tried to sound flirtatious, but in the moment you sounded more unsure than anything.

Michael took the beer away from his lips, swiping the back of his hand against his mouth, “If they’re funny. Why?”

“Do you have more shirts like this?” You tried to contain your mirth and failed.

The curiosity melted away, and a stony expression slipped over his face, “You’re taking the piss.”

You shook your head, heart speeding up, “No! No, sorry, Michael. I swear I’m not, I just, I wanted to- I’m trying-“

“-For someone whose degree relies heavily on the english word, you sure do struggle to find them.” The smirk on his lips was a thinly thing that indicated that he was being playful, but if he hadn't of smirked, you wouldn't have known. His tone was flat, his body posture stiff, and not once did he laugh, but you knew him.

And it more intimate than you would have liked.

Tongue in cheek in you leant back in your chair, feeling a comfortable little bubble surround you, the tension that was there only simmering in the background now, and not drowning you in it.

“How was the chess tourney?” You took a sip from your drink as he watched you.

“Fascinating, if it’s something of interest.”

His answer surprised you,.

“And was it of interest?”

“TBD.”

You took another sip of your drink, “My nan used to play chess with me when I was little.” 

This seemed to peak Michael’s interest greatly, “You can play?”

You shook your head humbly, smiling, “I can play, though I’m probably not very good.”

“We should play.” His answer was so immediate, so abrupt, that you could only blink before remembering to reply.

“What, now?”

Michael raised his brows at you as though you were intellectually stunted, “Do you see any chess boards in this shit hole?”

You breathed sharply through your nose, “No.” You said more afronted than intended, “I was just asking-“

“-You ask a lot of questions but don’t know what ones you want the answers for.”

Annoyance began to bloom in your chest, “I thought we were done with this tit-for-tat nonsense. Or did you want a round two, Gavey?”

A soft blush spread across his cheeks, and you knew you had him.

“Are you going to ask me about my day?” You cheeked, enjoying the way he flustered slightly, and then held back an angry sneer.

“How was it?”

“How was what?”

Michaels jaw tensed, and you bit your inner cheek to not smile, “Your day.”

A large grin spread across your lips along with a false expression of realisation, “Oh, my day! My day was fine, thank you, Michael. I did some reading, I did some study, and then I got myself ready to have drinks with a right git.”

Michael sucked his teeth loudly, “You’re funny. Should be a comedian instead of studying them.”

“You’re cute,“ You countered, “Should smile more instead of sneer.”

“I thought you said we were done with this nonsense.”

“I did, and I am. Starting…. Now.” You smiled widely, bringing your drink up to toast. 

Michael looked at you oddly, then to the glass in your hand before finally he brought his up, connecting the two cups.

You smiled wider, proud to be ready to say something you know will interest him,“‘If you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough.’”

Michael's glass slammed down onto the table, his body leaning towards you in palpable excitement, “How do you know that?” His voice was eager, like you had lit a flame inside of him.

You smiled smugly, sipping on your drink, proud of yourself to have garnered such a reaction, “Learnt it with my degree. Einstein wasn’t just a man of maths. He was an important part of modern history. Especially regarding his involvement, or I should say rather, his non-involvement in the Manhattan Project.”

Michael's eyes lit up behind his glasses before he picked up his beer and thrust it against yours again, “Glad they’re teaching you something of importance.”

You huffed and laughed and sipped, watching as Michael settled his chair closer to you. It felt as if a door had been opened, and suddenly you were able to step inside the world that was Michael Gavey.

“You know,” You smirked, feeling heat from him beside you, chairs still apart, but bodies leant towards each other, “Art and History is just as important as Maths and Science.”

Gavey looked as though you had declared that the Earth was flat. It was a peculiar little look that made you want to lean across the space and press your lips squarely against his.

“I’m being serious.” You continued, “Without art, without history, the world would be a lot more boring than it is now.”

Michael pursed his lips at you, “Whatever helps you rationalise your choice of degree.”

You sipped your drink, eyes watching him over the rim of your glass, “I’ll let that slide. Only because I know you like watching me get riled up.”

“You’re rather confident of yourself this evening.” He commented, his blue eyes gleaming behind his glasses.

“And you’re rather goading. Not that that’s out of the ordinary.”

His fingers strummed against the table as he looked at you, eyes roaming over your body, “You look nice.”

“I would say the same, but I hate lying, and that shirt is an abomination.” You teased, bumping your shoulder into his lightly.

He smiled.

When did it become this?

How did it become so easy for you to melt into this conversation with him of all people?

Only earlier this week the two of you were at each others throats, snarling and fighting, and now here you were, seated beside each other, making little jokes and sitting intimately close. 

“Careful. Tit-for-tat.” Michael warned you, and you rolled your eyes playfully with a huff.

It seemed to please him, and soon enough you were moving through a smooth conversation. He mostly asked you about your studies and friends, and even asked about your family.

And you learnt about his. A fairly standard, run of the mill family. One sister, and an older brother, had a dog growing up, and now has a fish. 

But soon enough the conversation drifted back to your studies.

“Are you looking forward to term starting again?” You asked.

You felt as though he would be, his desire for learning and studying was clear whenever he spoke about it. He was passionate, and it was something that you admired about him. Or at least, now you did.

Michael shrugged, “I’m looking forward to graduating.”

This confused you.

“Why?”

Michael frowned, “Why do you think? I’m second in our year, I barely need to study-“

“-All you do is study, Michael.”

“Because there’s not much else to do here, I don’t have friends like you do.” Michael sneered the word friends, and immediately you knew who he was referring to.

“Michael-“

“-It’s different for us. People who aren’t ‘in’. Theres no parties, or accolades, only our degree.”

“You know that I’m not-“

“-I know that you don’t think you are, but whether you like it or not, they consider you one of them.”

You frowned. You didn’t like hearing that, especially with what Farleigh had said to you. You hated it because whilst it was wrong, it was still true. You did get invited to the parties, you had them all on MySpace and MSN, and even had their numbers in your phone. But for you, it was different, and Michael knew it.

You pushed your tongue against the side of your mouth, “I’ll bring you as my plus one to the next party. Then you can see that you’re not missing out on much.”

“You’d be seen with me in public? With them watching?” He said it with a laugh, though it was entirely humourless.

Your head tilted to the side, “We’re in public right now, aren’t we?” You looked around the pub, watching the many faces around you before settling back onto his. His expression was unreadable, until finally-

“We are in public.” He smirked. Gavey downed the rest of his beer quickly, all but slamming his glass onto the table, though not loud enough to garner any attention from the other patrons.

Michaels hand grabbed the seat of your chair and pulled it roughly towards him. You let out a squeak of surprise as your seat shifted against the floor suddenly, almost making you lose your balance. 

“Michael!”

“What?” He asked innocently.

“What are you doing?” Your heart began to quicken, his hand coming down to brush against your thigh as he intently stared at you from behind his glasses.

“I’m not doing anything.” His hand inched higher, grazing your inner thigh.

In a small panic, you lifted your gaze to the rest of the pub. Not one person had looked up when he dragged you to him, nor had anyone taken even the slightest bit of interest about the two students hidden in the dark corner table. Everyone in the pub was drunk and too absorbed by their own conversations and friends to notice anyone else.

“What’s wrong?” Gavey teased, voice dipping lower as he openly mocked you, his pinky finger skirting against the edge of your panties. 

Your brain had short circuited itself.

You were in public.

Where anyone could see.

And Michael had his hand under your skirt, teasing you.

This was what not what you would have expected from the man who was currently wearing a maths pun on his shirt. Your hand dropped under the table and grabbed his wrist tightly, stopping him from moving it any higher, though this didn’t prevent him from continuing to run his pinky back and forth under the elastic of your panties.

Heat coursed through you, and your core clenched around nothing. 

“What are you doing?” You asked breathlessly, a rhetorical question really. You knew just as well as he did exactly what he was doing. 

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Gavey.”

“I’ll tell you what,” He smirked again, eyes locked onto your face, watching as you struggled internally, “You sit there and be a good girl for me, and when we go back to your room, I will give you what you want.”

You blinked.

Michael squeezed your thigh roughly, “Use your words.”

“Okay.” You breathed.

“Okay what?”

“Yes.” Your blood pumped loudly in your ears, air struggling to get inside of you as you squirmed in anticipation. 

“Yes, who?”

You wet your lips with your tongue, mouth suddenly feeling dry, “Yes, Michael.”

He could be so demeaning so quickly. Like a switch was flicked. He went from this awkward, sneering maths genius to a cold and domineering man who could pull any response he liked from you.

“Better.” He smiled, “Now,” Swiftly Michael tugged your panties to the tide, two fingers immediately grazing your centre. You jerked as he slowly dragged his fingers through your folds and up to your clit.

You were soaked.

“Tell me what they’ve taught you about Einstein, since you want to use his words as a toast.” He looked you in the eyes as your breath caught on itself, his fingers swirling around your bud slickly. 

Michael suddenly paused, stilling his fingers, “Unless you only used him to try and impress me?”

Irritation coursed through you alongside frustration, “I didn’t use him to im-“ Your voice stilted as he began to rub his fingers against you again.

“To what?” He mocked you.

“I-Impress you. We learnt abou-t him and his wife recently.”

“The wife he divorced?”

“Yes.” You grit through your teeth, pleasure winding powerfully through you. Your toes curled in your shoes, stomach clenching as his fingers dipped back down to your entrance, scooping up more of your slick to drag back to your bud. Your eyes flittered around the pub, checking nervously to see if anyone had noticed what was going on underneath the table. 

No-one had.

“Surely you can find the words to tell me more?” One long finger suddenly pressed inside of you, causing you to gasp loudly, hands gripping the edge of the table tightly, “Or are you dumb already?”

“H-his wife was a brilliant physicist,” You struggled to control yourself as he crooked the long finger inside of you, curling it up against your inner walls, “And a-a mathematician.”

“Was she now?”

“Yes. Mileva Marić. They were married for a decade, and he-“ All thoughts escaped you as Michael added a second finger with the first, the stretch pressing into you deliciously as he immediately hooked his digits. You blinked mouth agape whilst looking at him, feeling your face become flushed. 

His eyes were half lidded as he watched at you intently, watching your every reaction, testing and teasing to see what made you tick, eager to make you come undone.

This was affecting him as much as it was you. 

Only he didn’t care for others catching on.

His stare urged you to continue.

“H-he was cruel to her.” You muttered, brain struggling to catch up.

Michael hummed, “Most men of historical notice were. It was the norm.”

“It doesn’t m-mean that it was okay.”

“No. But a man such as him surely deserves more merit in your eyes.” As his fingers crooked into you, slowly rubbing the spongy patch inside, his thumb pressed against your bud, causing you to shift your hips towards him, grinding down on his hand as you breathed a breathy moan, “Einstein did things that no men could.”

“I-if it was all his w-work to begin with.” You argued weakly, unable to keep your voice sturdy.

“What do you mean?” Michael’s interest halted his hands movement, but this lapse in control only lasted a moment before he corrected himself and began again.

“M-Mileva scored higher than him in applied physics. Five to his one. I-It's believed she helped him complete equations that he couldn’t without the credit. I-It's why he promised her the money f-from his Nobel Prize.”

The mans fingers slowed down their ministrations as he digested your stuttered information, the coil within you already beginning to tighten, “Fascinating.” He breathed, edging closer to you, “Tell me more.”

“Many women-” Michaels thumb began to quicken, halting your thoughts abruptly, your hands still clutching the edge of the table, knuckles aching.

“Many women, what?” He parroted you meanly, “Don’t tell me you’re close already, are you?”

You swallowed thickly, not willing to open your mouth lest a moan or gasp fall out. Michael chuckled quietly, his fingers quickening the pace within, causing you to arch towards him and grind down against his hand again. His arm subtly moved against you, and if anyone in the pub looked, they would surely know what was going on.

“Look at you,” He cooed, his other hand brushing hair behind your ear, “Already so close.”

You whined, trying to shift closer to him and his hand, if that was even possible.

“Does it turn you on that I’ve got my hand in your cunt for all to see?” He purred, “If someone just turned around right,” His fingers pulled out from you momentarily, moving up to your clit where he pinched it between thumb and forefinger, causing you to jerk, “Now, and looked closely enough, they’d be able to see how you’re desperately grinding down against my fingers.”

Your core clenched around him at his words.

“Oh, you do like it.” He tutted, “Such a dirty little whore.”

You whined again, “Michael I-“

“Shhh, don’t you worry that pretty, little, empty head.” He cooed, emphasised by swift rubbing circles on your bud, “I’ll take care of you, but only if you behave.”

You nodded desperately, feeling yourself get closer and closer to the edge. You would do anything. You were desperate at this point. The week of waiting for him had filled you with anticipation, and meant you spent most of your nights with your fingers or vibrator between your thighs thinking about him and your last meeting in the library.

Michael watched you nod and grind down on his hand, his pace slowing so that you couldn’t get much out of it besides a slow and steady buzz of pleasure.

He seemed to think for a moment, deliberating, before an almost cruel smirk pulled at his lips.

“Do you know your times tables?” He asked, fingers almost still at this point, only languidly moving to keep you riled, or to remind you of what he was doing.

You could scarcely think, scarcely exist without feeling as though you were at any moment about to come undone, his hands keeping you just at the precipice. Your mind was hazy, and any and all thoughts of substance had seemed to escape you.

“Use your words.” He encouraged you in a demeaning manner.

“Y-Yes.”

“Good. Not just a pretty face then.” The backhanded comment could have made you smile, “We are going to play a game.”

Could have.

Your eyes widened slightly, hands dropping down to clutch the underside of the table, “A game?”

“Yes.” He gave you an encouraging smile, “Good job. A game.” He was treating you like you were a child who is only just beginning to understand a basic concept, “I’m going to ask you an equation, and you’re going to answer it. If you’re correct, you get a reward. If not,” He paused, fingers teasing you again, “You get punished. Do you understand? Or do I need to dumb it down for you?”

The way he was speaking to you, so meanly, so smugly, made you clench harder around his fingers.

You liked when he was mean to you.

“Answer me. Yes or no.”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl. Alright,” His hand paused its movements, pulling his fingers out to just rest lightly against your bud, barely touching you, “What is the sum of seven times nine? I’ll use small numbers so that it doesn’t confuse you.”

Slowly, you did the maths in your head, “Sixty-three.”

Michael smirked, “Good girl.” You keened at the praise, and felt his fingers press a little harder into you, his movements beginning to start again slowly, though not enough to give you any pleasure.

“What is fifteen times six?”

Oh god. 

“Um,” You shifted, blinking rapidly to try and do the maths, but every time you got somewhere, Michael would press against you harder as if he knew, ruining your train of thought.

“Come on,” He teased with a swirl of his fingers, “That’s an easy one.”

-5 is 75, then-

“Ninety.” You gasped out.

“Good, good. So clever of you.” He cooed, though the sarcasm dripped from his lips. His fingers once again pressed harder, sparks of pleasure finally springing up inside of you. The sound of the pub was loud around you, and in the dim light, you could see that a blush had spread across his cheeks. 

“One more and then I’ll give you your reward. If you get it wrong, then you get nothing. Ready?”

You nodded shakily, chasing his hands with your hips. He tsk-ed you and stilled his hands, “Don’t be greedy.” You apologised softly and stilled, waiting for him to start again. 

"Twelve times seventeen.”

Oh God. 

What?

“M-michael, that’s not-“

“What? It’s easy enough. Even the thickest of people could get it. Though I suppose you’re getting all pretty and dumb for me anyway.”

“I-“

“How about this,” He smirked, and the way he did it caused you to sit on edge, “I’ll help you since you’re such a stupid little girl.” Michael plungers his fingers into you with no warning, immediately fucking them into you rapidly.

You sucked in air sharply, feeling the coil within begin to pull taught. 

“Twelve times fifteen is one-hundred-and-eighty. You need two more twelves. Do you know what two times twelve is?” 

Did you?

Jesus.

“I- It’s twenty four.” You answered shakily, surprised at your own voice.

“Twelve times seventeen?” He repeated the original question, “Oh dear, you really do have no brain.”

“N-No.” Your voice shook with how roughly and quickly Michael fucked you on his fingers, “Two times twelve.”

“Ah, clever little idiot. Go on now, what is one-hundred-and-eighty plus twenty-four.”

Your brain couldn’t do it, too hazy with how he was degrading you and how well he was touching you. You just wanted to cum. All you wanted was to cum. And then his thumb joined, swirling over your clit slickly as his fingers pistoned in and out of you, the sound of your wet rising from beneath the table. Your arousal pooled onto the back of your skirt and the wood of the seat.

“T-two-hundred-and-“ Michael pressed his thumb brutally against your clit suddenly, fire coursing through you, ruining your train of thought once again.

Damn him.

“Two-hundred-and what?”

Oh god.

“Two?”

Michael frowned at you, though you could tell that he was pleased, his fingers pulled away from you quickly, your eyes widening.

“N-No!” You grabbed his wrist keeping it against your inner thigh, his slick fingers pressing against your skin, “I-I-“

“Wrong answer.” He tutted, “You’re so fucking stupid. So fucking stupid and desperate, look at you.”

“Please, please,” You begged, clit throbbing, “I know- I know what the sum is. Please.” You pulled his hand back to your core, his fingers stiff as you ground against them desperately, “It’s two-hundred-and-four. Two-hundred-and-four. Michael, please.”

Michael’s fingers did not move, and watched you with entertainment as you desperately rubbed him against you. You needed to cum. You needed it. You didn’t care who saw. You didn’t care if it was degrading. You needed him. And you needed him now. 

“Look how fucking desperate you are.” He laughed, “So pathetic. Whining like a bitch in heat as you grind against my hand. Are you that desperate to be a little whore?”

“Yes. Please. Please, Michael. Please. I need it.”

“You need it?” He smirked.

You were so close, so so close, “Please, please.”

“Tell me you need me.” He breathed, face coming closer to yours, his breath fanning agains your lips.

You licked your lips again, swallowing thickly, “I need you.”

Gavey smiled toothily, “You’re so pathetic.”

And without a second thought, or really without even a first thought, you nodded in agreement, “I’m pathetic. Please. Please, Michael, I want you.”

“What will you do to get it?”

“Anything. Please.”

“Anything?” He asked again, eyes searching your face.

You nodded desperately, needing him more than you had ever needed something before “Please.”

“Okay.” His fingers slipped back into you as he breathed the word, almost as if he was bored, like fucking you with his hand in public was an all too boring affair.

Mundane.

Little to nothing coming out of it for him. But in that moment you didn’t care as the coil within began to wind again.

“Fuck.”

Michael leant forward, his lips beside your ear so that you could hear him clearly, “You’re going to cum on my hand in this disgusting little pub like the dumb, desperate, little slut that you are, and then you’re going to thank me for it. Understood?”

“Yes.” You whined, hand gripping his wrist as it pummelled into you, thumb brutally swiping your clit as his fingers brushed over the sensitive patch inside of you over and over. 

“You’re close already, aren’t you?” His lips brushed your neck, causing a shiver to roll through you.

“Fuck. Y-yes.”

Michael leant forward, his lips brushing against the skin beneath your ear, his sharp nose nuzzling into your hair before he bit down on you roughly, causing you to gasp. To anyone else in the pub it would have looked like an intimate gesture, a man trying to whisper something sweet into his dates ear, but to you, it was damning.

You were so close, so so close, and all it took was four little words to send you over the edge. Michaels tongue lapped at where he had bit you before he came back to your ear one last time.

“I own you now.”

Pleasure erupted through you, your release bursting from within. You jerked in your chair against him, tucking your head into the side of your neck as you hid your face, grinding down onto his had as you whimpered. Michael plucked pleasure from deep within you, his hand not once slowing, prolonging your orgasm. It was only when it began to subside did his hand slow as you breathed raggedly against his neck, slumped into your chair and against him.

Your heart thumped against your ribs as you panted, and gently Gavey withdrew his fingers from within you, a wince falling from your lips from oversensitivity before he pulled your panties back into place.

Michael cooed you gently, “Good job.” Almost inaudible in the loud of the pub, “So good f’me.”

Fatigue washed over you like a wave, crashing into you so fiercely that you didn’t have the strength to sit up yet. You were fucked out, mind thinking of absolutely nothing as you nuzzled your face into his neck further, breathing in his scent.

“Hm,” Michael hummed, “You still with us?”

You hummed back in reply dreamily, only moving back when Michael pulled you away, watching you with half lidded gaze as he looked over your disheveled form. Michael laughed again, eyes crinkling in the corners as he brushed his hand against your cheek. Your first thought was how pretty he was when he smiled, and then you felt the wetness of your slick clinging to your skin crudely. 

With a curious touch, Michael moved his fingers across your lips, the taste of yourself tart and warm as he caressed you. You opened your mouth for him and let his fingers inside, immediately tasting yourself as he rubbed his digits against your tongue slowly as you held your mouth open for him, drool beginning to pool at your bottom lip. 

“Such a good little girl for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded lazily, small smile flicking at the edges of your lips. Michael pulled his fingers from your mouth and used his thumb to smear the saliva that had pooled at your bottom lip over lips messily.

He tutted, “Dirty girl.”

“Mmm.” You hummed in content.

Michael eyed your half drank drink, nodding towards it, “Finish it.”

You did as he bid, brining it to your lips as you kept your eyes on him, swallowing it quickly before placing the glass back on the table, a warm fuzzy feeling slipping over you, a little space that was warm and safe and cozy. Then Michael stood, rather abruptly, like he had remembered that he forgot to turn the stove off, chair hitting the wall behind him as he looked down below at you.

“Time to go.”

You stood, on shaky legs to follow, adjusting your skirt sheepishly, knowing that there would be a damp patch at the back but not caring enough to hide it. In a way, you wanted people to know what had happened, and in some ways your wish had come true. 

A table in the middle of the pub nearby had half of its eyes on you, whispers and smirks shared amongst one another, watching as Michael grabbed your hand to lead you through the crowd roughly. Wolf whistles and hoot’s were called after you, followed by rambunctious laughter. You weren’t sure if they had seen what was happening under the table, but you were sure they had seen his fingers in your mouth. 

The door to the pub was swung open as Michael pulled you out sluggishly behind him. As you stood in the crisp air he spun you abruptly, grabbing your face as he pressed his lips to yours, his tongue immediately swiping against yours, trying to taste your essence that lingered there. Michael groaned into the kiss, pressing his body against you, where finally you could feel how much what had transpired had affected him. He pulled back, restraining himself as his sharp nose bumped into yours as he moved. 

And then he was gone, stepping away from you as he began to walk away. You stood dumbfounded as you watched him, snow beginning to fall from the sky. 

Do you go after him? Was this it? Did he just use you in the pub only to humiliate you out the front? 

A wave of confusion and hurt washed over you, but before it could turn to anger, he stopped and faced you again, a soft smirk on his lips.

“You coming? You said anything.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to any tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3

Taglist: @magnificentdelusionr @twglitching @fan-goddess @mydemimonde @itsshizyne @4v1d-m3t4l-3nj0y3r @liv-cole @lcecgg @sepherinaspoppies @marihoneywk @trashy-panda777 @bellaisasleep

#Michael Gavey x reader #Michael Gavey x y/n #Michael Gavey #Saltburn #michael Gavey fanfic #michael Gavey smut #Saltburn fanfic #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey smut #michael gavey fic #michael gavey #ewan mitchell #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fic #michael gavey fanfic #Michael gavey oneshot #saltburn #michael gavey saltburn

[manicpixiefelix]

This is going to sound so pretentious to say, but I think that one of the most incredible things Emerald Fennell did with Saltburn was give it's audience both everything and nothing all at once. But which I mean that every moment we see on screen is so carefully chosen and wonderfully detailed. Every second of the story that Oliver chooses to tell us is perfectly crafted to give us the exact story he wants to create, nothing more and nothing less. Saltburn's narrative lives and dies in Oliver's obsessive recollection, his confessional. Its why these characters who are so clearly and wonderfully rich below the surface can, at a glance, come off as shallow. Oliver didn't care!! And the one he did care about, he gatekept so jealously (I saw someone else's meta discussing this and I absolutely agree) to the point where we as an audience barely know who Felix was. We don't even know who Oliver was, at the end of the day; he was manipulative and ambitious and obsessive and - I could not tell you a single thing he genuinely liked that wasn't Felix. Because that's it, isn't it. That's the story of Saltburn. Everything revolved around Felix, and Felix was everything, and so Oliver's story only focuses on the absolute tragedy of having everything and then losing everything in that one Summer.

And nothing else.

Emerald gave us the gift of Oliver's everything, and the vague, nebulous nothing that he cares about just behind it. The hints of more, jumping off points of intrigue and imagination, things we can extrapolate from and speculate about. There is so much room in this world around it's implications and offhand remarks for us to all build upon. We don't even know if Venetia is Felix's older or younger sister???? There is limitless space to play in this world, both before the events of the film, but also between the few moments Oliver chooses to show us. We see twenty minutes of Oliver's Full First Year at Oxford before he goes to Saltburn, so much of how he falls for Felix and becomes his friend goes so unsaid and unseen, little more than a montage, and Barry and Jacobs's phenomenal chemistry selling their closeness, so we don't have to know each detail.

But that's the thing, that's just bliss; the falling in love is a given in this story, he opens with that. These moments would simply be nothing on the road to everything.

Its like Emerald Fennell is kissing me directly on the forehead and giving her blessing to fill in the blanks. She knew we would; she literally said she knew Saltburn would be a hit on Tumblr, she knew what she was doing. This film was made for those of us who like to over analyse media and also create vivid and intricate headcanons and sometimes both at the same time.

Tumblr, and creatives especially, love Saltburn because it deliberately lets us play in its world, in that sweet spot between everything and nothing, all at once.

#saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn meta #felix catton #oliver quick #venetia catton #farleigh start #emerald fennell #elspeth catton #sir james catton #james catton #felix x oliver #felix catton x oliver quick #manicpixieart

[theredofoctober]

RUMPLESTILTSKIN— An Oliver Quick/Reader Saltburn DarkFic

Pairing: Oliver Quick/You, Oliver Quick/Reader (no gender specified, terms like pretty are used though just to mention)

Synopsis: Oliver finds You, the awkward guest at his birthday party, and takes what his dark heart desires.

Trigger Warnings (PLEASE READ): noncon, blood play, Oliver just being evil

Fic under the cut, keep reading

"Who are you, then?"

It was the small man that said it, the one with the slurring Nothern accent and eyes like ice picks, palely sharp.

You'd seen him swaying on the outer edge of the party, seeming both drunk and far too sober, all at once.

His face was odd, flat, and sleek, like a trickster in a German folk story: thief of children, bringer of gold.

You hated the boy in a moment, drawing back from him against a trellis, your hands wrapped fast through the slats. His eyes made you wish you'd drunk rather less than you had done, silver as scissor blades in the swelling night.

"I'm one of Venetia's friends," you said, though you knew Felix more, and Farleigh rather better than you liked to. "You don't know me. Who are you?"

The boy stepped around a plant pot, his balance the measure of sobriety. He wore deer antlers with an open-chested white suit, embroidered with leaves, the dress of a more handsome man. Only the slopes of his cheekbones, the soft mouth were beautiful.

His eyes made an autopsy of you. There was nothing in them but wanting, a starving colour. An absence of it.

You would have turned to run, only there was nothing then to fly from that made sense.

"I'm Oliver," said the young man. "It's my birthday party. Felix's family arranged it all for me."

"Happy birthday," you said, at once, a reflex.

You wished that he'd go away, that he would edge into the maze like a shadow thrown by the sun, and meld with the dark of the leaves beyond. Anything but approach as he did then, his compact form eating of the air between you with carnivorous haste.

He was slight enough that you thought you might push him down or aside with little effort, but the poise of him, as delicate as a barber's blade, gave you pause. He'd cut you if you touched him, you thought. Something would happen, and you would run crying as you had from a dozen birthday celebrations as a child, unwanted.

He brought that old vulnerability up out of you, somehow, though he hadn't yet done much but broach the most innocent of smalltalk.

"How come you're over here, on your own?" asked Oliver, his head at a sympathetic incline. "You're too pretty for that. You know that, don't you?"

His voice was a sing-song croon, then, all silken menace. He was trying to charm you, you knew that, yet you saw as though through the beads of a brothel doorway the hunger in him, the appetite of worlds.

You glanced right and left, realising, with an awful start, how very drunk you were, swaying and stupid with it.

"I needed some fresh air," you said, with a high, braying laugh— Oliver half-smirked at the sound of it, knowing its falseness, knowing your fear. "All that bloody champagne went right to my head."

"You'll need someone to look after you, then," said Oliver, and then he uttered your name, making a baleful ditty of its syllables.

How had he known it? Had he known it all along?

You'd glimpsed him watching you, before, an empty glass in hand, attaching himself to your heels like a stoat after a rabbit, all lithe cunning on the hunt. Likely he'd heard your name then, as Felix had bent down to kiss your cheek, all affable golden looks. Heard it, and slipped it into the pocketbook of his mind to tear free, when it was needed.

Your name was pretty on Oliver's tongue, sugar, and ribbon, and stained glass, as apt to break. Happily you'd have taken the pieces and cast them all out into the riverbed, have gone nameless rather than hear him speak it again.

"You don't know anyone else here, do you?" asked Oliver, and there was the word again, no longer ribbon, but rough as a noose, strangling as he came closer still. "Just the Catton family. Something in common, me and you."

You lurched vaguely to the right, and Oliver's arm came up against the trellis, gently, a tender trap.

"You're lonely," he said. "Haven't you always been, though?"

His face was close enough for you to note the punctuation of a mole on his right cheek, the lines at his brow, the riddled literature of him. What he saw in yours was a portal to the past, all features from the nervous mouth to the twitching eyelids telling of a once bullied child, an outcast brought in through charity from the cold.

"Go away, Oliver," you said, bravely. "I want to be alone. I can't breathe."

That was true enough. You were stifled in your plastic wings and ill-fitting garments, sweating and airless, almost wanting to be sick.

Oliver drew his face nearer, and your throat closed to the breadth of a lock in your dread of him, of those ink spill eyes.

"I don't want you to breathe," he said. "Not right now."

Then he darned his lips to yours, their heat, their softness like the death of summer blooms, and you pressed back into the trellis so hard that you thought the wood might break, so brittle did it seem.

You brought up your hands to battle his shoulders, only for them to be joined with his, your fingers tangling, a torsion of slick skin and bone.

There were no thoughts that survived the cruelty of Oliver's embrace, the insistence of his compact strength, the length of tongue, of arousal under clothing, at your thigh. You wanted to snap free of him like a spell, but he kissed you until your fight withdrew in sight of its fair winner.

No one came close enough to see you, or if they did they thought you drunken lovers, poised to consummate your pash against the fence.

At last Oliver moved back his head, the reflection of the night's obsidian in his mortuary eyes.

"Let me go," you whispered. "I don't want to do this. I don't want you."

"Well, I want you, though," said Oliver, with an authority that frightened you in its unshifting weight. "And since nobody else here does, what's the point in saying no?"

His hands, little and wicked, wore their way under clammy layers of clothes. In all the heat they were almost cold, dragging from you a series of ragged gasps that were lost in the revelling darkness.

You wished the wings at your back were feathered, those of swans; they'd have broken the bones in his arm and you out of this, far lovelier a transportation than the sticky taxi that would bear you home in the hours to come.

Yet had such pretty things hung from your back this beast named Oliver would have bitten them off and flossed their quills through his teeth, you knew it.

He touched you until his findings were of stolen treasure, watching your every tendon solidify to strands of stone through the art of such fell grief.

"You weren't what I came looking for tonight, you know," he said. "But you're mine, anyway."

You didn't answer, imagined any word drowned like a cat in the depths of him.

Oliver stepped into you with a dancing softness and kissed you again, sucking a plum welt into your lower lip, breaking it between his teeth to blood. Again you struck your hands against him, but Oliver, with liquid instinct, pushed your arms back through the apertures in the trellis, caring little for the splinters in your wrists, if at all.

Crucifixion could not be so painful, so martyring as your capture beneath him.

"Oliver," you said, and he smiled.

"That's me. The birthday boy. And what does the birthday boy get?"

He opened your costume with the hook of four fingers, touched the bruised rose of princely lips to your ear.

His breath was smoke, and champagne, and stolen blood.

"I get what I want," he said, and then his cock was an arrow at the heart of your waiting horror, his slight hips a harp played against you, moving in the strum of entry, into the gold he made of your pain.

You screamed, and the sound was devoured by the bacchanal night. Oliver took you slowly, with patient intelligence, feeling each trembling agony of your body and twisting it, by sorcery, into something else. His eyes were a witch's orbs through which he knew you, psychic, solipsistic—

You were ivy about the wand of him, a thing that would poison the man, were he not immune to its effects. He fucked you as though he thought it romantic, somehow, this violence in a friend's pungent garden, the scent of flowers and trodden grass and arousal a perfume to woo.

There was blood on both of your faces, on his bare chest, under the blazer. It frightened you, suddenly, a tarot spread of death in the summer night—

Your panic, the heaviness of lingering champagne, the attack like Zeus upon a swan; all of it made you limp, in Oliver's grip.

He paused in his taking of you to hold you upright, studying your face under the Midas yellow of a nearby lamp.

"Stand up straight for me, now," he said. "And look at me. Look at me."

He tapped your cheek— not a slap, far too soft for that, as though the concern in the vicious gossamer in his voice was real.

"You want me to make you feel good about yourself. Need me. Don't you?"

"No," you said, but as Oliver kissed you again, and a firework shrieked somewhere against your eardrum, you lost what temporary power you'd had to resist him.

Like a spindled sleeper you endured his lovemaking, swallowed his tongue like a precious key. Your body was a pulse in deep water, stirred by hands and cock into a dripping arc.

Oliver moaned against your tattered lips, his arms about you in embrace. The heat of him would follow you, afterwards, the haunting of his lust's smoke from dream to dream.

He moved away from you, aided you in pulling your arms back through the trellis. For a moment he tried to hold you, his murmuring at your hair, its comfort indistinct.

Then, as you ripped him from you like the segment of a rotten apple he wiped himself clean of your blood; the rag he used was something torn from your garments in the fury of his love, a token of it. A thread from the maze.

You sat down in the grass and stared up at Oliver, seeking some answer. Assistance from the breaker of will.

"Go home," he said, at last. "Felix doesn't want you. And now—"

Oliver shook his head, and the peat fire of his eyes was of the underworld, then, of sapphire death gone to ash.

"I don't want you either. Not anymore."

Then he turned from you, and walked away, towards the house, his fey shape a shadow puppet on the wall.

#saltburn fic #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick #saltburn #dead dove do not eat #darkfic #tw noncon #tw assault #tw blood #oliver quick x you

[crypticminx]

Okay so like I watched saltburn again for the millionth time but can I just say the fknnn scene when Oliver finds Felix in the maze and he’s just a mess as he pours out every bit of his feelings for Felix!?? Like helllo and not to mention the beautiful score piece titled “blood run cold” that plays its just so ughhhh

Oliver begging Felix for him to rekindle their friendship claiming he’s still the same person and that everything he did, all his lies, we’re just to prove his devotion to Felix, but he knows that it won’t matter yet he still says it anyways. The pain in his voice, the confusion on Felix’s face as he tries to stay angry but u can sort of see remorse or maybe pity? It’s all so beautiful and just after Felix tells Oliver that he makes his blood run cold they have that brief moment of looking like they’re about to kiss…that small glimpse of hope that maybe just maybe they love each other and even though the situation is fucked, they can’t hide their attraction. Their feelings. But they both push away, still staying insanely close to one another.

Oliver knows. He knows Felix is going to die, so it’s probably why he walked away for a brief moment while Felix literally drank his death and then Oliver come backs and states to him “I don’t care what you think anymore” as if he wasn’t just sobbing to him minutes ago for his forgiveness. Truthfully, Oliver always cared. He cared about Felix, he cared about being loved by Felix and he cared about being the perfect person for Felix. You can see Felix drinking the bottle almost as if he wants to drink away his feelings in hopes that he won’t have to remember this painfully awkward moment, but he’ll never remember anything ever again. It’s the last time we see him alive, it’s the last time Oliver does too. I think he just really wanted to give Felix one last hurrah without caring.

Okay sorry I’m literally a mess. I love this movie sm-

#screaming crying rn #I DONT hate Oliver but mannnnn #they could’ve have a happy ending LMAOAOAO #saltburn #felix catton #oliver quick #saltburn 2023 #jacob elordi #barry keoghan

[riatheghoul]

Who am i if not your muse?

Pairing: Oliver Quick x Black Reader

Warnings: Angst if you squint and fluff but suggestive none the less

Word count: 705

Disclaimers: I do NOT own any of the characters in Saltburn or the pictures i use nor will i ever claim to own them

Driving into the gates of Saltburn was like being transported into a world that you’d only read about in fairytales. The structure and the overall look of the building made it seem like Saltburn was calling out to you. Beckoning you to stay. You were snapped out of your trance by a tall male opening the door for you. “Oh, thank you” you acknowledged stepping out of the car turning to grab your bags out of the trunk. As you began to walk over am arm blocks your way “That won’t be necessary we can get your bags for you” the man advised in his toneless voice. You nodded while intertwining your fingers together “Until we get all of your things you should go inside and wait there then we can give you the tour and show you to your room.” He suggested. You nodded again following suit and entered the house.

Walking into the home was like stepping into a castle, it was massive and spotless. Overall, it felt like freedom. As you walked around the room taking everything in you heard your name being called from the doorway behind you. Turning around you saw your best friend who felt more like an older brother to you, Farleigh. You smiled at him holding out your arms for a hug which he accepted and rocking you back fourth. “Hey Charlotte, I’m so glad you’re here” he beamed at you then surveilled the area giving you a smirk that you know all too well “What are you plani- WOAH!!” you exclaimed as your body was pulled toward the door.  

He just laughed pulling you though the long hallways to two large rooms that are connected by a bathroom “These are our rooms and yes we do have to share a bathroom but it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before” he teased you pushed him playfully laughing at his obvious attempt to help you calm down. He puts a hand on your shoulder “I’ll be right here with you I promise” he reassured. You smiled at him, taking his words to heart knowing that he meant it. Just as you were about to ask about your things you hear a door open and in walked Felix. Farleigh stepped in between the two of you so that he could great Felix with a hug then turned to you “Charlotte this is Felix he is my cousin and one of my best friends he and his parents let me invite you” you waved at Felix immediately feeling a wave of gratitude "Thank you so much for having me” he beamed grabbing your hand placing it to his lips for a soft peck “you welcome to stay for as long as you wish” he then turns to Farleigh “we’ll all be down stairs in the library I will meet you there after I go get Oliver” he gave a small smiled then left closing the door behind him

Your eyes widened just hearing that name “wait Oliver is gonna be staying with us also?” you turned to Farleigh who at that moment just realized what was going on “oh shit yeah sorry I didn’t want to tell you over the phone because I knew you’d be too scared to show up if I did say he was here” you pulled Farleigh away from the door just in case of eavesdropping “Listen I know that this wasn’t ideal but if you want to avoid talking to him this whole trip I will help you” all you could do was sigh you pushed past the fact that your crush was going to be staying with you on this summer get away. “Let’s just go to the library” he grabbed your arm “I’m sorry look I just wanted you to have a nice time this summer no more worrying about summer jobs or how you’re going to pay rent in a shabby ass apartment that has rats in it” he said sincerely “its ok I forgive you just give me a heads up next time please” you pleaded he stood at attention and saluted you giggle “Now let’s go meet everyone” he said holding the door for you “ladies first”

A/N: Heyyyyyyy let me know if you want a part 2 please do comment just so i know if you fuck with or not ok byeeeeeeee

#Oliver quick #oliver quick x black reader #oliver quick imagines #barry keoghan #Barry keoghan x black reader #Saltburn #oliver quick x reader

[burntsaltsblog]

shiny new toy

(felix catton\catton)

chapter three

details: a saltburn inspired short story.

content warning: profanity, explicit sexual content, and mentions of abuse (physical and mental)

warning for this chapter: this chapter depicts physical violence (da) if this is a sensitive subject, please skip the ending of this chapter because that is where it takes place.

MNI 18+

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　

Lights of multiple colors flashed across sweaty, dancing bodies. Couples explicitly swayed against each other to the beat of a vaguely familiar Nickleback song. 

Glitter covered their arms, and coke laced their noses. Alcohol sullied the floor, making it difficult to walk without slipping. I was thankful for Felix's steady hand on my lower back, keeping me upright. 

"Whatever you do, don't try anything that Marcus offers you. He's known to create bloody awful cocktails. And I don't mean with alcohol," Felix quietly warned me, his mouth brushing against the shell of my ear, and I sighed softly at the light contact.

"But I wanna have fun, and clearly, Marcus knows how to have fun," I replied, slightly frowning. 

"Darling, you can have all the fun you want. Just not with Marcus."

Felix's authoritative voice shot down to my core, and I desperately clenched around nothing. I was getting a glimpse at his bossy side, and I wondered how much I would have to push him before he'd break and put me in my place.

My pout deepened as I looked up at Felix through my lashes. My eyes were wide and puppy-like. "Can you at least show me which one Marcus is so that I can avoid him? I wouldn't want to run into him by accident." 

Felix chuckled, amused by my pitiful manipulation. "Nice try, love, but I'm not falling for that."

"Fine. I'll have Farleigh introduce us," I declared, tossing my hair over my shoulder. 

"Farleigh will do nothing of the sort if he knows what's good for him."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means," Felix responded, staring down at me with unyielding brown eyes. 

"Now, where are they," he continued, primarily to himself this time, as he looked away to scan the throng of Oxford students for his friends, whom he had promised to meet at Marcus Ackerley's house party. 

"Ah, found them. This way." Felix gently guided me around the packed dance floor toward his friends. 

Sure enough, I spotted Farleigh, Venetia, and Oliver sprawled across a leather couch with drinks in all their hands. Farleigh and Venetia animately chatted as they critiqued the other party guests together. Oliver just stared off into the distance, purely existing and nothing else. But, upon our arrival, he snapped back to reality, and his crystal blue eyes honed in on Felix, never wavering. 

"Hey, V," Felix said, greeting his friends. "Farleigh, you look fucking sloshed already, mate."

Felix failed to address Ollie, and I couldn't help but ponder whether or not it was an accident. 

"How kind of you to finally grace us with your presence," Farleigh drawled before taking a generous gulp from his cup. 

"Iris was helping me revise for History of Art. Because of her, Mr. Brown hasn't failed me yet this semester," Felix answered proudly.  

"Good for her," Farleigh replied blankly before rising from his seat. "I heard Marcus has some weed, so I'm going to go find out if that's true."      

My eyes trailed him as he vanished into the crowd. 

"Don't even think about it," Felix whispered, squeezing my waist in a warning.             

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I retorted innocently. 

"Mmhm," vocalized Felix as he eyed me knowingly. "I'm going to pop to the bar for some drinks. You want your usual?"

"Yes, please."

He hastily bent to kiss my head before he turned and disappeared into the multitude of bodies, just as Farleigh did moments before. 

I twisted back to face the couch and the rest of its occupants. Venetia regarded me calculatedly as she extended her hand to me. It evoked the memory of our first meeting. 

"Come sit by me."

I accepted her invitation and gingerly perched beside her before offering a timid smile. 

Venetia commenced to analyze me brazenly. Her big eyes seemed to study my features thoroughly before she finally smiled, satisfied. 

"I can see why my brother has taken such a liking to you. There's a mystery that lives in your eyes. I'd be fibbing if I said it wasn't very intriguing."

"Oh, uh, thank you," I said, oblivious to the mystery she was referring to.

"But I must be clear about something," she continued, leaning forward until her face was inches from mine. "If you do anything to hurt my brother in any way, I will come for you. I may be small, but I can stab someone up to double my weight with little to no struggle."

I sat frozen with my mouth slightly agape, unsure if she was being serious. I was inclined to believe her because there was something about Venetia that convinced me she wasn't opposed to murder, should the situation call for it. 

"I- of course. I mean- I would never want to hurt your brother in any way. He means a great deal to me," I stuttered, trying to remain composed in the presence of Felix's sister. 

Venetia waited a beat before relaxing back into her seat. "Good. I'm glad that's all settled then."

A sigh of relief poured from my lungs. I peeked at Oliver, sitting on the other end of the sofa, interested in his reaction to the conversation, but he was as glazed over as ever.

Was he high? Maybe he had already found Marcus and his rumored supply of dope. 

"I'm glad Felix found you, though," Venetia started, snapping me from my lingering thoughts of Ollie and the likeness of his sobriety. "You're much better than the last one he found."

Venetia's words sparked confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, frankly, I can't remember her name. Was it Sasha? No, I believe Sasha was the one before. No, wait, the one before was Emelia, Right?" she turned to Oliver for clarification. "Do you remember Ollie? No, you wouldn't, considering you replaced Rose, and she came long before Sasha. Well, nonetheless. The point is-"

"I come baring drinks!" announced Felix as he returned, bursting from the packed mob. "Here you go, love." he handed my drink over before plopping down between me and Venetia, throwing a casual arm around my shoulders. 

Confusion overwhelmed me as I clutched my beverage between my hands. Who was Sasha, Emelia, and Rose? And why did Venetia refer to Oliver as one of their replacements? 

I wasn't naive; I knew Felix had dated around a lot and had his fair share of partners, especially on an intimate level. But something about how Venetia said it left me uneasy in my gut. 

"You alright?" 

Felix's inquisitive voice drew me back to the present, and I turned to face him beside me. He surveyed me carefully as if he could sense my distress.   

"Yeah, I'm alright," I replied, taking a small sip of my rum and coke to relieve my dry mouth.

"You sure? We can step outside if it's too claustrophobic in here."

"No, I'm good."

"Well, if you're sure, then how about a dance? It'll be fun."

Felix's hopeful expression convinced me to agree. He wrapped his bigger hand around mine and guided me onto the overcrowded dance floor. 

After finding a small pocket of room, I clasped my hands behind his neck as we began to dance together in perfect sync. Felix's fingers wrapped around the curve of my hips, and I threw my head back. Who cared about some girl named Sasha when all I could focus on was the greedy expression Felix wore as he stared at my body moving against his?

Behind Felix, I spotted a slender redhead who eyed us hotly. Her eyes bore into his back with intense venom. She danced in a group of other girls and would exchange words with them occasionally but never lifted her eyes from Felix.

"Felix?" 

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Who's that?"

"Where?"

"Over there. The redhead. She's been doling out a death stare to you."

Felix briefly glanced at the redhead before he shook his head and turned back to me.

"She's no one. Just some girl I had a fling with a while back. She was under the pretense that it was serious when it was just a few hookups," he muttered. 

"Oh." I bit my lip as I stole another look at the scorned woman before Felix grasped my chin in his hand, which gave me no choice but to look at him. 

"Hey, she's no one, ok? I don't care about her. The only girl I care about is you."

A slight blush crept up my neck, traveling across my face as I nodded.

"Just focus on us, ok?"

I nodded again, more confident this time.

Felix leaned in close and whispered in my ear, "Good girl."

We both concentrated on dancing together once more, but the intensity was higher than before. I pivoted so my back was against Felix's broad chest, and I unabashedly pushed my hips back, grinding against him mercilessly. 

"Fuck," he groaned from behind me as he dug his fingers deeper into my flesh. His hands traveled to my ass, and I arched my back, giving him more access. 

I moaned, savoring the feeling of having Felix in the palm of my hand. The power I had over him was all-consuming.

"Felix."

The voice broke our perfect little bubble, and there stood Ollie, looking up at Felix desperately. I stopped dancing and inertly waited for Felix to reply.

But his reply never came. 

"Felix, please, you can't ignore me forever."

Oliver's eyes shone with suppressed emotion, and I grew uncomfortable, sensing that I was intruding on what should have been a private conversation. 

"Doesn't mean I can't try," stated Felix sharply. "Now fuck off and bother somebody else." His voice held more force than I was used to.

Shockingly, Oliver reached forward and yanked Felix down to his much shorter level with the collar of his light pink button-up. Oliver whispered something in his ear that caused Felix to flinch and tighten his jaw noticeably.

Felix straightened to his full height and rolled his shoulders back, dawning a new and indifferent expression. 

"I'll be back," he said without looking at me. "Go and sit with Farleigh and Venetia."

Before I could respond, Felix fled from the dance floor with Ollie hot on his heels. I stood in total bewilderment before reluctantly returning to Felix's other friends. 

Venetia was nowhere to be seen, but Farleigh had reappeared in his original seat on the couch with a small blunt as a new accessory. 

"Back so soon?" He asked, raising an elegant eyebrow. "From what I've heard, Felix was having a rather splendid time with you."  

"He went to talk with Ollie," I replied as I sat on the other side of the sofa that Farleigh wasn't occupying. 

"Ah," he said, bringing the lit blunt to his mouth and taking a generous drag. "I was wondering when that situation would implode. Oliver lasted longer than I thought he would," Farleigh continued as he propped an arm under his other elbow and dangled his doobie in front of his face, scanning the other partygoers. 

"What are you talking about?" I asked, moving closer to Farleigh, hoping to inspire him to enlighten me on the situation between Felix and Oliver. 

Farleigh looked at me before indulging in his weed again. He blew the smoke in my face, and I coughed, waving my hand to clear the haze. 

"I'm talking about the fact that at this very moment, Oliver Quick is being cut off. I can't say I'll miss the guy. He's a fucking weirdo."

"Cut off?" concern filled my voice.  

"Cut off, tossed aside, dismissed. There are plenty of ways to describe it. Pick whichever one you like the best." Farleigh sighed as he examined his cuticles. 

"But why would Felix do that?"

He shrugged. "That's what Felix does with all his toys." 

I gazed at him with utter confusion painted on my face.

Farleigh chuckled humorlessly. "Don't worry. You'll understand once you experience it for yourself."

"Experience what?"

"Experience the pain of Felix's boredom. Do you think you're the first person ever to catch his eye? Please." Farleigh wrapped his lips around his blunt and breathed in before continuing. "Felix goes through toys faster than he goes through cigarettes. And it starts the same every time. Someone will draw his attention, and then he'll be enamored with them until...he's not. Like I said, you'll understand better once you go through it. You'll see what I'm talking about the day Felix gets sick of you."

My body was rigid as an intense bout of nausea swirled in my stomach, leaving me with the fear that I might vomit on Farleigh's shoes.

"It'll begin like it did for everyone else, Ollie included. One day, he'll start ignoring you. You won't understand why, and Felix won't bother to explain. Then, you'll miss invites to certain events like parties." Farleigh brushed a lazy arm across the air to emphasize his example, "He'll dodge calls and texts and go radio silent until you're successfully phased out."

Farleigh gazed at my paling face, and I saw a hint of sympathy on his own. "Be thankful I'm warning you now so you can prepare yourself. It'll be easier that way."

I looked at him incredulously. "How dare you speak of Felix in such a cruel way. Do you think I'm not aware of your obvious irritation by my mere presence? How do I know you're not just making all of this up to get rid of me?"

"I'm not irritated by you, per se. I'm irritated by what you represent. And that is Felix's spoiled mindset—his blatant lack of regard for anyone's feelings but his own. He views people as objects. As prizes. He only wants them because he knows he can get them."

Farleigh wearily shook his head. "It started when Felix was young. His parents gave him everything he asked for because he was their precious heir. Pretty soon, he started asking for things, not because he wanted them but because he loved the immediate agreement. It made him feel like he was in control."

My mouth was agape as tears brutally stung my eyes. "I don't believe you. Felix would never do that."

"Oh yeah? Why don't you go ask Sasha." Farleigh pointed to the redhead from earlier. 

So that was Sasha—the girl staring daggers at us earlier. But without Felix present, Sasha's attention was focused on dancing with her friends. 

"I think she'd love to have a chat with you. Considering you were her replacement." 

Replacement. That word scorched my skin, and I scratched at my clothed arm to shed the obnoxious feeling.

"You're an ass, you know that?" I stood abruptly and smeared the tears that fell freely with the back of my hand. "Felix wants me here, so you better get fucking used to it, ok? Because I'm not going anywhere.''

"We'll see,'' Farleigh said, his demeanor blasé. 

I stared at him scathingly before whirling around and darting into the packed crowd. All at once, my senses became overloaded; the music was too loud, the lights were too bright, and everyone was too drunk. 

"Hey, babe, how about a dance?" a visibly intoxicated guy asked.

"No thanks," I replied lowly, trying to pass him. 

"Oh, c'mon, I promise I'm nice," he pushed, flashing a smile that was meant to be alluring but only came off as disturbing. He wrapped an arm around my waist, attempting to pull me close.  

"Fuck off," I growled, throwing him off. 

"What a bitch," I heard him say as I stumbled away in search of an exit. I needed to get out of here. 

Where the hell was Felix? No simple conversation should take this long. My mind immediately flashed to Farleigh, and his words echoed loudly. 

"At this very moment, Oliver is being cut off." 

Fuck Farleigh. Fuck him for making up such horrendous lies, causing my entire world to tilt weakly before my eyes.

What he said couldn't be true. I refused to believe that Felix could be so wicked. Not my Felix. He was not capable of such heartless actions. 

I raked a hand through my tangled hair and tried to locate the door through which Felix and I had entered this party. But instead of the door, I found the one person I was hoping to avoid.

Eric.

Yesterday morning during breakfast, Felix helped me formulate a breakup text to Eric that I sent afterward. 

Was it a pussy move? Absolutely. But after Felix had learned of Eric's past abusive tendencies, he forbade me from ever being in the same room as him again. And that's how the idea of the breakup text was born.

I anticipated Eric's furry, but he never replied, so I assumed he didn't care and was thankful to be rid of me. 

But based on his enraged expression, I was foolish to presume that. 

Eric was leaning against the wall with a foot kicked up as if he'd been observing the party this whole time.

And if that was true, it meant that he saw me dance with Felix, and that thought alone made my knees buckle in fear. 

Panicking, I turned on my heel and bolted in the other direction; sparing a glance back, I saw Eric on the move, tracking me like prey. 

Speeding up, I elbowed past faded classmates and made a beeline for the bathroom I had spotted in the far corner. I forced my legs to run faster and prayed I could get there before Eric got to me.

Reaching the door, I swung it open and threw my body into the spacious lavatory. I planned to lock myself inside and pray that Eric would grow bored and eventually leave. 

But just as I crossed the threshold, a crushing grip closed around my bicep, and I was forcefully slammed up against the wall, whimpering as my head absorbed the blow.

"Oh, you think that hurt? Just wait till I'm finished with you," Eric said coldly, sending agonizing chills down my spine. He continued to grip my wrist and pressed his other hand against my chest, holding me in place. 

"You think you can send me some shit text, and you'll be free of me? You stupid, stupid girl."

The music from the party was muffled, but the base was still loud enough that it merged with my racing heart, creating an entirely new song that had me drowning in a pool of dread. 

I didn't know I was crying until Eric acknowledged my tears. "Don't cry, baby. If you beg nicely, I'll only give you one black eye instead of a pretty set."

"Get off me!" I sobbed, struggling to break out of his hold. All I needed was a good kick to his balls, and I'd have enough time to run. 

"I think you forgot how much stronger than you I am," Eric laughed. "I bet you miss your other boyfriend, huh? Interesting how he was glued to you when you were practically begging him to fuck you, but now when you truly need him, he's nowhere to be seen." 

"Fuck you," I seethed, spitting in his face. 

Eric carefully flicked away my saliva from his cheek before digging his nails into my shoulder, causing crescent moon scars to pop up. Then he drew his arm back and delivered a harsh jab to my jaw. 

My head snapped back, causing my cheek to smack against the wall. My vision momentarily blurred, and I felt the sensation of warm blood drip down my face. 

Before I could comprehend what was happening, Eric repeated the same action and struck me again, but harder this time. 

The force behind the punch sent me to the ground, and I rolled over onto my side, coughing up blood that now painted the ground in angry, red splashes. 

I felt Eric's hand grab the back of my shirt, and he roughly hauled me to my feet. I gritted my teeth to combat the dizziness that was threatening to send me back to the floor as I wrenched myself out of his grip.

Dodging Eric's next strike, I aimed the heel of my shoe at his knee, earning myself a gratifying groan from him. 

"Oh, you're fighting back? That's new," Eric smirked. "No worries, I was in the mood for a challenge anyway." 

His following movements were quick, and I was launched back into the mirror above the sink. Glass shattered and rained down on us like glittering snow. 

Black spots swirled in front of me as I tumbled to the ground. I heard Eric's voice but couldn't decipher his words in my muddled state. 

I was stripped of any energy or might to fight back. My ribs ached as I forced air into my lungs, and my eyelids grew heavier the longer I clung to consciousness. 

Just when I thought Eric was satisfied with the pain and damage he had inflicted on me, I felt him forcibly yank my head up and place a sharp piece of the broken mirror at the base of my neck.

If only Felix was here. 

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　

chapter index

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

#saltburn #jacob elordi #felix catton #barry keoghan #oliver quick #alison oliver #venetia catton #archie madekwe #farleigh catton #farleigh start #felix x reader #felix x oliver #saltburn movie #saltburn 2023 #saltburn posting #fanfic #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #felix catton x fem! reader #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #felix catton x y/n #felix catton imagines

[mermaidsirennikita]

Need your Saltburn review though 👀

I will preface by saying that I personally find Emerald to be a filmmaker/writer that is rather boring at best and kind of... horrifically misled in that she thinks that shocking "darkness" = depth at worst. I think A Promising Young Woman had some fun visuals at points (and so does Saltburn--though I think this has less to do with Emerald having an eye and more for Emerald understanding aesthetic, which makes sense when you realize that her dad is an Eton-educated jeweler to the stars, King of Bling, I wonder if that possibly could ever have anything to do with a UK performer's rise, hmmmmm--) but the way it ended was just... Lol. Yes, Emerald! I know that this is how the story would probs end in real life, the women of the world NEEDED TO KNOW.

(Princess Weekes did a good little video essay about PYW btw, would recommend.)

But yeah, point is--I don't think Saltburn is a misstep for Emerald. I think she's just very mediocre and self-indulgent. You can be self-indulgent and get away with it when you have a vision and something to say (see: Baz). I don't think Emerald has something to say. I think Emerald has concepts, which she pushes to a point she thinks is edgy, but doesn't actually... string into a coherent idea.

First off, Saltburn is nothing new; and it doesn't need to be. I like the pretentious rich people problems aesthetic. I love the bacchanal of the upper crust sensibility. Hell, I loved Donna Tartt's The Secret History. Sierra Simone's Thornchapel series is one of my favorite things she's done. I love Cruel Intentions. I also love The Talented Mr. Ripley, which--

My good man. If you wish to watch what you think Saltburn was going to be, but with better actors (including Jude Law in what is essentially the Jacob Elordi role, which, uh, how we have fallen as a society) and honestly better homoeroticism in a movie made like 20 years ago... just watch The Talented Mr. Ripley.

But yeah. So, I think everything Emerald does is meant to shock but doesn't go quite far enough. It's little moments that happen, and aren't really contextualized in a way that feels like it's there to be anything more than shock value, which makes it less shocking. Like, the period fingerbang--if those characters had a dynamic which led up to that moment, if I felt the actual power play there, it might actually shock me. Or be sexy? For the record, Fair Play has a period sex scene within its first five minutes that is both more surprising and better in every way. The shit with Farleigh? Would be compelling. That was the one bit of chemistry in the movie, the moment when Oliver and Farleigh talked to each other right before the whole singalong disaster. But then it's happening and I'm like "why is Barry Keoghan fucking everyone in this movie except for Jacob Elordi? What is the point?"

And what is the point indeed. Jacob Elordi has the charisma of a medium-sized tree, and I suspect a medium-sized tree would do a better job of ditching the Aussie accent. Emerald's inadequacies could be overcome and made into a thing that is campy, maybe? Not good, but fun? Barry Keoghan does his best with the material. He's fun in the last like ten minutes of the movie wherein he's basically monologuing like a demented real housewife and dancing around naked. He tries so hard to create chemistry with Jacob, while Jacob's vibe is very "no homo". (But the character is supposed to be no homo, you say--is he, first off, because I honestly don't know what Emerald is saying, and second... Like.... The character can be not attracted to Barry's character will still giving us an essence of intrigue that would inform why Barry is spellbound.)

But the biggest issue is that the movie hinges on Jacob Elordi being worthy of obsession, and he is just a flop in this role. He doesn't sell himself as this posh, beautiful, Brideshead Revisited-But-A-Bro guy. He can't really act (there's a scene where the movie cuts to him giving a smile that I think is supposed to be charming and I went "yikes" out loud). He is up against people who are actually actors, which makes it a bit worse. Everything feels very forced and constructed, for want of a better term. If you do not get WHY this guy, then the movie flops. And try as I might, I cannot get WHY this guy.

(Might I add--the bathtub scene would've been more intriguing had we seen Jacob interact with the voyeurism, some sense that he knew, whether or not he enjoyed it. The queerness in this movie is so... It's just this queer guy being obsessed and rebuffed and murderous, and I don't know, there didn't seem to be enough exploring the ramifications of that kind of story.)

The Talented Mr. Ripley also hinges on the focal point of obsession being worthy of obsession. And again. It's Jude Law. And it's Jude Law giving a really good performance, too.

The movie also does some shit I really don't think it's equipped to do. Like, the premise is essentially the working class interloper (but like, he's not as working class as he saaaays so oooooohhhhh) is preying on this family of rich folks who offered him a place to land. And it's not inherently bad, imo, to tell that story. However, you need the rich people to have some role beyond being prey; you need to understand the predator's contempt beyond jealousy. But the rich people are cardboard. They aren't sharp. They may have a few throwaway lines that illustrate their own sins (including some very clumsily handled racism) but ultimately the movie gives Oliver more power than it does the elite upon whom he preys. So ultimately, you come away from it feeling like you're watching the anxieties of the upper class, re: the encroaching middle and working class... But there's no examination, because the rich people are just victims lol. I think it's genuine anxiety.

Yeah though, I thought it was really hokey basically.

[sneakystorms]

misc spoilerous saltburn thoughts

love how oliver went off and mordered two people in two days but then sat on his ass for however many years waiting for the dad to die of natural causes. love how they came JUSSSST short of implying he long distance assassinated him

speaking of, the dad is the only family member oliver didn't manage to fuck in some way. come on man. commit

it's weird how the story couldn't commit to anything strong enough to make it interesting... like the absurdly rich family has a few satirical moments but isn't rich people satire in the end because too much of their screentime is spent being kind of realistic. oliver doesn't come across as sinister or evil because he has those scenes at the very beginning of him being pathetic and unpopular before he had any reason to put on an act. like if he actually knows how to act normal and comb his hair well... why doesnt he.... i was kind of waiting for a parasiteesque 'rich people can afford to be nice but poor people have to be cruel to survive' but then that wasnt the case. it could have done a secret historyesque thing where the ugliness of poverty is contrasted with the allure of the beauty of wealth but then he wasn't actually poor. i could have vibed with a 'boy is ashamed of boring middle class upbringing, sees allure both in extreme wealth and extreme poverty' sort of commentary but that is not even hinted at. it's just so mid, like some of the visuals go hard but the only thing the story commits to is various kinds of shock value, nothing of real substance

farleigh was like by far the most compelling part of the whole film like???

the scene with him and felix is FAR more interesting and nuanced than the rest of the plot put together. the way it makes you think about their relationship growing up and how it might have felt. the way it shines a light onto the fraughtness of farleigh's own position in the family, paralleling oliver's. the way farleigh brings up the racial context, clearly a bit hesitant, and the way felix reacts (one of the few moments where he's actually less than perfect. maybe the only one once the story moves on from oxford??). the way felix, despite often being the one to chastise or criticise his family's inappropriate behaviour, now comes not only to side but to identify with his family (esp his father) and its decisions (he shifts from 'my father has been beyond generous' to 'maybe we have done all we can')

his confrontation with oliver at the party where he shows full confidence he'll be accepted back into the family despite causing them serious trouble, simply because he belongs and oliver doesn't? genuinely interesting, especially in contrast with that earlier scene with felix where he appeared uncertain

only family member to make it out alive. icon

love how oliver tried to get him on his side and he just responded with ultimate cunt move

ok moving on. did anyone else notice that in that little montage of oliver settling in at saltburn and being more at ease, all the three saltburn kids take turns to read deathly hallows?? lol

i have to say after farleigh the mom was my favourite part of the movie. she got most of those rare satirical lines and she delivered them perfectly. times new roman queen

love how oliver bothered to actually kill felix but with venetia he just left her those razors and she went hmmm guess i might as well

what is the fucking point of having a labirynth in your movie if no one is gonna get lost in it????? no random police officers dont count

and what was the point of venetia saying ooh the full moon is gonna make us all crazy. that had nothing to do with anything. i was really expecting the family to ritually sacrifice oliver and to have done so with felix's previous friends but no that'd be too interesting

are those glasses even prescription?

#s #saltburn #suicide mention tw

[thesinglesjukebox]

SOPHIE ELLIS-BEXTOR - "MURDER ON THE DANCEFLOOR" (2001) (2024)

23 years on and this groove's still got some life in it...

[7.11]

Thomas Inskeep: Sophie Ellis-Bextor should've been the next Kylie — and for a couple years, almost was. Her 2001 debut album Read My Lips spun off a trio of top 3 singles in the UK, including this one, which has over time become her true classic. Dua Lipa's entire career was birthed in this single, the dictionary definition of ebullient dance-pop. (It's fitting that Lipa's "Houdini" is currently the most-played song on UK radio as this single is re-ascendant.) SEB has never gone anywhere: she's still making music, touring (based on her 2022 Sophie Ellis-Bextor's Kitchen Disco (Live at the London Palladium), she still sounds great), and is now a DJ on BBC Radio 2. She just didn't become the massive pop star she deserved to be. Now, thanks to its placement in a climactic scene in Saltburn, her greatest single is getting its flowers, climbing back up to #2 in the UK (so far — my fingers are crossed it can make it that final notch higher). "Dancefloor" still sounds fresh, certainly fresher than the glut of '90s-sampling dance-pop dominating the UK charts. This single sparkles, SEB giving a knowing wink as she sings, especially on the line "gonna burn this goddamn house right down." She knows what she's doing here: making magic.   [10]

Edward Okulicz: I bought this on single back in 2002, which tells you something (other than that I am old): it was an irresistible bit of sparkly disco radio pop back in the day. Move it forward or backwards a few years and it might have been an indie rock song for someone else, a filter house record, or (gulp) a Ronan Keating record. Fortunately that never occurred, and it's a delight to see a classic gain new fans from age groups and territories that didn't get it on saturation rotation. Part of it's the solid song by Gregg Alexander, who at his best was a master craftsman of a much-maligned form. Another part of it's the much nimbler, slinky production compared to the rest of his soft-rock oeuvre. And a very, very large part of it is the Debbie-Harry-but-English pose of Ellis-Bextor, too cool to do anything but be filmed dancing from the waist up while she stomps her heel into your eardrums. "Murder" really has everything — a catchy chorus, the tinniest guitar solo ever, hooks that fall as much off the words as the melody — and so is perfect for every occasion, even a movie I am never, ever going to see.  [10]

Alfred Soto: Like the Pet Shop Boys' "Rent," waaayyyy too good for Saltburn — perhaps Emerald Fennell thought their incandescence would rub off on her as if it were glitter. Part of a vanished climate of French house-inspired crossover pop like Kylie Minogue's "Love at First Sight," Sophie Ellis-Bextor presages Katy B's regular-person anonymity: she surveys the strings and rhythm guitar licks like a party hostess keeping an eye on the band while sipping her prosecco. [8]

Alex Clifton: I haven't seen Saltburn and frankly have no interest in it, but this film has led to the Sophie Ellis-Bextor renaissance which is a net good for society. "Murder on the Dancefloor" is just brilliantly composed and produced; it feels as fresh today as it did twenty years ago. There are so many thrilling little moments from Ellis-Bextor's vocal delivery: the way her voice curves into "about your kiiiiiind," the little rasp in "there may be others," the little trill of "dancefloor" in the bridge. I feel so biased writing this review because I've literally been listening to this song since I was a kid, but I'm so jazzed about "Murder" finally receiving the love it deserves.  [10]

Ian Mathers: How can you not love pop music when it'll randomly do things like this, suddenly giving us a song to review from before the earliest days of the Jukebox, that is here purely because of its use in a movie that I have not seen but am informed was probably picked on the basis of Ellis-Bextor's plot arc in the music video. And if I'm not willing to go to bat for it quite as hard as I would for "Running Up That Hill," I did love "Murder on the Dancefloor" in 2001 and it still sounds great now. I don't find myself having any reaction more complicated than happiness at hearing it again and that particular joy of people liking something you like. [8]

Nortey Dowuona: If you told me this came out in 2021 and Emerald Fennell asked Sophie to use it in her movie set in 2001 because it was just that on point in depicting the time, I would agree. Then after taking out my phone, I'd be punched in the face and meekly give up my phone. Then, after watching you sprint into a nightclub, I'd immediately thank goodness you didn't ask for the passcode and run like hell for the closest subway. I am three stops from home before I remember this did not actually come out in 2021; there are other Sophie Ellis-Bextor songs and jailbreaking is a thing now. [10]

Leah Isobel: RIP Mark Fisher. You would've written a hell of a blog post about Saltburn. [7]

Mark Sinker: Necessary digression 1: heraldry as a science in Europe is roughly 900 years old, a bright and stylised easy-read guide, highly rule-bound and policed, to class and land and title — which is to say to material history (its jargon-field is still mostly words not otherwise used in the UK since the 14th century; even property law is less lousy with extinct Norman French terms). And like many very aged things, it has necessarily also passed through phases and fashions, as technologies of display arrive and depart. In fact the first inkling I had that I wasn’t going to get on with Saltburn was the typeface chosen for the title on-screen at the outset. It’s a font with a fairly specific ill-set ungainliness to it: it wants to have the weight of "pleasingly and weirdly old; not how we do things now," but it might just as well be some off-the-peg super-modern studio confection — or even (though I slightly doubt this) something custom-fashioned purely for the film. There’s no discernible care to the choice. Necessary digression 2: back in the late '70s when Peter Saville was busily and insouciantly borrowing from this or that actual-real document or design, of such-and-such era, part of the point was the severity of the decontextualisation — except there was a rigour to the carelessness. The item was being supplied with an iconicity (the very word) pulling you in towards whatever the item was that Factory Records was then placing on the market. The surface glamour of the original was to be funneled through in such a way that its weight amplified only the new relationship. In fact (in its stylised easy-read way) Saville’s work was ruthlessly the opposite of heraldry, so very good at managing the ambient melancholy that suffuses the wider Factory moment; all the blocks and counterspells necessary to conjure here beyond the end of creative time as the context for the music to have presence. Anyway, long story short (lol) Saltburn – which would love to believe it has accessed the aura, for example, of the cover of New Order’s Technique — is attempting to juggle the same double burden. It wants to conjure a play between the decontextualised pull of 24-hour-party-people hedonism and the real ineluctable unremovable weight of actual history and actual class and actual land and actual title. Except for its story to work it needs both dimensions (hedonism and weight; heraldry and careless scribble) to register, as Saville absolutely didn’t. No block, no counterspells, nothing to dampen the disturbances — so when poor old Sophie EB’s voice and poise are scalpeled out of their 20-year-old chart context and abruptly c/p-ed into whichever late-stage scene it is, well, here they are, as a clumsy synopsis (calculation, side-eye, dancing, death) the structure really shouldn’t require, in a role the song is the wrong mood (a faintly gauche trifle, a chirpy hustle) to deliver. The movie never works out where it gets its deep reveal from, or what shape its politics are (if politics is even a useful word here). Ill-set ungainliness all over again: the carelessness floods back into the borrowed adornment, and breaks it in pieces. I don’t even love this song that much but I hate how it gets what value it has so gracelessly driven out of it.  [2]

Jacob Satter: At the risk of killing the groove, this is a pretty boring choice for a manufactured revival track. Call me back when the kids discover "It's In Our Hands." [4]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: I'm glad everyone's having fun here but the more I try to enjoy this — either on its own terms or as an icon of nostalgia — I get nothing. Unremarkable in any year. [4]

Lauren Gilbert: It was a [10] in 2001, it's still a [10] now. [10]

Katherine St. Asaph: The thing about it being 2024 is that in the intervening 20-plus years since "Murder on the Dancefloor" came out, approximately ninety million more disco-revival tracks came out. Some of them are by Sophie Ellis-Bextor, even. And so many of those tracks are smooth where this is stiff, magisterial where this is timid (and not in a winsome Katy B kind of way; Katy got better arrangements), charged where this is inert and just generally unmurderous. It's actually startling how inessential this sounds by comparison. [3]

Oliver Maier: Even as a youth, before my brain was burdened with indulgent critical vocabulary, I felt like this song just didn't work. I can't pin down whether "Murder" is knowingly a little chintzy (dare I say camp?) or if it's just cheap tat trying sincerely to sound boutique. Benefit of the doubt granted or not, Ellis-Bextor sounds like she's doing karaoke off the sofa. [4]

Michael Hong: When Ellis-Bextor pauses, it's easy, like a quick and graceful end to a conversation rather than the expectant response to her more spirited word choice. She's committed to this casualness, easily slipping away at the hint of a faux pas, which makes the occasional lingering word more charming. "About your kind," she sings, as if looking you up and down, wondering if she's got it wrong this time; the word "others" is trailed as if she's daring you to eliminate the competition. In that way, "you better not kill the groove," delivered with such nonchalance, becomes a fervid instruction. [7]

Will Adams: It's cute, Sophie is ever-charming, but there's real problem when you've got songs in your catalog with titles like "Bittersweet" and "Heartbreak Make Me a Dancer" that offer way more palpable drama than the one with the word "Murder." [5]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Every other line is threatening here. “Stay another song,” “Don’t think you’ll get away,” “You better not kill the groove.” Sophie Ellis-Bextor isn’t demanding fear, though. That’s what makes “Murder on the Dancefloor” so irresistible: she sounds like a friend, albeit one who’s deathly serious about having a good time. When you hear her, you believe it can be this good for you too. [8]

Taylor Alatorre: Wow. They were allowed to make these slick disco-pop reimaginings with actual guitar solos back then? We must retvrn. [8]

Tara Hillegeist: It feels like a time capsule from another era in pop music entirely, because it is. There was a time when Ellis-Bextor's stately, imperial, nigh-inhuman precision of a delivery felt like nothing so much as the edifice within which pop star royalty could be crowned, particularly in the world of UK pop; it's still hard, even now, to deny the simple pleasures of someone who knows what her job is and then executes it flawlessly. But it's been over two decades since this song originally bowed, and it must be said that it was the impact of songs like, yes, "Murder" itself that raised pop music's skill floor high enough that such icy professionalism now feels like the most tiresome part of it — Dua Lipa does this regularly, after all, and with equal anonymity. No, what saves it, and ensures the song remains nothing so much as a delightful diversion (conditions of its resurgence be damned, I say), are the sampled whoops that come in beneath the guitar solo; notwithstanding that such a slice of controlled disco can credit itself with having a guitar solo to begin with, but the canned hype is such a stupendously goofy touch. It humanizes the song instantly, stripping the archness of its artifice aside to reveal the awkward smile underneath. The moment passes, of course. But the smile lingers. [7]

Anna Katrina Lockwood: I've been waiting 20+ years for an opportunity to issue a dissertation on the songwriting genius of Gregg Alexander and by god am I ready. Though it's hard to imagine it in a different form, "Murder on the Dancefloor" was apparently a cast-off single for Alexander's New Radicals debut, replaced by the equally glorious "You Get What You Give" — like, imagine being such a talented songwriter that you can just cast off a song like this, knowing you've got an equally great one to replace it with! "Murder on the Dancefloor" is just perfection in Ellis-Bextor's hands, with a galaxy of terrific choices in its production to go along with the amazing melodic structure. I still can't help but burst out laughing at the initial vocal hit in the intro on occasion, a perfect, delicately harmonized coo of "Murder!," cutting through the disco instrumental setup occurring all around. It's as great a moment of pop songwriting as I'm aware of — setting the expectation of the song's vibe from the outset. Ellis-Bextor's lyrics are outstanding, cleverly arch but not too shiny, in the thick of it yet also gliding past suavely. The song is incredibly detailed, a carefully calibrated piece — it lopes by with a relaxed stride rather than a reckless dash, a well-tailored Savile Row suit as opposed to an H&M tunic, cut to the millimeter. Yet it's also very clearly of the disco, built for singing along, difficult to avoid dancing to when it comes on. It turns on its heel at moments' notice, with layers of melody playing off each other throughout. Matt Rowe's efforts in production also deserve notice — this song sounds great, so distinctive that it is still eminently listenable 23 years on. I honestly have not a single thing to criticize about "Murder on the Dancefloor," and it's been a long time that I've considered it to be one of the truly great pop songs of my lifetime. It feels like incredibly just desserts to see it garnering so much praise now.  [10]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

#sophie ellis-bextor #saltburn #music #pop #pop music #music writing #music reviews #music criticism #the singles jukebox #Youtube

[libratxt]

it’s that time of year again… 🎄🎅🎉🎊 no. the highlights of your 2023 media consumption of course! just like last year, i want to know your top 5 films, books, tv shows, songs/albums, pop culture moments if that’s your thing, and as a bonus: any favourite personal moment/achievement in the last year? new to you, new in release, either works! can’t wait to see your response and wishing you a happy new year! 😁🩷

yay!! i was so excited to receive this in my inbox again this year 💖 overall i feel like i consumed less media than last year? but here's a roundup of some of my favorite things this year:

movies

so most of the movies i really really enjoyed this year didn't actually come out this year lol but i really enjoyed:

skinamarink - i love horror and while this one might be too much of a slowburn for people, it really filled me with dread so yay!

birdman (or the unexpected virtue of ignorance) - i'd been meaning to get around to this one for a while and finally did! totally worth it. the writing and acting: immaculate!

stop making sense - one thing about me is i will enjoy a music doc. the energy in this is so so wonderful. i love david byrne, i love talking heads. left the theatre in a great mood

saltburn - a controversial pick probably. but i had fun! don't really care for the criticisms that it fails at being class critique. it's about being a little pathetic freak and wanting to crawl into someone else's skin for me.

crash (the cronenberg one) - another one i'd been meaning to get around to for a while. i've seen most of cronenberg's stuff and i deeply deeply enjoyed this one. it's about sex, it's about violence, it's about desire, it's about all the weird things the human body can do. i love cronenberg and this one was perfect to me. mwah!

music

crash (charli xcx) - i know, i'm a little late. i listened to this religiously this year. having seen cronenberg's crash this year also added a little extra flavor. obsessed. love it. several songs are on my spotify on repeat as we speak.

this is why (paramore) - ahh so much fun! i love paramore, love getting a new paramore album. the remix album is great too. i also got to see them this year and had a blast! paramore was the first concert i ever went to so getting to see them again is full circle for meee.

desire, i want to turn into you (caroline polachek) - fun!! i do prefer pang but i had fun!

skylight (pinegrove) - sleepy, twangy indie album. i enjoyed! it was soothing this year.

joy as an act of resistance (idles) - the opposite of a sleepy, twangy album! i'm hoping to catch idles in the new year since they're stopping in town :)

tv

not a great tv year for me tbh

succession - succession my beloved! banger of a final season. it will go down in the annals of my favorite tv shows for the rest of all time. kendall roy you will always be famous.

adventure time - revisiting adventure time for the first time in forever. it's fun, it's sweet, i have a soft spot for it. i'm on its final season but have yet to finished because i'm emotionally attached at this point.

video games

baldur's gate - all i've done with my time lately is play baldur's gate. eat, sleep, breathe baldur's gate. i have not touched my sims in months because i have no space but for baldur's gate on my computer. finally got a ps5 and immediately got baldur's gate so that i can finally play it properly because my mac can only barely run it!!! i'm emotionally attached to my little tiefling cleric. i am already fantasizing about my next playthrough.

top me moment!

lol as for personal successes this year: i got a fellowship with a really well-recognized poetry organization in my city that i have so much love for and that truly does so much good work for our community. i have been slowly working my way through the ranks. i started as a mentee last year, taught some poetry classes for them, and this year helped run their month-long festival, and am now working directly with them to help plan their month-long festival for next year. it feels so aligned with the kind of career i'd like to have in my life. next goal is to hopefully lock-in some kind of permanent position with them once my fellowship is over. hopefully i will have good news about that in next years wrap up! thanks again for asking this, i truly get a kick out of it!!

#ahhh i can't help but write an essay #i wish i had consumed more media this year but genuinely felt like i didn't have much i was interested in? #i think potentially the writer's strike and actor's strikes may have had some influence on that #anyway thanks again for asking imo 💖 #cheesehair #yearly roundup

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

Obituaries and panicking, everywhere... As expected and projected, Memorial Day box office was at an all-time low... What is going on? Are the movies bad? Is the younger generation not into theaters anymore? Too many other forms of entertainment competing with theaters? Is it this? Is it that?

Maybe the way box office is reported and deified above all else, oughta end. It's waaaaay overpowered the movies themselves, for sure.

I think it's simple... The movie theater experience costs too much and is often a big gamble. The chains are like malls, they could be clean or really gross, you could get an audience that you share a great communal experience with, or a completely disruptive one. $12+ per ticket, general admission, sky high snack prices... I think a lot of audiences, especially families and groups, are - in true fashion - saving for the few movies they want to see every calendar year. I know, because I've worked at a movie theater for almost 9 years at this point... I see it in action. Stats have shown over the last 10 or so years that this is the case with many Americans.

That's not to say 2024 has been a total wasteland overall, in terms of the domestic box office. DUNE: PART TWO did really, really good, as did GODZILLA X KONG and KUNG FU PANDA 4. But so far... The Top 10... It's largely recognizable IPs or movies based on well-known people, such as the Bob Marley biopic. Not exactly "original", per se. At #9, so far, is the movie CIVIL WAR, which was an original story. And below that, THE BEEKEEPER.

Last year's Top 10 was also no different. Barbie, Mario, Spider-Man, the Guardians of the Galaxy, J. Robert Oppenheimer, Ariel and friends, Willy Wonka, Ant-Man and pals, John Wick, and the astro-turfed movie about some real-life fraud whose name I won't mention. The highest-charting original of last year was ELEMENTAL, at #17.

But here's the thing... Original, original...

FURIOSA is out this weekend, and it's being *raved* about in most circles, that director George Miller has done it again and it's another excellent entry in the MAD MAX world. A wild big budget movie like few others. DUNE: PART TWO was similarly very well-received and was similarly the work of an auteur.

I like a healthy mix of both, and that there's a passion or drive behind both as well. There are "original" movies, or movies based on untried properties, that kinda just show up and do little for me. Like I wasn't all that big on, say, THREE THOUSAND YEARS OF LONGING, WISH, or SALTBURN. A movie like SMILE, I borderline hated. And there are big IP movies that really impressed me. I really dug both of the Denis Villeneuve DUNE movies, GODZILLA MINUS ONE, ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE, BARBIE, GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY VOL. 3, PUSS IN BOOTS: THE LAST WISH, you get the idea? And vice-versa.

Some of this year's "flops", like THE FALL GUY, were pretty well-reviewed and seem to be growing with audiences - even if they won't make back their astronomical budgets within the first few months of their existence.

The theater world needs to up its game, studios need to be smarter with budgets (and also more experimental, at that), and box office needs to become less of an obsession. I mean, it's to a point where the movies are just nothing more than stats, numbers, etc. Box office is a fun race for me to watch - I've been fond of it for at least 20 years at this point, seeing numbers is satisfying, and it's fun to see where the zeitgeist is at and what audiences are flocking to at the given moment - and what the movie's future will eventually be. I like seeing cool stuff succeed and make back its budget, so more cool stuff like it happens. Also what movie is the one to see and thus part of the weekly conversation... But at the same time, the movies themselves matter more.

And it sucks to see them take a back seat, more so than ever before, to this kind of hyperbole... The kind that doesn't seem to read the room.

[manicpixiefelix]

alone with you

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: In a slight diversion from the events of he wanted to be in love (but you got in the way), Felix finds you outside the maze, and can't bring himself to believe you're anything more than passed out. So in denial, he brings you inside, gets you cleaned up, and dwells on the events of the night before, waiting for a best friend who will never wake up.

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. THERE IS A MOMENT WHERE FELIX PICKS UP AND CARRIES THE READER, I APOLOGISE IF THIS IS IMMERSION BREAKING FOR ANYONE.

Warnings: you are dead in this one. ANGST, felix being in absolute denial to the point where its upsetting, felix dwelling on the argument from oliver's party and being in absolute misery. sad times at saltburn. so much denial and angst. felix interacting with your dead body as if it's alive (taking care of after a night out, nothing more)

A/N: 3103 words. so this is based on this beautiful prompt by @r1dd1kulus, however i do have to apologise that i tweaked the original prompt. it's mainly now just felix being in massive, upsetting denial and a study on reader & felix & the maze & the fight. i would have loved to include the lunch scene and the family being shocked and possibly playing along, but i'm genuinly sorry but i couldn't get it to work in a way that didn't feel like Weekend At Bernie's. which is a terrible thing to refernce at the start of my arguably saddest fic yet. love u, please let me know what you think, especially because i did some fuckery with the style and formatting idk have a time :o)

The poem used in the fic is the first stanza of Love's Philosophy by Percy Shelly.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

"Fi, please -"

"God you're cold," Felix pulls you into his lap, limp, quiet, still in those beautiful green garments from the party, "can't believe you slept out here, no wonder you're freezing," he mumbled to himself. Its still early, only just broken dawn, but he's been up all night, searching for you.

Without thinking, he pulls off his robe, maroon and still fluffy from a recent wash, and gently manoeuvres you to get it on. Now in the same white singlet from the night before and his pyjama shorts, he cradles you to him.

"Sorry for getting mad last night," he mumbled into your hair, delicately picking leaves and grass from you, "and making you wait out here; I should have known," his breath catches; he holds you tighter, "really should have known, of course you'd be out here." Then, barely above a whisper, he takes your ice cold hand, "love you."

When you're quiet still, unresponsive, he thinks about how messed up you were when he last saw you, stumbling, almost faceplanting on the dancefloor, how he'd chosen to leave you like that. Another wave of guilt, another apology murmured against the cool skin of your temple. It had been a truly rough state, no wonder it had hit you so hard. So he scoops you up, keeps you close, and carries you back to the house.

"Fi, please -"

"Duncan," he calls out, seeing the tail of the butler disappearing around a corner as he cradles you, carries you up the stairs. Duncan stops, peers back around, tired look in his eyes; Felix wonders if he'd slept either, "Y/N had a rough night, we'll be taking breakfast in our room," he informs. Duncan gives a tight-lipped smile and nods, gaze momentarily sliding to you in his arms.

"Will there be anything else, Sir?" When he means is everything okay?

"That's all, thank you, Duncan," Felix returned the tight smile and continued on his way.

He's not sure if he should be annoyed or concerned at your stubbornness, but he is gentle with you nonetheless, closes his bedroom door behind him with his foot and takes you straight to the bathroom.

"I didn't mean it," he murmurs, picking the pearls out of your hair that he'd watched you meticulously place the night before. You're propped up in the bath, and he's kneeling beside, desperately hoping you'll open your eyes to the sound of his voice, "about wanting you out for the rest of Summer, I couldn't even go one night." Everything he does is with care, wiping off your makeup, "don't know what I'm going to do when the semester starts," he says distractedly, "can you pull the kind of strings to let us share a room? If anyone could it would be you."

He takes his time with removing your costume, respectful of the detail you'd put into it, not wanting to damage any part if he could help it. When he runs the bath he apologises for it being so cold at first, but makes sure it never gets too hot.

"Let's get you warmed up," he's seen you naked more times than he could ever count; there's nothing lewd about this moment, all he wants is to take care of you. For just a moment, he holds your wrist, fingers against the soft skin where your pulse should beat. It must be weak after last night, or he's misremembering and holding the wrong spot, "love, can you hear me?" ("Fi-") Fear flickers in his heart briefly, but he disregards it out of hand, "remind me to never let you get this fucked up again," he tries to calm his own nervous heart. ("Please -")

He washes the sweat and grime and dirt of the night off with the body wash of yours that he's always loved the smell of, even if his own clothes are sopping wet from the effort by the time he's done.

"Better?" No response, "well when you wake up you should be feeling better at least. Warmer too."

And he dries you, and dresses you in the most comfortable clothes he knows you own, and tucks you into bed, telling you with a sigh to sleep it off. The clothes he throws on himself are comfortable too, the sweater he chooses from the back of his closet has always been too big on him, but he feels like he needs it now, needs to pull the collar up over his face for just a second to hide in it from the world. But just a second. Because he's fine, he tells himself, everything's fine.

There's two plates of food at the door; he's not sure if you'll be up to eat your before lunch, so he puts it on the dresser, shoving aside the delicate and meticulously chosen jewels and accessories you'd collected for both costumes last night that neither of you even touched. When he thinks too hard about the disappointed, heartbroken look you'd given him when he'd disregarded so much of your hard work last night, a lump forms in his throat.

So he heads to his balcony to eat, and try not to think about last night.

"Fi, please -"

But he can't. The details haunt him with how they all blur into each other. Laughter and lights, trying to drown out the betrayal of Oliver, the way you were please edging on betraying him too it seemed. Everything getting better, getting worse in a cycle - "I'm not a monster for having a heart, Felix."

He feels like a fucking monster.

The truth he'd called audacity and blamed on the drugs in the box that you'd pushed into his hands as you'd flayed his already damaged ego -

"You just don't like what the lies he used to keep you around say about you."

"I'm done with you."

He's never regretted something so immediately, but you knew him best, if anyone was going to be able to tear him apart at the seams, it would have always been you.

"I'm done with you."

"I'm done with you."

But he was too wounded to do anything but double down. Kick you out. Fuck.

"Fi, please -" he'd made you cry. He was going to spend the rest of his life apologising to you for last night, and even then he'd never feel like it was enough. Because he was fucking aching, and hated himself, and saw you through the crowd when it hit him just how badly he'd fucked up. Couldn't face himself, his mistakes. Double down; he could blame it on the alcohol or the drugs or the betrayal, but it was his own fucking fault. Fuck. Instead of just enjoying the night, he watches Oliver catch you before you can fall, and he feels the spite and self loathing in his veins.

India was pretty and willing and there. When he takes her by the hand and tells her how magical the maze is, he's only thinking of you. He's thinking of every time he'd ever suggested trying to get lost in the maze because he was bored, and every time you'd followed him in without question. He remembers making out and hooking up and giggling as the two of you hid from Farleigh and Venetia; you two knew the maze far better than anyone else did, it was your place.

And he thinks about the evening where he found you with a copy of one of the many books from the library, laying in the middle of the maze, frowning up at it. Seventeen, hiding from the last days of Summer heat before it was back to school.

"Percy Shelly," you recognised Felix by his footsteps; no-one in the world could ever know him better, "writes nothing like his wife," you announced. He's having trouble getting a read on how you feel about this. But you snap the book closed and sit up, "what are you up to?"

"I wanted to see what you were up to."

Groaning loudly, you flopped back down, clearly bored out of your mind. You announce that you want to do something, but you don't want to be around people - Felix doesn't count, Felix never counts when you talked like that, he was yours, and you were his; indefinable. So he gets snacks and you have a picnic, but as it gets dark enough to see the stars, you're still strangely in your head. He's leading, because sometimes you get like this, even at this age, so you loop a finger through one of his belt loops and trust him to lead you to safety while your focus drifts elsewhere. He's even carrying that Percy Shelly book for you. It's a years old tradition; the maze always seemed to put some kind of spell on you. Sometimes Felix could even feel it too. This place was your place, this place was magic.

When he glances back, you're looking into the hedges, fingers snagging on the leaves, dipping further in to where all the vines and branches twist together and become impenetrable. Lips moving, he can't quite hear what you're saying, surprised that you're saying anything at all, but he can't help but stop. You run into him, and it's like the spell is broken.

"Everything okay? Sorry I was -"

"- talking to yourself," he laughs, but not unkindly. Judging by your suddenly pensive expression, however, you seemed to have been at least aware that you were doing it.

"Thinking about one of the Shelly poems actually, he's actually pretty alright, even if it isn't Frankenstein."

"Wait, he's Mister Missus Frankenstein -?" it's genuinely news to him, even at seventeen himself, but you clearly find his wording endearing.

"Yeah, but he's a poet," you grin. Very suddenly you look to your hand, still out, finger looped in Felix's belt loop by his hip, "um, he's good is all," Felix isn't used to you sounding flustered and is a bit caught off guard by it. He knows you don't judge each other, you never have -

"Which one?"

"No, it's- I don't remember, I'll get it wrong or something, it's stupid, I was just trying to do some Summer reading for school -"

"Come on, you were just -"

"Dunno, Fi, I forgot!" You practically shouted, taking your hand back to cross your arms, shrinking in on yourself in a surprisingly childish manner. Felix goes very quiet as he tells you it's okay, that you should just head back, it doesn't matter. Your footsteps still follow him, however, even as he makes a wrong turn in his confused, vaguely upset state. You don't correct him, you don't leave him, you just follow him, as you always have.

He hears your deep breath when you take it, hears you sigh in the way that means you're settling yourself, and it's like he can physically feel his heart ease when he feels that same pressure by his hip. Two fingers this time, curled in his belt loop. He doesn't look back, he still gives you whatever space you need -

"The fountains, um, mingle with the river," he can hear the awkward nerves in your voice when you start speaking, but he knows better than to interrupt, "and the rivers with the ocean, the winds of -" you pause for a long time, he can only imagine your face scrunched up as you tried to remember, "gimme a sec," you muttered, "this isn't quite the part I keep thinking about so I haven't been thinking about it as much."

"Surprised you even remember this much; your memory is so cool," Felix means it very genuinely, and your abashed laughter is like music to his ears.

"Okay, I think it's; the winds of heaven mix forever with a sweet emotion..." you trail off.

"It's nice," Felix offers, but you're quiet. Actually, you stop; it tugs on his belt loop.

"'s not the part," you frown, but can't look at him, "and I keep thinking about this part, and then I feel weird for thinking about it, because I'm like, this feels... like too much. Like I feel like a freak, even though, like, we're us."

You and Felix had been YouAndFelix for years by this point.

"What poem is it?" Felix asks softly, beginning to open the book, but your face scrunches up in embarrassment, snatching it out of his hands with your free one.

"Fuck, don't read it, fine -" you tuck the book under your arm for safekeeping, wearing an embarrassed little scowl. Then, under your breath you admit, "read it like twenty times, just this one bit, it's burned into my brain it feels like." And you let go of his belt loop, crossing your arms as you nervously shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"Spit it out or I'm going to make you do it in a way that's, like infinitely more embarrassing, and I won't let you leave until you do it that way," Felix threatens. You make a face, asking what the hell he intends to do; Felix puffs out his chest, "I'm gonna make you tell me it like it's one of mum's trashy Mills & Boon novels that she thinks we don't know about; gonna hold your face real close and make you look me in the eyes while you say it," he pauses, deliberating, "I might make stupid faces, I am still deciding on that -"

"Okay," you say softly, all quiet and nervous and surprisingly sweet.

"What?"

"Just maybe," you give a nervous laugh, "don't make faces; it might be easier for me if you're being weird about it - why am I even doing this, you're not holding me at gunpoint, I can just -"

But then Felix is stepping up to you, two fingers delicately lifting your chin, leaning in so your faces were inches apart.

"Better?" Low and warm like he's straight out of a romance film, he takes the moment serious, smiling softly.

He can see in your eyes that you're still nervous, but there's no-one else in the world who looks at him the way you do. None of them have even come close; he doesn't know when exactly either of you realised, but neither of you have even of a shadow of a doubt that you love each other. Moments like this seem to remind him. The maze is a magical place.

"With," you take a deep breath, focusing on him and only him as you reiterated the last line you'd given just before, "a sweet emotion;" you swallowed hard, "nothing," you blink hard and restart, an endearingly nervous shake in your voice, "nothing in the world is single," you take a deep breath and oh, he knows you well enough, knows why the line hits you in the chest, the same as it just hit him, "all things by a law divine, in one spirit meet and mingle," you wet your lips, finally having gotten over your nerves. Your gentle smile makes this whole moment shine, "why not I with thine?"

Of course he kisses you, fucking of course he kisses you! Of course it takes the two of you another half hour to get out the maze despite the entrance being around the corner, what's he going to do? Not make out with you until the two of you can barely breathe? No! He'd drown himself in you and that moment if he was physically capable of it? He's never felt so damn romanced in his life!

YouAndFelix. You are his. He is yours. Undefinable. Inseparable.

In the present he was barely eating anything compared to the amount he was tearing apart until it was essentially breakfast sand. He'd felt drunk and betrayed and desperately wanted to hurt you. It was the easiest way to hurt himself.

So he took India to the place he spent years falling in love with you, and defiled that magical sacred damn space, with his cock in the first poor, willing girl who didn't even matter to him.

"Fi, please -"

He needs you to wake up soon, needs you to say something, needs you to say anything to band aid over that stupid fucking fight that he wishes more than anything that he could take -

"Fi, please -" You were sobbing. You were fucking sobbing, begging, and he left.

"Felix, darling," his mother's voice from downstairs, peering up at the balcony. Hand up, shading her eyes, the workers move around her, clean up as if she's not even there, "is Y/N still with you?"

"Yeah -" asleep, asleep, warm and resting and tucked in and safe and sleeping it all off, every bad thing from last night. Wake up. Let me say sorry.

"Duncan said they were under the weather, is everything alright?"

"Sleeping off last night," he keeps playing with his breakfast sand. The jam holding it together makes it look like viscera. Too much jam. Too much blood. Too much. All too much.

"Will you both be making it to lunch? We're about to serve."

"Yeah, I'll -" what if you don't wake up for lunch? What if it's worse than he thought? Or what if you're still being damn stubborn and the joke's on him.

Please let the joke be on him. After last night he deserves it.

"- we'll be there."

He'll do anything for you to wake up.

"You're right," he should have said, "I know you're right. I know you're trying to help me because I can't see clearly because I don't want to face the world if that's what Oliver thinks of me. Because I love him. I love him for who he is now, I don't care where he came from, but it makes me sick to think that Oliver thought I couldn't love him - couldn't even spare him a second glance, if I didn't, at first, think I have to save him.

I use the people I love. I take everything for granted, even myself. Even you; especially you. I love you the most, I use you the most. I know I don't want to lose one of the people I love the most because he bruised my ego. I know you want me to see that. And I do. And I see how good you are to me, how good you've always been.

YouAndMe. You're mine; I'm yours."

"I'm done with you."

And the last thing he hears from you is the despair in your voice, cry as he leaves -

"Fi, please -"

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

[thesullengrrrl]

tbosas thoughts lol

it's been a while since i consumed anything related to the hunger games. i remember borrowing the books from the university library and enjoying them very much, especially the first one! at the time, i never thought a book could feel like a mini series unfolding before me. cliffhangers were the best parts in every chapter.

i wasn't really hyped with this because i was looking forward more on saltburn, poor things, wonka and the like (which would probably be released here next year). fast forward to last saturday and i met up with a friend to watch it. i have a vague idea on what the film is about (it's about coriolanus snow and lucy gray baird that's it lol) but i'm glad i went in semi-blindly. i didn't read the book!

the length. i saw the actual book and i'm surprised they didn't chop it into two parts like its predecessors (hp, breaking dawn, etc). i'm glad about that because franchises can be so blatantly cash grabs these days. it was divided into three parts which was a little surprising since i have not watching something like that in a YA film (let me know if there are other YA that has done this). was it written in three parts in the book as well? the film was almost 3 hours long and we were glued to our seats. no breaks!

the acting. it's my first time seeing rachel zegler act and miss ma'am ate it up. i even forgot why the internet was angry at her. that singing scene when she was reaped? EAT YOUR HEART OUT, CAPITOL! tbh her singing made me feel a little little cringe but heyyyyyyy what do i know? the internet says it's part of lucy's character (she's part of a band for pete's sake, self!) she sings well and i hope i can hear her more in the future.

it's obvious how viola davis is enjoying her role and love that for her!!

peter dinklage gave us dystopian dr. gregory house (compliment) (morphling, vicodin...) and that picture of him with the rubber chicken. work.

my white boy of the month, tom blyth. chef's kiss. that man ate up his blond wigs and buzzcut and i never thought i'll have a crush on a blond man again after matthew crawley. his performance as snow made me feel what god intended: make me feel safe then push me from that beam-- snow landing on top of me with (my) blood on his hands.

sejanus...well, first of all, why suzanne? why the name? janus could've been fine already. (what's with names ending with anus!) we love our human rights king! josh andres rivera's take on sejanus is a breath of fresh air in the middle of capitol's cruelty and nonchalance to it. the anger that he gave to the character would make you wish for a better future for panem's children.

lucky flickerman. jason schwartzman did not hear "cut!" he heard "cunt!" and he gave us that. "smile. that's why we have teeth" is an instant classic for me. i could watch an entire compilation of his scenes on youtube for a whole day and not get bored.

last but not the least, hunter schafer as tigris? i totally get now why tigris smiled at the idea of katniss killing snow in mockingjay. you fed the boy, you dress the boy, and he fires you? fuck off, snow! snow melts anyway!

the costumes. it has a mixture of the elements of turn of the century america. influences from the 30s-50s are evident to the costumes and i love it. very different from the costumes in the hunger games trilogy. it added to the sense of separation from the earlier films. why is dean highbottom dressed like a monk? that ombre lab gown and docs of dr gaul? looooove. it looks so comfy and chic. snow's academy uniform? he looks so uwu baby girl cherub you can't do anything wrong you are an angel you look so trustworthy uwu bb

i enjoyed the movie. i had fun! the battle sequences made us hide behind our hands because it was brutal! we swooned on snowbaird moments and we laughed and we screamed. i'm so glad i watched it with my friend whom i haven't seen in a long time.

to be honest, i wanted to savor the story and characters more. i would have preferred it to be a mini series. i like little moments from books to be on screen and i've read that the film missed some of it (understandable). i might pick up the book if i chance upon a paperback copy. i'd like to know more about snow's inner thoughts since it was not shown in the movies.

with theories, mine is this: lucy gray escaped and lived somewhere outside panem, if such place exists in this universe. maybe a south america counterpart lol. then she went back as an old woman and lived as greasy sae. lucy and coryo did love each other but only for a brief period of time. they both needed each other at the time. that bonds people. however, maybe they prioritized survival over their emotions. lucy wants to live freely with her music and nature and the covey. coriolanus wanted money, power, and glory. probably coryo didn't realize her long lasting effect on him until he was old lol. she haunted him until his death and...that's good. he deserved it.

thank you suzanne collins for writing this and thank you to the cast and crew who breathed this book to life.

ps. if i missed some context or whatnot in the story or the characters i'm sorry, i haven't read the book yet. :-)

#tbosas