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birrdies · 2 months

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“when I say you are killing me” (desert duo one-shot, 2.6k)

Every inch of his climb is agony. White-hot and endless, it ricochets through Scar’s body as if it bought an expressway pass through his veins like a highway. Would it have killed Grian to get an apartment on the first floor? Hell, Scar would even take something on the third or fourth-floor if he had to. Anything would be better than dragging himself, slowly and painfully, up twelve flights of rickety metal stairs. In the snow. In the middle of the night. Bleeding.

Scar’s having a bad night.

Blood dribbles between the gaps of his fingers. It’s slower than it had been, but each heave up another flight of stairs blinds him with pain and sends a few more fresh droplets of blood sliding down his middle. His shirt (whatever tatters remain of it anyway) and pants are wet and tacky, sticking to his skin like a perpetually wet bathing suit as he tries to climb the rest of the way up to Grian’s apartment.

The fire escape is an old decrepit fixture of rusting metal mounted to the brick siding with nothing more than a few loose bolts and a dream. It groans beneath his weight, the barest shake of wind causing the metal to ripple and shudder. The metal saps the warmth from his already cold, pale fingertips. He’d had gloves, but had to get rid of them as they were soaked in blood and not all-that conducive for climbing-under-the-influence (of blood loss). Scar’s not afraid of much, least of all heights, but he chooses each step up the fire escape carefully, muscle memory a crutch as he drags himself past open windows with the lights still on. Last thing he needs is another broadcast claiming HotGuy is nothing but a petty creep with a penchant for B&Es.

By the time he reaches the twelfth floor he’s shaking from head-to-to. Each breath sears through him, rivaling the sharp-edged pain of lightning, setting him alight. It burns through him, the aftershocks never ending as he pulls himself upright and grasps onto the edges of Grian’s windowsill. A pained whine catches between his teeth; he refuses to let it out.

Curled up at Grian’s windowsill as he peeks through the drawn curtains at the warm lamplight cascading through the glass, Scar finds the painful climb was well worth each and every second of agony. No better minded than a moth drawn to a flame Scar leans in to rest his forehead against the glass, the warm, golden glow from within Grian’s apartment beckoning him forward. Inside, Grian’s sitting at his desk around a cluster of books and papers strewn around as if a bomb had gone off. His hair is fuzzy and curled at the tips, as it always is whenever Grian lets it air dry after a shower. His shoulders are hunched and the sides of his face are illuminated by the blue glow of his laptop screen. Even through the glass Scar can hear the incessant clacking of his keys as he furiously types away at whatever assignment he’s working on.

It takes Scar more than one try to build up the courage to disturb him. He looks peaceful (or about as peaceful as someone working on a lab report can be), and Scar knows that peace will shatter the second he knocks, the second he barges in, yet again, on Grian’s evening and sweeps him up in his vigilante shenanigans.

Scar’s bloodied hands grasp onto the windowsill, red streaks staining the chipping white paint like a crime scene out of some gruesome horror movie Grian would have him watch. He winces at the sight; it’ll be a nightmare to scrub out. He’ll have to remember to buy Grian dinner one of these days to make it up to him and hope that Grian will have the heart, eventually, to forgive him.

“Grian,” he mumbles, startled to find his voice nothing more than a gravelly rasp. He reaches to knock, but his arms are as stiff as uncooked spaghetti noodles and don’t listen to a word he has to say. With a huff of frustration, Scar pitches his weight forward and thumps his head twice against the glass. The dull ache through his forehead is nothing compared to the feverish burning tearing through his chest and stomach.

Inside, a shadow bolts across the floor. Grian’s cat, Maui. In his chair Grian twists around at the sound. He’s wearing his glasses— Scar’s heart drops low in his stomach at the sight— and squints through the darkness to see Scar sheepishly waving at him through the glass, his breath fogging it up just enough to be seen.

He unfurls himself from his chair and comes to pry the window open. Scar comes face-to-face with his heart-patterned pajama pants, two sizes too big and pooling around his ankles. Wait, are those Scar’s?

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Grian is asking before Scar manages to start dragging himself in through the open window. It’s only for the briefest millisecond, in Grian’s ignorance, that Scar can be grateful for the starless, moonless night. The dark shields him not only from the prying eyes of neighbors, but from Grian’s scrutiny. In this dark he can’t see the blood, can’t see the tears in his shirt. In the dark, he might just look a little ruffled, no worse for wear than he usually is after a busy night patrolling. In the dark, he and Grian can pretend, albeit for only a second, that everything is normal.

But as the pain and dark corners throbbing in his periphery are keen on reminding him, everything is very much not normal.

“I seemed to have lost my watch,” Scar says as he pulls himself in through the open window. Every movement is measured, half-withheld, ginger— everything that Scar isn’t, and he’d be a fool to think Grian wouldn’t notice. He does immediately, because he’s Grian, and he’s never been truly ignorant when it comes to Scar, despite Scar’s best intentions.

Grian steps back with wide eyes. The color drains from his face as Scar holds his weight against the wall with one blood-slicked hand and struggles to stand at his full height. Every inch he tries to stand taller, the more the swelling edges of the wound start to pull and ache.

“Scar?” Grian’s face, usually so warm and vivid, especially under the light of his desk lamp, pales to a near lifeless color. He staggers toward him, hands held out in front of him as if to catch Scar. “Scar, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Right as rain, G,” Scar says, managing a wry smile. “Honest.”

“Don’t give me that.” Grian rushes forward, grabbing Scar around the shoulders and steering him towards the futon in the middle of the room. The second Grian touches him some of Scar’s pain fades, if not just because he has somewhere else to pitch his weight, to take some of the strain off his bloodied, torn middle.

The pair of them hobble to the futon, Grian whispering mumbled nothings as he lowers Scar onto the edge and forces him to sit back with firm hands on his shoulders. Scar allows himself the smallest mercy of relaxing into the cushions, his arms and legs limp at his sides as his head lulls back to rest against the back of the futon. It’s as if every string tying his marionette up, stringing him along, has been cut all at once. It’s somehow blissful and terrifying all at the same time. He’s not sure he’s ever been this roughed up, this exhausted.

And in front of Grian of all people?

Grian, whose face is drawn tight, whose shoulders and jaw are rigid as if he’s been made out of wood. Grian, who anxiously flutters at Scar’s side for a second before disappearing in a flurry toward the kitchen. Scar’s head is too heavy for him to lift, but he hears Grian rummaging and cursing under his breath before he returns just as quickly as he left. In his arms he balances a handful of small dishtowels, a first-aid kit, and a box of blue rubber gloves.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, to himself more than to Scar, as he sits on his knees on the cushion beside Scar and leans over to assess the wounds.

Gingerly he pulls the tattered shreds of his black shirt away from the wound-bed (as much as he can with some of the fabric stuck to his body with blood like glue) and winces at the gory sight. Scar’s skin is torn in jagged ridges, three gouge marks clawed from just under his ribs and down across his right abdomen. Thankfully, the worst of the bleeding seems to have stopped, dark, thick globules of blood already starting to stitch together like wads of hot glue around the wound, crusting on the skin.

Grian examines it all with a crease between his brow that Scar, after all this time, has come to know means he’s irritated. He’s always looked especially cute when he’s angry (part of the reason it’s just too easy for Scar to give into the temptation to push his buttons whenever possible), but the downturn of his lips, the whites of his eyes, reveals something far more serious. Worry. Grian’s worried about him, and maybe it’s the blood loss starting to get to Scar in earnest, but Scar finds he far prefers this sight. He can’t help but smile back at him, even though he knows it’ll likely earn him a punch when he’s no longer bleeding out on Grian’s couch.

“Scar.” Grian says his name as if he’s been saying it for a while, but Scar’s only just now hearing it. “This is bad. Like, really bad.”

Scar blinks down his nose at him, brow furrowed. “You should see the other guy,” he says with a weak huff of laughter. “Stuck him so full of arrows you could call him a porcupine.”

“Scar, this is serious,” Grian admonishes, snapping on a pair of gloves and brushing his hair from his eyes.

“But you’re gonna fix me right up, ain’t you, Doc?” Sar teases, lifting his head just enough to catch Grian’s scowl as he flicks open the first-aid kit and fishes out a small brown bottle.

“I need you to tell me what happened,” Grian says, and there he goes again— detached, analytical, dawning his ‘I’m calm and collected’ persona. He pulls a pair of scissors out of the first-aid kit and tests the snap of them. “This doesn’t look like it was from some kind of a knife—”

“Ravager,” Scar says, gritting his teeth in anticipation. “Jerk got too close.”

Grian raises an eyebrow. “Sounds more like you got too cocky.”

Again, Scar finds himself fighting (and failing) to conceal a smug little smile. “You’re worried about me, just say it.”

“I’m pissed off is what I am,” Grian snaps. He peels up one edge of Scar’s shirt and begins cutting away as much of the fabric as he can without disturbing the edges of Scar’s wounds. He winces only when the shirt tugs too sharply on the red, puffy edges of the wound. And Grian, to Scar’s surprise, nearly flinches every time he does.

“Sorry, sorry,” Grian whispers each time, sounding so unlike himself. His face is pale, and if Scar isn’t mistaken there’s the faintest tremble to his hand.

“It’s okay,” Scar says, just as hushed, as if the slightest movement or raise in his voice will spook Grian. “Do what you gotta do. I’m tough, I’m strong. I can take it.”

Grian scoffs and peels a foil lid from the bottle’s cap, dumping a bit of it onto a folded dishrag. “Yeah, okay. We’ll see how tough and strong you are once I start cleaning this.”

“Give me your worst, Doc.” Scar lets his head loll back to stare at the ceiling, taking as deep a breath as his tense, wounded chest will allow. The twinge of pain reminds him to stay awake, has his fingers curling into the fabric of the futon beneath him.

Grian doesn’t give Scar a warning, which he appreciates. The anticipation is the worst part. He grits his teeth and bares it as Grian firmly, but not violently, uses the alcohol-soaked rag to wash away the blood from his torn skin. Scar scrunches his eyes shut and breathes through it, the pain an unrelenting impulse racing through his veins like faulty circuitry gone haywire.

And as soon as it starts, it’s over. Grian sits back on his heels and tosses the now blood-soaked rag to the floor. He wipes at the sweat blistering across his forehead with his arm, taking a shaky breath in as he examines his handiwork.

“It’s not too deep,” he says, sounding the slightest bit relieved. He twists to reach for the first-aid kit again. “You’re lucky I swiped this stuff from the lab. Though I won’t begin to guess why you came here instead of a hospital. This needs stitches, probably.”

“Eh, I’m not worried about another scar,” Scar dismisses, ignoring the small beads of sweat starting to gather on his own brow. He can’t handle Grian thinking he’s caused him any more pain; the only thing worse than suffering as he is now is to watch Grian torture himself over things he can’t control. Like Scar. “Besides, I can’t exactly keep up the whole secret identity thing if I go to a hospital half in costume, now can I?”

“Secret identity,” Grian parrots mockingly, unraveling a bundle of bandages and starting to tack them down around Scar’s middle. “You nearly got gutted, and that’s what you’re worried about. Of course.”

He’s angry. Scar would be an idiot to not be able to see it, and maybe it shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does. But it’s not the anger that catches Scar off guard. It’s what lingers beneath it: Grian’s gloved, trembling hands, the way he can’t look Scar in the eye more than a second before having to look away, burying himself in sorting through the first-aid kit for the fourth time as if looking for something to help and, just like every other time, coming up empty-handed.

Grian’s scared.

Scar’s known Grian for years now, and over that time he’s been a lot of things. Angry, judgmental, infectiously funny, bright. But afraid has never been a word Scar has used to describe him.

“Grian…”

“Of course I’m worried,” Grian says, catching Scar off guard. His voice is so quiet, so hushed that Scar wonders if he imagined it. Because something so vulnerable and soft sounding couldn’t come from someone as headstrong and impervious as Grian. It simply isn’t possible. “How could I not be? Have you looked at yourself?”

“Hey.” Scar can’t dream of sitting up, but he manages to leverage himself up just enough to reach for Grian’s wrist. He’ll feel bad about staining Grian’s sleeves with blood later. For now he needs to grab hold of him, pull him in close. To reassure him. “I’m fine. I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m in good hands, yeah?”

“Scar,” Grian says, sounding like he’s about to start crying. He curls his fingers into a weak fist, as if to pull from Scar’s grasp, but he doesn’t try it. He only holds it there, waiting. “I’m not exactly qualified. I’m a bio student, not a—”

“You’re doing fine,” Scar insists, caressing the inner aspect of Grian’s wrist with his thumb. There, he can feel the furious pace Grian’s heart takes on at the touch, like his pulse is ready to leap out from beneath the thin layer of skin. He flashes a smile, just to prove it to Grian. “I’ve bounced back from a lot worse than this. I’m just glad I don’t have to do it alone this time.”

#desert duo #desert duo fic #scarian #<- just in case #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #goodtimeswithscar #grian #birdie writes #sometimes I forget I am a writer and forget to post the things I’ve been writing like a madman #blame fishbloc for making me post this one

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bahoreal · 10 months

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Question for fic writers!

#fic writers #poll #ao3 #no idea what to tag this with and yes i want this to get big as much as i'll hate it bc i'm so curious #according to my statistics i have over 2k comment threads (not comments - comment threads aka comments people have left individually)#so i do not reply to all the comments on my fics unless i am currently writing it/it's a recent fic/the comment is really good

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numbuh424 · 9 months

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congrats to ao3 for the site traffic the good omens fandom is about to bring them this week

#the fix-it and hurt/comfort fics are about to go CRAZY #good omens #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens spoilers #gos2 spoilers #Good omens season 2 spoilers #I am so looking forward to them I love you ao3 writers you are the backbone of society and my free therapy #I'm also excited for the ineffable bureaucracy fics about to come out of this #LET'S GO TEAM

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zephyrd17 · 3 months

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Helloooo a quick question for all the fanfic enjoyers out there!

Please reblog for sample size!

#polls #fanfiction #writing #please how do these things work #i am an anxious writer just tryna get by #aka i am once again procrastinating on that one fic #writers on tumblr #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #ao3 tags #how do tags work #how does posting on ao3 work????#i am so confused #honestly hoping I'll get some feedback on this #zeph yapps #zeph tags #zeph writes #zeph complains

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marimbles · 7 months

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“Paths like this one are sometimes called ‘desire paths.’ … They mark a journey of wishes … of tireless yearning.”

— @bahbahhh, “desire path”

this fic has not left my mind since I read it!! it’s absolutely gorgeous! Thank you for the delicious zelink 💜

#zelink #botw #zelda #loz #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #begin again is also FANTASTIC I am still reeling from that one too #bahbahh is one of the most beautiful fic writers I’ve encountered so I highly recommend her stuff!#my art #mine

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flowercrowngods · 3 months

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The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now.

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard.

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work.

“H— Hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“

“Of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone.

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened?

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself apparently.

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?”

No. “Thanks.”

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening.

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she—

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees.

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again.

“Hi.”

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.”

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe.

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again.

“What about Steve.”

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth.

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.”

“He… He’s hurt.”

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.”

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“

“I am. Coming. Over. And you tell me everything.”

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now.

“‘Kay.”

The next second, she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall.

🤍🌷 sneak peek of who did this to you pt. 3 (part 1 | part 2)

#steddie fic #steddie #who did this to you #i am battling this writers block or so help me!!

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freesia-writes · 1 month

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#please don't look too closely for plot holes #just enjoy the story #the overall idea was genius but I am not #fanfiction #fic writing #fanfic #creative writing #writing #fiction #fanfic writers #fanfic writing #fic writer #fic woes #writeblr #fiction writers #writers on tumblr

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hellsite-hall-of-girlfriend · 9 months

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#this is going up on our four week anniversary #i love when things work out perfectly like that #anyway here is madame girlfriend's own ✨color of the sky✨ post #written by Yours Truly #i am no writer this is simply based on true events and feelings #color of the sky #colour of the sky #long post #long post.#fan fic #fanfic #fan fiction #anon x madame curator #hellsite hall of fame #hellsite hall of girlfriend #madame girlfriend’s bullshit

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time-woods · 5 months

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Chasing Stars au ! !

forgot to put the fic up here ! its the comic pages plus 2 chapters so far ! (finished the second one today)) but yea ! actually writing the fic !

#chasing stars au #Sīdus the Fallen star #prismo the wishmaster #the carmine cavalier #scarab the god auditor #prohibitedwish #adventure time #adventure time au #fionna and cake #still got no clue what im doing #i am by no means a writer and this is like the 4th ? ? fic ive done so #im a comic maker first writing is not in my skills but im gonna try #doesnt help when i type at like 28 words per minute #but i hope yall enjoy ! !

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brightnote · 6 months

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*gets to the chapter of the fanfic I have been most excited to write and have been setting up through countless chapters*

Me: *stares at blank screen*

Me: *starts a totally different fic*

#ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #writers block #i have it but why can't i get it out?#i am already writing two fics at once #this is so hard #i don't even have a social life anymore #i love you all though more than anything

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flayyr · 8 months

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divorcespark fic + oc shit. i don’t think tf oc stuff is looked at by anyone but i tacked it on anyway

ocs belong to @onyxstic and myself

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mrdrwrites · 4 months

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Pairings: Oliver Quick X !fem reader

Summary: Oliver is invited to Saltburn by your twin brother Felix and after the first dinner things get a little heated.

CW: SFW!! kissing, bad language, mention of sexual content (not much)

WC: 2.1k

warning: i am dyslexic so don’t expect all words to be spelled correctly, also i don’t autocapitalise my words

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

being a Catton had many advantages, a never ending list of friends, money, a level of smartness that seemed to be genetic, and sex. lots of sex. my brother, Felix, knows this too well. Felix Catton, my twin brother, is, for a use of better words, a whore. a new girl on his arm every single night. although recently there has been less women and more of a certain man. a very handsome man. Oliver Quick is his name, i had been told by my friend, and one of Felix’s little fuck buddy’s, Veronica. Oliver Quick is a beautiful man, not the type that Felix would usually hang out with. Oliver Quick is a nerd, a man who always has his head in a textbook, a man with glasses, a man who hangs out with Michael Gavey for fucks sake. he is beautiful, a loony, but beautiful nonetheless. when Felix had told me Oliver would accompany us back to Saltburn for the summer with our cousin Farleigh Start, i had almost choked on the very air i was breathing. this information became known to me three months after i had first seen Felix and Oliver together in the pub with Felix’s group of dimwit friends. poor Oliver is going to be eaten alive, Saltburn is going to eat him alive.

two months later.

Saltburn never ceases to amaze me, it’s the home i’ve lived in all my life and yet every time i’m here it feels like the first time. i’m sitting by the pond when Felix comes behind me and scares me. i scream and hit him in the chest when he crouches to my level.

‘Ollie is looking around. when he gets here be nice,’ he warns me with a straight face.

‘i’m always nice. it’s mum you have to worry about,’ i roll my eyes, ‘let’s not forget Venetia too, she’s been anticipating his arrival after your little description of the poor boy.’

Felix sits beside me, ‘i’ve told Venetia, no more Eddie situations. i do not want to lose another friend,’ he sighs.

‘if you do, you’ve still got me,’ i nudge his side with my shoulder, ‘you know, twin sister, built in best friend.’

he chuckles and puts an arm around my shoulders. the both of us stare at the pond until we hear a voice.

‘Felix? Felix, where are you?’ Oliver.

‘over here mate,’ Felix shouts over his shoulder, Oliver soon appears from the side of the house and he sits with Felix and i.

‘this house is,’ there is a pause, ‘beautiful’ Oliver lets out a sigh.

my lip quirks up, ‘Felix given you the tour yet?’

‘yeah. when i first got here,’ his Scouse accent is strong, a stark contrast to Felix and i’s.

‘you meet Venetia or mum and dad yet?’ i question.

Felix flicks my ear, a scowl on his face, ‘leave him alone. enough of the questions.’

i roll my eyes and shut my mouth.

‘no i haven’t. Felix told me to watch out for Venetia,’ Oliver speaks up after a moment of silence, ‘said she has been parading herself round all morning in hopes of finding me, whatever that means.’

‘it means she wants to fuck you, Ollie,’ Felix grits out harshly.

i hit him in his side and he lets out a huff, moving his arm from around my shoulder and to where i hit him. Oliver laughs at the two of us and the sound makes me smile a little myself.

‘Sir Felix, Madam y/n,’ Duncan speaks up from behind the three of us, making Oliver jolt, ‘your mother has requested that the three of you get ready for dinner.’

‘no problem Duncan we will go now,’ Felix waves off our butler and stands.

he lifts a hand in my direction and i grab it for him to pull me up. he does so and the same is done for Oliver. we all part ways once back in the house and go to our respective rooms. i decide on a blue dress for dinner, an elegant dress. it hugs my curves and finishes just above my knee, its off the shoulder and used to be my mothers. she had given it to me as a birthday present. she knew id always dreamed of owning a dress like this. i look at myself in the body length mirror and spray a little perfume on my neck. a knock has me looking from my reflection to the oak door of my bedroom. i make my way over and open up to see Oliver on the other side, looking sheepish.

‘uh, Felix left me in my room to get changed and he, uh, left. i don’t know where the dining room is,’ he averts his gaze to the floor.

‘it’s okay, i get lost sometimes and i’ve lived here my whole life. i’ll take you to the dining room,’ i smile and link my arm with his, closing my bedroom door behind me.

we are in the dining room a moment later, everyone already there. including mums friend Pamela. Oliver and i take a seat and i give a smile to my mother. she returns it and begins to speak.

‘welcome to Saltburn Oliver, we hope everything is to your liking. my name is Elspeth, this is my friend Pamela,’ she points a hand in her direction, ‘that is my husband Sir James,’ and dads, ‘and this is Venetia,’ she finally points toward my younger sister, ‘i assume you have been acquainted with y/n and Farleigh.’

‘yes Mrs Catton, Farleigh and i had a few classes together, and y/n and i have briefly met,’ he looks at me and interlinks our fingers under the table, ‘it is lovely to meet everyone else,’ he smiles.

‘oh please, do call me Elspeth,’ mum states, ‘Felix has told us so much about you, how are your parents?’

the conversation picks up with Oliver being the centre of it. we all eat, Oliver’s finger still entwined with my own under the table. the night finishes when mum has successfully fried all the information out of Oliver about his personal life. parents, siblings, education, friends, favourite colour, heck she knows it all. we are all excused from the table when it has been cleared and Oliver and i’s fingers finally break apart.

‘can i talk to you for a moment,’ i feel a hand on my own as i’m leaving the dining room, i turn and see Oliver, ‘alone.’

‘sure, yeah. is everything okay?’ i question as we make our way to my room.

he says nothing, he just continues to walk with me, his hand in my own. we make it to my room moments later and i let him inside, our hands detach.

‘you’re very beautiful y/n,’ Oliver says as i close my bedroom door.

a blush spreads across my cheeks, ‘thank you Oliver.’

he comes closer to me and my breath catches in my throat. i have had a little tiny crush on Oliver ever since my brother first started hanging out with him 5 months ago. Oliver is handsome, brown hair and big blue eyes that are the perfect colour as to not look too bright or too dull. his hand comes up to stroke my cheek and i lean into it.

he hums, ‘Felix doesn’t shut up about you, you know that?’ he tilts my head so i am looking up into his eyes.

i don’t get the chance to open my mouth before he is speaking again, ‘you’re an easy person to like y/n, i know everything about you because of Felix,’ his thumb rests on my bottom lip, ‘i know your favourite colour is pink, i know you didn’t talk til you were 4 years old, i know you have never let anyone touch you the way i’m touching you now,’ his voice is suddenly deeper.

my lips part and a breath of air is let out. my cheeks becoming even more hot the longer Oliver goes on.

‘you’re beautiful y/n, i mean that. you’re drop dead gorgeous, such a pretty face,’ his thumb tips back so it is half way in my mouth, my tongue is laid flat against the bottom of my mouth, cautious of not touching the pad of Oliver’s thumb.

Oliver’s eyes trail down my face, stopping at my mouth, ‘do you think Felix would understand if i were to kiss you?’ he questions, his accent getting thicker with each word.

his thumb moves from my mouth and there is an icy hot sensation left where he once had it, my lips still agape.

‘i don’t think he would,’ i finally speak up, my voice scratchy, ‘not if he doesn’t find out.’

Oliver’s lips quirk up into a smirk, ‘sneaky y/n, what if i were to fuck you?’ the breath i was taking in gets caught in my throat and i let out a strangled sound, ‘would you still keep that from him?’

i nod. all sensible thoughts seem faraway at this moment and i need Oliver.

he leans close, so that his lips are mere millimetres away from my own, ‘you’re beautiful y/n, the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen,’ his arms snake around my waist, hands stopping just above my ass.

i lean up to connect our lips, my head is spinning, warmness pooling in the bottom of my stomach. i don’t realise how bad i have needed Oliver until he is pulling away from me. my lips are, no doubt, a mess. Oliver has my pink lipgloss all over his lips, i smile and reach my hand up to cup his jaw as he had done to me a moment earlier. my thumb reaches out to his lip and wipes away the lipgloss. he pulls me closer to him so i can practically feel every muscle in his chest and stomach.

‘kiss me again Oliver,’ my hands now lay flat on his chest.

he obliged and pulls me into him once more. the urgency of this kiss is more than the first, Oliver’s hand slips down from my back to the curve of my ass. he gives it a squeeze and i let out a little noise into the kiss. we continue kissing for what feels like forever til a knock comes from my bedroom door. i pull away from Oliver quickly and shoo him into my wardrobe. i know that knock, it’s Felix.

‘y/n? you in there?’ Felix questions from the other side of the door.

‘yeah hang on i’m changing,’ i grab the first piece of clothing i see, one of Felix’s shirts, and put it on after quickly slipping my dress off. i look at myself in the mirror and wipe the remains of my lipgloss off from around my mouth and open the door. Felix doesn’t wait before barging into my room.

‘have you seen Ollie? he hasn’t come back to his room yet,’ Felix is worried, that much is evident in his tone.

‘no i haven’t. maybe he’s talking to mum or in the garden or something,’ i lie straight through my teeth.

Felix quirks a brow, i hate lying to Felix but it has to be done. he would hate Oliver if he found out what he was doing to his baby sister a moment ago.

‘i’ll go check in the garden. will you go ask mum please?’

‘yeah, i will,’ i reply.

‘thank you y/n’ he gives me a kiss on the cheek and leaves my room.

i let out a sigh and make my way to my wardrobe. i open it and Oliver comes out quickly, ‘i hate small spaces,’ he shudders.

‘i’m sorry Oliver. i didn’t know,’ i feel bad.

‘don’t worry about it. it’s fine,’ he smiles, i instantly feel better.

‘you need to go to your room. Felix is looking for you,’ Oliver’s eyes widen, ‘i told him i’ll check with mum to see if you’re with her so I’ll take you back to your room, okay?’

‘perfect,’ he confirms.

before i can move he gives me a quick kiss and a slap on the ass.

‘behave,’ i tell him as we walk out of my room to which he replies with a chuckle.

we are in Oliver’s room in 5 minutes, all his belongings had been unpacked by the maids during dinner.

‘so how are you liking Saltburn?’ i question Oliver, sitting on his bed.

‘it’s amazing. nothing like home. it’s bigger for starters,’ he lets out a laugh, ‘and it is so beautiful. truly incredible,’ he looks out of the window.

i lay back in his bed and let out a sigh, ‘i’m glad you’re here Oliver.’

‘me too.’

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

AN: would like to thank my best friend @lovandr for being as Saltburn obsessed as i am and making me feel like whatever i make, whether that be a story or an edit, is good enough.

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