#michael gabey smut

[jacevelaryonswife]

You Really Got Me | Professor!Michael Gavey x student!fem reader

summary: With a perfect CV, Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity has never seemed so inherent to you before. The new Professor of Number Theory awakened inappropriate feelings that could become risky if they were reciprocal.

a/n: well, it was quite difficult to write this because I’m not familiar with the Oxford environment and I hope that my research has made this story as credible as possible.

tags: slight slow burn, smut, p in v sex, power imbalance, swearing.

word count: 5.7k

ewanverse masterlist | next part

Michael Gavey was... many things.

A lot of things, definitely.

Michael, or rather, Professor Gavey now, aroused conflicting feelings in you.

Admiration, fear, fascination and another whirlwind was felt when it was the new and brilliant Professor of Numbers Theory. He took over the discipline of a dear veteran and great name of mathematics in Oxford, his advisor in the master’s and PhD. Obviously great expectation formed around it, around him, wondering if he would be able to overcome the grandeur of his predecessor.

And apparently he was causing a certain commotion with his above-average intelligence and his eccentric personality.

Obviously you started a search for the CV of your next professor and the finding was surprisingly extraordinary. Speaker of the 2010 class, several projects carried out, postgraduate (also in Oxford), articles published in journals with high impact factor and experience at McKinsey & Company for 2 years.

Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity had never seemed so inherent to you before.

Saying that you were intimidated by the first contact with him was an understatement- you were fucking terrified. The rumors of an alleged above-average intelligence proved to be untrue. Above average? No shit, he was far beyond everything you experienced. Your eyes didn’t dare to move away from him and the painting during the following hours, too fascinated by what was happening in your fucking front. You felt a current of pure mathematics run through your body and camp in your brain, illuminating all the neurons.

What the fuck had just happened?

You learned that every class he taught was a learning experience rarely experienced before. The passion he conveyed when teaching overflowed in all his expressions so intensely that it made you orbit around him slowly.

And that was the beginning of a problem.

A big problem.

But you hadn’t noticed yet.

“If I ever thought I was smart, forget it! Michael Gavey is the epitome of everything I want to be,” your good friend Miranda said before taking a sip of her latte.

“I know right? Every class I feel that my brain will explode,” you said while leaning your head against the table, “but I can understand what it teaches, at least a good part of things. I know I already have an advisor and our work is almost published, but I think I’m thinking of getting out of Algebra and trying something with Gavey,” you looked at her.

“Woah, are you fucking sure? I mean- if that’s what you really want, that’s fine, but I think it’s too mind blowing for me,” she said.

“For me too, but it’s fucking interesting, I really want to do at least one research in this area.”

“... hmm,” Miranda smirked, humming.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she superficially drank her coffee, “hmm.”

“Cut the bullshit,” you complained as you looked at her impatiently.

“It’s nothing, it’s just that from a certain angle he’s quite cute,” she said in a thin voice.

“Who? Gavey?”

“Yeah. He’s... different from the guys you usually date or are interested in but he’s not bad looking,” she explained.

“Come on, do you really think I’m interested in him? He's our professor and a big nerd to boot!” The last thing wasn’t totally the end of the world.

“And? It’s not like students and professors have never fucked before, although I don’t think he’d risk that much, he seems to be quite methodical,” she said calmly, “and most importantly, he’s clever as fuck and that automatically makes him sexy, if he’s not an idiot.”

That was absurd, you weren’t interested in Michael Gavey!

... right?

You thought about it for the rest of the day.

Was Michael Gavey, in addition to his bestial intellect, physically attractive?

Suddenly, you began to notice how his lips were perfectly drawn and pink as he explained the most beautiful things you had ever heard in those years at Oxford. Damn it. It was Miranda’s fault, obviously. You tried to convince yourself of that while elaborating a way to approach you about the possibility of a research project without embarrassing yourself. Obviously you tried to impress him before that, answering questions whenever possible and redoing all the examples and notes he passed around. When your own mind couldn’t assimilate some details, you looked for him to ask questions and oh Lord, he was more than attentive.

The proximity also made you realize how blue his eyes were under the glasses, and how his hands were- no, wait, what were those veins? Those long and thin fingers? You know what they say about guys with big hands... And his fluffy dirty blonde hair and those soft and ugly sweaters, his height, his waist-

DAMN IT MIRANDA!

That afternoon you gathered the courage to introduce the subject after your classmates left, using your best words to make a good impression.

“I have some interesting ideas that would yield good research, but before recruiting someone, I evaluate performance throughout the term; grades, posture, commitment, everything is observed.”

“Oh... sure, professor.”

“You’re doing well so far, you have good chances, keep it up.”

You wanted to scream. You’ve been recognized.

If your previous efforts were continuous to make a good impression, they would now be compulsive to stand out from the others. You needed to have him as an advisor. And all the eagerness to please him, all the competitive desire to excel, all that fervor triggered a fire that consumed every stretch of your body silently.

And that was a problem.

It shouldn’t be, but it became without you noticing.

“Do you know how many people would sacrifice everything to sit on these chairs? Walking through these corridors? Breathe this air? All of you have an obligation to achieve more than perfection, especially if you are here because of mommy and daddy’s money.”

You knew that very well. Gavey was very demanding about the quality of his students, always reinforcing the privilege of being in this environment, which in itself would make his discipline one of the most important of that term, but your current disposition made you demand almost all attention for him, for the test that was coming, for what you aspired to in the future.

And the result couldn’t be better.

You had a 100% performance in the first test. Excellent, handwritten next to the note. “Good work, keep it up,” he said with a subtle smile.

“Thank you, professor.”

So that’s what the butterflies in your stomach were from.

You smiled, satisfied as you reaped the fruit of weeks of hard work, too numb in your own pride to feel a close eye to follow your steps to the exit, although you had not gone unnoticed by Miranda.

“I think someone caught Gavey’s attention,” she hummed low, approaching on your side to lightly nudge your body with her hip.

“I know right? I need this opportunity,” you celebrated, oblivious to the implicit tone of her voice.

“I didn’t mean that way, babe. It's just he’s keeping an eye on you constantly, literally checking you every- I don’t know, three minutes?” She said it as if it were obvious.

“What? No, I don’t think it’s in this sense, he uses everything as a parameter of choice, he’s just observing my posture.” What? To believe that Gavey had ulterior motives? Too unreal.

“No, sweetheart, he was staring at you when no one paid attention, or almost no one, and he spent most of his time looking at you,” she insisted.

“You don't really thi-“

“I totally think so!”

Oh fuck.

“I’m not saying he’s in love with you, but he's interested, hell yeah,” she explained as you slowly processed her words.

“Fuck,” you said, “do you really, really think so? I mean- he doesn’t look like the type who stays with students.”

Definitely not, he seemed too methodical for that, methodical enough to separate the spectra of his life into compartments.

But what if there was the possibility? You couldn’t reproduce that question audibly, but in the comfort of your bed, you allowed yourself to daydream.

If there was some possibility?

Well, there were pros and cons that needed to be analyzed meticulously, of course.

In the event that Michael was a systematic monster, there wouldn’t be problems in a relationship since he wouldn’t mix romance with studies, theoretically. On the other hand, if he didn’t know how to differentiate the staff from the professional... well, you’d be fucked up if something went wrong. And that was the main point: the mistake.

The consequences would be drastic if something bad happened, especially to you, whose life was still under construction and a scholarship in Oxford could not be negotiated. The cost was too high.

However, over the weeks, you could only think about how attractive your professor was.

And now you know it’s a problem.

And with that, the end of year 2 was near when you received an email from Michael Gavey requesting to send your notes and certificates of everything you had done and participated in so far. Jesus, that man wasn’t kidding.

Neither were you.

That same morning you attached the documents to the e-mail and forwarded a response, as a result, your presence was requested at his office as soon as possible. I’m available in the afternoon, you send to him.

It was complicated to make your legs stop shaking along the way, practically jumping through the corridors while trying to stay calm. It was your chance, one where nothing could go wrong. You wore your best clothes, put on accessories that you used to wear daily and a subtle makeup to make a good impression, nothing that drew too much attention.

Stopping in front of his door, you took a deep breath and announced your presence with a light knock against the old wood, receiving immediate permission to enter the space. You would've liked the time and the absence of an observer to analyze all the details, but instead your eyes locked with his as he walked back to his chair.

“Good afternoon,” he said, a polite smile illuminating his beautiful face as he pointed to the chair in front of you, “have a seat. Please.”

“Good afternoon, professor, thank you,” you greeted him back, shaking your hands anxiously as you sat down.

With no time to allow your eyes to wander through the objects on the table, Michael cut straight to the point. "So, what aroused your interest in Number Theory?" You, to begin with.

"Well, I chose Maths at the age of 17, but things were difficult when I started the course. I was disenchanted considerably, but I always remained active. When your classes started I felt the same thing that motivated me to join here, it was as if everything had made sense again and I really fell in love with it."

“I see,” he said, crossing his hands over the table with a soft smile and a slight pink to his cheeks. Did you make him blush? No way. "I’m happy to have contributed positively to your training. I really appreciated your performance during classes and the analysis of your CV. The activities you have developed are also good but they can improve, I believe you also aspire to it. I seek a high level of quality in my students, after all we are in one of the best universities in the world and excellence is the least expected, I believe we agree on that. Have you already decided where you would like to specialise within Number Theory?"

"To be honest, no, but I would like to find out in-"

"I have some ideas that I’d like to be executed, I can show you now, if you don't have something in mind," he interrupted you with enthusiasm.

"... yes, I’d love to," you said, "but first, thank you for the opportunity you’re giving me, I admire you so much from the first classes and I feel really happy to receive this chance, I know there are many successful veteran professors, but I believe that a current view of a person as impressive as you can bring interesting results."

And if he had blushed with your previous statement, now he was red as a tomato and all disconcerted as he looked down with a shyness never witnessed before by you. It was deadly cute.

Gosh, you were really fucked.

═════════════════════

Working with Michael was exciting.

Terrifying too.

You felt constantly intimidated by his intellect, which caused a mix of sensations that varied according to the day. There was the pride of collaborating with him, the fear of failing, the paranoia of not being good enough and the satisfaction of achieving good results. It was a real roller coaster.

The passing of the months dissipated the initial strangeness and made living more comfortable. On the other hand, the proximity made you watch him for longer. It was pathetic.

Michael spent most of his time in front of his computer, correcting things, creating things and participating in events. You weren’t the only one under his guidance, there was Paul, a recent entry in Maths who was too inert in his own world to notice any non-standard deviation. Paul was a reminder and a barrier for nothing to come out of your daydreams, although he didn't seem very interested in what you were doing.

Still, you couldn't feed those thoughts, your relationship should be strictly professional.

It didn't matter how discreetly he approached you to help, or how close he leaned towards you- more than what was considered respectful. Or how good he smelled and looked so comfortable with his cheesy sweaters and old shoes. Or when you looked at him closely while he explained something.

How it was happening at that very moment.

“You're wasting time trying to demonstrate this equation, it's not so important for the project,” he said when analysing your latest advances.

"I know, but I'd like to understand better and I'm not getting it, it seems too abstract," you said with a frustrated pout, bothered by being stuck in something so simple.

"You've already solved more difficult things," he stressed, looking at you consciously, "can I?" he asked, referring to your notebook and the pen next to your laptop.

“Sure.”

Your attention focused on the numbers and symbols scribbled on the paper, trying to keep up with the speed of his thought. Watching it has always been fascinating.

“Some things are more difficult when we make them like this,” he said as he sketched on the paper.

"It's easy to say that being you," you replied, lamenting the failed attempt to absorb some of his knowledge.

"But it's true."

Unconsciously, you leaned your shoulder against his arm. "Some things are naturally difficult, not everyone can visualise like you."

"I know, it's a natural advantage," he smirked, looking at you over his shoulder, face closer than usual. "But you have a good brain, you shouldn't make it harder than it is."

So close.

"And how should I make it easier?" You held your breath, not daring to look beyond his beautiful blue irises.

"Find in the problem points that are favourable to you, try to demystify them, make them palpable," he replied slowly, taking a deep breath.

Really close.

"And if there's nothing to be explored?"

"You can always call me."

"… I know."

So close.

═════════════════════

After that, you don't know what or why, but something has changed in your relationship with Michael.

His looks became more persistent, his presence seemed closer, almost palpable. Maybe it was a daydream of your own mind, but it looked different, inexplicably different. The air seemed heavier when there was proximity. He seemed comfortable when he touched your shoulder while you read your results. It was nothing, you thought.

There was something not said and that was enough to bring out fears and expectations.

Why not? You thought repeatedly, knowing the reasons very well.

But, maybe...

Maybe you needed to get him out of your head for a few hours, meet some nice guys, drink a little, it was a good idea.

That's why that Friday night you decided to go to one of the nearby pubs with Miranda. It was a good plan, you would leave the lab at 5 PM and get ready to meet her at 7 PM. It was in fact a good plan... until the data analysis program decided to crash in the middle of your work and a malaise affected your friend, in addition to a grotesque rain that started to fall recently. Well, at least you tried.

After collecting the material from the bench, you stretched your arms above your head to ward off the hours of agonizing stress and got up from the chair. It was already late and your view was tired, more than your own body when Michael showed up with his keys in his hand after closing his own office. He spent the afternoon by your side trying to solve the damn problem in addition to his chores as a teacher.

"Everything worked out?" He asked.

"Yeah, at least that," you grumbled, picking up your backpack, "thank you for the help," you looked at him before going to the switches to turn off the equipment.

"You’re welcome," he said simply, in a softer tone than usual. Thunder echoed when you turned off the lights and made you retreat briefly in fright, making himhim laugh softly. "So, what does your generation do to have fun Friday night?" He asked casually after leaving the laboratory.

"Considering that these pubs are older than you and me, I think the same thing your generation did," you replied humorously, looking at him with a small smile, "Unfortunately not with this rain."

"Did you have plans?" He asked.

"Yes, my friend and I’d go to MacLaren's pub, but she's sick and the world decided to fall suddenly and I didn't bring my umbrella," you said faster than you intended, a brief irritation about how your night was totally destroyed. “And you?”

“No plans,” he said, adjusting his sweater. His car was close, but the rain prevented him from advancing a lot. "Are you walking?" He asked.

"Yes- I mean as soon as the rain passes," you crossed your arms and hugged yourself.

"I can take you," he said, his words beginning to make your heart beat faster.

It's no big deal, it's just a polite gesture.

"Oh no, you don't have to, honestly. I can wait," you said, although the twinge in your heart meant the opposite. Why the fuck did I deny it? Damn it.

"It's no big deal, besides we don't know when it will pass," he said, "we can wait in my car, I'm fucking freezing here."

"Sure." You tried not to freak out at the idea of being in such a restricted and warm environment with him, but Michael didn't seem to share the concern, since he basically ran in the middle of the fine rain to reach his car. Okay then. You went right behind, putting the backpack above your head to protect yourself from the water and closing the door harder than you intended. “Sorry, I wasn't expecting that,” you said with a light laugh.

"I just needed this heater," he said with a small smile on his lips, messing with things on the panel, "I also didn't bring an umbrella."

Avoiding making him uncomfortable when analyzing his every movement, you took your cell phone to try to distract yourself, relaxing when the hot air became present. It was almost 6:45 when You Really Got Me filled your ears and made you look at him.

"Do you like The Kinks?" You asked.

"I'm a fan, what about you?"

"My friend is a big fan."

“And you?”

"I like some songs."

"My grandfather was a great vinyl collector, he left everything to my father but he was never into rock in general," he said as he adjusted his glasses, looking at you with soft eyes.

You looked at him with interest. "I started listening to rock to get the attention of a guy I liked. It didn't work but I really liked the songs, although I don't listen to the same bands as I did when I was younger."

Michael laughed. The sound was carefree, almost relaxed even, a facet you didn't see often. He looked soft, cozy, in that burnt orange sweater he wore. "And what do you listen to?"

“I listen to a lot of Oasis, but that's not really 60's stuff. But I also like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Strokes...”

“Big fan of Oasis,” he said.

“Really?”

"I have all the vinyls and I went to a concert in Manchester before the separation." He paused, "Would you like to see them?"

There was an intensity in his look that made your breathing fail, making the air heavy. The casualness of the situation did not seem so natural all of a sudden. He meant-

“In my home.”

Shit shit shit shit

You couldn't, you shouldn't.

“Yes.”

═════════════════════

And so, contrary to all the possibilities of the night, you were in Michael fucking Gavey's house.

A veiled restlessness endured in the air and in the way your heart beat as you were taken by the unknown path. You couldn't believe you had agreed to that, but here you were, looking at every detail of his flat with curiosity. It was large, clean and almost minimalist in design, some thematic objects of mathematics scattered around on the shelves, walls and table. Nerd.

A short silence was maintained while your eyes eagerly explored his place. "Do you want to drink something?"

"Water would be great," you tried to keep the modesty, while watching him go to the kitchen and approach with your request with his gaze locked on yours.

You couldn't be imagining things, there was something there, a different glow, an unspoken truth that caused chills to run through your body.

"You can sit down, I'll get the vinyls."

Your heart was almost exploding since the invitation. You couldn't believe he brought you here, much less that you agreed to come. What the fuck should you do? Let him show you the records and then go? That was stupid.

You forced a conscious smile when he appeared with the records in his hand, watching with a certain curiosity.

“Here,” he said with what you assumed to be a nervous smile, “This is definitely my favourite, although What's the Story? Morning Glory introduced me to the band-“

Your brain wandered when he started digging non-stop about the albums, not giving a damn about Noel and Liam Gallagher's drama, all that mattered was that you were next to Michael Gavey, on his couch, at his house. Michael, the man who took away your sleep and made you constantly daydream. The man who fascinated and intimidated you to the same extent, who made your body warm up when it was close and imagined what it would be like if he got closer.

With his beautiful eyes, nose and lips, big hands and long fingers, soft and beautiful dirty blond hair.

You've wanted it for a long time.

You wanted him.

Wanted to fuck him.

You wanted to fuck your own professor.

And you're tired of denying it.

"I know I shouldn't do that, but it's all I've been thinking about for months."

You interrupted him, touching his cheek as you slowly leaned against him. He froze in place, not preventing your advances as your faces grew closer and closer. Your lips gently brushed against his before pressing harder, starting a fearful and shy, almost chaste kiss.

He didn't reciprocate.

Your heart sank, panic blooming in your stomach.

What did I do?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

His lips silenced any doubts that dared to emerge, holding the back of your head while kissing you experimentally. You didn't waste time in moving your lips at the pace he set, holding the back of his neck and smoothing his beautiful face, tasting the taste of his lips.

You couldn't believe it, you couldn't! He was kissing you!

Michael Gavey was kissing you!

"I'm sorry, we shouldn't-" he said as he walked away abruptly, but you didn't care.

You attacked his hungry lips and made him move the discs away when he leaned against his body, climbing on his lap and holding both sides of his neck. His hand went down your back and held your ass firmly while the other grasped on the back of your neck, pulling your body closer and asking for access to your mouth with his tongue. You kissed, sucked, and bit his pink lips, taking advantage of everything you could before moving away to look into his eyes, looking for any sign of reluctance.

“I've wanted to do this for a long time,” he confessed.

“Me too,” you said.

And then you were kissing him again, and again, and again until your lips were red, wet and swollen. Your body warmed up when a bulge emerged below your thighs, instinctively grinding against it.

“Fuck- I can't, we can't do that, I'm your fucking professor,” he said out of breath, holding your arms and briefly pushing your body away. "This can ruin everything- fuck up our relationship-"

He was red, dilated pupils and heavy breathing, a fucking vision.

“I know, I know. But... just this time, we can forget just this time... what do you think?"

He held firmly one side of your face and looked into your eyes. “Are you fucking sure about this?”

“I'm fucking sure.”

Just this time.

"... just this time."

He leaned over to kiss you quickly, moving his hands under your blouse to take it over his head, groping the exposed skin of your arms, waist and belly with his big hands while drinking from your body with lascivious eyes. "Beautiful," he whispered.

His lips traveled to spice up moist kisses on your neck, sucking the conjuncture with his shoulder, licking your throat, making you melt and close your eyes when he found your sweet spot. Who knew he had that fire? He nibbled and sucked the sensitive skin, holding your waist firmly when he raised you and put you on the floor, leaving you stunned as he guided you by the hand to the room.

Michael didn't have time for your reasoning to come back when he gently pushed you against the door with both hands next to your head. “You're fucking gorgeous.”

“And you're handsome,” you removed his orange sweater, touching the skin of his torso.

"... you don't have to reciprocate the compliment."

Your chest hurt when you heard that, which made you touch his cheek instinctively. "I'm not saying out of courtesy, Michael, you're fucking attractive," you traced his lips with your thumb, looking at him firmly. “Fucking handsome.”

A slight blush took over his cheeks and he captured your lips with passion, holding your waist while kissing life outside of you. Your head was spinning and your stomach warmed up by intimacy, straightening his soft hair. You were in the damn clouds.

His hands moved to unbutton your pants and lower them, kneeling before you to remove your shoes and jeans, kissing the stomach trail to the top of your panties and shamelessly touching your drenched pussy.

"Mmm," you shuddered and closed your eyes when he started rubbing your clitoris, increasing the moisture between your thighs. Fuck. Your goddamn professor was kneeling in front of you. If you weren't wet before, now a river has accumulated in your center.

"Is that good?" He asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, holding onto him for better support, watching him continue to massage your clit now directly into the skin while leaving kisses on your belly. You leaned dramatically against the door when he stuck a finger in your entrance, pumping slowly, feeling you, teasing. “Fuck.”

Michael removed his finger and stood up, unbuttoning his belt quickly and taking off his pants and shoes, leaving you warm and needy and following him like a puppy when he went to the headboard near the bed and opened the upper drawer to take off a condom. Damn it, he was so fine. Before his hands were on your body, you slowly pushed him on the bed and took control, removing the bra and discarding the panties. You couldn't believe what was about to happen.

Your body trembled when he pulled you by the waist and clapped your breasts as you sat on his covered cock and ground over it.

"Fuck," he grunted, sucking one nipple.

"Michael," you moaned, panting. 'Professor,' that's what you wanted to shout, pulling the hair from the back of his neck. He moaned when you kept grinding against his erection and hoisted your hips to lay you on the sheets.

Your mouth opened when he discarded his underwear - not even in the wettest dreams did you imagine that size. He was fucking fine. Tall, thin, defined and with a beautiful cock. Fuck-

Michael Gavey was really a box full of surprises. He barely had time to adjust his glasses and put on the condom before he was pulled by you to take over the top, caged by your legs.

He captured your lips in a sweet kiss, leaning on his elbow as he adjusted between your thighs. The next thing you felt was the welcome intrusion into your folds, stretching you open deliciously. The initial stretch was a little painful, it's been a while since you've been with someone, but he was slow and careful when sinking into your core, making your toes curl up and a relieved moan come out of your throat when he was totally inside.

"Are you alright?" He asked with his face above yours.

"Yes," you held his back, "just wait a minute, please."

“Okay,” he said with a red face, hoarse voice and almost breathless.

Your walls were pulsating when you finally received it, relaxing when the slight discomfort passed. “Move.”

His thrusts were soft, but firm, looking at you closely. You couldn't believe that, yes, Michael was fucking you. Finally.

You leaned up to kiss him while holding your back, groping his wrinkles around your eyes. He was fucking handsome. His hips went further and faster when your body was totally receptive, the moisture and heat surrounding him and making him slip without hindrance. He leaned his forehead against yours and held your hips when you dug your feet on the bed, hitting deeper than before, making you moan loudly and your pussy squeeze instinctively.

A hoarse moan was his response, almost a whining that was swallowed by your lips.

You were in the fucking clouds with the intimacy of the moment, tracing patterns on his back and pulling the blonde strands from the back of the neck when the thrusts became more intense, deliberately repeating his name. Michael attacked the conjuncture of your neck and lifted your thigh even more to go deeper, deliciously hitting your core.

"Michael- fuck-" You could only think of how good he felt, how big his cock was and how his bulbous head brushed your sweet spot whenever he moved. You needed it too much. Holding his shoulders and pushing him away a little, you looked at him panting, making his eyes widen.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked with a tense body.

"No, no, It's just-" and then you moved to take control, resting your hands on his chest, "this." You wanted to ride him since the time you called me in your office. You rubbed your hips against his groin in an addictive rhythm, loving the friction against your clitoris and the feeling of being totally filled.

"Fuck," he grunted, squeezing your ass, groping your hip, holding your breasts, covering every piece of skin available.

You started moving on his cock, touching his chest gently. You felt it all over your core and that burned your whole body, especially when your spongy spot was being brushed rhythmically. Michael pulled you to a scorching kiss full of tongue and teeth, leaving your movements sloppy, but constant, almost frantic, your moans and whining became higher and higher, your velvety walls squeezing his thick axis more and more.

"So fucking good," he moaned against your mouth and leaned his feet on the bed, holding your buttocks and hitting his hips against yours.

“Fuck-“ you almost screamed, resting your head against his chest when he started pushing quickly into your hot pussy, creating lascivious sounds that echoed all over the room.

“You're squeezing me so fucking hard - you're close, aren't you?” He asked, almost breathless.

“Y-yes,” your eyes closed when the family tingling intensified and your juices lubricated it even more.

"Come for me baby," he grunted when your folds pulsed around him, "cum in my fucking cock."

Shit.

Your orgasm hit you hard; hot and sudden as lightning, making your body tremble and a flash blind your vision as the air disappeared from your lungs and your mind went blank.

"Fuck," you heard him moan far away, feeling his cock pulsate and the squeeze on your ass increase when his erratic movements stopped, leaving only a few slow pushes on your sensitive pussy.

You melted completely when the orgasmic euphoria spared, coming out of it unwillingly so as not to deprive you of the air and stabilize your own breathing. Your mind was tired although very aware of the fact that you had just fucked your professor.

You can't fucking believe it.

Fucking finally.

"Are you okay?" He asked, all red and sweaty as he looked at you with crooked glasses.

“Absofuckinglutely,” you looked at him tired, panting, attracted by how cozy he looked. “And you?”

He smiled softly, pushing away some strands of hair that had stuck to your forehead, fingering your face with his thumb. “I'm fucking great.”

Michael pulled you to rest on his chest when a comfortable mist hovered between you as you recovered. None of you said anything for the next few minutes, just enjoying the calm silence before reality starts to come back. You fucked your professor.

You fucked your professor.

What did you have in your head?

You tried to convince yourself that nothing would change after that, that your relationship would not be affected, but you were not sure of that

Just this time.

═════════════════════

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my lovely beta reader: @moris-auri 💙💙

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Quid Pro Quo | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After being ditched by her friend at the Trinity College Christmas Party, she finds herself enthralled with learning the language of Michael Gavey | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Part Two: Carpe Diem Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, semi-public sexual conduct, oral sex (m receiving), heavy petting

If she has to listen to Professor Wardon swoon over Ancient Greek and how it ‘drove him to pursue his dreams in extending his passion to other students’, she thinks she might actually fall asleep.

She's in a good spot to do so, nestled between two other students, the one on her right seemingly just as bored as her, and conveniently hidden behind a tall, lanky first year, who sits straight, with his head perfectly obscuring hers as he fixes his posture regularly.

Several times throughout, she's checked her watch, and yet the second hand never seems to move an inch.

Professor Wardon is just about to go on a lovesick spiel about Homeric Greek when the lecture concludes with a heaved sigh from every student as they sling their hefty bags over their shoulders.

“Remember I want 2,500 words on Les Liaisons dangereuses in my pigeon hole by next Thursday, before your Christmas parties!” 

“Oh joy,” she sighs with a grin to the girl walking shoulder to shoulder beside her as they leave, feeling noticeably lighter knowing that that's their last lecture before Christmas break.

“Christ, you're telling me. I can't be arsed to even right my own name at the moment, nevermind read 18th century fucking French.”

She gives a snort in reply, “Merry Christmas to us, eh? Should do what the French do and have a revolution or something.”

“Yeah, eat our lecturers or something.”

“Alright, I wouldn't go that far.”

“Anyway, I'm off to T Library, see ya, have a good Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't!”

She waves her off as her friend disappears, the cold air of the outside nipping at her skin that manages to sneak beneath her coat.

Oxford University is not what she imagined at all. She came here very much feeling like an outsider, like there'd been some sort of paperwork mistake and it was supposed to be someone else in her place. 

The imposter syndrome seemed difficult to shift, but she'd at least managed to make a couple of friends since starting in September.

Languages had always found her well, and seemingly the only thing she managed to actually understand. People were inconsistent, cruel and fickle. Languages, though they shifted and changed, were firmly rooted in reason and understanding. 

As sad as it sounded, conjugating verbs, vowel shifts and rare dialects were the one thing she found herself itching to discover more about. The idea that there was more to uncover seemed exciting and scary at the same time.

And Oxford University was the best place she could be to do that.

All that said, her eagerness to get involved with her studies had left her social life with much to be desired.

In the first two weeks of university alone, she'd gained one friend and lost a boyfriend. And while they were drifting apart anyway, it was still a relatively large blow to her self-esteem and her confidence to actually get out there, socialise and make the most of her first year of freedom.

The only friends she'd made were those on her course. Priya, who'd just abandoned her to stick her nose in books about the Great Vowel Shift, and Anya, who…to be honest, rarely left her room. Seeming more like a ghost than anything else.

It was a wonder she was still a student, with how often she missed classes.

What Anya does do best, is manage to somehow rise out of her pit to drag her to Christmas parties that aren't even run by their college.

Which is why she finds herself somehow at Trinity College campus, where she eyes several scantily clad women wearing revealing Santa costumes adorned with itchy tinsel.

Anya is the sort of girl who, well, every girl kind of wants to be. So much so she sort of wonders why she hangs around with her. She's pretty, fit and fucking clever. Her only downfall is her taste in men, so often being Oxford pretty boys.

So it is absolutely no surprise at all, when two jägerbombs in, Anya has somehow slipped into the arms of one aforementioned Oxford pretty boy, seeming in every way a clone of the previous, with the exception of the way he pairs his Ayia Nappa top with his low rise jeans and the only effort to conform to  theme, is a pair of plastic reindeer antlers on his head bobbling side to side.

She grimaces as she watches them suck each other's faces off in a dark corner of the room, ‘Stay Another Day’ by East 17 blaring with a cheap crackle through the speakers as she makes her way through the bodies to somewhere quiet.

She sighs, nursing the rum and coke Anya had sloppily poured her in one hand as she closes the door behind her, shutting out the drunken squeals and cheers for the peace of a quiet common room.

It's still decorated, she notes, but empty. Maybe she could lurk here until Anya is done, if she ever will be.

The deep clack of a pool ball being sucked into a socket makes her jump, realising perhaps that she was not actually alone, as she'd previously thought.

The cool light hung above the battered pool table illuminates his deep red jumper, and the first thing she sees is the way he leans on one leg, standing straight as if he was imitating the rigid pool cue leant before him. The yellow lined detailing around the cuffs highlights his small wrists and big hands that stretch from it as he rubs blue chalk onto the tip.

Her eyes trail up the back of his neck, past the lazy waves of dark blonde hair, clearly due a trim at some point, and to his face, even from this angle able to see how his features sit. With a sharp nose and jawline, and black skinny glasses perched above his cheekbones.

She almost laughs at the way he's almost as tall as the light that illuminates the table, half-thinking that she might never have seen such a strange and yet interesting looking guy.

“Didn't fancy the party?” she finally says, alerting him to her presence.

She doesn't quite expect the way the light bounces off his sharp features, sinking his blue eyes in shadow as his head turns to her with an expression of boredom.

“Not particularly, no.” 

His voice is lighter than she thought it would be and part of her wonders if he's putting it on. He presses his glasses further up his nose before assessing his next shot, stalking around the table.

“Why's that?”

This time, when he answers, he doesn't look at her. He simply leans down, and aims.

“Not. Fucking. Invited,” he replies bitterly, missing a yellow, “that's why.”

Her fingertips moisten against the glass as the ice begins to melt, but she pays it no mind.

“So you're lurking about in here instead.”

He plays with the cue in one hand, barely sparing a second glance, a bitter, quiet laugh escaping him.

He misses another red before he heaves a sigh, straightening to look at her again.

“You here alone as well?” he asks dispassionately.

She smiles lazily and shrugs.

“My mate is…a bit preoccupied, if you know what I mean,” she replies, taking an awkward sip of the now watered down drink, “like you, I don't really think these are my thing either.”

He seems to consider her statement for a moment.

“Why come then?”

She shrugs again, “trying to be sociable.”

“With those vapid cunts? Good luck getting any intelligent conversation out of them.”

She watches as he picks up the blue chalk again, applying more when he doesn't even need it in sort of a nervous gesture, his blue eyes averted and pretending to assess his next move.

There's something about him. How judgemental he is and how he forms his words. Perhaps she hadn't expected this sort of guy to be so outwardly honest with his opinions, and for the most part, she can't say she disagrees with the message, just the way in which he said it.

“Can I play?” She asks, leaning over to put her drink down.

“What are you reading?” He asks so suddenly, and out of context, that she does a double take.

She raises her eyebrows, smiling, “Does my answer depend on if I get to play or not?”

There's no answer from him. Shocker of the century.

“Modern Languages.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans.

She's a bit too happy and dizzy on rum to get defensive.

“Is that one of those subjects that sounds way less interesting than it actually ends up being?”

She gives a breathy laugh, “just like languages.”

He hums, as if the answer didn't impress him, “more of a science and numbers man myself, obviously.”

For a moment, it's lost on her why it's obvious.

He takes a sip of his, no doubt, stale beer, wetting his lips after, “Your name is?”

She narrows her eyes teasingly, smiling as she leans against the table, “quid pro quo.”

She enjoys the brief confusion on his face, before he realises what she's said.

“Okay, okay, Michael.”

She smiles, “See? You know what that meant. Who says you're not a languages man?”

It's the first time he seems to duck his head, hiding a blush she's barely able to see.

“I don’t think the Ancient Roman idea of fair exchange warrants the title of ‘languages man’.” 

The blue chalk comes off on his hands as he fiddles nervously with it.

“So, am I bestowed the privilege of playing?”

He raises his head, and she can tell he's trying his damndest to not let a little beer-induced smile pass his lips.

“I suppose I could allow you to embarrass yourself in front of me for a bit, if you insist. We'll have to share a cue though.”

She doesn't have the heart to tell him her uncle was a pool player, and so by extension, has played pool for most of her upbringing. Rather, he finds out himself when she pots three yellows in a row.

It's either the alcohol or pity that kicks in when she misses the fourth, holding the cue for him to take.

“You being good at pool wasn't on my bingo card,” he mutters with some nervous teasing in his voice.

They go back and forth for a bit, missing some, potting some, with interspersed conversation between. 

“Thought you might have been a Norman-no -mates, like me,” he says quietly as he watches her assess her next shot. Bending to aim.

“You're not far off,” she replies, “first fortnight I was down a boyfriend. Since then, I've only been up two friends and one of them is in the other room  having ditched me for the shag of a lifetime.”

She doesn't see it until after she takes the shot, the way his eyes flit back to hers quickly as she rights herself to stand.

Was he checking me out?

As if he was lagging, he only laughs now at what she's said.

“What about you?” She asks, “no girls, or boys, on the scene?”

He blushes a lot when she asks that. And she can't help the fluttering in her chest she feels that someone might find her attractive.

“Can’t say there is.”

She stands close, passing the cue to him, electricity warming her fingertips as she grazes his.

“And why not?”

He scoffs bitterly, “have you seen me?” he mutters, wandering around the table, suddenly unable to shake the feeling of her gaze, “Not too many girls out there looking for the stereotypical nerdy math boy, really.”

“Hm,” she hums, “how unfortunate for them.”

He sinks a red, picking at his red jumper.

“Yeah, they're clearly missing out, huh?”

The bitter and self-deprecating tone of his voice makes her heart sink a bit. He's not a bad looking guy, she thinks. His style, glasses, hair, she would almost say look actually quite cute.

Maybe that's the thing he doesn't like.

“No interest? Or is maths the only one for you?”

He misses the next shot and sighs, holding the cue for her to take, “clearly, the only one I need.”

She steps close to retrieve, taking her time, looking up at him as she does. At this proximity, Michael sucks in a breath quietly, his lips, which she can't say she'd noticed until right this moment, parting and his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flit rapidly down her.

A warmth swirls in her gut at that.

She circles the table, “what about in the past?” 

He leans against the other side, his hand on the cushion, long fingers splayed on the green fabric. She has to shake her head to break her own trance.

“Can’t say my love life has exactly been a roaring success, honestly.”

The way he says it.

She wouldn't be surprised if he was…

Oh.

“So what? You're focussed on your studies?”

She misses. Too set on the conversation rather than the game.

He gives a mirthless laugh, “Sure.”

She rounds the table, holding the cue for him to take, but when he reaches for it, she pulls back with a smirk.

“So we've established you're not one for languages,” she starts, and Michael furrows his brows in confusion, “have you ever really asked for what you want? Ever?”

He seems to miss what she's trying to say.

“Have you been with a girl?”

At that, his eyes widen slightly, a blush crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, cheeks near matching his shirt.

She knows she has her answer.

“Well…I…no, I haven't…”

At chest height, she can see the way his breathing elevates.

“And, hypothetically, if a girl expressed interest. What would you say?”

His lips part for a good few seconds before he gives a reply, “I’d…I um…I guess it depends who…”

It's like he's afraid she'll make fun of him for it. 

“What about, if it was me?” She asks, her voice lowering as she reaches out to pick some lint off his jumper, like it's the most normal thing in the world. His body goes all rigid as she does.

This isn't normal in his world.

Michael swallows thickly, “you're not taking the Mick out of me, are you?”

She shakes her head, “I just want you to feel comfortable asking for what you want.”

For someone who had so often thought about it, now when faced with the situation, he feels as if he doesn't know what to do or say.

She's still stood with the cue in one hand, close enough so that when she shifts her weight from foot to foot, her knee grazes his leg. It's interesting to watch him think so deeply about it. Convinced he's probably never thought of anything so much in his life.

“What if what I want is…you?”

The tension deepens like the tone and volume of his voice. And without effort, a smile finds its way to her face when she looks at his expression. He's frozen stiff, for once, not knowing what to say.

So nothing shocks her more when he grabs the pool cue as a means of pulling her to him, and he has to duck considerably to press his lips clumsily to hers. He's eager, that much is true, but it's clear he's inexperienced. But instead of causing discomfort, she thinks it's quite endearing.

The pool cue clangs to the floor as she braces her hands on his shoulders and chest, guiding his lips with her own in a slower, more careful movement. She feels the edge of the pool table bite into her lower back when he presses her against it, clearly excited, if the hardness that's flush to her stomach is anything to go by.

The hands she had been staring at not half an hour ago are bruising as they trace her waist and hips, with a grip tight enough to tell her exactly how much he's enjoying the experience.

For a moment, they're not in a common room alone, against a pool table, with ‘Cheetah-licious Christmas’ playing in the room over, the bass of which rumbles through the floor and into their chests.

The kiss lasts a long while, and she has a feeling he wants to savour it as if it's the last time he will ever be able to do it. 

One of her hands snakes its way to the back of his head, fingers gripping at his hair to pull him closer as either of them tilt to aid more contact between them. And at the little amount of tugging, Michael whines into her mouth, prompting him to pull away.

He looks halfway between mortified and pleased, his glasses having skewed to one side with the eagerness of what they'd done. And she laughs a bit, reaching up to fix them, which seems to make the mortification fade somewhat from his face.

Michael looks down between them, where his obvious erection is pressed to her, and pulls away slightly with a scarlet blush.

“Shit - sorry-”

“It's fine,” she reassures, “no need to be embarrassed.”

The words alone would be enough, if her hand hadn't snaked between their bodies to brush her palm over him. And if it were possible, his flush spreads to his neck, words failing him once more.

Her eyes flicker up to his, their lips all kiss-bruised and swollen.

“If you don't want to-”

“No, no, I want to…” he says, immediately embarrassed about how quick it was.

She smiles, one hand palming him through his jeans and the other trailing up his chest, “Sit down.”

He backs up to sit on a nearby sofa, watching with a kind of adoration as she makes space between his legs, her eyes glimmering at him as she slowly undoes his belt.

“If at any time, you need to stop, tell me.”

He gives a nervous laugh, his stomach muscles tightening, wondering probably if this is really happening to him, “Not sure I will want to…”

She smiles reassuringly, watching as his lips part as she palms him through his boxers, trying to suppress how impressed she is with his size.

It's always the skinny white guys.

“Well, the offer's there.” She smirks, pulling him from his boxers, Michael gives a suffered breath, feeling her touch on him and also her breath so close. He almost feels dizzy. The thought of this happening in this situation, with a party going on next door, is dangerous and exciting in equal measure.

She knows he has very limited experience, so decides not to tease him too much.

Michael gasps softly as she licks at the base of him, drawing a wet line with her tongue along the vein underneath, all the way to the tip. She concentrates her efforts slightly on the sensitive spot there before closing her mouth over the head of his cock, sucking gently.

She feels the way his thighs tense, and the blue disappearing as he closes his eyes. His fists are tight beside him, knuckles white, like he doesn't know if he should touch her or not. All he knows right now is that this feeling is brand new, and the sensation is so much already.

She pulls herself from him to run her tongue over his length, one hand moving to his hand, to encourage him. His blue eyes crack open just a bit, to understand what she's trying to tell him.

And she fights the urge to smile as his longer fingers swipe across her temple into her hair, his touch tender, soft and unsure as he holds her by it. 

Her lips wrap around him once more, pushing him further into her mouth, taking him steadily and slowly at first. Michael's hips move barely, chasing the friction that he's getting on his cock when she bobs her head on him and hollows her cheeks.

He watches with parted lips and warm cheeks, moving her hair away so he can watch himself disappear into her mouth over and over. Her hand massages the rest of him, giving him two unique sensations in one, something that earns her a deep, throaty moan.

When her eyes open to look at him, he thinks his heart stops in his chest for a split second. He closes his eyes, not able to bear the way she looks with his cock in her mouth if she looks right at him, feeling that if he did any longer he wouldn't last.

The sounds he emits don't stop there as she increases her pace on him, pressing her tongue to the underside of him and taking him deeper into her throat, humming around him at the heady scent of his skin.

It's only when she takes him as far as he will go, working hard to control her gag reflex that he gives the first genuine buck of his hips, tightening in her hair and a far-too-loud moan. If anyone in the next room were quiet and paying attention, they'd likely know exactly what was going on.

“Fuck-”

It only serves to spur her on as she pulls back, moving in a more steady, quick rhythm, that she is sure Michael is loving judging by the rate of his moans and the way he chokes out his words.

His stomach clenches and unclenches, his high creeping up on him as her mouth tightens around his length. 

“Shit - you need to - I'm gonna -” he chokes, weakly tugging her hair in an effort to pull her mouth off him before he cums.

If she didn't have his cock in her mouth she'd smile.

Her hand squeezes the base of him, and Michael throws his head back slightly, a long shuddered and choked moan reverberating through his chest. She swears she feels his thighs shake as she stills, warm ropes of his cum taste musky at the back of her throat.

His loud moan is followed quickly by more softer ones as her throat contracts to swallow as much as she can, briefly increasing the tension and friction around his sensitive length.

When she pulls off him with a pleased sigh, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Michael sits up slightly, having to gather his breath.

“Fucking hell…”

She takes it as a compliment and rises to her feet, her hands smoothing her skirt back down.

And she squeaks in delight as Michael quickly tucks himself away, barely doing up his jeans buttons before backing her up to the pool table again, kissing her fervently.

“What about you…do I…” he starts when he breaks away, panting softly. She smiles at the notion but shakes her head. This experience was for him alone.

“Not right now, don't feel inclined to,” she reassured, her hands on his chest, feeling the way his heart is beating rapidly beneath it.

“Right now?” he asks with a quiet, unsure tone, “does that mean…there's gonna be a next time?”

His tone is careful, and yet, she is able to detect something like desire there. An excitement for more, without seeming too eager so that he's not let down if she says no. Something that makes it clear he is 100% on board.

She bites back a grin.

“Quid Pro Quo, Michael.”

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[hnrywinchester]

Fare Thee Well - - 17

Summary: She hasn’t seen Gabriel since he died nine years ago, then a phone call changed everything.

Pairing: Gabriel x OFC

Series Warnings: ANGST, smut, swearing, PTSD Gabriel, Character Deaths, Canon Compliant

Beta’d by: @aquietuniverse

Words: 5.7k

Gabriel never came. The barren trails wound on and on for miles, the cold air freezing her from the inside out as her lungs burned and ached. Lucifer had finally released her once he knew she couldn’t escape, when the rift home was far enough behind them that he knew she’d never find it before dropping dead. She trailed behind him, her feet dragging like anchors as the fatigue set in. She regretted her lack of sleep and food in the hours leading up to this.

“What’s the hold up? Don’t you wanna see little Gabey again before he’s…” Lucifer taunted, dragging his thumb across his throat as he twisted his face into a dying grimace.

“He’s not gonna die!” Liv spat back, wishing she was close enough to hurl her fist at his nose.

“If Michael comes around he is. A powered up Gabe can’t him take on, never mind the pathetic, lovesick state he’s in now. He’s a goner, honey.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“Plus, I need you as collateral. My brother’s prized possession for my son. He’ll take that deal without thinking twice.”

“No one’s holding your spawn hostage.”

“We don’t know that! So until we find out, you’re with me. Come on sis, put a little pep in that step and let’s find our fam!”

This was making perfect sense now. She’d been curious as to why Lucifer was dragging her along with him instead of putting an end to her like she knew he wanted to. She was his brother’s human pet who’d been mouthing off to him just moments before the time to strike had hit. Unsure of whether or not to be thankful for his mercy, she urged her feet to keep going. If anyone was going to find Gabriel in this wasteland, it was him. She continued to call out but still no one came. Her eyes scanned the trees, both the feeling of hope and dread mingling as she prayed to see him alive and not splayed across the ground, his wings seared into the dirt.

Lucifer seemed to know where he was going, like he was following a path, which kept her following along complacently. She hated him. For everything he’d done and ripped away from her, for the things he’d done to Gabriel. Yet here she was depending on him to keep her alive. It was some sick, twisted joke. She wanted to burst into tears, but there was only one angel who saw that side of her and it certainly would never be him. He stopped dead in his tracks, holding his hand up signaling her to stop moving. She heard them. The quiet murmur of voices nearby, the cracking of twigs as their feet crunched along the ground.

“Oh thank Dad! I could use a pick me up,” Lucifer sighed in relief, her face twisting into confusion, “Don’t go runnin’ off now, you’ll die out there. I hear they don’t like humans very much in these parts.”

Her heart was hammering as she watched him walk off. Left to her own devices, standing in the middle of the woods, she felt a fear like she’d never felt before. Her breath shook as she exhaled, her body frozen in place, and when the screams erupted from just out of eyeshot, her eyes snapped shut in hopes that when they reopened she’d find herself waking from a whiskey nightmare.

“Gabriel… please… I need you to hear me,” she begged under her breath, “baby, please. Help me.”

Gabriel never came. Lucifer returned moments later, his eyes glowing red and she despised the relief that washed through her at the sight of him.

“What did you do?” she hissed.

“Got myself a little snack,” Lucifer disclosed, rubbing his stomach, “took out a few of Michael’s cronies, saved your ass. You’re welcome. Now let’s go, we’re close.”

“Close to what?”

“You’ll see. Hop to it, little bunny.”

“I need a break. I’m tired, and cold and hungry! We’ve been walking for hours.”

“Uh, excuse me, Gabe isn’t here right now, please leave your whining at the tone... beeeeeeep.”

His voice was absolutely grating. His facial expressions were enough to boil her blood and her physical misery was doing nothing to keep her emotions in check.

“I can't,” she groaned, “Seriously, I’m freezing. It’s like thirty five degrees and I’m in a t-shirt.”

“Okay,” he droned, “so doesn’t exercise, like, warm you humans up? Walk on missy.”

“Why can’t you just give me your over-shirt? Not like you need it.”

“Because one, that would set the implication that I care. And I don’t. Two, you’re confusing this whole setup with me wanting you alive, and needing you alive.”

“Well I’m gonna be dead here soon either way.”

“Are you always this dramatic? How does he put up with you?”

“All those years of practicing with you I’m guessing.”

Lifting her lip in a snarl, she plopped down onto the ground, not unlike a toddler tantrum, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. She pinched the skin of her tricep, giving one final push that she could wake up from this and be back in the library with a fair-skinned witch and the devil still in chains. Much to her dismay, she remained where she was, with Satan himself staring at her like he wanted to wring her neck until she was blue.

“I could end you right now,” he threatened, taking a step back towards her.

“Are you gonna make me ask nicely?” she bargained, her mental state rapidly deteriorating.

“I’m just gonna leave you here. Let someone else take care of it.”

“Hope Jack isn’t being held captive somewhere by the Rebel Alliance. Cause there goes your leverage then.”

Miming a plane crash landing on the ground with her hand had to be the last straw. As she dragged her fingers through the dirt, adding sound effects as she went, she was certain her life would be over in a snap.

“Oh you act like you want me to leave you here. As if finding Lover Boy isn’t top priority for you. You need me just as much as I need you,” Lucifer theorized, throwing his hands onto his hips.

“He’ll find me,” she guaranteed.

“If he even knows you’re here. Hasn’t shown up yet and I’m sure you’ve called out to him. ‘Oh Gabe, please come rescue me from your evil brother, he’s holding me hostage… wah wah wah’.”

His mimicking tone had her rolling her eyes but his words had her stomach in a knot. He was right. If she didn’t stick with him, no one would ever even know she was there. Clearly Gabriel was already dead or there was some missing wire in this alternate universe that made him unable to hear her. She hoped for the second, but couldn’t shake the feeling that the first was true.

“Gotcha,” he laughed, clapping his hands.

“Looks like we’re at a stalemate then,” she replied, rising to her feet.

“Oh? How so?”

“You need me in case poor Jack is locked up and I need you to get me to… anyone but you.”

“Difference is, one of us has super strength.”

“Super strength? What are you twelve? Should I go get your super suit?”

“Okay you know what… you need to relearn your place.”

With a snap of his fingers, her mouth was glued shut. Her eyes snapped up to him, wide in anger, as he walked over to her, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her along beside him just as he had before.

“I need to go make a little magic happen, and you’re gonna behave, understand?” he patronized, his voice chiming at her like she was a child, “When I come out, I’ll have a little gift for you, then we’ll be on our way to Gabe and gang. I’ll let you see him one last time before I rip that tongue straight out of your disgusting mouth. Can’t believe he lets you kiss him with that thing.”

Screaming as he tugged at her, the sound muffling in her throat, she fought against his hold. Her thoughts called out again for Gabriel, he had to hear her at some point. Lucifer seemed to think he was still alive, and he’d be able to tell if he wasn’t. He was out there, it was just finding him that was seemingly impossible.

Gabriel sat on the decaying log, his thoughts racing as he mindlessly picked apart leaf after leaf. He could hear his nephew, Jack, babbling in the background, searching for a way to bring Sam back, but Gabriel knew there was none. He thought back to the morning, Liv’s words dancing around in his head.

“Give Jack a chance,” she implored, “If the Winchesters are this hell bent on saving him, there’s some good in him.”

“I never said there wasn’t good in him,” Gabriel replied, lacing his fingers with hers against his thigh.

“No. But I know you’re thinking it. You’re gonna take one look at him and just see Lucifer.”

“No I won’t.”

However, he knew she was right. He’d never even met the kid and he already wanted nothing to do with him. It was no fault of Jack’s, but it was hard to believe any spawn of his brother hadn’t taken a turn for the worse.

“Give him a chance. For me?” she requested again, her voice sweet and soft.

“Yeah, yeah. Promise,” he muttered, averting his eyes as he dreaded what was to come.

As much as he tried, he couldn’t silence the sound of her screaming his name, the calls still muddled and faint as if she were underwater. Why was he imagining her calling for help? She was safe, holed up back at the bunker, why wouldn’t his thoughts just calm down for more than twenty minutes at a time? He raced back to the image of Sam being dragged down that barren passage, the snarls and growls echoing against the walls. It could have been her, it would have been her. She was off her game, they both knew it. She would have been the easiest target, gone before he could even say goodbye.

“Why didn’t you bring him back?” Jack’s accusatory tone snapped Gabriel from his thoughts.

“I’m not strong enough,” Gabriel admitted sadly, watching the young Nephilim’s face fall.

Maybe he never would be again. He was seemingly stuck in this half-powered haze, just enough to grace to keep him an angel but not enough to make him worth a damn. Ineffectual, degenerate little runaway. Loki’s words were ringing truer and truer as the days went on. People were dying, and there was nothing he could do.

Bells began to ring from the entrance to the camp, the same ones that had rung to announce their arrival. The rest of the group turned their attention to the source—clearly whoever this was was unexpected—and that little change perked Gabriel up slightly. He’d burnt down the warding not far from here and panic set in that perhaps he’d opened a door that wasn’t meant to be opened. Just more casualties on his conscience.

Shocked gasps traveled like a wave as Sam came into view. He was covered in blood, his own blood, but the gaping wound on his throat was completely healed. As much as he wanted to be thrilled to see Sam walking and breathing again, he knew this wasn’t coming without a cost, one they would not be happy to pay. Sam went to embrace his mother, and that’s when he saw him. Lucifer. His heart dropped into his stomach as he leapt to his feet. If Lucifer was here, something had gone very awry back home and suddenly the muffled calls to him made perfect sense. She’d been calling for help, and he’d ignored her. His vision began to tunnel, his eyes still locked on his smirking, smug brother as he watched with devious eyes the family reunion happening before them. He had to leave, he needed to get back, to find her. Was she alive? Did she escape somehow? Questions flooded his already overflowing mind and he couldn’t even think straight.

As he prepared to take off into a sprint back towards the rift, a familiar mess of brown caught his eye. Tousled and stumbling, she came into view and his breath of relief was audible. Still in his old t-shirt, now covered in dirt, she looked like she’d been through hell and he didn’t doubt she had, in fact. When she began to notice she was once again in human company, her gaze lifted from the ground, the familiar, now panicked face she’d been praying for the first thing she focused on. Their eyes went wide in relief as they locked, both taking off into a run towards the other.

“Gabe,” she sighed, the breath she’d been holding releasing as her feet began to carry her to him.

The ground crunched beneath their feet, rocks and sticks spraying as they skidded across the dirt. When they met, his arms immediately circled her waist, his knees bending slightly to easily accommodate her leap up into him. Her legs wrapped around his middle as her arms went around his neck and she crushed herself into him, pressing her face into the stubbled skin of his neck. She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped at the comfort of being back in his embrace, his warmth slowly easing her frozen limbs.

“Ssshhh,” he soothed as each of her ragged exhales against his neck were accompanied by a faint whine, nuzzling his nose into her hair.

She could feel his heart hammering in his chest against her own, the rhythmic thud easing the stress of her past few hours, his thumb running gently up and down coaxing her out of her panicked state. She focused on him; not on Lucifer standing just a few feet away or the blood covered Sam embracing his mother, or even the son of the devil that watched on with curious eyes.

“I missed you,” they breathed simultaneously as she pulled her head up to look at him, both of their mouths lifting into small smiles.

Uncaring of the prying eyes, she brushed his hair softly from his face, his head leaning into her touch as he closed his eyes, relishing in the small gesture. For a moment their fears evaporated; they forgot they were in another dimension, a very dangerous one, with two of the most powerful beings to exist standing mere feet away, with another hunting them down. He couldn’t wait any longer, his nose crushed into her cheek as he pressed his lips to hers, when her fingers tangled into his hair it took all of his self control to keep himself composed. As always, he wanted to simply lose himself in her, to quell his self-loathing and shortcomings with the feeling of her against him, surrounding him. Her kisses were soft, filled with purpose and longing, only making his desperation grow.

“You’re freezing,” he noted, pecking one last kiss to the corner of her mouth.

He lowered her gently down to her feet, shrugging his jacket from his shoulders and sliding it on to her. Immediately, she huddled up into it, his warmth still lingering in the sleeves. Her teeth began to chatter, the lingering cold from her long journey to get there was going to take some time to relieve. Cued in to every facet of her wellbeing, as he always was, he wrapped his arms around and pulled her tightly back into his body.

The world droned on around her, but she paid it no mind. She focused on the steady thud in his chest, his gentle arms around her and that familiar, warm, arid smell that would never be replicated by anything on Earth. Every time she thought she’d never see him again, they found their way back to each other. Just like he said. She could hear yelling, but Gabriel was staying silent. Whether that be because he was just as immersed in their reunion as she was or simply because he had nothing to say she wasn’t sure, but it made it easier to concentrate on the rise and fall of his breathing. She was beginning to warm up, her body losing that chilled ache she thought would never go away, her head lolling slightly as she gave in to him.

“Dean,” Gabriel’s voice rumbled against her ear, breaking her from her trance.

“You’ve got the blade,” Dean demanded, urging the angels against each other.

“Stop it,” Jack begged softly, his voice pained.

“He’s the devil, kill him.”

“Stop it!”

Just like that, Jack was gone. Liv could here the sighs coming from Gabriel and Dean, both of their patience wearing thin.

“We’ll go look for him,” Gabriel offered, needing away from the entire group to ease his annoyance.

They travelled in silence, their fingers linked as they walked through the woods, searching for Jack. She knew she shouldn’t be feeling this giddy happiness that was currently working its way through her, but she wasn’t about to stop it. Alternate universe or not, she was here with him— and that was all that had ever mattered.

“You’re quiet. I don’t like when you’re quiet, it’s suspect” he teased, pulling her against him, briefly unthreading his fingers from hers to throw his arm around her shoulders, wiggling them again to signal for her to bring her hand back up to his.

Responding with only a shrug, she laced her fingers with his on her shoulder, leaning her head down onto him. She envisioned them walking like this, twisted around each other, through markets and down the beach, the ocean waves the only audible sound as he shielded her from the breeze. Instead of the barren ground, it was warm sand and the gloomy, apocalyptic haze was replaced with the golden glow of the sun as it set. It almost felt real.

“Hey…” Gabriel whispered, again dragging her from her dream world.

When she looked up she could see the Nephilim pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. He looked distressed, panicked and a pang of nerves jolted her straight back to reality. Gabriel signaled for her to stay put as he continued to approach his nephew, and she gladly followed his direction. She feared for him, knowing that in his weakened state Jack could probably do some serious damage to him.

“Jack… uh, hey buddy. You okay?” Gabriel asked, stepping closer cautiously.

“What’s it like?” Jack barked, his voice harder than his face.

“What’s what like?”

“Love.”

The question surprised them both. Although they couldn’t see each other, their expressions mirrored one another’s, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly agape. Liv was ever curious, she so desperately wanted to believe that Jack was good. Deep down she knew it was there, but so was pure evil, and the line had to be difficult to toe.

“What do you mean?” Gabriel continued, stopping at arm’s length of the boy.

“How do you know you love someone?” Jack questioned, his voice now softer, almost childlike.

“That’s a loaded question, kid. I don’t think I’m the one to ask.”

“You love her.”

“Yes…”

“How did you know you loved her?”

For once, Gabriel didn’t have an answer. His eyes turned to Liv, her face seemingly just as curious as the kid’s was. She smiled at him, and although he didn’t have the words for Jack’s question, he could feel the answer burning in his heart right then and there.

“I can’t answer that, Jack,” Gabriel confessed, bringing his attention back to him, “I don’t know. It just… happened. One day, I looked at her and I didn’t want to live another day without seeing her. My life is better because she’s in it. She… knows me. All of me. The good, the bad and the ugly. And she still sticks around. I don’t have to hide around her. Bonus, she’s uber hot. Why? You already got someone in mind there, Romeo?”

“How do you know she loves you?” Jack continued, face twisted in deep thought.

Fuck if he knew. He despised himself, always had. Despite the conceited façade and over-inflated sense of worth, deep down he loathed himself. He was weak and afraid, he’d abandoned everyone when they needed him the most without so much as a second glance back. He’d killed people, sure they may have deserved some punishment, but not death. He saw that now. The thought that anyone like her would waste their time and efforts on someone like him had always been baffling. She could have anyone, and the world was filled with people far better than he was, but she wanted him. That was something he’d never take for granted.

“She forgives me when I don’t deserve to be forgiven,” Gabriel finally affirmed, his eyes again shooting over in her direction.

His reason caused her tears to catch in her throat and running to him was purely reflexive. Her arms wrapped around his neck from behind him as she jumped onto her tiptoes to reach and he immediately crouched slightly to ease her embrace. He could hear the quiet whimpers as she pushed back her emotions; he knew what she was feeling, he felt it too.

“He loves you,” Jack stayed matter-of-factly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“He does,” she responded, confident and strong.

The conviction in her voice was enough to melt the man in her arms. Whenever he felt like a failure, she was always there to pick him up, intentionally or not. This woman was his entire life. He turned his head, pulling her lips into his, kissing her hard.

“I do,” he whispered against her, before pressing back in towards her.

There was no drug, drink or magic in the world that could replicate the feeling he felt here, her mouth moving in perfect synchronization with his, her fingers gently scratching against his chest. Knowing his nephew was still looking on, he pulled away, not wanting to let himself get too carried away.

“Her heart beats faster when she’s around you,” Jack stated, “Is that what love does?”

“Yeah kid,” Gabriel chuckled, “It is. Why are you asking me about this?”

“I just… want to understand. I know I’m supposed to love my father-“

“Woah, pause, that is a whole different thing. Two different kinds of love. Let me give you a helpful hint, you don’t have to love your family just because they’re your family. Ours sucks, big time. You go out and make your own with people you choose. Fill it with people who love you, who help you, who’d give a shit if you died tomorrow. The ones who fight for you everyday, who… open up doors to alternate dimensions to come and find you. You don’t have to love your father just because he squirted you out. In fact, I highly recommend not.”

“You’re my family.”

“Yeah, sure. If you want me to be.”

“I do. Both of you.”

Liv smiled, still draped around Gabriel’s neck, “Look, I don’t know you yet but if you want my advice, you need to make your own call.”

Gabriel’s face fell, what was she saying? Make his own call? Give the devil his due? No, that couldn’t possibly be it.

“If I didn’t make my own decision, I wouldn’t be here, with Gabriel,” she continued, “If I’d listened to everyone else, I’d still think he was a monster. And he isn’t. You need to decide, I know you’ll make the right choice.”

“You think my father can be good?” Jack inquired, his voice slightly hopeful.

“I don’t know, Jack. But if anyone can make him want to be better, it’s you.”

Cautiously, she pulled herself away from Gabriel and stood in before the very confused boy in front of them. She knew Gabriel wouldn’t be pleased with what she’d said, but it was the truth. She had faith in this kid, clearly the Winchesters influence had made a significant impact.

“Cas and Sam and Dean, they love you Jack, trust me,” she went on, “I’ve seen it. I don’t know if Lucifer does, or even if he can, but you need to just listen to him. For your own sake. You don’t want to be stuck wondering for the rest of your life. We’re all here to help you.”

With a nod and a smile, Jack vanished again. Gabriel sighed, he’d gone to find his father no doubt, which was the opposite of what he was intending to make happen.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” she snapped, already knowing what he was thinking, “You know I’m right.”

Just because she was right didn’t make it… right. If the kid’s father was anyone but Lucifer this would have been a good thing, but the consequences of those two joining forces would be catastrophic. He stayed silent, not willing to argue with her just yet, if Jack started to favor Lucifer, however, he’d be forced to show her the error in her ways. She didn’t move, not even to look at him. Clearly she was thinking about something and it couldn’t possibly be good.

“Am I… did I get old?” she finally blurted out, smoothing her hands over her windswept, messy hair, Lucifer’s insults still ringing in her ears

“Uh… is this a trick question? Gabriel replied cautiously, this really could go either way and the wrong way would probably end very badly.

“No. I look older, right?”

“Yeah… that’s kinda what happens.”

“Figured.”

“What is happening right now? Why are you asking me this? Of course you look older, it’s been nine freakin’ years.”

“I look horrible.”

As he reached out to grab her arm his face twisted, confounded by this sudden judgement of herself. He spun her around to face him, looking her up and down once before smirking at her.

“No you don’t,” he assured, running his thumb along her cheek.

“I’m nowhere near your standards anymore,” she condescended, rolling her eyes.

“My standards? Didn’t know I had any. Please, enlighten me.”

“Like, ten years my junior for one.”

“Where’d you get these idiotic assumptions from?”

“They’re not idiotic!”

“They are. Answer me.”

“Your brother…”

“Who is the last person you should be listening to about anything, so you’re losing credibility here. What did he say?”

“He just… made a few good points about me not quite… being up to par…”

He couldn’t listen to this. He didn’t even want to entertain it. A few hours with that vile poison and she was doubting every facet of herself. She looked different, it was the first thing he’d noticed, his heart aching that he wasn’t there to see the changes as they came. He’d tried to silently show her that he knew, and he didn’t care. He liked them, they were her. She wasn’t the same person anymore and neither was he, it was ridiculous to even have to assure her of this.

Slowly, he leaned in and kissed her, his hand cupping her cheek as his thumb brushed over the crow’s feet by her eyes when her eyes snapped shut. Heat began to pool in her belly as his tongue slid between her lips, she almost forgot they were in the middle of the woods. When his free hand went to the button of her jeans, snapping it open, she took too long on deciding whether to not to stop him. His fingers grazed over that familiar spot he knew so well and her resolve was lost. She needed something good, so did he.

“Gabe…” she whined, breaking their kiss.

“Is that protest or pleading?” he appealed, slowing to an agonizing, teasing pace.

All she could do was groan, grabbing his forearm and pressing down, urging him to continue. She felt his breathy laugh huff out against her mouth, and when she went to devour his mouth again, he pulled his face away.

“Tell me what he said,” Gabriel demanded, his eyes dark.

“All of your other… other women, were young and… beautiful… I’m not either of those things,” she panted, “My hair’s turning gray… and my face… is wrinkling… and scars… so many new ones…”

His anger grew by the second. Quickly, he spun her around by her hips, leaving her torturously abandoned. She whined at the loss of his ministrations, but quickly yelped as she pulled her tightly back towards him, pressing his arousal into her.

“Does it feel like I give a damn?” he growled, continuing to press further into her, “or do I need to convince you some more?”

“I don’t… I don’t know…” she mumbled, her brain short circuiting.

Shoving her jeans down just enough to give himself more range of motion, he set back to work. It didn’t take long to work her back into a frenzy, clearly their time apart had taken a toll. He’d never tire of how ardently she responded to him, as if he was the only being on Earth that could do these things to her. According to her he was, actually. She threw her head back over his shoulder, her quiet moans and whimpers falling directly into his ear now, sending little shockwaves down his body. When her mouth captured his in hard, sloppy kisses, his knees buckled. It was an awkward position, her neck craning at an uncomfortable angle, but the pleasure he brought her far outweighed the discomfort.

As her crescendo hit, he swallowed down her desperate sounds and held her around her waist as she contracted, her feet giving out as her bliss washed through her. Her chest was heaving against his arm, but it only took her seconds to compose herself, in fact she may have gained her head back faster than he did. No sooner than when he’d pulled his hand from her jeans did she spin and sink to her knees, working his own zipper open faster than he could process her motions. When her lips locked around him he groaned out in bliss.

“Fuck,” he whined, trying to find a power to stop her that wasn’t showing itself.

Typically, he would never let her do this, especially in this vulnerable a position. He never liked her on her knees for him, it didn’t feel right, although he certainly appreciated being on his for her. He’d always been a giver not a taker and nothing had changed, but this felt so damn good. Something in him was different, it was craving this attention from her, this showing of complete trust and adoration. Nobody else trusted him, but she did.

“Relax,” she cooed, “just let me make you feel good for once.”

He hadn’t noticed how tense he was, his thighs rock hard beneath her palms as he fought giving in to her.

“Isn’t that my line?” he laughed, finding their role reversal amusing.

“Hmmm.”

Her hum vibrated through him, only increasing the pleasure she was capable of giving him. She continued her steady pace, the fire building in his belly. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, hers locked on his face as she watched his expressions, adjusting as she needed to when a certain sound or twitch escaped. His fingers were laced in her hair, softly scratching at her scalp in gratitude, never forceful, as he surrendered to her completely. Faster than even she thought, his sounds became more pitiful as he felt his release impending..

“Shit…” he hissed, and she felt his fingers tighten, tugging on her head slightly.

Mouth hanging open and eyes snapped shut, he was a wonder to behold. The satisfaction she got from giving him this swelled in her. She didn’t care that anyone could walk by, just that for these few minutes he felt a modicum of relief. She didn’t understand why he always stopped her when clearly he enjoyed it, and she took advantage of the chance to make him feel this way. He didn’t hide the effect she had on him, keening and writhing under her touch, if she was going to be vulnerable than so was he.

Groaning, he pulled her mouth from him and finished himself with a tight fist. She stayed below him, peppering the exposed skin of his stomach with light, feathering kisses as he panted, one hand still wound into her brown waves. When he opened his eyes, she was smiling up at him, looking flawless and happy in his shirt and jacket and he was certain he’d never laid eyes on something more beautiful in his entire life.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, fixing the buttons on her own pants as she did, before gathering his bottom lip between hers, the perfect transition from cloud nine back to this miserable pit of despair. She welcomed him back with reverence and a gentleness that only he could pull from her. To think that she had even considered not being up to his standards was asinine, she was the standard.

“You blow every criterion out of the water,” he complimented, kissing her again.

“Gray hair and all?” she snarked, wrapping her arms around his middle in a tight, lazy hug.

“Hells yeah. You’ll be my little silver vixen here soon.”

“At this rate people will start asking if you’re my kid by the time I’m forty.”

“I think you’re forgetting I have the supreme power of changing my own appearance. Don’t you worry sweetheart, we’ll be old and gray together.”

Trying to imagine what he’d look like if he aged thirty years, she laughed. He’d still be the best looking guy around, for that she was certain. He nodded in the direction of the camp, signaling it was time to go back. As he slung his arm around her shoulders, she wrapped hers around his waist, their feet marching in cadence as they headed back down the dirt path. The mission was complete, they’d found Jack, found Mary, and it had all seemed just a little too easy, but they were never ones to complain.

“Think it’s time to go home,” he mused, pressing a kiss to her head, “can’t believe we pulled this off.”

She smiled, turning her head up to look at him. It was time to go home, time for a new life, time for him. One more walk through the woods and then they’d be free.

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