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seospicybin · 3 months

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BAD IDEA, RIGHT?

Bangchan x reader. (s)

Synopsis: Your ex, Chan, makes a return to his social media with a thirst trap. Horny and bored, you decide to see him for the sole reason of getting your physical needs fulfilled. However, as the night goes, you start to wonder if seeing him tonight is a bad idea. (14,4k words)

Author's note: Yes, it's inspired by that one Olivia Rodrigo song.

Talking to your ex is a bad idea, right?

You've been considering whether to slide into his DM or not, commenting on his Instastory which is a video of him exercising half naked, exposing his toned upper half body in all its glory.

It's been two years after the breakup and he didn't post anything on his social media until today, it's like he knows you're bored and horny.

It's unclear whether it's him or it's your uterus talking, but he looks hotter, sexier, and bigger than the last time you saw him. Although you must admit that he's always been attractive to you, except that his attractiveness is on a whole 'nother level now and it makes you wonder why you let this man go in the first place.

In your defense, Chan is not a terrible ex, he decided to break up with you because he was leaving to study abroad and thought the long-distance relationship would be hard and mentally draining for both of you.

You acted like it didn't hurt you but when you came home that night, you cried so hard that your pillow got drenched in tears. You didn't want to break up with him because he's a great guy who happens to be great in bed too, not only because he has the most delicious cock you've ever had but he also knows how to put it to a good use. Simply put, you were so devastated thinking that you'd never find a man like him again.

And you know what? You were right. You tried dating a few times but nothing comes close to what you had with Chan. Also, can't two people reconnect?

Before you get to change your mind again, you decide to hit the like button and send a short message in his DM.

Hey, there. You type into the message box, adding a smiling emoji at the end to make it sound casual but friendly at the same time.

There's no reply or a sign that he's read your message, you figure he must be busy on a Saturday morning, he could be having another session at the gym or having breakfast, or... yeah, it could be him ignoring your messages.

Slightly hangover from hanging out with your friends last night, you slump down your bed and close your eyes to get another few minutes of sleep.

You wake up an hour later with more than a dozen notifications on your phone, they're mostly your friends sending photos they took of you last night. You groan when you see a couple of work emails and do not think twice to skip them. There are some texts from friends and then, there it is, a reply from Chan.

Well, hello, there!

It's been ages.

How are you?

You check the time and his replies came about fifteen minutes ago, there's a possibility that he's still on his phone and he'll respond faster this time.

Never been better.

How about you?

Looking fine as ever, I see.

You add the eyes emoji before hitting the send button and drop your phone onto the bed, it's a bit risky but a compliment never hurt. Besides, who doesn't like getting a compliment?

The thought that Chan is probably waiting for your reply in those fifteen minutes amuses you but pfft... that's just your wishful thinking.

As you wait for his response, you're checking the photos your friends sent you. You check them one by one, deleting the ones that you don't like and saving the good ones where you look flattering.

An idea pops into your head as you go through your gallery: a plan. First, you choose a photo of you that shows your whole look last night, dressed in a blue mini dress and strappy heels with your hair up, tied in a messy bun, in other words, you looked hot and you felt like it when your friend took the picture.

You upload it as your Instagram story and wait until it is successfully uploaded. You're sure as hell he'll see your new post, then he'll get curious and open it, and Wowza!

Chan thinks he can be the only one posting a thirst trap on a Saturday morning, huh?

It only takes a minute for the thirst trap to do its job, you smirk at the notifications and see Chan's username on the top.

Me? He adds three flustered emojis to it.

Nah. I'm not.

But you...

You look beautiful as always.

Is it even allowed to look that beautiful?

A year of being single makes you weak at the slightest chance of romance, you catch yourself smiling to yourself in the mirror. You slap yourself to get ahold of yourself, reminding yourself that he could say that just to—

A notification pops up and it shows that Chan liked and reacted to your Instagram story with the hearts eyes emoji. Fuck! You just caught yourself smiling again. but what can you do? You're just a girl who is lonely and in need of some loving touch.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and think about what to reply to him.

And you...

Is it even allowed to have that much of muscles?

Someone, please close the gym!

You look good nonetheless, Chris.

But seriously, close the gym! You add a laughing emoji to keep it playful.

You patiently wait for his reply but your patience only lasts for twenty minutes until he makes you wait longer for his reply and you slump on the bed again.

It's time for plan number two!

The thirst trap worked to pique his interest and you have to come up with something that shows you're a hot commodity, you don't waste your time chasing boys, they chase you. That way, Chan will respond to your message faster.

So here comes plan number two, you take another trip to your gallery, scrolling through photos from last night, and find the perfect photo. It's a picture of you and one of your male friends, you're standing side by side, holding your drinks together and smiling to the camera. There's enough friendliness in there to show that you're close with this guy but also, not that close. You don't know how to explain it, but you know it'll work.

You wait a few more minutes to add it to your Instagram story, not forgetting to tag your friend which is the best part of it. If anyone checks his account, they'll see a model with blue eyes, just the perfect guy to make certain someone is jealous.

You're devilishly laughing as you hit the post button and wait until it is successfully uploaded. You check to see the final result and smile in satisfaction.

Okay, maybe you were too haste and didn't do your calculation right because morning has turned into afternoon and Chan hasn't replied to you. Not only did he make you wait, but you also wasted three hours of your day staring at the ceiling with the phone resting on your chest.

At this point, you should've given up and maybe it's true, he only replied just to be friendly, nothing more. You fling your phone across the bed out of spite and get up, planning to wash him away from your head with a hot shower.

Against the loud sound of the hairdryer, you hear your phone chimes and you turn it off to check whether you're imagining it chimes or not.

You hate how quickly you forget how upset you were a while ago after seeing your phone light up with new notifications.

I'm sorry for replying late.

I was busy moving some stuff.

Do you have time?

And you hate it more that he can easily get your hopes up again. You figure it's time he tastes his own medicine, you put your phone away and leave him on read. You'll reply later when you feel like it, or never. Who knows?

You continue drying your hair but the constant hum of the hairdryer makes you unable to hear your thoughts, especially one that stops you from going to your phone again as it chimes with a new notification. It only takes twenty minutes for you to cave into the temptation.

I don't know about you but all these chats, they're not enough.

Can we video call instead?

It takes you not even a minute to say yes to him. You make a run to your closet and change your clothes, picking up a white top with a low neckline, ditching the bra, and pairing it with denim shorts.

Chan doesn't give you a minute to choose the setting of the video call, your phone rings as you try to make the bed as best as you can and sit with your back against the headboard of the bed.

The phone keeps ringing but you need to check your hair in the mirror again to finally accept the video call. A second later, Chan's face appears on your phone screen, and from his damp hair, it seems like he's just taken a shower too.

"Hey," he greets you as he brushes his curls with his hand.

"You look a little wet, Chris," you tease with a sly smile.

Chan moves, changing his sitting position and revealing himself in a bathrobe with his chest all exposed. Intentional or not, you must admit that's quite a show!

"I was feeling hot so I took a quick shower," he answers with a grin.

"Feeling hot, huh?" You tease again.

"I am now," he playfully responds, flashing you a sly smile and lip bite.

The two of you just stare at each other through the screen and it's getting too much for you with how intense his eyes are.

"So, where are you now?"

"I'm actually in the city," he shortly replies.

"Oh? You're back!" You gasp but hold yourself back from continuing the sentence and ask if he's back for good. The most important thing is he's confirmed his location, all you need to find out next is if he's up to do no good with you.

"Kind of," he vaguely answers.

"Kind of..." you teasingly repeat his words and then giggle.

Chan grins and rests his back against a pillow, it's unclear if he's sitting on the bed or the sofa, "Oh, how I missed that," he says.

You take a pillow and put it on your lap as something to hold on to, "Missed what?"

"Your sweet smiles and cute giggles," he shortly answers like he's been waiting for you to ask him that.

"Oh, stop it, Chris!" You respond, getting a little flustered that you melt onto your pillow. You may as well lie down on your stomach and put the pillow under your chest, "You're getting good at lying, huh?"

"Yeah. Nah. Just a little bit," he jokingly says, then bursts into laughter that his dimples sunken deep into his cheeks.

And oh, you missed his dimpled smiles and his sonorous laughter too, but you're not going to tell him that, maybe not now, or ever.

To avoid it escalating really quickly, you shift the conversation elsewhere. You prop a hand under your chin and tilt your head to the side while the other hand steadily holds your phone far enough from your face.

"So, what are you doing now?"

"Staring at your face," he answers, a half smirk decorating his rectangular face.

"Just my face?" You jokingly ask with a flirty lip bite.

"Everything else too," he adds, catching his eyes flicking down for a second then smirks.

You act oblivious to the fact that with the way you lie on your stomach, you're offering him a view of your cleavage and he would be stupid if he missed the sign.

"What I meant is what are you doing in the city? Is it for work or...?"

"I need to sort a few things," he vaguely explains.

It's obvious that he's keeping the details from you and you have to respect that, he's not your boyfriend and even if he is, he's not obligated to tell you everything. Including the possibility that he came here to see his new girlfriend, perhaps?

"Oh? So, all business, no pleasure?" You joke with a light chuckle, hiding your true intention to know whether he's seeing anyone or not.

"I'm free tonight and I was hoping that we could meet," He says, shattering the negative thoughts that rush through your head.

Now, that gets you thinking if he's coming here to see you and you get that fluttering feeling in your stomach, or it could be your uterus ovulating as you speak, either way, you like it.

"Tonight?" You ask, acting like you already have a plan for tonight.

"Yes. Or do you already have plans for tonight?"

The act always works, gosh, you should consider to start a career as an actor, "Not really, but uh... where do you want us to meet?"

"There's a nice bar in the hotel I'm staying in. We can have a drink or two," he replies, then licks his lips and makes them appear wet and fuller, tantalizing you to kiss them.

Despite you feeling like screaming and jumping on the bed, you remain coy about it, reminding yourself to not sound eager but show enough enthusiasm.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, tilting your head to the other way and saying, "Hotel bar has better drinks so... yeah, I'd love a drink or two."

A triumphant smile rises on his face and it's cute that he lets it show, making you feel a lot of things in a few seconds.

"I'll see you there, I mean, here at 8?"

You tug your middle finger between your teeth and flash him a seductive smile, "Okay."

"I'll DM you the address."

"Okay," you mutter again while staring at him through the screen on your phone.

"See you tonight then," he says, touching his lips and rubbing the lower lip with his long, dainty finger.

"Can't wait to meet you," he adds.

Instead of answering him, you let out a giggle and sit up on the bed. You flip your hair to the back and just stare at him for a minute without saying anything.

"See you tonight, Chris," you finally reply, making sure to call his name with a low, sultry voice and a sly smile.

Without hesitation, you hang up first and let out a long sigh after. It's just a video call but Gosh! It feels like a foreplay already.

You give yourself a moment to compose yourself before execute plan number three: Dressed to fucking impress. To be honest, you don't even bother with the 'impress' part, you just want to fuck.

See? Talking to him is not a bad idea after all.

The sound of your high heels constantly tapping the marble floor as you walk echoes in the hotel lobby, you're unsure of how to inform him that you've arrived just a few minutes late from the appointed time.

You take your phone out of your purse and are about to compose a message when you catch him holding his hand up at you from the second floor.

You wave your hand back at him and make your way to the stairs, climbing each step with caution because it would embarrassing if you tripped. But looking at Chan waiting for you at the top of the stairs makes it feel like you're living a scene out of a movie.

Even with his signature all-black look, it doesn't make him less princely. He looks dreamy with crinkles in his eyes and a charming smile on his face.

He offers his hand when you're only a couple of steps away from him. You take it and let him guide you on the last steps of the stairs. His grip is firm as you remember and he still has his favorite chain bracelet around his wrist.

"You look gorgeous," he doesn't say it in a dramatic, hyperbolic way but he softly whispers it to you before placing a sweet kiss on your cheek, so close to the corner of your mouth.

The night has just begun but he's already succeeded in making you quietly hold your breath. You put on a smile for him and coyly say, "You look stunning in black as... always."

He laughs and it feels like to see and hear it in person, like you can feel the warmth that his laughs emit.

"Want to have dinner first?" He asks.

"I've had dinner," you answer.

The truth is, you barely had dinner because you were too nervous to eat anything but you did eat a nutrition bar in the taxi.

"This way to the bar then?" He offers his arm at you like a true gentleman.

"Lead the way, sir!" You say as you link your arm around him.

It's only a short walk from the hotel lobby to the bar Chan mentioned, the interior is rather luxurious, leather seats with a live jazz performance. He mutters something to the hostess, probably where he prefers to sit and she nods in response.

"This way, please!" She says with a polite smile, walking like a feline creature in her tight skirt and silk blouse.

You glance to the side to see if Chan is looking at the pretty hostess in front of him, but you find him staring at you instead.

"Is there something on my face?" You ask in slight panic, afraid that you have something in your teeth but he feels bad to tell you.

"No," he simply answers.

"This way, sir, ma'am," the hostess says, gesturing to the booth she chooses for the two of you, a little hidden in the corner of the bar to provide some privacy.

Chan gently places his hand on the small of your back and lets you take a seat first. You have a seat in the middle of the curved sofa and he sits right next to you.

"Can we order drinks right away?" Chan asks as he puts his phone on the table.

"Sure," the hostess answers, slightly bending down to hear him talk clearly, "What would you like to have, sir?"

"I'll have the... Boulevardier," he eloquently says with a slight French accent.

"Excellent choice, sir!" She comments, she then turns her head at you to take your order, "How about you, ma'am?"

Things have been feeling a little surreal for these past few hours your brain is struggling to keep up, you want to be cool and confidently answer the fanciable hostess but it takes you a longer time to process a simple question like that.

"I'd love a daiquiri, please!" You answer, ignoring the fact that it takes you a minute to come up with it.

"Can I recommend you with the Hemingway special? It's a daiquiri with a splash of sweet grapefruit juice and Maraschino liqueur," she eloquently explains, proving that she's not only hired because of her look.

"That sounds amazing. I'd love that," you say with an impressed smile.

After confirming your orders, the hostess left the booth and it's just the two of you now in this nice yet slightly erotic setting of the bar.

"That's a nice dress," he suddenly compliments as he's looking at your face, not at your dress.

The dress goes to your midthigh, it's white and tight enough to showcase your curve. It's long-sleeved but the sweetheart neckline exposed just the right amount of skin. You've been saving it for a special occasion and considering that you haven't met him for two years, you reckon it's time to wear it.

"Just something I had, you know, lying around," you playfully answer.

The drinks come not long after and Chan waits until the server leaves to initiate a toast with you. Your drink is in a glass with a thin stem so you carefully lift it with your fingers.

"Cheers!" You mutter in unison and clink your glasses together.

The first round of drinks went with a conversation that consisted of basic questions. He asks you about work, family, life in general, and everything in between. You must admit that your life is kind of boring but it's nice to know that he wanted to catch up on your life updates.

It's a little disappointing though that he doesn't ask anything about your love life or whether you're seeing anyone or not.

When you deem that you're on the verge of oversharing, you stop talking and shift the focus to him.

"What about you? What are you working on at the moment?" You curiously ask, putting down your drink on the table and leaving one last sip on the fragile-looking glass.

"I'm working on a lot of things right now. From a lot of places too," he answers.

"So, you've been traveling a lot," you remark.

"Yes."

That says something about his relationship status and unless he has learned how to be in a long-distance relationship, then it means he's not seeing anyone right now. Even if he is, there's a big chance that it's noncommittal.

This calls for a celebration so you pick up your drink and drain every last drop of it, delightfully gasping once you swallow it.

"Round 2?" Chan offers.

"Yes."

Now that you've made up your mind about it and from the subtle signals he's sending you so far, it's safe to say that he's up to do no good with you. You smooth down the hem of your dress and flip your hair to the back, preparing yourself to execute plan number four: Make your intention known.

As much as you feel tempted to say 'Chris, let's fuck!' right to his face, you decide not to be haste and go with a more convenient, acceptable way. You plan to be forthright about your intention what you want and if he wanted the same too so the two of you can skip the formalities and go straight to the fucking.

"Chris, I have something to tell you," you say to him.

He positions his body slightly turns to the side to face you and softly smiles, "You can tell me."

You've mustered up the courage and have the words prepared in your head only for the moment to be ruined by your phone ringing in your purse.

"Fuck..." you quietly mutter to yourself, you could sense your courage shrinking inside you.

The phone has stopped ringing but you grab your purse on the space next to you and pull it out to check the caller. A new text message appears on your screen.

Call me. It's urgent. Your friend wrote in her text along with multiple red exclamation marks.

It seems rather urgent, you put on an apologetic smile at Chan and say, "I'm sorry but do you mind if I make a quick call?"

"Not at all," Chan says with an easy smile.

You take your phone with you as you get up from the sofa, leaving the booth at the same time the waiter comes with your second round of drinks.

Finding the way to the restroom, you hit the call button as you enter and stand in front of the sinks, waiting for your friend to pick up while checking for your hair and make-up in the mirror.

"What's the urgency?" You say the second you hear the call being picked up.

"I need to borrow your laptop. Mine is suddenly frozen and I can't reboot it," your friend answers in a rather distressed tone.

Knowing that it's not the kind of urgent you imagined in your head, you let out a sigh of relief and then say, "Yes, yes you can use my laptop."

"I'm already in the elevator to your floor."

"You have the code to my apartment and I'm sure you know where I put my laptop," you calmly tell her, putting the strands of hair to the side and carefully dabbing the skin under your eyes.

"Wait. You're not home?"

"I'm not and I'm not taking any more questions," you immediately stop her before she gets too nosy.

"Don't call me for the rest of the night. Bye!" You don't wait for a response and quickly hang up.

On the way back to your booth, you see Chan enjoying the jazz performance on the stage, tapping his foot against the floor. You didn't notice the way he sat until now, his legs spread open, he's slightly slumped and his long arm rests along the edge of the sofa, plus he left the top three buttons on his shirt open.

Chan looks so hot simply by sitting like that and you're sure you've seen much hotter men but you really can't remember when.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and slide into the booth again, then slowly sit on the sofa, leaving a gap between you and him.

"Here's your drink," he says, handing the glass to you with such caution.

"Thank you!" You mutter your gratitude.

You're glad that you're taking the recommendation because the Hemingway Daiquiri tastes so refreshing, it's sweet and sour, certainly an upscale from the classic daiquiri.

"I hope the call wasn't something bad," he says to you.

You lick your lips after taking a sip, "Oh, no. It was my friend. She needs to borrow something," you spare him from the details.

It takes a minute to remember where you left the conversation and when you finally recall, you need to take more time to prepare yourself again. You immediately take another sip to quicken the process of building up your courage.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He suddenly comes up with an unexpected request.

Your throat burns from accidentally swallowing your alcohol too fast and you can feel your eyes get teary as well.

"Sure," you manage to answer.

Somehow the gap you purposely put between you and him disappears, he sits so close to you that his knee bumps into yours.

"I've been stalking your Instagram page," he shares with a shy smile.

You snort because he makes it seem like it's an embarrassing thing to say, but you doubt if that's true, he could be saying that to make you feel flattered.

"As far as I can recall, you've been abandoning your account until today," you say, hardly believing his so-called secret.

"That's because I'm using a fake Instagram account," he simply answers.

You snort again and roll your eyes at him, "Yeah, sure."

Chan smirks and picks up his phone, he opens Instagram to show the fake Instagram account he made and it only has one following, you.

"Do you believe me now?"

It's hard to stay calm when you find out that the guy who broke your heart two years ago has secretly been keeping up with you through your social media. You're happy but a part of you is still in denial.

"I mean... why not use your own Instagram?" you ask out of pure curiosity because it's not like you'd mistake this as a sign that he wants to get back with you. You're not that naive nor delusional.

"Then you would know that I regret breaking up with you," he casually answers like he didn't just reveal something profound.

You look at him to check if he's just messing with you and you would know if he's lying cause he's bad at it, but nope, he's telling the truth.

"And you would know that I've been struggling to get over you," he continues with glints filling his doe eyes.

There's an alarm going off in your chest, it's coming from the heart and it's telling you to be cautious, potential heartbreak lies ahead. You get reminded that you came here not to confront your feelings, you came here to get fucked, hopefully hard.

"And I guess you posted your boxing video for a purpose?" You ask with your eyebrow raised at him.

"Well..." he shrugs and slyly grins, "it worked, didn't it?"

As expected, this man has so many tricks up his sleeves. Better be careful as he puts all of his attention on you, his arm slowly makes its way around your shoulder and his hand is playing with your hair.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"No comment," You smirk and take a small sip of your drink.

Chan lets out a laugh, the sonorous one and the kind that makes his eyes form two crescents. He takes a sip of his Boulevardier which is an upscale version of negroni.

"I've been wondering why you stayed single for so long," he says with an underlying tone, implying that he's actually asking you the reason why. Also confirmed his secret stalking behavior.

"It's not that long," you reply, crossing your legs together as you flash him a sly smile.

"A year, isn't it?" He asks.

You groan and roll your eyes at him, "You really are a stalker."

"You can tell me," he playfully elbows your side.

"No. It's a secret," you refuse to share.

"I shared my secret with you and it's only fair if you share yours with me."

"First of all, I didn't ask for your secret," you defend yourself while holding your drink close to your mouth.

He leans to your side, offering his ear at you as he says, "You can whisper it to me."

He means to know the answer anyway so you lean into his ear and cover the side of your mouth, then whisper, "All the guys I've met, they don't have a big cock like yours."

That's a way to get his attention and escalate the tension between the two of you. You pull away with a devilish smirk dancing on your face.

You glance down at his crotch and ask, "Is it still as big as I remember?"

"If you're lucky, you'll get to find out," he plays coy about it and you find it extremely attractive.

Noticing that you've drained your drink, Chan waves his hand to get the two of you another round of drinks. Obviously, you don't want it to end when things have just started to warm up.

He looks at you and then glances down, showing his hand snaking its way to your thigh.

"Have I told you that it's a nice dress?"

"I don't mind hearing it one more time," you respond with a cheeky smile.

He shoots you a big grin while he's playing with the hem of your dress, feeling the fabric between his fingers.

"It's a nice dress," he compliments, then leans in close so that you can feel his warm breath brush your cheek as he adds, "And I want to take it off of you tonight."

You place your hand on his hand that rests on your thigh and play with his bracelet, "if you're lucky, you'll get to do it," you poke fun at him.

You can audibly hear his laugh in your ear as he leans in closer his nose pokes your cheek, "We're even now."

The third drinks bring the tension higher as the two of you relax from every sip and the gap between your bodies gradually disappears.

Chan has his eyes on you all the time, it's overwhelming at times but you like the way he looks at you like an animal who has his eyes on its prey and you like seeing the confliction in his eyes on whether he should eat you whole or play with his food first.

There's so much chemistry and tension here, plus the alcohol, you're only waiting for the light to turn bright green, really.

He gently brushes your hair to the side and keeps it there so he can plant a kiss on the skin behind your ear, knowing that it's your sensitive part of body.

"You change your perfume?"

"Yes," you manage to remain calm despite the proximity and the way he constantly rubs your thigh with his knuckle.

He drags his lips to your ear and asks, "What is it called?"

You lick your lips and make him wait for your answer, "I believe it's called Good Girl Gone Bad."

He tilts his head to the side and looks at you right in the eyes, wide and dark with lust, "How bad?"

You grab the collar of his shirt and tug at it, "If you're lucky, you'll get to find out," you get back at him again.

As he bursts out laughing with his eyes closed, you follow your intrusive thought to cup his jaw with your hand and laugh along.

"That's two to one," you remind him.

He stops laughing only to fondly smile at you, "Remind me how I broke up with you."

"For a start, you acted like an absolute jerk that day," you half-jokingly say.

The truth is it wasn't the breakup that hurt you the most, it's the post-break-up and his total absence from your life, he didn't call or text, or even send a pity email after that day. It felt as if he didn't want you in his life anymore.

Fuck. How did you get here again? Forced to face your feelings. Time to shift the talk.

"It's getting late, don't you think?"

Chan immediately reaches for his phone on the table to check the time, "It's 10.51."

"Oh," you plainly respond and finish you drink.

"Can I have your new numbers?" He suddenly asks.

You put down your glass on the table and answer, "I still have the same phone numbers."

"Yeah but I lost my phone at the airport and had to get a new one, lost all of my contacts," he explains like he knew you thought about how he didn't call you earlier.

Chan hands you his phone so you can enter your phone numbers and hand it back to him once you've finished. He hits the call button instead of saving it first and your phone rings a second later.

"Come on. Pick it up!" He tells you.

You obey him, accepting his phone call even though he's sitting next to you, "Hello?"

"Hi, it's future Chris calling," he says with a mix of foolish and sexy grin, you don't know how but he does it so well.

Curious to see where this talk is going, you decide to play along with him, "If you are really from the future, can you tell me the lottery numbers for this week?"

"I... can't tell you that."

"I'm hanging up," you joke.

"But I can tell you something else."

"Not interested," you put away your phone from your ear.

He glares at you, forcing you to continue playing along with him, "Hear me first!"

"Okay, I'm listening," you say with a dramatic eye roll.

"Future Chris says you need to go to hotel room number 103 tonight."

"Uhm... why?"

"You have to go there if you want to get lucky," he says with his tongue slightly poking out on one corner of his mouth.

"Still not interested," you poke fun, pretending to hang up the phone again.

"You'll regret it," he teases.

"I doubt that," you say with your nose scrunched at him.

Chan gets a little annoyed now, you can tell by the way he has his tongue poking his cheek and the fed-up grin on his face.

"Don't you want to get lucky tonight and find out about..." he pauses as he reaches for the pendant of your necklace and turns it over in his fingers, "the thing you're curious of."

This is it then, your intention matched his intention and the light has turned bright green. You take his hand and put it down onto your lap, then you slide your hand into his palm, "Okay."

"Okay," He says, holding your hand in his then brings it close to his mouth to place a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

As you're waiting for the elevator to arrive, Chan steadily places his hand on the arch of your back and lingers there until the elevator chimes open.

He lets you get in first and you choose to stand on the side, close to the panel full of numbers of the hotel floors and he reaches for it to push the number to his floor.

Should you consider yourself lucky that the elevator is empty? Should you be nervous because you're starting to feel like a prey being locked with its predator inside a small, enclosed space?

No words are being exchanged as the two of you locked in a gaze, but he speaks so much through his eyes, they're fiery, filled with so much want, so much need, and ultimately, desire.

After that much teasing, flirting, alcohol, chemistry, and tension, you've been wondering how the two of you managed to not kiss each other already.

It seems like he's about to make it happen as he comes closer to you, putting his hands on the handlebar and caging you in between. Slowly, he brings his hand close to your face and carefully puts away the strands of hair covering your face to the side, then tucks it behind your ear.

In this proximity, you can see how plush his lips are, how soft and full they are, and it's getting too hard to try to ignore. You look at him, telling him how much you want to kiss him through your eyes and deliberately blink to give him the unspoken permission to kiss you.

The heating moment gets interrupted by the sound of the elevator chimes open and a group of people gets in from the fourth floor.

"Excuse me," a man says as he reaches for the panel to press the number to his floor.

With his hand on your back again, Chan protectively guides you to take a step forward and stands behind you, he puts his arm around your waist with his hand resting on your abdomen.

There's a low chatter going on from the other corner of the elevator but the absence of silence doesn't make it less tense as Chan buries his nose in your hair, you can feel every breath he inhales on the nape of your neck. It feels hot and cold at the same time, making you tingling inside.

He then presses his mouth to your ear and softly whispers, "You're still using the same shampoo, mmh?" His lips graze your ear as he speaks.

Chan puts his other arm on you and quietly, pulls you closer until your back meets his chest, that way you can feel him behind you and his body heat that slowly melts you from the inside.

Quietly, he slides his hand down to the curve of your ass cheek and then gently squeezes the flesh.

"My God, this body..." he whispers with his breath tickles your body, "Makes me want to ruin you so much."

Is it wrong that you don't even want to hide it anymore? You want everyone in the elevator to hear what he just said to you and for a split second, you want Chan to fuck you right there and let everyone watches.

However, Chan suddenly lets go of you and you pout at the sudden loss of contact. Then you notice that the little screen above the panel shows that the elevator is about to stop on the 10th floor.

When it chimes open, you make your way out with Chan trails behind you. None of you look back but keep walking ahead with his hand resting on the arch of your back again, leading you to where his room is. His hand goes lower and lower the further you walk through the hotel corridor.

"This way," he says, guiding your body to take the left corridor.

Without warning, he grabs you by the waist and roughly pulls you with him until he hits his back against the wall, then crashes his mouth on you.

This is not your shared first kiss but this is somehow better than that. The feeling of your lips finally reunited in a rapturous kiss especially when you've been craving it oh, there's nothing like it!

Chan kisses you so hard, so deep, so passionately that you have a hard time returning it to him and breathing becomes a second priority to you.

"I've been wanting to do that all night," he mutters when he lets go of the kiss.

Still gasping for air, you nod and say, "Me too."

To your surprise, he turns you over and has you pinned against the wall this time, he pushes his body against yours as he seeks to be as close to you as possible until there's no inch of gap left between your bodies.

When he deems that you need to breathe, he lets go of your lips only to kiss you on your neck and you tip your head to the side to give him the free access. You let out a low moan as his teeth faintly scrape the skin.

His hands run amok, feeling you all over and touching you through your clothes, eventually his hand cups your breast in his. He kisses your lips again only to distract you from his hand trying to pull down the front of your dress and after a few tries, he manages to send your breast spilling which he wastes no time to take it in his mouth.

"Oh..." The moan just slipped out of your mouth and you hurriedly press your lips together to shut yourself up, aware that you're in a hotel corridor and the hotel guests might hear it, oh and also, someone may walk in on you making out in the hotel corridor.

He leaves your breast wet with his saliva when he lets go and goes straight to kiss you again, putting his weight against you and hoisting your leg around him.

It's getting hard to stay quiet as he starts to dry hump you, you can feel the friction of his clothed erection on you, big and bulging, highly arousing.

Hearing footsteps coming, he hurriedly fixes your dress and takes your hand, this time, leading you right to his hotel room. He swiftly unlocks the door with his keycard and pushes the door inward.

"Come in," he softly mutters, keeping the door open to let you in.

Once you're both inside, the obscenity continues. Nothing is stopping you from coming at each other and ripping each other's clothes. Your dress is the first to go then his shirts, they're lying on the carpeted floor now.

As you lips continuously latch with his, Chan swiftly unbuckles his belt and zips open his fly, he pulls his erection out of its confine.

Without breaking the kiss, he takes your hand and puts it around his hardening member. You gasp at how hot it feels in your hand, how hard it is that you can feel the veins coiling around his length.

He pulls away and looks down to see your hand holding his cock, "Is it as big as you remember?"

You suck air through your teeth and then say, "I'm not sure."

You start to slowly pump his length in your hand and look up at him, "but there's a way I can know for sure."

His eyebrow raised in question, "You do?"

"Uh-huh," you answer, leaning in to kiss him.

From his lips, you begin a trail of kisses to his neck and his chest next, then down to his sculpted abs until your knees hit the carpeted floor.

Something about kneeling in front of him and he's looking down on you with a mix of excitement and anticipation in his eyes arousing you in a whole new way.

In return, you look back at him, innocently blinking your eyes at him all the while your hand keeps stroking his cock in front of you.

"Can I?" You ask him with your thumb softly rubbing the tip of his cock.

He puts his hands in your hair, brushing your hair and gathering them in the back of your head, making a makeshift ponytail with his hand, "Yes."

Without looking away from him, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, then slowly, you take him in your mouth. You take him little by little and give yourself time to adjust yourself to his size which you think is somewhat bigger than you remember.

Wanting to impress him, you push yourself to take more of him but you're too haste and his cock hits the back of your throat so fast, triggering your gag reflex. You immediately pull away before you embarrass yourself more and look away as you let out a cough.

"Still too big for me," You say with a shy chuckle.

Chan places his hand on your cheek and tenderly caresses it, "Too big for you, mmh?"

You nod with your puppy eyes at him.

"But you're taking it so well," he coos, now wiping your chin with his thumb.

You wrap your hand around his cock again and slowly pump it, "Yeah?"

"Yes," he mutters with a soft smile.

The truth is you're not a big fan of giving blow jobs and you're not very confident in your skill, but he remains sweet and patient with you and you believe it's because he knows.

Chan makes you feel safe and comfortable enough to make you want to do it again.

"Let me just..." you don't finish your sentence but do it all over again.

You remind yourself to take it slow, regulate your breathing, and keep calm, it's even better if you can try to enjoy doing it.

To compensate for the rest that you can't take in your mouth, you use your hand and alternate between sucking and licking.

"See? You're taking me so well," he softly mutters, delicately tucking your hair behind your ear.

It doesn't take long for you to find your rhythm and slowly enjoying yourself giving him head, you're even humming in pleasure with your mouth full of him.

Seeing his reactions and hearing the lewd noises coming out of your mouth, encourages you to keep going despite your jaws getting tired and your knees are hurting from kneeling too long.

In between his low moans, he manages to mutter sweet nothings to you.

"Oh, that pretty mouth!"

"You're just too good."

"Oh... Too good at this!"

After a few minutes though, you sense that you needed a break so you slowly pull out and replace your mouth with your hand.

"You like that?"

"Very much," he answers without a beat.

He offers his hand to help you get up from the floor and pulls you close, hoisting your body against him knowing that you're probably tired from kneeling too long.

"You're getting too good, it's dangerous," he whispers to you with both hands cupping your ass cheeks.

You giggle and let him have your lips in him again, you're opening your mouth for him so he can kiss you deeper while he hoists you higher until your feet are lifted off the floor.

Chan carries you to the bed and gently lays you down on the bed, he removes his jeans first before joining you, lying next to you on the bed.

He brushes your hair away from your face and presses a kiss on your lips, "So, is it as big as you remember?"

You tangle your hand in his soft curls, "Jury's still out," you answer with a sly smile.

Chan glares at you as a grin slowly blossoms on his face, he offers his arm as your pillow and then pulls you closer to him, that way, he can comfortably plant his lips on yours again.

As he keeps you busy with his kisses, his hand is making its way down south and not stopping until it lands on your clothed cunt. He smirks against your lips the second he slips his fingers under, meeting your wetness.

"That wet for me, mmh?" He murmurs.

You coyly shrug and shoot him a smirk just to provoke him.

"Well, I'm honored," he says with his fingers tracing your folds and running it up and down your slit.

When he starts playing with your clit, you know you no long can keep your cool anymore. The cold that comes from the metal of his chain bracelet adds a different sensation to the hot and wetness of your cunt.

"Goodness..." you breathlessly gasp as he inserts his finger into you.

"I know you can take one more," he mutters with his mouth pressed to your ear, then proceeds to add another digit.

His two long fingers are inside you now, pumping them in and out of you, and curls them to find that spot that makes you—

"Chris! Oh, fuck!" You curse and grip his shoulder hard enough your nails dug into the skin.

He's enjoying it from the way his head hovers above you and peacefully observing your face, wanting to see all of your reactions to his delightful assault.

He has his mouth sucking on your breast now and the other is being fondled by his other hand, the other hand is busy making a mess out of you.

You're squirming on the bed with your waist upheld in the air and shamelessly arching your back at him, seeking more of him inside you.

Chan knows when to stop, he teases you enough to prepare you for what comes next. He slows down his hand motions and slowly pulls them out. He doesn't let go yet but keeps his hand inside your underwear, playing with your clit.

A moment later, he draws his hand out of your underwear and rubs his fingers coated with your arousal on his lips, "Taste yourself on me," he says.

Seeing his lips wet with your essence is rather arousing and you don't hesitate at all to kiss him, tasting yourself on him. The kiss feels exceptionally kinky and you thought you couldn't be more aroused than this.

Without letting go of the kiss, he hovers above you and props his elbows against the mattress, "Are you still on the pills?"

You swallow air before answering, "Yeah."

He places a sweet peck on your lips then looks at you, "Is it okay if we do it without protection?"

Maybe deep down you know you can trust him and it wouldn't be the first time you're doing it with him without a layer of protection so you find it easy to agree to it and nod.

"Okay," you say, also providing him a verbal consent.

He smiles at you and lowers his mouth on you again, he continues the kisses down your front. His hands tugging at the elastic band of your underwear and pulling it down as he continues the kisses down to your legs.

The bed quakes as Chan gets off the bed and he's just standing there, looking at you and your naked body for his eyes to lust on. You catch him inhaling and exhaling air like he's overwhelmed by what he's seeing.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters with a delightful sigh.

It would be the only normal response to get flustered under his lustful eyes, you look away from him and say, "Just get in here, Chris!"

He surprises you by jumping onto the bed, making the bed quakes once more and he immediately puts his lips on yours again.

"Turn over for me," he softly whispers to you ear.

Without saying a word, you obey him, turning over on the bed and getting on your fours, kneeling with your hands propped against the mattress in front of you.

Chan positions himself behind you and then with so much care, he puts all of your hair away onto one shoulder so he can place kisses on your back. His hands freely roam around your body.

In your opinion, Chan has the most attractive pair of hands, it's warm and firm with veins snaking on the back of his hand, and of course, long fingers that know how to find your most sensitive spot. Now, they're on you, going all over you and feeling you all over.

"I almost forgot how soft you are," he murmurs.

He then brings his hands to your chest to play with your mounds, he hums in pleasure as he sees your breasts mold perfectly in his hands.

"Like they were made just for me," he sighs.

It's like his attractiveness and his big cock aren't enough, Chan has to have a smart mouth too, a mouth that knows what to say and how to say it.

Then again, you're just a girl and you're prone to sugary sweet words like that. You look over your shoulder and smile at him, not expecting that he's going to capture your lips in a kiss.

He slides one hand down to your throbbing cunt again, making sure it's wet enough for him to penetrate. He gently pushes you to the front so he can aim his cock at your entrance and then slowly, he guides you to take him in.

"Oh... ah..." you moan, crumpling the sheet underneath you.

And you almost forget how big he is until he's inside you and you get so high that you blank out, you're there on all fours and merely just a vessel.

Not giving you another minute to adjust, Chan moves back and pulls his cock out only to push it deeper inside you. He then wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly while you're flailing against him like a rag doll.

"You feel so good," he whispers, his breath is hot and heavy in your ear, "So fucking tight around me."

He brings his hand down to rub your clit, adding gentle pressure as he's circling on it.

"I'm going to move, okay?" He says to you with a slobbering kiss on your shoulder.

Unable to form a coherent answer, you repeatedly nod in answer.

The sploshing sound of his fingers incessantly rubbing your clit intensify along with the pace of his thrusting. Chan either has his lips on your lips or plants them on your shoulder, either way, he does it to muffle his groans.

This is what happens when his hand and his cock joint forces, you find yourself on the brink of orgasm when all you've been doing is filling the room with your high-pitched moans.

"Oh, I'm cumming," you whine, holding onto the sheet as waves of pleasure surging all over you.

Chan slows down but does not stop thrusting into you, he kisses your neck and shoulder as you relish your orgasm. He keeps you close with his slung across your chest.

"Chris?" You breathlessly call his name.

"Yes, baby?" He answers your call and you guess the pet name unintentionally slipped out of his mouth.

Not going to lie, it gets you fluttering to hear him call you baby. You curve your arm around his neck and bring his head close to kiss him.

After a while, you start to doubt that the fluttering feeling came from Chan calling you with a pet name. You think it's because you're getting your second orgasm.

"What should I do, Chris?" You whine against his mouth

He breaks the kiss and looks at you with a concerned look, "Huh?" Chan confusingly asks.

"I'm about to cum again," you shamelessly admit.

Chan lets out a low chuckle and presses a kiss on your lips, "Then let's cum together, yeah?" he simply resolves.

He draws you close to him until your back hits his chest, his strong arms wrapped around you to hold you steady as he adds more speed to his thrust.

"Chris, oh..." you moan while holding onto his forearm.

His hands slithering around, one hand squeezing on your breast and the other wrapped around your neck. His mouth nests in the crook of your neck, grunting in pleasure and at times, sucking on your skin to muffle his noises.

"Oh, you keep clenching, baby," he mutters, followed by a broken moan.

That is probably because his cock is deep inside you, it's engorging and pulsating, filling you whole and continuously rubbing against your velvety walls, making the knot in your stomach tighten with each passing second.

Getting weak on the knees, you collapse onto the bed and Chan hurriedly holds you by the waist as he maintains the pace.

"I'm close, I'm close," you tell him repeatedly with one side of your face pressed against the bed.

Chan groans as he pushes his cock as shallowly as possible inside you, "Almost there," he says through his gritted teeth.

The previous orgasm makes you more sensitive than before and you can't hold yourself back anymore so you slowly let go and let the pleasure take over you once more.

Meanwhile, Chan hovers behind you and takes your hands, he holds them by the wrists then pin them against the bed as he restlessly thrusts into you to chase his high.

"Want me to cum inside you?" He asks, still thoughtful as you remember

"Uh-huh, yeah," you manage to answer even with your brain close to short-circuit.

Getting the permission is all he needed to get to his release. Then moment he finally come undone, he lets out a hoarse yet the most beautiful moan you ever heard, then lets himself lay on top of you.

A moment passes in contented silence and Chan presses a long kiss on the nape of your neck, then softly asks, "Are you okay?"

Not getting an answer, he endearingly brushes your hair away from your face to check it himself, "Did I go too rough on you?" He asks again with a slight concern.

You allow yourself to take a few more seconds to gain your composure and instead of answering, you foolishly grin at him and say, "That was so fucking good."

In response, Chan brightly smiles then pecks your lips, "No, but seriously, are you okay?"

You nod at him, "I'm okay."

After hearing your confirmation, he lets out a sigh of relief and then kisses you again, longer than the previous one.

"Sweet break?"

You don't expect him to say that after a long time, you smile and nod, "Sweet break."

Sweet break is something you used to say to each other when you need to take a break from something by eating something sweet. Like now, for instance, you and him taking a break from sex to order something sweet from the room service.

"Bad news is the kitchen is closed" Chan announces the second you come out of the bathroom.

It would be bothersome to put on your dress so you put on Chan's shirt instead, buttoning it as you join him on the sofa, "And the good news?"

He opens the food cover to show you what he got from the room service, "They're still serving desserts," he says with a grin.

The two of you huddle together around the plates of desserts and eating them on the sofa, filling the room with the sounds of your chewing and the dessert spoon scraping the plate.

It's fascinating to watch Chan casually eat his chocolate cake like he didn't just fuck the brains out of you a while ago. You let out a low chuckle and get back to your crepes.

"What's so funny?" He asks, catching you quietly chuckling to yourself.

"Nothing," you answer with a shrug.

He glares at you and decides to invade your plate with his fork, stabbing at the sliced banana and then shoving it into his mouth.

"Hey, eat your own dessert," you scold him but let him collect more bananas from your plate.

"But you don't like bananas," he says in between his chews.

"I don't like bananas but that doesn't mean I can't eat them," you say, but proceed to put the bananas to the side of the plate.

"I'm eating it for you so you only eat what you like," he says with a proud grin.

It's endearing that he still remembers little things like this. The sweet break, your dislike toward a certain and even how many of his fingers you like to have inside you. You can't help but wonder if he remembers other things too. His feelings for you, perhaps?

"Want to order another one?"

The two of you shared and finished the last plate together, even though you feel like you can have another plate, you refuse the offer.

He puts the plates away to the side of the room and returns to the sofa, lifting your legs before he sits next to you and then puts your legs on his lap.

"What's that café with the salted caramel cookies?" He suddenly asks.

"The one with butternut latte?" You ask back to check.

He gently puts his hand on your shoulder and plays with your hair, "Is it still open?"

Damn. He even still remembers that one café you regularly visited when the two of you were still dating.

"Yes," you answer with a smile.

"Man. Those are the best cookies!" he sighs with his fingertips lightly rubbing your thigh.

"I mean, we can go there tomorrow if you want," you casually say or you hope it sounds casual, it's a friendly offer.

He stops playing with your hand and cups your jaw, "I would love to," he says.

From the way his smile slowly dims, you sense a 'but' coming. Oh no, you sense a regret coming. You shouldn't have offered it in the first place.

"But I have to leave tomorrow," he says.

"Oh?" You try to remain unbothered and keep your facial expression in check, "Tomorrow, huh?"

"Yeah. I have to take care of a few things back home," he explains.

By back home, he means Australia and he'll fly out tomorrow, and probably for good. You hate that you get sad like it would be the first he's done it to you.

He holds you by the chin and slowly brings your head close to place a chaste kiss on your lips, it's so tender that you feel a tug at your chest.

"Thank you for coming to see me," he sincerely says with his eyes wide and shining for you.

This is where you start losing the objective of why you're here, you came here to solely get fucked, not expecting anything but his cock inside you.

Time to put some sense into your head and laugh it off, "Oh, my God, Chris!" You gasp out loud.

His forehead wrinkles in question, "What?"

"Yes, we can fuck again, no need to try so hard," you say with a sassy eye roll.

Learning that he's being pranked, he squints his eyes at you with his tongue pokes his cheek. While clutching his chest, he says, "Gosh, I thought—"

Before he can finish his sentence, you shut him up with a kiss because you don't want to keep talking about your feelings or get reminded of how things were when you were still together. You kiss him because you want to forget.

"You thought what?" You ask as you sit on his lap.

He licks his lips and shakes his head, "Nothing."

He's more than glad to have you sitting on his lap as it allows him to hold you close. His hands trail the sides of your body until they eventually land on your ass and then eagerly fondle them in his hands. Catching you off guard, he lands a slap on your ass cheek.

"Chris!" You shriek, abruptly stop kissing him, "That stings!"

"Can't help it," he innocently says while laughing and then pulls you close to kiss you again before you scold him more.

As a safety measure, you take his hands from your ass and fold them together on his chest but he takes it to his advantage, he finds another playground for his lewd hands.

Doesn't want to waste time unbuttoning it, he slips his hand under your shirt to fondle your breast, circling his fingers around your nipple before pinching at it.

He then lifts your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cool night air, and wastes no time to bury his head in between your mounds. He then pulls the shirt down and hides himself in it, acting like a toddler by purposely placing ticklish kisses on you to make you laugh

"Stop playing," you scold him with your hand tangled in his curls, "Let's go to bed, mmh?"

Chan pops his head out through the opening of the shirt and looks at you, "Kiss me first," he demands.

How can you say no when he looks at you with fondness in his eyes and a smile on his face? You fulfill his wish and place a long, lingering kiss on his lips.

"Can we go now?" You say the second you pull away from the kiss.

"Okay," he obliges.

He gets out of your shirt first and you get off his lap next, then starts walking toward the bedroom when Chan suddenly comes from behind you and hoists you up, looking unbothered carrying you on his shoulder.

"To the bed!" He announces, then slaps the back of your thigh.

"Chris!" You scold again but you can't do anything about it as you hang upside-down on his back.

The bed is already a mess and it seems like it's going to get even messier with the way Chan constantly has you pinned under him. He kisses your lips, softly yet hungrily like devouring an ice cream.

Aware that he has taken his turn, Chan doesn't complain when you flip him over and take it over from him. You're straddling him, rubbing his cock between your slit while he's unbuttoning your shirt open.

You find yourself wet for him again in no time and his cock is as hard as you need it to be, maybe this is why sex with him feels exceptional, the two of you are always horny for each other.

You let out a low, long moan the whole time you lower yourself on him and a seductive chuckle slips out of your mouth the second he's fully buried inside you.

When you look down at him, you find him staring at you with his mouth agape. You slyly smile and place both of your hands on his glorious pecs, "Have you always been this big?"

Chan licks his lips and rests his hands on your thighs, "And have you always been this tight?" He asks back instead of answering.

Being on top gives you the freedom to set a pace you prefer and switch positions as you like, more importantly, you can fully enjoy every bit of it. But it's working because Chan is such a great partner, he lets you have full control and lets you take your time.

If not using his hands to touch you all over, he has his hands folded under his head and quietly enjoying watching you fucking him.

"If you keep clenching around me like that, I might cum too fast," he tells you.

"I'm okay with that," you calmly respond.

To tease him more, you purposely keep clenching around him and rolling your hips in circular motions. Somehow you stop focusing on getting your high and start thinking about how to please him more.

"Oh," he loudly groans and his hand grips at your waist, "You're bad!"

You giggle in response while continuing to roll your hips back and forth in painstakingly slow motion.

"Oh, you're really, really bad," he says with ragged breath.

The sex may not be as hard or as intense as the previous one but it's just as good, even better. Maybe it's the unwavering eye contact, maybe it's the way he hisses every time you tease him, or the way he trusts you to make him feel good.

Whatever it is, you feel like sharing an intimate moment with him and you can't lie, it feels special.

"Are you close?" You ask because you're very close to your climax.

"I've been waiting for you to ask me that," he hastily answers, still able to joke in a heating moment like this.

You take him along with you to the edge and not stopping until the two of you come to your release, you keep moving at a sloppy pace to ride out the high.

Chan pulls you close, forcing you to lower yourself onto his body and accidentally sending his cock to slip out. You don't mind it at first but you can feel his hot cum dripping out of you and onto his abdomen.

You break the kiss and mutter in panic, "It's dripping."

"I'll put it back in," he simply responds, reaching down for his cock and slowly pushes it back into you.

Now that it's resolved, he puts his arms around you again and pulls you even closer until your bodies mold into one another, then kisses you more.

Without looking and breaking the kiss, he pulls the duvet and covers both of your bodies with it, ready to end the night with your bodies still connected.

"Have I told you this?" He suddenly asks.

"What?"

He looks at you with his brown eyes that looks like a nice cup of cocoa, comforting and warm.

"I miss you," he ever softly says.

There he goes again, making you debate whether you came here for the sex or to try to rekindle old sparks with him. But in all honesty, it feels good to know that the yearning goes both ways.

For once, you let your heart answer it for you.

"I miss you too, Chris," you mutter back with a smile.

And now you start debating if seeing him tonight is indeed a bad idea.

There's a wet, squelching sound when you first come to your senses the next morning, you feel like sleeping for another hour or two but you also feel the urge to check what that noise is all about.

You force open your eyes and find out right away the source of that wet, squelching sound, it's coming from Chan and he has his mouth latched to your breast.

"Morning, Chris," you croak as you brush your hair away from your face.

He lets go of your breast with a loud pop and looks at you, "Did I wake you?"

"Not really," you answer, putting your hand in his fluffy bedhead.

"I'm sorry," he says but not looking like it.

"Are you? Sorry?" You jokingly say and lay back on your pillow.

He slyly grins and shifts his focus back to playing with your mounds. He holds your breast up and uses his slick tongue to tease your nipple, alternating between licking and sucking.

It's normal to feel horny in the morning and, you find yourself already wet under there, you guess Chan has been helping himself while you were still sleeping.

Chan's head hangs above your chest and you can see how much he's enjoying your breasts, playing with them like a toddler, he even makes noises as he fills his mouth with your ample flesh.

"Aren't you leaving today? Shouldn't we get up and shower?" You mutter, softly scratching his scalp as you talk.

He sucks at your breast so hard and pulls it before letting it go, grinning as he is satisfied with what he just did.

"My flight is in the afternoon," he says.

"And I'd better go so you can pack—"

"But I already ordered breakfast," he whines like a fussy child.

"Well, we can shower first."

"They'll send breakfast at 8," he shares with a wild grin.

You turn your head to check the time on the clock hanging on the wall, "But it's hardly 7."

"Exactly!" He exclaims.

"Exactly what?" You ask in genuine confusion.

He buries his head in your neck and whispers, "We have an hour before breakfast."

Despite catching on to his intention, you decide to act dumb, "And?"

"And..." he inhales your scent before hovering above you, "I'll have my breakfast first."

He winks at you then goes under the duvet, and settles himself between your legs to have his so-called breakfast and it only makes sense that it progresses to intercourse.

Morning sex offers different things, it's the quiet, the peace, the slivers of morning sun shining through the cracks of the curtains, doing it with a refreshed mind and body, it's also the best way to start the day.

It's even better when you get to be a pillow princess, you just lay back and let Chan do all the handwork. He has your legs locked around his waist as he thrusts into you at a slow yet steady pace and in every thrust, he makes you feel every inch of his length rubbing against your walls.

"This is just great," he says with his face pressed to the side of your head.

"Mmh, what?" You respond as best as you can.

"I don't have to do cardio today," he says with a low chuckle.

This is your favorite kind of sex, do it by not taking it too seriously. Because in your opinion, other than it should be comfortable for the individuals involved, sex should be fun.

You kiss his open mouth and drag your lips down to his neck, then plant your mouth on his skin, sucking at it hard enough to form a hickey on it.

"What's that about?" He's rather dumbfounded instead of annoyed.

"Just trying to make it fair," you coyly say as you point to the blossoming mark he made on your breast.

"Yeah, okay," he says in defeat.

As much as you don't want the sex to end, it eventually ends but in a rather explosive, euphoric way. You feel like you've just been given another chance at life after that last orgasm.

"Who needs coffee, huh?" You sigh as you blankly stare at the ceiling.

It's a rhetorical question but Chan decides to respond to it anyway, "Not me, apparently."

Then you remember that he indeed doesn't drink nor need coffee to function, "Not you, apparently," you correct your earlier remark.

Chan carefully lowers himself on top of you and hastily kisses you, both of your teeth almost colliding.

"Thought I was still dreaming when I woke up next to you," he says, coming with another sentimental remark that evokes something deep within you.

You decide to push it further down and keep it there by saying, "Ugh. It's too early for that," you groan.

Chan weakly chuckles with his head nestled in your neck and just like the universe knows you need the distraction, the knocking comes on the door and it must be the breakfast.

You gently pat his head and say, "Now, go get my coffee!"

The morning continues with a quiet breakfast, it's obvious the reason why, the two of you burnt so many calories last night and need a reload.

Then there's the shower and you strongly refuse to share with him or else, it'll take much time. But Chan has an even stronger will and joins you anyway.

This is another reason why sex with him feels exceptional, the two of you are the same insatiable creatures.

The two of you dressed in silence and at times, catch him watching you, instead of feeling shy, you give him a proper show, bending down and wriggling your ass as you put your underwear on.

Chan enjoys every bit of it, he grins and bites his lips, tempted to come up at you, and goes at it again, but sadly, time is running out.

It's here, this is where it's going to end and you never know when you'll see him again, and that's even if you're still able to. You can only hope that he doesn't see how much you want him to stay.

"This is it then," you say, standing right in front of him in the foyer.

He takes your hand, loosely lacing his fingers with yours, "Can I still text you?"

"Sure," you answer.

"How about phone calls?"

"Booty calls only," you jokingly say.

He smiles and takes a step closer to you, you can almost see every moment the two of you shared last night flashes in his eyes, and it's achingly beautiful.

"Can I kiss you before you leave?"

You plan to make the goodbye as brief and as painless as possible but you don't want to risk losing the opportunity to make it a not-so-sad ending. But if you have to be honest, you simply want to kiss him.

"Okay," you agree with a nod.

You put your arms around his shoulders and let your body molds into him as he holds you close, you tilt your head up and close your eyes.

The moment your lips make contact, your heart bursts open and there's no way of stopping your feelings flow out of it so you let them be. You let him feel your pain, your yearning, and ultimately, your feelings for him that you try so hard to conceal, and then slowly, you pull away from the kiss before they fight their way out of your heart.

It's possible that Chan feels it too, that the kiss feels intimate, the kiss feels emotional, and a little close to the heart. He pulls you into a hug that lasts for a long time as if he tries to convey some unspoken messages too.

"No need to send me off," you tell him, not wanting to make it sadder than it already is.

Chan walks you to the door with his hand on the small of your back and then keeps it open for the final goodbye. You stand facing him and say, "Goodb—"

He puts his finger on your lips to stop you from finishing your sentence, "I'll see you when I see you."

That sounds like he indirectly promises you that one day, he'll come and see you again, and surprisingly, it only makes you uneasy.

You put on a smile and try another way to say goodbye, "Have a safe flight, Chris."

As you get into the back of the taxi, you get these familiar feelings and unfortunately, they're not the good kind. You feel like you went through the same thing before, you feel angry, you feel sad, and lost, and you feel this tightness in your chest that makes it hard to breathe. Then it hits you that it feels exactly like that day he broke up with you, this is the feeling of heartbreak.

In the end, you got your physical needs at the price of having to face your feelings and it all comes down to one conclusion: seeing him was a bad idea.

ONE MONTH LATER

It's like you're trapped in an endless loop, it's the weekend and you're lying on your bed, horny and bored.

Your phone is blaring with notifications and messages, you check and skim through them, they're from your friends or some other miscellaneous, you couldn't care less.

In other words, they're not the notifications you've been anticipating.

Chan has been diligently contacting you, sometimes he texted and when he's not, he calls you late at night because apparently, he's always busy during the day. The point is he always contact you by any means of communication.

However, for these past few days, it's been total radio silence. He's not even looking at the pictures you specifically posted to thirst-trap him. If only he knows how much time and energy you've spent just to get a single flattering shot of yourself. Ugh!

As you're about to spiral down, your phone dings and you consider ignoring it to spare you from getting disappointed all over again.

After a moment though, you cave in. You unlock your phone and get greeted by the very notification you've been dying to get.

What you doin'?

Busy running around in my head? He wrote a corny message and added a crying laughing emoji.

A week of no contact and that's the first thing he said? You scoff in disbelief and just stare at the messages, you've learned to make him wait for your reply and use the time to think of witty, flirty answers to his messages.

Am I running with clothes on or naked? You playfully ask back, giggling as you type it.

I think you know the answer. He wrote back with a winking emoji.

Let's hope I don't catch a cold then. You jokingly write in response.

You should stop cause it does things to me.

One minute he's corny, one minute he's cute, and the rest of the time? Hot, confident, and flirty, and you eat those shit up.

Things like what? You reply.

Like this. He wrote along with a picture.

Intrigued, you hurriedly click open the attachment and it's a picture he took of him in the mirror, wearing nothing but his white underwear. Your eyes feast on his glorious Greek God body, his sculpted abs and broad shoulders, and eventually your eyes flick down to the bulge inside his underwear.

In all honestly, it's the first thing that catches your eye because it's so fucking big and the underwear does nothing but enhance the shape and the size.

All of a sudden, you feel thirsty, literally and figuratively, and Chan knows how to make you keep swallowing air by sending you another picture.

The picture is of the same setting but in a rather different position, he's sitting on a chair, slightly slumped with his legs spread wide open and his hand holding his bulge.

Wish it was your hand.

Did he take a class on how to take good thirst traps and nudes? Because damn! Two pictures are enough to make you feel like an animal in heat.

Can I have it in my mouth instead?

Want to have you in my mouth.

Being straightforward mixed with the drooling emoji always works but what really does it is the one magic word: Please?

A minute later, there's no reply from him but your phone rings, he's calling you and you scramble to sit on the bed. You take a deep breath first before hitting the accept call button.

"Hello?"

"Gosh, I want you so much," He suddenly says, no greetings or small talk first. He goes straight to what he wants and you kind of dig that.

You giggle into the phone and playfully ask, "How much?"

"So fucking much," he emphasizes every word and lets out a heavy sigh after.

"Come and maybe I'll give it to you," you seductively say while playing with the lint on your denim shorts, "Maybe."

He chuckles and then jokingly says, "I'm on my way."

"Don't make me wait long," you play along with him but secretly wish that it's true.

You hear rustles from his end of the phone call and think he's probably calling you while lying on his bed but then, you hear the sound of bustling streets and car horns and—

"You're not really on the way, right?" You nervously ask, twisting the loose thread around your index finger.

"I told you, I'm coming," he coyly says.

Your heart skips a beat but he could be anywhere, he could be driving to work or you know, in a taxi in... Australia. Right?

"Chris..." you meekly call him.

"Yes?"

"Are you in the city?" You ask to confirm his location.

"Suprise!" He exclaims followed by a series of giggles.

Yes, you secretly wish that he was coming, but not now but not now and maybe, not ever because the last time you saw each other, things didn't end well for you.

So seeing him tonight is a bad idea, right?

"Why didn't you—" You don't know how to word it without sounding like you're not grateful for his surprise.

"I want to see you," he says, cutting through your silence, "Do you want to see me too?"

What should you do? You don't want him to come but at the same time, you want him to come. Oh, God, this is so confusing!

You want to lie so badly but your heart won't let you, "I want to see you," you openly admit.

"I'm coming so wait for me, yeah?" He softly mutters.

"Okay," you weakly reply.

"I'll see you in a bit," he says with a smile that you can hear through the phone.

"See you."

The second you hang up the call, you start pacing back and forth in your room. He'll be here anytime soon and it'll be just like that night all over again.

You almost jump when the knock comes on the door and you slowly walk to the door, just standing there with your hand on the knob, debating if you should ignore him and pretend you're not home.

The knocks come again and reflexively, you turn the knob and pull the door open.

There he is in a white shirt and blue jeans, the simplest way of dressing yet somehow, it looks incredibly stunning on him.

"Hi," he says with a sweet grin on his face.

His hair is slightly tousled, he smells incredible and those dimples have the power to make you soften around him almost immediately, they're your kryptonite.

"Hi," you say back, lingering by the doorway.

"Brought you wine," he says, showing the bottle of red wine in his hand.

You tilt your head to the side and fight the urge to jump at him and climb him like a tree.

"That's so nice of you," you say with a smile.

"Can I come in?" He asks, gesturing his head toward the inside of your apartment.

But it's a bad idea, right?

However, you find yourself nodding and you step aside, "You may come in."

Chan steps inside and you close the door behind you after. The second you turn around, he pushes you to the wall and crashes his lips against yours.

And you know what? Fuck it! It's fine.

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takaraphoenix · 2 years

Note

now that Clarisse will be played by Dior Goodjohn in s2 we'll see a black woman having a bunch of pro-slavery white men under her control since the ship Clarisse was given was a confederate ironclad warship

I suppose so, yeah

#Clarisse la Rue #I... don't know what else to say to this?#it's not a question or conversation starter #it's just a... statement #like there's things that make sense to send ASKS for #but this is more 'make your own post' territory #because as the ask receiver #I have little to nothing to add and just hit 'post' for you #PJOverse #PJOTV

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 month

Note

Cregan Stark x Targaryen Reader (Rhaenyra’s daughter)

Instead of Jace meeting Cregan to get his alliance — what if it’s the reader. And when Cregan meets her he’s attracted to her and instead of just remembering his allegiance towards them, he purposes a wedding instead? Like he’s willing to help more to the Black’s IF he’s allowed to wed her daughter. 😏 Definitely just a rough ask so feel free to add or change anything!

It's been a long time coming... I have received so many request for this one! I picked little things from each and turned it into a slightly bigger fic. Reader is Velaryon, and Jacaerys' twin sister. I will be turning this into a small series as the story is getting too big and heavy in content for one post

Title (for ao3): The Pact of ice and fire

Warnings: mention of character deaths (spoilers), political marriage,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Dragons are faster than ravens, so Rhaenyra sent her children on dragonback to raise support for her claim to the throne. Lucerys went to Storm’s End, Jacaerys to the Vale and you flew North to Winterfell.

Lord Cregan Stark welcomed you into his home and offered you a seat at supper — and a chamber for the night. Dragonstone was a long way to Winterefell, your stomach was grateful for a hot meal.

While you were eating, you informed the northman of the usurper sitting on the Iron Throne — your mother's throne — and how a war to take it back was about to begin. You didn’t forget to kindly remind him of his father’s oath to your grandsire. Starks were known for being just and honorable.

‘’Starks do not forget their oaths, Princess,’’ Lord Stark said between two bites of mutton stew. ‘’My father made an oath to King Viserys twenty years ago, and I shall honor this oath. But winter is coming. I cannot promise the Queen my men — I need them at the Wall.’’

‘’Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. If my mother is to defend her claim, to hold the realm united, she needs an army. War is coming to the whole of the realm, my Lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North.’’

Cregan took a long sip of his wine, thinking as he drank, then set his cup down. ‘’I have thousands of graybeards who have already seen too many winters.’’

Graybeards? You frowned, trying to understand. Did he mean old men?

‘’No offense, Lord Stark, but I cannot accept—’’

‘’They are well-honed,’’ he reassured with a soft chuckle, sensing your concern. ‘’They are not that old, Princess. I can ready them to march at once.’’

‘’If your graybeards can fight, the Queen will have them,’’ you replied with a smile, reaching for your fork to take a bite. You preferred duck over mutton, but was polite enough to eat what was given to you.

‘’What do I get of this arrangement?’’

A frown drew between your eyebrows. ‘’Excuse me?’’

Cregan cleared his throat, then reformulated his question. ‘’If I give the Queen some of my men, what do I get in return?’’

You considered quickly. ‘’I can send a dragon to protect Winterfell—’’

‘’Winterfell is safe from the Hightowers, Princess. I doubt they will march the three month journey to the North to attack us. It would serve them nothing. And if they did, they would not be able to trespass our gate.’’

‘’Then, what do you want, Lord Stark?’’

He turned to you, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. ‘’A wife. I would be more inclined to help your mother’s cause if she offered me her delightful daughter.’’

You were caught off guard by Cregan’s demand. While you clearly understood his proposal, the realization of it was slow to dawn on you. For a moment, your mouth opened, before swiftly closing it again, lost for words.

When you overcame your own disbelief, you looked to the man beside you with suspicion. ‘’I am flattered, but I am not looking for a husband. I plan to fight for my mother’s throne, not stay behind and grow heirs for a lord.’’

‘’Who said anything about an heir? I am in no rush to step down as Lord of Winterfell. From your perspective, you see only disadvantages, but an alliance by marriage between two highborns would be strategically advantageous. Family is very important for Starks. If we were to wed, we could stand together. I will follow you to war, I will fight for your mother.’’

The dining hall fell into a long, contemplative silence as you considered Cregan’s proposal. You had come north to gain the support of the Northerners, not to find a husband. But an alliance with the Starks would be quite powerful, and perhaps Lord Stark had a point. A Stark and a Targaryen. A wolf and a dragon. Such a marriage had never happened before.

And you wouldn't be displeased to have him as a husband. The Warden of the North was undeniably handsome. He had this rugged charm about him, with piercing gray eyes. You would not mind warming his bed.

‘’Would I be required to reside to Winterfell?’’

Leaving your family during a time of war was not something you wanted.

‘’Not immediately, but eventually. It is the seat of House Stark, Princess. I would expect my wife, the Lady of Winterfell, to live there,’’ Cregan explained, his gray eyes fixed on yours, his expression serious. ‘’But we could make some arrangements to allow you to remain in the South until the war is over. Would that suit you?"

⁂

After treating with Cregan, you made the journey back to Dragonstone to bring the Queen good news. The northern Lord seemed disappointed to watch you leave, having taken a liking to your company in the few hours you spent together, but you promised to return in a fortnight. He kissed your hand before you mounted on Seasmoke, and watched you take the sky.

You landed on Dragonstone as the day was turning into night. A knight of the Queensguard took you to your mother’s chambers where horrible news was waiting for you.

You crumbled into your mother’s arms as the words left her lips, feeling your heart breaking into pieces. As twins, you and Jacaerys had a special bond. But you always felt protective of Luke. You would climb into his baby crib when he was crying at night and sing to him until he fell asleep.

When you left her chambers, you visited the children’s. Aegon and Viserys were with the nanny, but Joffrey was sitting on the floor, holding a horse toy Luke had handed down to him. A sob escaped your lips, getting the little boy’s attention, and he ran over to you. You hugged him tightly. He was sad and confused, too young to understand death.

⁂

The days that followed, you were not allowed to leave the castle. During a small council meeting, you had voiced your desire to get on your dragon and go to King’s Landing to burn Aemond Targaryen to a crisp. Jacaerys was on your side, wanting revenge for Luke, but your mother had shut the idea down quickly and forbade the two of you to leave castle ground.

Alone in the library, you were reading about dragons to make up for not being allowed to ride your own. Unfortunately, the feeling was not the same. Seasmoke, who you had claimed after your father’s death, missed you. You could see him calling for you and flying over the bay from your chamber’s window.

You sighed and flipped the page of your book, daydreaming of the wind hitting your face and the thrill of flying.

A voice pulled you out of your head.

‘’A raven arrived from Winterfell, Princess. A message to you from Lord Stark,’’ Maester Gerardys said.

The maester handed you a piece of rolled parchemin, sealed with the Stark sigil. You thanked him, and he left, giving you privacy. You drew your eyebrows together, not expecting anything from Cregan. Did he wish to revoke his proposal?

Dear Princess,

I have learned of the tragic loss of your brother, Lucerys. I offer you my deepest condolences in this dark hour. Losing a brother is a pain I know myself. Winterfell stands with you in your grief. May the gods give him rest.

With deepest sympathy,

— Lord Cregan Stark

⁂

Following the murder of Prince Jaehaerys, the Greens had sent ravens throughout the realm claiming Rhaenyra had ordered the death of the little child in revenge for Lucerys — a son for a son. The accusation was absurd. Your mother would never order the murder of a child, or inflige this kind of pain to an innocent like Helaena.

When night fell, Dragonstone was attacked. Ser Arryk infiltrated the island by passing for his brother, Ser Erryk, and came to the Queen’s chambers, attempting to slay her in her bed. Thankfully, Mysaria noticed the wrong brother making his way to the castle and alerted the guards, saving Rhaenyra’s life.

‘’Thank you, Elinda,’’ Rhaenyra said as she poured tea to help her calm down.

After hearing commotion in the corridors, you had asked one of the knights what happened and rushed to the master chambers to check on your mother. She was a little shaken after witnessing the Cargyll twins dueling and dying before her eyes.

‘’Where was Daemon?’’ you asked, sitting across from her on the couch.

She shrugged, not knowing. ‘’Harrenhal, I assume.’’ She took a sip of her tea, her hands slightly shaking. ‘’He has been talking of raising an army there.’’

‘’He should have been here—’’

‘’Daemon is following his own path.’’

You understood her words as closure to the conversation and respected her desire.

Come morning, Dragonstone was deemed no longer safe for children. By the Queen’s command, Rhaena embarked a ship with your little brothers, their dragons, and dragon eggs to Pentos. Saying goodbye to your brothers — and half-sister — was sad, but they were too exposed on Dragonstone.

⁂

‘’Releasing your anger through your sword is going to get you killed. Have you learned this tactic through Daemon?’’ you asked Jacaerys, his sword clinked loudly against yours as you trained on the beach.

You took a quick step to the side, your movements fluid and graceful.

Jacaerys grunted, adjusting his stance, and swung his sword again, aiming for your side. You blocked the attack with ease, your eyes never leaving his. ‘’How can I not be angry? The walls of Dragonstone have been infiltrated by the enemy, yet she refuses to attack.’’ He let out a frustrated sigh, his movements growing more aggressive.

‘’Because her war strategies are passive doesn’t mean she is doing the wrong thing. Do you remember when we wanted to go to King’s Landing and kill Aemond ourselves? We were angry and hurting, it was impulsive and foolish.’’

At the time, it seemed a brilliant idea, but with Vhagar patrolling over King’s Landing, she would have attacked the both of you before you could get to Aemond. Your mother was hurting so much from losing Lucerys, she would not have bore losing two more.

Jacaerys swung his sword again, this time with greater force. ‘’It would have been justice.’’

‘’It would have been death.’’

Training came to an abrupt end, leaving Jacaerys to himself on the beach. You didn’t want to argue with him. He was usually the rational one between you, but going to King’s Landing to kill Aemond was a stupid idea.

You were directed to the great hall by one of the guards as soon as you stepped inside. The Queen wanted to speak to you.

She was standing at the head of the painted table with a piece of parchment before her. ‘’A raven came from Lord Staunton informing us that Ser Criston's army has burned his fields and livestock. Supplies in Rook's Rest are beginning to run low and he requests assistance. I want you to change into your riding gear. You and Rhaenys will be going to Rook’s Rest.’’

Excitement bubbled in your stomach. It was the first time she was sending you on a mission since Luke’s death.

‘’Yes, Mother— Your Grace,’’ you quickly corrected.

Rhaenyra smiled at your slip-up. ‘’Be safe. Listen to your instinct. Turn back if anything feels wrong. It’s okay to retreat.’’

⁂

The journey to Rook’s Rest was relatively short. When you got there, arrows were flying from both armies. The Green’s was larger, but Lord Staunton’s garrison did not back down.

‘’Dragon!’’ one of the Green knights called out, catching sight of Meleys coming into view.

Ser Criston’s archers shot arrows and scorpions fire at Meleys. The dragon was largely unharmed by their attacks, and responded by burning Criston's soldiers with dragonfire. Their screams echoed through the air, a chilling reminder of the chaos below. You tried not to let it get to your head that humans were being burned alive. They were Greens soldiers.

Coming right behind Rhaenys, Seasmoke roared, and burned more of Ser Criston’s soldiers. A small part of you was praying to catch the man himself and turn him into ashes. It would be an amusing story to tell Jacaerys and Baela when you return.

You clung to the saddle on Seasmoke's back as you scanned the battlefield from above, searching for any sign of Criston Cole. The heat from the dragonfire was intense, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air.

Your search was interrupted by a deafening roar coming from behind and filling the sky. You looked up to see Sunfyre, its golden scales glinting in the sunlight, joining the battlefield with Aegon atop him.

It was expected. The Greens would have been fools to come to battle with at least one dragon.

Rhaenys turned her head toward Sunfyre, having heard his roar, and came to meet him with her claws and teeth.

The two dragons clashed in mid-air, their roars echoing across the battlefield. Meleys' scarlet scales flashed as she attacked, her claws slashing at Sunfyre's underbelly. Sunfyre responded with a blast of dragonfire, which Meleys narrowly dodged.

You flew to Rhaenys’ aid. Although Sunfyre was slightly larger than Seasmoke, your dragon had battle experience from when your father was his rider. They participated in the war for the Stepstones together.

Before you could get to them, another loud noise came from the forest — Vhagar. The massive dragon's roar sent chills down your spine as she emerged from the treeline, her vast wings unfurling. With Aemond atop her, Vhagar soared into the sky, heading straight for the battle.

Seeing them sent rage in your blood. They took your brother from you.

You wanted to take them down, to kill them both to avenge Lucerys, but you knew Seasmoke would never win against Vhagar.

Rhaenys glanced back, seeing the new threat approaching, but she didn’t let go of Sunfyre. She was determined to not let them go unscattered from this battle.

You finally joined them, commanding Seasmoke to bite Sunfyre’s wing. Sunfyre cried out in pain as Seasmoke's jaws clamped down, and Meleys continued to claw at him relentlessly. The combined assault overwhelmed Sunfyre, and his injuries soon became too severe. With a final, agonized roar, Sunfyre began to crash toward the ground, Aegon clinging desperately to his back.

As you and Rhaenys watched Sunfyre and Aegon freefall and crash into the forest with a loud thump, Vhagar, taking Rhaenys by surprise, came from the other side and clamped her massive jaws around Meleys’s neck. The force of the attack was brutal, and Meleys roared in agony as Vhagar’s powerful grip tightened.

‘’No!’’ you screamed, knowing this bite would be fatal for the dragon.

Life left the red dragon’s eyes, giving one last glance at her rider as they freefell from the sky together, leaving only you and Aemond standing. He looked at you with a smug winning smile on his face, having taken another member of the Blacks down.

You could have continued this battle, but your mother’s words echoed in your head. It’s okay to retreat.

With teary eyes, you commanded Seasmoke to turn around and return to Dragonstone, leaving behind the Queen Who Never Was.

⁂

You felt like a failure after your first battle. Rook’s Rest had fallen into ashes, Rheanys was dead, and you lost a dragon. Your mother had been right, sending her inexperienced children to war was a terrible idea.

Still in shock from the battle, you stepped into your mother’s chambers, tears streaming down your face. ‘’I’m sorry, Your Grace. I failed.’’

⁂

Guilt gnawed at you since you had returned from Rook’s Rest. Rhaenyra said it was not your fault, but you should not have let yourself be distracted when Vhagar was still standing. Rhaenys died because of your mistake.

A knock at your door raised your attention.

‘’Come.’’

The door opened, revealing your mother who came to check on you. She may be Queen, but she’ll never stop taking care of her children. Ser Steffon closed the door behind Rhaenyra, and waited outside your chambers. Since Ser Arryk infiltrated the castle, a knight of the Queensguard was always accompanying her.

She took a seat next to you on the edge of the bed, looking stunning in a blue dress. The color was unusual on her, preferring shades of red and black.

‘’How is Lord Corlys? And Baela?’’ you asked, fidgeting with your fingers.

You wanted to be the one bringing the regretful news of Rhaenys’ death to her husband, but your mother didn’t allow you. Although Lord Corlys had shown kindness to your family and that losses were inevitable in a war, he would not hesitate to put the blame on Rhaenyra for sending his wife to her death.

Your mother regarded you with a mixture of concern and sadness. ‘’Lord Corlys is devastated, and so is Baela.’’ She observed the guilt in your expression and the tension in your body. ‘’You mustn't blame yourself for what happened,’’ she said, her voice gentle and loving. ‘’But it is not the matter I came here to discuss. I want to discuss my succession. If my end comes during this war, Jacaerys will ascend and take my crown, as intended. But if anything were to happen to Jace, I want you to take my crown.’’

The thought of something happening to your mother terrified you. But losing your twin brother, your other half, made you nauseous.

You nodded. ‘’I will, Your Grace. But nothing will happen to Jace. We will protect each other—’’

‘’By making you the spare heir, you will be targeted, so I want you to take Seasmoke and stay at Winterfell,’’ she interrupted, her tone resolute. ‘’Lord Cregan Stark will ensure your protection.’’

You were taken aback by your mother’s declaration. You felt a pang of hurt and confusion. How could she send you away? She already lost two dragons, and Daemon was in Harrenhal. You going North would subtract another, leaving her defenses with only three dragons.

‘’I do not wish to hide, I want to stay here! I am an asset to your sleeve, you need me on Dragonstone. I may not be at my best right now, but I am not a fragile daughter. I will go into battle again. Please, do not send me away,’’ you said, your voice cracking with emotion.

Rhaenyra took a difficult breath, her heart aching at your anguished plea. She understood your anger and frustration, having once been brushed aside due to being a daughter. But she never saw you as less than a boy. You always trained with your brothers and often had the upper hand when dueling with Jace. She was doing this to ensure the survival of her succession and the protection of the realm.

‘’It is not a sign of weakness to hide. It is a sign of strength to know when to pick your battles.’’ Your mother took your hands in hers, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘’I speak the truth when I say the last thing I want is to be separated from you, but I cannot risk you getting captured. I can’t risk the Greens getting their hands on you.’’

⁂

No raven had been sent to Lord Stark to inform him of your arrival to Winterfell. You could not risk revealing your position were the message to fall into the wrong hands. So when Cregan heard from his men that a dragon had been seen flying over the northern villages, he was confused.

With a loud thump, you landed outside the courtyard and dismounted Seasmoke. Guards bowed their heads as you walked to the gates of Winterfell, seeing the sigil of House Targaryen on your clothes. They escorted you into the castle as whispers of your arrival began to spread amongst the court, leading you to the council chamber where Cregan was occupied with matters from the Wall.

‘’I will inform Lord Stark of your arrival,’’ one of the guards said.

You gave him a nod and waited in the corridor.

Normally, no one disturbed him during council meetings, but you insisted that the matter was urgent. With a nod, Cregan dismissed his council and instructed the guard to bring you in.

The men filed out of the chamber as you stepped in, dressed in your riding gear and flakes of snow sprinkled on your braid. Cregan stood from his seat at the end of the table, his towering figure casting a shadow against the cold stone of the chamber.

‘’Pardon me for not welcoming you myself, Princess. Your presence here is unexpected.’’ His eyes fell on the bag on your shoulder, holding personal effects, raising his curiosity. ‘’But always welcomed,’’ he added, not wanting to give you the wrong impression.

You gave him a small smile. ‘’Thank you, Lord Stark. I apologize for my unannounced presence. Sending a raven was just not a possibility; actions had to be taken rapidly and in the utmost secrecy.’’

A frown formed between Cregan's eyebrows. Seeing you walk through his doors unannounced could only mean something serious had happened. You wouldn't come all the way to Winterfell unless it was necessary.

He then gestured to a seat at the table, motioning for you to sit down.

You tried to not make a scraping sound with the chair as you pulled it, and sat down across the taller chair. Cregan joined you, his gray eyes looking at you, waiting for explanations.

‘’There was a battle at Rook’s Rest,’’ you began, a lump forming in your throat as horrific flashes of Rhaenys falling to her death filled your mind. ‘’Aegon the Usurper and his dragon were severely injured from my and Princess Rhaenys’ dragon. She and Meleys didn’t survive the battle.’’ You blinked rapidly, chasing the tears from your eyes.

‘’May the gods give her rest,’’ Cregan said respectfully.

You nodded in reciprocal, then continued. ‘’The Queen is worried they will come after me for what I’ve done to their King and decided I should go into hiding. Since I accepted your demand, she send me to Winterfell under your protection.’’

Before you, Cregan's frown deepened as he thought about the upcoming departure to the Wall. In a week, he and his men would be leaving for a long, harsh winter, and he wouldn't return until spring. As Warden of the North, his duty to the Wall was stronger than his duty to the Queen, but was it stronger than his oath to his future wife? You were only betrothed at the moment, but assuring your protection was part of his duty as husband.

He gave you a single nod. ‘’Of course, Princess. You will be safe here, you have my word. No harm shall come to you behind these gates.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden @memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit @blublock404 @Icefyre19 @paulilvsremus @mfedits @aemondwhoresworld @angrybirdxx @YarianyIrizarry @frutiloopslupin @minedofmoria @aleemendoza2425-blog @quinquinquincy @Rosey1981 @maria-reads-everything @eddieslut69 @barnes70stark @baybaybear @prettyduckling22 @Briefwinnerpersonaturtle @darlingcharling-blog @deliaseastar @Wolfgirl-205 @visenyareads @Nanaldy @Lovelywiseprincess @not-neverland06 @newtmyhusb @mikimimic

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13@cece05@laylasbunbunny@gemofthenight@beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago @nhlfs

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd #hotd cregan #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction

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cheeseceli · 7 months

Text

When you have plushies

Pairing: Ot8!skz × Gn!reader (individually)

Genre: fluff, reactions

Request: so if skz had a partner who sleeps / collects plushies??? maybe also add a little where the reader is a tad bit embarrassed of it?

Warnings: none

A/n: if you saw this when I posted it for the first time no you didn't!

Bang Chan

Y'KNOW THAT LAUGH OF HIS

The one that's so adorable and it looks like a giggle while his eyes are like crescent moons

THAT ONE

It's the one he gives you while he tries to understand that somehow he is dating the most adorable human being in the whole world

He literally has no problem if you want to sleep with them, will reassure you when it comes to that

"Do you think I can take one of your plushies with me for the tour? It'd make me feel closer to you"

Lee Know

Of course he will tease you

That's like one of the things that are included in his boyfriend package: relentless teasing

He will stop immediately if he sees that you aren't feeling it though

Will take a picture of you cuddling your favourite teddy bear and set it as his phone's wallpaper

AND will buy you some plushies and put them in his dorm

So you can feel more comfortable even when you're away from your own collection

Will never admit but he cuddles with it when he misses you

"Dori was sleeping with the plushie I bought for you. I'm going to send you a pic"

Changbin

Now that he knows, there is nothing stopping him from buying you thousands of plushies

Your collection will double in less than a month if you let him (please let him)

Might even buy some matching ones so you guys can share something in common

But he'll feel a little betrayed if you don't cuddle him to sleep and instead hug the teddy bear

"Why are you cuddling a plushie when you have me right here?? Like, c'mon now!!"

Hyunjin

You know those things where you can make a teddy bear from scratch and then gift it to someone?

He would do that for you😭

Would probably gift you a personalised plushie in your first valentine's

But overall he finds it adorable

Laughs endearingly every time he sees you sleeping while cuddling one

But will not lose the opportunity to replace the plushie and hug you throughout the night

"Would you rather have a dog or a bear as a plushie? No specific reason"

Han

Wants to give names to some of them lmao

And finds you 200% cuter because of it

Like, he knew you were adorable but you always surpass his expectations somehow

And if you get embarrassed abou it he finds you even cuter

But will make sure you don't have a reason to be embarrassed

He will throw himself in the pile of plushies, feeling like he's in heaven and making sure you knows he likes this side of you as well

"This one looks just like you! Oh my God, it's literally you"

Felix

HE LOVES IT

And he would be so casual about it as well??

Like, you'd be kinda scared of his reaction but then he's just the kindest about this

Wants to know about their names and stories you might have about them

The kind of guy who'd stitch one of them if they need to get repaired (I love him btw)

Tries to win plushies for you in those claw machines

"Which one do you want? I'll win it for you"

Seungmin

Is kinda intimidated at first lmao

Like I can see him just standing still while an army of plushies stare at his soul 😭

After the initial shock though I think he'd find it cute

Especially if there is a plushie who kinda looks like him/his skzoo

If that's the case he'll just tease you (while finding it so endearing)

"You should name this one 'Minnie'"

"I'm not naming every single one of my plushies after you"

"Why not?"

I.N

I think he wouldn't react at first, but mostly because he doesn't know what to do

Will you get sad if he teases you? Will you get embarrassed if he says it's cute?

He ends up not saying anything lol

Acts like he sees a huge collection of plushies every day

Might give you some plushies as gifts after finding out

"I just bought a very cute teddy bear in Japan. I'm giving it to you once I come back home."

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Reblogs and feedback are always appreciated!

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ddejavvu · 2 months

Text

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Two) (18+) / Part One

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 5.3K / navigation / inbox

A/N: if you've been on my blog anytime since last year and you've heard me mention 'my big hangman fic', this is it! I've been working on Spring Fling for almost a year now, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I hope you enjoy this, and I'm glad so many new people are making their way into our top gun fandom because of twisters and Glen's role in it. Welcome, and enjoy!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

An uncomfortable nap taken out of sheer spite does nothing to improve your mood. Your neck is stiff now, as is your spine, and it pops when you stretch from your place on the tiny loveseat.

“Well, Sleeping Beauty has risen,” Jake grins, the cocky expression boiling your blood, “Ready for dinner, sunshine?”

“I’m going to push you off of this boat.” You grumble, and Jake blinks, toning his smile down into a grimace.

“Well, maybe some food’ll improve your mood.” Jake rises from where he’d been presumably sleeping as well, though you’re surprised he fell asleep after you and woke up before you. His bedhead gives him away, and he runs his fingers through it, “We’ve got a table reserved in the restaurant for 6, darlin’. We should get there a little early, though, wanna head out now?”

Your nose wrinkles involuntarily, though you wouldn’t have stopped it, “You reserved us a table? I’m not eating with you.”

“We eat together all the time,” He scoffs, “Come on, Y/L/N, this is no different from eating in the mess hall.”

“It’s different because everyone who sees us is either going to think we just had sex, or that we’re about to,” You protest, but he’s out of sympathy to feign.

“Or both,” He grins, running a hand once more through his slightly less messy hair. He’s still barely dressed, and it takes effort for your eyes not to naturally drift away from his face.

“You’re usually wearing a uniform when we eat in the mess hall, Hangman,” You narrow your eyes at him, glancing pointedly below his neck to his bare chest, but straying no further, “Unless they’ve hired you to be a stripper on board, and I’m just now finding out?”

“Nah, I auditioned but they said I was too good,” He crosses his bulging biceps over his chest, a haughty smirk on his face, “I didn’t wanna steal any tips from the ladies.”

“Right,” You drawl, aiming to move past him to reach your suitcase that’s been mysteriously moved from beside your head to the side of the bed opposite from where Jake had been sleeping. Except, the man blocking your path doesn’t move, and you’re stuck in the small hallway-like space that the loveseat is squished into.

“Hangman,” Your teeth are gritted, and they warp your words slightly, “Move. I need my suitcase, I’m going to change for dinner.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with your dress,” He eyes the fabric with feigned consideration, “Except of course that it’s a little long. It only needs to go up to about here,” He snakes a hand towards your waist, laying two hefty smacks against the skin on your hip that lines up just beneath the curve of your ass. He moves faster than you can back away, but you land a valiant smack against his hand when he withdraws it, “Then you could join my stripping act.”

“Hangman, if you touch me again, I’ll rip off your balls,” You swear, but there’s still a glint of mischief far too bright in his eyes for your liking, so you shove past him, making sure to tap your knuckles gently between his legs for good measure.

He groans, hunching over and breathing heavily, “Shit, Y/L/N, you trying to take out the Seresin line?”

“It’s not that bad,” You drawl, setting your suitcase on the bed and delving into its contents, “But a world where you can’t reproduce sounds like one I want to live in.”

You’re already halfway to the bathroom, your evening dress in hand when he calls back, “You act all high and mighty now,” You can hear the grin that Jake’s voice indicates, even if he’s rummaging through his own suitcase for something to wear, “But later tonight I’m gonna have you beggin’ for me to knock you up, darlin’.”

Jake’s efforts to break into the bathroom you’re changing in are certainly impressive, if nothing else. He tries the knob at first, like you’d have forgotten to turn the lock before stripping naked. When you demand a reason he claims he’d forgotten his deodorant, which is a perfect excuse seeing as you miss no chances to point out his sweat-stench after training.

You spot the stick on the counter and give yourself the satisfaction of rolling your eyes, even if he’s not present to see it.

The second time he knocks, having learned his lesson, “Y/N, I need to pee.”

“I’m changing!” You cry, the straps on your dress proving impossible to untangle. Apparently being jostled in a suitcase wasn’t ideal for the dress’s shape.

“Changing what, seasons? By the time you get dressed our leave will be over, and you’re gonna have to get back into uniform.”

“If you’re so anxious to get to dinner, go by yourself!” You insist, frustration laced tight to your tone, “I’ll figure this fucking dress out, enjoy a leisurely meal, and then I’ll meet up with Daniel afterwards!”

You’re so used to Jake’s rapidfire quips that the silence ensuing after your declaration feels awkward. But it’s a victory, one that you don’t often win against the man outside the bathroom door, and you let it ease the sharp sting of annoyance that your dress is needling into you.

A fist lands heavy against the door, and Jake’s voice is unusually devoid of mirth, “Open up.”

“Jake, no!” You spit out his first name like a hex, “I fucking told you-”

“I’m going to help you,” He calls through the door, knocking incessantly, “Come on, you said you can’t figure out your dress, I’ll help you.”

“Nice try!” You scoff, finally pulling at the correct string and watching as the others fall into precarious place around them. You jab your arm into the hole it’s created and slip the rest of them into formation, standing triumphant in front of the mirror and realizing you look quite like you’ve had sex after all.

You smooth down a few flyaway hairs, grab Jake’s deodorant, and fling the door open, just as Jake flattens his hand to slam his palm into the wood, no doubt trying to make more noise than a simple knock.

You’re looking at his face, and he’s looking at yours, but both of you can feel his hand pressed firmly into your tit. You don’t doubt that he’d intended to hit the door instead of you, but he’s not moving away, either. You both stand paralyzed until his brain catches up with his body and he jerks his hand away, lashes fluttering as he blinks bewilderedly despite the wry grin purposefully etched into his features in an attempt to remain nonchalant.

“Didn’t mean to do that,” He simpers, and you’re certain that’s the closest to ‘I’m sorry’ he’s ever given you. You know him well enough to know he’s adequately flustered, but outsiders might not catch the barely-there pink tinge to his tan cheeks, too distracted by his charming smile.

You overlook the accident if only to save yourself the awkward confrontation, ducking your head and shoving the deodorant stick against his chest. His hands come up to catch it and you make a break for the heels you’d set out by the closet, intent on strapping them on instead of talking to him.

He mumbles a distracted, ‘Thanks,’ when you hand him his deodorant, but the stick remains firmly capped in his hands as his gaze trails after you.

“Your dress looks nice.” He concludes, voice a tone softer than it normally is. It’s- nice. You’re too used to the bite of his southern drawl, the way he pairs a cocky quip with an eye-roll more vicious than even the most belligerent teenager. Now they’re soft and gooey-brown as he stares at the straps on your shoulders. This isn’t the first kind thing he’s ever said to you, but it’s certainly the first in a long time, and you swallow the urge to use it against him.

“Thank you.” You grumble, then, to steer away from the thick silence you’ve been enveloped in, “Not sure it’s worth it, though, those straps were fucking confusing.”

You swear you hear a mumbled, ‘It was,’, but Jake’s back is turned to you as he sets his still-capped deodorant on the bathroom counter, so you can’t be sure.

You’re surprised to find that the elevator is just as empty as you’d left it when you and Jake board to head to the 9th floor. The restaurant Jake had reserved your table at is upscale, and you presume everyone else is too busy boning to manage a sit-down meal. You settle against the back wall of the elevator in silence, looking but not watching as Jake presses the 9 button with a thick finger.

The last time you were in this elevator, Daniel was backing you up against the railing and kissing you.

Just the thought brings heat to your cheeks, and you’re thankful for the support that the wall behind you offers. If it wasn’t there, you’re not sure your weak knees would withstand the crushing weight of your weighty crush.

“Was that where he sucked your face?” Jake’s voice shatters your reverie into a million tiny, unsalvageable pieces, and you forget any momentary truce that you might have had with him only moments ago.

“Excuse me?” You level a glare at the man across from you, unimpressed with his accusation even though it was accurate, “He did not suck my face. He kissed me like a gentleman.”

Jake lets out a bark of laughter, “Right. Because gentlemen smear a woman’s lipstick halfway over her chin.”

Despite knowing you’d have seen any makeup smudges when you’d been in the bathroom earlier, your hand darts to your chin.

Jake takes it as an admission of guilt, and his sharp grin only grows, “Exactly. I’ve sucked faces before, I know what the result is.”

A rather unsavory memory assaults you of Jake crowding a vacationing New Yorker up against a wall of the Hard Deck. You push away the nauseating burning in your chest at the image, intent on never seeing Jake Seresin’s tongue inside of anyone’s mouth but his own again.

“You suck faces,” You conclude, still slightly bothered by what you’d recalled, “Daniel kisses.”

“Daniel,” Jake snorts, grasping for something to tease, “That’s not a very moan-able name, is it?”

“Neither is Jake,” You retort, “Jake sounds like a toddler running loose at the mall.”

“That’s why the ladies call me Hangman,” Jake grins, his eyes narrowed in an attempt at a smirk, “Well, some of ‘em call me Hungman by the end of the night.”

“Oh,” Your face twists into a grimace, and you’re thankful for the dinging of the elevator, “You’re not allowed to talk at dinner.”

“Only way you’ll get me to shut up is if you gag me, darlin’.” Jake laughs, stepping out of the elevator and following behind you even as you storm ahead towards the entrance to the dining room.

It’s an opulent room, chandeliers and crystal adorning every surface. You slow your pace before you reach the reception desk, so that the poor employee doesn’t think you’re going to vault over the counter and attack him, but you’re fairly certain there’s still a scowl on your face when you attempt to speak with him.

“We have a table reserved,” You inform the man, conscious of Jake’s impressive build lingering behind you, present and firm, “Room 838?”

With a quick few buttons pressed on the screen before him, the host nods, customer service smile on full force as he gestures to his left, “Of course, right this way.”

You let him lead, and you try not to get distracted by the grandiose decor. Whether it’s authentic material, or just plastic spray-painted gold, it’s beautiful, and you’re so absent-minded that you don’t acknowledge your table until you’re stopped in front of it.

“Here you are; have a lovely meal.” The man politely excuses himself, heading back to the front to greet whoever else is waiting to be checked in for their tables.

You’d been too overwhelmed by finding out that your hot sexy mystery man was actually your brutally combative fellow pilot to think about what dinner would entail beyond heated bickering. He’d drawn a comparison to the mess hall and your brain had run with it, but this is decidedly different from the drab benches you’re used to.

This is a small, delicate, round table, a white tablecloth draped elegantly overtop. It’s two candles, giving off a small aura of warm light around the dim restaurant, crystalline dishes framed with polished silverware. It’s an enclosed space, it’s knees brushing and eyes twinkling with candlelight, it’s electric shocks when skin meets skin. It’s romantic by design, and you refuse to share it with Hangman.

But you can’t refuse.

The waitstaff is limited and overworked, evidenced by the mountain of covered trays you see them rushing to different tables. It would be rude to storm out, and while you’re not worried about offending Jake, you don’t want to inconvenience the staff.

Jake sniffs out your internal conflict by only a glance at your stiff stance, a skill he’s acquired after years of working out the perfect way to get under your skin. He can read you like a book, and he knows fury and guilt are waging war in your head right now.

You’d like to think he thought fury would win, but it’s guilt in the end. You step towards your chair, reaching out with two fingers to pinch the candle on your side of the table. The flame snuffs out beneath your touch, and the mild burning sensation is worth it to hear Jake scoff.

“Nicely done, killer,” He drawls, sounding offensively unperturbed by your obvious dislike of him. To your complete and utter indignance he reaches behind your back to pull the chair out from it’s seat, offering it to you as a peace treaty.

You are not a peaceful person, not when it comes to Hangman.

You take the opposite seat, maintaining sharp eye contact with Jake as you sit down. He inhales, and you take satisfaction in the puff of his chest, a telltale sign that he’s beginning to get aggravated. He lowers himself into his own seat, but notices the way your hand darts for the one candle that’s still lit, and he snatches it out of your way before you can snuff it out. It causes the silverware on the table to rattle, and you and Jake are required to send placatingly charming smiles to the people at nearby tables who turned at the commotion.

He turns that once-dazzling grin on you like a weapon as he relights the blackened wick of the candle you’d pinched, letting it burn once more to illuminate his features.

You don’t waste a second in snuffing it out again, “The point was so that I didn’t have to see your ugly face.”

“You are the most charming dinner guest I’ve ever had the pleasure of dining with,” Jake croons, unflappable as ever, “Put your napkin on your lap, Y/N, it’ll keep your dress dry when you’re drooling over me.”

You take ash-stained fingers and leave streaky, dark prints on the white cloth napkin, draping it over your lap and folding your hands neatly over it.

“Careful, Hangman,” You warn, your voice low and your face deceptively cheery as you nod kindly at a passing waiter, “They gave me two different knives to stab you with.”

“God, why are you so pissy?” He asks, and for a moment, you don’t know the answer. It catches you off guard, and that’s never supposed to happen, not around Hangman. He speaks again before you have the chance to respond- typical.

“So, we ended up on the same sex boat. Whatever, Y/L/N, shit happens.” His jaw is tense, fraught with annoyance while his eyes blaze like the jet engines he’s so used to gunning, “I’m just teasing, y’know. You know me, I’m not a monster, I’m not going to force you to have sex with me. If you don’t want to, then we won’t, and that’s that. You don’t have to keep snapping at me, I won’t bite you.”

It’s possibly the most heartfelt, sincere thing that Hangman has ever said to you, albeit in exasperation, and you’re not sure you’re comfortable with that. Your rapport with the man has always been full of quips and jabs, nothing like what he’s just unleashed. You’d known he must have had a soft side, but you thought perhaps he’d left it back in Texas, because this is something new. You see a waiter approaching from behind Jake and smile politely at them, clueing your dinner date in to their appearance.

“Unless you want me to,” Jake adds with an insufferable wink, using the last few seconds that you’re able to speak freely to tease you.

“Welcome,” The waiter smiles, once more with that impeccably tuned customer service politeness as he hands a wine list to Jake, “What can I get started for you this evening?”

As much as you hate to admit it, Jake’s teasing quip is familiar, a well-worn blanket you find comfort shrouding yourself in, and it breaks the awkward tension that had arisen when Hangman had spoken so sincerely towards you.

You don’t dare let a smile grace your features, but one tries; instead you settle for a kick to his shin beneath the elegant white tablecloth.

“We’ll have- mm! The- uh, the…” Jake trails off, eyes roving down the selection and realizing too late that he’s more attuned to cheap liquor in a beachside bar than he is to elegant pairings of food and wine. He recovers quickly, that special brand of Seresin charm, grinning across the table at you, “Actually, we’d like it if you surprised us. Money’s no object,” He throws in a grotesquely over-the-top wink, “Just make it special for my roommate here.”

Your teeth ache as you grind them together in a smile, and you swear you can feel your right eye begging to twitch, “How considerate of you, Jake.”

“Anything for you, dear,” He replies easily, accepting two dinner menus from the waiter and thanking him. You maintain the common courtesy of waiting until the poor man is out of earshot before tearing into Jake, and he’s lucky he’s got both of the menus still in his hands, or you’d smack him upside the head with one.

“I’m not paying out of my ass to get drunk at a candlelight dinner with you.” You hiss, courteous of the other patrons, but barely able to contain yourself.

“No, you’re not.” He agrees, blinking like he’s not sure why you’re close to shouting, “I am.”

“That’s- ooh!” You fume, eyes clamped shut and jaw so tight it hurts. You take a second to breathe, “Hangman, you know damn well I don’t like owing you money.”

You have a very strict no-loans policy, though it only applies to yourself. You have no problem spotting Natasha for a few drinks, or treating Javy to animal fries at In-N-Out, but you’d rather die than let someone use their dollar for your snack at a vending machine. Feeling like you owe something makes your skin crawl, and it’s something your friends have all had to accept. All, of course, except for Hangman, who seems to delight in making your skin crawl.

“You don’t owe me money,” He laughs, taking a sip of the glass of ice water that had been waiting at his place on the table, “And you don’t owe me anything else either, darlin’. I’m paying for the wine.”

“Then I’m not drinking it,” You decide, still caught in your blustering fury, “I’m too tired to deal with your bullshit - you can mill around the ship and beg some poor woman to drink with you, and I’ll go back to our cabin and sleep.”

You wish that the man across from you wasn’t so adept at setting your nerves on fire. You chalk it up to years and years of flying together, at each other’s throats despite being on the same team, but Jake really is able to infuriate you with something as simple as a grin. The way that hollow manipulation glazes over his eyes each time he doles out a charming smile makes your chest burn, and you wish you could get a handle on your frustration. It’s embarrassing, really, that he knows how to pick you apart and induce insanity; you wish you improved at resisting him through practice, but that’s not how it works. It only gets worse, worse and worse and worse until you’re sitting across from him at a candlelit table, yearning to whack him over the head with a black-foldered menu.

“Fine,” Jake snorts, setting the glass down in the wet indent it had made on the tablecloth before, condensation beading at its base, “You don’t have to have any. But you have to take me back to our room - if I get wine drunk, you’ll have to stop me from kissing everyone.”

The startling admission does exactly what Jake intended it to, and you’re caught off guard, the rapidly ticking bomb of frustration inside your chest temporarily disarmed.

“You’re a drunk kisser?”

“A winedrunk kisser, yes ma’am,” Jake nods, the ammunition he supplies you with a far cry from his typically competitive nature, “First and only time I’ve ever had wine was at my sister’s wedding a few years back.” He reminisces, still holding tight to both menus as candlelight flickers on his tanned face, “She wasn’t necessarily thrilled that I started kissin’ on the groom, but I looked good in the veil when the photographer came around.”

He’s good-natured about the snort you let out in response, and finally he offers the menu to you like an olive branch, “You gonna whack me with this thing?”

“How’d you know I wanted to?” You arch an eyebrow, taking the menu from him. Prices aren’t listed - the cost of your meals was included with the boarding pass, but extras like drinks are something you’ll need to pay a tab on later. Nevertheless, the food looks to be worth your money.

“You get this look in your eye when you’re feelin’ feisty,” Jake notes, taking a look at his own menu, “Your jaw gets all tight, and I start gettin’ the urge to cover my crotch.”

Today was not the first time you’ve ever whacked him in the balls; evidently he does learn, even if he chooses not to apply that knowledge.

You neglect to respond, no longer irritated enough to tell Jake that he’s deserved every hit he’s taken from you, but never vulnerable enough to apologize. Instead you bury yourself in the menu, appreciating the array of cuisine that you’re not often treated to on a naval base.

Jake lets you remain silent until the waiter comes back with the wine that he’d ordered, and you nod in thanks with a poorly-concealed clenched jaw to the man when he pours you a glass.

“That looks wonderful, thank you,” Jake gushes, eyes slightly narrowed as he raises his glass to his nose, inhaling the aroma wafting from the wine that he swirls gently, “Smell that, darlin’, ain’t it good?”

You reach for your portion with tense fingers that nearly shatter the stem of the glass as they wrap around it. The scent of the wine is oh-so-tempting; surely Jake’s objective for getting you to smell it was to wear you down into tasting it.

You won’t give in.

“Smells fantastic,” You concede, and if the waiter’s realized he’s in the lion’s den, pinned between two aggressors ready to rip into each other’s throats once more, he doesn’t show it. He merely bows, stepping away again and leaving the bottle on your table.

“That’s good,” Jake muses nonchalantly after a sip, glancing down at the menu in his lap as if you’ll believe he’s perusing it instead of plotting a way to make you explode at the table.

“Well I’m glad you like it, because you’ve got a whole bottle to finish,” You snipe, “I’m not a toddler, Jake, you can’t trick me into eating my broccoli by pretending it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

“Who said anything about tricking you?” He leans back in his chair, wine set back on the table, “Y/N, I can enjoy a nice glass of wine without it being about you, thank you very much. Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around you, and you’re not the only thing I think about.”

You’re more than used to Jake’s accusations of your egocentrism, not because it’s true, but because it’s what he defaults to whenever he can’t think of a response, but is too stubborn to let the issue go. They don’t worry you anymore like they used to, but they do irritate you, and you’re glad for the deep, smooth voice that calls your name from your left to distract you from Jake’s insults.

You know it before you turn; Daniel is there with his roommate. She’s gorgeous, her dark hair intricately braided and styled, a compliment to her skin that’s only a shade lighter, and you’re only slightly jealous of the way his arm is draped around her middle. You quell it by reminding yourself that you’d frenched him in an elevator only hours after meeting him, and this is a cruise meant for casual sex.

Perhaps your voice is a notch too sincere when you greet him, “Daniel.”

You miss it, your attention fixed on the couple approaching your table, but a muscle jumps in Jake’s jaw as it tightens.

“Well, I guess you’re all some people think about,” Jake drawls, his grin now wolfish and lethal, and while your voice was slightly too kind, his voice is slightly the opposite, scathing in a way, “So you’re- uh, Elevator Boy?”

Daniel’s slight smirk is bashful where he bites the inside of his cheek and nods, “I guess that’s accurate. I- uh, I hope you don’t mind.”

“He doesn’t,” You reply before Jake can conjure up any more misplaced snark, “We’re not hooking up.”

Daniel’s brows furrow for only a split second, a confused reaction he hadn’t been able to politely mask in time. His roommate glances back at Jake, and the knit of her brow is less fleeting; clearly she’s thinking you’re out of your mind for not fucking him.

“Random roommates don’t always work out, I guess,” Daniel smooths over the awkward silence that’s befallen your table, and you want to kiss him for it. Well, you want to kiss him regardless, but now you’re positively fiending for a repeat of earlier.

“He’s my coworker,” You explain, “We really can’t.”

“Oh!” He laughs, and his roommate seems equally amused by your poor fortune, “That’s crazy, and- there’s no changing roommates, is there?”

“She’s stuck with me,” Jake continues aiming that deadly grin towards Daniel, and you’re surprised he hasn’t caught on fire yet.

“Well, if you ever want to switch for a night,” Daniel squeezes his roommate’s side, his fingers ghosting over her exposed skin in the cutout dress she’s sporting, “I’m not an idiot; Danica’s ogling you.”

You marvel at the friendly banter they share after only a few hours of knowing each other, but Daniel seems fantastic to get along with. Danica laughs at his teasing and manages to look barely bashful when she nods at you, “I wasn’t gonna say anything when I thought you two were enjoying yourselves, but I’d be happy to step in if you wanna get lucky for a night.”

“That sounds great,” You jump at the offer, but Jake speaks at the same time, voice a hair louder than your own.

“We’re not interested.” He dismisses Danica’s offer but he looks at Daniel to do it, something dangerous gleaming in his eyes that you’re only used to seeing on the tarmac.

A laugh escapes your throat, horridly disguised as something casual and not your breaking point, “Oh, we aren’t interested? I am.”

Jake blinks, shifting his sharp gaze towards you, “No switching rooms, Y/N.”

“That’s for official placements,” You sit up straighter in your chair, turned fully towards Jake now instead of angled towards Daniel, “But they’re not gonna come check on us at two in the morning to make sure we’re all in our bunks. We can swap for a night.”

“I don’t know why you’re fighting so hard for a night in his bed, the elevator seemed to work just fine. Maybe Danica and I can have a few drinks tonight, and you can slip off and defile floors 1-4.”

“That’s not-” You’re hot on Jake’s trail, intent on defending Daniel and pointing out the hypocrisy in Jake’s scathing statements, but a firm hand falls on your shoulder that silences you. Daniel’s grip is firm, but not painful, more grounding as his touch practically sucks the fire out of your veins and replaces it with calm.

“I think drinks after dinner are a great idea.” Daniel speaks coolly, with all the perfect composure you wish you had around Jake, instead of the barrel of gunfire perpetually smoldering inside of you.

“Me too,” You add, and one of Jake’s eyebrows ticks up.

“Really? I thought you said you were going to bed after this. Something about being too tired to deal with-”

“Your bullshit, Hangman.”

What you engage in next would preferably be described as a battle of wills, but to the outside eye, might look like a staring contest. It’s your vicious glare against Jake’s lazy grin, eyes alight with mischief as he does what he does best - piss you off.

“We’ll plan on drinks, then,” Danica breaks the ice, and you’re grateful for the tones of her sweet voice, “There’s a bar on the ninth deck, do you want to meet there?”

“That sounds great,” You hope she takes your kind smile for what it is; gratitude, “We’ll head there when we’re finished with our food.”

“Right,” Daniel nods, squeezing your shoulder and letting go, taking Danica by the waist once more to lead her to the table their water had pointed at, “See you then.”

Whatever farewell you murmur is lost in the general hubbub of the restaurant, something that you wish would happen to the grating tone of Jake’s drawl.

“So,” He muses, playing coy, but you won’t have it, “You’re not tired anymore?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” You steel yourself, inhaling and letting your chest puff with the breath, “But whatever you’re doing here; trying to ruin this for me just for shits and giggles - it’s gotta stop. I’ll leave you alone, and you can fuck as many people as you want on this ship, okay? You can have what you came here for, a week-long hookup, and all I’m asking in return is for one chance. I just want one. fucking. chance. to enjoy myself. Okay?”

His eyes cloud over throughout the duration of your speech, and it’s a look you’ve never seen on him before. It’s unsettling, like something’s dimming his spirit, though you can’t tell what. You’ve quipped back at him before, practically every time he’s ever teased you. But perhaps he’s just as unsettled with your newfound sincerity as you were with his, because his face settles into a hesitant expression. You press on.

“You told me earlier that you’re just teasing me, and that you’re not a monster. If that’s true, then leave me alone.”

He looks wounded only by a slight twitch of his eye; perhaps the prospect of being around you and not lunging teeth-bared at your throat is too much to bear. But he nods, slow and rickety like the joints in his neck protest the movement, “Fine. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thank you.” You respond stiffly, glad for the menu in your lap as it provides an easy out for you; you’re not sure if you can stand looking him in the eyes. You’re afraid you’ll see disappointment there, perhaps real dislike, and you don’t want to find out that the only reason he speaks to you is to mess around with you. You’re content in feeling like you’re friends as well, and if he gives himself away now that you’ve asked him to ease up on the teasing, you’re not sure you’ll enjoy yourself at all on this vacation, no matter how much cheap, distracting sex you have. The truth of the matter is that you value the blossom of his friendship no matter how thorny it can be, and you’re not sure if he’s capable of playing nice without an occasional bite.

You’re sure things will go back to normal on the weathered tarmac, but until then, bobbing along on ocean waves, you want Jake Seresin to be your friend, not your frenemy. If he’s incapable, you want no part of him.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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aemondsbabe · 11 months

Text

Taunt

obviously, i feel very normal and chill about ewan's new performance in saltburn. anyways lmao this is my version of michael gavey from the vibes i got from him in the 5 seconds he's in the trailer! i have no idea if this is accurate to how he is truly portrayed in the movie! if the movie comes out and i'm totally wrong, then i don't care bc i got to have fun writing about a cheeky lil oxford student!!

summary: you're nearly failing statistics and the student your professor asks to tutor you seems to gain a sick satisfaction from seeing you squirm; he hates you...or so think.

pairing: michael gavey x reader

warnings: mature, 18+ (minors, do not enter!!!) no use of Y/N, afab reader, profanity, smut, piv smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub, brief daddy kink (literally one mention), dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation (only a bit), size kink if you squint, mild angst but happy ending, choking i guess (barely), public sex (they're alone but like it's still public lmao), brief discussions of math -- please let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 10.5k (dear lord)

a/n: baby's first fic omg! if you enjoy this one and want to see more from me, please feel free to send in requests! (GoT, HoTD, Stranger Things, Marvel, etc!)

PRAISE | Taunt Part 2

MAKING AMENDS | Bonus

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!🌟

“Right, so,” Professor Davies began, pulling a thick textbook off the shelf next to his desk, “Since we’ve only just returned from Easter holiday, I thought I’d go easy on you today.”

A few quiet groans could be heard around the room, a couple students turning to look at one another with grimaces; in the few weeks you’ve been in Professor Davies’s class, he’s never once gone easy on you. With a small sigh, you shuffle through your spiral notebook until you come to a blank page.

“D’you think you’ll go to the party this weekend?” Louise whispers, leaning over closer to you as she twirls a pen around in her fingers, “I heard this one is supposed to be fucking insane.”

“Like any of Felix’s parties aren’t insane?” You whisper back, smirking as you doodle a small flower on the corner of a page of paper, “Of course I’ll be there,” you murmur, watching as Professor Davies writes an intricate formula on the chalkboard, “I could really use a break, anyway…I’ve been so stressed recently.”

“Christ…” A boy, in the row of desks in front of you scoffs, just barely shaking his head as he copies down the formula, his handwriting sharp and choppy. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes, staring intently at his sandy hair. You didn’t really know him, this being your only class with him, but you’d seen him around campus, regularly passing by him in the halls. Oxford may be a large university, but when you’re on campus everyday, you begin recognizing familiar faces.

He didn’t run in the same crowds as you at all, and you got the distinct impression that he looked down on you and the rest of your friends, but you knew his name – Michael and that he was incredibly smart, his hand promptly shooting into the air anytime Professor Davies asked a question. In the few weeks you’d been in the same statistics class, you had yet to see him get a question wrong, watching as he grinned, cocky, everytime he was praised for correctly solving even the most intricate of formulas.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more the opposite, always shying away and praying not to hear Professor Davies call your name in his deep, baritone voice every time his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a volunteer, or victim, more like. While Michael clearly enjoyed the class, practically glowing with an arrogant confidence as soon as he walked into the wood paneled lecture hall, you were simply here to check it off as a requirement of your major, hoping to survive the class with a C and nothing more.

It was annoying, you wouldn’t deny that, the way that smug smirk seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, how that stupid taunting glimmer was an ever-present fixture of his blue eyes — blue eyes which, seemingly, always managed to find their way to you, one way or another.

His attention was intimidating at first, his cold stare leaving you unsure of what exactly his intention was. Was he trying to challenge you? Trying to determine if he knew you from somewhere else? A small part of you, a naive part, hoped that his staring was meant to be affectionate; he was cute, you’d admit it! Always showing up to class in cozy knit sweaters, his wavy hair still ruffled and untidy as if he’d just gotten out of bed, gold rimmed glasses perched atop a strong nose.

You quickly tear your gaze away from the back of Michael’s head, biting your bottom lip as you begin copying down the problem on the chalkboard, pausing briefly when you see, from the corner of your eye, his head turn as he glances at you over his shoulder. You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, that small, sanguine voice in the back of your head cheering.

“Now, then,” Professor Davies booms, dropping the textbook down on his desk with a cacophonous thud before sweeping his eyes across the classroom, “A bit of review before we really dive in…” He continues, pacing around the front of the room as he explains the various parts and pieces of the equation on the board.

“What do you think you’ll wear?” Louise asks, leaning over once more to whisper in your ear, you can smell her signature floral perfume on her hair, “I was thinking I’d do that new blue-ish dress I got, you know, the strappy one?”

“Might still be too cold for strappy,” you whisper back, half listening to the professor drone on as you continue doodling on your paper, pausing every few minutes to jot down a few haphazard notes, “I was just thinking I’d do a jumper, probably a skirt and tights–”

Suddenly, you hear Professor Davies call your name, your cheeks practically stinging as blood rushes to your face. Sitting up straighter, you finally find the courage to meet his stern gaze, “Since you seem all too eager to share your thoughts,” He continues slowly stalking towards you across wooden floorboards that softly creak beneath his feet, “Would you care to enlighten us with the solution to the quadratic equation on the board?” He comes to a stop, hands clasped behind his back as he patiently waits for you to answer, a small, knowing smile poised on his lips.

“I– uhm, well,” you stutter, glancing back and forth between your barely there notes and the chalkboard, throat growing tighter as you feel everyone's eyes on you, “Don’t you need to solve for G first?”

“And how would you go about doing that?”

“Well, you would…” You trail off, desperately trying to remember the lessons you’d had before Easter holiday, absentmindedly picking at your cuticle as you pray to be anywhere but here or for a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole, “I…I don’t recall, professor. I’m sorry.” You finally say, not being able to meet his gaze as you stare intently at your lap, desperately willing yourself not to cry, even as you feel your eyes stinging.

“Perhaps, in the future, it would be of benefit to socialize with your friends outside of my classroom.” Professor Davies admonishes, giving a sharp glare to Louise as well, who manages an apologetic smile. “Yes, Professor.” You whisper, keeping your eyes downturned.

Finally, you hear the floorboards softly creaking once more as Professor Davies makes his way back up to the podium at the front of the room and once again resumes his lecture. You can’t help but pause for a second when you hear a small snicker from the tall boy in front of you, sensing as he peers at you over his shoulder once again.

“Would anyone else like to take a crack at the problem on the board?” Professor Davies asks, leaning against the old, worn podium at the front of the room. Like clockwork, Michael’s hand shoots into the air. Somehow, that makes you blush even harder.

Eventually, Professor Davies finishes his lecture and retrieves his dark leather briefcase from under the desk, pulling a thick stack of papers out and sitting them on the podium, leaning over it with a sigh, “I have your tests graded. Most of you did very well, you should be pleased with yourselves. Some of you, however,” He says pointedly, “Could benefit greatly from a closer study of the material.”

Slowly, he walks around the room passing back tests, throwing out a comment here and there as he did so. You already know you hadn't done well on that particular test and dread getting it back and confirming your suspicions, so you keep yourself busy, choosing to meticulously pack up your things instead.

“Mr. Gavey,” he said a few feet away from you, papers rustling as he slid the test across the wooden surface of the long bench desks, “Once more, an outstanding job! Top of the class, keep it up.”

“Thank you, Professor,” you glance up, watching as he takes the paper with a humble nod, that same, oh-so pleased smile gracing his angular face. He must sense you looking at him and quickly shifts his gaze in your direction, eyes glimmering with self-satisfaction behind his gold-rimmed glasses as his smile quickly turns into a smirk. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his with a small, bewildered huff. Why did he seem to get so much satisfaction from besting you, of all people? It’s not like you were exactly an academic threat.

“Ms. Bickerstaff,” Professor Davies says, finally appearing next to the table you and Louise sat at, “Not bad, a bit more effort next time and you’re sure to be on track,” he remarks, sliding her paper across the desk. Louise thanks him with a small smile as she flips through her test, eyes scanning over his marks.

Finally, Professor Davies stands before you once again, your paper the very last in his hands. You hear him mutter your last name before he slides the paper across the desk to you, and you can’t help but deflate as you see your grade; you knew it would be bad, but that? How on Earth were you going to recover your average? What if you had to retake the whole course? What if you failed out of Oxford entirely? Your parents had sacrificed so much to help you get here, spending years and untold amounts of money on private tutors and extracurricular materials, all to help you have an impressive application! Not to mention the money just for the course fees! Unlike most of your friends, you didn’t come from piles and piles of money and status – your family was alright, sure, but you were definitely several tax brackets below them.

As your thoughts spiraled, you felt Louise elbow you in the side at the same time you heard Professor Davies address you again. Shaking your head to clear your scattered thoughts, you clear your throat and finally turn to look up at him, “Sorry, yes, Professor?”

“As I was saying,” Professor Davies continues, tapping the papers in front of you, “I would like to discuss your performance with you today, after class. Please meet me at the front of the room before you go.”

“Yes, sir.” you mumble dejectedly, nodding as you quickly flip the test over, embarrassed at the thought of anyone else seeing your grade.

“I’ll see you later, babes,” Louise says a few minutes later as everyone is clearing out of the room, “Good luck!” She whispers, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making her way to the door.

“Thanks!” you smile weakly, swallowing the lump in your throat before picking up your things and heading to the front of the room. The afternoon sun is already getting lower in the sky, beams of light shining into the room, bathing rectangular swaths of the floor in bright, golden light and highlighting motes of dust as they scatter in the air. Only a few students are left in the classroom, some of them finishing up notes while others type out quick texts. As you walk by his desk, you notice Michael scribbling down notes in his planner.

You shuffle your feet nervously as you stand in front of the sizable oak desk that your professor sits at, watching as he adds a sticky note to the top of another stack of papers, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Ah, yes!” He says, looking up at you over his glasses. He quickly caps his pen and stands, walking around the desk to stand in front of you, “I know this class has been quite the challenge,” he begins, leaning against the desk, “But, I think I’ve found a solution for you.”

“You have?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion.

“I think you could benefit greatly from a tutor, perhaps a peer who could explain the material to you in a different way,” he continues, “And I have just the student in mind.” Instantly, you feel a pit beginning to form in your stomach, biting your bottom lip as you watch Professor Davies motion for someone behind you to come up to the desk, “Mr. Gavey, if you could join us up here, please.”

You freeze when you feel him saunter up beside you, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye. He was so much taller than you, your head barely grazing his shoulder, as he came to a stop next to you, standing casually with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

Professor Davies once again turns his attention to you, motioning to Michael as he speaks, “Mr. Gavey here is one of my most capable students,” you can’t help but notice him stand up straighter at the comment, growing somehow even taller, “I’ve taken the liberty of asking him if he would be so kind as to assist you with some of the course work and he agreed.” You freeze a little at that, stunned that he would be so quick to help you when he seems to relish any opportunity to make you squirm. “I’ve given it some thought,” the professor continues, fixing you with a stern gaze, “And I’m willing to let you make corrections to your test and resubmit it for half credit.”

“Oh, thank you so much, prof–”

“However,” he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, “This will be the only time I do so. From now on, I suggest you see Mr. Gavey here on a regular basis; the material is only going to get more challenging as we begin this next unit.”

“Of course, professor. Thank you again.” You respond quietly, shifting uneasily as you stand between the two men.

“Right, well, now that’s sorted,” Professor Davies says, clapping his hands together once as he turns and makes his way back over to the desk chair, sitting down with a tired sigh, “I trust the two of you can come to an agreement upon when and where to meet. I’ll see you again Monday, have a pleasant weekend.” He says, waving his hand dismissively as he goes back to organizing his papers.

The two of you murmur your goodbyes before making your way into the hall, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as he follows you out of the classroom. Eventually, you come across a small alcove in the hallway; finally turning to face him, you let your eyes sweep up his body, finally coming to meet his blue eyes, slightly hidden behind the glare of the hallway lights on his glasses.

“So,” you clear your throat and shift on your feet awkwardly, “Uh, what time works for you? I really can’t do Saturdays–” you begin, only to be cut off.

“Shame,” Michael sighs dismissively, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, “Saturday is the only day that works for me.”

The tone of his voice and the mirthful glint in his eyes makes you very much doubt that, your gaze narrowing, “Okay, well Saturday’s are the only day I have off,” you huff, only growing more annoyed as the stupid smirk on his face grows with satisfaction, no doubt pleased that he’s being a nuisance, “Besides, I super can’t tomorrow, anyway. I already promised my friends I’d come with them to this party tha–”

“Oh, I know about your little party,” Michael scoffs, “Trust me, love, the whole damn class heard about that stupid fucking party with the way you lot were running your mouths earlier,” he chuckles coldly, continuing in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, one hand coming up to mime twirling a lock of hair, “Oooooh, it’s so cold, can’t wear the fuckin’ strappy dress, gotta wear me jumper and little slutty skirt, la-dee-dah.” He finishes with a final huff of laughter.

“What is your deal with me?!” You finally snap, glaring at him, even as you feel your face redden, “You’ve been a dick all semester and I haven’t done anything to you! I’ve never even talked to you!” Glancing around the empty hallway, you cross your arms over your chest, praying no one’s in earshot to hear your hissed tirade.

“I might not know you but I know plenty about your little friends,” he sneers, shaking his head like a disappointed father; the sight makes your blood boil.

“What does that even mean?” You demand, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did your friends have to do with any of this? None of them ever spoke about Michael, none of them even knew him as far as you were aware.

His face softens, if only for a moment, as he registers the genuine confusion on your face, smirk faltering as his eyes narrow. He leans in closer to you as he begins speaking again and you can’t help but get a brief smell of the cologne he wears, something warm and woodsy that makes you think of a bookshop and the smell of the forest after it rains, “Come on,” he starts, blue eyes flitting between both of yours as he looks at you intently, “Felix Catton? You and your little friend, the one from class, you go around with him, yeah?”

You nod, giving him another puzzled look, confused as to what the hell Felix has to do with any of his disdain, “Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, “But, what does he have to do with anything?”

Michael huffs once more, almost laughing to himself as he shakes his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “See, we went to school together, him and I – some of primary, all of secondary,” he shrugs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he traps you in his gaze once again, “And I just don’t fucking like the guy. Can’t stand him, never could’ve.”

You’re silent for a second, and now it’s your turn to flick your eyes back and forth, searching each of his for some sort of coherent answer and yet you come up empty. “But, what does that have to do with me?” You ask slowly, making sure to carefully enunciate each word.

“Don’t trust the people around him either,” he mutters, gazing down at his shoe, “Weirdos, the whole lot. There’s something…off about the guy. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something dark there, all around him. Like he’s putting on one big show. All his little gremlins do too, they all act the same.”

The two of you are silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say next. You chance a glance up at him, nearly gasping when you find him already gazing at you – an unreadable expression on his face. Yet a light blush still blooms on your cheeks as you quickly look away once again, your heart thudding so loudly you’re wondering if he can hear it – hell, you’re wondering why you’re reacting this way at all, why you’re so shy and skittish around him.

“M’not like that,” you very nearly whisper, finally seeming to regain your voice. Only to lose it once again when he takes a half step toward you, suddenly crowding you further into the small alcove.

He makes a small noise, damn near cooing at you, tilting his head to the side when he notices you flinch as he raises an arm, gently raising your chin with one hand, angling your head up to meet his gaze, that signature smirk once again taking hold on his face as he looks at you curiously, “You’re not like that, are you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy.

You quickly shake your head, blinking up at him, unsure of what exactly he wants from you. You feel your cheeks stinging for the umpteenth time today with how hard you’re blushing, a strange feeling taking root in your stomach the longer you stare at him, that small voice in your head positively cheering.

But, as quickly as whatever spell he seems to have on you takes hold, it’s broken as he suddenly lets go of your chin and steps back, casually pursing his lips and nodding to himself, coming to some unknown decision in his head, “Meet me in Bodleian, tomorrow at five. There’s hardly anyone up on the third floor on the weekends, so we'll be able to focus.” He says simply, turning on his heel to leave without even giving you a second to answer.

“But I’m bus–”

“D’you want a good grade or do you want to go get drunk with your creepy gremlin friends?” He asks, peering over his shoulder as he saunters down the hallway, raising an eyebrow at you over the shiny gold rim of his glasses, “S’your call, love.” He finishes with a shrug, disappearing as he turns a corner and leaves you standing there alone, frowning and dumbstruck.

“Bodleian at five it is,” you mutter to yourself, sighing as you turn and walk the opposite way, desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the fog in your brain.

Your shoes tap against the stone pavement as you walk up to the old library, backpack slung over one shoulder; reaching into a pocket of your backpack, you blindly grab for your phone as you pull open one of the heavy, old wooden doors and step into the atrium. Out of all of Oxford’s libraries, you had to admit that Bodleian was one of your favorites; it had such a soothing atmosphere – from the way the evening light trickled in through the old glass windows, to the intricate wooden decor, and the way the entire place smelled of the old, well-loved books that lined the countless rows of shelves.

Stepping to the side of the entryway, you check the time, your hand shaking a bit as you unlock your phone – 4:53pm, a little early, still. Sighing, you crane your head, nervously looking for Michael. Not seeing him, you decide to bide your time examining one of the tall bookshelves near the entrance, eyes skimming over their titles as you fiddle with the strings of the hoodie you’d decided to wear. Smiling, you lean up on your tiptoes to grab a copy of The Two Towers, happy to see a familiar book. Just as your fingers graze over the embossed gold lettering on the spine of the book, a large pair of hands grab you by the shoulders.

“Boo!” Someone whispers, close enough that you feel the warmth of their breath on the side of your neck.

You spin around with a small shriek, jerking your head to the side when a hand is suddenly clasped over your mouth.

“Shh! Hey, relax!” Finally managing to focus on the face in front of you, your breathing slows as your gaze meets a pair of round blue eyes. Michael’s face is only inches from yours, concern evident, even behind the mask of a smirk he wears. “It’s only me.” He says softly, smirk softening into a genuine smile that sends a frantic tingle down your spine, which you desperately try to ignore as you nod against his hand, gasping in a small breath as it lowers once again to rest on your shoulder.

“Hi.” Blinking up at him, you breathe the word more so than say it as you settle back on your feet, cheeks flushing as you realize he has his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward ever so slightly, like he wanted to make sure your head didn’t hit the sharp edge of one of the shelves; the voice in your head purrs as the butterflies in your stomach summersalt.

“Hi.” He answers and you feel the hand on your shoulder twitch, the ghost of a comforting squeeze or rub causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end as some strange, warm weight settles in the pit of your stomach.

Suddenly, whatever spell the two of you seemed to be under broke and you quickly clambered away from one another. Michael cleared his throat, running a hand through his wheat colored hair as you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, trying to look anywhere but in his direction. “Should we–” He starts suddenly, nodding his head to a staircase at the other end of the room, “It’ll be quieter up there.”

“Sure!” You chirp, giving him a curt nod, “Lead the way, you seem to know the place better than I do.”

“Well,” he chuckles, keeping his voice low as he moves past you, “S’what happens when you don’t spend all your damn time at weirdo parties.”

You roll your eyes behind him, huffing as you start following him up the staircase, one of your hands gliding across the smooth, polished wood of the bannister.

“Sorry.” He says suddenly as you reach the third floor of the library, running a hand through his hair once again as he stands at the top of the staircase.

“What?” You ask, coming to a stop on the last step and looking up at him, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the handrail.

“For earlier,” he explains, gesturing for you to follow him as he starts making his way to the back corner of the large, open space, the one furthest from the stairs, “Scaring you, I mean. Didn’t mean to.”

You’re quiet for a moment, following him as the two of you walk past aisle after aisle of towering bookshelves. The area is definitely quieter than the main floor, nearly vacant aside from one or two lone students sitting at the long wooden study tables. It’s calm up here, evening light filtering in through large windows on either end of the long room, casting large shadows on the floor and vaulted ceilings.

Eventually, the two of you come to a stop at a table, the very last in its row, tucked away in a corner. “It’s alright,” you shrug, trying to keep your voice soft in the quiet space as you sit your backpack on the edge of the table, “I don’t know why I’m so jumpy today, maybe the tea from earlier.” You lie, hopefully smoothly, and quickly grab a pen and notebook as well, before sitting down.

Michael huffs to himself as he sits his things out on the table as well, like he’s laughing at a joke you can’t hear, “Maybe it’s all that tension.”

“Wh– tension?” You question, cringing at the urgency in your voice as you pray that he doesn’t pick up on it, shifting in your seat as he pulls out the chair next to you and plops down, completely relaxed as if he owns the place.

“The stress? That you were meant to be working out at Catton’s?” He gives you an odd look, resting his head against his hand as he leans his elbow on the table, “Couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation yesterday.”

“Oh…” You breathe, a pink haze settling over your cheeks once more as you fidget with your pen, acutely aware of how easily he seems to be able to make you blush.

The smirk on his face widens as he narrows his eyes, studying you in a way that makes your heart squeeze, your thighs clenching together as that heady weight from earlier makes itself known again in your stomach, “You can’t keep one thought in that head, can you, love?”

You blink, unsure of what to say, as two halves of your brain argue with one another. Why is he so mean? You wonder to yourself, eyes searching his, as you frown, And…God, why do I like it?

“Why don’t you like me?” You ask, finally breaking the silence with your small voice.

He scoffs again, shaking his head as if the answer should be obvious to you, “You don’t take it seriously. You come to class and whisper and gossip with your damn friend or doodle in your little notebook, but you don’t fucking listen.” He sits back up, frowning, “I work hard every fucking day in there, for fuck’s sake, I only agreed to help you because I want to be Davies’s teaching assistant next year! Yet you and Catton and everyone like you can just pay their way in here, collecting a little diploma from Oxford just so their parents can brag about it with their stupid fucking rich friends.” He finally finishes, turning his head to stare out the window.

“Told you, I’m not like that,” you whisper after a moment, voice wavering from the tightness in the back of your throat, “I’m here on scholarship, same as you.”

His eyes flit back to you, his frown deepening, “How did you know ab–”

“Like I’m not going to ask around about the guy tutoring me?”

“Fair enough.” He concedes after a minute.

Silence settles over the two of you again, like a stalemate, waiting to see who would crack first. Finally, you turn to him with a sigh, nodding to your test paper on the desk, “Can we just get this done? I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”

“Ah, of course,” he nods as he picks up your test, looking over the first incorrect problem, “Catton’s big important party. And you’re stuck here with a loser like me; must really be doing your head in, huh?”

You want so badly to correct him, to tell him that no, actually, for once, you were kind of excited to not be at one of Felix’s parties. You wanted to tell him that you’d hoped things would be different, maybe if it was just the two of you he would drop the arrogant asshole bit, that you stupidly hoped it was just an act.

Instead, you bite your lip, determined not to lash out and give him another reason to dislike you, “I don’t think you’re a loser, Michael,” you say, tiredly meeting his gaze, “Can we just focus on this now, please?”

He’s quiet for a moment, frozen like you’d said something groundbreaking. Finally, he nods his head, almost imperceptibly like he’d come to a decision you weren’t privy to, “Sure,” he says gruffly, grabbing your test and reading over the first incorrect problem, “S’not like I’m the one failing.” He finishes, his voice tight and determined, like he knew it was something he’d regret saying even as the words left his mouth.

See? You think silently, pointed words aimed at that stupid voice in your head, Told you so.

It’s barely an hour later and you already feel cross-eyed, groaning as Michael flips your test over to the next page and you see you’re only just now halfway done correcting the ones you’d gotten wrong. You hate to admit it to yourself, but his tutoring was helping — problems that you’d hardly been able to finish the first time seem far less daunting as he explains them to you. Even he seems less daunting as the hour goes on; shockingly, he doesn’t make anymore snide comments and you can tell that he genuinely enjoys talking about the subject, patiently helping you through each problem.

“Can we take a break?” You grumble, laying your head down on top of your textbook.

“What?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he checks his watch, “It’s hardly been an hour and you’re ready to give up?”

“‘M not giving up,” you mumble, “I just think we could use a little break…” You say hopefully, looking at him with a small smile. When he doesn’t break, holding your gaze with a frown, you sigh, “Just, like, ten minutes, please?”

You want to groan again when you see that formidable smirk make its home on his lips again, “Say please again.” He commands, his voice low.

“Huh?” You balk, nearly dropping your phone as you retrieve it from your pocket.

“Say please again,” he says slowly, his smirk only growing wider as he watches your cheeks redden, “Beg.”

“W-why?” You question, face burning as you try your damndest to look unbothered by his request.

He shrugs dismissively, “Makes you squirm,” he answers finally, leaning back in his chair, “I like that.”

“Why?” Your voice is so small you doubt he’d even know you spoke if his eyes weren’t fixed on you.

He hums, a satisfied noise, like you’ve finally managed to meander into a trap he’d set ages ago, “S’fucking cute,” he huffs out a laugh when he sees your eyes widen, “Makes you blush and act all dumb.”

You know you should be offended, but you can’t find it within yourself to care, “You think I’m cute?”

He chuckles, sighing, “That’s what you choose to focus on?”

“Do you?”

“Fine, yes.”

“Please, Michael,” you say suddenly, the words feeling practically punched from your throat, “Please, please can we have a break? Please, only ten minutes?” You beg, breathing hard as you quickly scan the room, shoulders relaxing when you don’t see anyone else sitting at the study tables.

You see the way his eyes widen behind his glasses, like he can’t believe you actually did it, before they narrow once more, overtaken by a satisfied gleam, “Ten minutes.” He says simply, leaning back in his chair yet again, letting his head flop back, relaxed, and closes his eyes.

You don’t move for a second, letting your eyes study the side of his face, looking over his sharp jawline and the curve of his nose. After a moment, you look away, deciding to pull out your phone.

A few minutes go by as you answer a few texts from Louise, telling her that you miss her too and how you wish you were at the party — a lie, though you can’t find it within yourself to care. You busy yourself for a while longer, watching a few people's Instagram stories, the volume on your phone muted as you watch your friends dance under colorful strobe lights, blowing smoke at the camera and clinking drinks together.

“I meant what I said.” You say finally, laying your phone on the table and picking at one of your cuticles.

“Hm?” Michael questions, not bothering to open his eyes.

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you answer, fidgeting, “I never have. I think you’re…intriguing.”

“Intriguing?” He asks, finally sitting up and looking at you with a questioning stare, “How so?”

You swallow, tucking your hair behind your ear with a shrug, “You’re smart…you know you’re smart,” you start, voice small and shaky, “I like that.”

“You like that or you like me?” He’s looking at you like a cat playing with a helpless mouse, looking at you like he knows he’s already won a game you don’t even know the two of you are playing.

“You.” It comes out as a breath.

He doesn’t answer and eventually you look away from him, choosing to stare out the window at the streetlights outside, the sky dark.

Finally, the silence becomes overbearing and you break first again, “Thank you,” you smile at him, keeping your voice low even though you know the rest of the floor is vacant, even though the noise of the floors below has drastically faded over the last hour, “For helping me, I mean. You probably have a dozen things you’d rather do on a Saturday.”

He stays quiet for a few seconds, “I didn’t really have anything better to do,” he smirks, “No parties.”

“None?”

“Never,” he shakes his head, shrugging, “Don’t get invited.”

“Oh,” you answer simply, “Well, still, either way, thank you.” You smile again, but it falters when he leans forward suddenly, crowding into your space with a sly grin, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck.

“I know a way you could repay me, love,” he whispers lowly into your ear, your hair standing on end, “Only if you want to, of course.” He adds, his long fingers toying with a strand of your hair.

Your eyes grow comically wide as you process what he just said, “H-how do you want me to repay you?” You whisper, your eyes finally meeting his.

He laughs softly, letting go of the strand of your hair to rest his hand lightly against the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheek as he watches a rosy hue settle across it, “I can think,” he starts, thumb moving lower to skate across your bottom lip, slightly tugging the skin with it, “Of one very fucking good way to put this mouth to use, love.”

You part your lips slightly, letting the tip of his thumb into your mouth, just barely holding it between your teeth as you lightly run your tongue over it, heart skipping a beat at the way his lips just barely part in shock as you do. The voice in your head purrs again, roaring back to life, and you nod, smiling around his finger.

“Yeah?” He questions, smirking as he watches your lips twitch around his thumb, “”Y’wanna?”

“Yes.” You reply around his thumb, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearm, the fabric of his rust colored sweater soft under your hands.

“Beg.” He commands again, eyes twinkling.

You take in a breath, eyes slipping shut as your thighs clench around nothing – missing the way Michael glances down at the movement, a knowing grin forming on his face, “Please, Michael.” You practically whine.

“Ooh,” he coos, finally moving his thumb from your mouth, only to trail his hand down your neck, lightly resting it against your throat, “I think you can do better than that, pretty. Open your eyes and damn beg.”

You follow his orders, a small whimper skirting past your lips at the new pet name as you open your eyes, “Please, Michael, please let me repay you, let me thank you, please.” The words tumble out, your eyes wide and pleading.

“How’re you planning on doing that, empty headed little thing?” He taunts, the hand around your throat just barely tightening but it’s enough to make you let out a small, desperate whine. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, moving close enough to you that the front of his chest is plastered to your side, his heart beating against your shoulder, “Ask for what you want, beg properly.” His breath fans across the side of your face again, the feeling of his lips brushing over the side of your jaw making you jump.

“Please, God, Michael,” you whine, squeezing your legs together so hard you’re surprised they haven’t fused together, “P-please let me suck your cock — to thank you, thank you for helping me.” You add quickly, breath shaky as you turn your head to look at him imploringly.

He chuckles, but he looks pleased as he leans back momentarily, craning his neck to make sure there isn’t anyone around, “Alright, alright, love,” he soothes, coming back to face you, nodding his head to the empty space in front of his hair, below the table, “Not God, but I’ll give you what you want.” He teases.

Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at the floor beneath the desk, then back up at him before nodding, “Yes, sir.” You push yourself off your chair, sliding down beneath the desk.

“Goddammit,” you hear him groan above you, running his palms over his thighs as he parts them, making room for you, “Keep that up, love, might even give you extra credit.”

You rest your palms against the tops of his thighs as you move between his legs, getting comfortable on your knees, the old wooden floor cool against your skin, even through your black leggings. Finally, your eyes settle on the sizable bulge, covered by his dark jeans, and you can’t help the small whine that leaves your lips. Slowly, you move your hands up to the button of his pants, quickly popping it open and dragging the zipper down, smiling when Michael sighs above you as he pulls his sweater up out of the way, exposing the pale skin of his stomach. You let your eyes roam over him, warmth settling between your legs as you spot the dusting of light hair that starts beneath his belly button and leads downwards, disappearing under his plaid boxers.

You move closer to him, crowding in between his long legs, as you hook your fingers over the tops of his boxers, before finally looking up at him, “Can I…?” You ask, nodding to where his cock is straining against the fabric.

“Don’t be shy now, princess,” he groans, running a hand through your hair as he stares down at you, “Get on with it.”

You keep your eyes on his as you pull his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, watching the way his chest heaves as he lets out another relieved sigh. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his as you look at his cock, gasping in a breath as you do. As far as dicks go, Michaels is impressive, beautiful even – long and thick with veins running up the underside, leading up to a flushed, leaking tip.

You take him in your hand tentatively, squeezing him lightly around the base, your confidence growing when he grunts, breathing heavier. Finally, you lightly lick the tip, eyes sliding closed at the pleasant, salty taste of his pre-cum. You take the tip of him in your mouth, humming around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, lightly pushing on the back of your head, silently urging you to take more of him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he roughly groans, managing to keep his voice low, “Knew that pretty fucking mouth was good for something.” He moves his hips, impatiently thrusting his cock an inch deeper into your mouth, breathily cursing under his breath.

You start bobbing your head up and down over his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, more of his pre-cum leaking onto your tongue as you feel his dick throb and twitch in your hand. After a moment, you take a deep breath through your nose and remove your hand, resting it on his thigh, as you take him all the way to the base, your nose nestled in the short patch of hair there as you breathe in his heady scent, your eyes glazing over as you savor the feeling of him at the back of your throat.

“Jesus!” He grunts, louder than he meant to, keeping your head in place as he thrusts his hips up again, keeping you in place at the base of his cock, “Fuck, that’s it,” he praised lowly, your center throbbing, no doubt leaking onto the fabric of your leggings, “Look at me, wanna see your eyes while I fuck your throat.”

You whine, desperately blinking back tears as you look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out, licking lower, down toward his balls, relishing the way his eyes roll back as you do, stomach muscles twitching as he continues thrusting his hips up into your mouth, soaking his boxers and jeans with your spit.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he groans, looking down at you, his eyelids heavy, “God, yeah, cry on my cock love. Fuck, you look so pretty crying on my cock.” He mumbles, talking to himself more so than you.

His words send a shiver down your spine, adding to the heat in your center, and you whimper when he finally moves his hand from the back of your head, allowing you to come up for air. You do, with a gasp, thin strings of spit connecting your reddened lips with the flushed head of his cock. You keep your eyes on his as you wrap your lips around him once more, running your tongue along the thick vein on the underside before sucking at the swollen tip, relishing the way it makes him clench his jaw and gasp through his teeth as you stroke the rest of him with your hand.

Above you, he smirks again, gently running his hand through your hair but making no move to press your head down again. He cocks his head to the side, studying you, grinning at the far-off, foggy look in your eyes, “Not a thought in that pretty head, is there?” He asks, bringing his hand down and gently patting your cheek; the ghost of a slap making your thighs clench, making your head dizzy with need.

You nod around him, moving your head up and down along his length. You feel yourself throbbing with need, pulsing with heat; almost automatically, your hand starts to wander, a small sigh escaping you as your hand presses against your center through your leggings. You feel a warmth settle across your cheeks again as you feel your own wetness, leaking through the fabric just as you’d suspected. You whimper as you press down again, your eyes falling shut as you let your hips grind against your fingers, the wet fabric creating a delicious friction against your clit.

Which you get to feel for all of five seconds before Michael is suddenly yanking your head from his length, causing you to yelp as he tugs your hair. “Did I say you could touch your cunt?”

“N-no,” you whine pathetically, eyes watering from the harsh hold he has on your hair, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t think—“ You try to explain, only for him to cut you off with another harsh tug, making you mewl.

“That’s a pattern with you, isn’t it?” He asks, looking at you with a condescending smirk, studying you again, “You were being such a good girl earlier, what happened? Hm?” He questions, pushing his chair back enough to pull you out from under the table.

You get to your feet, suddenly feeling shy in front of him once again despite having his cock in your mouth mere moments ago. “I…got distracted.” You answer finally.

“I got distracted….who?” He asks, looking up at you expectantly over the rims of his glasses.

“I got distracted, sir,” you quickly correct yourself, eyes frantically scanning the still vacant floor of the library, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s much better, love,” he drawls, placing his hands on your hips, “Now, what could’ve been so fucking distracting, huh?” He starts moving his hands, slowly, toward your center, still looking up at you, his eyes questioning. You nod your head, just barely but enough for him to understand, and any hesitancy from him quickly disappeared. “Could it be this, I wonder?” He questions sardonically, suddenly cupping your heat in his large hand, the warmth of it nearly making your knees buckle, even through the thin fabric of your leggings. He hums, the sound low in his chest, when he feels how much you’ve soaked the fabric,

“Oh,” you whimper, grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself balanced as his fingers continue to tease you, rubbing circles into your clit, “Oh my God, fuck.”

“Christ,” he breathes, staring up at you with dark eyes, “So fucking wet, love, holy hell. Did you get this way just from sucking my cock?”

“Yeah,” you whine, nodding your head desperately as you try to swallow all the small noises you want to make in your throat, your hips rutting against his hand, “Please, sir!”

“Oh, so now that dumb brain has no trouble remembering damn instructions, huh?” He taunts, a wicked grin on his face as his fingers rub your clit in smaller, harsher circles, making you see stars, “Need your wet little cunt played with to be able to do as you're told?”

You nod your head frantically, tears nearly spilling from your eyes at the zaps of pleasure radiating from you, your walls clenching around nothing. Just as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, he stops, jerking his hand away from you with a knowing chuckle, “W-what?” You question, eyes blinking open, “I was so close!” You whine, nearly stamping your foot on the floor like a petulant child.

“Told you,” Michael shrugs, pulling you to sit in his lap, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. His breath tickles the side of your neck and face when he speaks again, “You’re so fun to tease, love, can’t help myself.”

You wiggle in his grasp, making him groan as your ass grinds against his hard length, desperately trying to get your hands free to touch your pussy again, nearly out of your mind with need. “P-please, sir, please touch me!” You finally gasp out, knowing he won’t give in until you do.

“Now there’s a good girl,” he says, voice pleased and cocky as he plants kisses along the side of your neck, “Since you asked so nicely…” He says, letting go of one of your arms, letting you grasp the arm still wrapped around you with your hands, as his free hand skirts down your stomach to the top of your leggings, pausing long enough for you to nod again, before he finally touches you.

You whimper, jerking in his lap at the feel of his warm fingers directly on your heat for the first time, spreading your wet folds with a satisfied hum. His long fingers move down to your entrance, gathering some of the wetness there, “You’re so fucking wet,” he marvels, dragging his fingers up to your aching clit, “Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He murmurs in your ear, nipping at the side of your neck and sending tingles down your spine as he starts rubbing tight, wet circles against your bud.

You tilt your head back, resting it against his shoulder as your chest heaves. A moan leaves your mouth, louder than it should be, and Michaels free hand shoots up, wrapping around your mouth. “Gotta be quiet, love,” he whispers, not slowing down the movement of his fingers in the slightest, “Wouldn’t want someone to interrupt, hm? Make me stop again?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, whining desperately against his hand as he moves his fingers against you, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your whole body lurches atop his, making him suck a breath in through his teeth as you move against his cock, still hard and hot as it presses against your lower back, when he moves his hand lower, plunging two fingers into your tight heat with no warning. “Fuck!” You yelp, muffled against his hand; tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he moves his fingers, scissoring them into you relentlessly as his thumb circles your clit.

“S’fucking tight,” he mumbles lowly, voice vibrating his chest against your back, “God, you’re tight.” He grunts between clenched teeth, repeatedly crooking his fingers inside you as he fucks his fingers in and out of your heat, letting out small, barely there groans every time your pussy squelches around his fingers as he punches muffled whines and whimpers from you. He crooks his fingers up suddenly in a way that makes you see stars as you writhe on his lap, your knees shooting up off the floor as you attempt to curl up on yourself, “That the spot?” He teases, relentlessly rubbing his fingers against it as his thumb quickens against your clit. He adds a third finger without warning, curling them up against that rough patch inside you as he bites down on your shoulder, muffling his own groan as he feels you clench down on his fingers.

“You gonna come?” He mumbles, grinning like a cheshire cat when you frantically nod your head, tears leaking onto the hand still wrapped tightly around your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he commands, not stopping his movements, “Want you to watch what I’m doing to you when you fucking cum.”

At the promise of finally getting to come, your eyes shoot open as you pick your head up off his shoulder, looking down the length of your body to where his hand disappears under your leggings. You practically come undone at the sight, watching as his hand moves against you through the dark fabric, maintaining a careful rhythm. “Michael, please!” You whine against his hand, desperately trying to keep your eyes open.

He chuckles lowly, clearly proud of how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into a begging mess, the sound reverberating off your back. “Fucking come,” he commands, doubling his efforts, “Soak my fucking hand, love.”

The coil in your stomach finally snaps and you sob, eyes snapping shut as your whole body clenches, shaking in his lap, as fireworks burst behind your eyelids. Your entire core clamps down so tight he has to fight to keep his fingers within you, muting the sounds of his groans against your neck and shoulder as he feels your cunt pulse against his fingers. He doesn’t let up, pressing incessantly against that spot within you as you come, until he finally gets what he wants – both of you groaning together, noises muffled, as a stream of fluid seems to erupt from your center, soaking his hand and the inside of your leggings, though you can’t think enough to care at the moment.

“Goddammit,” he grunts, finally removing his hand from your leggings, running his fingers through your folds one last time just to make you squirm. Suddenly, he’s lifting you off his lap enough to turn you around, maneuvering you to face him. You’re practically boneless in his lap as he lifts you just enough to pull your leggings down over your ass, pressing his bare cock against your still throbbing center when he sets you back down, “Gonna let me fuck you, love? Hm? Want me to make you go dumb around my cock?”

You nod your head weakly, not bothering to lift it from his shoulder as you straddle his lap. He doesn’t make you beg this time, too desperate to feel your wet heat around him, as he swiftly lifts you up again, just enough to align his length with your entrance.

Both of you moan as he lets you sit back down, his hard length disappearing into your warmth. He holds the back of your head, pressing your mouth against his neck to muffle your cries; you can feel his jaw clench with the effort of keeping his own muted. He fills you deliciously, thick cock pressed against every part of you, as your clit presses against the small thatch of hair above his length.

“Fuck,” he huffs, the word hissed between his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way your pussy pulses around his length, the way you desperately mouth and lick at his neck, “God, knew you’d feel good.”

Somehow, that remark works it’s way through the fog in your brain, “Hm?” you hum against his neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his golden hair, “You thought about me?” You whimper, words whiny and breathy as he rocks you against him, spearing you on his length again and again, head kissing your cervix just enough to knock the air from your lungs every time he lowers you back down.

He sighs, as if just now realizing what he’d said, and nods, swallowing down a moan before he speaks, “‘Course I did,” he admits, grinding you down against him, his hips pressed against yours. “Looked so damn pretty in class,” he continues, “So cute all, fuck, all flushed and embarrassed every time you got asked a question.”

His admission makes you clench around him, heat flooding through your system as you process what he’d said. Your clit grinds against his body again, just as the head of his cock brushes against that spot in your center, and it’s like your brain has been whited out, all you can do is mewl against his neck as he rocks you up and down along his cock.

“Fuck, I feel this sweet cunt getting tight, love,” he says, breathing heavily as he gets closer to his own release, “Y’gonna come?”

“Yes!” You whimper, voice high-pitched and broken as you nod frantically against the skin of his neck, now wet with your spit and tears as you rock yourself against him, moving your clit against the hair at the base of his cock.

“Hold it,” he commands softly, more breathing than speaking. He chuckles when he hears you whine, loving the way you mewl for him like a soft little kitten, and the hand still holding your head against him strokes your hair, soothing you. “Want us to come together,” he huffs, cursing under his breath as he feels you grow somehow tighter around him, “Fuck, I’m close just hold on.” The hand on your hip tightens, grinding you tightly against him, groaning as he feels your center milking his cock, your walls clenching around him desperately.

“F-fuck, Michael,” you whine, breath hot against the column of his throat as you feel yourself tipping over, “Please! Please I can’t hold it, please!” You beg beautifully, weeping against his skin, trying so hard to keep it down to a whisper so you don’t draw attention, not this close to your release.

“Where, fuck,” he curses, pulling your head up to look in your eyes, the blue in his nearly swallowed by blackness, “Tell me where.” He pants, his voice urgent.

“Inside me!” You breathe, cunt clenching around him as you feel him twitch inside you.

He groans, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second as he tries to maintain control, both of his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises, “Are you s–”

“Yes!” You nod, resting your forehead against his when he picks his head back up, “‘M on the pill.” You reassure him as you keep nodding. The two of you move together for a few more seconds, wildly grinding together, before the coil in your stomach is finally wound too tight, “Michael, oh, fuck!”

“Fuck,” he gasps, seeming to get somehow thicker inside you, “Come for daddy, fuck, be good and come.” He commands, his own voice low and frenzied.

Hearing him call himself that does you in, and you shatter around him, walls gripping him tightly. You open your mouth, unable to control a loud moan, which he quickly hushes by pressing his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he thrusts up into your center harshly a few times, each rise of his hips accompanied by a grunt into your waiting mouth as you mewl at the heat of his cum filling you up, extending your own release.

The two of you stay quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as you sweetly kiss, tiredly pressing your lips together. Finally, you pull away from him giggling shyly when you meet his eyes, blushing as you feel his length slowly softening inside you. “Getting shy on me now?” He teases, smiling at you as he gently plays with your hair.

You smile back at him for a second before suddenly coming to your senses and remembering where you are, “Shit,” you whisper, hopping up off his lap, “I cannot believe we just did that!” You quickly scan the floor with wide eyes, shoulders visibly relaxing when you still don’t see anyone.

“Wasn’t in my plan,” Michael starts, tucking his member back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans, “But I’m certainly not complaining.” He finishes, smirking at you before standing. He leans down, helping you pull up your leggings. He doesn’t miss the way you grimace when the damp, now unpleasantly cool, fabric presses against you. “Sorry,” he apologizes, gesturing to them, “I should’ve…controlled myself better with that one.” He finishes, awkwardly scratching at his chin.

You laugh quietly, trying to play it off although you’re dreading the half hour train ride back to your flat. That feeling doubles when you look down, eyes widening as you see the dark patch around your crotch, hardly visible on the dark fabric but enough that it makes you nervous, “Getting home is gonna be fun.” You joke, turning to begin gathering your things.

You’ve gotten your textbook put back into your backpack when you feel a tap on your shoulder; turning your head, you look wide-eyed when you see him sheepishly smiling at you, holding his red sweater out as he stands in a band t-shirt, “Here,” he says softly, waving the sweater at you, “You need it more than I do and it’s my fucking fault anyway.”

You blush, taking the sweater from him with a small thank you, tying it around your waist as he busies himself with picking up his things, before putting the rest of yours into your backpack as well, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that!” You tell him as you finish situating his sweater around you, satisfied that the stain is covered.

He huffs out a laugh, “You sucked my cock on the floor of a library,” he jokes, eyes sparkling with mischief yet again, “S’the least I could do.”

You laugh, playfully shoving at his shoulder as you put your backpack on. The floor is truly, blessedly, empty as the two of you leave and walk downstairs, not seeing anyone on the second floor either and only a few stragglers on the main floor at this hour on a Saturday evening. He pushes open one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance, holding it open for you as you duck under his arm. The door thuds closed behind you as you both stand outside the library, the air cold now that the sun’s gone down.

“I really like them, that band,” you say, nodding to his shirt, “Their last album’s really good.”

“Oh!” He says, eyebrows raising in surprise, “You know them?” He asks, smiling when you nod again, “Their new album is probably my favorite too, actually.” The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a second later before he notices you shiver as a breeze blows through the stoney courtyard. “D’you live close to campus?”

“Half hour on the train,” you shrug, pulling your phone out to check the time, “I should probably go soon if I’m gonna catch the next one…”

“You could come to mine?” He asks, his voice hopeful, “It’s only a walk from here, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?”

Your eyes widen, having not expected his invitation, but you nod nonetheless, “If you’re sure,” he nods, “Then, yeah! That would be great.” You smile, walking beside him as you start heading in the direction of his flat.

“Would you maybe want to get lunch sometime?” He asks, glancing down at you.

“I would love that,” you smile, your hand brushing against his as you continue down the sidewalk, “I think I might need more tutoring, too…”

His hand catches yours, your fingers intertwining as he smirks, “Will you suck my cock every time?” He teases, grinning as you laugh, the sound echoing off the buildings and filtering into the night air.

Told you so. The voice in the back of your mind echos as you lean your head on Michael’s shoulder.

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