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tsuki-tsuki-koi-koi · 1 year

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A Couple Rounds (Ogata/Usami + Others)

Warnings: Under Negotiated K*nk, n$fw

AO3 LINK

This was the last time Ogata let Usami pick “the entertainment” for their night out drinking.

What was the point of even going to a brothel full of women if he was the one that ended up bent over the table? How did he even agree to this? Not that it mattered now, cold oil was already being poured between his cheeks, making Ogata hiss and pull against where his belt was tied around his wrists.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby, Hyakunosuke~ Weren’t you shot in the war?” Usami scoffed, rubbing the oil in with his hand. “If it’s too cold I just won’t use it, hm? Would that be better?” As he spoke, he pushed two fingers inside Ogata who nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Fuck! You know, getting fucked by you is barely worth it at this point.” Ogata shot back over his shoulder at Usami who just laughed.

Usami pumped his fingers in and out, squeezing Ogata’s ass with his other hand. “If you can beat me in a fight then we can use my ass next time.” He added more oil to his fingers. “My ass is way nicer anyways. You need to eat more.” He slapped Ogata’s ass as he spoke and breathed out hard through his nose.

Ogata just rolled his eyes at that comment, ignoring the sting of the slap. “If I fucked you, I’d need to be hung like a horse for you to even feel it. You slut.”

With another cackle, Usami didn’t deny it as he spread his fingers apart to see if Ogata was stretched, and gave a little shrug before lubing himself up. “Okay~ Don’t worry, gorgeous I’ll be nice and gentle.” His patronizing tone ghosted across Ogata’s skin as Usami leaned down over him.

“W-wait-“ It was too late, Ogata flinched as Usami pushed the head of his cock in. “Damn it… bastard.” He breathed out weakly, arching his back a little so that at least it felt good for both of them.

Usami just hummed, licking along Ogata’s spine as he thrust. He found a rhythm easily enough and worked Ogata open as he fucked him. “Mmmn~ Yeah that hits the spot.” Usami moaned loudly, not giving a shit if he was overheard.

They went at it for a while, Ogata settling into the abuse Usami was giving him, gasping and muffling his moans in his arm whenever he was spanked or bitten. It wasn’t that often he found himself underneath Usami, but every time he felt like he needed to visit the infirmary afterwards just to make sure he hadn’t gotten rabies.

“Ah! You feel so good Hyakunosuke. I could go all night~” Usami praised again with an exaggerated sigh, but started to slow his rough thrusts. Then after a minute, he pulled out, leaving Ogata empty and pretty on edge. “But I think that’s enough for me for now.” He hummed, admiring the view before bringing his hand down again to smack Ogata’s ass.

Ogata lifted his head sluggishly to look back at Usami. “What? You’re done already… you already said I wouldn’t have to use my mouth to finish you off.” Ogata furrowed his brow, trying to move and lift his chest off the low table but was stopped by Usami’s hand on his lower back.

“I’m not in the mood to break promises tonight, don’t worry.” Shaking his head, Usami pushed up off the ground and moved to sit on the table, pulling Ogata’s upper half onto his lap, his still-hard cock hitting Ogata in the face. “I said we would have a little fun didn’t I?” Usami mused, running his hand over Ogata’s short hair with an evil-looking grin on his face. “I was just getting you warmed up for our guests.”

Confusion and a bit of panic coursed through Ogata’s body as Usami whistled towards the door to their private room. The clear sounds of heavy footsteps approaching sent ice through his veins. As the door slid open behind him, Ogata tried to look at who had just walked in but Usami just held Ogata’s head against his crotch, his other hand holding the end of the belt around Ogata’s wrists.

“Oh wow.” A voice called behind Ogata, followed by a soft whistle under the person’s breath.

Fuck, he recognized that voice.

“I should have had another beer.” Another lower voice joined in. “Thought we’d be easing into it.”

Oh, Fuck

There was a quiet laugh of agreement then the door slid shut once again.

Ogata was frozen still, his lubed, stretched ass and hard cock were bared for this whole group to see, and Usami was petting Ogata’s head like that would do anything to relax him. “B-Bastard…” Ogata mumbled, nose currently being held at the base of Usami’s cock in a very humiliating manner. He hated how much he was turned on by the way he was being held, but Ogata would much rather die than let Usami know that right now.

“Corporal, welcome.” Usami sounded as pleased as could be. “Sorry to make you wait, I was just getting him warmed up~” With a hum, Usami smoothed his hand down to Ogata’s neck. “We’ve got some alcohol left over, so please, help yourselves.”

The footsteps dispersed around the table, and out of the corner of his eye, Ogata saw Private Okada stripping out of his jacket and cap. The disbelieving little smile on the Private’s face made Ogata’s stomach flip flop around. Those assholes were already way too into this.

Ogata turned his head and bit into the meat of Usami’s inner thigh. It didn’t even get much of a reaction out of the man holding him, other than a rush of air from his nose and the hand on the back of Ogata’s neck squeezing a bit more until Ogata relaxed his jaw. There was some idle chatting and beer bottles being clinked together but still, no one had dared to come up and touch Ogata. Maybe they weren’t as interested as he thought-

“You haven’t taken your eyes off him, Mishima. Want to go first?” Usami offered and the other men in the room laughed, encouraging the private to go first as well.

“I-I…” Mishima audibly gulped and then soon after there was the sound of a uniform being clumsily discarded. “I can just…do it?”

Ogata would have scolded Mishima for asking that question after he had gotten undressed but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t feel like giving Usami a reason to shut him up with the cock still pressed against the outside of Ogata’s cheek, smearing the used oil along Ogata’s flushed skin. It was the one thing they had agreed on beforehand, no oral, and it would be a small miracle if it stayed that way.

“What’s the matter? Feeling shy?” Ogata heard Noma’s smug voice not too far off to the side of him. “You’ve already got your slacks off.” He laughed and Ogata appreciated that his private thoughts had been vocalized by someone else.

Corporal Tamai’s voice sounded from the edge of the table where their beer was sitting farthest from Usami’s bare ass. “Nothing we haven’t seen before, Private.” He scoffed and then loudly chugged his drink, complaining off-handedly about it not being cold enough.

Ogata jumped when he felt a hand on his hip, turning his head as much as Usami would allow him. Damn. Ogata didn’t want to admit to himself that he was… curious. But maybe... Fuck, Usami was a horrible influence, but Ogata at least appreciated this wasn’t happening in the middle of the barracks. He knew of too many virgins like Mishima who would be eagerly lined up behind him for a chance at sticking their dick in something other than each other's mouths.

It sounded like it was just Tamai and his goons who had joined them, and he hoped Usami hadn’t let anyone else know of this get-together. No doubt it had been Noma’s idea to include Mishima, but well… in honesty, Ogata was the least upset about that addition. He knew no one present was likely to run their mouth or hurt him too much with their size. From what he had seen in the showers at least. Thinking of that, Ogata suddenly shivered at the idea of Usami managing to convince that beast Tanigaki to join this little depraved party.

That line of thinking didn’t make him any less angry that he had been tricked into this situation. He was going to beat the shit out of Usami the first chance he got. Even if Ogata was actually excited at the prospect of being fucked into oblivion. That was separate from his current humiliation.

Mishima’s surprisingly rough hands smoothing across his lower back brought Ogata back to the present. His back arched without even thinking and he heard one of the other men whistle in appreciation. Even the slightest thing would be putting on a show for them, and it made Ogata’s chest burn hot.

“Is this really allowed?” Mishima’s voice betrayed all the eagerness he was feeling, and it made Usami chuckle.

“Well of course it’s not, but you seem hard enough not to care either way.” Usami played with the shell of Ogata’s ear, his smile clear in his voice and Ogata just rolled his eyes.

The hands-on Ogata’s back moved lower, and two slender fingers curiously pushed inside. Mishima poked and prodded, hesitating to put any pressure on the ring of oiled muscle. It was more than a little frustrating, at least when Usami did this earlier there was the shock and friction to stimulate Ogata in some way. Ogata huffed at how delicately he was being treated and tried to turn his head again. “Stick it in already, I’m not going to- '' Ogata barked out but Usami cut him off when he shoved a thumb into Ogata’s mouth and held down his tongue.

“Take your time. He’s not going anywhere.” Usami corrected, a bright smile on his face, even as Ogata bit down on his finger.

Ogata listened to Noma telling Mishima to hurry up so he could go next, making a genuine thrill rush through him. They were doing this. He was really doing this. Ogata slacked his jaw and let go of Usami’s thumb, which was pulled out of his mouth and wiped against his chin. It was hard not to seem too eager as Ogata spread his legs a bit more, clenching down on Mishima’s curious fingers.

When he was done exploring, Mishima poured way too much oil on Ogata and himself before moving closer and pressing inside Ogata. It had been a long time since he had taken any cock that wasn’t Usami’s, but it wasn’t too difficult to adjust. Mishima reached about the same depth as Usami usually did, but he lacked the same girth or harsh upward curve and Ogata found himself actively squeezing down onto him to try and feel anything good. He was so slick there was barely any friction. Mishima seemed to like that, however, with how vocal he suddenly became.

Ogata huffed softly into Usami’s groin, his bound hands flexing as he focused on Mishima inside him. Lack of experience was clear in Mishima’s inability to find a rhythm for longer than five or six thrusts, so Ogata found himself pushing his hips back to make the most of it. He knew everyone could see him doing it, and tried to ignore the appreciative murmurs from his audience.

“A-Ah, damn, this does feel incredible.” Mishima praised between sweet-sounding moans. He gripped Ogata’s hips tight and as he got close to his orgasm, he started to slam his hips erratically into Ogata who let out a surprised whine. “Do I… ha-ah- do I finish inside?”

Ogata didn’t care, he would already have to take a bath or two… or three just to get the oil off himself. He managed to glance up at Usami who just gave a nod and looked to the other men in the room who also voiced their approval to fill Ogata up.

Filthy perverts. Ogata thought to himself. He would need three baths.

“Go ahea-“

Mishima cut Usami off with a shaky groan, pressing his hips against Ogata’s ass as he came without further warning. It was hot in Ogata’s guts, but a feeling he was used to at this point since Usami seemed opposed to ever to pulling out even when Ogata asked.

“Oh, well~ there you go.” Usami chuckled, petting the top of Ogata’s head. “One down.” He teased, as Mishima pulled out and moved away quickly. Mishima sounded embarrassed as he gathered his clothes, seemingly conscious of what he had just done to a superior officer, in front of two other superior officers in a shady brothel.

“Come here- I’ll clean you up.” Okada’s voice was across the table from them. “You look like you’re going to pass out, Mishima.” Okada teased and Tamai agreed with a laugh, beer bottles getting moved about.

Noma was next, just like he had said. He didn’t waste any time, and Ogata could feel that he hadn’t stripped fully as Mishima had, the cold metal of his dangling belt buckle sending goose bumps along Ogata’s flushed skin. “Fuck, Ogata. Did you even feel that? You’re literally dripping with oil.” Noma teased, lubing himself up by rubbing his length between Ogata’s cheeks.

Ogata heard Mishima apologize, but the other men in the room just laughed. Noma groped Ogata’s ass and felt up his thighs before using one hand to guide himself in. Ogata winced, cursing under his breath when a shockingly thick head popped inside him. Bastard must have been a grower, there goes Ogata’s hope of still being able to walk without a noticeable limp tomorrow.

The hand on Ogata’s head patted him mockingly. “Hm? Did that one hurt?” Usami asked, but it was clear he didn’t care much about the answer so much as saying it to embarrass Ogata.

“No. Fuck off…” Ogata grumbled, trying to relax and take what was being given to him. “It’s just… ugh- bigger than yours…” A pleased sound was heard from Noma behind him, and Ogata just had to deal with giving Noma an ego boost if it made Usami grit his teeth and shut up in turn.

It took Noma a bit to push fully into Ogata, but luckily he wasn’t too lengthy. Honestly, this already felt way better and Ogata was sure he’d be able to cum from this kind of stretch alone. As Noma started to move, it drew sounds out of Ogata that made the cock touching his face twitch. “Oh fuck…” Ogata breathed out with a moan, back fully arched as Noma found his pace.

Noma’s thrusts were steady and confident, hitting Ogata right where he needed him to. “God, you’re so fucking wet,” Noma grunted, leaning down along Ogata’s back and kissing along his spine. It was surprisingly intimate and felt way better than being chewed on by Usami. Noma licked at those bite marks, clearly not caring if his face also ended up close to Usami’s junk.

Ogata was being fucked so good, it genuinely felt amazing. All his shame and anger towards Usami were replaced with the unrelenting feeling of Noma’s cock in his ass. It was giving exactly what Ogata had wanted and as he spread his knees to ask for more. Noma pounded against his prostate which was quickly pushing Ogata toward his own orgasm.

“H-Harder Noma…” Ogata whined, eyes shut tight. “Come on. I want it.” Only Usami and Noma heard him, but the message was received loud and clear. The hands on Ogata’s waist dug their fingers into his skin enough to bruise him, but the build-up of bliss in his guts blocked that pain out completely. Ogata started moaning, drooling against the base of Usami’s cock as he turned his head. Then when the pressure got too much, Ogata came untouched across the mats beneath them with a loud groan.

Cumming made Ogata clench around Noma’s thick cock and it was painful being fucked so roughly through his orgasm like this but he didn’t tell Noma to stop. He didn’t even think Usami would let Noma listen if he tried. Ogata didn’t care though, he just laid there and took it and it felt so good.

Noma kept going for a while before he grunted and came with a few more strong thrusts. Finally releasing his grip on Ogata’s sides, Noma pulled out as he sat back on his heels and shamelessly spread Ogata’s cheeks to admire what he had done before standing up.

“Okada? Do you want to-“ Noma started, but when he looked across the table, he saw that Mishima was already helping the other private out, and just scoffed. “Couldn’t even wait for me to finish?” Noma moved away, buckling his pants back up. “Mishima should be drinking with us, not sucking you off.”

Usami turned his head and loosened his grip on Ogata’s wrists, which now ached just as much as his poor knees did. “Corporal Tamai, sir? Still interested?” Usami used his buttery smooth tone to entice the other man who had just been sitting there watching and drinking the whole time.

There was a rough throat clear at the end of the table. “Hmm? Well-“ Tamai put his beer down with a bit of a clatter, and Ogata could tell that he was drunk. “Noma’s already ruined his ass, it’s a shame. You told us his mouth was off limits, didn’t you?”

Ogata suddenly tensed. As much as he didn’t like being spoken about as if he wasn’t right here, he was at the mercy of Usami’s will tonight especially since he was currently coming down from the high of his orgasm.

“Unfortunately that’s right, sir. Our dear sweet Hyakunosuke only agreed to do this because I promised to only use one end.”Ogata hadn’t agreed to this at all, but that wasn’t a complete lie.

“Besides, he’s incredibly bitey. I haven’t trained that out of him yet.” Usami jolted slightly when Ogata bit him right at the sensitive spot between his thigh and groin, pulling Ogata off him by the back of his neck with a sharp curse.

Corporal Tamai got the hint and lazily got up to kneel behind Ogata. There was a quiet noise of disgust before Tamai shed his belt and pushed down his trousers. He moved aside his fundoshi and without any further commentary, pushed inside Ogata.

Even if Tamai was putting zero effort into fucking him, Ogata moaned and shivered anyways, still incredibly sensitive from what Noma and his own orgasm. Any apprehensions Tamai had were gone quickly from his drunken mind when he felt Ogata around him. Arousal seemed to wash through him and Tamai tried to at least pick up his pace, but he was too drunk to last more than a few minutes before he was cursing Ogata out and cumming inside him.

He expected to be done. He was completely spent and still trembling a little against Usami’s legs, so Ogata tried his best to regain his composure. He couldn’t feel his knees, and was sure his hips were very bruised and red from being grabbed so hard. Ogata shifted his weight around a little to try and get feeling back to his feet but it just reminded him how sore his ass was so he didn’t bother trying to move more than that.

Then there was a shift as Usami adjusted how he held Ogata. “Private Okada~ you haven’t taken your turn yet~” Usami spoke in that sing-songy voice again and began undoing the belt restraining Ogata’s wrists.

Ogata heard a bottle get sat down on the table, then Mishima’s low moans went quiet. What were they even doing on that side of the table? Usami still wasn’t letting Ogata move his head enough to see but now having his hands free was a big improvement.

“Ah I don’t know, he looks pretty spent to me-“ Okada cleared his throat, “I’m way too small to really feel anything after a guy like Noma’s had his way.” The bratty tone in his voice made Ogata’s eyebrow twitch.

Usami and Noma both laughed, then Usami grabbed Ogata by both shoulders and pushed him back so Ogata was kneeling upright. The sudden headrush from sitting up made Ogata’s vision unfocus and he closed his eyes from dizziness.

“Why don’t you both take him.’ Usami gestured between both sides of the table. “Mishima clearly had no problem getting it up again.”

There was a beat of silence, and when Ogata peeked open his eyes, they were already locked onto Mishima’s who was staring intently at Ogata as he wiped the corner of his mouth. Ogata then dragged his gaze up to Usami who was looking at him expectantly, so Ogata just shrugged and closed his eyes again, licking at his chapped lips.

He had never taken two cocks at once before. Ogata didn’t know if he liked it or if he was just so overstimulated at this point that everything felt raw and intense. He was straddling Mishima’s lap, arms around his shoulders, as Okada slid in behind him.

When they both started to move, Ogata’s eyes flew open with a pained groan. Mishima rubbed at Ogata’s inner thighs so Ogata kept his mouth shut other than a quiet “f-fuck…” as both cocks began to slide against each other inside him. It was strange at first, then just uncomfortable. The only real benefit from this position was that when he slouched forward against Mishima, the other soldier smelt good compared to the stink of sweat and sex in the rest of the room. Not to mention there was nothing but rushed, breathy praise streaming out of Mishima’s mouth about how Ogata felt.

Okada came first, and pulled out with a satisfied sigh, leaving Mishima to chase after his second orgasm of the night. “So hot-“ Mishima’s sweet voice was far from its usual even tone as it cracked under a whimper. “It feels amazing.”

Usami nudged Ogata’s side with his foot. “Go on then, tell the Private how he’s doing. Since you two look so intimate.” Usami teased, and Ogata shot him a glare out of the corner of his eye. “Is he doing better than his first time, Ogata?”

At the teasing, Ogata felt Mishima’s needy thrusts falter out of the decent rhythm he had found, and he was back to the unsure half-thrusts from before. Fuck it. Ogata already felt feverish and a bit drunk from how sensitive he was. Might as well add more humiliation onto it.

“You’re better than Usami was his first time,” Ogata spoke, voice low and scratchy from moaning all night. “He came after just three thrusts, you’re doing so good using me like this.” He was speaking right into Mishima’s ear but knew the other men in the room would still hear him. “Feels good.” Ogata let out a shaky sigh of pleasure. “Keep it up, Mishima.” Ogata shifted his head back to see Usami’s expression, but as he did so, Mishima’s mouth came crashing into his.

Ogata had to hold on for dear life afterwards as Mishima fucked him senseless. The kissing was sloppy and their teeth clashed awkwardly, but honestly, Ogata was used to Usami being a notoriously bad kisser, so he was just impressed at the level of enthusiasm. Ogata was sure Mishima had cum mid thrust, but the other just kept going until he was too soft and had to pull out with a weak hiss.

It had set Ogata’s nerves alight again, and he whimpered openly when cum now leaked from between his legs onto the floor. “Haha… way better than Usami-“ Ogata choked out before he was grabbed by the neck by Usami a second later.

“Bastard. What did I just hear you say?” Usami was visibly mad but was furiously jerking off in front of Ogata from his seat on the table. “You’re liking this just as much as I knew you would, you cheap whore.” He scoffed, then with a grunt, Usami came, splattering cum across Ogata’s chest and face. “Hah… better. Been holding that in.” He whistled and stood up off the table, leaving Ogata alone.

Without anyone else grabbing him, Mishima helped Ogata move back to lie on his side before excusing himself back to the table. At some point, while the other men drank, someone draped their shirt over Ogata’s shoulders, leaving Ogata to catch his breath. He didn’t mind not participating in the drinking and chatting, Ogata had had enough at this point. The cum cooling on his skin was getting itchy at this point, but all he managed to do was wipe it away from under his eyes.

They weren’t completely done with him, however.

Tamai had come back for another sloppy round a short while later, not moving Ogata from his position on the floor. He lasted a bit longer than last time, but Ogata was too tired to care about such a weak performance. Then Okada had come over to fuck between Ogata’s thighs, adding to the mess on Ogata’s chest.

What broke him fully was Noma wanting him again. He was dragged from his resting spot and sat in Noma’s lap, facing the others at the table. Usami had gotten dressed at some point and now Ogata could see they had been playing cards and that some poor waitress had come in and brought them fresh drinks.

As Noma pressed inside him, Ogata winced and moaned a curse, his ass was sore and the rest of his body just felt hot and sluggish. When Noma wasn’t handling his cards he moved Ogata up and down in his lap, fucking him where all the others could see. Ogata’s lewd reactions were on display just as much as his body. When it was Noma’s turn at the table, however, Ogata was just left to sit on his cock, unable to even squirm very much with how weak his legs were after everything. Ogata’s arms felt heavy, so all he could do was brace his hands against the edge of the table so he didn’t fall forward.

“Ah fuck, I could get used to this,” Noma said quietly, going back to thrusting up into Ogata. “Same time next week, Usami?” He breathed out with a long satisfied groan, stroking a hand along Ogata’s trembling outer thigh.

“If he’s willing.” Usami hummed and leaned his elbow on the table to watch Ogata twitch and shiver.

Ogata was moaning weakly, his head leaning back onto Noma’s shoulder, sweat beading down the back of his neck. He could see stars when his eyes were open, and all Ogata could think about at this point was how his guts felt twisted up and the pricks of pain bleeding through the intense pleasure inside him. Even if Noma was hitting his prostate, Ogata just whined and panted, unable to get hard.

Noma came a few minutes after that. He held Ogata in his lap, letting his cock slowly soften and slip out on its own. He then helped Ogata slide back onto the floor on his side. Patting Ogata’s side affectionately before returning to the card game.

Ogata was so overstimulated he didn’t even notice people leaving. Not hearing their drunken praise or thank you’s through the rushing of his pulse in his ears. All he knew was that he wasn’t being touched anymore so he melted into the floor with a groan, taking a much-needed nap.

—

When Ogata opened his eyes next, Usami was cleaning him up with a wet cloth. It felt cold, but it probably only felt like that due to Ogata’s feverish skin. Either way, the drops of water caused goosebumps to shoot across his arms and down his back while Usami worked.

“There he is.” Usami hummed and patted Ogata on the stomach when he noticed the other coming to. “Did you have fun?”

“Fuck… you…” Ogata breathed out, shutting his eyes again so he didn’t have to see Usami’s shit-eating grin.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Usami rubbed the cloth over Ogata’s very tender hole which, much to Ogata’s immediate displeasure, was still full of cum.

With a groan, Ogata tried and failed to push it all out. His stomach muscles were aching and he was sure he had a long bruise forming below his ribs where he had been pushed into the edge of the table over and over.

“Next time… tell them to not do it inside…” Ogata mumbled, feeling defeated, but so deeply satisfied he was sure he wouldn’t need to jerk off for a month.

Usami clapped his hands together before helping Ogata to sit up so they could try getting him dressed to leave. “Excellent. We can take turns next time.” He mused, wiping dry cum off Ogata’s cheek with his hand.

“…can’t wait.” Ogata replied sarcastically but leaned into the touch to his face regardless.

#usao #golden kamuy #ogata hyakunosuke #Usami Tokishige #quick its 3 am post the pwp #anyways happy easter lmao #my posts #fanfic #tagging them spoils the fic lmao #but #mishima #noma #tamai #okada #shhhh

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aemondsbabe · 6 months

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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.

tagged lovelies: @schniiipsel @arcielee @darlingofvalyria @aemshaircare @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog @fan-goddess @drakonflames @helloworldiamnotarobot

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