#more ewan fics

[helaelaemond]

To Take Pleasure

Pairing: Osferth x female reader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: You share a lazy and passionate morning with Osferth. Oneshot pwp, established relationship.

Content warning(s): light edging, mild elements of very soft dom!Osferth, mentions of faith

Rating: E

Requests open

tagging: @sylas-the-grim / @myfandomprompts / @arcielee

small note: thank you so much for the encouragement and kind words on my last Osferth piece, it honestly means the world to me, thank you so so so so much. I read every tag and comment multiple times giggling and kicking my feet!

The morning is quiet. It is raining outside and the noise of it is comforting. It feels like home. Inside the bed chamber, only two creatures move. In the small bedroom, atop the warm bed, Oseferth winds his hand into your hair.

You lay under him and your whole body moves with the rhythm of your coupling. One leg is pulled up at your side on the firm mattress, allowing him to fill you from behind. He lays atop you, his back arched, and thrusts into you at a steady pace. Osferth gently pulls on your hair, and you lift your head up with a quiet moan.

“Oh, my lady,” he whispers against your ear. “Yes, just like that.”

You sigh and grind your hips against the bed in time with his movements. “Touch me,” you breathe.

“Aren’t I touching you enough?” he asks with a smile, and to illustrate his point, he lets go of your hair and runs a flat palm down your side.

Laughter catches in your throat and turns into another sigh of delight when he presses his hand under your chest and teases your nipple between his fingers. “Not there.”

His lips are still at your ear. “Tell me where, my lady. I’d like to hear you say it.”

When Osferth slows his movements to an intolerably slow pace, you swear quietly. “You know where I want you.” You drop your weight onto the bed and turn your head to the side, but it isn’t enough to see him. Your breathing begins to calm in this moment of respite.

“I do.” Osferth pulls out of you carefully and rests his cock on the crease of your backside. He is slick from you, and he moves against you. It makes his eyes roll back. “But I want this to last longer. You’re too close for that.”

You bite your lip. You prop yourself up on your forearms, and you raise your hips in an invitation. Osferth rises to his knees behind you and slips himself along your cunt. You both make noises of approval when his tip glides over your clit. Reaching between your legs, you press him between your folds and run his tip in circles where you want him. The tension in your lower stomach grows, and there are noises in the back of your throat with every breath.

“Easy, love,” Osferth soothes with a smile. Your pleasure is enough to have him crashing, but he means what he said. He wants it to last longer.

You let him go with a sigh.

“Are you ready?” he asks as he guides himself back to your entrance. He presses gently.

You whimper and nod, and you reach back a hand to find him. He weaves your fingers together and slides back inside you. “Oh God,” Osferth swears. The delight of it forces his eyes shut. “You feel so wonderful, my love. Oh, yes, you’re so good.”

You push yourself up, so you're both kneeling, his chest at your back, and you wind the hand you hold around you until his arm embraces you tightly. “Please don’t stop again,” you beg between gasping moans. “I’ll die!”

He chuckles, and the noise is broken by his own moans. “Then I won’t. Oh, love.”

With one hand still in yours, Osferth runs the other up to your neck, and he carefully grasps it, and he turns your head until he can kiss you. You part your lips eagerly, and you swallow his noises of delight and run your tongue over his as you fuck.

“Touch me,” you beg after a while. The only noises that sing above the rain outside are that of your coupling that has become more desperate. “Please, Osferth! I’m so close.”

He slams into you once, twice more, and suddenly pulls out from you with a groan. You fall forward onto the bed with a shout of frustration, and Osferth flips you onto your back before you can find release with your own hand. He drags you until your legs hang off the side of the bed, and then he is on his knees in front of you and his tongue is trailing up the inside of your thigh. “Don’t misbehave,” he tells you with a chuckle.

The frustration of your denied orgasm has your muscles tensing and releasing, and tears prick your eyes. But you like this game. You ask for it. You fling your arm over your eyes and nod, thighs twitching.

Osferth kisses up to your hip and then back down to your cunt, where he tastes the salt that has pooled to welcome him. He glances up at you and raises his head as he smiles. “My good lady.”

"My good Osferth." Your reply is strained, but it makes your heart leap to see how brightly it makes him smile. You run your fingers through his hair, and when you gently press the back of his head, he follows where you lead. His soft lips press between your legs and you sigh.

It makes your toes curl as he licks a long line from your clit down to your entrance; he uses the flat of his tongue to apply pressure, before ghosting the tip against you again and again. You hear his quiet gasp of need, and it's followed by the sensation of his tongue pressing inside you. He keeps his lips over his teeth as his tongue sinks deeper, and surely he can feel your heartbeat against his chin. On his tongue, you feel yourself getting fucked. He tilts his sharp jaw up, and you grind down to meet him, and there, yes, there, his pretty nose catches your clit.

"Fuck!" The word escapes you before you can stop it. Osferth is not one to use profane language. But he does not seem to be one to take a woman on his tongue, yet here he is.

Your legs press against his ears, and you manage to look down to see how proudly he wears your thighs as his crown. A bastard son of a king, looking so pretty, anointed by your cunt on his lips. His tongue is firmer now, and he presses it over your slit and to your clit. It makes your back arch. It makes your head thrash from side to side. He's good, he's so good to you, it makes you feel holy-

"You're perfect," you whine between gasps and moans. "Look at me!"

Without needing to ask twice, his eyes open and burn into you. He beholds you as he devours you, eyes round and blue, worshipful. Your brow furrows as pleasure mounts and mounts, and your mouth opens in laughter and delight. "Don't stop!"

Suddenly he's sucking around you and humming lowly, and it's almost enough to push you over the edge.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't-!"

And he does. Just as he brings you to the brink, he pulls off you with a pop, his mouth wet and cheeks and chin glistening. It makes you twist and turn in frustration, and your eyes stream in frustration.

"Fuck you!"

He chuckles lowly and lies on top of you, his whole weight pressing you into the little bed. "This is what you asked for," he reminds you. Your legs are clamped shut under him, and so you can feel his hard cock, hot and throbbing, trapped between his stomach and yours.

You look up at him with watering eyes and defiance. But his expression is so soft and sweet, so delighted, that it soothes you. After a moment, you return his smile, although you can't stop yourself from whining slightly with every breath. "I did. You're right. But please... I need you."

"You have me, my lady."

In this brief pause, tenderness mingles with absolute desire, and you can see the deep affection he holds for you. You kiss him, and he welcomes your hungry tongue into his mouth with a strong hand on your cheek. There is a warm wetness against your stomach. He's so wound up for you, he's leaking and desperate. But he has more composure than you - he always does.

"Finish me," you beg against his lips. "Finish us."

Your words make him groan. He runs his hand from your cheek and down your side, squeezing your waist. "Onto your side, my lady."

He lifts himself up from the bed and watches you do as he asks, and then he settles behind you. Your back presses against his chest, and your head drops to the side when he kisses your neck adoringly. With a sure touch, he hooks his hand under the back of your knee, and he lifts it to give him the room to slide back inside of you.

"Ah, my lady." He moans against your ear as he finds himself home in you again. You like it when he moans. You told him this once, and it took him a while to get used to. It took practice. But now, although it's quiet, he gives you those noises. His mouth is against your ear, and his sighs and grunts and moans fill your senses. Between your legs, his cock fills you, too.

He winds his arm further around your leg to keep it lifted as his fingers touch your cunt again. They ghost over where your bodies join, and they catch your wetness and rub firm circles over your clit.

"Yes," you whine. "There."

The bed creaks under you as his pace quickens. The noises of his skin slapping against yours are obscene, and the groans of your name from Osferth mingle with them. He groans your name again and again like a prayer, like it's sacred. To him, perhaps it is. To him, you are sacred.

You fling your hand back to press against his slender hip as together, you climb higher and higher, and he reaches his peak first. He presses his cheek against yours where you lay, and the gesture itself feels as intimate as anything else you have shared. His whole body tightens closer to yours as his hips stutter and his eyes roll back and he pulls out just in time. Against your backside he grinds, and you feel his seed shoot hot up your back. His fingers still work you hard and fast, and as he comes down from his peak, you reach yours.

Your whole body jerks as you finally find your orgasm. Your legs clamp shut around his hand but he doesn't release you - his fingers dig into you and massage you until you whimper and squirm, until finally all the tension is released. His hand remains there, but it stops moving. As your cunt twitches in aftershocks, he holds it firm, keeping you stable, keeping you comfortable.

"Oh, Osferth," you pant. He sighs your name in reply. When your body begins to cool, and you return to yourself a little more, you roll onto your stomach and pull his pillow under your head. Your eyes close in bliss.

He gets up from the bed but returns before you have much of a chance to miss him. You feel him wipe a damp cloth over your back. It makes goosebumps appear on your skin. He always looks after you so well. "Thank you."

A few more moments pass, and then the mattress sinks next to you, and you feel him lie next to you. A gentle touch traces up your spine. He begins drawing shapes on your skin with a single finger. Eyes still closed, you smile. A kiss is pressed against your shoulder. Then, to your neck, and your cheek. Finally, Osferth leaves a tender kiss on your lips.

"You are very dear to me," he murmurs.

Your eyes open slowly, and you meet his blue gaze. "You're very dear to me, too."

He whispers your name, and kisses you gently again. "I didn't know..."

"What, Osferth?"

He mulls his words over before speaking them. He runs his knuckles along your cheek tenderly. "I didn't know that pleasure could feel like this."

"Like what?" you ask, smiling slightly.

"Like holiness."

You glance at his lips. How pretty they look when he whispers, and how pretty they look now as he licks them, waiting nervously for your answer. You can't stop yourself from kissing them before replying. "You make me feel holy, Osferth."

"As you do me." He murmurs your name, and strokes your hair. "I don't want to leave this room. I want to stay with you today."

"Then stay." Your voice is quiet, as sleep is calling you. "Don't leave me. Please don't ever leave me."

He smiles and kisses your cheek. "I'll do my best, my lady. I'll do my best to always be yours."

[aemonds-wifey]

Masterlist

🔵Aemond Targaryen🔵

The Dragon & The Wolf 🐲💚🐺

[Inspired by the song: Way Down We Go- Kaleo]

Aemond x Fem! Reader

Childhood Part 1 Childhood pt 2 Childhood pt 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 11 Chapter 12 (📝) Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

One shots for this series ⬆️

The first Kiss

A Balm (idea by @moonchildrenandflowercrowns )

A Gift (requested by @moonchildrenandflowercrowns )

A very lazy Morning

A Hot Soak

The Past

The moment I Knew (📝)

Home (Part 1)

Home (Part 2)

A lullaby

A disobedient son

A Precious Language

A family Dinner

🟣Osferth🟣

The Warrior & The Monk ✝️💙⚔️

[Inspired by the song : Fire On Fire - Sam Smith]

Osferth x Fem! Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Epilogue

One shots for this series ⬆️

An offer of Everything

The Surprise

Away for Too Long

A Baby Monk No More

An eventful Gathering

The Nightmare

Where it All Began (📝)

🟠Tom Bennett🟠

An unexpected Summer Meeting 🌸☀️⛵️

{Inspired by the Song: A Beautiful Dream - George Ezra}

Tom Bennett x Fem! Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

One Shots For This Series ⬆️

In Every Life time

Regency Ewan Mitchel x Fem reader!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

TAGS

@schniiipsel @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @chainsawsangel @mischiefmanaged71 @namoreno @nolongereviliwantlove @talesofoldandnew @yentroucnagol @arcielee @bbyaemond @bcon24 @lauraneedstochill @polkadotsocks1993 @motley-baby @sscreamingbanshee @tssf-imagines @actualhawkesworld @avidreader73

[bombshellsandbluebells]

Juliet and Ewan would never team up for a mission because Juliet frankly doesn't want to be involved in Ewan's work and it definitely doesn't fit in her sense of Right and Wrong and outside of definitely not having the right clearance, Ewan probably also doesn't want to drag her into it

BUT

if they did I would love to see them go undercover and Juliet pull her typical move of getting waaaaaaaaaayyy too into character

[cloud-based-and-rainpilled]

Staged 2 thoughts!! (this will take a Year because I have a Lot of feelings)

tl; dr at the end

Hmmm I don’t see how it’s a love story yet

Staged 1 works well enough on its own but the second season is really essential as a companion piece upping the emotional ante (which is exactly how I feel about Good Omens 1 & 2 lol)

The opening scene mindfuck; The meta! We have reached levels of irony not previously seen possible

Who do I thank for the tacky Zoom interview show background? It deserves top billing

HE DOESN’T WANT THE GOLDFISH TO BE LONELY (metaphor) and then it FUCKING DIES

Celeb cameos in season 1 being all “hey! I like you!” in season 2 like “you are tearing them apart. I hate you. scum

Also the themeing of Michael Sheen and David Tennant being on their own “side” VS everyone else……….. Simon Mr. Writer Sir i see u and unfortunately i am in your walls

The writing feeling less theater-y works for the meta and I’m wondering whether they always had a second season in mind or if it’s just that well written

Was really hoping for a Colin Firth & Hugh Grant cameo ngl :/

The music didn’t annoy me as much this season since it was more of the horn oomp-pah-pah than the piano. Idk maybe my mind just changed

I didn’t know Whoopie Goldberg could be terrifying but here we are (also I forgot her name isn’t Whoopie)

“I think the wizard fucked your ass” ???

Setting up the awards and the baby was peak *pops P* comedy 🤌 Definitely needed since it gets Sad as it goes on

Welsh kink spotted!!! And so fucking blantant I was scandalized

“I’ll shove it up my ass where the rest of the excrement goes” Michael casually asking David to peg him. Nice

More bad magic. More pls and ty

Also moar Nina pls. T’was but a brief beautiful bluster in the wind

Tbh missed a lot of Michael & David’s back-and-forths VS season 1 but I get that’s… the point

Everyone agreeing David is whiney and annoying lmao get wreck’t

Also I forgot they don’t have air conditioning in Englandland ‘cause my man is sweating in every scene he’s in (unless that was intentional in which case… go on…)

The ladies!! That meta ending with the Bechdel test… I see you…

Still love Georgia and Simon’s sister (who I apparently don’t respect enough to google her name); I like Anna now too! She’s got this kinda quiet sarcastic edge I didn’t notice the first time. They all played off each other well in their 3 some (phrasing) scenes

Big amongus sus react that Anna has better chemistry with the two of them than with Michael of which there is literally zero chemistry. Compared to Georgia and David who are just electric with each other it’s honestly distracting

Actual torture watching them break down as other actors play them and drive their friendship apart, it’s fascinating to watch especially on top of it being themselves but, like, not we swear

“Am I your best friend” “No” Fuckin REJECTED !! looser!!!

Oh huh I can see how this is a love story, interesting

The David Tennant fanboy (he is a Real actor I just can’t think of his name) served juicy vomiting SFX realness

“So you’ve made love with him” BROTHER

It took me 87 years to realize warthog and mongoose were in reference to Timon and Pumbah lol <- I am not looking up how to spell this

The bannister being part of the bookshelf why did this make me laugh this hard

Ken Jeong actually reaching into the heart of everything and casually tearing into it Temple of Doom style and leaving everything to ruin lmao

I miss people getting too close to me (feral noises)

Ewan McGregor is cute and I am shallow 🥰

AU where Simon Pegg and Nick Frost did Staged and honestly it would still work aside from being dangerously heterosexual

Simon & Nick doing the Staged 1 back and forth but literally? mmmm that’s sum gud meta

Oh right I forgot the actual writer Simon’s in it too. He’s still good. I like his Zoom tantrum

Jim Parsons unconvincingly looking for his phone after he casually tells David that he and Michael are obviously in love and everyone sees it lmao

David Tennant has the unique ability to make this absolutely insane face reserved specifically for the emotion “oh shit I’m in love with Michael Sheen” which like

I could kill the Good Omens costume department rn I stg take off those fucking sunglasses I’m so mad

Ohhhhhhhh yeah this is a love story

The Frozen snowman being the big bad final boss of cunt, oof you gotta love a good villain

Michael’s monologue the only one not in the kitchen area just breaking down completely I mean *claps until my hands fall off* he put his whole pussy into it. The frustration? The despair? I mean it felt like an audition monologue (in a good way) he walked through the valley in the shadow and death and came back a broken man with a fuzzier beard

CATE BLANCHETT ZOOM SNIPE

Apparently people didn’t like Phoebe Waller Bridge in the new Indiana Jones movie which I haven’t seen but idk I thought she was pretty funny and hot here. *ding*

MOOMIN MUG SPOTTED

The use of travel as a metaphor for feeling stuck emotionally *clenches fist*

“I like silence” *screaming from the other room*

“It’s like gas filling a room” <- fascinating way to describe their dynamic, it’s specifically referring to aimless conversations that snowball and “fill up a room” but it could also refer to the palpable energy between them— like even through the abstraction of a computer screen there’s this magnetic force that’s just riveting, it’s hard to describe

“We haven’t talked about love” > Seen at 2:17 PM LMAO

Michael alone with the black frame lingering shot. Acting and editing and directing choices so simple and on point. everything hurts

Struggling to say goodbye on Zoom physically reaching out unable to leave the frame that whole scene was just. You can just feel the love through the screen, it’s so layered and intimate despite essentially being “No you hang up first”

Zoom wedding! He stayed!!

I wonder if that’s Michael Sheen’s actual best friend. That would be cute

Anna whispering and telling him “nah I know your bestie is literally an hour away but he can’t come over lol” like??? why? let them love each other I cannot handle this villain arc

“I have to bring that one otherwise my tits will explode” Wait wasn’t she drinking earlier though? #ShivRoyMoment

“I was standing outside your job for four hours because I love you” <- dog from Up moment

Yes he is legally a Hobbit

The car window as an abstraction like the Zoom boxes *continued feral noises*

The direction of David putting his hand on the window and Michael walking away only then revealing Anna and the baby far in the background? We’re in 3 dimensions and they are all painful!!

Okay yeah I get it it’s a love story but I thought this was a comedy haha right guys why does everything hurt

It ends on that meta moment between David and Georgia which I can only assume is to set up for the third season although I dunno if that was planned at the time as well. It’s ambiguous but not distracting if they didn’t make another one

tl; dr: Staged 2 is a unique and excellent addition to Staged 1. The added meta textual layer of the other celebrities breaking down their relationship based on Staged 1 allows for a lot of “hiding behind my hands so embarrassed” moments, but also by pitting them against each other, it reveals their actual love for each other through the bickering. Season 1 on its own is a nice vignette of its time but season 2 with it adds a tension and intimacy that really takes both over the top

Kinda dreading watching Staged 3 since it seems like people overwhelmingly like it less than the other two because of the loss of the Zoom format and constant arguing, but I’m already in this far deep so I’ll stick the landing

To wit— awwwwwww, they love each other!

[gregmarriage]

i love writing tomgreg fics, bc i get to have tom make up new and creative nicknames for greg, based purely on the context of said fic

[too-lit-for-fanfic]

Desiderium: Lacuna

Part III of ??

Masterlist

Part IV

* A blank space, a missing part *

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Disclaimer - DNI if under the age of 18. This is a dark and mature story involving themes of torture, substance abuse, addiction, trauma, PTSD, injury detail

The start of the diversion - this is just to allow for some bonding before the main story begins! Please remember, the characters are written realistically, not just to be liked.

Word Count - 10.5K

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Alteration to the timeline - Star Wars a New Hope actually happens 12 years in the future from the Obi-Wan Kenobi Series, not 8. Obi-wan is also younger because his ages seem to correlate until the ‘New Hope’ film, so I adjusted them to match. Yes there is an age gap, sue me.

Age at the time of ‘Revenge of the Sith’ (the fall of the Republic) - Obi-wan 28, Aeris, 16

Age at the time of ‘Kenobi’ series (this story) - Obi-wan - 38, Aeris - 26, Leia & Luke - 10

Age at the time of ‘Star Wars a New Hope’ - Obi-wan 49, Aeris - 38, Leia & Luke - 22

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Aeris remains in the small cockpit far longer than she should have, watching stars slowly glimmer past as she sucks deep breaths into her lungs, helmet in her lap and head rested against a stiff headrest. Her brows furrow and lips turn into a flat grimace as she steadies her breathing, fighting against the fire flickering against her side and clogging her lungs with smoke. She couldn’t breath quite right, ribs protesting with every breath, and even the dim flickering of the distant stars aggravated the thudding of her skull. Nausea battles with her subconscious as her left hand gingerly crosses her stomach to kneed at the bruising at her right side, withdrawing with a grimace as soon as her fingers make light contact with the source of her trouble. Something was broken, no doubt about it.

Her mind wonders to the bacta-patches she had stashed away in her pack, now abandoned in the main foyer, frowning at the realisation she would likely have to use one of them soon. She had been fine, she had been doing better, and then the damned Sith, or Inquisitor, or whatever they liked to call themselves, had sent her plummeting down a stairwell. Her hand finally manages to rest against the tender flesh, massaging gently over the bruising as she watches the stars, willing for a miraculous recovery before she re-enters the main hull. Using a bacta-patch was one thing, explaining her state to Obi-wan was an entirely different matter: how would he trust her if she couldn’t even keep herself unharmed? He would know this wouldn’t have been caused by her fight with the stairwell, he would ask questions. Questions she didn’t want to answer.

Not only that but bacta was unbelievably valuable, especially with the Empire draining supply for their legions that currently fought off rebellion in the furthest corners of the galaxy. It was rare, it could save lives, was a broken rib or two really worth such precious medicine? Though she hoped otherwise, Obi-wan may need it further down the line, perhaps even the girl he had with him. She could pass it on to the Resistance, save an innocent life, a fighter who would go on to save hundreds more, a leader driving the rebellion. It may be a matter of life or death, and what would Aeris have used it for? Pain. Another life lost, another regret. Her frustration at her own situation has her pressing too harshly and flinching away from her own hand, head tilting as her teeth catch her lip, cursing quietly. No, she would wait, and if she so needed she would use the stims first. Besides, Obi-wan should be gone soon, and she would be able to retire back to her own ship and hide from the galaxy for a week or so, nurse her wounds and return back to business as if nothing had happened. 

Images of Obi-wan in the cargo bay suddenly come to mind, and Aeris barely has a moment before images of the Third Sister flash before her closed eyelids and her eyes snap open in alarm, the warning she had shared with Obi-wan bouncing around her dull skull. Aeris had been distracted in the moment, occupied with getting out of there alive, but now that she could sit and truly think, the more none of this made any sense. She had heard the Third Sister’s threats, the warnings she had given: ‘He’s alive Obi-wan. Anakin Skywalker is alive.’. Anakin Skywalker, that was a name she hadn’t heard in an age; she knew who he was, of course, Obi-wan’s Padawan from the days of the Jedi Republic. The golden boy of the century, with the locks to match. The man to bring balance to the force, peace to the galaxy - she nearly scoffs at the prophecy; what balance had he brought? Wars had been fought over his destiny, and yet the galaxy still ended up in the hands of the Empire, with a lunatic in a helmet at its helm. If she ever managed to get her hands on that man, he would beg to be taken by the Empire. The founder of the prophecy would beg for satan himself. Then the Third Sister had mentioned said lunatic herself ‘Darth Vader will be pleased.’ - what had he to do with Obi-wan and Anakin? 

Her brows furrow minimally as she recalls the moment, Obi-wan’s panic, his inability to seemingly do anything at all.

The Empire hunted Jedi, that was common knowledge, and it had made sense that they had tried to detain Obi-wan, a past figure-head of the Jedi Order, when they could, but Darth Vader himself? There was more to this than Obi-wan had said, and Aeris was startlingly aware of exactly how little she knew. She knew of the rumours that surrounded the Sith Lord, the darkness that emanated from the cloaked man, the terror and death that accompanied him like a shadow, the misfortune and tragedy that hung across his shoulders and embraced all those he came across. She wanted nothing to do with that monster - she wanted him dead, tortured, humiliated, but a galaxy between them would hardly be enough, never mind harbouring a man he actively hunted. If Vader wanted Obi-wan, the Jedi would be far better killing himself now and ending the torment; no matter how far he ran, Vader would find him. Even the resistance couldn’t save him.

With worry gnawing at her chest and the startling awareness of all the eyes of the galaxy turned towards her, Aeris’ hand stills its movements against her torso. If Vader was after them, she was dead, they were dead -  If she stayed in this cockpit any longer she would surely go mad. 

After several more moments, and mustering the courage to stand, Aeris hoists herself from the pilot’s seat, throwing one last glance at the gravelly navigation display before exiting the cockpit. 

The young girl sits alone on a long metal bench in the main body of the ship, and her wide brown eyes immediately snap in Aeris’ direction as the door hisses shut behind her. Placing her helmet down on an empty mesh crate Aeris’ eyes flicker towards the girl; she had been fiddling with her hair, the long brunette locks twisted in a messy braid, half-finished. The air is empty and yet tense, and it is only then Aeris realises she had yet to actually talk to the girl.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is flat and gravelly, a stark contrast to the spike to her heart at having to converse with a child - would the child understand everything she said? What tone should she use? She wasn’t a cheery person with a lighthearted laugh nor a light voice, and that was the only way she had seen people talk to their children before. She was never very good with children. She had once been better, but after so many years in her profession they seemed as alien as some of the other species that inhabited the universe.

The girl, startled at having been directly spoken to, flushes, cheeks and ears turning pink as she hides the poor braid behind her back with a flick of her wrist. “Yes.” The child looks concerned, and for a moment Aeris thinks she is frightening her; she supposed a blaster-wielding stranger that had killed people in front of her was not a person the girl would confide in. “You’re bleeding.” 

Oh. The confusion on the woman’s face and a quick glance down at herself has the child motioning to her head. Aeris rubs a hang gingerly across her hairline, fingers dabbling in a small stream of blood slowly ebbing its way towards her brow. She doesn’t flinch despite the familiar sting. She lamely attempts to rub the blood away, only smearing it back up into her hairline. 

“What’s your name?” It seemed rather silly to ask that question now, but the child smiles so she supposes it was the right thing to say.

“Leia.” Aeris’ head tilts minimally, a small crease forming between her angular brows. She had heard that name before. 

“Pretty name.” Leia is practically beaming, her full attention on the woman before her. Aeris doesn’t like the attention and divers her gaze from the child, chest uncomfortably hollow. Her eyes scour the dim room, surprised to find no trace of Obi-wan near his ‘daughter’. ‘Where’s Obi-wan?”

“He’s doing a Jedi thing.” Leia rolls her eyes, kicking her feet playfully. “He went over there.” She points to the dim furthest part of the ship, and Aeris nods in thanks before heading in that direction.

The cargo ship is tall and spacious, with only a few crates and miscellaneous items to clutter its wide interior. It hadn’t yet been stocked for transport and most of the netting attached to either wall lay empty or strewn about the floor, only a few crates large and dangerous enough to be secured. It was dim, not intended for humans to occupy, but the small overhead lighting sufficed, illuminating the shadows in the darkest corners just enough to see the ship’s interior outline. The scent of plastic and metal and something musty hangs thick in the cool air, dissimilar to the cargo bay they had just departed from, distinctly mechanical and yet not unpleasant. It takes Aeris longer than expected to reach its furthest wall where Obi-wan sits cross-legged on the floor, eyes shut and hands cupped in his lap, palms up. 

She watches the man meditate for a moment in silence, one hand grasping the other and a sourness overtaking her throat. He looked so... peaceful. Obi-wan’s face seemed the most peaceful she had seen it over the last few hours, lines of age almost entirely vanished and shoulders squarer than when he had first tried to intimidate her in the alleyway. The furrow between his brows that never seemed to shift all but gone, tired eyes shut and their accompanying shadow obsolete. His breaths are steady and slow, a calmness emanating from him and encompassing the corridor, cool air not so biting, the rumble of the ship subdued. Aeris has every intention of ruining that peace. 

“Obi-wan?” She approaches, footfalls heavier with the intention of grasping the man’s attention. He doesn’t shift for a moment. “Is everything okay?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Aeris is about to speak again, far louder, with worry and pain agitating her attitude, before he shifts and begins to slowly raise from his position.

“Yes, yes, I just needed a moment.” Obi-wan mutters, straightening his robes and turning towards the maskless woman, an air of peace settled over him like a blanket. Aeris nearly marvels at his ability to calm his nerves after such an ordeal, instead her lips press into a thin line, one hand resting against her belt. Obi-wan’s eyes finally land on her face, satisfied with his robes, and said peace immediately morphs into something akin to concern. “You’re bleeding.” 

“So I’ve been told.” 

His cerulean eyes don’t fall from the abrasion, watching a scarlet droplet slowly gather at her temple. 

“It’s fine, I don’t even feel it.” She dismisses, not entirely sure why she is justifying her wellness to a man she had met mere hours before. “Who’s Anakin Skywalker?” 

If her presence hadn’t disturbed the peace enough, her question had all but shattered any comprehension of it all together. Obi-wan’s breath catches in his throat, eyes snapping down to her own and matching her fiery gaze. For a moment he forgets to breath, just like back at the cargo bay, and the ground seems to swallow him whole, the shadows in the corners of the room growing and overtaking his peripheral, the metric humming of the ship fading as his hearing fails. He sees the fire in the coppery amber of Aeris’ eyes and he has to focus on the droplet of blood once again to prevent himself from becoming lost in a memory he had just managed to pull himself back from. His knuckles turn white with the grip he has on his own forearms.

“No one- no one important.”

Aeris knew what she was doing, face an emotionless mask of curiosity, suspicion swimming in the amber flecks of her iris’. Obi-wan was panicked, and he should be - she was not a woman to deceive. Anakin Skywalker was not ‘no one’.

“I will ask you again. Who is Anakin Skywalker?”

The older man stands firm, dead-set eyes boring into her own, his lips sealed in a firm line. The peaceful silence has morphed into something far more sinister, thick and chocking.

“He was your Padawan.” She reveals after several moments, one eyebrow raising as she asks. “What has Darth Vader got to do with you and Anakin?”

Obi-wan’s mouth opens minimally, closing as abruptly as his mind stalls. He hadn’t even told the bounty hunter the true relation between himself and Leia, his relation with Darth Vader himself was not another relation he wanted to share. The cogs in his mind turn as he scrambles, fighting for clarity among memories and their horrors that lay festering and fresh beneath the surface - how did she know of Anakin? How did she know he had been his Padawan? Though Obi-wan was once well-known through the resistance circles, his relation to other Jedi was not something discussed commonly. His eyes search her own; what did she know? And how did she know it? His distrust spikes, the Empire would likely know of their relationship, and so far there was little proof Aeris was who she claimed to be aside from the dishonest word of a con-man that had tried to scan Obi-wan himself. A hand comes up to rub the scruff of his beard, eyes narrowed. She didn’t know Anakin was Darth Vader, at least.

“He was my Padawan- I thought he died in Order 66.” Obi-wan’s tone is tight, the brunette before him watching his face with a harrowing gaze. “And I have no idea, I had no idea Darth Vader was involved in all of this - the Empire hunt all force users.”

Lies. Aeris’ mind hums, her tongue coming out to wet her lips as she thinks, a muscle twitching in her jaw. 

“So why would the Third Sister mention him? This seems personal.”

“I have no idea.” The greying man stresses, hands motioning at his sides. “I don’t know how they found me, I don’t know what they want with me, I don’t know what Darth Vader has to do with any of this. I can only imagine it’s the same thing they do with all force users, only I had a reputation.” He didn’t like how easy it was becoming to lie. He had no idea if he was convincing, but the contemplative look on the woman’s face has his nerves settling. “And how do you even know Anakin use to be my Padawan? That isn’t knowledge you should possess.”

“I’m not the one lying here Ben. Anakin Skywalker is not ‘no one’.” 

“And you’re not answering any of my questions. How do you know of Anakin Skywalker?” He doesn’t relent, voice firm, arms crossed. 

“I have my sources.” It is Aeris’ turn to become defensive, brows furrowing. 

“I’m trusting you to get myself and my daughter home safe.” He clears his throat, almost stumbling over his words. He doesn’t notice the satisfied upturning of Aeris’ thin lips. “How can I trust you when you possess information only few people should know- you know my name, my real name, and you know Anakin. I have a feeling you know a lot more than just any bounty hunter, than just any resistance member. I cannot trust you when I don’t know why.”

“I’m with the resistance.” Obi-wan was becoming frustrated at how she seemed to use that as a get out clause for any questions thrown her way. “And I’m a bounty hunter, my job is to gather people and get them to the resistance, it’s my job to know who you are, who you’re connections are, who else might need saving.”

His forehead creases, sucking a deep breath into his lungs. Never mind Aeris’ job, it was how she acquired this information that had him set on edge - where were the records with this information? With evidence of these links? It had been a decade since the destruction of the Jedi Order, and presumably all of its data and information. Who would still maintain these files at risk of being tortured and killed by the Empire? 

“Your daughter,” Aeris begins, one final question on her lips. “why aren’t they hunting her? You’re right, they hunt all force users, surely blood relation is enough to put a target on her back too?”

Obi-wan curses himself for not just telling the truth earlier. He digs his heels in, continuing to act the clueless fool. “Force, Aeris I don’t know. The Empire work in mysterious ways- it’s likely they don’t even know she’s my daughter. You’re making it sound like I’m lying about her.”

The flat look she sends him has him biting the inside of his cheek. He had hoped she would shy away from the accusation: the woman was thorough, and confident, he would have to give her that. 

“Why would I lie about such a thing?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes flicker to his lips and back to his eyes as she talks, and he is acutely aware of how closely he is being watched. This was her job after all, reading others, distinguishing the untrustworthy from the plain dangerous. Anxiety squirms in his stomach and for a moment he considers preferring his odds against the Third Sister than the woman stood before him: better the devil you know than the one you don’t. “And that’s what I don’t understand. I usually know why people are lying, I can usually put myself in their shoes and understand, weed out the bullshit pretty early on.” A hand comes up to swipe a scarlet droplet from her brow. “But you have been dead to the galaxy for a decade, you re-appear on the run, on a seedy planet you have no business on, with a daughter no one knows of and the most dangerous man in the galaxy chasing after you. I don’t know what you’re lying about, or why, but I know you are.”

“Choose to believe me, or not. It makes no difference.” Obi-wan was growing tired, the stresses of the day wearing upon his weary shoulders, and he was worried that if they continued he would slip up. “I’m trying to get somewhere safe with my daughter. That is all I want, and that’s what I’ve told you.”

Aeris’ eyes continue their journey of his face, bright eyes cold and steely. The older man gave nothing back, despite the exhaustion and stress that marred the lines of his features, she understood he knew how this game was played, and nothing could be trusted. She had worn a fair few masks of her own, and this honest vulnerability was just another she had once adorned herself. This Jedi was smart, and ultimately his expression was just as guarded as her own. A thousand questions and accusations pushed against her lips, and her right hand tapped an indistinguishable pattern against her thigh. With one last regard, she turns, flexing her jaw.

“I’ll leave you to your meditation.” She bites, unsatiated but understanding she wouldn’t get any further that afternoon. She had found out one thing - Obi-wan was lying to her, about one thing or another, but she had yet to figure out what exactly about, and why. 

She turns to leave, planning on returning to the cockpit and napping for however long they had left in the cargo shuttle, but Obi-wan’s surprisingly soft voice behind her has her halting and turning back towards him.

“You’re hurt.”

It wasn’t a question, and yet it takes Aeris by surprise, visible confusion flashing across her face before she stares at the man blankly, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“You- in- you’re hurt.” 

Aeris, though usually not so easily ruffled, continues to stare at him blankly, wondering where this conversation had come from after such a heated debate. His own blank stare doesn’t offer much in return. Feeling the dried blood on her fingertips, she motions to her forehead, flicking a wrist dismissively. “It’s just a scratch, I’m fine.”

“No I- I don’t mean that.” The sleeves of his robe ruffle as he adjusts his grip on his forearms, hesitant yet persistent. “You nearly gave away your position in the cargo bay.” 

Aeris doesn’t speak, watching him cautiously.

He sighs. “This isn’t going to work unless we trust each other- I could help. I have experience with medical kits.”

“As do I.” She defends, a bit too harshly. “I tripped on a wire in the cargo bay, rest assured I do not need your help.”

His mouth opens to insist, but the brunette wastes no time in striding away from the conversation, leaving Obi-wan to his own thoughts and shadows as she returns to the equally dim cockpit. She returns faster than she had departed and her eyes instantly fall to Leia who still sat on the same crate, face pinched as she messy’s her braid further. Aeris pauses, eyes flickering between the cockpit door and the girl sat frowning to her right, and just as she decides that the child would be fine and that a nap was a far more pressing issue, a pained and frustrated whine leaves her throat. 

“Leia, you okay?” She questions, one brow raising and head tilting lightly, not entirely thrilled to be asking the question in the first place.

The girl startles, head whipping in the woman’s direction, hands gripping the hem of her shirt. Large brown eyes stare back at Aeris and she shrugs as she heads back to the cockpit. “Nevermind.”

“Wait-!” Leia calls, hopping up from the crate as the cockpit door hisses open. Concealing a sigh Aeris turns back, staring down at the girl expectantly. “I- I don’t-” she babbles, taking a step back. 

Brown puppy-dog eyes stare back at Aeris’ lighter pair, and a hand comes up to drag down her face as she asks: “There is something wrong, isn’t there?”

“I can’t braid my hair.” 

As if that wasn’t obvious from the birds nest that currently sat in a twisted knot at the back of Leia’s head. “You want me to braid your hair?” A breath releases from Aeris’ chest as she waits for the child to get to the route of the problem. 

“And I’ve... hurt my shoulder.” 

“Right,” Aeris sighs, striding past the girl and sitting on the crate she once sat on. She beckons with a gloved hand. “Come on then, show me.”

Leia tentatively sits next to the older woman, staring at her expectantly. 

“Which shoulder?” Slowly, Aeris rests her hands on Leia’s right shoulder, fingers feather-light as she prods around the joint, feeling for irregularities under the flimsy material of her jacket. Leia is rigid, back straight and muscles tense, face screwed in preparation for pain. Aeris notices and begins talking. “And how did you hurt it?” 

“Just before you found us with those people in the alleyway.” Leia’s poor braid swings as she talks, nodding to herself. “I jumped off the roof ‘cos these people were shooting at us, and I didn’t trust that Ben would catch me so I grabbed this wire.” She mimics reaching for something with her other hand. “And it’s hurt since. I don’t know what I did.” 

Aeris smooths a palm over the fabric of Leia’s shirt, one hand gripping her arm firmly whilst the other delves delicately in the junction between her shoulder and neck. “Good news is it doesn’t feel dislocated, there’s no bruising, and nothing feels ‘wrong’. You’ve probably just strained it a bit.” She hops up from the crate, heading towards the cockpit.

“Stay.” She calls over her shoulder, re-emerging a minute later with a flask and a small pill. She rejoins Leia on the crate, hiding a wince behind a smile as she hands the items over. “I don’t know the fancy name for this medicine but it’s similar to a stim - you’ve heard of them right?” Leia’s vacant look tells her all she needs. “It speeds up healing, and it’ll get rid of the pain. You’ll be back to normal in an hour.” 

Leia immediately downs the pill, sipping at the water and watching Aeris over the rim of the flask, obviously wanting to keep talking. Aeris taps a silent rhythm against the crate as she shifts position. She considers leaving, body aching for the nap she had convinced herself she would take, but Leia’s expectant eyes and eager expression has her remaining on the crate, cursing her better nature.

“You jumped off a roof?” She leans back, surprised at how eager Leia’s eyes follow her. “...That’s pretty badass.” A grin overtakes the girls face, and she perks up instantly, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged. “You weren’t scared or anything?”

“No!” She refutes, shaking her head vigorously. “No, not scared at all. Like you when you jumped from the roof, but I think you looked cooler.” 

“Huh, well, that’s very brave. I think I’d be scared if I fell.” 

Leia’s grin quickly turns bashful, and she takes another sip as Aeris’ eyes wonder to the mess of hair sticking in all directions from behind her head. 

“I can’t be handing you over to the resistance like a scruffy-looking nerf-herder, so can you do your hair now or do I need to do it?” 

From bashful to downright embarrassed, Leia shakes her head again eyes lowering. “I don’t know how, can you please?”

“Your mum never taught you?” Aeris asks as she points at the floor before her feet, Leia settling cross-legged between her legs. From the limited knowledge Aeris had about children, Leia looked to be around seven years old, at the very least, wasn’t that a normal age for a young girl to be braiding her own hair?

“Uh,” Leia hesitates, sipping at the water again, somewhat aware of the cover story Obi-wan had been spouting to people and deciding that informing the bounty hunter about having maids to do this wasn’t entirely appropriate. “No, not yet.”

Nimble fingers quickly and carefully un-tie the mess of a braid that Leia had started, calloused fingers carding through brunette locks as the hull hums peacefully. Aeris had to hunch over to reach Leia, the girl not quite tall enough for a comfortable reach, and had to concentrate greatly to avoid grimacing at the tug to her side. The knotted mass of hair offered some distraction, thankfully, and Aeris soon found herself falling into a semi-relaxed rhythm as she began to braid. Her brows furrowed, however, at the memories of braiding a child’s hair a lifetime ago, and she opens her mouth to distract her thoughts. 

“How old are you, Leia?”

“I’m ten and a half!” Aeris tries not to think too much about what happened to the galaxy around ten and a half years ago, but she notes the age with suspicion. Obi-wan was uncharacteristically quick to move on from the Jedi ways. “How old are you?” Leia questions, not entirely understanding the inappropriateness of the question.

“How old do you think I am?” The bounty hunter extends her arm, motioning with her fingers for Leia to pass her a bobble. “Be careful with your answer.”

“Twentyyyy-” Leia pauses, dragging her words as Aeris finishes tying off the braid. “two.”

“Ha! I wish.” The brunette scoffs a laugh, Leia flinching at the abruptness of her outburst. “You flatterer. I’m twenty-six.”

Patting Leia on the shoulders to motion her to stand, Aeris leans back on the crate, attempting to stretch out her stiff sides before she stands. “So, do you and your dad have plans for when you get home?”

“I- I don’t know.” Leia mutters. Aeris doesn’t fail to notice the hesitance to her voice or the aversion of her gaze. “I guess Ben will contact my mum as soon as we’re somewhere safe.”

“Hm, yes I’m sure she’ll be worried about you." Aeris tilts her head to the side lazily, trying to catch Leia’s eyes but ultimately giving up. “Don’t worry, you’ll be back with her soon.”

“Back with who soon?” Obi-wan interrupts, slightly panicked, finally returning from his moments of solitude. Leia startles at the intrusion, Aeris rolls her neck uninterested.

“With mum.” Leia sits on another smaller crate, swinging her legs back and forth. “She doesn’t know where we are.” “Ah, yes.” Obi-wan shifts uncomfortably, Aeris paying no mind to his actions as she rolls her shoulders from the time hunched braiding Leia’s hair. “Don’t worry, we’ll be in contact as soon as I can.”

Not intending to stick around for a ‘father’-’daughter’ bonding moment, Aeris springs up from her seat, boots clanging against the metal floor and dragging their attention towards her. “Right, well, now that you’re back- we’ve got around five hours before we get anywhere close to Mapuzo, so I suggest we all get some rest to kill the time and prepare ourselves for landing.” Her gaze flits between the pair, acknowledging them both pointedly. “Force-knows what it’ll be like when we land, the Empire’s increased their troop presence all over this sector, because of course they fucking have. They’ve got nothing better to do than interrupt my plans all the time.” Catching herself in her frustrations she stops. “We’ll just have to be prepared. Can’t be any worse than Daiyu.”

She leans over some meshing, pulling a stack of scraggly moth-eaten blankets out from the shadows and begins handing them around. “I’m going to sleep,” She opts to leave out a smart comment about Obi-wan ruining her schedule with his arrival on Daiyu, deciding things were tense enough between them already. However, she wouldn’t pretend a large part of the reasoning she wanted to sleep was so that she could simply stop having to look at him, as petty as that was: previous beating aside. “the ship’s fine, no one of interest takes this route. Do whatever you want, don’t break anything, and don't touch the console in the cockpit. Good?”

Leia nods, wrapping her moss-coloured blanket over her shoulders after a moments scrutiny. Obi-wan folds his ominously stained cream blanket in his arms, sitting quietly and allowing Leia to plop herself next to him, pulling out her small bug-like toy and beginning to mumble excitedly to him about god-knows what. He watches as Aeris immediately prepares for bed, folding her jacket into a pillow, pulling her maroon blanket over her shoulders, and curling into herself at the corner of the hull closest to the cockpit, back pressed up against the wall. She doesn't remove her blasters from her hips, and barely stirs as soon as her head connects with her jacket.

He sighs, attention focussing on entertaining Leia, lamenting all the decisions that had led him to this moment; a cold dark musty run-down transport vessel, with a child at his hip, a child who’s father was alive and apparently the very man who had brought the galaxy into ruin, who was apparently currently hunting Obi-wan down. That’s not even to mention the dangerous stranger seemingly peacefully asleep in the shadows. He had had a peaceful life not ten days ago, how could it have gone so wrong?

Obi-wan watches the young girl beside him, finally noticing that her unkept locks had been braided back into two delicate dutch braids. He hadn’t even noticed how unkempt she had first looked, but now he realised she looked immensely better and polished, akin more to a princess than a street-urchin.

“You’re hair looks very nice, Leia.” He compliments, attempting to smile warmly at her, eyes crinkling. “I could never hope to tie such a braid.”

“Thank you!” She beams, grinning up at him and running her fingers along one of her braids. “Aeris did it for me.”

“What?” He questions dumbly, jovial mood crashing into the floor, eyes flitting in the sleeping bounty-hunters direction. “She- she did your hair?” 

“Yeah.” Leia nods, seemingly unaware of Obi-wan’s absolute shock. “I couldn’t fix my hair so she did it for me-” Obi-wan feels as if his brain is short-circuiting, unable to visualise how on earth that event even happened. Did Leia just wonder up to the woman and politely ask her to braid her hair? And then she simply said yes? Aeris was many things, aggressive, intimidating, dangerous, closed-off and frankly frightening, someone to steer clear of, definitely not someone he could envision who would sit and braid a young child’s hair. His gaze slides back to her sleeping figure, perhaps he had misjudged her, but he struggled to grapple with the mental image none-the-less.

“-said I couldn’t be meeting the resistance looking like, like a ‘scruffy-looking nerf-er’.” Ah, that was more believable.

“Nerf-herder?” Obi-wan offers, sighing when Leia nods, repeating the full phrase back to him. How classy.

“Don’t go repeating that, Leia, your parents will kill me if they hear that coming from you.”

“Is it really that bad?” She sasses, Obi-wan rubbing between his eyes tiredly.

“Had you ever heard that phrase before today?” She stares at him silently. “Exactly, there’s a reason. Young girls shouldn’t be saying stuff like that, it’s unbecoming.”

Leia nods along, but Obi-wan has a feeling the insult will stick with her for a while. Children always picked up the worst things. He remembered swearing in front of a youngling once, and before he knew it the entire cohort had a new word in their vocabulary.

“Is there anything else our travelling companion taught you today?” He questions, half in jest, half concerned.

“Uhh,” Leia genuinely considers, brows furrowing. Obi-wan regrets ever asking. “a tim? A stim?” She drags out the ‘s’, unsure. 

Obi-wan’s head turns fully to regard her. “Why in force was she teaching you about stims?” 

“She gave me ‘something like a stim’ for my shoulder.” She uses air-quotations, completely unaware of the panic striking Obi-wan’s heart and the cold sweat immediately breaking out across his back.

“Leia,” His voice is tight, and it takes all of his restraint not to go barrelling to the other side of the room and rouse Aeris from her slumber. “what do you mean she gave you something? She gave you medicine? And you took it?”

“I hurt my shoulder when I fell earlier and she gave me something to fix it. It feels great.” She smiles again, the apples of her cheeks rosy. Obi-wan’s eyes only furrow in concern, gaze flicking around her face for signs of illness.

“What did she give you? Leia, this is important, what did she give you?” His tone raises in urgency, whispering harshly to not awaken Aeris at the other side of the room.

“I don’t know.” She mumbles quietly, feeling the pressure of his gaze. “It was a pill...”

“A pill.” A hand covers Obi-wan’s mouth, running through all types of medical knowledge that remained in his mind from his training. A pill? That could be anything. She could’ve given her Latheniol or force-knows what.

“Force. You feel alright though?” He places a hand against her forehead that she quickly swats away. Delving into the force, he narrows his light presence towards Leia’s heart, ignoring his own hammering chest to listen to the exceptionally-normal heartbeat next to him. “Oh my- don’t take medicine from strangers. Did no one ever teach you that? Don’t take anything from strangers.”

“You’re a stranger.” Leia defends, crossing her arms and pouting. 

“I’m different. Your family knows me. No-one knows her.”

“...Sorry.”

“Just-” He sighs, a hand pulling down his face and rubbing at his beard. “next time you hurt something, need something, anything. Tell me first, okay?” He regards her with a final once-over, leaning back against the wall and staring at the ceiling to compose himself. “But you’re feeling alright? No side-effects since the medicine?”

“No, no. I feel better than before. Pinky-promise.” An extended pinky-finger comes into his view, wafting around jokingly. Not having the energy to attempt to reason with her any further, and not wanting to worry her too much, he extends his own pinky, letting her pull his hand into her lap and begin playing with it as she resumes her chatter from before. Force, the child needed some self-preservation lessons. 

---

Once Leia’s chattering died down, the hull fell into a peaceful silence with nothing but the struggling hum of the engine indicating any movement at all. Obi-wan had managed to sleep for a little while, waking two hours later with a stiff neck and Leia sprawled across his lap, using his robes as a pillow. She had shifted since, and now hugged his cream-coloured blanket close to her chest. He had enjoyed the silence, allowing his mind to wander, but not too far, and his eyes had finally adjusted to the dim quarters he found himself in. 

The first sign of Aeris waking up had been her mumbling. Her words were so soft he couldn’t fully understand them, and he doubted they made much sense anyway. He wasn’t even entirely sure she was speaking English, the words were so jumbled and aborted. Then came her constant shifting around, evidently not wanting to wake up yet and make the most out of the few hours of quiet they had. He had noted the way the woman shifted delicately, and once or twice had quickly altered positions with a quick intake of breath. She had obviously done some damage to something at the cargo port earlier, probably when she fell down all those stairs, but he had already offered to help, what was he to do if she refused him? He continues watching silently, her suddenly-growing frustration at being awake reminding him of a certain someone he had tried his best not to think about.

Regardless of her efforts, admitting defeat, she quietly sat herself upright, back pressed against the wall behind her, blanket pulled over her shoulders and hair an unruly mess atop her head. Her eyes immediately snap towards him, and Obi-wan cannot help but feel as though he has been caught doing something he shouldn’t have despite just sitting idly, averting his gaze to land back on Leia’s sleeping form.

Peaceful silence turns into something a little tenser, though Obi-wan isn’t sure if he is just imagining it.

“’morn’n’.” An unfamiliar accent slips through as her hands drag through her hair and rub at her eyes, fingers tapping against a rudimentary communicator on her wrist, illuminating her face in a sickly orange. “We’ve got an hour and a half before we make land.”

Obi-wan hums quietly, nodding his head once. 

“Sleep well?” 

“Hmph,” Her shoulders raise in a mocking laugh. “Could do with another ten hours, but oh well.” She stands, slowly, stretching her arms even slower above her head. Obi-wan can see her hide a wince, even in the dim lighting. “Did you sleep at all?” She questions, sounding as if she heavily suspected otherwise. 

“Yes, I awoke about an hour ago. I didn’t move because I didn’t want to disturb Leia.” The girl still had a firm hand wrapped around the edge of his robes, despite him offering his blanket as a sacrifice instead.

He watches Aeris’ eyes turn down to the young girl, eyes catching the little light from the overhead bulbs and shining unnaturally. “From what she told me, she deserves the rest.”

A moments silence. 

“Thank you for braiding her hair.”

Aeris’ eyes slowly lift to him, waiting suspectingly. 

“She told me you braided it, I think it made her afternoon.” He truly meant that, having been thoroughly surprised when Leia had informed him after he had complimented the braid pattern. He couldn’t imagine how the conversation leading up to that had gone, a, by all means, terrifying bounty hunter sat delicately braiding a young girls hair. Truthfully, it had eased some of his doubts about the woman sleeping with two blasters across the room, and had been one of the reasons he had allowed himself to sleep - who would bother braiding a child’s hair just to kill them the next hour?

“She’s quite a character.” Aeris hums, hands buried into her trouser pockets as she slowly heads towards the cockpit, walking closer to the pair to reach the door. Obi-wan watches the movement carefully, finally noticing the smattering of bruises on each of Aeris’ toned arms now that her jacket had been discarded and she had wondered closer. The hues of purple and blue were far too developed to have been from earlier that day, and he regards her with concerned interest - despite her apparent humanity, he could not forget her profession, nor how she had so easily found them. 

“How old is she?” The question was innocent enough, but alarms immediately start blaring in Obi-wan’s head, eyes snapping up to Aeris’, fingers digging into his forearms beneath his robes. If he said her true age, she would know she was born the same year the Jedi Republic fell, and if he really wanted to ruin things, he could go a step further and say it was the exact date everything fell apart. No, Leia was ‘his’ child, and it would have to allow at least nine months after his exile, but that was equally as suspicious. Obi-wan knew what he looked like, and a heart-throb rebel who would have a one-night stand during the destruction of the galaxy was most definitely not his image.

Not to mention, Leia might have already let-slip her age, and with how she liked to chatter he wouldn’t have entirely been surprised. Of course, he could simply refuse to tell Aeris, or change the topic, but she was already suspicious enough about them, he could sacrifice this bit of harmless ‘information’. Deciding revealing her true age would do far more damage than being caught lying about it, already coming up with a counter-lie, he settles on a random number. “Eight.” He decides, deeming it close enough. Leia looked young for her age anyway. “Why?”

He was truly not enjoying the amount of lying he had had to do lately, particularly to a woman who looked like she always seemed to know what was exactly going on in his head.

“No particular reason,” She shrugs, rocking backward on her heels and resuming her trek towards the cockpit. “she’s just so well spoken, but couldn’t braid her hair.” She stares more pointedly at Leia’s hunched figure. “Not to mention she’s as tiny as a loth-cat. I couldn't wrap my head around how old she was.”

As Aeris disappears into the cockpit once again, Obi-wan sighs, head resting against the cool metal of the ship. Every conversation with Aeris felt like a miniature battlefield, and for once, he felt as though he had come away unscathed.

---

On the other side of the cockpit door, Aeris shakes her head with a cocky grin. Idiots, absolute idiots. The information of Leia’s age would be of no use whatsoever, but its reasoning had peaked her interest. Leia was 10, born the same year the galaxy fell to shit, and Obi-wan had purposefully lied about this. That could mean two things; Leia was not his daughter, which Aeris was so confident about she’d wager her ship on it, or that Leia’s age held some sort of significance, either to who she actually was, or someone connected to her. All could be true for all Aeris knew. She knew three things, stood in the small cockpit of the transport shuttle: Leia was ten and a half years old, Obi-wan Kenobi was not her father, and he did not want her to know that. Additionally, Darth Vader was chasing after him, but she couldn’t wrap her head around the relevance of those separate factors. For a moment, falling into the pilots seat, she fantasised about Obi-wan going on some wild goose-chase and kidnapping Darth Vader’s daughter, or perhaps some other high-ranking Empire officer, but that was pure fantasy. Leia spoke far too well and was far too kind to be related to any officer Aeris had ever had the misfortune of meeting, so who were her relations? More pressingly, why was she in the care of Obi-wan? And why was Vader so interesting in the retired Jedi?

She pauses for a minute, sinking lower into her chair. Force knows what goddamn Anakin Skywalker had to do with any of this. This was either the worst bout of unfortunate timing anyone in the galaxy had ever experienced for Obi-wan, or there was some connection here she didn’t have all the facts to realise. She rubs her eyes with her right hand, frowning as she attempts to rationalise the jumbled mess inside her head. She did not like this, she usually knew exactly what was happening with those around her, and yet Obi-wan had fallen into her lap with a great big question mark plastered across him. She usually revelled in these sorts of challenges, piecing information together like a puzzle before her very eyes, but with Obi-wan and the kind of ghosts he would carry, to not know the full picture was dangerous, and the gravity of that reality only grew the more information slipped through the cracks.

There was one thing she knew for certain; the sooner Obi-wan and the girl were out of her hands, the better. 

When she returned to her ship she’d find a way to access birth files from 10 years ago, just to satiate her curiosity. Now, however, she turns to the primitive and battered console in front of her, frown deepening as she attempts to assess the situation. The console before her was ancient, and that was a generous assessment of its capabilities, with nothing but a grainy navigation monitor with a dim blinking dot that jittered around the screen giving any indication their own ship even existed. Concluding the technical side of things were hopeless for ensuring their security, she stares pointedly out of the viewport in front of her, pressing her face as close to the glass as possible to see to her right and left. She saw nothing but an endless expanse of nothingness, with far off stars glimmering past rather sluggishly - this ship did not seem to move at light speed, more like a poor sputtering attempt at just reaching its destination within the day. Nothing seemed to be trailing the ship, at least nothing she could see from this incredibly limited viewing point. Taking solace in the fact there was only one blinking dot on the grainy monitor, she rests back in her seat, chewing on the inside of her lip.

Truthfully, she felt exhausted, but the steel floor seemed to have an uncanny ability at making her aware of all of the aches and pains that ailed her. Not to mention, Obi-wan’s presence had brought many memories she had tried to forget to the forefront of her mind; screams, blaster-fire and the dreadful sounds of lightsabers plaguing her night-terrors. It took an immense amount of restraint not to awake screaming and swinging her fists, and even more still to curb her temper when she had seen Obi-wan just sat idly, watching without a care in the world. There was a reason she stayed away from Jedi, aside from their near extinction, and with every passing hour she regretted her proximity to one more fiercely. 

She glances down at her communicator. She had an hour to kill, and desperately wanted to just sleep the time away, but it was just too unbearable on that floor. She hadn’t had a good nights restful sleep in a full week, her last period of prolonged sleep being drug-induced, and now she couldn’t even close her eyes without her worst memories playing out behind her eyelids. She kicks her feet up on the console, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She would take her chances in the chair. 

---

After 10 minutes of fitfully trying to sleep in the cockpit, Aeris returned to the main hull, barely sparing Obi-wan a glance as she resumed her position on the floor, opting instead to wear her jacket and use her blanket as a poor attempt at a mattress. She had been asleep for around 15 minutes, and Obi-wan had resumed his meditation, when the ship rocked wildly to the side and alarms started blaring. 

Aeris springs up immediately, cursing loudly and creatively as she sprints towards the cockpit. 

“What the-!” Obi-wan yells over the sirens, hanging onto a startled Leia with one arm and the netting behind him with the other to stop them hurtling to the other side of the hull as Aeris trips unceremoniously through the doorway to the cockpit as another blast rocks the ship.

Aeris hurtles through the doorway and slams into the centre console, cursing louder at the amount of red sensors blaring at her. The console was going mad, red and flickering with random buttons flashing at her angrily, and the shrill shrieking of the safety alarm splicing through her brain didn’t help the panic she was trying to control. Three dots on the navigation screen flicker wildly, one green, two red; just out of view of the viewport. She slams a hand down on the communications radio, waiting the few agonising seconds it took to connect to nearby frequencies and nearly hurtling back out through the cockpit doors as the ship jolts again. 

“This is the commander of transport vessel, call-sign Percheron, requesting communication and demanding ceasefire.”

The radio blusters angrily back at her and she repeats the sentence again, yelling over the emergency safety systems, hands gripping at the console to steady herself as Obi-wan appears in the doorway behind her.

“Percheron,” A horribly disfigured voice crackles through the radio. Aeris notices the familiar Empirical accent immediately and curses under her breath. Alarms blare and the console still screams furiously, but the ship finally stops its’ rocking. “you are in quadrant 15, sector 3. We demand reason of presence.”

“Transport vessel Percheron is delivering equal amounts of salt and ferro-crete, amounting a total of 30 tonnes to planet Mapuso, in assistance of mining shortages. Course for landing: Western Ship-port.” Aeris’ voice is tense, knuckles turning white with her grip on the console, drawing back on all her knowledge on current quadrant-related affairs to bluff her way through this interaction, snarky confidence carrying her through. “Requesting reasoning for our unannounced attack?”  

“Non-compliance of questionin---.” Splutters back, the radio crackling and fading. She smacks it harshly with her fist, turning to glare at Obi-wan as soon as he tries to advise against doing that. 

“Apologies.” She grits out through clenched teeth, finally beginning to regain her breath from her panicked awakening. “I was re-securing goods at the back of the hull.”

“Transport vessel Perch-- has no identification --umber on --systems. No --- shipment to Ma---- ---- -----er.”

“Fuck.” She breathes, smacking the communicator once again. Her hands begin flying over the console, readying the ship to hurtle full-throttle away from the two presumably (from her own experiences) delta-class T-shuttles. 

“Percheron requesting repeat. Line is faulty.”

She beckons Obi-wan with a free hand, as the same message crackles through the radio. “Secure Leia, and hang on to something, tie yourself into the fucking netting if you have to.” 

“There must be a way to-” 

“They’ve hit us four times already. You want to take that chance?” She motions him away harshly, and his hurried footsteps soon follow. 

“Percheron delivering emergency shipment. Identification number KS-4291.” She lies plainly through her teeth, buying time more than anything else as throws her backpack off of the pilots chair, sitting stiffly, one hand clenched around the throttle and the other continuing to fly across the console, attempting to quieten the blasting sirens and lights that still blared. There was no seatbelt, she realises with a huff, fantastic.

“Fuck this.” She mutters to herself, palms slick with sweat and heart jack-hammering out of her chest as the radio crackles. She was in a fucking transport vessel, and a shit one at that. They were going to die. 

“Insufficient ----. --- traced to --- Daiy---.” 

“Percheron willing to re-route until permission granted.” She hurries out, beginning to feed the engines, free hand now coming to rest on the steering-control. 

“Negative. ----- insufficient. ---.” The radio completely fails, and she immediately turns it off. Even though the entire communication hadn’t come through, the message was clear: they would not be allowed to leave the quadrant. A blast permeates the sirens of the ship as she forces the ship forward, ignoring its wild rocking or the sounds of shrieking metal, forcing the throttle and sending the ship hurtling past the two T-shuttles, jolting in her chair as the ship finally picks up speed. 

Sirens fall upon deaf ears as Aeris yanks at the steering, weaving between debris and dodging blasts from the two trailing fighters. She forces the ship down, its mechanics groaning in protest as she quickly yanks the steering upright, flipping sideways and speeding towards the closest planet - a sad brown looking thing. She had no weapons, no come-back for the two shuttle’s on her tail, the best thing she could do was hide. Her panic spikes through the roof as the planet approaches, every muscle and fibre tense and a sinking feeling lengthening the pit in her stomach. How was she to win with no weapons?

“What’s going on?” Obi-wan tumbles through the doorway as Aeris changes direction again, nearly falling from her seat as the ship is forced parallel. Four bolts fly past her viewport, crackling wildly.

“Fucking, sit down!” She yells, swerving again and bracing for breaking the planet’s atmosphere. Obi-wan’s hands land on either side of her headrest, nearly thrown over the top of the chair as they enter the planet’s atmosphere. 

“There’s no co-pilot seat!” He argues, as if that meant anything to her at the moment. 

“No shit, it’s a transport vessel. Not a fighter!” She curses loudly, pushing the throttle further as a bolt clips the side of the ship, spinning them away from two other blast. She could barely hear herself over her own heart, and the constant frantic cursing in her own mind. “No defences, no shields, no weapons, no co-pilot!” 

She glares at the approaching planet, forcing the ship as fast as its tired engines would allow. She doesn’t have time to think of her morality as she readies the ship for a suicide mission, teeth sunken into her cheek and brows furrowed harshly as she sits up straight in her chair, feet braced against the floor to keep her steady and legs tense and aching with anticipation.

“What can I do?” Obi-wan calls, crouching next to her seat and hanging onto an armrest. It is only then that he realises with horror that they are in a steep nose-dive, heading straight towards the rapidly approaching trees before them, his eyes widen, panic stricken and convinced he was watching his own death fast-approach. He offers uselessly: “What’re you doing? We need to lose them.”

“Oh, really?!” She snarks, falling silent as she plummets into the tree-line, ship parallel to weave between the biggest and most damaging fauna. The ship groans dangerously as she plummets the throttle, engines working desperately to decrease their speed. Quadrant 15 had one advantage of being chased in; most planets cultivated massive fauna which a skilled enough pilot could slip between, less skilled pilots would struggle to keep up.

“Pull up! We’ll crash!” Obi-wan yells, watching in horror as trees with trunks the width of a landspeeder blur past. 

More red bolts fly past their vision, careening trees into their path. Aeris curses, having hoped the other pilots would have been too scared to follow, using both hands to grapple the steering-control to force the ship into a steep right-turn to avoid a falling charred tree. The controls were all backwards now that she had forced the ship onto its left side; right was up, up was left and left was a death sentence down into the planet just 10 feet below. She wracks her brain uselessly, eyes flickering about the viewport incessantly, steering between trees with barely a hairs-breadth to spare. She turns left and left again, doing anything possible to throw the shuttle’s off her scent, but they always reappeared with a crash through the brush and red bolts sizzling past her viewport. 

“Are you planning to kill us?” Obi-wan calls again, a hand hovering over her shoulder, but not daring to shake her from her concentration. “This isn’t flying, this is suicide.”

Their transport vessel was sluggish and chunky, built for slow drawling missions rather than high-speed chases, and it was only because of the miracle of the forrest and her reckless flying that had managed to slow the T-shuttles down enough to allow them to survive so long. Whilever she routed a path between the foliage, the T-shuttles would stay on their tail, pilots skilled enough to follow but not to lead. But leaving the safety of the trees had its own risks. She needed to force the pilots to think for themselves, and that meant getting out of these trees before they could realise what had happened.

“I’m going to do something mad.” She states tensely, sounding far too confident despite the prayer she was reciting in her head. One hand falls back onto the throttle, the other gripping the steering so hard it looked painful. She had to force enough speed to not only turn right (go up), but to completely flip the ship on its axis to remain out of harms way.

“Isn’t this already mad?!” Obi-wan calls, taking the hint and scrambling backwards, winding his wrists in a bit of netting at the right-wall of the cockpit.

Without warning, Aeris forces the throttle down again, maxing the engines and causing the ship to roar angrily. She slams back into her chair, both hands wrenching the steering as far to the right as it would allow, spinning the ship up and out of the foliage, completely flipped upside down, with the trees now scraping the ceiling beneath her head. She doesn’t breath, allowing the ship to travel upside down for a moment, mind whirling and eyes struggling to understand the upside-down image of the world through the viewport, the sky below and the trees above her. If she could hear a thing, she would have noticed Leia’s screaming, or Obi-wan’s calls of ‘madness’, but the sound of blood pumping through her ears and her own frazzled mind drowned out all other senses. She spins the ship again with white knuckles and an aching jaw, forcing it back to its correct axis, and watching dizzyingly as the sky returns to its place above her head, the trees now clipping the bottom of the ship. An explosion ricochets behind her, a pilot already slamming head-first into a tree now that they couldn’t follow her path, and she grins whole-heartedly: it had worked, they weren’t dead.

Not a humble woman; that was some fucking good flying. 

“Ha!” She shouts joyfully, the amount of adrenaline coursing through her veins making her feel sick. She raises the ship higher, clear of the forrest below and cruising at a less dangerous height, she ignored the wailing of the controls, pushed and damaged beyond repair; they were alive, that’s all that mattered. Obi-wan, pale-faced and slightly green-looking, unropes his wrist from the netting, a red streak left behind as he approaches the pilot’s chair, breathing deeply.

“That was-” Words fail him. He couldn’t believe he was alive, and he wasn’t even sure he fully understood just how the ship had flipped so suddenly in such a way, an old transport shuttle no less. Aeris didn’t seem to notice his panic, utterly elated she had succeeded in such a feat. “That was some horrendous flying.”

“You’re welcome.” 

Realising he had left Leia strapped down in the hull, Obi-wan turns hurriedly, calling her name. He only makes it to the door by the time the second T-shuttle emerges from the foliage below them, blasters pointed straight at the engines of the transporter. Aeris immediately tries to guide the ship out of the shuttle’s way, eyes wide and all muscles in her body tense, but the engines are damaged and slow. The ship begins to turn, fruitlessly, and Obi-wan only makes it one step into the main hull when two bolts make contact with the engine.

A fierce explosion rocks the ship, and it immediately plummets, sirens wailing and Leia screaming as Aeris desperately attempts to pull the steering up, deadening the engines to slow their rapid decent. The last thing Aeris sees is the tree-line whipping past, branches smacking against the shattered viewport, and the ground coming up to meet her in a mocking crescendo.

[endless-ineffabilities]

just out of curiosity, would you ever write for ewan mitchell or just characters only? also your tom Bennett fic has been 👌👌👌

I once considered writing Ewan fics, but since he has implied that he wants his work to speak for itself (plus, the fact that we all know by now that he does not wish to have an online presence, and is a very private person), it's not something I see myself doing.

imagine him coming across these fics for his characters, maybe (hopefully) they won't make him uncomfortable, because as writers/readers, we are showing our appreciation to his portrayal of them (a testament to his skill and charisma, that he has such a profound effect on the audiences)

now imagine him coming across fics for himself (as Ewan)...

Eh. 🤷‍♀️

p.s. thanks for the love on the Tom fic, it'll be continued 🤍

[aemondsbabe]

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

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[sepherinaspoppies]

hunger - michael gavey x reader

summary: the things Michael does for a crunchie bar.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, mentions of oral m receiving, oral f receiving, fingering, overstimulation, f squirting.

wc: 2,366

taglist

masterlist

notes: my first time writing for Michael lol. yes I did watch the movie and im still appalled by it (too much dick). like all of us, I wish Ewan had more screen time on this cause I felt pretty bad for Michael. he just wanted a friend 😩. I plan on writing another fic about him but when? idk I have too many wips

She uses the pad of her thumb to collect the line of cum that had trickled down the corners of her lips. Bringing the digit back into her mouth to suck off the pearly white liquid, all while seductively gazing at the disheveled boy that sat on the edge of her bed. 

Michael let out a breathy moan, feeling his softened cock rousing back to life as he watched her throat swallow every bit of him again. She hums at the taste, salty with a hint of caramel from all those fucking crunchy bars he devours everyday when she’d seem him in class. 

She brings herself up from the floor, her knees starting to recuperate from the carpet digging amongst her skin. Standing, she begins to thread her fingers through Michael’s soft sandy hair, appreciating the silkyness of it and the faintest little whines that emitted from his lips before tugging his head back rather abruptly. 

“Would you like a taste of me, Gavey?” She asks, even though she knows the answer. It was why they were here, settled at her dorm. 

Michael nods zestfully, his eyes trailing to her covered core as if he was already undressing her with his eyes. She grabs his hand and doesn’t fail to notice it was a bit clammy with nerves, and it almost made her feel slightly bad about continuing but the way his blue eyes darkened when she directed his hand toward the hem of her floral dress, made her think differently. 

His fingers work at lifting up her dress. A deep shade of crimson floods his perfectly sculpted cheeks as he awkwardly and neatly folded her dress on the side of her nightstand. She giggled at his adorableness, she wasn’t as gentle as he was with her clothing. After, when they made their deal about what they wanted from each other, she clawed out his clothes and scattered them somewhere across her room, having no regard for them.  

Once she made quick work at getting rid of her bra, Michael’s eyes widened in amazement as if had just received the perfect gift he always wanted. His fingers twitched, longing to touch what was right in front of him but she knew deep down he was holding himself back. 

“I-um- I don’t know what to do” he admits sheepishly. 

She knows this, having it heard and confirmed by Felix and Oliver when they were at the pub with a group of their friends. 

She gives him a reassuring smile before straddling his lap, “I’ll teach you” 

Michael’s face reddened even more if it was possible. His gaze lingered on her lips, then a back up to her eyes giving her a silent look for permission to kiss her lips to which she nodded fervently. 

He wastes no time to crash his lips to hers, leaning his head forward to deepen the kiss. She moans, unsure if Michael knew how to kiss but even then she was willing to teach him if it need be. She moves her knees to get closer to Michael, her bare breasts scraping tightly against his chest as she wraps her arms around his neck desperately needing him to be closer than they already were. 

She whines softly into the kiss as she swipes her tongue over Michael’s bottom lip. Michael moans in response, parting his lips open to let her gain access and she seizes the opportunity to dance her tongue against his own. Michael furrows his brows in concentration, taking mental notes on how exactly she liked to be kissed by the way he strokes his tongue synchronously with hers and the soft little moans that follow out of her lips. 

She pulls away, a hint of chocolate and mint lingering on her lips, as she yearns for more of him between her legs. She almost wants to continue kissing him as she watches Michael’s blue eyes slowly flutter open and his lower lip curling into a pout, mewling at the loss of contact. 

“We can kiss more after, if you want. Right now, I need you to return the favor” She pants, out of breath. Michael mends his pout into an eager smile that makes her chuckle. For such an arrogant know-it-all he sure had a way of being cute. 

She lifts herself up by the help of Michael’s shoulders, crawling over the middle of her bed to rest her back against the duvet. “Ready?” She asks, wiggling her brows enthusiastically, already feeling giddy deep in her stomach. 

Michael nods as he slowly adjusted to sit between her legs, his curious eyes never leaving her damp covered center, his pink tongue sweeping over his lips quickly practically already tasting her. 

“Take of my panties, Gavey” 

She hears Michael audibly whimper as his quivering fingers hook to the waistband of her underwear, sliding it off and causing her to release a shudder over the coolness of his fingertips. 

Michael brushed his fingers against the garment of her underwear, studying it before he brought it to his nose, deeply inhaling the juices that were caused by being in the mere presence of him, from having him inside her mouth, around her hands, his kiss…

There was something so hot and erotic about it, seeing the guy who always picks on her for not being as smart as he was, sniffing her juices like he was a starved man. She moaned at his actions even more so when he quickly bent over the bed and stuffed her underwear into one of the pockets of his cargo shorts, probably saving it for later. 

She bites back a protest. Those were her favorite pair but she supposes she can spare them for now. 

Michael resumed his previous position in between her thighs. This time his face laid just centimeters away from her glistening core. She can feel his hot ragged breath fanning over the little patch of curls above her cunt, and very faintly she can hear Michael murmur “christ” under his breath. 

She props herself on her elbows, “Give me your hand” Michael releases another shaky breath before he allows her to direct his hand to cup her mound. 

“Do you feel how wet I am for you, Michael?” 

Michael groans, desperate for some friction he grinds his cock on the bed. He can feel it. He can feel his hand soaked with her arousal. Michael wants to pull back and lick everybit clean off his hand. 

“That’s- that’s my clit” She informs Michael with a strain voice as she runs his index finger through her folds. Michael stares at her engorged bud, having remembered studying it from his anatomy class and how it brought him great curiosity. Now, he was face to face with it and nothing could prepare how much excitement it brought him. 

“The clit is very important. It’s where most of our pleasure comes from. Just pay adequate attention to it and gently circle it-” 

She isn’t sure of the noises that leave her mouth, only feeling Michael beginning to circle her bud in a manner where not even most guys she’s been with have done so. It’s unhurried, unsure and gentle but it’s enough for her to feel waves of pleasure up her spine and her toes curling against the duvet. 

“Oh! Michael” She moans, arching her back and unintentionally caging Michael’s head between her thighs. 

Michael pulls his finger quickly like lightning away from her bud, his face showing a bit of concern. “What? What’s wrong? Was this not to your liking? I can try-” 

“No, no. You’re doing great, really. I-I just, well, I like it and I meant it in a good way” She reassures him with a smile, a slight warmth shoots to her cheeks. 

God, was she blushing at Michael fucking Gavey? Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan or the agreement! 

“Oh, I see” Michael smirks before lowering his head, “Can I use my tongue?” She almost wants to desperately scream ‘YES’ and grind herself against his face but she instead nods and that was enough of a response for Michael as he flattens the tip of his tongue where her clit was.  

Her back arches again, instinctively, feeling Michael’s tongue circle her bud and sweep through her folds all while he keeps his lustful gaze on her, watching the way her face contorts into different forms of pleasure and the audible moans and gasps he hears when he flicks his tongue in a rhythm he notes she likes. 

Michael soon also finds himself moaning at the way she tastes. It was a flavor so sweet. Sweeter than the chocolate of his crunchy bars he so religiously ate. How could he ever tire of her taste? 

Her chest begins to heave, her stomach feeling fuzzy and tight. She was nearing her first orgasm in weeks. 

But then suddenly something unexpected happens. Michael hooks her thighs under his arms, bringing her cunt closer to his face. His red and swollen lips closed in around her clit, tenderly sucking. His actions along with the vibrations of his moans, sends hot shocks of pleasure that she feels the band in her stomach about to snap. 

“Michaelllll. I’m about to-to cum” She cries, feeling orgasm seconds away from releasing. 

“Really?” Michael mumbles with an exciting look in his eyes. She hums, her hands no longer fisting the duvet but instead gripping Michael’s hair. 

Michael continues to lap at her core at the same rhythm he notices she likes, working his tongue quicker until he feels the meaty flesh of her thighs close in on his head and tremble. 

“Michael! Yes! Yes!!!” She chants so loudly that both her and Michael know everyone in the dorm floor would listen. She couldn’t bring herself to care about everyone listening. The genius math nerd in all of Oxford just gave her the best head in the world. 

Michael drinks in her release and this time he is able to pinpoint what flavor she reminds him of. 

Honey. 

She mewls softly. Her body feels weak and tired like she had just ran the longest marathon in her life. “So good, Michael. You did such a good job” She praises, giving the cunt-drunk man between her thighs a lazy smile as she brushes the damp hair away from his face. 

A blush creeps into Michael’s cheeks, a sense of pride fills his senses. He knows he wants more now that she let him taste her. Michael supposes she could give him another taste to satisfy his hunger. She was right there for the taking. Why not? 

“What are you doing?” She curiously asks, peering over as Michael dips his head again making her eyes widen in amazement.

“Michael, wait. We agreed just… Oh fuck!” Her back arches, hands gripping her breasts and a series of gasps leave her lips as Michael redoubles his efforts and works his tongue at an incredible speed that makes tears leave the corners of her eyes over the sensitivity. 

Michael was getting skilled at this. Too skilled with tongue. 

The thin metal of Michael’s glasses dug at her thighs, his face tightly pressed at her core as he growled devotedly. Had she just accidentally created a feral animal? Fuck. 

This time she feels herself ascending closer to her peak more than usual. Her legs involuntarily begin to tremble and her mind feels fuzzy as she has no more strength to fight the waves of pleasure Michael was awarding. 

“Michael” She cries, unsure why. 

Michael, however, lost in his pleasure instinctively comes up with an idea. He unhooks one of his hands around her thigh and brings one of his fingers toward her entrance, plunging inside her walls in and out and curses at the way she clenches around his finger. 

“No, no, no. Stay” Michael mumbles as her hips buckle away from his ministrations. 

This was all getting too much for her. But she does what she’s told and stays and her body violently trembles one last time until she feels the pressure deep in her belly explode and her vision going absolutely blank. 

Has she died and gone to heaven? Cause fuck!

She doesn’t seem to remember how to breathe or pick up the surprise yelps from Michael. She was absolutely drained and spent. 

“Are-are you okay down there?” She asks, panting, gathering whatever strength she had left to peer down between her thighs. Michael’s round blue eyes look up at her in shock. His face, coated with much of her juices. Even his glasses had not been spared. A palm sized wet patch soaked her bedding. 

Did Michael fucking Gavey make me squirt? 

“I’m sorry that's the first time that ever happened to me. Wait here, let me get a towel to clean you up” She stammers as she begins to crawl out of her bed but Michael’s hand wraps around her ankle, preventing her. 

“No need. I quite liked it” He blinks as cleans his face with his fingers, licking away her arousal like the embarrassing thing she did not happen. 

He plops himself next to her on the bed, landing with a heavy thud. “So” Michael trails with a smirk, his head resting on his elbow. “Did I earn my reward?” 

She scoffs playfully. How could she forget their deal? 

She was walking to her class earlier on the day when she spotted Michael pouding and cursing at a vending machine for eating the last cash he had on him. She evilly laughed at him before she nonchalantly walked over to the vending machine and purchased the last two crunchy bars while waving it on his face. Truthfully, she did not find chocolate as pleasing as he did. Michael had scoffed before he followed her like a lost puppy, telling her he’d pay her back the next day. A wicked plan forged inside her head in a way he could pay her back. 

“Here” She slams the two golden bars against his chest after she retrieved them from her bag. Michael smiles and mutters a ‘thanks’ as he unwraps his treat and brings her body to rest against his chest. 

READ ON AO3

general taglist: @dreaming-for-an-escape @marvelescvpe @omgisrdj @ramsip @silentf @thenightmistress @dixie-elocin @namelesslosers @gigi-panecillo @laureeedn @watercolorskyy @seabasscevans @kittendoll05 @fullmoonworshipper @smayhem @bunbunbl0gs @summerposie @dusicapopilic @tulips2715 @kckt88 @chaoticwinnercupcake @imsoshygirl

empty is who I couldn't tag sorry :/

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[aemondwhoresworld]

WITH WIRED

pairing: ewan mitchell x fem!reader

summary: in which ewan and y/n doing their first interview as newlywed with wired

words-count: 1,3k

warning: fluff, maybe abit cliché?, use of y/n, ewan and y/n being a newlywed couple, reader is quite sensitive, does not have any specific descriptions about y/n and ewan's appearance.

mae: english is not my first language, i do used google translate a few part in this one-shot. also this is my 2nd fic, im a long time reader but im a new writer, haven’t wrote any long imagines before. please forgive me if there was any mistakes. thank u!! maybe a part 2? idk

ASK | SUBMIT A POST | ARCHIVE

you and ewan had the opportunity to meet each other at a new movie premiere few years ago, at the event ewan participated as the main actor and you were a guest invited by the director of that movie.

at first you were quite hesitant about being the one to make a first move to go over to talk to ewan, people would wonder what was the reason? well of course, because you’re attracted by ewan’s charming appearance, but also by how the way he treated his colleagues, or anyone he met.

and then today, at this moment, you both received an invitation from wired to come here for an interview as newlyweds… yes, ewan and you have been married for 3 months now and both are extremely excited for the upcoming interview

it can be said that since you got married, or to be more precise, since the announced, the news has caused the fan community to react extremely positively, of course, negatively as well. yes but mostly positive

—

and 3… 2… 1… the interview begin, camera start rolling

"hi! this is y/n, y/n mitchell" you introduced yourself with a small smile while looking at the camera, then raised your left hand to show off your wedding ring you were wearing on your ring finger at the same time you look over at ewan, ewan now looked at you with this “husband proud smiley” smile

“and, i’m ewan mitchell, husband of this beautiful woman sitting next to me” ewan introduced himself, and then he repeated the same gesture as you, at this moment you heard a few people behind the camera, giggling and enjoying themselves

“we're here with WIRED, answering the most asked questions on google” ewan continued

“but newlywed edition” you and ewan both said at the same time

then a staff member brought out a large copy, with the questions partially hidden. you were now extremely nervous, then turned to look at him and asked softly.

“are you ready to answer these questions” you asked

“always” said and then ewan smiled slightly

"okay, first question for you my dear" you said and then gently pulled the sticky note off with your hand to make the question appear, then you continued to read

“how did ewan and y/n meet?” you read the question, then looked up at ewan and continued, "hmm, do you remember how we met, husband?" you asked ewan

“how could i forget it, the first time we ever met” ewan said while looking at you smiling, he sat thinking for a moment then he continued

"y/n and i met at this movie premiere, well… i was the main character, actor and she was invited by this great movie director, john, as a friend" ewan said, then used his hand to stroke his chin and continued. “while i was you know doing those interview, i saw her was looking at me so after the premier, we have like a little after party, i was just enjoying myself you know…” he laugh “erm.. and i-i saw this pretty lady slowly walking towards my direction and started conversation with me, and after a few minutes of talking, i thought wow she’s kinda nice to talk to, yeah.. that's… that’s how we met” and now you just sit there and giggled, flashing back all of those memories the first time you met him

“great job husband, it's so surprise to know that you still remember the first time we met, cause you never mention it ever since” you laughed and then continued “you know, to be able to date this guy, ewan mitchell, it's really a journey for me. to be mrs. mitchell is a long way" as you said, you used your thumb to point at ewan. at this time, ewan just looked helpless and shrugged his shoulders

from where you sit, you can clearly see the surprised faces of the staff member behind the camera about the fact that how hard it is to get close to him

“it's your turn” you said as ewan tore lightly to see the next question

“are ewan and y/n expecting?” Both you and ewan seemed quite surprised after hearing this question

“really, is this really the most asked question?” you laughed and giggled, “asked google?! this is crazy” you were extremely surprised by this question

“well y/n and ewan ARE NOT expecting… yet, and if we are, we will definitely announce it and share the joy with you guys so there is no need to ask mr google” you laughed, then you tuck your hair behind your ear

“we are not planning on having baby anytime soon and yes we do talk about it more often now since we’re married, you know we both love to build a family of our own but we both think this is not the right time” ewan said, you nodded with agreement with that ewan said

“next question” you looked at ewan, saying “oh i see this question seems long, it might be quite interesting!”

“the question is, have ewan and y/n ever been in a movie together?” you read the question, then you both looked at each other, you asked ewan “we talked about this a few times, aren’t we?”

“oh we literally talked about it yesterday before bed too…“ ewan chuckled then he continue “even though we have never worked together on any movie before, but we both talk about hoping that in the future we will have the opportunity to work together” ewan explained.

“yea…, there's a funny thing that if we both have the opportunity to be act in the same movie, we’ll both hope to be each other's villains” you laughed then ewan continued.

“you know, it's funny when viewers hear y/n and me's names and they might immediately think we're going to play happy married couple but no, there is not lovey dovey birds”

“but i think it's quite interesting, don't you guys think so too?” you turned to look at the camera in front of you, asking the people whom watching (after this interview video was posted).

“I'll let you answer this last question, baby” you said then let ewan remove the last sticky note to read the last question for today's interview.

“how have ewan and y/n enjoyed their marriage life so far?” ewan continued reading the last question and then he continued to answer

“who would ask this question on Google? how would Google know?” ewan replied

and you both sit there and laugh like an idiot because of how stupid this question is. really, how can Google know what your and ewan's married life is like? You laugh until you cry because of the absurdity of it

“how was it, my husband?” you asked ewan with a curious expression, wonder if he liked married life with you or not, making ewan partly amused and partly pampered, looking towards you, while you sat there patiently waiting his answer

“honestly, i am extremely happy and enjoy this married life with my wife. in short, i’m extremely satisfied, i mean who wouldn't, when you marry the person you love, so do i and especially y/n always makes me feel like i’m the luckiest man is marry to y/n, the woman i love the most" ewan replied a bit shyly because you know he rarely shows affection in front of the camera or in public

“ewan, you're going to make me cry” you smiled and used your hand to gently wipe away the happy tears at the corner of your eyes.

ewan then turned to see you so moved and pulled out a small handkerchief from his pocket and wiped your tears.

“i love you” ewan whispered to you while wipe the tear off your eye but he didn't know that the microphone attached to his shirt caught his all his words.

“i love you too but we have to say goodbye to the audience watching this interview first” you said to ewan and then burst out a small laughed

“and these are all the most asked questions on google” you said with excitement again, turning to look at ewan

“thank you WIRED for inviting us, and see you next time” ewan said “goodbye” both you and ewan raised your hands and waved to the audience

WIRED just made post

liked by y/nmitchell and others

wired #EwanMitchell and #Y/nMitchell Answer Most Asked Question On Google (Newlywed Edition)

Now available on WIRED! check out the link on bio

tagged: y/nmitchell

View comments

user1 cannot believe they haven’t had any movies together. that’s a need

user2 my fav couple

user3 i can feels ewan head over heels for her, like even more than before

user4 his eyes always had this bling bling whenever he look at her

[babyblue711]

DAMN GIRLLLL THIS WAS SO HOT & SPICY! Well done, my Queen. Well done 🔥🔥😍😍😍💜💜💜

flames, chosen (blood of the dragon): Aemond Targaryen Prompt

Prompt from @elysesium: saucy dragonmont adventures + dragons watching (18+ ONLY)

Aemond Targaryen/ Targaryen OC (not necessary to read, but OC from ‘the death of peace of mind’ by idkmanokay)

Words: 2424

Content: exhibitionism, rough oral, inappropriate use of dragonbonds

Keep reading

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Brains & Barbie!

PAIRING: Michael Gavey x fem!BIMBO!Reader

WORDS: 1,515.

SUMMARY: Polar opposites attract right? It’s science. Who knew you would fall so helplessly in love with the math geek of the century…

WARNINGS: female receiving (fingering), swearing, degradation kink, some praise kink, edging, cum play, p in v sexual intercourse, swearing.

A/N - it has been a hot minute since I wrote for an Ewan character, so forgive me I’m a little rusty.

this fic is dedicated to my soul sister @sahvlren as it was her bday recently, and she requested this specifically. I love you so very much, and am so thankful to have you as my dearest friend, boo. one day we shall meet, but for now we get freaky online! enjoy xoxox

+++ in light of the recent drama unfolding in this hellsite, I thought some good ole' smut would do no harm, right?

forgive me I shall edit this properly, but I must sleep for my night shift lol

You weren't exactly the perfect pair to exist, nor would any like minded person think it best to put you two together in a roo, let alone become intimate. And yet, so effortlessly you both meshed rather well...Michael, your "Norman No Mates" boyfriend [as he enjoyed putting it], was quite a mathematical genius. His family were somewhat stable and well off, however, he rejoiced in the idea that he worked his way into the academy, where as your situation was quite the opposite. Your father had attended Oxford and graduated, as did your grandfather, who also sponsored and funded many of its restorations and renovations. The ancient establishment owed many of its complexes to your family name, and hence, granted you a position in their literature field, warranted you did try to maintain your grades above a credit average, trimming it with a pass even...

You had tipsily stumbled upon Michael at some college party: he stood by some dark corner, a drink in hand and the other in his pocket, before you had ignorantly walked into him, mindless to your surroundings from intoxication. You had either gone to refill your drink or was seeking the bathroom [you struggle to remember the fine details of the night you had met], laughing obnoxiously at some joke your friend had uttered, before walking into the man that would ultimately make you weak in your knees.

"S-Sorry-" You softly slurred, spilling your drink on the floor, a droplet landing on your heel.

At first it sounded as though an apparent swear seemingly seethed between his curved lips, halting himself before cursing you further, as he adjusted his thin framed spectacles, marvelling at you.

"Y-You alright, love?"

The next thing you knew, you found yourself hot and heavy, heated bodies, grinding against one another, as Michael teased and etched his impressively long cock, at your silky folds. His mouth latched to your unmissable cleavage, as he suckled on your breasts like a new born babe to its mother's teat.

No man had ever made you feel more desired, and yet a fool at his beck and call. He uttered despicable taunts and jabs at you, whilst simultaneously, worshipping the ground you strut on.

"The sluttiest girl on campus just couldn't resist the cock of a geek, huh? Making her even more stupid than she is, look at you... Pathetic baby."

His words stung a compelling sensation, and yet you craved for more of his undivided attention. And seemingly, Michael granted you every fathomable bit he could muster. You were the girl beyond his dreams, needless to say, he never thought he even stood a chance with any girl, of that matter. And he as a man, beyond your tastes. However, the tension was palpable between you two, the chemistry undeniable.

You often found yourself unwittingly seeking his company, even risking your privilege in the confines of his dorm...

"How long left, Mikey. I'm s'bored!" You whinge, as you fidget and reposition yourself sprawled on your boyfriend's single-sized bed. Flinging your flip phone to the side, without a care for consequences [your parents would simply purchase a new one for you]. Despite being in somewhat sheerly covered attire, your ass cheeks just peaking through beneath your skirt, Michael barely felt the temptation to see [if he was even aware of your current outfit].

"Wait. Need to finish this equation."

His stern, unwavering voice and unfazed focus ontp the paper and textbooks before him, made your eyes roll with such annoyance, defeatedly sighing. The repetitive sound of his pencil thudding at his head, and your rhythmical humming, filled the silent void.

"Ugh- Michael, you should have just told me to not come- There was a party, I could have been at—"

"Do you not have an essay due by the end of the week?"

You contemplate for a few, solid seconds, before realising there was truth to his words. You did have an assignment due in the imminent days to come, and you had yet to begin.

"W-Well, yes... But I was hoping you would help me, handsome."

"Is that so?"

His attention still remained down, fixated on the text before him, yet his tone elevated, intrigue plaguing his words.

"I-I mean I'll still write it out, y-you just need to guide me—”

Swiftly he swivelled his entire body in the desk-top chair to turn unto you, a cheeky grin plastered across his chiselled face.

"Baby, you can barely do your times-tables, you think you can write an whole essay? Adorable..."

"But I sure know how to fuck you good. What man of your calibre can have a girl like me, say that to a man like you, huh?"

A darkness tinged in his piercing blue orbs, intently watching your every move and gesture, as he notices your hand hovering between your thighs, before disappearing beneath the short, skimpy skirt.

"Mhmm—"

Your thoughtless moans began to echo between the confined blank walls of the dorm, squirming against the neatly folded fabrics of the bed.

"And what do you think you're doing, exactly?"

Two digits continued to delve deeper between your folds, drawing slow, circular motions as your thumb remained rubbing at your clit. You had been biting your lips, only to release a moan, as you intended to respond obediently.

"M-My boyfriend's a bore, s-so I'm t-taking matters into m-my own h-hands—"

"Is that so?"

Without so much as a warning, a force pried your hands out from beneath your walls, your wetness coating your fingers and knuckles, glistening in the dim light. Within a few seconds, the emptiness between your legs vanished, as a rougher, more sizeable host embedded itself between your velvet folds.

With roughness, and vastly more pace, Michael's lengthy, slim digits began to etch deeper and deeper inside of you, pumping his fist in and out of you, as his other hand laid to rest against the mattress, propping him upright. Your hands immediately laid at your sides, firmly clenching the quilt between for some steadiness.

"Does my little slut have no patience? Brain to numb to think, she just wants to be fucked all the time, huh?"

"Y-Yes—"

Just as your ecstatic cries and moans grew more frequent, Michael's breathing sounded heavier, feeling your warm wetness making a mess all along his hands and the crevices of your entrance.

"This slut could've bent over to anyone. No-No, but she did for me, yeah? So needy for cock, she didn't even learn her times tables, huh?"

"I-I need you, M-Mikey—"

A third long digit shoved itself deeper into your tight hole, panting beneath your grip as you felt yourself fervently clench around him.

"That's right, princess. You need me. No man is worthy of this pretty cunt of yours, I earned it."

As you felt yourself progressively lose all your senses. gaining traction to the heat stirring below, Michael's sudden release felt cathartic. Watching him lick and lap every inch of your wetness lingering over his hand, made you feel delectable. Your lustful eyes searched below, for a fleeting second, you caught the growing commotion in his pants, as the bulge was evident, its shadow against the restricted fabric. As he tasted the last drop, a snarky smirk expanded across his handsome face, before beginning to unbelt and unbutton his beige trousers.

"C'mon princess, spread those legs like you always do, like you were born to do. Such a fucking whore, that's all you were meant for. Meant for me."

Aligning himself so effortlessly perfect against your, his reddened tip blushed against your sight, teasing your silky folds. His veins throbbed with excitement, almost palpable between your sensitive entrance, its length girth suddenly plunging itself ever so slowly inside of you.

With a first, rough shove, delving himself completely inside of you, his balls hitting at your rear, an escape of a low grunt vibrated against his lips, that remained hovering over your soft skin. Michael kept himself steadily propped atop of you: with each thrust, equally time and paced, his weight began to drop over you, applying the pressure down from above with his cock inside of you.

"The most perfect cunt, for the most perfect girl. And it's mine."

"M-Michael—"

"S-Stastically we a-are an anomaly, b-but my princess f-found me, like a good girl—”

“A-Anomaly?"

A deep, growling chuckle escaped his lips, his pace growing sloppier as he attempted to articulate: despite Michael having you weak in the knees in bed, he was still somewhat new at the act of sex. Struggling to juggle with the need to fuck and the need to explain, his lean, tall figure cowering over you, his eyes shut with ecstasy momentarily, before opening to glare and marvel at you breathlessly. Your lips latched onto his neck and collarbones in between your moans, intently sucking at his tender flesh, desperate to taste him, to leave remnants of your physical love, strewed across his body. Desperate to savour every inch of him.

"An odd couple, baby. B-But you take me so fucking well—"

"Mhmm—"

"There's no going back now, Princess..."

credit for divider - @/prettypixels-love

[formulawolff]

el tango de roxanne - t.w.

pairing: figure skater!reader x toto wolff

word count: 2.8k

warnings: cursing, angst, (slight) age gap relationships, (slight) casual friends to lovers arc, allusions to smut, toto being a jealous fuck, yadayadayada

song inspo: el tango de roxanne by ewan mcgregor, jacek koman, and josé feliciano (if you couldn’t tell by the title hehe)

a/n: if you haven’t watched tessa virtue & scott moir’s iconic moulin rouge routine… where have you been? anyways. this fic was inspired by a request & this routine! i highly recommend watching it hehe. also idc if 2024 is summer olympics… this is my au! let me be!

he couldn’t bear it.

not for one more second.

yet, he couldn’t muster the strength to look away. to avert his gaze from what was unfolding on the ice below, as you glided so beautifully across, your partner in tow.

fuck, you were so breathtaking in this moment.

the way your hair was pulled so neatly into an intricate bun, your features enhanced by makeup. the way your eyes shine as you face your partner, several feet separating the two of you. the way your ensemble sparkled under the intense lighting, the skirt fluttering ever so slightly.

this is where you shone.

like a star in the night, bursting to the brim with nothing but pure, bright light.

while he may excel in the paddock, the rink was your element. where you truly belonged. where you were as cool as the ice, calm and collected as the dramatic flair of the strings amplified your movements, the audience roaring in response.

as you move, it’s magnetizing, the austrian shifting in his seat as your partner wraps you up in his embrace, holding you tightly as the two of you sail across the ice.

his jaw clenches as he notices the way your partner’s hand grasp the exposed skin of your back and shoulders, the routine almost executed perfectly as the music continues.

fuck, how he absolutely despised the way your bodies molded together. the way he held you, lifting you into the air, or onto his thighs, keeping you in close proximity.

of course, he has to remind himself that this is strictly professional. that there is nothing romantic going on between you and your partner, jack probst.

well, not like he could really be upset either.

there was nothing going on between the two of you.

at least, that’s what toto wolff thought.

the two of you met at a cocktail party for the launch of the 2022 formula one season, at the mercedes headquarters in brackley. although you were quite new to the world of racing, you were a plus one, as your best friend invited you to tag along with her. since she was part of the marketing team for mercedes, she had an in.

although you were terrified beyond belief of the idea of mingling with engineers, investors, and well, the drivers, you had reluctantly agreed to come with. as a prominent figure in the realm of ice skating, you were aware that you at least had one thing in common with the racing world.

in order to be successful, every little aspect of the routine had to be executed flawlessly.

just like the engineers and mechanics had to prep the car in order to race, you had to ensure that you had the right skates.

just like how the pit crew had to time their stops perfectly without fail, you had to maintain rhythm with the music, so that the routine would flow.

additionally, you were very similar to the drivers.

you yearned to step foot on that podium, no matter the cost.

at that party, you happened to run into the team principal and ceo of mercedes, mr. torger wolff. the two of you struck up a conversation, the team principal complimenting your career, as well as your dress.

although your best friend thought he was flirting, you had brushed it off, stating that he was just being polite.

however, toto wolff was not being polite.

he wanted you, oh so desperately.

and he was patient. he was going to wait until you were ready.

even if watching your routine with jack absolutely tugged and squeezed at his aching heart.

even if every fiber of his being screamed at him to look away before that jealousy burned through, the flames licking at every part of his being.

there was no denying you had effortless chemistry with jack, as the media speculated the two of you had been an item for years.

however, what toto did not know was that you were in a similar predicament.

after that fateful night in brackley, the team principal reached out to you via email. you wondered how he even got his hands on your email address, but your best friend gave that away with little to almost no interrogation.

allegedly, toto was interested if you, completely allured and entranced by your presence. so, he approached your best friend, inquiring about your contact information. not wanting to give him your number right away, she simply provided him with your email instead, urging him to “slide into those dms.”

so, he did. the two of you hit it off immediately, emailing one another constantly. after a couple of days, he mustered up the courage to ask you politely for your number. with no hesitation, you gave it to him.

from that moment on, a friendship blossomed between the two of you. although he was a bit older, he had this charm that pulled drew you in, wanting to learn more and more about him. also, formula one intrigued you, as you wanted to learn more about the sport.

he showed you the ins and outs of racing, while you educated him on the graces and virtues of skating. a few months into your friendship, he invited you to a grand prix, offering an all-exclusive ticket for the weekend. all you had to do was say the word and it was yours.

however, there was only one thing holding you back.

if you went, you would miss a week or so of practice. which, wouldn’t go over well with jack. especially during the initial stages of the season.

and even more so, with the olympics quickly approaching, you would feel guilty missing so much time.

so, you ended up passing on his offer.

which, hurt his pride just a tad, but not enough to deter him from his end goal.

he was going to have you.

one day.

he just wasn’t sure when.

eventually, you accepted one of his many offers to attend a grand prix. settling on the 2023 monaco grand prix, where dutch driver max verstappen claimed victory.

somehow, someway, the two of you ended up in bed together that night.

you weren’t quite sure how, and neither was he, but you mutually agreed to never speak on it again.

no matter how much it was on your mind.

which, was almost every second of every single day.

on his end, it was nearly detrimental, consuming his every waking thought whole.

to make matters worse, that night in monaco awoke something that you had been trying to keep hidden for months.

you were hopelessly and utterly in love with the team principal.

even if he was twenty-five years older than you. even if his schedule was jam-packed with meetings every minute of every hour of every day. even if he could only call you every so often. even if he was a single father, recently divorced after nearly a decade of marriage. even if there was something unspoken between the two of you, the tension blanketing over like a thick haze.

what toto could never know was that you pictured him right there with you, gliding along the ice, his hands roaming your body. you could almost feel him murmuring in your ear how beautiful you were like this, blissfully lost in the music.

no matter the circumstance. no matter the soreness lingering in your muscles or the sheer terror of falling or missing a beat, that thought alone is what got you though the routine.

it never failed.

and tonight, it was not going to fail you.

despite the stakes at hand, you were a natural at this, showing no signs of fear as the final notes rang in your ears.

this was it.

the end of the routine, jack dipping your body as your head rolls back, dramatically falling.

there’s a beat of silence, before the entire arena explodes.

the sound of thunderous applause fills your ears, jack pulling you in for a tight embrace, clutching you against his chest. sobs rack your body, your shoulders shaking as the realization washes over you.

you guys did it.

you had performed with minimal errors. no major mistakes or noteworthy point deductions.

a flawless routine.

the endless hours put in memorizing the movements, the sleepless nights at the rink, the doubt that you could pull this off, were washed away, slipping from your memory as joy bubbles up within your chest.

“representing their home country, jack probst and ____ _____!”

the boom from the announcer drowns in your ears, jack saying words you can’t quite decipher. you feel his hand in yours, but you’re not here.

you’re somewhere else, somewhere far from the packed arena.

you’re dreaming of his expression right in this moment. how his thick brows are probably furrowed together, his tongue swiping along as his lower lip, knee bouncing ever so slightly. his fluffy brunette locks are probably a ruffled mess, as he probably had ran a hand through it a few times, anxiously awaiting for a glimpse of you before your routine.

jack rips open the foam padding to the rink, where you’re greeted by your coaches. they engulf you in their arms, shouting praises over the hum of the crowd.

meanwhile, toto wolff sits in the stands, hands on his knees as he anticipates the final verdict. his knuckles are nearly white as the denim bunches under his fingertips, his knee bouncing slightly as clips of the routine. replay across the ginormous screens all across the arena.

he's surrounded by you.

your stunning figure as it gracefully flows with the music, every movement absolutely exquisite. your breathtaking smile the moment you're finished, eyes shining like the stars as jack envelops you in his arms.

a pang of envy rises in his chest, yet he swiftly suppresses it.

this moment was not about his jealousy towards your skate partner. he shouldn't be feeling this way.

this moment was about you.

an olympic medal on the line, the future of your skating career at stake.

"the scores please," the announcer booms, blood roaring in toto's ears as he straightens in his seat, leaning forward, eyes scanning the rink.

it does not take him even a second.

you're sitting next to jack, your coaches on either side. although he was a distance away, he could sense your nerves, as your smile was tight-lipped, your hand shaky as it blows a kiss to the camera.

"_____ _____ and jack probst have earned in the free dance 122.60 points, bringing their total to 206.27 points. they are currently in first place!"

the crowd erupts into applause, jeering and screaming throughout the stands. your heart skips a beat as jack springs up, slamming the padding before wrapping you up in his arms against you once more, nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs.

he lifts you, his voice shaky with the promise of tears, "we did it! we fucking did it!"

"i can't believe it," you nuzzle into the crook in his neck, "i can't fucking believe it."

the rest of the night is a blur.

as the two of you stood on that podium, gold medals dangling from your neck as your national anthem played, you couldn't help but shake this aching feeling.

you yearned for him.

you longed to feel his strong arms around you, squeezing you against his chest as his husky voice flooded your ears, brimmed with his accent. to feel his hands glide along your body, their warmth sending shivers down your spine.

there were lengthy interviews, each one nearly draining your remaining energy with each journalist or media outlet. you didn't mind, as you basked in the afterglow of your gold medal win, a grin plastered to your face all evening.

before you knew it, you were in an uber, on your way to a new destination.

toto wolff's hotel room, a luxurious suite in the heart of the city. although every muscle in your body stung, exhausted from the events of the day, your mind is wide awake, buzzing from a torrent of thoughts swirling in your brain.

what would be the first thing that fell from those lips? would he embrace you first? what was he thinking in that moment when you won gold?

as you enter the elevator, punching the correct floor, your heart races, thumping against your rib-cage.

sure, competing in the olympics was nerve-wracking.

but facing the man you were helplessly in love with?

that was enough to make your knees buckle, your body swaying back and forth as the elevator ascended, palms clammy as you wiped them against your sweatpants.

surely he wouldn't mind that you were in sweats.

a shrill ding! rings in your ears, announcing your arrival. sucking in a shaky breath, you turn right, making your way down the hall. his room was not difficult to locate, as it was one of the first ones.

bringing your knuckles to the door, you knock, blood roaring in your ears.

he opens it almost immediately.

"hey," you beam, "i hope i wasn't too-"

lips collide with yours, his hands meeting with your waist, pulling you closer in to him. you melt under his touch, nearly crumpling to the floor as a shiver jolts down your spine. the kiss is fiery yet tender, as if lovers were reuniting after months of separation. it's a kiss of longing and love, bursting with passion.

yet, he pulls away, allowing you to catch your breath. there's a dusty pink hue tinging his cheeks, his chest heaving as he pants slightly.

"i'm sorry. i shouldn't have-"

"don't even," you shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck, "come here."

he doesn't hesitate, his mouth molding with yours once more as he brings you in the room, nearly slamming the door shut. this time, the kiss is brimmed with lust, an insatiable desire burning deep within the austrian as a whine rises in your throat.

his tongue glides along your lower lip, your head tilting back to grant him access. his hold on your is nearly unbreakable, as if he never wanted to let you go ever again.

your hands roam, inching up the base of his neck, tugging on the roots of his messy brunette locks. there's a rumble in his chest as he guides you to the bed, your back meeting the mattress.

however, he breaks away once more, eyes locking with yours.

"do you have any idea how long i've waited to do that?"

"you didn't have to wait until i won a gold medal," a giggle bubbles up in your throat, fingers sweeping a strand of away from his temple, "hell, maybe if you did that sooner, i would have earned more points."

an airy chuckle fills the space, his lips curving into a radiant grin, "congratulations, little star. there's no one who deserved that win more than you."

"toto," you murmur, his eyes softening at the way his name drips from your sweet lips, "can i tell you something?"

"of course schatzi," his hand cups your face, thumb caressing along your cheekbone, "what is it?"

"i sort of have a method to my skating," you can't help but shrink a little as the embarrassment begins to wash over you, "it helps me focus."

"and that is?" his brows knit furrow.

"instead of jack skating with me, i picture you."

at those words, the austrian nearly collapses.

"you do?"

"i do," you nod, "lately, it's been the only way i can follow a routine without mistakes. it helps me get lost in the rhythm, the flow of the music as it guides us. um, well, as it guides me."

"oh my beautiful girl," toto's mind reels, his heart swelling, "you're always on my mind. lately i can't focus in my meetings or at the paddock or in my office. you consume me."

you consume me.

bliss ripples in your heart as you lean in, the tip of your nose brushing against his, "toto wolff, i'm in love with you. i can't hide it anymore. i can't deny it. i love you."

toto blinks, ensuring that this was no dream. that you were really here beneath him, in his bed at his hotel room. surely this wasn't heaven. surely this wasn't some sort of delusion or mirage.

yet, you were here, nothing but pure adoration swimming in the depths of your warm gaze, your lashes fluttering as his mouth ghosts over yours.

"and i'm in love with you, schatzi. what do you say? should we try to make something work?"

"i think we could make something work," the words are merely a whisper, "actually, scratch that. we're going to make something work."

"that's my little olympian. are you ready for sleep or can i show you just how much i love you?"

[babyblue711]

Surrender

(Modern AU) Aegon II Targaryen x Female!Reader x Aemond Targaryen - Part 2 (read Part 1 Here) Summary: Having spent the week at the Targaryen's countryside estate, you find yourself pulled into an unexpected tryst when Aemond confronts you about your mixed signals. Words: 5K

Warnings: NSFW, Sexual Content 18+, Smut, Language, Alcohol, Threesome, Lots of Sexual Shenanigans A/N: As requested by popular demand, here is Part 2! I think this was the most fun I've ever had when writing a fic. (And please, for the banner, let's pretend Ewan has one eye for Aemond's sake 😅) I hope you all enjoy! 🔥

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Various forms of tension now fill the house and you can’t help but feel responsible. There is a magnetic attraction that lingers in the air between you and Aegon, but your playful text to Aemond had clearly not been well-received; he had never bothered responding and was now resolutely ignoring you. In return, you mirrored his behavior, determined not to let it affect you.

On Sunday morning, Helaena approaches you with an enticing offer: to extend your stay for the entire week. With your laptop in tow, the prospect of working remotely from their opulent estate is exciting, especially since it means you can continue spending time with Aegon.

Luckily, neither Helaena nor Daeron knows about your hookup with him. For the rest of the week, he visits your bed each night and it is the best sex you’ve ever had in your life. He’s a generous lover, prioritizing your pleasure before his own and his attentiveness afterwards is always exceptional, although he never spends the full night with you. Mindful of Aemond’s text message, you try to tone down your lusty moans of rapture, but you still feel like he knows what’s going on regardless.

On the last full day before you are set to return to the city, you and Aegon make plans to go for another trail ride. However, after lunch he starts to complain of a stomach ache leading Aemond to step in and offer to take you riding instead. This unexpected turn of events leaves you feeling momentarily stunned, given Aemond has been doing a very good job pretending you didn’t exist up until that moment. Despite your reservations, you agree to Aemond's proposal, still feeling a little wary of his sudden change of heart. 

“You can ride on Sunfyre this time,” Aegon groans from the couch, referring to his grey gelding, as you and Aemond head out the door. 

At first you are unsure of what to expect, but soon find yourself embarking on another memorable riding adventure, only this time with Aemond. It quickly becomes apparent that he shares your love for horses and the great outdoors, if not even more passionately than his brother. You make a bit of small talk as you ride, but most of the time, the gentle plodding of your horses’ hooves and the swish of their tails are the only things that can be heard.

The day was hot and humid, though cooler in the shade of the woods along the trail. A few miles into your ride, you come across a babbling stream with crystal water and decide to stop to let the horses rest and take a much needed drink. 

“Thank you for letting me ride Vhagar this week,” you say sincerely, taking a refreshing gulp of water from your canteen, “She’s a good horse.” Aemond offers a small smile, affectionately patting his mare on the neck. 

“No problem,” he replies casually, “She seems to like you and, to be honest, she doesn’t warm up to most people. Typically bucks them off within a few minutes,” he glances up to gauge your reaction. “I figured that’s why Aegon had you take her out, so he could laugh when you fell off,” he adds nonchalantly as if he didn’t just throw Aegon under the bus. 

Your expression falters briefly, causing you to second guess your perception of Aegon if what Aemond is saying is true but you quickly regain your composure.

“Fortunately, that didn’t happen,” you manage to say as Sunfyre starts to paw, splashing water everywhere and soaking your boots. You urge him from the stream before he decides to roll in the cool water and Aemond follows on Vhagar; you swear you think you see a small, smug smile tug on the corners of his lips. 

As you head back home, the mood seems to lighten and you finally feel like you have a small breakthrough with Aemond. Unlike his brother, Aemond’s nature is more naturally reserved, but you are growing to appreciate his calm demeanor in contrast to Aegon's chaotic behavior. He isn’t as quick to laugh or make jokes either, but you manage to coax him into opening up by asking about his interests, particularly books. He eagerly shares insights into the history of the Targaryen family and their estate, keeping the conversation lively until you reach the barn.

You hand Sunfyre off to the attending groom once more, feeling hot and sticky from your ride, eager to get back to the house to take a cool shower. Aemond falls into step beside you. 

“So you and Hel are headed back to the city tomorrow?” Aemond inquires casually.

“Yeah we are, have to get back to the grind,” you say with a sigh, a note of reluctance in your tone. The week spent away from the city, immersed in fresh air and nature, had been incredibly rejuvenating and you weren’t ready to leave just yet. Fortunately, Helaena is also your flatmate, and the prospect of returning to hectic city life isn’t as daunting when you have a familiar companion by your side.

“What are your plans?” you ask him in return, aware of his involvement in the family business and his regular trips to the city too. 

“I have a flight to catch to New York tomorrow. Work trip. It’s always hard to leave Vhagar…” he trails off with a slight hedge to his voice and you sense he may have more to share, but something seems to be holding him back. 

“Hmm,” you murmur noncommittally, letting the moment ride out, feeling if you were patient, he would speak. It works a little too well. He takes a deep breath before he begins. 

“That text you sent a few days back…” he starts and your heart instantly leaps. Oh god, here we go, you think, now deeply regretting how shameless you had behaved in the moment.

“Did you mean it?” he asks curiously, catching you completely off guard. You had thought he was about to scold you and you certainly didn’t expect him to be inquisitive instead. Your previous words seem to swim in your mind: [Join us next time, then?]  

Did he think you had been serious? You really had only meant it to tease. Regret bubbles in your stomach. 

“I still hear you every night,” he says quietly, gently, not like a reprimand at all, and you continue to feel more unsettled with each passing moment. You blush, embarrassed that you were having this conversation in broad daylight with Aemond of all people.

“I’m sorry, Aemond, truly, I…I tried to be more quiet…” you stammer, trailing off as he takes you by the arm, turning you to stop and face him. You stare up into his crystal blue eye, so much lighter than his brother’s, noticing how much taller he is than Aegon too. Up close, his beauty is so breathtaking, the leather eyepatch that covers his left eye only serves to complement his perfect appearance and intrigue you further. Aemond never spoke about what happened to his eye and you were too intimidated to ever ask. 

“It’s not that,” he cuts you off abruptly. “Your offer, did you mean it?” he asks more insistently and you feel like you could shrink under the intensity of his stare. Did you really want to have a threesome with him and Aegon? Cowardly, you opt to take the easy way out.

“It would be up to Aegon, I suppose,” you manage to choke out, feeling confident that Aegon would never agree. The way he possessively devours your body, like he is trying to consume your very being when you are together makes you think he isn’t the type to share.

Aemond nods, seeming satisfied with that answer as he abruptly resumes walking back to the house and you can barely keep up with his long strides. What the hell was that about? 

Feeling refreshed from your cold shower, you open your bathroom door, still wrapped in only a towel to see Aegon sprawled across your bed, giving you a calculated stare. Your heart skips a beat at his unexpected presence in your bedroom and he has a look in his eye you don’t think you’ve seen before. 

“So,” he says lightly and gets right to the point, “You want to have a threesome with Aemond?” 

You gape like a fish out of water as you backtrack. “I - I didn’t say that. Aemond mentioned it to me on the way back to the house,” you mumble, trying not to feel like you’re in trouble.

“Oh really?” he raises an eyebrow, glancing down at his phone, scrolling as if he’s looking for something, “What’s this then?” 

He holds out his phone and shows you a screenshot of the message you had sent to Aemond earlier in the week, inviting him to join you and Aegon. Aemond clearly has shown Aegon proof of your “offer”, the traitor. Clearly, your lighthearted jest has taken an unexpected turn and signals have been crossed between these two brothers. 

Aegon cannot contain a look of triumph as your guilty eyes flash back to his face. Before you can explain more thoroughly he smirks, “I didn’t know you were also into my brother…”

“Aegon, it was just a joke, I was teasing him,” you try to clarify your intentions and prove you aren’t trying to hide anything, now thoroughly wishing you had been this direct with Aemond too. You didn’t foresee it coming back to haunt you like this. 

“Really? Because that’s not what Aemond said,” Aegon counters, “So do you want to? It would be hot watching my brother fuck you,” he adds provocatively and your breath catches in your chest at his words. 

So many emotions whirl through your mind in an instant. Shock. Guilt. Bewilderment. Confusion. Hurt that he would give you up so easily to another man. Excitement. Lust. Desire. Simultaneously, another thought tugs at your heart: a mixture of determination and defiance. You had been so sure that Aegon would be the one to tell Aemond ‘no’ and you were starting to question his attachment to you, if indeed there had been one at all. If he was so willing to share you with someone else, perhaps you should make him regret this decision. The thought of making Aegon insanely jealous ignites a spark of mischief within your chest.

“Fine,” you say coolly, lifting your chin. “I’d love to fuck your brother,” you taunt seductively, pretending not to care more deeply about Aegon than you do and deliberately trying to push his buttons, but Aegon only gives you a devilish grin. 

“Brilliant. I’ll tell him then,” and with that, he springs off your bed, his earlier stomach ache seemingly forgotten, and bounds out the door in search of Aemond. 

You were a nervous wreck the whole rest of the day. What had you just agreed to? You curse your need for revenge on Aegon. 

That evening, you opt to quietly observe Aemond, feeling a need to familiarize yourself with the person that you would soon be sleeping with. While Aegon could be abundantly charming when he wanted to be, Aemond was simply grace incarnate. You pay particular attention to his interactions with each sibling: he is tolerant of Aegon’s antics, patient with the youthfulness of his younger brother, Daeron, and generously kind to his sister, listening to her discussions about various bugs with genuine interest, as if her words are the most interesting thing in the world. Coupled with his ethereal beauty, you start to question that Aemond might actually be the better of the two brothers. Boyfriend material flashes through your mind. 

At last, you bid the group goodnight for the evening and retire to your room. As soon as you shut your door, you sprint to the bathroom, rushing to brush your teeth, apply more deodorant and fix your hair, trying to make yourself as presentable as possible for perfect, proper Aemond. You aren’t sure why you were doing this; why do you care what Aemond thinks of you so much?

Finished with your “prep”, you put on your usual pajamas, wishing you had brought something a little sexier than an oversized t-shirt and shorts and sit on your bed to wait. Soon a soft knock comes from your door and you know instantly it’s Aemond. Aegon never knocks.

“Come in!” you manage to squeak out, voice unusually high, feeling nervous. Aemond enters, looking entirely unruffled, carrying something behind his back. He approaches the bed and reveals his surprise, holding out an expensive bottle of champagne. 

“I figured there’s no hurry,” he remarks casually with a shrug as he opens the bottle and takes a gulp, handing it to you. Feeling a bit unconventional drinking expensive champagne straight from the bottle, you take a sip, enjoying the tangy liquid that runs cool down your throat. 

You both sit in the middle of your large bed facing each other, talking softly while taking turns swigging from the bottle. Soon, you find yourself relaxing and enjoying his company, forgetting that Aegon was supposed to be joining you. You didn’t even wonder where he was. 

When the bottle is empty, you start to feel properly tipsy as Aemond lays a large, warm hand on your leg. You stiffen instantly, unable to help yourself, glancing up into his intense, one-eyed stare.

“I just want to ask, one more time, if you’re sure you want to do this,” he says with soft sincerity. 

This is it. Your way out. You didn’t have to sleep with Aemond. However, you were finding yourself more and more drawn to him as you discovered his admirable traits. You believed deep down that Aemond was genuinely kind, one of those "nice guys," so to speak. Moreover, defiance still pounds in your heart at the thought of making Aegon jealous, if he decided to show up at this point.

“Yeah, I want to Aemond, truly,” you respond genuinely, placing your hand overtop of his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He nods and seems to relax, his sensuous mouth curling into a true smile.

“Should we start without him?” you whisper, alluding to Aegon. 

“Yeah, fuck him, I’m not waiting,” Aemond replies boldly before grabbing you by the ankle and pulling you across the bed so you’re right next to him. You slide easily on the soft satin comforter and giggle in delight. Aemond’s lips meet yours and you sigh into his mouth as you melt into him immediately. 

Aemond's kiss ignites a fire within you; while you considered Aegon a skilled kisser, a few moments with Aemond had you wondering who was better. His kiss is effortless, your lips fitting together flawlessly, his gentle tongue playfully exploring your mouth, as you take turns sucking on each other’s bottom lip. You moan softly as you instinctively grasp his hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you. Already you can feel your core getting slick with desire and an ache forming at the apex of your thighs.

Aemond maneuvers you to lay on your back and settles overtop of you, lightly pressing you under his weight and you surrender once more to a new man, but this one you think might be more worthy than the last. Still clothed, you are fully immersed in battling his tongue when you hear a low whistle.

“You fuckers started without me,” Aegon growls, low and deep, and you jump, startled since you hadn’t heard him come in. You break the kiss with Aemond, turning to look at Aegon standing beside the bed, seeming completely unfazed seeing his younger brother on top of the girl he’s been fucking all week. Aemond ignores him completely as he kisses your exposed neck, pretending like there’s been no interruption. You notice Aegon is holding his own bottle of champagne and a bag of popcorn, now grinning like a barn cat that has just caught the biggest mouse; he moves to sit in the corner and waves his hand for you to continue. 

You roll your eyes and return your attention to Aemond, who is now sucking a hickey onto your collarbone. You decide to get things moving before you lose your nerve now that you have an audience. You slide Aemond's shirt off, taking a moment to appreciate the contours of his fit physique by tracing your fingers across his chest and along the defined muscles of his back. It's almost like a choreographed dance as you and Aemond smoothly help each other out of your clothes, moving with such synchronized ease that it feels like you're perfectly attuned to each other.

As you remove his shorts, his cock springs free, large and heavy against his thigh. Taking him in hand, you give him a few experimental pumps, making him grunt appreciatively; you find yourself absentmindedly wondering who is bigger, the Targaryen men are clearly blessed in this particular department. 

You try to ignore the sounds of Aegon chewing popcorn as you and Aemond settle back onto the bed, completely unclothed now. Aemond doesn’t seem to mind being naked in front of his brother and you take his lead as your heart flutters nervously, still mindful of having a witness. He bites down onto the fleshy part of your breast, sucking with enthusiasm and you don’t even care about the mark you know it’ll leave. He moves on and takes one of your nipples into his mouth next, rolling the other between his fingers as he works his way down your body, finally settling between your thighs and licking your soaked pussy like a lollipop; you both groan with pleasure. You spread your legs wide for him and start to knead your own breasts, putting your body on display for Aegon, feigning more confidence than you felt in the moment. You glance over and see him watching you and Aemond hungrily. 

Aemond’s lips lock around your bud and he sucks harshly causing you to buck your hips into his face and cry aloud, your breath picking up as pleasure courses like electricity through your body. You feel him slip a finger inside of you followed by another and he crooks them against your sweet spot all while continuing to suck on your bud like he is trying to slurp the thickest milkshake. 

It’s not long before your thighs are shaking around his head as you wail in ecstasy, your orgasm ripping through your core, pussy clenching tightly down onto Aemond’s fingers. You no longer notice Aegon’s presence and you secretly hope he’s burning with jealousy at the way Aemond is unraveling you thoroughly. Aegon clears this throat as you come down from your high and return to your senses.

“I want her on top, Aemond,” he commands from the dark corner of the room. You think Aemond will refuse as he isn’t the type that usually takes orders, and especially not from Aegon, but he lays on his back and positions you to hover above him. Achingly slow, still sensitive from your climax, you spear yourself on his hard, thick cock, sinking inch by delicious inch, savoring the stretch of your soft velvet walls. You breathe through your nose as you try to relax and welcome Aemond into your body, joining as one.

You both groan in unison when you finally sit flush against him, his cock buried deep. He gives you a moment to adjust and lets you set the pace. Knowing Aegon is seated behind you, you lean forward slightly, bracing your hands against Aemond’s chest, arching your back as you ride his cock, letting Aegon get the best view of Aemond’s thick length sliding in and out of your tight pussy, no longer feeling insecure about being watched. In this position, your sensitive bud rubs consistently against Aemond’s pubic bone and you can already feel another orgasm mounting deep in your belly. You toss your hair and moan loudly in pleasure, uttering filthy words to Aemond, knowing full well Aegon can hear you too. You want to leave him without any doubt just how much you are enjoying his brother. 

Beneath you, Aemond looks like a fallen angel. His one eye is hooded and dark with lust, the angles of his exquisite face are sharp in the low light, his sensual lips are parted slightly as he pants softly while you move up and down on his length. His luminous blonde hair is splay out on the bed, creating a sort of halo around his head.  You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful in your life.

Spurred on by your passionate words of lust, Aemond grasps your hips and picks up the pace, fingers digging into the soft flesh and you hope for bruises. Taking control, he fucks up into you from below, hitting your sweet spot repeatedly. You start mumbling nonstop again, like you always do when you’re about to cum.

“Yeah? You gonna cum on my cock, sweet girl?” Aemond says in a low growl as he watches your tits bounce above him. 

“A-Aemond, don’t stop,” is all you can manage as your peak crashes over you with the force of a hurricane and Aemond groans as your pussy tightens like a vice around him. He rides out your climax, sustaining your pleasure as you soar into oblivion. Finally, feeling like jelly, you topple off of Aemond and onto the soft bed, breathing heavily and trying to recover from your second mind-blowing orgasm. 

“My turn,” suddenly, Aegon stands on the edge of the bed, totally naked and stroking his hard, thick cock. Now that the two are visually out for comparison, you think Aemond’s might be a tad longer, but they are both just as thick.

Your brain feels fuzzy, swirling with endorphins from the rush of your climax. Despite your haze, excitement pulses through your chest when you see that Aegon has finally come to play, hoping he got tired of watching Aemond fuck you so thoroughly. Although being with two men at once is entirely new territory, you trust them completely to take care of you properly and not abuse their positions of power. With a new sense of confidence, adrenaline surges through your veins and you decide to take charge.

“Lay on the bed,” you direct at Aegon and he obeys you instantly, climbing onto the bed and laying his head on your pillow. You crawl over to him, swaying your hips seductively and meeting his dark blue gaze.

“So, did you enjoy watching that?” you purr innocently while taking his cock in your hand and squeezing. 

“More than you know,” he manages to respond before you lower your head and take him in your mouth. Maintaining eye contact with him, you put on a bit of a show as your tongue teases the sensitive tip.

Realizing Aemond is watching from afar, you look over your shoulder at him while continuing to pump Aegon with your other hand. You consider him for a moment, impressed with his endurance as he still hasn’t cum himself, despite riding out your orgasm while buried deep within your body. 

“Aemond, I need you too,” you whine, tossing your hair over your shoulder and bringing your ass in the air, giving him a pointed look; his lips lift in a devilish smirk. 

As Aemond comes to kneel behind you, there is a kinetic sort of energy that passes between the brothers as their eyes meet and you feel a shift as the energy in the room suddenly becomes charged. The hair stands up on the back of your neck and you aren’t entirely sure why; all you know is that you suddenly feel like a lamb caught between two apex predators. Undaunted, the thought makes you chuckle; Aemond has already begun to pick you apart with absurd precision and you feel ready for more. 

You take Aegon into your mouth again as you feel Aemond spread your ass cheeks apart with a firm grip, taking a moment to admire the view before re-entering you from behind, moving slowly to help you adjust to this new angle. You moan in pleasure as Aemond’s cock hits your sweet spot perfectly in this position. Aegon grunts as your moans reverberate around his dick and you hear him whisper “yeah, that’s it,” as your head bobs along his thick length. With one hand wrapped around the rest of Aegon’s girth that you can’t fit into your mouth, the other grips his thigh, trying to hold yourself steady as Aemond’s hips snap roughly into your backside. 

“She really does have the most perfect cunt, brother,” Aemond rumbles, grunting in appreciation as he watches his fat cock slide in and out of you, glistening with your arousal. “You were right.”

“I told you she could be our perfect little slut,” Aegon groans in agreement and gives you a dark smile. You try to ignore the fact that they are talking about you like you aren’t even there. Despite your senses being fully enveloped in a primal sort of lust, you feel a small prick of unease. How much did they discuss about you before today? Have they planned this all along?

You hardly have time to consider further before Aegon takes you by the hair and earnestly starts to fuck your mouth, spit dribbling down your chin as he thrusts in and out. You hollow out your cheeks and try your best to take him, choking at times as his cock touches the back of your throat, all while Aemond continues a steady pace fucking your pussy from behind. Tears prick your eyes and Aegon wipes them away with his thumb, murmuring “good girl” softly and encouraging you to keep going. You watch as his abs contract in pleasure as your tongue swirls around the sensitive tip; you find it becoming more difficult to focus on Aegon as Aemond brings his hand around and starts to play with your bud, rubbing tight, fast circles. Your breath is caught in your chest and you let out a sultry moan. 

For a moment, all that can be heard is heavy breathing, grunts of pleasure, skin slapping erotically, and a juicy sucking noise from your mouth as your orgy progresses. With Aemond’s expert attention on your bud, your walls start to flutter again and you redouble your efforts to suck off Aegon, determined that you both should cum at the same time; his breathing is becoming labored and you know he’s close. Within a few more moments, the three of you climax together in unison; Aegon grunts as his girth pulses in your hand, shooting his seed down your throat just as Aemond’s cock pumps his into your pussy, emptying deep inside you. He gives your ass a hard slap and you wail once more as mind numbing pleasure courses through your belly as your pussy milks Aemond dry.

Swallowing your mouthful, you collapse, exhausted, onto the bed next to Aegon, completely worn out by your third orgasm. Aegon pants softly beside you and Aemond plops down on your other side, the only one to still seem composed despite the sheen of sweat on his chest from his own exertion. 

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence as your breathing returns to normal. Aegon rolls to his side and captures your lips between his own. You think he’s just giving you a sweet sort of kiss as a “thank you” for a great time, until he takes your leg and swings it over his hip, reaching down and playing with your sensitive bud. You buck you hips away from his hand and whine pathetically, telling him without words that you are almost too sensitive to touch at this point. He shushes you gently and you feel him reach down to your entrance and gather Aemond’s spend that’s leaking from your pussy, bringing it up and circling your bud with a featherlight touch.

You feel Aemond move until he’s spooning you from behind, trapping you. He brushes your hair to the side as he starts to pepper your neck and shoulder with kisses while his large warm hand caresses your back, moving down to squeeze the ample flesh of your ass. Despite your exhaustion, you feel yourself getting aroused again at their attention. Aegon’s skin is burning as you lay facing him, chest to chest, and Aemond is just as hot against your backside. You feel caught between two flames, like you could catch fire entwined around the brothers.

Aegon continues to kiss you slowly, circling your bud, your leg still hooked over his hip when you feel another set of digits come to play at the entrance of your pussy. You flinch slightly, but Aemond doesn’t enter you digitally, instead seeming to gather more fluid on his fingertips. Without warning, you jump when you feel him spreading his spend on your asshole. Aemond hushes you sweetly, kissing right below your ear, as he starts to push ever so gently on your puckered hole. 

“Come now,” Aegon whispers against your lips, “You didn’t really think we would be done with you already, did you?” His hand moves up to tightly grip your thigh around his hip, holding you in place as Aemond slowly starts inserting a digit into your ass, causing you to moan and arch your back, unfamiliar with this new intrusion.

“Hmm,” Aemond hums appreciatively, nibbling on your earlobe as Aegon watches your face. The pressure is mounting as Aemond pushes his thumb into your ass and realization dawns that they are far from finished with you. They aren’t going to stop until every last bit of you is sore from stretching around their thick cocks repeatedly; their intention to possess you both at the same time becomes abundantly clear as Aemond works to open your tight puckered hole and you know they’ll continue to cover your body in bite marks, hickeys, and bruises, effectively marking you as their own. They haven’t even begun to truly consume you yet. 

“Yes, sweet girl,” says Aemond, an authoritative edge to his tone, “We’re just getting started.”

The story continues in Part 3

Tags: @rhaenyslay, @elizarbell, @aemondsscar, @peonamay, @cyeco13, @quinnquinn317, @multyfangirl, @myfandomprompts, @thekinslayed, @pandemonium105, @fan-goddess, @vencuyot

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hii cutie! Sorry bc my first language it's not English.. First of all I LOVE your writing you do write so sweet about everything and I love that you write about actors too with all the respect!! I was wondering.. I hope it's not too much, if you'd be able to do smth like ewan x actress!reader where she plays his love interest in hotd and they're so comfortable with each other and everyone in the cast can see the chemistry between them but they're afraid of showing their feelings to each other and just think that's just friendship, but somehow someone tries to open the eyes to one of them making the other one jealous and... You know, just write it however you want and of course if you want it, I trust you for this one!! Thanks sweetheart <3

Easy To Be

Ewan Mitchel x Actress!Reader (low key Aemond x Reader)

Summary: "It's really hard to be cruel to you," Ewan mutters. I snort, "if that's hard, then it must be hell to have to kiss me." He hums, "quite contrary," he looks off to nowhere, "I enjoy that more."

Word Count: <500

Warnings: Fem!reader, actress!reader, it starts off pretty violent, fluff, pining, annoying!cast members, crack fic, typos, etc.

A/N: Idk why i'm writing this when my head hurts but i hope you enjoy nonnie though i did take liberties!!! OH WAIT I ALSO WANTED TO SAY DONT *EVER* APOLOGIZE FOR YOUR ENGLISH. ENGLISH WISHES IT MADE MORE SENSE /: AND gurl your english was flawless 🤨 fr you better than me. THANK YOU BY THE WAY FOR YOUR SWEET WORDS ABOUT MY WRITING! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I APPRECIATE YOU AND I LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @antisociablewallflower @lxdyred

Aemond shoves me against the wall and presses me back, hands on both of my shoulders. He huffs, "you must think me either a fool or insane."

I whimper as I try to break away, "no, I know you're insane."

He scoffs and he grabs my jaw, titling my head up just as he draws his dagger and presses it against my cheek, "and do you think I think you're special?"

I make a sound as he tightens his hold on my face. "It will do you good to remember," he leans against my ear, "I can be betrothed to a great many other women. You ought to not test me again."

He shoves away as he storms out of the room.

"CUT!"

I release a sigh and gather my dress as a bunch of stylists come up to redo my make up and fix my wardrobe.

Once that was done, Aemond, or rather, Ewan walks back to his mark and looks at me, "are you alright?"

I smile, "a little rough this time around, but all good."

Immediately he stiffens and walks up to me, grabbing my hand, "shit, I'm sorry. Does it hurt somewhere?"

I grab his arm and step forward, "no, no," I shake my head, "it was just a really intense grip," I make a face, "it was kinda hot-"

"BOO GET A ROOM!"

Ewan and I turn to our side.

Someone makes hurling noises. "KISS, KISS, KISS, KISS-"

"Why are you even here?" I quirk a brow, "you don't even have a sce-"

"YOU TWO ARE GROSS, JUST KISS ALREADY!"

Ewan rolls his eyes and turns back to me.

"EWAN IF YOU DON'T KISS HER, I SWEAR TO FUCK I WILL."

Ewan huffs and looks to the side, "and shall I stab you instead?"

My eyes widen at his reaction. The morons lose their shit after hearing that.

He turns back to me and with knit brows, "I will be more gentle next take."

"No, it's fine," I shake my head, trying to ignore the way I was burning up, "I can take it. Honestly, I'm more concerned about how you keep stepping on my dress."

Ewan brings his hands together and chuckles, "sorry. I'm quite eager. I be more mindful of my steps."

I smile some more.

"-I CAN'T BELIEVE HE ACTUALLY SAID THAT THOUGH!"

We continue to ignore them.

"It's fine, Ewan. Just don't trip on me or we'll both get hurt."

He nods. "It's really hard to be cruel to you," Ewan mutters.

I snort, "if that's hard, then it must be hell to have to kiss me."

He hums, "quite contrary," he looks off to nowhere, "I enjoy that more."

"... w-what-"

"WAIT, WHAT DID HE SAY?!"

[starpains]

A multiverse sorta fic where Anakin touches some holocron or whatevs (it’s always a holocron tho isn’t it) and gets thrown from AU to AU, all of them being Ewan McGregor’s movies/shows lol, but it’s Obi-Wan. So we’d get chef Obi-Wan, fashion designer Obi-Wan, mafia boss Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan and his clone (looking at you The Island for the DP porn lol), and more…

And you know, they either already are or end up falling for each other and fucking in every verse cause they’re star crossed lovers or sth.

Then, the last one he’s thrown into is the Kenobi show—his own verse after he fucked it all up—and Obi-Wan is looking at him like he’s seen a ghost in all his damaged, infinitely sad glory and Anakin fucking aches. They end up fucking, don’t even need to fall in love cause they already are, duh.

And then, the holocron is finally used up and he goes back to being in his early 20s in the middle of the clone wars, a changed man, wondering how to get with his Obi-Wan. Of course, when he manages, he never falls to the dark side.

The galaxy is saved, the readers get what they craved, everybody cries, only Palps dies, poor Pads finds comfort in lesbian sex, now that Anakin is her ex. 🎤 🎵

A time-travel fix it of sorts, if you squint?