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Ewan Mitchell + smiling (requested by anon! <3)
Stalker! Michael Gavey pretending to be struggling in a class just so he can hear you talk <3
You were so sweet, your voice even and tempered as you circle your pencil around one of the many words on the worksheet. Your glasses slip down your nose, and Michael can feel his thighs press together as he tries to stave off his arousal.
He never found the whores on campus attractive, their short skirts and breasts spilling out of their tops could never illicit a response from Michael. He was a man, he had his own fantasies, but silly little bimbo sluts had never been his cup of tea.
But you...
The long skirts and sweaters you wore had never failed to have him leaking in his pants, voice so sweet it had him reeling the first time he'd heard it. Your intelligence was so fucking hot it made him into a whimpering mess almost every night. Michael Gavey was a goner the moment he met you.
He followed you to your classes, sat behind you during lectures just so he could catch a whiff of the soft vanilla of your scent. Your left behind hair ties and pencils you had nibbled on? The tie is wrapped around his cock as he fucks his pillow, his tongue laving the pencil as he imagines the taste of your saliva.
So, yes.
He is pretending to struggle with this class just so he can hear you lecture him. He can imagine his dirtiest fantasy as you talk endlessly, your words holding a certain gracefulness that has Michael palming his cock under the table. You would make a fine professor. He'd kill to see you in the same heels and pencil skirts that some of them wore.
Just as long as you wore that fucking sweater.
"Michael, you're doing so well!" You praise him, a soft smile on your full lips as he hesitantly answers the question correctly. His hand is down his pants underneath the table, his cock throbs as he jerks the leaking tip gently, precum pools in the slit, adding lubrication to his debauchery as you innocently question him on why exactly he needed your help if he was at the top of your shared class.
He hopes that you pull away and see exactly what he's doing. He'd kill to see the look of flustered surprise on your face as you watched him cum all over himself.
There's a flush to Michael's cheeks as he cups his balls in his hand, he rolls them as you flutter your pretty lashes at him, and a shudder leaves his body as his cock throbs. Hot strings of semen leave his slit, a soft dripping sound could be heard as the milky white hits the ground the library. Michael's breath hitches, his eyes roll back just a bit, and he can feel the tension in his shoulders dissolve as his cock throbs painfully underneath the table.
You don't notice, too busy pushing your glasses back up the bridge of your nose.
Fuck.
He loves those glasses.
Trying to find a Michael fic where the reader isn't a slutty bimbo is actually impossible 😭
✧ more of my work ✧
NFI me and you
Michael Gavey x Felix's sister!reader ♡ chapter 1
warnings: semi-public sex, sloppy pussy eating (Michael don't know shit about how to do that, don't fight me on that), unprotected p in v (wrap it b4 you tap it), virgin!Michael, hair pulling, almost getting caught (in the end), virginity loss, premature orgasm, small praise kink, Michael being a little shit.
word count: 5k
minors please don’t interact.
summary: At college Christmas party Michael goes to library just to find someone he least expect to see there. Basically two nerds getting at it.
from Author: This is my first long work in English so please be kind since it’s not my first language. Michael Gavey save me. Wrote it cuz I recently rewatched Saltburn with my mum and her reactions were absolutely hilarious. Also i don't know shit about math so if I'll make any mistake in that kind of stuff please just ignore.
divider credit: @uzmacchiato
It wasn't like Michael actually expected the invite to lay beautifully in his letterbox. He wasn't popular. He in fact was everything but that. With awkward personality, nerdy attitude and his well known dislike towards other students.
But he couldn't help to be petty about it. He was a student of Oxford after all. A good one if not the best. Michael liked to put himself on top, liked to look down at people. He felt like the worst and the best of all of them at the same time.
Oliver didn't seem to care about the invite, he just blankly looked around the library when Gavey told him neither of them received anything. But it was still Oliver who 'went' to the party. He was sitting there, locked in the spare room, alone with only pool table. He was desperately trying to make himself seen, popular and liked. Like a leach he wanted to have more than he was destined to have.
And if not for the lack of invite to the Christmas Party of his own college Michael would think he has everything he needs. A good marks, a 'friend' if he could even label Oliver like that, a peace and quiet. He was doing math at one of the oldest, best and most popular colleges in United Kingdoms.
The only thing that could piss him off was you. Felix Catton's younger sister. With the hair as fluffy and as dark as your brother's but eyes brighter than his. In your mother's or father's color, Michael was often thinking about them while sitting in the class.
Class he unfortunately had to share with you. What were you even doing there? In math class. In his class.
Course wasn't filled with many girls. Just you, one red head freak and a girl that Michael believed couldn't do times table, what was utterly pathetic for him.
And it wasn't like you needed a degree. You had the status, the prestige, ‘Catton’ that followed after your name and a fucking castle. The amount of money you had could keep you, your future children and many generations after them safe from even moving a finger.
You were always sitting in library with wired earphones in your ears, too far and music too quiet for Michael to hear what you were listening to. Always with your head down, gaze focused yet tired like doing all those math examples drained you from all your energy. And Michael couldn't stop watching you from behind his glasses. His pale blue eyes scanning over every mole on your cheeks and the way the dark circles made your eyes stand out even move. The loose strands that fell from your bun when you were leaning over your notebook before quiet tapping on the calculator could be heard if Gavey listened close enough.
You were so different from Felix and Farleigh. And if not the name or the fact that despise spending most of your days in library and classes everyone knew who you are, he would maybe consider you something more than a spoiled brat.
He didn't really liked your family. Rich, entitled pricks. Your brother? horrible. Farleigh? Even fucking worse.
Good that he didn't have to deal with them. It was just Oliver who had to go through your cousin's biting remarks and snarky comments. And Michael would be free from Catton family if not for you. The bane of his existence.
You.
Even now. Your were sitting on the other side of the table, with a lamp lighted up and casting a golden glow on your cheeks that were - as he observed - way paler than right after summer. That's natural after all. Yet he couldn't help but wonder how it would feel like to smooth over the skin of them with his knuckles... or see how they would look when your lips would be wrapped around him. With your eyes up on him, hands propped on his thighs and how hard he would grip your locks.
The shame ate him alive every time he caught himself thinking about you like that. Imagining you, in his dorm, in your dorm or even in a fucking library. Here. Now.
God he couldn't believe how pathetic he was.
He looked from his notebook to you. A soft glow cast on your face, the unchanging, focused gaze and this weird stillness as you sat on one of the chairs near him. What you were doing here? Your brother was enjoying the party, drinking, smoking, flirting. The music was probably blasting and there were bodies rubbing against each other. And you were... here. In the library. In a disgustingly quiet library with him, alone. And if not the earphones connected to your phone with the thin wire you could hear every sharp and uncomfortable inhale from Michael, when he tried to not make all the fantasies and images that made him turn in his bed at night, flow back into his mind.
Not when you were sitting right there instead of acting like he think every Catton did.
His grip of the pen tightened when your phone rung filling the silence in the library. His jaw clenched and gaze raised at you when hurriedly picked up.
“I’m in the library what do you want?” You asked quietly as if ashamed of ruining the quietness of the moment.
He didn’t mean to listen… but how could he not when you were sitting there alone and the only sounds were annoying grumbling of your brother through the phone.
“I’m not coming to the party I’m studying” you mumbled before rolling your eyes at the faint words of Felix.
“Don’t tell Farleigh or he’ll come here and force me to go and drink with him.” His irritation only spiked when you mentioned his cousin. “Felix, stop I’m not—“
“Could you not?” Michael’s words came out unexpectedly and even he wasn’t sure if they left his lips or if it was just his mind playing jokes at him.
Your mouth was agape as the gaze of your eyes raised to him. You looked as surprised as he was.
“I’ll see you.” You only said before hanging up and putting your phone down. “Sorry…”
His heart rate fastened and Michael wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t add some rude comment.
“I know you’re an entitled brat but rules apply even to you” he replied and his eyes narrowed l.
“I already said I’m sorry” you said feeling your irritation spiking. “If you can’t focus on math with sounds that quiet maybe you’re not as good as you think you are” you scoffed and cringed immediately at the words that sounded all too familiar to Farleigh.
"I'm a genius" he said and take a sharp inhale.
"Bet you are Gavey."
This surprised him. How did you knew his name? You were on the same course, yes. You spoke few times, yes. A short meaningless questions for a task results or to borrow a pen. He didn't think you would know his name. Something strange blossomed in his chest. A warm feeling mixed with unease. People never knew his name.
"Ask me a sum then"
"I'm not asking you a sum Gavey." you said and your hand moved to put the earphones back in your ears.
"You're scared I'm right?" he asked scoffing. He really was acting like a brat. Maybe that's why people didn't bother to remember his name. Maybe that's why you did.
"I'm not sc-"
"Then ask me a sum."
You two shared a glance. No, it was way too long for just a glance. You looked into his blue eyes hid behind those nerdy looking glasses. Jesus Christ. Why did he had to sit here, looking like that, bothering you to ask him a stupid sum. You should really ask Felix to start inviting him into those parties so you wouldn't have to sit here with him alone like that. A sharp inhale from you and not even a bother to pull out a calculator.
"Nine times nine." you said seriously; it wasn't serious. Just to make him a bit more mad.
"Oh that's a child's play." he scoffed crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair. Your face was serious, waiting for an answer. Damn you. "Eighty one" he rolled his eyes.
"Times eighty one?"
"Six thousand and five hundred sixty one."
"Times nine?"
"Fifty nine thousands and forty nine"
"Times six thousand and five hundred sixty one?"
"Three hundred eight seven milion, four thousands twenty and four hundred eighty nine"
Michael Gavey - you have to be studied.
You scoffed shaking your head slightly.
"Told you." he said calmly. Oh god what a wonderful feeling it was. His arrogance was spiking and you feed his ego like crazy.
"You could just make those numbers up." you said leaning back in your own seat.
"Why would I?"
"Because you're a liar."
"I'm a genius."
You gave him a look before stubbornly pulling out the calculator and then shortly after the fast taps on the buttons. Then a scoff. Michael smirked and his gaze from the papers in front of him to you. Your face was serious and irritated and you bit your inner cheek. Another habit of yours for him to learn about. Then another scoff from you.
"You have to get diagnosed by some fucking doctor, Gavey." you said and moved the calculator away.
"I don't know if being a genius is a sickness" he said and fixed his glasses.
"But you're not" you said irritated. You wanted to win this argument. That didn't worked. So you can at least make him mad.
"We just proved I am, didn't we darling?"
What just came over him? His mouth closed and he wasn't even sure his brain registered the words. And you stared. Not like others. Not like he was some creep or a loser. Your gaze was surprised - not shocked. - just surprised.
And Michael was just as surprised as you were apparently.
"A genius huh?" you said but he could clearly tell that your tone was different. He wasn't stupid after all. He heard the previous softness in it - the one he snapped at when you apologized to him. "help me with that then."
Oh. God.
No. Yes.
Oh.
God.
Micheal swallowed looking as you gather your things quickly to come and sit at the seat on his left. He was sitting by the top of the table. Like always. Not like it wasn't the main part of library. Rather a calm one - where people didn't come to. Or only to make out - what Micheal was unfortunate to see.
Oh. God.
"Y-yeah sure." he said and swallowed again. You raised an eyebrow at his slight stutter. Fuck. "Yeah sure." he collected himself stopping himself from undoing the top button of his shirt.
He suddenly became super aware that he looked like someone's grandpa. Shirt buttoned to the top, sweater on that and that stupid ass haircut he gave himself after he got irritated the brown strands of hair started getting under his glasses. And here were you - dressed into a sweater too, but in the cool way. How in the hell did you managed to look cool and nerdy at the same time? Felix looked only cool, Farleigh looked like some twink and here were you. Looking beautiful in random clothes you threw on to library and in this half up-half down hairstyle you did when hair started getting into your eyes. Because it wasn't like you could just cut it like he did.
"You get it?" you asked laying the pencil down on the wooden desk.
Oh fuck, you were telling him something. He glanced over the task. It couldn't be easier.
"Yes, I'll do it for you." he said mindlessly grabbing your pencil.
"No!... no, can you just explain it?" you asked and he frowned.
"I'm not some tutor." he muttered not sparring you a glance.
"I can pay you 50 pounds." you said like it was nothing, of course it was nothing for you. The Catton in your name could buy anything.
"I don't want your money."
"What is so hard in explain what you're doing?"
He could do it. It wouldn't be a problem for him. He explained things to people before; for example when his little cousins needed help with something.
"Fine" he said and sighed
Your chair moved and your arms pressed again as you leaned on your hand listening to what he will say and he could feel his cock throbbing slightly.
Woman in the name of all that's holy, what are you doing? Move the fuck away.
He inhaled. Get it together.
"It's very easy" he said and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before fixing his glasses.
Oh god someone save you.
How could he just sit here all sweet and nervous and cute? Looking like he is waiting for someone to just devour him.
And he smelled good too. Like a nerd to be honest. A bit like the library, but you could smell a bit of the after shave. Yeah it have to be that. Your gaze wandered from the paper to give him a side glance, His face looked smooth, he always looked clean, neat. With his hair cut in a silly way and nice looking clothes. If not the top button it would even look really good.
You crossed your legs nodding slightly to pretend you're listening. Jesus Christ his jaw. And his nose.
Jesus Christ his nose.
"Now. Understand?" he asked turning his head to you.
Shit now he'll know you're staring.
"Y-yeah." you nodded. "It's really easy." you added as it would convince both him and you.
You could feel his breath on your face from how close you were.
"Y-you... you want something in exchange for tutoring?" you asked swallowing. "I can get you into one of Felix's parties if you want."
"No." he said seriously and leaned back in his seat looking at the papers seriously. "I don't want to be anywhere close to your stupid brother and idiot cousin." he scoffed.
"Is there something I can do? I don't like to be anyone's debt."
God those big Babmi eyes of you. Michael swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.
'Is there something I can do?'
YES. Go down on me or I'll die.
"No we're good... as long as you won't take calls in the library or at least next to me." he said and crossed his legs too hiding his hardening cock. Thank god the light was dim and table let him mask easily.
"I can do that."
God your obedience. How sweet you looked. Like some goddamn bunny or another stupid doe.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
God save you. What have Michael Gavey done to you? The smart Catton, with a brain turned into mush because of a dork, you're trying to get your guts rearranged by. And he probably didn't even know where clit is. Let's be fucking honest, Michael having sex it's not something this world has experienced.
"Can I still give you something?" you asked and your cheeks grew pink.
"If you must." he scoffed rolling his eyes.
Your lips pressed to his fast and hard. His eyes widened as he froze for a moment. His heart thumped as his brain was still proceeding what the fuck was happening. Do. Something. Dumbass.
His hand went up just to stop right above the skin of your cheek and his lips tried to move in sync with yours affecting in pretty sloppy and clumsy kiss. His first kiss.
Michael pulled away to inhale looking at you in shock, before quickly fixing his glasses.
Oh. Fuck.
You looked at him and inhaled too, your mouth slightly agape before his hand pulled you to crash his lips against yours, this time way more desperately.
A clumsy kiss with the nerd Michael Gavey turned into messy making out in the corner of library. Like all those people he despised for interfering with library's peace.
"You should really start being invited to those parties." you breathed pulling slightly away to look at those blue eyes.
"Fuck the parties." he shook his head frowning at you, before his nose bumped slightly into yours and his eyes went to your mouth.
Oh how desperate he looked. Like a needy brat finding the most tasty candy of his life. Michael Gavey the pathetic man you are.
"What do you want to do?" you swallowed feeling his breath on you cheek.
"We can go back..." to his dorm. "... to doing the task?"
You raised your eyebrow looking at him. What the fuck? Did the past seven minutes of making out and having his tongue in your mouth happened or not?
"Or... you can... kiss me some more?" he added, his gaze pleading. "...please?"
A man who yearns is the man that earns. Or... something like that.
"Sounds... like a good plan" you nodded smiling slightly.
His lips pressed against you again. And you were never more happy about skipping a party to go study at the library. His lips were soft and his cupid bow prominent, easily felt under your own mouth. The kiss was greedy, more wanting, more needing than those from before. Not quite desperate as you would think Michael could get but not lazy either.
You pulled away slightly to tilt your head down and rub your lips together inhaling before hesitating for a moment. Deep breaths of Michael reached your ears, the way his body trembled slightly and his glasses were a little bit crocked. He almost followed as you stopped the kiss, pleading for more.
When your lips reconnected a second later, you slipped onto his lap and got surprised by a shocked gasp. His eyes widened and hands squeezed on the armrests as if he were too scared to touch you.
And his hard length was pressed into your inner thigh.
Good Lord.
You tried not to move too much, not to cause him any discomfort or made an effort to somehow let him know you felt it. It was as if your senses decided to focus not on the bulge straining against his pants but his lips on yours.
But God. With every soft twitch your knickers were getting wetter and wetter by your arousal and the desperate need to move even so slightly, to release some tension and simply slide over his thigh was almost unbearable.
His nose bumped against yours and you pulled away again to rest your forehead on his and inhale trying to calm down and somehow downplay the coiling feeling in your stomach.
"You're-"
"I'm so sorry." he said gasping.
Sorry? Sorry for what? For making you want to be fucked on the library's table? Or to suck on what's hiding under those pants?
"Don't apologize dumbass." you frowned looking at his red yet slightly startled face. "Just let me-"
"No."
Your hand stopped midair to his zipper and your eyes went to his as you straightened on his lap.
"Let me... I want to..." he inhaled
Oh god he was adorable. His expression boyish and cheeks pink just like the tips of his ears and maybe another tip too.
Not as adorable when he pushed you up on the table earning a surprised gasp from those lips he was savouring seconds ago. Not as adorable when his; shy at first, hands went to the hem of your pants. To pull on the button, undo the zipper and finally tug onto jeans making them slide off to ankles leaving you sprawled on the table, shocked and wet.
"Pink?" he scoffed quietly, his attitude returning as he glanced at your panties; pink with small bow at the front and very noticeable darker spot where your legs met.
"Shut up." you said only letting your head rest on the table.
"Only if you let me make my mouth busy." how did Michael Gavey, the awkward nerd from Oxford know how talk like that.
Your breath hitched and his fingers worked pushing the soaked fabric to the side. Your cunt was glistening with arousal, lips pink and slightly swollen. He definitely wasn't adorable when he lowered himself between your legs, to lap at your sweet little cunt with uncertainness visible in his moves.
His tongue licked over your opening, inhaling surprised at the taste. It was like nothing he ever had in his life. Because he clearly never done that to a girl.
It could be felt with how unsure his tongue is, how careful, yet you didn't miss how his hands squeezed on your thighs, making them look small in his grip. As if he tried to suppress the need to lap like he was starving; maybe he was.
Your eyes closed at the oh how ironic so shy yet so dirty sensation, before you moved your hips slightly; just enough to guide him higher. A high pitched moan let him know he found what he needed. Your hand covered your mouth quickly as if to try and cover the sound you just let slip involuntarily and those you made when his lips sucked and tongue rolled over your clit. Your cheeks burned as he focused at the bud and his chin grazed over your slit making it glistening with your juices.
Gods how sweet you tasted. Michael could die and go to heaven at this moment. Your little moans, muffled so badly by your hand echoed between the bookshelves made his already hard cock leak some pre-cum on the fabric of his boxers. He was going crazy, imagining how angrily pink his tip must be, how he was twitching every time you rolled your hips over his mouth thinking he doesn't feel it. If he touched himself now he would probably; to his embarrassment, nut at the spot. He lapped on your cunt, his hands squeezed on your thighs, only leaving the flesh to fix his glasses.
Oh God he's gonna die.
He watched with big eyes as your thighs trembled slightly, chest rose rapidly and... oh lord, your hand quickly making it's way to his hair to gently tug and pull at the fair strands, directing him to closer to you as his tongue worked rapidly, still unsure of it's actions.
Now you were desperate and needy. He made you act like that.
His glasses fogged up from the heat between your bodies and his own deep, warm breath blew on your glistening cunt. His tongue was parting your folds from time to time and his mouth sucked at the swollen bud hungrily.
You pulled yourself up to look down on him. Your eyes fell upon his flushed cheeks, nose bumping against your flesh, his puppy eyes looking up at you desperately and hands holding onto your thighs as if his life depended on it. His nails dug into your flesh as you tugged harder at his hair when you felt the tension in your stomach ready to snap.
“Fuck—“ you mumbled squeezing your eyes shut. “Michael.”
His eyes widen as he looked up at you. At your blush, at your trembling thighs, at your hand squeezed on his hair. He felt your orgasm on his tongue, the sweet, sweet release. He made you cum. He. Michael Gavey ate out Felix’s younger sister.
He moved away as your grip relaxed, pulling himself up. His eyes wandered up at the blush on your cheeks, trembling of your thighs, rise of your chest. His gaze was hazed. Pleading. Mouth open, gasping for air and chin dripping with your release.
Oh god he looked so pretty.
When your hand fell from his head on his cheek he melted. His grip on your thigh let go leaving behind red marks that will sure turn into bruises tomorrow. His hands wandered to pull back your panties on before your hand stopped him and frown bloomed on your face. It’s not like you haven’t seen his dick straining against the fabric of his pants, it’s wasn’t hard to miss when you were standing between your parted legs.
“What are you doing?” Your tone almost accusatory made him pause with your panties half in way to cover you again.
“I’m—“
“I thought we’re having sex” you said when your thumb moved to wipe his off your release.
His lips parted slightly as he looked at you. Shocked and flushed embarrassed at the realization that dawned over him.
“I’m… not gonna last” he swallowed leaning closer making your noses almost bump together.
He was reluctant yet needy. So needy and desperate, to feel you around him, the warmth, the wetness he always imagined while jerking off in his dorm.
“It’s okay I already came.” his gaze snapped up to your eyes shocked at your words.
“Are you sure?”
A small nod that you gave him was all it took for him to start tugging at his belt quickly as his lips crashed against yours impatiently. A quiet whine fell right into his mouth as you tasted your own release on his tongue. It was weird this connection you shared, the quiet, desperate need to just continue kissing him as if his dick wasn't throbbing in his pants and your own pants weren't hanging from your ankles.
Michael was shy now as he moved away to reposition between your legs. Vulnerable at freshly given consent or more. Assurance. You with your sweet eyes made him safe and comfortable, despise the fact that he surely won't make you cum like that. Few pumps and he'll be done. Embarrassing really. But not now, not to him. Not when you let him so close to you already, only to agree to let him even closer.
The movements of his hands were careful; one squeezed on your waist carefully, the other pulled your panties to the side before getting his length out of his boxers.
He was long but not thick. With a vein running underside and this pretty cherry pink tip.
"Pink?" you asked innocently as to taunt him for his earlier teasing.
He inhaled shakily looking at you. "You fucking tease" he grumbled shaking his head.
"Just asking"
"Please, do shut up"
Your mouth opened yet again, but this time instead of words a surprised moan left them. As he pressed between your folds. Michael's eyes squeezed shut at the warmth and wetness caused by your previous orgasm. It was better than he imagined, soft and slightly tight from the muscles still being strained. It was way better than when he was fucking his hand. Better than anything he imagined. He watched as your hands fell from his face to grip at the edge of the table as he moved slowly trying to prolong the whole experience. Your whiny breaths echoed in his ears as he dropped his head on your shoulder, nose nudging the side of your neck.
You felt him moving within, the trembling inexperienced movements getting faster with each second bringing him to the edge and making you curl your toes as the sensitivity from earlier release haven't worn off yet. You pressed your cheek to his head as he once again squeezed the flesh on your hips probably adding bruises to those soon blooming on your thighs.
"Fuck-." he mumbled, his panting against your skin causing a shiver to run down your spine. "You feel so absolutely fucking amazing."
"Michael-." A quiet moan left your mouth when you felt him pressing against the spongy spot inside and your thighs squeezed on his hips. "Just-... fuck... right there."
"It's good?"
"It's amazing." you mumbled and your hand sneaked up into his hair again. "You're so good, so good for me."
A quiet praise, small and innocent, mumbled into his hair caused him to held onto you tightly as his cock twitched, releasing the warm robes of cum. He pulled out quickly cursing under his breath, his release coated your insides, then folds and clit with white spend. His fingers curled on your hip as he watched his softening cock resting between your thighs.
"I'm- so sorry." he mumbled straightening up slightly.
"It's fine." your assurance made his heart melt again as he stand there, feeling guilty and looking like the scolded puppy. "I'll buy a pill tomorrow morning."
You heard the sharp inhale and saw the guilty nod before he released your hips. Your own hand fell from his hair to pull him into kiss by the collar of his shirt. It was delicate, calming after all that just happened, comforting. You let him run his hand up and down your waist, bump his nose against your with each kiss.
You pulled your panties back from the side still following the rhythm of his mouth until quiet and a little wobbly steps interrupted the peaceful moment. Your eyes snapped open and you pulled away from the kiss listening as Michael readjusted his boxers quickly.
"Wrap it up, you fucking nerd." Farleigh's voice came from afar and your cursed under your breath. "Came to pick you up, we have to find Felix-."
Fucking Farleigh, fucking Felix.
Michael clenched his jaw, the quiet and comforting atmosphere was brutally ended by your cousin and he never, never wanted to strangle Start more than now. Even more when you moved quickly pulling on your pants. He stood there with lips parted as you just let his cum dry on you skin and inside.
"Fuck, I'm so sorry." you said looking at him with embarrassment and regret. "I didn't think he'll come here."
Michael nodded silently buttoning his pants again as if nothing has happened. "It's fine" he mumbled and your heart shattered, it wasn't fine. It was very much not fine.
"Just... find me on Facebook alright?" you said and you eyes went to cup his cheek before inhaling.
God how embarrassing it was.
"Y-yeah... I... I'll find you." he mumbled quietly fixing his glasses.
"I'm so sorry." You hands quickly gathered the things laying on the table, like you haven't been just fucked on it few minutes ago.
You'll fucking kill Farleigh.
"Promise you'll text me." you added before hurriedly pressing your lips to his.
He moaned quietly into your lips, closing his eyes momentary. Your hand involuntarily went back to his cheek and you gasped as his hand desperately clenched on your sweater, tugging you slightly towards him, not wanting to let go, not yet. Just a bit longer, just to bask in the afterglow just a moment more.
"Promise." he nodded as your breath mixed together.
You nodded back smiling again. "Good." you inhaled before pecking his lips again and grabbing the rest of your stuff, as Farleigh's steps were getting closer and closer.
You shared the last glance before you disappeared behind the bookcases and then he could calmly exhale starting to slowly process what just happened. The messy kisses, the lingering taste of you still on his tongue and the best fucking feeling of your cunt being wrapped around his cock.
Michael he could die a happy man now.
Could. If he hadn't promised you something.
His trembling hands went to his phone and opened the app at the same moment scrolling through the Cattons.
Felix Catton. No.
Venetia Catton. No?
There you were.
Quickly he tapped add and with blush on his cheeks and ragged breath.
Just to see a notification from you mere seconds later.
He could die a happy man now.
autor note: this chapter is short and kind of shit (especially end, i got lazy). When i started writing this I didn't even think about turning it in the series and the idea popped in my head when i had like half of it written. So... next chapters will hopefully be longer and better lmaoo.
© starxs-s. est, 2025
Improper Fraction
Pairing: Michael Gavey x f!reader Warnings: Sexually explicit content. Word count: ~5.1k.
Summary: Michael gets great satisfaction from humiliating a fellow student during the fresher's week pub quiz, only to get a nasty shock when he realises he'll be seeing lots more of her. And she's keen to get her own back.
Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.
“Isn’t this something we should save for the first years?” she asked Libby, as they pushed through the door of The Bull.
It was early evening, and the place was already starting to fill up as students crowded in for The Bull’s annual end of Fresher’s Week pub quiz.
“We come every year,” Libby replied breezily, making a beeline for an empty table in the corner, and shrugging out of her denim jacket.
“But we’re not students anymore,” she protested, hovering behind the empty chair opposite her friend.
“I’m not, but you are, so why break tradition?” Libby grinned, a toothy, determined smile that made it clear she would not be budged on the matter or from her seat. “Since you’re stood up, you can get the first round. I’ll have my usual.”
She rolled her eyes, sighing as she turned to go and fetch their drinks.
She had studied Mathematics for four years at Oxford University, before being accepted for the integrated master’s level course in Mathematical and Theoretical Physics. She was hoping that the research level training would help her on her path to becoming an astrophysicist, until then she worked weekend shifts at a bookshop just off of the high street. Libby had completed the three year History of Art course more than a year ago, and had yet to move on from the city. Libby claimed it was because she enjoyed the culture and pace of life, but she knew her friend better than that – it had more to do with the bartender she’d been hooking up with on and off since she’d started a part time job at the wine café in Jericho. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for Libby sticking around – it meant not having to look for another flatmate, and Oxford would be a lonely place without her; a proclivity for numbers and equations left little opportunity for socialisation.
Pushing her way back through the crowd, trying and failing not to allow the two pints of Strongbow she carried to spill over the edge of the glasses, she frowned as she saw two men she didn’t recognise seated at the table either side of Libby. One was dark haired with a nose that looked as though it had been broken more than once, and the other was sandy haired and bespectacled – the sort of person she’d move away from on a bus, judging by the well worn Merrell walking shoes that peeked out from beneath the table.
Placing the glasses heavily down upon dog eared beer mats, sending more cider frothing over the sides and onto the sticky wood beneath, she shot Libby a questioning look, before taking her seat opposite her, the two strangers now on either side of her.
“This is Oliver,” Libby explained, dragging her pint towards her, “ and this is Michael. You need a minimum of four people for a quiz team, so I invited them to join us.”
“Hope you don’t mind,” Oliver said apologetically, shifting his gaze to her, “all the other teams were full.”
“Fine by me,” she replied with a shrug, hoping she appeared more casual than she felt. There was something about Oliver that made her feel uneasy, though she couldn’t fathom a tangible reason for why that was.
Libby took a swig of her drink, either not noticing the tension around the table or choosing to ignore it. “Oliver’s studying literature,” she said brightly, “so we’ll smash that round. What about you, Michael?”
“Maths,” he answered.
There was something smug and self assured in how he allowed the syllable to roll off his tongue, as though he were announcing to the table he was better than anyone else seated at it, without even needing to say the words.
“No way!” Libby swatted his arm, earning a scowl which she again chose not to notice, and nodded towards her friend seated opposite her. “Two maths boffins at the same table!”
Michael turned to her, his eyebrows raised in obvious disbelief. “You’re reading maths?”
“I was. I’ve just started my masters,” she offered a thin smile, taking a drink as a distraction from the scrutiny she felt beneath the intensity of his stare. The bittersweet liquid fizzed against her tongue, and she found it an effort to swallow as he continued to study her intently.
“Wow, someone actually worth talking to,” he scoffed finally, having decided he was satisfied with her answer. “I’m a genius. I can do any sum in my head. Go on, ask me.”
She hadn’t expected that. A normal person would have asked follow up questions, enquired about what a masters degree in mathematics entailed, instead he had managed to turn the conversation back to himself.
Laughing nervously, she shook her head. “What?” she stammered, “I–”
The tapping of a finger against a microphone echoed through speakers around the pub, and the loud chatter and laughter quieted down, as the quizmaster introduced himself and explained how each round would be conducted and scored. It was broken out by subject – a round each for English, maths, science, history, geography and art, with a bonus round for pop culture. Not an average pub quiz, but Oxford wasn’t an average university, and the student body revelled in flexing the superiority of their intelligence.
Oliver took care of the English round, marking his answers down against the shared sheet of paper with quiet confidence. When it came to the maths portion, Michael gleefully snatched up the answer page and pencil.
“I’ll take care of this round, don’t worry,” he announced, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his forefinger.
She scowled, irritated by his dismissal of her, but decided, for the sake of keeping the peace, to keep quiet. It wasn’t until the final question in the round – add 8.563 and 4.8292 – that she finally spoke up.
“I should get to do at least one,” she insisted, grabbing the pencil from Michael and slanting the paper towards her.
She quickly scribbled her answer – 13.395 – and then righted the page back towards him.
Michael’s eyes moved from what she had written and then to her. “That’s wrong,” he said with a smirk, and crossed out her answer, replacing it with 13.3922.
He was right, of course – in her haste to contribute she had forgotten to add a zero to the end of the 8.563 portion of the sum, and instead carried the final 2 of 4.8292 into her addition of 9 and 3.
She dropped her gaze to the drink in front of her, watching the bubbles rise to the top of her half drunk pint, as it sweated with condensation. Her cheeks blazed with humiliation. If only this Strongbow were large enough for her to topple into and drown. “How could I have gotten that wrong?” she thought, “Such a stupid bloody mistake.” The quizmaster announced a short break, and Oliver offered to buy a round for the four of them. Michael joined him at the bar, leaving her and Libby alone.
"Don't spiral," Libby urged, leaning across the table and rubbing her arm in a comforting gesture, "literally no one but you cares that that wasn't the right answer."
She raised her head, glancing around, and her eyes immediately met the steely stare of tMichael as he looked over his shoulder at her from the bar. The smug, self satisfied smirk on his face was proof enough that Libby was wrong – he cared.
“That’s wrong,” echoed in her mind on repeat for the rest of the evening.
By the time the quiz drew to a close, their team had not even come close to winning. The fifty pound bar tab had gone to a team that Oliver told them was made up of a student named Felix, and his cousin, Farleigh, and a gaggle of their hangers on. He spoke of them with a longing that suggested he would much rather be at that table than theirs. The maths and science portions they had perfect scores for, thanks to Michael – she hadn’t participated after he had corrected her, what little enthusiasm she had started with had been crushed. They had done okay on English and art, thanks to Oliver and Libby’s efforts, but had only managed a few points for geography and history, and had gotten nothing at all for the pop culture round.
“Guess we’re all just a bunch of losers then,” Michael commented with a wry smile, before downing the dregs of his lager.
There was something about the enunciation he placed on the word “losers” that formed a pit in her stomach – even if it wasn’t a direct dig at her, it served only to exacerbate the embarrassment she already felt at her earlier blunder. She knew it was silly to have such a strong reaction to an honest mistake that had been made in a hurry and, deep down, she knew it wasn’t that that was getting at her – it was how he seemed to gloat and take satisfaction in her having been wrong in the first place.
“Right,” she said, rising from her seat and grabbing her bag as she looked to Libby, “shall we?”
Libby nodded. “Was great to meet you both,” she said brightly, pulling her hair free of the collar of her jacket as she put it back on. “Sorry we weren’t better quiz buddies.”
“Wait,” Michael called after her as she turned to leave.
She paused, eyes wide in anticipation as he rose from his seat and extended a beer mat towards her. There was a phone number scrawled hastily on the lager stained edge of it, alongside the name ‘Michael Gavey’. “Just in case you ever want any tutoring,” he grinned, “seems like you might need it.”
Before she could open her mouth to speak, Libby was dragging her outside, the beer mat still held limply between her thumb and forefinger. The moment the door swung closed behind them, she exhaled a growl of frustration up at the sky, which had turned to the inky black of night in the time they had spent in the pub.
“I’m sorry,” Libby said, the soft look in her eyes showing she really meant it, “if I’d have known he was such an arrogant twat, I’d never have–”
She sighed, waving a hand dismissively as she interrupted her. “It’s not your fault. I just want to forget I ever met him.”
“Don’t chuck it away!” Libby called out, halting her actions as she held the beer mat precariously over the top of a litter bin on the street corner.
“Why in god’s name would I ever want to keep it?” she asked incredulously, yet found herself slipping his number into her bag all the same.
Libby grinned, linking her arm through hers as they began to stroll back towards their flat. “You could have some fun with him, get your own back.”
She huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. She’d settle for never seeing him again, that would suit her just fine.
Unfortunately, she had no such luck.
**DIVIDER**
It was an uncomfortably warm Thursday afternoon, almost a week had passed since the Fresher’s Week pub quiz, and she had mostly forgotten about the egomaniac she had been forced to share a table with. She had spent the week buried in dissertation research, wanting to make a start as soon as possible to ensure she chose the field best suited to her to write about. However, the unseasonably warm weather was making the library feel stifling – as much as she admired the university’s dedication to preserving the historical beauty and structure of its buildings, it was days like today that she resented the lack of modern conveniences, such as air conditioning. Original stonework was all well and good, but she failed to see how it could be appreciated if its occupants were all forced to sweat to death.
She rested her elbow on the table, her chin propped on her hand as her eyes scanned repeatedly over the same line in the plasma physics textbook she had pulled from the shelf. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she placed her hand over her mouth much too late as she let out a loud and exaggerated yawn.
“If this is the attitude you have towards your studies then no wonder you get such simple addition questions wrong.”
She tensed, her shoulders pulling up to her ears. “Oh christ, please no,” she thought.
That familiar voice, smooth as silk, and yet maddeningly irritating sounded again, this time much closer. “Mind if I join you?”
Michael didn’t wait for a response, instead placed his books beside hers on the table and sat down.
“Is your friend…Oliver?” she began, searching her memory for his name, “Is he not around for you to study with?”
“No,” he answered, his tone clipped and more curt than it had initially been, suggesting this wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss further. He opened a notebook, drumming his fingertips listlessly against its lined pages before looking at her again. “What’s that you’re reading?”
She sighed, lifting the textbook to show him the cover before setting it back down again.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” he asked conversationally.
The casualness of the question caught her off guard, and she frowned for a moment before leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms across her chest. “Would it upset you if I didn’t?”
“I suppose not. I’m quite used to people disliking me. But I’d be curious to know why you in particular feel that way.”
She hated the way she felt when he stared at her like that, his gaze penetrating and intense. It made her skin prickle, and her mouth run dry. She wet her lips, doing her best to keep her voice quiet and even in the hush of the library. “I find you rude and arrogant.”
“Well, you’re meek and insecure,” he stated matter of factly.
Bristling with annoyance, she rounded on him, leaning closer as the anger in her voice combined with the effort to keep quiet caused it to come out as a hiss. “See?! This is exactly what I mean, who the fuck says things like that?!”
“I’m confident in who I am, secure in my intelligence,” he explained calmly, “can you say the same about yourself?”
She scoffed, pushing her chair back so hard that the legs scraped loudly against the stone floor, the sound echoing off of the vaulted ceiling of the library. There was no way she was going to stay here with this prick and be insulted, it was too hot to put up with someone so irritating. She gathered her belongings into her arms, not bothering to put them back into her bag, and stormed away.
**DIVIDER**
“He called me meek and insecure, can you believe it?” she raged at Libby as she sat cross legged on the sofa of the living of their small flat.
The communal space was open plan, a cosy living room that opened out onto a poky kitchen. Libby stood at the breakfast bar, her back to the cupboards as her fingers tapped against a Super Noodles flavour packet, while she waited for the kettle to boil.
“We-ell…” Libby began, offering her a tight smile.
“Are you kidding me?!” she seethed, wide eyed with disbelief.
Her friend turned, poured boiling water over the noodles in her bowl, before placing it into the microwave. It beeped as she pressed buttons, before whirring to life.
“You’re my best friend,” she said, crossing the space to sit next to her, “and I think you’re amazing, but I don’t think you think that. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”
She frowned, her mouth twisting in confusion. “Is it a bad thing that I’m not arrogant?”
Libby shook her head. “It’s a bad thing that you allow yourself to be torn down so easily. Look at how you acted at the pub quiz.”
“That jumped up little twat was rude to me!” she protested, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
“He was,” Libby agreed, “but what I think got to you is that you share the same field of study, and despite only being in his first year he’s more secure than you are.”
She fell silent, chewing her lip. She wanted to protest, to say she was wrong, but she couldn’t. It had gotten to her how confident he was in his own ability, and he was really only just starting out. She had just begun a master’s degree and was still doubting herself, feeling as though she didn’t belong.
“I think he quite likes you,” Libby added with a knowing smile, “and I think if you gave yourself the chance to think about it, you’d realise you fancy him a little bit too.”
“Absolutely not,” she denied flatly, “have you seen the way he dresses?!”
“Already thinking about taking his clothes off, see?!” Libby laughed as she swatted at her.
She tutted, pawing through the things that she had brought back with her from the library, noticing something that she hadn’t bundled in with the textbooks she’d borrowed. She rummaged in her bag, her heart dropping upon realising it wasn’t in there either. “He’s got my notebook…”
Libby grinned as the microwave beeped, jumping to her feet “Saved by the bell!”
Feeling around amongst the stray bobby pins and discarded chewing gum wrappers at the bottom of her bag, her fingers finally wrapped around the beer mat she’d chucked in there the previous week, and pulled it out. She tapped it against her knee as she looked at the phone number, trying to decide between spending ten pence on a text message to ask if he had her notebook, giving Michael her own number in the process and opening herself up to further interactions with him, or just cutting her losses and buying a new pad. The one she had left in the library had all of her dissertation notes though, and she’d have to start from scratch if she bought a new one.
Flipping open her Motorola, she typed out a text message – “Do you have my notebook?” – and hit send.
Almost twenty minutes later, and ten minutes into an episode of Come Dine With Me, her phone buzzed with his response – “who is this? ;-)”
“For fuck’s sake,” she groused to herself, letting her phone snap closed and drop back onto the sofa cushions, as she resigned herself to simply buying a new notebook. She didn’t want to play his stupid games, and certainly wouldn’t be texting him back.
A few moments later, her phone buzzed again – “Yes, I have it. You could come & collect it from me tomorrow?”
**DIVIDER**
This was not how she had envisioned spending her Friday night. When she had finished her third year, and moved into a flat with Libby, she thought she had seen the last of student halls. Yet, here she was, trudging up the steps of Balliol College as the faint sounds of laughter and music drifted faintly along the hallways. It was a reminder of her own university experience – or rather the one she’d missed out on. She had spent many Friday nights lost in her studies, while the rest of her peers socialised and partied without her. It was what had made her glad to be out of student accommodation – she was free of the reminder that the world was going on around her while her own was at a standstill.
She checked her phone again, ensuring she had the correct room and then knocked. Michael answered, wearing a blue checked shirt tucked into tan coloured cargo trousers, and she had to fight a smirk at the sight of how high up they were belted around his waist.
“Come in,” he offered, stepping to one side.
She hesitated – she had been anticipating just grabbing her notebook from him and then leaving. An invitation into his room was unexpected. She relented when he gave an impatient raise of his eyebrows, and stepped inside.
It was cleaner, much cleaner, than a student’s room had any right to be. The window was cracked open, allowing a slight respite from the humidity of the old building, and the scent of bar soap and clean laundry hung lightly in the air. The sheets were pulled taut against the single bed that sat against the far wall of the room, with a poster above it that made her lips quirk into an involuntary smile – “sketching rational functions is a pain in the asymptote”. The desk in the far corner of the room was even tidy, with all of the books stacked neatly. It was there that she spotted her notebook, placed close to the edge.
“So, I’ll just grab this and go then…” she began, moving towards it.
“What’s the rush?” he asked, grabbing a plastic water tumbler full of white wine from the bedside table and holding it out to her, “I’ve got us drinks.”
“Wine?” she asked with a raise of her eyebrow, accepting the cup from him. “Very fancy for a student.”
He smirked. “Well, you’re an older woman, I thought alcopops might be beneath you.”
She sipped the wine. It was room temperature, and so tart upon her tongue that her face reflexively twisted in disgust as she swallowed it with a slight sputter. “Thank you,” she coughed, “that is truly, truly awful.”
Michael lifted his own drink in mock toast. “Costcutter, two bottles for a fiver. I am a student after all.”
The two of them sat side by side on the bed, their backs against the wall as they drank their sour wine, and chatted. He was all of the things she had thought he was – arrogant, obnoxious and callous – but he was also fiercely intelligent, confident, witty and handsome in his own curious sort of way, though she attributed that to the bottle of wine they had polished off between them. She discovered that he had earned his place at Oxford via a scholarship, and had an eidetic memory for numbers – he really could do any sum in his head, and was hoping to specialise in mathematical engineering.
“So, theoretical astrophysics is your thing then?” he asked, as he cracked open the screwtop on the second bottle of wine and refilled both their tumblers.
“You read my notebook?!” she asked, feeling her skin grow heated with embarrassment. The idea of him reading her notes made her feel vulnerable, as though he was looking at her naked.
“I had a quick flick through,” he admitted with a shrug, “it’s rare to find someone our…well, your age, with an interest in maths and physics, especially a woman.”
She hummed softly in acknowledgement, her gaze falling to the plastic rim of the cup she held in her hands.
“Why do you do that?” he asked, twisting his torso to face her properly. “Why do you diminish yourself like that?”
She shrugged, sipping her wine. It was less foul now that she had gotten used to the taste. “I dunno. I just–”
“I’ve read your notes,” he pressed, “your intelligence is far superior to anyone I’ve met here so far. Why aren’t you proud of that?”
She lifted her head, her eyes meeting his, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Hard to be confident in your abilities when you get a stupid pub quiz question wrong.”
Michael scoffed, rolling his eyes. “But you knew where you went wrong,” he insisted, “do you see what I mean? You aren’t walking around genuinely believing that 13.395 is the answer, you know it’s not.”
“Then why were you so cruel about it?” she asked softly, her tone laced with uncertainty.
“I was teasing you, I didn’t mean to be cruel,” Michael admitted, “I guess I was trying to flirt…”
Her lips parted slightly in surprise, the admission making her breath hitch, before she giggled. “So you are bad at something after all.”
He grinned. “I suppose so, but I’d still rather be a maths genius.”
She shifted around on the bed to face him. “Can you still do any sum in your head after a bottle of wine?”
Michael reached up, placing his half drunk cup on the window sill. “Try me.”
She lifted her gaze towards the ceiling momentarily as she thought of a sum, before looking at him again. “98 times 63?”
“6,174,” he answered with a confident smile.
“That’s incredible,” she laughed, leaning forward and placing her hand on his thigh. “149 divided by 4.8?”
She noticed him tense, his sharp intake of breath from the presence of her touch, and he blinked, hesitating before he answered. “Erm…31. Shall I do the decimal places?”
“No,” she replied, smirking as an idea occurred to her.
She moved to straddle his lap, her knees either side of his legs as she wound her arms around his neck, her breath ghosting against the shell of his ear. “865 times 17?”
“Jesus Christ," he breathed as his hands came to rest up on her hips.
She could feel him trembling beneath her, and she enjoyed it. She wasn’t sure if it was the cheap wine, or knowing she had a self proclaimed maths genius at her mercy, but she felt powerful. “That’s not the answer, is it?” she cooed, burying her fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck and tugging gently. Michael groaned and the sound made her clench around nothing as heat pooled in her belly. “865 times 17?”
“Uh…it’s…it’s…14,705,” he stammered, his breaths becoming laboured.
She wasn’t even sure if that was correct herself, she’d need a calculator to check, but right now she was too lost in the moment to care. For the first time in a long time, she felt confident. “Good boy,” she purred.
Trailing her hands down the cotton fabric of his shirt, she slowly began to unbutton it. His skin was pale as it was revealed to her, his chest had a light dusting of blonde hair that trailed down to his bellybutton. He was thin, but in a way that showed the definition of wiry muscle instead of the outline of bone. He looked mesmerised as he stared up at her, pupils wide and full lips parted, and he muttered a curse under his breath as she dragged the flat of her palms over his bare skin.
She was curious to see if he’d make a blunder and embarrass himself just as she had when they first met. She rolled her hips against his provocatively, feeling him growing hard beneath her, as she ran the tip of her finger down the centre of his chest. “58,793 plus 118,248?”
Michael whined, his eyes screwing shut as he bucked up against her, gripping her hips tighter as she rocked against him.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she chided, grasping his chin and forcing him to look at her. “Correct answer, or I’ll stop.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, contining to press his erection insistently against her through his trousers. “It’s er…it’s…shit…it’s 177,041.”
“Well done. I think that deserves a reward, don’t you?” She smiled wickedly down at him, pulling away as he leaned up in an attempt to kiss her. “No, not that.”
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss him, it was just that that felt too intimate for what they were doing. She was enjoying being in charge, and didn’t want to break the spell of whatever had empowered her to take the lead.
His eyes dropped to her hands as they grasped at his belt buckle, tugging it open and freeing his cock. His chest rose and fell unsteadily as she wrapped her hand around it, stroking slowly. It wasn’t overly girthy, but what it lacked in thickness it made up for in length. A prominent vein ran along the underside, and the head was ruddy and swollen, weeping with arousal. Michael hissed through his teeth as she swiped her thumb against the tip of him, the pass of her palm against his shaft becoming more insistent.
“17,604 divided by 56?” she whispered.
He moaned, the back of his head hitting the wall with a soft thud as it tipped backwards in pleasure. She could feel herself growing wet at the sight of him, the telltale patch of dampness in her underwear growing sticky and clinging to her flesh.
“It’s…it’s…”
“Yes?” she urged, stilling her hand on his shaft, but not letting go.
“Please…please don’t stop,” he panted, his voice a pitiful whine.
“Then tell me the answer,” she demanded, giving him a gentle squeeze that made his hips jerk off of the mattress.
“314…point…point,” he gasped as she resumed the back and forth motion over his manhood, and she grinned wolfishly.
“Poor baby can’t remember the decimal point?” she teased, feeling him begin to throb against her palm.
“I can’t…I can’t,” he panted, “I’m gonna…”
With a final flick of her wrist, she watched in rapt fascination as spurts of pearly release coated her hand and splattered across his lower abdomen as he pulsed steadily in her hand, gasping for breath as his hips bucked involuntarily.
She smiled down at him when he finally stilled, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks, fogged up glasses, and the mess he’d made of both of them. “Turns out there are some sums you can’t do, after all,” she teased, letting go of him.
“Fucking hell,” he breathed, lifting off his glasses and running a hand through his hair as he sagged back against the wall. “I don’t even care, that was incredible.”
She laughed softly, wiping her hand off on the bed spread as she climbed off of him and sat next to him. “What about me?” she asked coyly, “You got to come and I didn’t.”
He eyed her sheepishly as he put his glasses back on, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “I don’t really know how. I mean, I’ve never…”
Dread passed over her like a bucket of ice water as she realised he was a virgin. She hadn’t even stopped to think that this could be his first sexual encounter, she’d just assumed it wasn’t, and was now terrified she’d taken advantage of him.
Seeming to sense her inner turmoil, he reached out, his slender fingers gently encircling her wrist in an attempt at reassurance. “I guess I don’t know everything after all,” he offered with a slight smile, “but lucky for me, I have a brilliant teacher.”
She softened, her eyes lifting to meet his as she relaxed, knowing she hadn’t overstepped. “I suppose tutoring sessions may be required after all.”
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Ewanverse Yandere Headcanons
Ewanverse masterlist here! Aemond Masterlist here!
Characters: Aemond Targaryen, Michael Gavey, Ettore, Genyen, Billy Taylor, Billy Washington, Joesph, Abraham
Notes: Inspired by this yandere ask game! feel free to send me some for the ewanverse !! 🫣 Dividers by @/pixopix and @/strangergraphics
TW: Dark themes, Smutty themes (MDNI || 18+), Non/Dubcon mention, Male masturbation, BDSM implied, Sub/Dom dynamics implied, Kidnapping, Drugging, Stalking, Financial abuse, Panty sniffing, Killing mention, Misogyny, Death mention, Not proof read.
Michael Gavey
Michael has a basement 1000%
He's practical, logical, he has thought it all through.
All in all, he's made quite a comfy space for you down there, everything is decorated in your favourite colours with reference to your interests.
You have all the amenities you might need; a bed, a sofa, fluffy rugs and blankets, pillows, books, etc... But he will bring down your food himself and watch you eat just to make sure. If you're really good he might even give you a little bell so you can call on him whenever you need.
But if you've been bad by not following his detailed and precise instructions.. you're getting sedated and tied to the bed for a little while as he scolds you for your bad behaviour.
He just likes to watch you - maybe even has a big camera set up with all the angles he needs.
He also definitely has some toys he would like to play with.. and definitely likes to make you solve maths equations to get what you want (including your climax). He does love to see you beg.
He probably met you at work.
I think he has a one-sided infatuation with you. You've probably only made small talk with him and been polite but that was enough to fuel his obsession.
Michael is intelligent and confident.
Kidnapping you is the riskiest thing he has ever done because he knows you family who love you, he knows you have a job you have to show up for, he knows people will miss you and come looking.
And he definitely doesn't want it to be traced back to him.
He plans for ages, not only by designing your little room but also by following you home and working out your whole routine. Michael knows what you are going to do before you do - you are that consistent to him. A beautiful mathematic pattern.
So when word has gotten out that you have gone missing, he is able to craft the perfect alibi and act as if he saw you nothing more than a bothersome colleague.
Ettore
Fucking hell Ettore...
It began by him simply staring at you unwaveringly. It was basically impossible to not notice his interest in you. But you brushed him off like all the others did.
But he got closer, eyes more leering until he would corner you at every opportunity - doing chores? he's in the dark corner of the room. In the box? He's waiting outside to use it after you. In the dining room? He slams his food tray next to yours and sits on the table adjacent to you.
He knows you're uncomfortable. He knows you know how he feels. He knows that all the others know. He simply does not care.
He is predatory - a wolf in the sheep's pen. And the wolf always gets what the wolf wants.
He becomes more possessive, maybe even trying to speak to you or just touch you.
He absolutely hates when you go to Dibs' office and gets inseminated, possibly by some other guys' sperm, that should be his and only his. So he starts his campaign of intimidating the other guys to not donate, he cums so fucking much just to make sure it is his seed that takes.
When that does not satiate him he comes for you.
If you allow him to touch you, he would still be rough and manhandle you but enjoy the feeling of you giving in to him - how now he can possess you not just in mind but in body.
But if you resisted it spurs him on even more; he will not care if you like it, you are his to possess, you are his to enjoy, you are his fuck box now.
He is very possessive of you. You belong to him. He treats you more like a possession than a human.
Ettore will grab you at any moment of the day and just lock you in a closet, strap you to his bed, fuck you even if the others are watching, especially if the others are watching.
If you get any help from the crew, it's not good. He will threaten them, he will beat them, he will kill them.
He would literally kill everyone to have you. He would literally have to be killed to not have you. He would literally kill you if he could not have you.
Aemond Targaryen
If you are a maid it would be much easier for Aemond, he would simply have you be the only one attending to him.
He would observe you intently, first giving you simple jobs like fetching his meals and running errands.
But as his obsession grew he would have you find him in compromising positions, perhaps half-dressed. You would avoid his gaze but he would tilt your head up with his long, lithe fingers.
Later, you are attending him in the bath and dressing him. He would love how shy you became at this athletic form, admiring the blush on your cheeks.
If you are a lady, he would implore his mother and sister to make you a lady-in-waiting to 'benefit' the realm. If you were married, he would simply have your poor husband die in a 'random' bandit attack on his way home from the Keep.
He will find excuses to visit you in his sister's room and watch you like a hawk. He'll say he enjoys the view from the window here, bring you both cakes and other treats, ask for his clothing to be embroidered or pretend to read. And you will notice, he wants you to notice. He likes to see you blushing red and fidgeting under his gaze as you struggle to thread the cotton into the eye of the needle.
Either way he will have you placed in a chamber close to his, one that only he has the key to. When his infatuation grows he will lock you in there to make sure you never escape.
You are at a mercy to his whims - though he often just wants to be held by you in the late hours of the night.
If you were to escape and he were not under duress or he 'lets you go', he would hunt you down until he found you - It's like a game to him of cat and mouse; predator and prey. And he has learnt it is always better to be predator.
I can see him flying on Vhagar to see if he could spot you in the crowded city or amongst the trees. He always manages to find you and gets a kick out of it with the proud, upturned crook of his lips.
If you escape during a time of high stress or he cannot find you, once he does his rage gets the better of him as he roughly drags you back to King's Landing by the forearm until it is bruised while chastising your behaviour.
He does care though and will ask the maester for some salve for your arm, pleading for you to forgive him with wide eyes as he nuzzles between your breasts.
If something were to happen to you or you were to die, Aemond would blame himself for not being able to save you. It would result in the death of thousands and eventually his own as he turns the world to scorching ash beneath him.
Joseph
Joseph probably sees you first in town, you might be the butcher's daughter or a dressmaker.
He is doting, kind and sweet to you, shy and always stumbling over his words - you find him cute in that way.
You definitely find yourself falling for his boyish charms.
But underneath lurks something deeper, something darker that you could never have imagined...
He imagines you naked dangling from the butcher's hook in the courtyard like one of the hogs your father slaughtered, ready for him to dissect you and break you apart.
Or he imagines you tied to a post in the stables with a bridle stuck between your tongue, mouth foaming and eyes glassy as you bend to his will.
Maybe one day he invites you to see the Earnshaw estate or proposes a fleet marriage and to leave your father a note that you were going into town alone for supplies, but promises you will be home soon.
Either way, you end up following him and find yourself trapped in the barn.
If you behave and be quiet so no one can find you, he treats you kindly, trying to appeal to your affection for him. He'll bring you blankets, a chamberpot, a change of clothes, warm water and set up a hay bail bed.
But if you try to escape or scream, you find yourself tied to a post in the barn with the bridle in your mouth to muffle your cries for help. He won't hurt you. He wants you to want him. To crave submission and to beg for his dominance.
Genyen
Genyen 100% targets wealthy women
He probably saw you walking out of Harrods or Waitrose one day and corners you in his robes asking about donations.
He preys on your kindness, your willingness to lend a hand and your loneliness.
He is out there same time, same day, every fucking week just to get a glimpse of you and strike up a conversation.
He probably gets so fucking giddy thinking about seeing you and the anticipation of taking your money with his sweet talking. And how you look at him with your empathetic eyes through your lashes and pouting lips. It definitely turns him on.
If he sees someone else out there with a donation tin, he is not having it. You are HIS. He will frighten them off.
He eventually has you offering to buy him something from the cafe. You stroke his slender arm while listening to his sob story about his awful stepmum and how the other monks are treating him at the temple.
You end up buying him lunch and giving him some money, him. Not the temple. No false pretenses of charity. Just him.
Hook, line and sinker. He has you.
One day you see him out there looking all sad with no collection tin and a small backpack.
Oh poor thing has nowhere to live :((( he got kicked out of the temple for not bringing in enough money :((( and before you know it, you're offering him to stay at yours.
Bad decision.
He has you cut off your 'toxic' family and friends and confines you to the house. The garden is your only sanctuary as it allows you to honour and worship the Buddha.
Genyen bleeds your bank account dry. He takes all financial responsibility as you need to dedicate yourself to your 'spiritual journey'.
He definitely takes you doggy style on the soft grass in the garden after making a big purchase and praising you for your dedication.
Billy Washington
We saw how obsessive he was with Becky, he is going to be even more obsessive with you.
You probably work at his local pub, corner shop or job centre. The minute he saw you it was like the world had stopped - He had been fiddling with the little change he had in his wallet when he looked up and saw you staring at him with kind eyes.
He dropped his wallet and stammered out a sorry. He was cute. A loser, but cute.
You picked up the correct change and sent him on his way. That place is now his favourite spot to visit. He gets so fidgety and shy when he sees you but behind closed doors he is a menace.
He has 1000% stalked you on social media. He's looked up your facebook, your nan's facebook. heck even your uncle's dog's facebook.
He knows all your online accounts and has even created several burner profiles just to stalk you. He likes every single one of your pictures and keeps them on his phone/computer so he can goon to them later.
He knows he has a problem but he just can't stop himself - It's obsessive, weird and creepy but the forbiddeness makes him want to do it more.
He tries to go cold turkey and it fails massively, he ends up just following you after your shift and has a massive wank in the bushes while watching you from the window of your house. He definitely goes home and looks up girls that look like you on porn sites and watches them next to your pictures so he can imagine it's you and him.
The final straw is when he probably ends up on some dodgy subreddits which feeds into his infatuation, loneliness and feelings of being unworthy.
He totally sees you with some guy from work having a laugh over break and it all comes crashing down - he's tearing up the place and threatening the guy. Stalking you home quite obviously and watching you. He has to do something. He has to make you his.
Billy Taylor
Billy Taylor would be an interesting yandere, he's softer - more akin to following you around like a lovesick puppy.
He meets you at work and is very shy around you, stuttering and stammering, shaking like a leaf. It gets worse when you ask if he's alright and look at him with those caring eyes.
He tries to avoid you, preferring to sneak quick glances your way blushing when you notice and give him a smile.
He'll help you find your way around the hotel and help with your chores, but it is all an excuse to smell your perfume so he can go to the department store and pick out the right one to spray on his pillow (which he definitely smells while he humps his bed at night).
He is so very friendly and personable, very innocent seeming and pure. But in his diary contains the most dirty and disgusting things about you imaginable. He feels so ever guilty about it when he sees you the next morning, but your unassuming expression makes it worse.
He has a list of your likes/dislikes, hobbies and work schedule, sometimes he fiddles with the switch board just so he can hear your breathing on the other end of the line.
His mind swirls with thoughts of you constantly - he finds himself hiding in corridors until you walk by so he can gather strands of your hair and going into the kitchen after you've had lunch so he can search the bin for anything you may have thrown out.
He loves collecting those types of things and keeping them in an envelope tucked away in his drawer with his diary. If you ever have to stay the night at The Halcyon, watch out because your panties are definitely going missing.
And he is definitely wanking off with them on his face in the nearest storage closet.
He couldn't kidnap you with his mum and little sister at home but he is content to just be around you and collect his little souvenirs.
Abraham
Abraham is the type of man to admire you from afar – he enjoys watching you on a summer’s day in your little summer dresses and flowered straw hat.
You’ve known him since you were both little; running around playing tag and kiss chase – that's when he fell for you. When you ran up and gave him a little peck on cheek all those years ago.
He’s been obsessed with you ever since. Often thinking of how you would make the perfect wife and mother to his children. He desperately wants to see you pregnant in that little gingham sundress of yours, belly all round and needing him by your side at all times, little straw hat off kilter and flowers withering but ecstatic as he picks you some fresh ones and laces them into your hat.
He’s honestly probably already asked your family for your hand in marriage; his prized thoroughbred chestnut horse named daisy as his bride price.
He spots you one day next to the stables and can’t help but get a closer look and hides behind the horses, you’re chatting to another man chopping wood, sweat thick on his brow in the summer heat drinking water from the glass that you brought him.
You had never brought him water before and he was your fiance (in his own mind)
Abraham was not having that. Late at night he pulls the other man to the side and threatens him to leave you alone, if the guy challenges him then he’s getting beat up.
He is just so possessive of you. He can’t let ignorant, selfish men taint you. You were his bride. His wife. The mother of his children.
His approach becomes more aggressive then, cornering you and staring with his steely blue gaze and tight lips. If he hears of you chatting with another man again, he corners you when you come to the stables and gives you a right talking to. Reminding you of who you belong to.
You will be his wife soon and good wives don’t go chatting to other men. Good wives stay at home and push up their pretty skirts for their hardworking husbands.
He might even pull your skirt up then and there just so he can see your pretty panties, turning you around like a show-horse so he can see your behind. If you push your skirts down, he will simply pull down the top of your dress to sneak at your cleavage.
If you behave then he will definitely let you go and hope his point got across – He is sweet, really.
But if not or you keep misbehaving, he will definitely keep you in the stables, probably tied to a post as he continued to work on brushing his horses until he can get you back to his caravan and lock you in there for safe keeping.
He definitely pressures your parents to move the marriage along and before you know it you’re married to him with a baby on the way!
the way you use your body, baby, you make a fool of death with your beauty ✨❤️🔥
