herprophecies
4 posts
Latest Posts by herprophecies
hildegard von bingen wrote “we cannot live in a world that is interpreted for us by others. an interpreted world is not a home. part of the terror is to take back our own listening. to use our own voice. to see our own light.” she wrote part of the terror is to take back our own listening
Leverage (Michael Gavey x fem Reader)
Masterlist
Summary: When your ex threatens to release some very personal videos you are left with no choice but to do what he asks: seduce the biggest nerd on campus, Michael Gavey. Will you rock his world or will he fundamentally change yours?
Warning for the entire fic: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.
Fluff, smut and of course angst (my favorite combination! lol) I haven't watched Saltburn yet so all characters in this fic except for Michael are my own.
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Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
***
This fic is finished!
OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - Aemond Targaryen
☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series.
☾⋆⁺₊✧ Summary: A taint twists through the kingdoms of man and elf, killing all life in its wake. Your father, a brilliant mind, had worked tirelessly for a solution to fight that evil. However, you are left shouldering the burden of his research after he mysteriously disappears.
A newfound companion lands you a position working under the watchful eye of elf healers. You struggle to hold yourself together in the dark woodland kingdom of elves ruled by their merciless king - Aemond Targaryen. Secrets breed more secrets, and figuring out who to trust is more difficult than ever - especially when you cannot even trust yourself.
It is a race to find a cure while unravelling the secret behind your father's disappearance, the origin of the taint, and the troubling stirrings in your heart caused by the elf king. The impending war between humans and elves drives tensions further, casting a dark veil over your endeavours.
Moreso, when death itself seems to come knocking upon your door.
It can also be found on my Ao3, right here.
☾⋆⁺₊✧ Chapters:
Chapter 1: The Laws of Humans and Elves Chapter 2: A Modest Proposition Chapter 3: A Study in Death Chapter 4: A Night of Song and Dance Chapter 5: The Young Elf Chapter 6: A Snake in the Garden Chapter 7: The Dark Woods Deep Chapter 8: Marked Flesh Chapter 9: Home and Hearth Chapter 10: The Art of Potion Making Chapter 11: A New Ally Chapter 12: Death's Sting Chapter 13: Of Taverns and Bathhouses Chapter 14: The Saphire Chapter 15: Know Your Enemies Chapter 16: Every Little Thing Chapter 17: The Winds of War Chapter 18: Past, Present, and Future Chapter 19: The Scars of Betrayal Chapter 20: An Elf's Rage Epilogue: An Elf's Devotion
☾⋆⁺₊✧ Content warning: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, mentions of alcohol consumption, and Criston Cole (yikes).
☾⋆⁺₊✧ I am extremely excited to begin releasing this series! Ever since season one was released, the concept of writing an elf-based story on Aemond has been living rent-free in my head.
There will be weekly updates to this series. While I have extensive outlines for each chapter, I wish to take this at a slower pace when it comes to releasing. This way, I can balance other works on this page as well. (along with my uni coursework).
Thank you all for the support! <3
☾⋆⁺₊✧ If you want to be added to the taglist, click here!
Formula for perfection
[ Michael • Gavey x painter student! • female ]
[ warnings: sex content, fingering, sexual tension, angst, smut, humiliation, swearing, brat taming ]
[ description: After what happened between them, Michael decides, albeit reluctantly, to fulfil his promise. He tries by his own efforts to recreate what he felt then, to understand what made him experience such pleasure, however, when he tries to satisfy himself something is missing in his equation. But what? Sexual tension, angst, domination and humiliation kink, bitchy, ironic Michael. ]
Part 1 − Equation without solution
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
My other works: Masterlist
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It seemed to him that after everything that had happened between them his brain had stopped working, slowed down only to handle his basic vital functions like breathing, but apart from that he felt a void in his mind.
She told him she would stay with him for the night if she could sleep in his shirt and he felt his cock pulsate hard in his sweatpants at the thought. He just gave it to her and watched as she buttoned it up with her back turned to him so that he couldn't see anything.
There was something exciting to him about fucking her without seeing her naked body, that even though he had come inside her a moment ago she was still a mystery to him, an unsolved equation.
He turned off his lamp when she lay down next to him – his bed was single and thus cramped, there was no way their bodies wouldn't touch at their slightest movement, however, it didn't seem to bother her.
He turned away from her and she snuggled her body against his back to fall asleep in that position. He couldn't sleep for a long time, thinking and analysing what had happened between them, coming to the conclusion that she had planned it, that she had only done it in order for him to help her, knowing that he would not agree otherwise.
Helping her was not in his interest – he had his classes and theses to write, however, he was a man of his word and figured that since he had taken on this task, he would do to her what he had promised.
He hadn't opened his eyes in the morning when he heard her slowly get out of bed and begin to dress, pretending with a pounding heart that he was asleep, and only opened them when he heard her leave.
He breathed a deep sigh of relief then, feeling strangely excited and anxious at the same time in her presence, unable to decide what he thought of her.
He decided not to bother himself with it.
The next day, at her request, he came to her class. She ran up to him with a thick album in her hand, inside the pages had coloured markers which she had to stick on beforehand. They stood at the side of the classroom so as not to disturb other people who were just painting a model.
"Look. I'd like you to examine all these portraits and decide whether you see any correlations in them other than the golden ratio and the Fibonacci spiral. It is basic that with a portrait the golden division lines are on the eyes and mouth, and with a bust on the head and shoulders, however, this is not enough for me."
She said lightly, looking at him with great excitement, and he sighed heavily, not feeling like doing it at all, seeing no point in it.
"What if I don't find anything like this?" He muttered indifferently, looking through the book she had given him without much concentration. The girl shrugged her shoulders.
"Nothing. Just try."
Even though he decided right away that he would move on from what had happened between them and not dwell on it, he couldn't forget the feeling she evoked in him when he was deep inside her, when she apologised to him, when she looked at him with that innocent, pleading gaze.
A pleasant shiver ran through him at that memory and he licked his lower lip involuntarily, letting out a loud breath.
He had never before come fucking himself with his own hand while watching any porn as hard as he had with her then.
He recognised, however, that it wasn't a matter of her as a person just her behaviour and what she said.
Thus he imagined this scene again and again as he satisfied himself, only with the body of another woman, the kind he liked to see in films. This brought poor results and only aroused his frustration.
Something was missing, but he had no idea what.
He replayed in his head again and again that night, what she had done, what she had said, the way she had kissed him, the way her hands had roamed his body, what he had felt and why. He had no idea what he was supposed to do to evoke the same reaction in himself again, to feel it again.
He thought perhaps it was the result of surprise, the excitement of the unfamiliar and unknown that made him perceive everything so wonderfully strongly, and now that he knew it had no effect.
Discouraged, he began flipping through the album she had given him, looking at the paintings page by page, bored. Suddenly he stopped and went back a few pages earlier.
The positions of the figures in both paintings formed an isosceles triangle.
He took a notebook and wrote it down, drawing a schematic next to it.
He was intrigued to notice in the various paintings that the people portrayed were inscribed in various geometric figures, usually triangles or regular shapes, delineating the entire composition, on whose lines were the most important points of the work.
He was shocked at how something that looked so chaotic and haphazard could be so well thought out, arranged with such great precision.
When he showed her the result of his work the next day she began to squeal with delight, making him not know what to do with this reaction.
"Thank you! Now it all makes sense!" She exclaimed cheerfully and threw herself around his neck as if it was the most joyous day of her life.
She let go of him, looking at him with those big eyes, and he grunted, correcting his glasses with his pointing finger when he felt them slip off his nose.
"Are you going to use that?" He asked out of the blue, wondering if his work would have any results, or if he was doing all this for nothing, just to satisfy her curiosity.
"Yes, now I know why something didn't seem right in my portrait. I chose a composition where her arms are too close together, and I have to position her so that her figure forms an equilateral triangle! Would you like to see the end result?" She asked him lightly, and he muttered under his breath and nodded, looking around the room without much interest.
"How can I repay you?" She asked softly, and he looked at her surprised, wondering if she had already forgotten what they had done.
"I have already received my payment." He said with a mocking smirk, however this did not seem to discourage her at all.
"True." She said with a smile, turning away from him as if nothing had happened, going back to her easel and sitting down on her chair beside it. She put his notes aside and glanced at them, marking with a pencil how she should change the composition without paying attention to him.
He felt that he had made a mistake in his calculations as soon as he looked at her bare thighs sticking out from under her girlishly light dress, pleasantly framing her waist and breasts, his manhood pulsed painfully hard.
They were completely alone in the room.
He bit his lower lip, feeling that he should move from his place and just leave, that he was standing in front of her like an idiot, but the thought that she might have wanted more made his heart pound hard in his chest, the pulsing blood rushing quickly to his lower abdomen.
Why did she take him off balance so easily?
"What is you problem?" He asked annoyed, feeling that he had to understand what she was talking about, that it wouldn't give him peace if he just left her alone now.
What did she want?
Why was she so fucking unpredictable?
She looked at him surprised as if she had completely forgotten his presence and blinked, her face perfectly calm and gentle.
"What?" She asked and he rolled his eyes, frustrated, correcting his glasses again with an impatient gesture.
"What do you fucking want? Hm? Do you like playing with boys?" He asked with the grimace of amusement characteristic of him in moments when he felt insecure and needed to quickly regain control of the situation.
She looked at him in disbelief and completely froze in half-motion.
"I'm not playing with you. I never wanted you to feel this way." She muttered with some kind of embarrassment and fear that she might have hurt him, although that wasn't the point at all.
After all, he felt absolutely nothing for her.
"So what did you want? Fuck strange, desperate guys?" He laughed in disbelief and she moved uncomfortably in her seat.
"No, just you." She said softly causing him to completely freeze, some type of error entered his brain and his thought processes stopped completely.
He pressed his lips together, glancing down at her thighs again, thinking about what was between them, that he felt like pressing her against the wall, turning her to face towards it, and fucking her from behind.
He swallowed loudly when he saw her gaze drop to the bulge in his trousers and turned away, wanting to leave the room immediately, terrified, but her voice stopped him.
"Do you want me to come to you again? To help you with your problem. A favour for a favour." She asked lightly drawing further, not even bestowing a glance on him. He looked at her over his shoulder, shocked, wondering if she was really proposing what he was thinking about.
He stood stunned for a moment simply staring at her, not believing that he was completely hard, that if he could he would have thrown himself at her and ripped off her fucking panties.
"To fuck?" He choked out without thinking and she burst out laughing, glancing at him with amusement.
"Yes."
He couldn't believe he'd agreed – afterwards he completely panicked and walked out, leaving her alone, wondering what he'd actually done.
What if someone finds out? If he gets kicked out of university?
On the other hand, Kyle was constantly visited by girls who moaned so loudly that he could hear them in his room. However, he was rich, he could afford to be so thoughtless.
He could not.
He had been restless all evening, fearing what would happen, whether she would laugh at him, whether she would be disappointed in him when she saw how little he understood and could do when it came to female fulfilment.
He shuddered when she knocked on his room door. He stood up, opened it for her and simply let her in – she stepped inside with a confident stride as if she had been in his place many times before.
She sighed heavily, as if tired after a long day, pulled off her shoes and threw herself onto his bed, laying down on her stomach, snuggling into his pillow.
He stared at her for a moment, again feeling the same emptiness in his mind as before, glancing down at her thighs and the part of her buttocks that was visible from under her dress. He licked his lower lip, feeling a throbbing in his trousers at the thought that he could approach her, that he could touch her.
He moved with a slow, uncertain step towards his bed, her eyes closed, her face gentle and calm, as if she trusted him completely although he didn't understand for what reason.
After all, he could hurt her, take advantage of her, how could she be so reckless?
He sighed quietly under his breath in surrender, pulling off his glasses and putting them down on the desk. He sat down slowly beside her with a loud creak of his bed, his large hand went to her soft thigh and rose higher, tentatively squeezing her firm buttock.
"− so pretty −" He hummed more to himself than to her and she murmured with some kind of contentment, he felt her buck her hips up so that they came out to meet his warm hand.
"− do you visit many boys like this? −" He asked with amusement, slipping his fingers under the material of her panties, squeezing her plump flesh in his hand, massaging her skin in a slow circular motion, a shudder ran through her body every time he came anywhere near the heat between her thighs.
"− only you −" She mumbled, and he swallowed hard, feeling squeeze in his heart at her words, running his fingertips over her hot, swollen slit, gathering her wetness that slowly began to flow out of her, feeling her body shudder each time he rubbed against her clit again.
"− why? −" He asked drily, applying pressure to the bud hidden between her folds – he heard her gasp loudly for air, surprised and thought with amusement that she enjoyed it.
"− I − I don't know −" She babbled with increasing difficulty as he finally discovered what pressure from his fingers and where made her quiver, his movements accompanied by the louder and louder click of her moisture, her hips pushing against his hand, trying to find a stronger source of friction.
"− are you no longer able to put together a meaningful sentences? − all you need is for someone to tease your pussy a little and you can't concentrate? −" He asked amused, sliding the tip of his middle finger between her hot, slick walls, her body arching, a loud, surprised, innocent moan escaping her lips.
"− I'm sorry −" She mumbled in embarrassment, and he felt her words in his cock, all swollen and throbbing, felt the whole situation turning him on more and more.
"− yeah? − and that's why you're leaking like a slutty little thing? −" He sneered and slid his finger deeper into her tight, warm core, pulsing hungrily against him in desire.
"− please − a little higher −" She whimpered, and he licked his lower lip, changing the point of pressure, suddenly feeling a rough spot between her moist muscles, which when he touched her whole body went through a shiver, her lips parted wide.
"− yes, please, there, please −" She cried out loudly clenching her fingers on his pillow, rolling her hips to the rhythm of his hand, feeling his heart pounding hard, watching enthralled as her wetness dripped and slicked with every movement of his finger.
"− so fucking wet from rubbing her cunt − that's what you came here for, right? − do you like someone to watch while you lie spread open like a little slut? −" He hissed, a sudden loud, pathetic moan escaping from her throat, her moisture beginning to leak out of her, her walls clenching tightly on his finger.
He rose from his seat and knelt behind her, unbuttoning his trousers quickly, feeling that he couldn't resist any longer, that he wanted to feel her.
"− lift your hips up and slide your panties down − now −" He commanded coolly breathing loudly and she immediately obeyed his instruction.
He lowered his boxers and his swollen, throbbing erection slapped against her buttocks. She whimpered, feeling it, squirming beneath him – he grabbed her warm thighs in his hands and spread them apart in front of himself like a book.
"− shut the fuck up − are you in such a hurry? − so desperate to feel my cock? − fucking slut −" He growled, guiding the pink, glistening head of his cock against her puffy slit and forced his way inside her in one sure, brutal thrust. Immediately he imposed a fast, aggressive pace on her – she pressed her cheek against his pillow and cried out loudly, her lips parted wide in surprise at how intense the sensation was.
"− oh fuck −" She whined, moaning and quivering, her walls clenching against him giving him a resistance he didn't seem to mind though, panting loudly along with her as he held her firmly by her waist, slapping his thighs against her bare sticky buttocks with each thrust, opening her wide on his erection over and over again.
"− you have no fucking shame − do you want me to fucking fill you? − hm? − a bit of cum wouldn't hurt this tight little pussy, would it? −" He hissed out between intense, fast, deep stabs of his hips, feeling that he was on the edge, that this was what he needed, what he wanted, her moisture running down her thighs.
"− Michael − oh God − yes −" She mewled in ecstasy as her body was finally shaken by her orgasm, her face expressing pure delight, her walls were clenching down on him making him just give up.
"− fuck − shit-shit-shit −" He babbled with his eyes closed and his lips parted, panting heavily as he finally came inside her, his warm semen filling her core. Their bodies moved for another moment with the loud, sticky click of her moisture, his hands stroking her buttocks.
It was fucking mind-blowing.
He looked at their joined bodies and just breathed, concentrating only on the pleasure and relief he felt, only on the fact that he wanted to do this with her as often as possible.
There was no other option.
"Wanna be my girlfriend?"
_____
@at-a-rax-ia @daemonskelitsos @@alphard-hydraes-blog @travelingmypassion @valeskafics
Equation without solution
[ Michael • Gavey x painter student! • female ]
[ warnings: sex content, angst, smut, trauma, mention of bullying, mention of physical and mental violence ]
[ description: Michael sees no point in worrying about anything, especially relationships, when all he needs is math. His calm, logical world falls apart when a female painting student asks him for help in calculating the best possible composition to create a portrait. Sexual tension, angst, a litte brat taming and domination kink, great childhood traumas. ]
The fragment with Michael in the trailer inspired me to write this. The whole discussion around this oneshot, whether it should be made at all, made me very tired. I don't think we'll get his backstory in the movie, but even if we did, I just felt like writing it - so here it is. Have fun reading.
Part 2 − Formula for perfection
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
My other works: Masterlist
_____
Ever since he could remember, his father had explained to him that an intelligent man is not guided by emotions, but by logic – that's why he married his mother, that's why he went into the army. A long belt hung in plain sight in one of the cupboards of their house, so that he could use it to remind him this when necessary.
His father never hit him with his hand. He did not slap him, considering it humiliating for a man to do this to another man. Punishments were in the nature of a ritual, which he said he did not find pleasant either – he reiterated that only strong people survive in this world, that if a classmate beat him up at school he should not cry, but punch him back even harder.
He was afraid to tell his father when, once again after being hit by Creg, one of the school donkeys, his glasses broke in half. In panic situations he would run to his mother, who would look at him with terrified eyes and only repeat 'quickly, your father must not find out'.
He and his mother shared secrets, which she told him they could not tell his father so as not to upset him – such things were the sweets she had hidden in one of the containers that pretended to be flour, or the savings she meticulously counted when he was away.
She would say that one should always be prepared, but he didn't understand for what.
One day he found a container of sweets standing by his bedside table and his mother had disappeared, leaving him and his father with only a short note, which his father tore up and said they would never mention her again.
He threw away pictures of her, all her clothes, everything, even his toys or his books, which she was the one who bought and read to him. He only managed to hide one, which was a maths exercise book that had slippery, oiled pages from which he could erase the results of equations at will and fill them in again with a dry erase marker.
This book became his favourite; he would only take it out at night when he was sure his father was already asleep and fill in all the blanks one by one, knowing them by heart.
He created his own ritual.
This calmed him down.
Later, however, these tasks proved too simple and tedious, he needed a challenge and asked his teacher, Mrs Rosaline, to recommend something to learn. She did so willingly, surprised by his diligence, and when he came in the next day saying he had solved all the tasks, she started sending him to maths competitions.
Maths was wonderfully logical and cool – you couldn't interpret it in different ways like poetry, you didn't have to get into the mind of the author of an equation to understand the result. Everything was preconceived and safe, a wrong result could always be explained, you could get to the root of it.
There was no reason to be sad, nervous or happy.
He wasn't happy when he got into the best university in the country without any exams, he wasn't happy that he was one of the few to get his own dorm room and a big scholarship.
When, in high school, his tutor announced to his father that he was a genius and that he should start a career in science, his father was furious.
He said that mathematician was not a profession, that all his life he would remain the victim of fate that he had apparently always been destined to be.
His father told him that he was already a man and not a boy, that he would not beat him with a belt to explain to him that he was not a genius but an idiot.
What he had learnt from his father was not to worry about such words – he would grin at him when he tried to explain to him what a mistake he was making with amusement and satisfaction as he watched the man who told him that emotions were a sign of weakness become enraged.
His father was weak.
He was emotional.
Even the army and the fact that he beat him didn't change that.
He thought that this was probably what his father, that is his grandfather, had tried to instil in him, but he had failed miserably.
He truly believed, however, that his father was right.
He didn't need emotions.
Numbers were enough for him.
He could calculate the probability of whether or not he would be able to communicate with someone by analysing quickly in his head with what frequency that person spoke about things that did not interest him.
He didn't consider whether he liked them and didn't even have any idea how he would have known that. He recognised that deciding on the basis of chemical reactions in his brain about his acquaintances was absurd.
Just because he didn't feel anything didn't mean he wasn't laughing or enjoying himself – on the contrary, he smirked a lot, usually while listening to other people's discussions or when he managed to get someone off balance.
Wealthy alpha males who owed the place he had earned only to their rich parents reigned around the university like kings, pretending to be intelligent, studying law, medicine or banking without having a clue what they were doing were his most common victims.
"I could never defend a rapist or a murderer. I don't know, it makes me flinch at the mere idea." Said Kyle once when they were sitting in the library, them pretending to study, actually sitting over open books they weren't concentrating on and talking, distracting him.
When he needed real focus he would study in his room, but when he felt like a bit of entertainment he would go out to listen to them.
It was better than a comedy in TV.
"After all, every man deserves a defence lawyer, he's innocent until the court hands down a final verdict." Matt, a boy who read a lot and could memorise things, replied, throwing quotes from his sleeve without much understanding of them. Kyle snorted, shrugging his shoulders.
"So what? Sometimes you subconsciously know this person did it by looking at them or the evidence is incriminating enough." He replied with a certainty that surprised him.
He corrected his glasses on his nose with his pointing finger, wondering how this moron was going to defend anyone in court if he himself was constantly undermining his client's innocence in his head while he himself wanted to be the judge against him.
"If it was as you say, there wouldn't be so many innocently convicted people in prison. Evidence seems incriminating until one new clue, piece of evidence or witness comes along that changes everything. It is the duty of the defence counsel to look for such details to the best of his ability, and not to judge his client unless he himself wants to plead guilty." He heard a second, frustrated voice and lifted his gaze, noticing a girl standing by the bookcase who had heard their conversation while looking for some book.
He recognised her only by sight, and knew that she had studied painting, so her person did not interest him at all. However, what she said frustrated Kyle and disturbed his nepotistic sense of superiority, so he gave this scene his full attention.
"I didn't know kids drawing with crayons knew anything about such serious matters as criminal law." He said piteously, a mocking sweetness in his voice, his gaze feigning warmth, meant to bring her out of her funk.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw that she was looking at him like he was an idiot.
"I don't need to know this to realise that no amount of money will make you a good lawyer. I feel sorry for your future clients, because you will destroy them yourself." She replied, raising her eyebrows in amusement, completely unfazed by his insult.
It surprised him that she looked happy and pleased to see his angry face, not letting him get a word in edgewise, grabbing the book she was looking for and walking off towards her friends sitting at a table in the distance.
On his way out of the library he heard her voice, heard her laugh, light and unforced – he glanced at her and their gazes met for a moment before he walked out into the corridor.
He had forgotten about her until an incident when, sitting in the university restaurant, he noticed Kyle walking past her and pretending to stumble, the entire contents of his cranberry juice spilled on her dress, leaving big pink stains.
"Sorry, are you okay?" He asked, feigning seriousness and concern. She stood up, furious, without even speaking to him, walking away.
He watched curiously as Kyle sat down with his friends and high-fived Matt, clearly pleased with himself, putting his arm around some silly giggling girl.
After a while, however, that girl came back, dressed up, wearing only a man's long-sleeved shirt all soiled with paint, covering the small part of her thighs that she apparently used as an apron while painting, overknee socks and trainers on her legs.
He felt something strange seeing her soft thighs, thinking of the fact that he himself wore similar shirts, and took a sip of coffee from his cup, watching as she sat back next to her friends, saying something quickly, going back to eating her lunch, unconcerned.
She laughed.
He shuddered when their eyes met and quickly glanced at Kyle, who was watching her from afar, licking his lips, his leg moving in impatience, the girl he was embracing whispering something in his ear, but he wasn't listening to her.
He was thinking.
Usually when he had to move from one building to another he went through a side exit, so as to have a bit of peace and quiet, but on this day he decided to walk through the main square, walking on its right side, looking through the windows.
He was not at all searching for her with his eyes when he saw the rows of easels and people around the model, dressed in historic Renaissance costume.
He didn't feel the heat stroke at all and stopped involuntarily when he saw her sitting with her back to him, her canvas smaller than the others, she sat closer, focused only on the portrait.
He could see her underpainting, just an outline and a sketch, and the lines she had drawn to help herself.
The golden ratio.
He shuddered at the thought that she was deliberately using mathematical proportional division to achieve a subconscious effect of harmony in the whole composition, which was, after all, just a base for the actual layer with chiaroscuro and colours.
He gasped when one of his year mates slapped him on the back, asking what he was looking at, and when he saw what he was observing behind the window, he laughed.
"These artists. They will die poor, but at least in their mind they will have created something outstanding. Until a critic comes along who says what they've painted is ugly." He muttered with amusement, putting his arm around him as if they were good mates, although they were not.
He looked back and noticed with pounding heart that this girl was turning over her shoulder, looking in his direction.
His friend had said something about the Mona Lisa, about how ugly she was and that he didn't understand how that portrait could be considered the most beautiful in the world, but he was unable to focus on it.
The golden ratio.
The balance of the composition.
Her painting was thoughtful.
He was convinced that painters only recognised their own artistic intuition and thus created ugly paintings, which they then called contemporary art.
He didn't think about her, or at least tried to until his mates told him that Kyle was throwing a party, to which he was obviously not invited.
"Apparently he even invited the girl he doused with juice at the time as an apology. Bruce says he recently brought her flowers during her classes and that he seems to have a crush on her."
"Sometimes it's one step from hate to love."
He didn't like the uncomfortable feeling he experienced in his chest, a sort of sting and tightness in his throat – he went back to the equation he had just solved without listening to them further.
Even if someone didn't know there was supposed to be any kind of party going on, they had certainly heard it that friday night, the music, laughter and screams from Kyle's room echoing loudly through the dorm.
Even though women weren't allowed in there there were plenty of them that day – he could hear them running to the toilet, squealing and giggling, driving him furious as he couldn't concentrate on what he was reading. He pulled down his glasses, massaging the space between his eyes with his fingers, closing his eyelids, trying to calm himself.
His emotions wouldn't change anything.
He swallowed loudly when he heard her voice.
He shuddered when he heard a knock on his room and looked uncertainly towards his door.
He feared it was Kyle and his pack who had drunkenly decided they would have fun at his expense.
"Can I come in?"
He felt his heart start pounding hard, a multitude of thoughts running through his head. He tried to analyse whether he should do it or not, what she might have wanted from him, but nothing came to mind, there was a complete void in his brain.
God.
"Come in." He heard his own uncertain voice, and after a moment the door opened and there she stood.
She came in smiling and cheerful, happy for some reason, closing the door behind her, looking around his room as if she had come at his invitation – she was wearing a large long-sleeved sweatshirt with the university logo reaching halfway down her thighs, overknee light wool socks and trainers on her legs.
Fuck.
He wanted to say something, to ask why he owed this visit and what she wanted from him, but all he did was stare at her legs, at the small area of her exposed naked body between her sweatshirt and the material of her socks.
He felt a strong pulsing in his black sweatpants and swallowed loudly knowing what it meant.
He'd only fucked twice in his life, and this'd been fairly inept acts of physical intimacy between a man and a woman, where they'd pursued their fulfilment on him, not caring much about him, maybe even imagining he was someone else, some more handsome boy who just happened not to want to look at them.
It didn't bother him, because he didn't feel anything for them himself – they didn't even arouse his desire, but they were just very horny, and he decided that he didn't want to remain a virgin for the rest of his life.
It had been more of a relaxing than a pleasurable experience and he didn't understand why men were so overpowered by it, but now, looking at her, he felt his brain and his logic start to give up in favour of what was going on in his trousers.
"You didn't go to the party?" Her light, gentle voice snapped him out of his reverie, causing him to lift his eyes to her face, which, to his surprise, seemed very pretty up close, her eyes large and bright, framed by long lashes, her pink lips curved in a smile.
What made her so happy?
Why did she come to his room and ask such things?
"No. NFI." He replied dispassionately, lowering his gaze to her legs again, unable to contain himself, covering what was happening to him with a book. She blinked, furrowing her brow.
"What?" She asked with amusement and curiosity.
"Not Fucking Invited." He explained and she burst into soft laughter – he wasn't sure he'd ever heard anyone react like that to anything he'd said.
"Maybe it's better for you too. I went there for a while, but they act like pigs in a shed. A friend told me I could find you here so I thought I'd take the opportunity." She said calmly, walking over to his desk, leaning over his books. He wondered with a pounding heart how she had the confidence to just walk into a stranger's room and talk to him as if she had known him for years.
He chuckled and shook his head, running his hand over his face in an attempt to hide his nervousness and what his imagination was suggesting.
"Are you going to tell me why you came here, or are you going to continue wasting my time?" He muttered ironically, figuring that by doing so he would somehow discourage her or force her to stop pestering him.
He blinked and lifted his knees higher when she suddenly sat down next to him on his bed, as if just waiting for that question, excitement in her eyes.
"I've heard you're a mathematical genius and that's a very good thing, because I need someone to help me determine the right proportions for my painting."
She said quickly and he felt his heart beat harder, he got warm in his lower abdomen and all he could think about was wanting to back off and run away.
"Isn't the golden ratio and Fibonacci spiral enough for you?" He muttered, knowing that it was these two proportions that were usually enough for artists to create their compositions. She hit her knees with her palms as if he had said exactly what she assumed.
"No! I want to analyse it more, but I don't have the tools to do it. Nor an exact mind. I want you to help me, take a look at my sketch and tell me what you think could be improved. From a mathematical, compositional point of view." She said with an excitement that frightened him in a way, a gush of enthusiasm that he didn't know what to do, how to discourage her with.
"What's in it for me?" He asked, recognising that perhaps a materialistic approach would discourage her, yet she merely twisted in her seat, completely unmoved, apparently recognising that he was entitled to demand payment for his contribution to her work.
"And what would you like?" She asked lightly, and he swallowed loudly, his gaze involuntarily escaping to her thighs, to where he could see her bare skin.
He looked at her face again, hoping she hadn't seen it, but something in her gaze told him she had noticed it, her lips tightened. He his heart began to pound like crazy, he felt like he was just going through some kind of heart attack.
"Do you want this?" She asked softly, warmly, and he threw her a shocked look, wondering if she was implying what he was thinking, his gaze escaping to her thighs again.
Fuck.
Did he want this?
"What do you mean?" He asked coolly, trying to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about. He felt his pupils dilate as she corrected herself in her seat so that her sweatshirt lifted up slightly, he had a feeling that a little more would have been enough for him to see her underwear.
"You can touch me if you want. Just gently. Don't throw yourself at me." She said softly, a blush on her cheeks, her eyes warm and understanding – he thought she seemed slightly embarrassed, her words sounding innocent despite the obvious subtext.
He wasn't sure if his mind controlled the movement of his hand, the way it involuntarily rose and gently touched her thigh, stroking it in a slow, steady up and down motion. He heard her sigh softly and a shudder went through her, saw her lean back and close her eyes.
He wanted to tell her that she thought too highly of herself if she thought he was so desperate, but instead he just looked at her with his lips slightly parted, fighting with himself.
He glanced at her face again when, after a moment, she opened her eyes and looked at him with a warm, misty gaze, as if she had drifted away with her thoughts somewhere for a moment. She smiled, but there was no mockery in it, her expression had something of girlish innocence.
He couldn't focus on anything other than the thought of how soft and firm her skin was – he wasn't sure he had ever touched anything more pleasurable in his life.
He felt both shame and thrill at the thought of how painfully hard he was, swallowing with difficulty.
He didn't quite understand what was just happening between them – his mind wanted to classify this as a prelude to physical intimacy, but he wasn't sure he was right. He felt immense tension and lust, but also a sort of tightening in his pit, intrigue and anxious anticipation.
"If you want, we can kiss. You have such full lips." She said softly with some kind of admiration and sincere desire, from which he felt a squeeze in his throat.
He wasn't good at choosing his words when it came to this kind of discussion, and he didn't know completely how to act, so he just stared at her, her thigh under his hand seeming to almost burn him.
Seeing the lack of any reaction from him and the clear shock painted on his face she moved a little closer to him – there was something encouraging in her movement and gaze, some kind of comfort and concern.
She was close, but far enough away to still not invade his space, giving him the sense that she was waiting for his decision.
He stared at her, feeling that his erection hidden in his trousers was about to explode, all swollen and throbbing, and after a moment their lips pressed against each other in a sudden, wet dance of their tongues and teeth, their hands clenched in each other's hair, the loud, lewd click of their saliva echoing in his ears louder than the muffled music coming from several rooms away.
"Be gentle." She just whispered into his mouth between their drawn-out, sticky kisses, and he hummed at her words, smelling the pleasant scent of her shampoo in his nose.
He grabbed her softly around her waist and seated her on his thighs with his arm around her, throwing his book to the side, rubbing against her from underneath, letting her feel what she had done to him.
He heard her sigh in contentment at feeling how hard he was, both of them beginning to pant loudly as she began to roll against him with her hips, herself clearly taking pleasure from it.
He clamped his hands on her buttocks and drew in the air loudly feeling that she had no shorts on underneath, just her underwear alone, and for some reason it turned him on even more.
Had she planned this all along?
She moaned feeling his hands slip under the material of her panties and squeeze her bare skin with confidence – she ran her fingers through his hair as the tip of her pink, wet tongue ran over his upper lip. He felt a strong shiver run through his entire body and involuntarily began to pant along with her, having never experienced anything like this before.
Her touch, though filled with desire, was not cold and crude, focused only on her pleasure, her hands stroking his hair, his cheeks, his neck with tender, caring movements, her puffy, full lips merely teasing him, not wanting to give him any more full kisses, so he only growled, frustrated, pulling her forcibly tighter, sliding his tongue deep into her throat.
He didn't even feel the need to undress her, the very thing they were doing now, the senselessness and yet purposefulness of it made him shiver, her certainty of what she wanted.
Was she really going to do this?
Sleep with a total stranger?
What was the logic in this?
He shuddered at the thought that maybe there was none.
None.
She wouldn't let him think about it – he drew in the air loudly as he felt her nimble fingers untie his sweatpants, slipping them down slightly, exposing what was underneath them, his hard, twitching manhood enveloped by the cool air.
He saw her rise slightly, with a movement of her hand apparently pushing the material of her underwear aside, positioning herself above him as he grasped his length in his hand, automatically directing it between her thighs.
"− I'm taking pills − I'm clean −" She whispered softly and he just nodded, not knowing what more he could answer, looking at her with his lips slightly parted, feeling like his heart was about to jump out of his chest.
She lifted herself up with a loud click of her moisture only to fall back down, riding him in a slow, unhurried rhythm – he just leaned down and sank his face into the hollow of her neck, taking in her scent, pleasantly sweet and fresh, panting loudly.
They both moaned embarrassingly loudly and squeezed their eyelids shut as she lowered herself onto him, slowly pushing the fat head of his cock deep into her body.
He could feel how wet she was, how her fleshy muscles pulsed hungrily against him, how tightly they wrapped around his root on all sides miraculously enhancing his sensation.
She embraced him, stroking his hair, clearly sensing his uncertainty, terror and desire mixed together. Unwittingly, his hips began to respond to her movements with sure, deep thrusts, to which she moaned loudly, something of helplessness and delight in her sounds.
"− do you want to stop? −" She mumbled softly, kissing his hair with gentle, warm click. He lifted his face finding her lips in a greedy kiss before turning her onto her back, recognising that he couldn't take it any longer, that his cock was about to explode.
"− yeah − I want to stop very, very much −" He growled frustrated at the way she was teasing him, resting one hand on the backrest of the bed in front of him, the other holding her hip tightly, slamming into her with rapid, quick stabs of his hips from which she began to moan and pant loudly, startled, looking up at him with her lips slightly parted.
"− don't you feel it? −" He asked ironically, thrusting his cock so deep into her that he felt like he would pierce her stomach, her body arched backwards as if trying to escape from him, his thighs all sticky from her moisture, their bodies smacking against each other quickly with a loud, wet slaps.
"− please −" She mewled and he felt a shudder as well as heat in his lower abdomen, something in the way she said it, in the tone of her voice, in her gaze made him lick his lips feeling that just a moment more, a few more thrusts and he was about to come.
"− please, what? − can't you put a fucking sentence together anymore? − you like it when someone fucks you so rough that you don't have words, huh? −" He hissed and groaned low as he felt her walls clench tightly around his fat erection at his words, sucking it inside, her thighs spread wide in front of him, allowing him to slide into her as deeply as he wanted in a gesture of complete submission.
"− I'm sorry −" She mumbled, looking at him helplessly like a rebuked child looking at a parent, and he thought he could devour her whole right now, fuck her all night if she wanted to, if she would react the way she did now.
"− good you're sorry − fucking brat −" He growled, panting loudly along with her and suddenly, without even knowing why, he kissed her greedily, pounding his cock into her with quick, brutal thrusts.
He felt her come, her walls began to clench on him greedily, not wanting to let him go, her whole body was trembling – she tried to push him away, sobbing and moaning with pleasure into his mouth.
He fucked her through her orgasm until he finally gave in and cum inside her, panting loudly, not recognising himself, his sounds or his reactions.
"− oh God − fuck − fuck − fuck −" He mumbled clenching his eyes, coming down from his peak, still moving inside her, hearing her loud breathing underneath him.
What exactly was that?
He collapsed on top of her, completely powerless, smelling the scent of her hair, her hands embracing his waist. They laid like that in the light of his bedside lamp, breathing heavily, listening to the muffled music, the screams and laughter from the party taking place a few rooms away.
He swallowed loudly feeling that he wasn't sure where his body ended and hers began – they were both all sticky from her moisture, her insides hot, pleasantly enveloping him on all sides, giving him some strange sense of security.
He thought it was for some of the hormones that are released after orgasm designed to bring partners closer together and bond.
He shuddered when he suddenly heard her soft, quiet voice.
"So what do you say? Will you help me?" She asked shyly, and he sighed heavily, silent for a long moment.
No.
"Yes."
_____
Part 2 − Formula for perfection
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