#god when will this semester officially end

[gideonisms]

I LOVE WOMEN I LOVE WHEN THEY'RE ON TOP OF EACH OTHER

#ibtold ray this. but you all need to know #sexy wrestling in the latest chapter of sexting fic my beloved ♥️ #love women love when they're on top of each other hate charts hate making them for class. #god when will this semester officially end #i actually don't hate collecting data and putting it in charts i just don't like it as much i like women being on top of each other

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: newbf!mingyu, afab reader, first time having sex together, smut, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 1714

a/n: not proofread and written within fifteen mins if there's continuity errors no there's not</3

masterlist

"you're such a coward."

"you haven't had sex yet? you!?"

"i can't believe you're pussywhipped but without the pussy."

these were only some of the many insults and quips mingyu's friends had thrown at him in the past month or so since he began dating you.

after grueling months of finding himself stuck in the friendzone (which, admittedly, he knew was simply a social construct created to– anyways), he finally grew the balls to ask you to go on a date with him. that date became two and three and four and very soon after it became an official relationship.

surprisingly to all those who knew mingyu, he was treating this relationship differently than his usual relationships. he believed this to be the real deal, which was something he was quite vocal about. sure, he was young, but he never would've broken up the friendship he had struck up with you at the beginning of the semester if he wasn't sure of how strongly he felt about you. and god, did he feel very strongly about you.

mingyu was unable to pinpoint exactly what it was about you that had driven (and continued to drive) him so crazy. and by this he meant that he could not pick one singular thing about you – there were just far too many things that made you the perfect girl.

so, yes. mingyu did not rush things as he usually did. he also did not treat this relationship casually in any way as he had previously done with former girlfriends. he saw a future with you, which terrified him – and by association, you terrified him.

that was really the crux of the issue.

his fear of scaring you away or fucking things up led him to feeling paranoid about his every move. was it too much when he sent you good morning messages every day? did it bother you how often he hugged you? did you feel put off by the fact that he had already told his family about you? and then the most worrisome of all ...

was he moving too fast or too slow when it came to your sex life together?

the two of you had shared a few kisses already, with some occasionally growing a bit too steamy for mingyu to consider innocent. however, mingyu always somehow managed to put a stop to it before it went too far, being far too scared of you feeling pressured by him. you never showed any displeasure or annoyance at him pulling away, so he assumed that he was doing the right thing in preventing things from going further.

unbeknownst to mingyu, you were going just as insane as he was, but for entirely different reasons. what he believed to be lack of annoyance or displeasure was actually you putting up a fake front as your boyfriend denied you yet again.

at first it didn't make you feel bad. you understood why he'd want to take things slow. this relationship was perfect in all regards thus far, so taking things slow only made sense. however, after the tenth time of mingyu physically pulling you off his lap and muttering something about his mom calling him, – despite no ringing nor vibrating from his phone – you were starting to feel quite insecure.

you knew mingyu to have had extensive sexual experience before meeting you, so you knew the issue didn't lie in his libido. it must've been a you issue.

did he not want you? was he rethinking the relationship? was it weird for him to transition from friends to more? you were out of answers and simply just frustrated.

unfortunately, a girl could only take so much, leading you to an ultimatum.

you had orchestrated a plan for tonight. if mingyu pushed you away once more, you'd finally confront him about it, and if not, you'd be happily fucked by him. either outcome would leave you satisfied.

~

"hey, how was schoo- hmph!"

okay, maybe you hadn't truly orchestrated any plan. your planning had begun and ended at the thought of simply jumping mingyu as soon as he opened the door, which was exactly what you did.

his arms wrapped around you, taking him a few moments but ultimately letting himself be consumed by your kiss. surprisingly, he even pressed you up against the door upon closing it after your entrance, large frame taking over your own.

you managed to make him zone out for a good five minutes before he eventually pulled away with a gasp, having barely realized where he had put his hands and what his hips were beginning to do against your own.

"fuck, wait, i- i'm sorry, i shouldnt have-"

"but why not?", you groaned at the interruption. okay, not your greatest moment.

"i, what? i don't want to pressure you. we don't have to-"

"but what if i want it? why would you think i feel pressured when- when i'm the one who keeps throwing herself at you?"

he blinked at you, dumbfounded, "i- you- you want to- to have sex? it's only been a month, i didn't want you to feel like you had to, you know, and it was just easier to pull away before i got too into it. fuck, i'm sorry."

you felt beyond embarrassed by how forward you'd been only to end up at rejection once more. but you felt even more embarrassed at the quick effect mingyu's consideration towards you had on you.

"no, god. you don't have to apologize. i should've asked, i should've-"

"no, baby, stop," he decreased the distance between you once again, "i should've asked you instead of pushing you away. did i make you feel like i didn't want you? fuck, that was the last thing i wanted. i want you. so embarrassingly bad. the guys keep calling me pussywhipped for how much i talk about you, uh, even how much i thirst after you," he finished his short speech with a more bashful tone.

"really?", you giggled, "pussywhipped?"

"baby, don't mock me right now," he groaned.

"no, i just mean ... how can you be pussywhipped if you haven't even had my pussy?", you leaned up and whispered against his lips.

"i- that's what jeonghan said, actually-"

"you wanna think about hannie right now?"

he shook his head dumbly, "no, no, keep talking."

"how about we stop talking and you go back to kissing me?"

he needed no further instruction, locking your lips once more, with even more passion than before. this time around his hands were not shy in their feeling up of your body, nor were his hips in their humping against yours.

things moved quite fast after your short-lived confessions, leading to mingyu carrying you over to the couch and sitting you down on the cushions, lips making their way down your body as his hands undressed you bit by bit.

"you want me pussywhipped, baby? just wait ...", he practically growled when you were finally down to your tank top and panties, licking you through the thin fabric before pushing it to the side and allowing his tongue to plunge in.

"g-gyu ... fuck, just like that ...", you sighed as your hands went down to his hair, pulling at it as he licked into you.

he kissed and licked and sucked until your eyes rolled back and your hips lost control of themselves, grinding into his face with apologetic whines of his name.

"no, baby, keep going. you can grind on my face, pretty. use me however you want," he mumbled as he kissed at your upper thighs, head burying itself back in hour cunt immediately after.

"tastes so fucking good, baby. prettiest fucking cunt ... can't believe i waited so long to have this tasty pussy," he groaned between licks.

mingyu was insatiable in the way he ate you out, moaning against you as if he were the receiver of the pleasure. his hands aided your hips in grinding against his face, creating a rhythm that followed his own. this was how he got you to your high embarrassingly quick, encouraging your cries of his name with his own groans of delight into your cunt.

it took you a few moments to catch your breath, feeling completely exhausted at the way in which mingyu had quite literally snatched your soul along with your orgasm. in the meantime, mingyu got up and undressed himself, leaving his boxers and your tank top as the only articles of clothing remaining. you took care of that issue yourself, throwing off your top as you stared up at him while he stood in front of you, cock almost at eye level with you.

making grabby hands at him, you dragged him down, allowing him to lay you down and hover over you on the couch, cock immediately humping against your cunt while his lips found a home on your tits.

his constant praise of your body and cunt was quite colorful, making you feel far too affected by his words and feeding into his compliments.

"you're the prettiest thing. do you even know how badly i've wanted you? it was so hard holding back every time you'd kiss me," he pouted whilst repositioning himself, pushing his boxers down his legs, "always wanted to just lose myself in you and never come back."

"baby, can i?", he asked once his cock was free and lining up against your swollen cunt. a simple nod was all it took for him to finally push his way inside, groaning into your neck at the feeling.

the intrusion felt delicious, making you throw your head back in utmost pleasure and cry his name in a way that had him mumbling something about how you must've wanted him to cum immediately.

finding your g spot almost immediately, mingyu took full advantage, gripping your thighs tightly in order to ensure hitting that spot until he had you dragging your nails down his back.

"are you almost there, baby? fuck, need you to cum with me, angel, okay?", he murmured into your ear, speed of his hips losing all finesse.

"i'm there, g-gyu. just ... my clit? please?", you pleaded.

mingyu made the grave mistake of listening to your pleas, hand coming down to rub at your clit without realizing the tightness of your cunt would only destroy him even further. but despite that, mingyu persisted in his task to make you cum, bringing you to your high just moments before claiming his own.

he settled against you on the couch once you were finished, pecking your lips softly before nuzzling against you.

"are you pussywhipped yet?", you asked as you turned to cuddle into his chest.

"oh, baby, so damn pussywhipped its embarrassing."

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen #svt #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #mingyu smut #mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagine #mingyu x reader #mingyu oneshot #mingyu fanfic

[crispy-armpit]

✧ 𝓼𝓪𝔂 𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓮 ✧

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴊᴏᴄᴋ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

(۶ૈ ᵒ _ᵒ)۶ૈ=͟͟͞͞ 🏈

⭒ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘧. 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭'𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘺, 𝘓𝘪𝘢𝘮. 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭.

⭒ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵: 𝘨𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 & 𝘫𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘫𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘺 𝘫𝘰𝘤𝘬

⭒ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 741 words

⭒ a/n: thank you all so much for the support and appreciation!!! i never expected my story to be so well loved :') i will be uploading yan!rockstar pt.2, yan!sea god, and a masterlist after this one! <3 (god i hate jocks)

will you venture down this path?

pop music blasts throughout the forest, bottles of discarded alcohol litter the ground, and a hundred or so young adults looking to mess up their lives dance around the large bonfire. mid-semester exams have just ended and you and your friends have decided to go to Jean Marley's party.

you are now gathered around a smaller campfire with your friends, sharing stories and laughing alongside them. Jean, the star of the party, suddenly speaks up, "who's up for a game?" a collection of voices yell out their own versions of an agreement.

"alright, let's play... truth or dare!"

"i'm pretty sure this is how horror movies start, yeah?" someone whispers into your ear.

you turn to the direction of the whisper, eyes mere centimetres away from Liam's own hazel ones. a small giggle leaves your lips as you take a sip from your cup, "if this was a horror movie, you'd definitely be the killer." Liam gasps dramatically and clenches his dark varsity jacket where his heart would be.

"you'd suspect me?! agh, how could you—"

"oh, come on! don't you think that'd be a great plot? dumb jock— who's not actually dumb— hunts down all his friends, and seemingly has no reason to do so. why would he? he's rich, popular, and has everything he could ever ask for! it's the perfect plot twist."

"well, I could think of one reason why..."

"oh? and that is?"

he moves in closer, and you could smell the faded scent of his expensive cologne mixed with sweat. his sharp eyes droop ever so slightly as if he was now looking down at your lips.

"he was madly in love with the final girl. so much, he'd murder everyone else just to keep them to himself."

"wha—"

you are interrupted by Jean's voice, "y/n! truth or dare?" confusion hits you until you see the bottle has landed on you. oh.

"dare."

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Liam couldn't fucking believe you. why would you risk your life for a stupid dare?!

there you were, undressing yourself to prepare to jump off the cliff and into the lake. and here he was, watching with the others from a distance. he'd run over to you right now if he wasn't so... breathless.

phones were out, on-lookers recording this moment. you were barely dressed, figure so captivating you looked like a forest nymph dancing through the currents, the round moonlight created a silhouette of your body that further proved his comparison.

if anyone spreads those pictures of you, he's going to kill them.

in that moment, he felt his soul return to the body of his younger self on the first day of high school— he was trying out for the football team, destroying all the other prepubescent boys with no remorse. tryouts had ended and he was now an official member, that's when he first saw you.

you were on the field with your friends. they'd laid out a small picnic mat with books scattered all over them while you danced to the rhythm of a lana del rey song blaring through your phone speakers.

suddenly he knew— he knew all his prayers for a greater purpose in life were answered, you. the lyrics to the love songs his parents danced to in the garage finally made sense.

the mellow flashback was cut short by the sound of a loud splash in the water. you jumped.

panic settles in and he doesn't think before jumping into the lake with you. people cheer on as they take this as a sign to join in the water.

his biceps cling onto your body as he pulls the both of you to the surface. you wipe away any hair and water on your face and smile up at him. he returns your smile and you both swim to the land.

on land, his calloused hands never seem to retract from your waist. it settles itself on the cold, wet surface of your shirt. you can feel the heat radiating off his hands and an electric tingle in your spine.

people gather around your wet bodies and offer you both towels. it could be adrenaline, but you swear you could feel his grip tighten a little too much when others approach you.

Liam continues to stay by your side all through the night. even during the car ride home, his palms never leave your thigh.

guess you'll have a guard dog for a while.

#male yandere #original yandere character #yandere #yandere boy #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere scenarios #oc #oc art #tw yandere #yandere character #gn reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral mc #gender neutral y/n #obsession #love sick #yandere jock #yandere writing #yandere x reader #yandere drabble #original character #original story #short story #obsessive #yandere x you #yandere x darling #jock bro #fathergreedconfessions

[euphemiaamillais]

smth like reader and coryo being best friends and getting stuck in a small room (or smth like that yk) and they just can't ignore the sexual tension!! Please 😭😭

blurb - best friend!coryo and reader get up to some antics in a bedroom once they realise they are locked in…

cw: 18+//pussy eating//piv sex//semi-public sex//tipsy (but consensual) sex//alcohol consumption

(an: coryo is way too nice in this for my liking, but i don't think the reader would be that close with him if he was a complete asshole towards her

your head is swimming from all the noise that pounds out of the speakers at lysistrata vickers’ party. you are all celebrating the end of the semester, and the last break before you will officially be graduates of the academy. you are wearing a tiny black dress; barely covering your ass, and have to admit you are getting a little hazy on account of the whisky somebody had poured into a glass for you about an hour ago.

you stand to one side in the cramped hallway, watching as drunken seniors stumble past, some with their arms around each other; others patting their friends—green in the face—on the back before making a beeline for the bathroom. you’re alone, for now, and are pondering on how you shall entertain yourself for the night. you’d arrived here with your best friend, coriolanus snow, but he’d wandered off some time ago when festus creed had offered him some vodka.

as you waited, gnawing on your lip, loneliness swilling in your belly, your felt somebody creep up behind you. their breath was hot against your neck, and soon enough a pair of hands crept around your waist, pulling you flush against what appeared to be the torso of a well-toned boy. you swore to god if it was festus trying to coax you into his bed again—that had ended badly the last two times—you were going to turn around and slap him square across the jaw.

‘guess who,’ a familiar voice rings out, and you sigh with relief.

‘coryo!’ you turn around, thankful that it’s him. his blonde hair hangs in one eye, and you reach up to tuck it behind his ear. your cheeks are a little warm as you feel yourself caress him a little too much, but you put it down to alcohol. he’s your best friend after all.

‘don’t tell me you’re standing here all alone,’ he cajoled, and you smile sheepishly, casting him a knowing look.

‘you were the one that left me, if i remember correctly!’ you scold, smacking him across the arm.

'mhm, i'm sorry,' he gives your waist a squeeze, causing you to inhale sharply in surprise. he's always so touchy with you; you know it probably means very little, but still, you can't help but feel your heart pounding.

'well, what have you been doing then?' you cock a brow, an impish grin playing upon your lips.

he chuckles, shaking the bottle of what appears to be posca—that goddamned drink that they plied you with at academy dinners. 'well, festus was so insistent that i have some of his mother's homemade posca—he practically forced it down my throat.'

you roll your eyes at his inability to resist what's offered to him, after all, he's a capitol boy, star pupil at the academy. he's not drunk though, just a little buzzed—perhaps that's why he's gripping your waist still. not that you mind...

the party grows louder; and you feel your ears start to ring with the ridiculous noise that is churning out. some underground music from one of those nightclubs that a lot of your peers frequented.

'it's so loud!' you exclaim, pushing yourself closer against the wall, a little breathless. he's still standing so close to you...

he nods, and you glance around, wondering if perhaps you can find a spare room to talk to him. you hadn't come to the party with the intention to be ignored by him half the night—there was so much to discuss! especially when it came to livia cardew and her antics. he always enjoyed relishing in her miseries.

'look, i think that door's open,' you remark, casting your gaze to the door behind his shoulder.

you step away from him, reaching for the doorknob, and wiggle it a little. it lets loose, and the door eases open. the room is small—well, at least by capitol standards—but well adorned. it's some sort of guest room, you assume.

coryo follows you, and you let the door shut behind you with a click. for some reason, you are compelled to check if it is shut properly, from the inside. you twist the knob, but find that you cannot get out. your face is red with embarrassment.

'oh!' you cry out, and coryo casts a bewildered look in your direction.

'what's wrong?' he's a little perplexed by your outburst; typically you are very sound of mind.

'it seems that we're locked in,' you slap a hand to your forehead. 'fuck!'

he laughs, and takes a sip of the posca, wincing a little as the sweet herbal notes of the drink hit the back of his throat.

'there's nothing funny about this, coriolanus!' you scowl, using his full name to underscore your disgruntled nature. 'if we can't get out, we're going to be stuck in here all night!'

you realise how that would look—coriolanus snow finally fucking you. people had always assumed you were too close, and now this would only confirm the rumours if you couldn't manage to get out.

'you act like that's the worst thing in the world,' he rebuts, posca clearly dampening his usually more serious temperament.

‘well, not all of us are delighted at the prospect of being locked in a room with nothing to entertain them!’ you huff, dropping down on the bed in a haze of fury.

he waves his bottle of posca in your face. ‘not nothing, hm? why don’t you have some? you really need to ease up.’

you accept it, and take a large gulp, trying your hardest not to spit it out in disgust. you’d forgotten how potent it was. your head was swimming already.

‘see, i bet you already feel so much better,’ he slurs a little too enthusiastically. your roll your eyes, quite unnerved at his sudden change in personality. you preferred his more dour nature.

‘nuh uh,’ you shook your head, and then leaned against his shoulder. you were a little sleepy; it was well after midnight, and the posca began to make its way to your limbs. your legs were numb—you knew if you even attempted to stand up you’d send yourself straight to the ground.

coryo wraps one arm around your shoulders, rubbing his hand over the bare skin of your arms. you nestle into him, tingling at his touch. he’s so warm, which is unusual for him—he’s naturally cold blooded—but you relish in it. again, your heart seems to leap in your chest at his touch, like you’re some giddy schoolgirl. you never felt like this when festus had touched you—not even when you’d let him fuck you, mostly out of boredom. did you like coryo?

your head floods with thoughts. surely not? he was your best friend. to do that would be… oh, you don’t know… unnatural? wrong in so many ways? but you did have to admit, he was gut-churningly attractive, with his piercing blue eyes and blonde hair that fell in just the right way.

you recall the rumours from last year about his affair in the alleyway with some girl—something which earned him the reputation of a 'player'. you'd never brought it up with him, just as he'd never questioned what you and festus had gotten up to that cold week in january.

‘you’re so warm, coryo,’ you find yourself slurring. god, what had this posca done to you? you were behaving like a fool.

‘yeah?’ he asks softly, and you feel his touch drop lower, one hand caressing the outline of your breast. he’s practically ghosting over the fabric of your dress, but you can feel the fabric prickling ever so slightly as he moves his fingers.

‘coryo…’ you slur, but you don’t stop him. it feels nice.

he’s wanted this for so long. he’s usually not one for the girls at the academy—besides you. his beautiful best friend, his intelligent best friend. at first he was disgusted that he was able to admire a woman in such a way, but he decided that if everybody else did it, it wasn’t entirely beneath him. and besides, you were worthy of him. you’d proved yourself adequate in many ways.

coryo places a kiss on your outstretched neck, and you gasp, his lips hot against your chilled skin. you feel something hot between your thighs; that nagging sensation you got when you touched yourself late at night. goddamnit—why did your body have to betray you like this?

‘you’re so fucking perfect,’ he murmurs in the crook of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin of your décolletage. ‘gonna make you mine…’

your heart pounds in your ears at his last sentence; the way he utterly wants to possess you. you wonder if it’s just the heady effects of the posca, or if he really means it.

his kisses send shivers down your spine, skin tingling with pleasure. you had to admit, it felt so damn good. if you were going to be locked in this room all night, perhaps letting him touch you a little wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

‘mhm,’ you sigh, wrapping your hands around his neck. you pull him away from collarbones, where he’s sucked hot, red marks into your skin, and press your lips against his.

it’s gentle at first, not like the other boys you’ve kissed who shoved their tongues down your throat. he kisses you with passion, mouth hot with want, hands clawing at your dress which has already begun to ride up around your hips.

you moan into him, and open your mouth, feeling him slide his tongue in. it’s so hot and wet, your lips pressing against each other, him driving a hand between your thighs. he doesn’t ask, but you don’t mind, ceding all rights to him. the posca is causing your head to spin, but if anything it only makes him want you all the more.

you pull away for a moment, catching your breath. you are almost gasping. ‘coryo… i,’ you huff in exasperation.

‘shhh,’ his hand is stroking the inside of your thigh, and reflexively you clamp your legs together, trapping him. you don’t mean to, it’s only that you’re just so pent up.

‘i’m sorry,’ your voice trails off, watching as he pushes your legs apart, fingers ghosting over the sensitive apex that leads to your cunt. you’re aching for him, so wet that you can hardly bare it. it’s embarrassing.

‘fuckin’ hell’ he grits his teeth together in awe when he brushes a finger over your panties. ‘so fucking wet. is this all for me?’

you nod drunkenly, head nestled against his shoulder. you are barely afloat, so overwhelmed with pleasure that you are unable to hold yourself up.

‘dirty little slut,’ he spits, and you whine as he begins to rub at your clit. ‘all wet for your best friend. you’re practically begging for me, what, locking us in this room.’

‘didn’t mean to…’ you slur, but you’re too lost in the way he touches you; your core aching with every ministration. you felt that familiar nagging knot in your stomach begin to form, growing as he touched you more.

‘look at you; it’s pathetic,’ he cows, pulling away from you. you’re whining, desperate for him, bottom lip trembling with need.

‘please coryo,’ you grab his hand, attempting to put it back against your sensitive clit. he pulls away, shaking his head.

‘oh no, you don’t get to tell me what to do,’ he scolds, and you scowl.

he slides his hands back up your thighs, rucking your dress up around your waist and sliding your panties down. he shakes his head in disbelief. they’re soaked completely through.

‘you wear these just for me, huh?’ he questioned, holding the tiny, black lacy thing in his hands. ‘wanted me to take them off and fuck you like the stupid slut you are?’

your mouth goes dry. the way he’s speaking to you… it’s so nasty, and yet you can only feel yourself aching for him. wondering how his cock would feel as it stretched you out; fucking you until you were crying out his name.

‘coryo…’ you can hardly speak; the words are like dirt in your mouth.

he tosses your panties to the side, and moves away from your clinging grip, sliding to the ground. he’s on his knees, hands on either side of your thighs. is he? you’d never done this before—festus had been all about receiving, not giving.

‘spread your legs,’ he coaxes, and you oblige, cunt so fucking wet that you can feel the slick dribbling down your thighs.

he presses kisses up your shins, and then further, past your knees, as if he is praising your body. he gets to your thighs, which are hot and humming with fervour, and nips at the soft skin just as he did on your neck.

you are in agony over how slow he is, so you reach down to rub at your throbbing clit, but he grips your wrist, hard, and casts a disappointed look at you.

‘what did i say about touching yourself?’ he clucked his tongue in displeasure.

you sigh, helpless, and prop yourself up on his elbows. his mouth is edging closer to your cunt, and you whine again, desperate to be touched. you wonder how many girls he’s done this to before—but you find your heart spurs with a little jealousy at the thought of that. no, he’s your coryo after all.

‘please!’ you gasp pathetically, and he obliges, for once, tongue ghosting over your wet slit.

you whimper, his mouth soothing that hot desperation that burns at your core, and grip at the tresses of blonde curls that spill from his head. you have to admit, you’d thought about this a few times—he was terribly attractive after all.

he laps at the slick that is dribbling from your cunt, and artfully moved his tongue up and down your folds; taking care to ek out your desperation by avoiding your clit. he delights in teasing you; at the thought of making you beg for him to let you cum. his pretty best friend, her even prettier pussy, all for him.

you taste so good, and you hear a muffled moan escape his throat as he fucks you with his tongue. he moves his mouth up further, finally wrapping his lips around your clit. you cry out, cunt throbbing with want.

his hands move to grip at your thighs, hard enough that you’re sure there will be bruises tomorrow. he’s lapping at your cunt like it’s his last meal; deftly sucking on your sensitive, throbbing clit.

you feel yourself getting closer; that tight knot unfurling, your walls clenching. you sigh at the pleasant tingling feeling that begins to dance upon your skin as you tug lightly on his hair, coaxing him on.

‘i’m so close,’ you somehow manage to gasp out, admiring his skilful abilities with his tongue.

he keeps the same pace, clearly well-versed in the art of cunnilingus. you feel yourself clasp your thighs around his neck, unable to control your pleasure.

‘sorry,’ you groan out, realising you are half-suffocating him. he gives your thigh a squeeze, indicating that he’s enjoying it.

you feel yourself unravel right there, slickness gushing from your cunt as your walls contract. he moves his mouth from your clit and licks up all the slick, moaning at the sweetness of your spend. he sticks a finger into your hole, and you whine at the overstimulation.

‘so fuckin’ sweet,’ he licks your wetness off his fingers, and moves to sit himself back on the bed.

you’re completely fucked out, high on bliss and pleasure; half-forgetting that you were at a party. you wonder if anyone had heard, and prayed silently that they hadn’t.

coriolanus brushes hair from your eyes, tendrils sticking to the beads of sweat that clung to your forehead. you manage to sit up, a little hazy, and see that he’s throbbing in his pants. your mouth fills with drool at the thought of his cock, and your face burns hot in embarrassment.

‘you’re hard, coryo,’ you tease, hand reaching out to rub the outline of his bulge. he grunts, but doesn’t stop you this time.

you purse your lips, and cast him a wide-eyed look. god, he wants to fuck you right then and there. but before he can do anything, you push him down against the bed, straddling him with your tender thighs.

‘that fucking desperate for me?’ he inquires, and you nod, fucked out on the desire for his cock.

you grind down against his pants, bare pussy rubbing against the rough fabric. your hands travel to the zipper, and you manage to pull his pants down to his knees. you palm him through his underwear—letting him know that two could play at the teasing game—until he practically had to beg you to stop.

‘gonna fuck you,’ you mouth hotly, slipping your hand under the waistband of his boxers.

you feel up and down the length—it’s long, for sure, and thick. you’d wondered if the rumours about him being largely endowed were true; now you could certainly feel that they were.

‘don’t be such a tease,’ he pleads, and you giggle, managing to slide his boxers off completely.

his cock is pressed flush against his stomach; it’s throbbing and so red, the tip almost angry looking. you slide your pussy over it, wanting to rile him up, but feel his hands grip at your love handles. he cocks a brow in disapproval.

‘you’re so big,’ you sigh breathily, trying to position yourself to slide him in. your cunt is trembling with want.

‘afraid i might stretch you out?’ he asks vulgarly. you shake your head with a little laugh.

‘mhm, no, i’m just glad,’ you remark. ‘festus was so inadequate.’

you see him wince at the name, and pout a little. classic jealousy on his behalf. he never did well with being second-best.

‘oh, don’t worry coryo,’ you stroke his chest teasingly. ‘you’ve done more than prove yourself already.’

having to soothe his ego was a little frustrating, but you figured he was probably going to be better than that useless rut. he’d already made you come. that was a start.

you ease his tip in slowly, gasping as he stretches you out. you find, unfortunately, that you’ll have to be slow. he’s just that big. he groans under you, cock twitching with desperation.

‘so fuckin’ tight,’ he says, one hand clutching at your ass. you sink down further, taking him in about halfway.

‘gonna stretch you out,’ he coos, rubbing gently at the small of your back.

you sigh with contentment, bucking your hips slowly, trying to take him further. you groan, the slick of your cunt coating his throbbing cock.

he thrusts up into you, and you feel him stretch you out more; pushing himself to the hilt. you gnaw on your lip, trying to hold back a whimper. it feels so good; the rigid veins of his cock brushing against your sensitive walls.

‘oh, coryo,’ you find yourself gasping out as you slide up and down his cock, the sound of your wetness mingling with that of skin slapping.

‘fuck,’ he grunts, fingers digging into your ass, pulling you down hard against his cock. ‘you feel so fucking tight.’

you toss your head back in pleasure, and find yourself wondering why you hadn’t done this sooner. he feels so good inside of you, pounding your achy cunt. you feel your core growing warm again with desire, and slide your fingers down to rub at your swollen clit.

‘mhm,’ you sigh pleasantly, fucking yourself stupid on his big, hard cock. ‘so fucking good, coryo.’

you build up a little momentum, needing him with more urgency, and find he responds diligently. he pulls you down against his cock, so you’re almost flush against his belly, and he pounds into you.

‘taking me so well,’ he mutters, grunting as your tight cunt squeezes him. he’s close, he can feel it, his muscles tensing up, cock trembling with need. his mouth goes dry at the thought of finishing inside of you.

you feel him cry out with exasperation, and it’s not long before he finishes inside of you, hot spurts of cum leaking from his tip. you continue to rock back and forth against him in feckless hope of making yourself come again, but it comes to no avail.

he slides out of you, cock still dripping with cum, and you lay down sloppily next to him. your breaths are ragged, the posca washing a tiredness over you. he drapes one arm lazily around you—a little more affectionate than he’d been with you before.

you rest your head against his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart. you’re yet to fully comprehend it all. you’re sure tomorrow you’ll probably wake up questioning what you’ve done, regret washing over you.

you’re not sure how to feel—you enjoyed it, that’s for sure; the way he made you cum using only his tongue, how he stretched you out with his big cock. but he’s your best friend… you’d never assumed something like this would come to fruition.

you decide that it’s probably for the best to put it aside, at least for the evening. your eyes begin to flutter shut, and you nestle into his warm embrace.

you feel yourself drifting off, heady with bliss and the effects of potent alcohol…

—

taglist (comment or send me a message if you want to be added!): @personalque

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coryo x reader #x reader #female x reader #tom blyth #the hunger games #smut #president snow #tbosbas x reader #tbosbas #tbosbas fanfic #the hunger games x reader #hunger games #drabble #fanfic #blurb #coryo smut #coryo snow

[doobean]

AN EASY A - NAGI SEISHIRO

synopsis: There's a problem student in your class and he just can't seem to understand that he needs to put in the effort. You've already given him three chances to make up his assignments - all of which he ignored. But what happens when he suggests another alternative during office hours?

contents: explicit content, afab!fem!reader, age gap (he's 22 and reader is 27), student-teacher (duh), reader kind of a tough professor lol, also a bully too ig, sex in teacher's office, masturbation (reader), power imbalance, nonconsensual video recording, vaginal sex, unprotected, creampie, breast/nipple play, dom?reader, switch!nagi, cunninglingus, cumming on face and inside, degradation, name calling (brat x 2, good boy x 1), nagi having a big dick, happy ending :) word count: 3.7K a/n: part 3 of my kinktober event :3 SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG LIFE TOOK OVER BUT I HOPE THIS MAKES UP FOR THE LOST TIME ;; I WILL MAKE THE LAST KINKTOBER FIC EXTRA SPICY TOO DONT WORRY FAM - also im super proud of myself for literally scraping the draft and rewrote this within a span of two days?? like wow the pressure is on.

There are some habits that never seem to change — even with age. You’ve seen it all, experienced it too, from emailing your teachers last minute about having to make up an exam worth over half of your course grade to faking a family death in order to get an extension, or — and this is more for students who are a bit too ‘brave’ — blaming the teachers for their inability to do their jobs. You knew what you would be getting into when you went into this job, from having to do the last minute panic pleas to now being on the receiving end of it. And you now actually feel sorry for having to bombard your past professors like that.

You release a deep breath from your nose and flick the red gel pen across a student’s exam, circling the large failing number by their name. “I’ll see you next year.” You try to sound less harsh, more on the sympathetic side, since you’re relatively still within the same age group as some of these students, but who wants to hear that? That they have to repeat a course and be stuck a graduation year behind? Absolutely no one.

You want to look away as you hand the student back his exam scores because you just know it’s going to end with tears and meaningless pleas but that would be unprofessional on your end. Instead, you give the student a small smile and a couple of pieces of candy from the glass bowl next to you. 

“Sorry if it’s not much but it’s better than nothing?” God, you need to work on your pep talk. These students are basically adults, not elementary school kids.

“A-Are you sure I can’t do anything else to boost my grade?” The student starts to whimper and you have to tense your whole body from cringing at their quivering voice. 

Ugh, it’s useless. Why bother begging if they haven’t bothered to study the material?

Still, you manage to whip up an emphatic frown and shake your head, voice sounding more motherly. “I’m sure it’ll be easier for you to understand next time.”

Another whine and then a final huff before the student storms out of your office. By the time the door shuts and their wails are out of ear shot, you slump back into your chair and groan loudly into your palms. Your body aches from being at your desk all day long — your mind is doing no better, having to deal with students’ cries and unwarranted trauma dumping. Seriously, when are they going to pay teachers more to deal with this type of stuff?

On the bright side of things, your office hours are officially over. Final grades will be up by tonight and you’ve completed most of your tasks with all but one student being a constant no show for the eternity of the semester but that responsibility doesn’t fall onto you. He and the handful of others can just show up again next year. 

You spend some time debating your options, eating a nice, warm bowl of noodles sounds good for now but… you did spend nearly eight hours cooped up in your office and you are feeling a bit high energy right now, so stress relieving might be a good answer first.  

“Now, where did I put that thing?” You reach down your desk, pulling up your purse and rummage through it looking for a very specific purple ‘massager’. 

It’s super rare for you to ‘release’ stress while on campus grounds, this might be one of the few times, with others following the same patterns, but you feel the utter need to reward yourself after today’s events. It’ll only take you maybe ten minutes max, afterwards it’s dinner and then a quiet train ride home. Plus, not like you have a partner who can do this for you — you barely have time to take care of yourself, let alone be in a relationship or commit yourself to a random hook up. Sometimes, it’s just better to handle the situation yourself since it is your body.

A breathy sigh leaves your lips as you place the vibrating head against the soft cotton fabric of your panties, already soaked through by just the thought of de-stressing yourself. You throw your head back, with one hand steady with the magic wand and the other traveling up to your blouse, unbuttoning the top and allowing your black bra to be exposed in the room. As you increase the pressure from the vibrations, your free hand spills your breasts from its cups, your thumbs and digits immediately running over the sensitive nubs and plush flesh of your chest as you start to chase your high.

“M-Mhm—! Right there…” You roll your head to the side and shut your eyes, imagination fleeting to the thoughts of a male seated in between your legs, his tongue desperate and latching to your overwhelmed clit and folds while your thighs keep his shoulders in place. 

You think it’s so unfair that your other friends have already settled down with partners of their own. When holidays come around the corner, when you finally catch a break from all the whining and fake wolf cries, you just have to hear your friends gush about how romantic their partners are to them. You secretly hate winter because of it. All those talks about Christmas gifts, their New Year’s couples resolutions, their stupid fancy ski trips that cost close to thousands of dollars, and then top it off for Valentine’s Day. Summer is more bearable, only because of the lack of romantic holidays, but you still get bitter from seeing their beach photos and international trips.

You change the position of your magic wand, facing it closer and pressing it harder down your clit, nearly drawing blood from your lips as you suppress back a frantic moan — a moan that’s a mix of both pleasure and frustration. 

Fuck the students. Fuck your friends. And fuck this job.

“H-Haah—! Oh my god…” Your hips buckle feverishly, body quaking in your seat as you start to feel a familiar coil tightening in your stomach and a rush down below. A build up of tears start pooling at the corners of your eyes as your vision starts to grow hazy. Your heart heaves forward, about to burst out of your chest, the imaginary man just about to finish you off—

Creak.

Your eyes immediately pop open and the color drains from your face at the squealing sound from the door. You don’t have enough time to cover yourself up when you realize that a student is standing by the entrance, wearing an equally shocked expression on his face. A tousle of white shaggy hair, large gray eyes, appearing at a staggering height with—your gaze trail to his hands and nearly faint from the sight—his phone.

The sound of the door creaking again snaps you out of the phase and your arms fly over your chest, the words stuck in your throat and your vibrator falling to the floor. 

Shit, what should you ask first? Has he been recording you this whole time? When did he even show up? You’re positive that you were the only one left in the academic building, so what is going on?

“Um,” The male has the audacity to walk in the room, his gaze fixated on everything but you. “Are office hours still open?”

What. The. Fuck.

You blink once, twice, and, when the student is still standing there, confirming your thoughts that he isn’t an awful mirage sent down by the Lord himself, you feel yourself internally shrinking.

“I-Is that the first thing you want to ask me?” You stifle back a laugh, or at least you think it’s a laugh. Maybe even a few waterworks for later. “Just who are you?”

But then it hits you. The black and blue duffle bag he has by his side had his name engraved on it. You don’t need to take a closer to recognize the national team’s logo and you certainly don’t need a Google search to realize that Nagi fucking Seishiro, a soccer prodigy and your apparent student for the semester, might’ve just recorded you masturbating in your office.

You manage to find an old jacket from one of the drawers at your desk and throw it on before pointing a harsh finger at the man. “Delete it, now.”

“Will I get an A?” Nagi is surprisingly blunt and, now looking back, this might honestly be the first time you’ve ever talked to him out of the whole semester. He seems to catch your perplexed look, shooting you a pair of creased brows back as he explains, “All of my other courses were remote because of training and football games… You were the only professor that denied it.”

You huff, seemingly annoyed that he thinks he can be an exception to your course rules. “I don’t hand out favoritism to just anyone and,” You glare at the phone in his hand, sneering right back at his uncaring facial expression. “I’m definitely not going to pass you if you’re threatening to black mail me.”

“Maybe we can help each other out?” Nagi offers, maybe a bit too fast and too eager. 

You cautiously sink back in your seat, eyes narrowing at his suggestion. “What are you implying, Nagi?” The male shuffles awkwardly in place and your gaze flicks down, eyes widening for the nth time today and an audible gasp slips out. “You can’t be serious.”

“I need to pass and you—” Nagi clears his throat and motions to your slick covered vibrator, which is still very much on and buzzing away on the wooden floor boards near his feet. “You didn’t finish.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and adjusts the semi-hard length through his sweats with his other before finishing his offer. “I’ll delete the video, help you, and you’ll give me an A?” Nagi lamely suggests. 

You want to scream, dig yourself a ditch large enough to fit you and the rest of however much pride you had left, and wither away. You’ve had students coming to you with plenty of other excuses, much more tamed than whatever situation you’ve found yourself in. And, regardless how much shitty this actually is, it doesn’t get rid of the fact that: one — you’re still sexually frustrated from having your orgasm ruined by this oversized, lazy fucker, two — you literally just got this job a year ago and getting fired for masturbating on campus might not look so great on your record, and three — if Nagi is true to his words, maybe you both can just forget about it the next day.

“You don’t get the control, I do.” You rise from your seat, allowing the jacket to fall from your frame. Your gaze hardens on the male subject in front of you as you bend down to reach for your toy, turning it off and putting it away in a nearby drawer that’s most likely filled with other student’s graded assignments. 

Whatever, they’ll probably cry more fluids on it when they get their results back anyway.

Nagi tenses when you reach over to touch his arms, feeling up his toned biceps and rest of his upper body underneath the black hoodie, and he doesn’t dare to move unless you tell him to. You let out a scoff, feeling satisfied that he’s already willing to compromise so quickly under short notice. With a light tug on his sleeve, you drag him closer to your desk and settle yourself on top of it. You hike up your pencil skirt to your upper thighs and spread your legs wide enough for the width of his shoulders.

“On your knees, brat.”

He silently obliges, bending down on one knee and his hands find home on your inner thighs. You resist the urge to squirm under his touch, still feeling rather sensitive from your earlier chase and not wanting to give him any ounce of satisfaction. Without any audible exchanges, he allows you to direct his head closer to the heat of your sex, the combination of your increasing wetness and the hot puffs from his breath makes your stomach twist in anticipation.

With a quick swipe, his fingers brush aside your panties to the crease of your thighs and lean in, giving a few experimental licks to your slicked cover folds before burying the rest of his face in. Your reaction is instant. Your fingers claw their way deep into his shoulder blades, thighs threatening to squeeze the living life out of him, but Nagi’s grip is even more threatening. He stays rigid, palms glued to your thighs and keeping them in place as his tongue flicks against the stiff nub — drawing lazy circles.

Your mouth betrays your character as he suddenly decides to insert two digits, scissoring their way into your velvety walls. Nagi grunts in response at just how lewd you sound right now. 

“Soaking wet…” He observes with careful eyes at your sex before looking up, a playful smirk flashes across his face when he notices the flush in your cheeks. With another twirl from his fingers, combined with the slow swirls from his tongue, your head rolls back as the torrent seems to be relentless.

With the next extra pumps, you cum hard with a shudder, vicing your thighs against his head.  You can feel the leak of fluids slide out of your folds, and Nagi pushes his face inward, making sure he slid his tongue against that sweet spot of yours again. It blinds you with a final surge of pleasure, and you cry out as your orgasm shakes you to the core, nails biting into his shoulders.

You’ve never experienced an orgasm that intense before, even with the usage of your vibrator — hell, you can’t even remember when’s the last time a man has made you reach that high. Bright colors cloud your vision as you tumble through what seems like an endless bliss. Your body goes slack, back now flushed against the office desk, but Nagi’s body is still tense, his muscles twitching as he gets to his feet and lifts your legs off his shoulders.

“Hey,” Nagi slurs, wiping away your slick with the back of his hand.  “We’re not done here.”

“W-What are you talking about—ah!”

Your vision is just beginning to clear up when you find yourself trapped between Nagi’s arms. He’s hovering above you, a certain dark look casts over his gray hues as he bores into your own. You swallow hard, heart beating faster when you look down to see his sweats already laid around his thighs and his cock springs free, head spilling with heavy amounts of pre. Nagi’s length twitches at the sounds of your moans and the male takes that as a sign of approval.

“What?” He leans forward, his bangs brushing against your forehead. “You’ve never seen a penis before?”

“Don’t get smart with me, brat.” You spit back, immediately tearing your gaze away from his rather impressive size. Might be the biggest you’ve ever seen in person outside from those awful porn videos online.

If you can find the energy to, you might’ve laughed at his lame attempt to have the upper hand, but Nagi doesn’t waste his time. He closes the distance, smashing his lips against yours, tongue already dragging its way down your throat. You choke back but recover quickly, hands flying to his locks, grabbing fistfuls, and rocking your hips against his hardened appendage. A sinful groan slips from his lips and lifts one of your thighs up, your ankle resting on his shoulder while he wraps the other around his waist. 

You part your lips when he breaks away from the kiss, a thin trail of saliva connecting you two, and a whine spills from you as Nagi begins sliding his cock in between your folds. He sucks in his teeth, breath hitching sharply at the sight. 

“Wanna put it in so bad—” He shudders seeing your slick engulfing his length. “Can I—Can I please put it in?” His monotone voice now replaced with a shaky resolve, almost as if he’s seeking for your next stage of approval and pleasure. 

You reach up and cup his cheeks in your hands, eyes softening at his glassy ones. “Promise to delete that video and you might get a chance, Nagi.”

“Sei,” The male breathes out.

You tilt your head. “Huh?”

Nagi leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheeks into your palms. “Want you to call me Sei… Can you do that?”

“Sei…” You whisper out, suppressing back a laugh when you see the towering male tensing at the sound of his name. The twitching from his cock brushes against your clit making you squirm. “Sei, make me cum around that cock of yours.”

A cry escapes from the both of you when he slides in, inching bit by bit and holding your waist with both hands as leverage. You can’t do anything but throw your head back, sounds leaving your hoarse throat at the sheer size from him.  Your hands can only reach his thighs, nails leaving their crescent marks on his skin as Nagi bottoms out inside of you with a long, agonizing stroke. Nagi takes his time, building a slow but steady rhythm, staring down at you with intense gray eyes and making sure the thickness of his cock stretches your walls as he continues. You suddenly feel grateful that you came earlier, the extra slick and foreplay made the insertion easier because you’re certain without it there’s no guarantee that you would’ve been able to handle this mind numbing fucking.

After a few more experimental strokes, Nagi finds a comfortable pace. You’re now starting to get used to him and it feels so, so good that you’re finding everything in your power to spread your legs as far open as they would go. Sensing your struggle, Nagi lifts one hand to push your thigh back even further, and you let out a yelp, whining when you feel him brushing against that sweet spot inside of you again.

A warm rushing sensation starts building in your stomach again and you feel as if you’re about to jump off a cliff. Your walls clamp down around his cock, wails starting to bounce off the walls and legs shaking without any means of control. You’re absolutely floored by the way Nagi’s able to make your body react this much under his touch. It’s only your first time having sex, yet it feels like he’d been making love with you for a lifetime. 

Your eyes fly shut as the feeling of his callous thumbs make their way onto your swollen clit, rubbing and tapping away. Flames are riding your nerves, you can’t hold back any sort of resistance in your voice as he picks up the pace, hips slamming into yours and sounds of sex filling the air. Nagi moves swiftly and punishingly, holding your hips still and not allowing you any room to move around as his cock tears against that spot that had tears finally spilling down your flushed face.

“Sei,” You choke out a sob, throwing a hand over your mouth to try and suppress some of the noise. Though, you and him both know it’s a futile effort.

The build up of pleasure is so binding that you’re beginning to lose sense of time and place, feeling only the desperate and feral thrusts from your student. Your second orgasm fades slowly, leaving you in a pool of ecstasy, but that doesn’t stop Nagi. 

Still hard and pumping, his grip on your hips only tighten and he grunts out a lustful moan. “Feels good, right? Cumming all over me?”

You look up to him, tears of pleasure disorienting your vision, and in a state where you’re too incoherent to speak — pleading only with your doe eyes.

Nagi understood immediately. He slows down his pace, leaning forward, making sure the head of his cock kisses the inside of your cervix before bending down to place one on your own gaping lips.

“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” You manage out.

He groans at the pet name and peppers your face and neck with wet kisses, lifting your leg with one hand so that he can slowly stroke back and forth inside.

One of your hands reaches for your chest, fondling and toying with your nipples while your other hand reaches for the back of his head, gripping his white locks and pulling him down for another feverish kiss. Your lips remain sealed and pressed together in a battle of tongues as he rocks inside of you, sending you yet another orgasm as he moans into your mouth. 

“H-Haah—I’m close…” His hips buck wildly. “Gonna cum inside of this pretty pussy…”

Nagi finally comes undone inside of you, his whole body shuddering as coats of white paint the insides of your velvety walls. A heavy pant from him catches your ears as he pulls out slowly, eyes admiring the hot, white trail that travels down your thighs and onto your desk. 

By now, you can barely keep your eyes open, both mind and body exhausted. You try to get up, only to find zero strength left in your limbs, but soon you feel a pair of toned biceps around your waist and Nagi pulls you into his firm, yet comforting chest. 

You want to ask him something again, something regarding that video he took of you earlier, but you’re beginning to lose your train of thought as exhaustion creeps up. Your entire body aches and your pussy is still emptying his remaining orgasm. But, strangely enough, you find yourself not caring about it anymore. 

A smile makes its way onto your features as you drift off to sleep, making you miss the fact that Nagi did delete the video shortly after and scribble a quick note next to your purse. It’ll be another hour before you have the chance to read it.

‘Don’t forget that A. XXX-XXX-0506 - Sei.’

© 2023 DOOBEAN. do not copy any of my writing and translate/repost.

KINKTOBER TAGLIST (PART III)

@milkistoshi @mareonyan @saenora @blissblossom @wowonamo

#doobean:kinktober23 #cw: power imbalance #cw: video recording #cw: age gap #bllk #blue lock #bllk smut #bllk x reader #nagi x reader #blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro smut #nagi seishiro x reader #blue lock x female reader #bllk x female reader #doobean writes

[cinnamonest]

Cyno trying to fight off his sexual desires for darling... 🤭

This reminds me of the post I did for guilty sadist Kazuha... consider guilty sadist/rapist Cyno...

Cyno seems like the sort of boy who has absolutely zero history too, so the thing is, he's never really had to practice controlling these kinds of urges before. He's always been so busy with his responsibilities, he's sort of put the idea of romantic relationships to the side, with the idea that he'll get to it one day.

And, partially, he also knows deep down that he's avoiding it because he's intimidated by the thought. See, urges themselves aren't his only problem, the other issue is, for all his sternness and stoicism, he's horrifically awkward with anything of a romantic or, gods forbid, sexual nature. His face feels hot just thinking about it. Oh, and when he's super nervous, his face and voice get extra stern and serious-sounding, which comes off almost like being angry or irked, which does not work well for him.

The one time he tried to approach you and speak to you with specific intent, talk to you in a way that was unrelated to his role, he was so tense and focused and anxious that you stiffened up the moment he said your name, you asked if something was wrong. Then he panicked, and when he tried to explain himself (realizing how stupid it was to have walked over to you with no plan beyond a greeting), he ended up stumbling over his words, making up something about asking if you've seen someone else, keeping his shaky arms folded, and just when he thinks he's pulled off an interaction at least somewhat smoothly, his words of departure go over as-

Well, I'll see you arOUND—

-And he bites down hard at the voice crack, clearing his throat before trying to repeat himself as if nothing had happened, turning around and summoning his utmost willpower to walk away normally and not take off running. And then proceeded to lay in bed face-down for several hours, wallowing in frustration and humiliation.

It's a combination of those factors —a very odd, mismatched combination at that. The awkwardness over so much as a very simple interaction, yet at the same time, deep urges to do unspeakable things to you. He'd be fairly nervous about even doing something normal, and much more so the actual things he so deeply desires for.

Even if he could get over the feeling of guilt for the things he thinks about doing to you, all the depraved fantasies he's long since given up on trying to refrain from allowing his mind to conjure and instead now jerks off to several times a day, he'd still be so awkward, just thinking about it frustrates him.

However, said combination of factors is itself what makes it exponentially worse. It would be one thing if he was struggling to summon the balls to just talk to you and to start something normal, but that's not what he wants. He's self-aware of the fact that his urges are unusually violent and depraved.

He knows exactly where it started, too. He used to not have such depraved thoughts. Previously, he would have thought of himself as fairly normal in terms of tastes and urges, mostly using the occasional piece of adult material he's managed to get his hands on, books and prints that he keeps insistently hidden in a storage bin under the bed somewhere. All that was normal, nothing more than images of nudity with lewd posing.

But you just had to go and present an issue. It was so trivial, it's almost irritating that the inconvenience presents itself, forcing him to use valuable time to handle it. And it turned out to be a misunderstanding, too. Repeated absence, some professor claimed you hadn't showed up all semester, it led to a gradual increase of strikes to your conduct record and eventually, seeing as there were no bigger issues for him to handle that day, they sent him off to deal with something usually left to lower-ranked individuals. Turns out you'd registered for a different section of the same class, forgot to officially turn in the form to unregister from the former, and apparently fail to check your assigned mailbox at all. Admittedly, it was a bit irritating to have time wasted on something that was preventable, had you not been so airheaded, so his tone certainly reflected that.

—and in the future, *please* try to remember things like this.

I know! I know, I'm really sorry....

And if you'd checked your mail, you would have gotten all the letters the office has been sending you.

I know...

It was frustrating. At first, it was just pure irritation being taken out on you. But you just kept apologizing. Bowing your head, clasping your hands together.

I'm soooo sorry, I'll be more responsible in the future, I promise! S-so... please don't get me in trouble...

That was it. He can still hear those exact words in his head, exactly as you said them. The trepidation and nervousness in your voice. The way you bit your lip. The pleading look on your face.

A completely non-sensual interaction. Unpleasant, even. Something someone would have to be some kind of lust-obsessed pervert to find anything remotely sensual about, to think anything of beyond the plain, simple reality of the exchange and situation itself.

That's why it felt so bizarre, suddenly becoming aware of an increasing heartrate. The sudden sensation of heat across his body. A fuzzy, tingling sensation in his abdomen. And at first, he could have, albeit with some embarrassment, admitted to himself it was because yes, you did immediately strike him as pretty, and was ready to chastise himself for not having better control over himself, to let that influence him. In his conscious mind, he intended to merely tell you what you wanted to hear, that it was fine. After all, such a trivial misunderstanding would be unfair to hold against you, and he had every intention on just letting it go and taking any notes of the incident off your record. He was going to just tell you that it was all fine and to forget about it.

That's not what came out of his mouth, though.

I can't afford to have you making more unnecessary inconvenience in the future. You'd be more incentivized if you had some deduction of some kind.

No, really, I don't -- that's not necessary. I mean, it can't be that big of a deal, it's just a form...

It felt strange. Like it just came out of his mouth without thinking. He's normally not that much of a stickler, he's reasonable, and usually forgives first-time unintentional mistakes.

And now you're trivializing it?

N-no! No, I didn't mean it like that, I just...

To you, he comes off as irritated, but in truth his heart is beating so fast, there's this weird swelling feeling in his chest. That swelling feeling surges when your eyes widen and you start to apologize and stammer. The look of sudden panic on your face, the nervousness in your entire demeanor.

You're intimidated and nervous. The little things he says control and change your entire demeanor. Speaking harshly and coldly makes your panic worse. What happens is dependent on what he decides, and you're standing there pleading with desperation. And when he agrees, you sigh a huge breath of relief, thank him just as profusely as you were apologizing moments before.

You're very lucky I'm willing to strike this off your record entirely. Normally, I'd at least make a note of past negligence to fulfill academic responsibility.

I know, I know, thank you...

He thinks about that initial interaction a lot. For the rest of that day, it wouldn't leave his mind, even at night when he laid there, looking up at the ceiling. Unable to determine why he said all that. Drew out your suspense and worry.

But he's perceptive enough that he can figure it out, after some reflection. It just felt nice, to have that degree of control over you. Amusing, endearing even, how you reacted to it all, and a sort of exciting buzz at the awareness of having so much control over someone. That should be something he's fairly used to, but he's never felt this sensation when dealing with anyone else. It's usually just a responsibility that he doesn't have any particular emotions about.

And maybe, seeing your intimidation and dread and pleading was, in and of itself, entertaining. Pleasing. A sort of egotistical rush.

You now recognize him, smile and wave when you see him, despite the unpleasant nature of that situation. He's not at all resentful of you or anything for it. In fact, he's taken a sort of fascination with you since then... not that you'd really know, given it's all from a distance, aside from that one aforementioned time he fumbled the attempt to talk to you normally.

He can't look at you without feeling shameful about the thoughts that begin to sprout — as dumb and forgetful as you apparently may be, you're so sweet to him when you see him, and seem so kind and pure-spirited, and here he is wanting to do horrible things to you, it makes him feel so guilty and ashamed and he sulks for hours... usually before jerking off to the thoughts again, unable to resist the urge to do so. Admittedly, he's hoping that expressing the urges that way will make him more rational and less prone to impulse in real life.

More importantly, he can't look at you without stripping you down in his head. He hates that, keeps trying to chastise himself for it. It's the sort of behavior that's reserved for rapists and perverts, not people like him. But it just keeps happening. Every time he looks at you, he keeps imagining all the pieces coming off, tries to envision your skin, the curvature of your body. It usually serves as a preceding thought to far worse ones.

You're so nice, you've never done anything wrong to him. You have such a cute smile. Your heart is pure and sweet. That makes it so much worse, makes him feel a knot in his chest, whenever he tries to keep the fantasies wholesome and normal, if he can't fight them off entirely — only to fail at that too. It makes it so much worse that, no matter how much he tries to envision you smiling and moaning and encouraging him, once he gets hot and into a lust-crazed haze, it always drifts. Before he can even stop himself, the images become you whimpering and teary-eyed, looking scared, trembling. He sees your arms straining hard against restraints, feels your body squirm against his, hears little gasps and hisses of pain when he reaches down to bite your neck and digs his nails into your hips and so many other things, oh, so so so many other things he could do to you, things to make you squeal and squirm and clench and sniffle and beg and cry. He can hear it, a side to your voice he's never heard in reality, higher in pitch and strained, stop, stop, I'm sorry, please—

And the fantasy always breaks there, because once he gets to the part he can hear your voice in his head is always what pushes him over the edge. His eyes bolt open and his muscles tense as cum splatters onto his stomach, and he's left to lay there panting and staring up at the ceiling, wallowing, feeling like he's the worst person in the world.

It's getting harder. He starts to get jittery, like some sort of psychological itch that can't be scratched except for one specific way, one he can't do. He can't.

He can just barely justify it to himself with the notion that fantasizing helps. As long as he does this, he won't do anything to you. At least, that's his hope...

But splashing cold water on his face whenever he feels weird is getting less effective. He feels a sense of dread, worried about his own self and his own mind, when he finds himself spacing out and absent-mindedly wandering around, but just so happening to make a direct path for your residence. He feels a nagging sense of sickness when he gradually caves to one urge after another -- first following you around, then increasing the amount of time he spends doing so, then using the master key he's provided with to break into your room and lie on your bed and inhale your scent for over an hour, then to start stealing clothes out of your room. It makes him feel sick to his stomach, makes him feel shameful and dirty, but it's overridden by the haze of arousal and lust and desperation.

He knows it's getting worse, and that his self-control is rapidly waning. He comes to acknowledge that he's lying to himself when he reasons that doing this will satiate the desires, prevent him from doing something worse. That it will only accelerate it instead. That it's a matter of time and circumstance from this point forward, and that he's just a step away from going out of his way to create the right circumstances. That he's going to commit a crime, and not because it's the only way he could obtain the physical act itself, but because he wants to, because he wants it to be forceful and frightening and brutal. As much as he wishes he didn't want that, he knows his inner mind does, his body does, he wants that, craves it, needs it.

Maybe he could break into your room while you sleep. Put a hand over your mouth. Keep you in the dark, only whisper so you can't recognize his voice. Then you wouldn't know. Ah, but then, if he had that once, if he could experience that once, there's no way he'd be able to keep it at only once. There's no way he could just walk out and leave you there and live without ever getting to do it again. He has to do something, but there's nothing he can do that isn't a terrible idea for anything but the immediate few minutes it would take place.

What if he just... did it? Without even concealing his identity? Would you tell anyone? Would you not, because you'd think no one would believe you? Would you be too afraid of him to do that? Would you allow it over and over and over, to the point that you would just accept it as your fate? Would it eventually break your mind into accepting him, too?

He doesn't end up having to think it through, or plan it out, or even finally give up resistance to the urges enough to make an active effort to go through with it. No, he gets something much easier. So much so, so coincidental and perfect, it feels like some kind of joke, like it can't even be real, when he gets that knock on his door late at night, freezing up entirely when he sees your sheepish, apologetic face.

I'm so sorry sir, it's just... I locked myself out of my residence hall, I don't know anyone else I could go to this late... I thought maybe you have some kind of key that can get into the halls...?

For a moment, he doesn't respond, and you're almost afraid you've upset him. He stands there slowly blinking, expression blank, staring forward at you, completely still. The silence carries for just a few seconds, just enough to feel awkward, before he speaks — that is, lies on immediate impulse.

No, I don't. Sorry.

There's an odd dullness to his eyes, it almost makes you feel uneasy, but you deem it easily explicable as tiredness due to the late hour.

O-oh, alright, sorry to bother—

You can stay in here.

There's a few seconds of pause. He seems to recognize the somewhat surprised look on your face, and adds,

I have a chair I can sleep in. You shouldn't be outside so late at night. I'll allow you to stay here for the night. It's probably best for your safety.

The words come out of his mouth before he can think them through, impulsive, and hopefully not so instantaneously after you just barely finish your own words that it came across as odd. He can't really tell how he's coming across, too deep into a daze. He can't read the expression on your face either, as if his brain is short-circuited, unable to focus on or process anything. It takes another moment for him to realize he's still standing in the doorway, and takes a step back.

And you know it's strange, sure. But again, it's reasonable, it's late, he's tired. And he's extending such a kind gesture for someone he really doesn't know all that well, you'd feel bad for rejecting it, and thereby obligated to agree. It's only natural that unsavory ideas briefly cross your mind, but for someone like him, both in character and in position, you don't really worry about something like that, you trust him far more than you would a regular guy.

Thank you so much!

He doesn't even nod in acknowledgement, merely steps to the side as you make your way in. You're taking in the predictable neatness of the room around you as you listen to the click of him locking the door back up for the night, and then, the slow, heavy sound of each step taken from behind you drawing closer and closer, as you set down the things you had on you, a jacket and a bag. Your lips part and you inhale just before asking if it's okay to put them where you did, but a hand slams down onto your throat before you can speak.

#.cn

[pparadiselost]

the death of a wallflower.

university professor hinata shoyo x university student fem reader your crush on the hot new professor gets out of hand. warning(s): nsfw, unhealthy relationship dynamic (teacher x student), named best friend oc, reader has an unnamed ex, pov change for one of the scenes, non-virgin reader, use of american university setting minors do not interact.

XX UNIVERSITY

XX SEMESTER

WEEK 2

“no, like, our new professor is seriously so hot. like, forget-your-shitty-ex kinda hot. ugh, just wait till you’re in class! you have to believe me!”

minnie’s words echo like the foreshadowing of some porno as you gather yourself outside of the classroom. leave it to your roommate and self-proclaimed best friend to describe the newest professor at your university as “hot,” when most of the faculty are pushing 70 and have the self-awareness of a brick. you honestly have no reason to be this nervous before lecture, but while it might be the start of a boring week two of the semester for your scholarly peers, it’s your first day.

it’s also just your luck to end up with the world’s most horrendous stomach bug right before the semester started. after a few heated email exchanges and a lot of heavy-lifting from minnie, your advisor and dean begrudgingly excused you from classes until you were feeling better.

and now here you are. you took the liberty of showing up to class just a few minutes early to try and talk to your professor to see what exactly you missed, and maybe find a seat. you assumed at this point everyone had their unofficial “official” seats, and you were praying that you could score one somewhere close to minnie.

whatever.

you shake your head like a dog to clear whatever doubts tumbling around in your skull. you’ve dealt with your share of mean professors before, and between forcing yourself to go to class and puking on the floor and dealing with whatever screaming gripe they’ll give you now, you had sagely decided the latter was the better option.

you brace yourself, and you tiptoe into the classroom.

the door squeaks open, and you shuffle inside, almost scared to see what’s on the other side of the door. the classroom is empty, unsurprisingly, and the fairly sized classroom zooms in on a central point: at the professor’s desk. a bag is slumped next to it, and some papers are placed into somewhat neat piles on the desk. a projector illuminates the blackboard behind with its default display.

“ah, welcome in! you’re early!”

you nearly jump out of your own skin at the energetic voice that greets you. standing a few paces from the desk is a young man, dressed crisply in a white button down and formal pants. your eyes crawl up his physique, trailing over the undone button at his throat and the sleeves tastefully rolled up to reveal his toned arms. they’re all classically handsome features, but nothing to write home about—nothing a quick swipe on tinder won’t satiate. 

you step a bit closer. “uh- good morning… i’m a student in your class. i think i emailed you about this a while back, but i was the one that got really sick last week and couldn’t come in.”

you braced yourself for the tirade that you were so used to, the mountain of homework and make up lectures that were bound to be awaiting you. god, you weren’t some kind of study freak, but no one ever likes starting the semester on the wrong foot, especially when that wrong foot means making up a week’s worth of classes all across the board. 

except the tirade never really comes. the man laughs, “so that’s who you are! gotcha, gotcha. well, i can say for sure that it’s much better to see you in person rather than the little yearbook picture i have on my class roster. um… minerva, was it? she said she’d fill you in on the notes that you’ve missed.”

you perk up. “yeah, minnie’s my roommate. and she’s helped me catch up the best she can.”

“awesome! it’s good to hear students helping each other. i mean, that’s what having classmates and roommates is all about anyway,” he continues. you can’t help but notice the charm in his voice, the light rhythm that makes it feel like he’s dancing with his words rather than rambling. “reminds me of my own roommate. tall guy. super awkward. only cared about volleyball. he had this god awful middle part that chased away any girl that remotely found him attractive.”

you fight back a small giggle. he was funny. “i’m glad to say that minnie isn’t anything like that. if anything, i’d say she’s the opposite…”

“oh?” your professor quickly quips. “bit of a boy magnet, is she? i’m just messing with you. but yeah, like i said, it’s lovely to finally meet you. if you have any troubles, don’t ever feel scared to reach out to me. i’d rather that i know what’s going on than to be left guessing, and i promise you whatever ‘stupid’ thing you’re worrying about, i’ve definitely done dumber in my own undergrad years. sound cool?”

your eyes trail upwards again, from the outline of his small waist and broad chest. your mind wanders momentarily, wondering what his workout routine must be. you gloss over his smooth face, marveling at the smooth skin and the sunshine-like smile that tickles his mouth. he really couldn’t be that much older than you, despite being a professor, and if you saw him on the streets, outside of this academic setting, you would have never guessed him to hold such a position of authority with a face this young. his eyes are just like yours, lively but with a tinge of timidness that invites you to probe a bit deeper, a bit closer. and his hair: it’s the most beautiful, sensual shade of sunset orange.

it isn’t like your breath is being taken away in one fell swoop. rather, it feels like he’s coaxing it from you, stealing it away subtly so that you’re left to lean in, fiending for it like a fish caught out of water. 

your gaze meets his, and you’re shoved back down to the correct plane of reality. fuck—you were not about to be caught staring like a creep at your professor on day one on all days…!

you nod shakily. “it’s nice to meet you too, professor-”

“-hinata,” he finishes, beaming even wider at you. “although, i told the class they can call me shoyo if they want to. i’m still pretty new to the whole teaching thing, so being called ‘professor’ feels a bit weird.”

“ah,” your voice drops in volume a tad, “i’m personally more comfortable with ‘professor’, so i’ll stick to that, i think. if it’s okay.”

he holds his hand up in mock surrender. “totally chill. whatever rocks your boat. if you don’t have any more questions, then make yourself comfortable. i think minnie tends to sit… over there, if you wanna get settled down. i know you already got the notes from her, but i promise you didn’t miss much in the first week, so don’t sweat anything.”

“thank you!” you breathe, getting ready to turn on your heel and march to the area professor hinata pointed out. something inside your rib cage trembles as if shocked with electricity, an anticipation for a breath of fresh air that only the beginning of a new semester could bring. you don’t know what to call it exactly. it isn’t quite excitement nor is it giddiness, but a liminal middle ground in between all of it where dread, the need for poise, and opportunity intermingle.

“hey.” 

you glance over your shoulder at the sound of your professor’s voice. your professor grins at you, and in that split second, at you alone. his eyes twinkle fondly.

your breath catches in the back of your throat. 

“let’s have a good semester together, you and i.” 

the brown of his irises feel as if they’re going to swallow you whole. 

you tear your eyes away. 

…

…

…

“sooooooooo,” minnie practically slams your dorm room’s door shut and corners you in the small excuse of a room that you call home while at school. her eyes are brimming with the mischievous glimmer that you know all too well, and she stares you down with the most expectant look on her face. “isn’t the new professor hot? exactly like i told you?”

you dump your bag on the ground, crawling into your bed and immediately finding your place under the sheets. it’s been a long first day for you, and despite feverishly praying to whatever divinity was up above that the rest of your professors would be as kind as professor hinata was, it looks like your calls went wholly unanswered.

you massage the slight ache in your shoulders. “i mean, yeah, he’s an attractive man, and i guess he’s pretty nice. but nothing super out of the ordinary.”

minnie sticks her tongue out, and she pretends to boo you. she huffs her chest out and plants her hands squarely on her hips, clearly not impressed by your review of the new eye candy she’s scoped out. “you’re no fun! i bet you’re only saying this because you’re still hung up about that pathetic scum of a human being you call an ex. c’mon! the best way to get over a shitty boy is to simply find another one!”

something inside your chest twinges with a dull ache, and you flop back onto your bed. “as much as i would love to share your optimism, i don’t think hopping from one boy to another will make me feel any less shitty about this breakup.”

“well, you gotta give me something to work with! and besides,” she sidles up to the side of your bed, and she leans in close to your face, as if she’s whispering a secret to you. “professor hinata isn’t a boy. he’s a man.”

you hold back the urge to throw a pillow at your roommate. you’re grateful that you have minnie to get you out of your own mind sometimes, but at the same time, she better be grateful that she has you to ground her to reality. 

“he’s our professor, minnie!” you pretend to scold her, but you fail at holding back an exasperated smile. “i’m all for you homie hopping through whatever ligma sigma dickma frat you’ve got your eyes on, but faculty are strictly off limits!”

“hey, be nice to me!” she laughs back, reaching over to poke at your cheeks. “doesn’t professor hinata look super young though? like he can’t be that far off from our age. that doesn’t make it that bad, does it?”

you shake your head. “i don’t care how old he is! pursuing your professor is a huge no-no!”

“ughhhhh! i’m trying to find the silver lining for you here! i’d much rather you drool over your hot professor than mope around in bed over your ex all day, okay? besides, it’s not every semester that we get to have a class together AND have a professor that doesn’t dress like fucking paddington,” she groans dramatically. she’s basically swooning at this point, acting as if the notion of a new, handsome romantic prospect for her to chase after and you being disinterested is the end of the world for her. you’re used to this song and dance by now, and you know she’s being theatrical just to get on your nerves. 

it’s funny to you. minnie has a talent for making you laugh over the stupidest things. you barely stifle back a giggle. “leave paddington out of this! the poor guy has done nothing wrong.”

“you get my point!”

you settle back into your cozy spot on your bed, snuggling into your sheets. you don’t want to open up the can of worms that catching up on homework would be just yet, and as fantastical as minnie’s romantic endeavors could be, they make for a good distraction from all the responsibilities you don’t want to face yet. she glances at you lovingly, her fingers drumming against your rackety bed frame.

“but you do think he’s hot, yeah?” she starts. you snort.

“i said i found him to be an attractive man but nothing special, minnie.” you chew over your words, and your eyes flicker up to the white expanse of your ceiling. your mind conjures up images of your new professor, and the relief you had felt when he had treated you so warmly.

he was such a sunny young man, and true to minnie’s guess, probably not that much older than you were. most definitely fresh out of school and figuring things out for himself, your quick interaction with him before class felt more like talking to a classmate or a teacher’s assistant at best, rather than a well-educated professor trying to test his craft and wrangle throngs of antsy college students. you liked talking to him. 

“i’d say he’s more charismatic than hot,” you offer up. minnie guffaws at your answer, and it’s her turn to roll her eyes.

“fine, fine, i get it! you’re not going to bite at whatever temptation i throw at you. that’s my roommate for you, always the toughest nut to crack,” she sighs and shakes her head at you as if you’re hopeless, but you know she means well. there’s nobody else in the world who would care for you like this, go this much out of her way to make sure you don’t feel alone. 

it’s almost enough to dispel the thoughts of your new professor from your mind. 

almost.

your heart softens around the edges when your mind pushes the image of him alone with you into your mind. just that one cadence, no longer than thirty seconds at most, when it was only the two of you in that empty classroom, with no other soul in the room to shield you from the incoming stranger wedging his way into your life—just you and him, caught in that suspended moment.

he’s still so beautiful in your memory. 

“-anyways,” minnie’s loud voice jostles you from your thoughts. heat rushes to your face in embarrassment, as if you had been caught doing something bad red-handed. she doesn’t seem to notice, and you choke back your guilt on losing track of yourself over your new professor in favor of whatever minnie’s spouting next. she purses her lips in thought. “i’m feeling kinda peckish, so what do you say about getting takeout for dinner?”

“we have food in our fridge,” you curtly remind her.

she groans in utter defeat, flopping onto you over the side of your bed. “you’re such a goody two shoes! what in the world will ever get you to break?”

…

…

…

WEEK 4

what in the world, indeed. 

you fidget listlessly inside professor hinata’s office. you’ve never seen him with glasses before, but a pair is perched slightly crooked on his nose as he clicks at the big monitors on his desk, probably pulling up whatever answer you scrawled out on the google form he had sent out a few days prior. you’ve always been a little antsy whenever meeting with a professor in general, but make it a mandatory one-on-one meeting with a certain professor that seems to make your heart act up and you’re vibrating so hard that you might as well cause an earthquake.

“so…,” he starts, skimming your response, “i really like what you wrote here. think you can tell me more about what you have planned for your final project?”

you lick your lips and swallow, and you’re suddenly aware of how dry your mouth is. “uh, yeah. i’m sure minnie’s already told you most of it-”

you stop dead in your tracks when professor hinata raises a hand, cutting you off. you pause, a prickle of dread swirling in your stomach.

he smiles apologetically. “sorry, i really don’t like interrupting students. but this is your final project, and i want to hear your ideas. not minnie’s. i know you wrote that you two want to do it as a pair, and that’s fine. but your ideas are just as valuable as yours are, and this time is reserved so i can pick at your brain, not hers.”

“r-right…,” you murmur. your heart flutters the slightest bit when you realize he’s paying special attention to you, but you shut any excitement down immediately. you were a goddamn adult and a college student. what kind of person would you be if you couldn’t hold it together around your professor, who 100% without a doubt saw you as a pupil? you mentally scold yourself for finding your instructor’s undivided attention appealing.

“like you said,” you start up, your voice still quiet, “i thought it’d be nice to do a joint research thing with minnie, and we wanted to focus on our campus’ experience with single versus shared dorm life. we figured something like that would be easy to find professional data for on a much larger scale, so we can compare and contrast with our own findings.”

he hums to himself. you keep your eyes fixed on a point on the wall behind him, not wanting your eyes to wander. it isn’t like professor hinata always comes to class impeccably dressed in a suit and tie or anything, but he also has a horrendously good sense of fashion that makes you instinctively shy away a bit. he’s dressed nicely today too: in a sweater with a white button down underneath that peeks over the collar of the sweater and what should be loose black pants that fit tightly around his thighs. you hate yourself for noticing these details. 

“that sounds like a pretty solid plan to me. i like how far you’re thinking ahead. research like this usually takes a lot of time and energy, so it’s good to have a vision for what you plan to do at the end. do you have any thoughts as to how you’re going to collect data? i suppose reaching out to housing would help with pure numbers, but for tackling the more social and emotional parts, you’ll need to do that yourself.” 

you’re keenly aware of when he glances towards you, his gaze burning into you like a magnifying glass held up to the sun. god, you shouldn’t be so on edge around him, and yet something about how casual he is with you and just how sweet he is with you makes you that much more stiff. you don’t dare meet his eyes.

maybe it’s that vulnerable intimate one-on-one that’s making you so much more aware of his presence, or maybe it’s the close confines of his office, but you know you’re going to waver if you make eye contact with him. 

“minnie and i wanted to conduct physical surveys. we were planning on contacting the different r.a.s of each housing building and asking the school for the information to off campus housing managers. that way we can distribute questions as far as we can,” you recited stately. “we even considered maybe putting in a raffle reward for responses, which would incentivize people to actually respond instead of ignoring it.”

professor hinata whistles. “i’m impressed. you two have really thoroughly thought all of this through! you never fail to impress me with how much attention to detail you put with your schoolwork. i wish all of my students were as diligent as you were sometimes.”

you bite down on your tongue, and it takes all of your willpower to not let some kind of fucked up glee swell inside your chest. “thank you, professor. the idea was originally minnie’s idea, but i was the one that really did most of the work ironing out the kinks.”

he laughs heartily. “i can imagine. between the two of you, i can tell that you’re the more responsible one by a long shot. don’t get me wrong: minnie’s a wonderful student. but at the end of the day, it’s still you cleaning up her messes, isn’t it?”

“yeah,” you bashfully admit. you can’t even count the number of times you’ve been the one to pick her up from her drunken escapades or be the one to force her into bed after holding her hair while she pukes. as much emotional stability as she gives you, she does need a tad bit of mothering. “but she’s still a great friend. i couldn’t ask for a better roommate. we might have opposite personalities, but we balance each other out perfectly, i think.”

“that’s good to hear! it’s always nice to know my students are getting along. especially quieter ones like you.” he leans forward in his seat, almost as if he’s whispering a secret to you. “us professors aren’t allowed to have favorites, but it’s human nature to always root a little for the well-behaved underdogs.”

you swallow a bit more harshly. there’s a lump in your throat. you really, really need to do something about whatever you feel towards your professor, because you know deep down that it’s wrong to keep wanting his attention like this. he’s being friendly and watching out for you, because he knows you’re the plain mouse-like student amongst a sea of wild young adults carving their way in the world. he’s only helping you, only complimenting you because he’s genuine and wants to see you do well, and you’re hoarding that attention and craving it like a man starved.

“she’s done a lot to get me where i am right now,” you admit, wanting to deflect. “i broke up with my now ex-boyfriend over the summer, and she did so much to make sure i was doing okay. i know you probably don’t care that much about messy college student drama, but… she has my back until the end.”

he raises an eyebrow. “i don’t mind. trust me, professors love hearing about student drama as much as the students do. also if it helps me get to know you better, then it doesn’t hurt, does it? having more information, no matter how silly, is better than knowing nothing about you at all.”

“i mean, it really is silly.” you’re trying very hard not to look him in the face. your eyes flit everywhere but, looking at your hands, the neckline of his sweater, the peeling wallpaper, anything. “i really liked that guy, and he ran off and cheated on me. i caught him red handed and did the right thing by confronting him and immediately breaking things off, but it’s not like you can wake up and decide that you don’t like someone anymore, no matter how awful he was to me.”

“i’m sorry that happened to you. it’s never fun to feel betrayed by someone you trusted, especially romantically.” he taps his fingers together.

you wave him off, shrugging. “i’m a lot better about it now! it hurts every now and then, but i’m choosing to focus on myself. i did nothing wrong, and it’s better for me to have cut him off than to turn a blind eye. and minnie’s always inviting me out to all sorts of things to take my mind off of it too.”

“that’s good. i wish i could say relationships get easier once you become an adult, but… there’s no cheat key to things like love. you gotta roll up your sleeves and do the nitty gritty work.” he feigns rolling his sleeves up, and he shakes his head. a blur of orange flickers like candle light in the corner of your eye. “even full grown adults do terrible things to each other. but just like you said, it makes you appreciate the bonds that stay true to you even through your hardships.”

“clearly,” you breathe. your voice is airy, almost strained. god, he was just so easy to spill your heart to. why couldn’t your ex be like this? professor hinata is thoughtful, intelligent, and emotionally mature. you need to step away, need to keep your distance, but even your attempts to deflect yourself away from the growing attachment you have to your instructor only ends with him expertly spinning things into his favor.

he chuckles to himself and leans back into his seat. “my mom would always say that it’s better to be single and free than to be miserable and tied down. besides, you’re only in college! the big wide world is waiting for you! i promise you, there are far better guys out there that can treat you the way you deserve to be treated. one failed college relationship isn’t going to doom you for the rest of your life, okay? take this one from your prof.”

“i’m sure.” 

you don’t doubt his words. the little resolve, the sliver of morality lingering inside your turmoiled brain, is crackling. it’s wrong to lean this forward towards your professor, to grasp and grip at the stray straws you can see, and yet, it feels so good. the heady silence that settles over the two of you is reminiscent of your first meeting with him, back to the moment when it was only you and him in the same way it is now. 

but things are different today. he knows more about you. you’ve learned to trust him. he’s always respected you, but it’s clear that he treats you like an adult on equal footing with him rather than your other professors who act as if you were born yesterday. he genuinely cares for you.

you subconsciously steel your stomach, and you sneak your eyes upwards from the hemline of his sweater. your gaze trickles cautiously over his broad chest and his neck, over the detail of his lips and nose, apple-like cheeks, before eventually meeting his inquisitive one. you unintentionally let out a choked sigh, like the wind is being squeezed out from your lungs.

his eyes light up and smile at you, as if to say “finally.” 

you can’t breathe.

you want to lean in; you want to close that impossible gap that tenses and pulses between the two of you. what kind of tension is this? something so forbidden, so magnetic, so undeniable yet unavailable for the taking… it feels like torture, to see your meek reflection staring back at you in the wide sclera and captivating brown irises of professor hinata’s eyes, and to be able to do nothing about it. this was the devastating nature of attraction, knowing that your personal insanity might amount to nothing the very instant you handed your fate over to another.

knock knock knock. 

you nearly splutter over your own inhale before jerking away back into your seat. a loud knocking noise repeats itself around the small confines of his office, and you’re left stunned, your heart hammering like a death toll inside your tense ribcage. you drop your face down to the floor, not daring to tear your eyes away from anywhere other than the anchoring, humiliating safety of the ground.

“ah, looks like our time is up. it seems like the next student is here,” professor hinata explains, much to your simultaneous dismay and relief. this isn’t a line you can cross, and yet you crossed some kind of personal boundary you set up for yourself right there when you snuck a glimpse into your professor’s eyes. 

“i-i’ll get going. thank you for the meeting,” you stammer, hurriedly grabbing your things and almost stumbling over your feet to get to the door. “i’ll keep working on my project- and uh- i’ll reach out to you if i have any questions…!”

you don’t know what kind of face he must be making, not when you don’t have the courage to look at him again. you sprint out of the door, away from the tense sparks that lay dying out into fumes between the two of you, surely a machination of your deprived brain. the hallway echoes with the sound of your footsteps as you half-run-half-speed-walk away from the office, wanting to go anywhere else as quickly as your clumsy feet would take you.

how could you be so stupid? not only do you end up blabbing about a bad breakup to him, revealing that you’re single, but you’re idiotic enough to think that his goodwill is something you can entertain into something further.

you hate to admit it.

you’re falling in love with your professor. 

…

…

…

WEEK 7

“you should go out with me this weekend.”

“i’ll think about it.”

“pleaseeeeeeee? i basically have my outfit picked out, and i’m dying to get a matching one for you! it’s been so long since you let me dress you up, and i’m itching to do something fun with you for the weekend! please? pretty please? with sprinkles and oreos and whipped cream and cherries on top?”

you groan, tempted to slam your head into your desk. “minnie, i said i’ll think about it. i’ve already seen the five million instagram dms you’ve sent me begging to go to whatever frat party is being thrown.”

“it’s sig-chi,” she reminds you, as if that’s the important part. some of the students next to you shoot the two of you odd glances, and you flash a weak smile, inwardly apologizing for minnie’s obliviousness when it came to blurting your business. it wasn’t like the entire class heard, thank god, but the noise levels weren’t high enough where you could act a bit more stealthily. you wish it was, even if it was only to spare you from whatever social embarrassment your mostly well-meaning roommate was bound to put you through.

you turn your attention back to the work you’re trying to get done. you’re grateful professor hinata gives you time in class to work on your final projects. after that fateful instance in office hours with him where you came face-to-face with your feelings, you haven’t been able to really act normally around your instructor. fearing for your own sanity, you’ve done everything you possibly can to avoid interacting with him one-on-one. it’s not like something like that is particularly difficult to do, but your heart still skips a beat and lodges itself in the back of your throat when he catches you in the hallway, greeting you with a light “good to see you!” before squeezing past you.  

your cheeks sting with heat when you think about him. you bite down only your tongue, willing for the dull pain to ground you. minnie hums absentmindedly next to you, completely unaware of the hell that she’s partially responsible for, and she taps away at her phone. 

“hey, hey, look at this! isn’t this outfit sooooo cute? it would look perfect on you! and if i order it today, it should get here in time for the sig-chi function!” she sticks her phone screen in your face, and you instinctively recoil away. 

your blood runs cold when you see the outfit she’s showing you. it’s a cute sparkly little number, except for the fact that it would cover barely anything if you were to put it on. one wrong move in it, and your whole chest and ass would be out for the world to see. and that’s not including the already exposed midriff it would entail. “it’s cute, but- i don’t know if i could wear something like that…”

“nonsense! i can see you perfectly in it! it’ll be awesome!” she quickly cuts you off. “a cute but still slutty outfit is key to every good party! i bet you’ll have all of the guys in there chasing after you in this. oh, the color will sooooo make your eyes pop, and i think i can really make your features shine with a bit of my make up too…”

you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. embarrassment prickles like red-hot thorns underneath your face, and you try to grab at minnie’s phone. “minnie! you know i don’t wear things like that!”

“exactly! it’s all the more reason why! i’m trying to help you make your debut on the university dating scene,” the girl responds as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “you’ll be thanking me once you have a drop dead gorgeous six foot something basketball player wrapped around your little finger. trust me, i’m the expert in these kinds of things.”

“that’s not the point!” you hiss. ugh, you should really know better than to talk reason into her during one of her frenzied rants. you have absolutely zero intention of actually going out to one of these sleazy frat parties, let alone wear a skimpy outfit in order to bait a boy! you need time and patience to heal your broken heart, not… her wild schemes. you would rather bite off your tongue than go through whatever public humiliation ritual is involved with flirting at a frat party.

“ladies,” a deep yet sunny voice cuts through your annoyed inner monologue like a hot knife through butter, “i hope we’re actually getting work done. you wouldn’t be goofing off in my class, would you?”

your blood turns into ice for the second time within minutes, and when you peel your eyes up from your desk, your fear comes true when you see professor hinata standing there. his hands are on his hips, and despite his teasingly scolding tone, he’s sporting a bright smile.

you curse yourself inwardly, and you’re mentally scrambling to make an excuse.

“professor! look at this! wouldn’t this look so good on (y/n)?” minnie’s a step ahead of you. you audibly splutter over your breath, and you shove your head into your hands. she giggles as she sticks her phone in your professor’s face, and you’ve never been more mortified in your life.

professor hinata’s eyes widen at the more-lingerie-than-actual-clothing that’s being bombarded into his eyes, and he coughs, waving his hand. “woah, i’m not sure if i’m the right person to be asking that, minnie! why don’t we save the party talk for after class?”

she pretends to be exasperated, and she jokingly rolls her eyes. “ugh, you two are hopeless! you have to help me out here, professor. i’m trying to get (y/n) to loosen up a bit and have some fun with me! isn’t it true that you feel loads better when you do a bit of dolling up?”

“well, yes, but it looks like (y/n) here isn’t too keen on that idea. take it easy on the party going, and let’s focus more on your final project. trust me when i say your deadlines will be creeping up on you fast,” he easily brushes minnie off. she smiles brightly and nods, and only then does she finally turn to her computer and start compiling her research.

you want lightning to strike you down and burn you to a crisp. you peel your head out of your hands, and your weary eyes meet your professor’s. he grins understandingly at you, and he reaches forward to squeeze your shoulder empathetically.

“...!”

you grit your teeth, your eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights as electricity courses through your body. the skin where his hand just was feels like it had been burned, thrown completely off guard by the sudden contact.

“are you doing okay?” he whispers. his voice is soft and quiet, coaxing you out of your panicked state. it’s a voice reserved solely for you, one that only you can hear, and your blood is being weighed down by figurative iron when your heart flutters. “take it easy now. don’t let her goad you into doing something you don’t want to do.”

your lips feel clumsy. “she means well. i’m fine. she talks big, but she won’t actually do anything without my express permission.”

he’s more of a danger to you than minnie will ever be. you wish you had the courage or brainlessness to blurt something like that, but the bitter revelation stays curled up into the flesh of your still tongue, burning and scalding you like the unspoken confession it is.

“that’s good to hear. take care of yourself though. if she keeps fretting over you, you’ll make me worry too, you hear?” his nose crinkles a little when he squeezes your shoulder again. did he always have freckles? or are you only noticing them now that he’s up close and you have nowhere else to focus except for his face? you hate it, hate this tension, hate the way you can’t control yourself despite knowing better.

you hang your head, forcibly tearing your eyes away from your handsome professor. you lie through your teeth. “i’ll be okay, professor.”

…

…

…

“ohhhhh, fuck…!”

shoyo double, triple, quadruple-checked to make sure that his office door was firmly locked around him. it would be the literal death of his academic career if someone were to catch him doing what he was about to do, and he wasn’t that keen on throwing aside his future just yet. 

he had made a beeline for his office the moment class let out. it took every bone in his body, every last bit of willpower he has ever known in his entire life to keep his sunny facade up and to make sure no one would see his mask slip. he can’t afford it, and yet he’s still gambling too riskily. he’s cutting it too close to safety to relax fully, but he can’t stop.

his cock twitches and strains in his pants, begging for his attention. he leans his back against the firm wooden door, his breathing shallowing as lewd images flash behind his eyes. fuck—he really should know how to control himself better than this, actually listen to the angel in his brain telling him that he should really quit being so attracted to his students.

correction: student. 

correction again: you.

his fingers unconsciously unbuckle his belt, and his pants drop down to his ankles. he grits his teeth, a strangled breath escaping his clenched teeth as he palms the prominent bulge in his boxers. it was one thing to ride out his delusions on his own, savoring the forbidden dregs of toeing the line between professionalism and a taboo romance. 

you played the part so well too. like a frightened doe that would run away if he moved too quickly, you were good at keeping your walls up and fending off his quiet advances enough. the push and pull had him reeling: part of him wanting him to do better and to act properly as a new professor should, and another wondering how much cuter you’d be bent over his desk and your pretty cunt stuffed full of his cock.

“...shit-,” he hisses as his hands slip underneath his boxers. it only takes a few strokes for his cock to fully get hard, and the cool air of the office hits his sensitive skin like a flurry of ice. heat courses through his body, and he feels awful.

he shouldn’t be doing this. he shouldn’t be getting aroused by his student and jerking off in his office, but here he was. the last straw was seeing your roommate pitch that damn slutty outfit. you looked so innocent and so sweet, clearly not a party animal, but how often did your roommate swing you around? did you get down and wild if pushed far enough? shit, was your good girl thing just a ruse to get brownie points with him?

“fuck- fuuuuck…!” he starts stroking himself, palm swiping from base to tip, squeezing his cockhead a hair. dull pleasure swirls deep inside of his stomach, and he moves his hips into his palm, the friction downright addictive.

he imagines you in that outfit, your tits and ass basically out for the world to see. maybe you’d let your friend drag you out to her silly party. maybe you’d act shy there too, skirting around the sidelines of the dance room, sipping nervously on your drink. maybe the alcohol would make your head buzz a bit and you’d get a bit bolder. maybe you’d let some douchey frat bro feel you up, that dumb bastard not knowing how good he has it by getting your attention.

shoyo groans under his breath. god, you shouldn’t be wasting your energy and time on stupid college boys. all they would do is exploit you and leave you for dead, even though you were clearly the best thing to walk into their lives. 

he thumbs over his weeping tip, moaning throatily as he presses into his slit. his chest rises and falls, the electric feeling making his knees go weak. touching himself never felt this good. nothing came close to that buzzing high of being deprived of you.

his mind doesn’t stop wandering. raunchy thoughts of you dancing floods his brain. he imagines you grinding up against him, your soft ass pressing up against his crotch. he’d buck his hips against yours, let the heat mount as his hands wander over your body, that skimpy outfit of you doing nothing to protect you from him. you’d glance back at him, feeling his strong chest up on your back, the muscles of his arms tensing when you pull him flush against you. your eyes would have that drunken haze to them, intoxicated off of whatever was in your cup and getting down and dirty with your professor. 

it reminds him of his own idiotic undergraduate days, ones he thought he matured past when he became a proper working adult. clearly not, if the thought of dancing with you and feeling you up has him furiously fisting his hard cock. 

he needs to be inside you. he doesn’t want to feel his hand on his cock anymore. he wants to ruin that pristine image you have. he wants to see you crying and moaning, going from his stellar unassuming pupil to some cock crazed slut, begging for him to fuck you harder, to fuck you deeper, completely at his mercy. he wants to see your clothes in tatters with nothing to shield you from his almost animalistic lust, for you to see him as a proper grown man who wants to pamper you as much as he wants to ruin you rather than some stuffy professor.

it’s downright problematic how much he needs you. it’s more than just wanting to fuck you. no, he’s a gentleman. he wants you to want him, even if it’s only to ease the guilt nagging at his heart. you’re too smart for your own good, and yet when you’re surrounded by all these bad apples nipping at your heels and waiting for you to stumble, it’s no wonder that you’ve become so holed in.

you simply need someone who’ll treat you right. who’ll make you shine. who’ll be a proper lover, someone that can actually step up to that mantle.

“hah- god fucking dammit…! fuck- fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck- shit…! fucking hell, god- fuck!” his grip on his cock tightens, and he thinks his body is going to break. the dopamine buzz in his mind is almost explosive, and he knows he can’t control himself for much longer. he's close, so close, egged onto the edge by fantasizing about the thought of his student in a revealing party outfit. 

what kind of scum did that make him? if his mind was any clearer, he might know, but it isn’t. all that his sex-riddled brain can make out is how badly he wants your body. he craves the weird sick satisfaction of being the one to stretch out your sweet hole with his girthy length, to fill every little bit of your womb up with pumps of his hot cum, to pleasure you so thoroughly that he’ll ruin sex for the rest of your life—unless it’s with him, of course.

you flicker behind his eyes again. your body trembles against his as he pretends he’s thrusting into you rather than his pre-cum drenched hand. your cunt quivers and tightens around him, and your face is stained with your tears. mascara runs down your cheeks, and your lipstick is smeared messily all over your mouth. your legs shake around his hips as he fucks into you, tip easily squeezing and abusing that sweet spot deep inside your body.

“what a pretty girl.” he’d praise you, take his sweet time making sure you get all the loving you deserve. “how could someone as pretty as you stay out of my sight for so long?”

the image of you in his mind bucks your hips back against him, and the pleasure that explodes around his cock has him weak in the knees. he’s so close, so close to giving you his seed, to marking you as his. he’s humping into you desperately, wanting you to feel that impeccable stretch, pierced and plowed by him, driven to madness by his infatuation.

“i’m here! i’m yours!” you pant out. you’re starstruck. smitten. everything he’s wanted.

“-kgh…!” 

warmth overtakes his entire body, and strong ropes of cum escape from him. he grits his teeth, clenching his jaw and willing himself to keep his moans to himself. he’s dead meat if he gets caught masturbating to the thought of his student in his office. cum spills out all over his office floor and coats his hands, spilling and spilling like the pent up frustration bottled away in his heart. he furiously strokes himself through his orgasm, and sparks fly in his brain, pleasure coursing through his veins like one giant shockwave.

he throws his head back, gasping for air as his cock sputters, the last drops of virile cum leaking out and covering his fingers. his cock slowly softens in his hand, and he sucks in deep inhales, the cool air soothing the heat enveloping his entire body. 

shoyo’s mind feels fuzzy and distant, like he’s been shoved out of this plane of existence temporarily. his limbs are weak, and his abs tense and coil in on itself as he forces himself to steady his breathing. his vision is blurred slightly around the edges, but the world emerges back into focus with each passing inhale and exhale.

he hasn’t even fully come down from his high, but he knows that the lack of guilt he’s feeling is wrong. he should feel bad, he should feel dirty, he should feel like he’s done something criminal. what professor jerks off to his student and doesn’t feel any sort of post-nut clarity? he swallows heavily, but the knot in his throat that should be there is nowhere to be found.

he doesn’t want to give his growing interest in you any more attention than it needs. the last thing he should be doing is fanning the flames, and just now, he fed the monster when he should be depriving it, starving it.

his gaze crests downwards, towards the pristine streaks of pearly cum all over his hand and the floor. he knows he’s beyond saving when he bitterly wishes all of it could have gone inside of you and your sweet pussy instead of being wasted on nothing.

“...let’s clean up,” he whispers to no one in particular. he hates the apathy he feels, reaching almost robotically for the kleenex he kept on his desk, not a single prick of guilt or wrongdoing stirring in his body as he moves clumsily through the aftershocks of his orgasm to rid the proof that he had even touched himself to the thought of you to begin with. you don’t have to know that he ever jerked off to you or the fact that his desire for you grows and festers like a rotten wound inside of his heart. because that is what it is in the eyes of everything that is moral and good: rotten.

but what you don’t know can’t kill you.

…

…

…

WEEK 10

you had dreaded the next mandatory meeting with professor hinata for a while now. you had done such a good job of keeping a low profile for a while now, only ever addressing your instructor when it was absolutely necessary and whatever interactions you needed so that he wouldn’t pick up on the fact that you were purposefully avoiding him.

you had also done a good job at keeping minnie’s eagerness at bay. your final project for professor hinata’s class was a very handy excuse to avoid going out to parties with her, and crunching the data also did an exceptional job at keeping you busy instead of moping about in your room alone.

you’d think at this point in the semester you’d have quit being so hung up over your ex and your general failure of a love life, but seeing that your romantic prospect was a crush on your professor that you were actively trying to get over for your own sake, clearly things weren’t looking great for you.

but this was something you couldn’t escape. you sit on your hands to keep yourself from more or less bolting out of professor hinata’s office. his eyes are glued to the monitors on his desk in good professor-like fashion, scanning over the work you’ve handed in for him to check.

you’ve done this song and dance before. you’ve been stuck in his office before, too scared to make eye contact with your professor out of fear as to your heart betraying you. you have to keep a firm grip on yourself, and you look at your professor but make it a point not to look at his face.

“man, i know i say this every time i look over your progress, but you really do outdo yourself. you deserve a pat on the back,” he remarks, smiling proudly as he leans back in his seat. “you’re definitely in a good place for where we are in the semester, and as long as you keep at it, i’d say you’ll easily get an a for your final grade.”

“thank you,” you quietly state. he’s dressed simply today, in a black turtleneck and jeans. it makes his bright orange hair stand out that much more, and you try with all your might not to stare too hard at the obvious outlines of his toned pecs and waist straining against the fabric of the sweater.

he looks good today too. you want to eat your own fist and curl up into a ball to cry. it was like for every step forward your determination took to keep yourself in check, professor hinata threw a screwball at you to make you take two steps back.

you wish things would go as smoothly as it did the last time you were here, vulnerable to his scrutiny and left with your own flimsy defenses. the same thick tension hangs in the air again, and you pray that you won’t act out of place.

“so,” his voice cuts through your thoughts, like it always does. he knows how to catch you right off guard, wedging himself right into the split-second crack in your judgment. “all i’ve got to say is that i’m excited to see your actual final all put together. your findings are going to be really interesting, and i’m also looking forward to comparing what you find against whatever conclusions minnie draws from the same data. i don’t mean to get so personal again, but the two of you are so different that i wonder if your findings will be that stark too.”

you inhale, fixing your eyes on a spot behind him as if it was ritual to ground yourself that way. “i won’t spoil too much of her stuff, but she also has some pretty cool ideas. she’s told me some things that i wouldn’t have thought to consider in her part of the project, so… just something to get you more hyped!”

he chuckles, the low cadence of his voice making your heart flutter a beat. “i’ll take your word for it. i hope she’s treating you well. i know that you know your bond with her better than i ever will, but i really hope her energetic personality isn’t too overbearing for you. you come to me if you have any issues, okay?”

“i appreciate it. but i’m fine, really. she’s a lot, i know, but she means it out of love,” you reply methodically. this isn’t the first time someone has scrutinized your relationship with her, often misconstruing her enthusiasm and your more quiet personality to her mistreating you. sure, you two don’t see eye-to-eye about everything, but you wouldn’t hold her so close if she wasn’t someone who would see things through thick and thin for you. 

he nods. “alright, i trust you. but it never hurts to be vigilant. take it from someone with a bit more life experience than you do: people can still hurt you and claim that it’s from a place of love. this isn’t to say that minnie’s a bad person, but you and i have something special. i want you to stay safe.”

something lodges in the back of your throat. your mind swirls dangerously, and you can’t think. special? you and him have something special? you almost laugh unconsciously; it’s like despite all the work you did to keep your heart under lock and key, he’s determined to burrow his way in there. 

you hate how easily you crumble. all it took him was one well timed sentence with that stupidly charming voice of his, and it made weeks on weeks of self-imposed deprivation disappear like dust.

“don’t worry, i’ve been doing a lot of work to take care of myself. do you remember that ex i told you about? after him, i did a lot of work reevaluating the people closest to me and whether or not i trusted them blindly,” you hesitate, pursing your lips and sucking your cheeks in a little. you comb over your next thoughts carefully. talking with professor hinata is a mental game of its own, and you feel like you’re playing against an impossible opponent. “there’s… definitely a more eloquent way for me to have phrased all of that, but… you get the point.”

“i do. god, you poor thing. how could anyone hurt someone like you like he did? i know i’m biased as your professor, but even then… you’re so bright and kind. he really fumbled. that’s my two cents.” his shoulders shake a bit as he laughs, the sound coming from somewhere deep inside of his chest. your stomach feels queasy, and every part of your body wants to swoon. your attraction to him is trouble. it’s fatal. 

you dig your nails into the flesh of your palms. the stinging pain does little to bring you back to your good conscience, but it’s something to focus on other than the hazy lapses in judgment that dance inside your mind. “it’s all growing pains. this is what being an adult means, doesn’t it? you said so yourself last time we talked. there’s bound to be someone better out there in the world.”

you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s looking at you. the office feels constricting and so much smaller than you remember it to be, as if the walls are actively moving in closer and keeping you trapped in there with your deathly charismatic professor. 

“yes.” his voice drops a bit in volume, and it sounds almost intimate. “yes, i did say that.”

something possesses you. it creeps in quietly, like a drop of ink dispersed into a glass of clear water. no, you shouldn’t say that; whatever was plaguing you had taken root months ago. whatever you were trying to save was just a remnant of the ruin in your head. you swallow thickly, almost like you were trying to press your logic, your goodness, your moral conscience back down into nothingness.

you lift your face. his sweet eyes are there to greet you, and they light up when you meet his gaze. his eyes are warm and welcoming, and you’re instantly entranced. he’s beautiful, insanely beautiful, and the brown color has you floored. you want to reach out and cup his face, and you want to just stare into his eyes forever. it’s like he’s a siren that’s called out to you specifically, tempting you to inch closer and to let him take you away, entranced forever. your lips start quivering. you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t reflect and let out one last pathetic struggle to cling to what you know to be right.

maybe things would have been different then. maybe if you tried harder, you’d have picked the morally correct thing. maybe you’d walk out of professor hinata’s office unscathed, your relationship tense but still at the boundary it should be at, and you’d graduate and put your crush behind you as nothing more than a silly infatuation. 

but you don’t. some repressed part of your mind slips. the words tumble from your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“i wish it could be you.”

you instantly throw your hands over your mouth, your eyes widening in shock. regret flashes through your entire being, and your face burns with shame. professor hinata gasps softly, but he doesn’t say anything.

“sorry-,” you fumble, your stomach twisting into horrid knots. panic shoots through your brain, and you’re screaming internally at yourself. you want to say something, anything, apologize profusely, but the gears in your head won’t turn. your entire mental processes are overrun with nothing but sheer panic, and you feel like your brain has turned into a piece of useless metal. “i-i’m sorry…! i didn’t mean it like that- i wasn’t thinking… i just- i don’t know what came over me.”

“hey, hey, calm down.” he reaches forward, leaning over his desk, and a firm hand plants itself on your knee. you almost jerk away from him, like his touch would hurt you, and your professor can see the wild, feral fear in your eyes.

it’s one thing to deal with your illicit feelings on your own, but to accidentally blurt them and make them known to him? to professor hinata? the very object of your forbidden affections?

“it’s okay. it’s okay. i’m being serious, it’s alright. there’s no need to freak out.” his words cut into the blinding flurry of thoughts in your head. “talk to me, here. you good?”

you nod frantically, forcing a deep breath in through your nose. “i’m fine. i’m okay, i promise. i… please ignore what i just said.”

he retracts his hand. he swallows, and you can see his adam’s apple bob underneath the neckline of his turtleneck sweater. you should know better than to look into his eyes again, not when every time looking into his face spelled trouble for you, but when you stare up at him helplessly, he looks nothing like the bubbly, carefree professor you knew.

his pupils are blown wide open, and there’s a kind of intensity settling inside of his eyes that you’ve never seen before. his lips are parted just slightly, like he’s about to say something but the words are caught on the tip of his tongue. a shiver tiptoes down your spine. he looks like a man haunted, the once cordial candlelight-esque brown of his irises running big and reckless like a wildfire. 

you don’t recognize this side of him, but you don’t dislike it either. you lick your lips quickly, suddenly aware of your extremely dry mouth.

he lets out a deep exhale through his nose. “...i need you to listen to me.”

“i am,” you squeak back. your mind flashes back to minnie, to your superstar queen bee of a roommate. how would she navigate something like this? knowing her, she would navigate this gracefully. she could probably play it off as a joke and laugh around with professor hinata. she could bat her eyelashes and charm him, maybe pass this off as a bit of awkward flirting and walk away scot free. you’ve never had the same social grace that she manages to pull off so effortlessly. 

“i… i apologize if i’m reading too much in between the lines.” he sounds strained, as if he’s holding a part of him back. his eyes are locked onto you, honed in as if you’ll skirt away out of his sight. “but i don’t think either of us can ignore whatever it is we have going on. i want to make myself clear here. i am your professor, and you are my student. the mature, responsible thing for me to do as your instructor is to ignore your remark and to move on. if that is what you want, then i will let you walk out of my office. we can pretend nothing happened. everything that happened here stays between us.”

you pause, and you wring your hands together. you know that that’s the choice you should take. that your relegated role in this song and dance is to be the good kid and to never stray away from your place as a nobody bookworm with good grades and nothing special. and yet your mouth moves, “...is there another option?”

he clenches his jaw. he has to be at his limit, just as much as you are. you see the edge in his eyes, flaring like sparks, waiting for you to touch and him to come away burned. you don’t care. you’re hurtling straight at the point of no return, and you’re burning up, beautiful and flaming and waiting to be consumed into nothingness.

“i… we take care of this whole thing. but i want to make sure you want this as much as i do. i hope you understand the gravity of what this means for both of us. it’s very, very wrong for a teacher and a student to be in love with each other.” professor hinata takes a big breath in, and he shoves his hand through the wild tufts of his orange hair. “but if you are insistent on pursuing this route with me, so long as you’re willing to accept your responsibility, then…” 

he stops, and he whispers the last part, barely and only loud enough for your ears, “...i can’t say that i can refuse you.”

your hands curl into decisive fists in your lap. so this is where you are. these are the conditions that life has mercilessly thrown at your feet. your heart and brain are at odds with each other. your mind screams at you to think of your future, that your life would certainly be ruined if anyone would find out that you had an illicit relationship with your professor. and what about him? it would spell a certain social death for him too if he were to be found out.

but your heart begs. you’ve ignored its cries for basically your entire life now, always picking the expected thing, pushing down your own wants in exchange for the security and the safety of a quiet life. this is one time in your life that you’ve truly wanted something, truly yearned for it with your entire existence. how is it fair to deny this from yourself? haven’t you given enough up? you gave up sociability when making friends with minnie, gave up a chance at normalcy when breaking up with your ex, and now love with professor hinata?

“i know there’s a right answer, professor hinata,” you hang your head. uneasiness claws at your ribcage, but the desire bubbling up inside of you hurts even more. “but i’m sorry. i don’t think i have it in me to be good anymore.”

he waits a beat, and the silence hangs above you like the weight of a million sins. the laugh he lets out is airy, relieved. “i was hoping you’d say that. well… come here. let me have you.”

you don’t know how you don’t trip over your own feet as you get up. you walk over to him as if in a trance, looking down at your professor with shaking eyes. he looks so confident as he grins up at you, legs spread slightly in that old office chair of his, every part of him just as inviting and tempting as the day you first laid eyes on him.

you’re practically crawling into his lap, and his strong arms are around you. his mouth is instantly on yours, and you gasp, the feeling of soft lips consuming you entirely. this wasn’t your first kiss by a long shot, but it was your first kiss with him. and god, it was everything those stupid romance movies made a kiss out to be: electric, addictive, leaving you dizzy and giddy and reeling in his embrace.

you’re glad he’s there to hold you. you place your hands shyly on his chest, warmth pooling in your stomach when you can feel the strong tension of his muscles. you never realized you were this downright touch starved, basically melting into putty in his hands as he kisses you over and over again, the hushed sounds of your lips locked together and breathless pants filling the room. 

your head spins. this must be the charm of an experienced lover. his touches mold into yours, adjusting to you and making you feel as if you can put your trust wholly into him. his tongue laps at your lips, and you let him in, let him swirl his tongue deep into your mouth. you feel so full on the inside, your chest swelling with everything you’re repressed coming out now in droves. his tongue moves around yours, and your ears drink up the lewd sounds of your french kissing. 

his hands grasp at you firmly, memorizing your touch and the way your body feels under his palms. his thick thighs make for the perfect seat, and you cling to him as he kisses you. making out with him feels like an eternity but also as if no time has passed at all, whisked away into the special place meant solely for lovers, sincerely lost in your own world with him. he feels so good around you and under your skin, even better than the fleeting fantasies you might allow yourself to have.

a strand of saliva connects the two of you when he pulls away from you finally. your chest heaves as you gulp down oxygen, your fingertips shaking as you curl them into the soft fabric of his sweater. 

“you…,” he gasps, unable to tear his eyes away from your clearly shaken form, “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that to you.”

heat nestles deep inside your stomach. it’s wicked and possessive, but you want to be special to him. and now you know that you are, your desire to have more of him is insatiable. something throbs and pulses within your core, and it’s pitiful just how weak you are to him after a handful of well-executed kisses. fuck having any kind of stupid romance with some dumb college boy your age: none of them could even dream of leaving you this stunned and your body itching for literally anything more.

you grasp at him. “please- please, more- kiss me again… i need it- i need more-”

“-shhh, i’ve got you, pretty.” he moves in so close to your face, his lips only a breath away from yours. you’ve never had someone kiss you so carnally before, his desire emanating off of him in thick waves. you’re probably no better, begging for your hot professor to make out more with you as if his tongue wasn’t down your throat mere seconds ago and as if it isn’t his spit that’s coating your lips thickly. 

it feels right. there’s no other way for you to describe him kissing you again. his lips move so gently against yours and yet brims with a kind of brutish need. it’s like he doesn’t want to scare you away but can barely contain himself, not when he has you right where he wants you. you don’t mind. you want him to be greedy, and you want him to take you wholly. 

you’re so happy, and you love it when his tongue is in your mouth, guiding your clumsy movements. it’s lewd kissing you’ve only seen couples do through the drunken haze of some seedy frat basement during a crazy party or in a raunchy porn video, and you get it. it finally clicks inside your head why people go crazy for these kinds of things, why people lose their minds when they’re unable to fully get a grasp over their own sexual needs. it’s like an awakening for you, as if some monster that had been caged in your heart is now breaking free of its restraints.

you moan shamelessly into professor hinata’s mouth. you need more. just kissing isn’t enough, only having his tongue in your mouth isn’t enough. the pounding between your hips won’t go away, and if anything, it’s getting worse with each passing second. he’s turning you on, and your body refuses to listen to you. but why should you hold back? he’s right there for you, and you’re willing to give yourself to him without any room for regret.

“please-,” you sound so needy, so desperate, so unlike any part of the removed personality you kept around your professor. “touch me more… i need you, professor-”

“-don’t call me that,” he whispers against your mouth. “shoyo. call me shoyo. i’m not your professor right now.”

“shoyo,” the name tastes like sticky sweet honey against your mouth, “touch me, shoyo.”

his hands snake down to your waist, and he looks at you expectantly as his fingertips slip under your shirt. you shudder when his fingertips press firmly into your skin and flesh, like a reminder of what you’re getting yourself into. “good girl. do you want me to go all the way with you right now?”

“yes! god, please, yes- shoyo, take me.” you bury your head into the crook of his neck. his calming scent floods your nose, and you think you’re going into heat. “i’ve never needed someone more in my life.”

something hard presses up against your crotch. he grunts, “that’s a dangerous thing to say to me.”

you let him lift your shirt away from your body, coaxing it gently over your head before tossing it somewhere onto his office floor. your body heats up, blood pumping under your skin. you prickle slightly against the cold office air, and you bite down a bit on your tongue. his hands crawl up the expanse of your stomach and up to your chest, and he looks at you as if he’s been starved.

“god, you drive me crazy,” he breathes. your voice catches somewhere in the back of your throat. you can feel the warmth of his palms hovering over your breasts, the thin fabric of your bra doing nothing to protect you from him. “to think you’ve been hiding from me this entire time, right under my nose…”

you gasp when he gropes you through your bra, his hands molding against your breasts. you fill his palms out so easily, and you grind down against his lap, sparks flying inside of your mind. you grip onto him again, breathing needily against the crook of his neck as he plays with your chest, letting you adjust to the feeling of his heavy hands on your body. 

he touches you so sweetly and so beautifully. not like the clumsy horny ways boys your age would, but with confidence and reverence, like he purposefully wants to take his time with you. you whimper when his fingers hook into the cups of your bra, and you let him yank it down to fully free your chest. 

your pussy throbs when his hands are on your bare breasts. he massages the soft flesh, chuckling softly whenever he hears you keen and choke out a breath into his neck. his fingers find your nipples quickly, and heat flares under your cheeks and inside your gut when he pinches at them gently, your body reacting faster to his touch than your mind can.

you grind down onto his lap, feeling his hard bulge in between your thighs. you need more, need something inside you. 

he grits his teeth when he feels you trying to hump his clothed cock. “careful, sweetheart. i’m trying to take my time with you.”

his hands move to your back, fully undoing your bra and letting it drop forgotten to the floor. you don’t care. you want him all over your body. you want his calloused hands all over your tits, pinching and teasing your nipples, filling out his hands with your breasts, like your body was made to match his. 

“i know-,” you sound shaky. you are shaky, barely holding yourself together. you clench your eyes shut as he plays with your tits again. pleasure surges downwards every time he plays with your sensitive nipples, rubbing his fingertips into them or just letting the skin-to-skin contact get to your head. “i just- i can’t- i can’t control myself anymore, shoyo-”

“i got you, i got you,” he laughs. if only you could know his own madness, the insanity that runs rampant in his mind knowing that he can have you in any way he wants. “shit, and i thought i’d take it slow. be a good gentleman for you. clearly that isn’t making the cut.”

you let out a small shriek as he lifts you from his lap, and the next thing you know, you’re slumped over his desk. your bare chest is against the cold wood of his workspace, and he hovers above your back, your ass against his crotch. you whimper into his desk, and your breath fogs up against the polished wood.

your cunt clenches painfully around nothing as he grinds his hips into your ass, his erection rubbing all over your thighs and butt. your saliva pools inside your mouth when you hear him groan and buck his hips into you, mimicking the motions of penetrative sex as he drinks up the friction. his hands hold firmly at your hips and waist, anchoring himself to your body.

he doesn’t need to do much. if you can already feel him this prominently, just how big was his dick? 

“i-i can feel so much of you already.” you glance back at him. the thrums of arousal inside you are almost unbearable. you don’t feel like yourself, only like a husk of person fiending for release. 

“yeah?” his grip on you tightens slightly, and he peers down at you. “fuck- have you had sex before? is this your first time?”

“no, it isn’t- i’ve had sex before- with a few guys on campus and mostly with my ex…,” you trail off, not wanting to think about it any further. “it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t count.”

he chuckles, shaking his head at your small joke. “can you feel how hard i am? how big i am?”

“yes,” you exhale. you want him inside you. you want him to take your pants off already and stick his cock inside your cunt. you want him to make a mess out of your insides, to take the weeks of pent up lust and to let it loose. you want your pussy to be ravaged by him, for him to not stop until you’re a wreck underneath him. “so big… i want it so bad…”

“am i bigger than your ex?” it’s a question posed dangerously, a blade wrapped in cloth. you dip your face down so that your forehead touches the wood. you nod shakily, glad that you have his desk to hold onto for support so that your knees don’t give out. 

he smirks. the ends of his mouth curl upwards into a cruel smile. it’s the satisfaction of a predator right as it’s about to sink its teeth into its prey, relishing the sadistic thrill of knowing that his influence, that his power remains on top.

“forget everything about that boy,” he spits the last word, as if it’s something bitter. “you feel me? feel this cock? yeah, i know you do. this is how big a real man’s cock is.”

you might as well have had the wind knocked out of you. his hands make their way to your pants, and you move with him, letting them fall by your ankles. your panties follow suit, and you’re left shivering with anticipation against his desk, fully naked. nothing can protect you from his wandering eyes now, and while you can’t see him, you can feel his gaze boring into your exposed cunt. 

you can feel how wet you are, your imagination doing the most in making you feel like you were going to overheat while making out with him. your slick drips out of your hole, and your cunt weeps, begging for something to fill you up and get rid of that incessant ache in your belly.

“turn over,” he commands you. any sense of the warm professor you used to shirk around is gone, replaced by an intensity entirely foreign to you. you comply, and you gasp when shoyo sinks down to his knees. his hands are on your knees, and he pries your legs apart to slot himself. you’re fully laying on his desk at this point, and his face is mere inches away from your hole.

“i-...” you don’t know what to say. you feel like you’re going to choke on your own breath, embarrassment at having a man so close to your pussy threatening to consume you whole. 

shoyo, on the other hand, is utterly entranced. the sight of your bare cunt has him bewitched. his cock throbs painfully inside of his pants. the little tease he got from you trying to grind down on him and then rubbing himself against your ass has done nothing but wet his appetite, and he knows how much he’s been waiting painstakingly for this moment.

your voice dies out in the back of your throat when he grabs your thighs, and before you know it, his mouth is on your cunt. he kisses your pussy, and you nearly buck your hips into his mouth. his tongue laps in between your lower lips sensually, coating his mouth in as much of your juices as he can. his grip on you is firm, making sure that you can’t wiggle away from him. he wants you to feel every single second of him eating you out, make sure you feel his tongue against every part of your hole.

his tongue captures your clit, swirling slowly around the sensitive bud. you clench your eyes shut, and the first shockwaves of pleasure shoot straight to your brain. “ah- shoyo- fuck-!”

he keeps kissing and sucking at your clit, determined to shower you with so much attention. he takes his time. he flicks the tip of his tongue against the bud, leaving you recoiling against the cool material of his desk, and he presses the broad of his tongue against it, letting you grind down how you want into his mouth. he mimics your movements, and you’re left gasping and mewling when he moves down. teasing your clit turns into broad licks up your slit, and your thighs shake and threaten to close around his head if it weren’t for his firm grip on you.

his tongue circles your hole, and he smirks into you when he can feel you quiver and clench around him. he’s snaking himself all over your cunt, lavishing each part of your pussy with a good dosage of love and spit. every time he drags his tongue against your slit, threatening to slip into your hole but not quite, you’re left reeling in the aftermath. you need something inside you, anything. you’re so horrendously turned on, and as much as the clitoral stimulation has you seeing stars, you need more.

“shoyo…” god, he loves it when you moan out his name. he just can’t get enough of the way the syllables roll off of your tongue, and you choke out his name, elongated the sound and clinging to his name as if he’s the only thing you’ve ever known. 

your pussy continues to drool for him, and he’s smacking his lips, drinking up every drop of your juices as if he can’t get enough. it’s a perfect reminder of how much he wants you. he thinks you’re perfect, a gift sent down from whatever divinity might be out there, hand-crafted to take his love and to love him in return. you taste heavenly on his tongue, your slick coating his mouth thickly. with each swallow, it’s like you’re becoming a part of him, and it makes him dizzy.

you tremble under his touch. he keeps capturing your clit the way you like it best. he teases you, lets you feel pleasure. the pleasured hums of his voice vibrate against your clit, constantly stimulated by his tongue and lips. the throngs of arousal inside your gut keep mounting, growing, twisting and coiling it on itself, keeling to be freed, to be let loose so you can cum all over his mouth as if you’ve lost all control of your body.

“feels good-,” your breathing shakes as you reach down, grabbing a fistful of his bright orange hair. the man moans in such a depraved manner against you, and you clench painfully, your pussy feeling as if it’s contorting into a way physically impossible from how sheerly aroused you are. “make me cum, please! ‘m so close- wanna cum- wanna cum in your mouth, shoyo…! you’re making me feel so good!”

“yeah?” he detaches himself momentarily. he licks his lips and swallows, chest heaving at your sweet taste overwhelming all of his senses. his brain is screaming for him to fuck you, but he doesn’t want to. he wants to see you feel good from just his mouth first, to coax one orgasm out of you so that your nerves are properly awakened. that would make fucking your pussy out on his cock so much more worthwhile. “am i making you feel good, pretty girl? enough to beg for it?”

you nod feverishly, even though you should know that he can’t see you. your drenched pussy speaks enough for itself. he’s too good at this, the experience under his belt shining through. there’s no stupid boy your age that would even think of doing you a courtesy like eating you out until you’re shaking, and here’s shoyo, eagerly lapping at your cunt without you even needing to ask. 

“cumming- gonna cum- please, please, fuck…! your tongue feels so good- love it so much when you lick at me like that…,” you whimper. your back arches against the desk, and your body twitches, wanting to ride his tongue and make a mess all over his mouth. shoyo doesn’t stop his relentless movements, and he continues to suck at your clit. 

arousal curls and unfurls like a pulse deep inside your stomach. you’re teetering on the edge, and you feel like you’re going crazy. your mind is turning into jelly, your wildest fantasies about your professor coming true right before your eyes, and your pussy can’t take everything happening to you. you shut your eyes again, gritting your teeth and bracing yourself for the orgasm that you’re sure is going to slam into you like a brick wall.

his tongue slithers expertly against your drenched cunt, and he presses a sticky kiss to your clit. your stomach curls inward at the intimate touch, with him pleasuring you as if it's his given duty as your lover, and that’s all it takes.

“shoyo!” you cry out, your thighs nearly wrenching themselves out of his hands. “i’m cumming- fuck! fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck-...! fuck me, fuck me, please! ah- i’m cumming…!”

he keeps on pressing his mouth all over your pussy as you cum on his mouth. red hot pleasure floods your entire body, sweeping you away from head to toe, and your thighs quiver like mad. your body feels so hot, so overwhelmed by a pleasure you’ve never had before, and your vision spins. you can’t think, not when every inch of your body has been tossed into overdrive so effortlessly by him, and your inner walls twist achingly. 

you wish it was his cock you were cumming on. you’re breathless and succumbing to how good it feels to have your hole ravished by his mouth, and he eats you out through your orgasm. he’s determined to swallow up every drop of your slick, and it’s not until you’re whimpering again and pushing his forehead back weakly that he detaches himself from between your legs.

“shit, you taste so fucking sweet,” shoyo groans. he sounds almost disappointed that you pushed him off of you, your slit tingling and desperate for something bigger. the lower half of his face is shiny with your juices and spit mingling together, and he licks his lips, making sure not to let a single drop escape him. “fuck- i could eat you out all day if you’d let me. pretty girl’s got a pretty pussy too.”

your hole flutters in excitement at his praise. heat and embarrassment at the sudden intimacy flickers underneath your face, and your head is still buzzing, not fully done with your sexual high. your chest rises and falls as you rest on his desk, splayed out for him to admire as he gets up from his knees and undoes pants. you can hear the shuffling of fabric and metal as he takes off his belt and pants. your mouth goes dry as you think about his cock and how big it felt when the two of you were grinding and humping each other for a split second, and now you’re finally getting him to fuck you on it.

he lets out a low, throaty moan as he takes the last of his clothing off, and his cock is nice and hard, drops of pearly pre-cum dripping from his tip. he’s aroused that it hurts, but there’s something about seeing you still recoiling from your orgasm, the rush of pride he gets knowing that he got you off using just his mouth, makes the pain of waiting a bit longer to fuck you so much more worth it.

“how are you feeling? you doing okay?” he asks you. he grabs his cock, stroking himself a few times from base to tip, his thumb sliding over his sensitive slit to spread his pre-cum all over himself. you nod wordlessly, starting to come back down to your plane of reality as you let him slide himself in between your legs again.

you freeze when you feel his cock against your slit, and he rubs himself up and down in between your lower lips. the dull pangs of arousal are bubbling up in your gut once more, and your slick is mixing with his pre-cum to coat his cock in a makeshift kind of lube.

“d-do you have any condoms…?” you eke out. it’s his bare dick against your body right now, and as intoxicating as the thought of taking him raw and letting him stuff every inch of your womb with his cum is, you still have to think straight.

he grabs at your hips, bringing himself flush against your body. a moan catches in the back of your throat when his tip grazes against your sensitive clit, and he chuckles to himself when he sees you twitch. “not at the moment. i’ll take care of you. can you trust me?”

there’s a lump in your throat, and some deeply dead part of you sobs out that you should be responsible. but you don’t care, not when you’re this close to finally having him inside you, not when he promises to take responsibility for you. you move your head, unable to fully meet his eyes, and you nod your head yes.

“good girl,” he laughs sweetly. “you ready for me?”

“yes! please, i want you inside me… want you to fuck me…,” you whine, your head lolling onto the desk underneath you. your pussy clenches at the thought of his raw bare cock rubbing against your insides, your walls clinging to every inch of his thick cock, and you’re so, so ready to take him.

he grips the base of his cock, and he lines himself up. he watches, enraptured, as your hole pulses around his cockhead. you groan needily as he fucks his tip in and out of you, just to watch your pussy cling to him, wanting to pull him in fully. you’re just about to whine and complain when he finally pushes himself in, and your breathing dies out in your chest as your walls stretches out to adjust to him being inside you.

“...fuck-! ah- you’re so big-,” your voice immediately starts slurring as he pushes past the resistance. it burns yet it feels deathly euphoric to have something stretching you out like that, to feel every bit of your pussy being invaded and stuffed out onto shoyo’s girthy cock. you’re coaxing him in effortlessly, and his fingers curl into the flesh of your waist and hips as he tries to ground himself.

he sucks in a harsh inhale through his gritted teeth, his eyebrows furrowing. you’re so tight and wet and downright heavenly wrapped around his length. he can’t stop looking between your legs, right where the two of you are joined together for the first time, but you’re squeezing and fluttering around him just right even though all he did was put it in. it’s taking all of his concentration not to waver and lose himself in the feeling. 

jerking off desperately by himself doesn’t even come close to how good your pussy feels. he could stay like this forever, feeling your velvety walls pulse around him, wanting to pull his cock in even further until he swears his tip is kissing the entrance to your womb. he takes in a deep breath, and he does his best to clear his head so he can start fucking you properly. 

“you’re so fucking tight… shit, did you want my cock that badly?” he manages out shakily. “fuck, it’s like your pussy’s milking me already, sweetheart.”

“mhm… it’s so, so big…,” you murmur, dazed. “never- never had cock like this before- you’re filling me up… feels like you’re in my stomach.”

“yeah? does it feel good?” he’s waiting for you to give him the all clear. your face is scrunched up, and as desperate as he is to start fucking into you like an animal, he knows better than to be a ruffian. your pleasure always comes first. that’s what real men do.

you nod weakly for what feels like the millionth time. your nerves are on fire, your previous orgasm only accentuating how much you can feel him pressed against you. his cock rubs just right against your sensitive walls, and you can’t imagine what actually having him thrusting into you is going to do to your body. “yes- so good- i’m gonna lose my mind, shoyo…”

“good answer.” he reaches over to move a strand of your hair away from your face. “i’m gonna start moving, okay? if something hurts or doesn’t feel right, you tell me right away. i’m here to make you feel good, and nothing else.”

your heart skips a beat. in a sea of fuckboys and idiot college boys that couldn’t care less about your well-being, someone like him feels less like a real person and more like a character straight from a fairy tale. “okay- you can fuck me- i want you to fuck me.”

he draws his hips back and thrusts slowly into you. you gasp, acutely aware of the sensation deep inside of you. your pussy revels at how he rubs against you, gripping onto his cock for dear life as he fucks his length in and out of you. it’s such a painfully slow pace, but you savor the feeling, savor the new stimulus of having your professor’s cock buried deep inside you. you want to commit to memory, because it’s unlike anything you’ve ever had before.

heat flares back up inside your belly again, settling and slithering in repeated coils between your hips. your vision blurs once more, and arousal creeps back into your mind, threatening to overtake every single one of your conscious thoughts. “faster, shoyo- wanna feel more of you- you’re torturing me…!”

“sorry- i can’t help it,” he laughs bitterly, his voice hushed and under his breath. “can you blame me for being obsessed with you? fuck- you’re so tight, hugging me like this… it’s like you were made to take me.”

your stomach curls in on itself at the sweet praise. you hate how easily he toys with your heart, how easily he can make you swoon and fall for him all over again, leaving you dancing and squirming right underneath the palm of his hand. literally. you swallow deeply, and it feels like there’s no inch of your body that the unbearable heat hasn’t spread to. 

“faster, please- i need you so bad!” you sob, nearing your limit. cumming from his tongue was only an appetizer, and you’re hungry for more. you’ve starved yourself long enough, and his slow pace isn’t doing any favors for you. you roll your head left and right on his desk, unable to control yourself.

“you want it? prove it to me.” his voice drops a few notes, and your cunt unconsciously clenches at how dark his words sound. it’s yet another potent reminder of the man buried inside of you right now, a real man who’s determined to make you his, prince and criminal, craved and craving, dreamy and filthy all at once. “look me in the eye then. look me dead on as i fuck you.”

you let out a loud moan. his words are fucking dirty, and when he rolls his hips into you, drinking up the excruciatingly addictive way your pussy clings to his dick, you think your body is actually going to give out on you. it’s not like he’s asking for you to do anything obscene or impossible, but there’s something so disgustingly erotic and intimate about him asking you to look him straight in his face—in his eyes—as he makes love to you.

the desk is warm underneath your body, all warmed up thanks to your body heat. it’s become your subconscious refuge, taking all of your thrashing as he had his way with you, and you don’t want to think about the sure mess you’re bound to leave in your wake. your breathing trembles as you forcibly turn your face towards his, ripping your wavering gaze away from the safety of whatever else you were staring at.

your eyes meet his, and he smiles at you adoringly. there’s no more running away from him, nowhere to escape to, your eyes locked together and dancing in his pupils. you’re rendered breathless again at the vibrant color, like your own life is being squeezed from between your lips. you can’t move, and your chest feels like it’s about to cave in on itself, your ribs giving out and your heart melting into a puddle of useless muscle and putty. but this time, strangely enough, you welcome the helpless feeling. he’s got you wrapped around his pinky finger, and you finally realize that you never stood a chance. 

that very first day, in that fatefully empty classroom, when you first met eyes with him, you were a fucking goner. you always were. always had been. and it was all his fault, all professor hinata’s fault. 

all hinata shoyo’s fault. 

“good girl.” he looks at you in a way only a lover would. his eyes soften around the edges and crinkles up as he grins. “don’t ever look away from me.”

“i won’t,” you promise. it’s the last thing you could dream of doing. not when you want it so badly, and not when he’s asking you verbatim. how could you deny him of the very thing he’s asking you to do? especially when it’s something that you’ve always been mustering up the courage to do? this is your big leap forward, your chance to prove to yourself that you can change.

he leans forward, and he lets you wrap your arms around his neck. you refuse to drop your gaze from his face, admiring every small detail of his features and letting yourself drown fully in the wide expanses of his eyes. he presses one last romantic kiss to your mouth, and that’s the last warning you get, the last bit of sweetness and gentleness you get. 

he draws his hips back, and he slams himself back into you roughly. you choke out a small moan, pleasure flooding your head. he doesn’t give you any time to recover from the recoil before he’s thrusting wildly back into you again. your hole is already slick and dripping wet from his teasing and your previous climax, and it makes it all the more easy for him to slide his length in and out of you, pace picking up speed and leaving you crying out as your surprise quickly morphs into electric pleasure.

“shit- so fucking tight- god, you’re going to kill me,” he grunts. you mewl and moan incoherently, clinging to him for dear life as he fucks into you over and over again. his tip prods against your deepest parts, and surges of pleasure climb all over your nerves. his hips slam against yours, and his balls slap against the curve of your ass. lewd, wet lovemaking noises echo throughout the small office, and it echoes even louder against your ears. 

it feels good, it feels so good. you never knew pleasure like this was possible, that it even existed. you thought you knew everything there was to sex already, but clearly not, if shoyo has you practically melting in his arms, your limbs numb and surrendering wholly to how good he’s making you feel. your walls keep fluttering around him, and every thrust has you crying out. 

“fuck- you feel so good- shoyo- shoyo, i’m losing my mind…!” you gasp. your nails dig into his back, and you claw at him like a feral cat. your thighs quiver around his hips, but he doesn’t let up his brutal pace. with each roll of his hips, it feels like he’s knocking the wind out of you. he’s determined to fuck you stupid, and it’s working. your grip on reality is slipping fast, with the throbbing pleasure in your head taking precedence over everything.

“go crazy for me then. you feel me inside you, don’t you? good. then you can feel firsthand how fucking crazy you make me.” he grabs your hips, and he angles them ever-so-slightly before ramming into you. you grit your teeth as a tense cry escapes from you.

the new angle has you seeing stars. you’re scratching at his back, your insides lurching and reeling and being stirred up like wild. “you’re so deep… so deep inside me! nnmgh…! you’re gonna make me cum so fast- make me cum again-“

“shit, already? am i fucking you that good?” his stomach is doing flips. you’re a sight for sore eyes, refusing to look away from him as if your life depended on it. his abs strain against him as he enjoys the experience of having sex with you, sex with the student that’s been dancing around him forever. you’re splayed out like a piece of art underneath him: all sweaty, breasts bouncing, legs spread with your soft cunt eagerly taking every inch of him.

your foreheads are basically touching when you nod your head. “yes! no one’s ever made me feel this good before- never had cock like yours-“

he almost laughs. oh, he’s bet you’ve never had anyone like him. what would your ex, your past flings know about pleasing women? all he wanted was to make you go crazy like this. he wants to sink you deep into pleasure, and he wants to make it so that you don’t ever think about other men after he’s done with you. he wants you in your entirety. he can’t do halfway.

“i told you already,” he purrs. his words drip off of his tongue like sticky syrup. “it’s because you’re having sex with a man this time. not with a boy. a real, grown man. someone that can take care of you. someone that can treat you right.”

it’s hard to think. he speeds up, leaving you fighting to keep your eyes open. the intense look in shoyo’s eyes are nothing like your own fucked out look, but at the same time, you’re sure the intoxicated gleam in his is the same as yours. is it love or desire that connects you two?

“most importantly…” his fingers dig into your flesh, securing your hips in place and leaving you at his mercy. you can feel your juices leaking out, coating your ass and making wet sounds whenever his hips smash into yours. he cranes his head, and his lips are almost on top of yours, threatening to close the gap and brush his lips across yours. “someone that can actually fuck you.”

oh fuck. you don’t stand a fucking chance against him. all of the sensations are rapidly racking up in your body, and with how deep he’s thrusting into you, you can barely hold onto yourself. you’re gonna cum soon again, you just know it. you feel the tightness inside your belly, and with how effectively he’s seducing you, whispering all kinds of lewd things and making sure that you keep your eyes locked on him while fucking you, you have nowhere to run away.

“i can’t take it- so rough- can’t take much more-,” you whimper. your mind is going blank, and all that you can think of is him. his body feels heavy and good on top of you, and having you scratch his back out of pleasure only spurs him on. he can feel you slipping and losing control of yourself, and he rocks you close to himself. he wonders if you can feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest, huffing short breaths as he keeps up his steady yet brutal pace.

he looks at you, and a smirk dangles off of his face. “yes, you can. you can take it. i know you can. you’ll be good for me, won’t you? let me make you feel good.”

your breathing hitches. it’s taking all of your mental strength not to topple over the edge right now. everything’s rushing too fast to your head right now, and all of your nerves are standing on edge, enthusiastically lapping up the pure euphoria coursing through your veins. but you want to make shoyo happy, you want to cum together with him, and as much as he said this lovemaking session was about you, you want to be able to match the pace he set.

“for you- just for you-,” you struggle to get the words out, the final syllables slurring together into a slight babble. so much for your usually well-put together, prudent academic facade. any trace of the well-trained, well-behaved student is long gone, replaced by a dirty, senseless, corrupted, and lascivious soul that lives and dies for shoyo’s love. “wanna be good- wanna be good only for you…”

“good. you’re mine. all mine,” he murmurs. the pleasure is sharp and dull all at once, all consuming and delicate, sinking you down into the murky waves inside the recesses of your mind only to drag you back to the surface, leaving you shuddering and grasping as if you had been drowned for real. shoyo likes it. he adores the reactions he gets out of you.

this is a kind of pleasure only he can give you. you’ve never had this with anyone else before, and he’ll make it so that you can’t find it from anyone else, not unless it’s with him. these faces you’re making, twisting in ecstasy and crying out with a voice like a songbird, are for him to enjoy only. they’re exclusive to him, only meant for his eyes, and he consumes it, fiending for more.

“shoyo- can’t- ‘t’s too good- i’m going crazy…!” you strain to breathe, your chest feeling inhumanly tight. parts of your brain light up like wired lights, blooming and flickering. you’re terribly close, and you know this one is going to take you whole and blow out any sense of being in your body. “shoyo- shoyo…”

“fucking christ- if you moan my name like that… you’ll make me want to do horrible things to you. so much more fucking worse than what i’m doing to you right now, sweetheart. this is just the start right here.” something pricks at your hips, and he digs his nails into your hips. he never thought himself to be such a possessive man, but he can’t deny the insanity that’s taken root in his brain for weeks now. it does something to him, to have his dick inside of you but to also hear you calling for him. him, him specifically, his name, emerging from your mouth as if he’s someone you revere. maybe at one point you did, but his yearning to have you turned him into something monstrous and all too human.

but perhaps that same madness overtook you and that was what brought the two of you together. shoyo finds it funny: the idea of something as sacred as love growing from something so depraved. and yet he’s fascinated by it, fascinated by the possibility that you’re no better than him, that your respect for him may just as easily be swapped for a kind of convenience to quell your own heart.

he doesn’t know what it all means. now isn’t the time for him to get philosophical. he’s balls-deep inside the pretty student he’s been pining over, and he’s so close to getting you to cum. wouldn’t that be a better reward than anything else he’s carefully built up? years of self preservation and swallowing down his personal desires for what’s “best” for his future be damned, he wants you. he wants you, he wants, he wants you.

you wonder if this is the end of your rope. you’re so close, so near the edge, and you’re clenching so desperately around his cock. you’re eclipsed entirely by the sight of your frightened and frantic reflection in his wide eyes, and you barely recognize yourself. so this is what you look like when you’re being mercilessly railed by your hot professor. your mouth is agape as you moan out for the male on top of you, face flushed and sweat beading your forehead like some kind of crown. 

“gonna cum- gonna cum! shoyo- just a bit more-” your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. your body isn’t yours at this point, having given up in exchange for the fire that burns your core, the snakes inside your belly hissing and twisting and pulsing. “i’m cumming- gonna cum- i can’t hold back anymore-!!”

“go ahead,” he whispers. his mouth itches to kiss you, to swallow up your wounded gasps. he wants to feel your body go slack again like he had done once before, to push you into that wonderful place where nothing and everything was real at once. he’s sure your body’s overrun with complex sensations and pure euphoria, and he loves watching you turn into a shell of yourself. “cum on my cock, pretty girl. you’ll be mine, won’t you?”

you barely nod your head, and shoyo’s drawing his hips back and snapping them back into you at a particularly rough angle. you tense up underneath him, back arching and limbs going stiff. your eyes widen, gaze still connected with him, and your body fully gives out.

“sh- shoyo…!” your voice is shrill as you sob out one final moan, and your orgasm grips the entirety of your body. it feels good, it aches, it throbs, and it demands so much of you. your velvety walls clamp down on his thick cock like a vice, milking him and clinging to him, and your climax refuses to give shoyo a chance to breathe. he digs his ankles into the ground and keeps thrusting wildly into you, wanting to keep the flare swallowing you up going for a bit longer. he grits his teeth as you squirm underneath him, and you can barely keep your eyes open. you want to clench them shut and throw your head back so bad, but whatever little control you have remaining on your conscious keeps them open, just for him.

you’re fighting against the currents swirling and whirlpooling inside your brain. whatever heat was bottled up inside your body rushes out, and you’re cumming all over shoyo’s girth. he’s keeping you stretched out, and your stomach feels like it’s going to cave in on itself. it’s nothing but pure bliss, the kind that makes you feel as if you’re floating, and you’re rendered breathless, each inhale precious and fleeting and almost incognizant. your vision swims, and tears settle on your waterline, just threatening to topple over. your field of sight is blurry, and yet even amongst all of the chaos, you can make out the dapples of brown in shoyo’s eyes, forever in tandem with him as if he were a planet in orbit around your sun.

you’re gasping for air, finally having gotten the release you had been chasing for what felt like an eternity. shoyo breathes heavily and raggedly, as if he had run a marathon, and he’s barely holding on himself. your insides are fucking massaging him, stroking his cock all over, squeezing and hugging and rubbing all up against his sensitive length.

“shit- fuck-,” he chokes out. fuck- he didn’t expect that seeing you cum would take so much out of him. his mind is teetering, and his muscles strain against him, his abs prominent. you’re refusing to let go of him, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can genuinely hold on for. he should be responsible, at least try to pick up the pieces of the mess that you two made, and pull out, cum into a napkin or a trash can or his hand or literally anywhere inside of your sweet cunt, but whatever resolve inside his chest whimpers as if he’s killing it when the thought brushes against his mind.

he wants to cum inside you. he has to. he needs to go that extra step, cement himself physically into you, promise to take care of you again and again for whatever happens next. he’s a real lover, someone who’ll take all of your brokenness and insecurity and fear and make them dissolve and melt away as if it were sugar. he’s sure they’d be equally as sweet to, so long as it came from you.

“god- fuck- take me- i’ll take care of you- take care of anything that happens next- fuck- just… just stay with me-,” he breathes out, body shaking. a cry catches in the back of your throat when he fucks himself in as deep as he can go, his cockhead pressing right up against your cervix. he buries himself into you, and he leans forward, capturing your lips in one last deep kiss, tongue swirling in your mouth and filling up your senses entirely with him.

your moans are muffled by him when you feel him cum deep inside you. something hot and heavy floods your cunt, pumping into you in generous spurts. it’s warm, and his cock takes on a second pulse inside of you, like a heartbeat as semen trickles into your womb and all through your cunt. your body feels hot, every inch of your pussy drenched and coated with shoyo’s cum. a few stray drops escape from you, but with him pressing his body flush against you and his cock still stuffed inside your cunt, most of the cum remains plugged inside you as he gasps for air, his high overtaking him.

“fuck… fu-uck,” his voice is gruff and airy. “god- you keep fucking milking me- shit, i came inside too- oh god…”

he nearly collapses on top of you, and his chest is on yours. the two of you lay there, breathing deeply and just enjoying the post-sex warmth of each others’ bodies. you’re still buzzing slightly, your head heavy as if you had just woken up from a long nap, but regular feeling is starting to seep back into your limbs. your body is pulling itself out from the haze, and while exhausted and quite literally fucked out of your mind, you’re regaining control over yourself as the minutes pass.

you admire shoyo’s form, the beautiful curves of muscle all over his back and shoulders, the lines on his face that could come only with age. it’s too early for you to worry, too early to really know the true consequences of your actions, and yet, there’s something bittersweet at the tip of your tongue when you look down adoringly at shoyo. morally, you know that this can’t continue. the best course of action you could have taken was to not fuck him, but now that you’ve gone and crossed that bridge, the next best thing you can do is to nip this in the bud and to avoid making a habit of this.

but you already know that you’re not strong enough to do that. you can’t go back, not when you’ve had a taste of everything you’ve already wanted.

you wrap your arms around shoyo a bit tighter, and you hold him closer to your heart. he buries his head into the crook of your neck, the shaky eye contact that you had kept up with him now broken. he inhales deeply and takes in your scent, and you wordlessly both celebrate and mourn everything that had built up and broken in between you and the man you had pined after for so long.

“...i’ll go buy some plan b for you.” he’s the first to break the silence. “there are some napkins in my office that i can clean you up with. you stay put. i… i lost control of myself there, and i don’t want you to strain yourself. do you think you can eat and drink a bit?”

your mind is nowhere near as clear as you’d want it to be, but you rasp out quietly, “yeah. i’m okay.”

“do you have any classes after this? fuck- i lost track of time too. i can write you a note and email whatever professor you have after me. i’m sorry- i really shouldn’t have gotten that carried away.” shoyo peels himself off of your body, and a whimper of protest dies out in your mouth. 

“i don’t have any classes. i’m basically free for the rest of the day, so you don’t need to worry about it. i- uh- i appreciate it though…” your arms feel cold and empty without him, and he maneuvers himself to grab a wad of napkins to position underneath your ass to catch the cum dripping out of you as he drags his now soft cock out.

you simultaneously feel empty and full all at once. his cum still undoubtedly lingers inside you, but without him physically in you, you feel as if something big has been sucked out of your soul. your stream of consciousness meanders to the idea of soulmates, and if this is what it must feel like.

you don’t know how to breach any further though. he’s immediately flipped his professional switch back on, cleaning both of you up without any further words, and you don’t think it’s proper though to keep demanding more from him. in his eyes, this might be nothing more than a bad lapse in judgment and not something he wants to keep pursuing in the same way you want to. 

a lump forms in your throat at the thought, and your heart shakes. your heart physically hurts. it aches and throbs as if it were torn apart, the stringy sinews and muscles begging for at least a bone to be thrown your way.

you hang your head, swallowing your despair back down the best you can. it’s not your place. it’s not your place.

he hands you an unopened water bottle, and you mutter a solemn word of thanks before cracking the lid and gulping a few mouthfuls down. he’s bent over and collecting all of your clothes, mixed together with him, and despite still being naked in front of him, you don’t feel any shame at all. this whole charade shouldn’t have felt as good and guiltless as it does, and you don’t want this to leave on the melancholy note that it is.

but as shoyo slips his sweater back on over his head and adjusts his hair, it’s hard not to mistake his professionalism for distance. you’re aware that you aren’t proper lovers, no boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, but what kind of sane human doesn’t yearn for a sense of connection and reassurance after something so intimate? all you want is to cuddle with him for a few minutes longer, have him smile sheepishly up at you as he peppers kisses onto your face, his big calloused hands holding you firmly.

you set the water bottle down. reality is never as clear cut nor as easy as fantasy is, and at this point, that should be a revelation you’ve carved into your heart by now. you steel your resolve the best you can, the one thing you’ve learned better than any other lesson your painful years of adulthood have taught you, and you reach for your own clothes.

you look messy with your clothes haphazardly thrown on and trepidation clinging like a fog to your psyche, and you’re ready to basically skitter out of his office as you always do and keep your head down until the semester ends. then you’ll be out of his hair and hopefully this would be nothing more than another minor heartbreak for you to get past. 

“where are you going? if you don’t mind staying put for a little bit longer, i’ll go fetch the plan b.” a hand lands on your shoulder as you prepare to leave, and you stop dead in your tracks. you look over, and shoyo looks down at you as if he’s confused. 

you hold your breath. you know better than to hope, and yet the flash of emotion that flies across your chest is undeniable. “you… don’t want me to go?”

his face immediately morphs into a deep frown, and his brows furrow. he looks horrified, as if you had picked out the worst words for the situation and spat them at his feet. “no! of course not. who do you think i am? why would i kick you out right after having sex? after harping on for so long about treating you right? gosh, you think so lowly of me. i was only cleaning up! here, there should be some snacks i keep stashed away in the second drawer over there. i’ll be zippity quick with the plan b run, i promise. get something in your tummy in the meantime, and then we can chat.”

chat? the word dangles above you like a loaded bullet. not everything is some kind of fucked up mental game, but it stuns you how he constantly manages to stay a step ahead you in everything.

you want to ask about what. about the future state of your relationship? about how both of your lives are going to undoubtedly be marked in a different way now because of this? about how the rest of the semester is going to go? about how you might never be able to muster the courage to show your face to society again, depending on how the conversation proceeds? there’s a whole slew of questions waiting to be asked, but when he beams at you, his smile more boyish and endearing than anything else, it’s like he simply melts away all of your anxieties.

it’s downright unfair, the sheer effect he has on you. but you don’t want it to stop, ever. you want him to continue confusing you and amazing you, leaving you questioning yourself and all of your worldviews. you don’t understand him, not one bit, and yet it feels like you know too much, used too much of your wiles to force him into showing his hand and leave both of you at some kind of stalemate. 

“what comes after that then?” that’s all you manage to blurt out amidst all of your fluctuating emotions. you don’t want him to leave, don’t want the beautiful man to slip away from your fingers after you only just got to keep him, no matter how short or necessary it might be. you’re not thinking straight, but what part of any of this came from logical thinking anyway? good behavior only got you so far, and good behavior isn’t going to keep him.

he grins, a smile that could rival sunshine even through your internalized storm. “that’s easy. you said you were free, yeah? i drop you off at home for a little bit so you can properly get cleaned up and get a fresh change of clothes. then i pick you up again, surprise you with a big bouquet of roses, and i buy you a nice dinner. dessert and drinks included. then i drop you back off home, and if you’re down for it, we do that a few times. then, y’know… i ask you out properly on our third or fourth date.”

your heart flutters in your chest. your heart has always been a caged bird, the last part of yourself you could never fully tame. stuffing it in a constricted box and ignoring it has gotten you only so far, and shoyo presses the key to the cage into your hand and coaxes you into unlocking and opening up the impenetrable door. your eyes widen slightly. it’s too early to get your hopes up again, but at the same time, when he’s stating his interest and desire to make something serious out of this, to actually take you on as a proper girlfriend and not as a one time fling, to go the whole nine yards and make it the romantic experience you’ve always wanted deep deep down, you think it’s only fair that you let yourself have this.

after years and years of repression, you’re getting your first reprieve. the first sign of spring after what felt like an unending winter, the long awaited gulp of water after wallowing in the murky depths, the fabled light at the end of the tunnel, a reminder that everything truly isn’t as hopeless as your twisted mind likes to make it, that you’re just as deserving of goodness and love and rightfulness as much as those around you, no matter how vehemently you once denied it against the very wishes of your heart. you’re done stifling your own desires, and while it won’t be something you fix overnight, you’re sure it’s shoyo that drew out those first steps.

“i don’t like ruining the surprise like this, but… i’m sure you don’t mind. still, do me a favor and act surprised when i do bring you flowers and take you out on a dinner date, okay?” he winks at you, laughing to himself. he looks so happy with himself, truly giddy like a boy waiting to ask his crush out. you don’t know how he can go in between being the cool professor you fell for and the man that charmed you so effortlessly, but you aren’t complaining. you want to acquaint yourself with every side there is to shoyo and to fall deeply in love with each and every part of him you discover.

you smile back softly in return. you play the innocent card, and you tilt your head slightly in a show of fake confusion. “don’t worry. date? what date? aren’t you running out to get me just plan b?”

“atta girl. you always catch on quickly. it’s that smart mind of yours,” he laughs again, louder this time. his voice reminds you of bells ringing in the morning sun. each syllable feels like he’s thawing you out, and it’s something to be venerated with every part of your soul. he approaches you to steal a kiss from your lips, and the touch is so sweet and gone too quickly. you want another, but you know he’ll be back soon and you’ll have as many kisses as you’d like, as many as he’d let you have.

he cups your face with one hand, and his thumb rubs over the apple of your cheek. it’s such a gentle touch, and yet it makes you feel weak in the knees, like your body feels a sense of magnetic attraction to him that makes you want him to hold you and nothing else. he leans down ever so slightly, enough so that he can look at you directly in your eyes again.

you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way he leaves you breathless when he gazes at you, the intense look always leaving you stunned and glued in your place, the same split second that proved to be the first taste of the forbidden fruit. something bristles and hangs in the air, like electricity, and this time, you recognize it to be the anticipation of getting something you’ve wanted, like an excitement gripping at your throat, and the happiness of your heart beating not just for you but for someone else, for the very first time.

shoyo grins at you, at you alone. his eyes twinkle fondly.

“i love you,” he whispers without any trace of doubt in his voice.

your lips move, “i love you too, shoyo.”

you don’t blink. you won’t blink so long as he’s looking at you.

and you swear to never look away from those beautiful, beautiful eyes.

author's note: i owe @thomae a million thank yous for letting me write her idea! thank you thank you thank you so much for letting me bounce all of my ideas off of you and bothering you incessantly about this fic!! it ended up getting a lot longer than i originally intended (×﹏×) but regardless, i hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!! (´ ε ` )♡ please stay safe in the new year, and if you enjoyed my writing, you can show your appreciation by donating to the humanitarian cause in gaza!

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hinata shoyo #x reader #fem reader #my writing

[visceravalentines]

Fireworks

Dad's Best Friend!Dilf!Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

3k words Part 2 here!

Smut for days, fluff for weeks. Age gap, dad's best friend, oral, dirty talk, praise, creampie, reader is referred to as darlin' and baby girl and pretty.

Yeah yeah, today's the 4th of July, cheesy title, whatever. THIS IS THE MOST FUN I'VE HAD IN A WHILE. In fact I loved living in this little tableau I've created so much I'm planning a sequel?? Fuck dude, I am down so stupid bad for this dumb idiot man.

Tagging a few people who I think might enjoy this as much as I did. @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @slutforguts, @brandnewhuman, @fluffy-little-demon

If there was one thing your parents did right every time, it was their big summer bash. 

Every year, when the temperature really started to ramp up, they invited the whole neighborhood over for barbecue, drinks, ice cream, and yard games.  Their backyard pool was filled with kids bobbing like apples.  There was often a waterslide, a water balloon toss, and sometimes fireworks once it got dark. 

You had missed it the last few years, busy with summer semester at school.  This year, however, you found yourself longing for a familiar setting and comfortable traditions.  Even the incessant questions from neighbors you barely remembered would be worth the opportunity to be somewhere stable.  Your parents, of course, were delighted, and swiftly roped you in to helping plan the menu, buy food and supplies, and set up the morning of the big day. 

Wearing a new bikini underneath a band tee, you helped your mom arrange watermelon slices on a large platter, nestled soda and beer into coolers full of ice, and walked up and down the deck steps innumerable times carrying everything outside. 

Although the party didn’t officially start until noon, people always began trickling in early, especially people close with your folks.  The Swensons next door with their four boys arrived at 10:30.  Two women from your mom’s book club arrived around 11.  And when you made yet another trip down the deck stairs, you saw your dad on a ladder hanging decorations with the help of a tall, sandy-haired man you immediately recognized. 

“Hey Dad, Mom wants to know if you want the stuff for the grill outside now or if you want to wait.”  The man looked over his shoulder with a curious expression on his handsome face.  “Hi, Mr. Sinclair.” 

He broke into a grin.  “Y/N, is that you?  I’ll be damned.” 

“It’s me.”  You smiled sheepishly.  His Southern accent had been the source of much conversation between you and your high school friends.  You’d even dated some asshole from Mississippi for a while just to hear that honey-sweet drawl. 

Mr. Sinclair handed your dad the other end of the banner he was hanging and turned to you.  Were you imagining his ice-blue eyes flicking down to your bare legs and back up to your face?  “You look good, darlin’.  How’s college?” 

Oh, you had forgotten that.  How had you forgotten the way he called you darlin’?  “Can’t complain,” you said.  “I’ll graduate in another year.” 

“Y’got big plans after that?”  God, those eyes.  Had they always been so piercing?  You felt seen in a way that was intense, but not unpleasant. 

“Not really.  I’m waiting to see what opportunities open up, I guess.” 

“Well, you’re a smart one, you’ll figure it out.” 

Your mom yelled your name from the back door.  You excused yourself and walked across the patio.  The weight of a stare on your ass was tangible. 

Just before you reached the deck stairs, you turned and looked back.  He did not even try to hide the fact that yes, he had indeed been checking you out seconds before.  His gaze swept up to your face at the most leisurely pace possible and he flashed you a subtle smirk.  You felt the heat of a blush and tried not to race up the stairs. 

 The backyard filled up quickly as people began to arrive.  Music wafted from the speakers mounted beneath the deck.  The shriek of neighborhood kids and the splashing of pool water rounded out the suburbia soundtrack. 

You answered the same questions over and over from friendly neighbors, helped your mom stave off several low-stakes emergencies, finally managed to extricate yourself from all party business long enough to shed your t-shirt and slip into the pool. 

The shallow end was for splash fights.  The deep end was for the older crowd.  The water was cool but not cold, washing the sweat from your skin as you let yourself sink all the way down to the bottom.  The muffling of sound and the sensation of even pressure on your skin helped you relax, clear your mind, until all that was left was the thought of a mechanic’s rough hands. 

You had bet on a lot of things, coming home for this event.  Mr. Sinclair’s killer jawline was not one of them. 

In one burst, you launched yourself back up to the surface.  Wiping the water from your eyes and nose, you kicked to the wall, hauled yourself up and out of the pool.  As you toweled off your face and arms, you scanned the crowd.  Sure enough, you found him, barely a participant in the conversation at hand, gaze locked on you as he drained the dregs from his beer bottle. 

He was going to need another, wasn’t he?  You were sort of the host of this party too, right? 

You wrapped the towel around your hips and snagged two beers from a cooler.  You pretended you couldn’t quite hear Mrs. Swenson flagging you down and made a beeline for the tall man breaking away from the conversation. 

“Hey, Mr. Sinclair,” you said, darting in front of him.  The way he lit up upon seeing you made your stomach flip.  “I grabbed you a beer.” 

“Well ain’t you the sweetest thing.”  He accepted the bottle from you and this time, there was no mistaking the way his eyes drank in your exposed skin.  “Call me Bo, darlin’.”  He took a swig.  You tried and failed at not staring at his lips.  “You enjoyin’ yourself?” 

“Yeah, it’s good to be back.  Summer on campus is boring.” 

“Can’t help but notice you didn’t bring anyone home with you.” 

You raised an eyebrow.  “Yeah…not a lot of luck in that department.” 

He grinned at you.  “What, a pretty thing like you?  Now that’s a cryin’ shame.” 

“Oh, believe me, there has been crying.” 

His smile cooled, just a little.  “Any o’ them kids hurt your feelings, darlin’, you give me a call.  I’ll teach ‘em a lesson for you.” 

Something told you he wasn’t joking.  “Well, if you ever come across Bradley from Gulfport, you have my permission to kick his ass.” 

He laughed.  “Duly noted.  What did Bradley from Gulfport have goin’ for him?” 

You pinched your tongue between your teeth.  “…a Southern accent.” 

The smile this triggered sent a heatwave rolling beneath your skin.  “That’s all it takes, huh?”  You bit your lip and could not look at him.  “You gotta watch out for those Southern boys, there’s only two kinds.  They’re either gentlemen or scoundrels, every one of ‘em.” 

You boosted your courage with a mouthful of beer.  “Which one are you, Bo?” 

He studied you for a long time before answering.  “The kind who doesn’t want your daddy noticin’ the way I’m lookin’ at his daughter.” 

You were wet, and it was not from the pool. 

Clearing your throat, you said, “I think I’m…going to go change.  Probably not getting back in the water.” 

He nodded once.  “Fair enough.” 

You took two steps before adding, “I’ll be upstairs, if you need anything.”  Again, shocked at your own brazenness, it took everything in you not to run up the steps. 

The house was cold and quiet.  You made your way down the hall, hung the towel over the shower curtain rod, nudged your bedroom door almost completely closed.  Slowly, you undid your bikini, practically tingling with anticipation.  Would he actually follow you up here?  What if he did?  You took your sweet time picking out a pair of underwear and a new t-shirt.  You held off on the shorts and the bra.  How long should you wait before you went back out there? 

Just as you were about to give up and pull on the rest of your clothes, there came a soft rap on the door.  You took hold of the handle and opened it just a little further, peeking into the hallway. 

There stood Bo Sinclair, bold as brass, looking somehow both smug and earnest.  “I missed you,” he said. 

You reached out, grabbed his hand, tugged him into your bedroom and shut the door.  With fluid grace, he spun you around, pushed you against the door, set his hands lightly on your waist.  You were breathing hard already.  “D’you want this, darlin’?” he whispered. 

You nodded.  “Yes.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” 

He tilted your chin up with his thumb, kissed you with those lips.  He tasted like beer and cigarettes and some indescribable sweetness.  Your hands found his chest, still broad and muscular, and he felt hot beneath the fabric of his shirt.  He broke the kiss, met your eyes, then kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue playing at the edge of your teeth.  A soft moan rose to your lips. 

He pulled away again, looked at you seriously.  “If you want me to stop, I’ll stop,” he said. 

You shook your head.  “No.  I want more.”  Your hand slid down his front, palmed at him through his jeans. 

He cocked his head, a smile creeping across his face.  “You’re a little minx, ain’t you.”  He thrust his hips against you, pushed his knee in between your thighs.  “Lemme show you a good time, baby girl.”  He kissed down your neck, into the hollow of your throat, his fingertips brushing the skin just underneath the hem of your shirt.  You arched your back, pressing against him, still caught up in a measure of disbelief that this was actually happening. 

Bo took your hands and pulled you toward your bed.  It was a full, barely bigger than a twin, hopefully big enough for two – you’d never tried it before.  He sat on the edge, guided you onto his lap with your legs wrapped around his waist, showered you with kisses while he ran his hands over your legs, your ass. 

You took hold of his shirt, worked it up his torso and off of him.  His shoulders were dusted with freckles, soft blonde hair on his chest.  His eyes gleamed.  “Fair is fair, darlin’.” 

You stripped off your own shirt, tossed it to the floor.  Bo muttered an expletive under his breath.  He traced his thumb over your nipple and it hardened instantly, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.  “You’re too pretty, baby,” he murmured.  “I wanna wreck you.” 

Wrapping your arms around him, you pulled yourself against his body, kissed his collarbones, his shoulders.  You could feel him getting hard underneath you and you rolled your hips experimentally once, twice.  He made a delightful sound in his throat, his grip tightening on your love handles. 

“Let me worship you, darlin’,” he said against your temple. 

“Please,” you breathed. 

He twisted, laid you down on the bed, kissed you sweetly and then wandered his mouth down your body, little by little, until his fingers were tucked in the waistband of your underwear and his breath was warm on your lower stomach.  His baby blue eyes, alight with mischief, locked on yours. 

“Now, you gotta be quiet.  Wouldn’t wanna get you in trouble.” 

You nodded quickly, the blanket already balled up in your fists. 

Bo eased your panties down your thighs slowly.  You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breathing, and when his tongue first slipped through your lips you let out an involuntary ohh. 

“Ah-ah, what did I say?”  You could hear the grin in his voice.  “Be good for me or I might have to give you a spankin’, and it won’t be like the kind your daddy used to give you.” 

You writhed.  You disheveled the sheets.  You bit your lip hard as he worked you over, sucking your clit, teasing your entrance.  These were not the bewildered ministrations of a reluctant frat boy.  This man was indeed worshipping you and doing it well, and the pleasure building steadily deep inside you was enough to make you want to scream. 

Finally, when you truly could not take it anymore, you choked out his name, grabbed at his hair.  He looked up, licked you off his lips, kissed the inside of your thigh.  “What d’you need, baby girl?” 

“I-I….” 

“God, you look good.”  He crept up the length of your body, cradled your head to bring your lips up to his.  “Such a mess for me.” 

You ran your hands through his chest hair.  “Bo,” you whimpered. 

“Yes, darlin’?” 

“I need you.” 

“You need me where?” 

“I need you…to fuck me…please?” 

He exhaled sharply.  “You are hellbent on gettin’ me in trouble, ain’t you.”  He trailed a finger down your breastbone.  “Teasin’ me with that beautiful body…askin’ me so nicely.” 

“Please, Bo.” 

He pressed his lips to your forehead, nuzzled your ear.  “Has anyone ever made you cum in this bed?” he whispered. 

“No,” you whispered back. 

“Mmm.”  He cupped your breast, squeezed firmly.  “I bet you’d look mighty fine on top of me.”  He slipped away from you, pulled off his jeans and boxers.  You made room for him on the bed, straddled his hips, eyeing his length.  He folded his arms above his head and stretched languidly.  “Take it slow, darlin’.  I like the view.” 

You rubbed yourself against him, your already-sensitive clit dangerously tender.  The two of you moaned in concert, the friction between you intoxicating.  He felt good between your folds, beneath your hands, his stomach firm under a cushion of fat.  You canted your hips in a steady rhythm until he was slick with your arousal.  With his tip at your entrance, you pressed down carefully, not quite enough to push him into you, and smiled at him, held him there. 

“Wicked,” he scolded.  “You bet your ass I’ll remember this for next time.” 

“Next time?” 

“Oh, there will most assuredly be a next time.” 

This lit up your insides more than you expected and you lowered yourself onto him all the way in one smooth motion.  You gasped.  He groaned.  His hands left their place on the pillow to take hold of your hips.  He rocked you back and forth at an easy pace and you felt him flex inside you. 

“Oh, Bo.” 

“Quit.”  He slapped the side of your ass.  “My stamina ain’t what it used to be and if you throw that in the mix we are in for a short ride.” 

You giggled, leaned back for a better angle, and sighed contentedly.  When you opened your eyes, you found him staring at you with open admiration.  Bending over his chest, you kissed him deeply, your skin alight with his touch.  You rode him methodically for what could have been hours, hands on your breasts, biting back the little sounds he drew out of you. 

At last he took your jaw in his hand, commanded your attention.  “Now, darlin’.  You’re gonna cum for me hard and you’re gonna look me in the eyes while you do it.  Y’understand?” 

Your breath caught in your throat.  “Yes sir.” 

He gave you a look.  “I’m gonna remember that for next time too.” 

He took a firm grasp on your thighs, adjusted his hips, and began to thrust into you with unexpected force.  Your mouth fell open in an O and your eyes rolled back in your head.  “Look at me, darlin’, look at me.”  You refocused, teeth pinning your lip, his expression positively sinful.  You felt yourself begin to come apart and clawed at his chest.  “That’s it, baby, so pretty.” 

You couldn’t keep back the whine bubbling up in your lungs any longer, keening helplessly, whole body a mass of snapping nerves.  His long, soft lashes fluttered as he finished inside you with a low grunt, clenching your flesh hard enough to leave marks. 

Panting, you sank onto his shoulder and he wove his arms around you.  “You did so well for me,” he mumbled, kissing your brow.  “Such a sweet thing.” 

You curled into his side while he stroked your back, traced the lines your nails left in his skin.  “You know…I’ve never….” 

He grew immediately serious.  “You’ve never what?” 

“I’ve never had sex in this bed at all.” 

Bo huffed out a sigh of relief.  “Jesus Christ, Y/N, you’re gonna give an old fuck like me a heart attack.” 

You giggled.  “Sorry.” 

“I can’t be goin’ around deflowerin’ young women, they’d kill me in the streets.”  He gave you a tender kiss.  “Probably kill me for this anyway.” 

“Too bad, I’ll miss you.” 

He gave your ass an affectionate smack.  “Speakin’ of missin’, we’d both better get back out there before they send a search party.” 

“When can I see you again?” 

“In about five minutes when you put your clothes back on and get out there and pretend like you weren’t just fucked stupid by your daddy’s best friend.” 

“That is not what I meant.” 

“Oh, what’d y’mean?” 

“When can I see you again like this?”  You ran your thumb along his jaw. 

“Well, how long are you in town for?” 

“The rest of the summer.” 

He let out a low whistle.  “Is that so?  Y’know, I’ve been meanin’ to hire some help at the shop.  How ‘bout I pay you and let you fuck me?” 

“Would that be weird?” 

“You tell me, baby girl.” 

“Nah, I don’t think so.” 

“Well then I don’t neither.”  He kissed you one last time.  “Consider yourself hired.  Great interview.  Put your clothes on.” 

You socked his ribs and wiggled away.  He watched you dress and you slipped out of the room, sneaking back to the party well before he did.  No one seemed to have noticed either of your absence, and you managed to play it cool for the rest of the afternoon. 

When the sun fell at last and the streetlights turned on, everyone congregated on the front lawn for a fireworks show.  Your dad always went for the ones that were technically illegal and to this day no one gave him grief about it. 

With everyone’s eyes on the sky, you sidled up beside Bo, standing behind the crowd near the house.  You didn’t dare take his hand, but you leaned against his arm, and a smile appeared on his lips, and that was enough. 

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair fanfiction #dilf bo sinclair #slasher x reader #my writing #bo sinclair

[rehfan]

La Belle Dame avec Merci - Chapter 2: Keeping Up Appearances

Eddie Munson x Unpopular!AFAB!fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ readers only please - minor children DNI! – No Upsidedown; SLOW BURN; Eddie & Reader are both over 18; fake dating/relationship; reader is technically a virgin; mutual pining; Eddie has trust issues; emotional hurt/comfort; masturbation; emotional manipulation; reader is kinda shitty to Eddie; reader gets better; angst; more angst; Eddie’s mom is dead; small act of accidental physical violence; Uncle Wayne is the best

Tagged: @bluestuesday / @ali-r3n / @winchester-angel / @iletmytittiestitty-russ / <— let me know if you want to be added!!

DO NOT POST TO ANY OTHER SITE. My words are mine and mine alone.

Inspired by @/hard-candy-writing ‘s ORIGINAL POST — I sincerely hope I do this justice.

Chapter 1 Tumblr Link -- AO3 LINK — Masterlist link

Eddie was still in a state of shock until the second bell rang and he was officially late for English class. He crept in and sat near the back, your kiss still tingling on his lips, your thighs still in his hands, the weight of you in his lap causing other things to wake up. His knee thrummed under the desk and he could barely pay attention to the creative writing assignment that Mr. Hutchinson was talking about. It was all he could do to try and think of serious things to calm his dick down: accidentally slamming his fingers in the van door, Wayne chewing him out about cigarette burns in the carpet, things like that. The last thing he wanted was to pop a boner during class.

Please, dear God, not here.

The next campaign, buying more guitar strings for Sweetheart, slamming his fingers in the van’s door - again. Any thought he could manage that had nothing to do with the taste of your watermelon Chapstick would be a good thing right now. Because he should definitely not be focusing on how you smelled and whether that was your shampoo or your soap or a perfume you used. Yep. For sure should not be dwelling on what underwear you had on underneath that prim skirt with the slit all the way up it.

Fuck.

He was going to see you again in biology. That was in forty-five minutes. Would you want to sit in his lap again? How could you? You were whole lab tables apart from one another. There was no way to move seats without it being a big deal. Jeff would feel abandoned and who was it? Gail? Gail who shared the lab table with you would probably be put out. But then, he may not even have to worry. It was highly likely that you’d freeze him out. After all, that little display was just improv for the party/jock crowd in the library. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the score.

Sighing deeply, he decided to write a story about an errant knight who had been seduced and charmed and then completely dumped by some woodland fairy.

Was he really going to allow you to run the show, though? To push him this way and that just to satisfy your own strategies? He didn’t want to be used. Not like his uncle’s last girlfriend had used Wayne. Not like his father had used his mother.

He changed the ending of his story. The knight was under a spell. It was broken when he saw her true reflection in the water of the lake. That wasn’t a woodland fairy. That was a witch who wanted him as a blood sacrifice. He threw her in the water and she fizzled, melted, and drowned, screaming in agony. He’d be damned if some deceitful witch was going to get the best of him, no matter how attractive.

~080~

Meanwhile, you sat in your French class, your head swimming with thoughts of brown eyes and curly hair. The scent of him clung to the edges of your brain, a blend of smoke and spice, mixed with the smell of his shampoo.

Well this was inconvenient. You really needed to pass Madame’s pop quiz or you’d ruin your perfect A grade for the semester so far. 90 percent or better or you were a loser. No compromise. You tried your damnedest to focus on the correct past tense conjugation of rêver without focusing on its ironic meaning; all your brain wanted to do was dream.

Those brown eyes… you had never in your life gone for a guy with dark eyes. You had always been a sucker for crystalline blue eyes and maybe some dark lashes, like Brian Bloom has or blond with blue-eyes like John Schneider. Eddie Munson was unlike either man. Not that you were holding your breath about meeting either Brian or John in your lifetime. But Eddie was just SO NOT your type and his sudden presence in your awareness was jarring.

What the hell had you done?

You finished your quiz, but re-read it just in case. Walking it to the front to drop it on the teacher’s desk only to sit back down and sigh, you felt every inch the tragic figure just waiting for class to end. You had probably fucked yourself over. There were only ten questions. You knew you probably screwed up more than one. Boys were clearly nothing but a distraction and here was your proof.

The bell rang again and you gathered your things only to stop in mid-motion at the realization that it was biology next. Would he expect more of the same? You sure as hell left him with a good indication that you were expecting to see him again. See you in biology, lover. Ugh. You cringed at the words.

Maria walked down the corridor with you speaking French like she always did when class was over. It was as if she thought the extra three minutes between classes was supposed to increase her knowledge of the language or something. Internally, you rolled your eyes, but kept smiling at your friend, replying in short answers. Jesus. You weren’t even kind to your actual friends. Who were you?

As you made your way down the hall, some of the kids were staring at you strangely. There was giggling as you passed a gaggle of preppie girls. Word was spreading. It hadn’t reached everyone yet, however. Maria would have pulled you into an empty classroom along the way just to interrogate you. No, it wasn’t everywhere. But it was building. You could feel it, thick in the air, like forest fire smoke. Like the cigarettes you had smelled on Eddie.

Fuck.

Get your head on straight!

Locker first, then class. You were almost late. That wasn’t like you, which showed how reticent you were to actually get to class. If you had the guts, you probably would have skipped. But you were as faithful as a bird dog; you couldn’t be devious. Not to a teacher, anyhow.

The class was almost full with kids coming in around you as you made your way to your normal lab bench. Gail wasn’t there. Was she sick today? You looked to the door in a blind panic for her. If that seat was empty, Eddie could sit there. Or worse: one of the jocks or party kids.

The teacher walked in. The door was going to close. Still no Gail.

“Uh, let’s break it up back there and get to work,” called Mr. Harris. You looked behind you to see Eddie and Jeff standing on either side of Gail who looked like she just lost an argument. You saw her nod at Eddie and take something from his hand. Eddie just grinned and snatched up his book and notebook.

You didn’t know if you were happy or sad, sick or well, dead or alive when Eddie Munson - with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face - plopped his things and himself right down beside you. He folded his arms on the lab table top and put his head down, face angled toward you.

“Hey, lover,’ he said, his voice a low rumble.

Why was there suddenly no air in the room?

Fucking hell. Get a grip!

Somewhere you found the fortitude to banter back. “Hey, cuddle-puppy,” you cooed sardonically, miraculously sounding like a human person with actual confidence. But you had to remind him that this wasn’t really real. Or were you just reminding yourself as his brown eyes melted you from the inside? “How’s my favorite co-conspirator?”

Eddie snickered a laugh. It was born of a nervousness he felt just sitting next to you. Jesus, he just called you ‘lover’! It was a bold move, even for him, but he had to show you he wasn’t scared of you. And when you called him a co-conspirator, that built a knot in his stomach he couldn’t explain. You wanted to continue this? Really? The knot turned sour. He didn’t need you or your lame-ass attempt at calling the cool kids’ bluff. Didn’t matter how pretty you were.

Mr. Harris cleared his throat and started the lesson. Today, you were dissecting frogs. But before you could begin, he had to make sure all of you turned in your permission slips. Eddie reached into his jacket inner pocket and drew his out, opening it up and waiting for Mr. Harris to come around. You noticed the signature.

“Your dad’s name is Wayne?” You were just making conversation. No harm meant by it. Still, you saw Eddie pause and side-eye you, clearly judging you and how best to answer.

Finally he said: “Uncle, actually.”

“Why didn’t your mom sign it?” Again, it was a natural enough question. Your mother had signed your slip and you had turned it in last week. Maybe his parents didn’t want him dissecting frogs and he had to go to another relative for assistance. You didn’t know. How were you supposed to? Eddie Munson was a stranger, really.

“She couldn’t,” he said as Harris took his slip from his fingers. “She’s too busy.”

“Busy? What does she do?”

“She’s the opposite of a helicopter parent.”

“Huh?”

“She took off when I was nine,” he said, watching for your reaction. Watching for the reaction that everyone gave him when they found out about his mom leaving him high and dry. And then dying. Of course, he could have just told you that she was dead, but plenty of people knew that: the school, the cops, Wayne. But no one knew that she died while running away from a man who used to beat the shit out of her. Died because of him chasing her in his car in the middle of winter. Died because she was brave enough to break away and just fucking run. But she couldn’t outrun a Buick. Wayne said she had had plans of coming back for Eddie, but that was a more complicated situation and too big a subject to cover just before the beginning of class.

“Oh.” 

And there it was: the look Eddie was so familiar with. The wide eyes, raised eyebrows of a person who couldn’t fathom that a mother could abandon their child. A certain satisfied cruelty settled inside him. His history with his mother was none of your business. This would keep you away from her, and therefore away from him.

“I’m so sorry about that, Eddie.”

And there was the predictable follow up: pity. Sad mournfulness for the poor orphaned boy whose mommy left him all alone. He nodded and continued to quietly regard you. He was watching you, observing like a scientist, distant and evaluating.

To break the awkwardness, you began: “But what about-“ You didn’t finish. You didn’t want to ask any more. His face was placid, but his eyes were still boring into you. You didn’t have the will to continue. Besides, class was starting and you had to pay attention. Prep trays and equipment were being passed around the class by Mr. Harris as well as some hand-picked students and you wanted to make sure you got what you were supposed to for the lesson. 

“But what about what?” Eddie prompted you. He was curious but cautious. Was this the witch plotting to spot weakness? He put up his mental defenses and waited.

“No, it’s none of my business. Sorry,” you said.

He leveled his gaze at you for another millisecond. Okay. Maybe you were still the fairy princess. He reached into his mental bag of holding and wielded the shield of humorous deflection and the cudgel of bravery. “Hey now, if we’re going to be co-conspirators, we’ve got to do a little soul-bearing, cupcake.” He tilted his head toward you briefly. “Go on, fire away.”

“What about your dad?” you asked, meekly. The next words poured from you and you felt yourself falling over yourself to navigate the situation and not make him angry. “Or am I getting too personal? I don’t mean to. Sorry if I am. I’m just curious. You can totally tell me to shut up now.” You could feel the blush creep up your ears.

Eddie smiled and ducked his head, cupping a hand to the back of his neck to hide it from you. God, you really were adorable. What in the everloving fuck was Eddie going to do with that?

“My dad couldn’t sign the permission slip because he’s busy being a guest of our fair state,” he said. He took in your puzzled look and whispered, smiling, “He’s in jail, babe. For a long long time.”

“So you live with your Uncle Wayne,” you concluded.

“Boy, you really are as smart as they say,” he said, his tone almost truly proud. Almost. That grin was back and you gave one back at him. Eddie liked that grin. He liked it a lot. 

The dead frog was the last thing to be deposited on your wax tray. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, removing his jacket and draping it on his stool before being seated once more. He pulled up his three-quarter sleeves to the elbow.

Tattoos. He has tattoos. You were NOT ready for tattoos. Jesus fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck. You wanted to lick them. And then you remembered where you were.

“See something you like, sugar?”

“What? No! No. Just- I’ve never seen a kid our age with tattoos. That’s all.” The blush you felt pinking your skin could be seen from space. You were sure of it. Jesus.

He leaned in again to talk to you. It seemed he always leaned in when he thought he had something clever to say; it was annoying and alluring at the same time. “Well I do have a few more years on all of the children here,” he said, “or don’t you remember that about me?”

You did. You just… forgot. Something about that niggled in your brain. “Wait. If you’re well over the age of consent, why did you even have to get a permission slip signed?”

He tilted his head. He had to admit, that was a really good question. But he shrugged and countered: “Why did you? Aren’t you eighteen already?”

“Huh, true,” you said. “Maybe it’s a school thing.” you shrugged back at him.

“Heh. Looks like the Establishment has managed to brainwash us already.” He shook his shaggy head. “Well, I feel foolish.”

You had to smile at that. “You are very anti-establishment, aren’t you?”

“You really are getting to know me, huh darlin’?”

“Well,” you replied, whispering conspiratorially again, “what kind of a fake lover would I be if I didn’t get to know my pookie-kins?”

He looked at you with a comically critical face. “I don’t know about you. You may be too smart for me. I usually go for the empty-headed bimbo types.”

“Ah yes… like a jock, only a girl? Body by Jake, brain by Mattel?” you asked. His eyebrows raised and he let out a laugh, short and sharp.

Mr. Harris cleared his throat. “If I may begin?” he asked. The lesson started. Eddie handed you the scalpel with a wink.

You twirled a finger in your hair and looked comically puzzled. “The pointy end goes in the frog, right?” you asked him, giving him your best bimbo impression. Eddie couldn’t help himself; he giggled. He actually fucking giggled. He knew there was more to your game. There had to be. He couldn’t ignore his instincts. But he also knew that you were funny. And smart. And beautiful. And funny, smart, and beautiful totally worked for him.

Fuck.

#fanfic #writing #joe quinn #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #joseph quinn #la belle dame avec merci #lbdam #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #slow burn

[melodramaticatheart]

Do You Want To Get In Trouble? - Xander x Max

word count: 756

book: tig series

ship: Xander Hawthorne x Max Liu

“Xander will you stop looking at me like that for the love of god” Max wasn’t asking Xander she was ordering him, Max had somehow gotten some blizzard in her hair and the boy couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. “How am I looking at you?” He asks knowing the answer. His brothers had often pointed out that when he looked at Max it was like seeing a puppy in love. Xander stated that it was most likely untrue but deep down he knew they were right. Max had grown to be his comfort person, the one he could share everything with, even in the middle of the night when an idea sprung to his head she was always ready to listen, always matching his energy. He scrambled for a napkin somewhere in the Dairy Queen bag. “Y’know I must thank you for helping me experience my first official blizzard,” Xander said, finally finding a napkin and handing it to her. “I can’t believe you’ve never had one, it really makes you think maybe growing up rich isn’t so great,” Max said with a crooked smile, finally getting all the ice cream out of her hair. “Let’s get out of here and do something fun” She suggested once a moment of silently staring at the parking lot passed. “What you wanna do?” Xander said starting up the car they stole from one of Oren’s men. They weren’t even supposed to be out of the house but the fall semester was starting soon and neither of them would see the other till Christmas. Sneaking out was the only way they could get away from all the nerves at the Hawthorne Manor. The games were starting in three months and the energy was palpable. “Let’s give your brothers a heart attack.” Max smiled evilly, he could already see an idea brewing. Max kissed Xander pulling away with mischievous eyes.

“Do you wanna get in trouble with me, Xander Hawthorne?” 

“I thought you’d never ask”

Thirty minutes later they had flower seeds, a shovel and dirt in the trunk of the car. Xander and Max’s idea of trouble was actually not bad at all, just illegal. They decided they would plant peonies so when the school year ended they could come back and see how they’d grown. They both chose where they wanted the flowers and started working. It wasn’t until Max and Xander were doubled over laughing at a joke that they noticed a police officer pulling up in a golf cart. The man couldn’t be older than forty, he held up a flashlight and asked for them to identify themselves, they stumbled up still laughing when they said their names “Uh I’m Maxine Liu, and he’s Alexander Hawthorne.” Max said, looking absolutely delighted at the use of Xander’s full name. “Ok well if you don’t know, what you’re doing is illegal and I need to write you guys a fine.” The officer stepped closer looking at the dirt on the kids' jeans. He took out a notepad and gave Xander a paper. “I need you both to leave now, or I will need to take you to the station.” The officer explained “Yes,” Xander looked closer at the sir’s name badge “Yes, Officer Koplan.” He repeated already picking up the empty packet of flower seed packets and Max picking up the small shovel. “You kids stay out of trouble for the rest of the night, you hear me?” The officer's accent was thicker now as he yelled after Max and Xander. 

When both of them got back to the Hawthorne house they did not expect Jameson and Avery to be having a cup of coffee at nearly one in the morning. “Max, Xander, what were you guys doing out at this hour?!” Avery said her eyes widening when she saw the shovel “We promise we didn’t kill anyone.” Max said grinning “We just got fined for being so funny and attractive.” Xander said getting the shovel from Max’s hand. Jameson was trying hard not to laugh. “How about I accompany you with taking the shovel back outside,” Jameson said clearly wanting to get away from the conversation he and Avery were having. 

Once the boys were outside, Avery and Max just stared at each other till Max was looking down trying to cover her smile. “Man, you guys really like each other,” Avery said putting her hands in her jean pockets. 

“Shut up.”  But the only thing both girls could do was grin at each other.

⊹‿︵‿୨ི୧‿︵‿⊹

requested by @s-rosie

wasnt gonna post but @art-of-fools held me at gun point

#the grandest game #the inheritance games #the hawthorne legacy #grayson hawthorne #the final gambit #the brothers hawthorne #xander hawthorne #max liu #xander x max #soph writes 𝜗𝜚

[indigovigilance]

Aziraphale, Kermit the Frog, and Fraggle Rock

Inspo from @crowleys-hips, images shamelessly ripped from original post:

The costumes and set design in the Book of Job episode were supposedly inspired mostly by The Ten Commandments but I’m ignoring that for right now because this is more fun. Now that I’ve written it, this is actually one of my dark ones.

Ready? Let’s go.

read on Ao3

The Frog Prince

[Source]

Kermit, created in 1955, was originally an abstract character without a defined species. He did not [officially] become a frog until The Frog Prince episode in 1971. At the same time, he gained his pointed collar. Kermit is not the prince in this retelling, but is one of the many frogs, who don’t believe that the Frog Prince is actually human and try to convince the Frog Prince that even if there is a curse, they don’t need to try to break it, being a frog is great!

Sing out for the swamp and sing out for the ooze The life of a frog is the life you should choose Sing out for the mud and sing out for the bog It’s ever so jolly just being a frog We love the old mud hole, we say that we soak The feeling’s so good that we just gotta croak The muck and the mire, the slush and the slime Are the reasons a frog has a wonderful time

It’s a very weird musical number. I have exactly one semester of music theory under my belt but it sounds awfully minor key to me.

It’s very much about bullying someone who doesn’t feel like they belong into conforming. Exchange “frog” for “angel” and we’ve got a pretty on-the-nose parallel story here.

Two Interpretations

First: Aziraphale is a prince among frogs whose unique identity is being ignored. The ones he has turned to for help are ignoring his pleas and insisting that their way is the best way, even though it is clearly not.

Second: Aziraphale is the frog! Kermit gained his collar when he finally began to solidify as a character with a set identity. Both of these themes apply to Aziraphale’s arc in Book of Job.

*topic change*

Jim Henson & Richard Hunt

Coming back to the extreme queer theming of Season 2 (God bless you GO production team) we have a nod to Jim Henson and Richard Hunt. Much like Pterry and the Notorious NRG, both men began their artistic journeys very young. Henson began in high school, where he began developing what would later become the Muppets; he continued his work on puppets on Sesame Street. He is the creator of Kermit the Frog. He’s also well-known for The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth, other queer culture mainstays. Some years later, at 18 years old, Richard Hunt shot his shot and asked for a job puppeteering on Sesame Street in 1972; he got it. He would continue to work as a puppeteer with Jim Henson on the Muppets and related works until he died in 1992 at the age of 40 due to complications of AIDS.

Gone But Not Forgotten || Terry Pratchett

If you have not read my meta on Terry Pratchett’s representation in the Final Fifteen, I will link it at the bottom as well and highly suggest you read it. It’s not necessary reading for what comes next, but it is relevant.

Richard Hunt was openly gay and heavily involved in the New York gay community during the AIDS epidemic. He was in a relationship with a painter named Nelson Bird, who died of AIDS related complications in 1985. There is some speculation that Fraggle Rock Season 5 Episode 7 is an artistic representation of Richard Hunt losing his partner. In that episode, Wembley makes a new friend, Mudwell, played by Richard Hunt, that he abruptly loses at the end of the episode following a confession of mutual affection. You can follow the link below to watch the full episode. The final-fifteen parallel content begins at 12:30:

Gone But Not Forgotten (Fraggle Rock S05E07)

The loss is followed by a conversation between two characters that centers around remembering those who have been lost by keeping the things and memories they left behind, and the partner who [survived] goes through rituals of grieving.

If you scrolled past it but would like to read it now, here’s a link to my meta Terry Pratchett’s representation in the Final Fifteen.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #terry pratchett #neil gaiman #aziraphale #kermit the frog #the muppets #fraggle rock #jim henson #richard hunt

[megamindsupremacy]

Misc PJO Fic Recs (Part 4)

The Stolen God by TsarinaTorment

Python is defeated. The prophecies are restored, and Nero has fallen. Apollo has not been seen since. His trials are over; why isn’t he back on Olympus?

-

Baby Blofis College Fund by zipadeea

Valerie calls her an hour later.

“Sally, what the hell?”

“That bad, huh?”

“Bad? Sally, it’s gold. I went from squirming in my seat to crying genuine tears. And that twist, making him a Greek god, it’s exactly what we’re looking for right now. How soon can you get me the next chapter?”

***

In which Sally Jackson realizes by the time the new baby is eighteen, a semester of college will cost an arm and a leg. And those Fifty Shades of Grey books sure did make a lot of money.

-

to bet on losing dogs by furnaceglow

The thing is,” Apollo said, the coolest prisoner of war in all of time. Prometheus wasn't prone to jealousy, but even he felt a drop of envy at how relaxed Apollo was in maximum security. "How to define a man…are we talking ontology here? That’s broad scope, bigger picture. We can include ourselves in that definition. Philosophy otherwise! Our good man Diogenes. You remember Diogenes! Or are we specifically talking about man for the sake of man? Is this about anthropology, is what I’m saying.” “I’m open to all interpretation,” Prometheus said. “Been a while since I’ve had good conversationalists here. Krios is all grunting, and Hyperion is solely interested in making his quarters nicer.” “Well, he has an eye for interior design, I’ll give him that,” Apollo said.

In which Percy Jackson ascends to a reluctant godhood, his mother loses the war but wins a battle, and for once, Prometheus picks the winning horse.

-

and if your eyes don't speak by Pixelfun20

Estelle Jackson is seven years old when she meets her nephew for the first time, over a grainy Facetime call.

OR

Estelle grew up with stories of Percy Jackson, but it takes meeting his son to realize who he really was.

-

the carriage held but just ourselves by Writeous

The official story is this: Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, just two months shy of their seventh wedding anniversary, hurtle off a cliff on a lonely mountain road. A tragic accident, a sharp turn taken too quickly. Their 2023 Prius was found buried under debris, three hundred feet below where witnesses claim they fell. Paramedics declared them dead upon arrival, suffering blunt force trauma as their car collapsed with them inside.

The real story is this: Percy and Annabeth watch as Hecate’s children create perfect duplicates of them that are promptly hurled off a cliff. Percy loved that Prius.

(Or: at the end of the Titan War, Zeus offered Percy immortality. Percy was mistaken in thinking it was an actual choice.)

-

Dawn Rises From The East by TsarinaTorment

During the Battle of Manhattan, Michael Yew fell into the East River; his body was never found. Two years later, a homeless kid known only as Ferret has a chance encounter that changes everything he knows.

-

Annabeth and the Nine Step Career Plan by feeling_the_aster_9145

Annabeth Chase does not accept limitations. Everyone knows that. If she wants something, no matter how impossible, she will find a way to make it happen. Though, perhaps she will allow Bruce Wayne and his ridiculous paranoia-induced company restrictions a small portion of the credit.

Actually… now that she thinks about it, the man may have had a point in his worries.

Wayne Technologies does not accept college interns. Annabeth always has a plan B.

-

is it really a crime if you don't exist? by MidnightBunny

"So, what you're saying is," Percy said, staring at the man in front of him. "you're me from the future."

The man took a drink out of the coffee cup in his hand. "Yup."

"And you're here," Percy said slowly. "Because Annabeth's brother's boyfriend is trying to prove the existence of the multiverse."

The man nodded.

"And you got sucked in when he turned it on."

Nod.

"And now you don't know how to get home."

Nod.

"And how did you get sucked in, again?"

The man mumbled something.

"What?"

"I was coming back from the bathroom and opened the wrong door."

-

(I'm so excited this one is back y'all, the author privated all her works but just unprivated them a few weeks back so now I'm recommending you read all of her stuff, especially this fic)

Son of Sea Foam by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

“She’ll never claim me,” he whispered. Silena shook her head, eyes wild as she looked around for anyone who could be watching.

“My mother doesn’t remember half of her children as it is,” she said with a note of bitterness. “If you do something to impress her, it won’t matter. Return the bolt in her name. She’ll claim you if you act the part. If you stay unclaimed then they'll figure out what you really are," she said, squeezing his hands tightly. Percy's heart sped up.

"I - I don't know the first thing about Aphrodite-"

"My mother was born of sea foam," Silena cut him off. "And if you're really who I think you are... you are the sea. You can pull this off," she said and touched his cheek. "Get the bolt. Survive," she said. Percy swallowed.

"What if I can't act the part?" He asked. Silena's expression went blank for a moment. Slowly, she slipped off her bracelet and placed it in his hands.

"If you're going to be one of us... you better learn."

Or

AU where Percy has to hide the fact he's a Big Three kid otherwise he'll be killed on the spot. Unfortunately for him, unclaimed kids tend to raise the most suspicion... but he might have found a loophole in the form of Aphrodite.

#mads posts #percy jackson #pjo fic recs #fic recs #pjo fic rec list #riordanverse fic rec list #riordanverse fic recs

[cursestothemoon]

With Cable-knit Sweaters and Freshly Pressed Levis

Genre: ANGST some fluff

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You're going off to college and Steve starts to feel a little insecure about where his life is going resulting in him saying something he regrets. Robin talks some sense into him.

A/N: this is lightly edited, i just really wanted to get it out to you guys soon. also the end is heavily inspired by Say Anything, also writing it felt absolutely ridiculous and goofy im sorry.

Word count: 5700+

Warnings: it gets a little steamy in a small part, nothing serious, some cursing

The leaves crunched under the barely worn in rubber soles of Steve Harrington’s Nike Cortez, it was the first fall season since he had graduated high school. Truthfully, Steve felt his feelings were a bit jumbled, while his high school career was momentous he welcomed graduation with a bittersweet heart, Steve felt almost sad- almost longing- for a time when his biggest problem was passing Mrs. Wilson’s math class, or whether he’d see you passing in the halls on his way to English or not. 

God, he was absolutely smitten with you back then. Still is, in fact. 

Everything about you made Steve’s breath catch in his throat and stomach erupt in butterflies. When he officially asked you to be his girlfriend, during a classic Steve Harrington movie date, he joked that he’d have eternally sweaty palms because you made him so nervous, so jittery. The memory alone, the image of pulling up in front of your house and you coming out of the door wearing that pretty dress, with your hair curled just right around your face, had his palms starting to get clammy as he pulled out the keys from his pocket. 

It took a bit of elbow grease, some jiggling of the key in the lock to finally get the deadbolt to slide over, effectively unlocking the door to Family Video. Steve was in no rush to open this morning, just as long as he clocked in on time (which he did) he could saunter around fixing things here and there making sure it all looked neat and orderly, knowing that even on his days off, Keith was bound to make an appearance at some point to nitpick and complain. 

Unfortunately for Steve, his tidying up only lasted so long before he was planted behind the counter, chin resting in his palm, arm propped up on the counter. He was tempted to start counting seconds until Robin had to clock in. Today was the first Friday since school had started back up, meaning Robin had to change her availability to after school shifts only. 

School now was a bit of a sore subject for Steve. 

Sure on the social ladder, Steve Harrington was on the tippy top, but popularity doesn't get you into college… turns out neither does barely passing grades. While he often muttered sly remarks or witty jokes at the expense of Hawkins High School’s notorious repeat senior, Steve wasn’t too far from repeating senior year himself. Really, the only reason he was able to pass his classes by the skin of his teeth was you. 

You, who he had the stupidest crush on. 

You, who was never in any of his classes because you were almost an entire year ahead all throughout the four years of school. 

You, who was bribed to tutor him for his math class, a class you had passed the semester prior. 

You, who was packing to go to some big name school on the east coast, a school that if he even tried to apply to, would laugh in his face after using his transcripts as coasters. 

Steve loves you, he’s sure he has loved you ever since the first time he saw you back in the eighth grade during the only class he had ever shared with you- mandatory P.E, and he’s certain you love him. Why else would you touch him so gently, kiss him so passionately, if not because you love him. But then again Steve, at one point in his life, was certain he’d be in college by now, proudly wearing a sweatshirt with the name of some hoity toity college plastered across the chest while you praised him for being so smart, so cool, so unbelievably talented and driven. 

Things change, plans change, people change. 

You were going to the hoity toity school, wearing the college sweater… and he was working at Family Video and had a stack of rejection letters thick enough to be used as a mattress if he ever needed it. Steve knew you'd never hold it against him, never in a million years would you make him feel bad about being an immature teenager, you were just perfect like that and right about now it was making Steve feel worse about himself. 

The new school, new campus, new people would present you with so many opportunities, and Steve wasn’t naive to this. It was like a whole new world of job opportunities, learning opportunities, and even opportunities dressed in cable knit sweaters with freshly pressed Levis, hair cut short and presentable to fit in with the other lawyers, doctors, businessmen and other hotshot collegiate bachelors. This wasn’t to say Steve didn’t trust you, he trusted you with his life and Dustin’s, but it was the guilt that was eating away at him. The guilt that he was keeping you away from what you wanted, what you deserved- the hotshot, hoity toity college men that wore Ralph Lauren to Tuesday evening class. Steve felt guilty because he felt as though he was keeping you from being with someone who deserves you more than he did. He had voiced these concerns, very subtly of course, in the past and you were quick to disagree.

But things change, plans change, people change, and maybe that includes you changing as well. 

The bright ringing of the phone brought Steve out of his spiraling negativity, he shook his head quickly before reaching under the counter to answer the call.

“Family Video, you’ve got Steve on the line.” He greeted with the mandatory opener Keith made him memorize his first week. 

A familiar giggle flitted through the receiver making his heart dance in his chest.

“Y/n…” He drawled knowingly. 

“Morning Stevie, how’s work?” You asked, Steve could hear your smile through your tone- his mood immediately brightening. 

He shrugged, putting the phone between his jaw and shoulder, “Oh you know, some drama here, mystery there.”

Steve waits to hear you laugh at his corny joke before continuing, “Honestly, not as busy as you'd think a video store would be at,” He paused to look down at his watch for the time. “10:30 am on a Friday. I mean I was expecting hoards of people to come in through those doors, but not a single soul. Can you believe that, pretty girl?”

You laughed again, and if he closed his eyes he could almost picture the flustered look you'd get when he called you by that pet name. 

“Well Steve, maybe you’re just super intimidating- you're scaring off the customers.”

“Oh yeah, this green vest I’m sporting really screams scary and intimidating.” 

Steve smiles as he hears you chuckle again, “What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“Nothing really, I just finished packing- everything is ready to go… To be honest, I think it's more of a nervous laugh.” You start to trail off.

“Oh so my jokes weren’t actually landing, yeah, alright that’s cool. No, I’m not hurt or anything it’s fine-”

You playfully cut him off with a groan of his name.

He chuckles before getting a bit more serious, “What’s got my pretty girl nervous giggling then, huh?”

The line goes silent for a moment, worrying Steve and making him think this was more serious then you had let on.

“So you know how I’m supposed to drive up to Princeton towards the end of next month to start classes?”

Steve hummed in agreement. 

“Well, I got a call from the Dean today, she said a spot opened up in the program I had wanted to join- remember the one I got waitlisted for then told to reapply next year because all the spots were filled? Well, turns out someone dropped it and the spot opened up.”

Your infectious excitement bled through the phone, making Steve’s bones tingle with happy adrenaline.

“Oh baby, that’s great! I’m so happy for you.” He cooed into the phone, knowing how devastating it was for you when you found out you wouldn't be getting into the program you wanted to. 

You cleared your throat, a nervous tick you have, “Thank you, Stevie, but- um- the thing is���I’m leaving on Wednesday. I know, I know, it’s such short notice and I’m so glad I decided to pack everything early because what were we going to do if I hadn’t and-”

Steve stood with the phone pressed to his face shell shocked. You were leaving on Wednesday, only five days from now. He felt his whole world come crumbling down to his feet, every insecurity and guilt ridden thought coming to the forefront of his mind. At least when he knew you were leaving a month from now, he still had time to push his feelings away, ignore them until it was absolutely impossible. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to feel, what to do or say, or even what to think. He was incredibly, painfully overwhelmed, and he was almost certain you had caught onto his unresponsiveness by the way you kept repeating his name.

“...Steve? Are you still there?” You spoke softly into the phone, hoping the call hadn’t dropped.

“I’m here.” He croaked out, barely.

You let out a breath of relief, “Oh thank god, thought the call dropped for a seco-”

“Y/N, are you sure about this?” He asked in a single, labored breath.

“Yeah, I’m sure. This has been my dream since the seventh grade, of course I want-”

Steve shook his head, “No. Are you sure about this… about us… and the distance?”

“Stevie, baby,” Your voice was soft, comforting. “I am one hundred and ten percent sure about us. I love you, Steve, no amount of miles is going to change that.”

The line was silent again, a heavy silence that made your skin crawl and goosebumps break out the back of Steve’s neck. A silence that makes you feel self conscious, forcing you to continue speaking.

“Unless… unless you-”

His mouth seemed to move faster than his brain and he finally knows what a terrible burden it must be for Robin to be cursed with the lack of a filter as he blurts out, “I don’t- I don’t think I am.”

“Oh.”

A single syllable. One word (he doubted he could even call it a word), had Steve screwing his eyes shut in regret. 

I don’t think I am.

What possessed him to say something so definite, so damning, so unchangeable? Of course he was sure about your relationship, knowing it would withstand an asteroid hit if it came to it, yet here he was- Steve Harrington, absolute blackhole coming in to destroy the sound foundation you two had built over the last eight months with just one phrase, I don't think I am.

“It’s just I’ve been thinking… a lot… and you’re moving to a whole new city with whole new people…”

God Steve just shut up, his brain begged.

“A lot of new…opportunities.”

“Opportunities?” You questioned.

Steve shut up.

“Yeah, opportunities…people. Maybe I’m not what's best for you anymore.”

“Steve, you’re perfect for me, what are you talking about? I want you, Steve, not any new…opportunity.”

Shut up, Steve.

“Well maybe,”

For the love of god.

“I don’t want…”

Just think about this Steve.

“Steve?” You sounded so broken, so hurt, yet your tone didn't even register in Steve’s mind until it was too late.

“Maybe I don't want you to…want me… anymore.”

Hook, line, and sinker. 

There was that silence again before you let out a humorless laugh.

“Oh my god, Harrington, are you breaking up with me over the phone at work?”

The last time you called him Harrington, you had just been told that you were being forced to tutor him in math. 

Steve shut his eyes again, trying to figure out a way to rewind time and figure out how he royally just fucked everything up. 

“Listen, if you wanted to be single again and open to your own new opportunities, all you had to do was say that. No need to make yourself seem like some hero, selflessly allowing me to be with other people.”

“No you don’t-”

You cut him off, anger clear even through the shitty phone at Family Video, “No, I do get it. You're not up for the long distance thing, it’s cool. Honestly, I should've expected it- but then again I should feel lucky that King Steve even allowed me to date him for a few months, right?”

Steve felt a lump starting to form in his throat, his stomach dropping to his knees at the mention of his douchey high school persona.

“No, Y/N, I just…” He paused, all words evading him rendering him absolutely unable to fix the situation. 

You let out a breath, speaking slowly and carefully, your voice tired, “I’m leaving on Wednesday, Steve. If I don’t see you before I leave…I hope you find someone you want to want you.”

“Y/N-”

“Bye, Steve.”

The line went silent, only this time it was an empty silencing ringing through Steve’s ears.  

___

The bell on top of the door jingled. Steve couldn’t see who walked in, the patterned carpet seemed to have his complete attention. 

“...Earth to Dingus?” 

Robin. 

Was it really 3:30pm already? 

Did he take his lunch? He had to have, right? 

Steve honestly can’t remember, and he’s not sure how its been hours since that stupid phonecall but he’s sure it has been because Robin is here. Robin’s shift starts at 3:30, so that means it’s 3:30.

“Hey, Rob.”

Robin looked at Steve quizzically. Never once in all her years of knowing Steve has he ever sounded so dim, dull, and…boring. Sure he’s spoken about things she truly had no interest in, but his cadence and tone was always dancing around excitedly, his words and gestures animated. Robin thinks of a word that could describe his state, quickly landing on empty. Steve looked and sounded unnaturally empty today. 

“Steve? I know we haven’t really been friends for that long, granted I do believe fighting evil Russians together might make us closer than normal friends and you know a lot more about me than most people…you know with the whole…girl situation, anyway we haven't been friends for that long but I think something is wrong with you and it’s really freaking me out and my mom says I ramble when I’m nervous which I'm pretty sure im doing now but I’ve never seen you like this and really what I’m trying to say is what’s wrong with you…well, I mean it in like an ‘are you okay’ way, not like a mean ‘oh my god what is wrong with you’.”

Robin took a breath, Steve seemed to get more zoned out the more she talked which made her more nervous, making her ramble even more until she decided to force herself to close her mouth and focus on her friend's answer. 

“I’m cool.”

She shook her head, “No, actually, you’re not.”

“...as a cucumber.”

The statement made Robin panic more, her legs moving on instinct toward the phone that was conveniently placed on the opposite side of the counter from Steve.

“Alright, fine. You’re freaking me out, so I’m just gonna call Y/N and she can come-”

Steve seemed to move at lightning speed grabbing the handset of the phone from Robin’s hand and cradling it to his chest. Robin’s eyes widened in shock, slowly trailing up from the deathgrip he had on the phone to the look of pleading painted across Steve’s features, he looked near tears. 

“Please…don’t call her.” 

Over the next hour Steve filled Robin in on the phone call, word for reciting the entirety to her seeing as it had been seared into his brain after all. He then spent the hour after that unpacking all of his insecurities for his friend to understand why he did what he did. Everything from his dad, to his barely average grades, and the stupid boys who probably wear Ralph Lauren and have good relationships with their filthy rich parents, and will most probably see you and fall in love with you’re smile and witty charm the same he did. The same way he, Steve Harrington, stupid boy with wealthy parents and an ego to go along with everything fell in love with you. 

He knows it’ll happen because it happened to him. 

“...Okay, so maybe this isn't the best situation you could be in. But! But, it could be salvageable.”

Steve huffed, “Robin you weren’t there, you didn’t hear it. It’s not like I told her I was just done with the relationship, I said I didn't want her to want me anymore, basically just rejecting her love and saying I don't want her anymore. There is no coming back from this, an- and maybe it's for the best, you know?”

Robin looked dumbstruck, “Uh, no, no I don’t know.”

“She's going to Princeton, Rob. Princeton. Do you know how people get into schools like Princeton?” Steve asked incredulously before lifting his hand and counting on his fingers. “One, you either have to be really smart, and I mean like really really smart, so they want you to come to make them look better. They would do anything for these people to come to their school, grants, scholarships you name it. And do you know the second and final way of getting into a school like Princeton? Having a ridiculously stupid amount of money. So much money it’s coming out of your ass, and even then the people with money aren’t dumb. They won't just bring on anyone who can afford it, they still have a grade point average I couldn’t even achieve in my dreams.”

“...And?”

Steve huffed, frustrated that Robin clearly wasn't getting his point, “And she’s going to go there, surrounded by rich, smart, and probably good looking guys- men, surrounded by these rich men, and they are going to take one look at her and see exactly what I saw… the total love of my life.”

The room went silent as Robin looked at him sadly, Steve still looking down in thought before speaking up again.

“And she’s gonna say no to that?” He whispered, more to himself. “For what? Some guy who couldn;t even get into college? Some guy who works at the local Family Video?”

“Steve…”

Steve shook his head, sniffling as he held up his hand to her, “No, Robin. I won’t- I won’t let her throw her whole life away for me. I’m not going anywhere, I’m not good enough to go anywhere. I was born in Hawkins and I’ll probably die here too.” Steve let out a humorless laugh, “It’s not even a guarantee I’ll be able to grow old with her…not with how things have been going. It’s better if she gets away from here, if she gets away from me.”

Robin could feel her heart breaking as her friend, her best friend, spoke with such a sad conviction in his voice. 

“Steve…that girl loves you. Look, I’m not the best at this whole relationship thing- trust me I know- but her heart beats for you. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people as in love as you and Y/n. I understand you're worried about her, and I understand that you think  there are other people out there that are better for her, bu- but that's her decision in the end and maybe in some weird, man way you are trying to protect your own heart by pushing her away first but god Steve both of you will be miserable without each other. She loves you and you love her, and at the end of the day she knows the risks that come with loving you and it's her decision to love you. You think these guys are better for her than you but that's because you don’t see her the way she sees you. If that makes sense. You don’t see the way she looks at you with so much love and passion and something else that I can't name because I’ve never felt what she feels when she looks at you. Steve, in her eyes you’re it. You are the sun, and the moon, and everything beautiful. Just because you can't see it doesn mean she doesn't.”

Robin huffed out the last sentence, very clearly out of breath as Steve just stared at her stunned. She didn’t know where all that came from, deep down thinking maybe it was lingering jealousy she used to feel when she’d see the way you looked at Steve, or maybe the fact that Steve had the perfect person right in front of him, in his arms, and he was going to throw it all away because he couldn’t see just how much she loved him. 

Whatever it was, her long, awkwardly flowing ramble seemed to ignite a fire in Steve. He ran to the backroom before coming back out, jacket in hand. He tugged off his green vest in a rush, nearly getting tangled in the clothing piece. 

“Robin…you’re a genius.” He breathed out before turning to the door. 

Robin shook her head as she watched him jog toward the glass doors before skidding to a stop and turning on his heels, only to run back over to the counter. He leaned over the desk, grabbing Robin by the cheeks and planting a thankful kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you.” He smiled. 

She made a face, moving to wipe off his kiss from her forehead with a scrunched nose. 

“Whatever Dingus just don’t mess this up, yeah?”

Steve yelled back, already halfway to the door, “Yeah, and if Keith comes by cover for me!”

Robin shook her head as she slowly walked toward the glass door, watching Steve run into his car almost hitting his head in the process before speeding away. 

It took a few seconds of watching Steve’s car disappear down the road before her eyes shifted toward the sign on the door, the blank white placard was facing her and she could only chuckle as she realized what was on the other side, facing out- ‘Out to Lunch’.

Steve did go to lunch…only he forgot to turn the sign back around. 

Robin flips the sign and walks back to the desk, her question of why everything had been so quiet answered. 

—

The bare walls of your room brought more tears to your eyes. Every poster, picture, and keepsake now tucked away into boxes, leaving the once busy walls desolate and eerie. You never understood it before, when people talked about how off putting it was to see everything you own packed up into boxes but now as you stood surrounded by four plain walls and at least ten cardboard boxes of varying sizes it was the most surreal feeling in the world. It was just a room, just things, yet you didn't like that you couldn't see them now that they sat in boxes, you couldn’t see yourself in this room anymore. It was just a room. 

Your emotions had been up and down ever since the phone call earlier in the day. A break up was the last thing you were expecting when you picked up the phone to call your boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, Steve. You had cried about that for most of the day, took a break once in a while to nurse your headache from crying, then you’d be reminded of Steve somehow and start the process all over again. 

The scuff mark on the wall near the door.

“So this is my room. We can study here, it’ll be a lot quieter.” You explained, opening the clean, white door to your room.

Steve walked in just behind you, eyes focused on the way your hair fell perfectly behind you and how with every step he’d get a whiff of your perfume. Something floral, maybe some vanilla? He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew he’d remember it for the rest of his life. 

“Alright so I’ve already made flashcards, why don't we just start with figuring out your strengths and weaknesses.” You spoke, pulling notebooks out of your bag that rested on the edge of your bed. Steve hummed in response, turning to look at the pictures you had on the wall near your door.

There were pictures of you and your friends, of animals he assumed were pets, and some of just family and friends. One picture in particular stole his attention, it was a small polaroid of you and another girl smiling up at the camera, you had cake on your face and the mystery girl held up a single pointer finger that had the same cake on it. You looked radiant and Steve had half the mind to steal the picture and keep it for himself.

“What are you looking at?” You questioned, suddenly very close to him. He could tell, your perfume smelled stronger.

He pointed up to the picture, head turning toward you while his eyes stayed in the same spot as before, “You know…you're supposed to eat the cake. Not wear it.”

You chuckled, “It was my sixteenth birthday, my cousin smeared the cake on my face. Come on, we need to study.”

Steve nodded, now turning to look at you. He had a charming smile on his face, a smile far too suave for it to be a casual coincidence, Steve knew exactly how to use that smile.

“Ok… let's study.” Steve said in a low voice, side stepping to be standing in front of you, he rested his palms against the wall behind your head and had both arms extended fully as he looked down at you.

You took an instinctive step back, starting to get butterflies, only your shoe hit the wall and scuffed the paint.

“This has nothing to do with math, Steve.” You whispered looking up at him.

He shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips, a genuine smile. Unlike the charming one he had on before, this one felt special, it was the type of smile you'd give to someone after having just whispered a secret to them.

“No, but,” Steve moved his hand slowly, thumb coming to run over the side of your jaw before resting just below your bottom lip on your chin. “...you’re really pretty and I won’t be able to focus on anything you say if you keep looking at me like this. Honestly, Y/n, it’s kinda your fault we won’t be able to get any work done.”

You rolled your eyes, a grin fighting its way onto your face, “Oh, it’s my fault now?”

“Mhm,” Steve hummed, stepping closer. “Your fault, and I think the only way I’ll be able to focus, and I mean really focus, is if you agree to go out with me. This Friday. Ice cream at the little shop by school.” He bargained, thumb starting to gently caress your skin.

You pretend to think about it for a moment, “Fine. But we really have to study. I don’t go on dates with guys who don't pass senior year.”

Steve smiled ear to ear as he leaned in closer, lips almost on yours.

“Perfect.” He started to move the rest of the way but you put your finger against his lips stopping him.

“Save your moves for the date, Harrington.”

Next your eyes moved to the door knob on your closet door.

“Come on, Steve, we have to be quiet.” You pleaded with your intoxicated boyfriend.

Steve seemed to be finding anything and everything absolutely hilarious in his drunk state, giggling so loud you worried he'd wake the entire neighborhood up.

“I’m trying, baby.” He giggled again, each syllable elongated. 

You huffed, finally getting him sitting on the bed so you could remove his button up shirt for a more comfortable t-shirt. 

“Stay here, I’m going to the closet to grab your shirt. Don't move.” You explained before turning toward the closet and opening the door. 

As you dug through your clothes looking for the pile of Steve’s shirts you always kept at your house, somehow the newly graduated boy forgot all of the instructions he was once given and stood up to start walking to you- only with his beer goggles on, it was a wonder he could stay upright at all. You heard a few stumbles then a thud against your closet door.

“Fuck, ow!” He cursed, making you shoot up and shove your hand over his mouth.

You listened to make sure you didn't hear your parents voices, signaling that they've awoken or any coming footsteps. Once the coast was clear you turned back to a wide eyed Steve who still had your hand over his mouth. Slowly you moved your hand and he pouted.

“I tripped and banged my hip on the doorknob.” He explained.

“Aww you poor thing.” You half teased as you moved to look at his hip that was already turning red. “You’re gonna bruise, Stevie.”

He grumbled, “I know, I bruise like a damn peach.”

You smiled softly at that memory before your eyes moved to your window. 

The bed squeaked under the weight of both you and Steve. He held your waist as you sat on his lap, lips locked in a heated kiss. You let out a breath as he moved his lips down to the column of your neck, leaving multiple hickies you’d deal with later. His hands ran up and down your hips to the upper side of your thighs, squeezing and grabbing anywhere he felt the need. 

You let your hands run through his thick hair, tugging just enough to get him to buck his hips up into you making you let out a surprised moan.

“We gotta be quiet, Princess, can;t have your parents walking in on their little girl making a mess on my lap.” Steve reprimanded, making you let out another whimper.

He tsked, “What did I just say?”

You kissed down his neck, biting every so often before responding, “My parents aren't home, Stevie, it’s just us until tomorrow afternoon.”

“...Oh, great, so I could’ve used the front door.”

Moving on from Steve Harrington will be hard, you can feel it. He was, is, the love of your life and you doubt anyone else could fill that whole in your heart, he took that chunk with him. 

There was a quiet hum outside your closed window, but you paid no mind to it as you continued to reminisce on what could've been with Steve. 

If you thought about it hard enough you could still feel his hands on your skin, his lips against yours, his breath on your neck. You could still smell his cologne mixed with a scent that was totally and completely him. Worst of all, if you really closed your eyes and focused, you could hear him, his voice talking to you like nothing had changed, like he still loved you.

And maybe that could be enough, you'd be able to go your whole life dancing with his ghost, happy that you at least had that because some people- the ones not lucky enough to know Steve Harrington, really know him- didn't even have that. 

You picked at your nails, letting the tears fall as you thought about how everything had come to such an abrupt end. It hadn’t even felt like an end before the phone call, you’d just move for a few years then come back. You’d always come back, but now Hawkins was losing its appeal. 

Unfortunately, you didn't have the luxury of dwelling on the thought too long, the quiet hum outside had turned into a muffled blare. You debated on whether or not to open your window and yell at whoever was making that noise for disrupting your pity party, but decided against it.

That is until you heard the soft bounce of something hitting your window. You walked over quickly, opening up the window and sticking your head out only to be hit on the forehead with what you can assume was a balled up sock. 

“Oh thank god, I thought the socks wouldn’t work.” A click signaled the boombox being turned off. 

Your eyes nearly fell out of your head with how wide they opened, “Steve? What are you doing?”

“I’m an idiot.” He huffed, looking up at you. “I panicked, I’m not good for you, Y/n, I’m not and I panicked and thought that you going off to college and leaving this tiny town meant that you would start thinking that too. I thought I wouldn’t be able to survive a heartbreak from you, I mean it would literally kill me, so I had to be the one to break it off- before, before you could. And-”

“Steve,” You tried to interrupt.

He put his hand out stopping you and shaking his head, “No, no, I need to get this out. I know that was shitty of me. Major asshole move, and I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted someone else after today but I just want you to know that I want you, Y/n. I’ll always want you. And I’d rather have you break my heart than not have you at all. You told me to find someone that I wanted to want me, right?”

Steve’s voice got louder and hoarser as he spoke, tears freely falling down his face by now. You were no different, almost half your body hanging out of the window at this point trying to get as close to him as you could. You nodded silently, waiting, hoping he’d say what you wanted him to say next.

“Well, baby, I already have. I want you to want me. Even when you're thousands of miles away, surrounded by rich wannabe doctors and lawyers, I need you to need me.”

Before you could respond, Steve bent down and picked up his boombox again clicking play. The blaring noise turning into a song, making you laugh through your thick stream of tears. 

‘I Want You to Want Me’ by Cheap Trick no doubt waking up everyone in the neighborhood. 

You laughed again as he held it up over his head, eyes staring right into your as he gave you a teary eyed, toothy grin at just how ridiculous he must seem right now. 

“You’re right,” You yelled over the music. “You are an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

Wiping your tears you continued, “But you’re mine, Stevie.”

tags:

@lyn07

@milkiane

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine

[doyawalker]

Out of Sight, Out of Mind #13

helloo everyonee, I am back!!! how are u? i hope everyone is fine <33 i'm sorry my hiatus took a bit longer than expected but this story is officially back on again!! i have graduated and am now doing a different degree, but am more flexible with time as of now.

thank you so much for still supporting this series. I wrote this chapter rather quickly because I finally wanted to post smth again. I hope it fits well into the story cuz ngl it was a bit hard to merge back into the plot after such a long break.

i hope you enjoy and i am so happy to be back.

much love 🫶🫶

contains smoking, drinking, slight smut

masterlist

previous chapter

taglist: namjooning-94, hopefulrascalstatesmantoad, parkinglot-nights , y2kcy3brz, jk-190811, erica2283, junecat18, namgikookfiles, lachimolalajeon, ash07128, jksusawife

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When I Saw You At That Party, I Was Paralyzed.

His eyes never left you for even a split second, as he took another sip from his cup. You were looking way too pretty sitting across from him, your skirt inching dangerously upwards as you shifted in your seat, widely gesturing with your hands as you talked with Namjoon. Your hair was flowing lively over your shoulders and your lips reflected the dimmed lights from the room because of your cherry lip oil. His mind automatically wandered back to last night when you were sitting on his lap in the back of his car, your back arching for his touch as he kissed your neck. Oh, how he needed that again. How he needed you. It was almost embarrassing. But since he had apologized to you and you were slowly letting your guard down around him, he was growing crazier and crazier for you.

And so, sitting here and not being able to be around you was exactly what he believed torture would be like. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand your reasoning. You wanted to take it slow. See how the tides would go. Don’t tell anyone at first. Sure, whatever. But then why did he have to spend time with you and his friends, when he would much rather just be alone with you?

“JK, bud, how about a quick smoke?”

The voice of Hoseok ripped him out of his spiraling thoughts, the hand of his friend slapping painfully against his shoulder.

At his words, your eyes snapped over to them, your face lightning up with a smile that had Jungkook’s stomach turning.

“Can I join?”, you asked, getting up from your seat. It was ridiculous how little skin your skirt was actually covering and it was driving him insane.

“Sure.”, Hoseok grinned, as Jungkook slowly got up from his seat, emptying the cup in his hand before stepping towards the door that led into the outside garden.

It was a party at Hoseok’s and Jin’s again, because the semester was coming to and end, but honestly it didn’t take much reason for the two of them to throw a party. The living room and kitchen were crowded, but the garden was rather empty, the almost full moon illuminating the greenery.

He slid the door open and let Hoseok and Namjoon pass before following closely behind you. He felt the warmth of your body radiating against his chest, your parfum intoxicating his senses, as the four of you walked towards the seating area.

He tried to enjoy the gift of your proximity as much as possible and when you threw him a look over your shoulder, a small grin on your face, he almost caved into the urge to touch you right where your skirt ended. His fingers started to itch.

The four of you sat down onto the cushioned garden stools, facing each other. You sat down next to Jungkook, the bare skin of your thighs slightly brushing against his dark jeans. Something in his stomach began to rumble.

He handed you a cigarette and lit it up for you, your eyelashes fluttering as you looked up to him to thank him. God.

He wanted to believe that the alcohol was causing the way everything around him was starting to spin, but he knew that it was all you. What were you doing to him?

Blowing the smoke out into the air, you took the two cards that Namjoon had laid in front of you and glanced at them quickly. Two fours. Looking back up at your opponents, you hesitated for a second before placing a red chip into the middle of the table. The others followed your lead.

It was the third round of poker already and you hadn’t won a single one yet. Humiliating at most, but Hoseoks failing attempts to keep a straight face while looking at his cards or contemplating how many chips to throw in where keeping your mood up. He was just too funny. Not to mention the second cup of Gin Tonic in your hand and, well, the kind of handsome man sitting beside you with one of his hands slowly inching up your naked thigh beneath the table.

It had been two weeks already. And things were honestly going well. Well, kind off. Things were going well with Jungkook. He had answered every last one of your questions about the time back then, had apologized about a thousand times, and although you hesitated to sleep with him yet because you were simply scared of growing too attached too fast, his kisses kept you awake at night. It was like every wish of two-year younger you had been fulfilled. And you weren’t disappointed. On the other hand, however, your brutally destroyed friendship with Tae was weighing heavy on your shoulders. You tried to shake it off the first few days, telling yourself that he would calm down eventually. But you had not seen or talked to him once during those past weeks. He was barely home and if he was, he was hiding out in his room. He wasn’t even meeting up with Sori. And it started to bother you more and more, like an itch that grew more annoying and harder to ignore each day. It just felt wrong. His reaction seemed out of hand, damn, almost out of character for him and it didn’t make sense to you that he was so furious over the fact that you were seeing Jungkook. You wanted to talk to him badly but he was hard to catch. Of course, he wasn’t here tonight either.

Sighing, you took another sip of your Tonic, throwing another red chip towards the center of the table. You decided to try your luck with your pair, because all four cards that were already revealed in the middle were absolute garbage.

Jungkook’s finger slightly pressed against your skin, as he looked at you questiongly. And as you noticed how high his hand had travelled by now, all doubts regarding Tae were thrown overboard in an instant and replaced by the image of Jungkook’s hand touching you even higher up.

You slowly leaned closer against him, noticing the way his body stiffened up a bit, the smell of his clean perfume hitting your nostrils.

You wanted to get out of here. With him.

Hoseok revealed the fifth card from the middle. Another four.

You didn’t even try to hide the smile on your face as you pushed two blue chips towards the other chips, throwing a challenging glance towards the two guys sitting in front of you.

Killing his cig in the ashtray, Namjoon discarded his cards, leaving only you and Hoseok to fight it out, as Jungkook had already backed out after the first three cards.

Hoseok followed your move by throwing two of his blue chips next to yours, his eyebrows wiggling excitedly.

“Show me what you got, baby.”, he laughed, revealing his cards.

A king pair.

Jackpot.

Throwing your hair over your shoulder, you leaned back into your chair calmly, slowly taking another drag from your cigarette, before turning your cards around for the others to see.

“Gotcha.”

Growning at the realization of his loss, Hoseok emptied the rest of his drink in one go, before getting up from his chair.

“I need more alcohol, I can’t handle being a loser sober.”, he announced, a deadpan expression on his face.

You also stood up, carefully placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, whose eyes jumped from the hem of your skirt up towards your face.

You knew he was thinking the same as you.

“I need to pee. Jungkook, can you refill my cup, please?”, you asked, leaning your head to the side and winking ever so slighly at him. He would get the message, right?

Right.

Something in the way he looked at you changed, his brows growing a bit further together, a faint grin appearing on his lips.

“Sure.”, he answered, getting up as well.

You slowly removed your hand from his shoulder as you turned to walk back towards the door that led inside.

Closing the bathroom door behind you, you didn’t even bother to lock it. You gave him thirty seconds. He would probably be faster though. Quickly checking your reflection in the mirror, you ran a hand through your hair, checking your makeup and lipstick. The nervous flutter you started to feel in your abdomen was so new and so weirdly exciting, but it had you cringing at the same time. You wanted to be calm and relaxed, like he always seemed to be. Instead you felt like a dumb teenager, freaking out over making out with their crush on a small toilet at a highschool party. But how could you not feel that way with the adrenaline rushing through your veins, Jungkook’s touch still feeling so foreign to you. How could you not be excited when trying things that you had wanted to try for the past two years? It was the moment that counted after all, wasn’t it?

You took a deep breath in, continuing to inspect yourself in the mirror, when the door finally opened and his broad frame appeared next to you.

You turned to look at him, a smile forming on your face as you realized that he actually had filled up your cup, but instead of handing it to you, he slammed it next to you on the bathroom counter, his body surging forward.

Pushing the door close with one hand, his other hand pulled you close to him so quickly that you couldn’t even realize what was happening when his lips already crashed against yours.

He spun you around, your back hitting the wood of the door, his fingers digging into the nape of your neck, as his chest leaned against yours and his lips demanded every ounce of your attention on them. Moaning silently against him, your mind took a good two, three seconds to fully grasp the situation at hand and when it finally did, the flutter in your stomach erupted into a full swarm of butterflies, filling your whole conscience.

You needed more.

His lips felt soft but assertive, his tongue carefully sliding into your mouth and as you moaned again, a low grumble escaped his chest. His hands slid down your body, over your waist and lower towards your skirt. Arching your back into his touch, you grabbed him by the neck and pulled him closer, making sure to press your lower body against his touch, requesting more and more.

“My god, babe, you’re driving me insane.”, he confessed quietly between kisses, his breath hovering over your lips. His fingers slipped under the fabric of your skirt and wandered upwards towards your center.

You couldn’t suppress the smile creeping up your face, the bliss of the moment catching you off guard. You simply couldn’t remember that kissing could feel so good.

But he would remind you that you could feel even better.

As his lips continued to kiss yours, sometimes leaving trails down your neck, and you relaxed against his muscular chest, his index finger brushed against your panties, sending a jolt of excitement up your spine.

Another moan slipped out between your parted lips, your eyes slightly rolling back. Not thinking straight, your hands surged forward towards his pants. Without breaking the kiss, your fingers hastily tried to unbuckle his belt, clearly struggling.

“Jungkooook.”, you whined. “Please, I need you.”

Your voice was only a whisper against his skin, but he heard you loud and clear. You felt his body stiffen under your touch again, his chest heaving from all the kissing.

But suddenly, his other hand gently grabbed you by the chin, turning your head to look straight at him.

“Are you drunk?”, he asked, concern lacing his voice. “Very drunk?”.

You blinked to focus back on him, brows furrowing together at the sudden interruption of his lips on yours, your mind still caught on his fingers between your legs and his belt between your hands.

“I’m a bit drunk.”, you stated confused, looking at him questioningly. “Why?”.

He looked towards the floor, the dark locks of his hair falling into his face. Tensing the muscles in his back, he slightly shook his head, before cautiously taking your hands and returning them to his neck.

“Y/N…”, he sighed, looking back up at you, his dark eyes drilling into you. “You have absolutely no idea how much I want you. Right now. Right here, everything…”

You tried to surge forward, his words enough to get you going.

“Jungkook, please, I want you just as much.”

Your hands wanted to move back towards his belt, but he forced them to stay at his chest.

“But if we are going to do this, we are not going to do this in a bathroom in a random house and we are not gonna do it when you’re drunk. I want you to be absolutely sure about this.”

His words lingered in the air as he pressed your hands against his torso, his fastened heartbeat pulsating against your palm.

You smiled.

Realizing the intention behind his words, you couldn’t help but lean forward again, but this time slower, more affectionate.

Stopping right before his face, your lips barely touched his. Who could’ve known that this man had such great manners? You would’ve never guessed.

Although, it only turned you on more.

You kissed him slowly, taking the lead this time around, your hands wandering back up towards his neck. He groaned silently, his bodyweight pushing you back against the door behind you.

“But, Jungkook…”, you muttered, your tongue grazing over his bottom lip. A slight tremble went through his body.

“Mhmmh?”, he hummed back, his hands back on your waist.

“I still need you right now.”

He grinned, one hand sliding under your skirt again. “Really?”.

“Yes.”

_____

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook ff #bts fic rec #bts ff #jungkook fic #jungkook #out of sight out of mind

[wordsafterhours]

Hawk White

Author's Note: This idea started with a TikTok I saw, talking about a girl falling for her older brother's best friend, and that TikTok was based off a video clip. Anyways, the idea had been stuck in my head. Enjoying this unedited one shot.

Triggers: a little cussing never hurt anyone*

Word count: 4.5-5k?

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Aelin should have known that when she woke up this morning with a splitting headache as though someone was trying to drill through her skull, that it was a precursor to how the day was going to go. But instead of going back to bed, like she wanted, she had drunk a large glass of water and taken two ibuprofens before getting dressed to conquer the day. 

The end of senior year’s fall semester was rapidly approaching, and her professors had been laying on the material relentlessly. Between a full course load of twenty-one hours, labs, and work, there weren’t enough hours in the day. Quite frankly, it was amazing she was doing more than treading water. With the exception of one B on a paper, things had been going her way.

Had. 

That was no longer the case. First it was the headache, next it was the stalled train, preventing her from getting into Orynth proper from her house, and when she finally made it to University, a lecture covering most of the content for the final, was five minutes from being over. She had pleaded with Professor Darrow to let her come by during official office hours to go over the content. He hadn’t wanted any part of it and made some off-handed remark about how he wouldn’t reward tardiness.

Aelin, for once had held her tongue, not wanting to reap any unnecessary consequences from Darrow by arguing how she’d never been late before and had the best grade in the class. No one liked a brownnoser or something like that. By staying over, she was late to her chem lab and ended up being partners with Cairn. The only thing he was good for was making arrogance his only personality trait and sleeping his way through the university’s cheerleading squad. 

His ego was stifling and because he was used to women falling at his feet, he’d never forgiven Aelin for not throwing herself at him. Now, he looked for any excuse to make snide comments when she walked past in lecture or knock ingredients over on her lab table when they were doing independent study. For two hours, she’d had to endure his hovering over her shoulder as she did what was supposed to be “group work” and then had the audacity to criticize them being docked two points when she missed a plus sign on one of the chemical formulas.  

When noon rolled around, she was two seconds from telling off the gods, and going home to her bed—it might have stopped the downward spiral in its tracks if she had. Alas, she had promised her boss that she’d inventory the new shipment of books that had come in. She’d spent hours organizing the books, putting them in careful stacks, and double-checking what needed to be put out on the shelves. This was something she’d done a million times, but in the monotony of it, her brain had wandered back to the events of the morning, and a stack of first editions had been the casualty of forgotten coffee. 

Never in her four years of working for Emrys had anything like that transpired. When he found her crying on the floor, coffee on her pants and the books, he didn’t fire her. He didn’t even chastise her. He simply bent down and slipped his arms around her, repeating “it’s okay, it’s okay” until her shoulders stopped shaking. After the mess had been cleaned up, he told her to go home, and they’d figure out what to do with the ruined books another day.

Now, she was lying face first in the bed that she never should have left to begin with. And her head was pounding again. With a loud sniffle, she turned, cracking open a swollen lid, staring at her discarded school materials. The number of waking hours left to get assignments done were dwindling—she needed to get up and get to work. Getting shot at or runover by a car sounded more appealing than academia.  

Blindly, her hand rifled through the discarded backpack, looking for her phone. 

“Aha!” she declared excitedly when she found it. There were two missed texts from Lysandra, probably asking her why she was late to lecture this morning, but those were for later. Flipping through the rest of her notifications, she smiled to herself when she noticed Rowan had a new Instagram post up. 

Rowan Whitethorn, her older cousin Aedion’s best friend, and her secret but not so secret friend. He was almost four years her senior, just like her cousin. He’d transferred from Doranelle his last year of high school and was a walk on for their high school’s rugby team. He was the talk of the entire school and one day, Aedion brought him over to family dinner, and he seamlessly joined in teasing her like he’d been doing it forever. Aelin had never regretted Aedion living with them until then.   

Rowan was constantly hanging out with Aedion, disrupting her peace, and filling the house with loud cheering and rambunctious behavior only befitting of teenage boys. Every interaction just honed her dislike; gods was he downright arrogant and annoying. It didn’t matter looked he walked off the page of a modeling magazine with his striking silver hair, strong jaw line, defined muscles, and sinful green eyes, he was the proverbial thorn in her side. If you’d asked her then, she would have swore an oath that he went out of his way antagonize her whenever the chance presented itself.  

But, as the summer between her freshman and sophomore year was fading into August, something changed. She wasn’t sure when it happened but one day, the teasing lessened and when he came to pick up Aedion, he invited her. Her cousin’s neck had about broken after, their mutual aversion to one another no secret. Weeks later, when the boys left for college south in Adarlan, Aelin thought their newfound friendship would dissipate just as quickly as it had come.

Four years later, she’d considered Rowan to be one of her best friends, and the person who knew her best. 

She clicked on the notification, the app immediately opening to his story. He looked so happy standing outside one of the large, opalescent buildings in downtown Orynth, arms resting atop Aedion and Fenrys’ shoulders as they smiled widely at the camera. She snorted reading the caption: “The Boys are Back in Town”.  

Their architecture firm Cadre had just opened last week but now it seemed all the more official being posted on his social media platform. Her best friend deserved all the happiness, he’d work so hard on bringing his dream to life, they all had. Her painted fingers were dialing his phone number before her brain could register what she was doing. 

“Hello?” his lilting voice questioned after one ring.

“Hey.”

“Hey you,” he greeted his voice having lost its seriousness.

“I saw you’re Instagram official now,” Aelin commented excitedly.

“Yeah.” His short reply sounded sheepish, and she knew his cheeks were tinged pink. Sometimes it was silly how shy he could become with compliments. He worked hard but had this impression that it didn’t need to be recognized, at least not as often as she congradulated him. 

“It’s bad ass! I’m proud of you, you’ve worked so hard. You should be putting it everywhere you can.”

“Everywhere I can, huh?” he quipped. 

It was her turn to blush, the tips of her ears burning uncomfortably at the innuendo. “Rowan!”

“After all this time, you’re still so easy to tease, Ace. I can’t help it,” he laughed. She imagined his green eyes were full of mirth, lips pulled up in a wicked smirk.

“Mhmm.” She usually would poke back at him, but the day’s events had left her in a rut that she didn’t feel like subduing just now. The other end of the phone grew silent—he’d picked up on her mood.

“Ace?” he asked quietly. 

“Yeah, Ro?” 

“What’s wrong?” He sounded worried, genuinely so. It was one of the things she loved most about him, that he always handled her with such care.

Sighing loudly, Aelin started recalling all the bad things that had happened to her since she’d woken up, making sure to highlight how she’d ruined books, including an extremely rare Terrasen history volume detailing the origins of the country itself. Aelin wasn’t sure where Emrys had found it or why it was even in the boxes of other books, but it didn’t matter now that it was covered in coffee.

“Do you have plans?” he asked loudly, sounding a little out of breath. 

“Well, not really. I mean I have homework but when don’t I?”

“I’m coming to get you,” he said, his tone stern and leaving no room for disagreement. 

She squeaked, surprise forcing her to her feet. “You’re what?”

“I’m coming to get you. You sound like you just need to decompress. We can go get ice cream or something.”

“Ro, I love that you want to hang out with me, but I know you’ve probably had a long day. And you’ve been so busy with the launch of Cadre. Honestly, I’ll just work on my paper and go to bed.” As much as she wanted to lay eyes on his handsome face and melt into a hug while being wrapped in the smell of pine and snow, she could do without. Aedion had looked ragged every time he dropped by the house lately, and it was likely Rowan was the same. They both didn’t have a healthy sense of self-preservation when it came to work-life balance.

“I’m already pulling out of the parking garage and heading that way. You can’t deny me after I ran down ten flights of stairs instead of waiting on the elevator; that’d be cruel even for you.” The devious half of her wanted to deny him, just a little, to see what his response would be, but she pocketed the idea instead.

“I’m only agreeing because you mentioned ice cream.” 

Lie. A complete lie. The mere promise of confined, alone time with her best friend would undoubtedly soothe her frazzled nerves like salve on a burn. Witty banter over the phone had been expected, what she wanted, but in true Rowan fashion, he knew her better than she knew herself.

“I’d say I was wounded, being second to ice cream, but your penchant for sweets is unparalleled.” 

“I make no apologies.” 

“Naturally. I’m exiting, I’ll see you soon if people aren’t driving obnoxiously slow,” he sounded annoyed already. Pained even. 

Aelin snorted. “Not everyone drives an expensive sports car.”

“They should,” he muttered before ending the call. 

Rolling off the bed, she headed straight into the bathroom. Her mascara was smeared, eyes puffy and red, and what looked like dried snot to the side of her nose. “Disgusting,” she shuddered turning on the faucet. Meticulously, she washed the makeup from her face and applied a tinted moisturizer once it was dry. It wasn’t perfect but she didn’t seem as ruddy now, and Rowan had seen her on more than one occasion looking less put together. 

She ran a brush through her long blonde hair and slipped into her faded Orynth University sweater. It was her favorite, its dark green coloring reminding her of Rowan’s eyes. Not that she’d ever admit that. Ever. It was one of the secrets she would take to her grave. Bounding down the stairs, she was surprised to find the house blessedly unoccupied. In the back of her brain, it seemed like she knew they wouldn’t be here. Last week, her mother had mentioned a work function but in true Aelin fashion, her attention had lapsed midway through the conversation. 

At least one merciful thing was happening today—she wouldn’t have to explain to her parents where she was going. Or listen to them dote over Rowan. You would think he had been born into the family with the way they were invested in him. It was nauseating at times. Peeking through the open curtains, Aelin’s turquoise gaze caught sight of Rowan’s sportscar coming up the long driveway and she headed out the door. 

He pulled up the car, putting it into park, before he got out and came around. It took every ounce of self-control to not drop her jaw. He was wearing a tailored button down, white, rolled up over his forearms, showing off part of his tattoo. Three buttons were open at the top, providing another view of black ink as it creeped up the left side of his neck. His pants hugged his muscled legs well, tight enough to show he worked out, but not enough to eclipse professionalism. They were the same color as her sweater. 

He looked positively sinful and the idea of confined time with him no longer seemed like a reward, but punishment instead. “Here,” he said warmly in greeting, bending to open the door for her. Smiling tightly, afraid of what might pass her lips if they parted, she slid into the cognac-colored seat. The door didn’t shut until her seatbelt was buckled. 

“What do you say we drive around first before ice cream? I don’t think you really want to get back to homework,” he speculated as he shut his own door. Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she rolled it back and forth in trepidation, hesitant to agree to his proposition. An unexpected tug of her head sideways caused her to shriek loudly in surprise. 

“Don’t start!” she chastised, looking sideways at him, eyes narrowed in annoyance. 

“You didn’t answer me,” Rowan explained, a hint of a smile on his face. 

“I was trying to decide if I could wait. You know my day has been godsdamned awful,” she defended dismally.

“You don’t always have to be perfect, Ace.” His words draped heavily across her and she dropped her head, staring intently at her fingers as she took out her anxiety on her fingernails. They’d be bloody nubs soon if she didn’t relax. 

“That’s easy for you to say.” 

He let out a breathy sigh, fingers drumming against the gear shift. “It is now. It took me a long time to realize I didn’t have to be perfect all the time and my life is better for it. I was in my own way for too long. Cadre almost didn’t happen because I was ready to throw in the towel when roadblocks kept happening. I felt like I wasn’t working hard enough. Making the right decisions. That I had to have all of the right answers when someone asked me a question,” he confessed quietly and full of conviction. 

“It’s daunting sometimes,” Aelin whispered, choosing to look out the window and away from him before she proceeded, “to live in the shadow of Aedion and you.” 

“Huh?” Without looking at him, she just knew his eyes were wide and his silver eyebrows had probably disappeared into his hairline. 

“My parents are so proud of you two. They constantly talk about you guys. At dinner, to friends, the work functions. The Orynth Gazette article that came out last week when your business opened… it’s already framed and on the wall. Both of you played Rugby in college and graduated Magna Cum Laude. You had two published articles in an architecture magazine before you were even a junior. I’ve never seen my parents be disappointed about either of you.” 

She cleared her throat, swallowing down the well of tears trying to crawl out. “Me? I made one B, one B, and they looked at me like confessed that I’d murdered our dog.” A loud sniffle filled the car as she continued to stare angrily at the darkening pine trees dotting the side of the road. 

“Did you ever think maybe they’re disappointed for you and not at you?” 

She laughed, the sound mangled, sounding more like a sob. “I still have a perfect GPA; I’m set to graduate with more hours than required of me. I’ve already submitted job applications into the city’s top scientific research lab and I’m going to be part of a published study on Ghost Leopard genetic mutations. They literally can only talk about that stupid B.” 

“This is not me being on their side—" his lilting voice said hesitantly. She leaned her head against the glass but flicked her gaze to him in silent permission to continue. Her body was stiff with anticipation. “—but maybe they act like that because they know you’re capable of always achieving at or above excellence. You set that bar a long time ago Aelin and I think they’re used to it. And you’re used to it. You are your own worst critic and if you set the expectation that it’s okay to do less sometimes, I think they’ll follow suit.” 

“Maybe you should tell them that,” Aelin muttered under her breath, angry that what Rowan had said made some sense. 

“I will. You know I will.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to get into the middle of it. I’m grown and I do possess the capability to tell them off.” Well, she should anyways but both were in high-powered jobs and could be intimidating without trying to be. “I think.” 

“Are you at least feeling better?” Rowan prodded. 

“Yeah, I am. You’ve just listened to me whine and whine today, I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t ever have to hid how you feel with me, okay? Friends don’t do that. Your troubles are my troubles.” His expression had become somber, green eyes darker than normal. Aelin thought he even looked a little mad but that didn’t match with the gentleness of his voice. 

“I knew there was a reason we were friends.” 

“And here I thought you kept me around because I buy you sweets,” he smirked. 

Her agreement to his statement was caught off when an annoying dinging sounded from the dashboard. Rowan’s lips pulled into a frown as he stared at the instrument panel. “Gods, the fact that this thing was basically empty earlier slipped my fucking mind. I’m sorry Ace, ice cream will have to wait longer.” 

“You’re just gripping because fuel prices make you cry.” It was her time to pick on him. Aelin had heard more about this car than she’d care to admit. She knew it’s time to go from zero to sixty, a whopping 2.8 seconds.  How many horsepower the engine was, its production time, when it came off the line in Doranelle… even the name of the damn paint color, Hawk White. It was Rowan’s pride and joy and it only liked premium gas. 

“I’ll never admit to it.” 

“Mhmm,” she replied, tabling his denial for now. 

The annoying dinging sounded twice more before he pulled into one of the city’s fancier gas stations. Aelin only ever came here when she was with him. Her reliable SUV didn’t need expensive gas or frequent maintenance. It didn’t bother her that it dragged to even get to highway speeds or needed an adapted to play her music, she loved it anyways. Besides, the garage was full of luxury cars is she felt the need for classy speed. If she had taken one today, maybe she would have made it to school on time. 

Rowan rolled cracked both windows halfway before cutting the engine. The gas tank was on her side, so they could still talk while he filled the tank. Shamelessly, she stared at his back, eyes tracing the taut fabric lines over his shoulders as he swiped his car and placed the pump into the opening. Casually, he rested his forearm on the window, hand dangling just inside. It was close enough, the calluses on his hands were visible. How would his thumb feel tracing her bottom lip? How would they feel tracing the most intimate parts of her?

Subtly, Aelin shook her head, astounded at her own audacity. Rowan was her best friend, not a piece of meat, and certainly not someone to muse salacious things about. Gods, she should have never left her bed.

“Bed?” Rowan asked.

Fuck. She’d said that last part out loud. “Oh nothing, I just was talking to myself.” 

“About your bed?” he prompted, green eyes sparkling in amusement.

“I happen to love my bed, it’s very comfortable.” 

“Yes, I know. I’ve been in it before.” He winked before turning away to look at the pump, arm still resting on the window. Speechless. She was speechless as she stared at his back once more, noting a small shake to his shoulders. The bastard was laughing.  If the gods possessed any modicum of pity for her, one would smite her here and now. 

She was two seconds from rolling his arm up in the window when an unfamiliar voice sounded from outside the window. 

“That’s a beautiful car.” 

“Thanks, I’m pretty fond of her myself,” he admitted, giving is full attention to whoever was outside the car. Aelin tried to look in the passenger mirror, but his frame was obscuring most of her view. Craning her neck, she looked back to see a dark-haired woman standing by her car at the pump behind theirs. 

“Zero to sixty in 2.8 seconds, right?” The woman flicked her dark hair behind her, showing off her lowcut shirt as she awaited his response. Was she seriously trying to show case her boobs while talking cars? Breaking her gaze from the woman, she looked over to see Rowan still giving her his full attention. 

“You know your cars, that’s unusual in a woman,” he supplied playfully.

“What am I, chopped liver?” she huffed angrily. He didn’t hear her and continued talking back and forth with the mystery woman. Aelin’s neck was becoming stiff from looking over her shoulder, never one to forsake nosiness but if they kept this up, she’d have to. 

Rolling her eyes, she decided to try a new tactic: staring holes into the side of his face until he remembered her presence. It was a wash. He was too busy flirting back and forth to even acknowledge the click of the pump shutting off. The woman’s overzealous laugh did her in, what he’d said wasn’t even that funny, and out of exasperation, she grabbed his fingers.

Rowan glanced down, his green eyes taking her in as he flashed a smirk full of white teeth before flicking his gaze back to where it had been. Once more, she squeezed his pointer and middle finger, trying to convey her frustration. She was ready to go. He could flirt on his own time. And she had been promised ice cream. Turning back around, she noticed the woman had moved much closer and had her phone out. 

“I’d love to talk cars some more, but I have to get going. My friend is going to wonder why it took me so long to get back. Could I get your number?” Unconsciously, Aelin went from grabbing two of his fingers, to grabbing his whole hand, squeezing tight enough to cut off blood flow. Briefly, he looked down at her, adjusting his arm to be further in the car, which wasn’t what she had been trying to accomplish at all—she wanted to stop having a front row seat them blatantly flirting with one another. 

With zero progress being made, she loosened her death grip on his hand, only to be shocked when he took the moment to thread his fingers through hers, preventing retreat. Tugging against him only caused him to hold tighter. “Full disclosure, if I give you my number, it’ll have to be from a friend only standpoint. My girl here might actually have something to say if I wasn’t upfront about that.” 

Her stomach felt as though it was in her throat, like she’d just ridden one of the amusement park rides that drops you 100 feet in seconds, and she was too aware of the rubatosis of pure shock. Had Rowan Whitethorn, secret crush of her high school and college years, star of her late-night fantasies, just referred to her as “his girl” whilst simultaneously turning down a beautiful woman? Too caught up in her own crashing thoughts, she’d completely missed the reply and only realized that when Rowan was pulling his hand away and then getting into the driver’s seat. 

The engine purred softly to life, and he shifted into gear, pulling back out onto the road. Robotically, her gaze counted the yellow stripes marking the lanes of the highway. And when they became too blurred to count, she started accounting for the mile marker signs instead. Anything was better than acknowledging whatever had just happened. Or didn’t happen. 

Rowan finally breached the stifling silence. “Are we going to talk about that?”

“Talk about what?” Aelin asked, feigning ignorance. 

He rolled his eyes and shifted gears, increasing the car’s speed as headed into a curve. “You know what.” 

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. Despite it being dark in the car and the only illumination of features being provided by the instrument panel, she could see every little mannerism he did. His jaw clenched twice before he pushed for a different answer. 

Vexed, she caved. “You mean that woman that clearly wanted in your pants? That’s the only thing to talk about and we don’t have to, I had a front row seat to it. A onetime admission was more than enough.”  

Unwelcomed fingers jabbed into the side of her rib, his pitiful attempt at gaining her attention further. Aelin wasn’t having it and angrily shoved his hand away, which was exactly what he’d intended. His large hand wrapped around hers and he moved it to rest atop the gear shift, using their combined grip to shift the car into another gear. Normally, a move like that would have had her core heating and a string of dirty thoughts to accompany it, but she wanted nothing to do with him, or his hand. 

She hastily tried to take back her hand, yet only worsened the situation. He let out an annoyed huff and placed her palm against his thigh, his flattened over the top. The warmth of his body was seeping into her skin and her heart was racing with awareness. In all their years of friendship, no hug, comment, touch, had ever come anywhere near this line. “Aelin,” he hounded expectantly.

“Rowan, there’s literally nothing to talk about. Gods, just give me back my hand and take me home. It’s late and I need to get my paper done.”  

“Whatever you say, Aelin.” He released her hand as though it had burned him, eyes straight on the road, and his face perfectly calm, giving nothing away. She couldn’t help but continue to peak over at him, trying to decide what was going on in head. The car’s atmosphere was suffocating and getting out of this car couldn’t come soon enough.

Five minutes later, Rowan turned down her road, and pulled his car into the same spot where he’d picked her up earlier. It seemed so long ago now, even though it had been mere hours. When he didn’t put the car in park, her brow furrowed in confusion, and she looked over after him. 

“We need to talk about what happened.” His tone was jarring, revealing how affected he undeniably was. 

“What?” she demanded, stubborn as ever. 

“What?” he parroted, gesturing quotation marks with his hands. “You know what I’m referring to. You’re much too smart to play dumb. You know it. I know it. So don’t insult yourself by doing it,” he spit icily. The lines of his jaw seemed cut from marble, clenched and unmoving, the set of his brow equally hard. 

Rowan would not win this battle. Aelin didn’t owe him anything, especially after he fragrantly flirted in front of her face and then used her as an excuse to get out of the situation. Typical man.  Dogged as ever, she angled her body towards the door and stared out into the night. The car slipped into park and the engine cut off. For someone so tall, Rowan had a certain quick grace about it and occasionally it took him using it, to remind her so. Now was one of those times. He was throwing open the passenger side door and undoing her seat belt before she could prevent him from doing so. 

She didn’t move, choosing to glare, crossing her arms across her body. He stepped back and made a grand gesture for her to get out of the car. Giving him a saccharine smile of thanks, she shoved off the seat, intent on making a beeline for the front door. His right arm blocked her, and he pushed her back to rest against the now closed car door. Both were breathing hard, eyes narrowed in disdain.  

If he thought he was going to use his body to bully her like he used to, he had another thing coming. Smirking, she lifted up a leg, aiming for the apex of his thighs. His eyes widened and he stepped back, staring in disbelief, hands covering her intended target. It was a low blow but effective. Aelin booked it for the front door—a few seconds head start was all she needed to beat him.  

Shoving open the front door, she smiled to herself in success. It was far easier to ignore phone calls and door knocks than an actual living, breathing person’s presence and he couldn’t get in a locked house. “That’s not very nice,” he scolded as his boot came to be between the frame and the door, preventing it from being shut. 

“Godsdamnit Ro, go away. I’m so beyond over this, I rather be fed to a pack of wolves than do whatever this is.” 

He pushed his muscled frame through the door, shutting it behind him. She took a step back, he followed. Somewhere in their dance of parry and counter moves, Aelin had stopped paying attention to her surroundings until her back was flush with the door, with nowhere to go. Victoriously, he grinned a predator’s smile, “We could have been done with this in the car, but you keep pretending we have nothing to talk about.” 

“Gods, stop, just stop. Quit being such a domineering ass. It was absolutely nothing. I know she was annoying you by the end, so I was just trying to get you out of the situation.” Aelin clenched and unclenched her first, trying to bury the burning temptation to throw them into his chest.  

“That’s a lie and we don’t lie to one another. You’re going to tell me the truth,” he said lowly, the anger rumbling in his chest. He placed his hands flush against the wall, almost brushing her upper arm as he did so, caging her in. 

“What truth are you expecting me to tell?” she inquired hostilely, the gold rings in her eyes flaring at his high-handed behavior.

“Admit it, you were jealous.” His face was serious, his green eyes piercing her with accusation. 

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Wrong answer, Aelin.” Rowan adjusted his right arm, moving his hand to rest against the wall alongside her face. “You didn’t want me to give her my number, did you? It made you jealous, didn’t it?” 

“You can do whatever you want, you’re a grown man. I was ready to leave, that’s it.” He was so close, his body heat was radiating, heating her already flushed skin. Could he see it, the pink tinge staining her cheeks and the column of her neck? Could he hear how loud her heart was pounding? She felt like a moth caught in a web, waiting to become its captors next meal. 

Shaking his head very deliberately back and forth, his adamant disapproval skated across her nerves, “Again, wrong answer, Aelin.” She didn’t think it was possible, but Rowan moved closer, his knee forcing her legs apart, his thigh coming to rest against the apex of hers. His head dropped, leaving mere inches between their faces, warm breath fanning her face, “I’m going to ask you one more time, were you jealous?”

“I’m not doing this. I don’t know why you’re being so insistent about an answer!” Giving into her earlier desires, she pushed her palms against his chest, attempting to put some distance between them. It proved futile. Under splayed palms, she could feel the rippling muscles of his chest as he breathed in and out. All logical thought was rapidly dissipating. “If the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t have cared. Stop making it a big deal.”

“No, I wouldn’t have been.” His eyes darkened with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher as he stared intently down at her, waiting for her to process the words. 

“Huh?” Aelin asked dumfounded, her heart hammering faster than it ever had. There was no way she had heard him accurately. 

It was late, she was tired. It had been a stressful day. Rowan Whitethorn had not just admitted to being jealous while having her pinned up against the door with his body. 

“Every guy that touches you. Talks to you. Even so much as looks at you, makes me rage. So no, Aelin, I would not have been ���okay”. I would be jealous, and I would have been able to tell you that if you’d asked it of me,” he growled the last part, his jaw clenching so hard it looked like it would snap under the pressure. 

“I don’t understand. You can’t possibly mean that,” she weakly protested. 

“Please,” he said, his left hand coming up to mirror his right, forcing her to look only at him. “Don’t act like you don’t know. So. Were. You. Jealous?”

Aelin wasn’t sure if it was the fact their noses were basically touching now or that she couldn’t look anywhere else, that there was no reprieve from his heavy gaze. Whatever it was, she could no longer lie to his face. The confession fell from her lips. “Yes.” 

Rowan’s massive frame retreated a couple steps, evidently taken aback by her candidness. Her body wept at the sudden loss of warmth. Her blue eyes roved over his unmoving form, rejection starting to take root in her belly, and laying waste to the anger and attraction that had previously occupied it. What had he gained by pushing her this far? Was he mad about earlier? Had he actually wanted that girl’s number? She had been pretty, actually she had been gorgeous—and that was part of why she’d interrupted him in the first place. Grabbing his hand had seemed like the most logical distraction. He had been there, with her, for her, making her bad day better, and having to share him with a pretty stranger had not been on her bingo card. 

He said nothing. Did nothing. And the bitter realization of being the punchline for whatever cruel joke this was threatened to suffocate her. It felt like a chore to breathe in and out, to even stay and hold her ground while feeling like she was being shredded. 

Within one blink, the distance between them vanished. His tattooed hand splayed out of the front of her neck, tipping her head up to rest against the door. “Right answer,” he praised against her lips before capturing them in a searing kiss.  

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#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin au #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #rowan x aelin #aedion ashryver #Best friend #one shot #jealousy #throne of glass fic #fanfiction

[forabeatofadrum]

Ljubili se (6/21)

Notes: Well folks, the December Fanworks Challenge has come to an end, officially. This fic still has a long time to go. Like its predecessor, the fic will be finished, but it's just taking some time since I am super duper busy!

But I really wanted to publish a chapter today, to at least acknowledge the work that the people from the @klaineadvent have put into it and to thank them, so hooray, here I am! I am glad that the Advent lives on in whatever way. I'm really happy that this (smaller) fandom is still kicking.

Thanks for reading! Time for Kurt and Blaine to reunite!

AO3 | S&C

–

INSCRIBE

Kurt’s waiting at the airport. It’s the third time in a short while that he’s here: he landed here from Ljubljana, he sent off his dad and Carole, and now he’s picking up Blaine. God, he’s so excited. He went all out. He even brought one of those boards with Blaine’s name on it, so that he can wave it around like all the others who are picking someone up. Kurt even went the extra mile and inscribed it in a piece of wood.

And it pays off, because when Blaine arrives in the lobby and Kurt waves it around, Blaine’s entire face lights up.

“Kurt!”

“Blaine!”

They run towards each other and hug each other tightly. Kurt buries his face in the crook of Blaine’s neck and Blaine tightens his grip.

“You’re here,” Kurt says against Blaine’s skin.

“I am, love.”

“Welcome to New York!”

They stand there for a few more seconds, but then it’s time to go. Kurt’s eager to show Blaine around. They’re first going to drop Blaine’s suitcase off at Kurt’s apartment, and then they’re going into town. New York has a lot to offer.

--

“This place is insane,” Blaine says as he looks around Times Square. Kurt knows Blaine’s been to New York before, but he gets it. New York also takes his breath away. You get used to it when you live here, but it’s nice to be reminded. When Kurt came back from Ljubljana, he had to take it in as well.

He’ll miss it when he goes to LA.

If he goes to LA.

Classes start next week, so then Kurt can really sink his teeth into this. But now, he doesn’t need to think about being with Blaine in LA, since Blaine is here.

Blaine makes some photos of the billboards.

“Ljubljana was never this flashy.”

“True.”

“But I wouldn’t want it to be.”

“Same.”

When Blaine’s done taking photos, Kurt takes his hand and they make the trek to Central Park. Kurt had prepared a little picnic. He even bought a second hand picnic basket at a bargain store!

It’s a nice August day as well. It’s perfect. They roll out a picnic blanket and feed each other food. It’s too cute for words and Kurt loves it. He loves seeing Blaine smile.

“We’ll take the train back to your place next?” Blaine asks after a while.

Kurt nods.

“Do you already want to go home?”

Blaine shakes his head.

“No. Not necessarily, but just checking.”

“Why?”

“Because of your roommates.”

“Ah.”

Yes, they’re going to tell Rachel and Santana. They won’t be home until the evening, which is fine, because then Kurt will have Blaine for himself for a bit longer, but they will be home and they will notice that someone else is there.

“Could you tell me about them?” Blaine asks.

“Oh. Well. They’re cool, albeit busy,” Kurt starts, “They come from the same school and decided to live together. I joined the household later. Santana is a professional dancer. She works at this dance studio and she has a girlfriend named Dani. Rachel is driven and passionate. She landed an agent while I was in Ljubljana, so she spends most of her time auditioning and what not. Not going to lie, she almost makes me feel bad about it.”

Blaine frowns, so Kurt elaborates.

“It’s just… she’s advancing in her career. I fucked off to another country and she’s actually going somewhere.”

“But you also did it for your career!” Blaine argues, “It looks amazing on your resume. And career aside, it was also a lot of fun.”

Kurt sighs. He knows that. And he met Blaine, which is arguably the best part of his semester abroad. Rachel unfortunately tends to make remarks about how much better she’s doing. She’s not even doing it to hurt him, more to show off, but it’s noticeable.

“Besides, multiple ways lead to Rome, and with Rome I mean a theatre career,” Blaine continues, “Your degree is important and you’ll do an internship this year too, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you already started thinking about that? You can show that off to Rachel!”

“I haven’t,” Kurt lies.

He needs to change the subject. He can’t dwell on the internship thing and accidentally spill the beans.

“But yeah, that’s Rachel!” he quickly says, “And Santana. My roommates.”

“And you like them, right?”

Kurt nods.

“I do. They’re my friends. I actually miss them.”

He does. Kurt, Rachel and Santana are roommates first, friends second. It’s the truth, but they’re still friends and Kurt cares for them and he knows they care for him too. Rachel and Santana truly haven’t had time to just relax and catch up. Well, maybe Santana has had, but she prefers spending her free time with Dani.

“I can’t wait to meet them, then,” Blaine says.

They finish their picnic and then they take the train back to Kurt’s place. Kurt’s desperate to have some time with Blaine in private and judging by the way Blaine keeps reaching out, the feeling is mutual.

It’s almost as if the train ride is endless.

But once they’re inside and Blaine’s pushed Kurt against the door to kiss him, it all goes so fast. Kurt doesn’t mind. They take off their shoes and dump the picnic basket before heading to the bedroom.

-

Kurt and Blaine decide to make themselves presentable before greeting Rachel and Santana. They have a quick shower and then get dressed.

Then they wait.

They’re lying in Kurt’s bed, holding each other. Kurt has his head rested on Blaine’s chest and he can hear Blaine’s heartbeat go fast.

“It’ll be fine,” Kurt reassures him. Santana is a lesbian and Rachel has two dads, so they luckily don’t have to worry about homophobia.

“Yeah,” Blaine sighs.

Then, after a few more minutes, they hear the front door open.

“Anyone in here?” Santana screeches out. The walls of this apartment are relatively thin, so Kurt can hear her crystal clear.

“Santana, Kurt’s shoes are here!” Rachel says back.

“… together with another pair of shoes,” Santana notices.

“Kurt?” Rachel also calls out.

Kurt looks over to Blaine. Blaine nods. It’s time.

Kurt rolls of Blaine and Blaine slides out of the bed and walks towards Kurt’s mirror to check his appearance. What a ridiculous man, Kurt thinks fondly, He wants to look at his best when he meets my roommates.

“Ready?” Kurt whispers, so that Rachel and Santana will not overhear.

“Yeah,” Blaine says under his breath.

Kurt also gets out of bed and walks towards the door to open it. He does and pokes his head out of the doorway.

“Hey,” he says lamely to Rachel and Santana.

“Hey,” Santana says back in the same tone.

Rachel’s already moved to the kitchen to probably make tea with honey for her voice, but she also says a quick hello.

“So?” Santana says with a knowing smile, “Something you wanna tell us, Hummel?”

“Yes, actually,” Kurt says and he looks back over his shoulder. Blaine gives him a thumbs up. “Ladies, I have a boyfriend.”

Rachel lets out a delighted shriek.

Santana just yells: “Called it!”

“And he’s here. Ladies, please meet my boyfriend,” Kurt opens the door even wider. It feels so formal. Blaine appears in the doorway, next to Kurt, and he opens his mouth to speak, but then his eyes widen.

Santana has a similar look on her face.

“Blaine Anderson?” she asks in disbelief.

“Santana Lopez?”

#klaine #glee #december klaine challenge 2023 #inscribe #multichaptered #2023 #holy fuck I wrote #i'll prolly mention it more prominently in next chapter's author's note #but santana and quinn were friends in high school #that is revealed in the quinn companion piece