#student mistakes to avoid

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5 Common Mistakes Students Make While Preparing for NIFT—and How to Avoid Them

Introduction

Cracking the NIFT entrance exam isn’t just about artistic skills—it’s also about smart strategy. Yet, many students unknowingly sabotage their own success by making easily avoidable mistakes. From poor time management to over-reliance on last-minute preparation, these missteps can affect both your performance and confidence. Students from various regions, including those seeking NIFT Coaching in Dehradun, often find that correcting these early can make all the difference.

Not Understanding the Exam Structure

Jumping into preparation without understanding the structure of the NIFT exam is like sailing without a compass. Knowing what GAT and CAT entail, their weightage, and time limits is essential. Spend time understanding the type of questions, difficulty level, and how each section is scored.

Overlooking the Creative Ability Test (CAT)

Many students over-prioritize the General Ability Test and ignore the Creative Ability Test, thinking creativity can’t be “studied.” In reality, the CAT is where you show your unique perspective. Regular sketching, ideation, and creative storytelling can significantly improve your CAT score.

Using Too Many Study Materials

It’s easy to get overwhelmed by the sea of NIFT prep books and PDFs. But more isn’t always better. Choose a few reliable resources and stick to them. Focus on quality practice, not quantity. A well-planned study schedule with limited, trusted materials will help you retain and revise effectively.

Ignoring Mock Tests and Time-Bound Practice

You might be brilliant on paper, but under time pressure, it’s a different ball game. Regular mock tests prepare you for the real exam environment. Practicing with a timer builds speed, accuracy, and confidence. Start early, and treat each mock as a dress rehearsal.

Neglecting the Interview and Situation Test Stage

Getting shortlisted after the written test is only half the journey. The final selection depends a lot on how you perform in the interview and situation test. Start building a basic portfolio, stay updated on fashion trends, and practice 3D model making to stay prepared for the next rounds.

Conclusion

Avoiding these common mistakes early on can drastically improve your chances of success. The key is to prepare smartly, consistently, and with a full understanding of what’s expected at every stage. Focus on your strengths, work on your weaknesses, and don’t let avoidable errors derail your dream of getting into NIFT.

[jaiblogpost]

Negative Habits to Avoid for UPSC Preparation

Imagine preparing for the UPSC exam is like setting off on a thrilling adventure. But just like any adventure, there are challenges to overcome. It takes a lot of hard work, sticking to your goals, and having a good plan. But, sometimes, even if you're really trying your best, you might find yourself doing things that could make it harder for you to succeed. In this guide, we'll explore common negative habits faced by UPSC aspirants and provide straightforward solutions to overcome them. By implementing these simple strategies, aspirants can navigate through challenges effectively and achieve success in their UPSC journey.

Procrastination - Putting Off Tasks

Procrastination is when we delay tasks or waste time on unimportant things. Many UPSC aspirants struggle with procrastination, which can lead to missed study sessions and last-minute pressure.

To overcome procrastination, break your study tasks into smaller, manageable parts. To create a sense of urgency, establish particular deadlines for every task. By taking small steps consistently, you can avoid procrastination and stay on track with your study schedule.

“You may delay, but time will not.”

                                      ― Benjamin Franklin

There are always distractions, if you allow them! Successful people remain optimistic and concentrated on their goals regardless of their surroundings. They stay focused. They avoid getting distracted, which is common in today's digital world. Social media, notifications, and other distractions can easily divert our attention away from studying.

To avoid distractions, create a dedicated study space that is free from potential distractions. Turn off notifications on your phone and use productivity tools to block distracting websites. Set specific times for studying and avoid multitasking. By minimizing distractions, you can improve focus and productivity during your study sessions.

Distractions - Losing Focus

“Work is hard. Distractions are plentiful. And time is short.”

                                                                                         ― Adam Hochschild

Lack of Consistency

Consistency is really important for doing well in UPSC preparation. It’s key to success. However, many aspirants struggle to maintain a consistent study routine.

To overcome this, establish a daily study schedule and stick to it religiously. Make sure you stick to your study schedule and give it more importance than other things. Set realistic goals for each study session and keep checking how well you're doing. By making studying a habit and sticking to a consistent routine, you can maximize your productivity and progress in your UPSC preparation.

“Success isn't always about greatness. It's about consistency.

Consistent hard work leads to success. Greatness will come.”

                                                                                         ― Dwayne Johnson

Neglecting Health and Adequate Sleep

UPSC preparation can be mentally and physically demanding, and many aspirants neglect their health in pursuit of their goals. However, neglecting your health can have negative consequences on your ability to study effectively. Sleep is essential for cognitive function, memory retention, and overall well-being. However, many aspirants neglect their sleep in favor of studying late into the night. This can lead to sleep deprivation, which can impair your ability to focus, concentrate, and retain information.

To prioritize your health, make sure to get an adequate amount of sleep each night. Aim for at least 7-8 hours of sleep to ensure that your mind and body are well-rested. In addition, make time for regular exercise and physical activity to reduce stress and improve overall well-being. Finally, don't forget to eat a balanced diet and stay hydrated to fuel your body and brain for studying.

Relying on One Study Method

Every aspirant has their own preferred study method, whether it's reading, taking notes, or practicing past papers. However, relying solely on one study method can limit your learning and comprehension.

To overcome this, try diversifying your study methods to engage different parts of your brain. For example, if you're used to reading, try incorporating more visual aids or discussing concepts with peers. Try out various methods of studying until you discover which one suits you the most. By diversifying your study methods, you can improve your understanding and retention of the material.

Negative self-talk can be dangerous to your confidence and motivation. Many aspirants struggle with self-doubt and fear of failure, which can hold them back from reaching their full potential.

To overcome negative self-talk, practice self-compassion and positive affirmations. Instead of focusing on your shortcomings, celebrate your achievements and strengths. Be around friends and family who support you and have faith in your skills. By cultivating a positive mindset and practicing self-love, you can overcome self-doubt and achieve success in your UPSC journey.

Negative Self-Talk - Self-Doubt

"One important key to success is self-confidence.

An important key to self-confidence is preparation."

                                                                                                  ― Arthur Ashe

Trying to Read Everything

UPSC aspirants are often overwhelmed by the sheer volume of reading material available. Many aspirants feel pressured to read every book and resource on a given topic, leading to stress and burnout.

To overcome this, focus on quality over quantity when it comes to reading. Prioritize essential books and resources that cover the core concepts and topics of the UPSC syllabus. Take notes as you read to help reinforce your understanding and retention of the material. Remember, it's better to thoroughly understand a few key concepts than to skim/go through numerous resources without grasping the core concepts.

Disorganization can hinder your ability to study effectively and efficiently. Many aspirants struggle to keep track of study materials, deadlines, and important dates.

To overcome this, create a study schedule and organize your study materials in a systematic manner. Use folders, binders, or digital tools to keep your study materials organized and easily accessible. Break down your study schedule into smaller, manageable tasks and set deadlines for each task. By staying organized, you can reduce stress and improve productivity in your UPSC preparation.

Lack of Organization

“For every minute spent organizing, an hour is earned.”

                                                                                      ― Benjamin Franklin

Misplaced Study Groups

Study groups can be a valuable resource for UPSC aspirants, providing support, motivation, and shared knowledge. However, not all study groups are created equal, and some aspirants may find themselves in study groups that are not conducive to effective studying.

To overcome this, choose study partners wisely and find individuals who are serious and committed to their UPSC goals. Look for study groups or forums where you can engage with like-minded aspirants who share your dedication and enthusiasm for UPSC preparation. By surrounding yourself with supportive and motivated study partners, you can enhance your learning and stay on track with your UPSC goals.

Overcoming negative habits is essential for UPSC aspirants to succeed in their journey. By implementing simple strategies such as breaking tasks into smaller parts, minimizing distractions, maintaining consistency, prioritizing health, diversifying learning methods, fostering a positive mindset, finding a balance between work and study, focusing on quality reading, staying organized, choosing study partners wisely, using the internet judiciously, and prioritizing sleep, aspirants can navigate through challenges effectively and achieve success in their UPSC preparation. Remember, success in the UPSC examination requires dedication, perseverance, and a willingness to overcome obstacles. Keep pushing forward, stay focused on your goals, and believe in yourself—victory is within reach!

[hemantpathan]

Common Mistakes to Avoid in Your Japanese University Application

Applying to a university in Japan is an exciting yet challenging journey for many international students, especially Indian students. But even the brightest applicants can stumble due to simple oversights. In this article, we’ll explore the Common Mistakes to Avoid in Your Japanese University application process, ensuring your chances of admission remain strong.

Avoid in Your Japanese University Application

Applying to a Japanese university is a wonderful opportunity, but even small mistakes can impact your chances. Common issues include missing deadlines, incomplete documents, or a generic statement of purpose. It's also important to understand language requirements, financial proofs, and scholarship options. Take time to research your program well and stay in touch with the admissions office. With thoughtful preparation and support from trusted sources like Learn International Language, your application journey can be smooth and successful.

1. Ignoring Application Deadlines

Missing deadlines is one of the most common errors applicants make. Japanese universities strictly adhere to their intake timelines—usually April and October intakes.

Avoid This By:

Mark important dates on your calendar.

Setting reminders a month in advance.

Visit your chosen university’s official website for up-to-date application deadlines.

Backlink Tip: Study in Japan—MEXT Guidelines

2. Incomplete or Inaccurate Documentation

Submitting incomplete or incorrect documents like transcripts, letters of recommendation, or passport copies can lead to rejection.

Avoid This By:

Use a checklist tailored to your target university.

Getting documents professionally translated into Japanese or English (as required).

Having certified copies ready in both digital and hard formats.

Recommended Resource: How to Get a Student Visa for Japan

3. Underestimating the Importance of the Statement of Purpose (SOP)

Many applicants submit a generic SOP, missing the chance to showcase their true academic goals and motivation.

Avoid This By:

Customize your SOP for each university.

Clearly expressing why you want to study in Japan.

Connecting your past academic journey to your future ambitions.

 Check this example: Sample SOP for Japan University Admission

4. Language Proficiency Neglect

Even if your program is in English, universities may still require basic Japanese language proficiency, or vice versa.

Avoid This By:

Taking the JLPT (Japanese Language Proficiency Test) or IELTS/TOEFL on time.

Uploading scores directly or sending them via official channels.

Enrolling in prep classes with Learn International Language to build a strong foundation.

Explore Language Courses: Learn International Language - Official Website

5. Financial Document Errors

Many applicants fail to submit proper proof of funds, which is crucial for visa issuance.

Avoid This By:

Providing 6-month bank statements with sufficient funds.

Include a letter of financial support if a sponsor is involved.

Making sure all documents are signed and dated correctly.

Visa Resource: Japan Student Visa Checklist for Indians

6. No Contact with the University Admissions Office

Some students hesitate to contact the admissions office, fearing they might seem annoying.

Avoid This By:

Politely reaching out for clarification or guidance.

Confirming document submission or receiving updates.

Demonstrating your proactive and professional attitude.

7. Applying Without Researching the Program Details

Many students apply based on rankings alone and ignore curriculum, language, and professor expertise.

Avoid This By:

Visiting program pages and reading the syllabus in detail.

Researching faculty members and lab facilities.

Joining university webinars or virtual open houses.

Program Insights: University of Tokyo – International Programs

8. Skipping Scholarship Opportunities

Overlooking scholarships like MEXT, JASSO, or university-specific financial aid can be a costly mistake.

Avoid This By:

Applying early for government or private scholarships.

Writing strong scholarship essays or research proposals.

Using resources from Learn International Language to prepare.

Scholarships for Study in Japan – Complete Guide

9. Overlooking the Interview Process

Some universities conduct interviews, especially for graduate or research programs.

Avoid This By:

Practicing mock interviews.

Preparing to speak confidently about your research or goals.

Dressing professionally and being punctual (even online!).

10. Relying Entirely on Agents

While education agents can help, placing full responsibility on them without double-checking your application is risky.

Avoid This By:

Staying involved in every step.

Reviewing documents before submission.

Consulting trusted advisors like Learn International Language.

Conclusion: Plan Smart, Apply Smarter

Avoiding these Common Mistakes to Avoid in Your Japanese University could be the difference between rejection and receiving your acceptance letter. Japan offers incredible academic opportunities, and by being well-prepared, your application can stand out from the rest.

Partner with Learn International Language to simplify your journey—from choosing the right university to preparing your SOP, interview, and visa.

[the-proeducator-blog]

Top Reasons Why UK Student Visas Get Rejected (and How to Avoid Them)

The dream of studying in the UK can come to a screeching halt if your student visa application is rejected. While the process of obtaining a UK student visa is straightforward, mistakes or oversight can cost you the opportunity. In this guide, we’ll discuss the most common reasons why UK student visas get rejected and share actionable tips to ensure your application is successful. For a step-by-step breakdown of the application process, check out How to apply for UK student visa.

1. Incomplete or Incorrect Documentation

One of the leading reasons for visa rejections is incomplete or improperly filled documents. The UK visa authorities are strict about adhering to guidelines, and even a minor error can lead to rejection.

What to do:

Double-check every document before submission.

Use the checklist provided during the online application process.

Ensure all personal details match those on your passport.

2. Insufficient Financial Proof

The UK government requires proof that you can support yourself financially during your studies. If the provided financial documents fail to meet the minimum criteria, your visa may be refused.

What to do:

Show bank statements demonstrating the required funds (tuition + living costs) for at least 28 consecutive days.

Make sure the funds are in your or your parent's account (if applicable).

Include an affidavit of support if someone else is funding you.

3. Failing the Credibility Interview

The credibility interview is designed to confirm your intentions to study in the UK and your knowledge of the course/university. Nervousness or insufficient preparation can lead to doubts about your eligibility.

What to do:

Be clear about why you chose your course, university, and the UK.

Research details about your program, such as modules, career prospects, and university ranking.

Practice your responses to common visa interview questions.

4. English Language Requirements Not Met

Applicants must meet the English language requirements, usually by taking an approved English test (IELTS, TOEFL, or PTE). Submitting scores below the accepted threshold can result in visa rejection.

What to do:

Take the English proficiency test seriously and achieve the required score for your course.

Submit valid proof of your English scores.

5. Suspicious or Fraudulent Documents

Providing fake or suspicious documents, intentionally or unintentionally, can result in a visa rejection and even a ban on future applications.

What to do:

Only submit genuine documents.

Work with trusted agencies or advisors to verify paperwork.

If applying independently, carefully follow the UKVI (UK Visas and Immigration) guidelines.

6. Lack of Travel History or Immigration Violations

If you have no prior travel history or a record of overstaying visas, it may raise concerns for the UK immigration authorities.

What to do:

Be transparent about your travel history during the application.

Avoid providing misleading information about previous visas or stays in other countries.

7. Applying Too Late

Waiting until the last moment to apply can leave no room for corrections or resubmissions in case of errors. Late submissions may also overlap with visa processing delays.

What to do:

Apply at least 3-6 months before your course start date.

Regularly check your application status on the official portal.

How to Avoid a UK Student Visa Rejection

Here’s a quick recap to ensure a smooth approval process:

Carefully prepare your documents and financial proof.

Practice for your credibility interview.

Meet all English language requirements.

Submit genuine documents and accurate information.

Apply early to allow time for corrections if needed.

By avoiding these common mistakes, you can significantly improve your chances of securing a UK student visa. To know the complete step-by-step application process, check out this detailed guide: How to apply for UK student visa.

Conclusion

Applying for a UK student visa can feel overwhelming, but with careful preparation and attention to detail, you can ensure success. Avoiding these common pitfalls is key to a smooth and stress-free visa process. Follow the right steps, gather the necessary documents, and ace your interview—your UK academic journey awaits!

If you found this guide helpful, don’t forget to share it with other students aspiring to study in the UK. 🌟

[edwisefoundation]

7 Mistakes to Avoid While Applying for Studying Abroad

If you're planning to study abroad, avoiding common application mistakes can make all the difference! In this guide, we highlight the 7 most common mistakes that can derail your study abroad dreams, from not starting early to failing to meet visa requirements. Careful planning and attention to detail will help you sidestep these pitfalls and set you on the path to success.

For a detailed breakdown of these mistakes and how to avoid them, visit our guide on studying abroad mistakes.

Don't let small errors hold you back from the experience of a lifetime!

[mssorceressupreme]

Amortentia Pt. 1 | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: you, ever so studious and diligent, despised fred weasley, the total opposite of you. it came as a surprise to you when you smelt a certain someone when brewing amortentia. one day you get stuck in a closet with him, and let’s just say the situation between you changes.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, hatred, stuck in a closet together/forced proximity, arguing, they both kinda mean to each other :,) but it's fluffy in the end <33

———

The soft bubbling of cauldrons filled the air as Professor Slughorn’s Potions class was in full swing. Rows of students leaned over their workstations, the tantalising scent of all kinds of potions wafting through the room.

You sat beside Hermione, your quill neatly poised as you jotted down notes with meticulous precision. For you, this was yet another opportunity to immerse yourself in academics—away from the chaos that Fred Weasley embodied.

Fred Weasley. Even thinking about his name annoyed you. You’d never quite forgiven him for the humiliating prank he pulled during your first year.

While everyone else seemed to adore his roguish charm and knack for mischief, you’d spent years despising his carefree antics. He’d humiliated you once, and you’d vowed never to forget it.

“Alright, everyone,” Slughorn announced cheerily, “now that we’ve reviewed the properties of Amortentia, it’s time for you to brew your own. Once complete, you’ll take a small sniff and note the scents that are most attractive to you. It’s an enlightening experience!”

You rolled your eyes slightly at the giddy murmurs around you, ignoring Hermione’s excited grin. Amortentia, the most powerful love potion, seemed frivolous—another reminder of the chaos you avoided.

Your potion bubbled softly as you stirred counterclockwise, adding crushed rose thorns with precision. When the pearlescent liquid shimmered, you leaned forward hesitantly to catch the aroma.

The scents hit you in waves: the faint crackle of fireworks, a warm woody note with a hint of leather, and the fresh, crisp smell of green grass.

Your heart sank. No. Absolutely not. The combination was unmistakable, and yet, it had to be a mistake. You straightened, shaking your head as if to dispel the thought.

You stirred the potion harder, hoping it would make a difference in the results, then you leaned in to smell it once more.

“Smells like fireworks again…” You muttered to yourself, yet again the scent was the same.

“Fireworks?” Hermione teased beside you, nudging your arm. “You thinking about the Gryffindor common room celebrations?”

You forced a laugh, shrugging. “Something like that.”

Before Hermione could press further, an eruption of noise echoed from the corridor. The Gryffindor Quidditch team was passing by, loud and victorious.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Professor Slughorn muttered, waddling to the door to scold them. Despite his protest, half the class, Hermione included, crowded to the doorway, cheering for the team.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you wandered over, standing at the edge of the group. Outside, Fred and George were carrying Oliver Wood on their shoulders, leading a parade of triumphant Gryffindors. "Alright! Let's go Gryffindor, let's go!" George chanted, while Oliver cheered.

Your gaze inadvertently locked onto Fred’s. His grin faltered for a moment as your eyes met, a fleeting connection that sent a jolt through your chest. You quickly looked away, scoffing under your breath. Typical.

Parading around the school bringing about chaos as usual. You shook your head, walking back to your desk while the other stayed by the door.

———

Later that day, Professor Slughorn called for volunteers to help restock potions in class. The work seemed simple enough, and it was a quiet excuse to get away from the day’s chaos, so you raised your hand.

Inside the dimly lit stockroom, shelves lined with bottles and jars stretched to the ceiling. You moved carefully, checking labels and sorting ingredients.

The door creaked open behind you. “Weasley,” you muttered, already recognising the figure who slipped inside.

Fred froze, caught red-handed with a jar of powdered bicorn horn. “Uh… hi.”

Your eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re not supposed to be here, Fred.”

“I just need a few things,” he admitted, holding up the jar as if that explained everything. “For a… project.”

Before you could respond, the door slammed shut behind him, the lock clicking into place.

“What did you do?” you hissed, marching to the door and tugging at the handle. It didn’t budge.

Fred raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t do anything! It’s some sort of enchantment. Must be Slughorn’s way of keeping people out unless they’re supposed to be here.”

“Brilliant,” you snapped, glaring at him. “Now we’re stuck.”

You exhaled, eyes darting at the jar in his hand.

“A project?” You folded your arms, leveling him with a glare. “You mean another one of your ridiculous pranks? Of course. What else would you be doing here besides wasting everyone’s time?”

Fred smirked, leaning against a nearby shelf like he had all the time in the world. “Wasting time? Nah, I leave that to the overachievers who think perfect grades make them better than everyone else.”

You set the vial in your hand down with an audible clink, your jaw tightening. “At least I have something to show for my time here. All you ever do is run around creating chaos and acting like it’s charming.”

His grin twisted into something more mocking. “And all you ever do is stick your nose in books and act like you’re too good for the rest of us. Heaven forbid you smile or—Merlin’s beard—have fun.”

“I do have fun,” you snapped, turning toward the shelf to avoid his smug expression. “I just don’t make it my life’s purpose to be a walking distraction to everyone else!”

Fred let out a bark of laughter, loud and infuriating in the confined space. “Yeah, I can see that. You’re the type who thinks a perfect potion or an extra essay makes you more important. But guess what, sweetheart? You’re not.”

You spun on your heel, your cheeks burning. “Don’t call me that,” you bit out. “And for the record, at least people don’t think I’m an annoying menace.”

“Annoying menace?” He straightened, his mockery sharpening into something more pointed. “At least people notice me. You’re just another face in the crowd, too scared to do anything that might make you stand out.”

The words stung more than you wanted to admit, but you pushed past the hurt. “Standing out isn’t the same as being reckless and immature. Maybe if you took something seriously for once, you wouldn’t be sneaking around stealing potion ingredients!”

“Maybe if you loosened up for once, you wouldn’t be so uptight,” Fred shot back, stepping closer.

His voice dropped lower, but it was no less biting. “You walk around like you’ve got something to prove, like you’re better than the rest of us because you follow every rule and never make a mistake.”

“At least I don’t make mistakes on purpose just to get a laugh,” you fired, your voice rising in frustration.

Fred scoffed, his hands flying up in exasperation. “Merlin, you’re impossible! Why do you hate me so much anyway?!"

The both of you were only a few inches apart, closer than before. He towered over you, though slightly intimidating, you brushed it off and exhaled.

"You know damn well why." You glared at him.

"You hate me for what? A prank? From years ago? You’ve been holding onto that like it’s some kind of life-defining tragedy.”

“It was humiliating!” you burst out, your voice shaking with anger. “You embarrassed me in front of everyone, and you didn’t even care. You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself!”

Fred’s smirk vanished. He stepped forward, closing the space between you in the tiny room. “You think I don’t care?” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the tension heavy. For a moment, neither of you spoke, your ragged breaths the only sound.

“What do you want me to say?” Fred finally asked, his tone softer now but still edged with frustration. “That I’m sorry? Fine. I’m sorry. The prank wasn’t even meant for you—it was for Ron. You just… walked in at the wrong time. I didn’t mean for you to get caught in it.”

His words hung in the air, and something in his expression shifted. The teasing, the mockery—it was gone, replaced by something quieter.

“I felt bad, alright?” he admitted. “But you already hated me, and I didn’t know how to fix it. So, I didn’t. I figured it’d be easier if I kept my distance.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in your chest unraveling bit by bit. “You could’ve just told me,” you muttered, your voice barely audible.

Fred ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Yeah, well, hindsight’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”

The fight drained out of you, and for the first time, you noticed how tired he looked—not just physically, but emotionally. It threw you off balance, this glimpse of vulnerability in someone you’d pegged as nothing but trouble.

“I didn’t realize…” you started, but the words trailed off.

Fred looked at you, his gaze steady. “Maybe you should stop assuming the worst about people,” he said, his tone no longer mocking. “Might surprise you.”

The tension in your shoulders eased slightly, though your heart still raced. “You could’ve just apologised,” you muttered.

Fred chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Yeah, well, I’m not always great at that sort of thing.”

He continued, "You know I'd never want to hurt you, let alone prank you. We only do it to those who deserve it."

Your expression softened, feeling the wall you built toward him crumble slightly, "Being a little more careful wouldn't hurt."

He nodded lightly, a small smile playing on his lips, "I'll keep that in mind."

The stockroom felt smaller now, the space between you almost nonexistent. Fred shifted closer, his movements hesitant, as if testing the boundaries.

His gaze flickered to yours, scanning your face slowly. Taking in all the features he hadn't noticed before.

You caught a whiff of his scent—woodsy, warm, and unmistakably familiar. Your breath hitched, memories of the Amortentia flooding back. Shaking your head, you turned away, refusing to acknowledge it.

The door burst open without a warning, and you both stepped apart as Professor Slughorn entered, beaming. “Ah! There you are Y/N! Was wondering where you’d gone off to.”

His gaze landed on Fred, his brow raising. “And you, Mr. Weasley? Sneaking around again?”

You cut in quickly. “He was helping me, Professor. I asked him to grab some supplies from the upper shelves.”

Slughorn nodded, satisfied. “Good teamwork, then! Carry on.”

When the professor left, Fred gave you a curious look. “Didn’t think you’d cover for me.”

You smirked slightly, grabbing another vial. “Consider it a truce. For now.”

Fred grinned, stepping forward to help you with the rest of the potions.

As you worked side by side, the animosity between you melted, replaced by something lighter, and dare you say, sweet. For the first time, you wondered if Fred Weasley wasn’t as insufferable as you’d thought.

———

Fred held the classroom door open with a dramatic bow, his teasing grin firmly in place. “After you, Your Majesty,” he said, gesturing for you to enter as if he were presenting you with the royal throne.

“Don’t push your luck, Weasley,” you replied, stepping through with a roll of your eyes, the stack of potion boxes steady in your arms.

Fred followed close behind, his voice laced with amusement. “You know, a simple ‘thank you’ would suffice. Or is that against the rules of your ‘perfect student’ code of conduct?”

You shot him a withering glare over your shoulder. “It’s against my ‘don’t reward annoying behavior’ policy.” you remark, feeling the weight of his gaze as he followed you into the classroom.

Fred chuckled softly, grabbing a few boxes himself, helping you place them neatly on Slughorn’s desk.

“Ah, splendid work!” Slughorn beamed as he inspected the delivery. “Thank you both, my star volunteers!”

You gave a polite nod, avoiding Fred’s amused smirk. The two of you turned to leave, walking side by side down the dimly lit hallway.

As you both walked down the dim corridor, the silence between you felt heavier than before, like an unspoken thought hanging in the air. Fred was the one to break it, his voice softer now.

“I wasn’t kidding earlier. I still feel bad about that prank,” he said, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

You glanced at him, surprised by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Yeah, but I mean it,” he continued, stopping in his tracks and turning to face you. “I really want to make it up to you.”

You crossed your arms. “Fred, we’re not exactly friends. Why would you go out of your way to—”

Fred hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “I guess… I don’t like the idea of you hating me. I mean, I’m a pretty likable guy, aren’t I?”

You let out a scoff, though your lips betrayed you with the faintest hint of a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Exactly,” he quipped, the grin creeping back onto his face. “So, let me make it up to you. How about dinner? My treat.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Dinner?”

He nodded, his grin widening as if this were the most logical suggestion in the world. “Yeah. At that little restaurant in Hogsmeade. Consider it an apology dinner.”

“Fred, there’s no way I’m—”

“Oh, come on,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me. Just dinner. A meal. Food. Surely even someone as serious as you has to eat?”

You glared at him, but the faint flutter in your chest returned, stronger this time. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously generous of me, I know,” he teased, holding his hands out as if waiting for applause. “But seriously, let me make it up to you. Just one dinner. I promise I won’t even prank you during it.”

Despite yourself, you let out a reluctant laugh. “Fine. One dinner. But don’t think this means I’ve forgiven you.”

Fred’s grin turned triumphant. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the two of you continued walking, his mood seemed to grow lighter, and the banter came naturally. You hated to admit it, but there was something… charming about his energy.

It was in the middle of laughing at one of his outrageous stories about George that you heard a familiar voice.

“Wait—is that Fred?” Ron’s voice cut through the hallway.

You both turned to see Ron and Hermione standing by the stairwell, their faces a mix of confusion and intrigue. Hermione’s eyes widened, and then a slow, knowing smirk crept onto her face.

“Knew it,” she said, nudging Ron with her elbow.

“Knew what?” Ron asked, staring between the two of you like he’d stumbled upon a particularly confusing riddle.

“That they’d get along eventually,” Hermione replied, her voice laced with smug satisfaction.

Your cheeks burned as you opened your mouth to protest, "We're not—"

“Not what?” he teased, leaning closer with a mockingly sweet smile. “Getting along? Surely not.”

You glared at him, the heat in your face intensifying. “Fred, shut up.”

Hermione’s smirk only deepened, and she tugged Ron away, muttering something under her breath that you didn’t quite catch.

Fred watched them go, a grin still firmly plastered on his face. “See? Even they approve.”

You groaned, quickening your pace to put some distance between you. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here we are,” he said, easily keeping stride beside you. “Dinner’s going to be fun. You might even like me by the end of it.”

You rolled your eyes, but as you caught the mischievous sparkle in his gaze, you couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Maybe—just maybe—Fred Weasley wasn’t as insufferable as you’d thought.

———

A/N: should I make a part 2 for this where they go for dinner idk 😩😩 Fred is just so scrumptious #needhimsobad

Updatee, check out part 2 here: Amortentia Pt 2 | F.W

[babeforjjmaybanks]

orange soda crush ༊*·˚

pairing: popular!rafe x shy!femreader ౨ৎ

summary: rafe's grades were slipping, to say the least. your school assigns you as his tutor, hoping maybe you could save him. one afternoon, rafe shows up to your house with in need of some help.

warning(s): dry humping, fingering, finger licking, mentions of biting (hickeys), thigh riding, marijuana use, swearing, size kink if you squint, mentions of scratching, slight overstim, rafe becomes whipped so possessiveness, innocence corruption(?), praise, slight perv!rafe, titobsessed!rafe, dni if you don't like!!!

mentions of: rafey, rafe is called a "sex symbol", y/n, sweetheart, good girl, baby, sweet girl, dumbass, needy girl, slut, doll, cute, pretty ౨ৎ

a/n: if not known already, this is basically a obx highschool au, pogues and looks still exist but it's more like jocks and nerds. both reader and rafe are seniors, not minors! I don't have much experience with writing fics but here's my current fixation, enjoy & leave notes! <3

word count: 4168

divider by: @issysh3ll

y/n had been sitting quietly in her history class, the bell signaling the end of the period ringing in the distance. she was gathering her books when the overhead speaker crackled to life, interrupting the usual noise of students packing up.

"pardon this interruption, y/n l/n, please report to principal phelp’s office immediately."

the announcement hung in the air, drawing the attention of a few nearby students. she froze, a slight chill running through her. she wasn’t the type to get into trouble—her grades were impeccable, she kept to herself, and she was always on time. so why was she being called to the principal’s office? her mind raced through all the possible reasons, none of which seemed likely. had she missed an assignment? was there a mistake with her records? or was it the skirt she decided to wear today that definitely didn’t meet the dress code?

her heart pounded as she made her way down the hall, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. as she approached the principal’s office, she noticed the usual hustle and bustle of students outside. some of them exchanged glances, their curious eyes following her every step, looking her up and down with whispers and sly looks. when she reached the door, she hesitated for a moment before knocking lightly.

"come in," came the deep voice of principal phelps.

she opened the door to find him sitting behind his desk, a manila folder in front of him. the room was neat, almost too perfect, the smell of old books and polished wood filling the air. but what really caught her off guard was the figure sitting across from him.

rafe cameron, the school's golden boy.

her stomach dropped. rafe was sitting with his arms crossed, his signature smirk plastered across his face as he looked over at her. His messy curtain and athletic jacket seemed almost out of place in the sterile office, like he didn’t belong in this space. she had always known of him, of course. he was the star quarterback, the guy everyone knew by name, the one who seemed to glide effortlessly through life. and now, here he was, looking at her as if he had all the time in the world, while she, on the other hand, was caught off guard and confused.

"there she is, come on in we were just talking about you." principal phelps said with a warm smile, though she could detect a hint of urgency in his tone. "take a seat."

she sat down hesitantly, trying to avoid looking directly at rafe. the tension in the air was palpable, and she was acutely aware of how out of place she felt in this situation.

"y/n," principal phelps began, folding his hands in front of him, his expression turning serious, "I’ve called you here because I need a favor. you know rafe, right?"

you glanced at rafe again, his eyes diverted to something else in the room as if he wasn’t staring at you. he seemed unfazed by the situation, though there was a subtle flicker of something in his eyes. "um, yeah," you said quietly, not sure where this conversation was going.

principal phelps nodded. "well, rafe here has been struggling in a few subjects. he’s having difficulty with math, english, and history.” principal phelps cleared his throat trying to ignore the fact that he named almost every class. “and unfortunately, his grades are slipping dangerously low. If he doesn’t get his grades up, he could lose his eligibility to play on the football team, which would jeopardize his scholarship opportunities." he paused, giving her a moment to process the gravity of the situation.

she blinked, her mind racing. rafe? struggling? the same rafe who could probably get away with doing the bare minimum and still pass every class? the same rafe with the fancy sport cars and the fancy mansion he threw ragers in? (allegedly, she’s never been to one.) the same rafe who had never so much as acknowledged her existence in all the years they’d been in school?

"I’m asking you," principal phelps continued, leaning forward slightly, "to tutor rafe for the next few weeks. he needs to pass these subjects to stay on track. and I know you’re one of our top students, y/n. you’re smart, diligent, and patient—exactly what rafe needs right now."

rafe shifted in his chair, his smirk faltering for just a moment. "yeah, sweetheart," he added with a lazy grin, "I could use your help. think you can handle it?" he glanced down at her thighs, and then back up at her. she felt her face flush at the sudden name.

her mind was spinning. she had never thought of rafe as anything more than the popular guy—someone she’d seen in the hallways but never really interacted with. actually, that was a lie, the thinking part. she actually would think about rafe alot when she was bored, specifically his toned body and the way he bit his lip when he was thinking. she had no idea how to deal with someone like him.

"I—I don’t know," she stammered, feeling her face flush. "I’m not sure I’m the right person for this."

principal phelps’s voice softened, but there was still a sense of urgency in his words. "I’m sure you are. rafe, here, is a good kid at heart, but he’s under a lot of pressure. If you help him out, it could mean a lot to him—and to his future."

rafe’s eyes met hers again, and for a split second, she thought she saw something other than cockiness—a hint of desperation, maybe even embarrassment. but it was gone before she could fully understand it.

she took a deep breath. she had never been one to shy away from responsibility, even if the situation seemed overwhelming. she didn’t want to be the one to deny him help, especially when it could affect his future.

"okay," she finally said, her voice steady but unsure. "I’ll help."

principal phelps smiled, relief flooding his face. "thank you, y/n. I know this is a lot to ask, but I think you’re exactly what rafe needs."

as she stood up to leave, she felt the weight of the task ahead of her settle in. she glanced one more time at rafe, who was still sitting there, his posture slightly more relaxed now. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel the tension between them already starting to form, a mix of uncertainty and something unspoken.

"see you tomorrow, then," she said, her words more for herself than for him, before leaving the office to prepare for what was about to be an unexpected and challenging journey.

over the past two weeks, y/n and rafe had settled into a rhythm, though it was far from smooth at first. their tutoring sessions started awkwardly—rafe's usual cocky demeanor clashed with y/n’s quiet, no-nonsense attitude. he would slouch in his chair, often cracking jokes or making sarcastic comments, testing her patience. but y/n, determined to get him through the material, refused to let him off the hook. slowly, she found ways to get through to him, breaking down complicated equations and historical events into relatable, bite-sized pieces. rafe, surprisingly, started to respond. he still struggled, but he began showing up earlier for their sessions, staying later, and even asking questions without the usual bravado.

as the days passed, the tutoring sessions shifted from strictly academic to more personal. one evening, as they were going over a particularly difficult history assignment, rafe let slip that his father had been pushing him to be the perfect athlete, to always be "the best." "It’s not just about football," rafe admitted, his tone more vulnerable than she had ever heard. "I just don’t want to disappoint him, you know?" y/n was taken aback. she had always seen rafe as the confident jock, but here was a side of him she hadn’t expected—a young man weighed down by more than just his grades. she listened quietly, offering a rare, understanding smile that made rafe pause for a moment. after that, their sessions felt different. the walls that had once separated them began to crumble.

In the weeks that followed, their conversations drifted beyond just homework. rafe started sharing bits of his life with you—how he used to love painting when he was younger, how he struggled with anxiety before big games, and how he was terrified of failing his senior year. you, in turn, opened up as well, telling rafe about your dream of becoming a lawyer and how you often felt like an outsider at school. the two of you discovered common ground in your shared feelings of pressure, and the lines between tutor and student began to blur. with each passing session, you became more comfortable with one another, a connection forming that neither had anticipated—one built on mutual respect, trust, and the quiet bond of shared struggle.

it was a quiet evening when y/n heard the unexpected knock on her door. she glanced at the clock—there was no study session scheduled for that night, so she wasn’t expecting anyone. her parents were out, and she had been planning on catching up on some reading. she opened the door, a little confused, only to find rafe standing on her porch, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. his usual confident posture was gone, replaced with an uneasy slouch. his eyes were almost bloodshot, and he wore an unfamiliar look on his face—vulnerable, even fragile.

"rafe?" y/n asked, surprised. "what are you doing here?"

he ran a hand through his messy hair and let out a small, strained laugh. "I—I know this is weird. but I, uh... I had a fight with my dad. a big one. he’s pissed about my grades and shit again, and he’s been on my case all week." rafe hesitated, biting his lip as if trying to hold back a wave of frustration. "I... I got high. like really fucking high I know I shouldn’t have, but I just couldn’t handle it. and I needed to get out of there." he looked down at his shoes, his words a little rushed. "I just—" he sighed, clearly frustrated with himself. "I don’t know, I thought maybe you’d—just let me hang out for a bit. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn't wanna seem like a pussy to all of my dumbass friends."

y/n stood frozen for a moment, processing his words. she had never seen him like this. the rafe she knew was always in control, always surrounded by his friends, the football team, and the unshakable air of confidence. this version of him—lost, raw, and uncertain—was a stark contrast. her heart softened at the sight of him, and despite the oddness of the situation, she stepped aside and motioned for him to come in.

"come in," she said, her voice gentle. "let’s sit down."

rafe walked in slowly, his movements sluggish, still unsure of what to say. she led him to the living room and handed him a glass of water, sitting down next to him, a soft hand placed on his back. the room was filled with the low voice of lana del ray and soft hum of the evening, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. rafe finally looked up, meeting her gaze with a look of quiet gratitude mixed with embarrassment along with something untraceable. "I didn’t mean to show up like this, but I didn’t know who else I could trust with this."

y/n’s heart tightened. she had no idea how much weight rafe had been carrying, how much pressure he was under from his father and the constant expectations of being perfect. In that moment, she realized how little she had truly known about him, and yet here he was—vulnerable, raw, and seeking comfort from the one person he had never expected to rely on.

"you don’t have to explain," she said softly. "I’m glad you came." she gave him a weak smile, rafe felt his heart flutter. "so.. how'd you get high? is that stupid question? sorry, you know people are bringing cocaine back into school." he chuckles, she lets out a giggle. "no cocaine here sweetheart, just this." rafe reached into his pocket and pulled out a weed pen, but y/n had never seen anything like it. it was super colorful and weirdly shaped, not like the ones she would see in the bathroom. "can I hold it?" she glanced at rafe, her doe eyes dimly lit with the faint lighting coming from the lamp in the corner. "why? you smoke? no way." he raised his eyebrow at her, but handed her the pen anyway.

"no, I don't smoke but.." she pauses, biting her lip, "I'm tempted. maybe you're just a really bad influence." he scoffed at her, "give it a try, just hold the button and pull it." y/n stood at the device in her hand uncertain. "what do you mean pull?" rafe held back his laugh, she shoots him a glare. "I'm serious." she playfully shoved him.

"yeah yeah I can see that, by pull I mean, suck on it I guess." her face heats up, cursing herself for letting such innocent words cause a fluttery feeling in her stomach. "okay, I'll try." she focused her attention of the pen and did as rafe said, she put the pen up to her lips and "sucked." rafe watched intensely as her lips wrapped around the tip of the pen, he swallows hard. trying to keep his composure, aka stop staring at your boobs in your thin strapped top or imagine your lips wrapped around his dick like that.

you slightly inhale the smoke and it immediately gets caught in your throat. you're now in a coughing frenzy, embarrassed as rafe pats your back. "atta girl, that's how you do it don't try to hold it in, let it out." y/n found herself coughing even more at the sly remarks. she stands up and walks over to the kitchen hastily grabbing an orange fanta from the fridge. she struggles to open it due to her latest french tip set, rafe notices her struggling and walks over. he opens the can with one hand with a sizzle pop! noise, she brings the drink to her lips hoping to relieve her dry mouth.

after taking a couple minutes to calm down, y/n offers rafe to come up to her room. it comes off as a surprise, rafe had never been anywhere in y/n's house except the living room and kitchen, never upstairs. but with no complaint, he follows behind her, watching the way her ass moves as she climbs up the steps. they make it to her room and it's safe to say, it was tidy. everything seemed like it had a place, and the room was lit with purple led's. but the best part of it all, was her bed. the mattress was extremely comfortable and she had an abundance of pillows as well as plushies.

"yeah this fits you, like a doll in a dollhouse." he walks around her room a bit before sitting on her bed getting comfortable.

meanwhile, y/n on the other hand was in a whole other world.

her ears were burning almost, she could hear her heartbeat and her whole body was tingling. she felt nothing short of amazing, euphoric even.

the usual walls between them had melted away, and now, as the evening dragged on, the space between them felt more intimate than it ever had before. there was movie was playing on her TV, but neither of them seemed particularly interested in it. they were both laughing at the silly dialogue and weird moments on the screen, but most of the time their eyes kept drifting back to each other.

rafe broke the silence, his voice softer than usual. "you know," he said, arms wrapped around her waist as she sat on top of him, "this is the most chill I’ve felt in weeks." his eyes were a little glassy, but his smile was genuine, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. "It’s nice being away from everything… away from the pressure."

she nodded, her head slightly spinning from the effects. the room felt warmer, the air thicker, and rafe’s presence seemed to fill the space between them in a way that felt new. he shifted, his chest brushing against her back, and neither of them pulled away. It felt like a small moment of intimacy, unspoken yet undeniable.

"yeah," she replied, her voice quieter now, "it’s nice not to think about all the things we’re supposed to be worrying about."

"I wonder, do you ever worry about me? think about me at night?" his tone was teasing, but there was something more behind it, something she could feel but couldn’t quite place. It was an invitation, but also something more—like a question she wasn’t sure how to answer. "so much goes on behind those pretty eyes."

y/n felt her heart beat a little faster as she considered it. part of her wanted to stay upright on his lap, maintain the little distance they had been keeping, but something about rafe’s tone, the way his eyes held hers, made her hesitate. she wanted to trust this moment, to let it unfold without overthinking it. she melted into his touch, resting her head in the crook of his neck, thighs pressed together. "I do."

rafe shifted to make room as he breathed in the scent of vanilla, the bed soft beneath him. the air between them was electric now, charged with a tension that neither of them seemed willing to break. the movie was still playing, but neither of them were paying attention to it anymore. they were closer now, the space between them reduced to nothing and for the first time in a long time she wasn't sure of something, she wasn’t sure if she was just feeling the effects of the weed or something more.

rafe leaned back against the pillows, his arms still wrapped around her body. "we don’t have to watch the movie," he said, his voice almost too smooth, like he was testing the waters. his eyes didn’t leave hers, his gaze intent and heavy, and in that moment, the world outside her room seemed to disappear.

y/n’s breath caught in her throat as the tension between them grew. every inch of her body was acutely aware of him, the way his presence felt so overwhelming, so magnetic. she had always seen rafe as someone distant, someone who belonged to a world she could never quite fit into. but now, with the smoke being blown in her face, taken in by slightly parted lips, she felt like they were on the same level.

she opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she just looked at him, her pulse racing as her mind swirled in the haze of the night.

"I wanna touch you."

rafe's breath fell heavy on her ear, sending a slight chill down her spine. her breath hitched, and there was that same flutter in her stomach. she didn't exactly have any experience in things like this but she wasn't entirely clueless, but never dealt with it hands on.

but rafe? he was a fucking sex symbol. several girls would literally leave notes in his locker with their address begging him to fuck them. but he would only rack up two bodies, or so it's said.

both of those girls transferred schools due to death threats.

but y/n doesn't understand why he would choose her.

"touch, me?" her voice was soft, but not afraid. infact, she was more relaxed than ever. "I wanna make you feel good, you're gonna be the fucking death of me. so innocent you don't even notice how you're straddling me, do you?" y/n took notice of how firmly planted on his thigh she was, no longer fully in his lap. "um, well.." rafe placed his hands on her hips, slowly guiding her back and forth. a jolt of pleasure shooting through her body, "rafey." a mewl creept from her lips, rafe was fucking aching in his sweats at this point. hair sticking to his forehead, lips parted slightly. "shit, you want me to stop? just give me the word i'll stop." he halts his movements, earning a disappointed whine.

"I don't want you to stop."

rafe curses under his breath, he slides her onto his lap and grinds his hips up into her, letting out a low groan. "you're a needy girl aren't you? so stressed and pent up. you can let go, I got you." rafe coo'd into her ear, placing soft kisses on her shoulders and moving to her neck, biting and sucking, hands rubbing all over her body, palming her boobs through her top, fingers brushing over her nipples.

rafe turns her head twords him, pressing their lips together. a mix of cherry lipgloss and orange fanta settling on his tongue. the kiss is sloppy and heated, the air in the room is thick as the movie in the background gets drowned out by moans and heavy breaths.

"such a sweet girl, you know that? all the shit you do for me? you deserve a fucking trophy." rafe showers her with praise has he goes back to kissing her neck, hands never leaving her body as she caught the rhythm on her own.

her brain was foggy with pleasure, lips parted but could't respond with anything but moans and "mhm's." rafe plays with the hem of her pajama pants, "can I?" she nods, "words, baby I need to hear you say it."

y/n, almost frustrated lets out a defeated sigh. "yes, but.." she hesitates. "can you take your shirt off?" she says quietly, as if she wasn't already in such a vulnerable state.

rafe chuckles at the sudden request, but does as she says. he pulls his black shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. y/n does the same. rafe is practically drooling at the sight of the pink lacy bra. his hands cup her breasts through the fabric, she arches her back against his chest. he slides his hand into her pants, glancing down to see that her underwear matched her bra. "so fucking cute."

he rubs her through the fabric, dampness seeping through the material. he teases her with long strides and rubs circles around her clit. he slips his hand into her underwear, almost moaning at the slick. y/n bites her swollen lip in an attempt to save her embarrassment.

"I want you to watch me."

her eyes slowly moved down to rafes hand in her pants, her face heated with embarrassment as she watched rafe's forearm and wrist flexed as he worked her clit, finger teasing her entrance. "I need you to relax, open your legs for me." rafe slowly parted her thighs with his free hand. "good fucking girl, so obedient." he kisses her cheek as he slides a digit into her sopping cunt. she inhales sharply, her head is thrown over his shoulder and her nails dig slightly into his arms.

"shit, just sucking me in. if I didn't know any better i'd think you were a slut." rafe's teasing manner never seemed to stop, he was two fingers, knuckle deep, in his supposed to be tutor. the only thing they were studying were eachothers body movements.

he found a steady pace working his fingers in and out of her, her moans becoming more high pitched, rafe could tell she was close. her hips bucked up into his hand, an unfamiliar knot forming in her stomach.

"rafey— 'm gonna— fuck!"

rafe was in genuine disbelief, not only did he cum in his pants but this was the first time he had ever heard you swear, tonight was a lot of firsts. the girl that he had been crushing on for weeks was about to cum on his fingers, moaning his name. he was never letting her go after this.

almost like it was on cue, y/n's orgasm hit like a truck. her entire body was shaking and she swore she saw starts. on top of that, rafe was still working his fingers in and out of her riding out her orgasm. she swatted his hands away and he took his hand out of her pants, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and licking them clean. she falls off of his lap onto the cool comforter beside him, chest heaving. he lays beside her and wraps his arms around her waist.

"want me to go run a bath, sweetheart?" he kisses the nape of her neck and cages her in. "'n a minute, just stay here for a second."

"didn't plan on leaving." ౨ৎ

[staryuee]

HOW THEY REACT TO YOUR SILENT TREATMENT.

꒰warnings꒱ not proofread … sigh

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . you and your partner are having a “cooling down period”, a time of détente, after a recent argument. how do they deal with the lack of love from you?

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . diluc, eula, wanderer, ayato, gorou, tartaglia, lyney, wriothesley, neuvillette, arlecchino

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . as a psychology student ☝️🤓 i can safely say that the silent treatment is usually frowned upon due to its connotations with emotional abuse, therefore i tried my best to make it apparent that this sort of silence is within the boundaries of the relationship ( ･᷄ὢ･᷅ ) please communicate with your loved ones if you feel a certain way :)

you and your beloved recently had a pretty bad argument. out of respect for both of your feelings you both decided to have a period of détente to allow a gradual recovery of your emotions and logical reasonings.

there was no need to argue, and there was also no need to be hostile or petty; therefore your silent treatment wasn’t a way to maliciously gain control or make your lover come running back to you, it was a way for both of you to regain composure and come back to the topic when prepared.

that did unfortunately, lead to much less affectionate gestures from both of you. of course there was still the casual “i love you” every morning and night accompanied by a simple kiss, but it never went anything beyond that.

while your lover fully knew why this sort of peaceful coexistence was necessary, sometimes it’s sincerely difficult to not just reach out and kiss you breathless.

you’re so close yet so far, it’s unbearable.

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

master diluc has been rather restless lately.

constant muttering to himself, plucking the dried up skin that stuck out from his badly bitten lips, his gloved hands constantly scratching a non existent scratch; honestly, if the fellow residents of dawn winery didn’t know any better they’d think he was possessed and required an immediate exorcist.

adelinde refuses to see her precious baby sink his eyes into ruin purely because he’s out secretly patrolling once he wakes up in the middle of the night to clear his head. you’re always there with him throughout the night: but why does it still feel so empty regardless?

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST ?

diluc is no pushover or people pleaser; if you were guilty, then you’re guilty and he’ll wait all the time in the world till you eventually own up and apologise (please let that come sooner or later though otherwise he’ll give into ruin and sip alcohol for a breather). otherwise, if its his fault, or no ones and it was a mere misunderstanding, the silent treatment lasts for a day. not any longer not any less; he doesn’t allow it to.

he’s more than happy to wait forever for you but gods if he ever made a mistake that accidentally led you to elongating this supposed transient silence till the end of time, diluc would much rather swallow his pride and give his all to you. you’re worth more than pettiness, and he’ll prove that to you once you wake up and get greeted with all your favourite luxuries and a bright, relieved smile on his face.

EULA — 优菈

you’re beyond delusion if you think this woman won’t turn this into a healthy-ish competition of sorts.

you wish to avoid her for days on end? she’s already used to the world avoiding her mere gaze, she can withstand the somber feeling of having the one person who’s fully understood her as the complex person she is self-isolating from her for a little while.

never mind, no, she literally can’t. come back to her right now. we have problem right? lets talk about it, isn’t that what you taught her in the first place? what do you mean you need a break and want to clear your head for a while to not hurt her feelings? you think eula of all people cares about something like that?

she’d rather you spit at her than withstand another hour of this mindless nonsense.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

she doesn’t apologise unless she sees whatever caused this perilous argument in the first place truly hurt you and you ended up in tears; otherwise whats the use in pointless words when you can easily hug it out and call it a day?

she lets you apologise under the guise of “if you don’t, my vengeance towards you will be greater than my foes”, but in reality? eula is hardly paying any attention to the words slipping past your lips. all she’s thinking about is how she’ll be able to shake off this uneasy tension that’s somehow been created between you two.

WANDERER — 流浪者

you can’t tell which one of you needed this little breather more, after all, you’d hope scara would allow himself to soften after distancing from you after a while, and scara hoped you’d see reason within your argument and eventually, as always, forgive him.

but forgiveness is a two way straight in the way most people subconsciously ignore; does he and could he ever forgive himself? that image of your teary eyed face, the harsh puffs of breath you heaved to prevent any more molten venom to burn his plastic skin, the slight clenching of your jaw, fuck it hurt.

he couldn’t admit it at the time, but right now after being forcefully peeled away from you for about week and forcing auntie nahida to listen to his venting rambles? he wished he just gave it all up and did something: anything at all. kissed you, hugged you, consoled you, swiped your tears away with his thumbs, fluttered his eyelashes on your cheek gently as he whispered an i love you.

yet all he could do right now was wait.

wait until you hopefully came back, he couldn’t face you. if you abandoned him he’d deal with it. the petals on the floor and the hushed whispers of “they love me, they love me not” are just hallucinations from his worried caregiver, he swears.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

never would he stoop so low as to apologise.

verbally. that is. if he’s aware that he’s in the wrong (believe me that look on your face does wonders for trying to figure out whats on your mind) he’ll begrudgingly come up with some covert way of making it up to you. he doesn’t want to be stuck in this immortalised silence forever; believe me, he likes your talking more than he realises and this little test trial of abandonment was more than enough proof that your existence within his life is essential.

if you’re not there standing by his side, what even is the point in that fraudulent pacemaker of his? your laughter is in the same shape of his heartbeat; if you’re not here, he’s just back to being that dumb little puppet cuddled ashore in the slim darkness of the night.

K. AYATO — 神里绫人

bile builds up in ayato’s throat, eyes threatening to spill hazardous tears on his paperwork. he HATES being away from you. yes, you’ll be back comfortably in his arms with a kiss on your forehead soon…but time isn’t making that “soon” come any quicker and it’s killing him.

‘silence’ is only the act of not speaking, right? so he’s technically allowed to sneak in pastries onto your desk when you’ve gone to take a break — he’s also most certainly allowed to write down his frustrations about not being able to be overly affectionate with you and then pitifully sliding them under your door in hopes you’ll read them and maybe write one back.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

he desperately tries to convince himself that if he works long enough, he’ll forget the hollowing feeling in his heart that’s left in the silhouette of you. he puts down his calligraphy pen with an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples with rough motions as if to completely rid himself of any lingering thought of you.

that’ll never work, and ayato thinks you two have calmed down enough so therefore he trudged his way into your room, knocking of course, and sat down with you for a lengthy but beneficial conversation.

without a doubt, ayato will be the one to apologise first. whether it’s a conscious decision or not completely depends on how long he’s been away from you; at some point you just fall back into regular routine completely by accident.

GOROU — 五郎

he’s glad you’ve decided to take this sort of approach to your relationship instead of having a painful battle of the wits with him but right now, he’d withstand a thousand hours of scolding than the way his fellow soldiers worryingly clutter around their little general and ask about his well-being purely because those furry ears atop his bundle of bed hair decided to stay drooped down all week.

but he can’t help it! he’s utterly miserable! you didn’t even give him your complimentary “good morning, have fun at work, be safe” kiss before he left the door in the static quiet of your abode. to top this torture off? you haven’t pet him once, and while he’d normally revel in not being treated like an actual lap dog…you’re a huge exception in that rule!

unfortunately, it’s not like he can just outright demand attention from you merely because he’s feeling a bit down on his luck. you asked for peace, he’ll give it to you. he’s a war veteran but treats you like a flower thats sprouted on a ruined patch of sand.

ehem, but please come back to him soon. please?

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

whatever it takes to get your pretty hand to ruffle through his brunette locks he’ll do, he doesn’t care if the apology consists of him kneeling down on pitifully shaking his head near your thigh with his lips puckered into a pout. shame doesn’t exist within your relationship right? he’s more than willing to apologise first regardless of who was to blame.

if the argument was a little more serious however, he’ll sit down you on your couch that holds so many sweet significant memories within your mind, his head resting atop your collarbone and tail sneakily swishing from side to side now that your heartbeat was so clear to him. he’ll hear you out, talk through it, but more importantly, love and appreciate you.

TARTAGLIA — 公子

nuh uh. you think you’re getting silence with someone like him around? unless one or both of you fucked up really bad, tartaglia can’t see the point in silent ignorance; if you want to ignore him to personally calm down? sure, do whatever you want honey, you’re still getting treated like the other piece of his heart that you are.

if you’re genuinely annoyed he can leave you alone…for maybe two hours thirty minutes max. he loves you so much, talk to him, he doesn’t care if you insult him out of anger, lash out at him if you must. so long as you return into his arms so he can sway you around within his tender embrace and pepper your face with kisses, he’ll be more than happy and satisfied.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

him all day — call it the big brother complex with having to always apologise first whenever he got into a slight squabble or disagreement with his siblings when he were younger, or call it pure unadulterated love for you and the refusal to continue with this pointless staring battles whenever you guys were sitting across from each other.

whatever it is, just know he takes your feelings seriously regardless of the teasing grin across his face when you try not to squirm from the way his hand traveled from across your waist to the slither of exposed stomach. he just wants to assure you that his love won’t ever fade even if it becomes so deliberately one sided. he’s yours, after all.

LYNEY — 林尼

he’s used to eerie silence that bellowed icy winds against his ears, used to the tension that forced out his fight or flight response, but currently all he could do was freeze and overthink. how come this silence seemed so much more deafening than usual?

lyney doesn’t want this worse than capital punishment torture to continue without at least the slightest bit of laughter mingled into both of your days; he tries his best to curve your lips to even the slightest twenty degree lift using whatever he could. silly little flower reappearing trick there, a sneaky kiss to the side of your neck here; just any fleeting desperate attempt for some reciprocation on your part.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

lyney’s used to apologising first given his experiences within the house of hearth and the father herself. so imagine his surprise when you both incidentally stammer over one another as you two splutter apologies helplessly. god he’s so happy your relationship is built open gushes of giggles instead of the splats of tears because if it weren’t for that cute little accident? lyney was sure the second you opened your lovely lips to speak he would’ve teared up.

he missed that voice telling him constant i love yous, the affectionate cradling of his face against your neck and the way you wouldn’t hesitate to hold his flushed face within your cooling hands to comfort him after a particularly stress inducing performance.

WRIOTHESLEY — 莱欧斯利

you left the conversation with an “i love you.” so he knows that you’ll come back to him.

however, the last time he blindly trusted the comforting words of a loved one, it ended with blood on his hands and a lengthy sentence at the fortress of meropide. luckily for his heart and your own, he knows your charms and honeyed words aren’t for show and truly mean something.

wriothesley respects your boundaries and wishes to the t, he won’t speak to you like nothing at all happened but that doesn’t mean he won’t be overly cautious when it comes to your behavioural patterns. if he notices this sentence of silence is clearly taking its toll on you, he will, with no hesitation, talk everything out with you.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

depending on the argument, he’ll apologise first. if it’s rather undeniable that you were the one in the wrong however, he’ll explain his feelings thoroughly until you apologise — the standard. he doesn’t want this silence to end till the fortress of meropide overflows with primordial water so once you see multiple guards on your case more than ever, just know he’d like to talk to you.

NEUVILLETTE — 那维莱特

fontaine has been drenched in rain for the past couple of days. every hour, every minute, every second neuvillette spends alone in his office makes him realise just how grand and solemn it is. everything is so mundane and banal…even the cheerful mutters and chatters of the sweet melusines couldn’t bring a smile to his face — much to the dismay of the little sigewinne who even so kindly brought him a cake to cheer him up…

what makes it even worse is that everything reminds him of you…and oh god the muddied clouds have once again been cursed with rain. this unquenchable thirst for your presence cannot be ignored by a mere sip from his intricate cup and being the ever so carefully mindful iudex, neuvillette sees it more than fit to call this hopeless game of silence to quits.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

regardless of who’s in the wrong, neuvillette apologises first. he’s sorry for letting this go so far, he should’ve just trusted his gut and returned to your side even if it meant having to persuade you with his clever tongue or the coiling of his draconic tail around your leg to pull you sweetly closer.

honestly, if he could, he’d make this a punishment in the fortress of meropide for every couple. you committed a petty, technically non offensive crime? well instead of doing some charity work for the city, you’re not allowed by the side of your beloved for a few weeks.

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

a bunny within the jaws of a spring locked beast thinking it can persuade the tides in their favour with silence? arlecchino is amused you’d think such cheap tomfoolery would work to solve through your problems.

“darling, come here,” she taps her lap with her blood-stained nail, her eyes looking up at you greedily to soak up every single jitter of your movements as you alas fall onto your rightful throne, “my dumb bunny,” arlecchino coos at you with that devilishly low hum of her voice. “do you think the phrases ignorance is bliss, distance brings fondness, truly work within our relationship?”

arlecchino painfully grasps at your waist, that grip only loosening once you comfortably situate yourself on her thighs and lace your arms around her neck per routine. “i’d expect this behaviour from my children at the house of hearth, not you, angel.” she nibbles on your earlobe deliberately, forcing your lips to part just the way she likes. that perfect look of both surprise and desire; it’s a gorgeous display of your vulnerability.

“explain to me your problems, or else we can be at this forever.”

no such thing as the silent treatment when the very epitome of a wordless shadow has betrothed you.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[i9chicago]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Sweet loving you.

pairing — spencer reid x professor! fem! reader.

genre — smut (18+ so minors dni)

summary — you think you despise dr. spencer reid with all your bones, you think he's too good and too accomplished at what he does, and you think he despises you too. till you discover his particular liking for you that night when he saw you in a red dress.

word count — 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings — oral (f receiving) fingering, soft dom! spencer cuz it's rotting my brain cells. masturbation. semi-public sex. lots of kissing. reader is a neuroscience professor.

a/n — this is my first fic here so be nice or i'll cry. english is not my first language so forgive me for any grammar mistakes. like for part 2 (please) ehh, i hate the ending. that's it. hope at least you enjoy it! <3

Red was never a color linked to joy. For some, it was the antithesis of calm—an unruly hue brimming with everything those fond of gentler tones tended to avoid: anger, desire, unbridled passion. A color that rose along a scale of relentless intensity, evoking not warmth, but power.

That’s why you chose to wear a crimson dress fitted neatly across your back, for the event. It didn’t need to be overly elegant or striking— just enough to keep you from feeling underdressed. Just enough to give you the confidence to stand tall and lift your chin in a room full of professors and potential future colleagues, the ones you'd meet again in hallways and over hurried lunches. You loved teaching. And truthfully, you didn’t mind being surrounded by university students who emailed you at four in the morning with long-winded excuses dressed up in flowery language to explain why they missed class or hadn’t done the work. You bit your tongue and kept going. People in the field admired your approach to teaching and your background in neuroscience had taken you far—far enough to park your car outside a sleek hotel and walk through its doors to stand among the best. To make your position as a tenured professor feel less like a myth spun into fantasy in your own head—and more like the fact it was becoming.

It was meant to be a calm affair, or so claimed the invitation embossed in gold thread and impeccable calligraphy, which promised a welcoming evening for the newly appointed tenured professors. You were one of them, even though you'd only been teaching for a year. Your heart thudded in erratic rhythms and you clutched your small handbag so tightly your knuckles turned white, the click of your heels echoing across the ceramic-gray tiles. Tilted your head, curious, catching sight of a golden chandelier overhead, mirroring the three-dimensional designs painted into the ceiling. It was such a pivotal moment, and yet, in all the hours spent getting ready, your mind had spiraled through a thousand reasons for things to go wrong. You couldn’t help it. Your head was always turning against you like it took some kind of pleasure in watching you unravel into a mess of nerves and dread, about the room’s reactions, about your own autonomy. Maybe you’d spill wine on your dress. Maybe you’d choke on a piece of ice from a champagne flute. Maybe you'd talk too much and accidentally let slip something painfully personal. The other professors didn’t need to know that. They didn’t need to know anything about you. Still, when alcohol starts to feel like a second skin, you’d promised yourself you’d manage it, one drink every two hours. Enough to keep disaster at bay.

You greeted a few adjunct professors as they passed by, and the moment you stepped into the grand hall, your jaw nearly dropped. The entire place was blue. Neon lights laced the walls, and a young DJ—probably no older than twenty—was spinning electronic remixes of ‘80s hits. It was almost a joke. There were far too many people for this to be just faculty. You doubted it. The entire teaching department must’ve been here, something you hadn’t quite expected. You’d imagined a more traditional venue: jazz music, old money burning through the most expensive drinks at a quiet bar in the corner. Instead, the tables were dressed in white linen with centerpieces of soft blue and white flowers. And suddenly, you felt overwhelmed. You accepted the glass of champagne a waiter offered you, now, it felt less like a choice and more like a necessity. You didn’t see a single familiar face and with the sheer number of bodies crowding the space, heat began to wrap around your bones. Usually, you were good at socializing, at least good enough not to make a fool of yourself. Winning over professors — especially the ones in physics— was a simple task, and the unspoken rule from the arts department was clear: never, under any circumstances, cross them. So yes, faking camaraderie came naturally to you. And with a few drinks, the task became almost idyllic.

You approached a table and picked up a small peach pastry, the sweetness of the powdered sugar melting on your tongue as your eyes scanned the room, now with a faint smudge of red lipstick on the bite. Then, something shifted. You felt it a gaze on the back of your neck. You turned slowly, your breath catching just as your pulse began to quicken.

Spencer Reid. And he was looking at you.

The same who was too ‘good’ to consider a tenured position at the college. The genius. The chosen one. The prodigy. An FBI profiler whose dignity vanished from the young girls in his classes as soon as they saw him or attended his seminars purely to watch him talk and talk and spill random data that none of them really cared about. They just went to see him. And he didn't even notice. Or, if he did, he was perfectly good at turning a blind eye to it.

It made your blood crawl. Cause you spent months hearing praise behind your back about how all his degrees and accomplishments put him in an optimal position to walk the halls as if he were a member of royalty himself. Sometimes you would see him in the gardens talking to some students being so generous and so kind that you would inevitably roll your eyes at his perfect kindness that you wanted to avoid seeing him as soon as possible. Everyone talked about him and you could understand why: He was an excellent prototype of the good man wrapped in good faith. Occasionally, you would meet his gaze at teacher's meetings, passing a cup of coffee in the mornings of pure silent politeness because neither of you had ever conversed in sentences that veered beyond a harmless thank you and good morning. You offered him your best smiles as his fingers brushed yours as you held out the cardboard cup full of black coffee and he would stare longer at your lips before sliding his periphery into your hands and leaving, as if touching you made him burn, as if he ached for the involuntary touch of your skins. Your friends were aware of how much you didn't like at all everything that endorsed his presence, and they didn't understand. You had a stable job. And of almost the same vitality as his. They told you that your reasons for loathing him were ridiculous, childish and, for a moment, they said you just didn't like him because he incarnated in flesh and blood everything you were attracted to in a man. And you were perfect at dismissing that.

Because it was. And that's what you really fucking hated.

You were unlucky. That was it. As if there was some bizarre entity pre-existing that dragged your decisions into an eternal abyss and turned you into a mixture of bad experiences that only increased as the years went by. And Spencer, in theory, seemed to be too surreal. Sure, his proportions as a whole were appropriate. And you had no trouble figuring out why young girls sighed with their hand on their chin every time he opened his mouth. There was no name for what you felt for him. It was just... It was weird. Weird for you, even, because you were used to being around people like him. But never like him. No one was like him.

Maybe your friends were right in saying that your occasional disdain for Spencer was born solely out of a need for adrenaline that you simply stopped paying attention to him. When your eyes met his in the distance, in a crowd, he smiled at you.

Bastard.

He had no right. He had no right to smile warmly at you as he raised his hand slightly in greeting, which he then lowered because of how awkward and absurd it looked. Much less did he have it to look this well melted by a suit that seemed to be itching his skin. With the red tie and the white shirt stuck to his body. All your attempts to pretend to be indifferent when it came to him were more than unsuccessful, in fact, irrational was a better word to describe it. You did nothing more than answer his greeting with a rehearsed smile as you turned to the food table swallowing a couple of those peach snacks, which you simulated with another swig of champagne feeling how the taste of alcohol numbed the few senses you had left one hundred percent. You sighed, much to your dismay, the dress was starting to feel tighter and tighter around your waist and you felt a flash of wind caressing the bare skin of your back. And to think that Spencer was probably watching you sent a searing heat through all your extremities. You stood up on your back and walked to the other end, however, the glass goblet you held in your right hand had a small crack that dug into your palm making you gasp from the sting of the glass against your flesh. Blood, thick and metallic, gushed out in small gushes from the wound. You felt dizzy for a second. And you wanted to go straight to the nearest bathroom.

Spencer followed your figure gliding through the crowd. The music was loud and what he heard from some of the professors, even if he didn't like to admit it (they were a bit older and kind of jerks) he stopped listening to them the moment your eyes connected with his and just lost himself in how he felt his heart rate become erratic. Superficial. He didn't need the world to be quiet to hear his heart racing. And it wasn't in the ingestion of alcohol, so in his glass rested a simple apple cider that he drank with enthusiasm. It was in how you received his perception, he was used to reading between the lines. And he had spent a lot of time reading specifically how you responded to being in his presence. Always evasive. You pleaded silently. He was not indifferent to your avoidance and sometimes caught you looking at him when you thought he didn't notice. In some other context it would seem creepy and worthy of concern. But it was you. All he saw was you. He wanted to see why his limits seemed to be nonexistent when it came to you and everything that warranted your mere objectivity. He listened to you in your classes, giving extensive perorations on the theory of neuroplasticity, and your students raved about you.

There was something irrefutable in how you learned to avoid him with a grace that overwhelmed him. He wished the words you never pronounced could be a clear language. But no. You chose evasion, silence. An elusiveness so subtle that it only left room for curiosity, for the need to understand why you were doing it. As if everything between you was an unwritten dialogue that he couldn't complete.

He could hear the softness of your words as he rummaged deep into his memories, when you talked about the evaluative changes in neuroscience in front of a packed classroom, your voice flowed like a calm river but inside him everything was churning and he didn't even bother to look for its root. It didn't bother him, actually, he was fascinated by how you were able to captivate everyone, and, at the same time, keep him out of your reach.

It killed him. It killed him slowly and torturously how he begged you with the simplicity of his gestures and looks and you purely eluded him. But what killed him the most was that, despite being so close, it always seemed like it wasn't enough. That he never reached that last layer that protected you.

He couldn't help but feel like a doomed voyeur watching as that invisible barricade between you held firm. Talk to me. Look at me. Why not? How long will I endure? Every vestige of desire of his was mounting to catatonic levels.

A cold current was seeping deep into his skin, icing his fingers as he waited, patiently, for some movement, a sign from you.

But nothing.

Only the pleasure of your indifference, so bitter and bewitching, like a trap he didn't know how to escape from. And, damn it, he loved it.

The white walls in the bathroom loomed over you as you walked in hoping for an aid kit somewhere, you looked in the mirror for a moment, realizing how lousy the night was going and you were just getting there. It was supposed to be a good time to continue making friends and finally find more people to have lunch with at noon. You should have seen it coming. You thought for hours about whether it was a good idea to attend and your apartment, not far from the hotel, a few blocks from the venue, was a mess. Dresses strewn across the floor and your cat found the jumble of sleeping fabric in every corner of the house fascinating. The pain in your hand was getting more intense, too strong, unbearable. A burst of burning that intensified every second. You made a point of washing away the bright blood with the water and grimaced at the new coolness and stinging sensation of the cut.

But even the pain didn't lessen the fact that you were thinking about him. And that infuriated you. The gazes that lasted longer than usual, the gestures you avoided and those imperceptible moments charged with something much more substantial. What did you want to do with all of that? Nothing. You couldn't do anything. Spencer was in a completely foreign league to you and you had to respect that.

You didn't even want to imagine what would happen if people at the college found out. People talk, and they don't measure the magnitude of their words and all that a simple hallway rumor could trigger. Like teens. No one should be interested in what two professors were doing outside the institution. And besides, he wasn't even working full time. He was an agent. Even more reason why this growing, heated thing between you two was a flat out no way it was going to happen. It was undermining all your senses. All your good judgment diminishing it to nothing. No, it couldn't happen. The tension was limiting your core beliefs. And as you tried to maintain a control you knew you didn't have, the restlessness in your chest only grew.

As you did everything in you to heal the cut quickly, you heard the faint creak of the door. You raised your head and, in the reflection of the mirror you saw Spencer's figure bursting into the glare of the bathroom lights. You failed to keep calm. Because you had nothing left. Spencer briefly held the handle, his eyes sliding a quick glance between the mess in your hand and the confusion evident on your face, your cheeks flushed, your breathing still uncontrolled. And, without a word, he locked the door.

The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the air, amplifying the tension already vibrating in the space. His scent enveloped you, the warmth of his presence washed over you so tightly that the sting in your cut receded into the background. But for him it seemed otherwise. He stood in front of you so close you could feel his breath, a faint sigh that seemed to touch your skin, make the air thick, dense. He looked at you briefly, straight into your eyes and that's when you understood why you were avoiding him so much. It was him. His gaze. His warmth. Everything about him sucked you in, pulled you in and was all too evident. His intensity was like a force of gravity that drew you in hopelessly. No matter how much you dodged it, no matter how hard you tried to shield yourself from that connection, it was as if the very nature of the situation had determined that the distances between the two of you were simply not viable.

He looked at you as if asking for permission to heal your hand, and though he didn't say it out loud, he didn't need to. The question was in the solid silence between the two of you, in the way he watched you, so close that you could almost feel his thoughts without a single word needing to be uttered. That look, that little action.

You couldn't hide from him.

You, who had always maintained control, felt how he crumbled at the softness of his gesture, at the implicit trust he offered. At how his hands, veiny and warm, took yours with an unspoken hush. You were trapped in his closeness and in his palpable presence. And worst of all, you wanted to stay there, caught in the nervousness of his look, in the subtle touch of his fingers.

You decided to speak. Or else you couldn't stand it any longer. “I should put in a beef about the dangers of champagne glasses.” You said trying to sound normal, calm. But the tension in your voice was so intense that you ignored it, "It was broken, hmm, I guess it's no big deal. It's probably not even deep."

“You're bleeding out here,” he chuckles, and the sound of his laughter, light but kind of warm, sneaks through the cracks in your conscience. You feel his thumb caress the palm of your hand, and the derision in his tone makes you laugh too. He clears his throat, before scanning his gaze around the bathroom for an aid kit. "You need to clean that. Or it'll get infected.”

“No, no. You don't need to ” you whisper, but you let his hand continue to hold you. “I'm fine, really...”

Spencer stopped in front of you, bent down slightly to look at your hand in more detail. “It does need to,” he replied in a slight murmur. "Superficial wounds can be much more dangerous than they appear. In fact, small cuts are more susceptible to infection than larger ones, because they may go unnoticed, but they leave a perfect entrance for bacterias. In this case, if you don't clean and disinfect it, Staphylococcus aureus bacteria are quite common, and that could lead to a serious infection."

You felt a little stunned. The amount of information he dumped on you so quickly left you somewhat entranced. However, the concern on his face was genuine. And it touched you.

Why did he have to look like that?

“Uh, I can't say I knew that.”

“Does it hurt?”

 “Just a bit.” You replied. It was true. But it hurt more that as he looked at you he kept stroking your hand with his thumb and each caress drove you crazy. “Any diagnostic, doctor?”

He laughed, and your heart skipped a beat. God. His smile was even more charming holding you that close. A pair of dimples growing in his cheeks and he effortlessly aroused sensations in you too primal to admit out loud.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” he whispers, the hint of his smile still visible. “But I need to clean that up for you... It's... It's okay if I do?”

You nodded, not knowing what to answer. Her gaze slid across the bathroom coming across a small white box resting on the counter. He turned away from you for brief seconds and, though it was a flicker in time, you felt the emptiness he left. You missed his touch and felt pathetic. So simple. So insignificant. And yet he still managed to unsettle you

Why did his closeness make you feel exposed, vulnerable? You knew something between the two of you was changing, but was it something you really wanted? Or rather, something you could afford to want?

It didn't give you time to think as he stepped in front of you again and wiped a cotton ball with antiseptic. Taking your hand again, the cool sensation of the antiseptic with the warmth of his fingers pressing against you making a twisted contrast of what it was. It was soft. It was gentle. As if he feared to break you with the simplicity of his caress. He was exalted, you could tell by the way he was breathing through his nose and his chest was rising and falling in a continuous back and forth. You couldn't help but think how, for a second, it seemed like the rest of the world disappeared, and all that was left was him. Just him.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, breaking the silence. “I don't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

It was strange to hear him say that. Because how could he not know that discomfort was, in fact, what made you feel so alive? The vulnerability, the not knowing what was going on between you and the uncertainty you felt in his every gesture. It was all there, hovering between the two of you, and you weren't saying anything about it. You just held each other in this delicate balance that you longed to break.

“You don't.” you said quickly, "It's dumb. I probably wouldn't have done it. I'm not good at this stuff, the last time my cat scratched my whole arm and I'm pretty sure I made the scratches even worse."

Spencer looked up, and for a moment, his expression softened. “I just don't want you to think I'm invading your space,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice was like a soft punch to the chest.

Spencer curved his lips, barely a smile. He continued his slow, meticulous movements cleaning your wound with a precision that was hard to ignore. Every time his finger brushed your skin it was like lighting a thousand matches inside you.

 “This isn't so bad,” he murmured, as he carefully cleaned the area around the cut. “It could have been so much worse.”

“Well, hopefully I'm not bleeding to death,” you replied with a small touch of humor. The slight stinging in the wound when the antiseptic touched your skin was somewhat tolerable now, and his presence somehow made you feel calmer.

And, of course, you decided not to pay attention to the closeness of his face and that incipient beard that adorned it perfectly. All over his jaw, you had the urge to touch it and put the fingers of your free hand on the fabric of your dress as if it contained all those growing desires.

“Hopefully not” Spencer laughed, not looking away from your hand. "It's not that dramatic, but you know, some people faint over something as simple as this. The body's reaction to minimal pain can be interesting."

“Really? How?”

You knew the answer. But hearing him speak for you was a necessity now and you decided to take advantage of every second.

"The fear of pain and the physiological reaction is more prevalent than it seems, that's all kind of like a mind game. That it thinks you have something, when the damage is likely to be minimal.”

“And I assume that if there was anyone here passed out, it would be me.” you said, shaking your head and looking at the wound with mock concern. "Yeah, I should have guessed. I cannot tolerate pain.”

Spencer let out a genuine laugh, a laugh that made the air around the two of you feel less tense.

“Definitely,” he said with a laugh. “But don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you.”

“Good to know.”

He continued cleaning and gently placed a children's band-aid (from some cartoon you couldn't recognize) over your cut, now clean and out of harm's way. Were his eyes always this bright or was it the glare of the white lights? And his lips, his lips. Slightly splendorous from whatever he was drinking before he came in. You swallowed saliva, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks as he seemed to have scanned across your face and the bathroom was flooded by a couple of giggles that pretended to say a lot, but was nothing. It wasn't awkward, but that kind of silence that hovered over you and enveloped you in a still atmosphere that you countered with the rowdiness outside. You sat on the countertop, the coldness of the ceramic hitting your thighs hoping he wouldn't leave. You lay your head back in the mirror, and Spencer's head shorted out.

He didn't know how much more he was capable of taking, if he was fit to drown everything that came into his head when he saw through the mirror's reflection that curve of your back, smooth, perfect. The red dress tight to every curve fitting in the right places and that lipstick, lightly smeared across your lower lip. He put his hands in his pockets and swallowed thickly. Your eyes traveled down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with nervousness and notoriety.

“You didn't seem to be enjoying yourself over there" you say amused, your voice tired. "I don't blame you. Teachers' humors are crap."

Spencer nods, standing in front of you. Your knee brushing against the fabric of his dress pants. "I usually enjoy theoretical physics jokes but there's a point where it gets repetitive and boring. If I'm honest, I was looking forward to getting out of there.”

The laugh you let out was soft, almost intimate, as if only he was meant to hear it. Spencer drank it in as if it were something sacred. His fingers, still warm from touching you, flexed in his pants pockets, trying to contain the absurd need to brush against you again. 

“Spencer Reid?” you repeated with an arched eyebrow, watching him with a vague smile as you leaned your head back against the mirror a little more. "You must have the highest tolerance for repetitive. You analyze it, dissect it. You find patterns in it, revel in it. I thought you were used to it.”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, tickled by your remark. His eyes roamed over your face with a scrutiny that made you hold your breath. He didn't seem to be looking at you out of mere habit anymore, it seemed he couldn't even help himself. You cleared your throat, but his closeness was brutal. He smelled like aftershave, so strong that the scent drugged you completely.

"Maybe you're right, but there are exceptions. There are always exceptions to the rule, no matter how much I'd rather abide by them." he said, this time turning to you and you swore your heart was going to jump out of your rib cage.

His hands slowly came out of his pockets, and he leaned lightly on the countertop to the side of you. His arm almost brushed your thigh and for an instant you thought he would do it on purpose, that he would trace the fabric of your dress with his fingertips. That he would dare. And you thought how good it would feel to be on his hands, long fingers and protruding veins, holding you like a longing.

“And is tonight one of those exceptions?” you asked, tilting your face toward him, watching him closely. 

His throat worked in a strained swallow. "I'm sure it is.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Your breathing got slower, deeper. Your inhibitions out of you. His knuckles, distracted, barely grazed your knee in a touch so light it might have gone unnoticed if it weren't for all your skin igniting in response. Spencer froze at his own boldness, but didn't immediately pull his hand away. Instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose, and his eyelashes lowered slightly as he looked back up at you. All content, his eyes dancing all over your face.

He didn't move. 

He didn't leave. 

The air in the bathroom seemed to thicken as Spencer leaned forward gently, closing the distance with torturous slowness as if to give your body time to react, to reject him. But you didn't. And you had no plans to either. Your back brushed against the mirror, the coolness of the glass seeping through the thin dress as Spencer's warmth enveloped you from the front. His hands continuing to rest on the countertop on either side of your legs, locking you in with devastating ease.

He was tense. You could see it in his jaw. The line of his throat working as he swallowed saliva with visible effort. Almost instinctively, you tilted your head, and mentally beat yourself up as you thought you could ignore or simply disregard everything that revolved around him because it was impossible. You hesitated on whether to do that thing that was killing you so much, to touch his face, to caress his cheek. Let him do something. His gaze made you breathless. Dark, intense. Fixed on you and only you. His dark, chocolate irises, a hazel hue that you could finally detail up close.

He had the most beautiful eyes you'd ever seen.

“Why do you keep avoiding me so much?” his voice was a whisper, but you felt it throughout your body. His breath was warm with a minty undertone, it brushed your mouth. "Did I...did I do something to bother you? I didn't say anything bad about you, if you were wondering. I have eidetic memory, I would remember if I was rude to you at any time.”

You found yourself caught between need and uncertainty. Your hands rested on your thighs, and you wanted him to push them away. Spencer saw it. He saw it in the way your eyelashes quivered in a flutter that sent shocks through his body, in how your gaze dropped fleetingly to his mouth before returning to his eyes, in the way your chest rose and fell too fast, too erratically. 

His knuckles brushed the fabric of your dress with calculated carelessness, a light touch on your right thigh that made everything in you tense with an internal jolt. There was no urgency in his movement. Only a torturous patience, an unspoken question in the way his skin tested yours. As if testing the ground.

A restrained sigh escaped your throat, almost inaudible, but he heard it. 

“You didn't do or say anything bad about me, Spencer.” you murmur, your voice sharp. "It was my thing. I make movies all the time in my head. I think I was just jealous.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. His knuckles still moving in a steady rhythm over the fabric of your dress, “Jealous? Why would you be jealous?”

Your tongue fleetingly moistened your upper lip. His gaze followed the movement with unsettling thoroughness, his fingers twitching subtly on the countertop. You were unconsciously tasting him. And it delighted you to watch his jaw clench.

“I guess you're too good to be real.” you let out an irony-laden laugh, "It's lame. Don't mind me. I actually thought you didn't like me."

“Why would you think that?” he sounded almost offended, incredulous at what you just said as he let his fingers trail southward away from the red fabric. It was silk, fine silk that hugged your thighs beautifully. His fingers were just as warm on your skin and you shivered as his caresses went up and down. Paulatine, subtle, but it made your hair stand on end. And the way he whispered your name... Almost like a longing held on his tongue, like a heavenly prayer. "I've done nothing but silently wanted you. If you only knew... How long I've been saving this. Keeping you. As if just looking at you was enough.”

Your lips parted, but the words stuck in your throat. As if every particle had stopped in time, leaving them suspended in that instant where nothing else existed except the way he touched you. His hand slid, slow, barely perceptible, but enough to set your skin on fire. His fingers traced invisible lines over your thigh with a devotion that left you gasping for breath, memorizing the texture of your skin, the way you reacted under his touch.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, it was the only thing that could come out of your mouth. Your voice cracked, feeling the pressure building in your chest, in your belly, in every nerve ending in your body. 

A sound escaped from his throat. Low. Grave. As if the confession had managed to shake something inside him. 

His hands moved, with deliberate leisure, barely moving up the curve of your thigh before clinginging to the flesh. His torso was so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, the racing beat of his heart pounding in sync with yours.

"No, don't be sorry" his voice was a whisper, his lips against your temple. They were so close you could feel them, a temptation suspended in the air. The edge of his nose brushed yours, a touch so thin, so intimate, that a shiver danced down your back. "I guess it's my fault for not talking to you in the first place. But if you'll let me... I promise not to ask for more than you're willing to give. Because having you anyway is already more than I ever thought I deserved."

God. 

You couldn't think, not when he was there, so tangible, so immensely real, tearing down every barrier you'd ever built between the both of you. 

His fingers came up again, this time with less hesitation, brushing the inside of your thigh in a barely perceptible movement, but one that sent an electric whiplash up and down your spine. If you moved a little, just a little, he would brush the fabric of your panties.

"Spencer..." his name was a breath caught in your mouth, a plea, a surrender.

He took it. He took your exhalation and made it his own. He kissed you with the kind of awe with where someone touches something sacred for the first time. His mouth rested on yours in a brush that contained months of longing compressed into a single instant. So violently that your body tensed. His lips moved gracefully over yours and his hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs as if he was holding back from touching you further. At first it was slow, painfully slow, waiting for you to refuse. But you had no intention of it. You sensed how his tongue brushed your lower lip in an invitation to thrust inside you, and the sweet gasp that came from your mouth in delight entranced him. He sensed it in the way your fingers reached up to grasp at the lapels of his suit, clinging to him as if you were about to collapse.

Kissing Spencer was just how you imagined it would be. Addictive. Teeth and tongues in a rough dance, he was stunned by how you responded to his caresses. By how your hands stopped trembling and rested on the back of his neck, in his hair, pulling him closer to you till you melted into a lingering kiss. Spencer moaned against your mouth, a harsh, restrained sound that reverberated between the both of you, becoming a vibration that traveled down your backbone and spread in torrid heat throughout your body. His fingers, which until now had traced a contained path over superficial parts of your body, twitched over the skin of your thigh, sinking just barely into the soft flesh, as if he needed to hold on to something in particular to keep from twisting his grip. He was losing it completely.

The kiss became hungrier, more impatient. His tongue slid against yours in a fiery, deep caress as his other hand moved up the curve of your back, pressing you against him as if trying to memorize every inch of your body. You shivered from just feeling his touch on your back and how that slit in your dress gave him the opportunity to move down a little.

Every scrape of his lips against yours was a silent confession, every halting gasp a secret that slipped out without the need for words. 

Spencer wasn't doing anything by halves, and kissing you was the ultimate proof of that. He was feeling you with every fiber of his being. He was drinking you in with the devotion of a thirsty man finally finding water in the middle of a forsaken desert.

With every particle of his autonomy, with every heaving breath that escaped his throat and the way his body pressed against yours, drawing closer and closer until the air between you ceased to exist. His hand, the one that had traveled up the curve of your back, slid with exasperating slowness to the base of your nape, tangling in your hair. Wrapping itself around the strands of your locks.

As if afraid you might fade away.

His other hand went up another inch, and when his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your panties, a fierce thrill ran through you, arching your back involuntarily at his touch. Wanting more. That he would turn his attentions upon you. He sensed it in the way your nails scratched his hairline, in how your thighs trembled under his caresses and the sudden gasp that escaped from your mouth, imprisoned in his. 

He pulled away just a few millimeters, just enough to be able to look at you. To see the slight tremble of your lips swollen by his kisses, the febrile shine in your eyes. His breath collided against your skin, warm and ragged, and in the thick silence of the bathroom, his breath seemed an echo of yours. 

The Adam's apple in his throat rose and fell in an effort to swallow saliva. 

"I can't believe we missed this just because we had misconceptions about each other." he whispered, as if he found it hard to speak, as if the words scraped his throat as they came out, "You don't know all you do to me."

"I think I have an idea." you said, stunned. With a slow smile curving your mouth as your hands went back up to his cheeks, his beard stinging your fingers, "But I think I'm starting to like it when you show me."

A low growl escaped his chest before he took your mouth again, and no fantasy could match how good it felt to be in his arms. His kisses were intoxicating, tongue everywhere, low moans sending shocks straight to the recent growing bulge in his pants. He held your jaw and claimed you. And you loved it. You melted into him. Your hands took advantage of traveling to his neck, his cheeks, his shoulders. You could spend hours like that. There was a latent tension in his muscles, in the visible struggle between his control and his desire, in the way his dark gaze devoured every detail of you. His hands were so big, gripping your face as you moved closer until you wrapped your legs around him, your thighs at his sides.

Spencer pulled away, he was a mess. His brown hair tousled and his lips glossy and swollen from you. His thumb traced a sweet line over your lower lip. "You're beautiful," he exhales briefly. "So beautiful.”

You pull him by the neck and kiss him again. Hopeless. Hungry. You were sure the denim of your lingerie was wet and that he could feel it. You move your hips moaning against his mouth from the friction of your center against his pants. Spencer noticed your need, and his knee began to rub you. Slowly, feeling you contract from the pleasure. Your dress rode up over your thighs and he pulled them almost all the way up, to the level of your hips, allowing himself to revel in the matching lace of your wet panties. Soaked. For him. His right hand slid to your chest and groped your dress, seeking to pull it down. You nodded in agreement still with your lips on his, letting him know you needed him. That he would touch you. It was a slight effort, but with blind skill he lowered the top of your dress.

"I'm surprised at how skillfully you did that," you whispered between kisses. You hear his laugh, hoarse and throaty, as his knee continued to rub your center, and you cried out. A low cry that you silenced by biting your tongue.

"If it makes you feel any better, I thought as soon as I saw you come in." he said resting his forehead with yours. Widening his hands below your knees, and when he stretched a little, the breath caught in his throat.

You looked like a gorgeous wreck. Your lipstick was running, your barely visible red lace bra made your hardened nipples noticeable and the feel of the cold made them hard as rocks. Spencer kissed you. Quick, fleeting, placing his thumb and forefinger against your right nipple and pressing it, making you turn your eyes. His touch sent tingles all over your body, no matter how small or large, the mere fact that he was touching you was driving you crazy.

His kisses descend to your neck, leaving soft bites in an everlasting path. He nibbles that spot on your pulse and you tremble. Your hand touching his curls as you gasped uncontrollably.

"You're..." he began, but the word was lost in your neck. He kissed the curve of your collarbone, the racing pulse in your throat. " You're devastating.”

He scattered sporadic kisses across your neck and suddenly you felt like you were out of orbit when his fingers found your panties. Stroking you over the fabric. You wiggled your hips in search of more friction and melted into his arms. He teased both of your nipples. He kissed you with such vehemence and eagerness. It was simply too much. Your eyes traveled to the bulge in his sweatpants, and you had that urge to touch him again. It was big, you deduced immediately by how the fabric of the pants fit painfully around the outline of his cock. Your hand barely grazed it as he pushed you away and returned his kisses to your lips. Tugging at them. Biting, sucking with impetus.

"Is that good or bad?" you asked curving your back.

Spencer looked up from his spot, his eyes burning with an intensity so pure it took your breath away. "It's all I want.”

He bent down with only one knee digging into the floor, and your brain lit up. You were aware of what he was about to do and you pressed your thighs together, almost reluctantly. In response, he put his hands on your knees and looked at you over his long eyelashes and his eyes sparkling from all the excitement that was only growing more and more. No, he had no right to look at you like that. To have you at his mercy with just a kiss. To look so needy for you. 

"Don't get shy now." he said, his fingers squeezing the hypersensitive flesh of your thighs to open them for him again. "I want to touch you, please, angel. Let me show you how much I've needed you. How much I've longed to touch you, please, can I?"

His plea turned you to plasticine. It was a desperation rooted from deep in your chest and the mere thought that he had imagined this precise scene in the past turned you on. That maybe he had it all planned out and now he was kneeling before you basically begging to touch you. Your hand reached out to his curls, stroking his brown, unruly hair and you nodded as your lips curved into a smile that Spencer was quick to retort.

"Of course, I wasn't going to let you leave me like that and then leave." you whisper in amusement, holding his face "You owe me.”

Spencer smiled at you, sweet, almost too sweet for the kind of look he gave you. Filled with desire, with something far, vastly stronger than you. His fingers groping the edges of your panties. Swiftly pulling them down to your ankles. You shuddered at the change in sensations, the gusts of wind setting your nipples on edge and his gaze fixed on your cunt enveloped you in a cloud too intense for your brain to function properly. He looked at you with dilated pupils, licked his lips slowly as if tasting you on it.

"I owe you, huh?" he said, pressing a kiss on your inner thigh. Then on the other. "I guess I should make it up to you, right? Is that what you want?"

You nodded frantically, but he bit down on a thin layer of skin and you gasped.

"Use your words, angel."

"I..." you doubted that your head could work correctly, his touch sent tingles through parts of your body unthinkable. "Fuck, Spencer. Just do it.”

"So desperate." he whispered, his tongue beginning to lick the wetness of your thigh. You swayed in response to the sensation, your back arching as your hands involuntarily moved up to your nipple, pinching and stimulating. You needed to feel him everywhere. It was disarming you. "Have you thought about this, do you think I don't notice when you look at me, when you sneak into my classes?”

He grabbed you by the knees and pulled you into his mouth with such speed that you didn't even have time to get used to the thrill. Fuck. His mouth was desperate, he licked your folds and his curls hide between your legs. You'd let him sleep right at dawn right there. You moaned his name so loud that you were thankful the music outside was so loud no one could hear, 'cause you needed that. You needed to scream how much you enjoyed it and when Spencer gasped in delight, your whole body jerked. A rough hand gripped your thigh, his thumbs pressing into your skin, holding you open just for him. To keep you from shivering. His tongue was relentless. He swirled with precision, sucked you with intensity and reserved kisses for your clit. You rolled your eyes and your hips followed in a back and forth motion over his mouth, surrendering yourself completely to the pleasure.

There was a heat swirling over your belly, over your bloated, hypersensitive center. You shuddered and Spencer hummed above you as you tightened his head making him bury himself in your pussy. You were drunk, it was vertiginous, too much to bear.

He pulled away slightly, his breathing ragged. You couldn't see him because he was still hiding between your legs but the image was projected in your head instantly. His lips glossy from your wetness, yearning for more. The fibers of his hair messy from your pulls "How did I not notice before that you are this beautiful?" he kissed one of your folds and your back flexed again. "That you taste so good…”

Your whole body jerked in pleasure as he sealed his lips on your clit. Sucking. Drinking. Opening his mouth wide and devouring every nerve of you like a starving man. As if you were his last entrée that he would hesitate to ravish for how exquisite it was. One hand came up and took away yours that was caressing your boobs, his now cold fingers closing on them. His hand was large. It went all the way around you and pressed your hard, overstimulated nipple between the middle of his fingers.

"Spencer," you moaned, your thighs trembling and his mouth devouring your cunt with vigor, "It's too much. Sensitive."

His mouth closed on you again, your hips still twitching at him. Pleasure engulfed you, your stomach contracted and you swore you saw nebulae and tiny stars the moment his tongue sucked slowly at your slit. It curved, it teased you, driving you to your limit.

"No, not yet" he groaned against your skin, but his fingers didn't falter for a single second. The bundle of stimulation cut your lungs out. "Just one, yes? Can you give it to me, angel?"

You barely nodded as he returned to devouring you. He wanted to take you to the last of your strength. Heat coiled in your stomach and your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Irregular beats that succumbed you in instant pleasure. His tongue licked in one last long line in your pussy that tore out a scream that you stifled by biting your lip. The release of your orgasm taking you elsewhere. You were trapped in ecstasy. Your limbs ached and you needed him more and more. His breath was warm as he pulled away and kissed your mons pubis, testing, seeing how much more you could take. It made your hair stood on edge.

"You had this well planned, hmm?" you whimpered in a murmur, feeling the sequels of your first orgasm shaking your body, "I bet you've thought about it too. About how good it would feel to have me in your hands, is that it? Did you want me so bad you couldn't do anything but imagine it?”

He growled in reply, and the sound made your blood rise. Time slowed down around you and for a moment you forgot there was a whole party going on outside. But all you could think about was that you had Spencer on his knees for you, his erection probably being too painful for him and yet he continued to kiss you and tasted all of your senses. The pressure of his lips was deep worship, in restrained cravings that would sooner or later explode into frenzy. Your head fell against the mirrored glass as now his fingers curved lightly to touch your cunt in search of more. He added a finger, then another, patiently opening you up. Your hips throbbed again from the overstimulation, your brow furrowing as he rose and began to spread kisses all over your face.

"You have no idea, I asked myself that every night I pretended I didn't care about you more than I should have." he murmured, his palm pressed against your clit and his bulge in his pants pressed against your thigh, in pursuit of a delicious friction you both needed. You were at his mercy completely. You lowered your head and rested your forehead on his shoulder, feeling his fingers move nimbly inside you. "And each time, the answer was yes. I wanted you so much that it hurts. Do you think you can give me one more, sweetheart?"

You nodded again and that sweet moan that came out of your mouth when he added a third finger made you see stars. Your eyes closed, you impaled yourself on his hand until you felt Spencer silencing as best he could his moans by stifling them with his own lips, still glistening from your arousal.

He continued touching you. Kissing you with ardor. And you questioned if you would have done this if you were both talking to each other instead of immediately deducing that you disliked each other. You were an idiot. Because from now on you didn't want to be in the hands of any man but Spencer. You didn't want to see another face. Neither did you want to go back to the normal course of your life when he had brought you to a point of no return that you never reached with anyone else.

"Just like that," he whispered, kissing that dangerous spot in the area of your racing pulse. Provocatively. "Fucking my hand. Gasping for me. You're so good. So beautiful. I can't get enough of you."

He bit back a slim layer of skin, and you moaned.

"Spencer..." you hissed, leaning your hips into him, "Fuck.”

You glimpsed his frown trying to concentrate on your own pleasure, but his hips bucked and he rubbed at your inner thighs, you could almost see some pre seminal liquid pouring out of his pants and the sight made you rush at his touch. His fingers curled, you grabbed him by the cheeks and kissed him as you bucked unconsciously and the surges of your second orgasm filled you up to your ears. Spencer gasped as you came in his hand, and he was precious. Beautiful, dark eyes, rosy cheeks and fully swollen, glowing lips. Your breaths hitched in unison as he pulled his hand away from you and you brushed back the strands of hair that clung to his sweaty forehead.

You give him a smile, tired, and his head does nothing but spin. At the need, at how good it felt to finally touch you and feel you collapse into him. At how masterful you perceived better than all the times he imagined what it would be like. A giggle escapes from his lips, pressing a kiss to your temple, his warm breath spreading over your skin, and his hand, almost by instinct, moved up your abdomen in a lazy rubbing tracing distracted circles. Now yours played with the hairs at the nape of his neck and you let yourself drift in the sweet silence surrounding you.

"Hmm," he whispered. "It took us longer to heal your wound."

You opened your mouth in an offended gesture, hitting him gently but you didn't have the strength for much. His body vibrated from his laughter, and you loved it. "I want to see you say that later. We'll see who gets the last laugh and it will definitely be me.”

Spencer looked at you with those deer-eyed eyes full of tenderness that your knees felt weaker. He left another soft kiss on your cheek and you hummed in delight at the gesture. Slipping your arms around his shoulders, hugging him. Melting into him.

"Whatever you say, angel." he said with his eyes closed. "We still have time."

It was as if the entire universe had shrunk to that instant. The feel of your skin against his effortlessly banishing everything you felt for him before. Of knowing he craved you as much as you craved him. His breath attached to yours, coupled in a quiet, slightly agitated rhythm, just enough to fill the bathroom with him.

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, feeling the slow waves of his breathing, and for a moment you felt light. As if in that minuscule piece where nothing bad could reach you. As if he was the refuge you had always wanted to return to without knowing it.

"Do we have it?" you repeated softly, shyly, almost as a question to yourself.

Spencer nodded, his nose brushing against your temple."We have all the time in the world if you're with me.”

Your lips pursued his just because the words got stuck in your mouth, this time in a more chaste kiss. One that tasted of rest, of complicity. And your heart was beating so fast you could hear its beat rewinding in your ears.

"I like you so much," you murmured against his mouth, barely a whisper. "I reiterate that I'm concerned about all the effects you have on me.”

His hands traced slow figures on your back, the whisper of his voice lulling you low:

"Then let's be scared together. It's much safer for both of us, isn't it?"

And you did. You closed your eyes, sank into him... And, for the first time in a while, you didn't care what came next.

[okasuka]

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

Summary: You’ve practically been living at Wayne Manor, acting as Damian’s secondary Oracle and part-time medic when Alfred isn’t available. After a mission, you’re patching up a flustered Damian when he suddenly tells you he needs you to fake date him at school—because some girl won’t leave him alone.

The Batcave was quiet, save for the occasional dripping of water and the steady rhythm of your movements as you patched up Damian’s arm. He was perched on the med bay cot, scowling at the gauze in your hands like it had personally offended him.

“You’re lucky this isn’t deep,” you muttered, pressing the bandage against his bicep. “A little higher, and you’d have needed stitches.”

“Tt. I would have handled it.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpanned, securing the bandage before reaching for the antiseptic. “Hold still.”

Damian shifted slightly, his shoulders rigid as you dabbed at the shallow cut near his collarbone. You were close—closer than usual—and you could see the way his jaw tensed. He wasn’t making eye contact, which was strange. Damian was always direct, always unwavering.

“You okay?” you asked, raising a brow.

His expression flickered, something uncertain passing over his face before he abruptly muttered, “I need you to do something for me.”

You blinked. “Yeah, sure. What is it?”

There was a pause. Damian exhaled through his nose, as if bracing himself.

“I need you to pretend to be my significant other.”

Your brain short-circuited.

“You—what?”

His ears were pink. Actually pink. Damian avoided your gaze, eyes fixated on some invisible point in the distance.

“There is a girl at school,” he said stiffly, as if it physically pained him to say it. “She refuses to leave me alone despite my clear disinterest. I have concluded that the most effective way to rid myself of her is to make her believe I am already involved in a relationship.”

You stared at him. Then blinked. Then stared some more.

“Damian.” You placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “You could just tell her ‘no.’ Like, verbally. With words.”

“I have.” His scowl deepened. “She does not seem to comprehend the meaning of rejection.”

“So you want me to be your fake girlfriend?”

He looked at you then, expression composed but the tips of his ears still betraying him. “Yes. Just until she ceases her pursuit.”

Your lips twitched. “And you thought asking me while I was literally sewing you back together was a good time?”

“You are a captive audience,” he said, as if that explained everything.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Alright, fine. I’ll do it. But if I have to fake date you, we’re doing it right.”

His brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means hand-holding, flirting, maybe even a pet name.” You grinned at the immediate horror on his face. “Oh, relax. It’s called commitment to the bit, Damian.”

“Tt. This was a mistake,” he muttered, but he didn’t take it back.

You tied off the bandage, patting his arm with a smirk. “Too late. You just got yourself a girlfriend.”

Damian sighed. This was going to be unbearable.

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

(Part Two)

The second you stepped into Gotham Academy the next morning, you knew this was going to be fun.

Damian walked beside you, his usual composed self—shoulders squared, uniform immaculate, that constant look of disinterest plastered across his face. The only difference today? You were his fake girlfriend. And, judging by the way some students were already glancing in your direction, the news was spreading fast.

“Alright, beloved,” you teased, nudging his arm as you walked through the front gates. “How are we playing this?”

Damian visibly flinched at the pet name. “Do not call me that.”

You grinned. “What? It’s a classic. Do you prefer babe? Sweetheart? Dami-bear?”

He shot you a look so sharp it could cut through steel. “Tt. You are enjoying this too much.”

“You knew what you were getting into,” you said lightly, looping your arm through his, just to mess with him.

His whole body went rigid.

“You have to act natural,” you reminded him, biting back a laugh. “If you act like I just stabbed you in the ribs every time I touch you, no one’s gonna believe we’re dating.”

Damian exhaled sharply through his nose, but he didn’t pull away. Progress.

You continued walking, scanning the halls for any sign of her—the girl who was apparently harassing Damian to the point where fake dating was his only option. It didn’t take long to find her.

Near his locker stood a girl with perfectly curled hair and an expensive-looking manicure, whispering with her friends while occasionally sneaking glances your way. The moment she made eye contact with Damian, her face lit up.

You had never seen Damian look more unamused.

“Here we go,” you murmured, tightening your grip on his arm. “Ready, love?”

“If you do not cease with the pet names—”

“Damian!” the girl interrupted, striding up to him with a dazzling smile. She completely ignored your existence. “Good morning! I was just thinking—”

And that’s when you really committed to the bit.

Before she could finish whatever sentence was about to ruin Damian’s day, you turned toward him, placed a hand on his chest, and, in the sweetest, most obnoxiously affectionate voice you could muster, said:

“Baby, you didn’t tell me you were this popular!”

Damian tensed under your touch, but—bless him—he didn’t pull away. Instead, he placed a hand on your waist (awkwardly, stiffly, like he had never touched a human before), and gave the girl a blank look.

“I am spoken for,” he said simply.

The girl’s expression faltered. She glanced between the two of you, disbelief evident in her eyes. “Wait, you’re dating him?”

You beamed. “Mhm! Isn’t he just the cutest?”

Damian closed his eyes, probably regretting every life decision that led to this moment.

The girl frowned. “But you’re always just… around. Like, you’re not even—”

“Around?” you interrupted with a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, I practically live at Wayne Manor. Didn’t you know?”

The girl’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Damian, to his credit, took the opportunity to put an end to the conversation. “If you are finished, we have matters to attend to.”

And with that, he steered you away, leaving the girl gaping after you.

The second you were out of earshot, you burst into laughter. “I am spoken for?” you mimicked, grinning up at him. “Dami, you sound like a medieval prince rejecting a marriage proposal.”

Damian scowled. “It was effective, was it not?”

“Extremely,” you admitted. “But man, you are so bad at this.”

He huffed. “Tt. This was a mistake.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you teased, nudging him again. “But hey, boyfriend, you’re stuck with me now.”

Damian sighed, long and suffering. “I am going to regret this, aren’t I?”

You just smirked.

“More than you know.”

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

(Part Three)

You and Damian barely made it to his locker before a group of guys—some of Damian’s more tolerable classmates—descended on you like a pack of hyenas.

“Okaaaay, hold up.” Colin Wilkes, one of the few people Damian actually acknowledged at school, squinted between the two of you. “Did I hear that right? You two are dating?”

You leaned against the lockers, smiling sweetly. “Yup.”

“Like… real dating?” added Maps Mizoguchi’s older brother, Kyle, who was watching the interaction like it was a live episode of Gotham’s trashiest reality show.

Damian crossed his arms. “Tt. Would I lie?”

Colin raised a brow. “You tell me, dude.”

“Wait, wait, wait—since when?” another guy, Elliot, chimed in. “You two have been best friends forever, and you expect us to believe you’re suddenly a thing?”

You shrugged. “It just happened. Right, babe?”

Damian twitched at the pet name but nodded. “Yes. It was… inevitable.”

Kyle snorted. “What, like fate?”

“Precisely.”

Colin squinted. “So you’re telling me the Damian Wayne—the same guy who once told a girl in math class that ‘romantic advances are an evolutionary weakness’—is dating?”

Damian looked unimpressed. “That statement remains true.”

“Okay, but why?” Elliot pressed. “Like, no offense, dude, but you don’t exactly scream ‘boyfriend material.’ How did this happen?”

You grinned. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

Colin blinked. “Are you into emotionally constipated guys?”

“I am standing right here,” Damian deadpanned.

Kyle ignored him. “Okay, so since you two are so in love, I gotta ask…” He smirked. “How’d you confess?”

You opened your mouth—

“It was mutual,” Damian cut in before you could spin something ridiculous. “We reached the conclusion that our relationship had evolved beyond friendship and decided to act accordingly.”

The group stared.

“You decided to date?” Elliot repeated.

“Yes.”

“Like it was a business transaction?”

Damian frowned. “Would you rather I describe it as a primal urge?”

Colin choked on his water.

Kyle cackled. “Bro, you suck at this.”

Damian looked seconds away from murder. “Tt. This is absurd.”

Elliot ignored him. “Y/N, what was your perspective?”

“Oh, it was totally romantic,” you said dramatically, sighing. “One night, while I was patching him up, he just looked at me with those big green eyes and said, ‘Beloved, my heart belongs to you.’”

Damian visibly flinched. “I did not say that.”

“Shhh, let me paint the scene.” You leaned into his space, smirking as he stiffened. “He cupped my face, stared deep into my soul, and whispered—”

“Enough,” Damian snapped, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from the group before you could say something even worse.

Behind you, the guys burst into laughter.

“Love you too, sweetheart!” you called over your shoulder, just to mess with him.

Damian muttered something in Arabic under his breath, face burning.

You grinned. This was gonna be fun.

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

(Part Four)

Damian did not appreciate how much fun you were having with this.

It had been a grand total of four hours since the ruse started, and you had already called him babe, sweetheart, love, and—Gotham forgive him—Dami-bear. His reputation was in shambles.

And worst of all? It wasn’t working.

The girl—Annabelle, or She Who Must Be Vanquished, as Damian had mentally renamed her—was still trying to get his attention. She was persistent, he’d give her that. But you? You were determined.

Which is how he found himself in his current predicament: pressed against the lockers with you standing far too close, eyes sparkling with mischief as Annabelle watched from a few feet away.

“She’s still looking,” you whispered, resting a hand on his chest.

Damian scowled. “This is ridiculous. Why will she not simply accept reality?”

“Because she thinks you’re just saying we’re together to get rid of her.” You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to think. “I think we need to be a little more… convincing.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “No.”

You grinned. “Yes.”

And before he could stop you, you grabbed the front of his blazer and pulled him into a kiss.

Damian short-circuited.

It was quick, just a soft press of lips, but he was not prepared. His brain flatlined, his entire body tensed, and for a solid three seconds, he forgot how to function. His hands hovered awkwardly by his sides, and oh, Gotham, why was his heart racing?

You pulled back with a smirk, watching his dazed expression like it was the best thing you’d ever seen. “You okay there, boyfriend?”

Damian’s face was on fire.

“Tt. You are insufferable,” he muttered, averting his gaze in a pathetic attempt to regain his dignity.

But it didn’t matter. Because when he snuck a glance toward Annabelle—who was now standing slack-jawed in utter defeat—he knew you had won.

She scoffed, flipping her hair before stalking off, grumbling something about “psycho couples” under her breath.

You grinned. “Mission accomplished.”

Damian exhaled slowly, willing his heartbeat to calm down already. “I despise you.”

“You kissed me back,” you pointed out.

“I did not!”

“You totally did.”

Damian scowled. “Tt. Let us leave before I am forced to endure more of your foolishness.”

You just smiled, intertwining your fingers with his as you walked down the hall.

And Damian, despite himself, didn’t let go.

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

(Part Five)

A few days had passed since The Kiss, and things were… weird.

At school, Damian was as composed as ever—standing by your side, playing the role of the devoted boyfriend when necessary. But the second you left campus, something shifted.

He became distant, avoiding you at the Manor, cutting conversations short, barely even looking at you when you spoke. It was like he had slammed a wall between you overnight, and the worst part? You had no idea why.

It wasn’t until after patrol one night that you finally snapped.

You were in the Batcave, patching up a shallow cut on Damian’s hand while he sat rigidly on the med bay cot, eyes locked on the floor. The silence between you was thick, heavy with words unsaid, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Alright,” you said, pressing the gauze against his knuckles a little too forcefully. “What’s your deal?”

Damian stiffened. “Tt. I do not know what you mean.”

You scoffed. “Really? You’ve been acting weird since Monday, Damian. Distant. Cold. And I know it’s not just ‘brooding’ because I know you.” You softened slightly, glancing up at him. “Did I do something wrong?”

His jaw clenched. “No.”

“Then talk to me,” you urged, placing a hand over his. “Whatever it is, you can—”

“Stop.”

His voice was sharp, cutting through the cave like a blade. You flinched.

Damian exhaled harshly, pulling his hand from your grasp like your touch burned him. “I do not need your concern, nor your pity,” he bit out. “This arrangement was a means to an end. Nothing more.”

You stared at him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The words settled between you, cold and cruel, and for the first time in a long time, you felt something crack inside you.

“Right,” you said quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You stepped back, your hands curling into fists as you fought to keep your expression blank. “Got it.”

Then, before he could say another word, you turned on your heel and walked out of the Batcave, heading straight for your room.

Damian sat there, unmoving, the weight of his own words crashing down on him like a collapsing building.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, he wished he could take something back.

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

(Part Six)

The next morning, Damian was heading toward the car, adjusting his school bag, when Alfred stopped him with a simple, “Miss Y/N will not be attending with you today, Master Damian.”

Damian paused mid-step, his brows furrowing. “What?”

Alfred, ever composed, merely handed him his lunch. “She is unwell.”

Something in Damian’s chest tightened.

“Unwell?” he echoed, gripping the strap of his bag.

Alfred gave him a pointed look. “Unwell,” he repeated. “As in, she has taken the day off to rest. Now, if you do not wish to be late, I suggest you get in the car.”

Damian hesitated, his fingers twitching, but nodded stiffly and left for school.

But he couldn’t focus.

All day, his mind drifted back to you—wondering if you were actually sick or if you had just wanted to avoid him. And if it was the latter…

He deserved it.

The weight of his own words from last night sat heavy on his chest. He had hurt you, pushed you away, all because he was too much of a coward to deal with his own feelings.

He had been distant because—Gotham help him—he wished it was real.

He wanted you to call him ridiculous pet names. He wanted to hold your hand like it was second nature. And that kiss? He hadn’t meant to kiss you back—but he had. Because deep down, he wanted nothing more than for you to be his.

And instead of confronting that, he had lashed out.

The second the final bell rang, he was out the door, barely waiting for the car to stop before heading straight to your room.

He knocked once.

No answer.

He knocked again.

Still nothing.

Sighing, he took a breath and opened the door.

You were curled up on your bed, staring at the ceiling, bundled under a blanket. You didn’t even bother looking at him. “Go away, Damian.”

He swallowed. “No.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Of course.”

Damian stepped further into the room, his usual confidence replaced by something… uncertain.

“I…” He hesitated, fists clenching at his sides. “I was an ass.”

You snorted. “No kidding.”

He exhaled sharply. “Tt. I am trying to apologize, Y/N.”

Silence.

You finally turned to look at him, eyes tired. “Why, though?”

He tensed. “Because I regret it.”

You sat up slightly, arms wrapping around yourself. “You regret it?”

He shut his eyes for a moment, then met your gaze.

“No. Not it. I regret… lying.” He clenched his jaw, his voice quieter now. “I was distant because… I wish it were real.”

You blinked, breath hitching. “What?”

“I want it to be real,” he admitted, his hands gripping the fabric of his blazer. “I want you.”

A beat of silence.

Then, before he could say anything else, you were in front of him, eyes wet with unshed tears as you grabbed his face and kissed him.

This time, he kissed back immediately. No hesitation.

His hands came up to cup your cheeks, warm and sure, and when you finally pulled away, breathless, you were smiling through your tears.

“Took you long enough,” you whispered.

He huffed out a small laugh, pressing his forehead to yours. “Shut up.”

You grinned. “Make me.”

So he kissed you again.

Fake Dating – Damian Wayne x Reader

(Final Part)

The next morning, when Damian arrived at school with you by his side, something was different.

For one, he looked happy.

Not his usual smug, I’m-better-than-you smirk, but a genuine, real smile—the kind that softened his sharp edges, made his eyes brighter. And more importantly? He was being blatantly affectionate.

Which, for Damian Wayne, was unheard of.

You had barely stepped into the building before he casually pulled you against his side, an arm draped around your waist like it belonged there. And if that wasn’t enough to make people gawk, the way he looked at you—soft, like you had personally placed the stars in the sky—was definitely causing a scene.

“Okay, what the hell,” Colin muttered as you both approached the lockers, watching as Damian adjusted your bag strap for you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Since when are you all… clingy?”

Damian merely raised a brow, unimpressed. “Since when is it your concern, Wilkes?”

Colin pointed aggressively. “See?! That! You’re, like, content. That is not normal.”

Kyle Mizoguchi strolled up beside him, nodding. “Yeah, you smiled earlier. A real one. I almost called the paramedics.”

Elliot scoffed. “I knew the fake-dating thing was sus. You guys totally liked each other this whole time.”

You grinned, leaning against Damian’s shoulder. “Guilty.”

Colin stared between you. “Wait. So this is, like, real now?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Clearly.”

“Okay, but how?” Kyle pressed, crossing his arms. “Because last time I checked, Damian sucked at emotions.”

“He still does,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “But he’s learning.”

Damian huffed, but his arm around you tightened slightly. “Tt. I despise all of you.”

“Sure you do, lover boy.”

Before Damian could threaten bodily harm, Annabelle—the same girl who had been pestering him for weeks—walked past, glancing at you both.

She paused for a moment, observing the way Damian was practically wrapped around you, before rolling her eyes and walking away without a word.

You smirked. “Mission successfully accomplished.”

Damian hummed, watching her disappear down the hall before turning to you, eyes warm. “Indeed.”

Then, in front of everyone, he kissed your forehead.

Audible gasps.

Elliot looked like he was about to faint.

Colin smacked Kyle’s arm. “Dude.”

Kyle shook his head, defeated. “I have to text Maps.”

Damian ignored them, pressing his lips briefly to your temple before pulling you closer, satisfied.

You just laughed, heart full.

And as the school buzzed with whispers about Damian Wayne and his girlfriend, you simply held onto him, knowing that—for once—none of it was an act.

[temptress-writes]

📜Roll Call

A/N: my favourite, moody professor. feral. he's actually such a twat.

Content Warnings: coarse language

Sexual Content: Degradation, spitting, light bondage, spanking, slapping, age gap (10 years)

Word Count: 21.5k

Now, sit straight for Professor Styles.

***

Oxford University, 1992.

“Are you actually going to put the effort into my class or do I have to get you a tutor?”

It wasn’t what she was hoping for after handing in an assignment. She fought back the hot tears that sprung into her eyes and hoped he didn’t see how wet they were. She was exhausted, overworked to the bone trying to balance her studies and a part-time job.

He’d handed back the papers at the end of his class, and not long after escaped to his office down the hall. She’d chased after him, fumbling to keep up with him while her mind was jumbled over the failed grade. She’d done plenty of assignments with him and he’d passed every single one.

“I… I don’t understand. I studied the material—“

“Well, clearly you didn’t study it enough. The years are all mixed up. If you want to be the historian that you say you do, that usually comes with not mixing up dates. I mean,” he held the paper in front of him, reciting the words she’d written. “Julius Caesar was assassinated in March, 43 BC. Incorrect. He was assassinated in March, 44 BC. You should know this, it’s basic stuff.”

“I’m sorry, I swear it was a simple mistake—“

“Simple mistakes will cost you your grade. In fact, it has.”

Her heart dropped. “Is there anything I can do? I can fact-check and write it all over again. Please. I want to pass this paper. I—I need to pass.”

He was always this mean. This… hurtful. He had no leniency towards so much as a falsely placed comma, and she could see her incorrect information pained him deeply. He was right. It was basic stuff, and internally she knew it. However, she’d been slammed with studying and had simply made a mistake.

But he had no patience, no care if anyone in his class was overwhelmed with what he pushed onto them. He’d been given the same load when he himself was studying. In his view, being pushed to the brink was what made him great at what he did. So, he showed his students the same respect as his professors once had.

“What makes you think I have the time to give you special treatment, Violet? I have enough papers to grade as is, adding yours to the pile all because you made a mistake will only set me back.”

“It’s one paper.” She begged, near on in tears again. She eyed the plaque that had his name engraved in the gold, avoiding his eyes.

Leaning back in his chair, he eyed her through his wide-framed glasses. He tapped his fingers against his thighs, clad in soft beige plaid pants. Her eyes fluttered towards his sweater, the striped shirt underneath. She lost herself in the pattern as he mulled in his thoughts.

“I want it on my desk tomorrow morning by nine o’clock.”

She could have jumped at the relief she felt. “Thank you, sir.”

“Just this once. I won’t be so easy on you if it happens again.”

“It won’t happen again.” She grinned, grabbing the paper from his outstretched hand.

"Since you're rewriting it—do you want my honest opinion?"

"Of course." She whispered, always one to accept constructive criticism. She knew he wouldn't hold back and she mentally braced herself.

"I was bored reading your paper."

She gulped, blinking in surprise but he continued, not concerned about hurting her feelings. That wasn’t what he was there for—to teach her.

"I expected more from you, Violet. To be frank, I’m disappointed. There was no depth to it. No excitement. You did the very bare minimum. You gave me a bunch of facts, with some of the dates mixed around. What’s more, is that nothing about this piece made me want to read it. Tell me, what makes history so exciting?"

"Uh, I guess learning about—"

"The stories. The stories make history so exciting. Stories of the people, their daily lives, and the fight for survival and victory. History would be nothing without the stories it tells."

"Yeah, I understand, now. You're right."

"Of course I’m right. Retelling history has to be gripping. Write it again and pull me in."

His eyes scanned over his pager, alerting him that a staff meeting was about to commence. He stretched out his neck, grabbing his folder and eyeing her as he stood.

He hated the way his eyes observed her frame. Soft corduroy pants, a graphic t-shirt of a band he had never heard of. Her hair was in a bouncy ponytail, half splayed over her shoulder as she twirled a lock between her fingers.

What he didn’t hate was how she feared him. Her eyes were wide with intimation as she stared at him. She was clearly so desperate to please him, not wanting to disappoint him or let him down.

She wanted to do this paper for him as much as she did for her grades. That’s why his tactic was to be cruel. To keep her at arm’s length, but also to keep his mind at bay from wandering into risky territory.

"Is there anything else?"

"Oh, that's all—"

"Great. I have somewhere to be."

The expectant look he gave her threw her off, but she very quickly gathered his meaning. She adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and gave him a soft smile, hoping to lessen his harsh expression, yet all to no avail. His expression remained the same. She turned to leave, barely getting through the threshold before his voice reached out.

“Nine o’clock, Violet.”

“Yes, professor.”

She left his office, winding her way through campus, smiling at her classmates as she passed them. Oxford University. Rich with history and success. Abundant with opportunities fit for her dreams. It knew no bounds of imagination, with its old and infamous buildings and all the tales held within them.

There was something about history that made her feel alive. Reliving the past through depictions, art, studies, and discoveries. It was what drove her.

So when she’d landed her dream Ancient History class, taught by a very highly adored historian, Harry Styles, she knew that she had a lot to prove.

She raced back to her flat after a stop at the supermarket for brainfood and energy drinks. She got stuck in, completely starting again, double and triple-checking her facts to be sure.

Her Walkman kept her company, and she cycled through her favourite CDs. She even went above and beyond, adding small details to her work that weren’t overly relevant but she knew Professor Styles would enjoy reading.

As grumpy as he was, she wouldn’t deny that she had a soft spot for him. For his focused gaze, his deep voice as he stood before the class and taught, and how his dimples flexed when he was talking or hiding his irritation.

Oftentimes, she’d allow herself to admire him. To see him as a simple man. Rich in thought and graceful in the way he so confidently carried himself. He was effortlessly smart and passionate. Young but full of experience, which she found impressive amongst the older faculty.

In his early thirties, it was remarkable how far his career had soared already.

He was gorgeous. Poised and proper, with inklings of something more unhinged that she could sometimes spy through his carefully placed mask.

But then she’d shake her head and chastise herself for thinking such thoughts about someone so above her.

He was known to be a sucker for details and personality. He hated textbook answers, even though his whole career and teachings relied purely on facts. So, she spent extra time being a little more pedantic than usual.

She wanted to impress him. He was one of the most successful historians of his impressively ripe age of thirty-two. She’d never wanted to let him down and she had to prove to him that she had what it took to be in his class and be worthy of his teachings. It was what motivated her to piston through her assignment and perfect it.

She was going over her paper, adding some final flares when her flatmate knocked on her door.

“Vi, you’ve been working on that for hours.”

“I know,” she wrote furiously, so hyper-focused on the spread of papers and books in front of her, “it’s due tomorrow.”

“You need a break, come get a drink with us.”

Violet was that person that worked herself to the bone to maintain her grades. She was a people pleaser, and that trait stretched to her professors. She clung to every word they said and took every assignment seriously.

“Due tomorrow, Alice.” She repeated, barely blinking as she wrote and mouthed the words out to herself.

“Please take a break before you lose your mind.” Alice could sense her friend falling into that mindset where she neglected everything aside from whatever assignment was due.

Violet sighed, pausing her work and turning to face her. “Who’s we?”

She soon found herself dressed in an attire that completely contrasted her university jumper and sweat pants. A tiny green dress, and a little makeup applied to her tired face to make it seem as if she were actually getting any appropriate amount of sleep.

They made their way to the local bar they often frequented, meeting their group of friends who had already started on the drinks. It was then that she realised was extremely overworked and tired.

Her study load was never-ending, piling on top of her until she was suffocating. She had to take some time for herself tonight or she’d go crazy. Her mind was constantly whirring with assignments and tests and studying.

Her paper was mostly done. She’d have a few drinks and then head home to finish it off. It was only nine o’clock, and she figured an hour or two wouldn’t hurt.

By ten o’clock, she was feeling lighter. She stayed true to her word, only having two drinks before cutting herself off. She knew she’d have to leave sooner rather than later, but her friends were renewing the energy she had been lacking. She couldn’t leave the source of such liveliness.

There was one guy in the group who had been pining after her all year. They shared a few classes together, including Ancient History with Professor Styles. He had a bright smile and a sense of humour that she enjoyed.

“Hey, Vi.”

“Hi, Charlie, how are you?”

“I’m good, yourself?”

“Not bad.”

“Glad to hear it.” He smiled. “Can I get you a drink?”

He made her laugh all night, stuck to her side to enjoy her smile up close. They flirted, sending each other sultry gazes and warm, suggestive touches.

She couldn’t even deny that she wished it was someone else she’d rather be with tonight. A certain professor who wore glasses, sweaters, and displeased frowns. Perhaps that was why she threw herself head first into Charlie, wanting to forget about her sinful desires.

She felt warm and gooey, needing something to focus on other than that damn paper and the professor who was expecting it.

So, when he led her down the hallway, kissing her lips and her neck, she didn’t hesitate to get lost in him.

Too lost to see her professor sitting at the bar watching as she pulled Charlie into a supply closet.

“I have to say, Miss Walters. I didn’t think you’d be able to do it.”

She huffed out a breath at his expression. It was like he was almost smug about it. About her having to rewrite a whole paper, work that would take weeks crammed into one night.

He was being truthful. The paper would have been difficult to complete in one night, he’d known as much when he told her that he wanted it the next morning. It was a test.

He didn’t want to be played around by his students. He was tough on them for a reason, and barely ever handed out second chances as he had done with her.

So, to know that she had been out last night when she should have been at home was an insult. She’d fluttered her eyelashes and taken advantage of the one sliver of good nature he had in him. And here she was, a pleased smile on her face with her paper before his very eyes.

She was wearing makeup as if to hide how tired she was. It wasn't because she had stayed up all night writing his paper, but he already knew that. He looked at the assignment dubiously, doubting its contents.

“Well, I did it. Correct dates and everything.”

“It’s longer.” He said, flipping through the pages and noticing that there were a few additional ones compared to the initial few she had handed in.

She absorbed her surroundings, his office was deep woods and dim lighting. His desk was large and cluttered with books and assignments to grade, and the room was framed with bookshelves, awards, diplomas, and expensive-looking knick

knacks.

“I took your advice and made it more exciting.”

He wanted to reprimand her. Tell her that adding extra fluff didn’t equal excitement or any weight to her assignment. But he swallowed his sour mood and nodded, placing the paper flat on the desk and leaning back in his chair.

His outfit was darker than his usual palette and style of light colours and unique sweaters. Instead, he donned a black shirt, a black suit jacket thrown over the top with charcoal pants. She could tell that he was in a bad mood, somehow even more irate than usual.

“I’ll review it over the weekend.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but then snapped it shut. She very clearly wanted to say something and he raised a brow in encouragement.

“Thank you,” she said. “For the second chance. I hope you enjoy it.”

Enjoy it? He’d never had a student wish that he enjoyed something they handed in. They simply wanted to meet the criteria and pass.

She turned to leave, feeling overwhelmed by his scrutinising gaze. She’d handed in the assignment, and had a bit of time to cram in some study before her first class of the day, which just so happened to be with the grumpy professor.

"Violet."

"Yes?"

He tapped his neck, eyeing hers. "I want that covered before you come to my class."

Her cheeks flushed with heat, her hand coming up to cover the hickey on her neck. She thought she'd done a good enough job with her concealer this morning, but apparently not.

She didn't even have the nerve to reply before she left the room, utterly mortified.

He stared after her, wondering if he'd embarrassed her. Probably. He disregarded her feelings, viewing the mark on her neck as inappropriate. He wasn't sure why the hickey bothered him so much.

Perhaps it was because she'd clearly had a late night last night, and it wasn't with the company of his teachings. He watched her take that man into that supply closet and the evidence of that was staring him in the face.

He didn’t want to look at that fucking hickey on her neck because then he knew he’d have to face the reality of the fact that he was jealous.

Jealous of one of his other students putting his hands and mouth on her. His student in that tiny green dress, cheeks flushed with arousal and drink. He imagined it. How she'd taste on his tongue. The sounds she'd make. The way she felt.

He had felt pathetic about the whole thing, sitting at the bar all alone and sulking. He’d polished off his drink at the bar after watching it happen. He’d just as quickly gone to his cold and empty home to wallow with a bottle of tequila and some Aerosmith.

Fuck. He couldn’t think about this. About her soft thighs in her tiny skirt and her bouncy ponytail. Or the way she called him professor. It wasn’t right and he felt sick about it.

He checked his pager, seeing it blank and sighing. He needed something to do so he couldn’t keep thinking about her. And then she’d be staring at him during his class, her eyes wide and wandering.

Almost panicked about the prospect of being near her again, he picked up her paper and began reading it to distract himself.

Following a strenuous battle with her concealer and the sizeable hickey on her neck, Violet entered Professor Styles’ classroom. It was mostly covered, there wasn’t a lot she could do in the way of hiding it completely. However, in the back of her mind, she was perplexed that he found it his place to even say anything.

Surely he just wanted to mortify her. He had been a student once, he knew the means of getting lost in dark hallways with another warm and desperate body.

She spotted Charlie sitting in the center of the seats and he waved her over. She smiled, shaking her head. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to him just yet, especially considering he was the cause of her marked neck.

She took her usual spot up front, always wanting to bathe in the professor’s teachings, and found herself lost if she was stuck in the middle of the seats.

Professor Styles wasn’t in class yet, and she took the time to prepare her notes in an organised spread on the desk in front of her. She didn’t even notice him silently enter, setting up at his desk with a look of disinterest.

Her body felt heated. Not the warm embarrassment of him pointing out her hickey, but because his gaze was on hers as he set down his satchel. She held his eyes, right until he looked away to retrieve the folders that held the material he needed for the class.

Decidedly ready, he stood at the center of his territory up front, his suit jacket parting as he slid his hands into his pockets. He eyed the class through his glasses, noting that no one had realised he’d entered the room yet. Except for her.

He sighed, wrinkling his nose before looking down at his oxfords. He cleared his throat, somehow garnering everyone’s attention in a split second. He leaned back against his desk.

“As you’re aware, I’m obligated to drag you on a class trip abroad in the coming weeks. I’ve heard your suggestions as you’ve not so subtly given them to me.” He eyed the mouthy students in question. “However, the board and I have discussed it and we’ve come to a decision.”

Students started chattering loudly, and Violet sent a friendly smile to her friend next to her but otherwise kept her attention on Professor Styles.

“Quiet, or you’ll be staying behind while I go on holiday by myself!”

His demand was heard loud and clear, and everyone became tight-lipped and watched him. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, already dreading the idea of this trip.

The university board had been grilling him about it, and he’d been pressured into making a decision that pleased them with ridiculously limited time to sort it out.

“Pompeii.” He said simply, letting it sink in for his students.

Violet felt a rush of excitement. Pompeii—preserved in Naples, Italy, was rich with history and had been on her bucket list for as long as she could remember.

It was a monumental part of history, and she could not wait to see it in its glory and stand where devastation rocked an ancient city so long ago.

The class talked loudly, bursting and bubbling with enthusiasm. Professor Styles remained unphased by it all, waiting until the chatter had died down before he spoke again.

“We’ll be staying in Naples, however, the focus of our trip will be Pompeii. This will be your final paper and will be half your grade. This isn’t a holiday or a time to slack off. You’re here in this room for a reason, that applies to this trip as well. Think about the history there. The people, the politics, the daily life. The power of nature and the terror that it entices.” He took a slow breath, as if bored or tired. Perhaps both. “It wasn’t my first choice, naturally. But seeing as it is one of the most famous natural disasters in ancient history, the board saw it fit to touch on, considering it differs from any other material we’ve studied so far.”

“Can’t we go to Paris instead, Professor Styles?” One of the girls at the back of the glass giggled. It was clear that the only reason she took this class was for someone nice to look at. “It’s the city of love.”

“Love?” He laughed but it was void of humour. “If you want love, you’re in the wrong place. Maybe if you spent less time daydreaming, and more time paying attention, you wouldn’t be failing my class.”

Violet laughed under her breath, doodling in her notebook. His eyes went to her at the sound, wondering if she found the girl's suggestion funny or his response.

She looked up at him, brushing her hair over her shoulder. He clenched his jaw and looked away, locating the documents that contained everything regarding the trip.

He handed piles to the desks in the front row, telling them to take one and pass it back. He stopped before her, placing the papers in her waiting hands and staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“See me after class.”

“Me?”

His voice was low and deep. “Yes, you.”

She was perplexed. See him after class for what? He said that he’d go over her paper during the weekend, so she doubted it would be about that.

Maybe he wanted to torment her about her neck some more. Really rub in the embarrassment and taunt her for it.

It was hard to focus during the whole class. She jotted down notes every now and again, but her mind was honed in on him. Even more so than usual. The authority in his tone as he told her to cover her neck, his confident stance, and the way his lips caressed words.

He rambled on about the trip, what to expect, and in turn what he was expecting from them. He adjusted his glasses, searching the student's expressions and finding her eyes. He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek before looking back at his notes.

By the time class had ended, she had written down things she wasn’t paying attention to. She’d been paying attention to him. Only him. And she couldn’t even fool herself into her fascination with him strictly existing just because of his teachings. It was far past that now.

She gathered her things, the room emptying of students. She stood, her gaze falling to him, stood behind his desk organising his folders.

She approached his desk, standing before it. She noticed that his jaw clenched, looking up at her from the frame of his glasses and raising his brows.

"You wanted to see me?"

“I did.”

She waited as he righted his desk, ensuring everything was in order before he finally regarded her.

“Your paper. I want to talk to you about it.”

Her stomach dropped. “The paper I just handed in?”

What would he have to say about it considering it had only been mere hours since he’d received it? She felt a flash of irritation, wondering if she’d ever be able to please this man.

“I don’t have time this week, so it’ll have to be next Monday. You’re my last class so I’ll be able to give you all of my attention.”

She felt warm at his words. At the promise of having his full attention, her body was alive with need and desire. His eyes were so intense, deep, and thick with thoughts she could see the complexity of.

But as the foggy haze of her absurd fantasies cleared, she frowned. Monday? It was Thursday now. Why didn’t he bring this up closer to the time? Did he just want her to stew in her worry until Monday?

Surely he couldn’t have read her paper already. Maybe he’d read the first paragraph only to crumble it up and lob it into his trashcan.

“Is it that bad?”

He shot her a look that she couldn’t decipher. “Monday, Violet.”

As she left the classroom, completely vexed and anxious, Charlie caught up with her.

“He’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?”

“Who?” She felt like she was barely there as she navigated the old building toward her next class.

“Styles. I mean, that paper we just did, for example. He ignores all of my hard work and focuses on the shit I’m doing wrong.”

Violet shrugged, “I mean, isn’t that what makes him a great professor? He points out what you need to improve on to do better.”

“Whatever. I feel like there’s no winning with him. At least we have this trip. You and I can ditch the group and do our own sightseeing.”

She didn’t miss the way his eyes sparkled at his suggestion. And maybe if she wasn’t so hung up on someone she had no business being hung up on, she’d reciprocate Charlie’s enthusiasm.

Monday. She’d be seeing her favourite, constantly disgruntled professor on Monday.

It wasn’t hard to keep herself distracted until then. She attended her classes, her study load growing as each one passed. Her flatmate held a party on Saturday night, in which she’d spent most of it pressed up against Charlie, however avoiding his advances of something more.

He was sweet and funny but he wasn’t what she wanted and she was just a fuck to him. She felt bad that she’d even let that night happen. She’d just needed to feel something, something that wasn’t the ever-pressing crush she had on her professor.

She was wrecked with intolerable thoughts about her assignment. Was he going to fail her again? Tell that she wasn’t cut out for his class that she’d battled so hard to get into?

By the time Monday came around, she was a nervous wreck. She settled herself into a private nook in the library, her Walkman on hand and her collection of her favourite CDs.

She read every single piece about Pompeii that she could find. She wanted to be even more prepared for the trip, and have a better understanding of what it might entail.

And maybe having more knowledge of it would impress her professor.

Her last class on Monday was with him. As she entered and took her usual seat, he was setting up his material, dressed in plaid pants and a cozy looking sweater.

He used the knuckle of his pointer finger to adjust his glasses and flipped a pen in his other hand, staring over his class agenda.

She just loved watching him. There was something in his mannerisms that was so fascinating. He was mesmerising in the way he carried himself. From his large hands, which she always stared at, to his ever-expressive eyes.

The first time she’d spotted the cross tattooed on his hand, she had to go into the bathroom after class and slip her hand between her legs to quell the dampness there.

With a deep sigh, he focused on the class and ran a hand through his curls, though they fell back into the middle parting as always.

He seemed even more put off today. He spent most of his time voicing more details about the trip to Naples and running through multiple checklists before handing them out.

Where he would usually throw her a glance, he didn’t even look at her today. Not once. His seemingly permanent frown was set deeper.

Instead of his usual drabble, he had some poor soul at the front of the class read out the daily lives of those who lived in Pompeii before its demise.

She jotted down notes, but her eyes kept flickering to where he sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed as if he were being read a lullaby.

As class came to a close, he stood, telling everyone to start preparing for the trip.

“Please refer to the list I handed out, and if you have any questions…” He twisted his lips, clasping his ringed fingers together. “Don’t.”

Her nerves were running haywire, sending electric currents through every part of her body as she stood with her bag and began to approach his desk. He was busying himself with the sprawl of clutter on the expanse of the aged wood.

She stood before it, and he looked up briefly before gathering a stack of papers and sliding them carefully into his satchel.

"Not here." His voice was so low that she felt it swirl in her ears like a thick, dreamy fog.

She took a deep breath and nodded, feeling intimidated to be alone with him again. Until a student approached the desk and asked for his aid on a project, and all she could do was stand there and wait.

"I just don't know how to make the connection." The student said.

He leaned over, staring at the paper. He nodded and then looked at Violet, "go and wait in my office. I'll only be a moment."

She felt her heart drop to her stomach at the authority in his tone. He looked at her for a second before focusing on the student who needed his help.

She tried to brush off her nerves as she arrived at his office and sat in the chair in front of his desk. She had no idea what was about to happen, but since it was regarding her assignment, she was beside herself with anxiety.

He stepped into his office with a sigh, running his hands along his thighs before taking a seat. He sifted through the drawer in his desk, taking out her assignment and reading over it.

“I’ve read your paper.” His voice was void of any emotion and it made her feel uneasy.

She wasn’t sure what to say, so she picked at the hem of her dress and avoided his eyes. He held up her assignment and stared at it.

“Violet… this is one of the best things a student has ever handed in to me.”

She took in a sharp breath, looking at him with wide eyes. She almost didn’t want to believe him. Or what was more believable was that he’d be jesting and then fail her. This wasn’t like the usual grumpy professor that she knew and she didn’t know what to make of it.

“I—Thank you, professor.”

“I could tell that it had potential when you handed it in. I’ve written some notes for you, but I wanted to go through them with you now.”

This was unheard of. He graded papers, jotted down brief notes behind his reasoning, and moved on. But this… this was beyond anything he’d ever done.

He was known for being insufferably unfair to his students. Yet he’d given her a second chance, and was now praising her work and wanted to express why.

“Okay.” She nodded, adjusting in her seat and trying to calm down her racing heart.

“Overall, it’s a well-thought-out paper. You have complete control of each point made and where your sources come from without sounding too recited. There are facts here, and you’ve shown how the influence that ancient Rome had in its prime is perceived nowadays… impressively. You’ve portrayed its people and politics really well.”

“Thank you.” She was struggling to believe this was actually happening.

“This is why I made you redo it. What you initially handed in was bland. But this is… you. Your authentic self and thoughts.” He gestured to the paper. “You’re passionate, and I can feel that when I read it. You’ve taken every aspect of what makes ancient history so fascinating and made it your own.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious right now.”

There was a flash of emotion across his face, his dimple appearing ever so slightly with a quirk of his lips. “Take my praise. I don’t give it often.”

“Wow, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His tone was suddenly warm, and his gaze brushed her neck for a second before finding her eyes once more.

“Professional opinion aside,” she toyed with the question on her tongue, feeling overwhelmed, “did you enjoy it?”

There it was again. Her question made his brow furrow in thought. He rarely enjoyed reading his student's work. Oftentimes, he was too preoccupied doing his job to feel any sense of enjoyment.

Why was it so important to her that he enjoyed it? He’d praised her work, and she wanted to know if he relished in reading it.

No one was as surprised as him when he found himself nodding slowly. “I did, actually. I like that it kept me intrigued and that I could sense how deeply you feel for the past.”

She wasn’t in his class for the wrong reasons, like he could see a lot of his students were. Some weren’t interested in anything past staring at him for an hour and then bullshitting their way through every paper they had to write. But she had a reason to be there, a drive to explore the past.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

Her expression was so burning and focused on him that he felt it in his gut. He remembered how she looked in that guy's arms and he swallowed, wondering if she would be just as soft in his.

He cleared his throat, shaking off the fog of her. She crossed one leg over the other and he blinked at the sight of more skin exposed under that sweet little dress she was in.

She released a breath as he stood, relieved that this whole interaction was one of positivity. She was elated that he had enjoyed her work, and moreover was elated that he had praised her as he did.

But as he stood, he rounded his desk and went behind her before he closed the door to his office.

She felt a wave of adrenaline wash over her, being alone with him. She questioned if he was even allowed to close the door, but she didn’t want to stop it from happening.

She watched as he walked in front of her, leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed.

“Why history?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, everyone has a reason for their majors. Whether you’re in it for archiving, research, or curating, you’ve got a reason for choosing history. My question is why.”

She straightened under his scrutinising gaze. He adjusted his glasses before his hands rested back on the desk, curling around the lip of it. She stared at his rings, mesmerised.

“I find it fascinating to observe how humanity has changed, to see how we’ve improved and what we still need to work on. I like studying the past, preserving the stories, the art, the structures they left for us to see their legacy.”

He was floored, although his expression remained a trained unreadable one. To meet someone with these values wasn’t uncommon. However, she had a way with words that he adored.

Like every aspect of his own passion was laid out on her tongue and given back to him in a gentle vocal caress.

“So, you’re just as intrigued by their way of life as well as learning from their mistakes?”

“In fewer words, yes.”

“You’re in it for the right reasons.”

“Are there any wrong reasons?” She frowned.

“Greed.” He said simply, not giving any clarification.

“Why do you teach?”

He tilted his head, his hands smoothing down his strong thighs. “I have a lot of experience in the field, as you may know. I wanted to extend that knowledge to people with the kind of drive I admire. The lust for research and preserving history. I’m good at it, and I have a lot to give you so that you can be just as good.”

His choice of words turned her mouth dry. I have a lot to give you. She knew he meant a lot of his wisdom and knowledge, but his eyes were sparkling with something she couldn’t decipher.

“I love your class.”

“Is that so? Is that why you asked if I enjoyed your paper?”

“Yes.”

He pursed his lips. “Are you trying to impress me?”

She smiled. “I don’t see anything wrong with that. I like the assignments you give us and the way you teach. It’s informative and exciting at the same time.”

“I like that,” he said, mulling deep in his thoughts, “it’s a nice change. To have someone care about their studies as opposed to struggle through them.”

“Oh, the struggle is still there.” She laughed and she spied a hint of a smile teasing his lips before he could disguise it.

He took a step forward and her eyes followed as he gauged how close he wanted to get. She gripped the arms of the chair as he stood in front of her, a jeweled hand reaching out to brush a few strands of her hair away from her face.

She hoped he couldn’t tell how hard she was shaking. Their eyes didn’t leave one another as his fingers brushed softly down, moving her hair away from her shoulder so he could look at her neck before he retracted all touch completely.

“You covered it.” He mumbled, his voice so low that she thought she imagined it.

“I did.”

“Good gi—“ He cleared his throat loudly. “Good. It’s not professional.”

Her brows raised at his almost slip up. She wondered if he was going to say exactly what she thought he was. And she almost begged him to call her that. Just once. Just so that she could go home and think about it in the shower, alone with nothing but the memory of him.

He leaned against his desk again, his gaze searing. She couldn’t breathe and pressed her thighs together to dull the ache his touch had left.

“Do you want to impress me, Violet?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’m going to give you some extra work to do for me.”

For me. Her eyes fluttered. “You are?”

“I am.” His voice was slow, dreamy. “For my enjoyment, and your benefit.”

This, he thought, is where he should stop. He could feel the vapour of arousal lick at him in warm swirls. The way she was looking at him had him near crumbling. So innocent and intrigued by the prospect of impressing him. He wanted to reach out and touch her again, but he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself again. From going too far.

“My benefit?”

“Yes. I’ll reward you, of course.”

“What kind of reward?”

“Whatever the teacher’s pet wants.”

Her entire body became warm and gooey, though her nerves did not settle. Instead, they amplified the longer he simply stared at her, unwavering.

“What does this extra work entail, Professor?”

He didn’t smile—although he wanted to, and straightened. He rounded his desk, producing a small stack of papers, the top one decorated with his sprawl. He walked back over, handing it to her.

He looked her in the eye, his face serious. “Only do what you want to do. Extra work and rewards. Do you understand?”

“Okay.” She said simply, feeling overwhelmed and heated. As if he had read her mind, viewed her deepest, darkest fantasy of being his pet and making it a reality. Her mind was buzzing with what extra work he’d have her doing.

“There are only a few things there.” He nodded to the papers. “Some extra assignments if you can do them as well as this one. Also, some preparation for the class trip if you’re up for it.”

She scanned through the list, seeing the assignment topics from subjects he’d vaguely taught them about. She felt a twinge of excitement at the idea of doing more for him.

“And my reward…?”

His lips twitched like he was amused. “Extra credit, of course.”

She felt a pang of disappointment. But then what else was he meant to offer her? She wasn’t about to turn town extra credit or the chance to impress him. She was already on his radar as someone he could count on. The thought made her all giddy and warm inside.

“I’m very grateful, professor.”

“You have potential. As you finish each one, come and see me.”

“Thank you, I will.” She nodded. She’d try her absolute hardest to complete them, and as he said, only the ones she wanted to. She eyed the list again.

He stepped forward once more, and she braced herself for the contact again. She was still spiraling from when he touched her. Her cheek still tingled from his fingers and she felt desperate to have that feeling renewed.

But then someone knocked on the door once before entering. “Hey, Harry, I—oh. Hello.”

Another faculty member she recognised from the economics department. Her cheeks flushed as he eyed her before looking at the grumpy professor in front of her.

Harry. She’d always known his name, but hearing someone actually call him by his first name made him seem more… real. Less like a history robot and more like the man she fantasised about.

“Forgive me.” He cringed, “I didn’t know you had company.”

“That’s generally why you knock.” Professor Styles grumbled, however checking his watch with a sigh.

“I did—"

“Get started on those, Miss Walters. I’ll check in with you in a few days.”

Blushing, she stood and ducked her head, leaving the room hastily. The list was crumpled in her fist as she made her way home. Alice was ready to ask her about her day, and they quickly got distracted watching reruns of some old sitcom. But the list he’d given her stayed on the forefront of her mind.

And as the week dragged on, she made her way through the few assignments he’d given her. They weren’t full-length assignments and differed heavily from the kind he handed out to the whole class, as he’d stated. She found them quite easy, the basis of them fitted her strengths.

Had he tailored these to her? Had he enjoyed her work so much that he wanted more? It was like he’d hand-picked his favourite topics they’d briefly covered in class and was now asking her to do what she pleased with them.

She spent all of her time between classes in the huge library. It was undoubtedly her favourite section of Oxford, and she spent many hours getting lost in the ornate building, the old books, and the history they shared.

She sat at one of the aged desks, a sprawl of books in front of her as she finished up her second extra assignment. She took on his advice. She double-checked her facts, and added drabble that made the paper more exciting and gripping to the reader. Him.

She’d even gotten a head start on the third assignment he’d given her. Although she knew she’d have to spend more time locating sources for the topic, she figured it would look good if he saw that she’d started it. All she wanted was to impress him. To prove herself. She knew she had the talent, and he was fully appreciating it.

As her day wrapped up, she found herself swirling through the halls towards his office, a completed assignment in hand. Considering their class trip was only in a matter of days, she figured he’d be too busy to see her.

She approached the oak door and knocked, hearing his voice on the other side telling her to come in.

She opened the door, and his eyes fell on her immediately. On her pretty yellow dress and the hem that fell to the middle of her thighs. Her hair was in its usual ponytail held together with a pale blue scrunchie. He liked watching it swish through the air as she walked.

“Hi,” she said softly, while his expression was hard. “I finished another assignment. Do you have time?”

Technically? No. He had a pressing amount of things to grade. But the hope on her face and the way she looked so fucking pretty made it impossible for him to turn her away.

He moved his work aside, clearing his mind so that she was the only thing on it. “Take a seat.”

She took a deep breath and entered the room fully, leaving the door open which was a detail he didn’t miss. She placed the assignment in his hand and he felt the urge to read it immediately. To be wrapped up in her thoughts.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” His voice rolled through her ears like a steady stream tumbling over smooth rocks.

“I felt inspired.”

“By what?” He tilted his head.

“Not what,” she whispered, holding his gaze. “Who.”

A sliver of a smile touched his lips before it was gone without a trace. “Okay, then. Who?”

“You.”

“Me.” He parroted as if he didn’t believe her.

“You always have inspired me, but hearing what drives you and how you came to teach made me want to work harder. To give history as much as you’ve given it.”

He felt something warm him. He was almost bashful at her praise, where usually it would inflame his ego. But coming from her, from her earnest and sweet heart. It was different.

“I’m glad you find my teachings useful.”

“They really helped with this paper.”

“How did you find it?”

She mulled over her thoughts. Endearing. Intriguing. Enriching. “The perfect amount of challenging. It made me think but my thoughts came naturally.”

“Good.” He pursed his lips. “I knew you’d apply all that I’ve taught you and pull through.”

“And I hope you enjoy it as much as my last one.”

“I’m sure I will. Come and see me tomorrow after your last class and I’ll give you my notes.”

She liked the idea of hearing his musings on her own work. He saw her potential and her drive. Enjoyed what she handed in and told her how much and why.

“Tomorrow.” She smiled a little, standing and slinging her bag up to her shoulder. “I can’t wait.”

There was something in her tone at the sentiment. The hue of it. A soft, wispy colour as pretty as her dress. He wondered if it was flirtation but quickly threw the idea aside.

He couldn’t wish for such things with his student, no matter what signals she sent him. But she was his little teacher’s pet now, and something about having that claim on her was driving him mad.

After a grueling study session in her well-loved nook of the library, she went home to pack for the trip to Naples. There was a checklist criteria for what to bring and what to leave behind.

She threw some of her favourite summer dresses into her suitcase, a few pairs of shoes, and a few extra outfits of baggy jeans and band t-shirts.

She had class with Professor Styles the next day, in which he’d handed out light material in preparation for the trip. Essential knowledge and ground rules.

It seemed he viewed the whole ordeal as a burden. An annoyance. He was taking twenty students away, with only one other member of the faculty joining to help him out. A teacher, who happened to be from Naples, would be staying with their family between class adventures.

He’d rather be sunbathing in Naples than traipsing around ancient ruins with students he despised. Mostly.

He didn’t acknowledge her for the whole lecture, save an initial glance as she’d taken her usual seat. But he’d almost switch off any form of warmth he had towards her when they were in the class environment.

He was his usual grumpy self, impatient with everyone and snapping at anyone who was talking when he was.

She had a free period to end her day, and she used it to finish up some assignments for her other classes as well as work on one of the extra ones he had given her. It was about half done, but she knew to prioritise her other class papers over this one.

She made her way to his office again, and this time it somehow meant more. She felt the weight of entering his space, and it was because of how he seemed to change around her.

That icy demeanour of him melted just enough for her to see the genuine man that lay beneath it.

She knocked, waiting for him to tell her to enter before opening the door. His outfit palette today was soft browns and beige, his glasses perched on his nose while his eyes gleamed behind them.

He looked at her briefly before nodding to the seat and turning back to his work, his expensive ballpoint pen twirling between his fingers. She stared at the bright yellow pen with a smile, noting how it was the exact opposite of his mood; bright, sunny, and cheerful.

She sat in the chair and realised that she felt less and less nervous with every moment she spent alone with him. She’d never felt uncomfortable around him per se, but his intimidating nature was a constant reminder that she couldn’t want him. Shouldn’t want him. But she did.

His jaw worked on a piece of gum, and he frowned as he adjusted his glasses and continued writing on whatever he was working on.

She decided to get comfortable, settling deeper into the chair, figuring he was deeply enthralled with his work. She eyed the bookshelf to her left and scanned his personal library.

She didn’t even realise that he was trying to get her attention, too focused on his book collection, searching for clues as to who he was. Who he was outside of this office, outside of his profession.

“Violet?”

“Hm?” She turned to face him.

He retrieved her assignment from under a stack of other ones he was grading. “I’m wondering why every assignment you’ve given me hasn’t been as good as these last few.”

Oh. Her brows raised. It was a compliment to her most recent work while putting down everything else she’d given him prior to these. She’d always had the drive and passion, but it was evident that something had changed.

“I guess I just felt more inspired. I’ve enjoyed these topics a lot and felt compelled to do them well.” She frowned. “I thought I’d done well with every other assignment, though.”

“You did—obviously, as I passed you. You clearly didn’t do them as well, however, hence my praise.”

“That’s very nice to hear, especially from you.”

His lips quirked at her sheer and utter adoration for him. She valued what he had to say, looked up to him, and the influence he’d had in the younger demographic of Ancient History.

“Well, you deserve it. You work hard, and you’re driven by your passion. That’s rare to come by.”

She could only imagine what he himself was like as a student however many years ago. Like her, he’d studied at Oxford, and after not too long in the field, had felt the need to come back but as part of the faculty.

“Thank you.” She replied, unsure of what else to say. She felt like she was being pinned to her seat by his searing gaze and she wriggled in it, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Help me with this itinerary for the trip.”

“The itinerary?”

“It’s mostly done. There’s a bunch of books and brochures here, if you see anything you’d particularly like to do, add it to the timesheet and make it work.”

She gawked at him like he’d grown three heads. Her? Help him with the itinerary for the class trip?

“Isn’t this your job?” She felt brave enough to ask. “Like, am I allowed to be doing this?”

“Yes it is, and yes you are.” His tone was so final that she didn’t feel a ribbon of unease lace through her mind.

She scooted forward so that she could use the desk, while he sat at the other side and graded papers. She scanned through the travel brochures and circled things she thought could be educationally beneficial, and eventually started going through the itinerary.

She loved planning and organising, and she wondered if he knew that. Maybe he’d picked up on how pedantic she was about her own class planners and thought this little job would be fun for her. He wasn’t even marginally wrong.

Over her work, she risked quick glances at him. Ones that dared to adventure over his posture, his stern, and concentrated expression. The way he chewed on the tip of his pen, how he would take off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He was so endearing and she found herself watching him more and more, getting lost in how effortlessly beautiful he was.

He was still grouchy and short with her when she asked questions, and she had smiled whenever he’d huff and grumble under his breath at whatever he was grading.

“You seem particularly melancholy today.” She observed softly, and his eyes flashed to hers before he placed his pen down and laced his fingers together, leaning forward on the desk.

“Am I always melancholy?”

“I think so.”

“And you’re always vibrant.”

As bad as his mood appeared, he seemed to enjoy her company.

She mulled over the itinerary that he’d drafted, editing bits here and there. She had a sprawl of books on his desk, scanning through top tourist spots and mapping out the best walking routes.

There was a moment where he took a break, stretching his arms high over his head with a soft groan she almost missed. She hadn’t even realised that she was looking at him, enamoured and intrigued by his display of exhaustion when he always seemed so energised.

“Stop staring.” He stared at her over the frame of his glasses, his head tilted down.

She blushed, looking down at the itinerary. “I’m not.”

“I saw you.”

“Sorry.”

He watched as she focused a little too hard on a not-so-interesting book and he smiled. He’d called her out, as if he hadn’t been staring at her, too.

She hadn’t realised the time, unknowingly lost in her work for almost two hours. His pager beeped and he checked it, flipping his pen between his fingers as he read.

He reached over, grabbing the itinerary, pretty much complete, and nodding as he scanned it. He could see the depth and excitement that she had added to it and he suppressed a smile.

“I’ll go over this tonight.”

“I added a few different things there. Restaurants, as well as some historical sights and important cultural landmarks.”

He nodded, impressed. “Very good, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“As for the next assignment, I want that tomorrow.”

“We fly to Naples tomorrow.” She frowned,

“I know.”

His icy and cold guise returned. He was her professor demanding something, and she could hardly turn him down. The paper was half done and lucky for her, it wouldn’t be difficult to complete.

“Okay.” She nodded, standing and gathering her things. “It’ll be all yours tomorrow.”

He didn’t respond, turning back to his work. She’d learned to decipher his cues, and took his silence as her own time to leave. She had a lot to do before their trip and she took one last glance at his solemn expression before leaving.

As she closed the door, his eyes went up to the door. Then to the chair where she’d been sitting. His office now felt like a void of who he wanted to be. Influential, important, inspiring. All things that he rarely felt while he was stuck in an old classroom all day.

But then students like her came along. The ones alight with wonder and fascination that wanted to have his success touch them. They weren’t in his class simply because it was a requirement. They were in his class because they were eager to harbour influence of their own.

She spent all night going over her pack list, finalising her outfits and essentials for a couple of nights away. She dotted back to her paper often, wanting to have it complete. She struggled to wrap up her conclusion, and no later fell asleep on her bed, surrounded by her books and topic materials.

Her alarm went off, shrilling deep in her skull. She groaned, killing the sound and stretching. Checking the time, she noted that she only had a matter of hours until she needed to be at Heathrow airport.

She was in some type of trance as she got herself ready. She showered, ate a light breakfast, and readied her luggage. At the last minute, she grabbed the assignment that needed to be done and shoved it into her purse.

After securing a seat on the train, she got to work on it. Tossing back and forth between an abundance of different conclusions. Why did preservation matter? Why were artifacts archived how they were? How were stories of history pieced together?

All such basic questions to her whirring mind, and yet she struggled to encapsulate her thoughts in the unique way that she knew he loved. With a sigh, she put it away. She’d finish it on the flight.

After she arrived at the airport, she headed towards check-in, her small turquoise suitcase in tow. That's when she saw him, and she stopped dead in the hustle of travelers.

She had never seen him so paired back. He was dressed far more casual than his dress pants and sweaters and suits. But he was no less fashionable. She eyed his black, loose fitted pants, the worn vans on his feet, and yellow-stained sunglasses. As loose as his pants were, his t-shirt was anything but. A graphic white one that hugged him and left little to one's imagination.

And tattoos. Lots of them.

She'd only ever seen the cross on his hand and the inklings of something on his wrist. But she could see that his full arm was covered with them. Smatterings of ink, personal depictions, and dedications.

The ship on his upper arm rippled as his muscles flexed, his designer suitcase in his hand.

He looked grumpy, like always. However, the yellow sunnies over his eyes concealed some of his irritation.

His eyes found hers and he peered at her as she approached. She smiled, shy and suddenly nervous about this trip, and moreover, him.

She noticed that the rest of her class was already present, and Charlie wrapped his arm around her shoulder as he greeted her. Professor Styles' mouth twisted at the physical touch between the two before clearing his throat.

No one was paying attention until he stuck his fingers into his mouth and released an ear-piercing whistle, quieting down and facing him.

“Roll call. Be quiet.”

It took some time for every student to settle down, far too excited and chatty to keep quiet enough for him to call out everyone's name to confirm their presence.

As he called out Violet’s name, she raised her hand and watched his expression sour at Charlie's arm still wrapped around her.

Not wanting to be inappropriate, she slowly stepped away from Charlie, who was far too concerned with scoping out the other girls who were around.

They gathered, waiting in line to check in per Professor Styles’ instructions. He handed out the finalised itinerary that they had both worked on, and now everyone had their own copies. She wanted to approach him, but he was busy keeping everyone organised while the other teacher talked at the front desk.

It wasn’t until they were on air side, that he found her in line for coffee and pursed his lips.

“Did you finish the assignment?”

“Almost.”

He raised a brow, his arms crossed and accentuating his muscles and how inked they were. “Almost?”

“Yes, almost.” She affirmed, not missing his look of surprise at her tone, but she continued. “I’ll finish it on the flight.”

“We’ll be in the sky for five hours, Violet. I expect it to be done, so don’t get distracted.”

She almost snorted. What could possibly distract her on a flight? And right on cue, Charlie popped up next to her with a cheeky grin.

“How’s it hangin’, sir?” His grin widened as he stared at their disgruntled professor.

“Fine.” He grumbled, staring Charlie down before looking at Violet. “I want it before we land.”

As he sauntered off, Charlie released a sharp breath. “You’d think he’d crack a smile considering the fact that we’re going on holiday.”

“Of course, you’d see this as a holiday.”

“I heard our hotel has a pool.” He bumped his hip against hers.

She gave him a fake smile, worming out of his hold. “Can’t wait.”

Half way through the flight, she’d found herself polishing off her paper, just how he ordered. The conclusion was strong and unwavering, her skill and passion shining through each word.

She’d managed to avoid sitting next to Charlie, instead, she was next to two girls she enjoyed talking to, although they were a bit quiet during class and outside of it, it was so different. Everyone seemed to busy themselves with studying the itinerary for the trip, bubbling with excitement.

She read over her paper twice, thoroughly proud of it, and she couldn’t wait to have her favourite professor read it. She knew he was a few rows back, and stood, remembering that he wanted it before they landed.

Standing with a stretch, she made her way towards the back, scanning the faces for his, and finding those expressive eyes almost immediately. He was sitting alone in a row of three seats, and she wondered if he’d just gotten lucky or paid for three tickets.

His attention had been on a book before he’d found her eyes. She didn’t get the chance to study the cover of it before he was tucking it away and staring up at her expectably as she came to a halt by his row.

“Yes?”

She held up the completed paper with a look of triumph. “It’s done.”

He felt at odd sensation of pride wash over him. To be fair, he had given her quite a lot to do. And for her to finish it within such a small frame of time, while maintaining the immaculate value of her work, was an incredible feat.

So, he actually smiled. It was small but big enough that his dimples indented his cheeks a little.

“Attagirl. I knew you could do it.”

Her cheeks flushed at his praise and his smile. Two glimmeringly beautiful facets of him that she’d never seen, especially the latter. Fuck, his smile. So soft and serene and dreamy. It was verging on heartbreaking that he didn’t wear it more.

“I hope it’s good.”

“Knowing you… it will be.”

“You’re too kind.” She said bashfully.

He flipped through the assignment, nodding his head with pursed lips. He opened his mouth to say something, gesturing to the empty seat next to him before the sound that accompanied the lighting of the seatbelt signal interrupted him.

He sighed, adjusting his glasses before buckling up. “You better get back to your seat.”

She nodded, unaware that it took everything within him to not invite her to sit on his lap.

They landed in Naples in the early hours of the afternoon, and were shuffled onto a waiting bus towards their first destination of the trip. Professor Styles had done a roll call and had already lost all patience with the loud group he was stuck with.

Their luggage was sent to their hotel, where they’d be turning in after their activities. They were given a tour of the huge city. The driver pointed out landmarks as they passed them.

The expanse of the ocean was pristine cerulean, invitingly crisp, the shore framed with exquisite buildings that crawled up the steep cliffsides. It was bright. Awash with blues and yellows and pinks and reds. Hues that depicted such a lively city so well.

Violet practically had her face pressed up against her window in the bus, admiring how glorious it was. It was densely packed with culture and entertainment and history. She was itching to get out and explore, smell the fresh air and taste the experiences on her tongue.

Their first tourist spot was the National Archaeological Museum. Professor Styles separated his students into two groups, one with him, and one with the other teacher.

To her delight, she was with him, and by the look in his eyes, he was just as happy about it. Maybe he even planned it that way. What he didn’t plan on, however, was Charlie sneaking into his group so that he could be with Violet. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the flash of irritation that almost blinded him.

The museum was phenomenal. Showcasing historical artefacts that had been unearthed by many. There was an abundance of exhibitions, which they were led through by their professor.

She took photos on her disposable camera, one of which had him in the frame, and she wouldn’t realise until she got her film developed.

Following the tour of the largest part of the museum, he turned to face the group. He had noticed Charlie being a nuisance, especially towards Violet and he made a point to ask her about it if he got her alone. He cleared his mind, trying to remain professional but struggling when she was staring at him like she was.

“Archaeologists and historians work together to teach the world about history. About daily lives, historical events, and structures. They excavate the history, and we tell its story. I hope you all feel inspired by what we’ve seen today because I want you to choose a piece and include it in your assignment.”

The group murmured, gathering their notebooks and fluttering around the exhibitions, attempting to find one that could merge in with the topic seamlessly.

Violet found herself on the second floor of the impressive building, completely enamoured with how beautiful it all was. Rich with history and chronicles of the past.

She found a detailed model of what Pompeii had been in its prime. Detailed, intricate and precise. Her eyes wandered the tiny streets where people walked thousands of years ago.

It changed her perspective, seeing it all laid out in front of her gave it so much more weight in her heart. She felt the passion and interest wrap warmly around her like how the Italian sun had kissed her skin; new, inviting, and blissful.

She took a few pictures of it, wanting something to refer back to just in case. As she stared through the lens, she felt a presence behind her. Her professor, stood tall and intimidating, though his expression was composed yet warm.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” He nodded towards the model.

“It’s amazing.” She breathed, sharply aware of him standing next to her.

His shoulder brushed hers and she froze. She wanted his touch. Wanted him to out his hands on her and praise her. She hadn’t stopped thinking about when he reached out and brushed her hair away in his office.

“Is he bothering you?”

It appeared that their minds were in two separate places. Her, desperate for his attention, and him, desperate to keep Charlie’s attention off of her.

“Who—Charlie?”

“Because if he is,” he continued, frowning. “He can do his assignment back home.”

And perhaps knowing that she and Charlie shared a night together, sending him away wouldn’t be strictly for her benefit. He felt protective over her, and yeah, he was jealous. He wanted her and he hated to admit it. But seeing her here, in this city, in this room, felt like the final nail in the coffin.

“It’s fine, I can handle him.”

If only she knew how much he saw the depth in that statement.

“Okay, just let me know.”

“Why?” She was perplexed. His tone was almost… territorial. It was more than a teacher protecting his student.

“Because I want to take care of you.”

Her eyes fluttered as they found his, and she felt a rush of arousal spark between her legs at the sheer hunger on his face and in his tone. Fuck. This couldn’t happen. He was her professor.

This was far from appropriate but the way he was looking at her like he wanted to devour and savour her at the same time was driving her wild.

She didn’t know how to respond, but let him take her hand and lead her towards some shelves in the back of the room. They housed artifacts from Pompeii, preserved from excavation sites.

She barely had a chance to look before he was leading her on towards the Gabinetto Segreto. She frowned, halting.

“What is this?”

“My favourite exhibition.” His eyes told her nothing but mischief, and he made sure the coast was clear before ushering her in.

She was taken aback. His favourite exhibition threw all inhibition out of their minds. Sexually graphic paintings, carvings, molds, and statues. Incredibly erotic and lewd.

He watched her in the room, thankfully empty of any other museum visitors. She approached a particularly sensual painting, framed in deep marble, a woman on top of a man, both in seated positions.

“What do you think?” He asked her, his veins thrumming with life and excitement.

Her cheeks were warm, and she was very aware of his gaze on her in the room full of sexual depictions. “I think… people have always had fascinations about bodies. About sex. It’s humanising to see it depicted so early in human civilisation.”

Was it normal for that to turn him on so much? She was clearly feeling the intensity of the room and yet was in her mind enough to give him an answer that reflected her passion for his class.

“Mm.. and how does it make you feel?” His voice was so low as he came to stand behind her.

“Feel?”

“To be surrounded by ancient erotic art. How does it make you feel?”

She let out a shaky sigh, unsure of how to answer. She felt lightheaded and heated and knew the only way to quell it was to have some attention between her legs.

He picked up on her silence, thinking maybe she couldn’t gauge what kind of response he was wanting. “I’ll start. It makes me feel like recreating every piece of art in here.”

Her eyes widened at his confession, feeling so shocked that he would go in that direction but so pleased that he did. Was he just as deep in lust for her as she was for him?

“Me too.” She breathed out, and he swore lowly.

“These were all excavated from Pompeii and Herculaneum. They were kept in brothels, homes—anywhere, really. They had an appreciation for erotica and displaying it. So they allotted this space in the museum. For a time, they only allowed men to come in here and view it.”

She could listen to him talk for hours, and then she realised that she did. And loved every millisecond of it. How his lips caressed words, how he spoke a few octaves lower than most, but it was still a milky and warm voice that rang through her ears.

“Lucky me.” She smiled. He wondered how she truly felt. Aside from the obvious, she found it almost funny to think that people thousands of years ago were fortifying lands and yet found a common ground in sexual art.

He huffed out a laugh and her heart just about stopped at the noise. “Not as lucky as whoever had this hanging on their wall.”

He pointed to a large painting of a couple embracing, his skin golden against the woman’s fair skin. The preservation was amazing, aside from slight erosion of the colour and some cracks near the bottom.

“It’s very intimate.” She observed. It was—like everything else in the room—sexual. But the strokes of paint were soft, their hold on each other even more so. Love. Care.

He wanted to know if someone had held her like that. So gentle, savouring every inch of skin. Worshiping her like the piece of art that she was.

After a filling dinner at a nearby restaurant, they all found themselves at their hotel. They gathered their room keys, and each partnered up to share a room for the trip. As Violet and her professor were the last two standing in the lobby, they eyed each other awkwardly.

“This has to be a mistake.” He frowned, staring at the concierge. The other teacher was staying close by with family. Harry was sure that he’d requested his own room in the hotel. This couldn’t be happening. “Is there another room available?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

He sighed, clenching his jaw. He wanted to hole up in his room and order expensive wine and listen to music. Now he had to face the reality that he’d be sharing a room. With her. Maybe he’d sleep out in the hallway.

Instead of making a scene and taking out his frustration onto the person at reception, he stared at Violet, whose eyes were wide with what appeared to be apprehension.

“I can find another hotel to stay at.” He said lowly to her.

“With the number of people you’re caring for, I would advise against that, Sir. The nearest hotels are also fully booked.”

Harry glared at the concierge. The concept of staying in the same room as one of his students was a harsh pill to swallow. A jarring sensation. He was being faced with one of his deepest fantasies but now all he felt was that he was a creep.

He sighed, and met her eyes. “Come on.”

She blinked away her surprise and followed him. She could see how tense he was as his knuckle jabbed the button to call the elevator. She bit her lip and stared at him.

“Professor—”

“I swear to you I demanded a separate room.”

She frowned, seeing the worry in his eyes. He thought she saw this as something he had planned out. He felt sick about it.

“It’s out of your control. They clearly messed up the bookings, it’s fine.” She assured him, although her nerves were shooting through the roof. She had no idea how the night was going to go, or the rest of this trip, for that matter.

They arrived at their room and he took a deep breath before opening it. It was lavish, thought she expected him to book nothing less. A small seating and kitchen area, and a set of double doors that must have led off to the bedroom.

He located his duffel bag dropped off by the staff and rummaged through it. “I’ll take the couch.”

She stood awkwardly in the room. “Oh, okay.”

He took his toiletry bag, sauntering into the en suite in the bedroom. “Just gonna shower.”

Her eyes followed him, his tense body language putting her on edge. She’d never seen him so uncomfortable. Once she heard the shower turn on, she quickly changed into her sleepwear, soft silk pants, and an old t-shirt.

To keep herself busy and keep her anxiety at bay, she began working on her assignment for the class trip. Taking notes and jotting down observations she’d made. She was cozied up on the window seat, overlooking the city with a soaring heart.

He came out, his hair dripping, wetting his white t-shirt. The grey sweats on his bottom half left her speechless. Now, this was the most dressed down she’d ever seen him.

“We should get some sleep.” He said, eyeing the notebook in her hand.

“Yeah, o—of course.”

“And don’t worry I… I’ll see about getting another room tomorrow. Surely they’ll have a free one by then.”

“I don’t mind.” She blurted out, worried that he thought she was seeing him as utterly inappropriate. “It’s not… I mean, it is kinda weird but this whole mix-up is out of our control. We’re adults. We’ll make it work.”

“You’re right.” He huffed out a breath, seemingly relaxed at that. They could make it work. It was going to be a mission to shelf his attraction to her, but he kept putting on his professional hat, even though her wandering gaze was warming him up inside.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” She breezed past him, and he could smell her sweet scent.

“Good night, Violet.”

She paused at the door, about to close them when she turned back to look at him with a sultry expression that made his dick hard.

“Sweet dreams, professor.”

Suffice it to say, his dreams were anything but.

“Listen up! I’m not in the mood to repeat myself.”

It had been an eventful morning and they hadn’t even left the hotel yet. They were piled into a bus, and Charlie was sitting next to Violet, chatting her ear off.

She couldn’t keep her eyes off her professor's disgruntled expression. How she’d seen more of him than any student had before.

How he’d hidden his smile when she offered to make him coffee that morning, how his voice was far deeper after sleep.

How he’d effortlessly slipped back into his cold and disheartening demeanour after he’d gotten dressed. A pair of grey slacks and a light blue dress shirt. She tried to brush it off and pretend it didn’t bother her, but she wanted his warmth and all he gave her was soft glimpses of it before he shut her out again.

“Remember what we are here for. Keep your minds open and explore this unique opportunity. I won’t be supplying material when we return to class, so gather everything you need today. Is that understood?”

The students nodded, hearing him loud and clear. Violet checked that she had her notebook and disposable camera on hand, feeling inspired to make this assignment her best one yet.

Pompeii was everything she had dreamt of and everything she never knew she could experience. It was a phenomenal sight to see. To really walk the streets which had been wandered down before. Where lives had fled as Mount Vesuvius unleashed its wrath, coughing up poisonous ash and spewing deadly lava.

She trudged through the fallen streets, imagining what it must have been like. Danger looming. Harrowing screams. Grasping for valuables as they fled.

Her disposable camera seldom left her hands, and the click of her taking shots set off Charlie’s impatient streak in him.

“Let me give you a personal tour.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

“I really want to focus on this.”

“Come on, Violet. You’ll have way more fun with me.”

She sighed as he attempted to take the camera from her hands. “Charlie, please. It was one night and it won’t happen again. Let it go.”

“Why the sudden switch up?” He frowned.

“I just… I want to focus on passing this assignment, okay?” And she was bored of him. Another, far more intriguing man has eclipsed her every thought.

“Fine by me. I’ll show someone else around.” He sauntered off and she glared at his back.

She rolled her eyes and tried to focus on the task at hand. At being in such a beautiful place, struck by such a disaster.

The class had all spread out by that point, and she fought to stay by herself. She worked best that way, alone with her thoughts. No pressure to fake her interest in anything aside from the historical site before her.

She sat at the edge of a small field, framed by stone arches and fallen buildings, crumbling walls. She began to sketch out the scene before her, listening to music on her Walkman, lost in her work as Duran Duran blessed her ears.

She felt the presence of someone sitting next to her, and she looked up, surprised to see her grumpy professor. His mouth moved as it formed words and she frowned, pulling her headphones off.

“I’m sorry?”

He looked amused, albeit annoyed that he had to repeat himself. “I said, I didn’t know that you could draw.”

She smiled sheepishly, staring down at her drawing. “It’s just a rough sketch. I’m a visual learner, so it helps, gives me something to refer back to if I need it.”

“It’s pretty good. You could incorporate it into the assignment.” He seemed impressed.

“That’s allowed?”

“Only because I said so.”

She bit her lip to hide her smile, although he saw her cheeks become a stunning shade of pink that he associated only with her. Like saturated carnations or his favourite ice cream, boysenberry with strawberry swirls.

She was worming her way into his brain like a rotten apple and he could only sit and watch the decay.

“I just called the hotel. They’re still fully booked—”

“Last night wasn’t horrible.” She said. “We both kept to ourselves and slept well. Unless you want a turn in the bed tonight.”

It was his turn to blush now, and she didn’t miss it.

“The couch is fine.” He grumbled, embarrassed.

She wanted to tease him. To tug that soft side of him out. But a large part of her knew he’d reprimand her for it. Use his authority on her. Not that she’d mind, but it wasn’t a way to get through to him in the slightest.

“What’s on the itinerary, then?”

He shot her a look. “You should know, considering you did it.”

She laughed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like what I chose. If I remember correctly, I put us down for an afternoon of relaxing at the beach and self-appointed activities.”

“I never did ask what self-appointed entails.”

“Well, it could entail a number of things. Exploring the city, working on papers, grading papers,” she leaned in towards him. “Anything, it’s just downtime.”

“Downtime.” He parroted.

“That’s a completely foreign concept for you, isn’t it?”

He stifled a laugh and nodded. “Any and all free time I have is spent on you,” he cleared his throat, “my classes, I mean.”

“Maybe take some time to relax today, then. Even if just for a few hours before dinner.”

“I’ll try.” He sighed, staring down at her Walkman. “You always carry that thing around.”

He was a lot more observant of her than he was ever going to admit. And they both picked up on it. He stared at her red and white sundress for a time, wondering if she’d worn it just for him to agonise over. He had been all fucking morning. He pushed his glasses further up his nose.

As she opened her mouth to respond, he stood with a gruff, “I need to check in with everyone else. Keep working.”

She did, the sun browning her skin, her tiny sundress the only thing he could think about as he talked with other students and showed them around.

She ventured Pompeii some more, taking pictures, penciling quick sketches, and let her eyes wander over to him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. But he always was, and they both looked away quickly.

Charlie seemed to forget all about the rejection she’d given him by the time they were at the beach and lounging on sunbeds. Violet had taken a dip, but was mostly into reclining in her little yellow bikini.

She slipped her shades up onto her head as she took in the scene before her. Most of the students had joined them, a few had ventured into the city.

But it was a rarity any of them got to see the sun and sand like this, so they practically melted in the experience, vowing to never leave.

She let her eyes scan the beach, her book tucked into her side on a dog-eared page. She enjoyed people-watching. Seeing her fellow students thrive under the golden sun, and seeing families make memories.

And Professor Styles. Stretched out on a sunbed far from everyone else. Yellow swimming shorts, bronzed skin, decorated in tattoos, both arms flexed as he stretched them above his head.

Her mouth dried at the sight. How toned and prominent he was. She could easily imagine herself sitting on top of him, mapping out each tattoo, licking, kissing, biting. Admiring.

As if he could sense her eyes on him, he looked up, a lone finger sliding his shades down to look at her. And lip quirked up on one side in a subtle smirk that made her toes curl. So, he got especially cocky when he was half-naked.

She tried to turn her attention back onto her book, but it was an effort to think of anything else other than him. She craved his touch, even though all he had given her was a whisp of it in his office.

They were dangling themselves in front of each other, temptation and lust awry, waiting for who would take the plunge first.

Following a game of cat and mouse, trying to catch each other’s eyes, it was time to head back to the hotel and get ready for dinner at a local restaurant.

She beat him to the room, grabbing a quick shower, almost ready by the time he entered the room.

He could smell her sweet perfume as he entered the room, the air humid from a long shower. She was sitting at the vanity in the bedroom, swiping mascara on her wispy lashes.

Her eyes met his in the mirror, disappointed to find him dressed in a t-shirt, those same yellow shorts allowing her to see his tattooed thigh.

“How was your downtime?” She asked him.

He came up behind her, still watching each other in the mirror. “It was good. Although, a girl was gawking at me the whole time. Didn’t think my body was that atrocious.”

He was teasing her. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, and so she played along.

“I’m sure atrocious was the last thing on her mind.”

“You think so?”

“Maybe you should have asked her.”

“I thought about it.”

She held her breath. “Did you?”

“Mm. Thought about inviting her over to my sunbed… asking her what had captured her attention. I knew what she was thinking but I just wanted to hear her say it.”

“Say what?” She breathed out. His eyes were so intense. Molten and demanding, holding hers with such a ferocity that she felt it between her legs.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Now Violet, when have I ever given you the answers to a test?”

She released a shaky sigh, tilting her head away from him, allowing him access to her neck.

He smirked at her eagerness. “You’re a bad girl. Finish getting ready.”

“Then stop distracting me.”

He growled deep in his chest, taking a step away from her. “Don’t talk back, Violet. Ever.”

He sauntered into the bathroom, locking the door with a click. She fanned herself with her hand, quickly slipping on a white summer dress and heading downstairs to hang with her classmates.

Everyone was unaware of the fact that she and their professor were sharing a room, and she cringed to think about how they’d react if they found out.

The attraction they had for each other was undeniable, but she saw it as harmless flirting. Until… he touched her. Until he took her into that erotic room. Until he told her not to talk back. She was fucked.

He led them to the restaurant, pointing out architectural phenomena, and different historical sites for them to make note of. He looked so pretty that it hurt. Light pink dress pants and a matching blazer, a white singlet underneath. His glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, his curls falling down on his forehead messily.

She lagged behind, and he noticed, subtly falling back, She was stopping to take pictures of different buildings, in awe of the structures and local ways of life.

He slowed his pace, keeping close to her just in case. She wasn’t overly warm towards anyone else in the class, and it made him feel glad in the sense that she focused on his class, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she had many friends outside of class.

Perhaps that’s why he was so protective over her. How territorial and irrational he became towards her. How enamoured by her he was. Buy her words and her confidence, whether in corduroy pants or little sun dresses.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to appear relaxed, but he was crawling out of his fucking skin. He needed her. Wanted her. Had to have her. He just didn’t know how to do so. He sucked at talking to women, but he knew how to fuck.

Just getting them on their backs was the hardest part for him. He had never struggled with men, but women terrified him for some reason. Especially women like her.

He kept watching her like she’d drop a clue behind a step on the cobbled street.

And when he noticed that one of her sneakers had become untied, he felt his heart begin to race.

The group was further ahead, and he fell into step beside her, grabbing her hand to garner her attention.

She turned to look at him with wide eyes, her camera clicked, and as she spun around, his face fell perfectly into the frame. But the two of them were too focused on his touch to notice.

“Your lace is untied.” He explained simply, his touch gone.

She looked down, “oh.”

“Let me,” he knelt down on the ground, lifting her foot up onto his raised knee. She gasped at the feel of his fingers wrapped around her ankle. How they softly caressed her skin before they got to work tying her lace.

His ringed fingers were a wonder to watch. So precise and nimble. She felt her cheeks tinge pink as she stared down at him on his knee for her. And when he looked up, it was almost as if he was in awe. Worshipping.

His hand slid up her ankle, cupping her calf and sliding higher. And then he dropped his touch, realising how inappropriate he was being.

“Thank you, professor.”

His jaw clenched slightly before he stood, adjusting his suit jacket. “We should catch up with the others.”

They were the last to enter the restaurant, and the universe pushed them together once again with two remaining seats. Next to each other.

Her leg was still burning from his touch and she wanted to experience it over every inch of skin on her body.

It was a wonder she could even focus on eating. He was so powerful in his presence. Even when she wasn’t looking at him she could feel him. This tar-thick sensation next to her, begging to be pulled in, begging to have her attention.

He ate his meal in silence, drinking a cider, offering bits to the conversation here and there.

She was a nervous wreck. She could smell his cologne. How it was sweet and spicy and sultry all at once.

At some point, restless and on edge, she crossed her leg, her foot accidentally nudging his ankle. He shot her a look through the corner of his eye, his mouth on his drink.

She blushed, apologising to him under her breath. But he moved his leg towards hers a little before retracting. Intrigued, she extended her foot out again, letting it trace up his leg.

“Careful.” He warned lowly.

She stared up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Or what?”

“You don’t want to start trouble with your professor, do you?”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe I do.”

“I pegged you for a good student, Violet. Perhaps I was wrong.”

“I’m a good girl where it counts, professor.”

“Then be a good girl and go settle the bill. We need to get an early night.”

He handed her his card, watching as she stood and went to pay. He eyed her thighs at the hem of her dress, remembering how soft she’d felt as he tied her shoelace. How lulled her expression became when she was teasing him under the table.

He thought about how it felt to be kneeling before her. How if he leaned forward just a little, he’d be able to see up her dress. See the colour of her panties. Flick his tongue out and get a long-awaited taste.

He skipped the dessert menu because he knew nothing would satisfy the sweet tooth he had. Only she could quell the craving.

Fuck. He couldn’t share a room with her tonight. Not unless he wanted to fuck her against every surface of it.

The walk back to the hotel was tense for the two of them. They tried to avoid each other, she tried to spark conversation with other students, while he conversed with the other professor who was probably triple his age and insufferable to talk to.

He felt especially creepy when he realised the most interesting conversations he’d ever held had been with a student of his. One who was ten years his junior.

The other professor split off, heading to his family home while Harry was in charge of leading everyone back to the hotel.

He was back to his short and curt self, subdued by his own thoughts. She eyed him, wondering if he regretted getting so comfortable with her. Because she sure as hell didn’t regret anything.

Everyone parted ways, heading to their designated rooms, while she lagged behind, completely on edge.

Their eyes met as they leaned on opposite walls in the hallway. Waiting. Gauging.

“I should find somewhere else to stay tonight.” His voice broke through the tension.

Her heart dropped and she started to panic at the prospect of him leaving her. “You don’t need to do that.”

He sighed, torn. “Violet…”

“I promise I’ll behave. You won’t even know I’m here.”

He watched her, internally debating. Could he behave? And would she stay true to her word? It was later in the evening now, and he hardly felt like trudging around the city until he found an available room.

He sighed again and nodded, entering the room wordlessly. She followed after him, watching as he stripped off his jacket and ran his hands through his hair.

She slipped into the bedroom, and as she went to close the door, decided to leave it slightly ajar. An invitation.

He sat on the couch, spreading his arms along the back. His mind was a jumbled mess, the only clarity were liquified swirls of violet skies that gave him a sense of constant.

His eyes found movement in the gap of the bedroom door and his mouth went dry. Violet pulled her tiny white dress over her head, her matching white bra and panties revealed to his hungry stare.

She pulled her hair free from its ponytail, the yellow ribbon falling to the ground in a tiny silk puddle.

She bent over, unlacing her sneakers before pulling them off. He knew he had to look away. But he couldn’t. He was staring directly between her legs. The softness of her hips and her thighs. His stomach clenched.

Reaching back, still facing away, she unclasped her bra and let that fall to the floor carelessly. He internally begged her to turn around. But he knew that if he saw her bare tits it would be game over. He already felt like he was going to finish in his pants.

And then she stepped out of view, appearing moments later in a white silk camisole and matching shorts. He looked away quickly as she exited the bedroom, trying to hide the fact that she’d put on that show just for him.

“Can you please help me?” her sweet voice caressed his ears.

He still didn’t look at her. “With?”

“My necklace.” She came to stand in front of him. “It’s tangled.”

He eyed the dainty jewelry around her neck and wondered how his hand would look in its place.

“Do you ever take yours off?” She nodded to the cross pendant dangling from his neck.

“No. It stays on. Always.”

“Even when you—”

“Turn around, Violet.”

She giggled and turned while he stood, his body shaking with desire. She scooped up her hair out of the way, a few strands tangled in the clasp of her necklace.

“You like doing that, don’t you?”

“Doing what?”

“Teasing me and acting oblivious to it.” His fingers began to unwork the tangles of her necklace.

“How do I tease you?”

“Well, the little show you just put on is a great place to start.”

She smirked. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He growled and brought his hand around, cupping her throat and encouraging her to lean fully against him.

“Don’t make me out to be a fucking pervert, Violet. Prance around in your tiny little shorts all you want, just as long as you know that you’re doing so for me.”

“We’re not in the classroom anymore, professor. No need to boss me around.”

“Brat.” He said through his teeth. “I’m always the boss.”

She gasped out in the authority in his tone, at the sureness in his actions. His hand around her throat just like she’d imagined a million times while he taught a class.

“I know you daydream about me.” He whispered in her ear. “I can see your mind wander when you’re sitting at the front of my class. You think about all the things you want me to do to you.”

“That’s a bold assumption.” She continued to tease him.

“Mmm.” He rumbled in her ear. “And I bet you’re wet right now.”

“You’re wrong.” She whimpered.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

She stepped away, staring up at him. “H—How?”

He feigned a bored expression, shoving his hands into his pockets with a sigh. “You’re a smart girl, Violet. Figure it out.”

All confidence she had was shredded away by his condescending tone and she released a shaky breath. Prove it? She sat down on the couch, finding his eyes willingly.

Fuck. This was everything the both of them had been daydreaming about. Releasing the tension that had been building between them ever since she started his class.

He would have stopped her if she didn’t want this. And she wouldn’t have given him a show if she didn’t’ want it. She slipped a hand down her shorts, her eyes lulling while his widened at the scene.

Her fingers found her core, throbbing and wet already. She whimpered, trying to look unfazed but he could see how much her legs were shaking.

“That’s a good girl. Let me see.”

She retracted her hand from the silk of her shorts and displayed her fingers, glistening with her excitement.

He grabbed her wrist, investigating the wetness. He tutted. “Now, what are we going to do about this, hm?” His eyes met hers and she melted.

“I don’t know.”

His gaze hardened on hers. “Part of your studies have been based on problem-solving, Violet. I know I’ve been doing my job right. The question is: have you been a good student?”

“Yes,” she whispered, shaking.

“Is that so? Then tell me how we solve this problem that you have.”

“Problem…?”

“You’re sitting in front of your professor, dripping for him. Tell me how we can fix it before you make a mess.”

She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Touch me.”

“Raise your voice when you’re speaking to me.”

She cleared her throat, mildly embarrassed. “Touch me.”

“Touch you? I could fail you for this behaviour that you’re displaying. I can’t think of one reason not to.”

“Please,” she whispered, “please, touch me.”

He sat on the coffee table opposite her. “I can’t risk it… we can’t—”

“Please. Just once, it’s all I will ever ask of you.”

He stared at her, his expression disgruntled. Like she was causing him actual annoyance by asking him such a thing.

“Fuck it.”

He took her fingers past his lips, saturated with her wetness, and sucked on them. Cleaning them and tasting her. Heavenly and sinful.

She gasped as he did so, unable to even wrap her head around what was happening before his lips met hers, his hand on the nape of her neck.

“Kiss me.” He ordered against her and she obliged, whimpering as his tongue found hers.

He stood and leaned over her, pushing her back into the couch. He pulled away momentarily, as much as it pained him.

“You want this?”

She nodded, leaning forward to kiss him but he shook his head.

“Words, Violet. I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you.” She assured him, glad to finally have the words leave her mouth.

“Show me,” he breathed out. “Show me how much you want me.”

He sat back on the table again, leaving her panting and shaking while he slipped his glasses from his face. She bit her lip, finding every ounce of courage that she had before slowly slipping her shorts down her legs.

His eyes never left hers as she got herself comfortable, and he untangled her shorts from her ankle, his cock hardening further when she giggled playfully.

She spread her legs a little, her hand finding its way back between them. He hissed as she played with herself, and he could hear how wet she was as well as see it.

He leaned forward, his hands on her thighs. “Are you this wet for me during class?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Are you lying to me?” His hands smoothed up her legs and he could feel how hard she was shaking having his touch on her.

“No…”

“Mm...” His hands found her sensitive inner thighs and her legs spread further, enticing him in. “I think you’re lying, Violet.” His thumb brushed her sensitive clit and she gasped. “I think…” A little more pressure. “You sit in my class, fantasising about me.” Small circles. “And then you go home, get yourself off and imagine that it’s me doing it.”

“Please—”

“Am I wrong?”

“Fuck,” she cried out as his fingers built up speed and pressure. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“I never am.” He smirked, pulling her so that she was laying down flat on the couch.

His mouth found her cunt in a deep kiss and she rolled her hips up towards him, his hands cupping under her thighs to keep her where he wanted her.

Her back arched at the sensation of his mouth. So wet and hot and skilled. She’d known how good he was with his mouth, as she’d listened to him talk for hours. But this was something else, and she knew she’d never look at his lips the same again.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he moaned against her, loving how sweet she tasted. How she was shaking and he’d only just gotten started.

His tongue found her clit in delicate flicks, sucking and nibbling it until she was gasping.

The straps of her camisole fell down her shoulders, and her tits came into his view. Her nipples were pebbled from the cool air and he reached up, pinching and squeezing them with deft fingers.

All he could think of was the fact that she was lightyears better than anything he’d viewed in Gabinetto Segreto. But he knew that before he’d seen her naked.

His ears were ringing with how good she felt and he couldn’t wait to feel her wrapped around his cock. God, he’d grasp onto the feeling forever. He could already see himself begging shamelessly at her knees for a pity fuck.

Her hands came down and entwined with his curls, determined to make a mess of them. She had spent far too many hours admiring the perfect shape of them and the precise middle parting.

He groaned as she pulled them, his eyes finding her blissful expression. He ate her like he’d never had a satisfying meal in all his years. After tasting her, it felt like he hadn’t. And nothing would ever suffice again.

She brought Gabinetto Segreto fucking shame.

He gave her a finger, testing the waters with what she could take. Her body went lax before tightening up in pleasure. His jaw dropped at how warm and snug she was.

“Oh, pet. You’re going to get me addicted to this pretty little pussy, aren’t you?”

She whimpered, rolling her hips up in desperation. The way he was talking to her. Encouraging her and talking her through it. It was all so surreal.

“Professor…”

“What?” He pulled away, annoyed to have her interrupt.

“It’s okay.”

He frowned. “What?

“I—It’s okay. You don’t have to…”

“Don’t have to what?” He was getting pissed off now.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“What, make you come?” He frowned further, bewildered.

“It’s hard for me to do that.”

His eyes softened and he crawled up her body, his hand cradling her jaw tenderly. “Has anyone ever made you come, pet?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Just my vibrator.”

He pouted a little. “That’s a shame, isn’t it? I bet you get so creamy… so relaxed and soft.”

She could feel his hands massaging her body, but she felt lightheaded with how he was talking to her.

“I can make you come, pet. As many times as you want.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You don’t have to do a thing. You just lay back and let your professor look after you, okay? You deserve it after all of your hard work. I’m very impressed.”

“Really?” Her eyes were wide.

“Really. Daddy’s going to reward you, now. Would you like that?”

Her eyes lulled the second that word fell from his mouth.

“Yes.”

“My good little pet.”

His mouth found her core again, reveling in her taste and the feel of her. He helped her relax enough that she could simply feel the pleasure and nothing else. She had been so stuck in her mind but now all she could fathom was pure bliss.

He gave her two fingers, massaging a spot inside of her that she had not discovered before. It was overwhelmingly intense. Pressure and sensitivity and euphoria.

“Relax, Violet. Can you do that for me?”

She focused on keeping relaxed, but almost laughed at his request. How could she relax with his head between her thighs?

She must have done a good enough job because he moaned, closing his eyes and kissing her cunt almost romantically.

He wanted to watch her. To guide her and talk her through it. He came up, licking inside of her mouth, sucking on her tongue.

You’re doing so well.

So sweet for me.

You’re milking my fingers, pet.

Breathe, that’s it.

He could tell she was close and he was watching her in awe. Watching her write in pleasure that only he had ever been able to entice from her. He was far too in his head to feel smug about it, but he knew he’d come back to that later.

“Oh…”

“That’s right,” he coerced. “You’re gonna come all over my fingers, I can feel it. Fuck, do it on my tongue instead.”

He swiftly placed his mouth on her again, paying all of his attention to her clit while his fingers worked inside of her. She was pulsing and it drove him to take her harder, moaning against her.

His arm tensed, the veins in it prominent, snaking around his muscles. He couldn’t fathom why the men before him hadn’t got her here like this. He was addicted to everything about her. Her body and her mind. Her jaw dropped in pleasure.

His mouth latched onto her clit ferociously, and the intensity of it knocked her over the edge of bliss. She writhed around, crying out as it overwhelmed her. He pinned her down, helping her ride the wave.

“Thaaat’s it, pet. What a good girl.” He soothed her as she came down.

She gasped out, grabbing his wrist as he slowly fucked her with his fingers.

“Fuck.” She smiled, meeting his eyes.

“How did that feel, hm?” He checked in, his mouth and chin drenched in her. He kissed her inner thighs, pulling away.

“So good.”

“Yeah?” He came over her. “Let’s get rid of this, shall we?”

She barely had time to register what was going on before he ripped her silk camisole from her body, discarding it behind the couch.

“Hey!” She yelled out. “That was expensive.”

“Daddy will buy you another one.” He promised, his eyes falling over her bare breasts. “Fuck, look at you. Gorgeous little thing.”

She moaned as he gripped her breasts, toying with her nipples. He spat down on her chest, wiping his spit around her tits with a devilish grin.

“You’ll let me do what I want, won’t you, pet?”

“Yes.” She whispered, meaning it.

“The next time you’re in my class,” he pinched her nipple. “I’m gonna make you sit on my lap. Make you read out your paper while I play with your clit and fill your cunt with my cock. Make you cream all over me while everyone watches.”

“Professor—”

He stood abruptly, ridding of his shirt and pants, allowing her to see him as bare as she’d ever seen him. His inked torso and arms. His strong thighs and toned tummy. She felt her insides melt and warp.

He grabbed her hand and placed it over his clothed cock, hard and throbbing.

“Feel what you do to me?” He asked, wrapping his hand around her throat to hold her still while her hand felt him. “I get so hard every time I see you. I can’t fucking stand it.”

Her mouth was watering and she shifted forward, kissing along his length. He growled lowly, feeling his cock twitch and his balls tighten.

“You’re a naughty pet. Come to my class in those tiny dresses because you know I think about pinning you against the wall and slipping inside of you.”

“I wish you would.” Her eyes were wide, staring at his.

He tilted his head, gripping her hair in his fist, his rings catching. “You do, don’t you? Little whore.”

She nodded eagerly, whimpering when he pushed her face forcefully against his crotch. He leaned down, his fingers finding her pussy, slick from her orgasm. He hummed, gathering her wetness and spreading it along his covered cock.

“Messy girl. Clean me up.”

“Make me.”

He glared darkly, his nostrils flaring at her disobedience. He gripped her hair hard enough that tears formed, and he moved his hand to pinch her jaw until she opened it.

“Tongue out.” He barked and she slowly did as she was asked. “Wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, clean me up or I’ll fuck my fist and make you watch.”

He spat on her tongue and she hummed, swallowing before leaning forward and licking off her wetness from his crotch. His brow furrowed at the sight. His feisty little pet.

She sucked on the tip of him over his boxers, and he whimpered before pushing her away. He quickly rid of his boxers, impatient. He had to be inside her. He prided himself in his ability to last but that seemed to be irrelevant when it came to her. Just looking at her naked and pouting was enough to set him off.

She reached for his cock, hard, a bead of pre-come on the tip. He throbbed in her palm, so hot and ready for him. He ran his hands through his hair, his body tingling.

She took him past her lips, her eyes fluttering. His head fell back on his neck as she took his tip, sucking and flicking her tongue against the slit. He encouraged her, his hand tangling into her hair.

“Take more.” He rasped, moaning loudly when she fit half of him in.

She used her hand to work on what she couldn’t fit yet. He was losing it, spitting down on his cock to get it nice and wet before forcing her to take all of him.

She choked on him, her eyes watering as she gagged.

“Fuck,” he gritted his teeth, his abs flexing as he pushed his hips forward.

Tears streamed down her face, smudging her mascara. His thumb wiped under her eyes, smearing it further. He wanted to destroy her.

He took her throat in slow, rolling thrusts, allowing her to breathe and watching when she tapped his thigh when she needed a break.

She picked up her pace, and his knees buckled. He attempted to pull away but her hands wound around his thighs, holding him in place.

“Pet,” he whined, “you gotta stop.”

She eyed him mischievously, moving her mouth harder. Faster.

He swore, grabbing her hair and practically ripping her from him. He threw her back and slapped her cheek before gripping her jaw and pressing his face against hers.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?”

She giggled, her cheek stinging, but it fuelled her arousal.

He clenched his jaw, holding hers harder. “You promised you’d behave.”

The feral rage in his eyes made her gulp. She did not fear him, per se, but feared what he’d do to her as punishment. Feared that she’d like it too much.

She wanted him warmed up to her. But she wasn’t sure that he was capable of that.

“I am behaving, professor.”

“I don’t think you are.”

She frowned, pouting. His expression softened, loving how she looked all vulnerable when she did that little face.

He cupped her reddened cheek, looking at her wet eyes and swollen lips from his cock.

She opened her mouth to protest, to apoligise, or to plead. She wasn’t sure.

“I—”

“Shh.. sit back and take my cock, pet.”

The willingness in her eyes melted him and she fell onto her back, pressing her legs together with her knees bent and swaying them side to side.

He took a step forward, fisting his cock with a shaky breath. He had fantasised about this for so long and now that it was finally happening, he couldn’t believe it.

“You look so good.” He complimented, his voice low. His hands ran down her body, feeling every inch and every curve. He settled over her, hitching her leg high over his hip.

“So do you.” She breathed out, her hands running down his sides, feeling the muscles flex.

“You were made for fucking.” He spoke his thoughts, running the tip of his cock between her slick folds. “Made to take me. Made to be used by me.”

She whimpered, rolling her hips up. “Take me. Use me.”

He kissed her, pushing his hips forward a little. She made a soft sound as he pushed inside of her, able to take the tip of him before her body tensed.

“You’re so big.” She whimpered, wide eyes staring up at him.

“You can take it.”

He held her in place, pushing forward and breaking through her tightness. She gasped as she took half of him, and he reached down, rubbing her clit to lessen the sting.

She mewled softly, her body relaxing as he slowly took her. He pushed all the way in, and he swore quietly as she rippled around him.

“Attagirl.” He praised. “I knew you could do it.”

“Oh… my god.” She moaned, her eyes watering at how fucking good he felt. He was so big that she felt him everywhere. He was pressed snugly against that spot he’d found not long before and the pressure of it was blinding.

It was the fact that they definitely should not be doing this that made it feel so much fucking better.

“I’m going to move now.” He informed her, retracting his hips until only his head remained inside of her. He slammed back in forcefully and she cried out, her back arching.

He didn’t stop. He screwed into her relentlessly, pounding her down into the couch. She couldn’t get a single breath in with how hard he was fucking her. His touch never left her clit, until he wrapped his arms around her and stood, holding her up as he fucked up into her.

She bit into his neck, his skin warm and damp beneath her. Her nails embedded themselves into his shoulders, trying to hold on as he took her.

He pressed her against the wall, his head dropping back with a growl. She watched him in awe. The sheer power he exerted on her body was blinding. He was so in control, so feral and animalistic but in control nonetheless.

She had never had someone fuck her like this. He was confident in the classroom, but having him even more so while he was naked and inside of her was something she never knew that she’d experience.

She gripped onto his hair, near on sobbing as he took her. “Professor…”

“Harry.” He gritted out, his curls a mess.

“H—Harry, please.”

“Please, what?” He breathed out, grunting. “Tell me—fuck—tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

His hand wound around her throat, his gaze searing on hers. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, pet.”

“My clit.” She whispered out. “I need it, please.”

“Fuck, say my name again.” He huffed, staring at her desperately.

“Please, Harry. I need it.”

He groaned, pushing two fingers in her mouth until she gagged, getting them wet. Then he connected his fingers to her clit and rubbed in delicious circles. Her toes curled, her hands raking down his shoulders and sides as he took her.

“You like that?” He checked, knowing full well she loved it with how tight her pussy was around him.

She nodded, whimpering as he slapped his hips against her.

“Yeah, you do, don’t you? Your pretty little cunt is squeezing me like a fist. Dirty girl letting me use you like this.”

He placed her on her shaky legs, slipping down to his knees. He aided her in placing a leg over his shoulder, opening her up to him. He latched onto her core with a loud moan.

“Taste so good.” He said between licks, her core trembling around his tongue. “Love feeling how my big cock is destroying your pussy.”

He ate her, addicted. He held her up as her body became weak with pleasure. His fingers found her core, fucking her with two fingers while his mouth sucked and nibbled and licked her clit.

She looked down at his face, seeing his eyes closed as he ate her. He was enjoying it just as much as she was. Her professor was on his knees for her.

From tying her shoelace to eating her out in a matter of hours.

He loved being able to taste his cock while he ate her. Able to taste where he’d claimed her and destroyed her. His dick twitched, missing the warmth of her. Wanting to spread his cum inside of her and watch it leak out.

He grabbed her, bending her over the window seat. She stared at the view of the ocean as he stared at the view of her.

“Spread your legs.” He ordered.

She bit her lip, looking back at him. She pressed her legs together and wiggled her ass.

He glared, slapping her ass. “Whore.” Another slap, to which she cried out, clawing at the window. “I said open your fucking legs.”

He kicked her legs open forcefully, spreading her cheeks and staring at her dripping cunt. She moaned as he massaged her skin, his thumb dipping to press against the tight opening of her ass.

He spat down on it, massaging gently before he bent his knees, guiding his cock back to her drenched heat.

She held back her pleasured cries as he fucked her, his skin slapping mercilessly against hers. His thumb played with her ass, watching as she moaned and flowered open to him. His to use.

“Good girl.” He praised. “Take me so fucking well. You love having my big dick fill you up, don’t you?”

She whimpered, rolling her hips back against her thrusts.

He slapped her side. “Don’t you?”

“Y‑Yes, Harry!”

He grabbed her by her throat, pulling her back while he kept fucking her. His lips found her ear, biting on the lobe.

“Call me daddy.” He growled. “Call me daddy and I’ll let you come again.”

She could feel the swirls of it blooming and she swore, her walls clenching around him.

“Please, daddy.” She whimpered, loving calling him something so naughty. “Please let me come.”

“You need daddy to rub your pretty little clit? Huh?”

“Fuck, please, yes I need it.” She gasped, her tits bouncing, drawing his attention to them. He played with her nipples. Twisting and tugging before his touch veered south, finding her clit with an expert touch.

She exploded around him, her body growing lax against him. He allowed her to melt onto the floor, not stopping his thrusts as he helped her through her orgasm. He screwed her on the ground, grunting animalistically in her ear.

They were sweaty messes, writing and naked on the floor as he took her, feral and obsessed. He lifted her ass up, taking her harder and harder, his hands gripped tightly onto her hips.

She clawed at the carpet beneath her, trying to hold onto anything that would keep her steady against his intense thrusts. The sheer power he had was astonishing.

He picked her up, sweeping knick-knacks and a lamp off a side table with a smash, throwing her against the newly cleared surface. Her chest was pressed against the cool wood, and he quickly began fucking her again.

Her knees betrayed her, and he spun her around, sitting her up on the side table. She wrapped her legs around his waist, their bodies pressed tightly together, sweaty and needy.

He pinned her back to the wall, his hand around her throat. They watched where they were connected before locking eyes, moaning before kissing with an intensity that made her toes curl.

He couldn’t get enough of her. His body was wound so tight with arousal, the feeling of finally having her driving him wild.

“Fuck,” he panted, “so fucking good.”

She purposely pulsed her cunt around him, his head going dizzy.

“St—god, you have to stop.”

The expression he wore was hardly an incentive to stop, and she did it more.

“Stop, stop.”

Pulling back, much to her dismay, voiced with a displeased moan, he stepped back from her. He grabbed his cock in his fist, playing with himself while she sat there watching. Desperately writhing, her chest heaving.

She whimpered as he fucked himself harder, the pleasure displayed clearly on his face. She shuffled forward a little, wanting to be the only form of bliss he felt.

He glared. “Did I say that you could move?”

“No, but—”

“Do as you’re told or I will come all over my hand while you watch.”

She bit her tongue, settling back into place with a pout. He chuckled lightly, his stomach tightening at the sight. He wanted to come so fucking bad but he wasn’t done with her.

“Get on all fours, pet.” He instructed, his fist still wrapped tight around himself.

She slowly lowered herself to the floor, on her knees in Infront of him before getting on her hands as well, on all fours just like he asked. He smiled proudly at her, watching her wait for the next instruction.

“I want you to crawl to the bedroom for me.” He purred. “Slowly.”

She bit her lip, hiding her smile, trying to remain unfazed. She did as he asked, just as she always had. Always wanting to impress him. He stalked behind her, watching the way her hips were shaped, watching how her ass swayed as she crawled, watching how her hair fell over her shoulders. She looked back to meet his eyes before picking up her pace a little.

He felt something spike in his bloodstream, and he ran after her, grunting as he picked her up and threw her onto the bed.

“You’re a fucking tease.” He chastised her as he followed. She crawled away, curled up at the top of the bed. “You want to run, pet?”

She shook her head, a mischievous smile lighting up her face as he narrowed his eyes.

“I better make sure you stay put.”

She watched as he went out to the lounge, fishing through his duffel bag before heading back to the bedroom. He began wringing a sage green tie between his hands, eyeing her.

He made his way towards her, gauging her expression. “Give me your hands.”

She did as she was told, mesmerised.

“Good girl.”

He tied her wrists up, not too tight, but tight enough that she wouldn’t slip out. Then he tied them to the white iron headboard, her arms stretched up. He couldn’t resist reaching down to bite and lick her nipples until she was whining and begging him to take her.

“You want this cock?” He shuffled forward until he was kneeling over her chest.

She nodded eagerly and he gripped the hair on top of her head. “Open your mouth. Taste your pussy on my cock before I give it to you again.”

She opened, her eyes fluttering when he pushed his dick into her mouth, all the way, not letting her adapt to his size. Just letting her taste him. Feel him.

“So pretty with your mouth full, aren’t you?”

She choked, her eyes prickling with tears that threatened to roll over before he pulled away. And then he was flipping her over, pulling her up onto her knees and elbows and fucking her so brutally that she feared the whole hotel would hear.

He made noises that were animalistic. Feral and unhinged. He fucked her so hard that neither of them could see straight. Hitting her so deep she could feel it in her throat.

He wasn’t sure he could last much longer, and he wanted to hold her. He moved her to her side, spooning behind her. He lifted her outer leg up, slipping his throbbing cock into her drenched heat with a deep, rolling moan.

His fingers found her clit again, and she reached back to kiss him messily. Their tongues met, wet and unashamed. He wanted her to come again, and his cock screwed into her relentlessly while he drew tight circles on her clit.

“Come for me.” He panted. “Please. I need it. Give me another one, all over my cock. You can do it, pet.”

She whimpered, her brow furrowed as he growled, taking her harder than he had all night. Her orgasm shattered her before she knew it was upon her.

She keeled forward, and he wound his arms around her to keep her steady while she came, crying out his name so loud that he had to give her two of his fingers to bite down on.

He swore at how tight she became when she climaxed, her walls pulsing and clenching around him. He fought to hold on, but his body was overworked and she felt so fucking good.

With a whine, he untied her hands and gently moved her onto her back, slipping inside of her with a long sigh. He took her, deep and slow and with a fluidity that had her legs shaking.

He wanted to come staring into her eyes. With her legs wrapped around his waist. His name was on her lips as he pounded into her relentlessly.

“Will you tease me again?” He asked her, his eyes searing.

“Yes.” She gasped out.

“You’re my little fuck toy.” He was a mess. “Mine to fuck and fill with my cum. Reward you for your hard work in my class. Make you come every time you pass.”

“All yours.” She breathed out, desperate to get him there. “I’m your dirty secret, professor.”

“Can’t fucking stand how you make me feel. Filthy fucking girl. Tell me you want my cum.”

“I want your cum, professor.”

“How bad do you want it?”

“I need it so bad. Please, fill me up with it.”

He growled out her name, burying his head in her neck and biting on the skin. His orgasm rocked through him, and he fucked her through it, not caring when she cried out in discomfort.

He wanted this. To fill her. Claim her. Stake his mark seeing as she’d sought after him. Teased him and poked until he gave in. He’d rip every one of those sundresses off her for a taste of how magical she was.

Like visiting all seven wonders of the world and discovering millions of new ones all at once.

***

I hope you enjoyed x

[fudgeez]

The price of Jaeyi's Love

Synopsis: Jaeyi, after two years of intense, almost suffocating devotion to Y/N, suddenly declares that Y/N has become "boring." She breaks up with Y/N with cruel indifference, mocking Y/N's attempts to understand and even instigating subtle bullying to further distance herself. Y/N, devastated, eventually accepts the reality and tries to rebuild her life, returning to her hobbies and pre-Jaeyi routines.

However, the arrival of a friendly and vibrant transfer student named Seulgi, who immediately gravitates towards Y/N, ignites a possessive rage in Jaeyi.

masterlist

Y/N POV

I chuckled, looking at the finished hand gloves. Jaeyi always complained about being cold, so I'd crocheted them for her. Perfect timing, too—her tutoring session had just ended. I walked over, a hopeful smile on my face, and held them out to her. But something was off. Her eyes weren't warm; they were... different. Cold.

"We should break up," she said, just like that. My mouth fell open. My handmade gloves, meant as a loving gift, suddenly felt heavy and useless. "What? Jaeyi, what are you talking about?"

"We're done." Her eyes, which used to sparkle with affection, were now hard and distant.

She turned and walked away, not another word. I heard her tell her assistant, in a clipped, dismissive tone, "Have her driven home."

It wasn't a question, or even a polite request. It was an order, like I was just something to be dealt with. I stood there, stunned, the soft yarn of the gloves now feeling like a cruel joke.

The rumors started soon after Jaeyi dumped me. Cruel whispers echoed her cold dismissal, branding me with a single, cutting word: boring.

It wasn’t just the sting of rejection that hurt—it was the way she had framed me, as if our entire relationship had been nothing more than a dull, predictable mistake.

And then came the bullying.

It wasn’t random. It was calculated, deliberate. A wave of petty cruelty that felt almost personal.

It started with whispers.

"Did you hear? Jaeyi said she nearly died of boredom dating her."

"No wonder. I mean, what did she even talk about? Homework?"

"I still don’t get why Jaeyi even bothered with her. A bet, maybe?"

"More like a pity project."

I kept my head down as I walked through the hallway, but the words clung to me like static. It didn’t matter if I walked faster, if I ignored them. They followed me, weaving themselves into my thoughts like an unwanted song stuck on repeat.

At first, it was just talk. But talk turned into action.

In the cafeteria, as I carried my tray to an empty table, someone stuck out their foot. I barely had time to react before I stumbled forward, my tray tilting, food spilling onto my sweater. Laughter erupted around me.

"Oops." A girl smirked from her seat, barely looking up from her phone.

"Guess she’s as clumsy as she is boring."

"Maybe that’s why Jaeyi left—couldn’t take another second of her monotone voice."

The laughter swirled around me, sharp and cruel, digging into my skin like tiny needles. I clenched my fists, willing myself to stay still, to pretend this didn’t hurt as much as it did.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her.

Jaeyi.

She had been watching. She had seen everything—the trip, the fall, the laughter. For a split second, our eyes met. Something flickered across her face. Recognition? Guilt? I couldn’t tell. But whatever it was, it wasn’t enough to make her stay.

She turned and walked away.

Just like that.

I swallowed hard, the sting of humiliation spreading through my chest.

Kyung and Yeri were standing nearby, their laughter dying in their throats when they saw me. Their expressions shifted, guilt creeping into their eyes.

Yeri fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, avoiding my gaze, while Kyung’s smirk faltered just a little.

But neither of them said anything.

Neither of them stopped it.

Neither of them helped me.

I wasn’t just being rejected. I was being erased.

Jaeyi’s dismissal had sparked the rumors. The rumors fueled the bullying. The bullying left me isolated. And the more alone I felt, the more I believed their words.

Maybe I really was boring.

Maybe that was why Jaeyi left.

Maybe that was why no one had ever really wanted me here in the first place.

Y/N retreated, the vibrant colors of her life fading into dull gray. She sought solace in her old hobbies, sketching in her notebook, losing herself in the lines and shadows, trying to piece herself back together.  

Then came Seulgi a whirlwind of sunshine and laughter.  

The transfer student, with her bright eyes and infectious energy, sat beside Y/N during lunch, her presence a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled over Y/N’s life.  

"Hey! Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is packed." Seulgi’s voice was light, casual, but her smile was warm, genuine.  

Y/N hesitated, glancing around. Empty seats were everywhere. Seulgi could’ve sat anywhere. Yet, she had chosen here.  

"Oh, uh, sure." Y/N managed a weak smile.  

Seulgi plopped down, setting her tray on the table before glancing at Y/N’s open sketchbook. Her eyes widened in admiration. "Wow, that’s amazing! You’re really talented."

A flicker of something unfamiliar pride, perhaps stirred in Y/N’s chest.

"Thanks," she murmured.  

"I’m Seulgi, by the way. New here."

"I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you." 

Seulgi's presence was a balm to Y/N's wounded soul. They bonded over art, music, and shared dreams. For the first time in months, Y/N felt a flicker of hope.

A comfortable silence settled between them as Y/N continued sketching. They were at Y/N’s house, lounging in her room, the dim glow of a desk lamp casting soft shadows on the walls.

Seulgi lay on her stomach, chin propped on her hand, watching Y/N curiously.

"So, Y/N…" she began, her voice casual yet laced with curiosity. "Not to be weird, but… why does Jaeyi's fans keep bullying you?"

Y/N stiffened, her pencil freezing mid-stroke.

Seulgi didn’t look away. She didn’t rush to fill the silence with forced chatter. She just waited.

Something inside Y/N cracked.

"Jaeyi… she’s my ex. We dated for two years." The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "And after she dumped me, everything changed. The rumors, the bullying it all started because of her fans."

She expected Seulgi to flinch, to awkwardly change the subject, or maybe even pretend she hadn’t heard. But Seulgi didn’t move. She just blinked.

"Well, that’s stupid. I mean, seriously? They’re that immature?" Seulgi scoffed.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. "You’re… not disgust? Or distance yourself?"

Seulgi raised an eyebrow. "Why would I?"

"Because… they might target you too. Now that we’re always together." Y/N’s voice was hesitant, her fingers tightening around her pencil.

Seulgi let out a laugh—a genuine, carefree sound. "Please, I can handle myself. And if they try anything, I’ll be protecting you too." She grinned, eyes twinkling.

"They’re just a bunch of losers, anyway."

Y/N laughed—a small, breathy sound, but real.

Meanwhile

They Didn’t Know Someone Was Listening…

Far from Y/N’s room, a phone screen flickered to life. Jaeyi’s eyes darkened as she listened to the audio playing through her earbuds.

She had planted a small recording device in Y/N’s room back when they were together, a careless impulse at the time—maybe for fun, maybe for control. Either way, after the breakup, she had forgotten about it.

Until now.

It had been weeks since she last thought about Y/N, brushing aside the guilt and discomfort with distractions. Not until, in the library, she saw something she hadn’t expected—Y/N, laughing.

With someone else.

Seulgi.

She had watched from afar as Seulgi playfully nudged Y/N, stealing her pencil, teasing her about her sketches. And Y/N… she had let her. She had smiled.

Something in Jaeyi twisted.

So when she got home, on a whim, she reactivated the old device, curiosity gnawing at her. What she didn’t expect was to hear her own name.

"Jaeyi… she’s my ex. We dated for two years. And after she dumped me, everything changed. The rumors, the bullying it all started because of her fans."

Jaeyi’s breath caught.

Y/N still talked about her.

Then came Seulgi’s voice, unwavering and filled with warmth.

"Please, I can handle myself. And if they try anything, I’ll be protecting you too."

Jaeyi’s grip on her phone tightened.

Seulgi was protecting Y/N now? Standing where Jaeyi used to stand?

A strange, unwelcome feeling crawled under her skin.

Jealousy.

Regret.

Something else she couldn’t name.

She had left Y/N behind, convinced it was the right choice. Then why did it feel like Y/N had finally found something Jaeyi had never been able to give her?

Why did it feel like Jaeyi was the one being left behind now?

And why couldn’t she stop listening?

The rooftop was quiet, save for the soft hum of the wind rustling against the railing. Y/N stood near the edge, staring out at the cityscape beyond the school grounds, her mind lost in a swirl of emotions. A lone tear traced a path down her cheek, a silent testament to the pain Jaeyi had inflicted.

"Y/N."

A voice cut through the stillness, a familiar, silken whisper that sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/N turned sharply, eyes widening as she saw Jaeyi standing a few feet away, her expression unreadable. But beneath the surface, a dark current flickered, a possessive hunger that made Y/N's heart pound.

"What are you doing here?" Y/N asked, her grip tightening on the rooftop railing, knuckles turning white.

Jaeyi took a slow step forward, her movements predatory.

"I miss you."

Her voice was calm, too calm, a predator lulling its prey. But there was something in her eyes something dark, possessive, desperate, a burning intensity that made Y/N want to run.

Y/N swallowed hard. "Jaeyi…"

Jaeyi’s lips parted, hesitation flickering across her face before she let out a quiet breath, a breath that seemed to carry a weight of unspoken desires. "Come back to me."

Y/N’s heart lurched, a sickening twist of fear and a ghost of longing. "What?"

"Be my girlfriend again." Jaeyi’s voice was firmer now, edged with something almost demanding, a command disguised as a plea. "I was stupid. I shouldn't have let you go."

Y/N inhaled sharply, caught between shock and something deeper something she wasn’t sure she wanted to name, a dangerous pull towards the familiar darkness.

"You—" She let out a hollow laugh, a sound devoid of joy. "You dumped me, Jaeyi. You left me. And then you let them—" Her voice cracked, a raw, exposed nerve.

"You let them tear me apart, and you did nothing."

Jaeyi flinched, but she didn’t step back. If anything, she moved closer, her eyes glittering with an obsessive light.

"I know," she admitted, her voice low and persuasive. "I know I messed up. But I can fix it. I can fix us. I can make everything like it was before. Better."

Y/N clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. "Why now? Why come crawling back now?"

Jaeyi’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in her cheek. "Seulgi. She’s not right for you. She's stealing you from me."

Y/N scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "And you think you are?"

Jaeyi’s hands trembled as she reached out, her fingers just barely grazing Y/N’s wrist, a touch that sent a jolt of fear and a strange, unwelcome warmth through her.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice laced with a dangerous intensity.

"You’re mine, Y/N. You’ve always been mine."

Y/N’s breath hitched, a gasp trapped in her throat. A storm of emotions crashed inside her—pain, longing, anger, and something terrifyingly close to the love she once felt for Jaeyi, a twisted, possessive love that threatened to consume her.

Did she still want this? Did she still want her?

Before she could answer, the rooftop door burst open, shattering the tense silence.

"Y/N! I brought your favorite—"

Seulgi’s voice froze mid-sentence, the cheerful grin on her face fading as she took in the sight before her—Jaeyi standing too close, Y/N’s expression caught between conflict and distress, the air thick with unspoken tension.

A tense silence stretched between the three of them, broken only by the wind.

Jaeyi’s fingers curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms.

"Of course," she muttered under her breath, a low growl of possessive rage. "She just had to show up."

Seulgi narrowed her eyes, stepping forward without hesitation, the bag of food still clutched in her hand, a protective barrier between Y/N and Jaeyi.

"What’s going on here?" Her voice wasn’t playful this time. It was sharp, protective, a challenge.

Y/N swallowed, still reeling, but Jaeyi was the one who spoke, her eyes never leaving Y/N's.

"We’re talking." Her tone was clipped, defensive, a warning. "This doesn’t concern you."

Seulgi scoffed, her eyes flashing. "It concerns me if you’re making her uncomfortable."

Y/N felt the weight of both their gazes on her, a suffocating pressure. Jaeyi’s pleading eyes, filled with a dangerous possessiveness, Seulgi’s concerned yet firm stare, a beacon of safety.

"Y/N," Jaeyi said softly, her voice dangerously smooth, a silken threat. "Tell her. Tell her you still love me. Tell her you're mine."

Y/N’s breath caught, a wave of fear washing over her.

Seulgi shifted, her expression unreadable, a silent question. "And if she doesn’t?" she challenged, her voice low and steady.

Jaeyi didn’t look at her. She only looked at Y/N, her eyes burning with an obsessive intensity, waiting, hoping, demanding.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second, a desperate attempt to regain control.

"Jaeyi…" her voice wavered, a fragile whisper. "I…"

A deep inhale. A slow exhale, a moment of clarity amidst the chaos.

"I’m sorry. But i like what im a now."

Jaeyi’s face twisted—hurt, frustration, something unspoken, a dark, simmering rage.

Seulgi took another step closer, her presence grounding, a solid wall of support. "Come on, Y/N. Let’s go."

---  

Jaeyi’s eyes darkened, a predatory gleam in their depths. "You can't have her Seulgi," she hissed, her voice a low, dangerous growl. "She's mine."

Jaeyi sat on the edge of Y/N’s bed, her fingers ghosting over the soft fabric of the blanket. The room smelled the same—warm, familiar, like Y/N. It felt like stepping into the past, into a time before everything fell apart.  

Her eyes scanned the room, stopping when she spotted something on the shelves.  

A small, wistful smile formed on her lips.  

Her gifts—every little thing she had ever given Y/N—were still there. The bracelet from their first date, the stuffed bear she won for her at a festival, the keychain with their initials.  

She still keeps them.

For a brief second, Jaeyi allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—Y/N hadn’t truly moved on. That all of this, Seulgi included, was just a phase.  

But then she saw it.  

A framed picture sitting right beside the memories of them.

Y/N and Seulgi, laughing together, their arms draped over each other, faces glowing with happiness.  

Jaeyi’s stomach twisted, her nails digging into her palm.  

Seulgi was ruining everything.  

Before she even realized what she was doing, her fingers wrapped around the frame. Her heart pounded in her ears, the sound of her own ragged breathing filling the room.   

The glass cracked as she tore the picture from the frame, shredding it into pieces, her breaths coming out uneven.  

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, no, no."

She wouldn’t let this happen.  

She wouldn’t let Seulgi take Y/N away from her.  

Jaeyi exhaled sharply, her grip tightening on the torn scraps of the photo. She had waited too long, watched from the sidelines as Seulgi wormed her way into Y/N’s life, pretending to be her savior.  

Enough was enough.  

She had a plan. And that plan started tonight.

Jaeyi leaned back against the headboard, her fingers brushing over the old bracelet Y/N still kept.  

A smirk played on her lips as she settled in, waiting.  

Y/N would be home soon.

And this time, Jaeyi wouldn’t let her slip away.

Y/N fumbled with her keys, the events of the rooftop encounter still swirling in her mind. Seulgi's comforting presence had been a lifeline, but the echo of Jaeyi's words "You're mine." clung to her like a chilling shadow.

She pushed open the door to her room, expecting the familiar quiet, and froze.

Jaeyi was there.

She sat comfortably in Y/N’s favorite chair by the window, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. Her presence was both unsettling and commanding, like she had always belonged there.

A wave of shock, then fear, crashed over Y/N. "Jaeyi? What are you doing here?"

Jaeyi rose gracefully, a slow, knowing smile playing on her lips. "I came to see you, of course."

Before Y/N could react, Jaeyi was in front of her, closing the distance in one fluid motion. Then her lips were on hers.

The kiss was sudden, deep, and intoxicating. Jaeyi’s hands slid along Y/N’s waist, pulling her in, her touch both possessive and desperate.

Y/N stiffened at first, her mind screaming at her to stop this, to push Jaeyi away. But her body betrayed her.

The familiarity of Jaeyi’s touch, the way her lips moved with a hunger that felt all-consuming—it stirred something buried deep within.

She hesitated, caught in the heat of the moment, allowing Jaeyi to take more, to claim more.

Jaeyi smirked against her lips, sensing her surrender. Her hands explored—fingertips tracing Y/N’s spine, pressing into her hips, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

Just as Y/N felt herself slipping completely into Jaeyi’s control, Jaeyi abruptly pulled away. Her eyes burned with something dark and triumphant as she stepped back, tilting her head toward the corner of the room.

"Look," she whispered, her voice disturbingly calm.

Y/N followed her gaze on Jaeyi's phone.

And froze.

A large container sat in the corner of unknown room.

Inside—bound, gagged, bruised—was Seulgi.

Y/N’s breath hitched, horror clawing at her throat. "You..." she gasped, her entire body going rigid.

Jaeyi smiled sweetly, almost mockingly. "She was getting in the way," she purred, running a lazy finger down Y/N’s arm. "But don't worry, she'll be fine. As long as you do what I say."

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

"Jaeyi, please... let her go."

Jaeyi lifted Y/N’s chin with a single finger, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Be with me," she murmured, her touch deceptively gentle.

"Be mine, like you were always meant to be. And she won’t get hurt."

Y/N’s mind spun, trapped between a terrifying ultimatum and the magnetic pull of Jaeyi’s presence. She wanted to run. She wanted to fight. But Seulgi—Seulgi was helpless, suffering because of her.

She had no choice.

A deal with the devil.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'll do it. Just... please don't hurt her."

Jaeyi’s smile widened—a dark, victorious gleam in her eyes.

"Good girl," she murmured, leaning in for another kiss.

Y/N didn’t resist this time.

Jaeyi pushed her back until she hit the bed, guiding her down with slow, deliberate movements. Her lips moved from Y/N’s mouth to her jaw, then down to the sensitive skin of her neck, leaving a trail of possessive marks.

"You belong to me," Jaeyi whispered against her throat, her hands roaming lower, claiming every inch of Y/N as if she were already hers.

Y/N gasped, torn between the horror of the situation and the undeniable pull of Jaeyi’s touch. Every kiss, every movement, was a silent demand—give in to me, and Seulgi lives.

And so, she did.

As Jaeyi’s lips captured hers once more, Y/N let herself drown in the twisted pleasure of the moment. This was her pact, her surrender.

Her price to pay.

And Jaeyi made sure she felt every second of it.

Y/N was making a lot of noise, moaning loudly, because Jaeyi was using her tongue to give her a lot of pleasure. Jaeyi had been doing this for a while, and Y/N was very wet.

Jaeyi teased her, asking, "Do you like that? Do you really like my tongue?" Y/N couldn't answer with words, only moans. She tried to pull Jaeyi's head closer, wanting more, but Jaeyi stopped her.

Jaeyi wanted to control the situation. She wanted to make Y/N wait and enjoy every moment.

She moved her tongue in different ways, teasing Y/N and making her feel very good.

Y/N's body moved a lot because she felt so much pleasure. Jaeyi watched Y/N's face, enjoying how much power she had.

When Y/N was about to have a very strong feeling of pleasure, she made a loud cry.

Jaeyi let her enjoy that feeling, and then stopped.

Jaeyi looked up at Y/N and said, "Good girl," like she was praising her. She enjoyed having control over Y/N's pleasure.

Jaeyi watched Y/N, a predatory gleam in her eyes. Y/N was a mess, completely undone, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure. Jaeyi savored the sight, the way Y/N's chest heaved with each ragged breath, the way her lips were swollen and parted, the way her eyes were glazed with a hazy satisfaction.

"You're such a mess," Jaeyi purred, her voice laced with a dark amusement. "So needy."

Y/N, still lost in the afterglow, could only whimper, a soft, pleading sound that sent a thrill through Jaeyi.  She reached out, her fingers tracing the dampness at Y/N's entrance, eliciting a gasp.

"Still want more, don't you?" Jaeyi teased, her touch light and teasing. "Can't get enough, can you?"

Y/N's hips bucked involuntarily, a silent plea for more. Jaeyi chuckled, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through Y/N's core.

"Such a good girl," Jaeyi murmured, her fingers slipping inside, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency.  Y/N's moans returned, louder this time, desperate and demanding. Jaeyi watched, her eyes burning with a possessive intensity, as Y/N writhed beneath her touch, completely at her mercy.

"You need me, don't you?" Jaeyi whispered, her voice a seductive poison.

"You need my touch, my control."

Y/N could only nod, her body a testament to Jaeyi's words. Jaeyi smiled, a cruel, triumphant smile. She had won. She had broken Y/N, molded her into the perfect, obedient plaything.  And as Y/N's cries of pleasure filled the room, Jaeyi reveled in her victory, her heart pounding with a dark, possessive satisfaction.

[jaylalolz]

❛ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐓 ❜ . . . nicholas chavez

COLLEGE STUDENT!reader x PROFESSOR!nicholas 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

SUMMARY, Mr. Chavez notices that his most intelligent student has been falling asleep and receiving poor grades in class. After class, he decides to check on her, which escalates to something else.

A/N, if you don’t feel comfortable reading this then don’t!! i didn’t proof read this so there might be some mistakes. if so, let me know!! have fun reading, angels.

WARNINGS, smuttyyy

Mr. Chavez adjusted his glasses, scanning the room as he wrapped up his lecture. His students, usually attentive, were scribbling furiously, hanging onto every word. Well, most of them were. One, in particular, sat slumped in the back row, her head resting against her arm, eyes half-closed. This wasn’t like her. She was his brightest student—sharp, focused, always the first to raise her hand, challenge ideas, and submit assignments that left him impressed. But lately, she’d been different. She’d started falling asleep in class, her energy waning, assignments either late or missing altogether.

As the class packed up and filtered out of the lecture hall, Nicholas kept his eye on her. When she made a move to leave, he cleared his throat, voice gentle but firm.

“can you stay for a moment? I need to talk to you.”

She froze in place, her hand still on her bag strap. She hesitated for a second before nodding and walking up to his desk. The other students trickled out, their chatter fading in the hallway, leaving an awkward silence behind.

Nicholas leaned against his desk, arms crossed. His expression softened as he looked at her, the concern clear in his eyes.

“I’m worried about you. You’ve been distracted, your work isn’t where it used to be, and your most recent work was very.. inappropriate. I know something is up and i’m here to talk about it. Whatever you say stays between us.”

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, and the urge to speak was overwhelming. But something inside her pulled back, a voice in her head telling her this wasn’t something she could say out loud. Not to him. Not to her professor.

“I—” she started, then shook her head, her words catching in her throat. “I can’t. It’s… complicated.”

Nicholas leaned forward slightly, his expression softening. “I understand that it might feel complicated, but I’m here to help. You’ve always been an outstanding student, and I can see something’s changed. You don’t have to carry this alone. Whatever’s distracting you, I want to help you work through it.”

She bit her lip, her mind racing. She couldn’t tell him. She wasn’t allowed to, not even by her own sense of self-control. But the sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his eyes, made it hard to keep it all bottled up. She looked at him for a long moment before sighing, dropping her head.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she whispered, almost more to herself than to him.

Nicholas gave her a reassuring look, his voice calm and steady. “Try me.”

She glanced around the empty classroom, the quiet space making it feel like the world had shrunk to just the two of them. She hesitated, then whispered, "What if it's something I shouldn't be feeling? Something I can't talk about?"

Nicholas’ brow furrowed slightly, sensing the weight behind her words. “whatever you’re feeling, whatever’s been distracting you—it’s okay. This is a safe space. It’s just between us. No one else needs to know, and I’m not here to judge you. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

She nodded, feeling both a sense of relief and a lingering uncertainty. She wasn’t sure what would come next, but for now, at least, the burden of silence had been lifted. She shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze, her fingers twisting together in her lap. She took a deep breath, as if bracing herself for something difficult. Finally, she lifted her eyes to meet his, and the words tumbled out before she could stop them.

“It’s you,” she said softly.

Nicholas blinked, thrown off by the unexpected response. “Me?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

She exhaled slowly, shaking her head slightly, as if struggling to find the right words. “I can’t focus because… you’re distracting me. I think about you all the time, and when I’m in class, I can’t pay attention. I try to keep up, but everything just… spirals. And you we’re in my head while i was writing the assignment.”

Her confession hung in the air between them, the weight of it settling in as Nicholas processed her words. He looked at her, his mind racing.

No. She's a student.

A professor and student should never have a romantic relationship. But Nicholas would have her hands chained and her ass marked with his belt if they were living in a lawless society. For the benefit of the two of them, this had to end. "I will be direct with you. I understand why some students enroll in my course. You are a youthful college student. We live in a confusing and evolving period. You're discovering who you are away from home. However, that does not imply that you would make up a filthy story about me.”

Nicholas's mind faltered. The level of tension in the room was increasing to a level that neither she nor he could handle. Something perplexing, thrilling, and erotic. At last, Nicholas said, "I'll give you an A," closing the discussion and putting her paper in a drawer.

"I... thank you, professor. I really appreciate it."

"Anything else?"

She remained silent, as Nicholas wanted. Before he lost all control, he had to get the student out of there.

However, she did respond at last. "Why do you study what you do?" It was a risky response from the professor. For this reason, he evaded the topic altogether. “It's getting late. I think you should leave."

"But -"

"Whatever you think you want from me, you don't get, Miss. I've never indulged with a student this much. Don’t tempt me.” It made her feel attracted to him. And it was something she despised. She was extremely frustrated because she hated herself for being so deeply attracted to the professor.

"Or what." bringing the two closer together as they stood on either sides of the desk. They were aware of one other's heated bodies and labored breaths. teasing. Her subsequent remarks served as the final spark. "You would never lay a hand on a student."

When her palms struck the hard surface of his desk, Nicholas pushed her onto it and allowed her to steady herself. He pushed Her down until she was only supported by her elbows, one hand on her back. She made a small arching of her back in an attempt to tease the professor in a desperate manner. "Professor, please..."

"quiet." She felt Nicholas's presence behind her, and her act was answered with a hard slap across her ass.

"Is this what you want?" With his voice hardly more than a whisper. She, on the other hand, made the decision without pausing. "Yes." Nicholas fisted a hold of her hair, very aggressively. Her lips were pursed to contain a cry that leaked out as a high-pitched whine.

"You will address me as 'sir'. If you don't, you will be punished”

"I understand, sir."

In one smooth motion, he unbuckled his belt, leaving her speechless with the sound of leather and metal. While she was thinking about how she was going to walk the following morning, Nicholas hastily covered himself with a condom that she had not seen him take out. "sir...professor, it's been a while - I don't think..."

The professor, really delighted by her response, gently clasped her jaw and ran his thumb over her lower lip. "Shhh... take it like a good girl."

She was so engrossed in his remarks and intense stare that she failed to notice Nicholas pulling her panties to the side and pushing up her dress. He wasted no more time in doing so. He had developed a painfully throbbing and stiffened cock.

The moment Nicholas felt her warm arousal covering his length, he pushed forward a little and groaned. She sensed the mouthwatering sound vibrating from his chest to hers.

With all of his remaining strength, Nicholas whispered in her ear, "Relax, baby, don't tense up," intending to spare the girl from a ruthless fuck.

When he finally gave her a full thrust, she flung back her head and let out a sound that was somewhere between a yell and a groan through parted lips. Nicholas was unable to hear her at all. He could only concentrate on the sensation of her walls pressing just the right amount of pressure against his cock.

Nicholas pulled away, then pushed forward once more, widening her entrance and losing himself in her presence. As Nicholas touched a portion of her that no man had ever touched before, she gasped. In response, she felt every muscle and bone in her body contract, like a bundle of hypervigorated nerves. "I'm not holding back." Nicholas warning was precisely what she wanted to hear.

Nicholas picked up speed, every move intentional and purposeful. With every stroke, she felt herself rise higher and higher, closer to an unfathomable release. She had never felt anything so erotically pleasant as the tension and sense that Nicholas was using her so forcefully. All she needed was one more edge. She was still engrossed in the rhythmic pleasure as Nicholas's fingers crept up on her neck.

As he pressed against her airways, Nicholas felt his cock pulse inside her, his release getting closer as he saw her fight to breathe. Her senses faltered as she focused on Nicholas's relentless thrusts and her own shallow, labored breathing. Her hand automatically reached out to remove the pressure on her neck, but Nicholas's grip tightened and she was forced closer to the edge.

He moaned, "Don't come," reaching even farther down and causing her to cry out, which was like music to Nicholas. “Tell me who you now belong to."

Nicholas used his other hand to cover her lips and stifle a scream as he simultaneously took his hand off her neck to yank her hair back and pushed deeply from a different angle. "Come on, baby. "I know you want to," Nicholas teased, opening her mouth to speak freely. "You're my little whore, tell me."

Her desperate gasps came her raspy voice. "I belong to you. I’m your little whore. please, please, fuck." He continued at his rapid speed, allowing her to collapse several times.

Her eyes were nearly full with tears, and she felt an overwhelming sense of pleasure all over her body. The sensation, noise, and visual of her amazing release was sufficient to set off Nicholas's own. He declared her his, and more than a student, with a last thrust and groan.

The two stopped, gasping for air, realizing what they had done was wrong. Their bodies were drenched in sweat and sensual ecstasy, and their heartbeats and respiration slowed. The professor and the student couldn't help but look at each other, witnessing their reflected feelings. Feelings they were unable to comprehend.

[seumyo]

I WANT TO BE FOREVER YOUNG

PROMPT. How they mourn when you were gone too soon. You did worry about getting old, didn’t you?

FEATURING. Midoriya I., Bakugou K., Todoroki S., Shinsou H.

NOTE. I’m testing the waters with angst content + formatting style for multiple drabbles—so forgive me if it’s not that good!

MIDORIYA IZUKU — Sees you in someone else.

Midoriya Izuku found passion in teaching. It’s a life-changing job that molds each and every student into the person they want to become with the help of people like him.

His students, vibrant and full of life, were so much like his old classmates—and among them was Takashiro Ayane, her laughter light and melodic as she teased one of her friends about their clumsy landing during training.

It reminded him of someone. Someone close.

You.

And the thought always came to him, even when he didn’t mean to. Even at the most random times.

Ayane’s resemblance to you was uncanny. It wasn’t just her kindness or the gentle way she spoke; it was in the way she held herself, her subtle but unwavering resolve. Midoriya could see flashes of you in her—the friend who had once been a constant source of warmth in his turbulent journey at U.A. High.

As Ayane reached up to adjust her headband, smiling brightly, Midoriya felt a pang in his chest. The sight was like a memory brought to life, a reminder of your soft-spoken encouragement and the way you always stood firm despite your fears.

God, it felt like seeing you all over again.

“Sensei!” another student called out, pulling him back to the present. “Did you see that move? I think it might actually work in combat! Or support, if I feel like it.”

Midoriya blinked, shaking off the haze of memories. “Y-Yeah, it looked great!” he replied, mustering enthusiasm. “Your timing’s improving a lot—keep it up!”

He tried to push the thought aside, focusing on the here and now, but it was no use. The resemblance was too striking, and his heart felt heavy with the weight of unspoken grief. You were gone, after all. Gone too soon.

As the students broke into laughter again, something about the carefree sound and the dynamic of his students triggered a reflex. Without thinking, he spoke, his voice soft yet audible enough to be heard.

“[First Name], I—”

Your name left his lips before he realized it, and the world seemed to freeze. The students fell silent, their laughter replaced by curious stares. Ayane tilted her head; confusion could be seen in her face.

Midoriya’s heart sank as he realized his mistake. He quickly forced a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I mean Takashiro,” he corrected, craning a hand to the back of his neck.

“Sorry about that. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

The students exchanged glances, a few offering polite chuckles before moving on. The moment passed, yet for Midoriya, the weight of it lingered. He stayed behind as the students began their walk back to the main building, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Everything came flooding in his mind. Like a relentless tide that swept him away. Your jokes, your laugh, and the countless little moments that had defined your friendship.

He hadn’t spoken your name aloud in years, not since your passing. Now, saying it felt like reopening an old wound, one he had carefully avoided for so long. But he could only do so much avoidance ‘til he has to come to terms with it.

“Sensei?”

The gentle voice startled him, and he looked up to see Ayane standing a few steps away. Her expression was concerned; her head tilted slightly as she studied him.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly. “You seemed... distracted earlier.”

Midoriya hesitated. The words caught in his throat as he wrestled with how to respond. How could he explain to his student that she reminded him of his dead friend?

What kind of teacher would he be if he were to say that? The awful, grieving kind, he bets.

“I’m fine, Takashiro,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “Just a little tired, that’s all. You know how these long training sessions can be.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced but nodded anyway. “If you ever need to talk, Sensei... we’re here for you too. Fighting!”

“Midoriya, grow a spine! Fighting!”

Her words hit too close to home.

“Thank you,” he could only murmur.

Ayane lingered for a moment before turning to join her classmates. He remained there, rooted to the spot as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. The golden light bathed the empty training grounds, and the silence felt heavier than usual.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve tried to move on, but I see you everywhere. In everything. In everyone.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, a mix of regret and longing washing over him. “You were right about so many things,” he continued, his voice barely audible. “I just wish you were here to see it—to see how far we’ve all come.”

But you weren’t here anymore, and that’s the problem.

Bakugou Katsuki — Mourns you longer than he’d known you.

Cemeteries never brought discomfort to Bakugou. Not until you died, that is.

The place stretches out in solemn silence; the faint rustle of leaves in the hedges are the only sounds he heard as he trudged along the familiar gravel path. His boots made dull, deliberate crunches against the fallen leaves, the heaviness of his steps matching the weight in his chest.

In his hands, he carried the usual offerings: a bouquet of red spider lilies tied neatly with a ribbon, a box of your favorite sweet treats—melon pan today—and the incense sticks he always lit with care. It had been years since your passing, but for Bakugou, the loss felt as raw as if it had been yesterday.

He approached your gravestone, its surface polished and pristine, just as he always left it. Your name was etched into the stone with delicate precision, the sight of it both grounding and crushing. As if to remind him that you weren’t coming back because you’re just here, waiting for someone to visit you.

Bakugou knelt, his movements stiff and reluctant, as though even now he couldn’t fully accept your absence. Why can’t he accept it?

“Yo, dummy,” he muttered under his breath, pulling the lilies from their wrapping and placing them carefully at the vase near the gravestone. He adjusted them twice, three times, until they looked just right. His eyes lingered on the name etched into the cold stone, a bitterness creeping into his tone.

“Brought your damn flowers again. Hope you appreciate it.”

The sarcasm in his words was thinly veiled; beneath it lay the unmistakable ache of someone who had loved and lost far too deeply.

He pulled out the incense sticks next, lighting them with a practiced flick beneath his palm. You would’ve loved to see him do it in person; maybe light up a candle or two when the power goes out during your high school dorm days. The smell of sandalwood quickly mingled with the damp earth, and Bakugou leaned back on his heels, staring at the curling smoke.

“Another week down,” he began, his voice quieter now. “Another round of saving people, making headlines, being the ‘Great Dynamight.’ ” He spat the title out like it was poison.

“It’s what you always said I’d do, isn’t it? Go big; make my mark. But, damn it, [Last Name], none of it means anything without you here to see it.”

He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as the familiar wave of guilt and frustration washed over him. His head dipped as he let out a long, ragged breath.

“I thought time was supposed to make this easier,” Bakugou admitted, his voice rough. “It’s been... what? Seven years now? And every damn day, it still feels like you’re just gonna show up out of nowhere, like you’re gonna annoy the hell outta me with one of your stupid jokes.”

The thought made his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, though it was laced with sadness. He could almost hear your voice—that gentle yet persistent tone you’d use whenever you tried to drag him along to something.

“C’mon, Bakugou, I’ll need someone to bail me out of jail! You’ll regret it if you don’t come along.”

And you were right. He regretted it now. Every single refusal, every grumbled excuse, every moment he could’ve spent with you and didn’t.

“You were annoying as hell,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But you were... you were good. Too good.” His fists loosened, his hands falling limply to his sides.

“And you didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to go like that.” Bakugou remembers the time he almost stained his conduct by almost killing the villain that got to you.

It’s unfair, isn’t it? The villain got to live behind bars, while you lost yours.

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees above. Bakugou tilted his head back, glaring up at the overcast sky as though it were to blame for everything.

“They don’t tell you how much it fucking hurts,” he said bitterly. “To lose someone like you. They don’t tell you that the longer it’s been, the harder it gets, ‘cause every year just reminds me of how much more I’ve missed. How much quicker I could’ve been.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, weathered notebook. It was yours, something your family had found amongst your belongings after you passed. They wanted him to have it since his name was always frequently mentioned. The edges were frayed, the pages creased from countless readings, but it was his most treasured possession.

Bakugou would rather die than even let a single drop of water meet one of its pages.

Flipping it open, he scanned your handwriting, some neat and some looking as though you couldn’t be bothered with basic penmanship. He stopped on a page that always gutted him.

Life’s short. Spend it with the people who matter. Don’t let moments slip away! :P

His thumb brushed over the words, his jaw tightening.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “You don’t have to keep reminding me, you know. I get it. Too late, but I get it.”

He placed the notebook on the gravestone, letting it rest there for a moment before tucking it back into his pocket. His hand lingered on the cold stone, his fingers tracing the engraved letters of your name.

“You were supposed to stick around,” he said softly. “Supposed to keep bugging me, keep dragging me out of my own damn head. Now I’m stuck here, talking to a rock, and it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.”

The clouds began to part, a faint beam of sunlight breaking through and casting a soft glow over the gravestone. Bakugou stared at it, his eyes unreadable. He’s thinking.

“I’ll keep coming back,” he finally said, his voice steadier now.

“Every week, every month, every damn year. You’re not gonna be forgotten. Not by me.”

He stood slowly, his body heavy with exhaustion and grief. Adjusting the incense sticks and flowers one last time, he stepped back, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“See you next time, dummy,” he murmured, his voice low. “Don’t forget about me or whatever, wherever you are.”

As Bakugou walked away, the wind carried the faint scent of incense and the quiet promise of a man who would mourn you longer than he’d ever known you.

TODOROKI SHOUTO — Learns things that reminded him of you.

Todoroki knows that he’s been busy. It’s in the way the white camellias he brought you months ago are now wilted, showing their dried-up state. His fingers brush against the wilted petals, lingering as if to apologize for not visiting sooner.

“I still remember the last thing you said to me,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with an ache he couldn’t quite put into words. “It wasn’t even anything serious—just you scolding me for not eating enough during lunch. You were always so good at taking care of me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

He glanced down, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint, bittersweet smile. The image of you—scolding, your hands on your hips as you tried to hide your worry—was etched so vividly into his memory that he could almost hear your voice.

Todoroki’s gaze traveled to the offerings he had brought with him: a fresh bouquet of camellia, a neatly folded scarf he had knitted in one of his new hobbies that he took up classes for, and a small pack of your favorite matcha-flavored sweets. “I know you’d laugh at me for picking up knitting,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But... it’s calming. I think you’d appreciate that. You always said I needed to find something that made me happy outside of being a hero.”

The scarf was simple, a pale green color that reminded him of the shade you loved wearing. He had spent hours perfecting it, thinking of how you might have joked about him for being so precise yet ultimately praised his effort.

“I hope you’d like it,” he whispered, setting it down carefully beside the gravestone. “I thought about giving it to someone else, but it felt wrong. It’s yours.”

Todoroki draws in a breath, closing his eyes, letting the stillness of the place envelop him. Yet in the quiet, his mind raced with so many thoughts all at once.

“I also learned how to cook,” he tells you—he tells your grave. “It’s not as good as yours, but Bakugou’s been helping.”

He thought of your childhood, how you had been his only light during the dark days of his father’s strict training. How you had been this bubbly girl that the teacher often praised, how you had stood by him when he was still new to making friends at the nursery, offering him a hand when he thought he didn’t deserve one.

“You were the best person I knew. And I pushed you away. You didn’t deserve that, [Last Name]. You were my friend when I didn’t know how to be one back.”

The pain of those words hung heavy in the air, and Todoroki’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had spent years replaying your interactions, wishing he had done things differently. If he had done things differently, you would’ve been here, probably teasing him for taking up chopstick-making classes.

“I was so angry back then,” he confessed, his gaze fixed on the gravestone. “At my father, at myself, at the world. And I took it out on you, the one person who never stopped trying to help me. I told myself I didn’t need anyone, but... I needed you.”

Another tear slipped down his cheek, and he hastily wiped it away, frustrated by the way his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He was the Number Two Hero now, a symbol of strength and perseverance. Yet here, in front of you, he felt like the lost, broken little boy that longed for his first friend.

“I need you now, please.”

The sound of a bird chirping nearby pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced up at the sky. The sun was setting, casting a hue that reminded him of your warmth.

You did like sunsets, didn’t you?

“You’d probably scold me for crying,” he said with a faint chuckle, though his voice still wavered. “You always hated seeing me upset. But I think it’s okay this time. You’re worth crying over.”

He knelt down again, his fingers brushing over the engraved letters of your name.

“Shoucchan! You can’t cry! We can be partners—the best partners!”

Yes, partners. The best partners for as long as you’ll have him.

“I’m trying to live the way you wanted me to,” he continued. “To find happiness outside of being a hero. To be someone you’d be proud of. But it’s hard, [Last Name]. It’s hard without you.”

He stayed there for what felt like hours, speaking to you as though you were sitting beside him, as though your gentle presence could somehow reach across the veil of death. He told you about his hero work, about the classes he was taking, about the little moments of joy he tried to find in a life that often felt too heavy.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he rose to his feet. His knees ached from kneeling for so long, but he barely noticed.

“I’ll come back,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tears that still shimmered in his eyes. “And I won’t let you wait so long again. Next time, I’ll bring something better than just a flower. Maybe one of those awful paintings you always said I should make.”

As he turned to leave, he hesitated, glancing back at the gravestone one last time. As if you’d be there with open arms, waiting for him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, the words carrying a weight that only you could understand.

He walked away slowly, the sound of his footsteps fading into the stillness. The cemetery grew quiet once more, the only reminder of his visit the small offerings left behind—silent testaments to a bond that even death could not sever.

SHINSOU HITOSHI — Avoidance by all means necessary, until he finally caves in.

If you were to ask Shinsou what his prized possession was, he’ll tell you that it’s a shoe box. A shoe box that seemed to hold the world—your world, with remnants of a friendship that had lasted his entire life—a lifetime with you.

Shinsou sat on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands hovering over the box as though touching it might shatter him. He had been avoiding this moment for weeks. The funeral had been a blur, the condolences—a cacophony of words that didn’t mean anything because he knew that they couldn’t possibly understand how it feels. Everyone seemed to know the right things to say, except him.

All he had wanted was for you to be there, to laugh at how awkward he was with the whole ordeal.

Now, it was just silence.

With a deep breath, he finally reached into the box, pulling out the first item: a knitted scarf, a rich shade of violet. It was slightly uneven, the handiwork amateur at best, but it was one of the first gifts you’d ever made for him. He could still remember your smile when you handed it over during your middle school years.

“I thought it’d look good on you,” you had said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Don’t laugh! It’s my first try. Nuh uh, I’m taking this back—Hitoshi!”

He hadn’t laughed. Ok, maybe just a quiet chuckle, but he had worn it every winter since.

He leaned forward again, staring into the box. Inside were the tokens of a life intertwined with his—handmade crafts, small souvenirs, and letters tied with ribbons in colors you knew he liked. Each item was a story, a piece of you you had given him, never expecting you would be taken away so soon.

He gently picked up a small ceramic cat figurine, its paint slightly chipped. It was from one of your family trips abroad.

“I saw this and thought of you!”

Younger Shinsou blinked, confused.

“Me?”

You nodded. “You’re like this cat. All serious, but secretly soft and comforting.”

Shinsou chuckled softly at the memory, though the sound was tinged with sadness. He had teased you for it back then, calling it tacky, but it had ended up on his desk at home. Now, it felt like a sacred relic.

Setting the figurine down, he reached for another item. Shinsou pulled out a small, framed photo of the two of you at a summer festival. He was scowling at the camera while you grinned beside him, holding up two sticks of cotton candy. It was one of the rare times you had dragged him out, insisting he needed to “experience life beyond his walls” when he just wanted to sleep in.

He’d go to every summer festival in the country—even if it meant losing sleep—as long as he gets to do it with you.

The frame trembled slightly in his grip as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

He pulls out a well-worn journal. It was yours. He hesitated, knowing that opening it would feel both comforting and unbearably painful. After a moment, he gave in, flipping through the pages.

Inside were your thoughts—notes about school, sketches of the two of them, and half-finished poems you had written during quiet afternoons.

The prince has been so stressed lately.

I wish I could take it all away.

He deserves the world, but he won’t let himself believe it.

Maybe one day he’ll see himself the way I do.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. You had always been like that—putting everyone else first, even when you had your own struggles. He closed the journal and held it to his chest, his breath shaky.

“I should’ve told you,” he whispered. “I should’ve told you how much you meant to me.”

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over, sliding down his cheeks as he sat there in the coming twilight. He thought back to the nights they had spent stargazing, sharing their dreams and fears. You had been his constant, his answer, his light, even when he didn’t know he needed one.

His phone buzzed again, a reminder that the world kept moving even when his had stopped. He glanced at the screen—it was a message from his secretary.

Meeting tomorrow at 9, Sir. You told me to remind you.

Shinsou scoffed bitterly, tossing the phone aside. Work didn’t matter right now. Nothing did.

He looked back into the box and pulled out a small, intricately folded paper crane. He had almost forgotten about it. It was from your high school years, during a particularly tough exam season.

“This is for luck,” you had said, carefully handing it to him with an awed expression. “And if it doesn’t work, at least it’s cute, right?”

He remembered stuffing it into his pocket, too embarrassed to admit how much it meant to him at the time. Now, it felt like a lifeline.

As he unfolded the crane carefully, a note inside revealed itself. The ink was slightly faded, but your handwriting was unmistakable.

You’re going to be amazing. Always.

A choked sob escaped him, and he clenched the note tightly in his fist. You had believed in him, even when he hadn’t believed in himself. He wished he could’ve seen this sooner.

When it got dark, Shinsou didn’t bother turning on the lights. The silence felt appropriate—a space for his grief to exist without judgment.

“I miss you,” he confessed, his voice trembling. “I don’t even know how to keep going without you.”

He glanced at the small collection of gifts and letters spread out on the table. Each one was a reminder of the life you two had shared—a life you had enriched with your thoughtfulness and love.

Though the pain was overwhelming, Shinsou knew he couldn’t let your memory fade. You had given him so much, and the least he could do was honor you by living the way you would have wanted—fully and without regret.

“I’ll keep going,” he said softly, almost as if speaking to you. “You’d probably get mad if I slept in.”

The room remained quiet, save for the faint sound of the wind outside. But for Shinsou, it felt as though you were still there, your presence lingering in every corner of his heart.

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