#we love a professor with no structure to their class

[itsalittlebitchilly]

Me when 2!! of my professors call out people who are pissing me off in the same week

[iris-qt]

between the lines

a very inconvenient discovery

You don’t realize what you’ve done until you’re halfway through your second class of the day and open your notebook to find...

Not your handwriting.

Not your diagrams. Not your very specific color-coding system. And certainly not your very dramatic drawing of Professor Binns mid-lecture, labeled “Sir Snooze-a-Lot.”

You stare at the page. Then flip. And flip again.

Oh no.

You’ve taken someone else’s notebook.

You never make mistakes like this. Your entire personality is built around being the girl who does not make mistakes like this. The girl who labels her tab dividers and rewrites her notes in neat, margin-aligned bullet points.

And now you’ve accidentally stolen someone’s entire academic life.

You're about to panic when a small ink blot in the corner of a page catches your eye.

It’s not a blot. It’s… a doodle?

Of a plant. One you recognize from Herbology drawn with an almost obsessive attention to detail, like someone who secretly loves the subject but doesn’t want anyone to know. Cute. Kind of nerdy.

You flip again.

Another page. Another harmless doodle.

You squint. There’s writing next to it, a scrawled little annotation that reads: cold in the library again. she never brings a jumper.

Your stomach does something weird.

You turn the page one more time.

It’s a sketch of… you.

It’s not a masterpiece or anything, but you recognize yourself immediately: the curve of your cheek, the way your quill rests against your lower lip when you’re thinking. There’s a tiny label under it, scribbled like an afterthought:

"Library girl."

You slam the notebook shut, face hot.

Okay. So.

You’ve just accidentally discovered that someone, an anonymous, emotionally repressed someone, has not only been sketching you in their notes… they’ve noticed things. Like the fact that you’re always cold in the library. Like the way you sit. The way you—

Oh Merlin.

Who does this belong to??

You think back to that morning. The rush of class. The pile of identical-looking notebooks on the desk in the library.

There’s only one other person who sits near you there. Always. Like clockwork. Never speaks. Just reads quietly in his perfect posture and his perfect jumper and his perfect bloody bone structure.

Theodore Nott.

You nearly fall off your chair.

Because if this notebook is his...

You look down at the cover. Nothing. Not a single identifying mark.

Of course. He would be mysterious about it.

You spend the next three hours spiraling.

Maybe, hopefully, it wasn't Theodore Nott’s? What if it is his and he finds out you saw and... Oh no.

He’s going to hex you.

You clutch the notebook like it’s about to self-destruct. You need to return it. Quietly. Discreetly. With as little eye contact as possible. Preferably while pretending you’ve seen nothing at all. Unfortunately, fate (and Theo Nott) are not that kind.

Later that evening. The library.

You slip into your usual spot and there he is.

Seated across from you like always, looking calm and composed and terrifyingly unreadable. His hair is a little messy, like he’s been running a hand through it, and his tie is slightly askew in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but absolutely is.

Your eyes meet.

Something flickers in his.

He looks down at the desk in front of him… where he has your notebook. Oh no. He knows.

You hold his notebook out toward him like a peace offering, trying not to die on the spot. “I, um— We switched. Earlier. I think.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just takes the notebook from your hands and flips it open. Your face burns in mounting horror as you take your own notebook back and see that he dog-eared a page where your very detailed to-do list included:

Finish Transfig essay

Ask Theo Nott what his problem is

(or if he just hates me personally???)

(he’s hot tho. unfortunately.)

“You read it,” he says, voice low and maddeningly calm, snapping you back from your brief paralyzation of horror.

“Did not,” you lie immediately.

One of his brows lifts.

Your face burns. “Okay, maybe a little. But like... casually.”

He leans back in his chair, studying you. “You read this casually? Was it a casual read for you?”

You fidget. “I didn’t mean to.”

There’s a long, awful pause. Then, softly and unexpectedly, he says, “I thought you’d be mad.”

You blink.

“What?”

“I thought… you’d be freaked out.” He taps a finger lightly against the edge of the notebook. “That I drew you. That I notice things.”

You stare at him.

“Theo,” you say, voice too high. “You drew me like a Victorian botanist in love. I’m not freaked out. I’m flattered.”

He gives a quiet huff of laughter, then looks down, shy, almost. It's disarming. You reach for your own notebook again, flipping it open and finding a new note on the inside cover. In that familiar sharp script:

“You looked cold. I’ll bring a jumper next time.”

You glance up.

He’s already pulling off his jumper and sliding it across the table to you.

[rafesteddy]

⭐ Republished ⭐

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 𝐨𝐟 𝟑

𝟿.𝟼𝙺 𝚃𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝

3.8k

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

📖 Rafe is your boyfriend… You just don’t know it yet.

⚠️ warnings contain spoliers ⚠️

swearing, Stalking, pet names, degradation, namecalling, public masturbation, dark!rafe, mean!rafe, perv!rafe, mentions of cum play, mentions of unprotected P in V, ownership kink, mentions of rough oral, violence, threats, blackmail, fighting, blood, gore, mentions of sextortion, Rafe sneaks into the reader’s room, panty stealing, panty sniffing, takes pictures of the reader’s private images, cum tasting, oral male receiving, oral female receiving, twist dark reader, mutual obsession, rough oral, gagging, kissing, reader doesn’t ask rafe if he wants to go further than oral but he does and she starts anyway, messy sex, squirting, praise, drinking, smoking, mentions of drug use

✨ “Just do it, baby girl,” I moan, watching as she pinches her top button. I grab mine as well, tugging it open with her. I hiss at the sensation of my rock-hard cock in my hand, feeling some relief. This is the first time I’ve touched myself all day. I was edging myself as I studied her Instagram and TikTok page, saving my favorites to my phone. When I saw her in the parking lot, I swear I could have cum untouched. ✨

Rafe’s POV:

“So, class. What does its structure contribute to the poem “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night?” The professor drones on, sliding her reading glasses down her nose as she looks out onto the lecture hall. I shrink in my seat slightly, along with the other boys, doing my best to avoid her gaze.

Required reading, my ass. Did she honestly expect us to read this shit on a Thursday night? Barely drug my ass outta bed for class. Thank fuckin’ god. I relax in my seat as one of the front-row nerds saves the basic population who doesn’t give a fuck.

“Repetition. The poet used it to stress his key theme for his readers.”

I nod, scribbling a little line of nothingness on my paper, keeping up with the facade. That shit went in one ear and out the next. “Hey, Cameron.” My frat brother elbows me on the side. “You good for the kegs?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. What else can daddy get you?” I sneer as I roll my eyes at Billy, who laughs and scoffs. “I get paid back first, plus 10%. Get me a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle; I ain’t drinkin’ Coors, and I ain’t pickin’ that shit up either.”

“Thanks, daddy,” he responds in a breathy voice, snatching the wad of cash off my hands. “We need ten kegs between the Deltas and Phi Mu… You good for that-”

“Fuck you, ‘Am I good for that’?” I cut him short through a breathy laugh. “You’re holdin’ the cash in your hands, bitch. Stop askin’. Add an extra 5% for questionin’ me-”

“Rafe.” My stomach sinks as my professor’s eyes zero in on mine. “Am I interrupting something?” The old bird cocks an eyebrow, her annoyance visible, matching my own.

“No,” I answer simply, crossing my arms across my chest and relaxing at my desk.

“Splendid. I assume you know the answer then. Correct?” She challenges me, trying to catch me off guard. A smirk pulls on her lips as she does just that. Cunt.

“I agree.”

“The key insight about death in the poem is, ‘I agree’?” She belittles. I stare at her blankly, blinking a few times to let her know she’s wasting her time. She’s not gettin’ shit out of me. I’ve got an A in this class, bitch. What’re you gonna do about it?

She chuckles weakly, shaking her head at my resistance. “Am I wrong, ma’am? I have a bit of conversational anxiety… If you’d like to repeat the question, I’d love to try again,” I ask through a shit-eating smirk, letting my sarcasm drip all the way through, irritating her even more.

“Anyone else?” She invites in a shrill voice as she dismisses me, looking around the room to find another. Some of my frat brothers snicker in the back, making the professor’s features even more rigid. “Miss. Y/n?” Her demeanor changes instantly, shaking off my defiance, moving on to another one of her perfect pets.

Who’s that?

Holy shit. I swallow hard, feeling my mouth dry up as I see her. She twiddles her fluffy pink pen, acknowledging the teacher with a smile. Y/n? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. How have I never seen her before? I watch as a football player shuffles down the row of the lecture hall. My question, answered in a moment as his broad shoulders cut off my line of sight. No. I stretch back, cranking my neck to get her in my sights again.

“The key insight’s that death should be fought against, even though it is inevitable.” Her beautiful voice fills the lecture hall like a song. The teacher smiles at her again, praising y/n for her correct answer. Y/n grins and nods, averting her eyes as she catches the room’s focus. Her cheeks blush the prettiest shade of pink, matching her glossy lips.

Those lips… I lick my own, thinking about the way they would look wrapped around my cock, drool running down her chin as she deepthroats my dick. I’d grip that little ponytail like a handlebar, using her mouth like a toy. I chuckle at myself, still surprised that my mind went there almost instantly, but I know myself too well. I am who I am.

Y/n looks so goddamn innocent… Not for long. She’s a slut for praise. I can tell. I can work with that.

My eyes work lower, following the curve of her cleavage in her low-cut shirt. Fuck, I can’t wait to get her on top; watch ‘em bounce in my face. I’m gonna cum all over her perfect rack. Tiddie fuck her while she cries for daddy’s dick. Smear that shit- “Earth to Rafe?” I grit my teeth as I’m torn from my fantasy. “Buddy, you good?” Billy chuckles, his voice taunting as he follows my focus to her. “Mmm… Y/n,” he sighs blissfully. “So fuckin’ hot, bro. She’s a Phi Mu girl.”

“No shit?”

“Mhmm… Transferred from LSU. Smart, funny, sexy… But she’s mine, buddy. Aight? Been layin’ down groundwork all semester.” He elbows me playfully, chuckling to himself, actually believing his own words.

“All semester, and you haven’t made a move?” I spit, eyes rolling in his direction. This whole conversation is laughable. Has he been sitting on this all semester? Really? She was mine the second I looked at her, buddy. You’re done.

“Long game,” he defends himself.

“Long game?” I scoff. “Doesn’t sound like you got any game at all...”

“Hey. Fuck off… I know she wants me. Her bedroom faces mine and she doesn’t even close the curtains when she changes anymore; she texts me all the time. See?” He gloats as he thumbs through his phone. I don’t even bother myself with the semantics. Why the fuck does that shit matter? What’s he gettin’ at? “I’m gonna help ‘em after class. They have some car wash fundraiser downtown.”

Is that so? “I like the sound of that,” I smile, feeling my cock growing stiff in my jeans at the thought of seeing her in next to nothing, wet and soapy no less.

“You can’t just take her from me, Rafe,” Billy mutters in annoyance. A laugh rumbles in my chest as I take in his empty words. “I’m not fuckin’ around. She’s mine.”

My head turns slowly in his direction as he bends in mine. I mean, the guy’s big, but I’m bigger. He can fight, but he’s not willing to see that shit through. Billy’s got that moral compass that urges him to stop where I couldn’t care less. And he knows it.

He balls his hands up in fists at his desk, jaw tightening as he does his best to intimidate me one last time. My boy’s a bitch.

“Mine.”

I study her movements as she glides through the halls. Her hair bounces with each step brushing along her backpack, half-hiding her perfect ass. Her bum shakes a little as she walks, just a tease for me. Y/n slight skirt grazes just a few inches below her ass, leaving her bare legs on display.

I wonder what they’d look like over my shoulder… Spread wide on my bed as I devoured her perfect pussy. Damn. I bet she makes some pretty sounds. I can’t wait to hear that, to see her face, as she squirts all over my mouth and cock.

Where are you going, pretty girl?

She hooks a left, heading toward the coffee shop. I continue to follow my girl, watching as she strolls inside. Y/n walks toward the line, stalling next to the case of pastries, eyeing the bottom. Do it for daddy, baby. C’mon. There you go… She drops down, surveying the options. That goddamn ass… Does she know I’m watching? She’s gotta know. The paisley material tugs higher on her thighs, a peek of her round ass poking out the bottom.

She stands up again, taking another step, moving with the traffic flow. Y/n reaches into her purse, pulling out her phone. She smiles as she looks at the screen. Billy Hargrove 💕. I feel my heart pick up pace, my breathing quickening; rage boils inside me.

I gave him an order. This shit’s not up to him. I roll the tension out of my neck, fingers twisting into fists of my own. Where’s the fucking loyalty? She bites her bottom lip and smiles at the message, making me physically ill.

I’ve got distracted by her… Say somethin’ to make her forget about that.

“Uh, hey,” I rasp. Y/n continues to type up a little message. “Y/n?” I reach out, resting my hand on her arm.

“Oh, hi… Umm, Rafe?” She says my name, making everything stand still. I look down at the beautiful eyes and soft, pouty lips, the corners of which curl into a sweet smile.

“Uh, yeah,” I answer, trying to level my tone. “We’re in class together.”

“Yeah… She’s kind of a bitch. Right?” Y/n asks weakly as her eyes soften on mine, showing me pity like my feelings might have been hurt by that little exchange between the professor and me.

“Yeah, she sucks,” I laugh lightly, tossing my head down in fake shame. “The boys and I got a little rowdy last night. I didn’t read that shit. Did you? I mean, obviously-”

“On my way to class,” she giggles as she looks around playfully for our professor.

My mouth falls into an open smile. “Naughty girl. Coast is clear, by the way,” I rasp through a little laugh.

“Good,” Y/n sighs as she tucks some hair behind her ear.

“You’re really smart.” I praise, watching her cheeks blushing again, this time closer than before, making my heart bang in my chest.

“Thank you. Oh, umm, you’re a Delta. Right?” She asks, solidifying her answer as she eyes the embroidery on my polo.

“I am. And you’re Phi Mu?” Y/n grins as she nods in reply. “I’m headed over to your car wash after this.”

“Awesome. Yeah, Lyndsey was worried that the University might question where the money came from if we made anything off selling beer tonight.”

“A cover-up?” I smile down at her as I stuff my hands in my jeans.

“Mhmm,” she breathes. “The party’s gonna be huge. Do you think we’ll get busted?”

I chuckle at the sweet nativity of her question. “‘Course we will. Over 500 students in one place… But it’s a block party. Right? So they won’t be able to pinpoint anybody. Not usin’ the frat’s money directly. Cash. The boys are gonna pay me back as they sell cups. Untraceable.”

“Aww. That’s so nice of you,” she smiles. Her demeanor hasn’t faltered since we’ve spoken. She doesn’t seem to care about the material shit; my Breitling watch, the gold rings on my fingers. Her face didn’t light up when I dropped the fact that I would buy beer for the masses. She just said it was nice… Fuck, she’s perfect.

“I try… But, if we get busted, I’ll blame it on some beautiful Phi girl I know.”

She gasps playfully, smacking me in the chest. “You wouldn’t!” Everything tenses in my body as I fight back my arousal, covering the growing excitement in my slacks with my notebook.

Y/n looks over my shoulder, catching the girl’s eyes behind me as she tells us to move forward. “Sorry,” Y/n sighs apologetically, clearing the open space between us and the register. Y/n steps up to the counter, ordering a latte and a muffin before reaching into her purse.

“Oh, shit. No. Sorry! Let me,” I breathe as I hurry to her side. “I’ll pay for whatever she’s havin’ and a coffee for me: one cream, one sugar. Thank you.”

“Wow. Thank you, Rafe. You didn’t need to do that,” she coos.

“No problem, y/n.”

Gifts… That’s what my girl likes.

Well, shit. She’s gonna need a grand gesture. I can sneak into her room tonight. Check the essentials: dress size, music taste; the little things she enjoys.

I’ll take a look at her nightstand. How could I not? Gotta know what she uses to please herself so I know what I’m working with and what it takes to get her there. I want to know her better than she knows herself.

I follow along, trying to keep my eyes on her face, but I can’t help but roam her body. I’ve never seen anything like it, never seen anything so perfect for me. I never wanted anything so bad.

The barista walks over, setting down my coffee. I suck my teeth, regretting my choice, knowing if I got the same shit as her, I could have stayed. But I shouldn’t. “I’ll come by. Yeah? Don’t kill me… I gotta big ass truck, and she’s dirty as shit.”

“No worries,” she smiles sweetly. “I’ll see you there, Rafe. Oh, and thanks for the coffee again.” She reaches out, resting her hand on my arm.

“Of course, sweetheart.” I test a pet name, watching her smile widen. Just gorgeous.

I step away, walking towards the door. Looking over my shoulder as Y/n pulls out her phone, that same smile for Billy setting on her perfect lips.

He’s fucking dead.

I pull up toward the parking lot, falling into the line of cars; a caravan of dicks with their windows already rolled down. Fuckin’ dogs. I lean out as well, surveying the scene looking for her. Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I watch the gaggle of girls prancing around in their bikinis, excitement building as I frantically look for her.

My heart skips as I see her sporting the most clothes, donning yet the sluttiest outfit of them all. She’s an absolute fuckin’ tease in her cut-off jean shorts and white t-shirt, soaked with water. The material clings to her curves, teasing me with her little triangle top, gathered slightly, barely covering her tits.

She leans over and reaches into the bucket, pulling out a sponge before ringing out the soap. A guy rolls down the window of his Mercedes, bending his neck to watch as she washes the side. I can already tell where this is goin’. He smirks, watching her ass as she leans down, cleaning the rear fender. “Aww, sweetheart,” he soughs, “Uhh…You missed a spot.” Y/n smiles sweetly, lowering to where she was before, making me huff out an aggravated breath.

Her friend walks over with a hose, spraying down the suds that y/n left behind. Tori Clarence, a late-night Delta regular. She says something that makes Y/n laugh. Y/n claps back, teasing her sister through a wicked smile. Tori lifts the gun, spraying y/n with a stream of water, hitting her directly on her tits.

Y/n gasps as her shirt turns from milky white to practically see-through, the chilly water running down her perfect body, making her nipple hard. She panics to get warm, reaching for the bottom of her shirt. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. She pulls it over her body: soft skin, perfect boobs, and wet hair. Little lines of water cascade down her bare skin, rounding her curves catching on the denim of her shorts. Her eyes fall down her body, eyeing her damp state.

“Just do it, baby girl,” I moan, watching as she pinches her top button. I grab mine as well, tugging it open with her. I hiss at the sensation of my rock-hard cock in my hand, feeling some relief. This is the first time I’ve touched myself all day. I was edging myself as I studied her Instagram and TikTok page, saving my favorites to my phone. When I saw her in the parking lot, I swear I could have cum untouched.

I start to fist my cock as she leans over the trunk, her body perfectly positioned like I’m taking her from the back. Goddamn. I’d snake my rough hand up her soft skin, following the curve of her arched spine, drifting into her hair. I’d pull it back, feeling her pussy clench around my big dick. I’d spank her, cracking her tight little ass with the palm of my hand, leaving her red and bruised. Just one of the many ways I’d mark my girl. “Fuck, Y/n,” I moan her name as heat radiates through my body.

She walks along the side of the next car, letting me see her little triangle top: light blue, thin material, the blush of nipples visible. I roll my hand over my tip, whimpering at the sensation, imagining myself hitting the back of her throat as tears pool in her pretty, innocent eyes. Y/n looking up at daddy, mascara running down her cheeks as she throats me like the slut I know she can be. I’d hold her head in my hands, using her mouth to stroke my cock. My perfect little toy…

Fuck. I got a Fleshlight with her name on it. I’m gonna use those pictures when I get home… Gotta get myself ready for tonight. She has no clue what she’s in for. What I wouldn’t give to have my cock in her hand instead of my own. I’d make her jerk me off as she pleaded for my dick deep in that pretty tight cunt. I bet she’s so goddam wet. So, so fuckin’ tight.

“I know, baby. Daddy’s gonna give you his dick. Don’t worry,” I mumble, feeling my breathing start to increase with my pleasure. I thrust into my hand, fucking up into my fist as I watch her undo the loosened side strings of her bikini, tightening it again.

I eye the sign, catching the time. 11-4 PM. Yes… They’ll be here all afternoon. Just need to make a pit stop. Grab a pair of panties. Whatever I can get. I need to taste her. Stuff ‘em in my mouth as I study my prize. My hips stutter as I feel myself about to bust, imagining just how sweet she’ll taste. I work myself quicker, taking hold of my steering wheel as I rut into my hand.

‘Rafe. Rafe. Rafe.’ I can hear it now. See my little whore creamin’ on my cock as I give it to her over and over again.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby girl. Where do you want it?”

‘Deep in my pussy… Please, baby’. She’ll whimper and beg, pleading to get stuffed full. I’m gonna brush my fingers over her swollen clit, making her gush all over my cock and thighs, wetting everything around us until I’m pumping her full of my cum.

I’ll watch it drip out of her puffy pink hole, fucking it right back in, cleaning the rest off with my tongue before spitting it in her mouth.

My perfect cumslut.

I need it drippin’ out of her for days. Watchin’ my little angel walk into class, knowing just how good I dicked her down. I’ll watch her from my seat as she cleans the little cum tear off her inner thigh, slipping it between her lips as her eyes flick to mine, sucking it clean.

No one will have her again. “She was made for me.” The thought alone has my hand faltering; jaw falling slack. My stomach sinks, eyes doubling as she looks in my direction, matching my gaze. “Fuckkk…” My eyes roll back in my skull, toes curling, head thrown to the headrest as I cum harder than I ever have. Shit. I don’t even care if she saw. If she’s any girl of mine, she’d want to see it anyway.

My dirty little whore.

I look down at my jizz covered hand and lap. Goddamnit. I clear the gap between my car and the next before ripping off my shirt and wiping away my mess. I flip my hat on, snagging my protein shaker bottle from the passenger’s seat floor as I try to disguise the real reason I’m covered head to toe in sweat. I do my best to control my breathing, still running high from my climax, hit with the post-nut clarity that she may have seen it all.

She looks happy to see me… Real happy. Y/n smiles, making my heart race again as I meet her gorgeous eyes. She greets me happily, trotting up to my truck. “How are you doin’, sweetheart?”

She dunks her hand into the soapy bucket, grabbing a sponge. “Livin’ the dream,” y/n smiles, moving closer than expected. I take in her perfume, already so familiar to me, the smell of it revving me right up again.

“Sorry. I’m a sweaty mess,” I sigh. Her gaze falls down my body, studying me with a bashful smile.

“Just got done with a workout?” She asks.

“Mhmm…” I smile and nod in reply. “Pay now? Pay later?” I invite as I snag my wallet.

“Now,” she sings. “Donation based, so whatever you’re willing to give.” I thumb through my wallet, plucking out $200.

“Rafe…” She breathes, taking it off my hands. “Are you sure? This is a little much.” Y/n looks down at the cash in her hands before meeting my eyes again.

“Positive,” I assure.

“Well, that is very nice, Rafe Cameron,” she coos. Y/n uses my last name, making my stomach drop. She wouldn’t have known my last name unless she did some digging. I didn’t give it to her; I never said anything in class before today. She must have looked me up on Instagram or Snapchat… Maybe she asked one of her sisters about me.

I fight off a wide smile as she gets started on the car. She takes her time, putting in a little more effort than the cars before. She walks to the front of the cab, leaning over, breast jiggling as she swirls and circles the sponge on the hood. She rises a little higher on her tippy toes, unable to reach the rest.

“Here you go, babe.” Her friend sets down a ladder for Y/n. She bends over once more, the angle alone making my cock rock hard again as I imagine us fucking raw. Tonight… I’ll bend her over on the bathroom counter, just like she is now, the bass of the party on the street not even loud enough to cover her cries and my moans. I’ll pound into her as the slaps of our skin fill the bathroom. Her eyes shift to mine, catching my stare. She doesn’t drop focus, keeping her eyes on me as she continues to scrub. A smirk spreads on her lips, mirroring my own.

Baby girl…

Y/n steps down from the ladder before walking to her friend, grabbing the hose off her hands; taking her job instead. She sprays down the truck, cleaning off the suds. The light breeze catches the flow of water, sending little beads of it flying, catching on her perfect skin. My mouth waters as I imagine licking the glaze of it off her skin. Fuck… I don’t think I can take this.

“Alright, Mr. Cameron. You’re all set,” she smiles as she eyes her work. I bite my lip and nod.

“Thank you, princess. See you tonight.”

I pull forward, watching her from my wing mirror as she greets the next car. Her excitement fades as she welcomes the next. Good fuckin’ girl.

Next stop, Phi Mu.

tag list and masterlist on my pinned post

@starkeysprincess @rafesthroatbaby @gri959 @loserboysandlithium @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @akobx @darlydixon83 @hyperfixationgirl @savayvayblr-blog @oxpogues4lifexo @rafesgiirl @sleepiibunniiii

[jkwrites-m]

Extra Credit (1)

Pairing: uni student!Jungkook x uni teacher!female reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 9.3k

Summary: Jungkook falls for his professor. She makes the rules - and he loves breaking them.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, smut, cursing, dom!female reader, sub!Jungkook, age gap (both 18+), sexual tension, power imbalance, teasing, fixation, power play, slight emotional manipulation, “good boy” 😮‍💨 explicit: dom/sub dynamics, kissing, handjob, oral (f. & m. Receiving), riding, unprotected sex, edging (!!)

A/N: 2 hours later… heyyyyy anon 🫶 hopefully this is what you wanted, if not lmk! and I’ll work on something else but this just flew out of me. I was in the editing process and added an extra 2k words bc it just felt right 🤭

MASTERPOST ♡ LINK TO ASK ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ next

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It started with her heels.

I was already two minutes away from walking out. 

Hungover, hoodie barely on, no clue why I even enrolled in Chemistry 204 when I knew I’d probably flunk it by midterms. This was supposed to be a throwaway class- just some gen-ed requirement I’d forget about the second I passed it.

Then she walked in.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The sound echoed off the walls before I ever saw her. Slow. Sharp. Confident. Like she owned the floor under her. I glanced up- and fuck me, everything stopped.

She was… something else.

Tight blouse, dark skirt clinging to her curves like it had been sewn on her skin, lips painted in a color that made my mouth dry up. She walked like she knew we were all staring, like she’d counted on it.

My pulse was racing before she even spoke.

“Good morning,” she said, voice calm, rich, like velvet dragged across bare skin. “I’m Professor Y/N. This is Chemistry 204, and if you’re here to sleep or slack off, you’ll fail. I can promise you that.”

I felt my ears go hot.

I ducked my head, trying to act like I wasn’t already fantasizing about her throwing me out of class just so I could watch her mouth move again.

Jimin nudged me from the seat next to mine. “Dude. You’re literally salivating.”

“I’m not,” I hissed, even though I was a little.

She started handing out syllabi, walking row by row. And when she passed, her perfume hit me- something warm, like vanilla, but not too sweet. Clean. Dangerous. I stared at my desk like it held the secrets to the universe.

Then her voice. Right above me.

“Mr… Jeon?”

My throat closed. I looked up, and there she was. Looking right at me.

“Y-Yes.”

Her lips curved. Not a smile. Not a smirk. Just… something knowing. “Try not to fail my class.”

And just like that, she moved on. Like it meant nothing. Like she hadn’t just rearranged the entire structure of my brain chemistry with one look and seven words.

Jimin leaned over again, barely containing his laughter. “Ohhh, bro. You’re done for.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

My hands were clenched. My chest tight. She was already across the room again, giving someone else the kind of look that made me want to fight whoever they were.

I had no idea how I was going to survive this semester.

All I knew was that I wanted her to say my name again. That same tone. That same amused edge. Like she already knew every dirty thought racing through my head.

And God, there were a lot of them.

═══════

She wasn’t looking at me.

Not directly, anyway. But every time I dared to glance up from the god-awful list of elements and safety rules in front of me, I swore her eyes brushed over mine. Like she knew. Like she felt it.

My stomach wouldn’t stop flipping.

“You’re so obvious,” Jimin muttered, leaning in. He didn’t even try to hide his amusement.

“Am not.”

“You are literally chewing your pencil and blushing like a schoolgirl.”

I dropped the pencil.

The first lab assignment was some basic formulaic reaction. Something about ionic bonds, but I couldn’t make sense of any of it. The paper might as well have been blank. All I could focus on was the sharp click of her heels circling the lab again, moving from table to table, her hips swaying with every step, her voice low and composed as she corrected some kid for not wearing safety goggles properly.

And then, suddenly, she was behind me.

I felt her before I heard her. A warmth along my back, the subtle scent of that same perfume from earlier- something warm and clean and sharp.

“You’re off by two protons, Mr. Jeon.”

I flinched. My fingers stumbled on my calculator.

“I- I thought- ”

“Clearly,” she interrupted, and then leaned closer. Her hand brushed over mine, adjusting the numbers on my worksheet. “Your aluminum ion is missing its charge. Pay attention.”

Her breath hit the back of my neck. I stopped breathing entirely.

She didn’t step back. Not right away. She lingered there, close enough that I could feel the fabric of her blouse rustle slightly as she moved. Then finally - finally - she pulled away, heels clicking off to the next table like she hadn’t just pulled my brain out of my skull and dropkicked it across the room.

Jimin was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

“Did she just-?” he whispered.

“I don’t- yeah- I don’t know.”

“Are you sweating?”

“I think I blacked out.”

“Dude.”

I dropped my face into my hands, groaning low. “I’m gonna fail this class.”

“No, bro. You’re gonna die in it.”

When I looked up again, she was standing at the front of the class writing some formula on the board, but her hand paused for just a split second. Just long enough for her head to tilt slightly… toward me.

I sat up straighter, not even thinking.

And then she smiled- barely. The kind of smile you could miss if you blinked. The kind that wasn’t meant for the class.

It was meant for me.

And I was gone.

═══════

The second the bell rang, I was out of my seat- heart racing, mind a total blur. I shoved my notebook into my bag without checking anything I’d written down, which probably didn’t matter because I hadn’t really written anything.

“You were twitching the whole time,” Jimin said as we stepped into the hallway. “Like she was controlling you with telepathy.”

“She wasn’t,” I mumbled, though I wasn’t sure I believed it myself.

“She basically whispered in your ear and adjusted your hand like it was foreplay.”

“Jesus, Jimin.”

“What? I’m not wrong.”

I glared at him but couldn’t argue. The feel of her hand guiding mine, the whisper of her breath against my neck. I could still feel it. Like my skin had absorbed the memory and refused to let go.

We reached the end of the hallway when I realized I’d forgotten my lab sheet on the desk.

“Shit- I’ll meet you at the quad,” I told Jimin, turning around.

Back in the lab, it was mostly empty. A few students still packing up. She was still there, seated behind her desk, glasses perched low on her nose as she reviewed a stack of papers.

I moved fast, snatching my sheet off the lab table, hoping not to be noticed. But as I turned to leave-

“Mr. Jeon.”

I froze.

She didn’t look up at first. Just made a note on the corner of a page with her pen, so slowly, so deliberately.

Then she looked up.

I swallowed hard. “Y-Yes?”

“You forgot your evaluation sheet.” She held up another paper- my lab report, apparently. “Come get it.”

I stepped forward, trying to walk normal. Trying not to let my legs turn to jelly.

She handed me the paper, but didn’t let go right away. Her eyes flicked up to mine, and for a second, the lab was too quiet.

“Next time,” she said softly, “try to stay present. You were… distracted today.”

“I- I wasn’t- ”

Her eyes dropped to the paper. “I left a comment. You might want to read it… thoroughly.”

My fingers curled around the edge of the sheet as she finally released it. I nodded, heart hammering, and turned to leave before I made a fool of myself again.

Outside, I opened the paper and scanned it.

There it was- her red ink looping elegantly across the bottom of the sheet:

“Try harder next time, Mr. Jeon.

Unless you want me to keep correcting your form.”

I stood there like an idiot, eyes stuck on that one sentence, while every part of me ignited.

“DUDE,” Jimin’s voice suddenly screamed behind me. “Tell me she did not just flirt with you on paper.”

I nearly dropped the sheet.

“Were you spying?!”

“I was walking back to get you,” he said, peering over my shoulder. “Okay, holy shit- that’s not even subtle.”

“It’s probably nothing,” I muttered, though my face was on fire.

“Oh, no. That was a coded message. She wants you to flirt back.”

“I can’t flirt with her,” I hissed. “She’s my professor.”

Jimin grinned like the devil himself. “Exactly. So the question is… are you gonna be a good boy?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t sure I wanted to be.

═══════

The next class, I walked in ten minutes early.

I told myself it was just to show responsibility, but really, I just needed to see if she’d say something- if last time meant something. I hadn’t slept much the night before, not with that damn note burning a hole in my backpack and her voice replaying in my head on a loop.

She was already at her desk, sipping coffee and flipping through a folder. She didn’t even glance up when I came in. And somehow, that was worse.

I took my seat. Tried to look normal. Breathed slow. One of those deep, calming breaths I practiced before performances. Except none of that helped when she finally looked up.

“Mr. Jeon,” she said, eyes calm, unreadable. “Stay after class today.”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out. Just a tiny squeak of acknowledgment.

═══════

The entire period was a blur. I don’t remember the lab instructions. Don’t remember the worksheet. All I know is that every second felt like it ticked by in slow motion.

When class ended, students poured out, and I stayed seated, hands tight on the edge of the lab bench. My pulse was in my throat.

She closed the door behind the last student and walked back, heels echoing, slow and controlled.

“Follow me.”

I followed her like a dog on a leash.

She led me to the back of the lab where the sink station was. Rows of dirty glassware from the experiments sat there waiting. Beakers. Flasks. Tubes. Endless.

“You’re here to clean,” she said, gesturing with a gloved hand. “You’ve been inattentive. This is extra credit.”

“R-Right,” I muttered, grabbing the soap and nozzle, not daring to look up.

She stood behind me at first, then to the side. Watching. Not saying a word.

The room was dead quiet except for the sound of water and glass tapping gently against the sink. I could feel her eyes burning into me.

After about five minutes of silence, I felt her step closer.

“Are you always this obedient?”

I froze.

“Excuse me?”

“I give you a simple command, and you listen without question,” she said, voice smooth, soft, dangerous. “You haven’t asked what the cleaning is worth. Haven’t asked why. You just… followed.”

I turned my head slightly. “I thought it was an assignment.”

“Is it?” she asked, stepping so close I could see her reflection in the metal faucet. “Or is there another reason you’re so quick to do what I say?”

My grip on the glass tightened.

“I- You said I was distracted. I didn’t want to- ” I stopped talking. My words were unraveling. So was I.

She stepped behind me now, leaning in. I felt her breath again.

“Try not to shatter anything,” she whispered, fingers brushing the inside of my wrist just lightly enough to send sparks up my arm. “Some things are delicate.”

I stood perfectly still.

When she stepped away again, the cold rushed back in.

“Leave them for now,” she said, her voice back to calm. “You’ll come in earlier next week. We’ll continue then.”

“Yes, Professor.”

She walked to the door and opened it without looking back.

“Dismissed.”

I stepped out, legs shaking, barely able to hold my backpack strap.

Jimin was standing just down the hall, leaning against the wall with a smirk like he’d been waiting all day.

“I knew it,” he said.

“Knew what?”

“That you’d start cleaning for free just to breathe her air.”

I didn’t answer.

Because it wasn’t the air I was breathing.

It was her.

═══════

The next week, I arrived fifteen minutes early.

This time, there was no pretending. No “I’m here for extra credit” excuse. I knew what this was. She knew too. I think that was the most dangerous part- how aware we both were, yet no one said it out loud.

She greeted me with a glance. No smile. No words. Just a glance that said, So you came back.

I started cleaning beakers without being told.

Her heels echoed faintly against the tile floor as she moved around the lab, prepping supplies for the day’s experiment. Her silence was more commanding than any speech. I scrubbed, rinsed, dried, my hands shaking slightly despite the repetition. I could still feel her fingertips on my wrist from last time.

After ten minutes, I heard her stop behind me.

“You missed a spot,” she said, stepping forward.

I glanced down at the beaker I was drying. Crystal clear.

“I- I don’t see- ”

She reached over, her fingers brushing mine as she took the beaker from my hands. Then she turned it in the light, her chest barely grazing my arm. I swallowed hard.

“There,” she said softly, pointing at nothing. Her voice dropped. “Or maybe you were just distracted again.”

I couldn’t speak. My entire body had gone still.

“Mr. Jeon,” she murmured, setting the beaker down carefully. “Are you easily distracted… or just easily controlled?”

I flinched.

She smirked. “Interesting.”

Before I could come up with any kind of reply, the first students began to filter into the lab. She stepped away instantly, heels clicking back to the front like nothing happened.

Class went on as usual.

Except nothing was usual anymore.

I couldn’t focus on the experiment. Couldn’t read the formulas. All I could think about was the whisper of her fingers against mine, the way her breath had curled against my neck, the scent of her perfume slowly burning its way into my skull.

When class ended, I packed up slowly, hoping maybe she’d call out to me again. But she didn’t.

I started heading out, heartbeat still a little too loud in my ears.

Then I heard her voice, smooth and quiet.

“Mr. Jeon.”

I turned around.

She was still behind the desk, one hand resting lazily on her notes, eyes calm but unreadable.

“Try harder next time,” she said. “Or I might have to… discipline you.”

My breath hitched.

She didn’t wait for a reply. She bent her head back to her notes like I didn’t exist.

But I did. I existed in every word she’d just said.

I walked out of that room shaking, like my body hadn’t caught up with what my brain had just registered.

Jimin met me outside again. “Well?”

“She said… she might discipline me.”

He choked on his drink. “You mean like… in a grade way?”

I stared blankly at the wall.

“No,” I whispered. “No, I don’t think so.”

═══════

I stared at her office door for a full minute before I knocked.

It was Friday. Cloudy. The kind of gray that sat heavy over the campus, cool air brushing over my skin as I stood alone in the hall, palms sweating despite the chill.

I told myself it was just for help. That I needed to raise my grade. But the truth was, I hadn’t slept right in days. Not since she said the word discipline with that look on her face, like she knew exactly what it did to me.

So here I was. About to walk into the lion’s den like I hadn’t spent all week thinking about her voice in the dark.

I knocked.

“Come in,” she said, calm and clear.

I opened the door slowly. Her office was warm, light filtering in through the half-closed blinds. Shelves of books lined the back wall. Her desk was cluttered in a curated way, like everything had a place, even the chaos.

She was sitting behind it, glasses on, pen in hand. She didn’t look surprised to see me.

“Mr. Jeon,” she said, motioning to the seat across from her. “You’re early.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I… wanted to ask about the last lab.”

She nodded, didn’t press.

I sat down.

The chair was low. Too low. Which meant I had to sit up straight to look her in the eye. Which meant I was fully aware of how long her legs looked crossed beneath that desk.

“So,” she said, sliding a paper toward me. “Let’s look at where you went wrong.”

I reached for it, but our hands brushed again.

There it was- that spark.

I swallowed hard and focused on the page. I couldn’t read it. Didn’t even try.

“You need to be more thorough,” she said, voice soft but edged. “You’re sloppy with your ions. Your math is lazy. It’s almost like you’re not trying.”

“I am,” I said quickly. “Trying, I mean. I just- chemistry’s never been- ”

“ -your strength,” she finished for me. Then her voice dropped lower. “I know. That’s why you’re here.”

I looked up.

Her eyes were locked on mine. Unmoving. Calm. Too calm.

The air thickened.

She stood.

Walked around the desk.

Sat on the edge.

Right in front of me.

Her knee nearly touched mine. She didn’t adjust her skirt. Didn’t move back. I could smell her again, something clean and dark, like cedar and sin.

“You want extra credit, Mr. Jeon?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

I nodded, too fast.

Her lips curved just slightly. “Then sit still. And listen carefully.”

I froze.

She leaned in- not touching me, not yet, but close enough that her presence overwhelmed the space between us.

“There are rules,” she whispered. “And you will follow them if you want to pass. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

I blinked.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes… Professor.”

I swallowed. “Yes, Professor.”

Then she stood, walked back to her chair, and resumed grading papers like nothing happened.

I sat there stunned, fists clenched in my lap, trying not to burst into flames.

“You’re dismissed,” she said without looking up.

I practically ran out.

And I was still hard when I reached the end of the hall.

═══════

It was a different day. A different lecture.

Same obsession.

I’d managed to make it through most of the class without combusting- barely. She’d worn a black blouse today, sheer enough in the right light to show the outline of her bra if you stared too long. So, of course, I stared too long.

She didn’t call on me during the lesson. Didn’t make eye contact much. But I could feel her awareness in the way she moved, in the quiet control she had over the room.

It made me ache.

When the bell rang, my heart was still thudding like it had spent the whole hour doing laps in my chest. I had one foot out the door when her voice cut through the noise like a wire pulled tight.

“Mr. Jeon.”

I stopped.

Turned.

She was still seated, one leg crossed over the other, perfectly still behind her desk. She didn’t look up right away- just tapped her pen against her lips with that same slow, deliberate rhythm that always did things to me.

“I have one more thing for you,” she said, finally lifting her gaze. “Sit.”

I obeyed, because of course I did.

The classroom was already half-empty, the shuffle of feet and zip of backpacks fading into the hallway as I returned to my seat, suddenly hyper-aware of every breath I took.

She didn’t move from her chair this time. Just watched me, eyes calm but piercing.

“We’re going to do an oral quiz.”

I blinked. “A what?”

“Oral,” she repeated, her tone clipped but soft. “Verbal. Spoken. I ask, you answer. No thinking. Just reaction.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

Her eyes locked on mine. “Ready?”

No.

“Yes,” I said.

She leaned back slightly, her voice smooth as silk. “Name the element with the atomic number six.”

“Carbon,” I replied quickly.

“Good,” she said. “And the bond formed between two nonmetals?”

“Covalent.”

Her eyes narrowed just slightly. “What happens when heat is applied too quickly to a volatile compound?”

“It… it expands. Reacts. Possibly combusts.”

Her voice dropped a note. “That’s right. Too much heat too fast… and things explode.”

I shifted in my seat.

She smiled like she’d seen it.

“Name one quality that makes a reaction irreversible.”

“Time,” I said, before thinking. “Or… exposure to heat. Pressure. Contact.”

She tilted her head. “Interesting. Contact. Do you believe in chain reactions, Mr. Jeon?”

I hesitated. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I swallowed, her gaze making it hard to think. “Because one thing leads to another. You can’t always stop it once it starts.”

Her smile deepened. “Exactly.”

She stood, slowly walking toward the door as if to signal we were done. But just before she opened it, she turned.

“You’re doing well. But that last lab… you broke two safety rules.”

“I- I didn’t mean-”

She turned toward me, gaze dark and unreadable. 

“One last question.”

I sat straighter.

“What happens,” she said, voice slow and deliberate, “when someone disobeys lab protocol?”

“I- I don’t know,” I stammered.

She stepped closer again, her body just inside my space. But it felt like she was everywhere. On my skin. In my head.

“Discipline,” she whispered, eyes locked on mine.  “Because I expect you to follow rules. My rules.”

Her smile was slow, satisfied.

She reached out and straightened the collar of my hoodie like it had offended her. Her fingers lingered there, just long enough to make my pulse jackhammer in my chest.

“Good boy,” she murmured.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

She opened the door. “That’s all for now. See yourself out.”

And like a complete idiot, I stumbled into the hallway- heart hammering, throat dry, my pants a little too tight and my thoughts a little too wrecked.

Jimin texted the second I hit the quad.

Jimin: you alive?

Jungkook: barely.

Jimin: she kill you or kiss you?

Jungkook: neither.

Jimin: holy shit. that’s worse.

I looked back at the hallway behind me like it might still be on fire.

He was right.

It was worse.

═══════

Two days passed.

Two painfully slow, distracting, blood-rushing-behind-my-eyes kind of days. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way her fingers brushed mine. The way she called me “good boy” like it was a reward. The look she gave when I followed her instructions a little too perfectly.

So when I got the email-

See me during office hours, Thurs. @ 3. – Prof. Y/N

-my stomach dropped.

And soared.

I showed up five minutes early again, pretending not to be nervous. Lying to myself.

She was already there, sipping coffee, sunlight pouring in through her blinds like it had been placed there just for her. She wore another fitted blouse, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the collar just a little looser than it should’ve been.

She didn’t look up when I stepped in.

“Close the door.”

I obeyed.

She motioned to the chair. “Sit.”

This was the same chair. The same air. But everything felt hotter this time. Louder, somehow. My nerves were on fire.

“I reviewed your last lab,” she said. “Better. You’re improving.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

She glanced up finally. Her eyes met mine- and held.

“But your focus,” she added, “still needs work.”

I licked my lips. “I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t enough.”

She stood slowly, walked around the desk again- like she was circling me.

My heart picked up.

She leaned one hip against the front of the desk. This time, she didn’t sit. She stood close. Her thigh brushed against my knee, intentional or not- I couldn’t tell.

“You need discipline, Mr. Jeon.”

My breath hitched.

“I- ”

“Not punishment,” she said softly, eyes dipping. “Guidance. You respond to structure, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You follow commands well.”

I shifted. “Maybe I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

That made her smile- barely. It was there and gone like lightning.

Her hand reached out. Not far. Just resting on my knee. Light. Casual.

But not casual.

She leaned in a little. “You like being told what to do, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

She looked down at her fingers on my knee.

Then- 

A knock at the door.

She moved instantly, hand pulling back, body shifting away like nothing had happened.

“Yes?” she called.

The door cracked open.

Jimin’s head poked through. “Yo. Sorry- am I interrupting?”

I nearly choked on my own spit.

Y/N didn’t even blink. “Just finishing up a consult. What do you need, Mr. Park?”

Jimin looked between us, suspicious as hell. “I was just looking for Jungkook. We’ve got rehearsal.”

“Of course,” she said. Perfectly neutral. Professional. “Mr. Jeon, you’re dismissed.”

I stood, face burning, avoiding Jimin’s eyes as I grabbed my backpack.

“Thanks… Professor,” I muttered, voice lower than I meant.

She nodded without looking at me. “Remember what we discussed.”

Oh, I would.

Jimin followed me down the hall, silent for three full seconds before blurting out:

“Did she just touch your knee?”

“Shut up.”

“Bro- are you blushing?”

“I said shut up.”

“She was definitely flirting. I don’t even have a degree in chemistry and I felt that.”

I didn’t reply.

I was still stuck on the way she said discipline like it was a promise.

═══════

I barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, it was her.

Professor Y/N.

Not in the classroom. Not in her office. But in shadows. Heat. Movement.

The dream didn’t start like a dream. It started like memory- me sitting in her office again, her voice low, asking questions that had nothing to do with science.

Do you always obey this easily, Jungkook?

Would you let me correct you?

And then… her fingers. On my knee. My thigh. Tracing up.

She whispered in my ear, breath hot.

You like it when I’m in control, don’t you?

God, I did. I do.

Her hands slid under my hoodie in the dream- my skin burning under every ghost of her touch. I could feel the fabric of her blouse against my chest. The press of her thigh between mine. The smell of her perfume on my mouth.

She kissed me first.

Soft. Sure.

Then bit my lip when I didn’t kiss back fast enough.

“Speak when spoken to,��� she breathed, and something inside me just… gave in.

I wanted to kneel. I wanted to be under her. I wanted to please her in ways that had nothing to do with school.

I woke up in a sweat.

Hard. Shaking. My sheets twisted around my legs like I’d wrestled with them in my sleep. My heart was racing. My hands were clenched.

The clock said 3:12 a.m.

I didn’t sleep again.

═══════

The next day, I walked into class like a man possessed.

Every breath I took, I swore I could smell her. Every word she said echoed like it had two meanings. Her blouse was burgundy today- deep, rich, tight against her body. I couldn’t stop staring.

At one point, I dropped my pen and hit my head on the desk trying to get it. Jimin laughed the entire time.

After class, as I was gathering my things, she walked past my row- slow, unhurried. She didn’t stop, didn’t look at me, just spoke as she passed by:

“Rough night, Mr. Jeon?”

I froze.

My stomach dropped.

I looked up, and she was already across the room.

But her mouth- God, that mouth- had the faintest smile. That same one from the first day.

She knew.

She knew.

And the worst part?

I wanted her to.

═══════

It started with a text.

Not an email. Not a formal request.

A text.

Unknown Number: Are you free after 6pm tonight? I could use help prepping for tomorrow’s lab. -Y/N

My heart jumped. I stared at the screen like it was a glitch.

She had my number?

She was texting me?

I didn’t respond for a full minute. Then I typed:

Jungkook: Yes. I’m free.

Y/N: Room 4A. Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.

I read that last line five times.

By the time 6:00 p.m. rolled around, I was already outside the building. Nervous. Excited. My palms were sweating. I’d changed shirts three times and still didn’t know what I was doing.

The hall was quiet. No students. No voices. Just the distant hum of the custodial staff down the east wing.

Room 4A’s door was slightly cracked.

I pushed it open.

She was already there- back turned, hair up, sleeves rolled. She wore a lab coat this time, but it hung open over a tight gray top and dark jeans. A clipboard was in one hand, a box of glassware in the other.

The room was dimmer than usual. Only a few overhead lights flicked on. It felt… intimate. Like the space was smaller somehow. Thicker.

She didn’t look at me right away.

“You’re on time,” she said simply, setting the glassware down on the counter. “I like that.”

“Couldn’t sleep last night anyway,” I muttered.

She smiled at that. Not her professor-smile. Her real one. The one I barely got glimpses of.

“I need to reorganize the distillation setup for the freshmen lab tomorrow,” she said, pulling a drawer open. “You’re here to help. Not talk.”

That was fair.

I nodded and slipped my bag off.

She handed me a pair of gloves and motioned toward the back table. “Start unpacking those. Carefully.”

I obeyed.

We moved around each other for several minutes in silence. She handed me tools. I passed her clamps. We barely touched, but every time our fingers brushed, I felt it. The air between us buzzed.

I couldn’t stop glancing at her. At how effortless she looked, focused, eyes sharp, mouth pressed into a faint line as she worked. She didn’t speak, but her presence filled every inch of the lab. It was suffocating in the best way possible. 

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.

Halfway through setting up a condenser tube, when I was just starting to relax- I dropped the clamp.

It hit the floor with a loud, sharp clatter.

“Shit,” I hissed, crouching to grab it.

She turned. Looked down at me.

When I stood, she was suddenly closer than before.

Right in front of me.

Our bodies weren’t touching, but they could’ve been.

“You always this clumsy when you’re nervous?” she asked quietly.

I stared at her. Swallowed.

“Only around you.”

That did something. Her eyes changed. She didn’t step back.

“I see.”

The silence stretched.

The lab felt too warm now.

She looked down at my hands still holding the clamp and reached out, curling her fingers over mine. Slow. Deliberate. Not necessary.

“You need steadier hands if you’re going to handle glass,” she said, her voice like velvet with a hidden blade.

I didn’t breathe.

Her fingers lingered.

Then let go.

“Try again,” she said, stepping back.

I did.

But my hands were still shaking.

═══════

It happened so fast I couldn’t stop it.

One moment, I was reaching for the beaker. The next, it slipped.

It hit the floor and shattered, glass slicing through silence like lightning.

“Shit,” I muttered, instinctively reaching down-

“Don’t.”

Her voice stopped me mid-motion.

I froze.

She walked over slowly. Calm. Deliberate. Her heels echoed off the tile with a rhythm that sounded too controlled for how chaotic I felt.

“No gloves,” she said, crouching instead. “You’ll cut yourself.”

I stepped back, watching as she gathered the larger pieces of glass with her gloved hands and the dustpan. Methodical. Controlled.

And then she looked up.

Directly at me.

From where she was crouched.

And suddenly- everything in me tightened.

The angle. Her eyes tilted up. The way her hair had fallen forward over one shoulder. Her lips parted just slightly, breath steady. Calm.

But her gaze?

Her gaze was not .

I tried not to think about it. Tried not to imagine what she looked like in that exact position with her hands somewhere else entirely.

But the thought had already sunk its claws in.

“You’re red,” she said quietly, eyes locked on mine.

I blinked.

“What?”

“Your ears,” she murmured. “They’re flushed.”

I swallowed. Hard.

“I-It’s warm in here.”

Her lips quirked, barely there.

Then she stood.

Not with her usual fluid grace.

She braced one hand on my thigh - my thigh - to push herself up.

Slowly.

Her palm lingered. Pressed. Fingers firm against my jeans.

My legs nearly gave out.

By the time she was standing, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

She brushed her hands off and looked me over like I was something breakable.

“You always this easy to fluster, Mr. Jeon?”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

She leaned in slightly- just enough.

“I told you to be careful,” she said, her voice low. “But maybe you like messing up in front of me.”

I exhaled shakily. “I don’t.”

“You sure?” she asked, tilting her head.

Her fingers smoothed something imaginary off my shoulder.

Then she stepped back.

“Replace the beaker,” she said, like we were still just doing science.

But my heart hadn’t stopped pounding since she touched me.

I did what she asked. Quiet. Shaky.

And the whole time, I swore I could still feel her hand on my leg.

═══════

The silence was worse now.

Not awkward. Not cold.

Just… full.

I kept replaying the last five minutes like they were stuck on loop. Her crouched at my feet. The way she looked up at me like I was already undone. The weight of her hand on my thigh- intentional, firm, completely unignorable.

And then her calm retreat. Like she hadn’t just pulled the floor out from under me.

She was across the lab now, rearranging clamps and burners with absolute focus. Like I wasn’t still standing here burning alive.

I turned away. Faced the counter. Tried to look useful.

Then I heard her voice again.

“You follow instructions well,” she said casually.

It wasn’t a compliment.

It was a knife, slipped between my ribs with a smile.

“I try to,” I muttered.

“You don’t question them. You don’t push back. You just… obey.”

I swallowed. “Is that bad?”

“No,” she said, stepping closer again. “It’s just revealing.”

“Revealing how?”

She tilted her head. “Some people follow rules because they fear consequences.”

Her fingers reached for the flask beside me, brushing my arm.

“Others,” she continued, voice lower now, “follow because they enjoy being told what to do.”

I didn’t breathe.

“Which one are you, Jungkook?”

“I- I don’t know.”

She smiled. “I think you do.”

Her hand stayed near mine on the counter. Not touching. Just… there.

“You like when I give you tasks,” she said. “You like my voice when it’s low. Firm.”

I couldn’t deny it.

“You want structure,” she whispered. “Permission. Direction.”

My mouth was dry. My brain was static.

“Am I wrong?”

I shook my head.

“Say it,” she said softly.

“No,” I murmured. “You’re not wrong.”

She looked at me for a long time then. Not smiling. Just… watching.

“I wonder,” she said, almost to herself. “If you’d let me break you. If I told you to.”

She stepped back, finally.

The room felt colder without her body near mine.

“Turn off the burner. We’re done for tonight.”

Just like that. Command issued. Game reset.

I reached for the switch with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

═══════

It wasn’t the same night.

It was two days later.

Another text. Short. Controlled.

Y/N: Back lab. 7PM. No distractions.

I stared at the message for a full minute, heart thudding like a war drum. Then I dropped everything, grabbed my bag, and left.

Now it was 7:03, and I was standing just inside Room 4A again, the door closing behind me, pulse in my throat.

The lights were low. Only the overheads near the back counter were on.

She was there.

Wearing black. Black blouse. Black pants. No lab coat this time. Just her. Dark and stunning and sharp as glass.

“You’re late,” she said without looking up.

“Three minutes.”

“Too many.”

I swallowed.

“You want to be here?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Professor.”

She finally looked up. Her eyes landed on mine like a slow caress.

“Good,” she said. “Then listen carefully.”

She crossed the room toward me.

Each step deliberate. Soundless.

She stopped close- so close my breath hitched.

Her hand came up, brushing the edge of my jaw, trailing lightly.

“I don’t want to lecture tonight,” she said softly. “I don’t want to correct your form or watch you drop glass.”

I said nothing.

Her thumb brushed my bottom lip.

“I want you quiet. Focused. Obedient.”

“I will be.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Say it.”

“I’ll be good,” I whispered.

That made her smile.

She leaned in.

And kissed me.

This time, I kissed her back with everything in me.

No hesitation.

No fear.

Just months of tension crashing out of me in one dizzying moment of need.

Her hands threaded through my hair, fingers gripping tight. My mouth opened against hers, desperate, hungry, but still waiting- for her. Letting her lead.

She bit my lip, hard enough to make me gasp.

“Too eager,” she murmured.

“I can be patient.”

“We’ll see.”

She spun me gently, pressing me back against the wall beside the door. Her thigh slid between mine. My hips moved before I could stop them.

Her mouth moved to my neck, biting, tasting.

I couldn’t stop the groan that slipped out.

She laughed softly against my skin.

“You like this.”

“I love this.”

She pulled back, eyes dark.

“Lock the door.”

I turned, hands shaking but sure this time, flipped the lock with a solid click.

When I faced her again, she was unbuttoning the top of her blouse- slow, deliberate, still in control.

“You’ve been patient, Jungkook,” she said, stepping toward me again. “Now I want to see how well you listen.”

My mouth was dry. “Yes, Professor.”

She smiled. Dark. Beautiful. Unapologetic.

And then she kissed me again, deeper this time, walking me backward until I hit the lab table.

Her hands roamed my chest, my hips, controlling every inch of the space between us.

And I let her.

No part of me wanted control.

All I wanted was her.

═══════

This was happening.

And I was so far gone, I couldn’t even pretend I didn’t want it.

She kissed me hard this time- no testing, no waiting. Just heat. Her hands tugged at the hem of my shirt, sliding it up, palms skating over my bare stomach.

I shivered. She felt it.

“Cold?” she asked, lips against my neck.

“No,” I breathed. “Not even close.”

Her smile curved against my skin.

“Good.”

She pressed her body against mine, pinning me between the table and her frame. Every part of her was deliberate. Her hips against mine, her thigh back between my legs, her hand on my chest.

And then- lower.

My breath hitched.

She moved slowly, tasting every inch of my throat with her mouth, her tongue, her teeth.

Her hand slipped behind my neck, gripping tight as she kissed me again. I kissed back harder, bolder this time. I couldn’t stop my hands anymore- I reached for her waist, pulling her in, finally touching her like I’d imagined in a thousand sleepless nights.

She didn’t stop me.

She leaned in- more. Pressed her hips against mine, rolled them once, just to watch me lose it.

“You’re shaking,” she whispered.

“I’m not used to this.”

“No one’s ever touched you like this?”

“Not like you.”

She paused at that. Then she smiled, dark and slow.

“Good.”

Her blouse was undone now- button by button falling away, and her bra was dark lace, tight against her skin, and I swore I nearly lost my mind.

“You okay?” she asked, voice low.

I nodded.

“No,” I said honestly. “But I want it.”

“You want me?”

“God, yes.”

“Say it.”

“I want you.”

“Louder.”

“I want you, Professor.”

That was it.

She pushed me back onto the table, climbed over me with nothing but control in her eyes.

My hands gripped the edge. My whole body tense, vibrating, desperate.

She leaned down, nose brushing mine.

“Good boy,” she whispered. “Now be quiet. Let me take care of you.”

My heart pounded in my chest, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she slowly lowered herself, her lips brushing mine before trailing down my jawline. 

Her hands, soft yet firm, gripped my shoulders, holding me in place as if she knew I’d try to pull her closer. 

Her mouth moved lower, her tongue tracing the line of my neck, sending sparks of pleasure through my body. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, but she noticed, her lips curling into a smirk against my skin. 

“Shh,” she murmured, her breath hot against my chest. “Let me hear you.”

Her fingers trailed down my chest, light and teasing, before settling on the waistband of my jeans. 

I held my breath as she unbuttoned them, her movements slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving mine. She pushed them down, her hands brushing against my thighs, her touch sending a jolt of heat straight to my cock. 

I was already hard, my cock straining against my boxers, and her gaze dropped to it, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” she teased, her fingers hooking into the elastic of my boxers. 

I bit my lip, my body trembling with need. She pulled them down, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of me, her breath hitching. 

“So eager,” she whispered, her voice laced with approval.

Her hands wrapped around me, her touch firm but gentle, her fingers tracing the length of my shaft. I groaned, my head falling back against the table, my hands clenching the edges as she began to stroke me. 

Her touch was slow, deliberate, her thumb brushing over the head, spreading the pre-cum that had already gathered. 

“You like that, don’t you?” she asked, her voice a sultry purr.

“Yes,” I managed, my voice hoarse, my body already on edge.

She quickened her pace, her hand moving in a steady rhythm, her other hand cupping my balls, massaging them gently. 

“Tell me how much you want it,” she demanded, her voice commanding.

“I want it so bad Professor,” I gasped, my hips bucking slightly against her hand. “Please, don’t stop.”

She chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down my spine. 

“Such a good boy,” she praised, her hand tightening around me. “But we’re not done yet.”

Her mouth descended, her lips wrapping around the head of my cock, her tongue swirling in a way that made my vision blur. 

I moaned, my hands tangling in her hair but not daring to add any pressure, my body arching off the table. She hummed, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through me, her hand continuing to stroke me in sync with her mouth.

“Fuck,” I groaned, my voice breaking. “That’s- that’s amazing.”

She pulled back slightly, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Is it?” she asked, her voice teasing. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“It feels so fucking good,” I panted, my body trembling on the edge. “Your mouth- i-it’s perfect.”

She smiled, her lips stretching around me again, her hand working in tandem with her mouth. I was close, so close, my body tense, every nerve ending screaming for release. 

But just as I was about to cum, she slowed, her hand easing, her mouth pulling away.

“Not yet,” she whispered, her breath ghosting over my sensitive skin. “Not until I say so.”

I whimpered, my body aching with need, my cock throbbing with frustration. She kissed the tip, her tongue flicking teasingly before she began again, her mouth and hand working in perfect harmony. 

I was a mess, my moans filling the room, my body completely at her mercy.

“Please,” I begged, my voice desperate. “Let me cum.  Please.”

She chuckled, the sound vibrating through me, her hand tightening around me. 

“Not yet, baby,” she murmured. “I want to see how long you can last.”

Her mouth took me deeper, her throat closing around me, her hand stroking in time with her movements. 

I was losing it, my body trembling, my breath coming in short gasps. “I- I can’t- ”

She pulled back again, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re doing so good, baby,” she praised, her hand slowing. “But not yet.”

I groaned, my body aching, my cock throbbing with unfulfilled desire. She leaned down, her lips brushing my ear, her breath hot against my skin. 

“Tell me how much you want to come,”she whispered, her voice a seductive command.

“I want it so bad,” I gasped, my body trembling. “I need to come. Please Professor, let me cum.”

She smiled, her lips curving against my skin, her hand beginning to move again, slow and torturous. 

“Soon, baby,” she promised, her voice a soft whisper. “But first, let’s see how close we can get.”

Her mouth took me again, her hand working in perfect sync, her tongue swirling, her throat tightening around me. 

I was a mess, my body on the brink, my moans filling the room. She edged me again, bringing me to the edge, only to pull back, her hand easing, her mouth leaving me throbbing and desperate.

“Professor,” I whimpered, my body trembling, my cock aching with need. “Please, I can’t take much more.”

She chuckled, her hand wrapping around me once more, her mouth descending, her tongue tracing the head. 

“One more time,” she whispered, her voice a sultry promise. “And then, maybe, I’ll let you cum.”

Her mouth took me deep, her hand stroking in time, her throat tightening around me. I was lost, my body surrendering to her, my moans turning into incoherent pleas. She worked me relentlessly, her mouth and hand in perfect harmony, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Professor, I’m- I’m gonna- ”

Her mouth tightened around me, her hand speeding up, her tongue swirling in a way that made my vision blur. 

I cried out, my body tensing, every muscle straining as I teetered on the edge, my cock throbbing with an almost painful need.

“Cum for me, baby,” she whispered, her voice a command. “Let it go.”

I shattered, my body convulsing, my cock pulsing as I came, my release hot and intense, my moans filling the room. 

Her mouth milked me, her hand squeezing gently, her tongue swirling as she drew every last drop from me. I was in ruins, my body limp, my breath coming in ragged gasps as she finally pulled away, her lips curved in a satisfied smile.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her hand stroking my chest, her eyes soft and admiring. 

She positioned herself above me, her scent enveloped me- a mix of her perfume, her skin, and something uniquely her that made my head spin. Her skirt hiked up, revealing she had nothing underneath, and I felt my breath hitch. 

She was a vision- her body perfectly framed by the soft light of the room, her full breasts rising and falling with her steady breaths.

She leaned back slightly, her hands resting on my chest, her eyes never leaving mine. 

“You’ve been a very good boy, Jungkook,” she said, her tone teasing yet filled with approval. “You deserve a reward.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Yes, Professor,” I murmured, my voice hoarse with desire. 

The way she called me good boy made me feel both proud and submissive, a combination that only heightened my arousal.

“Eat me out properly,” she commanded, her voice firm but laced with desire.

She hovered there for a moment, her breath coming in short gasps, her eyes searching mine for any hesitation. I held her gaze, my eagerness evident, and she let out a soft sigh of satisfaction before lowering herself onto me.

The first touch of her warmth against my lips was electric. 

I groaned softly, my hands instinctively moving to her thighs, holding her in place as I began to explore her with my mouth. 

She tasted sweet, her arousal coating my tongue as I lapped at her eagerly. Her hands tangled in my hair, guiding me, her moans filling the air as I worked my way deeper, my tongue tracing patterns against her sensitive flesh.

“Oh, Jungkook,” she breathed, her voice trembling with pleasure. “You’re so good at this. So eager to please me.”

Her words fueled my desire, and I moaned against her, the vibrations sending shivers through her body. 

She shifted slightly, her hips rocking against my mouth as she sought more friction, more pressure. I hummed softly, my hands squeezing her thighs gently, and she gasped, her nails digging into my scalp.

“Do you like that, baby?” she asked, her voice laced with dominance. “Do you like making me feel good?”

I nodded, my mouth still buried between her legs, and she laughed softly, a sound that was equal parts amusement and pleasure. 

“Answer me, Jungkook,” she commanded, her tone firm.

I lifted my head slightly, my lips brushing against her as I spoke. “Yes, Professor,” I murmured. “I love it. I love making you feel good.”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “Good boy,” she repeated, her voice a soft caress. “Now keep going. Make me cum.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. 

I dove back in, my tongue working tirelessly, my lips sucking gently as I focused on every inch of her. 

She was so responsive, her moans growing louder, her body trembling with each stroke of my tongue. Her hands tightened in my hair, her hips bucking against my mouth as she chased her release.

“Faster, Jungkook,” she panted, her voice urgent. 

I complied, my movements becoming more frantic, my mouth devouring her as she teetered on the edge. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her body tensing as she neared her climax. 

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. I kept going, my tongue flicking, my lips sucking, until she finally shattered around me, her body convulsing as she cried out my name. Her hands clenched in my hair, her hips pressing down hard as she rode out her orgasm, her release coating my tongue. 

I drank her in, savoring her taste, her scent, the feel of her trembling body against mine.

When she finally stilled, her breath coming in ragged gasps, she pushed herself up, her eyes wild with need. “I’m not done with you.”

Before I could protest, she slid down my body, her hands pushing my thighs apart. 

Her lips curved into a wicked smile as she straddled my hips, skirt bunching up to her waist. I could feel her warmth against my hardness, and I groaned, my hands reaching for her, only to be batted away.

“Hands to yourself, Jungkook,” she chided, her tone low and firm. “Or you won’t get to cum.”

I nodded, my chest heaving as she positioned herself above me, her hands gripping my wrists and pinning them to the table. 

Her eyes locked onto mine, full of challenge and desire, as she lowered herself onto me. I hissed at the sensation, my cock sliding into her tight heat, her walls clenching around me like a vice.

“Fuck,” I groaned, my voice rough. “You feel so good.”

She smirked, her hips beginning to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Do I now? Tell me, Jungkook. How bad do you want to cum?”

“So bad,” I gasped, my body tensing as she rode me, her movements controlled, teasing. “Please, let me-”

“Not yet,” she interrupted, her voice sharp. “You’re not in control here. I am.”

Her words sent a jolt of arousal through me, and I whimpered, my hips bucking against her. 

She leaned forward, her breasts brushing my chest, her lips hovering over mine. “You’re mine to play with, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I breathed, my voice hoarse. “Yours.”

She pulled back, her hands gripping my shoulders as she increased her pace, her movements becoming more urgent. I could feel her tightening around me, her breath coming in short gasps, and I knew she was close.

“Cum for me,” I pleaded, my voice desperate. “Let me make you feel good.”

She shook her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Not yet. I’m going to edge you, Jungkook. Make you beg for it.”

Her words were like a spark, igniting a fire in my veins. 

She slowed her movements, her hips grinding against me in a torturous rhythm, pushing me to the brink but pulling back before I could climax. I groaned, my body trembling, my cock throbbing with need.

“Please,” I whimpered, my voice breaking. “Let me cum.”

“She leaned down, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered, “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate.”

“Yes,” I gasped, my hands gripping the table as she pushed me further, her body moving in a way that made me see stars. “Professor, I can’t-”

“Shh,” she soothed, her lips pressing against mine in a soft kiss. “I’ll help you.”

She quickened her pace, her body moving in perfect harmony with mine, and I felt her climax building, her walls fluttering around me. 

I groaned, my hips thrusting up to meet her, and she cried out, her head falling back as she came, her body shaking.

“Fuck,” I murmured, my voice thick with desire. “That feels so good.”

She rode out her orgasm, her movements slowing as she leaned against me, her breath ragged. I could feel her heart pounding against my chest, her body still trembling from the force of her release.

“Your turn,” she whispered, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. “But only if you’re a good boy.”

I nodded eagerly, my body aching for release. She shifted, her hands gripping my hips as she guided my movements, her pace relentless. I groaned, my body tensing as I felt myself building, my cock throbbing with the promise of release.

“Y/N,” I gasped, my voice desperate. “I’m close.”

“Not yet,” she teased, her voice playful. “One more time. I want to hear you beg.”

I whimpered, my body trembling as she slowed her movements, pushing me to the edge once more. “Please,” I pleaded, my voice breaking. “Let me cum.”

She smirked, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Say it. Tell me who you belong to.”

“Yours,” I breathed, my voice hoarse. “I’m yours, Professor. Please, let me cum.”

Her smile softened, and she leaned down, her lips pressing against mine in a tender kiss. “Good boy,” she murmured. “Now cum for me.”

Her words were my undoing. 

I cried out, my body arching as I climaxed, my cock pulsing inside her as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. 

She held me close, her hands stroking my hair as I rode out my orgasm, my body trembling with the intensity of it.

And then it was quiet.

The room hummed with leftover heat. My heartbeat still thundered in my chest.

I lay there, dazed and open, blinking up at the ceiling like it might know what came next.

She didn’t rush.

She just leaned down, her skin warm against mine, and kissed my collarbone- soft and slow.

Then she murmured in my ear, voice calm, unreadable:

“Don’t think this changes the rules.”

═══════

♡ next

MASTERPOST ♡ LINK TO ASK ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 05/28/2025

[bananayuyu]

Tell Me No {2}

Pairing: professor!Yunho x f reader

Genre: smut, dark academia vibes

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: Your relationship with Professor Jeong is blooming, but finals are coming and have you stressed beyond belief. Will you be able to survive them, when all you want to do is spend time with your gorgeous professor?

Warnings: smut, MDNI, oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting, praise

A/n: I've got part 3 planned out already, lmk if you wanna be tagged!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Masterlist | Read it on ao3

"How's my favorite student doing?"

Professor Jeong's whisper is so soft you can barely hear it, his face not lifting from the stack of papers on his desk. The classroom is quiet, but not silent, and the blanket of soft chatter is hiding your interaction just enough that you decide to respond.

"Fine, I guess," you whisper back, his head raising in concern. His face is serious as he looks deep into your eyes, trying to read why you've just said that.

"After class," is all he says in return, and you know from the nervous shifting of his eyes that it's time to walk away, time to slink back to your desk.

You were nervous, terribly, horribly nervous for finals, that was why your head was spinning and you were barely getting sleep. It was make or break time, the last two weeks of the semester when every bit of work you'd put in would either pay off, or disintegrate in your hands.

You wished you found school easy, but you just never did. As much as you loved to write you found the structure of classes and exams hard to cope with, even though you knew how important it was for your future career.

If you were ever going to make it as a writer, you'd need connections and letters of recommendation and people on your side. You'd never tasted an ounce of support from your family, when it came to these dreams. Being here had helped you understand how important these University relationships were, that your professors or peers might be people many years down the line who helped you succeed. You'd received more positive feedback in the last few weeks that ever in your life; even your annoying classmate liked your work enough to tell you.

"That last story prof read was yours, wasn't it?" Marcus asks as class ends, the room filled with warmth from the wood stove in the corner, winter now upon you.

"How could you tell?" you ask, rolling your eyes as you turn back to face him.

"You always include a cat in your stories, no matter how irrelevant, it's pretty fucking obvious."

"Okay, sorry for doing that, I guess," you sigh, eyes hitting the ceiling again.

"I'm not tryna be an asshole, seriously, it was good. And prof obviously loved it too, he was smiling the whole time he read."

A jolt of happiness shoots through you at the mention of Professor Jeong's admiration, and it takes every bit of your will to avoid smiling.

"Well, thanks then," you respond, shooting Marcus a quick, tight smile.

"Wow, see, the ice is breaking, you aren't being such a bitch to me anymore," he laughs, grabbing his bag and zipping it closed. "You finally warming up to me?"

"No, absolutely fucking not," you grimace, staring back at his waggling eyebrows.

"Forget I said that, then," he laughs, standing and walking out of the room, your eyes snaking over the empty desks around and the small line of students at the front of the room, asking for extensions or extra credit work to make up their grades before the end of the semester.

"I asked you to rewrite this paper three weeks ago," you hear Professor Jeong telling the boy in front of him, filing the short stories from the day into his bag.

"I know sir, I'm very sorry, I was just too busy with my other classes-"

"I know this is upsetting to hear, but I can't give you more of an extension than I already have. This is a small school, we do not operate with the goal of passing as many students as we can. Other students in this very class have made up work I've requested, within the time I requested it. It simply wouldn't be fair to them to let you get away with this." His eyes raise to meet yours for a moment, before moving down to the boy again. "Listen, you got good grades on your first two papers, and if you do well on the final, you will pass. Just focus on the final, and you will be fine."

The boy shuffles off in frustration, and several students behind follow him too, not bothering to try to convince your professor of giving them second chances. Was it too harsh? You couldn't tell how you felt about it, because a part of you felt so flattered by what he'd said. You were the student who redid work on time, and had worked your ass off since to maintain high grades in all your classes. If you'd neglected work like your classmate had, you'd understand your professor not giving you another chance. You didn't know what the boy's life was like, whether there were legitimate reasons for his inability to rewrite the paper; so much panic, so much worry over a person you didn't know was a clear indication of just how stressed you were.

You could care all day about the plight of everyone around you. But until you secured your independence and stability, you really needed to focus on yourself.

You waited patiently for the last student to exit the room, before gathering your things. You and your handsome professor had tried to not be obvious, to not spend time lingering around each other when other students or faculty were present. But there was something about always being the last to leave class that you liked; even on days when you didn't follow him home, you still got to have at least one private conversation, and even if he hadn't touched you, the few moments alone would leave you tingling with warmth all over.

He hadn't let things escalate any further, in the weeks since. You still made out when you visited his house, still felt his hardness through the thick cotton of his pants, let him touch you and tease you and drive you completely insane. But never had he seemed to want to push it further, and though you should have been laser focused on school, you couldn't help thinking about it. Did he not want you like you wanted him? Was he caught in feeling wrong for liking you the way he did?

Together you exit the building in complete silence, the air still but frigid. You had worn your favorite black leg warmers today, paired with your thickest tights, a white thermal turtle neck, and your warmest navy blue sweater. You even had long socks on, the white contrasting against your dark blue Mary Janes, but you still shivered as you stepped outside. You should have brought your winter coat today, but there was nothing you could do about it now. Usually on clear days like today, the sun warmed the winter air by early afternoon, enough that you wouldn't need so many layers.

You walk fast to help warm yourself, moving through the routine you knew well by now. You wait by the platform as Professor Jeong buys your tickets, and he slips one carefully in your hand as he walks past, only glancing at you a moment before moving to stand ten feet away. Your body aches to follow him and be next to him always, but you know as well as he does that you really shouldn't get caught. As sweet and wholesome as this whole thing felt to you, it wasn't something other people needed to know about. You were sure most wouldn't understand, and those who did might only tease you about it endlessly.

It takes several minutes for the train to arrive, running late due to the freezing weather. Though it'd barely snowed in the morning, enough water froze over on parts of the track to require some last minute maintenance. You both rush to the door with every other waiting passenger, pushing your way close to the front to not miss out on a seat. On days like today no one was walking home, and the trains got uncomfortably full.

You push in behind him, handing your ticket off quickly, and stumble into the seat to his right, pretending like you'd accidentally ended up there and were just thankful to be sitting. People crowd the isle, a pair of legs mere inches from your own. You were thankful they belonged to a girl, one who leaned down and whispered 'sorry!' when a bump in the track knocked her sideways and into you slightly. Most of the students lived just one stop down, and in a few minutes the car is much less chaotic; you finally chance a glance in his direction, taking in his profile, the soft plane of his cheeks and perfect curve of his nose.

His head turns, and suddenly you snap your head away, feeling almost shy. He widens his thighs, leaning forward and sitting more comfortably, but the movement has caused your legs to touch and your whole body burns at the feeling, the opposite of relaxing. You want to mount him, climb into his lap and kiss and ride him until all your problems are forgotten. But you're in public, still several students and other professors littered through the train car, and you have to keep your composure.

Finally, you arrive at his stop. Forthsmith station is as barren as it always is, and as soon as the train is gone his hand is on your back, the two of you making quick work of the small walk to his house. Even he feels cold in his thick wool suit, the late November weather not usually this cold, the two of you clinging to each other for any warmth you can find.

As soon as you're greeted with the warmth of his cozy home, you sigh in relief. He lights the fire under his mantle, and as the wood starts crackling you walk to him, wrapping your arms around his back and squeezing hard. He chuckles, tugging on your arms to release, before turning around and pulling you in, sighing at the perfect feeling of your head tucked in his chest and arms around his back. In a moment you're raising your head to kiss him, and it's warm and sweet and so gentle, making your frigid body melt into him. You hold onto his neck, pulling him in. It's so easy to get lost in each other the moment you're alone, when you have to pretend in all other contexts to barely even notice each other. Soon your kiss is paired with heavy breaths and tongues, and the heat between your thighs is growing fast, your body begging you to find something to grind against.

You pull him to the edge of the couch and push him down on it, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. His cock is obviously hard, and immediately you're grinding against it and kissing him, his hands coming up to grip onto your ass and guide your movements. You've barely spoken a word to each other, because this is all you really wanted to do; to be back in each other's arms after so many days apart, your schedules not allowing for a moment like this in too long.

"How's my pretty girl feeling?" he asks, breaking the kiss and pulling his hands to the sides of your face.

"I'm fine," you whine, frustrated he's not matching your movements anymore. "I'm horny," you whisper.

"I know, angel, I can tell, but you looked upset earlier, I want to know if you're feeling alright."

"I just want you to touch me so I can forget about it all," you sigh, pouting at him.

"That's not how adults deal with their problems, angel," he responds. You roll your eyes, but finally give up your humping, slumping into his chest again. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm just very stressed for finals," you say.

"Which final are you most stressed about?" he asks, running a hand down your back.

"Yours," you say, snuggling into him more.

"Mine? Why mine?"

"Cause it's two parts, two separate days, that's really intimidating."

He sighs, taking in a deep breath. "I'm not going to lie to you and say it's easy, but I know you can do it." You just grumble beneath him, not responding with anything coherent. "What always helps me when I'm nervous about something is to do a trial run. I did that with my thesis defense, I performed it to my roommates probably three times in the week leading up to it. It helped a lot."

You nod your head against him, wondering just how hard the rest of your academic career would be, if you'd ever be able to get to the point of defending a doctorate thesis.

"I know what we should do. I will have you do a mock exam tonight, I'll time you and everything, and then you'll get to see that it really isn't so bad."

"What?" you asked, head shooting up. "I don't want to do that, I'm tired..." you whine, looking pathetically frustrated.

"I'll reward you after, how does that sound?" he asks, squeezing your thigh in his hand.

"But the exam is like four hours total," you sigh, pouting.

"We'll just do one section tonight, you get to choose. Which one are you most nervous about?" he asks.

"The- the short story," you stutter. "I think the essay portion will be fine, I've written so many five-paragraph essays in my life. Writing a whole short story by hand in two hours sounds awful though."

"Awful? Like I'm trying to torture you?" he mocks, smirking.

"Shut up," you grumble, turning your head away and making him laugh.

"Okay, short story it is. I'll get you some paper and a pencil and we'll do it in my office, so it feels more like you're at school," he says. "And I promise the reward will be worth it darling, I promise to make you feel so good." His voice is low and sensual as the sentence leaves his lips, and your body shudders with need, your chest flushing. He gives you a quick chaste kiss on the cheek before standing you up, moving to his office to set out the materials you'd need, and pulling out his desk chair for you. In minutes you're sitting at his desk and he's starting his timer, leaving the room to start preparing dinner while you panic internally about what the hell to write about.

It was so hard to come up with something on the spot, no prompt to help you. But like always, the feelings you were having translated right onto the page, and before you knew it a creepy and mysterious story was pouring out of you, atmospheric and unnerving, matching the anxiety you were still feeling about the next two weeks of your life. An hour in he'd brought you a cup of soup, and gingerly you sipped at it without spilling on your pages, careful to dip your roll in the broth and avoid sending crumbs flying in all directions.

"You done?" he asks when he enters again, the timer on his phone beeping. You'd made it the two hours, time flying remarkably fast. Your hand was starting to cramp, but you felt proud of yourself. You'd actually managed to do it, and he was right; you were no longer so fearful of his coming exam.

You nodded at him with a genuine smile, turning your papers around to show him your completed work.

"See, I knew you could do it," he says, leaning down across his desk to place a kiss on your cheek. "Now read it for me, from start to finish."

"Oh, sir, I- I don't know-" You cut yourself off with a sigh, looking away from him.

"I want to hear it," he says, voice low and buttery in that way you love, your insides rolling.

"But it's not very good," you pout, looking back to him.

"I'm sure that's not true," he says, sitting himself on the edge of his desk and crossing his legs. "Come on, read it."

"Okay," you say shakily, letting out a trapped breath.

"'You know what you must do, child,' my mother says. She's staring down the letter I've received, the letter from Lucifer himself, calling upon me. Red ink stains the page, the characters boxy and sharp. 'Come now, or he dies.' And I know exactly who he's referring to. Dahlia is slinking around the side of the room, his rose gold fur shining in the moonlight. My mother tries to resist him, but she's never been able. Who would have ever guessed that a demon lived inside this beautiful cat, cursed for a thousand years to be stuck in this strange form, never knowing who or what will come along next in his life?"

It starts flowing out of you the moment you get over the hurdle of simply starting, and then Professor Jeong's eyes are fixed on you and sparkling with awe, spurring you on further, making your heart sing.

"It was a long trek to the station. The Midnight Train stopped only once in our town, across the river from my family's old stone cottage. As I crossed the bridge the water twinkled, a soft breeze blowing through the tall grass in the valley. It was peaceful and quiet, soft moonlight illuminating the path ahead. Not a soul was out, just the haze of smoke from chimneys. I breathed hard as I neared the station. My body was not up to this sort of journey, but I'd known from the moment I started my letter that I'd be coming here. There was no where else for girls like me to go."

It was easy to speak, easy to feel proud of your work when he looked so pleased. You read through the horrors of the Midnight Train, tried your best to make your voice spooky and haunted, but all it did was make a chuckle escape from deep within him, his beautiful high cheekbones on display. You take in a sharp breath to calm your own laughter, steadying yourself for the last page of your story.

"Through the back door of the dining car, a final room appears to me, and from the shadowy darkness a skeleton comes, creaking in its movements. 'Ms. Delphine, a pleasure,' he says as he bows, his middle ribs clicking together. 'I always appreciate a visit from one of the chosen protectors.' I stare down at my precious companion in my arms, his face soft and tranquil, as if he hadn't noticed the horrors around us. 'It is a true curse, and a true calling,' I nodded, staring into his empty eye sockets. It was clear I had much to learn. The damned see life differently. Of course they do, I thought. How could I have been so short sighted to think otherwise?

The skeleton moves aside, holding a hand out towards the back of the room. With careful steps I glide forward, finally making out the shape of a door. When I open it, the sky is bright and birds are singing, flowers dotting a lush field. In the distance I spot the Unchosen Castle. It is strikingly shiny and bright. I hold a hand up to shade my eyes. 'We'll be seeing you,' the skeleton says. I turn back to him, the room brighter now. Rotting flesh is hanging off his left knee cap. A bullet hole is obvious in the side of his skull.

But as strange as it is, I don't feel panic. When I look down, Dahlia is asleep in my arms. I was called upon, but expected to leave. My old life out of reach, my new life a set of honors. But I had no desire to step out into that field. I close the door instead and breathe in the muskiness. The darkness greets me. For the first time in my life, I feel completely at home."

"Wonderful, just wonderful," Professor Jeong says, shaking his head and clasping his hands together. "Promise me you will write horror books when you're older."

"I want to," you smile, blinking as you look up at him.

"It's a wonderful style, almost a cozy horror, if that makes sense."

You turn your eyes down, overcome with the way he's so perfectly described what you were going for. To know it had translated off the page sent your head spinning. Could you really do this, become a successful author? It was him above anyone else, who was making you believe in that future.

"Come on, let's go back to the living room," he says as he grabs your empty bowl, pushing in his desk chair once you stand out of it.

As soon as you're back in the coziness of the fire-lit room, your hands are on him and his are on you, grabbing for every bit of each other.

"My little genius," he sighs, kissing you soft and tenderly, arms wrapping tightly around you. "You did so good for me, doing exactly what I asked. And you wrote so well."

"I wanna be good for you, that's all I want to do," you sigh, opening your mouth further, relishing in feeling his tongue against yours, the soft warmth tantalizing and true.

"Let me taste you then," he says, and you suddenly can't breathe, jitters snaking their way up through your legs and landing straight in your core. "That sound good?" he chuckles, your shocked face so utterly adorable, and you murmur a soft 'mhm' before kissing him again.

He lets you deepen it, pulling your faces together and relishing in the taste of each other's mouths. Your body is tight against him, on your tiptoes to reach as high as you can, but still he is bent over slightly to meet you, holding onto your low back as you arch into his touch. Your hips press against his, and you can feel how hard he is already; you swear he's yearning to fuck you as much as you're yearning for it too, but he's taking his time, waiting patiently, and something about that is making your brain melt even more.

You'd never been treated so respectfully in your life. It was such a confusing feeling, because you knew he shouldn't be wanting you like this at all. But if anyone was a fly on the wall and could see how he acted, you were sure no one would think negatively of him at all.

Slowly he breaks the kiss, planting a final peck on your nose before leaning down and undoing the strap on each of your shoes, helping you carefully step out of them. Then he pulls off your leg warmers, setting them in a pile beside your shoes. The anticipation of what's coming off next sends shivers through you, and when he looks up he catches sight of the lust in your eyes, his eyes shiny in the yellow light. He takes his time with your tights, pulling gently at the waist to move them over your hips, and his hands feel electric against your bare ass, making your mouth water. As he pulls them down your thighs he relishes the moment, planting soft kisses in your plushness and moving closer and closer to the small nest at your center, making you squirm.

"You smell amazing, angel," he says, his pupils blown at he looks up at you, his eyes darker now than you'd ever seen them. He looks good like this, his cheeks slightly flushed, hair faintly disheveled. You wonder what he'd look like after a good ravishing, how perfect he'd be with swollen lips and completely messy hair. You reach down to mess it up further, the dark black locks soft and lusciously thick in your hand. Soon he's pulled your tights completely down, and you hold onto his shoulders to balance as you step each foot out in quick succession.

"Come here," he says, leading you to the couch and sitting you down as he'd been earlier. When he leans in you grab onto his suit jacket again, pulling him closer and deeper, loving the feeling of the soft, thick wool in your hands. Since winter started he'd been wearing gorgeous suits every day, and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't so incredibly distracting during class.

"You like my suit?" he asks, chuckling as he makes his way to your neck and places gentle kisses from your jaw to your shoulder, making you shudder in pleasure.

"Yes," you sigh in response, tipping your head back.

"Does it turn you on?" he jokes further.

"Yeah, it does," you chuckle, lifting your head back up to nip at his ear in retaliation. He just laughs and pulls back, before diving into your plush lips again and devouring you. He's been thinking about this for days, and it's making his head fuzzy that you're half naked in front of him, spread wide on his couch.

Finally he moves down to your thighs, leaving gentle nips and licking along the length of them, making you wetter as your cunt tingles in need. It's agonizing waiting for him to get there, but when he does, when he licks a slow stripe up the entire length of your slit and moans at the taste, it's more than worth it. Your back is already arching, knees pushing themselves even wider so he has all the room he needs. He does it again, before focusing his attention on your clit, licking slow half circles around it, the warmth of his tongue too perfect to comprehend.

He spends his time working you up, holding onto your thighs and whispering praises, 'god you taste so fucking good,' or 'good girl, open up for me.' Your cunt is flushed and pink and wet for him, and finally he brings his right hand to meet his mouth, slipping to finger slowly into you and making you almost scream.

The deepness of the feeling is instantly delicious. You reach your hands out to grip onto his hair, groaning in pleasure as he starts sucking harder, pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly, but with force. He's curling them up in that perfect way, hitting the exact spot that drives you crazy, and the pleasure builds fast, your cunt feeling fiery-hot and utterly amazing. It's taking your breath away, how smooth he is, how each movement seems perfectly controlled and perfectly tailored to you. He looks up once, catching your eye, and you almost fall over the edge in an instant from the sight of him between your legs, his pink cheeks stained with your wetness. You throw your head back, moaning loudly, and he picks up his speed slightly, feeling the walls of cunt starting to shake, knowing what's about to come.

Suddenly your pleasure is growing higher than you expect, but even as it reaches amazing heights, it keeps building, keeps growing. You're almost screaming at the feeling, so intense you're unable to comprehend it at all, and then suddenly you feel it, your legs shaking, your cunt squeezing down on him, and the extreme wetness spilling out of you. You look down to see his face covered in your squirt, a look of pure satisfaction on his face as he milks you through all of it, your high-pitched moans the most beautiful melody. Your orgasm lasts longer than any you've ever had, and by the end you're dumbfounded, slumping back into his couch and breathing uncontrollably, blinking in your confusion.

"That was so hot, fuck," he groans when he finally pulls away from you, moving back up to wipe a hand over your cheek and take a look at your eyes. "You feeling okay?"

"Yes, I definitely am," you chuckle, a small tear escaping from your right eye, and you wipe it away quickly. "That was fucking crazy."

"Have you ever squirted before?" he asks.

"No, I didn't know I could," you answer, smiling shyly.

"Fuck," he sighs, ego doing somersaults at knowing he was the one to help you discover that ability. He chuckles before sitting himself down next to you, wrapping you up in his arms and cradling you, planting soft kisses on your forehead as you come down.

Twenty minutes later you're a yawning mess, your body completely wracked from how hard you came. It was also growing late, the street outside dark and gloomy, the fire crackling in the corner was giving you much needed warmth that was only adding to your sleepiness.

"I don't think I can make it home," you tell him, looking up with upward turned eyebrows, hoping he'll let you stay.

"No staying here until finals are done," he says, shaking his head, and you pout and shove your head in his chest, frustrated. "I want you to stay here with me too, darling, but I can't be the reason you don't make it to your classes tomorrow."

You sigh in knowing he's right, that it's probably not a good idea to stay when you have such important days ahead. It takes all your remaining energy to stand up, redressing in the warmth of his living room, and sliding on your shoes. He brings your bag for you, carrying it as he walks you back to the station, before sending you off with a quick kiss on the cheek.

The train is nearly empty so late, and the air feels colder when you step off, without him by your side. But all you can think about is his mouth and fingers and tongue, and that night you sleep like a baby, completely and totally content.

next part ->

Taglist: @iamalily @atzri @marii1087 @dilfkimhjj @yunyuniverse

Thank you all for the feedback and support <3333333333

[qinche-cvmslvt]

Forbidden

Content Warning: MDNI, Eventual Smut, Romance, Slow burn, Emotional and Sexual Tension, Xavier, Professor Sylus, Age gap romance, Taboo relationship, love triangles.

Tag list: @aikonecrosis @daddysyluslittlekitten @laroseevie @ikesimplton @harutogfr @floofycookie @nchant6dkitty @aneertawrites

A/N: Valentine's Day is here, and she's a cruel temptress dressed in a pretty red bow.

Chapter3: Ribbon

Valentine’s Day had smothered the school in cheap affection. Red and pink streamers dangled from the ceiling like veins waiting to burst. Paper hearts clung to lockers, some carefully crafted, others butchered by safety scissors in fits of sugar-fueled chaos. Candygrams flew down the halls like love letters from a war zone, all glitter and artificial promise. It was all so loud. So obvious.

And you hated it.

Not because of the hearts. Not because of the public displays or the way couples pressed too close in between classes. You hated it because it made real desire feel like a disease. And you were already infected. You stepped into Literature and there he was. Professor Sylus.

Standing behind his desk like sin dressed in structure. Today he was wearing a white button-up shirt, sleeves folded at the elbows, showing off his vascular forearms that you found infuriatingly attractive. He wore brown slacks that hugged what you know are muscular legs and that ass… oh fuck he has a nice ass…and a green sweater draped over his shoulders, the sleeves looped at the front. Seemingly innocent, respectable, but it was driving you wild just how good he looks. His ruby eyes lifted the moment you crossed the threshold. His gaze didn’t flick. It locked. Like he’d been holding his breath until you appeared. You felt it, the way his stare slid over you like warm silk pulled taut. It wasn’t new. But today, it scorched.

Because you’d done something stupid. Something small. A red ribbon tied into your hair. A shade just shy of crimson. Not regulation. And definitely not subtle. But you hadn’t worn it for subtlety. And he noticed. Of course he did.

You moved to your seat slowly, spine straight, pretending you didn’t feel his eyes following your every step. The room was full, but it felt like a vacuum, all sound sucked away except for the pulse in your throat and the low creak of his chair as he stood.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, voice smooth but brittle at the edges. “Today, we’ll be studying tragic love in literature.”

Of course we are. You didn’t let your face betray the twist in your stomach, or the low, crawling warmth that pooled in your core. You just opened your notebook and lowered your eyes like a good student. But you weren’t thinking about the text. You weren’t thinking about heartbreak or metaphors.

You were thinking about him.

Sylus moved to the board and wrote a quote as he spoke, the scratching of the chalk providing rhythm to the deep cadence of his voice. “He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun…” His hand paused, his voice gone, to the rest of the class it seemed like nothing. But to you, you saw this as a confession. And your heart nearly seized. “…yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”

Sylus turned back around to face the class but he didn’t look at the class, no. His eyes were on you. A flick of his gaze, his eyes softening for just a moment, as if he were saying to you. You… you are my sun.

Your thighs clenched together as you saw his gaze drop to your mouth and didn’t come back up right away. As if he were momentarily lost in a trance. A soft gasp escaped your parted lips and Sylus’ eyes hardened. The mask of indifference and nonchalantness once more. But you saw it, you saw the way his hand curled too tightly around the edge of his desk. You didn’t imagine it.

The tension was a living thing, breathing between you, coiling tighter with every word he said. By the time the bell rang, your thighs were pressed together beneath the desk so hard your muscles ached and your pen had stopped moving a full ten minutes ago. You stood. So did he and when you turned to leave, his voice came, low and sharp.

“Stay.”

Just one word. Spoken low. Not sharp. Not loud. But it cut through the noise like a blade through silk and you froze. Your name hadn’t been barked, hadn’t even carried weight… but it held you. Caught you mid-step, turned you like a hand fisted in your hair. Your heartbeat skipped, then thundered in your throat. Around you, the classroom spilled into chaos, chairs scraped back, backpacks slammed shut, laughter bounced off the walls. Crumpled notes hit the floor. Sneakers squeaked against linoleum.

But none of it touched him. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Sylus Just stood there… watching you. Only you. As if the rest of the world could burn and he wouldn’t look away. And when the door clicked shut, sealing the noise outside like a coffin lid, the silence settled thick, breathless. Still… he didn’t look away. Not once. Not even to blink. Like you were the only thing worth hearing. Worth seeing. Worth breaking for.

You stood in the center of the room like it was yours. Like danger wasn’t crawling up your spine. Like you hadn’t just lit the match and tossed it at his feet with a smile that said burn with me. And Professor Sylus? He hadn’t moved from his desk. But the tension between you? It did. It curled, coiled, cracked in the air like static, waiting for someone to flinch first.

Sylus’ hands were still planted against the edge, the tension in his arms making the fabric of his shirt strain just slightly across his forearms. His head was bowed, not in shame, but in control. Measured. Restrained. But his eyes? His eyes were still on you. Low. Unflinching. Burning.

You took a step forward, then another. The tap of your shoes against the linoleum echoed like a countdown, soft but sharp, slicing through the hush of the room. Dust motes swirled in the stale mid-day light, catching in the shafts of sun like ash from a fire already burning out of control. Your breath stuttered, tight, shallow, caught high in your chest like it didn’t dare disturb the stillness. Every inch you closed between you crackled with tension, invisible wires stretched taut, humming beneath your skin. The scent of chalk, old books, and something distinctly him, leather and spice and restraint on the verge of shattering, wrapped around you.

“I assume this is about the bow?” Your voice was low. Smooth. A challenge draped in silk.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze rose, slow as sin, heavy as a hand sliding up bare skin. It started at your knees, lingered there like he was already imagining them spread. Then it dragged upward, devouring the line of your skirt like a man tracing his favorite fantasy with his tongue. He paused at the ribbon in your hair, his eyes dark, possessive, as if that innocent little tie was the only thing keeping him from coming undone. And then, finally, he met your eyes. Not like a greeting. Like a claim. Like a verdict etched in heat and hunger, You’re mine

“That bow,” he said softly, “is not part of the uniform.”

You smiled, just a hint of curve at the corner of your lips. A smirk in red. “You planning to write me up for it?” The words rolled off your tongue like a dare, sweet and slow.

He straightened, slowly. Not abrupt. Not dramatic. He simply pushed away from the desk with the kind of grace that came from practiced restraint. Like every inch he moved was calculated to keep from breaking.

“No,” he murmured. “I’m planning to take it off.”

You inhaled. Shallow and sharp. The space between you was closing now, not with threat, but promise. He didn’t stalk. He approached. Measured and controlled. Like someone who knew exactly how much danger he was in and walked into it anyway. His presence wrapped around you before his body ever reached you and when he stopped in front of you, he was close. Too close.

You could smell him. God, you could smell him. That clean, spiced scent that clung to him like sin dressed in velvet. Masculine and rich, threaded with something darker, like smoke and skin and a promise whispered against a throat. It hit you like a drug, curling low in your belly, coiling tight behind your ribs. The heat rolling off him wasn’t just warmth, it was suffocation. It pulsed in waves, licking at your skin, stroking places untouched and already aching and then there was him. The way his jaw ticked, tight with restraint, teeth clenched like he was one breath from snapping. His chest rose too fast, too hard, like he was trying to calm a storm with nothing but willpower. And all you could think was how badly you wanted to drown in it..

“You think this is a game,” he said his voice low, hoarse at the edges.

“No,” you whispered. “I think you’ve already lost.”

His eyes flicked down to your mouth. Once. Then again. His hand lifted slowly, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek with featherlight precision. His fingers barely grazed your skin but it felt like a spark shot straight to your spine.

“I imagine you,” he said, each word a drop of gasoline. “Every day. Every night.”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t look away. You couldn’t. His fingertips ghosted down the curve of your jaw, stopping just beneath your chin. You tilted your face up, inviting and daring. “Then kiss me.”

His breath stuttered out of him. The silence between you trembled. He leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath on your mouth. But he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. Instead, his hand slid behind your neck, fingers curling lightly in the strands of hair tied beneath that red ribbon. His thumb traced the curve of your throat, slow and reverent, like it wasn’t your pulse he was feeling but his own undoing.

“I want to,” he breathed low, rough, like the words cost him control. Like they tasted of restraint snapped in half and desire dragged bare across his tongue.

Your lips parted, trembling on the edge of breath. “Then… do it,” you exhaled softly, broken and desperate. Like you couldn’t take another second without his hands, his mouth, his everything. Like waiting was the real cruelty.

He leaned in slow and deliberate, until the space between you shattered into static. His nose ghosted over yours, barely there, just enough to make you ache. And his mouth? It hovered a whisper above yours, close enough to taste the heat, not close enough to have it. But he didn’t move. Didn’t take. His body was still. His will unchallenged and that restraint? That restraint burned hotter than any kiss could

“I can’t,” he rasped, his voice frayed, torn from somewhere deep, somewhere breaking. “Not here. Not now.” His gaze dropped to your mouth like it was a wound he couldn’t stop touching. Like kissing you would be both cure and destruction. “Because if I kiss you…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes closing like it physically hurt to say the rest. “If I kiss you, I won’t stop.”

You could feel it then, the trembling edge in his restraint. The war between want and consequence written in every breath he fought to keep level. You didn’t move. Didn’t back away. And that was the worst part. Because you would’ve let him. He lingered there one more moment, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you breathing like you had just run miles through something dark and forbidden. Then, slowly, with all the pain in the world, he pulled away. His voice was quieter now. Hoarse and wrecked.

“Go. Please.”

You didn’t speak. You just turned, walked to the door, and opened it with trembling fingers. But before stepping through, you glanced back. He hadn’t moved. He stood where you left him, eyes closed, hands clenched at his sides, like he was holding on to the last thread of his sanity with both fists. And in that silence, between goodbye and too late, something broke. Not between you. But within you both.

The hallway felt like the wrong world. Too bright. Too loud. Too intact. Streamers swayed from the ceiling as if nothing had just unraveled inside you. Lockers slammed in rhythm. Laughter trailed behind perfume-laced girls. Everywhere you turned there was pink and red and glitter. Valentine’s Day clinging to everything like sugar-dusted rot.

And all you could feel was him. The ghost of his voice. The echo of his breath on your lips. The press of his hand at the back of your neck, warm and reverent and restrained to the point of agony. You walked like a sleepwalker, arms heavy, throat dry, your legs weak and strange beneath you. Your heart still thudded in your chest like it didn’t know the moment had passed. Like it was waiting for him to call you back and finish what he started.

“If I kiss you now… I won’t stop.”

The words looped through your skull like a spell you couldn’t undo. Your fingers curled against your thigh. Your mouth still tingled. Your whole body felt like it had been touched. not in the obvious way, not in a way anyone could see, but in a way you would carry for the rest of the day like an invisible bruise. He hadn’t kissed you. Hadn’t touched you like he wanted to. And somehow that was worse. Because you knew now. You knew what it sounded like when he broke.

You didn’t notice the stairwell until you were on it, one hand gripping the railing like it was the only thing keeping you upright. You paused, trying to find your breath again, trying to piece together the girl you were before you stepped into that classroom. But that version of you was gone. Replaced with this new, unsteady thing filled with want and fire and questions with no safe answers.

And then, “Wait—hold on!”

You heard his voice before you saw him, and something inside you flinched instinctively. For half a second, you thought it was him. that he’d followed you, that he’d lost the battle with himself and come to finish what they’d started. But it wasn’t. It was Xavier. Jogging toward you through the crowd, face flushed, tie askew, a streak of pink glitter on his cheekbone like the day itself had marked him. He looked so human. So soft. And so wrong. You tried to mask the flicker of disappointment before he got too close. Your expression folded into something neutral, something practiced. But Xavier saw it anyway.

He slowed when he reached you. His smile dipped with quiet concern. “Hey… you okay? You look… spooked.”

You wanted to lie. Wanted to smile and tell him you were fine and float above it all like the girls who believed in candygrams and glitter. But the lie caught in your throat, and your shoulders just… sagged. Xavier didn’t press. He just reached into his bag and pulled out a small black box wrapped in red ribbon.

“I got you something.”

You blinked, not quite sure you had heard him right. “Why?”

His smile returned, crooked and warm and honest in the way that hurt. “Because I wanted to.”

You took the box carefully, your fingers grazing his. They were warm. Steady. Safe. You untied the ribbon with slow, uncertain fingers. Inside, a silver pen. Sleek. Elegant. Etched near the clip with a single word.

Write.

Your breath caught.

“You’re always scribbling in the corners of your books,” he said softly. “And I’ve seen you go through, like, five half-dead pens in class. I thought maybe… this one might last longer.”

The pen felt heavier than it looked. Heavier than it should’ve. Not in weight but in meaning. Because no one had ever noticed something like that before. No one had ever seen you in the small ways. Not even the man who had nearly kissed you until the silence between you cracked. And for one fragile second, you wanted to step into this moment. To let Xavier’s warmth soak through the ache in your chest. To accept his smile, his thoughtfulness, his kindness. It would be easier. It would be real.

But then you remembered how Sylus had looked at you. The way his voice had rasped your name without saying it. The way not kissing you had nearly destroyed him. And Xavier…He wasn’t fire. He was comfort. He was light and sweet. But Sylus was the reason your lips still tingled and your heartbeat still stuttered and your thighs still ached like memory alone could ruin you.

“There’s, um… something else,” Xavier added, voice a little shy now.

You looked up, eyes still glassy from your thoughts.

“There’s a school dance next Friday. I wasn’t going to go, but then I thought…” He swallowed. “Maybe you’d come. With me.”

The words should’ve felt like a balm. A bandage on a wound. But instead, they stung. Because you couldn’t even picture the dance without thinking of him. Of Sylus in that room. Of the heat in his eyes. The words he didn’t say. The kiss he didn’t take.

“You want me to be your date?” You asked softly, your voice fraying at the edges.

Xavier nodded. “Not because you feel bad. Not as a favor. I want you there because I like you. And I think… maybe you like me too.”

Your throat tightened. Because you did like him. But it wasn’t the same. Xavier made you feel calm. Seen. Like maybe you could be someone soft again. But Sylus made you feel alive.

“I… I don’t know,” you whispered.

Xavier’s smile didn’t falter. He just nodded, like he’d already prepared for that answer.

“That’s okay. I’m not asking for a yes. Just… think about it, alright?”

He glanced at the pen in your hands. “Whatever you choose—you’re the one who gets to write it.”

Then he turned and left you standing there, heart full, hands shaking, pen pressed to your chest like maybe it could stop the burn. But it couldn’t. Nothing could. Because Sylus was still under your skin and no amount of soft smiles or silver pens could rewrite what had already started bleeding onto the page.

~

The classroom is empty. But it still feels full of you. Sylus hasn’t moved from where you left him. He stands in the same spot. Feet planted, spine straight, hands curled into fists at his sides, like if he lets go of himself now, he’ll unravel in a way that can’t be undone. His eyes are still fixed on the door you just walked through, even though it’s long since closed. Even though the echoes of your footsteps have already faded into the hallway beyond.

He breathes in deep. But the air tastes like you. Your perfume. Your skin. That soft, clean sweetness wrapped in the bite of defiance and something warmer, something reckless. Like the way you tilted your chin up. Like the way you said, “Then do it.”

God. You meant it. Every word. He exhales. Slowly and controlled. Like if he exhales too quickly, the fire inside him might pour out and consume everything. His gaze drops to the desk. To the papers he never finished grading. To the lesson plan that now feels so fucking hollow. He lifts a hand, finally. Runs it down his face, over his jaw, through his hair, like he can scrub the feeling of you out of his skin. But it doesn’t work. Because you’re still there. Pressed into the space between his fingers.

Laced into the heat lingering at the back of his neck. Settled like a brand at the center of his chest. When he closes his eyes, it only gets worse. He sees you. Standing in front of him with your lips parted and your pupils wide, breath shallow and hands trembling, not with fear, but invitation. He remembers how you didn’t flinch. Didn’t back away. Didn’t ask him to stop.

You would have let him. You would have taken all of him. And that terrifies him more than anything. Because he wanted to give it. All of it. He wanted to taste the bow from your hair between his teeth. He wanted to feel you arch into his mouth, your voice gone ragged and desperate, whispering his name not like a question, but like a plea. He wanted to lose himself in you, not just physically, not just sinfully, but completely.

He grips the edge of the desk. Knuckles white. Jaw clenched. You don’t know what it costs him, every time he doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t know how close he gets to failure with every breath you take near him.

If I kiss you now, I won’t stop.

He meant it. Because that kiss, that moment, wouldn’t have been a kiss at all. It would’ve been the breaking point. The line collapsing. The choice made and there would’ve been no going back. His hand trembles as it curls into a fist again. But the rest of him stays still. Silent. Contained. Controlled.

Just like always. Except he isn’t. Not anymore. Because you’re not just in his head now. You’re under his skin. Behind his ribs. Woven into the rhythm of every step, every breath, every lie he tells himself about restraint. He presses his fingers to his lips. Not to touch what you kissed. But to mourn what he didn’t and when he finally leaves the room, he doesn’t look back. Because he knows, Next time? He won’t stop.

~

The pen feels heavier than it should. You hold it in your hand like a lifeline, like a question, like a promise you aren’t sure you can keep. It’s beautiful. Clean. Etched with purpose.

Write.

A single word. But in this moment, it feels like a sentence. Your fingers curl around the silver casing. The cool metal presses into your palm as you walk to your next class, body still aching in ways no one else could ever see. The hallway is alive with sound, doors swinging open, lockers slamming shut, voices overlapping in a hundred conversations you can’t hear because your thoughts are screaming too loud. Xavier’s gift is still fresh against your skin. His voice echoes in the softest part of your memory.

“Because I wanted to.” “You never seem to have a pen that works.” “I like you.”

And god, you do like him. He’s gentle. Thoughtful. He pays attention to the smallest details, like the way you write, the way your brow furrows when your ink skips, the way you flinch at loud noises and drift toward windows during storms. He sees you. He offers something easy. Something warm. He offers a future that isn’t heavy with secrets or guilt or punishment.

But Sylus…Sylus is the one you can’t stop thinking about. The one whose voice is still coiled in your stomach like a bruise that pulses every time you breathe too deep. The one who didn’t kiss you, because if he had, he wouldn’t have stopped.

You remember his breath on your mouth. The way his fingertips lingered at the base of your neck like he was already memorizing your heartbeat. The way he said “Go” like it was a plea, not a command. And even now, walking through the hallway, passing friends, passing teachers, holding Xavier’s gift, you feel him. Like he’s still watching. Like part of him is still standing in that classroom, clenched with restraint, wrecked by silence, and so dangerously close to falling.

You wonder what would’ve happened if you had reached up. Tilted your mouth that final inch. Broken the distance. Would he have pulled you closer? Would he have whispered your name against your lips before ruining you in the space between his desk and the door? Or would he have stopped you anyway?

You don’t know. And that uncertainty poisons everything else. You glances down at the pen in your hand, thumb brushing the engraved word again.

Write.

Like you get to decide the ending. But do you? Because one boy offers you choice. The other feels like fate. And maybe that’s what terrifies you the most. That you want the one that feels like you never had a choice at all

[lampridius]

hello!! may i request the professors (anaxa, dr ratio, mr reca) with a reader who is anxious and/or has panic attacks due to grades and exams or college/uni in general? i'm really struggling with it right now even though i'm trying to follow the fuck it we ball mindset lol. love your writing!! <3 feel free to ignore!

⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･ 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘬𝘢𝘪: ꒱ 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭 ✴ ───────── ❝ 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙙𝙪𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙚𝙭𝙖𝙢𝙨 ❞ －𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘶𝘴 ．．• ♡︎

─ .✦ 𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘀: dr. ratio, anaxa, mr reca ──── .✦ 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴 | 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 | 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 ──── .✦ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨: i do actually have the "fuck it we ball" mentality when it comes to exams and schoolwork in general (which is why i suck ass during exams)

at first, he’s… blunt. too blunt.

“if you already understand the concept, why panic?” he might ask, genuinely puzzled.

but once he sees that the fear isn’t about comprehension - it’s about control, about the overwhelming dread that you’re not good enough - he adjusts. drastically.

ratio starts watching for your signs: the restless tapping, the clipped words, the way your eyes flick to the clock like time is your enemy. and when a panic attack hits, he becomes alarmingly calm. clinical, even - but not in a cold way. he talks you through grounding techniques, breathing patterns, and gives you space without abandoning you.

he never mocks your fear. instead, he starts helping you prepare in more methodical ways - breaking your studying into manageable chunks, creating mock exams with absurdly encouraging notes scribbled in the margins.

and when he sees you freeze up again, near tears before a presentation, he surprises you by standing beside you, quietly saying: “intelligence isn't only about answers. it's about resilience. and you're already showing that.”

he respects your mind - but slowly, he makes it clear that he respects your heart just as much.

he notices it first in your silence. the way your shoulders stiffen when test papers are handed out. how you hold your breath, blink too often, clutch your pen like it might splinter in your grip.

anaxa doesn’t pry. instead, he begins gently creating structure around you - he walks slower when returning assignments, he lingers a second longer after class ends. and when you do panic - when the anxiety spikes sharp and fast, and you can barely think past the thudding in your chest - he doesn’t offer platitudes.

instead, he sits beside you, not saying much at first. just his steady presence. one hand resting loosely on his knee, quiet and grounding. eventually, he speaks in that low, careful voice of his.

“your grades don’t define your worth,” he says, like it’s a truth he’s memorized. “you’re more than the numbers. and you’re not in this alone.”

he starts offering you more office hours. not framed as extra help, but just time - time to go over things slower, to breathe, to learn without pressure. he’s patient when you forget, reassuring when you spiral, and proud in a quiet way when you get through a rough patch. he sees your effort. and he always, always honors it.

reca’s kindness is so effortless that it disarms you.

he’s the professor who notices when your hands are trembling as you hand in your test and who sends a quiet message after class, asking if you’re okay - not as an obligation, but because he truly cares.

he offers make-up assignments and study breaks without judgment. his classroom becomes a soft landing space, somewhere you know you can take a deep breath.

when your anxiety overwhelms you, he doesn’t try to logic it away. he listens. and then, he reminds you in the gentlest voice: “no grade is more important than your health. i want you to succeed - but not at the cost of your peace.”

he even starts holding small, quiet review sessions just for you and a few others. he brings tea. sits cross-legged on the desk. jokes a little too much but always with warmth.

he sees your potential - not just academically, but as someone who’s trying their best despite the weight of everything. and he never, ever lets you forget that that’s worth more than any letter on a transcript.

[chocobochaserstories]

Omega Heat Cycle Physiology

So, funny story, I'm a Pre-Veterinary Major in university, which means I know way, way too much about reproductive A & P and I thought about Omegaverse too hard and here we are. Totally didn't write this in livestock nutrition today, Not like we had a lecture, Dr. A was momming us because half of the class (me included) had our biology professor call us failures. I love Dr. A she's the best :) Anyhow, here's my take on Omega Heat Cycle Physiology. TW: I don't think there are any, maybe just warning for mildly in depth repro talk?

Omega Anatomy and Physiology

Presentation

Occurs around 12-14 years of age, typically genetically predictable, meaning that for the most part omegas of a family will present around the same age. For example, if multiple generations present at 12 years old, this trend will continue for several more generations. In addition, heat cycle lengths and frequencies are also genetically linked. A mother’s heat cycle, assuming she is omegan, can be used to predict a first heat length. Typical symptoms of presentation include heightened body temperature, cramping in the abdominopelvic and lumbar regions, soreness of the breast tissue, bloating, headaches, nausea, and typical symptoms of arousal. An omega who as not presented by fifteen years of age is considered to be late blooming. This is generally not harmful, but may shift the other stages of development by however many years beyond the normal period of development the presentation heat occurred. 

Pseudoheats

Typically occur between 14 and 18 years of age. During this period, an omega will experience heat cycles, however they are not mature heat cycles. During this period, omegas are capable of conception, however the reproductive organs are still in development, which can result in the pregnancy causing damages that can be permanent. Pregnancy during this period can lead to higher rates of miscarriage, chemical pregnancy, ectopic pregnancy, and stillbirth, as well as higher instances of gestational diabetes, pre-eclampsia, and excessive strain on other non-reproductive organs. Pregnancies carried to viability have higher risks of preterm labor, low birth weight, childbirth complications for both the mother and baby, increased infant mortality within the first week, and increased rates of birth defects. The damages risked during this period also have significant potential to irreparably damage an omega’s future fertility, as well as cause temporary or permanent sterility due to reproductive damages and traumas. 

At this stage, the pseudoheats share many of the same symptoms of presentation heats (heightened body temperature, cramping in the abdominopelvic and lumbar regions, soreness of the breast tissue, bloating, headaches, nausea, symptoms of arousal), but at this point in development, hormonal-related arousal is more common due to hormone values during this period. During pseudoheats, omegas generally mature further towards their secondary gender’s characteristics. Areas of development include widening of the hips, deposition of fatty tissue in the lower abdominal cavity, and overall development of a more feminine silhouette, all under ideal conditions. In cases of inadequate nutrition, the development isn’t as obvious, but the body will still attempt to redirect resources to the development of areas of importance. As opposed to the presentational heat, pseudoheats are characterized by a steady climb in an omega’s hormones. In particular, estrogen, which is essential to the proper development of the reproductive tract and accessory structures. Heat Cycles will still be fairly irregular.

Transitional Heats

Typically begin around 18 years of age and continue until about 20 years of age. At this point in development, the hormones from the pseudo heats peak and stabilize. By this point, physical development is wrapping up and heats that occur during this period of development are very similar to mature heat cycles. Fertility during this period improves steadily, but it is still in development. Heat cycles begin to occur more regularly and stabilize in terms of frequency, length, and intensity. Symptomatically, transitional heats are typically more intense than pseudoheats, but not as intense as mature heat cycles. At this point, the symptoms are the same as the prior two stages, although arousal is greater in intensity in strength. In addition, an unmated, unbred omega may experience cramping or an increase in body temperature (up to a temperature of 101.5°F). During heats, the cervix is also softer and more malleable, aiding in the breeding process. For mated omegas, the breeding instinct is stronger and tends to be one of the few things on an omega’s mind during the peak of the cycle (active heat= ~7 days, so day 3-4). An omega being intimate with an alpha during this stage can expedite this stage and cause mature heat cycles, which is not necessarily good as this can lead to reproductive issues due to hastened development.

Mature Cycles

Occurs from age 21-22 and until the menopausal stages around age 50. At this point, it becomes legal to take heat suppressants, scent blockers, and other hormone medications, which can otherwise mess with development. The only major difference between mature heat cycles and transitional heat cycles is the intensity of cycles increases and the cycle frequency, which stabilizes. 

[wherestoriescomefrom]

every single time this happens people drag out the same trite talking points, out in a single file and like clockwork - but for what it's worth, no you didn't have a mystical sixth sense that neil gaiman was out doing terrible things to people who were his fans. no, there is nothing in him that is fundamentally wrong and evil about him (much as i would like that to be the case), no, you actually cannot separate the art from the artist as anyone would like to do in these situations, and no, making authors and celebrities out to be bigger or better than they are is also perhaps not at fault (and talking points like this always veer dangerously close to blaming victims).

gaiman was an author. an author of considerable power and clout, and his behaviour was perfectly in line with those who are powerful and have a lot of clout. the way in which structures of knowledge recreate situations like this is not new - it happens every few years in universities, when professors take advantage of their students sexually or otherwise. an author like neil gaiman was just another powerful node of the system that produces knowledge, and we have been trained to respect that (for some reason. well for many reasons, but we don't have time to get into that). as long as their is currency attached to producing knowledge - ie, the currency of being a well respected author - there is going to be adverse advantage for those who have that currency.

gaiman abused and assaulted women who were financially dependent on him - he could only do this because he was rich and powerful. and every single author who has that currency has the same advantages, can wield similar control over their victims, and this is not something we can do anything about. we can talk about pushing people off their pedestals (as if that is going to do something), but until the system keeps rewarding you for being on a pedestal, you are going to have the higher ground that allows you to crush whoever sits beneath you. and i know, this is less than a solution than those people who are willing to engage with everyone's hurt feelings about how another author turned out bad - and what if we could stop putting people on a pedestal? but that's the truth.

i'm so tired man. i'm so tired of seeing the same, tired takes. i know it sucks that the answer is to not keep recreating systems of knowledge that make single people out into the holders of great truth - and capitalism sucks, and all these adverse incentives exist for someone to be a rich and famous author - but someone is going to have to acknowledge that this happening every few years with our favourite authors, artists, actors not because we're putting them on pedestals and won't someone please separate the art and the artist and couldn't you tell that his art was evil all along??? it's happening because - IP laws exist, because authors make money off of their intellectual property, and if they make enough money and garner enough respect for the knowledge production they do (no matter how that respect is garnered), there is going to be a class artsy people who have more power, and that means they can exploit it if needed. i know they feel like our friends - because they make art we like, but they are part of the intellectual elite, and just like billionaires, that is a class of society with power and the means to exploit it.

i know that feels like a leap when you're more concerned about good omens being renewed, but i need everyone to just. just have some perspective. there was this quote on my blog which gaiman had written, about love - for two of his friends getting married. and because he clearly respected those people, it was a beautiful quote, completely in disharmony with how he treated those women, the ones he did not respect. the ones he financially abused with his wife and sexually abused by himself. and i want you to know, that no matter how beautiful the quote was, i deleted it from my blog because he was raping that woman while he wrote it.

[vee33ee]

Imagine you have a science exam and yuuta, your most lovely boyfriend is teaching you because if he doesn't, you'll honestly fail.

"No. That's ethanol babe... We need ethanal.. Yes, that, good job sweetheart"

He guides your hand as you draw the chemical structures of the compounds for your chemistry exam. Whenever you get a question correct, he gives you a sweet kiss, all the more reason to pay attention and not just stare at his pretty face while he explains you some of the most basic concepts that you should've done in class but you're so glad you can cover them with him because he's a much better teacher than your grumpy professor.

He's so patient with you and smiles when you're going the right direction while solving a question. When you're finally finished with a chapter, he gives you a bright smile and multiple kisses. Allows you to take a break and you and him watch some shitty tv series' first episode while cuddling on the sofa.

After that you're back at it again and this may be the first time you're not complaining about studies and your class because your lovely boyfriend yuuta is teaching you

[carlyraejepsans]

Aside from the obvious of Grick and UTDR, what games would you recommend?

999 was super fun for a mystery visual novel, for all i have my gripes with the execution of the villain in the finale

the beginner's guide is an absolute emotional gut punch that will make you think about games as art and the rapport between artist and medium and viewer

slay the princess. the stanley parable ran so slay the princess could reach hyperspeed and leap into tomorrow. gorgeous art style, gorgeous voice acting, gorgeous writing, delightful use of visual novels as a narrative medium, one of the best games to come out of 2024

mouthwashing. one of the most well executed pieces of psychological horror i got to play in a while. the art direction is incredibly solid, surprisingly gripping character writing (not the kind of media you'd expect to have blorbos all the way down, but here we are), really really fun narrative style and back and forth storytelling format, and a solid allegorical language that builds with every scene.

clinical trial. this is not an rpg maker horror game. this is not a normal 3 arc structure. this is an experimental indie work with a script so solid it lets it do away with almost every writing convention for pacing and plot structure. one of the most hauntingly human little games I've ever played. it made me sick to my stomach

moon: remix rpg. one of the earlier and most visually/conceptually interesting works toying with the pillars of videogame rpgs as a genre.

earthbound. come and see the cataclysm that spawned the modern rpg game scene

off. come and see the cataclysm that spawned the modern rpg game scene (french edition)

mother 3. this game is worth it for the soundtrack and art alone but man it is FUN to play. like its predecessor, it's a doubly interesting experience for a UTDR fan. it really gives context for Toby's underlying love for the genre in making his own games

night in the woods. before clinical trial, this was the game that made me physically ill with its character writing. absolutely gorgeous as an art piece. young adulthood, looking back on the past, and heart-rending working class appalachian americana. i could see my future rolled out before me like a carpet in the form of mae borowski, all the way back from age 14. also gay people here

tearaway. i never got to play this game myself, but after learning about it god i wish i did. you have that chance now. very fun bit of 4th wall breaking narrative and one of the most tender, earnest, loving exercises on suspension of disbelief. a love letter to creativity, to video games as a medium, and paper crafts as an art form specifically

the professor layton games! extremely fun puzzle series with some truly batshit and endearing characters. one of the best videogame OSTs of all time

[cameronspecial]

Let Me Write About You, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Writing About Their Sex Life

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.8K

Summary: Rafe and Y/N finally get to take a class together, but maybe she didn't choose the right class to share with him.

Masterlist

Y/N knew she shouldn’t have let Rafe take an elective with her. She should’ve called it fate when they didn’t get into the same class during the fall semester, but Rafe was very determined to be in the same class as her. She honestly does love being able to spend time with him during class; it’s just that maybe a creative writing class isn’t the best for both of them. Rafe respects her boundaries during class, letting her focus on taking notes and listening to the professor, so that isn’t the problem. No, the problem is that Rafe hates creative writing as a whole. He isn’t great with words and the only topic he wants to write about is his angel. So far he is skating by with his assignments; however, he needs to do decent on his final portfolio to pass the class. Y/N makes it her mission to make sure her boyfriend passes and she is starting to regret it. For the past assignments, she didn’t have time to go over his work before he submitted it, so she was unaware of the recurring theme in all of his work. 

Rafe’s eyes bore into her as she read over his work, anxious for what she had to say. He doesn’t care about passing. If he doesn’t pass, he can always let his dad’s money pass hands to change that F into a B. Except this is a little different, Y/N wants him to do well so he wants to do well. Y/N glances over each word and heat starts to build inside of her heart. 

I don’t believe in religion, 

yet I do believe in Angels. 

Because I found mine, 

And she is absolutely divine. 

I live for her smile.

She makes my life worthwhile. 

She stole my heart

Because she is a work of art. 

His poem has no structure and isn’t long enough per the assignment requirements. It does rhyme, yet she has to admit it isn’t very good. She is sweetened up by the fact that he chose her as his subject. As she reads the rest of his pieces, she notices how she is his only subject. She finally reads the last piece and looks up at him with a soft smile. “You wrote about me,” she states, flipping through the pages. He nods, “Yeah, you are my muse, Angel. Do you like it?” “It’s really sweet, Rafe. I just don’t know how I feel knowing that you wrote about our sex life for your short story and that our professor is going to mark this,” she explains. He flashes a proud smile, “Yeah, I think I really captured your beauty in that one. I was thinking about reading that one during our last class when we can share our work. Show that guy, who sits in front of us who keeps looking back at you, just how satisfied you are with me.” Y/N’s eyes widen to saucers and she shakes her head. “Rafe, please don’t read this in class. In fact, I think we need to work on some of these pieces because you can’t only write about me,” she begs, turning the stack of papers so he can read her feedback. He frowns, “Come on let me write about you, Angel.” 

“You can, but if you want to pass, you have to choose three other topics to talk about. You can choose one piece to keep about me.”

“But I only want to write about you. Plus, I can’t choose because they all have to do with you so I love them all.”

“I know. Maybe we can alter the topic so it is still about me but not as obvious. My favourite is this sudden fiction. Your stream of consciousness is really good and you bring the scene to life with the senses. So let's see what you can write about for your other pieces.”

Rafe nods at his girlfriend’s suggestion. His heart flutters at the thought that she likes one of his works. He takes a second to seriously consider what she says and a light bulb goes off. “How about for the poem, I write about the future family that we can have?” he considers, already writing down the lines he is thinking of. She reads over what he writes and a smile blooms across her face. “That is a great idea. Now, we just need to look at two other topics.” 

———

Y/N is studying in the library when Rafe comes rushing to her with his phone in his hand. “Angel, Angel. Look what I got on my portfolio,” he announces. His phone shoots before her eyes and she has to hold his hand to keep it steady. Y/N looks at the screen, reading the B- on display. She claps her hand in celebration and then wraps her arms around his neck. “This is amazing, Rafe. I am so proud of you,” she kisses his cheek. He revels in her pride, “It wasn’t all me, Angel. I have you and your brilliant brain to thank for the help. You make me smarter every single day.” Rafe couldn’t feel more lucky to have such an amazing girlfriend, who helps him grow as a person and succeed.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @queen-shadow22 @victory-in-the-llama @drewsmusee @starkowswife

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Like a Stone 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki, Tony Stark (Professor AU)

Summary: your work as a TA is complicated by more than your advisor. (tall reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

You tap the button on the clicker to change the slide. You’re overly aware of the slender figure sat behind the podium. You feel as if he sees your every move yet he hardly seems to be paying attention at the same time. It’s difficult to read the man who offers little expression and less words. 

Doctor Laufeyson’s presence haunts your lesson as you proceed through you hard-forged lesson plan. You remember a similar lesson from your first year. Introductory Philosophy was a measly challenge and you don’t find teaching it any more challenging. No, it’s only your supervising professor that proves tedious. 

“So, as we wrap up theism and why humans seek solace or direction or reason from God, gods, or some other deity or deities...” you hesitate as you hear the door open and close. You didn’t notice anyone get up to go to the bathroom but maybe you missed it. “Which explanation makes most sense to you? In the scheme of civilization, what drives people to seek certainty in the uncertain?” 

Your eyes flick up to the movement in the back row. You nearly choke on your tongue. You stare up at the man who sits heavily and props his feet up on the seat in front of him. That man, Stark, crosses his arms and wears a smug smile as he watches you. 

“Giselle,” you look around for a hand, “please.” 

“I think it’s like you said, a lot of things happen for no reason or we don’t know the reason...” 

She goes on but you find it hard to focus. Why is he here? Better yet, how did he find you? Well, he made it clear he knew of your association with Doctor Laufeyson but you thought as a professor himself he might have his own lectures to give. 

“Mm, especially as we can trace back so many structures of belief to ancient societies,” you respond as best you can. “In eras when so much could not be explained--” 

“Nah,” the man at the back scoffs, “I think humans want God to exist because they’re scared.” 

You wince and put your hands behind your back, gripping the clicker tight. You sense motion behind your shoulder. The professor finally breaks his statuesque posture as he shifts behind the podium. 

“They’re too afraid to stand on their own so they gotta make their bad choices someone elses,” Stark chortles. “They can’t just face up that they might not be great. Or maybe they are. They need let go and realise they can be their own god. Just gotta do whatever they want and not give a—heck.” 

He smiles again and you stand speechless. You don’t know how to respond. It’s clear he’s taunting you and if there wasn’t a full class and your professor behind you, you would run him down from hair to hide. Yet in that moment, you are paralysed. 

“Well, that was wonderful,” Laufeyson stands and speaks over the silent room. “I trust you will ruminate on today’s lesson ahead of our next quiz.” He lingers at the podium, “you are dismissed. Don’t forget your readings.” 

The students give a collective sigh. You stand stiffly as they pack up. You bring your hands forward and look down at the clicker. You back up and go to put it back on the podium. 

The lecture hall slowly empties of voices but a whistle remains. Slightly off-key. It irritates you as you pack up your bag. 

“Must you with that incessant racket?” Laufeyson sneers. It’s as animated as you’ve ever heard him. “Stark, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” 

“Ooh, are we doing cliches?” Stark rebuffs. You look up as he drops his feet and pulls himself up with the seat ahead of him. “Well, believe it or not, Loki, I didn’t come to hear you speak out your ass.” 

He slips his hands into his pockets as he comes to the end of the aisle and slowly descends the steps between the rows. You hook your bag over your shoulder as Laufeyson tilts his head. Stark stops a few feet away from him. 

“Primmy, baby, how about it? After that tripe, you must need a drink.” Stark smirks back at your blank stare. 

“No,” you blink. “I don’t drink.” 

“Her?” Laufeyson narrows his eyes. “Have you run out of options off-campus?” 

“Well, you’d know that problem well, buddy,” Stark snips back. “I’m just being nice. I see a girl working hard and I know how to reward her.” 

You ignore him and shake your head. You turn to Laufeyson, “Professor, I will work on my next lesson and forward my notes. Thank you for your time.” 

Laufeyson glances over at you. He is pensive as he looks down his nose. He is of a few who can so in your direction. 

“All work and no play, you’re going to drive her batty,” Stark snorts. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We can have fun and old Dr. Tight ass can spend his time with his books.” 

“I’m not interested,” you say pointedly without looking at him. “Doctor, I will go now.” 

“You will not. He will, and we will have our post-lecture review. I do have a few notes,” he insists. 

You don’t argue. You fold your hands and set your chin, “very well.” 

“Damn, Laufeyson, tell me it’s not like looking in a mirror with this one. Must make you tingly.” 

“Leave,” the doctor edges closer to the shorter man. “This room is in my name at this time so I can call security and have them escort you. Yet, I’d rather do it myself.” 

You’re stunned by the threat. You wouldn’t expect it of Dr. Laufeyson. Well, you wouldn’t know what to expect of him. He stands tall, chin up, shoulders square, and stares down the other man. The shorter man. 

“As much as I’d like to see you try then have to put you on your ass,” Stark sneers, “I like this suit more and you’re not worth it.” 

Stark tugs on his lapels and turns his sights on you. He winks, “I’ll see you, Primmy.” 

He spins on his heel and struts away. You arch a brow and watch him, mortified. Dr. Laufeyson clears his throat as the other professor leaves. 

“And how are you acquainted with that lummox?” He finally speaks. 

“I’m not,” you say. “We had an unfortunate collision and he hasn’t desisted.” 

His green eyes search you. It feels like the first time he’s looked at you. Even as if it’s the first time he’s seen you. 

“Mm, well, it isn’t appropriate.” 

“I agree,” you say. 

“So he won’t reappear,” he dips his head slightly, tersely. You realise, he’s telling you to make sure it doesn’t. 

“It won’t,” you assure. 

“Wonderful. You RSVP’d for the symposium?” He asks, thought it hardly sounds like a question. 

You inhale. You haven’t asked your father for the fee yet. You’ll have to do so soon. 

“I will.” 

“Be certain you do. Now, I will send an email of my notes.” He turns away and goes back to the podium. 

You realise he only meant to get rid of Stark before. Likely not for your sake, but his own. What does it matter? At least you can be free of both of them now. 

[btsbabe7]

November Prompt 21: Crisp Air

Words: 905 | Pairing: Neville Longbottom x reader

In the distance, you can make out Neville’s frame hunched on a bench in front of the main greenhouse. Thick brown vines trailing across the giant frosted windows hug the structure behind him and the morning horizon peeks just beyond it. The view is breathtaking, but you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him.

Your close footsteps draw his attention from the book in his hands and up towards you. His thick brown hair is blowing in the soft morning winds and he shoves his book away, immediately coming off the bench to greet you with a warm smile. His gloved hands rest on your cheeks and he leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips, warming you more than you’d been with your hands shoved inside your coat pockets on the walk over. When he pulls away, his ocean blue eyes gaze into yours and you get lost in them until the crisp morning air rushes over the both of you. The moment you shiver against him, he reaches into his bag for the extra greenhouse keys he’d managed to get from Professor Sprout at the beginning of the year.

“Next class isn’t due til noon, so we have plenty of time to study,” he grunts while pushing the heavy door open with his shoulder. With a sigh, he turns back toward you, following your lead after you step inside. Shortly after, he locks the door from the inside. “But I don’t understand why you want to study dittany, we’re far more advanced than that.”

You take in the warmth of the greenhouse. All the sunlight that seems to have disappeared over the week has been absorbed inside the frosted glass walls. Everywhere you turn there’s plant pots, soil and fertilizer bags or some green herb growing lushly. It makes you smile, makes you happy to be able to witness life in this form when everything outside of here is withering away and growing colder with winter fast approaching.

You peel your coat off, then your gloves and scarf and earmuffs and toss them on the only empty table you can find before turning to see your boyfriend’s look of confusion.

“Come on, Nev,” you purr softly. “Warm me up a bit?”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip the moment he slips out of his coat and drops everything on the ground before scurrying to you. Neville steps in front of you, allowing his fingertips to curl against the hairs at the nape of your neck before pulling you into an open-mouthed kiss.

He’s gotten loads more attention now due to his changing looks, but you’ve had the real luxury of watching him grow older over the years. His puffy cheeks were the first to go, eventually rounding out into a sculpted, chiseled jawline and soon after, his body had done the same, leaving him with nothing but pure muscle that threatened to tear through the white button up he’d failed to replace. And though he had many physical changes, his kindness and courage and care for you always remained, and that’s what you love most.

You hop on top of the table, shaking a few pots in the neighboring potting tables which gains a laugh from the both of you. And once you’ve steadied yourself, you glide your hands over his, which had dropped to your waist during your kiss. Then, you trail up his wrists and slowly over his biceps until you reach his shoulder blades. You work your fingers tenderly into the knots that always form there and he grunts loudly in relief.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” You moan. “Carrying all the plant pots for the first years?”

He bows his head in shame, knowing that he told you he’d stop two weeks ago.

“You know how heavy those pots can get, Y/n, and they’re so small. It reminds me of us seven years ago,” he admits.

“Nev, you promised. It’s admirable, truly, but you’re neglecting your own body.”

“I can handle it,” he whispers and leans in closer, looking you straight in the eyes with a smirk. “Besides, I have you to rub out all the kinks and knots.”

You scoff softly before giggling against his touch and pulling him closer. He rests his head against your shoulder, his breath steadying against the goosebumps that have prickled across your skin.

“Y/n?” He breathes.

“Mhm?”

“I want you to stay with me over the break,” he answers, pulling back to see the clear excitement and nervousness on your face.

In all the years of dating, he’d never asked, and during the times you’d begged him, he always said he didn’t want to intrude on you and your time with your family; though, he didn’t even have his own anymore.

“Yes. Yes! Of course I’ll come, Nev,” you exclaim and rest your hands against his collarbones.

“Y/n,” he says again and you gaze up into his eyes once more. “I’m absolutely head over heels in love with you.”

You blush hard as he brushes your tears away and pulls your lips back against his. In that kiss, you both make a silent vow to never abandon each other. And that vow, in a world where anything can be frigid and crisp on the outside, having the ability to lean on each other for warmth whenever you may need it feels absolutely amazing, just as love should.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

⚡︎ For You Always - reader x Snape

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms) & (bts imagines/drabbles)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

[dudeimjustagirll]

Hey, I can do that, too.

Ao3 Link :P

Little flying date bc why not Side note-- shoutout to all of the engineers out there :)). Your major is very hard, but we all appreciate your work. (I'M NOT AN ENGINEERING MAJOR >:()

Work Text:

Mark had dropped out of college a while ago, and despite putting on a brave face, you knew it still weighed on him. Every now and then, you’d catch him zoning out, staring at his phone, or just lost in thought, probably thinking about the what-ifs. He never outright said it, but you could tell he missed the structure, the normalcy—maybe even the simple act of walking into a lecture hall without worrying about getting punched through a building later that day.

You wished you could help. You weren’t a superhero– just some kid who loved physics and maths enough to subject herself to the horrors of mechanical engineering. But you wanted to do something—anything—to make him feel a little less like he was drifting. And maybe, selfishly, you wanted to relate to him in a way that wasn’t just listening to his stories about fighting intergalactic warlords. You wanted to experience flight with him. To stand next to him in the sky, even if just for a little while.

So, you did the only thing you could: you built a hoverboard.

It took weeks—painful, grueling weeks—of research, calculations, and trial-and-error. You had to ask two professors for help. The first one–Dr Patel, shut you down immediately.

“No way. People don’t even fully understand how planes fly,” she said, shaking her head.

The second professor had at least considered it.

“Because you have faith in me?” you asked, hopeful.

He looked you dead in the eye and said, “Yes, I have complete faith that this thing won’t make it one foot off the ground.”

Encouraging.

Still, you didn’t give up. You burned through textbooks, studied existing propulsion technology, and practically lived in the lab when you weren’t in class. (But hey, what else was new?)  You even had to cancel one of your date nights with Mark, claiming you were drowning in exams when, in reality, you were hunched over a half-assembled board, cursing at a stubborn circuit that refused to cooperate.

William had been the first person you showed it to.

“You’re insane,” he had said, staring at the board like it might explode at any second. “But, like, in an admirable way.”

The first test flight? A disaster.

“It didn’t even get off the ground,” you admitted to Mark on a call, laughing at yourself. “I kicked it in frustration, and that was the only time it moved.”

Mark had looked at you then—like he wasn’t sure if he should be exasperated or impressed. “You really spent weeks building this thing?”

“Months,” you corrected. “But the second test flight went better! I mean, I crashed into a bush, but technically I was airborne.”

“You poor creature.” 

And now, finally, you were ready.

So when Mark suggested a date, you proposed something a little different.

“Let’s go flying.”

He raised a brow. “Really? You hate me carrying you around.”

“I’m not talking about you carrying me.”

That piqued his interest. The moment he saw you pull out the hoverboard, his jaw practically dropped.

“No. Fucking. way.”

“Yes way.”

“You actually built this?”

“Of course.” You smirked. “Did you think I was joking?”

“I thought— I don’t know what I thought! But I definitely didn’t expect this.” He eyed the board like it might just vanish if he blinked. “You really did all this? Just so you could fly?”

You hesitated for a second before admitting, “I wanted to know what it felt like. To fly with you .”

Mark’s expression softened. He stepped closer, brushing his fingers against your cheek, and you melted just a little at the way he looked at you—like you had just handed him the coolest gift in the world.

“Alright,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips. “Show me what it can do.”

You took off first, kicking off the ground and letting the board hum beneath you as it lifted you into the air. The initial ascent was always the hardest part, but once you got going, it was smooth. Mark watched, still looking like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, before launching into the sky beside you.

“You’re actually doing it,” he said, wonder in his voice.

You grinned. “Told you.”

The two of you spent the next hour exploring. Mark led you to places you’d only ever seen from the ground—a secluded lake surrounded by mountains, a city skyline glowing beneath you, a quiet rooftop where you both landed to take a break (after getting something from a fast food place, of course). It was exhilarating, freeing, and for the first time in a long time, Mark looked truly happy.

As the night went on, you found yourself staring at him, caught up in the way the city lights reflected in his eyes.

Mark exhaled, watching you with something warm in his gaze. "I've wondered what it would be like if you could fly with me. Never quite expected you’d actually make it happen, though."

You leaned into his side, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. "I just wanted to be part of your world a little more."

He looked back at you, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"You were always part of my world," he murmured.

And then, as you sat there, you were filled with a sense of pride. You believed him

[translatemunson]

don’t you dare look out the window, darling, everything’s on fire • ttfd

chapter seven of the tortured firefighters department

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, no descriptions of reader, huge fire (but no one died), brains being in risk, pov change, oblivious people in love, also maddie and chim are not married yet here, no proofreading otherwise i’d never post this (lmk if i missed something)

You knew something was odd when you stepped foot in CalTech that day. You attended a morning class, did your part as a TA for your professor, and had 20 minutes to grab something before your 1 P.M. meeting. When you were leaving the Linde Hall’s after a meeting with one of your professors, you sensed the panic in the air. And then you heard an explosion.

People were running away from all the buildings around, and the fire was taking over rapidly. That’s when the alarms in your mind went off and instead of running away from it, you ran to the doors and pulled the fire alarm. Once people started evacuating the building on fire, you heard another explosion.

“Help! Help!” A girl, probably in her masters, walked out of the building. “My friend is stuck on the last floor.”

You looked around and tried to hear, over the screams and calls for help, any signs of the sirens. Nothing. You told people to call 9-1-1, but what was taking them so long?

“What’s their name?” you asked.

“Tyler.”

“Ok. Can you tell me where you last saw them?”

“He went looking for more people on the far back labs on the second  floor and- and I heard something downstairs and he told me to run.” She looked back to the building. “Please, someone save him.”

You could hear the voices of everyone from the 118 saying it was stupid, you were not a firefighter, you should wait for them. But you couldn’t. You gave her your backpack, threw the rest of your water onto your shirt, pushed your phone into one of your pockets and ran into danger.

You walked up the stairs, shirt covering your mouth, the fire getting hungrier every second. You screamed Tyler’s name as loud as you could, opening all the doors and checking for him or anyone else.

In one of the labs, you found him with a lady, trying to move her from underneath one of the fallen shelfs. In a silent agreement, he lifted it and you pulled her free. He picked her up and you screamed “The stairs! We can use them and escape through the main entry!”

They made it to the stairs, and you checked the labs one more time, staying behind. Once you started to follow them, part of the ceiling structure collapsed over the stairs and locked you there. The fire was getting closer.

You ran back to one of the undamaged laboratories — for now. You stayed away from the door. You checked the drawers and closets for anything helpful. You opened one of the windows to check if jumping was an option.

No, it wasn’t. You were stuck until help arrived. And your stomach dropped: would they find you before the flames?

Grabbing your phone from your pocket, you called your last hope.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“This is dispatcher 990222. I need”, you coughed, “I need to talk to dispatcher Maddie Buckley.”

You heard the noise, your call going through, stuck on thinking Maddie was probably busy with any emergency right now. You pulled your shirt up, hiding your face under the wet material, trying to breathe as calmly as one can do in the middle of a building in flames.

“9-1-1, what’s your-”

“Maddie, it’s Brains.”

“Oh my God, hey. Please tell me you’re safe and sound. We are getting hundreds of calls from CalTech about a fire.” You could hear the muffled voices of other dispatchers in the background.

“I wish.” Another cough. “ETA?”

Maddie fell silent before telling you, “One fire department team is 2 minutes away from campus. Where are you?”

“In the middle of the fire, Physics Lab Building I believe. Last floor. Inside a lab.”

“Oh, Brains,” you could hear her disappointment. “Is there any way for you to escape?”

“Main staircase is blocked, windows open just enough to ventilate the lab, I can’t make this jump even if I tried. The fire is getting close to my location.”

“What kind of lab is it?”

“I’m not sure, maybe just engineering. Nothing explosive or toxic on sight here. But I can’t say the same about other labs around me.”

“Ok, I’m accessing the blueprints right now, I’m looking for a secondary way out of there.”

“Maddie.”

“We are getting you out there, ok? Hang on, there must be a way. I’m gonna guide you to the emergency stairs and-”

“Fire is blocking the exits, Mads. I looked around. ETA?”

“118 just arrived. Which lab are you in?”

You looked around for any numbers or signs. “Electronic, east side I think.”

The line went mute, as you expected.

“Brains, I need-”

“Breaking a window right now. Please, tell them, hurry up.”

The flames were violent and hungry, moving to your direction quickly. You used lab equipment to break two windows, the outside noise took over your senses just to be engulfed with the flames.

You heard one of the gas tanks in a lab exploding. You barely saw the firetruck stairs before feeling your lungs too heavy, your eyes too tired.

And then a second explosion happened.

+++

There was a punching feeling in your head. Worst than a thousand migraines. And the unceasing beeping was driving you insane. The darkness took everything out of you. Until you opened your eyes to bright lights and some familiar faces.

“Oh God, you’re back.” Josh smiled.

“Back from where?” You looked around. Maddie and Josh were watching you carefully. “What happened?”

“They pulled you out of a burning building. You were knocked out because of an adjacent explosion, which that’s why you may feel confused. Luckily you didn’t get much damage from the flames,” Maddie explained. “I’m gonna find the doctor.”

“What time is it? Can I go home?”

“You were knocked out for half a day. You’re probably staying here for another one,” Josh broke the news.

“Great,” your words were pure irony. “Please tell me no one died.”

“A few injuries here and there, no deaths. You made the right call to pull the fire alarms and evacuate the building.”

“Awesome. Can I do it again?”

Before Josh could give you an answer, Maddie came back with the doctor just behind her.

The bald doctor explained everything your friends told you. You breathed too much smoke from the fire, but your lungs would be better in no time. They were more concerned about your concussion, since you were out for 17 hours. They wanted to watch you overnight, run a few more exams, and probably release you in the morning.

“Ok, now you both can go home,” you motioned for them to leave.

“You sure?” 

“I’m awake, I have my phone, they’re gonna start taking me to places. Worst case scenario, I call 9-1-1, which means you. Go home, go to work, I’ll update you later.”

They both said their goodbyes and promised to check in via messages for the next few hours. You just smiled, not noticing you now had work parents to deal with. Maddie was already overprotective of you since your little burnout episode, and now Josh would probably keep a close eye on you. But that was a problem for later.

Unfortunately, you were well acquainted with hospital routines — because of rescue and follow up protocols. They took your blood, got another scan of your brain and body, helped you take a shower and brought you dinner. Boring hospital food. Maybe a burning building wasn’t that bad when compared to hospitals.

“First rodeo?” Buck showed up at your door, taking your mind away from the boring food. 

“Nop,” you dropped the spoon. “Delivering a patient?”

“Just finished my shift,” he closed the door and sat on the chair beside your bed. He was still wearing the black uniform, and the curls were unruled. “How are you feeling?”

“For real? Shitty as fuck. I’m probably getting a medical leave from work because of two broken ribs and I have no clue what my professors are going to propose to adapt my schedule. Again. Feels like I’m walking on a tightrope right now.”

“If I didn’t know you, I’d say you started that fire.”

“Of course, Buck. So, what happened?”

“You were knocked off when I entered the lab. Eddie and I had to carry you down the ladder. You were pretty beaten up.”

“I mean what caused the explosion.”

“Oh, our first assessment indicates a gas leak, but we are waiting on the investigation.”

“Maybe I should join LAFD after all.”

“Hell no!” he almost screamed. “Sorry. You saved a few people, but no more playing the hero, ok?”

“Can I get a gold star for that?”

“No. Sorry, Brains, but you don’t get a reward for being reckless.”

“Why can you be bucking around all the time, and I get a lecture?”

“Because it’s you. You’re… I can’t let you do that.” In his voice, there were a few other things he left out, but you were too tired and hungry to dig deeper on that.

“You know I’m not serious, right? I could never do what you guys do on the daily.”

“Great,” he sounded relieved. “Do you want something else for dinner? I know a few people here.”

“Fries and a milkshake, please.”

“Strawberry, right?”

“Yup.”

“Done. I’m gonna get a change of clothes in my car and I’ll be back with your meal, ma’am.”

“Are you my babysitter for the night?”

“And your ride in the morning.”

“You should bill the Government for these extra hours.”

“That’s ok. I know you’d do the same for any of us.” He stood up and turned his back to you, walking for the door.

Before he could walk out of your room, you said, “thank you, Buck.”

While Buck was away, you asked the nurse to take your dinner away and grab your backpack. You reached for your phone, going through all the messages and missed calls. Word got out on the street that you tried to play the hero and your friends and family poured messages into your inbox.

Your parents were worried and said they could go and help you in an instant — you dismissed them, saying you already had people looking over you in LA. A bunch of your classmates and coworkers wished you a speedy recovery and were just a message away. You were afraid to open the messages from the 118 because they were probably saying you were insane, but also should get better soon.

Buck came back, wearing a fresh set of clothes, and took the greasy paper bag from inside his bag. “Had to improvise since my contact isn’t working today,” he handed you your milkshake and the fries, “Bon appetit, Brains.”

“Merci, Buck.”

“Wait, you speak French?” he sat down on the chair, pulling his feet up on the side of your bed.

“No, I just happen to know a few words.” You took your first sip of the milkshake and smiled. “Oh, oh. You’re my savior, Evan Buckley.”

He smiled and stopped for a moment, on the verge of saying anything. But the room felt in silence, only the chewing and take out containers making a sound. You watched Buck: he was too immersed in his burger to notice you watching him.

Maddie and May’s words during girls night were definitely haunting you. Your date with Stephen wasn’t good as you expected, and talking to Buck right after it really did mess up your feelings. Were you really looking for a substitute for Buck? Were you afraid to ruin everything? Should you trust Maddie's words about her brother’s feelings and just go for it?

The fries and milkshake were gone before you could elaborate how you were gonna start that conversation.

“What? They gave you a room with no television?” Buck complained once he took care of the trash.

“Maybe they didn’t expect me to wake up,” you said, and he looked at you discontentedly. “My laptop is in my backpack, we could watch something.”

“Ok, let’s just,” he took the laptop from your bag, you moved to the side, leaving some space in the bed for it and you gave him your password. “Anything you wanna watch?”

“Nah, just pick something, I’m starting to feel tired.”

“Yeah, you should definitely rest. I’m gonna keep the volume on low.” He picked a rerun of a basketball game he missed a few days ago. “You sure you don’t need anything else?”

“I am, Buck. Thanks.”

You moved your body around until you found a good sleeping position, still able to check what was going on in the game and to feel comfortable even though you had two broken ribs and was prohibited from sleeping on your side. But your eyes were too heavy, your mind was too much, and you ended up falling asleep.

+++

Athena and Bobby decided it was wiser to visit you in the morning. They weren’t surprised to see you were still sleeping — you had been through a lot in the last 24 hours and it was only fair for you to rest. Bobby was already taking a step back when Athena held his hand and pointed to the room.

“Look over there, love,” she said, and their eyes went straight to your hand.

Buck had his back to the door, unaware of what was going on outside of the room. All he could think was you and how he almost freaked out when he saw you, unconscious on the floor.

Bobby and Athena couldn’t stop themselves to get closer to the door and take in a few more details.

“God, I was so worried when they said a dispatcher was in the building. You have no idea, Brains.” He kept rubbing his thumb over your hand. “For a second, I thought I’ve lost you. I promise once you’re out of here, I’m coming clean.” His shoulders shook like a shy laugh.

Buck turned around and saw Bobby and Athena standing there, just watching. He recomposed himself quickly and met them outside the room. Athena gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, and Bobby couldn’t hide his smile.

“How’s she doing, Buck?” Athena asked.

“Oh, she’s ok. Probably gonna get cleared once the doctor retakes a few tests, but yeah, she’s fine.” He looked over his shoulder. “She is finally resting a bit after dozens of nightmares.”

The captain said, “You should take care of her for the next few days. I’ll get Ravi to cover your shifts, don’t worry.”

“Bobby, I-”

“She’s gonna need some help, Buck.” He explained. “Let me know if you’re gonna need some help with her, because we all know how stubborn she is.”

“Will do. I’d tell you to go in and see her, but she fell asleep maybe an hour ago.”

“That’s ok. Text us when she’s home, ok?” Athena smiled.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

They said their goodbyes and left. Buck looked at you, sleeping peacefully. Not in danger, not in tears, so close yet so far apart from him.

a/n: the only thing burning now is THEM. jk, i was burnt out. but i'm back. watch me finally bring our favourite idiots in love closer and closer! also huge shout out to @munsonsreputation and @live-love-be-unique for never letting me give upon this idea. love you girliesss! hope everyone's doing well, and i see you soon, ok? love, effie