#writing this in my maths lecture | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rongloa · 7 days ago

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𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢’𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 (𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮) — m.grayson oneshot

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. being mark’s best friend has always been difficult, he’s a nerd. but when he suddenly starts disappearing mid-hangout you can’t figure out what you’ve done wrong.

𝐰𝐜. 4.5k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. you’re acting like a doormat again, generous use of angst, big misunderstandings, feelings of abandonment, mark being a dickhead and not realising what he’s been doing is hurting you, swearing, and then they kiss, after arguing though

𝐚/𝐧. i actually had so much fun writing this darling ( @flwrch1d ), thank you sm! it’s not a lot but i tried my hardest for you 💪🏽

Before everything, it was always the three of you.

You, Mark, and William — the trio glued together by years of inside jokes, movie marathons, and a shared cafeteria table that was somehow always sticky. But really, it was you and Mark who were inseparable.

It wasn’t weird, not to either of you. It just was. Movie nights that turned into sleepovers on the couch. Falling asleep with your head on his shoulder while he quietly changed the TV volume. Late-night walks with no destination, sharing earbuds and arguing over which Studio Ghibli movie was objectively superior— you always won those types of arguments.

He wasn’t exactly popular, but Mark had that quiet, harmless kind of presence that didn’t invite trouble. He wasn’t the smartest, a little awkward, one of those nerds no one hated but no one really hung out with either—excluding you and Will.

But you were his person. The first one he texted when something stupid happened in math class. The one who knew what his hoodie smelled like and the kind of cereal he ate when he was stressed. You made space for him in your life without even thinking. And for a while, it felt like he made space for you too.

But then things changed.

Slowly at first. One missed hangout. Then another. Then a week where he barely answered your texts. He started looking tired all the time — eyes rimmed red, shoulders tense like he was bracing for something invisible. You asked if he was okay. He’d smile, say “just tired,” and change the subject to the newest Seance Dog comic.

You started doing more things without him. William did too. The table at lunch got quieter. Your weekends got longer.

And then you met Daniel.

It was dumb — your pen ran out of ink in chem lab, and he offered you his like it was a grand gesture. He had an easy confidence to him, the kind that wasn’t trying too hard. Funny, in a smug but charming way. You told him a joke Mark once made and Daniel actually laughed. And for a second, it felt nice. Like being seen again.

You never meant to start spending so much time with him.

But Daniel texted back. He showed up when he said he would, at that cafe you and Mark used to go to religiously. He didn’t vanish without explanation. And when you smiled at him, he looked at you like he knew exactly what it meant.

The hardest part? Mark didn’t fight it. He didn’t ask where you were going. He didn’t stop you. He just watched— from across the hallway, across the lunchroom—with that Mark Grayson-specific look on his face.

You’d convinced yourself he didn’t care. But that wasn’t Mark, not at all.

It still hurt, walking past his locker and seeing him laugh at something William said, only to fall quiet the second he noticed you looking.

It all started small.

Daniel offers to walk you to class one day when Mark doesn’t show up in the morning. You’re used to that by now — used to watching your phone screen go dim, unread texts hanging in your chest like anchors on sewing thread. Daniel doesn’t make excuses. He’s just there. Warm smile. Easy laughter. He knows your coffee order, knows you hate the sound of metal chairs scraping on tile. He starts waiting for you outside of lecture halls. Offers you half his lunch.

And you let him.

Because he makes you feel noticed. Present. Not like someone left on the back burner while other things pop up.

It’s not like you mean to pull away from him. Or William, for that matter. It’s just… easier, sometimes. Being around Daniel means no tight smiles, no dodging questions, no waiting for at least a ‘still alive’ text.

Still, every now and then — when Daniel says something funny and you laugh without thinking — you catch Mark watching.

He doesn’t say anything. He never does. But his eyes follow you like he’s trying to decode a language he forgot how to read.

It happens during second period.

You’re in the back row of your history class, seated beside Daniel like you have been for the past few weeks. Mark’s two rows ahead, and slightly to the left — close enough that you can see the curve of his jaw, the way he keeps tapping his pencil against his notebook, like he’s itching to be anywhere else. He always did hate Mr. Jace.

You try not to look. Or at least, not to be caught looking. But it’s hard. Not when a muscle flutters in his jaw like he’s thinking about anything but the Industrial Revolution.

Daniel leans closer, nudging your elbow with his. It snaps you away from Mark, away from the thought of Mark’s hair being longer than it was last time you hung out. Your heart stutters, is he gonna call you out?

“Tell me again why this guy thinks he can teach history through interpretive dance?” Oh.

You snort. It slips out before you can stop it—and for a second, you forget.

“That’s what I used to say to Mark all the time,” you say, grinning. “W–we had this running joke that Mr. Jace choreographed the French Revolution.”

You glance back towards your best friend—your old one—before you can help yourself.

He’s frozen. Completely still.

His pencil is hovering mid-air over the page, like he’s paused in the middle of writing. You see his shoulders stiffen — just barely — and then he presses the pencil tip to the paper hard enough that it snaps. The sound is small, but you feel it in the way Mark’s fingers tremble. In the way those brown hues are cast down straight at the shards of graphite scattered on his book.

He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t even flinch at the fact he just crushed a pencil in his fingers. Just calmly gets up, gathers his things, and walks out of the classroom without a word.

You blink. Flinching at the way he slams the door shut behind him. Little wooden bits scatter onto the floor, and a girl at the back of the class shrieks.

The teacher didn’t even notice he left, but he damn well does now.

Your heart starts pounding.

Daniel nudges you again, quieter this time. “Hey… what was that about? Is he okay?”

You shake your head slowly, the joke dying in your throat. “I don’t— I don’t know.”

But you do. You just don’t want to say it.

Because you remember that joke. The dumb one about Mr. Jace tap-dancing through history. Mark used to do it with a fake accent, arms waving dramatically in your living room until you were wheezing with laughter in the throw blanket Mark brought over. It was your little thing, one of many.

And now you’d handed it off — just like that.

You glance back at the door again, chipped at the edges and swinging on its hinges, as Mr Jace huffs and puffs in all his red-faced glory.

The hallway is empty.

You don’t see Mark after that class.

You check the hallway. The stairwell. Even the front entrance of the school where he sometimes stands, where he used to wait for you.

Nothing.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That maybe he just needed air. That he wasn’t angry, just overwhelmed. But the lie tastes bitter, and your phone feels impossibly heavy in your fingers. You glance up at your chem teacher—an older lady with large lensed glasses, she’s too nice for this school—then back at the screen. It’s a selfie of Will and you at Burger Mart, Mark standing behind the counter with your order held out like the world sent him a punishment in the form of his friends. You miss them, both of them. You breathe out a half-sigh half-laugh.

Swallowing your stupid sorrow, you unlock it.

You open your messages and stare at your last conversation with him—from nearly two weeks ago.

You: did you wanna go for lunch at that new cafe today?

You: markkkkk?

You: we can go somewhere else if you want

All left on read. You didn’t say anything after that, didn’t wanna bother him. Maybe he was finally moving on. Better friends or something.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You type something. Delete it. Type again. Biting at your nail as you resist the urge to rip it off entirely.

Finally, you send:

you okay? i saw you leave class

Three dots appear. You sit up straighter, heart kicking like it’s on a timer. You spare a glance at Miss Lily to make sure she hasn’t caught you.

They vanished.

No reply. No message. No explanation.

Just that haunting “Read 2:33 pm” stamp glowing beneath your text like a ghost.

You shove your phone back into your pocket, frustration and something deeper rising in your throat. You sit back into your chair too hard, making the metal legs scrape across the scratchy linoleum, staring at the ceiling like the answer might be written in the cracks.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m all good Danny.”

It doesn’t stop you from thinking about him.

It’s worse at night. When the house is still and your phone’s gone quiet. You replay old voice messages—ones you never deleted, where he’s laughing too hard at his own joke or asking you where you are that time you got lost in the shopping mall.

You see him everywhere, too. In the hoodie at the back of your closet that still smells like popcorn and the cologne he used to borrow from his dad. In the half-empty slushie cup in your freezer from the last time he showed up unannounced and dragged you to 7-Eleven “just because.”

You sit at your lunch table now with Daniel sometimes. William stopped sitting with you last week. You don’t blame him. It’s not the same. Maybe Mark said something.

And the worst part is that you still look for him—in the hallways, at his locker, in the corners of your classrooms where he always slouched like the chairs offended him personally. Horrible posture even for a teenage boy. You tell yourself you don’t care. That if he wants to ghost you, fine.

But you do care.

You care so much it feels like grief.

And every time you check your phone, you still hope the read receipt disappears—replaced by something that feels like him again.

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the pavement as you and Daniel make your way down the neighborhood sidewalk, your steps syncing in that easy, casual rhythm that comes from walking the same way more than a few times.

Your backpack digs into your shoulder, but you walk slower than usual. You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Drawing out the silence between things. Trying to outrun your own thoughts.

He’s talking about something—a goofy movie, maybe, or how the vending machine still owes him two dollars and a grudge match. You nod along, offering the right laughs at the right places, but your heart’s not really in it. Hasn’t been, not lately.

Because your mind keeps flickering back to Mark.

To that pencil snap in class. To the unread messages. To the way he looked at you like you were a stranger.

Daniel notices your quiet. He always does. For a guy he’s a bit too in tune with your inner workings.

He nudges your arm gently. “You’ve been kinda spacey today.”

You force a smile. “Yeah, just tired. Long week.”

He buys it. Or at least pretends to. “Well, you sure you don’t want me to walk you all the way home?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, slowing as you reach the corner where his street splits off. “Thanks, though.”

He hesitates, like he wants to say more, then just nods. “Alright. Text me, okay?”

You nod and wave as he heads off, then slide your headphones on, turning up the volume just enough to fill the empty space.

The music cushions your walk—from the odd 80’s song to something stupidly sad that you skip because you can’t handle that right now, to ‘Get down on it’ by Kool and the Gang of all things.

You laugh at that switch up, you remember that one time Will, and Mark, were playing blind karaoke and Will somehow, out of all the songs in the world, began singing Pitbull. You were dying on the couch, quite literally. You choked on one of the sour strips you were eating. Mark fell over himself trying to save the day. He did end up saving the day and ending your near-death experience, your ribs were so sore that night.

Your shoes crunch along the sidewalk. Your fingers trail over the stray flower bushes as you pass. You miss those dumb little sleepovers you used to all have. It makes you miss the group.

What you don’t notice, is the footsteps behind you.

Not until you reach your gate—the familiar squeaky latch already at the tips of your fingers—when a haggard voice cuts through the one quiet song in your playlist.

“Please wait!”

You freeze, nearly like a deer in headlight.

Your heart does a strange, sharp flip. He’s a little breathless, like he jogged to catch up, hands tapping at the sides of his sweater you know better than your own. He looks bigger, or maybe the sweater’s gotten smaller. You can’t tell. You slip your headphones off, scratching at the stupid little sticker he put onto it.

His brows are furrowed like he’s barely holding it together. His lip is split—not badly, but enough that you notice.

He’s standing at the edge of your driveway, chest rising and falling like he ran the last block to catch you. His hair’s a little messy, wind-tousled. There’s a quiet desperation in his eyes—the kind that makes your own throat tighten.

“I need to talk to you,” Those bay brown eyes you missed so much flickering all over your face. “Please.”

You stare at him for a second.

Then push open the gate, you take two steps in and when you don’t hear him behind you, you simply turn. Tugging at the loose threads of your cardigan as you watch him. Finally, finally he’s here and you don’t know what to say, or how to feel. So you spit out the first thing you can think of, the way you used to talk to him. Like slipping back into normalcy.

“You coming, or what?”

He blinks like you’ve just broken whatever trance had him frozen in place, then finally moves—quick strides crunching over the cement path behind you. The two of you slip through the side gate like you used to—like nothing’s changed, like the silence between you hasn’t cracked the foundation. The gate creaks shut with that familiar metallic whine, and the two of you are alone in the backyard.

The sky has moved slowly into dusk. The sky’s already dipped into shades of gold and lavender, the edges of the day softening like bruises fading. The backyard is lit by the warm glow of the string lights above flickering to life as they sense the dark. You’d put them up with Mark last spring, threading them between the beams with both your hands dirty from potting soil and pruning the gardens. Your hanging plants sway gently in the breeze—ivy and succulents and little flowering herbs you’ve been nursing for months. Longer than all this stuff, has been happening. Ferns and ivy hang from every corner.

Little ceramic pots painted by hand line the railing, overflowing with green and bursts of colour that slowly blur with the darkening of the sky.

It smells like rosemary and fresh dirt.

Mark lingers by the patio entrance as you step up onto the wood, slipping off your shoes before curling up into one of the cushioned chairs closest to the back door. You don’t invite him to sit. You don’t have to. You know he loves these chairs, not as much as you, but still.

He doesn’t, at first. Just stands there, watching you like you’re the only thing right this moment.

You break the silence. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

For a moment, a singular breath between you both, the only sound is the hum of the lights and the soft creak of the wind swaying hanging pots.

He exhales through his nose.

“I’m sorry.”

You cross your arms, eyes fixed on a chipped piece of the wooden patio floor. “For what?”

“For avoiding you, for not answering, for all this stuff that I’ve done.” He pauses, toeing at a stray leaf. He can’t even look at you as he says it. “I just want us to go back to normal.”

You laugh.

Not because it’s funny, but because it’s the only thing stopping your throat from closing. A dry, bitter thing that makes Mark’s shoulders tense.

“Normal?” you echo, your voice sharp. “Mark, you haven’t even spoken to me in weeks.”

“I know,” he says quickly, eyes snapping up. “I know, okay? But it wasn’t because I didn’t care—”

“Then what was it?” you cut in. “Because from where I was sitting, it sure as hell felt like you just didn’t want me around anymore.”

“I was trying to protect you!” he fires back, louder than you expected. He catches himself, fingers curling so hard his knuckles turn white. “God, I didn’t want to drag you into—into the danger, the pressure. I thought if I just… let you go a little, you’d be safer.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” Your voice starts to shake now. “You say you’ll meet me and you don’t show up. You never explain anything, you just disappear. You don’t get to disappear, an—and then act like we can just snap back to what we were.”

“I was doing my best!” He starts pacing toward the edge of the patio. “You don’t know what it’s like, okay? Balancing everything. Trying to be there for everyone and still not being enough.”

“And you think I don’t know what that feels like?” You’re on your feet now too, arms at your sides, fingers curled into fists. “I’ve been showing up for you, Mark. Even when you wouldn’t answer me. Even when it felt like I was screaming into a void just hoping for one text back.”

His jaw flexes. He turns, hands gripping the railing, back to you.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

You stare at him, your voice dropping, cracking. Like one of the pots he dropped when you were painting them.

“You could’ve said anything.”

The string lights buzz quietly above, casting halos around the plants you’ve poured your heart into, into him. The air feels heavier now, thicker, like it’s trying to hold the weight of everything that’s never been said between you.

“I felt like you hated me,” you say. “Like I did something wrong.”

He turns then, his eyes wide, like the idea guts him. “No. God—no. I never hated you.”

“Well, you sure made it feel that way.”

He’s breathing harder now, chest rising and falling like he’s been running, but this time, it’s not from chasing you down the block. It’s from running in circles inside his own head. And you’re just… tired.

“You don’t get to play the victim in this,” you say, quieter now, but firmer. “You ghosted me. You left. And you only came back when you saw someone else being there for me.”

That hits. You see it land, like a real punch.

His lips part like he wants to argue, but no words come out. So you just stare at him. And wait.

Because if this is going to mean anything at all—he needs to mean it.

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Bullshit,” you snap.

The word hangs in the air between you, sharp and ugly. You don’t regret saying it.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t glance out at the garden. “You don’t get it. I couldn’t tell you. Not then.”

“Why not? What could possibly be so bad that you’d rather have me thinking you hated me?”

He chews on his words, opening his mouth more than once, it makes you angry. He can’t even find a good reason. Right as you’re about to start up again, he blurts it out. “Because I’m Invincible.”

Silence.

The word falls like a nuclear bomb in a suburb.

You stare at him.

“What?”

Mark steps closer, eyes flicking over your face like he’s watching you come apart. “I’m Invincible. The superhero. That’s where I’ve been. That’s why I leave. That’s why I’ve been gone.”

You’re frozen. Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“I didn’t want to drag you into it,” He’s jumping all over his words, speaking so fast it hurts your brain as you try and figure out, how? “I thought if I distanced myself, if I cut it off before it got serious, I’d be keeping you safe. But I was wrong. I just hurt you.”

You don’t say anything at first. You can’t. The boy you grew up with is a superhero? Invincible? He was scared of cockroaches. How—how could, why could— your brain muddles and flips.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in—everything you’ve been holding back for weeks, maybe months, starts clawing its way out of you in shallow breaths and a pressure behind your eyes that refuses to stop building.

“I thought you hated me,” you whisper.

Mark’s face crumples. “What? No. No, I—”

But it’s too late. Your throat tightens and the tears start falling, hot and fast. Not the kind you can wipe away and pretend never happened—these are ugly sobs. The kind that rip out of your chest in pieces, leaving your voice shaking and your hands trembling. You try to cover your face, embarrassed, but your body won’t stop heaving.

“All this time,” you gasp, “I thought I did something wrong. I thought I pushed you away or—God, something. You stopped texting back, you’d look right through me, and I kept trying to pretend it didn’t hurt but it did, Mark. It did, and you didn’t even say anything.”

Mark’s already moving before you finish—stepping forward, arms wrapping around you with a desperation that almost knocks the wind out of you. You don’t fight it. You collapse into him, fists gripping the front of his sweater, sobbing into his shoulder like you’ve been carrying this pain in silence for way too long. You have been.

“I didn’t hate you,” he whispers, over and over again, holding you like the world is ending. “I never hated you. I thought you’d be safer if I stayed away. But it just made everything worse. I’m so, so sorry.”

His voice breaks at the end.

You cling to him like you’re scared he’ll vanish again, shaking with all the weight of what’s gone unsaid. He just holds you tighter, like he needs you just as badly.

“I missed you,” you manage through the tears, voice muffled by his shoulder. “I kept waiting for you to come back.”

“I’m here,” Mark whispers, forehead pressing to yours as he holds you so lovingly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You sniffle, the sound ugly and wet and real, like everything else.

His thumb catches a tear slipping down your cheek. You open your eyes, and his are right there—wet and glistening, holding yours like they never stopped trying.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day you made me sit through that terrible romcom and you cried harder than the main character,” he says softly, lips curved with the smallest, saddest smile you’ve ever seen on him. “And I didn’t even care that it sucked because you were leaning on me the whole time.”

You let out a watery laugh, tears still spilling, and he cups your face gently, reverently, like you’re made of glass and starlight and a thousand things he almost lost.

“I didn’t know how to be both,” he murmurs. “A hero and myself. But every time I was out there—saving people, fighting monsters, almost dying—I just wanted to come back.”

You reach up and hold his wrists, holding him now. “You should’ve told me.”

“I know,” he breathes. “I was scared.”

“So was I.”

He leans in, foreheads still touching, your breath shared under the fairy lights of your backyard. The rosemary sways in the breeze, brushing against your leg like a memory.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You let out a broken sound—half sob, half laugh. “Say it again.”

He smiles through his tears, nose brushing yours. “I love you.”

And this time, when he kisses you, it’s like the sadness finally gives. It’s messy and tear-soaked and trembling, and everything you both have been holding back for too long. His hands are in your hair, yours around his neck, and the kiss is so, so soft but aching—like the words he couldn’t say finally found a way out. It’s messy, so messy but you need this. Need him.

When you break apart, foreheads still pressed together, you whisper, “I love you too.”

You don’t need to ask if he’s staying. You already know the answer.

#mark grayson x reader #invincible fanfic #invincible mark grayson #invincible #invincible x you #invincible x reader #angst cause i’m a sucker #best friend!mark grayson

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ikeuki · 4 months ago

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is riki in the room with us . . . ? / 니키

( pairing ) nishimura riki x fem!reader ✶ grumpy x sunshine ; fluff/crack, light cursing + idiot-icy — ( wordcount ) 1.1k

ᯓ★ ikueki’s note. he’s sooooo ‘smh’ it hurts ; riki trying to act cool & failing + making a fool out of himself pt.1 !

synopsis. introducing riki’s new seatpartner: you! this is either the best or worst decision you’ve ever made.

“oh ms. y/l/n! i thought you were transferring next week?” the teacher spoke.

“oh i apologize, my counselor decided to move me today, so i would not miss any more material than necessary.” you replied with such sweetness. you were apologizing for a ‘mistake’ that wasn’t even your fault.

all of the students, girls and boys, stared in awe at your almost gleaming presence. “well no worries—for the better if anything! why don’t you go sit down in any empty seat,” the teacher continued, gesturing to the class.

you bowed and scanned the room for an empty seat. there was one by the front of the class, but felt uncomfortable with feeling pressured to raise your hand for every question. especially when there was an obviously smart looking kid sitting in the seat beside it—meaning you would be constantly competing with him for #1.

so you settled for the other one in the back, next to some sleeping kid. all the students’ eyes fell upon you as you made your way to the back row. they all knew your name, your face, everything!

not only were you ranked second of the entire school (first being yang jungwon), you were known to be the school sweetheart. always helping other students study, participating in volunteer work, a member of student council, and on both the tennis and volleyball team.

your résumé was quite impressive. not to mention in the social surroundings as well. every boy wanted to go out with you and every girl wanted to be your friend. there was just a special bubble you seemed to be in that everyone wanted to join!

click. clack. click.

riki’s mind was playing tricks on him, replaying the little clicks your heels made in that gym last friday. but just then the prominent vanilla scent flooded his senses.

he lifted his head, taking a deep breath and losing his head for possible scare methods. until he was met with a familiar yet unfamiliar face.

you didn’t even notice that your unknown seat partner had woken up, too focused on taking notes. riki observed your neatly arranged desk. your pastel colored pencil case at the top, with two notebooks laid out in front of you. the math textbook was next to those and you were writing at the speed of light. in the most neatest handwriting riki had ever seen!

to be fair, he’s only ever seen heeseung and jake’s writing which were not much to compare to.

his eyes slowly wandered from your organized desk to your sparkly gel pen writing formula after formula. he soon found himself admiring looking directly into your eyes, realizing he was caught staring.

“can i help you?” you whispered, staring straight back at the frozen boy.

riki was speechless for the first time ever. no snarky comments or insults. no eye rolls or scoffs.

he was star-struck.

you titled your head to the side, smiling. you noticed a faint rosy blush on his cheeks as he looked at you with wide eyes. the tension could’ve been cut with a knife, so you took the chance to do it first.

“oh! actually i wanted to thank you!” you exclaimed and bent down to your backpack, rummaging through the bag.

“thank me?” riki finally spoke, narrowing his eyebrows. he sat up straight, facing you with his entire body and completely disregarding the teacher’s lecture in the front of the class.

you popped back up and turned to him with your school id in hand. “i listened to your advice and smiled ‘like i always do’” you put air quotes around riki’s words from the gym.

riki leaned in slightly to look at the little plastic card on your shared desk. you had such a natural yet cheery smile that almost put one on his face from just looking at it. but he stopped himself.

instead he looked up to see your face, inches away from his.

your attractive scent filled his senses and he could see the little sparkles decorating your eyelids. his eyes naturally trailed from your brightly-lit eyes to your rosy cheeks and down to your freshly glossed lips. as if on cue, your lips curled into a small smile and he found himself entranced.

flustered, he quickly cleared his throat and pulled back. he acted like there was something terribly wrong with his throat. just then, he did actually start choking a bit. enough for the entire class to go silent and turn back to yours and riki’s desks.

“mr. nishimura? are you alright back there?” the teacher asked, clearly unamused at the boy who always sleeps in class.

“are you okay? do you want some water?” you subconsciously put a hand on his arm in order to get his attention.

which you certainly did…!

riki froze and looked down at your hand.

your hand. on his arm.

he immediately stopped “choking” and awkwardly realized the entire class watching him. “oh…n-no i’m okay.” smooth.

“good.” the teacher replied coldly and returned to the lesson.

“are you sure?” you inquired yet again, your hand remaining in place.

what the hell was wrong with him? why did he feel sweaty and weird? why couldn’t he think? why was he stuttering like an idiot in front of you, trying to think of an answer?

more importantly, why did he care?

he blinked back his honest thoughts and shielded them with his cool-guy persona once again.

“yeah. i’m fine.” he brushed off, a little colder than he wanted.

you withdrew your hand. the corners of your lips faltering a little at his harsh tone. if there was one thing you knew, it was to know when you were not wanted. riki noticed the slight change in your face though, you didn’t want to show your hurt expression but he could tell from your eyes that you didn’t expect his reaction.

however, riki continued with his tough-guy act. he folded his arms and slumped back in his chair, acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world. when in all honesty, he did care. he cared a lot—about what you thought for some weird reason.

you took his response as a sign to cut the conversation short “anyways, i owe you one with the whole picture thing,” you whispered and retracted the school id. riki’s eyes betrayed his actions though, following your adorable id picture all the way to your pencil pouch and you zipping it up in there.

you simply returned to your note-taking as if your interaction didn’t just completely obliterate riki’s world. your eyes stayed on the blackboard ahead the rest of class, not even sparing a little glance to your seat partner. riki peeled his eyes off you and forced himself to stare out the window.

what was he looking at? nothing. absolutely nothing.

he just tried to think about something. anything!

but the clouds began floating together to form mushy hearts. birds flew by, four pairs of two all resting on a tree branch by couple. and what was that now? a rainbow?!

god, it must be the sleep deprivation kicking in, riki thought.

riki thought wrong.

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velvetydream · 1 month ago

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꒰ : 🪐 [ Academic Rivalry - 산 ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

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Pairing : Choi San x fem! Reader , very short Seonghwa x Reader but important for the plot and no feelings between them

Summary : You've hated San your entired life, from him being better than you in every subject to your parents telling you to be more like him. Though.. was it really hate or something else you felt?

Word count : 4.3K Words

Genre/Warnings : Enemies to Lovers - Fluff, Academic Rivals

a/n : After alot of very dissapointing events, I decided to write a lil cheer up fic for @moilele , hope u enjoy it dear!♡

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He was irritating, the bane of your existence. His voice alone annoyed you, his stupid face way too handsome for his stupid personality.

Choi San, the top student in sports, is rivaling you in any other subject as he scores almost always a little higher than you. Your parents, being friends, always compared you to him. Be a bit more like San; look how well San is doing, San, San, San. Anyone was only able to see and say San, the girls falling at his feet, the boys wanting to be like him.

Snap!

Looking down now at the pencil you snapped with your hand, Mingi looking at you concerned from his spot beside you. "Uhm.. you broke your pencil.." He mutters, making you roll your eyes as you throw the broken pen away into the depths of your bag. "Thanks, Mingi, I didn't know.." You mumble, even more, annoyed when your ears pick up that stupid deep laugh of San sitting at the back with Jung Wooyoung and Kang Yeosang. The little trio being the absolute worst nightmare of yourself. They always acted so smug, so high above everyone, just because their parents had money and they were doing well in school.

"She's definitely annoyed by San again." Yunho snickers as he looks over to you from his seat beside Mingi. "He is annoying, and my parents told me last night how they'd be coming over this weekend for dinner. Means I'll have to listen to them praise him the whole evening.." Wanting to slam your head against the table, you didn't as the professor walked in, starting his lecture. Luckily, San and his little group of friends, for once, stayed quiet and didn't interfere much.

"Can't you just ditch the dinner though?" Mingi asks as he starts packing up his bag, making you shake your head. No, you couldn't cause the lecture you'd get then would be far worse than spending one evening with Choi San. "Guess you'll have to endure it, but hey, we can hand out together Sunday then, to make the weekend a little less dreading." Patting your shoulder, Yunho takes his bag as the three of you leave the room and make your way to the cafeteria. He was right; it was one evening, and you would survive that dinner for sure. Or so you thought.

"Oh, San! Always so polite! Thank you!" Your mother beams as he helps her bring everything to the table, a smirk being sent your way. "Seriously Y/n, take an example from San!" Your mom praises him as everyone takes a seat; you just want to leave this dinner immediately. The moment San and his parents entered your home, your mother was all over him, saying how well he looked and what a charming young man he was. The dinner continued quietly, till your father had to bring up academics. "So San, I heard from your father how well you're doing, top of each class and a little sports star huh?" Smiling bashfully San nods, wanting to gag at his little shy act. "Yes, Sir, I've spent a lot of time studying and putting my other time into sports; I'd love to pursue a good job in the future with a lot of possibilities." Clapping a bit beside you, your mother praises the young man. "A son like you, Y/n you should really learn from him, maybe he can even tutor you a bit in what was it.. maths? Where you were doing not so well!" Looking at her, offended now that she had to say that in front of San, who smirked at you. "Of course, ma'am, I'm top of my class in maths; I'd love to tutor our dear Y/n to help her out." Oh, how you wanted to just punch that stupid smirk off of his face.

After dinner, your parents asked you to clean the dishes while they took a seat outside on the porch. "What a stupid asshole, oh how I'd love to punch that stupid smirk off of his stupid face." Mumbling to yourself as you clean the dishes, not noticing a presence behind you. "How lovely you talk about me, you probably meant to say stupidly handsome face?" Shrieking together at the voice, you spin around to come face to face with San, your hands dripping with water and soap from scrubbing the plates. "No, I meant what I said; now get out." Wanting to turn back around, he quickly cages you between his arms. "Darling maybe be a bit nicer to your tutor." Fingers grab your chin as he lifts your head to look into your eyes, clearly seeing the same emotions of disdain you hold for him. "Yeah sure, fuck off." Pushing his hand away, you turn around to continue cleaning as he leaves with an annoyed click of his tongue.

Finally, he was gone again, resting your forehead against the hanging cupboards slightly, a sigh leaving your exhausted body. Choi San was so fucking irritating.

The following day, luckily, was spent with Mingi and Yunho at the mall, enjoying some ice cream before having to go back to university the next day. Of course, the day had to end with your most hated subject, math. Sending a smug look your way as San walks past you, now knowing fully well how bad you're in this class, while he was a top student yet again. "Miss Y/n would you mind staying a minute after the lecture?" The professor now asks you as everyone packs their belongings together, nodding as you watch everyone leave the room. "You're very close to failing this class.. Is it my teaching? Can something maybe help you?" The elderly man asks now, always wanting to make sure his students at least pass. "I really don't know sir.. I study a lot, yet I still don't understand everything.." Looking down at your hands, frustrated now, how is it that you're working your ass off, trying to score well, yet you always seem to fail.

"Maybe I can help? I could tutor her; our parents are friends, so we know each other." Head shooting up at the agitating voice coming from the main door. "Oh really?! That would be great! Then I leave her grade in your hands mister!" The professor exclaims happily, as he grabs his bag and bids you two his goodbye for the day. "Are you insane?! Why would I want you to tutor me?!" Shouting at him now, his stupid smirk showing his dimples, as his short dark hair frames his face perfectly. Screw him. "Because you need my help, sweetheart, or else, you will fail, and your parents will just be even more disappointed in you." Laughing into your face now, you quickly walk past him, shoving his shoulder while doing so. "I'll text you the meet-up spot!" San shouts after you, laughing as you flip him off.

This was your worst nightmare coming true.

So this is how you find yourself in front of a luxury apartment complex San had sent the address to you of. Murmuring annoyed to yourself how he lived in such a wealthy apartment all by himself while you still had to live at home, annoyed the hell out of you. Pressing the button, it takes a few seconds for San to answer, telling you to come to the 8th floor. Pressing the button in the elevator, you wait for it to arrive at the correct floor before stepping out, moving to the only slightly open door. "Come in, I'm cooking right now." He calls over to you, making you roll your eyes. Of course, he had to cook exactly right now when you were on time. "Take a seat at the aisle; I can tutor you while cooking; the math topic is pretty easy." Motioning for the high chairs, you take a seat, already frustrated, pulling out your notes and iPad. "So where is your problem? Is it the way or the overall understanding?" Talking to you so easily while seasoning whatever he was cooking made your blood boil. First, he brings you into this situation, and then he won't even properly tutor you? Asshole.

"It's the way, I understand what I'm supposed to do, but it confuses me how to get there." He nods, taking your notes from you and scanning over them quickly. Giving them back, he starts to explain the easiest way, making you try and follow while he explains, taking notes of what he is saying. Despite not wanting to admit it, you slowly understood with his help and explanation of the math problem.

"Do you understand it now?" Looking at you, smiling when you slowly nod. This was the worst humiliation you ever experienced, admitting to Choi San helping you. "See, not that hard, maybe you should be a bit nicer to me, then I can help you more~" There he is again, with his smug attitude. "You're annoying as fuck; why do you always need to act so high and mighty." Packing together now annoyed, you've had enough of him acting this way. "Woah, nice words, please; I don't get your problem with me, you've hated me since forever, and I did nothing." He follows you to the direction of his door now, watching you put on your shoes.

"That's exactly the problem! You're oh so great at everything without trying, while I work my ass off and still fail! My parents praise you every time even when you're not around! I hate this! You're oh so perfect and I have to endure this shit!" While shouting at him, you struggle a bit with your shoes, not noticing him approaching you slowly with a dark look in his eyes until you're standing up straight again, and the next second, your back collides with the door. "That's what you think? That I get handed everything on a silver plate? Says the little princess that never had to work a single day in her life, while I had to work my ass off for my parents to even support me, you never had to worry a single day, and yes I might not need to study that much like others, doesn't mean I don't work for it." The words he spits at you are venomous, and you are not able to look away from the scowl on his face.

"I don't care! You're annoying! You think so much of yourself and have to pull me into it! I hate you!" And with that Choi San had enough, pressing his lips roughly against yours to finally shut you up. "Will you shut up finally? I never intended for you to hate me! I even wanted to be friends when we were kids; it's not my fault either of our parents acted like that!" Eyes wide as you watch San in silence, pushing him away as you quickly exit the apartment, him simply watching you as the door slowly closes.

Clutching over your heart with heavy breath in the elevator, your body felt hot, blushing heavily. It wasn't the fact that you were mad; it wasn't that you hated that he kissed you. No.. you hated the fact it did something to you, the fact you felt butterflies in your stomach, having felt a spark between you two. Yunho and Mingi would go crazy when you tell them.

Arriving at home, your mom asks how the tutoring went, ignoring her and going straight to your room, face-planting on your bed before screaming into the pillow. You hated him, you hated his guts, you hated his personality, but you didn't hate the kiss, you didn't hate the butterflies he gave you while pinning you against the door, the spark he ignited when his lips met yours. It was irritating, just as much as he is.

After staring at the wall for a while, you slowly sit up again, exhaling loudly, seriously, what is with him? Why does he have to be so annoying? Touching your lips now, you could still basically feel his soft lips on your own; shaking your head. Now, you end up taking a cold shower to get those thoughts out of your head.

But you couldn't; nothing helped; not the cold shower, not watching your favorite show, not listening to music,, and falling asleep was also almost impossible. Though plagued by San, his soft lips, his broad body, and his strong hands, you wanted to cry from how much he was haunting your mind right now. So, in the end, you barely ended up sleeping and went to school sleep-deprived, Mingi laughing at the big circles under your eyes before Yunho scolded the younger of the two. "But seriously, you don't look well. Shouldn't you stay at home?" Shaking your head at Yunho's question, no, you couldn't afford to miss any classes, especially math. "I'll be fine, but thanks for worrying about me." Giving him a small smile, before listening to the professor again.

In the end, Yunho was right; you should've stayed at home; your body wasn't used to barely getting any sleep, so a hard migraine soon hit you, groaning and massaging your temple, trying to follow anything the professor was saying. "Miss Y/n, could you please come to the front and solve the problem?" Great of course he had to ask you out of all the people here, standing up on shaking legs. Your feet slowly carry you to the front of the class, the whole room spinning as you take the chalk into your hand. "Sir I don't think Y/n is doing so well." Sans voice cut in, as the professor looks at you. Body looking exhausted, deep rings under your eyes, your eyes slightly red, and your handshaking.

Just as he wanted to ask if you'd like to go to the infirmary, your body was falling, being caught by someone before hitting the floor. "I'll take her." Vision blurry so you couldn't tell who it was, Mingi? Or Yunho? Probably one of them, so you just rest your head on the person's shoulder as they carry your weak body to the infirmary. And the next thing you know is waking up alone, sitting up slowly, the migraine still slightly torturing your head. "Wouldn't think a simple kiss makes you lose your whole mind." Head shooting up as San moves to behind the curtain of your bed, a glass of water in his hand. "Here drink." Placing the water into your hands now he watches you gulp down the cool liquid.

"Here, the nurse gave me some sugar to give you when you wake up." Looking at the little candy in his hand, you take it, letting it slowly dissolve on your tongue, lips pulled into a slight pout. "You're really something; why did you come when you barely slept or at least went home when you got a migraine,e, hm?" Sitting down beside you, his hand reaches out to massage just the right spot in your neck, the pain stopping for a moment. "This is all your fault.. Why did you have to kiss me? I could've simply gone on my day and slept normally, but no, you had to confuse me." At that he dares to laugh, making you glare at him. "You were talking too much, so I shut you up." At that, you push his hand away, hitting his shoulder annoyed. "You're so annoying! Don't just kiss me! What is wrong with you! I wanted to leave!" San lets you hit his shoulder a bit to get your anger out, before grabbing your hands to still them.

"Are you mad I kissed you or are you mad you liked it?" Shutting you up with those words as your eyes grow wide, immediately turning your head to the side. "O-Of course because you just kissed me! I didn't like it!" Smiling at you now, he leans closer from his spot on the edge of the bed. "Are you sure? Seems like you're lying to me~" Hands still held in his, you look down at them, they're bigger than yours, holding yours so perfectly. "N-No! I didn't like it!" You lie again, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans closer to whisper in your ear, butterflies coming to life again in your stomach. "Then maybe I should kiss you so much more till you don't lie and admit how much you loved it~" His voice was deep in your ears as you shook your head, trying to push him away.

This shouldn't be happening, you shouldn't be feeling like this. You hated Choi San; he was annoying, a brat, yet here he was, making your heartbeat pick up.

"Well, rest well; I'll see you later." And with that he leaves, leaving you all flustered and frustrated.

"What do you mean he kissed you?!" Mingi screeches from his place in the passenger driver's seat, turning his body to look at you in the back. "How I said it, he kissed me and.. He continues to try to get closer and.. Wh, is he so annoying?!" Slamming your head against the window, making Yunho scream in protest to now bang your head against his car. "Maybe he likes you? I mean, you never really talked to him; you decided to hate him since day one, didn't you?" Yunho was right; you barely even gave him a chance as your parents immediately started praising him and comparing you to him, while his parents just boosted him about how amazing their son is. "Why don't you give him a chance? He obviously seems to like you despite how you treated him for years." Mingis chirps in now, looking at you, watching you shake your head now. "Never, he probably just does this to get on my nerves." Both of the boys look at you, doubting, but stay quiet now on the topic.

"Seonghwa! Hongjoong!" Running over to the two waiting man, you happily embrace both of them, staying in Seonghwas arms much longer. "Hello darling how are you? And how are you two? Sorry we couldn't meet up recently, Hongjoong and I have been away on jobs abroad." Hongjoong was a designer for his own very famous brand and Seonghwa was his main model, they were a few years older yet still were at university when you started, that's also how you guys met. "No worries! Just glad you two are back! Missed you alot! How was Paris?" Looking at them, Hongjoong smiles as he starts to talk about the event they attended and how beautiful Paris was, saying how they'd take you with them next time.

"So how is it going with San? Still annoyed by him?" Seonghwa asks now, watching you roll your eyes, as Mingi already interferes. "He kisses her, and since then,n, she has been confused!" Making the two older men look at you shocked while you hit Mingi on the back of his head, making him whine. "Out of the blue?" Hongjoong questions now as you nod, explaining the whole situation to them. "It could be that you're feeling that way because it was your first kiss; maybe that's why you're feeling all those butterflies and felt a spark." Seonghwas words held some truth; it could definitely be that, in the end, you never had your first kiss, and San just stole it.

The whole dinner, those thoughts were stuck in your head. Was it really just because it was your first kiss, or was it because it was San?

"Hey, you're up in your pretty head." Seonghwa comes to walk beside you, a few meters behind the others. "I'm just confused. I have hated him for my whole life, and now he kisses me, and I get all flustered and giddy, yet I don't know if it's because of him or because I got kissed." Listening closely, the handsome man beside you nods, coming to a halt beside you. "Do you want help to figure it out?" Now you looked at Seonghwa confused, who softly smiled at you, not really knowing how anyone could help you figure this out, yet you still nodded. "Pardon me then." His hand reaches out to hold your cheek softly, as he tilts your head up and locks your lips with his. Seonghwas lips felt different; unlike San, he was very soft and careful, warm, and tasted a little bit like a strawberry. His lips smooth from taking proper care of them. Yet you felt no sparks and definitely no butterfly as he pulls away.

"So?" Smiling at you, already seeing the gears turn in your head, having figured out that it was San causing the butterflies and not because you got kissed. "You should talk to him, darling; maybe you have done him wrong by being so mean to him; maybe he is different than you think." Patting your head softly, looking ahead as Hongjoong shouts for the two of you, grabbing your hand as he pulls you after the other three men.

That night you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while holding your plush bunny to your chest, finally having enough as you grab your phone and open San contact. Barely any conversation was in the chat. For a second, you think about what to write till you quickly type in. 'If you're serious about this, I'll give you one chance tomorrow at 6 pm, Han River.' Hitting send, you quickly exit the chat, throwing your phone on your fluffy carpet as your body falls back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling nervously. At the same time, in Sans's apartment, he got all giddy, already rummaging through his closet for a perfect outfit, thinking of what he should bring along, make a picnic basket with some fruits?

The next day, you wait at the exact place you told San to meet up, fingers fidgeting with the bracelet you had on, as a tap on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts. San stood behind you in casual yet fitting clothes. "Hey, I didn't know what your plan was, so I just brought some snacks." He shows you the bag of snacks as you nod at him. "That's fine; I thought we could watch the sunset; I brought a blanket." Following you through the few people already sitting on the grass, you two find a nice spot, a bit away from everyone else as you take a seat.

"So.. what made you change your mind?" Looking up from munching on a few chocolate cookies, you swallow before answering him. "A friend helped me figure something out that made me change my mind." Keeping it vague, San senses he probably shouldn't ask any further. "I'm glad, really; whatever that friend did, tell him to thank you for making you give me a chance finally." His dimples show as he smiles. You two continue to talk a bit, not once mentioning university, grades, or your parents, making you realize the problem wasn't San but your parents. San told you about his hobbies, but you didn't even know he was in a little dance crew with Wooyoung and Yeosang, he even went so far as showing you a few clips when they were filming in the streets; you even complimented him, which he blushed. Telling him about yourself more now, he listened intently as if trying to remember every little thing you tell him.

"San.." Looking from the setting sun to you, he murmurs to tell you to continue talking. "I'm sorry for how I have treated you.. I gave you the fault for how my parents treated me; I think I just tried to find a scapegoat, and you were just there." It felt good to finally apologize to him directly; you definitely now needed a long talk with your parents, though. "Hey no worries, I never gave up because I hoped someday you would give me a chance, even if it was just as a friend." Nodding at that, you're glad he wasn't mad at you, though you wouldn't take offense if he did. After all, you were awful to him since the day you two met.

"May I ask a favor of you?" The voice was small, already flustered from what you were about to ask him. "Sure, what is it?" San looked at you, sensing your shyness. He took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. "Can you kiss me again?" His eyes light up and without a second word, he locks his lips with yours. Sparks flew as his lips met yours, butterflies erupting in your stomach, and now you for sure knew it was San causing those emotions and not just being simply kissed; you had to thank Seonghwa later for making you realize this. The kiss lasted a bit longer than the first time because you, of course, kissed him back, eyes closed as his other hand came to cup your cheek.

"I can't believe you're the one causing butterflies in my stomach in the end.." You mumble against his lips, making the man before you laugh, feeling your stomach turn at that again, your cheeks flushing red. Maybe it wasn't hate this whole time you felt, but adoration, longing, not knowing what those emotions felt like.

"Remember how you used to hate me?" San asks you with a smirk, leaning over the back to the couch of your shared apartment as you groan; even after years of dating now, he still brings that up. "Seriously, shut up, please! I explained it to you!" Wanting to hide your face in a pillow, you couldn't as San tilted your head back, looking into your eyes before sealing his lips with yours. "I'm just teasing you and hey, you can always shut me up the way I did." Smirking he runs back to the kitchen as you want to hit him for flustering you so much.

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aemondsbabe · 2 years ago

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Taunt

obviously, i feel very normal and chill about ewan's new performance in saltburn. anyways lmao this is my version of michael gavey from the vibes i got from him in the 5 seconds he's in the trailer! i have no idea if this is accurate to how he is truly portrayed in the movie! if the movie comes out and i'm totally wrong, then i don't care bc i got to have fun writing about a cheeky lil oxford student!!

summary: you're nearly failing statistics and the student your professor asks to tutor you seems to gain a sick satisfaction from seeing you squirm; he hates you...or so think.

pairing: michael gavey x reader

warnings: mature, 18+ (minors, do not enter!!!) no use of Y/N, afab reader, profanity, smut, piv smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub, brief daddy kink (literally one mention), dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation (only a bit), size kink if you squint, mild angst but happy ending, choking i guess (barely), public sex (they're alone but like it's still public lmao), brief discussions of math -- please let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 10.5k (dear lord)

a/n: baby's first fic omg! if you enjoy this one and want to see more from me, please feel free to send in requests! (GoT, HoTD, Stranger Things, Marvel, etc!)

PRAISE | Taunt Part 2

MAKING AMENDS | Bonus

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!🌟

“Right, so,” Professor Davies began, pulling a thick textbook off the shelf next to his desk, “Since we’ve only just returned from Easter holiday, I thought I’d go easy on you today.”

A few quiet groans could be heard around the room, a couple students turning to look at one another with grimaces; in the few weeks you’ve been in Professor Davies’s class, he’s never once gone easy on you. With a small sigh, you shuffle through your spiral notebook until you come to a blank page.

“D’you think you’ll go to the party this weekend?” Louise whispers, leaning over closer to you as she twirls a pen around in her fingers, “I heard this one is supposed to be fucking insane.”

“Like any of Felix’s parties aren’t insane?” You whisper back, smirking as you doodle a small flower on the corner of a page of paper, “Of course I’ll be there,” you murmur, watching as Professor Davies writes an intricate formula on the chalkboard, “I could really use a break, anyway…I’ve been so stressed recently.”

“Christ…” A boy, in the row of desks in front of you scoffs, just barely shaking his head as he copies down the formula, his handwriting sharp and choppy. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes, staring intently at his sandy hair. You didn’t really know him, this being your only class with him, but you’d seen him around campus, regularly passing by him in the halls. Oxford may be a large university, but when you’re on campus everyday, you begin recognizing familiar faces.

He didn’t run in the same crowds as you at all, and you got the distinct impression that he looked down on you and the rest of your friends, but you knew his name – Michael and that he was incredibly smart, his hand promptly shooting into the air anytime Professor Davies asked a question. In the few weeks you’d been in the same statistics class, you had yet to see him get a question wrong, watching as he grinned, cocky, everytime he was praised for correctly solving even the most intricate of formulas.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more the opposite, always shying away and praying not to hear Professor Davies call your name in his deep, baritone voice every time his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a volunteer, or victim, more like. While Michael clearly enjoyed the class, practically glowing with an arrogant confidence as soon as he walked into the wood paneled lecture hall, you were simply here to check it off as a requirement of your major, hoping to survive the class with a C and nothing more.

It was annoying, you wouldn’t deny that, the way that smug smirk seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, how that stupid taunting glimmer was an ever-present fixture of his blue eyes — blue eyes which, seemingly, always managed to find their way to you, one way or another.

His attention was intimidating at first, his cold stare leaving you unsure of what exactly his intention was. Was he trying to challenge you? Trying to determine if he knew you from somewhere else? A small part of you, a naive part, hoped that his staring was meant to be affectionate; he was cute, you’d admit it! Always showing up to class in cozy knit sweaters, his wavy hair still ruffled and untidy as if he’d just gotten out of bed, gold rimmed glasses perched atop a strong nose.

You quickly tear your gaze away from the back of Michael’s head, biting your bottom lip as you begin copying down the problem on the chalkboard, pausing briefly when you see, from the corner of your eye, his head turn as he glances at you over his shoulder. You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, that small, sanguine voice in the back of your head cheering.

“Now, then,” Professor Davies booms, dropping the textbook down on his desk with a cacophonous thud before sweeping his eyes across the classroom, “A bit of review before we really dive in…” He continues, pacing around the front of the room as he explains the various parts and pieces of the equation on the board.

“What do you think you’ll wear?” Louise asks, leaning over once more to whisper in your ear, you can smell her signature floral perfume on her hair, “I was thinking I’d do that new blue-ish dress I got, you know, the strappy one?”

“Might still be too cold for strappy,” you whisper back, half listening to the professor drone on as you continue doodling on your paper, pausing every few minutes to jot down a few haphazard notes, “I was just thinking I’d do a jumper, probably a skirt and tights–”

Suddenly, you hear Professor Davies call your name, your cheeks practically stinging as blood rushes to your face. Sitting up straighter, you finally find the courage to meet his stern gaze, “Since you seem all too eager to share your thoughts,” He continues slowly stalking towards you across wooden floorboards that softly creak beneath his feet, “Would you care to enlighten us with the solution to the quadratic equation on the board?” He comes to a stop, hands clasped behind his back as he patiently waits for you to answer, a small, knowing smile poised on his lips.

“I– uhm, well,” you stutter, glancing back and forth between your barely there notes and the chalkboard, throat growing tighter as you feel everyone's eyes on you, “Don’t you need to solve for G first?”

“And how would you go about doing that?”

“Well, you would…” You trail off, desperately trying to remember the lessons you’d had before Easter holiday, absentmindedly picking at your cuticle as you pray to be anywhere but here or for a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole, “I…I don’t recall, professor. I’m sorry.” You finally say, not being able to meet his gaze as you stare intently at your lap, desperately willing yourself not to cry, even as you feel your eyes stinging.

“Perhaps, in the future, it would be of benefit to socialize with your friends outside of my classroom.” Professor Davies admonishes, giving a sharp glare to Louise as well, who manages an apologetic smile. “Yes, Professor.” You whisper, keeping your eyes downturned.

Finally, you hear the floorboards softly creaking once more as Professor Davies makes his way back up to the podium at the front of the room and once again resumes his lecture. You can’t help but pause for a second when you hear a small snicker from the tall boy in front of you, sensing as he peers at you over his shoulder once again.

“Would anyone else like to take a crack at the problem on the board?” Professor Davies asks, leaning against the old, worn podium at the front of the room. Like clockwork, Michael’s hand shoots into the air. Somehow, that makes you blush even harder.

Eventually, Professor Davies finishes his lecture and retrieves his dark leather briefcase from under the desk, pulling a thick stack of papers out and sitting them on the podium, leaning over it with a sigh, “I have your tests graded. Most of you did very well, you should be pleased with yourselves. Some of you, however,” He says pointedly, “Could benefit greatly from a closer study of the material.”

Slowly, he walks around the room passing back tests, throwing out a comment here and there as he did so. You already know you hadn't done well on that particular test and dread getting it back and confirming your suspicions, so you keep yourself busy, choosing to meticulously pack up your things instead.

“Mr. Gavey,” he said a few feet away from you, papers rustling as he slid the test across the wooden surface of the long bench desks, “Once more, an outstanding job! Top of the class, keep it up.”

“Thank you, Professor,” you glance up, watching as he takes the paper with a humble nod, that same, oh-so pleased smile gracing his angular face. He must sense you looking at him and quickly shifts his gaze in your direction, eyes glimmering with self-satisfaction behind his gold-rimmed glasses as his smile quickly turns into a smirk. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his with a small, bewildered huff. Why did he seem to get so much satisfaction from besting you, of all people? It’s not like you were exactly an academic threat.

“Ms. Bickerstaff,” Professor Davies says, finally appearing next to the table you and Louise sat at, “Not bad, a bit more effort next time and you’re sure to be on track,” he remarks, sliding her paper across the desk. Louise thanks him with a small smile as she flips through her test, eyes scanning over his marks.

Finally, Professor Davies stands before you once again, your paper the very last in his hands. You hear him mutter your last name before he slides the paper across the desk to you, and you can’t help but deflate as you see your grade; you knew it would be bad, but that? How on Earth were you going to recover your average? What if you had to retake the whole course? What if you failed out of Oxford entirely? Your parents had sacrificed so much to help you get here, spending years and untold amounts of money on private tutors and extracurricular materials, all to help you have an impressive application! Not to mention the money just for the course fees! Unlike most of your friends, you didn’t come from piles and piles of money and status – your family was alright, sure, but you were definitely several tax brackets below them.

As your thoughts spiraled, you felt Louise elbow you in the side at the same time you heard Professor Davies address you again. Shaking your head to clear your scattered thoughts, you clear your throat and finally turn to look up at him, “Sorry, yes, Professor?”

“As I was saying,” Professor Davies continues, tapping the papers in front of you, “I would like to discuss your performance with you today, after class. Please meet me at the front of the room before you go.”

“Yes, sir.” you mumble dejectedly, nodding as you quickly flip the test over, embarrassed at the thought of anyone else seeing your grade.

“I’ll see you later, babes,” Louise says a few minutes later as everyone is clearing out of the room, “Good luck!” She whispers, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making her way to the door.

“Thanks!” you smile weakly, swallowing the lump in your throat before picking up your things and heading to the front of the room. The afternoon sun is already getting lower in the sky, beams of light shining into the room, bathing rectangular swaths of the floor in bright, golden light and highlighting motes of dust as they scatter in the air. Only a few students are left in the classroom, some of them finishing up notes while others type out quick texts. As you walk by his desk, you notice Michael scribbling down notes in his planner.

You shuffle your feet nervously as you stand in front of the sizable oak desk that your professor sits at, watching as he adds a sticky note to the top of another stack of papers, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Ah, yes!” He says, looking up at you over his glasses. He quickly caps his pen and stands, walking around the desk to stand in front of you, “I know this class has been quite the challenge,” he begins, leaning against the desk, “But, I think I’ve found a solution for you.”

“You have?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion.

“I think you could benefit greatly from a tutor, perhaps a peer who could explain the material to you in a different way,” he continues, “And I have just the student in mind.” Instantly, you feel a pit beginning to form in your stomach, biting your bottom lip as you watch Professor Davies motion for someone behind you to come up to the desk, “Mr. Gavey, if you could join us up here, please.”

You freeze when you feel him saunter up beside you, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye. He was so much taller than you, your head barely grazing his shoulder, as he came to a stop next to you, standing casually with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

Professor Davies once again turns his attention to you, motioning to Michael as he speaks, “Mr. Gavey here is one of my most capable students,” you can’t help but notice him stand up straighter at the comment, growing somehow even taller, “I’ve taken the liberty of asking him if he would be so kind as to assist you with some of the course work and he agreed.” You freeze a little at that, stunned that he would be so quick to help you when he seems to relish any opportunity to make you squirm. “I’ve given it some thought,” the professor continues, fixing you with a stern gaze, “And I’m willing to let you make corrections to your test and resubmit it for half credit.”

“Oh, thank you so much, prof–”

“However,” he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, “This will be the only time I do so. From now on, I suggest you see Mr. Gavey here on a regular basis; the material is only going to get more challenging as we begin this next unit.”

“Of course, professor. Thank you again.” You respond quietly, shifting uneasily as you stand between the two men.

“Right, well, now that’s sorted,” Professor Davies says, clapping his hands together once as he turns and makes his way back over to the desk chair, sitting down with a tired sigh, “I trust the two of you can come to an agreement upon when and where to meet. I’ll see you again Monday, have a pleasant weekend.” He says, waving his hand dismissively as he goes back to organizing his papers.

The two of you murmur your goodbyes before making your way into the hall, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as he follows you out of the classroom. Eventually, you come across a small alcove in the hallway; finally turning to face him, you let your eyes sweep up his body, finally coming to meet his blue eyes, slightly hidden behind the glare of the hallway lights on his glasses.

“So,” you clear your throat and shift on your feet awkwardly, “Uh, what time works for you? I really can’t do Saturdays–” you begin, only to be cut off.

“Shame,” Michael sighs dismissively, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, “Saturday is the only day that works for me.”

The tone of his voice and the mirthful glint in his eyes makes you very much doubt that, your gaze narrowing, “Okay, well Saturday’s are the only day I have off,” you huff, only growing more annoyed as the stupid smirk on his face grows with satisfaction, no doubt pleased that he’s being a nuisance, “Besides, I super can’t tomorrow, anyway. I already promised my friends I’d come with them to this party tha–”

“Oh, I know about your little party,” Michael scoffs, “Trust me, love, the whole damn class heard about that stupid fucking party with the way you lot were running your mouths earlier,” he chuckles coldly, continuing in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, one hand coming up to mime twirling a lock of hair, “Oooooh, it’s so cold, can’t wear the fuckin’ strappy dress, gotta wear me jumper and little slutty skirt, la-dee-dah.” He finishes with a final huff of laughter.

“What is your deal with me?!” You finally snap, glaring at him, even as you feel your face redden, “You’ve been a dick all semester and I haven’t done anything to you! I’ve never even talked to you!” Glancing around the empty hallway, you cross your arms over your chest, praying no one’s in earshot to hear your hissed tirade.

“I might not know you but I know plenty about your little friends,” he sneers, shaking his head like a disappointed father; the sight makes your blood boil.

“What does that even mean?” You demand, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did your friends have to do with any of this? None of them ever spoke about Michael, none of them even knew him as far as you were aware.

His face softens, if only for a moment, as he registers the genuine confusion on your face, smirk faltering as his eyes narrow. He leans in closer to you as he begins speaking again and you can’t help but get a brief smell of the cologne he wears, something warm and woodsy that makes you think of a bookshop and the smell of the forest after it rains, “Come on,” he starts, blue eyes flitting between both of yours as he looks at you intently, “Felix Catton? You and your little friend, the one from class, you go around with him, yeah?”

You nod, giving him another puzzled look, confused as to what the hell Felix has to do with any of his disdain, “Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, “But, what does he have to do with anything?”

Michael huffs once more, almost laughing to himself as he shakes his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “See, we went to school together, him and I – some of primary, all of secondary,” he shrugs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he traps you in his gaze once again, “And I just don’t fucking like the guy. Can’t stand him, never could’ve.”

You’re silent for a second, and now it’s your turn to flick your eyes back and forth, searching each of his for some sort of coherent answer and yet you come up empty. “But, what does that have to do with me?” You ask slowly, making sure to carefully enunciate each word.

“Don’t trust the people around him either,” he mutters, gazing down at his shoe, “Weirdos, the whole lot. There’s something…off about the guy. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something dark there, all around him. Like he’s putting on one big show. All his little gremlins do too, they all act the same.”

The two of you are silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say next. You chance a glance up at him, nearly gasping when you find him already gazing at you – an unreadable expression on his face. Yet a light blush still blooms on your cheeks as you quickly look away once again, your heart thudding so loudly you’re wondering if he can hear it – hell, you’re wondering why you’re reacting this way at all, why you’re so shy and skittish around him.

“M’not like that,” you very nearly whisper, finally seeming to regain your voice. Only to lose it once again when he takes a half step toward you, suddenly crowding you further into the small alcove.

He makes a small noise, damn near cooing at you, tilting his head to the side when he notices you flinch as he raises an arm, gently raising your chin with one hand, angling your head up to meet his gaze, that signature smirk once again taking hold on his face as he looks at you curiously, “You’re not like that, are you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy.

You quickly shake your head, blinking up at him, unsure of what exactly he wants from you. You feel your cheeks stinging for the umpteenth time today with how hard you’re blushing, a strange feeling taking root in your stomach the longer you stare at him, that small voice in your head positively cheering.

But, as quickly as whatever spell he seems to have on you takes hold, it’s broken as he suddenly lets go of your chin and steps back, casually pursing his lips and nodding to himself, coming to some unknown decision in his head, “Meet me in Bodleian, tomorrow at five. There’s hardly anyone up on the third floor on the weekends, so we'll be able to focus.” He says simply, turning on his heel to leave without even giving you a second to answer.

“But I’m bus–”

“D’you want a good grade or do you want to go get drunk with your creepy gremlin friends?” He asks, peering over his shoulder as he saunters down the hallway, raising an eyebrow at you over the shiny gold rim of his glasses, “S’your call, love.” He finishes with a shrug, disappearing as he turns a corner and leaves you standing there alone, frowning and dumbstruck.

“Bodleian at five it is,” you mutter to yourself, sighing as you turn and walk the opposite way, desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the fog in your brain.

Your shoes tap against the stone pavement as you walk up to the old library, backpack slung over one shoulder; reaching into a pocket of your backpack, you blindly grab for your phone as you pull open one of the heavy, old wooden doors and step into the atrium. Out of all of Oxford’s libraries, you had to admit that Bodleian was one of your favorites; it had such a soothing atmosphere – from the way the evening light trickled in through the old glass windows, to the intricate wooden decor, and the way the entire place smelled of the old, well-loved books that lined the countless rows of shelves.

Stepping to the side of the entryway, you check the time, your hand shaking a bit as you unlock your phone – 4:53pm, a little early, still. Sighing, you crane your head, nervously looking for Michael. Not seeing him, you decide to bide your time examining one of the tall bookshelves near the entrance, eyes skimming over their titles as you fiddle with the strings of the hoodie you’d decided to wear. Smiling, you lean up on your tiptoes to grab a copy of The Two Towers, happy to see a familiar book. Just as your fingers graze over the embossed gold lettering on the spine of the book, a large pair of hands grab you by the shoulders.

“Boo!” Someone whispers, close enough that you feel the warmth of their breath on the side of your neck.

You spin around with a small shriek, jerking your head to the side when a hand is suddenly clasped over your mouth.

“Shh! Hey, relax!” Finally managing to focus on the face in front of you, your breathing slows as your gaze meets a pair of round blue eyes. Michael’s face is only inches from yours, concern evident, even behind the mask of a smirk he wears. “It’s only me.” He says softly, smirk softening into a genuine smile that sends a frantic tingle down your spine, which you desperately try to ignore as you nod against his hand, gasping in a small breath as it lowers once again to rest on your shoulder.

“Hi.” Blinking up at him, you breathe the word more so than say it as you settle back on your feet, cheeks flushing as you realize he has his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward ever so slightly, like he wanted to make sure your head didn’t hit the sharp edge of one of the shelves; the voice in your head purrs as the butterflies in your stomach summersalt.

“Hi.” He answers and you feel the hand on your shoulder twitch, the ghost of a comforting squeeze or rub causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end as some strange, warm weight settles in the pit of your stomach.

Suddenly, whatever spell the two of you seemed to be under broke and you quickly clambered away from one another. Michael cleared his throat, running a hand through his wheat colored hair as you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, trying to look anywhere but in his direction. “Should we–” He starts suddenly, nodding his head to a staircase at the other end of the room, “It’ll be quieter up there.”

“Sure!” You chirp, giving him a curt nod, “Lead the way, you seem to know the place better than I do.”

“Well,” he chuckles, keeping his voice low as he moves past you, “S’what happens when you don’t spend all your damn time at weirdo parties.”

You roll your eyes behind him, huffing as you start following him up the staircase, one of your hands gliding across the smooth, polished wood of the bannister.

“Sorry.” He says suddenly as you reach the third floor of the library, running a hand through his hair once again as he stands at the top of the staircase.

“What?” You ask, coming to a stop on the last step and looking up at him, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the handrail.

“For earlier,” he explains, gesturing for you to follow him as he starts making his way to the back corner of the large, open space, the one furthest from the stairs, “Scaring you, I mean. Didn’t mean to.”

You’re quiet for a moment, following him as the two of you walk past aisle after aisle of towering bookshelves. The area is definitely quieter than the main floor, nearly vacant aside from one or two lone students sitting at the long wooden study tables. It’s calm up here, evening light filtering in through large windows on either end of the long room, casting large shadows on the floor and vaulted ceilings.

Eventually, the two of you come to a stop at a table, the very last in its row, tucked away in a corner. “It’s alright,” you shrug, trying to keep your voice soft in the quiet space as you sit your backpack on the edge of the table, “I don’t know why I’m so jumpy today, maybe the tea from earlier.” You lie, hopefully smoothly, and quickly grab a pen and notebook as well, before sitting down.

Michael huffs to himself as he sits his things out on the table as well, like he’s laughing at a joke you can’t hear, “Maybe it’s all that tension.”

“Wh– tension?” You question, cringing at the urgency in your voice as you pray that he doesn’t pick up on it, shifting in your seat as he pulls out the chair next to you and plops down, completely relaxed as if he owns the place.

“The stress? That you were meant to be working out at Catton’s?” He gives you an odd look, resting his head against his hand as he leans his elbow on the table, “Couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation yesterday.”

“Oh…” You breathe, a pink haze settling over your cheeks once more as you fidget with your pen, acutely aware of how easily he seems to be able to make you blush.

The smirk on his face widens as he narrows his eyes, studying you in a way that makes your heart squeeze, your thighs clenching together as that heady weight from earlier makes itself known again in your stomach, “You can’t keep one thought in that head, can you, love?”

You blink, unsure of what to say, as two halves of your brain argue with one another. Why is he so mean? You wonder to yourself, eyes searching his, as you frown, And…God, why do I like it?

“Why don’t you like me?” You ask, finally breaking the silence with your small voice.

He scoffs again, shaking his head as if the answer should be obvious to you, “You don’t take it seriously. You come to class and whisper and gossip with your damn friend or doodle in your little notebook, but you don’t fucking listen.” He sits back up, frowning, “I work hard every fucking day in there, for fuck’s sake, I only agreed to help you because I want to be Davies’s teaching assistant next year! Yet you and Catton and everyone like you can just pay their way in here, collecting a little diploma from Oxford just so their parents can brag about it with their stupid fucking rich friends.” He finally finishes, turning his head to stare out the window.

“Told you, I’m not like that,” you whisper after a moment, voice wavering from the tightness in the back of your throat, “I’m here on scholarship, same as you.”

His eyes flit back to you, his frown deepening, “How did you know ab–”

“Like I’m not going to ask around about the guy tutoring me?”

“Fair enough.” He concedes after a minute.

Silence settles over the two of you again, like a stalemate, waiting to see who would crack first. Finally, you turn to him with a sigh, nodding to your test paper on the desk, “Can we just get this done? I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”

“Ah, of course,” he nods as he picks up your test, looking over the first incorrect problem, “Catton’s big important party. And you’re stuck here with a loser like me; must really be doing your head in, huh?”

You want so badly to correct him, to tell him that no, actually, for once, you were kind of excited to not be at one of Felix’s parties. You wanted to tell him that you’d hoped things would be different, maybe if it was just the two of you he would drop the arrogant asshole bit, that you stupidly hoped it was just an act.

Instead, you bite your lip, determined not to lash out and give him another reason to dislike you, “I don’t think you’re a loser, Michael,” you say, tiredly meeting his gaze, “Can we just focus on this now, please?”

He’s quiet for a moment, frozen like you’d said something groundbreaking. Finally, he nods his head, almost imperceptibly like he’d come to a decision you weren’t privy to, “Sure,” he says gruffly, grabbing your test and reading over the first incorrect problem, “S’not like I’m the one failing.” He finishes, his voice tight and determined, like he knew it was something he’d regret saying even as the words left his mouth.

See? You think silently, pointed words aimed at that stupid voice in your head, Told you so.

It’s barely an hour later and you already feel cross-eyed, groaning as Michael flips your test over to the next page and you see you’re only just now halfway done correcting the ones you’d gotten wrong. You hate to admit it to yourself, but his tutoring was helping — problems that you’d hardly been able to finish the first time seem far less daunting as he explains them to you. Even he seems less daunting as the hour goes on; shockingly, he doesn’t make anymore snide comments and you can tell that he genuinely enjoys talking about the subject, patiently helping you through each problem.

“Can we take a break?” You grumble, laying your head down on top of your textbook.

“What?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he checks his watch, “It’s hardly been an hour and you’re ready to give up?”

“‘M not giving up,” you mumble, “I just think we could use a little break…” You say hopefully, looking at him with a small smile. When he doesn’t break, holding your gaze with a frown, you sigh, “Just, like, ten minutes, please?”

You want to groan again when you see that formidable smirk make its home on his lips again, “Say please again.” He commands, his voice low.

“Huh?” You balk, nearly dropping your phone as you retrieve it from your pocket.

“Say please again,” he says slowly, his smirk only growing wider as he watches your cheeks redden, “Beg.”

“W-why?” You question, face burning as you try your damndest to look unbothered by his request.

He shrugs dismissively, “Makes you squirm,” he answers finally, leaning back in his chair, “I like that.”

“Why?” Your voice is so small you doubt he’d even know you spoke if his eyes weren’t fixed on you.

He hums, a satisfied noise, like you’ve finally managed to meander into a trap he’d set ages ago, “S’fucking cute,” he huffs out a laugh when he sees your eyes widen, “Makes you blush and act all dumb.”

You know you should be offended, but you can’t find it within yourself to care, “You think I’m cute?”

He chuckles, sighing, “That’s what you choose to focus on?”

“Do you?”

“Fine, yes.”

“Please, Michael,” you say suddenly, the words feeling practically punched from your throat, “Please, please can we have a break? Please, only ten minutes?” You beg, breathing hard as you quickly scan the room, shoulders relaxing when you don’t see anyone else sitting at the study tables.

You see the way his eyes widen behind his glasses, like he can’t believe you actually did it, before they narrow once more, overtaken by a satisfied gleam, “Ten minutes.” He says simply, leaning back in his chair yet again, letting his head flop back, relaxed, and closes his eyes.

You don’t move for a second, letting your eyes study the side of his face, looking over his sharp jawline and the curve of his nose. After a moment, you look away, deciding to pull out your phone.

A few minutes go by as you answer a few texts from Louise, telling her that you miss her too and how you wish you were at the party — a lie, though you can’t find it within yourself to care. You busy yourself for a while longer, watching a few people's Instagram stories, the volume on your phone muted as you watch your friends dance under colorful strobe lights, blowing smoke at the camera and clinking drinks together.

“I meant what I said.” You say finally, laying your phone on the table and picking at one of your cuticles.

“Hm?” Michael questions, not bothering to open his eyes.

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you answer, fidgeting, “I never have. I think you’re…intriguing.”

“Intriguing?” He asks, finally sitting up and looking at you with a questioning stare, “How so?”

You swallow, tucking your hair behind your ear with a shrug, “You’re smart…you know you’re smart,” you start, voice small and shaky, “I like that.”

“You like that or you like me?” He’s looking at you like a cat playing with a helpless mouse, looking at you like he knows he’s already won a game you don’t even know the two of you are playing.

“You.” It comes out as a breath.

He doesn’t answer and eventually you look away from him, choosing to stare out the window at the streetlights outside, the sky dark.

Finally, the silence becomes overbearing and you break first again, “Thank you,” you smile at him, keeping your voice low even though you know the rest of the floor is vacant, even though the noise of the floors below has drastically faded over the last hour, “For helping me, I mean. You probably have a dozen things you’d rather do on a Saturday.”

He stays quiet for a few seconds, “I didn’t really have anything better to do,” he smirks, “No parties.”

“None?”

“Never,” he shakes his head, shrugging, “Don’t get invited.”

“Oh,” you answer simply, “Well, still, either way, thank you.” You smile again, but it falters when he leans forward suddenly, crowding into your space with a sly grin, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck.

“I know a way you could repay me, love,” he whispers lowly into your ear, your hair standing on end, “Only if you want to, of course.” He adds, his long fingers toying with a strand of your hair.

Your eyes grow comically wide as you process what he just said, “H-how do you want me to repay you?” You whisper, your eyes finally meeting his.

He laughs softly, letting go of the strand of your hair to rest his hand lightly against the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheek as he watches a rosy hue settle across it, “I can think,” he starts, thumb moving lower to skate across your bottom lip, slightly tugging the skin with it, “Of one very fucking good way to put this mouth to use, love.”

You part your lips slightly, letting the tip of his thumb into your mouth, just barely holding it between your teeth as you lightly run your tongue over it, heart skipping a beat at the way his lips just barely part in shock as you do. The voice in your head purrs again, roaring back to life, and you nod, smiling around his finger.

“Yeah?” He questions, smirking as he watches your lips twitch around his thumb, “”Y’wanna?”

“Yes.” You reply around his thumb, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearm, the fabric of his rust colored sweater soft under your hands.

“Beg.” He commands again, eyes twinkling.

You take in a breath, eyes slipping shut as your thighs clench around nothing – missing the way Michael glances down at the movement, a knowing grin forming on his face, “Please, Michael.” You practically whine.

“Ooh,” he coos, finally moving his thumb from your mouth, only to trail his hand down your neck, lightly resting it against your throat, “I think you can do better than that, pretty. Open your eyes and damn beg.”

You follow his orders, a small whimper skirting past your lips at the new pet name as you open your eyes, “Please, Michael, please let me repay you, let me thank you, please.” The words tumble out, your eyes wide and pleading.

“How’re you planning on doing that, empty headed little thing?” He taunts, the hand around your throat just barely tightening but it’s enough to make you let out a small, desperate whine. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, moving close enough to you that the front of his chest is plastered to your side, his heart beating against your shoulder, “Ask for what you want, beg properly.” His breath fans across the side of your face again, the feeling of his lips brushing over the side of your jaw making you jump.

“Please, God, Michael,” you whine, squeezing your legs together so hard you’re surprised they haven’t fused together, “P-please let me suck your cock — to thank you, thank you for helping me.” You add quickly, breath shaky as you turn your head to look at him imploringly.

He chuckles, but he looks pleased as he leans back momentarily, craning his neck to make sure there isn’t anyone around, “Alright, alright, love,” he soothes, coming back to face you, nodding his head to the empty space in front of his hair, below the table, “Not God, but I’ll give you what you want.” He teases.

Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at the floor beneath the desk, then back up at him before nodding, “Yes, sir.” You push yourself off your chair, sliding down beneath the desk.

“Goddammit,” you hear him groan above you, running his palms over his thighs as he parts them, making room for you, “Keep that up, love, might even give you extra credit.”

You rest your palms against the tops of his thighs as you move between his legs, getting comfortable on your knees, the old wooden floor cool against your skin, even through your black leggings. Finally, your eyes settle on the sizable bulge, covered by his dark jeans, and you can’t help the small whine that leaves your lips. Slowly, you move your hands up to the button of his pants, quickly popping it open and dragging the zipper down, smiling when Michael sighs above you as he pulls his sweater up out of the way, exposing the pale skin of his stomach. You let your eyes roam over him, warmth settling between your legs as you spot the dusting of light hair that starts beneath his belly button and leads downwards, disappearing under his plaid boxers.

You move closer to him, crowding in between his long legs, as you hook your fingers over the tops of his boxers, before finally looking up at him, “Can I…?” You ask, nodding to where his cock is straining against the fabric.

“Don’t be shy now, princess,” he groans, running a hand through your hair as he stares down at you, “Get on with it.”

You keep your eyes on his as you pull his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, watching the way his chest heaves as he lets out another relieved sigh. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his as you look at his cock, gasping in a breath as you do. As far as dicks go, Michaels is impressive, beautiful even – long and thick with veins running up the underside, leading up to a flushed, leaking tip.

You take him in your hand tentatively, squeezing him lightly around the base, your confidence growing when he grunts, breathing heavier. Finally, you lightly lick the tip, eyes sliding closed at the pleasant, salty taste of his pre-cum. You take the tip of him in your mouth, humming around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, lightly pushing on the back of your head, silently urging you to take more of him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he roughly groans, managing to keep his voice low, “Knew that pretty fucking mouth was good for something.” He moves his hips, impatiently thrusting his cock an inch deeper into your mouth, breathily cursing under his breath.

You start bobbing your head up and down over his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, more of his pre-cum leaking onto your tongue as you feel his dick throb and twitch in your hand. After a moment, you take a deep breath through your nose and remove your hand, resting it on his thigh, as you take him all the way to the base, your nose nestled in the short patch of hair there as you breathe in his heady scent, your eyes glazing over as you savor the feeling of him at the back of your throat.

“Jesus!” He grunts, louder than he meant to, keeping your head in place as he thrusts his hips up again, keeping you in place at the base of his cock, “Fuck, that’s it,” he praised lowly, your center throbbing, no doubt leaking onto the fabric of your leggings, “Look at me, wanna see your eyes while I fuck your throat.”

You whine, desperately blinking back tears as you look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out, licking lower, down toward his balls, relishing the way his eyes roll back as you do, stomach muscles twitching as he continues thrusting his hips up into your mouth, soaking his boxers and jeans with your spit.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he groans, looking down at you, his eyelids heavy, “God, yeah, cry on my cock love. Fuck, you look so pretty crying on my cock.” He mumbles, talking to himself more so than you.

His words send a shiver down your spine, adding to the heat in your center, and you whimper when he finally moves his hand from the back of your head, allowing you to come up for air. You do, with a gasp, thin strings of spit connecting your reddened lips with the flushed head of his cock. You keep your eyes on his as you wrap your lips around him once more, running your tongue along the thick vein on the underside before sucking at the swollen tip, relishing the way it makes him clench his jaw and gasp through his teeth as you stroke the rest of him with your hand.

Above you, he smirks again, gently running his hand through your hair but making no move to press your head down again. He cocks his head to the side, studying you, grinning at the far-off, foggy look in your eyes, “Not a thought in that pretty head, is there?” He asks, bringing his hand down and gently patting your cheek; the ghost of a slap making your thighs clench, making your head dizzy with need.

You nod around him, moving your head up and down along his length. You feel yourself throbbing with need, pulsing with heat; almost automatically, your hand starts to wander, a small sigh escaping you as your hand presses against your center through your leggings. You feel a warmth settle across your cheeks again as you feel your own wetness, leaking through the fabric just as you’d suspected. You whimper as you press down again, your eyes falling shut as you let your hips grind against your fingers, the wet fabric creating a delicious friction against your clit.

Which you get to feel for all of five seconds before Michael is suddenly yanking your head from his length, causing you to yelp as he tugs your hair. “Did I say you could touch your cunt?”

“N-no,” you whine pathetically, eyes watering from the harsh hold he has on your hair, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t think—“ You try to explain, only for him to cut you off with another harsh tug, making you mewl.

“That’s a pattern with you, isn’t it?” He asks, looking at you with a condescending smirk, studying you again, “You were being such a good girl earlier, what happened? Hm?” He questions, pushing his chair back enough to pull you out from under the table.

You get to your feet, suddenly feeling shy in front of him once again despite having his cock in your mouth mere moments ago. “I…got distracted.” You answer finally.

“I got distracted….who?” He asks, looking up at you expectantly over the rims of his glasses.

“I got distracted, sir,” you quickly correct yourself, eyes frantically scanning the still vacant floor of the library, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s much better, love,” he drawls, placing his hands on your hips, “Now, what could’ve been so fucking distracting, huh?” He starts moving his hands, slowly, toward your center, still looking up at you, his eyes questioning. You nod your head, just barely but enough for him to understand, and any hesitancy from him quickly disappeared. “Could it be this, I wonder?” He questions sardonically, suddenly cupping your heat in his large hand, the warmth of it nearly making your knees buckle, even through the thin fabric of your leggings. He hums, the sound low in his chest, when he feels how much you’ve soaked the fabric,

“Oh,” you whimper, grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself balanced as his fingers continue to tease you, rubbing circles into your clit, “Oh my God, fuck.”

“Christ,” he breathes, staring up at you with dark eyes, “So fucking wet, love, holy hell. Did you get this way just from sucking my cock?”

“Yeah,” you whine, nodding your head desperately as you try to swallow all the small noises you want to make in your throat, your hips rutting against his hand, “Please, sir!”

“Oh, so now that dumb brain has no trouble remembering damn instructions, huh?” He taunts, a wicked grin on his face as his fingers rub your clit in smaller, harsher circles, making you see stars, “Need your wet little cunt played with to be able to do as you're told?”

You nod your head frantically, tears nearly spilling from your eyes at the zaps of pleasure radiating from you, your walls clenching around nothing. Just as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, he stops, jerking his hand away from you with a knowing chuckle, “W-what?” You question, eyes blinking open, “I was so close!” You whine, nearly stamping your foot on the floor like a petulant child.

“Told you,” Michael shrugs, pulling you to sit in his lap, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. His breath tickles the side of your neck and face when he speaks again, “You’re so fun to tease, love, can’t help myself.”

You wiggle in his grasp, making him groan as your ass grinds against his hard length, desperately trying to get your hands free to touch your pussy again, nearly out of your mind with need. “P-please, sir, please touch me!” You finally gasp out, knowing he won’t give in until you do.

“Now there’s a good girl,” he says, voice pleased and cocky as he plants kisses along the side of your neck, “Since you asked so nicely…” He says, letting go of one of your arms, letting you grasp the arm still wrapped around you with your hands, as his free hand skirts down your stomach to the top of your leggings, pausing long enough for you to nod again, before he finally touches you.

You whimper, jerking in his lap at the feel of his warm fingers directly on your heat for the first time, spreading your wet folds with a satisfied hum. His long fingers move down to your entrance, gathering some of the wetness there, “You’re so fucking wet,” he marvels, dragging his fingers up to your aching clit, “Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He murmurs in your ear, nipping at the side of your neck and sending tingles down your spine as he starts rubbing tight, wet circles against your bud.

You tilt your head back, resting it against his shoulder as your chest heaves. A moan leaves your mouth, louder than it should be, and Michaels free hand shoots up, wrapping around your mouth. “Gotta be quiet, love,” he whispers, not slowing down the movement of his fingers in the slightest, “Wouldn’t want someone to interrupt, hm? Make me stop again?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, whining desperately against his hand as he moves his fingers against you, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your whole body lurches atop his, making him suck a breath in through his teeth as you move against his cock, still hard and hot as it presses against your lower back, when he moves his hand lower, plunging two fingers into your tight heat with no warning. “Fuck!” You yelp, muffled against his hand; tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he moves his fingers, scissoring them into you relentlessly as his thumb circles your clit.

“S’fucking tight,” he mumbles lowly, voice vibrating his chest against your back, “God, you’re tight.” He grunts between clenched teeth, repeatedly crooking his fingers inside you as he fucks his fingers in and out of your heat, letting out small, barely there groans every time your pussy squelches around his fingers as he punches muffled whines and whimpers from you. He crooks his fingers up suddenly in a way that makes you see stars as you writhe on his lap, your knees shooting up off the floor as you attempt to curl up on yourself, “That the spot?” He teases, relentlessly rubbing his fingers against it as his thumb quickens against your clit. He adds a third finger without warning, curling them up against that rough patch inside you as he bites down on your shoulder, muffling his own groan as he feels you clench down on his fingers.

“You gonna come?” He mumbles, grinning like a cheshire cat when you frantically nod your head, tears leaking onto the hand still wrapped tightly around your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he commands, not stopping his movements, “Want you to watch what I’m doing to you when you fucking cum.”

At the promise of finally getting to come, your eyes shoot open as you pick your head up off his shoulder, looking down the length of your body to where his hand disappears under your leggings. You practically come undone at the sight, watching as his hand moves against you through the dark fabric, maintaining a careful rhythm. “Michael, please!” You whine against his hand, desperately trying to keep your eyes open.

He chuckles lowly, clearly proud of how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into a begging mess, the sound reverberating off your back. “Fucking come,” he commands, doubling his efforts, “Soak my fucking hand, love.”

The coil in your stomach finally snaps and you sob, eyes snapping shut as your whole body clenches, shaking in his lap, as fireworks burst behind your eyelids. Your entire core clamps down so tight he has to fight to keep his fingers within you, muting the sounds of his groans against your neck and shoulder as he feels your cunt pulse against his fingers. He doesn’t let up, pressing incessantly against that spot within you as you come, until he finally gets what he wants – both of you groaning together, noises muffled, as a stream of fluid seems to erupt from your center, soaking his hand and the inside of your leggings, though you can’t think enough to care at the moment.

“Goddammit,” he grunts, finally removing his hand from your leggings, running his fingers through your folds one last time just to make you squirm. Suddenly, he’s lifting you off his lap enough to turn you around, maneuvering you to face him. You’re practically boneless in his lap as he lifts you just enough to pull your leggings down over your ass, pressing his bare cock against your still throbbing center when he sets you back down, “Gonna let me fuck you, love? Hm? Want me to make you go dumb around my cock?”

You nod your head weakly, not bothering to lift it from his shoulder as you straddle his lap. He doesn’t make you beg this time, too desperate to feel your wet heat around him, as he swiftly lifts you up again, just enough to align his length with your entrance.

Both of you moan as he lets you sit back down, his hard length disappearing into your warmth. He holds the back of your head, pressing your mouth against his neck to muffle your cries; you can feel his jaw clench with the effort of keeping his own muted. He fills you deliciously, thick cock pressed against every part of you, as your clit presses against the small thatch of hair above his length.

“Fuck,” he huffs, the word hissed between his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way your pussy pulses around his length, the way you desperately mouth and lick at his neck, “God, knew you’d feel good.”

Somehow, that remark works it’s way through the fog in your brain, “Hm?” you hum against his neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his golden hair, “You thought about me?” You whimper, words whiny and breathy as he rocks you against him, spearing you on his length again and again, head kissing your cervix just enough to knock the air from your lungs every time he lowers you back down.

He sighs, as if just now realizing what he’d said, and nods, swallowing down a moan before he speaks, “‘Course I did,” he admits, grinding you down against him, his hips pressed against yours. “Looked so damn pretty in class,” he continues, “So cute all, fuck, all flushed and embarrassed every time you got asked a question.”

His admission makes you clench around him, heat flooding through your system as you process what he’d said. Your clit grinds against his body again, just as the head of his cock brushes against that spot in your center, and it’s like your brain has been whited out, all you can do is mewl against his neck as he rocks you up and down along his cock.

“Fuck, I feel this sweet cunt getting tight, love,” he says, breathing heavily as he gets closer to his own release, “Y’gonna come?”

“Yes!” You whimper, voice high-pitched and broken as you nod frantically against the skin of his neck, now wet with your spit and tears as you rock yourself against him, moving your clit against the hair at the base of his cock.

“Hold it,” he commands softly, more breathing than speaking. He chuckles when he hears you whine, loving the way you mewl for him like a soft little kitten, and the hand still holding your head against him strokes your hair, soothing you. “Want us to come together,” he huffs, cursing under his breath as he feels you grow somehow tighter around him, “Fuck, I’m close just hold on.” The hand on your hip tightens, grinding you tightly against him, groaning as he feels your center milking his cock, your walls clenching around him desperately.

“F-fuck, Michael,” you whine, breath hot against the column of his throat as you feel yourself tipping over, “Please! Please I can’t hold it, please!” You beg beautifully, weeping against his skin, trying so hard to keep it down to a whisper so you don’t draw attention, not this close to your release.

“Where, fuck,” he curses, pulling your head up to look in your eyes, the blue in his nearly swallowed by blackness, “Tell me where.” He pants, his voice urgent.

“Inside me!” You breathe, cunt clenching around him as you feel him twitch inside you.

He groans, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second as he tries to maintain control, both of his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises, “Are you s–”

“Yes!” You nod, resting your forehead against his when he picks his head back up, “‘M on the pill.” You reassure him as you keep nodding. The two of you move together for a few more seconds, wildly grinding together, before the coil in your stomach is finally wound too tight, “Michael, oh, fuck!”

“Fuck,” he gasps, seeming to get somehow thicker inside you, “Come for daddy, fuck, be good and come.” He commands, his own voice low and frenzied.

Hearing him call himself that does you in, and you shatter around him, walls gripping him tightly. You open your mouth, unable to control a loud moan, which he quickly hushes by pressing his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he thrusts up into your center harshly a few times, each rise of his hips accompanied by a grunt into your waiting mouth as you mewl at the heat of his cum filling you up, extending your own release.

The two of you stay quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as you sweetly kiss, tiredly pressing your lips together. Finally, you pull away from him giggling shyly when you meet his eyes, blushing as you feel his length slowly softening inside you. “Getting shy on me now?” He teases, smiling at you as he gently plays with your hair.

You smile back at him for a second before suddenly coming to your senses and remembering where you are, “Shit,” you whisper, hopping up off his lap, “I cannot believe we just did that!” You quickly scan the floor with wide eyes, shoulders visibly relaxing when you still don’t see anyone.

“Wasn’t in my plan,” Michael starts, tucking his member back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans, “But I’m certainly not complaining.” He finishes, smirking at you before standing. He leans down, helping you pull up your leggings. He doesn’t miss the way you grimace when the damp, now unpleasantly cool, fabric presses against you. “Sorry,” he apologizes, gesturing to them, “I should’ve…controlled myself better with that one.” He finishes, awkwardly scratching at his chin.

You laugh quietly, trying to play it off although you’re dreading the half hour train ride back to your flat. That feeling doubles when you look down, eyes widening as you see the dark patch around your crotch, hardly visible on the dark fabric but enough that it makes you nervous, “Getting home is gonna be fun.” You joke, turning to begin gathering your things.

You’ve gotten your textbook put back into your backpack when you feel a tap on your shoulder; turning your head, you look wide-eyed when you see him sheepishly smiling at you, holding his red sweater out as he stands in a band t-shirt, “Here,” he says softly, waving the sweater at you, “You need it more than I do and it’s my fucking fault anyway.”

You blush, taking the sweater from him with a small thank you, tying it around your waist as he busies himself with picking up his things, before putting the rest of yours into your backpack as well, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that!” You tell him as you finish situating his sweater around you, satisfied that the stain is covered.

He huffs out a laugh, “You sucked my cock on the floor of a library,” he jokes, eyes sparkling with mischief yet again, “S’the least I could do.”

You laugh, playfully shoving at his shoulder as you put your backpack on. The floor is truly, blessedly, empty as the two of you leave and walk downstairs, not seeing anyone on the second floor either and only a few stragglers on the main floor at this hour on a Saturday evening. He pushes open one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance, holding it open for you as you duck under his arm. The door thuds closed behind you as you both stand outside the library, the air cold now that the sun’s gone down.

“I really like them, that band,” you say, nodding to his shirt, “Their last album’s really good.”

“Oh!” He says, eyebrows raising in surprise, “You know them?” He asks, smiling when you nod again, “Their new album is probably my favorite too, actually.” The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a second later before he notices you shiver as a breeze blows through the stoney courtyard. “D’you live close to campus?”

“Half hour on the train,” you shrug, pulling your phone out to check the time, “I should probably go soon if I’m gonna catch the next one…”

“You could come to mine?” He asks, his voice hopeful, “It’s only a walk from here, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?”

Your eyes widen, having not expected his invitation, but you nod nonetheless, “If you’re sure,” he nods, “Then, yeah! That would be great.” You smile, walking beside him as you start heading in the direction of his flat.

“Would you maybe want to get lunch sometime?” He asks, glancing down at you.

“I would love that,” you smile, your hand brushing against his as you continue down the sidewalk, “I think I might need more tutoring, too…”

His hand catches yours, your fingers intertwining as he smirks, “Will you suck my cock every time?” He teases, grinning as you laugh, the sound echoing off the buildings and filtering into the night air.

Told you so. The voice in the back of your mind echos as you lean your head on Michael’s shoulder.

tagged lovelies: @schniiipsel @arcielee @darlingofvalyria @aemshaircare @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog @fan-goddess @drakonflames @helloworldiamnotarobot

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fligniuz · 2 months ago

Text

sex for homework

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ you ask your cute tutor to help you study for your math final.

word count: 5.5k • part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw • read on ao3

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; dumbification if U squint; praise; oral (m! receiving); pre calc lol

notes : crossposting my shit to tumblr and starting with arguably one of my greatest uses of free will in history. title frommm:

You have a bit of a dilemma.

Well, it would be more accurate to say that you had a dilemma, have had one for quite a while now—your current grievances are merely extensions of a constant, one raging, blood-thirsty, borderline psychopathic problem of a class. MTH121, Concepts & Applications, is the only remaining mathematics credit required for your degree, and, coincidentally, absolutely no one told you that that’s really just a fancy name for pre-calculus. Because the universe hates you.

Your final is tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. If that wasn’t bad enough, your brain has utterly fucked you; months spent poring over formulas and right triangles amounts to nothing in the moment, every relevant fragment of knowledge completely foreign to your burnt out, sleep deprived, caffeine ridden psyche. So here you sit, “studying”, armed with just your textbook and Khan Academy tutorials.

Is it too late to switch majors? Yes, you decide, massaging your temples as you take another glance at your notes. A mass of numbers, variables, and scribbled matrices clogs the pages, complete with your near ineligible annotations, details added in the heat of a lecture. You never knew there could be so many different types of numbers. Solve for x. 5 + 2x to the 2nd power = 8x. Factor x3 - 3x to the 2nd power - 4x + 12. Find the vertex of the function f(x) = x to the 2nd power + 4x + 3. Determine the value of x if the sum of the following sequence converges to 5. How any of this is relevant to your future non-mathematics degree is beyond you.

What the hell is a vertex again? And what does it matter? You’d rather be sleeping, or drunk. Whatever.

You have one saving grace. Since your freshman year you’ve been employing a little cheat-sheet, your one-way ticket to having math explained to you in a language understood by plebeians like yourself: one Luigi Mangione, a friend of a friend of a friend, possibly the smartest guy you know (and you’re far from the only person to voice that opinion). Your self-appointed tutor—and unfortunately for you, probably the most appetizing of any of the frat guys you’ve met in college, to put it chastely. The actual knowledge is just a bonus, really, because unlike other tutors you’ve worked with Luigi seems to actually care; he wants you to walk away from him with a solid understanding of the material, rather than a temporary knowledge that gets your homework done but is absent from your memory by the time of your exams. And it’s hard to write off the fact that he’s easy on the eyes.

…Pretty damn hard, actually. Because—in all honesty—you’re really into Luigi. Another thing that’s hard to do is get your math homework done when you’re busy fucking yourself with your fingers, like you tend to do after your time with him, thinking about his cock, his hands, the way he would fill you, pin you down underneath him, smirk at you and tell you dirty things like that’s my girl, that’s my good fucking girl, that’s it, give it to me, show me how pretty you look when you come all over me like this…

Great. At this pace, you’ll never get anything done.

Your phone buzzes.

About an hour ago, you sent him a photo of your current predicament: your laptop and notebook open, and you sitting criss-crossed in front of it, an exaggerated pout on your lips. A few moments later, you sent another, this time of your middle finger pointed directly at your professor’s official portrait. Now, he responds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Smh

Who studies the night before their final?? Dummy

You smile, replying:

i do :(

help pls :((

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : You poor thing

And then:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Come over. In like 15

We’ll work it out together

Score. He adds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : And I better not hear any complaining when I make you actually do the math

Your crush feels elementary, like you’ve got the hots for the nerdy jock on the playground that’s miles out of your league and that every girl on planet Earth is fighting tooth and nail for. You respond:

no promises :P

You pray to your lucky stars that you can study as nonchalantly as humanly possible.

You told him you wouldn’t complain, and you’ve tried, you really have. But dividing radicals is fucking stupid and useless and the more you look at your paper the more these numbers and symbols really start to look all the same to you, just scribbles, meaningless scribbles of made-up concepts that have nothing to do with your career prospects whatsoever. Who gives a flying fuck about solving equations with these weird ass numbers that normal people don’t even use?

You must be thinking out loud, because Luigi laughs next to you on the couch. He is laughing at your frustration. What an emotionally supportive tutor. You groan and thread your fingers through your hair, massaging your temples.

Still smiling just slightly, he starts to gather up your things. “Alright, look, how about we take a break?” He glances over at you, still holding your head in your hands. “Yeah, let’s take a break for a minute.”

He gets up from the couch, disappears into the kitchen for just a moment. Comes back with a glass of orange juice. For you. You try not to think about how pathetic it is that the most romantic gesture a man has done for you in the past three years is bring you juice. Instead you watch him, sipping slowly—no pulp, he knows you so well—and peeking through your eyelashes as he scuttles around his dorm, just the two of you alone together, while he throws some laundry into a basket and absentmindedly closes doors of unoccupied rooms. You have never noticed how defined his calves are before, nor how his curls bounce just slightly when he walks fast or how his shorts sag on his hips just right, just enough for you to get a peek of his V-line and the waistband of his boxers when he raises his arms to stretch—

Nonchalant. Demure. Mindful. You are failing so hard at the one thing you’ve forbidden yourself from doing: staring at him until your eyes are practically burning holes in his clothes and he’s melting into the floor. Not entirely your fault. He should’ve known to dress modestly around you. Around anybody, for that matter.

Luigi comes to sit by you now. As you tuck your hair behind your ears you can feel his arm move to rest along the back of the couch, almost around you, but not quite.

“Hi,” you say, propping your head up on your arm.

He smiles at you. You can’t even look him in the eye. “Did you think more about your radicals?”

“Don’t remind me,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “No. I didn’t.”

“Well, what were you thinking about?”

You swallow the conspiratorial intuition that he has to be fucking with you. Maybe he sees it on your face. Can smell it on you. Something.

“I was trying to think of some things I’d rather be doing,” you offer. “Instead of math.”

Your heart feels three beats faster all of a sudden, and when did he get so close to you? Your thighs are touching, his knee brushing against yours. “And what did you come up with?” he asks.

Oh, fuck. He’s definitely fucking with you. Right? He has that goddamn smirk on his face, that one that makes your insides twist with a feeling reserved only for boys who look at you just like this, like you’re busted, like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about every second you’ve spent sitting next to him doing algebra. You want to kiss it right off of him.

“Nothing,” you lie, sitting up straight and trying to pretend like you really are interested in your studies. “Here, will you show me how to do it again?”

He calls your name. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to look at him; the tone of his voice and the tilt of his head makes his intentions entirely clear. When your eyes meet his he inches closer, and all you can manage to do is stare at his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, stern and warm enough to boil.

If he truly knew what he was asking for he wouldn’t be asking at all, you think. Not unless he was prepared for whatever your fervent need has in store for him. Embarrassment feels bright red and prickly on your skin. “I shouldn’t say.”

”But I think you should,” he whispers.

Oh. Oh. All bets are off, now. This has officially progressed from studying to “studying”.

Luigi lets you lead, his hand settling on the small of your back as you come a little closer to kiss him, properly. You hear him giggle before your lips meet; the curve of his smile against you is unmistakable, casting sparks through your body and down your thighs. He tastes like spearmint. You learn quickly that he is a fantastic kisser, and his tongue finds yours with curious excitement when your breathing starts to pick up. Without question, he claims the expanse of you, drinking in your essence, licking, biting. Those irresistible curls demand attention, and so you thread your fingers through his hair, your hand sweeping from behind his ear to the nape of his neck. Luigi shivers under your touch, exhaling softly against you.

When the fingers of his left hand raise to grasp your leg, you stop kissing him only to swing your body over his lap so that you’re straddling him. Luigi breathes in deep then, like his nervous system collectively seizes at the feeling of you so close. To give him room to breathe you stop short of settling all your weight onto him. Lips meeting once more, his hands greet your hips; his touch is warm, and timid, like you’re made of sand, like you might collapse and dissolve into immeasurable particles between his fingers.

He groans into your mouth. Murmurs your name. “This isn’t very productive,” he quips.

“Intellectually, no,” you agree, nails brushing the back of his neck. He has goosebumps. A ghost of a smile dancing on your lips, you slowly lower yourself down onto his lap; there are two layers of clothes between your bare skin but he is impossibly warm against you. “But what about physically?”

Luigi smiles, and fuck, he is too fucking beautiful. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

And so you kiss him again and again and again, your heart doing backflips inside your chest when his big hands glide lower, and lower, thumb toying with the waistband of your skirt, and lower still, until he’s gripping your ass. You can’t help but nuzzle against the growing stiffness underneath you, poking between your thighs—and you definitely can’t help but love the way he grinds back, hips meeting yours with just as much enthusiasm. Fuck. About an hour ago you were working through polynomials and linear equations, and now the dreamiest guy you’ve ever met is hard for you, holding you in his lap. You might as well thank your professor.

When Luigi sucks at your bottom lip for a few euphoric moments, you make the most pathetic sound into his mouth, and he growls, his hands suddenly coming up to grasp your hips and hold them steady. “Was this your plan all along?” he rasps, his lips moving swiftly to the side of your face, your jaw, the junction between your neck and shoulder.

Sharp teeth graze skin and you whimper. “What do you mean?”

“What, now you’re playing coy?” Luigi finds the pulse point in your throat and bites, softly at first, then harder when your fingers curl into the hair at the back of his head. “You didn’t want to study. You called me because you wanted to get fucked, because you knew I’d want to touch you just like this, didn’t you?”

This boy is out of his mind. First he practically eye-fucks you while schooling you about imaginary numbers, and then he “scolds” you like he’s disappointed in your lack of interest in algebra, like he’s mad that you can’t resist him for being so damn gorgeous. That half-hearted meanness in his tone leaves butterflies in your stomach, in no way helped by the feeling of his tongue sliding over your collarbone.

“No,” you mutter. It’s not completely a lie. You really did need his help with the math, which he is really good at…but you can’t deny that you were really hoping you two would end up like this, with him kissing your neck all over until you’re speckled with purple and pink. You don’t even care about the obvious evidence of him on your skin—you want his entire dorm hall to know just how well-acquainted the two of you are by the time he’s done with you. The thought of everyone knowing you’re his makes you weak.

Luigi is kissing you again, slowly and deeply, one hand coming up to cup your breast through your shirt. His touch is too much and not enough simultaneously, your need overwhelming, and your hips are searching desperately for friction, rolling against him eagerly. So much for nonchalance.

He grasps your chin, firm but not at all painful, and flashes you that pretty smile, tutting, “I don’t believe you.”

Your mind is far too preoccupied with thoughts of his touch in other places to try to formulate a witty rebut. You opt instead to kiss him harder and sneak a hand between your bodies, tracing over his chest, down his carefully crafted abdomen, and then over the front of his shorts, groping his hard cock through polyester. Luigi groans into your mouth. He is big, almost intimidating, and imagining him inside of you has your body feeling hot all over.

As you palm the outline of his length through his trousers, his hands make their way underneath your sweater, the sudden warmth of him jolting through your torso. You look up at him through your lashes and he smirks.

“Do you want to sit on it?” he asks you, entirely stoic despite the weight of his words.

You kiss him, still squeezing his cock. “Can I put it in my mouth first?”

Fuck. You have him wrapped around your finger. How could he possibly say no when you ask so sweetly? Luigi is instantly pulling down his shorts for you, the rustle of fabric making your head spin. He’s left in just his boxers and a sweater that you quickly help him shrug off, too. Once you have him undressed, he takes a moment to survey you, your cheeks flushed, eyes lidded, hair tousled from his hands. You feel a surge of confidence now that you have his full attention and so you pull your top up and over your head, smiling when he reaches behind you to help you with your bra. He has it and your skirt off in just a few seconds, leaving your combined clothes to pile up next to the couch.

You shift so that you’re kneeling on the floor in front of him, wearing only your panties, watching him watching you. He is grinning, his cock standing proud, and you know you must be blushing by the way his teeth flash from under the curve of his lips. You feel gooey and hot in the pit of your stomach. Swallowing your shyness, you reach forward to take him in your hand. He’s already sticky at the tip, precum glistening on his slit, and so you begin to stroke him, starting at the head of his dick and spreading slick down his shaft. His cock is probably the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen, at the very least a runner-up for his face: tan and thick, his girth evenly distributed, and big enough to have you feeling your heartbeat between your legs. There is a prominent vein along the underside of him, ending at his frenulum. He pulses with each movement of your hand.

Once he’s as wet as you like, you come closer to tease him with your tongue, licking up the base, tracing his vein, passing over his slit. Luigi groans—“fuuuuuck, baby,”—and threads his fingers into your hair, tugging hard.

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” he rasps. “You asked for this. Show me what that mouth can do.”

Your lips are halfway wrapped around the head of him and when you moan at his words it vibrates through him, his abs flexing deliciously. You move further down, then, mouth closed around his length, applying light pressure on your way back up. He’s too big to take all of him at once and so your left hand grasps the length you can’t reach, pumping gently. You start a subtle, easy rhythm, evenly paced and obviously satisfying enough to have Luigi panting and swearing above you: your mouth starts at his tip, sucking gently, then gliding lower, until you can feel him in the back of your throat and you’re nearly gagging on him—and then you move upward again, cheeks hollowing around him, finally reaching the head of him once more. Rinse and repeat. It is organized. Formulaic. Your process leaves you practically drooling on his cock, spit collecting at the base where you are stroking him. Fuck. You haven’t pleased a guy like this in quite a while, and under any other circumstances you’d probably feel a bit insecure about your work; but it’s difficult to justify any doubts you might have, what with the noises coming from above you:

“Oh, fuck, yes, baby, yes, just like that, fuck yes,” Luigi moans, fingers knotted tightly in your hair. “Oh my god, your mouth…”

You slip your free hand into your panties, middle and ring finger rubbing your clit.

As your ministrations intensify, his reactions do, too. You can feel his thighs and hips tensing in an effort not to fuck into your throat. But you made a promise to yourself; you want to take the entirety of his length in your mouth before all of this is over, and so you move your left hand down to his balls, kneading him and carefully lowering your face until your nose is pressed into the curly hairs of his groin, his cock as deep as it can reach. And Luigi keens, head thrown back against the couch, one hand in your hair and the other gripping the armrest tight. You can feel him twitching in your throat.

There are a few blissful moments of you sucking him just like this, sinking him deep into your throat and pinching your lips around his tip, and you almost wish the two of you were recording because the sounds he makes are top tier jerk material for at least the next few months. He’d be a natural on camera. You want to commit every second of this to your memory.

When he goes quiet for a moment you open your eyes to look at him. You find him staring down at you, mouth agape. “Are you touching yourself?” he asks.

It’s difficult to answer with his dick in your mouth, so you settle for moaning around him again, eyes fluttering shut.

“Holy fuck,” he grunts, his voice sweeter than sugar.

You could sit here sucking him off for the rest of your life—you could die with his dick in your mouth—but you regrettably begin to feel your jaw aching, knowing full well that keeping this up will have you hurting. Not that you really mind. When you begin to sputter and tear up around him, he grabs both sides of your face and pulls your mouth off of his cock. You are crying, just a little, crocodile tears streaming down your cheeks, your throat raw.

Luigi looks down at you sweetly. “Oh, baby,” he coos, wiping your wet face dry with his thumbs. “That’s my perfect girl. So good to me. Come here.”

He welcomes you back onto his lap with open arms and a smile. He is warm, so warm and soft against you, you could fall asleep just like this. But he is kissing you now, so slowly that you feel dizzy, and so you ground yourself, fingers embracing his curls. His hands move to your hips, grasping the waistband of your panties, teasing you, rubbing the fabric against your heat. When he finally has them off his fingers are instantly examining you, collecting your slick, slipping through your folds.

“Let’s see about a little reward for you, hm?” he whispers, capturing your lips with his.

You kiss him eagerly and arch your back so that your thighs spread wide enough for his fingers to enter you with ease—not that it would be difficult without, considering that you’re so wet you can hear him touching you, even over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. Two long digits move inside of you, stretching you, massaging that spot that makes your knees buckle and your eyes cross, plus a few more that you never knew existed. His touch feels so good, just how you imagined, and you have to lean forward into the crook of his neck to keep yourself upright, your teeth sinking into a firm shoulder. Luigi makes a gruff sound, almost a chuckle, and his cock jumps at your whiny, choked noises when he adds a third finger into your pussy.

“So needy, aren’t you?” he teases. “Have you been thinking about this, gorgeous? About sucking my cock and taking my fingers like this?”

You nod, because of course you have. In that exact order. Who wouldn’t?

Luigi smiles at you, soft and adoring. You make a curious sound and his fingers depart from you, lingering at your entrance until you grind down into his lap. Your cunt brushes against him, raw, hungry, slathering his cock with your slick.

“I want you,” you whine, grabbing his face and kissing him again. “I want all of you.”

“Yeah, baby?” His hands are guiding your hips, moving you slowly against him. “Tell me about it.”

Well, you would, if your brain weren’t short-circuiting at the moment. His fault. You mumble into his ear, something about infinity, something about the way you hug your pillow at night and all the times you’ve fucked yourself stupid thinking about this very image of you and him together like this. But there are countless words for your endless feelings, words you would preach to him from high places if your body had the agency to; your attraction to him is primal, but neatly arranged, layered, wrapped up with variables galore and multiplying with each moment you spend in his presence. A mess, no doubt about it, but one you can control, a tangle to unravel, an equation to solve. Nothing less. You aren’t sure of how this ends but you know that you need him, bad, more than you knew was possible before.

You crash into him, mouths colliding, everything that you left unsaid spilling into your embrace. Words are hard. Kissing Luigi and grinding your warm, throbbing cunt against him takes much less brainpower.

He is speaking to you when you pull away: “Baby, just a second, wait right here, let me get something.” Gently you are pushed from his lap and he disappears into his room momentarily, leaving you waiting, alone, aching for him, until he rounds the corner again with a familiar foil packet, finding his way back to the couch and sweeping you on top of him once more.

“Hi. Sorry.” And now he is fully yours.

You whine and wiggle against him the second the condom is on.

“Shh,” Luigi whispers, “I got you, ‘s okay, gorgeous. Gonna take good care of you, yeah? Don’t you worry. Gonna give you just what you need, baby.”

The tip of his cock is pressing into you, then, slowly easing himself inside, and fuck, he fits just right, fills you up perfectly, has you seeing stars already. The sound you make when he bottoms out is a hop, skip, and a jump away from pornographic. Luigi purrs underneath you.

“Oh, I know, baby, I know.” His hand slides down to grip your ass, spreading you, and from this angle you can feel just how much he stretches you out. And then, as he begins to roll his hips: “My sweet girl, working so hard, can’t even think for yourself, can you, beautiful? That’s okay, baby. I can do all the thinking for you, you just sit back and let me work it out for you, yeah? Don’t think. Just let me please this pussy.”

It’s like he’s trying to kill you. Every single word he says into your ear shoots straight to your cunt, the mere sound of his voice so near you electrifying. He’s deep, and with your thighs spread wide like this you just have to take advantage of the perfect angle to rub your clit against him. You can’t help but squeal into the crook of his neck each time his hips ram up into you, thighs clapping against your ass; by the way his muscles tense you assume it must take much of his energy, and yet he pounds you like you weigh nothing in his lap, exerting himself like it’s a cakewalk so long as he can watch your face shrivel up with overwhelming delectation. You can tell that he loves it when you tug his hair or bite him, and so you do it every chance you get, just in case your hushed utterances in his ear fail to make your message clear enough:

“Luigi, fuckfuckfuck, oh my god, oh, fuck…”

As he paces himself Luigi wraps his strong arms around you, one caging your waist and the other pulling tight at your hair. Your neck is arched and exposed, leaving him free to smother his love all over you in sharp, uneven hickeys. You needed this, so, so bad, and you tell him exactly that, chanting thank you, thank you, thank you and holding him tight.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers. “You can have whatever you want with me. Anything.” His lips meet yours, fleeting, and then, with the slightest hint of a grin: “You earned this, baby.”

You groan directly into his ear. It’s straight from your dreams, you think, like you’ve been swept from your bed in the midst of the night and dropped right here, in the lap of the sweetest, smartest, most handsome boy you’ve ever so much as looked at, bouncing on his cock while he kisses you like you’ll float away if he lets go. The two of you work together to heighten each other’s inevitable undoing, like a function of sorts; Luigi pushes and you push back, meeting his hips every time, your clit brushing against him just right, and him breaching unknown depths of you, hands roaming, learning you inside and out.

“My sweet girl,” he grabs your face and rests his forehead against yours, driving into you with precision. “This is all yours, baby.”

Sweat starts to gather at his hairline and you can feel him shuddering in your arms. Kissing him, you press down on his toned chest, pinning him against the couch, and Luigi is practically singing for you, little grunts and babys and murmurs of your name traveling through your ears and echoing in your mind. You want this to last forever. His hips slow to a stop when you begin to move on your own; you raise yourself up, resting all your weight on your knees, with him sliding out of your cunt until just the tip is still inside—and then you drop down, letting him sink back into you quickly, slick and smooth, his cock so deep you can nearly feel it in your stomach.

Fuck. You love this. You love the way his hands grip your ass, your thighs, rubbing your back, moaning your name and kissing behind your ear. You love the way he looks at you. The pupils of those dark eyes are blown wide, watching you move, worshipping how your tits bounce, the gyration of your hips, the blush of arousal all over you, your bottom lip wedged between your teeth. The sounds of sex and the shameless way he takes in every feature of your body have you feeling hot and ready to burst. You moan his name, drawn out and raspy.

“Yes,” Luigi groans. “You’re so pretty on top of me.”

Even through the haze of your pleasure you smile at his praise. He is telling you everything, every single thought that passes by in his mind, as if there will be no proof of how good he fucked you once you leave his dorm, as if every word will dissipate into thin air and leave you waiting, unsatisfied, hanging on the edge: “You take it so well, baby, my sweet girl, so perfect, so perfect just for me.”

His big hands are all over you. One cups your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth, with the other splayed over your hip. You start to feel dizzy, anxious for his attention, a little bit crazy. Close. Luigi must notice the way your eyes screw shut and your pussy squeezes him tight, because his hand moves down your chest, over your stomach, and then to your clit, circling his fingers with purpose. He wishes—almost—that you were beneath him, so that he could replace his hand with his mouth, trace down your body with his lips and bring you to your very edge with his tongue, over and over again, until you’re begging him to stop.

He settles instead for kissing you, hard, slowly, lingering. “You have no fucking idea how bad I’ve been wanting this, baby.”

You nod, moaning, “yes, yes, me too,” your noises pained and rough in your throat.

The way his cock slams into you with each movement of your hips is ruthless, bruising; he’s kissing you so sweetly and you can feel your climax churning in your abdomen, rippling through you. It knocks the air from your lungs. Sex with him hurts so good. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

“Gonna come,” you huff. There are fingernail-sized dents in his skin. “Gonna come for you.”

Luigi nods, whispers, “good girl, such a good girl,” and circles his fingers over your clit as fast as he can manage.

You tense around him at that. You can’t even count how many times you’ve come imagining those very words whispered in your ear by the very man that you’re riding right now.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Yeah? You like that? You like being a good girl for me?”

You nod wildly, and everything feels so real all of a sudden, like you’ve been floating mindlessly in space and you are crashing down into reality. His teeth dig into the sensitive skin of your neck and his hips start to pump again and by the time he’s meeting your thrusts you’ve had enough, thighs shaking, and he starts moaning into your ear so that you know he’s right there with you, and fuck, he’s really trying to kill you—

Your orgasm hits you like a truck. A 5’11, dark haired and brown eyed muscle truck that looks at you like you are the only good thing left in the world.

For a moment there is only your deep panting and his equally spent breaths as the both of you rest, his hand tracing gentle patterns on your back, yours combing through his sweat-soaked curls. The dorm is quiet, calm, almost with an air of innocence, completely unswayed by the heady aftermath of what the two of you just did right there on the couch. You lean back and look into his eyes, brooding and trained entirely on you. And he has that stupid grin on his face, the one that gives both of you away for good, the one that screams we’re not the only ones who know what we’ve been up to.

You want to kiss it right off of his beautiful, beautiful face. But right now you just sigh, lean into his shoulder, and let him hold you tight. Tonight you will walk back to your dorm, all the way on the other side of campus, where your roommates will be waiting for you, likely getting ready for bed. You will walk inside and they will watch you without a clue as to whose hands have been on you, whose name has been on your lips, whose cock has been buried to the hilt inside of you for the past hour. Your legs will be aching—you are sure of it.

Your roommates will ask you, “how’d it go?”, completely unaware of what your wobbly smile really means, how you really spent your time with your cute tutor.

And you will respond, “oh, great,” with a barely masked giggle. “I’m gonna ace my test tomorrow.”

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione fic #flig’s work

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vanesycho · 5 months ago

Note

Can u write maths professor Haechan nsfw? And I ssly love your works so much 🥺 you are so amazing 💚✨

• student f!reader x math professor!haechan | m.list

warning | smut, fingering, kinda age gap

word count | 1,4k

a/n | thank you very much for your nice comment love, I hope you like it🤍

enjoy reading！

The corridors of the mathematics department on the vast campus of the university were always quiet. Professor Lee Donghyuck was a figure who brought this silence to life with his energetic demeanor. The reason he was popular among the students was not only his charisma, but also his teaching skills that could make even complex topics understandable. However, at this point, you definitely didn’t care about the lesson.

Your eyes started to focus on him instead of the equations on the board, the way he held his pencil, the way he adjusted his glasses every now and then, the way he explained the problem to the students by leaning slightly towards them, his shirt rolled up to his elbows, the mocking yet warm smile on his lips when one of the students gave the wrong answer...

“Y/n L/n.” When you looked around, an empty lecture hall greeted you, Hyuck’s gaze was fixed on you, you quickly lowered your head and started to pack your things. You were about to pick up your notebook when a hand stopped you. When you looked up, you were met with him. “Should we talk about this constant distraction you experience?” his voice was deep and whispery, making you swallow hard as you looked away from him. “I’m sorry professor.. It wasn’t something I did on purpose.” he slowly pulled his hand away from your notebook, quickly grabbing your last item and standing up. “Did I say you can go?” you were about to walk past him but his voice stopped you. He reached you in a few steps, you felt a shiver run down your spine when his breath caught your ear. “Tell me, what did you learn in this lesson?”

Fuck. Your eyes drifted to the board as you muttered a curse under your breath. Hyuck’s hand found your chin when he noticed it, turning your face to him. "Ah-ah, no cheating. Since when did you stop listening so much?" it was more of a scolding than a question, he definitely didn’t expect an answer from you so you just stayed silent. “Understood. You better come to my office tomorrow. We need to make up for the lesson you missed, okay?” you nodded in agreement as the thought of being alone with him increased your blood circulation. “I don’t think I got an answer, Y/n?” He leaned towards you, the word 'I understand' you mumbled vaguely made him grin slightly, you let out a breath the moment he finally pulled away from you, even this small conversation was driving you crazy so you didn't stay there any longer and threw yourself out.

"Come in." The door opened and Hyuck's head shot up, a smile on his face as his eyes saw you. "Ah..Y/n. I've been waiting for you." He started the lesson without much conversation between you. But the same problem distracted you again, him. His voice had taken over your focus, you looked at the pen he was twirling in his fingers, not even understanding what he was talking about. Was he delicate with his fingers? Or was he the type who acted completely cruel? Oh, you would do anything to get the answer to that.

You licked your dry lips, his hand with slightly veined eyes made you press your legs together. Donghyuck's gaze occasionally went to you, he could clearly see that you weren't focusing, he put the pen he was holding on the book and took a deep breath. "You're not focusing Y/n, what's on your mind, hm?" Your breath caught for a moment, you looked at him, "No- nothing, professor." He hummed. Then stood up and took a book out of his bookshelf and placed it in front of you. It didn’t take long for you to realize that the book you were browsing for a few seconds was about math. Hyuck reached for the book from behind you and opened a page. “Read it. Out loud and if I see you’re distracted, nothing good will happen, understand?”

You nodded quickly, moving to sit next to you as you starting to read. “Integral..” you read the title, you could see him watching you with his eyes locked on your face, the tension gripping you, even though it was hard to continue knowing he was watching you, you knew you had no other choice. “The indefinite integral is found by inverting the derivative of a function and the constant of integration...” was the thing that cut you off mid-sentence is his hand on your thigh, only amusing him as your breathing stopped momentarily. You could feel him moving closer to you, his breath tickling your neck. “What’s wrong Y/n? You seem distracted again.” he knew exactly what he was doing and it was only getting on your nerves. His hand reached up a little higher, thumb gently caressing you over the panties under your skirt. You fought with yourself not to squeeze your legs together, holding your breath for a moment again as his hand squeezed the inside of your thigh hard. “You know I don’t like my questions to go unanswered, do I have to repeat myself?”

You shook your head, opening your mouth to answer. “No- no I..It’s okay Professor Lee.” He removed his hand from your leg and stood up, grabbing the book in front of you. You let out a deep breath and watched him as he finally moved away. He put the book back in its place and spoke as he approached the table again. “This is what’s disrupting your concentration.” He turned the chair towards him and placed one hand on the top of the chair, leaning slightly towards you. “We can’t continue with this lesson until we find a solution to this problem.” His voice was whispery and made your body tremble. “So sit at the table and spread your legs for me, Miss L/n.”

You were afraid to double-check what he said, and he knew that you wouldn’t go against him when it was Lee Donghyuck. So you got up from the chair and sat on the table and soon he got between your legs, went to your panties, he moved the piece of fabric to the side and his fingers found your pussy "Oh fuck.. How long have you been so wet hm?" His middle finger caressed your clit for a while then slid down, slowly inserting it into your hole. One of your hands went to his shoulder and you squeezed it lightly to keep from moaning, his finger was slow but it felt just as good.

After a while you let out a loud moan this time as he added his second finger "Shh.." his voice found your ear, fingers started to destroy your pussy quickly "Professor..." the needy sound made him mutter a curse. You knew you were close to orgasm, his fingers were moving as if he knew your insides by heart.

"Professor Lee, are you there?"

The sound of a knock on the door made you look at him in fear, he looked into your eyes and replied "What's wrong Sion?" You waited for him to stop, but he fooled you. You put a hand over your mouth to keep from making any noise, nothing more than small whimpers, but damn it you knew you were going to cum soon. “I came to ask you a question about the last class, are you free?” he grinned, leaning into your ear before answering. “Am I free? What’s the worst that could happen if he walks through that door, Miss L/n?” You shook your head quickly, adrenaline rushing through your entire body. “Please..” were the only words you could get out of your mouth, the fact that you were in such a tight spot that it only made him laugh, his fingers curling inside you making it hard for you to hold yourself back, you leaned your head against his chest and finally climaxed. You couldn’t help but moan loudly as all your fluids hit his fingers, “Professor Lee? Is everything okay? Think I heard some- ” while interrupting his sentence he pulled his fingers out of you. “Find me back in an hour Sion. I’m busy right now.”

After a few footsteps, the surroundings became quiet, you heard a giggle as you buried your head in his chest in embarrassment. “Good job, Miss L/n. See? You managed to cum without losing your focus, so that must be the problem.” You watched him clean up the place, after a while he came back across you and put his hands on either side of the table, squeezing you. “I hope you’ll be more careful from now on. If I see you distracted again, I won’t care if people see you this time.” You nodded in approval, he placed a small kiss on your lips and whispering, “Well done, my girl. We’ll continue our unfinished lesson tomorrow, okay? Class is over for now.”

#nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct smut #nct dream reactions #nct reactions #nct dream smut #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 smut #haechan x reader #haechan smut #haechan imagines #nct haechan smut #lee donghyuck imagines #lee donghyuck smut

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stove-top96 · 3 months ago

Text

Wicked Game

Ch. 00

Y Batfam x GN Reader

featuring: platonic Tim Drake.

1.3k words

It’s been a hot minute. I broke my hand snowboarding, then had tests. The writing for this one is significantly better, I’m taking a creative writing class for extra credits and decided to try something new with how I formate my chapters. I’ll be posting a chapter to both my story and my concept soon. This idea has just been in my head and the story I have planned out is exciting.

Prologue -> Ch. 01

Class Schedule

1st period: Art

2nd period: Maths

12:00 - 13:00: Lunch

3rd period: biology

4th period: English

3:50 Dismissal

4:00 - 6:00: Basketball practice

(Friday 5:00 -> Basketball game)

You twirl your pencil between your fingers, lazily watching as everyone else scribbles notes, following the math equation Mr. Snyder is rambling on about. It’s been ten minutes on the same question, and you’ve checked out about thirty minutes ago. Not that it’s Mr. Snyder’s fault—Gotham Prep has the best teachers. It’s just maths has never been your thing. It’s 2 weeks into the new semester and you're already falling behind. Probably not a great start.

You glance up at the clock—11:53. Ugh. Lunch can’t come soon enough. Mr. Snyder’s voice makes time drag on and on. You dash out of the classroom the moment the bell rings and head straight to Brandi’s locker.

“Girl, I’m literally gonna lose it. I can’t handle these people, they’re insane,” you spill out, frustration pouring from you. Rants like these have become more frequent.

“Tell me about it,” Brandi shoots back, her voice sharp with annoyance. “I’ve never met people so out of touch with reality. These pretentious assholes.” She grits her teeth. “How are they even real?”

You nod, walking together towards the cafeteria. Brandi continues her rant, but it’s nice—almost comforting—to know someone else feels the same way. She’s the only other Scholarship student in the grade—your only friend.

Lunch is its own endeavour. Students give weird looks as you two eat your packed food. The two of you learned very quickly that these kids were in a league of their own, and didn’t take too kindly to outsiders.

As you and Brandi talk mindless gossip, lunch flies by. biology’s next it’s your favourite. There’s nothing better than Mrs. Young’s lectures. She’s able to bring life to the lessons, and the material has a way of sticking.

Heading to class a little early you grab a seat near the back. It’s the only table without another person there. Mrs. Young tends to be late to class, so what better way to pass time than to scroll on your phone. Engrossed in TikTok a voice snaps you back into reality.

“Mind if I sit here”

Glancing up from your phone, you recognize the face almost instantly— you’d be stupid not to— Tim drake. Dark brown hair, bright blue eyes and a ‘pretty boy’ face. He’s practically the ‘it boy’ of the school, popular, friendly, and stupid rich. There’s still plenty of other open seats around the class. Probably beside people he’s better acquainted with. But he wants to sit with you? “Sure” you shrug, not like you were gonna talk to the guy.

The bell rings for the end of lunch, Mrs. Young still hasn’t shown up. The silence between you two is suffocating, even inside the room filled with mindless chatter.

“I’m Tim by the way” his introduction was meant to ease the awkwardness. He knew that you knew who he was. “y/n” you answer, praying the teacher will walk in, anything to get you out of this conversation.

”you’re on the basketball team right? You got in on an athletic scholarship?” He asked, ignoring the way you slump into your seat. “Yep” you mumble. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for students to recognize who’s on scholarship and who isn’t—especially athletes. But for him to know you're on the Basketball team 2 weeks into the school year— Kinda weird. But questioning him would mean talking to him, and you weren’t gonna engage.

Before the silence could get too awkward Mrs. Young walks in, and begins the lesson. The lymphatic system. It wasn’t your weakest subject but definitely not your strongest. Today is especially hard. Mrs. Young is unusually keen on racing through as much of the topic as possible.

You rush to write notes and keep up with the teacher but before you’ve even finished 1 sentence she’s erasing the board. Sighing in defeat, you slump back into your chair. Maybe if you just listen to the teacher you’ll be able to grasp most concepts? you’ll just scan through the textbook after practice.

Tim must’ve noticed your defeat, because a moment later he slides over his notebook. God, even his handwriting is perfect. Copying down the rest of his notes.

“thanks.” You mumble, he nods with a subtle smirk on his face.

The next 45 minutes follow the same pattern—you write down as much as, then copy the rest from Tim, and repeat.

It's only until Mrs. Young claps her hands together. The loud sound grabbed everybody’s attention “We finally get to start our first group project of the semester!” Her excitement is met with groans from the class. “because I don’t want you guys to get too comfortable I took the liberty of choosing your partners”. Your stomach drops. Not that you knew anyone here it was still obvious who would make a good partner and who wouldn’t.

As Mrs Young lists off names you don’t recognize “y/n l/n” your head perks up. “And Tim Drake”. Fuck. Your stomach twists. You really didn’t want to go with him. Sure, he’s nice enough to share his notes for sure but he’s still Tim Drake, it’d be much less drama to avoid him.

Tim didn’t even bother hiding his smirk. “The project must be a poster of any negative or positive feedback loop. Be sure to discuss details with your partners. I won’t be giving much class time, so plan accordingly”

The bell rang signaling the end of class, and you were quick to pack up and get out. The sooner you’re gone the better.

“So how do you want to do this?” Tim asked as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. “I don’t really care. you pick”

gym’s next, so you should leave as soon as you can. “Let’s work on it tomorrow after your basketball game. We can choose our topic together,” he answered.

Great, now you’re gonna have to spend your evening with the guy. “My game will probably take 2 hours,” you said. That should probably be enough to get him to back off.

“I’ll watch, I like basketball” you raise a brow. “I guess” you shrug.

The rest of the day blurred together— same mind numbing stories in English, same repetitive drills in practice. By the time it’s all over you’re already on the subway heading home. A wave of exhaustion falls over you.

Unlocking the Door to the empty apartment, you want nothing more than to crash into your bed and doom scroll for the rest of the night. Still you figure you should eat something and take a quick shower first.

Scanning the fridge and cupboards like expected there isn’t much. With a sigh you grabbed a box of cereal and poured a bowl before heading to the bathroom to shower.

The evening passed uneventfully. You weren’t expecting your mother to be back anytime soon, so it was just the quiet hum of the apartment.

A buzz from your phone snapped you back to reality.

Hey y/n it’s Tim Brandi gave me your number for the project.

You roll your eyes. Why would Brandi do that? It's totally unlike her. Tim must’ve been persistent. Hovering over the message you debated answering or not. After a beat you typed back.

<Y/N>

Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then.

Short and simple, Tim probably won’t send another message. With a sigh you put your phone on silent, and roll over to finally get some sleep. Once you get through this project you’ll never have to talk to him again.

little did you know the project will be the least of your worries.

#batfam x reader #gn reader #platonic batfam #platonic yandere #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere x reader #yandere dc x reader #yandere tim drake #yandere #platonic #x reader

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cameronsbabydoll · 24 hours ago

Note

hii idk if you've done this but i'd love to see your take on like nerd!rafe putting mean popular reader in her place! (btw your writing is soso good sexist!rafey is literally my man my man)

“extra credit” — dark!nerd!loser!rafe

you always thought he was a loser.

pale, quiet, eyes always flicking to your thighs in lecture like he didn’t want to be caught. like he didn’t already know what color your panties were. because he did. he had pictures. cameras. notes. you made fun of him once—laughed when he dropped his pen in front of you and blushed when you bent over to pick it up.

you thought that power was yours.

but now you’re tied to a chair in his apartment—nails broken, mascara smudged—and he’s standing over you with a smug, patient smile, like he’s finally solved a math problem that’s been bothering him for years.

“you thought you were better than me,” he says softly, like he’s explaining it for a class. “just because you’re pretty. because you’re loud. because you got fingered in the frat house bathroom by some lacrosse player who probably can’t even spell his own name.”

he crouches. grabs your chin. forces you to look at him.

“but guess what, sweetheart?”

he leans in, breath warm against your cheek.

“i aced every class. i got into med school. and you are just a scared little slut in my basement now. so who wins, huh?”

you try to spit in his face. he laughs.

and then he backhands you. not hard. just enough to make your lip split, just enough to make you cry. and it’s so satisfying when you do.

“there she is,” he murmurs, tracing the blood with his thumb. “my little project. finally ready to learn.”

#anons ♡⸝⸝#loser!rafe #nerd!rafe #dark!nerd!loser!rafe #rafe cameron yandere #yandere rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x yn #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe obx #cameronsbabydoll ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

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4norizz · 28 days ago

Text

Were you Listening?

Summary— Toto notices his student starts slacking off and decides private tutoring is the best approach

Warnings— she sits on his lap ; mentions of reader being horny ; teasing ; no smut sadly :/ ; allusions to smut though

A/N— enjoy!

Masterlist

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

Request— toto wolff is a professor at a university, he was teaching maths. he has this one student who kept on slacking off in his class. he doesn't know the reason why she was doing that. so he got sick of this disrespect and asked the student/reader to meet him in his office for a punishment. but toto doesn't know that she was only slacking off because she wanted to get his attention.

College was easy, well easy when your professor in his fifties is fucking hot. Toto Wolff was part of some racing team, but died down his presence to do what he really wanted: teaching maths. He still has some part in racing, but not too prominent.

The only reason she was able to pass his class was because of his looks. She was enthralled by what he was saying and it stuck, her brain remembering the way his lips moved and his hands gestured towards the board.

Recently her grades started going downhill in his class and she didn’t know that he would address that, not to mention the disrespect she had been giving or the dozing off she would do in his classes now.

He went on about his lesson and when the class filed out he pointed to her and made a come here motion with his hand. The other students left, just her and her professor alone. “What’s with your grades dropping darling?” He asked. She huffed out a breath and relaxed her shoulders.

She looked around to avoid eye contact and smirked at the response she thought of. “Well the lectures aren’t as good as they used to be and I just can’t concentrate.” She practically whined to him. “I do apologize for sleeping in your class sometimes, but you’re overworking me.”

Toto nodded at her excuses, because that’s all they were, excuses. “I can tutor you if you’d like, but you need to get your grades up and listen to my lectures.” He offered. Her face lit up at the idea and she agreed that tutoring would help her out.

The first few sessions were quite mediocre and standard teacher and student. When Toto started noticing she wasn’t paying attention or doodling on the notes, he slammed a book on her desk, making her jump and look at him through her eyelashes.

“Are you listening?” He questioned. She nodded and gulped. She couldn’t help being turned on by the older man. “If you aren’t listening I’ll have to find another way to teach you.” He tilted his head with the serious tone he had used on her.

“Yes, sir.” She squeaked. She put her hands in her lap and focused on the board he was so diligently writing notes on for some math lesson. She took in the information and passed the next exam with flying colors.

However, he could not get her to pay attention during this one lesson. He could slam a book as many times as he wanted, she wouldn’t listen nor keep focused on him. Finally he resorted to physical touch. He placed his hand on her chin and forced her to look at him. “Is this a problem subject darling?”

Her face went pink and she gulped. She weakly nodded at him and he let her chin go, turning her notes toward him. She rubbed her thighs together at the proximity. “I just don’t understand it.” She said quietly as he admired her doodles and mindless writing. She was enjoying the attention.

He sighed and pointed to the board. “New page, write that down.” He demanded. She nodded and listened. He watched as she did so, sharing a glance every now and then. “Now. I want you to read off your notes, and explain what I said about it.” He began erasing the chalk from the board and she started citing math rules.

She only read the notes and he stood with his arms crossed waiting on the elaboration he had provided outside of writing. She didn’t remember any of what he said so she stayed quiet. “I wasn’t listening..” She admitted, her face tinged pink still.

He chuckled and she crossed a leg over the other, starting to feel her arousal seep through her underwear as he chuckled. “That’s it for today then, tomorrow I’ll have a different way to get you to remember, okay darling?” He said. With that she left the classroom quickly.

The next tutoring session was nothing of the sort of the usual teacher-student interaction. She noticed how he locked the door. Her breath caught and she snapped her head between the lock and his face. “You never lock the door.” She mentioned.

“I told you I have other ways of motivation for today.” He reminded her. He sat in his chair and pat his lap. She hesitated but sat there anyway. He had notes written in beautiful script on his desk. “If you’re good maybe I’ll reward you.” He whispered.

She squeaked and he began the math lesson. She listened hard and carefully. Once he was done she was able to recite Every Single Word He said. “Did I miss anything?” She asked innocently. Her mind was racing after repeating the math notes.

She was sure that even though she recited it, she’s going to fail the exam remembering how she learned the information. His hands found their way to her thighs. He lightly caressed them and she tilted her head back with a sigh. “Now, pass the exam and I’ll give you a real reward hm?”

She nodded, all words dying on her tongue at the sensations she was feeling. His hands lightly scratching her soft, delicate skin. She shivered at the feeling and then he tapped her, as to say ‘lesson done’ and she stood up. She almost tripped on the way out the door and he smirked from his desk.

Sure enough, she passed the exam with 10 bonus points for a detailed study guide. She smiled big and made her way to Professor Wolff’s office. She knocked and he called out. She opened the door and he smiled up at her, placing his pen neatly in a cup. “You did a good job darling.” He praised.

Her grades began improving and as a reward he would provide her with time outside of the school, small ‘get togethers’ or ‘dates,’ but all they would do is flirt and talk. Toto Wolff was not going to be fired over a student-teacher relationship, but he sure as hell wants to be with her.

I nearly made this smut but I decided against it, I couldn’t think of anything good 😭

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 fic #formula one fic #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #toto wolff #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff fluff #team principal x reader #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #4norizz one shots

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gingerteafairy · 1 month ago

Note

“more rodrick fics!” me and the crowd yell in unison

say no more, rodrick's back

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

rodrick heffley x reader

summary: Rodrick feels bad for being dyslexic, but you're always there to support him. tags n warnings: fluff, college!rodrick, maybe a little angst and low self esteem, dyslexia.word count: 1.5k masterlist

A/N: one of my best friends is dyslexic, so i thought about her doing this. she believes in canon dyslexic rodrick lmao

What wouldn’t a human do to rack up extra hours for their college resume? Once again, you and Rodrick found yourselves sitting through a lecture you didn’t even know the topic of.

On stage, an older woman spoke with the confidence of someone in the middle of a great dream, refusing to wake up. The audience, on the other hand, looked like they were trapped in a never-ending nightmare.

Rodrick, already slouched in his seat, pulled out his phone and started typing, subtly gesturing for you to do the same.

Rod: This lecture sucks. Get me out of hereeeeee.

You: So boring. I don’t think she even knows what she’s talking about. She keeps asking if she’s making sense or if she’s right.

Rod: you actually paying attention to this shyt?

You: I would be if I weren’t distracted by the fact that she’s wearing a leopard print dress, a neon green belt, and hot pink boots.

Rodrick lowered his phone slightly, glancing up at the woman on stage.

Rod: That’s stile right there. You got any woter?

You: Woter?

Rod: Yeah, woter. The liquid that kills thrust.

You: THRUST

Rod: OH MY GOD. Watter and thirst.

You: AAAAAAAAA.

Rodrick widened his eyes and smacked his forehead with his palm.

Rod: Doesn’t matter. You know I’m epileptic.

You: You mean dyslexic?

Rod: No, that’s a soda.

You nearly choked on your laugh, quickly covering your mouth to avoid drawing attention.

You: Dyslexia is when someone has trouble reading and writing. Epilepsy is seizures.

Rod: Ure just making up words now. My psichrist told me it’s epilepsy.

You: Considering what you do with drumsticks, I kinda see it.

Rod: stfu, you’re being a idiot.

You: How did you even get into college?

Rodrick smirked, lazily draping an arm over the back of his chair.

Rod: Because you woudn’t suvive with out me.

You: So you rigged the tests?

Rod: Anything for my wondrfu girlfriend.

Rodrick finally glanced away from his phone to look at you. His smirk softened before he leaned in and pressed a slow, unhurried kiss to your cheek. Then, he lowered his phone and scanned the room. The auditorium was empty enough that no one cared what you two were doing.

Picking up his phone again, he typed:

Rod: Looks like this thing wraping up. Wanna go get an amburger?

You: Let’s go now. We already signed in at the entrance.

Rodrick nodded in approval, shoving his phone into his pocket as he stood up. He waited for you to step ahead, then grabbed your hand, fingers intertwining with yours as you walked toward the parking lot.

The campus was quiet—the other students were probably skipping the lecture entirely or napping somewhere.

When you reached the van, Rodrick unlocked the door and pulled it open, pausing before getting in.

“Hey, what did you put for letter three?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

“For the test?” You held back a laugh as you caught the small mistake and slid into the passenger seat.

“Yeah. I think I got it totally wrong. Why do we still have math in college anyway?” He shook his head, turning the key in the ignition. “I mean… we still have that thing with the number lines.”

“You mean Roman numerals?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms with an amused smile.

Rodrick rolled his eyes dramatically, throwing his head back against the seat.

“Yeah. There’s this crowd pleaser in my class who wrote the test questions in Roman numerals. Everyone laughed at him.”

“Wow, that’s mean.” You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

Rodrick waved his hands around dramatically before dropping them onto the steering wheel.

“There’s something wrong with that kid. He asked me what LII was like I’m an idiot.”

You tilted your head, curious. “And what did you do?”

He let out an exasperated sigh, like he was still annoyed about it.

“Told him to quit being a psychopath making up numbers. That one doesn’t even exist. I know because numbers only go up to XX. High School biology.”

You widened your eyes, barely holding in your laughter. "I never made that connection before. You must be a genius."

Rodrick, clearly pleased with himself, puffed out his chest and stretched his arms as if he were carrying the weight of immense knowledge on his back.

"A lot of geniuses were dyslexic. I looked it up on ChatGPT." He paused dramatically, resting his hands on the steering wheel before shooting you a serious look. "By the way, I love being born in this era. I have no idea how I’d survive without ChatGPT."

You laughed, leaning slightly toward him.

"So I guess you hate those people who say they were born in the wrong generation."

Rodrick groaned, throwing his head back once again.

"Totally. As if these kids wouldn’t be glued to their phones no matter what era they lived in." He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "At least I’m honest about my eight hours of screen time."

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised.

"I never realized you were on your phone that much."

Rodrick scratched the back of his neck, glancing out the window like he was reluctant to admit something.

"It's just... when you're not with me, I kinda get stuck on it."

Warmth spread through your chest at his confession. You smiled and reached out, gently touching his chin to turn his face toward you.

"You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?"

Rodrick blinked a few times, looking caught off guard. He opened his mouth to say something but hesitated, his gaze flickering down to the dashboard before meeting yours again.

"Don’t you ever feel bad about dating someone so…" He took a deep breath, swallowing hard. "...so dumb?"

Your smile disappeared instantly.

"Dumb?" You furrowed your brows, leaning in slightly.

Rodrick pressed his lips together, staring at the steering wheel. He shook his head, like he already knew you were going to deny it but still couldn’t fully believe it himself.

"Rodrick, you're not dumb. You just have more trouble reading. That doesn’t make you stupid."

He let out a long sigh, his shoulders sinking as if he’d been carrying that thought for a while.

"It’s not that... I don’t know. You’re so smart, and I just keep messing things up all the time." His voice was lower now, almost like he was talking more to himself than to you.

You slid your hand over his, which rested on the steering wheel, and slowly intertwined your fingers, giving a firm squeeze.

"You’re sweet for ignoring my mistakes and not making fun of me," he murmured. "But sometimes, I feel like you’re just lying to make me feel better."

Without hesitation, you squeezed his hand tighter.

"Rodrick, I love you." Your voice was steady, leaving no room for doubt. "And that’s never going to change. Never let this make you feel less than you are."

Rodrick lifted his eyes slowly, like he was trying to fully absorb your words. A small, almost hesitant smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Then, without saying anything, he brought your hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss against it, closing his eyes for a moment.

He stayed like that for a while, just gently brushing his thumb over the back of your hand, as if he wanted to hold on to this moment forever.

"You know when I realized I was in love with you?" he asked, locking eyes with you.

"When?" You leaned in closer, curiosity shining in your gaze.

“When I asked if you wanted to see my dick and I said duck.” He beamed, intertwining your hands with his. “Seriously, you didn’t break the mood or anything, you just laughed and kept going. That was, like, the nicest thing anyone’s ever done to me.”

“It was kinda cute tho.” You smiled, playing with his hands. “The only thing cuter than when you saw a cat and said you were petting a pussy.”

"Oh, okay. You might as well run me over with a truck now."

He threw his hands up in an exaggerated gesture before covering his face with both palms, as if he wanted to disappear from existence.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter. A loud, uncontrollable laugh bubbled up from your chest, filling the van.

Rodrick froze for a second, narrowing his eyes as a dramatic sigh slipped from his lips. Slowly, he peeled his hands away from his face, the corners of his mouth twitching into a satisfied smirk.

"At least my epilepsy makes you laugh."

You rolled your eyes, still laughing, and tilted your head to the side, letting it rest against the seat.

"It's always good to see the bright side of things."

Rodrick watched you for a moment, his gaze softening. Then, he leaned in slowly, his hand trailing up to your face, cold fingers barely grazing your cheek before gently pulling you into a quick, but affectionate, kiss.

"Guess not everything about me is a disaster."

#rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick x reader #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #rodrick heffley #rodrick rules #doawk rodrick #x reader #imagine #reader insert #fanfic #devon bostick x you

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taesanrot · 10 months ago

Text

[cool with you] leehan x f!reader | 3.8k words f2l, college au, smut (oral m.receiving, making out), alcohol consumption note. most graphic fic ive written so far so proceed with caution, also sorry to anon for taking so long to write this thank u sm for sending requests! hope u all enjoy :3 @onedoornet

"hey guys, this is my friend, leehan. is it cool if he sits with us?" jaehyun's chirpy voice interrupted the current discussion at your table. looking up, you saw a boy with glasses and fluffy hair smiling shyly.

"is this the guy from your health class, hyung? my name is taesan, whats up?" the long haired boy's slightly quieter presence fit into your group perfectly; you, belle, and taesan being the same age as him only made it easier for him to talk to you guys.

to be honest, with how big of a group you hung out with, leehan and your conversations often got drowned out, you being pulled over to ningning and giselle while leehan was caught up in discussions with shinyu and jaehyun.

while you had nothing against the boy, you never really found yourself with the opportunity to get to know him one-on-one, and his presence in the group was merely an afterthought to you.

…

slumping into a seat in your 9 am lecture, you yawned, already regretting taking a morning math lecture. unluckily, you'd completely forgotten to register for the class until just before the beginning of the semester, leaving you no choice but to sign up for the morning section.

as you begrudgingly pulled out your notebook, your text buzzed with a message.

leehan: is that you?

yn: huh

leehan: in mr.shin's math class

leehan: look behind you

you whipped around to see leehan sitting a couple rows back, waving at you with a small smile. he donned the same black glasses he always wore, hair messily fluffed and his figure draped in a loose hoodie. smiling back, you quickly gathered your things, moving to an empty seat next to him. his eyes widened watching you walk over.

while he was on the shyer side, you most definitely were not. plus, you were more than thrilled to see a familiar face in class.

slightly out of breath from walking over, you whispered to the boy next to you.

"hey, how are you?" you were smoothing your hair down and reorganizing your things as you spoke.

looking down at his sweats, leehan wondered how you managed to look so put together at nine in the morning.

"good, i didn't know you were in this class." the boy replied quietly.

he glanced up slightly to see if the professor had arrived yet. you sucked in a breath seeing the boy up close. his side profile enticed you, but you recovered quickly, not wanting to make a fool of yourself.

"yeah, it's a requirement for my program, i suck at math, though." you frowned slightly, fiddling with your nails.

"don't worry, i can help you out." leehan smiled easily at you, earning a surprised look back.

"what? i like math." he retorted. and with that, you finally got to know the long haired boy beyond the snippets of conversation you two shared at lunches.

the two of you frequently hung out, using the excuse of working on homework to get food together, waste time at the library, or hang out at your apartment.

despite his quieter demeanor, you found that you clicked with the boy well. the two of you talked about anything and everything, whether it was your favorite movies or some dumb prank myungjae decided to play on giselle.

sometimes, you felt like no one else knew leehan as well as you did. or rather, that you were the only one who witnessed this version of leehan -- the person he was around you. the serious and quiet mannerisms he had kept up like a wall fell quickly around you. hearing his name made you think of late nights at the uni library, cold ice cream after a difficult exam, and loud laughter at his stupid jokes.

"what does a mermaid wear on her boobs?" leehan's question pierced the calm silence of your study session. looking up from your laptop, you quirked a brow.

"huh?" you were slightly in a daze, the quick shifting of your attention and the warm air of the courtyard jumbling your thoughts together.

"an algebra!" the boy in front of you barely spat the answer out before bursting into giggles, his honey voice bringing you back to earth. you sighed in fake frustration, making him laugh even harder. he dropped his pencil and notebook to hold his stomach as his laughing fit continued.

in that moment, surrounded by the soft grass of the courtyard and hair blowing in the slow breeze, leehan was a sight to behold. your breathing faltered, lungs utterly failing you as you watched his eyes crinkle adorably and as your ears filled with the sound of his pretty laugh. you felt your heart beating in your ears, bringing a hand to cup your cheek.

it was warm, and you'd be stupid to think the sun was the only reason for it.

…

you tapped the excess powder off your makeup brush delicately, finishing the final touch ups on your makeup for the night. you were sitting in your roommate, belle's, room with ningning and giselle. the four of you were getting ready for a party, like any other friday night.

"here." you clicked the tin of your blush closed as you turned towards giselle, who handed you a shot glass with clear liquid. you grimaced slightly at the sight, looking past giselle's outstretched arm to see your 2 other friends with matching shot glasses and similar looks of disgust.

the four of you clinked your glasses together before throwing back the rancid liquid. your eyes screwed shut and you reached for the nearest beverage to chase the shot.

opening your eyes, you made eye contact with ningning, giggling as she smiled at you.

moving over to stand at belle's desk, you poured another round of shots for your friends, opening your phone to play some music in the background.

2 rounds later, you were satisfied with the level of buzz you felt, sitting next to belle on her bed and leaning a head on her shoulder.

"tired already?" she laughed at you, poking your thigh teasingly. you shook your head.

"can't sleep now, y/n, or you'll miss seeing your boyfriend." ningning's voice was singsongy as she teased you. you pulled your head off of your friend's shoulder to flip ningning off.

"he is not my boyfriend." you protested, cheeks burning at the mention of the long haired boy.

"seriously, y/n, we all see how you guys are together." giselle spoke lazily as she straightened her hair, throwing a sarcastic look at you.

"yeah, it's like you guys are in your own little bubble. it's disgusting actually." belle agreed. before you could land a soft punch on her shoulder, her phone screen lit up with a message.

it was a message from taesan. you couldn't make out the full text, only catching a glimpse of his contact picture.

"speaking of the devil, he and the boys are about to head over there. we should get going." the timing worked out perfectly as giselle had just finished doing her hair and ningning had finally picked out her outfit.

you checked yourself in the mirror one last time, doing a quick once over of your outfit. the denim shorts and white halter top complimented you well, and you smiled triumphantly as you tucked some of your hair behind your ear.

you wondered if leehan would like your outfit, stomach flipping at the idea of seeing him soon. he usually didn't enjoy these types of functions, but the boys convinced him to come for once.

"y/n! hurry your ass up!" giselle's voice snapped you out of your daze, and you ran out the door to catch up to your friends.

…

music pulsed through your veins as you pushed open the door. the party was louder than you expected, and you could barely hear belle yelling at you over the music.

"let's go to the kitchen!" her voice was almost drowned out by the music, and she grabbed you hand to pull you in the right direction.

you friends found a bit of solace in the kitchen, as well as the drinks.

"let's take a round of shots." ningning smiled deviously, pouring out four shots of some clear liquid from a bottle you didn't recognize. somehow you had a feeling tonight was going to be more eventful than usual.

a couple rounds later, you and the girls were sufficiently drunk, finally deciding to look for the rest of your friends. before you could turn and enter the crowd of bodies, you felt someone grab your shoulder and pull you in for a hug.

looking up, you were met with taesan's smiling face, making you laugh and hug him back.

"we thought you guys died!" he yelled drunkenly, moving past you to say hello to the rest of the girls. behind him, you saw shinyu and myungjae's flushed faces. the boys clearly pregamed more than you guys did.

as taesan pulled belle and ningning out into the living room to dance and the rest of your friends filed out behind them, you were left in the kitchen with none other than leehan. he was still standing near the kitchen's entrance.

you walked over to him, almost tripping over your foot in the process.

"hi." you giggled. the long haired boy's eyes widened with concern at your unstable steps, hand reaching out to grab your shoulder.

"how drunk are you?" he asked with a small smile on his face. he thought you looked so cute like this, cheeks slightly pink and eyes crinkled. you shrugged teasingly.

"dunno. did you drink?" he seemed a bit more composed than the other boys.

"yeah, i'm just tipsy though." you nodded in acknowledgement before breaking out into another dazed smile.

despite the intoxication running through your system, the two of you fell into conversation just as easily as usual. your head felt foggy as leehan rambled about his day and how he and the guys had gotten to the party. the boy could read you like a book, noticing the way your eyes looked at him but felt far away.

"what're you thinking about?" he asked curiously. you snapped out of your chaotic thoughts. not uttering a word, you brought your index finger up and lightly pressed the skin underneath the boy's right eye. leehan's eyes widened at your boldness, not knowing what you were going to do next.

"your glasses …" you mumbled. you traced your finger under the boy's eye and across the bridge of his nose, where his thick frames usually sat. it was the first thing you'd noticed when you finally approached him.

"do you miss them?" he asked with a small smile on his face, amused at the way you were so perplexed by the lack of the accessory. you shook your head fervently, confusing him.

"no, i like this." you stated, tapping the bridge of his nose. "i get to see more of you."

leehan felt his ears burning at the sweetness of the words melting off your tongue. you giggled again, he didn't know why.

before you could drop your hand back to your side, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist delicately, eliciting a small gasp from you. breathing slowly, he moved your hand so it cupped his jaw, laying his larger hand over yours.

he slid your fingers down his neck, laying the pads of them over his pulse point. you bit your lip slowly, mind still spinning. you weren't sure if you were imagining it but you swore you could feel his pulse thrumming unimaginely quick under your touch. the mere thought made butterflies erupt in your stomach, and suddenly the kitchen was too warm and too stuffy.

"can we get out of here?" leehan smiled at your timid question, intertwining his hand with yours and letting them both drop and hang in the small space between the two fo you.

craning his neck to the side, he looked to make sure your friends were okay, sighing in relief at the sight of them all dancing together in the living room. turning back to you, he grinned.

"let's go."

…

leehan’s face is flushed red, and he’s happy it isn’t from the alcohol.

it’s you sitting on his lap so delicately that's making his skin feel like it's burning and his lungs feel like he’s underwater.

your fingers comb into his fluffy hair, ruffling it gently as your lips suck on the soft skin of his neck.

you don’t know how long you’ve been here, kissing leehan all over like you’ll never be able to lay a finger on his pearly skin ever again.

the two of you stumbled into your apartment. you barely even made sure the door was locked before pushing leehan onto your living room couch. as you sat yourself down on his lap, you mentally cursed your friends for how well they knew you — your thoughts when it came to the quiet boy were all but innocent.

his hands landed on your hips easily, tilting his face up so you could capture his lips with yours.

in a drunken stupor you almost missed his lips, but the two of you settled into a rhythm easily, like you'd been doing this forever. leehan's long fingers caressed the exposed skin of your side, brushing up and down until your skin filled with goosebumps.

your arms wrapped around his neck as his tongue brushed your bottom lip, coaxing your lips open. you swore you saw stars as he pushed his tongue into your mouth, the wet muscle brushing the inside of your cheek.

the lewd noises you two were making only egged you on further, and when leehan pulled away to catch his breath you tilted your face and attached your lips to the curve where his neck met his shoulders.

the feeling of your plush lips and warm tongue against his throat pulled a loud moan out of him, and his hands instinctively pressed into your shoulder blades, pulling you into him more and more.

pulling the neck of his shirt down slightly, you moved to his collarbone, biting it softly before stroking it with your tongue. the boy threw his head back, pressing further into the couch as his heart pumped impossibly fast.

while adjusting yourself in his lap to get a better angle, you felt something hard poking your thigh. smiling against his neck, you unclasped your hands that wrapped around his neck and let them drift down. your fingers danced across his chest and abdomen, landing at the waistband of his pants. you captured his lips in another searing kiss as you unbuttoned them clumsily.

before you could get to the last button, leehan pulled his mouth away from yours, large hands landing on top of yours on his crotch.

"are you sure about this? you're still kinda drunk." leehan asked breathlessly. he wanted you, that was without question, but the last thing he wanted to do was ruin your friendship because of some drunken impulsivity.

the corners of your lips curved upward as you looked at the boy catching his breath beneath you. you slipped off on his lap to sit on the floor, hands pushing his knees apart.

"leehan, i've wanted you for so long now. let me make you feel good." you cooed at him, and he moved his hands to help you slip his pants and boxers to his ankles.

his dick sprung out, tip red and leaking, and you spit into your hand lightly before wrapping your hand around the top half. leehan groaned as you ran your thumb over the tip, spreading his slick before giving him a few experimental strokes.

the boy was already shaking, sensitive and aching for your touch. after a few more pumps, you licked your lips and grabbed his hand with your free one, guiding his hand to your neck so he could hold your hair for you.

he complied in a daze, combing his fingers through your hair and holding it back, caressing your neck with his other hand.

you smiled up at him before leaning forward to kiss his swollen tip. something in your stomach burned when you heard him hiss, his grip on your hair tightening slightly.

you delicately wrapped your lips around him, brushing the tip with your tongue once before sinking your mouth further down on him.

a moan ripped through the boy as he felt the warm expanse of your throat. you took as much as you could, wrapping your hand around the last few inches. swallowing harshly, leehan used all of the strength he had to not thrust into your mouth.

you moved languidly on his dick, swallowing more and more. your other hand rested on his hip bone, and the boy removed the hand resting idly on your neck so he could hold your empty hand.

the feeling of your mouth full made you moan, the sound sending vibrations through leehan’s body. he tensed and writhed under you, eyes screwed shut. the sight of him unraveling underneath you only spurred you on even further.

you moved up and down on his length at a quicker pace, his tip hitting the back of your throat in a way that made your name spill from his mouth over and over.

he guided your head slightly so he could keep kissing that spot with his dick, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head.

when you swallowed around him he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from screaming your name.

you could tell he was close by the way he squeezed your hand and the way his abdomen was tensing sporadically.

"where-" the boy stuttered, almost unable to think straight.

"can i cum in your mouth?" he managed to spit out between moans. you tried your best to nod, squeezing his hand.

as his climax approached, leehan’s whole body writhed and you pressed your hand down on his hips. breathing in deeply through your nose, you sank down and took almost all of him, his tip hitting the back of your throat roughly. that was enough to send him over the edge, and his whole body stilled as his vision went white.

his cum spilled into your throat and you gagged slightly before swallowing it all. dragging your tongue on his length, you removed your mouth from him with a pop.

you looked up at leehan as he caught his breath. giggling at his dazed state, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“that was amazing” he breathed out, pulling you back onto his lap.

his hand cupped your neck as he pulled you in for a soft kiss, before pulling away and tucking some of your hair behind your ear. you smiled as you let him smooth down your ruffled hair and wipe the tears that had gathered in the corner of your eyes.

“gonna go get some water.” you lifted yourself from his lap slowly, stretching out your legs slightly before padding over to the kitchen.

you returned with a glass of water and a pair of oversized sweatpants from your room.

“do you wanna change? i think these might fit.” you asked, thrusting the pants forward in his direction. he stood up slowly, smiling at your gratefully as he nodded, grabbing the sweats and walking to your bathroom.

when he came back out, you were sitting on the couch mid-yawn, having changed into an oversized tshirt and some pj shorts.

turning to meet his eyes, you smiled and stood up. grabbing his hand, you led him to your room, slipping underneath the covers and holding them up so he could join you.

“wanna watch a movie?” your voice pierced the silence, and leehan chuckled. you were adorable. from how droopy your eyes were, he knew you wouldn't be awake for much longer, but he reached over to your nightstand and grabbed your laptop anyways.

after picking a movie, you placed the laptop on leehan's lap, snuggling against his shoulder. he wrapped and arm around you, pulling you into his side and resting his head on top of yours. you tangled your legs with his, sighing in contentment. leehan smiled down at you.

he was right -- within 5 minutes you were asleep, having shifted to lay down fully instead of leaning against your headboard. leehan smiled fondly at your sleeping form. he felt so lucky that you felt the same way about him as he did you.

setting your laptop away and plugging in your phone to charge, the boy shifted so he was laying down next to you, throwing an arm over you. you stirred slightly in your sleep, arms reaching out to hug him and cuddle into his chest.

…

you woke up before leehan, rubbing your bleary eyes. you were still sleeping against his chest, tilting your head up slightly to look at his sleeping face. he looked ethereal, hair mused slightly. as you reached a hand up to smooth down the messy strands, his eyes opened, a smile forming as he made eye contact with you.

"morning." his raspy morning voice made your cheeks burn. him leaning his head down to place a wet kiss to the side of your head didn't help either, and you were sure your ears were cherry red.

"i have an idea." the boy mumbled, and you tilted your head in curiosity. yawning, he tightened his hold on you, nuzzling his cheek against your hair.

"you should let me take you on a date today." you couldn't stop the grin from forming on your face, giggling. you nodded into his chest, pressing yourself further into him and breathing him in.

his fingers suddenly jabbed into your side, making you shriek. you laughed, pushing the boy away from you.

"i wanna hear you say it!" he said teasingly. you were trying and failing at swatting his hands away, eyes crinkling as you smiled.

"yes! yes! i'll go on a date with you." you exclaimed between giggles, sighing in relief as the boy finally stopped tickling you. he grinned, folding you back into his arms and tucking your head under his chin.

"let's sleep a little longer first."

…

while the two of you were still asleep, your friends sat in the dining hall, grabbing lunch.

"look what i have." belle spoke giddily, grabbing the attention of taesan, myungjae, shinyu, giselle, and ningning.

turning her phone around, she showed them a picture of you and leehan asleep in your bed. it was in the early morning, and you were cuddled into his chest.

"that's where he went!"

"i KNEW they were into each other."

"shinyu! you owe me $15 dollars."

it was safe to say the two of you received a plethora of text messages when you finally woke up.

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