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I think a nuclear bomb is gonna go off the first time they meet

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His Lineage | Mark Scout/Helena Eagan

Read on Ao3 wc: 1.9k rating: E (MDNI 18+) tags: (Public) Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Self-Degradation, Objectification, Hyperspermia an: I'm sorry if this is too horny. This is probably my favorite thing I've written so far, which says all you need to know about me. Also, thank you, Lari, for giving this a once over and being so nice about it. And thank you, @ed3lsgard, for the inspiration.

Summary: Mark is so turned on by his interaction with Helena, he's forced to masturbate in his car. It's much more involved than it sounds.

He’s not sure why he throws an extra twenty on the table, as if that’ll impress her – Helena Eagan – the woman whose shoes cost more than a month of his subsidized rent. 

It wouldn’t matter anyway, with the way he practically bulldozes past her thin, delicate frame. He’s in such a hurry to reach the exit that he accidentally shoulder-checks her on the way out. He doesn't even look back to apologize, or to thank the hostess, who gives him a small, concerned wave as he barrels through the fucking door.

He won't look back. 

He can’t, not when he’s barely holding it together.

It was all too much.

The dimly lit restaurant – red, casting soft shadows over her face. It made everything feel much too real. Her grin, the teasing digs, the flush crawling up his neck the second she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

And his cock, stiffening disobediently under the table.

You want to take me home to dad already?

What the hell was he thinking? Did the hole in his head go straight through his prefrontal cortex? 

The words echo like a misfired bullet, ricocheting around in the empty space where his brain is supposed to be. He’d been so deep in the conversation, in their private little booth, away from prying eyes and ears. It just slipped out. A leak in the hull, like his body gave up fighting his better judgement and let something much more primal speak for him.

And then she went and agreed with him.

You’d be the first.

That’s when he knew he was done for – when the heat started blooming in his stomach. Sick, molten, and unmistakably sexual, sinking heavy like lead down into his rapidly swelling cock.

Now, he’s sprinting to his car like some sort of fucking pervert.

Thankfully, he’s parked at the back of the lot, far from the LED poles and their buzzing white halos. At this distance, the edges of the pavement blur into dark shadows. There’s no foot traffic, and no cameras, from what he can see. No witnesses.

Mark’s hands are shaking as he fumbles for his keys – whether it’s from the biting chill of the night air or the adrenalin, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. His breathing is short and uneven, fogging in front of him in small puffs, and as soon as the car unlocks, he’s clamoring inside, urgently pulling at his belt. 

The door shuts behind him with a heavy, isolating thud.

He doesn’t bother actually turning the engine on, doesn’t touch the radio. There’s nothing to drown out the incriminating sound of his metal belt clinking open, or the high pitched squeak of the ripped faux leather as it shifts under his weight.

This has to be quick. Efficient. The windows are already starting to fog.

He doesn’t waste any time shoving his boxers down – just pulls his full, aching cock out of the fly, hissing when the icy air hits the newly exposed skin. It’s already leaking at the tip – it has been since she introduced herself, like he’s 13 again. A horny teenager on his first date. He’s so hard his balls throb with it, just from sitting across from her.

Mark’s imagination runs away with that. 

In his mind’s eye, she slips into his side of the booth, crawls onto his lap without any hesitation. Her navy peacoat would be enough to shield the two of them as she lifts her skirt and slides her panties to the side.

Would she be wearing cotton? Or lace, just for him? 

A thong, he decides, barely there. A thin strip of black. More of a shoelace than a barrier.

She’d be warm. Already wet, he thinks. Slick and swollen from wanting him, like she knew he’d be there, waiting for her.

She’d straddle him there, right in front of everyone. Tell him not to make a sound as she sinks down and envelops him in liquid heat.

Mark starts palming at his cock – grips it just a bit tighter when he reaches the flushed head. A quiet groan slips from him as he flicks his wrist, then rubs his closed fist back down the length. Repeat, until a clear trail of precome begins dripping down in a thin line, all the way to the hilt.

She’d take him in one stroke, then ride him slowly. So, so slow , to get used to the stretch, and also to appreciate how he’d fill her completely. She’d wrap around him so perfectly, like her pussy was made just for him. Tight, so fucking tight. Like a vice. Up and down, swallowing every inch.

And then, she’d whisper hot filth into his ear. Tell him that everything in his life had led him to this, that all the bullshit was worth it. Maybe he was bred for this. That they were made for each other, that his dick was molded by Kier for her pleasure, or some other fucked up shit someone like her would say.

She starts riding him hard, like she’s trying to split herself open. Her thighs slapping against his, loud. Shameless. She’s sucking bruises into his neck, his jaw, painting him purple and colonizing every inch of skin she can reach.

She wouldn’t kiss him, though. Not him. Not Helena Eagan. 

No, she’d just use him. Grind herself down onto him like he’s nothing more than a warm body – a tool, a thing to keep her satisfied. And he’d let her, gladly. She can take whatever she wants from him. She can have his stupid, worthless existence. Maybe finally give his life some sort of purpose after all these years of aimlessness.

Mark’s pace quickens, until he’s thoroughly fucking himself – eyes squeezed shut, thighs shaking, and moaning openly, now. Voice, broken and raw with want.

People would start to stare, he imagines, deliriously.

A waiter, or the table next to them. Someone would gasp when they heard it – the sound of her cunt, soaked and swallowing him in, again and again. Lewd and obscene. The wet, sucking rhythm echoing over the clatter of forks and wine glasses, drowning out the cloud of chatter and shitty diner music.

But she wouldn’t stop.

Helena, his perfect girl, she’d just stare right back – lock eyes with some horrified stranger across the room and keep moving. Dig her nails in and ride him even harder, like she’s trying to fuck all the air out of his lungs. Her hair would fall forward like a red velvet curtain, obscuring their view of him, like he’s not even there. Like he's just a seat. A shape. A warm place to put her cunt.

Mark’s hand is practically blurring over his dick, now. The rhythm turns mindless – tight strokes, hips canting up to meet his shaking fist. His head knocks gently against the headrest with every thrust, and the car rocks subtly beneath him.

If she wanted to, she could fuck him until he cried. Until he was so wrapped up in the feel of her, he'd be begging her to let him come – to fill her. To give her everything he has, every single drop.

But she wouldn't let him. At least not until she’s had her fill – until she's come; once at minimum, maybe twice, or three times, if she wanted. 

Whatever she wanted, she would have it. He'd stay – sit there for several hours, if that's what it would take to please her. This perfect, unknowable woman.

She could order dinner in between, pick at a plate while he sat there painfully hard inside her, waiting for her to take pity and start fucking him again.

And what could anybody say to Helena Eagan, the woman who owns this town? 

Absolutely nothing. They’d be honored just to be in her orbit. 

Because it's all about her. Her entire life. It always has been. Now he understands why.

Mark jerks himself harder, frantic and sloppy, chasing the orgasm that’s been building low in his gut for what feels like forever. 

It’s right there. He can feel it right at the base of his sack, where his balls draw up tight. They sit tacky and heavy in his other hand, and he gives them a gentle, desperate tug. Just enough to push him over.

The pressure breaks.

He gasps, buckles forward and comes. Messy, fast, and brutal.

It slams into him like a freight train, then licks through every inch of his body like fire, scorching nerve endings, flooding his arching spine with heat and static. 

He pumps his fist, milks himself until white-hot ropes stripe messily over his knuckles, wrist and chest. 

Nothing is spared. 

Come hits the dashboard with a wet sound, a thick white webbing all over the steering wheel. One string glues itself to the side of his gear shift, and even then, it doesn’t stop. He keeps going, even as it turns painful. Pumps his fist through it, past it – milks himself dry, like he’s trying to exorcise all of the want out of his body. 

But it still isn’t enough.

Not even close.

Mark slumps in his seat, chest heaving, heart pounding like it’s trying to break out of his ribcage. His hand twitches around his softening, exhausted cock, tacky and wet with the last few pitiful spurts.

The come on his wrist cools rapidly in the stale air, and in his newfound lucidity, he recognizes just how ripe the car smells of sex – sharp and musty, like he's ruined it all the way down to the metal frame.

He won’t look at himself in the rearview, can’t bring himself to confirm what he already knows – that he looks wrecked, totally fucked out, and utterly pathetic.

There’s a fast food napkin in his glove box, but it’s old and used and just manages to smear everything. He mutters a breathless “Fuck,” and tosses it blindly into the backseat. 

His thighs are shaking violently. His stomach is starting to cramp. 

He should go home. Clean up. Shower, scrub this entire weird-as-fuck experience off of his skin and pretend like none of it ever happened.

But even now, as the humiliation and shame settle in, after emptying himself so violently he was afraid he might pass out, he feels it.

A slow, aching swell, making a home low and deep in his gut. Then, lower, pulsing between his legs like a sick joke.

His exhausted cock twitches feebly in his lap, sticky and spent. He watches as it struggles to come back to life.

He wants to crawl out of his own skin. Out of this car that smells like his spend. Out of this body that keeps betraying him.

Mark braces a hand against the doorframe, squeezing his eyes shut.

You’d be the first.

Helena Eagan.

Just a few short words, a ten-minute conversation, and she has no idea how badly she’s ruined him. He can still see her there, sitting in front of him with her endless green eyes, daring him to fuck her right, to give himself to him totally and completely. His mind supplements with images of her slit rubbing up and down his length, her pussy swallowing him up and squeezing him. 

It’s starting again. His cock thickens in his hand. Aching, like he hadn’t even come at all.

He breathes through the humiliation, the disgust. But it doesn’t fade. It sharpens.

Hardens.

Mark sinks lower in his seat, wraps his fist around his cock, and starts to jerk himself off again.

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i am also on twitter btw!

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Office Hours | Mark Scout/Helena Eagan

Read on Ao3

wc: 4.9k

rating: E (MDNI 18+)

tags: Professor!Mark Scout, College Student!Helena (Helly) Eagan, dom!Mark, bratty!Helly, Mark is fully clothed/Helena is not, fraternization, age gap, hate sex, fingering, oral sex (f!recieving), unprotected sex, pnv sex, multiple orgasms

warnings: rough sex, masochism, choking, infidelity, mentions of Gemma's miscarriage

an: This fic was originally intended to be a standalone, so it probably reads that way, but I went through several iterations of this and ended up cutting like 2.8K words out of it, total. So, depending on feedback, I may turn this into a mini-series. Please mind the tags!

Summary: “All administrators, faculty, and staff are prohibited from unethical or inappropriate fraternization with students, including, but not limited to, dating, pursuing a date, having or pursuing a romantic or sexual relationship with students.”

It’s literally in the handbook - written, signed, and stamped.

Fraternization. 

Rules like that were obviously implemented to keep out scumbag professors – the pathetic, balding types who got off on ruining wide-eyed, naive freshman. And, depending on the severity, there were grounds for immediate termination.

Mark had never needed a reminder. The idea always disgusted him. Fifteen-plus years of teaching, and he had never once come anywhere close to crossing that line.

That was, until Helly Eagan, trust fund baby, walked through his office door.

She knew exactly what she was doing when she asked him to stay late tonight. There was no way someone with perfect grades like hers didn’t know his office hours. He may be old, but he isn’t an idiot. 

He isn’t blind, either. There was no subtlety when she would sit on the TA’s desk – legs crossed and thighs bare, or the way she’d bite her pen with a smile anytime he answered one of her questions.

Pants turned shorts, then into skirts that got shorter with each passing week.

Guilt doesn’t even begin to describe the rotting feeling that sat in his stomach the first time he’d jerked off to the thought of her. Helly had started wearing a new red lipstick that week, probably some overpriced brand he could never afford. He practically sprinted to the shower the minute he got home, fucked his fist to the thought of her on her knees, mouth stretched, that lipstick smeared in a perfect red ring around the base of his cock.

He hated himself for it.

Hated that it had quickly become his daily routine.

Go to work. Watch Helly prance around in a tiny napkin she called a skirt. Barely survive her endless barrage of flirtations. Pretend it didn't affect him. Go home. Shower and choke his dick while his loving, faithful wife sat downstairs.

But, in fairness, his defenses were down It had been forever since he and Gemma had sex. Not since early last spring, back when they were still trying. When there was some semblance of hope.

Conceiving a baby had been harder than they anticipated. Months of joyless, mechanical fucking – ritualistic, timed, supervised by apps and thermometers and calendars. Every negative test became an argument, and every argument bled into the next cycle. 

The pressure became unbearable.

Then, there was the miscarriage.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just a slow, sinking grief. The hairline fractures between them turned into breaks.

They changed the sheets. Bought new pillows. Rearranged the furniture, but it was too late. The bedroom had become a crime scene.

A year of therapy didn’t even make a dent.

They haven’t touched each other since.

So, calling him touch-starved wouldn’t even begin to cover it. His defense were down. Sue him.

Everything came to a head the night Helly showed up to his office, late and braless. Mark could feel his entire career, his marriage, his entire fucking life, slipping through his fingers the second she turned off the light and locked the door behind her.

She made her way into his lap and the rest happened before his mind could catch up with his dick.

He doesn’t remember letting her in, or knocking the papers and textbooks off his desk. All he could think about is the spice of her cinnamon perfume, the way her lips parted as he shoved a rough hand up her thin, white blouse and grabbed a fistful of her perfect tits. 

She kisses him like she owns him, like she’s doing him a favor – mouth open, biting and sucking, claiming. Lips soft and warm, smearing red across his collar, painting his neck, the edge of his jaw. Her hands are everywhere – grabbing at his hair, his shoulders, clawing at his blazer. 

This goes on for several seconds while he’s simply trying to catch up, trying to hold on to some shred of control. He can tell she’s getting frustrated – impatiently tearing open the buttons of his shirt, mouth tilting, coaxing, encouraging him to kiss her deeper.

But she’s like water, a raging current, rushing over his shoes and pulling his feet out from under him. Like if he breathes too deeply, she’s going to fill up all the empty space in his lungs and drown him. 

Mark’s brain starts to lag behind the heat of it. It’s impossible to meet her pace. He just lets her take from him, because that’s all he can bring himself to do. When she finally pulls back just enough to assess him, her breaths come out in soft, uneven puffs. 

She looks like a fucking dream – lips swollen from the attention, a flushed, pink glow to her skin. 

Mark can only imagine what he looks like. 

Probably old.

She huffs. “Is that really all you’ve got?”

It hits like a punch – clean, right between the ribs.

“Seriously, you kiss like someone who stretches before bed.”

He blinks at her. The room suddenly narrows. Blood rushes behind his eyes, loud and hot and dizzying.

There’s that fucking grin on her face. The one she wears when she knows she’s flustered him. Spoiled. Smug, much too proud of herself.

It all comes rushing back to him. 

Every pop of gum, every not-so-accidental graze of his shoulder, every time her tongue peeked out to wet her lips while he was mid-lecture, like she didn’t know exactly what she was doing – all those little provocations stacked liked kindling, one on top of the next.

The pleasure she took in driving him towards the brink of insanity, week after week. 

And now that she’s in his arms, now that he’s finally giving her what she wanted, that’s the shit that comes out of her mouth?

All the shame that’s been accumulating, the hot ball of corrosive guilt curled in the pit of his stomach, melts into something darker, meaner – something he’s never felt quite so strongly in his entire life. 

Rage. 

A thread snaps.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he growls, forcefully grabbing and throwing her onto her stomach. Helly lands on the desk with a loud smack, palms splayed out flat on the wood. “Stay like that.”

He feels slightly out of his depth as he kneads himself through his slacks. This girl could have anyone she wants. He’s seen the way the boys in his class look at her – how they undress her with their eyes, do god knows what else to her in their heads. She should be fucking a quarterback, not offering herself up to a man old enough to be her father.

But here she is, with him. He might as well make the most of it.

Helly rests on her folded arms, looking back at him, expectantly. Waiting.

The room is dark, but moonlight seeps in from behind the closed, translucent blinds. Angled shadows break up the silver streams of light on her back, and Mark can just barely make out the smirk on her face – a look that tells him to be careful, that she knows something he doesn’t.

He ignores it, yanks up her skirt, and immediately stops cold.

No panties. Just bare thighs and bright red curls.

Mark’s brain short-circuits. A massive lump catches in his throat. 

Fuck.

“What’s wrong, professor?” she purrs.

Her voice cuts through him – sharp, taunting, snapping him back into his body. 

His arm moves before he can think. 

The sharp crack of his hand against her ass rings throughout the room, making her stiffen and yelp.

His hand stings, little pinpricks spreading from wrist to fingertips. Her skin reddens angrily beneath his palm. Good.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Agh – fuck , man, easy –”

He smacks the same cheek again, even harder this time. His fingers digs into her flesh, leaving behind small crescents in their wake. Helly whimpers in response. 

“I mean it. Shut your fucking mouth.”

She stills, forehead pressed to the desk and beautifully silent. 

It feels good, watching her finally behave. No talking, no taunting. Just there. Some part of him knew she’d be capable of it, despite being a fucking nuisance for months.

Mark slides his thumb between her folds and, fuck , finds that she’s completely soaked. His fingers drag through her slit like honey, spreading the wetness around and watching her thighs twitch in response.

When he’s sure she isn’t watching, he slips the digit into his mouth. Licks it clean.

She tastes incredible – warm and sweet on the back of his tongue. Because he can’t help himself, he does it again, this time dipping two fingers into her entrance and watching her chase the contact. A clear string of slick clings to his knuckles when he pulls them away. Mark watches, enraptured, as it catches the light, thins out, and snaps as he brings it to his mouth. 

It’s fucking addictive.

A strained groan slips from his throat as he drops to his knees, chasing her flavor straight from the source. He spreads her open with both hands and starts devouring her, tongue lapping at her cunt like he’s starving.

He can’t remember the last time he did something like this, or the last time he was this hard. There’s a wet patch forming at the front of his slacks as he pushes his tongue past her entrance and explores every inch he can reach. 

Helly’s thighs start to tremble beside his face, threatening to close and obstruct his work, so he grabs them and forces her open – sucks and licks and drinks her in, taking full advantage of the new angle. 

“Oh fuck, Mark ,” she whines, voice muffled by her sleeves. 

She’s making an absolute mess all over his chin, her slick collecting on the patchy, week-old stubble he’d been too depressed to shave. It’s starting to drip down onto his red checkered tie, a –  a gift Gemma had gotten him for his birthday – the only piece of clothing he owns that costs more than fifty bucks, but she’s ruining everything else, so why stop there?

Helly reaches back and grabs a fist full of his hair, and the sting rips an embarrassingly loud groan from his throat. She’s clenching now, hips rocking back into his face as if he could take any more of her into his mouth. He fucking wishes he could. He wishes he could swallow her whole. 

He pulls back just enough to suck at her clit, letting his middle and ring finger explore her, and Helly lets go of him to brace against the edge of his desk. 

“I definitely prefer you like this,” he says, releasing her clit with a condescending pop. “This might be the longest you’ve gone without talking the entire semester.”

As much as he selfishly wishes he could plow into her and watch her come apart on his dick, he also sees this as a learning opportunity for her. A lesson in patience.

“ Please ,” she whines, voice soft and strained.

“What’s that?”

“Please, just fuck me.”

“Um,” Mark laughs, kneading the meat of her ass with his free hand, “No.” 

He’s not sure what she expected. You can’t just waltz into someone's life and fire bomb it without at least a little bit of pushback. Though, given her family’s esteem, he can’t imagine she’s been told no many times in her, what, maybe 20 years on earth? Twenty-two at most? She’s the type of girl who spends her summers sipping wine in Europe, calling it ‘recharging.’ No probably isn’t even in her vocabulary.

He licks his chin, watching his digits disappear into her dripping hole. She’s clenching around them, sucking them in as he keeps a steady, unforgiving rhythm. In, then out, in then out. They’re glistening, making obscene sounds with each drag. He keeps her like that for several minutes, taking just his fingers. As restless as she is, she still manages to listen, only just barely pushing back to meet his knuckles.

“Please , Mark, I can’t come like this.” 

The panicked hitch in her breath is like music to his ears, sweet and desperate. If he were cruel, he’d keep her strapped to this desk like this for hours, bring her close to the edge over and over until she was sobbing and begging for it. It’s the least she deserves.

Mark isn’t cruel, though. Not really. She’s been quietly writhing around long enough to appease him, proven she can at least try to behave.

“Turn around, then. Knees on your chest.”

Helly scrambles to obey him, quickly positioning herself exactly as she was told. She looks even better like this, flushed, pink pussy on display for him. Her bright auburn hair spread out like a molten halo. A thin sheen of sweat catches her ridiculous baby bangs – some new age fashion shit, probably – another nagging reminder of how young she is, how fucked he is.

“Open your shirt,” he says, and he tries not to give her the satisfaction of groaning as he stands. The olefin carpet has been biting at his knees – another unwelcome reminder of his age. 

She wouldn’t have that problem. Honestly, she should be the one down there, making up for all the attitude.

Maybe next time.

Her fingers make quick work of her top, and her pink little nipples stiffen when the chill of the air hits them.

“Can I talk now?”

“No.” 

When he pushes down his slacks and boxers, his cock springs out, flushed and aching. Helly shifts her weight onto her elbows to peek up at it, her head dipped to the side. 

Mark’s skin prickles under her questioning gaze, like his body instinctively knows she’s about to say something stupid.

“Is that it?” She asks, acting unimpressed, “That can’t be all of –”

Mark shoves her head down onto the desk, his large hand clamped firmly over her mouth. The sound her skull makes as it smacks against the wood is loud enough to give him pause, but then she goes and fucking moans into his palm.

They lock eyes as he lines himself up, staring daggers into each other. Her eyes are telling him to go fuck himself, but her body betrays her, drooling all over the head of his cock. He slides his length along her slit, coating it in wetness before just barely breaching her.

A condom doesn’t even cross his mind.

“I’m going to take my hand away now so I can fuck you,” he says, quiet but firm, “Unless you’re telling me to stop, I don’t want to hear another fucking word, got it?” 

Helly squints at him, like she’s weighing her options, then nods her head in agreement.

Mark grabs the back of both of her thighs and sinks into her all at once. He doesn’t give her any time to adjust to the stretch until he’s completely bottomed out, and she takes every inch of him perfectly – warm, wet, and tight – So fucking tight. Like she’s squeezing his soul right out of his dick. He can feel her down to his toes.

Helly’s hands fly to his shirt, nails clawing at his arms, desperately trying to anchor herself. 

All that talk, but he can tell she’s struggling – face twisted, brows pinched. There are tears forming in the corners of her eyes, but as much as he should feel bad for her, honestly, it serves her right.

There’s a tiny part of him that disagrees, though.

“You good?” he asks, panting.

This isn’t anything like having sex with his wife. He knows Gemma inside and out. The act is low stakes, familiar, which is what he assumed happens when you get older. It comes with the territory.

Helly, however, has him melting from the inside. Mark can’t remember the last time he fucked someone so soaked they were dripping down his balls, and Jesus Christ, she just keeps making more .

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” she nods.

Mark sighs deeply. “Okay.”

And then, he starts moving. 

It’s a bit slow at first. Just a few pumps, testing the give. Her body opens up for him in an instant, drawing him in, hot and inviting.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to survive this. He has to bite his tongue to keep from coming prematurely and embarrassing himself. All he can think about at this moment is how he fits so perfectly inside her, like her pussy was made just for him.

His head drops down, eyes closed, hips rolling into her. His movement is steady and controlled, just focusing on enjoying the feeling of her while trying desperately to make it last. “Fucking perfect.” he mutters, just a bit reverently. The compliment spills from his lips. He can’t help it. It’s true. Her body is fucking perfect.

Mark takes a few moments to savor it all. He doesn’t know how long, exactly. Minutes start bleeding together, like he’s under some sort of spell. All that matters is the slick sound of his dick sliding in and out, the way her walls flutter every time he hits that perfect spot inside her. She’s taking him so well, being so fucking good –

Or so he thinks, until a small sound pulls him from his pussydrunk stupor.

Giggling.

He blinks through the haze and finds her staring up at him, covering her mouth.

“Seriously?” She cackles, “Been a while, huh?”

He glares at her.

“Aren’t older guys supposed to be able to handle themselves?” 

Mark doesn’t reward her with a response.

Instead, he leans over, wraps both hands around the base of her neck for leverage, and starts brutally pounding into her. 

Save for any unlucky janitors, the building is empty this time of night, and he thanks God for that, because they are loud . With every hard thrust, the damp slap of his balls against her ass permeates throughout the room. She takes it like a champion, tits bouncing in the open air and moaning like a whore, gravelly and broken and beautiful – like she’s having all the fun in the world. Like she isn’t complicit in the worst thing he’s ever done.

He thinks to himself how much more pleasant she would be if she were always like this, split open and drooling on his cock every day, instead of making his life a living hell.

How he’d keep her spread out on the podium during his lectures, under the table while he goes over lesson plans, keeping her filled and gagged so he’d never have to hear another smartass remark come out of her mouth ever again.

He fucks Helly so hard, it threatens to break his desk. Old, wooden legs wobble and creak beneath her, and the force of his hips keeps pushing her body up until the back of her head is hanging off the edge. 

Mark draws one of her breasts into his mouth, biting and sucking bruises all over her chest, watching blood vessels break and bloom like flowers on the pale backdrop of her skin. He wants to hurt her, mark her up and send her away, teach her some sort of lesson, so he can believe some good came out of all of this – this stupid, terrible, selfish decision. 

“ Agh – I’m close, I’m so close, please .”

He knows, because he can feel it. The way her walls are closing in on him, how she’s started dribbling out onto the table, fucking him back into her with each desperate rock of her hips. He doesn’t care if it warps the wood, doesn’t care that his desk is antique.

Helly wraps her legs around the small of his back, spurring him on, sitting up and grinding down to meet him. It feels even better like this. The new angle has her reeling every time he hits that wall up by her belly button. 

It’s like she has him trapped in a cage, which is apt, because he feels a lot like an animal, rutting into her without any thought into how much of a mess they’re making, both literally and figuratively. Her grip on his dick keeps getting tighter and tighter. He’s stirring her up so good, she’s started creaming up the base of his cock. 

“Fuck, Mark –” she whines, scraping her sharp, painted nails down the back of his blazer. He wonders briefly what he looks like, reflected back in those tiny decorative gemstones at the tips. If he’ll find any of them on the floor of his office next Monday. If they’ll even allow him back in the building.

Dragging his hands up the sides of her body, he lets one wrap around her throat and uses the other to grip the hair at the back of her head, trapping her face in front of his. 

He wants to remember the expression she makes when comes. Something to look back on and pretend this was all worth it. When his wife kicks him out and he ends up penniless, selling his plasma so he can afford a gas station hot dog and a bottle of water, he wants to remember this moment.

“Look at me.”

She tries to obey him, but her eyes roll into the back of her head as he finally fucks that orgasm out of her. He tightens his grip on her neck as she comes apart around him, watches the blood rush to her face, the scream caught in her throat. He pounds her through it, relentlessly, hatefully – squeezes her until the whites of her eyes redden at the edges, until she starts to gurgle.

The pained sound jolts him, instant and sobering, like he had forgotten she needed to breathe. He releases her, tearing his hands away like she burned him. Her pussy still flutters as she gasps and coughs, sucking the air back into her lungs, grabbing onto his shoulders for purchase. 

A bit of panic bleeds into his nerves. 

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

She nods, breath raspy. A few loose tears stream down her face, mucking up her black mascara.

He’s never done this before; he has no idea what he’s doing.

For a second, he was afraid he was going to kill her. 

That should disgust him. Scare him. It should turn him off, at the very least. It should be enough to stop all of this, to realize how huge of a fucking mistake he’s making. He should send Helly away, crawl back home to Gemma on his hands and knees, quit his job, focus on their family.

But, he doesn’t. 

He stays exactly where he is.

Because when he digs deep, really deep, to find the curling knot of revulsion, the shame that had been haunting him for several, agonizing weeks, his search comes up empty.

Mark glances down to where they’re still connected, where his dick disappears into her mess of fiery red curls. A smatter of slick is starting to dry against his thigh. He’s still painfully hard, and his balls are starting to ache with the threat of release.

The need he feels doesn’t disappear. It coils tighter, wrapping around his neck like a noose.

The devastating truth is right in front of him – he fucking loves this.

And he has no idea how he’s supposed to go back. 

Helly’s been talking to him this whole time, but the words have been dissolving around him like static – until she waves a hand in front of his face, and the sudden motion pulls her voice back into focus.

“Mark, where'd you go?”

For once, she’s not performing. No smug grin, no barbed words. She looks at him with real, genuine concern. Head tilted, eyes green, washed out sea glass left too long in saltwater. Worn Down.

He looks back at her – really looks at her, and recognizes something familiar in her gaze.

An empty, crushing loneliness, reflected right back at him. The same kind that’s been gnawing holes into him for months.

He feels his heart shift, dislodge and fall right into her lap.

Of course she’s like this. Of course he fell for it. They’re exactly the fucking same.

Everything suddenly clicks into place, and for the second time tonight, he has no fucking clue what to do with her.

So, he kisses her. Not tender, not demanding, but desperate.

It feels different in a way that terrifies him, like he’s consuming her. Like the worst parts of him are reaching out and grabbing the worst parts of her, turning them over with his tongue, tasting each and every one.

His hips start moving on their own, slow and deliberate. And without any instruction, Helly brings her knees up to her shoulders, feet planted on the desk, spreading herself open wider for him – offering herself up like she can tell that’s what he needs, because it is.

This is everything he’s been starving for, everything he’s needed for the better part of the year – maybe even longer.

Not the therapy, or soul searching, not the baby that was supposed to fix everything.

Those sleepless nights beside a woman he couldn’t bring himself to touch, the ache that burned a hole in his chest and spread like rot throughout his soul.

All of it led him to this moment. Here, to Helly, wrapped tightly around his cock, milking the stress and anger out of him.

He could live inside her. Every twitch and tensing muscle, the way she grips him, like her body is holding on, trying to keep him enveloped in her heat. It grinds against something raw inside him, like a whetstone – sharpening his need. This new fixation, piercing him, twisting in his gut. 

Mark watches her come apart, piece by piece – the tension building in her chest, her thighs trembling in his hands. He threads one arm around her waist and guides her back to him with each thrust. The other hand finds her mouth, thumb tapping against her bottom lip, encouraging her to suck. She does, because this Helly, his Helly, is a wonderful listener. Perfect. The woman of his fucking dreams.

He uses that thumb to reward her – firm pressure on her clit, wet, focused circles that have her melting with a sigh. 

Their foreheads press together, breathing each other in. She quickly starts breaking apart around him, and he swallows every gasp. 

Her orgasm is so strong, it almost drags him down with her. He can barely take it – the way she clenches around him, tight and relentless, like she’s trying to ring him dry. It’s perfect and wrecked. Sloppy, soaking wet. 

Fire licks up his spine. His balls draw up, tight and aching, and for a second, he almost forgets himself.

The idea hits him – how incredibly satisfying it would be to fill her up and send her home, dripping down her thighs. He’d probably soak into the fine leather of her driver's seat, maybe seep into her socks, her Egyptian cotton sheets. Let her take a piece of him with her. Even the score.

But he doesn’t.

With immeasurable effort, he pulls out – just barely. His cock glistens, slick and flushed, cooling rapidly in the open air. After just a few desperate strokes, the orgasm tears through him, violent and endless.

His vision whites, and the groan that rips from his throat is pained – broken and involuntary. Rope after rope of thick, warm come paints the girl in front of him – ruining the navy skirt bunched at her waist, dampening her open blouse, and striping her hickey-bruised tits. He marks her completely, not a single inch unscathed, and comes back down close to tears.

“What the fuck,” he mutters, forehead cropping like dead weight on her shoulder. 

He milks himself once more, a final thick bead leaking onto his knuckles, and wipes it absentmindedly on his pants. His thighs ache, he’s barely able to catch his breath, and he can’t remember the last time he came that hard. Or if he ever really has.

She laughs softly, patting his back. “Not bad, old man.”

He rubs his brow against her shoulder, and a low chuckle slips out of him – small, exhausted. They stay like that for a few seconds, with him huffing above her, until he remembers himself and the come drying on her chest.

“Shit – sorry,” he mutters, grabbing a few stray papers off the floor. He gives them a once-over, sees that they’re blank, and rushes back to wipe her body down. 

They’re practically useless. Too thin, barely absorbent, but they blot the worst of it. 

He should start keeping paper towels in his office, if not for this, then –

No, not for this. God, not for this. This can’t happen again. This shouldn’t have happened at all.

Mark looks at the grandfather clock behind him, sees his reflection in the glass casing, and everything hits him at once. 

It’s late, even later than he normally allows himself to work on campus, His knees are totally shot, and his back isn’t faring much better. The elastic band of his boxers are completely soaked through. There’s red lipstick smeared all over the collar of his shirt.

How the fuck is he supposed to explain any of this?

Helly’s already put herself back together like some sort of professional. She looks relatively unfazed. Pristine. Nothing out of place except for a bit of white, crusted on the curve of her neck. 

Mark’s cock is still softening as she slips on her heels. The click of them, muffled by the carpet.

He doesn’t know what to say.

“Same time next week?” 

She’s joking, obviously, but there's the tiniest glimmer in her eyes – something hopeful, something naive.

He should say no.

He should report himself. Resign. Burn the building down. Join a fucking church.

He nods, instead.

She lets herself out. The door clicks shut behind her.

He hates that he already misses her.

[dogbinary]

i am also on twitter btw!

[dogbinary]

“how did you get into writing” girl nobody gets into writing. writing shows up one day at your door and gets into you

[dogbinary]

Might have to postpone Office Hours because I realized after editing that it was so long it kinda got hard to follow :((

[dogbinary]

And what if I wrote a fic about Mark owing Lumon an insane amount of money and Helena offering for Mark to work off said debt by being her personal slave. What if there were elements of Stockholm syndrome? What then? What would you do then?

[dogbinary]

I'm at Zufu, my favorite Chinese restaurant, enjoying my #3 combo meal with a side of white rice and an egg roll. Female Jeff Bezos walks in and sits in front of what looks to be a homeless guy shoveling rice into his mouth with his bare hands. The man is old enough to be her father. They talk for like 20 minutes. The insane sexual chemistry radiating off of them makes me so uncomfortable, I take my food to go.

[dogbinary]

i am also on twitter btw!

[dogbinary]

not sure how to express this in words but. mark getting constant reminders of his age gap with hellyna. oh she can reach that thing without her back hurting. she can skip multiple steps while going up the stairs. good posture. can run without immediately going out breath. he references something that she has no idea about bc he’s old. it makes him feel a bit of guilt but that’s overshadowed by how much that turns him on (it also makes him want her more). same applies to hellyna….. or i could just be saying nonsense because im sleep deprived and i should just kill myself

[dogbinary]

Office Hours | Mark Scout/Helena Eagan

Posting: Sunday, 4/6/25, 6PM (MT)

rating: E (MDNI 18+)

tags: Professor!Mark Scout, College Student!Helena (Helly) Eagan, dom!Mark, bratty!Helly, Mark is fully clothed/Helena is not, fraternization, age gap, hate sex, fingering, oral sex (f!recieving), unprotected sex, pnv sex, multiple orgasms

warnings: VERY rough sex, masochism, choking, slapping, infidelity, mentions of Gemma's miscarriage

Based on this post about Helena calling Mark old, so he starts fucking her harder.

Preview below:

She kisses him like she owns him, like he should be thankful for the attention. Aggressive and demanding. She starts with his neck, red smudges lining his collar and jaw, then works her way up to his mouth, recklessly biting and sucking. It's impossible for his brain to keep up.

“Come on, old man, is that all you’ve got?” she teases, sighing into his mouth, and something about that broke what little restraint he had left.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he growls, forcefully grabbing and throwing her onto her stomach, palms hitting the desk with a loud smack. “Stay like that.”

The room is dark, but moonlight seeps in from behind the closed, translucent blinds. Angled shadows break up silver streams of light, and with what little he has to go off of, Mark can see her shit-eating grin. 

Though, he feels a little out of his depth as he palms himself through his slacks. This girl could have anyone she wants. He’s seen the way the boys in his class look at her. She should be fucking a quarterback, not offering herself up to a man old enough to be her father.

She’s listening, at least, laying on her forearms with her ass in the air, tapping the wood with her manicured nails. It’s enough to work with.

[dogbinary]

*flashbang noise*

me: okay. ill write them hate fucking and call it around 700 words. a good warm up. a good character exercise.

me: *blacks out and wakes up 4,000 words later* bwuh

[dogbinary]

Whomst wants a little sneak peek at my markhelly professor/student au infidelity fic ☝️

[dogbinary]

me: okay. ill write them hate fucking and call it around 700 words. a good warm up. a good character exercise.

me: *blacks out and wakes up 4,000 words later* bwuh

[dogbinary]

I’m joking about the markhelena hate sex same as everyone else, but maybe I want tenderness. Maybe it starts as hatesex but quickly escalates into something soft. Maybe they just can’t keep the care their innies have for one another (and Helena has for iMark) at bay for long. Maybe there’s no room for anything else, it’s just love.