#Oh its The Prof Walk

[spockvarietyhour]

Rush and Jackson, "Human"

[skitskatdacat63]

It's so crazy keeping up with the world(news) these days, the amount of things that have happened in such a short period of time lately. As I drove to school this morning, they discussed the possibility of Iran firing missiles at Israel. As soon as I get in my car to drive home, Iran literally retaliated as soon as I turned the radio on. It's all moving so fast

[clonewarsahsoka]

i have emailed profs more times this semester than i have in possibly the rest of my academic career

[wwooyology]

After School Discipline | K.HJ

「pairing」 : hongjoong x fem!reader 「word count」 : 4.1k

「synopsis」 : you had failed the test that he worked so hard to help you 'study' for so of course you deserved the punishment that came along with it even if it felt like torture as you begged him to give you what you wanted, yet he never compiled, showing you who exactly has the reigns.

「genre」 : smut, prof!hongjoong, dad's bsf!hongjoong, age gap, university au(ish)

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, teasing, edging, orgasm denial, daddy kink, petnames (babygirl, baby, sweetheart...), rough sex, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), face fucking, derogatory names (slut, cockslut), gagging, choking, clit play, creampie, public sex, slight hair pulling, bondage, spanking, lmk if I missed anything!!

part two ➻ here

The sun was shining brightly through the windows in the halls of the university as you walked down the hall with your best friend, Kara, talking about each other’s days thus far. You told her how your dad finally got the day off and even made breakfast for you before you left for class, and she pouted, asking why you hadn’t invited her over.

“Please, we both know your ass was passed out,” You laughed, bumping your shoulder against her playfully, and she sent you a glare, “you literally wake up like ten minutes before you’re supposed to leave and still miraculously make it here on time. Seriously, you need to teach me your ways.”

“Har har,” Kara rolled her eyes as she pulled her phone from her pocket, checking the time just as you stopped in front of your classroom door, “Oh, do you think you passed Professor Kim’s exam?”

At the mention of the exam, you felt your blood run cold, your body freezing in its spot as you recalled your ‘study’ session with the professor. You were perched in his lap at your kitchen table, his cock buried deep in your pussy as he talked you through the questions. However, you couldn’t focus at all; the only thing your mind was on was his dick and how you wished he would just move. Eventually, he noticed that you weren’t paying attention at all and threatened to leave you high and dry if you didn’t study, whispering promises in your ear if you listened.

“Just answer a few questions for me, babygirl, and Daddy will give you exactly what you want.” His voice was smooth as he let his lips brush against the shell of your ear, making you squirm in his lap, but you listened nonetheless. Then just like he promised, after you answered the questions he gave you correctly, he bent you over the dining table and fucked you into oblivion.

“Earth to y/n.” Kara giggled as she watched your face turn a deep shade of red, already knowing exactly what you were thinking about; she then reached out, patting your shoulder with a teasing smirk on her lips. “Don’t worry. I’m sure if you suck up to him, he’ll go easy on you. 

You slapped her hand away with a pout, causing her to break out in a fit of giggles. You sent her a death glare, arms crossing over your chest. You then shoved her just enough to make her stumble a bit: " Why don’t you worry about flunking Mr. Jung’s class? We both know he isn’t forgiving.” A smug smirk tugged on your lips as she looked at you with wide eyes, but they quickly softened, and she returned your smug look.

“Jokes on you. I fail them on purpose!” She then stuck her tongue out at you before walking down the hall. You couldn’t help but laugh at her antics; were you surprised? Not even in the slightest. Kara had always been obsessed with the fox-eyed professor.

You then turn back around to look at the classroom door, dreading walking in and facing the very man you knew would ultimately punish you for flunking. Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and walk into the classroom.

As soon as you walked through the threshold, you felt a pair of eyes on you. Looking up, you met the dark eyes of your professor. The intensity of his gaze left a chill going down your spine as you swallowed thickly and quickly looked away. You then scrambled over to your seat, trying your best to avoid Hongjoong’s gaze at all costs.

Despite trying to avoid his gaze, you could still feel his eyes burning holes into your body, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall. You prayed that everyone would hurry and get to class so he would have no choice but to spare you, but it felt like an eternity passed before the last person walked into the room.

“Alright, everyone, find your seats.” Hearing his stern tone, your body instinctively straightened, your eyes flickering to the front of the room. Hongjoong stood next to his desk, holding up a stack of papers that were more than likely the exam that you had failed. Once everyone was settled in their seats, Hongjoong spoke once more, his eyes sweeping the room, “It would seem that we didn’t spend enough time on this unit, seeing as the majority of the class scored a low score.” His eyes then trailed over to you, “some lower than others.” The dark gleam in his eyes made you squirm in your seat, wishing that the ground would just swallow you whole.

He then spoke about how he would go easy on everyone seeing as it was a difficult topic, but he couldn’t promise that he would be so forgiving next time. However, it flowed in one ear and right the other when he stepped closer to you, handing back all of the graded exams.

“I am going to return your exam sheets, and we will go over the answers together as a class.” He instructed, and you heard a few groans and sighs of relief, but no one openly complained. Your gaze then shifted down to the notebook in front of you, fiddling with your pen until your exam was placed in your line of sight. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, your eyes trailed from the paper to Hongjoong’s eyes, your heart lurching into your throat when you locked eyes. His gaze alone told you that you were in trouble far before his words were able to. “See me after class, Ms. Jeong.”

You reached out to grab your test with shaky hands, but Hongjoong didn’t release his grip on the paper, causing you to look up and catch his raised eyebrow. Letting out a shaky breath, you parted your lips slightly before speaking, “Yes, sir.”

Satisfied, he nodded before moving on, but you felt heat rush up your neck when you heard a mixture of snickers and ‘ooos’ from the students around you. All of them thought that you were in deep trouble and they wouldn’t be wrong, except it wasn’t exactly the kind of trouble that they were thinking.

After all of the papers were passed back out Hongjoong made his way back to his desk before turning to look at the class once more. You tried your best to focus on what he was going over, but your mind kept wandering to what exactly he was going to do when he got you alone. Watching his slim finger write on the chalkboard did nothing to ease the heat that was pooling in your core. 

Noticing that you were getting distracted, Hongjoong asked the class a question before pointing you out individually, knowing damn well that you had no idea what he had just asked. And the deer caught in headlights expression on your face just confirmed his suspicions. He let out a faux disappointed sigh, arms crossing over his chest.

“Please make sure to pay attention in class, Ms. Jeong.” He reprimanded you, and you felt your face burn red from embarrassment. It only grew more when you heard a few students quietly laughing off to your side.

Sinking down in your seat you mumbled a small apology, not missing the sinister smirk that was tugging on the older male’s lips. You knew that he was doing this on purpose, adding it on to your list of punishments he was going to be giving you in less than an hour. So you knew that he wasn’t about to be easy on you. Not in the slightest.

You then spent the rest of the class trying your best to pay attention, despite the growing heat in the pit of your stomach or how your core would ache any time Hongjoong let his gaze linger for just a moment too long. It was driving you up a wall, but you didn’t want to get called out again or make your punishment any worse than it already was. So you tried your best to push the growing need down and focus on your school work.

After what felt like an eternity, class had finally wrapped up, and the bell signaling the end of class rang. You stayed in your seat, hands sitting in your lap, and your fingers fiddled with the hem of your skirt as you watched all of the students pile out. You didn’t even bother packing up your things, knowing that it would be pointless in the end, so you just sat quietly until everyone was gone.

When the door finally closed behind the last person you stood from your seat with shaky legs, eyes moving up to find Hongjoong leaning against his desk, eyes already fixed on you. Without a word, he raised a hand and motioned you forward with his index and middle fingers, eyes daring you to go against him.

Knowing better than to disobey him, you bit your lip and slowly made your way towards him until you were standing just a few feet in front of him. He clicked his tongue, an annoyed expression flashing across his face as he moved forward, pushing you down to your knees. A gasp fell from your lips as your hands and knees met the cool ground, but you quickly glanced back up at the older man, knowing that you would only annoy him more if you didn’t.

“It’s such a shame. We went over those test questions for such a long time, and you got all of the answers correct, yet…” He reached down, his fingers brushing along your jaw, a trail of goosebumps following his touch, “You still failed the test; why is that babygirl?” He hummed before harshly grabbing your chin, jerking your head back in his direction the moment you started to look away and you looked up at him with wide eyes. “Did I fuck all of the answers out of that pretty head of yours?”

His head tilted to the side, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, and you instantly opened your mouth, allowing him to slip his finger into your mouth. A sinister smirk tugged on his lips as he pressed down on your tongue, and you wrapped your pretty lips around his finger, sucking gently.

“Hmm, do you think just because you’re acting so obedient now, I won’t be too rough?” He feigned pity before pulling his thumb from your mouth and wrapping his fingers around your throat, eliciting a gasp from you. “You’ve been a naughty girl, baby, and daddy has to displent his baby, right?” He asked, but you knew that it was more of a statement rather than an actual question. His tongue ran over his teeth as he watched you squirm under his hold, eyes pleading with him as your thighs pressed tightly together.

Crouching down, he pulled you forward until you were sitting on the palm of your hands once more, his face just a breath away from yours.

“Now be a good girl and put that sweet mouth of yours to work, and I might think about letting you cum.” He cooed, his hand moving from your neck back to your jaw before standing straight, letting his fingers slip from your skin.

As soon as he was standing, you crawled forward, hands going for the waistband of his slacks. Your fingers made quick work of his belt before undoing the button. Hongjoong watches in amusement as you move with urgency to get his already hard cock out of its confinement. A cute little gasp fell from your lips when it sprung free, nearly hitting your cheek.

You let go of his slacks as well as his underwear, letting them pool at his feet. Your mouth watered, and you leaned forward, taking him into your hands, admiring the pearls of precum that decorated his tip. Hongjoong watched you with a heated gaze as you grabbed his cock at the base before pressing feather-light kisses along his shaft. His fingers curled around the edge of his desk as you laid your tongue flat, licking a stripe up to his tip before encasing him in your mouth.

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, watching his jaw tense as you took him further into your mouth. The taste of precum tingled against your tastebuds, making you hum softly, eliciting a deep groan from Hongjoong.

“Fuckkk…” His head fell back for a moment before he let his gaze fall right back on you, one of his hands moving to brush some of the hair out of your face. “You’re such a dirty girl, sucking my dick like your favorite candy.” You moaned around him, the vibrations making his dick twitch in your mouth. 

He then gathered your hair in a makeshift ponytail, curses falling from his lips when your tongue pressed against the vein that ran along the side of his cock. Your thighs pressed together as you listened to all of the noises that were leaving his mouth, trying your best to relieve the pressure. Your fingers dug into Hongjoong’s thighs as you fought the urge to slip one of your hands under your skirt, knowing that doing so would only land you in more trouble.

His grip on your hair grew tighter as his hips bucked forward, the tip hitting the back of your throat. You gagged at the sudden intrusion, tears stinging in the corner of your eyes.

“Shit, babygirl,” He groans as he thrusts his hips forward once more, pleasure clouding his mind as he feels your throat contract around his shaft. Your eyes squeezed shut as you let him continue to fuck your throat, tears spilling from your eyelashes until Hongjoong tugged on your hair. “Uh huh darling, keep those pretty eyes open.” His tone was stern, causing you to whine around his cock, your knees starting to ache from the cool, hard ground, but the pain only added to the pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Hongjoong chanted as his hips started to falter, his cock twitching in your mouth before you felt spurts of his hot seed coating the back of your throat. He stilled inside of your mouth for a moment, enjoying the way you struggled to breathe around him, tears spilling from your pretty eyes, trailing down to mix in with the saliva that spilled from the corner of your lips. After a few moments, he pulled out of your mouth, allowing you to breathe properly, and let go of your hair before cupping your face. “Look at you, darling…” His thumb swiped across your bottom lip, smearing the remainder of your lipstick, an almost predatory gaze in his eyes, “such a pretty mess for me.”

Your thighs squeezed together at his words. A whine fell from your lips, and Hongjoong smirked before pulling you to your feet. His hand then found your hip, pulling your body flush against his. His face dipped down to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouth kisses along your skin.

“D-Daddy…” You breathed out, your hands moving up to snake around his neck. However, he quickly caught your wrist.

Before you could even utter a word, he switched places with you, pressing your body down against the surface of his desk. A loud gasp fell from your lips from the sudden movement, and your head turned to look at the older man.

“You don’t get to touch me, baby,” He cooed, grabbing your arms once more and gathering your wrists into his hand. You opened your mouth to protest, but the dark look he gave you made your body shiver, and you closed your mouth. All you could do was watch as he pulled his tie off before wrapping it around your wrists and pulling its tights. His hands then wandered down your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Getting down to your skirt, he hiked it further up your hips, giving him the perfect view of the pink lace panties you were wearing.

“Dadd–” Your words were cut off by a moan that tore through your lips when he landed a harsh smack on your ass, fingers rubbing the now red skin.

“You were just waiting to get punished, weren’t you?” He spanked you again, relishing in the mewls that were leaving your lips. “Such a naughty little slut.” He growled, pulling the band of your underwear before letting it snap back in place, eliciting a whine from your parted lips. The stinging pain from him spanking you and where the elastic met your skin made your head spin, arousal dripping from your throbbing cunt.

He then grabbed the fabric once more, but with more strength, and before you even realized what he was doing, the sound of fabric ripping filled the air. You whined about how they were expensive, but Hongjoong didn’t wanna hear any of it. Leaning against you, he made sure to press his hips against yours, making sure you could feel his aching cock. He brought the tattered fabric into your view, his lips right next to your ear as he spoke.

“Open up, sweetheart.” His voice was sweet, yet his actions were anything but that as he barely let you part your lips before he was shoving the fabric between your lips. A muffled moan then left your gagged mouth as he pressed his hips further against yours. “Can’t have anyone hear how much of a cockslut you are now, can we?”

He then stood straight once more, grabbing your hip in one hand and then his dick with the other. Teasing your soaping cunt with his tip, Hongjoong watched with a sinister grin as you clenched around nothing, muffled mewls leaving your lips. Your mind started to go fuzzy with need the more he continued to play with you, and your hips started to push back against him, your body begging him to stop teasing.

“Aww, do you want me to fuck you?” Hongjoong’s tone was condescending as he pressed his tip into you just to pull it right back out, his grip tight on your hips to halt your movements, “too bad, sluts don’t get to make requests.”

A loud muffled cry fell from your lips as his hand made contact with the fat of your ass once more, tears stinging in the corners of your eyes. Your body started to tremble under his hold as he relentlessly played with your body until you were sobbing, begging him to just fuck you.

Pleas fell from your lips as your nails dug into the palm of your hands, and Hongjoong smirked sinisterly as he stopped all of his movements. Your ears started to ring as you tried to make sense of what he was doing but your mind was far too fogged to even think coherently.

A choked moan tore from your lips when he suddenly thrust into you all in one go, your slick making it easier to slide right in. Buried to the hilt, he stopped moving once again, relishing in your whines and how you tried to fight against his hold to move. His lips then curled up into a snarl as you continued to try and disobey him, and his grip grew even tighter on your hips, his nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in your skin.

“Stop fucking moving.” He growled, and you whined but stopped moving, knowing that you would only be digging a deeper hole for yourself if you didn’t listen, “now don’t you dare think about cumming before I tell you to.”

You wanted to protest, but Hongjoong didn’t give you a chance before he started plowing into you mercilessly. Your body trembled violently as his tip brushed over your sweet spot with every thrust, a mixture of tears and spit covering your face as you slowly started to lose yourself in the pleasure.

Hongjoong knew your body like the back of his hand, knew all of the right buttons to push and tweak that would have you coming undone in seconds. So it wasn’t a surprise to him when your pitch grew higher, and your cunt squeezed around him like a vice. His jaw tightened as he released your hip with one hand only to trail it down your back and tangle it into your messy hair. A choked muffled cry fell from your lips as he pulled your body up.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asked, but the way you clenched around him told him that you were, even when you shook your head no. “Does my little slut wanna cum?” His voice was strangely sweet as he released your hair only to grab your neck, your eyes rolling as he squeezed your soft flesh. Stars started to dance across your vision the longer he continued to fuck into you.

He continued his rough pace until he knew you were close and then stopped. You started to lose count of how many times he’s edged you, your mind far too foggy, yet you still had enough strength to beg him to let you cum despite the piece of fabric that constricts your airway. 

Hongjoong enjoyed to teary, fucked outlook on your flushed face, a sight he would never get tired of seeing. He peppered your neck with feather-light kisses, knowing better than to leave marks that would have your father and friends questioning where they came from. Then, when he felt himself close to his own high, he decided that he would finally let you have what you’ve been begging for.

A strangled cry fell from your lips when his other hand snaked down to toy with your puffy clit, circling it in tight figure eights. Your eyes squeezed shut, pushing more tears out as you prepared yourself for him to stop once again.

But he didn’t.

“Cum for daddy babygirl, make a mess all over my cock.” Hongjoong nipped at your ear, and your mind went reeling as white spots started to cloud your vision as he fucked into you with abandon. Playing with your small bundle of nerves like his favorite instrument. Then, without any warning, your orgasm washed over you, a loud muffled cry falling from your lips, and your bound hands pressed against his abdomen. “Look at that, you can actually follow directions like a good girl, who would have thought.” He mocked you as he fucked you through your orgasm, his fingers never leaving your clit. His own high right on the tip of his tongue as you squeezed around him like you never wanted him to leave, and his jaw clenched tightly. Letting up on your clit his hand found purchase on your hip once more before leaning forward, his lips brushing over your ear. “Do you think you deserve my cum?”

He watched in amusement as you nodded your head like a bobblehead, your teary eyes pleading with him as you looked back. Muffled sounds of his name and pleas fell from your lips, hoping that he would listen, but the sinister gleam in his eye sent a chill down your spine.

“Tell me…” He released your neck before grabbing your now-soaked panties and pulling them from your swollen lips, “do you think you deserve my cum?”

“Please! I’ll be a good girl, daddy just give me your cum! Please, please, please!” You sounded like a broken record and Hongjoong smirked as he picked his pace up once more, your now unmuffled moans bouncing off of the walls. Surely, anyone walking by would be able to hear and know exactly what was going on inside, and it excited Hongjoong more than he thought it would.

“Hmm… then you better not let a drop go to waste.” He growled before he felt himself burst, painting your gummy walls white with his seed, and you cried out at the warm feeling.

“Thank you…” You breathed out as you leaned back against Hongjoong, trying to catch your breath after the intensity of everything.

Hongjoong’s grip loosened as he rubbed your hips and whispered sweet nothings in your ear until your breathing regulated. He then nipped at your ear causing your body to jolt slightly, eyes opening to look back at him.

“Are you tagging along with your father this weekend for dinner?” His voice was smooth as he pressed lingering kisses along the warm skin of your neck, making you shiver. You nodded before your head rolled to the side to give him more access, your body growing warm once again. “Good, then we can go over your test, and I can show you exactly where you went wrong.” 

His word left a shiver to run down your spine as you knew exactly what he meant by that, and as much as it worried you because your father would be there, it excited you even more at the thought of screwing around right under his nose.

And you found yourself longing for the weekend to come as soon as possible.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛ��ᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[awrkive]

Idk I must have some problems I need to talk about with my therapist, but I NEED the #3 lmao

summary: jungkook is usually a nice guy from the way he interacts with other people – but the only exception comes to you. and you can't figure out why.

w/c: 3.5k

note: aurkayyyy general consensus says write # 3 and that post got 40 likes idk so here it is ig.. unedited cos its 3am but also i tried my very best awrkive nation 😞💔 under the cut cos its long asf for a drabble crying

People always gravitate to you. You have this sort of unbreakable and contagious energy around you that just pulls people right into your orb – your classmates in middle school through college, your cousins, even the cashiers at the cafes you like visiting downtown every here and there. 

And it is why Jeon Jungkook from your Environmental Science class baffles you. Because while everybody in the lecture hall – even prof Nam – likes to give you a smile or even just a nod of acknowledgement when you walk in, he does the total opposite and will just do about anything to avoid you. 

It had been during the first week of the term when you realized this fact. When Jungkook seemed to have abhorred the idea of sitting next to you because somebody had “stolen” his seat. 

Of course he knew the fact that you technically could not “steal” a seat in college – there are no such things as assigned seats in college, after all – so you had kindly offered the empty chair beside you, then, but he just looked at you with his knitted brows, like he couldn’t believe you had asked him that in the first place. 

In the end, he chose the free seat at the back of the hall – even though as far as you know him, he’s the type to like sitting in the front rows to engage with the class better. 

However, that did not deter you from trying to befriend him. In fact, it just made you want to get closer to him more. 

You like Jeon Jungkook. Not romantically, of course! You just like the fact that he is extremely smart and listen, he seems nice. The girls always have something good to say about him, and he’s friends with one of your closest friends, Namjoon – whose judgment you trust most of all. He’s acquainted with most of the people you know and you’ve seen him interact with others – he’s charming and doesn’t exactly look broody and uninterested when he’s with them. 

So when Prof Nam partnered you both in a presentation for your final requirement for the term, you were over the moon to have been given the opportunity. 

“__,” Jungkook calls, but you’re way too busy admiring the strands of his hair that had now been dyed to gold – a contrast to his previously dark brown locks. It’s mostly hidden from the beanie he’s wearing. Something you’ve noticed he’s been wearing a lot these days even though it’s not that cold. 

You think it’s because he’s not too keen on getting attention for his newly dyed hair.

Jungkook calls your name one more time, and this time it snaps you out of your trance. 

“Hm?” You look up, blinking at him – only to be met with his knitted brows again. At that all too familiar look by now, you frown slightly, knowing the tell-tale signs of his annoyance. 

“I’ve been asking you about biofuels for the past two minutes.” 

“Oh!” Your eyes widen for a bit, quickly looking at your iPad. “Uhm… it’s here…” you slide your device over to his direction and he’s quick to read over your work. With him seated beside you, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and you don’t even think it’s cologne in the first place. It just seems like his natural smell – like fresh laundry. Downy or something. 

Ever since you started working on the project, you’ve been going to cafes and the library to work on it – for at least an hour – and you’re starting to get accustomed to everything Jeon Jungkook. He’s smart – and that’s a given – but he also smells really good; that’s what you noted specifically.

But most importantly, he’s dyed his mid-length hair blonde. And he looks different but somehow… really handsome. With his prescription glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, you just can’t help but to look. 

“Where is your citation for this?” He says, pointing to a certain part of your work. 

At that, you grow anxious. Jungkook’s really serious about his academics. And even though he looks distracting with his blonde hair right now, you can’t help but feel a bit nervous. 

You’re not dumb or something! You’ve survived three years of college just fine – you’re just not the likes of him, or Namjoon, for that matter. But you do well for yourself. 

But Jungkook, reading over your work with furrowed brows, you can’t help but second-guess yourself.

Especially when the next thing you can say is just, “Oh, uhm… I thought citations would only be after every four sentences?” 

“Did you not read the instructions?” Jungkook says. It’s not harsh but there’s a certain lilt to it. A bit pointed that you visibly recoil. As if noticing you do that, Jungkook clears his throat and looks right back to your iPad. With a tone that considerably sounds gentler to you this time, he says, “You should put a citation every three sentences.” 

“Okay…” You say. You look at Jungkook and you give him a tight-lipped smile when he meets your gaze. “I’m sorry.” 

His gaze lasts longer than necessary – he almost always doesn’t really look at you but this time he does, and just when you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, he peels his eyes away from you and turns to his computer, not saying anything. 

You sulk in your seat, revising your paper while Jungkook acts like a stranger beside you again. 

“Kook…” you say after awhile. You watch as Jungkook visibly stills at the nickname. Nonetheless, he hums, but he doesn’t stray his eyes from his laptop. “I really like your hair.” 

Nothing. 

“Kookie…” This time, you poke at the material of his purple hoodie. “I said I like your hair.” 

He doesn’t budge. 

When you make a move to poke him again, he finally says, “I heard that.” 

You turn back to your google doc with a pout. 

You don’t know what you’re expecting from him. A thank you, maybe? But that would be unlikely for him to say to you. He’s just always so quiet around you. Annoyed, irritated—

“Thank you.” 

At first you don’t quite catch it, but you kind of got the gist. Unbelieving, you turn to him with a confused look. “What?” 

“Isaidthankyou.” 

But it was spoken so fast that you just grew more puzzled. 

“What…?” 

“Nevermind.” He says, hacking away on his laptop again. 

You pout the whole time writing your paper. 

———

You’re just about to approach Jungkook to talk about your recent development for your project when somebody beats you to it first. 

It’s Han Hyorin from the same class. You made friends with her from another minor you’ve had in the previous semester and she was a really nice woman – sort of similar to you. A big ball of sunshine, all smiles and cheerful and full of energy. It’s why you clicked instantly a few months ago. 

But that’s also why it surprises you when you see her talking animatedly with Jungkook and him listening to her attentively – smiling and laughing. 

Certainly not his vibe when you’re the one in conversation with him. 

Listen, you’ve been so accustomed to his behavior to you all this time that you just don’t mind it now. But for the record, you just thought that maybe – he just can’t quite level up to your energy. You’re too bubbly and he’s too… calm. And you get that! You certainly don’t hold it against him. 

But as he catches a glimpse of you his mood turns completely different, no longer smiling ear to ear. It makes Hyorin stop speaking, turning her body to look at your direction as well. 

“Oh, hi __!” She greets, grinning. “I was just talking to Jungkook here.” 

“Hi, Hyorin.” You wave at her, mirroring her smile. You walk towards them, hugging your iPad tight to your chest. “Hi, Jungkook.” 

He just sends you a timid smile. 

Weirdly enough, it makes your heart twinge. 

“Anyway, are you two gonna work on your project? Sorry for keeping him up, if that’s the case. I’ll be off then.” Hyorin says as she picks up her bag. She looks at Jungkook once again, saying, “I’ll send the link to you later, Jungkook.” 

Jungkook only nods before Hyorin walks out of the lecture hall.

You watch her disappearing back before you turn to Jungkook. “I didn’t know you guys were friends.” 

He shrugs. “We talk sometimes.” 

“Ah.” You nod. 

“Anyway, you got my text, right? Hoseok said it’s too crowded at 556 right now. And my laptop’s dead so I can’t use it either. Left my charger at my place,” he says, starting to put his stuff in his backpack. 

“Yeah, I got it,” you say, stepping out a bit to let him out of his row. You follow beside him when he begins to walk. “Well, where should we do the project?” 

You see Jungkook wince. “I have no choice but do you mind if I just suggest my place? I have a roommate but he’s not around this time. Or we can just call it off for today and resched.” 

You blink at him. “Your place?” 

He arches a brow. “Yeah. Is it okay? Do you have something else in mind?” 

Shaking your head, you look straight ahead. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s just a three minute walk from the campus. Do you mind?” 

“Nope.” 

“Alright, then.” 

——— 

Jungkook thinks you’re strange today. 

You’re usually so full of stories. Never ran out of things to say. His silence never deterred you from sharing something and even though Jungkook would deny it to you and to all his friends – he actually secretly enjoys your blabbering. Finds most of them funny.

But right now, you’re all quiet on your iPad and notes, focused on doing your work. The last thing he’s heard you say something was when you commented earlier, “This is a nice place,” when you stepped inside the threshold of his and Taehyung’s apartment.

No comment about his hair. Or his hoodie. Or the stupid occasional, “You look handsome today.” that makes his heart perform backflips against his ribcage and makes him all nervous that he can’t really look straight into your eyes for the rest of your interaction.

He finds it strange that he finds you strange today. He should be… happy about this right? He always tells his friends that you’re too… loud when they ask why he doesn’t seem to like you. For the record, he does not not like you. Jungkook just thinks you’re too much. 

Or that you make him feel too much it drives him insane.

“Are you alright?” He breaks the ice after a few minutes. He couldn’t help it. This isn’t like you at all. At this point, you should have already told him twenty different stories that includes your breakfast and the bird that keeps knocking on your window every 5am. By this time, you should have already asked him if he likes your outfit or some stupid shit like if he likes your nails. 

For the record, he likes all of them. Your blush pink nails and your pink skirt that stops above your thigh, exposing your smooth thighs that Jungkook always berates himself not to look at. You always wear skirts. He hates them. 

He hates that he doesn't really hate them. At all. 

“Huh?” You turn to look at him, blinking. Meek and pouty and puzzled. You look so cute it confuses the hell out of him. 

“I asked if you’re okay.” Jungkook says, leveling his voice. Lest he gives himself away. What would he give away, though? That he’s weirdly worried about your silence? That he’s starting to think maybe you’re getting fed up with his constant avoidance of you and you’re starting to realize he’s a shit person and he doesn’t deserve any of your time? 

That he’s putting way too much meaning into this? 

And what for? 

“Oh,” you utter. A bit taken aback. You nibble on your bottom lip and Jungkook tries hard not to focus too much on the way your gloss makes them look so plump. You had pretty lips. Jungkook’s not that prideful to admit that. Just to himself, though. “Yeah. I am fine. Why do you ask?” 

He clears his throat. “Nothing.” 

You look at him with furrowed brows but don’t really say anything further. “Okay.” 

When you go back to working in silence simultaneously again, Jungkook finds himself not being able to focus on the words of the journal article he’s reading. There’s a sentence to it he’s been going right over and over again. Everytime he reads it, it’s like the point just crosses right over his head and his efficacy in the language degrades every single time he repeats it internally.

All the while, you’re still quiet. 

And Jungkook’s had enough. 

Why weren't you saying anything? 

“__.” 

“Hm?” When you tilt your head to look at him, Jungkook nearly falls over his bed. You’re across the room on his computer desk while he’s on the mattress. 

God, you are so unbelievably beautiful without trying it makes his head ache. 

“Are you –uh. What’s with you today?” He finally asks. He watches as your face contorts into an expression of confusion once again, which he can’t really blame you for feeling the way. 

“What’s with me today?” 

“You’re just…” he tries to find the right words. “Quiet.” 

You don’t say anything for a while that Jungkook was about to take his words back. 

“Oh… I’m just not feeling well today, I think.” 

His brows furrowed. You looked perfectly fine today. You were your usual sunshine shelf when you stepped in class – all big grins and pretty laugh Seo Jihyun as usual was trying too hard to get your attention beside you all day. 

“Really?” He asks. “Do you need something?” 

It takes you by surprise. But you recover fast. “No, it’s fine.” 

“We don’t have to do this today if you’re feeling under the weather.” 

You laugh. And Jungkook thinks that’s a win. He thought he wasn’t getting any of that for today. 

“It’s fine, thank you, Jeon.”

Jeon?! Jeon, like his surname? 

He chooses to ignore that. But then a few minutes passed and he spoke again. God, he couldn’t stand any of this.

“How’s the bird?” 

“The bird?” You parrot back. 

“The bird at your window.” 

“Oh!” A flash of recognition goes through your face. “That. Well – as usual it knocked on my window again.” you giggle and it’s the first time Jungkook feels a little light ever since you entered his place. 

Good. This is good. 

“I didn’t know you’d remember that.” You say, giving him a small smile. 

Jungkook feels his cheeks burning so he had to look away. “You tell me about it everyday.” 

There’s a pout he can feel you’re sporting when you say, “But I thought you don’t care.” 

Jungkook frowns at that. 

But he realizes… he gets it. He doesn’t exactly show the opposite.

When he looks at you, your eyes are solemn and your downturned lips look so sad that it makes him feel like shit. 

See. This is why he’s always confused when he’s with you. You make him feel so much all at once and he can’t quite put it. 

“You tell me a lot of stuff everyday.” Is what he settles with. 

“Fair.” You say after awhile. “But uhm…” 

“Yes?” Jungkook immediately says, intrigued. You’re about to speak when his phone rings. You both look at the small device lying on his bed. When Jungkook picks it up, the caller ID says Han Hyorin. “Sorry, I’ll just pick this up.” 

Pressing on the green icon, he hears Hyorin’s voice at the end of the line. 

“Hey, Kook,” 

“Hi, Hyorin. What is it?” 

“What was your student email again? I can’t really find it on the roster.”

Jungkook recites it and then that’s the end of the conversation. He finds it strange because she could’ve just texted him but anyway, he turns to you again after the call ends. 

“Who was that?” You ask curiously. 

“Hyorin.” 

You still in your seat. Then nod. 

You don’t say anything again. 

And that stretches into another few minutes that Jungkook is once again confused. When he looks right over to you, you’re all up in your device. 

He stands up from the bed, leaves his laptop on the mattress, and then walks right over to your direction to stand behind the chair you’re seated on. Ducking down a bit, he peers over your shoulder to see what you’re doing. 

“You’re almost done?” 

When you turn back, your faces are so close to each other that his swivel chair creaks a little when you get taken aback. Jungkook steps back. 

“Yeah. I think so. You?” You say, looking up at him. 

Jungkook runs his fingers through his hair, inserting his hand on his pockets as he looks straight ahead on your screen. 

“I’ll finish up later.” 

You nod then turn back to your iPad. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows meet once again and he sighs. 

“__,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you mad at me?” 

You turn to him so quickly. “What?” 

“Are you mad at me?” Jungkook asks because he can’t take any of this anymore. You’re so… distant. And it makes him feel like he’s on edge. “You’ve been so quiet since we got here. I want to apologize if I did something wrong. But even if I didn’t, then I’m still sorry.”

Jungkook watches as your lips part, surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth. Jungkook’s not the one to shy away from apologies – if he’s done something wrong, then he makes sure to take accountability. 

It’s different when it’s with you, though. He knows he isn’t exactly his nicest and his best to you… but it’s his complicated feelings that get in the way. He doesn’t know how to handle them. He doesn’t know how to handle you. 

“N-no!” You say. “You didn’t do anything.” 

He sends an arched brow your way. 

You shake your head vigorously. “It’s just… uhm… I thought…” 

“You thought…?” 

You look away, and it’s the first time Jungkook sees you seemingly shy. 

“I thought you’d like my company more if I didn’t talk much.” 

Now Jungkook’s just perplexed. 

You. ibble on your bottom lip before you say your next words. “I know you don’t exactly like me that much – that you’re just putting up with me because of this project and all that, but I really like you. Uhm. As a friend. I’d like to be your friend but I’m realizing now that I’m probably just annoying you with all of my blabbering and it’s unfair to you that I just keep on imposing myself on you even though you make it very clear that you’re not keen on befriend—” 

“__?” 

“— hm?” 

“Stop that.” Jungkook says because he can’t bear to hear you say things that aren’t the least bit true at all. “It’s not true.” 

“Which part?” you pout.

Jungkook would like to wipe that off your face with something. Like his lips. And that thought sends him into overdrive. He needs to get a grip of himself, seriously. 

“Everything.” 

What he doesn’t expect is for you to just frown. 

“You’re a liar.” 

“What?” 

You burst. “Well, for one– you always avoid me! You don’t even greet me in the hallways. And even in the same class you don’t smile at me or anything and the only time you ever acknowledge me is when we do this stupid project and okay I get it, you only like bubbly girls when they’re Han Hyorin, but why not me?”

Jungkook, puzzled, asks, “How’d Hyorin get into this?” 

Your shoulders deflate. “I don’t know.” 

“Can you—” Jungkook inhales a sharp breath. He closes his eyes before opening them back again. “Can you listen to me?” 

You plop back down on the chair with an indignant huff. Jungkook lets out a low chuckles but you only glare at him. 

So goddarn cute, he thinks to himself. 

“You’re just… you’re just too much okay?” He sees the way your face falls and he nearly punches himself for how he worded it. “Wait no– that’s not right. I meant, you’re just – you make me feel a lot of things, __.” 

“Things?” 

“Yeah. You confuse me.” 

“Why?” You look so confused it melts Jungkook. 

“I don’t know how to explain it either. Just that… you need to know I don’t not like you. I like your little blabbering. I look forward to your breakfast stories. I like your nails. I like your skirt. And I like your new apple pencil case.” 

Jungkook watches as your face turns soft. And suddenly, you have that million dollar grin again on your face. 

“Really?” 

“Hm.” 

You squeal and the next thing he knows you’re onto him, arms wrapped around his neck, locking him into a hug. 

“We’re friends now?” 

Jungkook takes the opportunity to encircle your waist around his arms, noting the size difference. And how easy it was for him to snuggle his nose subtly into your hair to smell your sweet shampoo and perfume in that position. 

You always smell so good. 

“Friends.” 

Jungkook doesn’t really think he can take both of you as just being friends, though.

[coupsiedaisee]

pulse | c.sc

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader

genre: smut, just smut alksjfdkgjhh

warnings: fingering, exhibitionism, kissing, drinking, like two mentions of weed lol sex?, i've never done warnings before ahh, fingering, voyeurism (sort of? not really?), kissing (is this a warning?), there's no p in v omg, so how do i tag this 😭, this is really short omg, i think fingering covers it, ohi! some drinking? neither of them are inibriated though. imo, would that make this dubcon? feel implicit to me. god sorry, im posting this when im drunk, v will wake up tmrw and tell me if this is dumb or not omg.

wordcount: 1.6k

a/n: happy friend anniversary to the second love of my life 🥺v!!!! @hannieween, i love u so much so here's the first smut thing i've fully finished writing and also the first time i've published smut omg. i love you and i love cheol and i really hope this makes u both horny and happy and would love nothing more than if u feel anger (horny anger) after reading this, yay!! target demographic met! to everyone else reading this, pease let me know what u think! even if u hated it omg 🥺i want to know both what u liked and didn't like so my writing can become better. uwu ily all <3 also, again, im drunk, so if there's any grammar mistakes, ima fix it tmrw alksjdhkflhgbksdfgkjd. okay byeeee, enjoy!!!!

"Baby, are you done yet? She just texted that they parked," Seungcheol shouts from the living room.

"Coming!" You yell back, swiping the last bit of lipstick on and giving yourself a once over in the mirror.

Seungcheol's standing by the front door, looking up from his phone when you walk in. He rakes his eyes over you, the clear skin of your neck, down your collar bones, to the cleavage disappearing into your shirt. The sliver of skin between your tight shirt and mini skirt. The bare skin of your plush thighs.

You fidget under his gaze, "Is there something wrong? Do I need to go change?"

"God, no baby. You look—" he swallows hard, running a hand through his blond hair, "—you look hot."

A fierce blush blooms across your cheeks and you tuck you hair behind your ear. "Oh. I—thanks?" You clear your throat, "Y-you do too babe."

And he did. A tight black polo stretched across his pecs, its short sleeves snug around his biceps. Light wash jeans barely holding his thick thighs in.

You want to drop down to your knees, right then and there.

Seungcheol reaches his hand out and you take it. He pulls you in for a kiss, letting his free hand roam down your body, pushing your skirt up to cup your ass, giving it a squeeze.

You pull away first, smacking him lightly on the chest, "Seungcheol!"

He's got no shame though, as he pulls you out the door, laughing.

The two of your were not going far tonight. Just two floors down, to the apartment of a Joshua Hong. Long time friend of Seungcheol's, Joshua was having some friends over to look at the new vaccum he bought.

"It's got even better suction than the last one and the battery life lasts forever," says Joshua, showing off the lime green vaccum in the middle of his living room. Seungcheol's standing next to him with their other friend, Jeonghan. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, and his eyebrows furrowed as Joshua talks. Momo, Josh's next door neighbor, is crouched by the vaccum, eyeing its different attachments.

"How is it with pet hair?" She asks, and you feel that this is your cue to go grab another drink.

In the kitchen, Jeonghan's girlfriend is mixing some sort of concoction in a big punch bowl. She whips around at the sound of your footsteps, "There you are! Where have you been? I texted Seungcheol when we parked."

You send her a sheepish smile, "Got caught up on the new technology."

She rolls her eyes, "You lot are so boring."

"Trust me, you'll be the same once you're in the work force like us boring adults." You go to grab a cider from the fridge.

She scoffs waving her ladle in your direction, "Oi, pipe down Grandma. We're nearly the same age! You'll be sorry when I'm a professor. Don't make me give you detention."

You laugh, "Alright, alright. Don't fail me professor, clearly I was wrong. " You duck just as she swings the ladle at your head.

It doesn't take long until nearly everyone at the apartment is either drunk or baked. You don't know what she put in that bowl, but after seeing Momo passed out on the pool table, you were glad you stuck to your ciders.

You head back into the living room after cleaning up a spill in the hallway (whoever gave Jeonghan jaegerbombs, why?). Dino and Mingyu, Seungcheol's friends from school, are sprawled on the ground in front of the TV, Mario Kart forgotten, passing a lit joint between each other.

Seungcheol's sat back on the sofa, manspreading, and showing off his deliciously thick thighs, taking periodic sips of a Corona. He spots you across the room and you send him a shy smile.

Seungcheol motions at something with his eyes and you tilt your head at him, confused. He snaps his chin in a quick motion but you still don't understand and he lets out an exasperated breath. Settling further into the sofa, he pats his thigh. Your eyebrows shoot up, looking around the room, but no one's paying you all any attention.

Slowly you make you way to him and, once at his feet, he swiftly gets rid of the cider in your hand, pulling you into his lap with a low, "Come here, baby girl."

Your body heats up as his hands sit on your hips, fingertips grazing the sliver of skin between your shirt and skirt. Your skirt.

When you chose your outfit for today, you had felt good, confident even. You made a choice, to wear a new lingerie set you'd bought the other day. The thought was that, maybe, you and and your boyfriend would get up to some fun when you got back home.

But now, you'd never regretted something more. As Seungcheol adjusts you over his thighs, slotting one in between your legs, the fabric of his jeans rub against your delicate lace panties.

Your pussy pulsates and you've never been more embarassed. You will it to stop, but Seungcheol chooses that moment to dig his fingers into your hips, tensing his thigh, and your pussy throbs.

Little campfires breakout across your cheeks and you find yourself sinking back into Seungcheol's chest in shame. His breath fans across your ear, "Baby, why didn't you tell me you missed me." You can hear the smirk he's probably wearing, but even worse, you're sure he can feel the dampness pooling between your legs.

You should get up. But you know you can't. You know your wetness has seeped onto his jeans, leaving a dark spot, evidence of your need. Everyone would know.

His hands feel like they're burning into your hips, and he leans to press a sweet kiss to your exposed shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine.

You feel Seungcheol move, and then a blanket is draped over your lap, covering your entire bottom half from any onlookers. Though one look across the room told you not a single person was paying you two any mind.

Seungcheol rubs his hand back and forth over your tummy, the touch feeling like hot coals dragging across your skin. Back. Forth. Back. Forth

Then, his fingers slip past the waistband of your skirt.

You don't say anything as you feel his fingers skate across your clothed mound. When he finds your lips, he pushes down with two fingers. You suck in a breath and hold, mind going completely blank.

You should push his hand away. Scold him with a serious, Seungcheol!

But you don't.

Arousal flows out of you, staining his jeans. Evidence of your want, no, your need for your boyfriend.

Seungcheol, the devil he is, starts rubbing the slowest, most languid, circles, smirking into your neck when you start squirming in his lap.

"If you don't like it, you can just get up and leave baby," he whispers, nipping at your ear lobe.

You subtly shake your head no, worried that if you open your mouth, the most obscene sound would come out.

Seungcheol uses his other hand to pull at your thigh, spreading your legs further apart. He pushes your barely there panty aside and plunges a finger in. Your breath hitches at the sensation and your eyes flit around the room, but no one is paying you two any attention.

Seungcheol starts to pump his finger at a torturous pace and you try to keep your breathing even. He ghosts his lips up your neck, whispering, "Can you handle one more baby?" You shake your head with a quick no, biting down on your bottom lip.

Seungcheol's finger freezes and a low whine escapes your lips.

You move your hips just a little bit, chasing what little friction you could find, but Seungcheol tightens the hold on your thigh. "Seungcheol," You mean it to come out stern, but your voice is breathy and light.

"One more baby," Seungcheol nudges your neck with his nose and lets his teeth graze your skin. A shudder rolls through you as your pussy clenches around his single, slender finger.

You already know you've lost. You need Seungcheol to make you feel as full as possible. You nod shyly.

"Hmm?" Seungcheol says quietly, "I need to hear you baby." You can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Yes," You breathe out, looking around again to see not a single person paying attention. Seungcheol pushes his second finger in and you bite your lip again to stop the moan that nearly comes out.

Your breathing gets heavier as he curls his fingers just how you like it and your thighs start to tremble as you near your peak. "Are you close baby?" You nod as your fingers grab at the blanket in your lap. He continues to curl his fingers, a little faster now.

Your breathing turns into little whimpers that you try to keep down, but to no avail.

Seungcheol whispers one last, sweet, "Let go for me love," and you're cumming, releasing all over his fingers as he lets you ride them through your high before pulling out.

You hear the pop! of him sucking the taste of you off his fingers and you feel your juices leaking out, soaking into his jeans. You lean your head back onto him, eyes squeezed shut, out of embarrassment or pleasure you don't know.

"Good girl," Seungcheol whispers, rubbing a warm hand over your tummy, and leaving a soft kiss on your cheek. "You did so well for me, baby."

a/n: omg okay. this whole this was started because my lovely lovely v asked me do you think he'd be the type to sit you down on his lap to feel your pulse through your pussy? so this is really ur fault love sldjfsldfgldkzfgjdzfgkjdzfklhgb. let me know ur thoughts lovies!!!!!!!!!

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO CTRLALTDAISEE I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS, OR REPOSTING OF MY WORKS ON THIS OR ON OTHER WEBSITES

[priceyprice]

Prof!Price

"Do you think the professor's hot?"

She stopped writing in her notebook, trying to process the question her friend asked. It was late at night, and everything was quiet around her. She was on a call with one of her friends from class, trying to do an assignment together since it was difficult doing it alone. They found out it was more efficient calling each other because they could share their notes and answers.

"Who are you talking about?"

"Who else? The professor from literature." She tensed, chest tightening with that familiar but obnoxious feeling at the seductive tone she used to say professor from literature.

She dropped her pen in the middle of her notebook to pay full attention to her friend's words. "The professor from literature?"

"Yes! Have you seen him?"

She cleared her throat. Of course she's seen him. In fact, she has seen every part of him.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh my gosh!" Her friend said in an annoyance tone, feeling frustrated she wasn't getting the point. But, she was obviously getting the fucking point. She just can't admit it out of the blue. "He's so hot. I know he's a serious man inside and outside the classroom, but hey, his face and his body... oh my, my... I would totally fuck a man like that."

Her face frowned upon the last words, looking at her friend's name from her phone —since the call was on speaker— as if she's in front of her. That uncomfortable feeling rose throughout all her body like a fountain.

Her friend was looking at the professor with other eyes than the academic figure.

She's pretty sure her friend is not the only girl with her panties wet for the professor from literature. Professor Price is a man who has charisma. His big bulk of a body and his electrifying blue eyes possess an aura that can either intimidate you or make you flustered. The way he talks with people with his low and calm voice, as if he's going to sing the most romantic tune, ever existed. Also, the way he walks, the way he dresses, the way he styles his beard... Everything from Professor Price screams perfection.

It's not difficult for someone to get attracted to the professor.

But still.

She didn't like how other girls looked at him like he was the most expensive dish served on a silver plate, ready to be devoured. Even though his eyes only stayed on her, she was the only one who could look at him like that.

She was the only one who could actually devour that expensive dish.

She was jealous.

The phantom touch of rough hands around her ankles made her throw a little gasp while pushing the rolling chair backward. "Shh..." Her heart skipped a beat when she hears that low and rough voice beneath her. She looked down at her desk, just to find the protagonist of her conversation with her friend kneeling in front of her;

Professor Price.

He was wearing his usual attire for work. The only difference was his white long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned by the first few buttons, leaving a glimpse of his hairy chest and making him look like some sexy star magazine. His hair was slightly disheveled, probably by all the times he passed his fingers through it. His icy blue eyes were accompanied by some eyebags under it, revealing the tiredness he was accumulating within these days that had passed thanks to the amount of work and reunions he was receiving.

"What are you doing?!" She whispered-yelled taking a rebel strand of hair that went in front of her face when she moved her chair. His thumb caressed softly the skin of her ankles before pulling her to him again, earning a soft gasp from her parted lips. His face ended up resting on her right thigh, eyes closing to the warm feeling her skin radiates.

"'Missed you." He said, placing a soft kiss to her thigh, making her wriggle a bit at the sensation his lips left. "'Missed you so much." He started to leave a trail of soft kisses on her thigh as his hands worked its way to the back of her knees, opening her legs so he could have more room between them. His hands traveled to either side of her hips, taking the waistband of her shorts trying to pull them down.

Her eyebrows raised all the way up, almost comically, ignoring the burning feeling he was making inside of her and focusing on the panic when she realized what he was doing, quickly stopping him. "Wait, Price, we can't do that here." She said, placing her hands on either side of his head trying to separate his lips from her skin, but it was in vain. He was much stronger than her.

Price's hands grasped hers in a soft motion. His thumb caressed her delicate fingers. "Why not? We are in my home. Nobody's watching."

"I'm talking with someone, Price."

"Then be quiet, love." He said before continuing where he left, placing his hands on the waistband of her shorts, his fingers curling the fabric before tugging it down her legs.

Truth be told, Price doesn't give a fuck who is she talking to. He's too tired and consumed by all the work he had these past days, that he's left with nothing but the thought of her beautiful face bringing him the peace he needs.

They couldn't almost see each other within the university halls besides his classroom. His home too, where he'd often find her asleep on his couch or his bed because he was leaving late from the university's office. In the early mornings, he just kissed her a soft goodbye waking her up just for her to see his silhouette leaving the room to go and finish more paperwork he had left the day before.

A sigh could be heard from the other line of the call. "Too bad he isn't open enough to know his relationship status."

A little gasp escaped from her lips when she felt his hot lips put pressure on the wet patch that was starting to form in her soft underwear. A jolt of electricity passed through all her body when he placed another kiss in the same spot, making her jump slightly.

His lips turned into a smile. His hands started caressing the soft flesh of her thighs. "Answer her, love." he said before placing an open-mouthed kiss on the wet spot, passing his tongue through the fabric, feeling the rapid pulses of her pearl. She opened her mouth with a low moan as her hands found a way into his hair.

"Y-Yes... he doesn't... he doesn't let... anyone know."

She tried to calm her frenetic breathing from giving away what was happening on her side of the phone, but it was too difficult. Her back arched when his warm tongue put pressure on her sensitive bud, feeling the wet fabric caress it.

"P-Price, p-please." Her words were shaking in her throat along with a few moans. "What?" He asked, looking up at her beautiful face contorted in nothing but pleasure. Her hand puts a little bit more pressure on the crown of his head, as if inviting him to keep going. "T-Take it off."

"Your underwear?"

She nodded.

"No. I'll take it off when I want to."

He grasped her legs with both hands and threw them over his shoulder, now completely open to him. He rested his hands on her hips, looking at the —big—wet patch, now transparent where he could slightly see through her white underwear the outlines and the color of her folds and her pearl, pulsating against the fabric with desire. Price started at it as if he were a starved man with his last meal in front of him, waiting, inviting him to taste it.

That sent him goosebumps all over his body. His mind glowing with sinful thoughts made him almost blind from the desire.

"Keep talking with her, love. You don't want to let her know that the professor you guys are talking about is the same one between your legs." He said before diving his head again between her thighs.

His tongue made its way with her, taking big laps from her folds to her clothed bud, making her gasps now with full force on his short hair. "F-Fuck..."

"You know, sometimes I think he's married."

She opened her mouth to only let out a soft whimper. His tongue now moving easily with saliva and arousal pooled between her underwear.

"Y-You think so?" She threw her head back into the chair in a blinding pleasure. He was literally making out with her intimate area as if it was her mouth. Opened kisses and pressed his tongue all over her, caging her between his large hands like a lion with a bone between his paws.

He wanted to take her underwear off. Oh, he's been craving to see her bare since the second he stepped into his home. But he knows how loud they can be. He knows how loud the obscene sounds her sweet area makes. He knows the high-pitched moans she does when she's close. He knows everything from head to toe. And he can't risk the other person hearing those sweet sounds coming from her mouth and body.

Of course, he knows her very well.

She's his lover.

"Yeah! I mean, he doesn't look at the other female professors with other eyes than work." His tongue started to draw circles around her bud, sending shock waves through her stomach. Even with the underwear in the middle, she could feel his soft tongue in contrast with the hairs of his beard and mustache tickling her sensitive zone, along with the hairs of his cheeks grazing her inner thighs up and down everytime he licks her.

It was driving her crazy.

"But, there was a rumor."

She bit her lip, trying to stop a whimper rolling from her tongue before speaking; "R-Really? W-what rumor?"

"That him and the professor from marketing were dating." Before she even had the time to think those words and let that jealousy feeling rise up her chest, a chocked moan escaped her lips when she felt his tongue and underwear entering her entrance. Her hips buckled so fast to his face that the chair made a loud squealing sound.

"Is everything okay?"

"Y-Yes!" She said, sounding a little bit more high-pitched than normal. "I almost... fell from my ch-chair. D-Don't worry..."

"Oh, be careful... So, someone who's studying marketing told me that their professor was looking at him like..." Her friend really wanted to spill some kind of false tea, but unfortunately she lost the topic of the conversation the second his tongue was in her entrance, not even caring what was happening around her, only the man and the skillful tongue between her legs.

"Price..." She said when he returned to her now puffy bud giving circles around it. She opened her eyes to stare down just to find his blue ones already looking at her.

Beautiful, he thought. Her hair was in a few directions, while her forehead was glistening with a few droplets of sweat and a few strands plastered on her skin. Her cheeks were red, and her mouth was opened, letting out soft and low noises.

"J-Just fuck me."

"No. After you finish your call, I promise to fuck you like the goddess you are." He continued to circling her bud now putting a little bit more pressure.

She was starting to feel that familiar knot in her stomach. Unconsciously, her hips started to buckle from the chair and getting closer to his face continuously to make that release faster.

"I know you're close, love. Come on, give yourself to me."

He started going faster with his tongue as she started to go faster with her hips, almost making a rhythm to match each other. Her fingers were so secured in his hair, giving painful stings to his scalp, but he didn't mind.

Not when his lover is a mess and he's the cause of it.

She felt all her muscles tense at the same time her legs started to tremble. Her hips worked faster and faster each second, trying desperately to get that release.

Only one last suck to her sensitive bud was all it took to unleash what she was searching for.

Every fiber exploded at the same time her orgasm clashed down in powerful waves. Her mouth hanged open, chocking back a scream that was forming on the depths of her throat. "John...!" She looked at the ceiling, her vision getting blurry for a second.

All the strength was leaving her body and soul as she collapsed back on the chair. Her legs dropped from his shoulders, and her hand left his now totally disheveled hair. Her chest was rapid with her unsteady breathing, her blood pleading for some oxygen. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to make a loud noise and raise suspicion on her friend. Although that wasn't necessary since her friend was rambling about the rumor without taking a break to breathe.

He separate a little from between her thighs, noticing how her arousal made all her underwear drenched and a few droplets falling in the leather cushion of the chair. His muscles tensed at the very erotic sight in front of him.

His hands made way to the waistband of her panties, slowly taking it off her legs and securing them in his pockets. He could see her glistening folds and puffy pearl now bare and open to him, inviting him for another round. And as almost tantalizing that view was for him, he kept his composure and was going to wait until she finished her call as he promised.

He gave a chaste kiss to her bud, her hips bucking as she hissed at the hypersensitivity she was feeling. He trailed kisses down her thighs to her legs, and then he ended with a final kiss on her ankles before caressing them one last time and muttering an 'I love you' without her hearing it.

A few minutes passed, and she opened her eyes only to find herself alone again, as if he didn't take a step into his home office where she was.

"So, what do you think?"

She tried to compose herself, wincing when she felt parts of her arousal that was left in the chair in contact with her sensitive area. She looked down, seeing all the mess she had made.

I'm blaming this on him.

She's pretty sure if he was still there, he would've said, "You were not complaining when you made that mess."

She could hear the faint noise of the shower running from his room that was two doors down the hall , maybe preparing himself before actually having his way with her.

She straightened herself, passing her hands through her hair, taking a few wet strands plasted on her forehead behind her ears. She accommodated her shirt, not bothering to look for her underwear since it was all ruined now. She was going to take a shower after this or join him.

She cleared her throat. "About the rumor...?"

She already heard that rumor. That took surface, and after a few days, everyone was talking about it. That caused a few problems between her and her lover, but he cleared everything and told her it was just her having a crush on him since he can remember, but she has been with other men to take money from them. Of course, since she knows Price is a man with a few dollars on his account, she wanted to have her way with him. But that didn't happen.

While a few professors and students find her like someone sexy and secure, Professor Price finds her disgusting.

Nothing like my little love, he thinks.

"No, silly! About the professor."

Her lips curled into a small smile, feeling tired about the way her soul almost leaves her body in that orgasm caused by the very one Professor Price.

"Yeah... He's not that bad."

part 2 here

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I apologize for the shitty writing. I'm not good at writing these types of scenes + my first language it's not english.

Comments and suggestions are appreciated 🫶🏻.

[goblinontour]

Mr. And Mrs.

the christmas special

part 12 | series masterlist

warnings: prof!al, age gap (not specified), fluff, sweet angst, sweet fucking, slight breeding kink, he’s so sweet

word count: 15.3k

It’s midday. The kind of winter afternoon that carries a reluctant warmth — softened edges to the cold, the sort that brushes your face, that lingers in liminality — not as bitter as yesterday, but not quite merciful either. The cold doesn’t slice into the small slivers of exposed skin as sharply as it could, as it has before. It’s the kind of cold that reminds you you’re alive. Even so, the air has its bite. You pull your coat tighter, tugging at the scarf knotted loosely at your throat. 

The city feels unfamiliar in this corner, like you’ve stumbled into a forgotten painting, smudged and yellowed, a place you’ve walked past in another life but never truly stepped into. It’s quieter here, less bustling, less preened. The buildings around you, though worn, seem watchful. Hunched together, as if conspiring against the passage of time. 

You glance to your left, attention snagged by a squat, unassuming structure. Its exterior tells a tale — peeling paint, frost-speckled windows. It’s tucked between other larger, newer ones, looking almost out of place but not quite enough to feel wrong. You pause, narrowing your eyes.  

The building is modest. Only the ground floor and one upper storey stacked on top, as though the architect had no more to give. The shop window is smudged, a foggy pane of glass that resists reflection. Beside it, the door is plain, framed in chipped wood. Above it, some faded lettering struggles against the years. The words aren’t meant to be read from this distance. Their strokes are weary, edges blunted by time. But still, you tilt your head, trying to piece them together, wondering what kind of place it might be.  

A hat interrupts the view — a man’s, brim low, crown rounded. Standing in the doorway, it shades the lettering just so, as though deliberately concealing what little clarity it might offer. But you imagine the letters are tired, the kind of font that’s seen decades without a care for reinvention. 

If you keep walking, you’ll move past it, slipping into the more polished familiarity of the café next door, its entrance angled slightly outward as if inviting you in. Your gaze drifts upward. Beyond that, two wiry trees dusted with frost extend crooked fingers toward a cloudless sky. The light is harsh now, unforgiving in its sharpness. You know it won’t last — it never does. Soon enough, this blue will yield to black, swallowing the city in its winter embrace before you’ve had a chance to notice it fading.  

“Oh, that woman gets on my nerves.” The harsh voice of hat-man cracks the brittle quiet. He says it loudly, enough as though the whole street should hear him. And his voice is sharp, cutting across the stillness of the afternoon. His words linger, landing uncomfortably in the air. There’s a woman following him, hurrying to catch up — a quick glance tells you she’s his wife, though the tension between them pulls tight in the space they share. The coat she wears is wrapped tight around her frame, but her expression reveals nothing. Is he talking about her? You can’t tell. A brief pang of sympathy rises, unbidden.  

Through the glass, you glimpse someone else — another woman, left behind at the till. She rubs her temples, her shoulders curling inward as though she’s bracing against something. The motion is unmistakable, the gesture of someone wound too tightly. Even through the dusty glass, even with the distance between you, the tension in her body is palpable. You wonder what the man had said to her before stepping outside. 

The thought pulls you out of yourself, and you murmur without thinking, “I wanna go in there.”  

Your voice breaks the silence between you and him. It catches Alex off guard. 

He’s been beside you all this time, his hand searching for yours, his fingers awkward over the thick wool. He tries for a better grip, one that feels intimate even through the layers. He’s been preoccupied, you realise — focused on the way the cold dulls touch, the way the gloves feel like a barrier he can’t quite breach.  

He glances toward the building you’ve indicated. “There?” he asks, his voice a soft echo of your own, head tilting ever so slightly as he looks back at you.  

You nod, though your own reasoning feels instinctive rather than deliberate. You’re not even sure why, not entirely.  

He hesitates, the faintest frown touching his brow. “I’m tired of stores, honey.” he says, his voice a gentle protest but firm enough to suggest he’d rather not. But you know him well enough to catch it. Still, a small opening where you might nudge him.  

You don’t hesitate. “We could get something for Penny.” you say, almost casually, though you’ve chosen the words carefully, the name landing like a quiet persuasion. “Maybe your Dad too.”  

You don’t look at him as you say it, keeping your eyes on the shop. You don’t need to look to know it’s enough. It’s not just logic. It’s strategy. He wouldn’t say no to his mother. He wouldn’t say no to family. Anything else might risk too much — his own goodness, his tenderness, his pride. He wouldn’t risk looking indifferent, even here, even now. 

He exhales, the kind of breath that lingers in the cold. A small puff of surrender. “‘Kay.” he says at last, his voice softened, his resolve melting like the frost on the trees, his glove shifting again against yours as he lets himself be pulled toward the little shop. 

The warmth is immediate and clinging. If you had glasses it would have fogged them up. It prickles your cheeks as you adjust. The smell is faint but unmistakable — dust mingled with something floral, faintly artificial, like potpourri that hasn’t been replaced in years. It makes the place feel older, almost stuck in time, though its shelves are crowded with objects trying their best to stay relevant.  

Alex removes his hat almost absentmindedly. It’s somewhere between a beanie and one of those with a big pom-pom perched on top, except his has a small, modest poof, like a shy exclamation point. He’s never liked it. Too silly, he’s said, too boyish, not the kind of thing he’d choose on his own. But it keeps him warm, and more importantly, you like it, so he wears it without much protest. Things could be that simple sometimes.  

Now hatless, his hair is in disarray, flattened and sticking up in unplanned directions. The strands curl at the ends, not quite long enough to be tamed by his usual attempts to smooth them down. You take in the rest of him — his coat half unbuttoned, revealing a shirt creased from wear, its collar slightly askew. There’s a quiet weariness about him, like someone pulled half out of sleep and still tethered to a dream. He yawns, a wide, unguarded motion that he doesn’t bother to suppress.  

The woman at the till greets you with a polite smile, but Alex doesn’t respond. He’s too busy battling with his gloves again, tugging at the fingers like they’re conspiring against him. You glance at him with mock exasperation, leaning close enough to mutter, “Wake up, Alex.”  

You weave your way between the shelves, which are tall and narrow, nearly brushing the ceiling. The aisles are tight enough to make the place feel more cramped than cozy, but there’s a comfort in it — something about being surrounded by so many little objects, all waiting to be chosen. You pause in one of the aisles, stopping at a shelf lined with small, decorative pieces. Alex, still yawning, shuffles to a stop beside you.  

“These are cute, aren’t they?” you say, lifting one of the ceramic napkin holders into your hand.  

He blinks at it, bleary-eyed. “What are-” he pauses for another yawn, turning his head slightly before finishing, “-those?”  

“Napkin holders.” you say, inspecting the little ceramic shape. It’s painted with delicate flowers, the kind of design that’s charming at first glance but verges on tacky the longer you look at it. Alex barely glances at it. “Put your hand over your mouth.” you chide when he yawns again, and his lips twitch into a faint smile.  

“Yes, yes.” he says, covering his mouth too late. “Shouldn’t be allowed. It’s dangerous.” His voice is teasing, but there’s a drowsy edge to it that takes the sharpness away. He smiles at you, the kind of smile he knows softens you even when you don’t want it to.  

It almost works. Almost.  

“I hadn’t realized…they are cute.” he says after a beat, his tone half-distracted. He yawns again, quickly covering his mouth this time. “Sorry, baby.”  

“You’re dreaming.” you tell him, shifting the napkin holder in your hand.  

He shakes his head lightly, a touch defiant. “But I’m wide awake.” He reaches for the ceramic piece, finally managing to grip something with his now-gloveless hands. His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, warm and sure. 

You glance at him, eyebrow raised. “You know, awake or asleep, it’s the same thing with you.” 

“Oh really?” He tilts his head, feigning thoughtfulness, and then smirks. “I was going to say I only think of you naked when I’m awake, but that’s not-”  

“Alex!” you hiss, slapping his shoulder lightly.  

The layers of your coats and sweaters make the gesture more symbolic than anything else, the force dulled to almost nothing. He grins, unrepentant, the mischief in his eyes breaking through his weariness for a moment.  

“That’s not the point.” you say, trying to sound stern, though the corner of your mouth twitches dangerously close to a smile.  

“But you just said…” He trails off, his grin widening. “I’m really tired. ‘S your fault I can’t think.” He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that’s so absurdly him it breaks your resolve.  

Okay, maybe it is your fault, but you were up all night too and you’re fine, aren’t you?

“You didn’t understand, Mr. Turner.” you say, trying to recover the thread of your thought. “There’s no difference between dreaming awake and dreaming asleep.”  

He steps closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you gently back against him. His other hand, still holding the napkin holder, hangs loosely at his side. The ceramic piece suddenly feels laughably insignificant.  

“I do dream.” he says softly, his voice brushing your ear. “Life’s a dream.” He pauses, just long enough to make you roll your eyes at his dramatics.  

Then, quieter, closer: “Mrs. Turner.”  

Your chest tightens, a warmth spreading from where his hands rest on your front. You smile despite yourself, though you try to hide it. You melt against him, though you tell yourself you shouldn’t.  

Yes, you should. Yes, you do.

“If you think you’re being witty, you’re very much mistaken.” you tell him, voice clipped but with an edge that betrays you’re not entirely serious.  

He doesn’t respond, just smirks in that half-sleepy, half-mischievous way that always seems to unnerve and amuse you all at once. You decide not to let him win this one, so you spin out of his grip in what you imagine might look like a graceful move. For a moment, it almost is — your coat flaring softly behind you, your movement fluid. Almost.  

Then your shoulder catches the opposite shelf, halting your momentum with an awkward thud. Nothing falls, but the wobble of a few precariously placed trinkets makes you freeze. He raises a single brow, biting back what you’re sure would be a smug comment.  

You ignore him, your gaze dropping to the cluttered shelf in front of you. A piece of decor — a ceramic plate painted with tiny, intricate flowers — catches your attention. You reach for it without thinking. His mother would like this, wouldn’t she? Something delicate and quiet, the kind of thing she’d know exactly where to place in her home.

Behind you, Alex whispers, his voice low and teasing. “You’re just being a bore…with-” He pauses, clearly searching for the word, “-with your stupid paradoxes.”  

You glance over your shoulder, unimpressed. “We need to get them a gift.” you say, holding up the plate for him to see before putting it back down. “You’re incapable of talking seriously.”  

Your look is pointed enough to make him stop in his tracks. For a brief moment, you imagine that if he had a tail, it would be tucked stiffly between his legs, shameful but still stubborn.  

“Today, yes.” he concedes, though his voice is quiet, almost petulant. “Only today. Because of…because…” His words falter. You can practically see the gears in his head turning, trying to come up with something clever — or at least something that won’t offend you.  

“Because what?” you challenge, tilting your head, already knowing he doesn’t have an answer.  

His mouth opens slightly, then closes again. Finally, he gives up with a shrug, his hands rising in mock surrender.  

“Today’s the same as any day.” you say, filling the silence as you reach for another object. This time, it’s a pair of little statues — matching figures that look vaguely like gnomes, though their features are less defined. You’re not entirely sure what they’re meant to represent. They’re oddly charming.  

Alex leans in over your shoulder to inspect them, his breath warm against your cheek. He scoffs softly. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s raising that brow again.  

You sigh and place the statues back on the shelf.  

“Not quite as much.” he says, his tone faintly smug.  

“Your witticisms are not very inspired.” you reply, your voice dry as you finally turn to face him.  

“Neither are the gnomes.” he says, pointing at the shelf.  

“They’re not gnomes.” you argue, folding your arms.  

“They’re gnome-adjacent.” he counters, stepping closer with a slight smirk.  

“Alex.”  

“Alright, alright.” he says, holding his hands up as though to defend himself from the rising tension. Then he yawns again, and you narrow your eyes at him.  

“I can’t believe you’re this tired.” you say. “It’s not even three o’clock.”  

“I’m not tired.” he insists, though the yawn he tries to stifle completely betrays him. He rubs the back of his neck, feigning thoughtfulness. “I’m just…thinking at a slower pace.”  

You roll your eyes, pulling another small object from the shelf — a delicate, hand-painted ornament shaped like a bird. It feels light in your palm, fragile. You hold it up for him to see.  

“Thoughts?” you ask.  

He studies it for a second, then shrugs. “It’s alright.”  

“‘Alright’ doesn’t cut it. This is for your mother.”  

He smirks, leaning against the shelf behind him. “It’s nice. Lovely, even. You’re the expert.”  

“You’re insufferable.” you mutter, turning the ornament over in your hands.  

“And yet here we are.” he replies, stepping closer again. “I’ll stop being insufferable if you agree to get coffee after this.”  

“Who said I’d get coffee with you?”  

He feigns a look of deep hurt, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Mrs. Turner.”  

“I can’t believe you think that still works.” you say, shaking your head.  

“It does work.” he says, leaning in close enough that you can feel the warmth of him despite the layers between you. “Because you still get that little smile when I say it. Like you’re trying not to, but you can’t help it.”  

“Alex-”  

“Mrs. Turner.” he interrupts, whispering it softly, the words brushing the air between you.  

You turn away quickly, trying to focus on the shelf, but he’s already grinning. He’s watching you, half-lidded eyes following the way your hand moves.  

“I don’t like you making fun of me.”  

Your voice cuts through the still air of the shop, sharper than you intended. Alex straightens slightly, his hat dangling loosely from one hand as he shifts his weight. He blinks at you, his brows knitting together in brief confusion. He wasn’t making fun of you — not really. At least, not intentionally. Not in the way you’re accusing him of. But your words land heavy anyway, like you’re testing some unseen boundary neither of you had anticipated crossing.  

You don’t know where the attitude is coming from. Maybe it’s the weight of the day, the pressure of finding the right gifts, or even something as intangible as the light in this place — the way it presses in, dim and dusty, making everything feel a little off-kilter. Maybe some restless ghost buried in the walls of the shop has taken hold of you, whispering mischief into your ear. That’s less likely than the truth: you’re annoyed. His slight disinterest has pricked at you, and lashing out feels easier than confronting it.  

Still, there’s a part of you that winces internally at your own sharpness. You know he doesn’t deserve it. But isn’t it better to be a little bit of a bitch, to feel like you’ve regained some ground, than to sit in the uneasy space of his half-suppressed yawns and detached commentary?  

He feels a pang of guilt at the sharpness in your tone, even if he’s not entirely sure where it’s coming from.  

“Making fun of you?” he echoes, his voice soft but edged with confusion. His hat — still clutched in one hand — drops briefly to his side before he presses it over his heart like some overblown poet, as though swearing allegiance. “But my dear,” he says, adopting a tone of mock sincerity, “I would never allow myself to-”  

“You are allowing yourself,” you interrupt, cutting through his theatrics.  

You spin around to face him, blinking. The light catches on the edge of your profile, illuminating the faintest frown pulling at your lips. He tilts his head slightly, studying you. His lips quirk slightly, not quite into a smile but close. He takes a step closer, moving out of the narrow aisle and into the small open space where the shelves converge. You follow without thinking. The objects around you seem to blur into a backdrop of muted colors and textures. All of it feels insignificant.  

“Are we fighting?” he asks after a moment, his tone laced with quiet amusement rather than concern. He’s still looking at you with that half-drowsy expression that’s been driving you mad since you walked in here. 

Something about the question — about the way he doesn’t take it seriously — makes your annoyance flare. It’s not that you want to fight him — God, no — but what if you did? What if you wanted to dig into the frustration and let it bloom into something loud and messy? Would he let you, or would he keep being this unbearably kind, unshakably soft version of himself?  The idea that he’d brush you off so easily feels…infuriating. 

“Ugh.” you mutter, turning sharply back to the shelf. The trinkets clink faintly as your movements disturb them.  

“We are.” he concludes.  

“Yes.” you say, exasperated.  

He watches the tension in your shoulders for a beat, trying to determine how serious you are. Then he nods, his lips pressing together in mock solemnity. Finally.  

“You’ll win.” he says, with a soft sigh.  

Your head whips around, your eyes narrowing. “Why?”  

“Because I’ll let you.” he replies simply, his voice so earnest it disarms you, so matter-of-fact it almost feels like an insult.  

“Alex!”  

“What?” he asks, his confusion genuine now. He blinks down at you like he truly doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong. His free hand brushes against your arm lightly, a hesitant touch meant to gauge whether he’s misstepped or if you’ll let him back in.  

“You can’t just let me win.” you say, your voice tight but not as sharp as before. 

“Why not?” His tone is calm, but there’s a faint edge of stubbornness creeping into it now. He’s tired — of this argument, of this shop, of the layers of cold and warmth and expectation piled onto the day. He rubs the back of his neck with the hand still clutching his hat, his hair ruffling slightly in the process. 

“Because…” you start, but the words stall in your throat. Because what? You’re not even sure anymore. It’s something about how effortless he makes everything seem, about the way he sidesteps conflict with that easy charm of his, leaving you spinning your wheels. “Because!” you insist.  

He sighs, his breath warming the air between you. He looks at you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face with a tenderness that catches you off guard. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, steadier.  

“But I love you.” he says, the words simple and unadorned, like a fact of nature. He leans in and presses a warm, fleeting kiss to your cheek.  

The action jolts you out of your frustration. You refuse to let him see it. Still, his words linger, as warm as his touch.  

He knows he’s broken through.  

You want to stay annoyed. You want to hold onto the spark that made you lash out in the first place. But he makes it impossible. The fight — the one you weren’t even sure you wanted — deflates before it can properly take shape, leaving you standing there, your cheek still tingling from the press of his lips.  

“You’re mad.” he says after a beat, his voice quiet. “Aren’t you?”  

You glance at him. “Not mad.” you murmur.  

“Annoyed?”  

You nod, barely.  

“Because of me?”  

You turn your head, fixing him with a look that answers the question for him.  

“Right.” he says, a faint, sheepish smile tugging at his lips.  

You huff and step away, placing some bird ornament you didn’t even know when you picked up back on the shelf. With more care than you’d like to admit. Your fingers drift to another object. Alex watches the way you move, your hands, noting the deliberate precision in the way you touch. He steps closer, close enough that his chest almost brushes your back.  

“I wasn’t making fun of you.” he says softly. “Not in the way you think.”  

You don’t respond right away, but your shoulders relax ever so slightly.  

“I mean it.” he continues, his hand brushing against yours as he reaches for the snow globe. His fingers close around it, and for a moment, the two of you are holding it together. “You know that, don’t you?”  

“I don’t know.” 

Alex lets the snow globe go, his hand moving to cover yours instead. 

“Well,” he says, “let me prove it to you.”  

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat in the gesture. All you can focus on now is the way his lips feel against yours when he turns you around and kisses you, steady and sure, and the smile that bleeds into it.

“Don’t think this means I’m not still mad at you.” 

“Of course.” he replies, straightening slightly but keeping his hand at your waist. “I wouldn’t dream of assuming otherwise.”  

“You’re annoying.” 

“Mhm…” he hums, “you’ll keep me around.”  

“You’re lucky I will.” you say finally.  

“Every day, my love.” he replies softly. This time there’s no teasing. Only truth. 

It wasn’t surprising to you when Alex confessed that he missed the old car. He could be nostalgic like that, his attachment to certain things running deep in ways that both charmed and baffled you. What was surprising was seeing him pull up one day with it, looking entirely too pleased with himself as if he’d just pulled off the heist of the century.  

“Hadn’t you sold it?” you’d asked, staring at the weathered thing parked in front of your home, its once-shiny paint still dulled with age.  

He hadn’t, of course. It turned out he’d loaned it to a friend who’d been keeping it in a garage somewhere outside of the city. So now you are stuck with it — this clunky, rust-speckled piece of nostalgia — for the long drive up north.  

It’s three minutes past nine when you climb into the passenger seat, arms full: handbag, gift bag, another gift bag, your notebook, pencils, and a pencil sharpener balanced precariously on top. The car smells faintly of leather, aged and worn, mingling with the sharper scent of something metallic and slightly sweet — old oil, maybe.  

Alex loads the rest of the bags into the back. When he settles into the driver’s seat, his hat already pushed back on his head, he looks determined. Like he’s ready to tackle the road ahead, even if the odds aren’t in his favor.  

A couple of minutes later, he starts driving. If you’re lucky — and that’s a big if — you’ll reach your destination a little after noon. That’s assuming you were in a car that could go at a decent mileage per hour and that traffic wasn’t so bad.  

Traffic, of course, is terrible.  

Even on a Monday morning, the main road is backed up in both directions. Brake lights stretch endlessly ahead of you, a sea of red blinking intermittently in the pale winter sunlight. Alex sighs, a heavy sound that you feel more than hear.  

You settle in with your notebook open across your lap, pencil poised in your hand. The low scratch of lead against paper fills the car, soft and rhythmic, but Alex’s attention keeps drifting toward you.  

After the third exaggerated sigh, you glance at him. He’s gripping the wheel loosely, one hand resting at the top, the other on his thigh, but his knee is bouncing restlessly. The movement makes your nerves jittery, though you try not to show it.  

“Alex.”  

He doesn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the endless line of cars ahead, his jaw tight.  

Okay, Mr. Wants Attention. He won’t say it outright, won’t just ask for what he wants. Instead, he’ll make you pull it out of him. Another sigh, this one louder than the last, escapes his lips. It’s dramatic enough that you could swear you hear a hint of theatrics in it, like he’s in a play where his only role is the long-suffering driver.  

His knee bounces faster, the leather of the seat squeaking faintly under the motion. His hand shifts on the wheel, gripping and releasing, a quiet little fidget that says more than he would if he actually spoke. You can practically feel him daring you to ask what’s wrong, though you know the answer already.  

You sigh yourself now, closing the notebook with a quiet thud. You try to shove it into the dash compartment, but it doesn’t fit. The latch won’t click shut, and after a few futile attempts, you resign yourself to leaving it on your knees. You reach for the radio, fiddling with the dial, flicking through station after station until static fills the car. It’s a distraction, something to do with your hands while the car inches forward. But Alex sighs again, louder this time, and his knee keeps bouncing.  

“Leave it.” he mutters.  

You stop, your hand hovering over the dial. The silence feels heavier now, filled only by the occasional hum of an engine revving somewhere behind you and the faint creak of the car as it shifts with each stop-and-go motion.  

“Fine.” you mutter under your breath. “Would you like me to entertain you, darling?” you ask, your tone just dry enough to make your point.  

His eyes flicker to you for the briefest second before returning to the road, but the corner of his mouth twitches. He’s holding back a smile as far as you can tell. “Didn’t say that.”  

“You didn’t have to.” you mutter, rolling your eyes but leaning just a little closer to him anyway. “Honestly, Alex, if you wanted me to pay attention to you, all you had to do was ask.”  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

You let out a laugh, low and quiet. “Sure, Mr. Subtle.”  

Alex leans forward slightly, craning his neck to try and see around the cars in front of him. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, impatience palpable. He mutters something under his breath — something sharp, likely not meant for your ears.  

“It’s Monday.” he says finally, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Where are all these people coming from? Jesus.”  

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His knee is still bouncing, and his fingers are tapping out an erratic rhythm now, too. The smell inside the car shifts. The faintly nostalgic scent of old leather is overtaken by the sharper, more acrid smell of exhaust wafting in from outside. You crack your window slightly, but the cold air doesn’t help much.  

Alex keeps glancing toward the side of the road, as if expecting to see some miraculous shortcut that everyone else has somehow missed. His mind is likely running through every backroad, every alternate route, every possible way to shave even five minutes off this crawl of a journey. But nothing presents itself, and he lets out another quiet sigh.  

“You’re quiet.” he says suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. 

You shrug, shifting in your seat. “Not much to say.”  

He hums in response.  

“You’re quiet, too.” you add after a moment.  

He glances at you then, a flicker of amusement softening the hard line of his mouth. “Am I?”  

“Yes. It’s unnerving.”  

He smiles faintly, his fingers stopping their drumming as he leans back into his seat. “I’m just thinking.”  

“About?”  

“About how I probably should’ve left this car where it was.” he admits.  

You laugh softly, and for a moment, the tension in the car eases.  

“I didn’t want to say it.” you tease, leaning your head back against the seat.  

“You didn’t have to.” he replies, his voice warm now. “You’re good at saying things without saying them.”  

The traffic inches forward again, and the moment is interrupted by the blaring of a horn somewhere behind you. Alex sighs heavily, his knee bouncing once more.  

You reach over, your hand brushing lightly over his thigh. “Relax.” you say softly.  

He glances at you, his expression softening as he exhales slowly. “I’m trying.”  

“Try harder.” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips.  

He laughs, and the sound feels like a small victory — something to hold onto as the road stretches endlessly ahead. 

Alex shifts in his seat, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gear shift. He glances at you again, his lips quirking into a half-smile. The weight of your hand on his thigh — too high to be innocent — lingers in his mind, and you can tell he’s doing his best to maintain composure.  

“Help me out ‘ere.”  

Your eyebrows arch as if to say what exactly do you mean by that?

His eyes flick to yours briefly before returning to the road. He knows you too well. “Don’t even.” he mutters, though the faint flush creeping up his neck gives him away.  

“Don’t even what?” you ask, voice dripping with sweetness.  

Neither of you speaks for a beat, both locked in a silent test of wills. You’re daring him to elaborate, he’s daring you to act.  

“We’re not that predictable.” he finally says.  

“We’re not.” you agree, your hand still on his thigh, fingers curling ever so slightly.  

“We’re not.” he repeats, but his voice is strained now, the words lacking conviction.  

Your hand gives a deliberate squeeze, and his jaw tightens. His free hand comes up to rub over his face, exasperation both real and performative, all the same. “Oh, fuck…” he mutters under his breath as the car jerks to another stop in the seemingly endless traffic.  

“Hmm?” you prompt, your tone as sweet as syrup.  

“I forgot to shave.” he says, shaking his head slightly, as if that were the biggest concern right now.  

“I like you rugged looking.” Your fingers press into the soft fat of his inner thigh just enough to make his breath hitch.  

“My mother doesn’t.” he mutters, attempting to steer the conversation back to neutral ground. The car lurches forward a few feet. “Since…”

“Since?” you ask, leaning into him slightly, your eyes glittering with curiosity.  

“Well…” He pauses, scratching his jawline. “Since I had my phase.”  

You laugh. “Oh, right, the phase.” He chuckles along, but his smile falters when you add, “You still look good, though.”  

The compliment softens him. His gaze flickers to yours for a moment, his smile returning, small and genuine. “Thank you, darling.” he says.  

The traffic crawls on, and the silence between you becomes less charged, more companionable. He nods toward your notebook, still perched on your knees.  

“How’s the book coming along?” 

You groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “Alex, it’s not- it’s just a bunch of made-up nonsense…a lot of it, actually.”  

“That’s usually what you call fiction.” he replies.  

“It’s not the same.” you argue.  

He laughs softly. “It’s in the paper, in black and white, you can’t deny that.” With the air of someone deeply offended, you huff out a dismissive pfff! “It’s all there.” he says again, stretching his arm to tap his fingers on the notebook’s hardcover.  

You snap it shut as if it wasn’t already and tuck it under your arm, already anticipating his next question.  

“Are you gonna let me read it?” he asks, his voice curious but not pushy. Yet.

Your hand leaves his thigh, and instead, you dig through your bag, pulling out a compact. You flip the car’s sun visor down and open the mirror, focusing intently on your reflection.  

“Babe.” he says, trying again.  

You ignore him, pretending to adjust your hair.  

“You read my stuff all the time.” he points out, his tone edging toward plaintive.  

You snap the compact shut with a decisive click, the sound sharp in the confined space. “I do not.” you say.  

“Yes, you do.”  

“No, I don’t.”  

“Is it about me?” he interrupts, and you immediately slam the visor back up with more force than necessary. The sharp sound makes him wince slightly, and he raises a hand in mock surrender.  

“Babe, c’mon.” he says, his voice gentler now, but you’ve already decided the conversation is over.  

“Do you think Sock will miss us?” you ask abruptly, your tone casual but clearly a diversion.  

He chuckles, shaking his head at your transparent attempt to change the subject. “Yeah, but he��s fine with Jules.”  

Julia — or Jules, as Alex affectionately calls her — is the sweet elderly neighbor you’ve reluctantly grown to trust with your beloved cat. You’re still not entirely used to this whole “neighbor” thing, despite how long it’s been since you moved in with Alex.  

“I hope so.” you murmur, glancing out the window at the sluggish traffic.  

“He’s our little boy.” Alex teases, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.  

“He is.” you agree, your voice softening as you think of those big, curious eyes and the way he always seems to know when you need comfort.  

Alex reaches over, resting his hand lightly on your knee. “He’ll be fine, love. Jules spoils him rotten.”  

“I know.” you say, placing your hand over his. “I just miss him already.”  

Alex squeezes your knee gently. “I miss him, too.”  

The car inches forward again, and Alex’s knee stops bouncing. “Maybe we’ll make it there before dark.” he laughs.  

“Maybe.” you reply, your fingers brushing against his as the traffic finally begins to ease. 

Just enough to lull you into a false sense of progress for a little while, the slow hum of the engine blending with the strains of a half-decent song on the radio. But the reprieve wasn’t enough to distract you. 

Boredom set in like a slow burn, your fingers tapping, your eyes darting to Alex as his hands gripped the steering wheel. He hadn’t noticed your shift in mood yet.

But then, of course, you had to push it. You always did.  

It didn’t take much. A touch on his arm that lingered too long. The slow slide of your hand to his thigh. His reaction was immediate: a quick intake of breath, the slightest flex of his fingers on the wheel.  

“Don’t.” he warned, though his voice lacked conviction.  

“You’re telling me no?” you asked, incredulous.  

“I didn’t say that.” he muttered, already losing the battle.  

He wouldn’t say no. Who would?  

What followed was short and sweet, the kind of indulgence you’d both blame on the traffic and the old car with its expansive, accommodating seats that left you just enough space for your business.  

You really were that predictable.

Now, you are wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, leaning against the passenger door as Alex sits up straighter, wrestling with his jeans. His zipper, much like the rest of the car, was stubborn and unreliable, catching on the fabric and refusing to cooperate.  

“Jesus Christ.” he muttered under his breath, fumbling with the metal teeth. A well known personal vendetta of impatience 

“Need help?” you tease, your voice light but still tinged with satisfaction.  

He shoots you a look — equal parts exasperated and amused. “I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”  

You shrug, a grin tugging at your lips as you watch him finally win the battle against his zipper. His shirt is untucked now, rumpled in a way that would betray you both if anyone looked too closely. Not that anyone would.  

Alex leans back against the seat, running a hand through his hair, which now had the telltale signs of your handiwork. He lets out a long sigh, shaking his head as if to scold himself.  

“You’re trouble.” he says, keeping his eyes on the road and his grip tight. On both the steering wheel and himself. 

“I’m your trouble.” 

He turns his head to look at you, his lips curving into a small, lopsided smile. “That you are. Do I look okay?”

“You look fine.” you say, smirking. “Rugged. Like I said.”  

He laughs softly, shaking his head again. “Rugged isn’t exactly what I was going for.”  

“Well, you should have thought about that before letting me-”  

“Letting you?” he interrupted. “Letting you? As if I had a choice?”  

“You always have a choice.” you said, reaching over to smooth down the collar of his shirt. Your fingers lingered on his neck.  

“Not with you.” Alex sighs. “You know, we’re never going to make it if you keep distracting me.”  

“Who says I’m the distraction?” you counter, leaning back in your seat, satisfied.  

He gives you another sidelong glance, his eyes warm despite the faint accusation. “I love you.” he says. Simple and unadorned.  

Predictable or not, there is no place you’d rather be. 

The dining room smelled like rosemary and roasted potatoes, a soft warmth radiating from the old brick fireplace that had been lit for the evening. The walls were lined with framed photos, decades of family history encased in polished wood, their stories lingering like ghosts in the air. Dinner had been as pleasant as you’d hoped: his mother doting on Alex with casual reminders about portion sizes, his father making quiet but pointed observations about the state of the world. It was comfortable, even cozy, in the way only a family home could be.

And then, of course, the gnome ornament had stolen the show.  

“I just love it.” his mother had gushed, cradling the little ceramic figure in her hands like it was something truly precious. She had no idea that, yes, Alex had doubled back to buy it behind your back, no clue that it had been a small rebellion against your mutual skepticism about it. But as she beamed at the tiny, vaguely odd-looking figure, you caught Alex’s eye. His smirk was almost imperceptible, but it was there. And yes, it made you love him that much more.  

Dinner continued in easy conversation — stories of neighbors, updates on distant cousins, the kind of talk that didn’t require much effort. But the peace was short-lived.  

“Well,” his mother begins, “when are you gonna give us a grandbaby, Alex?”  

The room seems to shift. It’s not a heavy silence, but it is enough to make you set your fork down a little too carefully, the scrape of metal against porcelain louder than it should have been. Alex pauses mid-chew, his eyes darting to you, then back to his mother.  

Your heart thuds in your chest. You haven’t exactly avoided this topic with Alex, but you haven’t fully dived into it either. It was one of those nebulous, someday things, a distant idea floating somewhere on the horizon. And now, it is here, smack in the middle of roast lamb and green beans.  

It’s not that he doesn’t want kids — does he? He’s told you he does. Maybe. Always in those quiet moments where the future feels far away and safe to talk about. But Alex, for all his charm and wit, is a man who lives in the present. Planning for something so big, so permanent, feels like asking him to stand on the edge of a cliff and look down. He’d rather keep his feet firmly on the ground.  

And you? You’re not sure. You’re not even sure what your hesitation is. Maybe it’s the fear of being seen as just a role — mother, wife, a fixture in someone else’s life. Maybe it’s the quiet terror that you’d somehow fail at it, that you’d be the one who didn’t measure up.  

“Uh,” he starts, his voice stalling as he swallows too quickly. He coughs lightly, reaches for his water, and takes a long sip. “That’s…a big question, Mum.”  

His father chuckles softly, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not a big question. It’s a fair one.”  

“Fair?” Alex raises an eyebrow, a small, nervous laugh escaping him. He’s still stalling, still trying to buy time.  

“Well, it’s been what? Two years now?” his mother presses, her gaze shifting between the two of you. Her smile is warm but expectant, like she’d already imagined herself knitting tiny hats and booties.  

A spotlight you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t avoid. Two years. The number hangs in the air like it means something, like there’s a timeline for this sort of thing, a deadline you’ve been blissfully ignoring. You glance at Alex. He looks calm on the surface, but you know better. The laugh was a tell. The way his fingers tightened slightly on yours under the table was another.  

You knew this touch well — his silent I’m recharging, as you two called it. It was a phrase born out of a joke, something lighthearted he’d said once, but over time it had grown into something more. You were his personal power bank, he liked to say. It sounded cute, and sometimes it was. But other times, it felt like he was pulling something from you without meaning to, like he was draining a piece of you to refill himself.  

You did the same to him, though. You didn’t have a name for it, but you knew he could tell when you were especially wound up. He’d pointed it out once, gently, that you tended to cling more, hang onto him like a lifeline when the world felt too much. You hadn’t even realised you did it until he said it.  

“I know when you’re extra stressed, my love.” he’d said. “You hang on me more.”  

“And you don’t mind?” you’d asked, hesitant, a little guilty.  

“‘Course not.” he’d replied, wrapping his arms around you in a way that made you feel like you could finally exhale. And you did. That sigh — your signal of release — was always his cue to let go.  

Now, under the table, as his thumb traces lazy circles over your knuckles, you feel the familiar tug of him recharging. You give him a small squeeze in return, your way of saying, It’s okay. I’m here. 

He wants to say the right thing, but the right thing isn’t clear.  

“We’ve, uh…we’ve talked about it.” he says finally, his voice careful. “Haven’t we, love?”  

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden toss of the conversational ball into your court. “Uh, yeah.” forcing a smile. “We’ve talked about it.”  

His mother’s smile widens, her hands clasping together, kind eyes filled with a hope that borders on entitlement. “And?” She’s lovely, truly. But this? This isn’t about her, or the tiny hats she’s already knitting in her mind.  

“And…” Alex says, dragging the word out as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not exactly…it’s not in the cards right now.”  

“Not in the cards?” his father repeats, his tone carrying just the slightest edge of disapproval.  

“Mum, Dad, come on.” Alex says, his voice softening into that almost-whining tone he uses when he wants to placate someone — you would know. “It’s not like we’re saying never. Just not…now.”  

“Why not now?” his mother asks, her brows furrowing. “You’ve got a lovely home, you’re both doing well. What’s stopping you?”  

The question reeks in the air heavier than the smell of roasted garlic. Alex shifts in his chair, the scrape of wood against the floor breaking the silence. “It’s not exactly that simple.” carefully measured.  

Not that simple. You almost laugh. You can see her knitting needles faltering in her imaginary hands, her perfectly stitched plans unraveling at the edges. Alex isn’t trying to disappoint her, but he doesn’t know how to explain it. That this thing, this life you’ve built together, is enough for now. That it doesn’t need to be expanded or multiplied to be complete.  

“We just…have other things we want to do first.” you finally join, steady, stern, but not unkind by any means. “It’s not that we don’t want to, but we’re happy where we are right now.”  

You lean back slightly, studying him for a moment. He looks good tonight, sharp but soft around the edges, like he belongs here and nowhere else. It’s always strange seeing him in this context, under the warm, homey lights of his childhood dining room. Here, where he’s both Alex, the man you love, and their Alex, the boy they raised.  

His mother doesn’t know the half of it. She doesn’t know how much of himself he pours into you, how he loves with a quiet ferocity that sometimes leaves you breathless. She doesn’t know how many nights you’ve stayed awake, piecing him back together while holding yourself together, steady and unshaking, because if you didn’t, who else would? Who else would be there to fix him, to gather up the fragments he doesn’t even realise he’s lost? She doesn’t know how it feels to bear the weight of him, his fears, his insecurities, his dreams, all of it laid bare in the space between midnight and dawn, whispered in a voice so soft it’s almost not there.  

She doesn’t know how he clings to you in those moments, like you’re the only thing tethering him to the ground, the only thing keeping him from coming undone. She doesn’t know about the times he’s buried his face in your lap, too exhausted to speak, and how you’ve run your fingers through his hair, murmuring assurances you weren’t entirely sure you believed yourself. She doesn’t know how you’ve felt yourself bending under the strain, a fine line between breaking and holding, praying silently that you’d stay strong just long enough to make it better for him.  

She doesn’t know the words he whispers to you in the dark — words so raw, so vulnerable, that they slice through you in ways you can’t describe. Words that make you wonder if you’re strong enough to hold all of him, if there’s a part of him too wild, too broken, too much for you to bear. But you do bear it, because it’s him. Because when he leans into you, pressing his forehead to yours with a sigh that seems to come from somewhere deep inside, it’s like he’s giving you a piece of his soul, trusting you with it in a way he’s never trusted anyone else.  

And she doesn’t know that even with all of that — his weight, his words, his breaking and rebuilding — you’d still choose him. Every time. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. Because no one else could hold him like you do. And no one else could ever be enough for you.

But you do. And maybe that’s enough. For now.

Alex shoots you a grateful look, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. His thumb strokes over the back of your hand, and your world narrows to just that small, steady motion of silent reassurance, a thank you, a reminder.

His mother sighs, the sound cutting softly through the fragile quiet. Her disappointment is carefully masked, an undercurrent of longing she can’t quite hide. “Well,” she says, “I suppose I can wait a little longer.”

“Thank you, Mum.” Alex lets out a short laugh, a gentle nudge to let the topic drop. “Plenty of time.”

His father grunts something under his breath along the lines of “As long as you’re not waiting forever.”

The conversation shifts after all of that, moving on to safer topics like the weather and plans for the holidays. But there's a faint echo of it that refuses to fully fade.  

Later, as you and Alex stand in the kitchen doing the dishes, the quiet hum of the house settles over you both. He nudges your shoulder with his, subtle but obviously intentional.  

“You alright?” His voice was low, careful, like the words are something fragile he’s handing to you.  

“Yeah.” you murmur, rinsing a plate. “You?”  

A pause. You can feel his eyes on you, even if you didn’t meet them. He’s drying a glass, moving the towel over it with slow precision, as if it’s the only thing left to make sense. “I didn’t mean to throw you under the bus back there.”  

“I know.”  

You place the plate on the rack, and his hand comes to rest on your lower back. His touch always felt like a question, unspoken but clear. This one is softer, quieter, but it asks for the same thing it always does — trust.  

You don’t lean into him immediately. The silence between you isn’t empty — it’s full of him, full of the things he wouldn’t say. Things he didn’t need to. His hand stays on your back, patient, steady. He’s not trying to pull anything from you this time, not the way he sometimes did without realising. This isn’t that. This is him letting the moment be.  

When you finally lean into him, it isn’t for his sake but yours. You feel his exhale, a soft shift of air against your temple as he turns his head slightly.  

“I don’t mind it.” you whisper. “When they ask. I don’t. Not really.”  

His hand moves, tracing the smallest arc along your spine. He doesn’t speak. You feel the words there anyway, between the press of his fingers and the warmth of his palm. He never needed to explain himself to you — not about the questions, not about the answers he wasn’t ready to give.  

You turn your head just enough to glance up at him. There’s something there that feels like the edge of a deep breath he won’t let out. It isn’t a promise he gave you. It was something smaller. A kind of understanding only he could offer. 

The silence stretches for a moment too long, heavy but not unbearable. Then Alex breaks it.  

“You know, if they ask again, I could just tell them we’re waiting for Sock to start talking so he can weigh in on whether he wants siblings.”  

You shake your head, the smallest smile breaking through. “God, don’t give your mum any ideas. She’d probably knit him a little sweater that says big brother.”  

Alex chuckles. The tension finally cracked, just a little. “Alright, noted. No sibling talk in front of Mum.”  

“No sibling talk at all.” you corrected, nudging him with your elbow.  

“Fine, fine.” He grins, leaning closer until his voice is just a murmur. “But if Sock starts talking, all bets are off.”  

It was absurd, but it worked.

The afternoon is suspended in that semi-darkness, the kind that feels like it could stretch on forever. The curtains are drawn, filtering the pale winter light into muted shadows that fall over Alex’s room. His figure is a quiet mound beneath the blanket, shifting slightly as he adjusts to your presence. His back is to you, hunched. His Christmas pajamas — red with cartoonish reindeer — peek out from beneath the covers, ending awkwardly at his calves where the fabric is just too short. They’re old, rediscovered while rummaging through boxes of things he never throws away. They’re somehow endearing. You can’t believe he’s still wearing them.  

You knock your knuckles against his exposed ankle, a quiet gesture that’s more habit than intention.  

You knock again, the sharp point of bone a contrast to the soft fabric covering the rest of him.  

He coughs, then groans. “What is it?” he asks, voice hoarse and half-muffled by the pillow.  

“Whatcha doing?” you ask.  

“Napping…” He yawns, stretching the word into something almost melodramatic. “…obviously.”  

“Well, wake up.” you prod. 

“Oh, dear, dear…” he grumbles, turning over like a petulant child dragged from bed too early with the kind of exaggerated effort that’s as much a performance as it is genuine irritation. The blanket clings to him like it’s part of his skin, and in his struggle to free himself, he ends up more tangled than before. He sighs in surrender, his face poking out from the fabric, hair a mess of dark waves.  

His eyes are heavy-lidded, his cheeks a little flushed from the heat of the blanket. He looks particularly cute like this, even with the hiccup that follows — a small, tiny squeak that catches you off guard, so out of place it even startles him for a moment. Cute, until it morphs into that familiar expression: brows furrowing, lips tightening, the kind of face that looks like he’s seconds away from either a burp or a gag. No, he’s still cute. 

“What’s the matter?” he asks finally, blinking up at you with half-hearted concern, his voice still hoarse from sleep.  

“I don’t know.” you say honestly, your hands finding his ankles again, sliding up over the faint ridges of his tibia. The friction of his leg hairs against your palms makes him twitch, and you grin as he squirms, trying to jerk away.  

“Stop it.” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it, just a quiet plea.  

You relent, letting him settle again, before climbing onto the bed beside him. He shifts to make room, though the blanket clings stubbornly to his legs. The bed creaks. His body feels warm even through the layers, radiating heat like a sleepy furnace. Alex blinks at you, his face caught somewhere between sleepy irritation and that soft, half-lidded fondness he doesn’t bother to hide.  

“I just miss you.” you say, softly this time, your hand brushing over his arm.  

His eyes catch a glint of the dim light sneaking through the curtains. For a moment, he just looks at you, the sleepiness fading  

“You miss me?” he echoes, voice hoarse, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. He rubs at his eyes, a slow, lazy motion that makes your chest tighten. “I’ve been right here the whole time.”  

“I know,” you murmur, pulling your knees up to your chest as you sit beside him. “But you’ve been…napping.”  

“And?” he asks, mock affronted, though the way his lips twitch betrays his amusement.  

“And…I don’t know.” you say again. “It just feels like forever.” His hair sticks up at the crown, and you resist the urge to smooth it down — barely.  

Alex lets out a sigh, dragging his hand down his face before looking at you properly. “You’re being dramatic.”  

“Probably.”  

He sits up, propping himself on one elbow, and the blanket slides down to his lap. “What am I supposed to do with that?”  

You shrug, fingers playing idly with the edge of the blanket. “Let me stay?”  

He grins. It’s not long before he gives in, though, because it’s you, and he’s never really been good at saying no to you.

“Stay, then.” 

You don’t wait for further permission, stretching out beside him and resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Hey-” he grumbles, wincing as you jab at a sensitive spot. “Do you want something, or are you just here to bully me awake?”  

“A little of both.” you admit, your fingers already sneaking their way beneath the edge of the blanket, brushing along his ribs. His skin is warm, almost feverish, though you know it’s just the heat he keeps trapped under all those layers. The jittery feeling that had been gnawing at you begins to subside.  

“God, you’re freezing!” He jerks away, his own hand coming up to trap yours, holding it in place against his chest like he could warm it through sheer proximity.  

“Don’t exaggerate.”  

“Not exaggerating.” he says, dragging out the words. He still hasn’t let go of your hand, though.  

“I’m right here.” he says, his voice low and a little scratchy, as if the words had to crawl their way out.  

“Yeah.” you reply, but you can’t help curling even closer, resting your head against his shoulder. His arm moves instinctively, wrapping around you and pulling you into his warmth. He presses his chin to the top of your head, the slight scratch of his unshaven jaw making you smile. 

“What’s this really about?” he asks after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost cautious.  

“Nothing.” you say, your words muffled against the soft cotton of his shirt. “I just wanted to be close to you.”  

Alex hums, his fingers tracing slow, absent patterns along your arm. “You’re always close to me.”  

“Not like this.” you reply, and though the words come out simply, there’s an edge of vulnerability to them that you hope he doesn’t notice.  

Alex notices everything.  

He shifts slightly, turning so he can see your face. “Hey,” he murmurs, his free hand tilting your chin up. His eyes search yours, their depth almost unnerving in this semi-darkness. “I’m not going anywhere, you know?”  

“I know.”  The corners of your mouth twitch, waiting for him to react. He doesn’t disappoint.  

“Good, baby.” He leans in and kisses your forehead, a soft, lingering touch that feels like both a promise and a reassurance. You go closer, pressing your cheek into his pillow, your breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. His lashes flutter as he opens his eyes again, meeting your gaze. “You really miss me?” he asks, quieter this time.  

You nod, your nose brushing his. “I do.”  

“Even when I’m right here?”  

“Especially then.”  

The hint of a smile twitches at his lips, soft and fond in a way that makes your chest ache. “S’pose that’s alright, then.” he murmurs, letting out a long sigh. He shifts, untangling himself from the blanket with lazy, deliberate movements until his arms are free and reaching for you.  

When he wraps himself around you, the room feels even warmer, even darker, like the world outside doesn’t exist. His hands find their way to your back, smoothing over the fabric of your shirt in lazy circles, and his voice comes low and rough against your ear.  

“Miss you too, y’know.”  

You don’t answer, not with words. You bury yourself into him instead, tucking yourself so close it feels like you might sink into him entirely. His breathing evens out after a while, but his fingers never stop their slow movement. Neither of you says anything more. You don’t need to.

Until he hiccups again. It’s sharp and quick, breaking the stillness of the room, and you can’t help but giggle. But then something else slips through, something heavier, and before you can stop it, a tear edges out and clings to your lashes. You press your face to his shoulder, hiding, but not well enough.  

Because the thought comes unbidden — too sharp to ignore, too deep to escape. You can’t help but imagine a smaller version of him, soft-cheeked and wide-eyed, hiccuping just the same. And the image twists something inside of you, almost hurts, because how could your heart survive it? How could you hold so much love and still exist? You barely survive him every day.

“Alex?” you say, your voice small, almost hesitant.  

“Yeah?” 

“Do you want to have a baby?”  

He’s silent — not in a way that shuts you out, but in the way that means he’s turning it over in his mind, letting it settle. His lips move against your skin, brushing kisses wherever he can reach: your collarbone, the slope of your shoulder, the spot just below your ear. His hand has stopped its gentle motion on your back, now just resting there.  

It takes a long moment for him to speak.  

“I think…” he starts, pausing like the words are too heavy to admit. “I think I’m too old to have a baby. To be a father.”  

There’s something in his voice — something faint and distant, like disappointment hidden under layers of careful resignation. He says it like a fact, one he’s come to terms with.  

You don’t look at him. Can’t. Instead, you focus on the sound of his breathing, warm and steady against your skin. But the air shifts, and suddenly, it’s not about a baby anymore. It’s about him.  

It hits you all at once: Alex is going to get old one day. His hair will go grey, his laugh will quiet, and there will be a day when you won’t wake up next to him. When his warmth won’t fill this space, when you’ll reach for him and find nothing but air.  

“Hey…” he whispers, his lips pausing in their path along your skin. His hands come up to cup your face, and when he tilts your chin up, you can’t hide from him anymore. He can see his own reflection in the tears clinging to your lashes. “Did I- did I say something? Are you okay, darling?”  

“You’re not too old.” you say quickly, your voice trembling.  

He smiles softly at you, a faint curve of his lips that aims to bring you back out. He knows this isn’t about the words he said. Knows you’re not upset, not exactly. He just holds you tighter, like he can squeeze the ache out of your chest.  

“I just don’t want our kid to have a dad that’s sixty before they’re ten.” he says, and his stupid little math makes you laugh despite yourself.  

“Alex,” you chuckle, a tear slipping down your cheek, “you’ve got your math all wrong. Severely.”  

“Yeah.” he admits, laughing softly. “Probably.”  

He shifts, sliding his arms around you, pulling you close until you’re almost beneath him, tangled up in his weight and warmth. He’s everywhere — solid and heavy, pressing you into the mattress. His breath is against your ear, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and the thought that had unraveled you before feels so far away now.  

“I’m sorry for…” You trail off, trying to find the words for crying over nothing and everything at once.  

Alex hums, brushing his lips against the curve of your neck. “You don’t have to be.” His voice is a soft murmur, filled with a kind of understanding that makes you ache even more.  

“I just didn’t know it would be like this,” you whisper, not meant for him to hear.  

“Like what?”  

“That I would become so closely tied to you.”  

There’s weight in the words, the kind that would feel crushing if you weren’t so completely wrapped up in each other. But neither of you has the energy to linger on it, to pull it apart and examine it.  

So instead, you just hold on. Feel the warmth of him, the life of him, the love that’s so much a part of him you can barely tell where it ends and where you begin.

Lips melt together, air exchanged between mouths like you’re both trying to live off each other’s breath. He’s pressed so close, and yet somehow, you still miss him. It’s like no matter how much of him you take in — his touch, his warmth, his quiet murmurs — you’re always left wanting more. There’s a hunger to it now, a longing that no amount of kisses seem to satisfy.  

It’s been too long since you kissed him like this — messy and unrestrained, all need and no patience. The kind of kiss where you lose track of where your body ends and his begins. His lips are chapped, and yours are starting to sting, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that the walls are thin or that the door isn’t locked or that you’re both supposed to be adults, because right now, it feels like you could drown in him and still come up gasping for more. The air was too thick with propriety for you to touch him the way you wanted in front of his parents, for what felt like forever. It feels dangerous. Like every kiss, every touch, could spiral into something impossible to stop.  

But you can’t stop. Neither can he.  

His hips roll against you, deliberate and slow, lazy grind and the sensation sends heat pooling low in your belly. His hands move with purpose now, gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might slip through his fingers.  

“I like you a lot.” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, the words muffled against your lips.  

It’s so simple, so earnest, that it makes you laugh — a soft, breathless sound that he swallows with another kiss. You could get drunk off this.

“Al.” you murmur, pulling back just enough to look at him.  

“Hm?” His lips chase yours even as he hums, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, focused entirely on you.  

“I want-”  

“You want me to fuck a baby into you?”  

His voice is so serious, so matter-of-fact, that it takes you a second to process what he’s said. Then, you laugh, the sound startled and bubbling out of you uncontrollably. “Alex!”  

“What?” He grins, unrepentant, leaning down to nip at your jaw.  

“You know you can’t.” you say, though the heat blooming in your chest betrays the way his words made you feel.  

“Well…” He shifts, pressing closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can try.”  

His hands slide lower, slipping beneath your shirt, his palms warm and rough against your skin. He smiles against your neck, his breath hot as he adds, “I can fill you up with my babies…do my part of the deal.”  

“Al!” You swat at him, but your protest is half-hearted at best, your body already arching into his touch.  

He kisses you again, and this time it’s all need. There’s nothing gentle about it now, nothing careful. His teeth catch your bottom lip, his hands gripping you tighter, pulling you closer, until there’s no space left between you.  

You feel like you could crawl inside his skin, live there, wrap yourself up in the way he smells, the way he feels, the way he breathes against your neck. God, you could spend the rest of your life like this, and it still wouldn’t be enough.  

“Do you even think before you say shit like that?” you manage to gasp, though your voice is more amused than annoyed.  

“Not really.” he admits, his grin widening as he pulls back just enough to look at you. His hair is tousled, his cheeks flushed, and he looks so thoroughly pleased with himself that you can’t help but laugh again.  

“Can’t believe I married you fool.” you say, shaking your head, but your hands are tangling in his hair and pulling him back down. So soft against your palms, and his skin is warm under your fingertips, and you think, This is home. He’s home. 

He pulls back just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven. “You really miss me that much?”  

“Even when you’re right here.” you say, and you mean it.  

“Especially then.” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. 

You could live off this. Off him. Easily. 

When he kisses you again, it’s softer, slower, like he’s trying to memorise you. Like he’s trying to leave pieces of himself with you, pressed into your skin, embedded in your bones. And you let him, because if anyone gets to claim parts of you, it’s him.

His pants are pushed down, your shirt is tugged up but not off — it’s too cold for that. Your skin pebbles with goosebumps, nipples perking up as the air brushes over them, and Alex’s gaze snaps to them like they’re the only thing in the room worth looking at, like he’s just unwrapped the best gift under the tree. His eyes light up, soft and wide, and he’s got this stupid, almost boyish grin spreading across his face, like he’s just stumbled into the best Christmas morning of his life, even though he’s seen you like this before — dozens of times. Maybe hundreds.  

“God,” he starts, his voice low, “you’re so-”  

“You too.” you interrupt, and it’s so fast it almost makes him laugh. But he doesn’t, because your hand slides down between you, brushing over his stomach and lower, and he forgets how to do anything but exhale sharply.  

Your fingers curl around him, and he lets out a sharp, breathy sound that goes straight to your chest. He’s hard, but you can feel the slight chill on his skin as your hand moves over him. He groans, low and unsteady, his head tipping forward to rest against your shoulder as you stroke him. “Fuck, you’re eager.” he says, his tone teasing but breaking halfway through when your grip tightens just slightly.  

It’s cold, he thinks, and he’s absurdly glad the blanket’s there to cover you both. Not just to trap the heat but to hide the way his balls have drawn up tight from the temperature. You wouldn’t care anyway, he tells himself, but it doesn’t stop the small pang of self-consciousness.  

You don’t seem to notice. Or maybe you just don’t care, because your hand moves with purpose, stroking him with a rhythm that builds faster than he expects. Your lips are everywhere — on his neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth — and between kisses, you murmur things that make his head spin. “Not enough?” you murmur, your hand moving slowly, your thumb brushing over the tip just to watch him shudder.  

“Shit-” he hisses and you bite your lip to hide your grin. His hands find your waist, gripping you, but it’s no use. You’ve got him exactly where you want him, and you know it.  

“Fuck, you’re so good, Al.” you say, your voice a soft, breathy hum against his ear.  

“Oh-” his hips go jerking up into your hand, unable to stop himself. “Fuck, you’re gonna- god, you’re gonna-” he groans, his voice low and wrecked, the slick slide of your palm dragging him closer to the edge.  

“Good way to go.” you tease, leaning down to press your lips to his neck, and he lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a groan.  

“You’re impossible.” he says, but his hips are already moving again, thrusting up like he can’t help himself. He can’t.

“Impossible?” you echo, your tone mock-offended. “You’re the one who’s already- oh, god, Alex, you’re practically whining right now.”  

“I’m not whining.” he shoots back, but his voice cracks on the last word, and you snort.  

“You’re so whining.” you say, laughing softly against his skin.  

“Jeez.” he mutters, but he’s grinning now, his hands sliding down to your hips as he presses you closer. “You’re gonna regret teasing me.”  

“Am I?” you ask, your hand stroking him with just enough pressure to make him shudder again.  

“Yeah.” he says, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. Before you can respond, he’s shifting, his hands tugging at the waistband of your underwear. “Off.” he says, and you laugh, shifting to help him.  

“Demanding.” 

“Desperate.” he corrects. You can’t even argue, because his hands are already on you again, sliding up your thighs to pull you into his lap. “Fuck, I need to be inside you, girl.”  

You smile against his lips, “Then what are you waiting for?”  

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He barely manages to kick his pants down farther before he’s reaching for you again.  

“C’mere.” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, his hands warm against your chilled skin. You settle over him, the weight of you grounding him, and for a moment, he just holds you there, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft, his thumbs brushing lazy circles into your skin.  

“Always.” you say, your fingers sliding into his hair, and the way you look at him — like he’s the only thing that matters — it makes his chest ache.  

“Mhm.” His hands tighten on your hips as he guides you down and the groan that tears from his throat when he sinks into you is almost enough to undo you completely.  

You laugh softly, your fingers threading through his hair. “Missed me, huh?”  

“Shut up,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.  

“Thought you weren’t whining?” you tease, rocking your hips just slightly, and his hands clamp down on you, holding you still.  

“Christ, you’re gonna drive me insane.” he mutters, his head tipping back against the pillow.  

“Already have.” you say, leaning down to kiss him, and he groans against your mouth, and his hips are moving again.  

“Impossible.” he mutters, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer. 

“You said that already.” you remind him, grinning against his lips.  

“Still true.” he says, and then he’s kissing you again, and it’s messy and desperate and perfect.  

He moves then, his hips rocking up into you, and the heat of him makes you forget about the cold entirely. The blanket slips off your shoulders, pooling around your back, but you don't care. He doesn't care. All he cares about is you and your warmth and your weight and the soft sounds you make as you move with him.  

“Fuck.” he breathes, his voice shaky as he buries his face in your neck. “You feel so good.”  

“So do you.” you murmur, your hands gripping his shoulders until they feel like they’ve been set on fire, until it feels like the whole world’s on fire.  

The pace builds, faster, rougher, but there’s still something tender about the way he holds you, the way his hands move over your skin like he’s afraid you might disappear. You feel like you might burst. You kiss him again, swallowing his groans as he thrusts up into you, and you think, I could live in this moment forever.

Alex doesn’t just lose himself in you — he unravels completely. His grip on your hips tightens as his breath comes heavy and ragged, his forehead pressed to yours for a brief moment before he pulls back. “You…” he mutters, his voice low and hoarse, as though that single word is the only one he can manage.  

Before you can respond, he flips you over. The mattress dips and you barely have time to gasp before he’s on you, his body pressing yours into the bed, pinning you down. His hands find your wrists, pulling them above your head as he settles between your legs. He’s everywhere, all at once, overwhelming and intoxicating, and you can’t help the small, broken sound that escapes your throat.  

“Shhh…” he murmurs, a crooked smile flickering across his lips, his eyes bright with amusement. “They’re still awake.” You know he’s talking about the thin walls, the parents in the other room, but it doesn’t matter, because his smile fades almost immediately when you clench around him, your hips lifting to meet his. “Fuck-” he hisses, his voice breaking, and he has to stop for a second, burying his face in your neck like he’s trying to compose himself. “Love, you’re gripping me so tight-”  

“I’m so close.” you whimper, high and breathless, and his head snaps up.  

“Yeah?” he murmurs, soft but teasing, and one of his hands leaves your wrist to smooth over your hair, petting you gently like you’ve just done something worthy of praise. “That’s my girl.”  

The words undo you. Your body tenses, arching against him as you come, your cries muffled by his hand when he moves it quickly to cover your mouth.  

“Shhh.” he murmurs again, more soothing. His hand slides from your mouth to your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he watches you fall apart beneath him as he starts moving again, rougher this time, and the sound of him sliding in and out of you, wet and obscene, fills the room. 

You can barely think, barely breathe, and when you dare to moan, loud and broken, he shuts you up with his lips. Messy and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours as he thrusts into you harder, faster. You can feel him everywhere, his hands gripping your thighs, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock stretching you so perfectly it almost hurts.  

“You’re so- fuck-” he mutters against your lips, his voice shaking. “You’re so good. So fucking good.”  

You’re too cockdrunk to answer, your head falling back against the pillow as your body shakes beneath him. He groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he chases his own release, his movements becoming erratic.  

“I’m gonna come inside you now.” he says, low and wrecked. He’s already halfway there and you nod, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Wasn’t asking.” he mutters.

“Please.” you whisper, and it’s that — your soft, trembling plea — that seems to undo him entirely.  

“Fuck.” he breathes, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it feels like he’s grounding himself on you, holding you in place as if he might get lost otherwise. His face twists, caught between pleasure and something close to pain, and you watch him fall apart, his usual control slipping away.  

It’s always like this when he comes inside you. Like he’s completely overcome, lost in the heat and wetness of you, in the way you take him so completely. There’s something elemental about it, like you’re the only thing keeping him on earth, and he clings to you like you’re the answer to every question he’s ever had. The sounds he makes are devastating: deep, broken moans mixed with your name, half-spoken, half-gasped. 

He presses his forehead harder against yours, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts, and you can feel his body trembling, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. “God, you feel so-” He cuts himself off with a sharp gasp, his hips stuttering and he presses deeper, hot and endless, and he can’t stop, and he doesn’t ever want to stop. “Fuck, fuck…” he mutters, the words tumbling out of him. He’s not even aware he’s speaking. His hand slides from your hip to your stomach, splaying wide over the place where his cum is now buried deep inside you, as if he’s trying to feel it through your skin.  

It drives him crazy, every single time. To be so bare with you, so vulnerable, to feel you around him like this, no barriers, nothing between you. It’s too much and somehow never enough.  

He stays like that, hips pressed flush against yours, his cock still twitching inside you. His eyes are shut tight, his jaw clenched, like he’s trying to hold onto the feeling, trying to commit it to memory.  

When he finally opens his them, they’re dark and glassy, still hazy with pleasure. He looks at you like you’re something unreal, something he can’t believe he gets to have. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, and it’s not just a compliment but a declaration, raw and unfiltered. His thumbs brush gently over your cheeks as he kisses you, slow and deep. It’s softer now, reverent, like he’s thanking you, like he’s worshiping you.  

You can feel him still, still warm and pulsing, and you know he’s not ready to pull away yet. Neither are you. 

“Fuck.” he mutters, his voice muffled against your neck.  

You laugh, your fingers sliding into his hair as you hold him. “Yeah.” you whisper, your voice shaky but warm. “Fuck.”

He stays inside you far longer than makes any sense, long enough that the warmth between you turns to a sticky, shared heat that you can feel seeping out, dampening the sheets beneath you. Neither of you moves, and he’s quiet everywhere — his body heavy against yours, his breaths slow and even, the weight of him pinning you to the mattress in a way that feels unshakable. It’s not the kind of silence that asks for anything. It’s just Alex. The way he lingers in moments like this, unhurried and unwilling to let go, like pulling away would break the spell. You know he should move, that you should clean up, but the thought of him leaving you empty right now feels unbearable. You don’t want to move. 

You tilt your head just slightly to press your lips to his temple, the salt of his sweat faint on your tongue. His eyes are closed, but you know he’s not asleep. He’s just…here, with you. Fully.  

“I love being with you,” you murmur, “even when you stay silent so long.”  

His eyes open slowly, and they’re impossibly soft, the kind of look that makes your chest feel tight and full all at once. He shifts just enough to press his lips to yours. “I don’t mean to stay quiet. Sometimes I just…don’t know what to say.”  

“You don’t have to say anything. I like it. The quiet with you.”  

He hums, his hand drifting lazily up and down your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, memorising you all over again. “It’s different with you.” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “The silence. It’s not empty. It’s…” He trails off, his brow furrowing. He’s searching for the right word.  

“Full.” you offer, and his lips twitch into the faintest smile.  

“Yeah.” he says softly. “Full.”  

Softening but somehow still so present. It’s ridiculous, how much you love him in moments like this — when he’s not doing anything extraordinary, just existing with you, just letting himself be here.  

“I should move.” he says eventually, though he doesn’t sound like he means it. His hand slips to your stomach, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin. “I’m probably making a mess.”  

You laugh, the sound light and quiet in the stillness of the room. “You are.” you say, and he groans softly, hiding his face in your neck.  

“Sorry.” he mumbles, though he doesn’t make any effort to pull away.  

You press a kiss to his hair, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along the nape of his neck. “Don’t be.”  

It’s not reasonable, staying like this. The sheets are ruined, and the air between you is heavy with the aftermath of everything you’ve just shared, but none of it matters. All that matters is him, here, with you, so close it feels like you might dissolve into him if you’re not careful.  

“You know,” he says after a long stretch of silence, his voice muffled against your skin, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before.”  

“What way?” you ask, your hand sliding to his shoulder, holding him a little closer.  

“Like I could stay like this forever. With you.”  

Your chest tightens, and you kiss him again, because you don’t know how else to respond to something so devastatingly simple, so honest.  

Forever. You think you could stay like this forever, too. 

The weight of Christmas morning presses heavier than it should, tension tightening the air like an over-wrapped gift. In the living room, the Turners exchange looks — small, darting ones that say everything without anyone daring to open their mouths. You can’t decide if the silence is better or worse than outright commentary, but either way, the room feels suffocating. It’s impossible to look at anyone directly. You can’t help but think, We really should’ve stayed at his place.

The first chance you get, you slip away upstairs to Alex’s room. Even as you ascend the stairs, snippets of hushed teasing float up from below, followed by poorly disguised chuckles. Your cheeks burn with fresh embarrassment.  

You collapse onto the bed, burying your face into the pillow to smother a groan of frustration. You don’t have to wait long before Alex joins you. The door creaks open, and his steps are slow and heavy, weighted with a mix of exhaustion and mortification. He practically slumps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He’s silent, but you can see his shoulders shaking. For a second, you think he might actually be upset — until he lets out a muffled laugh, half-horrified, half-disbelieving.  

“Oh my god.” he groans into his palms.  

You prop yourself up on one elbow, watching him with a mix of guilt and amusement. “That bad, huh?”  

The room feels smaller with him in it, or maybe it’s just warmer. Alex lies sprawled beside you on the bed, his arm still flung over his face like he’s shielding himself from the weight of the world — or at least his family’s knowing looks. His cheeks are still pink, and even though you can’t see it, you know the tips of his ears are red too. They always are when he’s embarrassed.  

“They’re relentless.” he mutters, voice muffled by the crook of his arm.  

“Do I-” you start.  

“Wanna know?” he finishes for you, dropping his arm to glance sideways at you.  

“Yeah.” you admit cautiously.  

“No, you don’t.” His lips twitch, and you can tell he’s fighting a smile.  

“Okay.” you say, drawing the word out as you roll onto your side to face him. “Were we…that loud?”  

He exhales sharply and presses the heels of his hands against his burning cheeks. “Loud enough.” he admits, his voice low and strained with amusement. “Apparently.”  

You can’t help it — you laugh. It bubbles up and spills out before you can stop it, and soon, Alex is laughing too, the sound soft and self-conscious but also a little freeing.  

He lifts his head just enough to peek at you. “Loud enough that everyone had something to say. Even grandma.”  

You cringe. “Oh no. What did she say?”  

Alex groans again, dropping his head back dramatically against the mattress. “Something about how ‘young love is passionate’ and how she’s glad we’re ‘keeping the spark alive.’” He lets out another strangled laugh, covering his face again. “I’m never leaving this room again.”  

You try to suppress a laugh of your own, but it bubbles up anyway. “Well, at least she was supportive?”  

“She also gave me a knowing look, like she’s proud of me or something. That’s even worse.” He groans, rolling onto his side to face you. “How are you so calm about this? I feel like I’m gonna die.”  

“Because,” you say, trying to keep a straight face, “it’s kind of funny.”  

“It’s not funny.”  

“It’s a little funny.”  

He glares. “You’re not the one who had to face my entire family while they all knew.”  

“True.” you admit, grinning now. “But you’re the one who said, ‘I’m gonna come inside you now.’ Pretty sure that set the tone for the rest of the night.”  

His jaw drops, and he throws a pillow at you. “You’re the one who begged me to!”  

“Shh!” you hiss, laughing as you dodge the pillow. “Do you want them to hear us again?”  

Alex groans, pulling the blanket over his head like a shield. “This is officially the worst Christmas ever.”  

“Worst?” you tease, crawling closer and tugging at the blanket. “You didn’t seem to think so last night.”  

He peeks out. “I’m serious. Next year, we’re staying home. Just you, me, and a soundproof door.”  

“Deal.” you say, leaning in to kiss his nose. “They’re not going to let this go, are they?” you ask.  

“Not in this lifetime.” he replies. “Ugh…Dad kept looking at me like I betrayed the family name.”  

“And your mom?”  

“Oh, she didn’t say anything.” He grimaces. “But that’s worse. I could feel her thinking things, and it was bad.”  

“Define bad.”  

He shifts onto his side to face you, his hand reaching out to lightly trace the edge of your jaw, his embarrassment softening. “Bad enough that I never want to find out for sure.”  

You snort, nudging his shoulder playfully. “We’re not sneaky, huh?”  

“Not even a little bit.” he says, leaning in to press a quick, warm kiss to your forehead. “But at least it’s over now.”  

“Over? Alex, it’s Christmas morning. We’re still here.”  

“Right.” he groans, flopping onto his back again. “Kill me now.”  

He’s a grown man now, but some things never change. Even at this age, Alex can’t quite handle being caught in the act. Not that you blame him. The Turners have a way of making their judgment feel monumental, like you’ve broken some sacred Christmas tradition by being, well, married. And doing married stuff.

He’s flushed and disheveled, his hair sticking up at odd angles from the way he’s been running his hands through it all morning. His shirt is wrinkled from where he flopped onto the bed, and the collar’s just slightly askew. He’s always been handsome in that unintentional, almost careless way, but right now, he looks adorable.  

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed, you know that?” you say, unable to resist teasing him just a little.  

“Don’t make it worse.”  

“I’m not!” you protest, biting back a laugh. “I’m just saying. Some things never change.”  

He raises an eyebrow, curious but wary. “Like what?”  

“Like how you turn into a human tomato whenever you’re even slightly flustered,” you say, grinning. “Or how you can’t make eye contact when you’re embarrassed. Or how you always-”  

“Alright, alright, I get it.” he interrupts, laughing as he rolls onto his side to face you. “I’m a walking cliché. Thanks for the reminder.”  

“Not a cliché.” you correct. “Just…you. It’s kind of endearing, you know.”  

He doesn’t respond, just looks at you with that quiet, searching expression of his. It’s that same look that made you fall for him in the first place.

“I really do love you.” he murmurs after a while, his voice low and warm.  

“I know.” you whisper back, resting your head against his chest. “For what it’s worth,” you say, glancing up at him, “I don’t regret it.”  

“Yeah?”  

“Yeah.” you say with a small smile. “Worth the teasing. Probably.”  

His laugh is warm and low, and he squeezes your hand lightly. “Well, remind me to return the favor next time we stay at your place.”  

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling as you nudge him again. “Merry Christmas, Alex.”  

“Merry Christmas, trouble.” 

a/n: Merry Christmas (Eve) for those who celebrate, I guess! (I’m just in it for the gifts icl) I hope you liked it, might be a bit all over the place, haven’t got a chance to properly check it for any mistakes but yeah, I’ve missed him a lot. Is it still prof!al if he’s not her professor anymore? I’m counting it.

[haveihitanerve]

Jason is tims teacher. He notices the boy has some bruises and is rarely ever well rested. He wishes to speak to tim's parents about this

“Tim, could I speak with you a moment?” Jason called out as students filed past his desk to head home for the day. Tim froze, one foot already hovering in the doorway to leave, and he looked as though he was contemplating bolting, but with a sigh his foot stepped back inside and he made his way over to Jason’s desk. “Yeah professor?” He asked, fidgeting with his sleeve. “You aren’t in trouble Tim.” Jason said pleasantly, smiling. “I was actually wanting to ask if I could plan a parent teacher conference with your mother or father.” Tim stared at him wide eyed. “But I haven’t done anything!” He exclaimed in alarm. Jason raised a placating hand, slightly alarmed by the immediate response. “I know you haven’t Tim.” He soothed. “But parent teacher conferences are just a mandatory thing that we do sometimes.” That was a lie. Really Jason just wanted to talk to Tim’s parents. He hadn’t had this conversation with any of his other students. Tim was his star pupil, really. But the boy walked into his class only running on coffee and at best two hours of sleep, and Jason swore he spotted bruises on the boy's wrists and sides sometimes, when his tshirt rode up. Tim swallowed. “Okay.” He relented, relaxing slightly. “But um.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “My mother and father won’t show up.” He muttered awkwardly. Jason frowned. Tim opened his mouth as though to offer a solution, then hesitated, closing it again.  “Is there anyone else?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow. Tim deflated, like Jason asking him meant he had to reveal it. “Um yeah. My- my mentor. He’ll show up.” He cleared his throat. “Can I have his number?” Jason asked. Tim nodded sullenly and rattled off the number by heart, Jason scrambling to grab a pen and paper to scrawl it down. “Thank you. I’ll plan a meeting.” Tim nodded again and turned to leave. “And Tim?” Tim winced, but turned back. “Yeah Prof?” “You’re not in trouble.” Jason promised. In fact, if his suspicions were correct, his mentor was the one who would be in trouble. Tim just nodded again and left before he could be called back again. Jason sighed, slumping in his chair. “No time like the present.” He muttered, picking up his phone. It was better to get the confrontation done sooner rather than later, and help his student out if he could. His mentor wasn’t exactly the person Jason had been expecting to speak to, but he had heard Tim mention in passing that he lived with the man now, and hadn’t lived with his parents for a while. The person on the other end picked up on the second ring. “Hello? What’s wrong? Is everything alright?” Jason frowned, sitting up straight in his chair. That was an unusual way to answer the school phone call. “Hello?” The voice got more agitated. “Yes hello. This is Tim teacher, Jason Todd.” “Yes yes hello. Is Tim alright?” The man asked. Or rather, demanded. “Tim is fine.” Jason soothed. “I was calling to schedule a parent teacher conference meeting with you, actually. Your son hasn't done anything wrong i promise.” jason winced as he realized Tim had said both his mother and father wouldn't come, but the man on the other end didn't even wait a second before responding, as though used to it. “Oh.” He could hear the man relax on the other end, if not fully. “Okay. Of course. When should I come in.” Jason cringed. ‘No time like the present’ he reminded himself. “I’m free right now, if you’d like to come to the school.” There was the sound of paper being flipped and then a hum. “Yes that works. I’ll be there in ten. Good day Mr. Todd.” And he hung up. Jason released a breath, dropping the phone back onto its port. 

About eight minutes later there was a faint tap on the door. “Come in.” Jason called, leaning back in his chair. He regretted it a moment later as Bruce Fucking Wayne stepped into the room. Jason almost fell out of his chair, but he caught himself at the last second, jumping to his feet, smoothing out his jacket. The man filled the doorframe with his wide, massive shoulders, and even jason, a proud 6’4 felt like a dwarf compared to him. “Mr. Wayne.” he greeted in surprise. “Nice to meet you, to what do i owe the pleasure?” Bruce sent him a restrained smiled, shaking his hand. Jason was surprised to find his hand was rough and calloused, and his handshake was firm and strong. “The pleasure is all mine.” he said smoothly, his eyes scanned the room before settling back on jason. “Im here about tim?” Jason was so surprised he just blinked a few times in silence, staring up at the mountain that was Bruce Wayne. “T-tim?” Jason stuttered. “Yo-you're tims-?” he couldn't finish the sentence because he quite honestly didn't know what to say. Bruce managed a smile, although it seemed more like a grimace. “Yes. Im tim's dad.” he sat down in the seat opposite jasons. “What did you wish to discuss? His grades are good as far as i can tell, and i know hes not that into school but it cant be that bad can it?” Jason sat in his seat. This would be- interesting. ‘Doesn't matter if hes rich. Hes a prick for treating tim like that.” jason hissed inside himself. He straightened. “Mr. wayne im actually here to talk about you.” Bruce blinked, but didn't show any more outward sign of surprise. In fact, jason swore he saw resignation flit over the older mans face before it was concealed beneath a mask. “Oh?” Bruce asked dully. “And what, exactly, would you like to speak about?” “Tim comes into my classroom everyday and is always tired. He has dark circles under his eyes and i have seen bruises on his wrists and sides that he tries very hard to hide.” Jason leveled his hardest glare on the billionaire. “What do you know about that?” He watched the other man, but besides mild confusion and then ease, no other emotion crossed bruces face. Either the rich boy was better at hiding his facial expressions than jason would have thought, or there really was nothing to worry about. “Tim has a bad sleep schedule.” Bruce apologized, sitting up straighter. “I try to get him to go to bed earlier but he always stays up later than me and is awake before i am.” He chuckled awkwardly. “If its interrupting with your teaching im sorry, i will discuss it with him.” he cleared his throat. “As for the bruises, i have six other children, you might see them around the school sometimes, and,” he laughed again. “Things can get a little rough between the seven of them. Its nothing to worry about.” he assured. “But i can understand why it might concern you.” “oh.” jason's face flamed in embarrassment. He had watched the billionaire throughout his entire explanation, and it all seemed very plausible. “I-im sorry.” he stammered. This was not good. To get on a rich boys bad side for yelling at him because of child mishandling was always a sure fire way to disappear. To jason's surprise though, bruce actually smiled. “Its not a problem. Im grateful that at least one of his teachers cares enough to ask about it, and protect him if need be. Thank you. Its good to know someone is keeping an eye on him here when i cant.” Jason flushed even darker under the billionaires thanks. “Its no problem.” he muttered awkwardly. Bruce got to his feet. “Is that all you wished to discuss?” he asked. Jason nodded. “Yes. thank you for coming on such short notice.” bruce smiled. “For my kids? Anytime.” he nodded once. “Good day Mr. Todd.” “goodbye.” jason muttered, but the billionaire was already out the door. 

[saraakpotter]

Peter Parker being a simp for y\c\n for 4 mins

based on the request: "can you do Peter Parker (tom holland) being a simp for y/c/n?" in this one y\c\n is a 17 year old who is Natasha s daughter and is also an avenger who goes to the same school Peter dose. plus i added some scenes to the movies. i hope this is how you imagined it.

y\n, Anthony, Sebastian and Tom (Holland) are having an interview. the interview was going in characters future.

"so, what do you think the mcu has for your characters future?" the interviewer asked looking at his notes

"i dont know about 'falcon' but im pretty sure y\c\n and spider man will end up together!" Anthony answered making Tom blush

"i totally agree!" Sebastian said

"what the.... where did you get that idea from?" y\n said with a raised eyebrow

"oh come on y\n you are better than that! havent you noticed? Peter keeps simping for y\c\n the whole movie!" Anthony answered

"what! no he dosent"

"yes he dose." Sebastian answered

"i will send you prof!" Anthony replied slyly

later that night, y\n, went home thinking about the interview. she changed to a more comfortable cloth, jumped on her bed and opened her phone while clicking on the MCU group chat. it was a group they made after the avengers to communicate more and add more people by time.

as expected, Anthony, sent a youtube video with the title: "Peter Parker being a simp for y\c\n for 4 mins"

y\n quickly checked others massages in the group before clicking:

Scarlet said: this is definitely true!

RDJ said: flirting with widows daughter? not the best idea!

Chris Evans said: as much as cute this was i have to agree with Rob here!

Tom Hiddelston said: are we watching MCUs next cutest couple here?

Chris Hemsworth replied: im pretty sure we are Tom!

before reading other massages y\n clicked on the video.

the video started with a cute intro and then the title: Peter Parker simping for y\c\n for 4 mins duh

then there was a picture of Peter Parker looking at y\c\n with heart eyes which made y\n laugh.

the video started: the first video was for 'avengers infinity war' where Tony, y\c\n, Strange and Peter in Titan and just finished the miss understanding with the guardians.

 Peter Quill let go of spiderman, Tony threatened Drax and y\c\n nearly beat the shit out of Mantiss and rocket when they tried to stop Tony.

"ok so im happy to know we are on the same side" Peter quill said with a soft cough

"yeah well couldnt you figure that sooner?" y\c\n exclaimed angrily

"wha....you beat the shit out of me what are YOU mad about?" rocket said

"well i ruined my hair in the process! we could have skipped that!" y\c\n said angrier

"your hair looks good either way!" Peter Parker told her with a smile making her smile to

the next video was for 'avengers infinity war' again, just a bit earlier in the scene where y\c\n, Tony and strange where fighting the aliens Thanos sent.

y\c\n just finished beating and literal alien army and looked at where Tony was you didnt see him. instead you saw Peter talking to Wong and not noticing y\c\n. but when he dose he suddenly stops the conversation and goes to the new alien army and kills most of them.

"what do you think y\c\n? pretty cool right?" he says walking to her

"hmmmm... not bad for a 15 year old!" you teased

" im 16 and you are only a year older than me!" he said

"relax! its just my Romanoff urge to teas! lets take this one down together shall we?" y\c\n said pointing at the new army with head

"ok then!" Peter said trying to hide his happines

the next video was for 'captain America: civil war'

it was the scene in the airport, y\c\n, was in team ironman and Peter still wasnt there but they all knew he was hiding somewhere

"ok Pete! you can come out know!" y\c\n shouted with a smirk preparing herself and her weapons. Steve who seemed to notice they are more prepared than they thought throw his shield at her weapon but before it hit her Peter jumped in and caught the shield with his spider power.

"no, no, no! we dont throw a shield at a Beautiful and smart girl like our y\c\n here do we?" he said making Tony chuckle, Nat raise an eyebrow and and you look at him.

the next video was for 'spiderman homecoming'

it was the first parts of the movie when Ned and Peter where having lunch and y\c\n approached them.

"hey guys! can i sit?" y\c\n asked

"ye...yes...yes of course!" Peter answered almost Immediately

"great! i would sit anyway" y\c\n said making the three of them laugh

"so, y\c\n!" Ned started "whats your favorite movie?"

"well i dont really watch movies, nor have time for them but if im going to say one i would go with.......star wars!"

"STAR WARS" Peter asked happily

"yeah you like it to?" y\c\n asked

"we LOVE it!" Ned answered high fiving Peter.

the video paused with a little two days later. Peter approached y\c\n, who was at her locker with a box in his hands.

"ummm...he......hey y\c\n!" he said

"oh, hi Pete!" y\c\n looked at him

"this is for you." he gave the box to her. she looked at the box and saw a built star wars lego.

"oh my god Peter this is great! did you made it?" she asked

"yes, this one is my favorite so i thought you would like it to." he answered

"i love it, thank you!"

the next video was for the first movie and the scene in Mays car

"we should go back, this dosent feels right!" Peter said

"oh come on Peter it would be just fine! you got this." May told him

"yeah but...."

"plus y\c\n is going to be there!" Ned said

"wha....you know what aunt May? i think you are right, i got this!" he said opening the cars door.

before the next video can be played you went out and went to the chat and typed: ok, i see it now! earning a blush emoji from Tom Holland, some laugh emojis and a 'i told you so' from Anthony.

[marzmeltdown]

Bad Decisions

⌦ Pairing: Prof!Changkyun (I.M) x Fem!Reader ⌦ Genre(s): Smut ⌦ Warning(s): swearing,, age gaps (changkyun's in his 30's readers in their 20's),, power dynamics,, exhibitionism (kinda),, nicknames (changkyun: sir,, professor,, reader: doll,, princess,, idk if slut constitutes itself as a nickname but its used,, ),, cream pies(pls be practice safe sex besties),, deep throating,, face fucking,, desk sex,, choking,, oral (m receiving),, Dacryphilia,, dirty talk,, spit eating (idk if thats what its called),, fingering,, humiliation,, ⌦ Word count: 2.66k ⌦ Summary: You're struggling in your history class, so naturally, you go to your professor for help. You weren't expecting to receive that type of help as well. ⌦ A/N: Listening to Hollywood Undead and Monsta X while writing this was an experience to say the least. I may or may not have written this for myself as well. Have y'all seen that tiktok of Changkyun pulling out of a parking spot w one hand? Twas truly beautiful. If there's anything you feel I should improve on in the future, don't hesitate to let me know! You can find progress updates on everything I write in my pinned post every Wednesday.:)

⌦ marz’s tag list ⌦ marz’s req form

You cried as you looked at the exam grade displayed on your computer screen. You couldn't believe what you were seeing. D+, you had studied so hard; how could you have gotten such a bad grade? You sat at your desk with your knees to your chest, crying into them.

Your head flew up as you heard the door to your dorm room swing open, followed by your roommate's keys jingling as she walked in. She sat her bag on the floor beside her bed, oblivious to your crying until she took her headphones out of her ears.

"Oh my god, y/n, are you okay? What happened??" She asked, tossing her headphones onto her bed as she rushed over to you. You sniffled a bit, turning the laptop towards her with one hand while the other wiped away the tears that had taken residence on the tip of your chin.

"I got a D on my history exam," you said. It took everything in you not to scream with how upset you were; history was the only class you were struggling in. Which didn't make any sense to you, as you really liked history.

"What the hell? You studied so hard! You study more than I do!" Your roommate gasped, her brows furrowed in confusion and irritation as she too tried to wrap her head around how you could have done so poorly on an exam you worked so hard to prepare for. You sniffled once more, turning the laptop back to you and beginning to write your professor an email asking if he were free tomorrow during his office hours.

"I'm going to go talk to him tomorrow and see if there's anything I can do to get my grade up," you said, your voice slowly going back to normal rather than the shakey, upset voice you had when your roommate walked in on your crying session.

"That's a good idea. Mr. Im is a nice professor; I'm sure he would be more than willing to help you out." Your roommate said she hugged your side reassuringly before walking back to her side of the room.

Mr. Im replied to your email sooner than you had expected; he has always told students that as soon as 5 p.m. rolled around, any emails he had would be answered the following business day.

⌦ Mr Im:

ㅤY/N,

ㅤThank you for reaching out regarding your performance in class, my office hours are open all ㅤday.

ㅤThank you, Mr. Im.

You smiled as you read the email, looking back at your roommate, who had gotten comfortable on her bed. "He's free all day tomorrow; hopefully we can get something figured out."

"That's great; I'm sure he will work with you about your grade," she reassured once more.

You sighed shakily as you stood outside your professor's office. Rarely did you ask for help, so knowing that you were about to knock on Mr. Im's door to do exactly that made you nervous. After a couple deep breaths, you knocked on the door. You were worried that you'd knocked too softly until the door swung open, revealing your professor.

"Y/N, come in; it's good to see you." Mr. Im smiled, and you stood there in awe for a moment as you soaked in his smile. He was ethereal, and you felt as though you could stare at him all day if you could.

"Nice to see you too, Mr. Im," you stuttered, stepping into the room. It was neater than you had expected; every book on the shelf was in order from biggest to smallest, and the couch that sat against the wall looked untouched. His desk looked unused aside from the stack of papers on the left corner and a water bottle that sat next to his computer; the floor was spotless as well.

"What was it you wanted to talk about, y/n?" Changkyun asked, following you to his desk once he shut the door. You both took seats in the chairs opposite each other.

"I wanted to talk about my grade; it's not great," you said, rubbing the back of your neck nervously.

"I'm well aware that your grade isn't anything to brag about," he replied, leaning back in his chair.

"Right.." You said that, blushing a bit as you looked down.

"I suppose you're hoping I can help you fix that?" He asked, and his tone came off more condescending than he had meant it.

"Yeah, if you'd be so kind,"

"Well, if you paid better attention in my class, you might do better," he suggested. Your head snapped up at him as you looked at him with widened eyes. He smirked softly, beginning to speak as he stood up from his chair. "Don't act so surprised, y/n; I see how you stare at me during class; it's pretty obvious." He said, you hadn't noticed that he was standing right next to you until he gently took hold of your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"It makes me wonder what's going on in that pretty little head of yours," he said, running his thumb against your bottom lip as he spoke. His voice had gotten deeper—sexier even, if that were possible. Instinctively, you parted your lips as you kept your eyes trained on him. "You and I both know that you're capable of studying for my exams, so I'll cut you a deal; I'll fix your grade if you do something for me."

Your professor seemed more talkative than normal, but you assumed anyone would be if they were discussing "deals" with another person. It was your turn to speak now. Before you could, however, his thumb found itself inside your mouth, pressing itself down on your tongue. Changkyun stood still as he waited for an answer, looking down at you with lidded eyes. You nodded in response to his offer.

Changkyun only smiled at this as his free hand worked at his belt. You moved your eyes to his hand as your hands reached up to aid him in taking his belt off. He jerked your head up gently, forcing you to look back up at him. "Eyes on me, doll."

Undoing the clasp of his belt and the buttons of his pants without being able to look at them seemed to be somewhat of a struggle. But the reward behind the zipper was worth the struggle. Changkyun moved his hand from your chin to your head once you pulled his pants down just enough for his cock to spring out.

You broke eye contact with your professor long enough to glance at his cock, your mouth watering at the sight. You brought a hand to pump at the base, looking back up at him as you began pumping his cock with a steady pace. His breath hitched slightly when you let your tongue run against the pink tip of his cock.

"Fuck, you look so pretty like this, princess," he breathed out as you took the head of his cock into your mouth. He gripped your hair roughly, forcing himself the rest of the way into your mouth. You did your best not to gag, though your efforts proved futile when the tip of his cock brushed against your throat.

The sound of your gag seemed to spark something within him as his hips began thrusting themselves into you and shoving his cock further down your throat. Tears began to form in the corners of your eyes from how harshly he was thrusting into you. The lewd sounds of your gags mixed with his groans of pleasure and the saliva being churned in your mouth filled the room. You were surprised no one had heard you two yet.

Just when you were certain your professor was only going to abuse your throat, he pulled out of you, pulling you to stand. Immediately, you leaned in to kiss him, the both of you hungrily attacking each other's mouths. Your hands found their way to Changkyun's collar, tugging him closer as you sat on his desk. Your fingers worked to undo the buttons on his shirt while his worked at the buttons on your pants. You mentally cursed at yourself for not taking your roommate's advice on the skirt she suggested you wear.

You pushed Changkyun's shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, before aiding him in taking your pants off. His hand found itself resting against your heat as his thumb rubbed itself against your clothed clit. You whimpered at his soft teasing, bucking your hips against his hand.

"Patience, princess, I'll fill you up soon," he said against your lips, his fingers still teasing you through your panties.

"Yes, sir," you replied, whining when he pulled your panties aside to continue teasing your hole. "Just take them off," you begged, moving a hand down to push your panties off.

Changkyun chuckled at your impatience but obliged, pulling your panties off the rest of the way, his hand finding itself attached to your heat once more. "You're so wet already, doll," he commented, emphasizing his words by slipping his middle finger into your hole. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you pulled away from the kiss to let your head fall back.

You let your eyes close as your professor began to pump his finger in and out of your hole. You pulled your shirt off as Changkyun inserted another finger, the surprise causing you to drop your shirt onto his desk, letting yourself lean against your hand as his thumb rubbed itself against your clit once more.

"F-fuck, professor, please," you begged as your head fell back. His fingers felt like magic against the nerves between your thighs.

"Please what, princess? Use your words," he said, his free hand reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra. You were surprised at how well your professor did tasks with one hand that would have required a normal person to use two.

"Fuck me, please," you whined, your free hand gripping at his toned biceps. He smirked at your request, pulling his fingers out of you and leaving your hole empty momentarily as he reached into his wallet to grab a condom. Your head snapped up to look at him, and your hand flew up to stop him, looking at him pleadingly.

He looked at you with a confused expression, his confusion disappearing once you opened your mouth to say, "I know you want to fuck your cum into me just as much as I want you to."

You weren't sure where this new bout of confidence came from, but the look on your professor's face when you spoke went straight to your core. You could feel the slick beginning to run down your thighs as you bit your lip. He tossed the partially opened condom onto the floor along with his wallet before pulling you closer by your thighs.

"If you keep talking like that, kitten, I might have to take you home with me," he said as he took his cock in one hand, his other pushing your thigh up even more, causing you to lie on your back. You whimpered as Changkyun rubbed his cock against your folds, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, princess?" Changkyun began as he slowly thrust himself into you. It took all the strength you had not to let your head fall back so you could watch as your professor's cock disappeared into your hole before reappearing again once you'd had time to adjust to his size.

You bit your lip as Changkyun began speaking again, painting a more detailed picture in your head of what he was talking about. "You'd like it if I took you home and fucked you like the little slut you are," he said, letting his hand rest against your throat, squeezing just enough to feel good but not enough to cause any serious harm.

You nodded in response, letting your body fall back against the desk so you could use your hands to hold your thighs open. "Yes, sir, I'd like that very much." You whined.

Changkyun wasted no time as he snapped his hips into you at a rapid pace, leaning his body against yours so you were eye to eye. The way his body pinned you in place prevented you from arching your back while simultaneously forcing your legs to rest themselves against his shoulders, allowing him to pound deeper into your walls.

You couldn't help the loud moans that came out of your mouth as his tip brutally hit your sweet spot. His hand moved from your throat to slip his fingers into your mouth, muffling any noises that escaped your lips.

"Be quiet, princess; you don't want anyone to catch us now, do you?" He asked, and his question, along with the taste of your slick still on his fingers, caused a whimper to fall from your lips. You shook your head, and the sight of you tasting yourself on Changkyun's fingers caused his dick to twitch inside you.

Only when he thought you were capable of controlling your sounds did he remove his fingers from your mouth, this time gripping at your jaw just as he had done earlier.

"I bet you let all your professors slut you out like this, don't you?" He taunted, angling his hips so every thrust would push the head of his cock against the bundle of nerves that had you seeing stars each time it was hit. His hand keeping a firm grasp on your chin prevented you from shaking your head in protest; he took this opportunity to spit into your mouth to further humiliate you.

His words and the act of him spitting into your mouth went right to your core, and your walls began to contract around his cock.

"N-No sir! J-Just you—fuck, I'm so close," you moaned, digging your heels into his shoulder blades in attempts to pull him closer. You reached back to grip the edge of the desk, effectively pushing the ungraded papers onto the floor.

"Go ahead, princess, cum on my cock," he panted, feeling the knot in his stomach begin to tighten as well. He propped himself up on his hands to give himself more leverage, his thrusts going deeper and harder than they had been previously.

It took a few more harsh thrusts on his end before the coil in your stomach snapped and you were sent over the edge. Your hand clamped itself over your mouth to muffle the wanton moan that escaped your throat as you felt your hole flutter against his cock and your arousal slowly ran down Changkyun's cock. You were positive he would have a stain there afterwards.

The tight grip your walls used to hold Changkyun in was enough for him to fall over the edge, a soft whimper escaping his mouth as he finished. He thrust his cum back into you a few times as he rode out his orgasm, his thrusts coming to a full stop, and he caught his breath before pulling out. He watched as his cum dripped out of your hole and down the side of his desk.

"Here," Changkyun said, handing you a water bottle as he helped you sit up. You weren't sure when he'd walked away, but he had already cleaned himself and adjusted his pants. You winced as you sat up, taking the water bottle from him.

"Thank you," you said as you opened the bottle, taking a sip. You watched as Changkyun gently wiped you clean with a few tissues he had taken from the box that surprisingly didn't fall.

He tossed the soiled tissues into the trash can beside his desk before he leaned in to whisper into your ear.

"I expect you to pick those papers up, and I was serious about taking you back to my place."

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The Guest pt4

Masterlist.

Jack Dawkins and femreader.

There had been no time to explain your past as Professor McGregor had stumbled in with his friend slung over his shoulder, both men very drunk and one very much in pain.

"You can't seriously allow him to operate?" Belle asked as she watched the professor slur every word.

"Of course not, but how do I stop him?"

"Ether." You whisper to them. Belle nods and works quickly to soak a cloth and step over to the professor; pretending to dab at his sweat she holds the cloth across his face. He dropped to the floor, giving Jack the operation to do the operation and save the man's life.

Jack held the bottle of ether in his hand, "I have no idea how much to use."

"Oh I can help with that." You say leaning across to guide his fingers to tip the bottle onto the cloth, allowing just enough ether out to dampen the material. Both Jack and Belle watch as you do it.

You watch as he works, his fingers move as if they are dancing across the ivory keys of a piano. It was beautiful in its own way. The concentration of his brows, the way his lips caught between his teeth on particularly harder moments. He would quietly direct Hetty and Belle to help him. It was a marvel to see it. In the programme they never stayed this long on an operation so seeing it this clearly was a marvel. You wondered if this was exactly as it was in the eighteen hundreds or if this world was still twisted in the fantastical world of the show. Either way you didn't care, you were simply happy to watch.

"Staunch that blood. I can't see a damn thing." Jack saysall, attempting to wipe the blood away.

"I can suture it." Belle says.

" Are you sure? I don't want you fainting." Jack quips.

"I'm fine." Belle says.

"How's your needlework? 'Cause I'll need you to stitch up the bowel before I can feed it back in." Jack explained.

"I do a lot of embroidery." She laughed. She flicked her eyes over to you for a moment before picking up the catgut sinue and beginning to stitch Tinkler up.

Jack too took the opportunity to look over at you sitting in the stands above him, he had never had a woman watch him as intensely as you were now. Your eyes met and for a moment you forgot where you were.

In your world he was an actor, Thomas. You'd basically watched him grow up through movies, starting with him as a child until now, and adult, only a few years younger than him. You couldn't say you didn't have a crush on him but he had always been out of reach. Here, in this room you were with him, a character of his that appeared more real than the actor ever had been. You could reach out and touch him if you wished. It was easy to let your mind wander to other activities. His fingers had brushed your skin just the night before, but were they soft or hard? Did he have callouses on his hands? How would it feel having him run those slender fingers across your skin once more? Your breath came out staggered and strained as you tried to push the thoughts out of your mind.

Hetty called over to you when Tinkler was moved back to a ward and tucked into a bed. You walked with the others through the corridors.

"Good work, doctor." You whispered to Jack as you walked.

"Thank you." He whispered back.

It was easy to convince the prof that he had done the operation.

"That was truly something in there." You say once the three of you were alone, sitting on the steps outside the hospital's back door.

"Will he live?" Belle asked Jack.

"I don't know. But he survived the operation, which is remarkable. I doubt what we did in there has ever been done before." Jack said admirably.

"You were very good." Belle remarked, her eyes twinkling up at him.

"As were you. Mind you, a good surgeon doesn't get dizzy over the sight of blood. Well, it took me two years-" he was almost laughing.

"I'm perfectly fine with blood." Belle says.

" You both did very well." You interject. Jack stood a little straighter.

"Nice embroidery on that bowel." He nodded to Belle.

" That's what we women are good for." She laughs.

"What you did today was extraordinary." You say taking a hand from each of them. Jack leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The cuffs on his shirt still soaked with blood. He gave you both a quick nod and grin before returning to his work.

I enter with goodly news. Thank God, you sold the rubies.

As you and Belle changed out of the grey dresses and walked out of the hospital you see Fagin wandering in with a mischievous grin on his face. You try to recall what he had been doing that day and then it hit you St Coccyx.

Found yourself laughing in the carriage home with Belle. It had been a long day and you were both tired.l, but you told her about Fagin's little plan. At first Belle wanted to tell on him, but you swiftly talked her out of it.

"No, no, it plays out well, do not worry." You giggled

You entered the parlour where several people were sitting around. You and Belle sat by her mother.

"did you forget your sister's soiree?" She asked in a whisper.

"Yes, or else I would still be out." She quipped.

"We are sorry Lady Jane." You say across to her.

As she continues to tell of her daughter you feel that tightness in your chest once more. Pretending the pain in your arm was too great you excused yourself to your room just as Fanny was revealing her living artwork.

Removing your corset you felt your lungs finally able to take in a full breath again. Why did this have to happen now? You had moved to Australia in hopes the fresher air would give you a bit longer before it came back.

*_*_*

The following day you spent time at the house. It seemed somehow wrong to follow Belle off to the hospital once more when Fanny had been so nice to you. After apologising for missing her delightful evening you sat with her on the patio, drinking dainty cups of tea. You enjoyed her company, she was easy to speak to and had happiness in her every word. By noon she had moved to her easel and started painting. Your mind started to wander back to the hospital and before you knew it you were walking down through the gardens of Government house into the streets of the town.

The hospital was easily the largest building in the town centre and as such easy to find. You walked in feeling the cool air that contrasted to the heat of the sun outside. Looking around you see Jack standing with Fagin and walk up to them.

"Miss y/l/n, a pleasure to see." The haggard man bent his body on a small bow and kissed the back of your hand.

"You two Mr Fagin." And honestly it was, truly wonderful to see a character from one of your favourite childhood stories standing in front of you.

"How many we help you today?" He asks you.

"Oh, I...I don't really know, I just -" you couldn't answer honestly you had wanted to know what he did when the scenes of the show were gone. Fagin looked between you and Jack as your eyes locked onto each other.

"Perhaps our dear doctor could show you around a little?" He says clapping Jack on the back.

"Of course," Jack agrees, he leans over to whisper in Fagin's ear but you don't hear the words. Fagin nods and agrees to whatever he said before slinking away.

"Well, please, miss let's err, take a turn?" He holds his bent arm out towards you and you take it. The town is bustling with life in all directions and you try to take it all in as Jack leads you toward a small pond shaded by large trees.

"Shall we sit?" He asks. You agree and sit beside him on a wooden bench.

"How is your arm feeling?" He asks you.

"It is alright. Thank you for helping me with it." You reply, looking down at your bandaged arm. Jack took hold of your fingers that poked out the top of the white material. Though his skin was rough his touch was soft.

"I'm glad, I wouldn't want anything stopping you from using these fingers." He says in a delicate tone.

"it would be hard to be a doctor without my fingers." You laughed, remembering the original plot of the show. Jack laughed and shook his head.

"You are remarkable. Where are you from that allows women to be doctors?" He asks.

"Oh, umm I'm from England originally, but I've moved a few times. My father was a doctor as well." You said, trying to keep your answer within the times. Sitting there below that tree you made a choice, one that could change everything for you, "Jack, I need to tell you. I'm not from here."

"No, we just established that. I'm not from here either." He laughs.

"No, Jack I mean, this time I'm not from this time or even...where I am from you and Fagin are characters in a book. A book that was written a hundred years before me." You try to explain.

"A book?"

"yes, by a man called Charles Dickens, it's called Oliver Twist-"

"Oh yeah it would be about him." Jack pulled away from you.

"it shows how you meet him and look after him, Nancy's death, and Monks, everything that happened in those days. Where I come from you're famous, a beloved character."

"Where you come from?"

"I suppose it's a when, possibly a where. I was in two thousand and twenty three."

"the year?" He asks, you see his chest rise and fall with heavy breaths.

"I shouldn't have said anything, you think I'm mad don't you?" You ask.

"I... don't know...you know things"

"yeah, I know that Fagin has just given the church a fake relic to make up the twenty six pounds. I thought I could make things better for you by stopping you from gambling that night, but I guess I just made things worse." You admit.

"made things worse, Darius wants to cut my hand off!" Jack said.

"I know, but it'll be okay, we'll stop it. I can help you...I think." You're beginning to panic. Jack looked at you, his eyes softening.

"This is madness." He says, brushing his hand through his hair, "how did you get here?"

You shake your head.

"I don't know, I was driving to work and this fog surrounded me, next thing I knew I was hit by shadow horses. I got out of my car... carriage and was hit by Fox's. That's all I know. It's as much a mystery to me as it is to you."

Jack didn't reply, his eyes searched yours, looking for anything he could grasp to. Your breathing sped up, your vision began to blur around the edges.

"Jack?" A sharp pain seared through your chest, catching your breath.

"y/n? What's wrong?"

"I just, I need a moment." You struggle to get the words out.

"Okay, just breathe, slowly. In and out." His hand rests on your shoulder and the contact helps you to ground yourself.

When you finally could breathe steadily again you looked up into Jack's concerned eyes.

"What is this?" He asks.

"We don't wear corsets and dresses all day where I'm from. It's hard to breathe in them." You try to lie.

"No, this is something else isn't it? I'm a doctor y/n I can see it."

"Jack, I had a heart condition when I was a child, well it wasn't a condition I was...but I'm fine now, I'll be okay."

Jack sighed, clearly not convinced by you.

"I think, I need some time. Are you alright getting yourself home?" He stands as he talks, only half looking back at you, his hands on hips.

"I'll be fine." You say, watching him walk away.

Masterlist

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Thank you for reading.

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - lilyritaminerva | 2.7k words | explicit!!!! lesbian sex!!! also age gap but the sex is between l&r (same age), also voyeurism....

part 2 of sexy rival uni students and prof. mcgonagall au | part 1

“Minerva,” Lily says, or pants really, a little out of breath from where she’s been applying herself to the task of eating Rita out. 

“No,” the woman beneath her breathes, “You’re the one who’s Minerva in this scenario, Evans, that was the deal. I would’ve thought that the second smartest student in class would’ve been able to retain that information.” 

It’s a wonder that Rita can say so much and be so uppity whilst so close to an orgasm. Impressive, even, but she’s wrong on two counts; firstly, Lily is the first smartest student in class, and secondly, Lily wasn’t talking to Rita. Gripping her jaw with one hand, she twists Rita’s head to the side to look at the woman who had just come in through the door to the lecture hall in which they’re fucking, the woman upon who’s desk they’re fucking.

“Minerva,” Lily repeats, in a tone that she hopes implies that she is, quite clearly, better than Rita, who gasps - in realisation, or perhaps for some other reason, if the way that her legs squeeze slightly around Lily’s shoulders means anything.

“That’s Professor McGonagall to the both of you,” the woman in question says, her face unreadable as she walks up the aisle and settles herself in one of the seats in the front row - the one where Rita usually sits. She should probably be jealous, Lily thinks, that the professor has chosen Rita’s seat over her own - which is also front row, with just as good a view of the desk, she’s checked - but the fact that McGonagall has sat down at all is currently scrambling her brain to the point that she thinks the only thing she can really do is gape at her. 

Professor McGonagall smirks a little, resting her hands on the little desk in front of her, attentive, like she’s sitting down ready for a lecture, “Don’t stop on my account, Miss Evans.” 

It’s Lily’s turn to gasp as she processes the professor’s instruction, because it’s definitely an instruction rather than just a suggestion - not that it would really make much difference if it was. Turning back to look at Rita, she’s met with eyes that are probably just as wide as her own, just as hazy, just as wide. She supposes that really there’s nothing else she can do when faced with an instruction like that; she buries her face between Rita’s legs again. 

“Oh,” Rita’s hands move from where they’ve been clutching at the edge of the desk to tangle in Lily’s hair. 

The sex that they have, Lily and Rita, is always, at its core, about her. 

That time after their class, when she had said to Rita “Why don’t you ask Miss Evans to help you?” had led fairly rapidly to their first time, messy and angry in the loos nearest to the lecture hall. After all, McGonagall had suggested it, and the two of them follow her words like gospel, even the throwaway comments or the slightly mocking remarks that probably aren’t meant to be taken seriously - Lily and Rita are always serious about Professor McGonagall.

Lily still isn’t sure how she feels about it all. She doesn’t like Rita at all, would go as far as to say that she hates her even - she’s rude and cruel and pathetically desperate for the professor's attention. But the same could also be said for Lily at times, even if she tried her best to be polite and friendly to everyone she met. Rita tended to bring it out of her, that teeth-and-claws competition for the white-hot spotlight of Professor Mcgonagall’s gaze, that fervent, pulsing overflow of heat and fury in the stacks at the back of the library, or in the nearest supply cupboard, or even, one time, in the single bed in Lily’s student accommodation after they had bumped into each other on a night out - quite literally, Lily had knocked her drink all down Rita’s front. 

This time, months after that first day, they’re taking things to a slightly different level. 

They had snuck into the hall at the end of the day, when they knew that all the lectures and classes in the area would have finished, but before the building is fully locked up, so that they could fuck over the professor’s desk. 

It was Rita’s idea, as most bad decisions are - although Lily can’t deny that this bad decision is incredibly hot. She had proposed a bet, whilst three fingers deep in one of the library study rooms, that whoever scored higher on their next assignment would get to play the student as they acted out their student-professor fantasies in situ, and she hadn’t let Lily cum until she’d agreed. 

Lily agreed. Rita scored higher. 

And so, because she never backed out of a bet, Lily had put on her most professory outfit - the blazer that she had bought thinking ‘Professor McGonagall would wear this’, the short skirt she had bought thinking ‘Professor McGonnagall might like this on me’ and the black heels which made her properly tower over Rita. She’d forgone a shirt because she’s channelling ‘sexy professor’ and it seems to have worked because, when she first slid a finger into Rita’s knickers, she’d been the wettest Lily had ever felt her. 

It had been a little awkward at first. Lily had never really done anything like it before, but she had always been an exceptionally quick-learner and Rita was never shy about telling her exactly what she wanted. After a while, she’d fallen into her role, leaning against the front of the desk like Professor McGonagall always did, Rita stood between her legs like she’d been between McGonagall’s on that first day. They kissed - Rita’s hands sliding under Lily’s blazer and squeezing at her bare tits, Lily’s hands sliding up Rita’s skirt and pulling down her knickers - until Lily turned them around, pushing Rita down to lie on the desk, lowering herself down to her knees and getting down to business.  

Now, Lily can feel the professor’s eyes like a brand, that white-hot spotlight running over both her and Rita, studying them, as intensely as the two of them stare at her during lectures. Rita is lying sideways across the desk, her lipstick smudged all over her chin, her clothes discarded on the floor somewhere, her legs wrapped around Lily’s shoulders, her back arched as she throws her head back against the solid wood. Lily’s still fully clothed - not that she was wearing much to start with - her blazer undone now, her hair a mess from the hands that are tangled up in it, and she’s snaking a hand up Rita’s stomach to caress her tit as she works her tongue against the woman’s clit. 

Professor McGonagall is watching them, so Lily’s going to put on the best damn show she possibly can. Rita moans when she squeezes at her nipple and Lily feels Rita’s legs shaking, realising that she’s close and deciding she doesn’t want this to end that quickly - she doesn’t think she’s ever been more turned on in her life and besides, she still needs to get Rita back for the study room incident. 

“More,” Rita pants out when Lily slows her pace again, resting her hand just below Rita’s tit and pulling her head back as much as she can with Rita’s legs still over her shoulders. She turns to bite at her upper thigh, teasing, relishing in the way it makes those legs squeeze tighter at her head.

Lily locks eyes with the professor over the top of Rita’s thigh, still studying them, leaning forward over her own - Rita’s - desk as if she can’t help but to want to be closer. She raises an eyebrow and Lily grins back, feeling daring, giddy on the heat of the older woman’s gaze, turning back to look at Rita who’s tightening her grip on Lily’s hair and demanding, “Don’t you dare fucking stop, Evans.”

“That’s Professor McGonagall to you,” Lily corrects, delighting in the quiet gasp she thinks she hears from the front row of the lecture hall. 

Rita makes a sort of choked-off noise and tries to drag her head back closer again but Lily doesn’t let her, digging bitten fingernails into her skin, grinning up at her with as much spite as she can despite the way she can feel Rita all over her face, “Where are your manners, Skeeter? What do you say?” 

It’s almost violent, the way Rita yanks her hands out of Lily’s hair so she can lift herself up on her elbows to scowl down at her properly - she supposes she deserves it. 

“Please,” Rita hisses, apparently desperate or turned on enough to beg when her pride would never normally allow it, maybe because of the professor watching them, barely metres away, or because of the fantasy they’ve been acting out. Lily thinks that she would probably beg for Professor McGonagall - she would probably do anything for her. She likes to think she’s better than Rita, though, likes to think it would take more than this to get her to beg like Rita had just done - pathetic, even if the professor is in the room, even if Rita’s practically fuming about it.

She tuts, feeling a little drunk, on power maybe, because Professor McGonagall is watching them and Rita is desperate and Lily is burning up from the inside out, “Please, what?”

There’s a beat of silence where Lily wonders if she’s miscalculated, wonders if maybe Rita isn’t that desperate, if maybe Rita is going to try and embarrass Lily in front of the professor by not replying. 

She needn’t worry though. 

“Please, Professor,” Rita practically spits, furious with Lily, glaring down at her like maybe she could make Lily spontaneously combust with the power of her narrowed eyes alone - flushed red with anger, furious but saying it anyway, begging anyway, and Lily wins this round. 

Lily grins again, sharp and mean, satisfied with the fire in Rita’s eyes and the fact that a glance to her left reveals Professor McGonagall wide-eyed, leaning further over the desk. She gets back to work, moving her hand to squeeze at Rita’s tit again and her head to slot between Rita’s legs again. 

She wonders what the professor is thinking, watching them like this, maybe she’s imagining that she’s the one eating Rita out - if this is the case, Lily may have to kill Rita - maybe she’s imagining that Lily’s eating her out, a thought which makes her apply herself to the task at hand with more fervour and determination than before - she has to prove that she can do a good job, that she could be good for McGonagall. Rita tangles her fingers in Lily’s hair again, moaning loudly, shamelessly, tipping her head back against the wood of the desk. 

It doesn’t take long before Rita is cumming - she’s been so close to an orgasm for so long, even before the professor arrived, her legs shaking on Lily’s shoulders, pressure building and building until it boils over. 

Lily guides her through it, face still buried between her legs, tongue still licking into her, as Rita’s hands clench tight around her hair, turning her head to the side to look at Minerva as she cums. 

It’s quiet then, on the other side of the tsunami; the only sound is their uneven breathing. The hands in her hair loosen their grip and Lily pulls back, turning to look at the professor too. 

Professor McGonagall’s eyes flit between the two of them, Lily wonders again about what she might be thinking. 

“Stand up,” she says, an order, and the two of them hurry to comply, scrambling to stand next to each other in front of the desk - Rita still completely naked, Lily’s blazer falling open and leaving her half-exposed too. She’s sure they look a mess and Lily flushes under the weight of McGonagall’s gaze. 

Slowly, purposefully, Professor McGonagall stands up too, stepping out from behind Rita’s little desk. As she walks towards them, she stops a couple of times, bending to pick up the various articles of Rita’s clothing that have been discarded across the floor. Lily stares at her as she moves, she’s always so elegant, so sure of herself, every movement is precise, measured, like nothing could ever faze her, like she’s doing exactly what she wants and means to do at all times. 

This is why it was so surprising to Lily to see the professor so relatively unravelled earlier, wide-eyed and leaning over the desk, flustered; this is why it’s so surprising that, having gathered up the clothes and handed them to Rita, the professor comes and stands in front of her. Because Lily knows, as McGonagall lifts her arms and starts to rebutton Lily’s blazer, deft fingers working their way up her front, that it’s purposeful, intentional, that this is what she wants and means to do. 

The professor is touching her and Lily thinks she might explode - sure, there’s nothing all that scandalous about the touch, it’s a redressing, making Lily more decent, but it feels intimate, it splits her in half. McGonagall smirks at her, just the corner of her mouth turning up, knowing, and Lily’s sure she’s about the colour of her hair now, blush covering her whole face and spreading down her neck and chest. 

When the buttons are done up, McGonagall runs her fingers through Lily’s hair, smoothing it down, and then takes a hold of her chin. Lily thinks she might die when the professor uses her fingers to wipe the cum from Lily’s face and then places those same fingers against her lips, pressing lightly. This is a dream, Lily decides, when she parts her lips to let the professor’s fingers in and sucks Rita’s cum from them. McGonagall is still watching her, studying her, pulling her fingers out of Lily’s mouth only to repeat the action, again and again, methodical, until her face is clean. 

She’s trembling by the end, barely holding herself upright, melting under the white-hot spotlight of the professor’s undivided attention, the feeling of the firm grip on her chin, of those deft fingers in her mouth, against her tongue. It’s entirely overwhelming and probably the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced and she doesn’t think she’ll survive under that gaze for much longer, her heart is pounding so hard it might be dangerous and she’s sure McGonagall can feel it too. 

Then, she turns to Rita, and Lily leans back against the desk, collapses against it really. She watches, fuming, as the professor smooths down Rita’s shirt, doing up the buttons that Rita had left undone when scrambling to pull her clothes back on. Lily surely deserves the professor’s attention more - she wants the professor’s attention on her at all times, even if it kills her, and if she can’t have it, then she'll make sure Rita can't have it either. 

She watches as McGonagall licks her thumb and then uses it to wipe off the smudges of lipstick around Rita’s mouth . Her mind is a constant loop of not fair, not fair, not fair, but she supposes that she’s had Minvera’s fingers in her mouth and Rita hasn’t and it soothes the wild thing in her ribcage just a little. Maybe even the professor knows that Lily is better than Rita, maybe this is proof. 

When she’s done cleaning them up, Professor McGonagall steps back, looking between the two of them - Lily revels in having the professor’s attention back on her, even if it’s still divided - and smiles like she does when she hands back an assignment in which Lily has done particularly well. 

“I see you’ve taken my suggestions to heart,” she says, something in her eyes that Lily can’t quite understand, something that she’s determined to learn to understand, “Maybe next time, you should go somewhere with a door that you can lock… My office, for example.”

With that, McGonagall turns and walks out of the lecture hall without looking back, leaving Lily and Rita behind to try and pick up their jaws from the floor and get their brains to reboot again.

[reddeaddamnation]

Imagine dating Garreth Weasley and you both get detention

"I can't believe this." Professor Weasley paced around the transfiguration classroom as you and Garreth sat motionless on one of the desks in complete silence. Garreth had the marvelous idea for a new potion that could increase the drinker's...endurance and you decided to help him if not for results, for laughs. You yourself had suggested that devious idea to...why not drink such a potion and spend the rest of the day and night in the room of requirements. Potions was your one and only class for the day anyway.

You yourself had brought the ingredients he asked you to bring from prof. Sharp's office and all was going well, you were giggling at your cauldron mischievously and whispering to each other...until the cauldron started shaking and bubbling uncontrollably. You looked at each other nervously and froze when you heard the potions professor clear his throat behind you.

"What in Merlin's name are you two brewing back here?" He asked, eyeing you suspiciously. At this point the cauldron was ready to explode. "We, uh..." Garreth started. "We were just..." you tried to think of the best solution to not make this awkward in front of him and the class who were all staring at this point.

Your heart stopped beating when you noticed Sharp leaning over the cauldron. "Professor, no!" But it was too late. The cauldron exploded in a wave of purple vapor and covered the man in its contents. You and Garreth sucked in a breath, afraid of what the aftermath would be. When the purple cloud cleared from him, you noticed that the potion had made his hair a poisonous shade of blue and his face - that which rather resembled a horse. He tried his best to not explode in a fit of rage and only hissed threateningly "Go to professor Weasley's office. Now." Even his voice had become more squeaky. The rest of the class tried to laugh quietly, but the noises were shut down as soon as the man looked them all one by one, as if daring them to laugh.

Honestly, as ridiculous as it seemed, you were relieved the potion went wrong. How awkward would it be if the class found out its intention. So you sighed in relief, happy you got the lesser evil. Garreth's aunt wasn't so happy tho. She had almost lost it when you two walked in.

"Seven years in Hogwarts and you haven't matured one bit!" She yelled. "What will it take for you to realize your recklessness won't be tolerated outside of Hogwarts?! How many detentions will it take?! What do you have to say for yourself?"

You bowed your head low in apology "I'm so sorry, professor. We didn't intend..." but she cut you off. "Oh, I'm not talking to you, dear." You and Garreth both looked at her, puzzled "I know my nephew dragged you into this mess and you went along because you're too kind to him." Garreth opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out from it, as he was too surprised. "Wha-" you questioned. "Garreth, shame on you for risking this brilliant young person's academic future for a moment of fun in class."

"But..."

"What was the purpose of this potion?" She asked. You both blushed and looked at each other, Garreth seemingly more red than you, as his freckles had become very much more noticeable. "It was just an assignment gone wrong." He explained. "Don't lie to me. If it was an assignment, Y/N would not be sneaking into professor Sharp's office behind his back."

"It was my idea, professor, I swear. Garreth shouldn't get detention because of me." You evaded the question, bowing your head again. "Look at this, Garreth. They are even ready to take the blame for you and you treat them like this?"

Garreth was taken aback again, thousands of questions in his eyes, but not knowing where to even begin to defend himself. "But, auntie..." he was cut off. "Don't 'auntie' me, Garreth. You will stay here and think about what you did." With a wave of her wand, she conjured a large, thick book in front of him and a parchment paper with a quill "You will study the potion ingredients you used and write down exactly why and how your potion went wrong so it doesn't happen again in the future. Then you will write the correct way to brew it. Understood?"

"And what about me, professor?" You asked. "You will enjoy a trip to Honeydukes, because this must have been a terrible experience for you, dear." You tried your best not to laugh from the surprise and the even more confused expression on Garreth's face. "Thank you, professor. It won't happen again." You stood up from your seat with a smile. "You better bring me something from Honeydukes on your way back..." Garreth whispered. "It better not happen again. I know you mean well, but you shouldn't allow yourself to be fetched into such shenanigans."

"But it was Y/N's idea..." Garreth whined quietly.

[matthewkniesys]

late night driving - luke hughes

summary: bad weeks at uni mean good boyfriends trying to cheer you up. and luke was the very best boyfriend so of course you two went driving and got ice cream and watched the sunset to cheer you up.

a/n: this is a little fic i wrote from an anons request for luke hughes x zegras sister sneaking out to get ice cream. this takes place once they've started dating but in secret. its purely fluff and its just super cute!! hope you like it 🫶

pairing: luke hughes x zegras sister!reader

warnings: some swearing and talk of anxiety

Honestly, saying you had a shitty week felt like an understatement. You'd been back to Uni for a few weeks and you already felt like you were drowning. You'd been late to class 3 times this week, it rained and you fell into a puddle, one of your profs is horrible, you'd been so anxious everyday and to top everything off, between you and Luke being busy you hadn't gotten to see each other all week.

But it was finally Friday night and you were so excited to curl up on the couch, do nothing but watch shitty sitcoms and not move for hours. You made instant ramen, grabbed a blanket that still smelled like Luke from when he was at your dorm last weekend, and settled in. Your roommate was going out for the night so you had the whole room to yourself.

Your peace was interrupted 5 episodes into your binge. At this point it was 7 o'clock. It was too early for your roommate to be back but too late for someone uninvited to show up. And you sure as hell hadn't invited anyone.

You got off the couch, extremely pissed at the fact that anyone would dare interrupt your quiet Friday night. You feel a little different after you open the door though.

"Hey babe." Says a familiar voice when you open the door.

"Oh my god Luke. How did you know I needed you tonight?" You ask, jumping into your boyfriends arms.

"I always know...plus I could kinda guess from the very aggressive texts you've been sending me all week."

You laugh. "Yeah well my week has been less than perfect that's for sure." You lead Luke into your dorm and the two of you have a seat on your bed.

"Babe, tell me about it. Why was your week so bad?"

"I just- it was one bad event after another. Over and over again. I couldn't catch a break. From falling into a puddle to having coffee spilt on me to having a really shitty professor it felt like nothing was going right. And then I was just so anxious every single day. And I haven't felt this anxious in so long and I just didn't know how to deal with it." You take a deep breath. It feels good to let your feelings out to someone you trust.

Luke rubs your back. "I'm so sorry your week so shitty babe. I'm also sorry I couldn't have been there for you. I should've been I was just bu-"

You cut your boyfriend off. "You don't have to apologise Luke. I get it. Life is busy and you don't always have time."

"But I always want to have time for you. You are so important to me." You sit in silence for a few moments and then it's Luke who speaks first.

"Wanna go grab some ice cream? We could maybe even still have time to catch the sunset."

You smile. Luke always knows what you need. "Yeah, I'd love that." But also where does Jack think you are? He doesn't know we're dating yet and I know he's a little bit overprotective."

"Yeah, um I kinda snuck out. And he's probably blowing up my phone right now but I don't care. I'm an adult and I wanted to come see you." You smile up at Luke while he gets off the bed. You never thought you'd start falling in love with him this fast but yet here you were.

Luke grabs your hand and the two of you run down the hallway out to Luke's car. You hop into the passenger seat and Luke gets in and starts the car. As he's pulling away, he places a gentle hand on your thigh. You look over at him to see he has a content and peaceful smile on his face as he drives. It overbearing to think you have this kind of effect on him.

Luke parks at the curb and hand in hand, you walk into the ice cream shop. It's a cute little retro diner type place that just opened up a few weeks ago.

Luke, being the boring boy he is, orders plain vanilla while you get your favourite. Luke pays and you return to his car.

"Do you wanna go to the overpass and watch the sunset?"

Luke knows that, that's what you want to do so you just smile. On the drive you play music and Luke hums along while you go full out, pretending you're in a music video. He laughs, not quite sure how he was able to land an amazing person like you.

You arrive just in time. The sky is full of oranges, pinks and reds. Luke helps you up onto the hood of his car and two of you cuddle up, eat your ice cream and watch the setting sun.

When the sky is fully dark you get back in and start driving. You assume Luke will drop you back off at your dorm but all of a sudden you realise he's driving the wrong way.

"Luke are you trying to kidnap me? Where are we going?"

He picks up your hand from where it's resting on the console and kisses it.

"I have no clue babe, but I do know I'm not ready to end this night yet so let's keep driving and see where we end up, okay."

You Look at Luke with all the love in the world in your eyes.

"Okay."

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[velsims]

Having a Crush on Classmate Ellie 🐟

This is less of a fic and more of a drabble i dunno lols. But ive been inspired because shout out cute girl in my gov’n’econ class <3

okay so you’re in class right? and maybe its the first day, and you look across the room and see this BEAUTY? completely freckled, the natural light from the windows making her green eyes glow, and youre like, stunned.

maybe you decide to “go sharpen your pencil”, so you walk over and you look over her shoulder and see her sketchbook! oh shes an artist! oh wow! and now youre blushing because artists are hot

and she’s not oblivious, she knows you’ve been over by her wayyy too long to be ”sharpening your pencil” so she’ll turn around and you’ll have to pretend not to be looking directly at her, even though you both can feel the heat in your cheeks a mile away

she’s totally smug about it too, the next day she’ll stare at you the entire time while you’re sitting there like 😳, and maybe the next day she’ll get even more bold and sit next to you. she wont say anything though, just wants to see you squirm a bit (like a little shit)

and she’ll do shit she knows drives you up the rails! playing with her pen, staring at you when you answer the prof., she’ll even bump her leg against yours just to fuck with you

then maybe, just maybe, you’ll gather up the courage to ask for her socials, and she’ll be like “took you long enough...” with that sly ass smirk on her face.

she’s mean but its okay because it means she likes you :)