#are they making out in the classroom of course they are

[g0r3wh0rre]

ROMANTICISM HANDLED WITH DISCIPLINE ── 박성훈

your professor catches you reading a not-so-safe-for-school book in the middle of his class. in an effort to make things better, you fear that you may have just made them worse.

⧼ 📜 ⧽ 一 pairing༚ ⸝⸝⸝ professor!park sunghoon ✗ student!fem!reader includes ༚ ༚ ༚ jungwon, jay and jake of enhypen, giselle and karina of aespa

genre ༚ ༚ ༚ smut, fluff, porn with plot

warnings༚ ⸝⸝⸝ teacher/student, age gaps, power play, light dom/sub dynamics, dom!sunghoon, masturbation (f. rec), erotic literature, explicit language and sexual content, spanking, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, name calling (slut), wet dreams, impact play, oral (m. rec), cumming in pants, facefucking, deepthroat, big dick sunghoon, doggy style, sex on furniture, unprotected sex, creampies, talk of contraception (reader is on birth control), alcohol mentions, drinking and partying, hair pulling, size kink word count༚ 12 . 2 k | ⧼ 🗝️ ⧽ 一 to library༚

[notes.] a rewrite of a rewrite of one of the first ever fics i've ever written! this fic was originally written for soobin of txt, but i took that one down when i decided to discontinue writing for that group. but thanks to my lovely mutuals, they asked (demanded) that i rewrite it for hoon <3 this is a romanticization of student/teacher relationships where both parties are consenting adults, but it is important to note that these relationships can be problematic in real life due to one parties authority over another's and unstable power dynamics. banner done by my beloved mootie @heechwe! reblogs and feedback are very appreciated <3 i hope you enjoy!

YOUR FRENCH LITERATURE professor embodies everything you find detestable in a teacher. His classes are a monotonous drone of information, devoid of anything exciting or engaging, though that might not be entirely his fault with how painfully, mind numbingly boring the subject he teaches is. He rarely ever deviates from his tight-lipped script, and he absolutely refuses to entertain any questions or foster any interesting discussion. He never accepted late assignments or gave any extensions, his tests are ridiculously hard, and he’ll dock points off your assignments for the tiniest, stupidest reasons. Sure, it’s a difficult course, and it’s important to your major, but you swear he seems to take some kind of pleasure in making his students miserable. Each class feels like an eternity, and often you find yourself counting down the minutes until you can escape the insufferable, suffocating atmosphere of his classroom.

Yet, for some strange, inexplicable reason, you find yourself absolutely obsessed with him.

Maybe it was because you spent your time in his class focusing more on him than any of the words that came out of his mouth. His irritatingly handsome, angular face and his pouty, kissable lips, the moles on his cheeks framing his tall nose. The way his thick brow furrows and his lip curls when one of your classmates asks a question that he deems too stupid to grace with an answer. His big veiny hands and how they look shuffling papers and twirling pens, filling your head with thoughts of how they would look caressing your body. His tall, fit frame and how he towers over you whenever you come up to him, the way he has to lower his head to look you in the eye, a soldering heat bubbling in your belly from the way he makes you feel so small. You can’t stand to be his student, but you dream at night about being something else to him entirely— it’s a paradox that drives you to detrimental distraction. How can you be so obsessed with someone you loathe? His perplexing combination of qualities was like some kind of mystery you felt compelled to unravel, at the very least to put your own mind at ease.

That was when you found the novel. It was hidden in the romance section of your favorite used bookstore, squished between two old technicolor cover harlequin novels, it’s dark and simple spine juxtaposing against all the bright colors and ornate fonts. It intrigued you enough to pull it from the shelf and look it over, your cheeks heating up as you take in its cover. A headless, well-dressed man sat in a chair with his legs spread invitingly, the smart suit he was wearing disheveled and his undone belt held tightly in his hand, the leather strap resting against his inner thigh. The title Lessons in Attraction was printed where his head would be, vague but provocative enough to make your stomach flip. The man immediately reminded you of Professor Park, from the way he was dressed to the prominent veins in his hands, and when you flip the book over to read the synopsis you understand the connection. It outlines the story of a steamy romance between a strict economics professor and his teaching assistant, an innocent, young virgin who wants nothing more than to please. It was as if the author had plucked your deepest fantasies straight from your head and printed them out on paper, then planted the book in the perfect spot for you specifically to discover. You knew just from skimming through the pages that reading it would only do you more harm than good, but you just couldn’t put it down, drawn to the story like an addict needing a fix. You hid it in your stack of textbooks, and you refused to look the cashier in the eye as they checked you out.

At first, you had intended to keep it hidden in your bedroom, only to be read late at night when your roommates were either out or asleep. But as your obsession with your professor continued to deepen, so did your obsession with the novel; soon you found yourself taking it with you everywhere you went, reading snippets whenever you had the chance and quickly shoving back into your bag anytime someone would walk by or glance over at you. Your dreams devolved into graphic, vivid replays of your favorite dirty scenes, with Professor Park in the place of the professor from the story. You wake up hot and bothered every morning, and his class becomes even more difficult with your head now full of illicit, naughty fantasies. Everything he does makes your belly swirl with need, even something as simple as running a hand through his hair or adjusting his glasses— you can’t even bare to look at him, and instead try your hardest to focus on whatever boring tangent he was rambling on about… until you caught yourself fantasizing about how his deep voice would sound whispering dirty words in your ear.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Professor Park's lectures were beginning to feel more like sick torture— you needed something to keep you distracted before you went insane.

So, against your better judgement, you started to bring the novel to read in class. You sat far enough in the back that you were certain he wouldn’t notice, and your poor classmates were too bored out of their minds to look your way. It was easy to keep it hidden away tucked in your lap, so you could pretend to be writing in your notebook while you read. Something about it excited you, reading about fucking your professor with your real professor standing there in front of you, none the wiser. Being able to admire him as you indulged in your secret desires. If he caught you, you would be humiliated, but you would be lying if you said that the thought didn’t excite you…

"Miss L/N, what are you doing?”

You nearly shoot straight out of your chair, your professor’s sudden call of your name shocking you out of your reverie. You had gotten so absorbed into your novel that you had forgotten to check to see if he was looking your way. “H-huh?”

“You keep looking at your lap.” Professor Park remarks, peering up at you from his spot at the podium with an unamused frown. His thick-rimmed glasses made his pretty brown eyes appear even larger than they already were, blinking up at you like he was studying you through a magnifying glass. “You’re not on your phone, are you? You know I have a no-tolerance policy when it comes to electronics.”

“Oh! No, sir, I’m just…” your startled gaze bounces back to the book in your lap, and you swallow nervously. “Reading.”

“Reading?” Professor Park echoes, raising his brow. “What are you reading? I assume it’s not the textbook, from the look on your face.”

You blanche, trying your hardest to appear nonchalant as you snap the book shut and shove it down into the recesses of your school bag. “It’s nothing!” You reply far too quickly, sounding guiltier than sin.

Professor Park's lips pull into a thin line, his magnified eyes raking over your sweating face before trailing down to your bag, clasped protectively over your lap.

“Give it to me.” he orders curtly, stretching out his hand.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. “What?! W-why?!”

“Reading anything that isn’t the course material is against my class rules— I have it printed clearly on the syllabus, though with how you can never seem to pay attention I wouldn’t be surprised if you missed it when I went over it at the beginning of the semester. I would recommend looking over it again to see if there’s anything else you’ve forgotten. Now, get up and hand me that book.”

The entire class has turned to look at you now too, dozens of pairs of eyes fixated on your every move. The silence is absolutely deafening. Your heart races and your hands tremble as you squirm in your seat, trying desperately to come up with some sort of escape as if you were in a horror movie; you might as well be, because out of all the ghouls and monsters you can think of, this has to be your worst nightmare.

You consider refusing. Technically, Professor Park couldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to— hell, you could walk right out of the classroom right then and there if you really wanted to, with both your book and your dignity intact. After all, you were a grown adult paying to further your education out of your own pocket. Trying to confiscate your belongings as if you were a child was borderline insulting.

But you can’t risk your grade over something like this, as embarrassing as it was, and you wouldn’t put it past him to penalize you in some way for defying your orders. You were already struggling as it was, partly because of how difficult the coursework was and mostly because of how you could never concentrate whenever Professor Park was around. To make matters even worse, passing was a requirement for your degree. Getting even more on his bad side than you already were simply not an option.

It takes every ounce of energy you have to force yourself to stand up out of your seat and trudge down to Professor Park's podium, clutching your novel against your chest like you were clutching pearls. He has to pry it out of your hand with a considerable amount of force, because you can’t seem to loosen your fingers around the cover.

You scamper back to your seat, but not before turning back to see Professor Park eye the cover with a startled expression. It would have been comical if you didn’t feel like you were seconds away from throwing up all over your desk.

He places it gingerly face-down on his desk like he was handling a dead fish, and you’re both grateful and horrified that he noticeably avoids making eye contact with you when he steps back up on his podium. “You can come by my office later to get it back, Miss L/N. I have a free period at six.”

“Yes, sir.” You answer glumly, staring at your shoes.

Luckily for you, he dismisses the class only a few minutes later, muttering about something to do with grading papers. You’ve never ran out of that lecture hall so fast in your life.

“Whoa, what’s up with you?” your friend Jungwon asks when you walk by him in the hall, looking up from his phone and tugging out his earbuds to cock his head in your direction. “You look live you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

You stop just long enough to realize that you were still running, even though you had made it nearly halfway across the building. “I’m so fucked.” You state simply.

“What? What happened? Did you do something to piss off Professor Park again?”

“Yes. No. Kind of?” you cringe inwardly. There’s absolutely no way you’re telling Jungwon about any of what happened; he’d laugh at you to the point you fear you might actually start crying. “I don’t want to talk about it. I gotta go.”

You shuffle away before he can respond, and while you feel bad ignoring him as he calls out to you in confusion, you’re focused solely on finding somewhere quiet and empty to hide out until your next class. And maybe grabbing an iced coffee or something. Just to drown out the tears as you wallow in your own misery.

Against all odds, you manage to make it through the rest of your classes. The wait was almost worse than getting caught, barely able to sit still in your seat as you panic inwardly for hours on end. If it was Professor Park's intention to psychologically torture you, he wildly succeeded.

And you’re absolutely sure it was, because the first thing you see once you step into his office is your professor lounging back in his chair reading your book.

“Professor!” you yelp.

He glances up from your book, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes as he sends you a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, Miss Y/N! You’re just in time. I was just flipping through your book here, it seems awfully… interesting.”

You gulp, your trembling hands clutching the strap of your bag in a vain attempt to ground yourself. “Um, sir!” you squeak, rushing to his side to glance over his shoulder at what page he was on, praying to whatever god that will listen that he hasn’t read anything raunchy. “I think it would be best if you, um, didn’t read that…”

“Oh?” He flips the page and quirks his brow, not even sparing you a second glance as he adjusts his glasses, “What do you mean?”

You rack your brain desperately for a good enough excuse, but you can’t think of anything other than just how mortified you were, watching helplessly as your professor’s keen eyes scan over the pages. “Can I have it back now?” you say instead, your voice small and shaking.

“Surely you can wait just a little longer— now I’m dying to know why you don’t want me to read this.” Professor Park's crooked smirk infuriates you.

Was there any possible way that you could talk your way out of this without telling him upfront that what he was holding in his hands was an erotica, one about a teacher and a student no less? You shuffle nervously, stumbling over your words as you try to stutter out something, anything, “You, um… you wouldn’t like it.”

He turns his head to look up at you again, the look in his eye sharply changing when he takes in your frightened state, into something you don’t recognize and aren’t sure you like. “How can you be sure I wouldn’t enjoy it? I’m a fan of many different genres of literature, though I’ve never read anything quite like this before. Is it some sort of romance novel? If it is, you don’t have to be ashamed, Miss Y/N. I’m sure many young women such as yourself read these sorts of novels, though I strongly discourage reading them while I’m in the middle of a lecture. It’s simply disrespectful. Now, where was I?”

He trails his finger down the page as if he was looking for his place, and you bristle. “Sir, seriously, don’t—!”

“I followed my professor to his office, watching with bated breath as he rounded his big wooden desk.”  Professor Park begins to read aloud. You barely stop yourself from screaming, instead letting out a sort of pained choking sound. “He stopped to stand behind me, looking down my shoulder as if he were looking over my essay just as I was. I had made three errors in my writing, each one circled in bright red ink. He seemed more upset about it than usual.”

“Professor, please.”

“’Put that essay on my desk.’ he said, so I did.” Professor Park continues, ignoring you. He had gave the professor character a stupid, high pitched voice when he spoke, which would have been funny if you weren’t so humiliated. “’Now bend over with your elbows on my desk, so that you are looking directly at the essay. Keep your face very close.’”

“Stop it! Just let me have it!” You hated to talk to him this way, but if he continued reading any further… it took everything you had to keep yourself from running out of his office and crawling into the nearest ditch to die in.

“That’s not how you should speak to me, Miss Y/N. Now you certainly aren’t getting it back.” Professor Park retorted, his evil little smirk growing even wider. You wanted to hit him, or kick or scream, but you couldn’t do anything except stand there and try your hardest not to cry. “I was puzzled, but I followed his instructions, bending over the top of his desk so that my chest, belly and arms were pressed against the hardwood. My nose was merely a centimeter or two away from the letter, which made it difficult to read. My skirt was starting to… to slide up the backs of my thighs, but I was sure that if I moved to tug it back down, I would just get into even more trouble.”

You grimace when Professor Park's voice broke, his smile slowly starting to slide off his face and twisting into something unreadable. But he did not stop reading. “’Now read the letter to yourself. Read it over and over again.’ My professor said. I read: “In today’s rapidly evolving global landscape, the integration of technology in…” and at the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he— he… um… Oh.”

You began to feel less like wanting to die and more like you were actually dying. Professor Park stares hard at the pages for a painfully long moment, his ears turning bright cherry red, but to your surprise and absolute mortification, he began to read aloud again. His voice had dropped that cheerful quality, however, sounding winded as if he had been hit upside the head. “At the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he reeled his arm back and spanked me hard. I stopped reading with a loud gasp, shocked— the sting reverberated through my core, fiery hot, and despite my embarrassment I began to soak through my panties. At my silence, I was spanked again, even harder. ‘I said read it.’ My professor reminded me. ‘Be a good girl and follow instructions.’”

Professor Park shuts the book closed abruptly and looks up at you with a very red face and wide eyes. The tears that had been pooling in your lashes threaten to spill down your cheeks, so overcome with fear and embarrassment that your stomach turns like you're going to be sick. That was just what you needed to top off this already life-ruining experience, wasn’t it; vomiting all over your professor after he uncovers your darkest, dirtiest secret.

“This is extremely inappropriate material to bring on campus.” Professor Park finally says, his voice wavering.

“Yes, sir.”

“And that relationship, it’s… wrong. It’s against the university’s code of conduct. I— he could get fired for that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You shouldn’t be reading this. It’ll put... thoughts in your head that don’t need to be there.”

“…Yes, sir.” Part of you wants to argue with him, remind him that you’re an adult and can read whatever it is that you would like, but you don’t have the strength to.

He sighs heavily, like something important is weighing on his mind, and he hands you back your book before turning back to pour over the scattered, forgotten papers on his desk. “Go home, Miss L/N. And get rid of that book.”

You turn tail and scamper out into the hall, but you can’t help but glance back into Professor Park's office as you leave. He’s hunched over his desk with his elbows resting on the wood, his fingers tangled in his dark hair as he rests his head in his hands. It seems like something is bothering him, something bigger than grading papers or your stupid, silly book.

You don’t stick around to find out what it is.

The next morning, you receive a rather hastily written email from Professor Park telling you that he’s cancelling classes for the rest of the week. He’s come down with a cold, he claims— you and the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach know better than to believe that.

You don’t see him until that next Monday, but even then he might as well not have shown up at all. He struggles to get through his lesson plan even more than usual, and he wouldn’t look away from his papers or the projector, even when one of your classmates raised their hand to ask a question. You spent the entire period gathering up the courage to go up to him after his lecture, but when you do he brushes you off with a lame, half-baked excuse about having papers to grade and no time to talk, grabbing his things in a rush and scampering out of the lecture hall before you can call out for him to come back.

The pit in your stomach opens up into a black hole, swallowing up everything except for overwhelming, gnawing anxiety. It’s eating you up inside, manifesting itself in how you’ve chewed your lips until they bled, and then bit your nails down to the quicks— anyone with eyes could see that something was weighing on you, and you became increasingly tired of all your friends asking if anything was wrong, so once you were finished with your classes you took to hiding out in your dorm room curled up on the couch, your favorite fluffy blanket wrapped around you as you sullenly binge-watched a k-drama you’ve seen a thousand times.

While you were more of a homebody, your two roommates were much the opposite. Karina and Giselle loved to go out and party. Tonight was no different, the two of them flittering around the dorm as they got ready to go out to some club, and while they had given up on trying to get you to join them a while ago, something about the way you moped about seemed to reinvigorate Karina’s desire to get you off of your ass and out on the town. She knew you better than anybody, and immediately she could sniff out that something was off.

“Why don’t you come with us? You can borrow one of my dresses.” She offers, rummaging through her collection of high heels. “It’s a Friday night, everyone’s out! We can dance, we can find some boys to take home; it’ll be fun. You look like you need some.”

“I don’t need to have fun. I need to study.” You reply solemnly, scowling, but you make no moves to get up off the couch. It was a shitty excuse even to your own ears; it was obvious you didn’t have any plans to do anything tonight except feel sorry for yourself.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She huffs. You don’t even have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. “Something’s bothering you and you won’t even tell me or Gigi what’s wrong. Don’t you think a drink or two would be good for you? You can vent to us all night, too. I promise we’ll listen.”

“I don’t know if I even want to tell you about it.”

“Why not? We’re your best friends, Y/Nie. You can tell us anything, even if it’s stupid or embarrassing. If it’s bothering you this badly, it’s clearly something serious.”

You peer out from under the blanket to look over at Karina— the worry in her eyes makes your heart sink. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t even consider taking her or Giselle up on their offers, but the way you were stuck running circles inside your head was far from normal. “You promise not to laugh at me?” She smiles warmly. “Nope. But I promise I’ll hear you out regardless.”

The loud, thumping bass reverberating throughout the club did very little to help ease your pounding headache. Your temples throbbed with every beat, the pressure so severe it felt as if your skull was just moments away from splitting in two. You don’t think you’ve ever been this uncomfortable in your life; the dress that Karina gave to you was a size or two too small, the shiny fabric so tight around your chest that you gasp for air. It would be difficult for you to breathe even in properly fitting clothes, the air hot and heavy from the throngs of sweaty bodies that surrounded you. You felt claustrophobic, the crowd closing in on you and threatening to swallow you whole— the only place to escape was to the bar, but even there you’re bombarded with flashing lights, deafening music, and the overlapping voices of everyone around you. You have to strain your ears to make out what Giselle was saying, and she was just on the barstool right next to yours.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” She giggles, sipping on a brightly colored cocktail. She had ordered a round of them for all three of you, and the amount of alcohol mixed in them felt like a sucker punch to the face, even with all the sickeningly sweet grenadine the bartender had used to try and mask the flavor. You watch in abject horror as both she and Karina downed them one by one like they were water.

“No.”  you reply honestly.

“You will once you tell us what’s going on with you!” Karina interjects from your other side. “I meant it when I said I wanted you to vent to us, let it all out and give us the tea! Aeri’s dying to know.”

“It’s really embarrassing…” you admit, staring forlornly down at your own drink. “I’d rather just forget all about it.”

“It can’t be that bad. You didn’t drop your pants in front of everyone or anything, did you?”

You cringe. “God, no. It’s not like that.”

“Then it’s nothing you can’t tell us about.” Giselle shoots you a smile over the rim of her glass.

“It’s… it’s about Professor Park.”

“You and Gigi's lit professor?” Karina asks, cocking her head. “Isn’t he the one you have a massive crush on?”

Your cheeks flush, your drink becoming even more interesting as you avoid looking at either of them in the eye. “Maybe.”

“Ugh, your taste in men is the worst.” Giselle snickers. “I don’t understand why you like him so much. He’s such a dick.”

You fight down the urge to defend him— for some odd reason, you feel a surge of protectiveness over Professor Park, even when you completely agree with what Giselle is saying about him. “Yes, I like him, but that’s not the point. The point is that I totally fucked up and now I think he hates me.”

“What did you do?! Please tell me you cursed him out, he fucking deserves it.”

“No, Gigi, oh my God.” Even the mere thought of doing something like that sends shivers down your spine. “He caught me reading during class.”

“…That’s it? You’re freaking out over that?” Giselle blinks.

“It’s what I was reading that’s the problem.” you lament miserably, gathering your courage with a sip of your disgusting cocktail. “I have this book; it’s about a teacher and a student… getting together, if you know what I mean. It’s really dirty… and he caught me reading it in class. He took it, and then he read it himself right in front of me! He thinks I’m a freak. It’s been two days and he won’t even look at me.”

Karina and Giselle stare at you.

“Why the hell were you reading a smut book in class?!” Karina gasps, her dark glittery makeup making her wide eyes look even wider. “And one about a professor, too— were you trying to get caught? There’s better ways to go about telling him that you want to fuck him.”

“I don’t know— I was bored and stupid, okay?!” You had been asking yourself the same question for days, mentally beating yourself to a pulp every time it crossed your mind. “I thought he wouldn’t notice me since I sat in the back… now he’s going to tell the dean, and I’m going to get expelled, and—”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Giselle stops you in your downwards spiral, grabbing your shoulder to ground you. “You’re thinking too hard about this. He’s probably just a prude. If he was going to do something like that, he would have probably done it by now. Plus, I don’t think that’s really something you can be expelled over.”

You lean into her touch, resting your head on her shoulder as she pats your back comfortingly. “He’s mad at me…” you whine petulantly. “I was trying to get that TA position, too… fuck, I’m so screwed.”

“What would he be mad at you for? Being horny?” Karina laughs, “It’s really his own fault for snooping in your stuff.”

“I think you’ll still get it.” Giselle supplies helpfully. “You’ve really got nothing to worry about. Sure, your grade sucks, but I’ve seen the two of you talking in the hallway before— the way he looks at you is insane. And the way he looks at your ass when you leave is even crazier. You just showed him that you feel the same way about him that he does about you.”

“Don’t say that.” You groan. “You think that about every guy I talk to. There’s no way in hell that Professor Park feels anything for me except hatred.”

“If you’re really that worried about it, you can always just apologize.” Karina says, drumming her long nails against her glass. “It might not do anything, but it’ll make you feel better.”

That was the first bit of real advice either her or Giselle had given you in a while, even if it left a bad taste in your mouth. “I don’t know. I feel like that would just make things worse. I need to go to the bathroom.”

You scramble off the barstool in a rush, teetering on your heels— you weren’t even that tipsy, but every step made you feel like a newborn deer. Karina and Giselle watch you hobble away in pity.

You stumble through the crowd in search of a bathroom sign, quickly getting lost in the sea of bodies. There’s little room to move around, everyone pressed up against each other dancing, too intoxicated to notice you trying to politely squeeze by. They jostle and knock you around, and you nearly trip over your own wobbly feet multiple times. Your headache grows nearly unbearable, your desperation to find an escape leading you to start pushing people out of the way so you can continue to move forward. One particularly drunk woman nearly knocks you to the ground, and she shoots you a dirty look over her shoulder when you shoulder past her roughly. You hate to be rude, but you’re teetering dangerously close to your breaking point. You need to find some peace and quiet, and fast.

But all of that goes out the window when among the countless bobbing and weaving heads, you spot a frighteningly familiar pair of broad shoulders.

“Professor Park?!” you call out in shock, shoving your way towards him. “What are you doing here?!”

Without his suits and big clunky glasses on, you almost don’t recognize him. He was leaning back against the wall with two men who you vaguely recognize as other professors at the university, talking and laughing amongst themselves with beers in their hands. You admire the profile of his strong, angular nose, the way his pronounced collarbones peeked out from the loose linen shirt he wore, the first few buttons undone to show a delicious strip of tan skin. His dark hair, usually gelled back to show his forehead, was left fluffy and untamed, framing his dark, intoxicating eyes. He jumps a little at your voice, turning away from the men to look at you.

His eyes widen sharply, moving slowly from your face down to your chest. They linger there for a moment, blinking owlishly, before he tears them away from you completely, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

“Oh, um. Hello, Miss L/N.” he covers up his stutter with a weak cough, suddenly very interested in the state of his shoes. You make a quick mental note to thank Karina later for convincing you to squeeze yourself into this stupid dress.

“Oh, this is Y/N?” One of the two other men slurs gleefully, a grin stretching across his handsome face. There was a certain hunger in the way he undresses you with his eyes, scanning you head to toe like a predator. You could tell from his flushed pink cheeks that he was very drunk. “I’ve heard all about you! It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Something odd flashes in Professor Park's eyes and he jerks his head to shoot his friend a deathly glare. He was far too tipsy to notice.

“You’ve… heard about me?” you cringe, your heart sinking. Out of whatever Professor Park had to say about you, none of it could be anything good.

“Oh, not much, just that you’re one of the brightest students that he’s ever taught.” The other man cuts in, chuckling. He tips his head back and takes a swig of his beer, flashing you his sharp jawline. “One of his favorites to have in class, he says.”

“Such a smart head on those little shoulders! You should consider taking my econ course next year, it’d be a gift to see your pretty face in my class.” The first man adds, his crooked smirk widening.

“Jake, Jay, please.” Professor Park grits out through gritted teeth, anxiously running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, what did you say, Miss L/N?”

You splutter as your lips refuse to form words. You?! The brightest student he’s ever had?! That was just a complete and utter lie; if it wasn’t for Giselle helping you with an extra credit assignment you had practically begged him on your knees for, you would be failing his class spectacularly. You couldn’t fathom why Professor Park would say something like that to these two men, when nearly every class he was scolding you for being late, distracted, forgetting your deadlines, a combination of all three and more. Not only that, but with what had transpired the other day still fresh and stinging… they had to be saving face or making some kind of sick joke. As you collect your thoughts, you half expect them to start pointing and laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, peering up at Professor Park's blushing face. He avoids meeting your eyes, just like how he did in class.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy the start of my weekend?” he retorts, fiddling with the pull tab on his beer. “Clearly, you’re doing the same.”

He spits out the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. It stung like an insult. “I thought you said you were busy.” you assert, biting your lip to keep from scoffing. The liquor giving you a little too much courage; he was still Professor Park, even if now standing in front of you he looked like just any other guy.

“I… was.” He mumbles, “And now I’m not anymore. It’s really not any of your business.”

It takes everything you have to keep from blurting out that your book really wasn’t any of his business either, but you manage to hold your tongue.

“I’m sorry, I just— Sir, I need to talk to you.”

 “There’s nothing to talk about.” He says matter-of-factly. It’s far from what you were expecting him to say.

“What do you mean?” you challenge, your annoyance starting to turn sour. “It’s about the other day.”

Professor Park continues to play dumb, though he keeps throwing sidelong glances to his coworkers. “What about it?”

“I want to apologize.” You bite hard on your lower lip. For doing nothing wrong.

Professor Park's eyes snap up to meet yours, inky dark irises wide in shock. “Y/N—”

“Apologize?” Professor Park's friend— Jake, you think— butts in, raising an eyebrow. “What happened?”

All the color leaves Professor Park's face, even the blush that was slowly trailing from his cheeks down his neck. He awkwardly clears his throat and averts his gaze, putting on a show of cupping his ear and pretending to be confused. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over all of this noise! If you have a question, I’ll be in my office tomorrow afternoon. Go on and have a good night.”

“Wait, Professor—!”

“Have a good night!”

It takes you a long time to find your way back to the bar, drunk, defeated, and stewing in your own thoughts. You’re pleasantly surprised to see that Giselle and Karina have been sat waiting for you all this time, but you don’t have it in you to feel happy or grateful as you plop yourself back onto your empty barstool. Their irritation quickly shifts to confusion and worry, both shooting you odd glances as Karina tentatively hands you another cocktail.

“Are you okay?”

“Did you get lost or something?”

You take a long sip, the disgusting sweetness and the bitter liquor overpowering your senses enough to calm your racing thoughts. “I think I’m going to go and talk to Professor Park tomorrow.” is all you say.

“If you fuck him, please put in a good word for me.” Giselle slurs drunkenly in reply. “I need to pass that fucking class.”

“You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you, Miss L/N?” Professor Park whispers in your ear, his deep voice dripping with honeyed venom. The fabric of his dress shirt ghosts over your back, his body so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. He has you trapped against his big wooden desk, bent over it obscenely with your ass in the air as you whimper and squirm. Your skirt and panties pool at your ankles, leaving your most intimate areas exposed for him to view. Your leaking pussy quivered from the icy cold air, your hole clenching desperately around nothing and aching to be filled.

“I’m sorry!” You mewl, voice wavering.

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you sorry for?” he presses, so deliciously condescending in the way he feigns ignorance, “Apologize to me properly and tell me what it was that you did.”

“I’ve been bad, sir. I was reading during your lecture, and I’m sorry—”

“Oh, you weren’t just reading.” Professor Park scoffs, straightening himself up and off your back. He rounds the desk to circle you like prey, his slow methodical steps echoing throughout the quiet of his office. They echo in your ears and strike a dizzying mix of fear and anticipation in your heart.

“I-I was reading smut and…” your face burns hotter than the sun, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath to will yourself to have the courage to admit what it was you were caught doing. “…And I was touching myself.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” He stops to stand at your side, his mere presence hovering above you enough to make you shudder. “Tell me exactly how you were touching that slutty little pussy.”

His words go straight to your core, making you squeeze your thighs together in need. Just a little friction was all you needed, and the edge of his desk granted a great opportunity… but as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t let yourself give in to desperation and grind yourself against Professor Park's desk like a dog in heat. He would notice immediately, and it would only worsen your punishment.

“I was… I was rubbing my clit through my panties.” you admit ashamedly, “Grinding against my fingers. I was going to put one inside but you… you stopped me.”

“I could see your hand up your skirt all the way from the back of the class.” Professor Park spits, his carefully controlled demeanor cracking and his wild, untamed anger boiling to the surface. “It’s like you’re trying to get the two of us caught. You’re lucky no one else was looking… or was that what you wanted? Did you want everyone to see what a slut you are?”

“N-no!” you gasp, but the idea gets you even wetter; you wanted nothing more than for everyone to know that he was much more than just your professor, that he was yours and in turn you were his. “I’m a slut j-just for you, no one else!”

“Fuck, that’s right.” he groans lowly, his voice dripping sex. He picks up a long wooden ruler off his desk, right by your head, and points the tip at the nape of your neck. It ran slowly down the curve of your spine, a ghostly barely-there touch that left a trail of fire erupt across your skin. He stops at the plush swell of your ass, gently caressing your flesh with the cold wood. “You’re all mine. My favorite little student. You just need some discipline to put you back in your place, hm? Show me what a good girl you can be and count for me.”

He rears his arm back, poised and ready to strike. You can hear the ruler whooshing through the air, sharp and fast as he swings his arm forwards—

Your eyes snap open with a gasp. Suddenly, you’re back in your bedroom, curled up safe and sound in your bed, groggy and disoriented as you slowly come back down to reality. While you dreamt about Professor Park often, never had one felt this vivid, this real. You can still feel the echoes of his touch, the phantom pain of his ruler against your asscheek haunting you like a ghost. Your panties are soaked through completely, sticky arousal pooling in the fabric and dripping down your thighs, creating a wet spot on your sheets. You toss and turn to try and go back to sleep, but it’s no use; you’re so horny you can’t think straight, can’t ignore the dull throbbing in your core.

As your hand slides under the waistband of your panties, you decide that enough is enough.

You were at your breaking point. Your life had spiraled completely out of control in the span of just two days, all because your stupid puppy-love crush of a professor had to be nosy about your reading material. He just had to find a way to humiliate you even more than he already did, didn’t he? He could’ve just given you your book back and the two of you could have gone on with your lives. He shouldn’t have even taken your book in the first place! You could have continued fantasizing about him from the back of the class, not a worry in the world, instead of losing precious hours of sleep and mentally beating yourself up.

And after your interaction at the bar, you feel even more ridiculous. If Professor Park truly had the intention of telling someone about what he had caught you reading, wouldn’t he have told the other professors that he was with? And lying to them about you being his smartest student…  you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

It was clear that he didn’t want to talk about it. But even if he wants to pretend like none of this ever happened, you just couldn’t.

There was simply no other way for you to get over all of this other than finally confronting him. You needed to make the endless spiral stop, tell him exactly what was on your mind and finally put this to bed. The longer you stew over everything that has transpired, the more your fear and anxiety boils over into anger. This was all Professor Park's fault! You needed to give him a piece of your mind, or you don’t think you’ll ever be able to move on.

Professor Park doesn’t answer until after the fifth knock, his face immediately dropping once he swings open his office door to see you standing there in front of him. His hair is a mess and his clothes are disheveled, his tie half undone and his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Anxiously he adjusts his glasses, the wide brown eyes behind them looking like a cornered deer’s. “You actually came over to apologize?” He blurts out before you can even open your mouth, genuine surprise taking over his features. “I didn’t think you—"

“Actually, no, I’m not here to apologize!” you declare, the words spilling out before you gave yourself the time to second guess yourself. You had lied awake until the sun came up thinking about what to say, and you weren’t going to let those wasted hours go to waste. “I’m here to tell you, sir, that going through my book was an invasion of my privacy! And that it’s none of your business what I read! I’m an adult, not a child, and I can do whatever I damn well please!”

Professor Park blinks owlishly, staring at you in stunned silence for so long that your newfound confidence falters and you begin to shuffle nervously.

“Oh. Um… alright.” He finally says.

“Alright?!” you echo incredulously, your irritation coming back in full swing. “You’ve been avoiding me for days and all you have to say for yourself is alright?!”

Professor Park's eyes flicker around anxiously, and it suddenly hits you that you were yelling at him in a public hallway. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Yes you do!” you shriek. This really wasn’t how you were planning on any of this going, but it was far too late to turn back. You open your mouth to continue your rant, face burning hot with unbridled rage, but Professor Park quickly grabs your wrist and roughly pulls you into his office. The sudden act shocked you into silence, your eyes wide and mouth agape as he drags you all the way back to his desk. 

“Listen.” He growls, his voice octaves deeper than you’ve ever heard it before. “You’re acting way out of line right now. Don’t you dare ever talk to me like that, you understand me? I’m still your professor, even when we’re not in class. You’re to treat me with respect—”

“Then you treat me with respect first!” you retort, though you do manage to calm yourself down enough to lower your voice. “Playing dumb and refusing to talk to me after humiliating me in front of everyone! What was even the point of doing that? Was it just for your own sick pleasure?!”

“Y/N.” Professor Park sighs, the second time you’ve ever heard him call you by your first name— the first was at the club, but you were far too distracted to dwell on it. “I know you have some sort of feelings for me. You’re not very good at hiding it.”

Your entire world comes crashing around you, though you suppose that you shouldn’t be too surprised. You had just let yourself hope beyond reason that he would never pay you any attention.

“What I’m trying to say is… Y/N, you need to stop it. Get rid of the book. I can’t be with you, it’ll never work, okay? I’m your teacher, and ten years your senior. There’s plenty of college boys around campus for you to ogle over instead.”

“You say you can’t but… do you want to?” you ask quietly, barely above a whisper.

Professor Park doesn’t meet your eyes. “I could get in a lot of trouble, Y/N. You could too.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You challenge, a hopeful spark igniting in your chest. He didn’t say no… and you may be looking too into things, or just clinging onto hope, but that was more than enough proof to you that your professor was hiding some feelings of his own.

“We can’t do this.” He mumbles, his voice growing wilder, more defiant.

“Sure we can! I’m an adult, you’re an adult… did I scare you away with my book or something? Look, it’s okay if it wasn’t up your alley. There’s nothing wrong with being vanilla, Professor. You don’t have to, like, spank me or anything—”

“But I do!” he interjects suddenly, his head shooting up to look at you with wild eyes. His entire face was bright crimson red.

“You… wait, what?” you must have misheard him. That was the only explanation, surely; There was no way he actually—

“I can’t stop thinking about it! I thought there was no way you’d be into anything like that, that I needed to stop thinking about you and move on like a professional, but then you go and pull this, and now I can’t go a single second without thinking about putting you over my knee! It’s driving me insane! I can’t even look at you!” 

“Professor—”

“Sunghoon. God, just call me Sunghoon. I can’t handle you calling me that right now.”

You open and close your mouth a couple of times, surely looking like a fish out of water— This was the absolute last thing you expected to come out of your professor’s— Sunghoon's—mouth. Your eyes bulge out of your head, your face burns hotter than the sun… your pussy clenches pathetically. It felt like you were in a dream, almost, which might have been why you suddenly felt so brazen— if you wanted him, and he wanted you, who were you to deny him?

“Then do it.” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He looks just as shocked at your proclamation as you were. “If you want to do it that bad, do it.”

He moves in a flash, giving you no time to prepare— within seconds has you thrown over his lap on his office swivel chair, your hair hanging in your face as you blink wildly at the floor. Sunghoon brushes one of his big hands against you skirt-clad ass, barely a brush of his fingers, but you still gasp all the same.

“Do you really want this?” He breathes, voice low, his breathing hard—the outline of his cock presses hard against your stomach through his slacks, making it considerably hard to focus on the words that came out of his mouth.

It takes you a moment, but you manage to choke out a whiny “Yes, sir, please.”

Sunghoon stutters out an uneven breath, his fingers inching down to the hem of your skirt, teasing the tops of your thighs for just a moment before pulling the fabric up to expose your ass, a noticeable wet spot present on your panties.

“So pretty…” He coos. You can feel his cock twitch against your stomach, those long knobby fingers trailing along the edge of your lacy thong. “Is it okay if I take your panties off, bunny?”

You whimper and nod your head— Sunghoon lands a gentle love-tap to the junction of your thighs with an airy chuckle. “Use your words like a good girl.”

This couldn’t be happening. You had to be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something, anything except truly living through this fantasy come to life— Boring, bland Professor Park, the biggest prude you thought you knew, was just way too good at this, at making your legs shake and your pussy throb all the while barely touching you. In just an afternoon your reality had shifted from thinking that he had to be the world’s biggest loser virgin to thinking that he was even sexier than the professor in your book.

You weren’t sure how to feel about it, but your cunt did. 

You must have stayed silent for too long, because without much warning Sunghoon lands a much harsher spank to the top of your asscheek. “Bad girl!” he admonishes, and you can hear the teasing, rotten grin in his voice “C’mon baby, use your big girl words. Tell me how much you want it.” His hot breath fans over your ear— you couldn’t hold in your moan even if you tried, the broken whine sounding weak and pathetic even to your own ears. 

“P-Please, sir… please take my panties off. Please spank me.” you whimper, your face beet red and your pussy drooling— his deft fingers stroke slowly up and down your folds, feeling the wetness seep through the cotton fabric of your panties. You bite your lip to keep from screaming.

“That’s my good girl.” You could hear your panties rip as he tears them off of you in one solid motion, the biting cold air meeting your hot soaking cunt and making both you and Sunghoon hiss. He admires the slick leaking down your thighs for a brief silent moment, deep breathy voice cooing at the way you arch into him and his touch, before he straightens back up and lands a stinging, eye watering spank deliciously close to your core. You yelp at the sting.

“That’s for being a fucking tease,” he states, soothing your reddening flesh with a soft caress of his palm. “Being so fucking sexy all the time and driving me crazy because I thought I could never have you.”

You hadn’t realized that this was confessional. Shooting him an evil smile over your shoulder, you giggle, “You could’ve just asked.”

Another spank, this time with even more force. Your hips buck with a shrill cry spilling from your open, panting mouth, your eyes watering— you had no idea Professor Park was this strong. He refuses to give you any time to prepare, never warning you when the next hit to your ass will come. “I didn’t say you could talk back to me.” He growls.

You’re on the verge of tears from the red-hot stinging in your ass, but you still giggle at his words. “You’re kinky.”

He just rolls his eyes, spanking you again, albeit a little softer. “And this one’s for being a brat. How about you start counting for me, little girl? That’s one.”

“One?! You’ve hit me four times!” Maybe you were pushing it too far, but it just came naturally to you to fight back, make him work for your submission and obedience. You relished pushing him as far as he would go; you relished losing.

Sunghoon grabs a handful of your hair and yanks hard, making you gasp loudly and your empty pussy flutter. Leaning down close to your ear, he lets out a warning growl; “I said fucking count.”

You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. Torn between bucking your hips into Professor Park's bulge and pushing back into the touch of his hand, you give a quiet, watery whimper of “One…”

The hand holding your hair lets go, your head falling limply over his knee. “That’s my girl.” He coos lowly, stroking your head.

It distracts you enough that the next harsh slap to your ass feels even more intense than any of the others before it. “T-two…”

“That’s for being so fucking disrespectful. And in front of my colleagues too, no less. It’s like you were asking for me to ruin you.” he tsks. “You need to learn to watch your mouth.”

The urge to say something smart tugs at you again, even if just to prove his point, but another spank rains down on your sore, bruising asscheeks before you can seize the opportunity.

“T-three!”

“And that’s… that’s for pushing me to put you over my lap in the first place. You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you? And now look at you, making me risk my job to teach you a lesson.” Sunghoon's voice wavers, filling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place— it was extremely difficult to focus on his words when his fingers began to trail down the curve of your ass to your sticky, quivering folds, rubbings the tip of his thumb right over your clothed core. You moan unabashedly, shifting your hips and opening your legs to give him better access to what was peeking out between your thighs.

The fifth spank never comes. He tugs your panties to the side and pushes two long, thick fingers between your folds, stuttering out a low moan like he was the one being touched. He starts a rough, dizzying pace almost immediately, his fingertips searching for that spongy spot inside of you. You grind your hips back against Sunghoon's fingers, a drooling mess against his slacks.

“Pr-Professor…” you whine high in your throat — you want more, want him to speed up, slow down… his touches were driving you wild. You hadn’t been touched like this ever before.

“I told you not to call me that.” He hisses, curling his fingers against your sweet spot and making you keen. “Please, call me by my name.”

“Sunghoon!” you cry out, writhing against him. You felt a passion rising within you like the hottest fire, clouding your brain. You couldn’t think of anything except of the pleasure that he gave you, couldn’t utter out anything other than his name.

“Such a slut, falling apart just on my fingers…” he chucks huskily, enamored with the filthy wet sounds your cunt made and how they echoed through the quiet office. “I’ve thought about doing this for forever, God… you’re just as beautiful as I thought you’d be.”

His thumb, wet from your arousal, comes down to rub tight, delicious circles against your sensitive, engorged clit, your strangled wail no doubt loud enough to be heard from the hallway. The building ecstasy distracts you enough for him to push in a third finger into your tight hole. The stretch burns but you love it, your hips kicking and moans growing louder and louder as he effortlessly takes you apart. 

“...Too much…!” you manage to choke out, digging your teeth into the fabric of Sunghoon's slacks to keep yourself from screaming out in bliss. You felt full to the brim, pushed closer and closer to the edge with every rough flick of your clit and thrust of his perfect talented fingers. He teases a fourth finger around your leaking, stretched out rim, the threat of it alone enough to make your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh baby, if this is too much there’s no way you’ll be able to take my cock…” 

The tears that had been brimming in your eyes start to stream freely down your burning cheeks, choked hiccups and sobs wracking your body, but it was the most pleasurable agony you had ever been in. Your hips move with a mind of their own, bucking against Sunghoon's cock, thick and hard as a rock, only seeming to grow bigger and bigger every time you rub against it. You relish the sharp intakes of breath he takes every time you move against him. He was starting to fall apart too, you could tell, his voice sounding a lot less dominating and a lot more whiny and pathetic with each roll of his hips up into your tummy.

“I’m gonna… gonna make you cum on my fingers,” he whines low in his throat, his hand completely soaked in your arousal up to the wrist. “You gonna make a mess for me?”

His fingers dig impossibly and wonderfully hard into your sweet spot, that white-hot band of desire in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with each perfectly aimed thrust. You wail and sob, your hand reaching back to grab a tight fistful of his shirt sleeve. “I-I-m— ‘m gonna cum!”

Sunghoon's other hand, the one that had been stroking your hair, then comfortingly up and down your back, rises up to smack your ass, the sudden burst of stinging pain making you scream, and for real this time.

 “You gotta ask first, bad girl! Gotta ask for permission b-before you cum…” His voice starts to break, his hips stuttering helplessly— the feeling of his big fat cock grinding hard against you only added to the fire in your belly. 

“Can I cum? Please, sir, can I cum? I’ll be a good girl, I promise, just let me cum!” you had no control over your mouth, hardly any conscious at all— all you could focus on was the tightening in your belly, the way Sunghoon's fingers thrusted in and out of your pussy so good… you were his brainless whore, fucked dumb on his fingers. 

“Shit, go on honey, my good girl… cum all over me, make a mess!” with his permission you let yourself topple over the edge, moaning and whimpering like a whore as you soak your thighs, his hand, his shirt and slacks with your juices. You lay across his lap twitching for quite some time afterwards, your chest heaving like you had just run a marathon… you’d never come before like that in your life, not as hard or for as long. Sunghoon was with you the whole way as you come down from your high, sweet as can be as he coos praises into your hair and pats your back, kissing your head when you raised it to look over your shoulder at him.

Slowly, you realize that you no longer feel his bulge poking at your belly. You release your iron grip on his shirt to slide your hand down his chest and abdomen, all the way down to gently cup his very wet crotch. “Sir…?”

“F-fuck... sorry, baby… couldn’t help it…” he turns his head away from you to hide his glowing red face, but you can see how his blush spreads down his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

“Did you just… cum?” you ask in awe and disbelief, looking down to see a dark stain spreading across the fabric of his slacks. Sunghoon only mumbles in response, refusing to answer or turn back to look at you, his blush growing an even deeper shade of red. It was all the confirmation you needed.

Professor Park came in his pants like a virgin without you even needing to touch him. Something about that alights a blazing inferno in your core, your senses overtaken with need even though you had just had an orgasm yourself.

“I want to taste it.” You breathe out, your overwhelming desire eclipsing any rational thought and taking control of your words.

“Y-you… what?” his head snaps back to you in surprise, his eyes wide and clouded with lust as they gaze headily into yours.

“Your cum, wanna taste it, want it on my tongue…” you’ve never spoken like this to anyone, your voice not feeling like your own— the words spill out from between your lips mindlessly, desperate for more of his brain numbing pleasure as you rub him through his slacks. His cock twitches underneath your fingertips, beginning to harden again from the ministrations. “Can I please suck you off, sir?”

“Fuck.” Sunghoon moans, rough and deep in his chest, the sound shooting straight to your sensitive pussy. “Yeah you can, naughty girl, come on, get on your knees and suck my cock. Clean up my mess.”

Your entire body feels limp and weak, not wanting to cooperate with you as you slide off of his lap to the floor. It takes great effort to get yourself situated, kneeling on the floor with your unsteady hands grasping at his thick thighs. He widens his legs to give you more room to get comfortable, one of his big hands instinctively coming down to tangle in your hair as your own begin to slide up the insides of his thighs towards his straining belt buckle.

Ever so slowly and meticulously you unbuckle Sunghoon's belt, the jingling of the metal buckle as it’s casted aside like music to your ears. You pull his pants and boxers down together in one rough tug, Sunghoon canting his hips to help you guide them down his thighs. His cock springs free and slaps obscenely against his belly, smearing the light fabric of his dress shirt in his thick, viscous cum. You can’t help but stop and stare, enamored by the sheer size of it— nearly as thick as a can and twice the length of one, throbbing veins making your mouth water. Cum still leaks from his angry red tip, fat and bulbous, the entirety of his length wet and shiny down to his heavy, twitching balls and neatly trimmed pubes.

You kiss the tip with a delighted grin, the contact barely-there but enough to make him throw his head back and whimper in delight. Your tongue peeks out from between your lips to slide across his slit, earning a high-pitched needy hiss from the man above you, his long fingers tightening their grip on your hair as you lick down his dripping shaft. His thick, salty cum tastes like ambrosia on your tongue, the delicious bitterness quickly getting you drunk. You can’t stop until you lick him completely clean, and even then it’s impossible for you to pull away, the feeling of his weeping cockhead heavy on your tongue far too addicting. Greedily you suck him into your mouth, relishing in the way his girth stretches your lips before swallowing him deeper and deeper until his tip knocks against the back of your throat. You can hardly fit your hands around him, let alone your mouth, fisting what couldn’t fit down your throat as you start bobbing your head. More broken tears collect on your lashes and drip down your wet cheeks, looking utterly ruined and wanton as you gaze up from between Sunghoon's legs into his hazy, unfocused eyes.

The eye contact is too much for him— his eyes roll back in his head with a whimper and his cock twitches violently inside of your mouth, the grip he has on your hair shifting from guiding your head along his shaft to tugging you off him with a sudden and disorienting strength. He pulls you off him with a wet pop, a foamy string of saliva connecting from his shiny cockhead to your needy whimpering lips.

“I’m gonna cum again if you don’t stop,” he pants, gasping for breath, “I gotta fuck that pussy first, little girl, please. Need to feel that tight cunt squeezing around me.”

“D’you wanna cum inside?” you goad, a lustful, mischievous grin overtaking your features, “Don’t worry, Hoonie, I’m on the pill. You can fill me up if you want to.”

Your words make him visibly shake, the nickname making him whimper, what was left of his flimsy resolve crumbling right before your eyes, leaving nothing but primal hunger. “Get on the fucking desk.”

You obey immediately, hardly able to contain your excitement as you stumble to your feet and bend over Sunghoon's big oak desk, wiggling your ass in the air invitingly. Your skirt and panties were still pulled up and pushed aside, exposing your dripping puffy hole for his eyes to feast upon.

“So pretty…” he croons behind you, his hands caressing your hips and waist. They smooth over the exposed globes of your ass, his fingers fiddling with the gusset of your drenched panties. Sheer pink lace that compliments your flushed skin, looks so delectable running through his fingers as he grabs your asscheeks and spreads them wide. “You look so cute in pink.”

he hisses in appreciation at the sight of your dripping hole quivering, sliding a finger down between your pussy lips to circle at your engorged clit. “Holy fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, accentuating his claim with a flick of his hand— your pussy squelches obscenely, the lewd, pornographic sound making your cheeks flush. “I can’t take it anymore, I have to be inside of you— you can take it, right bunny?”

“Please!” you beg, hardly able to string together a sentence, “Please, sir, put it in, I need it so bad, need your cock—”

You’re interrupted by the feeling of his cockhead slapping against your entrance, Sunghoon running the leaky tip up and down your slit a few times just to hear your little whimper before burying himself inside to the hilt in one smooth thrust. He rams into you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs, his long fat shaft stretching out your hole much more than you could have ever been prepared for. The burn is indescribable, overwhelming every single one of your senses in the best way, your tight gummy walls gripping his cock like a vice as the both of you struggle to adjust.

He's so deep inside of you it feels as if he’s poked through your cervix and into your womb, his big fat mushroom head snug right beneath your belly button. You’re so deliciously full that it makes your head spin, already fucked completely brainless before he had even begun to properly move.

“Does it hurt?” he asks you softly, so gentle compared to how he carved out your insides. In any other circumstance you would find it sweet that he was this concerned, but you were certain that if he didn’t start moving inside of you right then and there, you were going to die.

“More.” you croak back in response. “Give it to me.”

With a winded groan, he relents. He pulls his cock out until just the head was inside of you, giving you not a single moment to prepare before slamming back in with a force that knocks you further up on the desk. The hardwood against your cheek does nothing to muffle your loud, unabashed shriek, so he improvises by shoving two of his thick fingers past your open lips, the musky tang of your own juices filling your mouth when you suck hungrily at the digits. He set up a punishing rhythm within seconds, his hips clapping loudly and wetly against your ass while he muffles your whines and wails. His heavy balls smack against your oversensitive clit with every rough thrust, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure straight to your core. The desk cuts into the skin of your hips painfully, but if anything, it only adds to the burning sweetness building steadily in the pit of your belly.

“F-fuck, I’m close already!” Sunghoon puffs against the shell of your ear, pressing himself up against your back— you’re suddenly thrown back into your dream from the night before, the way the sensations were eerily similar yet nowhere near as good as the real thing. “Gonna cum inside you, is that okay? Wanna see how pretty your pussy looks dripping my cum.”

You can only drool in response, your thoughts fragmented and scattered, babbling desperate nonsense and rolling your hips back to meet his thrusts with a dizzying force. Your body vibrates with liquid fire, heating your puffy cunt and quivering thighs— faster than ever before were you hurtling towards your climax, that familiar tightening in your core growing harder and harder to bear. You wanted nothing more than to yield to the tide, let it overtake you completely, and in turn pull Sunghoon down with you.

Your professor was going to cum inside of you. The fantasies that had haunted you for months truly became a tangible reality. What did you do to make you so lucky?

“This slutty pussy’s sucking me in so fucking tight,” he groans, his thrusts growing sloppier, “Tell me you want my cum, baby, come on. Who’s cum do you want inside of you? Tell me and I’ll give it to you!”

“Yours!” you shriek with the last remaining bits of your energy, your words nearly incomprehensible to how you sniffled and sobbed around Sunghoon's fingers. “Want your cum— my professor’s cum inside of me!”

You took a gamble, but it was just what he wanted to hear. With one last aggressive thrust, he bottoms out inside of your pulsating cunt, his bulbous cockhead kissing your battered cervix as he cums with a broken cry. The sensation of his sticky, hot seed splashing against your insides is just what you need to tip over the edge yourself, your walls clamping down on him and milking him for all he’s worth as you ride out your own climax with long, surrendering moans. He hisses from the overstimulation, but he makes no movements to pull out, letting himself soften inside of you as you both struggle to catch your breaths. Thick viscous globs of your mixed cum leak out from where you’re connected, dripping down your thighs and Sunghoon's balls to collect in a puddle on the floor.

You gaze over your shoulder to watch as he slowly and carefully pulls out, a creamy, foamy white ring formed around the base of his cock. His glasses were fogged up from his heavy breathing, his hair and clothes even more a mess than it was when he had first opened the door, his pink face so irritatingly kissable when he shoots you a nervous smile.

You cant help but giggle at him.

“You’re not going to… tell anyone about this, are you?” he asks you anxiously, opening one of the desk’s drawers to retrieve a packet of tissues.

“As long as you explain to me why you told those other professors that I was your best student.” You reply smartly, your grin widening when he scowls.

“It was the only way I could think of how to explain why I talk about you so much.” He admits, a little shy, wiping down the mess between your thighs with a fistful of cheap, scratchy tissues. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather if we continued that charade so it doesn’t look suspicious when I ask you to come to my office every once in a while.”

“Will you give me that TA position then?”

“You technically don’t qualify,” He laughs, “but I thought that was a given.”

“You won’t regret bending the rules a little, I promise.” You tell him with a wink and a smile. The love-stricken grin he shoots back at you in return makes your heart soar.

“I know I won’t.”

[darkmarkmarauder]

666 ways I love you - M.R.

!warning!minorsdni, sexual content

word count: 2.8k

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x you

“I do very bad things and I do them very well.”

There were 666 ways Mattheo Riddle loved you.

And every single one of them was fucking wrong.

It was in the way he spat your name, the syllables curled in venom, fingers digging bruises into your arms when he pressed you against the cold stone of the castle walls. The way he laughed—low, dark, mocking—when you told him you hated him.

Liar, his smirk said. You wouldn’t know what to do without me.

He wasn’t wrong.

Like father, like son. It was fucking obvious. He was his father’s creation, molded from the same arrogance, the same cruel intelligence, the same insatiable hunger to win. But Mattheo? He was worse.

Tom Riddle destroyed people with words, with calculated charm, with power.

Mattheo destroyed people with his hands. With his teeth. With his fucking cock.

And you were his favorite thing to ruin.

It had been like this all year—an endless cycle of fucking, fighting, breaking, destroying. The whole school knew it. They saw the way you tore into each other, how your fights dragged in everyone around you, how he’d storm off after every brutal argument and find some innocent little bitch to fuck.

And you retaliated.

Not just against him, but against her.

Did she deserve it? Maybe not. But who the fuck did she think she was, touching your Mattheo? Kissing your Mattheo? Letting his filthy hands wander over her skin when they were meant to be buried in you?

So, of course, you hexed her.

And when the tables turned, when you were the one tired of Mattheo’s bullshit, when you finally snapped—well, nothing fucked with his head more than you spreading your legs for his best friend.

Lorenzo Berkshire.

The first time had been an act of war.

You hadn’t planned it, hadn’t thought past the blinding, seething rage crawling under your skin, past the bruises Mattheo had left on your throat from your last fight, past the way he had looked at you like he didn’t fucking care.

So you made him care.

Lorenzo was easy. Handsome, cocky, eager to please—eager to get under Mattheo’s skin just as much as you were.

And Merlin, did you make sure Mattheo knew.

You let him see the marks Lorenzo left on your neck, the lipstick smudged on his collar. Let him hear the way Lorenzo talked about you—loud enough for Mattheo to catch in the echoing halls of the castle. How fucking filthy you were. How you moaned for him. How he had you on your knees in the Astronomy Tower, hands braced against the stone, crying out as he—

That had been a mistake.

Because Mattheo Riddle did not take humiliation lightly.

And he sure as fuck didn’t like losing.

So when he dragged you out of the Great Hall that night, fingers curled like iron around your wrist, shoving you into the first empty classroom he could find, you knew you were in trouble.

The door slammed behind you, shaking the walls.

Mattheo stood there, chest heaving, a storm unraveling in his dark eyes.

You smirked. Gotcha, baby.

"What's wrong, Mattheo?" you purred, voice dripping in mock sweetness. "Jealous?"

He laughed. Sharp, humorless. "Jealous?" he echoed, stepping forward, closing the distance until your back hit the desk behind you. "No, princesa. That would imply he had something I wanted."

You rolled your eyes, pushing past him. "Right. Because you don’t want me. You’ve made that very clear." His fingers caught your wrist, spinning you back around so fast you barely had time to gasp before he had you pinned—one hand wrapped around your throat, the other curling around his wand, pressing it into the fabric of your skirt.

His voice dropped, quiet, venomous."You think that pretty little whore mouth can run away from me?"

Your breath hitched. "Mattheo—"

"You don't get to fuck me over and walk away."

Your breath came out in short, uneven gasps. But you didn’t back down. "You do it all the time," you hissed. "Why does it bother you now?"

"Because, mi amor." He drawled as his wand dragged upward, tracing the curve of your thigh, pushing your skirt higher until cool air kissed the damp heat between your legs. "You’re mine," he murmured, tone filled with the same cruel amusement.

You refused to give in.

You exhaled sharply, nails curling into the edge of the desk, legs trembling under the weight of his touch. "Funny," you spat, forcing your voice to stay steady, forcing your body not to react to him, not like this. "You didn’t seem to care when you had your hands all over that fucking Ravenclaw." The words dripped with venom, with something unspoken and ugly. You shouldn’t have said them. You knew that the second the flicker of amusement in his dark eyes vanished, replaced by something far worse.

Before you could react, his fingers wrapped around your throat, pushing you back against the desk—his wand digging into your skin, pressing just below your jaw.

"You think I give a fuck about her?" His voice was low, furious. "You think any of them fucking matter?"

His grip tightened, just enough to make your head spin, to make your pulse pound against his palm.

"You’re the only one who fucking matters, and you know it," he growled, breath fanning across your lips. "That’s why you let him touch you, isn’t it? Why you let him fuck you—my best fucking friend."

You gritted your teeth, glaring up at him. "Why should it matter?" you hissed. "Since you clearly don’t love me."

Mattheo’s lips curled, and for a second, you thought he might actually snap.

"Don't love you?" he repeated, voice mocking, venom-laced. His laugh was sharp, humorless. "Baby, I hate you."

Your stomach twisted.

"And yet—" His grip tightened, forcing your head back, making you look at him, meet the fury, the obsession, the pure fucking insanity unraveling behind those dark eyes. "Yet, no matter how much I fucking hate you, I can't stop."

Your breath stuttered, nails digging into his wrist.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he murmured, voice low, rough, a dangerous whisper against your lips. "Can't stop wanting you. Can’t fucking breathe without you."

You hated the way your body responded. The way your pulse pounded under his touch, the way your thighs clenched at his words. The way you wanted to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.

"And it fucking kills me—" He pressed closer, crowding into your space, feeling his sinful fingers running over your sensitive cunt . "Fucking ruins me—knowing you let him touch you. That you let him hear the sounds that belong to me."

You moaned softly when he inserted his fingers, right against the thin lace of your panties, playing with how wet you were.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something wicked. "You’re soaking ," he uttered, almost mocking. "That for me? Or for Lorenzo?"

You rolled your eyes, but your hips betrayed you as your back arched up close to him.

"Say his name," he demanded, dragging his fingers in and out of you with agonizing slowness.

You clenched your jaw, refusing. Then—his fingers disappeared.

You gasped, thighs clenching around nothing, frustration coiling in your stomach as you tried to buck your hips against him.

But Mattheo just stood there, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes, like he had all the time in the world. Like he knew you would break first.

You glared at him, chest heaving, legs still spread for him, exposed and desperate and angry.

"Fucking bastard—"

"Say. his. name," he repeated, calm, composed, deadly.

You clenched your fists, swallowing hard.

"Lorenzo." It was barely a whisper

He wrenched your skirt up, pushing his hips against yours, letting you feel just how hard he was, just how much this had gotten to him.

"You want to fuck my best friend?" he growled against your lips, sliding his belt free, unbuttoning his trousers. "You wanna be a little whore?" he hummed, head tilting, watching the way your chest heaved, the way your thighs trembled. "You wanna spread your legs for anyone with a cock just to get back at me?"

Your nails dug into the desk behind you. "Fuck you."

His lips curled. "That’s the plan, princesa."

You barely had time to gasp before he slammed inside you.

You gasped, arching against the wall, the stretch forcing a strangled moan from your lips.

"You want to be fucked like a whore?" His voice was low, thick with something dangerous. "I’ll fuck you like a whore."

Your nails scraped against the wood, fingers curling desperately over the edge of the desk as Mattheo slammed into you, the force knocking the breath from your lungs.

"Fuck—"

"Yeah?" he mocked, voice laced with cruel amusement. His grip on your hips was bruising, nails digging into your flesh as he pulled you back against him, forcing you to take every inch, stretching you to the point of pain. "That what you wanted, baby?"

You refused to answer. So he didn’t slow.

Didn’t ease up, didn’t give you a second to adjust—just fucked into you, brutal, punishing, sharp thrusts that left you clawing at the desk, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to keep yourself from making the noises he wanted.

His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck arched, until his mouth was right at your ear. His breath was hot, ragged, fucking furious.

"You think he could ever fuck you like I do?" he sneered. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

His grip tightened. "Answer me, princesa."

"No," you gasped, choking on a whimper as he thrust deeper, slamming your hips against the desk.

"That’s right." Another slap—this time over your already-sensitive clit, making you jolt, making your walls clench around him. "That’s fucking right."

He wanted to ruin you. To make sure no part of you belonged to anyone but him.

And he was doing a bloody good job of it. You hated that he could turn your own body against you.

Before you could catch your breath, he was moving. Lifting you off the desk, his hands firm under your thighs as he carried you across the room. Your hands flew to his shoulders as he adjusted, seating himself on the chair and pulling you onto his lap. His back pressed against the desk now as he gripped your hips, positioning you exactly how he wanted. You moaned loudly, nails sinking into his skin as you sank down, filling you completely, pushing up onto your toes, rolling your hips against him, taking him deeper.

"Atta girl," he growled, slamming into you, meeting you halfway,

Your legs completely spent, thighs burning, but you kept going, desperate, fucking needy—because fuck, he was right. No one else ever could touch you like he did.

His head tipped back, a low groan slipping from his lips, voice rough, his fingers bruising into your thighs as you rode him, as you fucked yourself onto him. "Fuck. Just like that." his other hand trailing down your spine, gripping your ass roughly before delivering a sharp slap that had you arching against him, crying out. His hand wrapped around your throat again, pulling you close. You gasped, body jerking, legs shaking—so fucking close. "Baby—"

"Cum for me," he growled, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and commanding. "Cum on my cock like the desperate little slut you are."

And fuck, you did.

“God, Matty—”

His hand wrapped tighter around your throat, cutting off your words. “What was that, sweetheart?” His lips brushed your ear, voice dark, teasing. “You praying?”

You choked out a moan, your head spinning, your body helpless beneath his as you rode out your orgasm. Body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you, a broken moan slipping from your lips as you came around his cock, pulsing, clenching, milking him. His fingers dug into your thighs, pulling you down hard, making sure you felt every inch of him as you shattered. “That’s it, baby,” he rasped, voice thick with satisfaction, with power. “Make a mess on my cock.” His pace turned erratic, thrusts growing uneven, his fingers pressing against your throat just enough to make your vision blur. His curls stuck to his forehead with sweat, his brows furrowed, his jaw clenched as he chased his high. His groan muffled against your skin as he came, his hips still driving into you as he spilled inside. You felt it—hot and thick, filling you up as he buried himself deep, his fingers bruising your hips.

His hand remained wrapped around your throat, loose now but still firm, a reminder of his control. He didn’t move, didn’t pull out, didn’t let you breathe just yet. Instead, he pressed his lips to your jaw, dragging them down the column of your throat, inhaling the scent of sweat and sin. “Such a good girl when you’re taking my cock,” he mused, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “Shame you’re such a fucking problem when you’re not.”

“Let me make something very fucking clear,” he rasped, leaning in, his nose brushing yours, his lips just barely touching yours as he spoke, “You don’t look at him. You don’t talk to him. And you sure as fuck don’t go near him again.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking away. Instead, you smirked, the smallest, defiant tilt of your lips, knowing it would send him over the edge. You fucking lived for this.

"Or what?" you taunted, voice hoarse from screaming his name minutes before.

"Or I’ll bend you over this desk again and make sure you can’t walk back to your dorm," his voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Wouldn’t want that now, would we, sweetheart?"

Your stomach clenched at his words, and you hated the way your body still responded to him, even now, when your legs felt like they were made of jelly. But Mattheo saw everything—felt every tiny shiver that ran through you.

"Yeah," he laughed, pulling back to look at you, cocky as ever. "That’s what I thought."

With infuriating slowness, he reached for your discarded clothes, shaking his head as he picked up your underwear. "Torn lace, tsk, tsk," he mused, stretching the ruined fabric between his fingers. "At this rate, love, I’m gonna have to start buying you replacements."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, how tragic for you."

Grinning, he crouched slightly, sliding your underwear up your legs with a teasing brush of his knuckles. He didn’t move away immediately, fingers lingering at your thighs as he let out a pleased hum. "Still shaking for me, angel?"

You huffed, but your sharp retort died when he grabbed your skirt and smoothed it back into place, making a show of adjusting it on your hips like he hadn’t just been the one hiking it up around your waist minutes ago.

Once your blouse was slipped over your arms, Mattheo took his time buttoning it up for you, fingers brushing over your collarbone, your throat, your stomach—places he had just worshipped with his mouth. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and unreadable.

"You really are a mess," he mused, running a hand through your tangled hair, fixing it with an almost ridiculous amount of patience.

"You’re the reason I’m a mess," you muttered, still catching your breath.

His lips curled into a smug smirk. "Exactly."

Once you were dressed, Mattheo took a step back, looking you over with a satisfied expression before fixing his own tie, adjusting his sleeves like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just destroyed you against a classroom desk.

His fingers brushed over your skin, soothing, grounding. "Come on, love," he murmured, pressing a final kiss against your forehead. "Let's go."

He stood, taking his jacket and draping it over your shoulders before wrapping an arm around your waist. You were still shaky, still warm and dazed, but you leaned into him as he led you out of the room, down the dark corridors, back to his dorm—the place you always ended up after your fights, after your desperation boiled over into something carnal and consuming.

The door shut behind you, sealing you into the dim warmth of his space. He pulled you to the bed, guiding you down before settling in beside you, arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close. His lips found your forehead, a rare, quiet moment of peace settling over you both.

Because for all the ways Mattheo Riddle could destroy you, there were 666 ways he loved you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: maybe..therapy…isn’t such a bad idea

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[cosmic-evening]

ᯓ★ enigma

college au!dabi x gn!reader

a/n: reader is roommates with toga! also dabi & reader both study literature bc i said so

mha m.list | gen m.list

DABI was known as the 'enigma' around the college.

he was in your year, and you'd heard all the stories about him in high school. everyone either had a crush on him or was intimidated by him—or both. he was the enigma—no one knew what course he did or how he even got into this college. you almost never saw him around campus, except when you finish you lecture, when you could see him sitting on the bench outside your classroom.

you never talked to him. you never needed to.

until he finally showed up to your literature lecture.

it's monday morning, and you're still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, when he steps into the classroom. you're shocked when you see him walk in, and you can't help but stare. it had been two months since you'd started this course; how had you never noticed him in your lecture?

he glances at you as he walks in, but takes a seat at the very back of the classroom.

there's a twinge of something in your gut that feels a little bit like disappointment. don't be silly, you think. why would he even think about sitting next to you?

throughout the lecture, you feel someone's eyes on you the entire time.

you don't think too much about the encounter until a week later.

your roommate, toga, had some friends who were throwing a flat party, and she desperately wanted you to come.

"please, y/n? it'll be fun, i promise. it's the weekend, we don't have anything better to do anyway."

and really, you think, how bad can it be?

so you show up, in a semi-fancy outfit, hair deemed 'perfect' by toga, not knowing quite what to expect.

as soon as you enter the flat, your eyes immediately latch onto one person.

dabi.

he was looking at you already, and made no effort to hide it. unsure of what to do, you smile at him.

he smirks back, and lifts a hand in greeting.

but the interaction is short-lived; before you can fully process what's happened, toga's already dragging you away to meet her friends.

so much for that, then.

whoever planned a literature lecture at 8am on monday morning must be a sadist.

you're still in a state of half-delusion, still waking up, before you realise that someone's decided to sit next to you.

from the corner of your eye, you see dyed black hair and a leather jacket.

you stiffen slightly.

there's no way. you knew you should have gotten more sleep last night.

"everything alright, doll?"

his voice is scratchy, like he's just woken up too.

you panic.

"i— uh, yeah, i'm alright, i just didn't know you took this class—"

shut up, you think. you decide right then and there that you should never speak again.

dabi laughs.

you'd never seen dabi laugh before. not without mockery.

but this?

he sounded full of mirth.

and you decide right then and there that you would cherish the sound forever.

dabi opens his mouth to speak, but the teacher had already walked in.

then you feel that twinge of disappointment again.

for some inexplicable reason, you start to notice dabi everywhere. suddenly, he's not just sitting outside the classroom after your lecture, but in the class too. he's showing up at parties, studying in the library, hanging out on campus more and more. suddenly, dabi has a social life.

you start seeing him at every party toga drags you to. every time, it's the same: he smirks at you, raises a hand in greeting, and then disappears for the rest of the night.

it confused you.

why was it that he'd hidden from everyone for so long? why now is he making his presence known?

he really was an enigma.

no, you think. he's a different type of enigma now.

before, he was an unknown. back then, you were questioning who he was. but now, after he's started hanging out with the other students, you're starting to question his intentions.

every literature lecture, dabi would slide into the seat next to you. you'd exchange some words before class. it ranged from the books you were studying to your plans for the day. and on monday mornings, right before the worst lecture time on earth, dabi would hand you a steaming cup of your order from the café across the campus.

and little by little, you start to learn little things about dabi.

like that one time he told you his favourite food was soba. or the other time he told you his birthday was in january. or the time he showed up to class, a little too quiet for your liking, and told you about his dad.

and slowly, but surely, dabi becomes less and less of an enigma to you.

the final step of the puzzle—your puzzle, the one you've been mystified by since the start—is given to you one monday morning.

dabi's not there, but you're not surprised; he tends to get to class later than you do. what did surprise you, though, was the rose and note that sat on your desk.

dearest y/n, i know that we haven't known each other for that long, and i know that sometimes, you're still confused by me. i see it in your eyes when i sit next to you in class, or when i catch your eye at a party—your gaze is calculating. i feel like every time you look at me, you've figured out a secret of mine. like you know something about me that even i don't. you feel like you've only known me for a short time; i feel like i've known you much longer. i feel like i've known you since the day of the first literature lecture; when i saw you from the window into the classroom and couldn't find the courage to go in. because you're so insanely beautiful, y/n. i felt intimidated by you—the only thought in my head at the time was 'what if you hated me?' and i was too much of a coward to find out the answer. in fact, i was so much of a coward that i couldn't find the bravery to step into that classroom until two months later. and then i got to know you. you're so incredibly smart and eloquent and so interesting to talk to. you made me want to be just as intelligent or expressive or as delightful as you, and when i thought i could never be, your words gave me motivation. so i guess what i've beeing trying to say is—i really like you, y/n. you're the first person who's ever made me feel like this, and i'd really like to take you out to the café across from campus tonight, if you'd let me. or any time you'd like. yours, dabi

when you look up, dabi's standing by the door. he's nervous, you can tell—his hands are fidgeting with his backpack strap, and his smile is a little wobbly.

when you nod, his beam is blinding.

you've solved your enigma.

[novalightz-exe]

DMC High School AU Ideas

Bestie and I were spitballing ideas while playing video games together, and here's what we came up with. I wish I could use this font AND the bullet point thing at the same time, but I guess I can't have nice things smfh.

Vergil:

1000% a theater kid

Overworked straight-A student

If the school setting has uniforms, he wears it properly every day

If the school doesn't use uniforms, he dresses preppy

Not sure if there's an equivalent to "advanced placement" (AP) classes in Europe, but he'd take AP English courses so that he could read more books

Would stick to Dante and his friends during lunch (Dante would make sure he wouldn't get bullied for reading @ the table (that's his job /lh))

Either that or he'd stay inside his fav English teacher's classroom to eat and talk about books/writing with

Is "forced" by Sparda and Eva to come and support Dante at his sports-ball (keeping it very general so people can get creative with what sport Dante would play) games

Pretends to be uninterested in Dante's matches and reads the whole time

Once Dante's games are over, Vergil surprises his brother with in-depth critiques of his team's strategies. If Dante's team loses he then tells Dante to lock the fuck in and that he can do better next time (Vergil really wants to see his brother win)

At home, Vergil offers to do skirmishes with Dante to help him prepare for the next sports-ball game

Dante:

Jock; does sports-ball

If the school has uniforms, he wears them "wrong" and doesn't bother to fix it

If the school doesn't have uniforms, he wears 2000s emo fashion

Mayhaps Dante meets Lady and Trish cause they're cheerleaders

Either joins a band or plays the electric guitar solo in his shared room with Vergil. Sometimes, Vergil gets annoyed; other times, he's chill. Depends on the song

If we go down the band idea, he could meet Lady and Trish through this instead

Does the bare minimum to pass classes. He's smarter than he actually comes off, but he doesn't care to put in the effort like Vergil. Grades don't define him.

Dante gets SUPER invested in Vergil's theater productions. They read lines together before bed sometimes.

He catches Vergil rehearsing long after his sports practice sessions are done and has to drag his brother out of the school's theater or else he'd starve

On show nights, Dante makes sure to grab front-row seats (rip to the people behind him and his parents; they won't be able to see shit cause the whole family is stupid tall LMAO)

When everyone is bowing at the end, Dante is ALWAYS THE LOUDEST ONE IN THE CROWD, CHEERING AND CLAPPING LIKE A MAD MAN

"THAT'S MY TWIN BROTHER RIGHT THERE!!!" *cue Vergil's face getting extremely red while his expression is like >:l*

Other silly stuffs:

Vergil gets the top bunk, Dante gets the bottom bunk

Dante kicks Vergil's bunk bed from below to annoy the fuck out of him

"WOULD YOU MIND??? I'M TRYING TO READ!!!" "And I'm bored. *kick*"

Headlocks, noogies, they'd probably punch each other too sometimes

They have a collective snack stash in their room

Take turns using the record player in their room. They have vinyl collections

Vergil has a locked box full of poems he's written (poor guy is embarrassed about being in touch with his feelings) and Dante has never found the key to open it

Just wanted to write all this out for funsies. Hope y'all enjoyed the ideas!

[legomaster333]

꒰ A HEESEUNG AND NIKI LOVE TRIANGLE ꒱

IN WHICH you and niki have spent years at each other’s throats, but everything changes when he discovers your secret crush on the schools basketball team captain, lee heeseung. at first, he sees it as just another way to get under your skin—until heeseung starts to return your feelings.

𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 wc 1.8k, niki x fem, highschool au, cursing & kissing big text under cut

The first time Niki sees you looking at Heeseung like that, he nearly chokes on his drink. It’s during lunch, when you’re supposed to be bickering with him about something stupid—like who gets the last fry from his tray, or how he’s never on time when you ask him to meet you before class. But today, your gaze keeps flickering across the cafeteria to where Heeseung is sitting with the basketball team, laughing at something Sunghoon just said. And the way your eyes soften when you look at him? Yeah. That’s new. And Niki hates it.

So of course, he does what he does best. He leans in, blocking your view with a smug grin. “You’re staring.”

Your head snaps back to him. “I’m not.”

He hums, like he’s deep in thought, before glancing toward Heeseung and then back at you. “Wait—don’t tell me.” His lips curl up in amusement. “You like him?”

Your reaction is enough of an answer. The way your entire body stiffens, the way your face heats up, the way you scoff just a little too loudly. “You’re delusional.”

He should let it go. Really, he should. But there’s something about the idea of you liking Heeseung that makes his skin itch, and before he can think twice about it, he’s already leaning in closer, “Oh my god. You do.”

You shove his shoulder “Shut up.”

But now that he knows, there’s no way he’s letting this go. And at first, he convinces himself that it’s just fun to mess with you like he always does. He teases you mercilessly, dropping little comments whenever Heeseung is around just to watch you get flustered. It’s entertaining, watching you get all defensive, watching you struggle to act like you don’t care.

Except, the more Heeseung starts to return your feelings, the less funny it becomes.

At first it’s little things. Heeseung offering you his jacket when you forget yours, Heeseung saving you a seat next to him in class, Heeseung walking you to your locker after school. But then there are moments that feel like something more. Moments that make Niki feel like he’s losing something he didn’t even realize he had.

Like when Heeseung shows up outside your classroom, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting for you the whole time. “Took you long enough,”

“Did you wait for me?” you ask.

“Maybe.”

Niki doesn’t have to hear the rest to know where this is going, but he stands there anyway, gripping the strap of his backpack a little too tightly. You don’t even notice him. Not when Heeseung reaches out, brushing something off your shoulder, not when he leans in to whisper something that makes you laugh.

And Niki tells himself it doesn’t matter. That it’s fine. That it’s not like he has a reason to care.

But then comes the night of the basketball game. The gym is packed, the energy is high, and Niki is too focused on the game to think about anything else—until he sees you, standing on the sidelines, wearing Heeseung’s jersey.

His stomach drops.

He shouldn’t be surprised. Shouldn’t feel like the air has been sucked out of his lungs. But something about seeing you in Heeseung’s number, grinning when he glances your way, makes his entire body tense. And when Heeseung scores the winning shot and you’re the first person he looks at, something in Niki snaps.

And that’s when it hits him. The reason he’s been so annoyed, so on edge, so restless every time he sees you with Heeseung.

It’s not just that he doesn’t like it.

It’s that he doesn’t want to lose you. 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒

It’s a few days later when things start to change. Subtly at first. You don’t notice the way Niki lingers near you more than usual, how his teasing has taken on a different edge, one that feels less like usual and more like something else entirely.

And then one afternoon after basketball practice it happens.

You and Heeseung are standing outside the gym, talking about his upcoming game. The sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the campus and everything feels light.

Until Niki walks out and sees the two of you.

You don’t even notice him at first. You’re too focused on Heeseung, who’s reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a second too long.

But Niki notices.

And before he can stop himself he’s walking over. “Hey.”

You turn, startled. “Oh. Hey.”

Heeseung smiles. “What’s up, man?”

Niki ignores him, eyes locked on you. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything else before grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from Heeseung, out of earshot.

You yank your hand back, frowning. “What the hell Niki?”

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“With Heeseung.” His voice is tight. “Are you really gonna date him?”

Your stomach twists. “Why do you care?”

“Why do I care?” He lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Yes, Niki. Because you’ve been acting weird, and I don’t know why.”

For a moment, he just looks at you. And then, before you can react, he takes a step closer—so close you can feel the heat radiating off of him, the intensity in his gaze pinning you in place.

“Because it should be me,” he says quietly.

Your breath catches. “What?”

He swallows, his jaw clenching. “It should be me, yn. It’s always been me.”

Your heart is racing now, your mind spinning. “Niki—”

But he just shakes his head. “Forget it.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to make sense of the sudden, undeniable truth:

You don’t want to lose him, either. 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒

Later that night, it starts to rain. Hard.

The kind of rain that drowns out everything else, turning the world into a blur of gray and white. Thunder rumbles low in the distance, and the sound of raindrops pelting against the pavement fills the silence of Niki’s bedroom. He’s sprawled out on his bed, staring at the ceiling but his mind is restless.

It’s been hours since he pulled you aside outside the gym, since he said the words that had been clawing at his throat for weeks.

It should be me.

He hates how raw it sounded. Hates that he let you see just how much this has been eating away at him. But most of all, he hates that you didn’t say anything back. That you just stood there, looking at him with those wide, unreadable eyes before he walked away.

Now, he’s stuck in this endless loop of overthinking, replaying every second of that conversation, wondering what you must be thinking, what you must be feeling. If you’re still with Heeseung. If he completely ruined everything.

And then—

There’s a knock at the front door.

It’s faint under the storm, barely noticeable at first. But then it comes again, a little more urgent this time. Niki frowns, pushing himself off the bed. His parents aren’t home, and he isn’t expecting anyone.

When he pulls the door open, his heart stops.

You’re standing there, drenched from head to toe. Your clothes cling to your frame, rainwater dripping from your sleeves onto the doorstep. Your hair is plastered to your face, strands sticking to your cheeks, and your eyes—

They’re red-rimmed, glassy. Like you’ve been crying.

“Yn?” His voice is sharp with concern. “What happened? Come inside.”

You don’t say a word. You just step past him, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Water pools at your feet as you stand in the middle of his living room shivering.

Niki quickly shuts the door “You’re freezing,” he mutters already reaching for the hoodie draped over the couch. He throws it over your shoulders, but you don’t move to put it on. You just stand there, staring at the floor.

He swallows hard. “Yn talk to me what’s going on?”

Silence.

He steps closer, his brows furrowed. “Did something happen with Heeseung?”

Your shoulders flinch at the name, and that’s all it takes for something sharp to twist in Niki’s chest.

His jaw tightens. “Did he say something to you?”

You shake your head. Your fingers clutch at the sleeves of your soaked shirt, knuckles turning white. “No,” you whisper. “It’s not him. It’s me.”

Niki watches you carefully, his pulse drumming in his ears. “What do you mean?”

You inhale shakily, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. And in that moment, Niki feels it—the weight of everything left unspoken between you. The months of tension, the way he’s spent so long pretending not to care, pretending that seeing you with Heeseung didn’t feel like a punch to the gut every time. And now, you’re standing here in front of him, soaked and shivering and looking at him like he’s the only thing holding you together.

“I told him,” you say, so softly he almost doesn’t hear it over the rain. “I told Heeseung the truth.”

Niki’s stomach tightens. “The truth?”

You nod, biting your lip. There’s something fragile about you in this moment, something raw and vulnerable, and it makes his hands itch to reach for you. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

“I told him I liked someone else.”

Silence crashes between you, thick and suffocating. Niki’s breath stutters in his chest. He should say something. Ask you who. Demand an answer. But the way you’re looking at him—the way your eyes flicker down to his lips, then back up—it tells him everything he needs to know.

“Yn,” he breathes.

And then, suddenly, you’re kissing him.

It’s desperate, messy, your cold hands grabbing onto the fabric of his hoodie as if you’re afraid he’ll disappear. Niki’s mind goes blank. His entire body freezes, muscles locked in place, because this—this is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought would actually happen.

But then instinct takes over, and he’s kissing you back.

His hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing against your damp skin. He pulls you in, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and you let out the softest sigh against his lips. It sends a shiver down his spine.

He forces himself to pull away, his breath ragged. His forehead rests against yours, and he can feel the way you’re trembling.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “What about Heeseung?”

Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you just stare at him. And in the quietest whisper, “I told you. I like someone else.”

Niki exhales sharply. “Who?”

You don’t hesitate this time. “You.”

© legomaster333, all rights reserved.

letters from author ୨୧ this was originally supposed to be in smau version as rival hearts but my smaus always flop so i decided to turn it into a written fic since i still love the story line^^ maybe in the future ill also make it a smauuu!

୨୧rival hearts taglist @bussolares @snowprincehoon @shoko88 @6nadia9 @fluerchive @celestiai0 @betda @heartheejake @sofiez @aernx @nickiminajleftasscheek @boraaaa55 @mheretoreadff @idknunsadly @lovuegi @illriize

[disaster-writer]

Bitter

Alpha!Kuroo x Omega!Reader

—

“I don’t want a mate.”

The gasp that washed over you and your friends’ shared corner of the classroom was way too melodramatic in your opinion

”B-but— why?” Your Omega friend stuttered, looking as if she was about to cry. “I thought after high school all of us would eventually find a mate, get married, and have pups so they can all grow up together and be best friends like us.” 

Your two other friends snickered at Rin and the hopeless romantic she was while you simply huffed, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair and away from your food. You suddenly lost your appetite.

”I don’t want pups either.” You added and you could’ve sworn the poor girl was about to burst into tears at the way her bottom lip wobbled.

”Why not—“

”Oh give it a rest Rin,” said Hana, picking up some rice with her chop sticks, “If she doesn’t want a mate she doesn’t want a mate,” she shrugged before shoving the rice in her mouth.

”But you’re not even interested? Even a little bit?” Mei asked curiously.

“When I was a little girl, sure.” You answered, “But it’s all a hoax. They teach young Omegas that falling in love and having pups is the most desirable thing in the world, before you know it you’re barefoot and pregnant, cooking dinner for an Alpha that doesn’t appreciate it and who’ll eventually come to resent you. Ever heard of the Madonna and the Whore complex?”

Your three best friends stared at you stunned, before Hana whistled lowly. “Maybe take a break from the video essays girly. They’re making you sound bitter.”

You rolled your eyes. 

Bitter

Just another word to call Omegas who didn’t want to be doomed to repeat history.

”Honestly I sometimes feel like I’m the only one that escaped Plato’s cave,” you snarked back.

”Alright, alright, miss smarty pants,” Hana rolled her eyes, “No need to get holier than thou on us, we’re just saying—“

”It can’t hurt to keep your options open right?” Mei continued, “Like maybe you don’t follow a traditional path but who’s to say you don’t meet an Alpha that doesn’t support you.”

You shrugged halfheartedly at that, staring at your lunch, “If it happens it happens, but I’m not holding my breath—“

You paused, scenting the air as a new smell invaded your space, before tilting your head back to find Kuroo Tetsurou hovering behind you with one of his signature grins.

”Don’t tell me,” you said, “You want me to come toss for you and Kenma.”

”Ohoho, such a clever Omega aren’t you?,” he snickered, tugging on a lock of your hair.

”Or maybe you’re just a predictable Alpha,” you snarked back, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Childish too,” he added, pinching your tongue between his index finger and thumb.

You smacked his hand away, grabbing a napkin to wipe against your tongue, “Ew.”

“Sorry to steal her away from you all again,” Kuroo said, finally addressing your friends, his hand grasping the back of your neck, signaling you to stand up. “But this one’s mine for the rest of lunch.”

”Eh, she was bringing the mood down anyway,” Hana replied with a smirk, eyeing you both.

”Maybe when I’m through with her she’ll be more bearable to be around.”

You gasped, smacking Kuroo in the chest, “The hell is that supposed to mean you stupid Alpha. Y’know—“

Kuroo only cackled as he dragged you out of the classroom as you ranted in tow.

“Think she has any idea?” Mei asked.

”what idea?” Rin asked, confused.

”’Course not,” Hana shrugged, “Plato’s cave, my ass. That Omega is just as blind as the rest of us.”

“When do you think she’ll figure it out?”

”Figure what out?” Rin asked exasperatedly.

Hana hummed, before rifling through her bag and holding up a little bottle, “When she realizes she’s missing these.”

”You didn’t.” Mei gasped.

Hana only shrugged, tucking away the bottle of heat suppressants she had nicked from your bag.

——

Requests open

[adddddiiii]

Hi there! Hope all is well. I love your grayson fanfiction. I read you autistic fic...and I was wondering if you could write one on dyslexia. I have it and it was I struggled as a child and one of the reasons i got bullied in school. Hope you have a great day. Thank you!

Fine Print

Author's Note: thanks for requesting!

Contents: Grayson Hawthorne x dyslexic!reader

You had spent most of your life fighting against the words on the page.

Letters flipped, sentences blurred, and no matter how hard you tried, reading had never come easily to you. It was something you learned to work around, a challenge you met with determination, but the struggle had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for someone to notice.

And, unfortunately, people always noticed.

Teachers with exasperated sighs. Peers who turned whispered jokes into outright cruelty. The kind of bullying that made you dread classroom reading assignments, that made your stomach churn whenever someone handed you a textbook and expected you to just read it.

You had learned to hide it well, to adapt, to overcompensate. And it had worked. Mostly.

Then you met Grayson Hawthorne.

Grayson, with his perfectly organized notes and mind like a steel trap, who read faster than anyone you’d ever met. Who could scan through entire legal documents in minutes and recall every single clause. Who made it all look so effortless.

And now, as you sat across from him in the library, staring at the open file between you, you wondered if maybe this had been a mistake.

“You’re quiet,” he noted, watching you over the rim of his coffee cup. “That’s not like you.”

You forced a smirk. “Maybe I just don’t feel like destroying you in an argument today.”

Grayson hummed, unconvinced. “Or maybe,” he said, tapping the page with his pen, “you haven’t actually read the documents yet.”

Your stomach clenched.

Of course he noticed. He always noticed.

You exhaled through your nose, pretending to stretch as you tilted your head toward the file. “I’m getting to it.”

Grayson’s gaze lingered for a second too long before he leaned back, crossing his arms. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

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

His lips pressed together, and for a moment, you thought he’d let it go. But Grayson Hawthorne was relentless.

“You avoid reading out loud,” he said carefully, like he was laying out evidence in a case. “You never skim through texts the way I do. You don’t write down notes in real-time — you listen, then summarize in your own words later.” He paused. “You memorize everything instead of reading it.”

Your pulse was in your throat. “Grayson-”

“You have dyslexia.”

It wasn’t a question. Your breath hitched, and you hated how exposed you felt.

For years, you had kept this part of yourself hidden, terrified that if people really knew, they would see you the way your classmates once had. As less. As stupid. As not enough.

But Grayson’s expression didn’t hold pity.

He just looked at you like it didn't matter. Like he understood.

You let out a slow breath and your fingers tightened around the edge of your notebook. “Yeah,” you admitted, voice quieter than you wanted it to be. “I do.”

Grayson nodded once, like he had already known, like he had just been waiting for you to say it.

And then, without hesitation, he slid the file toward himself. “Okay.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

He picked up his pen, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook. “You take notes the way you always do. I’ll read to you.”

Your throat tightened. “Grayson, you don’t have to-"

“I know I don’t have to,” he interrupted, leveling you with that infuriatingly steady gaze. “But I want to.”

It was so simple. So casual. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

Like your dyslexia weren’t a big deal.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I won’t let you make this a habit.”

Grayson smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

[minniesfiles]

TIARAS AND TUTUS

Kim Mingyu would do anything for his little girl. Even if it meant embarrassing himself in front of the entire kindergarten.

❧ PAIRING; mingyu x reader

❧ GENRE; fluff

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, (girl) dad mingyu, pure fluff, drabble

❧ WORDCOUNT; 1.2k

Mingyu never imagined that at thirty-two years old, he’d find himself standing in a crowded kindergarten classroom wearing a pink tutu and a plastic tiara. Yet here he was, adjusting the waistband of the fluffy skirt while you tried to contain your laughter behind your phone’s camera.

“Gyu, oh my god— I can’t,” you wheezed as you snapped another picture. “You look adorable.”

Mingyu shot you a glare, his face already burning with embarrassment. “I don’t know why you’re laughing. You made me do this.”

“You agreed to this,” you corrected him with a grin.

“For Minji,” he huffed and then looked down at your four-year-old daughter.

Minji, completely unfazed by the ridiculousness of the situation, twirled gracefully in her matching pink tutu. Her tiny crown, slightly crooked on her head, added to her charm as she beamed up at him with excitement. “Daddy, we look like real ballerinas!”

Mingyu sighed, his heart melting despite his efforts to remain composed. “Yes princess, we certainly do.”

The kindergarten was organising a Father’s Day celebration, and for some inexplicable reason — one Mingyu would never comprehend — the teachers had chosen a father-daughter ballet performance as the perfect bonding activity.

When Minji first handed him the invitation, he couldn’t help but laugh, mistaking it for some kind of joke. However, upon looking into her bug, eager eyes, he realised that he couldn’t exactly say no.

“Will you dance with me Daddy?” she asked, and refusing to deny her request was simply not an option.

He had convinced himself that it wouldn’t be too bad. Perhaps they’d simply wave their arms a bit and call it a day. However, when he arrived at the school and saw a row of frilly pink tutus hanging on the classroom wall, his stomach dropped.

Now, standing in the middle of the classroom with his tutu barely covering his hips, he realised just how deeply he had underestimated the situation.

It wasn’t just him (thankfully) — every father in the room was dressed identically. However, none of them stood out as much as he did.

Mingyu, standing at six feet two inches tall, was easily the tallest person in the room. The other dads were of average height, which made it easy for them to blend into the crowd. However, Mingyu stood out like a giant who had been dropped into a sea of tiny fathers and daughters dressed in tutus.

And now, in just a few minutes, he was going to have to dance on stage. He ran a hand down his face. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“You’ll be fine,” you assured him between giggles. “Just embrace it.”

Mingyu groaned, but before he could express his annoyance further, a small hand grasped his. He peered down to see Minji gazing up at him with big, round eyes.

“Daddy, are you okay?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Of course sweetheart,” he forced a smile.

“But you look nervous,” she frowned.

Mingyu hesitated. He didn’t want to ruin this for her, but the idea of being the tallest, most awkward ballerina on stage was making his stomach twist in knots.

Minji suddenly took both of his hands in hers. “Daddy, you don’t have to be scared. You’re the best dancer ever!”

Mingyu snorted. “I don’t know about that princess.”

“Yes, you are!” she insisted. “And even if you mess up, it’s okay because we’re doing it together!”

Mingyu’s heart fluttered in awe. How was it possible for such a small human to be so wise? He crouched down, meeting her gaze. “You really think so?”

Minji nodded firmly. “Uh-huh! And also, if you dance funny, Mummy said she’ll love you even more.”

From behind them, you burst into laughter. Mingyu groaned in annoyance but couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Of course she did.”

Just then, the teacher clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention. “Alright daddies and daughters! It’s time to line up for our performance. Remember, the main objective is to have fun, so don’t worry about being perfect!”

Mingyu took a deep breath and stood up, allowing Minji to drag him towards the stage. The other fathers shuffled nervously beside him, some adjusting their tiaras, while others looked around as if they’re searching for an escape route.

The curtains were drawn back, revealing a small stage decorated with pastel pink and white ribbons. The audience, predominantly mothers, younger siblings, and teachers, watched with amused expressions while holding cameras to capture the moment.

The lights dimmed slightly as soft, whimsical music started to play. Mingyu swallowed hard as he followed the simple steps they had learned during their brief rehearsal. The movements were basic — twirling, raising arms in an arch, and a little plié — but somehow, performing them in front of an audience while wearing a tutu made it ten times more challenging.

He spotted you in the crowd with your phone raised as you documented every embarrassing moment of your husband as well as your daughter’s. He was certain that he was going to hear about this for years.

But then, he looked down at Minji, whose face was radiant with nothing but joy. She giggled as she twirled beside him, holding his hand so tightly that it seemed to anchor him. She wasn’t embarrassed. She wasn’t worried about how silly they looked. All she felt was happiness.

And suddenly, Mingyu no longer cared.

So what if he was a six-foot-two man in a tutu? So what if he looked absolutely ridiculous? His daughter was happy, and that was all that mattered.

His movements became more fluid and confident. He gracefully lifted his arms, exaggerating his spins just to hear Minji’s laughter. When he noticed another dad struggling to keep the rhythm, he gave him a reassuring nod. Because they were all in this together.

By the end of the performance, Mingyu spun Minji in the air one final time, earning loud cheers and claps from the audience. The teacher applauded in response, and the little girls all curtsied, while the fathers bowed (some more dramatically than others).

As they walked offstage, Minji beamed up at him. “See? You are the best dancer ever Daddy!”

Mingyu smiled and bent down to kiss her tiny forehead. “Only because I had the best partner.”

You approached them with your grin still plastered on your face as you held up your phone. “I managed to capture the entire thing, and I’m sending it to Wonwoo and the others.”

Mingyu groaned. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Nope,” you smirked.

Your husband sighed dramatically, but when Minji hugged him tightly, all his embarrassment vanished. After all, nothing was more important than making his little girl smile.

╴╴╴╴╴

Later that night, after putting Minji to sleep, Mingyu sat on the sofa scrolling through his phone. When a notification suddenly appeared on the screen.

▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁

[13 losers]

Wonwoo: Tell me why my timeline is full of a six-foot-two ballerina?

Soonyoung: YOU WERE AMAZING MINGYU-SSI. TEARS IN MY EYES.

Jeonghan: You’re my hero. I’m making this my profile picture.

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

Mingyu let out a groan and tossed his phone onto the soft. You, seated beside him with a smug grin, rested your head on his shoulder. “So…do you regret it?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “No,” he admitted. “But I’m banning you from using your phone during school events.”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I can’t make any promises.”

And despite his embarrassment, Mingyu couldn’t help but smile. Because at the end of the day, he would wear a thousand tutus if it meant making Minji happy.

[ridiasfangirlings]

Sarumi teacher au where Fushimi is a science teacher and Yata is a gym teacher. They like each other secretly but they had a fight years ago so they act like they hate one another in public. Their students can tell something is going on cause their classes get derailed sometimes into just talking about the other person or they would ask the kids about how their science/gym class went and how their teacher for that subject is doing ("they're probably bad at their job!" lol). The kids are tired.

Imagine them just being terribly unprofessional about the whole thing, luckily Principal Miwa doesn’t mind and feels they will work this out eventually. Fushimi is the prickly science teacher who scares all his students but is nonetheless brilliant while everyone likes gym teacher Yata for his open demeanor and friendliness. Maybe Yata and Fushimi were like school friends in this AU but instead of going on to higher education together the way they’d promised Yata instead started student teaching under gym teacher Mikoto, because he felt like he wouldn’t be able to get any further in his studies due to his poor grades. Fushimi though took this as a betrayal and broke things off with Yata totally, and they didn’t see each other again until Fushimi took a science teacher job at the same school where Yata happened to be teaching gym. Yata’s kinda conflicted seeing Fushimi again after the way they ended things but then Fushimi gets this wide grin all so teaching gym is the best you were able to do huh Misaki and Yata’s like never mind I hate that asshole.

The two of them refuse to talk about the feud when asked by their fellow faculty but everyone of course knows about it, imagine literature teacher Munakata gently urging Fushimi to speak honestly to Yata while economics teacher Kusanagi tells Yata to do what he thinks is right but maybe you guys should actually have a talk instead of fighting. They also keep randomly ending up together for various work assignments and even though they’re constantly arguing it’s pretty clear to their fellow staff members that these two have huge crushes on each other and they’re both oblivious.

And naturally even their students have figured out something’s going on, imagine the poor kids who have back to back Fushimi and Yata classes. If someone’s late to gym because science class ran long Yata will snort and be like that bastard can’t ever keep his lectures short, he doesn’t think about anyone else’s classes but his. If someone is late to science because of gym they’re liable to get detention from an irritated Fushimi-sensei who complains about the worthless midget who can’t even teach a real subject, only mindless physical activity. The kids try to not to get their teachers started but everyone who has Fushimi and Yata as a teacher knows what will happen as soon as one hears about the other and it’s like no matter what you say they’ll find a way to complain about each other. (And then there’s the other rumor about some students who had to stay after class and walked in on Fushimi-sensei and Yata-sensei making out in Fushimi’s office, but no one’s really sure if that one’s true.)

[huginsmemory]

My focus is shit in my astronomy lab section when we're going through the PowerPoint because my ta is after a second glance clearly into vamp play and I'm totally not distracted by how his canines are like. Actually rather sharp. 👀😳

[aeide-thea]

a while back i made a post (that of course i now won't be able to find) that was like, two really popular (complementary!) fallacies are (1) thinking an experience is universal, when in fact it's specific to one's particular body/psyche/milieu; and (2) thinking an experience is specific to a particular body/psyche/milieu, when in fact it transcends such divisions—

anyway i get that the phrase 'purposelessly cloistral' is fun to sneer but i'm afraid that, like rhetoric about 'touching grass,' i actually think it's both unkind and intellectually unrigorous as analysis. yes, exposure to a broad variety of people is good for you, and can help you realize that positions you've taken for granted aren't shared by everyone; but people tend to cluster into insular echo chambers anywhere they congregate, whether that be in chatrooms or churches or cities, and i'm frankly very tired of this recurrent urge to, like, resurrect middle school ideas of coolness and use them as cudgels. clubbing—of either variety!—doesn't make you a better person.

[piedoesnotequalpi]

🎁

(Out of context image ask game)

You get: a low effort meme about solving systems of equations!

[intraosseous]

got so bored in class one time started writing smut fic in my notebook alongside my acls notes

[britneyshakespeare]

Lol. Kids' biases in how they perceive their teachers is so strong. I was subbing a fifth grade class that was very rowdy this afternoon. Like, when I was walking there I ran into the principal in the hallway who had just talked to the entire class, and I was warned by the sub who was there in the morning (who apparently you can usually hear a pin drop when she's there, that's how good her classroom management is) that literally no student had been capable of staying on task so far. And that's on top of it being a Friday, in JUNE, where they're already disengaged, and there's some "fifth grade dance" they were all talking about tonight... yeah. Which is to say I had to be very forthright in laying down the line for them several times today.

But at the end of the day, this one boy, who in particular I kept having to talk to about staying on task, came up to me and was like "Can you be our new para in the classroom? You're nice"

I'm like. Lol. I'm not "nice" I'm just a young lady that you don't feel intimidated by.

[bakingmoomins]

i am being a ta for the first time and why is the other ta so mean to the students like girl it's not that serious we're barely getting paid

[jichanxo]

can someone else write senseific for me instead? this is too hard :( /jk