#scheduling classes this semester is like pulling teeth

[braintapes]

friends. can you grant me your wisdom in this trying time. do i take the morning class?

[cherryxhaze]

You Gotta Earn It First

Professor!Remmick x Fem!Reader

Fic Playlist & AO3 Link

Summary: The new Irish Folklore professor seems to have it out for you. Constant critiques and unfair grades. There's a strange air to him, beyond the passionate lectures and the other students who seem to adore him. As much as you'd like to deny it, you too find yourself under his spell. WC: ~14.2k Tags/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI 18+ ONLY. heavy dubcon: somnophilia (f!receiving oral), power imbalance & manipulation. modern day professor AU. no use of y/n. dom!remmick, brat tamer!remmick, cheating/infidelity (reader cheats on bf w/ remmick), hive mind plot device, semi-public masturbation & sex, panty stealing, panty sniffing, blood kink, marking, spanking, degradation, praise, oral sex (f! & m!receiving), anilingus/rimming (m!receiving), unprotected vaginal & anal sex (f!receiving), classroom sex, hair-pulling, creampie, possessive language, obsession, rough and soft sex, jealousy. A/N: I could not have written this without the support, help & ideas from these lovelies: @confetti-cakemix @weavingduck @madkingcrowley @fuckoffbard @remmicks-salvation with a special thanks to my love @eternalstrigoii for beta reading! Credit to @cafekitsune for dividers.

When you first signed up for the Irish Folklore course this semester, you never imagined it’d turn out like this. Every student is required to take a Humanities course for their degree and this one seemed to be the perfect fit. It piqued your interest, fit into your schedule with work and other classes with a meeting time in the evenings, and you (foolishly) figured it’d be easy enough to pass without much effort. 

You were very wrong.

It’s a Tuesday night when class convenes, a handful of students scattered about at their desks in the small room stationed on the first floor in one of the oldest academic buildings on campus. You preferred small classes like this, it was more intimate, helped you be immersed, and provided better opportunities to connect with the professor. If only this Professor didn’t seem to have some personal vendetta against you, targeting you every chance he got. Professor Remmick, he insisted you all call him. Not Dr. O’Brien or Professor O’Brien, just Professor Remmick. 

“Alright, now. Before we pick up where we last left off on the discussion of Filidh, I’m returnin’ your last graded assignment.” Remmick peers down at the stack of papers in hand through the clear lenses of the glasses fixed on the bridge of his nose before he shifts, standing from his spot leaning against his desk to begin walking down the aisles. “Most of y’all did well.”

Most.

The word echoes in your ears and a heavy weight settles in your gut, churning with each appraising comment he gives to the other students upon returning their graded work.

Nice work, Chris. 

Good job, Jess.

Your teeth begin to nervously chew on the inside of your lip as he draws nearer, hoping for the string of praises to continue but dreading for more of the endless criticism you’ve received since the start of the semester.

Polished black cap toe shoes scuff against the linoleum as he stops by your desk. You chance peering up at him, but he doesn’t even glance your way before sliding the paper onto the desk like it’s a discreet, dirty secret.

A silence passes, quiet but resoundingly loud, before he moves on to the next student. He doesn’t say a word and that’s somehow worse than if he had told you it’s the worst work he’s ever seen in front of the entire class. Your eyes immediately search for the damage, landing on the C- circled and written in red ink at the top of the paper.

Disappointment floods through you before frustration, and finally anger. You’ve never gotten a C in any college courses until this class, until this Professor. If someone had told you before that the hardest class you’d take in college would be an Irish Folklore course, you would’ve laughed and looked at them like they grew two heads. 

Your eyes trail down the paper, glancing over every note written in red. 

Grammar.

You’re rambling a bit much here. 

Not quite. 

?

There is room for improvement. I expect better on the next assignment.

You don’t get it. You could’ve sworn you did everything right and had all the correct information. Hell, you probably could’ve spent hours working on it and he still wouldn’t give you an ‘A’. A heavy exhale huffs out through your nostrils as you lean back into the hard plastic seat, arms crossing over your waist. 

This class is shaping up to be more trouble than it’s worth, and you can’t help but wonder how you’d have fared with the original professor, Dr. Hughes.

It was only a few months ago when Remmick found himself in this little college town. He didn’t seek it out intentionally, only meaning to pass through on his journey to an undesignated destination. He’d been wandering for so long, he couldn’t tell you a specific number of years. After so many failed attempts to find connection to his old home, he’d begun to lose hope. That was until that December night when he found himself strolling across the quiet, concrete paths and grassy patches of your campus. When the familiar words of the legend of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and the Giant’s Causeway floated through the night air and to his ears, it stopped Remmick in his tracks. He followed it to an open window in one of the campus buildings where he lingered in the shadows, watching and listening as this Dr. Hughes butchered the retellings of the legends and myths from Remmick’s homeland, the stories near and dear to his heart. What else could he have expected from a damn Englishman. Worst of all, these students were victims of it. 

And Remmick… Well, he just couldn’t have that.

So he continued watching Dr. Hughes’ flimsy lecture until the class adjourned, waiting as the students filtered out of the old building until finally, the professor emerged. Remmick followed him as he made the walk to the Faculty parking lot, oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows. By the looks of the dark and quiet campus there didn’t seem to be many night classes, and after that night the college would lose one of its professors.

After that, all it took was a forged degree and resume, which along with his vast knowledge on the course subject landed Remmick a position as an adjunct professor. 

He’d finally found something to give him purpose.

Remmick, oblivious or uncaring to the anger simmering within your body, continues on with class as usual, picking up where he last left off in the discussion of Irish filidh and traditional music. Palpable enthusiasm and confidence ooze from him as he lectures with an undisputable knowledge on the subject. Qualities that initially sparked excitement at the beginning of the semester, that now annoy you like an itch under your skin you just can’t scratch.

Remmick leans back against his desk as the oldest recording of The Rocky Road to Dublin plays through the computer speakers, the only time he elects to utilize electronics in class. You should be paying attention, immersing yourself in the tune, but your mind wanders elsewhere. 

Still ruminating on your bad grade, on your workday, other classes, upcoming exams, your boyfriend, James. 

At the thought of your boyfriend, your eyes fall to the Claddagh ring fixed on your right ring finger. A soft smile graces your lips, briefly remembering the moment James had gifted it to you on your birthday, telling you it symbolized love and loyalty with two hands holding a crowned heart. 

You’re distracted as you admire the ring before the hairs on the back of your neck rise with the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Slowly, your eyes lift to seek out the culprit of the discomforting sensation in the surrounding classroom. A look to the left toward your classmate Chris makes you pause, catching his eyes slowly trail up your legs to the curve of your ass and up to your breasts, until they finally lock with yours. He catches your look of disgust and before he can even react Professor Remmick clears his throat, loud and abrupt from the front of the classroom. Chris’s head snaps forward like an obedient dog following a command before it lowers, whether from shame or embarrassment, you aren’t sure.

Remmick doesn’t look at you, only exhales sharply and licks his lips before delving back into the lecture as the song comes to a close. The distraction of catching Chris undressing you with his eyes pulls your focus back to the lecture for a moment, but as Remmick discusses the significance of the traditional ballad, your mind drifts once again. This time, it isn’t toward thoughts of your boyfriend, work, or your other courses. It’s solely focused on your professor. Your frustration with him is still tangible and simmering in your body, but it begins to mix and fuse with another emotion.

Your eyes follow Remmick’s movements as he slowly paces at the front of the class. 

The way he talks with his hands.

Thick, calloused fingers. You imagine they’d feel both rough and soft dragging along your bare skin.  

The gold chain hanging from his neck. You wonder how it would catch the light as it swings back and forth above you.

That crooked, almost boyish yet calculating smile. 

The soft curve of his cupid’s bow, plump bottom lip shining under the overhead lights as his tongue darts out to lick them once more.

The way those lips wrap around each word, moving in a way that seems downright vulgar.

Biceps outlined by a light blue button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. You imagine how much strength is harbored within them.

The ego that earlier wrought your irritation now mixes with admiration for his passion and knowledge.

Your mouth grows dry as the heat rises in your body with the wavering thoughts. Remmick’s eyes catch yours briefly with what you perceive to be a heavy weight of unspoken words within them, and it’s enough to send a tingle right between your clenched thighs. His eyes leave yours just as quickly as they met, but the undeniable signs of arousal pulse through you, a wet warmth resonating at your core.

A glance at the clock on the wall. 9pm. Still another hour left.

With each passing minute the hunger residing in your body only grows, becoming harder to ignore. You can’t make it another hour like this.

“-explores the mostly misfortunate adventures of a man on his journey to-”

“May I go to the bathroom?” You blurt out with a raised hand, too impatient to wait for him to call on you.

The classroom falls silent as Remmick takes a deep inhale, his lips forming into a thin line from exasperation at your interruption. His gaze meets yours before he reluctantly gives a curt nod, freeing your thrumming body from the seat. Your feet quickly follow the path to the door at the front classroom, only for his voice to stop you.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

You can’t help but roll your eyes before turning to face him. A fiddle bow turned bathroom pass sits in his outstretched hand, though his gaze remains cast forward to the rest of the class. You huff under your breath at the ridiculousness of it, no one else is even in the goddamn building. Nevertheless, you cross the short distance to retrieve the bow from his hands, but he doesn’t release it.

A sharp tug jerks your body toward him, close enough to feel his breath fan over your skin as his eyes finally meet yours.

“Don’t take too long.” He murmurs a low and gravely warning that practically sets your body ablaze, flames licking at your most sensitive, aching parts.

As soon as his hand drops from the bow and eyes shift back toward the other students, you turn and exit the classroom as quickly as your feet can carry you.

One of the advantages of taking a night class was having the entire academic building to yourself. Something you’re grateful for as your fingers part your slick pussy lips in the bathroom stall. You’re so goddamn worked up and throbbing for release with the confusing mix of anger and arousal.

You can’t decide if you hate Professor Remmick or want to fuck him, but it’s becoming painfully obvious that it’s both.

Who the hell decided to hire him in the first place? He’s far too hot to be a professor, let alone a hard-assed one. 

You sigh softly with a jerk of your hips, a finger finding the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your thoughts drift to wonder how his tongue might feel instead of your fingers, imagining he knows just the right places to lick and suck, since he seems to know everything.

“Fuck” The soft moan fills the empty bathroom, mixing with heavy breaths as you rub your clit in tight, slow circles.

You can’t decide if you want more of his punishment or to take your anger out on him.

If you want him to bend you over that mahogany desk and spank your bare ass until you give him the correct answers,

Or if you want to straddle him in that desk chair and ride that cocky grin off his pretty, plump lips.

Your walls pulse and squeeze, body vibrating with waves of pleasure as your fingers move faster, teeth biting your bottom lip to muffle the whimpers.

He’s big and thick, stretching you wider than any other man has, but the way you wrap around him would have him a whimpering mess beneath you, suddenly devoid of arrogance as his hands grip onto your body like it’s the only thing keeping him from blowing his load inside you.

The pleasure builds in your core, a single thread on the brink of snapping. 

You’re so goddamn close.

His calloused hands would soothe your reddened, sore flesh before moving to the wet patch of your panties. “How badly do you want that ‘A’?”

With a stutter of your hips and a muffled cry, the thread finally snaps, granting the release of intense pleasure to course through your shaking body. The tight, fast circles on your clit slow and loosen as you ride out the high until your breaths finally even out. 

It isn’t long before guilt replaces lust. You have a boyfriend for god sakes and here you are, in the bathroom of the lecture hall masturbating to your professor. With a groan, you pull out your phone and open the Messages app.

Are you coming over after class?

You hit send before setting to clean up the evidence of the escapades between your thighs and head back to class, unsure if you’ve been gone long enough to raise suspicion. Head down and gaze averted, you hope not to draw attention to yourself as you slip the bow back onto Remmick’s desk and return to yours with a silly worry that everyone knows exactly what you just did.

And he does.

Remmick takes note of the flush of your skin, the shame written all over you, the smell radiating from between your thighs and into his flared nostrils. He’s unable to stop the small smirk that tugs at his lips before steeling his mask and resuming the lecture as if he wasn’t aware of your very presence or absence.

The cool night air is a welcomed respite against your still warm skin as you step out of the building and onto the concrete pathways of campus. You love walking around at this time of night, sidewalks and roads devoid of the daytime bustle of bodies and cars. A few straggling students camping out in the library until closing time and the small group of your classmates being the only signs of life.

“So, what did you think of tonight’s lecture?” The cheery sound of your classmate Sarah’s voice pulls you from your thoughts as she comes into step at your side. You cock an eyebrow at her with an exasperated, scoffed laugh.

“What?” She questions with an oblivious but amused tone, to which you sigh.

“I mean… the subject matter is interesting.” 

“Okay…? What, you don’t like Professor Remmick?”

“Like? I think he’s a bit of an asshole, actually. I had an easier time in Chemistry, for christ’s sake.” The bitterness for what you perceive as unfair treatment seeps into your voice.

In the solitude of the now empty classroom, Remmick listens in through Sarah, letting out an amused chuckle at your crass retort.

“Yeah, I guess he can be a hard grader. At least he’s kinda cute though, right?” Sarah counters with a shrug and a coy smirk. Your eyes widen slightly and you’re caught off guard for a moment before quickly brushing it off with a laugh.

“I have a boyfriend, remember? I’m not worried about how cute a professor is.” It’s a flimsy lie, you know it is, but it’s all you can conjure up in the moment. You can hardly handle the confusing feelings the professor provokes in you, let alone admit them outloud. 

Remmick rolls his eyes. 

“Okay.” Sarah murmurs, sounding unconvinced. “How are you and James doing anyway?”

Your phone vibrates at that moment, the screen illuminating with a new text.

Not tonight, babe. Me and the boys are watching the game.

That stupid goddamn fraternity. You fight back the urge to let the irritation reflect in your expression before dimming the screen and turning your attention back to Sarah, just as the lights from the dorms begin to come into view.

“Oh, you know. We’re both busy with classes and work but we’re good.” 

Not for much longer. 

You give Sarah a tight-lipped smile, unsure how effective it is, but she returns it and nods nonetheless.

A bid good night sends the two of you parting ways where the sidewalk splits, leading to your respective buildings. Under Remmick’s selfish influence, Sarah’s eyes follow your movements. Watching the way your hair flows with the wind, the bounce of your ass with each step until your form disappears through the glass doors of the dormitory.

It turns out turning a few students had its advantages. At first, it was merely for information, inserting a few spies into the web of the college. It didn’t take long for Remmick to lose himself in the role of a professor, and even a centuries old vampire like himself wasn’t immune to falling into the allure of petty professional rivalries. Particularly that bastard of an English professor Dr. Michaels, who seemed to turn every compliment Remmick received into a boast about himself.

That was until you. Until he first saw your pretty face and that tempting body strut into his classroom. Everything Remmick’s done since then has been with tunnel vision. 

And boy, has he learned a lot about you and that boyfriend of yours.

It doesn’t take long for exhaustion to overtake you upon returning to your room and stripping off the clothes carrying the weight of the day. A few hours later, you’re deep in the throes of sleep. Campus is dead silent at this time at night with the exception of a few students pulling an all nighter for one reason or another. That meant no witnesses as Remmick helps himself through the window you conveniently left open in an attempt to seek the cool night air to aid in your slumber. Remmick just can’t help himself as it becomes increasingly harder to stay away from you. And after what he knows you did in that bathroom tonight, he needs more. He needs something to hold him over until he can have you completely. 

Upon entering, his eyes immediately fall to your sleeping form scantily clad with the covers thrown about. Restless sleeper, it seems. An oversized shirt hands loosely around your body, the hem ending dangerously close to the curve of your ass, leaving your bare legs on full display. A deep, shaky inhale passes through him in an attempt to offset the onslaught of raging emotions and desires seeing you like this spurs within him. He forces his focus to shift to the surroundings of your room, to soak up the opportunity to be in your space.

He takes everything in, from the trinkets that line the desk and shelves, to books housing stories of romance and mystery, fingers running along them as if to commit every memento that is you to his memory.

Posters of musicians and movies line the painted brick walls, along with pictures of you with friends, family… that loser boyfriend. Remmick scoffs lightly at the photograph, knowing soon enough he’d be out of the picture. He’d make sure of it.

His exploration continues until his eyes land on the laundry hamper by the foot of the bed, a discarded pair of underwear lying on top. The faint smell hits him as soon as he sees it, beckoning him closer step by step.

Hands grasp the flimsy lace material before lifting it to his face. A deep inhale of the unmistakable scent that was wafting off of you earlier fills his nostrils. The smell of pure, lustful desire. He can’t help but groan softly, the sound of satisfaction and hunger rumbling in his chest. His hand curls, balling your underwear in his fist before slipping the fabric into his pocket. He’s not leaving without a token of yours and this is just what he was looking for.

Just as he considers it’s time to leave, Remmick’s eyes fall to your sleeping form once more and his feet draw him closer to the side of the bed. You could only look more beautiful than you do now whilst in the throes of pleasure, he imagines. A sight he aims to see for himself very soon.

His breathing slows as his hand gently clasps around your ankle, warmth radiating off your body and into his palm, a sensation that both balms and ignites the restless desire for you residing in his chest. Even as his heart hammers against his ribcage, his fingers trail up your skin leisurely but with full intent. Intent to memorize the feeling of this, your warm, soft skin beneath his hands at last. The touch is tender, ghosting, and reverent.

“Rem-”

The movement stills over the plush flesh of your thigh, eyes darting up to your closed ones at the sound of the muffled groan. You’re still sleeping soundly, eyes moving behind the closed lids. His heart stills, breath catching at the realization he hadn’t imagined the beautiful sound.

“You dreamin’ about me, doll?” A low and raspy whisper leaves his dry throat. Teeth digging into the plump flesh of his bottom lip, his hand presses more firmly against your skin, caressing the meat of your thigh and inching higher and higher to the hem of your shirt.

“Remmick…”

There it is. The airy, needy murmur of his name from your parted lips goes right to his hardening cock. You put on a good front in class, but even in the depths of sleep he is the one you want, the one you desire. The one you call out to within the realm of filthy dreams, fueled by unbridled lust. There’s no denying it now.

And fuck, look at you. So tempting. Laid out like a platter of ripe fruit, begging to be tasted, to be savored. And who is he to deny you, to deny himself? He only came for a token to keep with him while you’re gone but now, he’ll have the memory and lingering taste of you on his tongue. Just a little taste, right from the source. 

The path of his hand continues traveling up the back of your thigh until reaching the hem of your shirt where he pushes past, hiking the fabric up to reveal the bare globes of your ass.

“Fuck…” Remmick mutters under his breath, mouth salivating at the sight of your juicy ass and pussy completely bare with no panties on. A wicked smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, “Always hoped you were a naughty girl.”

Carefully, his body lowers onto the bed between your parted thighs, one leg bent and hiked up. Your swollen lips aren’t even parted yet and he can still see the wetness held within them, seeping out of the glistening folds. His hands gently squeeze the fat of your ass, eyes fixed on the way it makes your puffy lips spread to give him a glimpse of the paradise held within- like digging into a succulent, juicy peach.

“So wet for me…”

He leans closer, the tip of his nose nudging along the slit before taking a deep inhale that sends a wave of shivers down his body, filling his mind with a hungry, lustful haze. Parting your slit with a flat tongue and a breathy moan, he collects the juices from your clit to your throbbing hole,  taking a moment to savor the flavor spreading along his tongue, like a man dying of thirst cherishing that first sip of water. 

You’re magnificent.

With a groan, he dips back in for more. Curled tongue delving into your tight, wet channel, licking up every drop of your sweet nectar he can. Remmick moans at the taste, the feeling of your walls squeezing around his tongue, the soft, breathy moan that slips past your lips. He’s drunk on you, on your taste, the sounds you make. He needs more.

Satisfied he’s licked up every drop, his mouth lowers to your swollen clit. With a glance up toward your sleeping, blissful face, his tongue flicks against the bundle of nerves teasingly, eyes watching for any reaction. Satisfied you won’t stir, he presses the muscle more firmly against you, swirling around and licking the sensitive bud. A mix between a sigh and moan rises from your throat, like beautiful, sinful music to his ears. It spurs him on, eliciting his lips to seal around your clit and gently suckle it into his mouth.

Your pussy pulses against his nose with a slight jerk of your hips, the movement pushing your cunt firmly against his face. He obliges your unspoken plea, fingers digging into the meat of your ass as he sucks harder on your tender clit. Within the confines of his pants, his cock strains and throbs against the material, pre-cum no doubt staining them.

“Remmick…” The words slip from your lips so quickly in a stifled, high-pitched moan, but he hears it, the sound sinking in and echoing in his ears. Even in your slumber, your body and mind associate pleasure with him and it only strengthens his raging desire for you, the resolve to make you cum on his tongue before he leaves.

A low groan rises from deep in his chest, muffled against your slick folds as his mouth continues to work your throbbing clit to a heightened bliss. Until he hears your breath hitch, your body tense beneath him, and a shaky gasp burst from your mouth. Remmick’s eyes roll back behind closed lids, moaning softly as you cum with a buck of your hips. He softens his attack on your clit as the waves of pleasure course through your lush body, and only when you relax and fall slack against the sheets does his tongue return to your still spasming channel, lapping up your release like a reward. 

With a sigh, his face turns to rest against the delicate flesh of your inner thigh as the haze of lust in his mind and body calm to a low thrum, one he won’t be able to ignore for much longer. He can take care of that later, for now he knows he needs to depart with your token stored in his pocket and lingering on his taste buds. But, not before he leaves you with a token of his own. Remmick’s lips kiss your tender skin before latching onto it, sucking gently to leave behind a small bruise to form overnight, effectively marking you as his.

Reluctantly and with one last kiss along your skin, Remmick carefully rises and slips off the bed, pulling your shirt back down to its previous position. With your arousal stained panties in his pocket and one last look over your peaceful form, he leaves the way he came, through your window and out into the dark depths of the night.

It isn’t until hours later with the sun risen above the treeline, the chirping song of birds flowing into your open window that you finally awaken to the obnoxious alarm on your phone. You silence the nagging sound with a tired groan before sitting up, legs lazily shifting to hang over the edge of the bed. As the full depth of your senses slowly return, you’re unable to ignore the slick, wet feeling between your thighs. You can’t usually remember your dreams beyond small details and flickers of images, but you know last night’s sleep consisted of another ‘wet dream’ involving your professor. 

Only when your vision drops to your legs do you see something purple and part them to reveal a small bruise on your inner thigh. Your brows furrow in confusion regarding its creation. Was it from the last time you and James had sex and you just didn’t notice until now? Maybe you need to get your iron levels checked at your next doctor’s appointment…

Regardless, you don’t linger on questioning the source of your new bruise for long as the reality of your day full of work and exams comes to the forefront of your mind.

The following night, you return to the old, cracking stone building for your next Irish Folklore class. Your movements are sluggish upon entering the classroom and taking your seat, brain exhausted but anxious as your eyes mindlessly survey the antiqued items and posters reflecting Irish culture hanging along the walls. You’d already had a number of exams today with more scheduled tomorrow, not to mention the one you’d be taking in the next few minutes.

You hadn’t studied as much as you probably should’ve for this exam with your other classes taking priority, and it leaves you with a growing pit in your stomach. You fool yourself into believing you can still perform well on it, all while knowing Professor Remmick would no doubt slap that hope down just as quickly as it bloomed. The thought beckons a restless bouncing of your leg under the desk as class convenes and Remmick begins to walk down the aisles, handing out the exam to each student. With a nervous gulp, you don’t dare to meet his eyes as he passes your desk, wordlessly sliding the multi-paged, stapled test on top.

You close your eyes and take a deep inhale that does little to unravel the knot residing in your stomach before diving in. There’s no turning back now. As you begin, the questions seem easy enough, mind readily recalling the information from previous classes. Then there’s the questions you have no recollection whatsoever of going over, and with it a wave of embarrassment passes through, realizing you may have missed those moments while daydreaming about fucking your professor. Then, there’s the questions that are worded in a misleading way. The kind of question that you think you immediately know the answer to, only for there to be another very similar answer… fucker. It prompts you to begin second-guessing all your other answers thus far, eyes tracking over every single word until you feel an ache begin to form in your temple. He’s gotten in your head, making you doubt yourself even when you were so sure. 

Your hand moves to your forehead, supporting the weight as your fingers massage your temples. Your mind is foggy and exhausted, frazzled from lack of sleep, hours of studying, classes, and work on top of the very specific stress of this course you just can’t seem to function in. Suddenly, a crimson drop splatters onto the test beneath you, dark red staining and spreading into the white paper.

Remmick’s nostrils flare and eyes squeeze shut as the scent hits him like a wave. By connection and nature, the other students can smell it too, but as Remmick’s eyes open to land on you, he directs them to focus elsewhere. With brows furrow in confusion, your fingers seek out the source at the opening of your nostrils where the slickness of blood quickly coats them. 

One second, you’re staring down at the drops of blood along the pads of your fingers and in the next, Remmick is standing before you, expression concerned as his hand gently curls around your bicep.

“Let’s step outside,” His tone is soft and hushed with a cocking of his head toward the classroom door.

You nod absentmindedly, standing from the desk to follow behind him with fingers pressed against your bleeding nose.

The empty silence of the hallway engulfs the two of you, the classroom door shutting behind to leave you truly alone. Your eyes catch sight of a white tissue in his hand as it lifts toward your face. 

“Oh, thank-” You attempt to take the tissue from Remmick’s hand only to be immediately cut off by an “aht” as he shakes your hand away, raising his own to dab the tissue against your nose.

Your eyes widen, staring up at him dumbfounded and confused by the seemingly tender gesture, a stark contrast to the treatment you’ve received from him thus far. You hate the way your body reacts to it, the flip in your stomach, the breathless hitch in your throat, the flutter in your chest. 

He notices your confused expression and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, “What? It’s just blood.” 

Just as your vision flickers down to admire the plumpness of his lips, he gently tilts your head back, pressing the tissue gently against your nose.

“Didn’t know I was workin’ you hard enough to bleed.” He murmurs, but you can hear the subtle amusement in the words. Your face twists up with a weak scoff, a mixture of bewilderment and frustration flaring at the weak concern, but it fizzles out just as quickly with his close proximity and caring touch. 

Does he not know how much of a pain in the ass he is to you?? Surely he does, there’s no way it’s not intentional.

“It’s just been a stressful week is all.” You manage to reply, earning a soft hum in response.

He pulls the tissue from your nose and you sniffle in response, tilting your head back down to meet his eyes.

“Well, you need to take better care of yourself then, darlin’.” The pet name stuns you, spurring a warmth to bloom and grow inside you. Still stunned as you watch his fingers close around the bloodied tissue before it disappears into his pocket, not thinking anything strange of it.

His nostrils flare with a deep inhale, squaring his broad shoulders and expression growing stern. “I’ll have to mark your exam as incomplete. You’ll just have to come back tomorrow night and make it up.”

Taken aback, your head shakes side to side at the directive.

“Seriously? On a Friday night?” You blurt out, anger flaring by what you perceive to be yet another set back personally handed to you by Professor Remmick.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have more important plans to attend to?” He feigns concern, leaning closer and daring you to argue further, effectively fizzling out the protest that was dancing on your tongue.

“No…” With a quiet mumble and deep sigh, your shoulders slump in defeat.

“Good.” A flicker of that cocky grin flashes across his lips before it disappears. “Now, go collect your things and head home. Ya need to get some rest.” He leaves no room for argument, reaching for the handle and holding the door open for you to reenter the classroom.

Even with stubborn reluctance you follow his instructions, collecting your bag and now blood-stained exam, returning the latter to his desk where he stands.

“Tomorrow at 8. Don’t be late.” Remmick’s low voice stops you just as you’re about to depart the classroom, eyes locked from over the rim of his glasses.

You nod curtly before stepping out and back onto the cement pathways leading to your dorm room, a nervous excitement bubbling in your gut at the prospect of being completely alone with Remmick in the empty classroom tomorrow night. James won’t be happy about your delayed Friday night plans, but part of you that you’re afraid to acknowledge doesn’t really care.

Given your spectacle in class, you know you should be in bed, likely mindlessly scrolling through social media while trying to fall asleep. But instead, you’re sat in the desk chair, laptop open and idly sitting on the google home screen as your professor permeates your thoughts once again. Your thumb nail has found a temporary home amongst teeth as your mind tries to make sense of the confusing mix of emotions he’s brought onto you, trying to make sense of him. This feels beyond the scope of a standard crush, and there’s something… off about him.

Within the solitude of the now empty classroom, Remmick sits at his desk replaying the events and images of you over the last few days in his mind. Your now dried and bloody tissue rests in his palm before he lifts it to his nose, taking a deep inhale of the intoxicating, coppery scent. A groan rumbles in his chest, the smell sending an electrifying frenzy through his body all the way to his already hardening cock. He palms it as his mouth begins to salivate and fill with thick drool, bringing the tissue to his lips and sucking, trying to taste the little bit of your blood that’s trapped within the fibers.

You can’t quite put your finger on what it is about him. He looks rather young for a professor, especially compared to the others at your university. Despite this, there’s an older, wiser air to him in the way he speaks and runs the class. Old-fashioned, for sure. No electronic assignments, a stark contrast to what’s been the standard for as long as you can remember, instead insisting that everything be hand-written and physically turned in. Then, there’s the way he speaks during lectures. You’ve always appreciated professors that are passionate in their taught subjects, but Remmick seems to be on another level. He speaks of the Irish folklore myths and legends with such reverent fondness and innate knowledge, knowing the information like the back of his hand.

The hints of your blood spread across his taste buds, making his cock throb and strain against the tight fabric of his slacks. Hands make quick work of the button and zipper to free his hard, red cock from its confines, the swollen head leaking as he sucks the last little bit of your blood from the tissue. It tastes just as divine as your cunt. He hums, reaching for the panties kept within his back pocket with his free hand. He wraps the fabric stained with your juices around his leaking tip, letting his own arousal mix with the evidence of yours.

Then there’s the somewhat off-putting love all the other students in class seem to have for him, the kind of power he seems to hold. Like Chris. The way he ripped his eyes from ogling your body the second Remmick seemed to notice, like a dog heeding its owner’s command. The Google search bar reflects back to your blank stare, questions and suspicions looming in your mind. You need to know more. With a sharp breath, your fingers land on the keyboard and type out “Remmick O’Brien” into the bar and hit search. Within seconds only 2 results are presented back, both of which are from your university’s website. One from an article welcoming him to the department, another from the department’s staff listing page. Your brows furrow and brain short-circuits for a brief moment of bewilderment. Everyone has some kind of digital footprint bigger than this. Shouldn’t there at least be some kind of result from whatever college he attended?

Remmick’s head falls back as the fabric slides down his thick, throbbing shaft, his hand guiding the slow, stroking movement. He imagines it’s your tight, wet cunt wrapped around his girth instead, squeezing and pulsing around him. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, tongue darting out to wet dry lips, low groans slipping out as he squeezes the flimsy fabric around the base of his cock. 

You think, searching for any memories where Remmick might’ve shared where he got his degree, surely he mentioned it during your first class. Boston, that’s it. “Remmick O’Brien Boston”. Search. 0 results. You huff, crossing your arms and leaning against the back of the chair. There’s just no way. No social media, you can understand. But not even a Dean’s List or Commencement article? Shit, did your university even verify his degree? Surely, they’d have had to… right? Teeth dig into your bottom lip, chewing on the cushioned flesh as your thoughts race with confusion. 

Remmick’s hand moves faster, jerking himself off with your panties and the lingering taste of your blood dancing on his tongue. The swollen tip continuously leaks and soaks into the fabric as his mind is filled with images of you in every goddamn position imaginable, remembering the way you called for him in your sleep, the way your cunt tasted, the sight of your doe eyes, the way your cheeks burn with a heady mix of frustration and desire for him. It’s just enough to get him there, to hold him over until tomorrow night, when this little game you’ve been playing finally comes to a head. When he can finally have you all alone and make you his.

You’re left with no answers to your questions, your lack of findings only fueling the conflicting emotions swirling inside you, adding to the nervousness residing in your gut ahead of tomorrow’s ‘make-up exam’ all alone with him. Sure that you can’t possibly get anywhere farther tonight along with the exhaustion weighing heavily in your body, you slam the laptop shut before standing from the desk, cutting out the lights and crawling into bed. It’s another in a string of recent nights where your professor has overtaken your thoughts and dreams, and as much as part of him is unsettlingly mysterious and frustrates you to no end… you don’t object to his residence there in your mind and fantasies, with an undeniable craving for more growing hungrier every day.

A choked groan of your name, a stutter of his hips, and a hard squeeze of his cock sends Remmick barrelling over the edge, his seed seeping into your panties. A dazed, sloppy smile adorns his lips at the sight before using the fabric to clean himself up as the high slowly wanes. Only one more day and he’ll have you fully within his grasp.

There’s an anxious gnawing in your stomach, a quickening of breaths with every step toward the old stone building that houses the Folklore class. It’s quiet. Not a soul in sight wandering the buildings this time of night on a Friday. You can hear the distant buzzing of cars, people in town just down the street starting their festivities for the night. Festivities you’d otherwise be partaking in, likely at your boyfriend’s frat house. Another sweaty party filled with drunk college kids, loud music, and meaningless conversations. Your boyfriend surprisingly didn’t seem too upset about your absence for the first part of the night, and you yourself aren’t too upset about it either.

The creaking of the building’s glass entrance doors echo down the empty hall, followed by your singular footsteps. You chew on your bottom lip as your feet bring you closer to the classroom door, taking a deep breath before entering. He’s the first thing you see, sitting at the desk fashioned at the front of the classroom grading papers. At the sound of your steps, his gaze rises from the collection of papers, meeting your eyes over the brim of dark framed glasses with the flicker of a smile and a murmur of your name.

“I do hope you’re feeling better tonight.” Remmick leans back into the leather chair, gaze slipping to taking in your form.

You step closer toward the edge of the desk, skin tingling under his probing gaze.

“I am, thanks.” A beat of silence. “So um, am I just finishing yesterday’s exam?”

“Oh, no. Of course not.” He chuckles as if you cracked a joke. “I made a new exam entirely for you. Can’t trust that one of your classmates didn’t give you the answers.”

There’s that cocky grin again, a playful gleam in his eyes. You stifle the scoff bubbling up your throat, eyes closing with a deep inhale at the insinuation you’d cheat. “Okay…”

Another stretch of silence hangs heavy in the air as you survey on another.

“You know,” He speaks up just before you can try to break the tension. “I suppose I’m glad things worked out this way. I’ve been meanin’ to have a talk with you.”

“Okay. A talk about what?” You ask, despite already knowing it must be about your ‘performance’. Preparing for the onslaught, you stand before him confidently, arms crossing as your hip leans against the edge of his desk..

“About your grades. Should come as no surprise to you that you- well… you’re not doin’ well.” His fingers interlock, hovering above his chest as if contemplating. “Lackluster papers, missin’ assignments, often distracted in class… Quite frankly, I don’t think you’re puttin’ in the effort.”

You sigh, briefly looking away to collect your thoughts. Confrontation has never been one of your strong suits, let alone being put on the spot like this.

“Look, I know I’ve missed some assignments or turned them in late but it’s just… I’m busy-” You regret the words as soon as they come out and in turn, word vomit the rest. “I’m taking a lot of classes. I work. I have club meetings. Sometimes I just forget or I’m too tired to-”

“Well,” A scoff cuts you off, shaking his head with a smirk at your excuse. Your body grows fidgety with a wave of frustration at his interruption and dismissive gesture. “Your classmates have the same responsibilities and still manage this class just fine.”

His eyes bore into yours as he stands, sliding one hand into the pocket of his slacks as the other plants onto the desk, propping up his leaning body. “In fact, I’ve spoken to a few of the other professors and they all speak very highly of you. You seem to excel in their courses. A star student.” His words are almost mocking as he takes another step closer.

“So tell me… why is that?” His gaze is scrutinizing all the while that soft smile plays on his lips. He’s enjoying this.

You falter for a moment, mind racing as you contemplate what to say.

“I just… sometimes I don’t have time to do everything and I have to decide what’s more important to work on…”

“Oh. So what you’re saying is this class isn’t a priority for you, is that it?” 

“No, that’s not-”

“That just because this class isn’t in your major, it’s not just as important and worthy of the same attention?” 

It feels like the walls are closing in around you, like he is closing in around you. Judging and critiquing, pushing your buttons to get a rise. 

“No.” The word comes out weakly as your mouth goes dry, a lump forming in your throat as your heartbeat quickens.

“What is it then, hm? Does all the intelligence in that pretty lil head of yours just dissipate the moment you cross that threshold?” He motions dramatically with the words, tilting his head to survey you, waiting expectantly for whatever grand explanation you’ll give.

Your eyes widen with a scoff, mouth falling open in shock before resentment replaces it with the furrow of your brows.

“You’ve got some nerve…” You bite back with a little surge of confidence, even as his face softens in amusement. In that moment, your mind flutters back to your findings, or lack thereof, on his background and credentials online. 

“It’s funny how hard you’re hounding me right now, considering it’s unclear if you’re even a real professor. Yeah, I looked you up and there was nothing to be found. Nothing from the college you attended, no Dean’s List or Commencement mentions, no social media. In fact, if you hadn’t started working here, there’d be no evidence you even existed!” The volume and confidence in your voice rises with anger at the disrespect that tainted his words, reflecting his own scrutinization back onto him as you place your hands on your hips.

You watch his expression, looking for any signs of panic or his smirk faltering. But it doesn’t. The lines around his eyes crinkle as a rumbling snicker slips past his lips that pull into a wide grin. He nods, almost out of respect at your little outburst before leaning in closer.

“Ya know, if you put this much effort into your classwork, you wouldn’t be failin’ miserably… maybe think about that.” He mutters lowly, eyes trailing over your faltering expression before he steps back and turns away, leaving you to stand there dumbfounded.

You’ve always known yourself to be a little sensitive at times and you can’t deny the way his words sting.

“You don’t have to be so mean about it!” Your voice has lost its edge despite you, faltering along with your resolve.

“Aw, sensitive lil thing aren’t ya?” A low hum as he looks toward you again, tone lacking any actual sympathy or concern. “In more ways than one I bet…” His voice lowers, gaze faltering to trail down the curves of your body.

“What?” The question comes out in a shocked whisper, brows furrowing as you question if you actually heard him right.

“Maybe it’s somethin’ else that’s affectin’ your performance in class… maybe it’s this boyfriend of yours.” His eyes fall to the inaccurately placed Claddagh ring on your finger. “Or maybe it’s just me…”

You roll your eyes at the first suggestion before they narrow with the second. Of course it’s him. 

“Uh, yeah. I’d say it’s you.” You retort matter of factly. “You’re the one being an ass and critiquing every little thing I do-”

“No, no…” Remmick shakes his head softly, his voice a breathy rasp. “I’ve seen the looks you give me, even when you think I’m not lookin’. Not to mention those long bathroom breaks you take. Ya think I don’t know what you’re doin’ in there?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, had you really been so foolish to think he wouldn’t notice? You didn’t think you were that obvious, but you’re definitely not about to admit it to him.

“You’re crazy. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You hope your words are more convincing than you feel. 

He grins at you, seemingly unconvinced by your proclamation. Despite your words, you feel your body ignite with his close proximity and unwavering gaze from your eyes and body, prompting the return of that familiar pulsing between your thighs that he always seems to awaken.

“Well, let’s just see about that then, hm? If that’s the case, you should be able to pass this oral exam no problem.” 

Oral exam? 

The words send a spike of anxiety through you. Written exams are enough of a pain in the ass, but being expected to verbally recall the answers on the spot with no time to contemplate? You grimace, watching as he steps back to return to the leather chair like he’s settling in for a show.

“Please,” Remmick gestures. “Both palms on my desk.”

“W-What?” Your body stills, staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“Both. Palms.” The deep timbre of his words sends an electric charge through your immediately flushing body.

With a gulp and lick of your dry lips, you obey. Stepping closer, you turn to face the desk, your back facing toward him merely a foot behind you and lay your palms flat against the cool, polished wood surface.

You mentally chastise and thank yourself for wearing a skirt tonight, the slight lean forward of your body causing the fabric to hike up just a fraction, enough to feel the air hit the tender flesh of your upper thighs. You can only imagine the view from his seated position behind you, heat spreading up your neck and across your face at the thought.

“Let’s start with something easy, hmm?” Remmick’s eyes glide up your bare legs to where the hem of your skirt rests dangerously close to the curve of your ass. 

“Name 5 of the ancient Celtic gods.”

A brief moment of silence passes as your brain catches up to your ears, recalling the names repeatedly mentioned throughout class.

“Rhiannon, Morrigan, Lugh… Dagda… Bridgid.”

No praise or criticism, he simply moves on.

“And the four cycles?”

“Mythological, Ulst-” You stutter, feeling the sudden touch of calloused fingers gently caressing the back of your knee, a ticklish sensation that shoots up your thigh and throughout your body.

“Ulster… Fenian… Cycle of Kings.” Your voice and breaths waver as his touch, feathery light and painfully slow, glides up the back of your thigh, leaving a trail of rising goosebumps behind.

“Good.”

“Profes-”

“When is St. Brigid’s Day?” A swift cut off, moving onto the next question.

“The first day of spring?”

“Which is?” The dancing of his fingers along your thigh ceases, waiting as you hesitate and struggle to recall the answer. You’re almost ashamed of the way your body reacts to his halted touch, spurring a flicker of panic and racing heartbeat. 

“Um, February… 1st?” It’s a guess you’re only half-confident in, but a lucky one nonetheless as his touch resumes, hand moving under your skirt to caress the bare skin of your ass.

A shaky exhale escapes your parted lips, eyes fluttering closed as the stroke of his fingers turns the kindling fire flickering in your core into a wild blaze. Your body automatically reacts by bending forward slightly to lean into the touch, the meat of your ass pressing fully against his palm. You hear his hum of approval, the palpable hunger in his low, breathy voice.

“The mother goddess of Tuatha Dé Danann?” Remmick pushes the fabric up, fully revealing the round globes. No panties… He groans at the sight of wetness already slicking your puffy folds and the sound goes right to your core, a shiver running up your spine as the air hits your bare cunt. You can’t think straight, mind focused solely on your professor’s groping and caressing hand, your most private regions exposed to his ravenous gaze.

Remmick himself is distracted until a moment passes and he realizes you haven’t answered the question. “Oh, don’t disappoint me now, darlin’. You’re doin’ so good.”

The soft creak of leather hits your ears, his presence shifting behind you until the fabric of his clothes brushes along your skin, mouth hovering by your ear.

“Fuck,” You mutter under a breath, palms growing sweaty against the polished wood. Think. “Morrigan?”

The tsk hits your ears as a disappointed chide, all movement stalling before his gravelly voice whispers, “Lay your chest against the desk.” Breath fanning over your ear, a sick and anxious thrill shoots through you with the command.

You obey and bend over fully, upper body flush against his desk. The coolness of the polished wood is a welcomed shock, a stark contrast to your blazing, flushed skin. He makes you wait, only just for a moment to make you antsy and anxious, fidgeting with anticipation for what you know will inevitably come. 

Knowing doesn’t prepare you.

Remmick’s hand collides with your bare ass, a smacking sound that echoes off the walls of the empty classroom, pulling a broken gasp from your parted lips pressed against the desk. 

“One more chance. Try again.”

He’s trying to utterly wreck and humiliate you. You try your best to think of the correct answer, at this point you’ve nearly forgotten the damn question.

“Fuck. Eriu? I don’t know!” He grins at how pathetically desperate you sound, returning the incorrect answer with another resounding smack against the tender, already reddening skin of your rear. 

Your body jerks against the desk with a whimper and then a yelp when he spanks you again, unexpectedly and hard. He’s not sure he wants to stop, seeing the way his handprint is beginning to mark the flesh, watching the way it jiggles with each smack. “That one was for being a mouthy little brat.”

Another smack. 

The pain bleeds into pleasure, reverberating throughout your body and spreading right to your soaking cunt. You don’t think you’ve ever been so wet in your entire life. Remmick seems to take notice too as his calloused hand soothes the red, beaten flesh.

“I think I’ve found the root of your problem, sweetheart.” He hums before his hand trails down and two digits slowly part your puffy, slick lips. The two of you moan softly in tandem, body trembling with the touch as your pussy throbs with want, with need.

“Too busy thinkin’ with this,” A flinch and a gasp as his hand spanks your cunt. “instead of your brain. Isn’t that right?”

You can barely nod, too focused on the way his fingers soothe your pussy just as they’d done with your ass.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, Professor.” You answer obediently, voice thick with barely restrained desperation that mirrors your restless body, unable to resist the impulse to rock your folds back against his hand.

“Poor thing. ‘Course you can’t pay attention when all the blood in your body is between your legs.” The outline of his hard cock nudges along your thigh, breath hot against your ear. “I could give you what you need, darlin’. If you want me to fuck you, all you have to do is ask…”

His touch stalls, waiting for you to obey, to beg him for what you both know you want. But even in the haze of arousal, a moment of clarity passes through as you remember your supposed commitment, the loyalty you’ve already broken.

“I shouldn’t… I- I have a boyfriend.” Your protest is shamefully weak and your cunt, well she has a mind of her own, pulsing pathetically in protest from the lack of your professor’s touch. Remmick knows it too, can hear it in your voice, can see it in your eyes.

“Ah, yes. James…” A breathy laugh and devious smirk. “Quite a flirt from what I hear.”

Your eyes widen, visibly taken aback. “Excuse me?” You question despite knowing you have no ground to stand on to be hurt or upset, given you yourself have already crossed the line.

And Remmick, well, he’s more than heard that James is a flirt. He happens to know that in this very moment under the guidance of that powerful little hivemind, James is currently tangled up with his spawn and your classmate, Sarah. It hadn’t taken much convincing at all. 

He won’t tell you that part, though. You don’t need to know. You’ve already let Remmick in, let him touch you in your most intimate area and now, all you need is a little push.

“You heard me, darlin’. Your little ‘relationship’ clearly isn’t serious to him… and judgin’ by the way you’re soakin’ my fingers right now, I’d say it’s not serious for you either.”

A muffled gasp slips past your lips with a flick of his calloused fingers stroking your throbbing, needy clit.

“This pretty lil pussy is all wound up. She needs a man to take care of her… all you gotta do is beg me for it.” He practically growls, hunger lacing the filthy words as his lips brush against your ear.

The little voice reminding you of your commitment to James grows quieter until fizzling out all together, leaving just the raw arousal for your professor behind. Your body is trembling and aching for it, to give into your forbidden carnal desires.

“Yes,” The words slip eagerly from your tongue with a languid nod. “Please.”

The pad of his thumb continues its ministrations against your clit as his other hand grabs your jaw, not enough to hurt but enough to exert his power. His fingers flex against your soft skin, grip forcing your lips into a pout that you’re sure looks as pathetic as it feels, even as a newly discovered part of yourself loves it.

“Please what? You’re gonna need to get more specific, darlin’.” Remmick taunts, lips moving to the blazing skin of your cheek.

“I want you to fuck me. Please, Sir.”

Remmick’s cock aches behind the confines of his slacks at the pure, unbridled need in your voice. He could push you further, make you beg and edge you until tears stain those pretty blushing cheeks. Hell, maybe he will later.  But for now, even he can’t hold back anymore.

Remmick uses his grip to turn your head to face him, the rest of your body quickly following suit as his lips crash against yours in a demanding kiss. It’s wet, sloppy, and full of ravenous hunger as you readily return it, lips moving in a frenzied, passionate dance. There isn’t an inch of space between your bodies pressing flush together, his hands greedily roaming your backside as your own grip onto his biceps to ground yourself amidst the dizzying sensations of his touch.

As soon as your lips part, his tongue delves in to explore and claim the depths of your mouth. He swallows your wanton moan at the feeling of his tongue against yours, licking and tangling together as one of your hands trails up his arm to thread your fingers into his short, curled strands of hair. Rumbling groans rise from his throat with the mixing of your spit and you’re too lost in a daze of arousal to question the thick, viscous consistency of his. You readily lap it up as the throbbing between your legs intensifies with every brush of his tongue against yours, every breath that presses your chests closer together.

With a shuddering gasp, Remmick pulls his lips from yours, a thick string of saliva still connecting your lips. He sees the same glazed over look in his eyes reflected in yours. With his hand cupping the side of your jaw, the calloused pad of his thumb slowly rubs along your now swollen bottom lip, breaking the chain of spit and collecting the rest off the plump skin. 

A grin appears as he pushes his slick thumb into your mouth, eyes locked in an intense gaze as you softly suck the remnants of the kiss from his finger. 

“Good girl” The raspy praise washes over you in a wave of sweet relief, settling into your knees that wobble under the weight of it. His praise is a refreshing drop of water down your parched throat, a substantial load off your shoulders that leaves you stumbling after weeks of persistent criticism.

A soft smacking sound leaves your lips with a slow pull of his thumb, dragging down to your chin before his palm leaves your face entirely. His body follows, eyes locked onto one another as he steps back, watching in amusement when your brows furrow in confusion from the loss of touch.

Your eyes follow as he casually sits back into the leather cushioned desk chair before you, thick fingers working the button and zipper of his slacks with practiced ease. “You wanna pass this class? Want me to fuck you? I can give you everything you want, baby, but you gotta earn it first. On your knees.”

All it takes is a slight push down of the waistband for Remmick’s aching cock to spring free and stand at attention in all its engorged glory, the swollen head red and leaking. Your eyes take in every detail, following the pulsing veins that run the length of his thick girth, mouth watering at the sight alone. It feels like you’re in a trance as your body slowly lowers until your knees land on the cold tiled floor, lips parted with every heavy breath flowing freely. On hands and knees you crawl toward him and his waiting cock, his own eyes flickering between your hungry expression and the sway of that sinful ass with each shift of your hips.

The movement halts once your shoulders become caged between his knees. A tentative glance up to those eyes staring back, shadowed by the overhead light behind him. There’s a light twinkling within them. It flickers, the white glimmer shifting to crimson before it disappears just as quickly. It should scare you, should send a shiver of fear down your arched spine… but it doesn’t. The heat radiating throughout your body, the hunger residing in your core only grows. The moment only adds to the looming mystery around your professor, but also, his intoxicating allure and pull.

Your gaze settles back onto Remmick’s leaking cock before you, watching as it twitches in anticipation before you can no longer deprive the both of you. With your tongue sticking out flat, it slowly drags along from the base to the tip, gathering a taste before curling to flick at the cleft marking the underside of his swollen head. A swirl to collect the drops of dripping pre-cum onto your tastebuds sends a shudder through his heaving chest, eyes falling half-lidded as he watches your pursed lips pepper kisses between kitten licks along his throbbing shaft.

“That’s it.” He breathes out, fingers anchoring into the hair on the back of your head when your lips finally wrap around him. The warm, wet cavern of your mouth feels better than he could’ve imagined, hot saliva engulfing his length with the teasing wiggle of your tongue that makes his breath hitch. 

The grip on your hair tightens with each inch that disappears past the plump curve of your lips, testing just how much of him you can take before a gag, pop, and a gasp bursts from your lips with the incessant nudging of his head deep down your throat. He smirks, tongue darting out to wet his lips when you do. But if anything, you’re determined and already craving more of the salty, heady taste of him.

A deep satisfaction settles into his bones, mixing with the sparks of toe-curling pleasure your mouth ignites throughout him. “Look at that,” A breathy chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Turns out you are good at somethin’ besides runnin’ your mouth.” He comments as his fingers work to undo the buttons of his shirt, voice beginning to strain when your tongue swirls around the tip with each bob of your head.

His words only spur you on more, prompting your fingers to reach for the waistband of his slacks and impatiently push them all the way down and off until there’s no barrier, no resistance to keep you from fully sliding yourself between his legs. Your arms straddle his strong, thick thighs, hand joining your mouth to move in sync stroking up and down the thick girth, eliciting a deep groan of approval.

Despite his fingers remaining tangled in your hair, he doesn’t try to guide or force your movements. He can tell by your closed eyes, the moans that vibrate through his length, the deeper you take him, the faster your mouth moves, the harder you suck, that you’re enjoying this as much as he is. So he lets you, reveling in the most pleasure he’s had in a long time, so long that the past pales in comparison to this, to you.

Then, you open your gorgeous eyes to lock onto his just as your free hand falls to cradle and rub his heavy, aching balls. All the strength in his body can’t stop the drawn-out moan that leaves his mouth or keep his eyes from rolling back. “Fuck… so good, darlin’.” The shaky guttural praise only heightens your resolve and hunger to a degree you’ve never felt before. You’ve been horny and aroused, but this, this is a different level entirely. 

Your lips pull from his cock with a wet pop while your hand continues to pump him, body lowering and back arching as your mouth moves down to his heavy sack. Your hot, heavy breath surrounds his balls before your mouth does, licking and swirling before gently sucking them into your mouth. Remmick practically growls at the intense stimulation and your eyes watch as his head falls back against the cushioned headrest. His jaw tenses, chest shaking with every exhale, veins protruding along the thick column of his throat.

You lather his sensitive sacks with attention amid the dripping arousal between your legs. You crave more, you need more. More of him, every inch you can get, every depraved sound and moan you can pull from those plush lips. You’re lost in the throes of hunger, with the desire to please him, to taste every inch of his alluring body you can. 

With a mind of its own, your tongue slips lower in hopes of exploring more of him and his pleasure, moaning as it lavishes the stretch of skin below his balls. An experimental zigzag of your tongue against it elicits a shaky moan, Remmick’s eyes opening to watch you sink lower and lower. Your own eyes lock onto his as your tongue flicks out, giving a testing lick against his puckered hole. It’s uncharted territory for you, but you can’t resist the intoxicating urge to keep going, especially with the way his breath hitches.

“Fuck, I knew you were a filthy girl.” He groans as the feeling of your mouth becomes dizzying, his cock rock hard in your still stroking hand. His grip on your hair tightens as he spreads his legs wider, shifting lower on the seat to grant easier access as your tongue presses firmer with another lick and swirl against his asshole. 

“Oh god,” Remmick’s head begins to fall back before he catches himself, forcing his eyes to focus on the dirty, sinful sight of you. On all fours, back arched with that perfect ass in the air, glazed eyes fluttering up at him with your mouth buried beneath his balls. “You eat your boyfriend’s ass like this?” His breathy, strained voice reflects his quickly crumbling composure, only furthered by the way he can practically feel your smile in response.

“Uh uh,” You gasp, only pulling from his core enough for him to hear you. “Just you, Sir.” He groans as you waste no time diving back in, your tongue incessantly licking and prodding at the sensitive hole with a one-track minded hunger that reflects his own.

Fuck, you’re going to be his unravelling. Body, flesh, soul… his entire being.  

The pleasure coursing through him builds at a rapid pace, balls drawing up tight with the coil in his lower stomach with each lewd lick and moan muffled against him.

Using the leverage of his fingers in your hair, he pulls your mouth from him with a guttural curse, almost busting right there on the spot upon seeing your expression. You gaze up at him like a newborn dazed and drunk off their first taste of blood. His cock aches and twitches at the sight before his lips collide against yours with a swift speed.

Strong arms lift your body with his as he stands from the chair, tongue invading your mouth to taste himself from you. A few stumbling steps and the cool surface of the desk presses against your backside. “Bend that ass over the desk again, now.” Long gone is the cool, snarky and collected persona from earlier, stripped away to leave only the primal, feral lust behind.

There’s no time wasted on stripping off the remainder of your clothes, the impatient need to be connected on the most carnal level taking precedence. With your body resuming its previous position bent over his desk, Remmick settles behind you and flips up the flimsy fabric of your skirt. His cock slots between your puffy lips, thrusting slightly to coat the length with your slick. 

“Tell me you want it,” He pleads, rasping your name against your ear with his last bit of restraint, your sweet, depraved begging the last thing he needs to hear before he fully lets go. You swear you’ve never heard your name sound so beautiful and with such desperation before.

“Yes. God, yes! Please, Professor. I need you.” Your bottom lip trembles as you beg, your entire body thrumming with need, hips rocking back in an attempt to chase the promise of what you both know only he can give you. Ecstasy beyond your comprehension, beyond what you’ve ever experienced. 

The swollen head of Remmick’s cock breaches your cunt with a shuddering exhale before slowly sinking deeper. He leans back to watch his length disappear inside you, the tight, wet warmth of your pussy surrounding him inch by inch until he’s fully hilted inside. Your gasping whimpers are like music to his ears, tight walls fluttering as they attempt to accommodate his thick girth. So thick it makes your eyes roll back, stretching you farther than anyone before ever has, filling your walls with an intoxicating ache that borders on painful.

“So fucking tight.” He grits out through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the fat cushioning your hips. His eyes follow the slow unsheathing of his cock from your cunt before a roll of his hips sends him plunging back into you with a deep, hard thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.

Remmick doesn’t give you time to catch it, setting a rough and fast pace as one hand slides up the curve of your spine to land at the nape of your neck, curling his fingers around the tender skin with a tight grip.

“Oh, fuck!” A high-pitched whine bursts from your lips, body jerking against the desk with every sharp thrust that sends your fingers searching for purchase along the cool, smooth wood. His body brackets you against the solid furniture, forcing you to take the full brunt of his relentless pounding.

The desk begins to shake, sending pens, papers, and books clattering to the floor. The sound joins the echoing symphony of your combined, debauched moans and the slapping of skin against skin.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Remmick’s hand moves from your neck to collect your hair, gripping and tugging it back. “For me to fuck you and put you in your place, hm?” His voice takes on a unrestrained, feral quality that matches the way he’s fucking you, juxtaposing your choked, wanton cries.

“Yes, Sir!” The way your words jumble with each thrust only makes his cock twitch and pulse inside you, you’re already so fucking wrecked and drunk off him.

“Yeah? You wanna be my good little pet?”

“Oh god, yes!”

“Yes what?” A harsh tug on your hair and a sharp smack against the bouncing meat of your ass. “Yes, Professor!” Actual tears begin to brim your eyes with the overwhelming sensations, your pussy throbbing from the unrelenting abuse of his cock while aching for more.

A near animalistic growl rises from his throat, sweat beading and slipping down his forehead. His eyes are locked onto the way your ass recoils with each stroke, the sight of his length repeatedly disappearing inside you, the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him like it never wants to let go.

A shift in angle sends your hands grasping at the edge of the desk with a high-pitched gasp, stars beginning to bloom behind your eyes. Remmick’s length rubs against that spongy spot inside you that James could never find, sending radiating waves of intense, hot pleasure through you. It rapidly builds, walls fluttering with a deep throb.

“Fuck, harder!” You beg, craving more of that intoxicating feeling that already has your body trembling.

“Louder!” He demands, not caring if anyone left on this side of campus at this time of night hears the utterly depraved sounds he’s pulling from you.

“Please! Harder, Sir!” You use all your breath to raise your voice into a desperate cry, one that seems to satisfy as his cock hits that sweet spot even harder. It’s nearly too much to handle as your nails dig into the wood, feeling yourself begin to slip. “I-I think I’m gonna-”

“Let it out. Give it to me. Now.” 

Your body immediately reacts by obeying his command, releasing a flood of pure, blinding ecstasy with a scream of carnal rapture. Remmick’s guttural groan joins you at the feeling of your juices flooding his shaft, walls spasming around him with a vice grip. He fully hilts himself inside you as his own release crashes over him, cock twitching as it fills up your cunt with his seed, possessive satisfaction mixing with pleasure.

The sounds of your heavy breaths fill the room, chests heaving and cores pulsing together, still joined. Remmick slowly pulls his now drenched cock from your pussy, smirking at the way it clenches around nothing from the loss. Despite the intense orgasm and his seed stuffed deep in your cunt, he’s not done with you yet as desire still simmers between your bodies.

He tears off the already unbuttoned shirt hanging off his arms, one hand rubbing along the arched curve of your back as the other grips the base of his cock. His tip slides up and down your soaking slit, collecting your combined juices before teasingly rubbing the swollen head against your puckered, unused hole.

“Ya ever let your boyfriend fuck you here?” The raspy question meets your still ringing ears with the feeling of his tip teasing your asshole.

“No, Sir…” Teeth dig into your bottom lip and even as your body tenses with the unfamiliar territory, a thrill shivers down your spine with the prospect.

A grin pulls at his lips, muffling a short, rumbling chuckle before he lets the thick saliva pooling in his mouth drip out onto his cock and your unused hole.

“Good…” His voice hits your ears like honey laced whiskey, twinged with an undeniable dark, defiling possessiveness. 

He braces a hand on the desk next to your waist as the other guides his cock, steadily pushing forward until the head breaches your opening. A grunt and heavy breath escapes him at the feeling, your ass is even tighter than your pussy, the walls resisting his exploration. 

“Just relax, baby. Let me in.” The cooing of his voice combined with the soothing touch along your spine sends sparks fluttering throughout your body. You try to focus on steadying your breaths, relaxing your muscles to ease his way inside.

With each inch he sinks deeper, his body lowers until he’s fully hilted inside your pulsing walls and his chest is flush against your back. The uncomfortability slowly fades as he holds himself there, waiting for your breaths to even out until all that remains is a foreign ache and you fully relax around him.

“There you go.” Remmick praises as he withdraws and thrusts back in at a leisurely pace with less resistance, hearing the soft gasps that begin to leave your lips. “You’re takin’ me so well, baby.”

The praise goes right to your head, already spinning and hazy from the stark shift in his disposition, from rough and feral to the now slow and tender that makes your stomach flutter. This, it’s just as charged with hunger and desire, but far more intimate. 

His hips set a steady rocking rhythm, thick cock stretching your virgin ass with long and deep strokes. You feel every heavy breath tickle the sensitive skin along your neck and ear, making your walls squeeze around him, rewarding you with another wrecked moan from his lips.

Soon, the shift in your moans and body is palpable, eyes fluttering as waves of pleasure flow through you with each plunge of his dick inside you. “Yeah… you like that, darlin’?” A breathy whisper fans across your cheek with a tilt of Remmick’s face, pressing his forehead to rest against the side of yours.

“Yes. You feel so good, Sir.” You answer with a needy whimper, turning your face slightly to lean into him. A shuddering sigh passes through him in response and despite already being inside your tight ass and feeling the parts of your body flush with his, he still needs more, needs to be even closer, needs you to feel absolutely surrounded by him.

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He murmurs, lips brushing against the flushed skin of your cheek as one hand searches for more, reaching around to grasp at the low neckline of your shirt. A slight tug is all it takes for the soft mounds of your bare breasts to fall free, his hand immediately moving to grab and massage the tender flesh.

“Yes, Professor.” You practically purr for him, the added stimulation of his fingers tweaking your sensitive nipples making your eyes roll back.

“Say it, baby. Tell me who you are.” Remmick pushes further, shifting his other hand to cover yours that’s holding onto the edge of the desk. He flinches as the silver of your Claddaghs ring burns, but he doesn’t pull away, instead slotting his fingers into the spaces between yours.

“Oh, god. I’m your good girl, Sir.” You answer with a broken, breathy moan, eyes opening to meet his half-lidded ones.

They gaze back at you with affection and desire, his lips parted for every breath and groan to slip freely. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.” The blissed out expression on your face, the glazed look in your eyes, put there by him. 

There’s no time to respond before his lips capture yours in a deep, passionate kiss. The speed of his thrusts picks up slightly, spurred on by your moans that muffle against his lips. You part them, tongue freely and languidly sliding in to tangle with his. That familiar blinding heat begins to bloom in your core once again, heightened and building with each added layer of stimulation.

The full, pleasureful ache of his cock in your ass. The feeling of his body and skin flush against yours. His hand fondling your breast, teasing your hard, sensitive nipples. The other covering yours, fingers laced together. Mouths swallowing each other's moans as your tongues engage in a dance as old as time.

The forbidden filth and yet intimacy of it all.

Remmick can tell you’re getting closer, can feel it in his own tightening coil. Your breaths quicken, tight walls squeeze rhythmically around him, your sweet, muffled sounds growing higher-pitched.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, waves of pleasure crashing over your trembling body. Remmick holds you through it as he cums with you, the tight grip of your ass around his thick girth spurring on new heights of ecstasy. Your moans and heavy breaths mingle, chests heaving in sync as he pumps you full, laying claim to both of your holes with his seed. 

You remain there together joined over the desk, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms until it eventually wades. Remmick presses a soft kiss to your lips before easing his length out of your sensitive, still pulsing hole. You remain there on the desk, catching your breath and waiting for the haze of ecstasy to clear from your mind amidst the sound of shuffling clothes, the buckling of Remmick’s belt. 

When you lift your chest from the desk to stand straight and turn around, Remmick’s stepping back toward you. His slacks are back on, shirt pulled back over his arms but still unbuttoned. His hands quickly return to your body, moving to adjust and fix the neckline of your shirt as you look at him with those doe-eyes.

“Now, given our… discussion, I’m willin’ to look past those missing assignments.” A wide, bashful smile pulls at your lips, matching his own grin as his hands drag down your sides.

“And my exam? Do I get an A?”

“Greedy now, are we?” He chuckles at the tilt of your head, the innocent batting of your eyelashes. “I’ll give you an A… but you’re still gonna run home and do your reading for the next class like a good girl, aren’t you?” His voice grows deeper, hands sliding to smooth the now wrinkled fabric of your skirt back down over the curve of your ass.

“Yes, Sir.” You answer with a dazed smile, heart still pounding against your ribcage.

Remmick’s gaze shifts down as his hand moves to take yours in his palm. His expression falters for a moment upon seeing the Claddagh ring gifted to you by James before a smug grin returns.

“Ya know, the way you’re wearin’ this ring… it means you’re single.” Your eyes shift down to watch as he reaches for it, already prepared for the burning sting once he grasps and slowly pulls the silver band off the column of your finger. He turns it so that the heart is facing inward and slides it back onto your right ring finger. “That means you’re in a relationship.”

You blink in confusion, unaware there was a significant meaning in the ring’s placement, James had surely never told you so either. The feeling of your professor’s fingers along your jawline snaps you from your thoughts as he gently lifts your face to meet his once more.

“And don’t be mistaken. It’s not with that boy, either… You’re mine now, ya understand?”

[hoshigray]

𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 | satoru gojō

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Is it possible to wish to be in the embrace of someone who makes you want to throw them off a cliff? You seem to think so, and the same goes for Gojo. But alas, good things always come to an end, even when not meant to be...

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern + college AU - frenemies to lovers + mutual pining - Gojo and reader are at least age 20 - implied fwb relationship - catching/awakening feelings - oral (m! receiving) - ball massaging + sucking - sex in a shared room; college dorms (alone) - cowgirl position on a chair - breast fondling + sucking + nipple play - protected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, pretty, princess) - heavy depiction of a blowjob - cameos: Haibara and Ijichi - fluff + angst; misunderstandings - humor bc i'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.6k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: second part, let's goooo!! i loved ur support and comments from the first story, so hope y'all are excited for this part :DDD and ty so so so MUCH for 5.5k like??? i kiss you on cheek, every single on of you, hehehe~

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“If you’re not gonna help, then leave my dorm!”

“Ehhhh, hell no! It’s cold as fuck outside; you want me to freeze to death?”

“They’re…still going at it.”

“Yeah…give it a minute, and we’ll just go to the library without them?”

It’s coming down to the last week of January; university students are finally settling in with their new schedules and getting used to the groove of the spring semester. Or some run around trying to keep up with the new semesters and the change of weather already getting on people’s nerves, wanting nothing more than spring to come quickly.

Three weeks in, and you already have stuff to do, one of them being an argumentative presentation assigned by Professor Yaga in your Contemporary Issues class. You and three other people are tasked to find sources for a topic issue you find interesting and then present a discussion-based presentation on two sides of the topic (two people in favor and two people against).

Unfortunately, the groups were to be randomly assigned. Luckily, two friends you knew in the class, Haibara and Ijichi, were picked to work alongside you! However, the bad part was that another person you knew was assigned to work with you, and he happens to be the guy getting on your last nerves right now, sitting on your couch while clicking through the television channels with the remote. 

Your roommates weren’t home today. The club fair was occurring at the quad, so Mei Mei and Utahime had to go out and represent their clubs for the afternoon. Shoko is having an intense study session with Geto for an exam on the first of February, so they’re at the library now. 

That leaves you alone at your dorm, using this as a perfect opportunity to invite your group over to work on the project. 

“You can freeze your nuts off and become the next Jack Frost for all I care; if you’re not going to do your part of the work, get out!”

Well, minus you yelling at your partner, who clicks his teeth before turning to you. His round sunglasses shone from the light reflected from the living room windows.

Satoru Gojo was your number one nemesis within these campus grounds; this was a known fact to everyone, especially the other group members who nervously examined you two bicker. Being in the same space as him is enough to make you wish you could pull your hair out or put him in the nastiest headlock you could do. Worse, being assigned to the same group as him for your project almost made you want to rip your ears off. 

But you had to suck it up; at least you were the first group to start a presentation. Better now than worry about it later, right? 

“Pssh, fine, I’ll get up and—Oh! Wait, you guys have Digimon on Hulu? Ahhh, sick!” 

Nevertheless, you can’t say that when your supposed partner acts like a child glued to your TV screen instead of doing the work he promised to do. You grit your teeth with a twitching brow, “Why you…”

Across from the common area was the kitchen, where Haibara and Ijichi sat at the dining table. The two sophomores could do nothing but feel the tension between you and Gojo grow with every passing second, suffocating the younger duo. Haibara eyes Ijichi from across the table and whispers, “Wanna make a run for it now?”

The black-haired second-year didn’t reply, only a hurried nod before the two grabbed their coats and stuffed their laptops back into their backpacks. The sound of their zippers alerts your ears, turning to them to question, “Huh? Where are you two going?” 

Haibara takes it upon himself to deliver a half-lie as he zips up his jacket. “On second thought, Ijichi and I are thinking of taking the shuttle to the library to work instead.”

Huh? The library? Were they leaving because of the belligerence between you and Gojo? God, you hoped not. “Wait, you guys don’t have to do that. I already made you guys walk all this way here; it’d be rough to have you leave for somewhere else…”

Ijichi comes with the assist after putting the sling of his messenger bag around his shoulder. “It’s okay, Y/n. We found material from the library we could use as sources, so we’re heading up there to take some notes while they’re there.” 

“Yup!” Haibara exclaims in agreement, and the two walk past you to put on their shoes by the front door. “Maybe you guys can find sources of your own while we’re gone, and then we can converse and share what we found when we come back. Sounds good?” 

“I suppose so…” you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were leaving to avoid being in the same room as you and Gojo. The guilt is hard to endure since you didn’t mean to make the younger boys uncomfortable. “See you guys, then.”

“Cya!” And with that, the door closes on their way out, leaving you and Gojo alone in your apartment. 

Well, this is just great; you’ve driven your group members and friends away and are now stuck with the nuisance of a partner who still keeps his attention on the television. It takes everything in your power not to pop a vein. But with one calm breath, you steady yourself and stand tall. 

You walk in front of the TV, blocking it from Gojo’s view. The white-haired boy throws his hands up in exasperation, but you couldn’t care less. “What’s the big idea?” He questions you as if he has a right to at this moment. 

You cross your arms across your chest with narrow eyes. “Haibara and Ijichi just left.”

“Uhh, yeah, I heard the door,” he maneuvers his body to try and see the children’s show blocked by your figure. “Doesn’t have to do with me—“

“It does have to do with you.” You interrupt him, taking two steps and bending to stare him down. Your face is a foot away from his. “You’re supposed to be here to work with Haibara on the ’no’ part of the argument while me and Ijichi do our part. You’ve only been here for thirty minutes, and the only thing you’ve done successfully is take off your shoes at the door and read your manga books on the couch. 

Gojo chuckles – oh, how you hated his laugh – as he puts his hands behind his head, spreading his long legs from their crossed form. “You heard them, no? They’re going to research on their own and then come back. Besides, you know I’m not one to start stuff right away. I’m a procrastinator, remember?”

“You’re annoying; that’s what you are.” You straighten up with a heavy sigh.  God, I wish Utahime and Shoko were here. They’d help me out with this white garbage…

“Ahhh, lighten up, Y/n. It’s not like the presentation is on Monday; we got until Friday to come up with everything.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, smartass. And you’re right: I do know you. And I know you tend to do things at the last fucking minute. But not this time!” You watch him try to put his feet up on the coffee table, and you quickly intervene by kicking them off. 

“Tch. Look, you knew what you were getting into being partnered with me. And relax; those two said they’ll be back to discuss the material later. They already left – nothing I can do about it.”

Your hands rest at your hips, tapping your foot with visible frustration. “Oh? And I wonder why they left in the first place, Gojo. Mind telling me how?”

He quirks up a brow with a smug grin — a telling sign that you’d get ticked off with whatever he’s about to say. “I don’t know, Y/n. Why not ask the nagging control freak talking to me right now, huh? Maybe their short height and angry temper are affecting the mood of those around them to be miserable like them.” 

You almost did it — your hands nearly gave into your intrusive thoughts and were about to lunge at the snow-haired guy’s neck to wring around like a rag doll. But you played it off with a clap, rubbing the palms together to distract your temporary violent thoughts.

You sucked your teeth and turned on your heel. “Forget it. I’m gonna go take a nap.”

He scoffs, “Good, maybe your tiny brain needs it to calm down.”

“Choke and die, Gojo!” You say down the hall, already at the door of your shared bedroom. Before slamming the door shut, Gojo’s patronizing laughter can be heard to your dismay. With gritted teeth, you march to your bed to throw yourself on the mattress. 

“Ughhh. That Satoru Gojo,” you curse his name under your breath as if he’d hear you through the walls. “So unserious…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

To be quite honest with himself, Gojo doesn’t necessarily hate you.

The white-haired boy lies on his side on Utahime’s bed, watching you nap. He did knock on the door – believe him, he did. He even gave you the good old ten-second rule, waiting for your response. But then you didn’t, which gave him the initiative to waltz in and see you in your slumber.

You slept so peacefully; your face at peace, and your faint snores were the only things his ears picked up on. It was as if your little nagging show from earlier was hard to comprehend when seeing your tranquil state in front of him. It used to be rare to see you like this. Keywords: used to be.

For the past two to three weeks, your relationship with Gojo has become more…intimate. Ever since he took your first kiss and drew your virgin curtains, the two of you have gotten a little closer than before — both platonically and physically. Something that Gojo never thought he’d experience with you, his tiny, cute frenemy. 

Gojo has known you since freshman year; you were two in the same enrichment group to prepare you to transition into college life. Personally, he wasn’t much for the program; he found it a waste of time, a mandatory prerequisite that he felt he didn’t need. He’s all about experience, wanting nothing more than to get on with his day, go to classes, hang with friends, and repeat. 

“Hello, my name is Y/n. It’s nice to meet you all!”

And then came you, the person sitting across from him at the round table your group would always meet at. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enamored by you the second he saw you. Gojo rarely finds someone who could easily pull his eyes to them — not saying the girls who’d usually crowd and admire him weren’t pretty. There was something about you that kept him wanting to know more – to engage more – about you. 

One thing he knew from you was that you carried your character with pride. Your achievements, your personality, your kindness, and your mannerisms — all of which were displayed elegantly and were a breath of fresh air to look at. You stood out to him more than all the other kids in the group, his eyes always finding a way to steer from the professor’s advice to your alluring, listening face. 

Another thing Gojo liked about you was that you weren’t afraid to stand your ground, especially when discussing with your peers or him. Sure, you were always respectful and would respect other people’s arguments. But, God, the way you said things so constructed and nuanced, it had the tall other glued to you whenever you spoke.

He’s not going to lie; he’ll admit that he’d try to tick you off and get you to get a little angry with him when it came to arguing. He couldn’t help it. He just liked the thought of you layering out of your poised appearance to the point you’d glare at him whenever you saw him in the halls. And it had him giddy knowing he’s the one that made you angry because you looked cute. 

And that was the other thing he really liked about you. The more you two interacted, argued, hung out with his friends, or attended classes together, the more Gojo’s fascination for you turned into that of a school-boy crush. He wouldn’t admit to anyone of this (minus Geto and Shoko if his life depended on it) because it certainly wasn’t something to be known. He was okay with what you two had right now, being the friend who loves to push your buttons to see you nag at him. 

That was until you two started sleeping together. Because holy fuck, the past weeks you two have been sneaking time to have each other’s bodies close made Gojo’s mind go crazy. So fucking crazy like the feeling of you on him is borderline addicting. Your whiny cries calling out to him when he scrapes your sweet spots, your nails scrape on his chest, your half-lidded eyes when you look at him, or how you whisper his name only for him to hear.

This was the kind of relationship you two brewed, a secret thing only between you two. And Gojo was satisfied keeping it like this because it was what you wanted. No need to flaunt it around; it was no one’s business. Besides, he likes having you to himself, seeing a side of you that only he could imagine and experience.

The sensations of your body under his touch, the various tunes of your voice, and the beauty exhibited in your gaze. It was all addicting. You were addicting.

“Who told you to lie on my roommate’s bed? You know she’ll kill you if she ever saw you.” 

It was so addicting that he didn’t even notice you awake until you spoke to him, the erotic memories of you clouding his brain dissipating at the indication of your voice. He smirks, “Oh, I’ll be fine; not like she can hurt me with her tiny self.”

You’re too groggy to roll your eyes, sighing as you turn to your side to face him from across the room. “How long was I out for?”

“Almost an hour,” he replies, switching to sit criss-cross on Utahime’s bed. “I got bored watching TV and knocked.”

“How long have you been in here?”

“Maybe twenty minutes?”

“Just watching me sleep?”

“Yeah.”

You let out a scoff, shaking your head. “Weirdo.”

He snickers at you for recognizing his silliness. “Whaaat? There’s not much to do aside from looking at you. I got bored of the TV.”

“What about your manga?”

“Got bored of that, too.”

“Anyone on your socials that you’d wanna talk to? Girls? Friends? Your teammates?”

“Mmm, nah, none I’d wanna talk to right now.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you mean ‘right now’? You make it seem like I’m keeping you from interacting with your outside life. If you’re bored, talk with whoever you want. Maybe bother Geto…No, nevermind, he’d probably be annoyed since he’s studying.”

Gojo examines you, silently removing himself from your roommate’s bed and treading towards yours. He takes off his sunglasses and places them on top of your dresser before sitting on his knees on the floor. He rests his hands and chin on the edge of your bed, his sky-blue eyes locked in with yours. God, you were so beautiful to look at. 

“I meant that I don’t want to talk to anybody.” Now that he’s closer to you, his voice dials to a whisper. “Not when I got you here to myself.”

He notices your brows drawing upward at the sentence. “To yourself?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, bringing a forefinger to trace your brow. A sensual touch not to startle you. “Just you and me.”

You give him a look as if you think he’s trying to pull something. “Don’t tell me you were making me mad at you earlier just so Haibara and Ijichi could leave, and I’d be stuck with you.”

His smile broadens with every word, his dimples out to see. “No, although I hate that I didn’t think of that myself.” His hand goes to your cheek for his thumb to stroke gently. “Would it have been a bad thing if I did?”

You don’t reply, only placing your hand on his. Your eyes are still on his blue orbs, and – you don’t know this because Gojo has the perfect view of you – the light from the window made them shine charmingly as it highlighted your face. 

“No…I don’t think so,” you murmur, gaze gradually venturing down to his lips. “I like being around you…Satoru.”

He heard his name leave your lips, an invitation to what he wants to do, his eyes fixated on your lips before closing them and drawing in closer. “Me too…”

The kiss was soft and gentle like he always starts with, waiting for you to give him the okay to kiss you again. And when you meekly lick his bottom lip, he gives in to your request and claims your lips again. 

Your moans were so sweet to his ears — his favorite thing to hear — especially when he becomes a little devilish and sucks on your tongue to make you whimper a little louder, turning him on even more. It serves as the perfect distraction for him to snake a hand into your shirt, his hand already making itself home and cupping your breast in your bra. 

You break the kiss with a gasp, and massages to your mound make your breath shaky. “Mmmah…you sneaky pervert,” you name-call him sweetly. 

“Can’t blame me; I just know that you like to have your tits played with.” Gojo sneers, tweaking your nipple to hear you gasp again. “Hey, remember you said you’d suck me off next time?”

“Huh?” The question threw you off before you could fall deeper into a euphoric haze. 

“Don’t ‘huh’ me, you promised!” He whines to you like a hurt puppy. “After I ate you out for twenty minutes straight last time, can I just have your mouth on my dick once?”

“I never told you to eat me out for twenty minutes!”

“You crying and telling me not to stop said otherwise!” He stands his argument, even if you warn him with a glare. “Just suck it, please. I haven’t felt your mouth in a while.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. You didn’t expect to deal with his childish tendencies, but it is Gojo we’re talking about. You sigh, “…Fine, Satoru.” And then the white-headed boy beamed at the confirmation, immediately standing up and heading to your desk. It was an abrupt change of pace for a second until he brought your desk chair out. 

With glee, Gojo flings his jeans and boxers with ease, his half-hard cock out for you to see. He sits on your chair with spread legs, “I’m ready~.”

You roll your eyes, yet the smile on your face sneaks without you knowing while leaving your bed and crouching between his legs. “You’re such a big baby sometimes…”

Your hand finds its way to the body of his dick, gliding it up and down to feel the veins under your palm and fingertips. Gojo hums to your cold fingers, hitching his breath when you tease him with a blow of air. 

Your free hand comes to his balls, massaging his testicles in a way that has his leg jerk. He tries to fight it, but the squirm on his legs says otherwise. “Hahhh, fuck…quit it…”

“Hmm? What, you don’t like it when I tease you?” You peer up at him with a smug grin before using your tongue to lick on the glans slowly, and he covers his mouth before a gasp comes out after lapping on his frenulum. “But when you do it to me, it’s not a problem, huh?”

“Mmmph, shiit, Y/n—Ohhh…!” Another jolt of the hips after you lick and kiss one of his balls, teasing the skin with a kiss and tiny chews that would have him choke on his breath. “Jesus, fuck! Y/n, baby, you’re driving me crazy….Aishhh!!

“Oh, really?” God, you were such a fucking tease. But he fucking loved that so much. “What should I do?” You ask him before sucking on his balls again, and a hand comes to your shoulder to grip. 

“Mmmm…Blow me off, princess,” shivers crawl up his spine as you place kisses from the base of his cock towards the tip. “Please, I wanna feel you…” 

You giggle at his reply, finally taking in his cockhead to your pretty lips and sighing through your nose as you hollow your cheeks to take in more of him. 

Gojo sighs at your licks and sucks on his girth, his erection becoming accommodated to your oral cavity wonderfully. You unhurriedly prompt yourself to take in more of him until your lips reach his pubes, your throat now full of him, and the warmness of your gummy walls makes him squirm more. 

Bobbing your head at a moderate pace, you suck him off to that of a pleasurable cadence. You still use your hands to stroke him, Gojo melting to your touch even more. He throws his head back when you attack his tip again with the onslaught of licks and laps, the hand on his balls roughly kneading them jerks him to moan aloud. 

Fuck, it feels so fucking good having you suck him off like this. How your tongue moved up and down on him was so dangerous, prompting him to place a hand on your head for support. As if that would help, you don’t show him mercy when you suck him harder and faster. The noises coming from your mouth sounded so erotic and pornographic, the heat on his face brewing out more. 

“—Khhmm, fuck, man, I can’t…Ahhh! Y/n, I’m gonna cum if you keep licking it like that. Stop, st—Ahhaaa!!” 

But like he said before – you’re a tease (if not worse than him). You remove Gojo’s dick from your mouth and throat at once, the groan he exerts fueling the fire in your body. You stand to withdraw your shirt, bra, and panties to the ground, knowing Gojo’s watching every move. “Don’t get mad at me; I know how much you wanna cum inside.” 

You pull out the condom from the pocket of your skirt, placing the rubber on his cock after removing it from the wrapper. He couldn’t help but laugh, “Seems like you’re more of a pervert than me if you had that ready while those two were here earlier.” 

“Shut up,” you playfully kiss him with a sneaky bite to his bottom lip. Then, you mount and align your cunt on his dick, the glans kissing your wet labia. “Hmmm, fuck…”

“Relax, cutie,” he kisses you on the cheek while his hands fondle your breasts. 

You slowly descend your slit onto him, the tip of his cock pushing into the entrance of your vagina. A couple of exhales and inhales keep you steady when inserting him into you, not letting the pain distract you from the task at hand. And the both of you moan in unison when it makes it in, your hips leisurely coming down on him until your ass rests on his thighs. 

You grind on him with the roll of your hips, evoking choked intakes of air from him as a hand goes to your ass with vigor. His face to your chest while the other hand plays with one mound. His lips found a nipple to pop into his mouth to suck on. 

With a slow pace, you rock your hips onto him. Your legs bent for your feet to be on his knees, the chair solid enough to withstand you bouncing on Gojo’s dick with repetition.  

“Hoohhh, ohhhh, mmmm,” your hums are expressed in tunes. The curve of his cock is so fucking good, scraping your insides with precision. You couldn’t help but increase the speed just a little bit. 

Gojo keeps sucking on your nipple; the grazes of his teeth and pushing the bud up to the roof of his mouth only fuels more quivers to travel down your bouncing figure. Both of his hands now under your skirt to feel the flesh of your ass under his hungry grasp. He kneads your asscheeks with every thrust to your chasm, and your shrieks get louder by the second. 

“—Mmmph! Shit, shit, you feel so good, pretty,” he finally lets go of your hardened nipple, burying his face to your chest. “So fucking good for me…fuhuuuucck!

You could feel your cunt contract around him; every graze to your sensitive spots prompted your walls to grip around him. He hisses, looking up to see your expression as you ride him out. Fuck, you looked so good on top of him like this. He’ll add this position to the list of things to do again with you.

You peer down to see that Gojo is staring at you, and you quickly bring a hand to cover his eyes. “—Ahhahhn, d-don’t look at me like that! Yer soo embarrassing…!” 

He only chuckles at your shy demeanor, especially during this. But he humors you, not fighting your makeshift blind for him to see you wholly. He’s seen it all already — felt it all, too. And he could never get enough. 

“Ooooh, Satoruuu—Nnaaahh!” He loves how you say his name, your hand traveling to his hair to grab in tuffs. “Oh, fuck, ‘toruuu, I’m gonna cummm…!”

“—Hnngh! Yeah, baby?” Oh, he knows. The way you’re grinding to and fro on his pelvis tells him so. “Go ahead, princess. Clench on me and ride it out.”

And with that, your hips go to an erratic pace that has the both of you holding for dear life. The squeeze of your inner walls clenching on him almost makes him choke on his spit, the nails of his fingertips forming crescents on your skin. And you scream at it, slamming your ass onto him as you both climb up to orgasm. 

Within seconds, it hits the both of you like a train. This had to be Gojo’s favorite part of the entire thing, experiencing having your folds clamp and flutter around him as you cry for him. It took everything in his power not to come with you because he wants to have you on him a little longer. You just felt too good to let go — too addicted to your body to be done with one round.

When the contractions subside while your slurred howls get quieter, Gojo gives you a few minutes to let your body be free from the aftershocks. He knows your body is extra sensitive now, rubbing circles on your back and placing chaste kisses on your clavicle. You hum under his lips, letting the wave of your crescendo exude out from you quietly. 

However, since you wanted to be such a tease, why not be a tease back? At least, that’s what Gojo thought before he threw your cunt another snap of the hips, his cock jabbing into your delicate walls that haven’t recovered yet. A sharp cry comes from your puffy lips, the hand covering Gojo’s eyes finally freeing him to see you. 

He grins with hooded azure eyes, “Sorry, cutie, but I didn’t get to finish. Wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t get to have fun of my own, right?” 

You chew on your lip with trenched brows before bringing your face to his. “Don’t you get carried away like last time, Satoru.”

“No promises, princess~” he sings to your ear before humming into your lips. 

As mentioned before, Gojo doesn’t hate you — he just hates that he can’t fully express liking you. 

But having you on top of him like this, in his embrace, is a nice change of pace he’ll happily get used to.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Okay, everyone, class dismissed! Thank you for your time, and see you all on Friday.”

Professor Naga closes up the last class for today, and the students all get up from the seats of their elevated rows to pack up and leave. The clock is ten minutes before seven o’clock, the winter darkness already claiming the sky with a sheet of night. Students are either famished and heading to the dining hall for food, going straight to their dorms or homes, or staying behind for last-minute conversations.

Gojo was one of the latter, deciding to stay behind to chat with the group for a bit. After packing his backpack and putting on his coat, he slings from the table to jump to the row below him, where you were talking with Haibara and Ijichi. 

You watch his stunt, ready to lecture, “Jesus, Gojo, what’s all that for? You could’ve just walked around.”

“Ehhhh, why would I do that? That’s so lame.” He comes and bends close to you enough to slang his arm around your shoulders. 

But you click your teeth and try to maneuver away from his tall figure. “You’re lame,” you mutter under your breath.

However, Gojo’s ears perked with furrowed brows. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, you lame white furby!” You repeat yourself with a huff and the snow-haired student gawks at your brazenness. 

The two of you argue again; students passing by silently exit the class, others stand and watch, and Professor Yaga can only sigh at yet another altercation between you two. 

However, it quickly dissipates when Haibara laughs from his seat. “You two, there’s never a dull moment.”

You and Gojo blink at the dark brunette before removing Gojo’s hand from your shoulders. “Hmph, it’s not like it’s my fault; he’s the one who starts it.”

“Oh, what could I possibly do to make Y/n so upset with me this time?” He pushes up his sunglasses, snickering at the scowl you send him. 

Ichiji, being the passive second-year he is, meekly changes the topic from the row below you three. “On some brighter news, at least we did well on the presentation.” 

“That’s right!” Haibara happily agrees with the statement, leaning against the chair with his hands behind his head. “Professor Yaga seemed really pleased with our arguments; I don’t think he intervened even once. Plus, he said many good things about how we handled the topic. Nice one, team!” 

The raven-haired one hums at the other’s exclamation. “I think most of it goes to how Y/n and Gojo bounced off each other’s arguments. How you two pulled up examples from the articles yet remained dignified with your viewpoints was cool to witness. I even saw some students be engaged with the conversation, many amazed with how Y/n refuted Gojo’s arguments elegantly and respectfully.”

But most of all, what the two sophomores wanted to mention was that there was no yelling. To them, the professor, and all the students of this class, you and Gojo presented your presentation without a single tone of malice, no pointless teasing, no name-calling, nothing! It was a civil conversation between two opposing sides. To everyone’s surprise — and thankful stars — today was a success.

You chuckle nervously at the praise. “Oh, come on, you two, don’t let me and Gojo take all the credit. You guys did your part. Especially you, Ichiji; you were an exceptional help for my side and finding sources I could build off from.”

Gojo, on the other hand, rolls his eyes. “Psssh, don’t butter them up like that; without us, they would’ve failed this presentation big time. No offense.” He was forced to say that when you called him by his last name and hit him with your elbow.

None taken, the two younger friends say to themselves unbeknownst to each other. 

The tall one continues, “Besides, you were the one who did most of the work. I slacked off until the last minute when you whipped me into shape.” Gojo brings his hand on top of your head for a pat. The action surprised you enough to flinch a bit. “Nice work like always, Y/n.”

Were the stars aligned differently, or did Gojo just compliment you? It certainly took you aback, especially the two others who silently kept their observation to themselves. 

You could only look at his complacent look for a few seconds before you realized the warmth of your cheeks became stronger. Averting your eyes, you remove his hand from your head. “Thanks, Gojo…” you express gratitude. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

A cheeky smile, his dimples prominent to blind you. “Awww, would you two look at that? They’re complimenting me, too~” Another bump to the chest has him cackling like a child, and you shake your head with rolled eyes.

The two younger students observe the scene before Haibara forcibly stretches and yawns to catch the two’s attention. “Man, I’m so hungry; I skipped lunch to prepare for this presentation. Me and Ijichi are gonna meet up with Nanami at the dining hall. You guys wanna come?”

You instantly beam at the proposal; who are you to refuse a dinner with your friends? “Sure! I’d love to…Oh! Wait, let me use the restroom and fill my water bottle.”

You rummage through your backpack for your water bottle before exiting the classroom. The boys watch you descend from row after row, and Gojo says, “Don’t take too long; I’ll convince them to leave without you.”

“Hmph, go ahead and try! They invited me; I don’t know who told you to invite yourself.” You stick your tongue out at him before opening and closing the door behind you. 

Gojo watches you with a smile still plastered on his face for a few seconds before Ijichi makes a tiny cough to catch his attention, the sunglasses-wearing junior turning to look back down to the other two. He notes the albeit cheesy-smiling faces they harbor, and he lifts a brow. “The hell are you two smiling for?”

The raven-haired sophomore squeaks at the sudden firm tone, “N–Nothing!”

“Pfft, oh come on, Kiyo; let’s not act like we didn’t see what we just saw.”

Gojo catches the nuance of Haibara’s comment. “Saw what?”

“You’re over here talking about our faces, but you’re the one who’s smiling at Y/n as they leave the door?” The brunette sophomore sends a wink to his junior, whose face doesn’t change at the comment.

“And your point is?”

“Well, it seems — to me, at least —  there might be something going on with you and Y/n?” 

Gojo was prepared for that, opening his mouth to interject quickly. However, the dark-haired other beat him to the punch. “Now that you mention it, Gojo and Y/n have been kind of…stable? There's still the usual arguments, but those haven't happened as much since last week…”

“Right!?” Haibara points at Ijichi with exclamation, making the other second-year flinch. “For some reason, things seem to be a little quieter with the two of them now, not to mention them hanging out way more often. Everyone’s been talking about it; even Geto and Shoko asked if Gojo had done anything that made Y/n passive?”

“I asked Nanami about it on Monday; he thinks maybe Y/n finally knocked some sense into Gojo’s childish brain to have him be so civil to engage without yelling their head off.”

“Pffthaha, I wouldn’t go that far. Y/n did just kick him in the shin yesterday for scaring them from behind.”

“Ahh, yes, well, that was deserved.”

“You two realize I’m still standing right the fuck here, right?” No, they hadn’t because the two discerned the twitch of Gojo’s brow after conversing about the tall, white-haired boy. 

“But it’s true!”

Another voice enters the set, making Gojo raise his head, and the other two turn to their left. It was some girl and her friend. Gojo knew of her; she sat next to him during class. Again, he knew of her, meaning she had no significance to his knowledge.

And yet, she speaks to the three boys. “You and Y/n have gotten a lot more close these past weeks compared to previous semesters—“

“Real close, too!” Their friend adds on from behind. “It’s as if you two are like a couple.”

“So…Are you two….a thing?”

Gojo could tell from a mile away what this was. Obviously, the first girl has a thing for him — he can see the anxiousness from the twiddle of her thumbs and avoidant eye contact. Although he wasn’t interested, he couldn’t even answer the question the way he wanted. What the hell could he say: that you two are in a secret relationship? He knows you’d have his grave ready before he could finish that confession.

And he can’t say the two of you are in any relationship either; it’s not what you would’ve told them. To everyone else, you and Gojo are friends who would preferably be caught dead rather than lying in bed together. So, might as well keep that facade up.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he starts with the push of his sunglasses. “Y/n is a pretty good friend, and I’d like to keep it at that.”

Haibara and Ijichi turn from Gojo to look at each other and shrug. Before turning back, something caught their eye that caused the two sophomores’ skin to turn white.

Ijichi tries to prevent Gojo from speaking further. “G-Gojo—“

However, the tall one doesn’t listen. “I mean, sure, they got a nice personality and are independent…Kinda pretty, too, not gonna lie. But they’re not really my type. I mean, have you seen them? Just a little person who likes to find trivial stuff to yell at me over. Angry at the world around them, I’d say.“

“Go. Jo.” Haibara says the junior’s name through gritted teeth, bringing his hand up by his neck and drawing an imaginary horizontal line back and forth — a gesture for Gojo to not say anymore. But unfortunately, the sign wasn’t seen, and the words kept pouring out.  

“And to be honest, can you imagine? Me and Y/n, a couple? Jesus Christ, that would be fucking exhausting to deal with, especially with someone so boring and too uncute like them. I’ve seen prettier, been with better. I feel sorry for the poor bastard who does end up with them—“

“SATORU GOJO!”

Now — that sudden burst of yell from a loud, masculine voice — that was what got Gojo’s attention. It’s what got the attention of everyone else in the room. The snow-haired student jerks to look at the professor standing at the front, the older man with a deep frown. “What?

The professor doesn’t answer him. Instead, he points to the left of him with his chin with a huff. With common sense, Gojo turns behind him to see where the older man points. And at that moment, he felt his very being drop to the soles of his feet. Haibara and Ijichi took a slow breath in unison at the immediate tension.

Behind him stood you, a lone figure holding their water bottle within three arm’s length away from the group. But that was sufficient enough for you to have heard everything said. 

Breathing suddenly felt impossible for Gojo; his entire body was stiff under your gaze. His shades could hide his eyes, but he wasn’t sure it could shield the instant shame that slapped him across the face from you. 

And that was another thing: the look you harbored was indecipherable — the true definition of disengagement. There were no widened eyes, quivering lips, or shaky hands. You stood plainly and looked as though you were detached from the entire situation. And that was what scared him the most.

This was strike one.

He dared not move when you began walking up, and your eyes then shifted to ignore his presence. “Hey, Yu,” the brunette straightened his posture at the use of the first name. “I think I’ll have to decline on that dinner offer. I’m a little tired and have a paper I need to work on…Maybe next time?”

“Uhh, yeah, sure, no problem.” He answers with a sweat.

Wait a second. Gojo tries to call for you, “Y/n—“

“Ijichi,” but you immediately shut him down and directed your attention to the other sophomore friend as you put on your coat and stuffed your water bottle back into your bag. “Be sure to submit the presentation template and sources to the course site before the end of the day, please.”

“U–Uhh, already done, Y/n.” He squeaks while reassuring.

Wait, please. The tall one tries again, “Wait, Y/n—“

“Good.” You sling your backpack on, refusing to look at the person trying to talk to you. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, then.” And with that, you turn on your heel and head down the row to leave.

No, wait, stop— “Y/n, wait!” This was strike two. 

Gojo doesn’t hesitate to call out to you. At that moment, he follows you to the class steps where you were a row down left from the door. He grabs your hand without thinking, the size of your palm captured by his slender fingers. He knew it was a risky move, but he had to — he had to get you to talk with him right now, if not ever. Because the latter is something he isn’t ready for, something he didn’t think would be a possibility.

And yet, he will learn this lesson of being prepared for the impossible when you rapidly turn to him. Strike three.

SLAP!

Have you ever seen someone get smacked in the face so hard that their sunglasses come off? The remaining two girls who witnessed it know for sure now. Haibara and Ijichi won’t admit to it as they immediately turn to the other side of the room when they saw your hand move. But please believe they winced at the sound of the impact. The same goes for Professor Yaga, who was too stunned to speak, yet it was a valid outcome. 

Gojo didn’t move a single limb, allowing the stinging feeling on his cheek to course through his facial muscles. His eyes were glued to the carpeted ground; he knew that’s where they were supposed to be. And you snatched your hand away from his grasp, leaving his fingers to suffer in forced loneliness.

“You…you think it’s all fun and games to say stuff like that when I turn my back for a few minutes, huh?” He can see your hand palpitate from his peripheral; the anger depicted alone was enough to interpret. And the tremble in your voice? It felt like an arrow to his being. “…Look at me.”

He’d be a fool to have you repeat yourself; he has lost that right to toy with you now. With a slow inhale, Gojo rotates his head at you, azure eyes tracking up your figure to your face. And when it lands at that destination, his heart is shot down.

Tears stream down vexed, watery eyes. Your brows furrowed, and your bottom lip chewed in a terrible attempt to stop it from quivering. The rise and fall of your shoulders as you moderate your breathing, trying so hard not to let your temper dwell into a deeper phase of ugly. It was bad enough you’re crying in public, in front of your peers, your teacher — and it was because of him. 

“From this day forward,” you fight your sniffles to say your statement as clearly as possible. “Don’t you ever talk to me, Satoru Gojo. Enjoy your life without something as boring as me.”

And with that, you dismiss yourself from him and the class altogether, the room silent even after the slam of the door closed. No one says anything, too shocked from the event to utter a letter. 

The silence aids the ringing in Gojo’s ears, his breathing still having trouble maintaining a balanced front. The cheek you slapped burned with pain; he’s sure the skin is as red as a cherry. 

Oh, fuck.

He brings a hand to his face, his body fighting the trembling. The ringing in his ears worsens, along with the pounding in his head that beats like a drum. His eyes stuck to the ground below him, choosing to focus on something inanimate and not living. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

All he could think of in this time and place was you. Memories flashing right before him, of you and only you. He can hear the way you say his name, both in vexation and in sweet tunes. Your smiles, your frowns, your huffs, your whispers. When your eyebrows scrunch whenever you express worry for him, how you’re never afraid to stand up against him when making a point, the smile that’s been blinding him for many days and nights — the smile he wouldn’t mind seeing for eternity.

All those memories were one stab to his heart after another. And every time a recollection ended, a flash of your crying face would return to haunt him. Tears that weren’t meant to be there but were, and warm feelings you expressed with him were gone the moment he saw your eyes void of feelings for him. At least, that’s what he saw.

He hurt you. That was the only revelation that haunted him where he stood, making his voice falter from confidence. It was a revelation he never meant to bring about. And now that it exists and he sees the damage, nothing would be better for him now than the ground beneath him swallowing him whole.

“What…the fuck…”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 ❤︎ reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[jikookncity]

Fratboy!Jaemin x Reader

WC: 4.1k, mainly fluff, smut in part 2 (go to the end of this post for info)

Jaemin is paired with one of the smartest girls in class for a semester long project...it changes him.

Jaemin showed up to class like he always did — late and freshly showered in the way that screamed he hadn’t bothered to dry his hair. His hoodie was half-zipped, revealing the edge of a sculpted collarbone and a hint of the gold chain he never took off. Girls and guys turned as he entered, subtle whispers floating in the stale lecture hall air.

He smirked, offered a sleepy wink to a blonde two rows ahead, and slid into the nearest seat with a dramatic yawn. Even Professor Lee didn’t seem that mad anymore — he was used to Jaemin's brand of lazy brilliance.

“All right,” the professor said, scanning his clipboard. “Capstone research pairs. This will be your semester-long project.”

Groans followed. Everyone knew once partners were assigned, they were locked in.

“Na Jaemin and Y/N.”

Jaemin barely looked up. He didn’t recognize the name — until you raised your hand silently from the back, already tucking a pen into your hair and closing your laptop. No dramatic reaction. No gasps. You didn’t look excited, or even remotely interested.

Just... efficient.

His brows lifted a little. Huh. You were cute. Like really cute, actually. Ponytail, bit of makeup, glasses perched on your nose. But it wasn’t your looks that caught him — it was the way you didn’t even look at him when you stood up and walked out of the room.

No one ever ignored him. Not like that.

He caught up to you outside, backpack slung over one shoulder, all charm and heat in his step.

“Hey, partner,” he said smoothly, flashing you the million dollar smile that usually had girls forgetting their majors. “We should celebrate. You just scored the best project buddy in the class.”

You didn’t even glance at him. “Celebrating a group assignment sounds like a waste of time.”

He laughed, undeterred. “Wow. Ice cold. I like it.”

You sighed and turned to him, not amused. “Look, we just need to do the work, right? I have a full course load and I don’t mess around with grades.”

He grinned and leaned in, voice low and teasing. “Oh, so you're the overachiever type. Bet you color-code your planner and schedule bathroom breaks.”

You blinked. “Yes. And?”

Jaemin's grin faltered slightly. For the first time in a while, his flirting wasn't just ignored — it was disarmed with surgical precision.

He tried again.

“Maybe we can... start brainstorming tonight?” he offered, voice dropping into that warm register he used when cornering girls at parties. “Your place or mine?”

You stopped walking.

“Library. Six o’clock. Bring your laptop. And maybe try reading the project brief before then.”

Then you walked off, earbuds in, completely immune to the charm that made half the campus swoon.

Jaemin stood there for a moment, watching you disappear into the crowd.

He ran a hand through his hair and laughed under his breath.

“Well, shit,” he muttered. “I think I just got friendzoned before I even had a chance.”

---------------------

Jaemin pushed open the heavy doors of the campus library and let out a soft whistle. It was quieter than usual, the late hour chasing off most of the casual studiers. Only a few scattered students hunched over textbooks, and somewhere deep in the back, he spotted you already seated.

No surprise there.

You were tucked into a corner booth like you owned the place, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, laptop open, highlighter capped between your teeth. A tall iced americano sat untouched next to a thick binder of notes — color-coded, of course. Your glasses were slightly crooked.

Jaemin stopped for a second.

You weren’t trying to be cute. You weren’t trying to impress anyone. But fuck, you looked good. Real good. And somehow, that hit harder than any short dress or party invite.

He smoothed his hair and sauntered over with his usual swagger, dropping into the seat across from you.

“Damn, didn’t realize I had to book a reservation,” he teased, gesturing at your neat little command center.

You glanced up, a smile tugging briefly at your lips. “You’re only two minutes late. That’s basically early for you, right?”

Jaemin chuckled, a bit thrown by your dry wit. “You remembered that?”

You shrugged, eyes flicking back to the screen. “It’s hard to forget when you stroll in halfway through class like you just rolled out of bed.”

His grin widened. “Hey, looking like this takes effort.”

Now you looked at him — really looked — and Jaemin swore something tightened in his chest.

You smiled, soft and a little tired. “You’re actually on time. That’s a good start.”

It wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t sarcastic.

It was… nice. Encouraging. Genuine.

And somehow, it landed deeper than any compliment he'd ever gotten.

You pushed your laptop around to face him, already halfway through an outline. “So, I was thinking we could split the research. I’ll handle the case studies and theoretical framework. You could cover the methodology section?”

Jaemin blinked. “Wait—you trust me with that?”

You shrugged. “Why not?”

“I mean, most people assume I’m just here to coast on someone else’s GPA.”

You tilted your head. “Well, you showed up. And I’ve seen you in class. You’re not dumb, Jaemin.”

That hit him square in the chest.

He stared at you, the joking smile dropping for just a second. You didn’t say it with judgment — just quiet honesty, like you saw right through the surface and didn’t mind what you found underneath.

Jaemin cleared his throat. “Okay. Methodology. Got it.”

He leaned in, suddenly more serious. “I’ll pull my weight. Promise.”

You gave a small nod, eyes back on the screen. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And just like that, the mood shifted. The air between you wasn’t heavy or charged — it was warm, like something slowly unfolding. You weren’t charmed by him. You weren’t impressed by the smile he used on everyone else.

But you saw him. Talked to him like he mattered.

And for the first time in a long, long while… Jaemin wanted to be more than just charming.

He wanted to be good enough for you.

It was nearing midnight, and the library was nearly empty. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and Jaemin had long since stopped pretending he wasn’t into the project. He was focused, typing notes and glancing at you every so often, not because he was bored — but because he liked the way your brow furrowed when you were concentrating, liked the way you softly hummed when you were reading something complicated.

You were the kind of pretty that didn’t try. It just... was.

“You ever take a break?” he asked suddenly, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms over his head, hoodie riding up to reveal a flash of toned skin.

You didn’t even glance. “Not when there’s work to do.”

He grinned. “That sounds exhausting.”

You finally looked at him, eyes soft but firm. “My family’s full of overachievers. Doctors, lawyers, professors. I’m the youngest, so... yeah. I care about grades. A lot.”

Jaemin tilted his head, watching you closely. “That pressure doesn’t get to you?”

You shook your head. “No, it motivates me. They’re not breathing down my neck or anything, but... I want to make them proud. I like being the smart one. My family gave me everything, I want to show them their love and care in me resulted in something great.”

You paused, looking a little embarrassed. “Besides, I actually enjoy the work.”

He smiled, slow and genuine. “That’s kinda hot.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no venom in it. “You flirt like it’s your default setting.”

“Not with everyone.”

That made you look at him again — not with curiosity or interest, but confusion. Because he hadn’t been flirting, not really, not for a while. He’d been listening. Helping. Laughing with you.

And that meant more than any cheesy pickup line.

“Come to my frat party this weekend,” he said, changing the subject.

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because you need to unwind. And because I’ll be there. And you trust me now, right?”

You hesitated.

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. I’ll keep you safe, no weirdos, no pressure, no drunk frat boys grinding on you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re literally a drunk frat boy.”

He grinned. “Exactly. You’ll be protected by the king of them.”

---------------------

The music was already shaking the walls by the time Jaemin met you at the front door of the Sigma Tau house. You were nervous, shifting on your feet in your jeans, white tank top and pink unbuttoned cardigan .

But Jaemin's eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm. “You look good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m literally dressed like a volunteer librarian.”

“Exactly,” he said, leading you inside. “And somehow, still the prettiest girl here.”

His hand lingered on your lower back, just for a second, guiding you through the crowd. You noticed how his touch was gentle — not possessive, not pushy. It made you feel safer than you expected.

Inside, everything smelled like beer and sweat and cologne, but you stuck close to Jaemin’s side. He introduced you to a few of his friends, tossing a casual “This is Y/N, my friend” that made you glance at him in surprise.

Friend. Not “project partner.” Not “cute girl from class.” Just... friend. And yet it sounded like he meant more than that.

For once, Jaemin wasn’t flirting with anyone. Not even a little. His usual teasing was gone, replaced with a protective energy that wrapped around you like a jacket.

And then—trouble.

A guy you didn’t recognize stumbled toward you, already reeking of vodka. “Hey,” he slurred, leaning far too close. “Haven’t seen you before. You’re cute. Wanna dance?”

You stepped back immediately. “No, thank you.”

He ignored it. “Come on, just one dance—”

“She said no.”

Jaemin’s voice cut through the music like a blade. He was at your side in a flash, hand sliding protectively to your waist.

The guy squinted. “What, she your girl or something?”

Jaemin didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the guy, sharp and cool. “She’s my friend. And I don’t like it when my friends are uncomfortable. You understand?”

His frat bros — the ones who’d never seen Jaemin act like this — quieted a little. Even the music seemed to fade. The guy held up his hands and backed off, muttering an apology.

Jaemin turned to you, voice soft now. “You okay?”

You nodded, chest a little tight. “Thanks.”

He didn’t let go of your waist, not right away. Just kept you close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for the first time that night, you looked up at him — really looked — and something in your chest fluttered.

Because he hadn’t been trying to charm you.

He’d just been himself.

And maybe that was even more dangerous.

“Let me walk you home,” Jaemin said, already pulling his hoodie over his head as the cool night air swept through the porch of the frat house.

You hesitated, but he was already holding the door open for you.

“I’m not drunk,” you said.

“I know.”

“I could’ve taken the bus.”

“I know that too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then why?”

He shrugged, smile lazy but eyes sincere. “Because I wanted to.”

You didn’t argue after that.

The two of you walked side by side under the streetlamps, your shoulder occasionally brushing his. It was quiet — not awkward, just... calm. And even though you'd been surrounded by music and people all night, this somehow felt more intimate.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you said eventually, breaking the silence. “And for... stepping in earlier.”

Jaemin glanced over at you, jaw tightening just slightly. “Yeah. That guy was an asshole.”

You offered a small smile. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I did,” he said simply.

You paused at the corner near your apartment, turning to face him under the glow of a flickering lamppost. He looked good in the dark — hoodie pushed back, eyes warm, mouth soft.

You opened your arms, tentative. “Hug goodbye?”

Jaemin didn’t hesitate. He stepped in and wrapped his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he'd been waiting for it all night.

You felt how careful he was — how tightly he wanted to hold you, but didn’t. How he let you set the rhythm. His hand pressed lightly to your back, and you breathed in the scent of his cologne and fabric softener.

When you pulled away, your voice was quieter. “Goodnight, Jaemin.”

He gave you a lopsided smile, a little dazed. “Night, Y/N.”

You didn’t see the way he watched you until you disappeared into your building.

---------------------

By the following week, something had changed.

You weren’t sure when it happened — but Jaemin started showing up to the library early. Not late. Not casually on time. Early.

And with coffee.

“Americano, no sugar,” he said, placing it beside your laptop like it was nothing.

You blinked. “How’d you know?”

He smiled and tapped his temple. “I remember things.”

That became routine. He’d bring your coffee. Sometimes a muffin. Sometimes a note scribbled on a napkin: “Reminder: You’re killing it. Let’s ace this thing.”

And when you looked over at his screen, he wasn’t just pretending to work — he was actually working. Focused. Quiet. Highlighting things. Organizing sources. Color-coding notes.

You leaned in once and asked, “Did you seriously highlight this entire chapter?”

“Yep,” he said, popping a piece of gum in his mouth. “In your system. Blue for theory, pink for data, yellow for examples, right?”

Your jaw dropped. “You remembered my color code?”

He grinned, winking. “Told you I pay attention.”

Back at the frat house, it didn’t go unnoticed.

Jaemin sat on the couch, hoodie pulled tight over his head, textbooks open on his lap — while the rest of his frat brothers tossed chips at each other and shouted at a FIFA game.

“Bro,” Chenle said, laughing, “you’ve been home studying like every night this week. Who is she?”

Mark leaned in with a mock gasp. “Oh my god. You’re whipped.”

Jaemin didn’t even blink. “And?”

Jeno tossed a Dorito at him. “You’re wearing blue highlighter on your sleeve right now.”

Jaemin looked down. Smirked.

“I like her,” he said simply. “She makes me want to try harder.”

The room fell silent for half a second. Then someone shouted, “You’re in love!” and the teasing exploded all over again.

But Jaemin didn’t flinch. He leaned back against the couch, one arm draped lazily behind his head, eyes still scanning the textbook.

Because yeah.

He was in it.

And for once in his life, he wasn’t looking for a quick win.

He was playing the long game — and for her?

He’d wait as long as it took.

---------------------

The library was mostly empty again — just you, Jaemin, and the faint hum of the heating vents kicking in every now and then.

It was past midnight.

You had your laptop open, one foot tucked under you, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. Jaemin sat across from you, elbow on the table, spinning a pen between his fingers while you spoke softly about your outline.

“…so if we lead with the theory, then follow with the data sets from the 2020 case study—what?”

He was staring at you.

Not in a mocking way. Not in a distracted way.

In that way that made your words falter and your chest feel uncomfortably warm.

“You get like this,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Focused. Intense. You kinda zone out when you’re passionate about something. It’s cute.”

You frowned, half-suspicious. “You’re teasing me again.”

“No,” he said, voice even softer now. “I’m not.”

You didn’t say anything.

Jaemin shifted in his seat, expression a little tighter now — like he was debating something in his head.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, and rested his chin in his hand. “Can I ask you something?”

You glanced up warily. “Sure.”

“Would you ever date someone like me?”

The air went still.

You blinked once. Then again. Slowly.

“…what do you mean ‘someone like you’?”

He gave a small, self-conscious smile. “I mean… a frat guy. Who didn’t care much about school until recently. Who flirts too much. Who maybe talks a little too loud and parties a little too hard.”

Your brows lifted.

“Jaemin,” you said gently, “why are you asking that?”

He shrugged, but it was a nervous kind of shrug. “Because I like you. And I don’t know how to say it without scaring you off.”

Your heart thumped painfully hard. You stared at him, brain short-circuiting.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. You weren’t stupid. You just… hadn’t let yourself think about it.

Because Jaemin had been your project partner. Your friend. Your surprisingly thoughtful coffee delivery guy. You didn’t want to ruin anything.

And now here he was, sitting across from you, looking unfairly pretty under cheap library lights, finally saying what he hadn’t for weeks.

“I don’t…” you started, then stopped.

His eyes flicked up. “It’s okay.”

“No, I’m not saying no,” you rushed. “I just… I don’t know, Jaemin. I like hanging out with you. I trust you. I think you're—” You stopped again. “I just need time.”

Something in his face softened — the tension easing from his shoulders as he leaned back in his seat, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“You can have all the time you want,” he said.

And then, teasing again — but gentler this time:

“As long as I still get to bring you coffee and highlight your notes.”

You exhaled a shaky laugh, eyes crinkling. “Deal.”

And even though you didn’t say it, the thought crept in anyway, quiet and dangerous:

Maybe I like him too.

---------------------

Jaemin was in his living room when you found him — hoodie on, hair pushed back, knees pulled up on the couch with a textbook balanced in his lap. Chenle let you into the frat house after you showed up my surprise. Mark and Jeno were yelling at the TV, controllers in hand, but Jaemin looked up the second the door opened.

You looked nervous. His heart skipped.

“Hey,” you said, voice barely audible over the sound of button-mashing chaos.

Jaemin blinked, then stood up quickly. “Hey—yeah. You okay?”

“Can we talk?”

He nodded, gesturing toward the hallway. “Yeah. Come on.”

You followed him into the kitchen, where it was quieter. The fridge hummed. One of the overhead lights flickered. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, waiting for you to speak — not pushy, just watching.

You shifted awkwardly, eyes fixed on the linoleum floor.

“I’ve been thinking about something you said,” you started slowly. “Back at the library.”

He tilted his head. “About the outline?”

You shot him a flat look.

He grinned. “Okay, sorry.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. Then it dropped. “No, seriously. When you asked if I’d ever date someone like you.”

Jaemin’s expression changed. A little more cautious now. A little more still.

You took a breath.

“I didn’t like how you said it. ‘Someone like me,’ like that means something bad. Like you’re just a frat guy who flirts too much and doesn’t care.”

He didn’t say anything.

You stepped closer.

“You’re not just a frat guy, Jaemin. You’ve been… so kind to me. You listen. You show up. You remember things. You study with me. You make me feel safe.”

You swallowed.

“You’re smart. And funny. And—actually a really good friend. I think anyone would be lucky to have you around. And you deserve people who treat you like that.”

His jaw was clenched lightly now, like he was trying not to smile too soon, but it was already blooming behind his eyes.

You exhaled shakily. “So. Yeah. I guess I just wanted to say that.”

Jaemin stared at you for a moment, taking you in. And then, softly:

“I really like you, Y/N.”

You looked down, shy all over again.

“I kind of figured that out,” you muttered, smiling into your sleeve.

He stepped closer. Not touching you yet — just near enough to make the air feel thicker.

“If you’d grant me the honor,” he said, voice gentle, “I’d really like to take you on a date. A real one. Just us. No textbooks. No highlighters.”

You laughed — quiet and full, like it had been waiting to escape.

“Okay,” you said. “I’d like that.”

Jaemin’s smile turned brighter, almost boyish in its joy. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t crowd you. He just stood there beaming, like you’d handed him the world.

And for the first time since you'd started this project… maybe you had.

---------------------

Jaemin was already bouncing on his feet when you showed up outside the arcade, hoodie strings swaying and a grin tugging at his lips like he couldn’t contain it.

“You’re seriously taking me to an arcade on our first date?” you teased.

He mock-gasped. “Excuse me, this is a carefully curated experience of childhood nostalgia, light competition, and sugar-fueled bonding.”

You snorted. “So… an arcade.”

“Exactly,” he said, and held the door open for you with a dramatic bow.

Inside, everything buzzed with light and energy — flashing machines, digital sounds, coins clinking, the sweet scent of slushies and popcorn in the air. Jaemin handed you a loaded-up card and shot you a wink. “Hope you’re ready to lose.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Ten minutes later, he was sure of exactly one thing: he was getting destroyed.

You beat him at skee ball. You beat him at basketball. You beat him at air hockey so badly he pretended to dramatically cry in a corner while you laughed so hard your stomach hurt.

“WHO ARE YOU?” he yelled over the sounds of electronic guns and kids screaming. “Have you been lying to me this whole time?! Are you secretly training for the Olympics of Fun?”

You leaned on the air hockey table, breathless with laughter. “I told you I have older brothers. I grew up playing all this. You just didn’t listen.”

He was speechless. For once.

Which was why you grinned and leaned in, brushing his shoulder lightly. “Still think I’m just a study nerd?”

Jaemin laughed, eyes sparkling. “I think you’re dangerous. And I’m obsessed.”

He walked you home again, hands stuffed in his pockets, that cocky grin finally softened into something quiet and glowy.

The city had calmed down for the night. Streetlights buzzed softly overhead, and your arms brushed once, then twice — and then you stopped pretending it was an accident and let them swing together.

When you reached your door, you turned to face him, heart thudding.

Jaemin scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy in a way that melted you.

“So…” he said slowly. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

You blinked, surprised — not that he wanted to, but that he asked.

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

He leaned in slowly. Gently. His hand hovered near your jaw but didn’t touch — just in case. Then his lips pressed to yours, warm and soft and careful, and the moment was still and sweet and—

He pulled back, eyes flicking to yours, checking. Waiting.

You didn’t speak.

You just grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanked him in, and kissed him again — deeper this time. Your mouths moved in sync, all heat and want and finally. His hands found your waist, tentative at first, but then grounding you to him as your back hit the door.

You kissed until you were breathless, until your fingers curled in his hoodie and your mind spun. When you finally broke away, cheeks flushed and lips tingling, you just stared at him for a second.

“…That was fun,” you said softly.

Jaemin laughed, breath hot against your skin. “Yeah. Really fun.”

You pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him back gently. “Goodnight, Jaemin.”

He looked dazed. “Night.”

You slipped inside and closed the door, pulse racing.

Jaemin walked into the house with his hoodie crooked, hair mussed, lips still pink and so obviously kissed. He didn’t even try to hide the stupid grin on his face.

Mark looked up from the couch and burst out laughing. “Ohhh shit, someone got lucky!”

“Bro didn’t even try to play it cool,” Jeno added. “You’re glowing. Like a Disney princess.”

Jaemin just flopped onto the couch and covered his face with both hands, still smiling so hard it hurt.

“She kissed me first,” he said dreamily.

Jisung cackled. “He’s gone.”

And yeah, maybe he was.

Because Y/N kissed like she meant it. Like she was finally seeing him for exactly who he was.

And Jaemin?

He was never going to get enough.

------------------

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Sneak peak of part 2:

He turned to face you, hands on your hips again, slower this time. More lingering. He kissed you at the door — soft at first, then deeper, like he couldn’t help himself. Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him close.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your voice was small.

“…You don’t have to leave yet.”

Jaemin just smiled, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“I wanna stay,” he whispered. “But if I stay… I won’t stop.”

You blinked at him, heart pounding.

He kissed your forehead this time, gentle and affectionate.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

[piastriprincess]

fight  so  dirty  (love  so  sweet)  ⸻  yuki  tsunoda  x  reader  .

featuring  yuki  tsunoda  ,  university!au  ,  enemies  to  lovers  ,  forced  proximity word  count 2.7k author’s  note  requested  by  anon  !  this  is  soooooo  late  but  i  hope  you  like  it  .  this  was  supposed  to  come  out  on  sunday  for  yuki’s  birthday  but  i’m  too  much  of  a  perfectionist  and  didn’t  feel  like  i  had  it  quite  right  .  i’m  sorry  yuki  nation  !!  please  forgive  me  </3  as  always  please  come  tell  me  what  you  think  ,  and  (special  secret  heehee)  my  birthday  event  will  be  out  tonight  !  title  is  from  teeth  by  five  seconds  of  summer  .

31:  vanilla  perfume  and  a  kitchen  counter  .

One credit.

That’s all that stands between you and your dreams — cap and gown, popping champagne bottles with your friends, flying off to the city and starting a new life. One stupid, measly, ridiculous credit. 

You’re a planner. You built a summa cum laude career off of your meticulously organized Google calendar and endlessly updated to-do lists. So when your advisor tells you that your perfect plan leaves you one credit short of graduating in your meeting at the beginning of your last semester of college, you could have sworn she was joking, if not for the poorly disguised panic in her voice. 

When you searched for an extra class that would fit into your schedule, there was only one result. Fundamentals of Flavor, the course catalog blinked back at you. Description: An introductory exploration into the science, art, and cultural context of cooking. Students will learn foundational culinary techniques, investigate the building blocks of flavor, and engage in hands-on recipe development. No prior cooking experience required! Just a willingness to try (and occasionally fail deliciously).

RateMyProfessor told you it was an easy A, and several reviews mentioned Professor Alonso’s “good vibes” and his habit of bringing in Spanish desserts for the class every week. So what if you could barely boil water? All things considered, it could be worse. 

That was before you met Yuki Tsunoda.

You show up five minutes early to the first class. It’s early enough to beat the other second-semester seniors taking it for the elective credits, but apparently too late for the culinary arts majors — half of the class is seated already at the various steel prep tables lined up around the room, laughing and joking with each other about souffles and quenelles and other shit you can’t pronounce. You look around the class for a seat that’s close enough to see the board but far enough back to not get called on. There’s one boy sitting alone at a table in the middle, headphones in, dark hair flopping into his eyes. Bingo. You drop your bag at the corner of the prep table, slide onto the stool next to him, pull out your phone and start scrolling through Twitter. 

The boy clears his throat, pulling an AirPod out of his ear. “You can’t sit there.”

For a moment, you don’t realize he’s speaking to you, but when he clears his throat again, you turn to him. Take in the sharp cheekbones, the strong jaw, the dark eyes, something simmering behind them. He’s striking. You blink, slightly dazed. “What do you mean?”

“The seat’s taken,” he snaps, and whatever thoughts you just had about him sour completely, lost in the sharp bite of his words. “I’m saving it for my roommate.” 

Who does this guy think he is? Some arrogant wannabe chef who thinks he owns the prep station? 

“Well, there was no bag there,” you say slowly, saccharine smile on your face. “So I guess you’re not saving it any more.”

His eyes flash, jaw ticks, and you feel a little surge of pride in your stomach at managing to take him down a peg. He’s about to open his mouth to respond when an older man with long hair and a five o’clock shadow is already sweeping towards the front of the room. The boy snaps his mouth shut, sits up a little straighter like it’s someone he’s desperate to impress. 

“Buenos dias, clase,” the man says, clapping his hands together with a wide smile when he reaches the front of the room. “I am Professor Alonso. Welcome to Fundamentals of Flavor. This semester, we will be —”

The door flies open, and a dark-haired boy stumbles into the room, gasping for air like he’s just run all the way across campus. Isack, you think distantly — communications major, your year. French, if you’re remembering right. He probably knows how to pronounce quenelle in his sleep. You watch him scan the room and zero in on your seat partner, mouthing a what the fuck? at him before he takes the only open seat left, a few rows behind the two of you. 

“As I was saying,” Professor Alonso continues in his heavily accented English when you tune back in, “you will be working for the semester with the other chef at your prep table. Get to know each other, work together! Cooking is about collaboration, unexpected ingredients mixing together into something beautiful.” He pauses, eyes glinting with humor. “Also, your grade depends on it.”

“Perfect,” your seat partner mutters under his breath, and you roll your eyes. 

“Let’s get cooking!” Professor Alonso says with the maniacal cheerfulness of those professors lucky enough to get tenure, and claps his hands once. The room erupts into chaos: conversation and laughter, the hiss of burners and the clang of pans.

You turn to the boy next to you, introduce yourself, and he scoffs at you. Actually scoffs. You didn’t know people really did that. 

“Last chance to switch,” he challenges you, quirking an eyebrow petulantly. You’d probably think it was cute if you didn’t already want to punch it off his face.

“No, no. No switching, Yuki!” Professor Alonso calls from the front of the room, and the boy — Yuki — flushes. “Fate brought the two of you together. You will make an exciting pair, I can see it.”

Fate, as it turns out, has a pretty nasty sense of humor. You’re not sure if it’s the general chaos of second semester or the mutual loathing, but somehow, you and Yuki Tsunoda become the disaster duo of Fundamentals of Flavor. 

The first week, when you’re supposed to sweat the garlic, you and Yuki start bickering, and the aromatics burn so badly that the entire room has to be aired out. In week three, you’re so distracted by an argument about whether to preheat the oven to 350° or 375° that you put salt instead of sugar into the Basque cheesecake batter. The week after that, he nearly throws a pan at you when you ask if he needs a booster seat to reach the spices for your curry. 

Despite the passive-aggressive sniping in both English and Japanese and the absolute disasters you’ve created, you’re barely scraping by thanks to Yuki’s actual talent. You’ve learned he’s basically the star of the culinary arts department, a Michelin chef in the making, and he’s somehow managed to salvage every kitchen catastrophe into a semi-passable dish. 

It still doesn’t seem to impress Professor Alonso though, who mostly just sighs and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ay dios mío under his breath every time he passes your table. If cooking is about collaboration, as he said on the first day, you and Yuki are oil and water. Actually, you’re baking soda and vinegar — chemically opposite, volatile, destined for an explosive reaction. 

That reaction happens on a rainy Thursday afternoon.

“I said stir slowly,” Yuki grumbles, hovering over your shoulder as you attempt to reduce a mushroom sauce. 

“I am stirring slowly,” you retort, not looking at him. If you do, the wooden spoon in your hand might fly dangerously close to his temples.

“No, you’re not. That’s aggressive stirring. That’s I-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing stirring.”

You glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes left, and then it’ll be the weekend, and you can spend it not thinking about Yuki Tsunoda and his impossible attitude. Deep breath in. “Do you just want to do it?”

“Actually, I don’t want to keep fixing your fuck-ups, but I guess I have to,” he says, annoyingly smug, and you just snap, setting the spoon down a little too hard and whirling around to face him.

“God, you are so —” you cut yourself off as quickly as you can, because you can see the delight in his eyes that he’s gotten under your skin, and you hate it. 

“Short-tempered?” he supplies, like he’s trying to be helpful, with the most infuriating little smile on his face. 

You smirk, and it’s venom off your lips. “I was going to keep it at short.”

His cheeks color with furious heat, and the look in his eyes — Well. You’re glad that there are several witnesses around who can prevent him from taking one of the chef’s knives gleaming above you and running you through with it. “You’re impossible.”

“I aim to please,” you sing, turning back to the pan to check it. The sauce is catching at the bottom, flecking the creamy white with ugly brown specks. Probably because you didn’t stir it for five minutes while you were arguing with your partner.  

“You aim like shit,” he says flatly, jaw tightening as he minces shallots like he has a personal vendetta against them. “And don’t wear that perfume next time. It messes with everyone’s sense of smell. It’s distracting.”

You blink, pulse doing something strange under your skin. “It’s vanilla. It’s barely there.”

“It’s not barely anything,” he snaps. “You’re making a savory sauce and it’s going to taste like a Bath and Body Works threw up in it.”

You turn to him, giving him a withering glare as he bastes a filet with butter. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware Professor Alonso died and made you the head chef.”

He looks back at you, eyes sharp. “I’m trying to get us a decent grade. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Your spoon clatters against the edge of the pan, forgotten. “You know I need the credits. You’re not the only person here who cares about passing the class,” you say, seething as you take a step closer to him. 

He steps up to you, like he’s been waiting for the challenge. His chest rises and falls, too fast, and you can feel the heat radiating off him. “You treat it like a joke.”

“I treat you like a joke,” you bite, voice low and hot. “There’s a difference.”

“At least I don’t —” he starts, but the smell hits you before he finishes. Acrid. Sharp. You both turn at the same time to look at what you already know will be there: a scalded duxelles cream sauce and a completely, irreparably charred filet. 

Professor Alonso is already walking over, arms crossed and brows furrowed. “I leave you two alone for fifteen minutes, and you manage to set French cuisine back a decade?” 

Yuki fidgets beside you under his gaze, and Professor Alonso shakes his head. When he speaks next, his voice is softer. “I’m disappointed in you both. Come in tomorrow to fix this. I’ll open the prep kitchen for you. Stay for as long as it takes.”

There goes your weekend. 

When you get there the next day, the kitchen is quieter than you’ve ever heard it. No chatter, no Alonso, just the soft hum of the fridges, the buzz of the overhead fluorescent lighting, and the clang of metal when you drop your bag next to the prep table with a little more force than necessary.

“Glad you finally showed up,” Yuki says without looking up. His sleeves are rolled up as he lays out the ingredients, dark fabric against pale forearms, and you hate yourself for noticing. 

“I was literally one minute late,” you retort, stepping around him to the sink. As you wash your hands, you stare longingly out the window. It’s a beautiful day, and you can spot classmates on the lawn outside, soaking up that late-spring sun in their final weeks on campus. And instead of joining them, you’re stuck in a test kitchen with an ill-tempered chef whose personal mission is apparently to make your life miserable. 

You step back into your spot, reach for the mushrooms, but Yuki’s grabbing them first. 

“I was going to cut those,” you say flatly. 

“I noticed,” he replies, chopping at the vegetables with surgical precision. “But you messed up the mince last time. They were soggy. That’s why the sauce didn’t work.”

“Oh my god, are you still blaming me for yesterday?” you say, breathless. 

“Pretty sure someone burnt —”

“I didn’t mean to, asshole! You’re the one who started an argument with me over nothing.”

“Well, you were wearing that stupid perfume again and I couldn’t think about anything else!” he snaps, and you stop cold. 

“What did you just say?” you say slowly, taking him in. There’s color high in his cheeks and his eyes are bright with an expression you’ve never seen before. Your stomach flips traitorously at the sight.

Yuki’s jaw tightens, like he wishes he could snatch the words out of the air. “The perfume,” he bites out, dropping the knife on the cutting board. “It’s been driving me crazy since the first day of class.”

You blink. “You’re blaming your inability to treat me like a decent human being on my perfume?”

“It gets in my head,” he snaps, and suddenly he’s in front of you, heat radiating off his body in the narrow space. “Every time you walk in, it’s all I smell. Vanilla and heat, and it fills up the whole fucking room, and — it distracts me. I can’t think. I can’t cook. I can barely breathe.” 

He smells like citrus and steel, his chest is heaving, and he’s looking at you like he wants to throttle you or kiss you, you’re not sure which. The tension between the two of you coils like steam off boiling water. “Sounds like you’re a little obsessed with me, Tsunoda,” you murmur, the ghost of a smug smile on your lips.

“Oh, you drive me fucking insane,” Yuki spits, voice hoarse, and then he’s surging forward, his mouth crashing into yours. 

The kiss is a shock of heat and mouth and hands, teeth clashing and feverish touch and irritation melting into want. Your hand fists into the hair at the nape of his neck, and he groans, short and frustrated, like he wasn’t expecting to like this so much. 

“You’re such an asshole,” you breathe against his mouth, as he backs you up into the counter. “Can’t just kiss me to shut me up.” His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, lifting you onto the counter. You gasp against his lips at the feeling of the cool metal on your bare legs, and he takes the opportunity to slot his tongue into your mouth, and honestly this all shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

He ignores your retort, settling in between your legs. “Taste so sweet,” he mumbles against your lips, trailing his mouth down your neck. His teeth graze the line of your jaw, and you try to keep things under control, you really do, but your body betrays you and you let out a whimper. The smile on his face at the sound makes your skin prickle. “Like vanilla. Knew you would.”

Your fingers curl around his collar, pulling him back up to eye level as you wrap your legs around his waist. “This doesn’t mean I like you,” you say breathlessly as you search his face, cheeks flushed and eyes wild. 

“Good,” he growls, pushing closer, closer to you, like he’ll die if every part of his body isn’t pressed to yours. “Because I can’t stand you.”

And yet — when you pull him in again, grabbing his face and kissing him like you’ve been waiting for it all semester — you can feel his smile against your lips. 

The dish gets stunning marks when you present it at the next class. Professor Alonso can’t stop raving about it, complimenting the creativity of the spice you’d added and the balance of the ingredients against each other, working in unexpected harmony. 

Yuki doesn’t smile. But when he bumps his knee against yours under the table, brushing his fingers over the spot on your wrist where you’d dabbed extra perfume earlier, you don’t pull away.

[covenofagatha]

Do I wanna know? (Part 5)

Carol wants to make amends and you and Agatha adjust to life in different states

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: phone sex, sex toys, masturbation

Agatha drops you off at the train station the next morning and you keep your face pressed against the window until she becomes too small for you to see as it pulls away. Your breath has fogged up the glass and before you can think about it, you draw a heart with your finger. 

You can still feel the ghost of the hug she gave you lingering and you burrow down into the crewneck you stole from her that has her scent before pulling out your laptop from your bag. 

By the time the train stops in Westview, you’ve submitted your application to the University at Albany and finished most of your homework for the week ahead. 

Alice picks you up from the station and you shoot Agatha a text to let her know that you made it and that you miss her already. 

I miss you too, honey. But I’ll see you in two weeks, okay? 

Before you had left, the two of you had poured over your schedules in an attempt to find the soonest you could go visit or she could come to you. Driving up on a weeknight for you didn’t make sense because you had classes in the morning and the afternoon, and Agatha has client meetings this upcoming weekend. You weren’t sure you’d been apart for that long since that fateful day you and Wanda snuck into the pool at your dad’s house. 

“How was your trip?” Alice asks and you ignore the heavy feeling weighing on your heart. It wasn’t a secret among your friends that you were dating an older woman—you decided to use the word girlfriend, even if it hadn’t been explicitly said—and Alice had already volunteered to pick you up and drop you off at the train station if you ever needed it. You were so thankful that you’d gotten an amazing roommate out of the random assignment. 

“It was good, yeah. Kind of sad, but I think we’re going to be okay.” You still hadn’t told her that you were planning on transferring at the end of the semester as long as you got into the University at Albany, but you figured there was no need to mention it now. “I’m going to go see her in two weeks. And then she might come here the week after, and then when we have fall break I’ll go up.” 

Alice glances at you with a reassuring smile. “You guys are making time for each other. That’s a real sign that it’ll work out.” 

You nod, believing it yourself. You’re most excited for her to come down for your birthday at the end of October—maybe you’d even be able to convince her to go to a Halloween party with you. 

“It’ll be okay,” you state firmly. “How was your weekend?” 

Alice chews on her bottom lip. “It was chill. Did some homework. I think I’m going to try to get a job at the mall, you know, just to make some money. Oh—and that girl Carol stopped by the room yesterday.” 

A flash of anger bolts through you, still holding a bit of a grudge over what she said about you and Agatha. “Oh?” you hum through gritted teeth. 

“She was asking when you were coming back and said she wanted to apologize for how she acted. Something about her crossing a line?” 

With a heavy sigh, you push away your budding annoyance and realize that you’re going to have to talk to Carol sooner or later. 

She is a good friend and you tell yourself that you know her heart was in the right place. You may have been overreacting just a little, not that you would ever admit it, still fragile over your insecurities about your relationship. 

But you’re feeling good now. “I’ll talk to her.” 

Alice nods in approval and turns into the parking lot in front of your dorm building. She carries one of your bags for you and you trail after her up to your room. The world feels weird now with Agatha in a different state, like there’s a piece that’s missing. 

It’s okay, you tell yourself. Two weeks. It’s only two weeks. 

You busy yourself by putting away the things in your bag, giving Alice a shifty glance before sliding the box that contains the vibrator from Agatha into your nightstand. Your clit pulses involuntarily and you squeeze your thighs together—you cannot wait to use it. Even the thought of Agatha making you cum from all the way in New York has your heartbeat quickening and you hope she’s not going to be too busy this evening so you can try it out. 

Just as you finish unpacking, there’s a knock on the door to your dorm and Alice watches from her bed as you go and open it. 

It’s Carol, standing there sheepishly with a red hoodie and blue jeans and holding a plate with four cupcakes covered with saran wrap on them. She offers you the plate and you slowly take it, eyes darting from the dessert back to her. 

“Hi,” she says and you glance back at Alice, who is clearly pretending to not pay attention. You smile awkwardly and step forward into the hall, closing the door behind you. Even though you’ll tell Alice exactly what happened, you feel like Carol might want the illusion of privacy. 

“Hi,” you respond stiffly. It’s clear that she’s expecting you to start the conversation but you hold your ground. You’re not the one who needs to be sorry here.

Carol shifts and looks down at her feet before trying again. “I just want to apologize again for what I said about you and your girlfriend. I completely overstepped and it was really shitty of me, I just want you to be careful and be okay. But I know you know what you’re doing and it’s your relationship and I just want to be friends again.” 

She holds out her hand for you to shake. After a moment, you begrudgingly accept it and Carol’s face breaks into a grin. You smile back despite yourself and a weight feels like it’s been lifted. You didn’t realize how tense the strain between the two of you was making you feel and you hate to admit that you may have missed her a little. She’s older and cool and it would be good for you to have a friend like her around campus, especially without having Agatha to run to almost every night and weekend. 

It might be time for you to actually focus on college and having a social life. There’s a small voice in your head that says maybe you shouldn’t because it’ll make it harder to transfer, but you push it down. Having long-distance friends would be much easier than a relationship and whenever you come to visit your parents, you’d be able to see Alice and Carol and whomever else you’d want to. 

“Will you take me flying now?” you ask and she laughs before patting you on the shoulder. 

“Sure,” she agrees, sounding lighter as well. “Maybe we could get dinner sometime, too? There’s a great burrito place just off-campus. I’m free Tuesday night?” 

You mentally search your head for anything you might have going on that day and you draw a blank. Without Agatha here, you might have a lot more free time now. 

“That works for me,” you say and Carol claps your shoulder. You reach under the saran wrap on the plate of cupcakes and offer her one. 

She takes it. “Perfect, I’ll pick you up here at around six or so?” 

You nod and she gives you one last smile before walking away, taking a large bite into the cake. You watch her until she turns the corner and you go back into your dorm room. 

Alice is still lounging on her bed, arms folded across her chest, smirking at you. “How was it?” 

Shrugging, you set the plate down on top of the mini-fridge Alice brought from home. “We’re all good now. We’re going to get dinner Tuesday. Apparently there’s a good burrito place off-campus. Want to come?” 

She raises an eyebrow and tries to fix her face into something less obvious. “Yeah, I don’t really think Carol will want me there.” 

The bed dips under you as you climb into yours and lean against the wall so you’re facing your roommate. “What do you mean?” you ask and she looks incredulous. 

“She definitely likes you,” she says, like it’s the clearest thing in the world and you’re daft for not being able to see it. 

You splutter something nonsensically before spitting out, “What?” Embarrassment floods through your cheeks and your eyes dart furiously around the room, not wanting to accept it, even though a small part of you knows she’s probably right. 

Alice raises an eyebrow and you scoff. 

“She knows I’m with someone. I don’t think she’d actually do anything even if she did like me. We’re just friends,” you protest and Alice only looks slightly convinced. 

“Mhmm,” she hums and you roll your eyes before grabbing your phone and throwing yourself off your bed. Your feet hit the floor and send a jolt through your shins and you wince. 

Grabbing your keys, you try to look as unbothered as possible as you walk to the door. “I’m going to get some groceries.” 

Even if Carol does like you, she most definitely knows how serious you are about Agatha. And if she doesn’t accept that or tries to make a move, you will have no qualms about actually cutting her off. 

—

Agatha calls you just as you finish up your last class on Tuesday and you happily press accept and crane your neck to position your phone between your ear and your shoulder so you can walk out of the building with your hands free. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says and you melt at hearing her voice. It was her first day of work yesterday so you didn’t get to talk to her much, but this more than makes up for it. 

“Hi,” you chirp and catch people staring at your wide grin. You try to look less like you just won the lottery. “How are you?” 

There’s a slight rustling on her end and you look at your watch on your wrist. Five-fifteen. She might just be finishing work now, you still don’t know her schedule. “Good, good,” she hums, slightly out-of-breath. “Just getting to my car. What are you up to?”

“Oh, just finished class,” you tell her. “Walking back to my dorm now. How’s work? Do you like it?” 

The audio cuts out momentarily as you shove the door open and walk outside, the bright sunlight making you sneeze. You swear under your breath as you almost get run over by a boy on a scooter. 

“It’s good! Everyone here is really nice so far and they’re really helping me learn how things run. I’m already getting the hang of it, I think.” She keeps telling you about her job and you interject occasionally with a question or an exclamation about how awesome she is. She seems happy.

Alice isn’t in your room when you get back so you put the call on speakerphone and toss it onto the bed while you rummage around in your drawers for something to wear to dinner. There’s no time to shower so you settle for deodorant and then a few spritzes of perfume as you undress. 

Agatha pauses her story, noticing that you’re distracted. “What are you doing?” she asks and you freeze like you just got caught doing something you’re not supposed to. 

“Carol and I are hanging out in a bit,” you answer casually, choosing black pants over blue. You pull on a gray shirt. “My roommate thinks she likes me.” 

“I’m sure she does,” Agatha says, a bit coolly. You glance at your phone like she’ll be able to see your expression.

It feels like you’ve made a mistake. You had thought she would laugh about it. “I mean, I don’t like her like that at all, I don’t even think she actually does like me, Alice is definitely just reading into it. We’re just friends—” 

“Baby, relax,” she coos, now chuckling at your rambling, “I know. I trust you and I want you to have friends. But with how hot you are, I definitely wouldn’t blame her for wanting you.” 

Your stomach grows warm. “Oh, yeah, mommy? You think I’m hot?” you tease and immensely enjoy the way you can hear Agatha suck in a sharp breath. 

“Yeah, honey, I do,” she rasps, voice significantly deeper. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. About your perfect pussy and how you taste and how you feel around my fingers, god…” She trails off with a gasp that’s barely audible over the faint rumble of the engine of her car and knowing that she’s driving while talking like this has your skin burning.

“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” you admit feebly and whimper—you’ve just climbed onto your knees on your bed and the inseam of your pants is now resting against your clit. Your core is hot and you can feel the slick starting to collect in your underwear and you gently rock forward and silently keen. 

Agatha clears her throat and you can picture her blushing right now, the vein in her forehead bulging out, the darkening of her eyes. “Fuck, baby,” she groans, “remember all those times I fucked that cunt with my strap?” 

The air in your lungs gets punched out with a force so strong your eyes almost start watering. You grind down harder. 

“Yeah,” you breathe and glance at the clock on your nightstand. Twenty-three minutes until Carol is supposed to be at your room. Plenty of time to do something, if Agatha lets you. “Agatha—mommy—can I—can I please touch myself?” You sound pathetic and whiny and you can imagine Agatha smirking at you. 

“Such a good girl for asking,” she purrs. She never explicitly told you that you needed permission to masturbate, but it felt like you should ask. 

You wanted to ask. You’re her good girl and you’re determined to make that known. 

“Why don’t you get that toy I gave you before you left?” she suggests and you moan deeply before quickly grabbing it from inside your nightstand. Your breath catches again when you open it and you softly trace a finger against the engraving—Mommy’s cunt. Each letter sends a spark to your already-wet cunt. 

She laughs condescendingly when she hears your zipper being dragged down and you slide a hand into your pants and whine when you delve through your sopping, hot folds. 

“So desperate for mommy, aren’t you?” she simpers and you choke out an affirmation. “Tell me what you’re doing.” 

A shudder runs through you at her demanding tone. “I’m rubbing my clit with two fingers.” Your touch is light but still effective and your words are broken. 

There’s a ding and then the thrum of the engine stops. Agatha must be home. Her side of the call goes silent and then reconnects. Instead of checking to make sure you’re still there, all she says is, “Taste yourself for me.” 

With a moan, you pull your hand out of your pants and shove your two fingers into your mouth, lapping at your sweet wetness. She must be able to hear it because she whimpers and you make more exaggerated sounds just to get to her. You can almost see her screwing her eyes shut as she just tries to make it to her apartment. 

“How do you taste?” she asks hoarsely. You get an idea and slip your hand back down between your thighs, collecting your slick and holding it up to the light. You snap a quick photo, make sure you can see your fingers glistening, and send it to her. 

“You should come find out,” you sulk mockingly and you can tell that she pulls the phone away from her ear to look at what you just sent. 

“Fuck,” she gasps and a thrill runs through you. “You’re such a tease.” 

You shrug innocently even though she can’t see you. “What do you want me to do now, mommy?” 

Agatha swears under her breath and there’s the sound of doors opening. She mutters a greeting—someone must have gotten into the elevator with her. 

She’s going to be so mad, but you smirk and moan explicitly. “Fuck, now I have two fingers inside myself,” you tell her, mirroring your words with your actions and groaning at how it feels. “Wish they were yours, mommy, I need you so bad.” 

Agatha doesn’t answer because she can’t, but she does choke on nothing. The other person asks if she’s okay but she doesn't answer. 

“Need you to fuck me,” you continue and you hear her breathing getting heavier. “Come taste me, mommy, come fuck me with your strap—fuck, I need your cock inside me.” 

The doors ding and there’s the sound of footsteps hurriedly moving. You curl your fingers and gasp. 

“Put the toy inside you now,” Agatha hisses and you scramble for it, press it against your entrance, and sink it into you. Your back arches and you sharply inhale. It rests right against your g-spot and your clit and you pant in anticipation as you wait for her to turn it on. 

There’s a click and you jerk forward onto your bed as your cunt is racked with vibrations and you can’t help the loud keens that fall out of your mouth. Your hips are bucking frantically and you desperately grip onto the sheets of your messy bed. 

“Fuck, mommy, it feels so good,” you sob and cry out even louder when she turns up the intensity even more. 

There’s movement and then a long sigh on her side and you clench around the toy. 

“Are you touching yourself?” you squeak. 

Agatha chuckles throatily. “How could I not when you’re sounding so pretty for me?” You whimper. “Fuck, baby, I wish I was there. I’d fill you with three of my fingers to get you ready for my strap with my tongue on your clit—” she sinfully groans and you bite down onto your hand, “—you always taste so good for mommy, you always take me so well, just mommy’s perfect girl, mommy’s perfect slut.” 

The vibrations get stronger and you’re furiously humping against the bed now, each drag of your hips pushing the toy further inside you and how are you already so close? 

“Need you so bad, Agatha, please,” you babble, “please let me cum, I need you, I need—fuck—” 

There’s a knock on the door and you throw a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans. Agatha must hear it too because she turns the toy off, leaving your cunt pulsing and clenching with a rhythm around nothing, the phantom vibrations still making you twitch. 

You stay silent, hoping they’ll leave. 

“Hey! It’s Carol, are you ready to go?” 

“Fuck,” you swear again and take the call off speakerphone, shoving it against your ear as you leap off the bed and check yourself out in the mirror to make you don’t look like a complete mess. “I have to go, I have dinner.” 

Agatha hums in disappointment. “Aw, well I hope you have a fun time,” she says, sickly sweet and sarcastic and you genuinely consider cancelling on Carol right now. With the sweat on your forehead, you could plausibly tell her you think you have a fever. “I know I will.” 

Her suggestive tone is not lost on you and you screw your eyes shut and try to tamp down the wave of arousal flooding through you. “I’ll talk to you after?” you ask through gritted teeth. 

“Of course,” she says with a melodic chuckle and you think you can hear the lazy slapping of her fingers inside her. Of course she’s not playing fair. “Oh—and one last thing. Leave the toy inside you.” 

Your breath catches at the thought of her able to toy with you while you’re hanging out with a friend and you know Agatha’s not going to make it easy. “But—” 

“Say: yes, mommy. I’ll be a good girl and keep the toy in for you,” she croons and you parrot the words back to her in a mumble. You can practically hear her smirk through the phone before she smacks her lips together in a kiss and hangs up. 

Carol regards you curiously when you finally open the door after you fixed your clothes and hair. “Everything okay?” she asks and you self-consciously adjust your shirt again. 

“Yeah, sorry. I was taking a nap,” you lie but she doesn't question it. You can feel the toy with every step you take but Agatha thankfully doesn’t turn it on. 

You keep waiting for it though, always anticipating, and a few times you swear you feel it buzz when you’re in Carol’s car heading to the restaurant. 

The drive is filled with small talk and you almost forget all about it by the time you’ve sat down in a booth and ordered. 

Carol’s just telling you about the time her uncle took her flying for the first time when your phone vibrates against your leg from inside your pocket. You don’t want to seem rude so you ignore it, although now you’re wondering if it’s one of your parents or Agatha. 

Your cheeks heat up and you shift, involuntarily moving the toy inside you and you choke on your drink. Carol looks concerned but you wave your head dismissively to tell her that you’re fine. 

There’s another buzz against your leg and you subtly try to slide your phone from your pocket and glance at it. 

It’s from Agatha and your thoughts falter when you see that it’s a video. Your brain goes to the filthiest places and you gulp down more soda to try to cool your burning body. 

“So how did you and your girlfriend meet?” Carol asks and you clench around the toy at the mere mention of her. 

She was married to my dad and then we started sleeping together and now they’re divorced and we’re together. 

“We met…online,” you say and you feel another text message. “What about you—any romantic prospects?” The moment you bring it up, you regret it because now what if she starts doing the coy thing where she makes it really obvious that she likes you without actually saying it? 

Luckily, Carol just shrugs. “I just got out of a bad break-up. We tried to do long distance but it didn't really work. Found out she had been cheating on me for about three months which was when she moved away.” 

You whistle lowly. It makes sense now, why she was so weary about you and Agatha. You almost feel better—Carol’s motivations weren’t because she had a crush on you, it was because she just didn’t want you to get hurt the same way she had. You can feel your muscles relax. 

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, not sure what else to add. 

She smiles gratefully and then the vulnerability is gone. “Do you have any pets?” 

You get another text and this time, you can’t help but look down and read it. 

Mommy needs you, please, baby. 

Swallowing roughly, you look back at Carol. “Um, no, no pets. My dad is allergic and now my mom just doesn't have time. I’ve always wanted a dog though. What about you?” 

“I have three cats, one is a—” 

You don’t hear the rest because Agatha, seemingly tired of your silence, turns on the toy and you groan and double-over because of how high the intensity is. You can vaguely perceive Carol asking if you’re alright and you nod your head and look back at her. 

She’s very concerned but you have to grip onto the table so hard that your knuckles almost pop to keep from gyrating against your chair. 

“Are you okay? Are you going to throw up? Do I need to call an ambulance?” Carol spitballs and the toy turns down a level, letting you breathe a little. 

“No, I’m okay,” you rasp, hips quickly rutting and you bite your lip to keep a gasp from escaping. The sweet agony is killing you and you know Agatha is doing it on purpose, to send you a message. “It’s just period cramps.” 

The toy stops but your chest still heaves but you’re able to think more clearly. 

And then she turns it back on, but all the way down, so it’s just a low rumble pulsing through your body. There’s a metallic taste in your mouth from your teeth in your lip and you quickly lick away the blood before Carol can say anything. 

You clench around the toy periodically, trying to push it deeper with just your walls, because it’s so close to exactly where you need it. Are you about to cum right here, right now, with Carol less than a yard away? 

It might happen. 

Your phone buzzes in time with a pulse of the toy. 

Go to the bathroom. 

A muffled whimper leaves your mouth and you’re too turned on to care—you shove your chair back and stand up. “I’m going to the bathroom,” you announce and Carol tells you to go firmly. 

The moment the door is shut and locked behind you, thankfully a single restroom here, you moan loudly and read all the texts from Agatha. 

Thought you’d like to see what I was doing while I was thinking of you. 

One video attachment. 

You make me so wet.

Mommy needs you, please, baby. 

Go to the bathroom. 

Tears prick your eyes as you silently beg for her to turn it up just so you can get some relief and with a trembling finger, you tap on the video and turn the volume up. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. 

It starts with Agatha facing the floor-length mirror that she set up in the corner of her room—except now, it’s on the wall about four feet from the bed—in nothing but a short, purple, silk slip that hugs all of her curves perfectly. The veins in her hand holding the phone are prominent and it makes you salivate. 

Her reflection teasingly smirks and then she walks slowly backwards until the back of her legs hits the bed and she sits down gracefully. You’re panting open-mouthed, grinding standing up against the toy because she is too fucking hot. 

Agatha spreads her thighs and scooches back so she can plant her feet on the bed and when she hikes up her dress, you see in the mirror that she’s not wearing anything underneath. 

You whine audibly. 

She slides a hand over her cunt and then moves her phone so she’s holding it right above the juncture between her legs rather than pointing it at the mirror and you let out a strangled breath as she slides two fingers into herself. 

The vibrations turn up inside you like she knows exactly what you’re doing and you clamp a hand over your mouth lest anyone walk by and hear you. 

In the video, Agatha withdraws her fingers and holds them up to the camera and the light catches so you can see just how much they’re glistening. She is drenched. 

“This is all for you, honey,” she says and it makes you keen. The phone stays directed on her pussy but you can hear sucking sounds and you let out a broken sound because you know she’s tasting herself. 

“Fuck,” you draw out, shoving a hand into your pants to better position the toy inside you and you gasp loudly when you align it just right. Your hips are bucking wildly and you think you’re about to cum in the bathroom of this restaurant while your friend is waiting outside, very concerned for you. 

Agatha’s fingers slide back into her and the squelching sounds are audible—you lift your phone to your ear, forgoing the visual for just a second, because you can still imagine that you’re the one fucking her. You can almost smell her, feel her, and she turns up the toy again and it pulls a long groan out of you. 

She parts her swollen folds and pushes closer and you can see the strands of wetness connecting her pussy lips, see the slight convulsions of her walls and it makes you weak. Your knees buckle and your back slumps against the door, holding your phone like water in your hands. Her clit peeks out and she rubs at it, her hips jumping in the video. 

“You make mommy so wet,” she moans and then she shoves three fingers into herself and—

The video stops. 

You frantically click on the screen, hoping you accidentally just paused it, but that was the end. Before you know what you’re doing, you’re calling her and pressing your phone to your ear. 

She picks up immediately and you can hear her smirk. “Hey, honey. How’s dinner going?” 

You open your mouth but she turns up the toy and you sob, tension beginning to build in your stomach and simultaneously about to snap already. “Please, please, fuck, I need you—” 

The vibrations increase even more and you cry out and if you weren’t in a public restroom, you would’ve collapsed to the floor by now. You really hope no one else can hear you. 

“Who do you belong to?” she asks calmly. 

“You, mommy, fuck, Agatha, I’m all yours,” you gasp out. 

Agatha hums in approval. “Good girl. Cum for me.” And that’s all it takes for the dam to break and you fall apart right there. She keeps the vibrations going and it sends you straight into another orgasm and then it becomes too sensitive and starts to hurt so you have to beg for her to turn it off. 

She does and that in itself makes you moan because the toy is still resting against your special spot and your clit and you can feel it every time you move. 

“You okay?” she asks and you huff out a laugh as you look in the mirror at your ruined state. There’s not much you can do besides dampen a paper towel and run it over your face and hope Carol doesn’t notice how sweaty you’ve become, although period cramps were a good excuse. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” you say and then soften. “I really miss you.” 

“I know, honey. I really miss you too. But I’ll see you soon, yeah?” 

You nod even though she can’t see you and you wish she was there to give you a hug and a kiss. 

“Now go back out there and finish dinner,” Agatha says, teasing lilt in her voice, “and maybe I’ll send you the second part of that video.” 

You’ve never obeyed anyone so quickly in your life. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @vyvvycg @upsidedowndanvers @agathaallalongg

[snowysosturn]

Speeding Car - Matt Sturniolo Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29

Pairing : y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary : After six years with your boyfriend Alex, you start mentally check out. At a UCLA party, Alex reconnects with his childhood friend Emily, who proposes a double date with her boyfriend Matt. Your attraction to Matt grows as he pays you the first real attention you've had in years, sparking a complicated emotional journey.

Warnings : MDNI, unhappy relationship, mentions of hangover, angst

The start of the new semester at UCLA brought a sense of urgency and routine, a sense that clashed with my chaos inside my head. Alex was excited, his schedule packed with classes and Bruins practice. Meanwhile, I struggled to shake off the lingering thoughts about Matt and Emily from the party, the Instagram follow, and my relationship dying out. I couldn’t tell anymore if my embarrassment was first or second hand. But today was a new day, and I had to focus.

I made Alex a protein packed breakfast this morning, I had the day off so I had the time.

“Thanks Y/n” Alex said as he gave me a pat on the back.

A pat on the back.

He took the last few bites of his meal and grabbed the keys to the car. “I’m not too sure what time I’ll be back tonight, I’ll text to let you know” Alex said as I walked behind him to the front door. I saw him off as he walked down the steps to the driveway.

“Aw shit!” I hear him exclaim, realizing one of his tyres had burst. "Great, just what I needed." he muttered.

Alex and I shared a car, it was originally mine, but I let Alex put it in his name as he needs to get around more than I do. So in simpler terms, Alex has a car that I’m able to drive once a month at least.

"Take my phone and book an Uber" I offered, handing it to him. "I'll figure out the tyre later."

He took my phone with a grateful nod and quickly booked the ride. As he waited, I heard my phone ping. A familiar sound, from Instagram.

“Matthew Sturniolo (@matthew.sturniolo) has requested to follow you”

"Hey, looks like Matt wants to follow you" Alex said, showing me the screen with a chuckle. "Guess he enjoyed your company at the party."

My heart jumped, a burning sensation ran through my body. Why did this have to happen when Alex has my phone.

I tried to keep my voice steady. "Yeah, probably. We did talk quite a bit. I got along well with Nick too”

Alex shrugged, accepting the request before handing the phone back. "Alright, my ride's here. See you tonight."

"See you" I replied, watching him head out the door. Not a kiss to say goodbye or anything.

The day passed slowly, my thoughts constantly drifting to Matt's follow request. It felt like a lifeline, a connection I desperately wanted but also feared.

As the evening approached, I text Alex to let him know the tyre was fixed if he wanted me to pick him up whenever he was ready. He replied saying he had an evening free and he we was going to Uber home with Emily to hang out. They had figured out they were taking the same classes and were coming back to organize a few things for the current semester.

Alex and Emily arrived at our apartment. He seemed in good spirits despite the tyre mishap.

“We have a school trip to Barcelona in 4 weeks, Europe! How exciting!” Emily said with joy.

“We decided it would be easier to come back here and look at flights together if you don’t mind helping us Y/n, I know you’re good with all of that.” Alex suggested.

For some weird reason this lit a fire in my stomach. I knew I was being stupid since it was for a school trip, but it bothered me how eager he was to organize everything. It was almost like pulling teeth anytime I tried to organize a trip with him.

After an hour of researching, I found the cheapest flights for them and everything was booked.

"I'm going to hit the sack early" he said after a while. "Practice starts tomorrow."

"Alright, good night" I said, trying to sound unbothered.

Emily and I were left alone in the living room. An awkward silence settled between us, broken by the occasional sound of Alex moving around in the bedroom. I knew I needed to break the ice, and I also had an opportunity to see where her and Matt stood with each other after Saturday night's events.

"So, how are things with you and Matt?" I asked.

Emily smiled, her eyes lighting up. "Matt's great. I mean, he’s really sweet and all, but sometimes I feel like he’s too good, you know? I also want to apologize to you for how I acted at the party, it was out of line. We’re only newly friends and I don’t want to embarrass myself or make a bad impression. I honestly still have a hangover from it all”

Friends? I thought to myself.

“Oh you don’t need to apologize to me at all Emily, it happens!” I respond, trying to make her feel better.

“I feel like I get carried away sometimes. I like the attention I get from Matt, but I also love the attention I get from others."

I frowned slightly. "Others?"

She shrugged, taking a sip from her Stanley cup. "Yeah, I mean, Matt has a big following, and being with him means I get noticed too. I love him, but I can’t help enjoying the attention. It's kind of addicting. Did you not notice all of the influencers at the party?”

Her words struck a nerve. How could she be so nonchalant about treating Matt that way? He deserved someone who appreciated him fully, not someone who saw him as a means to boost their own ego.

"Oh, no I didn’t notice.." I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.

Emily glanced at me, her expression unreadable. "It just comes hand in hand with his job. I love him, but I also love being in the spotlight. Is that so wrong?"

I didn't know how to respond. It felt wrong, deeply wrong. Matt deserved someone who loved him for who he was, not for the attention he brought.

The more Emily talked, the more I realized she didn’t deserve him.

As time passed the conversation changed, I found myself genuinely getting along with Emily despite the lingering irritation from her comments about Matt. We chatted about various things like classes, mutual friends, upcoming campus events and even her life in Austin. I can’t lie, she was easy to talk to, and I could see why she was popular. But underneath her charming exterior, her earlier remarks about enjoying attention grated on me.

I knew I had to keep things friendly. Not just for Alex's sake, but for my own. Staying close to Emily meant staying close to Matt. It was a delicate balance, and I was determined to maintain it.

Later that night, Emily glanced at her phone and sighed. "I should probably get going. It's getting late."

"Do you need a ride?" I asked, half hoping she would say yes so I could see Matt again.

"Yeah, I'll ask Matt to come pick me up" she said, typing out a quick message..

Matt’s POV

I rotted away in my room all day Sunday and into Monday. I needed some time to myself. Emily went back to college early this morning and I hadn’t heard from her since.

After nearly 40 hours of sitting in my room, I decided it was time to try to be social again. I left my room and walked straight into the kitchen to find Nick and Chris sat at the kitchen table.

"Rough night Saturday.." Nick asked, eyeing me with concern.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "You could say that."

Chris obliviously laughed. "Come on, it couldn't have been that bad."

Nick shot him a look. "Matt, we need to talk about Emily. Her behavior at the party... it wasn't okay."

I nodded, feeling a weight settle on my shoulders. "I know. She's been like this more and more lately."

Nick leaned forward, his expression serious. "You don't deserve to be treated like that. You do so much for her, and it seems like she doesn't appreciate any of it."

Chris, still not fully grasping the gravity of the situation, shrugged. "Girls can be complicated, man."

Nick ignored him, focusing on me. "Look, I know you care about her, but you have to think about yourself too. You deserve to be with someone who respects you and values you."

I sighed, the truth of his words hitting hard. "I keep hoping she'll change, that she'll realize how much I care about her and start treating me better."

Nick frowned. "People don't change unless they want to. And from what I've seen, Emily isn't interested in changing."

There was a moment of silence as we all absorbed the reality of the situation. Nick then changed the topic slightly, a mischievous look in his eyes. “I noticed you got along pretty well with Y/n, Alex's girlfriend.."

My mind flashed back to our conversations. There had been an easy connection, a sense of understanding. "Yeah, she's great. We had some good talks."

Chris, always one to break the tension in the worst possible way, grinned. "That’s the girl with the fat ass, right?"

Nick groaned, and I shot Chris a look. "Dude, not the time."

Chris held up his hands in surrender. "Just saying."

The mood soured, I stood up, needing to clear my head. "I'm going to bed. Thanks for the talk, guys."

As I made my way back to my room, my phone buzzed. Emily had texted me: "Hey, can you pick me up? I'm at Alex's place."

I sighed, knowing I'd go pick her up despite everything. I couldn't ignore the feeling that something had to change, but I wasn’t sure if it would be her or me.

Y/n’s POV

"He'll be here in about ten minutes." Emily said, reading out the message from Matt.

My heart danced but I had to maintain my composure.

We continued chatting until Matt's car pulled up outside. Emily grabbed her things, and I walked her to the door.

"Thanks for having me over” she said with a smile. "We should do this more often."

"We should" I replied, forcing a smile. "It was nice."

We stepped outside, and I spotted Matt waiting in his car. As we approached, he got out and walked over, his expression warm but tired.

"Hey, thanks for picking me up" Emily said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"No problem" Matt replied, his eyes briefly meeting mine. "Hi" he added, his smile softening as he looked at me.

"Hi Matt" I responded, feeling a flutter in my chest.

"How was your evening?" Matt questioned.

"It was good" I replied, choosing my words carefully. "Emily and I had a nice time."

"Good to hear" he said, glancing at Emily. "Ready to go?"

"Yep" she replied, but then she turned to me. "We should all hang out together again, the four of us. Maybe we can plan another double date or something."

"Sounds good" I said, knowing that staying close to her meant more opportunities to see Matt.

As Emily climbed into the car, I took a moment to speak to Matt. "Hey, I just wanted to say.. if you ever need to talk or anything, I'm here."

Matt looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "Thanks, I appreciate that. And same to you."

Just then, Emily reached over and playfully tugged Matt's arm. "Come on, let's go. I've missed you."

Matt turned to her, his expression softening. "I've missed you too" he said, leaning in to kiss her. Their interaction was sweet and intimate, conflicting to the tension I had sensed before.

Watching them together, my heart sank. The way Matt looked at her, the way he held her, it made me question everything. Had I misread his kindness? Was I seeing what I wanted to see rather than what was really there?

As they drove away, I stood there for a moment, feeling a mix of confusion and heartache. The connection I thought I had with Matt now felt uncertain, overshadowed by his obvious affection for Emily.

Matts’ POV

The drive to Alex's was quiet, my thoughts a jumble of emotions. When I arrived, Emily was waiting outside, looking a bit worse for wear from her two day hangover but smiling when she saw me.

"Hey, thanks for coming to get me!" she said, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

"No problem" I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral. Still wanting to keep my stance that how she acted on Saturday was out of line.

As Emily climbed into the car, Y/n turned to me.

“Hey, I just wanted to say... if you ever need to talk or anything, I'm here."

I knew fully what she was referring to. Could she relate to me? Or was it just out of pity from the events she witnessed at the party.

"Thanks, I appreciate that. And same to you." We locked eyes for a moment, until Emily tugged at me and instantly broke the contact.

We got into the car and drove off as Y/n waved us off. On the ride back home I couldn't help but think about Nick's words and the confusion I felt brewing in me surrounding Y/n. Maybe it was time to seriously consider what I wanted and needed in a relationship. Emily had her good moments, but were they enough to outweigh the bad?

Only time would tell..

a/n : i’m rushing out for dinner rn so i will proof read and do tags properly when i’m back i just wanted to get this out asaaaaap. we do go back and forth with the povs here soz. part 6 hopefully tomorrow or sunday!!!!

taglist : @muwapsturniolo @anitahunt @sturnfannn @jayde510 @chrissfavhoe @babyalliah-777 @v33angel @urmom69lol @willowrites @ribread03 @sleepyysavv @sturnsaver @sleepysturniolo @jcsturniolo11 @jessie-essie @immattsslut @mynbbys @sturniolopanini @mattsturnxoxo @delicatechrry @t77te @sturnsyaper69

[imsosoheee]

☆彡 always and forever final chapter: one kiss

wc: 885

"so how is married life?" anton joked, nudging sohee with his elbow.

you were all gathered around a long table in a k-bbq restaurant, sohee and anton to your left and giselle and wonbin to your right. wonyoung made jake sit with her on the other side of anton, which did not go unnoticed by you.

"it's actually amazing," sohee responded with a laugh, loving eyes focused on you. you pat his head adoringly. "we arranged our schedules to where we only have classes at the same time. that way, we can see each other as much as possible when we aren't in class."

"so that's actually fucking insane," giselle gasped.

"what?! we lost so much time being stupid and scared, so we want to make the most of the time we have now. we know it isn't likely to happen ever again. we just got lucky this semester," you defended yourself, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

"that's true, we have to give you that..." jake nodded with a swig of his drink.

"so, i heard you all knew sohee liked me already but he was the last one to realize it. is this true?"

the 6 boys groaned in response to your inquiry. "yes! i asked him multiple times if he liked you, and he would always say 'we're friends! we flirt as friends!'" shotaro rolled his eyes.

"we literally all knew," sungchan added, shaking his head at the boy, who was cowering in embarrassment now.

"actually, yn, this bastard took my spot in a group blind date just to try to prove that he didn't like you! and what happened? he talked about you the whole time," eunseok laughed.

"wait, this is news to me," you laughed as well, imagining the situation. "sohee, that girl was probably miserable, hearing you go on and on about your best friend!"

"ok, well—i'm sorry," he apologized formally, bowing his head to you.

"woah, what a simp," seunghan applauded sohee's reaction.

"wait, speaking of using people, tell us your tea on sion!" giselle turned to wonyoung excitedly. you blushed out of embarrassment of her wording, although you knew she was completely right.

"omg, that's right!" wonyoung cleared her throat and sat up straight. you all leaned forward in anticipation.

"so my friend has a class with him. since he's an objectively attractive guy, my friend kept giving him glance here and there during class. it's, like, some weird intensive class where they meet three days a week and twice on one day, so they see each other a lot. and guess what... there's a group project in this class, too. anyways, on the second day of class, he came in and sat right beside her out of nowhere—"

you gasped.

"sounds familiar, right?! then, he got her socials and he's asking to do the project with her even though there are so many other girls interested in him. it's like he pinpointed one specific girl in the class, though. i don't know, maybe it's not crazy, but i thought it sounded too similar to yn's experience with him."

"wait, it's not like he's even a freeloader, though. we distributed the work pretty evenly," you thought aloud.

"well, he seemed to genuinely like you, yn. he probably does his every class to get a good grade, but he didn't want to disappoint you, you know?" wonbin replied, and everyone nodded along with him.

"what the—so he was originally planning on using my yn?" sohee bared his teeth playfully.

"cute!" seunghan giggled like a teenager in love. "sohee is cute, his affection for yn is suffocating." he further clarified before the topic changed.

"at least now you don't have to feel bad," sohee whispered into your ear. "he just fell for you because you're amazing, but that's out of your control."

your heart warmed at his words—he really did know you the best. you gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he pulled you closer to him before you two joined your friends in conversation again.

"i think we're pretty good looking guys," you overheard jake say to eunseok as you were leaving the restaurant.

"what?" you spun around to them, laughing.

"we're just talking about sion. like, we're objectively attractive, too. why don't we start posting like he does and then we'll get girls, too? but we aren't jerks, so we won't just use them for good grades," eunseok explained. you looked to wonyoung for help. "ask her, the influencer goddess."

"no, can't help!" she plugged her ears. "the universe chooses you, you don't choose to be an influencer. i didn't really want to, but it just happened."

"because you're beautiful," anton blurted out, followed by an intense blush spreading across his face. a blush of the same intensity appeared on wonyoung's, before she hid her face behind her jacket.

"don't follow sohee and yn's example and PLEASE tell each other when you like the other!" wonbin pleaded. you held sohee's hand and stopped walking, letting the others trail ahead.

"it's ok, sohee, don't listen to them. i've known for an eternity that you'd be my one and only, my always and forever." sohee smiled warmly at you before leaning in and planting the softest kiss on your lips, a promise that he felt the same.

☆彡 always and forever ☆彡 BACK

a/n: this chapter's song is one kiss by riize, of course! with this, the story is finished </3 thank you all so much for reading this first social media au of mine :) i really enjoyed writing it and i've become attached to all of the characters <3 stay tuned for epilogues and other works in the future! i will work hard to get better and have less plot holes lol but i appreciate all of your support 🤍

🔖: @karebearyu @jkeydiary @mbella607 @banez @jaellymint @secretiny @love4yubin @jvngw0nlvr @slowlylefttyphoon @flqwrlvr @enaile23 @yoursyuno

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 6 (Sneak Peek)

Here's a little snippet from Chapter 6...

“Fiction or non?” 

You were splayed out on your bedroom floor, with Theo across from you. As he’d pored over his textbook, he kept coming up with questions to ask you. 

Sure, it might be cute and endearing in a normal circumstance. But right now, you wanted to focus on studying for a couple of upcoming tests, as summer semesters were the worst at moving so damn quickly. 

There were more important matters at hand than nonsensical small talk. 

Deciding to humor him (and hopefully get back to the task at hand), you responded. “Hmm. . .,” you sat up from where you’d been laying on your stomach to read about Geoffrey Chaucer. “They both have special things about them—both stretch our minds to understand more about other worlds and our own,” you paused, giving it a second to ponder. “Are we talking writing-wise or reading-wise?”

He chuckled, and winked at you. “It doesn’t have to be something you think so deeply about,” he closed his textbook. What was he doing? You still had to make flash cards! “Pretend we’re playing a game and it’s rapid fire questions.”

You didn’t want to be playing a game. You wanted to be sinking your teeth into the intricacies of this author in order to ace your test. 

You shook your head, your eyes stuck on his closed book. “Fuck,” you scratched your eyebrow. Your mind flicked to music: fun to write and read about. You were actually currently reading a book about John Lennon. You had many books on your TBR list about famous musicians. A most intriguing subject, in your opinion. “Non-fiction.”

His face scrunched up. “Nah,” he disagreed. “Fiction.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” his stare was blank in response. “Don’t really have to think too hard about it.”

You tried not to roll your eyes at him. In your opinion, thinking hard about what you were writing or reading was what made it most desirable. It made you venture into undiscovered realms of your mind. 

When you went to lean back over your book, the movement made you realize just how badly your bladder was begging to be released. 

Stupidly, you thought of the ridiculous work schedule on the fridge. 

Why the hell couldn’t you just let yourself go to the damn bathroom without thinking about Jake? You knew it was fucking ludicrous. You just didn’t want to see him. When you pulled up the picture of the fridge on your phone, you saw you were in the clear. He should still be at band rehearsal. 

You tapped your open book, giving Theo a sign that he needed to open his back up. “I’m going to the bathroom real quick,” you stood up, the wave of having to pee rushing through you tenfold at the motion. He still hadn’t gotten the hint to open up his textbook. Ugh. “I’ll be back soon and then we will make our cards for the test.”

And as you exited the room, you saw him finally get back to business and open his book back up. After you’d safely closed the door to your room, you rolled your eyes at his lack of care at getting shit done. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

You dried your hands on the towel next to the sink, and took a look at yourself in the mirror.

He sort of annoyed you, but Theo was still cute, and he’d made you happy in high school. You weren’t totally opposed to the idea of kissing him (or maybe more) by the end of the night.

It seemed to you to be another good plan to get your mind off of Jake.

And Theo seemed interested enough. Considering he’d been more interested in learning about you, rather than the material for class all night (irritating, but whatever). 

Deciding you looked good enough, you opened the door to go back. And as you went to walk out, you stopped at a chest in your way. You got dizzy at the smell—smelled so fucking good—

You looked up.

Jake.

Your eyebrows pinched together, not happy at all that you’d crossed paths. Fucking hell. Why wasn’t he. . .?

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like thi—.”

You held a hand up to silence him, crossing your arms. “Why aren’t you at band practice?” 

Why the fuck was he cracking jokes? You were not in the mood. 

“Ended early,” his face hardened when he shrugged, stating it plainly. 

“Why didn’t you just stay with the guys?” You asked, secretly glad he didn’t. For whatever reason. “You could have hung out with them instead of coming back here.”

“Oh,” he stuck his chin out at the word and leaned a shoulder against the door-hinge. He raised a brow and crossed his arms to mirror you. “I see.”

You definitely didn’t glance at how his bicep flexed as his fingers wrapped around it. And you didn’t take time to appreciate his beautiful hair. . . had it started getting slightly longer? 

You shook your head, retraining your eyes.

“Tell me, Jake, what do you see?” You snapped, flicking your eyes up to his.

He scoffed, rolled his eyes. “Saw that guy lying on your bedroom floor, waiting for you. He was even sweet enough to wave at me when he saw me pass your room,” he sarcastically remarked, waving his hand to mimic. 

“We’re just studying,” you hushed back, feeling the (unnecessary) need to reassure him.

He scoffed. “You think that’s all it is to him?”

You narrowed your eyes and pursed your lips before you pulled him by his T-shirt into the bathroom. You weren’t going to discuss this in a place Theo could possibly hear. 

“I know that’s all it is,” you released his shirt like you were repulsed by the touch, when in reality you wanted nothing more than to pull it completely off of him. Damn him. 

“I don’t. Just think it’s funny how you’re so naive to believe he doesn’t want more.”

“He doesn’t.” 

“Do you?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I just think it’s funny that you might want me out just so you can fuck that guy in your bedroom,” he nodded his head in the direction of your room. 

Oh. He was taking it there. Okay.

“Yeah? And if I wanted to?” You jutted your chin out the slightest bit, bringing your arms closer, to press against your chest. “How is it any of your damn business?” 

He stepped once towards you, eyeing your chest, the tops of your breasts revealed, pushed up to the top of your tank. Your skin flushed, heart racing. 

His voice lowered. “It became my business the night you spread your legs for me at Baby’s,” one more step towards you, his eyes locking with yours. Fuck. “When I had you moaning my name while my mouth played between your pretty legs,” another step. “I think you gave yourself away that night. I don’t buy this little act.”

Oh. 

Fuck. . . If your heart wasn’t racing. 

You blinked, shaking your head. You tried to stand firm. “Wh-what act?” Dammit. Why were you stuttering? 

Stand your ground, y/n, you thought, motivating yourself to stay strong. 

But as he took one more step in, your body was effectively once again trapped between his body and a sink. Thankfully, he hadn’t pressed himself up to your front, so you weren’t distracted by that. 

You tried to hold your own.

But shit. . .he was so close. Your skin flared with heat, your heart still beating erratically in your chest. 

As you were making direct eye contact with the chest of his white t-shirt, you craned your neck to see his face fully.

“What act, Jacob?” 

He shook his head. A little smirk played at his mouth. He brought his hand up to hold your cheek. Your skin was on fire for him and his touch.

You couldn’t help it when you leaned into his hand, letting your cheek press into his calloused flesh. 

He licked his lips. “You tell me,” he whispered lowly, nodding his head once at you. 

And you couldn’t help it, his deep brown eyes pulled you in. He was begging to be touched. You had to feel him. 

Leaning in, you held his cheek just as he held yours. He then took the chance, and captured your lips with his.

Ah. His lips. So soft. 

Your vision was hazy, eyes still open, you saw how his eyebrows dipped in with a moan. You matched the sound, closing your eyes, and slipped your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his. 

You heard him shut the door with the hand that wasn’t holding your face. 

He then moved that hand from your face, reaching both hands under your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before he lifted you the short distance to sit on the bathroom countertop. 

You bit his bottom lip, getting another small moan from him. He did the same to you and then soothed the spot with his tongue. You sighed into his mouth. 

Reaching both hands up, you sunk them into his dark, brunette locks. He matched every movement of your lips with his own, and then licked one wet stripe on the roof of your mouth. 

You were able to gasp for air when he moved his mouth from yours to give the softest, small kisses to your neck. Though it didn’t last long before he turned his pecks into wet, open-mouthed kisses. The slightest stubble of hair on his lip skimmed against your sensitive skin. He worked from under your jaw, all the way up, to the tender spot behind your ear. 

Shivering with a sigh, you gripped his hair tighter, pulling him in as close as he could be to you, on the counter. You felt his hardening length against your center when you did so, making you immediately grind into him. 

And when he did the same to the other side of your neck, this time, he nipped at the skin behind your ear. You bucked your hips into his. He released a groan that echoed through the small bathroom, making you want to melt into it. 

“More,” you breathed, clutching him closer, making sure the front of you stayed connected to him. Feeling his hard length through the material of his jeans was almost too much, but you craved it. You needed it. 

More.

But, the next moment, you heard a little cough from your bedroom, right next door. 

It snapped you from your daze. You were suddenly hyper aware that it was not just you two in the apartment. You had to stop.

You pushed him back, jumping off the counter. When you looked in the mirror to check your face and neck, your lips were swollen and your cheeks were flushed. Your neck was still pink from where he’d been. You checked where he’d bit behind your ear, and seeing the redness back there made you want to hop right back onto that counter. Let him have his way with you— right there. Theo be fucking damned.

But you knew better.

Tucking some hair behind your ear, you tried to make yourself look slightly presentable. 

From behind you, he was brushing a hand through his hair, when he went to smooth a hand over his cheeks, his jaw stretching with the motion. He was contemplative.

His eyebrows drew together, curious. You couldn’t tell if he was upset. He mostly looked . . .confused. 

He removed his hand from his face when his eyes found yours in the mirror, open and wondering. He looked desperate to understand. 

“What do you want, y/n?” 

You didn’t know what in the hell to tell him. 

You wanted Jake. And you wanted him bad. But somehow saying it out loud seemed too difficult at the moment. 

And how could you say that to him when he’d so recently, blatantly told you that you were a mistake?

“I don’t know, Jake,” you whispered back, still looking at your blushing cheeks, messy hair, and freshly kissed lips. You’d need a minute to let your skin return to its normal shade before going back to your room. 

You turned to face him.

When you saw him, looking so beautiful, so lost. . . You thought of how lost you’d felt for the past couple weeks. His words were once again flashing back through your head. 

“It was a fucking mistake and you need to leave me alone.”

It still hurt as you could see him so clearly in the doorway of his bedroom, angry and insistent that you do what he said and leave him alone.

But tonight? Crowding you in here to make out on the bathroom counter? Did he truly want that? For you to leave him alone?

“What do you want?” You leveled him with a stare, your tone sharp, but keeping your voice low since Theo was one room over. You pointed a finger in his chest. “You say you want me to leave you alone, but then you trap me in here like this?”

He shook his head, a dimple showing again with a sarcastic grin. After tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, he put the same hand in his pocket. 

“Oh, there is no way you are going to turn this around on me,” he matched your quiet tone, understanding. “And trap you? Okay, Little Miss ‘Fuck Me, Jake,’” he used air quotes to remind you of your words from the night at Baby’s. 

Fuck. 

Of course he remembered you’d said that. Why wouldn’t he? 

You decided to ignore it, focusing back on him.

“You’re the one who said it was a mistake! That I needed to leave you alone,” you protested, anger flaring in your chest.

He covered his eyes with a hand, the veins in the hand catching your eye. You’d never noticed how masculine his hands were. And damn if he didn’t know how to use them . . . Even in this moment, debating with him, you wanted them touching every part of you. You wanted his skilled fingers, flexing inside of you.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” His eyes were sad when he moved his hand, when you saw the brown irises again. But there was a fire behind them still. “Dammit, y/n. Why do you insist on assuming the worst about me all the fucking time? I’m not the one who can’t make up my mind about what I want,” he leaned back against the wall behind him, crossing his arms. “One minute you’re kissing me. You’re with me, naked and ready as I’m pressing into you,” his voice was being raspy, along with the picture he was drawing. . . It made your cheeks pink. You could still feel what he felt like, pressing against you, throbbing. . .so close to being inside of you. He went on, “And the next moment you’re shoving me away from you, making sure to tell me that Josh doesn’t need to know what we’re doing.”

Of course some of this had to do with Josh. You’d had the smallest inkling, based on how weird he’d acted when you set the rules. 

Stupid.

“I knew you were making it all weird with Josh. . . is this all about Josh?! You know that he and I—.”

“No! It’s about you and how you make it impossible for us to—.”

“You told me to go away!”

“And you told me to stop,” he said back, his smoky voice still hushed. “More than once.”

Your chest heaved, knowing he was right, but you were so lost on how to explain it all. “There were reasons every time.” 

“Reasons,” he scoffed. “So are you going to keep having these reasons? Keep stopping it? Why do you keep letting it happen if all you’re going to do is make us stop?” 

“Last time you stopped us, Jake!” You defended, focusing on keeping your voice low. “Not me. You walked away and called it a mistake.”

He covered his face with both hands, growling. You shushed him. 

He took his hands away to show his jaw set, clenching with frustration. “You were drunk, y/n!” He begged you to understand, “I wasn’t going to do anything with you without you being in full and total control of yourself.”

You were sure your expression showed it all clicking. You blinked at him. It all made so much sense now. 

And what he’d done? His true intentions? Fuck. Sexy as hell.

Maybe you really did need to stop assuming the worst. You just couldn’t help it. It was a trauma response. Jumping to conclusions, thinking that people didn’t want you. . .

Your mom didn’t want you, so you were always convinced other people wouldn’t either. 

Especially men who were as beautiful as Jake Kiszka.

Damn. Now it really was all on you. How did you even begin to lay it all out? 

You looked him dead in the face, completely unsure of how to articulate the mess in your head. 

“I don’t know,” you covered your face with both hands, mimicking him and frustratedly groaning into your palms. When you removed them from your face, you tucked them into your front pockets. You decided to assure him of one thing. For whatever reason, you wanted—needed him to know this. “I do want you. I want what we almost had in the bathroom at Baby’s,” You stepped towards him, wanting to be close to him again. You placed a delicate hand on his chest. He looked down at you, as you looked up into his eyes, reaching to hold your hand on his chest. Your skin tingled at his touch. “I need to feel you, to be with you. . . it just never seems like the right time. There’s always something.”

You didn’t know why you’d suddenly felt the urge to be vulnerable with him. He kept your hand on his chest, holding you, his eyes meeting yours in understanding. 

And you knew then that it was just him. Jake Kiszka, in and of himself, made you feel this strange sense of safety, comfortability. 

And it was different from the kind his twin had offered you as your friend for so many years. 

With Jake, you weren’t just friends. You weren’t even really friends. . .it was something else—an intense, unavoidable attraction. The safe feeling came combined with this desire to be with him. 

He felt like a resting ground. 

It was weird.

But you liked it.

He smoothed a thumb over your hand on his chest. You held his deep gaze, getting lost in it. 

And out of nowhere, he leaned down, kissing your lips with his. Just for a moment. 

You felt it all the way down to your toes. The feeling of him so close, with one simple kiss from his soft lips, it felt perfectly intimate. 

He released his hold on your hand, wrapping his hand around your waist instead, eyes connected with yours. It was as though he just wanted to touch you, have his hands on you.

It was what you wanted, too. Just the feeling of his hand, as it moved down to just over your hip, his thumb on the skin underneath the hem of your gray tank top. . .it felt right. 

He penetrated the thickness in the air with his low, gravelly tone. His eyes were vulnerable as he asked, “Do you want that? To find the right time?” 

You reached a hand up, holding his handsome face. You smoothed a thumb over his skin, tracing a freckle on his cheek. “I do. I promise I do,” you blinked up at him, needing his answer to that question. “And do you? Wanna find the right time?”

This was so much, butterflies flew rampant in your tummy. 

The grin he gave you was loose, his eyes relieved and open. “I really do.”

It felt so amazing to hear it straight from his lips. He really wanted it too. 

You’d overthink all of this later.

He leaned down to kiss you again. You reciprocated, for just a moment, letting your lips move with his. 

Then you pulled back, your hand falling from his face.

You nodded at the door. “I gotta get back to studying.”

His hand that was holding your hip squeezed slightly, your skin heating at it. You caught his eye, the intense feeling setting in your beating heart. 

“Is that all you’re doing?” His eyes were dark and questioning, making your head spin. “Studying?”

You winked at him, still holding onto your teasing from earlier. “It’s whatever I want it to be.”

His eyes seemed to darken more, pulling you in so your chest touched his. So warm. “I really don’t want to hear another guy fucking you through these walls.”

You pressed closer to him, your body thrumming with fire. “Funny coming from the guy who told me I could just wear earplugs when he brought women over,” then you pulled back, his hand fell. His eyebrow lifted, a tiny smirk lifted his lips. You continued, “Why don’t you go ahead and get a pair of your own, hm?”

You patted his cheek, reluctantly parting from him. Before leaving the bathroom, you chanced one more glance at your appearance. Not quite as flushed as before, though your cheeks were still blushing. You’d find a way to pass it off. Whatever. You’d been gone too long. 

You were about to open the bathroom door when, from behind, his voice stopped you. You felt a spark as his hand delicately touched yours.

“Hey.”

You swiveled on your heel, raised your brows in question. “Yeah?”

“Do you think you could come to our gig this weekend? It’s a bigger one.”

Did you work this weekend? You couldn’t remember. 

All you knew was that, suddenly, you really wanted to be at their show. 

“I’m not sure . . . Depends on work.”

“I would love—,” he put a fist in front of his mouth and cleared his throat. “The guys and I would love it if you could be there,” he shook his head, seeming to come to terms with an inner battle. “For me, I would just love to look out and see your beautiful face in the crowd.”

Your mind was fuzzy. All of this felt so unreal, yet so real all at once. He really wanted you there? And had he just called you beautiful? 

“I’ll try my best,” you slapped on a small grin, trying to play hard to get, masking your inner shock. You wanted to keep him on his toes, like he’d kept you for the past weeks. 

He scrunched his brows in and messed with his bottom lip. “Yeah,” he nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, totally get it. Just text me and let me know.”

Anytime he messed with his mouth, it was a distraction. You had to keep yourself from watching too close. It really didn’t help that you knew the feeling of those full, pink lips. . . 

And as you walked the short distance to your bedroom, you realized something else.

Had he just asked you to text him? 

What was all of this? This new territory you had just discovered?

---

Thoughts? What are you looking forward to most from this chapter?

Let me know <3 I'm so, so sorry this update is taking so long...I promise it will be worth it! (if you know what i mean......)

[emonydeborah]

November fluff prompt 14: hugs

“All right, mess at 1800, class meeting 1900, squadron meeting 2000.” La’an rolled her eyes as Una rattled off the itinerary. She was holding a copy of the same schedule.

”Yes, Mom. I’ll remember.”

“Do you want to walk around one more time?” Chris asked. “It’s a big campus, easy to get lost.”

La’an planted herself in front of her dorm door. She could hear her new roommate puttering around inside. A heavy weight scrapes over the ground, and La’an gritted her teeth. As long as her furniture stayed on her side, she had to be all right with it.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. Her new academy issued T-shirt stretched tight in her shoulders, constricting her. “I’ll work it out.”

Una looked down at her with a mix of pride and sadness. “We know you will.” Her eyes were so soft La’an had to look away. She pressed her lips together and swallowed past a lump in her throat.

Chris clapped a hand on La’an’s shoulder. His eyes were shimmering. “We’re so proud of you.”

La’an’s mouth twisted, and she looked down. “Thank you.”

“Really, sweetheart,” Una added. “This is huge. You’re going to do great things here.”

“Just don’t forget old Mom and Dad while you’re having adventures, right?” Chris grinned. He hadn’t let go of her shoulder. “Call us whenever. For anything.”

“And don’t be afraid to use up those transporter credits, they don’t roll over at the end of the semester.”

“If you ever want a nice, home cooked meal, I have connections in the kitchen.”

They were building themselves up to a joined rant, and La’an cut them off before they could build steam. “Mom. Dad.”

Una gave her a watery smile and La’an groaned inwardly. She ignored the burning in her own eyes. “Message received. We’ll let you get settled.”

Chris pulled La’an into a hug, and though she still fit completely under his chin, for some reason La’an felt like he couldn’t reach. She pressed herself against him, cuddly for once, and Chris patted her back before reluctantly pulling away.

Una wrapped her up next. La’an melted into the embrace, squeezing her tightly. “We love you.” Una kissed her head. “And we’re proud of you.”

Una seemed determined not to let go first, and La’an wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. She clung to her mother. After a few seconds Chris wrapped himself around both of them. His strong arms had kept danger at bay for years. Now she would have to take care of herself.

La’an snuggled in between them and closed her eyes to commit every aspect of the moment to memory.

The academy would be hard, but La’an had this. Her mom kissed her head and her dad embraced them both.

This was enough.

[oflowtides]

⸻  JOHN GALLAGHER JR. HE/HIM  / have you ever heard of I WISH I COULD GO BACK TO COLLEGE by avenue q obc, well, it describes JAMES ‘JIMMY’ BRUMEIER to a tee! the thirty seven year old, and DESK CLERK was spotted browsing through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know them? would you say HE is more unproductive or more BOYISH instead? anyway, they remind me of crooked ties, coffee ring stains on a nice desk, unruly hair no matter how many times you comb it and never really wanting to grow up, maybe you’ll bump into them soon!

time in notting hill: ten years

The best word to describe Jimmy would be unmotivated. He never had much of a drive to do anything other than play video games or binge watch shows and movies. Growing up, it was like pulling teeth to try to get him to do his homework and participate in class, or even get a part time job because he really just didn't want to do it. Despite this, he didn't hate school; the structure was reassuring and helped keep him on a schedule despite the late nights doing whatever it was he wanted to do with his free time.

There were a number of reasons for Jimmy to show up to school every day - one of them being he had to, but the other was Yale Cameron. She was both his best friend and his longest relationship - the pair dated for two years, and there was no one he felt more comfortable or at ease around. He had been convinced for a while that she was his soul mate, and while that still rang true after they broke up, it was not in the way he had initially thought. However, the two became a packaged deal, rarely going anywhere without the other, and their closeness and lack of boundaries often made their respective dating life hard.

Everyone who knew him was only half shocked to hear he actually wanted to go to college - his lack of drive in school lead most people to believe that he'd graduate high school and wash his hands with schooling, but the idea of more personal freedom coupled with the structure Jimmy clung to was too enticing. He barely scraped by and managed to get into a state school, and the cycle started over - but this time he tended to skip more classes so he could party or sleep or play video games all day. He failed his first year, which wasn't a shock to anyone, but he didn't get kicked out either, so the cycle continued.

He did manage to graduate (a few semesters later than the peers he started with however) and spent the first six months doing nothing but buying lotto tickets and sitting around doing nothing, living close to campus because student housing was cheaper and he refused to move back home. This weirdly paid off, as Jimmy won the jackpot. Suddenly he had more money than he knew what he could or even should do with - so he decided that he should move to the UK because there was nothing tying him down (especially because Yale was moving with him - he wasn't going to go anywhere without his platonic life partner).

The move was surprisingly easy - though he kept the fact that he was now nearly a millionaire to himself. He decided to get a desk job to keep himself busy, and to have a means of income to at least explain where he got money to do stuff with. The structure of an office was good for him - he's too aimless without someone telling him what to do and when to do it - but despite being in a more 'grown up' environment, he was still stuck in a college boy mindset, and that was very evident from the way he ate, talked, and often dressed outside of the office. It was either charming or a huge turn off - Jimmy found there was rarely a middle ground.

He hasn't burned through too much of the money; rarely wanting to draw that much attention to himself or want to make big purchases, he still has about half of it after all this time, sitting in a savings account. Only the Cameron siblings know about it, as they're more or less his own siblings at this point. He could mature a little more if you asked anyone who knew him, but his personality is pleasant enough, eager to step up and help anyone who needs it with minimal complaining depending on the task, and sometimes his more immature outlook on life can remind people that not everything needs to be so serious all the time.

[indigolover97]

We’re Dripping In It

Chapter 6: Boy Meets Evil

Jungkook’s new position at D-Town keeps him busy and suddenly the free time he used to have is gone. Between classes, homework, dance and vocal practice for his performances, there was hardly any time for him to do more than fall into bed when he got home. Occasionally he’d crash at Yoongi and Taehyung’s guest room but he tries not to intrude on their hospitality too much.

If it had been anyone else, a budding relationship would have been pushed to the side but Jungkook makes an effort to text Namjoon everyday. And Jungkook is pleased to find that the man’s patience and consideration knew no bounds. More often than not, the pair would find the time to meet up after Jungkook’s nightly performances.

Namjoon came nearly every night and saved a spot for them on the couch of the VIP floor.

“How are your classes?” Namjoon greeted with a smile, handing Jungkook a bottle of water as he sat down on the leather couch next to him.

Jungkook groaned, taking the water gratefully as he took a long sip. “I think I got placed with some of the worst professors this semester. We’re barely a month in and I’m already loaded with a packet of homework from each of my classes, plus two different papers due in two weeks.”

Namjoon winced sympathetically, “I’m sorry to hear that, I’m sure your new schedule at D-Town hasn’t helped.”

“Serves me right for putting off the required credits for my major,” Jungkook gripped bitterly, brushing his sweaty bangs out of his face. “Probably should have stayed a bartender, I would have had more time to study.”

“While I’m sure that would make things easier for you,” Namjoon said, smiling kindly at him. “I can see how much you love being on stage. The hard times will pass and you’ll thank yourself later for sticking through it.”

Jungkook sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I hope you’re right, anyway enough about me. What’s been going on with you? Did the visit with your family go well?”

Namjoon smiled widely, his dimples popping in his cheeks. “Yes, the visit with my parents went well. It was nice to see them after so long, I rarely have time off to go to our family home. I took those pictures like I promised.”

“Oh!” Jungkook gasped eagerly, scooching closer over to Namjoon as he pulled out his phone and started showing him photos of his family dog, Moni. “Oh my god, he’s adorable!”

Jungkook drank in the photos of the fluffy white american eskimo dog, giggling at the various silly photos Namjoon took of the excited puppy. He gaped at the beautiful scenic photos Namjoon took as well, listening with rapt attention as Namjoon explained where he was on his parent’s property.

“This place sounds huge,” Jungkook whispered, looking at Namjoon in shock.

Namjoon shrugged and tucked his phone away, “It’s only a hundred acres, mostly woodland and mountain. My mother didn't want to retire to a farm life but my father wanted to be in nature, so they compromised.”

“I’ll say,” Jungkook muttered, trying his best to keep his composure to how wealthy Namjoon’s family seemed to be. “It’s a beautiful place, I’m glad they have the time to enjoy it.”

Namjoon hummed in agreement, “They’ve earned it and retirement life is suiting them better than I thought it would. I was really going home to check on them, but they seem to be adjusting to the quiet life quite well.”

Jungkook nodded in understanding, then decided to change the subject before Namjoon could. By now he knew Namjoon didn’t like talking about his family too much, so he never pressed, figuring they were just extremely private people.

“I’m sorry we haven’t been able to meet often outside of the club,” Jungkook apologized, biting his lip piercing nervously. The metal ring twisted through his teeth and dug through this skin, the dull pain distracted him from his stomach bubbling nervously. Since the art museum, neither he nor Namjoon had been able to find the time to meet outside of D-Town. And Jungkook was starting to worry that the man would grow bored with him.

Namjoon shook his head, “You don’t have to apologize Jungkook-ah. If it wasn’t your work taking up time, mine would. I’m just glad we’re able to meet up regularly at all.”

Jungkook smiled, “I guess I shouldn’t complain then, I don’t think you’ve missed one of my shows this past week. At least I’ll have one regular listener.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about that,” Namjoon chuckled, peering at him slyly. “I’ve seen a lot of regular faces since you’ve started performing. I don’t think Yoongi-hyung is ever going to have to worry about booking a big name here again.”

Jungkook blushed and scratched the back of his head, “Hyung was very insistent that I focus on my classes and performances when he made my contract. I think Taehyungie-hyung wanted to frame it after I signed it.”

Namjoon chuckled at Jungkook’s exasperated groan, “Your hyungs have really taken you in. How long have you known them?”

“I think it's going on about four years now,” Jungkook said after a moment of thought. “I lived with them the first three years I was on my own in Seoul. They helped me a lot while I was getting to my feet here.”

“What did you come to Seoul for?” Namjoon asked, putting Jungkook at ease with the gentle conversation.

“I went to high school here in the city, when the travel between my hometown and Seoul became too expensive I started looking for a place to live. I just happened to hear someone talk about D-Town needing new bartenders during my search and decided to try my shot.” Jungkook explained, remembering how intimidating he found Yoongi-hyung to be at first. His cold business attitude and thin red scar over his right eye would intimidate any seventeen year old. But the man had softened the moment he learned of Jungkook’s situation and immediately gave him both a job and a place to stay.

Namjoon opened his mouth to ask another question but was cut off by his phone going off. He sighed heavily as he pulled it out and looked at the caller ID, “One of these days I’ll get a night off without interruptions.”

Jungkook watched as Namjoon silenced his phone but the look on his face said that he would have to leave. He gave Namjoon a gentle smile, “It’s alright, I’m glad you were able to come at all and have some time to talk.”

Namjoon looked remorseful but Jungkook stopped any apologies with a wave of his hand before taking one of Namjoon’s hands in his.

“Please don’t apologize, any time we can get is enough.” Jungkook said softly, squeezing Namjoon’s hand.

Namjoon nodded and squeezed Jungkook’s hand in return, “The day neither of us are too bound up with schedules, I’ll take you somewhere special.”

Jungkook grinned widely, “I look forward to it then.”

“Are you going to your apartment tonight?” Jungkook nodded. “Do you need a ride there?”

Jungkook shook his head, most nights he agreed to Namjoon dropping him off or calling a cab for him, but tonight he wanted to walk under the early morning sky. “It’s alright, I’ll walk this time.”

Namjoon looked like he was going to protest but his phone vibrated loudly in his pocket, he glared down at it. “It seems I won’t be getting a moment’s peace until I answer. Text me when you get home.”

“I will,” Jungkook promised, blushing when Namjoon placed a goodbye kiss on his sweaty forehead before leaving the VIP floor. He sighed as he watched the door close behind the man, finishing the water bottle in two gulps before making his way down to the employee locker room. He tried to console himself with what Namjoon had said, this schedule of theirs wouldn’t be forever, eventually they’d be able to go out on normal dates.

He pulled his sweaty stage clothes off and placed them in the employee hamper before pulling on his spare sweats from inside his locker. He pulled on Namjoon’s jacket before grabbing his backpack and heading out the door, desperate to be home and shower off the grim from the stage. The cold early morning air hits his face as he exits the back door of D-Town, the streets are empty as he makes his way down the familiar blocks.

When he turns on the street corner near his complex he does a double take at the group of men that are loitering near the narrow alleyway, the one where he first met Namjoon. There’s a cloud of cigarette smoke hanging over the mens’ heads, he nearly coughs at the intense smell as he passes. None of the men even glance at Jungkook, much to his relief, and he tries to keep his pace steady as he continues towards his complex.

A scuffle of feet sound behind him and Jungkook forces himself not to glance back, to keep moving forward. He’s almost under the lamp light in front of the front door when someone throws their arms around him. A cloth is placed hard around his mouth and nose before he has time to react. He kicks and flails around wildly, making contact with the men’s solid bodies, until his vision goes dark.

The last thing he thinks before his body goes limp in the stranger’s hold and his consciousness leaves him, is how much his hyungs are going to worry when he doesn’t show up for work tomorrow.

[albedostartarus]

You know what’s funny? All this stupid fucking. and I’m not even growing, my knowledge about photography and layout design is the exact fucking same as last semester. Fashion studio, all that work? Nothing. K came into this semester with the exact same amount of sewing knowledge as me—- started studio 2 weeks late— picked the most difficult pattern and learned to sew it ON THE FLY as she made the dress. I did. Nothing. She’s come out someone with a knowledge of sewing and patterns and all that I want to learn and I did. Nothing. You know why I didn’t pick the stupid fucking sewing project? Because I was boo boo fucking scared, oh no what if I’m unable to sew! Oh no! Boo fucking hoo she went out and did it and all I did was tell her that she had the choice to not do it whenever she encountered AND eventually cleared an obstacle in her process.

I’m not only a stupid fucking person with no technical skill or ability I’m also a horrible fucking person. R got her first internship after the first fucking semester after being accepted to a design program at one of the best universities in the world with a full scholarship while she had a fraction of the resources and experience that I did. S was accepted to bits Pilani and chose not to go bc of the fees, K was accepted to RISD and didn’t go hc of the fees and has nearly a twice as large scholarship to parsons. Z has had way more problems in life than I have, like actual problems not just "oh no! my computers slow!" and she's way better than me, had experience working with design and art before I ever started work on my stupid fucking portfolio that I took a gap year for. It took me a WHOLE GAP YEAR TO MAKE A MEDIOCRE PORTFOLIO RHAT GOT ME A MEDIOCRE SCHOLARSJIP INTO A SCHOOL I DIDNT EVEN HAVE ON MY TOP FUCKING THREE.

Last semester I was the only one who didn’t finish the time class final and I chose to not go to critique and pretended I didn’t wake up bc I didn’t want to face my class knowing that I took up a large project knowing damn well it was a challenge and confidently told the prof I could pull it off then failed due to my own shortcomings.

My grades in 10th were mediocre my grades in 12th were bad and I wasn’t even good enough in the prelimsries to get into CS and was only let it after submitting a special request following the final results which only met the intake by a THIN amount

my skin is full of acne scars and blackheads because I never took care of it my teeth cost my dad several Lakhs because I wasn’t even able to wear a fucking retainer regularly and I STILL don’t and I STILL can’t do the bare minimum of brushing properly and my tooth look like actual shit.

My feet look like shit because I never took care of them my toe nails are chipped and disgusting and there’s the remnants of an untreated blood clot in one of them and ugly patches of hair everywhere

My eyesight fucking sucks because surprise surprise! I didn’t fucking take care of it and cost my family money

I was fat as hell and lately my solution to that has been actively starving myself which in the past has also SIRORISE SIRPRISE cost my family money because I keep having to get blood tests done and get supplements

I can’t talk to people and didn’t have a single friend until 6th and after that still couldn’t talk to anyone except them, I made friends during the pandemic and you know what!!! I’m still FUCKING AWKWARD AROUND THEM!!!’ I CANT TALK TO THE PRIPLE I TRUST THE MOST !!!!! WHATS THE FUCKING POINT!!!!!!

I have ugly legs ugly face ugly nails ugly waist ugly ass ugly everything, my skins getting worse because I fucked up my sleeping schedule as a teenager

I don’t have a CV a resume a portfolio and haven’t applied to a single job in my entire life. I’m pathetic and can’t even do the most basic things in life and all I’ve done for the past 5-7 years I’d be mediocre and waste my family’s money. Im pathetic. I’m stupid. Im ugly. I’m incapable of even keeping my room SOMEWHAT clean let alone keeping myself looking attractive. And now I’m here in college wasting more of my parents’ money while continuing to be mediocre and stupid.

I deserve to die and everyone in my life deserves so much better than me. I don’t know how many of my friends talk and hang out with me out of obligation and bc it’s like I’m almost forcing them and how many even actyally want to and if they don’t I can’t even blame them because I wouldn’t hang out with me either! I’m everything I hate and more and I keep pretending otherwise in hopes that the people I love wouldn’t leave me.

[likeswallowstosea]

For a moment, Madeline’s smile fades. A real person, the bitterness in his words was impossible to miss, but were they directed at her career, the expectations from her mother and their father she never felt close to living up to no matter how hard she’d tried, or Madeline as a person? How was she even supposed to respond? It wasn’t like he was wrong, if it was Jason or Emily, she’d be trying to school her expression the second she’d caught herself, trying to move past it without ever addressing the sting. But this was Spencer, with how much he’d noticed, and internalized, he’d probably started beating himself up the second her expression shifted. Yet again, she’d caused one of her sibling’s discomfort without meaning to. “We were never really allowed to do that, huh. Just be real people.” 

Sure, there were always those stolen moments, her entire friendship with Remi stemmed from her sneaking off to escape for a bit with him for a while before they were able to leave that bubble for good. But, she couldn’t imagine Spencer’s childhood feeling any less suffocating, in fact, from the way he spoke about it, it was obvious the grass hadn’t been greener on the other side. “We should do stuff like this more often, Spence. I don’t know if I can do a guaranteed weekly thing with my schedule, but I’d be willing to try to if your classes aren’t too intense this semester.”

So, maybe she hadn’t addressed things per se, but at least everything was genuine, even if the act of discussing it felt like pulling her own teeth. “You stole the access codes to the Arcade so you could break in and play? Spencer, that’s illegal.” She sighs, glancing over to her younger brother. But who was she to crush him even more, and after a few moments she sighed. “I’m calling Remi if we need to be bailed out of jail, just so you’re aware. You really need to return those keys though, Spence.”

"It's amazing how much fun you can have when you remember you're a real person, right?" Spencer asked, the words a bit more bitter than he truly intended. In his defense, it wasn't directed towards Madeline herself. In fact, even as kids, he seemed like he was the only one in the family who felt more excitement than awkwardness and dread whenever their paths crossed. Any sort of discomfort only risen from the feeling like somehow he was at fault for the distance between her and the rest of his family. If anything, they should have been brought together to fight against the common enemy like a Hollywood superhero trope. "Okay, so it's totally okay if it's too risky, but.... my friend is basically the manager to the arcade just down the street, and he may have been careless and lost the keys and access codes that had somehow ended up in my possession, and he had to get new ones for himself- point is, he trusts me far too much, and I have twenty four hour access to it, and no one ever bothers me. Anytime someone see's the lights on, they just assume it's staff cleaning up after hours or testing everything out."

[thatgirlstrawberry]

The Professor’s Wife

In which Y/N shows up at Spencer’s job to drop off lunch but he was hungry for something else

Warnings: smut!!!, oral sex(f rec), unprotected penetrative sex, bruising?? A single spank 🫣, dirty talk, soft dom!spencer, praise kink??, names (good girl, baby), semi-public sex, lmk if I missed anything!!

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

All the girls who took Professor Reid’s class were angry that they put it on their schedule once they found out that he was married. And that his wife was hot.

He had pictures of her around his desk and they were all of this beautiful woman. The first day of school, he made a little ‘about me’ slideshow and he introduced his wife.

Now, just because he was married didn’t mean that the girls in his classes didn’t try to make passes at him. Every week he had a girl coming up to him and asking for help and then ‘accidentally’ dropping something and bending over to pick it up. He’d always roll his eyes and look up at the ceiling, not even a little bit interested.

Anyway, this was his second class of the day and it was around 12:00. He was pacing around talking about the student’s final when he recognized a face in the audience.

She was standing all the way in the back, holding a dark blue and brown lunchbox, and her bottom lip was caught between her teeth.

His wife.

He smiled and looked at his watch, thanking God that it was time for the college kids to leave. “Okay, everyone. Your final is coming up. Make sure you study! Have a nice day!” He called as they began to clear the rows of chairs.

He saw one girl coming up to him and sighed, rolling his eyes. Y/N made her up to the front and sat there becoming amused.

“Um hi doctor Reid.” She spoke, he voice soft. Spencer raised his eyebrows.

He glanced at Y/N. “Hello, Erica. What can I do for you.”

The girl let out a dramatic sigh. “I guess— ugh his is so embarrassing—“ She pressed her hands to her face before dropping them and looking back up at him. “I’m just not really understanding the material and I’d really like you to go over it with me. In depth. Say… over coffee later?”

Y/N scoffed with a smile quietly and crossed one leg over the other.

Spencer clicked his tongue. “Sorry, Erica. If you can’t get it now, you probably won’t get it at all. My advice is to take this semester’s final and then drop the class.” He shrugged.

The girl sighed in frustration. “But Dr. Reid, being a behavioral… person is like— my dream. Please, just help me. I really want this to work out for me.” The girl felt a tap on her shoulder and she spun around facing a smiling woman. Dr. Reid’s wife.

“Then get a tutor, sweetie.” She nodded.

Erica groaned and walked away quickly, leaving the large room. Once she was gone, Y/N turned to her husband and laughed. “Are all the girls like this?” She asked, setting his lunchbox behihim on his desk.

Spencer chuckled and pulled her into him. “Unfortunately yes.” He nodded, kissing her softly. “You look beautiful today.” He didn’t get to see her before he left for work because she was still in the shower when he left their house.

She smiled against his lips. “Thank you. And you looked awfully sexy standing up here, teaching.” She whispered, pulling away to nip at his neck.

His hands gripped her waist and she pulled away completely. “I brought you dinner from last night.” She smiled, walking past him and unzipping the lunchbox.

She pulled out a thermos full of the spaghetti that they made the night before and a ziplock of two breadsticks. He hummed. “You’re the best wife ever.”

She sighed dramatically. “So don’t throw all of this away for some college girl!” She joked. Spencer rolled his eyes and walked over to her taking the food from her hands and setting it on the desk.

“I’m free for another hour, eat with me?” He asked, grabbing her hips and pulling her body into him.

She gasped quietly and placed her hand on his chest. “I didn’t bring enough for two people, babe.” She smiled.

“You can have the food. I want something else.” He told her. The woman furrowed her eyebrows and began to speak before she was cut off by Spencer picking her up and setting her on the desk. Her lips were immediately caught by his.

“Mm! Spencer—“ She pulled away with a giggle and looked up at him. “Baby, we’re in you class room!” Spencer began to kiss her neck. “What if someone walks in?”

“Then they’ll see how fucking good you come all over my cock.” Her legs felt weak at that sentence and she sucked in a breath. “Are you gonna be a good girl and let me make you feel like one?”

Y/N bit her lip and nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m glad you wore this pretty little dress today.” He smirked against her neck. He grabbed her knees and hiked her legs up around his waist as he nipped at her neck. “Made it real easy f’me.”

Y/N smiled and tried to pull his head towards her lips so she could kiss him again. His hands pulled her hips forward so half of her ass was hanging off the table. He kissed her lips before trailing them down again. He pulled the neckline of her dress down under her tits and cupped them as he kissed her collar bone.

“Fuck, Spence.” She whispered, holding the back of his head.

“What baby?” He asked, squeezing her breasts.

A whine left her parted lips. “I need you to do something.” She whispered. “Please, please, please.”

Spencer smiled. “What do you need? Tell me what you want, baby.”

She bit her lip and felt her desire grow hotter and her panties growing wetter. “I n-need your mouth.” His hands moved from her breasts gripped her hips, pulling her even closer to the edge of the desk.

He dropped down to his knees without a word, his hands snaking underneath her dress and pulling at the sides of her underwear. Her legs spread and he tugged them down.

He kept eye contact with her until his head disappeared underneath her dress. Her hands flew to the edge of the desk, holding on for dear life when she felt his breath fanning against her wet core.

Then, she felt his tongue. She gasped quietly when it flattened out against her and started to slide up and down through her folds. Her mouth fell open and one hand came up and pressed against her torso, pushing her to lay back. She moaned loudly and pushed all of the cups of pens and the papers. Anything she could get her hands on ended up on the floor.

He groaned against her and pulled away. “Taste so good, baby.” He muttered before, licking her clit softly. He sucked it into his mouth and she bit her lip, trying to hold in a loud moan.

Her body felt as if it was on fire. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. She whimpered and her chest heaved. She shut her eyes and tilted her head back as his tongue ran over her pussy over and over again.

“Fuck! Spencer that feels so good.” She gasped out. She could feel his smile against her and his stubble giving giving her a tickle in the inside of her thighs.

His hands wrapped around her thighs, pulling them impossibly farther apart. His fingers dig in, inevitably bruising her. There seemed to be something tightening in her stomach and she tapped his head over the skirt of her dress.

“I’m gonna fucking— oh I’m gonna come…” She mumbled, her thighs tightening around her head.

He hummed and continued to suck and lick her. She whimpered quietly and dug the heel of her shoes into his back. “Fuck!” Her hot release came sooner than she’d hoped and she panted as he pulled his head from underneath her dress.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He shook his head with a smile, his lips and chin glistening with her wetness. He went back in for a kiss and placed his hand on her waist. She moaned into the kiss, tasting herself on his lips.

He pulled away and pulled her off of the desk completely. She made a noise in surprise as he spun her around quickly and bent her over the desk. He flipped the skirt of her dress up and over so it laid over her back, giving him a full view of her dripping core.

“You ready for more?” She jolted when he laid a hard smack on her ass.

“Please. I’m so fucking ready.” She nodded, shutting her eyes. She heard his belt unbuckle and his zipper go down and smiled excitedly.

He chuckled. “Fuck, baby. You got me so hard, eating you like that.” He spoke. He grabbed her right hip roughly in one hand and used his other to guide the head of his cock through her wet folds.

She bit her lip hard and hummed. “Please, Spence. Please.” He stopped moving his dick and pressed it against her entrance. Her mouth dropped open and he pushed in slowly.

“Fuck…” He panted, his hand sliding from her hip to her shoulder. “Always feel so good for me.”

She grabbed the edge of the desk and swallowed. “Please, move move move.” She whispered.

He began to rock his hips slowly, her tiny moans making him drop his mouth open. His eyes rolled back in his head with pure pleasure. Y/N opened her mouth but tried to be quiet.

“Taking me so fucking well, baby.” He mumbled, starting to move a bit faster. He looked down, cursing at how hot it was watching himself disappear inside of her.

She gasped and moaned. “Fa-faster— oh fuck!” He didn’t wait another second to speed up when he heard her pleas.

Skin slapping and echoey moans were the only thing to be heard in the lecture hall.

Soon, Spencer was ready and he could tell she was too by the way she was clenching around him, desperately grabbing on to the sides of the desk and mumbling incoherent words.

“Come for me, good girl. Come on my cock.” He panted out.

She let out one last loud moan and her body froze, feeling the tight ball in her stomach releasing. She hummed, feeling Spencer come inside her and inhaled with a smile on her lips.

He pulled out of her, watching how her body shook. He wrapped his arms around her torso and lifted her up off the desk, pulling her dress down back over her body before pulling the stretched out neckline back over her boobs.

“Thanks for lunch, baby.” He smiled, kissing just underneath her ear.

She sighed and hummed. “Shit, any time.”

——————————————————

Yuhhhhhh smut 🤪

I went feral over this and idk— there’s just something about professor!Spencer… also I may or may have not just watch don’t worry darling and based the first bit off of that scene when Jack came home and ate Alice out on the table— let me stop.

Thanks for reading!

Love ya bunches ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @mrsgweasley

@tuesday-yellowxx

@blue-willows

@monzarella

@winkev1

@criminallymagic

@mermateyepmatewithte

@lipstixstain

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[aaliyg]

With You, It's Alright

Word Count: 3.6K (gets better n better each time)

Prompt: Rivals to Lovers

Warnings: ririxblack!fem!reader, hbcu!riri, hbcu!reader, rivals to friends to lovers, bottom!riri, top!reader, cursing, oral sex, clit rubbing, praise kink, first time, mirror sex, multiple orgasms, pet names, dirty talk

Dialogue Color Code: Riri, Reader

Very loosely based off of Waste My Time by Citizen Queen

I've been starving yall for a bit. I apologize.

You let your eyes warily glide over all of the people that were filtering into the classroom. The middle of the semester was approaching quickly, almost as if it had teleported its way into your schedule. For this database class in particular, that meant that all your future assignments would turn into never-ending group work, including the final project of the semester. To make things even worse, your professor was picking the groups, which meant that you would either be entirely screwed over or insanely lucky. You prayed to God that it would be the latter. 

Eventually, your professor walked in and began her lecture. You tried your best to listen to what she was saying, but the daunting group work ahead was worrying you more than you'd like to admit. What if you got paired up with someone who didn't understand a thing about the class? Or someone who was overly confident about their input regarding your work? These thoughts clouded your mind for the entire class, which resulted in your notes looking quite empty. You sighed quietly as you packed up your belongings and made your way to the bulletin board that was surrounded by your classmates. You waited patiently for them to leave so that you could see who your partner was, taking note of the way some of them looked at you with annoyance, as if you didn't deserve who you got paired up with. 

You rolled your eyes as you got closer to the board to look for your name. It didn't take you long to find it since the class was quite small, but when your eyes scanned over the name that was next to yours, "Riri Williams" was certainly not what you expected or wanted to be there. You held back your groan as you left the class, making a beeline towards the library to hopefully get some quiet time by yourself. 

That quest got dashed on the rocks as soon as you sat down and started taking out your laptop to look at the PowerPoint that was taught today. You didn't even get to open the file before someone tapped on your shoulder. You looked at Riri in pure disdain, and it felt as if God himself was against you today, making you want to sprint to the nearest church to repent for your sins. She looked you up and down coldly, almost as if she was daring you to do something about the group arrangement that she wasn’t even aware of yet. After a beat of silence, she pulled up a chair, sat next to you, and began looking at the PowerPoint on your screen.

“I thought you didn’t need to study for this class since you ‘already knew everything’.”

The side eye you gave her was almost enough to make her stop fucking with you. Almost. She narrowed her eyes at you in thought as you made small annotations on the PowerPoint.

“That’s not how that operator works you know.”

You quickly slid over your laptop to her, pure annoyance printed painfully on your face.

“You do it, then. Since you know so fucking much.”

 She blinked in mild shock at your response and gingerly placed the device on her lap. After a few minutes, she handed it back to you with her notes that were colored red, and she watched you smugly while you read what she had typed in. You sucked your teeth in frustration when you realized that her notes were correct, causing her to chuckle softly.

“Look at that. And I didn’t even come to today’s lecture.”

“I was wondering why the class was so quiet today.”

She deadpanned towards you as her phone sounded off. As she opened the email she received, you got a front-row seat to witness her face morphing from smugness, to concern, then to unfiltered dread when she realized that you two were paired up with each other. You smirked at her reaction and brought your attention back to your notes while Riri tried to grapple with the arrangement. 

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t want to be paired up with you either.”

“How in the hell would that make me feel better?”

You shrugged as you typed out the last bit of your notes and closed the file on your laptop. You looked back over at Riri, who seemed a lot calmer than before.

“If you don’t have anything else to do today, we could start brainstorming right now…”

"Yeah sure, why not."

You swiftly opened a google doc, shared it with Riri, and began to bounce ideas around. You'd hate to admit it, but working with her was…refreshing. There was no sense that you'd end up doing all of the work, and you could tell that that's how she felt about this session as well. Within two hours, you guys had slated up a description of your database, the names of your tables, and the information within those tables. It felt nice to be on the same playing field as someone else for once, even if the other person could be quite snarky about their intelligence at times. 

All good things had to come to an end, though. You quickly realized that the sun was starting to set, and you still had assignments for other classes to take care of. Riri had come to the same realization as well as she looked at the time on her computer.

"Damn that's the time already? Yo, sorry to leave you hanging like this but I gotta go."

"Oh yeah no that's no problem. I'll see you around?"

"For sure."

She hurriedly made her way down the stairs as you began to pack up your belongings. You smiled softly to yourself as you walked to the dorms across campus. Maybe this group arrangement wasn't as bad as you thought it would be.

Two weeks later, you found yourself sitting on the floor of Riri’s dorm as you guys were struggling to get an assignment done for your class. The end goal was to pinpoint the limits of the example database given and try to come up with ways to go around those limits. This is what should have been said in the instructions, but your professor decided to throw away all the conventions of writing when making this assignment.

"These assignments wouldn’t be so hard if she could fucking write instructions properly. How the hell are you a college-level professor and can’t write properly?"

"Bold of you to assume she writes them herself. I’m bettin’ 20 bucks that she just copy n pasted em from quizlet or sum shit."

You groaned loudly as you reread the instructions for the seventh time, the words still looking as foreign as ever to you. Riri wasn’t doing any better. She had gone as far as to attempt to rewrite the instructions in a way that made sense, but nothing was clickling. At this point, you could tell that your collective irritation was getting the best of you two, so you decided to do something about it.

"You wanna take a break before this laptop gets thrown across the room?"

“It’s like you read my mind. Lemme order some food. What do you wanna eat?”

You blinked in mild surprise at her question, not exactly thinking food was an option when you came over here.

“We could get Chinese, Italian, Mexican-”“I’ll take Mexican. A burrito would be nice.”

She nodded as she placed the order and went to turn on some music in order to calm you guys down a bit more. After about thirty minutes, you guys sat quietly as you ate your takeout food. It was weird, but you found solace in the peaceful quiet of the space, causing you to zone out. Riri looked over at you, confusion written all over her face as you continued to stare into space.

“Aye, you good over there?”

Riri sighed softly and gently flung a shoe in your direction, which lightly hit your shoulder.

"Ah yes hit me with a shoe while I’m zoned out. Wonderful idea."

Riri shrugged at you, a smile playing on her lips.

“I’m not walkin over there. And the shoe was the softest thing near me soo.”

“...Fair enough.”

Riri looked at the clock on her nightstand, signaling that you two had spent an hour relaxing.

“You wanna get back to work now orr?”

You shuffled closer to her as you looked at the screen in front of you.

“Yeah let’s try to decipher these instructions again.”

It took you guys two more hours to get the work done, but you finally turned it in with thirty minutes to spare. You sighed in relief as you got the confirmation email of your submission, and slowly started to put your things away.

“Same time tomorrow? My dorm this time though.”

She nodded as she stood up to put her things back where they belonged.

“Definitely. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

Tomorrow couldn’t come any faster for you as you tried to fall asleep. Something about Riri had you hooked, and you’d hate to admit it, but you were genuinely starting to like her and her presence. Maybe because she was the first person who actually wanted to spend time working with you, instead of expecting you to do all the work by yourself. It didn’t help that she was a genuinely sweet person underneath all the attitude and ego that annoyed you when you first talked to her. Being around her made you feel warm inside, and you couldn’t wait to see her again the next day.

When your last class of the day had finished, you quickly strode over to the bookstore to buy some snacks for your dorm. You said a quick hello to the workers as you went to the back of the store where the snacks were. You quickly scooped up a couple of drinks, chips, and candies and walked to the cashier to check out your things. After purchasing your things, you strode over to your dorm and began to tidy up a bit. You felt a bit excited at the prospect of Riri coming over, as if you two hadn’t been doing so for the past two weeks now. You had just finished cleaning when a knock sounded at your door, and when you opened it, Riri slid right in underneath your arm.

“No hi, hello, how was your day?”

You slowly closed the door and watched as she took a seat on the chair next to your bed. You couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but something was off with her today.

“Sorry, I’m just not in the mood right now…”

You nodded sympathetically and sat on your bed with the gentle bass of your music playing in the background.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

She nodded softly, and you sat back and let her talk.

“I’m thinking about stopping my side hustle. You know, with me doing people’s work for them and all that.”

You tried your best to keep a straight face when your irritation rose a bit at the mention of her ‘business’. 

“Ok, why do you want to stop?”

“Because it feels like I’m being run ragged, and I don’t know how long I can keep up with this. It’s like everyone just decided to not do their work at all, so I’m doing my work plus like thirty other people’s work at the same time.”

You squinted at her in slight distaste as she complained. Though her issues were completely valid, you felt as if she had dug her own grave, and now she was being forced to lie in it.

“Listen I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but if you had just joined the tutoring section, you could’ve still made some decent money. Instead of, you know, stealing all the students away from us.”

“It’s not like I meant to-”

“Yeah, but you did. And we would’ve loved to have you too you know.”

You bit your lip guiltily as Riri practically deflated at your words. You sighed softly and knelt in front of her, doing your best to maintain eye contact with her. She looked at you warily, waiting for you to dig into her again as you thought of the next thing to say.

“What if… you started tutoring instead of doing work for other people?”

She chuckled dryly at your statement.

“I doubt they’d want me to tutor after like what? Two semesters of me practically stealing their clients?”

“Well I mean…If you started tutoring, then students would kinda have to come back to my group no? Since no one is doing any of their work anymore. I feel like it’s a win-win. You get to relax more since the load is divided evenly among us, and I can help people out more.”

“...Yeah I guess that can work.”

You smiled softly at her and rubbed her knee in comfort.

“I know the flow of cash will be a lot lower than what you’re used to, but you won’t be as stressed. Trust me.”

She looked at you gratefully, and you beamed up at her in pride.“Okay. I'll trust you.”  

You nodded and got up off the ground with your smile still intact.

“You wanna get some work done, or do you wanna chill a bit?”

“Let’s get some work done. We haven’t breathed on that project since the day that we got paired up for it.”

You chuckled and nodded in agreement, and you two got right to work. It was another session full of banter and jokes and before you knew it, you guys had gotten to the midpoint of the project, which wasn’t due until next week.

“Look at us getting shit done. That’s one less thing we gotta worry about now.”

“Thank God honestly. I needed a break from that damn class.”

You laughed in agreement as you closed your laptop and got up to get some snacks.

“By the way, thanks for talking some sense into me earlier. I know we got off on the wrong foot at the start of the semester, but thanks for not treating me like shit this whole time.”

You tossed her a bag of Lays and a Sprite, humming in acknowledgement.

“It’s no problem at all. Honestly I was expecting you to go to the professor about switching partners or something… I’m glad you didn’t though.”

Riri smirked at you playfully as she ate her chips.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of that.”

“Woww ok I see how it is then.”

Three weeks later, you found yourself on Riri’s dorm floor once again as you listened to her rant about her workload from her classes. 

“Now listen. I know taking five classes at the same time was a dumbass idea but SHIT man. It’s like every time I get one thing done, something else gotta pop up. I can’t fucking breathe with all this work my God.”

“Well… which classes are giving you the most trouble? Maybe I can help?”

“Easy. Chem and Physics.”

“Who the fuck takes Chem and Physics at the same time?”

“Me apparently.”

“Riri I love you, but you a real dumb bitch sometimes.”

“Aww you love me pookie? Thank youu.”

“Shut the fuck up and get your textbooks out. Lemme see what I’m working with.”

You guys only got an hour of work done when Riri eventually threw in the towel, tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. You frowned at her demeanor and quickly pushed away the work.

“Come here sweets.”

You gently pulled her into your lap and glided your nails across her scalp tenderly. Riri hummed in appreciation at your actions, the stress of the day already melting off of her in waves.

“This feels nice. Thank you…”

“No problem.”

You continued to rub at her upper body, taking note of the way she shifted around every time you touched her neck.

“Would you like me to stop Ri?”

“Please don’t… this feels really nice.”

You shook your head softly as you went back to her scalp. Riri sighed gently and snuggled into your lap even more, causing you to smile down at her tenderly.

"How about I destress you a bit more hun?"

"This wasn't destressing me enough? Shii lemme see what else you can do then."

You smirked at her as your eyes hooded over to look at her.

"Get up on the bed and lemme show you."

You could practically see the blood rush to her ears as she looked up at you with wide eyes.

"Unless you don't want to, which is perfectly fine."

She bit her lip in thought and looked back up at you.

"I- I want to…"

You rubbed her cheek gently and tilted your head in the direction of her bed.

"Go ahead then babygirl."

Riri slowly made her way to her bed and sat down at the edge of it, clearly nervous. You stood in front of her and gently cupped her chin in your palm to look her in the eyes.

"Would you like me to stop sweetheart?"

"No… I wanna do this. I just-"

She sighed softly as she played with the strings on her hoodie, and you raised your brow in realization.

"This is your first time isn't it?"

"When you put it like that it sounds normal."

"Because it is sweets."

You glided your thumbs against the apples of her cheeks, trying your best to reassure her before anything got too heated.

"Don't worry I'll treat you well okay? Do you trust me?"

She looked back up at you with a small smile tugging at her lips and took a deep breath to calm herself down.

"Yeah… I trust you."

"Good. Now, lay back and lemme take care of you ok?"

She quickly did as she was told, causing you to chuckle softly at how obedient she had become.

"You're such a pretty little thing you know that?"

She whined softly at your praises, shuddering gently as your rubbed her inner thighs. As much as you wanted to tease her, you were dying to get a taste of her. You quickly pulled her shorts and panties off of her and cooed at how wet she had become. She panted softly as you pushed her puffy lips apart and got the pleasure of seeing her arousal ooze out of her.

“I see that someone is excited…”

Riri moaned softly and parted her legs a bit more, silently begging you to do something to her pussy, and you were certainly not one to disappoint. Wasting no time, you put her legs on your shoulders and placed your tongue flat against her cunt. Her sharp inhale was cut off with a loud and needy whine as you began to point your tongue out and make small circles around her clit, prodding at the sensitive bundle of nerves like your life depended on it. 

“Ohh fuck- fuck yes right there!”

You groaned softly as you feasted on her cunt, barely registering the amount of slick and spit that was sliding down your chin. Your eyes rolled back at how good she tasted. Nothing you could’ve imagined would make up for her taste, and you found yourself getting lost in her. 

You peeked your eyes open as she arched her back off the bed and moaned loudly, and you giggled as she began to push your head away from her. You propped yourself on your elbows and smiled at her. She looked at you and huffed gently as she closed her legs, feeling a bit shy about the way she acted. 

“So how was it hun?”

“I liked it a lot. Would you…be willing to do it again?”

“Aww baby. You wanna go for round two already?”

You chuckled as she looked down in pure embarrassment, doing her best to hide her face from you. You shuffled around the bed until you were sitting behind of her with her back laid against your chest.

“I want you to look in that mirror over there mkay?”

“O-Okay..”

“Good girl. Come on, open up for me.”

You hummed in satisfaction as her legs fell apart once again, and you began to slowly trail your hand towards her goods, giving her ample time to back out whenever she felt like it. When nothing of the sort came out of her mouth, you gently pressed your fingers against her clit. You felt her stiffen at the contact, and you rubbed her shoulder gently.

“I’m not putting anything inside of you tonight, don’t worry. Just gonna play with your clit ok?”

“Alright. You can go ahead..”

“Thank you babes. I want you to keep looking at that mirror ok?”

She nodded at your request, and her breath hitched softly when you began to rub small circles on her bud.

“Does this feel good princess?”

“Feels so fucking good. Oh my God..”

You gently placed your legs over hers to keep them spread as you continued your movements, whistling lowly as you two watched her pussy gush out slick like it was nothing. 

“Shit, beautiful you needed this so bad didn’t you? Needed someone to make you cum like this hm?”

You smirked when her hand created a vice grip around your wrist as she was nearing her climax. You pressed against her clit even more, and sped up your movements slightly, causing her to throw her head back in ecstasy.

“Yes, yes, yes. Oh God- FUCK yess..”

“There we go baby. Come on, let that shit out.”

You kissed along her jawline as she came for the second time that night, chuckling lightly when she pressed her face into your neck from embarrassment. 

“Better than you thought it would be?”

“So much better than what I thought it would be. Thank you.”

vulnerable bottom riri go brr

hope yall enjoyed lovelies ♡

ALSO. if you wanna be tagged in any future fics, say 'yurr' in the comments below ♡