#that thing frankly is bullshit as i was two marks off the grade i should have got in my gcse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinkrelish · 3 years ago

Text

Student!Reader x Professor!Obito

Summary: Every teacher has their favorite student, even the surly unapproachable types. Lucky you, you had just the charm to work on your professor to ensure that position belonged to you. And if you happened to be exploiting his weaknesses to improve your grades in the meantime, was that so wrong? You didn't deserve that F and he knew it.

Words: 13.8k

NSFW

teacher-student relationship, smut, porn with plot, under desk blow job, desk sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, spanking, dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise, cockwarming

Read: AO3 / FFnet

Bend the Rules for Me

“Class dismissed.”

Behind you, students clamored out of their seats and crammed their assignments marked with red X’s into their backpacks, or glanced over the scribble in the margins spotlighting all the reasons their paper was lackluster and crumpled it into the trash can beside the door as they stomped up the stairs and grumbled to their friends about how bullshit the grading was.

Everyone left. Except you.

You uncrossed your legs. Slowly. Reveling in the feel of the fabric of your skirt skimming your upper thighs; lingering in the position with your knees pointed outward while you gathered your things and stood up at the same time your professor turned his back to you and busied himself anywhere else.

Clouds of chalk dust fell from the green board, sprinkling his crisp dark blue dress shirt. Professor Uchiha brushed it off, then unbuttoned the sleeve cuffs, rolling them up his forearms until they fit snug under his elbows.

“I know you’re there,” he said, erasing the last of his sloppy handwriting detailing next week’s exam. “I imagine you’ve prepared an hour long speech about how unjust your grade was and how I should persuade my fingers to enter one a smidge higher when I log it in online?”

You didn’t reply; opting instead to simply shake your pages and pages of research stapled together on the whims of late nights stressing red veins into your eyes and the accompanying bags under them.

He dropped his head back and sighed. The eraser was tossed on the metal tray and he shoved his hands in his pockets before turning around to acquiesce your face: slackened in disapproval.

“I’m here to discuss why you think I’ve earned this when I understood the assignment just fine and wrote a, quite frankly, wonderful and well versed and well researched paper detailing the similarities in the plays down to the themes in how the women treat each other, the direction beats on stage, and use of Germanic language in the seconds acts.”

There was no use in sending you away.

Stiffly, he shuffled to his chair and fell into it, scooting it up to his desk and sitting so snug the wood edge dug into his solar plexus. Only then did he remove his hands from his pockets and clasp them under his chin, resting his elbows on the manila folders littering his desk next to the upturned mug of spilled pens crowding his mouse pad.

He regarded you with his blank stare--if not tinted pink across his nose--and goaded you with all the boredom in his tired voice after his lecture, “Well, let’s hear it.”

Professor Uchiha may have looked you in the eye, but it seemed difficult to do so. Like when someone averted their gaze to hide their true thoughts inside their brain from being seen, heard.

Or similar to when you’ve spotted someone you didn’t like from across the room and strove to ignore them at all costs, despite taking quick glances to ensure they were looking at you too.

Or when you both thought you were innocent gazelles, but you are the lion stalking the thin reeds of swaying yellow grass.

His presence dominated when class was in session. After? When it was just you two? You always got what you wanted.

“Well, considering I can’t read your wise remark under the very first sentence, let’s start there,” you posed, eyebrows raised.

A childish groan emitted from his throat. Ceased abruptly when you turned on the ball of your foot and strutted around his desk to the chalkboard. You picked up the stub of chalk he used that afternoon and wrote your comparisons in an easy to read bullet point list.

Professor Uchiha’s eyes followed your parading around his domain. Behind his desk. Touching his belongings. Assured in your cocky tone when addressing him; acting like you’ve done it dozens of times. Because you had.

Tracking your every graceful movement, he spun in his chair to give you the attention you wanted. But not before adjusting his trousers over his lap, deciding to lay an arm over that part of him while he cooled down.

It didn’t work.

You wrote sentence after sentence. Long loops of words. Vocalized in a purr to his ear. A delightful rumble in his chest as he hummed along. A growing desire forcing him to sit awkwardly.

He surrendered. Your back was to him. He stuffed his right hand in his pocket and grabbed the thing seconds from embarrassing him and wrangled it flat to his palm.

The smirk twitching at your lips was smothered as you moved on to your next point on the board. Pretend as much as he wanted; act aloof, be a hardass during class. Professor Uchiha was wrapped around your finger.

Absolutely no one dared approach him after red-inked grades were handed back. He never changed them. He never gave extensions. His office hours were spent alone, as was his lunch.

Unless you were there.

As you often were.

If only your classmates got word that all they had to do to improve their grades was wear a short skirt, a blouse missing its top buttons, and thigh high stockings.

Professor Uchiha had his weaknesses. You ruthlessly exploited them. Your speech was punctuated by bending over. Underlined by the flounce of your skirt hem swinging to and fro while gesturing at his bleeding red notes shouting about how your interpretation of the text was wrong. Emphasized by your automatic coyness to lace your hands in front of you when he was defending his ruling; your tits creating ample cleavage he only wished he was strong-willed enough to stop his eyes from darting to when stumbling through his rebuttal.

Poor Professor. He shifted in his chair and admitted defeat at the tilt of your head and batting of your lashes. Fight it as he did, he always acknowledged your argument in good faith and raised your points in the spreadsheet that determined your worthiness as Pass or Fail. They weren’t egregious changes. Just enough to score a C.

You beamed and thanked him for his time, clapping the chalk dust from your hands and giving him a sickly sweet smile before ascending the steps and leaving.

In a way, how you charmed the tent in his pants was its own reward. Your vibrator required charging yet again after leaving his class.

~~~

The following week you sat at your table in the front and held one of your usual discussions with your professor. Well, at one point it was a discussion. For months this routine quickly delved into talking about deeper topics, then surface; what you did over the weekend, what his hobbies were, reciting poems or lines from plays you were studying in class. All around laid back conversations. Always with his sleeves rolled up, his hair a disheveled mess like his desk, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, and that goofy grin on his face.

It was criminal how he made you laugh when his personality during class was so opposite. No other student had this rapport with him. Naturally, this trivial fact inflated your ego. Being able to interrupt his lectures by uncrossing your legs and watching his cheeks flush. Such a simple man.

Seducing him to hide his blatant erections behind his desk fueled your lifeblood. Torturing him more by tugging at your shirt collar and testing the limits of your buttons crying out for relief over your lacy bra. He was so obvious, it was cute.

Professor Uchiha unbound his fingers from behind his head to read his watch. “Shouldn’t you be on your way?”

You tapped a manicured nail on your phone to check the time. “Seems so.” Stashing away the worn paperback you were conferring on him about for your dissertation, you walked up the stairs, passing rows and rows of tables and hard plastic chairs. “Have a nice evening, Professor.” You paused at the door attempting to read his expression from across the room.

He raised a hand and waved goodbye. “Lock the door on your way out.” You obliged, depressing the lock on the handle and closing the door behind you.

Professor Uchiha waited for the click, the jiggle of the handle. He had requested you to perform the task many times in the past. So many, in fact, you no longer tossed him a questionable brow before leaving.

Penetrating the silence of the empty classroom was the heels of your shoes clicking down the hallway for a few steps until they faded away altogether.

The top drawer of his desk ripped open--banging on its metal slides--and he grabbed his phone and bottle of lotion laid sideways. Smacked the drawer closed. Ignored the rustling of his things jumbling into one amalgamation inside. Lotion, box of tissues, phone. Mouse pad shoved aside.

He lured in the mug of pens closer to use it to prop up his phone and proceeded to go through his gallery.

“I thought I saved them..” he grumbled to himself. At this point the ache sending a dull pain to his stomach should’ve told him it wasn’t that important, but he opened Instagram on his second account and navigated his way to yours with one finger. Hunched over and trying to unbuckle his belt.

On your profile he scrolled down to find his favorite post of yours. A photoshoot from your summer vacation. Many pictures. Many angles. Many pouty looks at the camera wearing a layer of sand and a trendy micro bikini. The sand provided more coverage.

He swiped to a photo he hadn’t masturbated to in a while and finally! His hands were free.

His leather belt was threaded through the buckle. Button steered through the loop. Zipper cascaded over his rock hard cock warming his palm, wrestled from the confines of his boxer briefs.

After holding back for an hour, he needed it. Wanted it more than anything.

Two pumps of lotion smeared over his fingers. Tissues waved in the wind of his grunting. His skin was hot all over, uncomfortably so. Simmering blood wound rivers through his tense muscles. Boiling lust compelled his eyes to ravage the image, not deciding on which aspects the hormones in his brain liked best: the side of your tits, voluptuous ass, or plump pussy peeking out due to your writhing on your stomach on the beach towel. Arching everything so perfectly for him it was as if you were made to please him.

The rest of his concentration was spent fucking his hands.

Long inhale, shuddering exhale.

The rhythmic beat of sins pulsed in his ears. Taboo quickened his pace. Thrill seeking adrenaline coasted his twitching fingers over his reddened tip. The groan stirring in his chest unearthed all the restrained affection he had for you; it was demanding to be released. To moan your name where no one could hear him.

But he had to keep it stamped down. Try as he might to not show favoritism in class, his gaze wandered to you far too often. He chose you to stand and declare your snarky answer to his question while he hid himself behind his desk. The times you showed up early to see him and he made you write out the day’s lecture on the chalkboard--since your handwriting was legible compared to his.

All benign excuses to reel you in.

Mornings spent hanging out. Evenings spent arguing over your grades. Not like you were a bad student; your exams were what almost secured your position for passing his class, it was your papers that needed work. Riddled with disjointed thoughts, meandering points, and leaps in logic so incredible it could win gold at the Olympics.

None of it detracted from his allure to you. Quite the opposite. It gave you a reason to hang on to his every word, stay around after class, talk to him like a peer, and the familiarity of knowing each other on this level gave you the boldness to squabble with him during class.

To set his face aflame when you had the gall to wear those short skirts, legs opening and closing when speaking to him. Make him slip his hand in his pocket under his desk when you challenged him.

No one could hold his interest like you did.

No one.

Professor Uchiha pumped faster. Used a knuckle to swipe to the next photo. One with your tits on display for the camera. It was cruel how the strip of fabric over your hard nipples caused his jaw to tense and his nostrils to flare. Your tits in photos, your tits bouncing under the thin fabric of your shirt when you sauntered around his desk, your tits slick with his eager kisses, your tits covered in his cum.

Damn you for tempting him. And damn him for encouraging it against his better judgement.

He was in too deep.

The thick vein along the underside of his cock throbbed. His body went taut.

Release. Relax.

Professor Uchiha gathered the tissues. One, two strokes.

“Mm!” he stifled the moan, eyes flitting from working his cock to the photo of you. Devouring the contours, curves, dips, and swells of your body. Picturing you naked under him. Twisted in pleasure. Shouting his first name.

He circled his fingers, guiding them in smooth sprints over his cockhead, each graze of his digits sending him to the precipice of the cliff.

Fuck.

He emptied himself into the tissues. Milking his cock dry in long, slow strokes while staring at his phone.

The cleanup was made in haste. Tissues disposed of, a wet wipe on his hands as if it would wash away his delinquency, briefcase packed, and spent cock tucked away for another time. He checked his watch; he should still be home in time for an unloving, resentful, cold dinner left for him on the kitchen counter and moving boxes strewn about the living room couch where he slept.

Walking alone in the dark parking lot gave him time to think. And thinking allowed the insidious venom of self loathing to replace the endorphins tingling his nerves.

He developed feelings for one of his students. And he yearned for more than inappropriate hours he scheduled to be with you. More than the hours he expended in pondering your interactions, and the exhaustive state it left him in after he dumped his energy into idyllic scenarios with you.

Oh, how he reveled in it.

You were his escape, and he wasn’t about to change that.

~~~

You drummed your nails on the underside of Professor Uchiha’s desk; supporting your weight on it, ergo, bringing your tits together bracketed by your elbows to help persuade him to bump your grade up two points. That’s all. Two measly points.

“Oh no, looks like the program’s not responding,” he replied with a lopsided grin, running his mouse in circles and chucking at your frustration.

“Professor,” you whined.

He unglued his eyes from your cleavage after imagining his cock leaking between your breasts and redirected his attention to his computer screen. He furrowed his brows. Clicked around. Shook his mouse vigorously. Frowned some more.

“What is it?”

“It’s frozen.” He tapped keys on his keyboard.

“C’mon.”

“No, really,” he said, angling the screen at you and demonstrating the program he used to log your grades was static and the cursor was sitting in the same spot, unmoving.

You leaned over and spammed random keys as if by some miracle his computer would respond to your fingers and not his.

Professor Uchiha was entranced. Cleavage was nice, but his cup of pens.. One stuck out further than the others and its pointed cap was tracing your nipple. Coaxing it erect.

The sheer power of his fixation scorched you like the sun on a cloudless day. What a simple man. Tease yourself on one of his belongings and he’d cherish it forever.

You pouted your luscious bottom lip. Arched your back. Nudged the pen around your nipple until you were satisfied he couldn’t take it anymore. Your breath was light and tone airy, “Want me to take a look, Professor?”

“Great idea.”

Fuck.

His husky voice, heavy with arousal, imbued those two little words with a spell that bound you to them.

He pushed himself away from his desk with his foot, crossed his ankles, and shifted one hand to his pocket, the other on his armrest supporting his head. His expression was that of expectation. Yours was blank-faced trepidation, the sort of foreboding ingrained in your very bones telling you to comply, obey.

It wasn’t like him to be this serious when it was just you two. And it was equally unlike him to return even an ounce of your flirting. Not to this degree. When it was you and him, he dropped all pretenses of having authority over you, but now, the fierce lust in his eyes warned you that if you didn’t respect his commands, he’d punish you. The thought of which sent a zing of excitement straight to the apex of your thighs.

You walked around his desk--any other day this would include you tracing sleek a finger along the edge and a little swish in your step, however, at this moment your brain was in a tizzy under his watchful gaze. Giddy at the tendons flexing in his neck. Fascinated by his cutthroat stare appraising your body like you were for sale.

Bending at the waist, you mashed the control, alt, and delete keys. Harrumphing when nothing happened on screen.

Awareness prickled the hair on your nape at the sound of his chair creaking and an object disappearing from your peripheral. Whatever it was, it was forgotten when you gandered at the cables leading from his keyboard and mouse down the hole with the rest of the wires connecting from his computer to underneath his desk. They bulged oddly. You groped them, tugged.

Your suspicions proved correct as they dangled in your hand. “Sir, they’re not plugged in.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” he cooed behind you. “Care to rectify that for me?”

“Y-Yes, sir.” Submissive. Quivering. Anticipating. Wishing. Hoping. You crouched under his desk and peered into the dark. The wood panel on the front blocked all light from entering. Kneeling, you ran your hand up the back of his tower, prodding fingertips through dust, hunting the empty USB slots in pitch black.

Professor Uchiha couldn’t be happier.

On your hands and knees in front of him.

He opened the camera app on his phone--snatched from his desk when you weren’t looking--and started recording a video.

The phone was tilted down to his lap. He had threaded his cock through a hole cut out in his pocket and bunched the fabric of his trousers so that his engorged tip was visible outside. Swollen and in search of a reason to create new scenes in his memory bank. This time by his own accord.

On his phone screen played a close up of his cock encircled in his thick fingers. He stroked for a few seconds, a fistful of himself before panning to you. Face down, ass up. A strip of white cotton wedged between your cheeks like a blaze leading him to the parts begging for him to lick, to suck. Adorning a wet spot where it stretched tight over your cunt. You couldn’t have known this particular pair was his weakness. They were most visible in his dimmed classroom; the black lace pair became obscured in the shadows of your thighs. The crisp, stark white? He bathed himself in their radiance when you gave him a peek.

His heart pounded in the wide expanse of the room. He had his excuse prepared since the moment he concocted this plan over the weekend: if you turned around, he would hide his cock and click on the flashlight on his phone, like he was helping you see all along.

But you didn’t turn. You didn’t look. You weren't curious if he was up to anything. You were too busy gagging at the dust under your nails as you tried to line up the cables with the ports.

The chair creaked again. He shifted to the edge of the seat. Knees angled out on either side of your ass. Stroking his tip faster. Your heat inches from him. Heavy breaths linking the space from his cock, to his phone, to your panties.

Metal dinged metal. Cables knocked cables. You must’ve thought he was an idiot. He probably was. Swimming in the murky waters of student-teacher relationships. Antagonizing you to bicker with him, asking you to help file papers in his cabinet. Becoming too bold, too stupid in pushing his boundaries.

But if he were drowning, so were you.

You found the USB ports minutes ago. Actually, it was already plugged in, but teasing your professor like this.. Hearing the rustling of fabric the more you wagged your hips back and forth. The pure debauchery of the air cooling your soaked panties should’ve sentenced you to a lifetime of shame. It didn’t. It felt fucking good knowing he was looking. Captivating him.

Seconds passed.

You arched your back to an agonizing degree.

Presented yourself in all your glory.

The shame did come.

When he didn’t act upon his cravings.

He never did. Something held him back. It always did. But it felt like this time was different.. Despite your efforts week after week, Professor Uchiha was a lost cause.

Enough playing around; you crawled backwards from under his desk and stood, tapping away at the miraculously working program to change your score and hit enter.

Wheels squeaked. His knees bumped into the back of yours, causing yours to buckle, bend. “Oh!” You faltered and caught yourself on his desk, spinning to face him at the same time he decided to rise from his chair.

He used his body to box you in.

Surprised in the tangle of shoes knocking shoes, knees gone weak, and hips grinding on hips as you both lost your balance, you clutched onto his tie--earning a strangled cough from his cinched air pipe--and his arms fell to either side of your body, pinning you between him and the solid piece of wood that was his desk. The edge of which dug into your plush ass.

The silkiness of his tie rivaled only by the softness of his pink lips hovering over yours. The hardness of his charcoal black eyes boring into yours rivaled only by what was pressing into your stomach.

“Sorry.” Your whisper was so shushed your voice cut out as you let go of his tie and smoothed your hand down his chest, his stomach. “The computer’s working now.” Radiating body heat sweltered in the mingle of your two bodies united as one. Words were stolen. Excuses were lost in the passage of time. Impure thoughts raced. Ones saved for empty classrooms and toys that didn’t come with baggage and consequences if caught.

The coarse fabric of his trousers grazed your upper thighs as he advanced forward. Laying his chest on yours to better reach his mouse snug against your ass and close the program on screen.

Months of seducing this man led to his unresolved desire brushing over your mound. If you just tipped your hips it would apply pressure to your needy-

His half-closed gaze perceived your ruse. Strong forearms enclosed to your waist. No longer shy about expressing what he wanted. You weren’t the lion in the reeds. You were the sheep and he donned the wool over your eyes.

Professor Uchiha’s wolfish grin tweaked at your innocent mouth agape at his forwardness. His mischievous lips graces words, “I dismissed class over an hour ago. Why are you still here prancing around in front of me?”

His pride curled over the shell of your ear, swept the length of your neck, snaked down the collar of your shirt. Smugness coiled his tongue. Innocuous words worked like a spark to dry leaves, inciting an inferno to the areas of you insisting to be touched, ruined.

The longer his lips deemed you worthy, the more you knew this is what you wanted.

Gaining some autonomy, you shifted your hand from admiring his abs up the planes of his chest to his round shoulder and down his arm, skirting over his rolled up sleeve to the forest of coarse hair standing at attention under your guidance. You reached his wrist and settle your hand on top of his.

His left hand.

Lips at your throat. Breath down your dewy cleavage. Two lips resting on your fragile skin; just resting, not kissing. They were privy to your drumming pulse, certain it was caused by him. The twist of his mouth stopped short of the smirk it was forming.

A sense of dread overcame your embrace.

The low moan in the back of his throat stopped.

His body went rigid in places it wasn’t before.

He reeled back. Panic in his eyes. Vocal cords poised. Suspended in time. Preparing to create words of warning. Or maybe an explanation.

Your fingers explored. Roamed over his knuckles, mountains and valleys of protruding veins. You slipped down the slope of his left ring finger.

Nothing.

No bump of metal.

When did he stop wearing his wedding ring?

“Class was dismissed over an hour ago,” he repeated in a haunting whisper, an octave lower and devoid of emotion. The self-loathing at his impulses was evident in each shaky inhale. He used his imposing height as its own threat, bending your frame to his will, fingers gripping the desk with white knuckles of restrain, claiming the slice of air separating you as his own. The firm length prodding you surged against the pleats of your skirt with a cowardly roll of his hips. Testing the feel of you. Introducing his urges to yours, and hating that he had to stop there. “You should leave.”

He wound his fingers in your skirt above your thigh, refusing to let go of the fabric. Let go of you. The stubble on his cheek stabbed the sensitive skin of your face as he bowed his head to speak directly into your ear, “Go.” Heavy as the burdens he endured, he let your skirt slip free of his grasp. His arm hung limp at his side.

You were being dismissed from him.

Though he vocalized as much, he left you little room to do so. Your body was overtaken by his. Trapped due to his inability to surrender to his vices, nor give them up completely.

You wiggled out from under his looming presence, flourishing in the flattery of his sharp inhale and groan when you lurched your hips to drag along him, savoring the unmistakable sensation of your professor’s cock following your lead.

How insulting. Nothing would break this man. And it was another knife to your inflated ego.

You climbed the stairs in a rush, laid your hand on the handle. The cold metal seared into your hot palm, dissipating rapidly from his warmth. The chill seeped through your skin, mocking your affinity for him, erasing the weight of his chest pressed against yours from your memory.

Maybe it was better that way.

Surely ripe for punishment, you glanced over your shoulder. One last look before the winter break. A last impression of what you meant to him. Would he wave? Tell you to lock the door? Wish you a happy holiday?

Professor Uchiha was at his desk. Standing in the same position as before, slightly altered. His lush black hair hid his face from observation. Hands curled into fists, arms like pillars keeping him from collapsing completely as his shoulders hunched further.

Utterly destitute.

Good.

You twisted the handle.

He didn’t move. Didn’t address you. Didn’t explain, apologize, nor act in the ways you hoped.

He denied you.

You clicked the lock and left.

~~~

The grandiose holiday gave way to the lukewarm reception of classes resuming to an all out stomach churning response to his lectures. You stopped arriving early, Professor Uchiha stopped asking for you to stay late. You stopped speaking up in class, Professor Uchiha repressed any compulsion to interact with you. You ignored him, he ignored you.

A wonderful arrangement that lasted all of two weeks before one of you broke. He allowed his eyes to wander over your frame as you entered his room on the day he handed back graded papers and you found yourself packing away your things slowly after everyone had left.

In your time apart, he graduated from grumpy teacher to full on curmudgeon--scaring off students in record time with a single glare from behind his disorganized desk--but the giant red F bleeding into the crevices of your paper just wouldn't do.

“..So, in conclusion,” you ranted, circling two points on the board until the poor stick of chalk in your tight grip chipped to a stub, “I believe my interpretation is perfectly logical and that you, my astute Professor, could make an exception and bend the rules just the tiniest amount and raise my grade to a C, at the very least, as I deserve.”

You faced him for the first time since you sauntered up to his chalkboard. It was a good sign he didn’t immediately ask you to leave, but his only contributions to your conversation were in the forms of hums of disapproval or one word rejections. So, when you turned to him and he beamed his usual impish grin, legs straight out and crossed at the ankle, sleeves rolled up and arms tucked behind his head as he swiveled in his chair; you were unnerved, but grateful.

Silence fell thick between you. His eyes went unfocused, considering something in his head. You dawdled at the board, scrutinizing your points, seeking counter arguments for anything he may throw at you. Anything to get your mind off the way his gaze rendered you to the very nerves that summoned the gumption to wear your shortest skirt this morning after two weeks of jeans.

Professor Uchiha cocked his head. The silence broke. “I’ll bend the rules if you bend over my desk.”

Boldfaced shock slackened your jaw. “What?”

“It’s what I deserve,” he asserted, using your choice of words. “It’s only fair.” He jerked his chin twice at his desk, smirk pulling taut at his lips. “Bend over it and I’ll consider changing your grade.”

You hesitated. Face lashed with visible uncertainty. Tension as palpable as morning fog sticking to your skin. A gulp in your throat booming loud in the two feet that kept you from falling into his lap.

“Bend over your desk,” you repeated in a monotone voice. Somewhat composed on the outside, but head swimming in amusement, proving difficult to keep a shimmy out of your shoulders when you clinked the chalk on the metal tray.

You didn’t believe this man for a second.

Your shoes clacked on the wood paneled floor leading to his oak desk, rapping your knuckles on it. Knocking on it the same way you should be on your skull to check where your brain cells had gone off to. Professor Uchiha never made advances. Never followed through with yours. What could have changed?

You slid your pupils to him. He remained statuesque. Watching you, rapt. You tilted your head, pitched your voice in light innocence, “Going to give me a D, sir?”

“Stop talking and find out,” he said, invoking your compliance in his deep rasp.

His threats were all bark, no bite. Not until he made certain of them. Wastes of air on paltry promises. But surely, once you obeyed him, he would not be able to resist. Please, God, don’t resist. You needed to be fucked by him.

You pivoted. Spread your feet. Lined your hips with the edge of his desk and leaned until your fingertips made contact and your clammy palms arched like suction cups on the surface of his well made, durable desk.

Scratches and divots in the wood grain tickled your fingertips as you dropped your chest. Hard nipples excited by the cool veneer gliding along your thin blouse and unpadded bra. Your hamstrings woke up, stretching gaily from their long nap. At the end, you crossed your arms and rested your chin on your forearms. Getting comfortable. A sharp right angle bent over his desk.

“Going to spank me with a ruler?” Shuffling alerted you to Professor Uchiha sitting up in his chair; the menacing rubbing of his calloused palms together drew nearer and nearer. His warm sigh blew on the back of your legs.

“After you’ve teased my cock for months on end?” He ran his knuckles over the goosebumps on your thigh with one hand, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly with the other. “Not a chance in hell I’d stop there.”

Professor Uchiha dove his hand into his pants. Grasped his swollen lust determined to be released over his boxer briefs. Not now. Not yet. He had to ravish your first.

His hands cascaded up, groping your ass. One cheek in each. Giving them a hard squeeze and laughing at your pitiful whine. “Sweetheart,” he said hoarsely, “you’ll have to stay quiet if you want to have fun.” He reared his left hand back and smacked. You muffled your cry. His right slapped ripples in your soft flesh.

“Mmph!” At least he had the decency to hush the tears sparkling the corner of your eyes by following them up with a gentle caress.

Rolling his chair up to you, his knees inserted themselves between yours and your need was about even with his face. His breath graced your stinging skin. A shy touch of his lips on the sore spots as an apology. And yet, he raised his hand and spanked you again. Harder. Echoing in the empty room along with your cry.

“Professor!” The motion flung you forward, dragging your nipples over the rough texture of his askance mousepad. Knocking over his mug of pens. Arching your hips. Exhilarating sensations tingling from the top of your head to your curled toes.

“Shh.” His useless shushing lasted all but seconds until his puckered lips relaxed, then curled wickedly. He clamped down. Teeth, nails. Fingers digging for purchase. Canines bruising.

His hands roamed where they wanted. The front of your thighs up to the point of the desk impeding him, massaging the tight muscles responding to his dire affection. Climbing your legs to cup your cheeks and bring them to his mouth for more lovebites. Tasting. All the while running his thumb along the length of your white cotton panties. Prying your thighs apart, smashing them together. Coaxing your pussy to swallow the fabric in response to his kneading.

You had grappled the edge of the desk to anchor yourself there nice and steady while he had his way. His excruciating, aggravating slow way.

“You want my lips somewhere else, babe?” he asked after you huffed a wordless complaint and swayed your hips, not at all subtle in your longing to have his mouth on your wet heat. “Need your professor’s tongue to treat you well after failing your assignment?”

What a cruel man to fan flames of embarrassment to your already burning, panting state; bent over his desk and begging him to finally fuck you after he had the audacity to roll up his sleeves and taunt you with his obvious massive erection casting a mouth-watering shadow across his lap.

“Please.”

Your shaky utterance of that single word evoked something within him.

Quivering lips pressed to the arousal soaked cotton. Tender. Grazing but a moderate kiss over the fabric that riled his cock. Concealing what he coveted most.

Professor Uchiha’s teeming excitement exhibited itself in the way he kissed your cunt. Controlled kisses waning sloppy with the use of his tongue. Short flicks at first. Darting over his lips. Then full licks up your slit, tracing the outline and nudging the fabric stiffer over your bundle of nerves the more he opened his mouth and introduced you to his skill. His nose to your entrance and his tongue exploring down, down, down the slope, over the curve in pursuit of the reason you moaned his title so sultry and feebly it sent a throb from his balls to leak from his cock.

“Professor,” you sighed, fingernails denting semicircles in the underside of the polished edge of his desk. Rising to your tippy toes in order to elevated your hips and grant him access to feast where he desired.

And hungry he was. Starving. Weeks, months, years without a good meal to satisfy his cravings.

The tip of his tongue traced the bump of your clit held prisoner by your panties. Caged, locked away from him. He sealed his plush, full lips to it, gathered you in his mouth full of thick saliva, and suckled. The gratification was immediate. Your thighs clenched around his face. You shoved backwards in desperation. Stomped your foot. Your too-loud moan traveled down your spine to the deep hum vibrating from his throat to your clit.

When he spoke, he carefully enunciated each word, projected the plosive P’s. “Poor girl,” he jested, words muttered on your swollen need. “Can’t handle a few minutes of teasing after you’ve done the same to me? Pleading for my cock. Prancing around here begging for me to fuck you.”

A single finger slipped under your twisted panties. You went pliant.

“Bad girl,” he moaned, shoving them to the side.

“Bad girl,” he lauded, wheezing at your beautiful display of wanton lust glistening for him.

“Bad girl,” he praised with conviction, spanking your ass so hard your vision went cross and vestiges of stars danced in the foreground of the rows of tables and chairs.

“Fuck!” you groaned to the back of your hand, quieting yourself.

He performed a full body roll from his jutting cock to his supple tongue fawning over your clit up to savor your arousal, planting harsh kisses where he saw fit. Ragged breaths sending chills to the warmest intimacies of your body, gone vulnerable in his craze.

Your pussy was free from its cage.

He let himself go.

His arms weighed heavily on the dip of your back, hands rubbing soothing circles while he flexed his biceps; capturing you in his vise, hiking you hips, tilting them further. Ensuring your quaking thighs could no longer jerk you away from his benevolent mouth. He waited too long for this. Agonized as the seasons morphed and you reaped the benefits of his undivided attention. Took advantage of his fondness, only to deprive him of it when, at last, he almost gave in to his sins. He was so close. So close to taking you then. But he didn’t. And you made him pay dearly for it.

Now you had to endure his consequences.

The precious resource of his erudite tongue honed in on your undressed clit. Twitching the tip over it. Smoothing the whole muscle to cherish it. Pausing to swoon at what you spilled for him, lapping it up, and returning at once to adore you in kisses and sucking until you were gasping, writhing, squirming from his talent. Legs shaking past the point of holding your weight. Humid huffs panting over the wood desk where your cheek stuck to it.

You mustered what little voice you had left to stutter out a sigh of, “Sir.”

At your brink, he stopped.

Professor Uchiha commended you with an everlasting blissful lick before tormenting you in suspense, stopping just short of your peak, and instead offering you a lazy kiss as he adjusted his chair and pushed himself away--then crashed his knees into the hinge of yours, forcing you to flounder and fall into his lap.

His sudden switch in activities foretold his plan. You had a very long night ahead.

Orgasm delayed, you tried to tense your thighs to give yourself some scant amount of pleasure, enough to build the waves of impending release again, but his legs between yours was not an accident. His dark chuckle in your ear told you as much. He designed this from the start.

He nipped at your neck, heartbeat pounding pulses to your clit. “Does your professor’s cock feel good?”

You forced your focus from his overbearing hands ripping the buttons from your blouse and the palm curving over your mound to pull you along his robust length situated between your ass; the heel of his palm shaping just over where you wanted it most. His briefs stole your fluids that belonged to him, acting as a barrier from entry as he grinded you up and down, pussy lips straddling his cock.

“So good.” You dropped your head to his shoulder and kissed his strong jaw, both of you battling for control in moving hips and greedy lips. “I love my professor’s cock. It feels so fucking good.” You ground on his length, tipping your hips at the end to send his palm over your clit, arching to his fingers prodding under your bra. It spurred you on. You picked up speed. Delivered sultry gasps and moans to his neck. “It’s so big, Professor, please fill me. I need it.” You pouted your bottom lip and kissed the side of his sly mouth. “I’ve been bad. Punish me.”

“Oh, I’ll punish you-”

knock

Knock

KNOCK

“Under the desk.” He ushered you with a slap on your thigh like an unruly animal he had to herd, and damn you for liking it.

Like a leaf caught in a raging stream, you slid from his bouncing legs and landed on your knees. Crawling into the darkness obscured by the wood panel on his desk and spinning around to look up at his approving smile, provoking a matching one to carve your lips as you shared a bubbling chortle escalating into a smothered roguish laugh.

“Shh!” He held his finger to his lips, shoulders jerking, suppressing the child-like devilry taking over his body seeing you down there. In the pause between another thump on his door he rolled his chair in and you backed up, giving him room to open his legs around your body. Before he averted his eyes to the door, they beheld you in a promise: this interruption would be short lived. A brief respite. Then he’d make it up to you.

“Come in.”

The words reverberated off the enclosure of your hiding spot. Rang in your ears. The door knob squeaked. Turned downward. He sat flush with the desk, securing himself to the edge and blocking his lap from view in a large shadow.

How often did he sit like this while in class, hardly able to contain his erection from witnesses? You couldn’t keep the noise from escaping; you pressed your lips together and exhaled faintly through your nose, but he heard your moan.

He heard your disobedience and reprimanded you.

Professor Uchiha ordered you to be quiet once more by pinching your bottom lip between his thumb and index; his thick fingers sparking the most sensuous harm to your mouth--the same as he did to your hurting ass. Pleased by your mute respect, he let go after turning your fiery blood to ice in your numb lip and settled his large palm on his thigh. Trousers struggling to bear constricting muscles and briefs tenting a cock featured most prominently in your eyeline.

The door clicked open. Swung.

His body slumped. Though you couldn’t see why, his sudden change in mood resulted in his frame curling in, and his wonderful, painful hand with fingers you were seconds from sucking on abandoned his thigh to lean on his forearms and stare down the one who invaded his privacy.

Leisure footsteps descended this stairs.

He grabbed a pen from his top-heavy mug that spilled at the slightest bump and expelled energy by removing, replacing the cap. Clicking the end again and again.

Whoever it was, whatever they were here for; it affected your professor. Going from energetic and lively--if not unabashedly horny--to exhausted and hosting a quiet growl of misery when the trespasser ruined his self-indulgence one step at a time.

He needed to be consoled, and you knew the best way how.

You settled into position, knees spread, and you wrapped your hands around his ankles. He shifted at first, wondering what you were up to, but relaxed when you started massaging up his legs. Hard caresses of your thumb into his calves. Squeezing your fingers. Watching the tension seep from his body; the weight pulling his chest concave lifting as time went on and you tended to him.

“You left your copy of the paperwork on my kitchen table.”

Deflated.

Stomach dropped.

Professor Uchiha clicked the pen. My table, he sneered.

The voice belonged to a woman.

Her table.

He left something at a woman’s house?

You cupped his calf and brought his knee in, favoring it in many kisses. Quick pecks turned to gradual open mouthed hushed touches of your lips on his trousers. Claiming him. He responded to your affections. He filled his chest with fortitude and plunged his hand under the desk, blanketing yours which was rubbing along his firm thigh.

“It’s important,” she chastised. “Might want to keep track of it?” She landed in front of his desk. Feet from the sweat rolling down your back.

You kissed your professor’s inner thigh, using teeth when necessary to divert more of his focus to you; accumulate all of his attention and hoard it like a shiny treasure. This woman didn’t deserve it. When you spoke to him that way it was in jest and he reacted in a lighthearted way. When this woman berated him in her nasally voice, it was to put him down.

His fingers swept over yours. His thumb slotted itself to your palm, infusing an otherworldly calmness into your temperament. Holding your hand when he was facing a point of contention in his life.

“Why’re you even here?” Disgust erupted from the pit of his diaphragm. “I gave you your keys weeks ago.”

Something was tossed onto the desk above your head.

Professor Uchiha’s hand left yours. Cold and lonely. Then scalding hot with desire when he pried your loving strokes from his thigh and guided your deft fingers to his lap. To the opening of his trousers, folded over and peeled away to reveal his greatest gift.

He enclosed your fingers over it. Tapped once. You understood.

“And you should’ve taken it with you then. I found it in the mess you left behind under a stack of schoolwork dated from last year. I shouldn’t be surprised you’re so disorganized after all this time, but you still manage to amaze me. I mean, just look at your desk.”

Eavesdropping shouldn’t excite you like this, but the sheer magnitude of pressing a gentle kiss to his tip over his briefs and watching his stomach jump, and draining the insecurity from his meek voice was its own unique reward. Especially when you just started and already, those strong hands of his were grasping his thighs in effort to stay collected under the woman’s narrowed eye scrutiny.

Stuffing your mouth, gorging, a total glutton for his covered length, you stretched your lips over his girth and sucked on his tip. Cradling the underside and praising it in delicate rolls from the back of your tongue, drawing back to drench his head in you and him--tasting his precum and swallowing to hoard it as well with his focus and attention.

“Rin,” he exhaled; a grand undertaking to make it sound bored and not at all like he was seconds from moaning his student’s name, “unless you have something important to say, leave.”

You wound your hand around the opening of his briefs and unveiled your present.

He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet to cover the jangle of his belt buckle falling to the side.

His cock. His glorious cock with its leaking reddened tip and impressive size tempted you as much as it daunted you. Warming him up to your humble tongue, you lapped the precum cultivated just for you to enjoy and honored him with a silent kiss before delving in. Wetting your lips. Stretching them over him. Slowly. In no rush to have your hollowed cheeks break suction and bring the wrong kind of attention upon yourself.

It was difficult enough as is swallowing more than the first three inches. You wanted it all. To slather him in appreciation. Not to admit defeat and pump your hand the rest of what your mouth couldn’t handle without risking a moan of pure euphoria when he twitched, filling you whole.

“Are you ever going to explain yourself? Apologize to me?”

“You were the one who decided this in the first place. I have nothing else to volunteer, nor disclose.”

She shifted her weight. Bounced her heel. Clack, clack, clack on the floor.

Professor Uchiha scooted to the edge of his seat, shoving his hips forward. It was a true miracle you didn’t gag on him and blow your cover then and there, but by the glory of his thumb sweeping over your sunken cheek you unhinged your jaw and accepted his tip at the back of your throat with all the patience of a Saint.

“You should leave,” he said, scribbling nonsensical shapes on the important document in front of him. “I’m a busy man, as you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Always here. Never home.” She tutted, whirling around to the direction she entered from, briskly crossing a few steps before stopping at the stairs. “Bye.” A tremor of hope laced her voice. He eviscerated it.

“Bye.” He flapped his hand in a childish wave, doing his best to keep the smugness from coming through, and failing. If she heard it, she ignored it and climbed the stairs for the door.

Professor Uchiha’s thumb dug into your cheek, his index on the otherwise prodded into your gums. Cupping your jaw. Cranking your mouth open to his whims. Using it as leverage to abide by his wish. Gaping, welcoming his untamed urge to relieve him of the stress this woman caused.

Her footsteps faded.

He became brave. Overcome in the moment to challenge her in an unknown race. Your mouth versus her stride.

Rutting like an animal, micro-thrusts of his pelvis at the edge of his chair. Quickening the pace the further she walked away from him and his life. He released his iron grip on your mouth and combed his fingers through your hair, ensnaring the sensitive strands above your nape.

His heaving chest should’ve been a warning.

“Mm!”

He shoved you down his cock. Driving you to the point where your hand stroking him in tandem was useless, instead using it to fist his trousers in your frightful clutches. You couldn’t hold back anymore.

You moaned. Cried, even. Tears building at the dam of your eyelashes.

“Lock the door on your way out,” he called to the woman.

She did as she was told. Depressed the lock. Clicked it shut behind her without a follow up question as to what caused the masturbatory gestures of his arm under his desk, what the sounds were of you choking on his cock, nor the high flush on his cheeks.

Professor Uchiha rolled his chair back and you followed his lead, stumbling forward on aching knees. Forever attached to his perfect cock.

He slouched, lulled his head to the side. Observing your face buried in his lap, your wet eyes meeting his. His kind hands brushing your hair out of your way with a sympathetic graze of his thumb on your temple while his other hand wiped away your tears. Guiding your head up and down, bobbing on his grand length, tongue pacifying his haughty nature after his spat with the woman. She was gone and you worked your charm on him.

“Such a naughty girl.” You locked gazes; his prideful and yours agreeingly submissive. “That was fun.”

Eager and vicious, you sucked from base to tip, swirled your tongue over his throbbing head and placed a kiss on the very tip, smearing his precum on your lips. Something that spoke to the primal best within him judging by the way he squirmed in his seat and his pupils bloomed black. Breathing heavy but silent.

“I love your cock so much, Professor, I’ve wanted you to fuck me with it for so long.” You laid his cock on your face so you could kiss the thick vein buzzing against your lips while begging, eyebrows pinched and overstating your pout by clasping your hands to your lap to prop up your cleavage. “Please fuck me with it.”

He pulled you up by your chin, doubling over at his waist to close the rest of the distance between you. He lifted your skirt, groped your ass, slid his palm over it, fingers exploring further to your sopping wet cunt, earnest in its need to be punished.

Two fingers slipped in. He tasted the sweat on your neck. Stretched you with a third. “You sure you’re ready for more, sweetheart?” he asked once he met resistance.

“I’ve been ready.”

His gruff voice, steeped in want, ordered you, “Then, bend over my desk.”

“Yes, sir.”

Returning to the position you were in before you were so rudely interrupted, you flattened your chest to his desk, wiggling your tantalizing ass at him. He wrested his cock from his briefs and shoved all fabric away from hampering him and threw his tie over his shoulder. Skirt flipped to expose you, his rough hands ran over your curves, eyes drifted in their stead, admiring how you offered yourself up so willingly. And how you crumbled under the tease of his thumb gliding the length of your needy cunt. He placated you in slippery circles over your clit craving the friction you deserved after servicing his cock.

Tempting each other to the edge of relief, but never letting them fall.

“I’ll be taking these.” He gave you no pause to guess what he was referring to. Your panties tugged over your round ass and fell to your ankles where you stepped out of them and they were safely tucked away in the top drawer of his desk.

“Fuck, babe,” Professor Uchiha groaned the compliment. His raging hot cock nestled along your entrance. Clapping your cheeks to enclose it there. Dragging your hips, rolling his. Slow, sensual. Relishing the connection, the bond of his cock and your enthusiasm; no longer settling for his hands with a bit of lotion.

Your mouth, your hands, your pussy. All crafted for his pleasure.

He should be commended for his ability to not bust with you giving him a blow job under his desk earlier. He should be exalted for not cumming on your back like he was near to do with just a few more unruly thrusts-

Whilst he was busy dwelling on the topic of Edging versus Self-Imposed Torture, you couldn’t help but notice the manila folder stuck under your boobs. White papers fanning out over the top. Racing your heart. Shouting at you to peep, take a gander. Who was that woman and what was she here for? You peeled back the edge of the folder.

Professor Uchiha panted out a string of tangled cherry picked syllables to arrange between the jumbled consonants spilling out and punctuated them with a moan of your name. “So fucking- So fucking good. You feel so fucking good.”

Cock lubed so slick it slipped down your cheeks, his tip prodded your entrance. A silent plea to allow him to fuck you. To come. Finally. Please let him come.

“You’re fucking me on your divorce papers?” you snorted. “That was your ex-wife?”

Scalp tingling. Hair snatched in his mighty grip. Cunt throbbing. Receiving but only half of him. Muscles frozen. Carved to accommodate him.

He pressed his chest to your back and shoved the file, flinging it to the floor. Raining white sheets of paper, scattered. Pens, clattered. Metal paper clips, pattered. His carnal heat warming your chilled skin was all that mattered.

Again, your jaw belonged to him. Your mouth? His. The drool pooling over the edge of your bottom lip? Also his. Your moan when he pitched his hips, slapping them to your ass, mouth gaped in surprise? Most definitely his.

His smirk blurred before your half-lidded eyes--stinging from the initial thrust of his cock. “Knew you couldn’t handle me; I’m not even in all the way,” he rasped in your ear, grazing his teeth over your pulse. Kissed you gently from ear to chin. Removed his hand-muzzle to place his lips at the junction of yours, forehead pressed to temple, eyes soft, but intense. “You’ve been a naughty girl, going through your professor’s belongings,” he murmured. “You need to be taught a lesson.”

The world spun on its axis.

Empty between the thighs. Back on something solid. Legs stuck up in the air and being manipulated not of your own accord. Disoriented, you willed the yourself to zero in on his face: wild, erotic, and so blatantly aroused at your captivated self, legs wide open, and addicted to his touch.

He loomed between your legs encircling his waist. A tower of suspense reached the end of its rope, snapped. His cock a pillar of pent up urges leading to the end of his marriage.

And you and your soft body. Laying under him. Yearning for him to use it, ruin it, and have you coming back for more. Someone who wanted him as he was. Who returned his passion. Returned the new-relationship lust he so missed; starting something new and preserving the flames, not letting them snuff out, leaving him bereft, alone in the dark.

Your eyes were shining, longing, staring up at him. Subdued, he watched you want him more.

One by one, you unbuttoned the rest of your blouse. Finishing the job meticulously and pointlessly, considering the rest of the buttons were ripped off and lost to the shadows on the floor. The shirt fell away in stark halves. Shameless naked skin. Chest rising, stomach falling. Rolling onto your elbows to unclasp your bra.

Shirt and bra thrown to the litter of paper, pens, and metal paper clips, and your face heated under his adoring gaze, flattered.

Professor Uchiha’s thumb worked itself in consoling swipes on the curvature of your thigh to ass. Perhaps as an apology for pulling your hair. Perhaps communicating that this moment meant more to him than he let you believe. Perhaps to stall for time so this wasn’t over in a matter of seconds.

You waited.

His unwavering gaze took you in piece by piece. Observing features previously hidden, though he felt like he knew them by heart from your promiscuous photos. Now he could study his favorite subject in all its glory. Memorize the dip above your clavicle until he could stand it no longer and switch to fathoming the contours flowing from your breasts, down your stomach, over your bunched skirt, and to his hand lurking near the sharp peak of your sex kissing his.

He etched you in his mind palace for the future.

Goosebumps skittered in the wake of his docile trail over your pelvis. Eventually, he woke from his reverie and became aware of your thinning patience, and the ever present Siren’s song of your tits calling to him. A striking downfall.

“Going to stand there and drool over me, or are you going to fuck me?” You grinned, an eyebrow raised in a challenge. “I thought you were hellbent on punishing me, Sir.”

Fuck your tits. He could have you contorting under the pleasure of his tongue any other day. Tonight was about him. And about you paying him back for all the favors you owed him.

Vengeful hands guided their way up your writhing body, fitting sensitive areas to his palms. Chasing the heady high he evoked in the simplest brushes of skin on skin contact. Your body opened up, greeted his, arms embracing him. Hands grasping. Fingernails tracing his spine to cradle the back of his head to your neck.

He drew his hips back. Cock sliding over your clit to rest the lipped edge of his tip perfectly where you requested. Thighs squeezing around his middle. Back arched. Hard nipples on his wrinkled work shirt.

“Sweetheart.” He petted your hair away from your face with a trembling hand, licking his lips, a rush of recklessness overcoming him. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll get straight A’s for the rest of the year.”

He kissed your cheek. Maybe an apology. Maybe something more. Maybe to give you a dose of wide-eyed preparation before reality split you in half.

“Fuck!” you cursed him, all muscles seizing onto the man who wrecked you like a spiteful God. Expelling expletives, you gasped at his evil, smitten laugh shaking your core so violently. “Professor,” you whined.

He bottomed out. One powerful pound of his hips to your pillowy ass. The desk drawer rattled. The computer monitor swayed ominously. His tie swung from his shoulder in the sudden exertion. He threw it back flippantly.

This was his everything. His shaft hugged you. His tip leaked to your very depths. Sore cunt stretched to its limits.

“Call me by my first name when you’re under me.”

There it was; that dangerous edge of gleaming tenderness in his gaze beholding you in the threat of his command. How dare he press a kiss to your temple like a lover when you were wrought with pain.

“Obito.” The feral moan after you whispered his name transferred from his chest to yours, mingled in the knot of nerves in your belly.

“Obito,” you repeated, more confident. “I’ve been craving your cock. Show me why that’s a bad thing. Show me why I’m a bad student for seducing her teacher for gain.”

He used his strained muscles to push himself off you. Laggard, prolonging the magnificent sensation of your fingers latching themselves in his hair, tugging it. But they fell away. Dropped your hold on him, your arms to the desk, like fine silk amongst trash he should’ve tossed ages ago. You surrendered to him. He rolled from his forearms to his hands on either side of you, flexing under the duress of not moving his lower half. Steeling the primal voice in his head that shouted at him to take it all. Take it now. Fast. Hard!

Soon, he would, soon. But he had more foreplay in store.

Insatiable fingers skimmed the peach fuzz standing erect on your ribs, up to your breasts. Walking each digit to the spot you hypnotized him with on days he forgot to turn on the heater during the winter, or on Fridays when you forgot to wear a bra and knew you bombed your exam.

He traced your nipple. One finger, two. Pinched it lightly. Pinched in harder. Fluttered his eyelids closed at the way you struggled to clench around his cock.

His other immoral hand sought lower. One finger, two. Rubbed down your clit, up. Side to side. Circles. Whatever the fuck made you squirm. Tense your thighs painfully tight. Clutch the air straight from his lungs. Open his eyes. Massage your inner muscles along his swollen cockhead.

Both of you too far, not far enough. On the precipice. Toes hanging off the cliff side. Not jumping.

“You’re enjoying this?” His hoarse voice cut through your moans. Breaths twisted in the space between you in their own heated tango.

“Yes, God, yes!”

He watched you. Head tilted to the side. Face neutral. Flushed pink from his cheeks to under his collar. “Hm.”

He retreated his hips, unsheathed his glistening tip, admired how wet it was with your want, and rammed it in; shivering in the near-orgasmic haze of your gasp of his name. Once, twice. Unyielding to the water in your eyes. Finding it adorable how your fingers hooked around his like a tourniquet, not used to accommodating his size.

Water leaked from your eyes, his tip. It slicked your palm, a sheen on your forehead.

Obito cranked his head back one pant at a time; the ceiling being the last thing he saw through the black curls of his lashes. Relentless thrusts burned the smouldering coals in his core. Long has it been since he experienced this fire with another person. One who lusted for him so obviously. Each smack of skin on skin and slip of his cock welcomed by your warm cunt reminded him of what he so thoroughly missed: Contact. A bond. Fulfillment.

When you opened your palm he inserted his fingers, lacing them with yours. Easy. Automatic.

Intimate.

He opened his eyes. Looked down.

His rhythm skipped a beat.

Attentive eyes beamed up at him; bright with passion, yet half-closed in ecstasy. Plump lips spouted encouragement to go faster, go slower, whatever the bundle of nerves stuck under his fingers ordered in between moans of his name and cries of pain-mixed-pleasure. Only now did it occur to him that he stopped rubbing your clit altogether--the drastic diminish of blood supply to his brain was affecting him.

It was hard to admit, but as much as he wanted this to be about him enacting a fantasy you wove for him since the start of school, to use you like an object to get off to before returning to your roles of student and teacher, the arching of your back and tightening on his hand holding yours swept him up into a whole host of confusing emotions he didn’t have time to comprehend.

It was all so appealing. And unattainable. Inappropriate.

His eyelids fell to slits, sure that your bouncing tits at his punishing pace would be enough to come while drowning out those pesky feelings. He increased his speed. Pressed his fingertips to your clit. Let the vigor of his pounding send them coasting over it.

Every buck of his hips sent the desk moving. Rocking items in the wake of his eagerness. Each one a witness to a teacher fucking his student because she owed him.

Black landscape. Eyes screwed shut. Only the sound of his guttural panting and your high-pitched moan-whines.

And his tie choking him.

And his shirt going tight.

And his torso being hurled forward.

He faced his reality inches from your nose.

His tie was snatched in your grasp. Your calves clamped over his hunk of ass, shoving his length to your pussy. Grinding on his cock. Rolling your hips in time with his now that you shocked him to a slower tempo. Much slower.. Physically close, mentally vulnerable. Your chest was curled to his, using his weight as a counterbalance to ride him though he was the one in the dominant position.

Names held power. You moaned his so freely and he uttered yours in full-body shudders.

His fingers said it in how they massaged your clit. His hand said it in how significant yours fit to it. His cock said it in a twitch against the place he wished to revisist over and over again. His muscles said it in how they held his orgasm ransom, not letting loose until he fell victim to the darkest reaches of his heart.

And he said it especially loud when his lips landed on yours.

Shouted it, even, when your back collided with the desk and he followed suit, possessive over your mouth; absolutely enthralled with the knowledge of what your lips felt like parting for his cock and, more recently, his tongue.

Your joined hands crashed to the solid oak, slid them up to your wild spread of hair. Jutting elbows set off a chaotic series of toppling folders, knocking the mouse over the edge, shoving the keyboard, leveling a stack of index cards, tumbling the mug of pens to an early grave, shattered.

Excruciating sprints of thrusts turned short and sloppy. And sweet. Your swollen clit was caressed in quick strokes. His thumb swept the glimmering trail where a tear journeyed from the corner of your eye to your hairline in a jagged line. Kisses became too burdensome on your lungs. Alternating between open mouth pants and held breath reserved for when you made eye contact.

You had let go of his tie. You had let go of his tie to cup his cheek slashed with scars from an accident in his youth. You held him there and slipped out a moan of his name while staring lovingly at him.

“Obito,” you sighed. “I’m almost-” You were interrupted by a jerk of his hips to change the angle, allowing him more room to swirl his fingers. “Ah! Oh, fuck, Prof- Obito!” He tried harder. He tried faster. Your head lulled to the side and he nuzzled. No teeth. No marking. No punishment. Just a simple rub of the bridge of his nose along your jaw.

You tensed around his fingers. Inner thighs quivered against his waist.

“Come for me,” he pleaded. He was at your mercy. Everything in your vicinity was up for grabs. You clung to him, his hair, the mousepad. Curved your body to his. Captured him. Consumed him. Stuffed his knuckles in your mouth, ran your tongue over them, drying the trail of spit with huffs of breath praising him.

“Haa- Mmm!” You shook. Unfurled. Unraveled.

“Good girl,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck.

He guided you through the convulsions. Brought his hand from between your legs and cradled your head, rocked you back and forth as your limbs regained consciousness and the pulses in your cunt milked the last of his anticipation.

“Hold onto me, babe.” You followed his instructions; clasping his shoulder with the hand previously yanking at his scalp. Your other hand was still taken by his, his thumb ever vigilant in its conquest to stroke any part he could reach beside your face. He placed a firm hand on your hip, planting it there to keep you still.

You kissed his temple. All you could muster seeing as his face was confined to its hiding spot where it could escape the raw defenselessness of his gaze that showed all.

He picked his head up.

Looked you in the eye.

You gave a curt nod signaling you were ready for the horizontal dance he had in store. He offered a lopsided grin telling you he couldn’t last for another song.

It began in quick steps; brisk slaps of his hips, short strides to the finish line. Your ebbing orgasm squeezed him in sporadic pulses. Cheering him on. Smiling at him. From under him.

Steps developed to loping leaps, bounding canters of his cock dragging along your walls, base to throbbing head. He leaned on you for support. His forehead on yours. Nose nudging yours. Lips a hairsbreadth apart.

You endured the mad dash to his climax. Gushing on his cock. His name on your lips. His lips hovering above yours. His eyes invoking more than lust.

Sweat dampened his shirt. The desk scraped the floor. Something clanged in the drawer. The monitor tipped.

Obito caught it from crashing to the floor without taking his eyes off you. To do so, he let go of the hand he was using to hold yours. The monitor was placed safely on the desk. His hand was free. So was yours. Your wide eyes flashed in non-verbal communication, agreeing on the same thing.

Desperately, you confined the other’s face. Tracing, stroking, outlining scars, petting messy hair away, rubbing, caressing, and kissing. Oh God, so much kissing. Frenzied, unrestrained kisses. Disorderly, imperfect kisses where your mouths hardly aligned. Passionate, caring kisses fueled by moans.

A hard thrust. Another kiss. A short pump. He took your bottom lip in between his. Rutted his cockhead deep. Ran his tongue over the bruised flesh. Rolled his hips upward. Bit your lip as the sweet spot hugging his cock clenched.

“Ow.”

“Sorry-” he panted.

One last plunge. Buried there to pour his soul. Spill his secrets.

Spasming muscles weakened his knees. Tightness relieved itself from his core. The thick vein throbbed as it filled you with cum. His cock had never been happier.

“Babe,” he whined. He closed the gap of inappropriate yearning keeping your lips from one another. You hummed an affirmation, gripping him in all the right places.

For not the first time, he could truly convince himself this was an act between two people without unfair implications. Not a favor done unto him. Not him failing to upkeep his morals as a teacher. Just two people having sex and being able to kiss during the height of it without emotional strings attached.

Laying there for some time, his kisses drifted to your chin, your neck. His hands crafted intricate patterns kneading themselves on your thighs, cupping your legs and stripping their warmth away. You remained draped over his desk like his tie of your naked chest. Lower bodies joined. Nothing wanting to part your faces further than your lips could reach. Still, you had studying to do. Sleep to catch. And he had an apartment that was in need of unpacking.

Regretfully, he pulled back his hips knowing he wasn’t going to use the momentum to push his spent cock back in.

He grasped your hands to lift you up and you grimaced. “As soon as I sit up everything will come out of me. Where’s my underwear?”

“Hm,” he drew out the sound and feigned a search. “Who knows.”

Your glare seared the side of his face very obviously not looking at you. “Sure, right. I guess I’ll just freakin’ waddle.”

“I’ll walk you to your dorm.”

You returned to your role of sassy student who got on his nerves. Obito, however, had trouble submitting to his. The kiss you shared at the end felt so right. So perfect. Validating how he felt when you spent time together, manifesting from an emotional to a physical connection. And all the harm it would cause the both of you if someone found out.

Difficult as it were, you put on a mask for him and denied your feelings before he could sense them.

“Oh, thanks. What a gentleman.” You made the effort to roll your eyes and hop off the desk using his help. A profound groan exhaled your nose in a mighty gust at the inevitable slicking your thighs.

Yet his hands remained holding yours, a playful smile ticking at the corner of his lips. And you tried so hard not to read into it.

“I should, uh..” He gestured to his pants and briefs around his ankles, but his words died out in a horrified survey of his desk and the floor in front of it. He let go of you to simultaneously pull his trousers up and reel in his keyboard and mouse you so expertly plugged in for him the other month. “This place is a mess.”

“Yup,” you agreed. You waddled around the desk at the sound of his zipper and jangle of his belt buckle going secure around his waist. He grumbled, checked his watch and you couldn’t stop the offer before it left your tongue, tumbling out like your heap of discarded clothing on the floor, “I can come in early tomorrow and help you clean up. If you want to go home now, I mean. Or I can help you now. Uh-”

“You don’t have to do favors like that for me anymore. We don’t.. We don’t have to do this again. I’ll just fix your grades, and-”

It was your turn to cut him off, avoiding his nervous stare and wringing of his hand on the back of his neck. You distracted yourself by putting your bra on. “You don’t have to give me A’s. I know it’ll look suspicious. I’ll just.. write better papers.”

You both sighed at the ceiling. This whole arrangement was a bad idea.

Obito hated himself, as he should have. It had been years since his ex-wife gave him the time of day for sex. Much less the allowance to please her, give her an orgasm. She found excuses to reject him. He found excuses to stay late at work. She found reasons to text other men. He found reasons to leave the house early.

Done with admonishing your recent awkwardness around your professor, you went to pick up your blouse, but there he was holding it out for you. In silence, you thanked him and dressed yourself. Feet shuffling. Fingers twisting around arms. Wincing.

“So..” you started.

“So..” he finished.

You ducked away and grabbed your bag from your chair in the front row. Patted around. Checked underneath the table. Turned around. There he was. Holding your coat open for you to slide your arms into. You did, and thanked him without words.

The absence of words and eye contact grew as stale as the sweat drying on your back. Obito rocked on his heels, glancing at his desk. Imagining what happened on top of it. You fiddled with the edge of your skirt and then just fucking went for it.

You reached out. Two hands snug around his tie. Wiggling it back and forth. Squeezing, cinching it up. You fixed it for him, smoothed it flat against his chest. Brushed invisible dust off his shoulder.

His shaky inhale was your only warning. Not that you required one.

Eyes locked onto yours, hand embracing your tilted head, arms crushing you to his chest; you jerked him by the tie and your lips joined in a blaze. Bodies lunging, snapping tight. Cozied together in one bundle of limbs threaded through entangled limbs. Secure. Content.

Giggling, kissing, wet smooches on his forehead, you climbed the stairs backwards to the door, never taking your eyes off each other. Exchanging flirtatious smiles.

Behind you, you grabbed the knob. Cold metal in place of his warm back you were clawing at moments ago. The knob swiveled down, clicked. The door was left in purgatory. Neither open, nor shut.

“Can we do this again?”

He asked, or maybe you asked. Air, breath, words, thoughts, ideas, wants, needs, desires, futures, hopes, and dreams were all muddled in one.

“Yes.”

He answered, or maybe you answered.

~~~

Wintry ice melted. Spring petals stuck to the bottom of shoes carried by mud to dirty the floors of Professor Uchiha’s classroom.

Class was dismissed hours ago.

Your fingers ached from devoting exhaustive energy into your dissertation. So many hours spent staring at your laptop’s screen, brain stimulated by the copious amounts of disposable coffee cups flung around your dorm. Abhorrent, really, to put a student through this grueling work.

So why, oh why, did your Professor insist on you typing up his emails when you could be at your dorm shoving a pencil through your eye?

“Spread,” he commanded after your thighs encroached too far for his liking. His fingers started circling again once he was satisfied by the amount of prying open you did for him; making your complaints known at the top of your husky voice as he sucked on the flesh of your throat, eyeing the white box on screen to confirm you were still responding to a student about his question on the lecture he missed yesterday.

“Obi-to,” you whined some more. You stabbed the backspace button, typed, retyped the same line again. The bruises he left on your neck would be more obvious this time. You started wearing jeans and collared shirts to help hide them because the absolute terror on your face when a woman standing in line behind you pointed out the teeth-shaped marks on the back of your thighs mortified you to an early grave. “Can you please give me a second to finish this?”

He rolled your nipple between his fingers. Rubbed calloused fingers over your soft, needy clit. Bounced his leg. Clenched his ass to rock you up and down his lap. His rising chest pressing to your shuddering back.

Too late. You pressed enter.

“Now?” your tone turned insolent.

“Fine, hop off my cock, sweetheart.” He slapped your thigh as punishment.

He widened his legs. You slid yours between them and stood slowly, missing the way he filled you, but knowing he wouldn’t let you orgasm like this anyway.

Obito shivered at the sensation of his cock leaving you. Glistening in the light. A prelude to the evening. Warmed and waiting. “We’ll finish at my place,” he said, grabbing his keys from the top drawer of his desk. “I’ll make you dinner afterwards.”

You smoothed down your skirt and pulled on your opaque black tights, toeing on your shoes with a disapproving slant of your mouth. “You’re only saying that so I’ll answer the rest of your emails later.”

He laughed. A hearty chuckle at your demise.

Sauntering up to you, his smug grin taunted you. The outline protruding from behind his trouser’s zipper even more so. He cradled your aching hand. Pulled you to him. Depressed his thumb in your palm to open it. Curled your fingers to his throbbing cock, running them down its length as he moaned.

“Keep your hands and mouth busy and I won’t make you.”

“Fine.” You bent at the waist, forcing him to drop his hand from grabbing your ass to run through your hair, tugging it when you pressed hard kisses to his twitching cock, jolting you away and his hips back lest he finish prematurely after hours of teasing. “But you make the bed in the morning.”

“Fine,” he croaked, agreeing to anything you said. Wrapped around your finger. And you around his when he suggested you start staying the night. Accommodated by the deal, you stood and threw your arms around his neck, demanding kiss after kiss. “Let’s go before we have another incident like last time.”

You turned to the cracked monitor sitting beside his desk. Screen black and barren.

“Yeah, let’s go.” You walked, hand in hand to the door. Grinning. Taking sneaky glances at each other. Whispering dirty things you were going to do tonight all the way to his car. All the way to his front door. Using your key to get in. Sharing a kiss in the doorway. Shutting it behind you. Turning the lock.

Falling into the other’s arms. Completing the circle. Chest to chest. Heart to heart.

Bending the rules of student and teacher relationships.

#obito x reader #obito x you #obito smut #obito x y/n #obito #obito uchiha #naruto #naruto fanfic #uchiha obito #obito x oc

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kafka-ish · 4 years ago

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richie tozier gets off a good one | r.t.

“This was not to say Richie could not be very funny from time to time; he could be. When referring to verbal zingers and farts, Richie’s terminology was the same: he called it Getting Off A Good One, and he got off Good Ones of both types frequently...” -- Stephen King

word count: 3.3k

warnings/included: nsfw (explicit smut, oral -- male receiving, male x female, mentions of masturbating), fem!reader

a/n: pls enjoy !

It was a cold shower kind of afternoon as the thunder from outside Richie’s bedroom window roared loud enough to be mistaken for a dragon. Dragons don’t exist. Richie, however, ignored the booming sounds of nature from outside—his thoughts lost in a certain someone; and his ears muffled by the pillows encasing him.

y/n was coming over for a study session at two p.m. sharp, per Wentworth’s request, but Richie still had time as his left hand traveled to the zipper of his orange, corduroy trousers. It’s not like Richie knew y/n. This afternoon, this shameful afternoon where if his dad were home right now, he’d be caught with his hand in his pants and a name he’d rather not talk about in between his lips, would be his first time meeting the girl.

Wentworth Tozier was the one to suggest she come over on this grey Sunday afternoon during Thursday’s family dinner when he noticed Richie’s recent report card.

“A C in chemistry?”

“The C stands for Chemistry,” Richie said with a smirk on his face. It didn’t seem to work because Mr. Tozier’s frown didn’t budge, and Maggie Tozier only sipped her coffee which had to be cold by now.

“You know we expect better from you.” He was right. His parents weren’t used to anything other than a line of A’s on the weekly transcript he brought home. Richie wasn’t either. But lately, something had taken a toll on his grades—or someone.

“You know what might help him, dear?” Wentworth looked up from the chicken he was currently cutting through. “A tutor.”

“I do not need a tutor.” Richie dropped his fork which was being used to play with his green beans.

“Your grades say otherwise, kid,” Wentworth countered. “You know, Maggie, I think that’s a good idea.”

“Not you too, Dad!” Richie cried out, exasperated at the scene playing out in front of him.

Ignoring his son, Wentworth continued, “In fact, I think my buddy back from Catholic school has a kid who could tutor him.” He took a bite. “Last I heard, she was fairly good at the sciences.”

“You should think about calling them after dinner,” Maggie said without looking up. Which was how Richie ended up with only an hour left to get himself off rather than the rest of the day.

Although his hand was no match for any of his previous hookups, it was faster, and it got the job done. He was just about to finish when the doorbell rang and a knock on his door startled him from his position and kept him from finishing.

“Coming!” Richie yelled; certain that the outsider wasn’t going to hear him. He stood up from his position on his bed, pulled up the trousers that hung from his ankles and trekked his way downstairs. His feet made a thumping sound as they padded their way down the stairs—roughly at that. He was surprised the house didn’t shake at his footsteps. “We don’t want your Girl Scout cookies,” Richie said, half annoyed that his session was cut early.

“I’m not a Girl Scout.” y/n held open the door with her hand before Richie could close it. She wore a white button down that was haphazardly tucked into a blue-green, plaid skirt. Her already see-through blouse was even more see-through, as the rain from standing outside for so long had drenched it from the outside in.

“Oh.” Richie didn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t order a pizza, either.”

“I didn’t bring you a pizza, either.” y/n was growing just about as annoyed as he was. “Can I just come in?”

“I don’t know about that one, toots.” Richie made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Pops said I’m not allowed to let strangers in.”

“Richie, please, just let me in,” y/n seethed. She didn’t have time for his bullshit and quite frankly, he didn’t either. If Richie let his grades take another blow to the one-inch margin, his C would threaten to turn into a D. “Your dad called mine on Thursday… I’m here to… tutor… you.”

Richie noticed how her voice had lowered and he could tell she was just as ecstatic as him for their study session. Wordlessly, he stepped away from the front door, allowing y/n some space to walk in. His eyes inadvertently glued themselves to her backside, watching as her skirt’s pleats swayed against her hips and the rain’s water trail against her long legs; a sight he’d swallow at and feel himself grow semi-hard to.

If all the girls at Catholic school looked like y/n, he might just have to transfer because just one glance at her made Richie forget all about the reason for his tragic C that stood for Chemistry.

“Where are we studying?” y/n asked. Her eyes darted around the place like it was foreign. It was foreign. Her hands clutched the book bag she held onto tighter, anxious by the new atmosphere.

“Is my room okay?” Richie asked, already starting up the stairs. His tone had gone soft, like when you microwave butter. He almost felt bad for protesting against the idea of being tutored just a few short days ago.

“Yeah.” y/n followed him, making sure to leave an appropriate amount of space between the two bodies.

“Do you need a change of clothes?” Richie said, not trying to cover up the obviousness in his voice; that he was obviously looking at her covered chest each second she spent turned away from him; that he had an obvious hard-on that he hadn’t bother to conceal under his ridiculous corduroy pants.

“No,” y/n said with a bit of uncertainty. Sure, she was soaking wet from her hair to her toes, but she wasn’t about to borrow one of Richie Tozier’s ridiculous band-tees that would wear like a dress.

“What’s with the get-up, anyway?” Richie smirked. Before he sat down, he pulled out an extra seat for her. Usually, it would be used to discard his dirty clothes on. Luckily, Maggie Tozier had taken the liberty of cleaning up before their guest got here.

“Laundry day,” y/n sighed while sitting down her bag next to her. She brushed out her skirt as she sat down so it’d cover as much of her bare legs as fabric would sparingly allow. Her skirt was drenched, and she was sure it would leave the chair just the same as if she stood up any time soon.

“Don’t have to wear that thing tomorrow?” Richie couldn’t help but think about all the other girls who’d be wearing the same outfit on Monday. Of course, their blouses wouldn’t be overly exposing, but their legs would still be bare and long—longing for Richie’s stare if you catch a drift.

“Aren’t you failing something?” y/n snapped back.

Richie swallowed the rest of the words lingering in the back of his throat.

“I was thinking we start with the basics.” y/n bent down, searching for the green folder she had marked ‘Science’ in thick, permanent ink. Richie couldn’t help but steal another look at her figure—outlined by the white shirt that clung to it.

“Basics?” His voice cracked, but he was too caught up in her to care.

“Well, what do you need help with?”

“Nothing.” Richie scoffed, not letting some girl he barely knew deflate his ego.

“Then why am I here?” She countered. Her eyebrow raised, unimpressed, and her fingers started to drum anxiously against the wood of his desk.

“Right now, we’re going over stoichiometry,” Richie shrugged, not bothering to meet her eyes—her bright, keen eyes he’d find himself lost in if he weren’t careful. “It’s not the math part I need help on it’s the—”

“Concentration.”

“Yeah.” Richie let out a heavy sigh. He already knew what y/n looked like—beautiful, while water droplets kissed her neck that he itched to touch. It wouldn’t hurt to steal yet another glance, he thought, while turning towards her. “It’s like I can’t focus,” he said, finally making eye contact.

“And you need help with that?” She questioned. The familiar feeling of anticipation welled in the back of her throat but there was no telling why.

“I guess.” Richie’s eyes left hers to stare at the wall. The view was less impressive, but it let him form a cohesive thought.

“I think I know a way.” y/n’s demeanor had completely changed by now. Richie was about to mutter out a how or what the hell are you talking about but the words in his mind scrambled together like the eggs his mother made that morning when he felt her hand travel down to his knee.

y/n’s touch was light and delicate—almost nothing as it grazed against the fabric of his jeans. But it was there. He felt it, and if he didn’t, his imagination must’ve been pretty goddamn realistic for running at a hundred hertz a minute. Her thumb ran circles against the corded pattern making his breath hitch.

“Uh, what’cha doin’?” Richie’s eyebrow rose at the hand on his pants which was making its way to the zipper.

“Helping,” she insisted, “if you’re having trouble focusing, you’re probably stressed, right?” Richie could only nod. “So, this will help you unstress.” He gasped at the sound and sight of y/n undoing his zipper. His eyes widened and she found herself smiling at his movements from such little touch already.

Richie was quick to roll his jeans, and the underwear underneath, to his ankles. His eager length stood hard and erect against his stomach and if it weren’t for his lack of social awareness, he’d be embarrassed to be seen bare in front of a girl he just met.

y/n’s right hand—timid but daring—wrapped itself around the base of his cock, eliciting a groan from Richie’s now parted and perfectly pink lips.

Surprise wouldn’t even begin to describe the swirl of emotions that found themselves in the pit of Richie’s stomach and began to bubble in his throat—another groan. Though, as surprised as Richie was, he couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of pleasure and yearning for more as he harshly swallowed at the feeling of friction and tightness y/n managed to spring upon him in one firm jerk.

She was on her knees now, the feeling of hardwood against bare skin didn’t seem to faze her. All her attention was on Richie. The sound of unsteady breaths from above had y/n’s cheeks flushed and panties in a heat. The only cohesive thought in her mind was wanting to hear those pretty little noises coming from Richie’s pretty little mouth again.

y/n didn’t need a mirror to know her pupils were blown, the sight before her that she couldn’t quite look away from and the uncomfortable feeling between her legs was enough, letting her realize what she was doing. What was she doing? Her grip on his length loosened as she moved her hand up and down, allowing for enough space for her mouth when she connected her lips to his dick.

“God. You feel great, toots.” It only took a few motions for Richie to already come lax at the feeling of y/n’s mouth. He wished it were another part.

y/n chuckled to herself. Having this much power over a boy made her feel… confident. No guy at her school would give her the time of day, it seemed—not even Jeremy Fields. But Richie Tozier… Richie Tozier was practically falling apart at the sight of her and y/n loved that. Richie felt her pace around him speed up and y/n felt herself grinding on her palm to meet his same high. The sight of her alone was enough to have Richie on edge.

“Sugar, if you don’t stop I’m gonna—” His heavy pants were enough to cut him off, but y/n took her chance to interrupt further.

“—You’ll what?” She pulled apart from him, a string of saliva connecting them. Richie almost whimpered at the warm feeling of her mouth provided—gone.

“I’m gonna bust before I can take care of you,” he admitted somewhat bashfully. His face was red, and y/n couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the fact that he had been worked up.

“Oh.” Back at her shy state, y/n ducked her head and felt her cheeks heat in a similar fashion to his. “Well, in that case…” y/n didn’t have to finish her sentence for Richie to get a grasp on what she was saying. She began to undo the buttons of the thin, white button up at an unbearably slow pace. She managed to peel the wet material that stuck to her skin gracefully even though she’d been itching to take it off as soon as she put it on.

“Wow.”

“Shut up,” y/n mumbled mindlessly, not daring to make eye contact. Part of her was embarrassed enough at the fact that she was on her knees for the boy she was supposed to teaching qualitative chemical reactions to. Her skirt was next to come off. The plaid fabric fell helplessly fell to the ground as soon as she unzipped it.

“I’m serious. You’re like… hot stuff, hot stuff,” Richie said as soon as she stood up, giving him a perfect view. Her underwear was a scalding red with embroidered flowers that decorated the side of her breasts and hipbone. The matching set was far from innocent, far from what Richie would imagine Catholic school girls to wear.

y/n didn’t say anything—her stomach too full of butterflies and a lump still caught in her throat. Richie could sense her nervousness and pulled her into him. To think, a girl he had met only thirty minutes ago was now engulfed in his arms and half-bare for him.

The rough pad of his thumb drew circles on her shoulder. The slow, sensual movements against her skin was electric and had the two riled up even more as Richie slotted his thigh in between hers for her to buck up against. The feeling of her clothed clit on lace as she dragged herself back and forth on his leg at an uneven pace was indescribable.

“Fuck.” It wasn’t unexpected that Richie broke the silence and occasional gasps. “You’re soaked… so… fuckin’ soaked.” He could feel the wetness from her panties that dripped onto his bare leg and he groaned at the thought that it was because of him.

y/n giggled but the sound of her breathy laughs in his ears didn’t last long as she pressed into him further and latched her lips onto his. It was like no other kiss he’s had before. As for y/n, she’d be ashamed to say it was her first kiss. That is, her first kiss where she felt something.

y/n swallowed the moan from Richie as their lips still locked and their tongues swept over each other.

“You’re like—”

“You are, too,” y/n breathed quickly, not bothering to hear the rest of the words. Her attention was now focused on him—or the lack of him inside her. She grabbed his throbbing length once again, taking barely any time to admire it. “Do you have any?”

“Yeah.” Richie swallowed. He opened the top left drawer of his desk, revealing a box of Trojans which he quickly took a foil packet from.

It was weird. Although y/n knew this was just a one time thing she couldn’t help but feel jealous as the small hairs on her neck stood to attention.

Effortlessly, Richie tore open the foil and slid on the condom. “Ready?”

y/n nodded and bit down on her cheek as she sunk down on him. Patiently, Richie waited for her to adjust to his size and a sign for him to move.

A quick kiss to his lips was it. It was different from the first. Swift, sweet, teasing. Richie wanted more. He wanted more as he thrust up into her and he wanted more as he felt y/n’s fingertips dig into his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt.

“Unfair that you have more clothes on,” y/n managed to speak through a whine. To which Richie opened his eyes and through hazy lids and lust-blown pupils he saw her panties that were pulled to the side as his dick met her entrance and the bra strap that was making its way down her arm.

Richie stifled a chuckle. “You want this off?” He gestured to the graphic tee that was basically draped over his slim figure.

“God, yes. Take a hint much?” She tugged weakly on the sleeve of his shirt and he pulled away for a second so he could remove it, revealing his smooth chest and delicious collarbone.

Another whine left y/n’s lips as he pulled her in closer again. His speed picked up as he bottoms out, reaching a spot no guy has ever found before. Her left hand his in his hair, gripping at his long locks that only a Rockstar would dare wear and her right hand is clutching his cheek—his freckle-sprayed cheek that relaxes under her soft hands and delicate fingers.

Richie’s hands, however, are in a much more intimate place he realizes as he moans yet again, this time at the feeling of his roots being pulled on. One is on her ass, keeping her from falling off, though it might be impossible seeing as how close the two are. The other is playing with her folds, using the same circular motions from earlier to coax her closer.

“You feel so good,” Richie says as his eyes roll back to his head. “Fuck.”

y/n hums. Her lips can’t help but curl into a smile once the words reach her ears. “I’m close,” she whispers and Richie nods in agreement.

It’s dirty and the total opposite of what Richie would expect from the girl who walked in his door a short hour ago, but they reach their highs together, while the filthiest noise Richie’s ever heard leaves y/n’s swollen lips. He watches her as she cums. Her hair is moussed and sweat shines across her furrowed brows. But Richie Tozier swears he hasn’t seen a prettier sight.

“Fuck, doll,” Richie says in amazement.

y/n’s still smiling as she opens her eyes, but she can’t help but be embarrassed at the same time.

“What?” The question is small, but there’s a certain weight on her shoulders that Richie notices.

“You’re hot.” He’s wearing a shit-eating grin and y/n wants to smack him right then and there. But she doesn’t. She only smiles back, quickly removes herself from him, and redresses herself with the same pace. Her shirt is only slightly less damp and slightly less uncomfortable, but it’ll do. y/n supposes she could just change into her pajamas once she got home. “What, don’t tell me our session’s over already,” Richie tries to joke.

“Sorry,” y/n sighs. Her backpack is already slung over her shoulder, she didn’t even need to ask Richie for help with her stuff.

“Hey, is this because…” Richie’s large palm finds a home on y/n’s shoulder which she tenses up at.

“No!” y/n’s barely able to choke it out. “But the session was, like, supposed to be an hour, you know? And I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” She’s back to her nervous self again.

“God.” Richie realizes what this is about now. “You’re not overstaying anything, toots. You can stay for dinner if you’d like,” he offers. “Hell, stay forever.”

y/n resists the urge to roll her eyes and opts for the dead skin on her lip instead. “I really have to go. Sorry, Rich.”

The last he sees is her half-smile from her all perfect lips before she slips out the door and into the rain again.

#richie tozier #richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #richie tozier fluff #richie tozier x reader smut #richie tozier x reader fluff #it stephen king #it 2017 #it 2019 #sorry i'm bad at writing smut

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seostudios · 4 years ago

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middle of the night: all about luv - p.js

ALL ABOUT LUV ‣ MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

you just needed to pass your classes and you'd be out of this hellhole but of course you couldn't do it alone! it was a two man job with your lifestyle so the school assigned you to the one and only park jisung, clumsy straight a student who you may or may not have now taken a liking to....

pairing: park jisung x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 4.5k

info: rebel!reader, nerd!jisung, strangers to lovers!au, non-idol!au, high school!au

warnings: explicit/vulgar language, mentions of drugs, alcohol, little bit alcohol consumption

a/n: hey omg i can’t believe i finally posted a part to this series, i hope u guys enjoy it and PLEASE tell me if you want a taglist okay? thanks!

You were fierce, everyone knew. Even those who haven't even seen you and your tricks in-person feared when you attended school. Although you were known to play tricks, rough-house, and start problems with the other kids who didn't even bother attending school or pursue their actual desires- you had one and was determined to make it come true one way or another. But unfortunately, you were pretty dim compared to the students who roamed the hallways, it never stopped you, Today you decided on approaching your math teacher since she was surprisingly the only one who cheered you on with your aspirations,

"So...I'm passing three of my four courses this semester!?" You eagerly questioned the woman in front of you, "Yes, you are" confirmed with the recent grade updates, you sigh in relief knowing you were passing most of your classes with satisfying marks, so you made your way to the exit.

However, she pulled you back down to your seat. "You're failing Science Y/n," she added pointing at the 34, "Well I don't even know what's happening in there, how can I pass in such a short time?"

He stared out the window of the Science lab. He had plans after school, "Jisung? Park Jisung?" an unfamiliar teacher called from the door frame; his attention was mainly towards the girl behind her which sent shivers down his spine.

"Can you meet me in Room 284 after school?" Of course not, he's finally scored a fucking date with Lee Jieun one of the prettiest and popular girls of the junior division, he looked over to Jieun in the back of the class who was listening in on your conversation along with everybody else in the classroom, she looked disappointed but nodded permitting him to ditch their date, he smiled apologetically at the girl before focusing his attention to the door,

"Sure."

Knocks were heard from the door which made your busy teacher who was marking work signal you to go open the entrance to this quite cold classroom. Roughly around 5'11 probably 6'0 boy is wearing a worn-out white shirt, with a navy blue blazer, pants and a poorly tied tie. His attire was mandatory but his hair was unique, rocking pink-brown hair was not something you see every day unless they were idols. The sun shined passed the windows onto the boy making his rosewood hair turn into a more dark salmon colour. "Jisung!" Your Math teacher chirped to the boy pulling out a chair next to yours indicating you two to sit back down. She took a good two minutes out of your time to finish up on marking and organizing the sheets sprawled across the desk, you and Jisung just sat in silence. In all honestly, Jisung was shitting himself. You and the reputation you had here were most definitely the reason why. Shifting his position every ten seconds, the occasional glances to you, and bouncing his leg. Finally, she turned her attention to the pair in front of her, "So you two are probably really confused."she stated looking at Jisung, then you."Poor Y/n here, my favourite student-"She pauses looking at you with a smile and towards Jisung who looked confused on how,"which is surprising to the staff apparently which I have no idea how...she hasn't been...rebellious in a few weeks since she's trying to pass before the summer break."Clasping her hands together she looks up at you two, "Jisung I need you to tutor Y/n until she gets her final grade in." When I tell you his eyes widened enough for you to see the wrinkles on his forehead form, you did. You smiled accepting the help but it quickly seeing his distressed self, "Are you okay? Do you not want to tutor me?"You asked, and it was your first time ever speaking to the boy he never expected you to sound so soft and gentle; predicting beforehand that you had a rough deeper voice. His facial expression softens slightly at your hopeful gaze piercing through him- hoping he'd tutor you, cause frankly, you needed it more than anyone in your division at this point (Maybe you're being a little selfish but who cares.). Jisung was sitting in his seat, zoned out, probably processing all this. It took him a minute, but he finally looked up from fiddling with his fingers. "Oh Of course I will! I can do Wednesdays after school and Saturday around noon?"It was pretty shocking how confident he sounded ordering you around that second- which made the teacher grin at the shy boy's sudden dominance. Chuckling a little with a small smile plastered on your face you say "Works perfectly, I'll be leaving now. Bye Ms.," You said jolting up grabbing your backpack walking towards the door, but before you leave you gotta leave a nice impression on the boy plus its rude to not say goodbye isn't it.

"Goodbye Jisung Park."

It was Tuesday and Jisung was sitting in the Music room during lunch eating and catching up on his Health papers when you walked in. This was your usual spot in the late spring when you needed AC and a place to lay down. On a regular day for Jisung, he'd be in the front of the school on the bench working however it was too hot for him today so he opted to break into the already unlocked classroom to eat and study in. Sitting on top of the sink counter you lean to open a window pulling out a cigarette, you came here to smoke and it was a great place since it was deserted. "W-What are you doing?" Jisung asked looking up from his notebook sitting on the carpet. "Do I look like I'm about to jump out the window? no. I'm gonna smoke."You informed sarcastically on the boy. He was slightly taken aback you were so sweet yesterday and today your back with your bad girl reputation still strong. He threw you a quick look before getting up, putting his things in his bag, and throwing out the rest of his lunch. Now, walking towards you he takes the cigarette out your hand before you could even light it and threw it out the open window. "Hey! I wasn't done with that, and I didn't even start with it!" You raised your voice at him which did make him flinch but provoked him to argue back, "Yah! Your smoking is unhealthy and against school rules." He paused but started again, "You want to pass, don't you? I'm helping you pass, aren't I? Get your things together if you want my help Y/n."He spat. Honestly, you didn't think his words would affect you so much but it fueled the fire you started a minute ago. "Shut up Park, stop acting all tough when you know nothing about me, I never needed your help I was just going along with Ms." you argued back before grabbing your backpack and the lighter on the counter before hopping off pushing the tallboy to the side rudely, muttering something about bullshit.

"I was helping her! And she says you know nothing about me Park! like of course I don't butt why does she need to be an asshole when I'm trying to help her out." Jisung complains to Chenle in front of him. "Maybe she's like addicted," Chenle says trying to make the best out of the situation "Look, she'll warm up to you eventually cause you two will be spending lots of time together now." Jisung huffs in disbelief that Chenle is basically on your side here, getting up from the grassy field to join the rest of his gym class in soccer.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees a figure under the bleachers; you. He knows you are upset with him as much as he is with you but he still wants to encourage you to pass Science with his help. "Park! Get your ass over here!" Yedam, his classmate calls him to grab his things on the field before heading into the change rooms.

The school bell rang, you watched students walk out of their classrooms to their lockers, friends, lovers. You were leaning against the wall beside the empty Music room contemplating if you should leave and hang out with some friends by Unjeong Lake Park or stay in with Park Jisung to study for Science. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a voice, "Hey." Jisung stood in front of you, backpack resting on one shoulder and a Science textbook in his hand. "Hi," It was awkward being around him after you little tilt.

"Let's go," You trailed behind Jisung watching him take you to an unfamiliar part of the school, the West End. "Why are we here?" You question the pink-haired boy, but all you get in return is silence. At last, he brought you two to the old gym, it hasn't been used in almost 6 years but somehow it looks squeaky clean. "This is my hangout spot after school, I kind of made my friends go down to Unjeong for the day so we could study here until I find a proper place." He explains to you placing his books and bag on the stacked mats, offering to take your bag too, you let him. "So what Unit is your class working on now?" He asked you once the two of you sat on one of the many beanbags in the gym (Probably brought in from his pals), "Well my mom made me take Biology I and I know you are in my class I just don't show up..." You lean back on the beanbag playing with the lighter in your hands "What are we learning Park?" He visibly gulps at you doesn't even know why he's nervous himself, maybe because your scary? Probably.

"Well we're on our last unit of the year and the Unit test and Final Exam are what can get you to pass the class with at least a 60," He said moving to grab his textbook flipping to a page with sticky notes plastered all over. "We are in Unit 5, Plants: Anatomy, Growth, and Function. It's an easy Unit so we could go through it in two months then spend the two weeks before the final exam prep." Jisung finished speaking and handed you the textbook that was on the Unit page, it didn't look hard but you knew better to judge a book by its cover. "Alright, where do we start." You smile at the grinning boy who's suddenly amused by your aspiration to pass the course.

It's 2:45 and you are in the middle of the last period, Science. It was your last day of the Science of the year, technically. You still had to prep for your final exam, but this was the final unit test which meant for the next month you'd be stuck in a silent classroom with your peers all silently studying over and writing recap notes for the final exam. You finish writing the date on your page and adding a little smiley face at the end of your name, flipping your paper over you take out your earbuds, and play music to pass time.

Good, 15 minutes have passed, and you see students getting up to hand in their papers, this where you tag along and hand it in too. Patting the eraser ends on your skirt off you make it back to your desk sitting then turning to look behind you, a few desks down to a now chocolate haired boy. He was finishing up his test when he looked up to see you basically ogling at him. Throwing you an awkward half-assed smile he looks back to the girl behind him, Jieun.

Jieun and Jisung took a very bad turn once Jisung agreed on tutoring you. She's ghosted the boy and took a liking to her lab partner, Taehyun. It was disappointing to see a girl get jealous over her date tutoring a very incompetent girl like you. If you were in her position, you might've gotten scared but wouldn't drop the kid; it was rude, and honestly, you were glad Jisung accepted that fate and moved on from her. He played with the end of his test sheet before sighing thumping his head against the desk, okay maybe he wasn't that over her yet but he's doing better than you ever would. Over these four months you and Jisung surprisingly got along well, you've opted to occupy a booth int he back of your town's ice cream parlor for studying instead of that abandoned gym in the West End.

In all honesty, you felt bad about how you treated the tall boy in the first few weeks of tutoring. You showed up late which strung the classes longer making one hour, two. You complained, never listened, argued, actually punched him once. But after warming up to him you've started to take a liking, noticing his features a little more than you did last week, finding his beauty mark under his lip stunning. Nowadays he seems ten times more charming, appealing, engaging, and irresistible to you, memorizing his favourite things how he looks up to Kai, the teacher assistant for the seniors. And that he actually hates Science and prefers Gym and Sociology class. He likes all kinds of ice cream and tries new flavors every visit, he never writes with a red-inked pen since he prefers the black one and always lets you know that too ("Y/n did you know red ink stains are a nasty stain to get out, always use black ink."). You aren't the only one who's learned to love the newly blossomed friendship as he's learned as much as you about him, on how you've always wanted to become a Veterinarian, that your love for animals is just unexplainable and the only things holding you down is this horrible reputation you've built yourself over the two years of attending. But better late than ever to change your ways and Jisung was absolutely mesmerized by your determination to achieve the new milestones you've set for yourself.

"PARK JISUNG!" You shrieked barging into the empty ice cream parlor to see the boy sitting idling on his device, he looks up at you running towards your booth. "Hey, shhh", he quiets your overly excited self-telling you to sit."I got my Unit Test mark," you stop talking to take your backpack off and pull out your Unit Test which was graded and with a big fat A on it. "Holy shit! Y/n this is amazing!!"He exclaimed eyes going wide seeing the mark, his hard work really did pay off.

"Now we can start prepping for Finals," Jisung told you after handing your papers back, your shoulders sagged and your smile disappeared, you were hoping to possibly celebrate with your tutor and newfound friend. Shaking your head, you look at him again, "No sorry, I wanna celebrate this tonight," you inform Jisung who looks at you with a somewhat annoyed expression. "Sorry Y/n but one A isn't going to help you get to a passing mark, you need more than that and the only thing that'll help you pass Biology is your Final Exam which is what we need to prep for." What the fuck? Jisung Park, the golden student, and who you thought was your friend basically telling you that your grade wasn't worth all that cheering two minutes ago. That was unbelievable what type of asshole does that, oh wait apparently Jisung Park. You knew you weren't gonna pass with one test, of course not. You might've been dumb but not to that extent, you clench your fists wondering how all that admiration you had for someone just got poured down a drain so quickly. You chuckle heartlessly ' that thought lingered before you look at him and speak.

"Yea of course I know that but do you not understand how big of a milestone this was for me? I am one step behind passing my hardest subject of the semester and you telling me that it's not enough and we need to prepare for a final at the end of a month that has just started is fucking rude Park."You hiss at him now baffled on how he couldn't comprehend after four- almost five months of knowing you. Getting up you grab your backpack and phone and turn to exit the ice-cream parlor.

You were now outside of the small store, and Jisung didn't even come after you. Sighing knowing you should've known associating yourself with someone with a better reputation wouldn't have been smart. Pulling your phone out, you dial in a friend who you knew would be there for you and who had more free time than most students his age. "Jeno," You stammered through the phone "Y/n? Are you okay?" You smile weakly at his concern, not even a minute into a call."Can you pick me up?" you asked quietly to the older boy. Looking through the big glass window to the back of the shop, you see Jisung sitting there watching you intently, and he knows he hurt you. It wasn't his intent to; he just wanted you to reach your goals and he thought celebrating could've been done another time instead not today, I guess he hit a soft spot seeing your facial expression so fragile.

He saw a motorcycle pull up beside you and a muscular guy go and place a helmet on your head after holding you in his embrace for a moment before the two of you hopping back on the ride driving off to god knows where.

You kick around an empty pop can on the sidewalk waiting for your ride. Jeno knew something upsetting you over the phone so he decided not to question it and get you riled up but to drink a couple of beers and play darts at his crib. A Black 2018 Kawasaki Ninja pulls up in front of you, the driver removes his helmet revealed to be your dear friend, Jeno. He felt your gloomy aura already deciding to just embrace you tightly, "Whatever it is, you did amazing." He assured you before breaking the hug to plop the helmet on you and hopping back on with you behind him seated.

"Great job Y/n, I can see you making it through the year, I just finished putting in your final mark 89 is an amazing score and all on your own is shocking." Your Science teacher complimented you after holding you back to show your improvement to you, Jeno encouraged you to still study hard solo after acknowledging that you didn't want to work with Jisung anymore, hard work did pay off now your officially finished with your junior year and with flawless grades. "Have a great summer break," You tell her before walking out for lunch. Last day of school before the summer break, it's been a crazy weird year but you don't seem to be upset. Jisung seemed happy without you anyways, you've been skipping Music to sit out on the bleachers while he had gym class, and made sure to visit the West End more often. You didn't realize it yet but Jisung looking happy stung more than it should've.

Fuck that bullshit Y/n is on, Jisung is miserable without her. He didn't take note of it but he was more than happy to spend his Wednesdays and Saturdays with you. He liked the way your eyes widened or how your jaw almost touched the floor when he teaches you something new, or when your eyed shimmered when your grades went up every quiz. How your nose scrunched up at a difficult question, the way you organized his pencil case when he wasn't looking because 'it had to be cute like him'. He was too much of a coward to keep you by his side, it's safe to say Jisung Park likes you back. Head over heels in love with you probably, but we shouldn't stretch it that far knowing he's working his ass off to get over you, and of his mind but when does he even succeed. It's the last day of school and possibly the last time Jisung gets to see you roam the halls, watch him in Gym class fooling around with his friends, or just see you until the next school year. No, Jisung made it his goal to win you back. He's never seen you that way, never thought he'd need you, all he wants is to see you, hold you.

"No Park. She's not even here kid," Your friend, Yuna told Jisung who was at your doorstep asking for you. "Just, just tell her to text me." He said frustrated now leaving.

"I thought you said he didn't want anything to do with you?" Jeno asked sitting on the couch of Yuna's living room beside you. "He doesn't, I don't know why-" Yuna was quick to argue with you, "He likes you and you left." Jeno nods agreeing, "I see that happening..." He half-joked. "Listen I know he was a jerk in May, but it's June- July tomorrow! He's not being a jerk right now because what freaking jerk comes to your doorstep BEGGING to talk to you?" Yuna ranted.

You know he's not a jerk and he meant no harm that day but it hurt. Everyone always sugarcoated things with you so when Jisung was pretty blunt with you, it stung. You whine at all this thinking about Jisung and feelings, plus even if he did like you, there was so much to unravel than just some lame highschooler who wanted to get her shit together. So so much more than just that. Drinking the rest of the alcohol in your plastic cup you sit up straight staring at the two in front of you who were dying to hear your say in this, "Okay so what if we have our happy ending, what'll happen then? He'll figure out how toxic I am and go running back to Jiwoo or whatever name is."Stopping and using a couch pillow to cover your face- did you seriously imagine yourself with a happy ending, you've fucked up so much that it seems impossible to turn back. Yuna notices your heartache and decided to tone down on his jokes and talk to you 'for realsies',"Sweetheart if he leaves you because your teeny issues were too overwhelming for him it's not worth it but from his recent actions it looks like he'd want to be there with you through those issues. Honestly, he could live a little too so dealing with you- and giving me and Jeno here a break should be thrilling."Adding a light-hearted joke was what you needed to place a soft smile on your lips.

“Now go get your man” Jeno says slapping your back playfully encouraging you to leave the house and venture off to him- wherever he is.

"Can I help you?" A boy wearing Yonsei University sweatshirt asked you. 'This must be Jisung's older brother he told me about' You thought to yourself, "Oh Yes, is Jisung home?" You ask him looking up trying to look as innocent as you can. "Oh you just missed him, he went to get ice cream with his friends," he said. Shouting a quick thanks you run down to the only ice cream parlor Jisung probably knows in town.

CLOSED is all you see in front of the ice cream parlor. Did Jisung's older brother lie to me? Now that you think of it, he and his brother aren't close enough to share those type of things from what you heard, and what type of boy would avoid the girl he supposedly likes. You sit down on the curb looking off into the little soccer field, watching kids play with their friends thinking, then it hit you. Did Jisung lie to his older brother? C'mon Y/n think of the one place Jisung and his friends could be...The park? Nah, too crowded. The mall? No, too far. Think Think Think, one place. Where in the world could Jisung- WEST END! God, why didn't you think of that in the beginning, of course, he's there. Getting up off the curb you make your way quickly to the back of the school, remembering Jisung telling you a back entrance to the West End.

Reaching the back entrance you see it open indicating someone (Jisung and friends) was inside. Maybe you shouldn't barge in and ruin their fun...opting to send Jisung a text you search your pockets to find, nothing. How could you leave your house without your phone? You're like addicted to it. "Excuse me?" A deep voice booms behind you, turning around you look up at the man. It's Jaehyun, the volleyball team captain. "Y/n." You know him, through Jisung, of course, why else would he be at the West End or know your name. "Hi," your breath rather softly which throws the older boy way off since he knows you for your snarky remarks or overly confident aura...Today you seem the opposite really. "Can you tell Jisung to come out for a second?" you ask avoiding eye contact and resorting to looking at the chalked up pavement. He gives you a thumbs up and heads in.

"Park Jisung-ah!" Jaehyun shouts for Jisung loud enough for it to echo in the empty gym. Looking up and seeing Jaehyun, Jisung excuses himself from his current conversation with Doyoung, Yuta, and Renjun to jog over to his Hyung. "Your chick is here," He says pointing out the door to you, Jisung's eyes lit up already knowing who Jaehyun was talking about peeking his head out the door to see you looking off into the parking lot, watching the sunset. He was pulled right back in by Jaehyun, "You better fix whatever's been going on between you, Y/n looks like an actual school girl being all shy and soft. I'm actually disgusted I need that spunky girl back before I force you two to kiss or some shit," Really Jaehyun? Some advice you got there.

"Alright kid go get your chick" Jaehyun cheered before pushing him and closing the door loud enough to alert and make you turn back.

It felt like a dream, none of this felt real. It hasn't even bee 24 hours since you last saw Jisung, but it's been a month of not interacting to get your heart racing this much. You looked unreal to Jisung, out of a fairytale actually and he looked amazing, like always. This is when he started to panic, you smiled weakly and started walking up to him. He looked down at his shoes not having the balls to look you in the eye, "Jisung look at me you pussy." You said so calmly but so rudely(?). It was funny and made Jisung giggle which made you short circuit.

Jisung looks up from his feet to see you staring into his brown eyes, taking in all his features again looking at him from head to toe; how fluffy his dark coffee bean hair was or his cheeks- god you always took the chance to pinch them when you could. His broad shoulders you always wondered how his hugs would be, probably so comfy and perfect. The beauty mark under his lip, fuck always wanted to kiss it. Your thoughts were disrupted when you felt two large hands enclose you in a tight hug; reacting almost immediately you wrap your small hands around his waist and rest your head on his chest while he brings his large hand to caress the back of your head. "I'm sorry, I know what I said was wrong and I shouldn't have made you seem so slow-witted when you totally aren't. I think over that conversation almost every night. I'm so so sorry Y/n," He finishes tightening the hug for a moment sympathetically.

You loosen the hug and tippy-toe up to the boy placing a small peck on his pink lips which caused his cheeks to go crimson. "You're forgiven, Park," you say giving him a tight smile. You see the tall boy pout a little and turn his reddened face to the side before mumbling "I was supposed to do that," which caused a fit of giggles from you.

"You'll have plenty of opportunities in the future Jisung."

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wastelandcrown · 4 years ago

Text

logan lark’s adventures in trying to appease his parents

CHAPTER 4: a tight-knit family

Summary: Logan Lark is a fairly average high school student. By all means, he should be impressing his parents on all grounds. Except...he doesn’t exactly have a social life. So after his parents give him puppy dog eyes, he decides to join the local theatre's youth production. Good grief...His life is about to get weird isn’t it?

Warnings: Potential ooc behavior, Roman is a theatre brat to the highest degree (Sorry Roman stans), Remus being Remus, (If I miss something please tell me!)

Notes: This fic is based off an idea from @under-the-blue-moonlight. If you wanna be tagged in chapters, please dm me!! This chapter we see a LOT of Patton, a little of Virgil, and some Roman being an ass behaviour. I apologize if this chapter is lackluster, it’s important I promise!! Also I just finished chapter 5...its 3295 of intrulogical fluff

Pairings: Eventual Intrulogical, Eventual Rociet, Eventual One-Sided Logicality, Platonic Analogical, Platonic DRLAMP

Word Count: 2269

Tagslist: @under-the-blue-moonlight @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @im-actually-ok @hauntedturkeycalzonedreamer

After a few weeks, not disappointing Remus was a weak reason to be here.

Though he never considered himself a quitter, god he would love to just quit one thing in his life. The thing being theatre.

When Thomas arrived Roman bombarded him with questions. Turns out, Logan was cast as Hamilton due to his exceptional rapping. Roman, weaker at rapping but a very confident and strong singer, could provide the extremely skilled vocal performance required by Washington. If Logan were to get sick, Roman would play Hamilton and Remus would hand over Maria’s part to his understudy. Which made sense, of course. The beginnings of rehearsals were, by all means, not entirely awful. They were going to learn the music to the show, song by song. The first problem arises with Logan’s absolutely awful stage fright. After the first run-through of the title number, Alexander Hamilton, Logan almost threw up again. People looked directly at him whenever he sang or rapped. The musical director, Jamahl, assured him it was fine. Jamahl, as nice as he was, would be receiving a solid two on Logan’s chart. It’s okay, Logan, Everyone gets stage fright, Logan. That, quite frankly, sounded like a bunch of bullshit. Especially since every time Logan got too nervous and messed up, Roman laughed from off to his side.

Which shouldn’t bother him. It really shouldn’t. Except...Well, it was infuriating to be laughed at. For something he can’t control no less. He was ready to ball up his script and pelt him with paper until he stopped being a colossally egotistical idiot. Along with Roman’s frankly abhorrent behaviour, Logan also had to deal with feigning...romantic intimacy. Don’t get him wrong, Patton was a very nice guy. But...how would you feel knowing your first kiss would have to be fake for a theatre production? Bad. You would feel bad. So does Logan. Logan is sick of all of this, and by the end of the second week he finally snaps.

When he hears that during Helpless he needs to kiss Patton, he doesn’t bother to hide his surprise. Of course, after he does, Roman decides to open his big dumb mouth.

“What’s wrong, Microsoft nerd? Upset that your first kiss will be on the stage?”

Patton reels back and glares at Roman almost instantly, opening his mouth to defend Logan, when Logan turns on Roman himself.

“I am beginning to wonder if you ever just shut up,” Logan snaps, fists balled in anger.

“Because honestly, for the two weeks I have been in this theatre program, you have done nothing but spout off like a tea kettle about to boil over all because I happened to be better than you at one thing. So I am sincerely asking, do you ever shut up?”

Somehow, he has done the impossible. Roman is stunned into silence, his face goes red with anger.

“How dare-” Is all he manages to get out before Thomas calls for a five-minute break.

Thomas motions for Logan to come over to him, and he’s still fuming. If he were as dramatic as a certain hoity-toity theatre brat, he would be practically foaming at the mouth. Thomas is an adult, so he tries to pull himself together.

“I apologize-”

“Don’t. Roman kinda deserved that,” Thomas says with a smirk, “He’s a great kid, but he has a lot to learn.”

It’s his turn to be shocked into silence, because never in a million years would he expect an adult to enable such an outburst.

“Really though, Logan, Just try not to let it happen again. I’ll let it slide this time, okay?”

With a nudge to the side and a kind smile, Logan is sent to have his break.

Roman is quiet for the rest of the day. Logan could not be more pleased. Roman’s anger at him was unjustified and awful, he was overall awful. After today, he would need to add a negative rating to his charts. He doesn’t think he could ever get along with someone like Roman without eventually succumbing to his anger and strangling him. Logan knows his extreme anger is wrong, but Roman was just...just...absolutely, unbelievably, infuriating. Sitting in the lobby waiting for his father like usual, he is approached by Patton. Alone this time, without Virgil. Which is strange.

“You look like you’re about to rip someone's head off,” Patton giggles out with a sympathetic smile.

Logan sighs and gives him a little smirk, “My apologies, are you going to be getting a ride with Virgil tonight?”

“No, his dad is picking him up! I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out!”

“I-” Logan thinks on this for a while, then shrugs. It may be for the best. Patton has been very kind, and he has defended him when Roman was being a jerk.

“Sure, let me message my father.”

Patton’s car is a beat-up looking second-hand thing that looks like it rolled out of a dump. Inside, it’s actually very well taken care of. Patton calls the car “Christine” and pats her lovingly. Hanging from the rear-view mirror is a small frog-shaped air freshener that makes the car smell of strawberries. The seats are comfortable, and Patton’s music is sweet. Eventually they pull into a parking lot in a townhouse area, and as they walk down the street Patton waves and says hello to all his neighbours that are outside.

“You know them all?”

“Oh, yeah! Lots of them have babysat me, or my sisters! And I’ve babysat for them too!”

Huh. He didn’t know Patton had sisters. Though, the second they enter his house, it’s entirely obvious.

In the living room, there are three young girls. Patton’s shoes are barely off when the two youngest ones rush him and engulf him in hugs. The older one walks over and smiles at Logan first.

“Hi, which one are you?” She asks, and Patton laughs.

“Delilah Ann! That’s not nice!”

“I’m Logan, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Lilah, I’ve heard a lot about you. Mostly ‘cause Pat doesn’t shut up.”

Patton looks a little pouty, but Logan thinks he likes Lilah. She doesn’t look much like Patton at all. Her hair is more wavy than curly, and a very nice strawberry blonde colour. She doesn’t have glasses, and dresses very tomboyish, the only thing that ties them together are their freckled cheeks. She’s only thirteen, but Logan finds her interesting to talk to. While Patton is dealing with the younger ones, she tells him about how she wants to be a mortician and is the smartest in her family. Logan smiles a little while they have a mostly one-sided conversation.

One thing the siblings have in common is certainly their talkative likability.

The younger two are put to work on their homework at the dining table, and Patton begins to set up dinner. Logan sits next to the girls at the table, Delilah retreating to her room, chatting with Patton as he cooks. He offered to help but was denied at every turn. Something about him being a guest, and how he shouldn’t have to. They’re discussing their roles in the play when the youngest slams her head against the table dramatically.

“Patton! I don’t wanna do this anymore!” She whines, Patton puts some potatoes in a pot then brushes off his hands on his apron.

“Do you need help, or do you need a break?”

“Help!”

Logan peers over her paper and sees a bunch of simple multiplication questions, she must only be in second or third grade.

He clears his throat, “If you’d like, I could help you.”

“Oh! Oh! Yes! Patton can Logan help me please!”

Patton agrees, despite obviously looking at Logan and saying ‘You really don’t have to’ with his eyes. Logan likes to teach, he’s more than happy to help out. Especially since Elaine is extremely charming. You can definitely see how much she looks like Patton. Big square glasses, blonde hair in pigtails, tons of freckles dotting chubby cheeks. She acts like him too, spouting out awful dad jokes that make Patton lose it laughing in the kitchen. She tries her best to listen, and manages to actually complete her math homework with a pretty good mark. Her teacher will hopefully be impressed. Logan’s dad texts and asks if he needs to be picked up, but Elaine begs him to stay for dinner and...well he can’t say no, can he? Patton says he doesn’t have to stay, but he wants to.

He’d never had siblings, it had always just been him and his parents. Though he loved them, and they loved him, it was so...lonely sometimes. He had always wanted a little brother or sister, maybe even a pet, but it never really happened. The energy in Patton’s house was somehow a perfect mix of lively and calm, they felt like they were really a family. Logan relished in it. The feeling of community, full of love so openly given and received. The most he had were very quiet holiday dinners with the few Larks who were left. He remembers being Elaine’s age, he felt so lonely. She wasn’t lonely though, she was full of love. So was Patton. It was very nice. He watches Patton cook and he chats with him while realizing he’s been much too harsh on him. His kindness wasn’t fake, there was no way. He was a real person who was actually that nice. He defended him out of the kindness of his heart.

Ding.

hey logan wyd rn

Ah, Virgil. That was a pleasant surprise.

I’m actually at Patton’s house. Elaine has roped me into staying for dinner.

He can almost hear Virgil’s little chuckle.

yeah she does that hows sophie

Sophie? Oh, that must be the third sister. She’s very quiet, her eyes haven’t once looked upwards the whole time they’ve been sat together.

“Ahem-Uhm-Sophie,” Logan starts, and Sophie looks up from her homework, “Virgil was wondering how you are?”

Her eyes light up, “I’m good. Is he going to come over?”

She’s good. She wants to know if you will be coming over.

hah, sure tell her to give me 20

“Yes, give him twenty minutes.”

Sophie smiles, and Logan is reminded of Virgil almost immediately. She has dark brown hair that covers her face and a bit of a natural glare. Her smile is shy, and he wonders if Patton secretly stole Virgil’s little sister.

It seems like it, even more, when Virgil actually gets there. Sophie’s entire demeanor changes. She becomes extremely talkative and tells Virgil all about how she’s got a new villager in her animal crossing town. Virgil entertains her with talking, going and helping Patton to cook. Logan gets up to help as well, but Virgil waves him away. Virgil looks like he belongs here, in this little dining room-kitchen. He’s laughing beside Patton, talking to both girls and Logan, helping cook and set the table. Logan can’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this before. While Patton is putting the food on the table, the door opens and a tired-looking woman enters. Virgil goes to greet her, and she smiles. Her hair is curly and blonde, her eyes are a cloudy green, she is covered in a smattering of freckles, and she looks...just like Patton.

Logan gets up to go greet her as well. When she sees him she beams and it’s like he’s been confronted by the sun herself.

“You must be Logan! Virgil and Patton talk my ears off about you!” She pats his head, and continues, “The boys just adore you! It’s about time you came for dinner!”

He almost can’t speak, and both Virgil and Patton whine about her embarrassing them, but he nods, “Thank you for having me, but I’ve only known them for two weeks, Ma’am.”

The woman looks a little confused, then laughs joyously, “No need for that, kiddo! Just call me Lisa, okay?”

After patting him on the shoulder, she slinks by and greets all her children. Lilah has come back down, and the whole table is now filled to the brim. Dinner is filling and delicious, Patton really has a talent for the culinary arts. Which is strange considering Logan took him as someone who, like him, couldn’t cook to save his life.

After dinner, Patton brings Logan and Virgil to his room to hang out. They play video games, talk about anything they can manage, and by the time it’s late Logan is smiling. At nine, Elaine and Sophie are whining about Patton putting them to bed. Virgil and Logan wish them good night and Virgil drives Logan home.

“Logan, I’ve gotta ask...why did you agree to hang out with Patton?”

“Well...I’m not actually sure. I think that I needed it.”

“How do you mean?”

Logan looks out the window and thinks to himself. Why? He’s never had friends, or much of a close family. He figured he agreed because well…

“Patton has something I don’t. It helped me understand him better to see what he has.”

Virgil accepted that, but Logan wasn’t sure he understood it fully. He’s not even sure he does.

That night, Roman gets a negative two. Patton gets a ten, and written on his pages are the names and personalities of his family members. Along with that, is a very simple phrase.

I have concluded that Patton is, indeed, a very good person.

Why it took him this long to come to terms with, he will never understand.

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junker-town · 5 years ago

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24 great books for quarantined sports fans

From ‘Ball Four’ to ‘Out of Sight’, here are a few books you can come back to over and over again

I love my books. They have traveled with me across the country and back again, prominently displayed in cheap bookcases throughout dozens of apartments around the Northeast. Currently, they are stretched out behind me in my home office where they will stay until the time comes to move off the grid. They will follow me there, as well.

I have read all of them at least once and several of them dozens of times. During periods of my life when I was without human companionship they were literally my only friends. That’s not said for sympathy. The life of a newspaper sportswriter in the 90s and early 2000s involved shitty hours and weekends, which pretty much negated any hopes of having a social life.

Through it all, my books were there for me. They demanded nothing but my time and gave me hours of entertainment.

I’m not particularly proud of my collection. There is very little literature to be found and only a handful of what one might refer to as great works. It mainly comprises sports books, rock star biographies, and a nearly complete set of Elmore Leonard novels.

Most of them are several decades old because I had to stop buying books at some point when I began to run out of room. I’m not linking to them because you can hopefully find an independent bookstore near you that would be thrilled for the business. Do them and humanity a favor.

Here are some of my favorites.

BASKETBALL

The Breaks of the Game: David Halberstam

This is the monster of all sports books, the one against which every basketball book is competing with in one way or another. If you know nothing of the NBA pre-LeBron James, this is where you should start. It’s a window into what feels like another universe, when pro basketball was a cult sport struggling for survival.

Loose Balls: Terry Pluto

I wrote about this one at length and won’t belabor the points I made back before the world came to a screeching halt. If you can’t get into the stories contained within these pages, I frankly don’t want to know you.

The Macrophenomenal Pro Basketball Almanac: The FreeDarko collective

It’s an exaggeration to say every person who heard the first Velvet Underground album went out and formed a band, just as it is to suggest that every writer who consumed FreeDarko wound up writing about basketball on the internet. But almost everyone who did was influenced by them.

The Miracle of St. Anthony: Adrian Wojnarowski

Long before he was the great and powerful Woj, the author spent an entire season with Bob Hurley’s St. Anthony Friars. It’s a masterful bit of storytelling that for my money is the absolute best of the surprisingly robust sub-genre of books about high school basketball.

Other contenders include The Last Shot by Darcy Frey, Fall River Dreams by Bill Reynolds and In These Girls, Hope is a Muscle by Madeleine Blais.

The Jordan Rules: Sam Smith

Judging from the early reactions to the gigantic Bulls documentary, it’s quite clear a lot of you should get familiar with the source material. Smith’s book was shocking upon its release because it dared show Michael Jordan as he really was, without the buffed out Nike shine. It holds up, clearly.

Halbertsam’s Playing for Keeps picks up the story in 1998 and provided much of the narrative structure of the first two episodes.

Heaven is a Playground: Rick Telander

An all-time classic set on the courts of mid-1970s Harlem during a long, hot summer. There are a lot of books that tried to get at the soul of basketball, but this is the standard bearer. I’d really like to know whatever became of Sgt. Rock.

Others in this vein include The City Game by Pete Axthelm, Pacific Rims by Rafe Bartholomew and Big Game, Small World by Alexander Wolff.

Second Wind: Bill Russell

The best athlete autobiography of all time.

BASEBALL

Lords of the Realm: John Heylar

The inside story of how baseball owners conspired for almost a century to suppress salaries while refusing to integrate. It’s shocking how buffoonish management acted during the glory days of the national pastime. Required reading.

Marvin Miller’s A Whole New Ballgame is a worthy companion piece, as is Bill Veeck’s delightful, Veeck as in Wreck.

Ball Four: Jim Bouton

Scandalous upon its release in 1970, Ball Four contains the best line ever written in any sport book: “You see, you spend a good piece of your life gripping a baseball and in the end it turns out that it was the other way around all the time.”

I read Ball Four for the first time in fifth grade and immediately taught my classmates the words to “Proud to be an Astro”:

Now, Harry Walker is the one who manages this crew

He doesn’t like it when we drink and fight and smoke and screw

But when we win our game each day,

Then what the fuck can Harry say?

It makes a fellow proud to be an Astro

Seasons in Hell: Mike Shropshire

There is nothing more soul-crushing than spending an entire season with a bad team. Shropshire covers three hilariously inept campaigns with the Texas Rangers, who as then-manager Whitey Herzog noted: “Defensively, these guys are really sub-standard, but with our pitching it really doesn’t matter.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Bronx is Burning: Jonathan Mahler

An underrated late addition to the pantheon that tells the story of the 1977 Yankees amid the backdrop of a city gone to hell.

You will notice there are few books in my collection about modern baseball. There’s a reason for that. The vast majority of them are peans to the wonders of middle management and therefore boring as hell.

FOOTBALL

Playing For Keeps: Chris Mortsensen

The incredibly bizarre — and largely forgotten — story of how the mob tried to gain influence in pro football via a pair of shady agents named Norby Walters and Lloyd Bloom. Good luck finding it.

Bringing the Heat: Mark Bowden

You may recognize Bowden from such masterworks as Black Hawk Down and Killing Pablo. You probably don’t remember that he spent a year with the Eagles after the death of Jerome Brown. As honest and unflinching a look at pro football as you will ever find.

North Dallas Forty: Peter Gent

The only piece of sports fiction on my list is not so fictional at all. Gent’s thinly-veiled account of his own life as a receiver for Tom Landry’s Cowboys is shocking and brutal and sad and poignant. I make time to read it every year.

I used to have more football books, back when I cared about the sport.

MEDIA

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail: Hunter S. Thompson

The Vegas one is more popular and Hell’s Angels is a stronger work of reportage, but for a dose of pure Gonzo insanity, this is the book I come back to more often than not.

The Boys on the Bus: Timothy Crouse

The companion piece to Thompson’s lurid account, Crouse plays it straight and lays bare the bullshit facade of campaign reporting. Almost 50 years later, we have still learned nothing.

The Franchise: Michael McCambridge

Details the glory days of Sports Illustrated, reading it now feels like an obituary. It was fun once, this business of writing about sports.

MUSIC

Heads, a Biography of Psychedelic America: Jesse Jarnow

My favorite book of the last few years, Jarnow takes us on a bizarre trip through the byzantine world of psychedelic drug networks connecting it through the career of the Grateful Dead and into modern-day Silicon Valley. I’m waiting for the followup on Dealer McDope.

Not music, but as a companion piece, Nicholas Schou’s Orange Sunshine tells the even-crazier tale of The Brotherhood of Eternal Love, who took over the LSD trade and invented hash smuggling by stuffing surfboards with primo Afghani hash and shipping them back to California.

The True Adventures of the Rolling Stones: Stanley Booth

Reported while on tour with the Stones at the height of their powers circa Let it Bleed, Booth took 15 years to write the damn thing. By then the Stones were already an anachronism. It’s all there, though. Sex, drugs, more drugs, and unbelievable access to the biggest rock ‘n roll band in the world.

This Wheel’s on Fire: Levon Helm with Stephen Davis

In which Brother Levon disembowels Robbie Robertson and exposes the lie at the heart of The Band. Robbie took the songwriting credit and all the money.

Satan is Real: Charlie Louvin

Astonishingly good read that is best consumed with Charlie and his brother Ira playing low in the background.

Mainlines, Blood Feasts, and Bad Taste: A Lester Bangs Reader

Lester is an acquired taste and not all of his ramblings hold up. I will always love him for despising Jim Morrison and completely nailing what made Black Sabbath important. Spoiler: They were moralists like William S. Burroughs.

Please Kill Me: Legs McNeil and Gillian Welch

The definitive oral history of punk rock, an essential document of a scene that launched a thousand mediocre bands and the Ramones, who ruled.

Shakey: Jimmy McDonough

A tour-de-force biography of Neil Young that loses steam toward the end when McDonough makes himself the subject. The stuff about Neil’s bizarre 80s period and his relationship with his son is heartbreaking.

Our Band Could Be Your Life: Michael Azerrad

Pretty much everything you need to know about bands like Mudhoney, Black Flag and Mission of Burma who wove together the musical underground through a patchwork collection of local scenes back when something like that was still possible.

ELMORE LEONARD

You can’t go wrong with anything Leonard writes, but Out of Sight is as good a place to start as any.

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mintyoongiskookie · 7 years ago

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B r o k e n F e e t

Requested: Yes~

You should do 2 and 32

Member: Jeon Jungkook Fuckboy!au

Genre: Humor, fluff, slight angst, implied smut

Word Count: 3,110

#2- “I’m gonna need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else.”

#32- “Look I know you really want that seat, but I do too now you should move before I sit on your lap.”

A/N- I’m sorry this just had to be a fuckboy one but I’m totally not sorry Well, here it is, my friend requested so I hope y’all like it~ THANKS LOVELIES

A harsh knock disrupted you from your sleep, which, mind this dream snatcher, has been the first good few hours of sleep you’d gotten in a long time. Begrudgingly, after enough knocks to think the door would break down, you slid out from the covers of your loft that seemed surprisingly soft and mumbled a quiet, “coming”. When you threw open the door to confront the person who might get punched in the face from you, you surely did not expect to see the fuckboy of the campus, Jeon Jungkook. Oh god, how you hated his guts. You had always hated fuckboys, I mean, who other than sluts liked them? Unfortunately, you two had known each other for quite sometime. You had both grown up in the same hometown, and graduated in the same class. You frequently questioned the universe why you couldn’t have been born a year or two before, just anything to get away from this boy. He used to be so cute and shy - the little boy who was ever scared to accept dandelions from the girls on the playground when he was on the swings for recess. Hell, you two used to be friends, even though you would tease him for having boy cooties. You would always walk with him, wrestle him in the mud when no one else would, and he would finger paint you some picture that meant the world to him and pick you first for flag football on his team. He was your closest friend, your everything. He would never make fun of you for wearing cargo shorts and not dresses, for playing football and blocks instead of house and dress up. But, alas, not all good things last forever. Around sixth or seventh grade, things changed. Puberty hit, and you went from wearing cargo and basketball shorts to leggings and denim shorts. He got taller - surprisingly taller. But you thought that this lanky alien was still the boy you loved, the boy who would stick with you through thick and thin.

But shit, you couldn’t be more wrong.

You pretty much acted the same - you’d rather stick to basketball and soccer rather than dance and softball, but hormones got the best of him. He was one of the cool kids, obviously too cool for you. And you knew this was going to happen, but never that fast. You both expected to stick together until out of college, where you’d both either have your own lives and families, or just end up marrying each other. But nope. Life doesn’t ever want you to have what you want, and you had learned that the hard way. He stuck to his sports, but he tried to get as far away from you as possible. He’d ask to switch his seat if he ever got one next to you, and frankly, most people could see how hurt you were. You two had always been glued at the hips, you being one of the only people who he would actually talk to. It almost hurt other people to see this happen, but you learned to get over it. You’d learned to cage up your heart at a young age, and let only a few people crack that barrier, but never infiltrate it. With everything you did, every step you took, you told yourself, don’t ever get close to anyone again. You stuck to two friends, both girls who were like you in many ways, and you all understood each other well. You’d eventually turn into a pop, but not the “Oh look at me, I’m a slut who wears skirts and plays sports and has had one hundred boyfriends already”. Oh no. Far from it. Everyone knew you as the girl who would fight for herself, the girl with the good grades, and the girl who will beat you to a pulp if you’d ever insult her. So, that being known by the whole school, people were decently nice to you. You heard the rumors people say, since your friends give you all the gossip, but couldn’t ever find a shit to give about what anyone had said anymore. You’d basically cut everyone out from your life except those two special friends, to the point where you wouldn’t talk to your parents and they had almost reached out to a therapist. And honestly, you couldn’t even try to believe this all happened because of some measly boy, and you’d try to tell yourself otherwise. He’d hang out with the jocks, and do anything in his power to stay away from you. By eighth grade, you just gave up and blocked him out too. He was a no one to you at this point, you’d pretty much forgotten about him.

But on that faithful day, when he showed up to your college dorm dripping wet and naked, you were quite amused from the look of pure horror that slapped him in the face.

Apologies spewed out of his mouth like water from a fountain. Your attention had drifted down to his bare torso. Seeing as it was only 2 in the morning, nothing could really keep your focus for more than a minute. With a lift of a single finger from you, his ranting ceased, and your eyes looked back up to his face. A heavy sigh drifted out of your lips, and you were ready to just crawl back into bed and forget that any of this happened.

“I’m gonna need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else.” You laughed at his red face, thinking, Wow, the one and only Jeon Jungkook, just blushed. This must be a dream. You moved to slam the door shut in his face, but as the action happened, he moved his bare foot between the door frame and the door. A howl of pain erupted from his throat, and you could’ve sworn you heard a few bones crunch. Sighing, you opened your door back up and ignored his hopping figure as you went to find some kind of cover for him. Settling on a towel, you threw it at his chest and slammed the door shut.

“(Y/N)!!!! Please, open the door, you’re the only person I know for at least three square blocks!!!! I’m sorry for what I did, and what has happened, and I know that none of this should be happening because if I was smarter as a kid we might be in a better college in a nice apartment with better friends and-”

“Fuck off, Jeon. You made your choice, and I chose to block you out from my life completely. Now keep the damn towel, spare the early birds some nightmares for later tonight, and get the fuck away from me.” Ouch. You could tell that hit something in him, because it even plucked a few of your heart strings. Hearing the soft sigh and the receding patter of feet, you decided to just head back to sleep and persuade yourself that all of this was a dream.

____________________

“He did what?” You rolled your eyes at the question from your friend and went on to sipping your coffee.

“He showed up to my dorm, naked, dripping wet, spewing out some kind of apology and asking for what I assume was clothes and a towel. I won’t be surprised if he comes out to find me again. Oh, and I probably broke his foot.”

“Why the fuck would you break his foot?!” Her exclamation earned you both a few shushes and judgmental stares, as well as a hard glare from you. You answered with a shrug and something simple:

“He wouldn’t move his foot.” That, also, earned you a groan from her.

“That’s when you report him, or shove him out, not shatter his bones!”

“That is very well an option in that situation, and you know it.” A sigh escaped her lips, and she moved to gather all of her stuff into her bag.

“(Y/N), you know he can sue you, right?”

“And you know he wouldn’t, right?” You mocked, putting your book mark in your book and placing it in your bag while getting up. “He won’t do it knowing what he did to me and how badly he screwed up my life. I can guarantee you that the little boy is still in there, but he’s just caged up.” You shrugged at her and walked out of the cafe to your classes.

“… Oh for god’s sake, your literature major is getting to you. Bring the old (Y/N) back, please.” Her hands clasped together in a dramatic show, earning the finger from you. A laugh poured from her lips as she waved and walked to her art building. “There she is. Anyways, see you at lunch!” She jogs away from you as you head to your class, giving her a small wave. Today’s going to be pure hell, you thought. You knew word of what happened had already gotten around, but you also knew that you didn’t care. And that no one cared enough to ask you about it, but just simply play telephone until the story is completely twisted and wrong.

____________________

You thought you’d heard everything by now. You heard that he’d fucked you. You heard that you stabbed him, and attacked him, hence the broken foot. Hell, you heard that you were actually the leader of a gang and called your members over to kill him. You liked that one the best, it made you laugh. Your classes had ended now, and you’d had one too many run-ins with some of Jungkook’s friends. Luckily, and surprisingly, one of them was your friend. Park Jimin. He was one who stuck with you through your little experience, and had always comforted you when the stories got to your head. Anyways, you two had made plans for you to come to the theater downtown with him for the midnight viewing of “The Mummy”. Now, you were planning to go alone some night that wasn’t the opening, but how could you resist the absolute sweetheart named Jimin? So, your friends being your friends, they invited themselves over to your dorm to, “Help you with your outfit,” despite their lack of fashion sense.

“So Jimin, huh?” Both of them snickered at your irritated face as you slid into the simple outfit of black denim jeans, a cut off Obey crop top, and some black Vans.

“Oh, you’re both so fucking funny. Don’t pull that bullshit on me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a movie to watch with my friend and I would appreciate it if you both got the fuck out of my room.” With sarcastic smiles, they both trudged out of your room as you shut and locked the door. Just as you hit the stairwell, you heard one call after you.

“Don’t forget to tell us the details (Y/N)!~” Once again, her comment earned another finger and you trotted down the stairs and meet up with Jimin.

____________________

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

Those were the only two words running through your head as you saw the silhouette of someone who’s build looked a hell of a lot like Jeon Jungkook’s.

Including the bulky quad of someone who would be wearing a boot.

Perhaps the boot of someone with a broken foot.

Which may have been caused by someone slamming said foot with a door.

Yeah, that was him.

You were contemplating turning and sprinting away while you still could, but it was too late at that time, seeing as you could hear Jimin calling out your name. Damn you Jimin. But, the closer you approached, you saw the apologetic look in his eyes, now fully understanding that this was all the little brat’s choice, and Jimin couldn’t have possibly stopped him. So, you chose to walk in with them, ignoring the gaze that was burning holes into the back of your skull. After everyone but Jungkook found their seats, you took up the duty to gather the snacks and drinks. One your way back up the isle, you knocked shoulders with Jungkook, setting him off balance. You knew he was more confident today, your outburst from last night, or rather early this morning, boosting his esteem.

“Don’t get to rough just yet Princess, it’s only the first night.”

Princess? God, you were so close to barfing and breaking his other foot. How were you both friends once? But, choosing to just walk away and get back to your duty, you came back later with snacks for everyone. But that wasn’t the only thing you came back to. He was in your spot. Your spot. A growl was threatening to tear from your throat, but you just quietly handed everyone their food and went to block his view. You gulped as you saw his signature smirk glued onto his face as he gazed at you, and wait, why were you nervous? Why is your heart hammering? (Y/N), keep it under control! A sigh escaped your lips, and you chose to go the simple way, seeing as the room was much too quiet for the both of you to start up a fight.

“Look, I know you really want that seat, but I do too now you should move before I sit on your lap.” Oh shit, there’s that blush again. You couldn’t believe this. The Jeon Jungkook, blushed at your words for a second time. That was absolute madness. You even caught how he adverted his eyes for a second, and how he uncomfortably squirmed the slightest bit before patting his thighs and smirking all over again.

“Have at it.” And so you did.

That was something he wasn’t expecting.

And fuck, you realized that he’s still a guy, let alone one who goes around fucking girls, and that’s when you felt it. Ohhhhhh no. Please, let that be something in his pocket, please oh please oh please oh please. But by the groan that came from his lips that he tried to cover with a cough, you knew it wasn’t something in his pocket.

Ladies and gents, you had just given him a boner.

In some way, you were sort of proud, because hey, don’t fucking mess with me bitch. But, you also were aware of the bright blush on your cheeks as you trained your eyes on the screen. This was going to be a long night.

____________________

Around the mid way point of the movie, you slipped out to use the bathroom, yet almost everyone in that damn theater knew that wasn’t the case, seeing as you didn’t dare to move for majority of the movie. With that being said, you opted out on chilling on the sinks for a bit before you heard the footsteps of a limp enter. Your eyes widened as Jungkook limped his way in, trying to be as quiet as possible for someone in his situation.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?!” The sharp whisper left your lips as you jumped down to pull him out of sight of anyone who might come in. “You’re gonna get us kicked out! What if someone saw you?! Oh god, someone saw you didn-” Your sentence gets cut off by the soft feeling of his plush lips pressed against yours, and the first thing you noticed was the sweet strawberry taste of the Twizzlers he had been eating. Your cheeks burn, and he pulls you flush against him with his arms draped around your waist. His tongue swiped over your lips, and you graciously granted access.

After a few minutes of hair pulling and tongue fighting, you both broke away gasping for air, and that old bunny-like smile plastered over his swollen lips. “I had to shut you up one way or another, so I went with the one I would’ve liked best.” He was back, the little boy you loved so much, the one who you had found out loved you back. “(Y/N)… I’m still sorry about all that happened… I was so stupid, and naive, and I honestly don’t know why I thought I could ever live without you in my life.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you tilted your head to look up at him. “Yes, you were all those things, but I still love you and I don’t really think any dick move you did could’ve eliminated my feelings for good. Jeon Jungkook, I love you, always have, and always will.” A smile graced your lips as you ended, and a grin placed itself on Jungkook’s.

“I love you too (Y/N).” And he topped it off with a kiss.

You were right, tonight was going to be a long night.

____________________

“Corinna, come on, mommy needs to get you to school on time!” The giggle of your daughter lit up your eyes, and you set off to find her and your son. Your husband peeked out from the bedroom, looking down over the upstairs railing at you.

“Hide and seek again?”

“Yes Jungkook, now instead of playing with them again, could you please help me try to find them?” A laugh bubbled out from his chest, and you couldn’t help but grin and the melodious sound.

“Okay baby, just a sec.” He goes to find them, hands fiddling in an attempt to tie his tie. But he certainly didn’t expect the door of his childrens’ bedroom to slam shut on his foot, a yelp of agony slipping from his throat.

Both of the children joined in yelling for you, saying that, “DADDY’S FOOT GOT STUCK IN THE DOOR AGAIN!!!” You rushed up the stairs to see your husband cradling his foot on the floor and a laugh broke out from your lips.

“Really Jungkook, what is it with you and breaking your foot in doors?” This made a smile tug at his lips, and you swoop in for a quick peck. The kids chide in with sounds of distaste as you both laugh, and you pull out your phone. “I’ll call in for you, and we’ll get you to the hospital after dropping the kids off at school.”

“Thanks baby, I love you~”

“I love you too, now go rest that foot.”

And suddenly, all of your childhood fantasies had come true, and you knew you could never ask for a different life.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook humor #jungkook father #jungkook au #bts au #kookie #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts #bangtan boys

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grandmaster-flashraf · 8 years ago

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This is just me trying to get all of my emotions out of my person so I can focus on studying for my last 2 exams this semester so if you read this and feel any sort of emotion at all whatsoever then yay I did a thing. I'm literally just venting but I don't want to just write it down and I know writing some fkn tumblr post about it is corny as fuck but oh well I don't want to write it on paper only to throw it in the trash. So basically on February 4th 2017 I tried to overdose on Tylenol because I just couldn't deal with my life anymore and frankly I'm feeling the same way now as I did on that day but maybe getting these feelings out will somehow get rid of it. When I was younger I thought I was just above relationships, that they weren't for me at all and I couldn't see any future version of me being in a relationship with a girl. I thought kissing and the idea of sex was nasty unlike people around me who in grade 6 were already turning into little horny animals. I was so high and mighty in my own mind thinking hah I won't be distracted by girls I don't like them at all screw relationships. Then I realized; oops, I like boys, not girls. But being in a middle eastern Muslim family didn't exactly make that easy and so I kinda bottled up that feeling. Apparently I wasn't very good at it though because supposedly it showed in the way I walked and talked and carried myself as a person. My dad had his suspicions and for some reason thought my brother had sexually harassed me which is genuinely disgusting to me especially considering that this is my only brother now that upon hearing about this part of me didn't try to make me change it. So anyways he asks me about this and if I'm gay and I deny both because the first is outright disgusting and the other I'm not ready to share. He basically pushes me further into the closet when he tells me that if I'm gay he can just take me back to Egypt and I can marry a girl there and have a family. Oh I forgot to mention this was when I was like 12 or 13, so needless to say I didn't take it very well. So there's me just trying to get good grades in elementary school because, you guessed it, I was (and frankly still am) an overweight socially awkward child. All I had was a slight predisposition to be intelligent. So life goes on and I do make friends and form bonds with people, but never get into any relationships. Then high school was a thing and I went to a high school where I knew like 5 people going into grade 9. That was probably the most uneventful year of my life until I fall in love with theatre at the end of the year and decide to start doing improv in grade 10 and throughout high school I find joy in it. I make more friends and become closer with the people around me, but still not really impressing anybody at home with anything I do. My love of performing was pushed down by my doctor dad, and when I came home from an actual scripted show I performed and won the competition that night, all I get is the remark that I can focus on school again because all this stupid theatre stuff is over. It's funny how I became so interested in something so looked down upon by my parents, and honestly a huge part of me loved performing and I definitely liked that something I loved to do also pissed off my dad. I also perform at a coffee house event and when my parents find out that the funds were going to support LGBT homeless youth my mom tells me they deserve to be homeless because they might as well have killed somebody and my dad just outright gets mad. So then I'm deciding to go to university to study math, and I was pretty good at it coming to the end of high school. I get accepted to an actuarial science program and I tell my parents I want to accept my offer, but to no avail. They make me take another offer to a science program. I enjoy science, but I had just put in so much effort into researching actuarial science programs and learning about future career opportunities that having my dream thrown under the bus was gut wrenching. They also make me move into an apartment in the same building as my grandma, a 30 minute bus ride from campus. But I'm excited because at least in this city I can just be myself. Even though I had uncles and aunts also living in that city, I was going to take the opportunity to just be myself and not hide my sexuality. I came out to a handful of my close friends in high school, and honestly with the way I was acting I was overcompensating for the fact that I hadn't actually just come out by liking stereotypical gay guy things like Beyoncé and lady gaga and that's a part of why I did theatre too. But regardless, my dad must've predicted that I wanted to be myself when moving to this city because he told me one of his doctor friends said that I'd been fucking guys all throughout high school, keep in mind that I literally never went to a single party because I was barely ever allowed out of the house after dark. He told me that if I was gay I should just wait until he's dead because this would kill him anyways. That he'd never be able to look any other family member in the eye when he has a gay son. That I should watch out in this city because I have other family members in the city who know people and if word gets out everybody is going to know. I don't know to this day what he expected to come of that conversation. He wanted me to change the way I walked, talked, and moved my hands around while I talked, but that person was the one that got accepted to the every university he applied to. I had adhered to every single rule put on me my entire life, and still being me just fucking wasn't enough. We had this conversation while my mom was visiting my sister and her newborn kid, and this was also the day before I was going to drive to this new city and move the rest of my things into this apartment. I had sushi the next day with a close friend of mine who knew I was gay but didn't tell her about what my dad told me. I don't go home from university until one of my other siblings is getting married. I'm the youngest of 7, and when my parents got married they each had 3 kids of their own and they together just had me, so there's a pretty big age gap between my siblings and I. So this brother of mine is getting married over thanksgiving weekend in October and I'm stuck with my family in a hotel trying to study for midterms but being forced to do a bunch of wedding stuff because the wedding planner just disappears as usual. That whole weekend just stressed me out, but I still did okay on my midterms. It wasn't until around the end of October where I went home for 2 days because we had a study break from school Thursday/Friday followed by the weekend. My dad asks me that weekend if I can promise him that he'll see me get married to a girl and have a child before he dies and I just agree and brush it off but I know what his intentions were with that comment. So I leave home early and head back to my apartment because I'm not putting up with that kind of bullshit anymore. But it had to manifest into something so I started self harming. Wow cutting yourself in 2016 so edgy. But anyways I literally just couldn't function anymore so I went to a 24 hour crisis centre in my city and just spill all of this information on to one of the counsellors there. I forget her name, but she was an older white woman who was very aware of the fact that she couldn't understand the cultural implications of my situation, but I still wanted to just try and talk it out. I have it in my head that I just need to become a doctor or successful whatever and then tell my family I'm gay and at that point when I'm financially independent they can't touch me. I confide this is one of my friends from high school and he tells me that he cares about me but can't help me from where he is and that I need real help. He also tells 2 of my other best friends from high school about my situation. All of them knew I was gay but they were so genuinely worried about me that I just carried myself on. So the end of my first academic term comes around and one of my best friends calls me telling me she'd overdosed. I was in the library studying for my calculus final so I panic and call somebody else close to her to go get her asap. I don't know how I managed to stay calm and get her help while simultaneously getting the highest mark I've ever gotten on an exam the next day while thinking about one of my friends being in a hospital without me there. I just finish my exams and I don't actually end up seeing her over the winter break. I say break with a grain of salt because it definitely wasn't a break for me. I left my car at my apartment because there wasn't space for it with all my siblings visiting, so I couldn't leave the house for basically 3 weeks. On top of that I didn't have a room to stay in, just a mattress in the basement next to some gym equipment nobody used. My dad tried to make me use it, and came down multiple times a day to tell me I should use it instead of laying around all day. I'm pretty sure that this lack of a break is what really pushed me over, but it was still only December heading into 2017. I was exhausted from finals and wanted to relax, but life didn't award me such luxury. I headed into the second academic term mentally exhausted, still didn't go home at all. I had a chem midterm Friday February 3rd and then a bio and physics midterm Saturday the 11th. Oh, and another one of my close friends tries to overdose in January, once again I'm the first to know about it and I freak out and call her roommate. She gets the help she needs and because she told me so early they flushed her system fast and she was out of hospital a day later. I feel bad that I don't remember exactly what day it was. So after my chemistry midterm that I studied for the entire week, I tell myself that February 4th is going to be a productive day of more studying for my next two midterms. I did absolutely nothing all day and at around 6 or 7 pm I decide I want to die. But I know I'm too much of a bitch to just take the pills, so I drink some vodka and 30 Tylenol 500mg each. I found something online that said how much Tylenol was lethal, and calculated it based on my body weight how many I needed to take. By the time I was taking the pills I'd sobered up and didn't take enough of them for my weight. I bitched out. Thought I'd be fine and I just went to sleep. I woke up the next morning vomiting bile. One of my high school friends snapchats me something funny, but I ignore it and respond to him telling him what I did. We go to the same university, so he's just a bus ride away. Still, his response is just "wtf why did u do that." And when I respond telling him why, he never opens it. So a few more hours go by and I'm going back and forth between my bed and my bathroom every 20'minutes or so until I message one of my friends I've made here at my university. I tell him what I've done and he does the responsible thing of telling his parents who also live in the city and they call an ambulance. At this point I'm so defeated I give them my address and the ambulance shows up. Nobody sees me get taken out of the building. I forgot a phone charger though, and that was just another mistake I made that day. So I get to the nearest hospital and they ask me if I want my emergency contact to be called. It's my mom, and because I'm 18 I decline. I don't want any family to know I'm there. I have blood work done and they put me on an IV. I'm falling behind on schoolwork by the second but I have my phone so I ask my nurse if she has a phone charger. They don't have any laying around the hospital, but she says I should call a friend and have them come see me. I really regret putting my friends through all that stress. They don't deserve it. I call one of my friends who I've known since elementary school. He lives on campus. I tell him I tried overdosing and I can hear him tear up. I feel bad because I hear people around him so I know that must've been embarrassing. He's one of the three friends who in November knew how I was feeling. I guess he tells my other friend from another school who told him about it, and then this friend calls me, also tearing up. I still remember exactly how he sounded on the phone. He calls the last friend from November who knew how I was feeling, and she's also the one who overdosed back in January. She calls me, and as we're talking my phone dies. She didn't cry at all; she was stronger than me. As my phone dies my friend on campus that I called shows up with my other friend that I Snapchatted that morning. I just feel embarrassed at this point. I'm in a stupid hospital robe and I'm just over exposed while laying on a hospital bed in emerg. They're shocked when they walk in. They start of by just acting normal but eventually the conversation just takes a turn and they're concerned for why I didn't talk to them. I always just felt like a burden on people, I always wanted to be self sufficient. That's where my plan of waiting until I'm financially stable came from. I didn't say that to them. I just say I don't know, and at the time I couldn't formulate any reason why so basically I really didn't know. What I knew is that I had friends to cared about me. After they left, my friend who tried to overdose in December took a bus from her different city to come visit me at 1am. I told her not to come but I'm so glad she did. She sat with me and talked to me like a normal human being, and stayed up all night. I fell asleep in my bed but she stayed up all night doing her psychology work, and I woke up in the morning with a note from her that I still keep on my phone case behind my phone to this day. She had to catch her bus back at 7:30 am because she had class that day, but still she came to visit. I see more and more people that day to ask me questions but it took me until Tuesday to see the psychiatry team. I was feeling better emotionally, but physically just gross. I hadn't showered or changed since Friday or Saturday. My facial hair was nasty too. The first person from the team who sees me is an Indian guy. We connect immediately, and he understands my perspective and the significance of my situation. He was only a student doing his residency though. The other three team members were old white women who basically gave me the decision to stay in the hospital for 2 more weeks or call my family for support and to come out to them officially. One of them even had the audacity to even ask me "do you really think they don't know you're gay." That struck a cord, and to this day I still hate that bitch. But Wednesday I called my brother, the one who my dad thinks made me gay, and I tell him what happened. He calls my parents and starts to drive to where I am but he's farther away than they are, so they get to me first. The first thing my dad says to me is that he knew I was at a high risk for this kind of thing. I thought at the time he meant to OD, but soon after I realized it was still the gay thing. I let him talk and tell me all this bullshit, but he just goes on and on about how put all the gays on an island and we'll die off, how it's not in our genes to be gay, and that this was my choice. He also said that I'm the one who chose the program I went into and chose to live off campus. He said all of this was on me. He and my mom came to this hospital to tell me that everything was in my head. I couldn't believe it. Then my parents asked me who else from my hometown knew so they could "deal with it" whatever that means. They asked me who I was having sex with, and that if my guy friends were really just people I was having sex with. It was the most demeaning experience I've ever had in my life. But my brother showed up and shut it down. I don't know how, but he did. We were speaking in Arabic the whole time, and disagreed entirely on just about everything we talked about in that hospital except for the fact that I needed to leave asap. The next day my parents and brother spoke to the psychiatry team and by some stroke of luck got them to lift my form and let me leave. My mom stays with me for the next 3 weeks and psychiatry sets me up an appointment with a professional at the university to talk to for some follow up. In the meantime I've missed a week of class and have to get my midterms moved from the 11th because I left the hospital Thursday afternoon and no way I could write them in less than two days. Walking on to campus the next day with a doctors note saying I was in the hospital was the most embarrassing moment of my life. I was so out of touch with how to interact with people. I walked up to an academic counsellor to ask her what I needed to do to get my exam moved and missed assignments taken care of and she told me to go fill out a form. While I was filling it out she said "maybe you should ask somebody else next time how this works or just look it up online ahead of time." I had almost burst into tears right there in the academic counselling office but I got everything moved to the next week and tried to make things go back to normal but everybody treated me differently. Only one of my new friends I had made new what happened because he's the one who called the ambulance and I had 5 high school friends who knew. My family was still all over the religion thing and how being gay was just wrong and it not even being a religion thing. My sister called me while I was waiting in the hospital for my parents and brother to come but I was still balling my eyes out to the nurse on duty about it so my sister found out and told me that I shouldn't act on it because we all have to do our best to be good Muslims. I just told the new friends I had made in university that I was sick in the hospital, not that I had actually put myself there. I think I might be more open with them after exams are over because I can't put that burden on them while we're stressed about exams and school. I just feel like utter trash. I'm 3/5 of the way done exams and gotten marks back for 2 courses already, and my marks have dropped another 10% from first semester on top of the 10% I dropped between high school and first semester. I need an 80% average to keep my scholarship for next year and I'm pulling it way too close. I'm a part of the orientation program for first year students over the summer and in the fall, as a way to try and do some good for new students and put an emphasis on letting people know about the importance of getting help when you need it. There's so many on campus resources, but I just didn't go to them. I went through a 2 week period where I just felt like trash and missed my second appointment with the specialist on campus, and I got fined 160 bucks for it, and they treated me like absolute trash for it when I went to pay. "You shouldn't skip these appointments," "playing hookie doesn't get you anywhere." I had barely made it out of my bed to class on day that week because I had a presentation to do which I physically and very visibly shook through but I guess the TA felt bad for me because she gave my group 95% on it. So here I am trying to pull myself together at the end of the semester trying to spill my feelings on to my Tumblr blog that I've had for 6 years that nobody reads from. I might add some screenshots of what I vented to my friends just to make sure those never get lost either. If you read this (which I genuinely know is nobody) then I'm sorry I put you through that. To my best friends in this world I love you so much. My last final exam is this Friday night and finishes at 10pm. Hoping to go home to at least see my mom because my dad is visiting family overseas. I wanted to drive home to see him before he left but he just facetimed me for 2 minutes asking me how I'm doing socially. Socially. As in am I fucking anyone behind his back. The answer is definitely no. I get hit on by 60 year old me. On Grindr and anyone I match on tinder either doesn't message me or if I message them we just have a short conversation before they just ignore me entirely. I needed to get this out of my system though. Out into the world somehow. Oh well. Guess it's time to see how my life goes from here. April 24th 2017

#tw: sucide mention #tw: overdose #personal

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