just a mushroom in a mans world @kklernz - Tumblr Blog

office hours — bsk

♡ pairing: boo seungkwan x afab!reader ♡ theme: college au, nonidol!au ♡ wc: ~6.2k ♡ warnings: swearing, smut, reader is gender neutral but wears a skirt, fingering (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex (stay safe y’all), creampie, petnames (f. receiving - baby), fluff at the end if you squint ♡ a/n: this whole thing is a highly self-indulgent fic so if reader is down horrendous for bsk… u know why

‧₊˚✩彡 moodboard by @myhimbomingi ‧₊˚✩彡

You fucking hate Tuesdays.

There’s nothing actually wrong with your Tuesday schedule - on the contrary it’s probably the best day of the week in terms of lectures and extracurriculars. Your first class of the day, Developmental Psychology, doesn’t start til 11am, so you get to sleep in - always a win in your book. Afterwards you have an hour and a half break, usually spent by eating lunch in the student center and then a visit to the campus library to get some studying done. Then your 2pm Discussion for your Intro to Fiction class, followed by yoga at the gym - and since your work-study job at the Cognitive Research Lab doesn’t have you scheduled for Tuesdays, you get to go home right after. All in all, a pretty laid-back day in your hectic college life.

Except for that stupid 2pm Discussion.

As a Psychology major you didn’t anticipate having to take any Literature courses, but you needed to fill an elective and Intro to Fiction had a reputation for being a fun, low-stakes course. It also fit conveniently into your Fall Semester schedule, so you signed up. Professor Mendoza turned out to be super nice and never gives any bullshit extra homework, and the assigned books have been surprisingly enjoyable. No, none of that is the problem.

The problem is the hot TA you’ve inadvertently fallen in love with.

Your first encounter with Seungkwan had been a bit embarrassing - the first week of the semester you somehow went to the completely wrong building, and even with speed walking you arrived to Discussion about five minutes late. You tried to sneak in quietly but the loud, creaky door hinge had other plans. Twenty-some pairs of eyes turned to stare at the idiot latecomer, but the pair you locked onto were the soft brown ones surrounded by long dark eyelashes, belonging to the blazer-wearing grad student standing at the front of the classroom.

You would’ve been embarrassed in this situation anyway, but the unexpected eye contact made your stomach drop and your face turn hot. You stood there for a few moments too long, before muttering a feeble “sorry” under your breath as you made your way to the only empty seat in the room - which of course was located at the very front, immediately before the TA. You quickly took your seat and pulled out a notebook (not even the right one, but you were too frazzled to notice). The TA, whose name you missed due to being late, resumed his lecture. You started writing down everything he was saying - definitely not necessary, but you were doing your best to focus without looking up.

Your face eventually stopped burning up, but this classroom was particularly warm and stuffy. You set down your pen and took your cardigan off, hanging it over the back of the chair. Mindlessly looking up, you look at the TA for the first time since sitting down. He too had discarded his outerwear - the muted brown herringbone blazer now laying aside on the teacher’s desk upon which he was leaning. His dark brown shoes matched his dark pants - which weren’t tight but certainly hugged his thighs nicely, but you tried not to think about that - and he was currently rolling up the sleeves of his medium gray button down - and you definitely tried not to think about that. You put your head back down and focused on your note-taking, transcribing everything without actually processing any of what he said. This was all very strange for you - sure some of your past TAs had been nice looking, but why was this particular one making you this flustered?

The clock ticked on at an unbearably slow pace. You took your notes and paid no attention, not joining in on the conversation even once. You just have to make it through the hour, you kept telling yourself. But the hour seemed to never end.

You snap out of it as the TA finally wraps up the class.

“Don’t forget to read through chapter 5,” he reminds everyone. You realize you don’t even know which book you’re supposed to be reading, but it’s too late to ask now - you’ve looked like enough of a fool today already. Quickly packing your bag, you try to make your escape but as you are heading toward the door the TA calls out to you. Shit.

“I just need to get your name - for attendance,” he tells you as you turn back around.

“Oh… yeah,” you reply. You silently curse yourself for how stupid you sound. You tell him your name and he makes note of your attendance in his notes. You try to escape again but not before he sticks his hand out to you.

“Seungkwan,” he introduces himself. You make the mistake of looking into those big round doe eyes again. He was even more beautiful up close. SHIT.

You shake his hand, trying to do so as quickly as possible, but he has a very strong grip.

“Nice to have you in class,” he says warmly.

“Nicetomeetyoutoo!” you reply, taking your hand back and turning to dart out the door before he can get another word in.

You don’t look back, so you don’t see how his eyes are glued to you as you hurriedly exit the classroom.

—

You thought after a few classes you’d get over your dumb little crush on your TA, but four weeks into the semester and it’s only gotten worse. Now that you know where the stupid building is, you always make sure to arrive to Discussion early so you can snag a seat in the very back - as far away from him as you can manage - but this only allows your mind to wander. Watching him from the back of the class, you’ve unintentionally memorized his subtle habits: the way he takes his glasses case out of his bag at the beginning of each class, opening it and wiping the lenses clean with a cloth before placing them on his face with two hands, delicately moving his hair off to the side as not to obscure his vision; the way he leans against the desk, resting his weight on his palms as he listens to the students engage in conversation about the current book; the way he holds his well-worn copy in his left hand when referencing the text, flipping through the dog-eared pages filled with highlights and notes written in ink in the margins, laying the book on the desk pages-down to preserve his place when he goes to write important points on the chalkboard; the way he carefully erases the board as not to create a cloud of dust, wiping his hands together away from his body as not to get chalk on his perfectly pressed clothes; the way he focuses so intently when somebody is speaking, maintaining eye contact and nodding his head slightly, giving them his full attention.

That last one is why you never say a word in that class. You’re pretty sure you would combust on the spot.

Unfortunately, your entire grade for the Discussion portion of the course is based on actually engaging in the discussion - and based on your participation thus far you were right on track for getting an entire zero. I’ll say something next week, you tell yourself - then next week rolls around and you don’t say a damn thing. And repeat. You just hope Seungkwan doesn’t say anything to you.

But he does.

You freeze upon hearing your name as you’re gathering your belongings at the end of session. You look up and meet his gaze, doing your best to maintain a relaxed demeanor. It’s only a little eye contact, just chill.

“Yeah, what’s up?” you respond nonchalantly. He gives you a bit of an inquisitive look, so you add on a polite smile.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t participated at all during discussion so far - you know that’s what I have to grade you on, right?”

“Oh yeah, um- I’ve been… I’ll work on that.”

The look on his face tells you he’s not convinced. “I graded your first essay - you showed exemplary comprehension and your analysis was one of the best ones I’ve read.”

You feel your stomach do a flip. The sudden praise caught you off guard.

“Oh uh, thank you,” you stammer, trying not to display how flustered you are but undoubtedly failing.

You make the mistake (again) of making direct eye contact with Seungkwan. It lasts maybe two seconds, but feels like time has slowed; the world has stopped; nothing matters but you and him, standing alone in this room together. You’ve never wanted to impulsively kiss somebody this bad in your life.

You force yourself back to reality.

Seungkwan continues. “But, if you’re having some trouble with this particular novel,” he says as he holds up his book, “you can always stop by my office hours with any questions.”

You glance at his copy of Dracula. It’s a standard size paperback, but it looks small in his hand - a hand so strong and defined, yet elegant, fingers long and graceful…

Nope. Not gonna think about that right now.

“I hold them every Thursday from 3-5pm - in this building, room 430. Top floor - all the way at the end of the hallway.”

You nod - looking at him without making direct eye contact. “Cool cool. I’ll uh… Thanks, I might take you up on that.”

“Of course,” he replies matter-of-factly. He pauses, then adds with a slight smile, “It is my job after all.”

Picking up his coat, he heads toward the door, and you follow. He holds the door open for you; as you pass by him you catch the scent of his cologne: woody but fresh, notes of patchouli and bergamot. You utter a soft “Thank you”. He nods chivalrously.

Exiting the discussion room, he starts heading in the opposite direction as you. “See ya around!” you blurt out suddenly. He pauses - turning over his shoulder, he nods once more at you. “Have a good one,” he responds cordially. Maybe you’re seeing things, but his eyes seem to linger on you for a split second longer than one would expect.

You watch him walk away for as long as you can get away with without being detected.

As you make your way to the gym you ruminate over what he told you. Office hours. You didn’t really see a need to go - you weren’t actually having any trouble with the book. And of course office hours are open to all students, but the chance that you might be alone in a room with him again, having a one-on-one conversation…

You try to push the thought aside. You arrive to yoga, prepared to clear your head - but you spend the whole class thinking about Seungkwan. You head home after class, sitting on the bus with your headphones in, blasting your favorite album - but still your mind dwells on your TA. You get home and sit down to continue the novel, reading the next chapter - but you quickly give up. You’re absorbing none of the story, so you’d have to reread it anyway.

Maybe you will go to office hours after all.

—

Thursday. You’ve been trying not to think about Seungkwan’s office hours, but of course it’s just the white bear experiment all over again - the harder you tried, the more you ended up thinking about it. Your last class - Statistics - ends at 3:30pm, so you have all day to debate whether to go or not. Damn him for holding them so late in the day.

Your Stats professor could not be a more uninteresting lecturer if he tried. You spend most of the class stifling your yawns as you do your best to pay attention, to no avail. Finally, the clock hits 3:30 and class is dismissed. You have to make your decision now - so naturally you end up going to the library to procrastinate said decision and mull it over some more.

After many wasted minutes trying (and failing) to get some homework done, you check the time: 4:19pm. With a sigh you open up your book to leaf through the pages, looking for something you could make up some bullshit question about. Nothing. Mildly peeved, you open your laptop and pull up trusty sparknotes.com. All the discussion questions seem too juvenile, and you’re pretty sure you’d manage to make a fool of yourself if you tried to ask a question you already knew the answer to.

You decide to abandon your plan to drop by with specific questions and instead just hope and pray there will be other students there so you can simply join in on their conversations. If there aren’t… you’ll just have to figure that out when you get there.

You make your way to the Literature Studies building, realizing upon your arrival there is no elevator - and your destination is on the top floor. Cursing the building for being old, you trek up the stairs in search of room 430, which - as he mentioned - appears to be at the very end of the hallway. Nearly there, you abruptly decide to backtrack to the restroom you passed to check yourself in the mirror real quick, which turns out to be a mistake because now you’re hyperaware of how anxious (and for some reason, frumpy) you look right now. Nice going you idiot.

Doing your best to make yourself presentable, you tussle your hair a bit and fix the collar of your shirt back to its proper position. You decide it’s good enough and go to exit the bathroom, pausing when you remember that you have a tinted lip balm you threw in your bag last minute. Rummaging through your bag for a solid 20 seconds, you find the tube at the very bottom and hastily apply it to your lips. Taking a step back, you take a final glance at your reflection - the balm is neutral-colored and fairly subtle, but makes you look slightly less dead. You’ll take the W.

You make your way back down the hallway toward room 430. Approaching the end of the hall, you hear voices engaged in conversation. You pull out your phone to quickly check the time: 22 minutes of office hours remaining. Good enough, I guess. You’re three steps away from the doorway when you hear a familiar voice chime in - a voice soft and soothing, confident without being cocky. You proceed to enter the office before you have a chance to process how it’s making you feel.

You find yourself in a room small yet cozy - bookshelves built into the wall that go all the way up to the ceiling, stacked with endless literature: many classics you’ve heard of, many others you haven’t. There’s no overhead lighting, but two antique-ish looking floor lamps illuminate the room with a warm-toned glow. An old, large mahogany desk fills nearly half the room, its accompanying chair vacant. Two fellow classmates are seated in the two smaller chairs facing the dark leather loveseat upon which your TA is currently sitting - reclined, one leg over the other knee, hand on the open book laying face down on the couch next to him. The three faces turn to look at you as you enter, bringing their conversation to a halt. You fucking hate being collectively perceived in any circumstance, but something about the intimacy of the room makes this particular situation even worse than usual. You feel your face start to turn warm but you quickly shove the embarrassment back down. Not today.

Seungkwan greets you amiably, your name sounding sweet in his mellow voice. “Glad you could make it! Come on in, have a seat.” He picks up the paperback by his side and sets it on his lap, motioning for you to sit next to him.

Right. Next. To. Him.

Ignoring the million panic alarms going off in your head, you force a small smile and take your seat. The couch is even smaller than it seemed - there’s maybe two feet between you and him. You’re greeted with the inviting scent of his cologne.

The two students resume their discussion. You sit there mostly in silence, nodding along, trying not to fixate on Seungkwan’s closeness. But it’s hard to focus on anything other than that - like, really hard.

The twenty-ish minutes pass rather quickly, and the conversation that you’ve contributed nothing to starts to wrap up. The two other students begin packing their bags. You pull out your phone to check the time - 4:57pm. A sense of relief washes over you as you’ll be forced to leave now - no more sitting there anxiously not knowing what to say - but you’re also feeling a little sulky about leaving so soon. You politely say goodbye back to your classmates, who are already on their way out the door. You go to put on your jacket only to discover you never took it off (no wonder it felt so warm in here). Grabbing your book and tossing it in your backpack, you hurry to leave as well before you manage to do or say something to embarrass yourself.

“Bye! Thank you!” you say cheerily as you step out the door.

“Y/n?”

You stop in your tracks. You turn around to face Seungkwan, who is still sitting on the couch, reclined, with his arm now laying across the back where you just were. That makes you feel a lot of things, which you promptly ignore.

“Yeah?” you reply, hoping a smile will cover your nervousness.

“I believe you took my book.”

You stand there for a moment, confused, before you realize you never took your own copy out. The one you hastily threw into your bag was his. So much for not embarrassing yourself.

“Oh my god I’m SO sorry!!” you blurt out, swinging your backpack around and hurrying to retrieve it.

“It’s alright,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I did set it right next to you.”

You grab his copy out of your bag and hold it out to him sheepishly. He stands up and takes the book in his hand, his fingers brushing yours slightly. You’ve never been electrocuted, but you’re pretty sure what just jolted through your body was a similar sensation.

“Did you have any questions about the book?” he asks before you can bolt out the door. “You didn’t say much in our discussion today-” You open your mouth to apologize again, but he gently puts his hand up to stop you. “I just want to make sure I can help you if you came here with something specific in mind.”

“Oh, um…” You hesitate, fiddling with your coat sleeve. You decide to tell the truth.

“Honestly, not really. I kinda just came here to get an idea of how I can participate during class. Cuz, y’know. Don’t really want a zero.”

Seungkwan nods. “Your essays have been very good, I know you’re a highly capable student.”

You try not to blush. You know he’s just talking about your coursework, but accepting compliments is not your forté.

“I’m just… not a literature student, so I’m not used to taking classes like these. I guess I just get a little nervous that I’m gonna say something stupid.” You’re not sure why you’re telling him all this.

“As long as you’ve read and understood the text, you won’t sound stupid - I promise.”

You look down at the floor. Maybe these are normal things for TAs to say to students, but the fact that you’re kind of in love with him is not helping right now.

“Besides,” he continues, “I’m the one grading you. I assure you you’ll get a good grade as long as you participate.”

“Well, that’s good news,” you say with a contented smile. You do feel reassured by his words. “Thanks again,” you say, as you turn to leave.

“Oh, and y/n?”

You lock eyes with him, a recurring habit you seem to be unable to quit.

“If you ever can’t make my office hours, feel free to email me. I’m sure we can find another time to meet one-on-one.”

One-on-one???

“Oh cool, I… appreciate that.” Does he say that to all his students?? He must, right? Don’t be delusional…

He nods courteously. “See you in class.”

“You too!” you add brightly as you finally head out the door. This time you do look back to see him still looking at you, with an ambiguous look on his face that you cannot decipher.

For the rest of the week, for once, you find yourself looking forward to Tuesday.

—

Tuesday. You resume your usual very-back-of-the-room spot for Discussion - but this time you finally engage in the class’ conversation. You still feel kinda dumb about it, but your TA’s promise of giving you a good grade so long as you participate sticks with you. Besides, who gives a shit what the other students think of you. There is only one person in that room whose opinion you care about, and you seem to have his approval, for reasons unclear to you. Maybe you are just a decent student. But the fact that there’s maybe something else there… You don’t let yourself develop delusions of grandeur, but there’s no crime in being cautiously optimistic.

On Thursday you find yourself back at office hours, this time arriving a bit earlier - though much to your chagrin the two other students from last time are there again. You’re not sure exactly what you were hoping for if it was just you alone, especially considering you still don’t have any specific questions about the book, but you were kind of hoping it would happen anyway. But alas, you partake in office hours with company. You actually find yourself enjoying these literary discussions a bit, now that you (sort of) know how to engage with them properly.

And so you become a regular at Seungkwan’s office hours - Thursday afternoons quickly becoming the highlight of your week. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happens between you two - and there’s always other students there whenever you attend - but you don’t see any harm in enjoying your time spent with him.

Per usual, though, as finals approach more and more students start attending as well. One week you show up at 3pm sharp, only to find five students already there asking questions about their essays. You acknowledge that it’s probably just wishful thinking, but he does seem genuinely pleased to see you - pausing his conversation briefly to greet you, your name spoken warmly with a smile on his face. You make a mental note that he doesn’t greet anyone else who enters by name.

Seungkwan maintains a very patient and polite composure, but you get the sense that he is rather irked at the several students who are more or less trying to get him to write part of their essays for them. You chat for a few minutes with a friendly classmate you’ve become acquainted with, but ultimately you both give up on trying to talk to the TA and decide to leave. You sneak a quick glance back as you exit, catching Seungkwan’s eye right before you’re out of his line of sight. Though perhaps you weren’t so sneaky, because once you’re in the hallway your classmate nudges you with her elbow and teases, “Ooooh you have a crush on him don’t you?”

You scoff. “Oh please.”

“No seriously, he looked like a sad puppy seeing you go. You should ask him out.”

You roll your eyes and give her a “Yeah, right,” before casually changing the subject. But her comment sticks with you, and for days your mind keeps coming back to it. You’re hesitant to jump to conclusions, but the fact that she noticed it too… Perhaps you will shoot your shot after all.

—

Taking advantage of the fact that you didn’t get a chance to speak with him during his regular office hours, you decide to take Seungkwan up on his offer. You did rewrite the email about 15 times, erase it repeatedly, and almost give up entirely, but in the end you came up with a message you deemed solidly good enough:

Hi Seungkwan, I was wondering if you have any availability to meet to discuss the current essay. I have a few questions that I feel would be easier to convey in person. I understand finals are a very busy time though, so if you aren’t available I completely understand. Thank you.

You hit send at 11:57pm on Sunday night, so you figure you’ll get a response the next morning. Before you can even close your laptop, you get an email notification.

Hi y/n, I’d be happy to meet with you. Are you available Tuesday evening after 6pm? I apologize for the odd hours, but that would be the most ideal time for me. However, if that does not work for you I’m sure we can figure something out. Seungkwan

You sit and stare at your screen rereading it for a good five minutes. You hit the reply button.

Sure, that works for me! Thank you - I really appreciate it.

The light ping of a notification returns within seconds.

Of course, y/n. See you then.

You shut your laptop, your hand resting on top of it as your mind races, rapidly cycling between excited and anxious. You keep telling yourself to lower your expectations: you’re simply meeting with your TA to discuss your essay - which, you don’t actually have any questions about, so now you’ll have to make some shit up. But that can be a tomorrow problem. Tonight, you go to bed, half-coherent thoughts of literature, exams, and a certain pair of soft brown eyes floating around in your mind as you drift off to sleep.

—

You wake up on Tuesday and immediately enter into panic mode. You can’t seem to focus on anything other than your date meeting with Seungkwan later - which of course you expected, but it’s pretty inconvenient considering you have so much to do with finals rapidly drawing near. Your Discussion class is finished for the semester, so you won’t be seeing him until evening - you’re not sure if this makes things better or worse, but it is what it is. You spend the entire afternoon in the library, sitting amongst the stacks, sort of studying but mostly doing a whole fucking lot of daydreaming instead.

After several hours of minimal productivity, you check the time: 5:36pm. You feel your heart start to beat faster. Since you’re clearly not going to get anything else done, you pack up your belongings and make your way to the Literature building. Might as well get there a little early.

You climb the four flights of stairs to the top floor, the building strangely empty. Making your way down to the very end of the hallway you wonder if Seungkwan will even be there yet or if you’ve arrived early for nothing - but as you approach you notice the door is ajar, the unexpected sound of alt rock music greeting your ears. You knock lightly on the doorframe as you poke your head into the office. Seungkwan, seated behind the large mahogany desk, seemingly absorbed in something on his laptop, looks up - you’ve clearly caught him a bit off guard.

“Hi, sorry - I’m a little early,” you apologize.

His face lights up in a warm smile. “No, uh - that’s alright!” he replies cheerfully. “Go ahead, take a seat,” he says as he gestures to the couch.

You plop your backpack down on the ground and remove your coat, carefully tucking your skirt (a rare choice of clothing for you, but you figured fuck it, why not) under yourself as you take a seat on the comfy sofa. Seungkwan turns the music down to a faintly audible volume and rises from his desk chair, making his way over to you. You expected him to sit in the armchair across from you, but he comes and joins you on the couch instead. You can practically hear the rapid thumpthumpthumpthump of your heartbeat.

“So, tell me about your essay,” he starts. His eyes linger on yours. “What did you have questions about?”

Nonchalantly taking a deep breath, you take out your laptop and open it, pulling up your draft file. You basically had your paper planned out already, but you made up some questions to ask so as not to give away the fact that you literally had no academic reason to be here. You begin to explain your first question, which turns out to be an extremely difficult feat with him not only sitting so close to you, but also gazing at you softly, listening intently. You decide to avoid eye contact almost entirely.

You chat about your essay topic for what feels like an eternity (you glance at the clock on your computer - it’s been 14 minutes). You’re in the middle of discussing the second point of your thesis when he interjects.

“Y/n, why are you really here?”

You feel the blood drain from your face. He’s onto me. It’s over.

“It’s very clear that you understand the book perfectly well. I really don’t think you need my help.”

You slowly look up at him, hesitating before opening your mouth to try and bullshit some response, but nothing comes out.

“You know, I don’t normally schedule one-on-one office hours with students outside of my usual times.”

The blood comes rushing back to your cheeks. You feel like a fucking idiot.

“I’msosorry,” you blurt out. “I really wasn’t trying to waste your time I-”

“That’s not what I mean, y/n.”

You freeze. Does he mean…

Before you can even finish that thought he kisses you.

His hand cradles your face gently, drawing you closer to him as he presses his lips onto yours, electricity pulsing through your entire body - all you can think about is the way his lips feel, the way he softly brushes your cheek with his thumb, the way you want to throw your laptop across the room and throw yourself onto him so you can kiss him even more.

As if he read your mind, he reaches down (still kissing you) and closes your laptop, picking it up and setting it aside carefully. You lap now vacant, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your body into his, his soft kiss becoming more fervent. Your hand rests on his chest as you kiss him back - you feel the energy of his heart beating, at the same pace as yours, through the cozy sweater he has on. After several seconds (minutes? hours?) his lips part from yours, the sudden lack of sensation leaving you immediately longing for more; they linger mere inches from your face as your eyes meet his sensuous gaze.

“Just one second,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper.

Seungkwan gets up and swiftly shuts the door - you hear the deep, satisfying thunk of the old door closing, followed by the subtle click of the lock. He then walks over to the desk to turn the music up to a decent volume before making his way back over to the couch. He barely resumes his seat before grasping onto you desperately, his face buried as he begins to kiss your neck. You let out a sigh at the unexpected sensation, wrapping your arms around his torso and drawing him in even tighter. His large hands caress your back as if trying to commit your shape to memory, as your hand slowly makes its way down his side - stopping when you reach his belt, resting on the waistline of his jeans which are very obviously becoming tighter by the second.

You hesitate at first, but eventually your hand continues downward; Seungkwan sharply inhales as it lands on his growing bulge, his body tensing up against yours. He pulls his face from the crook of your neck, his lips immediately finding yours again, indulging in another kiss as he pulls you over onto his lap. You begin making out with him, your hand holding his warm, flushed cheek; your core, now exposed aside from the barrier of your underwear, presses against the hardness in his pants, causing soft moans to escape from the both of you. Before long, your hips begin to rock back and forth, grinding on his clothed cock - lightly at first, but with increasing intensity. You break away from his kiss; he looks at you, his eyelids heavy.

“Y/n…” he breathes out as he starts to kiss you again, “you don’t know how… wanted you so bad…”

“Me too,” you mutter.

He slides his hand under your skirt, finding your clit and beginning to circle it gently through your soaked underwear, causing you to whine softly.

“Oh fuck, you’re so wet,” he says in a low, husky voice, his fingertips increasing their pace against the sensitive bud. He then slips his finger under the hem of your panties, pulling them aside to expose your already-swollen cunt, the sharpness of the cool air hitting its wetness. You cry out as he slides one finger into you, followed by another, his thumb continuing to caress your clit. Your hips begin to rock again, fucking yourself against his perfectly-curled fingers that are hitting you in all the right spots, your speed quickly increasing with the overwhelming pleasure that has taken over your entire body. You feel it welling in your stomach, your orgasm growing nearer with each movement. You’re about to lose it when he slows your pace, looking at you with lust-filled eyes - you can tell what it is he wants.

You reach down and undo his belt, unfastening his button and drawing down the zipper. His jeans out of the way, you pull the band of his underwear down, freeing his hardened cock - he lets out a groan as you begin to stroke its length. Precum has already begun to form, your fingers taking the wetness and gliding it over the head.

“Please… wanna fuck you so bad…” He’s practically whimpering at this point.

You slide your pussy up and down his length a few times, causing him to recline his head against the couch as he breathes heavily. Finally you take his cock in your hand, placing it at your entrance and lowering yourself onto him, crying out at the sudden sensation of fullness. He groans as you slowly begin to ride him, his length hitting you in the perfect spot; you have to bite your lip to control yourself from becoming too loud - it feels even better than you’d ever imagined.

You begin to pick up the pace, bouncing on his cock as the sensation in your stomach begins to build again, even stronger now with him inside you. Your cries involuntarily become louder, prompting him to place his other hand over your mouth.

“Shhh, baby - don’t want anyone to hear us.”

You nod, tears welling in your eyes.

His soft grunts become more frequent - you can tell he’s getting close. Your walls squeeze around him tightly as you’re also nearing orgasm. He drops his hand from your mouth so he can grab onto your hips with both hands, holding you tight as he thrusts into you, full of vigor.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he says, his voice low and gruff.

“Want you to cum in me,” you reply breathily. He nods eagerly. You’re nearly there yourself. You cling to his face, giving him one more kiss before you can’t hold it in any longer.

“Oh fuck I’m gonna cum,” you manage to get out before the white-hot sensation takes over your whole body. You cry out, your walls clenching around him, immediately sending him over the edge - his cock pulses as you feel his cum release inside you.

As you come down from your high your body melts into his as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in. He plants a few soft kisses on your cheek as you sink into him, his cock still inside you. You lay there peacefully for an unknown amount of minutes, the rock music still playing in the background as he rubs your back gently. Eventually you sit up, pressing your nose against his.

“Does this mean I get an A?” you ask jokingly.

He laughs, his nose crinkling as he smiles. “You were going to get one anyway, I assure you the fact that I just had the best sex of my life will have no impact on your grade.”

You break out into laughter. You pause, then ask hesitantly, “Soooo, what does this mean?”

His brown eyes rest on yours. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to figure that out later,” he says pragmatically. A slight tinge of sadness comes across your face, but before you can say anything he continues.

“How does tonight over dinner sound?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile back at him.

“I think that sounds perfect.”

[end]