every richard gadd interview these days is "I put on three thousand pounds of pure muscle so I could dwarf jamie bell to the point of extreme sexual dimorphism; I repeatedly told my trainers that I needed to discard my mortal flesh and transcend into The Thing that Fucks and Breeds and they were all very lovely and accomodating about it"
hi there! can i request college!au with vincent renzi, in which he is law professor and he has this responsable and smart student (legal age ofc) who steals his attention? can it have dacryphilia too?, if you’re comfortable writing that 😅 please
professor + dacryphilia with vincent renzi | minors + ageless blogs dni! cw: cunnilingus, teacher-student relationship (reader is 18+, uni student), crying = dacryphilia, bit of plot
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You were an all-star student. You were on top of everything, steadily making a name for yourself as a reliable, outstanding student and future lawyer. Some of your peers liked to call you Elle Woods, majorly for your beauty being a major asset of yours. But part of your exceeding academics was dedicating time to go to your professor’s office hours.
Some more so than others.
Mr. Renzi was the professor for your criminal justice course, and you had expected to stop by his office once in a while to have him look over your essay and work to see what you can improve on.
What you hadn’t expected was for him to be so… beautiful.
The first time you saw him in class, you forgot to take notes. You simply watched him as he taught, his intelligence was so seductive, and it just so happened to be paired with a voice like velvet and eyes that made your heart speed up when they met yours.
Unbeknownst to you, Vincent felt the same. Ever since that alluring first day of you simply watching him in your second-row seat, he always found his gaze gravitating towards you as your pen scratched along your paper, as you chewed gum, sipped from your water bottle, tucked your hair behind your ear, or made eye contact with him.
You went and visited him the first time about two weeks into the semester, wanting him to look over your first essay. There was an undeniable spark, but you simply brushed it off as a mutual educational acknowledgment. Anything you could do to not linger much on how much the simple brush of his hand against yours send electricity through your body.
Vincent once was going to ask you if you wanted to join him on his walk to his office, but that was the first time he saw him. You walked out of class, beelining with a large smile towards the open arms of some boy. Your laugh was bubbly and bright as he kissed your cheek, calling out his name. When his lips met yours, Vincent simply turned and walked away, cursing himself for not thinking about how obviously you wouldn’t be single-- you were pretty, smart, kind, and many more qualities that would have a line of boys waiting for a chance. He ran his fingers through his hair, internally kicking himself for letting himself get so unprofessional and daydreaming of his younger student, for being one of the men in line for a chance.
Well into the semester and after plenty of visits, you were more than a familiar face in Vincent’s office, instead one he looked forward to seeing. The visits had long stemmed past the looking over essays and now were small talking sessions between you and your professor.
This particular day, Vincent had you in his office, noticing how frazzled you seemed.
“You have a lot on your plate?” He asked, rolling his dress shirt’s sleeves up to his elbows. His suit jacket was hanging from the back of his seat, the comfort of his office and your presence giving him the leisure of being a little less work-appropriate with his attire.
You softly laugh, joking through the truth of your overwhelming schedule and workload, “More like it’s flowing off the table.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Vincent nodded, his brows furrowing as he gave a small chuckle to your light joke. “Especially since I’m partly the cause of that.”
“No, no, I love your class, and being here with you is like a dream. It’s an escape.” You softly smile, shaking your head. “I have no need to mourn or worry when I’m here.”
His ears perked at your word choice. You were meticulous, so the choice in wording wasn’t a simple passing phrase. “Mourn? What is there to mourn?”
You hesitate, quietly sighing as you run your fingers through your hair. “My boyfriend broke up with me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear.” He cooed,
Saying it aloud seemed to make you think of all the things you had to handle at once-- two different final group presentations, four different essays, processing your breakup, feeding yourself, feeding your cat, working part-time, endless research…
You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt warm tears land on your hands that rested atop your lap. You let out a shaky breath, more tears falling before you could compose yourself. A quiet whimper slipped out, and you hid your face in your hands as you couldn’t help but softly sob.
“Shh, shh, mon biquet.” He shushed, standing from his desk and walking over to your seat. He knelt in front of you, reaching to move your hands away from your face and wipe away your tears with his thumbs. He whispered, his brows furrowing at the sight of you crying in front of him. “My lamb.”
He watched as the warm tears slipped from your eyes, his hands cupping your face as your gentle eyes met his. Putain, he thought, you’re even pretty when you cry. A soft noise slipped past your lips as you softly cried, sending an electric jolt through Vincent. The tears on his face made him want to comfort you, but also imagine how those noises would sound if you were underneath him. Would your soft whimpers sound the same as he felt the warmth of your skin? Would your tears encourage him to draw more and more pleasure from your body? He felt his heart race as he leaned in, kissing the teardrops that were caught on the apples of your cheeks.
Your breath hitched, unknowingly sending more of the electric feelings through Vincent’s bloodstream. The pecks on your cheek were only a whiff, but you were like a drug he was already fixed on.
“Shh, mon biquet,” He whispered, his kisses traveling from the tears on the apples of your cheeks down to your jawline. “Let me make you feel better.”
“Professor…” You whispered, your tears still rolling as your heart began to race. You instinctively rested your hands on his chest, your hands trembling at the immoral act occurring between you and your professor.
“Tell me if you don’t want me to,” He softly spoke, pulling away and placing his hands over yours that rested atop his chest. His eyes met yours as his brows furrowed slightly, a moment of vulnerability from your usually stoic professor. You held his livelihood in your gentle hands-- both occupationally, but also just as a man kneeling before a woman.
“Please,” You whisper, your eyes fluttering shut as your lip trembles, “Make me feel better.”
He couldn’t help but groan at your words, leaning in and connecting his lips to yours. He kissed you in a way that made you dizzy, a way no boy your age would be able to accomplish. It was feverish and hot, but also gentle and caring. He pulled away to lead you to your feet, your soft lips ghosting over his as you leaned in, wanting more of his unmatched kisses.
He smiled, giving you more kisses as he held onto your hips, pushing away his papers as he lead you to sit atop his desk. You softly gasp into his mouth, registering that he’s slowly pushing up your skirt. You blush as he kisses along your jawline, remembering you didn’t wear undershorts today, settling on just black underwear.
Vincent didn’t mind, adjusting you so you sat on the desk so he could pull your underwear down your legs. He settled between your legs, kissing to the top of your blouse before kneeling down to begin kissing down your pubic bone. You blushed and bit your bottom lip, trying not to squeeze your thighs shut out of embarrassment and smother your handsome criminal justice professor.
He settled as he finally reached your cunt, his fingers spreading you open to see the wetness that had formed just from his kisses. He smirked to himself, leaning in and placing soft kisses onto your clit. Just a little stimulation like that, and he heard soft moans of pleasure from above. They were a little muffled, and he looked up to see you hiding your mouth behind your hand.
Taking it as a challenge, he wrapped his arms around your thighs, fully allowing himself to dwell in your warm cunt and give you enough pleasure to be unable to hide your noises.
His age showed in his experience, bringing you to your orgasm after barely two minutes into the affair. “Proff- oh, God-- Professor…!” You gasped, feeling your climax forming in your abdomen.
“Let it happen, my lamb.” He murmured against your clit, coaxing you even closer. Just as you cried out, practically biting down onto your hand to try and stay quiet, he slipped two of his fingers into your warmth. You couldn’t silence the moan that slipped past your lips, your legs pressing lightly against his head as the overstimulation made the pleasure reach a peak in your body.
You quickly learned, however, Vincent was not a one-and-done type of man. He kept you on that high as long as he could, even going as far to push the peak higher and higher as he coaxed a few more orgasms out of you, all while chuckling and murmuring praises against your skin. Your lip trembled as your legs tensed on either side of his head, your breath shaky as the overstimulation brought back the warm tears in your eyes. You mewled, tugging at his hair to wordlessly plead with him, sniffling as a few warm tears slipped from your eyes.
“Just like that, mon biquet,” He groaned, his hands tightening their hold on your soft thighs as he watched you cry, “One more, I promise.”
You whimpered and moaned as he lead you towards another orgasm, this one being the farthest you’d traveled in terms of pleasure. His fingers worked at massaging your walls, his mouth suckling and placing kitten licks onto your clit. He worked you farther and farther until he felt the familiar tense around his fingers, your will giving up as your thighs trapped him between the plush muscles.
You writhed against the desk as you clenched your thighs together, his promise a stretch of truth as he worked you through your last climax. Your thighs relaxed and he gently pulled away, both of you panting as the room was hot with sex and rounds of overstimulation.
“Thank you, professor.” You softly spoke, feeling shy as you pushed down your skirt to hide your exposed pussy. “I… I wasn’t expecting that.”
“I should thank you.” He grinned, standing from where he knelt between your legs. He straightened his clothes, trying to be subtle in the way he fixed his erection. He wiped his mouth with his hand, “I, er… haven’t had a meal like that in a while.”
You shyly smiled, standing from the desk and placing a quick peck onto his cheek. He grinned, his hands moving to hold your waist again. “We should plan another… ahem, one-on-one tutoring session again. Come again on Thursday, the same time, if you would like another lesson.”
“Of course, professor.” You smiled, blushing at the idea of another sexual endeavor with your handsome criminal justice professor.
“Please, call me Vincent.” He grinned, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the little black fabric, handing you back your underwear. “Anything for my best student.”
Iron Lung and Project Hail Mary as "men who persevere against impossible odds and find courage in the depths of despair"
Versus Obsession and Backrooms "men will willingly stay in a literal horror movie situation over confronting their mistakes and taking responsibility for their actions"
Me the first half of The Backrooms: "oh I get it. He's a down on his luck failed architect and even more failed furniture store owner who's trying to better himself. He'll probably be fascinated with the furniture/architecture of the backrooms and start selling the items there for money + notoriety. And eventually he'll go deeper and deeper to get more and more items until he gets trapped and encounters The Horrors. A classic tale of hubris :) "
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