You had finished healing him with calm efficiency, packed your things, mumbled something about it being late, and fled his chambers like a startled ghost.
Leaving him standing there, heart racing, mind unravelling.
Why would she do that? he demanded silently, for the hundredth time.
Pity? Kindness? Embarrassment? An attempt to smooth over his disgrace?
Or,
He shut his eyes hard.
Do not indulge that line of thinking.
Severus had no experience in this domain. Romance, affection, mutual desire, these were theoretical concepts at best, observed from a distance like dangerous potions he had never dared brew. He had no frame of reference for a woman kissing him and then leaving as though she had merely corrected his posture.
So he spiralled.
Meanwhile, your mind replayed the moment in painful clarity, his stunned expression, the way he had gone completely still, the heat of his mouth against yours. You pressed your fingers to your lips as if they might still be warm.
Merlin. Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.
You had kissed Severus Snape.
Not just a brush of lips. Not an almost. You had grabbed him and kissed him, because you’d panicked, because he’d been spiralling and apologising and unraveling right in front of you, and you hadn’t known how else to stop it.
And then you had run.
Brilliant, you thought miserably. Absolutely brilliant handling of the situation.
You had no idea what it meant. You had no idea what he thought it meant. All you knew was that staying had felt impossible, like one more second in that room would have shattered something fragile beyond repair.
So you’d fled.
Leaving him standing there, heart racing, mind unravelling.
By breakfast, he was a wreck.
He arrived late to the Great Hall, robes immaculate but expression thunderous, and immediately spotted you halfway down the staff table.
You were laughing.
That, inexplicably, made everything worse.
She is fine, he thought darkly. Perfectly fine. Laughing. Breathing. Existing. While I am—
You glanced up.
Your laughter died instantly.
Your eyes widened. You looked away so fast you nearly knocked over your teacup.
Severus nearly choked on his toast.
The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of painfully forced normalcy. He was acutely aware of every movement you made, every time you shifted in your seat, every time you spoke. You, in turn, were hyperaware of him, your posture stiff, your attention scattered.
At one point, you both reached for the same sugar bowl.
Your fingers brushed.
You both recoiled as if electrocuted.
“Sorry,” you blurted.
“Yes. Quite,” Severus snapped, far too loudly.
Minerva McGonagall, seated two places down, slowly lowered her teacup.
She narrowed her eyes.
By midmorning, Severus’s condition had deteriorated further.
He snapped at students more than usual, docked points for crimes as minor as breathing incorrectly, and once caught himself staring into the middle distance during a staff meeting, replaying the exact angle of your face when you had leaned in to kiss him.
Minerva cleared her throat pointedly.
“Severus,” she said.
He blinked. “What.”
Her eyebrow climbed. “You have been asked your opinion on the new detention rota.”
He stared at her.
“I have,” he said flatly.
“You have also been staring at the same spot on the wall for the past thirty seconds,” she replied.
“I was thinking.”
“Clearly.”
By lunchtime, Minerva was worried.
Severus Snape was many things, but distracted was not usually one of them. He had knocked over an ink bottle, forgotten a meeting, and responded to Filius with “Mm,” when directly addressed.
So she did the only sensible thing.
She sought you out.
You were in the corridor outside the library, pretending very hard to read a notice that you had already read twice.
“Dear,” Minerva said gently.
You nearly jumped out of your skin.
“Oh. Professor McGonagall. Hello.”
She studied you for half a second.
Then sighed.
“Oh dear.”
Your face flushed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Painfully,” Minerva replied. “Would you care to explain why Severus looks like he is one poorly timed comment away from a complete nervous collapse?”
You opened your mouth.
Closed it.
Then, very quietly, said, “He kissed me.”
Minerva’s eyebrows shot up.
“…I see.”
“And then I kissed him back,” you added, mortified. “To stop him apologising.”
Minerva blinked once. Then twice.
“Well,” she said briskly, “that explains rather a lot.”
“He won’t talk to me,” you continued miserably. “Or rather, he does talk, but only about potion inventories and corridor safety. And I can’t stop thinking about it, and I don’t know what it meant, and I’m terrified I made things worse.”
Minerva hummed thoughtfully.
“Yes. That does sound like Severus.”
She placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “You are going to talk to him.”
You paled. “I am?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“This evening.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“You can,” Minerva said kindly, but with the unmistakable tone of someone who was not taking no for an answer. “If you don’t, he will continue to spiral until he either explodes or reorganises the dungeon shelves by colour.”
“…He already did that.”
“Precisely.”
So that evening, armed with very little courage and a great deal of anxiety, you stood outside Severus Snape’s office.
You had passed this door a hundred times before. Usually without a second thought. Tonight, it felt like a threshold you might not survive crossing.
Just knock, you told yourself. You are a grown witch. A competent colleague. You have faced cursed artefacts and budget meetings. You can knock on a door.
Your hand hovered in the air far longer than it should have.
You knocked.
Inside, Severus Snape was on his tenth rereading of the same student essay.
He knew it was the tenth because he had already circled the same grammatical error twice and underlined the same incorrect stirring motion three times. The words refused to rearrange themselves into anything meaningful, his mind snagging on the same intrusive thoughts no matter how forcefully he tried to suppress them.
Her mouth.
Her hands.
The way she had kissed him and then left.
The knock startled him so badly he nearly spilled ink across the parchment.
“Enter,” he snapped automatically.
He looked up.
And there you were.
For a horrifying, suspended moment, his brain simply… stopped.
You were real. Standing there. Not a phantom summoned by exhaustion or regret. Your expression was tense, uncertain, your hands clenched together as if bracing yourself for impact.
Merlin, he thought faintly. She came back.
You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you far too loudly in the silence that followed. The familiar scent of potions and parchment wrapped around you, grounding and unnerving all at once.
“I, um. Hello,” you said, wincing at how small your voice sounded.
“Hello,” he replied far too quickly, then immediately cursed himself for it.
Silence descended like a physical weight.
Severus rose from his chair, then hesitated, unsure whether standing made this better or worse. He settled for remaining half-upright, hands braced on the desk, posture rigid.
Say something, he ordered himself. Anything.
You gestured vaguely between the two of you, eyes flicking anywhere but his face. “I wanted to… talk. About yesterday.”
His stomach dropped.
So this was it.
His ears burned, heat flooding his face as every carefully constructed defense collapsed at once.
“I see,” he said stiffly, retreating behind formality like a shield. “If this is about my behaviour, I assure you I regret—”
“Why did you kiss me?” you blurted. No brave enought to confess just yet.
The question cut cleanly through him.
He froze.
Every muscle locked, breath caught painfully in his chest. For half a second, he could only stare at you, mind scrambling uselessly for a response that did not exist.
Then, spectacularly, he fell apart.
“I did not intend to,” he began, words spilling out far too fast, composure unraveling with alarming speed. “It was an accident. A lapse in judgement. I was overwhelmed and not thinking clearly, and I understand entirely if it was unwelcome, and I apologise profusely, and I assure you it will never happen again, and I would never presume—”
You crossed the room before he could finish the thought.
The movement alone startled him into silence.
Then you took his hand.
Everything stopped.
His rambling cut off mid-word, breath hitching sharply as your fingers wrapped around his. The contact was gentle, grounding, achingly familiar in the worst possible way. His hand trembled despite his best efforts to still it.
She is touching me again, his mind whispered helplessly. On purpose.
“It’s alright,” you said softly.
The words were simple, but they struck him harder than any accusation could have.
He swallowed, unable to look away from where your hands were joined.
Your heart was pounding so loudly you were certain he must hear it. Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to laugh it off, to pretend this conversation was a terrible misunderstanding.
Instead, you tightened your grip just slightly.
“I need you to know,” you continued, voice shaking despite your resolve, “that I didn’t kiss you back out of pity. Or panic.”
His breath came shallow now.
“I did it because I wanted to.”
The world narrowed to a single, impossible point.
His mind went blank, thoughts evaporating entirely as the words echoed again and again.
Wanted.
“I am in love with you,” you said, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “I have been for a while. I just… didn’t think it was mutual. I was as clueless as you.”
Severus stared at you as though reality itself had betrayed him.
“You are?” he managed faintly.
“Yes.”
The certainty in your voice made his chest ache.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“I do not,” he said slowly, honestly, “know what one is meant to do with that information.”
The words sounded inadequate even to his own ears. He released a shallow breath, gaze dropping to the floor as old instincts surged forward, cruel and automatic.
“I am not,” he continued, voice tightening, “suited to this. I have no experience, no finesse. I am difficult, emotionally inept, and quite frankly—”
He gestured vaguely at himself, frustration bleeding through.
“—you deserve better than someone who does not even know how to respond appropriately when a woman confesses her feelings. I would only disappoint you. Eventually. Inevitably.”
He looked up then, eyes dark and earnest, already bracing for rejection.
“You should not tether yourself to someone so fundamentally ill-equipped for—”
You kissed him.
Not gently. Not hesitantly.
Decisively.
It cut him off mid-sentence, lips colliding with his with enough certainty to steal the breath straight from his lungs. His thoughts scattered instantly, panic and heat surging in equal measure.
Merlin—
He froze, utterly flustered, hands twitching uselessly at his sides as his mind short-circuited.
When you pulled back, just enough to look at him, he was staring at you in open shock, mouth parted, face flushed a deep, unmistakable red.
“That,” you said firmly, “was to make you stop.”
His brain failed to produce a response.
“You don’t get to decide what I deserve,” you continued, softer now. “And I don’t expect perfection. We can learn. Together.”
He swallowed hard, clearly still reeling.
Then he stopped.
Something in his expression shifted, hesitation giving way to a flicker of resolve. Before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in again.
And kissed you.
This time, there was no stiffness, no paralysis. It was still awkward, still uncertain, but unmistakably intentional. Brief. Teasing. As if he were testing the waters, then retreating just enough to see if the world would collapse.
It didn’t.
When he pulled back, his breath was uneven, eyes searching your face anxiously, as though waiting for correction.
“Well?” he asked quietly.
You smiled, heart racing, fingers curling lightly into his robes.
"i could fix him" yeah? well i could accept him as he is. you don't like the murder? grow up. the atrocities are part of him and ive decided they're funny
divider by: @cafekitsune & @rmstitanics & @uzmacchiato & @pepsipoet
word count: 7.4k
synopsis: He was fire, you were thorns. Forced into an unwanted marriage, Daemon Targaryen slowly comes to realize that being bound to you might not be the curse he once thought—but the perfect match he never expected.
a/n: I may have gotten a little carried away with this one. There are a few potentially triggering moments—nothing overly graphic, but I’ve listed the warnings below just in case. Please read with care.
warnings: Attempted SA (not by Daemon), mutilation, infertility accusations, political manipulation, and Otto being a power-hungry ass.
The wedding feast was suffocating. The air thick with roses, gold, and polite falsities. You sat beside Daemon Targaryen—your new husband—while the King raised a goblet and smiled through his teeth. Everyone knew what this was, another political match meant to tame Daemon’s reputation and bind your allied family tighter to the Crown.
Daemon hadn’t looked at you once. Not when you exchanged vows. Not when Viserys gave a speech about you two. Not even when you boldly reached for his cup, having already drained your own.
When he finally did, it was with that same infuriating sneer you were already learning to hate.
“So this is my reward for everything I’ve done,” he muttered under his breath, voice low enough for only you to hear. “A fragile Tyrell rose.”
You smiled without warmth, your tone as sharp as Darksister that was resting at Daemon’s hip. “And I’m to believe I should be grateful to be shackled to a dragon of my own?”
His eyes flicked toward you and narrowed, his tone as cold as yours despite the faint trace of amusement threading through his disdain. “I’m not your dragon, wife,” he drawled, voice soft but edged with warning for you not to get your expectations up. Not that you had any. You knew exactly where you stood with your new husband—unwanted. “You may find you’ve married something you cannot handle.”
You hummed, entirely unbothered. “Only time will tell,” you said evenly, meeting his violet gaze without flinching. “Which one of us can’t handle the other.”
Daemon made no effort to hide his dislike in the weeks that followed. He avoided dinners, ignored the courtiers who dared offer their congratulations, and left your marriage bed untouched and cold. He refused even to consummate the union—much to your quiet relief.
You, in turn, perfected the art of pretending not to care.
You did not rise to his baiting remarks or sharp-edged insults. You ignored the whispers that slithered through the halls, the rumours that spread like wildfire about the cold marriage between the Rogue Prince and his southern bride.
Instead, you smiled sweetly, your wit sharp enough to charm but never offend the members of court around you. Where Daemon made enemies, you made allies. You had learned quickly how to survive the venom of court: with polite smiles, measured words, and alliances that grew quietly in the shadows. People underestimated you because you were young, southern, and soft-spoken. That suited you perfectly.
Daemon, however, did not take kindly to being ignored despite his own actions—especially by his wife.
He found you one afternoon in the gardens, sunlight filtering through the lemon trees, deep in conversation with a few of the court’s lords. His sharp stare cut across the courtyard like a blade, but you met it with nothing more than a polite nod before returning to your discussion, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Only that dismissal didn’t suit him and decided to interrupt and remind that fat lord just who you belonged too.
“Lord Redwyne,” he drawled as he approached, hands clasped loosely behind his back, tone deceptively casual. “I wasn’t aware my wife required your company quite so often.”
The poor lord paled instantly, words tumbling from his lips as he stammered a hurried apology before bowing and making a hasty retreat. You waited until the echo of his boots faded before finally turning to Daemon.
“Was that truly necessary?” you asked, annoyance lacing your voice as you regarded your husband with open disdain.
Daemon’s mouth curved into a smirk, his violet eyes glinting with something between mockery and challenge. “I find men at court need reminding of their boundaries.”
You tilted your head, meeting his gaze without a trace of fear. “And yet here you are,” you said evenly, “forgetting yours.”
You turned to leave, skirts whispering against the stone, but his hand shot out—fingers curling tightly around your wrist. His grip was firm and possessive, eyes dark with anger at your audacity.
“I am your husband,” he hissed, his grip tightening around your wrist. “There are no boundaries placed upon me. I could choose to take you here and now, and no one would dare stop me. Do well to remember who exactly you belong to.”
You turned slowly, your eyes narrowing, lips curling into a sharp, cold sneer. “And you’d do well to remember,” you said, voice low and venomous as you wrenched your wrist free of his hold, “that dragons aren’t the only danger in this world. Poison can be equally as effective as fire.”
You didn’t wait for his reply. The echo of your steps trailed behind you as you stormed down the hall, leaving Daemon standing there, the tension in his jaw slowly easing before a faint grin tugged at his mouth.
You were still his unwanted wife, but the longer he watched, the more Daemon realized your indifference fascinated him. There was something intoxicating about the way you carried yourself. He had thought you soft, too weak to stand by his side as his wife, yet beneath that deceptively innocent exterior laid an unyielding spine and a quiet, hidden fire he found himself wanting to provoke—to see how brightly it might burn.
You had adapted to court life far faster than he’d anticipated, and the fact that you offered him nothing—no submission, no craving for his approval—only deepened his fascination. He had expected you to run back to Highgarden, to crumble beneath the weight of court politics, or perhaps to come crawling to him for protection once the vipers began to circle. Instead, you had stood your ground. You may not have carried the blood of the dragon, but your thorns proved sharp enough to rival one’s bite.
And as the days passed, he watched you closer, beginning to notice a shift in court—the way certain lords now looked at you with measured respect, the way your words began to carry more weight when you spoke. You were earning favour, allies, influence—without his name, without his help.
Daemon would never say it aloud, but the truth lingered all the same: the woman he had dismissed was quickly becoming the only person in the Red Keep he could not ignore.
It was deep into the night when he found you.
He hadn’t meant to—restless and half-drunk, he’d been wandering the castle’s corridors in search of quiet when a sound stopped him. A scuffle. A muffled cry.
His hand went to the hilt of his sword before his mind even caught up with his body. He turned the corner—steel half-drawn—and what he saw turned his blood to fire.
A knight, one of the Reach’s lesser sons, had you pinned against the cold stone wall. One hand clamped over your mouth, the other tearing at the thin fabric of your nightgown. You shoved him back hard enough to make him stumble, but he caught you again, slamming your shoulder into the wall with a brutal thud. You fought like a cornered animal—kicking, clawing, the sound of your muffled scream cutting through the stillness of the Keep.
Daemon didn’t think. He moved.
In two long strides, he was on the knight, seizing him by the collar and hurling him against the wall so hard the man’s head cracked against the stone. The clang of metal filled the hall as the knight’s sword hit the floor, followed by a strangled gasp of pain.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” Daemon snarled, every word vibrating with barely contained fury.
The knight barely had time to register who stood before him before Daemon’s fist collided with his face, the impact sending him sprawling across the stone floor. The sickening crack of bone echoed down the corridor, followed by a sharp cry of pain.
“Please—” the knight gasped, blood spilling from his mouth as he tried to crawl away.
Daemon said nothing. His expression was carved from ice, his fury so cold it burned. He drove his boot into the man’s ribs once—hard—then again, each strike landing with the force of restrained rage. But restraint only lasted so long.
“Tell me,” Daemon hissed, his voice low and venomous, “why I should stop—when you saw fit to ignore my lady wife as she begged you to let her go?”
He seized the knight by the collar, yanking him upright with a violent jerk. The man’s head lolled, blood dribbling from his nose and mouth as he blubbered incoherently—pleas for mercy, apologies, excuses.
Daemon’s lip curled. “Pathetic.”
The words were little more than a growl before his fist crashed into the man’s face again. The wet, sickening sound of impact echoed down the corridor, followed by another and another, until the knight’s desperate cries dissolved into gurgled whimpers. Bone crunched beneath Daemon’s knuckles; blood splattered his sleeve.
The knight’s feeble attempts to shield himself only stoked Daemon’s fury further. He struck until the man finally collapsed—crumpled and half-conscious, his face a ruined mess of blood, swelling, and shattered bone.
Daemon’s breathing came harsh and ragged. He straightened slowly, wiping a streak of the man’s blood from his knuckles with a calm that contrasted his earlier fury. He should have called for the guards—those useless bastards who had clearly been asleep at their posts—but he had no intention of delegating this.
No, this was personal.
He would make a spectacle of this wretch. He would ensure that every knight, lord, and servant in the Red Keep knew what became of any man foolish enough to lay a hand on what belonged to him.
Because as unwanted as you had been, you were still his wife. And compared to his late bronze bitch, you were far more tolerable—infuriatingly so.
He was already moving, intent on dragging the vermin to the dungeons, when a flicker of movement stopped him.
You stepped forward.
Your nightgown was torn, the fabric clutched tightly to your chest to preserve what little modesty you had left. Blood stained your lip, your hair hung loose and tangled, and your eyes—seven hells, your eyes—burned with a cold, unflinching fire.
Before Daemon could speak, your hand darted for the dagger at his belt. His fingers twitched in surprise, but you were faster—ripping it free in one fluid motion. He opened his mouth, perhaps to stop you, perhaps to warn you, but the words never left his tongue.
You dropped to your knees beside the fallen knight.
Daemon watched, frozen, as the trembling in your hand steadied with terrifying purpose. And in that heartbeat, he realized he had gravely underestimated you. The danger you carried wasn’t in your silver tongue or your deceptively soft appearance. It was in the fire he so often enjoyed provoking—the one that now burned, fierce and unrestrained, revealing a brutality that mirrored his own.
The blade came down. Once. Twice. The sound was wet and final.
The scream that followed ripped through the Keep, sharp and ragged, echoing off the stone. Blood spattered across your cheek, soaking into your torn nightgown as the severed hand hit the flagstones with a dull, wet thud.
You didn’t look away, your eyes burning with something perilously close to satisfaction. You only took a single deep breath, your grip on the slick dagger tightening for a brief moment before you finally straightened up.
“He won’t be touching anyone again,” you said, your voice calm—eerily so. Then, as if the act had been no more than pruning a hedge in the garden, you turned the dagger in your hand and offered it back to Daemon, blood still dripping from the blade. “You can do the rest.”
Daemon stared at you—really stared—as if seeing you for the first time. The sharp edge of his anger faltered, giving way to something dangerously close to admiration. Then, slowly, a low laugh rumbled in his chest. It wasn’t mocking or cruel, but low and genuine—born of disbelief more than mirth.
“Seven hells,” he murmured, a crooked grin curving his lips. “Perhaps the gods aren’t so cruel after all. You’re full of surprises, little flower.”
You met his gaze without flinching, the flickering torchlight catching on the blood still splattered across your cheek.
“You married a Tyrell,” you said evenly, “not a delicate flower.”
His grin widened, sharp and feral. “No,” he said, almost admiringly. “It seems I married a thorn.”
He reached out, his thumb brushing a streak of blood from your cheek. The touch lingered—longer than it should have, longer than either of you cared to admit. His eyes, glinting in the dim torchlight, softened into something dark and dangerous. “Perhaps,” he murmured, voice low, “I should’ve agreed to this marriage sooner.”
You rolled your eyes, unimpressed by the sudden warmth in his tone. “Save your charm for someone who cares, husband,” you said coolly, stepping past him.
The hem of your ruined nightgown dragged across the stones, leaving thin streaks of crimson in your wake. You didn’t look back—not even when another low chuckle rumbled from his chest.
Daemon watched you go, the sound of your fading footsteps echoing through the corridor. You didn’t rush away, nor offer him a single glance.
For a man like him, so accustomed to obedience, fear, or devotion, that quiet defiance was nothing short of intoxicating.
By the time you disappeared around the corner, Daemon’s grin had widened, but it was darker and less amused. He glanced down at the severed hand still lying in a growing pool of blood, then toward the path you’d taken.
“Definitely a thorn,” he muttered to himself, before raising his dagger to do as you ordered and finish what you started.
By the time the task was done and the wretch was dragged to the dungeons, you were long gone. When Daemon finally reached your shared martial chambers, he found the door barred from within. There was a faint flicker of candlelight beneath the door, telling him there was a high chance you were still awake.
He stood there for a moment, silent, debating whether to knock. His hand hovered near the handle, but he didn’t move. Instead, a faint smirk tugged at his mouth as he let his hand fall away.
“Tomorrow, then,” he murmured under his breath, turning on his heel.
As he walked down the dim corridor, the sound of his boots echoing against the stone, Daemon found something unfamiliar curling in his chest as he once again thought of you.
For the first time in years, he was smiling at the thought of someone daring to tell him no.
The story spread quickly—faster than wildfire and twice as hot.
By morning, the entire court knew that a knight had been maimed and stripped of his title, Daemon Targaryen had been involved, and the new Lady Targaryen was not to be trifled with. Servants whispered in corridors, eyes wide with both fear and fascination. Lords traded embellished versions over their morning wine, each claiming to know the true tale. And by the time the sun reached its peak, it had reached the ears of the Small Council.
Viserys wasted no time. Before the morning was out, the two of you were summoned before the Iron Throne.
Daemon stood tall at your side, hands clasped behind his back, his smirk unmistakably smug as though the entire affair amused him. You, however, remained composed, despite the split lip and the faint bruise still shadowing your jaw.
Viserys pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. His patience, always thin when it came to his brother, was clearly stretched to its limits. “Seven hells, Daemon,” he muttered, his tone sharp with exasperation. “Can you not go a single month without bloodshed in the Keep?”
Daemon’s smirk only deepened. “It wasn’t entirely my doing this time,” he drawled lazily, almost playful. “My wife saw to most of it.”
The council chamber fell into utter silence. as a dozen pairs of eyes turned toward you. Their expressions ranged from disbelief to thinly veiled horror, as though they’d just realized the soft-spoken lady from the Reach was no lady at all.
You did not flinch beneath their scrutiny. When you spoke, your tone was calm yet cold. “The knight was drunk and violent, Your Grace,” you said evenly. “My husband stopped him before he could do worse. I merely… ensured it would never happen again.”
Otto Hightower regarded you as though you’d sprouted fangs. “You ensured it?” he repeated, his voice slow and dripping with disdain. “By cutting off his hands? The man was brutalized.”
“Hand,” you corrected smoothly. “I took only one. My husband saw to the other in his own form of retribution.” You tilted your head slightly, meeting Otto’s stare without wavering. “Would you prefer I’d waited for the court to deliberate while he still had the use of it? It is the law, is it not—to lose them for such crimes?”
For a moment, silence hung over the council chamber. Then Daemon broke it as he chuckled under his breath, low and amused.
Otto’s eyes narrowed, his irritation bleeding into every measured word. “The law, Lady Tyrell—”
“Targaryen,” Daemon interrupted, his tone deceptively mild.
The single word landed like a slap. Otto blinked, surprise flickering across his features before his expression smoothed back into something resembling civility. He inclined his head slightly, though the muscle in his jaw twitched. “The law, Lady Targaryen,” he corrected, voice clipped and cold, “is not yours to carry out. You have overstepped your station. The King’s justice does not come from the hands of women—or from vigilantes acting on impulse.”
Your expression didn’t falter, though the tension in the room thickened. “Then perhaps,” you said evenly, “the King’s justice should arrive before a woman needs to defend herself.”
A few councillors shifted in their seats, exchanging uneasy glances. Otto’s expression darkened, his composure fraying at the edges. “You forget yourself, my lady,” he snapped. “Such defiance is unbecoming of—”
“Careful, Otto,” Daemon drawled, his voice cutting cleanly through the chamber. “You seem to be forgetting yourself.”
The Hand froze mid-sentence. The smirk that usually curved Daemon’s lips had vanished, replaced by something colder and dark. His words simmered with threat. He took a slow step forward, the click of his boots echoing against the stone floor.
“My wife,” Daemon declared, looking to the members of the council, “was attacked in her own hall. And the man who dared touch her breathes still. I’d say we’ve already shown the court more mercy than it deserves.”
Otto’s jaw tightened. “Mercy?” he repeated with a scoff. “You call mutilation mercy?”
Daemon’s gaze turned sharp as a blade. “That, Otto,” he said evenly, “is leniency. Were it my full measure of justice, you’d be discussing a corpse, not a cripple.”
Viserys sighed, rubbing at his temple as though warding off an oncoming headache. “Daemon—”
But Daemon wasn’t finished. He moved closer to Otto, enough that the old man’s hand twitched to grab the edge of the table.
“You should choose your next words carefully, my lord Hand,” Daemon said softly, the quiet in his tone somehow more dangerous than a shout. “Because the only reason this matter reached your ears at all is that I allowed it to. Had I wished otherwise, that knight would’ve vanished before sunrise — and not a soul would be the wiser.”
Otto’s mouth tightened, his knuckles whitening around the edge of the table. “You threaten the Hand of the King in open council?”
Daemon’s grin returned — thin, wolfish, and entirely without warmth. “No,” he said. “I’m reminding you where your authority ends.” His gaze flicked toward you, lingering for a heartbeat before returning to Otto. “Whether you like it or not, she is a princess. Her word carries the same weight as mine — as any Targaryen’s. You’d do well to remember that the next time you choose to address her so brazenly. Next time,” his voice dropped, dangerous and deliberate, “I may not be so… lenient.”
“Enough,” Viserys interjected sharply, his patience at last fraying. He sank back against the Iron Throne with a weary exhale. “Gods save me, the two of you are well-matched. The knight’s punishment will stand as delivered. Now — let us not waste more of the realm’s time on this nonsense.”
Otto looked like he wanted to protest, but one glance at Daemon’s expression silenced him. The prince’s violet eyes burned with quiet warning, and the faintest ghost of a smile played on his lips as he turned back toward you, brushing his fingers briefly against yours
You didn’t return the gesture, though your lips curved just slightly as you met his gaze.
For the first time since your marriage, Daemon’s smirk wasn’t cruel. It was proud. And worse still, it was genuine.
After the council incident, something between you and Daemon shifted. It wasn’t a sudden change, nor one you could easily define. It was noticeable enough that conversations faltered when you entered a room together. Even Otto Hightower, ever the picture of composure, could not disguise the way his mouth tightened and his expression soured the moment his gaze landed on either of you.
You had become something of a spectacle: the Rogue Prince and the Southern Rose, a union that should have burned under the weight of its own volatility—but hadn’t.
Daemon, of course, took delight in every ounce of scandal your union was inspiring.
At council meetings, he no longer sat opposite you but beside you, close enough that the warmth of his arm brushed against your sleeve when he leaned in. He had made it his personal amusement to whisper comments low enough for only you to hear — wicked little asides designed to test your composure.
“I think,” he murmured one morning, as Otto began another of his long, tedious speeches, “if the old vulture glares any harder, his eyes might fall out.”
You fought the smile tugging at your lips, forcing your expression into something neutral. “Try not to provoke him,” you whispered back. “He’s still the Hand.”
Daemon tilted his head, eyes gleaming with that familiar, dangerous humour. “He’s a hand I’d gladly cut off,” he murmured. “Care to help me, wife? You did quite well the last time.”
You sighed, though the faint curl of your lips betrayed you. In truth, you disliked Otto Hightower just as deeply as Daemon did. The man was a vulture — always circling the throne, always overreaching, always pretending his ambition was piety.
“You enjoy making enemies far too much,” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
Daemon’s smirk only deepened, that infuriating glint in his eyes suggesting he found your disapproval endlessly entertaining.
He began to appear everywhere.
At dinners, his chair was suddenly beside yours, his presence commanding attention no matter how much you tried to ignore it. In the gardens, you’d feel his gaze long before you turned to find him watching, his expression unreadable. Even during court sessions, he lingered near you, standing just close enough to make it impossible for anyone to forget whose wife you were.
He hovered close enough to unsettle you, close enough that the courtiers began to whisper behind gloved hands. After all, it wasn’t so long ago that Daemon Targaryen had made no secret of his disdain for this marriage, for you. Yet now, wherever you went, he followed — a shadow that refused to fade, a dragon circling what he had once dismissed as unworthy prey.
And in all his watching, Daemon came to a realization.
The lords who had once made their disdain for him plain were now markedly more tolerant—some even deferential. Conversations that used to die the moment he entered no longer did. The same mouths that had once whispered against him now spoke with murmurs of cautious respect.
It hadn’t been his doing. It had been yours.
For all your ice, for all the cruelty he’d shown you, you had never once turned against him. In your own quiet way, you had stood beside him. Those endless interactions he had dismissed as meaningless pleasantries, the soft smiles and chatters he’d mistaken for you wasting your time on simpering lords in what he had thought had been in indulgence, hadn’t been acts of vanity or spite.
You had been securing him power. Turning enemies into allies. Shifting the court’s favour not through fear, but through quiet influence — a kind of power he’d never learned to wield.
And you had done it all without asking for credit, without expecting his gratitude.
It unsettled him—how easily you’d done what he, with all his fire and fury, never could. For perhaps the first time in his life, Daemon Targaryen found himself forced to admit that he had gravely underestimated the woman the gods had chained him to.
“You’ve made quite the name for yourself,” Daemon drawled one evening as he joined you on the balcony overlooking Blackwater Bay. The setting sun bled across the sky, painting the water in molten gold and fire, while the wind carried the faint scent of salt and smoke through the air.
“Half the court is terrified of you now,” he continued, his tone lazy, though his eyes gleamed with amusement.
“Are they now?” you mused, lifting your goblet and taking a slow sip of wine. “Perhaps it’s you they fear, husband.”
Daemon snorted, resting one shoulder against the carved stone rail. “Of course they fear me,” he said easily, almost amused. “But you, my lady wife—” his gaze swept over you, lingering in that way that felt like admiration, “— you’ve built a reputation entirely your own. And a powerful one at that.”
You arched a brow, setting your goblet down with a soft clink. “You almost sound impressed.”
A low hum rumbled in his throat, the corner of his mouth curving into that familiar, crooked smile that had begun to lose some of its cruelty. “Perhaps I am,” he admitted, leaning in as his tongue swept briefly across his lips.
You turned to face him fully, the sea breeze catching a loose strand of your hair and brushing it against your cheek. “Then you should be careful,” you said lightly, though the warning in your voice was unmistakable. “It seems I’ve earned a reputation for maiming men who touch without asking.”
His answering grin was wicked, his eyes glinting with that familiar mix of arrogance and amusement. “Don’t worry, wife,” he murmured, his voice low, smooth, and far too sure of itself. “When I touch you, it’ll be because you begged me to.”
You didn’t blush at his implication. You simply rolled your eyes, “Need I remind you that you hate me?”
“I’m reconsidering that fact,” he said without hesitation, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“Don’t bother,” you replied coolly, your tone sharp enough to cut. “You’re not forgiven.”
“Forgiveness,” he said, leaning just close enough for your breath to catch, “was never what I wanted.”
You didn’t move away. The space between you felt taut, charged, alive. His nearness carried heat — the faint scent of smoke and steel that always clung to him — but you refused to yield an inch.
“Then what is it you do want, my prince?” you asked, your voice measured, daring him to answer truthfully.
“Husband,” he corrected softly, taking another slow step forward. “I’m your husband, and you are my wife.” His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before lifting back to meet your eyes. “And what I want…” He paused, the ghost of a smile curling his mouth. “…is you.”
You studied him for a long moment, the torchlight flickering across the sharp planes of his face — the proud line of his jaw, the dangerous glint in his violet eyes. He wasn’t jesting. There was something different in him now, something that unsettled you far more than his cruelty ever had.
Finally, you exhaled and shook your head, turning away. “Goodnight, Daemon.”
He didn’t try to stop you. He only watched as you passed him, his gaze following the graceful sweep of your figure as the faint scent of roses lingered in the air, as you made your way down the corridor.
“Sleep well, wife,” he called after you, his voice carrying that maddening blend of amusement and promise. “You’ll dream of me before long.”
You didn’t look back, though your lips curved faintly as you rounded the corner. “Not likely,” you murmured under your breath — but even as you said it, you knew it for a lie.
If the gods had cursed you with Daemon Targaryen, they had done so knowingly. For all his temper, his wickedness, and his arrogance, the man was beautiful. And worse still — he knew it.
Despite the growing ease between you and Daemon, there were still some in the court who looked upon the change with thinly veiled displeasure. Power unsettled men like Otto Hightower — especially when it didn’t belong to them.
Daemon had been gone for days, called to Dragonstone on some errand for Viserys, and though you would never admit it aloud, the castle felt quieter in his absence. You told yourself it was a welcome reprieve — fewer stares, fewer annoying grins, fewer games — but there were moments when you caught yourself missing the sound of his voice, the heat of his presence. You buried the thought quickly.
When the summons came, you were told it was a matter of court business — routine, nothing more. But the moment you stepped into the council chamber, you knew better.
Viserys sat slumped at the head of the table, his crown slightly askew, weariness written in every line of his face. Beside him stood Otto Hightower, hands folded neatly behind his back, his expression smooth as polished marble. Around them sat a small cluster of lords and septons — enough to make the meeting official.
“My lady,” Otto said as you approached, inclining his head with mock civility. “We thank you for attending on such short notice. Please, be seated.”
You didn’t move. “What is this?”
Viserys shifted uncomfortably, eyes flickering between you and his Hand. “There have been… concerns raised,” he began, his tone hesitant. “You understand how closely the court watches the stability of the royal line. It has been several months since your wedding to my brother and…” His words trailed off as he rubbed at his temple. “Questions have been asked.”
You stared at him, suspicion already twisting in your gut. “Questions,” you repeated slowly. “About what?”
“About heirs,” Otto said smoothly, seizing the opening. “Or rather—” he paused, letting the silence linger for a moment, “—the lack thereof.”
For a heartbeat, you could only stare at him, the meaning of his words sinking in like ice water down your spine. Then disbelief hardened into fury.
“You summon me before the council,” you began coldly, taking a step closer to the table, “to discuss my womb?”
Otto smiled faintly, the perfect picture of reason. “Not to discuss, my lady — merely to clarify,” he said smoothly. “You see, the matter has caused… some unrest. There are whispers that perhaps the marriage has not been—” he paused delicately, “—fruitful.”
Your fingers curled around the edge of the table, nails biting into the polished wood. “Fruitful,” you repeated, the word falling from your tongue like venom. “Tell me, Lord Hand — are you in the habit of inquiring into the private matters of every marriage in the realm, or only those that inconvenience you?”
Otto’s expression didn’t flicker. His tone remained calm, reasonable — the voice of a man who hid malice behind measured words. “I inquire only when the stability of the realm may be affected,” he replied smoothly. “The King’s council must consider every possibility. You and Prince Daemon have been wed for—” he glanced down at a parchment, the motion purely performative, “—five months. No announcement has been made. No signs of an heir. Naturally, the court wonders if perhaps the gods have seen fit to close the womb of the Princess.”
The air in the chamber seemed to still at the thinly veiled implication.
Your jaw tightened, but your voice, when it came, was soft and cutting. “Careful, my lord. The gods are fickle creatures. They might decide to close your mouth next.”
A few of the lords shifted, uncertain whether to look at you or the Hand. Otto, of course, merely smiled — that thin, patronizing curve of his lips that made you want to drive a goblet straight through his throat. “I assure you, Princess,” he said mildly, “no offence was meant. But when the succession of the realm may hang in the balance, His Grace is right to seek certainty.”
You stared at him, the realization sliding into place like a dagger between ribs. This wasn’t about heirs. It wasn’t about the stability of the realm. Otto Hightower, ever the vulture, had scented blood — your rising influence, your ability to temper Daemon’s fury—and meant to get rid of you down before you became unassailable.
Turning toward the King, you met Viserys’s weary gaze, disbelief and anger threading through your voice. “Surely, you don’t mean to entertain this insult.”
Viserys shifted again, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s not an insult, child,” he said, his voice carrying that weary gentleness he used when trying to placate. “Merely… a concern. You know how these things spread. If the marriage is troubled, it would be better to resolve it quietly before others make assumptions.”
Resolve it quietly. The words settled like ice in your chest. He meant annulment.
Otto’s eyes gleamed — the satisfaction barely hidden behind his veneer of civility. “The Faith could be called to confirm the matter, of course,” he added smoothly, his tone almost sympathetic. “A physician or septa might—”
The doors slammed open.
The sound cracked through the chamber like thunder.
Daemon strode in. His cloak billowed behind him, dust from the road still clinging to his boots, and though his expression was deceptively calm, the fire in his eyes was unmistakable. Every man in the room went still. Even Otto Hightower’s composure faltered.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Daemon drawled lazily. “I’d hate to interrupt such an important meeting.”
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Viserys exhaled heavily, already bracing himself. “Daemon…” he began, but it was useless.
The prince was already in motion, his steps measured — a predator circling prey. His gaze swept over the gathered lords, past the nervous septons, before locking on Otto like a dragon sizing up a meal.
“I heard,” Daemon said, his voice low but carrying easily through the room, “that my wife was summoned before the council.” He tilted his head slightly, his mouth curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Imagine my curiosity when I discovered the topic of discussion was of our martial bed.”
He reached your side in three long strides, his arm winding around your waist and pulling you close without hesitation. The sudden gesture was possessive, protective and it startled you more than you cared to admit. You had expected to stand alone in your defence; part of you had even braced for Daemon to use this as an opportunity to accept an annulment and cast you aside.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he stood beside you, unyielding, his hand firm against your hip as though daring anyone in the chamber to try and take you from him. Whatever else he was to you—your unwanted husband, your tormentor, your frustration—right now, he was your shield, and the weight of his presence filled the room like a drawn sword.
“So tell me, my lords,” Daemon drawled, his tone deceptively casual, “which of you volunteered to climb into my bed in my stead?”
An uncomfortable murmur rippled through the room, the councillors shifting uncomfortably at the implication. No one dared to meet his eye.
Otto’s composure faltered only for a breath before he recovered. “Your Grace, no one meant offence,” he said quickly, though his voice carried an edge. “Concerns were raised for the good of the realm—”
“Concerns,” Daemon echoed, turning his head toward the Hand with slow, deliberate menace. “About what, exactly? My performance? My wife’s virtue?” His smile thinned, the faintest hint of a snarl curling beneath the words. “Or is this your latest attempt to worm your way deeper into my brother’s ear?”
Otto straightened, his restraint beginning to fray. “I advise the King as duty requires,” he replied tightly. “The realm must have heirs.”
Daemon’s expression sharpened, all trace of humour gone. “And you presume to dictate when they come?” His tone dropped lower. “Or from whose womb?”
“Of course not,” Otto began smoothly, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed his intent. “However, if your wife cannot fulfill her duties, it would be prudent to consider other options. My daughter, Alicent—”
“Alicent Hightower?” Daemon scoffed, his laughter low and mocking. “The only thing she could breed is boredom.”
The insult hit its mark. A few of the councillors coughed into their hands, poorly hiding their amusement. Otto’s jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of fury breaking through his polished restraint.
“I have no interest in your spawn,” Daemon continued sharply, each word laced with venom. He leaned forward, his head angling just over your shoulder, his voice dropping to a low growl that slithered through the chamber like smoke. “And the next time you dare to question my wife’s worth—or her body—you’ll be counting your teeth instead of heirs.”
You fought the urge to smirk, but gave in to the temptation of leaning into him, placing your hand to rest over his. It was a simple gesture, but it showed your solidarity. Daemon Targaryen had once claimed he was not your dragon, yet here he stood, defending you as fiercely as one. And though he infuriated you more than any man alive, you had no intention of letting him go either.
“This is unseemly,” Otto hissed, his composure splintering. “The Prince misinterprets the council’s intent.”
Viserys rose from his seat, attempting calm though his tone frayed with irritation. “Daemon, enough,” he said, voice heavy with exasperation. “The matter was only raised to ensure stability—”
“Then let me assure you, brother,” Daemon said, his tone dropping to something low and dangerous, “my marriage is quite stable. And as for heirs—”
He turned toward you, his lips curving into a slow, wicked smile that made heat creep up your neck. “They will be provided when I decide the time is right. In the meantime, how my wife and I fuck in our marital bed should not be of concern to anyone in this hall.”
Ignoring the gasps rippled that through the chamber. He turned on his heel, using the hand on your waist to guide you to follow him out of the chamber. The doors slammed behind you, the echo reverberating through the marble corridor, leaving a stunned silence in your wake.
Only when the noise of the council faded did you finally exhale, tension bleeding from your shoulders. “You didn’t need to do that,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.
Daemon’s tone was calm as he took you in. “If you think I’d let them humiliate you while I breathe, wife,” he said softly, “then you truly don’t know me yet.”
You turned to look at him—and for the first time since your marriage, there was no mockery in his eyes. No smirk. No cruel amusement.
“Why?” you asked, your voice low. “You made it quite clear you never wanted this marriage. That was your chance to be rid of me.”
Daemon stopped walking. The torchlight from the corridor flickered across his face, throwing sharp shadows over the hard lines of his jaw. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He only studied you, eyes dark and searching, as though weighing truths he’d rather keep buried.
Finally, he said quietly, “I didn’t want a marriage forced on me.” His voice had lost its usual bite—no swagger, no arrogance—just the faint rasp of honesty. “But I’ll be damned before I let Otto Hightower, or anyone else, decide what’s mine to keep or discard.”
You stared at him, uncertain whether to scoff or believe him. “So this is about pride, then?” you asked, your tone measured. “Possession?”
He gave a faint, humourless huff of laughter, the corner of his mouth twitching but never quite forming a smile. “At first,” he admitted. “Perhaps. But pride doesn’t make a man ride through the night when he hears his wife’s being paraded before the council and being accused that she is some barren broodmare.”
Your breath caught — just a fraction. You searched his face, expecting him to be mocking you, but what you found instead was something dangerously close to sincerity.
He stepped closer, close enough that the heat of him seeped through the thin layers of your gown.
“You’ve done what no one else at court has managed,” he said, voice low, roughened by truth. “You’ve made them listen. You’ve made them respect me—support me—without ever drawing a single blade. You stood before them with nothing but your tongue and your will, and you bent the court to heel. You’re a threat to Otto, and that’s why he went after you today.”
Your pulse quickened, steady composure slipping beneath the weight of his words. “And that’s why you defended me?”
“No,” he said simply. “I defended you because I wanted to.”
The air between you grew heavier. You could feel it — the shift that had been building for weeks now was impossible to ignore.
You tried to look away, but he reached out—gloved fingers brushing beneath your chin, coaxing your gaze back to his. “You are my wife, from now until my death, you are mine to protect.”
For a moment, you forgot how to breathe. The fierce promise in his eyes rooted you in place, stealing the air from your lungs. You searched his face for the lie—for that familiar smirk that always followed his provocations—but it never came. Daemon Targaryen—your infuriating, impossible husband—was entirely, terrifyingly sincere.
“So let them whisper about heirs all they like,” he murmured. “We’ll give them something worth whispering about soon enough.”
You swallowed hard, forcing composure back into your voice. “You think one grand gesture and a few flowery words erase months of your cruelty?”
His thumb grazed the line of your jaw. “No,” he said softly. “But it’s a start.”
You exhaled, steadying yourself. “I hope this doesn’t mean you expect me to let you into my bed.”
A faint smirk ghosted across his lips, a glimmer of the man you knew too well. “I’ve told you, wife,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “When I touch you, it will be because you begged me to—not because some fat lords on a council demand it.”
“I may not have wanted this marriage,” Daemon said. “But the thought of losing you… that, I find I want even less.” His gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “They thought forcing this marriage would tame me,” he murmured, a flicker of something dangerous glinting in his eyes. “But all they’ve done is tie me to the one person as untameable as myself. You and I—we were never meant to be gentle. A dragon needs fire to burn…” His thumb brushed once more against your skin, the gesture feeling less like flirtation and more like a vow. “And I’ve found mine.”
For once, you didn’t have a sharp retort. The words lingered between you, fragile and unguarded, like something that might shatter if either of you dared to break it. Your gaze danced between his, taking in the depth of his lilac eyes, and slowly—almost against your better judgment—you stepped forward, your hand resting lightly against his chest.
He stilled beneath your touch, watching you closely as you leaned up, your lips brushing his softly. Daemon’s breath hitched, and then he returned the kiss instantly—hungry, wanting, alive. The contact was brief, fleeting, but it burned like wildfire. You were the one to pull away first.
“Thank you, Daemon,” you murmured, your voice softer now, though not without its steel. “For coming to my defence—and for your honesty. Perhaps… there’s hope for us yet.”
He released your wrist, stepping back just enough to let you go. His gaze lingered on your face, unreadable. “Rest, wife,” he murmured, his tone softer than you had ever heard it. “The realm can damn itself for all I care. They’ll not touch you again.”
You hesitated only a moment before offering the faintest of smiles. “Goodnight, husband.”
Daemon’s lips curved, the ghost of a grin playing there. “Goodnight, wife.”
And as you walked away, your steps echoing down the quiet corridor, neither of you could quite ignore the truth that had finally taken root—whatever bound you together was no longer duty, nor politics, nor the will of others.
A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for quite some time (draco malfoy x gryffindor!reader — hate sex, NSFW ficlet, MDNI)
-
It was supposed to be detention.
Supposed to be scrubbing cauldrons, silent and seething, on opposite ends of the Potions classroom.
But you’re the one who muttered under your breath.
And he’s the one who cornered you the moment Snape left the room.
Now you’re pressed against the dungeon wall, your wand abandoned somewhere on the stone floor, Draco’s thigh slotted between your legs like it belongs there. His mouth is at your throat. His voice is a razor.
“Is this what you wanted?” he snarls, breath hot against your skin. “Want the big bad Slytherin to fuck the attitude out of you?”
You glare, chest heaving. Eyes blazing.
“You couldn’t fuck your way out of a Quidditch jersey.”
Wrong answer.
He grins, wolfish — and grinds his thigh up, hard, right between your legs.
The gasp that punches out of you is embarrassing.
You slap your palm against his chest, but it’s not to push him away — it’s to keep yourself from sliding down the wall.
“You’re pathetic,” you hiss, even as your hips roll down onto his thigh again, and again. “I’d rather die than beg for you.”
“That’s funny,” he purrs, lips brushing your jaw, “because your cunt says otherwise.”
He’s the worst kind of cruel — slow, smug, infuriatingly calm while you’re unraveling in his grip. His hands are under your skirt, pulling your underwear down without ceremony, and you’re still clawing at his robes like you hate him.
You do hate him. You’ve hated him for years.
So why are you grinding on his thigh like he’s air and you’ve been suffocating?
“Keep going,” he growls, breath hitching as you tug his belt loose. “Tell me how much you hate me.”
You should slap him.
Instead, you say it again. Louder this time.
“I hate you, Malfoy.”
He pushes two fingers inside you.
“Yeah?” he breathes, dragging them slow, obscene. “Say it while you come.”
And Merlin help you — you do.
You scream it. Moan it. Choke it out as he fucks you through it with the kind of venom you want carved into your bones.
“That’s it,” he whispers, mouth at your ear. “Come on my fingers and pretend you don’t want this every night.”
When it’s over, your legs are shaking. Your throat’s raw. His tie is clenched in your fist and you don’t remember grabbing it.
He straightens your skirt with all the pretense of a gentleman — smirking like the bastard he is.
“Same time next week, sweetheart?”
You stare at him, chest heaving, hair a mess.
And then you shove him back against the wall and kiss him like he’s poison you’d drink twice.
Summary: You were always one of the best students - until you got a new professor. Now you're often distracted and your grades are dropping. He notices and decides to confront you.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)
Warnings: dirty talk, kissing, making out, praise kink, fingering, oral sex, spanking, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (stay safe pls), dom!spencer (pls let me know if I forgot something)
Word Count: 4,2k
Part 2
It's Monday morning, 8:15 a.m. The air in the lecture hall is fresh. The windows are still open, even though it's noticeably colder outside. Autumn has begun, and the first leaves are already falling from the trees. You're sitting in your usual seat in the second row, right by the window.
You're prepared, as always. Criminology is more than just a subject for you. It's your thing. And yes, you're good at it. One of the best, according to your professor. But you simply have a good memory, and it's easy for you to find the connections. You love what you do.
Professor Hartmann is a great professor. Old-fashioned, but smart. And strict. He challenges his students, never going easy on you. You respect him and like his teaching style. But a few weeks ago, in one of his lectures, he said that he is soon retiring because of health reasons. The announcement came unexpected.
Since then, no one knows who will replace him. No information, no photo, no name – just an email from the student council with the vague sentence “We're looking forward to a fresh, modern perspective in the Criminology department." And then... he enters the room.
You don't know whether you notice his voice or his face first. Maybe both at the same time. "Good morning. I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm excited to be exploring criminology with you starting this semester - with an eye on the reality out there,” he says when he comes in.
He's tall, slim, with an almost outrageously casual elegance. Shirt, dark brown blazer, sleeves slightly rolled up. His hair is messy and curly. And his eyes... those eyes. You can't look away. Your heart is beating faster. What the hell is wrong with you? You usually never get distracted, especially not because of a man.
You’re one of the students who always writes everything down, who thinks along, analyzes, asks critical questions. But at this moment? You have no idea what he's saying. Something about the history of profiling, you think. Or is it forensic psychology? You look at your notebook. Empty. Your pen lies there. Untouched.
As he explains the semester's outline, your gaze keeps wandering to him. Not just because he's handsome - that's almost beside the point. It's the way he moves, the way he speaks. The way he treats the topics as if they were alive. As if he weren't just teaching them, but understanding them on a whole other level. He's smart. And not just "I have a doctorate" smart.
And you? You sit there, as if hypnotized. Completely distracted. Your mind is racing. You don't know what to do. The semester hasn't even really started yet, and you know you're in trouble.
-
Since that first Monday, something has changed. You still arrive on time, sit in your usual seat, prepared and yet it happens every time. As soon as he enters the room, your mind is blank. Not blank-blank, but full – with the wrong thoughts.
His lecture on perpetrator typologies? Fascinating. His explanations of psychological casework at BAU? Impressive. You want to listen, you want to think along, but all you do is look at him. The way he walks around the room. The way he sometimes speaks too fast because his mind is apparently faster than his words.
He's a genius. Not in that exhausting way, but in the way that fascinates and leaves you speechless. And he's not even arrogant about it – just completely absorbed in what he's doing.
You're lost in your thoughts. More and more often, you find yourself watching his hands as he writes something down. Or how his voice changes when he talks about difficult cases. It’s more quiet, more serious, with an expression you only have when you've seen things you'll never fully forget.
You understand the content but there's this discrepancy between knowledge and performance now. You don't lose track. You trade it for thoughts that have nothing to do with the class but rather with him. In the third week, you're unprepared for the first time. It's not a disaster, but you haven't finished reading the case study. And you hate it.
You hate not being able to concentrate as much anymore. Not being properly prepared. But you've been too busy trying to explain to yourself what's actually going on with you and how to get yourself back on track.
-
It’s another Monday morning and the room fills with nervous murmuring. Spencer is standing at the front of the desk, handing out the marked exams. You don't even want to know what grade you got. The subject actually suited you. You knew the answers - at least until you looked up for a moment and saw him roll up the sleeves from his shirt. That was enough to completely distract you.
You wait, trying not to let on, but your gaze keeps wandering to him. You're trying really hard to ignore him. But it's not working. As he places your exam on your desk, he gives you a quick nod. You can barely look at him. When you glance at the grade, the infatuation immediately disappears.
You understand the material. You used to be the best. But lately, your mind seems to be more focused on your professor than on studying. You shove the papers into your bag and are about to head for the door when you hear your name. You freeze. His voice hits you like an electric shock. You slowly turn around.
"We need to talk about your exam. Let's say around 3 p.m in my office?” he asks. You feel hot. Not from fear but because your mind immediately runs through a thousand scenarios. You nod. "Yeah, sure," you mumble, trying to hide your blush. "Fine," he says and smiles before he goes back to his papers.
-
Now you're standing in front of the building. Third floor, left corridor. Room 3.17. His office. It's 2:56 p.m. You arrived way too early, hiding in the library for ten minutes, but now you're here. You take a deep breath and try to stay calm. Your heart isn't cooperating. This is just a conversation. Maybe he wants feedback. Maybe it was just a bad exam. Maybe he's noticed how you look at him in every lecture - then you have a problem.
You push your hair back from your face and knock. "Come in." You press the handle and step inside. He's standing at the window, just turning around. Shirt, sleeves rolled up. And oh god, he’s wearing glasses. Your brain is on strike. "Hello," you say. Or do you think that? No, you're really saying it. Luckily, your voice sounds more stable than you feel.
He nods at you. "It's great to have you here. Please sit down." You take a seat, put down your bag, and try not to appear nervous. He sits down and folds his hands. "I wanted to talk to you about your exam," he begins calmly. "You were one of Professor Hartmann's strongest students. According to him, your contributions were precise and analytical. He specifically praised you." You nod.
"That's why your grade surprised me," he says. "The analysis was superficial. And I wouldn't have expected those mistakes from you." You want to say something. An explanation. But your mouth remains dry. So you just nod. Then he asks, "Is there anything going on in your life that distracts you from studying?" You look at him. A moment too long. Your lips part. But what are you trying to say?
That he’s the reason? That your head is chaos every time he enters the room? You swallow. "It's nothing bad," you say quietly. He raises an eyebrow, tilts his head. He's analyzing you. Reading you. "Good," he says. "Then let's change that. I think there's more to you than this grade shows." His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer. You nod and try to avoid his eyes. Sitting here, alone with him, in his office - it makes you nervous.
For a moment it is quiet and you are about to say that you should leave now when he speaks up again. "You know, it's not hard to see that you were a little... distracted." Your heart races and your eyes widen. Oh no. You know you've just given too much away. "Don't worry," he continues. "I understand. Thoughts sometimes take on a life of their own. Especially when you're sitting across from someone so... fascinating."
Fascinating. The word echoes in your head. You feel like he knows exactly what he's doing. And you have no idea how you'll ever get out of this. He leans back and looks at you, a small smile on his lips, while you almost feel like he's secretly wondering how much longer you'll last without blushing with embarrassment.
He raises an eyebrow, as if trying to read you - as if he's already read you. "Or did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?" Your heart skips a beat. Heat crawls up your neck. Too late. Your eyes give you away and he sees it. He continues leaning back ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. It’s a slow, calculated move, as if he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out.
He knows exactly what he’s doing, how he’s doing it. And you have no idea how you’ll escape this, or if you even want to. He watches you as though he’s already playing a game you don’t know the rules to. His lips curl slightly, a hint of something almost teasing. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you. "I wonder..." His voice lowers and he leans closer to you, "What exactly occupies that pretty little head of yours... to the point where you almost forget how obvious it all is."
He lets the words hang in the air, like a challenge or a threat. And as you hold your breath, you realize: you’ve already lost. The only question is whether you’ll admit it - or if he’ll make you. Your breath hitches, barely audible, but it’s enough. His eyes flicker. He looks pleased. Not surprised. Like he was expecting it, like he was hoping for it.
You try to speak, to say something, but you can’t get a word out. He stands up, walks around his desk and comes closer to you. You can smell the faint trace of coffe and books. You blink once and suddenly he’s in your space, hovering just at the edge of touch, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. He doesn’t touch you, that would make it too easy.
“I think,” he says slowly, every word deliberate, “you like pretending you still have control.” His gaze drops for the briefest second and when it meets yours again, it’s different. Full of lust and desire. “But you gave that up the second you lied to me.” You feel your heart beating faster and faster.
He leans in, mouth near your ear now. “The question, sweetheart, isn’t whether I noticed,” his breath is warm, intoxicating, “it’s what I’ll do now that I have.” Something inside you unravels. His lips linger against your ear, resting there like he belongs there, like he’s earned the right to touch you this way. And maybe he has. Maybe that’s the most dangerous part: how natural it feels now, to have him this close, this deep under your skin.
You exhale shakily as his hand trails lower, fingertips ghosting along your thigh, teasing, never quite where you want them, where you need them. Your hips shift instinctively, seeking more, but he only smirks, dragging his mouth down your neck, each kiss deliberate, maddening. "Still holding on?" he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing just below your collarbone.
You want to challenge him. Tell him he hasn't won. That you're still in control. But the words never make it past your lips. Because his hand finally slides exactly where you need him, and your body arches into his like it was made for this moment. A quiet curse slips from your mouth, caught somewhere between surrender and desire, and he drinks in the sound like it's a reward.
He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded and burning. "Say it. Say you want this." And you do - god, you do -but your pride clings to silence even as your body betrays you, trembling beneath his touch. He leans in again, this time pressing his lips to yours, his breath uneven, his control clearly thinning.
“Why don’t you get up and lock the door for me, sweetheart?” he asks and that’s the moment you give in. You've dreamed about it so often, so why not take the chance and make it come true? Besides, you're too much turned on right now to leave. It’s wrong, you know that - he’s your professor after all - but you don’t care. You want him. You need him.
So you get up and quickly lock his door. When you turn back to him, he's leaning against his desk, grinning. "See, it wasn't that hard to listen to me, was it?” he says and motions for you to come closer. Your heart has never beat as fast as it does now and when you feel his lips on yours again, you could swear that it is bursting with excitement.
He doesn't stop kissing you, even as he shifts, fitting his body more fully against yours, like he's been waiting for this moment far longer than he'd ever admit. His hand slides behind your knee, lifting your leg to wrap around his hip, guiding you into him with aching precision. The friction alone draws a gasp from your lips-and his in return. "You feel that?" he growls softly, teeth grazing your jaw. "That's what you do to me."
There's no space left between you now and you cling to him, hands roaming, greedy, nails dragging under his shirt and down his back just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. Then he moves, a slow roll of his hips that sets every nerve in your body alight. It's maddening, torturous. “Oh god, Professor. I - I need more.” He slides his hand up your thigh slowly, stopping where you need him the most.
“Then beg for it,” he says. “What?” you ask, confused. “You heard me. Beg for it. Beg me to touch you, to fuck you, to ruin you,” he says and smirks. “I’m not going to beg,” you say, annoyed that he’s not giving you what you want so bad. “Then I won't fuck you, it's that simple. And I don’t think you want that, do you?” he asks you and pushes against you. You can feel how hard he is and it drives you crazy.
“I hate you,” you hiss out, grinding against him in order to release some friction. He grabs your hips and holds them still before leaning down to whisper in your ear. “No, you don’t. And now, be good girl and beg. If you keep making this difficult there won’t be much time left for me to fuck you and that would be such a shame, considering I wanted to take my time to worship you like you deserve it,” he says.
You didn’t think it was possible, but these words turn you on even more. You need him, now, everywhere. You push your pride aside and look up to him through your lashes, roaming your hands over his chest and opening the first buttons of his shirt while maintaining eye contact. “Please, Professor. I need you to touch me. I need you to fuck me. Please make me come on your cock,” you say and he looks pleased.
“See, that was not hard, was it?” he asks but you ignore him. He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your throat - anywhere he can reach. "You're mine now," he breathes, hips grinding more against you, slower, enough to leave you trembling. "Every inch of you,” he says before he finally slips his hand up your skirt again, grazing your clit through your panties. You shiver.
His hand tugs at your panties before he pulls them to the side, sliding a finger through your folds. “Now look at that. You’re already soaked,” he says with a smirk and slips a finger inside you, while his thumb circles your clit. You moan out loud and his other hand covers your mouth immediately. “Shh, sweetheart. You have to keep quiet for me if you don’t want us to get caught,” he says.
The thought makes you clench around his finger and he chuckles. “Interesting. You like the idea of getting caught, don’t you?” he asks and pushes another finger in. You bite down on your lip in order to stay quiet because he is right - you don’t want to get caught. Not here, not now. But the thought definitely turns you on. “Answer me,” he says, pumping his fingers faster. “Y-yes, I - I do.”
Your legs begin to shake and you hold onto his arms in order to still stand up straight. He notices your struggle and lifts you up so you sit on his desk. He finally takes your panties off, stuffing them in his pocket. You spread your legs wider for him and he looks pleased at the sight in front of him. “Please fuck me, Professor. I need you so bad,” you whine but he shakes his head.
“Not yet. I have to taste you first,” he says and leans down, his head disappearing between your thighs. He wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you close to him before he leans forward and places a kiss on your cunt. You can feel his breath on you and reach for his hair, pulling him closer against you. Then his tongue finally makes contact with your cunt, flicking over your clit first. You gasp out loudly, tugging at his soft, brown curls and looking down to him.
Seeing your Professor down on his knees, between your thighs is a sight you will never forget. He eats you out like he wants to draw every last sound out of you. And he does. When he finally starts to push his tongue into you, he drinks all your whimpers and moans in like they're fuel, like they prove something, and in the way he watches you, you realize that this isn't just about lust. This is control. Intimacy. A claiming.
He adds his fingers again and the pleasure becomes too much. Your toes are curling and you can feel your orgasm approaching. Spencer can tell that you’re close too. He sucks at your clit again and your mind goes blank. But then he suddenly pulls back. You pant and give him an angry look. “What are you doing? I was close,” you breath out, already fucked out. “I know. But I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says.
“Asshole,” you hiss through gritted theeth and he shakes his head in disappointment. “That's no way to talk to your professor. It looks to me like I need to give you a lesson in respect,” he says. “I -“ you begin but he already pulls you from the table before turning you around and bending you over it. He pulls down your skirt in one quick motion before his hand roams over your ass.
You turn around to look at him, to snap at him, to tell him you hate him for doing that but you can’t because his hand is coming down onto your ass, spanking you. You didn’t expect that but it turns you on immensely. “Count and take your punishment like a good girl,” he says. “O -one,” you breath out and feel a wave of excitement washing through you. He was really not lying when he said he’s making all your dreams come true. Because as much as you hate to admit it, this is what you dreamed about too.
His hand comes down again and you feel the sharp pain again. But it feels good. You didn’t think it’s even possible but every minute with him turns you on even more. You push against him to show him you want more, feeling his hard cock again. “Oh you are enjoying this, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asks and you nod. His hand comes down again and you continue counting. After ten strikes he decides that you have enough.
“That’s it, you took it like a good girl for me,” he says and leans down to kiss your neck gently. It’s a sweet, caring moment and it makes you feel safe with him. However, you’re still turned on, especially after he punished you like this. “Will you fuck me now?” you ask him eagerly and he laughs. “Of course, sweetheart. You think I don’t want to feel your pretty pussy wrapped around my cock?” he says and begins to open his pants.
When he finally pulls out his cock your eyes widen. He is big, way bigger than you always expected. He strokes his cock a few times and you watch him with a hungry look in your eyes. If you weren't so turned on right now, you'd be embarrassed about how much you want him, need him. But you don’t care, who blames you? He's hot and smart, the perfect combination.
He comes closer and finally slides his cock through your folds, hitting your clit and teasing you yet again. “Just - just fuck me already,” you hiss out through gritted teeth. When he stops you quickly add a “Please, Professor” and he praises you. “Good girl, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Then he finally pushes in.
It feels even better than you expected. You can’t help but moan out his name loudly. “Shh, quiet sweetheart,” he reminds you and you nod. He’s right. You don’t want anyone to find out or worse, get interrupted right now. Not now, when you finally have him.
He starts to pound into you and your eyes roll back in pleasure. The sensation of him inside you drives you crazy. Low groans fell from Spencer's lips when one of his hands moved to your clit, rubbing rough circles. The way you move with him, the way your body responds, open and aching and utterly undone - that's your surrender.
And he feels it. You can tell in the way he growls your name like it's sacred. “You look so good like this, completely fucked out by your Professor,” he says and his pace falters, deepens, roughens. The rhythm between you spirals into something frantic, raw-beautiful in its chaos. The kind of connection that blurs the line between pleasure and need. Between dominance and devotion.
When he hits the right spot over and over again and trails his hand down to circle your clit, you completely lose it. You clench around him and he knows you’re close. He almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. He pushes deeper, increasing his pace until he’s close too. But instead of making you two come together, he pulls out. “What the fuck are you -“ you start but he shifts, pulling you up from his desk to push you on your knees. “Open,” he says and you obey, taking his cock in your mouth to swallow his cum.
You think he has something else planned for you, convinced he still wants to make you come but when he finished and starts to put himself together again you give him a questioning look. “What are you doing?” you ask him. “As you can see, we’re done, sweetheart. I’m putting myself back together. My office hours start soon. You have to leave now,” he simply says and sits down at his desk. “Are you fucking serious?” you ask furiously. “I didn’t even come,” you say.
“Only good girls - good students - get to come. And you haven't been that lately. Show me you're getting better, focus on your exams, get a better grade the next time and you'll get what you deserve,” he says with a smirk on his face and you are so angry, so frustrated that you can’t get a word out for about a minute. Then you have an idea.
He’s not playing fair, but you can do that too. “I can just report you, you know,” you say. You never plan to do that, but he doesn’t need to know that. He looks up and laughs before getting up from his chair, walking around his desk and slowly approaching you again. Your whole body is shaking with anger, frustration and pleasure. “You can, but you won’t,” he says with a grin on his face.
"Oh yeah, and how do you know that?" you ask him defiantly. “Because these lips long for me," he says and unexpectedly pushes a finger inside you again. You tremble. Oh god, he just knows you too well. “And in order for these lips to get what they want, these lips,” he says and traces his finger over your lips. “have to stay quiet.”
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
wordcount: 5.1k
pairing: professor!tom riddle x f!you
warnings: 18+, age gap, professor x student, manipulation, praise kink.
author's note: english is not my first language, so, please feel free to correct my grammar or any other mistakes! thanks for reading xo
summary: your favourite DADA professor is more than happy to teach you new things. even if it lies beyond the curriculum.
Masterlist
“Come on, girl! You can’t be serious,” your roommate pouted. “Stop being such a teacher’s pet!”
She’s been begging you to come with her to the victory party — Slytherin hammered Gryffindor again — tonight for the whole day. Her desperate pleas were ringing in your ears; chirpy notes of her high-pitched voice were giving you a hell of a headache.
“I’ve told you already — I’ve got an extra DADA class today with Professor Riddle!” You finally turned around to face her, your hands clutching a small bag with fresh parchments and a worn-out book Professor gave you for additional reading. “Besides, I hate parties and you know it.”
You furrowed your brow. That stupid nickname she gave you a year ago — ‘teacher’s pet’ — was driving you completely insane every time she says it around you or when you two are in the company of other friends. Is that your problem everyone thinks being drunk, high or with someone’s tongue down their throats is better than education? Of course it isn’t! Yeah, maybe sometimes, when your eyes are on the verge of crying blood or when you wake up in your chair with terrible back pain and ink-stained shirt, you think that you waste your golden years in Hogwarts. But when you look at that small, almost non-existent smile Professor Riddle rewards you with for another ‘O’ on your essay… Fuck. You push those intrusive thoughts to the side and read, read, read until you forget that real life is actually happening around you.
“I hate you,” she groaned and threw up her hands in defeat. “You traded our friendship for him of all people!”
“What are you talk—” you were cut off by her angry growl.
“If you thought that being a fucking swot will get you in his pants — you are gravely mistaken.” She took a step closer, her disdain for you is pretty palpable — reach out a hand and it will burn you down. “You are not the first and definitely not the last. Stop being delusional and try to live a little, okay? Who do you think you are?”
Her voice rose; plushy cheeks were red as her fingernail she was stubbing you with. “You thought he will notice you? You? A pathetic and ugly dimwit? You don’t even know how to kiss!” She hurled the insult at your face, as if she had been dying to bring up the subject in the first place. Yeah, maybe you didn’t know how to kiss or had never been with a man, but at least you knew how to protect yourself and what was right. “Go, run to your master and try not to drool all over yourself when he spares you an ounce of his attention!”
The door was slammed shut behind your roommate with a heavy, heart-crushing bang. Though, you weren’t sure if it was the door that broke it or the truth that washed over you like a cold wave. It doesn’t matter what caused the destruction when the healed wound was bleeding all over your chest again, soaking up your white shirt in crimson red.
If anyone dared to ask what your favourite colour was — you would say ‘green’. Why? Because it reminds you of the Curse that Professor had taught you. The same Curse that was gleaming on the tip of your wand right now. Or the same Curse that echoed in the black obsidian eyes of your Professor a week ago in the gloomy darkness of the Forbidden Forest.
He names it extracurricular activities. You name it learning from the best.
***
“No, your wand is an extension of you. If you think that moving it like that will give you any result — I’d better bring you a stick. At least that way you can poke out your enemies’ eyes.” Professor Riddle’s stern voice sliced through a thick, charged atmosphere with a sharpened blade. He had mastered that icy tone throughout his short teaching career.
The young, promising Professor changed the lives of Hogwarts students. He was around twenty-seven, maddeningly smart, ambitions as high as the Astronomy Tower, that he already gained himself a position as the Head of Slytherin House. His teaching methods were a combination of I’ll-make-you-read-the-whole-library-in-order-to-pass-a-single-test and I’ll-make-you-scrub-off-the-Nogtail’s-shit-with-a-toothbrush.
Of course he wasn’t like that all the time.
He built up a reputation as a venerable Professor who really gives a shit about his subject. You can certainly say it was his passion. Even though his chiseled face always had that look of a cold indifference and annoyance, you can see a spark igniting his empty eyes every now and then when you answer his questions right.
But that wasn’t what made him a fucking Hogwarts star. No… It was his looks. Hell, how many times have you heard his name being whispered amongst the girls’ population of the school with not-so-innocent undertones. Tall, handsome, with dark brown locks falling over his pale forehead, broad shoulders and hands — Merlin, those hands — with long fingers that could easily snap your neck in half or make your body sing. Professor Tom Riddle carried his mysterious, unapproachable and enigmatic nature like a trophy. A coveted trophy everyone, who had two eyes and a brain, was dreaming of touching. You have never tried to comprehend the effect he had on older students when you were younger. Until you became one.
And you have found yourself tangled in that sticky, dense web, weaved by his silky-smooth voice and wry smirks.
“I’m trying!” You hissed in frustration, gripping your wand with a sweaty palm.
“It’s not ‘trying’ — it’s ‘wasting my time’.” Professor Riddle stood up from his wooden desk and took a measured step towards you with his arms crossed over his chest.
You focused on the training dummy again. Its silly features were mocking you with a hand-painted sneer and two soulless holes where the eyes should be. You imagined the round face of your roommate, her stupid loud voice and laughter, which always felt like someone was running a fingernail across a chalkboard.
A pathetic and ugly you replayed in your head — your hold on the wand became firmer.
You are not the first and definitely not the last those words were stinging like a Venomous Tentacula’s juice — the spell bit the tips of your fingers.
You don’t even know how to kiss has been carved inside your skull with red nails of your friend — fire embers flashed just for a second before they died, not even reaching the stupid dummy.
“Fuck!” You snapped and stamped your foot like a child.
In other circumstances you would never let yourself be consumed with rage. You are above irrelevant bursts of emotions; you are better than this. But now… Now you would gladly be punching the dummy with bare hands just to wipe that smirk off its scuffed surface.
“Language.” Professor’s voice cut through the haze of self-pity you instantly felt after your little stunt. “If I hear you swearing again, I will send you to Professor Slughorn. He needs assistance collecting Leech juice these days.”
The thought itself made you cringe. Slimy, repulsive bloodsuckers you would rather turn into greasy smear against sand. And instead of being angry now you were shuddering with disgust.
“I’m sorry, Professor Riddle,” you whispered, studying the burning marks on the floor left by your failed Bombarda.
Your face was flushed with embarrassment, fingers trembling around the wand, and your lower lip caught in the battle against your teeth. Maybe she was right — you were nothing more than a pathetic dimwit, whose life consists only of homework and perfect marks. Sometimes there was a glimpse of your silly crush on Professor, but overall, your existence had been a miserable waste of air.
You heard his soft footsteps behind, approaching you with caution and laziness. Sandalwood, warm spice and something sweet caught you off guard; you missed the moment he appeared in front of you. Now he was staring down with a scornful look and visible disappointment at the corners of his mouth.
“What’s wrong with you today?” It wasn’t ‘I care about you’ type of question, but ‘explain yourself before I kick you out’.
“Nothing, Professor,” you said under your breath, still lost in the delicious scent of his cologne. You wanted to let it settle in your bones, let it sink into your skin and run through your veins. But all you could do was write down another thing you liked about your Professor — his smell. It was a pretty long list stored somewhere between your late-night fantasies and deepest desires (those two were very similar).
“It’s interfering with our study-plan for today. I have neither patience nor time for prying it out.” His annoyance was mixing with yours, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. “I give you one last chance to speak before I force it out of you. You know how painful Legilimency can be.”
Oh, you knew it firsthand. It was like someone was scooping out your brain with a spoon, leaving nothing but nerve-wracking sensation of being naked to the very core. And all your meticulously organized (in alphabetical order, of course!) shelves would be reduced to a pile of junk. No, you can’t let him do that again. Not for love or money. But that ‘love’ thing sounds nice, to be honest…
You let out a heavy sigh, trying to come out with an acceptable excuse.
“I had a nightmare today, Professor. About my family and my bro—”
“It’s a lie,” he snorted, the sudden sound left you startled.
“What?! No, I—” You raised your chin to look at him and was met with his piercing, unsettlingly calm gaze.
A quiet storm that was about to turn into a disastrous hurricane. You involuntarily hunched your shoulders.
“You are lying.” He stepped closer until he was towering over you, a warm light of the candles casting sharp shadows across his features like it was carving him out of the darkness itself. He tilted your face to the left and right with his thumb and index finger, pressing on your jaw with enough force to make your lips part. Your heart was thudding against your ribcage so hard you were sure he could hear it. Hell, the whole castle could hear its plaintive beating!
“Tell me what happened. Now.” His demand sent a strange sensation down your spine. “Speak.”
You swallowed a giant lump and looked him in the eyes. How could you say it to Professor Riddle? Professor McGonagall was one thing — you could trust her with your secrets and worries, but Riddle? Tom Riddle, who was the cause of those secrets and worries? Fuck no.
Maybe someone had cast a Mimblewimble curse on you, but you could only stare at him in panic.
His black eyes narrowed, you felt tingling in the back of your skull, a nauseating pounding began to dig into your brain like a poisonous needle. You whimpered painfully, hands jolted towards his forearms, and you grabbed them for support, because you could lose consciousness at any moment. A thread of slipping reality knotted and you panted a weak: “Stop, please. I’ll tell you.”
It was gone as fast as it started but left you tired and aching.
“Good. Begin.” His voice is low, commanding, cutting off any escapes. He released your chin, and you realized that you were gripping his wrists with your cold fingers. It was not the first physical contact between you, but this time it was different, that it painted your neck in pink.
“I—I had a conversation with my roommate. She wanted me to go to the party, but I said that I have a lesson with you! And she laughed at me, called me pathe—” you blurted out, closing your eyes in shame and pity for your shit of an excuse.
“Stop. I get it.” Professor Riddle clicked his tongue; you could feel his indifference and contempt for your dumb little problems with your friends. “Why were she laughing at you?”
You chew on the inside of your cheek. Why is he even asking you that? Wasn’t he satisfied with your answer? You knew how he liked mocking his students and looking down on their squirming, relishing the way they were embarrassing themselves in front of him. But with you… It was something unusual even for him. He was taking great pleasure in playing with you, tugging at your cute heart he knew was yearning for him.
Tom Riddle was a master of perceptiveness and observation — skills he had honed over the years of studying at Hogwarts and working in Borgin and Burkes.
Your dreamy gazes at him, scribblings in your black leather diary, the little changes in your voice and that eagerness to please him in every DADA lesson earned you a small space in his shredded soul. He could have any other girl in that fucking school he grew hated or even the new Astronomy Professor who was trying very hard to get his attention with her sultry smiles and suggestive comments about something written in the stars etc. etc… He could report her to the Headmaster (even though he hated Dumbledore as much as he hated him), but it was kind of funny and fed his ego.
“I can’t tell you, Professor,” you answered with your lips quivering. “Please, I promise it will never happen again. You will never hear fr—”
“Miss.” Your name sounded so harsh but satisfying at the same time coming from his mouth. He stretched every vowel of your name with a velvety tone. Oh, no. You fucked. “I’m the Head of your house; I have taught you many things you would never be able to grasp without my help. And, most of all, you opened your mind to me, darling. There should be nothing between us anymore. Am I wrong?”
It was wrong. The moment he caught himself staring a little longer at your bare legs (he would be scolding you later for inappropriate length of the skirt after he would be done with images of hiking it up over your ass), or how you would occasionally unbutton your shirt, because it was too hot in the classroom. The line of your collarbones, your pale skin with a small mole just under your pulse point... Hell, it was wrong in every possible way.
But Tom Marvolo Riddle, who kills people and teaches the Unforgivable Curses to his most promising student, never knew the word ‘wrong’.
“You aren’t, Professor.” You took a deep breath and finally met his curious eyes. “She was laughing at me because I’ve been choosing you over parties and… “ you had to take a moment to collect yourself, “because I don’t know how to kiss.”
You thought that he would laugh at your face, call you a fool and kick out of the classroom with a no-return ticket, but he gave you a strange reaction. His brow arched, a small, almost patronizing tilt of his head and that faint smile that made your knees weak.
“Is that so?” His tall figure shielded you from the world around, leaning over you with his hands tucked in his pockets. “You don’t know how to kiss?”
Why was that the only thing he pressed on? You are embarrassed to the point of wishing that the freaking earth would finally swallow you. It would be easier than admitting your lack of experience to the Professor who had been occupying your mind since the fifth year. Those innocent thoughts of him praising your competence turned into messy, wet fantasies of his hands, lips… You got used to waking up with damp underwear and sweaty body, still fuzzy from the sugary-sweet dreams.
“No, Professor,” you replied.
“Does it bother you?” His low, deep voice rumbled just a step away from you.
Salazar, why was he so smug? Like it was giving him immense pleasure in knowing that fact about your sad life.
You could feel the heat radiating from him, the magnetism of his presence filling every part of you. It wasn’t gentle, no. It was suffocating, leaving you with nothing but a burning desire to embrace the darkness and the inevitable fate he brings down upon the heads of his victims. You saw how ruthless he can be. Fuck, you felt the Death’s touch on your skin when you were helping him with his research on the dark magic. And that only fueled your obsession with Professor Riddle.
“Yes,” you weren’t quick to answer. The truth had a copper taste of despair and a salty note of your sorrow. Your roommate was right — you are not the first and not the last in that pretty long line of smitten girls. He would never look at you the way he looks at that whore of the Astronomy Professor.
Professor Riddle walked around you, reached his desk and leaned against it. He was watching, reading, studying you like an exquisite book he finally got his hands on.
“Come here,” he said with a tinge of affection, and that took a giant bite out of your heart. You hesitated for a moment and he sighed impatiently. “I won’t ask twice.”
Later you would call it a walk of shame, because he definitely saw the way it was hard for you to cross that path with jelly-like legs. There was no turning back — just closer, stand before him like a misbehaving student waiting for detention.
Oh, but you were far from it. No, you are his favourite student. The one he sees himself in. It didn’t stop him from craving you, though, because he knew — you would never betray or refuse him.
Yeah, it was wrong. But has he ever done the right things?
Maybe he could start with you.
His polished oxfords were the most interesting thing in the world. A few inches and your own boots will touch it, connect you to the most terrifying and desired man in Hogwarts.
“Do you trust me?” His hand gently fondled your chin, lifting your head to look him in the eyes. The contact made you shudder; a hot, electric jolt licked at your insides. The handsome features of his face did nothing to hide his growing eagerness to crack you open, to let himself inside that brilliant pretty head of yours.
“I trust you, Professor.” Your own voice sounded so weak, almost unsure. But you would do anything for him — you both understand it perfectly. Was it a problem for you? No. Was it a problem for him? Yes.
The chilly air of his private office turned into heated embrace, wrapping around your throat like a leash. And the other end was in Riddle’s hands only.
“You know how to boil someone’s blood, how to curse the person’s whole lineage. I have taught you how to kill, how to torture your enemies, and how to bend them to your will.” His honeyed words caressed your skin like smooth touches, while his other hand moved to your waist, fingers carefully playing with the emerald-green vest. “But I believe it’s time to broaden our study-plan a little, don’t you agree?”
Your breath hitched in your throat, the leash closing around it with a firm tug, bringing you closer to his body.
“What are you doing, Professor?” He deliberately, enjoying your reaction, brushed your lower lip with his thumb. “Prof—”
“Teaching you, Miss.” He smirked, eyes glued to the sight of your shivering body, your full lips parted for him. Salazar, Merlin, or any other god, please, help him control his desire to bend you over his desk and fuck that sweet, tight cunt of yours with your face smashed against his desk. He must remain professional. Start slowly, from the first chapters, like those teaching plans he has been preparing for his students every new year. “We wouldn’t want anyone to go on laughing at you, would we, darling?”
His finger pressed on your lower lip, forcing you to open your mouth wider. Black, darkly sympathetic eyes staring into your soul, peeling every layer of it with his second hand, that settled on your hip. His grip was hard, demanding, but still leaving you with a choice to run.
You could call yourself stupid, miserable, unlucky, but you will never say the word ‘coward’.
You took his thumb into your mouth and gave it a lick. A faint taste of ink and expensive parchments — it was his signature. Professor’s smirk didn’t falter, but a surprised gasp still escaped him.
“Good,” he encouraged you, pushing his finger deeper until it pressed down on your tongue. You leaned closer to his body, hands on either side of his hips. The cold surface of the wooden desk prickled at your skin — it didn’t even try to cool it down.
Your glossy eyes were so endearing, charming in their own, innocent way. And he knew your dirty secrets, all of them. After all, he was the one who opened that door for you.
“Now sit.” He suddenly released his hold on you and pushed off the desk, gesturing for you to take his place. “Don’t make me wait, we are short on time.”
You nodded and carefully lifted your body to sit on his desk, the crumpled parchments dug into the skin of your legs, and you winced at discomfort. The new position would not only allow him to indulge in his dark fantasies but also make you feel more relaxed.
Professor Riddle adjusted his shirt cuffs, savoring the way you were watching him with dilated pupils and a cute blush all over your cheeks. You had been wet from the moment you heard his voice greeting you today, and the uncomfortable sensation of your damp underwear made you press your thighs together. He noticed it, of course he did.
“You will listen to me, okay?” Riddle placed his hands too close to your hips, the tips of his fingers grazing the fabric of your skirt. “Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” you whispered, trying to calm down your racing heartbeat.
“Adress me properly.” His tone was laced with amusement and complacency, hot breath ghosting over your neck.
Dark brown locks fell onto his forehead and brought absolute darkness over his eyes. The only source of light in them — a faint flicker of the charmed candles. It was past curfew already, the party must be getting into full swing, and you could already picture yourself returning to your dorm with a drunken roommate who hadn’t even made it to her bed.
“What have I told you?” Professor’s harsh question brought you back to the reality that looked like a fucking dream. Someone, please, pinch you. Or better not. Let it stay like that forever.
“I understand, Professor,” you quickly corrected yourself. “What should I do next?”
“So eager to please me already?” He chuckled, bringing his hand to your face. “Nice, I wasn’t wrong about you.”
You always liked his praises. Every lesson you were trying to earn as much of it as possible, ignoring the judgmental stares and that stupid nickname your dumb friend gave to you.
“Follow my lead, okay? I will start slow. If anything feels off, don't hesitate to let me know, alright?” Salazar, he should definitely ask for a pay raise for being such a good, merciful professor. He said it just for the sake of staying professional. Of course, once he begins, he won’t be able to stop. Not when you were looking at him like he was a God. Your silent praise, tempting smile and that small movement of your legs, opening for him to stand between them.
“Yes, Professor.” Your trembling fingers gripped the edge of the desk. “I would let you know.”
You wouldn’t.
“What a good girl you are.” He carefully spread your knees wider; you swallowed. “Hm? You like it when I praise you?”
His lingering touch moved higher, to the hem of your skirt, as if he was scolding you for inappropriate length again. Riddle’s mouth found your ear, gently brushing away strands of your hair. His warm breath sent a spark into your abdomen that soon will turn into a roaring flame of need and lust. The painful clenching in your pussy was enough of the prove how you liked to be praised.
“Yes, I always take to heart everything you say to me.” You hesitantly, even scared, laid your palm on his. It was a reckless decision from your stupid heart. The one you should be ashamed of.
But to your relief he interlaced his fingers with yours, guided them to his shoulder. “It can be a bit tricky to figure out what to do with your hands. You could grip my shoulders or even wrap your arms around me. I happen to be in a good mood today.” His instructions were clear, but you still found yourself distracted with the way his voice sounded in your ear — intimate, syrupy, coating your mind in a honey-like dizziness.
You nodded, running your hands over the fine fabric of his white shirt. His muscles tensed under your touch, and you instantly regretted it, thinking that he might be repulsed by you. Little did you know that Tom Riddle could hardly hold his urges back. The strain in his trousers became unbearable, needy for your warmth and wetness he knew was soaking up your underwear.
But that is the lesson for another time.
“Darling, you smell absolutely amazing,” he muttered into your skin, his fingers gripping your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk, but a safe distance from his bulge. “I knew you would always be that good for me.”
Riddle dragged his mouth across your hot cheek until it hovered over your slightly parted one. A shared breath. A shared secret that will always be sealed behind the closed doors of his office.
His lips were unexpectedly (knowing they were throwing cruel words and deadly spells) soft and warm, they deliberately captured your lower lip, traced it with his tongue, drawing a whimper out of you. You arched your back, pressing your chest into his, while your fingers were digging into his shoulders for support. Hell, you must be sleeping again, trapped in those illusions of your favourite Professor doing things to you that you could only dream of.
Your heart was quite the performer to do such a cartwheel that it made your head spin. Hell, if that was how kissing actually felt, you should have started sooner.
And lose the opportunity to gift it to Professor Riddle? No. He would never allow you to do that with anyone but him.
“Open your mouth a little wider for me, darling,” it was an order wrapped in an angelic voice. A very simple task for an obedient student like you. ”So I can show you how you should be kissing someone you like.”
He nibbled at your lower lip, then moved to the upper, staring down at you. Your face had that lovely frown of concentration that he always adored during his classes. He wonders if you would have the same look when he will show his dick down your throat? Who knows… It was just an opening lesson.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, desperately pulling him closer to your body, trembling in sweet agony from his intoxicating kiss. The flick of his tongue against your own pushed you to the roaring flames raging under your feet. You let him in, granted him control over you — the control he had the moment he set his eyes on you.
“Such a good girl,” Riddle groaned.
His restraint was wearing thin when you clung to him so fervently with your hips rolling into him, frantically mumbling whatever nonsense you were trying to get out. Were you trying to stop him? Or ask him to go on? He didn’t know. He didn’t care, actually, because when he was feeling every throb of your pussy with his length, he nearly lost it.
“Prof—” You mewled, breathing heavily between those deep, messy kisses that escalated so quickly in their intensity you were practically humping him at that point. Your Professor. Shit, that was so wrong and utterly disgusting. Did you care? Ask your heart, not mind.
His hand tangled in your hair, pulling at your locks rather roughly just to hear your delicious whimpers again. Every sound, every small roll of your hips, your tongue awkwardly moving with his — that was enough to cloud his mind with a strong desire to pull your underwear aside and just fuck you until your throat hurts from screaming and tears decorates this lovely face of yours. He wouldn’t be gentle with you, oh no. Save it just for today, darling.
Fiery hot touch of his hand on your bare thigh felt like the word finally came to its end. He stroked your sensitive skin with care; goosebumps littered your body. He savored your taste like a man starving, swallowing your moans, pushing his tongue deeper, sinking his teeth into your swollen lips. He would feast on you till that very lesson is engraved in your memory, till you find yourself craving more, unable to find the relief in other boys. No, you need him. A man.
“Fuck, you are gifted,” his wry chuckle made you blush harder. “Too much tongue and saliva, but you are excused, darling. It’s your first lesson after all.”
Professor Riddle pulled away from your mouth, covered in your mixed saliva, and licked his lips. You instantly chased him but was stopped by his firm hold in your hair. A pathetic whine left your throat, nails clawing at his shoulders.
“What a greedy little thing you are.” He grinned wickedly, his hand on your thigh adjusted your disheveled skirt that he had the imprudence of hiking up too high.
The strain in his trousers was so painful he could hardly hold his composure from cracking at the edges. And your sweaty, blissed out self with glistening kiss-swollen lips was making it impossible.
“Was it a good lesson for you, Miss?” He took a step back from you and quickly turned around before you could see the outline of his rock-hard cock.
You struggled to find your breath, whole body tense and pulsating from desire, lips burning, and your brain completely shut down.
“Has the cat got your tongue?” He gave you an unreadable look over his shoulder, and only then you noticed the wrinkled state of his shirt where your hands were gripping and twisting it.
“It was a good lesson, Professor. Thank you,” you mumbled, trying to stand on your shaking legs. “Is there going to be another one?”
“Of course. Friday, 9 o’clock.” Professor Riddle opened his door for you. “Good night, Miss. I look forward to teaching you more… interesting subjects. Don’t be shy asking me for help, pet.”
You gave him a smile.
He names it extracurricular activities. You name it learning from the best.
~Summary: After months of secretly texting an older guy you’ve grown close to, you transfer colleges for a fresh start only to discover on your first day that the man you’ve been flirting with is actually your new math professor, Steve Harrington.
~Warnings: age gap between two consenting adults, smut, p in v, oral(m receiving) little praise,professor x student and little of power dynamics.
———————————————————
You’ve been texting this older guy for a couple months now.
He told you he worked in education, but he never really went into detail about what grade he taught or who he taught. You didn’t push. You liked the mystery. You liked him more than you should.
You showed him what you looked like weeks ago, but he never sent a picture back. He always joked that he “looked tired” or “looked like a mess after work.”
Still, you didn’t mind. You liked the way he talked. You liked the way he listened.
You wished you were his age sometimes, so he wouldn’t think it was weird to want you back.
One night, you told him about the incident at your old college — the reason you transferred. He didn’t pry, didn’t push, just told you he was proud of you for leaving a place that hurt you. He said he couldn’t wait to hear about your first day at the new school.
You went to sleep with his name still glowing on your screen.
~The next morning~
You’re getting ready for your new college when your phone buzzes.
Ding.
Good morning, beautiful. Hope you have a good first day. I’m headed to work. we’re getting new students today. 🙃
You stare at the message.
Hm.
What a coincidence.
You shake it off, heart his message,grab your bag, and head out.
~At campus~
The school is massive.
Students flood the hallways, laughing, talking, trying to find their buildings. Teachers weave through the crowd, pointing lost freshmen in the right direction.
You check your schedule.
B27 — Mathematics.
You take a deep breath and walk inside.
You slip into a seat near the middle. Students settle in around you, pulling out notebooks and laptops. The room hums with first‑day nerves.
The door opens.
Your teacher walks in.
Gray suit pants.
White button-down that fits a little too well.
Black dress shoes.
Hair slightly messy, like he ran his hands through it on the way here.
God he’s hot.
He sets his bag down, looks up
And freezes.
His face goes completely red.
He’s is staring at you like he seen a ghost.
You’re not sure why he’s staring at you.
~
Class drags on
You try to focus, but your brain is buzzing.
You pull out your phone under the desk and type:
i hope your day’s going good. my new teacher keeps giving me weird looks.
Across the room, Mr.Harringtons phone buzzes.
He pauses mid-sentence.
He pulls his phone out.
He reads the message.
His eyes lift slowly, meeting yours.
He looks like he might pass out.
Hm. Weird.
~
You finish your notes when you pick up your phone to check your messages when you feel someone step closer.
His voice is low, careful, almost pleading.
“Get off your phone and pay attention to me.”
You look up.
He’s not talking to the class.
He’s talking to you.
And suddenly everything makes sense, the coincidence, the timing, the way he looked at you like he already knew you.
Because he did.
-
The room empties slowly, students drifting out in groups , talking about weekend plans.
You stay seated, pretending to organize your bag even though your hands are shaking.
Steve keeps his eyes on his desk, pretending to shuffle papers.
When the last student leaves, the door swings shut with a soft click.
Silence.
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the entire class.
“You…” His voice cracks, and he tries again. “You’re really here.”
You stand, gripping the strap of your bag. “I didn’t know you taught here.”
He laughs under his breath, not mocking, just stunned. “Yeah.”
You take a step closer. He takes a step back, like he’s afraid of what he’ll do if you get too close.
His eyes flicker over your face, softening, warming, then darting away like he’s not allowed to look at you the way he wants to.
“I wasn’t lying,” he says quietly. “About getting new students today.”
You swallow. “I wasn’t lying either. About my teacher giving me weird looks.”
That earns a real smile. Small , crooked, nervous.
He runs a hand through his hair. “This is… complicated.”
You nod. “Yeah.”
“Why have you never let me see your face, I mean.. you’re pretty handsome.”
He shrugs and goes closer to you.
“Guess I was scared that you’d stop talking to me.”
You looked at him confused.
“I meant everything I said,” he murmurs. “Every good morning. Every compliment. Every late-night conversation. Every time I told you I liked talking to you.”
“But now you’re my student,” he says, voice breaking on the word. “And I don’t know how to go about with that.”
You look up at him, pulse pounding. “What do you want to do?”
He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them. They look softer. Hungrier.
“I want…”
He stops, swallows hard.
“I want to talk to you the way I always do.”
You take a step closer.
“Then talk to me.”
His breath hitches.
“Not here,” he says. “Could get caught any moment.”
 You nod slowly.
He glances at the clock, then back at you.
“My office hours end at five,” he says quietly. “If you… if you want to come by. Just to talk.”
Just to talk.
But the way he says it feels like a promise.
You nod. “Okay.”
He steps aside, giving you space to leave. You walk toward the door, your hand on the handle.
“Hey,” he says behind you.
You turn.
“You’re even more beautiful in person.” He says softly. “Text me if you need anything.”
You smile.
“I will.”
You step into the hallway, heart racing, the door clicking shut behind you.
-
The rest of your day drags.
Every class feels twice as long. Every hallway feels too loud. Every time your phone buzzes, your heart jumps .. but it’s never him. He doesn’t text you again, and somehow that makes everything worse.
By the time the clock hits 4:52, you’re standing outside the math building, pretending you’re not counting down the minutes.
You tell yourself you’re just going to talk.
You tell yourself it’s just clarity.
You tell yourself you’re not nervous.
You’re lying.
At 4:59, you climb the stairs.
At 5:00, on the dot, you’re standing outside his office.
The door is cracked open, warm light spilling into the hallway. You hear papers shifting, a soft sigh, the scrape of a chair.
You knock gently.
The movement inside stops.
“Come in,” he says and his voice is softer than it was in class.
You push the door open.
Steve is sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, hair a little messier than before.
“You came,” he says quietly.
You close the door behind you. “You asked me to.”
He stands, almost too quickly, like he doesn’t trust himself to stay seated. He gestures to the chair across from him.
You sit.
He leans against the edge of his desk instead, arms crossed loosely.
You look down at your hands. “I didn’t know what to think.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. Me neither.”
Silence settles between you.
“I should’ve just showed you how I looked. I wasn’t hiding it to be shady. I just… like talking to you without it being a thing.”
You meet his eyes. “I like talking to you too.”
His expression softens.
“But now,” he says, voice low, “I’m standing here trying to figure out how to be your professor and still be the person you talked to every night.”
You swallow hard. “Do you want to stop talking?”
His eyes snap to yours — sharp, almost pained.
“No,” he says instantly. “God, no.”
You breathe out, relief washing through you.
He steps closer.
“I just don’t want to make this harder for you,” he says. “Or put you in a position you didn’t ask for.”
You look up at him. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
He lets out a shaky breath.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “You are.”
For a moment, neither of you moves.
Then he clears his throat, grounding himself. “Okay. So… we talk. we figure out what this is. We take it slow.”
You nod.
He smiles — small, warm, a little relieved. “Good.”
You stand, and he walks you to the door, stopping just before opening it.
his hand is hovering inches from the knob. Then, without warning, he spins you around and pins you against the wood with his body.
"I can't do this," he growls lowly, voice strained with barely contained desire. "I can't pretend like I don't want you when all I can think about is kissing you.”
His hands come up to frame your face as he leans in close - so close that you can feel his breath ghosting over your lips.
"Tell me to stop," he rasps out. "Tell me this is a bad idea.”
He leaves the sentence hanging in the air between you, eyes searching yours intently for any sign of hesitation or doubt.
Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest as you stare back at him.
"I don't want you to stop," you whisper back hoarsely after a moment's pause.
"I want... I want you to kiss me. To touch me. To make me yours."
His eyes flare with heat at your words and then his mouth is on yours - hard, hungry, demanding. He kisses you like a man starved, tongue delving deep as he presses you back against the door.
One hand tangles in your hair while the other slides down to grip your hip possessively. You moan into his mouth as he grinds against you, letting you feel exactly how much he wants this too.
"I need you," he pants out between kisses, voice rough with desire. "Need to have you….all of you."
"please" you gasp back, arching into him desperately.
He groans lowly at that plea before kissing down the column of your throat sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there until it's sure to leave marks.
"Gonna fuck you right here," he growls against your pulse point. "Bend you over my desk.”
His words send a bolt of pure lust straight to your core and you whimper needily.
"Yes... yes, please..."
He chuckles darkly at your response before pulling back just enough to start undoing his belt - the sound of the buckle clinking against the desk obscenely loud in the quiet office.
"Get on your knees," he orders roughly. "And show me how much you want this."
You kneel in front of him.
He watches you intently, eyes dark with lust and something almost feral as he takes in the sight of you kneeling before him. It makes heat pool low in your belly knowing that you're the one driving him wild like this.
"Fuck," he groans out softly as you finally get his pants undone and start pushing them down over his hips. "Been dreaming about this... About having your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock."
The admission sends a shiver through you and makes your cheeks flush hotly. You've never been spoken to so bluntly before but god if it doesn't turn you on like crazy.
"I want that too," you whisper back shyly even as your fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers next. "Want to taste you..."
He lets out a shuddery exhale at your words, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you finally free his erection from the confines of his underwear. It springs up hard and heavy between you , thick and flushed a deep red at the tip.
"Then do it," he rasps out, voice strained with barely contained desire. "Suck my cock like a good girl."
His words make you moan softly as you lean in to run your tongue along the underside of his shaft experimentally. He groans lowly at the touch, hips jerking forward slightly.
"So fucking good," he pants out, one hand coming down to tangle in your hair again encouragingly. "Take me deeper baby... Want to feel that pretty little mouth all over me."
You obey eagerly parting your lips and taking him into your mouth inch by inch until he hits the back of your throat. You gag slightly but push through it, determined to take him all the way.
"That's it baby.”
he praises as you start bobbing your head up and down his length. "Fuck, just like that... Your mouth feels-fuck."
His words spur you on and you redouble your efforts - swirling your tongue around him and hollowing your cheeks to suck harder. The sounds of wet slurping fill the room obscenely along with his increasingly ragged breathing.
"Gonna come in that pretty mouth soon," he warns after a few minutes, voice tight with impending release. "Swallow it all down for me baby... Show me how much you love tasting my cum."
The filthy words make arousal spike through you again and you moan around him - sending delicious vibrations up his shaft. He groans loudly at that, fingers tightening in your hair.
"Fuck yes... Gonna..."
He trails off into a low groan as he starts to climax. hot ropes of cum hitting the back of your throat as he pulses against your tongue.
You swallow it down greedily, not wanting to waste a single drop. The salty taste and the knowledge that you made him come undone like this is intoxicating.
"Goddamn," he pants out shakily as you finally pull off with a wet pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "That was... Fuck, that was amazing."
He hauls you up from the floor and kisses you deeply ,tongue delving into your mouth to taste himself on your lips.
"Not done with you yet though," he murmurs against your skin between kisses. "Gonna fuck this tight little pussy next... Bend you over my desk and make you scream for me."
The promise makes arousal surge through you again and you nod eagerly even as he starts walking backwards towards his desk pulling you along by the hand.
"Please... Want to feel all of you..."
He smirks at your words before spinning around suddenly and pushing down on your shoulders.
“Bend over for me sweetheart.”
he orders huskily. "Spread your legs and show me how wet you are for me already."
You obey instantly, bending at the waist to brace yourself against his desk as you part your thighs invitingly.
The position leaves you completely exposed to him, skirt hiked up around your waist, panties already soaked through with arousal. You can feel cool air kissing your heated skin and it makes you shiver.
"Fuck," he groans out from behind you, voice rough with renewed desire as he takes in the sight of you laid out before him like a feast. "Look at this pretty pussy... So fucking wet and ready for me."
He runs a finger along your slit teasingly through the damp fabric of your underwear and it makes you gasp sharply.
"Yes," you whimper out needily. "Need you... Please..."
"So impatient," he chuckles darkly even as he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and starts tugging them down slowly. "Gonna give this greedy little cunt what it wants ..."
He pulls your underwear off completely and tosses them aside carelessly before gripping your hips in both hands. You can feel the heat of his erection pressing against your ass as he leans over you - lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"Gonna fuck you so hard," he promises lowly. "Make this pussy mine... Fill it up with my cum until it's dripping down your thighs. Bet you’d like that wouldn’t you baby?."
The dirty words make arousal spike through you again and you push back against him desperately.
"Yes... Yes please Mr.Harrington..."
He groans before pulling back just enough to line himself up with your entrance. Then, with one smooth thrust, he drives into you fully - stretching and filling you completely.
"Fuck yes," he growls out as he bottoms out inside of you. "So goddamn tight beautiful.”
The sensation is overwhelming but a delicious mix of pleasure and pain as he stretches you open around his thick length. You cry out sharply at the intrusion, fingers scrabbling for something to grab on the smooth surface of his desk.
“Mmm… You’re so-fuck- so big.”
He chuckles darkly at that before starting to move, pulling back until just the tip remains inside of you before slamming forward again roughly.
"That's it baby," he praises huskily as he sets a hard, fast pace. "Take my cock like a good girl, yeah?”
The filthy words combined with the relentless thrusts quickly push you towards the edge and your inner walls start to flutter around him.
"So close," you pant out desperately, pushing back to meet his thrusts. "Gonna come... Gonna come on your cock..."
"Do it then," he orders gruffly even as one hand comes down to rub tight circles over your clit. "Come undone all over me baby.”
The added stimulation is enough to send you flying and you cry out sharply as orgasm crashes through you ..vision going white behind closed eyelids.
“fuck fuck.. i’m cumming.”
Your inner walls clamp down around him like a vice as you finish milking his cock for all it's worth. He groans loudly at the sensation, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.
"Fuck yes," he pants out, voice strained with impending release. "Gonna come too baby... Gonna fill this pussy up..."
A few more erratic thrusts and then he's coming undone behind you hot spurts of cum painting your insides as he pulses inside of you.
"Yes," you moan out weakly even as aftershocks continue to roll through you. "Give it all to me... Want every drop..."
He collapses against your back once he's finished both of you panting harshly as sweat cools on overheated skin.
"That was..." he starts before trailing off with a low groan. "Goddamn incredible."
You can only nod in agreement, too blissed out to form words at the moment. All you know is that you've never felt so thoroughly used and satisfied in your life.
And as he pulls out of you slowly, cum starting to dribble down your thighs, you can't help but think that this is just the beginning...
He kisses your shoulder then your temple.
“Did so good for me honey. Let me clean you then we go to my house yeah?”
You nod too tired to respond.
He gives you a soft reassuring kiss and gets to cleaning you up.
💭MDNI: Smut, AU where Hogwarts is also a college so reader is like a grad student, emotionally constipated Snape, secret relationship/affair, fingering, office sex, love confession
A/N: College AU!!! I'm posting some of my drafts now and going through my requests!
⸻
It’s late.
The dungeon halls are empty. No footsteps. No voices. Only the echo of your knuckles tapping lightly against his door.
One knock.
Then another.
No answer.
But the door is unwarded. Just like it always is when he’s alone. Just like it always is when he’s waiting for you—but won’t admit it.
You open it without permission.
The fire’s burning low. His coat hangs on the back of the chair. And Severus Snape sits behind his desk, one hand curled around a quill, the other resting flat on a stack of papers. He doesn’t look up.
“I didn’t summon you.”
You step inside anyway, closing the door behind you.
“You didn’t have to.”
A pause.
Then his eyes flick upward—black, unreadable, precise. They rake over you like a silent reprimand.
You step closer. Slowly. Carefully.
He doesn’t move.
Not even when you stop at the edge of his desk. Not even when your fingers skim the corner of it.
“You’re grading.”
“Evidently.”
“Want help?”
“No.”
You try not to smile.
Snape sets his quill down. He leans back slowly in his chair, studying you. Not fondly. Not affectionately. Like a man measuring temptation by the ounce.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
His eyes narrow. “You’ll be seen.”
“I came after curfew.”
“And if someone followed you?”
“They didn’t.”
His gaze sharpens. “You’re too confident in your own invisibility.”
You shift, standing straighter. But your hands betray you—curling around the edge of the desk, holding your ground.
“I just wanted to see you.”
At that, he exhales once. Quiet. Controlled.
“You wanted,” he repeats.
“Yes.”
His eyes drag over you again—your hair slightly windblown, cheeks flushed from the walk, eyes too soft for someone being scolded. And yet you don’t flinch. You never do.
He hates that about you.
Hates that you look at him like this.
Like he’s not the man who’s failed, and bled, and killed.
Like he’s still capable of being wanted.
“Come here,” he says.
It’s not a request.
You move instantly—around the desk, between his knees. Your hands settle on his shoulders before you even think about it. He smells like parchment, potion smoke, and cold air.
“Closer.”
You climb into his lap.
His hands find your hips like they always do—slow, firm, possessive. Not with urgency. With right. Like this is the only time in his day he allows himself to have something.
Your arms curl around his neck.
You kiss him.
And Snape—this man who sneers and snaps and never, ever feels in public—lets you. He lets you melt against him. Lets you sigh into his mouth. Lets your fingers tangle in his hair and your hips shift forward until he groans softly against your lips.
“Need you,” you whisper.
His hands tighten.
“You shouldn’t.”
“I know.”
“You’ll make a fool of us both.”
You press your forehead to his.
“I already have.”
He tilts his head, brushing his mouth along your jaw. His voice is low, deadly, intimate.
“You are my most reckless indulgence.”
“Then why do you keep letting me in?”
His lips hover at your ear.
“Because you are mine,” he murmurs, “and I am a selfish man.”
You shudder in his arms.
He doesn’t kiss you again. Not yet.
Just holds you there. His little secret.
And if he never speaks of it in daylight—if he never so much as glances at you in the corridor—this is why.
Because here, in the dark, with your mouth warm on his and your thighs over his lap, you are the one thing in his world he refuses to give up.
Your fingers tangle in his collar, his hair. You roll your hips forward—once, twice—and the noise he makes into your mouth is soft, sharp, dangerous.
“You wicked thing,” he breathes. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”
“I do,” you whisper, kissing him again. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
He hisses through his teeth when you roll your hips again—grinding down into his lap, letting the friction burn sweet and hot between your thighs. His hands clamp down on your hips like a vice, halting you mid-motion.
But he doesn’t push you away.
He never does.
His voice is a low growl in your ear.
“You’re going to be the death of me.”
Your eyes flutter shut. You grind down again, slower this time—letting the tension build between your bodies like smoke.
“I don’t care,” you breathe. “Just touch me.”
Snape groans quietly, his restraint unraveling by the second.
“Greedy little thing,” he mutters. “You come here in the middle of the night, climb into my lap, roll your hips against me like it’s nothing—and you ask me to touch you?”
You nod, breathless.
“Say it,” he demands, his hand slipping under your skirt—knuckles dragging up the inside of your thigh. “Say what you want.”
“I want—” You swallow. “I want you to touch me. Please.”
His palm slides higher. Your breath catches.
He smirks, dark and indulgent.
“There’s my clever girl,” he murmurs. “Begging for it.”
Then his fingers find your panties—warm, soaked—and he hisses softly through his teeth. You’re too good for him.
“Oh, you have been thinking about me, haven’t you?”
You bite your lip.
“Of course you have,” he whispers. “You’re drenched.”
You nod helplessly. His fingers press down—just barely. A brush of pressure through the fabric that makes your thighs tremble.
“Severus—please—”
“You’re going to be quiet,” he says lowly, voice dangerous and calm. “You’re going to stay on my lap and let me touch you. And you’re not going to make a sound.”
He drags the damp fabric to the side, carefully pushing a finger into your wet warmth, all the way down to the knuckle.
You gasp—quietly, clenching around him involuntarily.
He smiles, a second finger pushes into you and curls in the spot he knows makes you dizzy.
“Good girl.”
Your fingers curl tighter in his collar as his lips crush against yours again—fevered, slow, shattering. His hands—steady and unyielding—keep you right where he wants you: astride him, pressed close, surrounded.
It shouldn’t be like this.
But it always is.
The need. The warmth. The hush of the firelight curling low around his office walls. The way you reach for him like he’s the only thing that’s ever really held you up.
“Severus,” you whisper.
His name is a sin in your mouth.
He doesn’t flinch.
You kiss him harder. You roll your hips against him, desperate for more friction—more of him—more heat. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t break. He never does. His hands slide lower on your thighs, and you know he’s giving in even as he pretends he isn’t.
Your lips part from his with a soft gasp.
“I love you.”
It slips.
It lands.
He stills beneath you.
“…Do you now.”
It isn’t a question.
You keep your arms looped around his neck, heart pounding.
“You shouldn’t.”
You don’t answer. You kiss him again instead—tender and unrepentant, clinging to him like it’s already too late to take it back. Because it is. You meant it.
His hands tighten at your waist. He breathes against your mouth like he’s steadying himself, and when he kisses you back—slow and deep and bruising—it’s with the weight of someone who hasn’t allowed himself softness in years.
Your hips shift again.
You don’t mean to, not this time.
He lets you.
His mouth trails from yours to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—like he’s pressing the words back into your skin. Like he’s punishing you for meaning them.
“You don’t care,” he mutters against your throat.
“No,” you whisper.
His hands slip beneath your skirt.
Your breath catches, but you don’t stop him. You wouldn’t.
You never do.
Not with him.
“Then I won’t either,” he says.
And just like that, you fall back into him—arms around his shoulders, breathless and undone—while his hands pull your panties to the side harshly and push you apart like it’s his right.
Because it is.
At least here.
At least tonight.
At least while you’re in his arms, and the rest of the world has forgotten how to reach you.
And everywhere else, he’s your professor.
But here—beneath the hush of firelight and the quiet surrender of want—
When your favorite literature professor announced his former student would take over his lessons for a while, you had no idea in how trouble you would end up and what mystery his notebook brought.
Warning: NSFW - mature content 18+ (extended warning under the cut), legal age-gap relationship, teacher/student relationship, dirty talk/swearing, jealously, obsessiveness
Pairing: Professor!Tom Hiddleston x Student!Reader
A/N: This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent real life. Do not read this if you’re feeling uncomfortable with the dynamic. Tom also isn’t famous in this one, and I’ve apparently lost any knowledge from my own literature course.
extended warning: long dialogue-heavy scenes, unseen exhibitionism (oral sex), fingering (f-receiving), mild degradation (through written words/verbal), unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise talk, usage of ’sir’, spanking
“I need at least three more coffee’s before I can even stay awake,“ your roommate, Laney, groaned next to you, slurping on the iced coffee in her hand. “God, I’m never drinking again.“
You knew that was a lie. It was the same every Monday morning, Laney would complain about the weekend and still do the same the following weekend. It was an endless cycle for the entirety of your university time together now, and to be honest, you didn’t know how entertaining your Mondays would be if she wasn’t there to cry over stupid boys and missing coffee.
Laney was your polar opposite, the missing piece to yourself. She was loud and independent, someone who knew exactly what they want. She did all the things you were too scared to try and was always the first to encourage you to try it too or to tell you not to do something. Sometimes she was everything you aspired to be, and through her, you surely became what you hoped to be—more confident in your choices and what you want.
“You’ll be fine, that iced coffee will kick your brain enough.“ you assured her.
“I wish,“ she sighed, dramatically. “But I don’t think that’s gonna be case today. Did you forget? Dr. Colb will introduce his substitute today. I heard it’s an old student of his, and that can only mean they’re going to bore us even more.“
You shook your head, hiding a chuckle. It was no secret that Laney had no interest nor true liking in Dr. Colb’s extra course about classic literature. She had primarily taken the course to spend more time with you and get enough credits for her score to graduate, however, classics bored her to the bone.
You, on the other hand, loved Dr. Colb’s course. It was much more in depth than your main classic literature course as your professor was a profound critic as much as lover of them and interacted with the class, inviting you to discuss themes and topics deeper with each other, often making you see a play or novel in another light. He was your favorite professor, and Laney knew that which was maybe the only reason why she hadn’t quit just yet.
“It’s going to be fine,“ you said, once again, as you entered the smaller building of your university where Dr. Colb’s lecture hall was located.
A few lessons ago, he announced his wife and himself would go on their long-awaited camping adventure to spend more time together and explore the world as they had always wished to do. Meanwhile, a substitute was going to take over his course to leave no one hanging and still get their credits, and although no one knew who this mysterious substitute was, Dr. Colb had praised them highly. Hearing Laney now say that it may be a former student of his intrigued you even more. You had to be someone truly special to be praised this highly by him, there was no other way.
Laney and you sat down at your usual seats in the small lecture hall, no sight yet of Dr. Colb or his possible substitute.
She leaned forward to you, pulling out her stuff from her bag, which consisted mainly of food that she would secretly snack throughout and the current read. “What do you think is the substitute going to look like? Female, or male?“
“I don’t know,“ you replied, thinking about the question for a second, “Maybe, a female. I could imagine that.“
“No matter what, if Colb likes her, I think she’s going to be boring and prude.“
You glanced at her warningly, to which she only shrugged. She was not one to hold back on her opinion. As the rest of the course rushed into the hall, you nervously drummed with your pencil on your notebook. Every passing second felt like torture to you, you just wanted to know who they were, and what was all about them. You were so focused in your daydream about them, until you heard Laney snort next to you, hiding a laughter behind the current reading.
“You’re really into it, huh,“ she said, raising a brow.
“I’m not,“ you argued.
Before Laney could say anything else, the voices surrounding you died down as Dr. Colb entered the hall, however, without anyone else following. You didn’t seem to be the only one who was intrigued to find out who it is, everyone kept quiet, starring at Dr. Colb who couldn’t help but notice the bizarre behavior of his class.
Putting down his old leather briefcase, he overlooked his class, squinting his eyes. For a moment, he didn’t seem to understand until his face lightened up, a devious grin on his lips. “I didn’t think you would be this excited to see me leave, but apparently, here we are.“
Unsure chuckles went through the hall, no one raised their voice to reply anything else to him. Laney next to you pushed herself further down her chair, still hiding a laughter behind the book. She may truly be the only one who wasn’t seriously invested in Dr. Colb’s lectures, rather seeing all of this as a good alternative for a soap opera—especially today.
“Going by the looks of your faces, I guess I’d rather stop this torture now, and I gladly will.“ your professor said, leaning against his table at the front, clasping his hands. “As I told you a few weeks ago, I will be taking some time off for the rest of the semester, but as I don’t want any of you to miss any credits, I’ve managed to find a substitute for me to continue my lecture with you all.“
Laney’s hand leaped forward, stopping yours that drummed more and more intensely on your book as the nervousness grew. She shook her head slightly, now giving you a warning look, as if she was saying, ’Stop being so silly’. It was indeed silly of you to react that way, but you couldn’t help yourself because the reality was that you hoped Dr. Colb would write you a recommendation letter by the end of the semester. To know what sort of people he was impressed by helped immensely to know if that was even a good idea in the first place.
Dr. Colb smiled. “Without further ado, I am happy to announce to you that one of my former students, whom I have asked to step in, was willing to do so. So may I introduce you to Mr Thomas Hiddleston.“
He made a gesture to the door, to which everyone’s gazes flew to as the door opened up again. Your heart fluttered uncontrolled, still nervous, as a tall grown man entered the lecture hall. The sight of him struck your breath as his gaze went through the astonishing hall. He was nothing like what you would have imagined your professor’s favorite student to look like, and yet, you understood it the second you saw him.
He was the walking definition of well sorted. He was well dressed, looking sheer effortless in those dark trousers he wore that were a shade darker than his fitted sweater. Those clothes served him right, complimenting his long, caramel brown hair that curled in his neck. His beard was nicely shaved, causing you to wander off and wonder if he had shaved with a knife or not.
A snap right in front of your eyes pulled you out of trance.
Glancing over to Laney, the embarrassment shot right in your cheeks, making you feel overwhelmingly hot. “Dear God,“ she chuckled quietly.
You gulped, turning your attention back to the front where he joined Dr. Colb, exchanging a firm looking handshake.
“Tom, why don’t you take the lead and tell my class a bit about you? Given that you’ll be teaching them.“ Dr. Colb said loudly, turning with a grin to the class.
He blew out a laughter, flashing a bright smile as he also turned to the class.
“Hello everyone, first and foremost, and thank you, William, for introducing me so lovely. It’s a pleasure to be here with you all.“ he said, his voice determined, as if he had trained this before. “I know he says I’ll be teaching you, but let’s be honest, I am not a teacher and while I will try to give you somewhat of an education, we will rather be discussing the readings together. I want to hear your opinions and feelings toward the readings, share them, discuss them, and I hope you will still enjoy this course with me on board.“
You didn’t know what it was, but somehow you were convinced that you would enjoyed this course even more now.
The days flew past, and it was time for Dr. Colb’s course again with the only exception that it wasn’t taught by him anymore. Unlike last Monday, you had to make your way to the lecture hall without Laney on your side as this time as she had overestimated herself a little too much over the weekend, still laying in her bed, whining about her hangover.
Given that you didn’t have to stop for Laney’s weekly coffee order, you went straight ahead and entered the building earlier than usual, seeing the doors to the hall wide-open. You stopped in fron of them, looking around for anyone else from your course, however, no one was around. Were you too late instead of early? You glanced down to your wrist, checking the time on your watch. Class was in fifteen minutes—you were on time.
In the firm belief that you weren’t late and simply no one else was there yet, you walked in, stopping almost dead in your tracks on the stairs on the way to your usual seat. You were, in fact, not alone. At the front leaning against Dr. Colb’s old wooden desk was Mr. Hiddleston, his attention fully turned to the book he held in his hands. From afar, you could make out that it was the current course read, however, his copy looked worn, as if he had read it a thousand times.
The sudden frown made his face look hardened, yet so incredibly interesting. You wondered on which page he was, and what it was exactly that made him frown like that. Of course, you could ask him about it, feeling somewhat sure that he would be willing to answer that, however, as soon as you had caught yourself, you moved as swiftly and silently to your seat, not wanting to be noticed by him.
But your idea was diminished as soon as you put down your bag, the weight of it making enough noise for him to be pulled out of his reading trance, glancing straight up to you. Your mouth fell open, wanting to say something quick as apology but it was left dry and unable to form any proper words. Why did the sight of him confuse you? Seeing him was peer pressure.
“Hello,“ he said politely, putting the book in his hands aside as he pushed himself away from the desk to come closer to you. Taking a quick look at his own watch, he looked back at you, “A bit early, aren’t you?“
The polite tone remained, his voice sounded so calmly yet his question felt so confronting. No professor in your lifetime had ever questioned a student being too early. The difference, however, was that Mr. Hiddleston wasn’t a teacher. At least, not really.
Finally letting go of your bag, you straightened yourself, thinking to yourself how embarrassing this was. “Yes, I… I usually go for coffee with my friend, but she’s sick today, so that spared me some time.“
He may wasn’t a true professor, and still you felt awfully punished right now with the way he eyed you for a brief moment, making you almost believe that you truly had done something wrong. Right until his expression slightly softened. “Well, I hope your friend has a speedy recovery. Yet, it’s my lucky day, I was actually hoping for someone to come in early today.“
“Why’s that?“ you questioned, slowly feeling more at ease in this sudden situation.
“I was hoping to get some insight on the class, like, the last novels you have read. I must admit I feel like a new student here, while I’m suppose to do the teaching. Doesn’t give it the greatest look, does it?“
You gulped, feeling your heartbeat stuck in your throat, breathing cut short. You were so highly aware of him that it was hard to focus on anything that wasn’t him. This felt like sort of a game, his gaze was so intense, almost challenging yet ever so collected and reserved. Your forehead ceased as you tried to read him, to get something more out of this other than the spoken words. But no chance, this man was a multi-layered mystery to you.
“I could help with that,“ you said, out of nowhere, surprising yourself with that answer. It was already too late to take it back, so you simply added the truth. “It’s my favorite class, actually.“
You shut your lips together to a shy smile, sealing them more likely to stop any more stupid words from coming out. His smiled back at you. “I would appreciate that, Miss—“
“Y/L/N,“ you replied. “Y/N Y/L/N.“
He nodded, still not daring to break the eye contact. “Thank you, Miss Y/L/N.“
The first time after your previous conversation you were unsure what to do to get him back to your offer. A part deep down in you was so eager for him to realize that you were being serious and hoping that he would take you up on your offer.
Mr. Hiddleston had just ended the lecture for the day as your fellow students quickly packed up their stuff. You were down to your luck that Laney had to get going too, leaving you behind in your seats. As the room emptied out and silence took over the hall, he glanced up to the seating and noticed you standing there with no intention to go. You instantly felt thrown back to that first conversation. His eyes had the same thoughtful, ever searching gaze and the lovely, ever confusing smile.
“Miss Y/L/N,“ he had said, pushing his hands in the pockets of his dark blue jeans as he stepped closer to the seating area. “If you have the time, I’d love to come back to your offer. As you may noticed, I am not well prepared enough for this class.“
It became its own small lecture and slowly, it turned into a routine like getting coffee before class with Laney once had. While she set off to her swimming practice, you usually stayed behind until the entire room emptied out and sat down with Mr. Hiddleston to go over the course’s last readings, as well as your own notes that you brought along.
Whenever you sat together, he was attentive, listening to every word you said. He asked the right questions that proved his love for literature. Most often, he sat opposite to you, writing in his leather-bound notebook, while you discussed books that weren’t even on the course list. It felt like you were speaking your own language, and it grew important to you. Every meeting grew to more and a deeper importance.
Just like on this day when he sat, once again, opposite to you on the massive wooden desk in the lecture hall. You laid down the course’s current read, your version completely notated as you had read it before, and glanced over to Mr. Hiddleston. A frown disturbed his usual friendly face as he wrote some notes with quick pace in his notebook. As if he caught you staring at him, he glanced up meeting your eyes, closing the notebook and putting it aside.
Your eyes followed his movement, before you said, ever so casually or at least trying to sound like. “So, what do you do outside this hall, when you’re not trying to teach us something?“
The corners of his mouth turned upside, appearing amused. “Your usage of the word ’trying’ is truly charming.“ he said.
You shrugged, trying to hide a big grin. “I’m only keeping you humble, Sir.“
His gaze flickered from your mouth, still trying not to break out into a bright smile, back to your eyes. “I’ve told you, it’s Tom outside of class.“ he reminded you, having heat instantly shot into your cheeks. He had asked to put the formality aside a week ago and you were still adjusting to calling him by his first name. It almost felt wrong not to call him properly, there was just this higher feeling of authority to him that you couldn’t quite shake.
“I work at a theatre,“ he said.
“So you’re an actor?“ you questioned, hoping to downplay your nervousness.
As attentive as he was, it of course didn’t go past him. But he also was a gentleman and let it gracefully slip by. “On some days, yes.“
“And on the other days?“ you continued asking as you sat up in your chair, slightly adjusting your skirt in the same go. As you looked back up to him, you caught him watching you with a balled fist, seemingly distracted.
“I write.“ he answered, short-pressed.
“That sounds great,“ you replied, your voice hushed.
Had he been watching you adjusting your skirt? Had he been watching you at all? Your curiosity knocked, teasingly, almost mockingly, on the door again. It had been haunting you for the last weeks, over and over again. There were these small, short moments where you did not know what they meant. Sweet nothings that you liked to interpret more into than you probably should.
And then there was this god damned notebook he always carried around and sometimes wrote in it while you sat together, keeping you wondering what was written there. Notes on books? Notes on certain scenes, or was it his diary? There was this addictive eagerness wanting to know so much more about him, but it all felt like overstepping a very fine line.
Losing this respectful time and space over your never-ending curiosity wasn’t in the cards. You wouldn’t let that happen, so it seemed like there was no other way but to suffocate all the noisy thoughts.
“Will I see you next week?“ he asked, pulling you out of your trance, with a glance on the shiny watch on his wrist.
“Yes, of course.“
Never before did a week feel like an entire century like it did right now. Time was passing by awfully slow while all you truly wanted was to see Tom again. The weekly meetings had become your favorite thing, the very one you always looked forward, the one that kept you going even through the most stressful weeks. It was peaceful, and electric at the same time, to spend time with him.
You had tried to be patient for Monday to come around, you really did, until it was a late Friday evening and you couldn’t help yourself with the hundreds of thoughts swirling around your head. You had to see him, even if it was only for a sweet minute.
That was how you found yourself running towards the lecture hall. You knew that Tom had also taken over Dr. Colb’s beginner class that should’ve ended a few minutes ago. It was the only chance to catch hold of him until Monday morning. Quickly stepping up the stairs to the entrance of the pitched seating area, you glimpsed into the room before entering, finding it all empty. Were you already too late?
Frustration boiled up as you came to face your silly defeat. God, what had ridden you? Obsession, foolish feelings? It was unlike you in every sense, and still, it seeded like poison in your veins.
You walked closer the massive wooden desk as something certain fell into your view—his notebook, he left it there. Hesitatingly, your fingers brushed over the softened leather and tight cord around it, causing an itching in your fingers. All you could see was for what it stood for, an undeniable temptation that brought you once more to the fine line you shouldn’t cross. It would be an obvious breach of his privacy, yet it was so bitterly tempting.
This wasn’t like you. Nothing that he made you do was like you, and it wasn’t even his fault.
Against your better knowing, you picked the notebook up, unwrapped the cord around it and opened up a random page. Lines that are more than just words, you read, followed by various handpicked quotes from books—some you knew, some you didn’t. Your racing heartbeat slowed down, it was just as you had thought. He had written down his thoughts to his favorite literature. Nothing fearsome, nothing private.
You turned the pages, finding more remarks and notations about books he had read, all thoughtfully written down like a window to his soul. This was beautiful, your hands brushed carefully over his neat handwriting, as you turned another page, eyes overflying the page until they stopped by the unmatched scribbles in-between.
When she speaks, all I can think of is her mouth, that I cannot concentrate on what she is saying. I want to have a conversation with her, without being distracted by her sinful lips. I do not want my thoughts wandering off when my time with her is so rare, and yet I find myself longing for more than the hour we give ourselves. I find myself longing for more than just hearing words out of her mouth. How sinful would it be more to hear her pretty mouth moan?
The cover of the notebook snapped close by a hushed movement, clutching it to your chest in the next. That wasn’t real. What you just had read wasn’t real, why would it be? You were hallucinating, there was no way—
The pages flew open once again, fingers quickly turning the pages to the very one you had just closed, eyes skimming the page.
I cannot allow myself to fall deeper in this rabbit hole but every time I see her, I feel helpless. Everything about her is testing me.
You skimped further down the page, the handwriting getting messier with every other sentence.
My patience is tested and I will prove myself to be what she expects me to be. I cannot let these thoughts slip, or else I will destroy what we have built. I will have nothing of her and I cannot live with any less than I have now. These needs fool my senses, I am aware of that, and yet I also catch myself wishing I could give in.
With every line you read more, the tension inside you grew more. This was wrong, you shouldn’t be reading this, but much like his terror, you couldn’t stop and turned another page.
To give in this addictive, sweet desire would be my downfall. I know I could never recover from it, so in my thoughts only, I will admit this need for her. In my thoughts only, I will know her deeper than our current superficial state. I will see her as often as I long for. I will unlock that shy smile of hers, remind her to live as freely as she desires. I will have her closer than I do now. I will hear those pathetic little moans out of her mouths. I will have her lying on this massive desk. I will give her anything she begs for.
A low breather escaped your lips as everything inside you coiled together, begging for a bittersweet release. There was no denying anymore, it laid out in front of you, obvious and brutally honest.
Steps resounded from Dr. Colb’s former office aside of the lecture hall, giving you a shriek that you almost drop the notebook to the ground. Quickly, you tied the cord around it again, putting it back where it laid. You couldn’t see him now, not after what you just had read. This was… it was all too much, all too surreal. Your feet found ground quicker than your thoughts, rushing out of the room before anyone could catch you there.
“Are you okay?“ Laney asked you on Monday morning. “You’re so jittery, you’re making nervous, too.“
You slurped on your iced coffee, of which you thought would help you calm down, however, it rather pumped up your nervousness even more. “I’m fine,“ you said, trying to put a fake facade as you weren’t in the mood for your best friend’s questionary. “I just haven’t slept much over the weekend I think it’s catching up to me.“
That wasn’t even a lie. You had tossed and turned on Friday night, already having declined going out with Laney and your other friends. What you had done, specifically what you had read, weighted heavy in your chest. Not only was it a general breach of privacy, but you had invaded your professor’s most private thoughts, at least, that’s what they read like. You shouldn’t have read those, they were never for your eyes to see.
But that wasn’t the worse thing of this situation at all, or why you laid awake all night along. It was the insane game it played with your mind. You knew one fact for sure: there was a high chance that his writing was about you. Even though doubts came up and in some moments, you believed that he was talking about someone else—he must be—you always reeled back to thinking, there can’t no other.
Him sharing such a connection with someone else wasn’t in your accounts. Your meetings were born out of a coincidence, there couldn’t be another, or was there?
But what ruined you most, and what had ruined your entire weekend because you couldn’t stop thinking about anything else, was how much you wanted those pages to become true. Deep, deep down, you knew you couldn’t deny the obvious truth. To have read such honest, yet filthy thoughts from him, to know that he had those, turned you on.
It shouldn’t. He was your professor, didn’t matter if he was only the substitute or not, and you shouldn’t have such thoughts about him. But he shouldn’t either.
As Monday morning came around, you knew you would be having to face him and to look at that wooden desk, knowing he wanted to have you—or worse, someone else—lying on there, perhaps with spread legs, willing to do anything his mind further calls him to. You had felt like throwing up, this complex and anxious excitement fully kicked your heart out of your chest.
On Sunday night, you came to an conclusion and the only way to end this state of unknowing: you had to confront him, trigger his deepest thoughts to know if it was you he had written about. You wouldn’t confess to reading his notebook, you had to find another way, even if it meant being insanely brave and extremely stupid.
Laney and you walked into the lecture hall, heading towards your usual seats, not daring a single glance downwards. Your plan was easy—settle down in the seat, trying not to die during the lecture, and then meet with him after class like always. Ok, if you were being honest, your plan was shit and you had no idea how to handle this situation, but not doing anything was also killing you.
“Next time, I’ll grab another coffee for you, too.“ Laney said, pulling out her copy of the latest novel you discussed, nodding towards your already emptied cup. “You drowned that thing. You’re sure you’re ok?“
“Yes,“ I replied, sternly. “Now I’ll be feeling like you during this class. Completely pushed up by caffeine.“
She shrugged, her eyes following downward to where Mr. Hiddleston—Tom—should already be standing. “At least, you won’t be falling asleep. Honestly, it’d be a shame to fall asleep now that we have that eye candy as teacher. You were right, he’s cute.“
For a brief moment, you panicked. “I’ve never said he was cute.“
“You didn’t say it, but you were having heart eyes the first time we saw him.“ she argued, grinning. “So you were still right, I might even pay attention for once.“
The taste on your tongue turned bitter, hearing your best friend talking about him like that. The sudden poisonous jealously didn’t suit you well, you might had to suffocate it all. Laney just meant it casually, like she did with any other boy, she wasn’t a threat—to even think that for a second was pure insanity. This was torturous insanity and you had to end it.
You just had to get through today’s class first.
“Thank you guys, see to chapter twenty-four. We’ll see each other next Monday.“ Mr. Hiddleston ended the class on a high. It, or rather he, had been interesting enough to keep Laney awake for its entirety and even participate. A rare sight, unlike you had. You, instead, had been lost in thousand of thoughts, unable to look more than a few seconds into his direction as you couldn’t trust yourself to not completely lose it.
Laney packed up her things and for a brief second, you thought about joining her this time. To get out of his way seemed like an easier option right now, but you would never know then.
Your best friend looked back to you, waiting. “Go ahead, I have something to ask Mr. Hiddleston. I’ll meet you at lunch.“ you told her.
Nodding oblivious, she waved before leaving the hall with the others. Slowly, every seat emptied until there was no one left in the room other than Mr. Hiddleston and you, just like the last few weeks. Only then you dared to look at him for the first time today, catching him leaned against that damned desk, hands in his jeans pockets, smiling reservedly up at you.
Now or never.
You grabbed your things, pushing them carelessly into your bag, as you walked down the stairs. “Mr. Hiddleston,“ you breathed, the name almost getting stuck in your throat.
He leaned his head to the side, eyeing you closely. “I’ve told you, it’s—“
“Tom outside class, I know.“ you said, chest heaving, “I’m not feeling my best. Can we—can we sit down in your office?“
His eyebrows furrowed, obvious worry written on his face. “Of course,“ he replied, gesturing you to go ahead to Dr. Colb’s old office. With every step, you doubted your intention, but there was still this fiery and desperate need to know the truth about it all.
You stepped inside the office, putting your bag aside, while sitting down on one of the guest leather seats in front of another of Dr. Colb’s god damned wooden desk. It almost made you question if he was an antic lover or a freak. Or maybe it was just you, or the man who sat down opposite to you, who was the freak in question.
“Are you ok?“ he asked, concerned. “I’ve noticed that you weren’t able to concentrate much. You usually participate a lot more.“
“Yes, I’m fine,“ you quickly answered, hands balling to fists. “It’s just—there’s been a lot on my mind as of late, and I can’t quite shake it.“
“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s quite a shame not to hear your voice during class.“
Your heart sank down in your chest. He sounded so casual, as if his words weren’t a direct indicate for you. You gulped, there was so little doubt left, you had to risk it all.
“Can I admit something to you?“ you asked him, drawing your words out carefully as his face slowly lightened up. You didn’t wait for his answer to further say, “Our talks after class have become my second favorite sort of class.“
His eyes laid so closely on you, you could almost feel it like a touch on your skin. His mouth twitched, “I look forward to our talks, too. Our exchange has been very helpful to me.“
His words kickstarted something unknown, indescribable in you. With a deep breath, you pushed yourself out of the chair, not in mind to stop yourself from walking around the desk. With wary gaze, he watched every step, not interfering, not speaking a word. Halting next to his chair, you glanced down to him, saying quietly, “I’m glad to be of assistance. Can I admit something else?“
The air was so thick, you didn’t even dare to breathe.
“You may,“ he answered, sternly yet daring.
Now or never, ever, kicked back in your head. You held onto his shoulder as you swung your leg over his, softly letting yourself down on his lap, straddling him. His mouth fell open in reaction and before he could further react, you exposed it all, overthrowing all your previous plans, “I have read pages in your notebook. I read things you wrote about someone, and if any of it is about me, I beg you to tell me the truth.“
He didn’t push you away, he didn’t touch you either. You sat there, leaving all of him underneath you, with your arms dangling off around his shoulders. His tensed gaze was still on you, and with every passing second, you knew you’d fucked up.
His gaze turned hard. “When did you read it?“
He wouldn’t tell you the truth, you’d reach that fine line and crossed it with no way of ever returning. There was nothing to lose anymore, so you answered while looking away, “Last Friday. I came to see you and you weren’t there. You had left your notebook on the desk. I am sorry, I shouldn’t have done so.“
Grabbing the corners of the chair, you attempted to push yourself up, away from his lap, away from him, as an arm came around your waist, holding you right where you were. Widened eyes met his still steered ones. “What did you read, specifically?“
Your mouth dried up, almost unable to form an answer. “About how much you wanted someone. What you wanted to do to them, if you’d give in.“
The longer this conversation went on, the more your head spun. His touch was exhilarating, how he held you firmly flushed against him, how his large hand touched your lower back. The most touch that had ever happened between you, yet you wanted so much more.
“And you’re certain that those words are about you?“ he questioned.
Disappointment hit your already bruised ego. Another hit wouldn’t hurt that bad, this was embarrassing enough. “No,“ you whispered, “that’s what I am trying to find out.“
He pressed his lips together, still not losing his grip on you. Instead his hand spread out on your back traveling lower, and lower, until his hand reached your ass. “Why would they be about you?“ he continued, sounding as if he was doubting his own words.
“It doesn’t have to be. When I read it, a part of me just wished it was.“
You laid it out all bare. No more going back. And then salvation turned its favor to you. His other arm brushed your waist, slowing down to your hips to pull you even closer. Brushing with your clothed cunt over the noticeable bulge in his trousers, a soft moan escaped your lips.
“Good, because they were.“ he breathed, leaning forward closing the distance as he placed his lips onto yours, freeing you from the torturous unknown. You gasped into the kiss, grabbing his neck to hold yourself closer. It set all of you on fire, this was unlike anything in your life before. It was embarrassing how needy you were for the slightest touch, but he didn’t seem to do any better.
You earned a deep growl in return as your tongue met his, pushing you so high to need more. Simultaneously, you moved your hips impudently against his thick feeling bulge. “Don’t,“ he warned you.
“Please,“ it sounded pathetic out of your mouth. “I want this. I want you.“
One of his hands slipped underneath your ass, his other arm wrapped around your waist, suddenly lifting you up onto the wooden desk. Chills overcame your body. His mouth was still so close to yours as he said in a hushed tone, “Don’t say such things.“
Your body clearly signaled how much you wanted this, the wetness in-between your thighs was undeniable. Your heart was screaming for more. Despite the moral fact that you shouldn’t be or wanted to be touched like that by your professor, every sight you controlled was bright green. “But I mean it.“ you answered firmly. “Don’t you want this, too?“
There was only millimeters in-between your mouths. “You’ve read how much I want this.“ he stated. “But that doesn’t mean we should.“
His moral compass was much stronger than yours. Unlike him, you didn’t care about whether this was morally right or wrong, you’d overstepped that line already. For you, there was no going back. If he turned you away now, you doubted that you could ever sit in his class again without feeling ashamed or remorseful.
You leaned slightly backwards, still against his tight embrace, and pulled his hand, that was still placed on your ass, to your breasts. Caressing them softly, you slowly dragged his hand down your body, letting him feel every inch of you until you reached the pulled up hem of your dress. Pushing his hand even further down your thigh, his fingertips brushed over the wet silky material of your panties.
“You wrote you’ll give me anything I’ll beg for.“ you said. “So will you touch me if I beg?“
This was his fine line, you could see it in his face and hoped he wasn’t strong enough to resist crossing it. You had to decide for yourself to throw morals and any right or wrongs overboard, and if he wanted you, too, then he had to decide the same for himself.
The stilled touch of his hand on your sweet spot drove you crazy. “What exactly do you want?“ he questioned.
You dove closer to his lips, longing to feel them on yours again. “I want you to kiss me. To touch me,“ you pressed your hand against his, “right here. Please.“
The beg slipped so easily over your lips, you were hopelessly gone for him. This had turned into a fantasy since last Friday that haunted you, and now you were so close to turn it into reality. To have what he had written in his notebook, if he was willing to give you what you plead for. In return, that pretty little mouth of yours would moan as freely as he wished for.
You could feel his hot breath on your skin, and then you were sure, the line was crossed. He was a goner, too, and it made you feel so mighty. His head moved forward, connecting your lips together again, as if it was inevitable. Soft whimpers, sloppy and eager kisses mixed with each other, filling the silence in the office. His long, slender fingers tucked on your skimpy panty, pushing it aside, grazing your slicked cunt. Your hips bucked at the sudden touch, you hummed in willingness into the kiss.
One finger held aside your panty as the other spread the wetness across your slit, crossing your clit dreadfully slow. “So needy,“ he mumbled, and with sudden, the arm around your waist pulled you forward to the edge of the wooden desk. “So godforsaken wet.“
His thumb brushed, once more, over your clit, locking a moan out of your mouth. His mouth twitched upwards in response, obviously likening your reaction to his touch. Tenderly, he let his thumb circle on your clit as two fingers briefly dipped into your cunt, dragging the wetness over your front. “Do you want me to touch you like this?“
You nodded repeatedly, lips pressed together. The soft touches were already turning you into a squirming mess, feeling on fire all over your body. “Use words,“ he ordered you, “or else I won’t touch you.“
“Yes, touch me. Please.“
“As you wish,“ he whispered back, two fingers pushing into your drenched entrance with ease, curling upwards in an instant. You gasped against his mouth, foreheads pressed against each other’s as your entire body bucked forward. Curled against your upper wall, he stroked just the right spot.
“Oh god, yes, yes“ you panted, throwing your head back as his thumb flicked your clit up and downwards, his other two fingers curved slowly but firmly against your softest spot. The office filled with wet noises of your cunts clenching around his fingers, pumping in, and out, in, and out. You’d never felt this, never such an intensity. You wanted to come so bad. For him, because of him.
Your legs shook, with every stroke of his fingers you neared your high. “Will you come for me, darling?“ Tom asked, as if he didn’t set your lower half on fire with every further touch. Your heart rate stammered, but you nodded bravely, almost fearing your undeniable incoming orgasm. “Then, let loose, darling, give me your all.“
It took one more firm stroke over your g-spot that turned it into explosion. You cried out his name, walls clenched around his fingers, as pleasure rippled through your body. His eyes watched you intensively in wonder, still holding you tight with one arm as you calmed down from the overwhelming waves of your orgasm. Pulling out his fingers, your cunt clenched around nothingness, wishing the fulness back.
Your eyes fluttered open, seeing how he brought his slicked fingers to his mouth. “So sweet,“ he hummed, “just like I imagined.“
His eyes peeked up from the pages of the book, skipped a few rows of students sitting in front of him, glancing to the utter entrance where the door fell almost silently close. Telling like a sixth sense he knew where to look, knowing deep in his bones who had just entered his Friday beginner class.
The searching, almost desperate gaze in his eyes softened as soon as they met yours from afar. Straightening your posture, you stood confidently in the corner, watching him intensely. He couldn’t help to stop the smile creeping up on his lips as he closed the book, further smiling to the up glancing eyes of a couple dozen students.
“Let that be it for today’s class. Please finish up chapter thirteen by next week, we’ll go into deep analysis of the character’s relationship then. Have a good weekend, everyone.“ he announced to the class, without leaving you out of sight.
His words echoed through the hall, the bodies of the students sacking slightly together in relief. The said few dozen of students packed up their things, stuffing the current read carelessly in their bags, and leaved in a hurried rush. Anyone sane would hurry out of a 5 P.M. literature class on a Friday afternoon and enjoy the incoming weekend as quickly as possible—anyone but you.
The hall filled with mumbled, yet loud discussions about where to party next. The students passed by you, not betting a glance, until the last one rushed out of the hall and only he and you remained glued to where you were standing before. Only as the door slammed shut once again, you took a step forward, eyes still on him, while your hand hovered above the metal lock of the massive door.
“Do you want me to turn the lock?“
The question weighted so heavy, as if the sky suddenly clouded up. He laid down the book on the wooden table, crossing his arms across his chest as he lifted his chin, almost in a provocative sense, “Will that be necessary?“
You gulped, ignoring the stumble of your heartbeat, hammering against your ribcage. “You tell me.“
There was this thrill that had been haunting you since you had left his office this past Monday. Both breathless, both aware of what had just happened and equally unable to truly understand. His hands had straightened the hem of your dress that he had pushed up minutes ago, yet his hands hadn’t moved away from your thigh. Once more, your face had been so close to give in to the sweetness of his lips again, but your heart was on the edge of exploding, beating so viciously out of control.
“I must go,“ you had told him and pushed yourself of the wooden desk he had positioned you on. Before you left his office, you held in on the doorstep, glancing back to him, “Just so you know, I don’t regret any of this. If anything, I just want more.“
He hadn’t said anything back then, and now looking at him, you weren’t sure if he had felt the same.
“No,“ it felt like a slap in the face. He broke the eye contact, glancing down to the floor as he continued, “Just come down here, please.“
As if the thrill had been nothing more than a candle light, it was blown out. This was not what you had been hoping for on your way here. The past few days equaled torture. You had come to confront him, earned your desired outcome, and had left the scene so rushed without knowing how he had left about it. You had told him before leaving that you felt no regret, which was still the case, but what about him? Did he regret the way how he let you closer to him? Did he regret the way you had kissed, the way how he had touched you, the way he had allowed your entire being to long for him?
Every step down the pitched floors, you feared the possible incoming rejection. He first brought himself to look at you again as you had reached him, keeping some distance between the two of you. To anyone disturbing the scene, it would appear like a normal conversation between a professor and their student, even though you knew it was going to be far from it. And maybe from afar, he wouldn’t hear your little pathetic heart breaking.
“It’s good to see you,“ he breathed, studying you closely, yet not daring to close the distance. “Are you well?“
“Yes,“ you replied, almost instantly, your voice breaking off by the end, “Why wouldn’t I be?“
A huffed chuckle left his mouth. “I’m glad to hear that,“ he said, “but that’s not what I meant. I am asking if you are still well after what has happened on Monday.“
A million different questions ran through your head. Tom was a clever man, he chose his words wisely, so what was he trying to achieve? To convince you that it all had been a foolish mistake?
“Yes,“ you answered once more, this time firmer. “Like I’ve told you on Monday, I didn’t regret it. And I still don’t.“
He inhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. Apparently, he had hoped for a different answer. Before he could even open his mouth to argue, you beat him to it, “Do not try to tell me otherwise.“
The way he looked at you was belittling and that hurt even more than any words he could say to you. From your very first conversation, he had made you feel like an equal to him. There had never been a moment where you had felt less than him, until now.
Now he was trying to paint you as naive. Like a child.
“I am not trying to tell you otherwise, believe me.“ he stated as he glided a step closer to you, yet withheld himself from getting too close. “But have you ever truly given this a thought? That this isn’t supposed to be.“
All you knew in this moment was that you could either stand your ground or else this was nothing more than a losing game. There was nothing he could say to convince you differently. You wouldn’t let him turn this into something it clearly wasn’t. Whatever there was between you was genuine, it was pure and right. It was perhaps meant to happen.
“It is not illegal—“
“I am your professor, Y/N, and you’re my student, for God’s sake. Illegal or not, this shouldn’t be, we shouldn’t be doing this.“ he immediately cut you off.
“You’re not my professor, Dr. Colb is. You’re just you.“ you argued, your voice slipping into something more desperate, more pleading. “And I am me, I choose this.“
He straightened his back, his posture turned rigid. “I think this is clouding your incredibly clever mind, because if this was any different, you wouldn’t choose this.“
“But it isn’t,“ you hissed, overstepping in another literal sense once more a line, as your hands flew out to his shirt, pulling him dangerously close to you. Another desperate attempt to keep him from slipping away. “This is about you and me, about the choice we willingly, freely make. Or—“
Sudden tears pooled in the corners of your eyes before you fulfilled your sentence, “Or do you want me gone? Is that what this is about? You regret it, you regret me, and now you want me gone.“
As soon as you said those words out loud, you saw his off-brushing facade weakened. You felt him soften against your touch, all of it causing so hope that the fall might be too high. His hands, however, shot up, grasping your face in equal desperate longing. “No,“ he whispered, “I don’t regret you. I don’t regret any of this, either, and that is what scares me.“
You leaned into his hands, shaking your head, “Then stop trying to push me away. I know how risky this may be, but if you want me, have me.“
His lips came crashing down to yours in one swift motion, as he gave into the bittersweet desire. Humming out a moan, his tongue slipped into your mouth, meeting yours. You held onto his button-on, leaning fully against him as his hands wandered from your face down the sides of your body. Not only you were filled with eager desperation for more, he was too. Every touch, every kiss was begging for more. His fingers dig into the sides of your waist, just before he held you tight and lifted you up from the ground onto the desk.
The very desk standing in the focal point of the lecture hall, with an unlocked door.
His large hands slid down your waist to your upper thighs, hugging them with his grasp, driving you near the edge of insanity. “More,“ you begged in-between kisses, seeing his eyes spark hearing those words as his face hovered above yours. He had asked you to use words for what you want, you saw what it did to him. What power you could wield, just by asking for all the unruly things you fantasized about.
Looking him right into the eyes, you whispered against his lips, “Strip me right here, on this desk.“
“Is that really what you want?“
Your gaze didn’t stray away from his, instead you nodded with an almost devilish grin. “Make me beg for even more.“
Within seconds, you felt his hands untie the heeled sandal you wore, pushing them off your feet, before he grazed over your naked legs. Every millimeter of your body he touched felt statically loaded. You bid your thanks to the good weather that you could blame your clothing choice on, although you had chosen the still modest skirt for very selfish reasons.
The less barriers there were, the easier you’d hoped to get what you longed for.
Tom’s fingers played with the skirt hem, pushed his thumbs underneath, slowly dragging them along the insides of your thighs. Other boys had touched you in the same way before, sometimes it did feel thrilling when they at least pretended to confidently know what they were doing. It didn’t feel pretend with Tom’s touch, it felt like every touch was a conscious choice by him. He meant his touch to be teasing, to edge you in every possible torturing sense. It was a game, and no game at the same time.
His thumbs moved inwards, inching closer to your clothed heat. You’d chosen the pretty underwear that rotted in the back of your closet, the one you always claimed to be ’too expensive to just wear’. Maybe it had always been meant to be worn for only Tom to see.
His large hands brushed up your skirt, pooling it at your hips, revealing said underwear. Thumbs still near your heat that begged to be touched, his palms lying flat on your upper thigh, gripping in your flesh. A sudden pull, a gasp erupting out of your mouth, and your lower body was aligned to his. “You don’t understand what you’re doing to me,“ he whispered, his lips hovering above yours. “I crave every glance I can steal at you, every second I get to hear your voice, every touch you allow me.“
His words reminded you of the entries in his journal. You may truly didn’t understand the extent his desire went, but you had a feeling that you and he were on the same page about the things you wanted. And right in this moment, you needed him to do something against the wetness between your thighs.
As if he sensed your limited patience, he drew his thumbs harder, deeper against the inner things, brushing firmly over your slicked folds. “I long for your reaction to my touch,“ he said, circling one of his thumb upwards until it reached the most sensitive point. “To feel you so wet and desperate for it.“
Tom withdrew his thumbs from your entrance as his fingers trailered up to the seam of your underwear, hooking his fingers in the sides and pulled them down—slowly, painfully slow. You pushed yourself up on the massive wooden desk, lifting your ass to have him pull it completely away. You watched him attentively, how he balled your lace underwear in his fist and equally as slow took some steps back. Glancing up from your intimate area up to your eyes, you could swear his eyes were blazing with lust.
His gaze was stern, focusing directly on you. “Open your legs for me, darling.“
You hadn’t even notice that, as he had left you bare, you had shifted your legs together. Not leaving him out of sight, you obeyed, leaning backwards on your elbows before—to torture him just as much—slowly putting aside one leg by other, til he had an unobscured view on your tripping cunt.
He pushed his hands—one fist still balled around your underwear—in the pockets of his suit pants, drawing your attention there. Lifting his chin, he questioned, “Do you see what you do to me?“
You shifted on the desk, gaze switching between his eyes and the proof that this lust wasn’t one-sided. His pants tightened clearly around his crotch, like an invitation for even more fantasies in your head. As bare and revealing as now, you had never shown yourself to him and that feeling was thrilling, shooting shivers up your spine. Seeing the tiniest tease of what he could reveal to you drove you crazy. You hadn’t even gone as far as touching him as intimately as he touched you, and you were craving it.
Eyes focused on him, you decided to be bold. In a swift movement, you pushed your legs together again, taking away his free view, and pushed yourself to the edge of the desk. He almost didn’t dare to breathe as you glided down onto your knees, kneeling in front of it. His eyes darkened with the overcoming rush. “Let me make up for it,“ you offered.
Tom remained in his place a few feet away from you. His hesitation was obvious, just as much as desperation to set himself free from his own restrain. “If that is what you want, use words.“
Heat shot up in your cheeks, so far boldness went. You gulped, trying to ignore your sudden nervousness, “I want you to come closer to me.“
He stepped forward, leaving you almost face-to-face with his crotch. “Is that all you wish for, darling?“ he questioned, glancing down to you.
Meeting his eyes, you shook your head, hesitating for a moment before answering what you felt and wished for at your deepest core, “I want to taste your cock, sir.“
“Good choice of name,“ he murmured, brushing your hair softly behind your ear. His thumb slid slowly from your ears along your jaw.
“I think so, too, sir.“ you grinned, overwhelmed by a rush of ecstatic confidence. You’d never been one for pet names, but calling him sirmade you feel bold. Almost just as bold as your next movement, as your hands moved up along the sides of his trousers, pulling him closer to you by his brown leather belt. Your heart was pumping wildly underneath your chest, in sweet anticipation of knowing what you were about to reveal, about to do. Let alone the thought of your lips wrapped around his cock, licking and teasing his sensitive tip, was getting you even wetter.
His eyes were solely focused on you, electrifying your entire surrounding. You didn’t dare to break the eye contact as your fingers played around the steal buckle of his belt, undoing it within one swift movement, slowly pushing it aside with one hand as the other pulled down the trouser’s zipper.
So close.
As you held in, you could feel his body tremble underneath your touch. “Is that okay?“ you questioned, sweetly, teasingly.
A deep, husked laughter rumbled through his throat. “You ask me if I’m okay with this?“
Your mouth curved upwards — time to turn this around. “Yes,“ you said, honest. “As much as you like my consent, I need yours, too. So tell me, what do you want, sir?“
He sighed, pressing his lips tight together, as he looked down on you, kneeling right in front of his restrained cock.
So damn close.
“Use words.“
His jaw went rig, hearing you command him seemed to drive him closer and closer to a dangerous edge of no return. His hands brushed your cheek, tipping your chin upwards in the next second, eyes laying heavy on you. “I want your sweet, but filthy mouth around my tip of my cock.“ he said, his raspy voice doing things to you. “I want your tongue flat against my entire length. I want to be deep down your throat, and feel you choke on it.“
He paused, almost to see if his needs scared you, but instead you smiled devilish up to him. “Can you do that for me, darling?“
“I’d do nothing rather for you.“
All of this was doing something to you, changing your usual ways. It felt so unnatural of the person people knew you as. Saying such filthy things, even wanting them, worse fulfilling them, was unlike you. At least, that was what people would say if they ever found out. You, however, never felt more in control of who you truly were as a person than now. Being with him, taking what you craved, that was the truth. That was what you, deep down, wanted the most.
You glanced up, meeting his eyes as you placed your hands on each side of his jeans, pushing them down, just under his ass. The black briefs he wore clung well suited onto his thighs. One by one, you hooked your thumbs in the sides, pulling them torturously slow, not knowing who you wanted to pain more—him or yourself. Glancing back down just as the briefs slid over his hardened cock, it sprung free, revealing the glory you’d desired to see, to feel, to taste.
Your hand clasped around the front of it, giving it a soft tuck. Tom winced, a sound mixing between pleasure and pain, before your hand glided down to the base. Leaning forward, you neared your mouth to the tip, pre-cum glistering on it. An unruly sigh left Tom’s mouth, eyes closing, as your warm mouth closed around his tip, swirling your tongue around it to lick it all clean. How big, how nice he felt in your mouth, just right.
Pumping up and down around his base, you dove deeper, earning a husky hum in agreement from him. Wetness pooled in-between your legs that you squeezed together in response. “Good girl,“ he breathed out, as you laid your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, letting it glide slowly along. “Just like that, torture me. Play with me. Make me beg.“
His words of praise mixed with your heartbeat to the only sounds you could hear and feel in this very moment. All other focus laid on making him feel good. Making him feel more than good. You wanted him to never have felt better before.
Bopping your head, up, down, closer, deeper, until you could feel the anticipation on your tongue. Until you could only hear him breathe heavier. Until your mouth pulled back to his sensitive tip, circling your tongue once more around it before you plopped his wetted cock out of your mouth. Spit was running down the sides of your mouth, you probably looked like an unholy mess, but you’d bet there was as much wilderness in your eyes as there was in his.
His chest heaved as he starred down at you—his student, a lover, the reason for the filthiest thoughts he ever had—on your knees in front of him. Exposed in the middle of the lecture hall.
“Go in the office,“ he ordered, almost unable to catch his own breath, as he stepped backwards. You rose to your feet, while your glance dropped from his to his still hardened, glistening cock. Your body shivered, lost in thought of all the possibilities.
Without another word, you turned aside and walked the few steps to the small side-office, closely followed by him. Inside, your hand brushed against the large wooden desk when you heard the door lock behind him. Turning around, you noticed how he had clumsily tucked his cock back into his suit pants, leaving the zipper and belt undone.
“What now?“ you questioned, almost disappointed.
“Lean forward on the desk,“ another order, a mischief grin on his lips unlike what you had seen from him before. He wasn’t holding back anymore—good. Not breaking the eye contact, you turned your head as you leaned down the heightened desk.
“Like this?“ you asked, laying your hands flat. He hummed in response, stepping from the locked door behind you. The touch of his warm hands sent electric shocks through your body. Slowly, they brushed along the backsides of your thighs to the hem of your skirt. In one swift movement, he had pushed it up to your hips and exposed your bare ass to him. In indescribable speed, your heartbeat and thoughts raced against each other.
As one of his hand held your hips in place, the other caressed one ass cheek in soft manner. “Has anyone ever laid their hands on you during sexual activities?“
“Once.“
“What did they do?“
You gulped at the question. “He spanked my ass.“
“Did you like it?“
You shook your head. “It had no effect on me. I wanted him to do it, but he feared to hurt me, so he didn’t hit hard enough.“ you explained. “Is that awful to say? That it wasn’t hard enough?“
“No,“ he stated with a firm voice, his hand caressed your lower back. “There is no shame in what you desire. Although it shouldn’t pain you, it should pleasure you.“ After a pause, he questioned, “Do you trust me?“
“Yes,“ was your only and immediate reaction. You didn’t know why you put so much trust in someone you, truthfully, barely knew.
“Tell me immediately to stop if you feel hurt, do you hear me?“
“Yes,“ you could barely breathe out, pacing yourself for what was about to happen. You hadn’t like it before, it felt shameful to be spank by someone, although you had lusted for it. But feel the soft breeze of his hovering hand above your ass, you feared you might ended up liking it too much for your own good.
As if the air cut through, his right hand landed on your ass. A pang of pleasure shot through your spine, mixing with the pain. “How did that feel, darling?“ he asked, speaking in hushed, thick tones. As your skin tingled in recovery, his touch softly soothed the pain.
“More,“ you simply begged, unable to form any other words, too distracted by his hands brushing from your cheek to your slit.
“More?“ he echoed. A moan fell past your lips as his fingers finally met your needy ends, circling his thumb on your clit while he dipped one finger in your cunt.
“Yes,“ you whined, to which he slid another finger past your entrance, moving them in deliciously slow stroke in and out. The wet sounds of your arousal filled the office. “Please, sir.“
You stay still, bracing yourself in longing need. Just as he brought his other hand down, he curved his fingers inside your cunt upwards, stroking them against your g-spot. Your jaw fell as you grasped the edges of the desk, moans locked out of your mouth. You feared to come all over his fingers just like that. The pain stung your skin, and before it had even the chance to sooth, his hand connected to your other cheek, adding to another deep stroke inside you. You bucked against his hand, pushing your ass closer to him.
Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill any second. You wanted to come, you needed to come. You didn’t even care anymore if it was around his cock, his fingers or emptiness. You needed all these loaded feelings to explode.
His fingers filled you, but didn’t move, causing you to be unable to spasm into an orgasm. You needed more closeness, you needed him to wreck you fully. “Please,“ you whimpered, so embarrassingly needy. Your heart sprung into thousand pieces, as you begged with puffy eyes, “Please, Tom, fuck me.“
Hearing you say his name, and not another nickname, out loud seemed to do something to him. All of the sudden his fingers weren’t filling you anymore, leaving you to mourn the feeling of fullness. Instead he slid his hands gently over your arms, grabbing your wrists one by one to pull them down on your back, holding them securely there, and then there was salvation.
He had given himself a few lazy strokes, although he was still so very hardened from your actions, from your moans, from the unruly sight of you being an utter mess. You let a low cry of his name as he pushed his length into you, stretching you out fully, and it felt better than you could’ve ever dreamed of.
You gasped as he bottomed out to slam back in within seconds, “Fuck.“
The threatening tears from before were returning, now flowing unstoppable over your cheeks. This was how it was supposed to be, this was how sex should feel in your eyes—breath-robbing, lustful, driven by desire and need.
“You do so well, my darling,“ he murmured, even his voice sounded breathless. With one hand, he held yours steady behind your back, fucking in and out of your tripping cunt, as you felt his other hand drawing small circles on the sensitive nob of yours.
You had tried to keep your mouth shut, knowing that the office wouldn’t shut out all the noise, but you couldn’t help but let loose. Hectic moans, gasps and agreeing hums filled the room. “What a good girl you are, letting me fuck your tight, little pussy,“ he said, edging you with every word. “You take me so well, almost as if you’ve never done anything else.“
“Tom,“ you whined, as he slammed into you, taking up the tempo to fuck you harder against the desk. “I—“, you stumbled upon your words, unable to think straight.
He felt it, so he acted upon it, pressing harder down on your clit. Tilting even deeper, and with one grand movement, he tripped you over the edge. You clenched and pulsed around him, feeling the delicious fullness of his cock in your cunt. The only feeling you would always yearn after—to be so utterly and completely fucked out by a single orgasm.
Coming back to your senses, you felt him letting go of your wrists and suddenly, you felt nothing but emptiness as he pulled out. Turning around to him, you saw him breathless and full in pain.
Kneeling down, once more, in front of him, you gave him the signal to go on. Wildered eyes starred with gaped mouth at you, while you opened up yours wide, sticking out your tongue. His large hand closed around his length, pumping it once, twice until there was only your name, followed by a hissed moan. You felt his hot seeds on your tongue, against your cheeks, on your nose, all of your face—totally marked up.
Moving forward, you closed your mouth around his tip, sucking off every last drip before you swallowed it all down. His hand came around your chin, his thumb stroke gently across your cheek. Your eyes met his, and it was clear that you were as gone as he was. There was no coming back from this, you’d always want this.
warnings: teacher x student relationship, forbidden affairs, smut, oral, both receiving, anal play, praise and spankings, legal age gap
overview: y/n was just like any other college girl, crushing on the young and attractive literature professor at the university she attended. one day she’s asked to come back after class and things get a little steamy. who knew being a teacher’s pet was fun?
SORRY IF YOU ASKED FOR A TAG AND DIDN’T GET IT. I COULDN’T TAG MOST BECAUSE YOUR ACCOUNT WAS NOT POPPING UP FOR ME. PLEASE ENJOY! IF THIS DOES WELL AND GET 400 NOTES, I’LL POST A PART TWO!!
it was the first day back from spring break and to say y/n was excited was an understatement. she was overjoyed to see her friends again. while she was getting ready for her first class of the day, literature, and finishing the last touches to her makeup, her friend winter called. y/n answered, putting the phone on speaker so she could multitask talking and finishing getting herself ready.
"girl where are you? class is about to start," winter whisper-yelled through the phone. y/n checked the time, seeing that she was in fact behind schedule.
"fuck, i'm gonna be late," she said, rushing to put her shoes on. after making sure her uniform was neat, she grabbed her bag and phone before running out the door.
"and who are you trying to look cute for?" winter joked with a laugh upon y/n switching the call over to a facetime.
"no one. i just felt the need to dress up today. is the professor there?" she answered while speed walking over to the building her class was held in.
"no. they haven't arrived yet, so you're lucky for once," winter said with a laugh. "hurry though, i saved you a spot," she added and y/n hummed in response as she approached the building.
she made her way inside, picking up her pace so she wouldn't be that late, but ultimately made it to class.
"fucking finally. you're here," winter laughed, taking her bag off the seat next to her for y/n to sit in. "still no professor?" y/n asked and winter shrugged not knowing herself.
you know, after 15 minutes, if a teacher hasn't arrived to class after the set time has passed, class is canceled?" one male student in the back stated.
y/n turned back to see it was one of the football players. most students got to talking with excitement as it was getting close to that 15 minute mark while others were upset that they didn't get to see the professor today, y/n was one of the students who was pretty bummed out.
just when some students were packing up their supplies, the classroom door opened up.
professor lee heeseung rushed in class. "sorry for the wait guys. i was in an important staff meeting about the fair we're having for the homecoming events next week and we kind of got carried away." he said in between breaths.
he took off his blazer and set it down on the podium that was situated in the front of the room. he rolled up his sleeves. "anyone else feeling a bit hot or is that just me?" he asked, chuckling to himself.
all the girls, including y/n, couldn't help but stare at him. watching him intently.
he has to know what he's doing. he just knows how attractive he is. y/n thought to herself.
"no it's hot in here sir. me and my friends think the air conditioning unit has stopped working." one female student stated.
heeseung nodded his head in acknowledgement, "oh i see. i'll have to make a complaint about that later. let me write that down so i don't forget." he said walking over to his desk situated in the corner of the room.
he pulled out a sticky notepad from one of his drawers and grabbed a pen from the cuphold on the desk and scribbled a mental note to himself there.
"okay, considering i was way behind my schedule. i'm going to give you all a break and just let you either stay here to make up work or you can just leave. it's completely up to you all." heeseung said, looking around the classroom after he placed the notepad back on his desk.
most students didn't hesitate to collect their things and bid heeseung goodbye or thank him for his kindness.
of course he smiled and bid those goodbye before turning his attention back to the few students that did decide to stay. which consisted of a two male students, one being a literature major and the other that just so happened to be asleep and the rest we girls that just wanted an excuse to stare at the professor.
"assuming that you all are here for help and to catch up on work so feel free to ask me any questions, okay?" he said once more before heading back to his desk.
y/n watched his backside as he headed to his desk and wondered what his back muscles looked like under his dress shirt. once he sat down he looked back towards the class, catching y/n stare. she imma looked down in embarrassment and busied herself with her studies, not catching the little smirk that made his way on his face.
y/n felt movement beside her and looked over to see her seatmate fixing herself up before calling out to the professor. "professor lee? i need help on one of the older assignments you gave. can you give me a but of assistance with it?" y/n heard her ask.
he nodded and signaled for her to come to his desk and so she did. getting up from her seat, swaying her hips purposely in the process.
she bent over his desk, showing her cleavage to him as she placed her paper down for 'help'.
that's usually how things goes. most girls go out there way to get his attention but from all the things y/n has seen, it doesn't seem to work. he wasn't phased by it and just gave her the help she needed before he sent her back to her seat.
another girl failed. y/n of course hasn't. in fact, she never tried to because she was too scared and too shy to even hold a conversation or even ask him for help but that never stopped him from trying to talk to her.
he had taken an interest in calling on her sometimes for questions she never volunteers herself from.
usually that would end up with her stuttering to answer it or having her frozen from being put on the spot.
after a while of sitting in a somewhat silent classroom, heeseung cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention. "attention everyone class is just about over and my next class will be here soon." he stated, looking at his wristwatch.
everyone packed up their things and headed out of the class. y/n was just about to leave before she was stopped by heeseung's voice suddenly calling out to her.
y/n stopped where she was near the classroom door, turning to him as he sat at his desk. "yes, professor lee?" she asked. he motioned for her to come to him, waving his hand in a signaling gesture. she was hesitant at first, she wasn't sure if she should or not. she swallowed her own pride and made her way over to him.
"so i wanted to talk to you to see if you'd like to help me later with gathering things for the art and theatre club. they'll be doing most of the creative work and i promised the directors that i'll head to the storage area in the left wing and get the supplies they needed. i can't do it myself, so would you like to help a poor old man like me?" he asked with pleading eyes.
y/n was a bit speechless as to why he chose her out of all people. he wants me to help him? she thought to herself. there was no way out of all the girls in this class, he chose her. she stood there unresponsive for a bit, lost in her own thoughts. it began to worry him a little bit from her sudden quietness. "it's okay if you don't want to i can always just ask-" he couldn't finish his sentence as y/n interrupted him with a slightly raised voice. "no!"
she realized the tone and volume of her voice and felt hot from the embarrassment. she didn’t notice the change in his demeanor, a slight smirk appearing on his face knowing his plan was working.
"uhm i meant no it's okay professor lee, i can help you. i don't mind at all!" she stated a bit too eagerly.
she mentally cursed at herself because of it but nonetheless, heeseung didn't seem to mind. "great!! just meet me back here around 7pm, okay?" he smiled softly, causing y/n’s heart to flutter. he definitely knows the effect he has on her.
she nodded her head in agreement before flashing him a small smile in return. “yes sir,” she retorted before walking out the classroom door. she was lost in her thoughts once again, geeking over the fact that he wanted alone time with her. this was truly a dream come true.
her thoughts soon interrupted by her best friend winter spooking her, “hey!” winter yelled a little bit as she approached her. y/n grabbed her chest as she calmed herself down. “my bad, didn’t mean to scare you,” winter joked before bursting out into a fit of giggles, earning a slap on the arm from her friend. “that’s not funny win,” y/n stated, rolling her eyes playfully as she walked off with winter following close behind her. “so what was that all about?” she asked, jumping in her face as she interrogated her. y/n gently pushed her back, smiling wide as the scene replayed in her mind. even though it just happened moments prior to this conversation, she couldn’t help but reminisce about how he chose her. winter nudged her, bringing her back to reality. “soooo are you going to tell me why hot stuff over there held you back?” she questioned again but y/n only giggled in response, causing her bestie to groan at in annoyance. “its nothing really, he just wants me to help him with something for theatre class and i told him i would,” she replied honestly.
winter stared at her intensely, looking for any glimmer of doubt. she was trying to see if she was lying to her or not. y/n stared back at her clueless as to why her best friend was seemingly trying to intimidate her for some reason. is she jealous? she thought. ultimately, winter shrugged it off. i guess she was being truthful. “well good luck and make sure you use a condom, i’m not ready to be an auntie just yet,” she laughed, nudging her friend. y/n’s eyes widened upon hearing those words leave her mouth. before she could smack her friend, winter took off running, satisfied with the reaction she got from her bestie. y/n followed shortly behind, yelling out threats to her friend as she did so.
__________________________
time seemed to have moved on so fast. it was already 7pm and y/n was making her way back to professor heeseung’s classroom. i hope this doesn’t look suspicious. she was having second thoughts. maybe this was a bad idea. she didn’t want to get caught up in something that wasn’t true, even though she wished it was. she didn’t want people to think she was having a secret affair with her teacher, but then again she didn’t actually mind it at all. she longed for him to caress her ever so gently. she wanted to feel his lips against her own but who didn’t? every girl on campus wanted a piece of him but can you blame them? he’s in his late twenties teaching hormonal nineteen and twenty year olds. a lot of his students were fresh out of highschool so seeing a young professor was like winning the lottery.
eventually she made it towards his classroom door, peering inside. it was dark and the only form of light was coming from the hallway where she stood. she scanned the room as best as she could but there was no sign of him. maybe he had forgotten. as she was about to walk away she ran face first into something or someone. she looked up and was face to face with heeseung himself. oh god. she thought. a light blush painted her face as she realized how close they were so she took a few steps back. “sorry, i should’ve been paying more attention to where i was going,” she apologized, her eyes averting her vision everywhere but his.
the view was astonishing to him. their slight height difference boosted his ego. it empowered him. he knew exactly what he what he was doing. y/n was timid and kept to herself. she wasn’t like the other girls he taught.
everyday a female student would force themselves onto him any chance he got. he was used to all the attention he gotten. he may not have shown it but he did enjoy it. so it was weird that y/n never seemed to try. he knew she found him attractive but she never seem to give him the time of day. so he started making moves. calling on her during class even though she never raised her hand, taking initiative to talk to her after class whenever he could because he knew it made her heart race. the innocence she portrayed had drawn her in. it was something he had to obtain, more so, alter it. he wanted her to be his, to hold, to control. that’s exactly how they ended up here. he falsified the ‘i need help’ teacher act. he knew she would fall for it. she was oblivious to it all.
he stared at her for a moment before he spoke, “it’s okay, i was just heading in,” he stated before moving passed her and towards the door. he unlocked it and entered the room, holding the door open for her. “are you joining me still?” he asked tenderly, his voice soft and sweet. it made her heart skip a beat. he was pure gold to her. a soft hearted, well-mannered, absolutely beautiful, educated and elegant man was spending alone time with her. she was head over heels for him.
she hummed in response and followed in right behind him. upon entering he closed the door, discreetly locking it without her noticing and flicked on the lights. “i hope you don’t mind, i have to gather up a few paperwork before we head that way, is that fine?” he asked, making his way towards his desk. he sat down, picking up groups of scattered papers that sat disorganized on his desk. he neated placed them into piles before putting them in his briefcase that he brought with him. y/n walked closer, gazing over at him. she watched
him quietly, fiddling with her fingers as she did so. she couldn’t help but think about what winter said earlier. imagining her professor fucking her on this desk right now.
images of him pounding into her core flushed her mind, making her core leak from the slight horniness that had taken over her. she was so lost in thought she couldn’t hear heeseung calling out to her. he then cleared his throat, finally gaining her attention. she looked up at him, face flustered. she looked absolutely stunning to him; no, beautiful actually. he wanted to ruin her. “you’re one of my best students?” he asked, getting up from his seat and walked over to the front of his desk where he leaned up against it.
she was dumbfounded, “i am?” she asked innocently, her brows furrowed slightly in confusion. heeseung found it adorable, she really didn’t have a clue in the world. “precisely. you’ve never been the type to throw yourself at me. that’s what i like about you,” he continued, making her all flustered again. he truly was enjoying this moment right now. “i’m just not the kind of girl. you’re my teacher not a love interest,” she said truthfully, but he didn’t like that response. he knew better than that and so did she. they both wanted each other more than anything right now.
he began to loosen his tie, then slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt. “is that really how you feel?” he asked, finally pulling his shirt open, revealing his toned abdomen. she stared in awe as she watched him strip in front of her. his shirt sliding off his shoulder and falling to the ground. her eyes trailed down his figure. he was a sight to see that’s for sure. she noticed a tent forming in his pants and she audibly gasped unintentionally. a smirk appeared on his lips. gotcha. he thought.
she didn’t know how to react in this very moment. what was she supposed to do? her very attractive literature teacher was standing shirtless in front of her. that’s every girl on campus dream and yet here she was living it.
“i-i don’t know if this is appropriate professor,” she stuttered, averting her gaze towards the floor. she stared at her sneakers until another pair of shoes came into view. she froze. too scared to look up now knowing how close he was to her. he took his hand and gently tilted her head upward so they were facing each other. she gulped, now meeting eyes with a different side of her professor. and truth be told, she was enjoying every second of it. “i want you more than anything right now,” he said, disregarding her previous statement of whether this was appropriate between the two. he didn’t care. nine years wasn’t that big of an age gap for him. she was nineteen and he was twenty- eight years old. how bad could this be?
he looked her in her eyes, searching for any sign he needed to know what his next move was. there it was, like a flicker. he smiled mischievously, pondering his next move but was surprised by her crashing her lips onto his.
she kissed him hungrily. she couldn’t hold it any longer. she needed him right now.
heeseung snaked his arm around her, grabbing her thighs to signal her to jump. she did, jumping into his embrace and wrapping her legs around his waist as their lips danced in one another.
he carried her to his desking, next faltering this kiss. he sat her on the edge, slipping his tongue in her mouth and explore every crevice of it. she moaned into the kiss, sucking on his tongue as he fiddled with the hem of her shirt. he broke the kiss, pulling her shirt over her head, taking it off and tossing it on the floor.
y/n took that time to catch her breath before he smashed his lips back on to hers. she grabbed his belt loosening it up but before she could pull them down he stopped her, grabbing ahold of her hands, “not so fast baby, lets take it slow.”
she whined, disappointed and desperate. he laughed, placing a small and shirt kiss on her lips. he unclipped her bra, sliding it off her. her breasts we plumped and perky. just how he liked them. he attached his mouth to one breast, sucking and swirling his tongue around her nipple. she bit back a few moans that threatened to slip out. she felt elastic. she knew what they were doing was so wrong but it felt so right. the adrenaline rush she got from this turned her on more. at any given moment they could be caught by anyone, a dean, a security guard, or a fellow student passing by.
she didn’t care at all, it thrilled her actually. fueling her desires even more. she watched and he alternated between each of her breast, leaving love bites all over her chest before proceeding to kiss down to the hem of her skirt, he didn’t care to take those off, he wanted to fuck her in her cute little uniform skirt so he pushed them up to get a better view of her leaking core.
a small chuckle left his lips upon seeing how soaked her panties were just from them kissing. she felt a little embarrassed hearing him laugh and tried to shut her legs but he stopped her from doing so. “don’t hide baby, she’s beautiful. let’s she was she looks like without these in the way,” he reassured her, sliding her pantines to the side to get a better look and her dripping core.
her little cunt made him go crazy. he looked up at her as he licked between her flaps. the warmth of his tongue sent shivers down her spine. he placed small kisses on her clit, edging her on. he wanted to tease her and have her begging for more.
y/n was too impatient and grabbed a fistful of his hair, shoving his face into her leaky cunt, heeseung obliged, giving her what she wanted. he began to eat her out, sucking on her clit and flicking his tongue in a way that made her toes curl. soft moans escape her mouth but she didn’t care. everything felt so good right now. place her legs above his shoulders and started to slowly grind against his face. the pleasure building up as she felt ecstatic. she threw her head back, moaning loudly as she continued to hump his face. he watched her as she got closer to her climax, he took two of his digits and plunged them deep into her pretty little cunt.
a loud gasp was heard from her, feeling his fingers deep inside him. he thrusted them faster, curling them as he hit her sweet spot, earning beautiful moans from y/n. he absolutely loved it. he was marking what was rightfully his. he continued his pace as she grew closer to her climax. he sucked a little harder on her clit, humming, sending vibrations to her core. a familiar pit grew in her stomach.
she was close, so so close and couldn’t contain it any longer. she screamed, forgetting where she was for a moment. her back arching as she squirted into his mouth, causing him to choke a little bit as her juices hit the back of his throat. she rode out her orgasm and she grinded on his face more before falling back onto his desk breathless.
heeseung stood up, dropping his pants to the floor as he looked down at her tired little figure laying on his desk. “we’re not finished yet, angel,” he said, stroking his long and thick member in his hand. she looked up, her eyes widened. there was no way in hell that was going to fit in her. “can daddy have some head baby?” he asked softly and she nodded, getting off his desk and kneeling before him. he cooed, watching her doe eyes stare up at him. he was loving this view of her better. she parted her lips slightly as he began to slap his cock against her face.
“open your mouth wide baby,” he instructed and she obliged, parting her lips more as s
he slid his cock right in. his breath hitched in his throat. the warmth of her mouth engulfing his seven inches did something to him. he let her take control, watching her bob her head on his thickness, taking every inch and girth of his cock. “yes baby. just like that. you’re doing so good for me,” he praised, encouraging her more. she forced herself to deep throat him, gagging as she did. he grunted at the feeling of her throat hugging his member, her gagging made the feeling even better.
her eyes started to brim with tears as his cock hit the back of her throat, drool dripping down her chin.
she took her hand and stroked him while sucking him off. this pleasure alone could’ve made him cum but he was determined to last. he grabbed her by her hair, pulling her off him to keeping him for cumming then and there. she winced from the harsh grip but didn’t stop it. she liked how rough he was getting. it turned her on even more.
he bent down crashing his lips onto hers. he didn’t care that she just had his cock in his mouth, he was a real man like that. kissing her hard and tasting himself on her before he pulled back. “open your fucking mouth!” he exclaimed, and she did without hesitation. he spit in her mouth and she swallowed it so effortlessly. “you like that my nasty little slut?” he asked and she whined in response.
he slipped his cock back into her mouth, fucking her throat hard, she choked out a cry around his member. he didn’t care. he kept fucking her mouth hard and deep, moaning loudly. “fuck just like that baby,” he said once more. he felt his climax coming soon so he pulled right back out. “bend over my desk,” he ordered. she got up slowly, her legs wobbling a bit. he couldn’t help but laugh, “don’t laugh,” she pouted and he cooed at her, he helped her lay her stomach flat onto his desk, her bottom side completely exposed.
he bit his lip at the sight in front of him, rubbing his hands against her firmly plumped ass cheeks. he needed to mark them. he took his big hand and smack down on her ass hard, causing a scream of pain and pleasure from y/n. this was all so new to her. she never knew she’d like being treat like a fuck toy by her hot professor. he brought a side of her she didn’t know she possessed. he lashed at her ass a few times, the classroom echoing from skin slapping and cries coming from y/n. who knew being a teacher's pet could be so fun.
handprints now decorated her ass and he was more that pleased to know that it was because of him. only he could have her like this.
he positioned himself at the entrance of her core, “spread for me baby,” he told her softly. she reached back, grabbing her ass cheeks and spread them open; giving him more access to come right on in. he spat between her crack, using his dick to wipe it down towards her cunt before sliding the tip in. they both moaned out in pleasure upon contact.
she felt every bit of his cock slide into her tight little cunt before he bellowed out. his whole member filled her to the brim. he sat there for a moment, letting her adjust to his size before he began to move. slowly thrusting in and out of her, he pace precise and steady.
the desk began to squeak against the floor as he thrusted harder than before, yelps of pleasure falling from her lips. he was digging into her guts. it felt like his tip was touching the inside of her stomach. her moans encouraging him to go harder. he dugges his cock deeper into her, her ass clapping against his skin. the room filled with the sounds of them fucking. he hoped they wouldn’t get caught but parts of him did. he wanted people to see the whore he was making out of her. he wanted people to know who she belonged to. he felt her wet cunt hug his girth, bringing both of them to their high, he fucked her harder, sliding his thumb in her ass. she screamed once more from the unexpected intrusion. fuck. he thought.
the pleasure was becoming too much for her, she couldn’t handle it any longer. both her holes were filled, a sensation she never knew she needed. “fuck baby i’m gonna cum,” he said and she could only moan out incoherent nonsense in response. that drove him nuts. he picked up his pace, fucking her to her climax. she cried out loud as the pleasure was unbearable and came hard once again.
this drove heeseung to his climax as well, cumming deep and hard into her. they hadn’t worn a condom. his cum filling her deep and oozing out with every little thrust he gave before him finally pulled out. he placed a kiss on her back before watching his thick load spill right out of her cunt. he didn’t care that they didn’t play it safe. to be honest, baby didn’t sound that bad to him. she was stuck with him regardless.
he reached over to the tissue box on his desk and began to clean her up and help her get dressed before dressing himself. she sat back up on his desk, her makeup ruined from all the sweat and tears she indured with getting her brains fuck out.
“you’re mine princess, got it?” he stated, pulling her close. she tiredly hummed in response, too warn out to say a word. a small smile formed on both of their faces before they snuck back out and went their separate ways.
the next day rolled around and y/n was heading to class where she met up with winter. “so how was it?” winter asked, and y/n furrowed her brows. “how was what?” she asked and winter laughed.
“how was it when you sucked his dick?” she joked, causing y/n to freeze. how did she know? did someone see us? she thought. winter nudged her friend. “i’m just joking god. i know nothing happened. you don’t have it in you to do something of that nature,” winter assured her, causing her to relax again. she didn’t know after all. y/n laughed, “i don’t think i could ever do anything like that,” she lied.
their conversation was cut short upon professor heeseung entering the class room. “good morning everyone!” he greeted, and most of them greeted back. him and y/n locked eyes momentarily, causing her to blush and look away before he began today’s lesson.
winter grew a little suspicious of that little encounter but said nothing.
if only she knew what was to come in the near future.
“This little pussy, wanting to fuck your professor like a good little student”
Psychology professor Nanami Kento fucking his perverted student
CW: overstim, rough sex, size difference (if you squint), face slapping, spanking, groping, perverted reader, oral (f. Rec), fingering.
You didn’t process at first when he emailed you, talking about getting your grade up for a class that what detrimental to your GPA. He had told you to meet him at a restaurant, which at first sure you thought it was out of the ordinary, but it was a public space. People were around, and you so so desperately needed to get your grade up.
So here you were, sitting across from professor K. in a dimly lit restaurant. Appetizers and wine in front of both of you as he flips through your papers. Softly murmuring to you that you “really need to get these grades up kid”.
You know you have been slacking off. You were desperate. You couldn’t fail, not now, not so close to the end of the semester. Your parents would be on your ass about how they knew going to this college instead of an Ivy league school would “ruin your life”. You would never hear the end of it,
“So what do i have to do to get it up? Just a few extra credit assignments right… or is it really that bad…” you said, looking at him nervously. His glasses hanging low on his nose. His blonde hair brushed back neatly. He was so fucking hot, no wonder you were failing his class. You spent more time rubbing one out to him instead of studying.
“A few extra credit assignments yes, But you’re gonna have to pass your final exam with at least a 99% and honestly kid… i don’t think you’ve paid enough attention to know almost all of the material for this semester. You’re definitely gonna need some tutoring if you wanna get this up.” He says, clearing his throat shortly after.
Evening out the stack of papers as he puts them back in his brief case. His eyes meet your own, scanning over your worried expression. “I don’t have money for a tutor..” You whispered. Almost sounding ashamed as if being broke as a college student wasn’t more than normal. Especially if you don’t have rich parents.
He nods understandingly. Eyes shifting up to the waiter as he orders his meal smoothly, the rings on his fingers glistening in the warm lighting as he grips the menu. Eyes flicking over his lasses to look at you as you order your own meal. Once you’re done he looks at the waiter, “A refill for the lady too please” he says. Nodding towards your almost empty glass of wine.
The waiter nods, grabbing your glass and moving back to the kitchen with his note pad and our menu’s. “You know i could always tutor you… i care about my students, especially the ones who take time to discuss with me about their grades.” He says. Hands interlocking on the table. The muscles of his white dress shirt bulging out.
You crossed your legs over one another, squeezing to attempt to take some of the throb away from your core. ‘Not the fucking time to be getting wet’ you say angrily at yourself in your head.
“When? The final exam is in 4 days and i still need to do those extra credit assignments. Also.. are you even allowed to tutor your students?” You ask. Eyes squinting as you look at him. Hand moving up to nervously play with your silver necklace hanging between your breasts.
“Im not supposed to be doing a lot of things. Yet if you want your grade up that badly, I’ll stay quiet about all of this” he waves his hand around at the restaurant dismissively. His intense gaze never leaving your face. “We could start tonight. You can come to my apartment and I’ll help you with those extra credit assignments. Then we can meet in my classroom after school hours so i can tutor you.. or the library even if you more comfortable with that of course.”.
You swallowed the deep lump in your throat. Alone? After hours in his classroom.. his apartment?! That sounded insane. It also sounded heavenly. God you were getting wetter by the second. You couldn’t help it. Every girl in Mr Nanami’s class wanted to fuck him. Hell, maybe even some of the guys.
You nodded slowly, “Yeah i think that would help me..” you whispered. Sipping on some of your water, looking at him over the rim of your glass.
So the dinner went by. He plugged in his address into your GPS on your phone before getting in his own car. Driving to his apartment your stomach fluttered with overwhelming anxiety. Why did you agree to this? You could’ve just used some youtube videos and google to study, pulled multiple all nighters. That sounded horrendous though. Late nights with the hottest teacher on campus sounded much more bearable.
You had gotten out of your car after contemplating for around 30 minutes. Walking to his apartment door. If you could even call it that. It was a penthouse basically. Apartment my fucking ass, he was rich, disgustingly rich. You lifted your hand. Knocking 3 times before wiping your sweaty palm over your jean leg.
‘C’mon y/n, you just had a dinner with him, theres no going back now.’
He opened the door. In a black pull over sweatshirt and grey sweats- holy fuck, grey sweats. You couldn’t stop your eyes from pausing on the large package showing on his sweats. You tore your eyes away, looking at the ground instead. “I got worried you got lost for a second. What took you so long?” He had asked. His voice low and rough.
He stepped aside letting you walk in. Right there on his coffee table in his living room were print outs of extra credit assignments along with a study guide list of what you needed to know before the final exam.
His hands met with your shoulders, gently prying your coat off of you. “I printed out some study guides as well as extra credit assignments” he informs softly, nodding over to the coffee table.
You nod your head, slipping off your shoes and walking over to the living room in your socks. He follows you, sitting on the couch next to you. At first it’s goes slow, talking about the psychology goals and working on a checklist of everything you need to know to pass the class. While you’re working on some of the papers with his guidance, you notice his stare on your face almost the entire time.
It’s intense and way too intimate, his dimly lit penthouse adding to the overall aura of the situation. Your cheeks are frothed over with a pink blush, your hands sweating. “So the cognitive theory is how children’s thought process develops in stages into adulthood right…” you whisper.
He hums deeply in agreement. “Good girl” he murmurs. You’re sitting crisscross on his floor at his coffee table, him sitting right next to you. You unconsciously press your heel to your crotch, trying to ease the throbbing ache left there from his endearment.
His hand covers yours before you write the wrong answer on another question. “No hon, that’s functionalism… not structuralism. Go ahead and tell me the difference between the two.” He says. His gruff voice pursing through your mind.
You look up at him and he squeezes your hand in encouragement. “S-structuralism is… breaking down mental processes and elements while functionalism is… how mental processes help people survive and adapt to its environment.” You say. Struggling over your words.
He smiles at you. Hand slipping away from your, taking your pencil from your hand before sliding his paper over to him, writing a sharp 100% on the extra credit assignment at the top with his signature even though you haven’t completely finished. Still having about 5 more questions left.
“You’re doing such a good job for someone who was too busy staring at me instead of paying attention to the lessons.” He says. Placing the pencil down on your graded, unfinished paper. Fixing his gaze to look down at your own shocked one.
“I wasn’t staring at you!” You rush out. Your face flushed completely red as you try to look away. Feeling exposed.
He laughs, the sound rich and deep. His hand moving over to grab your chin, pulling you to face him again. His grip firm but not unkind. “If I were to kiss you, would you let me?” He asks. Putting you straight on the spot and not giving you the option to look away or avoid it.
You swallowed hard. Heel of your foot pressing harder on your clit through your jeans. You nodded your head. Without processing, his lips were gently pressed against yours. His hand sliding from your chin to gently grasp around your neck. A small squeak escaping you.
Your hands wrap around his wrist, lips relaxing and moving back against his. “Na-nami we really shouldn’t-“ you whimper when his other hand tangles through your hair, pulling your head back.
His other hand tightening slightly on your neck before releasing, sliding down to your lower back as he sits down on the floor. Guiding you to straddle his lap. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and your core meeting his bulge through his sweatpants.
You pull back, trying to catch your breath. He’s needy, moving his mouth over the corner of your own, down your jaw and neck to your collar bone where he sucks a hickey. Marking you as more than just his good little student.
His tongue sticks out, licking a wet strip all the way to your ear. Your breath hitches, goosebumps rising on your arms. Hand finding his hair and massaging his scalp gently. “I want you so bad” you whine. Hips pressing down on his bulge with small, helpless little grinds.
A deep groan escapes his chest into your ear as both his hands suddenly grab your ass. Pulling you onto him in harsher, slower grinds. “I know” he murmurs, suckling on your earlobe. “this little pussy getting so wet from me teaching you. Didn’t even fucking listen to a thing I was saying. Such a little fucking slut.” He mumbles off in your ear. Hand harshly coming down on your ass eliciting a yelp from you.
“Kento! That hurt” you whine. Digging your face in his neck with another soft cry when he brings his hand down again, even harder.
“Aww that hurt hon” he pouts mockingly. Gripping your hips tightly making you grind your clit directly on his bulge through both of your pants. The friction making you so wet, hot and needy.
Your hands pull on the collar on his shirt, silently begging him to take it off. You need to see him shirtless. Need to see if it’s just how you imagined. He laughs at your tugs. Biting down on your neck before pulling his shirt over his head, throwing it on the floor. His muscles are huge, his shoulders broad. Such a fucking man.
His thumb moves up, shoving in your mouth and pulling your jaw down before spitting on your tongue. You jolt back looking at him. “Swallow…. There y’go good” he mumbles. Thumb sliding out of your mouth.
He moves to stand up, hands gripping your ass and holding you as he kisses on your neck. Walking upstairs with ease as if you weigh less than nothing. He kicks open the door to his room and walks in, throwing you down on the plush, king size bed. You bounce slightly, playing scooting up his bed as he crawls over you. Grabbing your ankles and pulling you back down roughly.
He leans over you chuckling, “tryna run baby?” He says. Kissing over your shirt covered breasts. You giggle at him. Face flushed watching his kisses descent down to your crotch. Pressing a kiss over the seam on your jeans. Hands fumbling with your zipper, tugging your jeans down your thick, soft thighs.
Revealing your lacy black panties that you wore specifically in delusions of well.. this happening.
He pressed a warm, open mouthed kiss on your pussy. Pulling back to dig his nose between your folds through your panties, sucking a harsh breath. Letting out a deep moan. “This little pussy, wanting to fuck your teacher so bad. So filthy” he mumbles, looking up at you’re through his glasses and eyelashes.
“M’not filthy.” You whine. Looking down at him. Running your hands softly through his hair. His thumb presses down on your tiny hole through your panties, applying pressure.
“Don’t talk back to your professor” he mumbles. Sucking your clit into his mouth through your panties. Making you gasp softly. Hands tightening in his hair.
His free hand comes down on your outside of your thigh. “Say ‘yes professor” he says. Causing you to whimper as he rubs the sting on your thigh.
You swallow down your embarrassment, “Y-yes professor” you whisper. Feeling more of your arousal drip out of you. Onto his thumb and soaking your panties.
“Mmm, good little student.” He says. Pulling your panties to the side, exposing your wet and puffy folds to his intense gaze. You could feel his eyes burning through your skin. Your inner thighs trembling in anticipation.
His tongue sticks out, licking a long stripe up your slit. Parting your syrupy folds. His eyes roll to the back of his head before focusing back on your face with a new sense of hunger.
He pulls back spitting meanly on your clit before pulling it into his mouth. Chewing gently. You gasp, eyes fluttering as your thighs envelope his face, squeezing his head. His teeth graze harder against the tiny button sucking and soothing it after with his tongue. Flicking against it harshly.
He watches the way your eyes glaze over with pleasure and how your stomach clenches and releases, breasts heaving under your shirt with deep breaths. His hands slide to the back of your knees, pushing them back to your chest despite how they’re clenching, trying to stay as closed as possible to help tone down the pleasure.
You’re spread open to the assault his mouth is placing on your clit. Every now and then sliding his tongue down and sticking inside your hole, watching how you gasp and whimper at the slight stretch.
You’re not able to squirm or close your legs with the way he has you spread open. Making you feel every taste bud on your most sensitive areas. His right hand every so often lifting from the back of your knee and smacking your thigh hard. “Louder” he mumbles against your cunt. The vibrations sending shivers through your body.
Your whimpers get louder, tiny, breathless moan escaping your bitten lips. “Nami! s’too much! M’gonna cum” you barely get out. He doesn’t stop or slow down, his long, slender middle fingers from his right hand sliding inside of you. Hooking up into the spongey spot inside of you. Applying pressure and rubbing against that spot with each thrust, his mouth never leaving your clit.
Your eyes roll back as you come. Your left leg straightening out and trembling as your other one is still being held to your chest. Clit pulsing and twitching against his tongue. He smirks up at you smugly as he works your through your orgasm till your pushing against his forehead gently. Hips trying to jerk away from his mouth from overstimulation.
He finally pulls back a spits meanly on your cunt. Hand coming down in a stinging slap, the wetness adding to the pain making you wince, tears pricking at your eyes as you look at him. His palm rubs against your pussy, keeping it stimulated and sensitive.
His other hand pushing your t shirt up and pulling the cups of your bra down. Not even bothering to take it off, just wanting to see your breasts move as you squirm. His hand lifts and comes down harder against your cunt making you jerk in a loud whimper. “It hurts!” You whine. His palm leaving a sting against your most sensitive area.
“Whats operant conditioning?” He asks suddenly. Thumb meeting your clit as rubbing in fast, tight circles. Your head throwing back and both of your hands shooting down to grab his wrists as a low mewl escapes you.
“W-what?” You say. Eyebrows furrowing. His thumb presses down harder as he leans down, pressing his forehead against your own. The eye contact burning through your soul as his thumb tortures you over sensitive clit like it’s nothing but his play thing.
“Explain operant conditioning” he says, more frustration this time like he’s degrading a bad student for cheating.
“I-Its when- ahh— it’s when rewards or punishments! Ouch!— is given for— nanami fuck i cant. M’gonna cum again!” Your words and moans stumble over each other as he spanks your cunt and rubs your clit faster.
“Then hold it and answer the fucking question” he says. His tone leaving no room for argument. “Reward and punishment is given for…” he trails off, waiting for you to finish the sentence as your body is tensed up, holding back my orgasm that his thumb is throwing your body towards rapidly.
“For reinforcing or stopping behavior!” You push out of your mouth. Coming immediately after you answer. Body shaking as your nails dig into his wrist. He was so nice when he was teaching. You never thought he would be so mean.
He pulls his hand away when you completely finish. You turn on your side pulling his pillow to your chest. Hair sticking to your forehead from sweating. You can hear him taking off his sweats, leaving him in just black boxers as you feel his hand smack against the fat off your ass before soothing the sting into your skin, making the tears in your eyes fall down your face.
“Such a good girl for me. So smart and beautiful” he murmurs. Hand smoothing over the red mark on your ass as if he wasn’t the one who put it there. His other hand grabbing your ankle pulling you further to the edge of the bed and onto your back.
His hand slides up gripping your cheeks gently making you look at him. His face stern but kind and aroused. “You can tell me to stop anytime… i wouldn’t be spanking you if it didn’t make your pussy gush all over the place like it is right now. Im not gonna hurt you baby” he whispers. Thumb stroking your cheek.
“Understand?” He says. Face softening slightly as you nod your head. He leans down pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good. Tell me what you need baby” he whispers. Hand wiping away your tears. Other hand stroking your ankle with a gentleness contrasting his earlier action.
“I want you..” you whisper. Thighs closing and pressing together. Hips squirming slightly. “Want you to be mean and comfort me after” you whisper. Looking to the side embarrassed that you actually just told him that. His chuckle doing nothing but adding to your embarrassment and arousal dripping out of you.
“Spread your legs” he orders. Hands moving to pull his sweats off. His hard cock springing out and slapping up against his stomach. He’s fucking huge. Thats never gonna fit..-
Your thoughts are cut off with a soft, smack against your face that felt more like a love tap. “Don’t make me ask again.” He says. Watching you spread your legs.
His hand grabs the base of his cock. Slapping the tip against your engorged, red clit. Sliding it up and down between your folds. His tip catching on your hole and clit with each grind.
His hands slid down from your elbows to your wrists. Holding your arms above your head and to the mattress. His cock sliding into you slowly. Watching you gasp, mouth falling open and back arching off the mattress.
He groans deeply, leaning down and laying his body over yours. Pushing you to lay flat on your back, trapping you underneath him as he splits you open. Filling you to the brim. Cock head pushing against your cervix. “So tight and wet” he murmurs. A moan escaping him as he starts thrusting. Hips rocking against yours. Somehow pushing himself deeper inside of you.
“Such a good little student, spreading your legs and letting your professor fuck you like this, like a little slut needs to be fucked” he mumbles.
“Ericksons first stage of psychosocial development?” He asks. “Trust vs mistrust” you moan out without hesitation. He smirks. Your eyes are half lidded and fluttering as he humps you. Your legs shaking around his waist.
“Lift your legs around my shoulders… Now.” He says. Watching your trembling thighs pull back and over his shoulders. Putting you in a mean mating press. Allowing him full access to fuck you however he pleases.
And he does. Pulling his hips back till only the tip remains insider. His large hands tightening around your wrists as he slams back in deep. Barely giving you time to adjust to the new and rough rhythm he’s setting. You forget how many times you’ve came already. Mind turned into mush as he doesn’t stop.
Your crying, toes curled and face scrunched up in overstimulation.
“Yeah, keep crying f’me”
He fucks you through at least five before your pussy is nonstop fluttering around him. Molded to the shape of his cock as one of his hands holds both your wrists, thumb circling your messy clit. “Milking me like this, such a good girl taking it. Such a good little doll letting me fuck you like this.” He mumbles.
His thrusts getting sloppy as his orgasm finally approaches. “Cum. Cum around me. Hey hey, no running, just fucking cum like the stupid slut you’re being f’me right now.” And you do. You come so hard your vision blanks out.
He groans as he cums inside of you. His lips meeting your er as he whispers,
“You passed”.
So happy i got this out on time!
See you Friday!
Please comment, reblog, and like, it keeps me going.
@zo-zoe all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or modify any of my works. I only post on this account on tumblr.
OH.MY.GOD. The miller POV for wrong assignment is soooo gooodddd AAAAAA i love their dynamic thoooo, can u write some angst and smut too??? Alsooo what if same character but this time Joel is so jealous of someone 😩😩
Hehe im glad im the first ine, ur writing is soo good 🥺❤️
The Wrong Assignment - Jealousy
A/N: Ahh thank you, anon! ♡ you're making me so happy with these asks. I love that you enjoy these two so much. What was supposed to be a one shot has now turned into three parts, all thanks to you!
Tags: minors DNI, oral sex (f receiving), oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, mild degradation, praise, dirty talk, fingering, public sex
WC: 4.7k
The Wrong Assignment | TWA: Joel's POV | TWA Masterlist
Joel had given in to your demands. After months of trying to fight the draw he felt toward you, you had successfully worn him down.
Since the incident in his office when he had made you ride a dildo while you blew him, the two of you had been nearly inseparable. Between classes, in the morning, at the end of the day, in his office, in his car, in the janitor’s closet (that one was a close call), you seemed to be having sex constantly.
Joel even got a prescription for those little blue pills to help him out occasionally, as it seemed you were insatiable at times. He couldn’t deny that he wanted it just as bad as you, even if he didn’t show it. Besides, he knew you liked a challenge now and again.
So why was it that this evening, while Joel had you bent over his desk, you were being more quiet than usual?
He slipped his hand between your thighs, rubbing firm circles on your clit, and whispered in your ear, “Give it t’me, sweetheart, let me hear your moans.” The next sound that came out of your mouth was anything but genuine.
Joel paused his thrusts, frozen behind you. He felt you press against him, attempting to continue the movements. Instead of acquiescing, he pulled all the way out. You looked over your shoulder at him with a confused expression and asked, “what are you doing?”
His brows were furrowed and he took a step back, “what are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” The confused look on your face started to irritate him. You should know what you did.
“You’re fakin’ it, I can tell,” he spoke in an accusatory tone, “and I don’t much care for it.”
You sighed and looked at the ground. You had turned around and your bare ass was pressed against his desk. You crossed your arms in front of you, concealing your naked breasts, but your glistening pussy was still on full display and Joel had to work to not look down.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded.
“Can we just-” you hesitated, biting the inside of your cheek before continuing, “can we just finish and talk after?”
“Can you actually finish?” Joel chided.
You nodded and said, “I’ll be more in it this time, promise.”
Joel had started to lose his erection and was only half hard now. He said, “Okay then,” as he glanced down at his cock, “finish what you started.”
You smiled and dropped to your knees, immediately placing your hands on his thighs and taking him into your mouth.
You’d nearly become an expert at blowjobs since his lesson a couple months ago, so Joel knew he couldn’t let you be down there for long or he’d blow his load much sooner than he wanted.
You wrapped your warm mouth around him and hollowed your cheeks, taking him in as deep as you could. He groaned and leaned his head back then wove his fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face.
You tapped your finger on his thigh and he smirked. That was your nonverbal signal that you wanted him to take charge.
“Want me to fuck that pretty mouth, baby?” You looked up at him with wide, glistening eyes and Joel thought he could just come right then. “Relax your jaw f’me.”
You did as he said, jaw going slack while Joel pressed his hands against the sides of your head, and he started to move deep into your throat. He moved slowly, allowing you to accommodate him in his full length.
Taking a deep breath through your nose, you moaned as he started to slowly fuck your throat. Joel smiled and said, “That’s it, sugar, you’re doing so good.”
You moaned louder and Joel continued, “such a good lil slut f’me, lettin’ me use your holes however I want, huh?” He knew that you got off on degradation and praise, and he had no qualms with using both.
You reached one of your hands down in between your legs and started quickly rubbing at your clit. Your moans got louder as Joel thrusted inside of your mouth. He was leaking precum down your throat, and could feel the ridges at the top of your mouth.
He picked up the pace so you were drooling and making squelching sounds. He loved the lewdness and watched as you started to tremble from your orgasm. He pulled his cock out so that he could hear you moan and watch as you furiously rubbed at yourself.
When your orgasm subsided, Joel helped you to your feet and bent you over the desk again, not hesitating in the slightest as he fully sheathed himself inside your spent pussy.
He groaned, “Ohhh, fuck, baby, not gonna last long inside your tight cunt.” You moaned at his words and pushed your ass back into him. He gave it a slap and started fucking you.
He was right. He only lasted a few minutes before erupting inside of you, but you didn’t seem to mind as you whimpered through it, allowing him to paint your walls.
When he finally pulled out, his nerves showed back up. He tucked himself into his pants and watched as you put your own clothes on. He felt the urge to stroke your cheek, give you a soft kiss, and tuck your hair behind your ear, as he always did. But this felt different. And because of that, his guard was going up.
So instead, he took a seat at his desk and waited for you. You hopped up on his desk and even though your thighs were together, he could spot the little triangle of your baby blue lace panties underneath your skirt. He moved his eyes up to your face and his stomach dropped a little when he saw your expression.
You looked anxious and started picking at your cuticles. He didn’t like seeing you this way, but his own anxiety was mounting as well. It wasn’t often that the two of you had serious conversations. Your relationship was mostly sexual in nature, but affection had formed between the two of you and there was the occasional thoughtful gesture.
“Umm,” you started, but paused again to look at the ground. You chewed on your lip and Joel was trying to give you the space to work through this on your own, despite feeling on edge himself.
“I don’t think we can do this anymore.” You finally looked up at him and he was able to see the concern etched in your features. He felt bad seeing how nervous you looked.
“Hey,” he said as he reached out his hand, his heavy palm covering your knee, “it’s okay, we can stop.”
“I’m sorry,” you spoke softly as the tears started to spill.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he stood up now and approached you. He wrapped his arms around you and brought you into his chest. He stroked your back, his fingers trailing up and down your spine until you calmed down.
“Y’don’t gotta apologize, darlin’, y’know we can stop whenever you want.”
“That’s the thing,” you pulled away from him and he took a step back to look at you, “I don’t want to stop…”
“What d’ya mean?” He was genuinely puzzled.
“I-” you sighed, “I’m seeing someone.”
Joel stared at you, dumbfounded. Though he didn’t know why he was so surprised. You were a college kid with lots of prospects, and he was a professor who could really only offer you one thing.
“Oh,” he replied. He felt silly for not having more to say.
“Are you upset?” He couldn’t stand to look at your puppy dog eyes as you spoke.
He was quick to reassure you, maybe too quick, “No, no. Not at all. I just…you didn’t mention you were dating, that’s all.”
You took a deep breath and said, “Yeah…it was kind of an accident, really. I met him in one of my study groups and we just…hit it off, I guess.”
“Which class?” Joel asked.
“Why?” Your brows knitted together and Joel realized it was sort of an unnecessary question.
“Just curious,” he replied.
“My U.S. History class,” you answered. “It’s only been about a week of us actually seeing each other…but I wouldn’t feel right-”
He cut you off, “Of course. Yeah, no…this is the right call.” He nodded and went to his desk beside you, starting to put papers into his briefcase. He wasn’t intentionally trying to shut you out, but it didn’t seem there was much more to say.
“Alright,” you said in an uncertain tone. You slid off the desk, smoothed down your skirt, and picked up your bag. “I guess I’ll…see you around?”
Joel nodded and said, “see you in class on Thursday.”
It was nearing the end of the Spring semester, and there were only three classes left. Joel figured those would be the last three times he’d see you.
—
Back at his house, Joel kicked off his shoes at the front door, and set his briefcase on the foyer table. His home was quiet aside from the pitter-patter of his German Shepherd, Frankie.
“Hey, Frankie, good boy,” Joel said as he scratched behind the dog’s ears. The dog happily panted up at him, excited to see him home.
Joel made his way to the kitchen, pulling down a rocks glass from the cupboard and setting it on the counter. He grabbed a large circle ice cube from his freezer drawer, plopped it into the glass, and then filled the cup with a healthy pour of bourbon.
He sipped it as he walked into the living room, Frankie at his heels. He sank down onto his leather couch and clicked the television on. His dog jumped up with him, curling cozily at his feet.
After a few minutes, Joel realized he wasn’t paying any attention to the movie that was on. He was only thinking about you. The image of you on his desk was seared into his brain - wide eyes glimmering with tears that had yet to spill over, a pout on your lips, and those damn lace panties winking at him from underneath the short cloth of your skirt. It would have been erotic if it wasn’t so damn sad.
He started to wonder what the other man was like. Hell, Joel assumed he was more of a boy than a man, but who was he to judge. You had clearly found someone who made you happy and he wanted no part in halting that.
He continued on with his evening until he grew tired, both physically and mentally. He went up to his bedroom and carried on with his usual nighttime routine, but images of you continued playing in his head. He could hear you say, “I’m seeing someone.” His chest grew tighter each time.
Joel knew it was probably time for him to start dating again, but it still didn’t feel right to him. He went to close his bedroom door and looked across the hall at Sarah’s room. The door was cracked and he lingered for a bit.
Sarah had gone off to study abroad last year. Their relationship had grown tense throughout her teenage years, and he wasn’t surprised when it seemed she wanted to get as far away as possible. They didn’t talk often, mostly because of the time change, but also partially because they didn’t know what to talk about when they did try to talk on the phone.
Joel closed his door with a sigh and crawled into bed. There was a divot on the right side from him sleeping in the same spot every night.
He thought of you as he fell asleep. He pictured your face, your body, your sweet voice, and as he drifted off in those final moments, he swore he could feel your lips pressed to his.
—
“Damn it, Ralphie!” one of the guys in the hallway shouted. Joel was making his way to the classroom and outside of one of the study lounges was a group of college kids making a ruckus.
The kid who had yelled looked like he had some sort of drink spilled down his front. The other guy who Joel assumed to be Ralphie, was chuckling and shrugging his shoulders. He held an energy drink that seemed to be the culprit of the mess.
Joel continued forward, ready to push past the unruly kids, when he spotted you. You were in one of your typical outfits - a tank top with a button-up cardigan over top, and of course, a skirt. It would have been a usual appearance if it were not for the way you were hanging all over Ralphie. Both your arms were wrapped around his one, your fingers slotted through his as you peered adoringly at him.
Joel’s jaw tensed, especially as he noted that Ralphie seemed to be paying you no mind. You were the only girl in the group and to Joel, it looked like you were being ignored.
As he moved through the group, you locked eyes with him. It seemed to startle you enough that Joel saw your grip on Ralphie loosen.
He continued forward and had to try hard to not look back at you as he entered the classroom. As he approached the podium, he noticed his hands were clenched in fists. He had a death grip on his suitcase and had to practically pry it from his own hand.
Taking a deep breath, he realized just how tightly wound he was. He kept picturing that sorry excuse of a man and how he seemed to pay no mind to the angel on his arm. It made Joel irrationally angry.
Sure, he could accept you ending the relationship with him. He could even accept you ending the relationship to pursue another man. Joel wasn’t fooling himself about what the two of you were and weren’t. But what he couldn’t accept was you being with someone who wasn’t worth even an ounce of what you had to offer.
No, that was unacceptable to Joel. And he planned to make that clear to you.
The class started and ended unceremoniously. He was able to stay attentive and get through the material, but he breathed a sigh of relief when time was up and he was able to depart back to his office.
In his office, Joel found himself pacing back and forth. The more he pictured you with that boy, the angrier he got.
Without much thinking, Joel pulled out his phone and texted you.
What are you doing right now?
Out with friends…why? Everything ok?
We need to talk
You’re sort of freaking me out, Joel. What’s going on?
Where are you?
Mister Dips
He knew it was a bad idea. Knew that the best thing was for him to just stay away. You had clearly ended things and unlike you, he wanted to respect your wishes.
Still, he packed up his things and left. Since it was nearing the end of the semester, the school was emptier with some classes already wrapping up. It wasn’t a surprise that you were able to sneak away for a mid-day ice cream.
Joel got in his car and drove down the road. Mister Dips was a common hangout for students. Numerous times he’d heard students in his class referencing the nearby ice cream shop.
As he neared it, he pulled off to the side of the road. He didn’t want to cause a scene by driving into the parking lot and approaching you. He figured it might look strange for a professor to show up there in the middle of the day.
He figured he would just get eyes on you and figure it out from there. He walked to the building next door and casually leaned against the bricks, turning his head so that he could get a view of the picnic tables outside the ice cream shop.
You were easy to spot, perched atop one of the tables, Ralphie beside you, licking a damn ice cream cone. It was vanilla, and Joel couldn’t help but to watch your tongue as it stuck out of your mouth and swept up the side of the cone, sugary white cream coating your tongue before you lapped it into your mouth.
Joel felt himself growing tight against his pants and looked away at the traffic in front of him to help his erection ease. He already felt like a creep watching you from down the road, he didn’t need to add anything else to the creep factor.
Once it went down, he looked back over in your direction. He saw you laugh at something that one of the other guys said, but when you opened your mouth to speak, Ralphie seemed to interrupt. The spark dimmed in your eyes as you directed your vision down to your ice cream, watching it slowly drip down the side of the cone. You looked back up at Ralphie and smiled, extending your ice cream out to him. He nodded and took it from your hand, eating it haphazardly.
You licked some of the residue from in between your thumb and forefinger. Joel’s mouth watered as he watched you and he had to swallow and rub his temples to calm himself.
He continued watching for the next few minutes, until Ralphie had the nerve to hand you his trash when he finished his ice cream. You took it from him entirely too graciously and hopped off the bench and walked toward the trash cans, which happened to be in the direction of Joel.
Joel watched with bated breath, unsure of what he wanted his next move to be until the last second when he lifted his hand in the air and said, “hey.”
You jerked your head up, frowning as you processed him just a few yards from you. He was shadowed by a large tree overhead, so that anyone back by the ice cream shop likely couldn’t make out who he was. You, however, were close enough to take in his distinct features and broad frame to know exactly who was beckoning you.
“Joel?” You said, your tone coated in surprise, but you didn’t sound unhappy.
“C’mere,” he said.
You approached and replied, “I know I texted you my location…but I didn’t think you were actually gonna show up. Is everything okay?”
Joel stared as you approached him, begging his desperate hands to stay at his sides the closer you got.
“No,” he answered, “things are not okay.”
You looked concerned now and Joel looked behind him, spotting an alley on the other side of the building. “Follow me,” he commanded.
When the two of you rounded the building into the alleyway, your tone changed to one of demand. “Joel, this is crazy. Tell me what’s going on. I know you’re stubborn and prideful, but damn. I didn’t think me leaving you was gonna cause you to lose your damn mind.”
Joel whipped around at your comment, one thumb looped into his belt loop and the other coming up to rub at the scruff on his jaw. “Not losin’ my damn mind…also I’m not prideful.” His eyes were narrowed at you, but they softened the longer he stared at you.
“Okay, then what?” You had your hand on your hip and Joel couldn’t ignore how cute you looked when you were irritated.
“He’s not good enough for you,” he stated matter-of-factly.
You paused for a moment, processing what he meant, and when you realized, you scoffed and said, “Really, Joel? That’s what this is about? You don’t like my boyfriend?”
“He’s not treatin’ you right,” his tone maintained its certainty.
You rolled your eyes, “Come on, Joel. You’re just jealous. Don’t like seeing me with a younger man, huh?”
Joel took a quick step toward you and immediately regretted it when he saw the way you flinched. He would never lay a hand on you (not without you asking, at least).
He softened his voice and said, “Him bein’ younger ain’t got nothin’ t’do with it. I see the way you look at him, and he pays you no damn notice. The man ain’t got an idea what he has. Takin’ you for granted. Makin’ you throw away his trash.”
You rolled your eyes again and said, “You’ve only seen us a couple times. You have no idea what it’s like when we’re alone.”
Joel gave a nod and said, “alright then, what’s it like when you’re alone?”
You stammered for a moment then replied, “Fine…we talk. We get along. It’s fun.” Your lilted tone indicated that you weren’t just trying to convince Joel.
“Fine?” was all Joel said.
You turned to walk away and said, “I’m done with this, Joel.” But before you could exit the alley, his fingers were wrapped around your upper arm and pulling you backwards.
You turned to face him and opened your mouth to likely give him some sort of sass, but then his lips were on you, crashing into yours. Your bodies stumbled into the brick wall behind you, and Joel’s hand came up behind your head to cushion the impact.
You didn’t seem to care as you reached in front of you and started undoing his belt. He hadn’t expected you to be so receptive, but he wasn’t going to question it.
Joel was hard as a rock, and he wondered if this was the hardest he’d been in his whole life. You palmed him through the denim and groaned when you felt the thick bulge.
Joel’s hand came down between your legs and slipped your panties to the side. He dipped one finger into your core and felt just how wet you were.
“How long you been feelin’ like this?” he asked.
You sighed and said, “since you brought me back here.”
Joel smirked and you responded with an eyeroll. He returned his lips to yours, his tongue running along your lips before you opened them and granted him access. You moaned and licked into each other’s mouths, the tension and arousal creating a dangerous swirl between the two of you.
“Fuck Joel,” you grinded against his hand as he moved it back between your legs, “I need you.”
Joel kept his hand there but stilled it, your bodily movements creating the only friction. “Say it again,” he said.
You huffed and said, “I need you, Joel.”
And with that, he slowly pushed two fingers inside you, opening your walls up. Once his fingers were in fully, he brought his thumb to your clit and started swiping back and forth. You began to move your hips back and forth and Joel groaned as he said, “Thass it, fuck yourself on my fingers…good girl.”
Your slick was dripping down his hand and he couldn’t help himself anymore. He dropped to his knees in the dirty alleyway and lifted your skirt up and over his head. His nose pressed against your clit as he licked you.
The slurping sounds were lascivious, but you and Joel didn’t care. He was pretty sure that even if someone walked down this alley, he wouldn’t be able to pull his mouth away from your weeping pussy.
His tongue pushed into your wet cunt and he pulled it in and out, fucking you as his nose continued bumping into your clit. Your fingers threaded through his graying locks and you began to grind against his face, earning a positive groan from him.
Joel continued fucking you with his tongue until you came in his mouth and he slurped up everything he could. Before the aftershocks faded, he was standing back up and unzipping his pants.
You turned to face the wall, placing your hands in front of you and pushing out your ass, but Joel stopped you and turned you around. “Nuh uh,” he said. His pants and briefs were down around his thighs, and he bent down, looping his arms around the back of your thighs and hoisted you up.
“Need to see you, baby,” Joel hummed against your ear as he brought your body against his. He used the brick wall for further leverage - he was in his 50s, after all, and his body hadn’t gotten stronger over the years.
You were pressed between his chest and the brick wall, and his hands gripped your ass hard. He lowered you onto his cock and you gasped at the intrusion.
“Relax for me, sugar,” Joel kissed your cheek as he paused, allowing you to adjust to his girth.
You took in a deep breath and said, “keep going, please, Professor.”
He continued lowering you until he was fully in, “There ya go, baby, so good f’me…always so good f’me.”
He began to bounce you up and down on his thick cock. You laid your head down on his shoulder and let him use you. You could already feel him throbbing.
“God damn it,” Joel murmured. He wanted to last longer for you, especially given how brief the last time was, as well. But you felt so good, felt like you were made for him.
You lifted your head and stroked his cheek. He looked into your eyes and continued bringing you up and down on his cock. “He fuck you like this?” Joel asked.
You shook your head no.
“He make you come like I do?” He asked.
You shook your head no, again.
Joel leaned in to give you a soft kiss before pulling back and looking at you, “he treat you like I do?”
Joel’s mind thought back to the thoughtful moments between the two of you - the heart he’d occasionally draw on your assignment before handing it back to you, the coffee you’d leave on his desk between classes, how he noticed that your lunch every afternoon was just a protein bar, so he’d started to bring you packed lunches on days you were in his class.
You shook your head and said quietly, “no, Joel.” You whimpered as his pace picked up.
Joel could feel you tensing around him, clenching his cock. You buried your face back in his shoulder but Joel said, “look at me.”
You complied, looking at him as your orgasm overtook you. Joel gripped you harder as your body started to tremble. He loved watching how you’d bite your lip, eyes practically rolling into the back of your head. He knew you always came harder from his cock rather than his fingers. He could feel it as it bumped into your spongy center inside.
He came closely after you. His fingers had a bruising hold on your ass as he shot his seed deep inside you. “Ugghhh,” he groaned, “fuck, takin’ it so good, baby.”
He kissed you again, and you kissed back eagerly. When he pulled back he could feel his nerves starting to grow again as he asked, “y’like him?”
He was still inside of you, he didn’t want to pull out, didn’t want to lose you again.
But then you said, “not as much as I like someone else.” And you fucking smiled at him.
Joel’s heart was racing, both from the physical exertion and the meaning of your words. He continued watching you, not saying anything.
Your eyes awkwardly moved back and forth before looking back at him and saying, “you should probably put me down, Joel.”
He gave a chuckle and pulled his cock out. His eyes made sure to catch the image of his cum seeping out of you before he let your skirt fall back down.
“Dirty old man,” you playfully scolded him.
Joel just smiled sheepishly as he fixed himself up. He kissed your forehead and tucked your hair behind your ear.
“So,” he said. He looked down the entrance of the alleyway then back at you.
“I have to go break-up with someone right now,” you said with a twinkle in your eye.
Joel nodded and said, “good luck with that.”
You laughed and started walking away as you said, “see ya later, Professor.”
Joel couldn’t help but smile as he watched you walk away. And while he wasn’t sure what exactly this meant for the two of you, he damn sure felt better now than he did the day before.
Summary: You got drunk during a night out with your best friend and accidentally send your Professor a photo of you in lingerie. Now you try to avoid him, which is not really working.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader
Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)
Warnings: alcohol consumption, dirty talk, dom!spencer, semi-public sex, hair pulling, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, multiple orgasms, oral sex (kinda, he comes in her mouth)
Word Count: 4,6k
Author’s Note: My last posts got so many likes, I didn’t expect that at all, thank you sm!! <3
Your alarm goes off - 8:30am. You groan. Your head is pounding and the sun shining into your room is just way too bright. Your stomach turns and you close your eyes to escape the wave of nausea. You slowly sit up and search for your phone on the nightstand. It feels like your head is going to explode. You reach out and unlock the screen, turning your alarm off.
It's way too early. And you drunk way too much last night. It was a chaotic but nice yesterday, a night full of laughter, way too much alcohol and karaoke. Your best friend celebrated her birthday and you promised to go to your favorite bar with her. You have to smile when you think back to the night and start checking your messages. You see that she already texted you this morning to find out how you are doing.
How are you?
I have the worst headache after last night
It was fun though, wanna go again tonight?
Just kidding, I feel like I need a week to recover from this
You can’t help but laugh and answer her quickly. You are about to put your phone away to finally get ready when a new chat catches your eye. You freeze in shock. It’s your Professors name. The one you’ve been crushing on since you saw him for the very first time.
Back when you found out that you were getting a new professor, you didn't expect much, a lecture like any other with someone who was only concerned with reciting his material. But then he entered. He came through the door and for a moment it seemed as if time stood still. The room, which had just been immersed in the murmur of conversation, suddenly became silent.
He was tall - taller than you expected and his presence filled the room in a way that you couldn't put into words. He wore a simple but elegant suit that somehow effortlessly fit him perfectly. His hair was a little longer, curly and fell slightly over his forehead. And then he looked up. His big, brown eyes met yours and in a split second everything became clear to you. You immediately knew you wanted, needed, this man.
Now you stare at the chat in complete horror. He recently gave you his number for a project. That's how this whole texting thing could even happen. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Obviously you can't remember texting him. You were so drunk yesterday that you can't even remember how you got home.
You open the chat - and your heart stops for a moment. It wasn't just a message that you sent him. It was a photo. Of you, in lingerie. It’s one of your favorite sets, you got it a couple of weeks ago. "I wore this for you today, Professor. Do you like it?” You wrote in addition to the photo.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. You just stare at the screen, the picture of you that you should never, ever, ever have sent. And the worst part: He read it. But didn't reply. Confusion and panic spreads through you. You jump out of bed, your feet barely finding purchase on the floor, and your heart keeps racing. You try to think clearly, but your thoughts are a complete mess.
You reach for your phone again and frantically tap on the chat with your best friend, but you pause and call her instead. "Hello?" Her voice still sounds sleepy and hungover. “Oh my God, I need your help!" you gasp and immediately start telling her everything.
The line is silent, then you hear a short laugh. "Wait a minute... what? You did that?" You close your eyes and search for the right words. But before you can say anything, it hits you like a blow. You also have a lecture with him today.
"I’m not coming today," you tell her. “You can't just cancel!" she says immediately, and you hear her getting herself settled in her bed. Her voice sounds determined, but also worried. "You know how it is, our seminar today. We can't miss it. We said that celebrating wouldn't stop us," she says. "Celebrating isn't what would stop me either. Seeing him definitely is," you say and lean back with a groan.
You close your eyes and sink even deeper into the pillows. Your stomach clenches when you think about it. She’s right, you really have to go today. But the text, the picture that you sent him - what if he wants to talk to you about it? Or worse, he reports the whole thing?
"I can't just sit in front of him today and pretend that everything is normal. I sent him a picture of me in lingerie... I can't face him. It's just... it's just too much!" There is silence on the other end of the line for a moment. She still hasn't said anything, and you know she's thinking. Then you hear her take a deep breath.
“Okay, the thing with the picture, that's really... a little crazy. But hey, you can skip the lecture. Just disappear after the seminar and then hide in your apartment. Or you can go and hope that when you run into him, he'll do completely different things after you seeing this photo. I bet you looked hot, was it the new set you recently bought?” she asks and you can hear her grin even though you're on the phone.
Obviously she knows about your crush on your professor. You couldn’t stop talking about him after your first lecture and she took every opportunity to tease you about it. You look at your phone as if it were the only thing that could help you think clearly. Of course she's right. You have to go to your seminar. And you can really skip his lecture. Still, the idea that he might be thinking about it makes your heart beat faster and not just in excitement.
“You're right, I... okay, I'll come," You say after a short pause, but the thought of maybe running into him still makes you nervous. “You'll see, it won't be as bad as you think. You'll get through the seminar, it's only an hour. And then we'll be out and we can take our time for everything else. And you'll just avoid your favorite professor today," she continues to teases.
“Today? More like forever," you mutter and finally get up, even though the thought of getting out of bed still paralyzes you. “See you soon then. I'll shower and get dressed now, then I'll come. Let’s meet outside the building, okay?" you ask. "Sure!" she calls out happily. "See you soon and don’t forget to wear another fancy set for your professor today. Just in case you run into him,” she jokes.
After you hang up you put the phone on the pillow and stand there for a moment, your legs heavy, your head still about to explode. But then you take a deep breath. It'll be fine, you just have get through the seminar. With a sigh, you go into the bathroom and take painkillers first. Then you start getting ready.
You turn on the water and let it run hot. A short time later, you go into the shower. The hot steam envelops you and slowly your body feels a little alive again. The nausea subsides and the hangover becomes more bearable. After the shower, you get dressed in peace - black skirt, a comfy sweater and your favorite sneakers. You quickly walk through the apartment again to make sure you packed everything and when you leave the house, you somehow feel less like a wreck.
-
The smell of freshly served pasta is still in your nose as you say goodbye. You got lunch together after your seminar and it was nice to get a little break and talk about everything that happened. Now you are ready to leave but you still have to go to the library to get a book that you need for your upcoming assignment first.
“I still have to go to the library," you tell her, pulling your bag over your shoulder. “Are you coming with me?” you ask her. “I’m sorry, I have to pick up my sister now. But be careful, you don’t want to run into your favorite professor, or do you?” she teases again. “I’m not going to run into him. I’ll hurry up and leave immediately. I’ll call you later. See you tomorrow," you say and give her a quick wave before you set off.
-
The campus is full of students rushing through the halls, carrying their books around or sitting in groups and discussing. You slip into the library and head straight to the section where the book you need is. Unfortunately it’s at the top of the shelf and you realize that you probably won't be able to reach it. You jump up a few times, but the distance between you and the book just seems too big. You sigh. If only you were a little taller.
As you attempt the jump for the third time, you suddenly feel a presence building behind you. One that seems familiar. Your heart beats faster and a nervous tremor takes hold of you. You turn around and stare straight into Professor Reid's eyes. He is standing just inches away from you and you can hear the soft sound of his breathing.
The look he gives you is almost piercing - warm, but somehow also searching. He leans forward slightly without saying a word and effortlessly grabs the book with one hand. You avoid his gaze as he hands it to you. “Thank you," you murmur, trying to hide the slight nervous tremor in your voice. He nods and stands still for a moment.
"You weren't at my lecture today." You stare at the book in your hands and feel your stomach clench. This is not good. “I..." you take a deep breath. "I haven't been feeling so good. My head..." He waits, his eyes still fixed on you, and you get the feeling that he wants to hear more. You feel his gaze on you and when you finally raise your eyes to look into his eyes, there is a silent understanding, and for a moment you wonder if there’s more. “Sick, or...?" he asks calmly. You hesitate and bite your lip.
"I went out partying with my best friend yesterday, it was her birthday… we drank a little bit too much and... well, I'm not feeling so good today. That’s why I skipped." His expression remains neutral, but something in his gaze changes. You can hardly believe it, but it's almost as if he's interested. He frowns slightly. "I understand," he then says. "But it's not ideal to miss class, especially when important topics are involved."
You nod. “I know, Professor. I won’t happen again.” You just want to get out of this situation, and as you try to take a step back he stops you. "No, wait. I need to talk to you." You pause and turn back to him. "About what? I don’t really have the time -" you begin, pretending you don't have any idea what he wants to talk about, when he cuts you off.
"Doesn’t matter, it’s important. We'll sort it out in my office." His gaze is intense as he steps towards you. The thought of him asking you to come to his office makes your heart beat faster. The idea of being alone in a room with him is tempting. "Okay," you say quietly, unable to prevent a nervous tingling from spreading in your chest. You follow him, even though your legs feel like they're made of jelly.
He leads the way, his steps calm and determined, and you can barely keep your eyes from lingering on his back. As soon as you reach the door to his office, he opens it and lets you enter first. You step in, your heart now beating loudly in your ears. The moment he closes the door behind you, you realize that it is more than just a conversation about the seminar.
The look he is giving you now is not the look of a professor. It is the look of a man who wants more than just academic discussions at this moment. And the thought that you’re alone with him in this room inevitably leaves you nervous and intrigued at the same time.
As the door closes behind you, you’re left breathless for a moment. His office is quiet, almost too quiet, compared to the crowded hallways outside. The room is sparsely decorated, except for the desk covered with stacks of paper and a few personal items. He is still standing at the table, his arms loosely folded in front of his chest and looks at you.
"Sit down," he says calmly, pointing to the chair on the opposite of the desk. You hesitate, then finally sit down, your heart pounding in your chest. The nervous energy inside you grows as you try to organize your thoughts. Before he can say anything else, you can’t hold it back any longer. The words come out of you hastily, almost in a rush, and you feel your body tense.
"The picture, it was a mistake! I didn't mean to... It wasn't meant for you. I was drunk, and it was stupid of me, really. I'm sorry." You look at the table, avoiding his gaze. But as you say the last words, you immediately notice how the atmosphere in the room changes. He remains silent for a moment, but then his body language shifts slightly - his gaze becomes more intense, the tension between you almost tangible.
"Hmm," he says after a pause, his voice deep and calm, "so the picture wasn't meant for me?" You flinch when you hear his question. What exactly does he want to hear? What does he want to know from you? You try to stay calm and answer hesitantly.
"It... it's none of your business." His expression hardens instantly. "It is," he says, and his voice sounds sharper, more determined now. "Because you sent it to me." Your heart beats faster as he continues. "I don't think it was an accident, even if you were drunk. You wanted to send it to me. And you did."
A cold shiver runs down your spine. You open your mouth, trying to say something, but you can't find a way to defend yourself. Instead, you just stay still, looking at your hands, which are resting nervously on your lap.
He laughs quietly, a mocking, almost challenging laugh. "So you're really sure it was an accident, huh?" He slowly leans forward, rests his hands on the table and looks straight into your eyes. The look in his eyes has changed, and something in his expression shows you that he is the one in control.
"Do you really think I haven't noticed how you look at me in class? How you keep watching my hands? How you press your thighs together when I approach you?" His words hit you and you freeze for a moment. Your cheeks burn hot, you feel your heart pounding uncontrollably, but you keep quiet. Everything inside you screams to defend yourself, but you stay silent because you know he’s right.
"I noticed from the beginning, angel," he continues, and a shiver runs down your spine. You can’t believe he just called you that. It turns you on immensely. "I know you didn't just do it because of the party and the alcohol. You also sent it to me because you wanted to." He leans further forward, his presence overwhelming, and you can't help but feel small even as you try to assert yourself.
You open your mouth to say something, but the words stick in your throat. What could you say? That he's wrong? That would be a lie. “You sent it to me," he repeats, his voice now almost like a command. "Because you wanted to show me. And I don't think it was an accident. You were drunk, yes, but you wanted me to see you like this."
Your body is paralyzed. It feels like the room has suddenly become smaller. You can hardly breathe. His words and his look have completely captured you in that moment. “I... uh," you begin, but the thought that he is in control, that he sees you like this at this moment, leaves you speechless and you’re unable form a proper sentence.
He remains silent, only his eyes continue to focus on you. "You have to understand that you can't just play with me like that." His gaze becomes more intense, and for a moment it seems as if he wants to say more but then he slowly stands up, walks around the table and stops right in front of you.
"I'll show you something," he says in a calm but unmistakable voice. "And you will understand why it wasn't just an accident." Your heart beats faster. His hand reaches for your chin, lifting it up and tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. Your breath hitches and you lean closer, craving his touch. “Get up and lock the door for me,” he says and pulls his hand away slowly.
You do as your told immediately and when you turn around, he is sitting on his chair with his legs spread. He looks so hot and you desperately clench your thighs together to relief the pressure between your legs. “Good girl. Come here,” he says and pats his thigh. You shiver in excitement and when he notices a grin spreads across his face.
You go over to him and when you stand in front of him, he pulls you down into his lap. He leans forward to whisper into your ear “That’s what you wanted, right? To be my good girl. That’s why you send me that picture. You wanted to end up here,” he says and places his hands on your hips. You press yourself closer against him and inhale his scent, he smells like cinnamon, peppermint and aftershave, it’s addictive.
However, you get interrupt by his hand reaching into your hair to pull your head back. You gasp in surprise and he leans closer to you, looking deep into your eyes again. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer,” he says and you can feel yourself getting even wetter. “Yes, that’s true. I - I always wanted that,” you manage to say and he releases your hair, satisfied with your response.
Then he leans forward and you finally feel his lips against yours. It’s even better than you always imagined and you start to grind against his leg, desperate to release the friction between your legs. But Spencer quickly stops you. “Did I allow you to move?” he asks and you shake your head.
He sighs in disappointment but before he can say anything you quickly answer him. “No, you didn’t,” you say and his grip on your hips looses a little. “That’s right. I didn’t. And you’re not allowed to move until I tell you to. You’re going to listen to me and do exactly what your told, do you understand?” he asks. “I understand.”
“See, it’s not that hard. You listen to me, you behave and you’ll get your reward. Now, do you want to ride my thigh?” he asks, his hand slowly sliding behind your back to your ass, squeezing it. “Yes, please. Can I?” you ask and he leans forward to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth. When he pulls back you can see his eyes sparkling with lust. “So polite, I like that. Yes, you can,” he says and you finally go back to moving against his thigh.
It feels good, so good and when Spencer starts to slide one hand under your shirt to grab your breasts you press closer against him. You can feel that you soaked your underwear trough and wearing only a skirt, you can already see a small wet stain on his pants. His gaze follows yours and he chuckles. “Someone’s needy,” he says and you nod, leaning against his chest, grinding down more against him.
“Spen - Spencer, I’m going to come,” you whimper but he pulls you back by your hair again. “It’s Sir for you, angel,” he says and you correct yourself immediately. “Please Sir, can I come on your thigh now?” you breath out and he grabs your hips again, stopping you.
“No, not yet,” he simply says and you whine when he stands up and you lose contact. “But I thought - “ you start but he doesn’t let you finish. He turns you around and pushes you down onto his desk. “Doesn’t matter what you thought. I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says and flips over your skirt to expose your underwear to him.
“I see, another pair then the ones you wore yesterday. I’ve got to admit, I prefer the other ones, but you look pretty anyway, angel,” he says, sliding his hands over your thighs and your ass. “Last night when you send me that picture, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admits and you can feel your whole body reacting to his words.
A wave of confidence flashes through you. “Did I keep you up last night, Sir? Did you have to stroke your cock while you looked at my picture? Thinking about all the ways you want to fuck me?” you ask him and turn your head slightly back to look at him with a smirk on your face. His eyes darken and he tightens his grip.
“Oh you have no idea, angel. I’m going to show you exactly what I was thinking about last night,” And suddenly you feel a harsh smack on your ass. He just spanked you. And you liked it. Your breath hitches and you bit down on your lip to keep quiet. You don’t want anyone to find out what’s going on in here.
His hand strokes the spot he just hit before going further down to pull at your panties. He takes them off and stuffs them into his pocket. You are convinced you’re not going to get them back. Then you feel his long, slender fingers sliding between your legs before he presses onto your clit. You gasp in surprise and try to press against him but his grip on your hips is firm, holding you still.
Then he pushes two fingers inside you. “So fucking wet.” His eyes wander over your body down to your legs hungrily, appreciating every curve and every spot. “I’ve never seen such a pretty pussy. And it’s all mine now. You’re all mine now,” he says. The way his fingers move and the way he stares at you intensely feels just way too good.
When his thumb goes back to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles, you can feel how your orgasm builds up inside of you and you can no longer hold back your moans. “Spencer - Sir, feels so good. Please,… I need more,” You clench around his fingers and he quickly puts a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. “Shh, be quiet, angel. As much as I would love to hear all these lovely sounds you make, I don’t want to get interrupted. Not now, when I finally have you, after all this time.”
His fingers curl inside you and keep hitting your g -spot. You clench around them, he notices and chuckles. “Can I - please,” you stutter. “Yes angel,” he says, already knowing what you’re asking for and you come around his fingers. You never had such an intense orgasm from foreplay before, but you don’t mind. It’s even better than you always imagined.
He wants to give you a moment to recover but you want more. You somehow manage to turn around, even though your legs feel like they are going to give in any second and push yourself up on his desk. He looks surprised and opens his mouth to say something but you interrupt him by pulling him closer by his tie.
You wrap your hands around his neck and rank your fingers through his soft, brown hair before kissing him. You moan into his mouth and he groans, sending a shiver down your spine. “Thank you, Sir. That was amazing,” you say with a smirk on your face when you pull back. “Now is the time to lose your pants and relax, I want to return the favor.”
“As much as I want to see you down on your knees with your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, we don’t have much time left. Office hour starts in less than 30 minutes. And I need to fuck you. So drop it and spread your legs for me. Now,” he demands and you obliged, sitting further back on his desk with your legs spread.
He takes a step back and starts to unzip his dress pants. When he takes out his cock your eyes widen. He is even bigger than you expected. “Are you on the pill?” he asks while he starts to pump his cock. “I am,” you say. “Good. I want to fuck your pussy and then, since you suggested sucking me off, come inside your mouth. I want you to taste me. You don’t swallow until I say so. Do you understand?” he asks, sliding his cock through your folds to tease you. “Yes Sir, I understand,” you whimper and he wastes no time and pushes inside you.
His first thrust already make your eyes roll back and you feel like you’re going to die from the intense pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waits and your hands are on his back, pressing him even more against your body. Everytime a whimper or a moan escapes your mouth his thrust become deeper, rougher and faster. You can feel him throb inside you and he keeps hitting your g- spot over and over again.
One of his hand is sneaking through your breast, squeezing it and toying with your nipple. You graze his back with your fingernails and make sure to leave marks on him. Your mind goes blank and you lose yourself in the pleasure completely. After a few more thrust you can feel the orgasm building up inside of you. “Close,” you breath out and he nods. “Me too. You can come on my cock now.”
You let go and your orgasm is even more intense than you expected. You moan his name so loud that he quickly covers your mouth with his hand again. He picks up his speed and a few thrusts later he pulls out of you to shove his cock into your mouth. You can feel his cum inside your mouth and taste him, just like he told you to. He watches you closely the whole time while he recovers from his own orgasm.
“Now swallow,” he says and you do. Then he pulls you forward with both of his hands to kiss you. The kiss is different this time, more gentle and caring, not just full of lust. When he pulls back you both smile. “I guess sending you this picture was not bad at all. And I was so worried.” He laughs. “I’m glad you send it, angel. Now I finally have you all to myself. It's a shame I couldn't take more time for you right now. There's a lot more I'd like to do with you,” he says with a mischievous smile on his face. “Why don’t you show me after your office hours, Sir?” you say with a smirk on your face. “Make sure to be here on time, angel.”
pervert roommie!choso who waits until your shower steam is thick enough to hide the sound of his palm slapping against his cock. door cracked just enough. he’s got your worn sleep shirt balled up over his nose, inhaling the spot right under your armpit where your scent clings strongest, groaning low when the cotton drags over his leaking tip
pervert roommie!choso who “accidentally” forgets to lock the bathroom after he jerks off so you walk in on the mess he left. pearlescent ropes still dripping down the shower tile, his boxers kicked into the corner like evidence. he stands there towel low on his hips, pretending to be surprised, voice cracking when he mumbles “shit… didn’t hear you come in”
pervert roommie!choso who steals your dirty panties from the hamper and stuffs them in his pocket before you do laundry. later that night he’s thrusting into his fist with the lace crushed against his tongue, tasting the damp cotton where you were wet earlier that day. he cums so hard his thighs shake and he has to bite his own arm to keep quiet
pervert roommie!choso who starts leaving the living room tv on porn channels at 3 a.m. knowing you’ll stumble out sleepy and confused in nothing but that tiny tank top. he’s sprawled on the couch, sweats tented obscenely, eyes half-lidded when you freeze in the doorway. “couldn’t sleep,” he rasps, hand already palming himself through the fabric, “wanna watch with me?”
pervert roommie!choso who corners you in the kitchen at midnight while you’re reaching for a glass. presses his whole front to your back, fat cock already rock-hard against your ass. he doesn’t even pretend it’s an accident anymore. instead just grinds slow and heavy while his mouth finds your ear. “been smellin’ you all day… fuck, you’re soaked through these shorts, aren’t ya?”
pervert roommie!choso who finally snaps after weeks of teasing. pins both your wrists above your head with one massive hand, other yanking your panties to the side. he’s shaking, pupils blown, throat dry. “m’ sorry— m’ so fucking sorry b-but i can’t— need inside— been dreaming a-about this pussy every night—” then he’s bullying his way in with one desperate thrust, choking on a sob the second your walls flutter around him.
pervert roommie!choso who turns into a babbling mess the moment he bottoms out. hips stuttering, forehead pressed to your shoulder, whimpering against your neck. “s’ too tight— fuck— gonna cum already— d-don’t move— please don’t move or m’ gonna lose it—” but he’s already fucking you stupid, sloppy and frantic, drooling down your collarbone while he chants your name like a prayer.
pervert roommie!choso who keeps going even after he fills you up once. pulls out just to watch his cum leak out, then pushes back in with a broken moan. “look— look how much i gave you… still not enough— need to breed it deeper— fuck— m’ gonna keep going til you’re dripping for days”
| home | index | a/n: i know its shorttt js got over being sick but i hope u like our lil perv choso
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