what about the mc being the lecturer at yoosung’s college? fluff & idk if you write smut :)
So, I was asked on my personal blog for this, actually, but I decided to post it here and just link my cute little anon. I may have forgotten the fluff… and gone full out smut. Whoops. > 3>;; I’ll write something fluffy soon. - MOD Z
He, and just about all of the student body, has always had a massive crush on you. Ever since you walked in to the lecture hall, hair flowing and hips swaying, he could never look away. Your eyes always light up with a fiery passion while teaching and Yoosung’s grades have been steadily climbing ever since you came into his life. It helps that whenever he does well on his assignments, you’re always extra sweet to him.
You’re up front with your back to the class, writing down the details of this current class. His pen is flowing across his notebook, copying the text, but every once in a while, his eyes drift just a teeny bit down. Why on earth do you wear such tight skirts to class? Yoosung gulps down the saliva gathering in his mouth, shaking his head to try and clear it of such naughty thoughts.
“Everybody got that?” your voice booms across the hall and he’s nodding his head. There are so many students in here that he doesn’t expect you to lock eyes with him and grin.
He looks down to his notes, ears tingling with warmth. He hopes you never look at the others like that.
You clap your hands and the class rises to their feet, racing to the door for their next lecture. “Remember your assignments! Write me if you need any help!” you shout after them.
Yoosung slowly gets up, gathering his pens and notebook, and shoving them roughly into his bag. Waiting until the flow of students has slowed, he thinks about what to do next. It’s nearly time for lunch and there are no afternoon classes awaiting him. Maybe he can head home and get some rounds of LOLOL under his belt before studying?
“’Ah, Yoosung!” you stop him. “Can I talk to you for a bit?”
He pauses and turns to look at you, blush still lightly dusting his cheeks. The once full classroom feels so empty with just you and him, and he is hyper aware of that fact. “Y-Yes ma’am?” he squeaks.
Your laughter is like tinkling bells. You wave at the chair by your desk and he practically sinks into it as you sashay over to the door. “You’re done with classes for today, right?” you hum, flicking the lock on the door. It clicks shut.
He swallows thickly as you turn to peer at him from half-lidded eyes. “Uhm, y-yeah, that’s right,” he stutters. “Why?”
You must be tempting him, licking your lips like that. “Then, shall I tutor you, Yoosung Kim?” Your voice is a dangerous purr and he can’t help following the curves of your body as you stalk towards him. When you look down to his lap, he looks too, red faced and squirming uncomfortably. His trousers are a bit too tight.
He really likes your tutoring sessions. Yoosung can’t find his voice, so he nods instead.
His heart is thudding dangerously fast in his chest. There’s only one chair at this desk, so surely, oh god. Are you going to use him as a seat? The throb of his boner likes the idea of that. Yoosung strains to stay steadily sitting, watching you come closer, closer, so damn close, and then sit on the desk. “No need to be so nervous, cutie,” oh god did you just call him cute?! “What’s hard for you?”
I’m hard for you, he nearly says. It sounds like something Zen would say. He can’t think straight and all that’s really registering is that your perfume smells like Freesia. It suits you.
You swing your legs and he almost jumps when your foot brushes against the inside of his leg. “Then how about a game?” you chirp instead, tilting your head. “I hear you’re good at games.”
That’s something he knows, something he can talk about. “What kind of game?” he asks with slight hesitation. At least one thing is working out for him – his voice didn’t crack asking that question. But this semi-hard problem in his pants still twitches for attention.
It does not help, at all, when you lean forward. Your cleavage. He wants to cover you up. It’s so present, oh god. “I ask questions. You answer. Every time you get something right, I’ll take something off.” His eyes are bulging out of their sockets and, oh, that semi is getting a bit more prominent. Yoosung shifts around uncomfortably, trying to do everything to make sure it’s not digging into your thigh. It’s not working. “If you get me down to my underwear, then I guess you can ask me to do something for you?”
A groan rumbles in his throat. This is what he gets for dating you. But he loves it. “Okay,” he agrees, trying to lean casually against the back of the chair.
“Great!” you chirp, leaning back on the desk. His chest loosens and he can breathe a bit more. “We’ll start easy. Define ‘alopecia’.”
His head spins. Alopecia? He’s heard that word thrown around quite a lot during his animal sciences class.
Your fingers tapping are more of a distraction than anything, and why are you pouting?! You’re not the one struggling to answer questions. He really can’t help that all the blood that usually helps his brain is kind of stranded elsewhere. “Weight loss, flaky skin, or hair loss?”
Okay, there are options. “Loss of…” You’d be horrible at poker, Yoosung realizes. Your eyes are lit up with pleasure, and he can tell he’s kind of on the right track. “Hair?” he guesses.
“Good boy!” you coo, reaching up to take your hair out of its ponytail.
It shouldn’t be this sexy. This is unfair. He lets out a shuddering sigh as your locks of chestnut fall down across your shoulders, framing your face. But… but he got the question right! Yoosung might actually be able to do this. Maybe. Possibly.
“True or false: protein is made of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen and oxygen?”
This is something he knows. “True!” he says with confidence. It’s easier to think when he focuses on the questions instead of, oh. Oh. You’re bending over to shimmy out of that tight skirt he was admiring earlier, sliding heeled feet through the opening and tossing it aside. Your oversized sweater hides enough, but he can’t stop picturing it.
And you know what you’re doing to him, he can just tell by that sneaky little grin on your face. “Night blindness is caused by a deficiency of what vitamin?”
He can’t take his eyes off of the way you wiggle into a more comfortable sitting position. “B- no, wait!” Your nose scrunching is a sure sign he’s wrong, but you’re giving him another chance. “C?”
Still wrong. Your disappointed sigh is worse than the ‘defeat’ screen that comes up at the end of a bad game. The game continues for a while longer until you’re sitting there in a lacy number and black heels. As your questions (and his boner) get harder, the longer he has to think to answer.
But it’s here. You’re near naked, and if he gets this last question right…
He doesn’t even have to think about it. “Of course!”
It seems like that’s the right answer because your face lights up like a million stars at once. “Well then, what’s your request? You’ve been a good boy~”
Has he told you he finds it hot when you call him a good boy? He wants to, but you’ll probably hold it against him. His eyes trace over your body, oh, the things he could do, would do, to you… “Can I have a… a kiss?” he murmurs instead, raising his finger to point it to his lips. “Here?”
“Haaah, even when I’m like this,” you whisper softly. Yoosung has to focus to hear you, but then you’re on his lap and kissing him, hands on either of his cheeks to hold him still. His fingers hesitate just a touch away from your ass, before you reach down and press his hands to it yourself. The kiss is beyond the definition of sensual, and he doesn’t want this to end.
But he has to breathe at some point.
He focuses on your tongue, peeking out to lick your lips. “Such a gentleman,” you sigh. “Well, that’s today’s study session! I can’t wait to see your project, Mr. Yoosung~!” You stretch before climbing off his lap, bending over to grab your clothes and redress yourself.
You take a few minutes to readjust your pants to hide the bulge, and then make your way home.
That night as Yoosung grips his cock firmly in his pumping hand, he pictures you. Your hair tickling his face, hands sliding all over his body. And it pushes him to the edge.
“The answer is fourty-twoooooooooooooooo~” he cries out as he climaxes.
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