Summary: An impulsive decision lands you in a class taught by one of Linkon City’s most respected surgeons. Dr. Zayne Li is controlled, distant, and entirely off-limits. Which would matter more if you were better at ignoring your own bad decisions.
Warnings: mdni 18+ ,age gap (mid-30s/early 20s), professor/student dynamic, power imbalance, slow burn, boundary crossing, angst
Length:
part six part eight
PART SEVEN-
You almost missed him. If he'd walked ten seconds faster, if you'd hesitated for even a moment longer, he would've been gone again. Another near miss, another email instead of a conversation.
After weeks of no communication, past lectures or comments on submitted work, you'd had enough. You'd tried to catch him during office hours, but he's somehow managed to avoid it. Claiming last-minute issues, answering your "questions" through email.
"Dr. Li." Your voice echoed slightly in the empty hallway. He stopped, slowly. For a second, he didn't turn around. His shoulders tensed, like he'd known this was coming and still hadn't decided how to face it.
Then he did turn around. And just like that, everything rushed back. Not the composed professor from class, not entirely. But not the man from that night either. Something in between. Something strained.
"You've been avoiding me," you said before you could second guess it. His jaw tensed.
"I've been busy," he replied, too quickly.
You let out a quiet, humorless breath. "Through office hours too?" That hit. You saw it. A flicker in his expression, guilt, maybe. Or frustration.
"Is there something you needed?" He asked, shifting into that familiar tone. Professional and distant. You stared at him.
"Seriously?" A pause, longer this time. The hallway felt too quiet, too narrow, like the walls were closing in around the conversation neither of you had been having.
"You don't get to pretend that nothing happened," you said, quieter now, but sharper all the same.
"I'm not pretending," he replied. It came out low, tight. Controlled in a way that told you it was taking effort.
"Then what are you doing?" you pushed. Another pause as he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly, like he was buying himself time.
"Managing it," he said finally. That stung more than you expected.
"Managing it," you repeated.
"Yes." His eyes met yours then, steady but not unaffected. Not even close.
"What happened-" he started, then stopped, correcting himself. "What we did-" There it was. Acknowledged, real. Your heart kicked.
"You came back to my place," he continued, voice quieter now. "You know that wasn't just...nothing."
"Exactly," you said immediately. "So why are you acting like it was?"
"I'm not," he snapped, then caught himself, forcing his tone back down. "I'm not acting like it was nothing. I'm acting like it was a mistake." That landed hard. Your chest tightened.
"A mistake?" you echoed, softer now. His gaze faltered, just for a second.
"Yes," he said. But it didn't sound convincing, not even to him. Silence stretched between you.
"You don't mean that," you said quietly. His jaw clenched.
"That doesn't change the reality of it."
"And what is the reality?" you challenged.
"That I'm your professor," The words came out sharper this time. Firmer. Like he needed them to hold. "That I crossed a line I shouldn't have crossed and that it can't happen again." There it was, the line. Clear and final.
"This can't happen." But the way he said it wasn't cold or detached. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself just as much as you. You took a step closer anyway.
"Not ever?" you asked. His breath hitched, barely noticeable, but you saw it.
"Not while you're my student," he corrected. You saw an opportunity and seized it immediately.
"The semester's almost over," you said. "A few weeks." He didn't respond.
"You won't be my professor anymore," you continued, voice steady now, more certain. "You won't even work here, no power dynamic. No rules being broken." His eyes darkened slightly.
"Life doesn't work like that," he said.
"Why not?" you shot back. "You're the one who said it meant something." Another silence. Thicker this time, more dangerous.
"It did," he admitted. Your breath caught. "But that doesn't mean I get to act on it." The restraint in his voice was almost worse than anything else. You searched his face, looking for something, anything, that said he didn't want this. You didn't find it.
"Say it then," you said.
He frowned. "Say what?"
"That you don't want me." Something in him cracked just enough. His composure slipped for half a second.
"You know that's not true," he said, low and rough. Your heart pounded.
"Then why are we standing here pretending like it is?" He stepped back. Not far, but enough. Enough to put space between you. Enough to remind both of you where the line was supposed to be.
"Because wanting something doesn't make it right," he said. The truth neither of you wanted. The hallway felt colder suddenly. You held his gaze for a second longer.
"Fine," you said softly. You didn't wait for him to respond. Didn't give him the chance to take it back or soften it or make it worse. You turned and walked away, the sound of your footsteps echoing down the empty hall, each one putting space between you and something you weren't sure you'd ever fully understand. He didn't follow.
The end of the semester came quicker than you expected. You stopped going to class regularly. At first, it was accidental, one missed lecture turning into two. Then it became deliberate. Easier to avoid the tension than sit in it. Easier to pretend it didn't exist than feel it every time he walked into the room.
You showed up when you had to. Tests, exams, the moments that counted. The rest, you got from classmates. Notes passed along or recordings. Excuses about being sick that no one questioned too closely.
But it didn't matter how much distance you put between you and that classroom, it didn't quiet the feeling. If anything, it made it worse. Because once you'd had him, thinking about anything else felt like a poor substitute. And the worst part? You had no idea if he felt the same.
Even in MC’s most undone, unfiltered state, Sylus sees her. Wants her. Reveres her. After reaching a new point in their relationship, he didn’t just want to see her comfortable—he wanted to be the reason why. What starts with wine and banter quickly devolves into something messier. Needier. Wetter. And once he’s gotten a taste… there’s no turning back.
He doesn’t just take her apart—he studies her, worships her, remakes her.
—
Word Count: 7,497 (30 min read)
NO MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS NEEDED
TAGS LISTED BELOW
—
Author's Note:
I got this idea from the many memes and videos about how this one garment has such a profound effect on men. When I saw this again on a recent episode of Love Island where Amaya Papaya wears her, "Grandma Dress", I just knew I had to write this for our mafia man.
This is a longer read than my first piece, "A Beautiful Mess." It's about 30 minutes, give or take.
Enjoy!
And as always, thank you for reading <3
Originally published on AO3
https://archiveofourown.org/works/67625366
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ✦ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 & 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ✦ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☽⋆⁺₊⋆
🔸 Established Relationship
🔸 Fluff and Smut
🔸 Intimacy & Aftercare
🔸 Oral Sex • Rough Oral
🔸 Vaginal Sex • Riding • Multiple Orgasms
🔸 Hair-pulling • Biting • Spit Kink
🔸 Praise Kink • Light Dom/Sub
🔸 Clothing Kink • Toe Sucking
🔸 Creampie • External Ejaculation
🔸 Period Mention
🔸 Deepthroating • Spanking
🔸 Cowgirl • Doggy Style • Missionary
🔸 Dominant Sylus | Qin Che
🔸 Female MC (Love and Deepspace)
🔞 Smut | NSFW | 18+ Only
“Bitch! I bet yo scared ass won’t come say that shit to my face!”
“I’ll do more than just say that shit to your face! Keep running ya mouth, ya raggedy ho”
Trashy TV blared from the flat screen, illuminating an otherwise dark living room. A new episode of MC’s favorite reality show was on and she was in full couch rot mode. She was also twelve hours into her period — cramps on max, hormones raging and pimples decorated parts of her lower jaw. Star shaped patches dotted her chin like a constellation. In one hand, MC clutched the remote and in the other she adjusted the heat on her heating pad.
She shifted, groaning slightly, careful not to drop her phone which she’d impressively balanced on her chest — it rising and falling in cadence to her breaths. She watched as the two women on TV argued while at dinner. The atmosphere was chaotic, but all MC could do was think about how good that rib eye looked. Her stomach growled. On the floor beside her were empty wrappings of chocolate bars, chips and assorted candies. The cravings were in full effect, but she wanted real food now.
She picked up her phone.
“10:27”, she said to herself. “Damn, is anything even open right now?”
MC opened a food delivery app and flipped through some of the restaurants.
“Closed…closed…closed…Oh, open? Nevermind, they close in 3 minutes”
She grumbled, contemplating if eating cold cereal counted as dinner.
Her phone vibrated against her chest. She picked it up to look at the screen.
Sylus.
She answered without saying hello.
“How’s the show?”, he asked, voice was deep and smooth. His cadence laced with sarcasm. “Is it intellectually stimulating? Anyone find a solution for world peace yet?” he joked.
“Good evening to you too, Sylus” MC said flatly.
“Excuse me kitten, where are my manners?” His tone turned mock-formal. “Good evening, how are you?”
“I’m bloated” she snapped. “A bloated, bleeding gremlin with an attitude and heating pad on high”, she continued.
“Aren’t you just a flower right now” he laughed. It’s tone and cadence dripped in money.
“Shut up. The only thing bigger than my attitude right now, is my appetite. All my junk food is gone and everything’s closed. I’d kill for some honey chicken and fried rice”, she whined. “But if I close my eyes, a bowl of cereal can taste just like it, right?”
“Maybe it could if you got the Honey O’s.”
MC’s face fell flat.
“What do you want, Sylus?” she asked rolling her eyes.
“I’m going out of town for a few days for business” he stated.
“Business?” she asked suspiciously.
“Business” he repeated, not bothering to elaborate.
MC let the silence hang. When it became clear he wasn’t going to explain, she sighed, “Okay, yea I’m not in the mood for this. Um, how long? When are you coming back?”
“A few days” he stated vaguely.
She gave up. She really didn’t care to know what he was doing or how long anyway.
“Well, thanks for the heads-up” she said coolly. “Anything else?”
“I want you to come by when I’m back. For dinner. My house. I’ll call you with the specifics”
“You’re asking me out on a date like you’re setting up some meeting” MC rolled her eyes again.
“It is a meeting” he smirked.
“Bye, Sylus”, MC hung up and sighed — dropping her phone back on her chest.
She finished the rest of her show and instinctively reached for her phone, ready to hop on social media and debrief — one of her favorite post-episode rituals. After a few minutes of doom scrolling and quietly judging strangers, a knock echoed through the apartment.
She froze.
Confused, MC groaned and peeled herself off the couch, bones cracking like she was eighty-seven. She was halfway to the door when she heard his voice:
“Open up, sweetie.”
It was Sylus.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
In a flurry of panic, she yanked her bonnet into place — which, at this point, was clinging to the side of her head like it had given up. She smoothed out her muumuu, tugged it straight.
Glanced in the mirror by the door—
Dried chocolate on the corner of her mouth.
“Fuck!” she muttered, hurriedly wiping the sides of her mouth.
She wasn’t usually self-conscious about her looks — but this? This wasn’t a soft-girl cozy moment. She was in gremlin mode. Bloated, crusty-mouthed, half-bonneted, heating-pad-hugging disaster.
Then her panic turned into annoyance. She got upset.
“I can hear you pacing,” came his voice again, low and smug through the door.
She could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Bastard” she frowned, trying to stifle a laugh.
She flung the door open, ready to cuss him out—But the smell hit her first.
Warm. Savory. Fried rice, honey chicken, something with garlic—
She paused. Eyes widened.
And there he was.
All 6’2” of him, leaning casually in the doorway like sin made solid. Dressed head-to-toe in black riding gear — fitted leather jacket, gloves tucked into his waistband, motorcycle helmet in one hand, steaming takeout bag in the other.
He didn’t say a word. Still smirking.
He took in her appearance and raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t speak”, she demanded and moved so he could walk in.
Sylus brushed past her without protest, leather creaking as he moved. He took one look around the living room — the wrappers on the floor, the heating pad slumped beside the couch — and made his way to the kitchen, setting the takeout bag gently on the counter.
Behind him, MC shut the door and flicked on the light. A glance in the mirror made her freeze.
Dried chocolate. Still on her mouth.
She swiped at it quickly, hoping he hadn’t seen. But let’s be real — she was the moment right now, whether she wanted to be or not. She didn’t give a damn about how she looked today. She hadn’t planned on being seen, hadn’t planned on being perceived. And yet here he was.
Watching her.
Sylus was looking at her. Almost… studying.
She folded her arms. “What?”
“You look…” he tilted his head back, amused. “Comfortable’ he finished.
“And you’re infuriating” she snapped. “Why didn’t you call?”
“I did” he was still smirking.
“I mean why didn’t you say you were coming over?” she asked, stepping into the kitchen, arms still crossed like armor.
“I wasn’t planning on it kitten but I wanted to make sure the gremlin ate”. At this point, his smirk was a full on grin. She wanted to punch him.
“Well…”, she hesitated, “Thank you” she mumbled low.
“What was that sweetie?” he teased.
She cut her eyes at him. “So are you staying for awhile or are you going to go handle, ‘business’…” she put emphasis on that last word.
He walked to her, “I have a few moments to spare”.
“Oh, aren’t I the lucky one,” MC muttered, rolling her eyes. She turned to the takeout bag and started unpacking it. “I’m starving.”
Before she could finish pulling the containers out, she felt a finger tap-tap-tap near her cheek.
Sylus started poking at the star pimple patches on her face.
“Stooop!” she swatted his arm away. “This smells delicious. Because of this kind token, this gremlin will temporarily suspend her rage”
They settled onto the couch, containers spread out between them like a makeshift buffet. MC pulled her heating pad back into her lap like a loyal sidekick and dug in with zero shame.
Sylus watched her with a quiet curiosity, picking up his chopsticks but not eating just yet.
“What?” MC spoke with a mouth full of chicken.
“I guess we’ve reached a new high in our relationship, sweetie. Never seen you like this before” he answered.
“Like what?” MC blinked.
“In all your gremlin glory” he answered.
“Oh yea. This is full couch-rot gremlin mode. Courtesy of mother nature who visits every month. You can say this is MC’s final form”, she said.
He continued to look at her. “And what is this delicate piece of fabric called?” he gestured to her outfit.
MC looked down at her clothes confused. “You’ve never seen one of these before? It’s a muumuu”
“A what, sweetie?”
“A muumuu”
Sylus frowned, glancing between her and the garment. “Does that mean ‘cow-dress’ in another language?”
“Wha—wait” she put her food down and stood up, pressing out the avocado toast design on her muumuu and holding out her arms so he could see. The garment falling just below her knees. “It’s like a dress you wear around the house. Like pajamas. Well there are fancier designs you can wear out in public and even on vacation. Those are usually longer with more sophisticated designs”
“Ah” he nodding, eyes drifting over her again. “Give me a twirl, kitten”
MC shot him daggers, “No.”
Sylus laughed. ‘Come on. Give me a spin.”
“Absolutely not.”
His eyes lowered again. He took notice of her shape or what little he could make of it in all the fabric. He noticed how her breasts fell freely underneath the fabric. He could see the soft roundness of them. Her nipples were slightly erect, causing the outline of them to poke through the material.
He twirled his finger around as if telling her to give a twirl.
“I’m just trying to understand this…muumuu, was it?”
With an exaggerated sigh, MC reluctantly spun around.
Sylus watched, secretly captivated. He could make out the slope of her waist. The curve of her hips. The lift of her butt. And in a flash, because of the loose fabric, it was hidden again.
MC sat back down and returned to her food.
Sylus sat with his food in his lap. He didn’t have an appetite. At least not for the food. His eyes kept drifting to her.
Every bite she took, every small shift of her body, revealed another detail. When she laughed, her breasts bounced. When she shifted, her thighs pressed against the fabric. Her belly rose and fell beneath the heating pad.
She wasn’t done up. No makeup, no filters. Just soft, tired, bloated—and somehow, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
This was real. She was real. She was not trying to impress him.
And that’s what turned him on.
She looked like his future — barefoot, soft, a little chaotic, and entirely too comfortable in her skin. She didn’t realize how sexy she was. Or maybe she did, and this was just who she’d always been beneath all the polish. Even on her period, she was irresistible.
——
A few days passed, and just like a werewolf returns to its human form after the full moon has gone, MC transformed from a gremlin back to her usual self.
The heating pad was tucked away. The star-shaped pimple patches were gone. Her appetite was manageable— albeit if MC wanted to film mukbangs, she’d dominate the algorithm without question. The couch had also been reclaimed from its trash-covered reign.
She hadn’t heard from Sylus since he’d left her apartment that night, but she was sure she’d hear from him soon. Or maybe her final form had scared him off.
Big bad Sylus undone by a muumuu and a couple pimple patches. She laughed to herself at the thought.
She was walking home from work, deep in thought, and desperately wanting to plop down on the couch, take off her bra, and doom scroll for a couple hours. Maybe even take a hot bath.
Work had drained her.
She entered her apartment building and stopped short of opening her door. There was a small box sitting neatly at her doorstep. It was matte black with a red ribbon tied diagonally across it. A single red rose rested delicately on top. Elegance and a bit of edge.
“If this is a bomb, I’m going to be pissed.” MC bent down. First she picked up the rose, then the box. She slid a finger under the lid and popped it open.
Inside were two items.
A pack of glittery star-shaped pimple patches and a simple note.
“Didn’t want you to run out”— S
MC blinked twice and let out a small, breathless laugh.
She finally opened the door and set her shoes aside.
“You smug bastard”, she lifted the rose to her nose and smelled it. She smiled despite herself.
In that moment, her evening didn’t feel so heavy anymore.
——
MC spent majority of the evening, bra-less and sprawled out on the couch, laughing at TV or social media. She ate a simple meal and decided she was feeling too lazy to take a bath. A thorough in and out the shower would do.
She emerged from her shower, wrapped in a towel. Her hair damp and bits of steam still clinging to her skin.
Her phone buzzed. She picked it up off the bed.
Sylus.
She picked it up without answering.
“Evening, kitten. I guess you got my” he paused, “care package.”
“Feeling bad for the gremlin?” she asked
“You could say that” he answered.
MC rolled her eyes.
“I’ll be back tonight sweetie. If you have plans for tomorrow-“
“I do” she interrupted. She didn’t have any, but wanted to be difficult.
“Cancel them” he kept talking. ‘I’ll send a car to pick you up around 8 pm.”
“Why can’t you get me?” she asked, stubborn.
“Well, sweetie, someone has to cook for us” he said smugly.
“You’re cooking?” she asked in disbelief. “Maybe I’ll wear those patches as a way to say thank you”
“Ah” he said. “See you soon, kitten” he said before hanging up.
She sighed and fell face first into her bed and rolled over— staring at the ceiling she sighed again and placed her hands on her belly.
Then she smiled.
—
MC stood in front of the mirror, half-dressed, holding two entirely different outfits in each hand.
“Why am I thinking about this so hard?” she asked herself, frustrated.
Then she thought about the last time they’d seen each other and realized she wanted to look as anti-gremlin as possible.
She dropped both outfits and grabbed something softer. Simple and feminine but not overdone.
Anti-gremlin definitely. But also not trying too hard.
She shaved. Moisturized. Lined her lips with care. Patted on just enough glow to look kissed by candlelight.
She paused in front of her dresser drawer.
Panties… or no panties?
She smirked. “Let’s not give him the whole buffet just yet.”
Lacy and black. Enough to haunt him if he caught a glimpse.
One last check in the mirror. Hair? Fluffed.
Waistline? Snatched.
Mood? She looked at various bottles of perfume.
Chaotic neutral.
She spritzed herself with perfume on all the hot spots, grabbed her purse and phone and locked the door behind her.
It was exactly 8 pm.
A blacked out Mercedes S-Class pulled up as MC walked outside. Her heels clicked against the pavement before the sound was swallowed by the quiet purr of the engine in front of her.
The windows were impossibly tinted. The rims shimmered under the streetlight, pitch black on black. Even the emblem looked like it had secrets.
Before she could reach for the handle, the rear door swung open — a driver in a sharp suit offering a small nod, silent and deliberate.
Inside? Soft ambient lighting. Heated leather. The air smelled like sandalwood and something faintly familiar — Sylus’s cologne? Of course he’d leave a trace.
MC slid into the back seat, immediately cocooned by warmth and ambient light that pulsed low and golden. The console between the seats gleamed, and waiting for her—chilled and glistening—was a slender glass of champagne nestled into the holder. Not too full. Just enough.
On the seat beside it, a small envelope.
Her name, handwritten in sharp strokes across the front. Of course it was his handwriting. Clean. Controlled. Just like him.
“Behave in the car, kitten. Save the attitude for me.” —S
Between the chilled glass of champagne in her hand and the scent of Sylus still lingering in the backseat, the entire ride felt like foreplay.
She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs tightly.
Anxious. Anticipating.
By the time the car slowed to a stop, she was already wound too tight. And Sylus hadn’t even touched her yet.
The driver came around and opened her door. Her heels touched down first as she got out of the car.
She thanked the driver with a smile and walked to the door.
She didn’t knock. She didn’t have to.
Inside, low music played — sultry and thick with bass. The scent of roasted garlic and other aromatics filled her nose. Her heels echoed through the foyer once…twice…and then she saw him.
Sylus.
In one hand, a single red rose and in the other a glass of red wine.
He stood there with that sexy half smirk — only three words coming from his mouth
‘Did you behave?”
——
Conversation danced between snark and sarcasm, between bites and the clink of cutlery. Every now and then, MC would give an amused sigh, and Sylus an amused laugh. What MC didn’t know was that Sylus was studying and memorizing her every reaction. Her every raised eyebrow and smart-ass remark.
“I know you didn’t really have plans today, kitten” Sylus teased.
“I did” she rebutted. “Those plans may have been ordering takeout and watching trash television, but they were plans nonetheless.”
Sylus chuckled.
‘Champagne on the way here and this” she raised her glass, “this wine is criminally good.” She swirled it. “If I get drunk and make poor decisions, it’s all your fault”
Sylus raised his glass, “I wouldn’t dare take advantage of a tipsy kitten.” He lowered his voice, “But I’d enjoy watching the spiral.”
He placed his glass down and rose from the table, disappearing into the other room without warning.
MC watched him leave and frowned in confusion.
He returned holding a sleek, matte box in hand.
“I was going to wait but maybe this will jump start the spiral” he smirked. He placed the box in front of her.
It had the same red ribbon from the smaller box he’d given her yesterday. She eyed it suspiciously.
“You know…” she placed her hands on the box, “ yesterday, I thought that was a bomb at first”.
Sylus didn’t respond — just nodded to the box in front of her.
She untied the ribbon and opened the lid.
Her eyes landed on soft, folded fabric. She pinched a corner of the garment and held it up.
It was colorful— light pink with various cartoon printed sheep on it. The sheep had either dark pink, white or gray wool. It was fucking adorable.
MC almost spit out her wine, “A muumuu?!” she laughed in adoration. “No you didn’t, Sylus” she beamed.
Sylus sat back, admiring her reaction. “It’s custom” he held back a laugh.
“Custom my ass”, she laughed, almost snorting. “Yes! A new gremlin uniform!”
“You looked so good in the last one, I wanted to get you another one” his smile reaching his eyes.
She’d never seen him smile that big before. The wine had him a little loose too.
She stood up and placed the muumuu over her, smoothing out the fabric to get a better look. ‘This…is actually really thoughtful”
“Are you done eating” he asked, playful but serious.
“Why, what’s wrong?” she looked up.
“I want to see if it fits”
“Right now?” she asked, sitting back down.
“Especially now”, he answered before taking another sip from his glass.
Sylus walked over to her side of the table, his gaze never leaving hers.
“My lady” he said before kneeling at her feet. His fingers traced the curve of her ankle before slipping beneath the strap of her heel. He undid the buckle with ease, then slid it off. He repeated the same motion on her other foot, but lingered this time— his hands gliding slowly up the curve of her heel. His fingers followed the line of her calf. He kissed her foot before placing it down slowly.
MC raised an eyebrow before standing. She turned around, revealing her zipper.
“Would you do the honors?” she asked, moving her hair out the way.
He dragged the zipper down — slowly, deliberately, unhurried. The fabric eased from her frame, revealing the soft curve of her back. He caught a sliver of her black bra band and further down, a glimpse of the thin dark lace that hugged her hips.
He softly kissed her back and her shoulders, then traced his lips, just as softly, along the side of her neck.
She turned around, interrupting his trail of kisses, and met his gaze.
“Excuse me, sir, but I have a muumuu to try on. You clear the table and I’ll be out before you’re done”
—
With the table cleared, Sylus joined MC in the bedroom. He could hear the soft rustling of fabric. She was probably admiring herself in the mirror.
“This is so comfortable” he heard her say softly to herself.
“Kitten.” his deep baritone filled the room, not loud, but MC knew his presence was near, “You’d said you’d be out before I was done”
In the corner of the room was chaise lounge. It was black. Clean lines and soft to the touch. He sat down, spread his legs slightly with one arm resting along the backrest.
MC stepped out.
His breath hitched.
The light pink fabric skimmed along her skin, catching the light just enough to hint at the curves underneath.
He dipped his head to the side—making a twirling motion with his finger.
MC twirled once— playfully, slowly.
Sylus just looked, almost staring.
“Well?” MC asked, “What do you think?” she held her arms to her sides to give him a good look at the dress but this only caused the fabric to inch up, revealing more of her upper thigh.
He didn’t answer right away, just smirked. Taking in this image with reverence.
“Well” he started, “that’s probably the most dangerous thing I’ve ever bought.”
And MC had seen his armory.
She looked confused.
He leaned forward slightly, as if this would help the clarity of the mental photos he was taking.
“I spend most my days wearing clean lines, tailored hems, sharp edges. I’m always in control. But you remind me what softness looks like. There’s an unmistakable beauty about you when you’re comfortable, when you’re not trying to be beautiful. You remind me what it’s like to breathe” he said honestly.
“Come here” he almost whispered.
MC began to close the distance between them.
She walked and stood between his spread legs. He slid his hands up her back— feeling the fabric and her warmth.
He tugged at it. A small rip sounded in the room.
MC frowned, “If you mess up my brand new gremlin uniform, I will cut you.”
She meant every word.
Sylus smirked, and without breaking eye contact, he hooked his hands beneath her thighs and guided her effortlessly onto his lap.
MC gasped as she settled onto him, one knee on either side. Her body was pressed flush against his—her arms draped loosely over his shoulders, her fingertips faintly interlocked behind his neck.
“Why would I ruin this?” he asked, lowly. His hands trailed up and down her back. “I may have gotten this for you, but I really got it for me.”
“Aren’t you greedy”, MC whispered.
“You have no idea,” he muttered, voice still low.
With her hands woven around his neck, she pulled him into a hungry kiss.
She pulled away. “That spiral you mentioned…” She kissed him again. “I think I’m ready to fall.”
He growled low in his throat as his hand slid beneath the hem of her muumuu. His broad palms splayed across her ass.
Her mouth moved from his lips as she made slow kisses from his cheeks, to the line of his jaw and finally to his neck. She felt the muscle in it twitch under her lips. His grip on her tightened.
“Mmmm,” he let out. MC felt the vibration of his voice on her lips
He leaned his head back slightly, allowing her to explore more. She kissed his neck. Sucked it. Bit it.
Sylus grabbed the back of her head, guiding her mouth back to his. Their kiss was hard— full of want and greed. Their tongues danced to a song only they knew.
His grip loosened on her hips and slid down the back of her thighs, grazing the curve where her legs met her ass. He pulled her tighter against him.
Then she felt it. Solid, insistent. Pressing against the center of her, right through his slacks.
She shifted her hips slightly. Just to let him know she felt him.
He smiled against her lips. ‘You got me, kitten.”
His hands moved again, gliding under the hem of her garment, exploring the warmth of her skin. When his fingers brushed the edge of her panties, he groaned softly.
Wet wasn’t the appropriate word. She was pouring. Dripping even.
MC gasped. “I guess you got me too.”
His thumb found her clit through the soaked fabric. He pressed gently, circling slowly,
watching how her mouth parted.
Her hands gripped the back of his neck and she moved her hips in response. She threw her head back and Sylus began planting kisses up her neck. He kissed the column of her throat, letting his teeth scrape just enough to give her shivers.
Sylus felt her moans on his lips— the vibrations of them shot through his body, making his desire grow.
His thumb worked expertly on her body. Her moans were soft and staggered.
Her hands found his chest. She began to unbutton his shirt. One slow button at a time. She grew impatient.
Rrrip!
She ripped it open, buttons flew left and right. Sylus just looked at her.
“You can buy another one”, she teased— running her palms over his bare skin. She felt the firm planes of him on her fingertips. His warmth surged through them.
He groaned into her neck. He missed her touch. Yearned for it. Worshiped it.
MC’s fingers went lower. Over his chest, his abs, his bellybutton. Her fingers touched the beginning of his happy trail. His breath shuddered as she moved lower.
She unbuckled his belt, undid the button, pulled the zipper down—and released him.
Her eyes met his. Sylus was frozen in desire.
With her eyes locked on his, she wrapped her hand around him. Warm and sure. Sylus’ brows furrowed in pleasure.
He was heavy and thick in her hands.
With one hand, she stroked him once. Twice. The tip of him brushed her inner thigh, leaving dots and lazy trails of precum. With the other she moved his hand from her soaked panties and moved them to the side, exposing her desire. Still her eyes never leaving his.
Sylus breathed heavily.
She lifted herself up, positioned herself carefully—letting his tip become wet with her wanting. She kissed him again. Their lips remained on each other as she slid her hand back between them to guide him. Her other hand rested against his chest.
Their mouths were open and barely touching. They shared the same breaths— moaning into each others mouths. This tension felt sacred.
Then slowly, she sank down on him.
They both gasped in unison. Her mouth was still pressed to his as she exhaled. She trembled around the stretch.
He badly wanted to grab her hips and bury all of him deep inside her, but he allowed her to move down slow. He gripped her waist. His fingers digging in but not pushing. Just holding. Anchoring.
Their foreheads touched as she moved inch by inch. Lips still parted, eyes still on each other.
MC rocked her hips. She leaned back. Sylus supported her. They got lost in the rhythm. She was tight around him, gripping him tighter with each roll of her body.
The wet, dragged friction of her panties rubbed along the side of his shaft. It was maddening.
Sylus grunted, his hand sliding down from her hips and then between them.
In one sharp motion— rip!
He held the torn fabric and tossed it on the floor.
MC looked at him. He smirked, “I can buy you another pair.”
Her bare heat fully enveloped him now. No barrier. No friction. Just her slick warm pussy made to fit him.
The sound of their bodies filled the room. It was wet. The smell of them filled the air. His slacks were damp now. They clung to him with every thrust of her hips. She noticed when she shifted.
Sylus couldn’t care less.
“Let’s take these off”, MC murmured, breathless.
She rose off him slowly. The absence of her warmth caused him to groan.
MC helped him out of his shirt, then slid down his body and tugged off his slacks.
His dick still stood at attention, wet from both of them. Slightly white from their fluids mixing.
Sylus expected her to sit back on him but she knelt between his legs on all fours. Her hair curtained around her face. She wrapped her hands around him again and in one fluid motion, her mouth enveloped his length.
Sylus exhaled through gritted teeth.
She tasted herself on him. It made her moan. She licked along his shaft then along the tip, being sure to lick and savor every bit of herself that clung to his dick.
She kept one hand on his length, twisting around and following his length in cadence with her mouth. Her other hand began to cup his balls.
“Fuck”, Sylus hissed. His hips leaning into her movements. His brows furrowed. He saw how her sexy, full lips stretched around him. Obscene sounds of her choking and gagging echoing through the room. This made her mouth produce more saliva, made this act more wet, more messy.
He caught a glimpse of her ass peeking behind the hem of the muumuu. That awakened something primal in him.
He fisted her hair and raised his hips to fuck her mouth.
She let him go deep down her throat. Steadily choking and gagging on his cock. Spit flowing and a single tear escaping her eye.
“That’s it, kitten” Sylus growled.
MC still cupped his balls. Played with them as they were marbles in her hand. She could feel him swell in her throat.
Sylus was nearly at the point of no return. He fucked her throat harder and faster. Nearly all of him in her mouth.
Gawk, gawk, gawk, gawk…those being the only sounds escaping her mouth.
He took another look at her face and at her ass peeking through and closed his eyes to save that image. He leaned his head back, fucking her mouth relentlessly.
‘Fuccckkkkk!’, he growled louder.
As much as he wanted to release deep down in her throat, he didn’t.
He let go of her hair and pulled himself out her mouth.
“Not yet.” he said, trying to catch his breath. His chest heaved. His dick twitched and pulsed in front of her.
Sylus stood, lifting her easily, placing her legs around his waist. He kissed her fervently, tasting him on her tongue. He carried her towards the bed and laid her down.
He was at the edge of the bed, his gaze dark. Admiring her laid out, he caught glimpses of her pussy and ass under the hem of the muumuu. This one garment was doing so much damage to him.
Sylus hooked her leg over his shoulder and brought her foot to his mouth.
“Kitten, you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now” he groaned as he brought her right foot to his mouth. He kissed the arch, then the ball of her foot. He took notice of her pedicured toes. A toe ring on her second one. He kissed each one before pulling two into his mouth, sucking on them gently. He let his tongue swirl around them. MC’s breath hitched.
There he was, naked. His solider standing to attention, sucking on her toes with great reverence. Her thighs flexed. Her pussy clenched.
She watched him. He continued to kiss the top of her foot, and then down to her ankle. He began to inch higher and higher, leaving trails of kisses until he reached her inner thigh. MC let her head fall back, enjoying the sensation of his mouth on her.
She looked back up and he was already under the hem of her muumuu, nudging her thighs apart. She felt the heat of his breath first. Followed by the warmth of his mouth. And that followed by the thickness of his tongue.
She gasped as she gripped the sheets.
He brought his hands up to cup her ass, making sure she couldn’t get away.
He groaned into her, vibrations shooting through her.
“Oh shit, Sylus”, MC said.
He licked her slowly. Tasting her like a luxury.
He sucked. He circled. He alternated between tenderness and greed. He pulled her clit into his mouth, flattening his tongue over it.
MC groans grew louder. She fisted his hair and moved her hips up against his movement.
Sylus smiled sinisterly and laughed into her. “Ha, ha, ha, ha. You like that, sweetie?” each vibration of his laugh drew her closer and closer to an orgasm.
“Fuck, Sylus”, she whimpered. Her voice breaking, her legs trembling but he held her down.
He kept her thighs apart although they threatened to close in around his head.
Her moans turned into small, breathless cries. He could tell she was close, very close.
Then he stopped.
MC whined. Before she could speak in protest, he surged up her body and in one fluid motion, he entered her. His tall frame looming over hers. His mouth claiming hers as his own. He pumped into her deep and fast. Growling and groaning into their kiss.
MC cried out. She arched her back and opened her legs more, trying to keep up with the sudden stretch.
He thrust relentlessly. He brought himself up on his hands, putting all the motion and force into his lower body. Slamming into her over and over and over. His mouth opened as he panted with each thrust.
He started to sweat. He was putting in work. He wouldn’t be satisfied until all her love came flooding down around his cock.
“Sy…Sylus…Ugh” MC cried. “Sylus, oh my-.”
“Mmmm”, he grunted. He tilted his head back.
MC noticed the sweat on his brow and confused it with him being hot.
“Did you…want to take this off?” MC was referring to her muumuu.
Sylus brought his head back and stopped thrusting. He looked at her, almost insulted.
“No. That stays on until I say it comes off.” He reached down and grabbed her legs, lifting her hips slightly then began to slam into her again.
“What I want”, he said between thrusts, “is for you to come.”
He slammed into a few more times holding her legs, then let them fall before positioning himself to where his pelvis would hit her clit with each thrust. Providing her with more stimulation.
He was deep inside her and if he didn’t care, he could come but he wasn’t ready to. He took her hand into his own and interlaced their fingers. Her small fingers clamped down on his big hands.
He slowed a little. His thrusts more fluid. More precise. His pelvis giving added pressure to her clit.
He moved his hips, grinding in circles. Exploring her from the inside. He hit all the spots that made her body jolt.
Her legs wrapped around his back. Her fingers dug into his broad back. He winced slightly but never faltered.
It wasn’t too much longer before she came hard around him.
She couldn’t think, she couldn’t speak. Mouth agape. Moans straining to come from her throat.
Her pussy clenched down on him, pulsing in waves. Her walls became more slippery. He made sure to slow down to prolong her climax.
Sylus was pretty sure she drew blood from his back. He was fine with that. More mementos to reflect on later.
He rode out the last of her waves until she was completely soaked and breathless. Her muumuu damp from their sweat.
After a few moments, she pushed his chest, beckoning him to get on his back.
He pulled out with a groan and laid on his back beside her.
She sat up and straddled him. The hem fell around her thighs. The cartoon sheep bouncing with every move.
Sylus laid there, smirking with his hands interlocked behind his head.
“You look amazing, sweetie”, he said in a whisper.
MC started slowly. Grinding first, then lifting and sinking down on him in long, teasing strokes.
He bit his lip and his jaw clenched.
Sylus reached forward and started to lift the muumuu. First he revealed the place where they were connected. Slick, and wet.
Then her stomach. Then her bra. Like he was unwrapping a gift.
He noticed her bra was a front clasp. He undid the clasp and her breasts spilled out from behind the fabric. Free, gorgeous— and her nipples covered in glittery star shaped pimple patches. Two on each nipple
MC smiled at him, not losing her rhythm. “I said I might wear them”
He smirked. “You did.”
She pulled the muumuu off her arms and removed her bra. The material of the dress was gathered at her neck. She leaned back to support herself on his ankles. Her hips moved forward and back. Sylus’ hands roamed her body. He cupped her breasts, squeezed her nipples. His hands softly caressed her waist and stomach. The view was exquisite.
He watched in awe. She was art. Erotic chaos in motion. He could see himself slipping in and out of her. She rode him faster. Deeper. Just the way he liked.
Her head fell back as she closed her eyes. She was going to come again soon. Her walls got tighter around him. Sylus thumbed her clit.
She moaned his name. “Sylus…”
She came again, harder than the first. She cried out as her body doubled down on him, pulsing around his length.
Sylus sat up slightly and put his hand around her throat. Pressing it firmly as she continued to ride him. He moaned and growled as his orgasm swelled inside him. He sat up even more and wrapped his arms around her. He grabbed her hips, making her come down on his dick harder. He thrust up. Deep and final. His tip swollen inside her. Ready for that sweet release.
“Come inside me”, MC moaned. Steadily thrusting to meet his own.
He came hard, emptying into her. Wave after wave of pleasure escaping from him into her.
“Gahh...”, he growled, like a beast claiming his territory. He didn’t thrust as he came. He stayed deep inside her, unmoving as he exploded. One pulse…two…three…four…five…six…he was still coming.
MC felt him coat her insides. It was warm. Each burst, each pulse making it warmer and warmer. She felt the fullness of his cum inside her. It felt amazing.
Once he was on the other end of his orgasm, he pulled out slightly. The squelch echoed in the room. The gravity causing his cum to move downward inside her. She could feel some slide out of her. It coated the base of his shaft and dripped onto his balls and a bit of his upper thigh.
He kissed her neck and she ran her fingers through his hair.
He took the muumuu that gathered at her neck and lifted it over her head.
“I think it has served its purpose”, he said still catching his breath.
He took it and threw it towards the top of the bed. They both now completely bare.
Sylus then put his hands on her hips, beckoning her to rise up. He was still very, very hard.
He looked down, his dick coated in a thick blend of white and wet, every inch of him glazed with their aftermath. A five-star Michelin meat glaze.
MC rose up and he immediately threw her down face first.
“Ass up, kitten” he demanded.
MC instinctively arched her back. Face down on the bed. Ass high in the air.
“Good girl.” Sylus stood and landed a firm slap on her ass—sharp and deliberate. He savored the sound.
She let out a breathy whimper, her body arching for more.
He ran his hands down her spine and over the swell of her ass.
She looked back at him and wiggled her hips once, a silent challenge.
He smirked. “I don’t think you know what you’re in for.”
He gripped her waist, steadying her, and pushed himself inside— slowly at first, savoring the stretch.
A sharp, wet queef echoed from the sudden penetration, followed by the warm slide of his earlier release slipping out of her.
“Look at that”, he said talking more to himself than to MC. “It’s trying to run away.”
He used the tip of his cock to push it back into her. Then he slammed into her. Hard. Deep. Unforgiving.
The squelching grew louder and filthier with each thrust. His hips crashed into her ass over and over. She gripped the sheets. Her mouth was open against the pillow. Screams and sobs muffled by the fabric.
The sounds of their bodies colliding further filled the room. The smell of their sex filled the air. The atmosphere was electrifying.
He raised a hand and brought it down hard against her ass. He thrust a few more times and brought his hand down hard against the other cheek.
MC let out a strangled moan.
He slapped her ass over and over again between thrusts. Her ass rippling from the impact. Her flesh reddening with his imprint.
He bent over her, chest against her back, teeth grazing her skin. He bit down on her shoulder— then her back—grunting into each bite.
“You left scratches on my back, sweetie”, he said. “Fair’s fair, kitten.”
She whimpered beneath him, her body trembling from the intensity.
He sat back up and grabbed her hips, pushing them down harder, tilting her more. He pushed on her back more to bring her ass up. Going deeper, driving into her with a ruthless rhythm.
MC wanted to tap out but she stayed the course. She gripped the sheets hard. Her screams becoming so loud the pillow wasn’t doing much to muffle them anymore.
He kicked her legs apart a bit, going deeper. Harder still. Like he wanted to break her. He was feral. Primal. Relentless. Ruthless.
His breath quickened. MC brought her head up. Her screams now whimpers.
“Sylus…” she whimpered.
“You can handle it”, he roared.
He grabbed her hips and brought them back to meet his thrusts. They were getting quicker and faster.
“Fuck!”, his desire reached its crest. He pulled out suddenly and spilled his release all over her ass, her lower back, the backs of her thighs. Thick. Hot. Endless.
Some of it slid down from her ass and began to pool at her entrance.
He took his cock and pressed it back inside— thrusting into her again, mixing everything. He thrust into the wet heat of her pulsing walls until the final waves of his pleasure fully wrung out of him.
He pulled out again, breathing heavily. He lightly tapped her ass and MC collapsed on the bed, trying to learn to think again.
Sylus collapsed beside her, still catching his breath.
MC was still face down. Boneless and blinking slowly.
“Still spiraling, sweetie?” he asked, voice low.
“I think I hit the bottom”, she murmured.
Sylus let out a laugh and kissed her shoulder.
She turned just enough to glare at him.
“I’m covered in cum, my thighs are jelly, my ass is red, and I can’t feel my legs.”
“In other words, mission accomplished”, he teased.
She groaned into the pillow.
He rose from the bed and returned with a warm, damp towel. He cleaned her gently. She winced from the sensitivity.
“I’m going to be pleasantly sore tomorrow.” She welcomed the warmth of the towel.
Once he was done, he grabbed the muumuu. “Putting this back on?”
MC eyes widened. “Uh…” she was still throbbing from the intensity of him.
He smirked, “Muumuu or not, I’m not done with you. This is just halftime.”
She grabbed the muumuu and put it on and laid back down.
Her eyes were heavy. “Well wake me up for overtime.”
She smiled lazily.
He smiled into her hair, held her close, and whispered, “Deal.”
MC fell asleep wrapped in warmth and sore satisfaction, unaware that somewhere, deep in a drawer, Sylus had already ordered a backup muumuu. And this one had ducks on it.
Summary: An impulsive decision lands you in a class taught by one of Linkon City’s most respected surgeons. Dr. Zayne Li is controlled, distant, and entirely off-limits. Which would matter more if you were better at ignoring your own bad decisions.
Warnings: mdni 18+ , age gap (mid-30s/early 20s), professor/student dynamic, power imbalance, internal thirst, slow burn, boundary crossing, f1ngering, explicit language
Summary: An impulsive decision lands you in a class taught by one of Linkon City’s most respected surgeons. Dr. Zayne Li is controlled, distant, and entirely off-limits. Which would matter more if you were better at ignoring your own bad decisions.
Warnings: mdni 18+ ,age gap (mid-30s/early 20s), professor/student dynamic, power imbalance, internal thirst, slow burn, boundary crossing
Length: Around 1k words
part five part seven
PART 6-
Monday came too quickly.
You hadn’t slept much. Not really. Every time you closed your eyes, you were back there. His hands, his voice, the way he’d said your name like it meant something more than it should. And now,
Now you were walking into his class like none of it had happened. Like you hadn’t been in his bed two days ago. Your stomach twisted. The room buzzed with normal conversation and people laughing. It felt almost surreal, like you stepped into the wrong version of your life.
You took your usual seat. Your knee bounced under the desk, your pen tapping against your notebook in a rhythm that gave away more than you wanted it to. Hands too warm and pulse too loud.
When he walked in, the shift was immediate.
Dr. Li.
Composed. Controlled. Professional down to the last detail. Buttoned up like always. Not a single trace of Saturday night on him. If you didn’t know better, you’d think nothing had changed. But you did know better.
His eyes swept the room as usual. Brief, efficient, and then they landed on you. It wasn’t long. It wasn’t obvious. But it was different. He looked away first. That alone made your stomach flip.
“Let’s begin,” he said, voice steady, measured. Too measured.
The lecture started like any other. Controlled pacing. Clear explanations. Not a single slip. If anything, he was stricter. More distant. Like he was building a wall in real time.
You watched him as he spoke, the way his jaw tightened just slightly when someone interrupted, the way his hands stayed firmly planted on the desk instead of moving like they usually did.
He wasn’t just teaching. He was containing himself. And for some reason, that made it worse. You forced yourself to take notes, to act normal, to breathe like your entire world hadn't shifted off its axis.
He didn’t look at you. Not immediately. But when he did, it hit harder than it should have. Sharp. Quick. Gone. Like it burned. You felt your lips twitch. Halfway through the class, he paused.
“Can anyone explain the relationship between vascular resistance and blood flow?” he asked, scanning the room.
Silence. You raised your hand, you knew the answer. Of course you did. A mistake. Or maybe not. His eyes flicked to you, and for just a second, just a second, you saw it. Hesitation.
“Go ahead,” he said. Your name on his lips would’ve been too much.
You answered, voice steady despite the way your pulse spiked under his attention. “Blood flow is inversely proportional to resistance. So if resistance increases, flow decreases, assuming pressure remains constant.”
A beat. He stared at you too long. And then he nodded once. “Correct.”
But he didn’t move on.
"You're missing something."
You tilted your head slightly, frowning. “Pressure gradients?”
He nodded once, but his eyes didn't leave yours.
"And?"
There it was, that edge. The smallest shift. Someone else might’ve missed it, but you didn’t.
You swallowed. "External factors can influence both variables...altering the balance."
His hand tightened almost imperceptibly around the marker in his hand. Subtle.
"Yes," he said, voice lower now. "External factors." The words lingered, and you held his gaze. Just a second too long.
He stepped forward slightly, like he needed the movement to ground himself.
"And that's exactly what we'll be focusing on today." The lecture continued, but something changed. You didn’t look away.
The rest of class passed in a blur of tension and restraint. Every glance felt loaded. Every near-slip was caught just in time. Until near the end, you answered another question. Without thinking. And he started to respond, “Exactly, that’s-”
He stopped. Mid-sentence. Just stopped. Like something had caught up to him all at once. The room went quiet for half a second, confused. He cleared his throat, stepping back, putting space between himself and the moment.
“Correct,” he said instead, sharper this time. Shorter. Safer. Your stomach flipped. He didn’t look at you again for the rest of class. Not once.
“Review chapter six before Wednesday,” he said quickly, already gathering his things. “That’s all.”
The dismissal came faster than usual. Students started packing up, talking, and moving on. But you stayed seated for a second longer. Watching him. He didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge you. Didn’t give anything away.
But the tension, it was still there. Stronger than before. If anything, now it had somewhere to go.
Summary: An impulsive decision lands you in a class taught by one of Linkon City’s most respected surgeons. Dr. Zayne Li is controlled, distant, and entirely off-limits. Which would matter more if you were better at ignoring your own bad decisions.
Warnings: mdni 18+ ,age gap (mid-30s/early 20s), professor/student dynamic, power imbalance, internal thirst, slow burn, boundary crossing,
Length: Around 600 words
A/N: Sorry it's so incredibly short, but I am a college student, and life is kicking me while I'm down. Maybe I'll add an epilogue eventually or go back and edit. Who knows...
part seven
PART EIGHT (THE END) -
The bell above the door chimed softly as you stepped inside, a wave of cool air and sugar-sweet warmth washing over you. The pace was new, barely a few weeks old. It smelled incredible. Fresh pastries, melted chocolate, something buttery lingering in the air. Exactly what you needed to end the summer with.
"Hi, what can I get for you?" the girl behind the counter asked brightly. You scanned the case, taking your time, letting yourself relax for the first time in what felt like days. "Um, can I get a couple of your strawberry macaroons?" you pointed, "and an iced mocha, please."
"Coming right up!"
You leaned against the counter slightly, pulling your phone out of your bag, already half distracted. Until it hit you. Your wallet. No. No, no, no. You checked again. Different pocket, smaller zipper. Nothing. Of course.
"Alright, that''ll be-"
"I'm sorry," you cut in, already flustered, digging through your bag again like it might magically appear. "I'm so sorry, I think I left my wallet-"
"Don't worry. I've got it." Your breath caught. You knew that voice. You froze for half a second before slowly turning your head. And there he was. Zayne.
Standing just behind you, already pulling out his card like this was the most natural thing in the world. Your heart did something stupid. Again.
“You don’t have to-” you started, instinct kicking in. He didn’t even look at you.
“It’s fine,” he said, calm, easy. “Add it to mine.” The cashier nodded, completely unaware of the shift happening in the space between you. You watched him instead. The way he moved. The same controlled ease, but lighter now. Less restrained. Like something had finally loosened. When he finally glanced at you, it wasn’t quick. Wasn’t careful. It lingered.
“Still forgetting important things, I see,” he said, a hint of something teasing in his voice. You huffed out a quiet breath, somewhere between embarrassed and… something else entirely. “Only when I’m distracted.”
His brow lifted slightly. “That so?” You held his gaze.
“Seems to happen more often than I’d like.” Something passed between you, unspoken, but very much there. The cashier handed over the bag and coffee, breaking the moment.
“Here you go!”
“Thanks,” he said, taking it, then handing it to you instead. Your fingers brushed. It shouldn’t have meant anything. It did.
“Thank you,” you said, softer now.
He shrugged slightly. “You can get the next one.” The words were casual. But the implication wasn’t.
You tilted your head just slightly. “Is that an invitation?” This time, he smiled. Not the polite, restrained one you’d seen all of last semester. Something real. Not forbidden anymore.
“Depends,” he said. “Are you going to forget your wallet again?”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe.” Another pause. This one lighter, but still charged.
“So,” he added after a moment, nodding toward the door, “you going to stand here all day, or are you going to walk with me?” Your heart skipped. Like no time had passed. Like everything had. You adjusted your grip on the bag, trying not to overthink it. “Lead the way,” you said. And this time, nothing was stopping you.
Summary: An impulsive decision lands you in a class taught by one of Linkon City’s most respected surgeons. Dr. Zayne Li is controlled, distant, and entirely off-limits. Which would matter more if you were better at ignoring your own bad decisions.
Warnings: mdni 18+ ,age gap (mid-30s/early 20s), professor/student dynamic, power imbalance, internal thirst, slow burn, boundary crossing, here's where things get interesting!, f1ngering, explicit language
Length: 1.9k words.
Part 4 Part 6
PART 5-
The creak of the door caught you off guard and you jumped a little. Until you saw who caused it, then you stilled.
“Dr. Li?”
He closed the distance so quickly you barely had time to process it. His hands found your waist, firm, grounding, like he needed to be sure you were real. Your breath caught.
“Dr. Li?” you repeated, softer this time.
For a second, he didn’t answer. Up close like this, you could see it clearly. The restrain, the conflict, the way his jaw tenses like he was holding himself back from something he wasn’t sure he should want.
“You shouldn’t have come out here,” he said finally, but his hands didn’t move. His eyes did though, up and down your figure.
“You followed me,” you countered, your voice quieter now, steadier than you felt.
A pause.
“I did.”
The admission hung between you, heavy. Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it might give you away, like he could feel it where his hands rested against you.
“You said I should go,” you murmured.
“I did,” he said again.
“But you didn’t want me to.” This time, he didn’t answer right away. His grip tightened, just slightly.
“No,” he said at last. And that's when he moved. He kissed you and it took your breath away. Sudden, consuming. You couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel. Your hands flew up to him, gripping at his shoulders, then higher one tangled in his dark hair. It was messy. Uncoordinated. All breath and heat.
His hand moved up your body while his mouth demanded your attention. It was dizzying. He gripped the back of your head tilting it to deepen the kiss, his tongue testing your lips for entrance.
You instinctively moved away, fucking stupid, you’d thought. You blinked, breath uneven, your heart racing. You’d hoped he didn’t take it as rejection.
“I-I’m sorry,” you rushed out, words tripping over themselves. “I don't know why I did that. No, I do. I just. I’ve never uh,” You let out a shaky breath. “What's the right way to phrase this?” He stopped you, not with force but a brief, steady kiss. Enough to quiet you. When he pulled back, his forehead hovered close to yours, his voice lower now.
“Hey,” he murmured. You stilled. His thumb brushed lightly against your side, reassuring.
Then softer, “Let me guide you.”
You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing heart. His gaze didn’t waver. Dark, steady, utterly unyielding. You could feel the heat of him through his shirt, his presence pressing in from all sides. His lips brushed yours again, soft this time, testing, patient. “Trust me.”
Your hands remained in his hair, playing in the strands as he tilted your head gently, coaxing you to respond instead of retreat. Every nerve in your body was on fire, every heartbeat echoing in your chest.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” he added, and you felt it in the way his thumb traced lazy circles over your side. “We can stop. Right now. Or…we can just be here.” Your lips parted, and your breath hitched.
He kissed you again, slower now, deliberate, pressing just enough to anchor you, letting you feel his control without overwhelming you. You melted into it, the world outside fading to nothing. Each second felt like hours and then nothing at all. You realized you weren’t trying to pull back this time, you wanted this. Hell, you’ve been dreaming about it for weeks. The dizzying, breathless pull, the tension, it was all there and it was driving you mad.
You kissed him back, rougher this time, needy, letting yourself finally give in to the weeks of anticipation. His lips met yours with equal fervor, the kiss deepening, demanding, consuming. Every brush of his mouth, every press of his hand, sent sparks up your spine.
You felt his hands tighten slightly on your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you even as the world dissolved around the two of you. His fingers threaded into your hair again, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, to test your boundaries without crossing them too quickly.
The heat between you was dizzying, your heart hammering so loudly it might have drowned out the noise of the bar outside. Every instinct screamed at you, but none of it mattered. You weren’t thinking, just feeling.
When he finally pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead rested against yours, his dark eyes locking with yours. The intensity hadn’t faded. It had only sharpened.
“You’re… you’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low and rough, his thumb brushing your cheek.
“You have no idea,” you breathed back, voice shaky but defiant.
He smirked slightly, a flash of mischief and restraint, before pressing his lips to yours again, slower this time, patient and deliberate, letting you linger in that intoxicating space between control and chaos.
Then slowly, ever so slowly, his hand on your waist moved lower. You gasped softly into the kiss, caught between desire and restraint.
“Careful,” he murmured against your lips, voice low, a hint of warning in his tone. His lips dragged against your jawline, teeth grazing lightly over skin before continuing, “You’re dangerously close to making this impossible to control.”
You pressed a little closer, letting the heat between you speak where words couldn’t. His gaze found yours, dark and unreadable, and the air between you crackled with tension.
His fingers pause at the waistband of your pants, his breathing became shallow against your neck. You arched into him, and something in him snaps. With a quiet curse under his breath, he slips his hand beneath fabric, warm calloused skin meeting bare flesh as he cups you fully for the first time. His thumb brushes over slick heat experimentally while watching your face intently for reactions.
“You’re already so wet,” he raps out roughly. He wasn’t being judgmental, just impossibly turned on. You felt a blush creep across your face and moved to look away but he immediately tilted your chin back toward him. His expression was intense, almost reverent, as he studied the flush on your cheeks, your breath came faster then.
“Don’t look away,” he commanded softly, but there wasn’t any real sternness left in it. Just a professor turned lover who wanted to memorize every reaction he pulled from you.
His fingers resumed their slow exploration, circling gently at first before dipping lower with deliberate precision. A single fingertip pressed just barely inside to gather wetness while his thumb resumed teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves above. His name slipped out before you could think about it, soft and desperate.
“Zayne.”
The sound of his name on your lips, breathless and needy, sent a visible shudder through his body. His eyes flared wide for half a second before darkening. He captured your mouth in a searing kiss as he finally pushed that one finger fully inside you, curling it just right against that spongy spot while his thumb pressed down firmly on your clit. The wet sounds between you mix with your individual breathy sounds.
“Say it again,” he practically begged against your lips between kisses, “Louder.”
And you did multiple times, feeling the build of pressure deep inside you. He lost the last shred of his restraint. Your moans, his name over and over. He added a second finger slowly and started moving into you with a determined rhythm while grinding the heel of his palm against your clit.
With his control completely gone, his usual precise, methodical movements are replaced by rough, desperate thrusts of his fingers. The wet sounds are obscenely loud in the quiet alley as he fucks you with two fingers at a extraordinary pace. Causing you to make sounds you’ve never heard from yourself before.
His palm grinds down hard on your clit with every downward stroke, making sure you feel every inch of sensation building toward that inevitable peak. Sweat glistens on his forehead despite the cool night air, he’s just as affected as you are.
“Come for me,” he orders hoarsely, “I want to feel it all over my hand.” The command slipped out in the same tone he used while lecturing. The effect it had on you was immediate, you came harder than you’d ever managed to by yourself.
His eyes lock onto your face as the orgasm hits, your body clamping down around his fingers, your back arching off the wall. You felt his hips jerk involuntarily against your body, the fabric of his pants tight over an erection that had been neglected for too long.
“Look at you,” he rasps out in awe. He works you through the aftershocks with gentler circles until finally slowing to a stop. You're out of breath by the time your mind catches up with your body. Your hands tightened slightly where they held onto him, grounding yourself.
He didn’t rush. Just stayed there, letting you come back down at your own pace, his touch softening. He carefully withdraws his fingers, and you finally find words. “I-” You let out a shaky breath, a small, disbelieving laugh slipping through. “That was,” you swallowed, heat creeping into your face. “Well, I can say your very talented Dr. Li.”
Something in his expression shifted at that, amusement mixed with something deeper. Your eyes dropped, just for a second taking in the tension still held in his frame, the way his breath hadn’t quite evened out, the way he was very clearly still affected. A realization clicked into place and your gaze lifted back to his, slower now, more deliberate.
“Seems a little unfair,” you murmured softly. Before he could respond, your hands moved towards his middle, down even farther with more intention this time. He stilled. Not pulling away, but not leaning in either.
“You don’t have to,” he started, voice lower, rougher.
“I want to,” you interrupted quietly. Your hands continued their exploration, running down his defined stomach. God could he be any more attractive. When you reached his belt his grip closed around your wrist, not rough but firm enough to stop you.
“Not here.” The words came out strained, like they’d been forced past something he was barely holding together. His thumb brushed once against your wrist before he let go, like he hadn’t meant to hold you that tightly. You searched his face, pulse still racing.
“Then where?” you asked softly. That made him pause. Really pause. And for the first time since he stepped out into the alley, he didn’t have an immediate answer.
