#professorau

[0lavenderlemons0]

ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴅɪᴀᴄ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴏʟᴏɢʏ

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.

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@thatonegothblond <3

[0lavenderlemons0]

ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴅɪᴀᴄ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴏʟᴏɢʏ - Masterlist

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

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

[0lavenderlemons0]

ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴅɪᴀᴄ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴏʟᴏɢʏ

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.

taglist

@thatonegothblond <3

[0lavenderlemons0]

ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴅɪᴀᴄ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴏʟᴏɢʏ

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.

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@thatonegothblond <3

[0lavenderlemons0]

ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴅɪᴀᴄ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴏʟᴏɢʏ

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. 

taglist @thatonegothblond <3

[graveyard-ripper]

@delxsive

if cabinetry could talk, it would tell misty rucker that her professor finds eating to be an inconvenience throughout a busy workday. the cabinets are filled with little more than pantry staples, and, in fact, they are not filled with much at all. to her surprise, the contents therein are obsessively organized; four boxes of cheerios are in order of expiration date, the spices are sorted alphabetically, and all the dried pasta has been transferred to clear, labeled jars. she speaks to mémé on the phone, trying to work out a hearty meal she can make with what food is available. ❝ elle a de la farine, du sucre blanc, de l'avoine… ❞

[graveyard-ripper]

@delxsive

( the pop quiz that landed in front of misty on monday morning was to be expected; ivory told her to study over the weekend. of course, she instead spent her weekend reminiscing about their first date – which was chaste and sweet – and fantasizing about what they would do the next time they saw each other. naturally, when she did see her, her presence proved to be a potent distraction, and she performed miserably on the quiz. )

thoughts of classwork are far from her mind when the younger woman opens her front door, looking even more casual than she had last friday. misty smiles at the adorable sight, almost laughing. those must be her pajamas. ❝ hi. ❞

[graveyard-ripper]

@delxsive

misty rucker looks…normal. pallid, perhaps, but otherwise as gaunt and exhausted as any other day. ( except it is not any other day. underneath the sleeves of her jacket are cigarette burns wrapped in bandages; her fingertips are chewed bloody and covered with band-aids; her sense of reality is still somewhat blunted from doubling up on anti-nausea medication this afternoon. today is the day she almost lost everything, and if she had not forcefully slept her way through half of the day, she would look much, much worse. )

the psychology building is quiet. mostly unoccupied at this hour – except for the looming sense that there should be something lurking where there is nothing. tonight, misty rucker is dressed in camouflage and without makeup to conceal the dark circles under her eyes; tonight, she is the graveyard ripper, and she knocks, per the email she received, on her professor’s door.