Oct 9, 2025
i think people who add more dependencies to legacy code bases should probably be put in jail
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i think people who add more dependencies to legacy code bases should probably be put in jail
hhhhhh the problem with me now not studying a full-on stem field for once is that my classes expect me to read??? every week??? i go to class and we talk about these readings and then guess what bullshit happens after that..... i have to read.... some more!!!!! what a scam!!!!!!
──── 𝓢.𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 ₎ა ˙˖
♡ 𝐉𝐎𝐂𝐊!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐗 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐋 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ੭
sukuna had always found his bitchy student council president hot, especially when you're pointing fingers at him. he convinces himself that you'll be the perfect brat when beneath him— but what happens when he finds out that you're all bark and no bite? the esteemed president, actually an inexperienced princess.
⌗ wc :: 6.2k
♡ ₊˚‧ cws. college au :: rugby captain!sukuna :: rivals :: smut :: parties :: alcohol consumption :: corruption kink :: virgin!reader :: size difference :: fingering :: praise :: dry humping :: dirty talk
♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. this was commissioned by anonymous <3
"And then she blocked me!"
"Eh. Deserved."
"Excuse me? Who could ever say no to these baby blues?"
"Blue eyes on a rat don't change a thing now does it?"
Rolling his eyes to the air vents, Sukuna shut his locker in a rattle of metal. Shuffling his duffel bag over his shoulder, he side-stepped to thump the whining, white-haired nuisance beside him with a broad shoulder.
"Kunnnaaa, he's being mean to me," pouted Satoru, throwing an arm over his shoulders and squeezing on his bicep in that not-so-subtle way.
"Well for one, maybe stop sharing your love life with Fushiguro of all people." Sukuna reached a hand out, snatching his friend by the back of his pearly white tresses and wrenching him off. "And secondly, off."
"Don't you love me anymore? Is there someone else? Am I— gasp—" trembling his hands, Satoru raised them to his mouth. Exaggerating his eyes in what he probably thought was cute. "Am I the other woman?"
"More like a skank." Toji grinned, immediately side-stepping a hit that came his way.
Sukuna sighed, deep from his soul that had grown weary dealing with the dumb-and-dumber duo he called his friend group. Unfortunately these knuckleheads were also apart of his team. Guess this was fate.
The hallway bustled with a stream of college stereotypes. The preps and their perfect palettes, prattling as they pranced around. The stoners who propped against lockers on the far end of the hallways, zoned out and scrolling. The nerds with their arrogant stares, standing upright as they beelined for their next class, somehow avoiding collision even with a textbook wedged in their hand. Everyone had their role in this academic ecosystem and moral wasteland.
Role. Stereotype. Stigmatism. Sukuna never quite understood it. How most people plopped themselves into a box with a poorly-scribbled label on the front and called it home.
By definition, he was a jock. Captain of the college's star rugby team. With mean eyes and rough hands. Where girls swooned, guys were scared.
No one expected the jock to be an engineering major. Guess that's the assumption when your enrolment in an institution relied on a sports scholarship.
"Engineering," he remembered how a pretty girl from finance batted her eyes at him in surprise. "Wouldn't have expected that from you."
Sukuna always rolled his eyes at that. And what would anyone expect of an engineering student? Someone more put-together, refined, with a pair of fogged-up glasses and maybe a tight fitting button-up?
He'd never understand it.
"Hey you three, quit loitering."
But he always understood that smooth voice.
He could already see it from his peripheral. Your creaseless blazer shining your badge proudly. The pencil skirt that was exactly three fingers above the knee. Your hair fixed appropriately without a strand straying. The school's code of conduct glinted in your eyes.
Another one who fit her role perfectly. The pretty student council president.
sky's the limit
summary. making a fool out of himself in front of three thousand people on the regular sure never taught heeseung how to talk to pretty girls—a realization he only has when you (the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen) walk into his soul-sucking economics class and all he’s got in manpower is himself, his idiot friends, and a deeply unhelpful twitch chat.
pairing. streamer!heeseung x y/n ↳ ft jay, jake, sunghoon, and twitch chat
genre. college au, twitch streamer au, fluff, classmates to lovers
word count. 12.0k
disclaimers. heeseung-centric/pov, swearing, alcohol use, kissing/suggestive activities while drunk, smoking, some crudeness bc they're stupid college guys, pacing is highkey ass i'm sorry
released. 03.09.2026
author's note. this is a prequel to sparks but the events are slightly tweaked and can be read entirely as a standalone! my take on loser heeseung and the pinnacle of my streamer!enha career. pls tell me all ur thoughts about everything!!
masterlist
any feedback is appreciated ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ᗜ<)
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
burgermuncher123: what fucking idiot streams their course selection
When Lee Heeseung goes live at a time of day that isn’t four in the morning, people fear the worst.
Ryland Grace playing "Who did this: middle schooler, or top ranking PHD owning scientist?" with Yao and Ilyukhina, with Dubois and Shapiro helping add scientists.
Eventually it expands into different categories and even more people start playing. Some categories are:
middle schooler or Dr Ryland Grace
middle schooler or various other neurodivergent people on the vatt
Middle schooler or Carl
Yao or Carl
Dubois or Stratt
Dubois or android character/autistic coded character
Dimitri or Ilyukhina
Dimitri or children's cartoon villain
Carl or low budget action movie (He loves them)
Ilyukhina or my little pony character
Ryland Grace's ASD class students or the "neurotypical" crewmembers
Yao and Ilyukhina or two characters with a "Grumpy man and his unofficial daughter" dynamic
Grace, Dubois, or Shapiro; AKA biologist roulette
Shapiro or Ilyukhina
Star Trek or Star Wars (They each have a team of Trekkies and a team of Star Wars enthusiasts, and each feel deep shame and disappointment when they get it incorrect. Outside of this specific weekly battle, no one actually cares that much about who likes which franchise more, but they play it up for dramas sake)
top ranking scientist or top ranking engineer
Top ranking engineer or Bob the builder
An sane human adult talking to a piece of equipment or someone consoling an animal/small child
Quote from the happiest moments of their lives or quote from last week when they were gifted a rock (or similar value to rock)
Carl or Grace, where they replace any actual swears with Grace's teacher swears. This got harder as they both started referring to Astrophage outside of work almost exclusively as "Their babies"/"their little girls/boys/babies(yes, again)"
foreboding religious text quote or a threat someone whipped out after 36 straight hours of bullshit.
That last one they call God vs Sleep Deprivation, or God vs [neurodivergency the quoted person has], and every other quote they'll switch things like the 'Ye's and 'thee's to 'you's and vice versa, etc, just to make it harder. They were all baffled to learn that it was not religious texts, but their own Dr Ryland Grace who said, verbatim, "You are withered and old, with countless unforgivable sins, and God has no place for you in his kingdom."
Leclerc had accidentally taken his cardigan while picking up other coats, and this was the immediate response upon returning from having his arms touched for the better part of a six hour meeting. Leclerc cried, for he was also deeply sleep deprived. This was the day they learned Stratt occasionally gives days off, because she gave one to Leclerc. Leclerc does not help with coats anymore, even after forgiving Grace.
Been thinking about a cliché college AU Flambert with a side of betting: Chad, frat boy and football player, makes a bet with his friends that he can sleep with Robert Robertson, an engineering (or robotics) major and the one person on campus who genuinely cannot stand him.
The bet happens at a frat party after Victor and the others start giving Chad shit about “losing his edge,” which is an insane accusation to make just because he’s been bored lately. Nobody interesting crossing his path for a couple of weeks is not the same thing as him going soft, and he isn’t about to let them act like it is. One stupid challenge later, there is a hundred dollars on the line, a month to pull it off, and Chad, being Chad, shakes on it without hesitation because at that point it still sounds like easy money.
Then the front door opens, and in walks Robert Robertson with his friends.
Victor laughs so hard he nearly falls off the couch. Chad, meanwhile, is left wondering whether homicide counts as forfeiting, because Robert is the one person on campus he never would have picked for this. He’s too smart, too sharp, too self-contained in that maddening way that makes everyone else feel flimsy by comparison. He’s the kind of engineering and robotics major that professors know by name and other students talk about in the library like he’s some kind of academic cryptid. Terrifyingly competent, annoyingly unreadable, and, more personally, the reason Chad lost a tooth freshman year.
Or fine, technically Chad had been the one who tried to swing at him and missed. But Robert threw the water first, and Chad still feels like that should count for something.
So no, this is not ideal.
Still, there’s no way he’s backing out now, especially not with Victor already wheezing himself half to death on the couch. He spends the rest of the night trying to get Robert alone and failing spectacularly. Robert is never by himself for long. Mandy's with him half the time, and when she isn’t, somebody else always is—a classmate, a friend, a lab partner, some random honors kid who probably color-codes his notes. Every time Chad thinks he has an opening, Robert is already turning away, already leaving, already looking at him like whatever Chad is trying to do is too obvious to be worth acknowledging.
And that look, more than anything else, is what gets under Chad’s skin.
At some point Robert disappears upstairs, and Chad waits just long enough to avoid looking desperate before following him to one of the spare bedrooms with a narrow balcony off the back. Robert is standing outside with a cigarette between his fingers and, as it turns out, no lighter. Chad lights it for him, tries to make the gesture look casual, and gets called on it almost immediately. Somehow, in what becomes one of the more humiliating moments of his life, he then hears himself asking Robert if he would tutor him in Quantitative Decision Modeling, a real class he is absolutely bombing (and an excuse he made up on the spot to continue talking to him).
Robert lifts an eyebrow and says the price of any help at all is an apology for freshman year.
Chad gives him a terrible one first, obviously. It is defensive and half-assed and packed with enough sarcasm to ruin the whole effort, and Robert just stands there, unimpressed. So Chad tries again, this time admitting plainly that he was an asshole, that trying to punch him had been a stupid move, and that being drunk and pissed off did not make it right.
Robert studies him for a moment, exhales smoke into the dark, and says, “Alright. That’s probably as good as it gets from you.”
“So,” Chad says. “You’ll tutor me?”
Robert blinks. “I never said that.”
Chad stares.
“I don’t know what your angle is, but I wasn’t the only one who took that class. I’m sure you can find another tutor in no time,” Robert says, stepping back toward the doorway, and then, with a shit-eating grin, adds, “Thanks for the apology, though.”
Chad ends up standing there on the balcony, irritated, embarrassed, and strangely exhilarated, because for the first time in weeks he isn't bored anymore.
So he keeps at it.
He starts showing up at Robert’s job to order coffee. He appears in the library with increasingly flimsy excuses. He lingers outside classrooms he has no business being near, complains loudly about QDM in places where Robert can absolutely overhear him, and generally makes himself impossible to ignore. Robert tells him to get lost every single time. Chad keeps coming back every single time.
At first it's mostly persistence and irritation, with Chad treating the whole thing like a challenge and Robert refusing to give him an inch. Then Robert makes the mistake of glancing at one of Chad’s assignments, and maybe “mistake” is not the right word because inevitability feels more accurate. Chad has come armed with a half-finished paper so catastrophically bad it looks like it was written by a toddler, and Robert reacts to it like Chad had personally insulted him.
Eventually pity, money, and Chad’s utter refusal to disappear wear Robert down enough that he agrees.
And that's when things really start going wrong.
Because the tutoring is awful—genuinely, spectacularly awful—but not in any way that makes Chad want to stop. Robert is ruthless from the start, taking one look at Chad’s notes and informing him that they read like they were written by someone with a concussion. Chad, unwilling to let that stand, fires back. From there it only escalates. Robert says Chad has the attention span of a badly socialized puppy; Chad calls him an elitist snob with a superiority complex and a dangerous caffeine dependency. They spend entire sessions fighting over concepts Chad should have learned weeks ago, and somehow Chad ends up having more fun than he's had in months.
That’s the problem, really. Nobody ever keeps up with him like this. Most people either laugh, flirt, get flustered, or let him win eventually. Robert does none of those things. He meets Chad point for point, insult for insult, with dry, vicious little comments delivered in the flattest tone imaginable, and the meaner he gets when he’s tired, the more Chad likes him for it. Their tutoring sessions start to feel less like academic help and more like foreplay by combat.
Somewhere along the way, tutoring stops being just tutoring. It turns into coffee after the library, then diner food because they stay so late studying they get kicked out of the café. Chad starts walking Robert home after late-night sessions. Robert starts visiting him at practice. Chad begins showing up at Robert’s apartment with assignments in one hand and takeout in the other, and Robert complains every single time before stepping aside and letting him in.
The line blurs so gradually Chad barely notices it happening.
They still bicker constantly, still snipe at each other on instinct, but now Robert nudges his foot against Chad’s under the table when Chad gets too smug, and Chad knows what kind of coffee Robert buys after a terrible lab day. Robert learns that when Chad gets unusually quiet, it means he's actually trying and not just zoning out, and Chad—without ever meaning to—starts collecting details about him. What music he studies to. How he rubs at the bridge of his nose when he’s tired. How different he looks when he lets himself relax.
Chad starts finding excuses to touch him. A hand on his lower back. Fingers brushing when he steals Robert’s pen. His arm slung around Robert’s shoulders on the walk home, late enough at night that either of them can pretend it means less than it does. Their tutoring sessions turn into hangouts so naturally that by the time they're obviously dates, neither of them ever bothers saying the word.
One night Chad shows up at Robert’s apartment with food because Robert had mentioned, almost absentmindedly, that he hadn't eaten since lunch. Robert opens the door in an old sweatshirt, looks at the takeout bag, looks at Chad, and steps aside without a word. His apartment is cramped, cluttered, and overflowing with textbooks, wires, coffee cups, loose papers, mechanical parts, and half-finished projects. The kitchen table is buried under enough engineering debris that they end up eating on the floor instead. Chad makes a joke about getting tetanus just from looking at the place, and Robert tells him to shut up and hand over the chopsticks.
So they sit there shoulder to shoulder while the city outside the window slowly darkens, and the conversation drifts from classes to football to robotics to professors to all the tiny, useless details that make up a person. Somewhere in the middle of Robert explaining a project with his hands moving fast and animated through the air, Chad realizes he could listen to him talk for hours. Robert, for his part, watches Chad with that same sharp, assessing look of his, but there's something different in it now, something more curious than dismissive.
When they finally hook up, it feels less like a surprise and more like inevitability. Chad is leaning over Robert’s shoulder to look at a problem set, Robert turns to say something, and suddenly they’re too close. Robert’s mouth is right there, and then one of them kisses the other—Chad can't even remember who moved first, only that suddenly Robert’s mouth was there and then everywhere, and then Chad had him backed against the counter with his hands in Chad’s shirt and his teeth at Chad’s lower lip.
“You are so annoying,” Robert says into his mouth.
“You like me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“Liar.”
“Dick.”
It's messy and hot and a little mean in the way they both like best, all the tension of weeks collapsing at once. Chad had expected it to feel like winning.
Instead it feels like relief.
After that, everything blurs.
Chad finds himself wanting him with a kind of intensity that starts to feel genuinely humiliating.
Not just physically, although physically too, obviously. He wants the bickering, the texts, the tutoring, the late-night food runs, the way Robert looks at him when he says something especially stupid. He wants to keep sliding into Robert’s life until there’s no point anymore where one ends and the other begins. He wants it all in a way that should really alarm him.
After that, tutoring becomes the excuse instead of the reason. Chad ends up in Robert’s bed often enough that leaving a toothbrush just feels right. Robert falls asleep against him on the couch. Chad, who has never thought of himself as someone built for anything remotely domestic, discovers that he wants it with a sincerity that feels actively dangerous. He wants the sex, sure, and the banter and the thrill of matching Robert blow for blow, but he also wants the stupid small things: shared takeout, cranky mornings, Robert fitting himself into the shape of Chad’s life so neatly it starts to seem like he was always meant to be there.
Which is how Chad, against all odds and common sense, catches real feelings.
Naturally, that’s when things go to shit.
It happens during a hangout with Chad’s friends; it’s the first time Robert is meeting everyone officially. Victor, being Victor, says something offhand about how he still cannot believe any of this started because of the bet, and the room goes dead still. Robert looks from Victor to Chad and asks, “What bet?”
Chad feels every muscle in his body lock up. Victor’s face goes blank with horror a second too late, and Robert’s expression changes in such small increments most people probably would have missed it. Chad does not. He sees the warmth drain out first, then the amusement, then everything else, until what is left is cold enough to make him feel sick.
“Robert,” Chad says immediately. “Fuck wait, let me explain—”
“Fuck you,” Robert says, and leaves.
Of course Chad goes after him. Robert won't let him get close enough to touch, and after that nothing works. Chad texts, calls, shows up, tries apology after apology, and gets nowhere. At first he convinces himself he can fix it if he just finds the right words, but after a week passes he is forced to accept that this is not the kind of damage you can smooth over with words alone. He tries to do the mature thing and give Robert space, which lasts maybe two days before he completely loses his mind.
Flowers come first. Robert leaves them outside his apartment until somebody else takes them. Chad tries alcohol next, leaving an expensive bottle with a note attached. That at least disappears inside, though Robert still doesn't answer. Then Chad starts writing letters, because texting is too easy to ignore and because he needs Robert to see effort, to see proof that Chad is trying in a way he has probably never really had to try for anyone else. Some of the letters are apologies, some are explanations, and some are just Chad admitting in increasingly embarrassing detail that he misses him so badly he feels physically sick.
He even asks Robert’s friends for help, which is just as humiliating as it sounds. Courtney laughs in his face, curses him out, and says he deserves to suffer. Her girlfriend Mandy is gentler, though not by much.
“He’s hurt,” she tells Chad. “And angry. Which he gets to be.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Mandy asks. “Because every solution you come up with still sounds like you think effort should get you instant forgiveness.”
Chad hates that she's right.
He keeps trying anyway, just less carelessly now. He waves at Robert on campus and gets ignored. He holds doors open and gets brushed right past. He tries apologizing in person and Robert walks away before he gets three words out. Every rejection leaves Chad more miserable, more frustrated, and somehow more gone for him than before.
Then, because his brain is deeply diseased, he manages to switch into one of Robert’s classes.
The first time he walks in and sees Robert already sitting there, he gets exactly the reaction he anticipated: one long, flat stare that says, This again? But at least it’s something. That same week, the professor assigns a group project. Robert gets paired with some random guy. The random guy, after one suspiciously persuasive conversation with Chad in the hallway, suddenly decides he would love to switch groups after all. Robert is less than thrilled, but at least now he has to talk to Chad.
Being Robert’s project partner is not forgiveness. It isn’t even kindness. Robert works him like he's extracting payment from God himself, sending him for coffee, making him carry books, redo formatting, gather sources, print articles, and rewrite sections of the project until his eyes cross. Chad lets him. Half because he deserves it, half because being ordered around by Robert is still infinitely better than being ignored.
And slowly, very slowly, the ice starts to crack.
Not enough to call it fixed. Just enough to feel like maybe it could be.
Then Alice spots Robert in a coffee shop with another guy and reports back immediately, and Chad is there in under ten minutes. The guy is leaning in. Robert is listening. Chad sees red so fast he doesn't even have time to think before he's walking over, dropping into the empty seat beside Robert, and slinging an arm over the back of his chair like he has any right to do that.
Robert turns to look at him with terrifying calm. “What are you doing?”
“Joining you.”
“No, go home.”
The other guy looks deeply uncomfortable. Chad smiles at him anyway and says, “Don’t mind me.”
Robert closes his eyes for a second like he is praying for patience, then turns to the guy and says, “Sorry, looks like we’ll have to cut this short.” The guy leaves so fast it almost makes Chad feel bad. Almost.
The second he's gone, Robert rounds on him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” Robert snaps. “What was that caveman ass behavior? Territorial pissing? Should I be grateful you didn’t beat your chest too?”
“I just—”
“You do not get to ambush me, scare people off, and act possessive after what you did.”
The jealousy that got him there drains out of him all at once, replaced by the awful realization that maybe he really has gone too far this time. Robert keeps going, laying into him about boundaries, entitlement, and how embarrassing his behavior had just been, while Chad visibly deflates in real time.
Then, after a long beat, Robert sighs.
“I was tutoring him,” he says.
Chad blinks. “What?”
“I was just tutoring him,” Robert repeats, slower this time, like he is talking to a complete idiot.
The jealousy vanishes so fast it leaves Chad dizzy. What replaces it is such immediate, stupid relief that it must be written all over his face, because Robert looks at him and rolls his eyes.
“You better make up for the money I lost not tutoring him,” he mutters.
“As long as I’m the only one you tutor, I’ll pay you triple.”
“Possessive dick.” But there is fondness in it now—tired, reluctant, buried under exasperation, but real.
Chad grins before he can stop himself and asks, “Does this mean I'm forgiven?”
“No.”
His face must fall in a way that gives him away, because Robert’s gaze flicks over him and softens despite himself.
“You’ll be making this up to me for the rest of our lives,” he says, and pulls him in for a kiss.
Not for long, just enough to shut him up and wipe Chad’s brain pleasantly blank, just enough to leave him staring when they pull apart because Robert still has enough dignity left for both of them and is clearly unwilling to do more than that in public. Robert takes one look at Chad’s expression and pauses, because Chad's looking at him like he's just been handed the sun.
And what Robert sees there, with a mixture of horror and helpless affection, is love. Or something ruinously close to it.
Chad swallows once, still dazed, and says, “Does this mean we’re getting married?”
Robert groans.
══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════
the thought of robert walking chad like a dog was funny to me so thats how this came to be lmao
btw if you follow me for my villain!Robert don't worry im almost done heh
Mean girl Pt.2
Pairing: g!p f!reader x Mean girl Daniela Warnings: smut,p in v,hate sex,spitting,face slapping,dirty talk,cowgirl,daniela is mean, arguing during sex,light choking,creampie,titty worship ,groping wc:2k a/n: hehe @rich2hidden here you go pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7
The week after that first explosive night on Daniela’s couch, the two of you had somehow managed to keep the secret locked down tighter than the tinted windows on your Suburban. In public? Nothing had changed. You still traded barbs in every shared lecture, still “accidentally” knocked her coffee off the desk during group discussions, still caught her glaring at you across the quad like she was plotting your slow and painful demise. But the texts had started, late-night, one-word commands that made your stomach tighten and your cock twitch before you even opened the message. “My place. Now.” “Library bathroom. Ten minutes.” “Wear the jeans that make your ass look edible.”
Friday afternoon the final group project was submitted—thank every god in existence—and Professor Ramirez had dismissed the class thirty minutes early. You were already behind the wheel of your black Suburban, engine idling in the far corner of the student lot, windows rolled up and tinted so dark the interior felt like a private universe. The late-spring sun beat down on the hood, but inside it was cool, shadowed, smelling faintly of the leather seats and the faint strawberry lip balm Daniela always left behind on your skin like a claim.
She didn’t even knock. She just yanked the passenger door open, slid in like she owned the damn vehicle, and slammed it shut hard enough to make the frame rock. Her plaid skirt was shorter than anything she’d worn to class all semester—barely brushing mid-thigh, the kind of length that made you wonder if she’d picked it out just to torture you. A cropped black top clung to her like a second skin, the neckline low enough that the soft swell of her tits was already on display. Her hair was down today, dark waves loose and messy from the wind outside, winged liner sharp enough to cut glass, lips glossy and pink. She kicked off her platform sneakers immediately, bare feet—painted toenails blood-red—propping up on the dash like she’d been doing it for years.
“Drive,” she ordered, voice low and already edged with impatience. She didn’t look at you, just reached over and cranked the AC higher, then dragged her nails down your thigh, stopping maddeningly short of where you were already half-hard just from the sight of her. “I’m not crawling through rush-hour traffic with my panties soaked because you decided to take the long way home like some scenic-route romantic.”
You smirked, shifting into drive and easing out of the lot. “You’re the one who climbed into my car instead of taking the bus like a normal, well-adjusted human being, princess. Could’ve walked. Could’ve suffered in silence.”
Her fingers tightened on your thigh, digging in. “Normal people don’t make me this fucking wet just by existing in the same zip code. Shut up and drive before I make you pull over right here in the middle of campus.”
The first ten minutes were almost normal—if “normal” meant the air inside the Suburban crackling like a live wire. Traffic was light on the back roads heading toward her off-campus apartment complex. Music thumped low from the speakers—some gritty indie rock you both pretended to hate but secretly synced to. Her hand stayed on your leg, thumb tracing lazy, teasing circles higher and higher, brushing the inseam of your ripped black jeans until you could feel your cock straining against the denim. You kept both hands on the wheel, eyes locked on the road, but your pulse was already hammering.
Then she popped the button on your jeans one-handed, like it was nothing. The zipper rasped down. Cool air hit your skin as she freed you, thick and heavy, already leaking at the tip. Daniela hummed, low and satisfied, like she’d won some private bet. “Look at you,” she murmured, voice dripping with mock pity. “Already dripping for me and we’re not even off campus yet. Pathetic.”
Before you could snap back, her head dipped. No warning, no teasing licks—just the wet heat of her mouth swallowing you down in one smooth, greedy glide. Her tongue flattened along the underside, lips stretching wide around the thick base, and she took you to the back of her throat like she’d been practicing for this exact moment. You swerved half a lane. A horn blared from the SUV beside you. Your grip on the wheel went white-knuckled.
“Daniela—fuck—Jesus Christ,” you gritted out, one hand instinctively flying to her hair before you forced it back to the wheel. The Suburban fishtailed slightly as you overcorrected. She didn’t pull off. She just moaned around your cock, the vibration shooting straight to your balls, and started bobbing—slow at first, then faster, spit already dripping down your shaft and soaking into your jeans. Her tongue swirled on every upstroke, hollowing her cheeks, sucking hard enough that the wet, obscene sounds filled the cab louder than the music.
You were doing fifty in a thirty-five zone, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “I’m gonna crash the fucking car if you don’t—shit—”
She pulled off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting her swollen, glossy lips to the head of your cock. Her eyes flicked up, dark and wicked, mascara already smudged at the corners. “Then pull over, idiot. Or are you too busy pretending you’re in control while I’ve got your dick down my throat?” She licked a slow stripe up the underside, eyes locked on yours the whole time. “You love it. You love how close I get you to losing it.”
Your heart was slamming against your ribs. You cut across two lanes without signaling, tires squealing as you whipped into the massive, mostly-empty parking lot behind an old abandoned campus warehouse. The Suburban rocked to a stop in the farthest corner, shadowed by overgrown trees and the building’s bulk. Engine still running. Windows already starting to fog from the heat rolling off both of you. No one around. No cameras. Just tinted glass and the two of you.
She was on you before you could even kill the ignition—climbing over the center console like a woman possessed, plaid skirt riding all the way up to her hips. The thin black lace of her panties was soaked dark at the crotch. She straddled your lap, grinding down hard against your bare cock, the wet fabric dragging along your length in filthy, desperate rolls of her hips. Her hands fisted in your shirt, yanking you forward until your faces were inches apart.
“Too slow,” she panted, rocking faster, grinding like she was trying to get herself off before you even got inside her. “I’ve been throbbing since you looked at me like you wanted to bend me over the lecture podium during roll call. Do something about it.”
You grabbed two full handfuls of her ass—soft, round, perfect—and squeezed hard, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave marks. You yanked her down tighter against you, guiding the grind, feeling the heat of her pussy through the soaked lace. “Bossy as ever, even when you’re this fucking desperate,” you growled, sliding one hand up under her cropped top. No bra. Her tits spilled into your palm—heavy, soft, nipples already tight little peaks. You pinched one hard, rolling it between your fingers until she gasped.
Daniela slapped your chest, sharp and stinging, then grabbed your jaw with both hands, forcing your head back against the seat. “You like it. You get off on it. Open your mouth.”
You did—lips parting immediately. She leaned in close, eyes burning into yours, and spit directly onto your tongue. Slow. Deliberate. Watching the way you swallowed it like it was her personal victory. Then she crashed her mouth against yours, kissing you filthy and mean—tongues sliding, teeth nipping, her hips still rolling in those relentless circles that had your cock trapped between her soaked panties and your stomach, leaking all over both of you.
“Fuck, you’re so hard,” she breathed against your lips, grinding faster now, the wet sounds of fabric on skin filling the car. “Feel how wet I am for someone I still hate?”
You squeezed her ass harder, spreading her open, one finger slipping under the edge of her panties to brush against her dripping folds. “Then take them off and ride me already, princess. Stop teasing.”
She laughed—low, breathless, mean—as she shoved her panties to the side instead of removing them. She lined you up and sank down in one long, slick, greedy slide. The stretch made her whimper loud enough that it echoed off the windows. She was scorching hot, still so tight it bordered on obscene, walls fluttering around every thick inch as she took you to the hilt. Her head fell back, dark hair cascading down her back, lips parted on a shaky moan.
But she didn’t give you time to breathe. She started riding you her hips slamming down hard enough that the wet slap of skin on skin drowned out everything else. The Suburban’s suspension creaked under the force of it. You yanked her top up and off, tossing it into the back seat, then latched onto one of her tits with your mouth—sucking hard, tongue flicking over the nipple, teeth grazing just enough to make her cry out.
“Harder,” she demanded, voice wrecked, one hand slapping the headrest behind you for leverage as she bounced faster. “Don’t you dare be gentle with me. I want it to hurt tomorrow.”
You weren’t gentle. You sucked until her nipple was swollen and red, then switched to the other one, biting down while your free hand stayed glued to her ass, guiding every brutal drop of her hips. She slapped you across the face—sharp, perfect sting on your left cheek—then grabbed your jaw again, forcing your mouth open.
“Again,” she ordered, and spit on your tongue a second time. You swallowed with a groan, and she kissed you immediately after—messy, spit-slick, tongues fighting while she kept riding you like she was trying to break you. Her walls were already fluttering, thighs trembling against your hips, but she kept the pace punishing, grinding her clit against your pelvis on every downstroke.
You thrust up to meet her, hitting that spot inside that made her whole body jerk. “Come on, Daniela. Come all over my cock like the bossy little slut you are.”
She slapped your chest again, nails digging in, then wrapped her hand loosely around your throat—just enough pressure to make your pulse jump. “Shut up and make me,” she hissed, riding you even faster, ass slapping against your thighs. “Don’t stop—fuck—right there—”
You reached between you and rubbed tight, relentless circles over her clit. Her rhythm stuttered, breath coming in short, desperate gasps. When she came it hit her like a freight train—body locking up, pussy clenching around you so hard you saw stars. She moaned brokenly into your mouth, hips still grinding through the aftershocks, milking you until you followed right after, spilling deep inside her with a groan that felt ripped from your chest.
But she didn’t stop. Even as she trembled, she kept rolling her hips slow and dirty, keeping you buried to the hilt while you both panted. Her forehead dropped to yours, sweat-slick, hair sticking to her flushed cheeks.
“…Still hate you,” she whispered, but her fingers were stroking through your messy hair almost tenderly.
You laughed, wrecked and low, and squeezed her ass one last time. “Yeah. Me too.”
She kissed you again—slower this time, almost careful—then climbed off with a soft wince, your cum already starting to leak down her thighs onto the seat. She fixed her skirt, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and shot you that same challenging look that had started all of this.
“Drive me home,” she said, voice still husky, reaching over to lazily trace a finger along your spent cock. “And if you’re good on the way there, maybe I’ll let you eat every drop out of me once we get inside.”
You started the engine, grinning despite the way your heart was still racing. “Bossy as ever.”
“Shut up.” She leaned over the console, bit your neck hard enough to leave a fresh mark, then settled back into the passenger seat like she hadn’t just ruined you in a parking lot in broad daylight.
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Daniela Avanzini Masterlist
study with me !!
synopsis: jake sim loves studying with his best friend…until he just can’t handle it anymore!
cw: bestfriend!jake x fem!reader, some cussing, erm…mentions of kissing ? ; wc – 1.1k :P
a/n: helloooooo first enhypen fic ever 🫣 #scared ! i had this idea YEARSSS ago and had written it for another group but i found it and thought i could rewrite it for jake :’) let me know what u think ?!
jake sim was pretty sure that you were the best study buddy he could’ve ever asked for.
you were the only person in his friend group that actually made him study. it was thanks to you that jake was ahead of his coursework and was able to understand the stupidly complicated engineering calculus assignments your evil professor assigned weekly. you made sure he was using his time wisely, and not taking breaks after writing a singular sentence for an essay, or solving just one of the 20 problems that were a headache to solve. jake even started color coding some of his notes and formatting his reviews; he truly owed all his academic efficiency to you forcing him to be organized.