i'm not looking for salvation. @tenderyouth - Tumblr Blog

You had been his favourite student, so what changed and how far were you prepared to go to win back Professor Zayne's attention? word count: 11.3k

His name curled to life in the cramped space of your room, breathed through ragged pants to manifest like tendrils of smoke blown across the surface of a frozen lake. It rolled perfectly off your tongue, the syllables melding together beautifully in the breathless way you exhaled it as you fell apart on your fingers, wishing they were his.

pairing: Professor Zayne x student female reader

warnings: reader is in their early twenties, Zayne is in his mid thirties, age gap, teacher/student, power imbalance, yandere behaviour from both Zayne and reader, masturbation (both male and female), fantasies, pet names (sweetheart, baby), the term slut used once or twice as well as self referenced, fingerfucking, blowjob, cum swallowing, desk sex, unprotected sex, cum painting, unresolved ending

“I think you’ll find, Sir…”

The rest of the sentence bled away, the unusually wild pound of his pulse masking whatever statement you were so desperately trying to make. Zayne’s every nerve felt like they were set ablaze by the sweet syrupy voice which was currently the bane of his very existence.

Strong fingers gripped the pen in his hold with a surge of renewed strength, the flimsy plastic giving easily as he crushed the life out of it. Splintered shards flooded his palm, and he had to fight every urge not to show the evidence of his ire. He was not known for being overly emotional, and you were not going to drag down his image just because you couldn’t hold your tongue.

A sea of impressionable young faces stared down at him; showing a range of expressions from over-eager interest to blatant boredom, and among them, you stood out.

It proved impossible for his eyes not to swivel straight to where you sat, the same seat you always occupied. The one dead centre, ensuring that he would give you most of his attention—you demanded it after all.

Professor Zayne stared down his charges; long had he become disillusioned with the life of a teacher. It felt like an age had passed since he last considered himself eager to share his knowledge, now he found solace in watching the clock above the door tick towards the end of the day more than anything else.

There had been a time when he was fresh-faced and excited to encourage the next generation, but as everything else had in his life, the shine had worn off remarkably fast. Zayne was still a young man, barely into his thirties, and yet… his soul felt old, ancient even, like the weight of a hundred past lives anchored him.

A haunted silence rang through his mind despite his awareness that you were still talking, not a word of it did he hear. His elbow braced upon the lectern he stood at; one foot crossed over his opposite ankle as if he were bored stiff. The ability to mask his emotions came in handy at moments such as this, although it was becoming increasingly difficult and he knew exactly why, or more accurately, who was the culprit of his fraying restraint.

His gaze wandered somewhat aimlessly around the slightly raised platform that he stood upon, searching for something to focus his attention, and it fell on his meticulously clean desk on the far side of the lecture theatre.

A desk which suddenly seemed… wrong.

A crease formed between his eyes; brow lowered in concentration as he focused on the cherrywood desk. He scrutinised every inch with his sweeping gaze, something was out of place and not being able to spot the oddity was only causing his wrath to grow, to warm the pit of his belly. It wouldn’t be long until it consumed him, the ugly feeling spreading like a sickness throughout his body until it succeeded in darkening every corner.

There it was.

A vibrant pink pen with an unsightly fluffy pompom at the end lay across his open planner.

He glared at it. He wished for nothing more than to set it alight with his eyes alone. This was not the first time he had seen this, hideous pen; it had a strange habit of appearing on random parts of his desk despite the numerous times he had disposed of it. Suddenly, the wild thought of who the pen likely belonged to struck him right between the eyes.

The faux cutesy voice was still going strong when he finally attempted to tune back in, your words dissecting every point he had made within the last forty-five minutes of his lecture. You wielded your words like a surgeon wields a scalpel, and he’d be proud of your efforts if not for the fierce ugly desire to silence you didn’t prove stronger.

Zayne walked to his desk; each step sounded like an ominous thunderclap on the polished wood.

There was no other noise within the auditorium other than his thunderous footfalls and your incessant crucifixion of today’s lesson. He could sense the brewing storm; it’s presence weighing heavily upon everyone present, whether they were aware of it or not. It was evident from the way he watched students shuffle in their seats, that uncomfortable squirm which spoke of their wish to be able to escape the impending doom.

He reached the desk in a mere six paces and picked up the offending pen with his finger and thumb, holding it like it was something he’d rather not touch at all.

Wait… was that a falter in the diatribe being spewed?

Zayne rounded the desk until he could lock eyes with you, amused at how you had rushed to continue your speech after faltering. Hazel eyes flecked with emeralds stared directly into yours. He held your gaze whilst his fingers released the pen to freefall to its death within the trash can, the clatter of the plastic meeting metal sounding far louder than it should.

At long last, you had come to the end of your admonishments, and a slow smile spread across his face. You didn’t need to know that he was literally biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself in line, very aware that if he were to act upon the wishes he had at this moment, he would lose his job in a heartbeat. The shocked expression that graced your pretty face was victory enough.

Whatever you had expected from him, it surely wasn’t this and he was filled with momentary satisfaction that was far too fleeting for his liking. It was not nearly enough to douse the flames of irritation, but enough to allow him to find his voice once more. Walking with considered steps he stood centre stage and brushed a hand through his slightly ruffled hair.

“And with that, ladies and gentlemen, my character assassination as a professor is complete.”

Zayne pressed his arm tightly against his front, bowing as if he were an actor in a stage play and the curtain had finally fallen. Tinkling awkward laughter rang through the room, and he took the opportunity to spread his arm towards where you sat. Your eyes widened in surprise whilst your mouth popped into a small ‘o’ that looked so damn appealing to him at that moment. You were visibly trembling; the pen in your hand vibrating from how tightly your grasped it.

“Why don’t you stand and take a bow? Such a wonderful performance as my assassin. Clearly, you know more about the subject than I, the Professor do.”

Silence.

The laughter died in the throats of the students as they twisted in every direction to get a look at the girl in question. It would be a lie to say that he didn’t feel sorry for you, but it was so insignificant in comparison to the months of harassment he had suffered through, that it was easy to squash the feeling under his heel in favour of smug satisfaction.

Some may think that his lacking compassion made him cruel. How wicked to toy with his students in this way, he must have no feelings or empathy, but this was far from the truth. He did care, despite his waning enthusiasm for his profession, he still wanted the best for the students who walked through his door.

The only crime that Zayne was guilty of was being consumed by his thoughts, thoughts that were far from pure.

His anger for the mental and emotional torture he had been put through at your hands was more than obvious, but more importantly, it was his anger for allowing himself to get this riled up in the first place, that was what bothered him the most. For letting it to get this far without putting a stop to it. He had the authority to do so, and he worried for a second that a part of him might have sickeningly enjoyed it. Who in their right mind would be so depraved to have enjoyed what he had experienced?

Speaking of his tormentor, you slammed your notebook closed with an echoing thud. The reverberation rattled at his nerves, and he ground down on his molars as you got to your feet to give a cute curtsey. You were ever the brilliant actress; no one would suspect the evil mind housed within your angelic-looking head.

Damn you…

~

Professor Zayne, why do you snub me so?

What changed, and why do I care more than I’d like?

It was always a challenge to interject into one of his lectures, despite the alarming regularity with which you did so. Everything about him was imposing, from his stature to his authoritative voice. It would be a lie to say you hadn’t found yourself staring at the broad frame of your ethics in politics professor on more than one occasion. Getting woefully lost in your mind at just how wide his shoulders were beneath the crisp button-ups he favoured.

You remembered well the day at the beginning of the summer months, the one when the weather seemed intent on cooking everyone to a sizzling crisp. Reliving the memory of the mesmerising way he had rolled his sleeves to the elbows. Not only had it exposed his muscled forearms, the strong tendons pulled taut whilst his equally thick fingers worked the stiff fabric, but also the sun-kissed complexion of his skin.

How amusing that he should teach any kind of ethics when you had long strayed into very unethical territory, but it wasn’t enough to stop you in your endeavours—not nearly enough. He deserved it after all, stringing you along only to cast you aside for seemingly no reason at all.

Could you really call it stringing you along?

If you thought about it rationally for even a second, you would likely conclude you were being ruled by the strength of your unstable emotions, but it was difficult to think rationally when you manifested hearts in your eyes every time you walked through the hallowed doors of Professor Zayne’s lecture hall.

You weren’t some silly sixteen-year-old girl anymore, so why did it seem like your emotional maturity regressed when in his presence? From the very first moment you met him, you were hooked. Down so sickeningly bad that you went out of your way to impress him time and time. Shrugging off the whispered sneers of “teacher’s pet” and striving for position at the top of the class with a lot of hard work and dedication. You were the perfect cliche, lusting after your handsome professor like some young lovesick puppy.

You tried to forget about your attraction, tried valiantly to socialise with your peers and find a man of your own age to fantasise about in the dead of night when your thighs tightened against the pillow shoved between them and your spine bowed off your lonely, single mattress.

It was always eyes of forest trees which pierced through the veil of your arousal. Midnight hair that you imagined buried at the apex of your thighs and the tick of his expensive timepiece that marched steadily onwards whilst the hand attached curled around your waist, holding you, needing you.

Zayne…

His name curled to life in the cramped space of your room, breathed through ragged pants to manifest like tendrils of smoke blown across the surface of a frozen lake. It rolled perfectly off your tongue, the syllables melding together beautifully in the breathless way you exhaled it as you fell apart on your fingers, wishing they were his.

So, yes it was petty, and yes you knew it was wrong to torment him as you had been, but you weren’t going to stop. Not unless he forced you to, and that very thought was exhilarating. The battle of wits and resolve would continue until he saw the error of his ways, you were special and he should admit that to himself instead of shutting you out.

You would make it worth his effort if only he would admit that you were so much more than his student.

You were surely the perfect example of a model student; never missed a class, assignments handed in days early and colour coded, and quick as a whip in both intellect and downright sass. You were all of that and more, and to begin with, he was ashamed to say that he may have shown you some favourable attention.

Zayne had looked to you for assistance in past lectures and sought out your opinion by name on more occasions than he wished to admit, and it had not gone unnoticed.

He had overheard the words of your fellow classmates, the claims of how unfair it was that you snared all of his focus and he panicked. He had no wish to jeopardise his reputation with rumours of him playing favouritism, rumours such as these had a nasty way of quickly spiralling out of control and he quelled at the idea of where it could end, and just how closely rooted in truth those rumours might be...

At the heart of the problem was his ridiculous attraction to you. For there was no smoke without fire, as the saying goes.

The moment he had first glimpsed you sitting in that middle seat, he knew that he was a goner. Everything about you appealed to his desires, never had he been so easily swept into a desperate need to know more about a person than he had in that moment. You were a natural beauty, and he hadn’t dared to allow himself to gaze at you any further, already weighed down by the shame of his uncharacteristic wayward eye.

You were in your early twenties, although he was unsure of your exact age. He could find out, of course, one glance at your personal records would provide the answer, but again, that was an action he should not indulge in.

Regardless, you were an adult in every sense of the word, and it was hardly a crime he was committing. Had this not been within a university setting then he would be well within his rights to admit his attraction and pursue you, but that was not the way of things. He was your professor and he had a moral and professional obligation to not cross the line.

The line in question crept closer and closer with every passing day until he felt like he was toeing the line, the scuff marks upon the scarlet streak a clear indication of his poor decisions and the metaphorical stain upon his perfectly polished shoe a strike against his own morality.

Professor Zayne had renewed his vow to treat all his students equally and with impartiality. There would be no more seeking your opinions even though he truly valued them, he would ensure he asked a different student in every lesson and never yours and there absolutely would be no more sly glances at you during exams or moments of self-study under his diligent supervision.

He had lost count of the times he had sat behind his desk, eyes scanning the packed rows to ensure there was no hint of cheating going on, only to find his gaze stopping upon you. Zayne felt magnetised to your very presence, drawn to you like a lowly moth to the only light source in the room.

It was during one of these aforementioned times that it happened. At the time he was unsure if he was mistaken but now, he knew for certain that he wasn’t—you really were that brazen.

The incident occurred on a warm late summer day; the lecture hall was filled to capacity with the class reading through a prescribed chapter in order to draft a rough analysis of the subject matter. All very normal, all very boring.

Zayne sat with his ankle crossed over his thigh in his trusty leather desk chair. The back support was reclined whilst he watched through half-lidded eyes, listening to the welcome cacophony of tippy tapping on keyboards mingled with the constant ticking of the large clock at the back of the room. The heat of the day made him feel somewhat drowsy, but it didn’t last, not for long.

As usual, his sweeping observations paused on you. You sat slightly hunched over the open textbook with a pen poised between your pretty lips. He always liked that you took handwritten notes over using a laptop, it was his own preferred method after all and to share it with you felt oddly… intimate.

He couldn’t stop himself, a moment of weakness and he was taking in every inch of you he could see. The soft hair draped across one bare shoulder from your ponytail and came to rest on the swell of your breast. The powder blue top stuck like a second skin on your frame, the sleeves off the shoulder and hugging around your upper arms.

The shadows were not his friend on this particular day as they hid the bare strip of midriff that he knew was exposed, he had noted it immediately when you walked through the double doors at the beginning of class.

Your exuberant air permeated everything around you as you swept to your usual seat with the cat-like smirk that pressed upon your glossy lips as you sat with a well-practiced flounce. He might not be able to see that tantalising sliver of naked skin right now, but he knew it was there and that knowledge was maddening.

Without warning your legs shifted.

You parted them like curtains being swept aside in a theatre, a performance ready to begin in earnest, and his grip which had been loose on the armrest tightened until it was painful.

This was not a sly adjustment, a girl simply moving in search of a more comfortable position, this was deliberate. Within the recesses of the shadows, he could see the glint of pure white, and he would swear it was blinding despite the darkness surrounding him.

Zayne gripped the edge of his desk, pulling himself beneath to conceal the arousal that was growing rapidly. His slacks tightened across his broad thighs and the zipper of his fly pressed painfully against his cock. He felt the heat tip at his ears, and silently he gave thanks for the hair that was just long enough to hide his burning ears from sight.

Swallowing thickly the warm saliva that gathered in his mouth he looked back to you, your legs were now conveniently crossed and a dainty foot tapped to a silent rhythm. His gaze rose to your face, a coy all-knowing smirk painted your lips and that pen—fuck, that stupid pink fuzzy pen—it was sucked deep into your mouth. He watched whilst short French manicured nails slid that pen back and forth between your plush lips, and every stroke resonated in his aching, sorely untouched dick.

That night he rushed home.

He had thrown his belongings haphazardly into his briefcase and scrambled for the exit like a man possessed. Every red light that impeded the progress to his destination drew another uncharacteristic curse from his mouth, each one sounding more broken and frantic as the urgency beat against his brow.

Keys jangled within his wavering grip and at last, the door was open. No lights flickered to life, no warm voice welcomed him home, only silence that clung to every surface like a thick layer of dust despite the spotless interior. He was meticulous in his housekeeping, but that didn’t prevent loneliness crowding the space like phantoms unwittingly welcomed in.

Zayne found himself at his desk chair with the small table lamp clicked on to illuminate the clutter free space, though he had no memory of the steps taken to get himself there. He sat exactly as he had in his lecture hall but this time, he palmed his erection as he brought forth the image of the tantalising vision he had been witness to earlier.

The image of your white panties was seared upon the inside of his eyelids, and the mixture of bone-deep desire and burning shame made for the most potent cocktail to lace his veins.

He should stop.

He knew it was wrong, immoral and downright lewd, but his body needed the relief–craved it like the most addicting drug.

The wayward professor was deep in delirium, his brain so foggy with the weight of his thoughts that he barely noted the unbuckling of his belt although the metal rattled noisily in the otherwise quiet room. His zipper was down, and his underwear tucked beneath the weight of his heavy balls, out of the way to allow him to stroke his eager length.

The first taste of relief when his thick cock with its blushing pink tip escaped the tight confines of his clothing was euphoric, the cool air of his apartment kissing against his flushed skin.

Raven hair met the headrest and with his eyes tightly shut he imagined that perfect mouth of yours wrapped around his cock instead of his straining fist. The image of your wide doe eyes would never waver from his gaze as you swallowed him down like that damned pink pen, the first swelling of tears edging against your lashes. Your glossed lips would be slick with more than mere sticky lip balm, a combination of his arousal and your warm saliva coating both him and your mouth to perfection.

The conjured image of you sat upon your knees, back arching to allow Zayne a dreamy view of your rear end sticking outwards, taunting him and pushing him to do something about it. Your skirt flipped up to expose the suppleness of your flesh to his appraising eye, ogling at the round cheeks that he desperately wished to mark if only he dared. The only thing that could make your backside look any better was his handprint emblazoned against the skin.

How dare you tease him like this, who did you think you were?

Some cock teasing little know-it-all.

His fist was a poor imitation of what he wished for, yet it did not take long for that familiar telltale of his impending release to hover near the precipice. Heaviness invaded his lower half, his balls pulled taut to the base of his shaft, and warmth dripped in inversion like hot honey at the base of his spine. Nothing would stand in its way, the force of nature would not be denied, and he was forced to bow to the will of his body and mind.

As hot ropes of sticky seed shot from his now purpled mushroom tip, his belly sucked in and his thighs clenched. He pondered over whether he would come down your throat or if he would pull back to paint your pretty face or perhaps even your tits. You would look so delectable covered in his essence, taking that innocent facade you wore like a gilded mask and ripping it off to expose your wicked true self. Except…

The guilt was immediate.

His dick had not quite finished twitching when the burning shame washed over him like freshly crashing tidal waves. It ate at him, chewed against every nerve that would serve to cause the most anguish. The contents of his stomach churned, icy fingers of dread spiders walked down his spine and the riot inside his mind was proving to be deafening.

He was above this; he should have been above this level of petty fuckery.

An agitated hand shot through his hair, irritation burned up his throat, and the tight flex of his jaw was painful. This was your fault, not his. You had driven him to this, this depravity, and he couldn’t bear that he had succumbed so easily to your wiles.

Zayne spent that weekend avoiding everything including the mountain of papers that needed to be marked.

He went nowhere, spoke to nobody and barely functioned as a grown adult. It wasn’t unusual for him to ignore the persistent calls of his fellow professors, over friendly colleagues who tried every weekend without fail to lure him out for drinks, but he didn’t even take the time to send his usual cursory text message claiming to have better ideas of how to spend his precious free time.

The guilt and shame of what he had been reduced to were his constant shadow as he allowed himself to wallow in despair. The reflection in the bathroom mirror painted the image of a tortured man, deep shadows lined the underside of his eyes from the lack of sleep, his face was fast becoming a scruffy mess as he had found no motivation to shave and his dark hair stuck up in an unusually wild tangle.

It had taken him until the very early hours of Monday morning to shake himself enough to emerge from his cocoon of misery. He shrugged it off like an unwanted coat on a summer’s day, resolved to never get to this point again. He would refuse to play into your hands like this, he held the power, not you.

The game was over, or so he thought…

Ever since that fateful incident, Zayne held on to his promise. At times having to sink desperate claws into those vowed words, such was his desire to fawn over the girl that demanded his attention, practically screamed for it. The shift in your attitude and not to mention, outfit choices were drastic.

You had gone from simpering over every word, eager to praise and add your own ideas to his hypotheses to outright condemnation of his theories. You mocked them openly, snorts of derision echoing through the hushed hall and he did not need to look up to know where they came from.

It grated on his nerves to the point that he had developed a tic in his left eye that would flutter each time your syrupy voice would pipe up, and the phrase ‘please Sir’ both aroused and angered him in a way that was unexplainable.

He understood you disliked his attempts to avoid you and had made it well known by going to extraordinary lengths to seek it out once again, if it took the form of his wrath or displeasure. Zayne had almost felt his tainted soul leave his body on the day you had wandered into his hall wearing a snow-white shirt with the buttons undone to such a point that you may as well have not worn the thing at all.

The tails of the shirt were haphazardly tucked into the waist of a black skirt with black thigh high socks that only allowed for the barest hint of your naked legs to be seen. It was made all the worse by the prominent black bra that drew the eye in a most indecent way through the thin white shirt.

He had stared, downright ogled from the recesses of the hall. He knew he had been hidden from sight as your sweeping gaze had valiantly tried to seek him out without success. The scrunch of irritation to wrinkle above your nose was deeply satisfying, but as always, you had the last laugh.

Professor Zayne had started the lesson promptly, as he always did, and studiously avoided your seat as he passed his vision around the students. Halfway through the lecture, a snap like a whip crack ricocheted around the room and his head automatically turned to where the noise had originated.

You giggled and whispered a hushed apology to the people sitting either side of you, pushing the newly acquired glasses up on the bridge of your nose, and damn if it didn’t serve to enhance your already unbearably appeal. You were irresistible.

With his attention truly snared for the first time in what seemed like forever, you used it to your advantage and peered over the edge of the thick-rimmed spectacles and gave a subtle, almost imperceptible wink.

~

Look at me…

Look at me!

The command screamed in your mind, silent to everyone else and that was for the best. You knew your actions were downright madness, but no matter how often you told yourself to stop… it was impossible.

Why didn’t he understand that he was driving you insane? How could he not know that you were at your wits end with devising new ideas on how to glean back his attention?

The slide into madness had been steady but constant. Each passing week granted a new opportunity to succeed at basking under his warm spotlight, and with every failure you felt yourself sink further into the oozing pit of obsession. You almost wished you didn’t realise how deranged you had become, it would be easier to believe in your delusions, but you recognised your actions for what they were—desperate cries of an ounce of affection from a man you were utterly infatuated with.

He was a professor, your professor, with a moral obligation to ensure the safety and well-being of his students but you were no child. It was only a sense of duty that kept him from you. You could feel the binds that turned his head away from you, the red tape that bound him so tightly that his initial attraction and interest started to seem like it had been a dream.

Well, if he was so keen to play by the rules then why had he led you on in the first place? Had he led you on? Were you perhaps seeing things that hadn’t been there?

Madness descended over you like a gossamer veil. Your rational mind scattered upon the floor like grains of rice poured from a jar.

You wanted him.

You wanted him to want you more.

Why wouldn’t he take the bait like you fantasised about? Finally scold you for how outright impudent you were in his class. No other professor would take the shit you gave to him without chewing you out, but Zayne acted as if he didn’t even hear you most of the time.

Sure, he was the master of his emotions. A real ice type, or so your cohorts thought, but they didn’t know him like you did…

Why couldn’t he just get you alone after class? He could insistent on lecturing you about how you needed to end whatever crusade you were on and behave yourself or there would be consequences. Something that would lead to you provoking him more, the desire to feel his long fingers wrapped around your throat and the hot fan of his breath against your cheek.

To be bent over that fucking pristine cherrywood desk and made to take a corporal punishment, a few hard spanks until your skin stung from the pain and left you dripping between your thighs…

You could practically hear his condescending voice teasing you for getting wet so easily. Degrading you like the filthy slut you wanted to be, only for him. To feel him take what you wanted him to have, to fuck into you with no prep and cry from the stretch. With his fist deep in your hair to keep your spine arched and your thighs pressed so tightly against the edge of the desk you’d have bruises the next day, it was all you longer for.

Was it so much to ask? You knew the answer was yes, but it didn’t deter you, it only fuelled your resolve, and you longed for the day he finally snapped. Until then you’d continue with the games, as petty as they may seem.

~

On a weekly basis, Zayne was treated to a new outfit. You changed the style constantly, sometimes looking sweet and pure as a freshly budding flower and others looking like the most alluring siren who was eager to call him forth to meet his exquisite death.

The clothes he could handle, his logical brain could acknowledge the chemical reaction of his body and tightly clamp down on it. He was the master of his body, he refused to be ruled by his hormones alone, raging though they might be. It hurt but it was possible—just.

What irked him the most was the disdain that you showed him so freely. The acidity of your carefully selected words, each picked to cause the most damage. Nothing but utter bile spewing forth to both degrade him and cause uncertainty in the accuracy of his teachings.

No one doubted Zayne’s mind, he had worked diligently to prove his worth.

There was a reason he was one of the most well-regarded professors at the University, his mind knew few equals, and he stopped at nothing to prove his intellect, even if his dislike for teaching was only increasing with each subsequent term. To be called out so blatantly was an affront to him in the worst possible way.

Behind that self-righteous outrage to be questioned was the ever-constant nagging voice of doubt. The monster that dwelled at the very back of his head and whispered such wicked things.

What if she is right?

What if the entirety of his hypotheses and theories are flawed?

She makes compelling arguments, perhaps he was the very thing he feared most—wrong.

It felt like forever since he bowed to his audience, and forced you to do the same, having been trapped inside his head as he considered his options. He didn’t see another path; this had gone on for too long.

Your name flowed from his throat like a curse, as if saying it aloud should cause physical harm to those that heard it.

“… come see me tonight at 5pm sharp.”

The mutterings and murmurs were quick to bubble up around him. He silenced them with one sharp clap of his hands, the ringing sound of his palms connecting acted exactly as predicted and all fell silent for the lesson to continue.

Zayne felt your piercing eyes upon him for the last twenty minutes, and he was relieved when the class finally filed out of the hall, leaving him alone with his frantic heart. He was still in his prime, yet you were ageing him prematurely with the stress you placed upon his broad shoulders. It had to stop, things were at breaking point, and he only hoped for a favourable outcome this evening.

Zayne stumbled through the remainder of the day in an utter daze, knowing that the last two classes that passed through his doors were going to be treated to less than exemplary experience. If the tuts and half-heartedly conversations were anything to go by, this oddity would spread quickly amongst the student populace.

He paced his small stage, brushed restless fingers against the stiff fabric of his charcoal grey slacks and prayed for a small miracle. In truth he was unsure what he wanted out of this meeting and that was worse than knowing that the time for it approached.

Did he want it to be a simple acknowledgement of your behaviour and a reminder that he was the professor and that he could report you and probably should?

Did he wish to make you admit it, to force your reasoning out of those delicious looking lips before considering his next move?

Was it far simpler than that, did he just want to bend you over his polished desk and teach you exactly who the fuck you had been playing with?

Thud.

The time for his internal debate was over.

~

Never had these double doors looked both so ominous and alluring all at once. You couldn’t recall your afternoon lectures, spending the hours wondering—daring to dream—of what might happen come the allotted time you had been summoned here.

Had you been in your right mind the thought of serious repercussions might have weighed more heavily upon you. True that there had been moments of rational thought of the consequences of your actions, suspension or at the worst, expulsion, but you dismissed it too quickly as unlikely.

Professor Zayne wanted you as much as you wanted him, that was the bottom line and everything else didn’t matter.

Your eyes fixed pointedly on his figure, his back to you as he switched off the projector that would normally show the lecture material for that lesson. The absence of the white light darkened the hall, casting shadows over the rows of seats as you stepped closer with trepidation beating wildly in your ears.

What an imposing figure he cut; tall and broad with a waist that was slim and neat. His shirt tucked smartly into his pants and as he raised his arm, the material pulled taut across his sculpted back. How you longed to run your nails down that stretch of skin, to feel the muscles ripple beneath your hands and hear him hiss at the red possessive streaks you’d leave there.

~

Zayne refused to acknowledge your presence by looking at you.

Instead, he paced towards his desk and seated himself snugly in his chair. With elbows resting on the very polished surface he had been thinking about moments ago, his fingers steepled and only when he was ready did his gaze rise to you walking slowly towards him.

On this particular day, you were adorned in a pastel sundress, your shoulders were warm from the blazing summer sun, and a fresh dusting of freckles was beginning to appear within your complexion.

Adorable, he thought before internally scowling at the mental admission.

The flowing dress played around your mid-thighs; the material contoured to your breasts whilst the rest blew about on the breeze that had followed you inside.

The soft pad of your dainty ballet pumps made the tic in his eye jump with every approaching step. He braced himself, straightened his spine and arched one sleek eyebrow when you stood before his desk. He had toyed back and forth with the idea of dragging a chair opposite but ultimately decided against it, opting to force you to stand.

“You requested my presence, Professor Zayne,” you snapped, clearly rattled. An irritated hand flew up to push back the locks of hair that had fallen into your sweet face.

He smiled; the barest hint of emotion flickering over his faintly stubbled jaw. Zayne had been clean-shaven when he started his day but as the clock signalled home time, the start of light scruff became evident on his chin and jaw. It roughened his appearance all the more, a stark reminder that he was a mature man, unlike the boys from your year.

He watched as you nervously chewed your lip the longer he remained silent. The enjoyment of seeing you sweat thrilled him to the core. The first hint of uncertainty to taint your impish face, warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the sun, and the almost imperceptible shift of your hips, they all spoke volumes of your nerves.

“Do you have any idea why I might wish to have a conversation with you?”

Zayne quashed the smirk which tried to rise to his mouth when you gave a small involuntary jump at finally being addressed. It had been a good minute consisting of the pair of you doing nothing but stare at one another. Determined hazel eyes waged a silent war for dominance with the pair opposite him, who would blink first?

Your thick lashes blinked much too rapidly.

He took even himself by surprise with the brazen rake of his gaze up and down your body. The stoic raven-haired professor took his sweet time with his inspection; noted the subtle press of your thighs, and the twitching fingers that idled by your sides until you clasped your hands behind your back.

A stupid move which only served in thrusting your chest forward even more prominently, he dared to scrutinise your cleavage for the longest time before he moved on to track up the column of your slender throat and finally your face.

“I didn’t realise I was going to be quizzed, if I had known then I might have studied…”

“That,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous.

He stood abruptly, and with measured strides, he circled the desk until he was directly behind your smaller frame. His distance was closer than would be considered professional, but he was in no way within your personal space, at least not yet.

“That mouth of yours is the very reason I asked for your attendance.”

Rather than turn, you twisted your head until you could see him over your shoulder and he liked what he saw. Your pupils were blown wide, a whisper-quiet pant pushed through those slightly parted lips and the very first peek of a pink tongue swiped over your lips.

Your scent reached him, warm and comforting. He fought the urge to take another step closer, to press his nose to the crook of your neck and inhale deeply. His tightly held restraint was slipping much quicker than he had assumed it would, one false move and it would be game over.

“You don’t like my mouth, Professor? You certainly seemed to like it when I was sucking on that pen a few weeks back. If I recall correctly, it gave you a rather obvious lift to your—”

Your words were cut short by a loud gasp. Strong hands thundered against the surface of the desk on either side of your body; he took more than the one-step forward he had wished for. His larger build effectively caged you against the desk, your bodies connected for the very first time and gods if he didn’t want to groan aloud from it.

Zayne was done with playing around, you needed to know that it was more than a little dangerous to play with fire, especially with him. He could feel the tremble of your legs against his own, practically hear the beat of your erratic pulse in his own head.

“Who do you think you’re talking to, little girl? I am not one of the boys that I’ve seen fawning over you. It is foolish to think you can wrap me around your little finger so easily,” he hissed directly into your ear.

He heard your quiet whimper, and it only fed his desires, gorging himself on the reactions you were feeding him so readily.

Your head fell to his shoulder, leaning yourself into the cage of his torso and afforded him an unhindered view down your pretty dress. You were driving him crazy, his sanity leaking out his ears with each passing second and it would not be long before he gave in to his primal instincts which he had denied for so long.

“Was that bad of me, Professor?” You cooed with that falsely innocent tone, all whilst your lower half blatantly rubbed against him like the sinful creature you truly were.

The sound of the silky-smooth material of your dress gliding so wantonly against the stiff, less yielding fabric of his pants was erotic. He had yet to force any kind of confession from you and already he was struggling with his want to move this along. The part of him that knew this to be wrong was silenced by the baser desires overpowering his brain, nothing but pure instinct was in the driving seat.

He ignored the question to pose one of his own, he refused to roll over so easily. He was no animal to be tamed by your hand; he would not present his vulnerable belly for affection even if a small part of him wished for it. This was still a struggle for power, and he would fight until the very last.

“You didn’t like it when I stopped paying you attention, did you? It made you perfectly furious that I dared to ignore your eager attempts to captivate my time and eye. Did you leave here after every week more annoyed than the previous, to be denied my attention again and again?”

Zayne held your waist in one large hand to halt your continued attempts at moving against his tortured groin, choosing to press you firmly against him but held in place whilst he continued his lethal sounding tirade. Every whine was like the most breathtaking symphony to his ears, each fruitless attempt to regain your freedom of movement another link to the chain of lust that bound you both together.

“Did you go back to your room each night and fuck your fingers wishing they were mine?”

~

How could he possibly know?

Unless… had he jerked himself to thoughts of you in the same vein?

Oh, Professor Zayne, you naughty, naughty man…

You weren’t the only one indulging in fantasies of what it would be like to finally satiate the burning desire to know what it would be like to feel your touch. Those lonely nights spent with eyes screwed shut to focus on the vivid imagination of how rough his fingers might feel caressing the soft skin of your inner thighs. Now, you were here and your fingers twitched in excitement, crawling lower and lower.

~

He knew your hand was travelling towards the hem of your dress, he could sense that you would try to slip those manicured nails beneath any second to provide the friction you so clearly craved. His hand pressed atop your own to direct it, together they bunched the skirt of the dress and too soon he felt the searing heat of your cunt.

Heat unlike anything he had previously experienced enveloped his every sense, the cotton of your underwear was damp to the touch and elicited a thick groan from his throat. You tried to tug him into action, to allow your fingers to curl under the thin barrier but he denied you, much to your irritation. A venomous hiss flared, you were transformed into none other than a feral feline used to your freedom and not accustomed to being stopped in any pursuit.

“Say it,” he warned. “Admit that you wanted my attention, craved it. Tell me the truth; that you were so frustrated by not being my favourite little pet that you went out of your way to make my life a living hell. If you admit it, I’ll let you fuck yourself on my fingers.”

What the hell was he thinking?

The problem was… he wasn’t, or at least not with his brain.

~

What a prospect.

A gasp caught in your parched throat, the stutter of your breathing sounding deafening to your ears whilst you considered the options. If you were to comply with his demand then you were fully crossing the line, there would be no going back and no way to turn this around.

Could you really deny it though? The words were possible, but you would both know they were lies of the worst kind. If you denied it, he would stop, of that, you were sure.

There was always an air of finality to Professor Zayne’s words, and he was not a man to be trifled with, he was as stubborn as you were. In the end, it wasn’t much of a decision. To have come so far only to lose your nerve at the last second simply wasn’t an option.

Your free hand flew to the back of his neck, startling him for a second until your fingers laced into the hairs at his nape, twisting and yanking in urgency. The rise and fall of your chest was frantic, and for a moment Zayne truly believed you would deny it.

“I… admit it. Please please touch me. I need it, need you,” you babbled, sounding close to the verge of tears.

He rewarded you, letting your fingers guided by his own drag along your slit. He wasn’t touching you directly, but it wouldn’t be long before he would shove your hand aside and take charge like he knew you wanted. With each teasing touch that closed in agonisingly slowly towards your throbbing clit, you speared him with verbal attacks.

“Why did you stop looking at me? It made me insane; no one has ever made me feel like you do. Why did you stop asking my opinion? What did I do wrong? Did someone else catch your eye, was someone else more attractive or intelligent?”

It took more strength than he anticipated to contain you whilst you spiralled into a frenzied rage. Zayne felt the white-hot fury that flooded you so entirely. It seemed these emotions spoke of more than a skin-deep attraction and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Scratching a mutual itch was one thing, but taking this further—deeper—was terrifying territory.

He should stop. How many times had he said this to himself by this point?

You thrashed, sensing his sudden hesitancy. The guidance of his hand between your legs faltered as he processed the situation. You fought him with every fibre of your being, stamping your foot with impunity and pressing a blazingly fierce kiss to the side of his neck. He smelled like fresh zesty cologne mingled with bitter coffee, it encapsulated him perfectly and your nose buried deeper into the collar of his shirt to inhale more.

All remnants of rational thought deserted him as the soul-searing desire to claim you roared to life. Zayne had never considered himself to be driven by physical desires alone, proud of his ability to rationalise his thoughts and marshal his behaviours accordingly, but it all came undone by your persistence and the mutual attraction that he could no longer deny. Your ability to sneak through his iron defences was unparalleled, you had filled every corner of his mind with thoughts of you.

He shushed the tirade of emotional accusations, the hand from your waist curled around the slender column of your throat with just enough pressure to make his intent clear whilst the hand between your legs ripped away yours… this was his to touch, after all.

“Enough!” Zayne commanded firmly, his voice low and threatening.

One deft finger stroked your jawline whilst he yanked your underwear down your thighs forcefully, only content once they pooled on the floor. His thumb pressed with expert precision against your little pearl, knowing it would be exactly what you needed to heighten the coils of pleasure twisting within the depths of your belly. The jolt of your thighs was all the confirmation he needed, pressing against his broad hand and the corner of his lips quirked upward.

He wanted to tell you how no one could ever come close in comparison, how he adored your witty remarks and off-the-cuff quips that both teased and provoked him. That no other girl had ever captured his imagination quite like you and how he missed when the two of you would debate back and forth without the heat of your recent exploits.

Zayne thought you were beautiful but was it more than superficial? This was the part he struggled with, and rightly so. What was the goal here, was he still under the illusion that giving in to that physical desire would solve his infatuation? Somehow by indulging his urge it would break the spell. Unlikely.

Your thighs tightened further around his wrist, and he finally relented, his momentary reverie broken.

He pressed you forward to bend at the waist, lifting your dress until he was staring at your tempting backside. Zayne’s gaze lingered for a second before he found himself flush over your body, ensuring your warm cheek met the cool wooden surface before standing to his full and impressive height, and running his fingers along your folds to collect the gathering arousal.

“There’s my good girl. Now, fuck yourself on my fingers, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need telling twice as he let his index finger tease a slow circle around your hot, needy entrance. Your hips stuttered in a rocking motion to ensnare the digit, and the moan of success that bubbled from your throat was both heady and triumphant whilst you slowly rocked on him.

Zayne watched in enraptured fascination, his finger disappearing into the heat of your cunt, sucked deep inside to stroke your gummy walls. With trembling fingers, he found the zipper on his pants, sliding his hand inside the confines to stroke at the length which begged for release.

“More.”

You turned with pleading eyes which shone with unadulterated lust and demanded his compliance.

“Ask nicely,” he threatened.

“Please more… need more, Professor,” you acquiesced immediately.

His mind shattered at your lewd use of his title, the honorific rolling off your tongue in a salacious wave, and he eagerly fed you another finger. Zayne felt the stretch of your tight hole as you bloomed for him and him alone. You groaned your approval, the rhythm of your hips picking up as you zeroed in fast on an orgasm.

It shouldn’t be this easy, this quick, but it was naive to think you wouldn’t crumble the second he finally got his hands on you. It was so much more than you had ever daydreamed about; his cologne filled your nose, his heavy breathing tickling your ear, and the slightly roughened texture of his fingers moving expertly was all much more than your brain could conjure in the midnight hours you spent alone.

A subtle smirk teased his lips, wicked cruelty sparked in his eyes, but you couldn’t see it. Even with your head twisted to the side, you were too far gone in your own ministrations upon his slick-soaked fingers to see the cunning plan that was coming to fruition.

Zayne could sense how close you were, the curl of his fingers hitting that soft mound of tissue buried deep inside, the sensitive spot that had your toes curling with each needy rut against his hand. What a sight to behold; your hair spilt across his desk, the warmth of your cheeks and eyes glazed over in pursuit of nothing but your pleasure.

You were in heaven, yet hell awaited around the corner, you just didn’t know it.

Without warning, he pulled from your cunt, and your shrieks of fury were thunderously loud within the cavernous hall. A deceptively cool palm clamped across your mouth to hush the noise, a beat of terror invading his mind at the unsavoury thought of being discovered by a colleague in this highly improper situation.

Pulling you against his chest, Zayne’s teeth found the sweet curve of your shoulder and bit the tender flesh, enjoying the squirm of your body against his own.

“There you go being a naughty girl again. You can’t help yourself, can you?”

His mouth covered every inch of skin he could reach, seeking out your sweet spot in the juncture of your neck and collarbone to mark it against his better judgment. It was evidence of this tryst but a part of him longed for others to know you were taken… but were you? Were you his or was this a one-time thing?

Uncovering your mouth slowly, he listened to the pleas and incoherent words of irritation that spewed from your plush mouth. He chuckled darkly and nipped your ear whilst he spoke softly, “Go lock the doors and we’ll see about putting that filthy mouth of yours to better use, hm?”

Your mouth salivated instantly, conditioned like some pavlovian test subject at the mere thought of your mouth being used. You had felt how hard he was, the bulge pressing into the crack of your backside whilst he held you immobile. Thick and heavy… you knew it without having to see it and you were eager for a taste.

Zayne released you suddenly although he wanted to do anything but, this was the moment of truth. You could walk to the doors and step outside, he wouldn’t stop you, it was your choice to stay or not. A test to see if you would give yourself completely to him, with no arm twisted behind your back or threats of a black mark upon your student record.

“I won’t make this offer again. Know that I mean that with absolute sincerity. If you stay, it’ll be your decision and I will ravish you like we’ve both wanted. If you go, we will never speak of this, and you will return to acting like a model student.”

He sat back in his chair and watched with trepidation as your wobbly gait climbed each step which led towards the exit. His breath held tightly in his throat as you reached the doors, one hand curled around the handle, and he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the disappointment gathering in his stomach.

The click of the lock rang loud, a promise of things to come. Zayne opened his eyes and released his long-held breath, head canted to admire you openly and chuckling at the look of pure excitement that shone from your eyes.

You were the most tempting treat he had ever seen. His deepest desire come to life when you knelt obediently between his legs, no instruction necessary as your slender fingers deftly unbuckled his belt. His pants loosened further, relief washing over him when you finally revealed his achingly painful arousal to the air. A low hiss escaped through clenched teeth at the shift in pressure and temperature. It was short-lived; your eagerness to wrap your lips around him had you forgoing the usual teasing butterfly kisses and kitten licks.

Zayne lost himself in the sensation of your care, the wet cavern of your mouth worshipped him thoroughly. Those doe-like eyes held his steely eye contact throughout your actions; your pillowy lips now slick with more than your signature lip balm. He speared his empty hands into your hair, tangled his fingers within your locks and helped you to take him deeper. Pushing past the soft tissue at the back of your mouth to sink into your throat, he rolled his neck along his shoulders at the squeeze of you swallowing around him.

The stream of tears that tracked down your cheeks whilst he fucked into your mouth and throat was sinful but exactly what he had pictured, perhaps even better than his mind had conjured. The tension within his lower stomach grew steadily with his swarming orgasm, every muscle contracted from the nearness of his release. Warmth gathered at the base of his spine, and he should pull you off before he shot his load down your throat.

“Fuck… gonna come. You don’t have–”

He tried to pull back, to pry himself from the tight muscles of your throat that squeezed him so perfectly with every swallow, but you locked your jaw in determination. Your nails pressed deep into his thighs, and you would have left marks had it not been for the thick fabric of his pants.

His stomach sucked in, head thrown back in ecstasy and he shuddered as thick ropes of his cum painted your mouth and fell down your throat. He had never cum so hard, violently enough that the lactic acid burned in his thighs and pressed along his hips.

You looked every bit the proud vixen, almost too proud of yourself. Licking absently at your lips, sitting back on your haunches as those sexy eyes flickered around his face and assessed his every reaction, storing them in your memory forever.

~

The taste of his skin lingered in your mouth, the bitter tang of his spend coated your tongue and you hummed in satisfaction. You would never forget the expressions his face had contorted into when he found his relief at your hands, or mouth to be accurate. Usually so well guarded, it was a treat to see his facial muscles relax and soften. With pinched eyebrows and a slack jaw, you could get used to seeing Zayne like this.

He crooked a finger and beckoned you to crawl upon his lap. You happily obliged, settling with your thighs bracketing either side of his hips, and he simply stared at you for a long moment. Eyes locked, inches from each other and both seemed lost in detailing the different colourful flecks within each other’s eyes.

With a stomach that was suddenly doing somersaults, you watched him close the distance. Somehow this was different, it spoke of more than simple sexual desire or the tension that crackled above your heads like a swelling thunderstorm.

~

Eager lips met in sweet anticipation, the soft yielding that sparked the flutter of butterflies in tummies. Why did he have to find you in his lecture hall? Couldn’t it be simpler, a man and woman without the constraints of professional boundaries and rules?

“You know, Sir, you still owe me an orgasm,” you purred, fingers stroking his chest through his crisp white shirt. You poured as much sinful inflection into the title that made Zayne groan in utter lust. His head rolled against the headrest, and the grip on your hips flexed tighter. You slowly rocked against his cock, the length already coming back to life so soon after his release.

“That so?” he smiled towards the ceiling.

Zayne fisted your hair into a makeshift ponytail and gave a sharp yank until your slender throat bared in front of his face. He licked and nipped up the tender skin then dipped to place love bites on the swell of your breasts.

“Please, Sir.”

He hummed his appreciation. “That’s my good girl. Now that you’ve asked nicely, I want you to bend yourself over my desk and I’ll give you everything you want and more.”

You captured his mouth in a bruising kiss, teeth tugging on his lower lip until he growled his warning to cease. In seconds you lifted from his lap, and he missed your weight instantly. The decadent sway of your hips was mesmerising, as was the slow tilt of your body when you bent over as instructed, and with an air of brattish attitude flipped your dress up and parted your legs.

Zayne sucked in through his clenched teeth. The sight of your perfect pussy so ready for him, slick with arousal and swollen with the blood flowing to the area, and in need of his attention would have been enough to send him to his knees if he had not been seated.

It made you feel powerful; knowing that you could elicit such telling noises from Zayne. The man you had lusted over and been infatuated with for nearly a year was coming undone by your actions. He wanted you as you had predicted and your wide smile split your face at finally knowing you were correct.

It was startling and more than a little scary how quickly his fury and irritation with the girl who had caused him so much turmoil had turned on its head. You had admitted your reasoning, your annoyance at being ignored by him and whilst he was satisfied with the admission, he would surely make you pay. His revenge would be both sweet and prolonged, for that he was sure of.

He found the strength to stand, his fist enclosed around his cock whilst he stroked himself to the sight of you. You watched through half-lidded eyes, your head straining to the side to keep him in view but all too soon he disappeared.

Without further preamble he pressed forward, clinging to his remaining shreds of decency as he fought down the urge to impale you to the hilt in one thrust. The arch of your spine was exquisite, the way your nails fought for purchase on the polished surface, and he was suddenly drowning in the feel of your velvet-lined walls.

~

Nothing compared to this, to this feeling of fullness as Zayne fed you inch after delicious inch. The stark veins of his thick shaft dragged along your gummy walls, the mushroom tip reaching for your very depths and it stole the air from your lungs. His fingers were one thing, but this was entirely different, so much more and you would let him carve you open only to mould you to his shape.

It should hurt, and whilst there was the slight burn of being stretched to capacity, it didn’t hurt. He was far from slow as he bullied into you, but you were so pent up with the need to come that you encouraged it, a hand reaching back to claw at the tight meat of his ass. He would change you after this moment, there would never be anyone else that could compare. The thought was titillating and altogether terrifying.

Would there ever be a next time? You banished the thought as quickly as it arrived, refusing to wallow in self-doubt when you could live in the moment and experience every sensation with striking clarity. The taste of his kiss would brand your lips for years to come, and what you wouldn’t give for the certainty that it wasn’t the last.

~

His patience only stretched so far, within seconds his pace was set, and it was punishing. Zayne knew you could take it, that you loved every second, it was evident from how you fought to keep your verbal chants of ecstasy hushed. He wanted nothing more than to have you scream your pleasure for the world to hear, but not here, not with his job hanging by a damned thread. Thoughts of you breaking apart and roaring his name to the heavens drove him forward, pitched him closer to the apex once more.

Every swing of his hips was urgent, each roll of his stomach precise to rip the most pleasure from your writhing form. His palms coasted up your sides and came to rest over your breasts, fingers kneading the flesh beneath your dress as he rutted shamelessly against your backside exactly as you had rutted against his hand earlier.

You lifted to the very tips of your toes, determined to meet his every thrust to increase the desired friction until even your muffled moans were in perfect unison. Your soft curves cushioned the steel-cut muscles of his body, a melding of two contradictions to make something completely perfect.

His jaw tightened, fighting his impending second orgasm until he ensured you reached your own. He could sense it, the alarmingly tight clamp of your walls almost to the point of pain, and how you fought his every retreat with such vehement conviction. When the wave finally crashed, breaking over the pair of you, it was euphoric.

You let your full weight slump against the solid wood, quivering with the powerful spasms that passed through your insides and succeeded in tripping his own release, barely pulling from your cunt before he was painting your backside in his milky spend.

Zayne braced upon his forearms, panting heavily as he joined you in ecstasy. He kissed along your exposed back, tasted the salt that mingled with your sweet essence and muttered words of praise and encouragement as you lay unmoving and entirely spent.

It was over before he wanted it to be. The reality of what had transpired woke you both from the bubble you had concocted, and fear crept in.

He was your teacher; you were his student. This was forbidden and no matter how much he longed for it to be different, it wasn’t. Could he really go back to treating you as he had done previously? The temptation of you would continue to linger and he damn well knew that one taste would never be enough to satisfy his desires.

A sour taste enveloped him.

The bitterness of knowing that he had gone far beyond his own morals twisted his lips into a grimace. You were so pretty, so smart and funny and he wanted you, but…

It wasn’t to be.

an: this fic is a rework of something I wrote a few years ago for a different fandom. It's probably not my best work but Zayne's anniversary event card made me absolutely insane about him in a teacher/student dynamic so here we are. It might not win any awards but it's a horny good time so I hope you enjoyed! <3

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