#professor x you

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

A gift for @turbulentscrawl i did my best bvhfvihiv

Rated T | Warnings: god why is this cute??

“Eyes are up here,” Not any hint of annoyance, just making you aware he knows where you are looking. “(Name).”

“I know.” Somehow you are aware of the cipher while staring, “Do you paint your nails?”

The Professor blinks and then looks at his hand, the one with fewer scales on it, “No, they grew out like this.”

“Do you file them?”

“When I have time. They are not easy to keep at this length.” This must be your way of trying to get to know him. He hears you are a chatterbox from the others, preppy, fairly excitable. A few hunters like to pick you out because you are easily frightened, a screamer. Luchino has heard it but sounds more silly than terrified, he even heard you giggling when Fool’s Gold caught you.

Maybe you are mentally unwell? Not unheard of for some to mentally break down in high stressful situations.

“Have you ever accidentally scratched yourself?” The cipher is almost done.

“Once or twice,” The cipher pops, “Go.” He runs in front of the hunter giving you time to find another cipher.

A tie, you got pity from the hunter called Disciple, not sure how. You claimed meowing back at her made her help you find a dungeon.

The next time you are around the Professor, you are staring at the snake in the case. He has passed you twice and you haven't moved from your spot. Maybe you are like Emil? Though you seem more stable than him.

“(Name), tell me something about you.”

“I like dinosaurs.” Speaking up, “Where I'm from there are a ton of movies about them. I like Godzilla.” Not a dinosaur but he is cool.

“Fascinating,” Luchino said at his desk writing notes, “You said you were from a time further ahead of Lucky Guy.”

“Yeah. Not by much.” You get up to see what the Professor is doing, “Oh, you don't name them?” Disappointed.

“Would you like to name them?”

You smile and point at each of the reptiles in the room giving them a name and nickname.

You are fairly harmless, too harmless, and fearless too. One who can stare down those like Undead deserves some matter of respect. Still, he wished you would have not taken the role of kiting the hunter when you have no known ability to help you.

“You stare a lot.”

“Sorry, this time it was your chest.” Looking at him, “Do you hate them?”

“Hate what exactly?”

You still are digging through the chest, “Your scales. I think they are pretty.” You are the first person to compliment them.

“Thank you.” Being polite, “Do you know how to use that?” Seeing you pull out a perfume.

“Nope! Gonna find out soon.”

You got chaired but not before you used the perfume bottom like ‘pepper spray’. The hunter was not happy.

After matches, you return to his room to look at ‘Carl’ the snake. You feed ‘Josh’ the gecko. And sleep in a corner next to ‘Liz’ the iguana. Simple names, he nearly found himself writing those names in his reports.

“If I could be anything,” You one day say out of the blue, “It would be a dragon.”

“And pray tell why a dragon?”

“Easy, because dragons are cool.” There is a charm to how your answers have the simplicity of a child. “You?”

“Hm,” He already has seen a possible future of himself as the ‘Evil Reptilian’, “A bird.”

“That sounds sad.” You say, “I thought you said cat so you can enjoy naps and stuff.”

“A bird can go anywhere it pleases,” He leans against the chair as he loosens his braids, “A cat requires a person to care for it.”

“Doesn't seem too bad. Just be cute and fluffy all day and be taken care of.” You stare at Liz who is staring at you.

“Is that something you want? To be taken care of?” Curious.

“Of course!”

“And what about being a dragon?”

“I can be a dragon and be spoiled by my human followers.” You laugh ‘evilly’ at the end.

Shaking his head as resumes working.

#idv #reader insert #idv professor #luchino diruse #luchino diruse x reader #luchino diruse x you #professor x reader #identity v x reader #identity v professor #professor x you #idv x you #idv x reader #identity v #identity v x you

[cookie-crumblr]

Sugar

Part 2~

F!READER X PROFESSOR OC

His Info: 📔✨

part 1 2

!!MINORS DNI!!

CW: F! READER/READER HAS A VAGINA, swearing, gendered speech toward reader (LOTS of good girl), massive praise kink, spanking, imbalanced power dynamic(teacher/student), age gap, vaginal intercourse, creampie, not proof read

!!MINORS DNI!!

AN: i’m so sorry this took so long, i went through it for a min… i hope it’s still good! 🫣✨ enjoy!

~

“What the fuck?!”

“Yeah i know right?!” You said back into the phone.

“You said no tho, right?” Your best friend asked.

“…” You swallowed.

“Y/N! You said yes?! my creepo meter is seriously going off! just please say you’re sick or somethin’ on that day!” They exclaimed, practically begging.

“…”

“Y/N” they say in a motherly/fatherly tone. “You’ll tell them you can’t right?”

“O-oh! look at the time! the Griswolds downstairs made pot roast today! gotta go!”

“Y/N!!!!!—” You hang up…

“fuck…” If their alarm bells are also going off you know you should be worried… But…

You’re just not.

You fall back into your double bed, and let your phone fall out of your hand.

You can’t help it.

He turns you on…

Especially after yesterday…

You can still feel his hand ghosting over your collar bone.

A shudder passes through you again.

“Thum-Thump Thum-Thump” Your heart pounds in your head. You try to swallow but choke.

You take a second to quickly and quietly compose yourself before bringing your hand up to the intricately carved door…

The place is… immaculate. To sell it short.

Your professor must be absolutely loaded to have such an estate. You feel like you have the wrong address… But the gates opened right up when you walked toward them.

You knock once and a professional looking man answers the door.

“Master Reichsgraf!” He calls while ushering you in, taking any extra things you may be carrying to hang them in a wardrobe. “Your honored guest has arrived!”

Well… It’s the right place. You swallow hard again.

“Welcome, welcome!” he descends the large carved wooden twin staircase with an air of refinery you’ve never seen in him.

“i’m sorry my darling… there will be an… unexpected visitor tonight. She won’t be bothering us for long however.”

He leads you around the main parts of the estate for a grand tour, keeping it sufficiently entertaining, you manage to almost relax in his presence.

Grand doors, as large and as ornate as the entrance open before you, revealing a table long enough to fit at least 20 people!

“oh my-“ you’re cut off.

“i see you finally stopped dating women older than our mother, feefee.” She drew out the nickname at the end mockingly. “Though, she’s a lil rough around the edges… hmm” she hums dissatisfied.

You shrink under her tigress gaze.

Your professor leads you gently by the elbow to your seat near the head of the table.

She yoinks the fancy looking bottle of wine from in front of you, “Hmm,” she spends a second inspecting the label “You actually want to impress this girl I see. It’s a good vintage.”

“Shelly, your bottle is still in the rack” he motions toward the smaller door located toward the middle of the room.

She lazily plops the bottle back down in front of you. “Thanks Feefee,” she spins holding the doorframe and looking back still only acknowledging him, “Mother told me she’s coming back.” her mocking tone of earlier was replaced with a jarringly serious one.

“I know.” He looks over the table, and his unreadable eyes land on the wine.

She closes the door behind her.

“ah, darling,” he’s back to a cheerfully elegant disposition, “Sheila won’t be bothering us again tonight, she just wanted to greet us before moving to the guest wing. Now that that’s done, let me open the bottle!”

“Please, Y/N tell me more about yourself…”

You’ve been talking non-stop about everything and anything. He’s been nothing short of attentive…

in fact, he’s been almost too attentive.

While you speak he frequently sighs wistfully as if he is remembering event of your life with you.

“Why?” You speak barley above a whisper.

“What was that, darling?” he cocks his head.

“why me?” You let the question that’s been burning on your mind slip.

“why you indeed…” he sighs wistfully, “i wish i could give you an appropriate answer, darling.”

“then why should i believe in you? or in any of this?” you motion to your surroundings.

“darling, my infatuation may be simple at face value, but I assure you it is depthless. nothing i could tell you could possibly bring the right words forth to explain it properly.”

Your cheeks darken a shade… You didn’t expect him to feel so serious about you…

“Why don’t we play a game?” he stands.

“o-kay”

“Good girl~” he hummed. He pulls you away from the table and reaches around you to clear a space.

He takes your hand and helps you onto the table.

“Here,” He fills your wine glass to the brim, and hands it to you. he leans into your ear, “Don’t spill this,” he plants an open mouth kiss to your neck.

“Ah!” you jump and spill wine onto your chest.

“Tsk, already? I just said don’t spill it…” he didn’t sound disappointed, instead his voice sounds much hungrier, as he plants more and more kisses against your neck. Your professors hands now traveling up your body.

You feel him pull the sleeves of your dress down your arms, exposing your top half.

you’re squeezing the glass between your bosom, your eyes are shut tight and your breathing is haggard.

His tongue finds your perked up bud and he starts to lick light swirls around it. His fingers on your other one mirroring the movement between pinches.

The heat inside you is becoming unbearable, you lean back and spill more wine on yourself, it’s cold as it’s seeping into your panties.

“mmm” you moan, his free hand caresses up your leg all the way to your sex. His fingers tease you through the fabric barrier while his thumb supplies ample pressure to your clit.

“Looks like you need to be punished. You spilled so much wine,” He smiles, and takes the glass, then sets it down on the table beside you.

“p-punished?” You squeak.

First, he starts to remove his suit jacket, then his tie, finally onto his button up shirt.

“what kind of professor would i be if i didn’t teach you new things?” He licks his lips, “flip over.” He commands.

He steps back just barely enough to give you room to move.

Shoes gently click against the wood floor as you slip down off the table.

“Such a good girl…” He hums in approval, “But, even good girls make mistakes.” His hands lightly travel downward, tickling the backs of your legs. “We must always learn to correct them.”

Hands rake back up to your bottom, stopping before falling off of you, all to come back with a sharp *Slap!* You gasp.

Open palmed hands caress you as he pulls your skirt up, setting the bunched up fabric on your lower back.

He applies more consistent pressure, kneading circles into your soft flesh with his thumbs. You moan.

“What are we going to do?” he asks.

“About what?”

*Smack!*

“Not the answer I’m looking for, and I know you can do this. What do we do when we make mistakes?” He asks a slightly different question.

“I…Don’t know-I”

*Smack!*

“Incorrect again. It’s okay, that’s what i’m here for. To help you learn. Now, What do we do when we make mistakes?”

“We f-fix them?”

You flinch. but no slap comes.

“My good girl, i’m so proud of you. We fix them, correct, darling.” He gently massages the tender area of skin on your rump.

Making him pleased with you is making the heat really build back up between your thighs.

You really are such a good girl.

Your eyes sting… Has anyone been proud of you before?

“Oh my! my, my, my, good girl.” absolute awe drips from his voice, sticky and sweet like honey.

Your body is shaking with anticipation. “I-I am!” you say excitedly. If you had a tail it would be wagging.

“Yes! You are! Now that we’ve properly punished you and corrected your mistake, what do we do with this? hmm?” Fingers gently kiss your opening.

Your legs spread on their own, and you whimper.

“What would you like, darling?” he leans over you, his voice in your ear and his hard bulge prodding against you.

“would you p-put it in me?” You pause to swallow hard, “P-please”

“Since you did such a good job today, I think i will, Y/N.” He puts his hand on top of your head, and you feel compelled to rub against it.

You are unaware the effect this has on him, his heart pounds for you.

A gentle caress under your chin is all it takes him to lure your face to his.

Lips press to yours, and a tongue soon gently pokes and asks for entry.

Like lava you melt in a dizzying amount of pleasure.

You don’t even notice him lining up with you until he’s sliding forward and back between your folds.

“Ahh!”

With the kiss broken, your eyes roll back forward.

Such a hot thing down there teasing your entrance before sliding over your clit.

It’s burning you up.

A hand hooks under your leg from behind the knee and lifts it onto the table.

His long cock slides with more pressure now on the way back to your entrance.

You bite your lip, the knot in your core tightening.

Pressure and anticipation align with the plush head pushing open your hole until-

*POP*

He’s in.

You sigh out all your air, a shuddering moan escaping with it all.

“O-Oh,” as your breathing out, he pushes further in.

“You’re such a good girl, opening up for me,” He pats your head again.

Whimpers fall from your lips as he’s slowly stretching and cooing you.

“You’re doing so well, darling.”

He’s so proud of you, truly, he’s in awe. Your pussy squeezes him with every praise he caresses your mind with.

Soon he’s bottomed out, the way that your legs are grants him access to the deepest parts of you.

It’s hard to breathe, he’s so long, so warm you strain out a small moan.

Slowly, he pulls back out and you can breathe again.

Hips press back against your ass, and air escapes your lungs.

He’s pulling out and pushing back in, and the intense stretch soon makes way for pleasure, and as soon as your moans fall more freer, he knows.

Picking up some speed but still he manages to fuck you languidly, his dick feels like it goes on forever inside you. It’s so impossibly long.

and he really knows how to use it.

As he pushes in he pushes down, and as he pulls out he pushes up. Every millimeter of your insides rubbed by his burning dick.

You feel on fire, your leg is unsteady on the ground, and your toes are tingling.

A hand pats your head and you come out of your already dazed state, “hmmm?”

“You really are my perfect girl,” he coos.

You tighten, the sensation of holding him in place feels so good, a moan leaves you weakly.

He forces himself in deeper, and manages to pull out.

a puff of air near your ear makes you shudder, “such a perfectly good girl, squeezing me in so tightly,” he groans.

You bite your lip.

“Do you want my cum inside you that badly?”

You nod.

He manages to flip you over on the table without fully separating from you, now you sit on the edge, your legs bent and spread for him. You feel more exposed now and a little shy…

“perfect girl,” his fingers find your clit and start to rub vigorously, as he pushes as far in as he can.

You feel so hot.

You forget your worries and let go.

Your arms wobble and strain to hold you up.

Soon after your core is ready to pop,

whimpers and gasps fall from your pretty lips.

He starts thrusting again and you snap, falling back onto the table.

Wine spills into your hair now, but you don’t care.

He uses your spent body as a flesh light to finish and soon your next orgasm is building again.

You reach down to grab him for purchase, your body and the table bouncing.

Your moans turn to almost panicked screams, you’re so sensitive.

“P-please!”

He speeds up, his hips slapping you, and his fingers start spinning on you again.

Stars interrupt your eyes.

One last slam inside you and you feel hot ropes spill inside you.

Such fullness that you’ve only ever dreamed of sends you into euphoria.

You squeeze harder, milking him for all he’s worth.

Your body is so hot you cum with crashing force and pry his still vigorously moving hand off of you.

He’s smiling at you, and relents.

“can i pull out now?”

You’re out of breath, and your voice falls weakly, “okay…”

cum spills onto the table edge as he does, his softening dick feels like it takes forever to pull out of you fully. a moan escapes you again as he passes over those sensitive spots one last time, making your legs twitch and bounce.

Clinking and shuffling of fine chinas is heard, and the rumble of your professor climbing onto the table next to you surrounds you as you’re catching your breath.

After he’s joined you, he cups your face in his big hand and you turn to nuzzle into it, practically purring.

To him you might as well be.

His warmth finds the rest of your body and covers you easily.

Eventually he slides off softly, and carries your sleepy form wrapped in the table cloth for temporary warmth, to his chambers to retire until the morning.

“Precious girl” his whisper enters your sleep addled brain gently, you smile feeling perfectly warm and content.

#my oc #oc x reader #oc x you #yandere #my fic #yandere x reader #yandere x you #tw yandere #oc reichsgraf #oc professor #oc professor reichsgraf #professor x you #yandere professor #professor x reader #reader x professor #reader x yandere professor

[incorrectquotesharrypotterv]

Y/n, whispering: you know I love you, right?

Draco: why are we whispering?

Y/n: so Harry thinks we're conspiring against him

Draco: oooh

Harry: what are they talking about?

Snape, having heard everything: murder

#professor snape x you #professor snape x reader #professor snape #pro snape #pro severus #severus snape x oc #severus snape x reader #pro severus snape #severus snape love #severus snape #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x gryffindor #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #harry james potter #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x slytherin!reader #draco malfoy x muggle!reader #slytherin reader #ravenclaw reader #hufflepuff reader #gryffindor reader #gryffindor #harry potter #hogwarts #hp memes #hp movies #hp fandom

[cupcakeinat0r]

A Nerdy middle-aged loser Miguel w a dad bod who teaches your genetics class.

He has a huge crush on you even though he knows he shouldn’t but how tf couldn’t he????

With the way you always walk in a minute or two late, making the whole class look at you as you strut in with your quiet “so sorry!” and your cute little outfits that show off the best parts of your body.

Miguel’s eyes would follow you and the way you set down your bag, whipping out your computer, ready to absorb all the knowledge that Prof. O’Hara has to offer like a sponge. He usually has to stand behind his podium because watching you hang onto every single one of his words with those parted, glossy lips and curious eyes made him embarrassingly hard.

Or the way you took notes, your cute little organization of colors and annotations. Your kindness in giving notes to your peers because you wanted to see everyone succeed. Even though you may not have looked like it, you were a smarty pants, too. And he found that extremely hot.

During his lecture, he’ll sometimes catch you applying lip gloss or fixing your hair in your compact mirror and think to himself how gorgeous you are and how lucky your boyfriend that you totally already have is.

Cuz there’s no way he could pull someone like you. Those days are over for him. Plus, you were way out of his league.

But he can’t help but have a sliver of hope every time you leave class with an adorable smile and small wave.

“Thank you so much, Professor O’Hara! Great class today!!”, your praise never ceasing to make him slightly flustered on the inside.

Before you, he totally fucked his own hand like everyday. He’s a lonesome man. But now that you were in his life? That man goes home everyday, imagining his had is your luscious, tight cunt, replaying your cute voice in his head over and over again.

What he has no idea is that his praise has the same effect on you.

Anytime you had a question or were worried that you weren’t understanding a concept, Miguel would comfort you, with the most gentle words and voice.

He was such a cute man. It’d be so easy to praise him and baby him, telling him he’s sooo smart and such a good teacher.

His well-kept black hair w tiny hints of gray throughout, his black rimmed square glasses, his little cashmere sweater + button up combos that hugged around his broad chest, enormous biceps, and pudgy belly. He was sooo dreamy. He made it so hard to focus.

You’d go up to his desk after class needing clarification on a topic. He’d tell you to sit down, eager to help you with the class (or anything ever, he’d do anything for you if it meant keeping you).

His cologne would fill your nose as he bends over the table, a strand of hair falling on his forehead, pushing his glass up his nose as he towers over you as he explains what ever it was you were confused about.

It never helped because you never caught a single word. You were too busy imagining his soft stomach rubbing against your back as he bends you over the table, plowing you while saying those sweet words of encouragement into your ear.

And those veiny, hairy arms and hands wrapped around your waist as he bounces you on his fat cock, making those adorable glasses of his fog up.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re doing great, as always.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetheart.”

“I know, mama, It’s a hard concept to grasp, but you’ll get it. I know it.”

It made you scream on the inside. You wanted so badly to be a good student for him so that he could talk to you this way every single class.

Pt.2 here!

Want more DadBod!Miguel ? Here’s my master list, bae!!

#shout out to my random burst of creativity n slutty thoughts #y’all r real ones #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #dadbod!miguel #nerdy!miguel #loser!miguel #professor!miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #atsv #miguel smut #Miguel fic #miguel o’hara headcanon #miguel o’hara #spider man 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara fluff

[angelltheninth]

Yandere College Professor Keeps You Quiet in the Library

Pairing: Male!Professor x Fem!Student

Tags: fluff, secret relationship, age-gap (only a few years), childhood friends to lovers, making out, keeping quiet, grinding, teasing

A/N: More soft yanderes, these are my favorite to write.

Yandere!College professor was your friend, and crush, when you were kids so imagine your surprise when he showed up to hold classes at your campus. You recognized him right away, and he you. But he didn't hold any favoritism towards you, in fact he was more strict.

Yandere!College professor sees you're falling behind since he arrived. That's not good, he can't have you failing his class, it will reflect poorly on him and his teaching skills. He has no choice but to give you extra lessons.

Yandere!College professor meets you in the library for said lessons. You are the first and one he would do this for, he hopes you know that. Because you were friends as kids and also because he doesn't want his crush to fail, not after he worked so hard to get a job here.

Yandere!College professor heard you were studying here and thought it would be the perfect chance to reconnect. He is here just for you, so you better study hard. And if you can't he will help, if you can he'll take you on a date.

Yandere!College professor doesn't give you special treatment when you begin dating. You have to keep it a secret after all and him taking it easy on you might be suspicious. At the same time he makes extra sure that you're treated fairly by other professors, as well as the students, he won't stand for any bullying.

Yandere!College professor gives you those extra lessons at the library again, he already did this before so it's not odd to anyone. Always in the back of the library which is mostly unused. It's the perfect, quiet spot to study, but also to get some alone time when you need it.

Yandere!College professor starts off by holding your hand under the desk, then gives you a kiss on the cheek when you get something right and before you know it you're pressed up against on of the bookshelves, struggling to breathe as he kisses you. It's exciting, doing this in a spot where you might be caught. With him of all people.

Yandere!College professor is the surprised one when he feels you hook one leg on his hip. You're braver then he thought, and potentially dirty minded too, you changed so much since he moved away when you started high school, you used to be so shy. Look at you now, making out and grinding against him.

Yandere!College professor knows this could end badly for him if you're seen but he finally has you all to himself and he won't back down now. If anyone sees you... he will make them shut up, keep your secret. That being said he would like to avoid getting found out at all.

Yandere!College professor tells you that you can be as loud as you want at his place, but here you have to keep your voice down. He trusts you with many things, but not with this since you can't even keep your hips still, shamesly grinding against him, making thinks hard. So he'll have to make sure you shut up too, in a very pleasing way.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere x female reader #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere fluff #male yandere #yandere professor #yandere #original writing

[0anonnymouslyours0]

imagine; spencer with a famous gf, and the team finding out.

picture this:

your penelopes favourite celebrity, and she religiously stalks your page, even has notification for when you post. you've just posted, and shes inspecting the newest photos, when her eyes catch on a very familiar coffee shop. namely, spencers favourite coffee shop, which he regularly drags the team to after cases. scrolling to the next post, she nearly drops her phone when a recognizable silhouette of a man is in the corner of the photo. its in what penelope presumes is your living room, a photo of your fireplace, and a man hunched over in a chair next to it reading a book.

"derek!" penelope squeals running out of her office.

"woah-woah. whats happening?"

"spencer! reid!"

"yes, i know him?" derek gives her a funny look.

"he's on her instagram post! the famous y/n! spencer!" penelope shoves the phone in his face, and dereks eyes widen at it.

"that is defiantly spencers living room." jj says, who has appeared behind derek starring at the photo.

"it is? it is!" penelope claps, earning a few funny looks.

"no, no guys this is the y/n. like really hot, famous y/n." morgan says.

"spencer could never-"

he gets cut off by spencer walking into the room, cup of coffee ( mostly sugar ) in hand.

"i could never what?" he says, raising a brow at the trio.

"you- you are dating y/n y/l/n!" penelope says, pointing at him.

spencers cheeks flush pink, a sheepish smile on his face.

"uhh, yes.." he states, confusion crossing his features.

"nah, no way? pretty boy isnt that pretty." derek states, and spencer glares at him.

"no way he could pull her."

"i could." spencer says defensively.

"and he did." jj adds.

morgan frowns shaking his head.

"where did you even meet her?"

"at a coffee shop, then we had coffee, exchanged numbers.. i really didn't know who she was until i head penelope talking about her."

"thats why you asked me so many questions about her!"

spencer nods, giving them a straight-mouthed smile.

"i don't believe this. no offense-" morgan says, shrugging.

"why don't you just- meet her?" spencer says, shrugging.

"yes, yes! please!" penelope shouts.

sure enough, you do exist, and when you show up to the teams dinner, spencers arm wrapped around your waist, morgan has no choice but to believe it, and penelope no choice but to faint in your presence.

#spencer reid #fluff #oneshot #female reader #masterlist #smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #professor spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer #reid #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds #derek morgan #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #criminal minds season 1

[kokoa-la]

Ngl I just find it so funny if Danny just accidentally becomes friends with someone trying to rob him like-

___________________________________

“Get up!”

And he was up, hands above his head and everything. The guy in all black proceeded to pat him down along his pockets while pointing a gun at him otherwise. 

“How do you not have a wallet on you?”

“I’m a college student, I can barely afford tuition.”

That’s a lie, he was on a full ride scholarship, but they didn’t need to know that. 

“Oh you too?”

Did this bitch just say ‘you too’ ? No way.

“‘You too?’ Are you doing this to pay for college???”

Ancients, the school system sucked if he had to resort to crime for this.

“Yeah- you wouldn’t believe how expensive my major is, the textbooks alone cost more than my rent!”

“Holy shit, no kidding. Yeah, why are textbooks so expensive? Why am I paying hundreds of dollars for something that could have been a 2 dollar pdf?”

“Right! I tried asking my professor instead, but he said he’d fail me if I didn’t have the right materials! It’s driving me nuts. Like how am I supposed to pay for all this?”

How Dannt started making conversation with his own robber, he didn’t know, but he was happy to finally complain with someone. He hadn’t exactly made friends since he got here.

“Personally I buy used books, and the more trashed they are, the cheaper. Then, you can just use the pdf version but still have the textbook in class. It’s honestly so much easier. Or you can see if you can borrow it from the library and just bring it in for the classes he checks it, then return it after to avoid the fees. That option is a bit more troublesome though.”

“Oh shit, no way! That’s awesome, I never thought of that, thanks man! Man, I wish I talked to you sooner.” 

“Yeah, it’s all good, maybe just avoid the crime after this? There’s tons of online jobs you can do during class and stuff. I don’t know, there’s always another option than crime. You sound like a good guy, just desperate.”

The robber turned friend (?) lowered his gun and sighed before returning the items in the bag to everyone. He then apologized to the cashier and then to everyone else before giving Danny a hug (how long had it been since he’d gotten one of those?) and leaving. Danny was so proud of him he almost cried (again). 

______________

I know it's a bit weird and out of place, but that's bcs its a snippet from a fic I'm writing on ao3 😭

But still, I need more of Danny befriending ppl trying to jump/rob him

#dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #college au #prompt #dc x dp prompt #dp prompt #college is too damn expensive #sometimes the guy trying to rob you is just a desperate college student with a mean professor who won't let him use a pdf #justice for side character a

[etoilesvv]

TEACHER!ABBY TEACHER!ABBY TEACHER!ABBY

teacher!abby (actually professor) who laid eyes on you on the first day of classes, and knew she was already hooked. the way your pretty eyes scanned your laptop screen, the way your fingers tapped the keys, the way your hips swayed as you left the auditorium. oh, she had to have you.

teacher!abby who was secretly overjoyed when you approached her one day, asking for help. you were even more beautiful up close, and so, so tempting. she barely listened to your concerns about the upcoming assignments, firstly because you had nothing to worry about — you were already getting 100s — and secondly because she couldn’t stop her eyes from roaming over you.

teacher!abby who then inched her way closer to you, starting with greeting you in passing to inviting you to her office during her hours. of course you dropped by, such a good listener. and of course she kept it professional. she’d never pursue her attraction to you, right? you were her student. her pretty student.

teacher!abby who didn’t notice that you’d been looking at her that way, too. how could you not, walking into lecture on the first day and seeing that hunk of a woman? tall and muscular, with that pretty, flowing braid and such a commanding presence. you knew your little crush was forbidden, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t play dumb and ask for help with every single assignment.

teacher!abby who looked forward to your daily drop-ins everyday after that, chatting about studies and classes. sometimes you’d even go a little deeper, talk about something slightly personal. she liked learning more about you; something about you was just pulling her in. and abby could’ve sworn she saw you staring when you thought she wasn’t looking.

teacher!abby who couldn’t control herself any longer. it was the end of the semester, and the more time she had spent with you, the more she wanted you — no — needed you. she decided on her plan and invited you to her office after class, having you worry you flunked an assignment or something.

“come on in.” she said with her usual stern face, though giving you a small smile as she always did. she held the door open, and then closed the two of you in her office. the blinds were closed, too. odd.

“you wanted to discuss something?” you asked, walking to stand in front of her desk, not sitting. she stood as well, leaning against the side of the desk.

“yes.” she answered shortly, looking down to the floor with a pensive expression. you tilted your head to the side with curiosity.

“is it about my average? because, i know it’s fallen a couple of points. it’s not like me, i’ve just been a little distracted—”

“i’ve fallen for you.” abby stated, bringing her eyes up to you. your eyes widened and your mouth fell open.

“what?” you squeaked with a sharp breath. she pushed herself off her desk. she took a step forward, and you took a step back.

“you’re smart, kind…and gorgeous.” she began, locking her office door with a click! before starting slow steps towards you.

“abby— professor…” you protested with uncertainty. you didn’t know where she was going with this. either way, you knew it shouldn’t be happening, but did that ever stop anyone?

“i want you.” she confessed as she backed you into the wall. she planted her hands next to your head and loomed over you. “tell me you feel the same way. tell me you want this, too.”

abby whispered, eyes searching yours for an answer.

“i…i want you, too.”

teacher!abby who now had you bent over her desk with your panties at your ankles. your chest was pressed flush against the wood, your little skirt bunched up at your lower back, exposing your ass. her thick fingers curled inside your cunt, earning a moan from deep within your throat.

“you like that, huh? fuckin’ dirty girl.” she muttered in your ear from behind, leaning down over you. your back arched as her free hand reached to circle your throat. abby thrusted her digits inside of you, whimpers and erotic squelches filling her office. her long, large fingers reached spots you didn’t even know existed, making your legs tremble from pure ecstasy.

and abby was sure she was in a dream, knuckles deep in your wet pussy.

teacher!abby who then got on her knees and parted your legs as you sat on the edge of her desk. she lapped at your heat with her flat tongue, making your thighs tighten around her head. you grabbed a fistful of her now messy braid, and she moaned into your cunt.

she looked up at you through her brows, watching you toil with her every movement. you looked beautiful, above her with your eyes scrunched closed, crying out in pleasure.

teacher!abby who finally sunk into your warm walls with her silicone shaft. your legs wrapped around her waist, her dress pants sitting just below her strap. did she wear that thing everyday? jesus. her hands gripped your waist, nails digging into the soft skin and leaving little crescent moons. you held onto her neck, the desk shaking with every slam of her hips.

when her palm pressed on your stomach and her thumb circled your clit, you swore you saw stars. your toes curled, and your eyes rolled back in orgasm. you screamed out, and abby didn’t care if anyone heard you two. she didn’t care if anyone knew. all she cared about was you.

#fanfic #smut #tlou #abby anderson #abby anderson smut #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #lesbian #lesbian smut #abby anderson x reader #teacher!abby #professor!abby #student!reader #abby anderson x you #ellie williams x you #vi arcane #vi arcane x reader

[distantsonata]

#i didn't tear up you did #gif #gifs #my gifs #jean grey #phoenix #charles #charles xavier #professor x #xmen #x men #x men 97 #xmen 97 #xmen the animated series #marvel #disney #young jean grey #xmen spoilers #x men spoilers #x men 97 spoilers #xmen gifs

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Wine Heated

For @turbulentscrawl <3

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: none

i wish this skin came back! literally always have a crush on the wine god (hades' dionysus is so HOT and they made professor literally him aaaa)

You know him well, you offer all your prayers to all the Gods, but you know him well as he blesses your crops with the sweetest fruit-- Both in the land and your womb. You have been blessed with many children with each living a happy, healthy, and wealthy life. As you grow older, you cannot harvest the fruit the way you used to and give your offering to the God who looks out for you so fondly.

You sigh as your old body is making you less and less able to do the minor tasks at the house.

A home, an empty nest that was well lived in by you and your husband and all the children you bared.

As you lay your head on your bed, eyes closing, you smell a sweet scent and a glimpse of a white cloth.

“(Name), my favorite mortal.”

The world shifts, you wake up not on your bed but in the arms of a man you have never seen before. Yet, you do not move, there is no fear or shock. Because you do know the man who is eating a grape in a way that makes you suddenly envious of the fruit. You look around and you recognize the temple you are in for you have seen a glimpse of it in dreams in your youth when you were of age to begin giving offerings to the spring-heated wine god.

“Finally awake,” You turn your head back to him who stares at you the way your husband did, maybe more intensely with a gleeful smile, “She awakens!” Picking you in his arms makes you panic and cling to him by wrapping your arms around his neck, “My sweet blossom, welcome home!”

“Home?” Speaking after he puts you down allowing you to stand there in confusion. You see your hands, the youth return to them, and you examine yourself seeing you only wearing a chiton that is much too thin to be proper, “But I…”

“You have given me much, often my cups are full of wine created from your fruits.” Picking up a golden chalice, “Faithful to all but you saved your best for me.”

“By the Gods,” A hand over your heart, “I am so sorry I could not deliver you proper offerings as my body began to fail me.” Going on your knees begging for forgiveness.

“You need not beg for my forgiveness,” Kneeling and petting your hair, “You who have given me the sweetest of offerings and kindest of prayers of thanks.” You raise your head when guides you to look upon him, “It is only right I return such devotion.”

The Spring Heated Wine God has many titles, the most commonly known titles are fertility, festivity, and insanity. The latter is rare unless he is not given offerings to keep him in high joyful spirits.

You worshiped him as the Seer of the land told you to, to give offerings and pray in thanks. In return, you have been blessed and others around you with joy and happiness.

Though you wish to be in the underworld wandering in Elysian Fields with your husband, the God of Wine has called upon you to be his, this new life granted by him as part of his thanks. You are to be by his side, to fill his cup, and in turn, he will continue to love you as one should upon a worshiper.

He lays upon the kline in his private chambers upon your request, you are not ready (or ever will) to be taken in front of the pans and nymphs he has in the temple. His eyes are warm, inviting, and clearly announcing his infatuation with you as you are naked upon his lap. Your hands are on his chest, fingers brushing upon the scales that shine like precious gems. He likes it when you dare bite back when he bites your chest, littering your skin with his mark with teeth.

Luchino, this is the name he once was called before mortals gave him a title, he loves how you moan it out. When you are close but he stops you before that fall to bliss, you pout and say his name much differently from your prayers. 

Begging should follow, he rather enjoys how you retaliate by taking measures into your own hands, greedy humans. He drinks his wine as you chase bliss once more desperately as you say his name each time his thrusts meet yours, his lips sharing the sweet taste of nectar mixed within the wine.

You nearly choke on both the intoxicating taste, his tongue in your mouth, and once more his thumb rubs your clit.

“Luchino!” Pulling your mouth away to give one verbal warning while your body seizes, velveteen walls spasming around his cock. He holds you close to him taking over as he changes positions so you are lying underneath him.

Faster, harder, a growl you feel the rumble of it on your chest, his teeth on the side of your neck threatening to break skin. You in kind dig your nails into the back of the Wine God scraping down and a few times catching a scale you learn is sensitive around the area where skin turns into scale.

You feel him fill you, his cum filling your womb and spilling onto the linen sheets. After a few thrusts, he keeps on that high until oversensitivity has you whining like a poor kitten seeking attention.

You go lax on kline, trying to catch your breath as moves to lay beside you, pity he pulls out taking away the warmth and fullness of his cock.

#idv #reader insert #idv professor #luchino diruse #luchino diruse x reader #luchino diruse x you #professor x reader #identity v x reader #identity v professor #professor x you #idv x you #idv x reader #identity v #identity v x you

[munsonluhvr]

ohhhh and i honestly need more professor!eddie x student!reader

imagine he’s her professor. he’s like 39 and she’s 19. and just a hot secret affair ahhh.. where she’s the one to intend this relationship first like seducing him and all and getting fucked on the desk all the time!! he sometimes has to hold her mouth shut because she’s so loud!!

SCHOOL GIRL CRUSH

a/n: thank u so much for another amazing request. I hope u like it! I loved writing this sm, im tempted to write a part two in the future.

synopsis: professor!eddie munson x student!reader. unable to resist your professor munson, you begin seducing him, making every visit to his office hours productive. lucky for you, all your efforts pay off in the end. word count - 4.7k warnings: 18+, explicit content // age gap relationship, throat fucking, p in v, cum eating, fingering, finger sucking.

Your ears are numb to the sound of your classmates engaging with Professor Munson, answering his questions eagerly to please the young and handsome teacher. You’re trapped in your own mind as you imagine Professor Munson bending you over his desk, his ungraded essays cluttered underneath your upper body. You imagine your thighs shivering and growing goosebumps as his fingertips graze your legs, hooking his pointer fingers onto your panties and pulling your undergarment down as slow as possible… 

“Are you listening, y/n?” Professor Munson asks as he leans against his long wooden desk, his legs crossed in front of him. You sit in the front row, of course, to be able to gain his attention. Your legs are outstretched in front of you and Professor Munson taps your foot with his. “Care to share what you’re day dreaming about with the rest of the class?” 

You blush, shaking your head quickly. “I wasn’t daydreaming, I was listening.” You lean forward on your desk, resting your elbow on the tabletop, your hand cupping your chin. Bending at the waist, you push your chest forward, allowing Professor Munson to get a front-row view of your breasts that are supported by your bra. 

Professor Munson, or Eddie which is what he allows you to call him in his office hours, lets his eyes dip to your exposed chest but he catches himself quickly, coughing into a close fist. “I see; let’s switch to talking about the book we read last week that we didn’t get to talk about.” He says to the class.

 You sit in the small classroom, your other classmates scattered about the room; there’s only about fifth teen of you, the classroom big enough to fit at least thirty students. Above the chalkboard is a clock that ticks rhythmically, and you watch for the next ten minutes as the class talks amongst themselves. Today was the day you’d go for the kill, feeling as if you and Professor Munson were playing a cat and mouse game since the beginning of the semester. 

Professor Munson was young, probably in his mid to late thirties, and incredibly attractive. Though he was physical attractive, an angelic face with soft features that combine to create a beautiful face, Professor Munson also had a ‘swagger’ about himself, a confidence that you could sense from a mile away. He never dressed, nor acted, like any of your other professors, he wore black ripped jeans, various metal band t-shirts and utilized an informal teaching style.  Nonetheless you enjoyed Professor Munson’s class, though you had to admit, you had an agenda. You wanted to fuck him. 

It all started in the beginning of the semester when you first walked into the classroom. You were automatically enamored by Eddie, easily charmed by his charisma and good looks. It was then and there where you began developing a plan, each week bringing you a step closer to today. 

Over the first two months of the semester, you had frequented his office hours, finding that even though the other girls in the class giggled about how cute he was, nobody went to his office hours leaving you hours to occupy his time. Professor Munson welcomed it happily: at first he quizzed you about the class readings, forcing you to engage with the conversations that happened during class. Though as the weeks went on, your meetings became more personal, and he started to ask you about your background, where you’re from, what your family is like. You were able to get some answers out of Eddie as well; it was fair game after all.

For a while you weren’t able to figure out if Eddie was understanding your motives, or if he found you as attractive as you found him. If he did, he kept it well hidden as a university Professor should. However, the last few meetings you had gave you no doubt in your mind that now was the time to try, to attempt to discover uncharted territory of what is Eddie’s body.  

Two weeks ago, you had visited office hours in hopes of getting your midterm essay edited with suggestions from Eddie; why not try to improve your grade while trying to get fucked? You were planning on making it a quick visit, meant to leave Eddie with dirty thoughts about you. You had worn your shortest skirt, barely covering the paisley patterned panties you wore, a long-sleeved t-shirt with the three buttons at the top completely unbuttoned. With ease, and all the casualty in the world, you brought your paper, printed and paperclipped together, to Eddie’s office, coming around the side of his desk to drop it in front of him. 

“Thank you so much for looking at my paper before the deadline, I just want to make sure I get it right,” you had said, your eyes soft and doe eyed. 

Eddie nodded slightly, his eyes drifting from your face down to your completely bare thighs. “O-Of course, Miss y/n. I’m happy to though I’m sure there’s not much to be corrected.”  You spied his hands resting on his desk, and you took the opportunity to make skin on skin contact. 

You placed your hand on top of his, feeling the coolness of his silver rings that were scattered across his long fingers. You laugh softly, the reverberation causing your breasts to jiggle on your chest. “You’re so kind to me, Professor Munson.” Your fingers curled around his soft hand, and you let it rest there, taunting Eddie to almost say ‘See? You could have all this. Come find out.’ There’s no doubt in your mind, standing in his office, all alone, barely clothed, that he wanted to jump you, lifting that tiny skirt you wore to bunch up at your midsection.

Eddie’s eyes flickered to where your hands rested together and he coughed, rolling his chair under his desk to hide his lower half. You bit your lip, hoping that a boner was what he was attempting to conceal as he pushed his bottom half under his desk. You lift your hand off of his, stepping away from the side of your desk. “I’ll come to your office hours next week to see what you thought of my research?” 

Eddie nods, his eyes no longer looking to make contact with yours. “See you then.” 

The following week you had done what you said you would, making an appearance in his office hours for the thousandth time. You had begun to grow a confidence that was reassuring, probably contributing to your delusions: a professor could never let himself fuck a student, right? Not in your world. You played innocent, pretending as if you didn’t know what you were doing as leaned across Eddie’s cluttered desk to grasp your paperclipped essay with his suggestions scribbled across it, your breasts on full display. You pretended to not know Eddie was watching as you ‘accidently’ dropped your paper on the way out of his office, making of a show of bending down to show your ass that was fitted in a lace thong – and also pretended not to understand why Eddie gasped, then coughed, as you took a moment to pick up your papers that were scattered across the entrance of his office. When you were away from his office, sauntering down the hallway, you just had to pat yourself on the back for the show you just put on. ‘Damn, I’m good at this.’ You thought to yourself, a smug smile playing across your mouth. Eddie was beginning to be just where you wanted him. 

“Well, I think we’ll leave it there for this week. Make sure to follow the syllabus and read what’s required for next week,” Professor Munson said, continuing to lean against his desk. “I’ll wait around if anyone has any questions.” 

You were slow to gather your things, tucking them all away into your backpack. You peeked around you to watch the last of your classmates filter out into the busy hallway. At last, it was just you and Eddie. 

“Professor Munson, I have a question.” You say, standing up from your seat. Oddly, you were nervous, your fingers trembling, your voice wavering. Perhaps you are afraid of rejection. 

Eddie hums, his eyes flickering to where you stand. “What can I do for you, y/n?” 

‘So much’ you think. “Well, I just feel like I’m not following the discussion in class. As if reading all the material isn’t enough to understand what we’re talking about. Perhaps I need a more hands-on approach?” You say, stepping forward to where Eddie rests against his desk. 

“I’m not sure I’m following,” Eddie says, his arms uncrossing from in front of his chest to holding him up against the desk. “A hands-on approach?” 

You bite your lip, nodding as you step closer to him again, continuing to close the gap that exists between you and your professor. “Something more.. intimate, perhaps?” You let your backpack drop to the ground, freeing your hands. You wear a zip up hoodie that’s cropped at the waist, though underneath it your skin becomes slick with sweat and nervousness. You make a show of unzipping it slowly, the sound echoing through the classroom. Outside, students shout and chatter as they walk to their next class and for a moment you’re afraid of someone walking in. 

Eddie’s eyes watch closely as your fingers work to unzip your hoodie, then shrug it off, dropping it on top of where your backpack lays across the linoleum floor. “A-Are you referring to when I called you out for daydreaming because, of course, our minds can’t stay occupied on a single topic for a long time; studies have proven that.” Eddie says, beginning to ramble. His adams apple bobs at the front of his throat, his voice quivering. 

You smile, cocking your head to the side. Crossing your arms in front of you, you take the hem of your shirt into your fingers, lifting up and off with ease. “I’m not talking about that. I think I just need some lessons; you know?” Confidence courses through your veins, pushing the disbelief that you were stripping your clothes off for your college professor into the back of your mind. 

Eddie says nothing, his eyes watching every movement you make. His mouth gapes open slightly, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. He knows he shouldn’t be sitting against his desk watching, he should be stopping you, but he can’t move, his mind in a trance watching you, his student, bare yourself in front of him. 

You watch closely, analyzing Eddie’s facial expressions. You interpret his face as shocked, bewildered. You decide to take it another step further, reaching behind you with both hands to unclip your bra, freeing your breasts that you’ve been taunting him with. Left in only your skirt and tennis shoes, you step once more to Eddie, finally close enough to reach out and touch him. 

Your fingers play against his face, your fingertips beginning to trace his features. To your surprise, his hands reach out to grip your hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of your skirt. Eddie maneuvers you between his legs, bringing you almost nose to nose with him. The sensation of Eddie holding on to you makes your core begin to tighten, knowing he’s finally beginning to lean into game you’ve been playing. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Eddie says, his brown eyes watching as the pad of your thumb brushes against his bottom lip. You lean forward, letting your lips hover over his. “Oh, but you know you want to, Professor Munson. I know I want to,” You say, your nose nudging into his as you let your lips get closer and closer to his. 

Eddie swallows, the sound of his name rolling off your tongue creating a tender, painful boner to form against the tightness of his jeans. He wants to so bad, ever since you walked into office hours for the first time. So, innocent you were, though Eddie was no fool – he knew it was all an act. The way you were just barely an adult, only nineteen, his young pupil, yet you had the confidence and sexual charm of a grown woman. He had fallen right into your trap, a willing victim. 

Without hesitation, you let your lips gently intertwine with Eddie’s, each movement soft and delicate. Eddie hesitates at first, your lips moving against his as his mouth remains stiff though he isn’t able to refrain for long, the feeling of your soft lips against his, the sweetness of your mouth flowing into his forced him to give in. Eddie’s hands begin to move lower down your body, his hands finding their way underneath your skirt. Before he pulls your panties down, letting the drop to your ankles, he lets his fingertips drag against your cunt, feeling the way your pulsing clit is pressed against the fabric of your undergarments. To you, the feeling makes your eyes roll back, the pressure of Eddie’s fingers pressing against your most sensitive parts making your knees weak. You whine against his mouth, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders to press your bare front into his. 

It takes everything in Eddie to refrain from pulling your panties down abruptly, flipping you face down onto his desk when you whine against his mouth. Slow and steady; Eddie wants to relish every minute he’s under your spell.  Instead, Eddie pushes the fabric of your panties to the side, letting your moistness to be revealed. You drip around his fingers, your body preparing itself for his arrival. Eddie’s breath hitches when he feels how slick your cunt is, how turned on you are from merely his presence, just from a minute or so of kissing. Eddie’s stomach twists with guilt, knowing his interaction with you goes against every university code of conduct, though he couldn’t care less. With a swift movement, he lets his pointer and middle finger plunge into you, your wet core swallowing his digits whole. 

This time, the feeling of Eddie pushing his fingers inside of you causes you to moan loudly, throwing your head back, eyebrows knitted together with building frustration. Eddie takes the opportunity, now that your lips are detached, to leave a trail of gentle kisses down your chest, centering right between your breasts. With his free hand, Eddie cups your breast, letting his mouth envelop your hardened nipple.  You hand grips Eddie’s upper arm tightly as the tip of his tongue flicks across your nipple, sending a spark across your chest, your eyes pinching shut with pleasure. In a rhythmic motion, Eddie’s fingers move in and out of your cunt, your wetness from arousal beginning to drip down your inner thighs, and down the back of Eddie’s hand, down his forearm. 

Your thighs began to tremble against Eddie’s movements, his long fingers fluttering inside you, immediately attracted to the weakest spot inside of you. You feel pressure beginning to build inside your lower abdomen, the aching feeling of needing Eddie’s cock inside of you. Your eyes flutter shut; your body overwhelmed with the feeling of pleasure caused by Eddie’s thick fingers. 

You’re caught off guard when you’re moved quickly, now the one sitting against the hardwood desk, Eddie standing above you. You frown at the feeling of emptiness in your cunt, Eddie’s fingers going missing. Through your eyelashes at Eddie, your lips in a small pout. Eddie lingers above you, his tall stature seeming even taller as you sit at the edge of his desk, the hard edge digging into the softness of your ass. 

Eddie’s eyes gaze at you admiringly, his hand reaching out to touch your face in the manor you had touched his, his fingertips attending to all your soft yet beautiful features. The world around you slows to a vibrant hum, the hallways no empty, all the other students off to their next classes. You stare back at Eddie, feeling tension hang in the air similar to how humidity hangs in the air on a hot summer day. Thick and heavy. Slowly, his fingers come to a stop, his eyes never leaving your face. The pad of his thumb brushes the bottom of your lip then pushes between your lips. You part your lips, eyes wide as Eddie places his thumb on your tongue, your lips puckering around his finger. Your eyes flutter closed again, his finger moving in and out of your mouth as you suck gently on his digit, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin. 

“Such a good girl,” Eddie whispers, his voice shuddering as he feels your mouth enclose around his finger. “Such a bright student.” 

You can’t help but smile, the sound of Eddie complimenting you causing heat to creep up your neck to the apples of your cheeks. You sigh against his finger, letting your tongue cradle his thumb. Your clit begins to pulse, the anticipation beginning to kill you softly. Your eyes flutter open, letting your hands reach out to grasp his lower half, your fingers working to unbuckle his black, leather belt. Next, you pull down his fly, revealing a few inches of dark grey boxers, the outline of his cock growing more evident by the second. You let your fingers creep across the band of his jeans, using your upper arm strength to begin to tug downwards. 

Eddie pulls his thumb out of your mouth, stepping back to allow you the space to pull his pants and boxers down. You push yourself off the edge of the desk, kneeling down on the floor, in front of Eddie, to pull his pants down to his calves. Satisfyingly, Eddie’s thick cock bounces free from the confines of his jeans, his pink tip at your eye-level. With no hesitation, nor second thoughts, you take his cock into your hand, your mouth opening to welcome him down your throat. Eddie’s member bulges as you guide him gently down the canal of your throat, your lips puckering in a way that that’s you engulf him. You feel him shudder underneath your touch, his eyes pinching shut, his hand finding its way into the thickness of your hair. His fingers intertwine in your hair, allowing Eddie a good grip to guide you how he pleases. 

Eddie is only the second person you’ve ever fucked, though your positive the first time barely counts. And he’s certainly the biggest cock you’ve ever dealt with, surely ever seen. Your eyes begin to water as your throat expands to fit him inside, your throat walls beginning to ache at the work it has to do to fit him. Nonetheless, you move back and forth, tears beginning to threaten to spill over onto your cheeks, Eddie moving seamlessly in your mouth. Eddie begins to thrust gently into your mouth, his body moving in autopilot as he responds to the pleasure you provide by giving him head. You whimper and moan as he utilizes your throat in just the way he likes, Eddie deciding what temp you move at, as you hold onto his thighs for balance. 

Eddie feels himself getting nearly close, though he has no intention of finishing now. He wants his time with you to last even longer. Eddie backs his hips away from your mouth, letting his cock slip out of your mouth, a single spit string attached at the tip of his cock to your mouth. He leans forward, gripping his hand tightly around your upper arm and lifting you off the ground. With authority, he spins to around, pushing you towards the wooden desk again. Placing a hand on the middle of your back, he pushes you forward, legs pressed against the front of the desk, upper torso bent across the classroom desk. Your eyes and fists squeeze together tightly, the anticipation of feeling Eddie pushed inside of you leaving you on the very edge. You’ve waited for this moment for months. All your wildest fantasies coming true. 

Eddie gently kicks your ankles, spreading your legs apart further, gathering both of your wrists into his hands, behind your back. He leans forward, hovering near your ear. “You’re so beautiful, y/n.” Eddie says, his voice low. “I knew you were special when you walked into my classroom at the beginning of the semester – so perky, so eager to please.” 

You nod against the desk, feeling the muscles in your shoulder begin to burn from Eddie holding your wrists behind your back. “I wanted to be a good student, Professor Munson. The best one you ever had.” 

You hear the sound of Eddie moving behind you, feel the softness of his skin as he presses himself against you, his throbbing cock getting closer to your cunt. With his hand, Eddie guides his tip against your entrance. “How do you want it?” 

Truthfully, you wanted it every and any way. “Hard, rough. I want you so bad, I’ve been thinking about this for so long, Professor Munson. Please, I just want to be fucked.” 

Eddie can’t help it anymore, the sound of you practically begging for him, the way your voice contorts into a whine. It’s the hottest sound he believes he’ll ever hear. He lines himself up with you, his tip grazing your cunt. You sigh loudly, the feeling of him teasing your throbbing cunt makes your legs shiver and become weak. 

Eddie takes a deep breath, feeling like he could come all over your bare ass, the sight of you bending forward across his desk just enough to do the trick. But he refrains. With one hand, he spreads your ass cheeks apart, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. Eddie’s heart beats against his chest, his fingers trembling with anticipation as he eases himself into you. Your slick cunt envelopes Eddie’s cock, tightening around him as he begins to thrust into you. His eyes roll back into his head, the feeling of you causing him to lose his breath. 

Your eyes squeeze shut, a whine escaping your lips. Your arms extend from behind your back out to the side, gripping onto the desk. “Oh fuck, Eddie.” You mumble, sighing as you speak. Your body goes from tense to slack, the feeling of Eddie rutting into you bringing you pure pleasure. “Keep going, don’t stop.” 

Eddie nods, though he knows you can’t see him. His body moves into you rhythmically, his cock driving entirely into you. Eddie watches for a moment, the way his cock moves into you slowly, your cunt swallowing him whole, and how when he pulls back, his cock is drenched in your arousal. He can’t help but moan in disbelief. 

As Eddie takes you from behind, his motions are slow and even, though your body begins to crave more as the seconds pass. You feel Eddie’s long fingers drip your hip bones; his fingernails blunt against your skin. Needing the feeling of Eddie moving through you at a faster pace, you begin to roll your hips against him, essentially using his cock to fuck yourself. Eddie’s eyes widen, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip, as he watches you move against him. “Such a good girl, y/n.” Eddie says, leaning over to brush your hair that has gathered in front of your face. He watches as your face softens; your lips parting as little breaths escape your mouth. “Yes, Professor Munson,” you mumble, your cheeks flushing with a soft pink. 

Your back arches, your bottom lifting higher into the air. You squirm underneath Eddie’s grip, his stance holding you in place as he takes over thrusting into you. Eddie feels his knees becoming weak, the sensation of his core tightening in his lower abdomen causing him to flinch. Eddie would love nothing to more than to come into you, thick ropes of his cum filling your cunt, giving him the opportunity to watch it drip out of you. He chooses to refrain, knowing that getting a student pregnant would be worse than fucking a student. As Eddie fantasizes about all the places he wants to come on you, he senses your legs tremble underneath him, your arms extending reaching out across the table, gripping the edge. “Yes,” your voice coos. “Right there.” You clench around Eddie’s cock, your core burning as if you’ve touched the sun, legs trembling as you reach a peak, an intense wave bringing your orgasm through your body, straight down to your toes. 

Eddie watches mystified, the way your body shudders underneath his touch, your eyes fluttering closed, soft sighs and whines echoing across the empty classroom. Just you and him. Eddie is sure your orgasming, all because of his touch, is the most beautiful sight, pretty enough to be a historical painting, hung in the Louvre. 

After a moment, your body relaxes again, becoming limp as sweat collects across your body and in your hairline. Eddie pulls himself out of you, reaching to grab your forearm. With his strength, he pulls you across the desk, bringing you to your knees in front of him. For the first time in several moments, and he gets a look at your weathered face. Your lips are red and puckered, dried spit across your cheek. Your eyes are glassy, red rimming your eyes, black mascara smudged under your eyes. Your cheeks are flushed, pieces of your hair clinging to your face. You look tired, exhausted, yet you’re still so eager to please, your hands beginning to move towards Eddie’s cock that rests at your eye level. You lick your lips, missing the flavor of him inside your mouth. 

Eddie lets his fingers intertwine in your hair again, bringing you underneath his cock. You crouch down, looking up at Eddie through your eyelashes. You watch, arousal still collecting in your cunt, as Eddie strokes himself above you, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. “Come for me, Professor Munson. Let me find out how you taste.” 

Eddie’s eyes open, his eyes finding yours. Just then, ropes of cum dribble out of the tip of his cock, splashing onto your cheeks, across your nose. You lean up, resting your tongue just underneath his tip. In a slow flow, Eddie’s come dribbles onto your tongue, the sweet, yet salty, flavor causing your tastebuds to flair. You sigh, satisfaction playing across your face as you swallow Eddie’s load, more of his semen splattering your face as you do so. 

Once Eddie is finished, he’s out of breath, sweat causing dark spots across his ‘Metallica’ t-shirt. Eddie pulls his boxers and jeans up, glancing at you as he rights himself, zipping his fly and re-buckling his belt. You're slower to put your clothes on, liking the way it feels to have Eddie’s gaze on your naked body, his eyes taking in every curve of yours.  

Once you put your clothes back on, bending over to pick up your zip up hoodie and beginning to put your arms in the sleeve, Eddie coughs, standing awkwardly off to the side. “This can never happen again, y/n. This was a lapse in my judgment.” 

You pout, tossing him a glance. You bend over once more, picking your backpack up by one of the straps. “Professor Munson, please” you say, shaking your head. You run a hand through your hair, attempting to make it look as if you just didn’t get railed, by your professor, in a classroom. “We both know this is going to happen again, and again. Should I come to office hours next week?” 

Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. Eddie knows it’s wrong to have relations with a student, likely to get him fired if anyone were to ever find out. But you were so enticing, irresistible. For a moment, Eddie wonders how many people you’ve been with. Where did you learn to be so appealing, to move your hips in such a way, pouting your lips and batting your lashes to draw in any man you please? Regardless, Eddie wants to know more about you, learn what else you want to do with him. “Yes, come to my office hours next week.” 

#stranger things x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x you #steve harrington imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #professor Eddie x reader

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter One. Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Thèos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: Sub/Dom, Toxic Behaviour, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Blackmail, Praise Kink, Begging, DubCon, CNC.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

You were a good girl, and an exemplary student. One who consistently demonstrated exceptional discipline and commitment. Your dedication to academics was unwavering, as you diligently followed the rules and guidelines, never straying from the prescribed path.

Your singular focus was on nurturing your intellectual curiosity, and you showed no interest in indulging in activities that might distract you from your educational pursuits. Your life was calm, quiet, and focused.

Until, one day everything fucking changed.

———

In the enchanted realm of Hogwarts, there resided a studious and exceptionally bright seventh-year Ravenclaw witch, known for her unwavering dedication to academics and her steadfast commitment to the noble pursuit of knowledge. This young sorceress, a paragon of virtue, refrained from the temptations that often lured her peers, steering clear of parties, alcohol, and the haze of smoke that veiled the Ravenclaw common room during clandestine gatherings.

Her life was meticulously ordered, her goals sharply defined. But the universe had a curious sense of humor, for it threw her into an unexpected affiliation with the most notorious bad boy in Slytherin:

Mattheo fucking Riddle.

He, the embodiment of rebellion, was a stark contrast to her pristine existence. Mattheo's reputation preceded him: a Slytherin troublemaker, one who was almost always found in the midst of chaos. His devil-may-care attitude was a challenge to authority, and there was not one singular individual that could tie him down.

Yet, fate had woven their paths together, forcing the astute young witch to confront the complexity of human nature, unraveling layers of his defiance while simultaneously testing the boundaries of her own steadfast resolve.

And that witch; that poor fucking witch--well, that was you.

———

"Please, Riddle...if you'd take a seat," you ran your tongue along the backside of your teeth, straightening your posture in your chair as you tried to contain your irritation. "...I must express my desire to commence our endeavors prior to the conclusion of the academic term."

"Eager, are we?" Mattheo sneered, sauntering toward the desk painfully fucking slow. "You know, Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither is mastery. I'll sit when I'm fuckin' ready to sit."

His voice was low, the sadistic drawl of his tone making your bones ignite with fury. Gods, he certainly fucking loved testing you.

"And I won't tell you again...call me Mattheo."

You inhaled a sharp breath, flattening out your blue uniform skirt against your thighs as you bit your tongue hard enough to make it bleed.

"Rome may not have been built in a day, but it certainly collapsed in one--now, I won't ask again, Riddle..." you looked up, meeting his dark obsidian eyes, fighting back a sadistic smirk of your own as he narrowed his gaze in challenge. "Take. A. Seat."

The words were clipped behind your teeth with an obvious urgency that shut Mattheo up for a few seconds, the gears turning inside his head as he contemplated how he could one up your little jab--a constant occurrence that seemed to happen every single fucking time you met with him.

At this point, your tutor sessions were an easy seventy percent bickering with the remaining thirty being a half-assed session of one-sided discussion where he mostly offers you fleeting blank stares while zoning you out. You hated that you'd agreed to this, but you knew you needed to get on (and remain on) Professor Dumbledores good side if you wanted a career here at the school after you graduated--and you were so fucking hungry for it you'd do almost anything to solidify your fate.

Even if it meant surrendering your sanity to the hands of Mattheo fucking Riddle.

You chose not to let him, of all individuals, tarnish your path. Your reputation, fragile as it may have been, resembled a tinderbox, and he was the combustible element, ready to erupt at any given moment. This resolve became your steadfast anchor, shaping the direction of your choices.

"You know," Mattheo said as he finally slumped down into the chair across from you, his tousled brown hair falling effortlessly over his forehead. "I was under the impression that the brilliant Ravenclaws such as yourself valued intellect over impulsive haste..." he tilted his head, his gaze scanning every movement of your body as you stared at him. "It was my understanding that impatience was more of a Gryffindor trait."

Your fingers trembled with palpable irritation, yet you understood the imperative need to suppress it. You couldn't afford to reveal just how deeply he affected you, realizing that acknowledging it would subject you to endless taunts and jibes, a fate you were determined to avoid at any cost. This restraint became your shield in moments such as these.

"You wish to discuss house values, Riddle?" You tilted your head, straightening out your posture once again. "Because I, in complete honesty, was under the impression that Slytherins were known for their resourcefulness...your reluctance to cooperate suggests a rather curious lack of ambition."

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, his expression growing icier. "Resourcefulness doesn't mean blindly following every stupid instruction thrown at you, and ambition means choosing the battles worth fighting, not wasting time on pathetic, trivial matters."

With a subtle smirk, he leaned back, hooking his arm on the back of his chair as he eyed your discomfort--seemingly undisturbed by your challenge--and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, somehow knowing he wasn't finished.

And of course, he wasn't. "If you really believe this seemingly-stubborn insistence on when or if I sit reflects a lack of ambition, you clearly misunderstand the depths of Slytherin cunning. We pick our battles wisely, and right now, this isn't one of them."

Your blood pressure surged, the crimson currents in your veins reaching their boiling point. Months of enduring relentless bickering and one-upmanship had pushed you to the edge--this man may be an utter degenerate but he certainly knows how to use his mouth when it matters. You could no longer bear the weight of this incessant game, and in a fleeting moment of frustration, you finally succumbed to the pressure.

You knew this was your breaking point.

"I'm just trying to fucking help you." You said, before you even realized you had. You hardly ever cussed, never out loud--that is. "If you don't want to be here, then get out. I promise you, you won't be hurting my feelings if you do."

He huffed, leaning forward and crossing his hands together on top of the desk as he wet his stupidly plush lips, a devilish grin swallowing his cheeks while he revelled in the fact he'd so clearly fucking won. Yet again.

"No," he said. "I don't think I will."

You clucked your tongue, irritated even further at his response, gaze narrowing ever-so-slightly before you rolled your eyes--brushing off his suffocating arrogance and pulling your textbook out of your bag, slamming it down on top of the desk between your bodies.

"The Grimoire of Arcane Relics?" Mattheo read the title out loud, voice laced with a confused, almost offended undertone. "We don't cover this until the middle of second term..."

You cocked an eyebrow. "And?"

"Seems a bit...hasty, to shove this down my throat so early on," his voice carried a sadistic drawl that nearly made you leap across the desk and choke him unconscious. This man knew how to fucking test you. "Would it not be far more beneficial to proceed in the order the books are taught?"

You drew in another swift breath, the fabric of your navy robes clinging to your form, trembling fingers smoothing out any wrinkles on your button-up blouse as you adjusted it.

"I was unaware..." you said, not bothering to look up. "...that the individual I'd be tutoring this term was in fact a professor, and not a seventh year student..." you glimpsed him now, offering him merely but a slight tilt of your head as you watched his jaw tense. "...I must have been ill-informed, do pardon my ignorance."

"A moment of self-awareness? What a fucking breakthrough for you, Raven...pity it took you so long." He was clasping his hands together on top of the desk with enough force to involuntarily crack his knuckles. "Maybe there's hope for you yet, though I wouldn't hold my fucking breath."

"Please don't," you said, teeth gritting. "We wouldn't want to deprive your already-oxygen-starved brain of any more, now would we? It needs all the help it can get."

Mattheo's gaze sharpened, his lips curving into a teasing smirk, highlighting the scars that adorned them. The effect he had on you was undeniable, a sensation you longed to dismiss more than anything. However, with every passing moment in his presence, resisting the pull of attraction became an increasingly futile endeavour--yes, he was suffocatingly arrogant, but Gods, he was fucking attractive.

And he knew it.

"Quite the fucking mouth on you, I'll admit..." he dropped his voice to a low whisper, so deep it practically rattled your bones as it vibrated through you. "Never met a Ravenclaw with such an attitude problem...maybe I could tutor you on how to fix that issue, once we're done here, of course."

Your stomach twisted, heat spreading through your veins like wildfire. Curse him and his painstakingly arrogant charm. Curse him to bloody hell.

"It'd be a cold day in hell before I take any sort of guidance from you, Riddle..." you whispered, your voice accidentally reverberating as a seductive pitch. "And even then, I'd probably still refrain."

"You don't know when to shut the fuck up, do you?..." his eyes darkened, an evil mischief crawling its way through his irises. "What would daddy Dumbledore think about the way you're speaking to me, huh?"

Your heart stalled. "I-"

Your words faltered as Mattheo stood up, moving leisurely like a predatory creature circling its prey, until he was right beside you. His eyes, sharp as daggers, bored into your skull, and he loomed over you, a sadistic smirk twisting his lips into a cruel curve. The sight sent a shiver down your spine, knotting your stomach with an unsettling mix of fear and desire.

He placed a singular hand on your desk, leaning down closer to your level. "Perhaps I pay him a little visit...perhaps I tell him that you've been missing lessons, that you've been extremely unprofessional...perhaps I somehow fail my next exam...perhaps-"

"Okay, okay!" You panicked, cutting him off. "You've made your point, Riddle...I'm sorry, okay?" The words were fucking painful as you forced them past your teeth, and you swallowed your ego, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Let's just get this over with, please?"

Mattheo huffed, gratified by how effortlessly his threats appeared to compel your submission. The gears turned in his head as he grasped the extent of the power he truly wielded over you. He fully understood that your entire post-graduate career almost certainly depended on his decisions, and he was eagerly anticipating taking action.

"I like the way you say please..." his voice was breathless, his dark eyes consumed by something you couldn't really identify as he slumped down in the chair directly next to you, his sight never once leaving yours. "Do it again."

Your body tensed, immobilized as he inched closer, his penetrating eyes scrutinizing your features with intense focus. It was no secret that Mattheo had been oblivious to your existence until he was placed under your guidance--despite being the most popular Slytherin student in the school, you, a practically invisible Ravenclaw, were easy to overlook. It had taken him over three weeks to even remember your name, a fact he never bothered to acknowledge, let alone use.

But within that time frame, within the time you'd been tutoring him; as much as he drove you mentally fucking insane, you couldn't deny that every time he'd show up for lessons with torn knuckles, cut lips and alcohol radiating from his breath--you couldn't help but to feel something in the pit of your stomach.

Whether that sensation was disgust, arousal, or sheer terror, you couldn't quite pinpoint. It was a feeling that whispered in your veins, urging you to surrender to the dominance he held over you. It screamed for you to let him have his way without resistance, because just as he commanded your obedience, he wielded the same control over the entire damn school. The prospect of defying him felt like a dangerous game you weren't willing to play.

"Riddle-"

He tilted his head, his face dangerously close to yours now, his eyes peering into your soul as he stared. As he wet his lips, his breath turning shallow, you felt a feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, and one between your thighs as well.

"I said, do it again." His voice was a mere breath as it left his lips, his eyes studying you as though you were a page of a textbook. Not that he'd ever read one of those. "Go on, Raven...beg for me..."

Your breath hitched, and you involuntarily clutched the edges of the wooden chair between your fingers with an indescribable force. You didn't want to admit it--not to Mattheo, not to anyone really--but you were a virgin. You'd never even kissed a boy; your entire life was devoted to your studies...so this...this was extremely fucking new to you.

When you remained silent, Mattheo's eyes darkened even further, turning a shade of obsidian so intense they put even the stormiest midnight skies to shame.

"You want me to keep your perfect little reputation intact, hm?" He breathed, leaning closer. "You want me to help you stay on Dumbledores good side?"

Your throat was more arid than the desert, and you nodded, unable to blink--unable to peel your fucking eyes off of him.

"Then do as I say..." he murmured, a large battered hand finding purchase on your thigh, your entire body involuntarily flinching at the foreign contact. "I want to hear you, Raven."

You stared down at his hand resting lazily over the fabric of your blue uniform skirt--it's massive size swallowing up almost the entirety of your thigh, calloused palm catching on the pleats as it slid upwards, agonizingly slowly--and when he paused, stretching his fingers around the diameter of your thigh the best he could, fingers digging into your flesh as he squeezed; you gasped, involuntarily, and he huffed--bringing his lips dangerously close to your ear.

"One more chance..." he purred, and you could practically hear the smirk on his lips. "You won't like what'll happen-"

"Please!" You snapped, squeezing your thighs together out of pure desperation. "Please, Mattheo...please, let's just get this over with..."

"Mm." He hummed in satisfaction, slowly pulling his hand off of you. "That's fucking right..." he murmured, warm breath tickling your ear. "Nothing is sweeter than your submission, Raven."

You swallowed, not daring to look at him, nodding your head frantically in response as he pulled away, slumping back in the chair--not once peeling his eyes off of you, spreading his legs way-too-fucking wide as he made himself comfortable--he was silent, now, watching your chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, watching the way you squirmed in your chair at his sudden dominance--a dominance that had an effect on you that you couldn't even begin to describe.

And then, before you could even realize what was happening, Mattheo leaned back in, his fingers gripping your jaw and tilting your face towards his--and as you meet his dark, intoxicating eyes, your lungs stalled, entire body shrinking in your seat as he stared at you with such intensity that you felt like he could see right through you.

"From now on, I'm in charge here," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "Understand?"

You swallowed the lump of anxiety in your throat, and watched his darkened amber eyes as they glanced over your lips, lingering there for far too long, before returning back up to meet your gaze--something swimming in his irises that made your stomach twist.

When you were silent, he tilted his head, cocking an eyebrow. "Use your words, Raven..."

"Yes." You squeaked, voice barely audible. "I understand."

He hummed, a devilish smirk crawling across his lips, fingers digging into your jaw with added pressure as he pulled you closer, lips so close you'd touch with a deep enough breath.

"Understand, what?" He breathed, eyes dipping over your lips yet again. "Say my fucking name."

"Mattheo..." you couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could only obey his words as though he was controlling you like a puppet on strings. "I understand, Mattheo."

He huffed, smirking. "Good girl, Raven..." his voice was a mere breath as it left his lips, his full lashes fluttering as he blinked, meeting your eyes. "You learn so quickly...I should have done this months ago..."

When he pulled back, slowly releasing you, air slowly returned to your lungs; not enough to rid the dizziness from your brain but just enough to keep you conscious. Mattheo turned toward the desk now, as though nothing even happened, gesturing for you to start the lesson.

And somehow, you did.

—————-

Chapter two->

#smut #fanfic #severus #severus snape #harry potter #professor snape #severus smut #severus x y/n #draco fanfic #lucius malfoy #mattheoxreader #mattheoriddlesmut #mattheo riddle #mattheo #mattheo riddle smut #mattheoriddle #mattheo smut #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #riddle smut #Tom riddle #tomriddlesmut #theodore nott smut #theodore nott #tomriddle #theoriddlesmut #theoriddle #tomriddle smut #tomriddle x reader #lucius malfoy x reader

[rosebudfics]

Professor!reader and severus being married but hiding it from the students, bc they dont want the gossip and are just private people in general BUT one day sev forgets to take off his wedding ring and the golden trio go on this whole mission to find out who hes married to; completely freaking out when it turns out hes with reader cause theyre complete opposites while teaching

(Sorry if this is too long or doesnt make sense :^ i had this scenario in my head for some time lol)

Secret Lovers

Severus Snape x Professor! Reader

Warnings: use of the name "git" a lot lol, reader is the astronomy teacher but you can swap it out for any class, Snape smacks Ron and Harry

A/N: I LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH OMG!?!?!?! also this isnt really set in any specific year but its more leaning towards where theyre older since snape you know.. hits ron and harry over the head and harry has the map <3

You and Severus had managed to keep your relationship secret for a couple years now, with the exception of only Minerva and Dumbledore knowing.

Why does anyone else need to know anyway? It was none of their business!

So one regular morning when you and Sev were getting ready for the day in the early hours of the morning, he had somehow forgotten to take his golden band off. You both would usually keep them in a little ring box at home so they were hidden but safe and put them back on at night, but today Severus had just forgotten to take it off.

You would bid your goodbyes at home before you left together, getting one last kiss in before heading back to Hogwarts, then Severus would put his usual cold face back on.

You both headed to your classrooms like normal, Severus still failing to notice the wedding band still on his finger.

When classes started, everything was going how it usually would: he would deduct house points, snapping at kids whenever they would interrupt his teaching, etc. That is until Hermione noticed a particular shine off her teachers hand.

Hermione looked closer before very quietly gasping. "Holy cricket!" She whispered so only Harry and Ron could hear her.

“What?” Ron asked curiously but not very quietly, earning the attention of Severus.

“On Professor Snape’s hand, he was wearing a wedding ring!” She said in a hushed voice.

“You must be crazy Herminone, there's no way that he’s married to someone.” Harry chuckled.

“Yeah, no ones gonna want to let alone be in any relationship with that old git-” Ron was interrupted by getting smacked over the head by Severus, followed up by Harry getting smacked as well.

Hermione just kept quiet, keeping her giggle to herself.

“Would you mind repeating yourself Mr. Weasley?” Severus sneered down at him.

“...no, sorry.” Ron grumbled.

“Mhm. 5 points from Gryffindor, and that's me being generous.”

After class, Ron, Hermione, and Harry all gathered at the library at break. “Are you sure you saw a ring, Hermione? Was it even on his ring finger?” Harry asked as he sat down some books in front of him.

“I'm certain! The real question is though, to who?” Hermione thought for a minute.

“Harry, why can't we just use your cloak to spy on him?” Ron questioned like it was obvious.

“Brilliant!” Harry exclaimed but Hermione smacked him in the arm.

“That's invading his privacy! It's terribly rude.” She scoffed.

Ron then mocked her, earning a smack. After a while of begs and pleas, she finally caved.

“Alright, alright!” She sighed.

They then all made their way back to the dorm to get everything they needed. Harry also grabbed the Marauders Map so it would be easier to find Snape. And then off they went on their little adventure to hunt down his wife.

They had to do some weaving and dodging to not bump into anyone (they bumped into Neville at some point, terrifying him) until they made it to the staff room. Harry looked down at his map to find Snape and you, they're astronomy teacher, alone.

“What are Professor Snape and Professor y/n doing together?” Ron asked in a confused voice.

Harry hushed him and then looked into the keyhole to find Snape and you talking to eachother.

“Are you sure no one saw the ring?” you asked again.

“Yes, dear, I am sure of it.” Snape said in a somewhat annoyed tone. “If someone did see it, I would be getting hounded with questions!”

“Yeah well not if all the students are terrified of you!” you sighed. “Look I'm not mad, I don't want you to think that, it's just we've gone this long keeping it secret it feels weird to just slip up like this”

Severus stepped towards you and grabbed your face in his hands. “Listen love, no one will know. Maybe in the future we can be more open about it.” He then bent down and kissed her gently, and you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer.

Harry gasped quietly and backed up. He was about to say something before he heard footsteps walking towards the door. “We gotta get outta here!”

They all then scurried off down the hall back to the dormitory.

“Harry, what did you see? What were they doing in there?” Ron asked.

“Its professor y/n, that's who he's married to!” Harry was slightly out of breath from running.

“Professor y/n?? But they're so.. so different!” Hermione was shocked.

“You must be seeing things mate, there's NO way Proffesor y/n is married to the old git.” Ron scoffed.

“I'm telling you! They were talking about how he had forgotten to take his ring off or something and then they kissed!” Harry gushed.

They then talked about why you would ever want to marry Snape for the rest of break. Interestingly enough they next class was with you!

Since you were an extremely nice and open teacher, they felt more comfortable talking to you about it.

"So professor y/n, have you been seeing anyone lately?" Ron asked before class actually started.

You were caught off guard to say the least. "Well... I dont really see how my romantic life concerns any of you," you laugh whole heartedly.

Ron then smirked. "You never denied it. Perhaps another Proffesor that teaches here!" Hermione pinched his side as a warning to shut up.

"I don't know what your getting at, Ron" you chuckle becoming a little worried.

"Well the man I'm thinking of is a mean, old, cranky git that likes potions-"

"Thats enough! You don't ever talk about another Proffesor like that!" You scolded him.

"Alright, sorry proffesor... but im right, aren't i?" Ron smirked.

Harry and Hermione perked up to listen.

You sighed, before making sure that no other student or teacher was around, nd then said "You must not tell anyone."

#severus snape x reader #pro snape #professor snape #severus snape #snape #snape fandom #snapedom #snape x you #snape x reader #snape x y/n #severus x you #severus x reader #severus x y/n

[devourable]

you swear to god that professor cygnus had it out for you. he’d always call you out for being distracted in his class, give you the harshest marks on your tests, pushed you the hardest during recital practice. things he never did to the other students.

it was like he had made it his mission to make your life awful, so long as he was in it.

you had enough one day. so just before classes started, you approached him to ask why. why did he treat you the way he did? what exactly did you do to deserve the treatment he was throwing your way? you thought you were a good student, and you were respectful enough, did you do something to upset him?

sterling tried, he really did. but he couldn't stand that look on your face. you really didn't know what you did to him? what you were doing to him now? he had to take it out on you. you needed to learn just how fucking crazy you made him.

you really didn’t expect to end up bent over his desk, desperately clutching at the edge of it, getting rutted into from behind so hard that you swore he was trying to fuck you through your clothes. you could feel every rock hard inch straining under his pants, forcefully pressed against your ass while one of his hands pushed you harder against the desktop, every movement sending stationary clattering to the ground.

you drove him crazy, he’d huff in your ear, it was your own fault. he had no choice but to be harder on you. you came to his class every day, acting all innocent, like you didn't know that he struggled to do his job with you around. and here you came, asking why he treated you the way he did?

he hated you, he hissed. he hated how he couldn't get you off his fucking mind.

you were lucky he had enough sense not to cross the line by fucking you senseless right on his desk. god, how he wanted but you knew this wouldn't be the end of it — he sent you off with a slap to your ass and a heated look in his eye just before the rest of his students began filing into the room, leaving you both hot and unsatisfied.

you left on shaky legs, shying away from the curious glances of your peers whilst professor c. returned right to his cool, unbreakable demeanor, hoping that the flush in his face and the hard-on he hid under his desk went unnoticed.

#older!au #older!sterling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x oc #yandere imagines #yandere boy #yandere boy x reader #yandere oc #yandere professor #just smth small to try and get myself back in a write-y mood #yandere nsft headcanons #yandere smut #yandere nsft #xv ;; the devil — my writing #🪶 sterling c. ;; the prodigy

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | five

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: you and your professor enjoy a day in new york. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, oral [m receiving], a smidge of cock worship, spoilers for antony and cleopatra by shakespeare lol, flirting, these fuckos kinda go on a date, prof joel is man of the arts idgaf, a tlou2 easter egg, oral [f receiving] and then oral [f receiving] again, sex acts in public, jealousy, sexting/nudes, unprotected piv sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, light choking, overstimulation [f], pain kink, kinda dom!joel, describing men as pretty and beautiful because I LIKE IT, soft!joel. word count: 8.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: so this whole thing is almost entirely sucking fucking and flirting, and i hope you enjoy it before we encounter angst. all credit to willy shakes for the passage from A&C that joel reads in the opening scene. thanks king for inspiring the title of this series lol xo this is part five of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four.

Sunday.

The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.

Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin.  And there’s a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm – soft in its caress, like the trail of a lover’s fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.

Another page turns.

 You tilt your head to the side, eyes open a mere crack, and smile at the secrecy of it. At the private sincerity of this man who lies awake, sporting nothing but the thin veil of a sheet, gaze fierce and focused on an endless stream of text that raps his attention. It’s a type of heaven for him, you realise. This resting place, as calm and tranquil it is. The only weight that bears down is in the place where his wrist bends, hand coiled around the spine of a book, fingers poised, flicking impatiently against the corner of a page, begging to turn it, to see more.

You take in every ripple of muscle, every dip and curve and freckle and scar. The jut of his elbow. The hard line of his jaw. Watch pink lips part and purr as he whispers the words on the page to himself, and think about how perfect that mouth felt between your thighs.

His fingers pinch the corner of a page, pressing it down into a dog ear before he moves onto the next. You wonder what piqued his interest, what collection of words made him want to mark it, to leave a trail for himself to come back one day and remember.

You break the silence finally. “What are you reading?”

Joel flinches, glasses jolting to the tip of his nose.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” you hum. When he stares at you for a moment you just smile, snaking a hand out from the sheet to tap the page of his book. “Tell me.” 

“Shakespeare,” he murmurs, a faint blotch of red rising at the base of his neck. You want to kiss that blush—taste it. Want to know if his skin smells like you. “Antony and Cleopatra.”

“I love that one,” you yawn. “Where are you up to?”

 “Act five,” he says. “Cleopatra’s big scene.”

“Will you read it to me?” you smirk.

There’s an upward shift of an eyebrow. The spark of a curious glint in his eye. 

“Really?” he drawls, unimpressed.

“Please?” your smile softens into something kind, something honest.

With a sharp sigh, and a quick adjustment of his glasses, Joel begins to read.

“Give me my robe, put on my crown,” he begins slowly, as if unsure. “I have immortal longings in me: now no more. The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist his lip: yare, yare, good Iras; quick.”

His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.

“Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act. I hear some mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come. Now to that name my courage prove my title.”

His hair is a mess. A shock of greying curls that have flattened against his scalp after a night of being pressed into his pillow, threatening to spring up again. That dull pain flares in your core again and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. But something stirs there—low, prowling just behind the pain. Something wet and wild that whispers his name. 

“I am fire and air,” Joel continues obliviously, licking his thumb to turn the page with ease. “My other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done?”

Slowly, listening—hanging—you shift against the mattress. Allow the sheet to fall down to your stomach, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Your nipples stiffen, chest tightening as he glances at them from the corner of his eye. He pauses, mouth ajar. Swallows. Brown eyes return to the page, and he continues to read.

“Come then, and take the last warmth from my lips.”

Your hand drifts across the mattress, hidden from sight as it traverses the soft plains of the sheets, the blankets, and then the skin of his thigh. Bare, but smattered with soft hairs that tickle your palm and fingertips. Goosebumps tear across his skin and his breathing hitches; the faintest cracks in his calm façade. You surpass where you can see him hardening, fingers floating up his side to rest against his stomach. Gently, you feel across the soft slopes and curves of his tummy. Glide your finger over the dip of his belly button and smile when he clears his throat, legs shifting in a restless dance. And then your hand shifts down. Past his happy trail, past the dark curls at his base, to wrap your fingers softly around his length.  

“Farewell, kind Charmian,” Joel’s voice deepens. “Iras, long farewell.”

You lower yourself on the bed, dragging the sheets with you until they rest wayward and wrinkled around his knees. Your cheek nuzzles against his thigh as you stroke him, humming in delight as his cock stiffens in your palm.

Joel sighs. “You don’t have to—”

“Keep going,” you hush, glancing up. He watches you over the top of his glasses, gaze darkening. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and it’s so soft, so domestic, it almost hurts. You look down, simpering as you admire the sight of his cock, now fully hard and leaking in your grasp.

The head is swollen, a flushed shade so reminiscent to that of his lips that you want to kiss him. But his skin is warm and smooth, like silk as you nuzzle his length against your face. Feel his wetness streak across your skin, over the closed line of your lips, the apple of your cheek. “Joel,” you urge him quietly when he still doesn’t speak.

“Have I the aspic in my lips?” His voice is hoarse when he continues; wanton, rough with sleep and desire. “Dost fall?”

You lathe soft kisses against the tip, along the vein that pulses along the side of his shaft, against the tight swell of his balls, taking your time with him. You giggle when he sucks in a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your cheek.

“Such a pretty cock,” you whisper, swiping your fingers over his weeping head.

“Yeah?” he exhales and drops the book against his stomach, fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Gonna show me how much you like it?”

“Mhm,” you bat your eyelashes up at him.

Joel raises the book again, slowly, eyes unfocused and glassy but still watching—still devouring—the way your lips purse around his tip. His stomach tightens when your tongue leaves soft kitten licks against the slit, lapping at the salty precome that rests there.

“If thou and nature,” he murmurs. “Can so gently part.”

And it’s almost painful, the way he sounds. Exhalations of tragic Shakespeare mixed with soft gasps, with curses loosed beneath his breath. The occasional revered whisper of your name, spurring you on.

His free hand settles at the back of your head, thick fingers curling in your hair as your lips part to take him deeper inside your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, hips shifting against the mattress. “That’s it, baby, god you’re good at that.”

You hum around the weight of him, stomach warming at the praise. Swirl your tongue generously around his girth, lathing saliva over his skin until it’s dripping down to his balls. You cup them gently in your palm, massage him as your lips drag to rest around his tip again, paying close attention to the way he gasps and sighs when the point of your tongue dances along the ridge at the underside of his head.

“Sensitive there?” you ask quietly, eyes flitting up to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows furrowed as he nods.

“S’good,” he confirms, fingers tightening in your hair as you rub that spot again. A fresh bead of precome oozes from his slit and you smile, fingers curling around his length to tap his tip against the flat of your tongue. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, good girl.”

You shift down on him eagerly, letting the heavy weight of him slip against your tongue, inside the warmth of your mouth, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat and you can hear him moaning.

“Got the prettiest fuckin’ mouth, baby,” Joel whispers. “S’like a fuckin’ dream, seeing those lips on my cock again.”

You whimper and swallow around him. A tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, trailing a shiny path down to your chin. In steady, measured movements, your head bobs up and down on his length, guided by the gentle press of his hand.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Take it all, baby, yea—yes.”

You relax your throat and take him deep enough to feel your nose brush against the rough hairs at his base.

“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,” he reads, the cadence of his words stilted and breathy. “Which hurts, and is desired.”

Suddenly, his hips jut upward and you gag, throat constricting around him until your eyes are wet and blurry. He tugs gently on your hair, pulling you backward until you part from him with a splutter, messy strings of saliva dangling between your swollen mouth and his cock.

“God damn,” he swipes a finger across your lower lip. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. So so good."

You think your eyes water more at that. Sweetheart.

“I want it,” you slur, lids heavy as you make eye contact with him.

“What do you want?” he pushes, cupping your jaw in his large palm. “Tell me.”

“Want you to come in my mouth,” your face warms and you lick your lips, fingers stroking him slowly. “Want all of it.” Everything.

“Okay,” Joel soothes, and then his hand drops from your hair so he can grip himself. Gently, he glides the tip along your bottom lip, trailing his salt across the skin of your chin, your cheeks, your nose, before finally pressing the head back against your tongue. “Take it, come on. It’s yours.” 

He presses between your lips, jaw tensing, and his eyes drift back to the book as you begin to move.

“Dost thou lie still?” he reads. “If thus thou vanishes, thou—Christ—thou tell’st the world.”

Your lips are tight around him, mouth sucking and moving in tandem with the strokes of your fingers, wrapped loosely around his base. Carefully, you shift to straddle his shins, forearms resting heavily against his thighs as you bring him to the brink of his orgasm. Yours.

“Fuck,” you hear him spit, and then he’s arching forward, the splay of his palm moving down the length of your spine until his fingers slip into the crevice between your ass cheeks. Gripping and squeezing the flesh there until you’re moaning too, the vibrations of your voice muddling with the wet sounds of your mouth against his cock. 

It doesn’t take much longer for coherent thought to evade him, Antony and Cleopatra flung to the wayside of the bed as his broad hands cradle your head, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. Your entire body is hot, slick with sweat, the musky scent of Joel filling your nostrils with every rushed inhale. The sounds he’s making turn rougher, deeper; raspy grunts and exhales that are almost animalistic in their intensity, and then—

“Fuckin—look at me,” he bites out, and watery eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I fill you up.”

And fuck you’re wet. So wet that it’s seeping onto the skin of your thighs, drooling out of you as you clench around sweet sweet nothing, cunt desperate and begging to be filled again. Tightening your fingers around his cock, you drag your mouth back to suck gently around the pulsating head, and when he comes it’s with a drawn-out, laboured groan that fades into harsh mutterings of your name and fuck and so fuckin’ good at that god damnit and that’s it, swallow it all baby, it’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

You pull off him with a gasp, sucking in deep desperate breaths as you fall onto your back beside him.

Soft sheets stick to the sweat on your skin, and you close your eyes, vaguely aware of how the two of you breathe in sync; a high-strung cacophony of sharp inhales and heavy exhales.

After a few quiet moments you ask, “What time is it?”

“Eighty thirty,” he answers. The mattress jostles and tilts as his large frame shifts on it.

“Probably time to start the day,” you grumble, throat raw and tired.

But you can feel hands on your waist, nudging you backward until your head is slumped amongst the soft pillows again. And when your eyes peak open Joel is getting comfortable between your legs, glasses forgotten somewhere out of sight, hands pressing your thighs into the mattress to reveal your glistening sex to him.

And he says, “No,” shaking his head slowly, near-black eyes piercing as his lips lower to meet your cunt. “Not yet.”

You were unsure, initially, whose idea it was.

Unsure of who spoke first; if you or him brought up the idea of the museum. Unsure if he mentioned the bookstore or you mentioned The Iliad. Unsure, unsure, unsure.  

But as you stand on the outskirts of Central Park—showered, dressed, sure—eyes scanning the front window of the shop, the glass overflowing with newspaper cuttings and novel covers and author profiles and ads for signings – you are certain that it was him. Certain that he asked what your plans were for the day, head resting on your thigh, lips and beard still glistening with your come. Certain that you mentioned going to the museum, and that those brown eyes lit up, mouth splitting into a smile as he revealed that he had plans close by. Certain that he introduced the idea of going together.

A bell tinkles and your gaze sharpens, watching as his broad frame slips out the door with a brown paper bag tucked under his armpit. Joel ticks his head wordlessly to the side and you fall into step next to him, two sets of shoes scuffing against the pavement in a perfect rhythm. 

“Can I see it?” you ask, eyes roaming curiously around the street.

“Sure,” Joel holds the bag out and you take it carefully, fingers peeling back paper so you can take a peak inside.

“The cover is beautiful,” you breathe, fingers tracing vibrant swaths of gold and red, the white lettering that spells The Iliad. You balance the spine in your palm, curious to flick through to the first page. To see the acknowledgements, her author photo, anything. And as your eyes skirt over the very first page your feet stutter to a stop, pulse increasing as you spot the black marker on the page. A messily scrawled signature.

“Joel.”

Joel says your name, pausing a few steps ahead before turning back to face you. “What’s wrong?” he frowns.

You hold up the page, brows lifted in awe. “She… how did you get a signed copy?”

“We’ve met a few times in passing,” he admits sheepishly, eyes glancing between the book and your face. “I’ve always admired her work, and she offered to set a copy aside for me here. She’s very impressive, the first woman to—”

“The first woman to publish an English translation of The Odyssey,” you interrupt. “Yeah, Joel, I know exactly who Emily Wilson is.”

“And now she’s published The Iliad,” he hums. You begin walking again, the museum in sight now. “I’m lookin’ forward to readin’ it. Especially now that I’ve heard all your thoughts about how women and men translate differently. I’m sure it’ll be on my mind as I go.”

The skin on your face prickles and tightens under his attention. You’re still smiling, a wide and satisfised flash of your teeth, when the two of you reach The Met. Still smiling when he pays for your tickets and leads you toward the Cloisters.

You wander together through the exhibit. Medieval, Bohemian, Byzantine. Jean Pucelle, Robert Campin, Tilman. You catch Joel staring at the Bust of the Virgin, one hand on his hip, knee jutted out as he admires her elegance, the tenderness with which her face was carved.

“You like her?” you tease.

His shoulders stiffen and then relax into a sort of indignant laugh.

“I like terracotta,” he smarts, reaching out to pinch your forearm. When he pulls his hand away you see his eyes dart over your shoulder – a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed.

“Oh of course,” you nod, a mock serious expression on your face. “Me too. Terracotta virgins.”

“You know,” he huffs, turning to face you head on. “You oughta start showin’ me a bit of respect. Where’s your reverence for an authority figure, huh?”

“Authority?” your eyes widen, smirking broadly as you take a step forward, the material of your jacket brushing against his. “And what authority might that be?”

“I could fail you,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Tell everyone you’re the worst student I ever had. Never does as she’s told, always talkin’ back.”

“Oh, Professor,” you whisper back, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, your snark emboldened by his. “I hate to say it, but you’re not very convincing in your distaste.”

You don’t wait around to see his reaction, turning on your heel and heading into the next room. Your cheeks are sore from smiling at the end of it, eyes tired from reading, and then you reach the courtyard gardens. See the cloisters. See the Romanesque columns with their fluting grooves that lead into arches, see the vast green garden with its flowers of yellow and pink and purple. Herbs and flora border the walking paths, filling the air with the scent of thyme and rosemary, and you can’t help but grin.

“Not bad right?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Not bad at all,” you turn to smile at him. “Would’ve been cooler if they had some dinosaur bones around here though. A museum should always have a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur,” he repeats, quietly amused. “Of course, you like dinosaurs.”

“I thought, uh,” Joel clears his throat then. Glances away for a second. “Thought you might like it here; that it might remind you of your time in Greece.”

The words make your chest go all warm and tight. He looks so handsome, so easy in the middle of it all. Dark features and broad shoulders softened by the smell of flowers.

“It does,” you nod. “A little bit.”

“What was it like?” he asks.

“Greece was…” you trail off as you remember it. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, boreks and Doric columns, seemingly endless nights spent translating sheets and sheets and sheets of ancient texts. “It was wonderful, really. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity, and Professor Samaras was a phenomenal instructor.”

Joel nods, fingers looped and resting across his stomach as he digests your answer.

“Good,” is the response he settles on, finally. “I’m glad. You… you deserve that. You work hard, and your presentation was solid.”

And it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but those words bring you calm now, not frustration like they did last night. So you smile, and thank him, and don’t stop yourself from asking him something in return.

“Have you really never been?” you ask, eyes squinting inquisitively as you watch his face, searching the emotions that flitter across it – near impossible to decipher, as always. “You said you weren’t interested, that first night when we spoke about it… but I would’ve thought… I don’t know, maybe a semester abroad or… or a fellowship?”

“Never,” he looks away. “Always too little time, too little money, too many responsibilities.”

You nod slowly, watch him curiously. You wish you could peel back his skin and see inside of that gorgeous brain, that heart. Understand every trouble, every missed opportunity that weighs on his shoulders.

“There’s still time,” you offer. “You’ve got so much time, Joel.”

Joel looks at you and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful for the words. See that the earnestness with which you speak brings him some kind of solace, some kind of hope.

His fingers graze the skin of your wrist, curling around it to hold you in place beside him. Your body stills, eyes training carefully on the garden; the green of the grass, the pink of the flowers that bloom amongst it all. One of his fingers searches the skin at the inside of your wrist, swiping and rubbing over the tendons and veins there until he finds where your lifeline pulses. And then he strokes that spot, a calm, meticulous glide of his fingertip, over where blood thrums and rushes inside your body.

The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you don’t stop him. Don’t pull your hand away, don’t take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighs—the soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage.  

“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.

And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.

Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me here—now—I wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand won’t wander, won’t stray, I’ll take it in my own and show you where to touch.

So you lead him back inside. Quiet, discreet, slipping past patrons and staff and guards until you find a bathroom. Tuck him inside and smile at the snap of the lock shifting into place behind you.

Joel’s knees meet tile with a soft thud, and dark eyes hold yours as he peels your trousers down, as he drags the slick fabric of your underwear to the side, as he presses the soft cut of his mouth between your legs. He watches you, steadfast, cheeks ablaze and pupils blown as his tongue works you open, calloused fingers holding your left thigh over his shoulder. 

And after you’ve come, face pinched and hidden behind your palm, he pulls away. Skirts wet kisses down the inside of your thigh, against the shell of your kneecap, to the bruise that colours your shin.

And he whispers, “Does it hurt?” with his fingers tracing tender splotches of purple and blue.

And you whisper, “No.” with your fingers brushing the curls off his forehead.

Afterwards you walk through the park, pressing through streams of tourists and locals alike; a lively crowd that parts and flurries around the two of you as you push forward. He fields your questions about Emily Wilson, about the years he spent doing his PhD, parrying seamlessly with queries about the West coast, about your undergrad, your roommates.

The bubble doesn’t break until Joel gets the text. Cursing softly, he turns away from you, eyes focused on his screen.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, yes,” Joel says, fingers flying across the touch screen, typing out a response before he tucks his phone away. “I, uh, look I actually forgot that I have somethin’ I need to do tonight.”

“Sounds mysterious,” you smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. But your smile wavers when he doesn’t match your teasing, face relaxing as you wait.

“Rachel and I planned this dinner a few weeks ago,” he explains. “When we both agreed to attend the conference.”

“Oh,” you blink. “That’s nice.”

“It’s this thing we do,” Joel offers, shifting on his feet. “A tradition, I suppose. To celebrate another conference done.” And you remember, I’ve been to twenty of the damn things. His twenty to your one.

“That’s nice,” you repeat, and hold your smile when he checks his phone again.   

Hold it when he tells you he should go, that he needs to get ready to meet her. Hold it when he hesitates, staring at you for a moment. Hold it when he presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head, lips meeting your temple, the weakest point of your skull, before turning to walk away from you.

Only when you’re alone do you let the smile fall.

After a lonely dinner, you find yourself back in your hotel room, thinking about Rachel.

Folding your blue dress into a neat square, and then a smaller square. Tucking it into your duffel bag, thinking about the rough sound of her laugh. The soft curve of her jaw, the sparkling greys that curl through her dark hair. You fold your underwear, pack that too, and think of her fluorescent toenails and her dangling earrings. Think of how sure she is; how intelligent, how charismatic. And then you think of yesterday – of her hand on Joel’s arm, soft fingers curling around the sleeve of his blazer, carting him around the conference. Leading him. Standing by his side, making him laugh.

And it burns, this hot feeling in your chest. Something dark green and scalding, fiery enough that you feel the need to sit on the edge of the bed and press your palm against the skin above your breast to tamp it down. Feel your heartbeat there, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and tell yourself that this feeling is cruel and unforgiving but that it is wrong. You lay out your clothes for the airport, wrap yourself up in the coarse hotel robe and push away the images your mind creates of them at dinner together. Push away the thought of her foot nudging his beneath the table, the thought of them sitting beside each other, thighs brushing like yours had on the bench last night. Because it’s wrong. Joel isn’t like that. Joel wouldn’t do that.

When Nora calls, you pick up on the second ring.

“How did it go?” she squeals, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice.

“It was good,” you respond. “I feel good about it. Glad it’s over though.”

“You never answered my text—" the line crackles a little, muffling the last word of her sentence. “I was worried something bad might’ve happened.”

“Fuck,” you apologise. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I—I got caught up with something, I… I wasn’t looking at my phone.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. Another fried, crackle over the line.

“Oh you cheeky bitch,” she gasps then. “You could’ve just said you were getting some!”

“Nora—” you try, stomach dropping.

“Who the fuck was it?” she continues eagerly. You can almost picture the way her eyes would widen if she were here with you, hands clenched excitedly at her sides as she pushes for all the gory details. “Was it someone from the conference? Oh my god, was it someone from UNE?”

“No, no,” you rush, feeling an anxious heat rise in your chest. “It was just a random guy, we… I met him at a bar afterwards, it’s no one from Maine. No one from the conference.”

Another pause.

“And?” she asks finally. “How was it?”

You consider her question for a moment. Remember the way he undressed you in the dim light of his hotel room – slow, cautious. Remember the way he looked at you. Those dark brown eyes feasting over every inch of flesh, every mark, every freckle, every scar. The feeling of his hands on your breasts, his bare chest against yours as he pressed inside of you.

Quietly, earnestly, you say, “It was amazing,” and smile when she hollers down the line.

And this feeling is so much kinder, you think. The relief and the warmth that comes with being able to tell someone. To talk about him, even if you’re not really talking about him. Even if she can’t really know the truth.

You put her on speaker, still listening and laughing as she rattles off question after question. Did he go down on you? How big was he? Wait he was older?! You bitch! How old?! That’s hot. Fuck, I need to get laid.

“You really do,” you chuckle, laying down against the pillows and typing out a text to Joel.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

He replies within minutes.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

“Hey Nora?” you interrupt. “I actually need to go.”

“Oh,” she huffs. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re gonna go get fucked again. Good for you bitch.”

“I love you,” you laugh, already typing out a response to him. “See you tomorrow when I get home.”

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

You watch the text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear over three times before it vanishes completely. Minutes go by; maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and then—

Show me.

Grinning, you loosen the tie around your robe to reveal a flash of the skin across your chest; the curve of your left breast, the peak of your nipple. Take a picture and make sure he can see your finger snagged between your lips, resting against the softness of your tongue.

For a moment you worry. Feel a spike of fear in your chest that if you send it someone else might catch a glimpse of his screen – that Rachel might see it. But then another text comes through, and you feel that fear melt into a warm pool of liquid.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

So you do. You click send and wait, teeth catching against the nail on your thumb.

The response is almost instant.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am

Are you touching yourself?

No

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

You send him the address of your hotel. Call the lobby and tell them to let him up. And when he arrives, you’re waiting for him on the balcony. You hear the heavy pad of his footsteps crossing the room, and then the slide of the glass door. Feel the broad span of his chest press against your back; outstretched fingers that glide around the curve of your waist to settle over your stomach.

Joel doesn’t say a word, nosing at the frizzled kinks of hair at the base of your neck. One of his hands drifts upward, fingers curling beneath the neckline of your robe, just grazing the curve of your breast. You let your eyes fall closed and think this feels like coming home.  Think, if this moment could last for hours, for days, for ever, that would be enough, and I’d never ask for another thing. Think, where have I been all of my life, and why was it not here with him?

You say, “Let’s go inside,” as he touches your nipple, and feel him shake his head.

“No,” he says. Presses his hips against your ass, rough denim brushing the backs of your knees. “Want you here.” 

You start to say Someone might see, but Joel pushes you forward again and your stomach presses against railing. Your eyes dart down toward the street, the road. To cars and pedestrians and tourists. 

“You don’t want that?” his lips brush the side of your neck as he speaks, the softest pressure. He tugs at your robe, guiding it down past your shoulders, elbows, until it pools around your feet. “Don’t want them to see us together?”

“That’s not—” you gasp as his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, hot tongue gliding over already bruising flesh. “Fuck, Joel.”

He groans against your skin, lathing wet kisses past your neck to the top of your spine. His hands are on your waist and your stomach and your tits and his jeans chafe against your bare ass, zipper catching every now and then. But your mind is hazy, a blur of thoughts that can only focus on the feeling of teeth and lips, on something long and firm pressing through the material of his pants, rutting slowly against you. 

“You’re hard already,” you breathe, surprised—delighted.

Joel grunts, distracted. “Been hard since you sent me that picture.”

A shaky breathes leave your lips as his hand skirts down your stomach, your hipbones, until his fingers slip past the glistening seam of your cunt – tender and swollen and aching. 

“But that’s what you wanted, hmm?” he rasps. You whimper as his fingers circle over your entrance, collecting your slick and dragging it upward. A flinch rips through you when he touches your clit, the nerves fraught after being given so much attention throughout the day. “You like knowin’ how much I want you? How badly? You like that I’d leave dinner early just to come here and fuck you?”

Face on fire, you nod; caught out. And then he takes another step forward, bending you further over the railing and pressing himself against you, hard enough that you can feel his cock between your ass cheeks, denim scraping the sensitive skin there.

“That is how much I want you. All the fuckin’ time,” he says. “Get it?” 

“Joel,” you stutter urgently, voice almost a squeak. Your thighs shake, knees close to buckling as his finger rubs slow circles against your clit. “S’too—fuck, Joel, it’s too sensitive.” It burns, too much – but his touch only serves to stoke the fire in your belly until it’s a roaring, raging thing, begging for more of too much. 

“I know, honey,” he groans, and you think you can hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. “You sore?”

When you don’t answer immediately Joel’s fingers still, body straightening as if he’s about to stop, about to pull away.

“Don’t,” you say quickly. “Just—”

“M’not goin’ anywhere,” Joel hushes. “Does it hurt?”

You hesitate, stomach tightening when his fingers start to move again. “It’s… yeah a little, but it’s…”

“But you like it? Like it when it hurts a little?” he fills the silence, and you can hear the change in his voice. Hear how it deepens, a gravelly effect that has your cunt tightening. You cringe, turn your head to the side in the hopes that he won’t see your reaction. But he doesn’t let it slide. Of course not. “Talk to me.”  

“Yeah, yes, I like it,” you admit, exhaling a relieved sigh when you hear his belt hit the ground.

“Good,” he says, and then you can feel him, hot silken skin on your own, the wet glide of his cock against your ass check.

His knuckles brush against you as he adjusts himself, and the weight of his tip at your opening is not unlike the brush of his fingers along your bruised shin. Tender, careful – the touch of someone that would never hurt you. Not unless you asked him to.

When Joel rocks his hips forward, cock splitting you open around his weight, the stretch is long and deep. A sweet, searing burn that has you balancing on the tips of your toes, mouth hanging open as you grip the railing and take it. The night air is cool against your skin, but warm hands land firm on your hips, thumbs circling and rubbing away the goosebumps there

“God,” he grunts into the hinge of your jaw, teeth nipping at the muscle there. “You’re so wet, so needy. Want this cock all the time, don’t you?”   

You can only moan in response – a choked, whimper of a noise that scratches its way out of your throat as he bottoms out. His thighs are warm and thick against yours, body practically moulding itself to you as you squirm, cunt pulsing around the thick length of him.

He gives you a moment to adjust, waits to feel you relax against him, and then he’s moving. Slow, powerful thrusts that have you feeling him in your stomach, and wishing you could see his face. Wishing you could watch his nose scrunch up, his lips curl into a snarl as he fucks you. Wishing that everything you’re feeling could be reflected back to you in his face, the way it was last night.

“Thought about you all night,” he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. “You know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldn’t get this perfect cunt out of my head. S’drivin’—me—fuckin’—crazy.”

And it’s sick, it’s awful, but you feel your lips peel back, face breaking into a toothy grin at the words. That envy, that jealousy, that dark green sticky feeling - all of it for naught because you were right. Joel Miller is yours.

“Yeah?” you pant, pushing your ass back into him and smiling even wider when he grunts, blunt fingernails digging into your waist. “What were you thinking about?” 

“’Bout how tight you always are,” he kisses the side of your neck, tongue flicking incessantly against the skin there. “How perfect you felt around me last night. How you take it so well.” He bites down, sucking until the skin throbs, another mark left in his wake. “How, if I can help it, I’ll never wear a condom when I fuck you again.”  

You curse, head lolling back against his shoulder. The confession makes you ache. “Please,” you mutter desperately. “Joel, please.”

“Thought about fillin’ you up,” he continues eagerly. “Fuckin’ you so hard, so deep with my come that you’d feel it for days. And you’d be mine.” His hips snap forward in a particularly harsh thrust and you grunt, cringing as the railing bites into your ribs. Mine mine mine.

“I’m yours,” you moan as he fucks you, a steady smack-smack-smack sound filling the air as his hips collide with the meat of your ass, over, and over, and over again. “You know I am.”

And you want to know what he thinks of that, want to know what comes next, but the sound of laughter echoes up from the street suddenly, and you tense, eyes snapping wide open. Joel doesn’t slow down.

“Look at them,” he hushes, voice quietening some.

His hand raises to point somewhere over the balcony, but you don’t see where; eyes trained on his fingers, his skin, the blue veins that swell and pulse beneath it. Your eyes try to follow it, but you’re looking the wrong way, following the hard line of his wrist, the corded veins in his forearm, his bicep, trying desperately, shamelessly, to catch a glimpse of his face.

“I said look at them,” his voice deepens, an authoritative tone taking over as his long fingers grip your jaw, angling it down until you do as he says.

You can see three of them. Squinting, you try to make out their faces from four storeys up. Stumbling down the street, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders as they walk.

Joel’s hips press forward and you gasp, eyes rolling back as his swollen tip nudges the deepest, softest place inside of you.

“Wait,” you whisper hoarsely, body jerking forward with every practised thrust of his cock. Say again, “Someone might see.”

“I hope they do,” he growls, hand falling to drape over your neck.

His fingers press gently against either side, cradling your pulse point in the palm of his hand. Your brain goes foggy with the pressure, mind buzzing and blurring. The sensation of his broad grip against your throat mixes with the drag of his cock between your thighs and it’s intoxicating; a high that you’ve never experienced before, and never want to end. You don’t realise how loud you’re gasping, moaning, keening his name, until you hear him laugh. A rough, elated sound.

“I knew it,” he chuckles, and you tighten around him, fingers fumbling backward, seeking purchase at the soft flesh of his hips as he continues rocking into you. His hand drops from your neck to your tits, and he squeezes.

“Admit it. Admit you fuckin’ love it,” Joel pants, every word punctuated by a white-hot press of his cock and a heavy exhalation against your neck. “Dirty little thing—you want them to see. Say it.” 

“Fuck,” you cry, spine arching as you push backward, meeting the movements of his hips.

“Fuckin’ say it,” he snaps, all hints of laughter gone now, his rough drawl only offset by the fond way his hands play with your tits. Careful, kind; every pinch, every squeeze, every caress a generous and tender display.

“I want it,” you blubber, sight blurring into a mess of streetlights and skyscrapers and strangers on the street. “W-want them to see how you fuck me, how you take care of me.”

“That’s it,” he groans, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you, cock jerking against your walls in hot fast movements.

“Want them to know,” you continue, and there’s tears streaking messily down your cheeks, your lips moving faster than you can control. “Want them to see us, see how good it is, how perfect.”

And it’s too much now, you think. Finally, too much of too much. The railing is bruising against your stomach. Every stroke of his cock, every graze of your nipples – Joel’s touch akin to the end of a frayed wire, sparking and spitting embers wherever the two of you come into contact. Your cunt is on fire, every inch of sticky wet flesh throbbing and smarting.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby, you gonna show them how you come for me? Gonna let them hear it?”

“I can’t,” you choke out, shaking your head numbly. Yours lungs are on fire, mouth dry as you try fruitlessly to suck in breath after breath. “Fuck, I don’t think I can—”

“Hey,” his voice calls. A rough finger wipes across your cheek, smearing the salty tears further across your skin. “You can, you can, I can’t—I fuckin’ need this, need it.”  

“It’s too much,” you gasp frantically. But your words aren’t matched by the desperate grind of your hips. Aren’t matched by the way you twitch and shake between him and the glass, abdomen tensing tighter tighter tighter with every thrust. “Fuck, I’m—I’m close but it’s too much, Joel, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t—”

He pulls out quickly. You gasp wetly at the loss, at how your walls clench and suck around that empty warm space in his absence. Deft hands grip your waist, tilting and turning you until your back is against the railing now, and his mouth is between your legs, wet lips and tongue so soft in comparison, so soothing against that burn.

There’s no shying away now, no stuttering or whining – you simply melt, thigh softening around the curve of his shoulder, allowing him to hold you up as his tongue teases and coaxes you to the edge of your third mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm that day.

And you don’t notice at first how his bicep shifts and flexes beneath your thigh. Don’t notice how he groans and sighs against your messy cunt, panting and muttering your name as he strokes his cock in tight, wet jerks. And when you come, gushing into his mouth, his eyes snap open, endless spheres of deep brown gazing up at you, desperate to see. Your legs tremble with the force of it, hands grappling for purchase on his shoulders, in his hair. And with your lips parted, tears drying on your cheeks, you watch the way his face crumples—wrecked. How eyebrows furrow and eyelids flutter shut. Joel’s mouth slips away from you, teeth sinking into the flesh of your thigh, something to ground him as he grunts, a low, ragged sound, before you feel him come in warm, thick spurts against your calf.

“Fuck,” you mumble deliriously. Can hardly hear yourself over the roar of your pulse in your ears. “So good, you’re so beautiful.”

Joel’s face is flushed, skin tinged with a deep red that settles across the highest peaks of his cheekbones and disappears into his beard. And when his eyes open again, drowsiness swimming beneath those heavy lids, you can see the way they shine. Glistening with something wet, something earnest. You thumb gently at his waterline, swiping away the tears like he’s done for you. 

His lips press a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb, tongue snaking out to lick his tear from your skin, and you think you must repeat it, So beautiful, because he smiles. Breathing heavily, eyes wet, he grins for you. A flash of white that he quickly smothers against the skin of your leg.

After catching his breath, Joel leads you inside and helps you shower. Stands outside the glass door, hand gripping your elbow to brace your shaking frame as you glide soap over your arms, down your legs. His fingers dig in firmer when you slip a hand between your thighs, whimpering as warm water streams over the sensitive skin there. He doesn’t flinch or shy away when specks of water flick out and dampen his shirt.

“You okay?” he asks as he helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

You nod, mind still foggy, and let him rub the coarse fabric over the skin of your arms, your legs, drying you off before he tucks you back into your robe. And when he leads you back into the room, helping you carefully onto the bed, a flash of concern splits across his face. He takes a step back, a step away, until his back is brushing against the wall.

You lay down on the bed, heavy limbs splayed haphazardly across the soft blankets and pillows. Your robe is open, the tie still forgotten somewhere on the balcony, revealing the skin of your stomach, your thighs, still dotted with warm droplets of water.

And Joel's not far, not really; tucked away in the corner of the room, unsure, arms hanging listlessly by his sides as he stares. Takes in every inch of you as if it’s the first time all over again. Perhaps, as if he’s worried it will be the last.

“I should go,” he says, painfully unconvincing.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, eyelids heavy as you stare back at him.

Your lips part in a soft yawn as you scratch languidly at the skin over your ribs, and dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers. Watch how your skin smarts and pulls beneath your fingernails until you sigh in contentment, the itch disappearing.

“You gotta be up early,” he says.

“I do.”

“And it’s late,” his eyebrows raise.

“Is it?” you smile. Raise your eyebrows in return and laugh when he sighs, hands twitching at his sides.

“Are we really doing this again?” you ask, smile slipping when you notice his frown. The twisted furrow of his brows, the curl of his upper lip. As if all of the features on his face have pinched together in the middle. Something churns in your stomach; a sick feeling that rises to lodge at the base of your throat. Waiting. “Talk to me.”

“M’tryin’,” he admits quietly. “Tryin’… tryin’ to be good. I want to be good.”

Your heart drops. And then, driven by some emotion that you can’t name, don’t want to name, it climbs its way back up, lurching forward in your chest. It claws and scrapes and tears itself out through a crack between two of your ribs, flinging itself across the room at him.

“You are good,” you whisper. Feel your bottom lip wobble, unsteady but sure. Certain of nothing but this as the words slip out. “You’re good, Joel. We are good.”

And when he smiles you think you can see it in his teeth. Little fragments of your heart; the beating core of you, dark red and macerated in the cracks of his canines, the lining of his gums.  

Joel closes his eyes and repeats the word. A softly murmured, Good, as if the word itself confounds him, and you think you must be imagining the red smeared across his chin. Your blood seeping out past his lips, dribbling down to stain the skin of his neck.

“I hope you’re right.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. One that shakes the planes of his broad chest, makes it rise to its fullest potential before he sucks another in, shoulders relaxing, and walks across the room towards the bed.

Towards you.

thank you for reading! x

#i hope you wanna know what happened at the dinner with rachel #cause i'm gonna tell you #my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

[heartfullofleeches]

Teacher Darling is never able to look their students in the eyes after finding the private Twitter accounts dedicated to thirsting over how fine their teacher is and how they'll cut anyone who steals their teacher from them but that's completely irrelevant

-

Yan Student: morning teach~ Can you tell me where you got your tie?

[Teacher Darling has war flash backs to a zoomed up picture of their tie and how the student would like it shoved down their throat]

Teacher Darling: It was a gift.

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere blurb #yandere text #crack post #professor reader