hellooo! i finally got around to finishing this fic, it’s been a long time in the making! (i started this right after sweet and neglected it for two months—) im such a fan of the professor!tom trope, and needed to write my very own version of him <33 also, biggest thank you in the world to @ddejavvu for letting me ramble on and on about this fic and help me with all the parts that were beating my ass, i love you sm mei <3
this was heavily inspired by two of my favourite writers, @duskholland and their fic adoreand@songbirdstyles and their fic when i kissed the teacher (a true comfort fic for me) so thank you sm for sharing your art with the rest of us!!
summary: modern film studies turns out to be a class you enjoy for more than just the material
warnings: slow burn, swearing, lots of nervousness, age gap (legal), teacher/student relationship, smut (fingering, penetrative sex, its all really soft but please dni if you are a minor) please do not sleep with your professor irl, this is all a work of fiction!
wc: 10.3k
the lecture hall is empty when you walk in, and you’re grateful to have the quiet space to pull out your notes and revise for a few minutes before the class starts. as you pull open the tabs and slides you’ll be needing, you hear the doors open and gently slam shut.
“ah, my first student.” a friendly voice smiles, “what’s got you here so early miss?” you look up to be met with a kind smile and a freckled nose. he seems too young to be a professor, hardly a few years older than you.
you find yourself staring and decide you’ll finish analyzing his pretty face a little bit later, “oh…um i just wanted to get myself organized before class, found myself in the building a few minutes early anyways.” you hope that’s a good answer, and you think it is when he nods.
“good to hear,” he starts down the steps to the front of the hall where a small desk sits off to the side, “i’m professor holland, by the way.”
the dress is hugging your curves in just the rightways,tom determines. while a sense of pride bubbles within him at his choice of wardrobe for you, there is also growing frustration; the dress is hiding his favorite parts of you. he doesn’t even bother averting his gaze when your eyes meet his own. the corner of your lips curve upwards and he swallows, his throat suddenly feeling like the sahara desert.
to any other person attending the rooftop party, the feigned innocence plastered on your face probably seems genuine. but not him. the playful glimmer in your eyes is obvious - even from where he’s standing. tom knew what was coming. he had been caught redhanded and he was about to pay the price.
