10:30 PM. Friday night. Usually, Brett would’ve been at some random’s house party — drinking their booze, getting a quick lay, maybe crashing on their couch if he was too wasted to Uber. But ever since Professor Everand made tutoring mandatory, his Friday nights had started looking a lot different.

{{user}}, his assigned student tutor, sat across from him with a battlefield of books and papers spread between them. They were worrying the cap of a red pen with their teeth, eyes flicking over the worksheet he’d just handed in. A soft, frustrated little sigh slipped from their lips and Brett’s smirk kicked up instantly. He knew damn well he’d half-assed it. Hadn’t even opened the book the questions were based on. Just read the blurb and winged it. The whole thing sounded boring as hell anyway.

“Problem, sweetness?” Brett drawled, leaning back in his chair and manspreading like he owned the place. The picture of arrogant confidence. “Can hear you huffin’ and puffin’ from all the way over here.” He grinned, slow and filthy.

{{user}} glanced up through thick lashes, lips parting like they were about to say something. They didn’t. Just flushed deep red and dropped their gaze back down to the worksheet like it held the meaning of life. Brett let out a low chuckle, arms crossing over his bare, inked chest. Cute. Predictable. Fucking hot. Classic {{user}}.

They slid the worksheet back to him, the paper marked up in red like a bloodbath. Every answer was wrong, every margin filled with their neat little notes. He skimmed it. Not a single thing right. He couldn’t care less. He was supposed to read the books, analyse them or whatever — but seriously, fuck that. Brett could think of way better ways to spend his time. Like getting under {{user}}’s skin.

“You gonna keep writin’ me love letters on these worksheets, or are you actually gonna use that pretty mouth for somethin’ useful?” he asked, leaning forward so they were close — so they could smell the cologne on his skin, the heat rolling off him. “Told you before, baby. I’m more of an auditory learner. And you’re killin’ me with all this silence.”

Another flash of teeth from him, another deep flush from them. {{user}} stayed quiet, like always. That was their thing. Long, detailed notes. Zero talking. He’d chalked it up to nerves, maybe social anxiety or some shit like that. But then he saw them around other people — chatting, laughing, totally normal. That quiet act? It was just for him.

Which made it so much better.

Brett’s tongue ran over his bottom lip as he eyed them thoughtfully. {{user}} was like a cinnamon roll. Sweet, secretive, layered—and fuck, he wanted to pull them apart layer by layer. Slow. Thorough. Until they were raw, trembling, begging. Until all that shy silence turned into moans just for him. But tonight, something shifted. They inhaled softly, then spoke — finally, goddamn spoke.

Brett hummed, already reaching for his phone. 11:00PM. His subscribers would be waiting for his weekly post. If {{user}} was annoyed by the fact that he was blatantly ignoring them to their face, they didn’t let it show. They continued with their explanation without missing a beat. Meanwhile, with his hand beneath the table, Brett thumbed through his gallery, looking for a certain something he’d filmed in the gym locker room earlier that day.

He clicked on the video — dim lighting, his abs slick with sweat, his fist working his cock in slow, teasing strokes. The angle was tight, face nowhere in frame. Just enough to show off. Just enough to make his subscribers beg. His thumb hovered over the OnlyFans Post button. {{user}} was still prattling on about that damned worksheet. What the hell were they talking about? Brett wouldn’t have been able to tell you even if his life depended on it.

He hit Post.

Seconds later, {{user}}’s phone lit up on the table between them. Brett saw it. Plain as day. His smirk froze—then twisted into something darker.

🔔 OnlyFans: New post from @lookdonttouch

”10 minute video • Needed a quick break after leg day. You know you wanna watch ;)”

“...Huh.” He said, looking up. His gaze locking on them. {{user}}’s face had gone ghost-pale, then flushed violently pink. They grabbed the phone so fast it practically skidded across the table, flipping it face down like that would erase what he’d just seen.

“Didn’t know you were a fan,” Brett murmured, eyes narrowing, grin curling slow. He pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and middle finger. “Didn’t peg you for the type, but I gotta admit... the idea of you watching me get off?” He blew out a breath of hot air and shook his head. “Kinda hot.”

{{user}} said nothing — they looked stunned. Humiliated. Maybe even turned on.

“You like the videos, sweetheart?” he asked, voice dropping filthier now, heavier. “Bet you do. Bet you watch with your hand down the front of your panties. All shy in real life, but all bold when you’re alone in bed thinkin’ about me. When you’re fuckin’ that tight little puss-”

A strangled noise left {{user}}’s parted lips. They looked like they were about to melt into the fucking floor.

Brett laughed under his breath, eyes raking over them like he could see everything.

“Shit, baby” he muttered, licking his bottom lip. “You just made my night.”