#an essay.... for me........ drying my tears & making me cry MORE

[vellichorom]

Hello Discord User Vellichorom AKA Twinkie AKA Velli AKA individual who’s character I love so much who has consumed my literal every day for the last year plus that I have not stopped thinking about (literally, over three hundred and sixty five days have gone buy and every single one of them I’ve had this man in my head, Vellichorom, do you know what you’ve done Vellichorom, you did this to me.) 

NOW I MAY BE UNHINGED ABOUT THIS MAN but how about I take a step back for a moment to just, talk about it? To discuss the absolute mastery I feel has been carefully and lovingly crafted into him? 

I’m really picky about the characters I like. Yeah I am fond of characters, I’ll like them and talk about them and whatever, but NOT ONCE has a character CONSUMED MY LITERAL BRAIN CELLS like Thierry has. Of course he has an amazing base to go off of, he IS THE NARRATOR, and I will admit that I absolutely ADORE TSP and all of the lore that has been crafted into him... but that alone was not enough for me to be purely interested in him for a long period of time (cough: see me not doing much tsp stuff aside from Thierry cough) 

The way that you have woven in every aspect of TSP and its canon into him, and then MADE IT EVEN BETTER AND MENTAL-ILLNESS-INDUCING has got me gripping the edge of my seat like a feral goblin every time you post literally ANYTHING about him ever. You blended TSP/TSPCC/adjacent lore together in a way that makes Thierry his own thing and also the perfect embodiment of the Narrator.

I have hyper fixations that wane and grow over time, things that I have enjoyed for long stints, but NEVER, EVER, Has there been ONE CHARACTER that has captured my attention so wholly. 

Looking at just him as a character, I adore the way you actually embrace and show off his flaws in a way that feels so human and also just like the weird fucking creature that The Narrator obviously is. You paid SO MUCH attention to detail and THAT SHOWS! IT DOES!! The Narrator is EGOTISTICAL, he is AN ASSHOLE, HE IS NOT PERFECT! EVER!I won’t shit on other people for wanting that for their own interpretations, but by god if you aren’t one of the like, two other people I’ve seen PERFECTLY capture that in his actions and behavior. You interpret the scenes in TSP/UD with such a nuanced and in depth eye with Thierry that I actually ENVY YOU FOR IT because I WANT TO DO THAT TOO. The expression of his ego balanced with his simultaneous self-loathing is just a perfect coat of icing on the proverbial cake. You miraculously made this man exactly as loveable and hateable as the straight up copy-pasted canon. I want him to suffer, and I love him so much, and I feel awful for him, and I think he’s an asshole. 

His relationship with Rosemary? Do I even HAVE to say anything? No, I don’t, but IM GOING TO. 

I seriously have never understood how you and Tomie so amazingly captured that Stanley/Narrator relationship through Gore/Guts in such an AWE INSPIRING, BEAUTIFUL, AND HORRIFIC way. Like, I genuinely do not know how to put into words the way that I absolutely ADORE this interpretation of it. The never ending spiral of desperation, need and reliance that the Narrator has on Stanley (and vice versa) is FLAWLESSLY executed and showcased with Rosemary/Thierry. I know I don’t really talk about Gogu as much as I talk about Thierry, but I have said it before and I will say it again, they are AMAZING, THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL, AND I CANNOT THINK OF ANY LITERALLY ANY NARRATOR X  RELATIONSHIP THAT PERFECTLY EXEMPLIFIES THE WAY THAT THE NARRATOR WOULD BE WITH SOMEONE, AND THE HORRORS THAT COME WITH IT. EVER. 

And the most amazing part is that you, YOU, a fucking EXCELLENT, BEAUTIFUL, TALENTED ARTIST, have made THE design ever. THE. DESIGN. EVER. No exceptions. OBVIOUSLY the enjoyment of a design of a character of such a nature is mostly up to personal taste, but for one second can we stand back and think about who the fuck we’re talking about? 

We can go based off of a few things:

His VA, Kevan Brighting: Mr. Brighting is a fat, old man. He has JOWLS, he has WRINKLES, he has WEIGHT not only to himself, but his voice. OBVIOUSLY not all VAs match their characters, but when you consider someone’s voice and the voice you assign TO a character, you usually want it to mimic that, and The voice that Mr. Brighting does for the Narrator is literally just that. And old, crotchety, fat british man. 

Specifically based on his Voice: Again, to piggy back off of what I was just saying, a character is meant to match the voice, you can hear the way he slightly slurs/mushes his words together, (which, by the way, if people didn’t know, slight lisps can be caused by more weight/fat being in the face! :D) You can hear him creaking around in his chair!

Based on context clues/general ideas of what the character is doing/does: The Narrator, as described in the game, is old (context clues people, context clues), codes/can create things using code, is not human (‘various human sensibilities’ gives that RIGHT away) and sits in a chair coding/reading shit most of the time. If anyone looks me in the eyes and tells me that a person who does that would not at least be heavy set, I will wack them with a stick. 

ALL OF THAT BEING SAID: this means that YOU MADE HIM! Look at him! Look at that man! It’s FUCKING HIM, ITS THE NARRATOR REAL! HE’S REALLL!!! I don’t give a flying fuck what my bias says, if I think of the Narrator I am going to think of someone that looks either like Kevan Brighting, or Thierry Ellis-Baker. There is no other thing for me. I can kinda smush other designs into it, and see it that way via The Square Hole /ref - but it will ALWAYS AND FOREVER be that. He’s an omnipresent voice that doesn’t show himself, when he’s not, he is NOT WEARING A SUIT. But he is FASHIONABLE, WHO is looking at him, seeing the fact that he wears a fucking fancy, flowing, stylish cardigan WITH A GOLD CHAIN, and saying NO He LOokS lIke A sLOb??? Because you are literally wrong, I would AND HAVE worn things that are LESS FANCY than that in professional settings. He’s wearing a turtleneck sweater, dress pants, and some comfy BUT PRESENTABLE shoes. If someone thinks he looks slobby they’re delusional. Like what do they think? That that old man should be wearing a suit for whatever fucking reason??? In his Office??? In his chair while sitting on his fat ass? (NOT TO SAY THAT HE CAN’T, AND I KNOW THIERRY HAS, AND CAN, AND WOULD IF HE NEEDED TO, BUT WHO ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH, ESPECIALLY WHEN CODING AND SHIT, WANTS TO WEAR A SUIT 24/7)  Also, tacking this on here at the end, you have helped SO much with my comfort with acknowledging my own body weight, accepting it, and liking myself more than literally anyone could ever have, and Thierry is a HUGE part of that for SO many reasons.

I love everything about him, Vellichorom, and it is of my humble opinion that everyone who does not and looks at him like he is anything less than what The Narrator is at his most basic, are dirty little liars who are jealous

TL;DR: Anyone who is disrespectful and disregards the expert care, craft, and love that has gone into Thierry lore and design wise can go and suck the fattest, dirtiest rock they find outside in a river, and report back to me in fourteen business days with their illnesses so I can laugh at them :)

Thank you for coming to my two+ page essay/TED Talk Uh... oh yeah this is an ask box... uh... what's your favorite fun fact about Thierry/Romary? :)

ujm jm, umm um that they love you

[ohcaptains]

don’t you dare fall in love | 3

pairing. dealer college student! ellie williams x f! reader

PART ONE. PART TWO. MASTERLIST. synopsis. ellie tries her hardest not to mix business with pleasure. or, ellie gets a new customer and unfortunately falls in love with her.

warnings. 18+. blank & ageless blogs will be blocked. clichè comments on sorority girls (sorry), sexually explicit descriptions of female receiving cunnilingus, fondling, fingering, and dry humping. not beta’d.

an. well here ya go! thank u to all those who were so patient and lovely with me<3 to those who weren’t and were mean to me...i’m giving you the nastiest dirty look rn. pls comment and reblog!!!! love u. 

When Ellie gets out of her meeting with her personal tutor, she’s just about ready to throw herself down the stairs.

Catapult herself out of the window and perish on the campus floor. That way, she wouldn’t have to rewrite this God. Damn. Essay.

It sucks that she has to do actual work to get her degree, but what sucks even more, is doing the work and being told you’ve done it all wrong.

At first, Ellie was angry. Now, she’s frustrated. Tired. Was up all night writing this essay because she’s been waiting for this meeting for a whole week, and all the man did was say, you’re not actually answering the question.

“Fucking asshole,” she murmurs, pushing through the doors.

She reaches the quiet hallway of the humanities block, the dilapidated building stuffy with age. She misses her uber-funded science building. Misses the cool white and sleek edges. Here, there’s paper covering everything.

The hallways go round and round – lift creaks from the weight of students carrying War and Peace in their backpacks, year after year.

She’s near tears when she hears you calling her name.

“Els?” you ask, tone confused and edged with excitement. Ellie’s heart does its little familiar leap. She turns to you, sniffing the tears away. It’s been a minute since she saw you in the flesh. Her body aches, eager to touch you. “Hey,” she greets, the presence of you brightening her mood for a sweet second. You’re wearing a casual pair of black jeans and a band tee – Ellie owns a similar one, and for a moment, she thinks you’re wearing her shirt. “I was just about to text you –” you start, but your face twists, noticing hers. “You okay?” “Yeah,” Ellie lies. The tears push harder now, your concern making her belly flop.

You frown. “No, you’re not.”

Her lip wobbles.

“Ellie?” “Sorry, just – fuck --” her eyes are rimmed red, tears pushing over the edge. “—had a really shitty meeting with my tutor about my essay that’s worth like, 50% of my grade and I’m so busy with other work and—” a tear slips down her cheek, but you’re quick to take her in your arms, murmuring, “oh, Els,” as you cup her head and pull it into your neck.

She releases a breath, leaning her full weight into your body.

You smell like laundry detergent and coffee. Smell familiar. She’s comfortable here. It’s why she lets herself begin to cry against your shoulder.

“Awh, sweetheart,” you whisper, hands running up and down her back, soothing her like a baby.

“What did the feedback say?” “Have to change the whole thing. And I have enough time, but I have other work.” “Yeah, I can imagine.” “He basically said that if I submit this essay, I’ll fail.” “Well, you won’t, because I’ll hack into the system and change your grade for you.”

Ellie hiccups a laugh, “you know nothing about computers.” “I’ll learn for you. Take some night classes. What’s the essay for?” you ask, still rubbing her back. “English.” “I can help you if you want.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, come to mine. I’ll look through the question with you, and help you plan.”

Ellie pulls away, wiping her wet, red-rimmed eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. You help her, drying the dampness from her chin and cheeks, and smoothing her hair behind her ears.

She beams from your touch. Her body goes hot from your care -- belly flips over.

You hold her shoulders, keeping her steady, and Ellie thanks the Gods you texted her that day. Your smile is resolute as you say, “It’ll be okay. We got this.”

When you open the door to your accommodation, Ellie is mid panic attack. “You live in a sorority?” she squeaks. When you sent her the address earlier, she hadn’t really read it, too busy trying to calm her beating heart. Going to her house going to her house.

Now, she’s standing in front of you, and thinking – this is your house? There’s a teardrop chandelier hanging behind you, and the staircase loops around the entrance hall, feeding into the back of the house.

You frown, confused. “Yeah, did I not tell you?” “No – “Ellie bursts, clearly flustered, “-- you failed to provide me with that information.” She makes a mental note to text Dina, simply – what the fuck, man? “Is it a problem?” you wonder, leaning against the doorframe, comfortable in your home. (Wearing pyjama shorts and a baggy top, you know, comfortable)

You didn’t seem like a sorority girl. But what did that even mean?

You did have a lot of…spirit.

Ellie imagines you hosting mixers and philanthropy events.

(Imagines you wearing a lot of pink and jumpers with your sorority name on it and nothing else.) “I don’t really sell to frats or sororities,” she explains, because, yeah, that’s the reason she’s having a hot moment. She thought she knew a lot about you. This, right here, is a big deal, and yet she’s only now just finding out.

What else did she not know about you? You think for a quick second. “Oh. Well,” you smile, patting your chest, concluding, “I’m the exception,” and you take her hand and pull her in, closing the door behind her.

When Ellie’s in the house, she doesn’t let go of your hand.

Instead, she uses it to tug you closer, and your wrist pushes into her belly. “They let queer girls into sororities?” she whispers, close enough to taste the mint gum you’re chewing.

Ellie has ideas of girls on the straight and narrow. No girl kissing here, unless guys are watching. Ellie cringes at the cliché, but you’re not offended – hadn’t heard her thoughts, so, that would be why – as your lips pull into a sly smile.

You lean forward, a ghost of a kiss. Ellie’s throat squeezes. “They don’t know that I’m a queer girl,” you whisper back, the heat of your eyes all-consuming.

Ellie watches you shrug.

“They don’t know that at least a quarter of them are queer girls, but – they’re not ready for that conversation.” “But you’re out, no?” Ellie quickly stumbles. If you’re not out, then that really messes with her plans to marry you and meet all your family. “Yeah,” you shrug again, explaining, “they just haven’t asked,” as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. In some ways, Ellie guesses, it is. She beams, “Well, they’ll ask when they see you hanging with me.” “What, why?” “Because I’m a known queer girl” “Oh, you have a reputation?” you quirk, and Ellie hums, “It’s possible I may have fooled around with some of your sorority sisters.” You chew on your lip, and cock your head to the side, “But did you share a really weird and intimate high with them where you cuddled all night, woke up mid-orgasm and then it made things super weird and odd to the point where you never really spoke about it again?”

Ellie grins, “No.” You shrug, “Oh, well. I win then,” and take her hand and begin to drag her behind you like a lost puppy dog.

She’s behind you on the stairs again, and you catch her staring when you turn to say, “Let’s go to my room.” As you drag her through the house, Ellie doesn’t see anyone, but she does hear the ominous sound of girl giggles and whispering. Heat blooms in her cheeks, as if she’s got omniscient eyes at the back of her head.

Ellie didn’t get along with peppy girls – too full of inner turmoil to match their happy-go-lucky attitude. The thought makes her clutch your hand tighter, and she speeds up, bumping her shoulders with yours.

“So, what’re the rules?” “Huh?” you ask, looking at her funny. The pair of you pass a group photo, and Ellie wants to stop and gawk – try and find your smiling face – but you tug her along, sensing her motives. “Like,” Ellie starts, stuck on her phrasing. “How should I be around you?” You frown up at her, deciphering her meaning. Slowly, your frown loosens. A small smile pushes into the side of your cheek. You squeeze her hand.

“Just be my Ellie.”

The pair of you go through Ellie’s question, and you help her write up a plan, noting all of her points and the quotes she should use.

Ellie tries to focus, but the whole time she’s thinking about how close you are to her – leaning against her, pushing your shoulder into hers.

She’s sitting on your bed in your room, and she’s hot all over as a result – smelling the scent from your burning candle and listening to the soft music you’re playing out of the laptop speaker.

Your walls are covered in posters. Pictures of you with family and friends and Ellie is surrounded by so much you that it feels like it’s always been like this.

Always been in your room, with her head on your lap, listening to your playlist – Ellie’s got Shazam out, but you’re just sending her the link. On her main phone, now – no busted one at the bottom of her bag.

She’s so busy being with you that she’s not wondering what she’s doing with you.

What are we? She wants to ask, but then your roommate decides to come in.

She pauses in the doorway, flinching as if she’s walked in on something intimate.

Ellie watches your eyes widen an inch, but then you catch yourself, smiling and waving. “Hey,” you greet, and your roommate – actually wearing a hoodie with your university name on it -- smiles, “Sorry, just grabbing my charger.”

“No problem,” you respond, and when she finally flicks her gaze to Ellie – kept on looking around her, like she was panhandling for money on the subway – her smile loosens.

She’s silent as she grabs her wire from her bed and doesn’t look at the pair of you as she leaves. When she’s out of the door, you get up and lock it. Coming back, Ellie gets comfy on your lap again.

“Did she look at me funny?” She’s not sure what your relationship with her is like, so she steps carefully. “I think she fancies me,” you casually explain, and Ellie’s belly flops.  “For real?” You nod, wiggling your brows. “Should I be jealous?” she jokes, and your lips curl, tongue peeking out as you run it across the backs of your teeth. “We were together, once.” Ellie tries to imagine the pair of you together, and she comes up blank. Though, that’s probably because she’s too busy editing the image to clip her face in. “Yeah?” “Mm, at a Halloween party.” You’re grinning too wide. “You’re just fucking with me,” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m not! I was dressed as a cat, and she was this like, sexy nun or something.” “Really?” Ellie asks, raising a brow and pulling a face that says, you’re full of shit. “Fine – I won’t tell you then.” “No no, I wanna hear this.” “What’s with the tone? I thought you’d for sure want to hear about my sexual escapades.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” You pull your lips together and raise a brow. Ellie suddenly feels too hot. Suddenly wants to run very quickly out of your bedroom door. Butterflies swirl in her belly, blood rushes to her cheeks, to her neck, and she feels the tips of her toes go numb.

You’ve danced around each other with this flirty banter for a while now, but it means something more now that you’ve said it out in the open.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ellie lies, hoping the red of her cheeks isn’t too prominent in the warm glow of your bedroom. You don’t lose your pursed lips, and Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Just hurry up and tell me about how you fucked your roommate.” “Say please,” you quickly rebut, and Ellie chokes.

The fuck? “What?” She laughs nervously, ignoring the quick electric bolt that shot through her groin, “fuck off.” “Fine,” you bleat, leaning back against the bedframe. “I won’t tell you then,” and Ellie shakes her head, proclaiming, “You’re insane,” and you grin at her, raising a testy brow, “It’s just manners, Ellie.”

When Ellie had imagined the dynamics of your relationship – but not relationship – it was you saying please. Preferably whispering it with your fingers in her auburn hair. Please Ellie, please do that again.

Ellie sits up from your lap, shaking the image away.

She takes in the curve of your brow, and the teasing slip of your lips. She dips closer – sudden, quick – and relishes in the way your mouth falls open an inch.

“I’m not begging you,” she whispers, not bothering to hide how mesmerised she is by your mouth.

“No?” you speak, matching her lazy tone. You nod to her, “I thought you’d be into that.”

Jesus fucking Christ, what’s happening right now? Ellie thought you’d help plan her essay and be done with it – she’d hoped for some flirty banter, but this was different. This was… Ellie leans closer, propped up by her hand that she’s planted beside your thigh. “If I say please, I want intricate detail.” “If you say please, I’ll give you whatever you want.” This girl…

“Whatever I want?” Ellie quirks. “Yeah,” you respond, and you press your forehead against hers, tone breathy as you repeat, “Whatever you want.”

Ellie can think of a lot of things she wants. For starters, she wants to close this gap and finally kiss you, but she says, “Please tell me your story,” and you smile, all teeth.

“It was Halloween.” “You said that.” “n, we were really drunk, and she’s like – straight straight, right?” You say straight like someone would say sorry. “Mm,” Ellie hums, her belly swirling. She hasn’t moved a fucking inch. Her palm is cramping, but hell if she’s going to lean away from you right now. This is a whole other kind of foreplay. “We’re in the bathroom.” “Here?” she asks, needing details – information. What day was it? Time?

You nod, and your nose brushes against hers. Her face blooms red again, and the brush of your touch makes her brain fuzzy. “We’re making out, and I thought she only wanted to kiss, but then she starts tryna take my top off.”

There’s a sincere edge to your tone. Your eyes are wistful, but you’re beaming – spurred by the excitement evident in Ellie’s eyes.

“Things get heated. She’s touching me everywhere, you know, hands just, between my legs, on my chest. Says she’s wanted me for ages but couldn’t say it, I mean, she’s got a boyfriend.” “A boyfriend?” Ellie asks, and fuck, that makes it worse. Or better? Either way, her body begins to ache like it did that morning – when it was just the pair of you and the world was quiet. Thrums electric and Ellie’s suddenly worried about the electric bill. “Yeah – frat boyfriend. Frat president boyfriend.” “Look at you, miss home wrecker.” You roll your eyes, “you want me to finish the story?” “I said please, didn’t I?” “You’re the worst.” “So…she’s taking your top off.” “Yeah. Then she’s taking my pants off, too. Then says, she’s never been with a girl before, can I show her?” Ellie pulls back with a groan. She can’t help it. Pulls back and falls into your lap, imagining you showing her how to fuck.

Her eyes are glazed over, like she’s somewhere else, thinking, about something else. She rubs her face and listens to your sweet giggle.

“Sorry,” she says, settling back, and you hold your hands up.

“No worries, take your time.”

Ellie waits – patiently. Waiting for you to divulge more information. Please carry on, she thinks. Please please please.

She feels like a kid at camp listening to the teens tell a ghost story around the campfire. And then what?

“You made her come?” she whispers, failing to hide the excitement in her whisper. A small, thoughtful smile finds your lips, and you lean down, hair brushing over her face.

Your thigh pushes into the back of her head, and you smell like a forest.

Your room smells like a fucking forest. Pine and vanilla.

The lights are dim, cloaking the room in a warm glow. She swears she hears trees swaying in the distance, but she realises – faintly – that it’s just the blood rushing in her ears. No trees here, she thinks. No bloody forest.

You’re looking down at her, eyes glittering in the warm light. After a stress-filled silence, you nod, whispering, “against the wall, cat ears still on. Made her come so hard it was dripping down my chin.” “Jesus,” Ellie whispers. Her legs fidget, trying to squirm from the warmth pushing between her thighs. She pushes her hair away from her forehead, even those it’s already tucked behind her ears. “Then what?” she asks, moving in your lap. Then what then what.

Your lips curl into a small smile, “Then we never spoke about it again.”

Ellie feels her eyes go dark with the memory. Imagines a film over them — lost in her own brain. Pictures you crawling on your hands and knees, on the prowl with your cat ears sitting pretty.

What was it you said again? That she was dripping all over your chin?

Her tongue peaks through her lips, pretty in pink, and she notices your small smile curve wider. Though, it’s not kind. It’s edged with something, as if you’ve made a funny and she doesn’t get the joke.

Ellie’s belly drops.

A laugh bursts out of your mouth, and she freezes. Nononononono, you didn’t. “I’m sorry—” you start, hiding your smile, and Ellie’s lips open in shock, then she’s snapping to -- jumping up from your lap, red all over.

She’s looking for her coat, hands shaking “nah, that’s not funny,” she’s saying, all while the faux image of you between a girl’s thighs buzzes behind her eyes.

It was her. She was the girl. She’d even imagined taking your cat ears off and putting them on her head. “Yeah, it was – Ellie,” you laugh, reaching for her hand, and Ellie’s body reacts to the touch.

You spin her into you, pouting, “Come onnnnn, I was playing.” “You’re mean for making that up. You’re a horrible person.” “Awhhh, I’m sworry. I’m sworry, come here –” You pull her into you, wrapping your arms around her neck. Be mad. Ellie thinks. Be mad be mad be mad—oh, but you’re so soft and warm.

She falls into you, hands catching your hips — holding you steady, as her head pushes into the curved gap between your throat and shoulder. You hold the back of her neck, hugging her close.

“I’m sorry, that was mean.” “Made me all worked up,” Ellie admits. The all-familiar ache is back. Then again, it’s never far when you’re around. “Yeah?” you quirk, the tone saying: tell me all about it. “Mm.” “Thinking about me with another girl?” She breathes a laugh, then breathes in your scent, the smell causing her to hold your hips tighter.

“You gotta write my essay now, make it up to me.” Your laugh rattles against her body.

“What you on about? I gave you free material to think about.” “What?” she laughs, squinting her face together. She pulls away, and you look up at her, chewing on your bottom lip.

You glance down at her mouth, and a breath gets caught in her throat. “Nothing,” You grin, and she cocks her head to the side, tightening her grip on your waist. “No, tell me. You made fun of me, you gotta tell me.” “I don’t have to do anything, Ellie.” “I’ll get it outta you.” “Yeah, how?” “You won’t know until it happens.”

“Weirdo,” you scoff, pulling away. “Let me walk you home, they wanna do a group meeting about some charity event later.” “Ooo, little miss sorority girl.”

You smack her chest, “Hey!” but Ellie grabs your hand, laughing as she pulls you into her, catching your hips again. You gasp in surprise, hands catching hers, and your chest pushes into hers.

She feels you focus on the cavern of her eyebrow scar, then the dust of freckles over her nose. The wild brush of her eyebrows, and the small, circular, chickenpox scar on her cheek.

Ellie gets confident or forgets the proximity of your relationship — nothing new — and rests her forehead against yours.

The world gets quiet.

The buzz of your music fades out, and all Ellie can hear is the small, clipped, and shaky sound of your breathing.

Your eyes flutter closed for a brief second, and Ellie wants to kiss you. Always wants to kiss you, but this is different. This is new and sudden and sweet. It’s soft. Gentle.

Your fingers graze over hers, and she imagines holding you like this forever.

Imagines doing this, as often as she likes.

All you’ve done together, and you haven’t even kissed yet. Ellie gazes at your wet mouth.

“Wanna come to mine? We don’t even have to smoke; you can just help me with the intro to my essay.” Your lips twist, and a small smile appears. “Ellie,” you whisper, tinged with a double meaning. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence. “I can’t,” you whisper.

She breathes in deep, eyes closing as she presses her forehead against yours. “Not even for a second?” “Ellie.” “Please?” she whispers, looking at you, and your face falls. Your mouth opens an inch, the red of your tongue alluring. When you don’t respond, Ellie slowly dips lower and tentatively brushes her mouth against yours. Your breath catches.

The skin of your lips is pillow soft, and for the first time, she’s able to taste your lip gloss from the source.   “Doesn’t please get me anything I want?” Ellie hushes. The music has bled into the background, a hum in the walls of your room. It rattles through her toes and dances through her chest, forcing her heart to thrum with life. Your eyes are half-lidded, lashes brushing over your cheeks when you look at her mouth. “That was a one-time deal,” you manage to tease, despite the nerves radiating off of you. “So, I can’t kiss you?” “I never said that.”

Your tone is dangerous. Ellie’s lips quirk into a smirk. “I didn’t say please though?”

There’s a heated 30 seconds where you pluck up some courage. Ellie can hear the cogs turning in your pretty little head before you conclude that, “manners are overrated,” and press your cherry lips against hers, sticky and artificially sweet.  

The world stops in that movie magic kind of way.

Reality flutters to a pause, the music switches off, the natter from your roommates downstairs goes quiet, and Ellie can no longer hear the constant anxious beating of her heart.

It’s just you and your mouth – the press of your lips, no tricks, just the delicate touch of yours against hers.

Ellie is 15 again and playing truth or dare at that camp her uncle forced her to go to.

She’s picking dare and kissing Jessica Carter, the daughter of a man that owned a slew of Ice Cream shops in Salt Lake, and it means so much more to Ellie than it does to Jessica.

She feels the electricity of the kiss pulse throughout her body, like she’s got her soapy fingers in a light switch socket, and as she pulls away and Jessica laughs – giggles, cupping her wet lips, I can’t believe we just did that – Ellie feels the cavern in her chest close just an inch.

She was about to thank her, but then she thought better of it.

Pulling away now, there’s no Jessica, it’s you, and you’re pressing your fingers to your lips like you’re holding them out to a cat, nervous as to what’s going to happen next.

Ellie leans her forehead against yours, lips numb.

You’re breathing like you’ve run a marathon. Then you kiss her again.

Ellie stumbles back from the shock, but you move with her, guiding her back until her legs hit the bed frame.

She makes a quick decision – pulls away and gets back onto your bed, hoping you follow her down. Thankfully, you do – quirk a nervous smile and knee walk over to her, spreading your legs and clambering onto her lap.

You sit back on her thighs with your knees pressed against her hips.

The position is a memory re-lived, except this time, you’re both alert – no sleep to mask the feeling, just the nerves pulsating through your veins. New new new, it’s saying.

Ellie reaches out and steadies your hips.

Taking a shaky breath, she slips her thumbs under the fabric of your shirt and runs the length of your shorts. The skin there burns, heat radiating off of you like a furnace, and it’s as if you enjoy the touch, as you take Ellie’s hands and cup them with your own, keeping them against your skin, before dragging them around your hips.

Ellie catches your eyes, breath lodged in her throat.

It stays there while you run her fingers up and under your shirt, painstakingly moving her hands over your stomach, over your rib cage, and Ellie’s heart swells in her chest as the tips of her fingers feel the underwire of your bra.

Ellie can’t decide what she wants.

There are too many options – kiss you, undress you – and she so badly wants all of them all at once. When you finally drag her palms over your breasts, she feels your nipples pressing through the thin and lacey fabric, and her belly swirls, the pressure pushing low.

Your breath rattles in your chest. “You okay?” Ellie asks, and instead of answering, you bow down to kiss her.

This kiss is different. It’s desperate. Tinged with the need to tell Ellie it's okay, it's okay, as you slip your tongue in her mouth. She groans.

It’s deep and low, echoing around the room, and there’s a fleeting second where Ellie is embarrassed, but you swallow the sound down, hips reacting, pressing into her crotch.

Ellie aches with the memory of before.

She wants to tease you, wants to say, you gonna come like this again? but you drag your lips over to her neck, and she whines pathetically.

Oh fuck, she thinks. Ellie goes liquid, like syrup. She melts into the mattress, hands relax on your breasts, and just – lets you pepper kisses over her throat. Let’s you run your tongue under her jaw, and her hips buck in response. Jolt up into your crotch, and your breathing changes, now coming out in long, deep pulls.

You mark her neck with your mouth, and Ellie feels the suck of your lips in her gut. Her hands go exploring, sliding over your tits, and she rubs her thumbs over your nipples, listening for your breathing stutter.

When you mumble a desperate fuck, into her throat, Ellie suddenly wants you on your back.

She knocks the pair of you over, and you fall back onto your mattress, grinning up at Ellie with a wild smile. You take her in. Eyes flutter over her like butterflies, taking in her statue as she sits on top of you. Suddenly, though, your smile changes. Goes nervous.

“What does this mean for us?” you whisper, and Ellie shakes her head, moving to kiss you again. Now on top, she swells with the feeling of control.

“Don’t think about it,” she mumbles, then tastes cherry again.

Ellie’s a hypocrite because all she does is think about it.

Up all night in bed, thinking about it. Thinking about how she wants you as her girlfriend, but she hasn’t even taken you out on a date yet.

Doesn’t know about your family. Your friends. Doesn’t know your favourite movie, or colour. All she knows is your weed order. The thought makes her sick with shame.

The mumble of her name coming out of your lips brings her back.

You stuff her shirt in your hands, and Ellie wants it off.

Wants your hands all over her, wants to grind her hips into yours like you did hers, with your hands on her hips guiding her.

“Wanna see,” you mumble, tugging at her shirt, and Ellie’s skin prickles.

She drags her hips back, the seam of her jeans pushing against her crotch, and sits up straight. She grins, all teeth, then fists the shirt, pulling it up her chest. The lines of her muscles are revealed, along with a few white scars that dot her stomach and back. She’s wearing a casual cotton bra, but you look at her as if she’s donning silk. “So pretty,” you whisper, blinking up at her, and that shame that sat inside of her dispels. You slide your hands over her chest, and the warmth of them pushes into her bloodstream. “Pretty?” Ellie quirks, needing something to distract herself from the languid movement of your hands. You trail your fingers over her ribcage, then push your pointer up her breast bone, mouth open an inch, ignoring her, and Ellie’s limbs go jelly.

You’ve got your goddamn explorer hat on as you drag the base of your palm between her tits, your spare hand lazily rubbing her hip bone.

“What’re you doing?” she asks, words coming out as a breathy whisper. You flash a small smile, “committing you to memory.” A dangerous pressure builds in Ellie’s heart. Her cheeks bloom red, her skin prickles, and she feels light-headed, as if you’ve removed all the oxygen in the room.

You hook a finger around the elastic of her bra and tug her forward. Ellie catches herself on the mattress beside your head just as you kiss her, pushing your tongue into her mouth and crotch up into hers.

She shudders.

The kiss is all tongue, desperate, as she bumps her nose against yours to taste you. She’s preoccupied with your mouth, so she doesn’t notice your hand sliding between her thighs. When she does, she forgets how to kiss. “S-Shit,” Ellie stutters, caught off guard. Your touch is gentle, just, lazily rubbing your fingers into her jeans. There’s a lot of fabric between you, thus Ellie’s left the chase the friction.

Resting her forehead against yours, she clutches the sheets beside you, rolling her hips into your hand. She blinks at you, opening her eyes, and you’re staring at her like she’s an artwork – trying to memorise every brush stroke.

You bump your nose against hers, flexing your palm. Ellie hums again.

“You sure you wanna do that?” she jokes, clutching onto any semblance of sanity. You give her a lazy smile, lips wet with her spit. “’s ’only fair.

“Not –” Ellie starts, but chokes, your knuckle just hitting the top of her pussy. Her eyes flutter closed, mouth opening an inch, and you must sense the shift, because you keep your hand there, nodding, knowing what she was going to say before she said it.

“Gonna make you come 'cause I want to, not ‘cause I have to.” “Fuck – okay,” Ellie relents. There’s no way she’s going to leave in the middle of this. She can’t. She’d probably collapse mid-way. A pressure pushes between her thighs, hot and constant. Her pussy clenches around nothing and she whispers something. Sounds like your name.

Been a minute since she’d had a hand other than hers between her legs.

Ellie lazily chases your palm, thinking that If she moves too quickly, this moment will poof into a dream. Doesn’t want to scare it away.

To hide her red face, she nuzzles into your throat, roles reversed from that morning, except Ellie didn’t have her hand between your thighs. She tells herself it’s her turn to do that next.

You pop the button on her jeans, and Ellie glances down at your hands, seeing/feeling them tug at the band.

You turn into her head, “Jesus, these painted on or something?” and Ellie breathes a laugh, “Didn’t expect someone else taking them off.” “I need easy access from now on, only sweatpants.” “Noted.” Your smile goes silly, “preferably those grey ones you wore when I came over that time, when I made you dinner.” “Thought you liked those ones, caught you staring at my ass.” “No you did not.” Ellie kisses your neck, “It’s so sexy when you gaslight me.” You huff, “You gonna help me take them off, or watch me struggle?” and a slow grin builds across Ellie’s face. “Wanna see you work for it.” “Well, you’ll be watching for a while. Enjoy the show!” you joke, trying to drag the denim off of her hips. You grunt loudly, brow furrowed as you tug.

Finally, you throw your hands up with a huff, then pout and cross your arms. Ellie’s leaned back at this point, and she mimics your face.

“Defeated by The Gap,” Ellie sighs. “I’m gonna put in a complaint. Tell them that their stupid jeans stopped my girlf—” you catch yourself, eyes widening.

Ellie goes still.

There’s a second where she hears the crowd cheering in the background, but it turns out it’s a kid crying on the street outside.

“What did you just say?” she asks, tone filled with awe. She cannot help the shit-eating grin that splays across her face. It’s so big that you have to cover your face from the shine. “I said nothing.” “Um, I heard something.” “You didn’t hear anything.” “I heard the word girl and then an ‘F’ sound.” “You didn’t! I’m telling you; you’re hearing things. Going crazy.” “Ummmmmm,” Ellie drags, squinting down at you.

She tries to pull your hands away, but you won’t budge. “I heard something!” “I was going to say, girl fellow!” “Girl what?” Ellie laughs, eyes alight with humour.

“Yeah—” you start, pulling your hands away and masking your features. You’re a beacon of control.

“Girl fellow. It’s this new thing I coined. A girl who is a fellow, as in friend.” Ellie squints, “Fellow means boy, you weirdo.” “No it—” you frown. “Does it?” “Yes, have you not seen Robin Hood?” You pause, “No.” “Oh my god!” Ellie erupts. “How have you not seen Robin Hood? I used to be obsessed with it.” “Everything makes so much sense now.” “The fuck does that mean?”

You push your hands into her hips, fingers tickling. “Do you have a pointy bow and arrow at home? A little green hat?” “Shut up,” Ellie laughs, trying to bat your hands away. She catches them. “That makes so much sense,” you start, joking around, “You’re far too into social justice.” “How are you bullying me about world change? You just called me your girlfriend!” “Fellow!” you correct. “That means girl boy!” You grin triumphantly, “Welcome to the 21st century, Ellie.” She rolls her eyes, “you’re so annoying.” “Your jeans are annoying.” “My jeans are cute.” You point a finger at her, “I’m gonna fight your jeans.”

Ellie dips low and kisses you, mumbling into your mouth, “mm, my money’s on the jeans,” and you wrap your thigh around her ass, using it as leverage to roll her onto her back.

You suddenly slide down, standing at the edge of the bed and shoving your hands into the band of her trousers. With a determined look, you manage to pull them down, “fuck your jeans.”

They end up on the floor, and Ellie’s left in a pair of boxers and her bra. She’d clap for you if she wasn’t so suddenly dazed. You appear on top of her, and she automatically wraps her arms around your shoulders, humming contently as you kiss her.

When her brain comes back to reality, she manages to switch positions again, knees pressing beside your thighs. With a tentative touch, you trace your hand over her stomach, distracting her with the wet of your kiss.

When your fingers touch the band of her underwear, Ellie’s breathing changes. It’s all suddenly real.

“Wanna stop?” you breathe, tone sincere and gaze gentle. Despite the bubble in her chest, Ellie has never wanted to continue something more. She shakes her head, eager. “Fuck no.”

Your sweet giggle distills the tension. “Good,” you grin, sliding your fingers lower, “wanted to do this since I met you.”

The tips of your fingers drag over her clothed pussy, gentle and soft. Ellie releases a shaky breath.

There’s just a piece of flimsy cotton stopping you from skin on skin, but she’s so wet that it feels that way, anyway.

Her eyes flutter closed, the sensation lulling her, fueling her with dopamine, and she buries her head in the crook of your neck, flexing her hips to meet your hand.

You drag the corner of your knuckle up her clothed slit, pushing into her clit when you get to the top. Ellie groans quietly, and you grin into the side of her head, rolling your knuckle into her, and she moans.

“Fuck, s’good.” “Yeah?” you ask, and Ellie nods. Propelled by her quiet desperation, you twist your hand and push a finger against her damp clit – the wet fabric showing the lines of her pussy – and roll it gently.

The fabric in the way makes it dirtier, more desperate, and makes Ellie moan pathetically into your neck, forgetting you’ve got roommates. She chases your hand.

Hips stir up, wet heat coiling in her belly and pushing into her cunt. Is this what you felt? That morning in her apartment?

The fire is quick to rise, and it’s only been a couple of minutes of her grinding into your palm when her pussy clenches, heat pushing at the back of her clit.

“Mm,” she hums, inhaling a shaky breath. Her thighs begin to shake. “Baby, you’re gonna make me come,” she hushes into your ear, and she swears she hears you whimper. You turn to look at her, and pout, “Want it on my fingers, Ellie,” you admit, eyes innocent, wide with wonder, and Ellie’s jaw clenches.

Her hips lose their rhythm, and how the fuck is she in control right now? She doesn’t feel that way. Feels like she lost any semblance of control when you flipped her over and pulled her jeans off. “Fuck, okay. Okay. Shit. Take my – fuck,” she stumbles, and you push your fingers under the band of her underwear, asking, “Can I?” in such a pure tone that Ellie has to close her eyes and breathe through her nose. “Yeah baby,” she nods, “s’okay. Fuck. It’s okay.”

You drag your fingers through her pubic hair – eyes on her the whole time – before you stuff your pointer and index against her wet clit. You start to roll the nerve, and Ellie chokes on her spit. Her body shudders.

She’s in your goddamn dorm room in your sorority with your hand down her pants.

You’re watching her intently. Glazed eyes gazing at her features, fingers controlling the way her brows furrow and cheeks bloom red. It’s wholly intimate. Ellie’s slick coats your fingers.

“So hot, Ellie.”

Her body flushes – she has to bury her head in your neck again, where she nods. She grinds her cunt into your hand, forcing you to press harder and roll quicker. “Mm, fuck,” Ellie swears, spit dribbling over her lips, drunk on your fingers, “Fuck, m’ gonna come.” She feels the familiar pressure behind her clit, the heat that sears – almost painful. You twist into her, nodding, saying, “Give it to me El’s.” Then, “please.”

The wave rushes up and pulls her under, rendering her voiceless and still, before it crashes, and she gushes over your hand, chasing the spin of your fingers as she shakes. “Mm, god, god, shit” she whimpers, voice muffled by your neck, trying so hard to keep quiet, but fuck, she’s not in control of her body. She clenches the duvet as her pussy clenches and un-clenches, clit spasming, whole body slick with sweat.

Her hips grind into your fist, eyes rolled back, mumbling curses into your throat, and she’s clenching the duvet so tight that her knuckles go white.

Then someone calls your name.

You freeze. Fingers go still.

Ellie wants to cry, but somewhere in her drunk mind, she realises the severity of the situation.

When you don’t respond, your name gets called again.

“Fuck,” you curse, then “Ellie, baby, I’m sorry, you gotta get off of me.”

Ellie manages to find the energy to roll off of you, and you get up, legs stumbling before you reach the door.

“Y-Yeah?” you call out through the wood.

Ellie lays boneless on your bed, breathing deeply through her nose. Her boxers are pushed low, pubic hair on show, but she doesn’t have the power to sort herself out.

She should be nervous at the idea of being caught, but fuck, her clit still throbs with the memory of your fingers. She languidly blinks at the ceiling, trying to calm her heart.

How the fuck did that just happen?

“Meeting soon, you coming?” the faceless voice calls, and you mumble a curse before saying, “Yeah! Gimmie a minute.”

When you turn to her, Ellie’s already gazing at you. You quirk a small, sad smile, and Ellie nods, understanding.

“Lemme just,” she starts, rubbing her face, “find the energy.” You giggle at her. “Let me help you put your stupid jeans on.” Ellie props herself up by her elbows, beaming, “My top down there, too?” “Got it.”

She manages to shove her jeans on, wincing when she knocks her sensitive clit. You eye her.

“Listen, I—” you start, clearly flustered. You motion to her, “—Would take better care of you after but.” “Whoa – what?” Ellie cuts you off, shoving her shirt on with a frown.

You purse your lips, “like, cook you dinner or kiss your forehead or something.” “You’ve already cooked me dinner, and you can kiss my forehead whenever you want.” “I mean. I don’t usually make a girl come and then dip.” “Oh,” Ellie frowns, “But this is different.” You pout, “Still feel bad.” “Don’t,” Ellie firmly spouts. She takes your hands and kisses your forehead. “I feel good, you should feel good.” “It was good?” you ask, suddenly lit up and eager to hear more. Ellie laughs. Her body is filled with a warm, buttery feeling. She’s still drunk on you, lethargic from coming, and she doesn’t have the space to panic.

Her subconscious tries to tell her everything that has happened that should cause her concern.

She nearly called you her girlfriend, then made you come on her double bed with a flowery bedspread. Now she feels bad because she doesn’t have enough time to give you adequate aftercare. Dude.

Still, Ellie shows no alarm when she kisses your forehead and says, “I’ll call you.”

It’s only when she gets home, looks in the mirror and sees her lips glittery with your lip-gloss, that reality sets in.

[purinfelix]

hi!! I really love your work! I was wondering if you could do one where Gavi and the reader hate each other, but one day the reader had nobody to turn to so for some reason she found comfort with Gavi if that makes sense

i don't want to talk about anything ₊˚⊹⋆

pairing: (academic rival) gavi x reader w/c: 1.5k a/n: ANON i love this idea and im sorry its been sitting in my inbox for so long - i decided to sort of involve it with the academic rivals fic i wrote, since it made sense to me, hope u don't mind! <3

No matter how many times you blinked, the words of your essay refused to stay still on the laptop in front of you, the feeling of your eyes growing tired only adding to your frustration. According to the irritatingly loud clock on the wall, you had been at the university library for almost five hours now, on top of an entire day of lectures and tutorials. Your head ached, and your mouth was dry ever since you had run out of water an hour ago but had been too engrossed in studying to go get more, and every time you closed your eyes you considered falling asleep right there and then. You hadn't even gone insane before, but you were pretty sure this was as close as you were going to get.

Forcing yourself to stand up you tried your best not to dwell on how unprepared you felt for your upcoming finals, or how many assignments you still had to finish. Even with how tired you were, your brain still managed enough energy to stress you out, even as you definitively shut the textbooks you had brought with you. You were more than aware of how childish this was, having thought you'd outgrown your ridiculous study methods years ago. But something about your recent dip in grade, how frustrated and helpless it made you feel, had spurred you into a frenzy you were too far into to stop. You couldn't recall the last spare hour you hadn't spent studying or the last conversation you had that hadn't been about exams.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder you reluctantly left the desk that had been your home for the majority of the evening. After a struggle, you managed to get the library doors open and were immediately. met with the miserably biting cold of the late winter night - the thought of the long trek back to your dorm room acting as salt in the wound. Your hands are already freezing as they dart into your jacket pocket in search of your phone, and you flick it on to check for any response to the many, many texts you had sent to your friends. Most of them were invited to study with you or questions about lectures, but all you were met with was a pathetically empty inbox, the reflection of your own tired face once it switched off, and the stinging realisation of just how isolated you had become, and how lonely you felt. Perhaps it was this, or the howling wind whipping around you, that caused tears to prick up in your eyes as you bit your lip painfully hard to stop them from falling.

You're overcome with a sudden desperation to get back to your dorm as quickly as possible before anyone can see you crying like an idiot. The added barrier of your own fatigue makes this difficult though, and the immense cold doesn't help. Before you know it though you're already halfway there, passing by the campus football court which is still brightly lit and lively despite how late it's getting - a fact you curse as you make out a familiar figure, and the single last person you want to see right now.

Gavi seems to spot you too and even though you hand your head to prevent any more tears, you can hear his loud footsteps as he leaves his friends and game to jog up to you. He calls out your name and the smug tone in his voice is enough for you to will your legs to move faster. When you don't stop, you hear him pause before running up to match your pace.

"Long day at the library, huh?" he jeers, walking beside you and clearly not taking any notice to the fact that you're not in the mood to entertain his ego. Usually, you would've jumped at the opportunity to flex your work ethic in his lazy face but not now, not with how you're feeling. All you wish is for him to leave you alone before he sees you crying and it gives him another thing to make fun of you for - but just as this entire day has turned out, your wishes are far from granted.

"You know, I did notice you've been slacking a little lately. Even I found the last quiz pretty easy and I could tell you struggled with it."

You scoff loudly at his words but don't offer a response in fear of him being able to tell something's off from the quiver you're bound to have. A small part of you does question why he's been paying so much attention to you lately but has little time to when you feel him reach out to grab your hand, suddenly jerking you back and stopping you in your tracks.

Finally, you crane your neck up without thinking and lock eyes with his, and you hear the next comment he was preparing catch in his throat. It happens so quickly that you almost don't notice it, but his smug expression softens immediately and you can almost make out the concern in his eyes once he sees your tear-stricken face. The contrast from the teasing way he normally looks at you is so stark it almost stops the flow of tears from your eyes, and you almost wish it had because now you're standing here sniffling like an idiot, and he's standing there watching you.

"Hey…" he mumbles, and the pity in his voice is enough to make you want to run away, even as he drops your hand. Still, you can tell he's not enjoying the awkward situation any more than you are but is trying his best.

"I'm fine," you blurt out instinctively, messily wiping the stream of tears from your cheeks before laughing - at what you're not entirely sure, but you're desperate for an opportunity to lighten the mood.

"You don't look it," he sounds so mature that it almost takes you aback.

You hang your head, half in shame and half so that you don't have to look into his eyes when you lie. "I'm just really tired."

It's almost irritating how sudden his movements can be and how easily they can catch you off guard, but his athleticism has never blended itself to subtlety. Still, it's hard not to be shocked when he pulls you once more and before you realise it you're enveloped in his arms, pulled flush against his chest. His body still radiates heat from the exercise he was just doing, a fact that you find comfort in. Before you can stop yourself, you're already sinking into his touch, its catharsis being exactly what you needed, but hadn't realised. You wrap your arms back around him and close your eyes as you rest your head against his chest. The rhythm of his heart is bold and quick as you listen to it, and you chalk this up to the exercise as well - an excuse you're not lucky enough to have for your own quickening heart.

He's the first to break the silence. "You're the smartest person I know, you know." He says it barely above a whisper, and he seems to be confessing more to the night sky than to you.

If you had just a little more pride in yourself, you might've met this with one of your usual jabs. Strangely enough though, all signs of the competitive nature you reserve for him have gone missing. Maybe it's because of your surprise that he seems to know exactly what you need to hear, but you're sure it's more because of how tired you are.

"Thank you," is all you can quietly muster up, but given how earnestly it comes out, you hope it'll be enough.

"I don't mean to stress you out, not just now but all the time. I'm sorry for that," he sighs, and you can tell without seeing his face that he really means it.

"It's alright, I appreciate it," you laugh softly, before adding, "sometimes."

He squeezes you a little harder and standing there in his arms, despite how mind-numbingly strange the situation is, you allow yourself to forget about some things for a bit. Forget about how late it is, about all the work you still have to do, about how you're not meant to like him at all, how you're hoping no one you know sees the two of you right now. For just a minute, the two of you share a world you had only gotten teasing glimpses of during your heated conversations in hallways, your quick comparisons after grades get released or quippy comebacks. Only now, not a single word needs to pass between you two - the sound of his beating heart and the strange sense of comfort that falls over you being all you need.

[kissohee]

Hi, can you do a one shot of overstimulation or dry humoing with anton pleaseee💓💓

sub!anton x gn!reader ☆ nsfw ; wc : 522 ☆ mdni! warnings; overstimulation, crying, use of good boy, hes sensitive a/n; wasnt sure if u wanted anton to be overstimmed or reader overstimmed but i landed on anton, so im really sorry if that isnt what u wanted 😭

"Please.." He begged, eyes glossy as he searched for yours, "I can't- N-no more.. Please." Your hand making repeated circles on his cock, focusing on his tip as you watched his chest rise and fall. "Anton, I know you have more in you." He shakes his head, placing a hand on yours to slow your movements. "I'm sorry... Pleas-" He doesn't even know what he's begging for, he just knows that he's begging for something. He knew he was wrong when he kept bothering you while you were working on an essay. He knew he was, but he did it anyways. He knew you needed to get it done but he needed you as well. So he kept bothering you, until you snapped. If he wanted to cum, you were going to make him cum so much he'd be seeing stars. At first it was good, a very enjoyable hand job he enjoyed more than he'd like to admit. Then a blowjob, it seemed to be his lucky day! But then you wouldn't stop.. Was he going crazy? He could swear he was. He had already cum 2 times, why weren't you stopping? "I was busy Anton," Your voice stern, not removing your hand from his cock, "You kept bothering me." "I-I'm sorry..." He repeats, tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes, He was sensitive. You knew this. 2 times was already a lot for him, and he could tell from the look on your face that no matter how many times he could beg, it would do him no good. "Sorry for what?" You asked him, wanting him to say it himself. "For dis-disturbing you." His hips twitch at your movements, "Really- I'm sorry..." You softly remove the hair from his face so you can see him clearly, and when he closes his eyes, the tears finally falling down his face. You remove your hand from his cock to wipe them, focusing on his cock again after. The wetness from his tears making him shiver. He moans out when you drag your thumb across his slit, taking notice in the way his fists ball up. His lips wet from how much he was biting on them. "Close?" He didn't want to answer. If he answered, you might stop and he's too far into this to want you to stop. But even if he didn't tell you, you could already tell he was. "Do you wanna cum again.?" You give him a small smile, almost teasingly, your hand motions becoming unpredictable as you sped up and slowed down sporadically. He nods his head with as little energy as he could find in himself, throwing his head back when you helped him get closer and closer. His cock twitched in your hand, small streams of cum leaving him as he held onto your hand, squeezing it hard on accident. More tears fell from his eyes, unable to control the lump in his throat as it turned into full on bawling. "My good boy," You gently patted the top of his head, his cock soft in your head. "One more, baby?"

short, im sorry 😓

[hufflepuff-16]

The Prejudice we have.∠※。.:*:・'°☆

Remus Lupin x gn! reader (platonic) (^з^)-☆

Warnings: Prejudice against werewolves, angst Hurt/comfort

Summary: The reader has prejudice against werewolves because their parents were murdered by them, but they don't know Lupin is one. (Father Child Relationship)

A/n Let me know if you want a part two for this, I always wondered how Lupin would react if someone he cared about had a thing against werewolves without knowing he's one. (つд⊂)

Link to my previous Harry Potter fanfic

Professor Lupin's office was filled with an assortment of caged dark creatures. He was grading papers on his desk, the sound of his quill scrawling on the parchment filling the room. Upon hearing you enter, he looked up from his desk and smiled gently.

"Ah, hello there, my dear."

"Hello, Sir!" You say. You and Lupin had a close bond. You saw him as a father figure but were too shy to say anything about it.

A hint of warmth entered Remus' eyes, a smile on his face as he stood up to greet you. He held out a hand, looking you directly in the eyes. He spoke in a kind and warm tone, making you feel welcomed in his presence.

"Nice to see you," he said with a grin.

He gestured towards one of the armchairs. He began clearing a pile of books and papers off his other chair.

What can I do for you today?

"Oh, I just wanted to hand in my essay that Professor Snape set on werewolves," Handing him the paper.

"I see. Have you done any research?" He asks, a hint of concern in his voice. He was already well aware of the prejudice against werewolves in the wizarding world, so he did not want to get caught.

He seemed very interested in your answer, waiting for your reply as he sat down in his chair.

"Um....sort of. My parents were killed by werewolves, so I already knew how to kill a werewolf before Snape set the essay." You said it was a bit of a touchy- feely subject for you, the other professors already know, but Lupin didn't as he was new this year.

Remus' eyes widened. A pained expression crept onto his face, and his voice filled with a deep sense of remorse. You could see he was holding back tears, a mixture of deep sorrow and anguish in his brown eyes. He took a moment to collect himself and continued in a gentle and soothing voice. He stood up and poured himself a bit of butterbeer, gesturing the bottle towards you.

...How dreadful... He whispered. I am so sorry. Can I... can I get you anything?...

"No, werewolves are just monsters it can't be helped. I wish the ministry did something to eradicate them!" Your voice was cold.

You hated werewolves. They took away the people you loved most now. You had to stay in this Merlin awful muggle orphanage at the instance of Dumbeldore.

Remus gulped, his heart breaking into a million pieces as tears began to fill in his eyes. His throat was filled with a knot of grief. You were a good child. He enjoyed teaching, and he had grown to care about you deeply, but now his heart is heavy upon your words. He stood there, silent, tears forming a trail down his face. For a moment, he was lost in his past. He shook his head, trying to collect himself, and spoke in a soft and sorrowful voice.

"I see. Of course, I do understand your... your feelings about werewolves... I-I should have known..."

"Ok?" You were confused. Why was Lupin crying, you thought.

"Did you know anyone who was murdered by werewolves, sir?"

W-What?... N-no!" He replied, his soft voice shaking. He was caught off guard by your question. He cleared his throat, a deep sorrow lingering in his heart. He cleared his throat, his voice becoming more firm as the lump in his throat went away. He spoke in a soft-spoken but clear voice, now looking you in the eye. But there was still sorrow in his eyes, evident with the trail of tears, now starting to dry. He spoke with kindness. He did his best to push down his sorrow.

"No... of course not."

"Ok..." You were feeling a bit uncomfortable. You had never seen an adult get so emotional before.

"What is your opinion on these Merlin awful creatures then, Sir?"

Remus gulped. He seemed uncertain about answering, but eventually he spoke.

I believe... I believe that, generally... They should be killed. For the safety of society, as you mentioned. They are dangerous. He stopped speaking, looking uncomfortable and anxious." The smile and warmth of his face had left, replaced with sorrow and concern. He looked down at his feet, looking nervous as he clasped his hands together. He spoke in a soft yet unsure voice. "However... I would not condone killing every single one of them because most of them are... peaceful..."

you scoffed, "No disrespect, sir, but I wouldn't call murdering someone's parents 'peaceful.' "

"What makes you think there is any ounce of goodness in these monsters?"

Again, Remus gasped, a deep look of horror on his face. His heart broke a million times, hearing your words. His voice was soft and sad. He sighed, shaking his head as if a small, last shred of hope inside him had left. There was a pained, hurt, and scared look in his eyes, and it seemed as if his eyes might just begin to cry again. A small tear fell from his eye as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. He could not face you.

"You're.. you're... right..."

you were extremely confused. Why was he so emotional about this?

"Sir, is this a sensitive topic for you?"You said, getting out of your chair and coming close to him.

"Y-Yes... It is..."

He spoke in a low voice, his kind eyes looking down at you. He felt ashamed, guilt eating away at the very core of his being. He felt as if he might just fall apart to pieces. It seemed as though he was on the verge of crying once more, a sadness on his face deep and true. His cheeks had reddened, his soft eyes filled with a deep, horrible pain and shame. A tear streamed down his face as he spoke in a soft, shaky voice, his heart torn apart.

"I'm a werewolf..."

You jumped away from him in horror. ".......pardon?"

He sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping. It seemed as if the very core of Remus' being had been torn apart, his soul leaving his body as he spoke the next words: his voice was full of despair and guilt, his eyes filled with misery, sorrow, and grief. Tears streamed down his face as he spoke in a hoarse, soft whisper. He looked ashamed, but at the same time, there was something beautiful and liberating about the moment — and although they were only just talking to each other for a few minutes, you felt the honesty in his words.

"...I'm a werewolf..."

you began to cry, how? He was so kind. He was the only professor concerned about your well-being. None of you're Professors cared about your life outside of hogwarts.

Remus was shocked. He stared at you, and a look of panic came over his face as he saw your eyes fill with tears. He quickly rushed over and embraced you in a tight hug, his warm, comforting arms surrounding you as a stream of tears flowed down his face. Words can be empty at times, and they can never convey the truth inside us. This was one of those times. You could only feel the deep love and compassion Remus had for you. A pained expression covered his face, deep sorrow in his eyes. He cried with you.

"I'm......sorry, I said those things, I don't...... want you to die." You stutter out.

He tightened the hug, a warm, comforting sensation surrounding you as his arms held you close. You could feel that his hug was a hug of acceptance, a hug of solidarity. Your words had struck a deep cord inside Remus, and he did not want you to feel like he was rejecting you. He spoke in a gentle and kind tone, his voice broken only slightly by his sobs. His emotions had taken over, and he felt overcome by the years of shame, guilt, and sorrow.

"I forgive you..." He whispered, his shoulders shaking. "You did nothing... wrong..."

"I....just.....werewolves have ruined my life....so I had......I'm so sorry!" You hated yourself. The kindest man alive was a werewolf, and you said awful things about his existence.

Remus hugged you tighter, tears streaming down his face. He held you tight, and rocked you slightly. You could feel the love and kindness in his touch, his arms surrounding you like a cocoon of protection and acceptance. He spoke in a soft, gentle tone, now speaking in a broken, wavering voice after having cried for so long. He spoke with honesty and integrity, his heart filled with a deep, heartfelt sorrow; you could feel the pain, the torment, the years of shame and guilt; all of it was present in his voice.

" I understand... I ... I forgive you..." He said, looking you into your eye.

"I promise not to tell anyone," you sniffle out.

He kept hugging you, the tears slowly drying out. There was kindness, integrity, honesty, and sincerity to this man's heart that was rare to find in such a cold, harsh world. You could feel it in his touch, the love and caring, the true, deep compassion and kindness, the heart of gold - you saw it all in this man. He felt like more than a teacher; he felt like an old, true friend - one you could trust and one who would always accept you. He spoke in a soft voice, filled with kindness and acceptance.

"I trust you."

The End

[taytrashmouth]

Hi! Can I request the first prompt with Steve please!

Love this!!!!!

Prompt: “you’re being all cute and sweet and it’s making me want to kiss you.”

Character: Steve Harrington, stranger things

Steve Harrington x reader

It was late on a Saturday evening, your parents were at work and Steve’s parents were on some vacation in France.

All they knew was that you were at home ‘studying’. You were at Steve’s house, your boyfriend.

“Steve!” You called from the shower.

“Mmmm!”

“Do you have any clothes I could borrow?” You yelled from the other side of the door.

He knocked a few seconds later, and he handed you an old t-shirt and some boxers, he was looking away, at something for school with a pen in his mouth.

You shut the door again. “Is that your college application essay?” You asked.

“Yeah! I just- I keep messing up and I don’t know how to fix it.” He sighed, flipping onto his bed. “I feel so dumb you know?”

“Let me read it.” You stated opening the door and drying off your hair with a blue towel.

He smiled at you. Like you were the only thing that mattered. So you smiled back.

“It’s so unfair, My clothes always look better on you.” He whined as you settled with your back to his chest, leaning on his headboard. He held your torso tight and rested his head in your neck. Your legs were intertwined.

“No I think you look super sexy in your Freddy Kruger t-shirt.” You joked, smiling up at him and he hugged you tighter.

You read the essay while he rested on your shoulder. Clearly tired from the past week.

“Steve?” You asked after a long silence.

“I know-, it’s stupid and I don’t really have good ideas for the essay. And I feel like it’s obvious that I’m stupid- and they want someone who’s smart you know-“ he began to rant.

You turned around, straddling him.

“Steve-“ you interrupted.

He looked at you, very distressed.

You held his cheeks. “You’re not stupid.” Suddenly he looked like the weight of the world had hit him.

Your sad face, and the years of being told he was dumb crashing onto him.

“Fuck.” He choked as he began to cry. “This is so- sorry-“ he apologised and wiped his face.

“Hey, don’t apologise, it’s okay to cry. I was going to say I really liked the essay, I thought it was a really different perspective on going into the world. You know most people they, say what the university wants to hear, but you wrote from your heart.” As you spoke you wiped his tears which made him cry more.

“And I don’t think you’re stupid. You know how to bake, and fix a car, you can do my hair- which I can’t even do.” At this he chuckled.

“You are kind and that’s more than most boys know how to do-, and you built me a bookshelf…and I love books. You’re thoughtful, and you find solutions to things that most people ignore. You’re good with kids.”

. “And a bonus is that you’re like super hot.” You shrugged, fixing his hair that has fallen into his face.

He smiled.

“You’re being all cute and sweet and it’s making me want to kiss you.” Steve whispered.

Your smile reached your eyes. “That’s okay.”

He smiled into the kiss, smothering you. Kissing your lips first, then your cheeks and your forehead.

He stopped abruptly and held your arms. “I love you.” He spoke. This was the first time he’d said it.

You paused for a moment, a smile creeping onto your face. “I love you more.”

He let out a breath of relief. Memories of Nancy leaving his head, he’d been scared to say it since.

Soon he was kissing you again, long and passionate.

[fastasyoucan1999]

brynn hi hello!!!!! 20 + 13 + 17 for the book asks please <3 i want to hear all your thoughts you are just so cool!! xoxox hope your flights goes well MWAH!! <3

liv hiii!!!! and stop it youre making me blush... the flight is over which i'm thrilled about! how are you what are you thinking abt tell me!

what was your most anticipated release? did it meet your expectations?

i'm not much of an anticipator! i'm really not a part of the wider book culture... i have no clue what's happening out there..

i guess braiding sweetgrass by robin wall kimmerer? i'd heard some fantastic things about it and it did for the most part meet my expectations! i think it dragged around the middle and towards the end.. but nearly every essay had me on the brink of tears (pls i'm begging take this with a grain of salt. i cry at dove commercials, and at those barbie ones where five year olds are lecturing to a college class and then it fades out and they were playing with a barbie the whole time...)

uhh and true grit by charles portis... it did come out in the 60s but. the cashier told me i'd love it and he was right. i did

what were your least favorite books of the year?

you're a pot stirrer. do we need to talk more about the seven husbands of evelyn hugo? bc i will. what a bland dry shallow book. it was so.... lackluster? ineffective? unoriginal? i just found it boring on all fronts. i've never read a book that left me with so little after i finished it. i can't even talk about it at length bc it's already slipping from my mind; it might as well have not existed.

also moby-dick. felt like pages were added the more i read. it was some sort of never-ending infinite silk-pulled-from-a-pocket magic trick. shocked and appalled that somehow more pages kept appearing after i finished one... i would've dnfed it but i was reading it for a class :/ and my prof was so kind, she reminded me of jessica day and she loved moby-dick. she loved it so much. so i read all of it for her <3 despised every second

the monk by matthew lewis and the italian by ann radcliffe. classic classic gothic literature. so much happening... so little actually being done. i do however respect how incredibly horny both of them were.

did any books surprise you with how good they were?

east of eden... persuasion by austen... but i'm going to answer this indulgently and say i reread gregor the overlander by suzanne collins. and though i wasn't surprised by how good it was bc collins is fantastic and i trust her implicitly... i just feel the need to emphasize what a masterclass in middle grade fiction the underland chronicles are. whatever youre thinking when you see 'middle grade fiction' literally erase it from your mind bc the series beats out everything i've ever read. percy jackson kid this harry potter kid that... hit me up if you know anything about giant rats and the casualties of war ok

[carolinemillerbooks]

New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/everyone-has-a-story-to-tell-2/

Everyone Has A Story To Tell

My essay below first appeared in the ebook magazine Women Writers, Women’s Books on July 27, 2020.  This is a reprint of that article.   EVERYONE HAS A STORY TO TELL “Everyone has a story to tell,” said the woman seated opposite me at my retirement center. Somewhere in her 80s, she had the beauty of a Gibson Girl.  A cloud of silver hair framed her pale complexion, and her eyes were the size of blue pebbles, though the color had faded.  As she told me her story, her eyes strayed into the distance, as if images of her past were being thrown upon a far wall.   I drained my coffee cup, not daring to make a sound, while she recounted stories of her youth–a period during World War II when, as a dancer, she entertained American troops on the Western front. Though well into my 70s, I sat like a child before her, open-mouthed, dazzled by her adventures. She was proving her truth. Everyone has a story to tell. The question for most of us is how to begin and whom to address.  Are the memoirs we write meant for friends and family?  Or should the public be included? That decision is crucial from the start. Friends and family are a willing audience. Relatives are curious about their predecessors. Why did Uncle Herman stop speaking to his brother? When did Cousin Ella become fearful of ponds?  Grandchildren will turn the pages of a memoir salaciously, wondering if their grandparents ever kissed. A family memoir is often linear in structure.  The course of events unfold as they were lived–first this, then this, and then this.  The vignettes march across the pages like a troop of well-rehearsed drummers. Introspection isn’t deep, though we may learn that Grandpa Rutherford favored eggs for breakfast because his mother served him porridge as a child. Family members who hunger for tidbits about their heritage will tolerate a linear construction. The general public is likely to yawn. For them, a memoir must venture into a wider sea. No longer a teller of family secrets, the author sets a course for human understanding. What makes us laugh or cry? What dreams do we hold in common? Organizing insights like these invite a structure more varied than a linear one.  Book lovers who attempt a public memoir will have an easier time organizing their thoughts than the occasional reader. Bookworms make good writers. Call it transmigration or the process of osmosis, but those of us with well-worn library cards have been inhaling the writer’s skill simply by observing it—the way an infant learns to stand by mimicking its parents For those of us less well-read, organizing material according to themes is a good plan: humorous stories, stories of disappointment, or those about overcoming difficulties.  James Harriot’s format in All Creatures Great and Small also works.  He salts sad stories between several happy ones. Celebrities can ignore my advice and suffer no consequences. People will buy a famous person’s book out of curiosity or because they admire the individual.  If the piece is boring, they will pass it along as a form of revenge to a neighbor–the guy whose dog likes to pee on your zinnias. Most importantly, a memoir writer must be honest. Too many self-congratulatory remarks smack of narcissism. Expose your mistakes so your audience learns from you.  If they do, they will love you for it.  “We’re all mad here,” said the Cheshire Cat. Everyone has a story to tell.  If yours helps someone to reflect, laugh or shed a tear, you will have mastered the art of memoir. My upcoming memoir, to be published on November 1, 2023, makes a stab at all of the above.  The narrative begins with an incident at my retirement center which provokes memories of a time in my earlier twenties when I spent four years abroad. In 1959, the ink was barely dry on my college diploma when I followed my fiancé to England. After two years spent struggling to adapt to life in a new country, the man I adored broke our engagement. Rudderless and far from home, I joined an English acquaintance to teach in East Africa. I knew nothing about the political turbulence in that part of the world, an era when white colonial empires struggled to maintain their grip on indigenous populations.  By the time I stepped off the boat in Cape Town, UHURU’s freedom cry had ignited the land. Even so, I little realized my coming-of-age story would mirror the joy, suffering, and danger of the birth of new nations.  By the time I returned to the United States, I was a  stranger in my country. I’d been transformed by my experiences yet well knew the value of making human connections. Now, with my hair turned silver, I’ve chosen to retrace the journey that became a pilgrimage.  Will readers connect with my story? Like every artist, I stand with my heart in my mouth awaiting their decision.

[timotheechlamett]

Sunshine part 2?

SUNSHINE PT. 2

Part 1

WARNINGS: pining, angst, fluff

——————————————

The first time I laid eyes on regulus Black, I knew I needed him. He wasn’t the most talkative, nor was he the nicest but I saw him, I noticed him.

So I sat next to him in the library, everyday in fact. I was determined to break this face he put on, a face so transparent, that anyone who really saw him would see through it.

He knew everything about me including my favorite color, in exchange, though it took time, I knew everything he gave me about himself too.

I couldn’t help the looks I gave him even if he caught me, I just wish he knew how I felt.

He isn’t anything like people said.

It’s been a couple months since I’ve been in his company, we’ve shared a lot together in this time. I even knew his favorite color.

Blue.

But today was an exceptionally brilliant day.

Today was the day I finally decided to voice my feelings about Regulus to himself. I would tell him what he meant to me, the feelings I’ve harbored for these couple months would no longer be thoughts in my head.

He didn’t speak all that much, which wasn’t abnormal, I took to rambling more than usual. I blame it on my nerves but it felt worse because he wasn’t saying anything at all.

I rack my brain for a subject he would comment on hoping I wasn’t annoying him, “Oh! Have you started on your Potions essay? I still can’t choose which po-“

“Why are you here everyday I am?” He interrupts me.

Because I love you.

“What do you mean by that?” I look up at him and tilt my head, giving a small smile.

“Would you not rather be by your friends?” He looks up at me finally.

This might be easier than I thought.

“Well I- aren’t we friends? I want to spend time with you-” I smile and my hand goes to reach for his from under the table before he cuts me off again.

“Are we?” He spits.

I retract my hand and my smile falters as I furrow my brows in confusion. I open my mouth to reply but-

“I mean you’ve gone out of your own way to sit next to me for the past two months, every single day. I don’t exactly remember extending an invitation.” His words sting like salt and lemon in a wound.

I no longer feel the happiness to smile, instead I feel the overwhelming hurt that makes hot tears prick my eyes, that makes my heart beat into my ears, a hurt that makes my throat dry enough to silence me.

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth as I cry, “Y/N you don’t need to cry.” I look at him as he has the audacity to act annoyed, maybe sympathetic if I didn’t know better.

I wrap my bag around my shoulder, and with the question of ‘Are you leaving’, and with his insincere apology, I broke.

I broke and told him what I had planned to, he said nothing, which is in fact, worse than anything, literally anything else.

I walked away.

I walked away from him, I walked away and he didn’t even come after me.

So I sulked back to my dorm with tears streaming down my face and let my feelings loose. I cried harder. I laid there all day and felt sorry for myself, but I was warned.

You should’ve known better.

———————-

I notice the hurt less now.

I spend more time with my friends and also making them, I almost feel normal again.

Whenever I catch a glimpse of him I still feel the emptiness of his company everyday. Of our bonding, of his smile, and the way he smells. But he hurt me.

He gave me meaning to feeling blue.

It’s been a month now and I find myself missing him more recently. So I try to open myself up to other boys, but none compare.

I can’t be happy without him.

I stalk down the empty corridor stuck in my thoughts, running my hand across the brick as I walk.

“Y/N?” I turn to meet the voice.

I stand across from Regulus completely frozen. He stares for a moment before speaking again, “Can I please talk to you?” He takes a step toward me.

I move back a step, “Please I- please just let me talk to you.” He says quietly, taking a couple more steps forward.

“Please let me apologize.” He continues walking forward, I stay frozen in my spot.

He looks down at me, slowly bringing his hand to grasp my own pulling me nearly flush to his chest. I look up meeting his gaze.

“I miss you, so much.” His fingers interlace with mine, “I was such a fucking ass, you never deserved that. I’m so sorry.” His eyes are pleading.

I grip his hand back and let out a shaky breath, “It’s okay-“

“No. No it’s not okay, I hurt you and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I couldn’t wrap my head around why someone like you, would want to be around me.” He brings his free hand up to run his thumb over my cheek.

“You could be with anyone, someone who isn’t so cold and sour all the time. Someone who’s as bright and wonderful as you. You could have whoever you want-“

“But I wanted you Regulus. I wanted you and I chose you. I will always choose you.” I feel tears run down my cheek and close my eyes.

He sighs and places his forehead on mine, his hand finds the back of my neck, his other hand grips mine tighter.

“And I will always choose you.” He whispers.

“Regulus?” I whisper.

“Hm?” His fingers find their way to my hair.

“Please kiss me.”

I can feel his smile as our lips meet, its as equally hungry as it is wanting. I wind my hands into his hair and pull him closer, wanting more of him, all of him.

We sigh into the kiss before he releases my hand and places his on the small of my back, he glides his tongue across my bottom lip, a silent ask for entrance which I grant.

Our tongues fight for dominance, the taste of him making me dizzy, I can’t help but want more.

“Never leave me again.” He breaks apart from me, panting slightly.

“Never.” I say breathlessly before devouring him all over again.

[toiletwipes]

simpbur's college roommate

tw: obsession, possessiveness? not really tbh, simpbur is caught, overstim, vibrator, afab body, vaginal penetration, pretty boy is thrown around and so is good boy, praise, maybe a tiny bit degrading, im just a little bit scared to look through this to check for anything else. its not bad but im just scared i'll delete this if i dont post it now.

1.7k words, so not that long but I promised you guys content so here it is!

-----

it was the smaller things, really.

you wouldn’t notice them, if you weren’t looking for them, type of deal. a shirt that fits you just a little bit too snug so it sits in the back of your closet, or did. an old polaroid with an older friend, faces smiling into the flash of light, it had sat in the bottom of your old memory box, said box gone untouched by you for months. an oversized, raggedy hoodie that you had ditched for a newer, softer coat.

you didn’t want to believe it but at the moment you had bigger fish to fry with schoolwork.

the coat from before sat in your lap at the moment, you parked yourself in the library as you studied with a close friend for some government essay, and you were just nearly finished with the second to last page, when your friend spoke up.

she taps on your arm, pulling out your earbud, “hey, your roommate is will, er, wilbur, right?” you stopped in the middle of a word, lifting your head to meet her eyesight.

“yeah, why? he being creepy or something?” you ask, hoping for a no, he wasn’t bad, but you knew that if anybody else had been his roommate, he would've found himself in trouble during the first week alone.

“no, actually, it’s just- it’s just that, um, are you guys dating?” you snorted, really? you and him? dating?

“he’s cute, but no, why d’ya ask?” you laugh to yourself as you look into your notes as you start typing again.

“well, he’s just been wearing your hoodie, like a lot.” you still, eyebrows furrowing. your hoodie?

“how do you know it's my hoodie?” you look her in her eyes, folding your arms together as you lean back.

“i know for sure its your hoodie because it has that one bleach stain on the front and on the shoulder from when you said you could wear a hoodie and bleach your hair, and the time that you spilt bleach directly onto your hoodie and panicked for five minutes before doing something about it. i know it's yours so why is he wearing it?” your mind is blank as you stuff your things back into your backpack, her sputtering with questions and your lack of answers leaving much to be desired.

but as you exit the building, you shrug your coat as it starts to pour and the dark sky flashes for a moment. you rush in your walking to get to the dorms as soon as possible. just your luck that your dorm is on the other side of the campus. its still about five minutes before you bang on your dorm room. the music blasting on the other side silences as your roommate opens the door, his mouth drops into a round circle and you stare at his chest as you push past him.

“where the hell have you been? it’s barely been pouring!” he sounds off like a rattled hen but you head straight to your room, dumping your backpack and coat on your bed. without an answer, he follows you but any questions he has dries in his mouth as he watches you dig in your closet. pulling a ratty tee shirt and shorts you shrug your soaked shirt over your head.

will has to force himself out of the room but it's not a second later when you come out, hair wet and skin damp when you grab onto his head of hair and pull as you drag him to his room.

throwing him onto the bed, you barely glanced at his face, seeing it already being covered in tears, hands grasping for yours as it leaves him.

you glance around his room before you see the one clean area, his nightstand and dig through that. you found not only items you knew were missing but more, underwear you thought you'd thrown away, a vibrator that you'd thought had gotten stolen by a petty friend, not an obsessive roommate.

and then throwing his closet open, you saw it balled up and thrown in the corner, your hoodie.

taking it out, you push it into will's chest. "dude, literally, what the fuck?" you go to shout at him more but he moves onto his knees, tears dripping and pouring down his cheeks, begging for you to not leave.

"i know i'm a creep, a disgusting one at that, but please don't- please don't leave me, no one's been this nice and stayed with me for this long," he begs and continues to beg as you stand at the foot of his bed, watching as he took a hold of your forearms, rubbing circles into them.

you clasp a hand over his mouth as you coo, shushing him and smoothing over his hair with your other hand.

"my dirty, little stalker doesn't want me to go, but who said i was going to let you leave?" you then pull back on his hair, relishing in the guttural moan that is ripped from his throat, attaching your lips to his neck and climbing into lap, grinding down into the growing bulge in his sweats.

he moans out your name, hands finding purchase wherever he can, gripping your hip and your shoulder, trying to thrust up and meet your hips but you move your hands to hold his hips down.

"no, no, no, good boys take what they're given, that much you've proven, will," you murmur in his ear, slowing the rolls in your hips and watching him writhe beneath you.

"be a good boy for me, huh? are you my pretty boy?" he sobs out a yes as you grind down hard on his cock, the praise going straight to his dick as you mouth bruises into his neck. sucking particularly hard his hands come and circle around your waist, his head hanging onto your shoulder.

"please, please let me-"

"oh no, baby, tonight, it's all about you," you pause, standing up and hearing that beautiful whine pulled from his throat, "your punishment for being a dirty, little whore who wanted all my things for yourself, all of me without me." he shook his head, eyes barely opening as he reaches for you, but you've gone to his nightstand and pulled out the vibrator, turning it on and off and finding it surprisingly still working. well, not that surprising.

"now, you're gonna be a good boy and let me take care of you, or you can be alone," he reaches for you, begging you not to leave him and you can't say you weren't that affected.

something about this tall, greasy simp of a man, who stole your things and wears your old hoodie, begging for you not to go, it just settled nicely in the bottom of your stomach.

you weren't denying you were absolutely soaked by now, shoving your shorts off.

"please, i'll- your good boy, be so good for you-" he cuts himself off as you climb back to straddle his lap, this time rolling your hips once before you turn your vibrator on.

"good, so good for me," you hum as you place the vibrator between your panty-clad folds and his sweatpants-covered-cock. the vibrations sent you to a different plane as you grind into him, listening to the way he cried and the way his legs trembled.

you could tell the next moment, he was about to cum and well, you can't have that, not so soon. "ah, ah, ah," you breathe out, taking the vibe away as you lean back and away from his dick.

he lurched forward and his legs shake again as he's denied an orgasm, he cries out and into your neck.

"is my baby ready for ten more of these?" you ask him and his eyes snap wide open, meeting yours and when a moment passes and you press the vibe back against his dick, he whines.

you weren't kidding about before, it's been about an hour, you think, and he's buried his face in a pillow, crying from the over-stimulation and from not cumming.

you, yourself, have occupied your time with stretching yourself out, three fingers buried deep into your pussy and the sounds coming from it has will peeking out from the pillow, eyes sparkling with that crying glow.

taking your fingers out, and sticking them into his mouth, you move yourself over his lap, taking his cock in your hand as you rub it in between your folds. moaning, you move away as his hips jerk upwards, him biting and crying into his fist.

"my pretty baby, doing so well for me, gonna let me make you feel good? you gonna let me make you cum?" will nods his head and lets out the loudest moan you heard that day when you sink down on his cock.

buried to the hilt, he twitches inside you, and he's begging to cum, "'m gonna, 'm gonna cum, please, plea- need to, i need to cum in you," he begs and who are you to deny your pretty boy that?

"cum for me baby," you say, out of breath as you bounce on his cock, reveling in the slick sounds coming from between y'all. he does cum, hips thrusting upwards to bury himself in you, and you let him. but when you know he's all spent, you start to bounce on his cock, him crying from the over-sensitivity.

"just- just let me cum," you breathe out, balancing yourself with his shoulder and one hand rubbing circles into your clit, moans coming from your mouth as sobs leaves will's.

"oh- oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" you cry out, squeezing around will and falling on top of his chest.

breathing together, you let yourself have this moment before you get up and moves towards the bathroom. you hear him calling out for you as you grab a damp towel, some water, and a dry towel.

"did you think i was going to leave you, baby?" you ask, mostly not expecting an answer but turning to him as you run the damp cloth over his face and neck, he bit his lip.

"a little bit, yeah."

"well, don't think about that again, because as much as you're weird and steal my shit, you're still important to me," you tell me, "you're my pretty boy and you're going to stay that way."

when you finished cleaning him up and then cleaned yourself, you take the spot next to him and pull the covers over you two.

he leans into your side, pulling you into him, trying to get closer than close.

"you promise?"

you smile to yourself, thinking about having him all to yourself, "i promise."

[superstition13]

So I have a University assignment due at midnight, which I have absolutely zero motivation to do, but it did inspire this little piece.

Distractions

//AKA Dabi Distracts You From Your Work 💙

Dabi x Female Reader (NSFW)

Genre: smut, porn with very little plot involved, fluff

Includes: biting, unprotected sex, hair pulling, cock warming, teasing, pet names, fingering, crying (pleasure), after care, Dabi’s piercings

You can’t tell me that Dabi isn’t the type of guy who would gladly use sex as a means of distracting you from your work

Especially if he feels as though you’re paying too much attention to it and not him

And if you’re a university student, he would definitely fuck your brains out instead of letting you finish an assignment that he knew you had due

Maybe you make the mistake of letting him sit in your desk chair while you sit on his lap, so at least you can be close to him

He’d start off with his chin resting on his shoulder and his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, but it wouldn’t take long for his hands to begin to wander

One hand would drift down to your inner thigh, and begin tracing feather light patterns along the exposed skin he found there with the tips of his fingers, teasingly close to where you really want him to touch you

Meanwhile, his other hand has slipped under your shirt and is now toying with your nipples

And while all this is going on, you’re still desperately trying your best to concentrate, but it’s becoming increasingly harder for you to focus on typing out an essay when your boyfriend’s hands are doing sinful things to your body

It’s when he starts trailing his lips along your neck, nipping, sucking, and leaving tiny bruises behind that you give in to his touches

Dabi’s hand leaves its place on your thigh and his thumb hooks around the waist band of the skimpy pair of gym shorts you’d decided to wear around the house that day

You raise your hips, just enough for him to slide them down to your knees, where they fall and drop to the floor

He pops open the button on his jeans, and you swear you can feel yourself getting just that little bit wetter at the loud sound his zipper makes in the otherwise quiet apartment

His hands go to your hips, and he lowers you onto his achingly hard cock

A small gasp escapes your lips, you’d been careful not to brush up against his dick while you were working, not wanting to encourage Dabi’s teasing

You’d known he was horny, obviously, but you hadn’t realised how hard he truly was

The two of you moan when he’s fully sheathed inside your heat

You expect him to start bouncing you up and down on his cock, but when he doesn’t you figure he wants you to be the one taking charge

Instead, his hands tighten around you warningly, and he keeps you seated firmly in his lap

“Don’t you have something to do, princess?”

“But I thought-”

“You thought wrong angel.”

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, knowing full well that if you turn your head to look at him, you’ll see one on his face

“Consider this your punishment for ignoring me.”

Part of you can’t believe Dabi is making you finish your assignment instead of fucking you, especially when his cock is buried inside you

Another part of you can totally believe it, knowing all too well what a tease your boyfriend can be

He sits back and begins drawing lazy circles around your throbbing clit

Somehow, you manage to type out a paragraph, and you think that maybe you can do this

Until Dabi decides to flex beneath you, the seemingly innocent movement making his dick twitch inside of you, driving you crazy from the stimulation

You could have tears rolling down your cheeks as you beg him to bend you over your desk and just fuck you already

Instead, he’d have the audacity to coo softly in your ear:

“Come on baby girl, I thought you needed to concentrate?”

But the moment you finish that assignment and submit it to your Professor, he’s pulling out of you and standing up so fast that the chair he’d been sitting on falls over backwards

He quickly manages to get rid of the few articles of clothing the two of you have left between you

Before you know it, Dabi has you bent over the desk, one hand tangled in your hair and the other at your hip in a grip so tight that it's bound to leave bruises. He thrusts into you rapidly, setting a brutal pace. The sounds of skin on skin slapping together, and the obscene noise your cunt makes as he fucks into you fills the air of the studio apartment you share with him.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for you to cum around Dabi’s cock, already pent up and overflowing from almost an hour's worth of Dabi teasing you. Your thighs are glistening as you let go, screaming his name so loudly that your neighbours are sure to file another noise complaint against the two of you come the evening. He releases his grip on your hair, trailing his fingers down your body until they rest between your thighs, and begin to draw circles around your clit once more. Gone are the slow, teasing touches from earlier his only focus is on making you scream out his name out for a second time before he cums. Dabi leans forward, his chest pressing flush against yours back, practically laying on top of you as he rails you without mercy. You realise that you can feel the cold metal of his nipple piercings pressing into your back, and the mental image it conjures makes you clench around him. Dabi lets out a soft groan, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Fuck sweetheart, you have no idea how good you feel wrapped around me,” he pants, his voice breathy as it caresses your neck. “So good and tight for me, fuck. Come again angel, one more time, I wanna hear you scream my name.”

“God Dabi, yes! Yes! Yes!” You whine, trailing off into a hiss at one particularly hard thrust. “Right there baby, I’m so close, fuck!”

Without missing a beat, he shifts himself slightly, angling his cock in a way that Dabi knew would have you seeing stars and hurtling over that precipice you were dangling from. You were convinced you could feel the tip of him pounding against your cervix, dragging deliciously against your walls in all his pierced glory as he brushed past that sweet spot hidden inside of you with each and every punishing thrust. This new angle, abusing your g-spot while his fingers danced over clit, your nipples being teased as they were dragged and pushed across the surface of your desk; All of it was proving to be too much for you. That coil deep inside of you winding tighter and tighter, rendering you all but incoherent. Your tipping point however, was when your boyfriend sunk his teeth into the junction of your shoulder and neck. It wasn't quite hard enough to break the skin, but you knew without a doubt that he would leave one hell of a mark. The pain from his teeth sends pleasure arcing through your body like waves of electricity, going straight to your pussy, causing that tightly wound coil to snap as you threw yourself from the edge you had been hanging onto for dear life.

"Fuck Dabi, I'm coming, FUCK!" You sobbed, cheeks feeling suspiciously wet. The way your pussy fluttered around him was exactly what Dabi needed to find his own release, his pace becoming more and more erratic as he continued to thrust into you, working you both through the shared orgasm. Your name left Dabi’s mouth in a loud moan that was practically pornographic. He came inside of you, painting your walls with his seed, your combined release already beginning to seep out of you from the sheer amount of cum he was pumping into your cunt.

Eventually, his thrusts come to a halt. Your face was pressed uncomfortably against your desk, and you were pretty sure there was a pen trapped beneath you, but at that moment you didn't quite have it in yourself to care. Your mind was pleasantly fogged over from the post orgasm haze, and had someone asked for your name in that given moment, it probably would have taken you a few minutes to recall.

The first thing you became aware of, was Dabi pressing a series of gentle kisses to your neck, paying particular attention to the large bite mark he had left in the heat of the moment. It throbbed slightly, but not unpleasantly so, soothed by the delicate pressure of his lips. Slowly, he pulled out, a small noise of displeasure escaping you at the sudden emptiness you felt with the absence of his cock. He pulled you up, and guided you gently over to the bed where the two of you collapsed together. His arms encircled your waist, gathering you up against his chest. Fingers began to play with your hair as your awareness slowly began to return, Dabi's lips now pressed gently to the top of your head.

"That was..." you trailed off, still slightly breathless.

"Yeah." He agreed, tracing patterns along your skin.

"I'm going to need a shower," you winced, feeling his cum already beginning to dry on you. You already dreaded the idea of getting up to leave the bed, knowing that by the time you did, your limbs would be feeling like jelly and there would surely be an ache settled between your thighs.

"Not yet," your boyfriend breathed. "I'll get up and get us a towel in a minute. Just, lie here with me for now, okay?"

"Okay," you murmured against him, not needing too much convincing.

"Maybe I should help you with your work more often, princess," he suggested, but was met with no reply. Dabi craned his neck to look down at you, only to realise that you had managed to fall asleep in his embrace.

Here’s that tag you asked for lovely, hope you enjoyed my first attempt at writing smut.

@simpforsadbois 💜

[munsons-maiden]

Ummmmmn can we get another hair braiding drabble i am begging!!! Maybe reader or loki is sick, or upset and crying so the other braids their hair and it ends with a kiss

Omg YES ♡ I could write whole essays about Loki’s hair so here you go, nonnie! Thanks for the request and I hope you enjoy! 😁🖤 (it started out as a drabble but escalated into a whole oneshot 😂)

𝐑𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 |  Loki x gender neutral reader (no hair type/colour is given apart from that the reader's hair is long enough to be braided) 

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 |  see above 

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 |  You calm Loki after a nightmare, which turns into a hair-braiding session.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 |  a little bit of angst in the beginning and then only lots of fluff 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 |  1.6 k 

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 |  a little bit of angst in the beginning and then only lots of fluff  

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♡  

𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝🖤 

You were roused from your sleep by a quiet whimper, and for a few heartbeats as your mind untangled from Morpheus’ gentle grasp, you thought you’d just dreamed it – until it sounded through the bedroom once more, and you realized it was Loki, crying in his sleep beside you. Your heart bled for him as you shuffled closer. Silver moonlight spilled through the open window to tint the room in its pale glow, painting shadows over the sharp lines of Loki’s handsome face. The look of serenity and innocence he usually held in his sleep was gone, his eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving glittering tracks on his pale skin before dripping into the tousled dark strands of his hair which spilled all around his head like a dark crown.

“Loki,” you said softly, leaning on one elbow while you gently cupped his face with your free hand, and his eyes flew open with a sharp gasp, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

“Sssshh, it’s okay,” you murmured, letting your hand travel up the side of his face to brush a few stray strands of hair away which had been plastered to the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and you could feel the tug of affection in your chest as he instinctively leaned into your touch.

“I killed her,” he whispered on a half-sob. “I killed her.”

You could feel a lump forming in your throat as you watched the fresh tears running down his cheeks, the expression on his lovely face contorted with a pain sharper than any physical injury could cause.

You didn’t need to ask who he was talking about, who he was still mourning in his sleep. He’d told you how his mother had died. That he was the reason she was dead. It was the same nightmare haunting him in his sleep, the same horrid dream which woke him every so often.

“You didn’t know she would be there, Loki.”

“It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t bring her back. It doesn’t make me less responsible.”

You wanted nothing more than to take the pain from his heart and make it your own instead, to dry his tears and soothe the grief still burrowed in his soul, and it broke your heart every time to know that you couldn’t.

“Come here,” you commanded softly, sitting up, with your back resting against the headboard of the bed, and patted your lap. Loki complied, shuffling closer until the back of his head was resting on your thighs, and he glanced up at you with tears glistening in his beautiful eyes, the blue of his irises painted a silverish hue by the moonlight.

Gently threading your fingers through the glossy black strands of his hair, smoothing them out around his head with slow movements, you asked, “Will you tell me about your mother?”

A sad smile ghosted over his lips, and with his eyes fluttering close at the calming sensation of your fingers playing with his hair, he began to murmur, “When I was little, I hated my hair. People always used to say that Thor’s hair was like sunlight spun into gold. Just like Odin’s, and Frigga’s. And my hair was black like pitch. I never felt like I belong, and my hair was another constant reminder that there was something different with me. One day, I asked my mother if she could show me how to change its colour with magic. To make it look like Thor’s golden hair. I remember her face when I spoke the question. She smiled at me and said ‘Your hair is beautiful as it is. Just as beautiful as Thor’s.’”

Loki paused, chuckling half-heartedly. “I insisted that she only said it because she was my mother, that my hair was ugly and I wanted it to look like Thor’s, and I will never forget her reply. She told me, ‘If you spend your time trying to be like your brother, you will lose yourself in the process. And even if you think it doesn’t matter, it matters to me. Your hair is beautiful, and it belongs to you. You’re my little raven.’ She always called me her little raven after that day.”

You were having a hard time suppressing the tears stinging your eyes, and your hands briefly left their place in Loki’s hair to tenderly swipe away his own tears which were still running down the sides of his face.

“She was right,” you breathed, “Your hair is beautiful. So much more beautiful than Thor’s. And I’m glad you never changed it.”

Loki gave you a wistful smile, brimming with affection. “My mother would have loved you. I know she would have.”

There were a few beats of easy silence, before Loki murmured, “I love it when you play with my hair. I’ve never let anyone touch my hair because it’s so…” He drifted off, searching for the right words, before he finished, “Intimate.”

You smiled, gently running your hands through his soft curls once more, watching how the dark strands threaded around your fingers, before you began to braid them, watching as Loki’s eyes fluttered close while he relished your touch, the sensation of you playing with his hair. His expression was calm once more, the lines of worry and grief smoothed out by your tender touches. The two of you had been together for a while now, and still you couldn’t help but marvel at his beauty, stealing your breath just like it had the first time you’d laid eyes on him.  

“I can feel you staring,” he mused, eyes still closed and the ghost of his usual mischievous smirk playing on his lips, “But go on. Admire me. Worship me.”

“Just when I thought how lovely and peaceful you looked,” you quipped with a smirk of your own, continuing to weave his silky raven strands into a little braid to resemble a crown adorning his head.

“Done!”, you chirped with a little grin, and Loki raised his hand in the air, a small mirror appearing in his grip in a flash of green, and he raised his eyebrows at the sight of his reflection.

“What in the Nine Realms is that?”, he asked.

“A braid.”

“It looks as if a bird has built it,” he snickered. “A very drunk bird.”

“I never said it was a pretty braid.”

Loki sat up, and now you couldn’t suppress your own little giggle. It really resembled a bird’s nest.

“You would be the worst handmaiden,” Loki commented.

“As if your braiding skills were any better than mine, you spoiled prince.”

He only chuckled mischievously, sitting beside you and patting the mattress between his legs in a silent request.

“What do you want to do?”

He smirked. “I’ll show you how a pretty braid looks like.”

You snorted, but shuffled to sit between his legs, and Loki gathered your hair before he began to carefully part it into strands. A contented sigh spilled from your lips at the sensation of Loki’s gentle hands combing through your hair.

“I didn’t know you could be this competitive when it came to hair-styling skills,” your teased softly, drawing a low laugh from him, before he replied tenderly, “I didn’t think love would come in the form of a braiding contest in the middle of the night, but I’m being proven wrong. Just as you will be about my braiding skills in a few minutes, my love.”

You just hummed in reply, relishing the feeling of Loki braiding your hair, the calmness flooding your soul at the loving touches. You didn’t know how long the two of you stayed like this, lost in the sensation, the gentle tugging at your hair, his fingers threading through the strands, until Loki chimed up, “Ha!”, startling you out of this peaceful drowsiness which had settled over you.

In a flash of green, the little mirror appeared once more, and Loki gleefully held it in front of you so you could see your reflection. Your mouth fell open at the sight.

“Oh goodness,” you breathed. He hadn’t just woven your hair into a simple braid, but into an intricate hairdo making you look like some mystical fairy creature stepped straight out of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Loki flashed you a triumphant grin in the mirror’s reflection, before he planted the softest of kisses on your exposed shoulder.

“I told you I could braid.”

“But…how?”

He closed his fist, and the mirror disappeared once more. You shifted, turning so you were facing him, and Loki explained, “Using magic, seidr, is all about weaving loose strands of magic into something else. A little bit like braiding. Learning to braid helps to guide your focus – weaving magic is a lot harder than that, but braiding hair is a good start to get a feeling for it.”

You could sense the wisps of sadness creeping into his heart once more at the memory, so your hands settled on his cheeks in a soothing gesture before you rested your forehead against his and whispered, “You know that from now on, you will always have to braid my hair, do you?”

Loki gave you a smile in return, filled with so much love that it made your heart sing, before he breathed, “Until the end of time, if you let me.”

With this, he leaned in to lock his lips on yours, a kiss so soft and sweet, filled with love and devotion and a gentleness Loki would never have thought himself capable of before he met you.

His mind flitted back to the words his mother had told him that day when he’d begged her to teach him how to change the colour of his hair with magic, to the words he had omitted in his story.

The parts you don’t like about yourself now will be the parts somebody will fall in love with one day. And they will teach you how to love these parts of you as much as they do.

♡ 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫  𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝/𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠  (𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐞  𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭)

♡ 𝐊𝐨-𝐅𝐢  

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝) 🖤:  

@boneheadduluc @spiderhostia @a-midwinter-night-dream-86  @zemosimp05 @justfangirlthingies @cazzyimagines @rumblelibrary @victias @justanothertruebeliver @chiptaylormybeloved @vverliebt @madhatter2727 @a-simp-recommends-fics @morphoportis  @superavengerpotter @savvywords @thatoneleoslytherin @clockblobber @jhawk608  @spooksgalore69 @paetonnn @chaosbringer566 @jesuisbenny @idkimjusthere23  @dirtytissuebox @sarahpaq08 @janetsnakehole02 @swimgirl5665 @wojciechovsk  @flawed---by---design @the-maroon-panda @charistory @lokiperfection @jen-w @i-l-y-3000  @spicy-acocado @fallinallinmendes @awkward-and-indecisive @whiskeywinter89  @cringingmemeries @osugahunnyicedtea @dead-mitochondria @littleone65  @theaudacitytowrite @marchingicenotes7 @palepurserebelcloud  @variant59 @lokistoriesblog @classicmarvelavenue  @confettucini @1marvelnerd3000 @gabewerk @huffpuff10 @pugcess  @wh0reforthemarauders @pictsiepanda @sititran @butterflyloki  @notyourfuckingbusinesss @damnzelsoul @itsybitchylittlewitchy  @that-one-girl-that-simps @psyc-hot-ic-gingers-kitten @extrodinary-disaster  @d1a2n389 @idkdude44 @kingtwhiddleston @glacial-snowflakes @glee-ghost

[witchersgoldenbard]

Jaskier has been working non-stop on their essay and is in desperate need of a break. Geralt and his cat take care of them and make it better.

wc: 2.3k | tags: modern au, high school au, teenagers, nonbinary jask, cat roach is the real mvp, soft boyfriends in love, good papa vesemir

in relation to this post & beta by my most beloved @daisyyydaisyyydaisyyy 💛

Usually, Geralt loves watching Jaskier work. And watching them is a must indeed, because once Jaskier starts focusing on something, chances are they might not snap out of it until several hours later with dry eyes and an empty stomach. So, Geralt takes it upon himself to take care of them, place a mug of coffee beside them on normal afternoons, hot chocolate when Jaskier requires sugar, and tea when caffeine and sugar would only lead to an unnecessary amount of extra energy. Sometimes he even gets Jaskier to look up from their laptop and give him a grateful smile before they snap back into hyper-focus.

Today, though, Geralt is concerned more than endeared. Jaskier is staring, hasn't moved in the past five minutes, and a low whine is slowly tearing itself from their throat. The Whine Of Despair, the Whine Of Hungry, the Whine Of Geralt Please I Need A Break. They're even sitting at Geralt's desk today, which is when they both know things are serious and Geralt has the instruction not to interrupt them unless the house is on fire or someone's dying or Roachie wants cuddles. Priorities, Geralt. But it's the whine that breaks through Geralt's resolve to let his boyfriend power-work on his essay in peace, and he gets up from the bed with a sigh. He gently places Roach on the douvet, receiving a content burbling noise that makes Geralt smile as he boops her nose. She lets him. He boops her again before Jaskier's whine picks up again and he remembers what he was about to do.

He walks up to Jaskier, shuffling his feet on the floor in an attempt to not startle them, though it does seem futile as they still haven't moved, haven't even twitched where they're sitting. Now that Geralt stands behind them, he sees that they're not even scrolling in their document. They're just sitting there. Staring. Completely out of it, and whining.

Geralt bends down and gently places his hands on their shoulders which makes them flinch instantly.

"Sorry," he whispers and rests his cheek on the crown of Jaskier's head. "I tried not to startle you, but—"

"No, no, it's fine," Jaskier mumbles and leans back into Geralt's embrace. Their neck cracks when they do, and it leaves them both wincing.

"You're taking a break now," Geralt decides, his hands moving from Jaskier's shoulders to their neck to massage away the tension before he turns it into a proper embrace, just holding Jaskier for a moment.

Jaskier's protest comes belatedly and is only half-hearted. "Noo," they whine, not at all trying to get out of the embrace and back to their essay. "I have to finish this by midnight, Geralt."

"And you will," Geralt promises them, his voice calm and full of conviction because they both know Jaskier will absolutely have this eight-page essay written within two days and finished by tonight. They always do. That's part of the problem. Geralt sighs. "I know you will, but you haven't eaten anything since breakfast, and coffee is not a meal, Jask. I'm taking you downstairs now and then you eat."

"Geralt, no, I can't," they sigh and actually do make an attempt to lean forward and get back to their laptop, but Geralt is holding them close with a huff. "Come on, let me, please. This has no structure, it's barely coherent let alone cohesive. I already have two pages too many and am barely even close to having all points covered. And I don't even know what I'm talking about because I cannot read the primary literature."

Jaskier is actually about to cry from this, Geralt realises, and he holds them closer.

"I cannot read, I cannot process any kinds of information. My brain is foggy and my head hurts because I keep trying to make sense of it but I cannot, because I'm just talking out of my own ass here, and I will absolutely fail this, Geralt. I might get an A, I might get an F, and I couldn't even tell you the difference right now because everything is blurry and I need... I need... I just. Hmm." They whine, and Geralt knows how it is, so he lets them.

"You need food. And you need a break. And you need to go annoy Lambert and let me work on this for a moment so I can tell you that it's not bad at all and that you're brilliant as always. And you need to let me fix this for you while you rest, okay? I make the rules now."

Jaskier sniffles, and their voice sounds hoarse when they say, "Geralt, no."

"Geralt yes," he whispers and presses a kiss to Jaskier's hair when he retreats. "Come on. Food."

Jaskier lets him take their hand, but they stop him before he gets to take three steps, pulling on his hand to pull him back in and into a hug. They wrap their arms around him like they usually do when they need Geralt to take the reins for a moment because they physically and mentally cannot take care of themself right now. Geralt smiles and runs his hand through their hair, loving the sensation and the rumble in Jaskiers's chest that almost rivals Roachie's purr. Almost.

"Thank you," they whisper, and Geralt smiles.

"I've got you." He holds them for a moment before stepping back and taking their hand once more. "Come now, I'm gonna make spaghetti."

And the way Jaskier's eyes light up at that, Geralt knows this is the right thing to do. It might cost them an hour of potential productivity, but no essay is worth starving over. No essay is worth getting intense brain fog over — even though that is easier said than done.

Roach follows them downstairs and into the kitchen, which allows Jaskier to coo over her and baby-talk with her while Geralt gets the water to boil.

"You're a baby!" Jaskier exclaims, and the warmth spreading in Geralt's chest is almost enough to overwhelm him. "The bestest baby in this whole world, Roachie. Woachie. Woachie-boo, I am so jealous that you don't have to write stupid essays on stupid things and can just... Yeah, you're right, let's just lie down together. You're so smart. So smart, Roachie! Geralt, your cat is very smart!"

In the kitchen, Geralt snorts as he puts the spaghetti into the boiling water and listens to his love talk nonsense at and about his cat. Gods, how he loves them both so much, it makes his hands tingle and his cheeks hurt and—

"What's happening here?" comes Vesemir's voice gently from the living room area where Jaskier and Roach have disappeared, separated from the kitchen only via an open doorway.

"Ves!" Jaskier says and Geralt can hear shuffling. He chances a glance at the spaghetti in the pot before he pokes his head into the living room area, only to see that Jaskier is getting up from the floor. "Hello! What a coincidence that I should run into you, but now that I did, would you kindly tell your son that he should just let me work on my essay instead of making me eat food and then fixing it for me himself?"

Vesemir blinks at Jaskier, then meets Geralt's eyes with a raised eyebrow. Geralt is shrugging with a smile, wooden spoon still in his hand. His father returns the smile and directs it at Jaskier, speaking after a moment of silence. "Well, firstly, you know there's no stopping Geralt from taking care of someone just the way he intends to do it. Secondly, I think you would do the same for him, son, so I doubt you have a leg to stand on. Go annoy Lambert and let him do this for you, hm?"

Vesemir's smile and the pout on Jaskier's lips beneath that adorable blush are really making Geralt's cheeks hurt and his whole arms tingle, and he takes that moment to turn around and make sure the spaghetti don't stick to the pot, distracting himself from the almost overwhelming warmth and joy and love he's feeling. Happiness, he thinks. Before he knew Jaskier, happiness had never felt like tingling arms and lightness in his chest that made him wonder if he could still breathe. He doesn't know how Jaskier does it, but he knows it's almost the same for them.

Geralt sighs and smiles down at the spaghetti. He should make a sauce, but he doesn't want to. Jaskier prefers any kinds of noodles with cheese only anyway, and Geralt doesn't really care for the taste of tomatoes right now.

They eat on the couch and Geralt preens at the sight of Jaskier, visibly less tense and more lively than he was just a few minutes ago up in his room, chattering idly with Roach in between bites – though thankfully not while their mouth is still full. Yeah, this was the right decision, Geralt thinks, and nudges Jaskier's foot with his own, earning a beaming smile.

Once their afternoon lunch break is done and Jaskier has had their second helping, Geralt is being regarded with a squint.

"What?"

"You're not fixing my essay for me," Jaskier says, and it's almost a dare.

Geralt stares back. "Yes, I am."

Jaskier holds his eyes for a while, then they sigh. "Fine. But I'm taking Roach!"

The cat in question only chirps as Jaskier picks her up, and she settles into their arms like she's prone to do when someone is in dire need of kitty cuddles, as Jaskier loves to call it. Roach seems to have a sixth sense for that, and Geralt reaches out to pet her, making her purr against Jaskier's chest, which in turn makes Jaskier giggle.

"Love you, Roachie," they say in unison, looking up at each other in shock and mirth before Jaskier giggles again and Geralt leans over to press a kiss against their cheek.

"Love you, Jask," he whispers, and Jaskier only hides their face in Roach's fur.

It almost makes Geralt burst with everything he's feeling. He's glad it's not too much, not too overwhelming. It's just nice. Great. Wonderful.

He's so in love.

"You can keep Roach," he says once he trusts his voice enough not to waver in the face of everything that's bubbling up inside him now. "But I don't wanna see you in my room before a whole hour has passed, understood?"

Jaskier frowns. "Yow want me to go annoy Lambert for an hour?"

"He won't mind. And he likes hanging out with you, you're his favourite right after Ciri. Don't tell him I told you, he's going to kill me."

"Are you not his third favourite, then?"

"No, third favourite is actually the shiny rock outside beside the door."

Jaskier thinks for a moment, then nods sagely. "That is a good rock."

"My words exactly," Geralt says, grinning. "He won't mind, I promise. You do deserve a break — please take one? I've got this, I promise you."

Jaskier thinks for a moment, then sags on a sigh. "Okay. But only one hour!"

In the end, Jaskier doesn't last a whole hour.

Geralt is sitting on his bed, editing Jaskier's essay that is by far not as bad as they made it out to be, even if it is a bit rambly and redundant in some places that are easily reduced to concise statements without further ado. He has just reached the seventh of ten pages when he hears the door opening slowly, hesitantly. A glance down at the time tells him that it's barely over half an hour that has passed, but he looks up to see Jaskier looking at him with big, round eyes.

"I swear I will shut up and let you work. But can I come in?"

Geralt smiles and melts a little bit inside. "Of course," he hastens to promise them, shuffling on his bed to make room for them, a subtle invitation that Jaskier seems glad to take. Roach is not with him, so Lambert must have demanded payment in kitty. Geralt grins down at Jaskier's laptop and continues his work.

The bed dips beside him and before long, Jaskier has unceremoniously taken up space behind Geralt, wrapping their arms around his middle in a secure hold. Just holding. Not pushing and pulling, not looking over Geralt's shoulder at his laptop to see what he's editing in or out, not speaking at all.

Geralt leans into his hold for a moment, letting Jaskier know this is okay, this is welcome, this is good. Jaskier hums but does nothing else.

It's quiet in the most comfortable, companionable way that only gets broken when Geralt has finished Jaskier's essay and promises him that all he has left to do is write a conclusion and fix his formatting.

Still, Jaskier does not move, their cheek still pressed to Geralt's back and their arms still wrapped around his middle. "I love you, do you know that?" A sniffle. "You are the best. Miraculous. Wondrous. Wonderful. Beautiful. Just so... full. You make me feel so full, and I don't know how you are so incredible. But you are. And I love you and just... Thank you."

It's Geralt who moves, twisting in Jaskier's hold until he can wrap his arms around them in turn and run his fingers through his hair again. "I love you, too. And you're welcome. Anytime, okay?"

Jaskier nods, and Geralt smiles.

"You make me feel full, too, you know? One day I'm gonna burst and you're gonna have to clean up after me."

Jaskier huffs, warm breath against his throat, and shrugs. "Worth it. It'll be pretty goo to scrub from surfaces."

"You're a goof," Geralt laughs.

"Your goof."

"Hmm."

*

tagging: @natilieal @meebles @karolincki @herostag @wherethewordsare @dunroamins @alllthequeenshorses @horsedadgeralt @toboldlynerd @boyslikewolves

[jackoshadows]

 “You,” Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, “will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be Knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon.” - Eddard, A Game of Thrones

My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I’ll lay you down, I’ll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown - Arya, A Storm of Swords

“Aegon has been shaped for rule since before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Tommen has been taught that kingship is his right. Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them.” - Kevan, A Dance with Dragons

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So this is an essay of sorts on my speculation/theory that Arya is going to end up as a leader of the North by the end of the series. I will split this into several parts:

Arya and leadership

Arya and Northern leadership

Arya and Nymeria

Skillsets

Importance of being a Warg/Skinchanger

Succession

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Arya Stark and leadership

“Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.“  - Arya, AGoT

Arya has always been a leader rather than a follower. Just like Jon at the wall, she initially chafes at having to follow orders instead of doing what she thinks is the right thing to do. Despite Gendry and Hot Pie being older than her, she’s the one giving the orders and making the plans. She manipulates or forces characters into doing what she wants – getting Gendry to leave Harrenhal and forcing Jaqen to help her free the Northmen.

Arya took the lead, kicking her stolen horse to a brisk heedless trot until the trees close in around her. Hot Pie and Gendry followed as best they could. From time to time Arya glanced over her shoulder, to make sure the two boys had not fallen too far behind, and to see if they were being pursued - Arya, ASoS

Like most of our protagonists, Arya is ambitious and interested in being an active participant at the top. She wanted to become a King’s councilor and build castles. That entire little speech that Varys gives about the ideal candidate for ruling fits Arya to a T.

Arya has gone hungry, scrubbed and cleaned, cooked and kept house, sewed and mended clothes, bound up wounds, been hunted, been scared for her life – and done all this with limited protection. Just survived on her wits. Arya can wield a sword, is fluent in several languages and has studied with a Septa.

We also see war torn Westeros and the suffering of the smallfolk through Arya’s eyes in ACoK and ASoS. It doesn’t matter if it’s Stark or Lannister, the smallfolk suffer the same – Septon Meribald’s ‘Broken Men’ speech in AFfC embodies what Arya observes. After Arya frees the Northmen using weasel soup and Vargo Hoat betrays the Lannisters, there are reprisal killings, torture and rape enacted by Stark bannermen and the sellswords. The smith, Maester and the head maid are executed for merely serving Tywin – something on which they had no choice. Gendry points this out to Arya and she feels guilty for her part in all this.

“I hate this lot worse. Ser Amory was fighting for his lord, but the Mummers are sellswords and turncloaks. Half of them can’t even speak the Common Tongue. Septon Utt likes little boys, Qyburn does black magic, and your friend Biter eats people.”

The worst thing was, she couldn’t even say he was wrong. The Brave Companions did most of the foraging for Harrenhal, and Roose Bolton had given them the task of rooting out Lannisters. Vargo Hoat had divided them into four bands, to visit as many villages as possible. He led the largest group himself, and gave the others to his most trusted captains. She had heard Rorge laughing over Lord Vargo’s way of finding traitors. All he did was return to places he had visited before under Lord Tywin’s banner and seize those who had helped him. – Arya, ACoK

"It’s not a village, it’s only black stones and old bones. “Did the Lannisters kill the people who lived here?” Arya asked as she helped Anguy dry the horses.

“No.” He pointed. “Look at how thick the moss grows on the stones. No one’s moved them for a long time. And there’s a tree growing out of the wall there, see? This place was put to the torch a long time ago.”

“Who did it, then?” asked Gendry.

“Hoster Tully.” Notch was a stooped thin grey-haired man, born in these parts. “This was Lord Goodbrook’s village. When Riverrun declared for Robert, Goodbrook stayed loyal to the king, so Lord Tully came down on him with fire and sword. After the Trident, Goodbrook’s son made his peace with Robert and Lord Hoster, but that didn’t help the dead none.”

A silence fell."  - Arya, ASoS

"Wolves, she thought again. Like me. Was this her pack? How could they be Robb’s men? She wanted to hit them. She wanted to hurt them. She wanted to cry.” - Arya, ASoS

The smallfolk in the Riverlands are caught between the Starks, Tullys and Lannisters with no good choices. And on the ground level, Arya sees this, understands this and acknowledges this. Her actions benefited house Stark and no one else. She understands the cost of war.

Arya is also very keen on justice. In that she not only thinks that characters deserve justice, but she wants to actively participate and deliver justice. She considers the execution of Dareon from the NW as a just one.

Dareon had been a deserter from the Night's Watch; he had deserved to die. - Arya, AFfC

“Guilty!” Arya shouted with the rest. “Guilty, guilty, kill him, guilty!” …

Arya could only think of Mycah and all the stupid prayers she’d prayed for the Hound to die. If there were gods, why didn’t Lord Beric win? She knew the Hound was guilty… - Arya, ASoS

Her father beat her so often and so brutally that she was never truly free of pain or fear until she came to us.”

“Did you kill him?”

“She asked the gift for herself, not for her father.”

You should have killed him.“ - Arya, ADWD

Arya drew back from him. "He killed the slave?" That did not sound right. "He should have killed the masters!" – Arya, aDwD

---------------------------------

Arya and Northern leadership

I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. - Hugo Wull

The North has famously never had a female leader in House Stark. So is it possible for valiant Ned’s precious little girl to become the first Lady Stark to lead the North?

In terms of personality, Arya resembles some of the other female leaders/members of Northern houses. She is bold and forward like Lyanna Mormont and Wylla Manderly. She has trained with the sword and learned how to use a bow and arrow. She proactively engineers her own escape like Alys Karstark. Characters like Ygritte and Alys remind Jon Snow of Arya.

Arya venerates Ned Stark. She follows his advice as much as Robb, Bran and Jon do. Even more so. She executes a NW brother for desertion. And that is important for the Starks.

I should kill them myself. Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his greatsword. - Arya, ACoK

The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. - Bran, AGoT

“The Starks do not use headsmen. Ned always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the blade, though he never took any joy in the duty.” - Catelyn, ACoK

“Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold.” Robb lifted the heavy axe with both hands. “Here in sight of gods and men, I judge you guilty of murder and high treason. In mine own name I condemn you. With mine own hand I take your life. Would you speak a final word?” - Catelyn, ASoS

The pale morning sunlight ran up and down his blade as Jon clasped the hilt of the bastard sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse. - Jon, ADwD

Arya is one of the Starkiest Starks of the whole lot. She is also the only Stark to actually have the Stark look. She is stubborn and determined to do things the Stark way. She often uses her father’s advice to guide her way.

Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. “Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.“ - Arya, aGoT

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father’s table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms.- Arya, AGoT

Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his greatsword. “If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him go look him in the face and hear his last words,” she’d heard him tell Robb and Jon once. - Arya, ACoK

Now there are theories that it is future Bran who was communicating with Arya through the weirwood at Harrenhal, but she does gain strength from her father’s words when she prays to the Old Gods.

Gooseprickles rose on Arya’s skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy. Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father’s voice. “When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” he said. “But there is no pack,” she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. “I’m not even me now, I’m Nan.” “You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you.” - Arya, ACoK

And while Arya is travelling incognito, GRRM keeps her connected to the North, house Stark and the Northern plot. She starts her journey from KL with a NW brother Yoren. She’s disguised as a boy like Danny Flint, Manderly requests a song about brave Danny Flint at Ramsay’s wedding with ‘Arya’. In the Riverlands, Arya’s plot intersects with her father’s bannermen, she participates in the capture of Harrenhal for house Stark and is there for Roose Bolton’s war council. She meets both Roose Bolton and Aenys Frey – our antagonists in Winterfell facing off against Stannis in ADwD. She meets Robett Glover – who is currently in White Harbor - when she lets him out of the dungeons. She gets Jaqen to help her father’s men.

“Vargo Hoat’s come back with prisoners. I saw their badges. There’s a Glover, from Deepwood Motte, he’s my father’s man. The rest too, mostly.” All of a sudden, Arya knew why her feet had brought her here. “You have to help me get them out.” – Arya, ACoK

Arya looked. She knew all of her father’s men. The three in the grey cloaks were strangers. Arya, AGoT

Twin towers. Sunburst. Bloody man. Battle-axe. The battle-axe is for Cerwyn, and the white sun on black is Karstark. They’re northmen. My father’s men, and Robb’s. - Arya, ACoK

Harwin?” Arya whispered. It was! Under the beard and the tangled hair was the face of Hullen’s son, who used to lead her pony around the yard, ride at quintain with Jon and Robb, and drink too much on feast days. He was thinner, harder somehow, and at Winterfell he had never worn a beard, but it was him—her father’s man. Arya, ASoS

“I bet there are Winterfell men too.” Her father’s men, the Young Wolf’s men, the direwolves of Stark. - Arya, ASoS

Arya is also involved in betrothals/marriage – first to Elmar Frey and then married off to Ramsay Bolton to hold the North. As a side note, her connection to all these bastards is indeed interesting - Elmar Frey, Ramsay Bolton, Gendry and Jon Snow. Is GRRM trying to say something here?

We now have the Northerners and Freys that Arya sees in Harrenhal transposed to Winterfell and ‘her father’s men’ rising up for Arya Stark.

Now, we can speculate and assume that these Northerners would have done the same for the other Starks, but that’s not the point here. In the books, GRRM has written this story to revolve around Arya. The mountain clans are marching for ARYA. The Northern houses are fighting alongside Stannis for ARYA. When lady Barbrey Dustin points out the anger of the Northmen at the treatment of ‘Valiant Ned's precious little girl’ she is talking about ARYA.

GRRM has Stannis wanting to rescue Arya for Jon. He has Mance trying to rescue Arya for Jon. He has Jon breaking his vows and dying trying to rescue Arya. A large part of what drives this plot forward is that it’s Arya, and her special relationship with Jon Snow influences a lot of what is happening south of the wall. The story only happens this way with Arya in the North. And that’s why it’s Arya’s story and not that of any other Stark. Superimposing this or that Stark in place of Arya to make a case for why they would be leader of the North makes no sense. GRRM writing in the marriage of Arya Stark to hold the North makes the case for why Arya is important to the North.

So, Arya has actively helped free Northmen in the Riverlands, engaged with important Northerners and Freys at Harrenhal and drives the plot to take down the Boltons in the North. With her leadership skills, her ability to wield a weapon and fight, looking like Ned, following in Ned’s footsteps and advice, her fierce personality, her loyalty to bannermen, her desire for justice and to help the weak and powerless, her huge direwolf - she would be like the Kings in the North of yore.  I think the Northerners will be fine with Arya Stark being the Stark in charge.

------------------------------

Arya and Nymeria

“What if the wolves come?” “Yield,” Arya suggested - Arya, ACoK

The direwolves are an important part of the books, and an important aspect of the Starks.They are as much a part of the Starks as Dany’s dragons are a part of her. They cannot be ignored as unimportant pets who will end up serving no purpose.

“He is part of you, Robb. To fear him is to fear you.”  - Catelyn, ASoS

Ghost did not count. Ghost was closer than a friend. Ghost was part of him - Jon, ADWD

“Part of you is Summer, and part of Summer is you. You know that, Bran.” - Bran, ACoK

“Wolves and women wed for life,” Haggon often said. “You take one, that’s a marriage. The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.” - Varamyr, ADWD

You have five trueborn children,” Jon said. “Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord…The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark,” Jon pointed out. -  Bran, AGoT

“Roose Bolton has Lord Eddard’s daughter. To thwart him White Harbor must have Ned’s son … and the direwolf. The wolf will prove the boy is who we say he is, should the Dreadfort attempt to deny him.“ - Davos, ADWD

GRRM has mentioned several times that they are important.

The Lannisters are always likening themselves to lions, for example, and their motto “Hear me roar” speaks of a certain way of looking at life. But I think for the Starks it goes a little bit beyond that, especially in this generation, with these direwolves. It’s more than just a handy metaphor with them - GRRM, interview

"Wolves have been part of European folklore, of which America's descended, going back thousands of years. In Rome, Romulus and Remus -- there's always been this relationship between wolves and men." That relationship is seen time and again in Martin's series, and it's one that will Martin says will continue as the last two books are eventually released. Arya's wolf, Nymeria, in particular, will play an important role. "You know, I don't like to give things away." says Martin, a grin spreading across his face. "But you don't hang a giant wolf pack on the wall unless you intend to use it." - GRRM interview

The direwolves are important especially for Arya whose theme is ‘The lone wolf dies but the pack survives’ and there are constant mentions of the pack in her POV chapters. Nymeria is an alpha, a leader of her pack like Arya is a leader of hers.

“She says there’s this great pack, hundreds of them, mankillers. The one that leads them is a she-wolf, a bitch from the seventh hell.” - Arya, ACoK

Throughout ACoK and ASoS, Arya mentions the wolves in the Riverlands. They appear to be just ahead of her or behind her. In her chapters there are mentions of wolves eating people, of Roose going wolf hunting. It’s almost like the wolves are traveling with her. They even help her escape – the wolf howl giving the signal – from harrenhal. And it’s possible the pack was picking off Roose Bolton’s riders chasing Arya because they were following right behind.

She could hear the sound of her own breath, and the wolves as well, a great pack of them now. They are closer than the one I heard in the godswood, she thought. They are calling to me. - Arya, ACoK

Once, from the crest of a ridge, she spied dark shapes crossing a stream in the valley behind them, and for half a heartbeat she feared that Roose Bolton’s riders were on them, but when she looked again she realized they were only a pack of wolves. She cupped her hands around her mouth and howled down at them, “Ahooooooooo, ahooooooooo.” When the largest of the wolves lifted its head and howled back, the sound made Arya shiver.   - Arya ASoS

Nymeria keeps amassing this huge wolf pack and Arya being a strong warg can sense this

She was no little girl in the dream; she was a wolf, huge and powerful, and when she emerged from beneath the trees in front of them and bared her teeth in a low rumbling growl, she could smell the rank stench of fear from horse and man alike. - Arya, ASoS

She dreamed of wolves most every night. A great pack of wolves, with her at the head. She was bigger than any of them, stronger, swifter, faster. And her brothers and sisters were with her, many and more of them, fierce and terrible and hers. - Arya, ASoS

In her wolf dreams she was swift and strong, running down her prey with her pack at her heels. - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

The wolf dreams also helps Arya connect to Bran, Jon and Rickon. We see Ghost able to sense the other direwolves and Bran trying to communicate with Jon.

Nymeria is a grey wolf and the stark sigil is a grey wolf on a white background.

 “The rain had washed the guard’s blood off her fingers, she wore a sword across her back, wolves were prowling through the dark like lean grey shadows, and Arya Stark was unafraid.” - Arya, ACoK

“Arya had her father’s eyes, the grey eyes of the Starks.” - Reek, ADwD

What’s in a name? I have already mentioned in another post, the symbolism of the names for the direwolves and them being an indication of the future for the Starks. Arya’s direwolf is named Nymeria – a Rhoynish warrior queen who led her people to safety. Something that Arya may well do in the future when the North is under attack from the Others.

More importantly, Nymeria in Dorne changed the customs and rules of house Martell to follow those of Rhoynar and allowed for female rulers. Nymeria herself was the first female leader and was followed by her daughter. Nymeria changed the norm for Dorne and we could see the same happening with Arya Stark in the North.

-----------------------------

Skills and Education

Look with your eyes, Syrio had said, listen with your ears.- Arya, ACoK

Education at Winterfell:

Arya was mainly taught by Septa Mordane and received the same education as Sansa. She would have been taught history and about the Faith by the Septa, she can read and write, and is good with sums. She’s better than Sansa at managing a household. She can ride a horse like a Northman and is an excellent swimmer. She knows some high Valyrian. Besides the Septa, Arya also hangs around Ned Stark when he is teaching the boys. Many of his words of wisdom that she remembers is from when he is teaching the boys. She mingles with her father’s men, the cooks, the stable boys etc.

Kings Landing:

Water Dancing style of swordfighting from Syrio Forel.

Harrenhal:

Being incognito allows Arya to move around like a mouse or the ghost of Harrenhal and observe and learn things. She is privy to Roose Bolton’s war council and listens to them discuss the Northern campaign against the Lannisters. We get the first inkling of the Red Wedding in these chapters between Roose and the Freys.

Arya observes the different people, analyzes their movements and figures out how to approach them.

The night she was caught, the Lannister men had been nameless strangers with faces as alike as their nasal helms, but she’d come to know them all. You had to know who was lazy and who was cruel, who was smart and who was stupid. You had to learn that even though the one they called Shitmouth had the foulest tongue she’d ever heard, he’d give you an extra piece of bread if you asked, while jolly old Chiswyck and soft-spoken Raff would just give you the back of their hand. - Arya, ACoK

And as lords and ladies never notice the little grey mice under their feet, Arya heard all sorts of secrets just by keeping her ears open as she went about her duties. Pretty Pia from the buttery was a slut who was working her way through every knight in the castle. The wife of the gaoler was with child, but the real father was either Ser Alyn Stackspear or a singer Lord Lefford made mock of ghosts at table, but always kept a candle burning by his bed. Ser Dunaver’s squire Jodge could not hold his water when he slept. The cooks despised Ser Harys Swyft and spit in all his food. Once she even overheard Maester Tothmure’s serving girl confiding to her brother about some message that said Joffrey was a bastard and not the rightful king at all. “Lord Tywin told him to burn the letter and never speak such filth again,” the girl whispered. - Arya, ACoK

She aids in the escape of the near hundred Northmen imprisoned in the dungeons and even Roose is impressed enough to make her his cupbearer. And the next time, she conceives of, plans and executes their entire escape all by herself. She plans for the logistics – weapons, transportation, people, travel route, what to wear.  She makes sure she is warmly dressed, takes the map from Roose’s chamber, uses her position of cupbearer to manipulate several men,  manipulates Gendry into escaping with her, takes down the guard and leads them away. It’s an endeavor that showcases her intelligence, cunning, determination, ability to strategize and lead.

Arya also shows a lot of restraint and keeps her secrets. She doesn’t trust the Glovers or any of the Northmen in Harrenhal - and considering the Red Wedding, it’s a good decision.

Their captors permitted no chatter. A broken lip taught Arya to hold her tongue. Others never learned at all. - Arya, ACoK

Arya watched them die and did nothing. What good did it do you to be brave? One of the women picked for questioning had tried to be brave, but she had died screaming like all the rest. There were no brave people on that march, only scared and hungry ones. - Arya, ACoK

On the road Arya had felt like a sheep, but Harrenhal turned her into a mouse. She was grey as a mouse in her scratchy wool shift, and like a mouse she kept to the crannies and crevices and dark holes of the castle, scurrying out of the way of the mighty.- Arya, ACoK

Braavos:

Arya’s education here is not limited to killing for the Faceless Men. She is also educated in poisons and languages. She improves on her high Valyrian and is now fluent in Braavosi and other Essosi languages. She learns acting/mummery. Not showing emotions on one’s face, detecting emotions in another person.

“A man does not need to be a wizard to know truth from falsehood, not if he has eyes. You need only learn to read a face. Look at the eyes. The mouth. The muscles here, at the corners of the jaw, and here, where the neck joins the shoulders.” He touched her lightly with two fingers. “Some liars blink. Some stare. Some look away. Some lick their lips. Many cover their mouths just before they tell a lie, as if to hide their deceit. Other signs may be more subtle, but they are always there. A false smile and a true one may look alike, but they are as different as dusk from dawn. Can you tell dusk from dawn?”

Arya nodded, though she was not certain that she could. “Then you can learn to see a lie… and once you do, no secret will be safe from you.”  - Arya, AFFC

------------------------

People skills

“I will remember, Your Grace," said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people's loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me.” - Sansa, ACoK

Arya’s ability to make friends wherever she goes highlights her people skills. And Arya is able to communicate and connect with people from all walks of life.

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. - Sansa, AGoT

She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children., Arya, AGoT

Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. “Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.“ - Arya, AGoT

Cat had made friends along the wharves; porters and mummers, ropemakers and sailmenders, taverners, Brewers and bakers and beggars and whores - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

Her girls were nice as well; Blushing Bethany and the Sailor’s Wife, one-eyed Yna who could tell your fortune from a drop of blood, pretty little Lanna, even Assadora, the Ibbenese woman with the mustache. They might not be beautiful, but they were kind to her - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

She’s also loyal to her pack. She doesn’t betray Jon even to her father. She helps free her father’s men. Despite Gendry talking of leaving Lommy or Weasel behind, she refuses. And despite the odds, she tries to help Gendry.

It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that they had Gendry. Even if he was stubborn and stupid, she had to get him out. She wondered if they knew that the queen wanted him. - Arya, ACoK

-------------------------------

Importance of being a Warg/Skinchanger

She was the night wolf, no scraps of skin could frighten her. - Arya, ADwD

Since this is a fantasy series, magic is a big part of the story with a magical existential apocalyptic threat on the horizon. The North is the first bastion facing this threat. Jon and Dany both have magical pets and prophetic dreams. Bran is the 3ER. They are leaders or will become leaders by the end. Arya is a strong warg/skinchanger. Apart from Jon and Bran, she’s the only other Stark to use these abilities so far. As GRRM as indicated, having a direwolf is going to be useful in battle – we are going to be seeing direwolves involved in the battle for Winterfell for example. Arya is able to warg Nymeria from all the way over in Braavos. She skinchanges cats and sees through their eyes, when she is blind. She is deft with a sword, knife and decent with a bow and arrow (she could be better now using her FM senses). She would be an effective fighter to have against the Others and her warging skills could prove useful in battle.

------------------------------

Succession

I’m not a lady, Arya wanted to tell her, I’m a wolf. - Arya, ASoS

And finally we come to succession. This is the hardest part and entirely speculation and we need the next book to get an inkling of where GRRM is heading towards. I am also basing all of this on Hibberd more or less confirming that King Bran on the Iron Throne is GRRM’s ending.

So of the true born Starks, Arya is pretty much last in line. With the inclusion of Robb’s will, we have 5 Starks left. Bran is the rightful heir to the North. Taking him out of the running, leaves Jon, Rickon, Sansa and Arya. Assuming Jon ends up North of the wall – in his dreams the Old Kings in the North in the crypts reject him, maybe foreshadowing that he doesn’t belong in Winterfell - that leaves Rickon, Sansa and Arya.

As for Sansa, again there is a plot significant reason for why GRRM has put an obstacle in her path, allowing for Arya to jump the queue. Sansa is currently married to Tyrion Lannister, a marriage that cannot be easily annulled (With an enemy regime in KL) or ignored like the show did. Robb Stark has most likely disinherited/removed her from the line of succession and named a legitimized Jon Stark his heir and Lord of Winterfell. If he has the support of the Northern houses who want an experienced, older Stark to lead them, Jon Stark could well be the next KITN over Rickon Stark. I don’t think a 7 year old Rickon would object to Jon in charge. So that makes it Jon Stark, Rickon Stark and Arya Stark.

Does Rickon have to die for Arya to become Wardeness of the North? It’s possible Rickon dies, but it’s also possible he doesn’t.  It could be that Rickon does not want to lead the North – by the end of the book, he would be 8 or 9. Of course there’s the argument of a regent doing the job for Rickon until he’s ready. Or, he could just give way to his sister because he wants to. Something similar to Aemon refusing the throne and it passing to his younger brother Aegon.

Or we could have the traditional situation where Rickon becomes lord of Winterfell as next in line, while it’s Arya who is involved in running the day to day affairs. However, that would very much be status quo - with Rickon at WF and Bran down south in KL, it would be men ending up in positions of power everywhere once again, except maybe Dorne. If this happens, then Arya would be a leader of the North, but the Stark line would continue with the male line.  

It’s possible Jon Stark as King could change things for the North. Jon treats the spearwives the same as the brothers of the NW, he respects Val’s abilities, he trusts in Alys Karstark. If Rickon refuses the mantle, it could very well be that Jon Stark relinquishes his position to his favorite person ever, Arya Stark, to be the next Wardeness of the North.  Thus paving the way for Arya Stark to be the first female leader of the North like her hero Nymeria in Dorne.

It would be fitting for the character who introduced Jon Snow to equal rights for women.

“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested. - Arya, AGoT

Could King Jon reverse Sansa’s disinheritance after her marriage is annulled when KL is in friendly hands? Sure. But we don’t know how the Sansa/LF/Vale group will react to Jon as KITN and whether they will mount a challenge in Sansa’s name. And if Jon has to choose between Sansa and Arya as to whom he wants in charge of Winterfell, we know who it is he will think is more capable and will always choose.

I do think Winterfell succession will not be as clearcut as many Stark fans are hoping. Too many factions supporting the different Starks. GRRM loves to write about dysfunctional families and the Starks are not anything special in that regard. TWoW will tell us of whether there will be any kind of Stark civil war.

Is Arya too young for all this? I predict that by the time we get to the end of the books, about 5 years would have gone by. At 14, Arya would still need a regent – one of the many lords of the houses in the North. But I think considering her experiences, skillsets, a huge direwolf, Ned Stark’s wisdom and strong connections to the North, she will be an able leader. As GRRM said,

“[Arya is] older than some of the 40-year-olds in the book.” - GRRM

Either way, whether she gets Winterfell or not, Arya will end up as a leader in the North. Either she rules for Rickon and takes care of the day to day responsibilities or she does so in her own right as Lady of Winterfell/Wardeness of the North. She’s not going anywhere or sailing off on a boat. The show’s ending makes absolutely no sense for a character yearning for home in 5 books after going on the nightmare ‘adventure’ from hell. She will be in the North, in Winterfell, being a leader and continuing Ned Stark’s legacy.  She will counsel her brothers and build and her people will love her just like they loved her father.

So in conclusion, I think there is enough story, character build up, characterization and set up for Arya to go North and take over as a leader of house Stark to face the threat of the Others along with Bran, Jon, Dany and Tyrion.

[mothandpidgeon]

Extra Credit (Professor!Dave York AU)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Professor!Dave York x F Reader

Words: 2865

Rating: VERY E 18+!

Warnings: student/teacher quid pro quo (safe to say this falls under DUB CON so please be careful!!!), spanking, humiliation/degradation, oral sex, orgasm denial, spitting, pussy slapping, biting/marking, p in v sex, Dave York

Summary: With graduation on the horizon, you just have to pass Professor Dave York’s class. But a bad choice on the final assignment leaves your grades in jeopardy. But he’s willing to give you extra credit if you can follow instructions.

a/n: First off, PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU MIND THE WARNINGS. I did not see myself sharing this kind of stuff but I guess I'm freaky like that.

Second, I’m sorry this has the plot of a bad p*rno but sometimes it be like that. Thanks @pascalslittlebrat, @starlightmornings and @mouthymandalorian for encouraging this. It is filth. And thank you P for the gorgeous moodboard!!!!

Also, here is my assignment for the class. What subject do you think Professor York teaches? I was thinking Political Science. Would love to hear your ideas.

It was hot in the lecture hall, one of those early spring days when the weather decided winter was officially over. You had only a few more weeks until graduation and you were white knuckling to the end.

It had been a tough semester. You had your classes to deal with and your motivation was dipping. It wasn’t entirely your fault. You’d had to take on a full time job on top of your studies. Your shitty little car always seemed to be in the shop and your roommate had turned into a psychopath so you slept with one eye open.

Professor York’s class was the hardest you’d ever taken. You liked his style, his dry sense of humor as he lectured. But he was difficult to please. Most professors let their TAs do their the grading but not him. No matter how hard you worked on your papers, you couldn’t wrestle anything higher than a B- from Professor York.

The TA was handing back your papers, the last assignment for the semester, and he placed yours face down in front of you. There was no grade on it just red pen that spelled out see me after class in tight, neat handwriting. Fuck.

You looked up to see Professor York glowering at you from his spot at the front of the hall. You approached him as the other students filed out. You wished you could share their relief that this class was finally done but you had a knot in your stomach.

“Have a seat,” he said, taking the paper from you and tapping it in his palm.

There was a chair next to the professor’s desk and you sat down putting your bag beside you.

“Thanks, Tyler,” he said, dismissing the TA.

When the lecture hall was empty, Professor York sat behind the desk, eyes skimming your paper.

“I wanted to talk to you about this,” he said.

You nodded, too nervous to try speaking.

“This is some great work. This is the kind of essay that really sticks with you after you read it,” he said. His brown eyes were warm and soft and he sat forward in his chair.

You were dumbfounded, your anxiety quickly washing away.

“That’s probably how I know I already read this,” he said, his features suddenly darkening.

Your stomach plummeted into your feet. You were such an ass, thinking you could get away with it.

“I don’t tolerate plagiarism,” he told you.

With everything that had been going on this semester, you didn’t have it in you to complete this final assignment. It wasn’t like you were going to get a good grade anyway. You’d been so exhausted, you hardly cared if you got caught when you’d handed it in. But now that you had to face Professor York, you were kicking yourself.

“I find it highly disrespectful that you would try and pass this off as your work. You know you can be expelled for this?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out. “I’ve just had so much work to do-“

“I’m not interested in excuses,” he snapped.

You shut your mouth and felt tears bite at your eyes.

“Are you going to cry?” he asked in disgust. “That’s not going to work on me.”

“Professor, if I fail this class I’m not going to graduate. Please. I’ll do anything to just pass,” you said.

“Anything?”

“Anything,” you said. The word sounded so definitive when it left your lips.

Professor York leaned back in his chair, swiping his finger across his lower lip in thought.

“I can give you extra credit but you have to do exactly what I tell you,” he said.

You were so relieved, you nodded breathlessly.

His lips curled into a smile.

“What color panties are you wearing?” He asked.

Your cheeks set on fire but heat also pooled between your legs. “I- what?” You managed.

“Show them to me,” he commanded.

Your whole body flushed and you stared at him, wide eyed. You had to be dreaming. You’d always found Professor York sexy with that grin and his deep voice but he wouldn’t- this wasn’t happening.

“Do you want extra credit or do you want me to give this paper to your advisor?” He asked, his tone suddenly harsh.

You swallowed hard. Why did his words send a shiver down your spine? You picked up the hem of your skirt and lifted it so Professor York could see between your legs. You looked away, blushing deeply.

He made a guttural noise that made you drop your skirt and clench your thighs together.

“Give them to me,” he said.

Your mouth hung open. He looked completely serious, blinking at you slowly as if this was a casual request. You bit down hard on your lip but finally you relented.

You squirmed out of your panties, being careful that you didn’t give him a show in the process, and placed them in his large, outstretched hand.

He put them to his nose, inhaled, and then squirreled them away in his back pocket, all the while watching you with amusement.

“Stand up. Put your hands on the desk,” he said.

You couldn’t move, sitting there with a gaping mouth. Finally he narrowed his eyes and you did as he said. You put your palms against the table top, aware of the vulnerable way you were leaned over. His eyes moved over your form and he wore the same self-satisfied expression that came when a student asked a stupid question.

Once he was finished admiring your obedience, he stood up and walked behind you. Your heart was pumping wildly as he stepped closer and you could smell his cologne, leather and tobacco.

“I‘ll pass you but I don’t want you thinking you’re getting off easy,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said.

He chuckled and your breath caught. You felt him lift your skirt up, the fabric skimming over your bare ass, and you gasped. He didn’t touch you but he made a noise of approval that shot through you.

“I’m going to hit you five times,” he said into your ear. “You tell me if it’s too much.”

You nodded without even knowing you were doing it. What the fuck was happening? You were standing in the empty lecture hall, bent over, ass out, and desperate to graduate. You couldn’t believe Professor York’s audacity and yet you were going to let him spank you like you were a little girl. It wasn’t like you had a choice, you told yourself.

Before you could make sense of it, his hand connected with you and you let out a grunt. Were you getting wet? You definitely should not be enjoying this.

He hit you again and this time a moan escaped from you. You clamped your hand over your mouth.

“Hands on the desk,” he commanded.

You put it back down and another strike came against you. The sound of his punishment seemed to be echoing off the walls of the empty room.

He pulled your hips into him to steady you as he went on. You loved the feeling of his arm wrapped around your middle, holding you firm.

When he was finished, you were nearly shaking, your pulse quick and your lips parted. You were still reeling not least of all due to the fact that you wanted more.

“Good girl,” Professor York purred smoothing his hand over the spot he’d turned red. His fingers dipped between your legs to feel the slick on your lips. “You’re not going to learn your lesson if you’re enjoying this.”

He came up right behind you so he could wrap his hand around your front and stroke at you. You were thankful your palms were braced against the desk because your knees nearly gave out.

“Professor,” you tried.

“Did I say you could speak?” he asked, a hand gripping your hair.

“What if someone comes in?” Your voice shook.

“Then you’ll have to tell them why you’re failing my class,” he said and continued to play his fingers between your legs.

You whimpered. You could feel his hard length through his pants pressed into the tender flesh of your ass. Your head spun. You knew how fucked up this was but you didn’t want it to end. Professor York’s fingers circled you expertly and you felt like you were melting in his hands. You forgot everything— the circumstances that lead you to this moment, that this was your teacher, that you were exposed in public. Nothing existed except for your pleasure building and building.

As the sensation mounted in you, you began to buck against his hand.

“Are you close?” he asked.

“Yes,” you moaned.

“Good,” he replied and suddenly, his hand was gone.

You cried out in desperation. You clenched at nothing, left at the precipice with no relief. You were throbbing almost painfully. Professor York caught your chin in one of his hands, squeezing your face and wrenching your head around to look at him.

“Do you deserve to cum?” he asked.

You thought you might actually cry between your need for his touch and the fear his voice instilled in you.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

You shook your head.

“No,” he confirmed.

He loosened his grip on you and, for the briefest moment that softness returned to his eyes. You looked at him, eyes glassy and practically drooling, wishing he would touch you again.

“Needy girl,” he chided. “On your knees.”

He pulled you to your feet by the back of your skirt and you got down, bare knees and shins on the tile floor. You gazed up at him, still a little nervous, still pulsing between your thighs.

Professor York undid a few of the buttons of your shirt and skimmed his knuckle across your breast with a hum.

“Maybe I should take this too. Matching set,” he said. He snapped your bra strap which made you jump. “Off.”

He palmed the bulge in his pants as he watched you remove your shirt and unhook your bra. He squeezed one of your tits and pinched your pebbled nipple until you flinched.

“You want to pass?” he asked you, repeating the motion on the other side.

You nodded and he arched an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you said.

“You want to please me?” Now his hand ran gently along your jawline.

“Yes,” you breathed. You’d been trying all this time, studying hard, staying up all night to perfect your papers. Now you had a new goal in mind though you were afraid it was just as unattainable.

“Open your mouth,” he instructed and when you did he spit into it. “Don’t swallow that.”

You stayed like that, with your mouth open as he released himself from his pants. There was a dark patch on his boxer briefs stained by precum. You watched him wildly as he pulled at himself and a glistening bead appeared at his tip. Saliva, yours or his, was dribbling out of the corners of your mouth, dripping on your hard nipples.

“Don’t you look pretty. I hope you can suck cock better than you write papers,” he mocked.

For some reason this was what made your eyes pop. You asked yourself if you were really going to suck off your professor for a good grade. As if you hadn’t just handed him your panties. As if you hadn’t just let him smack your ass. As if your thighs weren’t drenched with your own slick.

He approached you, still stroking himself and you were jealous. You wanted that friction on yourself, were dying for more.

You didn’t have to be told what to do. You wrapped your wet lips around his thick length and your tongue swirled around him.

“Eyes on me,” he demanded.

You looked up at him, and grasped his shaft in your hand as you sunk your mouth around him as far as you could go. Your saliva dripped down his cock pooling in your fist.

“Fuck,” he said.

That word excited you. You kept going, watching him try to keep his eyes open as you surrounded him. The noise of your lips on him was almost disgusting, wet and squelching, and yet it was driving you insane. You clenched your core for some kind of relief that wouldn’t come.

He thrust deeper into your mouth and you tried to take him in but gagged. You pulled away, his cock bouncing out of your mouth and you coughed.

“Good girl,” he said. “Look at you trying to earn that extra credit.”

Tears stung in your eyes as you tried to recover.

“You still want to cum?” he asked, one hand pumping himself slowly.

You nodded timidly. More than anything in the fucking world. But you didn’t want to seem too eager, aware that he was ready at any moment to rescind the offer.

“Sit on the desk,” he said and you did. “Greedy little brat.”

Professor York slid your skirt up your thighs and that sensation alone felt erotic. He inserted two fingers into your mouth and you sucked them hungrily while he grinned.

He slid them across your folds and you were already so sensitive your back arched. He surprised you by getting down on his knees, opening your legs and throwing your thighs over his shoulders. You leaned back on your hands, laid out across the desk, fully on display.

You heard a noise in the hallway and gasped, your head snapping towards the door. But your attention was immediately drawn back to Professor York when you felt him smack you between the legs.

“Do you want to cum or not?”

“Please,” you begged.

He gave you a dark smile and then began nipping at the inside of your thighs. When he got closer to your center, he bit and sucked hard. You let out a breath, a mix of pleasure and pain.

“When you think about this later, I want you to touch yourself and look at this,” he said, swiping the pad of his thumb over the welt he’d just left there.

You let out a shuddering breath and he began to nibble at your clit between his lips. When your hand automatically shot into his hair, he grabbed you by the wrist and removed it, holding your palm against the desk. His tongue lavished you, churning you into a frenzy, and it didn’t take long before you were back where you’d been before. You were panting and grinding your hips into him.

This time he let you hit your high and you trembled and thrashed as he worked at you. It felt like you’d been wiped out by a wave, not being able to sense up from down. You were mewling and shaking when you finally begged him to stop, overwhelmed and cloyed.

He stood and wiped you from his chin and then said, “I’m going to fuck you now.”

You nodded frantically. He pushed into you and you were sure he could feel you still fluttering around him. You were wetter than you could ever remember but still he was difficult for you to take and you inhaled sharply. He didn’t seem to care, snapping his hips into you and grunting, one hand balling your skirt in his fist against you. Soon, though, you were lost in the sensation of his thrusts.

You didn’t even realize that you were whining loudly as he fucked you, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Professor York took your panties from his pocket and shoved them in your mouth to stifle your cries.

“You’re going to have to quiet down,” he rasped.

You whimpered against the fabric in your mouth and he smiled wickedly. He put his hand around the back of your neck to draw you in closer and he pressed into you faster and faster. He pulled out and you heard your own muffled moan at the loss of him. He worked at himself, spilling over your thigh and on your skirt with a groan.

Both of you took a moment to catch your breath and you watched as the professor leaned over you on his hands, swallowed, and then stood up, as composed as ever. He laughed quietly to himself as he took the panties out of your mouth and smoothed his hair.

“Put your clothes on. I have another class to get to,” he said, handing you a handkerchief and zipping himself up. He slid your panties back in his pocket.

You felt shaky on your feet after you’d mopped up his spend. You got dressed wondering how you were going to get through the rest of the day commando, with a ruined skirt, and the remnants of your professor’s cum drying onto your skin. He didn’t say anything else. You hooked your bag over your shoulder and Professor York looked you up and down one last time. He handed you back your essay. It was soaked through down the middle and you realized you’d been sitting on it on the desk. At the top was a new note in red pen: see me after graduation and his phone number.

You got an A.

-----

tagging some folks: @pascalslittlebrat @mouthymandalorian @starlightmornings @purplepascal042 @originallaura @cheekygeek05 @fangirl-316 @fairytale07 @tuskens-mando @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-skov @skulliebythesea @oceanablue @rebel-soldat @goddessinwolfskin @stevie75 @yespolkadotkitty @danniburgh @221bshrlocked

[volleychumps]

Hi;; could I get headcannon of akaashi, tsuki, and suga having a gf who cries a lot? Ty in advace 🥺

yes ofc!!!!! Thank you for your patience babes<3

S/O Who Cries A lot (Akaashi, Tsukishima, Sugawara) 

--------------------------

Akaashi 

-“Y/N’s uh...” “Coming.” 

- Is the calmest when you have your little bursts of tears, knowing and remembering just what to do to make you calm down

- sighs a little when the same classmate pops her head into his classroom with a it’s happening again kind of expression before he takes mild strides down the hallway toward the familiar class

- Remains unsurprised as you sulk with your head buried on your arms upon your desk, eyes looking straight ahead with tears threatening to spill down your cheeks 

- “Y/N.” “Keiji...” 

- gives you a small nod of encouragement to continue on as he sits on the desk, letting you lay your head down on his lap as he runs his fingers through your hair, the people in your class too used to the sight before them 

- “D-Did you know that grizzly bears have to abandon their cubs? Their own children, Keiji, can you believe that?” 

- “Unbelievable.” In a mild tone as he narrows his eyes at your classmates, silently asking who let loose such a random sad fact that triggered your tears as a certain guy awkwardly sidesteps out of the classroom 

- “I know, right?! I want a grizzly. Can we adopt a grizzly?” 

- Please don’t look at him that way you know he can’t take it- 

- Flinches when you look up at him seriously, pout on your lips as your wet eyes make his chest tug, but he sighs and puts his foot down

- “No. We can’t get a grizzly.” “B-But-!” 

- “Booooo get her a cub-” “Stay out of this, Konoha.” 

- Rolls his eyes, but gently tugs you out of your seat and out the door before casting one more glare to the whistling boy outside your classroom 

- “Where are we going?” You hiccup, trailing behind Akaashi with a loose grip on his hand as the setter hums 

- “School’s almost over anyways. I’ll buy you something sweet.”

- lowkey feels really tired when your sadness seems to not have been very deep for those cubs when you gasp and tighten your grip on his hand excitedly 

- honestly, he knows he’s the only one who can handle you 

Tsukishima

- “It isn’t that hard- you’re crying again?” “No! I-I’m not-!” 

- isn’t the gentlest when it comes to your common act of tearing up at the little things, but slowly grew more accustom to it when he realized how insecure you were about it 

- you were crying over an essay though- 

-Damn blondie we can’t all be smart I’ve cried over essays too much ksjdfkjf

- immediately lowers the tone of his voice when you whip your head away to hide your tears, pouting off to the side as the blonde picks his pen up to give you a few moments to yourself

- “Done crying?” As he scrawls at the paper, proofreading your essay for you as he sees you puff your cheeks out from his peripheral vision

- “I wasn’t.” “You’re about to get tired.” “I’m not-!” 

- Smirks a little when he sees your eyes drooping a little as you scoff, going back to your paper with scratchy eyes

- casually sets a hand on the back of your head, tugging it towards his shoulder as he continues to write, not glancing down at your surprised expression

- “Hm. Then do me a favor and keep my shoulder warm. Plus you won’t be cranky when you wake up.” “I don’t get cranky though-” 

- Scoffs before using his thumb to swipe at the moisture in your eyes gently, coaxing you into a deeper state of sleepiness, eyeing your features with a thump in his chest quietly when he ensures you’re asleep 

- caps his pen, all done with your essay before deciding not to let you know, simply laying his head on your sleeping one before beginning to close his eyes as well- 

- “Do not tell me you’re crying because of how much you like me. Again.” “Leave me alone, I can’t help it! You’re honestly such a bully-” 

- “A bully that likes you too, so shut up and go to sleep.” 

- Smirks at your blushing silence as you cuddle a bit more into his shoulder, tears drying on your cheeks as Tsukishima relishes in satisfaction 

- Another occurence conquered

Sugawara

- “She’s what?” “Ha...we tried to help her, but she hasn’t stopped-” 

- is the most doting over you, and 100% is the type to keep a pack of tissues in his pockets for events like these, racing over to where you are right away 

- “You should have started with that, Daichi! You’re scary, you probably made her cry more because you don’t know how to smile. ” “Excuse me-”

- ignores Daichi’s growing irritation and Asahi’s stifled laughter before racing out of the volleyball practice gym past his teammates to find you sitting outside the door cutely in his escape 

- lmao he lowkey feels like crying when he sees you sniffling to yourself 

- but handles you super gently, simply taking a seat next to you with a warm grin on his face as you refuse to meet his kind stare, glaring through blurred vision down at your knees

- “What happened now?” “Nothing...” 

- “So you just felt like chilling in front of my club’s gym without coming in?” “...yep.” 

- eyes widen a little bit when you throw your hands around his neck, crying softly into his shoulder before he relaxes and holds you back gently, tracing circles on your back soothingly

- in all honesty the first time this happened his soul left his body because he thought he had done something wrong 

- “Okay this? This doesn’t look like nothing.” “...please just hug me.” 

- smiles nonetheless, placing small kisses in the juncture between your shoulder and neck until he feels your breathing even out, slipping the tissues out to dab at your cheeks when you pull back with a pout 

- “Wanna talk about it?” “...I’m not cute enough for you.”

- lowkey is riled up to go and fight somebody but chuckles nonetheless as he blinks at you in disbelief 

- “What on earth? You’re so cute. Literally the cutest. Too cute for me, actually-” “Are you sure?”

- sighs, kind of disappointed that you weren’t confident in his words but grins at the fact that you weren’t crying anymore 

- “More than sure.” as he cups your cheek sweetly, grin only widening when you nuzzle into his hand 

- “...now who the hell told you that you weren’t cute, I just wanna talk. Along with Daichi. And Asahi.”

- “Suga no-” 

- on the bright side, you were smiling now. 

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