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nereidprinc3ss · 7 months

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okay i know this is kind of a specific request but can you do something with professor Spence and uni reader where they get into a spat and argue bc she did something stupid and he gets mad and she’s like “noooo pls don’t be mad i hate when you’re mad at me I’m sorry🥺” bc she literally cannot function knowing she let him down (me with everybody) but he’s like super stubborn and goes all closed up and quiet so that he doesn’t like blow up on her until she finally says like “pls talk to me” and he’s all pissed and like “hell na bitch u crazy!🗣️‼️” but then later he’s like “it’s ok i love u but neva do that shit again ho” then they make up and it’s good again 🎀 ok i explained that so poorly (and comedically if i may) but i hope u get it and pls make it SO DRAMATIC bc I live for drama! like she steals test answers or something or does something that could like get her kicked out of school OR him lose his job 🤔 sigh … idk I’m leaving now. Also i LOOPOOOCE ORRKGOOVI love your fics. Luv em

hey girl (gender neutral) this made me laugh bc genuinely sometimes i write spencer so ooc that is what he sounds like. and i'm not sorry! anyway this is potentially a vyvanse fueled nightmare but i wrote it and i'm posting it MY BLOG MY RULES BITCHESSSS!!!! but genuinely read the content warning LMAO this one got a lil kick to it

warnings/tags: ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, fem!reader, spencer and r get into a for real argument like they're mean to each other, spencer is a lil toxic but its resolved, emotionally neglects reader just for a teeensy second but then he's really nice and sweet again, discussion of his past addic+ion, gets fluffy because i'm not EVIL, gets suggestive at the end bc i am secretly evil.......

a/n: i don't know whats happening. this confuses me just as much as it confuses you. its 3 am in the morning. im gonna post nice happy things soon. Gootbye

“I cannot believe you right now. I don’t even—I don’t even know what to say.”

“Spencer, you don’t have to say anything. It has nothing to do with you, and I’m not looking for your approval.”

He looks up from where he’d been rubbing his temples, like you’re a headache, eyebrows raised and lips parted in indignant disbelief.

“Oh! You’re not looking for my approval? Well thank god for that, because if you were one of my students I would recommend expulsion to the board.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I just said I don’t care about your opinion on this, much less your hypothetical opinion from some alternate universe where you have any authority over my education whatsoever.”

“You distributed an answer key to half of your class! Objectively this is the kind of thing that gets people expelled. I don’t understand how someone so smart could do something so fucking stupid.”

The words bite more than you were prepared for—but what hurts even more is how much he seems to mean them. In arguments past you’d both said things you didn’t mean, and then would immediately melt into I’m so sorry’s and the fight would resolve itself. Spencer’s clenched jaw and inability to make eye contact with you do not lend themselves to tender apologies. They cannot be attributed to miscommunication.

You take a step closer to where he’s bracing himself against the countertop, arms crossed defensively in front of your chest.

“Spencer, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was such a big deal. People cheat in college all the time.”

Still no reply. His head shakes so minutely you wonder if you’re imagining it. Panic wells in your chest.

“Please talk to me. I really hate when you ice me out. I’m sorry, okay? Just... please say something.”

Finally, his eyes slide to you. They lack the fiery anger of moments ago but there’s not much softness there either. His normally warm gaze now feels too abrasive, too cold and sharp on your bare skin. You're exposed, much too soft for that grating look, and it feels like he can see everything that’s wrong with you.

“Believe me when I tell you this. I am doing us both a favor by not speaking to you right now.”

And then he’s leaving the kitchen—nothing but a breeze against your cheek and the sound of a door slamming to prove he was ever there.

The apartment is silent. You stand in the middle of the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. Spencer very, very rarely gets angry at you to the point of neglect, and you know he’s doing his best with what was modelled for him as a child and his tendency to feel things so deeply it’s nearly disabling; but that doesn’t make it hurt much less. It doesn’t make you feel less abandoned or alone.

You’re sad, and you’re still pissed, and maybe you’re in just a bit of shock as you robotically move back to your nest of blankets on the couch and resume your schoolwork. What else is there to do? Unless Spencer is right—unless you really are about to get expelled after getting the answer key for an upcoming test from a friend, who then gave it to another friend, and so on. But is that really your fault?

It’s a struggle to stay focused as your mind keeps drifting back to Spencer in the other room, those cruel words and that cold steely look in his eye that isn’t supposed to ever be aimed at you. It’s not a secret that side of him exists, but it doesn’t belong in this apartment. It’s not something he needs to use against you. He’s supposed to be on your side. But instead, he’d said you should be expelled and essentially called you stupid. And now you’re doing homework for a class at a school you may not even be a student of come Monday.

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

The sound of the office door opening forty-five minutes later spikes your blood pressure and simultaneously makes your heart flutter, because no matter how mad at him you might be, Spencer is still Spencer.

He comes to stand behind the couch quietly, but you don’t acknowledge him. Maybe your typing gets a bit more aggressive, but aside from that you flat out reject his presence.

“Can we talk?”

You let him sweat for a minute as you finish your paragraph.

“I don’t know, Spencer. Can we? Or are you not done with your temper tantrum?”

“That is... well deserved,” he sighs, rounding the couch and tapping the bottom of your foot, signaling that he wants you to move your legs. You despise how automatically you comply, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid touching him as he sits next to you. There’s a long moment of silence, in which you resume typing. Spencer scoffs, leaning in slightly to peer at your screen. “Are you doing homework right now? I’m a complete asshole to you and you just... do your homework?"

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” you almost-yell, slamming your laptop shut and blinking away potential tears. “The only person I wanted to talk to called me stupid and fucking left!”

The tears realize their potential once you admit the blunt truth.

Spencer carefully moves your laptop and pulls you into his arms—and you just let him. There’s not much fight left in you. There wasn’t a lot to begin with.

“I am so sorry, angel. You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t have said what I said, I shouldn’t have walked away. I overreacted.”

“Yeah, you really did,” you cry, allowing him to run his hand over your hair. “Why did you do that? Why were you so fucking mean?”

His voice shakes slightly as he responds, betraying his own anxieties, and a new, unwelcome sense of trepidation slithers through your veins.

“I was wondering that, too. Even as I was saying it, I knew—I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to be saying. And then I was in the other room and I wanted to be out here, and I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t. But I think I was just scared. Which—I know, doesn’t really make sense, but... I think about when Ethan dropped out of the academy, and ended up doing heroin in New Orleans for three years, and I think about when I almost left the BAU because I was so convinced I’d never get clean that I didn’t even want to anymore, and—and the idea of you losing your education and your direction like that terrified me, probably unreasonably, and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.”

“But I’m not like you or Ethan. You don’t have to worry about that. Even if I... even I do get in some sort of disciplinary trouble. That’s a road you don’t have to worry about me going down, ever.”

He fixes some unseen wrinkle on your shirt.

“Yeah, but, remember... I used to not be like me or Ethan either. Do you think twelve-year-old Spencer would have ever even considered that of the infinite realities and universes which exist, he was living in one where someday he’d be shooting up in the bathroom at work?”

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head and burying your face in Spencer’s shoulder. The sound is more of a plea for him to be less descriptive than an answer to his rhetorical question. It’s still much easier for him to talk about that part of his life than it is for you to have to actually imagine it. You didn’t know him then, but you’ve seen pictures, and you know Spencer now, and it’s... it’s just too much. Too sad.

“Okay,” he agrees soothingly, still playing with your hair. “I digress. My point is that literally anything is possible, and while it’s not necessarily likely, I more than anyone know that anxiety even over the most improbable of things is never completely unfounded.”

You sniffle in response, too emotionally and physically exhausted to contribute much to the conversation by this point. Thankfully, Spencer can talk for two. An idiosyncrasy which you love and comes in handy every once in a while. He can play his own devil’s advocate; in this case, you.

“But that doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you. Ever. I truly, truly, sincerely apologize for that. I never want to hurt you.”

You let the apology sink into your skin like a salve, soothing every abrasion those earlier words had left in their violent wake.

After a few minutes, you find the energy to ask a question that might best remain unanswered.

“Are you still mad at me?”

He’s quiet for a beat, seemingly contemplative as his fingers trace abstract patterns in a language all his own on your arm.

“I’m not thrilled. But you were right earlier. It’s not my place to be mad at you for something like that.”

“Mm... it’s a little bit your place. You’re an actual professor.”

He chuckles.

“At an entirely different university.”

“Thank god,” you laugh. “You and me at the same school would be such an HR clusterfuck.”

While it’s almost a serious matter, the smile in his voice is evident.

“Yeah... I, uh... try not to think about it.”

“Okay, but seriously. In your professional opinion. Am I fucked? Like, do I need to prepare an appeal and character witnesses or whatever?”

Spencer sighs.

“It was incredibly reckless and irresponsible. You should be ready for disciplinary pushback from the schoolboard if you get caught. That being said... because over sixty of you got a hold of the answer key, I doubt anyone is getting expelled, and even if they did, it would likely only be the TA and the student he gave the key to. It’s my tentative, professional opinion that you’ll probably be fine.”

You relax slightly, allowing a tension you didn’t realize was there to shed like an old skin.

“I’m not gonna cheat again,” you promise on an exhale. It’s simply too much risk for too little reward.

Spencer’s response is quiet, and comes much faster than you’d expected.

“Oh, I know you aren’t. Because if you do, you’re going to have to worry about disciplinary action from me. And I’m not nearly as nice as the dean of your school, darling girl.”

But something about the way he says it—a thinly veiled threat/promise contrasted by a sweet kiss to your forehead—doesn’t exactly make academic honesty look all that exciting.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

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Hm..im kinda shy about asking this, because maybe it's just an english language thing that i don't get (it's not my first language lol) but ive always wondered what the difference between "prefect" and "housewarden" was,, like, wouldn't the mc/yuu technically also be a housewarden, since they're the only one running ramshackle? aaa sorry if it's a bit of a silly question lol, but i just don't understand the difference,,, thank you, and i love your work very much!! 🩷🩷

So to clarify, Yuu is called 監督生 (“kantoku-sei/kantoukusei”), which roughly translates into “prefect”. Dorm leaders (or housewardens, as they are called in EN) are called 寮長 (“ryōchō”), which refers to “dormitory managers/leaders/superintendents”. The two positions are treated very differently in-game (and generally, prefect is NOT the same as a dorm leader), but it may be different in real life depending on the institution you’re looking at for comparison.

As I've mentioned in this post, I see dorm leaders as NRC's version of RAs (resident advisors/assistants). They’re students who work with school administration to oversee and to conduct activities for their respective dorm buildings/residence halls […] Similarly, the dorm leaders in TWST have certain responsibilities but are also granted power within their own dorm as well as certain privileges which extend beyond that. Common duties of a RA (I'll list some examples from TWST) include, but are not limited to:

Organizing and overseeing student educational programs and dorm activities (Riddle helps his students study to avoid failing, including Cater in Riddle's Dorm Uniform vignettes; he states that not a single Heartslabyul student has dropped out since he has become dorm leader. Various activities are orchestrated by dorm leaders, such as unbirthday parties, renting out their dorm for events, throwing banquets, etc.)

Planning accommodations for students and conducting new student orientations (dorm leaders canonically assign rooms to their dorm members, the prologue shows the dorm leaders escorting newly sorted freshmen to their dorms and showing them around, etc.)

Cleaning up and conducting monthly facility inspections (under the instruction of the dorm leader, members help with setting up and cleaning after events)

Enforcing rules and regulations, reporting incidents and recommending or enacting disciplinary actions as needed, and resolving conflicts between students in the dorm (most obviously seen with Riddle collaring students in the main story, but we've also seen other instances like Leona and Idia dealing with unruly mob students from their own dorms, each in their respective Dorm Uniform vignettes)

Acting as a liaison or representative between the school and students, or between the school and the community (Vil and Riddle especially stress the importance of their dorm members keeping in line, as it reflects poorly on them as the leaders if their students do not behave)

As you can see, many of the duties of a RA are carried out by TWST's dorm leaders. It is these responsibilities that define what a "dorm leader" is. A prefect is described by the Oxford Dictionary as “a senior student authorized to enforce discipline”. The definition implies that a prefect has fewer responsibilities and power than a RA (ie a dorm leader). We see this lack of responsibilities and power reflected in Yuu (who, again, is often called "prefect" in characters' voiced lines place of their name). For example, Yuu is NOT present in dorm leader meetings and does not participate in planning committees for events such as the cultural festival of book 5 or the interdorm tournament of book 2.

It is likely that Yuu is not acknowledged in the same capacity as a dorm leader for various reasons:

Yuu is not a full student (Grim is their "other half) and lacks magical capabilities at a school that is known for training mages. They are also not from Twisted Wonderland. Therefore, they are not a good "representative" of NRC.

Ramshackle is no longer considered a dormitory since it has fallen into disrepair; even if it was still considered a dormitory, Yuu has no students to watch over since the Ramshackle Ghosts are not students and Grim only counts as half of a student.

Since Ramshackle is not a dorm anymore, it likely does not receive funding for dorm-wide activities, maintenance, etc. Yuu has very few resources to do anything.

Yuu does not command any real authority through their title alone (which largely has to do with their status as a non-mage + otherworldliness and the “illegitimate” nature of their dorm); even the main cast has to be shown their merits through actions before Yuu earns a modicum of their respect.

If we put it like that, Yuu's only formal prefect responsibilities are to basically to keep Grim out of trouble and do whatever odd jobs Crowley saddles them with. I guess you can also say that Yuu "enforces discipline" on the NRC students when they get out of hand, but this depends on your interpretation of what Yuu does in the main story. In my opinion, Yuu does very little to actually "enforce discipline" and often relies on other students to do the heavy lifting for them; Yuu is just the one initially sniffing out the root of the problems.

It should also be noted that while the formal definition of "prefect" refers to a "senior" student, Yuu is considered a first-year student along with Grim. Seniority does not play a role here. (Although please keep in mind that being a "first year" does not necessarily mean Yuu is 16 by default; there are exceptions to the age = grade thing.)

In summary, dorm leaders are presented in TWST as generally "higher up" on the food chain compared to a prefect. They have more powers and tasks to carry out; the prefect, by comparison, does not.

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theostrophywife · 1 year

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Can I get a FIC abt the reader being Theodore’s gf and best friend and she’s embarrassed and alone in her dorm bc of cramps and they are REALLY REALLY bad and he just comforts her and they snuggle and he gives her his hoodie and fluffy!! (I’m dying from my cramps in my bed rn 🙏 I need comfort from my book bf)

heart shaped bruises.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: toothpaste kisses by the maccabees.

author's note: i'm so sorry you're in pain, love. hope this makes you feel better 💗

Bloody fucking hell.

You clutched your stomach, doubling over in pain as another wave of cramps crashed into you at full force. An anti period pain potion. That would be your first invention after finishing your education at Hogwarts. For now, you were forced to endure the pain and misery sans magic.

The clock on your nightstand rang obnoxiously, rattling the various barrettes and books stacked atop the table. The alarm meant that Charms would be starting soon. With a rather hard smack, you silenced the clock and buried yourself underneath the covers.

There was no way in hell that you were going to make it to class today.

You couldn’t even get out of bed, let alone walk to the other side of the castle. No, you were staying right here. Cocooned in the safety of your blankets so you could wallow in self pity in peace.

Apparently, suffering in silence was too much to ask for because the minute the alarm finally stopped, there was a knock on your door.

“Go away,” you yelled, the words slightly muffled by your goose down comforter.

“Y/N?” A familiar voice called from the other side of the door. “Are you alright, love?”

Tears pricked the back of your eyes. No, you were definitely not alright. Your uterus was an active war zone, your emotions were a poorly assembled rollercoaster in an abandoned theme park, and to top it all off, you had a raging headache like someone had taken a bludger to your skull.

But you couldn’t say all of that. You didn’t want to freak your boyfriend out.

“I’m fine, Theo. Just feeling under the weather.” You clamped your eyes shut, trying to block out the migraine. “Go to class without me.”

There was shuffling from the hallway before your door swung open, revealing a very concerned Theo. He took in the sight of you in bed, your cheeks flushed and your eyes red from crying all morning. Theo was by your side in three strides.

“What’s wrong, dolcezza?”

“Nothing, I’m just not feeling well.” A fresh set of cramps chose that exact moment to pummel your lower abdomen, making you wince in pain.

“That’s not nothing, darling.” He knelt beside you, taking your hand. “Tell me what’s wrong, Y/N. I hate seeing you in pain.”

Your eyes watered again. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Of course not, love.”

“It’s these cramps,” you said slowly, shifting to face him. “I’m on my period and it’s just really bad today. Usually I take a pain relieving potion, but even that’s not working this time around.”

Theo’s face softened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You averted his gaze, flushing. “I guess I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“It is a big deal,” said Theo. “Everything that has to do with you is a big deal to me. I hate thinking that you’ve been suffering through this all alone.”

“I just didn’t want to bother you with something so silly.”

“You could never bother me, Y/N.” Theo gently pulled back the covers. “If anything I’m the one bothering you right now. Scoot over, darling. Make room for your Teddy.”

“But you’ll miss Charms.”

“I’ve skipped for less. This time it’s actually important. You need me. I’m not leaving you.”

You smiled softly and made room for Theo. He instantly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a snuggle. The familiar scent of sea salt and smoke felt like a warm hug in itself. Theo stroked your hair and kissed your temple.

The cold air seeped in through your frosted glass windows, chilling you to the core. As much as you loved the ominous charm of living in the dungeons, this was one of its disadvantages. You shivered in Theo’s arms, cuddling closer for warmth.

Your boyfriend radiated heat. You had no idea how when it was near freezing in your dorm. Theo liked to say he was hot blooded. You were just grateful to have your own personal heater.

“Are you cold, darling?”

You nodded, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “A little.”

Theo shifted beside you. He tugged at the hem of his hoodie and pulled it off in one swift move. “Arms up, love.”

You sat upright and did what you were told. Theo slipped his hoodie over you, smiling as the plush fabric swallowed you whole. It was warm and smelled like him. You wanted to drown in it.

He kissed the tip of your nose. “It looks good on you, but don’t think that it gets you out of cuddling.”

Theo pulled you to him, snuggling you from behind. He twined your legs together, making you giggle as his leg hair tickled the back of your thighs. You intertwined your fingers and kissed the back of his palm.

The cramps may still be wreaking havoc on your body, but at least now you had Theo to comfort you.

“How are you feeling, babe?”

You turned, smiling. “Better now that you’re here, Teddy.”

Theo grinned and pressed a gentle kiss against your lips. “Get some rest, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

#WHEN DO I GET MY THEO WHEN HUH #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott fluff #theo nott fic #theo nott smut #theo nott imagine

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justliketoreadsowhat · 7 days

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Not So Simple 𖣊

𖣊𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞

𖣊𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.

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

College is hard enough, early morning classes, late nights spent studying, countless hours of being on campus, eyes glued a to computer screen with a sore back and raging migraines. So why do you do it? Why not get a full-time job after high school, move out on your own, and try to make good meaning of your life? It could all be so simple, yet you chose the not so simple route.

“Class will resume Wednesday, make sure you all of our sections 1-4 and come back ready to discuss” The chirpy behavior seemed so painful to bear at 8 am on a cold Monday morning. A cringing realization that this profession will soon become your reality, teaching.

Standing to your feet with all the feeling rushing back through your veins that had fallen asleep hours ago due to inactivity. Slinging on your bookbag slowly making your way into the empty halls of the Education Department. The fresh morning sun beamed through the tinted windowpanes with a poorly faded decal of the infamous UConn Husky mascot plastered in each corner. By the time the rusted elevator reached the lower level, there were exactly 10 minutes left to arrive to your next class “Identity and Communication”

This was another hard stop in the hard you’ve solemnly adjusted to after finding out you had to take a graduate class as an elective in order to graduate next year. Nevertheless, the class only had an underwhelming total of 15 students with little to no excitement. Granted it was only week 3, yet it felt like years had passed.

Within 5 minutes to spare, you sat in the middle row as you do every day, causally observing the students dragging their feet through the doorway. The professor never really left his desk unless he felt like actually teaching us something besides numerous PowerPoints. As the slideshow went along you found yourself getting lost in the coloring app you used religiously on your iPad, since nobody sat behind you, there was no use in hiding it. Picking out your next color carefully, a cold breeze moved past you nearly sending your Apple Pencil flying to the ground. Looking up in annoyance you were met with nothing. Swiftly turning your head just enough to look behind you, you were met with a pair of blue irises glossed over, accompanied by a shade of purple glasses that framed her face to near perfection.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your uh.. coloring thing” her eyes darting to your screen on full display. A small smirk formed across her face “What app is that tho? I might need to download it”

“It’s called um- Color Rouge” answering softly to hide the sheer panic rising through your blood. Out of all the years you’ve attended UConn, not once have you seen their star-studded player, at least not this up close and personal before. Social media doesn’t give her enough justice.

“Bet say less” She nodded, sitting back in her seat, spreading her long legs, knees slightly pushing the back of your seat. Her slim veiny hands pulled out an iPad similar to yours, except hers was much bigger, fitted with a lavender-purple case. You didn’t dare let your eyes wander further down, shifting your attention back to the front of the class, no longer interested in the content being shown on the screen, or your “coloring thing”

How have you never seen her before in this class?

You’re not the greatest when it comes to paying attention but surely you wouldn’t miss someone like Paige.

An airdrop notification appeared on your screen, the name PB starred at the top. Slicing your thoughts in half as you accepted it without thinking twice. The notes app opened as it read “do you happen to have a charger?"

Your eyebrows raised as you searched through your bag, praying you had remembered to grab it this morning. Eventually grabbing the cord that was accustomed by bright pink protectors to keep it from tangling, Turning back to her figure you placed the charger in her hands, softly grazing her fingertips unconsciously.

Paige's eyes wandered across your face shameless before dropping her gaze to the cord "Everything's gotta be pink huh?"

She had already observed your pink iPad case, pink phone case, pink water bottle, and of course, your pink bookbag. Usually your nails would be coated in a shade of pink but, in honor of the fall season, you decided to go with a deep shade of mocha brown with gold accents swirled on your ring fingers.

"Yea I love pink, you don't like pink?" you prodded in confusion, more so amused by her way of conversing so easily with a stranger.

"No I like pink but, Ion think I'll ever achieve your level of favoritism", I appreciate it though"

Her tone was hard to read, you couldn't tell if she was being smart or if it was just her. To make matters worse, you kinda liked it.

"You're welcome, y'know you could've just asked me instead of sending me a note" you voiced, now completely facing her.

"Nah there's no fun in that" shaking her head “I jus wanna make sure I keep your attention pretty girl”

Oh She had it, easily.

This was going to be a long semester

#paige bueckers #wbb #paige x reader #fanfic #uconn wbb #black stories

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thydungeongal · 1 month

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I think the thing that people are trying to get at when saying "combat isn't roleplay" is that it's very different from social roleplay in most systems (if youve seen a system that handles character arcs, development, and interaction with the same granularity that rolemaster or Pathfinder approach combat please tell me that sounds so cool). Repeatedly calling people elitist snobs for trying to articulate that, albeit poorly, is kind of snobbish and is missing an opportunity to educate someone. You are talking past people due to not having defined your terms (assuming people engage in good faith of course)

I mean even if they mean "combat" as a shorthand for play which involves a lot of mechanics, they're still wrong, because as I keep saying all the time rules and roleplay are not and should not be seen as the opposite ends of a spectrum and the rules should in fact be seen as one of the important participants of a roleplaying game. And also, respectfully, I don't see it as snobbish of me to ask people to stop using definitions of "roleplaying" that implicitly create a hierarchy where certain activities, ones traditionally seen as plebeian, are not real roleplaying.

So yeah sorry that my defense of different playstyles as equally worthy of engaging with and not inherently less roleplaying than others seems snobbish to you, but like I'm going to keep saying that rules-mediated play and combat and dungeon-crawling are valid expressions of roleplaying and asking people to not define the act of roleplaying in such a way that excludes those things, even at the risk of seeming snobbish. Because these people are regurgitating poorly formulated elitist memes like "combat ≠ roleplay" and "rollplay not roleplay" which not only are elitist but actually do a disservice to the medium of TTRPGs and discredit game design.

And as for games that model character interaction and arcs with a lot of granularity, to varying degrees: Burning Wheel, The Shadow of Yesterday, Hillfolk, Fate, Monsterhearts, just to name a few.

#thydungeongal answers

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stray-the-therian · 1 month

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--- Rant post ---

Don't talk about medical things when you don't know anything about them. Don't try to educate people when you're yourself uneducated. Don't diagnose strangers with disorders that don't actually exist.

I'm mainly talking about clinical zoanthropy and tiktok (therian?) kids making it into something it isn't, demonizing it to no end in efforts to paint theriantropy in better light. Sorry to bring it to you, but normies won't accept you better if you spit on others. Not to mention, clinical zoanthropy is very rare (and poorly researched) and doesn't exist on its own. There is no zoanthropy in the DSM-5. In the little papers we have on the issue, it is always or almost always part of different diagnosis such as schizophrenia, psychotic disorders or certain personality disorders. Do you smell the sanism there? Yeah, it's crazy. Do not diagnose people with it, just because they're transspecies or physically alterhuman. It is not your place to do so. Attacking those people will not make you look better. Just stop.

"No, but we don't actually think we're animals, we're better than those other people!!" Just shut up.

#alterhuman #nonhuman #therian #therianthrope #theriantropy #therian community #alterhumanity #alterhuman community #drama #rant post #can we just not #clinical zoanthropy #sanism #zoanthropy isn't evil sanism is

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fatphobiabusters · 7 months

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Hey, sorry if this is a weird question but I'm trying to learn more since I honestly wasn't educated about fatphobia before and I'm trying to fix that (especially now that I won't be a teen in a few months and my mom could be considered fat and I love food so like we all know the body type I'll have in a few years). I often see people say that being fat is bad because people like firefighters and nurses get injured when saving/caring for them and I'd like to know if there's any way to like.. fix that? I obviously don't want very poorly compensated people risking their lives to get injured more than they have to but I also don't think policing people's bodies is right...

Hmmm where to start. The thing is nurses are understaffed, often asked to move patients by themselves when they shouldn't be. It's not just fat people that can injure a nurse, anyone who can't assist on their own lifting can. Lifting say, 180 pounds from the floor is risky, Hospital beds are closer to the average person waist plus there are handles and bars for the patient to assist. Rolling a patient in bed is difficult, again if the patient can't assist. Making sure staff is getting help is crucial. They wouldn't let me move myself from the bed I was on, onto the surgery table but it was quick and took three people to properly nest me and slide me over. (I was going in for gallbladder surgery) there were multiple people who could have assisted in the room if they needed more. So really, fighting under staffing and over working in the medical field is key.

Im not as familiar with fire fighting techniques however I know that there's an issue of businesses not having Evac Chairs or sleds for the physically disabled. I'm thinking of the brand Evac Chairs but ANY such device is useful.

Im looking at the sleds:

This goes up to 440

This one goes up to 500 carrying capacity!

These should be part of fire and rescue training and provided to the rescuers for public safety. Any business that sees a large amount of foot traffic should have these on site. (I don't expect a small mom and pop shop to have one, but Walmart should. Hospitals should.)

So basically: proper training, the right equipment and proper staff. These all play a role in how to circumvent awful situations.

Also take the consideration of what these people say "it's bad to be fat because nurses and fire fighters" these types of people are one bad turn from saying "it's bad to be in a wheelchair because it's too hard for fire rescue" or "it's bad to need nurses to turn you to prevent bed sores" they think, fundamentally, that fat people choose to be fat so we deserve less empathy. And even if it was 100% a choice for every person, it doesn't mean we don't deserve care and common sense accomedations. You can't say you respect bodily autonomy and support disability rights if your support is conditional. Only supporting "the good ones" is a policy in futility.

As an aside: check your smoke detectors and reduce fire hazards. Know your exits and keep low to the floor if there's smoke. Regardless of size people get real relaxed with fire safety because it's rare it's an issue. Some basic things is all you can do so please do them or have someone your trust to do them.

-mod squirrel

#Ask #fire safety #Galaxy ace #Mod squirrel #Bodily autonomy #Fatphobia #Healthism #emergency response

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kaciidubs · 1 year

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Open Heart

❣ Summary: When you don't know what to say or do, when life starts living you, you can always rely on Chris to bring you back. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 3.2k ❣ Warnings: Mental breakdown, existential crisis, implied panic attack, angst, fluff, comfort, crying, Supportive BF! Chris, Reader is a mess mentally and emotionally, discussions of family, careers, life, and the future, self doubt, self deprecation, mentioned disassociation ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Channie, Baby, Christopher, and Christopher Bahng [wowie], Reader is referred to as Princess, Baby, Love, Sweet Girl, this is the one that's personal so I'm sorry if you can relate but also you're not alone ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“Yeah, dad, I know... Mhm... No, I haven’t heard back from them yet, but it’s only been a week since I applied so... Yeah, I know…”

You paced the living room of your apartment, holding your phone to your ear as you did your best to tame the headache brewing in your head.

“I know you do, it’s just - there’s so many things I can do with my degree, I’m just trying to figure out what I want to do... I know... Yeah... Okay... Talk to you later... Love you too, bye.”

Ending the call, you tossed your phone onto the couch with a heavy sigh - the weight of the world piling on top of stress already weighing on your shoulders.

Everything sucked - almost as if the world was out to get you for simply existing; years of doing what was right, doing what you were supposed to, only for you to still feel like you weren’t doing enough.

People pleasing.

A wave of guilt made your stomach turn, tears stinging behind your eyes as you stood in the silence, yet it still felt so loud.

You knew your dad meant well, your parents meant well, your family meant well, but every question, every poorly veiled nudge of ‘What’s your next big move going to be? You’ve been stagnant for so long.’ ate at your psyche at every turn. You felt like you did everything; you graduated high school in the high percentage of your class, you went to college, you graduated as a first generation student after five excruciatingly long years - yet through all that they still wanted more from you.

A pleasure to have known. You have so much potential.

If you had a dime for the amount of times you’ve heard those words, you would’ve been a millionaire by now.

A shaky breath rattled in your chest as you sighed, your hands rising to cup your rapidly heating face. “Fuck... F-Fuck.”

Your vision blurred, salty tears stinging your eyes before burning fiery trails down your cheeks with no signs of stopping.

When was it going to be enough? When were you going to be enough?

Your breath hitched, choking on a sob that your body refused to let go - not now, not right now. You were still young, you had so much potential - so why did it feel like you were being rushed? Why did it feel like everyone saw some invisible clock above you, counting down the days until you’d become useless?

Wasted potential - those words always used to scare you, the famous buzzwords of any educator wanting to instill proper work ethic in their students; the future of the workforce.

Wasted potential - that’s what you were beginning to feel at your 9-5; a quaint little job you kept throughout your final semester, something that got the bills paid and kept a little more in your savings.

Wasted potential - that’s what you felt when your days began blending together, when you realized disassociation was your coping mechanism until your mouse hovered over ‘clock out’.

You wanted to do so much, so much, but there was never enough time in the day - they were never ideas that would earn you a proper living wage, a career path your family wouldn’t agree with.

Your body shook as a sob finally tore through your silent cries, your head throbbing as air tried to force its way into your lungs - crying never used to hurt like this.

Your world spun, it felt like time froze while speeding up, but all you could do was cry - stand in your living room and cry like a reprimanded child because you weren’t doing what you were supposed to.

“Princess?”

Your eyes snapped open behind your fingers, quickly registering a bigger, warmer pair wrapping around your wrists.

“Baby, can you hear me?”

Guilt.

Chris was home early, and instead of relaxing like he deserved, he now had to tend to you - crying over the same thing you cried over four months ago.

He felt you tense, he could see the spiral of overthinking, and his grip tightened, “Hey, hey, it’s just me - it’s just me, princess.”

You sniffled, biting back another sob as you shook your head, “’M s-sorry-”

“Shh, don’t apologize - you don’t have to apologize, not to me, not for this.”

Understanding - he was always so good at that, making sure you knew you weren’t the problem of anything; he always joked he got better at it from you.

Another wave of tears surged through you, nearly making you double over at the rush of fresh emotions popping off in your brain, your jaw tensing as you tried to stifle the illegible babbling falling from your lips.

“I- It’s- I can’t- And- It’s just so-”

Chris pulled you into his chest, one arm wrapping around your shoulders while the other cradled the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing circles just behind your ear. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay - I’m here, you’re okay.”

He blinked away his own tears, the sounds of your cries breaking his heart when he entered the apartment, and now the feeling of your body shaking against his like a fall leaf utterly tearing him apart inside.

You weren’t sure how long you both stood there, him whispering words of comfort in your ear while you stained his black hoodie with your tears, but you slowly came out of your breakdown with uneven breaths - your hands holding onto his hoodie as if he was your lifeline.

He was your lifeline.

“Can we go to the bedroom, princess? Can we manage that?” He cooed softly, a soft smile settling on his lips as he felt you nod. “Okay, we’ll go slow, yeah?”

True to his word, he slowly led you into the bedroom with shuffling steps, noting how you clung to him like a baby koala, as if you separated from him at any point you’d float away into space.

Sitting on the bed first, he scooted toward the middle of the mattress and you quickly followed suit; crawling toward him before laying your head on his chest, tangling your legs with his while he pulled you into his side.

It was quiet, save for the occasional hiccuped breath and sniffle, the sound of his heartbeat slowing the thudding in your own head, the rise and fall of his chest reminding you how to breathe again.

“Love?”

You hummed softly, your free hand nonchalantly playing with the drawstring of his hoodie.

“Wanna talk about what happened?”

Dropping your hand to lay flat on his chest, you took a deep breath to fight back another round of tears threatening to come out. “I... My dad called to check in, see how we were doing and all... He wanted to know if I found a different job yet, one that uses my degree, and I told him I hadn’t.” Swallowing thickly, you squeezed your eyes shut as you continued, “He’s worried that I’m not using my full potential, that I’m not getting paid what I should - and I don’t blame him, really, I went to college for a reason and everything, but it just feels like I'm being rushed into making another decision I’m not ready for."

“Another decision like picking your major?” Chris chimed in - he’d remembered you telling him about your realization of wanting to switch majors in your junior year, but ultimately choosing not to since you were close to graduating at the time.

You nodded, “I know he means well, I love my dad, I love my family, but it just feels like they don’t understand that I'm just...tired. I’m so, so tired that the idea of getting a new job - when I’ve only been at this one for just over a year - makes me feel like I can’t breathe. Fuck, the fact that I’ve been at this job for a year makes my skin crawl because this isn't what I want.”

Picking mindlessly at a few cotton pills collected on the fabric of his hoodie, a heavy sigh escaped you, “I feel like all I’ve been doing my whole life is performing for other people, catering to other people, to the point that I don’t even know who I am. I’ve always been told all these great things about myself, but-” A hot tear rolled across the bridge of your nose, “I don’t believe them, at all. Everyone sees all this potential in me and it drives me crazy because I don’t see potential in myself.”

Your name rolled off of his tongue softly, with so much care and gentleness that it made your heart hurt more because he’d been part of the crowd singing your praises and you practically confessed that you didn’t believe him.

“Princess, my sweet, sweet girl…”

“C-Chris, I’m-”

“Please,” he cut you off with a gentle squeeze, “you already know what I’m gonna say if the next words out of that pretty mouth of yours are ‘I’m sorry’.”

Sighing softly, you accepted that fate as his right hand slid down your arm to take your hand in his, another gentle squeeze to remind you that he’s right here.

“I just... I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Well,” Chris hummed softly, taking in the way your smaller fingers threaded between his own, “what is it you want to do?”

It was almost as if you stopped breathing, guilt and shame swirling around in your head at his question - the golden question everyone had, but never got the full answer to.

“...open heart?”

This time it was Chris’s turn to falter, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of your tear stained face. “Open heart, princess, always.”

Open heart, something you’d both established years ago in your relationship as a way of asking for full attention - reestablishing that you both were in a safe space with zero judgment, remaining heart to heart with one another.

“I-” You paused, fighting against the will of your mind wanting to keep yourself protected, from being seen. “I... I don't want to do anything…”

Before he even had the chance to breathe, you jumped into the defensive, “A-And I know that’s stupid- I’m in such a position so early on in my life and there’s so much I can do, but, baby, I’m at a point right now that I can’t see myself working a 9-5 for the next month, let alone another 40-or so years of my life!” Panic quickly began to set in as your thoughts ran a mile a minute, your brain begging you to stop but your heart pleading for you to get rid of this weight. “I can’t be a girl boss, I don’t want to be independent, I-I just wanna be taken care of and loved and supported - I wanna take care of all the things at home and be the one helping you reset after those stressful days. I wanna learn about myself and my hobbies and discover what kind of person I really am underneath all of these learned traits. And I’m sorry, I know, it’s pathetic, it’s shameful, it’s selfish to want to put all of this onto you-”

The sound of your name falling firm from his lips stopped you in your tracks, your blood running cold as you laid as still as you could be against him.

“Open heart means we can’t speak for each other, remember that rule?” His tone was softer, light and teasing, quelling the tinge of fear spoiling every word you spoke as you nodded. “Okay, good - now, can I say something, or would you like to continue?”

“Please say something, Channie.”

“Alright, first and foremost, don’t ever, ever call anything you want ‘stupid’ - your desires are what make you you, and that includes wanting that 24-inch green matcha squishmallow.”

He felt your body shake - short laugh, a huff of air, a sign that he was breaking through.

“Second, I don’t think you wanting to be provided for is pathetic or shameful or selfish - it takes a strong person to admit that, and at the end of the day I think that’s what everyone wants in their own special form; somewhere they feel safe, cared for, loved. And, you’re not putting it all on me,” he felt you tense, but his hand held firm to yours, “because I want to be that for you. I want to provide for you, take care of you, handle all the things that are too big and scary for you to figure out on your own. I want to give you the freedom to explore and be yourself, pursue what you want and don’t want to do - and if that makes you ‘selfish’ then, princess, I’m the most selfish person of them all.”

“You-” your voice cracked, throat raw and sore, “You don’t mean that, baby, please-”

“C’mere.” He huffed, pulling you up with him as he sat up before tapping your thigh, signaling for you to sit on his lap - and once you were situated, he cupped your face in his hands, “I would never lie to you, you hear me? Since the day we met I knew I wanted to do everything in my power to care for you, even when we were just friends and you would join the kids in teasing me about how old I was even though you weren’t too far off yourself.”

Your pouted lips morphed into a sad smile and he had to stop himself from cooing over how cute you looked, even with puffy eyes and an even puffier face.

“Plus, I’ve been taking care of seven other people for the better half of five years, what makes you think I don’t want to do the same for the love of my life?”

Teary eyes searched his for any sign of dishonesty, but all you found was overflowing truth and love, a fresh breath of acceptance cooling your lungs like drinking ice water after eating a mint.

“Open heart?” You murmured softly, taking his hands in your own before pulling them off of your, embarrassingly sore, face.

He nodded, ducking his head to press a fleeting kiss to your knuckles.

“I was always a little jealous of you, you know that?”

“Me?!”

The shocked squeak in his voice made a giggle, a genuine giggle, bubble up inside of you and you nodded in earnest.

“Yeah, you. I always felt like I was so far behind everyone around me when it came to having their passions in order, having their lives in order, and when I met you all I could think about was how sure of yourself you were - how you were able to follow through and actually do what you love for a living not only because people around you supported you, but because you believed in yourself.” Dropping your gaze to your entwined hands, you traced your thumbs along his knuckles, “You always knew what you wanted and you worked toward it - I always wished I could be like that, I still do.”

“Baby, you know you can’t-”

“-compare my life to yours, yeah, yeah, I know.”

He didn’t miss the lilt of playfulness highlighting your words, a smile finding its way to his face as he shot you a lighthearted glare, “No mocking! But, really, you shouldn’t - we come from completely different backgrounds, and if anything I’m more jealous of you than you are of me; there’s so many things you’ve done that I haven’t had the chance to experience.”

You let out an incredulous scoff, tilting your head inquisitively, “Like what? Work a draining part time job in the food industry?”

“Yes!” Though he was laughing, you could still hear the serious notes in his voice, “You got to work retail, you went on family vacations whenever you wanted, you fucking graduated college before I did!”

“Okay, first of all, all of my horror stories should deter you from ever wanting to become a retail employee in your near future!” Dropping his hand, you poked him in the chest with a faux glare, “Second, I guess you’ve got me there - between how often I’ve seen my family compared to you, I do win that spot… But that last one you definitely have over me, Mr. Double Major!”

“Oh shut up - you’re a graduate, I’m still in classes; you didn’t have to go from having practice at 8 but an exam due at 8:30, while still needing two demo tracks ready for the first listen at 10!”

The two of you dissolved into a mess of giggles and smiles, whatever tension remained melting away with each melodic sound that escaped you.

“Princess?”

You hummed, a soft smile settling on your lips, “Yeah, Channie?”

“Open heart,” Chris started warmly, deep brown eyes sparkling with a love only you could know, “I want you to know that I meant every word I said - I do want to take care of you, physically, mentally, financially, whatever way you’ll let me. And - not to sound cocky or anything, but I definitely make enough to support the both of us with no issue. Aside from that, I want to build a life with you - so if that life includes you being the hottest stay at home wife then it’s the best life I could’ve ever asked for because you’re in it.”

A wave of heat rushed over you as butterflies erupted in your stomach, “Stay at home wife, hm?”

Of course, you paid attention to everything else he said, but you didn’t think you’d be able to say anything on it without bursting into tears again.

“Would you prefer stay at home mom? I mean, you’ve already got seven kids calling you it anyways - and I can’t lie, it does have a nice ring to it.” He grinned, releasing your other hand to wind his arms around your waist, scooting your body closer to his.

Rolling your eyes at his less than subtle tease, you snaked your arms around his shoulders, nails playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, “Let’s just start with stay at home girlfriend and see where we go from there, yeah?”

“So you’ll quit tomorrow?”

“Christopher!” You stood no chance in holding back the burst of laughter that escaped you, narrowly avoiding knocking your head against his as you shook with unabashed giggles, “Tomorrow? You sound like you’ve been waiting for this confession to come!”

“Baby, I was one more angry rant of your supervisor ‘springing last minute work onto you’ away from quitting for you.”

Reeling yourself back in, you leaned forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss, your world finally feeling like the pieces were slowly falling into place - or, at the very least, revealing themselves to you. “I love you, Christopher Bahng, wholly and truthfully, there’s no words in the entire galaxy to express how much you mean to me.”

He held you tight, pressing his forehead against yours with a soft sigh, “I love you more, more than you ever know, more than all the stars in this universe and the next. Whatever you decide, whatever you want, I’ll give it to you - just say the word.”

“Does that include ordering takeout for dinner tonight so we can keep cuddling?”

“Find a menu while I change?”

“Order it while I wash my face?”

“Deal.”

Everything sucked, sure, and there was still much left to figure out - but with Chris by your side, you realized that things could get better with an open mind and an open heart.

#stray kids angst #skz angst #bang chan x reader #bangchan x reader #bang chan angst #bangchan angst #bang chan fluff #bangchan fluff #tw mental health #mental health tw

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tunatoge · 1 year

Text

like the branch of a tree – s. geto x reader

contents: canon divergence (suguru lives and is a teacher at jj tech), fluff, ooc, reader is also a teacher at jj tech, not mentioned but insinuated satosugu, insinuated nsfw, brief mentions of third years and possible manga spoilers, title is based off of 'would that i' by hozier, NOT PROOFREAD

a/n: this is my first time posting on tumblr, i'm nervous LMAO sorry for any grammatical errors

shoko is quiet as she sits next to you at a slight angle, her knees bumping into yours as the two of you look at her phone together. the two of you look at the silly selfie satoru had sent her and you frown a little. the picture he’d sent depicted him sitting on a bench in a weirdly rundown part of town, megumi pouting next to him. in the background there’s a copper haired girl peering outside of an old, beat down building with yuuji next to her. you know there’s a curse somewhere on the scene from satoru’s crudely drawn red circle in the air, an equally poorly drawn angry face in the center of it.

you’re a little envious that satoru gets to hang out with his students. if kinji hakari hadn’t been suspended you’d be with both him and kirara. of course you didn’t have to supervise their missions anymore but you did admittedly miss your students. you were the only teacher on campus that wasn’t teaching–which was debatable seeing as suguru and satoru weren’t really teaching anything either. still, helping your students through some of the basic required educational courses would have been significantly better than the stacks of paperwork on your desk.

shoko knocks her knee into yours, drawing your attention to her tired (but very pretty) face. she nods her head towards the door of the morgue and you instantly brighten at suguru’s appearance. his hair is completely down and his uniform jacket is draped over his arm.

“morning,” he greets as he moves to sit next to you and shoko. “‘m guessing you two saw satoru’s selfie.” he nods towards shoko’s still unlocked phone as she hums in agreement and pockets her phone.

“your hair’s down,” you say in response instead, not having heard his previous statement.

suguru cocks his head to the side in confusion at your words before letting out a soft ‘ah’ as he laughs bashfully in a somewhat boyish way. “i woke up late,” he admits, “i slept through my alarm and got to the school a little after the morning class.” he smiles somewhat awkwardly (pointedly ignoring shoko’s knowing look, her raised brow seemingly yelling, “i know what you and satoru were doing last night!”) before offering his wrist, “i was gonna put it up when I got here.” his smile turns from awkward to somewhat confident when he finds you blinking up at him, captivated by his long hair.

you look towards his still outstretched hand and eye the black hair tie before shyly looking back up at suguru. when your eyes meet, an unreadable look crosses through his eyes as he swallows. he looks towards shoko behind you as she smoothly pulls her phone out again, an unlit cigarette in between her lips.

“may i?” you ask, drawing his attention back towards you as you gesture towards his hair and he almost immediately agrees. when he offers you his hair tie again you softly shake your head and pull a bright blue one off of your wrist. he pretends to be blind to the tiny little bow on it as he shifts so his back is towards you.

as you’re doing suguru’s hair, shoko texts satoru an image of you with the tip of your tongue out and your hands threaded through suguru’s long hair. she gets a jealous angry frowny face in response.

that’s MY hair tie!! >:(

notes: satoru is the first years' teacher, suguru is the second years', and you're the third years'. satoru made you play with his hair after he got back on campus. he said it was only fair because you'd given suguru the hair tie he'd given you. maki made a face when she saw suguru's hair later in the day. she asked if the twins had done it for him.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #gojo x reader x geto #jjk x reader #getou x reader #getou suguru x reader #vians.scribbs

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siriuslyobsessedwithfiction · 2 months

Text

Six of Crows did a great job showcasing ordinary people don't care about Grisha. (And Zoya turning into a dragon and the propaganda of new "saints" won't solve centuries of prejudice, lack of education in common folk, and capitalism taking advantage of Grisha.)

Most of the characters in SoC duology have known misfortune and discrimination in their lives. You'd think they show solidarity to Grisha, right? Wrong.

Kaz

Kaz is a businessman. No more, no less. He says so himself. Once again, the fandom is blurring the line between the canon and the fanon persona. Kaz is not a "mother hen" who would do anything for his crows but will grumble about it. If Nina and Matthias crossed him as they originally planned in Six of Crows, he'd notify the druskelle to come catch them without any regrets.

Kaz's defining trait is that he takes everything too personally. Kaz is not some vigilante who protects oppressed minorities. He couldn't give a less of a shit about Grishas' struggles, as he makes clear to Nina on more than one occasion. Kaz had no problem indenturing Grisha and giving them less than favorable terms. The only line he wouldn't cross would be selling their bodies. (His disgust of brothels and their clients, once again, comes from a personal reason of his touch aversion).

Even after everything Nina did for him and his crew, even after she took parem, he was ready to kick her off the job in CK when she protested that they needed to evacuate the Grisha from Ketterdam. The only reason he agreed is because he needed Inej for the job and Inej refused to help him unless he helped Nina.

Inej

The only reason Inej took Nina's side (in standing up to Kaz to evacuate Grisha from Ketterdam to save them in CK) is because she cared about Nina as a friend, not because she was very concerned about Grisha. Inej never directly acknowledges the injustice Grisha face even in her thoughts in her pov even though the Suli and the Grisha are both minorities, are being weirdly fetishized for profit and have not been treated particularly well by Ravkans. Moreover, she refuses to meet the Triumvirate, claiming the Ravkans have not been good to Suli in recent years, even though the Triumvirate has only been formed for two years and its members were ordinary Grisha until then. They were servants, serfs. And even after the civil war, they don't have that kind of political power, they obey the Crown. So, what do they have to do with anything? Why does Inej refuse to meet them? Is she afraid they'll be racist towards her? One of the members and the general of the second army is Suli. Who, btw, is known for her temper and pride and not tolerating disrespect. Shouldn't Inej feel proud that a Suli woman is commanding the second army? If Inej doesn't feel comfortable meeting them even with her friend Nina, is it possible Zoya never really acknowledged her Suli heritage? At least, until KoS duology, that is. In RoW, Inej suddenly remembers Zoya is Suli and tells her they don't abandon one of their own. I'm sorry, but it doesn't make much sense. There are two routes of explanations:

It's the author's mistake. Zoya was never described as Suli in the Shadow and Bone trilogy (maybe even in SoC duology? I'd have to check). She was said to have blue eyes and raven hair and that is that. She is also said to have "perfect nose", which doesn't necessarily mean she had a straight or a small nose, but it feels it's written like that. What gives me that idea? In the trilogy, the Suli aren't exactly written very respectfully, considering the two main "good guys", Alina and Mal, impersonate Suli fortunetellers (which is sacred to the Suli), very poorly imitate their accents and have a laugh about it. Zoya acts like a rich, materialistic brat in the trilogy, calls Mal's commoner mannerisms foreign and enticing and we only find out her father was Suli and she comes from an extremely poor peasant family in KoS. It seems like instead of making her own up to her mistakes and making her grow as a person, the author gave her an excuse in a form of a sad backstory.

Inej is a sixteen year old acrobat, who might not be well aware of political situations and doesn't realize what role do Grisha really have in Ravka. I don't want to diminish her intelligence or make her ignorant, but the author isn't giving me much to work with. It also might be possible that during Nikolai's father's rule, while the Suli were on the Ravkan soil, they were tested for powers and taken to the second army since the draft was mandatory and that's why Inej didn't like them.

Wylan

Wylan is a good person, and he had many, many things to deal with in CK, so I didn't expect him to start drawing a plan on how to make Grishas' life better while hiding in a tomb from his father, but it doesn't take much to spare a sentence to at least acknowledge how messed up their existence was. When they're discussing the Kherguud soldiers, they're only worried about Nina and Jesper, not the grand scheme of things. It's a whole race of people we're talking about. Idk, it just feels weird.

Matthias

Oddly enough, the only person who thinks how certain events will affect Grisha is an ex-druskelle. I cannot write his entire redemption arc here, but he definitely shows more care and concern.

Joost

Honorary mention to the boy who knew how dire the situation was and didn't shy away from it. He couldn't take a girl he liked out on a date because she was an indentured Grisha, knew he couldn't buy out her contract but wasn't planning to give up on her.

Also, he demands to know where Anya is as an authority because she should be working. So, not only the merchants and businesses who own them control them, but the Stadwatch are authorized to find them and drag them over to them if they're not at work.

Do you have to have a crush on a Grisha in order to care whether they live or perish? Grisha are an integral part of almost every profession in Grishaverse, they're written as the primary reason for technological advancements, and yet, the ordinary people never stop to think what their eradication would mean to their world.

As for KoS duology, it's a fever dream. I've read fairytales that make more sense than that. Yes, it's YA, but the author is not acting or writing like it's not supposed to be taken seriously. And once you've established a universe with certain laws, you can't throw it all to the wind, give the readers a half-baked explanation and say it makes perfect sense. The SoB trilogy showed us how Grisha were not accepted even when they fought the Kings' wars for centuries and a Grisha saint destroyed the Fold. The SoC duology told us that the civil war destroyed the second army and Ravka was bankrupt and collapsing. Since the draft wasn't mandatory, no one wanted to go fight and die for a country that has given them nothing. But suddenly, the nation of Fjerda, who has hated and hunted the Grisha for centuries, is swayed by cheap tricks to worship them as saints and Ravka will be fine because Zoya can flap her wings and burn whoever opposes her? Yeah, 'cause that went so well for the Targaryen dynasty.

P.S. I am not calling the author or the characters racist. SoC duology is one of my favorite books ever. But as LB herself wrote in this book: "You can love something and still see its flaws".

#six of crows #kaz brekker #kaz dirtyhands brekker #kazzle dazzle #the darkling #shadow and bone #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #rule of wolves #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #nina zenik #grishaverse meta #grishaverse

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indiefilmfatale · 8 days

Text

words of so sweet breath compos'd

part three (prof!cumberbatch x virgin!reader)

series plot: your drama teacher, mr. cumberbatch, swears he can pull something out of you for your upcoming performance as ophelia in hamlet. all he needs is a handful of one-on-one sessions... content warnings: age gap (reader is 21), pissed off professor ben, erotic daydreams, brief flashbacks to part two (fingering), dinner date at his house, submissive reader, benedict is a gentle dom, lots of praise, first time oral (giving & receiving), bj instructions, reader swallows, multiple orgasms & overstimulation (receiving), reader is a virgin word count: 5.6k a/n: this one is a real doozy! in a good way! but please forgive me it is also just riddled with run on sentences

part one / part two

How am I supposed to sit through class knowing what you're capable of?

Your own voice echoed between your ears as you walked hurriedly through the poorly lit halls of the drama building.

You woke up to your alarm clock blinking 12:47 AM. Your power must've gone off and on again in your sleep. You managed to dress yourself in the midst of yet another heated phone call with your landlady, and rushed to the metro station three blocks away from your apartment building— only for the train to be 18 minutes late.

And now it's been over 20 minutes since your Acting Technique II class officially begun. Professor Cumberbatch infamously despised tardiness, and spent a solid chunk of the first class of every semester reminding his students that disrespecting his time was synonymous with disrespecting the education each of you paid to take part in. He even went so far as to lock the doors, keeping anyone from the outside from coming in. It made bathroom breaks notoriously awkward and disruptive.

On the entire metro ride over, you couldn't stop remembering a few weeks ago, when the boy who played George in last semesters production of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? arrived only 10 minutes late to Benedict's class. The entire class watched him bitch out the poor kid, even going so far as to writing the semester's tuition cost in the corner of his blackboard and leaving it there for the rest of the hour.

At the time, the intense moment sort of turned you on, watching the veins protrude from his neck and run his hands bitterly through his short curls. Now, as you finally approached the classroom door, the idea of that intensity being pointed directly toward you, in front of all of your classmates, made your stomach churn with anxiety.

You composed yourself briefly, catching your breath and wiping the sweat from your brow. Through the door's small window, you could see your Professor mid-lecture, throwing his arms in the air in emphasis. Your gaze was naturally drawn to his hands, then inevitably back to the bar bathroom from just three nights before, where he used those same hands to undo you in a matter of seconds. Your legs felt weak at the mere remembrance of his breath on your ear.

You're a damn dream. The memory of his voice rings through your bones. Do you think of me, when you touch yourself?

You knock softly on the window.

His head swivels in your direction, his eyes meeting yours. You offer a sheepish smile and a small wave.

He sighs, scratches his forehead, then strides irritably toward the door. It pushes open with a loud click, and the gust of air that rushes past you smells vaguely of his sandalwood cologne.

You watch him tense his jaw, then take a deep breath. Your mouth falls slightly agape, staring at your professor dumbfounded, ready to receive an ear-beating for your tardiness and laziness and general disregard for your education.

Instead, with a roll of his eyes, he pushes the door open wider and steps aside, revealing a small path for you to enter the classroom. You exhale, a mix of relief and astonishment falling over your face.

You gratefully accept, walking through with his eyes glued to you. "I'm really sorry." You whisper at the brief moment you're body is closest to his. He doesn't say anything in return, slamming the door shut as you make your way up the small steps to a seat toward the back, where your friend Therese is sitting. The air in the room is stiff and pointed directly at you. The lump in your throat feels like it's the size of a baseball.

"Oh my god, oh my god," You whisper only loud enough for Therese to hear.

"Professor Punctual made my girlfriend cry last year for being three minutes late," Therese whispers back, "but you miss a third of his class and he shows you mercy."

You shrug, pulling out your notebook and pen as he continues on with his lecture. His eyes seem a bit fixated on you, unable to look anywhere else for very long. "He must be in an extremely good mood today."

To everyone else, the rest of the class went on as normal. But your focus was completely clouded with a vivid blend of fantasies. The pulpy memory of his forehead pressed against your's, breathing into your open mouth, and the cool of bathroom wall tile against the back of your neck fuses seamlessly with the more severe images from just a moment ago, ones of his eyes pressing into you like needles as he suppresses his anger within himself, letting you into his classroom.

You cross your legs, a warmth at your core getting the better of you.

After a half-hour, the lecture begins to wrap up. "Now, you'll all be reviewing the Stella Adler videos I've posted to the study portal this week. I expect at least two paragraphs submitted before next class on her use of characterization. You're all dis—" He pauses mid-sentence, then lets out an annoyed exhale. "Yes, Andrew?"

Andrew, the ginger-headed boy sitting in the second row, lowers his hand. "When are you going to announce the Spring production?"

Ben glances briefly at you, so quickly you would've missed it if you hadn't been staring at him so intently. He takes off his glasses and uses his white undershirt to clean the lenses. His fixed pause hangs in the air, and you have to hold back a grin, rubbing your bottom lip casually with your thumbnail.

"We will be performing Hamlet this Spring." He says suddenly, the class immediately erupting in hushed chatter.

"Please, everyone..." His deep voice, raised in volume only slightly, overpowers the class and everyone returns again to silence. "After several long conversations with my colleagues in the drama department, we've decided not to hold auditions this semester. The cast list will be complete in the next several days and posted on the bulletin downstairs the morning of next week's class. You're all dismissed." Then, after a beat so short nobody had even begun to gather their things to leave, he says. "Y/N, stay back for a moment, please."

You feel the air leave your lungs. Everyone shuffled out of the classroom, Therese taking her time next to you so she's one of the last to leave, a pointless act of moral support despite her completely believing you were about to get screamed at and there was nothing she could do to stop it. "Good luck." She whispers just before she edges past you into the aisle, then leaving the classroom altogether.

The door clicks shut and you feel the energy shift in the room. The fact that Professor Cumberbatch was organizing his papers into his satchel briefcase like everything was completely normal is what irritated you the most.

You pack your notebook back into your tote as you stand up, tentatively making your way down the stairs until you reach the carpeted lecture stage. You wait for him to say something, anything, but he turns around the erase his writings on Stella Adler from the blackboard. God, you'd rather be screamed at than this vengeful, childish silence. You suddenly felt very small.

"My power went out last night," You finally say, "So my alarm didn't go off. Then my train was late by 20 minutes."

His back remains facing you as he extends his arm to erase some of his higher scribblings.

"There are worse crimes a person can commit than being late to class." You say, defiantly, truthfully. "But I really am sorry."

You blink, swallowing a gulp of saliva. The feeling of owing someone your time was familiar, but never so potently hindering.

Ben freezes at your words, then places the eraser down and turns to face you. The return of his gaze to your's, now alone with each other, made your anxiety sizzle in your shoulders before evaporating completely. Why had you been so afraid? It's just him.

"Do you regret what happened the other night?" He asks out of nowhere, tilting his head slightly as he brushes his hands together, small puffs of chalk emerging into the air from the pockets of his fingers.

The question catches you off guard. "No." You simply say. "Do you?"

He shakes hid head, pressing his lips together, gathering his thoughts. "I was pretty convinced for about twenty minutes there that I was never going to see you again."

Your brow furrows and your head tilts down as you register what he just said. Oh, you think, he was worried I'd ran away. He was worried that I hated him. The thought was so unbelievably trite that it made you release a small laugh through your nose, a smile breaking over your face as you shake your head in bewilderment.

He doesn't react, "I mean, don't get my wrong, you still wasted about hundred quid of your tuition this morning..." He begins to take slow steps closer to you, starting to smirk at himself. "But y'know, shit happens."

"Is this one of those unfair advantages I keep hearing about? The ones you get when you sleep with your professor?" You say cheekily.

He continues his calm strides toward you. "But we are not sleeping together, Y/N."

You nod, look away from him. "Right. Probably a good thing. I snore."

He lets out a small chuckle, close enough to you now that you can feel the warmth of his breath. You meet his eyes again, glancing down at his lips. He tucks a stray hair of your's behind your ear, softly offering a moment of tenderness, compensating for his inability to kiss you with the risk of someone seeing you from the hallway.

"Can I see you tonight?" His voice is just above a whisper.

"Sure. I memorized Act 4, Scene 5."

"Not for the play."

You sharply inhale, "Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Have you got a pen and paper?" He asks.

You side-eye him, "Well I didn't come to class just to stare at you," You dig through your tote and pull out your notebook and a ballpoint, opening to a blank page and handing both to him. "Though it is an added bonus."

He quickly writes down an address as he grins, then hands it back. "That's my house. I want to cook you dinner tonight."

You felt your face flush, your cheeks warming and turning salmon-colored. No one had ever wanted to cook you dinner before. Though no one wanted to stick their hand down your underwear either, until a couple of days ago.

"Okay." Is all you can say, the word soaked in the smile you couldn't suppress down.

"Come by around 6?" He says, amused by your disarray.

"See you, then." You nod once, then meander your way toward the door, turning every few steps to watch him watch you, both of you silently giddy.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You sat comfortably at the wooden dining table, throat and head warm from the two glasses of wine and plate of mushroom risotto you've been ingesting over the past hour. Benedict was sitting across the shorter end of the table from you, leaning his torso against the tabletop, arms crossed in front of him with one lurched slightly outward to twiddle the stem of his wine glass between his fingers.

"Look, I'm not saying she doesn't have range, or y'know, that certain thing that makes people stop being mere people and start being movie stars..." He takes the wine bottle and tops off your glass, then his own. "I just think four television shows in one year is a bit absurd."

"Have you seen To Die For? Because there's no argument to be made about Nicole Kidman if you have not seen To Die For."

"Fair enough, I feel the same way about Philip Seymour Hoffman and The Master."

"See," You smiled, "You get it."

"I get it." He nodded, staring tenderly at you as you take a sip.

"So," You say after you swallow. "Are my other drama professors aware that you casted me as Ophelia over a month ago?"

He takes your question as a bit of a surprise, furrowing his brow and cocking his head. "Um, well," He takes a sip. "I didn't go into much detail on when and where I exactly offered you the part but, yeah, we've been talking about this cast list since September."

Your brow raises, "Really? And here I was thinking I had spent the entirety of Hedda Gabler invisible to you."

"Believe it or not, the fact that it took me so long to notice you helped my argument. Hamlet is so dismissive of her—"

"And she just accepts it, slowly fading into obscurity until she removes herself from the narrative entirely." You're half-sarcastic, half-sincere. Up until that fateful cast party, you were sure you'd go the rest of the school year just out of Professor Cumberbatch's eye-line.

"No, submission isn't the same as acceptance. She wouldn't have died if she had accepted it."

"Hm," You nod slowly. "Submission should be my middle name. I was practically shaking at the idea you were going to yell at me for being late today. I would've done practically anything to keep you from being angry with me."

You words seem to resonate deeper into him, as his relaxed expression grows harder around his eyes. He licks his lips.

You realize there, looking at him, how true your statement is. Something inside of you is desperate to keep him happy.

He leans over the table, closer to you, and reaches out a hand to caress your cheek. You lean into his hold, eyes fluttering at the small rush of his skin against your's.

His thumb grazes the apple of your cheeks, then your chin, then your bottom lip.

"Open your mouth," He whispers encouragingly.

You oblige, parting your lips. His thumb touches the inside of your bottom lip, right where the dry pink skin turns saturated by your saliva. Then you feel the print of his finger on the base of your tongue. Instinctively, you close your lips around his thumb and gently suck.

The hunger in his eyes is palpable, focused solely on your mouth. Benedict feels his cock twitch underneath the table.

He releases his thumb slowly, a string of your saliva dragging and breaking as he brings his hand back to his wine glass.

He watches you as he finishes his glass of wine in a matter of small gulps as you stay still and silent, trying to anticipate his next move. Suddenly, he pushes his chair back, stands up, and makes his way around the table to stand over you on your right. You swivel in your seat, the back of the chair now to your side, facing him directly and tilting your head upward to maintain his gaze.

"Kneel down." His tone is gentle against the dominance of his words, his eyes dark and concentrated.

You don't respond, slipping out of your chair and letting your bare knees rest on the hardwood floor beneath the both of you. The fly of his corduroy trousers is now parallel with your eyes, the bulge in the zipper impossible to ignore.

One of your hand lifts, then hesitates, then placed back down on your lap. You break his gaze, feeling shy and a bit fraught with uncertainty, looking to the floor. Both of you are hopelessly aware that you've never done this before.

You feel Ben's hand on your cheek again, and he guides your face upward to meet his eyes. He runs his thumb over your cheekbone, a moment of compassion to break the tension. His lips break into a small, understanding smile.

"Do you want this?" He asks gently.

You blink at him, nodding. You really, really did want this. Despite the apprehension in your hands, despite the fear of embarrassing yourself; the erotic heat of arousal pulsing in your underwear is the feeling thats driving you forward.

"Okay," He breaths, relieved that he wasn't pushing your boundaries further than you were comfortable with. "Undo my belt."

Your fingers lift to pull the short leather band out of its buckle, then pulling the rest of the belt loose until it hung ajar at the belt loops. You place your hands around the button of his trousers, looking up to him for approval.

"Go on, you know what to do," He encourages, using the hand that wasn't still against your cheek to guide your fingers around the button and undoing it. Then you pull the zipper down.

He takes both of his hands and shoves his trousers down so they hang mid-thigh, a pair of cotton boxer-briefs obstructing your vision now. You imitate his motion but with his underwear, his erection emerging from the waist band.

Ben knew his shaft was just slightly longer than average when hard, with a decent amount of girth that never seemed to fail at keeping his previous partners satisfied. You, lips slightly agape at the sight of it and mouth watering, had no other point of reference. You'd seen images, sure; brief flashes of bare cock in the slew of porn videos you've watched since you hit puberty. But never had you had such an objective view of one.

He takes your hand and brings it to the tip, smooth to the touch and shiny from being submerged in a patch of pre-cum that leaked out the moment you fell to your knees for him.

You rack your mind of every blowjob you might've seen online, from those nights spent with your ever-so-reliable vibrator. You placed a soft lick halfway up the swollen shaft. Finding the taste not particularly unpleasant, you continued until you were licking at Ben's cock like one suckles on a popsicle. Salivating the skin until it was pink and glimmering in your spit.

You hear him groan in approval, a raspy sound stemming from the base of his throat. His eyes don't leave you, insistent on helping you along.

"So eager..." He chuckles under his breath and ran his hand through your hair. "Try flattening out your tongue, and licking from the bottom to the tip."

You hummed and did just that. Your tongue flattened against the underside of Ben's cock and licked a long line from just above the man's balls up to the gleaming head. As your tongue moved over the slit, you lightly shivered at the salty liquid that met with your tongue.

"Mm, mmhm," He was gently nodding, losing himself a little in the teasing feeling. "Twirl your tongue," You twirl your tongue around the head, and Benedict's breath hitches "Just like that." Pushing a little further, you hardened your tongue and licked along the skin attaching the tip to the rest of the shaft. This time, he actually moans.

"Fuck, that feels good," Ben said, slightly breathless. "Go a bit deeper, love."

You don't bother to respond, suppressing a proud smile to keep going with the flow of your own tongue. You opened your mouth and sucked the head inside. The hand in your hair tightened as he started bobbing your head up and down in small movements, taking the throbbing cock into your mouth a little further each time.

"That's it, you're doing so well," He breathed out. Urged on by the compliment, you moaned softly and closed your eyes. It didn't take long for him to fall into a steady rhythm of moving your jaw up and down his cock. Saliva dribbled out of your inexperienced mouth as you began hollowing out your cheeks.

Moans spilled out of Benedict as he lost further control of his breathing, quiet and deep. "God," He hummed, voice dripping in desire, your head still bobbing. Your underwear is sufficiently soaked at the erotic discomfort of it all, throat open and ready for him, knees starting to ache against the floor. All just to chase his pleasure, all for him.

"A bit faster, baby," He muttered, words slurring a bit.

You whimpered, the pleasant sting of his scalp making your eyes burn. Ben shivers at the feeling of your throat vibrating while his cock was buried inside of it.

You allowed yourself to bob your head down lower. You relaxed your throat as best as you could and pushed the very tip of his cock past your uvula and into your throat. Tears sprung into your eyes out of reflex while your throat convulsed around Benedict's swollen erection in a futile, involuntary attempt to push it out.

"You're a fuck-ing natural." He coos, his words breaking apart as he threw his head back only for a moment, before returning his eyes to your's. You gaze up at him, eyelashes wet and tears starting to drip down your cheeks.

Mouth agape and grunting softly, his free hand wipes a tear from your face as he watches you. Your rhythm is slower than a few moments ago but you're taking him deeper now, holding the tip of his cock inside his esophagus and freezing for as long as you can stand it, until you break off with a relieving exhale and start it all over again. Lewd, gagging sounds escaped your mouth, and at a particular hard suck, Ben lost it.

"Oh fucking, jesus," He swears, almost melodically, words fusing with moans and vice-versa. "Gonna make me cum, mm..."

His hips bucked forward and with a deep, drawn-out groan he spilled himself down your throat. The grip he has on your hair is tight but not forceful; You want to reflexively pull back, you know he would let you. But your own tenacity fueled you to push yourself down just half of a centimeter further.

"Mmph, god.." He's whining, eyes stuttering shut as you feel his cock twitch, another small wave of warmth washing down your throat as you drain him completely.

You finally pull back with a hard exhale and sniff; your nose had started to run from the lack of oxygen. You wipe a mixture of his cum and your saliva off of your lip, taking the dribble and sucking if off of your own finger playfully, looking up at him with wet eyes.

Benedict is panting, slowly coming down from the high of his orgasm. "Are you trying to kill me or something?" He chuckles under his breath.

You giggle, "Sorry, got a bit lost in it."

"Alright, c'mon." He takes your arms and helps you up, your legs a bit wobbly and knees a bit sore. He tucks his shaft back into his underwear, pulling his trousers up to his hips but not buckling them. All the while, you two just stare at each other, grinning, a little aghast at how quickly the energy had shifted from just a few moments ago.

You lick your lips, "Can I kiss you, or will you find me completely disgusting?" You smile cheekily.

He lets out a short laugh, before taking your face in his hands and bringing your lips to his. The kiss is small, at first, until you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him even closer, deepening it. You remember the exoticness of tasting yourself on his lips only a few short days ago, how much it turned you on, and wondered if he felt the same as your tongues pressed against each other.

His lips travel down your face and jaw, placing lazy wet kisses down your neck. Your breath grows heavy, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers dig into his curls. Your core is still pulsing, the wet patch in your underwear making your thighs clench.

"Did it turn you on, sucking me off?" You hear him say, quiet and light, as his lips continue to explore your neck. He pulls the strap of your dress and bra down, kissing the small indentation they had made into your shoulder.

You sigh, "Feels like I've sat in a puddle or something." Not exactly eloquent as far as dirty talk goes, but the sentence spills out in the midst of your heatedness, making Benedict laugh again.

"Well I can't just leave you here high and dry, now, can I?" He takes your hand and then takes a step backward, then another, and another, until he's leading you towards the hallways and ultimately the stairs. He finally turns around as he reaches the bottom step, never letting go of your hand, and taking you to the second floor.

His bedroom is plain and undecorated save for a medium-sized framed painting hanging over his bed and a teaching award from 4 years ago resting on his dresser. The bed is large and sloppily made, the covers flattened and neat but the pillows at the head disarrayed.

He begins to kiss you again when you reach the door. Hands reaching around to hold your waste and guide you toward the bed, until the back of your knees touch the mattress.

"Now I do plan on taking my time with you," He says against your lips, in between short kisses. "But I can't let a performance like that go unrewarded."

You grab his face, pulling him into a longer, slower kiss. It turns the energy of the room into something more tender. When you break the kiss, you keep his lips only millimeters away from yours.

"I'm in no rush." You whisper, looking him in the eye. He holds your gaze, breathing into each others mouths, simply just basking in the closeness.

Then, like a wave crashing onto shore, he pulls you in again. Each kiss grows hungrier by the second, one of his hand snaking around your waist and the other digging underneath your hair at the nape of your scalp. You let out a soft whine into him, wordlessly encouraging his hands to travel further. The one around your waist reaches down and squeezes your ass, Ben earning another moan out of you.

He pushes you back onto the bed, laying you down gently. Your legs that are hanging off the side widen so he can stand between them, supporting himself on one elbow while his free hand returns to your waist.

His lips move down your jaw and neck and clavicle. He doesn't take your dress off, instead opting for running his mouth over the peak of your ribcage through the thin fabric, exhaling with each kiss so you can feel the warmth travel downward as he crosses over your stomach.

When he reaches your hips, he pulls the hemline of the dress up your body, finally putting lips to bare skin. You respond with a sigh, your previously idle hands reaching down to them through his hair.

His fingers slide up the skin of your thighs and curl around the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs. You didn't know why he hadn't taken off your dress completely, perhaps to set in place a sense of egalitarianism. You have not seen him naked, nor shall he see you naked. Not yet, anyways. Now, you must abide by some silent vow of equality, sacrificing your mouths to each other in disjointed harmony.

You still found yourself stupefied by the novelty of all of these new feelings. His warm breath on your pubic bone mixed with the radiating heat of your core. The feeling that someone wants you, that he wants to give you this gift of unbridled pleasure, even only for a few minutes, even only to satiate himself in some way; it exhilarated you. You're reminded of how many times you fantasized about this very moment.

"Did I lose you up there?" The deep tenderness of his voice from between your legs breaks you out of your train of thought. It was the soft tugs on his roots that stopped entirely as he suckled on your sensitive inner thigh that indicated you were somewhere else entirely.

"Hm?" You hum, propping yourself up on your elbows to face him.

"What's going on in that head of your's?" He rests his head on your bent leg, hands relaxing at your waist underneath your dress, fingers caressing the skin lightly. The fact that your labia was on full display suddenly seemed unimportant to him.

You sigh, "Just, I've never..." You hesitate, until he takes one of your hands from his scalp and holds it, squeezes it, offering support. This level of compassion was utterly novel to you as well. "I've thought about this so many time, Ben."

Benedict smiles tenderly, placing a small kiss to your knuckles. "I know." He says. "Try to relax, and if you want to stop, just tell me."

"I don't think I'll want you to stop." You squeeze his hand back.

He lets out a small laugh through his nose, then continues kissing down your thigh, keeping direct eye contact. It's not until you feel his lips wrap around the soft coil of your clit that you feel the tension in your shoulders melt away.

An "Oh, god..." spills out of you as you lie back completely. One of your hands returns to his skull, pulling at the tendrils of his curls. The other remains wrapped in his hand, gently squeezing as each new wave of pleasure washes over you.

His mouth toes the line between gently lapping at your bead and ravenously consuming you, alternating from his tongue circulating your clit to licking wide stripes all the way from your taint to the very top of your crease. The mixture is entirely delicious, your vocabulary now subdued to a series of whines.

His mouth leaves your pulsating core only for a moment, causing you to tilt your head to look down at him again. He pulls your hand down to his mouth and kisses it once more, before letting it rest on your stomach. His now free dominant hand presses into your folds, hesitating at your entrance as he looks up at you for permission.

You exhale, nodding, granting. This was something you knew, the feeling of is fingers, and yet you still let out a small gasp as he plunges two of them into you. Your walls constrict and contrast around the feeling, his long digits curling upward to press against the spongey expanse of your g-spot.

Your back arches slightly, the grip you have on his hair tightening. "Does that feel good?" He asks in the same rhetorical manner as the last time he had his fingers inside of you.

"So good..." You reply breathlessly. "Please don't stop."

"Mm," He hums, lips returning to lap at your clit like a kitten drinking milk. The combination is lethal, sending your head flying back as you begin to grind against his mouth.

The familiar rush of an orgasm approaches quicker than it ever has before. Your hair tangles itself against the duvet cover, your head writhing side to side uncontrollably. You pant and moan as the pleasure overcomes you completely.

"Oh, fucking hell..." You curse as he relentlessly continued his rapid rhythm. He watches you come undone through his eyelashes. The fact that your walls are tightening around his fingers motivates him even more to keep going.

And you don't tell him to stop. You can't. Why would you? You'd never had an orgasm like this before, so consuming, so paralyzing. Your legs begin to twitch, hips jutting off of the bed so hard he has to grip them and hold you down.

Another shockwave convulses within you, your eyes squeezing shut. "...Nngh, I can't stop cumming..." You slur, your words slipping into a deep moan that came from the base of your throat, turning high pitched at the end.

He groans into you, feeling your orgasm soak his fingers. He's unable to control his own hips from grinding against the base of the bed, already painfully hard again. As his hand slows inside of you, he feels the urge to climb back up your body, pin your hands over your head, and pound another two orgasms out of you before spilling himself deep into your cervix. He wishes to brand you, make you ache, make you beg. But he watches your remaining pleasure from your orgasm send you into an exhausted bliss, so delicate that he'd secretly despise himself from disrupting it.

Your catching your breath as he collapses beside you, both of you staring blankly at the ceiling and reveling in the moment. You catch him reaching down and pulling his erection into the waistband of his underwear, providing at least some relief to the pulsing member.

The movies and the television shows you'd watched had subtly trained you to believe a man's cock was useless once he'd already came. Now you felt yourself softly giggling when realizing you had inspired so much vitality out of Benedict.

"What are you laughing at?" He laughs back, brow furrowing a bit.

You bring you fingernail between your teeth shyly. "Do you want me to..." You look down toward his groin.

He exhales, understanding you. "No, no, please. You've already exceeded any expectation I could possibly have." He leans over on his side and hovers over you, pausing slightly before kissing you, holding your cheek in his hand. When he pulls away, his nose grazes against yours. "For a virgin, you seem to know exactly what you're doing."

You smile, feeling rather proud of yourself. "Amazing what the combination of a good teacher and a fast learner can accomplish." You tilt your chin up and kiss him again.

He pulls you closer to him, wrapping an arm underneath your head so your body nestles into him. "Next time, though," he kisses your temple, then places his lips close to your ear, whispering, "I'll have you so wrapped up in pleasure that you won't remember your own name." Another kiss to the earlobe. "But for now, I just want to feel you fall asleep in my arms."

You both settle into a restful position. "Next time..." You mutter, joyfully, tiredly, before drifting into unconsciousness with the feeling of his steady breathing on the back of your neck.

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