#prof. stretch

[demonslayedher]

Nerdy cultural details about the word "Hashira"

Some details can be hard to pick up without context or in translation. I recently went over a few details about the Hashira's names, Breaths, or symbols, but today I want to focus on the word "Hashira."

To get this out of the way, I use "Pillar" all over this blog because I thought that's what they were called. I was astounded that phrase was not translated, as it is a (somewhat rare) case of a one-to-one translation equivalent. They are the pillars that support the Demon Slayer Corp, after all. The kanji for it (柱) very literally means "pillar" in any modern day Japanese to English dictionary. But since you all know the word "Hashira," let's climb up and see where it takes us! First, the kanji itself (brought over from China and given the Japanese pronunciation "hashira," based on the existing spoken Japanese language), is composed of 木 for "tree" and 主 for "master" or "main/principal," among other semi-literal or more widely applicable possible meanings in modern kanji dictionaries. However, Prof. Owada Tetsuo, a retired university professor who published an unofficial book of his own Kimetsu no Yaiba interpretations based on Japanese demon slaying folklore, points out that 主 can also be interpreted as a still flame atop a candlestick, and that 柱 (hashira) is a tree that cannot be moved. (I'll continue to use a lot of Prof. Owada's details in this explanation, as well as details I have picked up in other research.) That makes 柱 closely associated with holy trees found in, or treated as, Shinto shrines throughout Japan. As Shinto is a nature-based belief system, trees are often something that a kami (deity) will inhabit. Keep Shinto in mind, because we're going to focus on that a lot.

Before that, let's finish up with the kanji 柱. According to the first official fanbook, there is an upper limit of nine Hashira because there are nine strokes in the 柱 kanji. (See this dictionary entry for a breakdown of those nine strokes.)

Now that the easy official tidbit is out of the way, back to the Shinto fun stuff and conjecture! We need to dive a bit more into the spoken Japanese language, from which a lot of Shinto terms derive. For starters, the Japanese language uses counter words for when you say a certain number of beings or objects. You could think of this as "a sheet of paper" or "three rolls of tape." It is an annoying part of starting out your study of the language because there are a lot to memorize based on sizes, shapes, types of animals, etc. Deities also have their own counter word: 柱 (hashira). This goes to show how the Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corp are something more than human, what with how much power they possess.

Now if we think about the pronunciation of the spoken Japanese word from long before a Chinese written character was assigned to it, the "hashi" of "hashira" is a "bridge." Clever ones among you might know that "hashi" also means "chopsticks." But even chopsticks have the same effect as a bridge! They serve as a connection, bridging the gap between you and what was another living thing, that which will become a part of you as your sustenance. "Hashira," as pillars, are likewise something that serve as a connection, in this case, a vertical one. They are that which connect us with the heavens, or in the case of the Demon Slayer Corp, they bridge the gap between the limits of human strength and the inhuman strength of demons.

As another Shinto tie, one of the connections that Prof. Owada and I both made was that there are nine pillars that support the main sanctuary in shrine architecture like that of Izumo Taisha Grand Shrine. Or rather, in the case of at least one of the historical iterations of Izumo Taisha, there were nine groups of three massive tree trunks each, resulting in a shrine over 48 meters in height (see here for photos of how big the remains of those pillars are and how exciting the archaeology is). These pillars give you a sense of awe for just how powerful pillars can be, especially when you have a spread of nine to distribute the weight. Now, there's more that Prof. Owada and I would both say about how Izumo Taisha also ties in with the "Ubuyashiki" surname or the "yakata" title by which the Hashira address him, but that's a dose of nerdery for some other time.

[uncanny-tranny]

I love giving advice, apparently, so if you are a newly pierced person or are planning on being pierced, here are some of the things I found helpful, as somebody who isn't a professional piercer but has had six plus piercings on my face and body, and multiple ear piercings (which I don't count, since I DIY'd them):

Normal bath towels are your enemy, proceed with caution after bathing. NEVER wipe moisture away from a fresh piercing, always pat it dry

You will hit a new piercing and it will hurt. This is inevitable, just know that you likely haven't destroyed it. Feel free to cry, though, it hurts like hell.

If your piercer gives you instructions, heed them. If you're on restrictions, please take it as seriously as possible

When you're going in for a piercing, please eat or drink something - at least what constitutes as a snack for your body. It really helps

If you're getting an oral piercing, make sure you size down after the healing period - I hadn't sized down for my last oral piercing when I first had the chance, and it was... so annoying to have too-large of jewelry

Not all jewelry is made equally. Do your research on materials, threading, and sizing. I've found that titanium jewelry is really nice for me, and I like it, but that isn't the only option. Make sure you think about your body and its needs and preferences

Close your eyes while being pierced (I found this really helps me)

Don't over-clean a new piercing, twice per day is usually a good place to start

The completed healing period is a very average suggestion - you may heal slower or faster. Try to adhere to that suggestion, though, especially if you do not feel you're healed enough

Personally, I have found that I am completely healed when my piercing feels like just another part of my body, even when it is touched. When my piercings start to feel as though they are foreign when they never do before, I know I likely need to clean them

While I have DIY'd piercings, I personally do not recommend it, especially if you are either not using sterilized equipment, or are piercing a very dangerous place (like the tongue). If you are absolutely positive about committing to the DIY mindset, please try to do due diligence in research at least

Tip your piercer. Body mods are a luxury service, and it takes years to even become a piercer, much less to be proficient at it. Tip your piercer, ESPECIALLY if their prices feel too good to be true - they likely are. Unless you are directed otherwise by your piercer, just assume that you will be tipping them for their services and budget accordingly

Make sure you understand how your piercer wants you to take care of your piercing, and ask questions. There is no question too "dumb"

If you are getting a body part pierced you are insecure about, realize your piercer has most likely seen HUNDREDS of different body parts of various sizes, shapes, and oddities. Your body is not uniquely bad, nor would a good piercer make you feel unwelcome or uncomfortable with your body. If they do, however, DO NOT go through with the piercing. You should feel safe being pierced by somebody, and, indeed, that is the bare minimum.

If you use saline wash to clean piercings, you can DIY it. You will go through NeilMed like no other, and with it being $5USD a bottle, that price can rack up quickly. Make sure you use distilled water and non-iodized salt, though

If your piercing is infected, please don't be too ashamed to seek help. It's in your best interest to make sure you don't get ill or your site gets nasty ("nasty" as in painful)

These are just some of the things I've learned being a pierced person! My piercings are something I absolutely needed, and I do not for a minute regret having them. I want that same happiness to befall you, and that happens when you are able to understand a bit more what goes into piercings. You are, essentially, getting a new body part installed by a pro, and so I don't want you to not be ready for that.

Again, I am not a professional piercer, but am rather a body piercing enthusiast with many different types of piercings. I don't have every piercing, though, so please look at this critically for the piercing(s) that you want or have. At least, treat this like a soft suggestion or ways to help you brainstorm what you will find helpful.

More tips are obviously welcomed, especially if you yourself have more insight or expertise. Good luck to every pierced person or future pierced person reading this💛

[demeterdefence]

my energy has been low lately so i've stuck to just liveblogging chapter releases, but i was thinking earlier about why lore olympus really nettles me and it's truly indicative of a wider issue.

it's disappointing that a major ancient religion that is still practiced by some people today has been reduced to a caricature of itself, and i say this knowing that there are thousands of reinterpretations of the greek myths, there will always be a new opinion or retelling of them. retelling the myth of hades and persephone isn't necessarily the issue, so much as the constant and dripping disdain to the cultural roots. we don't need to be greek to appreciate the story, but why remove everything greek from it? why westernize every aspect and remove ties to the cultural roots? why whitewash everything from a myth thousands of years old?

part of the reason these myths continue to resonate with us is because the themes are still relevant today. the loss of a child, the struggle against impossible forces, the (often patriarchal) powers against you, a mothers love. these stories hold power, they gave hope and inspiration, they created meaning and connection, and they were vital to the people who lived in that time, in that place. they will resonate with us for many years still, but stripping the roots and core of it out only makes it a hollow, shallow imitation. it's reality tv with neon colours, no love or heritage present; it's cold and shiny and plastic, and it insults what it claims to portray.

[quantomeno]

I was recently reminded of one of Phoenix's many near death experiences and that in turn reminded me of my headcanon that Sissel (from Ghost Trick) exists in his universe and is constantly having to save his life

This obviously leaves the glaring issue of why Sissel hasn't saved anyone else's lives, but I guess we can just say Wright is special and Sissel doesn't like to interfere too much

[ayakashibackstreet]

Finished the Enstars portion, friends <3

[terrainofheartfelt]

Okay so the thing that bothers me about this professor at yale in “incredible sinking lorelais” is like….what are you mad about? what point are you trying to prove? Like, as an educator in liberal arts and humanities, shouldn’t he be pleased that a student demonstrated the ability to synthesize and compare and contrast seemingly separate topics? it’s not “avoiding research” it’s being able to draw connections, if it’s well supported, then why would that be a bad thing? like, that’s the critical analytical thinking that the ivies should be all about promoting? but no? you gotta be rude bc she didn’t cite an article from your journal? fuck off.

[mmmairon]

I'm sending you a hug 🫂

thank u !!! sending hugs back

[pallases]

okay well i don’t know what to do w myself now

[katzenkarussell]

Unfortunately lost the motivation for the sketch but had fun coloring it in

Meant to draw this as a sort of companion piece to the Turo I drew, because I need to satisfy the itch of Sada/Turo wearing some color of the other.

Also I love Sada’s earring I want it irl

[woodnrust]

I know the likeliness of this happening is next to none but every time I interact with somebody in the field of education who has Connections I have the hope in the back of my mind that they're gonna ask me about what school I attend and if I want a scholarship just from me being inquisitive and nice but like oh well dreams are dreams

[punk-raphaelite]

I hate being misinterpreted 🫠

[aconstantallegory]

anyone got any ideas for a possible url and mobile / general theme change

[getsusun]

So. I was browsing Tumblr as usual, when suddenly an amazing art of @elitadream appeared in front of me. Inspired by concept arts for Gru from Despicable Me, a new villain, "evil Gru" or Prof. Rott, as, I understood, he was named. And let me tell you, I was (am) smitten. By the villain himself, of course, but also by how magnificently he was drawn, how expressive his face and poses were. The claws! The fangs! The colors! The shapes!

So, shortly speaking, I was completely unable not to start daydreaming about this villain. And what better way to know character than to hurt him? (There are many better ways, don't be like me, have some pity)

So there is my modest tribute to this magnificent idea. Go check elitadream's tumblr to know more about Prof. Rott!

stages under the cut for future me.

[seafarersdream]

Kismet | Modern AU! (Jace Velaryon x Y/N)

Jace Velaryon, a wealthy legacy student at the University of Cambridge and captain of the football club, is barely surviving his second year in majoring in History and Politics. With a 5,000-word paper looming, Jace is hopelessly lost. His concerned professor decides to assign him a study partner: Y/N L/N, a star student. Y/N knows all about Jace’s wild reputation and his band of troublemaking friends. She's managed to steer clear of his orbit—until now. Aegon Targaryen, ever the wildcard, throws down a challenge to Jace: a bet on whether he can get Y/N into his bed. After all, Jace is a notorious womanizer, with a reputation for charming his way through the university’s female population. Should be easy enough for him, no? Word count: 14,5k

TW // Strong language and profanities, explicit scenes (oral), dub-con, sexual innuendos, alcohol use and intoxication, emotional manipulation, smoking, slow burn narrative.

Note: Massive thanks to @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 for the idea! Hope I did it justice. I really ran with this one—what can I say? I love a good, slow build-up. So yeah, this fic definitely got way longer than I planned. But hey, grab some snacks, settle in, and enjoy!

“Five thousand words? She’s taking the piss, isn’t she?” He thought.

Jace Velaryon slouched back in the worn, creaky chair, an amused grin tugging at his lips as he stared at the ceiling of Professor Jeyne Arryn’s office. The beams above were ancient, older than his ancestors probably, and seemed like they might crumble at any second. He couldn’t help but think it’d be a hell of an excuse to get out of this meeting if the whole damn roof just collapsed right then and there.

Professor Jeyne Arryn, all prim and proper in her tweed blazer and horn-rimmed glasses, sighed dramatically from behind her desk, fingers tenting in that classic I’m disappointed in you way. “Jacaerys, you do realize that the War of the Roses is one of the most pivotal conflicts in English history, right? It’s not something you can just... ‘wing’ in a night.”

Jace chuckled, the sound rich and careless. “Is that a challenge, Prof?” he teased, stretching out his long legs, one foot resting lazily on the opposite knee. “You know I love a good challenge. Ask anyone on the pitch.”

She didn’t smile. She never did, not when he was being an ass—which, admittedly, was most of the time. “This isn’t a game, Mr. Velaryon,” she said, voice tight with irritation. “You can’t charm your way through a five-thousand-word paper like you do with the girls or your professors, for that matter.”

Jace scoffed, giving her a cocky wink. “Worked on you, didn’t it? Remember that first-year exam?” He flashed her a grin that was all white teeth and mischief, the kind that usually got him out of trouble—or into it, depending on the situation.

Professor Arryn's lips twitched, but she quickly straightened her expression. “Enough, Mr. Velaryon. This isn’t negotiable. You’re going to do this paper, and you’re going to do it well, even if it kills you. Or, more accurately, if it kills me trying to drag you through it.”

Jace rolled his eyes, the weight of her seriousness finally sinking in. “Alright, alright, you’ve got my attention. What’s the plan then? A crash course in roses and wars?”

Jeyne leaned forward, her tone softening just a fraction. “I’ve assigned you a study partner.”

He sat up straighter, eyebrows shooting up. “A what now?”

“A study partner. Someone to help guide you through the research, outline, and, hopefully, writing process. Someone who actually understands the material and takes it seriously.”

Jace frowned, feeling his stomach twist. “Who?” he asked, wary now. “Not one of those posh History Society nerds, yeah?”

Professor Arryn smiled, a thin, knowing smile. “No, not one of those... though she is quite the academic star. Y/N L/N.”

Jace blinked, trying to place the name. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite remember a face to go with it. “Y/N?” he echoed, like it might conjure up a memory. “The one with the… cat?”

Jeyne’s smile grew wider. “Yes, that one. She’s in her third year. Sharp as a tack, that girl. And far more disciplined than you.”

“Great,” Jace muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “So, I’m stuck with a cat lady who probably hates my guts. This’ll be fun.”

“Perhaps,” Jeyne replied, “it’ll be good for you to spend some time with someone who doesn’t fawn over you or buy into your charm. And let’s be honest, Jacaerys, you need all the help you can get.”

Jace sighed deeply, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “Fine. Whatever. When do I meet this... Y/N?”

Professor Arryn checked her watch. “Actually, right now. She’s waiting outside.”

Jace’s eyes widened. “Wait—what?”

The door creaked open, and there she was—Y/N L/N, standing just outside with an expression that could only be described as skeptical. Her hair was up in a bun, a few stray strands escaping around her face, and she was clutching a notebook like it was a lifeline. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked over Jace briefly before settling on Professor Arryn.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?” she asked, her voice low and even.

Jace couldn’t help but smirk. Oh, this was going to be interesting.

Professor Arryn gestured for Y/N to enter. “Y/N, this is Jacaerys Velaryon, your new study partner.”

Y/N’s lips quirked ever so slightly, but she quickly schooled her features back into a neutral expression. “Oh,” she said. “Lucky me.”

Jace chuckled, leaning back in his chair again, arms spreading out as if he owned the room. “The pleasure’s all mine, love,” he drawled, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Looking forward to all those late-night study sessions... with your cat, of course.”

Y/N’s gaze was flat, unimpressed. “Yeah, don’t get your hopes up. This isn’t a charity case. If you want my help, you’ll have to actually put in the work.”

Jace blinked, caught off guard. “Right,” he said slowly, recovering with a grin. “Fair enough. Let’s start with the basics, then… What’s a ‘War of the Roses,’ anyway?”

Y/N let out a soft sigh, clearly unamused. “We have a lot of work to do.”

Professor Arryn watched the exchange, a satisfied glint in her eye. “I think this partnership will be good for both of you,” she said. “And remember, Velaryon, this is your last chance to prove yourself. Don’t blow it.”

Jace glanced at Y/N, who was already walking towards the door, her back straight and her expression unreadable. He scrambled to his feet, hurrying after her. “Oi, wait up!” he called, trying to catch her.

Y/N paused, turning slightly, her eyebrow arched. “First rule,” she said calmly. “Don’t call me ‘love.’”

Jace grinned, loving the challenge already. “Alright… Y/N,” he replied, putting on his most charming smile. “Shall we?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was the slightest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah,” she muttered, “Let’s get this over with.”

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“Look, we can start with some basic texts,” Y/N said, flipping open her notebook and scribbling something down with a quick, practiced hand. She barely spared Jace a glance as they walked down the narrow cobblestone path, her steps purposeful and brisk. “Seeley Historical Library has the best collection on late medieval England. I figure we’ll start there. I know a few—”

“Wait,” Jace interrupted, his tone incredulous. “You want to start now? Like, right this second?”

“Yes,” Y/N replied, not breaking her stride. “Because it’s clear you know absolutely nothing about the War of the Roses, and I’m not about to waste my time with some half-baked attempt at a history paper. We’re going to the library.”

Jace groaned, dragging a hand through his tousled dark curls. “Oh, come on, love—”

She shot him a sharp look.

“—Sorry, Y/N. Can’t we at least get a coffee first? I haven’t even had my caffeine fix yet, and you’re already dragging me to some dusty library.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “No time for coffee. We have a lot of ground to cover, and I’m not about to let you turn this into some kind of social hour. The library, now.”

Jace huffed but kept pace with her. “You’re a hard-ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” She replied dryly.

They turned a corner, and Jace caught sight of the courtyard just ahead—a familiar patch of green surrounded by old brick buildings, where his mates were kicking a ball around. His gang—Cregan Stark, Oscar Tully, Aegon Targaryen, and Davos Blackwood—were all there, clad in their team jerseys and shouting insults at one another.

Aegon, spotting Jace first, smirked and jogged over, his bleach-blonde hair glinting in the sunlight. “Oi, Captain!” he called out, voice booming across the courtyard. “Where the hell you think you’re going?”

Cregan and Oscar followed, both looking amused. Cregan, tall and broad-shouldered, clapped a hand on Jace’s back as he got closer. “We’ve got practice in five, mate. What’s this? Thought you were allergic to books,” he teased, nodding towards the notebook Y/N clutched like a weapon.

“Yeah, I thought the only paper you touched was hundred-pound notes,” Oscar added with a grin.

Jace gave a sheepish grin, throwing a thumb in Y/N’s direction. “Meet my new study partner,” he announced, his tone half-mocking, half-serious. “Apparently, she thinks I need to learn a thing or two about the ‘War of the Roses.’”

Davos snorted, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, you’re gonna learn what war is if you don’t show up for practice, Captain. Coach is already pissed.”

Y/N, standing a step back, folded her arms across her chest, her patience visibly thinning. “I’m sorry,” she interjected, her voice cutting through their banter like a knife, “but Jace and I have actual work to do. Unlike whatever this is.” She waved a dismissive hand at the football pitch behind them.

Aegon let out a low whistle, eyeing Y/N with mock admiration. “Feisty one, isn’t she?”

Jace chuckled, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, Y/N, they’re right. We do have practice—”

“Don’t care,” she cut him off sharply. “We’re going to the library, and you’re coming with me. You can play your little game later.”

Cregan laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “Your little game? Oi, Jace, I think she just called football a ‘little game.’”

Jace shot a pleading look at Y/N, but she remained resolute, chin tilted up defiantly. “This isn’t optional, Velaryon,” she stated flatly. “You can skip practice once. It’s not going to kill you.”

“Actually, it might,” Oscar quipped, elbowing Jace. “Coach’ll string you up by your own bootlaces.”

Jace hesitated, caught between the demand in Y/N’s eyes and the expectant gazes of his teammates. “Come on, Y/N,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “Just one hour? I’ll be right there at the library after.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, clearly irritated. “Fine,” she muttered, “One hour, Jace. But if you’re not at Seeley, I’m done with this, and you can flunk out on your own.”

Jace grinned, sensing a small victory. “Deal.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode off toward the library, leaving Jace standing there.

Aegon nudged Jace with a sly grin. “Mate, you’re in deep with that one.”

Jace shrugged, his grin widening. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Then, he jogged toward the pitch, already plotting how to charm his way out of trouble.

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The sun was setting over Cambridge, casting a warm, golden glow over the courtyard where Jace and his gang were sprawled out on the grass, panting and laughing, still high from the adrenaline of practice. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and freshly cut grass. Jace gulped down his energy gel, feeling the rush of artificial citrus flavor burst in his mouth. Aegon, leaning back on his elbows, was grinning like a Cheshire cat, clearly up to something.

“So,” Aegon started, with that telltale smirk plastered across his face, “what’s the deal with your new study buddy, Jace? This… Y/N?”

Jace shrugged, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Nothing much. Just some girl Professor Arryn stuck me with to make sure I don’t bomb this paper. Proper bookworm, you know?”

Davos, lying flat on his back and squinting up at the sky, chuckled. “Yeah, heard she’s one of those types. Always in the library, never out for a drink. Bit boring, if you ask me.”

Aegon’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Boring, eh? Anyone know anything interesting about her?”

Oscar, sitting cross-legged, shook his head. “Nah, mate. She’s just… normal. Doesn’t bother with us, and we don’t bother with her. Mundane as they come.”

Aegon scoffed. “Mundane, my arse. There’s always something, yeah? Everyone’s got a secret.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing some great forbidden knowledge. “I heard she’s still a virgin.”

Davos snorted, nearly choking on his water. “No way. At Cambridge? The land of drunken hookups and bad decisions?”

Aegon nodded, his eyes fixed on Jace. “Yup. Pure as the driven snow, they say. Bet she’s never even been kissed.”

Jace laughed, but it was more out of surprise than anything else. “What’s that got to do with me?”

Aegon’s smirk turned devilish. “Just saying, mate. You’ve charmed the pants off half the girls in this place. Why not try the one that’s got everyone else stumped?”

Davos caught on, grinning widely. “Yeah, Jace, bet you can’t even get her to look at you twice, let alone… you know.”

Jace raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously betting I can’t get Y/N L/N to…?”

“To shag you,” Aegon finished, laughing. “That’s the bet. Get in her knickers, mate. Come on, it’ll be a laugh.”

Cregan, who had been sitting quietly, frowned, his brow furrowing in disapproval. “This is a bad idea,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Messing around with someone like that… it’s not right, Jace.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’m with Cregan on this one. It’s one thing to have a bit of fun, but this… it’s different. She’s not one of your usual types. You could really hurt her.”

Jace felt a strange flicker of something in his chest—a mix of guilt, curiosity, and… excitement. He brushed it off, shrugging casually. “Come on, boys. It’s not like that. Just a bit of fun, yeah? Nothing serious.”

Aegon leaned forward, eyes glinting with amusement. “So, are you in or not? Hundred pounds says you can’t do it. That’s what, a week’s worth of drinks and cigs for you?”

Jace hesitated for a moment, thinking of Y/N’s determined glare, her sharp wit, the way she didn’t give a damn about him or his reputation. She was different. Uncharted territory. A challenge.

He smirked. “Alright, you’re on,” he said, hearing the cheers and groans from the lads around him.

Cregan shook his head, already looking like he regretted being a part of this conversation. “This isn’t going to end well, Jace. I’m telling you.”

Oscar sighed. “I don’t approve, mate. But… you’ve never been one to listen anyway.”

Jace just laughed, but there was an edge to it, a thrill of something dangerous. “You all worry too much. I’ve got this.”

As they all started to pack up, heading off in different directions, Jace couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just stepped onto a very slippery slope.

He had an hour to make it to the library. And now, he had a new game to play.

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The small study hall in Y/N’s dorm was quiet except for the faint hum of the ancient radiator and the occasional rustling of paper. The place was cozy, with mismatched chairs and a long, scratched-up wooden table in the middle that looked like it had seen better days. A soft yellow light flickered overhead, casting a warm glow that made everything feel just a bit more intimate than Jace was used to.

Y/N sat across from him, her head buried in yet another thick textbook, her glasses sliding down her nose in that way they always did when she was deep in concentration. Her cat, Tabby, was sprawled out next to her, purring loudly, its fat tail flicking every so often. Jace watched the cat with a wry smile, the can of wet food hidden in his backpack, ready for his next move.

He had to admit, these study sessions weren’t exactly torture. Sure, he’d rather be out with the lads, downing pints at the pub or kicking a ball around, but there was something oddly… nice about the routine they’d developed over the last two weeks. Y/N was sharp, with a sarcastic wit that he’d quickly learned to appreciate. She didn’t laugh at his jokes, didn’t fawn over his every word, and wasn’t afraid to call him out when he was being a lazy git.

And yeah, maybe that made him want to impress her just a little bit.

Tonight, though, he had a plan. He set his textbook aside with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “So,” he started, his tone casual, “I think I’ve got the gist of this whole War of the Roses thing now. The Yorks, the Lancasters, the whole shebang.”

Y/N glanced up, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “Oh, really?” she said, her tone dripping with skepticism. “Let’s hear it then. Enlighten me, Velaryon.”

Jace grinned, ready for the challenge. “Alright, so it’s like this: Basically, you’ve got two families—Yorks and Lancasters, right? Both got a claim to the throne, both think they’re the shit. Lots of battles, lots of blood, lots of people getting their heads chopped off. The Lancasters start off strong, but then the Yorks take over for a bit with Edward IV, right?”

Y/N nodded, her expression almost… impressed. “Okay, so far, so good.”

“Then Edward’s brother, Richard III, the shady bastard, knocks off his own nephews, or so they say—”

“They were never found,” Y/N interjected, raising a finger. “It’s just a theory.”

“Right, right, allegedly,” Jace corrected himself, rolling his eyes, “Anyway, then Henry Tudor comes in, wipes the floor with Richard at Bosworth, and boom, new king. Tudor dynasty kicks off. End of the Wars of the Roses.”

Y/N tilted her head, a small, amused smile playing at her lips. “Not bad, Jace. Not bad at all. Maybe you’re not as hopeless as I thought.”

Jace chuckled, leaning in a little closer, letting his voice drop. “See? I’m full of surprises.” He reached into his bag and pulled out the can of wet cat food, holding it up like a trophy. “And speaking of surprises… look what I brought for our furry study buddy.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard, and then she laughed—a soft, genuine laugh that Jace hadn’t heard before. “Seriously? You brought food for Tabby?”

Jace grinned. “Figured it might earn me a few points. Besides, I’m starting to think she’s the one actually running this show.”

Tabby’s ears perked up at the sound of the can, and Y/N shook her head, amused. “You know, you didn’t have to do that. But… it’s sweet. Thanks.”

He shrugged, feeling a strange, warm twist in his chest at her reaction. “No big deal. Besides, I’m trying to stay in your good graces here, remember?”

Y/N gave him a sly look. “Oh, is that what this is? Buttering me up? This is bribery.”

Jace laughed, leaning back. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like spending time with you, even if you do make me memorize the most boring shit ever written.”

She smiled, a real one this time, and he felt something shift in the air between them, something that made his heart pick up a little faster. “History isn’t boring, Jace,” she corrected, but there was no bite to her tone, only a soft fondness. “You just have to find the right angle.”

He watched her for a moment, taking in the way her eyes sparkled behind her glasses, the way a loose strand of hair fell across her cheek. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “you can help me find it.”

For a moment, they were just there, sitting in the soft light, with Tabby purring between them. And for the first time in a long time, Jace didn’t feel like he needed to be anywhere else.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “tell me more about this Henry Tudor bloke. Sounds like a bit of a legend.”

Y/N laughed again, and Jace realized he could get used to that sound. “Oh, he was. But not in the way you think.”

And as she launched into a passionate explanation, Jace found himself leaning in, genuinely listening, genuinely interested. Maybe it was because of her, or maybe… just maybe, it was something else altogether.

Jace then pulled his laptop out of his bag, its surface covered in stickers from random pubs, indie bands, and some meme that Y/N didn’t quite get. He flipped it open and tapped the trackpad a few times before turning the screen toward Y/N. “Alright, don’t judge me too harshly,” he said, flashing her a grin that was equal parts sheepish and cocky. “I’ve got about fifteen hundred words down.”

Y/N took the laptop, eyebrows arching as she began to read. Her expression shifted quickly—from neutral to slightly amused, and then to something bordering on exasperated. “Jace… this reads like a bloody blog post,” she muttered, her tone half a scold, half a laugh. “I mean, really? ‘York versus Lancaster: The Original Family Feud?’”

Jace chuckled, leaning back in his chair, hands resting behind his head. “Hey, I’m just trying to keep it interesting. No one wants to read a paper full of dry academic crap.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “This isn’t about being interesting, it’s about being accurate and precise. You’re supposed to be writing a serious outline, not an article for BuzzFeed.”

He raised his hands defensively. “Alright, alright, fair point. But can you blame me? I’m trying not to fall asleep while I write this thing. I figure, if it’s fun for me, maybe it’ll be fun for whoever ends up grading it.”

Y/N shook her head, though there was a softness to her expression that Jace couldn’t ignore. “That’s… not how it works. But I’ll help you refine it. You’ve got the right ideas, just not the right… execution.”

“Story of my life,” Jace muttered, and for a moment, his grin faltered. He quickly recovered, though, leaning forward to take the laptop back. “Seriously, though, I appreciate it. I know I’m a bit of a lost cause when it comes to this stuff.”

“You’re not a lost cause,” Y/N said, surprising even herself. “Just… a bit misguided. But you’re trying, and that counts for something.”

Jace smiled, feeling that strange twist in his chest again. “Trying, yeah. I’ve got my reasons. If I don’t pass this paper, my mum’s going to cut me off. And trust me, you don’t want to be around when that happens.”

Y/N looked up, curious. “Your mum… she’s Rhaenyra Targaryen, right? The one who’s always in those society pages?”

Jace nodded, leaning back in his chair again. “That’s the one. Everyone thinks she’s this glamorous socialite, but she’s tough as nails. Proper iron lady, you know? It’s always Jacaerys, do this or Jacaerys, don’t embarrass the family. She’s got this whole plan for me, for my brother Luke, for everyone. She’d have me running for Parliament if she could.”

Y/N listened, her face softening. “That sounds… intense.”

Jace laughed. “You’ve no idea. Luke—my little brother, he’s at Eton right now, the little shit—is the golden boy. Mum dotes on him like he’s the second coming or something. He’ll be here at Cambridge next year, probably ace every exam and make me look even worse by comparison.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his grin turning a little wry. “Between you and me, Luke’s the smart one. Reads all the time, top of his class, the whole package. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to stay on the pitch and out of trouble.”

Y/N smiled a bit. “I doubt that’s all you are. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have something going for you.”

Jace shrugged, playing it off, but her words struck a chord. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just because Mum and Grandfather have their names on a few buildings around here.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, but her eyes held a glimmer of understanding. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be here. It just means you have to work a little harder to prove that to everyone else.”

Jace looked at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone. “You really think that?”

Y/N nodded, her expression steady. “I do. I mean, you’re lazy as hell, sure, but you’re not dumb. You just need to find something that makes you want to try.”

Jace felt a flush rise in his cheeks, unexpected and a little confusing. “Yeah, well, maybe I’ve found something,” he muttered, looking away.

Tabby, sensing the change in the atmosphere, stretched out on Jace’s lap and yawned loudly, demanding attention. Jace chuckled, reaching down to scratch the cat’s ears. “You’ve got a good taste in cats, at least,” he said, grinning.

Y/N leaned back, watching Jace with a look he couldn’t quite place. “Tabby seems to like you,” she said softly, a hint of surprise in her voice. “That’s… unusual. She doesn’t usually take to strangers.”

“Maybe I’m not as much of a stranger anymore,” Jace said, looking up to meet her gaze.

Y/N’s eyes lingered on his for a moment longer than he expected, and something passed between them, something warm and tentative. She quickly looked back down at her notebook, clearing her throat. “Alright,” she said, shifting gears. “Let’s get back to work. This ‘original family feud’ bit needs to go.”

Jace laughed, pulling his laptop back toward him. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, boss.”

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Two more weeks of grueling late-night study sessions, endless cups of coffee, and Y/N’s relentless revisions had finally paid off. Jace’s paper was finished. No, more than finished—it was actually good. Even Y/N had begrudgingly admitted it was up to her usual standards, which, coming from her, was high praise indeed.

Jace couldn’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction when he handed the paper to Professor Arryn that morning. He watched her face closely as she skimmed through the first few pages, her eyebrows slowly rising with what he hoped was approval. When she finally looked up, there was a rare, pleased smile on her face.

“Well done, Jacaerys,” she said, her tone warm. “This is… quite an improvement. I’m impressed.”

Jace grinned, feeling a surprising swell of pride. “Thanks, Professor. Guess I had a good teacher.”

Professor Arryn chuckled softly. “Yes, well, I’ll have to thank Miss L/N for her patience later. But I’m glad to see you’ve taken this seriously. Keep it up. You’ve got more potential than you think.”

Jace nodded, and as he left her office, he couldn’t shake the grin off his face. He had done it. They had done it. And he couldn’t deny the thrill he felt knowing he’d actually managed to prove everyone wrong for once.

Later that afternoon, he found himself wandering through the winding pathways of the campus, searching for Y/N. He finally spotted her by the fountain in the courtyard, sitting on a bench.

He sauntered over, casually leaning against the side of the bench. “Oi, bookworm,” he greeted, flashing her that grin he knew usually worked on most people. “Guess what?”

Y/N looked up, mildly surprised, but a small smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know. You found another typo in your own name?”

Jace laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, better. Professor Arryn loved the paper. Said she was impressed.”

Y/N’s eyes brightened a little. “Really? Well… that’s good. I mean, not surprising, considering all the work we put into it. But still… good to hear.”

“Yeah,” Jace nodded, feeling a surge of excitement he hadn’t expected. “And I figured, you know, since it’s the weekend and all, we should celebrate. There’s a pub just off campus that does the best chicken wings. Thought you might fancy a night out?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, um, I don’t usually go to pubs,” she started, fidgeting slightly. “Not really my scene.”

Jace wasn’t deterred. He leaned in a bit closer, his voice dropping to that smooth, persuasive tone he knew could win over even the most stubborn people. “Come on, Y/N. It’s just a drink, some wings, a bit of fun. You’ve earned it. Besides,” he added, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I know you’re obsessed with chicken wings. And trust me, this place makes them mean.”

Y/N’s mouth twitched like she was trying to hide a smile. “How do you even know that?”

Jace shrugged, pretending to be innocent. “Just a guess. But seriously, you can’t turn down an offer like this. I’m buying, and I promise not to make you read any history books while we’re there. Think of it as… a reward for your hard work.”

She hesitated for a moment, but the look in his eyes was so genuinely hopeful, so damn persistent, that she found herself softening. “Alright,” she sighed finally, a small smile breaking through. “But just this once. And only because you said there’d be good wings.”

Jace’s grin widened. “Deal. I’ll pick you up at six?”

Y/N nodded, still looking a bit skeptical, but there was a flicker of excitement in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide. “Six it is. But if it turns out to be one of those rowdy pubs with sticky floors and bad beer, I’m leaving.”

Jace laughed. “Trust me, Y/N, I’ve got taste. You won’t regret it.”

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“Tonight’s the night, mate. The night you finally conquer the wallflower,” Aegon declared, sprawled out on Jace’s bed with a grin wide enough to split his face in half. He was already two beers in, and his enthusiasm was rising with every sip. “I mean, come on, you’ve done all the groundwork. You’ve got her thinking you’re some misunderstood genius or whatever. It’s bloody perfect.”

Jace rolled his eyes, tugging a fresh shirt over his head. “Piss off, Aeg, you make it sound like I’m storming a castle. It’s just a drink, alright?”

“A drink?” Aegon snorted, sitting up with exaggerated incredulity. “No, no, my friend. This is a tactical maneuver. A carefully orchestrated operation. You’ve been planting the seeds, and tonight… you reap the harvest.”

Davos, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy smile, added, “Yeah, Jace, think of it like one of those battles you’ve been studying. Except instead of swords and armor, you’ve got charm and… chicken wings.”

Jace shook his head, but he couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. “You lot are ridiculous. It’s not that deep, alright? It’s just… it’s been fun hanging out with her. She’s different.”

“Different?” Cregan scoffed from where he sat at Jace’s desk, fiddling with a random keychain. “Different how? Like, ‘actually has a brain’ different? Or ‘won’t fall for your bullshit’ different?”

“Both,” Jace admitted, smoothing his shirt and checking himself in the mirror. “She’s… she’s not like the usual girls, yeah? Makes me work for it. And maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Oscar, who’d been mindlessly strumming Jace’s guitar, looked up and smirked. “Wow, you’re going soft, Jacaerys Velaryon. Next thing we know, you’ll be quoting poetry or some shit.”

Aegon laughed loudly. “Nah, he’s too thick for poetry. But don’t lose focus, Jace. Remember the bet. She’s a challenge, yeah, but you’re the bloody captain. You don’t lose.”

Jace turned to Aegon, a hint of irritation in his voice. “I know what I’m doing, alright? I don’t need you lot in my head.”

Davos chuckled, raising a hand in mock surrender. “Fair enough, fair enough. Just don’t forget why you’re doing this. I’d hate to see all your hard work go to waste.”

Jace paused, looking at his reflection, and for a second, the bravado slipped. Why was he doing this? Was it really still just about the bet, or was there something more?

He shook the thought away and turned back to his friends. “I’m not losing,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “And tonight, I’ll prove it.”

Aegon raised his beer in a mock toast. “To Jace, the knight in shining armor, off to slay the virgin dragon.”

Jace flipped him off, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Wish me luck, you pricks. I’m off.”

He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling in his chest.

Jace arrived at Y/N’s dorm at exactly 5:50, which was impressive by his own standards. Usually, he didn’t bother even showing up on time with his usual rotation of girls. Hell, half of them wouldn’t mind if he rolled in an hour late, two hours, even three—they’d still fall over themselves to be near him, giggling and batting their lashes, ready to jump him at the first opportunity.

But tonight was different. He didn’t want to be late, didn’t want to give her any reason to back out. So he was there early, leaning against the doorframe, tapping his foot to an imaginary beat in his head.

When Y/N finally opened the door, she looked a bit startled, clearly on her way out herself. Her eyes widened when she saw him standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Jace?” she said, blinking. “You’re… early.”

He grinned. “Yeah, thought I’d mix things up a bit. You know, keep you on your toes.”

Y/N folded her arms, a little smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well, color me surprised. You don’t strike me as the punctual type.”

Jace laughed and shrugged. “Usually not, but I figured you’d appreciate it. And besides, I’ve been looking forward to those chicken wings all day.”

Y/N shook her head, still looking amused. “Of course, it’s the chicken wings,” she muttered, locking her door behind her. “Alright then, let’s go.”

They started walking together down the winding path that led from the dorms to the main road. The evening air was cool, and the streetlights were just beginning to flicker on, casting long shadows along the cobblestones. Jace lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face in the dim light.

“So,” he began, making small talk, “aside from being an academic weapon and the loyal servant of Tabby the Cat, what else do you get up to?”

Y/N smirked at his choice of words. “Oh, you know, world domination, the usual.”

Jace chuckled. “Seriously, though. What do you do when you’re not buried in books?”

She shrugged, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. “I volunteer at a local shelter. Animal rescue, mostly.”

Jace raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. “Yeah? That’s pretty cool. What made you get into that?”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised he seemed to care. “I’ve always liked animals. And I figured, if I’m going to be stressed about everything else in life, I might as well do something good with my time. Plus, it’s kind of hard to worry about exams when you’re busy trying to get a terrified dog out from under a car.”

Jace laughed, a deep, genuine sound. “That does sound like a bit of a distraction.”

She smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah, it’s… it’s good. Keeps me grounded, you know?”

He took another drag of his cigarette, considering her words. “Makes sense. I guess we all need something like that.”

Y/N looked at him curiously. “What about you? What keeps you grounded?”

Jace hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He hadn’t really thought about it like that. “Football, I suppose,” he answered finally, a bit more seriously than he intended. “It’s the one thing that makes sense, you know? When I’m out there, everything else just… fades away.”

She nodded, understanding. “Yeah, I get that. Everyone needs a release.”

They walked in companionable silence for a moment, the sounds of the city around them filling the spaces between their words. Jace felt a strange calm settle over him, a sense that he didn’t have to perform or play a role.

As they neared the pub, the warm glow of its lights spilling out onto the street, Jace flicked his cigarette to the side, stubbing it out with his foot. “Here we are,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Prepare yourself for the best damn chicken wings in Cambridge.”

Y/N laughed, a sound that made him all warm inside. “Alright, Velaryon, I’ll be the judge of that.”

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In wine, there is truth, they say. But in beer? Well, in beer, there’s a hell of a lot of bad decisions.

Jace hadn’t expected Y/N to get drunk off a few pints. Hell, he’d forgotten what it was like to be around someone who wasn’t a seasoned drinker, someone whose idea of a wild night wasn’t pounding shots until the room spun. He was used to heavyweights—Cregan downing vodka like water, Aegon always pushing the limits, the lot of them living on a constant edge between buzzed and blackout.

But Y/N? Three pints in, and she’d gone from reserved and witty to giggling mess, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, and—most dangerously—her hands a bit too free with him.

It was around ten when he realized she’d crossed the line from tipsy to drunk. She stumbled as they stepped outside the pub, the cool night air hitting her like a slap. Jace instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, and she leaned into him, her head tipping against his shoulder, a small, sleepy smile on her lips.

“Y’alright?” he asked, feeling a mix of amusement and something else, something warmer, spreading through his chest. Full of denial, he made himself believe it was because of the alcohol.

“Mm, yeah,” she mumbled, her voice slightly slurred. “Just… didn’t realize how strong those beers were.”

Jace chuckled. “Lightweight,” he teased, but there was no bite to it, just an unexpected tenderness.

Aegon’s words rang in his head like a bell. Tonight’s the night. She’s a challenge, yeah, but you’re the bloody captain. You don’t lose.

It would be so easy. She was already leaning into him, her fingers curling into his jacket, her body soft and pliant against his. She looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy, and he felt his resolve waver.

“My place?” he heard himself say, the words slipping out before he could stop them, and he cursed himself immediately.

But then she nodded, a small, trusting smile spreading across her lips. “Okay,” she agreed softly, and he felt something dark and selfish twist in his gut. Fuck.

He wrapped his arm tighter around her, supporting her as they started walking. His dorm was closer anyway, and she was so warm against him, so… trusting. He felt the tension building in him, the battle between the guy he was supposed to be and the guy he wanted to be.

As they walked, she kept giggling, saying things he couldn’t quite make out, her hands playing with the zipper of his jacket, her breath hot against his neck. “You’re not so bad, Jace,” she murmured at one point, and he felt a pang in his chest, a mix of guilt and something else. “I think… I think you’re actually kinda sweet.”

Jace swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “Yeah, well… don’t go telling anyone that,” he joked, trying to keep his tone light, even as his mind raced.

They reached his dorm, and he fumbled with the key, feeling her sway beside him, her fingers brushing his arm. “Here we are,” he muttered, pushing the door open.

She stumbled inside, giggling again, and he caught her by the waist, steadying her. She turned in his arms, looking up at him, her expression soft and open. “Thanks,” she whispered. “For tonight. I had fun.”

Jace stared down at her, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he could do it—he could lean down, close the gap, and she wouldn’t push him away. She’d let him, she’d probably kiss him back, and it’d be the easiest thing in the world.

But something held him back. Something in the way she looked at him, her eyes so trusting, so… innocent. It made him feel like the biggest prick on earth.

He felt Aegon’s taunting voice in his head, heard Davos’s laugh, remembered the bet, the stupid bloody bet. And he hated himself in that moment, hated the way he’d played this, hated the way he was tempted.

“Come on,” he said softly, steering her toward the bed. “You need to lie down.”

Y/N giggled, collapsing onto the mattress. “Oh, is that an invitation, Velaryon?” she teased, her voice light, her eyes half-closed.

Jace forced a laugh, trying to keep his hands from shaking. “Nah, just… making sure you’re comfortable,” he said, pulling a blanket over her.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his heart thundering in his chest as he tried to get his bearings. This wasn’t how he’d planned for tonight to go—he wasn’t sure what he’d planned, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. Not sitting here, feeling like the floor had dropped out from under him while Y/N lay there, soft and warm and too damn close.

He was about to stand up, to put some distance between them before he did something stupid, when he felt her fingers brush against his cheek, tentative and light. Her touch sent a spark skittering down his spine, and he froze.

“I never noticed your freckles before,” she murmured, her voice slurred. “They’re… cute.”

Jace’s breath hitched, and his focus, which had been hanging by a thread, snapped completely. He’d lost it five minutes ago, maybe longer, the second she’d started touching him, the second she’d looked at him with those eyes, her lips all plump and pink from the spicy wings earlier.

He was staring at her lips now, unable to look away. They were wet and inviting, and he could almost taste the beer and the traces of spice on them, feel the warmth of her breath. His mind was racing, and his body… shit, his body was reacting like he’d never had a woman over before.

Y/N caught him staring, and she let out a soft, self-conscious laugh. “I must be a mess, huh?” she said, her voice laced with uncertainty. “I mean… I’m definitely a downgrade from all the women who’ve graced your room and this bed before.”

Jace’s heart stuttered, guilt and desire twisting together in his chest like a vice. She had no idea, did she? No clue about the bet, about the way his friends had egged him on, made this into some twisted game. She was here, vulnerable, open, looking at him like he was something more than a stupid, privileged jerk who could charm his way into anything.

His body continues warring with him, every muscle taut, every nerve alive with want. He knew damn well that under his bed, there were probably scraps of lingerie and thongs left over by fuck knows who, little trophies of past conquests, forgotten in the haze of nights he could barely remember.

But this? This was different. This was real. And he felt like he was on his very last string, the tightrope fraying beneath his feet.

Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, she asked, “Will you kiss me?”

Jace’s brain screamed at him to stop, to decline, to be a better man than he usually was, but the words caught in his throat. Y/N was looking at him, all hot and bothered, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted, and he could see the longing in her eyes, the same need he felt thrumming through his veins.

“Y/N…” he managed, his voice hoarse, strained. “You’re drunk, and I… I don’t want to—”

But she leaned closer, her breath warm against his lips, her fingers still resting on his cheek. “Please, Jace,” she whispered, her voice pleading, “just kiss me.”

And fuck, he tried. He really tried to hold back, to keep the distance, to be the decent guy he’d been pretending to be for the last few weeks. But the way she looked at him, like he was something she needed, something she wanted, something more than a mistake…

He was gone. Completely and utterly gone.

He closed the distance between them in one swift movement, his hand cupping her jaw, his lips crashing against hers. The kiss was rough, desperate, all the tension of the last few weeks pouring out in one fierce, needy snog. He groaned, pulling her closer, his fingers tangling in her hair.

Y/N responded immediately, kissing him back with equal enthusiasm, her hands clutching his shirt, pulling him closer, pressing herself against him. He felt her body arch into his, and he couldn’t help but deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting her, losing himself in the heat of it, in the softness of her lips.

He knew he should stop, knew he was crossing a line he had no right to, but he couldn't think clearly anymore, couldn't focus on anything except the feel of her against him, the taste of her lips, the way she was kissing him with so much need. He could tell she hadn’t done this much before—her movements were uncertain, a bit clumsy—but none of that mattered now.

Jace’s mind was spinning, his breath coming in ragged as he broke the kiss and gently pushed her back, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Wait,” he murmured, his voice unsteady. “Y/N… have you done this before?”

She blinked up at him, her eyes hazy but honest. “No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, like she was admitting a secret she wasn’t sure she wanted to share.

His heart lurched at that. He cursed under his breath, his hands still on her shoulders, holding her at a careful distance. “We should stop,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. “I don’t want you to be angry with me… or yourself, come morning.”

Y/N shook her head, her fingers sliding up his arms, stubborn as ever. “I won’t be,” she insisted, her voice firmer now, a determined edge to it. “I know what I want, Jace.”

He felt a shiver run down his spine, but he fought against it, trying to hold on to his last shred of self-control. “You’re drunk,” he murmured, “and I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

But she was already leaning in again, pressing closer, her lips grazing his neck, right where she knew his pulse was pounding. “I’m not that drunk,” she whispered against his skin, her breath hot, sending a jolt through his entire body. “And I want this… I want you.”

Her mouth moved over his neck, by sheer luck finding a soft spot just below his ear, and he felt a groan rise in his throat, his body betraying him completely. Her lips were gentle but insistent, kissing the spot where she could feel his pulse racing, and he felt his resolve slipping, melting under the warmth of her touch.

“Y/N,” he breathed, trying to keep his voice steady, but it was hopeless. Every time her lips brushed his skin, he felt like he was losing another piece of himself. “We really shouldn’t—”

But she wasn’t listening, her hands moving up his chest, her lips still at his neck, kissing and nipping, her touch sending sparks all through him. She was so damn stubborn, and it was driving him wild, his hands gripping her waist as if to anchor himself.

“Please, Jace,” she whispered again, her voice a breathy plea against his skin, and he felt something in him snap. For a moment, he hovered on the edge, caught between his desire and his conscience, every nerve screaming at him to just give in, to take what she was so freely offering.

But then he saw her eyes, the way they were wide and unguarded, and he remembered her earlier words, the soft confession—no, she hadn’t done this before. She was drunk, not in her right mind, and damn it all, he knew he wasn’t either.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. For once in his life, he chose to be the bigger person, to do the right thing, even though every part of him was screaming to just lose himself in her. There was no way in hell he was going to go all the way with her—not like this, not when she was a virgin and not when they both were just a little too far gone.

But he also wasn’t going to just leave her wanting, not when he could see the need in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, feel the way her body was pressed up against his, warm and willing. He could give her something, at least. And that was a thought that sent a rush of heat through him, a decision settling deep in his bones.

Jace let out a slow, shaky breath, his hands sliding down her sides. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. “Not everything… but I can still make you feel good. Really good.”

She blinked up at him, confusion and desire mixing in her eyes. “What do you—”

He didn’t let her finish. Instead, he gently pushed her back onto the bed, his lips brushing against her jaw, trailing down her neck. He felt her breath hitch, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he moved lower, kissing down her collarbone, his hands sliding under her shirt, lifting it just enough to reveal her skin.

He looked up at her once more, his gaze intense. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, Y/N,” he promised, his voice rough with need. “Just trust me.”

And then he was lowering himself between her thighs, hands gently spreading her legs, his breath warm against her skin. He kissed her inner thigh, his fingers teasing at the edge of her panties, and he felt her shiver beneath him, her breath coming faster, her eyes wide with anticipation.

He knew this was something he was good at—something he had honed to perfection over the years. Someone should really give him a degree for it, a bloody medal for his services to women. Because if there was one thing Jace Velaryon knew how to do, it was this.

He slipped her panties down slowly, savoring the way her breath hitched, the way she tensed in anticipation. He spread her legs a bit wider, his hands gripping her thighs firmly, and he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste her. The first touch was gentle, almost tentative, and he felt her gasp, her hips arching off the bed.

Jace grinned against her skin, a low, satisfied hum rumbling in his chest. “Just relax,” he whispered, his breath hot against her, “and let me take care of you.”

He set to work, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing her, tasting her, finding every sensitive spot and lingering there until she was gasping, her hands clutching his sheets, her head thrown back in pleasure. He ignored his own growing need, focused entirely on her, on the way her body responded to him, the way she trembled under his touch.

He sucked gently, his tongue swirling over her clit, his hands gripping her thighs tighter, feeling the tension building in her, the way her breaths were coming faster, more desperate. She was close—he could feel it, could hear it in the way she moaned his name, her voice breathless and needy.

He kept going, picking up the pace, his tongue moving faster, more insistent, his fingers joining in, stroking her in rhythm with his mouth. She was writhing now, her hips moving against him, her moans turning into cries, her fingers twisting in his hair, holding him closer.

“Jace,” she gasped, her voice breaking, “Oh, gods, Jace—”

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. He kept up the relentless rhythm, his mouth working her with a skill perfected by experience, by knowing exactly how to drive a woman to the edge and hold her there until she was begging for release. His fingers moved in motion with his tongue, pressing deeper, finding that perfect spot inside her, feeling the way her body clenched around him, her thighs quivering under his hands.

Y/N was a mess above him, her breaths coming out in broken gasps, her body arching off the bed, every muscle tense, straining toward that peak. Her moans were getting louder, more frantic, her nails digging into his scalp, pulling him closer.

She was so close—he could feel it in the way her hips bucked against him, the way she was practically chanting his name now, over and over, like a prayer, like a plea.

And then, with a final swirl of his tongue, a firm press of his fingers, she shattered.

Her orgasm ripped through her, a wave of pleasure so intense it stole her breath, her cry breaking into a sob, her entire body shaking with it. Jace kept his mouth on her, coaxing her through it, feeling the rush of her release, the way she came apart beneath him, raw and real and beautiful.

He didn’t stop until he felt the tremors subside, until her hands loosened in his hair, her body going limp, spent and sated. Only then did he pull back, kissing her inner thigh softly before moving up the bed to lie beside her, his breathing ragged, his own body still tight with need he chose to ignore.

Y/N lay there, her chest rising and falling, her eyes still closed, a dazed smile playing on her lips. She turned her head to look at him, her gaze soft and filled with something he couldn’t quite name.

“That was…” she breathed, her voice still a little shaky, “that was...”

Jace smirked, his thumb lazily tracing her cheek. “Mind-blowing? Legendary? Best damn thing you’ve ever had?” he teased, his voice thick with cheeky arrogance. “Told you I’d make it worth your while.”

Y/N slapped him playfully on the chest, her eyes still feel heavy with the afterglow, but a grin tugging at her lips. “Yeah, yeah,” she laughed, her voice a mix of sarcasm and lingering breathlessness, “I get it now. I understand why every woman at Cambridge turns into a cat in heat around you.”

Jace chuckled, his grin widening, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the sight of her so relaxed, so damn comfortable with him. “Well,” he drawled, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against her ear, “I do aim to please. Can’t blame them for wanting a repeat performance, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was amusement in them. “You’re a real piece of work,” she muttered, but her smile gave her away.

He laughed, dropping a quick kiss on top of her head. “Maybe,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, “but admit it—you’re not complaining.”

Her cheeks flushed a bit, but she didn’t look away. “Alright, fine,” she conceded, her grin softening. “I guess you’re not completely useless.”

Jace barked out a laugh, his hand now resting on her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin. “High praise, coming from you.”

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The next morning, Y/N woke up with a pounding headache, her mouth dry as sandpaper, and a groan slipping from her lips before she even opened her eyes. The room felt too bright, her skull thudding like someone was hammering a drum inside her head. Her first hangover—and it was every bit as awful as people had warned.

“Morning, sunshine,” came Jace’s voice, too cheerful, too loud. She cracked one eye open to find him leaning against a desk, a lazy grin on his lips. He held out a bottle of some isotonic drink and a couple of ibuprofen tablets in his palm. “Here, take these. Trust me; they’re a lifesaver.”

She squinted at him, trying to make sense of the blur that was his face, and groaned again. “Do you have to be so… perky?”

Jace chuckled, moving closer and handing her the pills and the drink. “Nah, but it’s a bit fun watching you suffer,” he teased. “First hangover?”

“Obviously,” she muttered, swallowing the pills and chugging the drink like it was holy water. “Why did no one tell me it would feel like getting hit by a bloody carriage?”

He laughed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Consider it a lesson learned, yeah? But hey, you handled yourself pretty well last night.”

Y/N felt her face flush, memories from the night before rushing back in a haze of heat and embarrassment. “Yeah, well… thanks, I guess,” she mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes.

Jace grinned and, after deeming her well enough to stand, pulled out a well-worn sweater from his wardrobe. “Here,” he said, tossing it to her. “Borrow this. You’re going to need something warm for the walk back.”

She caught the sweater and stared at it for a moment. It was oversized, soft-looking, and smelled faintly of him—a mix of cologne and something else she couldn’t quite place. She slipped it over her head, the fabric swallowing her, but it was warm and oddly comforting.

Jace then grabbed a pair of sunglasses off his desk and slid them onto her face with a wink. “And these, to protect you from the cruel, unforgiving daylight.”

She couldn’t help but smile, a small laugh bubbling up despite the ache in her head. “Thanks, Jace,” she murmured, feeling strangely touched by his small gestures.

He gave her a once-over, nodding approvingly. “Look at that. Almost like you’re ready to face the world again.”

She rolled her eyes but felt a warmth spread through her that wasn’t just from the sweater. “Almost.”

Jace walked her to the door, his hand on the small of her back, guiding her gently. “Come on, let’s get you out of here before the rest of the lads wake up and start giving us grief.”

Y/N smirked, adjusting the sunglasses on her nose. “Thanks for… everything,” she said, her voice soft but sincere.

Jace just smiled, that damn charming grin of his, and opened the door for her. “Anytime, Y/N. Anytime.”

He watched her disappear down the hall, his sweater draped over her like a dress, her steps still a bit wobbly but steadier than before. He lingered for a moment longer than necessary, an odd mix of satisfaction and uncertainty bubbling in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, he didn’t want this to be a one-time thing.

As he turned around, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Cregan standing a few steps away, leaning casually against the wall near the water cooler. His arms were crossed, and there was a knowing look in his eyes.

“Fucking hell, Cregan,” Jace muttered, a bit more defensive than he’d meant to sound. “You spying on me now?”

Cregan shrugged, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps closer, his expression calm but unreadable. “Just grabbing some water,” he said, though his tone was heavy with implication. “Couldn’t help but notice… that was quite the exit.”

Jace rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, well, we had a fun night. No harm in that.”

Cregan’s lips quirked up in a small, humorless smile. “She’s a nice girl, Jace,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that made Jace shift uncomfortably. “A real nice girl.”

Jace sighed, already sensing where this was going. “I know, I know,” he said, holding up a hand like he was warding off a lecture. “And I didn’t sleep with her, alright? Just… third base. That’s it.”

Cregan’s expression didn’t change. If anything, his brows drew together, a shadow of disappointment crossing his face. “Third base, huh?” he repeated, voice flat. “And how do you think she’s going to feel when she finds out about the bet?”

Jace bristled, his jaw tightening. “Look, I didn’t do anything wrong. She wanted it. I didn’t push her.”

Cregan sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not saying you forced her, Jace,” he replied, his tone measured, like he was trying to keep his annoyance in check. “But you know damn well she doesn’t know the whole story. She doesn’t know she’s just a notch on some stupid bet you made with Aegon and Davos.”

Jace clenched his fists, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “It wasn’t like that,” he muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

Cregan gave him a long, hard look, his eyes piercing. “Maybe not to you,” he said quietly, “but it will be to her when she finds out. And trust me, Jace, she’s going to find out. These things always do.”

Jace opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

Cregan shook his head, stepping back. “Don’t say I didn’t see this impending mess coming,” he said, his voice resigned. “Just… don’t hurt her, Jace. She doesn’t deserve that.”

Jace watched him turn and walk away, his words hanging heavy in the air. And he felt the weight of what he’d done settle on his shoulders, the reality sinking in.

He could still hear Aegon’s taunting voice in his head, but now, it sounded more like a curse than a victory.

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How to Find Out You're the Punchline of a Bet: A Step-by-Step Guide!

Y/N stood outside Jace’s door, holding his sweater and sunglasses in her hands, trying to calm the fluttering nerves in her stomach. She’d had them freshly laundered, even though she’d slept in the sweater more nights than she’d care to admit. It had been too warm, too soft, and way too him. She might have drooled on it as well, but whatever, he didn’t need to know that.

She’d been debating for days whether to bring them back in person or just drop them off and leave. But somehow, she found herself here, standing outside his door, trying to summon the courage to knock.

That was when she saw him.

He was at the end of the corridor, coming back from another practice session, sweaty and still in his kit, flanked by his usual crew—Aegon, Davos, Oscar, and Cregan. They were laughing, shoving each other around, lost in their own world. They hadn’t noticed her yet.

She took a step forward, ready to call out, but then she froze.

Aegon’s loud, obnoxious voice cut through the hallway like a knife, his tone mocking and overly enthusiastic. “Oi, Jace!” he shouted, punching Jace playfully in the arm, a wide grin on his face. “Fair’s fair, mate! You earned it.”

Y/N watched as Aegon reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He peeled off a couple of notes and smacked them into Jace’s hand—£100, easy. Maybe more.

Her stomach twisted, a weird, uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. What the hell was that for?

Then she heard it—the answer she hadn’t been looking for, delivered in Aegon’s stupid, booming voice.

“Can’t believe you actually did it,” Aegon laughed, clapping Jace on the back. “Thought you’d bottle it with the little wallflower, L/N. Didn’t think you had it in you to seal the deal, but you proved me wrong. Fair bet, mate. A hundred quid well-earned!”

Y/N’s heart stopped. She felt her blood run cold as her own name slipped from Aegon’s mouth, followed by a word that made her stomach drop: bet.

She ducked back into the shadow of the wall, pressing herself flat against it, her heart hammering in her chest. She felt like she’d been slapped, the shock of it hitting her all at once. She clutched the sweater to her chest, bile rising in her throat.

She’d been a bloody bet. A joke. Something for them to laugh about over beers and practice sessions. She had trusted him. Believed in that stupid grin and those stupid, warm eyes. And all the while, he’d been playing her.

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing, but it felt like the air was choking her. She had her answer now—clear as day.

And god, did it hurt.

They were coming closer, their voices louder, their laughter echoing down the corridor. Y/N’s heart pounded in her ears, each step they took making her feel like the ground was about to give way beneath her. She gripped the sweater tighter in her hands, trying to steady herself, to stop the tremor that had started in her fingers.

And then Jace saw her.

His face paled instantly, the color draining from his cheeks, his smile vanishing like a shadow under harsh light. He slowed to a stop, and the rest of the group followed suit, their expressions shifting from amusement to confusion—and in some cases, dread.

Cregan sighed, a resigned, knowing look in his eyes. Aegon, who had been all smiles a moment ago, faltered, his grin slipping away, replaced by an uneasy look.

Y/N felt a cold fury settle in her veins, pushing back the wave of hurt that threatened to swallow her whole. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, her chin lifting with a defiance she didn’t even know she possessed.

“I just came to return these,” she said, her voice colder than ice, every word clipped and deliberate. She thrust the sweater and sunglasses into Jace’s chest, her hands trembling despite her best efforts to stay calm.

Jace took them reflexively, his mouth opening and closing like he was searching for something to say, but no words came. His eyes were wide, filled with panic and something that looked a lot like shame.

Before he could get a word out, before he could try to explain or deny or beg, Y/N’s hand came up in one swift motion.

She slapped him across the face, the sound sharp and loud in the suddenly silent corridor.

Jace flinched, the impact snapping his head to the side, his cheek reddening instantly where her hand had connected. He blinked, stunned, his hand instinctively touching the spot where she’d hit him.

Y/N didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the tears that were threatening to spill over. She turned on her heel, her head held high, and walked away, every step feeling like it was taking all the strength she had left.

She didn’t look back. She didn’t say another word. She didn’t need to.

Jace stood frozen, his cheek stinging, his mind whirling, trying to process what had just happened. The corridor felt like it had gone eerily quiet, the only sound the dull thud of his heartbeat in his ears. He could still feel the imprint of her hand on his face, the shock of it running through his body like an electric current.

Did that really just happen?

He blinked, still trying to make sense of it, his thoughts a chaotic mess. He’d been slapped before, sure, but not like that. Not with that kind of fury, that kind of raw, cold anger.

Aegon and Davos stood a few steps behind him, both of them looking like they’d just been doused with ice water.

“Well… crap,” Aegon muttered, scratching the back of his neck, his usual bravado suddenly deflated. “That… that did not go as planned.”

Davos grimaced, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “No shit, Aegon,” he muttered, glancing over at Jace, who still hadn’t moved.

Jace didn’t respond, still staring at the spot where Y/N had been, his expression blank, like he was trying to decipher some impossible puzzle.

Cregan just sighed, shaking his head with a look that was equal parts disappointment and resignation. “I told you this would happen,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Without another word, Cregan turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving the rest of them standing in the heavy silence.

Oscar, who had been hanging back, finally spoke up, a half-amused, half-sympathetic look on his face. “Crash and burn, mate,” he said, his voice almost soft. “Crash and bloody burn.”

Jace blinked, finally tearing his gaze away from where Y/N had disappeared. He felt a strange hollowness in his chest, a tightness in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down.

He’d messed up. Badly. And this time, he wasn’t sure he could charm or talk his way out of this one.

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In Aegon’s defense, he didn’t expect Jace to trip balls and spiral the way he had. The guy looked like he’d been living in a cave, all hollow-eyed and pale like bloody Dracula, and he was a miserable sight—mopey, silent, just plain ugly these days. For the past few weeks, Jace had been in a mood so deep and dark that even Aegon, the king of bad decisions, was starting to feel concerned.

Aegon had tried everything in his bag of tricks. Hell, he even brought out the big guns—he knew Jace used to have a thing for his sister, Helaena. So he’d gone to her, practically on his knees, begging for her to hook up with him or at least flirt a bit, throw him a bone to pull him out of this funk.

But Helaena had returned with a bemused smile, reporting that Jace had looked at her like she was crazy or some shit. “Honestly, Aegon,” she had said, “he stared at me like I had personally offended him. I don't think it's going to work.”

Nothing worked. Not a damn thing.

Cregan, usually the voice of reason in their little gang of idiots, had tried talking sense into him, cornering Jace after practice with the kind of serious, no-nonsense tone that usually worked. But Jace had just brushed him off, muttering something incoherent, looking like a phantom drifting through the halls.

Oscar had taken his turn, too, showing up at Jace’s dorm with his best bottle of whiskey and a pack of expensive cigs, hoping to lure him back to life with old vices. But Jace barely touched the drink, barely looked at the smokes, just sat there staring out the window like a man waiting for the death penalty.

His mates were at their wit's end. They’d bent over backward to drag him out of this shambles, tried everything they could think of, and nothing had made a dent. Jace was lost in his own head, his own mess, and Aegon was starting to wonder if this was what permanent damage looked like.

Aegon sighed heavily, watching Jace slouched in the corner of their usual pub, staring blankly at his untouched pint. “For fuck’s sake, man,” Aegon muttered under his breath. “What the hell are we supposed to do with you?”

Even Davos, normally the most reckless of the bunch, was beginning to worry. “We’ve tried everything,” he whispered to Cregan, who only nodded grimly.

“Maybe,” Cregan said quietly, “he’s got to figure this one out on his own.”

Aegon scowled. “Yeah, well, he better figure it out soon, or I’m dragging his sorry arse to therapy. I’ve got limits, you know.”

Jace didn’t even glance up. And his friends could only watch, exasperated and out of ideas, as the once carefree, charming captain of the football team spiraled deeper into his own self-made hell.

Jace then muttered something under his breath about needing to use the loo, pushing himself up from his chair and shuffling off toward the back of the pub. His mates watched him go, the silence thick.

Oscar leaned in as soon as Jace was out of earshot, his voice low but urgent. “I think we need to talk to Y/N,” he said, glancing around the table. “Get her to talk to him, or at least see if she’ll give him a chance to explain himself.”

Davos nodded quickly, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, shit, man. I’m scared one of these days he’s going to do something stupid. I mean, look at him? He’s a bloody mess. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Cregan sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. “His brother called me yesterday,” he admitted, his voice grim. “Said Jace hasn’t been answering his mum’s texts or calls. She’s worried sick. Wants to know what the hell’s going on, but I’ve got nothing to tell her.”

Aegon looked around at the lot of them, his usual cocky grin replaced by a serious frown. “Yeah, we need an intervention. This is getting out of hand. If anyone can snap him out of it, it’s her.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “She’s got every right to hate him, but… we’ve gotta try, right? Maybe if she just talks to him, hears him out, it’ll help. He’s spiraling, and none of us know how to get through to him.”

Cregan looked uncertain, but he finally nodded. “Alright,” he said. “But we have to be careful with this. She’s pissed, and for good reason. We can’t just waltz up and ask her to forgive him like it’s nothing.”

Aegon leaned back in his chair, looking more serious than any of them had seen him in a while. “So, how do we do this?” he asked, eyes flicking to the others. “Who’s gonna reach out to her?”

Cregan exhaled slowly. “I will. I’ll find a way to talk to her, explain… something. Let her know he’s not himself. We just need a chance. Otherwise, I’m afraid Jace is going to do something we can’t fix.”

They all nodded, glancing toward the hallway where Jace had disappeared.

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The next afternoon, Cregan Stark found himself walking along the Cambridge Backs, the gentle curve of the river Cam glinting in the sunlight, punts gliding lazily over the water, laughter and the murmur of tourists drifting in the air. He had asked around, pieced together the clues, and finally located her usual haunt—a quiet spot along the riverbank, tucked beneath a canopy of willows.

And there she was.

Y/N sat on the grass, a book open on her lap, though she didn’t seem to be reading it. Her eyes were swollen and puffy, dark circles smudged beneath them, as if sleep had been evading her for days. She looked almost as bad as Jace did, and for a moment, Cregan thought it was almost funny—if it weren’t so damn tragic—how much alike they looked.

She spotted him approaching and her eyes narrowed into thin slits, her whole body tensing like she was preparing for a fight. Cregan raised his hands quickly, palms out, a peace offering. “Hey, hey, I come in peace,” he called out, a small, disarming smile on his lips. “Promise I’m not here to make things worse.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but at least she didn’t immediately bolt. She looked annoyed, but resigned, almost like she’d been expecting one of Jace’s friends to show up sooner or later. “Of all people,” she muttered, “at least they were smart enough to send you. The one with half a brain.”

Cregan chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he walked over and sat down a good distance away, giving her some space. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said lightly. “Though I think you’ve already got my number. I’m not here to defend anyone. Just… wanted to talk.”

She snorted softly, glancing back at her book. “If you’re here to try to make me feel sorry for Jace, save your breath. I’m not interested in playing the sympathy card.”

He shook his head, his expression earnest. “I’m not here to ask for sympathy, Y/N. I’m here because… look, for all the love I have for my mates, especially Jace, I told them from the start that this bet was a shitty idea. Callous. I disagreed with it, and I warned them. Didn’t stop them, obviously, but… I tried.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes still guarded, but there was a flicker of curiosity there. “So why are you here now? You think saying ‘I told them so’ is going to make any difference?”

Cregan sighed, leaning back against the bench. “Nah, I know it doesn’t fix anything. But I thought you should hear it from someone who… I don’t know, isn’t completely messed up in the head like Aegon. Gods, I love him like my own brother, but the man is a ticking timebomb.”

Y/N let out a small, involuntary laugh at that, surprising herself. “Yeah,” she muttered, “I got that impression.”

Cregan smiled slightly, sensing he was making a little headway. “Jace has been… well, let’s just say he looks like he’s been waterboarded. I’ve never seen him like this before, Y/N. He’s not eating, not sleeping, not talking to anyone. We’re worried, and none of us know how to reach him. It’s like he’s punishing himself or something.”

Y/N’s face softened for a brief moment, but then she straightened, putting her defenses back up. “Well, maybe he deserves it,” she said quietly, though there wasn’t as much bite to her words as she’d intended. “He made his bed, didn’t he?”

Cregan nodded. “Yeah, he did. But I think he’s realized just how badly he’s messed up. And I know you don’t owe him anything, not even your time… but I’m asking. Would you talk to him? Even if it’s just to tell him off properly, maybe it’ll snap him out of this spiral he’s in.”

Y/N studied him for a moment, her fingers playing with the edge of her book. “Why should I?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Why should I give him the satisfaction?”

Cregan leaned forward, his gaze steady. “Maybe not for him,” he said softly. “But for you. Because carrying this around… it isn’t doing you any good either.”

She looked down, her shoulders tense, a battle clearly waging inside her. After a long pause, she finally nodded, just once. “Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll talk to him. But I’m not promising anything.”

Cregan smiled, relief flooding through him. “That’s all I’m asking, Y/N. Thank you.”

She nodded again, her expression still wary, but Cregan could see tiny cracks in her armor. Seems like he has done his job. And that’s all the push he could do.

“Good luck,” he said, standing up and giving her a reassuring nod. “You’re gonna need it with that idiot.”

An hour later, Y/N stood outside Jace’s door, her heart pounding, her nerves shot to hell. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, then knocked on the door with more force than necessary.

Jace opened it, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, his hair tousled, eyes wide with shock when he saw who was standing there. He looked so stunned, she almost laughed.

“Y-Y/N?” he sputtered, his voice an awkward mess of surprise. “What—what are you doing here?”

He started to stammer out more incoherent sentences, a jumble of half-formed apologies, but she cut him off with a raised hand. “I don’t want to do this here,” she said firmly. “I need some fresh air while I listen to whatever sad attempt you’re about to make to justify what you did.”

Jace blinked, swallowing hard, and nodded quickly, grabbing his jacket off a chair. “Okay… yeah, sure,” he mumbled, following her out of the dorm like a scolded puppy.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Y/N leading the way through until they reached a quieter, less crowded part of the grounds. The air was crisp, the sky overcast, but it felt good—clean, refreshing, something he hadn’t felt in weeks.

She finally stopped, crossing her arms over her chest and turning to face him. “Okay, talk,” she demanded, her tone sharp, daring him to make this worth her time.

Jace ran a hand through his hair, feeling like a complete idiot. “Look,” he started, “I know I messed up. I know how stupid and cruel the bet was… I realized it from the start, but I went along with it anyway. I was out of my damn mind. I don’t have a good excuse.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed, anger boiling over. “Why?” she spat. “Why would you do that? I mean, I get that you’re a bit dim, but I didn’t think you were that cruel. And I’m an idiot for falling for it. If you’re dumb, then I’m even dumber.”

Jace flinched, the sting of her words hitting him hard, but he forced himself to keep going. “I didn’t want to do anything that night,” he said, his voice softer, more desperate. “You were drunk, and I knew it wasn’t right. But… fuck, Y/N, I really did want to kiss you. So when you asked me to, what was I supposed to do? How the hell was I supposed to say no?”

That shut her up real good.

She stared at him, her anger momentarily replaced by confusion, disbelief. “Why the hell would you even be into me?” she demanded, her voice tinged with frustration. “You could have anyone—why would you even look twice at me?”

Jace’s frustration boiled over. “Maybe that’s exactly why!” he shouted back. “Maybe I’m tired of the same old bullshit! Maybe you’re the first real person I’ve met in this whole bloody place, and it scared the hell out of me.”

They bickered back and forth. Y/N was still angry, still hurt, and Jace was struggling to make her understand, to make her see that it wasn’t just about the bet, that there was more to it—more to him, to them.

And then, suddenly, the sky opened up. Rain poured down out of nowhere, drenching them both in seconds.

“Great, absolutely fantastic,” Y/N muttered, throwing her hands up in exasperation as the rain pelted down. “I just washed my hair this morning. And now this.”

She looked like she was on the verge of tears, a mix of frustration and exhaustion weighing her down, and Jace’s heart twisted at the sight. He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly near her arm. “Can we start over?” he asked, his voice pleading. “Please, Y/N. You can slap me again if you want. I’d do anything to make this right.”

Y/N just stared at him, long and hard, the rain streaming down her face, mingling with the tears she refused to let fall. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, the raw, unfiltered regret, the desperation in his voice. And in that moment, all the anger, all the hurt, seemed to wash away with the rain.

“I just really want to kiss you right now,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the downpour.

And then, before he could say anything, she closed the distance between them, her lips crashing against his with a force that took his breath away.

Jace responded immediately, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close as he kissed her back with everything he had, the rain soaking them both to the bone, but neither of them cared. The world around them seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was this—this kiss, this connection, this second chance.

His lips moved against hers with a desperation that bordered on frantic, his hands sliding up to cup her face, thumbs brushing the rain-soaked strands of hair from her cheeks. He kissed her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Between kisses, he managed to whisper, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… please, forgive me…”

Y/N felt his words more than heard them, the breath of each apology warm against her mouth, mingling with the rain. Her heart twisted, conflicted, every emotion tangled up inside her—anger, hurt, relief, and something stronger, something she’d been trying to bury since the moment he’d first kissed her.

But she couldn’t deny the way he was holding her, the sincerity in his voice, the way his hands trembled slightly against her skin. He was being so gentle with her.

“Jace,” she whispered against his lips, her voice catching in her throat. “I… I want to forgive you, but I don’t know how. You hurt me. You made me feel like a joke.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his forehead resting against hers, his breath ragged and warm. “I know,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I know, and I hate myself ever since for it. But I swear, Y/N, I never meant for it to be like this. I never wanted to hurt you. It was stupid and wrong and… and I was a bloody idiot.”

She swallowed hard, searching his eyes, finding nothing but raw, open honesty. “You were,” she agreed softly, her fingers still clutching the front of his shirt. “But… maybe we’re both idiots. Because I still…”

Jace’s heart leaped in his chest, hope flaring bright and wild. “Because you still what?” he pressed, his thumb brushing over her cheek, wiping away a raindrop that looked suspiciously like a tear.

“Because I still… want to try,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

Jace’s lips curved into a small, hopeful smile, his hand cradling her face with a tenderness that surprised even him. “Then try with me,” he whispered, his lips hovering over hers again. “Let me make it up to you. Let me prove that I’m worth it… worthy of you.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded, just once, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. “Okay,” she whispered. “But don’t make me regret this, Jacaerys Velaryon.”

“I won’t,” he promised again, and his lips found hers with a new urgency, a fervent hope that maybe, just maybe, this time he could get it right. “I swear, love, I won’t.”

And then, as if the universe wanted to punctuate the moment, a blinding flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed immediately by a crack of thunder that shook the ground beneath them. Both of them jumped apart, startled, wide-eyed like kids caught sneaking out past curfew.

“Shit!” Jace laughed, glancing up at the dark sky. “That was close. We should probably get back inside before we’re fried like fish and chips.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking the water from her hair. “Yeah, I’d rather not be a human lightning rod today.”

He grinned, noticing the way she was shivering now, rain running down her face, her clothes clinging to her skin. He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close, his voice dropping to that familiar cheeky drawl. “Come on, then. I’ll warm you right up,” he teased, giving her a playful wink, his hand sliding lower on her back, pressing her against him. “Plenty of ways to heat things up, you know?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile was undeniable. “God help me, you’re cocky,” she muttered, but there was a spark in her eyes, a waggish glint that matched his own.

Jace’s grin widened. “Oh, you liked it,” he teased. “Don’t pretend otherwise. You loved every second of it. I’ve got more where that came from.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not willing to let him have the upper hand for long. “You mean the head you gave me?” she shot back, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Yeah, I have to admit, that was… nice.”

Jace barked out a laugh, his eyes lighting up with delight. “Oh, nice, she says!” he repeated, leaning in closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “L/N, that was just a taste. I’m a man of many talents. Consider that your appetizer.”

Y/N snorted, swatting his chest. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Velaryon. I’d hate for you to blow your entire repertoire too soon.”

He laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got stamina to spare. We’ve got all night to explore… my menu.”

She blushed and couldn’t stop her breath from hitching. “Alright, alright, let’s get out of this rain before you start making more food innuendos. I’m getting hungry.”

He grinned, holding her tighter. “Deal. But once we’re dry, I’m taking you up on that second course.”

She just rolled her eyes again but leaned into him, letting him lead her back toward the safety of the building, their laughter mingling with the sound of the rain as they ran for cover.

[green-ghost6]

one thing about me is i will always find a way to write a paper on the last of us

[artdnldsn]

gestalt therapy

college professor!art donaldson x fem reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, swearing, student!reader, age gap, porn w/ a little plot, head (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, slight degradation (question mark?), one mention of "daddy"

synopsis: you're done with your senior year at college, and all you want is a parting gift.

a/n: my first full fic here wow my first ever smut WOW the only thing that's not a first here is english because it's my second language so be patient pookies. college prof au has been haunting me for days so i needed to get it out. even though i have no fucking idea how colleges work in the us ;) hope you like it! happy reading

The first thing he notices about you is how ridiculously smart you are.

It's not even a stretch or him trying to justify the instant attraction he feels towards you. No, you're genuinely, undeniably brilliant, especially for your age. You've got this way with words, and concepts come to you so easily. You pick up on all his lead-ups to lecture topics, knowing exactly what the main conversation will be about a good five minutes before the rest of the class. You smile smugly, crossing your arms and leaning back, your eyes seeking his because you want him to know that you know.

And honestly, he'd be mad at you for being so smug if you weren't so damn smart.

The way you walk up to him after class to discuss your latest essay, your stance confident and voice sure, as you argue over why you deserved a 100 and not a 98. He's looking at your essay, then at you, then back at his computer screen, squinting just to appear like he's thinking it over, but he knows you're right; of course you are. Your essay is perfect. He was just being a dick about it, nitpicking because he couldn't admit you're basically flawless.

He's getting self-conscious about his teaching. There's nothing he can teach you—you come so prepared for every class that he wonders if you even have a life outside his classroom. Maybe your brain just works like that, but a small, selfish part of him hopes you spend hours prepping for his classes. The thought that you do it for him and not the subject is a nice one, but he shoves it away.

At least that way, it wouldn't be as pathetic for him to spend nights rewriting his lectures, perfecting his presentations to the point where he's sitting in his bed at 3 AM, pondering whether Times New Roman or Arial would make his point come across better.

He's always been a perfectionist, living by the book, striving not for greatness but for the reserved maximum of his natural capabilities. He never really pushed himself. But you—oh, fuck, you. Fuck you. You make him want to lose sleep just to prove to you or himself that he's certainly smarter than some college senior.

He calls you a lot of things in his head. A know-it-all, an "excuse me" because you're always "excuse me"-ing him like he doesn't have a name, a smartass, a bitch—he hates when he's in a mood like this last one because it signals it's time to sleep. You're a lot of things, but you're not stupid.

In fact, he starts wondering if you're a once-in-a-lifetime talent. Because he's rather young for a professor, he hasn't seen as many students as his colleagues, who always crack up anecdotes about past students, someone who graduated 15, 30 years ago, but the older professors still remember them. He wonders if he's going to remember you like that. He's pretty sure he will.

He's never even thought about you as a woman and not just his student. He's just respectful like that. Sure, you were hot, which only added to your confident allure. He's not blind—hell, he'd admit it if he had to—but he's never thought about you like that.

But apparently, you have about him.

You appear at his office doorstep minutes before he's about to clock out for the night. You're looking pristine as always, and with your silhouette illuminated by the office's dim lights, he wonders for a second if you're even human with your endless drive, brilliant mind, and hair that always looks like it's animated because it's impossible for real human hair to flow that perfectly.

"Good evening," he greets you, eyebrows creasing slightly in confusion. You've never visited, your final grades are in, and you're graduating in a week. He's already said his goodbyes to your class, and when he did, you shot him a little smile that he read as everything being good between you. What are you doing here then? "Can I help—"

“Are you impotent?” you cut him off, arms crossed, a challenging look in your eyes.

He actually chokes on air. “E-excuse me?” he mutters under his breath, his expression shocked, his voice strained. God, he’s ridiculed you for years in his head for addressing him like that, and here he is now.

You turn your back to him, lock the door, and make your way to his desk in confident steps. You sit on the edge of his desk, looking at him over your shoulder. "I asked if you're impotent," you shrug, arching your eyebrow.

“No,” he blurts out, his expression still one of pure horror as he doesn’t know where to keep his gaze, his eyes darting between the papers on his desk, and his computer screen, and his hands, anywhere but you. “God, no.”

“Why you never fucked me, then?” you ask, your tone still almost accusatory, but your voice soft. It’s almost like there is a hint of genuine regret in your words, and he doubts his sanity right now, wonders if he’s imagining things. He pinches his thigh under the desk, just to make sure.

“What do you mean, why?” he stutters, his cheeks flushed. “B-because.” Oh, God, it’s really bad. He’s really speechless, his mind unable to conjure up a full sentence. “Because you’re my student, and I respect you, and there are boundaries that shouldn’t be—“

“I’m not your student anymore. Not technically.” Your tone is matter-of-fact, one he’s too familiar with. One you’ve used to tell him about all the typos in his handouts, all the mistakes in his tests, all the times he’s fucked up grading someone’s papers. Only now you’re telling him… Fuck, he really can’t grasp what it is you’re telling him.

“I can’t argue with that, but I really don’t understand the point of this conversation. You’re completely out of—“

“Consider it gestalt therapy,” you shrug nonchalantly. He’s getting mad, really, with you cutting him off like that, like you’re getting back at him for years of having to listen to his lectures without having an opportunity to talk over him. It takes him a second to grasp what you’re implying. He clears his throat.

You sigh, letting your arms drop to your sides, sliding off the desk, walking up to him in these fucking deliberate strides, spinning him in his chair so he faces you, his hands lifted up in the air as if he is surrendering. He doesn’t know to what, exactly.

“Just really have to get this out of my system, Mr. Donaldson,” you sigh almost guilty, your gaze landing on his lap. He's hard, his cock straining the fabric of his trousers. Of course he is, what the fuck?

You cup him, eliciting a soft sigh from his lips, his eyes falling shut. You start stroking him through the fabric, confidently like everything you do. It makes his blood boil. You’re such a bitch. A know-it-all. A smart-ass. And so, so hot that he can’t bring himself not to kinda wish you’re intending to fuck his brains out.

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe a weak protest to give you a final out, but you lean down, pressing your lips to his in a languid, deep kiss, a thorough exploratory one like every single one of your fucking essays has ever been.

You move to his lap, straddling him, the chair creaking under your combined weight. Only when his hands move to your hips does he understand you’re wearing a skirt. God, he hasn’t even noticed that. He lets his hands stay there, caressing your bare thighs as your skirt rides up, and you lean in for another kiss.

There's no raw hunger. If anything, he’s sure he’s incapable of it in this situation, his mind still trying to catch up, trying to relabel you as not forbidden. You’re grinding against his growing erection, tugging at his hair as you deepen the kiss, your curves so unexpectedly perfect against him.

He only realizes you’re working on his belt and zipper when he hears them. Instinctively, he moves his hands to your wrists to stop you, but you just shake them away like you’ve shrugged him off all these years. He gasps into your mouth as you wrap your hand around his freed cock, stroking the length expertly, thoroughly, meticulously, as your lips never leave his. He actually relaxes into the chair, his hands gripping your waist, tugging your top up to reveal more bare skin.

No bra. Of course you didn’t wear any. You’ve come prepared as always.

You chuckle quietly, your lips continuing to move in unison with his, finding a lazy rhythm that drives you both insane. He reads this chuckle as you being amused at him taking any initiative. It makes his blood boil.

He breaks the kiss, one hand squeezing your breast firmly as he leans down, capturing your left nipple between his lips, sucking gently before biting. His other hand lands on your ass with a loud smack, making you gasp. Finally, some reaction.

He starts bucking into your hand, seeking more friction, moving his mouth to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, leaving a bite mark on the side, making you wince but moan. That moan—fuck, that beautiful sound. Now he’s angrier at himself than you are at him for not having fucked you sooner.

He understands you were expecting to ride him, like he’s some sexless creature, a toy to use, a dick attached to a fantasy that has nothing to do with the man he is, and it makes him even madder. He’s always admired your insightfulness, your capability to get right to the gist of things through walls of useless shit, but he’s feeling his respect for you slipping as he understands just how wrong you must’ve been about him in your head.

He peels himself off your chest, lips glistening with saliva, smacking your ass again, harder this time, groping both cheeks as he lifts you off his lap to sit you on his desk over the papers he’s grading. He’ll just tell everyone he spilled a drink. No one will miss them.

His lips find yours again in a searing hot kiss. It’s messy, all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to hurt you, but he’s not. Of course not. It’s just that something dormant is being woken up in him. You whimper as he cups your mound through your panties, making him chuckle. Well, look who’s laughing now.

"You've seriously dreamt about this?" he whispers against your jaw, his long fingers sliding into your underwear, finding your slickness. Fuck, you're so wet for him, it almost makes him black out. "Wanted me to fuck you on this desk? Or the one in the classroom? Or in the library? Or right in the fucking hall, huh? Why not? Let everyone watch." His tone is almost taunting, his every word accompanied by a painfully slow and teasing circle of his thumb over your swollen clit.

"Yes, yes, yes," you mutter, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressing against his shoulder, hips bucking helplessly into his hand, seeking friction. It’s not clear if you’re answering his questions or begging him to go faster. It doesn’t matter; his smirk is already in place, his eyes glistening with amusement as he looks down at you, breathing hard through his nose.

"Yes, what?" he chuckles, shrugging, his eyes scanning every reaction on your face. The way your head falls back, your lower lip caught between your teeth, your cheeks flushed. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, what?" he murmurs softly, his hand in your panties slowing down to the point of stopping.

A groan of disappointment escapes your lips as you snap your head back up, eyes darting open. He can see your pupils blown wide even in the dim light, the lamp on his desk illuminating you from behind like a renaissance painting. "Yes, fuck me," you say dryly, like it’s obvious, still seeing him as some pathetic, stupid nobody, but you’re slightly out of breath when you say it, so that’s a win in his book for now.

Just means he’s gotta try harder.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place. He’s standing between your legs, keeping them spread wide for him. He pulls his hand out of your panties to bring it to your face, shoving two fingers into your pretty smartass mouth. Your eyebrows crease, eyes falling shut at the action, a hum leaving your lips, vibrating through his skin, but you still suck on them obediently, tasting yourself on his fingers and coating them in your saliva.

He slips one finger right inside you when it makes its way back down. He starts thrusting it into you at a steady rhythm, his lips finding your neck, nibbling on it, his teeth grazing your delicate skin, tongue sliding over the little marks his teeth leave there, as he curls his finger inside you, thrusting deeper, deeper, almost aggressively.

"God, I really thought you were smart," he mutters under his breath, hot against your skin as he adds another finger and starts stretching you, eliciting a soft moan from you. He leans down, sucking on your tits again, noticing how hard your nipples are now, almost painfully so, matching the way his dick is rock hard, still standing at full attention against his clothed abdomen. "Thought you were different. Hard-working. Proper." He sinks onto his knees in front of you, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes you can’t quite read. "Turns out you’re just a slut."

He tugs your panties down, his tongue finding your cunt, one of his hands moving to throw your leg over his shoulder, keeping it there tightly as the fingers of his other hand re-enter your cunt, starting to finger it at the same urgent pace, his tongue moving feverishly over your clit, making you moan quietly because, yes, there are still people in the building, you have to keep quiet, but a part of him, the one you’ve awoken, wishes the circumstances were different, that he could hear you scream for him.

He’s getting high off the taste of your juices, off the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils, his nose pressed into your pelvis as he fucks you with his fingers in a relentless rhythm, curling his fingers inside you, feeling your walls clench down onto him, searching for that sweet spot that’s going to make your toes curl.

“Tell me,” he rasps out, pulling away from your cunt just for enough time to say what he needs to say, peppering your inner thigh with kisses in the meantime. “Tell me exactly how long you’ve wanted this. And how you wanted me to fuck you. Leave no details out.”

You whimper when he delves back onto your clit, sucking on it, not caring to keep his teeth from grazing your sensitive skin here and there, but it’s a good feeling.

“S-since that lecture. Sophomore year,” you breathe out, you throat tight from holding back so many moans that are begging to be let out. Your mouth falls open in a silent ‘oh’ as he sucks your whole clit in, lapping at it with his tongue inside his wet hot mouth, your hand snapping instinctively onto his head, gripping his hair to pin yourself down to the reality. “You wore that slutty turtleneck, and of course I’ve thought you’re hot, but then you had one wrong date in your presentation, and I got so fucking mad at you. Thought you’re too careless to teach.”

He hums against your cunt, encouraging you to go on, or agreeing with your point, he can’t tell himself anymore. He’s completely gone at this point, drinking your juices like he’s drinking in your words. Amidst all this, he actually appreciates you not calling him stupid. You might’ve, but you didn’t.

“And you were always s-so passive, like I tried arguing with you, reading all that shit instead of going out just to get a rile out of you, and you never fucking bucked. I-I-I—“ you stutter, your mind going into overdrive for a second as he continues abusing your g-spot, his fingers moving at a frantic speed in and out, in and out. He smacks your thigh to get your attention back on the topic. “I just couldn’t fucking believe you. I was being a bitch, I was nagging you, just because. And you didn’t even care.”

He smiles into your cunt, a huff of air leaving his nose. At last, you admit it. He suddenly doesn’t feel bad at all for calling you a bitch in his head. He can feel your walls contracting around his fingers, your breathing irregular, you’re practically panting, your grip in his hair tightening as you guide him closer, rolling your hips against his tongue and fingers, seeking release. You’re close.

He pulls away, earning another cuss and another groan of disappointment off your lips. He smacks your thigh again, hard, the action leaving a red print of his big palm on your skin. “You didn’t answer,” he rasps out, delving back into you. Fucking students, he thinks to himself. Always so smart, thinking they know it all, and always forgetting to answer the second part of the question after they’re done answering the first.

Your mind is so hazy at this point, it takes you an effort to rewind the interaction in your head to understand what he means. “L-like this,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as he grips the one that’s not on his shoulder to stop it from shaking too much, keeping you in place. “I-I didn’t want you to be nice. You’re always so fucking nice, it’s not human, I knew it wasn’t true.”

He’s too set on making you cum to chuckle now, although it is pretty funny. He’s been doubting you’re human, too, but the way you gasp for air, trying desperately to hold back your moans as he feels you coming closer and closer to release, it tells him all that he needs to know. You’re just flesh and bones, not the perfect genius he’s painted you to be in his mind.

“Fuck!” you whimper, giving his hair one last tug before your hand springs up to cover your mouth, biting into your index finger to keep yourself quiet. It takes one slide of his fingers, one roll of his tongue, five seconds, and your muscles go taught as your hips buck off the desk, his pens in the glass standing on the edge of it clattering against each other, the keyboard of his computer flying up for a split second from impact of your ass slamming back down onto the desk. It’s like a mini-earthquake, that’s left your world erupt into white behind your closed eyelids.

He fingers you through it, lapping his tongue over your clit until you wince quietly from it hurting, and he pulls away reluctantly, standing up from the floor to stand in between your legs again. His neck and back hurt like hell from crouching down on the floor for so long, his muscles are not what they used to be, after all, and for a split second he considers actually giving up and letting you ride him, but it would be your win in his book, and he can’t allow that.

He spits on his hand before he leans down to kiss you, his tongue sliding back into your mouth, letting you taste yourself once again, as he brings his hand down to stroke himself, breathing softly out of his nose at the relief of some friction, finally. “You’re such a hypocrite,” he murmurs into your lips, softly, almost lovingly, the same fucking slightly condescending tone he’s always used in his classroom.

You open your mouth to ask what the fuck he means, but he pushes his tongue back into your mouth, all thoughts of a protest evaporating from your mind. You slide closer to the edge of the desk instinctively to accommodate him when he eventually pushes into you. You almost can’t wait.

He gropes your ass to position you like he wants you, his fingers digging into your plump skin maybe a little too hard. You don’t protest. He breathes heavily, like it’s physically paining him to hold back any second longer — it does,—and his brows are furrowed in concentration while he slides his tip over your clit, coating it with your slickness, the same way he frowns when he’s grading papers or goes over tomorrow’s lecture in his head.

He pushes inside in one determined thrust, piercing through you, a quiet grunt escaping his lips, a soft moan escaping yours. Before you have any time to adjust, he starts pounding his hips into yours, one of his arms hooked around your torso to keep you in place as his free hand flies to your chest, squeezing your right tit roughly, pinching your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index finger, making it harden again.

“Careless?” he scoffs, an expression of pure disbelief on his face at the fact you’ve even dared to say that. He grunts again, his hand falling from your breast to your hip, gripping it firmly as he continues pounding into you, your breathing quickening again. He’s rather big, and it hurts a little from you still being sore from your orgasm, but you still moan softly under your nose, your wrists hurting from you leaning on the desk behind your back for so long.

“You call me careless for a typo in a presentation I made six years ago, and it’s not careless for you to come here, asking me if I’m impotent? Fuck you,” he grunts again, a grin pulling on his lips as he throws his head back, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. You’re squeezing his cock so tightly, there’s no way in hell you’re ever going to be asking him or yourself that question again.

He lets go of you, reaching behind your back to pull on your wrists, tugging them further to himself, which makes you fall back on the desk. “Fuck you,” he repeats, his words almost sounding like a moan now as he holds your wrists near your stomach, basically transfixing you. He moves one of his hands up to throw your leg over his shoulder again, another continuing holding your wrists down, as you both groan quietly at the change of the angle, the new one allowing for him to go so deep he’s touching parts of you you didn’t know existed.

“So, you wanted me to be a good teacher and a good dick all at the same time?” he muses, a smirk pulling on his lips again as he looks down onto your dishevelled form, your tits bouncing out of your tugged-down top, you skirt ridden up to your waist, your fucking face, so unbearably beautiful, flushed and your lips swollen from his kisses and from you biting on them so much. He can’t fucking get enough of how silent you are now after running your mouth at him for all these years. “Did you want me to be your boyfriend, too?” he chuckles, shaking his head, his expression faltering as he picks up the rhythm for a good minute, pounding into you so hard all the items on the desk are clattering, and you have to bite on your lips again not to scream from him practically tearing you apart, because you can’t cover your mouth anymore with your wrists held by him.

“Daddy never loved you, right?” He understands he’s probably taunting you too much, his words almost feeling cruel, but he’s too far gone at this point, he’s making a forceful effort to continue looking down at you to imprint the way you look right now into his memory to revisit later, even though his eyes are almost rolling back from just how good your cunt takes him. “That’s why you’ve been pining for my dick for fucking three years? Are you getting what you wanted?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper weakly. Yes to all that, actually, but he doesn’t need to know that. He feels too good, filling you up to the brim, you can almost feel him in your guts, he’s making your toes curl. And he’s finally not acting nice. Just like you wanted him to.

“Good,” he growls, letting go of you for a second before his hands find the undersides of your knees, bringing them close to your chest, changing the angle again as he starts hammering down into you, the room filled with the sound of your shared ragged breaths, the desk creaking under you and the sound of his pelvis slapping against yours. “Fu-uck, you’re taking me so good, none of your schoolwork was ever that good,” he’s lying through his teeth. Not about the sex — you’re taking it like a champ—but about your schoolwork. It was, indeed, that good.

He basically has no power left over what words leave his mouth, he’s completely drunk on you, the taste of your cunt and your mouth still lingering on his tongue. “Are you gonna come again?” he pants out, slowing down, feeling your walls clenching down on him, squeezing him tight.

“Y-yeah,” you mutter, fluttering your eyes open to look at him from under your eyelashes, but you can pretty much only make out his silhouette with how hazy your vision has become with just how good he’s fucking you. “I knew,” you repeat, your throat feeling tight again, your head falling back on the desk as you bring your now free hands to your mouth, covering it to muffle out the scream you know is there, brewing, destined to roll of your lips when he drives you to release again.

“You—“ he starts in disbelief, but he’s getting closer, too, there’s no point in arguing now. He just can’t fucking believe the nerve on you. What do you mean, you knew? Knew he could fuck you like you wanted to? Knew you would be walking out of here with a limp? Such a know-it-all, always thinking she’s two steps ahead everybody else.

He sighs shakily, a broken, needy sound as he brings his hand in between your legs, finding your clit again, his other hand still holding your knees pressed to your chest. He rubs at you in sync with the thrusts of his hips, his pace picking up, up, and up, until he finally lets out a low grunt, stilling, slipping out of you as he watches you bite on your hand, tears streaming down your cheeks as he feels your pussy convulsing under his fingers, another orgasm hitting you, and in a matter of seconds, after a few fast strokes, he comes, too, thick ropes of his seed landing all over your stomach and knees, and some of it lands on your chin.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, catching his breath, watching over you. He opens his desk drawer, pulls out a tissue pack, and wipes himself before doing the same for you. You're still lying there, face hidden in your hands, your outfit a mess. He's already caught you crying and knows you might feel awkward doing it in front of him, so he just makes sure you're clean for when you leave.

He tucks himself back into his trousers, fastens his belt, and walks to the other side of his office. You hear him rustling around while you try to get your breath back and keep your emotions in check. His soft footsteps approach the desk again, and you feel him gently patting your knee. You open your eyes to see him holding out a cup of water—a peace offering or an apology. But you know he doesn't owe you either. He just gave you everything you've wanted for the last three years. And he even brought you fucking water. Because he's disgustingly nice like that.

You nod in gratitude, sit up, and take the plastic cup from his hand, downing it in one gulp. It actually brings some life back to you. You breathe out shakily, fix your top, and tuck your tits back in before sliding off the desk. Your shoes land softly on the floor, your legs still trembling, your knees feeling like they'll give out any moment. You tug your skirt down and sheepishly meet his gaze, unsure where to go from here.

He steps closer and brings his hands up to your face to fix your hair. His eyebrows furrow in concentration again as he smooths it down, making sure you don't look disheveled when you walk out of here.

He sighs, letting his arms drop to his sides, and keeps looking at your face as if making sure you're not just looking okay but are okay too. “I didn’t mean that. The ‘fuck you’. And the ‘slut’ comment. Well, I kinda did,” he shrugs, averting his gaze with a humorless chuckle, “but I didn’t.”

You punch the air out of his lungs as you pounce on him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. It takes him a second to gather himself, but he hesitantly hugs you back, just letting his hands rest on your lower back as you nuzzle your nose into his chest.

You had to get it out of your system, but now that it's in, you feel like you’ll never get enough. He feels like a beacon, one he's always been for you. The guy you picked a rivalry with your first week of sophomore year just to push yourself harder, to strive for greatness. He wasn’t even aware there was a rivalry to begin with. He's an academic, though, they’re all fucked up in the head, he must understand a part of it, at least.

And he understands. Truly. He just hopes you won’t start crying again, because he doesn’t know how he'd handle that. He pulls away slightly to look you in the eyes, cupping your face in his hands, and plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You’re a smart girl,” he says, his voice low, the small, friendly smile on his lips sincere, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he looks down at you. “You’ll figure it out. I don’t doubt it.”

He had this whole speech prepared for the class about how adult life is going to treat them, the challenges they'll face, how scary it’ll be, but also insanely rewarding. It was long, sentimental, with a few jokes thrown in. Some girls cried, but it was all bullshit. What’s real is this. Him understanding your fears without you having to voice them. Him telling you you’ve got this.

“And until you do, you always know where to find me,” he nods to the side, obviously meaning his office, a lopsided smirk making him look a good decade younger. His gaze finds yours again, and he pulls you into another tight hug, one he initiates this time.

In his mind, he’s already thinking how long it would be appropriate to wait before he can invite you for a coffee.