#i need to improve my GPA

[violentferalcat]

Not an English major (I'm actually not even a native English speaker, but who cares at this point) but here's my attempt:

Anon is conveying a covert bioessentialism message under the guise of 'there is no female or male brain' argument (which is quite a researched and backed-up claim among neuroscientists). First, Anon is implying that gender does not exist and is equal to sex: "...you cannot actually change sex/"gender"..." [emphasis mine]. I'd argue that the Anon is not saying that people of different genders are different or the same, as the Anon seems to believe that there is no gender, but only [biological] sex, hence people of different sexes are intrinsically different (obviously, there are some sexual differences among people, but we have the least sexual dimorphism in the animal kingdom [citation needed] and individuals of the same sex have more differences than the difference between the average female and male [citation needed]; and sex =/= gender).

Anon's reasoning is unsound as their points contradict each other. I can extract 5 points from their ask: A) There are no female or male brains; B) Therefore you cannot have a female brain in a male body (somewhat sound, so far, though quite odd); C) Radfems do not believe that genders are "different from the ground up"; D) Radfems believe that there are physical differences between men and women (somewhat contradictory to point C); E) You cannot change your gender (completely contradictory to point C; point E emerges from point D and also contradicts point A and B)

No, they have failed to see a reasoning hole in their post. Example is provided in the passage above.

Anon is a TERF pretending to be a person outside. They refer to radfems in third person, trying to indicate that they do not associate themselves with radfems, but their reasoning leads us to believe that their beliefs emerge from a radfem/TERF ideology. (I have used radfem and TERF interchangeably, please correct me if it's wrong to do so)

While it is impossible to know whether Anon has a medical degree from this post alone, what I have described above does lead us to believe that Anon is uneducated on gender-affirming treatments ("...you cannot actually change sex/"gender"..."), does not know that biological sex is a complex spectrum and therefore saying that all men are different from all women is incorrect ("They do see the inherent physical differences between men and women..."), does not know (I'd say they just don't believe) that biological sex is not related to gender. Therefore, we can conclude that Anon either has a medical degree, but is a very bad doctor, biologist, and researcher. Or, what is more likely, they do not have any medical education and speak from a place of ignorance.

I am not sure whether I have kept my paragraphs below five sentences. Also, for the Scientific American article, which is provided in point 5, you can use 12ft.io to access it for free.

uhh, radfems are literally the ones that say there is no such thing as a "male brain" and "female brain" and thus you cannot have a "female brain" in a male body or vice versa. Thats a long ways away from "different from the ground up." They do see the inherent physical differences between men and women and recognize you cannot actually change sex/"gender".... but so does anyone who isn't brainwashed.

Let's test our Analytical Skills!

What message is being communicated by Anon? What statement is Anon making about gender? Are they saying that people of different genders intrinsically the same, or intrinsically different? Explain your reasoning.

Is Anon's reasoning sound? Is their statement consistent, or contradictory? What do you think the difference is between "(genders are not) different from the ground up" and "...the inherent physical differences between men and women... cannot actually change." Show your thinking in a short statement below.

Do you think Anon is demonstrating strong critical thinking skills? Why or why not? Support your answer using examples from the original text.

Do you think that Anon is a TERF, or an outsider explaining TERF rhetoric from an objective position? Why or why not?

Do you think that Anon posesses a medical background? Is Anon familiar with the science of gender-affirming treatments? How do you know? Elaborate.

Please keep your answers between one and three five-sentence paragraphs each. Don't forget to use quotes and examples to support your conclusions.

This test will be worth 10 points.

[daddy-socrates]

sometimes i forget that i started this blog to be about philosophy. anyway i've already told all my group chats so here's one for the blog: just got off a video call w the admissions director at my tied-for-first-choice university and i cannot tell if he thinks i have a shot or if im too much of a loser for their very cool program.

he did give me the very good advice to email faculty i want to work with to introduce myself and get to know them and their work, so maybe that's indicative of . good rapport idk

off to write emails and hope professors deign to respond. please i want to keep doing epistemology. what does it matter

[thotsfortherapy]

wowowow im a week ahead in school in this what it’s like to be properly medicated lmao

[orcelito]

It's so disgusting that I've ended up at the stage of saying like "Oh, I can't get into that right now, I don't have time due to school". Aka I am Prioritizing My Schooling!!!! Which is what I'm supposed to be doing lol but historically I have not let it dictate what I do or do not do in my free time.

But after the nearly disastrous end to my spring 2023 semester due to sudden and intense trigun hyperfixation... I have to be careful lol. I've been going strong so far, and I am NOT going to stop now.

[longlivejemily]

After Office Hours

Pairing: Professor! Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Reader goes to her favorite professor hoping to find ways to improve her grade. He has some unconventional extra credit opportunities in mind...

WC: 1.3k

Warning: Student/teacher relationship, slight sub/dom dynamics, semi public sex, thigh riding, use of y/n, use of “baby’ and “little girl” plz let me know if i’m missing any!

You’re running down the hallway of the law building at your university silently begging that your professor is still there. As you approach the door, he’s exiting, keys in hand. “Wait, Professor Reid! I’m here! Don’t go!” You call out to him closing the last yards of space between you. “Miss y/l/n you’re late, office hours are over.” “No Dr. Reid you don’t understand! My statistics professor wouldn’t let us leave until we finished the lesson on probability distributions! I told him I had office hours to get to and he didn’t care. Please Dr. Reid I really need to talk to you about my grade!” He puts his hands in his pockets and sighs while gears are turning in his head. “Fine, for you I’ll make an exception.” “Thank you thank you.” You try not to read too much into his comment as he opens the door, “after you.” You don’t notice that he locks the door after following you in. 

As he sits across from you at the desk, you pull out your physical midterm paper all marked up in red ink. “I thought I grasped this concept so well! I don’t understand how I got a C-.” “Y/N, you got a stressor and trigger backward. You failed to accurately explain the concept. The points you did get were from the passion in your writing. I appreciated the way you wrote, but I couldn’t give you a higher grade. I’m sorry.” 

“Professor, I have a 3.5 GPA and I can’t have that drop, especially not from my favorite class!” He clasps his hands under his chin with his elbows below him. “Miss y/l/n, it seems you have been struggling in this class for a while now. I see how hard you work but you have narrowly maintained a B-. If this is your favorite class, why didn’t you come to office hours sooner?” “I-” Your mind is moving too fast to form an answer. You look down at the ground and can’t help but press your thighs together. You’ve only had a few moments in such close proximity to Professor Reid before, and definitely not alone. His eyes seem to darken, “Do I make you nervous?” You just press your legs further together “Umm..” “Come here.” He says in a soft yet demanding tone while scooting his chair back. When you walk over to him he gestures towards his lap. “Sit.” You comply. You put your right hand on his shoulder as his left-hand reaches around you and grips your side. He can probably hear your heart beating out of your chest.

“You know how I knew you wanted this? When I guest lectured in your physics class you were wearing sweatpants. Out of anything you could have worn, sweatpants. You tried to hide it, but I saw your eyes widen when you saw me. You never dared to be caught dead in front of me clad from one of your tiny little skirts you love wearing to my class.” He takes the hand not at your side and squeezes above your knee. “Do you wear those skirts just for me? Tell me the truth.” You turn to him but avoid eye contact. In the quietest voice you say “Yes, just for you professor.” Knowing you were coming straight to his office hours after stats, you wore one of your shortest skirts and knee-high black boots. You hoped being alone in office hours on a dark fall night he wouldn’t be able to resist you. It was worth a shot, anyway. He smirks and before he has a chance to reply you say, “Now back to my grade, is there anything I can do to improve the grade I got on my midterm? Can I resubmit it with your notes taken into account?” “I’m sorry miss y/l/n but there's nothing I can do. The university policy states that once midterm grades are locked, any work done before can not be revised. My apologies.” 

“Is there anything I can do? Any extra credit opportunities this term?  I can help you grade papers or clean your classroom! Please I’ll do anything! I need to improve my grade, please!” He just stares at you while you beg. “Anything?” He says with a devilish smirk. “Yes sir.” You say back to him, smiling and batting your eyelashes. He takes a deep breath with his eyes closed and once he opens them he locks eyes with you and says, “Ride my thigh.” “Excuse me, Doctor?” His dick jumps at the honorific. “You said you’d do anything to improve your grade. I know you heard me, ride my thigh.” You cannot believe Dr. Reid just asked you for this. Since the first day of class, he has been the sole object of your fantasies. You’ve fallen asleep many nights imagining him bending you over his desk and fucking you until you scream.

 Without a second thought, you stand up to resituate yourself on his lap, straddling his left thigh. The moment you stand up he reaches for your wrist, “What are you doing?” You smile on the inside, those four simple words have shown you he wants this as badly as you do. “Don’t worry professor, I’m just turning around, I need something to grab onto.” You say as you sink down onto him. You put both hands on either side of his shoulders and begin to rock back and forth finding your rhythm. The roughness of his khakis against your ass and your thong pushed against your clit has you stifling your moans quickly. He grabs your chin to make you look at him, “I want to hear you, baby.” You let the moans leave your lips, still mindful of volume. He puts one hand on the small of your back and the other on your hip, gently guiding you. When he touches you, you are on cloud nine. Here you are, in your professor's office after hours riding his thigh as he speaks sweet praises to you. You swear you’ve died and gone to heaven. “That’s it baby keep going.” You are eyeing the member in his pants start to grow. Every time he speaks you get closer and closer to the edge. He can tell by the way you’re speeding up. “Come for me little girl, I want to hear how good you’re feeling.” The use of little girl sends you over the edge. 

Tightly gripping his shoulders as you ride out the rest of your orgasm, leaving dents in his shoulders through his dress shirt. Once you’re done cumming, you collapse onto his chest breathing heavily. Staring down at his lap you see his dick straining against his pants, and he’s huge. He gently rubs your back as you come down from your high. He kisses your head and lifts you by your shoulders facing him. You’re staring deep into his eyes. “You did so good for me, but it's getting late, you should get home.” “Right right, sorry. I’ll head out now.” As you stand up and adjust your skirt you notice the wet spot you left on his pants.

 He sees you staring and interrupts your thoughts, “Don’t worry about it. Can I plan to see you next week at office hours?” “Yes!” You say a little too enthusiastically. “Um I mean yeah, I’ll be here.” You say in a chiller tone. “Good, I have more extra credit opportunities in mind, I hope to see you in class on Monday. Next week, come to office hours once they're done, okay? Don’t show up before 7.” “Yes Dr. Reid, I look forward to improving my grade however you see fit.” You say with a wink heading towards the door. When you go to turn the knob it's locked. You unlock it and glance back at him. He’s still staring at you with a hungry look in his eyes. You have the biggest smile on your face walking back towards your dorm, next week's office hours can’t come soon enough.

a/n: this is the first fic I’ve written in about 10 years! Should I turn this into a mini series? I have more ideas for how this story could go! Any feedback is greatly appreciated <3

[episims]

Turn On/Off Replacements: No Zombies Edition + 3t2 Trait Support

This is basically an update of my TO replacements, but I want to keep the post clear, so I'm sharing it as a new version.

Here's what got changed:

⭐ No More Glasses Zombie TO Instead of zombies, you'll get a brand new TO: Enthusiast. It's triggered by sims who are invested in their hobbies.

⭐ 3t2 Trait Support If you use 3t2 traits, sims with fitting traits will trigger directly related turn on/offs. This is only a subtle flavor; if you want the whole chemistry system to be trait-based, this mod isn't for you. These replacements still work just as well even if you don't have 3t2 traits in your game.

⭐ Polished Icons All the TS4 icons are now slightly smaller and hopefully work better with UI replacements. I also changed or edited some that I felt needed improving.

There are still two versions of the mod: the other replaces the Grey Hair TO with the Mersim one, the other leaves it untouched. Both versions are included with the download.

Download (SFS) (alternate)

Files are compressed. Probably requires all EPs. Conflicts with other turn on/off replacements (including my old versions), tunaisafish’s Attraction Traits Fix, and might conflict with cologne-related mods.

Compatible with UI replacements as long as this mod loads after.

🚨🚨 The Mersim version requires Midge’s Mermaid Mod.

Translations included: Spanish, Italian, Swedish, Finnish.

Update (29.8.2024): Fixed the life skills TO sometimes not updating properly upon changing TO replacements.

Update (31.3.2024): The alien trait by @tammyhybrid21 now triggers the Alien TO too.

Update (11.1.2024): Enthusiast TO now replaces zombies instead of glasses.

Update (11.1.2024): Changed it so that business owners with level 6 or higher business and young adults with a GPA 3.7 or higher also count as hard workers.

Credits to @lazyduchess, @midgethetree, and simler90 for the groundwork and bits and pieces used in the mod. Translations by @bothersomecryptid, @themeasureofasim, @dystopianam, and @vegan-kaktus.

Full list of the TOs under the cut.

Replaced TOs:

Cologne -> Life Skills (has learned at least two of the life skills)

Stink -> Poor (household fortune* ~§20 000 or lower)

Underwear -> Rich (household fortune* ~§100 000 or higher)

Swimwear -> Great Dancer (dance skill 6 or higher)

Formalwear -> Pet Lover (has at least two pet friends or the Animal Lover trait)

Full Face Makeup -> Talented (has at least one silver or gold talent badge)

Hats -> Good Reputation (reputation level Reputable Resident or better)

Jewelry -> Bad Reputation (reputation level Lousy Loser or worse)

Custom Hair -> Alien (either skintone, eyes, or both, or the alien trait)

Zombie -> Enthusiast (level 5 or higher on at least one hobby)

Grey Hair -> Mersim (with Mersim version)

TOs with additional new trait support:

Hard Worker (career level 6 or higher, teen career level 3, owned business level 6 or higher, young adult with a GPA 3.7 or higher, or the Workaholic trait)

Logical (logic skill 5 or higher or the Genius trait)

Charismatic (charisma skill 5 or higher or the Charismatic trait)

Great Cook (cooking skill 5 or higher or the Natural cook trait)

Mechanical (mechanic skill 5 or higher or the Handy trait)

Creative (creativity skill 5 or higher or the Artistic trait)

Athletic (body skill 5 or higher or the Athletic trait)

Good at Cleaning (cleaning skill 5 or higher or the Neat trait)

TOs with minor fixes:

Unemployed (young adults and business owners aren't counted as unemployed)

Robot (servos don't trigger hair color TOs)

Unedited TOs:

Fatness (TS4 icon)

Fitness (TS4 icon)

Facial Hair

Glasses (TS4 icon)

Makeup (TS4 icon)

Blonde Hair

Red Hair

Brown Hair

Black Hair

Grey Hair (without Mersim version)

Vampire (TS4 icon)

Plantsim (TS4 icon)

Lycanthropy (TS4 icon)

Witch (TS4 icon)

For the sake of cohesion, all the supernatural TOs now have simpler, singular names (instead of vampirism, plantsimism, and witchiness).

*The household fortune is counted by its funds, the lot value (if the home lot is residential), and other owned lots. The precise value that triggers the TO might slightly vary.

[nanthegirl]

Day 1 ||30 Days of Productivity

22.10.2024

• Morning Routine☑️

• Total study time: 2hrs 15mins. I went through the first two presentations for MM. I need to go back and revise circuits cause I took an electrical engineering course in first semester and I’ve forgotten most of it. I spent a lot of time flipping through textbooks lmao. I also spent some time in the lab and finished two models. I think I’ll print them tomorrow. I’m too shy to ask for help to make the silicon mixture I need for my membrane. But hopefully tomorrow.

• Violin practice. This is the last thing I did cause I really wasn’t in the mood. I’m glad I pushed through though cause I enjoyed it. Since it’s 10pm I couldn’t really play. So I ended up just plucking so at least I’d hear something.

• Food. I made pasta, but I was too lazy to add any protein🫠. Funny enough, I think this one will be the hardest to keep up with.

• Walk. I walked around a bunch today, even though I didn’t go for a proper walk.

• Desk. Cleared.

• Nighttime routine. I didn’t really plan anything concrete for this so I’m just going to scrap it lol.

One of my exam grades was released today. Yap time⬇️

I wrote an improvement for Biomaterials and I did in fact improve my grade. I didn’t think I was actually going to cause I fell off the wagon the week before the exam and I barely put in minimum effort to study. And I’m glad that despite that I still did good but I feel bad that I could’ve done even better. Despite my grade being much better my gpa only increased by 0.05. It really put into perspective how much harder I have to work on my remaining exams if I’m going to hit my goal before I graduate. Which led me to pull out my calculator and start trying to get my estimates down. With the way things are looking, I need to aim for a perfect grade in everything🫠. I’m going to write improvements in maybe two exams?? We have 3 chances to do that and I want to use all of mine lmao. So I’m looking at 6 exams. Well. I’m glad this realization hit me in October at least.

I went from a 3.0 to a 1.7, small, itty bitty wins🕺🏾!!

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Games in the library 18+ MDNI

Aemond x reader (Tutor/gamer au) Fluffish and also smuttish

Tags: smut, library fucking, public sex and nerdy gamer references.

Cool devider credits: saradika

🔷Summary: Your GPA is tanking and you need help. Luckily there is the grumpy antisocial Aemond to help you out.

🔷Author's note: Based on tutor aus but I made my own spin on it.

🔷Wordcount :7324

🔷Warnings: Au universe, smut, desk fucking, p in v, dom/sub, reader x aemond, fluff, gamer references, cozy gamer gf and shoot-em-up bf (found something else? Let me know)

There have been quite a few storms lately, causing more rain and making the world a little gloomy. You don’t mind, however. You have always been a fan of rain. Unlike today, where it’s an extra reminder how much you rather spent inside, cooped up with a good game with a warm cup of hot chocolate, not running around your campus with your bag above your head, as if life depends on it.

You are relieved when you make it inside, in the beautiful library that was built long before you began this study. You notice a silver-haired boy with a missing eye sitting in the corner of the room, with his math books in front of him, impatiently glaring around, unaware you are already there. “Hi!” you enthusiastically say, placing your Starbucks coffee cup and handbag on the table in the big messy library you just entered. It’s a saturday so most students would not want to be found death here at this time. 

You have a reason to be here, sadly. You are failing math, falling behind more and more on the subject. So your professor, Borros assigned you a very unwillingly tutor, Aemond Targaryen. He sighed when Borros suggested he should tutor you, even going as far to say that there is no use in tutoring someone who does not want to learn. There is truth in that, but the issue is not that you don’t want to learn. It’s something else.

Aemond glares at your cup before standing up and checking the time on his expensive smartwatch. “Why are you late?” Great. You were afraid of not getting here in time, seems like your Starbucks trip took a little longer than you had planned out.

You take out your phone. You are exactly 5 minutes late. There was a big line in front of Starbucks. And you forget you had tutoring today, to begin with. “I—uhm—forgot the time.” You lie.

He looks at your Starbucks cup accusingly. If it had feelings, the cup would feel attacked, perhaps even insulted, before it would hop off the large wooden table and into a nearby trashcan, ending itself. You would gladly follow it in the rabbit hole trashcan.  “I’m sacrificing my free Saturday for you. The least you could do is get here on time.” There is always a bit of a gruff, Gringe-like edge to his voice as if someone just stole his presents and he is pissed.

You huff. He acts so high and mighty, and yet you know there is nothing personal about this. He does not help you because he is some godly angel. He helps you to get points. This is not a charity project for him, or a social project this is cold selfishness and part of his plan to become the best student of your class, likely a step 4 in his 10 plan step to world domination.

You smile sweetly when adjusting your ponytail. “You aren’t sacrificing anything. You get points and the chance to become Borros’s TA.’’ You tell him, dangling his reward in front of him as if it’s a carrot, just in case he thought about bailing.

He dreams of that position for some reason, though you can’t for the love of the gods figure out why. Perhaps for status, power, future learning references or just to get close to Borros? Your teacher  had hinted that if he could somehow get you to improve your grades, there might be a chance he would become his teacher's assistant. That was enough to sway Aemond into teaching you.

Aemond briefly pushes his gold-rimmed glasses back on his nose, smirking at you.  You feel a little nervous under his gaze. “Correct. That means that I decide how this lesson will proceed.’’ 

His cryptic description makes your mind wander back to the familiar gutter you have come to know so well. You  make a mental note to stop reading dark romance books with tutors for a while. 

You ignore him. That makes him eager to get your attention back. “No calls, no texts—for the next hour, you are at my mercy.” Sweet gods.

His soft pink lips briefly smack before breaking into a grin that sends shivers down your spine. You are thankful for the small bolero that covers your dress.

Aemond is a huge nerd. Kinda cute, but he doesn’t know how innuendos work. And he is certainly not aiming his innuendos at you. 

“Okay. So, you’re like good at math, right?’’ you ask, a little insecure. You are worried he might not actually teach you anything at all, though he is smart, his hands almost always scorching through the air as though Borros is personally offending him with his questions. He reads advanced math books whenever you and your girlfriends hang out in the library, shooting glares whenever you are too loud, giggling or gossiping.

He seems insulted that you think so lowly of him.”’I’m the best in our class.” You never really kept eye on who is the best of the class, and you do not really ever cared. Who cares, as long as you keep up your GPA it is all fine.

But you are not dumb, you need to keep him as your friend for now. At least your ally. Your accomplice? You don’t know. You think you would be all the way at the bottom. ‘’Impressive.’’ You say, but you can’t bother to meet his eye before taking a sip of your very delicious pumpkin spice late.

His head tilts slightly when he narrows his eyes suspiciously, reading you as a open book. He huffs. “I can tell you don’t give a damn. Take out your notebooks, study books and whatever else you might need. It is time we start.” Whatever else you might need? You feel dread and anxiety fill your chest as you become aware of your thoughts traveling already far away from the lesson.

He brought an adorable little digital clock, that he puts on the table gently, before turning it on, exactly 120 minutes. He really does not want to be here a second longer than he has to be.

You faithfully take out your notebooks decorated with Sanrio stickers, Pokémon stickers and panda stickers, as well as your textbook, and your collection of Hello Kitty gel pens. You put it all out for him to see, flicking the textbook open in front of you. 

Aemond stands up, briefly looking over your handwriting in your notebook. He wets his lips before speaking. “Good girl.”

You roll your eyes.

He gets up from the chair across the table, walking to the empty seat next to you. He sits down, glancing at some of your previous sums, together with little drabbles and doodles. “So—what do you have problems with?” 

You can feel the warmth of his body and smell the fabric softener he uses on his clothes. He probably does his own laundry. 

This will be a long hour. You sigh, before summing it up. “Addition and subtraction, analog time, multiplication and division…’’ And you forget dozens of other things.

Anything and everything that involves numbers. You have been that way since a kid, throwing tantrums whenever you were forced to do math or make a puzzle. Your brain blacks out whenever you are forced to make a sum, and after a while your brain is just completely fried.

He wrinkles his nose, thinking. “So, everything?’’ he summarizes dryly. 

You nod. “Yep.”

His good eye slightly widens. “I can do this,” he mutters, to himself more than to you. He taps on an empty page of your notebook with his fingers.

‘’Write down ‘twenty-five plus eighty-seven’.”

You obey, faithfully writing the sum down in your notebook with your favorite Hello Kitty glitter pens. 

Aemond looks at the pen with a sigh, bending over your notebook to see what you wrote down. His brows furrow. 

You try your best to focus on his voice and his words rather than the fact that he sits so close to you and smells like fresh strawberries.

‘’Alright. Next, write down ‘one hundred and fifty-nine plus ninety-four’.” Again, you write it down as best as you can, in a reasonably readable handwriting. You hear him curse under his breath, exhaling.

“Five hundred and thirty-two plus six hundred and fifty-six..” 

You write a bit faster, messing up a few of the numbers in the process. You are glad you are starting with the addition sums, as they come the easiest to you.  

“Lastly, three hundred and fifty-five plus four hundred and sixty-six.’’ He looks at your sums. With one glance at his face, you can tell you’ve already fucked it up. “I said ‘one hundred and ninety-five’, but you’ve written down ‘one hundred and fifty-nine’. I said ‘six hundred-and-sixty-five’, but you wrote down ‘six hundred and fifty-six’.” 

Great. He must think you are doing it on purpose. Embarrassed, you quickly scratch out the numbers you wrote down before sighing, cursing yourself for thinking this was going to solve anything.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” he wonders. “Do you even want my help?” The nerve of this man. 

“What do you think?” you snap, placing the cap back on your Hello Kitty gel pens. “You think you’re my first tutor? You think you’re the first who’s tried to help me? I’ve done all of this before, but none of it matters. Nothing will stick anyway.” 

Your voice becomes squeaky. You blink rapidly to avoid ruining your mascara. He must think you are so stupid. You are. So, so stupid.

Aemond looks over your work again, sighing and rubbing his face. “No,” he murmurs quietly. “You turn them around. Some of the numbers.” 

That has been an issue since you were introduced to numbers. That and the bigger they get, the bigger the chance you mess it up.

“No shit,” you huff, searching your handbag for your tissues. You find them buried under your perfume bottle and use them to wipe at your eyes. 

His feet move under the table, briefly touching yours.

“Don’t get mean. Just making an observation.’’ He scratches behind his ear. “What do you mean, ‘nothing  will stick’?” 

Great. He will piss himself with laughter when he hears this.

You’d rather not tell him, or anyone, really. It is embarrassing. You are a twenty-two-year-old girl who can’t divide the simplest numbers and, without a digital clock, you’d get nowhere on time. You wouldn’t even know the time. People can and have taken advantage of that just to bully you. “It’s complicated,” you say.

His usual gruff voice softens. “Alright. So, tell me.”

What is the harm? you wonder. Who is he even going to tell?

“I’ve got a non-verbal learning disorder,” you mumble. There. He knows.

“What?” he asks, a little too loud for your liking. Even if he had whispered, it would have been too loud. There is no one here, yet you are worried somehow someone heard.

You growl back, “Non-verbal learning disorder. NLD.” 

It is a little less common than dyslexia—a lot less common, actually. You have heard that dyscalculia and NLD is a very common combination. That might be the reason you are so horrible at math. Part of your brain just refuses to understand it, which frustrates you, which makes you upset, and all that means you’d very much rather not do math at all. 

Aemond becomes very quiet before admitting something you never thought you’d hear. “I’ve never heard of that.” 

Where could he have, though? He is very clearly a math expert, not a learning disorder expert. 

You look at your polished pink nails with gold glitter.

“Hm. Not surprised. You are perfect after all, aren’t you?” you ask.

He becomes grumpy and unbearable, as you become mad and perhaps jealous that he is so perfectly fine and normal, and boring. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” 

Aemond takes out his phone. You thought they were ‘forbidden’. Didn’t he say so earlier? You glare, insulted. You have a social life, after all, and the world suddenly seems far more beautiful than it had been before you began your suffering here. 

“So, are you telling me you don’t know how late it is now?” He shoves a Wikipedia page in your face. He looked it up.

You take out your phone. “Of course I do. It’s fifteen-thirty.” 

You don’t say the correct time. You say ‘fifteen-thirty’. Fifteen thirty. Not half over past something, am or pm bullshit. You say it how it is. It’s fifteen-thirty.

Aemond draws a clock in your notebook. You quite like the way he uses your Hello Kitty gel pen for it. “And in analog time, that would be?” He wonders, his voice trailing off when his one remaining good eye glances at you.

You shake your head as he draws two hands on the clock, and multiple numbers. “Oh, no one cares about those lame old clocks,” you smoothly lie, and it is part of the truth. 

No one uses those old lame clocks anymore. Everyone and their mother has a cellphone. Why bother reading a clock if you have a cellphone? And in your case—why bother reading a language your brain seems to not understand anyway?

Aemond sighs, reading you easily. He scratches the clock out. “You can’t read them, can you?” He asks after he has scratched them out. You can either deny it or lie about it but why waste energy and time?

This man is too observant. 

“I know that the big one up means ‘twelve’,” you say with a little smile, very proud that one thing did decided to stick.

You can see it on his face—it’s becoming more and more clear that you don’t need a tutor. You need a miracle.  

He blurts out a question. “How did you even leave high school?” he asks. You don’t think he meant to hurt you, but he still does.

“How did you lose your eye?” you ask, lashing out.

Aemond sits up a little straighter. “That’s quite a personal question—” 

You smile back, still furious and hiding your displeasure by ripping your nails.  “Exactly.” you groan.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I’m impressed, if anything.’’

Fake sympathy. Yeah. 

This is a waste of time, you didn’t learn years ago, why would you learn it now? Why did you even came here to begin with? A little voice reminds you of just why you came over. “You don’t need to lie to me. I know I’m stupid,” you mutter when playing with your bracelet. 

Aemond grabs your wrist, letting go almost the second his skin touches yours. “You’re not stupid. I know you can be very clever and an absolute pain in the ass when you want to be.” He grins. “Just… not with numbers.” He closes your notebook.

“Really?”

You know you are clever on other fronts. It’s just difficult to believe you aren’t stupid when you see how advanced your peers and friends are and you still struggle over middle school math.

He nods. “Yeah. I remember for a while in History and Language that you were a threat to my position as best student.’’ 

You’d liked History for a while, it’s true. You were good at it—that is, until you got a social life and it became an afterthought. What might have happened if you had stayed on that path?

You don’t understand why he wants to be the best. “I mean, you are already first in math, aren’t you?” 

He should not push for perfection as much as he does.

He shrugs. “I don’t care. I have to be the best in everything.” It sounds empty. You might not be the only one with problems.

You try telling him what you think. “That’s a little… unhealthy.”

He snaps at you, suddenly scowling. “Well, I don’t have a rich daddy to pay my way into school.” 

Ah. That is his issue with you. He thinks you’re a rich little girl that has a daddy that pays for everything.

You stare at your pink nails, briefly ripping at them before speaking. “I don’t either. Mine died when I was two. I have a stepfather, but he’s too busy fucking my mom and arranging vacations to Dorne for the two of them to bother with me.’’

Aemond’s chest sinks a little, regret written across his face. “I’m sorry.” 

He sounds sincere. And, just like that, you realize your math session has turned into a therapy session. 

You laugh despite your sadness. “Look at me, trauma-dumping all over you. Sorry.” 

You open your notebook at the same moment that Aemond grabs your fingers.

“I think you’ve earned a break.” He awkwardly lets go of you again.

That’s fast. “We haven’t solved a single sum,” you say. “I mean, we can solve one. I think this one is doable…” 

You look at your crossed-out sums. Oh, yeah. That happened. 

His silver-haired head nods up and down, but he does not answer at first, staring at your nails. “Perhaps not. But we have discovered why you have issues with this. Go take a break. That’s an order.”

He cheekily smirks at you, causing butterflies to flutter in your stomach. Perhaps not butterflies—perhaps just straight-up lust. You want to pull this guy in by his sweater and give him a good tumble.

You lick your lips. ‘’Yeah? What will you do if I don’t, sir?’’

He leans in a little closer, his eye flickering to your ruler lying untouched on the table. “Let’s just say… you wouldn’t like to find out.’’

Aemond takes a bottle of water from his bag and a sandwich while you grab a hot chocolate from the machine in the library and a freshly baked muffin from your bag. 

You eat your muffin and then take out your Nintendo Switch bag, starting the device up for a brief moment of relaxation. You play Animal Crossing for a few minutes, forgetting the world around you as you’re sucked into your peaceful little island.

Aemond is very silent as well, staring mostly at you.

“I’ve got one too.” You are sucked out of your island and back into reality. 

‘’Huh?’’ He nods to the switch.

He means a Switch. You didn’t think he would be into games. You think he would be too busy studying, really.

“What game are you playing?” he asks, tilting his head, coming a little closer so he can see for himself, almost touching your skin in the process as he clumsily bumps into you. ‘’Sorry.’’ He murmurs.

“A very intense one,” you comment as a compilation happens on your screen. You want to restore your island from desertcore to cottagecore and right now, one of your villagers has decided to be a menace. 

On Aemond’s lips grows an almost dreamy smile as he stares at you playing on your Switch. “Oh—like Xenoblades? Zelda? Hades?” 

You’ve heard of all three, but haven’t played them. They are not games you think you would like. They sound difficult, full of combat, full of puzzles and full of realisation that you are stupid. So you stay far, far away from them.

“Animal Crossing!” You turn your Switch so he can see your former desert island as you turn it back into a cute aesthetic-worthy village. 

He tries to blink, but he only has one eye so it looks a little awkward. “That is your definition of ‘intense’?” 

It can be. It can be so intense you rage-quit. Some of these animals have no manners—you’ve certainly bullied a fair few off your island. 

“You try terraforming your island when a lazy villager sits in the way!” You point with your finger to the panda cub that sits in the way, right where you want to plant a bush. “That’s Chester, and right now he’s making my life hell—” 

The panda, or Chester, enjoys a sandwich while smiling at your avatar, unaware of the misery he is 

causing.

“That panda is?” Aemond asks, confused. “The panda is the issue? Can’t you tell him to move?” 

That would be so helpful. But, unfortunately, no—that is not an option. 

You nod, turning your Switch back to you. “He just won’t leave. I can hit him with a net, but he would hate me,” you mutter. “Pushing him is useless. He’s, like, glued to this spot.”

Aemond smiles to himself. “Perhaps he is saying we should return to studying.” Chester would say that, the menace. He has not given you his photo either, the bear knows too much.

“He says to me that I can have five more minutes,” you say, smiling and blinking your eyes innocently. 

He sighs deeply, exhaling before putting his arm under his head, watching you terraform around your island. “Cute.” He sits up straight, blushing and quickly pointing to your Switch, decorated with stickers from Stardew Valley. “I meant, uh, the stickers.” He quickly mutters, and you can’t hide your own smile.

The stickers are cute, but you can’t help but wonder if he wasn’t talking about something else. “Thanks, they’re from Stardew Valley.” 

“I heard that game—” Whatever Aemond would say next would forever be a mystery. He is rudely interrupted by your fan dumping all over him, telling him the plot, the main features, and your personal opinion of the game in the world-wide record of 4 minutes as you ramble. “You’re kinda supposed to help this town flourish by bringing crops you grow, artisan stuff, to this community center. You can also romance and have children and have a pet. There is like magic too, but I wish it was more fleshed out-’’ You shut up quickly. You put your switch down.

He nods, but you can tell you are losing his interest. 

“You can slay monsters, too,” you blurt out. “And you have different swords, weapons and stuff. Sorry. I kinda ramble.”

“I like it. It’s cute when you ramble.’’ Damn it. You feel your cheeks redden. Aemond watches the rain outside, before asking another question about Stardew Valley. ‘’Can I kill my spouse?” he asks as a follow up. 

You know the modding community is very active, but they are like about dogs and cat breeds, about teleportation hacks and making portraits better. Not about you know, full-blown murder. “No…”

He frowns as if that surprises him. “Is there warfare? Can I take other people’s farms? Is there a princess for me to save?” No, no, and no.

You understand you two play different games.

“No, not really. It does have multiplayer, though.”

Aemond’s scoffing little smirk returns but it does not meet his hurt and very glossy eye. “I’m kinda a loner.” He laughs but there is a hidden sadness there. A sadness you relate too all too well.

“I am, too,” you say. 

“You have dozens of friends.”  You can still have friends and be alone.

He refers to the girls that you hang out with. Are they friends? You don’t hang out aside from the weekend. You can’t call them, if something has happened to you, and they definitely don’t know you game or have NLD. 

“Yes,” you say, “but…none of them game, I guess? Like, in that way, I’m alone. And I don’t make friends easily. Not everyone likes the games I play. Some wouldn’t even call it gaming. So, what kind of games do you like to play?”

He suddenly becomes interested in his very well cared for nails, and you know you hit a weak spot.

“Crusader Kings II, Zelda, Hades, Xenoblades and shooters.” He tells you. ‘’Mostly single-players.’’

You don’t know Crusader kings, but judging by the name, you do not have a cute farm at day and a run a witchy cozy coven at night. “The bloody ones.”

He snaps his head to you, smirking a bit.

‘’Zelda is not bloody.’’ Before he looks at your hair and your lipstick. ‘’I think you actually like it, if you gave it a chance.’’ He says. ‘’I mean, there is dozens of npcs to talk to, a wonderful open world, and ingredients to forage and outfits to collect and to find. In a way, it is Stardew Valley but without the Valley.’’

He definitely heard about Stardew Valley before. ‘’You know a lot about Stardew.’’

He nods. ‘’My sister, Helaena, she plays it a lot. I wouldn’t know how to play it, however.’’ He confesses, slightly tilting his hands. ‘’It’s beyond me how you get anything done with a time limit and a stamina bar.’’

You smile, and you never thought you would in his company. ‘’Describe the story. Of that Zelda game.’’ 

He needs some time to think before telling you the main story. ‘’You see, with an adventure game that’s…that would defeat the purpose of playing. So: You are a hero, named Link. After 100 years, you awake in a shrine, and you hear a voice, and you need to save the kingdom and the princess.’’ It sounds very …male-written and male-aimed. You aren’t sure Zelda is for you.

You have another problem with it too.

‘’That sounds horrible. Imagine waking up from your nap, and suddenly you got to save the world.’’

At first he is confused but the moment he knows you are joking, he laughs, a very delightful sweet and welcoming sound. ‘’It starts very locked, but there’s so much you can do in the game, in my honest opinion it's one of their best entries in the series. There’s cooking, horses-’’ Horses? There are horses? And cooking? ‘’There is combat, but you learn quickly, at least I did. The monsters are actually clever, and in the beginning, its best to avoid them until you get decent weapons.’’ You aren’t sure. Combat? The monsters in the skull cave of Stardew Valley regularly kick your ass.  ‘’There are puzzles too-’’ That is where you draw the line. No puzzles.

‘’Hell no. I hate puzzles.’’ You did as a kid, and still as an adult you can’t figure out how some people enjoy putting together these images, made up of 1,000 pieces and when they finish it, they destroy it too. Like what is the point? And it does not help you can never figure out where to start.

‘’I know.’’ That catches you off guard. Aemond does not pressure you into it. He simply accepts it.  ‘’But they are fun. We can solve most problems in multiple ways. You can’t fuck this up, if you are scared of that. Even if you die, you can restart as many times as you like. And no one is going to call you stupid for it.’’ He promises you, when leaning in a little closer, touching your face gently.

‘’Not even you?’’ You ask, for confirmation, not sure why you care but you hate for him to laugh at you for doing something very rookie. 

He shakes his head.  ‘’No. It took me a lot of time to get the hang of it too, if you must know.’’ So he is not as perfect as he pretends to be. ‘’I already told you: I don’t think you are stupid.’’

You lean in a little closer to him, staring at his soft pink lips. You make your voice as dry as possible. ‘’What if I call ‘’Link’’ ‘’Zelda?’’ You ask him with a cheeky grin. Nothing annoys Zelda fans more than that.

He grins back, but has faith in you. ‘’I know you won’t.’’ That is true. You know that the Princess is called ‘’Zelda’’ but the person you play as is called ‘’Link.’’ To confuse the two would be like calling JojaMart Pierre’s general store.  

‘’But what if I do?’’ You ask, getting a little cheeky. ‘’Hm? Sir?’’ You ask, pushing his buttons a little more as you grin. 

He needs to make an effort to hide his smirk, quietly muttering when eyeing the stickers on your switch. ‘’Don’t push me, we are alone after all, and I’m very bored.’’ He murmurs, sending a shiver down your spine when his voice gets that rough edgy little dark edge.

‘’Are you …Interested?’’ You ask, surprised.

He lifts his head, a bit insulted. ‘’You think I would not avoid you like the plague if I wasn’t?’’

All this time you thought he hated you, but he had a crush on you. ‘’I thought you hated me! That I annoyed you!’ 

He blushes, quickly cleaning his glasses for some reason. ‘’No, I just don’t like it when I can’t control my feelings. Like I become very different around you.’’ You noticed. He puts walls around himself.

‘’You become a little angry bird or a Goomba.’’ You know for sure he knows what a Goomba is, and you know it as well. They are the adorable little creatures from Mario games that try to murder Mario and look grumpy.

He chuckles, mortified by your description.

‘’Please, no, gods, not a Goomba.’’ 

You do find the courage to tell him your final thoughts, before flipping your notebook again, picking up where you left with the sums. ‘’If it helps, you are kinda cute too, Aemond.’’ You tell him, and you mean it. ‘’Not that I’m into Goombas, but..Yeah. You’re cute.’’ You tell him.

He nods, absently before he becomes serious again. ‘’Did you ever try motivational tutor lessons?’’ Motivational what?

‘’What uhm do you mean?’’ You ask, a little lost.

He shrugs, smiling. ‘’Well, people are more likely to succeed if there is a reward for them in it.’’ You notice him biting down at his lips, avoiding your eyes.

‘’And uhm, what would my reward be?’’ You ask your body to betray you within mere seconds as you think of how he will reward you. You, on the couch on top of him when fucking him-

He grins, when slowly touching your legs, going to the space between your legs, to where your dress ends. ‘’Whatever you like,’’ he purrs softly in your ear. ‘’ A cup of coffee, a donut…’’

You nod, a little disappointed and curse your dirty mind. That man is a saint for trying with you. Aemond reaches out to grab something close to your textbook and your eyes follow his fingers. ‘’People are likely to succeed more if they are disciplined too.’’ He is just teasing you, you tell your very dirty minded mind.

You know he will make you stand in the corner or perhaps take your phone away. ‘’And what would my punishment be?’’ You ask, dryly when you copy the sums from the textbook.

Aemond sighs. ‘’I won’t do anything you don’t consent to, that is the first lesson.’’ You were taking a sip of your cold coffee and nearly spat it out, all over your textbook as your cheeks burned with interest.

‘’But if you are into a little motivation, I guess I can show you another use for this pretty ruler.’’ He mutters, tapping with the ruler against the palm of his hand. You notice he has excellent self-control. This will be fun.

Yet you are surprised, that the red sweater glass-wearing sniveling little best of the class into BDSM. ‘’You’re into Kink?’’ You ask, your voice is a bit strangled.

‘’That’s not an answer, little brat.’’ 

He totally is. Gods, just your luck, stuck with Aemond Targaryen who is secretly into brat taming. Whatever sums you wanted to make, will certainly get fucked up now.

‘’Do you expect me to really learn better?’’ You hope he understands that your brain is just not a regular brain. It won’t magically solve things now that you are motivated. 

Aemond shakes his head. ‘’I kinda don’t. But it’s alright, love. I won’t get upset with you. Not really, at least.’’ He tells you with a grin. ‘’But I won’t lay a finger on you until I get your consent.’’ Such a gentleman. 

‘’Fine, you’re free to touch me.’’

On his lips, grows a dangerous smirk as he grins, before sitting next to you. ‘’What is the square root of 48?’’ He puts his left hand on your knee and slowly makes his way to your thigh…

Fuck. ‘’Uhm, 4.’’ You blurt out. It is a gamble but you don’t care.

Aemond chuckles before tsking as a disapproving teacher, before grinning and telling you the correct answer. ‘’That would be 6.’’ You growl, a little angry you didn’t know it. But he softly murmurs in your ear, when his hands go over your body. ‘’Take off your coat.’’ He tells you coldy. 

You let out a little squeak. He grins, adding softly. ‘’Again, if you want to, of course.’’

‘’I want you to strip too.’’ You tell him after you have taken your coat off. 

He chuckles, thinking you can’t defeat him. That you don’t know his weakness. But he told you, earlier today without him realizing so.  ‘’You can ask me questions but I know a lot more about math-’’

You interrupt him, smiling.

‘’What year did the Titanic sink?’’

Aemond gawks at you, before thinking deeply. It is a random event that did kill people, but it had no major consequences. ‘’1910?’’ He guesses. You grin. 

‘’1912, take off your shoes.’’ You tell him.

‘’Fuck.’’ he murmurs, but obeys. ‘’If I go with the train at 9:20, and the train takes half an hour-'’ No way you will get that one, so you take your dress off, zipping your zipper down and exposing your black bra and matching knickers. Aemond’s breath catches slightly, exhaling when his pupils enlarge.‘’Good girl.’’ That is enough to worsen your arousal and to harden your nippels. Aemond watches as it happens, a pleased contemptuous smile on his lips. 

‘’Tell me, little Brat. Darwin’s father has four children, Red, orange, yellow and-’’ It is a pattern question. A clear question. Red orange yellow are colors represented in the rainbow. ‘’Green?’’ The moment you said it, you repeat the question silently before growling.

‘’No! "It's Darwin!” You grow out.

He chuckles. ‘’You can keep your pretty knickers and bra on. I want you to sit on my lap.’’ You sit down on his lap, making sure to rub him a tiny bit in the process, to make him wild. He groans in your ear when forcing your ass down. ‘’Such a naughty little brat. And so wet for me too.’’ He murmurs in your ear when his fingers smoothly slide in your knickers, before toying with your folds, touching before inspecting your wetness. You twist on his lap, trying to force the finger to move deeper, harder, and rougher. Aemond pulls you tightly to his chest to avoid you moving at all.

You enjoy his control more than you should. ‘’Fuck…’’ You quietly mutter. He muses happily to himself as you squirm and twist on his lap. 

‘’So tense, are we shy, little brat?’’ He is toying with you, torturing you.

‘’Aemond, please.’’ You beg, helplessly as he begins to fuck your body with his fingers, and you happily fuck his hands, clenching yourself whenever you are allowed. 

You need to find release soon, and he knows it very well judging by his smirk. ‘’I’m afraid I won't listen to that name. You will call me Sir or you will refrain from speaking at all.’’ He says, and your fucked up little brain enjoys it too much.

That is so hot. He has an authority kink. ‘’Fuck!’’

He grins, as he takes a stance behind you.

‘’I’m afraid I can’t allow such crass words.’’

Oh shit. You feel your heart race and your stomach flutter with lust and butterflies and your curious mind wanders. ‘’Aemond…’’ He grabs you briefly by the throat, but he does not make it hurtful. He raises a brow. 

You look at your shoes.

‘’I meant, Sir…’’ Your face is pressed down against the wood of the table, before Aemond growls.

‘’Nothing will save you now, little brat. You are all mine.’’

He grabs the ruler and your cheeks are spanked first with his fingers before he moves on to the iron ruler, hitting your cheeks with precision but hard enough for you to like it. You squirm on the desk, certain you leave a trail of wetness as Aemond uses the ruler on both your ass cheeks, finding a torturous rhythm. And yet you like it. You want it to happen again, you want to brat. ‘’Fuck,’’ you cry out as three of his fingers enter your pussy. His left hand is feeling you up, when his right continues to punish you for your sins. ‘’Sir, sir please!’ You moan.

‘’Are you sorry?’’ He asks, between fucking you on the desk with his hand and spanking you. You nod, furiously. He sighs, letting go of you and his fingers leave your spent wet cunt. ‘’Good. Don’t be naughty again or I will punish you again.’’ He warns you. You want to brat. And you want to brat so hard that he will punish you with his cock this time. 

You bring your own fingers to your entrance but before that you can shove them in, Aemond has grabbed your wrist, painfully twisting it. ‘’Seems like someone can’t behave herself.’’ You nod, furiously as if you regret it deeply. Aemond sighs. ‘’Pull my pants down for me.’’ He tells you, and you inwardly cheer. You get to work, unbuttoning his jeans for him and pulling them down first, before staring at his boxers which barely hide his erected cock. 

You pull his boxers down too, freeing his cock as the red swollen tip is pushed in your face, with clear precum on the edge. ‘’Get on the desk.’’ He tells you. ‘’Bent over it, the way I know you want to.’’ You know what he means very well, and you obey, bending over the desk so he could take you on it.

He sighs before grabbing one of your hands and wrapping your fingers around his cock. ‘’Make me go wild, and I’ll fuck your little needy pussy.’’ You obey, your back turned to him as you try to please him with your fingers rubbing his head and his balls. 

You are bended, and Aemond opens your legs roughly and sharply, before going inside of you with his cock, filling you all the way with his length as you silently whisper. Aemond starts to trust and you become lightheaded and carried away on your pleasure. He fits so well. ‘’Sir,’’ you weakly mutter as he fucks you on the table, your book and hello kitty gel pens still present. Aemond grunts as an animal before grabbing the ruler, smacking your cunt this time, causing you to cry out in pleasure. ‘’Sir!’’ You repeat your own cry, before slamming your hips against his own, begging him to finish you. ‘’Please!’’ 

‘’Such a needy cunny. I’m going to come inside of you, little Princess. You are going to tell all your little whore friends about this, that you got fucked by a man in the library, used as a glorified slave. You will tell them how red and throbbing your little pussy was, and you will not tell anyone it was me. Is that understood, or do you need me to fucking explain it another way?’’ You understand, but you would love another explanation because it sounds so dirty.

‘’Another way. I’m pretty stupid.’’

He glares as if he disagrees with that.

‘’Very well.’’

Aemond grabs you by your hips again, fucking you.

‘’’N-no, Aemond, I have a party tonight-’’ You tell him, begging him to be a bit gentle.

He groans. ‘’I don’t care. Fuck your parties.’’

He did not get invited.

‘’Nhn!’’ You cry out as his cock cruelly fucks you, not giving a damn about your warnings.

Aemond’s lips briefly kiss your sweaty forehead. 

‘’Delicious, such a good cunny.’’ He murmurs, rubbing your cunt until blood sticks to his fingers. You need a little push. Just one tiny push. ‘’And now, you will come for me, my slut. When I tell you, you will come all over my cock, soaking me.’’ You nod, bracing yourself.

Aemond fucks you harder and faster and it becomes difficult to hold your orgasm in. You need to release it, you need to find a release fast. ‘’Sir, please.’’ You beg, helpless. He grins, spanking your needy pussy.

‘’I know, but try to show some self-respect, my little brat.’’ 

You wordlessly wail. He sighs, before impaling you thoroughly and resting his hands on your hips. He whispers in your ear. ‘’Come.’’ You obey, freed from a prisoner and let go when you two fuck each other roughly, your muscles hurting from the rough fucking on the desk. And finally, you come all over his cock, just as he promised you would. He takes you two more times after that, bringing you close to two other orgasms, before denying those two. You are taken without warning and lose your control, coming all over him, earning you a spanking and a rough fucking before he comes inside of you as well, with a lot of curse words and grunts. 

‘’Fuck, Y/N.’’ He murmurs, in your ear. You put your underwear and bra back on. The timer ends, revealing that two whole hours have passed. Aemond dresses himself quickly too, looking at your messy hair and glassy eyes. 

You become aware of the feelings and the urge to run far away from them. ‘’I have to go.’’ You tell him.

Aemond stops you, gently and you know he has become himself again, dropping the dom-act.

‘’No. You seem to know some things about Kink, but after playing with my ladies, I give them aftercare. You deserve a bagel, or a donut, or fuck it, another Starbucks if you want. If we were at my place, I’d prepare a bath for you or give you a message.’’ He rambles on. ‘’Let me buy you something nice for your lunch, and at least walk you home.’’ He asks, no, begs. Your face melts at his sweet manners. 

You put your stuff in your back, as Aemond zips up your dress for you, careful to avoid your hairs. He has done this before. You wonder how many times and with who. ‘’She is judging us.’’ He suddenly whispers, nodding to your hello kitty gel pen. 

After two hours he has become just as mad as you have. ‘’She knows too much, I might drown her into my Starbucks later.’’ You tell him.

He does not approve of that idea.

‘’That would be sad and torture.’’

‘’Fine, I’ll just…put her in my pencil case.’’ You do as you promise him, putting the gel pens in your pencil case.

‘’That’s it, good girl.’’

He winks before following you to Starbucks.

‘’Hey, uhm Aemond?”’ You ask after you are waiting for your order. Aemond looks around a little amazed. He has never been here before, calling it a capitalistic hell. 

‘’Yeah?’’ his hands nervously play with his rings. He can be so adorably shy.

‘’What are you doing tonight?’’ You wonder, hoping you don’t regret this. As in, he does not say no.

‘’Not much, I might actually play Zelda. Why?’’ He wonders.

‘’Want to come to this party with me?’’ You blurt out with a smile.

a/nthank you for reading let me know what you think. there might be a part 2 but i havent decided yet.

The eh creatures above the a/n are goombas.

[fafnir19]

A swimming lesson

It was another typical day at school, and as usual, I found myself in the crosshairs of Mr. Coachman's disdain. My name is Tristan, and I am what one might call an "unsporty" student. Thin, nerdy, and full of useless facts, I was the kid who always got picked last in gym class. Mr Coachman, a former athlete turned sport and philosophy teacher, had no patience for my know-it-all attitude. He believed that my incessant need to correct everyone was hindering the class and, quite frankly, his sanity. One day, Mr. Coachman approached me after yet another unnecessary correction during PE. He offered me a chance to improve my abysmal grades in sports by taking extra swimming lessons with him. Reluctantly, I agreed, desperate to boost my overall GPA. At our first swimming session, Mr. Coachman handed me a peculiar-looking swimming cap. He claimed it would allow me to hear and see his instructions directly in my head. I thought he was out of his mind, but upon putting on the cap, I realized it actually worked. It was a surreal experience, feeling Mr. Coachman's voice and visual cues echoing in my mind as I swam. The instructions were crystal clear, making it easier to perfect my stroke and improve my technique in record time. Weeks later, Mr. Coachman, noticing my progress, approached me with a new pair of swim goggles. He said they would help me focus better in the pool. Skeptical yet willing to try anything, I put them on and dove in. As soon as the water enveloped me, I felt a heightened sense of concentration. The outside world disappeared, and all that mattered was the water beneath me. Mr. Coachman's voice became a distant echo, guiding me through each stroke and turn. It was as if the goggles had transformed me into a single-minded swimming machine.

Mr Coachman observed my newfound dedication and satisfaction. I was exhausted from the intense swim training, which left me with no energy to display my usual know-it-all tendencies in class.

Several weeks later, Mr Coachman's next request gave me pause. He presented me with a slim blue Speedo and promised that it would enhance my speed in the water. There was just one catch—I had to shave off all my body hair. He argued that professional swimmers did it all the time for better speed and reduced resistance. I protested vehemently. "Shave off all my body hair? Are you out of your mind?" I exclaimed, my voice filled with disbelief. Mr Coachman, with a grin on his face, replied, "Of course not, Tristan! It's a small sacrifice in pursuit of greatness. Trust me, you'll thank me later." I crossed my arms stubbornly, determined to resist this outrageous demand. "Absolutely not! I'll wear the Speedo, but I draw the line at shaving my body hair. It's like asking a caterpillar to give up its fuzzy coat!" Mr Coachman's smile didn't falter, and he simply said, "Suit yourself, Tristan. But just remember, the pros do it for a reason." His words lingered in the air as an internal struggle waged within me. The temptation to conform and become the ultimate swimmer clashed with my natural inclination to rebel against such absurdity. In the end, though, curiosity won over. I figured, if I could endure the grueling training and wear these magical swimming items, what harm could a little body hair removal do? With a hesitant sigh, I finally agreed to Mr. Coachman's request. Trudging to the bathroom, I grabbed a razor, examining its gleaming blade with trepidation. As I stood before the mirror, thoughts of caterpillars and metamorphosis floated through my mind. I wondered if shaving off my body hair would truly transform me into a swimming powerhouse. With each stroke of the razor, I felt a mix of excitement and unease. Whiskers and hairs fell, leaving behind smooth, hairless skin. Trapped in my thoughts, I couldn't help but wonder what my friends would say or how they would react when they discovered my newfound aquatic obsession and hairless body. Finally, once all the hair was gone, I took a long look at my smooth reflection. It was a strange sight, almost otherworldly. I felt a mix of vulnerability and exhilaration, like a sea creature shedding its scales and emerging anew. Standing tall in my hairless glory, I slipped into the slim blue Speedo. Ready or not, I was about to dive into the next chapter of this bizarre journey, hoping that my shaved body would indeed prove to be a worthwhile sacrifice in the pursuit of greatness. Emerging from the water for the first time in my stylish Speedo, I had transformed. My physique resembled that of a Greek statue, not an ounce of body fat in sight. I was an athletic swimmer, a force to be reckoned with.

With my old clothes no longer fitting, Mr. Coachman outfitted me with a tight beige chino and a light blue shirt.

As I squeezed myself into the outfit, I couldn't help but complain about looking like a preppy dork. However, Mr. Coachman assured me that it was all about how I wore the clothes. Skillfully, he rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, unbuttoned the top buttons, and stood back to appraise his handiwork. "Aren't you a handsome devil?" he remarked with a satisfied grin.

Surprisingly, I found myself thanking him, swallowed by a sense of excitement and self-confidence that I had never experienced before. Something about Mr. Coachman's approval made me feel alive and validated, even if I couldn't pinpoint exactly why I had become so susceptible to his influence. And thus, Mr. Coachman's cunning plan had come to fruition. Those magical swimming accouterments had not only transformed me into a skilled swimmer but also had slowly but surely chipped away at my once-sturdy resistance. When I wore all three items—cap, goggles, and Speedo—I was utterly beholden to his every command, a true embodiment of the "perfect student-athlete" he had envisioned from the onset. Now a member of the swim team, I had gone from a nerdy outcast to a charming and good-looking athlete, the joy of all my teachers. But deep down, I couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Coachman's methods were entirely ethical. Regardless, I was living proof of his success, and the sensation of hearing Mr. Coachman's voice and visualizing his instructions while wearing the cap and goggles had left an indelible mark on my perception of swimming, forever changing the way I experienced the water.

[nenelonomh]

my freshman year really tanked my gpa (2.9) from what it should be. can i be saved?

hello, pretty,

absolutely, you can definitely recover from a low freshman year gpa! it might seem super difficult but its very possible, if you put in the effort. here's what i can suggest for you:

assess the situation: understand which courses affected your gpa the most and see if you can retake any of them. many universities (and some high school programs) allow grade replacement for retaken courses.

improve time management: develop a solid study schedule and stick to it. prioritize your assignments and avoid procrastination. personally, i've been using both the notion calendar and a physical calendar that i keep in my room. the notion calendar is good for day-to-day planning where the physical one (since it has a much smaller space to write) is good for any events or exams.

seek support: utilize campus resources like tutoring centers, academic advisors, and study groups. don’t hesitate to ask for help when you need it!

engage with professors: build relationships with your professors. attend office hours to discuss your progress and seek advice on how to improve. some of the teachers at my school hold tutoring sessions for struggling students, so inquire to see if your teachers will do the same.

focus on strengths: take courses that play to your strengths and interests. excelling in these can help boost your gpa.

stay positive and persistent: remember, one bad year doesn’t define your entire school career. stay motivated and keep working hard.

many students have successfully raised their gpas after a rough start, so you’re not alone in this. keep pushing forward, and you’ll see improvement over time. i believe that you can do it!

❤️nene

instagram | pinterest | blog site

[roosterforme]

Old Habits Die Hard Part 6 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: The slow burn threatens so make Sugar melt, and Bradley can't remember ever feeling this way before.

Warnings: Angst, swears, smut, fluff

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (fuckboy college student Bradley)

Check out my masterlist

"Oh my God," you sighed when you woke up late on Saturday morning. As soon as you opened your eyes, you couldn't stop smiling. Being walked home by Bradley was like a dream you didn't want to wake up from. 

His lips had been all over yours, hips pressing you back against the wall outside your apartment door. When you asked him if he wanted to come inside, he groaned, "Of course I want to, Sugar. But can we just... not? Not tonight?" 

You nodded in response, and he looked so relieved, you didn't think he meant for you to feel bad about what he said. You thought maybe it was more about him than you. 

As you ran your fingertips along his scars, Bradley melted into your hand. "Tell me you'll come back over to the house tomorrow. We can hang out again."

You smiled at him. "Yeah, I'll come back tomorrow."

He nodded slightly, still leaning into your palm. "Text me. I'll walk over and get you. Shouldn't be walking by yourself."

And you were still thinking about what he said the next morning. He wasn't your boyfriend. He would probably never be your boyfriend. So maybe you shouldn't be encouraging him to walk you to and from his frat house all the time, but you had already promised him he could do it again. 

"You're an idiot," you told yourself as you climbed out of bed, still wearing his sweatshirt. "He's not a good idea. You should know better." But you were still smiling. 

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

Bradley was antsy as soon as he woke up. He had too much energy. You'd gotten yourself under his skin somehow, and he felt like he needed to do something about it. He started pacing around his room. 

He'd been threatening to kiss you stupid, but you were the one who had managed to turn him into a brainless moron with your lips and your face and your body. 

"Dude," he groaned out loud. You had invited him in last night. He knew Janessa was staying with Tyson, so it would have been just the two of you at your apartment. It was an invitation for full steam ahead to getting laid, but he had said no. As if he had a shred of dignity left to protect. Like there was a thread of virtue left inside him. 

Why was it so important to him that you didn't think he was a complete fuckboy? He never cared what any of the other girls thought. He never stopped them from writing on his door. He had even once fucked a girl after she told him she just wanted to be able to get her name up there, like riding his dick one time was some sort of prize you could win. 

Just thinking about it made him uncomfortable now. He couldn't even remember that girl's name or what she looked like. But he remembered that she brought her own marker. 

He collapsed back onto his bed. He had to swallow around the lump in his throat. That was probably how Phoebe had become his safety net. She was there the night his face got busted up. She knew what happened and could have probably guessed why he got into a fight with Chase. She never gave him a hard time about any of it. And she never got mad when he went into a spiral where he started sleeping around more than usual.

And yet, Phoebe got away with not getting mad about the things he did, because she wasn't his girlfriend. Nobody cared about him enough to be that. 

Maybe things had started to improve when he started drinking less. The past six months had been better for him, in a lot of ways. He had been taking extra classes to get his GPA up as high as possible. He had actually been enjoying school. But he kept on going along with the easiest girls on campus, the ones who he knew wouldn't give his scars a second glance. The kinds of girls he'd always chosen. 

His mom would be disgusted, and he knew it. His dad probably never did this shit. He buried his face in his hands. You were supposed to text him later to let him know when to walk to your place and get you. He needed to tell you he couldn't see you anymore. He needed to stop being around you, starting today. Maybe he could get better, be better, but he'd have to try it with someone else. Because there was no way he could let himself ruin you, drag your reputation down to his level. Jeff had been right. You were too fucking good. 

And then he thought about how sweetly you talked to him last night. How well you had kissed him, and how he had pressed you down underneath his body. You trusted him. Trusted him with more than just his ability to get you off. 

Then he thought about you in his lap in the library study room. He wouldn't be able to tell you no if you said you wanted him. He was so weak. He had never let himself be interested in any other girl like this before. 

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

You had finished all of your schoolwork, and it was only mid afternoon. You couldn't text Bradley yet; that would have been as mortifying as when you came apart in his lap. So you tried to take a nap, then you watched a movie. You wanted to text him while you were eating dinner, but then you frowned, because he had been the one initiating texts with you ever since you wrote your number on his pristine door. 

"What the hell?" you whispered. What could his problem be? What if he hooked up with someone else last night after he walked you home? You pushed your plate of food to the side, suddenly no longer hungry. 

You glared at your phone, not wanting to be the one to make the first move. And just then it lit up with a text from him, and you quickly snatched it up into your hands. 

Sugar, I miss you more than I should be allowed to. Tell me to stop. 

Your heart was pounding now. Stop? You didn't want him to stop. So maybe he hadn't been with anyone else last night. Maybe he'd just been thinking about you. 

You wrote back, You're allowed to miss me all you want, Beer Boy. Or you can walk over and get me. Then you wouldn't have to miss me at all. 

You waited for a response but got nothing. You got changed and finished putting on some makeup, and he still hadn't written back. Finally, when you were about to see where Janessa was, he replied.

I'm on my way. 

You bit your lip and almost screamed. You put your dishes in the sink and thought about taking a shot of the cheap tequila you and Janessa bought before you turned twenty one. You needed a distraction. But then there was a knock at your door, and you rushed to open it. 

Chocolate brown eyes, messy hair tucked under a backwards cap. Smirk that made you feel silly. 

"Sugar," he whispered, leaning against the door frame with both hands and examining your face. "Tell me I'm not allowed to miss you."

Fuck that. You reached for the front of his shirt, pulling him toward you, and he released the door frame. "What if I want you to?" you asked him softly. 

He groaned as he pulled you against him and kissed you. 

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

He wanted you. He tried not to. He spent the entire day telling himself no. If you had told him no, he would have been gone immediately. But you were dressed all cute again, and your body was fitted perfectly against his. And you kept giving him a green light. 

"Bradley," you gasped when he ran his lips along your ear. "Feel like hanging out here instead of going to the party?" you asked softly. 

His cock throbbed for you. He hadn't let himself masturbate all day, and it had been a week since he got laid. You could have him right now if you wanted him. Right here next to your front door. But he was trying so hard to do what he should. Part of him still believed he came here to tell you he couldn't be around you anymore. The other part knew he was full of shit; he came here because he couldn't stay away. He was a fucking mess. 

"I signed us up for beer pong," he told you, his voice raspy as you ran your hand along his arm. 

You giggled, and he pulled you closer. "I suck at beer pong."

"I don't mind," he promised, taking your hand and leading you out. He listened to you talk as you walked. You asked him questions and wanted to hear what he thought about things, just like you had last night when he took you home. When you stopped at the crosswalk and kissed his scars, it felt nice. 

Tyson and Dev waved you both over to the game as soon as you got there. "You guys are up," Tyson said, handing you the ball. "Ladies first."

Bradley watched you get ready to start the game, smiling softly at him over your shoulder. And you weren't just bad at beer pong, you were terrible. But he didn't mind when you missed three shots in a row, because your little crop top was riding up higher every time you attempted a throw. 

When Bradley made his shot again, you groaned and glared at him. "Told you I sucked."

"How are you possibly this bad?" Bradley asked you, taking you by the hips from behind and moving you a foot further away from the edge of the table. "You're good at math! It's like a physics problem." He let his hands linger on your body for a beat as Tyson took his turn. 

You turned to look at him. "Huh. I never thought about it that way!" you said, and Bradley grinned, because he had made your eyes light up. 

"See, everyone underestimates how smart I actually am," he told you as he squared your hips and let his hands ghost up the soft skin along your sides, making you shiver. "Just get used to the way the ball feels when it leaves your hand, and let it arc down into the cups." Bradley removed his hands once you were in position, and when you took your shot, you managed to get the ball into a cup. 

"It's math, Beer Boy!" you told him with a smile. He could still see the fading hickey on your neck whenever you tossed your hair back from your shoulders. When he leaned in and placed his lips there, you moaned softly, and he felt weak. What the fuck was going on? If you were any other girl, he could have had you begging for him, fucked you in his room, and come back down to the party with a clear head. 

"Are you guys going to stop feeling each other up and play?" Tyson called from the other end of the table with a grin. 

"Sorry, man," Bradley replied, picking up the ping pong ball and tossing it effortlessly into a cup. "Math," he confirmed with a nod. 

The match was close, but Dev managed to edge the two of you out on the last cup. "I've never been that good before!" you told Bradley as he led you away from the table as the next opponents were called over. 

"You know the secret. Now you'll be unbeatable. Come on, let's get some of the good beers," he said with a smirk, dropping his hat onto your head. He had no idea where Jeff was, and he wanted to keep it that way. The kitchen was empty, and as soon as he had you in there away from the horribly loud music, you had your arms around him.

He took two beers out of the fridge and opened them before picking you up and setting you on the counter. "Warn a girl next time!" you screeched as he jumped up next to you.

"Sorry," he said with a laugh. Bradley couldn't get over you. "You look adorable in my hat."

He watched your cheeks flush pink. "I slept in your sweatshirt last night," you admitted with a smile, but you looked away from him. 

Fuck. "Lucky shirt," he muttered, and you turned to look at him, pressing your lips together. 

"What's wrong today? You seem... a little hesitant. And you didn't text me as much," you said softly, and Bradley's heart was in his throat. "Not that you need to text me or anything like that, of course," you said, fiddling with your beer before taking a big sip. "I was just, you know.... I like you."

"Sugar." Bradley took the beer from your hand and set it aside. You looked at him tentatively as he leaned toward you and brushed his lips softly against yours. Nobody had ever said that to him before. He'd never be able to stop now. "I like you, too."

You made a soft sound as he wrapped his hand gently around your neck and stroked his thumb along your jaw. 

"I'm sure you say that to every girl," you whispered, and his lips touched yours briefly again. 

"No, I never say that to any girls. That's the problem."

You laughed softly as his fingers drifted down your back and he gently kissed your neck. "That doesn't sound like a problem to me, Beer Boy."

"Oh, it is. It's a big problem."

"Then how do we solve it?" you asked as he pushed you back until you were lying along the kitchen counter, his hat rolling to the floor. 

Bradley watched you reach out to him, and he let you pull him on top of you. "You're smarter than me, Sugar. Might have to rely on you to figure it out. I can only think of ways to make it worse," he whispered, letting his fingers meet the soft skin between your jeans and your shirt.

You reached up and ran your hands through his hair. "Then make it worse," you told him. "Kiss me until I sound so stupid. Touch me until I sound so fucking dumb." 

"Jesus," he muttered as his lips crashed against yours, humming softly. You nibbled and licked until he dipped his tongue into your mouth to meet yours. Your fingers were a little rough against his scalp as he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, and both of his hands were all the way up your shirt. 

All the little gasps and moans you made were making him dizzy. You were so sweet, but Bradley already knew you were a little dirty, too. "You're the best combination of everything," he told you, stroking your tits through your bra. 

"Oh, God," you moaned into his mouth when he kissed you again. You bucked your hips up against him, and he anchored your body against the counter as his fingertips found your nipple. He teased you there as his tongue found yours, and you whined his name so loudly he was practically seeing stars. 

When the door opened and the sounds of the party filtered into the kitchen, Bradley froze.

"Come on, guys! That's where I make my sandwiches!" Tyson yelled. "What the fuck!"

Instead of looking embarrassed this time, you just laughed as Bradley pulled his hands back out of your shirt and sat up.

"Uh... sorry," Bradley said vaguely in Tyson's direction. "Won't happen again."

"I doubt that," Tyson said, glaring at both of you as Bradley helped you down from the counter and picked up his hat.

Bradley laughed when you waved over your shoulder and said, "Bye, Ty!" as Bradley pulled you out of the room. 

"He has no right to complain, really. I'm the only one who cleans this fucking house," Bradley muttered. When he tried to lead you back into the living room, you tugged on his hands and he stopped. When he raised an eyebrow in your direction, you nodded toward the stairs.

"Let's go up," you said softly. "Your room is quiet. And I want to be alone with you."

Bradley let you lead him there.

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

Bradley let you take control. You paused outside of his door, which still only had the note he had written to you and your phone number on it. "Just the way I like it," you told him before opening it and going inside. The soft glow of the Navy desk lamp warmed the room just like the previous times you had been in here. 

Bradley tossed his hat on his desk and ran his fingers along the ends of your hair. "Sugar." His voice was so soft, and his grin was just barely touching his lips. "I shouldn't have you. You're too sweet for me."

You shook your head slightly. "No, I'm not."

"Too sweet for anybody," he told you as his hands found the bare skin of your waist again, and you had to squeeze your thighs together. "I fucking want you so bad though. I don't know what to do."

You traced the long scar along his neck with your fingertips, and his eyes fluttered closed. "I want you too, Bradley." Gently, you kissed the spot where your fingers had been, and he pulled you against him. "I like you. All of you. You call me Sugar, but you're sweet to me."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing against your lips. "I'm different now," he whispered, and while you weren't sure exactly what he meant by that, you nodded your head. He was different than you thought he would be. 

Bradley dipped his head down and kissed you, his lips smiling against yours as he worked his hands higher on your waist. He pulled away a little bit and watched your face as he stroked along your curves with his thumbs. "That tickles a little bit," you told him, biting your lip to contain your giggles. But his hands inched a little higher.

"Want me to stop?" he asked, his thumbs finding your bra again just like in the kitchen. You'd worn your nicest underwear and a tight crop top that really had no place even being in your closet. He smiled, waiting for you to answer.

"Don't you dare," you told him, whining as his palms met your breasts, gently squeezing and kneading you through the lace fabric. You expected him to rip your shirt off, but he was taking his time. Somehow you knew this was not exactly the same guy who'd had the names all over his door. This guy was a better version. It felt like he was being better for you.

When your head tipped back, his lips found your neck, sucking and teasing you. Even though you tried to stop, you found yourself grinding your hips against him. He was already starting to get hard, and you knew you were already wet. One of his hands slid down to your butt, slowing your movement. 

"Don't rush this. I want to spend the whole night making my smart girl stupid," he told you, and your body shook. 

"Fuck," you said, nodding and agreeing with him as both of his hands went to the front of your jeans. He smirked as you steadied yourself with his shoulders.

"One word response. Starting to sound dumb already, baby," he said, teasing your lips with his as he dipped his fingers inside your open zipper. 

You could only moan in response as he slid both hands up your body and pulled your shirt over your head. He stared at you like you were beautiful, stroking his hands over all of your newly exposed skin. You expected him to want to fuck you quickly and then get back to the party, but things were never as they seemed with him.

Then his breath hitched as he ran his knuckles along your ribs on your right side, just below your bra. 

"You have a tattoo," he growled, immediately dipping his head down to kiss you there. "What does it mean?" he asked, running his tongue along your skin and making you cry out. 

"Oh! It's a math equation. Called Euler's Identity," you gasped as he nipped and bit you. "It contains the most important mathematical constants making it the only perfect formula in science," you managed to say with a shaky voice. Because now Bradley was on his knees in front of you, unhooking your bra and sliding it down your arms.

"It sure does look perfect," he told you. He kissed your tattoo again before looking up at your chest and your face. "Never seen anything better." He ran the tip of his nose along the underside of your breast, his fingers never leaving the ink on your flesh. His mouth was all over you, kissing and sucking, leaving your wet nipples exposed to the cool air. 

"I should have known you'd have a sexy math tattoo next to your tits," he said, scooping you up as he stood. "You're too fucking good to be true." 

You squealed in his arms as he walked across the room. "It's really more of a natural sciences tattoo, if you want to nitpick," you told him with a giggle, as he dropped you onto his bed and pulled his own shirt off. His body was gorgeous.

"Oh no..." he said, shaking his head at you as you scooted back to rest against his pillows, and he yanked your shoes off. "You're sounding too smart again. I must not be doing a very good job." 

You tried not to smile, but it was useless. "What are you going to do about it?" you asked, your voice shaking with need as he settled himself between your legs and stretched out over your body. 

"This." He pressed his lips to yours, tipping your chin up for better access to your mouth. Then he gently pinched your chin, easing your mouth open so his tongue could meet yours. He felt warm and slippery as he explored your mouth. When he licked your open lips, you whined, grinding your hips up again and clenching around nothing. 

"And this." He caressed your tattoo and palmed your breast with his big hand before letting his fingers trail down your body and dip into the elastic of your underwear. He slipped his fingers lower, moaning into your mouth as he eased one digit over your clit and through your wetness. 

You were going crazy now. Making unnatural little noises and pulling his hair with your hands. He knew he was making you stupid, and he was looking at you like he loved it.

But he didn't know that your orgasm in the library was the best sex of your life. He didn't know that you'd never been able to cum with any other guy before. He didn't know how much you liked him. 

"How does that feel, Sugar?" he asked, swirling his fingers along your clit just like you did to yourself when you were alone. 

"Good," you moaned, shaking your head against the pillow.

"What do you want?" He licked your breasts before pulling your nipple between his lips and teasing.

"More," you whined. "You."

He grinned. "Back to one word answers, I see."

He moved so gracefully, sliding your jeans and underwear off and settling between your legs. When he slid a finger along your slit and pressed his knuckle against your pussy, you almost couldn't stand how good it felt. "Bradley," you whined, as he kissed your hips and your belly. Then he slipped his finger into your pussy.

You watched him watching you, and he looked delighted every time your body involuntarily squirmed. He added a second finger, moving them just the right way to get you worked up. When his thumb brushed you again, your back arched off the bed. 

"Fuck," he muttered, working his fingers as he guided his body back over yours. "You're making me crazy," he groaned before kissing along your tattoo again. You wrapped your fingers around his wavy hair and watched his tongue glide across your chest. "Do you want me, Sugar?" he asked softly. "Can I have you?" 

"Yes."

When he gently removed his fingers from inside you and licked them clean, you moaned and squeezed your thighs together. He was immediately off the bed, and you gasped, missing his warmth and weight immediately. "Where are you going?" you whined, propping yourself up. 

"Need to get a condom," he replied, eyes on you as his hands shook opening a new box. "I'm coming back."

When he returned to the bed, you sat up and unbuttoned his jeans. He let you take your time guiding them down his hips and easing his boxers down as well. When you say how big and hard he was, your eyes darted up to his face. You licked your parted lips and he groaned so loudly you squeaked. 

"You're huge," you told him. He was going to hurt you. The other guys hadn't been this big.  

He must have heard the apprehension in your voice, because he told you, "We can stop," even as he was practically panting. 

You wrapped your fingers around him and gently squeezed his velvety warmth. "No. Just go slow?" you asked, running your fingers along his length. 

"Anything you want," he gasped.

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

Bradley had never been this excited in his life. He wanted you, and you wanted him back. He'd tasted you. He knew how good your skin felt. Now he was about to fuck you. 

He was completely sober, and delighted that he would remember all of this. He had never seen anything as gorgeous as your body bathed in lamplight. 

You were whining his name as he rolled the condom on and got himself ready. He kissed your lips and cheeks, running his nose against yours until you were smiling. Then he whispered, "Sugar," against your lips as he pushed himself inside you.

Your lips were parted and your cheeks were flushed as you grasped his hair tightly with one hand and wrapped the fingers of your other hand in his sheets. He didn't dare move for a few seconds as you got used to the feel of him. You were so wet and tight and perfect, Bradley kind of wished he could just stay inside you like this. But then he started moving, and his own need was building. A few minutes of this and he could tell by the way you were responding to him that you were already close. He'd worked you up and now he wanted to be good for you. He needed to be so good for you so you would stay with him. 

So he worked his hips a little faster, filling you all the way and then easing himself out a few inches before filling you again. "Oh God," he grunted next to your ear. Your eyes were squeezed shut, your chest rising with each whimpering breath you took. "You're such a good girl," he told you, moving nice and steady. "Look at me."

Your eyes fluttered open, bright and trusting as he caressed your breasts with his right hand. Moaning louder now, you raised your hips to meet each of his thrusts. "You feel so good," you whispered, voice hitching on the last word. Bradley pressed his lips to yours, kissing you and inhaling all of your little gasps. He pushed his hand lower to tease you, and soon you were shaking beneath him, squeezing his cock with your tight little pussy until he was grunting. 

"Oh my God," you whined, shaking your head and pulling his hair as you came. Bradley pressed his lips to your tattoo and whispered your name as his last thrusts drove his own orgasm home. 

He was never going to stop touching you. Every inch of your skin that he kissed and caressed was like silk. As he pressed his lips all over your shoulder and collarbone, your grip on his hair started to loosen, and your breathing evened out.

When he started to move, you grabbed onto him, holding him against you. So he wrapped his arms around you and stayed inside you, afraid to speak and break the spell. 

Finally, you kissed his forehead and giggled softly. "I can't believe this was better than the library."

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

Beer Boy and Sugar.... oh man, they are sweet together.

Big thanks to @mak-32 for helping me along the way. This one's for you, Mak.

PART 7

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@callsigndiamond

@harper1666

@throwinsauce

@beebslebobs

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@monte-carlando

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@apparently-sunshine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@topgunbb

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@high-bi-imgonnacry

@xoxabs88xox

[dvrcos]

Aaron Minyard is a dick yes but he’s a dick because he’s a scared ex-addict kid who’s desperately clawing at anything he can to be “normal” and not a Fox™.

Date the sweet cheerleader who also wants to be a doctor, get the 4.0 gpa, become a surgeon, Stay Away From The Foxes because association means he’s damaged and he’s Not Damaged anymore and definitely don’t talk to the therapist because that means he needs help which he Does Not Need. Keep the appearance of the “normal Minyard”.

He grew up in an abusive home with an addict mother who made him into an addict. Keeping up the normal appearance has been the name of the game his entire life, it’s second nature. Don’t let anyone suspect anything. Being apart of the Foxes comes with a reputation and that scares Aaron, it threatens a rickety appearance he’s oh so carefully built to protect himself from others (and mostly himself tbh).

Being an asshole and outwardly a dick is his trauma response. It’s the result of his refusal to process and come to terms with his past. He’s a dick to others because he’s the biggest dick to himself.

(Me personally, I also think his homophobia comes from a place of internalized shame and homophobia. Once again, he grew up with it drilled into him that he Needs to be “normal” and put together and I assume he probably also grew up religious ((his uncles a homophobic pastor who boarder line hates his own son)). Aaron grew up seeing how Nicky was treated for being openly gay. If he started having any thoughts about being anything other than straight, his first response would be anger and shame that’s expressed outwardly.)

His response to his internal shame and anger is to lash outwards at others rather than process it. (which isn’t an excuse, I just don’t think he’s an asshole because he’s an asshole at his core but because he carries a lot of shame.)

I think him rooming with Matt is what would really help him improve his ability to process his shit. (Along with more joint therapy with Bee and Andrew). Seeing Matt, another ex addict, who is fiercely kind and protective of the Foxes, who’s unashamed of his past and how it affects him now would be an eye opener for Aaron. His past doesn’t define him but it’s not something he can deny either.

Matt helps him see the Foxes as a group who has overcome their struggles. Who are helping eachother continue to over come their struggles. And he slowly starts to realize he can let them in and he can accept his past and still be successful and have the life he wants. And start to process and change the way he reacts the way he does.

(And process his not straight thoughts bc bi Aaron is real in my heart)

[horsesarecreatures]

Hi! I’m a big fan of the great pictures u post/reblog and your clear passion for animals :) As an incoming law student I haven’t seen many other law students who have such full lives / take part in so many non-academic or career related activites outside of school. I would love to emulate a somewhat similar lifestyle once I begin law school, would you be willing to share about how you manage your time to maintain such a balance? Have a great day! ❤️

Aww thank you! There are a variety of factors, some related to my personality and others are just how my fate turned out.

Personality wise, I'm extremely introverted and prefer being alone most of the time. I'm not in a relationship, so I have more time to myself. I also only go out with friends like once a month during the school semesters, if that. Finally, I don't have a TV or many other technology distractions, which forces me to turn to my hobbies more when I'm bored.

Then I was very fortunate because I got accepted to my law school with a full scholarship (I had a 3.9 something undergrad GPA and 165 LSAT score). Less lucky is that my dad passed away a few years back. It was a horrible time for me, but I do acknowledge that I was luckier than some people in the same situation because I inherited a house, and used the extra money from selling my brother's during the COVID real estate boom to get an apartment really close to my campus (his house was more valuable than mine so I got some of the difference in value to make things more fair). These two things have taken a ton of financial pressure off me. I still have to work, but not insane amounts to pay off debt.

For whatever reason, I also just learn really well with standard teaching methods, and I'm a good test taker. I don't bring a laptop to class, and writing notes by hand has been shown in studies to improve memory retention. So to be honest I don't spend too much time studying and still manage to do good.

I know I post a lot about reselling, but that's not my main job. My main jobs are tutoring and babysitting. For tutoring, I make $60-$80 per session, so it's not minimum wage and I don't have to do it for hours everyday. Then for babysitting, I work for doctors/nurses/other people that need late late night shifts. These shifts pay more, and the kids are mostly sleeping when I'm there, so I'm able to do my readings and case briefings at work most week.

My current internship writing policy suggestions for a nonprofit is remote and has a flexible schedule, so I usually do that work late at night as well.

My sleep schedule is trash and tbh I don't sleep enough. But I get things done! Lol.

Also, I can't emphasize this enough, try not to commute to school from far away! Try to live nearby. So many of my classmates commute from NYC and I feel terrible for them. Many have told me that they initially planned to do homework on the train/subway, but the reality is they usually can't because of distractions or lack of a seat.

[noirvette]

kyle! comforting reader dealing w/ academic stress!!

another headcanons and scenario!!

so sorry for this being a couple days since u requested anon, i hope you're doing wonderfully <3 all the best to u!!

cws: none!

Kyle gets this a lot, he has a lot of pressure that he puts on himself to maintain high grades, a social life, and to do good in basketball. His parents don't help either with this.

He 100% gets you when you start getting stressed out and panicked over grades or even stressed out on maintaining a certain grade.

If you're stressed over upcoming things to turn in, he helps you organize by importance and then by date. What homework assignment is the most important to due and when is it due, is there an essay? How many minutes a day should you spend on that essay and/or how many paragraphs should you do in a day. That sort of thing.

If you're stressed by a recent drop in a grade, he'll help you figure out ways to improve your grade, even if that means typing an email to your teacher for you by asking for any offers of extra credit.

He'll even help you figure out what grade percent you need to get on your next exam to help boost your grade back up.

He then'll help you study for that exam or test.

He loves to help you study, not only does he get to hang out with you, he gets to help you.

It's a two birds one stone situation for him to be able to help you and spend quality time.

If you come to him upset, his first instinct is to just hold you and rub your back as you explain the situation to him. He'll offer to make you tea or coffee, (or even get water if neither of the other options are for you) in hopes of helping you calm down.

He's a bit awkward on the whole just purely listening to you, Kyle's logical, and finds it easier to give you solutions to help fix your problems. (He'll get better at just listening if you remind him about that, he'll still prefer to give solutions though).

Which, because he's logical, wants to absolutely help you if you need or want him too. He hates seeing you stressed over things.

Knocking at Kyle's front door, you pick at your nails, waiting for Kyle to let you in. As he opens the door, you briskly walk past him towards his living room and he immediately senses your distress.

"Y/n? Are you okay? What's wrong?" Kyle asks, closing the door shut and following you as you sit on his couch.

"It's.. it's my grades in physics and history. We have a project coming up in history and I just don't get physics at ALL and my grade recently dropped and now I'm near failing. I can't focus in on history and midterms made my grade update and my gpa is so low, Kyle what do I do?!" You stand up abruptly, pacing back and forth, the stress of school causing your emotions to boil over at an all time high.

You feel like crying, you are crying actually and Kyle gently wraps his arms around your shoulders, before his hands start rubbing circles in between your shoulder blades.

"Oh hon, it's okay. Shh, how about I help you with physics. I can tutor you and help you with that class starting tomorrow?" He squeezes you a bit, rocking you back in forth slightly.

He feels you nod against him and he kisses the top of your head, "perfect, you relax right now, I'll get you something to drink. The history project isn't due for a couple more weeks so let's focus on physics for right now. I'll help you with your project too if you need, okay?"

Afraid to verbally respond in case you cry even more, you just nod again. Kyle guides you to sit on the couch, "let's just watch some tv baby, I'll go get us some blankets and drinks."

[thestarryeyedadmirer]

I came into Art School thinking that it’d be a walk in the park. I mean, I’ve been making art my entire life — painting, sculpting, printmaking, and working with wood for as long as I can remember. Not to brag… but, I’ve won so many awards for my work, my parents had to buy an entire storage unit for me, just to have somewhere to store all of my accolades. I’ve even been recognized on a national level for some of my pieces. The things that many of my peers are only now learning how to do in college, I’ve been doing as mere hobbies for most of my life… and, I’d like to think that I’ve mastered them… so, it was only natural for me to come into my first year of university operating under such an ignorant assumption.

When it comes to school, I usually don’t have a hard time being successful. My academic records and transcripts speak for themselves. In all my years of education, I’ve never gotten a grade lower than a B, not even once, and I’ve been a Top Scholar since second grade. I’m good at juggling my responsibilities — making ample time for studying, doing and turning in my homework assignments earlier than I need to, acing every test, and racking up the hours of extracurricular activities — but, this semester, I’m having some trouble focusing in my Art History class… just the one class… and it’s not for any reasons that you may be thinking.

See… I have this professor — Professor Pascal — who teaches my Art History course… and when the year began, he was already about six months pregnant. I’m talking belly popping out underneath his shirt, outie navel as big as a doorknob, chest all puffy and leaky, feet so swollen that he can only wear Crocs and open-toed shoes in class, constantly moody and complaining about his body aches, binge eating in class, and too foggy-headed to maintain a straight line of thought pregnant. Like… pregnant, pregnant. Extremely pregnant. The man is at least forty-five years old… which is concerning on its own… and he’s as big as a house.

To make matters worse, he always wears clothes that he bought before he got knocked up — before he started to gain weight, and his belly began to swell — and they’re so obiously tiny and uncomfortable. Sweaters that are meant to be loose, stretched past their limits and tucked into his pants, to cover his massive stomach. Button-downs that pop open several times during lectures, exposing his hairy, bloated torso to hundreds of students at once. Suit jackets that don’t accommodate for the extra weight that he may have gained. Khakis that hug him so tight that they look like a second layer of skin. Underwear that peeks over the waistband of his bottoms, rides up his butt crack, and shows off a visible outline of his engorged genitals.

He so pregnant that it’s honestly hard to ignore. You know how, usually, when someone’s expecting, you can just acknowledge it and move on… most times, without things being weird or awkward? Well… it’s not like that with Professor Pascal. Not for me, at least. I just can’t stop staring at his belly in class… thinking about it. It takes up so much space in my mind, I think it may be making me… dumb.

No matter what the subject of his lectures are, what assignments he may have us doing for the week, or how many pages of notes that I take, I can’t stop gawking at it… curious. It’s like, I can’t see anything else, or hear anything. The huge whiteboard and padded, sound-reflective walls behind him fade into a plain, flat backdrop… and his words slowly turn to gibberish. I get tunnel vision… stop taking notes, and everything. I can’t retain any information… and then I have to cheat on my homework, my quiz grades drop… then my test scores, and then, my GPA. It’s a slippery slope.

I’ve never, not once in my life, had an overall letter grade lower than a B… but, in Professor Pascal’s Art History course, I’m going through the semester with a C+.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me… or what I can do to improve my grade. He doesn’t offer extra credit, or accept late work. He says that his class is “too easy for anyone to fall that far behind”… and yet, here I am, with a C+.

It’s just… when I’m sitting in that lecture hall — in the very first row of seats — that tunnel vision sets in, and I start to daydream. I… I fantasize about him coming down from his low-rise stage and walking up to me. He picks me, out of a crowd of nearly three hundred people, even though my hand isn’t raised, and presents me with a question regarding the curriculum… something that I’m supposed to know the answer to. Of course, I fumble the response… and, as he’s standing in front of me, waiting impatiently for me to come up with even a single sentence that makes sense, his button-down shirt bursts open, and his beautiful belly spills out, hitting my face like a fuzzy airbag. Next thing you know, I’ve lost control of my tongue, and I’m slurping at his navel as though a life-giving nectar is going to leak out of it… or something like that… in front of everyone — just making a sloppy mess of saliva on my professor’s pregnant belly.

It’s sick… I know. Maybe I’m disturbed, or there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I’m a freak… but I just can’t control it. The fantasy is too good. All I know is that, for the first time in my entire academic career, I’m falling behind… and, the worst part about it is that I can’t pin the blame on Mr.Pascal for being a shitty professor, or make the claim that he’s harboring some deep-seeded hatred for me. My poor grade is all my fault… and I have to live with that.

[petitprincess1]

"Vivzie never takes criticism," WRONG! Vivzie doesn't take YOUR criticism because it isn't criticism. Imagine if every single thing that you've ever drawn just gets consistently criticized, even when you believe that you've come a long way. Yes, there's always room for improvement, but not everyone wants to hear criticism all the time! Sometimes you just wanna be happy with what you have at the moment.

If all you have for someone, especially artists, is nothing but negativity or criticism without even telling them what they're doing right, then don't be shocked if they stop coming to you. If that person continues to listen to you, they're no longer drawing to better themselves. THEY'RE DRAWING TO APPEASE YOU! As long as YOU like it, then that artist must mean they're doing something right. You're not qualified to critique anything, if you take away the individuality of the artist.

"Well, I went to college-" good for you, so did Vivzie. Besides, people can graduate college with low GPAs in college. Also, just because you graduated college, doesn't mean you're an expert. You may know more than the average person, but I still wouldn't exactly trust you more than anyone else. And college doesn't exactly make you Yoda. You still are learning and growing, let HER do the same.

I'm sorry for the random rant. It's just something I needed to get off of my chest. Last thing, Vivzie does listen to criticism, like her characters being overly detailed and you can see them becoming simpler in the redesigns. The problem is that Vivzie isn't listening TO YOU, specifically, and it's a damn good thing that she isn't.