#chalkboard doors

[studyelephant]

Bathroom Boise

Inspiration for a large timeless black and white tile marble floor powder room remodel with a two-piece toilet, beige walls and a pedestal sink

[prettylittlebigliars]

Powder Room Boise Inspiration for a large timeless black and white tile marble floor powder room remodel with a two-piece toilet, beige walls and a pedestal sink

[overlordneptune]

Kay Faraday, dressed as Edgeworth, on me laptop, because I haven’t posted anything in a while, in fact I haven’t drawn much in a while, the art block do be blockin’ 😔

[gotham-snark]

B&R 9 preview

[crabsandbeer]

Door and Chalkboard in an Abandoned High School. by Kevin B. Moore Via Flickr: I love peeling paint. Eastern Shore of Virginia,

[candyredterezii]

[willosword]

oh the agonies <- the only way she can set up a desk in her new room is if her back is to the door

[tanadrin]

So one of the things that can apparently contribute to kidney issues in cats is if they eat too much dry food and don't drink enough water; cats are adapted to get a lot of their water from their food since they're originally desert animals, and might not get enough water if they don't eat wet food. Unfortunately, Dozy won't eat wet food no matter what; she categorically refuses to touch the stuff. So a few months ago, we were looking for ways to get Dozy more fluids, and my wife noticed at the pet store a cat drink--basically meat broth with some floaty bits in--that was low-protein and meant for cats with kidney issues. So we figured, worth a try, right?

Great news: she loved it. Super tasty apparently. Great success. Along with the kidney-sensitive treats we found, it was a nice way to supplement her diet. Unforseen long-term consequence though: she loved it so much she began demanding it throughout the day. Like, would come up to us and meow, and meow, and meow, and not stop, until we got up, went to the kitchen, and got her some cat drink.

And by doing so on demand, we have unfortunately created a monster: no matter what we are doing at home, Dozy knows that if she sits next to you and meows, 1) you know what she wants, and 2) you know that she will not stop until you get it for her now. And when you do get it, she gets extremely excited. She will bum rush the kitchen door as you enter. She will run around your feet as you open the can. She will let out the creakiest, crunchiest, most nails-on-the-chalkboard meow you've ever heard if she thinks you're not going fast enough.

I do not begrudge her this. It is gratifying to care for a creature whose most ardent desires are so simple that it is this easy to fulfill them. But I am a little sad, because I know in my heart that I have never loved any comestible as much as she loves this cat drink. She has a pleasure of a purity and intensity that I will never know.

[the creacher in question]

[luvsupa]

“WHATT? NEVER SEEN A GHOSTT..”

summary: next time be respectful for gojo’s memorial. . .

tags: ghost!gojo x fem!reader, smut, threesome (ig ..?), use of clone techniques, jjk spoilers, mean gojo, ōral sex (f!recieving), size difference,belly bulging, full nelson, degrading, dumbification, etc, mdni.

w.c: 4k . . .

a/n: GUYSSS WE GOIN UPPP ☝🏽 TYY FOR 1,7K MWAAAAA

+ sorry for the errors

kinktober masterlist

the halloween theme park buzzes with screams from rollercoasters and actors in horror costumes that look almost too real. you walk arm in arm with your friends, all of you decked out in matching monster high costumes. at first, you weren’t into it, but after enough pestering, you caved and ordered clawdeen’s full outfit.

the crowd can’t stop complimenting the four of you. from the boots to the hair, everything is spot-on. but gosh these platform boots are killing you. you can already feel tomorrow’s regret setting in.

“ooo, let’s try this ride before we leave,” one of your friends says through the fake fangs she’s wearing as draculaura. you all turn your heads to see what she’s pointing at. a sign reads infinity maze, with eerie, glowing blue eyes blinking on and off. it’s famous, mostly because the guy who designed it—gojo satoru—died a few years ago, turning it into some kind of attraction with ghost stories attached.

you scoff. people are suchwimps.

as you approach, you’re grateful for your speed passes because the line is insane. “okay, how about we make a bet?” your cleo-dressed friend suggests. “slowest time pays for dinner.”

you grin at the challenge, nodding along with everyone else.

as you wait, something catches your eye—a giant memorial statue of gojo satoru, standing tall near the maze entrance. his cocky grin is frozen in stone, and beneath it, the descriptiom reads,

in loving memory of satoru gojo. forever lovable and the strongest.

you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “who gives a fuck about him?” you say, loud enough for your friends to hear. they giggle, and you continue, “seriously, they’re doing the most with this memorial. it’s not that deep.”

one of your friends shakes her head, trying not to laugh too hard. “it’s haunted, remember?” she says mockingly, to which you just snicker.

“haunted, my ass.”

your first friend goes into the maze, and you start timing her on your phone. almost three minutes later, she comes out breathless, claiming the only scary part was a worker grabbing her ankle at the end.

next up are the others, who all manage to escape in under two minutes. the pressure’s on now, but you refuse to be the one paying for dinner. with a quick glance at your friends, you flash your speed pass to the coordinator, ready to sprint through this lame maze and leave them all in the dust.

your platform boots thud heavily against the creaking wooden floor, each step echoing in the suffocating silence. the door slams shut behind you with a sharp clack, sealing you inside. a deep breath fills your lungs, but the air feels heavy, thick. the faint glow of flickering lights ahead barely cuts through the darkness, revealing the first room—a classroom?

it’s an old, japanese-style classroom, but something feels off. chairs are scattered across the floor like a struggle took place, and bloody handprints—too real for comfort—smear the walls. your heart races as a sudden crack of thunder rips through the air, making the weak lights above you flicker wildly. it feels like you’ve been transported, as if this isn’t a theme park anymore... like you’re somewhere else, somewhere you shouldn’t be.

you inch forward, boots sinking into the floorboards with each loud creakk. you can’t shake the feeling that the room is watching you. the chalkboard looms at the front, with jagged, uneven writing smeared across it

look behind you

your stomach twists. your mind fights to stay rational—it’s just part of the maze, it’s not real. but your hands are trembling as you slowly turn. nothing. just scattered desks and the harsh, stuttering light overhead. thunder crashes again, timed too perfectly. 

your heart rate slows a bit, but you mutter under your breath, stupid maze, trying to shake off the unease as you head toward the next door. the sign above it reads, hall of mirrors,

the knob feels cold in your hand as you twist it, stepping into the next room. pitch-black darkness swallows you whole, except for the mirrors that tower from floor to ceiling. hundreds of them, endless reflections stretching out in every direction. your eyes adjust to the faint, flickering light—just enough to see yourself, but not much else.

“fuck,” you whisper, hating mirror mazes with a passion. you move cautiously, knowing you’ll bump into a dead end at some point. your reflection multiplies with every turn, making it feel like you’re being watched from all angles. you stop in front of one mirror, catching your breath, and take a moment to adjust your costume.

you smooth down the sheer purple mini skirt, making sure your wolf ears are straight on your head. you shift slightly, checking out your ass in the reflection, appreciating how well the outfit hugs your body. you’re about to laugh at yourself when your eyes catch something—a shadow

a figure. behind you. 

your breath stops cold. your friends hadn’t mentioned anyone being in here with you. you freeze, heart pounding as you stare into the reflection, too terrified to turn around.

“o-oh um, did I come in the room too early?” you stammer, your voice barely steady, assuming he’s the worker who grabbed your friend’s foot earlier. you swallow hard, trying to make sense of the tension creeping up your spine. the lights flicker again, casting shadows that stretch too long. your eyes twitch as you stare into the mirror—he’s still there, standing so still it sends a chill down your spine.

the lights flicker again, plunging the room into darkness. your pulse races. you can feel his presence behind you, closer now, even though you haven’t turned around. every hair on your body stands on end, anticipation mingling with fear. when the lights finally come back, your breath catches in your throat.

gojo satoru.

he stands right behind you, towering over your smaller frame, his eyes glowing like cold fire through the mirror. his presence is overwhelming, suffocating, andelectrifying. his ocean-blue gaze locks onto yours through the reflection, freezing you in place. you can’t move, can’t breathe, as his lips curl into a slow, dark smile.

“nahhh, you came at a good time,” he drags out, voice low, rough, as it echoes through the room. the sound of it, mixed with the flickering lights, makes your knees weak. he steps closer, his icy fingers brushing the hem of your skirt, sending a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches as you feel his touch, subtle yet possessive.

“and who are you supposed to be?” his voice is condescending, almost mocking, as his hand continues to toy with the fabric, lifting it just slightly. the way he says it makes your heart race faster, your skin prickling with a mixture of fear and something else—something darker.

you glance up, meeting his gaze in the mirror, tears forming in your eyes. this can’t be real. his white hair falls messily around his face, his long lashes shadowing those dangerously beautiful eyes.

“h-how? y-you’re dead,” you blurt out, ignoring his question as panic takes over. but his chuckle—low, dark—vibrates against the back of your neck, making you shudder. you’re trapped between the mirror and him, his breath warm and taunting against your skin.

“that i am,” he murmurs, his lips so close to your ear, “but you know what they say… energy never dies. you brought me here.” his words wrap around you, suffocating, intoxicating. your mind spins, trying to comprehend. you brought him here? how could you possibly—?

“h-how?” your voice is barely a whisper, trembling as you try to make sense of his words. it feels like the room is shrinking, like the walls are closing in, the air too thick to breathe.

“don’t play dumb now,” he chides, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. the heat of his palm sends sparks through your body. you shouldn’t want this, but the way his fingers tease your skin, the slow drag of his hand, has you clenching your thighs together.

suddenly, it hits you. images of you mocking his memorial, laughing at his statue, flashing through your mind. his low chuckle tells you he knows exactly what you’re remembering.

“i-i didn’t mean-”

“didn’t mean it? nahh, pretty, you fuckin’ meant it.” his plush lips press against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make your knees weak. fuck, you shouldn’t be getting turned on by this, by a ghost. yet, your body betrays you, burning up under his touch.

he leans into you, his teeth grazing your exposed skin, making you flinch. fangs? you tremble as he brushes his fingers under your chin, lifting your face so your wide, glossy eyes meet his through the mirror.

“all that nasty energy you have within you… mmm, that’s why.” his voice drops as he nibbles on your earlobe, tugging lightly on your hoop earrings, making you wince.

“‘m sorry, j-just don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything,” you stammer, your voice shaky as his grip on your chin tightens. his movements still, and the way he smirks behind you makes your heart sink. you’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable—like you just handed him your dignity on a silver platter.

without a word, he pushes your back down, forcing you to brace yourself against the mirror, your fingertips smudging the glass as you struggle to keep steady. glancing to another mirror, you see him crouching down, eyeing your clothed cunt with dangerous curiosity.

“anything, she says”, gojo quietly says, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you arch your back just right for him. his eyes darken when he notices how soaked your panties are, the fabric clinging to your folds, sucked in by the wet heat between your thighs. of course, the lights choose now not to flicker—how fucking embarrassing.

with a quick, rough tug, gojo hooks his finger into your panties, pulling them side to side, watching how your chubby folds swallow the fabric before yanking them aside, fully exposing your dripping cunt. you clench hard at the sudden cool breeze against your exposed skin, and he pauses, mesmerized.

“you like this, huh? getting off to a dead man… ohh, you’re disgusting,” he mocks, his voice low and sinister.

“‘m going to make sure you live your dirty fantasies,” he growls, his tone laced with intent.

and he really is.

gojo has been diving into your cunt for what felt like hours, his impossibly slimy tongue lapping up your juices as your gummy walls snugly embrace him. your hands grip the sides of the mirror for dear life, feeling him reach the deepest parts of you. you’re moaning like a bitch in heat, your desperation rising as his spare hand mercilessly toys with your clit, not in cute circles, but pinching and pulling on your sensitive nub with no mercy whatsoever.

your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably as he pushes you to your third orgasm, broken moans escaping your glossed lips. your pussy slowly feels numb, overwhelmed by how hungrily he’s eating you out. do they not feed him in his world?

“ngh—‘toru, it’s too m-much,” you hiccup, and he growls behind you, the sound vibrating through your body. at this point, you’ve completely forgotten about your friends, about the stupid bet—you’re lost in the most toe-curling head of your life.

your stomach churns unexpectedly as you cum again, your brain so fuzzy that you can’t even comprehend it. he loudly slurps up your mess, not wasting a single drop as he licks you clean, your cunt twitching around his tongue. when he pulls his tongue from your gaping hole, your swollen folds throb in response as he grins at your state.

“heh, look at you—just a slut for a ghost!” he taunts, now standing behind you, grinding his achy bulge against your exposed cunt. his eyes never leave your face in the mirror.

“let’s see how much dick she can take,” he mutters to himself, cupping your pussy, clearly addressing her rather than you. as you catch onto his words, a wave of confusion and excitement hits you. how much? there’s more than one?

before you can process anything, you blink once and find yourself in the most insane position you’ve ever been in—full nelson. gojo has you completely at his mercy, holding your legs high above your head with a firm grip, locking you in place like a ragdoll. your tall platform boots dangle helplessly in the air, the sensation thrilling and humiliating as you stare at your reflection in the endless mirrors surrounding you. your stomach twists at the sheer size difference between your body and his, your eyes widening as you see your slick, swollen cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

your miniskirt is now so short that it’s bunched up around your waist, exposing more skin than you’d ever intended. your eyes drop lower, and you gulp as you take in the sight of his cock, standing proudly upright. the base is a tan colour, thick and powerful, with mean veins decorating the sides that pulse with each heartbeat. the bulbous tip is a deep pink, glistening with droplets of cum that catch the dim light.

with one hand firmly securing your legs, gojo uses his other to tease you, rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds, the sensation sending electric jolts through your body. you bite your lip at the girth of his shaft, feeling a mix of excitement and horror. he’s definitely bigger than all your previous exes, and with every second you spend in this position, he brings undeniable shame onto them.

“can you handle it, baby?” he taunts, his voice dripping with condescension as he revels in your predicament.

“yes, I can-”

without lettint you finish, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep within your slick warmth. the suddenness takes your breath away, and you let out a gasp as he fills you completely. his girth stretches you in a way you’ve never experienced before, almost burning as your gummy walls clench around him, trying to accommodate his size. each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, a delicious blend of pain and ecstasy as you realize you can only take it.

gojo holds you firmly in place, using this ruthless position to keep you utterly at his mercy, revelling in your helplessness. with each powerful thrust, he drives deeper, hitting spots inside you that make your vision blur and your legs tremble. you can’t escape, all you can do is take what he gives you, your body completely surrendered to the pleasure.

“look at you, taking it so well,” he growls, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he watches your reflection in the mirror. your moans fill the room, echoing off the glass, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. the sweat glistens on his body, making his white hair stick to his forehead, adding to the rawness of the moment. “you’re nothing but a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”

you can only whimper in response, your head spinning as his relentless rhythm pushes you closer to the edge. your thighs shake uncontrollably as he hits that sweet spot, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust. you’ve completely forgotten everything but the way he stretches you out, your body fitting around him perfectly as if you were made for him.

as gojo thrusts into you relentlessly, your collar jingles with every powerful movement, a stark reminder of your current position. each chime echoes in the room, amplifying your vulnerability as he drinks in the sight of your pretty, disheveled form. he watches how your eyes flutter in bliss, how your lips part with each thrust, and how your reflection reflects the pure ecstasy etched across your face.

“what happened to all that toughness?” he sneers, his breath hot against your ear as he quickens his pace. “wanna tell me how stupid this is?” his laughter reverberates through the air, as he reminds you of your sly comment.

the humiliation of his words ignites a flame deep within you, and despite the embarrassment, your body craves more. your jewelry clinks and jingles as he pounds up into you, each sound mingling with the echoes of your moans. the sensation is overwhelming, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of submission, your mind hazy as pleasure clouds your thoughts.

as you struggle to keep your eyes open, the world around you blurs and spins. you can’t tell if it’s the overwhelming pleasure or the way he’s wrecking you, but you swear you see multiple gojos swarming around the two of you in the mirrors. they grin wickedly, each one reflecting the same smug confidence, but you’re too lost in ecstasy to process it completely.

am I seeing things? you wonder,

your mind foggy from the pleasure coursing through your body. each thrust sends you spiral deeper into submission, heat pooling in your core, ready to explode.

then, without warning, you feel another hand, another gojo, playing with your pussy. your eyes shoot open, panic flooding your senses as you choke back a gasp.

he can clone himself!

your body responds eagerly to the dual sensations, the original gojo still jack hammerinh relentlessly inside you while his clone teasingly rubs your clit, heightening your pleasure to unimaginable heights. as if sensing your need, the clone moves closer, rubbing his chubby tip along your widened folds. you scream internally, panic flashing through your mind as he presses against you, the overwhelming stretch igniting both fear and pleasure.

there’s no fucking way.

the clone pushes in slowly, stretching you beyond your limits, sending shockwaves through your body. you cry out, your voice a mix of pleasure and pain, tears brimming in your eyes. he’s moulding himself deep within your walls as you feel every inch of your velvety walls being re-designed for him.

the original gojo leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “c’mon, big baaaad wolf, can you handle both of us?” he taunts the nickname referring to your costume, as his thrusts becoming more forceful as the clone fills you. “i thought you were a big girl.”

you can only moan in response, the sound mingling with the jingle of your jewelry as they continue to drive you wild. the mirrors reflect your state—multiple gojos swarming around you, each one more enticing than the last. their mocking smiles deepen your humiliation, but the pleasure they bring you makes it impossible to care. both their cock heads rushing as if it were a race to reach your cervix as you squeak at the brutal thrusts.

“look at you, a pathetic mess,” the original gojo mocks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as you squirm between them. your gaze lazily drifts to the your tummy where a large bulge forming beneath your costume, moans escaping your lips at the sight. “you love being filled up like this, don’t you? who’s the stupid one now?”

your body betrays you, your pussy clenching around both of them as they thrust in sync, stretching you to your limits. the lewd squelches and sloshes of your dripping cunt fill the air, drowning out all coherent thoughts. each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, the overwhelming sensations causing your mind to spiral into oblivion.

the clone suddenly flicks your head, thr pain forcing you to look at him, and you feel a rush of clarity amidst the haze. “stay with us, pretty,” he demands, his tone both condescending and sultry. 

“we- hgnn -want to see that face you make when you fall apart.” you shudder at the sound of his voice, the way it sends waves of heat coursing through your body.

“mmf—i can’t. . . ’s too much,” you babble, your voice rising higher as the clone continues to push into you, the overwhelming sensation of fullness sending shockwaves through your body. pleasure and pain blur together, and you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

“ohhh, but you can,” the original gojo growls, thrusting harder, your body shaking as you sob loudly, the sounds echoing off the mirrors as your achy walls clenching around his thick shafts.

every angle captures your struggle—your skin glistening with sweat, your costume soaked and clinging to your curves, and the way you’re trapped between two versions of the man you crave. the reflections amplify the chaos, a never-ending loop of desire and degradation as you’re thrust deeper into submission.

“what about your friends?” the clone taunts, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. “what will they think when they find you like this?” the thought sends a wave of humiliation crashing over you, but the pleasure is relentless, drowning out any semblance of reality.

“anddd what about that bet you had?” the original gojo continues from behind, his voice dripping with mockery. “i bet they wouldn’t believe how much you enjoy being filled up by us.” you nod at his words, sniffles escaping your nostrils as fat globs of tears streak down your cheeks, your makeup a ruined mess.

they’re so deep inside you that it feels like they’re going to split you in half. each thrust stretches you to your limits, their relentless rhythm pushing you closer to the brink.

you swear you feel him in your chest.

“please… i need to—” you gasp, your body trembling as the clone toys with your clit, electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your senses blur, and all you can feel is the overwhelming fullness and the pleasure spirall out of control.

“let go, pretty,” the clone whispers, fingers dancing over your sensitive bud. “show us how much you want it.”

with one final thrust from the original gojo, the heat builds to an explosive climax. you feel your body tighten around them, walls pulsing as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you.

“fuckk!” you scream, body convulsing as you squirt, release gushing out of you and mixing with his cum. gojo’s thick cum shoots deep inside as he paints your gummy walls a pretty milky white, creating an intense mess that ends up coats your inner thighs. the overwhelming sensation sends you spiraling into a realm of ecstasy, every nerve ending igniting as you succumb to the bliss.

“what a sight,” the original gojo grunts, breath heavy with satisfaction. you’re lost in the aftermath, body shaking as you ride the waves of pleasure, mind fogged with overwhelming satisfaction and disbelief at the chaos that has consumed you.

as you try to come back from your intense orgasm, the clone pulls back and disappears. when gojo finally slides out of your cunt, a waterfall of cum oozes from you, thick globs spilling forth—it’s utterly inhumane. gojo carefully places your wobbly legs, which had been in the air for what felt like hours, back on the ground as you collapse, the numbness too much to bear.

the mess cascades down your gaping hole, sticky and warm, creating a thick pool beneath you. you can’t help but feel utterly exposed, the evidence of their domination staining your costume and making you acutely aware of how thoroughly you’ve been filled.

the sight is almost too much to bear, the way your body quakes with the remnants of pleasure while the glistening fluid slowly drips, accentuating the chaos you’ve just experienced. you feel humiliated yet impossibly aroused, the reflections in the mirrors surrounding you amplifying your vulnerability as he stands, watching you tremble.

“c’mon, baby, your friends have been waiting,” he coos, picking you up bridal style as you mumble nonsense, your brain so fucked that you can barely string a thought together. he strides through the mirror maze and into the last room, steadying you onto the ground for you to exit on your own.

he fixes your hair and outfit, quickly pecking your lips before opening the door and giving you a final push. you stumble out, the cool breeze hitting you like a splash of cold water, bringing you back to reality.

“girl, what the hell took you so long?” your friends shout as you try to steady your wobbly legs. one of them shoves her phone in your face, and your jaw drops.

50 fucking minutes.

“t-the worker was—”

“t-the worker- shut up. now you’re buying us food.” one of them mocks, handing you your belongings while they stare you up and down, taking in how badly you’re shaking and your frizzy hair.

“jeez did a demon fuck you? you look like you got meannn dick in there,” she jokes, and everyone bursts into laughter, including you. they have no idea what you’ve just been through, but you can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

[chalk-board-galore]

...

[viralarcadian]

you can revisit almost every single location from blood covered, except the principal's office, which has been blocked off by a pulsating wall of meat and stays that way the whole game. maybe the devs couldn't think of any good reason to revisit it or any good spooky things to put in it as an easter egg. i dunno i think it'd be cool to go back in there and like, find the fucked up corpse of the principal the same way aiko and inumaru find the fucked up corpse of yoshikazu in ch 2. maybe a bit cathartic too

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[berserkrgangr]

Transitional Basement Basement - large transitional underground carpeted basement idea with gray walls, a standard fireplace and a tile fireplace

[raindrop-valley]

Traditional Dining Room - Kitchen Dining

Mid-sized elegant dark wood floor and brown floor kitchen/dining room combo photo with blue walls and no fireplace

[ura-okitu]

Kitchen Portland Maine An idea for a sizable, traditional, single-wall, medium-tone wood floor eat-in kitchen remodel that includes stainless steel appliances, a farmhouse sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops, and white or ceramic backsplash.

[ebodebo]

Hot For Teacher!

—professor!simon riley teaching anatomy… MDNI

(DISCLAIMER: in this fic, the reader is getting their master's, so reader is an adult! that said, this is still a student-professor relationship, so beware!)

"I heard he was from Germany….or somewhere."

"He's probably sooo old."

"I can't find his rate my professor anywhere!"

"I heard he only has one leg!"

Murmurs can be heard spread around the room; your fellow graduates flooded the lecture hall seats, not an empty seat out of fifty in site. They were itching with anticipation and anxiously awaiting the arrival of your new gross anatomy professor, including yourself.

You were even more nervous than when you had to present your senior thesis for your bachelor's to four of the most knowledgeable, bright minds you had ever come into contact with.

That was intimidating, but this somehow feels worse. You find yourself sinking into the squeaky plastic chair, praying that whoever walks through that door is as gracious and kind as your last professor.

Heavy steps echoed down the hallway, slowly and steadily etching closer and closer to the room you sat in. Your eyes nervously shifted up to look at the wide open front door, and you tapped your foot, restlessly, to a non-existent beat in your head.

The footsteps became louder and louder until the man finally stood in the doorway, sparing the class not even a singular glance. He steadily turned to the right and walked up to the chalkboard, back towards the class, carefully etching something onto the board with a small piece of chalk.

The murmurs around the room seized as the screeching noise of the chalk against the board bounced off the walls and went straight into everyone's eardrums.

It was a quick, illegible scribble.

He set the piece of chalk down and turned to face the class, eyes roaming around the room, allowing you to get a better look at him.

He wore a black surgical mask just below his nose, covering his lips and jaw. And, God, was he tall. He had to be at least six-two, maybe even six-four. He wore a charcoal gray button-up tight enough to display his broad shoulders and buff biceps, with kaki cargo pants that did nothing to hide his thick thighs. 

Fuck, he was hot.

"Your last professor was quite lenient," his gravelly voice echoes around the room as he begins, leaning his hip on the table before him. "Don't expect that from me."

His eyes roamed some more, and the murmurs you heard about how hot he was seized as he spoke again. "If you think this class will be easy, you're sorely mistaken. Excellence is the bare minimum I expect from each of you," he sternly says. "I don't tolerate excuses. You're in the wrong place if you can't meet the deadlines."

You didn't know the first time meeting your professor would just end up with him lecturing you about his obscure conditions and rules like this was a damn military base.

You try to remember if this course was even required for your degree: it is.

"If you miss class, don't bother returning," he continues. The mood in the room had shifted entirely. There was no excitement left; it had been completely sucked out and replaced by regret and anguish. You swore you even saw some people with their computers quickly going to your university's directory, hoping they could still withdraw from a course.

"Lastly, mediocrity has no place in here. Push yourselves or find another course," he gruffed, pushing himself off the desk he leaned on and maneuvering back over to the chalkboard.

"What are the instructions on the board?" Your eyes snapped to a random girl raising her hand adjacent to you, and you were surprised by her bravery in speaking.

The professor glanced at the girl.

“Ah, yes. These are instructions on how to withdraw from this course if you so choose," he said. "Save me the headache and you, your dignity, and withdraw now if you cannot abide by my terms," he almost seemed disinterested. "Also, you will call me Dr. Riley."

He picked up the chalk, quickly etching a strand of words onto it. "These are my office hours," he says, setting the chalk back down. "Any questions?" He asked, turning to face the class.

Not a single peep can be heard. There was only a tiny squeak from one of the chairs. He crosses his arms. "Alright. Quiz tomorrow. Class dismissed," he concludes. You freeze up in your chair as everyone around you starts moving as quickly as possible to get out of there.

You're wondering what you learned today that could be material for a quiz. Instead of waiting behind to ask, you shuffle your things in a bag and speed walk out of there.

This was going to be a long semester.

It was three months in, and this class was kicking your ass. 

No, that's not right. The class was outwardly blistering your entire existence. You pulled countless all-nighters to try and keep up with the material, but it was too much. There weren't enough hours in the day to study the copious amount of material.

It didn't help that Dr. Riley was a bit of a dick. He gave no leniency. Can't make the exam? Too bad. F. Didn't make class? Yikes. Get ready to recite the last lecture in front of the class when you return! Can't answer a question he asks? Well, well, it looks like we have a slacker on our hands. Have a lovely time writing an entire essay on the topic question you failed to answer!

"Can anyone explain the process of bone repair following a fracture?" Dr. Riley questions, taking his eyes off the chalkboard and turning towards the now half-full class. You snap out of your daydream, carefully looking back to your computer to continue typing what he writes.

Everyone averts their eyes from him to avoid getting called on. "No takers?" He asks once more, eyes narrowing slightly. You look over the top of your computer, eyes wondering over the messy array of notes he wrote to try and decipher them. "You," he says, flicking a finger towards you. "Give it a go."

Your eyes flick to his before widening in horror. Shit. You hadn't even gone over this week's slides because you were still working on the hundreds of slides from last week. 

"Preferably today," he raises a brow, impatience written all over his face, crossing his arm over his chest. You take a deep breath, quickly scan your notes, and sublimely thank God you found what you needed.

"Well, first the bone goes through clot formation, then callus formation, then new bone tissue forms, then finally the bone remodels," you explain, issuing a polite smile after you finish, breathing out a sigh of relief as he nods.

"Uh-huh. It's a very interesting process. And do you know which of those processes has the longest duration?" He says blandly. You tilt your head a little, surprised to see he has another question.

"Well, I think that would be the bone remodeling," you affirm, shifting in your seat a little.

"And the shortest?" He quickly supplements. 

"Clot formation?" You say unsurely. 

"You seem unsure of your answer. Do you truly think it is clot formation?" He crosses his arms over his chest. 

You were sure of it, but then again, why would he ask you if you thought it was wrong if it was right? You open your eyes wider, almost like you have just had an epiphany. "I—no. It's callus formation," you say matter-of-factly.

"Incorrect," he says, uncrossing his arms and turning his back to you. "I suggest trusting your instincts next time." You sink deeper into your chair, hoping that somehow it will shield you from his scrutiny. 

"On that note, class dismissed." You quickly gather your belongings, but not before Dr. Riley pulls you aside to assign you a three-page, single-spaced essay about the formation of a bone after having a fracture due in two days.

"Also, be sure to discuss clot formation heavily," his voice carries a condescending tone. "So that when you present to the class, they understand the concept better than you did." 

Your brows furrow a little. "Wait, I do understand—" You begin, though he interrupts.

"That's all," he cooly says, turning to grab his things from the desk in the front before switching the light switch off and stepping around you to leave the room. "See you and your paper Wednesday." You scowled as he turned away from you to go to his office.

This was such bullshit. You answered all his question, but God forbid you answer one incorrectly—well, not even incorrectly; he just made you feel it was wrong.

This was far from over.

"Dr. Riley. I, um, I don't understand why I have to write an essay," you found yourself saying later that day in his office, around six p.m. or so, when most of the faculty had already called it a night and left. His eyes stayed laser-focused on some papers he was going over.

"You didn't answer my question," he says, scribbling something on the paper. 

You find yourself coming in, shutting the door behind you, and sitting on the chair before his desk. "Yes, I did. I answered all one hundred of them," you say matter-of-factly. The corners of his eyes crinkle as they finally flick to yours, clearly amused by your exaggeration. 

"One hundred, huh?" He sets the pen down, leaning back in his chair, threading his fingers together. Your eyes wander to his arms. He had rolled up his sleeves to reveal his veiny forearms covered in tattoos. 

You flick your eyes back to eyes in a panic, praying he didn't notice you essentially checking him out. "Yes, sir," you tried to keep your voice even.

"So, you want out of an essay I assigned to you? 

"I—well. I was hoping…" You trail off, eyes averting his.

"No," his tone is authoritative, final. You release a small breath, sagging into the chair, feeling defeated. However, you caught your eyes wandering back to his forearms before moving up to his biceps. Fuck. They would have busted out of his button-down if they were any bigger.

He was a massive asshole. But, so fucking hot nonetheless. Had the most enormous thighs and arms you'd ever seen. Taller than anyone you'd ever met. Had a gruff, thick English accent you drooled over. Not to mention his raging ego, which did something for you.

"What is it?" Your eyes snap to his. Oh, God. Not again. 

"Nothing," you said quickly. He looked puzzled. You sat back in the chair, smiling awkwardly. He followed, leaning back in his seat and spreading his legs wider to get more comfortable.

You find your eyes drifting down, observing his clothed cock in his pants. "Nothing? Huh?" The corner of his lip quirks. You stare back at him; your face is hot, and your hands are clammy.

This time, there was no denying what it was you were ogling so intently. 

"Listen," he sits up a bit, placing his elbows on his desk and threading his fingers together. "I sympathize with your situation." You raise a brow because there is no way in hell he was sympathetic. His lip quips at your expression. "So, I believe I have a solution to your dilemma." That has you perking up in your seat, feeling a sense of hope.

"It's a bit...unorthodox," he mumbles, eyes boring into yours.

You squint your eyes in confusion. "Okay..." You trail off uneasily, sitting up a little straighter. "What did you have in mind?" He tilts his head up a little, carefully observing your face, before standing up and gripping the knot of the tie and carefully pulling it down so it rests lazily on his sternum. 

"Tell me," he prompts, easing his way around his desk to lean against the side you sit in front of. "What is it that caught your attention earlier?" You raise a brow, not only at his new position but also at his question.

"Pardon?" You prod. He lets out a small, scruffy, breathy laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and showcasing his huge biceps again. You release a slight breath as your eyes wander back to his arms. He tilts his head back as he examines your facial expression, dragging his eyes down your line of sight. He gives a breathy laugh as he realizes you are shamelessly checking him out. 

"Mhm," he hums. You snap your eyes to him in an instant, though this time you aren't embarrassed at the notion of him catching you. No. You wanted him to notice. Maybe, just maybe, then he'd finally find the courage to fuck you over his desk like you'd wanted since the first day he had arrived. "Your mind seems elsewhere," he observes.

"No, I'm—I'm just thinking," you whir, sitting in your chair.

He tilts his head back slightly. "What about?" His tone dripped with condescendence. He most definitely knew. He could read you like one of those fancy anatomy books he frequented. You lean back in your chair, legs spreading ever so slightly. His eyes glided to leer at your slightly agape legs. 

God, you had on that little fucking skirt you wore every so often. The damned thing was a couple of pieces of denim fabric. Not too short, but, ya, if you opened your legs at just the right angle, you could get a nice shot of your panties underneath. How lucky for your professor, who was at the receiving end of that.

"Oh, I don't know. Just things, you know?" You spread your legs just a little wider, and you swear you hear him release a breath. "It's the first day of fall tomorrow. Did you know that?" You casually say, spreading your legs that much further so he could get a better view of the wet spot already growing in your panties at him watching you. 

"I did." His voice was dry; he was surprised to get a damn word out. 

"Crazy, huh? Also, I'm thinking about our lecture tomorrow. What's it going to be on anyway?" You find yourself dragging your hand up your leg to the buttons of your shirt, carefully unclasping each of them gently. He could feel his cock straining against his jeans seeing you, legs spread, fingers fiddling with your cute little button-up top with frilly sleeves.

"Sexual reproduction," he gruffs, fingers moving to undo the buttons on his shirt. You get the final button of your shirt unclasped, carefully sliding it off and onto the floor, revealing a lacy bra that matches your panties. You honestly thought you'd be more nervous, but with a guy that hot and educated staring at you like you were the sexiest thing alive, how could you be?

"Maybe I should get a head-start, no?" You proposed as he unclasped his final button, slipping his shirt entirely off. Good-God. The man was chiseled and hairy. The scars etched into his skin only made him that much sexier. He reached for his tie next. "No, no. Leave it on," you voice, getting up from your chair to stand before him. 

His greedy hands instantly sought refuge on your waist, dragging his fingertips along the waistband of your panties, giving them a little pull. You release a slight whine as the elastic slaps back onto your skin.

"Like fuckin' music to my ears," he groans, pulling you flush to his body, ripping his mask off to encapsulate your lips with his hungry ones. 

You yelp into his mouth at the sudden sensation, though you find yourself getting into a rough rhythm. His hand's paw at your ass as yours covetously grips his shoulders. Although you were flush against him, you sought more contact. "I need—I need," you whined in his mouth. 

"Need me to what? Say it," he urged, hands slipping to thread through your hair, pulling it gently. Your mouth falls agape at the action, allowing him to slip his tongue in your mouth. You moan into his mouth once more.

"I need you to—to," you stutter, unable to speak from how out of breathe you were.

"Say it," he hissed, pulling your hair harder.

"Fuck me. Please," you finally managed to say. He wasted no time picking you up by the back of the thighs and hastily placing you on his desk, flinging the loose papers and books that dawned it on the floor.

You reached between you to undo his belt and pant button as he slipped your panties down so they dangled loosely around your ankles. 

Your lips never disconnecting once. 

Once you got his pants undown and he your panties, he gripped your waist, hoisting you so he could pound his cock into you. You both moan at the contact, gripping each other tighter.

"Fuck," he groans, "Feel so good." You press your lips back to his as he makes work pummeling into you, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips to get as much friction as he can.

You were sure you'd have purple and blue bruises tomorrow.

He brings his mouth to nip and kiss at the side of your neck, his teeth gently grazing against the sensitive skin. "Drivin' me fuckin' insane," he grits, teeth nipping your skin again. You whined, bringing your hands to thread through his hair.

"I drive you insane?" You breathe out, dumbfounded, his cock still sliding in and out of you at a hurried pace. His tongue brushes your neck until it reaches your lips, quickly bullying itself into the sanctity of your mouth.

"Such a good student. Aren't you?" He gruffs into your lips; your mouth hangs agape at the feeling of him in you. "Always do such good work. Don't you, sweetheart?" You moan at his words; he presses a thumb to stimulate your clit. "Fuck—you, you drive me mad," he grits, moving his thumb faster.

You let a string of incoherent words, too caught up with his cock in you and thumb on you to form any real words.

"Huh? Ya, ya. But you must know that already. Or else you wouldn't have worn this—" he signals to the matching bra and panty set you had worn, "to meet with me," he finishes. You respond with another pathetic whimper, feeling your impending climax.

The moment he whispers into the shell of your ear, "Better come quick, or I may change my mind about that paper," you're a goner. You clamp around him at record speed, gripping his shoulders impossibly tighter, as you loudly moan in his mouth. His fingers dig deeper into the fat of your hips as his orgasm chases yours.

It takes both of you a second to catch your breaths, both heaving and chests rising with much pace. After you have caught your breath, he helps ease you off his desk, deftly reaching for your panties that slipped off your ankles in a frenzy and softly putting them back on you, followed by your skirt resting on the floor nearby.

You slipped your shirt back on, buttoning it as he focused on dressing himself. It didn't feel awkward like you had thought it was going to. Sure, it was quiet, but it was comforting.

You grabbed your bookbag, giving him a slight smile as you walked over to the closed door. "I appreciate you meeting with me. See you tomorrow, Dr. Riley," you kindly say.

He nodded, pulling his tie to rest neatly on his neck. "Don't forget about the paper," he plainly said, moving to pick up some of the loose papers on the floor.

A confused expression overtook your face. "I thought—" you began.

"I don't play favorites, sweetheart," he interrupted. "Write the paper."

Okay, he was still a dick, but oh well, sure, you'd write the damn paper, maybe even put a couple of errors in it so that he could deduct some points off, and you could request to meet with him again.

Ya, that sounded like a fine plan indeed.

a/n: inspired by a lovely who commented on my poll about professor!simon <33 @aiqsa (this took me so long omg)

reblogs & comments are encouraged!