#i say this like i’m good at coffees. i’m not i’m mediocre. and not really supposed to make them for customers

[mossflower]

like here’s the thing i don’t hate my job. icecream is a sensory nightmare and i can’t deal with heat whether that’s weather or the grill mounted at face level that’s hotter than the fucking sun. but i like doing coffees and drinks and nattering away to customers and when i’ve done a good job i’m genuinely quite happy with myself

[jacevelaryonswife]

You Really Got Me | Professor!Michael Gavey x student!fem reader

summary: With a perfect CV, Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity has never seemed so inherent to you before. The new Professor of Number Theory awakened inappropriate feelings that could become risky if they were reciprocal.

a/n: well, it was quite difficult to write this because I’m not familiar with the Oxford environment and I hope that my research has made this story as credible as possible.

tags: slight slow burn, smut, p in v sex, power imbalance, swearing.

word count: 5.7k

ewanverse masterlist | next part

Michael Gavey was... many things.

A lot of things, definitely.

Michael, or rather, Professor Gavey now, aroused conflicting feelings in you.

Admiration, fear, fascination and another whirlwind was felt when it was the new and brilliant Professor of Numbers Theory. He took over the discipline of a dear veteran and great name of mathematics in Oxford, his advisor in the master’s and PhD. Obviously great expectation formed around it, around him, wondering if he would be able to overcome the grandeur of his predecessor.

And apparently he was causing a certain commotion with his above-average intelligence and his eccentric personality.

Obviously you started a search for the CV of your next professor and the finding was surprisingly extraordinary. Speaker of the 2010 class, several projects carried out, postgraduate (also in Oxford), articles published in journals with high impact factor and experience at McKinsey & Company for 2 years.

Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity had never seemed so inherent to you before.

Saying that you were intimidated by the first contact with him was an understatement- you were fucking terrified. The rumors of an alleged above-average intelligence proved to be untrue. Above average? No shit, he was far beyond everything you experienced. Your eyes didn’t dare to move away from him and the painting during the following hours, too fascinated by what was happening in your fucking front. You felt a current of pure mathematics run through your body and camp in your brain, illuminating all the neurons.

What the fuck had just happened?

You learned that every class he taught was a learning experience rarely experienced before. The passion he conveyed when teaching overflowed in all his expressions so intensely that it made you orbit around him slowly.

And that was the beginning of a problem.

A big problem.

But you hadn’t noticed yet.

“If I ever thought I was smart, forget it! Michael Gavey is the epitome of everything I want to be,” your good friend Miranda said before taking a sip of her latte.

“I know right? Every class I feel that my brain will explode,” you said while leaning your head against the table, “but I can understand what it teaches, at least a good part of things. I know I already have an advisor and our work is almost published, but I think I’m thinking of getting out of Algebra and trying something with Gavey,” you looked at her.

“Woah, are you fucking sure? I mean- if that’s what you really want, that’s fine, but I think it’s too mind blowing for me,” she said.

“For me too, but it’s fucking interesting, I really want to do at least one research in this area.”

“... hmm,” Miranda smirked, humming.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she superficially drank her coffee, “hmm.”

“Cut the bullshit,” you complained as you looked at her impatiently.

“It’s nothing, it’s just that from a certain angle he’s quite cute,” she said in a thin voice.

“Who? Gavey?”

“Yeah. He’s... different from the guys you usually date or are interested in but he’s not bad looking,” she explained.

“Come on, do you really think I’m interested in him? He's our professor and a big nerd to boot!” The last thing wasn’t totally the end of the world.

“And? It’s not like students and professors have never fucked before, although I don’t think he’d risk that much, he seems to be quite methodical,” she said calmly, “and most importantly, he’s clever as fuck and that automatically makes him sexy, if he’s not an idiot.”

That was absurd, you weren’t interested in Michael Gavey!

... right?

You thought about it for the rest of the day.

Was Michael Gavey, in addition to his bestial intellect, physically attractive?

Suddenly, you began to notice how his lips were perfectly drawn and pink as he explained the most beautiful things you had ever heard in those years at Oxford. Damn it. It was Miranda’s fault, obviously. You tried to convince yourself of that while elaborating a way to approach you about the possibility of a research project without embarrassing yourself. Obviously you tried to impress him before that, answering questions whenever possible and redoing all the examples and notes he passed around. When your own mind couldn’t assimilate some details, you looked for him to ask questions and oh Lord, he was more than attentive.

The proximity also made you realize how blue his eyes were under the glasses, and how his hands were- no, wait, what were those veins? Those long and thin fingers? You know what they say about guys with big hands... And his fluffy dirty blonde hair and those soft and ugly sweaters, his height, his waist-

DAMN IT MIRANDA!

That afternoon you gathered the courage to introduce the subject after your classmates left, using your best words to make a good impression.

“I have some interesting ideas that would yield good research, but before recruiting someone, I evaluate performance throughout the term; grades, posture, commitment, everything is observed.”

“Oh... sure, professor.”

“You’re doing well so far, you have good chances, keep it up.”

You wanted to scream. You’ve been recognized.

If your previous efforts were continuous to make a good impression, they would now be compulsive to stand out from the others. You needed to have him as an advisor. And all the eagerness to please him, all the competitive desire to excel, all that fervor triggered a fire that consumed every stretch of your body silently.

And that was a problem.

It shouldn’t be, but it became without you noticing.

“Do you know how many people would sacrifice everything to sit on these chairs? Walking through these corridors? Breathe this air? All of you have an obligation to achieve more than perfection, especially if you are here because of mommy and daddy’s money.”

You knew that very well. Gavey was very demanding about the quality of his students, always reinforcing the privilege of being in this environment, which in itself would make his discipline one of the most important of that term, but your current disposition made you demand almost all attention for him, for the test that was coming, for what you aspired to in the future.

And the result couldn’t be better.

You had a 100% performance in the first test. Excellent, handwritten next to the note. “Good work, keep it up,” he said with a subtle smile.

“Thank you, professor.”

So that’s what the butterflies in your stomach were from.

You smiled, satisfied as you reaped the fruit of weeks of hard work, too numb in your own pride to feel a close eye to follow your steps to the exit, although you had not gone unnoticed by Miranda.

“I think someone caught Gavey’s attention,” she hummed low, approaching on your side to lightly nudge your body with her hip.

“I know right? I need this opportunity,” you celebrated, oblivious to the implicit tone of her voice.

“I didn’t mean that way, babe. It's just he’s keeping an eye on you constantly, literally checking you every- I don’t know, three minutes?” She said it as if it were obvious.

“What? No, I don’t think it’s in this sense, he uses everything as a parameter of choice, he’s just observing my posture.” What? To believe that Gavey had ulterior motives? Too unreal.

“No, sweetheart, he was staring at you when no one paid attention, or almost no one, and he spent most of his time looking at you,” she insisted.

“You don't really thi-“

“I totally think so!”

Oh fuck.

“I’m not saying he’s in love with you, but he's interested, hell yeah,” she explained as you slowly processed her words.

“Fuck,” you said, “do you really, really think so? I mean- he doesn’t look like the type who stays with students.”

Definitely not, he seemed too methodical for that, methodical enough to separate the spectra of his life into compartments.

But what if there was the possibility? You couldn’t reproduce that question audibly, but in the comfort of your bed, you allowed yourself to daydream.

If there was some possibility?

Well, there were pros and cons that needed to be analyzed meticulously, of course.

In the event that Michael was a systematic monster, there wouldn’t be problems in a relationship since he wouldn’t mix romance with studies, theoretically. On the other hand, if he didn’t know how to differentiate the staff from the professional... well, you’d be fucked up if something went wrong. And that was the main point: the mistake.

The consequences would be drastic if something bad happened, especially to you, whose life was still under construction and a scholarship in Oxford could not be negotiated. The cost was too high.

However, over the weeks, you could only think about how attractive your professor was.

And now you know it’s a problem.

And with that, the end of year 2 was near when you received an email from Michael Gavey requesting to send your notes and certificates of everything you had done and participated in so far. Jesus, that man wasn’t kidding.

Neither were you.

That same morning you attached the documents to the e-mail and forwarded a response, as a result, your presence was requested at his office as soon as possible. I’m available in the afternoon, you send to him.

It was complicated to make your legs stop shaking along the way, practically jumping through the corridors while trying to stay calm. It was your chance, one where nothing could go wrong. You wore your best clothes, put on accessories that you used to wear daily and a subtle makeup to make a good impression, nothing that drew too much attention.

Stopping in front of his door, you took a deep breath and announced your presence with a light knock against the old wood, receiving immediate permission to enter the space. You would've liked the time and the absence of an observer to analyze all the details, but instead your eyes locked with his as he walked back to his chair.

“Good afternoon,” he said, a polite smile illuminating his beautiful face as he pointed to the chair in front of you, “have a seat. Please.”

“Good afternoon, professor, thank you,” you greeted him back, shaking your hands anxiously as you sat down.

With no time to allow your eyes to wander through the objects on the table, Michael cut straight to the point. "So, what aroused your interest in Number Theory?" You, to begin with.

"Well, I chose Maths at the age of 17, but things were difficult when I started the course. I was disenchanted considerably, but I always remained active. When your classes started I felt the same thing that motivated me to join here, it was as if everything had made sense again and I really fell in love with it."

“I see,” he said, crossing his hands over the table with a soft smile and a slight pink to his cheeks. Did you make him blush? No way. "I’m happy to have contributed positively to your training. I really appreciated your performance during classes and the analysis of your CV. The activities you have developed are also good but they can improve, I believe you also aspire to it. I seek a high level of quality in my students, after all we are in one of the best universities in the world and excellence is the least expected, I believe we agree on that. Have you already decided where you would like to specialise within Number Theory?"

"To be honest, no, but I would like to find out in-"

"I have some ideas that I’d like to be executed, I can show you now, if you don't have something in mind," he interrupted you with enthusiasm.

"... yes, I’d love to," you said, "but first, thank you for the opportunity you’re giving me, I admire you so much from the first classes and I feel really happy to receive this chance, I know there are many successful veteran professors, but I believe that a current view of a person as impressive as you can bring interesting results."

And if he had blushed with your previous statement, now he was red as a tomato and all disconcerted as he looked down with a shyness never witnessed before by you. It was deadly cute.

Gosh, you were really fucked.

═════════════════════

Working with Michael was exciting.

Terrifying too.

You felt constantly intimidated by his intellect, which caused a mix of sensations that varied according to the day. There was the pride of collaborating with him, the fear of failing, the paranoia of not being good enough and the satisfaction of achieving good results. It was a real roller coaster.

The passing of the months dissipated the initial strangeness and made living more comfortable. On the other hand, the proximity made you watch him for longer. It was pathetic.

Michael spent most of his time in front of his computer, correcting things, creating things and participating in events. You weren’t the only one under his guidance, there was Paul, a recent entry in Maths who was too inert in his own world to notice any non-standard deviation. Paul was a reminder and a barrier for nothing to come out of your daydreams, although he didn't seem very interested in what you were doing.

Still, you couldn't feed those thoughts, your relationship should be strictly professional.

It didn't matter how discreetly he approached you to help, or how close he leaned towards you- more than what was considered respectful. Or how good he smelled and looked so comfortable with his cheesy sweaters and old shoes. Or when you looked at him closely while he explained something.

How it was happening at that very moment.

“You're wasting time trying to demonstrate this equation, it's not so important for the project,” he said when analysing your latest advances.

"I know, but I'd like to understand better and I'm not getting it, it seems too abstract," you said with a frustrated pout, bothered by being stuck in something so simple.

"You've already solved more difficult things," he stressed, looking at you consciously, "can I?" he asked, referring to your notebook and the pen next to your laptop.

“Sure.”

Your attention focused on the numbers and symbols scribbled on the paper, trying to keep up with the speed of his thought. Watching it has always been fascinating.

“Some things are more difficult when we make them like this,” he said as he sketched on the paper.

"It's easy to say that being you," you replied, lamenting the failed attempt to absorb some of his knowledge.

"But it's true."

Unconsciously, you leaned your shoulder against his arm. "Some things are naturally difficult, not everyone can visualise like you."

"I know, it's a natural advantage," he smirked, looking at you over his shoulder, face closer than usual. "But you have a good brain, you shouldn't make it harder than it is."

So close.

"And how should I make it easier?" You held your breath, not daring to look beyond his beautiful blue irises.

"Find in the problem points that are favourable to you, try to demystify them, make them palpable," he replied slowly, taking a deep breath.

Really close.

"And if there's nothing to be explored?"

"You can always call me."

"… I know."

So close.

═════════════════════

After that, you don't know what or why, but something has changed in your relationship with Michael.

His looks became more persistent, his presence seemed closer, almost palpable. Maybe it was a daydream of your own mind, but it looked different, inexplicably different. The air seemed heavier when there was proximity. He seemed comfortable when he touched your shoulder while you read your results. It was nothing, you thought.

There was something not said and that was enough to bring out fears and expectations.

Why not? You thought repeatedly, knowing the reasons very well.

But, maybe...

Maybe you needed to get him out of your head for a few hours, meet some nice guys, drink a little, it was a good idea.

That's why that Friday night you decided to go to one of the nearby pubs with Miranda. It was a good plan, you would leave the lab at 5 PM and get ready to meet her at 7 PM. It was in fact a good plan... until the data analysis program decided to crash in the middle of your work and a malaise affected your friend, in addition to a grotesque rain that started to fall recently. Well, at least you tried.

After collecting the material from the bench, you stretched your arms above your head to ward off the hours of agonizing stress and got up from the chair. It was already late and your view was tired, more than your own body when Michael showed up with his keys in his hand after closing his own office. He spent the afternoon by your side trying to solve the damn problem in addition to his chores as a teacher.

"Everything worked out?" He asked.

"Yeah, at least that," you grumbled, picking up your backpack, "thank you for the help," you looked at him before going to the switches to turn off the equipment.

"You’re welcome," he said simply, in a softer tone than usual. Thunder echoed when you turned off the lights and made you retreat briefly in fright, making himhim laugh softly. "So, what does your generation do to have fun Friday night?" He asked casually after leaving the laboratory.

"Considering that these pubs are older than you and me, I think the same thing your generation did," you replied humorously, looking at him with a small smile, "Unfortunately not with this rain."

"Did you have plans?" He asked.

"Yes, my friend and I’d go to MacLaren's pub, but she's sick and the world decided to fall suddenly and I didn't bring my umbrella," you said faster than you intended, a brief irritation about how your night was totally destroyed. “And you?”

“No plans,” he said, adjusting his sweater. His car was close, but the rain prevented him from advancing a lot. "Are you walking?" He asked.

"Yes- I mean as soon as the rain passes," you crossed your arms and hugged yourself.

"I can take you," he said, his words beginning to make your heart beat faster.

It's no big deal, it's just a polite gesture.

"Oh no, you don't have to, honestly. I can wait," you said, although the twinge in your heart meant the opposite. Why the fuck did I deny it? Damn it.

"It's no big deal, besides we don't know when it will pass," he said, "we can wait in my car, I'm fucking freezing here."

"Sure." You tried not to freak out at the idea of being in such a restricted and warm environment with him, but Michael didn't seem to share the concern, since he basically ran in the middle of the fine rain to reach his car. Okay then. You went right behind, putting the backpack above your head to protect yourself from the water and closing the door harder than you intended. “Sorry, I wasn't expecting that,” you said with a light laugh.

"I just needed this heater," he said with a small smile on his lips, messing with things on the panel, "I also didn't bring an umbrella."

Avoiding making him uncomfortable when analyzing his every movement, you took your cell phone to try to distract yourself, relaxing when the hot air became present. It was almost 6:45 when You Really Got Me filled your ears and made you look at him.

"Do you like The Kinks?" You asked.

"I'm a fan, what about you?"

"My friend is a big fan."

“And you?”

"I like some songs."

"My grandfather was a great vinyl collector, he left everything to my father but he was never into rock in general," he said as he adjusted his glasses, looking at you with soft eyes.

You looked at him with interest. "I started listening to rock to get the attention of a guy I liked. It didn't work but I really liked the songs, although I don't listen to the same bands as I did when I was younger."

Michael laughed. The sound was carefree, almost relaxed even, a facet you didn't see often. He looked soft, cozy, in that burnt orange sweater he wore. "And what do you listen to?"

“I listen to a lot of Oasis, but that's not really 60's stuff. But I also like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Strokes...”

“Big fan of Oasis,” he said.

“Really?”

"I have all the vinyls and I went to a concert in Manchester before the separation." He paused, "Would you like to see them?"

There was an intensity in his look that made your breathing fail, making the air heavy. The casualness of the situation did not seem so natural all of a sudden. He meant-

“In my home.”

Shit shit shit shit

You couldn't, you shouldn't.

“Yes.”

═════════════════════

And so, contrary to all the possibilities of the night, you were in Michael fucking Gavey's house.

A veiled restlessness endured in the air and in the way your heart beat as you were taken by the unknown path. You couldn't believe you had agreed to that, but here you were, looking at every detail of his flat with curiosity. It was large, clean and almost minimalist in design, some thematic objects of mathematics scattered around on the shelves, walls and table. Nerd.

A short silence was maintained while your eyes eagerly explored his place. "Do you want to drink something?"

"Water would be great," you tried to keep the modesty, while watching him go to the kitchen and approach with your request with his gaze locked on yours.

You couldn't be imagining things, there was something there, a different glow, an unspoken truth that caused chills to run through your body.

"You can sit down, I'll get the vinyls."

Your heart was almost exploding since the invitation. You couldn't believe he brought you here, much less that you agreed to come. What the fuck should you do? Let him show you the records and then go? That was stupid.

You forced a conscious smile when he appeared with the records in his hand, watching with a certain curiosity.

“Here,” he said with what you assumed to be a nervous smile, “This is definitely my favourite, although What's the Story? Morning Glory introduced me to the band-“

Your brain wandered when he started digging non-stop about the albums, not giving a damn about Noel and Liam Gallagher's drama, all that mattered was that you were next to Michael Gavey, on his couch, at his house. Michael, the man who took away your sleep and made you constantly daydream. The man who fascinated and intimidated you to the same extent, who made your body warm up when it was close and imagined what it would be like if he got closer.

With his beautiful eyes, nose and lips, big hands and long fingers, soft and beautiful dirty blond hair.

You've wanted it for a long time.

You wanted him.

Wanted to fuck him.

You wanted to fuck your own professor.

And you're tired of denying it.

"I know I shouldn't do that, but it's all I've been thinking about for months."

You interrupted him, touching his cheek as you slowly leaned against him. He froze in place, not preventing your advances as your faces grew closer and closer. Your lips gently brushed against his before pressing harder, starting a fearful and shy, almost chaste kiss.

He didn't reciprocate.

Your heart sank, panic blooming in your stomach.

What did I do?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

His lips silenced any doubts that dared to emerge, holding the back of your head while kissing you experimentally. You didn't waste time in moving your lips at the pace he set, holding the back of his neck and smoothing his beautiful face, tasting the taste of his lips.

You couldn't believe it, you couldn't! He was kissing you!

Michael Gavey was kissing you!

"I'm sorry, we shouldn't-" he said as he walked away abruptly, but you didn't care.

You attacked his hungry lips and made him move the discs away when he leaned against his body, climbing on his lap and holding both sides of his neck. His hand went down your back and held your ass firmly while the other grasped on the back of your neck, pulling your body closer and asking for access to your mouth with his tongue. You kissed, sucked, and bit his pink lips, taking advantage of everything you could before moving away to look into his eyes, looking for any sign of reluctance.

“I've wanted to do this for a long time,” he confessed.

“Me too,” you said.

And then you were kissing him again, and again, and again until your lips were red, wet and swollen. Your body warmed up when a bulge emerged below your thighs, instinctively grinding against it.

“Fuck- I can't, we can't do that, I'm your fucking professor,” he said out of breath, holding your arms and briefly pushing your body away. "This can ruin everything- fuck up our relationship-"

He was red, dilated pupils and heavy breathing, a fucking vision.

“I know, I know. But... just this time, we can forget just this time... what do you think?"

He held firmly one side of your face and looked into your eyes. “Are you fucking sure about this?”

“I'm fucking sure.”

Just this time.

"... just this time."

He leaned over to kiss you quickly, moving his hands under your blouse to take it over his head, groping the exposed skin of your arms, waist and belly with his big hands while drinking from your body with lascivious eyes. "Beautiful," he whispered.

His lips traveled to spice up moist kisses on your neck, sucking the conjuncture with his shoulder, licking your throat, making you melt and close your eyes when he found your sweet spot. Who knew he had that fire? He nibbled and sucked the sensitive skin, holding your waist firmly when he raised you and put you on the floor, leaving you stunned as he guided you by the hand to the room.

Michael didn't have time for your reasoning to come back when he gently pushed you against the door with both hands next to your head. “You're fucking gorgeous.”

“And you're handsome,” you removed his orange sweater, touching the skin of his torso.

"... you don't have to reciprocate the compliment."

Your chest hurt when you heard that, which made you touch his cheek instinctively. "I'm not saying out of courtesy, Michael, you're fucking attractive," you traced his lips with your thumb, looking at him firmly. “Fucking handsome.”

A slight blush took over his cheeks and he captured your lips with passion, holding your waist while kissing life outside of you. Your head was spinning and your stomach warmed up by intimacy, straightening his soft hair. You were in the damn clouds.

His hands moved to unbutton your pants and lower them, kneeling before you to remove your shoes and jeans, kissing the stomach trail to the top of your panties and shamelessly touching your drenched pussy.

"Mmm," you shuddered and closed your eyes when he started rubbing your clitoris, increasing the moisture between your thighs. Fuck. Your goddamn professor was kneeling in front of you. If you weren't wet before, now a river has accumulated in your center.

"Is that good?" He asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, holding onto him for better support, watching him continue to massage your clit now directly into the skin while leaving kisses on your belly. You leaned dramatically against the door when he stuck a finger in your entrance, pumping slowly, feeling you, teasing. “Fuck.”

Michael removed his finger and stood up, unbuttoning his belt quickly and taking off his pants and shoes, leaving you warm and needy and following him like a puppy when he went to the headboard near the bed and opened the upper drawer to take off a condom. Damn it, he was so fine. Before his hands were on your body, you slowly pushed him on the bed and took control, removing the bra and discarding the panties. You couldn't believe what was about to happen.

Your body trembled when he pulled you by the waist and clapped your breasts as you sat on his covered cock and ground over it.

"Fuck," he grunted, sucking one nipple.

"Michael," you moaned, panting. 'Professor,' that's what you wanted to shout, pulling the hair from the back of his neck. He moaned when you kept grinding against his erection and hoisted your hips to lay you on the sheets.

Your mouth opened when he discarded his underwear - not even in the wettest dreams did you imagine that size. He was fucking fine. Tall, thin, defined and with a beautiful cock. Fuck-

Michael Gavey was really a box full of surprises. He barely had time to adjust his glasses and put on the condom before he was pulled by you to take over the top, caged by your legs.

He captured your lips in a sweet kiss, leaning on his elbow as he adjusted between your thighs. The next thing you felt was the welcome intrusion into your folds, stretching you open deliciously. The initial stretch was a little painful, it's been a while since you've been with someone, but he was slow and careful when sinking into your core, making your toes curl up and a relieved moan come out of your throat when he was totally inside.

"Are you alright?" He asked with his face above yours.

"Yes," you held his back, "just wait a minute, please."

“Okay,” he said with a red face, hoarse voice and almost breathless.

Your walls were pulsating when you finally received it, relaxing when the slight discomfort passed. “Move.”

His thrusts were soft, but firm, looking at you closely. You couldn't believe that, yes, Michael was fucking you. Finally.

You leaned up to kiss him while holding your back, groping his wrinkles around your eyes. He was fucking handsome. His hips went further and faster when your body was totally receptive, the moisture and heat surrounding him and making him slip without hindrance. He leaned his forehead against yours and held your hips when you dug your feet on the bed, hitting deeper than before, making you moan loudly and your pussy squeeze instinctively.

A hoarse moan was his response, almost a whining that was swallowed by your lips.

You were in the fucking clouds with the intimacy of the moment, tracing patterns on his back and pulling the blonde strands from the back of the neck when the thrusts became more intense, deliberately repeating his name. Michael attacked the conjuncture of your neck and lifted your thigh even more to go deeper, deliciously hitting your core.

"Michael- fuck-" You could only think of how good he felt, how big his cock was and how his bulbous head brushed your sweet spot whenever he moved. You needed it too much. Holding his shoulders and pushing him away a little, you looked at him panting, making his eyes widen.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked with a tense body.

"No, no, It's just-" and then you moved to take control, resting your hands on his chest, "this." You wanted to ride him since the time you called me in your office. You rubbed your hips against his groin in an addictive rhythm, loving the friction against your clitoris and the feeling of being totally filled.

"Fuck," he grunted, squeezing your ass, groping your hip, holding your breasts, covering every piece of skin available.

You started moving on his cock, touching his chest gently. You felt it all over your core and that burned your whole body, especially when your spongy spot was being brushed rhythmically. Michael pulled you to a scorching kiss full of tongue and teeth, leaving your movements sloppy, but constant, almost frantic, your moans and whining became higher and higher, your velvety walls squeezing his thick axis more and more.

"So fucking good," he moaned against your mouth and leaned his feet on the bed, holding your buttocks and hitting his hips against yours.

“Fuck-“ you almost screamed, resting your head against his chest when he started pushing quickly into your hot pussy, creating lascivious sounds that echoed all over the room.

“You're squeezing me so fucking hard - you're close, aren't you?” He asked, almost breathless.

“Y-yes,” your eyes closed when the family tingling intensified and your juices lubricated it even more.

"Come for me baby," he grunted when your folds pulsed around him, "cum in my fucking cock."

Shit.

Your orgasm hit you hard; hot and sudden as lightning, making your body tremble and a flash blind your vision as the air disappeared from your lungs and your mind went blank.

"Fuck," you heard him moan far away, feeling his cock pulsate and the squeeze on your ass increase when his erratic movements stopped, leaving only a few slow pushes on your sensitive pussy.

You melted completely when the orgasmic euphoria spared, coming out of it unwillingly so as not to deprive you of the air and stabilize your own breathing. Your mind was tired although very aware of the fact that you had just fucked your professor.

You can't fucking believe it.

Fucking finally.

"Are you okay?" He asked, all red and sweaty as he looked at you with crooked glasses.

“Absofuckinglutely,” you looked at him tired, panting, attracted by how cozy he looked. “And you?”

He smiled softly, pushing away some strands of hair that had stuck to your forehead, fingering your face with his thumb. “I'm fucking great.”

Michael pulled you to rest on his chest when a comfortable mist hovered between you as you recovered. None of you said anything for the next few minutes, just enjoying the calm silence before reality starts to come back. You fucked your professor.

You fucked your professor.

What did you have in your head?

You tried to convince yourself that nothing would change after that, that your relationship would not be affected, but you were not sure of that

Just this time.

═════════════════════

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my lovely beta reader: @moris-auri 💙💙

[bleedingoptimism]

You Are Mine part 2

The call time for the first day is ass o’clock in the morning.

Lounging in the green room and drinking coffee sleepily, the band and the siblings wait to be called for wardrobe and makeup.

They had their proper introductions the day before after signing the contract, so now they are all just yawning their way through small talk. Eddie and the boys are called first because their wardrobe is a little more involved today since it's mostly scenes of the band performing.

They usually don’t wear a lot of makeup when they play, mostly eyeliner and sometimes lipstick if someone is feeling particularly ‘bonita’ that day.

After being artfully made to look like he’s dirty, wet, and hot and in the middle of a performance Eddie is walking back to the set when he sees Robin and Steve walking out of their respective changing rooms.

They look good, both of them wearing similar outfits, black comfortable-looking pants, and black shirts, Robin has her hair up in a ponytail with loose hairs framing her face and Steve’s hair looks carefully tousled like he had been running his hands through it all day.

“You look beautiful” he hears Steve tell Robin and not for the first time thinks their relationship is really stinking cute.

“You look hot,” Robin says teasingly and she pinches Steve’s stomach, “That shirt is way too tight, dude”

Eddie thinks the shirt is perfect, but what the hell does he know?

Steve snorts, “Yeah. Hey, what does my shirt say?” he asks her smiling playfully. He does a half-turn and shows her his back,

“Crew,” she says chuckling and turning, “And mine?”

“Crew” he answers laughing “And mine?”

“Crew, and mine?”

Eddie has a feeling this could go on for a while if he doesn't stop it, ‘Who the hell does ‘Dude, where is my car?’ references in this day and age?’ He wonders charmed.

He coughs startling them and outright laughing at their abashed expressions, “Ready to set foot in the extravagant world of mediocre music videos?”

♫

The first scenes they shoot are of the band playing on a stage, with a bunch of extras below them to make it look like the place is packed.

They play their instruments without the sound plugged in and the song is overheard over the speakers so they can coordinate and make it look authentic.

They do a lot of different takes, with changes in angles and wardrobes, and at one point Argyle has Robin and Steve standing on the sidelines like they are watching the band from backstage,

“Look happy and excited, nod to the music. Just pretend you like the song or something” he indicates jokingly.

Robin chuckles and Steve whispers, “But I do like the song.”

Eddie snorts delighted, he really hopes Steve still likes the song after they wrap up because he’s going to be hearing it /a lot/ in the next couple of days.

Once they are done with their part the band takes a breather while they watch Robin and Steve shoot a few scenes of them running around the stage, moving the instruments, and setting up things. They both laugh and talk a lot while ‘working’, high-fiving when they cross paths. Argyle barely gives them any directions and looks extremely pleased, keeps telling them he loves their energy.

It’s a long, tiring day but it’s incredibly fun, he can’t remember a time when he’s had this much fun shooting.

The last scene they do is one where the band is sitting in the background while Robin and Steve are working in the foreground, Argyle is squinting at the set, lifting his fingers to frame the scene in his head, planning it all out,

“Steve, can you lift a bit of weight?”

Gareth laughs and says “Hey Steve! Do you even lift?” 

Robin and Steve get along wonderfully with the band and over the course of the day they’ve gotten really familiar and jokey with each other. Steve laughs and rolls his eyes when he answers Argyle,

“Yeah, I’m good up to about 180? Why?” 

Frank, the asshole, snorts, and whispers to Eddie, “Hey, isn’t that more than your weight? He can totally lift you up with no effort” Eddie lets out a little wheeze and hides it with a cough, punching Frank’s shoulder lightly when he laughs.

“Cool, cool, cool. I want you to lift that speaker and move it on top of that one, think you can handle it?” Argyle is telling Steve, who nods and smiles. 

“Guys, just chat quietly among yourselves, Eddie, you just… you know sneak a few glances at them, look horny about it.” Argyle directs.

Looking at Steve, with his too-tight black shirt that shows all the muscles on his back moving when he lifts the speaker, Eddie thinks looking lustfully is not going to be hard at all.

They do the scene once but Argyle calls ‘cut’ before it’s done, “Ok, ok, ok. Makeup! Can you make my boy here look a bit more sweaty, please?”

Steve blushes a little and asks Argyle if he did something wrong but Argyle smiles at him and just asks him,

“Could you make it look… not so easy? Maybe, wipe your forehead after you lift it or something?” 

Steve blushes harder and nods.

They go again and this time Steve makes it look like the speaker is heavier and shakes his hair out of his face, running a hand through it when he’s done and it's such a good move, he looks so good.

Eddie completely forgets they were part of the scene but when Argyle yells cut and happily tells them they are done for the day, Eddie realizes he doesn't even need to act enamored by Steve, he totally is.

‘Oh shit, Steve is gonna eat me alive.’

to be continued

part 1: ♫

part 2: is this

part 3: ♫

part 4: ♫

☕ cafecito? 

[seeingivy]

enchanted 

satoru gojo x f!reader 

**part of my debut concert event 

**part one of this fic here icymi (read before or its kinda confusing)

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: satoru and your parents are annoying, like in the last part, readers mom just says a bunch of mean shit (including comments on body image, etc), gojo being defensive of his wife but also corny asf, babies megumi + tsumiki having lil nightmares and wanting to sleep w their parents 

an: KING OF MY HEART IS ONE OF MY FAV FICS EVER. so glad the pookie who requested this asked for it bc I was so excited writing it. also corny lil enchanted lyrics are at the end. mister satoru gojo is enchanted to meet you and ur lil babies megumi and tsumiki just love you

- 

“Dr. L/N?” 

You look up from the computer, breaking away from your sheer focus of charting all the patients you just saw in the past hour (nine patients - which sounds mediocre, but in actuality is insanity on earth). 

Because when they’re sick, their parents ask a lot of questions. Which you understand and always honor - but that means you’re always running on a back log, running from one room to the next with no breaks in between. Satoru thinks that you’ll collapse on the floor one day while doing it. And you tell him that he’s praying on your downfall. 

“Yes, Sarah? What’s up?” 

“Your husband’s here to have lunch with you.” 

“Ah. I still haven’t caught up on my charting and I really need to-” 

You feel a hand on your shoulder, your senior advisor, Dr. Aoki, giving you a warm smile. She’s almost thirty years your senior - soft wrinkles and grey patches spread throughout her hair. 

And she really, really loves Satoru. Which you know because she doesn’t shut up about him, always going on about how sweet he is. 

“Go. Have lunch with your husband. I’ll finish off for you.” 

“Ah. Dr. Aoki, I can’t let you. Plus, you don’t even know-” 

“You take detailed notes. And I’m old, but I’m sure I can figure it out. Now go eat lunch with your sweet husband before I do it for you.” 

You smile, giving her hand a squeeze, before dragging your feet to the breakroom - suddenly hyperaware of the tension in the back of your knees, your shoulders, and the back of your eyes. Satoru’s waiting for you at the center table - two glass bento boxes and two iced coffee’s sitting on the table. 

He’s scrolling aimlessly on his phone and you’re more than positive that he’s playing Cut the Rope. A game Megumi begged him to download, but now he plays more than Megumi. Which just pisses Megumi off, because Satoru plays so far ahead in the game that Megumi can’t even remember which level it was he stopped at. 

You look down at the cup of iced coffee, Satoru’s handwriting inscribed on the side. 

pookie <;3 

Bastard. He knows you hate it when you call him that.

Satoru looks up and smacks his phone down at the table as you take his side, placing your head flat against the clear, white table. Satoru immediately directs his hand to the back of your hair, his fingers soothing into the tense muscles in the back of your neck. 

“Hello my little workaholic.” 

“Good afternoon my little pain in the ass.” 

He laughs, lifting your head up as he opens up the boxes, sliding forward the food he made and sticking the fork in your hand. You look down at the line up - egg fried rice and a wild assortments of fruits and vegetables on the side. They’re all cut into sweet little shapes - the cucumbers in hearts, the strawberries in flowers. 

Right. You had tasked Satoru with making Megumi and Tsumiki’s lunches for one week when you were on the night call. When you had returned, all he did was scold you for making very boring lunches for Megumi and Tsumiki. 

Granted, you thought they weren’t half bad. You always made sure to give them a little treat - strawberry gummies for Tsumiki and sour candy for Megumi - and left sweet little notes in their lunch boxes, saying you were proud of them, that Megumi was going to do great on his presentation, and that Tsumiki looked pretty today. 

Satoru resolved the situation by heading to the store and buying the special little cutouts, shiny new metal tin boxes for Megumi and Tsumiki, and even glittery stationery to leave them both notes. 

Yeah and he never let you make their lunch again. He’d often drop by to the office to eat with you, since he knew that was the only time you would eat anything, and bring you by the third box he arranged with theirs in the morning. 

“Hard day, my love?” 

“Yeah, Satoru. And it’s not even over yet.” 

He places the fork in your hand again, instructing you to eat as you keep talking, tasking himself with mixing up the layers of the coffee he brought you. 

“What’s the point of working so hard? Didn’t you marry me for my money?” 

“Well, obviously but-”

“Hey!” 

“What?” 

“That’s so rude to admit. You should keep that type of stuff to yourself.” 

“Okay, Satoru. You married me as a cover for your girlfriend and-”

“Stop throwing that in my face! So you have one girlfriend and suddenly you’re the bad-” 

“It is when you’re married!” 

You both laugh, Satoru ruffling your hair, as he opens up the second box, sliding it towards you as you keep eating. 

“You don’t want, Toru?” 

“No. They’re both for you. You really do work too hard, Y/N.” 

“Well. Our parents could cut us off - we don’t exactly do everything they want. And I want to be self sufficient and be a good role model for-” 

“Tsumiki and Megumi. I know, my love. I’m just saying.” 

You lean into Satoru’s touch, placing your aching head against his shoulder as he leans over, pressing a kiss to the top of your forehead. You finish off your own box (and Satoru’s) and down your iced coffee (and half of Satoru’s, before he starts scolding you about healthy caffeine intakes). 

He gives you a sweet kiss goodbye, giving soft smiles to the rest of your coworkers, as you buckle in for the rest of your shift. 

- 

“Satoru.” 

“Hm.” 

“Look at what my mom texted me.” 

He untangles himself from his position - which is just using you as a third pillow - and peaks his head up, squinting his eyes at your phone in the dark. 

Your mom, heinous bitch she is, sent you a text reminding you about all the things you need to do for your dinner with the Gojo’s tomorrow. 

Wear a dress. Make sure it’s appropriate, but enough to keep a guy like Satoru interested. You don’t want your husband running off just because you’re boring him. 

Make sure to wear the wedding ring Satoru gave you, not the engagement. You’re going to look tacky otherwise. 

Fresh flowers, that haven’t bloomed yet. Don’t embarrass me by bringing flowers that’ll die in a day. 

And please don’t leave your hair fully down. It washes you out. 

Satoru glares at the camera, looking up at your face. He finds it hard to read you in situations like this. Because in all honesty, he knows that you hate your parents. But he doesn’t miss the way you act differently when it comes to them. 

Because when you’re mad at Satoru for not picking up Tsumiki on time or at Megumi for not telling you he had a project due tomorrow until nine pm, you get a reasonable amount of mad. Pink in the cheeks, a little bit of scolding, followed by fixing the problem and talking it out. 

But with them you, you don’t really talk about it. And he’s not sure if it’s because he’s not privy to the conversations that you have with them, but for some reason, he thinks there aren’t any. And that you just take it, when it’s them. 

Which he understands. Too well. That’s part of the reason he’s with you, in this bed right now. Cuddled up in your arms, pressing lazy kisses around your shoulder. 

Because his parents asked you to marry him. Because you told him you didn’t mind if he kept his own life outside of it, that you were just doing what you had to do. 

And now that he…loves you, parts of it all make him sad. That you’d take someone telling you what to do - telling you that you don’t look good with your hair down when you look good all the time and that you’re tacky or boring or- 

“Hey. Y/N.” 

“Hm, Satoru?” 

“You know I…love you right? For real?” 

“Yeah. You told me.” 

“But like, for real, okay? Not just because we’re…married or whatever. I actually really, really love you. You’re very pretty and you’re always so good with Megumi and Tsumiki and you’re so good at your job and-” 

You stop him in his tracks by cupping his face in his ands, quirking your head to the side. You lean down and peck at his lips, pressing your fingers into his dimples. 

“I love you too, Satoru but what’s this about?” 

He frowns, placing his head back in your lap as you start running your hands through his white locks of hair, soft to the touch. You can feel his cheeks are warm from his face lying against your bare legs and you can’t help but smile at the fact that he’s blushing. Even after one year of marriage (and eight months of real marriage), he’s still nervous around you. 

“I don’t know. Your mom’s just stupid. You’re not boring or tacky and you look very pretty with your hair down.” 

“Thank you, Toru. For getting so offended on my behalf. But I don’t care, let’s go to bed, yeah?” 

He nods, shuffling the sheets around you as he sprawls across the bed. One thing about Satoru, he has to touch you when he’s sleeping. 

Not in the…dirty way. It could be the coldest night of the year and he has his entire body weight on you, treating you like a stuffed animal he was sleeping with. Or it’s the hottest night of the year and he’s as far away as he can be from you - just placing his hand on your forearm or tangling one of his legs with yours. 

Touchy. Even when he’s asleep. 

After not even five minutes of sleep, you feel a tapping on your nose, your features crinkling up from the sensation. 

“Toru. Quit tickling me.” 

He murmurs back incoherently, tangling around in the sheets as a response. Right. Satoru also sleeps like the walking dead. And he can and will sleep anywhere and everywhere, almost instantly. It’s actually a talent. 

“Um. That wasn’t him.” 

You flutter your eyes open to find Megumi, standing awkwardly at your side. You immediately sit up, clicking on the light as Satoru starts groaning behind you, smacking his hand on the bed to get you to turn the light off. You look over at the clock and realize it’s well past three, meaning Megumi should have been asleep hours ago. 

“Megs. You okay?” 

“Uh, yeah. But Tsumiki, she’s like crying a lot. Usually, what I do works but she just won’t stop.” 

You shake Satoru at your side, his eyes finally fluttering open as he looks at you and Megumi in confusion. 

“Megumi-chan. You better be interrupting our sleep for something good.” 

“Satoru, stop it. Go get Tsumiki. Now. I think she’s crying.” 

Satoru immediately stands up, stalking out of the room as you turn back to Megumi, taking his tiny hands in yours. He looks like he usually does - blank expression on his face, avoiding eye contact, tiredness on his face. 

You wrap one of your hands around his cheek and squeeze, feeling his skin warm under your touch. 

“What do you think happened, Megs?” 

“She had a bad dream. Usually, we kind of just stay with each other till it stops. But, it didn’t really work.” 

“Have you had them while you were here? Or her?” 

“Yeah sometimes.” 

You can feel your heart clench in your chest and you immediately wrap Megumi in your arms, brushing your hands through his soft, black hair. You can still smell the shampoo in his hair from earlier, the fresh smell springing into your nose. They should be coming to you. Not each other. Megumi’s only five. And she’s just seven. 

“Megumi. You know you can come to us about that stuff. Both of you. And you should be because we know how to help you and-” 

You stop talking as Satoru walks into the room, craning your head to the side to survey the situation. Satoru’s carrying Tsumiki in his arms, something he doesn’t do very often, and you can hear her soft sniffles as he places her on the bed between you, rubbing circles into her back. 

You take the cup of water on the nightstand (that Satoru leaves out for you everyday so you can stay hydrated) and hand it to her, directing her to calm her breaths. She’s shaking so hard and her eyes are so pink that she can barely hold the glass, Satoru taking it from her hands and tilting her head up so she can drink it. 

You look over at Megumi, his eyes twitching as he looks at Tsumiki, and you direct him to sit on the bed next to you, right next to Tsumiki and in between you and Satoru. 

You never really know what to do in situations like this. And neither does Satoru. I mean hell, you’re only twenty-three and Satoru’s only twenty-four. And they haven’t been your kids for too long. 

Other parents, the ones who come into your practice, talk about how they know somethings wrong. They can feel it in their gut. Their parental instinct. But you don’t have any of that, especially not with Tsumiki and Megumi. 

And you know it’s not something you can learn and something that just comes from being their parents, but you sincerely wish it was. Because Tsumiki and Megumi deserve to have someone who can read them like that, who knows what’s wrong with them, and talks for them when they don’t know how. And-

Satoru opens up his arms, with Tsumiki crawls into his lap and curls herself up against his chest. She looks so small, barely covering his entire frame as she hiccups into his chest, pushing the back of her hand against his eyes. 

Satoru beckons Megumi to join her and he awkwardly crawls up, the two of them nestled in Satoru’s arms. Maybe you spoke too soon. Because it always seems like Satoru knows what he’s doing. 

“You too, goofy.” 

You roll your eyes as you scoot closer to them, laying your head against Satoru’s shoulders as you start running your hands through Tsumiki’s hair, rubbing soft circles into the small of her back like Satoru was earlier. 

“Hi Miki.” 

“H-hi Y/N.” 

“How you feeling, sweet girl?” 

“O-okay.” 

You soften your hands in her hair, focusing on braiding the ends as you talk, the three of them hanging on to every word you say. 

“Miki, Megs. I know you’ve…been together for a long time. Before me and Satoru came around. And I’m sure you have your own ways of…being there for each other. But, you can let us be there for you too, you know?” 

You feel Tsumiki stiffen under your touch and you pull back, holding the braid in place on your head. 

“I don’t mean to let each other go. You’re siblings and that’s one of the most important relationships you can have. But just know, Satoru and I can be smart sometimes. Well, I can. I don’t really know about him.” 

“Hey.” 

Tsumiki and Megumi laugh, which stops Satoru’s protests all together. It’s working. And Satoru’s jealous of you, because as always, you know the right thing to say. To get them to smile again, tell you what’s wrong. And sure, you’ve always had that effect on Satoru but he loves that you can do it with them too. You’ve clearly got this parenting thing more figured out than him, he thinks. 

“But, we can help you too, you know? I’m a big girl. I can deal with whatever you give me.” 

Tsumiki turns to the side, crawling out of Satoru’s lap as she crawls into yours, squeezing herself in your arms. 

“Th-thanks, Y/N. But maybe not right now?” 

“Whenever you want, okay? Let’s just go to bed now, it’s late.” 

“Can I sleep with you, Y/N? And Satoru?” 

Satoru leans forward, squeezing Tsumiki’s hand in hers as he nods, opening up the covers for her. Megumi awkwardly looks between you and Satoru and you catch on fast, signaling for him to join you under the covers as well. The four of you are squished together, Tsumiki clinging on to you and Megumi clinging on to Satoru. 

They both fall asleep fast and you give a weary look to Satoru in the dark, which he returns with a smile. 

- 

You hate leaving at a time like this. And you hate your parents and even Gojo’s parents for making you come to a stupid dinner like this. 

Your kids, that they don’t know about, need you. You had tried your best to make Tsumiki comfortable, making her a stack of warm, strawberry pancakes and letting her pick what you guys ate for lunch. 

And when you had to leave her with Nanami and Shoko to go see the Gojo’s, you swear you could feel your heart clench at the thought of leaving her. And Megumi. And of the two of them being uncomfortable without you there. 

You could tell from the look in Satoru’s eyes that he shared your sentiments, his gaze weary as he said goodbye, lingering by the door until you two really had to leave. And then you both made your trek to the Gojo Estate. 

And god do you hate it here. In all but ten minutes of dinner, your mother, assfucking clown she was, had already found ten different things to pick on. 

Your hair has split ends, you should cut it. 

You should slow down on the food. 

You could have worn a more flattering color. 

Every spiky comment she makes, Satoru squeezes his hand in yours under the table, grounding you in the moment. If it wasn’t for him and the soft looks he was giving you every few minutes, you’re sure you would have broken the centerpiece in the middle of the table by now. 

“Say, Y/N, Satoru.” 

You look up to find Mr. Gojo beaming at you, the smile not meeting his eyes. You can feel Satoru’s hand tense in yours under the table and you know it’s your turn to protect him from his dad. 

“Did you start trying for kids?” 

“Dad.” 

“What, Satoru? It’s an important question. You guys have been married for a year now and surely there’s no better time than now to start trying.” 

You can feel your mouth dry at the thought. Kids. Kids of your own. Like, a crying, pooping baby - half parts you and half parts Satoru. 

How in the world could they think you were ready for that? Because in all honesty, Satoru’s your husband in name but he feels like your boyfriend. 

You’ve been together for eight months. You haven’t gone on a vacation together or met his college best friend and you don’t know what his favorite smoothie flavor is or what the first car he drove was and they want you to start popping out kids? 

You and Satoru aren’t ready for kids. And really, you already have two kids. That need you right now. And you have all the time in the world to have more and you really, really just like things the way they are. For now, and-

“They’ll get working on it.” 

You feel your eyes boggle out of your head as you crane your neck to look at your mom, a self-assured smile placed on her face. She can’t really be serious, can she? 

“Oh, how sweet! A grandchild. Oh, I do hope it’s a boy. So we can pass on the Gojo name and all.” 

It’s Satoru’s turn to glare at his mother and you’re sure that he has the same bitter taste in his mouth as you. Sure, they were the reason you guys got married but they had no right to treat you guys like this. Like you were put together to make some offspring for them to fawn over. 

“Although, I wouldn’t mind a girl. Boys can be rowdy and insensitive.” says Mr. Gojo, a matter-of-fact tone in his words. 

“That’s not true. Boys can be sensitive too. You just have to raise them right.” you respond, muttering the words under your breath. 

Megumi’s sweet and sensitive. He always avoids stomping on flowers growing out of the cracks of the cement and he always writes cards for his teachers on holiday’s and always says please and thank you after every little thing you and Satoru do for him, even if it is under his breath. 

“Well, I hope it’s a boy. Girls come with attitude.” your dad responds, the implication in his tone clear. 

“No daughter of ours would take back-handed comments like that.” 

Because Tsumiki’s never done that. Because Satoru remembers the day someone tried to pick on her in her class and all she did was calmly respond. Stand her ground, surely but firmly. Something he’s sure that she learned from you. And to think someone could dismiss that off as attitude is so fucking-

You squeeze Satoru’s hand under the table, signaling him to stop. Because he’s being rude. Because he shouldn’t talk back to your father even if he’s wrong and-

“Satoru. Stop.” you whisper, awkwardly eyeing the four of them as he deflates. 

The four of you awkwardly sit in silence, the forks clicking against the plates. Satoru’s crushing your hand into oblivion under the table and you can see that he’s agitated from the way his shoulders are all scrunched up. And when his dad talks next, he really can’t hold it in anymore. 

“Satoru, son. All you have to do take her to bed one time to pass on the Gojo na-” 

Satoru smacks his fist against the table, the glassware making a loud noise against the surface. You look over to find Satoru smoldering, the way he often did when he was near his dad. 

“Don’t talk about my wife like that. She’s not some thing for you to use. You can try that shit on anyone else but you know damn well I’m not letting you do it to her.”

Mrs. Gojo’s features scrunch up in frustration, a pinched look on her face as she starts massaging the bridge of her nose. Satoru stands up, pulling you up with him as he stomps out, dragging you out with him. 

- 

You two drive in silence the entire way home. Satoru’s still smoldering in his drivers seat, jaw tight against his skin as he clenches his fists on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. And you’re unsure of what you can say to him to ease it, make him feel better. 

He parks the car in the driveway, leaning his head against the seat to look up through the sunroof, the stars glittering in the sky above you. He makes no motions to get out of the car, the engine and lights still turned on despite the fact that you and Satoru were home. 

“Y/N.” 

“Hm, Satoru?” 

“You-you okay?” 

“What? Yeah. Are you?” 

He doesn’t respond and instead loosens his tie, the fabric hanging from the sides of his collar. 

“I just…hate them. So much. Why would we rush having a child when we aren’t ready? And who are they to talk about you like that? Like all I keep you around for is to bear my children.” 

You’re not sure what to say so you snake your hand into his, leaning over the glove box to lean onto his shoulder. You can feel him deflate under you, leaning his head on top of yours as he presses his hand against your waist, his hands rubbing back and forth on the fabric. 

“Satoru.” 

“Yeah, love?” 

“You feel like my boyfriend, right now. I know you’re my husband but…we’ve only been together for eight months. And I know it’s weird to say but…I’d like to have a kid with you someday just…not now.” 

His hand comes up, angling your face up so you’re looking at him, a big smile spread across his face. You can feel your cheeks burning from the admission and you clench your eyes shut to avoid seeing the teasing look on Satoru’s face. 

“Y/N. You’d want to have kids with me?” 

You nod and Satoru’s face splits into a big smile, his hands shaking in yours. 

“Well, yeah. It would be cute, when the time is right. Megumi and Tsumiki can have a little sibling and it’ll be like…a little us. 

“A little us?” 

“Your nose, my eyes, hopefully all of my looks and none of your annoyingness.” 

“You’re so sweet, Y/N. I don’t know how I ever lucked out with such a charming girl like you.” he responds, sarcasm dripping from his voice. You laugh in response, beaming at him as you talk on. 

“I love you, Satoru. And I’d love to have kids with you but we’re just…we already have two kids and I think they need us right now. They haven’t opened up yet and-” 

“I know, sweet. I agree. Trust me, I’d love nothing more than putting a baby in your right here, right now in this car but-” 

“Pervert.” 

“Why are you so rude? Every word is like a bullet wound in my chest.” 

You lean over, pressing a kiss to his chest as you lean back and glare at him. He smiles at you, a sweet look on his face. 

“What was that for?” 

“You said bullet wound in your chest. I was just kissing your ego better.” 

He leans forward, cupping your face as he kisses you, hanging off the ends of your lips as he squeezes his face in your hands. He pulls apart, pressing kisses all over your face as he talks, his words making your cheeks burn. 

“You’re so-” 

Kiss. 

“Damn cute.” 

Kiss. 

“I hate you sometimes.” 

Kiss. 

“When we have kids, I hope they’re all like you. Pretty eyes, soft hair, snarky attitude. She’ll be so easy to love, all goofy and idiotic like you.” 

“She, Satoru?” 

“Oh, she’s totally going to be a girl. My three girls. You, Tsumiki, and her.” 

“Sounds like you have it all planned out already?” 

“Well, I’m waiting. For when you’re ready and I’m ready and all that. But yeah. I’ve already seen how our entire life is going to play out. You and I are going to grow old together. Sick it to our parents. Have the type of love kids dream about. All that lovey-dovey stuff.” 

You and Satoru, hands pressed together, pad into the dark of the house, slowly climbing up the stairs. When you amble into your bed room, you can hear soft snores in your bed - Tsumiki and Megumi fast asleep under your sheets. There’s a tiny little sticky-note pressed to the light switch, which you and Satoru both squint at. 

They want to sleep with "their parents”. Their words, not ours. - Shoko 

You and Satoru quickly peel out of your clothes and climb under the sheets - Satoru leaning over to press a kiss to all three of your heads before fluttering his own eyes shut. 

And you hate to say it, because all in all the night wasn’t perfect, but you really, really don’t want to let it go. Every part of this night is…sparkling in your mind. Satoru defending you, telling you that he loves you, that he wants to have kids with you. You-

You count yourself lucky. That you don’t have to wonder if Satoru is in love with someone else or what he thinks about you or any other thing. 

Because you know the person he’s waiting on is you. 

- 

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @platrom @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha​ @rebeccawinters 

[artsybridgerton]

Hello there! I read that you wanted to write a Benedict Bridgerton x reader so I want to request that for you :)

you can write anything but I wanted that they meet for pure case and that reader is a really cheerful, happy and clumsy person lol

idk if regency/modern, feel comfortable to choose!

thank you in anticipation and have a good day/night! 💟

Hi @shoyooss! Thank you for the request! So I tried my best but i think it came out a little cringy.

Could be the fact that i couldn't think of how a cheerful/happy person is, probably cause i've never been that myself but hey, i gave it a shot :D

I hope you like it even a little and i apologize for everything you will read on my blog :D

Thanks for trusting me tho <3

with love, Essy<3

p.s. the pigeon part is actually based on true events in yours truly's life :)

_______________________________________________

warnings: my mediocre writing lol

modern au

Pieces of paper

You’ve been looking for a job with no luck but recently you started working in this bar as a waitress, with no experience at all. You may or may not have lied on your resumé with having years of experience.

It was a busy morning and you were told to stay outside of the bar to welcome in the customers other than that you were also in charge of keeping the pigeons away from the people eating and the plates that were yet to be taken inside to be washed.

As you were fighting off the pigeons your coworker came to you.  “Hey, when you’re done with that, help this man with his order ok?”

“No problem!” You smiled at her as you quickly ran inside leaving the customers fend for themselves. “At Least they didn’t poop on me!” you thought to yourself.

Taking a tray you approached the counter to bring the order to the customer: a cappuccino, a glass of orange juice and avocado on toast. As you turned around to accidentally bump into a tall man spilling the customer’s coffee on him.

He yelped slightly. “Wow, that coffee was hot!”

“I am so sorry sir, I didn’t see you!” You reach for your rag wanting to try and clean the stain on his shirt but by doing so you accidentally let go of the tray you were holding with both hands making everything fall on his feet. 

“Great heavens!” you immediately crouch to clean up. “Sir I will personally hand wash your clothes if you let me, I'm deeply sorry!”

“It’s fine miss” He smiled and also crouched to help you clean. 

“Well you could always say it’s a fashion statement!” You say trying to make the situation less awkward. At that he chuckled a little. “Really sir, let me at least offer you some coffee, i mean it! The whole breakfast perhaps? Lunch? Is dinner more of your liking?”

“Well that escalated quickly, I might just assume you want to ask me out” He joked and slightly moved closer to you while you were looking down putting the food back on the tray.

“Wou-would you want me to?” Panic-flirting was an ability you developed recently but now you directly head-butted him when you looked back up to him so he lost his balance.

“Sir! I didn’t mean to do that! Would you like an ambulance?” You panicked.

You help him back up. Only now you got a good look at his face and thought he was actually very handsome.

He let out a laugh in confusion. “Miss, really everything is fine, don’t worry” He cleaned himself off. 

“I’m y/n, this is my number, i will gladly pay whatever damage i caused to your person sir” you say as you write down your contact on a piece of paper. 

“Benedict” He offered you his hand to shake. 

You shaked his hand, keeping eye contact, almost mesmerized by his eyes.

“Miss, I'm still waiting for my order!” The other customer yelled.

“Oh shit right!” You were woken up from the trance and went back to the counter to retake the order.

In the meantime, Benedict ordered a cup of tea and sat down to enjoy it.

Some time has passed and you were now cleaning up the tables.

As you passed near Benedict’s table he stopped you and handed you a piece of paper. “My number.” You look at him confused. “You still have to offer me a meal, dinner? was it?” He winked. 

You couldn’t help but smile at him as you accepted the paper.

[mr-voorhees-husband]

Hello! Could u please make a second part from the P!Jonathan Crane x Student!Reader (the one where he tells the reader abt them having feelings for him)

Imma be honest, I wasn’t thinking about Jon lately, so I put on BTAS and remembered why I liked him,,, ty for this request.

Yall just spam requests, force me to write again, PLEASE!!!

Also if any of y’all like Sabretooth, Wolverine, Hellboy, Or Lobo, throw some requests my way PLEASE

Anyway..

Warnings: Professor x Student, power dynamic, Jonathan is kind of ooc, reader is called Star Student, dear, and various other nicknames,

Info: (General) Jonathan Crane x GN!Reader, Reader is Jon’s student

“I’m a bit disappointed, dear.” Jonathan sighed, sitting at his desk while twirling a pen in his hand. It was one that you had actually got him during national teachers week, one of pens made to look like a syringe. It was his favorite to use for grading, partially because he liked to use what you got him, but also because the red ink was particularly darker than most pens he had. “A C on your report. That’s the lowest grade you’ve gotten this entire semester.”

You nodded quietly, knowing good and well there was no reason for you to get such a bad grade. This was your best class, and even if you were mediocre in your other ones, you prided yourself on how well you understood Jonathan’s teaching methods. The report in question was done perfectly, and anyone with half a brain could tell that.

This was just Jonathan’s way of getting you to himself for a few hours.

“Really, I’m disappointed.” He sighed, shaking his head as he stood up, walking around his desk to stand directly in front of you. “After our last… one-on-one meeting, I really expected you to put more effort in your work.”

“I—“ you began, before being cut off by Jonathan’s finger on your lips.

“Ah. I’m talking.” He tutted, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Now, I’d be willing to raise your grade, after all— I know my star student would never willingly get such a bad grade. That is, if you’re willing to work for some extra credit…”

Swallowing nervously, you nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. “Yes, sir. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, hm?” Jonathan leaned in closer— so closer your noses were almost touching and you could smell the coffee he had been drinking. “How about a private study session? A little extra help should straighten your grades right up.”

“That— that sounds good.” You couldn’t stop yourself from stuttering, and that just made Jonathan smile wider. “Should I stop by after your office hours..?”

“No, I was thinking we have dinner first, at my place.” It was obvious what was going on. This wasn’t just a ploy to get you in his bed, it was a ploy to get you on a date— a proper date. Which was more intimate than you expected, but you didn’t plan to argue. “Says… 7 o’clock Tuesday night? If I remember correctly you don’t have any classes that day.”

You tried to ignore that he definitely shouldn’t have known that fact. “O— okay. Yeah.”

“Good, I’ll pick you up outside your dorm.” He smiled, grabbing your hand and gently leading you to the door, “see you Tuesday, darling.”

Jonathan’s lips tasted like coffee and he smelt like autumn, just like last time; and you knew you’d never get sick of the taste or the scent.

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls: Season 2, Episode 17, "Dead Uncles and Vegetables", Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 All Episodes

Please, sir, there is nothing I wish to see more than Miss Patty drunk with power.

How big was it again, Babette?

Nothing brings me greater pleasure than when Luke and Jess exchange silent glances like “Can you believe this corny shit?” The meeting is being held to discuss the feud between Taylor and the Hippie with the farmers market. This seems like a personal dispute that could have been an email.

At the meeting Taylor Karens harder than he's ever Karen'd before.

Why don't you mind your god damn beeswax, Rory-No-Job-Gilmore. This is getting old and frankly kinda weird. I’m really raring for one of those delicious scenes where Jess or Dean takes her down a peg.

After the meeting adjourns, The Convention of the Male Karens + a wildly out of place Kirk meet outside in order to remind Luke what a piece of shit his uncle was and that they’re not going to his funeral. Taylor sure sounds confident that the people of Stars Hollow won’t also spit on his grave and sing a happy song when he croaks. Frankly I don't even think there will be a grave. I've always envisioned Taylor being stuffed into a sack and tossed over his beloved bridge to become swan food along with Shane, who Jess slaughtered after the Dance Marathon.

There isn’t enough rock throwing in this show. In my gritty unrated Gilmore Girls reboot titled The Hollow, more people will throw rocks at Taylor Doose.

I paused just so I could enjoy a few moments of anticipation before she reveals what the exciting Early 2000's internet application is.

Golly! I miss this early 2000's optimism about a Future with Internet.

It's streaming in right now, but sorry Lorelai, she can't send you any pictures of Prague. Corporate tech overlords have deecreed that picture taking is forbidden and must be blocked with a blacked out screen of death. No Prague for you.

Omg.

Out of Context Gilmore Girls.

Sookie: Your mom is getting me 50% off of everything. Lorelai: Yes, but 50% off of loads of money is still loads of money. You don't have that much to spend. Pretty rich coming from “Miss orders take out and diner food 3 times a day."

But when is it ever the WRONG time for you to meddle in people's business? It's a 24/7/365 job for you. And your daughter is quickly on her way to being crowned the next Little Miss Meddler. Sookie understandably has some questions about why Jackson would go to Lorelai Gilmore for wedding planning concerns. Sookie also realizes she can't afford the grandiose wedding that Emily got her into and tries to run damage control. Lorelai tells Sookie that her mother brainwashed her. That's rich coming from Miss "Brainwashed By Dean Forrester".

DIS BITCH IS LEAVING WORK AGAIN! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!

She’s leaving work to help Diner Guy look at coffins!!! Get HR on the phone!

That's what he said.

Scott Patterson without a hat is...mildly off putting.

Is this what you wanted Rory? Are you happy now? Baby is miserable! But you got your damn coffee servant, now start tipping him! I made a video clip of this delightful interaction so please check it out. Milo's "No's" are so acidic they could strip paint off the wall. He needs to win in an Emmy for his No's. They are so good. You can watch my Jess Says No compliation here.

Jess Mariano: Toils in the coffee mines every day and night before and after school for sub minimum wage and eventually, on top of working a second job, minds his business, dutifully pours your coffee, no chit chat, all business. No one tips him. Lorelai Gilmore: Does a mediocre job taking orders for 1 hour and gets a 4 star Yelp review because she's Quirky. Lorelai to me, TWWGG: What's a Yelp? Me: Nevermind.

Rory, I mean this in the kindest, gentlest way possible, because I know you are a sensitive soul... Fuck all the way off. Fuck you and also your boyfriend and your mother (okay, she's not that bad in this episode). The "Get back to work" routine wasn't cute the first time when he was trying to enjoy a few precious moments to himself before school, but now he's literally working. He's like a foot away from you. Let the boy go upstairs and jerk off, sheesh. What a weird z-plot.

Rory works a job for two days and becomes drunk with power.

I really hope that when Lorelai goes back to work, Michel has some choice French curse words for her after leaving him in a lurch to cover her shift 3 times in a week for Diner Guy.

Hey look Rory, a job opening! You gonna apply or what?

This was really sweet.

So many things are throwing off the balance of the Gilly Girls Universe lately. Rory gets a job and becomes a control freak. Rory pays for her food. Lorelai dispenses reasonable advice. Lorelai's meddling is at a minimum. Lorelai is uncharacteristically pleasant. Dean is nowhere to be found (is that why Lorelai is so tolerable?) Scott Patterson without a hat.

[cheeto-flavoured-pasta]

It is almost 12AM and idk what’s come over me but I haven’t been making many writeblr posts lately. Yeah, I’ve been reblogging some writeblr stuff here and there but most of it is off-topic. So here you go, a midnight snippet of my current WIP (not APS, just to reiterate, coz idk if I mentioned this before but APS is gonna be on the backburner for a long while):

“God, Katz, you didn’t have to yank my arm —”

He shoved his boots off and onto the mat. “Yeah, well, you were slowing down, and it was starting to pour. Now come on, take off your shoes and dry up. You look like a sopping wet cat.”

I slipped my sneakers off and tugged at my ponytail, its slick wet strands making me recoil. Katz threw off his hoodie and I let down my hair, shaking off the water. Just like a wet cat, as he’d said. My hand fumbled for the cloth hanging on the hook in the wall, tugging it off and rubbing it against my hair vigorously. 

“You want takeout?” Katz asked. 

“What delivery guy is gonna show up in this weather?”

“Fair enough.” He splayed out his hoodie on the back of the chair near his desk, sitting in the corner. 

I turned back to return the towel to its original spot, and stopped short. A giant scratch, one made with tiger’s claws, embedded itself in the wood next to the hook. Jagged and splintered, the wooden remains stuck out like a sore thumb. Katz rose a brow. “What’s wrong?”

“Has… has that always been there?” I pointed to the mess in the wall. 

He came forward to get a closer look. “Huh. I guess so. I guess the previous tenant made a mess in the walls and I never noticed.”

“How do you not — oh, never mind, I won’t question it. You wouldn’t notice if someone shot a bullet through your skull.”

“Do you want food or not? If you’re gonna tease me, I’m kicking you out.”

“I’d like to see you try.” I slipped off my jacket and headed towards the tiny kitchen in the next room over, feet drying with every step on the rugged carpet. The medium-sized fridge in the corner contained nothing but bread, cheese, fruit, and slices of ham. “God, Katz, how do you live off of this?”

He walked into the kitchen. “Don’t know. I just do.” He pulled out the bread, ham, and cheese. “You want a sandwich?”

“Well, there’s nothing else to eat, is there?”

Katz slapped together two ham-and-cheese sandwiches and served them on small plates in the coffee table of the living room. He splayed himself on the couch, and I grabbed the chair from his desk to sit. The food was mediocre at best, but I wasn’t focused on that. Why did that scratch in the wall catch my eye? Why was I still looking at it? Why did it make my stomach turn?

“Hey, do you still feel like you’re being watched?” Katz piped up. 

“Hm? I mean…. No. Mark’s not here anymore.”

“We still don’t know his deal.”

“And maybe we don’t wanna know. Your curious streak’s never really done you any good.”

“What do you mean, yes it does!”

“Huh, like that one time you almost got dragged away by the cops ‘cause you kept badgering the news reporter to tell you what the Great War was about—”

“That was essential. The XPA doesn’t tell us shit about what happened before the Reform.”

“They literally gave an entire explanation based on their findings.”

“A vague one. They didn’t give the reasons for the war, or who won, or —”

“Yeah, ‘cause they don’t know that yet. Nobody remembers everything, we’re all just going off of whatever remains of the past.” I sighed. “Anyway, Mark. I don’t wanna know about him.”

“You don’t wanna know about anything, so your opinion doesn’t count,” he said. 

“Oh, and yours does.” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know if he’s gonna be back — I hope the fuck not — but if he is, you’re not interrogating him.”

“Fine, fine, I won’t. But to be honest, if I wasn’t so worried about you, I would have done that already.”

“Keep worrying about me then. This is the only time you’ll ever hear me say that.”

[littlewestern]

Hey, Hey, Hey! - On Music in CGI TtTE Movies

Part 1: The Anecdote (Intro)

If there’s one thing that watching Thomas the Tank Engine has taught me, it’s that the most important thing is being friends, especially when you’ve committed to watching a bunch of children’s movies of questionable quality. For this @greatwesternway​ must again be commended not only for getting her hands on all the films, but watching them multiple times (once by herself and then again with me, several times over by this point). That’s friendship!

The first movie I watched (alone) was Blue Mountain Mystery which, If you’ve never seen any of the CGI movies, is a nice one to start with. The pacing is decent, the characterization of the narrow gauge engines is good, and the inclusion of Victor’s backstory is great, bordering on brilliant writing. Really, I only had one complaint… The music.

My god, even now listening to it again as I write this. It’s like at every juncture the people responsible for this song were determined to make the worst possible decisions available to them at the time. The blaring horn in the intro, the cacophonous production, the lyrics that would earn a C+ at best in a 4th grade poetry unit, the children’s choir in the background, this truly has it all. Two minutes of baffling mediocrity in an otherwise pretty decent movie. The other numbers weren’t any better, but Working Together was particularly noteworthy.

The film ended and I told DJ that I’d enjoyed most of it, but that the music was very, very bad, as bad as I’d ever heard in a children’s animated feature (and I’ve watched some garbage animated features).

“The songs in the film were different songs, but they sounded almost identical,” I observed. DJ laughed and agreed, and for the next few weeks we watched better movies with better music in them. Then we got to King Of The Railway.

“This next one has Stephen in it,” DJ promised me.

“Love that guy!” I replied cheerfully. We’d watched his episodes of the show, but I had not yet seen the movie.

“It also has your favorite song in it.”

I laughed. I thought she was joking. After all, I had said that all the bad songs sounded basically the same. And as someone who has been diagnosed with incurable Commitment To The Bit Syndrome, I proceeded to ‘yes-and’ her.

“Oh, great! Can’t wait to start rockin’ and rollin’ and liftin’ and loadin’!”

DJ did not laugh or continue the joke. I was confused, but it happens! I’m not always as funny as I think I am. At least I would get to watch the movie that introduced my favorite Ulfstead Castle engine! And then, sixteen minutes into the film…

“No fucking way,” I said, at first in disbelief and then again in glorious, shrieking delight. “No fucking way!”

“I’m afraid so,” DJ said gravely. At least, I think that’s what she said, because at this point I was inconsolable. I had become unglued. I don’t remember exactly what came out of my mouth, but I know it was unkind. And loud.

“You can’t just– You can’t reuse a song you already used!” I declared, once I’d pulled myself together enough to start forming full sentences again. “You can’t hand in the same homework assignment twice!”

“Sure they can. They have the rights,” said DJ matter-of-factly.

“Well yeah,” I conceded. “But it’s just not The Done Thing. It’s not wrong, but we just don’t do it!”

Since then, the quality of the music in the CGI films has been the subject of much ridicule between the two of us, but to me especially. Sometimes I will narrate what I’m doing to the tune of Working Together. Any five syllable phrase will work, and it doesn’t even need to rhyme!

Open the ipad Lookin’ at files Drinkin’ my coffee!

So why bring this up? Well, a few weeks ago, I and several others in the ttte blogosphere received the entirety of the lyrics to Misty Island Rescue’s theme as an anonymous message. It reminded me that there’s actually a lot to say about the music, how it evolved over the years, and what makes the bad stuff bad and the good stuff good. And, yes, there is good stuff in some of these films.

So let’s make a series of essays about it! Next week, I’d like to take a look at the worst of what these movies have to offer, and break down why they don’t work and what might be done to fix them. After that, we’ll look at the good stuff and talk about how they improved on the formula, and I’ll reveal which song I think is the best out of the 13 CGI films.

‘Til then!

[alzilla09]

I’m I the only one who didn’t like the ending to Yugioh! 5D’s?

It’s been 13 years since 5Ds ended and I still miss this series so much. However as much as I love 5Ds, I have a lot of problems with it. Mostly due to how the second half was handled. I know there are fans who like the second half and that’s fine. While I did enjoy it I found it disappointing. I honestly prefer the first half better even though it had a few bumps on the road it was still worlds better than what the second half done.

But I’m here to talk about the ending. Now I know there’s fans who say that this is the best ending to any Yugioh season ever. Yet I disagree since there are aspects to this ending that make it one of the worst for me. While Arc-V’s ending is my absolute least favorite ending to any Yugioh. 5Ds ending is a mix bag to me. And before anyone especially 5Ds enthusiasts comes at me please hear me out! This is my opinion so don’t take it as a grain of salt.

First off I didn’t like the way the dismantling of Team 5Ds was handled especially them going their separate ways. Heck I didn’t like the way how the team broke up in general.

Everyone’s decision to leave felt so random yet forced. Jack’s decision to leave makes sense because he’s goal is to become King again and beat Yusei. However I hated how he said goodbye to Carly! Did he really had to yell at her like that?! Also why did he need a harem with Mina and this random coffee girl who we don’t even get to know that well?

Crow’s is a mix bag since I really don’t like Crow that much. I’m sorry for anyone who is a Crow fan but Crow is one of my least favorite characters in Yugioh period. One minute he’s a sector security officer then the next he’s off to conquer the duel circuit. Yet for what reason?

The twins leaving because their parents saw them on television I thought was stupid! We never got to know who their parents are? Plus we know Rua wants to be a great duelist just like Yusei, Jack and Crow. However Ruka we don’t even know what she wants to do for her future?

Aki becoming a doctor felt kind of forced to be honest. She never said anything about wanting to study in medicine or develop healing powers all season long. I don’t mind her being a doctor but it would have been better if it was implemented before instead of randomly choosing. I did like the moment she and Yusei had even if it was short lived. Yet I felt like this was such a BS excuse just to keep them apart from each other since it’s so obvious they have mutual feelings for each other.

And speaking of our main protagonist…Yusei. Poor Yusei, he deserves so much better than this. He saves the whole city with his friends and he’s the only one who stays behind because he wants to continue to protect Neo Domino City. Like I get wanting to make sure something like the Meklord genocide never happens again but at what cost? Him becoming a scientist felt random, I guess wanting to carry on in his family footsteps but like Aki it was never implied before.

Not only that but I didn’t like how everyone just abandons him after giving that half-ass high five. Although Aki was the only one who implied that she would someday return to Yusei after she is done with her studies. Yet still I didn’t like how everyone just leaves while poor Yusei is all alone having to wait 8 freaking years just to see them again?!

Also why didn’t we see Yusei’s time skip? Why not the rest of the other characters who reside in Neo Domino? Plus what happened to Rally, Nerve, Blitz, and Taka? That single cameo in the second-to-last episode is not an excuse for writing them out of the series with no explanation. Not only that but I always felt like they were more of Yusei’s friends than Team 5Ds.

Now I’m not saying that this was a bad ending but I feel that this ending was very mediocre to me. I don’t understand why people would think that friends splitting up is a good ending? Again I’m not judging but I just didn’t find the ending to 5Ds all that good in my honest opinion. Hence why I prefer the manga’s ending better because at least Yusei doesn’t end up alone and is surrounded by all the friends he’s made as they celebrate his victory with Jack. At least it had a feeling of being complete while the anime’s had so much to be desired. I feel that everyone loves to put this ending so high on a pedestal when it has a bunch of problems that just don’t work at least for me.

Especially since there were loose ends that never got resolved. Like the mysterious Yliaster member, Divine and Arcadia, Yliaster as a whole never made any sense whatsoever and I could name more but I’m too lazy to do it.

I thought 5Ds could have ended the same way how the first episode began. Like a callback to the first episode without Team 5Ds going their separate ways.

Where we get to see Team 5Ds all grown up and Yusei and Jack having their potential rematch in the kaiba dome in celebration of the anniversary of Neo Domino City’s Peace. And we see Aki, Crow and the Twins even Carly in the audience as they are rooting for their two friends to give it everything they got. And Yusei and Jack reminisce of the old times as they begin their turbo duel and bring out their ace monsters for an epic clash like how The original Beyblade ended. But that should be saved for a post-5Ds movie sequel if it ever happens.

Look if you liked the way the ending of 5Ds was that’s perfectly fine. However I just don’t bend the knee when it comes to things like this. Because everyone is going to have different opinions about something and that’s totally fine. I’m just sharing why I didn’t like as much as everyone else did. But to each of their own I guess.

[recoverywithgh0ul]

Soooo, what i eat in a day, day 3 now! I know it’s not so many days, but honestly keeping a routine with this, has been really helping me honestly, so even if no one reading this, at the end of the day it’s beneficial to my mental health. So that’s all that matters honestly. >.<

Last night was thankfully much better than the night before, hunger wise, and today I’m going to actively be okay with eating outside “allowed times” I’m just going to be eating when I’m hungry, and not going to make myself adhere to rules that 1. Don’t work for me and 2. Make me feel stressed and guilty about literally just nurturing my body. This is of course my approach, if food schedules work you should definitely use them in a safe and healthy way :>

Breakfast~

Today i had a yogurt bowl with a mini doughnut, and some apple slices.

(Today i was craving doughnuts, so i decided to have a mini one with breakfast to satisfy that craving. Breakfast was overall really nice, and i really enjoyed it, especially in a mental aspect. I was able to have what i was craving, without feeling the guilt of binging a bag of tiny doughnuts or something. The most. Beneficial thing I’m learning in my recovery, is everything is okay in moderation, and if it’s apart of a healthy diet. I know that sounds basic, but in practice, it’s so true.)

Lunch~

So, for lunch, a repeat of yesterday *0* , honey turkey wrap, bbq kettle chips, and mini sweet peppers with a side of ranch and spicy garlic sauce, also the drink will be at the bottom where it usually is,,

(was so good tbh, maybe even better than yesterday, and I’m really proud off myself for enjoying a meal, feeling satisfied, and not feeling like shit. So whooop)

Snack~

So for a snack since i was just kind of peckish and going to have dinner soon, i still had some leftover saltines and PB from the other day, so i had the last two of those, and i also had the last of the little bit of yogurt i had in the container from this morning

( no pic because, eh, but i got a mediocre picture for dinner though lol)

Dinner~

So for the main, i have leftover spaghetti and some frozen Aldi meatballs, and a side of BBQ spicy honey Brussels sprouts and broccoli

(Today has been not the most productive day for me, and I’ve been kinda of craving comfort most of it to be honest, so being proud of myself for the little things is definitely going to be the theme for today. I can’t really say anything is really going on lol, I’m honestly kinda having a good mental day? And honestly that’s amazing. If you’re reading this, i hope you’re having a decent day, and if you’re not, please remember to be kind to yourself. Especially on days when it’s the hardest to <3 )

Snack~

So for a night snack i had, some mini bell peppers, some chips with a side of cream cheese, and two star burst things

(No pic of the starbursts but they were indeed eaten, i was craving something sweet, so i nabbed em. The ending of tonight was interesting, haven’t been feeling the most valid in terms of the fact that im unwell enough i guess. Bottom line is, i was and am struggling, and I deserve to have a good day. And if anyone is reading this, you do too <3 )

Drinks~

Iced coffee

Water throughout the day

Low carb energy drink(not for ed purposes, just because I like the taste >.<)

Another day, conquered. Sometimes, some days can feel the equivalent to slaying a dragon. I’d imagine anyway, idk. But i got through it, and that’s all that matters. I hope anyone reading this that’s struggling, remembers they are worthy of food, and are deserving of recovery. You can love yourself, you’re allowed to, i promise~ until tomorrow. <3

[penkraft123]

Plan and be creative

NO, it is not an oxymoron!

You're as creative as anyone

We hear people say, “I’m just not that creative. We are convinced it’s a fallacy! You are creative and ingenious and resourceful and brilliant. Creativity doesn’t have to be defined by the bounds of art or literature. Your creativity can reveal itself in so many different ways: parenting, relationships, wardrobe, problem-solving, ideas, shoelaces, cooking.

Everyone is capable of creativity.

Never underestimate the value of a creative outlet

Is the work you’re doing feeding your need for creativity? There are seasons of life when it might not. In those seasons, it’s so incredibly useful to have a creative outlet on which to rely. The psychological research supports these types of creative pursuits. In a San Francisco State study measuring employees with a creative side project and those without, those with a creative hobby were more likely to be helpful, collaborative, and creative with their job performance. Best of all, side projects are unlike whatever you’d experience at work. They’re low-risk, low-pressure, and something you love doing.

Make time for creativity. The same time. Every day.

“I write only when inspiration strikes. Fortunately it strikes every morning at nine o’clock sharp.” – W. Somerset Maugham

If you want to be more creative, to come up with more ideas, and to have a more efficient creation process, schedule it. Put creative time on the calendar. Then show up every day. The ballyhooed “lightning bolt of inspiration” might make it seem that these moments strike randomly, that you catch one in a bottle and keep yourself ready to go at a moment’s notice. This is all well and good. However, waiting around for creativity to strike might mean you never see it coming. Instead, you can boost brain activity by keeping a consistent routine. Routine reinforces neural circuitry, and the more you work at the same routine, the stronger those connections become.

Embrace constraints

Though it might seem counter-intuitive, constraints can help you be even more creative. Embrace these constraints, whichever way they come—constraints on your time, your resources and your energy. If you’ve got 20 minutes to be creative, it might be all the time you need. Twitter is a great example: creativity in 140 characters or fewer. Some take this to an even deeper level with six-word memoirs, summing up a bio in only six words. There are speed painters, coffee cup artists, and timed TED talks. These examples—and so many more —show that creativity is possible and sometimes preferable under the right constraints.

Trying and failing is better than never trying at all

What holds you back from creating something? For many of us, it’s fear. Fear that something might not be good enough, unique enough or novel enough. Overcoming this fear is a huge and important step. Start here: It’s okay to fail. In fact, it can be helpful to create something silly, strange, ugly, or useless because you’ve taken the step that so many people never do. You’ve created. The stupidest possible creative act is still a creative act. On the spectrum of creative work, the difference between the mediocre and the good is vast. Mediocrity is, however, still on the spectrum; you can move from mediocre to good in increments. The real gap is between doing nothing and doing something.

Be prepared to toss your best ideas

There’s a popular bit of writing advice that sounds really tough yet rings really true: “Kill your darlings.” In many cases, in order to move on with a creative pursuit, you’ll have to let a favorite pursuit—one of your darlings—fall by the wayside.  No hard feelings. Sometimes the idea is too grand to pull off. Other times, the timing just isn’t right. Perhaps it sounded really great in your head and looked a whole lot different on paper. Whatever the reason, don’t hold onto an idea too long. Make room for more.

Soak up all the influence you can

Become a culture sponge, a content sponge, a role model sponge. Have more experiences and interactions with life around you, and take note of what you see—particularly the stuff you like. By distinguishing the creative things you love, you’ll soon discover your own tastes. You’ll get better at identifying what you like and what you don’t, and your personal creativity will take shape even clearer.

Collect what inspires you

For me, inspiration comes from a bunch of places: pressure, TINA factor, deadlines… A lot of times ideas will turn up when you’re doing something else, the ‘Eureka’ moments or morning epiphanies! And, most of all, ideas come from confluence — they come from two things flowing together. They come, essentially, from daydreaming. . . . And I suspect that’s something every human being does. Writers tend to train themselves to notice when they’ve had an idea — it’s not that they have any more ideas or get inspired more than anything else; they just notice when it happens a little bit more.

Creativity is about making connections

Creativity is just connecting things. When you ask creative people how they did something, they feel a little guilty because they didn’t really do it, they just saw something. It seemed obvious to them after a while. – Steve Jobs

Neurologically this is true, as researchers have found that the brain operates creatively when multiple areas of the brain are connected. We piece together our different experiences in such a way that creative ideas are born. In Steve Jobs’ case, he connected the dots between touchscreens, personal computing, user interface, and great design and ended up with some of the best mobile devices on the market.

Others will be better than you. And that’s a good thing.

Have you heard the phrase, “If you’re the smartest person in the room, then you’re in the wrong room”? I think this can hold true for the authors you read, the musicians you admire, and the creatives you follow. Set up shop in a room where you will be motivated to achieve great things and to grow your creativity.

Surround yourself with greatness

You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with. And you are the sum of your influences. Put together, these pieces of advice offer a call to have amazing people in your life along with amazing experiences and influences. Your job is to collect good ideas. The more good ideas you collect, the more there is to choose from when the time comes to be inspired and create.

Its okay to create alone

Creative solitude might be a huge stumbling block to a young creator. So know this: It’s okay to create alone. There may be times for social and team collaboration, but there will also be plenty of times you create alone. Even after brainstorming together, you may find yourself creating solo. This solitude is often necessary, and you’ll learn to love it. Get comfortable with being by yourself, focusing, and creating.

Start something today

If you’re stuck on creating, take this bit of advice from Seth Godin. Start something. Anything. And for added motivation, put your start date on the calendar so you know you mean business. Starting is like that. We can schedule it. Thursday, April 3rd, 3:05…start something. And you’ll feel even better when you get to another favorite Godin maxim: Ship it.

You’ll love the rush when you “ship it”

The dopamine pathways of the brain send feel-good hormones when we engage in an activity we enjoy—receiving new things, getting rewards, etc. Shipping your new creation can trigger a dopamine rush. There’s a huge happy feeling when you’ve shipped something you created. And when you link these feelings together day after day, you’ll start to long for the ability to create.         Get started. Finish. Ship. Repeat.

Go big with your goals

Many times, my creative ideas sound better in my head than they do once they’re created. And that’s okay. In his book Steal Like an Artist, Austin Kleon tells the story of Conan O’Brien and his take on the late-night talk show hosts, including himself.                  Conan O’Brien has talked about how comedians try to emulate their heroes, fall short, and end up doing their own thing. Johnny Carson tried to be Jack Benny but ended up Johnny Carson. David Letterman tried to copy Johnny Carson but ended up David Letterman. And Conan O’Brien tried to be David Letterman but ended up Conan O’Brien. In O’Brien’s words, “It is our failure to become our perceived ideal that ultimately defines us and makes us unique.” Shooting for the stars and missing is still a good thing. We gain the experience of pursuing something valuable and great, and we’re likely to find our own path of excellence along the way.

Create what you enjoy

Create the things that delight you, entertain you, and motivate you. Whatever you make, let it be something you love. Create something that you enjoy, not something you’re under contract to make or something you think others would find pretty cool. For one, you may lose the motivation to finish it if things don’t go your way. But more importantly, there’s power in creating from a place of love and enjoyment. Your finished product will absolutely reflect the joy and happiness you put into it.

Penkraft conducts classes, course, online courses, live courses, workshops, teachers’ training & online teachers’ training in Handwriting Improvement, Calligraphy, Abacus Maths, Vedic Maths, Phonics and various Craft & Artforms — Madhubani, Mandala, Warli, Gond, Lippan Art, Kalighat, Kalamkari, Pichwai, Cheriyal, Kerala Mural, Pattachitra, Tanjore Painting, One Stroke Painting, Decoupage, Image Transfer, Resin Art, Fluid Art, Alcohol Ink Art, Pop Art, Knife Painting, Scandinavian Art, Water Colors, Coffee Painting, Pencil Shading, Resin Art Advanced etc. at pan-India locations. With our mission to inspire, educate, empower & uplift people through our endeavours, we have trained & operationally supported (and continue to support) 1500+ home-makers to become Penkraft Certified Teachers? in various disciplines.

[crazybigredlove]

9th December 2013

Dear Pete, 

As a Starbucks regular I've got my little spot in the cafe that I expect to be all mine. Refusing to acknowledge anyone I turn the share off on the laptop, I settle back into the cushioned chair, and I pop my headphones in. It's mostly Lorde, Lana Del Rey, Of Monsters and Men, Katy Perry, Birds of Tokyo, that sort of thing. It's an important detail because it sets the tone for the manuscript and let's you know precisely how serious I am. James and Dave Franco could walk in and start trying to make eye contact from across the room and I still wouldn't look up. I've nearly written a whole manuscript in the last few weeks and that doesn't allow time for pursuing Hollywood romances. 

Shit. Is. Real. Especially now that I'm working to a deadline. I want something finished before I move on to the next phase of my life. 

Which is why it was super annoying when your brother turned up today and decided that because we're housemates who don't understand boundaries, he can interrupt me whenever he feels like it. He slapped a cafe mocha down on the table in front of me. 

"Are you ever coming home?" He slides into the booth and stares at me through tired eyes. "That has yet to be confirmed." I reach for the drink. "Is this paleo?" 

"Yes, Liv," he rolls his eyes. "Chocolate milk coffee is paleo." "Awesome. Everything is paleo as long as someone says it is, so I mostly just needed you to say that." "Are we going to talk about Big Red?" 

"No." "Okay." We let the silence build but it isn't awkward or uncomfortable. We are just two people who are tired and have lost their words. Or at least that's what I thought it was. "A Facebook message? Really?" "Who told you?" The accusation in my voice makes several fellow coffee drinkers turn around, so I drop my voice. "It doesn't matter. It was a stupid thing to do and it didn't make a difference anyway." "What were you hoping for? That he'd come running back to you?" "I'm not a delusional fool. I may have shit taste in men, but I'm sensible enough to know that being with these people is not a good idea. I don't know..." My voice trails off and I stare into space. What was I hoping for? "Maybe I was being an awful person and I was lashing out at him. Or maybe what I was really hoping was that I could stop anyone else from getting hurt here. Stop him from doing any more damage. Or maybe I just wanted to punish her for having pink hair. I don't know." "So what did happen?" "They both blocked me on Facebook. It was kind of an anti- climax after everything." Christopher nodded. "He was always a crap human being, Liv. From the start he desperately wanted to be with someone, even if it wasn't the right someone. He wanted all the sex, none of the commitment, and anyone that he could call his own. He was a strange dude." "I know, it's weird. It doesn't even hurt anymore when you say stuff like that. At first I thought I was in shock at how it all played out or denial or something, but now all I feel is apathy. He broke it so much that I don't care anymore." He reached out and squeezed my hand. "Some might say that's a good thing." 

I took what felt like the millionth deep breath in six months. I was sick of it. All the sighing, the loud inhaling, and then the earth-shattering exhalation; it was almost like those noises now provided the soundtrack to my life. He sighed. She sighed. She took a deep breath. He took a deep breath. Enough. 

An unstoppable force... That was what he'd said. 

In that Starbucks down the road from our house where the coffee is mediocre and there are still a few other patrons hanging around even at that late hour, that was the moment in time where the conversation couldn't be avoided any longer. 

It took three more deep breaths before the words started to flow. Hopefully those would be the last ones for a while. 

"Christopher," I began, staring at the carbon copy of you and realising that was the reason I hadn't ever really seen him for who he truly was. "I can't be what you want. Not right now. I know this is so cliched and from a movie and it's the part where I start yelling at the screen what an idiot she is and how much she needs to get her shit together, but for so long I thought I had dealt with being alone and I was good, ready to meet someone. I'm not." "Liv,- "Don't, okay. We should've had this conversation months ago, right after the first time we had sex and Simon told me that you wanted something more." "He told you that?" Christopher looked horrified. "Yeah. Why? Is that not..." My heart races, suddenly so uncertain thinking that I've read it wrong. He drops his head into his hands and groans as I grip the table, fighting the impulse to run for the door. Finally he speaks but his voice is so low I lean right across the table to hear it. "I didn't know he told you." "He did. He thought I knew." "You didn't?" Shaking my head I laugh softly. "It took me a long time after he told me to even believe it." "Well, this is awkward." "It doesn't have to be. I don't want it to be. It was so easy to tell myself that you were happy with occasional sex and not being tied down to one woman, but I don't know that I believe that anymore. And I'm starting to see that over the last few years and massively in the last few months, I let myself go. I stopped being me because all these boys kept hurting my feelings. Every time I met someone knew I lashed out because of what the last one did and I don't want to do that anymore. You know in the last six months I could count on one hand all the times I've bothered to do my hair properly." I'm smiling wryly. "I'm in my thirties, single, and a day is a screaming success if I iron my hair. I stopped caring about me. I need to fix that." 

Tears spring hot into my eyes and I groan as I dab at them with a napkin. "I am so sorry, this is embarrassing and I would really like to be done with crying. You have no idea how much I want to go back to not being the girl who cries constantly." 

"Liv, I've stitched up your forehead, I've seen you naked more times than I've seen any other woman, and when we were eleven I cut off your ponytail." "Nine," I interjected. "It was nine actually and it took me till I was eleven to get over it." "Either way, it doesn't matter, but I would hope it takes more than a few tears in Starbucks for you to get embarrassed in front of me." He squeezes my hand tight again and all I want to do is curl up in his arms. Always wanting what I can't have... "Yeah you're right." "It's late. Come on, home time." 

We stand and head for the exit and as we do he wraps one arm around my shoulders. 

"Chris? I feel bad now. I didn't before, about her. I really didn't care at all. Now I feel bad though. This is all fifty percent my fault and at some stage, even though they're staying together, she's going to feel bad." 

"They might still be together in twenty years, but with that message you planted a seed of doubt in the mind of an insecure girl who was so uncertain about the stability of her relationship that she monitored her boyfriend's calls and texts. He had an affair and even though she was doing that she still didn't catch him. Right now she might be claiming that she loves him and he's innocent, but that is going to eat away at her. Somehow I don't think they're ever really going to work past it." "I am a disgusting human being." 

"No, you're just someone who made some mistakes because they thought they were in love. You're not special when it comes to that one." 

With a kiss on my forehead he pulls me in tight and I hug him back. We walk like that all the way home and I don't want to let go. 

Liv x 

[cesar-ramon]

As he watched his friend eye his eggs with the same disdain a child had for vegetables being placed in front of them, Cesar had half a mind to comment, but instantly thought better of it as any small mispeak on his end could give him away, and the last thing he wanted was to lose the only good, close friend he had left due to being labeled crazy or something worse. “ What, you don’t like your eggs?” He asked after a beat, playing it off as though he had noticed the man’s expression and was just such a good friend that he knew his moods well enough to guess. “ Want me to take ‘em off your hands? You could order somethin’ else?” He offered. Though it would cost Gabriel a few more dollars and time wasted waiting for a second meal, it was only a few dollars, and Cesar didn’t exactly mind having something a little extra on his stomach. As it stood, Cesar’s tastes were just low enough to consider slightly burnt or slightly undercooked food still good. 

“Land of the fuckin’ free, right? Though the really well-to-do people have that little toilet thing that sprays water up and washes their ass for them after they shit. Nothing fancier than a clean ass after you blow up a toilet.” He snickered. “ Kill me before I ever sing at some beach resort for tourists.” He responded with a grim look. “Hey- if anything, I’m a socialist. I would love to be able to take money off a rich person for no other reason than ‘it’s fair’.” he chuckled, though he meant every word. “ I dunno, man.. It’s like everywhere you look, feels like the world’s ending. Feels like death is everywhere nowadays…” Cesar paused. His words were meant to be metaphorical, but they were truer to him than he could admit to Gabriel. “ I mean, love is dying, art is dying, freedom is dying… Feel like in no time at all we’re all gonna be sittin’ in chairs like Wall-E just downloading other people’s ideas and experiences.  Just a world full of morbidly obese sad fucks slowly eating outselves to death, one double cheeseburger at a time because eating tasty food is the last thing we can really enjoy.”

His bitterness spilled, Cesar down the lukewarm coffee before signaling for a refill. He was disappointed in himself for letting his feelings ruin an already mediocre breakfast with his otherwise busy friend. He focused instead on pushing food into his mouth to keep quiet while just listening to his friend. His words, not his thoughts. In doing so, Cesar grew a bit more fond and sympathetic to the man’s plight. Being a teacher was just not rewarding at all, and while the work should have been seen as noble, it was in many ways, a step down from a garbageman or janitor these days. “Fuckin’... misfired little cum stains.” Cesar remarked. “They say so much shit about the generations that came before them, but at least we had a little respect. These little shits all think they’re gonna be TikTok stars and Istafamous just for existing and have no idea how the real world is gonna humble them. And yet, they wanna talk trash before their voice even drops about people being failures. Half of them are gonna end up flipped waffles, burgers, or houses if they're lucky.” Cesar hissed. “And the way they can find anybody on the fucking internet these days… you can’t even start a freaking podcast and say something they’ll ‘cancel’ you for and you end up losing your job because you think honey mustard is better on chicken strips than barbecue sauce… I don’t know how you do it. If I had the body and was half my age, I’d probably be on that Only fan thing right now.”

“It’s vintage.” Gabriel repeated, though mostly to himself through a laugh. He had been looking at his eggs, which were a little more runny than he would have liked. He’d forgotten to ask for them scrambled, laughing again now louder, at the new nonsense his friend was spewing now. “God I hope they would know even if neither of us do.” Gabriel decided to be brave and dip his toast in the yellow egg center, pulling it to his mouth and regretting the first bite as it came in contact with him.

“Karl Marx over here.” He commented, somewhere in between Cesar’s rantings, then took another sip of his diner coffee. “But you have the righteous American freedom of eight different choices of toilet paper even though they’re owned by the same two companies.” He smiled over a sip, then set it down to prong his fork into a sausage. It was burned all around but the middle still felt a little tender. “Beach bar gigs or something. Tourist spots, sure. Sing about your communist agenda.” Gabriel looked at his friend, weary of the world, and could not blame him. Only the show of face to others held him back from being the same, distrusting and hopeless of the world.

Gabriel shrugged, not thinking of the question posed up until that moment. Not that it wasn’t pressing or that he was well on money, his savings could maybe hold him for a month. “Sucks when you’re a teacher cause you can’t do anything you’ll run into your kids at. Nothing like your teacher handing you a burger and an ice cream cone to knock the edge right off of being taken seriously. Now you’re Mr. Alvarez, the burger flipper. Soft serve bitch. High school kids are ruthless.” He took a bite of the sausage, not as bad as he thought. “I know there’s some gig landscape work we could do, worst case scenario. Lots of moms with lemonade. You’d have to be in the sun but then at least you wouldn’t be so white.”

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Afterhours

Summary: Spencer and his girlfriend sneak around in the library afterhours

CW: 18+ only Spencer x Female Reader (Smut) Semi-public, oral/fingering (female receiving), premature ejaculation, kissing, established relationship

Note: This was born from my deep desire to makeout in a library with Spencer. Specifically glasses Spencer my beloved (that's actually his full name if you didn't know that)

Word Count: roughly 2000 !!

It was so quiet in the back of the library that Spencer could hear the squeak of his sneakers on the linoleum floors. By this time, the library was usually unoccupied. Only Spencer remained most nights. He preferred the quiet, large library as opposed to his stuffy apartment. In the mornings, he would appreciate the daylight that shone through the wall-to-floor length windows on the south side of the building. At night, he loved the quiet comfort of familiar patrons and staff. 

Particularly, a certain desk clerk. 

At this hour, the fluorescent lights threatened to give Spencer a headache. He would usually combat this by downing one or two paper cups of mediocre coffee. Between Gideon’s caseload at the BAU and finishing his last dissertation, it’s hard to find time to sleep. Luckily, that certain desk clerk is more than willing to teach him a thing or two. 

“You look exhausted,” Y/N says ,reaching out and pressing her hand to Spencer’s face. He leans into her touch, unable to resist it, “Are you seriously getting any sleep?” 

“A little,” Spencer says, cocking his head nonchalantly, “Just busy between finishing up school and starting at the BAU. It’s a little scary if I’m being honesty,” 

“I’m sure. I just want to make sure you’re getting enough sleep is all. You know someone really smart did once tell me that operating under a significant lack of sleep is just as dangerous as being intoxicated,” she says, smirking. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m intoxicated too,” Spencer says, moving closer to you in between the ranges. He has your back pressed up against the bays, the books are hard against your back and his breath is warm on your skin, “On you that is. I’m not sure if that was clear. I’m tryin–” 

“Spence,” she chuckles, grabbing a fistful of his soft hair, “You don’t have to try anything with me. You’ve already got me,” 

“I know, Y/N. I just like to charm you,”

Y/N closes her eyes, leaning her forehead against Spencer’s forehead. Barely brushing her lips against each other, Spencer whines at the lack of touch. She licks her lips, smiling at Spencer’s eagerness. Relenting, Y/N closes the distance. Even though she’s lost count of how many times she’s  kissed him, every time she kisses him it’s like the first time all over again. His hands are restless on her back. He claws at the fabric of Y/N’s cardigan, desperately wanting to touch more and more of her. His voice comes out in breathless hums of delight as her lips drag up his jawline. Siphoning on a source of newfound energy, she pushes Spencer up against the bookcase and deepens the kiss. 

“The library. Y/N. Someone. Someone could–” 

“No one comes down here. It’s just us. We’re all alone,” she replies, separating to wink at Spencer as she takes off Spencer’s glasses, placing them in his pocket. 

“You know, as many times as we’ve done this, I don’t think I’ve ever thought about taking my glasses off. One would think that I would, but I just never–” 

“God, Spencer,” Y/N curse’s, brushing her lips harshly against his lips with more passion than she intended, “I love it when you ramble, but I really would like if you didn’t think right now,” 

Spencer doesn’t answer. Instead, he wraps his arms around Y/N’s  torso in a tight grip. Spencer’s breathy whisper sends shivers down her spine. His eyes are a honeyed fire that threatens to swallow her whole. She wishes she had the ability to slow time down. She’d want to let this moment, with Spencer pressed up against the bookcase and her flush against him. Feeling a rush of hopefulness, she decides to yield to the strength of the tide. He holds her steady against the brute of it, and his lips beckon you forth. 

She reaches upward, pulling Spencer by the neck to deepen the already deep kiss. It’s like she can’t get close enough to him. He steadies the kiss with a gentle, careful hand against her cheek. Y/N can tell that he’s holding back, restraining himself from kissing you with a sort of passion that bubbles to the surface. He slides his thigh in between your legs, letting her grind on him. The sensation is electric, but nothing compared to Spencer’s unrestrained whines. Spencer groans in her ear, his swollen lips hot against her  jawline. The low groan in his throat melts her inhibition. Spencer’s hands fit perfectly at the back of her head, cradling Y/n towards his lips as he kisses her. He’s still against the bookcase, and she’s smart enough to know this could lead somewhere else quickly. 

“Y/N,” Spencer says, his strained voice in her ear sends a shiver down your spine, “If we don’t—”

“Why don’t we do that thing we always talked about. You know,” 

“Now? I mean. Okay. If I-you. If you want to, that is?” Spencer says shakily, his hands are on her waist, searching for skin to grip and kiss and leave lasting marks on. 

“You mean if I want you to fingerbang me in the library? I mean I’m not going to complain about that, that’s for sure,” 

Spencer, blushing profusely, stammers out a response that’s completely unintelligible. His cheeks burn with adorable crimson that makes me want to kiss him senseless all over again. He nods, leaning in close to give her a chaste kiss on her forehead. 

“Um, do you want me to take your skirt off or uh, do you want to that yourself—”

“Spence, baby. You got it. You’ve just gotta relax. I know you’re already great at it. Just relax. Please,” she reassures him, kissing his nose. The kiss breaks out into a smile, a toothy goofy one where if Spencer laughs for too long he’ll get the hiccups. 

“Okay,” Spencer says, his fingertips gliding on her hips, “you just make me nervous. A good kind of nervous, though. The best kind,” 

Spencer’s voice trails off as his head eclipse the crappy fluorescent light in the library basement. She lets Spencer swing her around so your back is pressed up against a bookcase. No one ever ventures down to this level anymore. It’s just collecting dust — and serving as a certain fantasy. 

“Spence,” Y/N mutters, so breathless as her eyes lock with Spencer’sm 

He slips down to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. With a wicked grin, Spencer’s hands pull her skirt to her knees. He kisses her exposed hip bones, unable to leave a bit of skin unkissed. 

“Use your words,” Spencer orders, the vibration in his throat making her shudder in anticipation. 

“Just touch me. Please just touch me,” you beg, gripping Spencer’s shirt collar. She tugs him forward as he plants wet kisses along the dip in her thighs. His hands are hot against her flushed skin, drawing her in time and time again. 

“As you wish,” Spencer says, that wicked grin cropping up again as he curves his fingers around your underwear. 

He kisses a spot on her underwear, making her shudder at the sensation. He slips the underwear down to her knees with a swift move, looking up at Y/N with anticipation. Y/N combs her hands through Spencer’s hair, smiling as he hums at the feeling. He loves getting his hair brushed or braided or anything, really. As long as Y/N’s hands are somehow wrapped up in Spencer’s hair, he’s happy. His lips are swollen and well-bitten, but Spencer looks like an absolute dream. His cheeks are flushed from neck to ears and his hair is unruly from Y/N’s steadfast grip. 

“Eager boy,” Y/N chides with a chuckle. She taps Spencer’s cheek lovingly as he kisses along her thighs. Her skin is soft to the touch and Spencer wants to melt into it. 

“How can I be anything, but when you’re…you’re so beautiful,” 

Y/N, as Spencer’s fiery brown eyes look into her’s, feels like she might sink and drown and die. She beckons Spencer forward and he obliges. His lips curve into a smile as his hands snake upward. He reaches for her soft breast, desperate for the feeling against his worn palms. Everything about her is so soft and warm and welcoming. He can’t help but want a taste. 

Spencer litters his skin with little kisses as he finally reaches her unclothed center. He’s spurred on by Y/N’s tight grip of his hair. It’s the best kind of encouragement with her hands tangled up in his hair. The heady scent of her arousal sparks a carnal desire in Spencer to please her. Y/N’s stifled moans are the backdrop to a muffled soundtrack. It’s dizzying, it’s electric, it’s intoxicating. Spencer can feel her arousal against his skin, a sure sign that he’s doing something right. 

“Right there,” Y/N murmurs into the silence, Spencer’s own moans the only sound in the barren library basement. 

“Fuck,” Spencer curses uncharacterisitcally. Usually he’s a more stoic man. Usually he has all sorts of words to describe exactly how he feels. Usually he’s not as free. But this is not that usual moment. His hands grip Y/N’s thighs, sure to leave bruises he’ll kiss in the morning. 

“Please, Spencer, please,” Y/N chants, her chest rising and falling tandem. Her cheeks and eyes are alive with a beautiful glow. Her hair is matted in the back from moving so much, and Spencer thinks that they should take a leisurely bath when they go home. Her hand reaches his neck, pulling his head forward and effectively forcing him to look at her. 

“Fuck, you’re so good at that,” she curses with a smile. Spencer, looking quite proud of himself, offers Y/N a handkerchief from his long discarded tweed blazer. 

“Here,” 

“Of course you have one,” Y/N muses, chuckling as she plants a quick kiss on Spencer’s cheek, “Are you sure? You know, you don’t want to?”

“Oh,” Spencer says, his face turning from a sweet blush to a beet red, “About that. I’m fine. It’s a little embarrassing,” he says, his voice trailing off as his eyes lead to somewhere else. 

“Oh,” Y/N says, looking down at Spencer’s pants. She reaches out, grabbing him by his tie that’s way too big for him, and kisses his plush lips, “That’s the hottest thing ever, Spence,” she whispers against his cheek, kissing him all over again. 

“What?!” Spencer says, shock coloring his face, “Y/N, you don’t have to pretend–”

“Nope,” Y/N cuts him off, pressing a finger to his lips, “I’m going to do a number on you, my sweet boy. But later, at home,” 

Giggling, Spencer helps Y/N clean up her legs and readjust her clothing. He watches with awe as she fixes his tie and combs her fingers through his hair. With her skirt fixed, Y/N rests both hands on Spencer’s shoulders, squeezing. He winks, a silent sort of I love you amongst the stacks and stacks of outdated books. 

“Home,” Spencer says looking up at Y/N with warmth in his eyes, “I like that when you say home it’s my home too. But if I’m being honest, home is wherever you are,”

Tugging him up by his tie, Y/N rolls her eyes at Spencer, albeit lovingly, “You really got to change every moment into some kind of sappy contest,” 

Kissing her quickly on the bridge of her nose and then longer on her lips, Spencer whispers, “And I’m gonna win, every time,” 

TAGLIST

@pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @fandomfriend33 @folkreid @muffin-cup @doctorspenceryeet @shemarmooresfedora @strawberryspence @alexrosex99 @reidslibrarybook @reidslovely @reidsacademia @cncos-baby @fightingdragonswithreid @drayshadow @gspenc @sleepyspencer @ssa-uglywhore27 @mimischaos @xoxospencerreid @nomajdetective @spencerreidat3am @reidselle @foxy-eva @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @luredwithpretzels

[coconutcordiale]

hi! congratulations on 500!!🥳✨

could i request roommates with rooster for the bingo if it hasn’t been taken already? 🤍

you taste just like sundays (dripping off my tongue)

pairing- rooster x female!reader

warnings- 18+ minors DNI, dom bradley, oral (m receiving), degradation kink, probably not a good idea to fuck your roommate if i'm being honest but live ur life, the ‘miles teller is a mean dom so let’s pretend rooster is too’ club unites at dawn (or whenever I get around to posting this)

length- 3.3k

an- thank you so much!!! i'm sorry this took so long :( and of course apologies if this is not your thing i just run away in wild directions with these prompts

500 follower celly prompts are done yay! only took me over a month 🙃

title from u taste like sundays by łaszewo. i thought it was funny because i'm immature

You’re debating the merits of Kodiak Cakes versus Eggo frozen waffles on a late-night shopping run when you hear your name coming from a familiar voice.

You try not to tense up, but the smile on your face feels like plastic when you turn around to see the blonde. “Justin, hi.”

“I can see why you didn’t want me to come in last night.”

You pause. That’s one hell of a greeting.

Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, you let the freezer door slam shut, a gush of cold air raising the hair on your arms. “What?”

He gives a pointed look towards Bradley, who wandered from you moments before Justin waltzed up, still in his uniform. “Didn’t take you for a tag chaser.”

You fight the sudden urge to roll your eyes obnoxiously.

“He’s my roommate,” you respond through gritted teeth.

At least you know for sure you made the right call to not sleep with Justin last night after your mediocre date, no matter how frustrated you’ve been lately, no matter how much he reminds you of a poor woman’s Austin Butler.

He may be pretty, but he's still a dick.

Given that you don’t actually know Austin Butler, you can only hope he’s less of a dick than this guy.

Justin scoffs, “Sure, he is.”

You didn’t mind Justin’s cocksureness when you first met him in line at your favorite coffee shop, liked it even. He paid for your iced oat milk latte, forward and confident in a way only men who always got what they wanted could be.  

When he brought up taking you to dinner, it hadn’t even been a question, not really. You were surprised at how much you didn’t hate the inevitability that existed in his suggestion, like he always knew you’d say yes.

But then, he spent the entire date talking about himself, hardly letting you get a word in edgewise, and had the audacity to get angry when you didn’t invite him into your bed. So, now, you kind of want to wring his neck, twisting until the last bit of his undeserved, obnoxious pride is depleted from his annoyingly muscled body.

“Is this the fruit you like for your smoothies?” Bradley asks, oblivious, as he ambles back up to you with a red bag boasting tropical fruit blend on the front.

When you don’t answer, too busy grinding your teeth together and imagining what it'd be like to knee this overgrown frat boy in the balls, Bradley looks up from the bag, spine straightening as he clocks the tension between you and Justin.

“Hey man,” your mustached roommate says slowly, carefully, extending a hand towards Justin. “I’m Bradley.”

Justin stares at the outstretched hand in disgust and it drops back to Bradley’s side. You finally give in to the urge to roll your eyes.

The thing is the last couple of guys you slept with were so courteous, so sweet, so nice. They were barely a cut above adequate, leaving you with an itch to scratch, discontent trembling beneath your skin.

By the time you ran into Justin, you were embarrassingly ready for someone bolder. Someone a little more confident, a little more willing to take charge.

Someone a little more like Bradley, your mind supplies.

Shut up, you shouldn’t even know that, you tell it.

Unfortunately for you and your imagination, you do, in fact, know that Bradley would likely check every box that you’re looking for. The thin walls of your shared apartment ensured that months ago.

Lies to yourself aside, two minutes into a bruschetta appetizer with Justin, you had realized he was likely only going to take charge in disappointing, selfish, and unsatisfying ways.

“Don’t waste your time with her,” Justin tells him, acid dripping from every syllable. “She’s a fucking cock tease.”

Bradley’s eyes flash in anger, the bag crinkling audibly as he takes out his ire on frozen fruit. “You sure that’s something you want to have said to me?”

You watch Justin size him up, probably noting the couple of inches your roommate has on him.

“She’s not worth this shit,” he spits before turning on his heel to stalk out of the aisle.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight for a moment when he leaves, ignoring Bradley’s eyes on you. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bradley nods tersely, silently following you to the checkout line, waffles forgotten.

+

“That’s the guy you had over last night?” Bradley asks finally when you two make it back home and are busy putting things away, disdain ringing clear through the apartment.

“No, I didn’t let him come up,” you snap, knowing it comes out a little harsher than your roommate deserves. “He called me a cock tease, remember? Because apparently letting him buy me dinner means I’m supposed to put out.”

He puts his hands up in defense. “Sorry.”

The silence stretches out awkwardly between you, the refrigerator humming as you try to focus all your attention on the absurd number of cereal boxes in the pantry.

“It just sounded like you were having a good time when I got home last night,” he mumbles.

You freeze, wondering if it’s possible to will a blush back down your body. How did you not hear him come in last night?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rooster,” you manage a flippant tone you don’t feel at all, continuing to move things around the cupboard haphazardly.

“Didn’t mean to overstep,” he says innocently, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter across from you in your tiny galley kitchen. “I’m not judging, more impressed, didn’t know you were such a player. Going out with one guy, calling another over after.”

“I didn’t,” you defend without thinking, and you immediately want to slap your hand over your mouth.

You can feel the heat of his body at your back now, and silently will your hands to stay steady as you organize cereal boxes.

The man is such a slut for Shredded Wheat. He’s probably the only person keeping them in business at this point.

You wish you didn’t find his penchant for shitty cereal as endearing as you do.

“Oh?” He says, but there’s a shift in his tone, voice at least a couple of octaves lower now. “So, you didn’t booty-call some guy named Bradley after you kicked blondie to the curb?”

Your mouth drops open in shock. What a little shit.

You exhale shakily, knowing there’s no way you can fight the pink rising to your cheeks now. “I don’t know what you thought you heard—”

“Don’t be like that, princess,” he rumbles in your ear, sending chills all the way down your spine. “Next you’re gonna tell me it was just a dream.”

You bite your lip. How could he possibly know that was the excuse you were going to try?

He chuckles, something wicked lighting up his coffee-colored eyes as he turns you around and backs you against the counter, pulling boxes out of your hands and tossing them in the pantry without looking. “Fine, I’ll bite. What did you dream about?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” you whisper, refusing to meet his eyes.

Unfortunately for your dwindling self-control, this puts your gaze right at his chest where his flight suit is partially unzipped, tan skin glowing against his black undershirt.

It’s clear he’s taunting you now. “That so? Have those dreams about me a lot?”

You furrow your brows. It’s hard to think with him this close, the spice of his aftershave muddling your senses. “That’s…not what I meant.”

“I have those ‘dreams’ about you too. Never knew you felt the same, or I might’ve said something before.”

You’re torn between elbowing him in the ribs for his obvious air quotes and dropping to your knees at the sheer dominance he’s exuding that threatens to choke you in this tiny kitchen.

Bradley must sense your hesitation because his fingers begin rubbing soothing circles at the pulse points on your wrists.

“I could tell you what I did after I heard your gorgeous voice moaning my name,” he offers, gently, softer than you expect, given he’s spent the last five minutes barely holding back his amusement.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

He trails a hand up your side, leaving goosebumps underneath the thin material of your t-shirt. “Was hard as a fucking rock, baby, you sounded so beautiful. Came in my fist thinking about how wet you must’ve been dreaming about me.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” you admit, still quiet.

He smirks at that. “I know.”

Glaring at him, there’s an accusation lacing your words. “You also knew I didn’t sleep with him last night.”

You want to smack the smug look right off his rosy cheeks when he agrees, “He doesn’t look like a Bradley.”

You don’t, though, eyes drifting to where your hands are trapped against the counter, Bradley’s weight pinning you still.

“I know what you need,” he murmurs, voice like caramel in your ears.

“And what’s that?” You fire back with a strength you don’t feel, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control over this situation that’s rapidly spiraling.

Bradley is unphased by your attitude. “I think you know, otherwise you’d have invited him up here.”

You remain defiantly silent, hoping your expression remains blank. His mouth twitches upwards as he sees right through you.

“Why didn’t you let him come up, baby?”

You avert your eyes, uncomfortable under his intense gaze because directed at you, you’ve never seen his eyes quite like this.

Bradley isn’t exactly known for being even-keeled, his temper often flaring as he lets people get under his skin. But he’s never been like that with you, never stared at you with anything but puppy dog brown eyes.

Until now.

Now, there’s a fire lighting them up. A fire you always assumed was reserved for flying multi-million-dollar airplanes or arguing with Jake Seresin.

Despite that, his voice is eerily calm when he hooks a finger under your chin, forcing your attention upwards. “Answer me, princess.”

“Knew he couldn’t give me what you can.”

Pink lips quirk up fully at that. “And how would you know that? Heard me before?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks in answer, and you find yourself fighting the urge to duck your head again.

“Did that make you jealous, baby?”

You let out a small breath and gather the last of your courage. “A little. Mostly just made me wet.”

Bradley unleashes a dry chuckle that has you running hot and cold with embarrassment before he speaks again, low and gravelly.

“Better than me. Makes me fucking angry,” he grumbles in your ear. “The thought of that idiot’s hands on you.”

It’s finally your turn to smirk, although it feels a little weak in the face of his intensity. “It’s a good thing I’ve always kept my dates away when you were home then, huh?”

Bradley’s mouth presses together in a hard line, expression turning to stone. You know you shouldn’t be proud of the way his grip tightens on your wrists, the way his nostrils flare in irritation. You take advantage of his momentary lapse to switch your positions, pressing him back against the counter.

You want nothing more than to get your mouth on him and drive every memory of other girls from his mind. You weren’t lying when you said you weren’t jealous at the time, but you can’t help the competitive part of you that wants him to know he won’t find anyone else like you.

Before you can, he grabs you by the elbows, pulling you to him for a filthy kiss. Your first kiss.

Huh.

You want to laugh, suddenly, that you were ready to have your mouth well acquainted with his cock before you even got to kiss him.

Bradley sucks in a sharp breath once you break away from his lips, eyes pools of black as he notices you trying to move to the floor. “Gonna get on your knees and take care of me?”

“Well, I have to make sure you forget those girls somehow,” you tease, sliding your hands across his abs as you shift downwards.

“If I had thought for a second I could have you instead they never would’ve made it past the front door.”

You roll your eyes at him for patronizing you but busy yourself tugging down the zipper of his flight suit instead of saying something that’ll get you in trouble.

Mouthing at his hardening cock over his boxer briefs, your fingers toy with his waistband but don’t pull them down. You’re fighting back a giggle, giddy and feeling pretty proud of yourself as you listen to his breath catch, as you see his hands grip the counter behind him.

When he opens his mouth there might as well be ice in his breath, a warning in his tone that sends shivers straight to your core. “Don’t tease me, baby, you’ll regret it.”

You acquiesce, pressing your lips together to hold in a smile, thinking it’ll go unnoticed but Bradley’s eyes flare anyways.

“Was gonna be sweet to you,” he drawls. “But I don’t think that’s what you want. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be trying to rile me up.”

Your eyes are stuck on where he strains against his black briefs, words becoming harder and harder to form the longer you perch on the tile floor.

He runs a strong finger across your jaw and you swallow hard in anticipation. “Harder to tell me than it is to push and try my patience, isn’t it?”

All you can manage is a tiny nod.

“Answer me,” Bradley says again, but this time the words are harsh, steel bracing his tone. "Use your words, princess."

You bite your lip, trying not to moan at the hand he’s busy tangling in your hair. He notices, because of course he does, and tugs, pulling the words from you.

“No, sweet is not what I want,” you whisper, blinking up at him slowly.

He grins at that, and you shudder at how mean, how mischievous that expression looks.

Bradley grabs your hands, placing them on his thighs. “Pinch here if it’s too much. If any of it’s too much.”

You raise your eyebrows at him but nod again, more confident this time, licking your lips eagerly.

The bastard laughs. You’re a little sheepish at the way the sound makes you clench around nothing.

“Should’ve known you’d be desperate for a cock in your throat.”

You try not to shift too obviously at his words, unable to stay still as you ignore your own need.

He pulls himself out and your eyes widen at the sight. Your first thought is how sore your jaw is going to be tomorrow.

Your second is that you do not care one bit as long as you get your mouth on him immediately.

Unmoved by the impatience playing itself out across your forehead, Bradley’s other hand goes back to your chin, thumb roughly pushing in to pry your lips apart. You hollow your cheeks around his finger, fluttering your lashes and making a show of it, pride swelling in your chest when he groans.

Your mind has all but turned off as his thumb retreats so he can replace it with his cock, and your tongue darts out to lick his slit, following down to drag across the vein on the underside.

The hitch in his breath almost makes you regret your hands frozen in place on his muscular thighs, lamenting letting him take the lead completely, fire burning deep within you to take him apart with your mouth.

There’s always next time.

Next time, you think wildly, hoping to whatever higher power there’s an unlimited number of next times that’ll make permanently altering your friendship worth it.

Meeting his eyes, they’re darker than you’ve ever seen them, and you can’t help the muffled whimper that leaves you as you feel him sliding deeper, relaxing your jaw as best as you can as he builds a steady rhythm.

It’s probably better like this anyways; lips stretched around his thick length, spit pooling messily at the corners of your mouth, tears forming as he presses himself in, in, in, choking you.

It’s got to be better like this; on your knees, Bradley’s fingers tangled in your hair, your panties ruined where slick pools between your thighs, each thrust driving every remaining thought from your head.

It’s definitely better like this; Bradley fucking your mouth with abandon and making you take it, watching the sinful curl of his lips through blurry, glassy eyes, the struggle to breathe settling something that’s been aching in the back of your brain for months now.

“Not gonna last very long,” he warns, hand drifting down to the front of your neck, hips stuttering ever so slightly when he feels the bulge of his cock there.

That’s hot as fuck, you think hazily amidst the fuzz inside your head. Whether it’s the fact that he can see himself in your throat, the lack of oxygen going to your head, or him being on the edge so quickly - you don’t know.

You don’t care. Nothing exists beyond the weight of his cock on your tongue, his rough thrusts in and out making your clit beg for attention.

“The way you look right now—fuck, you were made to be on your knees with my cock in that pretty mouth, weren’t you, baby?”

It should be demeaning, but all it does is make you press your thighs together to quell the heat lighting itself through you, searching for some sort of relief.

Bradley shifts back until the tip is left in, only the distressed whine you let out keeping him from pulling out completely. You push back down, as much as you can with him still holding on tight.

His jaw slackens in surprise, a groan rumbling from his chest. “Greedy little slut, aren’t you? Gonna take all of me, want my cum down your throat?”

All you can manage is a pathetic mewl in response, eyes desperate and pleading.

Rhythm faltering, he pumps into your mouth just a few more times before cumming with a shudder. Your hands flex against the green material beneath them as you swallow around him, salt on your tongue.

“You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, a fucking wet dream,” Bradley pants after he’s ridden out his high, pulling you up from the floor and against his chest.

In a show of brute strength, he hooks his arms under your legs and carries you swiftly across the short distance to your room, laying you down on your soft baby blue comforter. You’re so taken aback that you don’t even think to complain about him wearing his gross flight suit in your bed.

His chest is still rising and falling rapidly as he arranges you next to him and frustratingly does not touch anywhere that Jesus wouldn’t approve of, instead massaging your sore knees with affectionate, gentle sweeps of his fingers.

You’re trying not to rub your thighs together too obviously, trying to give him time to recover without letting the need thrumming through you take over.

Bradley drops a kiss on your forehead and rolls over to the other side of the bed. “Alright, baby, goodnight.”

Your jaw, even sore as it is already, drops in surprise, outrage plain as day on your face as you grab his shoulder in protest. When you roll him back over to you, he’s shaking with silent laughter, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” Bradley coos, condescension filling the air between you as he presses you back onto the pillows, thumbs moving to smooth out the angry lines on your face. “Hope you slept in this morning, it’s gonna be a long night.”