#professor jake seresin

[topguncortez]

Submitting this photo and only this photo from Glen’s GQ shoot for Professor Jake Seresin Vibes… thank you

They are all amazing but this one just 🥵🥵

THE WHOLE PHOTO SHOOT SCREAMS PROFESSOR SERESIN

which is why i gotta know: Glen, are you reading my fucking blog?

[mothdruid]

I just KNOW this man would find any non suspicious reason to drag you out of class. He'd use every excuse in the book to take you away from something so he'd get his fix of you

i'm not sure who you are talking about 😅

i could see professor bradshaw and professor seresin doing this

pulling you into the hallway while everyone else works on their assignments. pushing you into the nearest closet. or wait! them as a geology professor and pushing you into the closet with all of the minerals and rock polishing equipment in it. it smells like the nature earth, which is how they always smell. and it just makes you feral as he pushes you against the side of one of the cases to make out with you because he just can't wait until later that night

send professor thots

[jayjay-thejet-plane]

Finished this piece of Bradley piercing Jake’s tongue! (for @film-in-my-soul and my piercer bradley/professor jake au😎)

The fic this art goes with by @film-in-my-soul can be read here!! (GO READ IT RN🔫)

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 1.4 | Bradley Bradshaw

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In the middle of nowhere with no power, the world you knew back home feels further away than ever.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, nudity, mentions of erections, making out.

…

“Mm, che pioverá.” Teodora had sighed, early that morning, while sitting at the breakfast table with Bradley and Pasquale, her son, and her daughter-in-law surrounding her. The three of them had paused eating to look up at the beaming sun, the still trees and the cloudless sky.

Sweat was already beading at the back of Bradley’s neck as he chewed at a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Sandro had brushed her off with a simple shake of his head and an affectionate eye roll. Bradley had flashed an amused smile between the two of them and swallowed down his bite. Pasquale had hummed a thoughtful, but not necessarily agreeing sound.

The three of them already had plans for the day to drive out and take a look at the spinitrae at the university an hour away, after Bradley’s morning run, Pasquale’s phone call home and Sandro’s morning swim.

As usual around here, Teodora was right.

You’re woken by the first rumble of thunder. Face down, your arms wrapped securely around the pillow, Bradley’s blue shirt wrapped securely around your body. Only thirty minutes after the two of them had so briskly dismissed the old woman’s claims.

Already since then, the landscape has transformed. The skies are thick with dark clouds and the wind whips at the trees, knocking fruit to the ground with ease.

With Bradley supposedly gone for the day, you had figured that things around here would be a bit of a free for all. Zoe had suggested digging through the Gabris’ VHS collection in search of a movie in English while you go through pages of Ovid. Nothing to get up particularly early for.

The thunder makes you lift your head and frown a bit. It’s not like you have been really keeping up with the weather forecast, but yesterday’s clear skies hadn’t exactly alerted you to an oncoming storm. It’s barely rained at all since you got here.

Stretching your legs across cool sheets, you sigh and roll onto your back. It’s not cold, per se, but once you’ve strayed from the warmth of your sleeping position your skin starts to prickle with chill.

Your engagement ring stares back at you from its discarded spot on the dresser by the window. This place isn’t like a hotel, Malcolm wouldn’t have a clue which numbers to punch to reach you all the way out here. He wouldn’t even know which province you’re in. You might as well be on a different planet.

It kind of feels like you are.

The point of closing the window is what drives you out of bed first of all. You pad along the floor and turn to the window, all blackened skies and pouring rain for miles around.

Then, a figure by the trees catches your eye. Broad shoulders, tanned skin, that defined line running down the middle of his chest — you recognise him right away.

Bradley is soaked from the rain, wearing a pair of blue running shorts. Caught in the middle of the downpour, he jogs back along the path as rain beats down his back.

Your fingertips push back the edge of the curtain as your shoulder leans up against the window frame. The Gabris estate really is beautiful, miles of stretching, rolling fields and hills with dustings of green forests at its edge..

Those blue shorts sit low on his waist and they’re still exposing so much of his long, muscled legs. His chest is wet, and that cross necklace of his bounces against his collarbones with each footfall.

Maybe he feels the eyes on him, or maybe he catches you in his peripheral — either way, his gaze flickers up to the window and he catches sight of you. Catches you smiling at him.

Through the rain-splattered window pane, he spots his shirt wrapped around your shoulders, just a few of the buttons fastened. Your skin peeking through the gaps between the open buttons. Even with his run cut short, his mouth grows dry all of a sudden.

He lifts a soaked palm and cards it through his hair as he slows to a stop, attempting to tame his drenched curls. From outside, it’s hard to really tell what he’s thinking when he looks at you, especially under the cover of the rain.

You lift your hand from your side and wave your fingers at him.

The rest of the group might be up, they might not. Not a single one of them would know yet that Bradley’s trip to the university has been canceled, they wouldn’t be looking for him. Not in your room, especially.

He stands there for a second and lets himself fall into the fantasy. Walking up those stairs and clicking that heavy wooden door shut behind him. Working open the buttons on that shirt, coming to realize that you aren’t wearing anything under it.

You’re driving him crazy, and he savors every second of it. He can’t stand and stare for too long, he can already feel all of his attention rushing south. He swallows. Then, he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and blinks the rain from his eyes, shaking his head.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and tug at it and shit— that really doesn’t help his problem at all. His mouth ghosts at a smile as he reminds himself to move.

His attention is back on the path ahead as he resumes his jog back to the house. Thunder rumbles in the air.

You’re free to resume your staring. You wonder if he’s even wearing underwear under those tiny shorts— doesn’t look like it.

The thought makes your cheeks hot. His perpetually warm hands soothing your chilled thighs, brushing so coolly under the cotton of his shirt, reclaiming it as he unfastens the buttons, and your mouth on his chest, the salt from his skin— his shoes on the stairs snap you out of it.

The villa is old and the stairs creak at every opportunity. He’s skipping steps, his long strides make that easy and you hear him pause at the top. His room is to the right. Yours is just a bit to the left. You swallow, holding your breath to listen out.

His footsteps fall to the right. One, two, three steps and you hear his door open and close. A dejected sigh pushes past your lips as you lean back into the wall.

He’s wet, and probably sweaty from his run. He always showers before everyone else, too. Your towel is hanging on the hook behind the door. You cross the room briskly and grab it on the way out, crossing into the hallway as he steps back out of his room, also holding his towel.

You’re two steps closer to the bathroom than he is. His eyes flicker down to your bare legs, then at his shirt hanging partially open across your chest. Finally, he meets your gaze and smiles a bit.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” You copy back, turning on your heel and crossing the hall to the bathroom. He watches your hand settle on the door knob. He catches the purposeful way you glance back at him over your shoulder, and catches on.

He thought about going into your room. He really did. With everything you have learned in the past few days, he has been trying to give you space — he figured the last thing you would want would be him getting handsy.

With the way you’re looking at him now, he’s not so sure.

He checks the hallway. Still empty. With Sandro out swimming, Pasquale yapping away in the kitchen, and Dorie painting out in the sun room, it’s like you’re alone.

He starts towards you, slowly.

“I like your shirt.”

You glance downward. This was bold. It wasn’t exactly well thought-out, rushing into the hallway barely dressed. He’s still barely dressed. His hair and his skin are still wet from the rain. He still looks warm.

“Thanks.” You answer him softly, as he comes to stand before you. He reaches out and finds your skin with his fingertips, gently stroking a pattern against your thigh.

“You about to shower?” Bradley asks you, close enough that his stomach is just about brushing yours. Your mouth is dry, and you forgot to close the window when you got out of bed. You shiver. Finally, when you remember you’ve been asked a question, you nod at him.

He hums, “Weird. Me too.”

Your eyes widen, somewhere between shock and excitement. Then, there’s a sudden cold feeling in the pit of your stomach. It’s like a physical force pushing you back. Your mother, maybe, trying to push you in the right direction from across the Atlantic.

He’s not sure what’s gotten into him, or more pressingly, what’s gotten into you. He had given you his shirt as a kind gesture, and here you are, using it against him in such a cruel, cruel way.

As his mind crosses over into the territory of saying fuck it and suggesting that he take you right here in the hallway, your gaze meets his firmly and your fingers twist the doorknob.

He swallows, feeling the nylon of his shorts grow tighter at the semblance of an invitation. The bathroom door creeps open, and you glance towards it.

He shouldn’t. Your head is all over the place. Keeping his hands to himself is the right move.

“Ladies first, I’ll wait.” He tells you, shooting you a quick wink.

That’s a no. It’s a kind way of saying no, but it’s a no nonetheless. He doesn’t want to. A quick glance downward proves to you that he's half hard in those running shorts.

“No need.” You whisper, hoping to god that was the right thing to say. The two of you can’t possibly keep whispering out in the hallway, half dressed like this. He doesn’t answer, he just blinks at you.

You swallow a breath and hold it, stepping past him and into the bathroom. The door remains loudly open behind you, like it’s a car-alarm going off right in Bradley’s ear, actually.

He inhales and steps inside, shutting the door behind him. The alarm stops.

“Stop. Look at me,” Somehow now, he feels the need to be quieter than before, and not just because this old bathroom echoes. You fidget, bare feet on cold tile as you stand before him. His brows knit together a bit. “Are you sure about this?”

You purse your lips for a moment and look down at yourself. Honesty is the best policy. You just have to figure out why you’re here yourself.

“It’s just showering.” You say it confidently, like you aren’t even trying to convince yourself. It surprises him. “Doesn’t have to be… sexual. It’s just two people in the shower. Together.”

“Right. Naked.” He reminds you.

“Right.” You copy back, hoping you sound more certain than you feel.

“And you’re cool with that?” He checks. The way he raises his eyebrows tells you that he expects you not to be. In the same breath, you catch the way his eyes flicker to the shower head behind the two of you.

You, him. Naked. You have toed that line before. It wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t bad at all actually, it was incredible.

“Yeah.” Your sudden why-wouldn’t-it-be attitude has Bradley prickling with suspicion about your motives this morning, and the morality in being in here with you when he’s certain that your head isn’t quite clear about what happened with your fiancé.

But, he reaches to his right, and bolts the lock across the door. His eyes study your face, and his fingers linger for a moment against the brass. Upholding your unspoken role in this, you twist away from him and turn on the water.

So, we’re doing this. Bradley holds onto that breath, not quite ready to let the thought pass or the exhale follow, as he drops his towel to rest against the sink basin.

You’re bent at the waist, calculating the measure of hot and cold water between the two taps, and Bradley is met with an unobstructed view of your legs. In the vein of following your impulses this morning, he considers sinking to his knees and letting his mouth greet them — but he doesn’t. He half considers tucking his hands behind his back just to remove the temptation at all.

He thinks back to that movie he saw last November, with Anthony Michael Hall and the other kids. In particular, the shower scene where too inept teenage boys stand awkwardly in the back of a shower cubicle, not knowing what to do with their hands, while a beautiful woman showers in front of them.

And then you turn to look at him again.

“You first.”

“Me…? — right,” Clothes. You’re talking about clothes. With his running shoes, he probably has more articles of clothing on than you do. Depends if you’re wearing underwear, he guesses. He isn’t. He kicks off the shoes and goes for his socks next, warm condensation starts to permeate the space between the two of you. Strange, this room feels awfully cramped already, he doesn’t know where the steam finds the space to join. “You just going to stand and watch?”

With his socks gone, he only has one article of clothing left. He hooks a thumb into the waistband of those blue nylon shorts and pushes just an inch, revealing a soft tan line and a sharp V following the shape of his hip.

Stiffly, your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. His pulse quickens, watching you watch him.

“Can I?” Bradley asks finally, rushing it out at once. He gestures to the one button left fastened, sitting above your navel.

If this was anyone else, Bradley would probably already be in the shower by now. This pace is unfamiliar, and foreign for him. He’s not quite sure where to tread.

You give him a little nod.

He takes one step forwards and pinches the button between his index and thumb, popping it open as his other hand fits securely against the small of your back and pushes you into him. There’s a second of observation as your bare stomach comes flush against his, where his eyes won’t leave your face for fear of missing some kind of a sign.

Being undressed by him as steam clouds the room, him doing absolutely nothing to hide the darkened look in his eyes. You weren’t fooling anyone by pretending that this could have been something innocent. You might as well accept it for what it is.

As his fingers dip under the material covering each of your shoulders and guide it back, off of your arms, you stretch up and kiss his mouth softly. Experimentally. He shuts his eyes and waits. Your second kiss is firmer, and your fingers reach for the nape of his neck.

He follows suit, relieved finally that he has some kind of sign about how you’re feeling about this. His hand hugs the nape of your neck, his nose bumping your cheek, his tongue swiping across your lip.

‘I like you, you know?’ Your words from yesterday afternoon have been playing in his mind all night. He’s an idiot for not saying more, he just hadn’t wanted to push his luck.

“Come on, we can’t be in here all morning.” He remembers, against your mouth.

“Right.” You sigh, eyes closed as you lean in for another kiss.

With your back to him, you drop your underwear to the ground with his shirt as he steps out of his shorts. You step into the tub first, falling under the safety of the warm spray. He steps in behind you, his fingers finding your waist.

You’re naked. Completely naked, and so is he. With your back to him, he can’t really see you, and you’ve no way of seeing him. The thought of turning around makes your chest feel tight.

He hasn’t ever had to feel so calculated about this before. Is he an appropriate distance away? — well, nothing about this is appropriate, but is he making it worse? — Are you waiting for him to make a move or do you want him to keep his hands to himself?

“I thought you were going to the university today.” You say to the wall of tile in front of you.

“Yeah. Weather took a turn, the road through town floods when it rains like this, apparently.” Bradley answers you.

The only parts of him that are touching you are his fingers. Experimentally, you lean your head back and as expected, it falls to rest against his shoulder. It just looks like you’re rinsing your hair.

His fingers stray from your hip and unfurl across your bare stomach, as he drops his head to press a soft kiss to the curve of your shoulder. That’s safe enough.

Heart racing, you lift your arms and pull your hair back, saturating it under the stream of water. As you stretch up to do so, your back curves away from him and your ass grazes his thigh.

He swallows thickly. Looking down, he knows you feel the way his half-hard package is pressing into the back of your hip. He turns his face toward your neck, kissing softly.

In a last ditch effort to regulate your breathing before he offers you a nebulizer, you screw your eyes shut. In the dark, you feel his heartbeat against your back, his warm fingers smoothing along your middle, his lips on your throat, and his erection behind you.

“God.”

His mouth stills against your neck. The tickle of his mustache alerts you to the hint of a smile on his lips.

“You alright?” He’s referring to the way you had audibly whimpered inches from his ear, in this extremely tight enclosed space, of course.

“Mhm.” You squeak.

He nuzzles the tip of his nose against the crook of your jaw. “You’re shaking.”

You swallow. “It’s cold.”

“It’s not.” He reminds you.

Screwing your eyes shut once again, you “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

Slowly, he tucks two fingers around the hair at the nape of your neck and guides it away from your shoulders. With your eyes closed, you feel his breath on your neck first. It’s cooler than the steam from the shower and it hits exactly the right spot between your collar and jaw to make you shiver.

He takes hold of your bicep and turns you steadily towards him, biting at his lip as he finds you just opening your eyes. He knows that if you look too long, you’ll panic. He presses swiftly forwards, his bare chest flush against yours as his open mouth closes around your pulse point.

Mm. The sound slips from your mouth before he is even done with the first kiss, while his fingers are still stretching around your hip and while his tongue is just softly greeting your warm skin.

For a man who, less than three days ago, was adamantly telling you in the streets of Florence that sleeping together would be a bad idea, Bradley sure does seem to be okay with all of this.

He’s okay with it. Too comfortable with it, really. He’s still holding back. If he wasn’t, he would flatten his palm against your ass and pull you against him, and let you feel exactly how comfortable with it he really is.

Instead, he focuses his attention on his mouth. Flowing opposite to the droplets of water, he sucks softly at the tender skin, trailing towards your jaw.

Each time his lips close around a new inch of skin, there’s an urging ebb that prods at you like electricity, buzzing within you and leaving you powerless. His frame towers before you; you know he would catch you if your knees actually did give out but you’d rather die than live through the embarrassment.

Like he shares the same sentiment of keeping you on your feet, Bradley’s hands flex around your waist, curling tighter around your soft skin. He pulls back, sweeping a hand through his wet curls as he studies your face.

He’s getting better at this, reading you.

His eyes break away from yours, and his gaze slips downwards. He’s dead quiet, drinking you in, studying your naked body.

The water droplets seem to have it all figured out. Spilling over your shoulders, flowing along the valley between your breasts. His gaze lingers there for more than just a few droplets.

Each one of your shaking breaths disrupts the pattern in a new way, rise and fall, spill and flow. Water beads across the soft flesh, flowing right past the warmed, softened, flushed skin of your nipples.

Maybe that water doesn’t have it all figured out after all — Bradley thinks there’s no way he could pass that by so freely.

Then, he watches where the droplets spill to once they pass your breasts by. They surge across your soft stomach, spilling across your abdomen, dripping into the navel and tracing the dulcet curve of your hips.

He hasn’t ever had you like this. Unobstructed, unwavering — all-encompassing. There could be a flood outside and he wouldn’t care. He knows he should be grateful for this, alone, and he is, it’s enough, you’re more than enough, but there’s a greed growing in him that wants more.

He wants to inhale the fresh, soapy smell of your skin. Taste the remnants of yourself on your skin, before it’s scrubbed clean. Feel you melt into him. His gaze flickers back up to yours like a drumbeat.

It makes you stiffen, the sudden look in his eyes. All red-blooded, lust-driven, filthy thoughts pooling into the soft browns of his irises.

Before he loses the nerve, or before you do, he tips your chin back swiftly and kisses you hard enough that the two of you fall into the cold tiles behind you.

Sturdy, centuries old structure behind your back and even sturdier, warm weight against your front, you’re pinned at an angle and your feet feel like they’re slipping but you’re smart enough to know that falling isn’t an option.

A deep and desperate sound falls from his lips as he pulls back, his forehead knocking into yours. Your mouth hangs open, your eyes wide, like you know just what Bradley’s thinking when he looks at it.

He squeezes at your body, leaning forwards and letting his mouth cover yours. You’re just about growing comfortable with it, with his nose bumping your cheek and his broad shoulders, his weight pinning you to the wall. Then, his hand skims along the centre of your back and without warning, squeezes firmly around the flesh of your ass.

It’s not that it feels bad. In fact, there’s something that makes you want to keen into the rough touch that you don’t quite understand. But all of a sudden, it clicks that you’re pinned between him and the wall, and his weight is a heavy anchor, his hands are everywhere and his mouth is hot.

He feels your fingernails press weakly into his bicep.

“Stop.” you tell him quietly. Really, you aren’t even sure if he would hear you. Maybe Malcolm hadn’t heard you, if you had asked him to stop.

He pulls back swiftly and looks down at you, both hands planting safely on your hips. He’s watching you carefully, but he doesn’t have to search hard go find what he’s looking for.

“Yeah?” He says softly, nodding.

It’s an instant thing, the way you shrink back into the wall behind you and duck your head. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he swallows and gives a shake of his head. He got carried away, that’s all. “You’re right. We should hurry up.”

And just like that, it’s not about sex. The fear in your eyes fades to recognition, and Bradley leans forwards and presses his lips to your forehead.

The two of you finish your shower in strictly platonic nature. One by one, you duck out of the bathroom and leave behind any evidence of your morning together, to get ready for the day.

Trees bow under the weight of the fat raindrops as the rumble of thunder grows closer. The villa groans and creaks, shutters rattling and slamming. The power gets knocked out a little after two, leaving very little for anyone in the house to do.

Bodies are strewn lazily around the living room everywhere you look. Luke’s taking up the majority of the couch, his raven-coloured hair tucked back under a Jets cap and a book balanced against his sternum, a concentrated frown plastered across his face.

Bradley got the good spot, tucked halfway into the reading desk in the far right corner of the room. His face is illuminated by a cluster of flickering candles, sitting amongst his piles of papers. Alessandro sits beside him, the two of them have been talking away for hours now. Their conversation is muted for the benefit of others, but you can hear the occasional Italian cuss word from your spot on the floor.

“Do you think they used to jerk it to these pictures?” Zoe whispers. You glance up at her, then across at Abigail.

She grins, lifting up the book and turning it onto its side, displaying a printed artwork like a centerfold. “See? Like an ancient playboy? — Miss June, and Miss July.”

Bradley looks up as the three of you giggle for the third time in ten minutes. It doesn’t take him long, when looking at the way Zoe is pointing out the spread legs of a woman riding a man, to notice the comparison she’s making to modern pornography.

He’s used to it by now, his students pointing at tits in the books and giggling to themselves. If she was doing her work, she would be reading about exactly what made the mulier equitans so popular in Roman art.

You’re laying on your front, looking up from the pages of your notes, with a soft grin toying at your lips. None of them know how you started your morning.

Today, Bradley is studying a passage from Ovid’s Art of Love, depicting various forms of copulation and the cultural attitude to them at that time. Sexual variety fascinated the masses back then. Paintings in homes, carved into architecture, spinitrae tokens in Pompeii.

Astrology and its links to sexual preferences. An intriguing read, really.

“Man, this is a wicked storm.” Robin glances over her shoulder at the mass of bodies lazing around the living room, then back out of the window at the sheets of rain pouring onto the fields beyond.

“This is wicked boring.” Luke says from his spot on the couch. As one of Bradley’s best teaching assistants, this work comes much more easily to him than it would to most. He could finish it in thirty minutes if he wanted to.

“Hey, Bradley—“

“No.” Bradley says swiftly.

Luke’s mouth stretches into a little-brotherly kind of annoying grin as he tucks an arm behind his head. “Come on. We’re bored.”

“Sounds wicked tough, dude.” Bradley answers, looking back down to the book, mocking his student so coolly. Luke has always found an older brother in Bradley, so the taunting just makes his grin stretch wild.

From your spot on the ground, you find yourself smiling at the pages at Bradley’s joke.

“Can you teach me how to do that card trick where it’s upside down in the deck?” Luke persists. You didn’t know that Bradley knew any card tricks.

“No.” He answers bluntly, but in the kind of way that shows he’s clearly still getting some kind of enjoyment out of this rapport with Luke.

“Bradley, did you ever tell anyone else that you took piano lessons for like twelve years?” Luke asks, shooting a pointed look at the baby grand in the corner of the room.

Bradley looks up at him, and your mouth twitches. A red flush starts at his ears and spreads across his temples, onto his cheeks and down his neck. You’ve never seen a grown man blush like that.

“Don’t go there, buddy.” Bradley warns him, knowing equally embarrassing facts about Luke and starting to categorize them in his mind.

“Did you really, Bradley?” Abigail asks.

He glances at her, then makes a point of trying to focus on his work once again. Big, boyish Bradley, delicately tapping away at the keys of a piano is difficult to imagine.

“He sings too.” Luke declares.

“Luke.” Bradley warns, not looking up this time, flushed pink.

You’ve never seen Bradley be quite this shy about anything. He frowns at the pages of his book, oh, so serious.

“C’mon. One song and I’ll leave you alone. We’re bored.” For once, you’re on Luke’s side. Not that you would voice that.

The wind whips the side of the house and the shutters rattle in support of Luke’s campaign. Bradley starts to scribble down nonsense annotations in the effort of getting at least something done.

“Go find a puzzle or something.” He mutters.

“Aw, come on, Bradley, please?” Zoe joins in.

“Just one song.” Robin adds.

Bradley looks up, and finds you. Caught smiling at him from the carpet, clearly amused by the entire situation. You stare back at him, unwavering and expectant.

With a dejected exhale, he looks down at his watch. “One. And then none of you are allowed to speak to me until at least 4pm.”

You know that he would make an exception to that rule for you. There’s no planned alone time for the two of you this afternoon, since he was supposed to be out. Maybe he’s as disappointed about that as you are.

“Play something we know this time.” Luke interjects as Bradley crosses the room to the piano. Last time, Bradley sang a track from the 50s and Luke didn’t have a clue what the hell it was.

Bradley untucks the bench from the piano, and sits down. His back is straight as he removes the cover and settles his fingers onto the keys. “Uh-huh, like what?”

“What, you’re thirty-three and you don’t listen to the radio anymore?” Luke scoffs.

Bradley closes his eyes for a second and tries to think of a song that he knows how to play from this decade. He doesn’t play too much these days.

The room is quiet, even the rain seems to have quieted in anticipation for his performance.

He shoots one more pointed look toward Luke, and then presses his fingers into the keys. You settle your chin against your palm as he taps out the opening chords of I guess that’s why they call it the blues.

Just like everything he does, he makes it seem effortless, fluidly playing the melody. And then he starts to sing.

You watch him across the darkened room. The candlelight flickers on his face as lightning strikes outside. Don’t wish it away, don’t look at it like it’s forever.

His fingers press gently into the keys, the only noise in the otherwise silent room. Alessandro sits back in his chair and smiles softly, knowing how much easier Bradley would have been convinced to perform all those years ago.

His voice is deeper than you would have expected, but soft as he finishes the first verse. God, he’s handsome.

It couldn’t possibly have taken longer than four and a half minutes for him to get through the song, but it feels like you watch him play all afternoon. Broad-shouldered, serious, still flushed-pink even once he has stopped singing. He turns sheepishly to face the room.

“Encore!” Luke whoops before anyone else gets a chance to say a word. Bradley groans, pushing himself up from the chair swiftly and rolling his eyes.

“Bite me.”

Zoe whips around to face you, clearly not as captivated by the performance as you had been. “Bradley’s kinda hot when he sings.”

Your mouth flattens, purely because it occurs to you suddenly that it wouldn’t be appropriate to smile. If she thinks he’s hot when he’s singing, she would be captivated by what you had gotten to see in the shower this morning.

The afternoon workload grows tiresome quickly, and Bradley watches his students filter out of the living room one by one. You disappear with Zoe and Abigail trailing in tow a little after three.

Alessandro’s wife serves a family style dinner, since the house is full and it’s still too rainy for anyone to have other plans. Bradley sits at the far end with Sandro and Dorie, all of them talking in politely hushed tones. You are at the opposite end, finding yourself missing those private dinners the two of you had gotten to share in the city.

After dinner, Bradley knows that his room upstairs is likely to be occupied after seeing Robin’s hand wandering across Luke’s board shorts at dinner. He disappears into the study to finish up with his work, and you call it an early night.

Well, you try to. After rereading the same three pages of Sarah Keene’s Air of Enchantment six times, you give up and head back for the stairs. The house is quiet and empty feeling. Without power, you guess there isn’t a lot to do around here.

You trail your fingers along the wallpaper, rounding the entryway into the now empty living room. The bench of the piano is still untucked from where Bradley had sat earlier. You let yourself be drawn towards it, taking a seat and brushing your fingers along the keys. Dust under your fingertips, candlesticks burning around the room — you figure that Sandro or his wife must be around somewhere if there are still candles lit.

There’s no sneaking around in a house like this. The handle clicks, and the wood creaks loudly from a room away. Bradley’s weight passes across noisy floorboards, growing closer.

He was hoping to see you, trying to convince himself to stay away from your room. His lips twitch. His eyes flicker over the grey track shorts and the Nicks jersey you’re wearing, casual and comfy, with your hair down. He likes it.

“Hey.” He says softly.

“Hey.” You answer, watching him. Maybe someday you’ll talk him out of wearing those t-shirts that are too sizes too big for him, but today’s not that day. It hangs on his broad frame as he walks towards you.

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, squeezing your shoulder with a warm palm.

“Here.” You realize suddenly, shifting over as far as you can on the bench to make room for him. He glances down, knowing he won’t fit, and decides to perch half off of the bench anyways.

At your side, Bradley considers bringing up this morning. It’s been itching at him all day to know what about his behavior in the shower had been too much. He’s been wishing he was a mind reader, really. He would love to figure out exactly what he can do to make you relax.

“I didn’t know you played piano.” You tell him, watching your fingers ghost over the keys.

“I don’t, so much anymore.” He answers.

“I liked hearing you play.” You say.

He turns his head, smoothing his fingers along the length of your spine. Maybe he won’t hit Luke for revealing his secret after all.

Luke wants to do what Bradley does, and Bradley is only nine years older than he is — they had grown close quickly when Luke has first started TA’ing for him. Luke knows plenty about Bradley, and Bradley knows plenty about Luke. He hopes the two of you never get to making small talk, really.

“Will you play it again?”

He blinks, broken from his train of thought, and finding you looking at him now. Bradley looks between the piano and your face, his brows drawing slightly together.

”The same thing?” Bradley asks, displaying that awful habit he’s got of leaning one of those thick shoulders into you, crowding your space and grounding you with his presence. His thumb brushes tenderly over the tip of your nose, then across the bow of your top lip as he tips his head to one side. “You don’t want to hear anything else?”

You purse your lips in thought, then shake your head. The way your lips twist and hint at a smile just drives him crazy. Like he really has to work for the full thing. You shrug your shoulders at him. “Can’t a girl want a private rendition?”

He taps his thumb against your chin, his fingers stretching along the underside of your jaw. He doesn’t make you work for the smile that he gives you. Really, he would have to fight to keep it off of his face. “Fine.”

The tip of his tongue dips from between his lips to wet them, then he sighs softly and straightens into proper posture and turns his attention towards the keys. Your arm loops under his, your head settles to rest against his shoulder. He likes that feeling.

Wind whips rain against the shutters. The older ones creak and bang in complaint, unprepared for such miserable weather. Bradley’s fingers tap fluidly at the keys. Your fingertips trail the vein in his forearm up to the cuff of his rolled shirt sleeve.

He sings quieter than before. After all, this performance is just for you now. His voice is softer, if it wasn’t so effortlessly melodic, it would be like he’s reading to you. He doesn’t have to, there’s no sheet music in front of him and he knows which keys he’s reaching for, but his gaze remains solely on the piano. He can feel you looking at him.

From where your head is resting against his shoulder, you’re peering up at him with your obstructed view of his face. Your touch tickles against his forearm, your fingertips grazing the strap of his wristwatch with each trip.

As the first verse ends and the pace of the song builds into the chorus, Bradley winkles his nose slightly in concentration. Your lips twitch. The shutters bang against the old house. He turns his head and catches your gaze; you pull back so that he can really see you.

And I guess that’s why they call it the blues;

time on my hands could be time spent with you.

Laughing like children, living like lovers, rolling like thunder, under the covers.

And by the time he gets the words out, he’s smiling again. Not because of the absurdity of him performing Elton John for the second time in one evening, or because this is far from what he would have chosen to sing you, but because of the way you’re watching him.

Like you’re watching him play Sonata No. 14.

Long before Elton John first graced the US charts, Bradley would be sent over to his grandmother’s neighbor’s house every Thursday for two hours while the adults were at work. There, he sat at the piano and seethed to the pace of the metronome while a miserable seventy year old war vet scolded his posture. He hated playing piano back then.

It’s not so bad anymore.

And that miserable old man wasn’t really a bad teacher. Maybe Bradley was just a bad student.

Just stare into space, picture my face in your hands. Live for each second,

He turns his attention back towards the keys like he didn’t have the song memorized by ‘84.

And never forget I’m your man.

Wait on me, girl. Cry in the night if it helps. But more than ever, I simply love you, more than I love life itself.

Your head settles back against the warm muscle of his shoulder. Your fingers dance along the sensitive inseam of his forearm. You close your eyes and the rain grows louder, Bradley’s breaths between the lyrics grow deeper.

This is nice. You let your mind wander, wondering if evenings would always look like this with Bradley, if he would always sing you the same song over and over. On evenings like this, he would kiss the top of your head and tell you he loved you, and you would tell him the same.

It’s not hard to picture.

Your eyes remain closed through the chorus and remaining verses. Just the soft cotton of his shirt against your cheek, the rumble of his singing voice and the rain outside.

He swallows and clears his throat quietly, as he withdraws his hands from the keys.

“What’s your favourite song?” You ask him softly. His hands rest in his lap, his eyes on the painting directly across from him. He takes a moment to think about it.

“Have you ever heard the song Take it To the Limit by The Eagles?” You might not have, he figures that since you probably would have been in school when that album came out, you probably weren’t as big of an Eagles fan as he was.

You shake your head softly. “I don’t think so. What’s it sound like?”

He pulls back, and raises his eyebrows at you. “Is this an elaborate plan to get me to play for you all night?”

Your smile grows bashful, but your eyes remain steadily on him. “I just want to hear how it goes.”

“Well, what’s your favourite song?”

“You know that song from last summer, rhythm of the night?”

Bradley stares back at you. His eyes wrinkle at the edges and his mouth breaks into a grin before the laughter bubbles over and he spills forwards.

“Like El de Barge? Forget about the worries on your mind, da-da-da-duh-da-da?” You’ve never heard Bradley giggling quite like this before, literally tickled pink by your revelation as he jokingly hums out the words.

You’re powerless but to grin back at him. “Uh-huh. What’s wrong with that?”

Alessandro peers into the sitting room as he passes by. He doesn’t take time to stop and stare at the two of you sharing the piano bench, giggling with each other, but now he understands what the other students have all been gossiping about.

“I was expecting Madonna or — Wham, or something.” Bradley manages through his giggles, swiping a hand through his curls, almost gaining composure before bubbling over into laughter again.

“Sure, I like them,” You agree with him, smiling dumbly at the way he leans into you to laugh, “But come on! — You just can’t listen to that song and not feel happy!”

He’s up so close that you could kiss him when he finally gets himself together, still smiling softly back at you. Driven by his amused disbelief, he shakes his head softly. His fingers brush against your knee.

All of a sudden he has this image of you wandering around with that headset covering your ears, and De Barge being the soundtrack you have picked. Scowling at him from the back of the minivan, listening to such an upbeat track.

“You’re a trip.” He tells you.

Your eyes flicker downward, briefly catching on the way his fingers are curled into the skin of your thigh. Not too hard, just kind of holding you close. His own eyes follow suit, and linger on the way your hands sit in your lap. On your still bare ring finger.

When he looks at you this time, he’s thinking of the shower this morning. Your head lulling back onto his shoulder, sighing in pleasure as you just let yourself enjoy the moment. His lips tug at a soft smile.

“So, will you play that song for me? — Your favourite?” You ask. There isn’t a lot of room on the bench so, as you twist to face towards him, your thigh sits across the top of his, halfway into his lap.

Maybe he will end up playing for you all night, after all. He shoots you an amusedly pointed look, then lifts his hands and settles them onto the keys once more.

You grin at him, shifting closer again, settling your cheek against his shoulder.

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666@krismdavis @sheisanangell @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @sugarcoated-lame @mshistorylover

[nixies-creations]

For @topgunalternateuniverse bingo. Bingo Square - Sex Researcher: Hangster - Sexologists Professor Jake x DJ Bradley.

"So what is it that you teach?" Bradley asks, settling back into his seat as he smiles softly at Jake, glad he finally let Nat set him up on this blind date with Javy's professor friend. Though he feels a tinge of worry when he watches the man's lips curl up into a smirk. "Sexology," Jake answers with a small shrug as he settles back into his own seat. He's fully prepared for this to be a deal breaker—like it had been for his last eight dates he'd been on at the behest of Nat and Javy. But he doesn't get the reaction he's expecting. Instead of stammering out some sort of excuse or unsubtly sending an S.o.S text to a friend to call with some bullshit emergency, Bradley simply leans forward, brow furrowed. "Gotta admit, I'm not entirely sure what that is," Bradley admits as he moves to place his elbows on the table, to prop his head up between as he seems to settle in and listen to what Jake says. He blinks, "oh," he murmurs in surprise before he clears his throat as he goes onto explain what that means.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

What upcoming fics are you working on? X

let me give you a glimpse into my mind palace...

current works actually in progress -

- Western Nights part one - a dadsbestfriend!Javier Peña slowburn. small town dynamics, lots of tension, healing, forbidden/star crossed lovers, sneaking around, secret sexy times.

READ PART ONE HERE.

- Honey Girl - dadsbestfriend!Bucky Barnes soulmate au part one - a will they won't they fic set in a world where you have a soulmate assigned to you. yours turns out to be your dad's hot best friend, and the story follows the two of you as you try to navigate this revelation. lots of tension, undeniable chemistry, trying to fight the Inevitable.

READ PART ONE HERE.

works not currently actually in progress, but that will be written in the very near future -

- Clandestine part three - the fallout of your fallout with Stewy

READ PART THREE HERE.

- Another triple frontier boys x reader fic - i'm thinking of adding a poly dynamic this time, but trying to figure out the storyline exactly.

READ IT HERE.

- Jake Seresin x Bradshaw!reader - brothers best friend. involves dog tags and romantic love confessions.

- An Evan Buckley x reader x Eddie Diaz fic - i've had this idea for a while. i'm thinking firefighter!reader who works with them, the three of them are best friends, and they eventually figure out that they're actually in love with each other. lots of fluff and obliviousness and softness.

READ IT HERE.

- Luke Alvez x secret wife reader - this idea has lived in my head forever and i'm finally going to write it. friends to lovers x secret relationship vibes.

- Professor Joel Miller - maybe not a dynamic that lots of people love, but I do. secret affair, very sexy, pet names, lots of sneaking around and longing glances across rooms.

- Mickey Garcia x Nurse!Reader - you meet in the hospital. smitten lovebirds, so ridiculously soft, just so much sweetness.

READ IT HERE.

if any of these look particularly appealing to you, let me know. i always love to hear your feedback, thoughts and desires!! <3

also - i'm hoping i'll have some more time to write now things are a little less hectic. so expect to see more of me in the upcoming weeks <3

[sebsxphia]

professors!jake and bradley co-teaching an intro to human anatomy course.. and you’re just really struggling during this unit

bradley suggesting weekly tutoring with him and jake?

jake would edge you with his fingers until you can name every part

bradley making you name every bone, including the extra one you currently have

-🗝

INCLUDING THE EXTRA ONE YOU CURRENTLY HAVE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

my beloved anon, i’m gonna kiss your mind for that, oh my god 😵‍💫

not only do they use sex and praise to get you to learn and remember, they’ll also use your body as an example to talk you through human anatomy. you’re spread out on jake’s desk with his fingers buried deep inside of you. bradley has your lips parted to allow jake full access and occasionally he’ll tweak at your nipple.

“see how your body reacts when we touch you there, hm? that’s the nerve endings in your precious little clit reacting to our touch. so good, so obedient too.”

omg. thank you so much for this insane thot my beloved anon!! 💌

[tisayemate]

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

started: 18/10/24

Marvel

Maze Runner

Hunger Games

Harry Potter

Note: I write for PostAzkaban!Sirius Black and Professor!Remus Lupin (not in the marauders era, because there just aren’t enough people who write about the older men)

Fantastic Beasts

Star Wars

Top Gun

Divergent

Disney/Pixar (animations)

(will be consistently monitored and updated, hang tight)

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

indy seresin and the avalon prophecy - Jake "Hangman" Seresin x OC (Indiana Jones AU)

moodboard by @newlibrary

PROFESSOR BRADLEY BRADSHAW is missing. He was last seen in England, sailing for the island of Glastonbury the following morning, when he disappeared. A known Arthurian scholar, it was said he was looking for any clues that would lead him to the location of Excalibur, the lost sword of King Arthur. Legends about the sword claimed whoever found it would be bestowed with magical powers - alongside being the rightful ruler of Britain.

But now word has come to his sister, DR. VERONICA BRADSHAW, that he is missing. According to the last letter he sent her, he feared that the Nazi Regime was also looking for Excalibur in hopes of using its power to help aid them in the ongoing war - and he planned to get to the sword first. She fears that her brother may not have been successful. However, no stranger to a bit of danger, she gathers her brother's notes and sets out to find him herself. Her first step: Marshall College. Where famous archeologist and adventurer PROFESSOR JAKE SERESIN teaches. With him by her side, surely they will be able to find the sword and her brother.

[notebook-of-elle]

just came back to freak out about this and then im leaving :')

from this post on IG

[topguncortez]

i’m going to fight jake he doesn’t deserve her especially after she managed to get him that book for his collection he fucked up big time

jake deserves happiness… just not her happiness

[djs8891]

HOT

doesn’t even begin to cover this

🔥🔥🔥

Adult Education Part 2 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jake wasn't sure what he had done wrong, but the last thing he wanted to do was scare Jessica off. With a little bit of help, he manages to get a few minutes alone with her again. And all she does is effortlessly make him want even more.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing

Length: 2600 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

Jake was still perplexed the following afternoon as he listened to Maverick lecture about the efficiency of the modified fuel system in the F/A-18. He couldn't help but think that Dr. Reed would have done a much better job speaking on the topic. And looked cute while doing it. 

He'd spent most of the night thinking about her, trying to determine where exactly he had fucked things up. It seemed like she was into him while they were at the bar. The cheap beers and peanuts at Chippy's let Jake know she would be relaxed enough to hang with his friends. And the way she looked and her PhD in physics let him know she would hold his interest. If he was looking for someone to date, it would be Professor Jessica in a heartbeat.

She was so charming and intelligent. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe it only took her an hour last night to recognize that Jake wouldn't be enough to hold her interest. She really went running for her office as soon as they were outside.

"Damn," he muttered once the aviators were all dismissed for the day. When he unlocked his phone, his browser was still open to the tab of Jessica's profile on the San Diego State University website. That little photo of her wearing her glasses and a blouse with the top buttons undone was really messing with him. He practically had the About Me section memorized by now, and she'd said nothing about a spouse. He went to close out of it, but he couldn't. 

"Hey, you need a ride again today?" Bradley asked him, checking his own phone.

"Nah, I got my truck back this morning," he replied. "But thanks."

Bradshaw just shrugged and grunted in response, but then he was holding up his phone for Jake to see the screen. "My wife apparently has a message for you."

Sugar: Tell Hangman I ate lunch with Dr. Reed today. And she wanted to know if my sexy aviator husband happened to know another sexy aviator by the name of Jake Seresin.

Jake perked right up at that. "Mind if I text Dr. Tits myself?" he asked, and Bradley handed over his phone. 

"Just as long as you don't call her Dr. Tits. Jesus, I'm shocked you're still alive."

But he wasn't listening. Rather he was already texting. 

Hey, it's Jake. Did Jessica say anything else? After we had some beers at Chippy's, she kind of ran off. I'd like to see her again, but I'm not so sure she'd want to see me.

Jake sent the message and stared at the screen. "She might not be able to respond right now," Bradshaw was saying. "She's got a late lecture this evening." But the messaging app was telling Jake that she was in fact currently typing. 

"Shh," Jake said, devouring the message as soon as it arrived.

Sugar: I told her I know you. Be thankful that I painted a much, much prettier picture of you than I could have. But she didn't say much else. However... she does have office hours until 7:00 tonight. Just so you know.

Jake groaned and handed the phone back to Bradley. Of course he was relying on help from the woman he had accidentally given a vulgar nickname. He didn't know what he should do. On one hand, he'd love to show up at Jessica's office and pick up where they left off. On the other hand, there was a good chance it would be awkward. But he wanted to know what he did wrong. 

While they were at Chippy's, Jake had been thinking about inviting her to have dinner at his place one night. He thought about making her smile and laugh in his kitchen while he tried to convince her he was smart enough to keep up with the conversation. Imagining how it might feel to press his lips to her elegant neck.

"Yeah, I'm going," he grunted, checking the time. 

"Going where?" Bradshaw asked, looking at him like he had two heads as they finally exited the deserted classroom. 

"Visit your wife at work," Jake replied with a wink. 

He just rolled his eyes in response. "Tell her I'll pick her up at 9."

Jake didn't even bother to change out of his flight suit. He'd only been out on the tarmac for a short period of time today, so the jet fumes didn't seem to be an issue. He grabbed his wallet and keys from his locker and rushed for his truck. It was already after 6 o'clock. Depending on traffic, he might not even make it to campus before Jessica's office hours ended. But what did he have to lose?

"Come on," he complained, merging with the congestion of cars leaving North Island. Everyone was creeping across the bay bridge, and Jake was watching the minutes tick away. When he was finally close to campus, he tried to remember where Bradshaw had parked yesterday. He cut down a side street and came out near the math and science building, but there was nowhere to park. 

"Shit," he said, and then someone was pulling out of a spot further up the block. Somehow he managed to successfully squeeze his truck between two other cars, and he hopped out onto the sidewalk. He tossed his sunglasses onto the front seat before locking his truck, and tried to fix his hair as he walked toward her building. He could see Chippy's across the street, and he briefly wondered if she might head over there if he couldn't find her office in time. 

When he tried to open the door to the math and science building, it was locked. He jiggled all the door hands, but none of them were open. There was a card reader off to one side, but no students in sight. "Fuck," he groaned. The building was probably only left unlocked yesterday for the mini lectures. 

Jake started scrambling for his phone so he could call Bradshaw and get his wife's number. But then he saw her walking down the hallway inside, and he pounded on the door. She turned and looked at him with a cautionary glance until she realized it was him. Then she walked over and pulled the door open for him.

She grinned and said, "Just in time for office hours, I see."

"Thank you," Jake said, and he didn't even call her Dr. Tits. "I owe you one. For the information and for opening the door."

She just pointed him toward the row of elevators and said, "Dr. Reed's office is on the fifth floor, to the left when you exit the elevator."

"Thanks!" he called out as he practically ran to push the little up arrow. And now he was nervous. Why did he think this was a good idea? As the doors slid open, he registered that it wasn't too late to just go back to his truck and drive home. But as they started to close again, he found himself darting inside and pushing the number 5. 

If he got completely shot down, then so be it. And if she was already gone for the day, then maybe he'd consider stopping by Chippy's and running the risk of having her bartender friend give him the third degree. But it would be worth it just in case Jessica wanted to talk to him again. 

Fifth floor. He turned to the left and read all of the names on the doors as he made his way down the long hallway. And then he saw it on the placard on the second to last door on the left. DR. JESSICA REED, PHD.

The door was slightly ajar, and Jake let out a deep breath before he knocked. 

"Come in."

When he pushed the door open and stepped inside her small office, he smiled. Jessica was sitting at her desk, writing something down in that red notebook he saw yesterday, and when her gaze slid up his body, her lips parted in surprise when she met his eyes. "Jake."

"Dr. Reed," he drawled. "I almost missed your office hours."

Her eyes were wide, and she nudged her glasses up higher on her nose with the backs of her fingers. "What are you doing here?"

Jake took a step closer to her desk, and she slowly stood. And hell if she wasn't wearing another cute skirt today. 

She was eyeing him curiously, still waiting for an answer when he said, "You told me I could borrow your copy of the Journal of Propulsion Science. The edition with the information about Super Hornets."

"Oh," she whispered, her face falling a bit. "Right. Of course." She turned away from him and started to search along some shelves that were jammed with books and periodicals. His eyes roamed over the back of her body all the way down to her feet and her high heels. He watched as she pulled a few glossy journals out and turned to hand them to him. "Here's the Propulsion Science journal, and here are a few more that might interest you. I don't need them back. You can keep them."

Jake took them and immediately set them down softly on her desk without looking at them. "Thanks, but that's actually not the only reason why I'm here."

"Why else are you here then?" she asked carefully, and Jake wished there wasn't a large desk between his body and hers. He felt himself starting to hesitate again, but he was already in this deep. Might as well go all the way.

"Listen, Jessica. I was having a pretty great time last night at Chippy's." He was trying to gauge her reaction as he added, "You're beautiful, funny and smart, and hey, I'm only human. And I thought you were maybe feeling what I was feeling? And correct me if I'm wrong here, but I thought we were having fun? And it didn't even seem like you expected me to lay down my usual bullshit, which was really nice."

"Oh," she gasped. She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth before she said, "No. You're not wrong."

He shrugged at her, heart pounding as he asked, "Then what did I do wrong? Why did you run off?"

She laughed softly and looked down at her desk. "I nerded out so hard."

Jake grinned as the sheepish look on her face. "You must have been able to tell I was enjoying myself. God, I could have stayed at Chippy's with you all night long. You know more about my jet than I do, and I have the NATOPS memorized."

She ran her fingers nervously along the top of her desk as she looked at the stack of journals he was meant to take with him. As Jake planted his hands on his hips, she glanced up at him. "It's just too good to be true."

He shook his head slightly. "What's too good to be true?"

"You."

He raised one eyebrow, about to ask what that was supposed to mean when she said, "There's always a catch with the charming, good looking guys, right?"

"A catch?"

She licked her lips and pressed her palms on the desk, leaning a little closer to him. "I've been through this before. There's always someone else. A sexy naval aviator in his uniform shows up to my lecture and then flirts with me? Please. There's always another girl."

Jake was kind of stunned. "I would never do that."

But she still looked apprehensive as she said, "As soon as you started ignoring calls and messages, you said you had to leave."

Bradshaw. He was ignoring calls from Bradshaw who was trying to tell Jake to meet him at the Bronco. And he was only ignoring him because he didn't want to leave her at all.

When he didn't respond right away, she shrugged and said, "Figured it was your girlfriend calling you."

Jake made sure she met his eyes before he said, "I don't have a girlfriend."

She barely hesitated before asking, "Wife?"

"I don't have one of those either."

Jessica slowly pushed off from her desk so she was standing at her full height, lips forming a perfect, kissable pout. She looked a little embarrassed now as she messed with her glasses. "That's all really useful information to have," she muttered, picking up the stack of journals and walking them around her desk. 

Her steps were intentional and deliberate, the little click of her high heels muffled in the small space. Even in those shoes she only came up to his chin, and she didn't stop until she was right in front of him. He could smell her shampoo or perfume. He could see gold flecks in her eyes. This time when she held out the journals, they grazed his flight suit. He took them in one hand and murmured, "Thank you."

"Mmhmm," she hummed, and Jake almost tossed the literature aside and pushed her against her desk when her fingers met the patches on his flight suit. He stood still against his desire to tilt her face up and press his lips to that pout. She looked good, and she smelled good, and Jake was convinced she would taste good, too. Then she glanced up at him, fingers still tracing his patch that said HANGMAN. 

He cleared his throat softly. "What if I decide I want to return the journals after I read them? And what if I have some questions only an expert would be able to answer?"

She smiled and said, "Then I would implore you to find me and avoid Dr. Leeland and the rest of the physics department."

Jake laughed softly, but then she removed her hand from his flight suit, and he started to reach for her. But she was already turning toward her desk, tearing a page out of her red notebook. As she bent at the waist, Jake stifled a groan and rubbed one rough hand over his mouth. Her skirt rode up along her legs, exposing so much skin, he couldn't look away. Perfect, gorgeous skin from her bare thighs down to her ankles and those stupidly high heels. 

He was definitely caught staring after she finished scribbling on the sheet of notebook paper and spun to face him. He wanted to ask her if she wanted another three dollar pint and some peanuts, but she folded the paper in half and handed it to him before he could gather his thoughts into a sentence that actually made sense.

He glanced down and saw that she'd written her office hours in her neat penmanship. 

Dr. Reed's office hours for journal topic discussion:

Tuesdays 5:30 to 7:00

Thursdays 6:00 to 7:30

"I might be willing to stay late again. For you." 

Jake looked up into her pretty eyes and tapped the sheet of paper. "Any chance you'd add your phone number for me, Dr. Reed?"

The soft smile and dreamy look she bestowed on him had him grinning like an idiot, he was certain. He wanted that phone number in the worst way. When Jessica's fingers ghosted along his patch one more time, she said, "Maybe I'll see you on Thursday?"

"Yes." Jake would make it a point to come back on Thursday. 

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

Professor Jessica thought she nerded too close to the sun. And Jake really did give off some of the telltale signs of a man who is up to no good (including but not limited to looking hot in his uniform). Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

@blahehblah

@sotalife

@desert-fern

@furiouspiespytaco

@rosiahills22

@daggerspare-standingby

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@callsign-joyride

@theharddeck

@captain-beskar

@withakindheartx

@roosterscockpit

@whatislovevavy

@hangmanbrainrot

@neferpatra

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@callsign-joyride

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@mygyn

@hoyaharper

@tallyovie

@gennyanydots

@callsign-magnolia

@whisperofsong

@seriouslyseresin

@double-j

@bradshawsbitch

@sugarcoated-lame

@katiebby04

@anotherr-fine-mess

@supernaturaldawning

@chassy21

@strrywmen

@tylerjones98

@captainjaspenor

@gigisimsonmars

@fanboyswhore9

@angel-w0nderland

@abaker74

@idontcare-11

@isaebellaa

[jayjay-thejet-plane]

Oops! I stayed up till 5am drawing this (why do i do these things…)

Anyways; prostate massage in professor seresin’s office after hours <3

(for the piercer bradley (and professor jake) au!)

thank you alex for all the wonderful ideas!

Close up below :P

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 0.4 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Bradley wakes up beside you, tensions boil over.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity, bickering and teasing through the chapter, mlre warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni, wc 4.6k

…

Turning onto his side reminds him that he’s not at home. His cheek meets the edge of the mattress, his arm already hanging freely off of it. He groans softly, then clears his throat, but otherwise makes no effort to move.

Your fingers curl and then uncurl, fiddling with the edge of the bedsheet. You’ve been up for twenty minutes now, staring at the man in the bed opposite you. He has kicked the covers off at some point in the night, discarded his belt too. His khaki shorts are still on, just unbuttoned for comfort.

He’s laying on his front, one arm bent and tucked under his pillow to support his head. Ashamedly, your eyes keep wandering back to the same thing. That long, even line down the stretch of his back. Starting at the waistband of the shorts, extending up along a plain of tanned, freckled skin, onto broad, thick shoulders. Before this, you’ve never thought about what Professor Bradshaw had looked like under those one-size too big button up shirts he wears.

Even his breathing is just so heavy.

Routinely, he’ll shift, pressing his face into the pillow and rocking his hips a little to try to find comfort again. Behind you, the sun has risen, casting a golden shadow over half of the lake, and, incidentally, Bradley too. Before now, you’ve never noticed quite how many freckles he has.

Finally, reminding himself that he’s got a hungover nineteen year old to go and reprimand, he forces himself to blink a few times. After opening his eyes for the first time, he’s somewhat aware of your presence. It isn’t until maybe the third blink that he finally draws his brows together, lifts his head and squints at you.

You stare back at him as he mumbles your name, his voice deep and gruff from a night of sleeping with his lips slightly parted.

“Are you watching me sleep?” He pushes himself up a little more, turning so that he’s sitting up in bed. Curls a mess, still trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes, rolling those thick shoulders to stretch them.

“We need to talk.”

“Jesus Christ,” He scoffs, pressing the base of his palm into his eye socket in an attempt to wipe the blur from his vision. “Can you let me wake up first?”

It’s already dawning on him that he made a dumb decision in falling into this bed last night. He probably shouldn’t have left Luke alone with Robin. Even if he had, he shouldn’t have let himself into your room. Natasha would’ve gotten him a different room in a heartbeat. He had just been so exhausted, and your door was right there.

“You were in the military?” It wasn’t what the topic of conversation was supposed to be about, you’ve just never noticed that silver-balled chain dangling around his neck before. Bradley glances down at the tags resting against his bare chest and rubs at his eye again.

“Navy, for a bit.” He tells you, the sleep starting to clear from his voice. Six years, actually. He shipped out at eighteen and came back a man.

“Did you go to Vietnam?” That’s always the question that follows, and when you’re a man who turned eighteen in 1971, there’s usually one answer.

He turns his head and looks across at you, “Only for a couple months.” Finally, he takes note of his half awake state and lifts a hand to try to tame his curls. Twisting them apart and brushing them back off of his face. “Why are we talking about the Navy?”

“Because I didn’t know that you served,” You reply, lifting your hands away from the covers and instead toying with your nightgown. Bradley watches your hands fiddle in the lemon coloured material, thinking back to the conversation he had had with Luke. He’d been expecting something uglier. It’s old-fashioned, but he doesn’t hate it. “You just don’t seem like the type—“

“I’m not.” Bradley interrupts you. He pushes himself up from the twin bed and stands straight, stretching his arms above his head and craning his neck from side to side.

He looks bigger without his clothes on. All three buttons on his shorts popped open revealing the waistband of white boxers inside. A steady trail of brown hair extending from his bellybutton to that waistband, stretching from the middle of his chest across his pecs. His biceps flexing as he tucks his arms behind his head.

“Do I have something on my face?” It’s more of a groan as he stretches out again, he peeks his eyes open to remind you that you’re staring at him.

“You have a lot of nerve,” You push yourself up swiftly. Here we go. He raises his eyebrows, intrigued but far from intimidated. You walk closer, barefoot and dressed in that cute little nightie. “First you let yourself in here and pass out next to me—“

“I was halfway across the room and in a different bed, it wasn’t—“

“Then,” You interrupt, talking louder to him, “You keep me up with your snoring—“

“I don’t snore.” He tries, still calm as you stomp around the twin bed to get to him, poking your index finger into his toned chest.

“And don’t act like I don’t know what you did last night, Bradshaw. One phone call and I can have you fired.”

Bradley’s lips quirk at the fact you think you have that power, but his brows knit together. “What do you think I did?”

“You! And Natasha!”

“Are friends, yes.” He’s talking down to you, slow and soft like you’re stupid. You smack his chest with the base of your palm, then point at him again. He looks down at the digit pressing into his skin, then back at you seriously.

“Were all over each other on the balcony last night!” You correct him. He glances down at your finger on his skin once again. You consider stepping back a little so that you don’t have to look up at him quite as much, but stay where you are.

He lifts his hand and wraps it over the top of yours, taking it away from his skin, holding it just a little too tight. “I don’t know what you think you saw, or what you think you know, but I can assure you that whatever it is, won’t get me fired.”

“She’s married! Do you have no respect for her marriage, if not her as a person?”

He stares at you. You can see it in his face that he’s trying not to smile. He looks down at your hand in his and examines your engagement ring. It’s a pretty sizeable rock on that band, but that’s no surprise.

“I respect Natasha,” Bradley decides, lifting those big brown eyes to look at your face again. “Enough to know that she's a grown up and can make her own decisions.”

He lets go of your hand and reaches for the buttons on his shorts. Your gaze falls to track the movement of his hands. He buttons them slowly, watching you watch him.

“If the Dean knew that you were—“

“Are you going to tell him?” Bradley prompts, stepping invasively closer to you. His brows seem to be permanently drawn together when he’s talking to you. Your neck leans back further so that you can keep your eyes on his face. “If I go home, so do you. Meaning you don’t graduate, genius. How’s your Dad going to take that one?”

Your eyes widen and then narrow.

“It’s no wonder that all Natasha wants you for is sex — I don’t think that any woman could put up with you for longer than that.” You decide. He stares back at you, lips quirking to let you know that he’s going to be harsh before he even speaks.

“And what would you know about sex?”

He knows. He watches you react to his words try to piece together who told him or why he thinks it’s acceptable to mock you for it. Truthfully, Zoey had drunkenly giggled it last night. He was standing behind her with her hair scooped messily into a ponytail, averting his gaze as she puked into the toilet, when she had sat back and wiped her mouth.

“Hey, Bradley, did you hear that your — star pupil hasn’t even fucked her own fiancée? — She’s — a virgin.” Zoey had hiccuped, grinning amusedly.

You’re quiet for long enough that he stands there and readies himself for you to try to hit him, he knows better than to leave himself open to you.

Then, you exhale slowly and stand up a little straighter, like that makes any difference in the way he stands over you.

“You’re going to start tutoring me, starting tomorrow.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because if there’s any chance that I’m not going to pass this class then I’ll just send the both of us home today, I swear to god.” Your fists ball at your sides. He stares back at you, understanding your rationale for maybe the first time since he met you. “Either you make sure I pass, so this whole circus is worth it — or we’re both fucked.”

His lips quirk. That’s the first time he’s heard you swear. Sounds awfully grown up spilling from your lips like that. He gives you a quick once over, trailing his gaze from your bare feet to the way your lips are pursed at him.

“I’m not going to do the work for you.” He decides. If there was enough room between you, he might’ve crossed his arms over his chest. If it wasn’t so hot from the window being open and the baking morning sun creeping in through the window, he might have stayed longer. His hand cups your waist as he pushes you out of his way and steps around you. “Get Pasquale to give you his book, read chapters two and three before tomorrow.”

And with that, he leaves your room. His belt, shirt and shoes remain on your floor. He passes Robin in the hallway, wearing one of Luke’s striped t-shirts, ignores her completely and swings the door to his own room open.

Robin winces at the sound of Bradley yelling as she renters her own room. She stops, her gaze falling down to the unmade bed and Bradley’s belt, shirt and shoes on the floor. She lifts her gaze to look at you. You scowl instantly.

“Got sick of waiting, huh?” Robin’s tone is dripping with mockery as she steps past you, barefoot and not wearing a single item of her own clothing.

You’re tempted, then for the first time, to shove her, but don’t. You let her walk past, but holding your tongue is too much to ask.

“Not all of us are as easy as you.” You remind her

“Prude.” She spits, shooting you a venomous look over her love-bitten shoulder. She doesn’t even have time to turn before you lurch forwards and grab a handful of her hair, tearing her backwards.

Lake Como begins to rise, peaceful and quiet outside of the open window. It’s going to be a beautiful day. Golden rays of sunlight across the still water of the lake, a gentle breeze and a freshness in the air.

Downstairs, from the breakfast patio, Natasha sips on her espresso as Bradley pulls the two of you off of each other. His voice carries through the valley, disrupting her breakfast guests as he reprimands the two of you for your childish behavior.

Your punishment is to be exactly where he can see and hear you, for the rest of the day. At ten, sharp, you sit on his left while Robin sits on his right. All three of you looking equally miserable.

You’re being spoken to as a group by an older man, he’s grey all over and sun-spotted, but you can tell he would have been handsome in his day. He’s telling you all about Lake Como’s history.

“In 49 BC Como town came into its own under the rule of Julius Caesar,” His accent is thick but his English is good, he has grown around the tourists and knows exactly how to talk to them. “Who populated the town with its first 5,000 inhabitants and named the lake Larius. Como itself was known as Novum Comum and played host to famous authors such as Pliny the Elder and Pliny the Younger during this time.”

Bradley breaks his gaze to scan across his students quickly. Abigail is taking notes, an Italian dictionary poking out of the top of her backpack with various sticky notes poking out of it. Luke’s enthralled, watching intently with his lips parted. You’re looking down. He leans forwards and cranes his neck to get a better look at you. You’re sitting up straight, frowning down at Pasquale’s book.

More notably, the artwork on the left page. It’s a Florentine painting from the sixteenth century of two women. Nobles, both of them. One of them’s sprawled out across a bed, her undergarments bunched, breasts exposed. Her modesty would be too, if it wasn’t for the second woman with her face buried between the gasping woman’s legs. He studies your expression, unimpressed by how you’re scowling at the work instead of just reading.

Reaching over two students, he taps harshly on the back of your head and points towards the front, “Pay attention.”

You look up quickly and snap the book closed. Bradley stares at you. You stare forwards, trying to focus on the lecture after what you had just been reading. You’re certain that if your father had bothered to look over the syllabus, he wouldn’t have cared so much about you taking this class.

“The stunning scenery also attracted artists such as Byron, Wordsworth and Shelley, acting as a muse to many poems including ‘The Daisy’ by Tennyson and ‘Cadenabbia’ by Longfellow.”

The furthest thing from your mind, truthfully, is Alfred Tennyson. If you were really being honest, the one thing on your mind is the image of Bradley standing at the front of the hall, reading aloud what you had just read. Hearing the words pour off of his tongue. Maybe during a morning lecture, where his voice would have been gruff and deep like you had heard this morning.

The lecture continues on and, as much as Bradley wishes he could pay attention, he glances across at you periodically. You’re still making that face. Like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar. He doesn’t get it, nor does he get you — you’re acting like the required reading for his class is porn. Turning his gaze to the water behind Guiliano’s lecture, he considers that for you it probably is.

He almost scoffs at the idea. Some sixteenth century painting being radical is such a foreign idea to him. He thinks of being eighteen, and impressed by the nude pictures on lighters and playing cards in the Navy. Impressed by the women he met at ports who liked the look of his uniform. Impressed by Natasha and everything she had taught him.

By the time it came to seeing that painting, calling it explicit was far from his mind.

“Great composers like Liszt and Verdi were also inspired by the lake. Many poems have been written about Lake Como both historically and more recently, but it’s not hard to see why the unrivalled beauty of the lake would inspire even the most amateur to put pen to paper.” Breeze carries forwards and sends Guiliano’s hair brushing back off of his forehead as he speaks. Bradley catches you turn out of the corner of his eye and looks. Meeting his gaze, you swallow and look quickly back to the water.

The morning passes slowly, it feels like Bradley’s eyes are burning into your back but maybe that’s just the warming sun. Lunch is quick, Bradley sits with Natasha and her husband. Her hand sits on top of her husband’s, diamond sparkling in the light.

Bradley stares at it as he eats his salad. The sapphire he had given her half a decade ago was prettier with her skin tone, but that’s at the bottom of the Mediterranean now.

After that, more lectures — then free time around the lake. This time, the students have organized to take a trip up to one of the towns further along the lake driven by Pasquale.

It’s less humiliating that you haven’t been invited now, because at least you’ve got the excuse of being stuck in the library of the hotel with Bradley all afternoon.

Gaze focused down, you watch the way Bradley scrawls across the page, his handwriting legible but not exactly neat. His hand’s just gripping the pen, but you can’t help but think of the way it had curled into her hair. Being six years old and having your ponytail pulled on the playground feels far from this.

You’ve been at this for a while, and it’s clear that you’re both equally irritated by each other. Slamming the pen down, he takes one look at your face and knows you’re about to ask him if he’s sure this translation that he has given you even makes sense.

“Don’t.”

You close your mouth, scowling across at him. He leans across the table and points towards the bottom of the dictionary, where a brief explanation of the Latin term you’re looking for exists.

“Stop getting yourself so mad,” He tells you calmly, shaking his head. “You’re bad at it because you don’t practice. Take a breath, think about it. It’s going to get easier.”

That’s the first nice thing he has said to you since you got here. You press your lips together, sigh, and then wet them with your tongue, trying to focus. He studies you from across the desk, each of you soaked in warm afternoon sunlight, the floor length windows open, the breeze soft. There’s an artificial smell of citrus in here.

You look back down to the work and exhale softly. Your chest rises and falls, the pale blue of your shirt catching his eye, just briefly.

“So, you didn’t like chapter two of the book, huh?” Maybe he thinks that this is an icebreaker of sorts. Your gaze is heavy, lifting slowly from your work to stare at him. He feels the need to elaborate instantly. “The painting.”

Suddenly the translation of the word fortuitous is a lot more interesting than it had been. Bradley taps his fingers against the desk as you avoid the discomfort of meeting his gaze.

“I just mean—“

“I don’t see why it should be in an academic text.” You say simply. He can tell that his question has annoyed you, but most things he says annoy you, so he moves swiftly on.

There’s a long pause between the two of you.

“Okay, you should know that I’m asking this seriously — so don’t bite my head off,” Bradley rests his palms flat on the aged, rust coloured wood, then leans forwards. His face is serious, his eyes big and round. “But, do you even know what my class is called?”

Sunlight peeking in from behind his shoulder, bathing the room and everything in it in a honeyed gold. The heat from the day starting to ebb away, a breeze from across the lake blowing at the curtains just slightly. No birds, no bustle outside — everyone’s either at dinner or getting ready for dinner. Everything in this valley is calm except you.

“Yes,” You bite, scowling across at him from over the top of the far too detailed painting in front of you. “Classics. You keep saying it.”

“Yeah, classics is the subject. But do you know what my class — the class that you picked, and enrolled in, is called?” Bradley asks slowly, like he’s just trying to be patronizing.

“It’s about Roman literature.” You answer, knowing that you’ve failed to produce a title, but are along the right track anyway.

“My class is called ‘Sexuality in Roman Culture and Literature’,” Bradley shares finally. You sit across from him, blank-faced. He taps the table softly, staring back at you, enjoying this probably a little bit too much. “That’s why the book is so ‘graphic’.”

Catherine — your maid-of-fucking-honour — enrolled you in a class on sex. You’re going to murder her. This cruel joke might have been funny if it hadn’t cost you your summer.

“But, then again, you would know that if you had bothered—“

“Oh my god, will you shut up about my attendance?” You grumble, slamming your pencil down onto the table. He stares at you, unimpressed and clearly biting his tongue. “We both know I’m here for credits and not because I care about the way people had sex a couple hundred years ago. Just do what they pay you to do and teach.”

Bradley’s brows draw together as he leans closer, his frame dwarfing the table. There’s a lingering silence as he stares across at you.

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I just—“

“No,” Bradley holds a hand up and pushes himself up from his seat. Standing, the table seems even smaller. You feel even smaller, tipping your head back to look up at him. His eyes darken as he squints. “You either learn to watch your mouth around me or you head home and admit that you fucking failed. You hear me?”

You stare up at him, swallowing thickly as shame burns through you. The smell of dust hurts your nose, the warm, dust-covered lights make your eyes tired. You want to go home.

“Tell me that you understand. In Latin.”

Another beat of silence. The look on your face tells you that he’s far from joking. Sighing quietly, he watches as you bow your head and open the dictionary.

He gives you a moment, just hulking over you as you search for the right term. Finally, you lift your gaze and spit it out, quietly. He glances down at the page.

“Work on your grammar.” Bradley tells you, slowly relaxing back down into his seat and tucking it in. “I’m going to give you a play. I want you to read it, I think it’ll help you with some context clues.”

Just like that. He relaxes — well, relaxes as much as you’ve ever seen him be capable of — again.

You exhale. Without realizing, you had been holding on to that one breath the entire time. Your gaze drops, falling down to his rolled up sleeves, the veins snaking out from under the white linen and down across the backs of his hands.

You wonder if Natasha gets him wound up like this.

The second that the thought crosses your mind, you squash it. Staring wide-eyed at the page in front of you, you’re at war with your mind. And he’s just sitting there, head leaned back, palms flat, staring at the ceiling. He has no fucking idea.

Staring at the ceiling is truly the only way forward. He can’t stand another minute of having to watch your lips purse when you’re staring at him.

It’s so difficult, trying not to hold something that you don’t even remember against you. He knows how blacked out you were that night, you barely remembered your own damn name.

He remembers that stupid, blue fucking dress. It came in around the waist and had these thin straps, more of a powder blue than any kind of stronger color. He remembers the snow on his car windshield, still falling. He remembers his heaters up as high as they would go and his coat around your shoulders.

Finding you sitting on the side of the road, in the fucking snow, and bundling you into his car, trying to keep you awake.

And then, the two of you sitting outside of your childhood home and your freezing cold hands wrapping around his palm, pleading with him not to make you go inside. He had only seen you a handful of times at this point, but he was sure you weren’t a bad kid. You just had shitty friends.

He lifts his gaze now and studies you as you card through the information before you. Lips pursed.

“You can’t sit in my car all night, kid.” Bradley said quietly, watching you like you were something foreign to him. You blinked back, saying nothing, but looking so sad.

“I just — please don’t make me go in there.” Your voice trembled. Maybe from exhaustion, mostly from fear. Bradley knew what fear sounded like. His face creased with concern, but he hadn’t budged. You frowned at him, eyes wide and pleading, “Please.”

You must have been able to tell on his face that he was about to disagree with you. You sat forwards, reaching out to rest your manicured palm against his thigh. His gaze hadn’t faltered from your face. He had been here before, with love sick girls who seemed to think he was going to be their saving grace.

He was nicer about it back then. He was trying to be nice to you. With your smudged mascara and your missing boyfriend and your quivering bottom lip. He should’ve kicked you out of that damn car and marched you inside right then. You were still too drunk to sit still, swaying just slightly — he wanted to give you a minute to collect yourself before your parents saw you at least.

He sat there for a moment, just trying to think about what to do with you. And then, seeming to think that this would get you your way, you had sat up and you’d kissed him. Turned your head twenty degrees to the left, lips just slightly parted, pressing softly into his. Pillowy and purposeful.

He swallows, glancing down at the page in front of him. God, he wishes you hadn’t done that. But, he can’t help but wonder where that odd little impulse had come from. What had driven that shivering girl to drive forwards and kiss him, clinging onto his shirt like it was some kind of life preserver — and where was she now?

Certainly not sitting in front of him and too timid to look at a painting.

You continue on with your studies, pretending like you aren’t thinking about him back in that lecture hall, his voice dripping like honey as he tells you every intricacy that that painting detailed.

Bradley crosses his arms over his chest and looks up at the details chiseled into the ceiling. He can’t help but wonder where those impulses go when you’re with your fiancé. You’d been damn near climbing into his lap after an hour alone with him — and yet, Malcolm has made it through four years of high school and three years of college without fucking you.

He curses himself. He shouldn’t think about it that way. He shouldn’t think about it at all. He glances down quickly as your foot knocks into his and withdraws as quickly as it has inched forwards.

Looking back up, you’re looking at him again. Just fleetingly, and you’re back to your work, and he’s back to thinking about you fucking kissing him. He just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand the knee length nightgown, or the weird reaction to the painting — or, you at all, really.

So, the two of you let the silence linger between you. Even as he shifts, pushing his leg forward and slotting his foot between both of yours under the table, letting it linger there.

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice e @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @cherrycola27 @sugarcoated-lame

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

just a little update on what's coming up!!

- honey girl chapter six is in the works, halfway done !! i'm thinking i'm gonna give you a break from all the angst in the series in this chapter... but no promises... <3

- I have a jake seresin x floyd!reader fic that's half written. it's soft and sweet and gentle... I love it, personally

- professor!joel miller x student!reader has been sat half finished in my drafts for months. this needs to be finished because it's fucking delicious

- 2 or 3 cowboy!spencer reid mini fics and headcanons are in the works

- I also have a chibs x reader kind of soft dom light brat tamer fic that's almost done (read here)

- web of lies chapter two is like 1/4 done... i'm sorry for deserting this fic!! idk what happened!! but it'll be finished soon... <3

as always, feel free to let me know which you'd like to see first!! or feel free to ask any questions you might have about any of these. much love <3

[oh-great-authoress]

Dr. Seresin’s class is one of the most taken classes in North Island University, and while the man himself is not oblivious to the other reasons students take his class, he hopes they do learn something.

Even if it is only his pastime of creating insults in poetry and rhyming couplets.

meet the professors: dr. jake seresin, associate professor of classics. “students, it’s like I always say - go big or go Homer.” 🏛️ 🏺