#with an extra shot of espresso? yes.

[daenysx]

there's something magical about iced latte

[prophecyofgray]

working as a barista is so much fun but also i am terrified of other people's coffee orders. like maybe i just have a low caffeine tolerance but what do u mean u want two extra shots of espresso in ur latte that already has 2 shots of espresso in it. are u crazy.

[vahanians]

😋😋

[amourane]

love notes in music

pairing: drummer!theodore nott x rich girl!reader

genre: fluff, modern au

w/c: 1.2k

summary: you always got what you wanted and the extremely hot drummer was no exception.

warnings: none

a/n: i am here to push forward the drummer theo agenda because yes yes and yes

Trouble was coming. You could feel it in your bones. Maybe it was the extra shot of espresso you had today or the wild predictions in your horoscope, but you definitely sensed something brewing. It didn’t help that Enzo had interrupted your lunch and dragged you back to campus for god knows what reason.

"Enzo if this is another one of your tricks to get me to dance with you it's not going to work. Remember what happened last time?" 

You dug your heels into the grass as your best friend continued to drag you across the field. The campus auditorium came into view and you frowned. There was no reason for you to even be there today so why was Enzo tugging you along like bait?

“Yes Y/n I remember what happened last time.”

"I fractured my ankle and I do not want to wear a cast ever again. I couldn't match the darn thing with any of my clothes." You huffed out a breath at the memory of the ugly accessory that the doctors had insisted on your wearing despite your protests. 

Admittedly you were a bit of a spoiled brat but at least you knew that you were. Going to a normal university was one of your father’s choices. You would have never gone somewhere so shabby on a daily basis. Truth be told on the first day, you were actually planning to ditch and go grab a chai latte. Then you bumped into Enzo accidentally and the two of you seemed to click. 

It was a good friendship. He’d always be able to tell you when you were being a tad bit annoying because of your rich girl behaviour and you’d be able to join him in his multiple activities. One which led to the infamous ankle incident. 

“Don’t worry Y/n, you’ll still be able to wear that Gucci jacket-”

“It was an Armani jacket.”

“Yeah yeah.” Enzo pushed open the door to the auditorium, and you were immediately greeted by the sound of drums pounding heavily. The amplified sound hurt your ears. “Welcome to the band.” 

“Um...Enzo, do I need to remind you of the time when I broke a guitar?” You nervously watched the live band on stage. Technically it wasn’t your fault that the guitar broke. Enzo never did tell you how to properly use it. “And when did you join a band?”

“Please don’t remind me Y/n also I didn’t actually join the band I’m more of a-”

“Hey Enzo!” 

The music stopped. Your head whipped around and your eyes nearly fell out of their sockets at the absolute hunk that had just shouted. His dark hair seemed to glow under the spotlight making him look like some sort of angel. Your mouth ran dry when he waved a drumstick at you. His fingers looked as if they’d been carved out of stone. And his biceps. God his biceps. The guy was ripped. He was a drummer as well. What was more sexy than a drummer?! 

“Hey Theo!” Enzo, your backstabbing friend who knew your weakness for hot boys with dark hair that played the drums, embraced him in a tight hug. “The practice is going well.”

“I know!” 

Good god, his eyes were like beautiful whirlpools of love. The two boys started talking animatedly about something to do with music. There were a few words thrown here and there that you recognised but other than that you stood watching wide-eyed at the conversation in front of you. 

“Who’s the pretty lady?”

Theo turned to face you and seeing his face up close only made you want to kiss him more. He really was gorgeous. You cleared your throat, straightening your skirt. “I’m Y/n, Enzo’s best friend, and you are?”

“Theo.” He offered you his hand, which you shook. Wow, his hands were soft. You were almost jealous. Time to buy new hand cream. “Hey, I’ve heard of you. You’re that girl who nearly broke her foot when dancing.”

Your cheeks flushed. Was this your legacy now? The girl that nearly broke her foot while dancing? How horrible. You would much rather be known for your stunning looks or incredible fashion sense. 

“Actually I twisted my ankle but who’s keeping track?” 

“Y/n isn’t the best dancer or guitarist.” Enzo chimed in. “She’s really good at maths though, she’s my second brain.” He said it as if you were simply another organ in his body, but you let it slide, trying to make a good impression on the drummer boy.

Theo chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, it's good to know Enzo has a brain to rely on."

You giggled at his remark, feeling the tension ease a bit. "Yeah, he needs all the help he can get."

"Hey!" Enzo protested, a small pout forming. "I'll have you know I'm quite capable on my own."

"Sure you are." You teased, nudging him playfully. Then, turning back to Theo, you asked, "So, what kind of music do you guys play?"

Theo's face lit up with enthusiasm. "We're a rock band, mostly. Some original stuff, a few covers. We're actually looking for a new guitarist. Interested?" He winked, clearly joking.

You shook your head, laughing. "After what happened last time? I think I'll pass. I'm more of an appreciator of talent than a participant. But I might be persuaded to attend a private concert."

Theo laughed, a rich, warm sound that made your heart flutter. "A private concert, huh? I think we can arrange that."

Enzo rolled his eyes. "Oh boy, here we go."

Ignoring Enzo, you leaned a bit closer to Theo, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. "So, Theo, do you always look this good while playing the drums, or is today a special occasion?"

Theo raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into a smirk. "I guess you'll have to come to more practices to find out."

You gave him a once-over, pretending to think it over. "Maybe. I do have a very busy schedule, you know.”

“Sounds like a yes to me. We’ve got a gig this weekend, free up some space in that glamorous life of yours and come.

You tried your best to conceal your excitement at the fact you had just scored yourself a date with a very hot drummer. Forget about trouble today was definitely the best day of your life. 

"Alright, I'll be there." You agreed, feeling a flutter of excitement in your stomach. "But only if you promise me a private drum lesson afterward."

"It's a deal. I'll make sure you get the VIP treatment." Theo’s grin only widened and you felt your heart stutter at the sight. He really was handsome and if you didn’t know how he was single but that was good news for you.

“I’ve got some studying to catch up on but I’ll hold you to that.” You offered him a wave goodbye as you made your way out of the auditorium with Enzo. Theo simply smiled, reciprocating your action. 

A giddy feeling overtook your body as the sun shone down on you. There were millions and millions of butterflies soaring in your stomach and you could only squeal at the idea of seeing Theo in the next few days. Before your best friend could say anything you spun on your heels, this time dragging him along with you.

“We need to go shopping right now, I need a new outfit for the weekend.” 

Enzo could only groan as his feet automatically moved. It was going to be a long day.

[mactavishwritings]

Anything for my Bunny

Millionaire!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Trophy Wife!reader (fem reader)

alt universe where Simon isn't military, but the CEO of a high-tech company

fluff mainly with some sexual implications

You always had a theory as a young girl. You had decided at a young age that you were going to get what you wanted no matter what and your theory was that there was a way to go through life, getting everything you wanted one way or another. You got your education, a degree in English, deciding that you were going to move to England to pursue writing novels in beautiful cafes all day. That dream however died when you ended up working at the cafes instead of being the mysterious patron who sat at a table by the window, typing away on her laptop.

Your wish slowly began to come true when you met Simon Riley. When you met him, he was a handsome businessman who was in a bit of a rush. The other girls at the cafe called him 'Mr. Handsome Latte', standing around the corner, as you took his order. He had a reputation for being quiet or on an important-sounding phone call. You were never one to make assumptions, but there were a few you had about this mysterious businessman.

When he came in that day, he was uncharacteristically wearing a pair of athletic trainers and a plain grey shirt. He had his phone in his hand, not looking up at you until he got up to the register. "Hi welcome in. What can I get started for you today?" You started the conversation like you would with any other customer. "Hi. Can I just get my usual hot latte with an extra shot of espresso?" You nodded, taking his order down. "Sounds good. $4 then." You punched the latte into the register, waiting for him to pay for the drink when he suddenly spoke. "When do you get off today?" You stopped and looked up at the man. "Asks the name of a man whose name I do not know." You fired back, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "Simon, you?" He paid for his drink and followed you down as you began to make his drink. "(Y/N)." You smiled, focusing back on his drink. "Well... Now that you know my name, what time do you get off today?" He persisted so you rolled your eyes with a laugh. "Okay fine. I get off at 6. Why do you want to know, Simon?" You turned your back to steam his milk but turned your head in his direction to let him know that you were still listening. "I'm picking you up and we're going out." He stated simply, causing you to whip your head around. "Excuse me? Why do you think this will happen?" You glared slightly. "Simple. I want to get to know you and I always get what I want." Damn...

-

You went out with him, but not that night. You played with him a bit before he finally convinced you to go out with him. You told him that he was going to have to work hard for what he wanted. You weren't easy to get and he would have to earn your affection. That's when you begin to receive gifts from Simon. All of the girls at work demanded to know why you turned him down or when you were going out with him; boasting about how you couldn't turn that type of man down. So, after receiving the fifth bundle of roses at your apartment, you finally called the number attached to the note on the flowers. He sounded satisfied when he heard your voice. "I told you; I get what I want."

He had completely wined and dined you that night, sweeping you off your feet. The night had taken your breath away and you felt like a teenage girl. So, when he asked you to go out again, you didn't hesitate this time. You began to spend more time with the man, feeling yourself fall slowly in love with who he was as a person. You learned that yes, he was on important calls because he owns one of the tech's world biggest companies. He didn't like talking about work with you, stating that he would rather shut that stuff away when with you, not wanting to interrupt your time together. It had been 3 weeks of seeing each other when he officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You had told him that you had been waiting for him to ask you, immediately saying yes.

-

After a year of dating, he asked you to move in. You were excited because he had a big bathtub and that was enough for you. You were still working at the time and while he never said it out loud, you could tell he wanted you to quit and let him take care of the financials. You wanted to still be independent. It was year 2 when Simon came to you with an offer. You would quit your job and he would set up a side account for you where he would give you a 'paycheck'. You would act as an assistant of sorts for him; meaning that you would bring him lunch every day. You agreed, seeing how much it meant to him.

Year 3 was when he proposed. You had gotten comfortable in the giant mansion that you called home. The staff that occupied as well made you uncomfortable at first, but you slowly warmed up to them. Especially when they told stories about Simon, both embarrassing and sweet. Most of them have been with Simon since he started his company, staying with him through all the frustration and triumph he has seen.

You were starting to get close to some of the staff, the main person who you interacted with was a woman named Nancy. Simon instructed her to help you with whatever you needed the first night you stayed the night and you two have been side by side ever since. She became like a second mother for you, helping with sickness and emotions. She knew the proposal was coming long before you did.

Now 5 years later, you couldn’t be more happy. Simon gave you everything you could’ve ever wanted. He often was gone on work trips but always made sure he brought home something for you. Often times, small trinkets. Keychains, figurines, or cups. You loved every one and kept them on your desk at home. You hadn’t given up on your writing dream just because you had become Mrs. Riley. It was one of your few conditions to the marriage. You wanted something separate from Simon and he respected it completely.

As a 5th wedding anniversary present, Simon bought you a new house near the beach and you spent most of your days sitting in your office, staring out of the ceiling-to-floor windows. You were sitting in your desk chair, a cup of coffee in your hands, robe hanging off your shoulder. Simon had been sent away on a work trip and you missed him dearly. He didn’t know when he was going to come back and it killed you, having to wait without a date. He typically knew when he was going to be back, but he had a big launch coming soon and he needed to perfect everything. Nancy had asked you if you were hungry for breakfast and you had told her that you weren’t feeling up to eating. Lately, you seemed to have lost your appetite and you weren't sure why. You felt fine otherwise, figuring that it was just from the stress of Simon not being home.

You pulled your robe back over your shoulder and sighed. Reaching for your phone, there had been no new texts from Simon. You hadn't heard from him all day yesterday and you were getting worried. You rubbed your forehead and felt your stomach churn. You couldn't help but think the worst. You got lost in your head, staring out at the rising sun and crashing waves when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You gasped and looked up, seeing Simon smiling softly at you. "Si! You scared me!" You felt his hand ride up to rub the back of your neck up to your hair. He leaned down to kiss your forehead softly. "My apologies, love." He came around the front of your chair and knelt down to kiss your exposed knee. "I hadn't heard from you yesterday and I didn't know if you were okay." You pouted, running your fingers through his hair.

"Good thing I got you this then. As an apology." He lifted up a small bag and you giggled, taking it in your lap. You pulled out a box and opened it to reveal a very dainty pearl necklace. You gasped and immediately demanded for him to put it on you. Simon placed it on you and locked the clasp, kissing your cheek before standing in front of you. "I have to make up for lost time. Come."

-

That night, after you finished catching up, you both had showered and lounged around all day. For dinner, you two sat at the dining table as you requested, having to remind Simon that you could, in fact, feed yourself. Simon could barely keep his hands to himself as he told you about this recent trip. He told you about how well the launch went and how his new secretary was a "complete psycho who clearly lied during the interview". You nodded along to his words, playing with his fingers as he spoke.

"By the way, in 2 weeks, we're hosting a party here." Simon casually told you and you smacked his arm. "How am I going to prep in only 2 weeks!" You whined, already grabbing your notebook to plan. "I know, my love. It just came up, I only just agreed to it two days ago." He kissed your hand apologetically and smiled. You rolled your eyes, already forgetting your fake anger. “It's fine. I've got a reputation for being the best hostess!" Simon nodded along to your words, smiling as if he had hearts in his eyes. "Whatever you need, I'll leave my card for you. You know the pin." You giggled, knowing that the pin was your birthday.

You picked up the empty plates and walked them to the kitchen, smiling when you felt Simon wrap himself around you from behind. "Missed you...my hand was barely enough.." Simon whispered in your ear, gently kissing your neck. You gasped, feeling his hands slip under your slip dress. "Si! Someone could walk in!" You giggled as he lifted you up onto the countertop. "Oh, Mrs. Riley...I paid for this house. I will enjoy my dessert in my kitchen." He smirked as he knelt between your legs.

-

i loved this idea and would love to expand on it! so feel free to send asks about this <3

[realcube]

dilf december

day five ⭑ shota aizawa ⭑ coffee shop au!

tw implied age gap, mentions of heart failure & brief mentions of suicide

dealing with hyperactive kids all day is tiring. so, as a strategy to help him get by, aizawa will pay a visit to his local coffee shop on his way to work, and orders a sweet pastry along with a caffeinated drink.

not only is a nice treat, but that little bit of sugar and extra coffee gives him the energy he needs to stay awake through the whole day and complete his extra duties too. it's a nice routine he's found himself falling into, popping into the cafe every day of his working week, and occasionally trying out new desserts.

something else that has made him particularly excited for his daily pastry, is the new hire who has recently started serving him. he's been frequenting this cafe for around two years, and for the most part, it was a nice old lady that would be behind the counter. however, for the last week or so, it has been someone else.

a someone else who happens to be a treat for his eyes, while he buys a treat for his stomach.

today, he's headed to work a bit early to grade some papers before class. naturally, during his walk to the train station, he slips into the cafe first to begin his morning routine.

he was only half-surprised to see you standing behind the counter again, hair thrown into an updo, covered by a puffy hairnet, which he could tell you weren't pleased by wearing. though he's never seen someone look so cute in one before. as for your uniform, you wore a white blouse under an apron with the cafe's logo on it, tightened at the waist to highlight your gorgeous figure.

he couldn't take his eyes off you, which made things a bit awkward when you address him, while he's lost in his fantasies, "welcome. are you ready to order?" you ask, offering him a weak smile.

he blinks, raising his eyebrows as he is suddenly snapped out of his thoughts. "hm," he crosses his arms over his chest and approaches the counter, scanning over all the delicious options kept in the adjacent display case. "a croissant, please."

"okay." you hum, tapping that through the system, "and would you like a drink?"

"yes. a triple espresso."

you raise your eyebrows, then explain with a polite smile, "we serve doubles as standard here, so that would be the equivalent of six shots of espresso. if you prefer, i could give you a double which is equivalent to four sh—"

"six shots is fine." he says bluntly.

"uh," you stammer, quite caught off-guard by the man's resounding certainty. "do you happen to be a teacher?"

he quirks a brow, and can't help but smirk a little at your observation, "yes. highschoolers."

"i would've guessed elementary kids." you snicker, idly fiddling with the tassles of your apron, "i don't think i can, in good conscience, serve you six shots of coffee in one drink."

"really? the other lady would serve it to me, no questions asked." he says, in such a dull, matter-of-fact way that you can't tell if he was being sarcastic.

"she also still thinks smoking is good for you, so she's far from a health guru." you joke, and feel quite pleased with yourself as the man cracks the tiniest smile in response, "you usually get a double, don't you? i could do that for you. that would be four shots."

"i've got an early start today; i could use the extra energy."

"well, i don't want you dying of a heart attack, so will a double be okay?"

"for an old guy like me, heart failure is inevitable anyway. may as well enjoy the coffee while i'm still alive." though his inflection sounds serious, you can tell there is a hint of playfulness in his tone.

"well, you'll have a lot more time to be alive and drink your coffee if you stick to a double." you argue, eyes fixed on the screen as you ring up his total, "that'd be a thousand yen."

he hands over a single note, you process it and then start preparing his drink at the espresso machine. since he is the only customer in the store, in order to combat the awkward silence, you intend to engage him in conversation. and fortunately, he strikes it up first, "a double will have to do. though if i fall asleep mid-class, i'll let them know who to blame."

"i have a feeling you were going to do that either way." you tease, entirely joking, however aizawa is stunned momentarily at how you're able to read him like an open book.

"i see you've somehow found a copy of my lesson plan." he says in that indecipherable tone of his.

"i did. and you glad you're only having four shots of coffee? otherwise, you wouldn't be able to nap." you explain perkily, pouring the brew you made for him into a to-go cup and fitting a lid onto it.

"you'd be suprised." it was now aizawa realised how strange this was. where ever his colleagues tried to engage him in vapid small-talk, it filled with the burning urge to blow his brains out, but now he was not only enjoying a surface-level conversation, but going out of his way to participate in it. with a complete stranger, no less.

"oh, i must be dealing with a professional napper." you muse, giggling to yourself as you use the tongs to pick up a croissant for him from the display case and put it into a paper bag. once that was all done, you wrapped it up, placed it on the counter alongside the coffee and gestured for him to take it — but not without slipping a little something into the bag first.

trudging over to the counter, he picks up the coffee and bag in one hand, and uses the other to get another thousand yen note of his pocket and slide it over to you.

"sir, you've already paid." you correct, motioning for him to keep his money.

"this is your tip." he clarifies, leaving it on the counter for you to take, as he turns around to head out, "you're a sweet girl for caring about the health of others."

as he says that, he doesn't make eye-contact with you, but just as he opens the door to leave, he glances over his shoulder and casts you a gentle smile, which you reciprocate.

it did worry him slightly that he may have came on too strong in that interaction, but his worries were put to rest on the train, just as he was about to start eating his pastry, but lying atop it is a napkin with a note scribbled on it:

'if you're okay with double espressos for the rest of your life, my number is written on the back :P'

[exhaslo]

Kinktober Day 4- Miguel x reader (Public Sex)

        Sometimes you questioned what you did to deserve a loving boyfriend like Miguel. He was everything you ever dreamed of and more. You met by chance. You worked at a local coffee shop right across from Alchemax, which is where he worked. He stopped in once in a blue moon at first, but when you kept trying to get to know him, he became your regular. He only appeared when you were working and only wanted to have his order taken by you.

        You thought it only happened in movies, but it was real. Eventually, you grew the courage to ask him out and he said yes. One thing led to the next and you and Miguel had officially been dating for about six months now. Miguel was perfect. Although, you did get the feeling like he wasn't telling you something. You tried to brush the thought away, but every time you saw Spiderman...You wondered...His built, he voice; it all seemed like Miguel.

"And there I go daydreaming again. Shit, I grabbed the caramel instead of chocolate. Shit." You cussed under your breathe as you tried to return to work.

        It was, yet, another busy day at your job. Lunch had just begun and everyone was trying to cram in a snack or a drink. Hurrying to remake the drink you had messed up on, you heard a familiar voice clear his throat. Your lips curled into a smile as you turned around and saw Miguel at the counter. He stared at you with such loving eyes.

        As you finished the drink you were making, you began to work on Miguel's. You added an extra shot of espresso, knowing how tired the man can get after work. The amount of dates the two of you went on that had Miguel nearly falling from exhaustion were too many to count. His job was straining. You wished you could help him more than just an extra shot. Miguel always said that having you by his side was enough. Although, you could feel his pent up stress every time the two of you had sex.

        The man had stamina! He always held back, trying his best to be gentle with you, but you knew he wanted to go rougher. To let out his stress. You just had no idea how to approach him on the subject.

"You look tired already. They got you working other's shit?" Miguel's hand grazed yours, wishing to hold it, "You should take a nap."

"Wish I could, but no one else will do the job," He muttered lowly.

"(Y/N)! We got a big order!" Your coworker yelled out.

        Miguel tighten his grip on your hand for just a moment. He did not want to let you go just yet. It brought a smile to your face. Letting him know that you were to text him later, you returned to work.

        Miguel stayed for a bit longer, watching you slave away to the swarm of customers. You did not deserve the treatment some of these assholes gave you. You deserved better. Miguel wanted to take you away from here. He had the money to pay for your expenses. He had the money for you to live comfortably at his place. He just felt like he was going to rush you if he made the suggestion. Exhaling lowly, Miguel took one last look of you before leaving the coffee shop.

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

        You let out a stiffing yawn as your finally clocked out for the day. Unfortunally, you had to pack in a few extra hours due to someone not showing up. It was later than you were comfortable with. The sun was already setting and Miguel had went home for the day. Normally, he would walk with you if you ever had a late shift, but you hated to bother him so much. You worried that he might get tired of you asking him repeatedly. Your cheeks huffed out, hating the thought.

"What to make for dinner?" You mutter as you walked home.

        It was a fairly quiet night. A little too quiet. Despite living in the upper side of Nueva York, it still felt unsafe sometimes. You kept telling yourself that it could always be worse. You could be in the lower city. Hurrying across the street, you let out a soft sigh of relief as you joined a small crowd. Some streets were busier than others. It made you feel safe.

"You look lonely, darling. Need someone to keep you company?"

        Aaaaaand there it was. The occasional drunk or pervert. Keeping your head held high, you ignored the man. Hearing another voice, you tensed as a different man now approached you. What happened to the crowd you were just in? You had begun to shake as another man joined in. Your hands slowly reached into your purse for your pepper spray. Miguel had convinced you to get something to protect yourself. You never thought you'd had to use it though.

"What are you-" Right as one of the men went to grab your hand, you heard a yelp.

        Your body flinched as the other two tried to run away. All you saw was webbing fire towards their backs, dragging them past you. It was safe now. Spiderman was here. If only you could tell that to your racing heart. It was hard to breathe. Spiderman stood before you, wrapping his arms around your body. Your breathing hitched as you started to cry. 

"It's okay now, mija (darling). Just breathe," He whispered. He sounded so much like Miguel. "Take deep breathes, no one is going to hurt you."

"M-Miguel," You sobbed quietly.

        Your ears perked up as you heard Spiderman sigh. Feeling yourself being pulled into the alley, you tensed up once more. Spiderman's hand cupped your cheek, wiping your tears away as his mask disappeared. There he was. Your loving boyfriend. Miguel's eyes stared directly into yours as he pulled you in for another hug. You returned the gesture, crying into his chest. After you calmed down, you huffed your cheeks out towards Miguel.

"I knew you were hiding something!"

"This isn't something I can easily tell anyone," Miguel told you, stroking your cheek once more.

"So this is another reason why you're so tired," Leaning your head against the palm of his hand, you noticed his red eyes sparkle brighter than normal, "You know...I think I need to properly reward my savior."

"(Y/n), you know I'll always be here for you," Miguel whispered, his hands already against your ass, "But...I think I like the idea of a reward."

"Mhm, why don't we-"

        Miguel interrupted you by abruptly slamming his lips against yours. His hands squeezed your ass once more before lifting you against the wall. Your eyes widen, almost wanting to pop out of your head, as you tried to squeeze a word out. Miguel wasn't seriously planning on having sex right here and right now?! You guys were in an alleyway of a busy street! People were passing by! Anyone could just turn their head and see you and him fucking.

"Mi-"

"¿Oh? ¿Ya estás mojado porque te besé aquí? Qué tan sucio. (Oh? You're already wet from me kissing you here? How dirty.)" He said with a smug grin on his face. Your face burned red,

"S-Says the one who-"

        Miguel stole another kiss from you, wanting to relish in the moment of your embarrassment. He bulge rutting against your soaked fabric under your skirt. You could deny it all you want, but the thought of someone catching you having sex with Spiderman was exciting. Miguel was still being careful though. If anyone were to see the two of you, he did not want them to see your beautiful body. He was going to tease you through your clothes as much as possible.

          Miguel pressed his hips against yours, keeping you up against the wall. He brought his hands up to your shirt, unbuttoning your uniform. You wanted to protest, but you were covering your own mouth from your moans. As Miguel worked on your top, his lower half was grinding against you roughly. You could feel your body burn, wanting himto fuck you already.

"So beautiful," Miguel's pupils were focused sololy on your body.

           He cut your bra down the middle, savoring the way your breasts poked out. You stiffed another moan as Miguel started to suck on one of your breasts. His fangs grazing your nipple ever so slightly. All of this friction and toying with was making your mind hazy. You were unable to suppress your moans as you reached your high.

           Miguel licked his lips, groaning as your panties soaked his suit. He freed his cock, needing to be inside you. He released your abused nipple, attacking your neck as he slid your panties to the side. The hickeys he was going to leave on you. Making sure that you knew who you belonged too. A soft groan escaped his lips as he rubbed his cock against your wet cunt.

"M-Mig," You breathed out, "Y-You don't have to hold back, b-but maybe not here?" You tried to reason with him once more.

           Miguel's breathing grew heavy as he tuned you out. All he heard was permission to let loose. Pressing the tip of his cock into your folds, Miguel inhaled at the sounds of your moans. Your gummy walls sucking him in faster than he was giving you. You always knew how to trest him right. How to make him feel good.

"Careful, mija. Someone will hear you," Miguel said before thrusting into you.

           Once more, you tried to cover your mouth, but it was futile. Miguel was thrusting into you roughly. As if he couldn't get enough. As if it wasn't enough. Miguel told you to bite his shoulder, to which you did. He held your ass up as he gave you another good slap of his dick.

          You shuddered as you felt another orgasm about to break you. Anyone could just look down the alley and see the two of you fucking. See that Spiderman was givinf you his cock and no one else. The thought brought you to your orgasm. Miguel was your perfect boyfriend. Your perfect superhero.

"Look at you, don't care if anyone hears or sees us, huh?" 

           Miguel cussed lowly as you gushed around him. That beautiful white ring that covered his cock. Now to return the favor. Holding your head, Miguel pressed you against the wall, rutting deeper into you. He moaned in your ear as he coated your walls white. Miguel let you catch your breathe, before swinging up to the top of the building.

"We're not done yet, mija. I want to let the whole city know that you belong to me. Make sure no one tries to touch you again," 

          You whimpered lowly as he had you lean against the building. The view of the city before you as Miguel entered your throbbing hole once you. 

"I'll take good care of you from now on." Miguel kissed the top of your head before giving you another charade of thrusts. You mewled in response, staring down at the apartment windows,

"Migueeeeeeel!"

          Needless to say, you didn't go back to work the next day. Miguel made sure of that.

[mychlapci]

since constructiprowl was mentioned, my liege i have actually just passed the part in mtmte/dark cybertron where i finally got to see the constructicons for the first time and they are so funny jgskjds

Thinking about them as his own personal weird little hype crew. If Prowl has no means to physically stop them they will follow him. They only leave him alone when they dont have specific security clearance to follow him.

Otherwise theyre basically always there and like. I dunno. Being. Supportive. Like they will physically try to hold Prowl's hand when crossing the street (try because Prowl immediately shakes them off). Even if they can't hold him, they will actively tell him when its safe to cross. They also crowd around behind him whenever he buys stuff just like 'oh you getting an energon pastry prowl?' 'oooo pastry' 'oh great choice prowl' 'looks good'. They need him to know hes making such a good decision :>

Sometimes if he hasnt eaten in a while and he goes out to get the energon equivalent of a shot of espresso and nothing else, the constructicons will also be like 'hey boss boss dont you want to get a snack the snacks look real good today' 'yeah Prowl have you seen the gels they put out today man they look really tasty' And they WILL keep going until Prowl sighs and buys one for himself. Then they all cheer

Sometimes if Prowl is feeling extra generous he'll buy all of them a snack. For no reason. Just cos it shuts them up for a few minutes.

They also tend to walk behind him, unless its really crowded. They know how uncomfortable it can be for Prowl to be in too crowded a space due to his sensitive doorwings, so they will kind of surround him if they notice any discomfort. They are big enough and there are enough of them to form a buffer around Prowl and the rest of the crowd. Prowl doesnt acknowledge it, but it honestly does help a lot. Just having that extra space for his doorwings to be raised and not constantly bumped into and jostled about is a big difference

I think there is probably also one time where Prowl really really overworked himself and just collapses. Like he and the boys are just sitting together to refuel (not by Prowl's choice) when he suddenly loses power and clonks his helm hard on the table. And stops moving. Cue 5 very panicky constructicons bursting into the medbay like 'MEDIC MEDIC HELP HES DYING' whilst carrying the limp form of Prowl and making a huge din until Prowl gets but on a medberth or smth gkjsdkjs

the constructicons as Prowl’s personal hypemen is a concept that just never gets old. they love their little autobot!! he’s so fun to be around!! Nowadays, Prowl is just accompanyied by a constant chorus of Yes Prowl!! good choice Prowl!! yeah you assholes, you better to listen to Prowl!! Tell them Prowl!!

[tangerinesgf]

Okay but imagine Tom Ryder falling for a fan who has ZERO and I mean zero clue on him being famous. Like he met the fan on accident and then was expecting the fan to go crazy when seeing him but the fan wasn’t even interested

And he’s like so into it becuase this hasn’t happened to him before!

Also female reader as the fan!!!

Tags/warnings: nothing I think.. Tom being an ass before being nice.

A/N: this was really fun to write. I'll be honest i had to keep myself from making him too much of an asshole, but i think this is pretty in character. Anywaysss tysm for your request and i hope you like itt<3

Tom Ryder has never met someone who doesn't know him. He's the biggest star of the world, everyone and their mother's knew about him. Or at least that's what he thought.

He was at his favorite coffee shop, undercover with a hat and black sunglasses. Usually he'd love the attention and praise from his fans, but today he wasn't really in the mood.

As the barista hands him his coffee order (a grande Caramel macchiato, 1/3 whole milk, 1/3 almond milk, 1/3 soy milk, 1 shot of extra espresso decaf, whipped cream and caramel drizzle on top), Ryder turns away to walk out of the shop.

Without noticing he drops his bank card which he used to pay with. You notice this while standing behind him in line and pick the card up.

"Oh, sir!" You call out as you rush after him.

Tom sighs and rolls his eyes before turning around to face the girl. "Here we go.." He mutters to himself.

"You dropped your-"

He instantly cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence. "Yeah, yeah it's me I'm amazing and the hottest man you've ever seen blah blah I know.."

You stare at him for a bit while still holding onto his card. "What?"

"What do you mean what?" He looks annoyed, you're wasting his time every second that he stands there facing you.

"I found your card.. what are you talking about?" You hold the card up to show him, your face still scrunched up in confusion.

"I'm Tom Ryder. Did you honestly not recognize me?" He raises his eyebrow at you. Is this girl stupid? He thinks to himself.

"Was I supposed to?"

"Yes. Everyone does I'm Tom Ryder." He says almost baffled that you don't recognize him.

"You keep saying your name but it doesn't ring a bell." You shrug your shoulder

"Tom Ryder." He repeats once again as if saying it for the third time would help. "Action Pact franchise? Hot Earth? Bad Cop, Good Dog? Metalstorm? How about biggest moviestar of the world?" He explains to you like you're a child.

"Oh I did hear about Metalstorm. Isn't that with that actress Iggy? Was that her name? She's cool."

"What no- I mean yes she is in it, but it's my movie. I'm the lead actor." Tom says in an agitated tone. How could you not know him, everyone knows him. Yet for some reason you kept staring at him with those confused eyes. Those beautiful confused eyes..

"Right well- good for you." It's a genuine smile, it's adorable. Why are you smiling at him like that? You should be wanting to jump on him out of excitement. Tom has never felt so confused in his life.

"Don't you watch movies at all?" He questions you.

"Ofcours I do. Indie movies." You say with a soft smile on your face.

Indie movies. Right. Tom Ryder was known for big budget blockbuster films, not smallscale indie stuff. Although now that he thinks about it everything could be a blockbuster with his name attatched to it.

"Right- so my face means nothing to you?"

"I mean.. I guess it looks slightly familiar but no.. not really. Sorry." You smile apologetically.

A strange sensation washes over Tom as he realizes this girl does not care about him at all. It's oddly humbeling even for him. "No it's fine I guess, I just never met someone who isn't crazy about me."

"Well I could still do that." You chuckle and finally hand the bank card back to him. "I'll just pretend to be obsessed with you and then you can roll your eyes at me or something."

"You'd really make a fool out of yourself for me?" He raises his eyebrow at you. Sure he's used to everyone doing everything for him whenever he asks, but this felt nice, less forced than usual.

"Yeah, look." You smile and then turn your back to him. A second later you turn to face him again, your face laced with excitement.

"Oh my god, you're Tom Ryder! I've seen like all your movies and you're so cool and hot and so amazing. Can we take a picture oh and an autograph, will you marry me?!" You say acting like an obsessed fangirl that's in love with him.

"Alright alright.. I get it." He laughs, readjusting the sunglasses on his face. He was starting to like her more and more.

"Really? I can go on if you'd like. There's this whole part where I improvise your part in a movie." Yoi brush your hair back from where it had fallen in front of your face and Tom's eyes can't help but linger at every move you make.

"No it's alright." He chuckles. "But I will say you're missing out. I've won many awards ya know. I'm not just a pretty face." He says with a grin on his face, trying to impress her.

"Never said you were. Maybe I should go see your new film at the cinema then." You tease playfully.

He chuckles softly at that. The idea of you going to see his movie made him excited. He wanted to know what you'd think about the film eventhough he had just met you 5 minutes ago. Then an idea suddenly pops into his head.

"I have a better idea. How would you like to go to the premiere, hm?" He grins

A/N: Tysm for reading I hope you enjoyed it!! Comments and reblogs are so much appreciated you don't even understand. Love you guyss<3

Taglist: @earth-elemental18 @cockete @allaroundjejje (lemme know if you wanna be removed/added)

[getsteddiewithit]

Two People

——

just thinking about how steve and eddie would be the same people- just on opposite sides of the spectrum.

eddie would be so pale year-round, including during the summer on beach trips. he did not like exercising or being outside. and when he would join steve with being outside, he would be burnt to a crisp.

steve would be gorgeously tan, playing in the waves and the sand like a toddler. out there every day until the day they had to leave. he’s incredibly athletic and loves to move around. he would force eddie to go outside with him and he would be stuck applying aloe all over eddie’s back, but he wouldnt mind.

eddie likes his coffee ridiculously sweet- extra cream, flavoring, and sugar every time.

steve likes americanos- which eddie thinks is fucking disgusting.

but they both like an extra shot of espresso.

steve’s hair grows incredibly fast. one year in middle school, he went a whole summer without cutting it; his hair long and straight. he cut it off and has kept it short-ish since.

eddie’s hair grows slow. it’s untamed and curly and he will never, ever cut it. steve doesn’t want him to.

eddie is very sensitive and gets mad or frustrated easily, and it’s easy to get him worked up.

steve is cool and calm under any pressure, and it’s hard to make him mad. but he’s great at reading people, and knows how to calm eddie down quick.

eddie is loaded with piercings and tattoos and is completely fine with needles.

steve hates needles and will never get pierced or tattooed- with the exception of getting a matching tattoo with eddie in the future. eddie will have to hold his hand the entire time.

eddie is amused very easily, and steve does the joking and messing around.

steve’s body is covered in freckles and moles; it reminds eddie of constellations.

eddie’s skin would be completely bare if it weren’t for the multiple tattoos he has.

eddie loves rainy days and storms.

steve is afraid of thunder and loves the sun.

steve kills the bugs when they find some.

eddie is the one jumping to get away from them.

eddie is cold easily, steve is hot easily. they keep the thermostat at 67, no matter what. and both of them will get mad if the other decides to change it without talking about it first. (yes, they do have a whole discussion before changing the thermostat.)

eddie loves to bake.

steve loves to cook. (yes, there is a big difference.)

despite his appearance, eddie is not a big fan of horror movies.

steve is a huge horror movie buff.

these two- no matter how long they’ve been dating- can NOT take a shower together because eddie likes it burning hot and steve has to keep it cool.

these are all i have. i love them sm. thank you for reading. :)

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Tu Querido Esposo. || Rodolfo Parra & Alejandro Vargas

Rating: G Words: 1.4K~ Tags: f!reader, you/your pronouns but no Y/N, Spanish terms of endearment, best friends to lovers, forced marriage (but not like THAT), friendly bickering, Rodolfo is in denial. Summary: Six months later, you wake up to Rodolfo in your kitchen and a shocking realization in the back of your mind. a/n: A follow-up on this one shot because @lyralein is a sweetie and this is her Roman Empire and I’m Julius Ceasar, for just a moment.

You exited the bedroom to hear rummaging amidst the kitchen cabinets. You closed the door behind you and yawned, rubbing your eyes a bit.

“¡Buenos días Rudy!” [Good morning] You exclaimed as you made your way toward the hall bathroom, only to notice Rudy’s head peeking out of the kitchen.

“¡Buenos días!” He answered. “You’re up early!” He said as he padded over your way.

He stopped at the bathroom door as you bent over the sink to wash your face with a wash cloth.

“Didn’t sleep that much. Stressed from work.” You admitted and sighed loudly. 

“Do you want a cafécito?” [espresso] He asked you as he reached over and rubbed your back.

“Yes, please… And toast?” You requested and batted your eyelashes at him, causing him to chuckle.

“On it.” He replied with a nod as he walked off to the kitchen again.

You quickly brushed your teeth, fussed with your hair for a minute, and then tip-toed over to the kitchen when you looked and felt less like death.

“You know, normally, when a person marries someone else, they don’t get a whole extra husband for free.” You quip as you enter the kitchen and slink to your seat at the table.

Rodolfo is standing at the counter peeling a mango as he waits for the toast to finish warming up in the toaster oven.

“An extra husband?” He asks as he turns to look at you with a cocked brow and an amused expression on your lips.

“Mhm. I mean, you and Alejandro are basically married.” You quip as you watch him chop the mango into thin slices with his knife, dropping them into a plate bowl.

“How are we basically married?” He asks in confusion.

“You know… You spend so much time together… You sleep over so often… You’re here every morning serving yourself to our food… You do our laundry and our dishes…” You trail off.

“Because I live down the road and he gives me a ride to base.” Rudy retorts as he takes the toast from the oven and sets it in front of you with a knife and the butter. “And normally people don’t complain when someone does their chores for them.”

“Yeah but a few years ago, when he got shot, and had to take leave, you took leave with him, so you could look after him… You stayed over, fed him, bathed him, drove him to P.T… Even when his whole family could’ve.” You add as you start buttering your toast.

“I’m just a good friend.” He replies.

“A good friend doesn’t kiss me, or Ale on the mouth.” You retort.

Exasperated, Rudy groans. “Will you ever let that go? We were playing a drinking game!”

Giggling, you bite your toast and keep looking at him with raised eyebrows and a smug little smile on your lips.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” He tells you, also smiling a little, amused. “I regret the day Alejandro introduced us.” He adds.

“Oh, calláte.” [shut up] You say with another giggle. “You love it.” You say with a smirk. You don’t miss the way the corners of his lips twitch to hide a smile of his own.

After looking around for a moment to make sure the coast was clear, you grabbed him by the arm, bringing him close. Your voice drops to a whisper.

“It’s okay to admit you’re in love with Ale, you know?” You tell him, watching his eyes widen and his whole face warm up red.

“Don't joke about that!” He scolds you as he pulls himself away and grabs the plate of mango slices, setting it in front of you. “We’re just friends.” He adds.

Then, Rudy turns to pour himself and you two espresso’s from the moka pot.

“We’re all friends here, Rudy… And somehow, I’m married to Alejandro and sleep in his bed.” You retort with a shrug as you bite onto your toast again.

Rodolfo scoffs a bit and takes his seat across from you, leaning back on his chair and sipping his espresso quietly.

“We’ve been friends for decades now…” He trails off. “I think it’s normal for feelings to get a bit… complicated.” He concedes.

“I get it. You almost die together enough times and lines get blurred.” You answer and nod in agreement.

“It doesn’t mean I’m in love.” He adds, defensively.

“Right.” You add and smirk smugly again as you chew your next bite of toast.

“Mhm.” He murmurs and finishes his coffee before grabbing some mango and putting it in his mouth.

“Well, if it’s any consolation…” You trail off. “I like having a second husband.” You joke.

“¡Calláte!" Rudy responds as he looks away sheepishly.

Just as you’re eating quietly, Alejandro comes into the room, making his way in noisily, his crutches clacking loudly on the tile.

“Buenos días.” He grumbles as he clomps his way along to the table. Rudy quickly hops up from his chair, pulling it back to give Alejandro his seat.

“How are you feeling, Ale?” You ask him gently as you reach across and rub his arm.

“Like shit. How do you think?” Your husband/best-friend responds in a woke-up-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-bed grumble.

“Well, who told you to jump from a moving jeep after a terrorist and break your ankle?” You joke with him, earning a glare and a flipping of the middle finger, which makes you laugh. That ends up putting a smile on his face.

Rodolfo moves across the kitchen to fetch Alejandro’s medication, a myriad of pills he has to take every morning while waiting for his shattered ankle to heal. After bringing them, and a glass of water, to your husband, he goes about fixing breakfast for him.

You shoot Rudy a look as if saying ‘See? You’re taking care of him like a wife!’ and he responds with a glare that definitely says ‘¡Calláte, carajo!’. [Shut the fuck up]

Afterward, while both you and Alejandro go about eating breakfast, Rodolfo stands next to the table, per lack of a chair.

“Sit.” You tell Rudy as you stand up. He knows better than to argue with you, despite only having been friends with you for half as long as Alejandro, he knows you’re annoying as all hell.

Once he takes your seat, you calmly plop yourself down on Rudy’s lap. His breath hitches and he stiffens up for a moment. “What are you-”

“There’s no more seats and I can’t sit on Alejandro’s lap because of his leg.” You reply as you lean all the way back on Rodolfo’s lap, pressing your side against his chest.

You grab his earlier fork from the bowl of mango slices and carefully feed him some, earning another deer-in-the-headlights look from him. “Eat. You’ve got work later.” You order him.

Alejandro is across the table from you, eyes locked on you as you feed Rodolfo and the poor man looks like he’s containing himself from having a heart attack, his face blushed red and sweat piling up on his forehead.

“You know, I’m the one that should be getting spoon fed, I’m the injured one.” Alejandro pipes up from his seat, making you turn your head to face him.

“I thought you didn’t like to be babied, mi querido esposo?” You quip. [my dear husband]

“I would if it’s you sitting on my lap.” He retorts and twitches his eyebrows at you playfully, which makes you scoff.

“Well, tough luck.” You add as you turn to feed Rodolfo again. “Besides, Rudy is always taking care of you. He needs to be babied sometimes too.” You add.

Alejandro feigns a scowl. “I’m starting to think you’re conspiring against me, you both.” He quips. “My own best friends, one of which happens to be my wife-” He says in feign injury.

“Rudy is basically your husband too at this point.” You retort, which causes Rudy to flush red again.

“I already told you, I’m not-” He tries to say.

“Sorry, my mistake. My own best friends, both of which happen to be married to me-” Alejandro corrects himself in his mock-complaint, having caught the way the idea of being called ‘married’ to him makes Rudy squirm.

Rodolfo groans. “Really, Coronel?” He asks, sheepishly.

You end up giggling and shake your head. “I told you, Rudy.”

“I hate you both.” Rudy sighs. “If we were married, I’d want a divorce, you’re both insufferable.” He complains.

“We wouldn’t let you.” Alejandro quickly quips.

“As if we’d let you.” You say as the same time.

You and Alejandro look at each other and then start laughing, which you both a glare from Rodolfo, before his own face morphs into a little smirk.

[svnnyd4ys]

the seven + nico incorrect quotes lol

Piper: She's the girl of my dreams! Annabeth: You say every girl is the girl of your dreams. Piper: I have a lot of dreams.

!!!

Leo: *watching their house burn down* Leo: Leo: *starts filming* Waddup, guys, welcome to my vlog, today's topic: how to get away with accidentally committing arson because you forgot Spaghetti O's cans are metal and thus non-microwavable! Step one: deny everything.

!!!

Jason, looking at a selfie of Leo’s: I hate this photo. Leo: I’m cute as fuck in that photo! I’m smiling kindly. Jason: You’re not smiling kindly; you look like you’re up to something. Leo: Up to kindness.

!!!

Hazel: Nico, how do you feel about lifting heavy things? Nico: My doctor just said I should avoid— Hazel: Being a wuss? I agree.

!!!

*During a game of Hangman* Piper: Nope, there’s no Q. You lose. Leo: Are you kidding me?! You can still add something! Piper: I already added a belt, four earrings and an extra arm! YOU LOSE!

!!!

Jason: Are you guys bringing anything to the party? Nico: Yeah, an empty stomach. Annabeth: My sparkling personality. Percy: A flagrant disregard for common decency. Hazel: ... Hazel: Chips.

!!!

Piper, looking at a map: It’s a barren, featureless wasteland out there, isn't it? Jason: Other side, Piper...

!!!

Percy: You know, Leo, when you generalize, you tell general... lies. Leo: ... Leo: Are you trying to teach me moral lessons through puns.

!!!

Annabeth: What time is it? Piper: I don’t know, pass me that saxaphone and we’ll find out Piper: *BLASTS the saxaphone* Nico: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXAPHONE AT TWO IN THE FUCKING MORNING Piper: It’s 2 in the morning.

!!!

Leo: You’re overthinking this. Hazel: You don’t know the appropriate level of thinking, Leo. What if I’m underthinking?

!!!

Frank: I am an expert at identifying birds. Percy: Okay, what about those ones flying over there? Frank: Yeah, they're all birds.

!!!

Percy: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere* Jason: Where did you get that? Percy: My pocket. Jason: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket? Percy: Skills.

!!!

Frank: If I fall down these stairs, I'm just going to lay down and accept my fate.

!!!

Frank: I’m taking a look at your numbers, and it doesn’t look good. You have a lot of measurements. Quite a few variables. Jason: Is that… bad? Frank: Variables are the #1 risk factor for outcomes. The past is a big contributor to the future. Jason: Isn’t that just causality? Frank: Causality is the leading cause of death in this country. Jason: So what are my odds? Frank: Do you have a family history? Jason: Of what? Frank: Just, in general. Jason: …Yes? Frank: Oh no.

!!!

*the Squad at Disneyland, in the teacups* Leo, Frank, and Jason: *spinning a little and talking* Nico, Annabeth, and Hazel: *flying past them, spinning as fast as they can, screaming*

!!!

Percy: My dad drowned at sea when I was little so whenever someone jokes about fucking my mom I’ll pretend to be really sincere and say some shit like “Glad to see she’s moving on, my dad’s death hit her pretty hard.” Then watch them absolutely fumble trying to figure out a response to that statement. Percy: Update, she got a new partner I can no longer make the joke.

(pre discovering yk his half God-ness)

!!!

Annabeth: I’m gonna mix a can of Red Bull with seventeen shots of espresso in a fishbowl and then chug it while Kids by MGMT plays in the background so I can perceive twenty-three spatial dimensions and fight my own soul.

!!!

Nico: This is a safety pin. *cuts off end* Nico: It is now a danger pin.

!!!

Jason: Sometimes I talk to myself for no reason. Jason: Me too!

!!!

Piper, explaining why they are not allowed to cook: I put the noodles in the pot and put the pot on the stove and turned the burner on high. Turns out you don't put noodles in marijuana and I almost burnt the whole house down.

!!!

Hazel: *gets set on fire and screams in agony* Hazel: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

!!!

[toulousewayne]

Daily Batfam Shenanigans Pt:2

———

Batmom heading downstairs to attend a gala and finds the boys yelling and shouting in the foyer.

Batmom: How many idiots does it take to tie a bow tie?

Bruce:…..

Dick……

Tim……

Damian: Three it seems.

———-

When your brothers speak multiple languages.

Batsis:Tell them I want taco with the tasty red chicken, with Spanish rice and extra cheese on the beans.

Jason: sí, el número uno con queso extra en los frijoles. You want chips and salsa?

Batsis: Sí

**

Damian: Tt, I don’t see why you can’t order yourself.

Batsis: 🥺

Damian: *Sighs*fine, you want soup with your order?

Batsis: yes, thank you little brother.

—-

Jason: We’ll slap me silly and call me darlin’ it’s raining again.

Dick & Babs (Unison): Not even gonna ask.

**

Jason: Wipe my butt and call me a baby.

Batsis: Dad said you can’t swear didn’t he?

Jason: We’ll I’ll be a monkey’s uncle, you sure they brightest crayon in the box.

Damian (While reading a book):Just because you have the features of a primate does not give you right to compare yourself to one.

Jason:….Fuck you

Bruce: Jason!

Jason:I like Mom so much more.

——

Tim:I’m sad

Dick: We know Tim.

Batsis: We’re all depressed, look who’s our father.

Bruce(Stoic):…

Alfred: I think it’s time I call the therapist.

———

Jason,Batmom are in the kitchen making snacks. While, Cass watches and steal one every once and a while.

Dick: FUCKING HELL!!!

Batmom rushes out the kitchen and Jason and Cass share a look before she returns carrying Dick like a small child.

Batmom: Get me the med kit now!

Cass graciously leaves and returns with it.

Jason while eating: What you do this time big bird?

Dick: I dropped my razor and it cut my leg.

Batmom places a Superman bandage on his cut. : All better.

Dick (happily): Thanks Mom.

Bruce standing in the doorway: You managed to carry a grown man down two flights of stairs.

Batmom turns to him and leaves the kitchen with an apple: Never underestimate a Mother’s will to help her children Brucie boy.

——-

Damian walking into the cave with a skateboard.

Dick:Whatcha got there Lil D?

Damian:Tt, Kent wants to go skateboarding but Mother never showed me how to use these devices.

Tim vibrating from not sleeping for 72 hours, five shots of espresso, two Red Bulls and a few bites of cold day old pizza.

Tim: We ride at Dawn!

Damian & Dick: 😳

—-

Batsis watching a movie with Damian and Titus in her room. Jason walks in flexes his biceps in her mirror turns to look at them then pushes her hair spray off the nightstand. And leaves her room with the door open.

Titus…..

Damian:….

Batsis:Damian—

Damian (pulling a Katana from Batsis’s closet): I thought you’d never ask. Come along Titus.

[bloodmoonmuses]

the weatherman's weathered heart | mark lee

genre: weatherman! mark lee x reader, enemies to lovers, slowburn

[series masterlist] [next chapter]

chapter one: coffee hit and run

This is the third time you’ve told yourself you’d stop drinking coffee, yet here you are again- preparing to do the literal opposite. Autumn has wrapped her fingers around summer’s waist, nippy morning air whistling through the crack of your bedroom window. Your cat, Luna, is napping on an armchair, making you jealous of her furnace-like warmth. You shrug on a denim jacket, a sturdy one passed down from your dad, then make your way down the block. Marnie’s, the ever beloved independent coffee shop in your hometown, is a seven minute walk from your house. 

The conveniency of such is where you place blame for your lack of a backbone. It’s also on your way to work, Jagerman Printing Co., making the practice of scooping up your double americano (with a hefty splash of half and half) a staple in your morning routine. 

A bell rings upon your entry and you shuffle into the short line. There’s three people in front of you: At the front of the line stands the town’s school bus driver. He gets a London fog, requesting half the amount of lavender syrup. Next is an artist type, struggling to hold a thick stack of photos in his hands as he orders his iced macchiato. You’ve seen him in your shop before, attempting to flirt with your coworker, Hongjoong, so he could get a discount on his prints. Finally, just in front of you, is a man in a suit. His hair is aggressively and artificially blonde, navy blue ensemble making it practically glimmer. He’s quite spiffy. Maybe he works at the bank, you think to yourself. 

The alleged banker gets an iced americano. Triple. With an extra shot of espresso. The cashier, Marnie’s eldest daughter named Minnie, jokes that he must be really tired. The blonde man scoffs, but in agreement says, “You have no idea.” He tips generously, 4 dollars and some change, then side steps to wait for his drink. 

Now it’s time to receive your poison. When she recognizes your face, Minnie says, “Your usual?” 

To which you say, “Yes, please.” You tip as well, walking over to the side counter to wait. You pull out your phone, opening it to see that Hongjoong has texted you.

HJ (derogatory): This newspaper intern is clueless. Typo on the order for this week’s batch. Need more prints.

You: omw soon. Chat her up, can’t afford any negative reviews. 

HJ (derogatory): No promises.

You rock back and forth on your feet, thinking about how many more newspapers the girl could possibly need. The most compelling news story you had read in the last year was about the town’s duck pond. This wasn’t exactly the New York Times. The error probably meant you’d be going into work a bit earlier tomorrow. Regardless, you liked your mundane job. Going into printing technology wasn’t the most glamourous, but where else does an affinity to paper and a concerning level of attention to detail lead you? 

The menial admin work, e-mails and scheduling brought you comfort. You liked managing your little team. Some projects were more fun than others: birthday invitations, wedding save-the-dates, highschool yearbooks… Disdain only arose in you when people didn’t know how to do their job. Like this intern. 

For some reason, the interns at the newspaper office across town were in and out like goldfish at a pet store. It felt like every other month you were having to explain to some poor kid how to properly put in a printing request for the coming week. Maybe you should do admin work over there. They’d probably think you were a genius. Or a magician. 

You’re snapped out of your internal dialogue by the feeling of being shoulder checked. Hard. A few seconds pass, during which you register the sensation of liquid soaking through your shirt. The scent of espresso enters your nostrils and you scoff at the situation. Did someone just… spill their coffee on you? 

You whip your head around, words caught in your throat, in an attempt to see who just ruined your morning. In a blur, you recognize the offender to be the blonde man who was in front of you in line. He’s running out of the door, half empty cup sloshing around in his frantic hand, while screaming into his phone. 

“What?! I didn’t approve that poor excuse of a fucking article!” he says. “…Already in print? I said no, that journalist, she-” 

“Hey!” You yell after him, looking at your chest in shock. “I think you spilled something!” 

The bell above the door rings, signaling the alleged banker’s exit. The man doesn’t even look back, too engrossed in his argument to care.

When the adrenaline begins to fade out, you make eye contact with Minnie, who you assume saw the entire exchange from her spot behind the counter. She places your double americano on the counter, the side of the cup with your name sprawled on it facing outward. You walk up to the counter and take the warm drink. 

While handing you some napkins, Minnie says, “At least his was an iced drink.” You look down at your cream colored top and the dark splotch that now adorns it. Fuck.

—

When you arrive at the printing shop, Hongjoong is beet red. The guy holds so much anger in that little body of his. He can be surprisingly intimidating, when the situation permits such.

“You do realize there’s a big difference between one hundred and one thousand, right?” Hongjoong says, voice laced with annoyance. 

The mousy intern shakes. “Yeah, but– I just figured, y’know… since this is a weekly order, you might’ve realized it was a typo on your own.”

Honjoong chortles. “Oh, so it’s my fault? Newspapers are an antiquated form of media to begin with, and I’m not really sure why we continue to deal with this bullsh-”

You interject, shooting the intern an apologetic smile. “Take it easy, big man. You’re not scaring anyone in that vest,” you say. The intern stifles a scoff. “We’ll just print the rest tomorrow. No biggie.”

“Um, ‘yes biggie’. I don’t wanna work overtime. Gotta finalize the design for those marathon flyers too,” Hongjoong retorts.

He gives you the up-down, taking note of your frazzled demeanor and adds, “What’s with the stain on your shirt?”

“I’ll do it then,” you sigh. “I’ve got nothing better to do. And the stain? Don’t wanna talk about it.” 

Hongjoong humphs. 

Sliding behind the front counter, you place your satchel and americano down at your desk. Then, you head to the back, grabbing the boxes of newspapers you do have printed. They’re still warm from the press, the scent of the ink calming you down- if only slightly. 

“Here’s a hundred copies. I’ll have the others by nine tomorrow morning. Just… be more careful next time,” you tell the intern.

“Got someone to help you carry these?” asks Hongjoong. The intern shakes her head. “I’ll carry them out. Which one’s your car?” The girl points and he promptly gathers the boxes. 

“Hey, by the way,” you say to the girl, “do you know why they need an extra three hundred? The order is usually seven hundred copies a week.”

“Something about an interview with a weatherman. The moms here really like him-”

The door to the shop opens again and you think it’s Hongjoong, but when you turn, it’s the man from the coffee shop. He’s still on the phone. Great. The offender of your coffee hit-and-run is here to add insult to injury. What are the odds of that?

“Speak of the devil…” the intern says under her breath. 

“I’m not exactly sure how the article got approved for print in the first place,” the man whisper-shouts into his phone. “I was told it was going to focus on my passion for meteorology or my down to earth persona. Not digging into my personal life. Whatever the intent, I want it scrapped. Entirely.”

Hongjoong now re-enters the shop, glancing at the suit-clad man, recognition flickering on his face. “Wow, we’ve got a small-town celebrity here in Jagerman’s? To what do we owe the honor?”

Finally, after hanging up the phone, the previously alleged banker says, “I’m here about the newspaper.”

“Just packed up the first batch of copies,” says Hongjoong. “Since when did you work for the newspaper?”

“I don’t work for the newspaper, I’m Mark… Mark Lee?” He says. Then, he looks at you expectantly.

Hongjoong simply laughs. 

“Is that name supposed to mean something to me?” You ask, agitation rising in your chest.

“Channel 127 News? Beloved weatherman and meteorologist?” Mark continues. 

Hongjoong laughs again. “A real big shot,” he says.

You shake your head. “Not ringing a bell.” 

At this, the bank- weather…man scoffs incredulously. “Well if you crack open one of those newspapers, you’ll see my face all over it.”

“Ah. Popular with the moms. Well, as I told this young lady here,” you gesture to the intern, “we’ll have the rest of the copies tomorrow. There was a misunderstanding with the printing order.”

“That’s what I’m here about. I don’t want them printed.” Mark crosses his arms.

“Well, they already are,” you huff. You had cut the intern some slack, but this guy? He’s a grown man pouting over some paper. And he spilled coffee on you. Honestly, you were more upset about the latter- and the fact that Mark seemingly has no recollection of this. Are you that invisible? Forgettable? 

Nevertheless, the weatherman persists. “Then I don’t want them distributed,” he says.

You cross your arms, mirroring Mark. “You have no authority over that decision.”

Mark exhales dramatically, pinching his nose bridge in frustration. “Are you always this rude to your customers?”

“Do you always spill coffee on unassuming printing technicians?” At this, Mark pauses, finally placing your face. As recognition floods his features you add, “Four shots of watered down espresso on my new shirt. It’s a shame really.” Mark’s face flushes.

“What could possibly be in this article that would make you come all the way here? The news station is on the other side of town,” you inquire.

Mark stammers. “It’s nothing-”

“An affair? Tax fraud? Oh my god, I’m the first to hear about Weatherman-Gate,” says Hongjoong.

You chuckle. “‘Small-Town Weatherman Commits Tax Fraud”. What a headline. I’d actually read that.”

“I didn’t commit tax fraud. I just… didn’t approve of the article. So that’s illegal, right?”

The intern tuts. “You undergoing the interview was the approval. No take backs.”

“‘No take backs’? Are you a toddler?” asks Mark.

“I’m 21,” she responds, chipper as ever.

“So, you are a toddler,” you and Hongjoong say in unison. 

“Jinx!” exclaims Hongjoong. “Buy me a coke after my shift?” You wave off his question, returning to the issue at hand.

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t my problem,” you say.

“Look, I’m sorry I spilled coffee on you, I am, but this is my livelihood. I’d really appreciate it if-”

“You’re gonna have to go to the newspaper office,” you contend. “Like I said, this isn’t my problem.” 

Mark goes quiet. As you turn to walk back to your desk, he whispers out a plea. The quiver in his voice makes you stop in your tracks.

“Please.” You spin back around to see that his eyes are now glassy. For a moment, you think he’s about to cry. 

You look over to Hongjoong. He’s not having any of it. Knowing him, he probably thinks this Mark guy is full of shit. However, you (unfortunately) have empathy. Whatever’s in this article, he doesn’t want it to come out. You sigh. The admin at the newspaper isn't gonna like this one bit.

“We only have a portion of them printed,” you confess. “If you can get the editor to change the article by tonight-”

Mark erupts into a gleeful cheer, effectively cutting you off. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He engulfs you into an awkward embrace, jumping up and down like a little girl. 

Hongjoong snaps a picture. “A lot of Facebook moms are gonna be jealous of you,” he says.

While in Mark’s hold, you remember the stain on your shirt. “One more thing.”

Mark immediately concedes, finally freeing you from his death grip. “Yes. Anything. I’ll do anything,” he says.

“You owe me a new shirt.”

a/n: feedback is always appreciated! thx for reading! <3

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | Prologue | Bradley Bradshaw (18+)

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Bradley wakes up in a foul mood, your ego takes a hit. A deal is struck to ensure that you’ll be able to graduate.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni, wc: 3.1k

…

Nine weeks into Spring semester, six to go. Six more weeks of having scalding coffee, missing tastebuds and a fucking freshman girl ranting into his ear all before the clock even hits 8am. Bradley’s sunglasses sit perfectly across the bridge of his nose, gold-framed Ray-Ban caravans that hide how late he was up last night. This means that sweet, little freshman Bettie O’Riley can’t see the look that he’s giving her as she jogs along to keep up with him.

Hallowed halls, filled with young adults that either reek of cheap beer or Daddy’s money, all signs would suggest that Bradley isn’t supposed to be here. Only thirty-three, sitting at that awkward age that makes him neither a frat boy nor a balding tenured ex-businessman turned lecturer. And yet, his brown leather shoes hit these aged floors every morning on the way to his first class of the day.

Beige, almost cream-coloured, wide pleated dress pants and an untucked blue shirt, rolled up at his forearms and missing the top button. His messenger bag draped from his shoulder, his tie balled into the hand holding the to-go double shot espresso.

Six more weeks until he’s in Italy for two months, teaching during the mornings, free as a bird in the evenings. Sun on his face, limoncello on his tongue; good books, women who don’t just giggle and twirl a strand of their hair at him. History. All funded by the Cornell school of Arts and Sciences. He damn near sighs at how badly he wants to be there now.

“Bettie, I already told you,” He sighs, adjusting the gold-framed sunglasses and shooting a look down at her and her wispish black, curled bob. “I can’t curve your grade, it was a C minus.”

She speeds up and steps in front of him, walking backwards now. “Please, Professor Bradshaw. I’ll do anything.”

Professor Bradshaw rarely draws a reaction from him these days. Only his bosses and parents call him that. He makes a point of scrawling it across the chalkboard at the beginning of each semester, but he’s usually still reminding kids a couple of weeks in to just call him Bradley.

Still, both he and Bettie O’Reilly know that it isn’t her method of address that makes him scoff at her. He stops walking and pushes his sunglasses up into the feathery brown curls that adorn his face, staring down at her like she’s even younger than she is. She swallows, regret flooding her. The other professors usually lean into the kind of virginal, good-girl, bad student thing that she’s got going on.

“Bettie,” Bradley speaks slowly for her, pink lips against tanned skin. Warm eyes against a cold stare. The hallways are full around them, standing stationary in the steady stream of students. “Don’t come onto me like that again. Study.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, come to my office tomorrow morning, I’ll give you an extra credit assignment,” It’s more lenient than he should be with a girl who just propositioned him before he has even finished his morning coffee, but Bradley knows not to blame little Bettie. With those thick, rounded glasses and dark freckles, he knows that she gets a lot of attention from her other professors. The culture they’ve created in this school isn’t her fault. Neither is the fact that Bradley’s class is notoriously hard to pass. “We’ll talk through what an A grade paper should be looking like. Do me a favour and don’t talk to me until then.”

He steps around her and continues; she’s swallowed instantly by the sea of bustling students. In the run up to the end of the semester, people start showing up to class again as it hits them that their professors might actually fail them. There aren’t too many F’s floating around in a school like Cornell. Its stats are exceptionally high, especially these past few years. It would seem that, in a school like Cornell, a passing grade quite simply has a price tag on it.

Three minutes before his morning class is due to start, and having woken up on the wrong side of his bed, Bradley drops his sunglasses back down over his eyes as he strolls into the lecture hall. It’s surprisingly full for a Monday morning. The gossiping never stops when he walks in — he’s not that kind of teacher. He allows the whispering to continue while he sets up his supplies.

There are six people in this room that Bradley has not seen since the first week of class. Every single one of them has a parent that is a benefactor to the university. Front and centre, surrounded by a group of excitedly whispering, well-dressed young women, there’s you. He knows you vaguely, knows that you’re coasting on high B’s. He hasn’t seen you since January, you won’t be passing this class.

“God, look at that rock!” The blonde to your side fawns, grabbing at your hand and lifting it up towards the light to get a better look. Setting his sunglasses down on the desk, Bradley looks too. There’s a silver band with a big diamond on it around your ring finger. You’re beaming. Dressed in a white turtleneck and fitted blue jeans, Bradley’s got his assumptions about the family you come from, and the family you’ll be marrying in to.

You’ve been taking his classes for the full three years that he has been teaching here. He knows your boyfriend. Malcolm something something the third. Maybe fourth. His Daddy paid for the science wing refurbishment last year. Bradley remembers the night that your Prince Charming ditched you out in the snow, drunk out of your mind. You probably don’t remember that night.

“Good morning.” His booming voice obliterates the pleasant chatter coming from your friend group. You cross one leg over the other and look downwards at the glimmering rock on your finger.

Six more weeks until you’re out of this hellhole. An apartment in Manhattan all lined up and Mac’s place with his father’s firm long confirmed by now, it’s all coming into place. You’ll have a summer wedding at the end of August, and then you’ll truly begin your life.

“Tell me all about it! Did he get down on one knee?” Veronica nudges her white tennis shoe into yours and leans across to you, tapping her pen against the white-lined page of her notebook. Between the two of you, Catherine readies herself to take down notes that you’ll copy later.

A decent string of A to B grades and a diploma, that was the agreement, and then your life is all yours. That was all your father had held you to. You hadn’t ever promised to do something with the degree he had paid for.

Why would you? — Your mother hadn’t. She had studied literature, made friends for life, and met her husband. Then, she began her life. Having her children, shopping in the afternoon, tennis on the weekends. Bliss.

“Of course he did!” You confirm eagerly, leaning over Catherine to continue the conversation.

The first five minutes of a lecture determines everything. If he loses their focus now, then he might as well leave now and take an especially early lunch. He starts off with a quick reminder of their upcoming exam, and a nod towards last week’s discussion of Roman literature.

His attention is quickly diverted to the excited whispering happening six feet from him, right in the front row. Your friends aren’t bad students. You weren’t ever a bad student. It has just become clear that you were in college to find a husband, and now you’ve found one. Bradley’s eyes narrow in on you and your preppy, little friends, giggling at the front of his class.

Exhausted, overworked and underappreciated, Bradley stares at you calmly. You conversation comes to a slow stop as an awkward air of silence fills the lecture hall. He’s just standing at the front, staring right at you, waiting for you to shut up.

“Sorry, Bradley, somebody just had some exciting news.” Catherine smiles shyly at him. He knows her the best out of the three of you. She TA’d for him last year. Great girl, really bright future — to generous when it comes to grading. It’s because of his respect for her that he doesn’t jump to humiliating you right away.

“I can see that, congratulations,” His tone is dry, broad shoulders squared, his face unamused as he looks to you. You stare back at him calmly, giving a curt nod — less than polite in your mannerisms. “Now, if those of you that still have a chance of passing this class could please turn your attention back to me, we’ll give the blushing bride her moment afterwards.”

He opens the little brown, leather bound book in his hands and clears his throat, assuming that your rude interruptions are done for the day. Somehow, the awkward silence that sits heavy in the room grows to an even deeper low after you retort.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” Bradley deadpans, bored. You squint at him, six feet between the two of you and a lifetime of differences. Unimpressed by his joke, you roll your eyes right away.

Sitting there, you cross one leg over the other and sit forwards, frowning at him. He doesn’t fit in around here and you do, perhaps that’s where his problem with you stems from. Perhaps it’s the lack of ring on his own finger. “Why would you assume that I wouldn’t pass your class?”

As much as he knows of you, you know of him too — he’s supposedly a jackass. “Because you missed half of the semester. That includes two quizzes and a term paper. There’s no way for you to achieve a salvageable grade in this class.”

When you’re around Malcolm, sometimes he says things that are just so entitled that you’re wincing before he’s even done talking. He can’t help it. He means well. With the amount of time you’ve spent at his family home in the past few weeks, it’s no wonder that words you would normally wince at are spilling from your own lips, “I was planning a wedding, what do you expect from me?”

“Attendance.” Bradley snips. He raises his eyebrows slowly, waiting for you to pack up your pretty, coordinated stationary and walk yourself out of his class.

“But—“

“Goodbye, Mrs. Ashworth. Congratulations again.” Bradley speaks harshly, calling you by a name that isn’t even yours yet like it’s an insult. Like he’s better than you, somehow.

Your pencil slams down onto the half desk in front of you, eyes ablaze. Perhaps the first time you’ve ever been told no. “If you fail me, there will be consequences.”

The silence that fills the classroom this time isn’t awkward. It’s just anticipation, baited breaths, waiting for Bradley to lose his temper. He walks a few paces closer, close enough to smell the cherry scented perfume on each of your pulse points.

His eyes darken as he dips his head just slightly, meeting your gaze. “You’ve got me shaking in my boots, honey. Now, stop wasting my time and get the fuck out of my class.”

There are certain lines that a professor does not cross when working at an Ivy League. Swearing at the daughter of someone with more lawyers than Bradley has living family members, was not his brightest idea. Still, your father is an amicable man — he keeps on saying that — and he wants to work this out. Bradley gets to keep his job, you get to graduate. Everybody wins.

“Classics majors work closely with individual professors in their areas of expertise, often in small classes, and have many opportunities for independent research and travel,” Doctor Kazansky’s voice is calm, teetering on the edge of cold. It’s growing increasingly difficult these days to put up with snotty parents and their snottier children. “I’m sure you understand why attendance would play such a strong part in succeeding in such a major.”

Bradley braces himself against the radiator, glancing down at the watch on his wrist. Real Italian leather that a girl’s grandfather had made for him a few years back. He’s missing happy hour for this circus.

“Of course I understand, Doctor Kazansky,” Your father might as well be a parrot for how well he has learned to mimic tone. You cross your legs at his side and sit up a little straighter. The way you tense up at his voice is so routine, it’s almost Pavlovian. Bradley watches wordlessly. “Just like I’m sure that you understand that in this university’s hundred year history, it has never failed a member of my family and my daughter will not be the one to tarnish our impeccable reputation here.”

You glance up quickly, catching the look on Bradley’s face. He squints disapprovingly at your Charles Dickens villain of a father.

“What can she do to bring her grade up?”

Now that, admittedly, does come as a surprise. This isn’t the first meeting that Bradley has been called into where someone’s parent demands a better grade. It is the first where he hasn’t seen them resort to bribery before they finally blame their kid.

“She missed over half the semester,” Bradley answers perhaps too quickly, still hot from the way you had spoken to him earlier. He gives a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders and looks at your father rather than you. “Two quizzes and a term paper. Even if I gave her extra credit, she couldn’t pull her average above a D.”

Your father’s face doesn’t react at all to this information. Instead, he turns his attention back to the Dean and rests his hands on the armrests of the chair, slowly raising his eyebrows.

“What about the Italy trip?” Doctor Kazansky looks to Bradley, sitting back in his chair. Bradley stares blankly back at him. “There were two empty spaces from what I remember. Is that correct?”

“For research assistants,” Bradley’s tongue drips venom, his brown eyes dark and his arms folded across his chest. You narrow your eyes at him, knowing that an insult is coming next. “She can’t research what she doesn’t even understand.”

“But, if she were to complete extra credit for the rest of the semester and then accompany you for your research, she would have enough credits to pass your class and then graduate.” Doctor Kazansky explains, more for your father’s benefit than Bradley’s. Bradley already knows this.

He grits his teeth, eyes darting across to you. His only solace is that you look just as dismayed about the proposal as he does.

“I’d graduate late.” You point out.

“Better than not at all,” Your father intercepts, pushing his chair back and standing. He carries himself like a man much taller than he really is. “Thank you, Doctor Kazansky. We’ll be in touch about this research opportunity.”

“You can’t just choose to do it, there’s an application process.” Bradley’s tone is far from professional, it’s downright snarky by this point. He doesn’t care. He can’t imagine anything worse than lugging a brat like you around Italy with him for two months, just for you to fail anyway.

You stand to follow your father, ditsy white loafers on the dark oak of Doctor Kazansky’s office floor. Bradley remains where he is, leaning back against that wall with his arms crossed.

Your father smiles across at Bradley and then shoots a look back towards the Dean. It’s smug, knowing. That process doesn’t apply to him. “We’ll be in touch.”

There’s a final look shared between you and the oaf that just cost you your summer in Manhattan — the first time that the two of you have agreed on anything, a silent exchange. Neither one of you wants you to join him on that trip.

He watches you leave, following blindly after your father like a child, then whips his head around to his boss.

“It’ll be good for her, maybe you can actually teach her something.”

“My expertise unfortunately lacks when it comes to setting the table by seven sharp and getting the kids to bed before her husband makes it home.” Bradley scoffs, pushing himself away from the wall and shaking his head as he straightens up.

“Is there something offensive to you about a woman being a homemaker, Professor Bradshaw?” Thomas Kazansky has two daughters. One, is a wife with two beautiful children of her own. The other, is a doctor. Bradley’s been over to their house a few times and he knows that Tom makes a point of it to be equally proud of them both.

“Oh, give me a break,” Bradley rolls his eyes at the notion, despite the subtle truth it holds. He shakes his head. “She deserves to fail and you know it.”

“Well, we’ll see how she does at the end of summer. I’ll be the first to admit my defeat, if she fails.” Tom gives a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders, always too calm for his own hood these days. Apparently he has mellowed with time, Bradley hears that he used to have quite an attitude in his early career.

Pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, the younger professor tries to stare his boss down. Tom knows how much these trips mean to Bradley, he takes his work so seriously. Still, Tom just stares back at him, calm.

Squinting, it takes a few moments for Bradley to give up. He turns and growls in frustration, letting the door to Doctor Kazansky’s office slam behind him. His shoes echo through the halls as he storms out of the building and across the quad. Not even Bettie O’Reilly would dare to interrupt his when his face looks as stormy as it does now.

He shrugs his bag off of his shoulder and throws it into the back of the bronco, then shoves his hands into his pockets in search of his keys.

“Do you even understand how hard I have worked for you to have the opportunities that you have had?”

Bradley glances up. He isn’t surprised to find that you’re the one being yelled at. He almost snorts — good, it’s about time someone reigned in that attitude of yours.

You stand, tearful, at the side of your father’s expensive Porsche, your head bowed in shame. Bradley unlocks his truck and pulls himself into the driver’s seat. He figures you probably cry a lot when someone’s telling you no.

“I mean it! — If you ruin this opportunity, don’t even think about coming back. Hopefully Malcolm’s family like you, because they’ll be all that you’ve got, I swear.”

Bradley turns his head slowly. Swallowing to keep from sobbing in the parking lot, shame burns through you as you meet his gaze. Your father towers over you, demanding to know if you’re even listening to him.

Bradley turns the engine on, his brown eyes looking decidedly less scary when he isn’t glaring at you. There’s something else. Maybe it’s pity — you aren’t used to that. He turns his head away and reverses out of the spot.

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @sunflowerziva @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawseresinbabe @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @sheisanangell

[dreamerofvalyria]

Coffee Cups | College AU | Nikto x F!Reader

Short snippet fic based on the college AU from @ghouljams. I needed to feed the brain worms something and I'm gonna make it everyone else's problem. Unedited at the moment because I'm writing and posting on the fly.

You spot Nikto on his way to his first class of the morning, hurrying along the walkway with little regard for those around him. He doesn’t notice you at first, not until you flag him down with a slightly harried flailing of one of your arms. He slows his stride enough for you to catch up but doesn’t come to a complete stop.  

“Morning, Nikto!” You chirp, arranging your bags in one hand while stabilizing the tray of drinks in your other, ensuring nothing spills.  

“Привет, Рыбка,” he greets, watching in concern as one of the hot drinks very nearly topples over. Before it can end up falling on you, he reaches out a hand to snatch up one of the cups. You’ve gotten into the habit of getting coffee for the both of you before class, and so he goes to take a sip of the drink he’s grabbed. He hesitates, however, when he sees the branding on the front of the cardboard cup.  

You see his nose flare slightly and his face screw up in disgust, “you would poison me with this?” he demands, quickly giving the drink back to you with a look of genuine horror. He’s a tad overdramatic but you’ve learnt how to tell when he’s being serious and when he’s just being a bit of a drama queen. Anyone else on campus would’ve been searching for the nearest exit if he’d said that to him, but you just roll your eyes.  

“That’s one’s for Love, I’ve got your coffee here,” you assure him, pulling out one of the other cups and handing it to him, “a long black with an extra shot of espresso from the coffee shop in town.” You practically have his normal order memorised at this point, knowing exactly how scalding hot he prefers it.  

He takes the offered drink and immediately takes a swig from it – you're not sure how he can handle a coffee near enough still boiling – and sighs in complete bliss, “Спасибо от всего сердца и души.” You have no idea what he’s saying, but it sounds somewhat like some form of thanks.  

“You’re welcome,” you hum back, rearranging the drinks in your hands so that they’re correctly balanced in the tray.  

He takes another sip before continuing, “how these Americans can call that, that... foul, excessively sweet, substance ‘coffee’, is an insult!”  

You’ve heard this particular rant many times previously and simply nod along while he hisses and spits about how inferior American coffee is compared to other parts of the world. You sip at your own coffee and offer the occasional agreeable hum when expected. “You have first years straight up this morning, yeah? How are they going?” you ask when Nikto pauses his tirade to breathe.  

He doesn’t even need to think about the question, offering you a confirming nod, “yes, they are...” he mulls over his response for a moment, “acceptable.”  

It’s practically high praise for Nikto to consider a fresh batch of students ‘okay’ or ‘acceptable’ so early in the year. You hope for their sakes they’re able to maintain it since your best friend isn’t exactly the most forgiving when it comes to falling below his high standards.  

You reach the door to your department far too soon for your liking, but with any luck you’ll be able to catch up again during the day if your lunch breaks line up. You wave him goodbye and wish him luck with his classes but miss how he hesitates to leave after you close the door behind you.  

Perhaps one day he’ll muster up the courage to take you to that coffee shop as more than just a good friend.  

- 

Translations 

“Привет, Рыбка,” - Hello, Rybka (little fish – an affectionate term for a woman) 

“Спасибо от всего сердца и души.” - Thank you from the bottom of my heart and soul (can be said formally or informally)