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oculusxcaro · 1 year

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👫- twcfaces? bc i like that our interactions revolve around two bagels.

Send a 👫 and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship

When it's late at night and Harvey needs somewhere quiet (or a bite to eat), Pauli's Diner is the place to go. Not only is there food, coffee and a private booth whenever he wants it, he can also find impartial advice from the waitress who served him two bagels during his first visit. A box of dessert and the honest truth that Harvey had simply lost track of time recently went over well in smoothing any tensions back home with Gilda, making Harvey a repeat customer during those trials that run long into the night.

Khare didn't actually learn he was the Harvey Dent, Gotham's most celebrated Defense Attorney until his third or forth visit, always treating him just like she would any other customer. Other prestigious lawyers in his position might have been offended by such behaviour but having somebody treat him so... normally is as amusing as it is a relief.

I like to think it was Harvey that helped Khare realize she was being grossly taken advantage of by the landlord she was renting from? Not only is it highly illegal to spike rent so suddenly without advance warning, there's a dozen other rules and regulations he overhears being broken such as failure to uphold maintenance, unsanitary living conditions and many more, causing his lawyer senses to come to life.

When Harvey was disfigured by Vincent Maroni, Khare was genuinely upset to hear the news and sent flowers to his ward. They were a little sad and limp since it was all she could afford and as a result, she never signed the get well soon card that accompanied them. The only indication it came from her was because it was food-themed saying "You're one tough cookie!" Harvey never said a word to anyone but he had a hunch as to who sent them.

#halekulan i #twcfaces #memes ;; four headcanons about our muses #I'm sorry if these were a little lame asdfghjkl #Two bagels is definitely a running theme with these two #And Khare thinking of him as Bagel Guy for those three to four visits #Still remembers his order and how he liked it #I just think what they had was chill #Khare giving him the advice to just be honest and talk to Gilda #Of course a box of sweet treats will help that go over better #In return Harvey lets her know her living situation is very much NOT okay #'You're living where now? THAT place?'#Two dozen rules have already been broken regarding building rules and regulations and he hasn't even seen the inside yet #Very bad #Khare would absolutely send him flowers and a get well card after the attack #Harvey getting disfigured tho #On one hand she'd feel fucking terrible about it because she's got a little of that going on herself #I don't think she'd think 2f was gross though #Sorry to ramble in the tags this gave me thoughts 🥺#I love ur 2f and Dent so much omg #🌈 || headcanons

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dangerscully · 2 years

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Chris McCaleb: What was the thinking with the cockroach? And how did you get the cockroach to act so well?

Kelley Dixon: They had practice from The X-Files!

Thomas Schnauz: I summoned the spirit of Kim Manners to get that cockroach to walk across the pipe just like we needed.

— Better Call Saul Insider podcast episode 607

#it's not just me making constant connections look it's the people working on the show too #makes me feel more normal for seeing tea in rhea's run across the film/photo set #and seeing an extremely mulder/scully dynamic between kimmy/jim during the jack-in-the-box motion #and immediately picturing mulder on that basketball court #bcs #bcs spoilers ish #better call saul #plan and execution #better call saul insider #war of the coprophages #txf #(also genuinely impressed at schnauz knowing without having to think at all that WotC was a kim manners episode)

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baezdylan · 1 year

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im thinking (see also: knee-deep in spotify and pinterest)........You Be A Good Girl......an album in three parts.......three main symbols from amy's childhood.......(with three distinctly different sounds, critics wonder why cass blackwood didn't just separate them into three different albums)

talking to the apple (the apple, being left behind, a sort of joy in isolation, merricat-core)........

melody's a malady (the stars, wanting to run away, insist on your cup of stars)..........

just like broken glass (the wedding, fight the war with an unsteady aim, a lead role in a cage, local mad woman)...............

YES YES YES YES YESSSSS!!!! That's why I split the divorce album in two because it just feels right for her to connect what seemingly couldn't be connected... I mean... Amy Pond is like one of those songs with an upbeat instrumental and devastating lyrics (the smiths? the smiths.) ACTUALLY YES. This is all just one album. Yes, every section has its own title and can exist independently. I also LOVE the idea of those almost albums conversing with one another because it's definitely not a chronological progression we're dealing with here... The tracks are listed, but it's up to you to organise them how you like because there's more than one way to do that and there are several contradictory narratives packed in there... There's a beauty in solitude and I don't want to be alone ever again... I want to stay here in this garden forever and I need to leave this place for good... And I don't think Amy would consider all of those readings, I just think she would make music that gives you the space to be right about whatever it is you're feeling, the kind of stuff that just exists instead of directly telling you what to think about it... (and that's how music is, sometimes in spite of the artist, but I think she'd be hyper aware of that sentiment) My idea for Shotgun! Wedding! + Blows Of Freedom was like... you're bleeding on the ballroom floor and seconds after that image is interrupted by complete stillness (and there's a movement to that too!!! it just fades in comparison) So you're always oscillating between opposites, but you know it's all the same story... maybe she'd have songs that sound the same, but are made out of lyrics that's in direct opposition to establish that atmosphere? Oh I've heard this and I know this, but the last time I heard it, it was a beginning and now it's an ending... something along those lines, but apply it to every AP record. Never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you!!!!! And I'm living for critics who just Do Not Get It + people going crazy insane about the music because that's EXACTLY how I imagine it... Meanwhile Amy is like *Lou Reed Interviews Moment Ft. OBNOXIOUS MILF Ryan Ross Sunglasses* "I don't consider myself to be popular." Amy Working Class Hero But Also Your Toxic Ex Pond

#💌restless wind inside a letter box💌#cassandra blackwood tag #musician!amy #amy pond 🌻#that's too many thoughts on something that doesn't technically exist #but as my dad said today! every reality is better when you add a good portion of non-reality to the mix #(it's out of context but i think i'm stealing that from him)#please consider that i am not wearing my contacts so excuse any typing errors that could have been made here. i was too excited to care

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confetti-critter · 5 months

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ilove you ill make u a house just you wait n u will be waiting for a while probably sorry

Why's he so charming btw are you seeing this

What should I name it.

#i also want to make like. a mini 'work' area. modeled after my own #sorry in advance to them for making a guy then forcing them to work #i have many ideas as s #usual for better or worse #i can use those little bags for spare buttons (or drugs i guess) and put fabric inside and use sewing thread+paper for pricetags #and mini boxes of the clothes #if i can think of a rock-related pun to spoof on a vendor name we deal with that would be ideal #OOOOOVCIYFXICG THE IDEAS!! SO MANY IDEAS AAAARFGHB *grabs my head like im in pain*#also i was thinking for the shoebox house to cut colourful little paper rectangles and paste them on the side of the house like brick #so on my walk today i was literally thinking of googling 'masonry patterns' for inspo #ill make windows with plastic and sew little curtains #i can buy some air dry clay or smth for a bathtub and plates #build a pointed roof with attic store some stuff up there (make xmas+halloween decorations?)#origami paper as wallpaper #little bookshelf with little books #little beds with foam mattresses and blankets and little pillows #ok aaaaaaa theres too many ideas :(#personable

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chuluoyi · 3 months

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✎ sick days

- gojo satoru x reader

who holds the fort when you fall sick? of course, it's your lovesick husband and baby!

genre: fluff, fluff, fluffff. basically, your baby is adorable, gojo is your husband and not only is he lovesick with you, he humors your baby so much it’s making me— sighs

note: based on this post! hi hi chu is back from vacation and here’s another dad!gojo fluff indulgence and we stan domestic men okay🤭

a part of gojo's love entries

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

It's plain sight that Gojo Satoru is a highly attractive individual, and now that he has a son, it's fair to say that he’s the hottest dilf on the block.

With one hand twirling a famous brand of flu medicine box and the other propping his baby son at his hip, he garnered curious eyes, even in drugstore near his home.

“Hmm, why is it so cheap? Suspicious…”

Satoru let out a light hum, studying the orange and pink boxes, as well as glancing at the other purple box with bold labels claiming its effectiveness in halting cold symptoms, and then looked at his son.

His baby's big, crystal blue eyes blinked in wonder at the vibrant colors, and he reached out with grubby hands towards them. “Bwah!”

Suddenly, he got an idea.

“Hey, kiddo. Which do you think is better for mama?” he asked the baby, gesturing at the all three medicine on the rack with his jaw. “You choose.”

As if on cue, the little ball of fluff that was his son immediately reached out for the purple box, the more expensive out of all three displayed before him. Without missing a beat, he also seized both the orange and pink boxes in quick succession, holding them close to his chest.

Satoru broke into a hearty laugh, a wide grin split his face, as he affectionately tousled the boy's head with pride.

“That's my boy! Splurging is allowed—after all, we're rich!”

When the first signs of cold manifested in you, Satoru was already worried. He had warned you to take more rest, but typical you, you brushed it off as a mere fatigue.

And when this morning, you woke up to sudden coughing fits and hot-and-cold spells, which ended up with kicking him out of your shared bedroom in fear of spreading the virus, like the doting husband he was, Satoru promptly headed to the pharmacy with your baby in tow to get you some help.

"Oh my, sir, your son is so adorable!" the female cashier gushed when he got over to pay, finally voicing what other customers thought in their heads. He could sense the discreet glances from those around him even now.

As the baby clung to his shirt, Satoru tightened his grip on him and responded with a self-assured grin, ensuring those nearby heard his words, "Of course he is! My wife is pretty as heck too, shame she's down with fever today."

"Aww! Such high praise, you must adore your wife!"

"Mm-hmm!"

Ah, so he still has a wife. The other customers went about their day, some disappointed that the dilf was still evidently devoted to his wife. They could only wonder just who could the lucky woman was.

Moving on— after the short trip to the drugstore, Satoru went back home. He promptly checked on you in your master bedroom, inquiring, "Hey, how are—"

But he immediately halted upon seeing you nestled so comfortably under the blankets, sleeping soundly. For a moment, he simply stood, blinking and observing your serene slumber.

Strange that something inside him both softened and lurched at the sight. You were just that precious in his eyes. Stupid as it was, he was quite miserable to go through the day without your nagging and nitpicking. And above all, he never liked seeing you in any kind of discomfort—it made his protective instincts soar.

Hence his thought— there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, even if it means sacrificing heaven itself.

“Myah!” A hard shove on his arm and his baby’s babbling snapped him out of his trance. Satoru shifted his baby to his other hand, let out a questioning hum, and affectionately pinched his mochi-like cheeks.

“Hmm? You can’t be hungry, I—oooh,” a sheepish expression of realization appeared on his face, his blue eyes widened slightly as his baby glared at him. Then, chuckling like the goofball he was, Satoru patted him on his head to appease his grudge, “I haven’t fed you since this morning, eh?”

“Fwah!”

“Pfft! There, there… Me is sorry~ Now let me whip something up for you and mama, yeah?”

Now, he wouldn't claim to be the best chef, but he could certainly cook to save himself. Rolling up his sleeve, he went to the kitchen after leaving and stuffing his baby boy with a pacifier on his high chair.

“Hmmm, baby food for the minion and… congee? Yeah, congee should be good.”

Next task was feeding his already seething baby after he mixed together his baby food. He was a fussy eater—mostly with him, but surprisingly not so much with you (apparently, that's just his way of showing who he favors between his parents, heh). But when he managed to get the food in, with every spoonful, his son’s smile gradually widened, and so did his happiness.

Satoru thought then that he was the cutest thing he had ever created. His son was clearly a mini-him, but his reactions were definitely so you.

“Is it tasty? It is, isn’t it?” he cooed with baby voice, earning a delightful giggle in response from his son. Pushing his luck, he added with a suggestive grin, “Papa is the best, isn’t he?”

“Bwah...” The joyful expression on his baby's face faded instantly, dissolving into an unamused pout, prompting Satoru to righteously click his tongue.

“Why are you so against me?!”

After he was done with his fill, Satoru picked your baby up to the master bedroom to bring you something to eat. Seated on the opposite edge of the bed, he silently adored your sleeping form once again.

Right at that moment, the baby in his arms wriggled, reaching out for you. Acting on a sudden impulse, he put him on the bed, facing you.

“Now, go to mama, would you?” he whispered gently, grinning and giving his bum a light pat. “Go!”

Your son was also Gojo Satoru’s son, therefore he was an adept crawler even at barely seven months old. With remarkable agility, the little soldier steadily moved towards you, his diapers jiggling with each motion. He stopped right in front of your face, clearly recognizing you as his mother.

And your husband swore that even his logic-driven heart melted at the sight of your cute baby suddenly leaned in and clumsily smooched your nose.

Simply just the two most treasured loves of his life.

“Mm?” you let out a soft grunt, feeling the dryness in your throat as you cracked your eyes open, surprised to find yourself face-to-face with your baby. “Oh… why are you here? Don’t get too close…”

“He’ll be fine.” Satoru picked your son up, placing him on his knee and steadying him with one arm. Having moved next to you on the bed, he brushed hair from your forehead. “What about you, hmm? Feeling better?”

Your eyebrows creased into a frown. “Yeah, I think, but more than that, Satoru, I’ve told you, don’t let him—”

“Yes, yes, sweetheart. He won’t get sick, look, he’s as healthy as he can be~” and to make a point, he turned his baby over and lightly smacked his bottom, prompting a whimper from the little one and a gasp from you.

“Don’t spank him!”

“Ehh? Then can I spank you instead?”

“Satoru, you’re a little piece of—!”

Just you and him, as well as the little treasure that was your son. This little family was enough reason to live. To win.

And Gojo Satoru once again thought, that being the strongest didn’t really mean that much anymore because with his world in his hands, nothing else matters.

Epilogue

“You’re so silly, why did you buy so many?” you grumbled at the sight of three different brands of cold medicine your husband displayed in front of you. “One is enough, do you want me to overdose?”

Satoru snickered. “Don’t blame me, blame your kid. He’s the one picking all of them.”

You totally didn’t get what he meant at all, but yeah, your husband was the silliest human ever and that’s that.

“Hey, don’t you think it’s a bit smelly here?” Satoru suddenly asked, wearing a quizzical expression.

You took a sniff of the air, glancing at your baby blinking innocently and sitting calmly on your husband, and a realization struck you. “Uh, Satoru...”

Following your gaze, as if sensing an omen, Satoru hastily scooped up his son, letting out a bewildered gasp as he felt a slight wetness where the baby had been sitting on him.

“Did he just poo on me?!”

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ririblogsss · 1 month

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I have found inspiration to write :).

The flash for the fist time in forever stop moving. No twitching. NO moving his leg up and down. No running back and forward to the cafeteria for snacks. He was completely still with his jaw open looking past Batman who at the moment was giving the league members an overview of the missions that have been happening within the past month. Immediately everyone locked in, Flash not moving major red flag. Batman caught it first and proceeded to turn around in a split of a second and froze (caught of guard) this caused the other league members to slowly turn their heads and eyes away from starring at the Flash. And they couldn't believe their eyes.

Superman had his jaw dropped.

Flash was pointing and unable to form words the only sound escaping his mouth was vocals "aa" "ee" he was over all gobsmacked.

Not like the other leagues were fairing any better. It's just that their eyes could not make their brain correctly process what they were seeing. And what they were currently seeing was a teenager with white hair with a box of donuts and drinking something out of a coffee cup. Now this is the watchtower everyone has seen teenagers from various backgrounds to say the least enjoy their coffee and snacks. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that the teen wasn't one of theirs. Not that it really matters Batman.

What actually matters is that the kids outside. IN SPACE. How is he surviving. How isn't he dead? Is he an alien? Then why is the box of donuts from earth?

And the kid has the gull to smile sheepishly?????

---

Danny only wanted help. HE SWEARSS. And the Justice League wasn't helping after they had been spammed with calls for help against the Ghosts. Amity parkers think that the JL has banned them from making calls. So Danny decided if they won't come. He will go to them, but his parents did not raise a disrespectful child the Fentons maybe break tax laws and driving laws and overall all OSHA regulations. BUT THEY NEVER DISRESPECT (unless warranted) ANYBODY. And Danny wasn't about to misrepresent them. So he brought a box of donuts and his fathers homemade fudge in hopes to make some sort of slightly good impression.

So taking a breath in (as a force of habit) he knocked on the watchtowers window and didn't become intangible and go in until Wonder Woman nodded with her head yes.

Batman was side-eying WW, but Danny decided that Wonder Woman had more decision power in this instance.

So with the approval that he may come in Danny made himself (and everything else) intangible so he could enter. Once inside he realize that Jazz had been correct in telling him to at least know how he was going to approach the subject.

He placed the treats on the table and made a gesture that they could eat. He took a sip of his hot ecto and then he opened his mouth.

"Why are you guys hunting us down for sport? w-we are people too"

Danny said it in such a broken voice with teary eyes. He really should have practiced first.

The JL choked.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc

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luveline · 6 months

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I NEEEEEED MORE STRIPPER!READER X SPENCER

fem, 1.2k

You and Spencer aren't dating, but he thinks you might be in the before.

"You're home!" you say, clambering at the door to slip out of your shoes. You throw yourself at him as soon as you're close enough, the salted caramel and sandalwood of your new perfume washing over him. "You're here! I missed you."

Spencer tries not to blush. He wishes you weren't so close —his hair is lank from two days unwashed, his five o'clock shadow obvious and embarrassing. If you notice anything unappealing about him you don't give the slightest inclination, your arms crossing over his back as you drive your face into his neck.

"I can't believe how much I missed you, Dr. Reid," you say warmly.

"I missed you too." Morgan would laugh at him for being this earnest, maybe comment on his lack of charisma, but Spencer doesn't know how else to show that he's interested beyond sincerity.

You step back but work your hands up his neck and into his hair, raking it away from his cheeks. "That's better. I can see you better now."

Spencer thought he remembered only horrible things from being a teenager, but he remembers this feeling, sweaty-palmed, heart-racing want. You tilt his head gently one way and then the other like you're following the motion of a wave, fingertips scratching in his hair, the sensation stirring the very pit of his stomach. No trace of tiredness remains on your face, only spritely joy to see him.

"That feels nice," he confesses. He's not weird about it, more friendly.

Your aswering grin tells him he nailed the casualness he was aiming for.

"You've been working hard," you say, tucking his hair behind his ears and dusting down his shoulders, "I can tell. You look tired."

"You don't. Short shift?"

"Is it weird that bad weather genuinely keeps people home? I guess they prefer their wives when it's cold."

"No, really? Who could ever pick the woman they married over you and those silver shorts?" he teases, peeling out of his sweater.

The shirt underneath is rumpled, but he doesn't care about that. Anything to be seen between you has been seen. Spencer has, unquestionably, seen you half naked. You've seen him in his boxers, so you're just about square. "Idiots, all of them."

You're staying with him again while a security company fits your apartment with the appropriate trappings. Or, that was the initial reason. Spencer went with you to assess after it was done, discovering black mould in the corner of your bedroom and spreading its evil way across the bathroom ceiling.

What is that? he asked, knowing what it was, hoping you'd at least pretend to be concerned.

That's fifty bucks off a month, Spence. Don't look so horrified.

"I missed you," you say for the third time in as many minutes. "And I hoped you'd be home, so I brought Chinese food for two."

You and Spencer change into pyjamas, and it's cliche but whatever, you look beautiful undone —he's not stupid enough to lie to himself about how he feels when you're wearing your little outfits, but he prefers this side of you a thousand times over because you like it better. You wear your prized baseball tee, white with blue sleeves, and a pair of sweatpants pushed up high on one leg while you ice your sore knee. He sits cross legged opposite, jabbing his chopsticks into one of your crispy spring rolls just to watch you gasp.

"Can I ask you something too personal?"

You rub down the length of your naked calf, sighing as some of the tension releases. You're more bruise than girl lately, splodges of tender skin patterning the inside. "What don't you know about me, at this point?" you ask.

Like it's a good thing. Like you're glad for it.

"Are you making enough money?" he asks.

You steal back your spring roll, answering him through rice paper and greens, "Kind of. Not tonight, but enough for dinner. I'll be okay."

"Did you think about it?"

You shovel through your waxy box of rice, shrugging. "I thought about it, but… it's not realistic. What office would take me? What drug store?"

"I could loan you the money while you apprentice, and get some experience, you could go back to school–" He says it all in a rush and you still knock him down.

"It's real sweet of you, Spence, it is, but I couldn't let you do that. That makes me your charity case, and not your friend."

"What else do you do for the people you care about?" he asks. Let them stay at a job they don't like, even if they're good at it, one that puts them statistically at higher risk for femicide or assault?

"I wouldn't need a loan, Spencer, I'd need more than you have," you say gently. "I'd have to start my life from scratch. How would I pay rent? You couldn't afford to keep us both."

"You could stay with me again."

You shake your head. "You're the best friend I've ever had, which is why I'm saying no."

He doesn't get what you mean, but you finish your dinner and help him clean up. He more than trusts you to stay here alone while he's on a case, you've honestly left it in better condition than you found it, and he insists you sleep in his bed again while you're here.

"Don't be silly," you say, throwing a sheet out over the couch. "This is your place. You need to sleep in your own bed."

The disaster is that it smells like you. Spencer says goodnight to you reluctantly and leaves you on the couch with every throw blanket he owns, climbing into his own bed and pulling the comforter up to his nose. He imagines you here at night, your body wash still clinging to your skin from a late night shower, your hand tucked under his pillow. There are so many things he'd like to give you, if you'd just let him.

He spends a quiet thirty minutes like that, missing the warmth of your skin and your casual touching, wishing he could offer you the fresh start you desire, even if it meant he wasn't involved.

The couch springs creak as you toss and turn, the sound finding it's way down the short hall from the living room slash kitchen to his bedroom. Hesitant, Spencer shifts in bed, hitting that one coil in his mattress just right, the twang resounding.

You appear in his doorway with your borrowed pillows crushed to your chest not long after that. You don't need to ask, Spencer doesn't need to answer. He can't give you everything that you want, but he can give you a quiet, comfortable night next to someone who loves you.

Ever well-tempered, you slip into the sheets beside him and curl up toward him, your fingertips brushing his side. You don't look at him in the dark, but you mumble sleepily, fingers twitching, "Night, Spence."

You're out like a light.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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pasukiyo · 6 months

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HANDLE IT

mike schmidt x f!teacher!reader word count; 2,417 warnings; once again, no plot, just porn <3 summary; mike has a look. that's never a good sign.

“Follow Mrs Davis and her class for lunch!”

Mike watched from his seat behind the teacher’s desk as his girlfriend saw her class out the door, hand on the handle and pulling it closed behind them, making sure to twist the lock while she did. The corners of his mouth twitched as she sighed and fell back against the door, blowing a strand of loose hair out of her face.

“Long day?” Mike asked and she narrowed her eyes over at him, her lips quirked in a tired grin. “Don’t even get me started,” she grumbled as she pushed herself off of the door, heels clicking against the tile as she made her way back to her desk.

“Abby hasn’t been a problem, I hope?” Mike cocked an eyebrow to his hairline as she leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, settling herself down in her chair. She rolled her eyes at this, “you always make it seem like she should be causing trouble,” she tittered. “No, Abby’s always great.”

She watched as Mike reached for the floor beside him, a plastic takeout bag in his hand and she grinned, wiggling in her seat as he began to unravel the knot in the handles. “Sooo… what did you bring me?” She asked, letting the smell of what she swore was tomato sauce waft through her nostrils.

“New Italian place opened in the mall. Figured we could try it out,” he replied as he handed her one of the takeout boxes in which she ripped the lid off of, grinning over at Mike. “Spaghetti with meatballs. You know me so well.”

She leaned forward as he handed her the plastic fork to press a kiss against his lips and Mike smiled, practically chasing after her mouth again when she pulled away. He watched as she spun the spaghetti around her fork, as she took a bite and moaned at the taste.

Suddenly, Mike’s jeans felt very tight.

“What is this place called? It’s amazing,” she moaned, chewing behind her fingers as she turned to glance over at Mike. “Ten out of ten. This might even be better than your spaghetti and meatballs.”

Mike, although distracted by something else entirely, furrowed his brows at this, tossing his hands up. “Hey,” he said. “Thought you loved my spaghetti and meatballs.”

She shrugged, “they’re alright.” Mike playfully shoved her shoulder and she tried to bite back a chuckle, glancing back over to him. “Hey, I don’t see you eating spaghetti and meatballs, why don’t you try and find out?” She laughed, taking a bite from a meatball as Mike pressed his lips together, curved into a grin as he shook his head. “Nah, I’m not that hungry right now.”

She raised a brow and tilted her head to eye the other takeout box in the plastic bag. “Mike, you haven’t even touched your food,” she tittered, eyeing him incredulously. She narrowed her lids, “you have a look.”

The corner of Mike’s mouth twitched— she was catching on. “I don’t have a look.”

Her face fell and she dropped her fork in the to-go box, eyebrow cocked. “Yes, you do.”

Mike leaned back in his seat and locked his fingers together on his lap, shrugging as he turned his head to face her. “Enlighten me, what look do you think I have?”

For a fleeting moment, her gaze lowered to the very evident tent in his jeans, her thighs subconsciously clenching together at the sight, cheeks growing warm when he chuckled. She looked away, soothing her palms up and down the length of her skirt and Mike watched, teeth sunken into the inside of his cheek. A scenario played in the forefront of his mind, fantasizing about ripping the skirt clean off her legs and taking her right there on top of her desk had him balling a fist, squeezing his thumb so tight, it almost felt like it’d pop.

“Mike…”

“What?” He murmured, leaning in closer, brushing away the hair curtaining away the side of her face back behind her ear. She melted like wax at his touch, as if her fingertips were flames. Her skin burned so hot now, she feared she actually would melt into a pool of magma on the floor below.

“Here?” She whispered as he rolled his chair closer, his breath a phantom looming over her flesh, sending shivers slithering down the coil of her spine. Mike peered up into the sides of her irises, “why not?”

His lips pressed against the delicate skin just below her ear and she trembled, panicking eyes darting to the door she had thankfully locked. “I’ll give you a million reasons why not,” she murmured as his kisses trailed down to the curve of her shoulder, the scruff on his chin and just above his lips deliciously burning her skin.

“I can be sneaky,” he whispered against the valley between her neck and shoulder, his lips a crescent against her skin when he playfully nipped her flesh between his teeth there. She jolted and hissed, clenching her thighs together once more as the familiar slick of warmth burned the pit of her belly. “If somebody walks in, we’re both dead,” she murmured as his palm gripped and soothed down the length of her thigh, kneading at her knee, teasing her, taunting her.

“Relax, babe,” he breathed a chuckle against the crook of her neck. “I just want a taste, that’s all. Wouldn’t want you to get all fucked out before the day is over.”

His low, raspy words had her reeling, her head in a frenzy and teetering on the edge of a mindset she knew she was at risk of falling down into. “Screw you, Mike,” she muttered through gritted teeth as he grinned, placing one last kiss against the breadth of her shoulder before sinking down to his knees on the floor, hanging his head so that he could fit beneath the desk.

Her heart drummed against her chest as he slithered his way between her legs, hands on her knees as slowly he parted them, as if he were unwrapping a present on Christmas Day. Through heavy eyelids, she peered down at him just as a silent curse fell from his mouth, teeth burrowed into the plush of his bottom lip as the pads of his thumbs rubbed circles into the inside of her knees.

“You’re soaked clean through your panties,” he chuckled and she burned brighter, sweat already beginning to bead at her hairline and her chest heaving to the unsteady beat of her heart. His name fell from her lips in a whispered sigh as he reached forward with his right thumb, pressing the fat of it straight onto her clothed clit, her back arching up off of her chair as he traced an agonizingly slow and painful circle against it, sighing at the way her slick showed through the thin fabric of her underwear.

“Fffuck,” he grumbled beneath his breath, hiking the skirt that hugged her curves until they pooled at her hips, pushing her knees further apart until he had full access to everything. His gaze was like a laser, burning through the damp fabric of her panties straight through to her pussy. He eyed her like he was starved, like he’d go hungry if he didn't get himself a taste.

Mike hooked his middle and forefinger around the hem of her underwear and tugged, although with some resistance with how wet she was. She gasped when the fabric unstuck itself from her arousal, Mike’s lips falling agape as he tugged her panties all the way down her legs until they hooked around one single ankle. He pressed himself closer, wrapping his arms around her hips and with his palms to her ass, drawing her in even closer until she sat on the edge of her seat.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he marveled at the sight before him, admiring every single inch of her as if she were an artifact. She shuddered beneath his stare. “Mike,” she mewled through a shaky breath, “please.”

With those deep, rich chocolate brown eyes, he glimpsed up at her and she gazed back, wondering when his pupils ended and his irises started. His eyes glimmered with longing, with desire, with lust. She thought she’d come from just his stare alone.

“Have to stay quiet, hm?” He nodded up at her, maintaining eye contact as he pressed a kiss just above her clit, feeling it throb against his chin as she writhed, trying to suppress her mewl. She nodded, pressing her lips together as she briefly glanced up at the door then to the windows— she was so grateful she’d drawn the blinds earlier.

Their gazes never leaving one another, Mike carefully leaned down to press a tender kiss on top of her aching bud, her toes curling in, back arching off the back of her chair. One of her hands flung to the mess of dark tendrils atop his head, the other gripping the armrest of her desk chair. Mike pulled away again, the makings of a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Think you can handle it?” He asked and she whimpered, nodding, every ounce of dignity in her body long gone, thrown somewhere far away from right there.

“Just… please, Mike,” she whined, trying to keep her voice on the low as she gripped the roots of his hair tighter, inviting him back into her warmth, his arousal like a gloss on his lips. The crescent shape of his lips fell back against her clit as he pressed another kiss to it, electricity flowing through her body and making her jolt once more.

Mike eyed her through hooded lids as he licked a stripe all the way from her entrance back up the underside of her clit, relishing in the way she’d tremble and press her lips together in a desperate attempt to silence her whimpers. The delectable taste of her arousal coated his tongue and simmered on his taste buds as if she were his ambrosia, and he hummed as he licked another line up her slit.

“Taste so damn good,” he practically growled against her cunt as he plunged his face back in, his lips around her clit and tongue swirling against the sensitive nub. Tears were streaming down the sides of her face now as she threw her head back, using every last ounce of strength inside her body to will her moans to stay at a minimum. All she could do was pray that nobody would come knocking on her classroom door now.

A string of curses, his name among the mix, tumbled from her lips as he sucked her clit, every swirl of his tongue coaxing her closer and closer to the edge. She was balancing on a tightrope now, teetering on bliss as his tongue trailed down to her entrance, slow but firm as it pushed its way in. Her fingers tightened in the mess of hair on his head, pulling harder, making him surge into her.

She could feel every inch of his tongue inside of her and he was so close, the bridge of his nose pressed deliciously down on her clit, sending her down into a spiral of pleasure. She squeezed her eyelids together so tight, she was seeing stars, a shimmering backdrop of glitter as he swirled his muscle inside of her, humming into her at her taste.

“Sh… shi… shit, Mike!” She gasped as he nodded his head, tongue swirling inside of her, the bridge of his nose rubbing up and down against her clit. Her eyes were rolling into the back of her hand, every move his tongue made and every bit of pressure his nose applied to her clit added more rubber bands to the ball pressing down against the pit of her belly, dangerously close to erupting. “I’m… I’m gonna come if you don’t… if you don’t stop.”

Mike blinked up at her and pulled away for breath, every inch of his face from the bridge of his nose down slick and shiny with her arousal. She felt herself clench at the mere sight as his chest heaved, chasing air back into his lungs, a smug smirk on his face. “I’m betting on it, babe,” he chuckled before diving back in, her pussy empty one moment and nearly full of his tongue the next.

His eagerness almost had her screaming, her nails scraping so hard against his scalp, somewhere in the back of her mind, she feared she’d draw blood. Mike hummed against her— he didn’t seem to mind so much.

Oh, how could he when he could sense she was so close? He could practically smell her orgasm, using every ounce of skill in his body to push her even closer to the edge, to knock her unsteady on top of that tightrope until it snapped below her altogether.

With her hand not tangled in his hair, she sank her teeth into the side of her hand to muffle the scream that ripped through her body, squeezing her eyelids shut even tighter as her body spasms, bones rattling in her release’s wake. Her orgasm thundered and cracked through her body like an earthquake, the sheer power of her release like a tempest. Her thighs squeezed around Mike’s head and he palmed at the sides of them as he swirled his tongue inside of her again and again, making sure not a drop of her went to waste.

He was practically drinking her, slurping every last drop until there was none left to be had. And only when that moment came did he pull away, breathless as he sat back on his heels below her desk, swiping at the slick dripping down his face with the back of his hand.

Mike gazed up at her curiously, her head still thrown back over the back of the chair, chest heaving up and down as she struggled to catch her breath. He chuckled as he pushed himself out from underneath her desk and up so that he could stand beside her, a palm cupping her cheek, the other aiding her head to sit normally on her shoulders. The pad of his thumb soothed over against her cheek, coaxing her out of her bleary state, her vision slowly beginning to clear again.

Mike tried to bite back his smile, “doing alright there?”

She huffed as her cheeks burned, “shut up, Mike.”

a/n; i ended up writing up this one in like 45 minutes while sitting in the bathtub LMAO y'all went absolutely crazy with the last mike fic, you literally broke my tumblr notifications 😭 glad to see so many others horny for josh in this movie too

TAGLIST !!

@bxbyyyjocelyn

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson #michael afton #michael afton x reader #mike schmidt imagine

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