My Fish Bowl

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ʜɪ ɪᴛꜱ ᴊᴜɴᴇ!ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ, ɪᴅᴋ ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴛᴜᴍʙʟᴇᴅ ᴀᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ ɴᴏᴡ!

ɪ'ᴍ ᴀ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ ɪꜱ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇ-ɢᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ ɪ ᴀᴍ, ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. ɪ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ʟᴏᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏᴇᴛʀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ'ᴍ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜱʜᴀʀɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴡᴇʙᴛᴏᴏɴ!! ꜰᴏʀ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ, ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴀʀɪɴɢ ʙɪᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ

ᴀɢᴇ [23]

ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ[ᴛʜᴇʏ/ᴛʜᴇᴍ]

ᴇɴʙʏ

ꜰᴜʀʀʏ

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♫ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : GET GONE: Fiona Apple

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Volume: ■■■■■□□□

─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽───

𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕤

ʙᴇᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜᴘᴘʏᴄᴀᴛ

ʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ ʜᴏᴛᴇʟ

ᴅ&ᴅ

ᴅɪᴍɪɴꜱᴏɴ 20

ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ʀᴏʟᴇ

ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ

ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴ ʙᴀʟʟ (ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘɪɴ-ᴏꜰꜰꜱ)

ʜᴇʀʙᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄɪɴᴇ

ꜰᴏʟᴋ ʟᴏʀᴇ

ꜰᴜʀʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴋᴘᴏᴘᴋᴅʀᴀᴍᴀꜱ

ᴛᴀxɪᴅᴇʀᴍʏ [[ ᴡᴇᴛ ꜱᴘᴇɪᴄᴍᴇɴꜱ, ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ, ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴀʀᴛɪᴄᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ]]

ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇꜱ

ᴅᴄ ᴄᴏᴍɪᴄꜱ [ʙᴀᴛᴍᴀɴ, ʜᴀʀʟᴇʏ Qᴜɪɴɴ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ, ᴊᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴅᴅ]

ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ

ᴀᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴ ᴅᴀᴅ

ʙᴏʙ'ꜱ ʙᴜʀɢᴇʀꜱ

ᴄᴇᴍᴇᴛᴀʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴍᴏʀᴇ...

𝔻ℕ𝕀 ☜(`o´)

ʜᴏᴍᴏᴘʜᴏʙꜱ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱᴘʜᴏʙꜱ, ᴇᴛᴄ [ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ]

ʀᴀᴄɪꜱᴍ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ᴛᴏʟᴇʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀᴇ, ɴᴏʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀɪꜱᴍ

ʀᴇᴅ ᴘɪʟʟ ᴍᴇɴ

ɪɴᴄᴇꜱᴛ ꜱʜɪᴘꜱ

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴀɢᴇ ꜱʜɪᴘᴘᴇʀꜱ

ᴀʙʟᴇɪꜱɪᴍ

ɴᴇɢᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ɪʟʟɴᴇꜱꜱᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴄʜʀᴏɴɪᴄ ɪʟʟɴᴇꜱꜱᴇꜱ.

ᴘᴏꜱᴛꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛɪᴀɴɪᴛʏ [[ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄɪɴɢ ᴀ ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴏ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ, ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴛ]][[ᴛʜɪꜱ ʟɪꜱᴛ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴛᴀɴᴛʟʏ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ]]

─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽───

He touched the soft skin behind her knee, pressing his thumb roughly into the flesh earning a soft gasp that escaped her before she could contain it, like a broken prayer his name fell from her lips.

He glanced up at her face, a shining embodiment of his work, watching it twist into pleasure, sweat beaded on his forehead as he continued his unrelenting pace, his grip only growing tighter with every long, deliberate stroke.

"I-I can't" she stuttered feeling the hot coil in her stomach begin to boil over. It felt as if it was burning her alive from the inside, but she gladly accepted the heat with open legs. It was intoxicating how well he knew how to work her, even off the stage he was a performer. Every stroke perfected, every grasp of his hand methodically planned, he knew her limits and yet he continued to push them.

"Just like we practiced baby-c'mon" he grunted out feeling his own release threatening to wash over him, but he held on. He had a show to put on and if Micheal was anything it was a perfectionist, and he had perfected this art form-