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cevansbrat0007 · 6 days

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What's Eating You, Mr. Barber?

Summary: You decide to test your man's patience with a prank you saw on TikTok. CLICK HERE to check out Ari Levinson's reaction to the same prompt.

Warnings: Mature Themes, References to Smut, Andrew Barber Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, TikTok Hijinks, Bickering, Manhandling, Ass Slapping, Daddy Kink, Allusions to Oral Sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Prompt brought to you courtesy of a Reader Request. This fic features Andrew Barber from my Growing Pains Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

It’s hard for you to put into words just how much you love playing pranks on your unsuspecting husband. And after downloading TikTok, you’d discovered that the app was home to an online treasure trove of practical jokes designed to make your loved one’s head spin. While it had taken a few days for you to settle on the right prank, you were pretty confident that the one you’d chosen would earn you a fun reaction from Andy without you having to risk your ass in the process.

You find yourself grinning as you take your time prepping dinner, humming a little tune as you peel and press even more fresh garlic for your homemade tomato sauce. Tonight’s family dinner of spaghetti and meatballs promised to be very interesting. Which was why you’d also taken the liberty of setting up two hidden cameras – one in the dining room and one right here in your kitchen.

As of now, you had no plans to post this on your channel. But you also didn’t want to miss a minute of your man’s reaction. Until then all you had to do was play it cool for a couple more hours.

Later that Evening…

“Baby Girl, are you sure you don’t need any help?” Your husband asks after watching you make what easily had to be your third trip from the kitchen into the dining room.

Any other night you would’ve said yes, but not this one. Tonight you were flying solo. The cameras were already on and recording – you’d taken care of that before you’d started setting the table – and so far Andy hadn’t noticed a thing.

Hopefully you’d be able to keep it that way until it was time for the big reveal.

“No thanks, Big Man. This Mama only has to make one more trip and then we’ll be ready to eat.” You tell him before sitting two plates on the table in front of your two youngest children. You were down a kid tonight thanks to your oldest, Bianca, being away at a sleepover.

Andy nods before leaning over to adjust the small hand towel you’d previously tucked into the front of your three-year-old son’s t-shirt. Not that it really mattered all that much since you were positive he’d be swimming in sauce before the meal was over. But what kind of mother would you be if you didn’t at least try?

Biting your lip in anticipation, you scamper back into the kitchen to grab dinner for you and your husband. Andy’s plate was piled high with a generous serving of spaghetti and meatballs. Meanwhile, you give yourself hardly any.

And therein was the so-called prank. Earlier this week, you’d spent the better part of several hours gleefully watching as dozens of girlfriends and wives proceeded to serve their man impressive looking portions before sitting next to them with virtually empty plates for themselves. Many of the reactions had ranged from hilarious to heartwarming, with only a few dickish exceptions.

Glancing over your shoulder to ensure you weren’t being watched, you pick up various pans and quietly place them in your oven and out of sight. For this to actually work, Andy would have to believe that there wasn’t enough for seconds or leftovers. Once that’s done, you square your shoulders and confidently march back into the dining room with dishes in hand.

“I’m back.” You announce, placing a piping hot plate in front of Andy before taking your own seat at the table. “I tried something different with my sauce this time, so everybody dig in and tell me what you think.”

Andy absentmindedly rubs his palms together as he stares down at the fragrant heap of spaghetti before him. Silently, you will him to look over at what you’d served yourself, but you force yourself to remain quiet so as not to give yourself away.

“This smells amazing, sweetheart.” Your husband tells you, reaching for a piece of garlic bread. “I’ve been excited for this meal since you told me you texted me at 10:00am.”

“Glad to hear it, Daddy” You pick up the little bowl of parmesan you’d set out and hand it to your middle daughter, Katrina. “What does everybody else think?”

You take a brief glance around the table while you wait for feedback. And although you make a point of not looking at your husband, it’s impossible to miss the way he’s now staring at your nearly empty plate.

“Ooh.” You inwardly squeal, stopping just short of clapping your hands. “It’s starting!”

“What’s up with this?” His tone is rife with confusion, which only grows when you decide to ignore him in favor of dipping a small piece of bread into some sauce. “Hey – stop!”

“What?” When you finally deign to return his gaze. You have to choke back a laugh as you watch a bewildered Andy comically gesture between your two plates.

“What the fu–fudge,” he swiftly corrects, “is going on with your plate?”

“What do you mean?” You aim to keep your tone light and breezy.

Your husband lets out a frustrated sigh. “Where’s the rest of your food?” He jabs at your plate with his fork, holding up the half of a meatball you’d allowed yourself.

“This was all that was left.” You tell him with a shrug.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His confusion continues to mount even as pauses long enough to grab a napkin to wipe at his son’s increasingly messy fingers. “There was plenty of spaghetti left on the stove.” While he’s occupied you quickly check on little Rory, who appears to be faring slightly better.

“Not really.”

“Baby…” Andy pins you with a knowing look, one that you readily return.

“What? I…” You trail off, pretending to think. “After I realized BiBi wouldn’t be here tonight, I made some adjustments to the recipe. Turns out I didn’t make enough, so…” Another shrug. “This was all there was after I made everyone else’s plates.”

Andy is uncharacteristically quiet as leans back in his chair. Meanwhile, your children are busy staring at you, each of them sporting tiny, furrowed brows. Pursing your lips, you set your fork down on your plate and reach for your drink.

“You can have some of mine, Mama.” KitCat offers before sweetly pushing her plate towards you. The unexpected gesture touches your heart in more ways than one. Not to be outdone, your three-year-old twins also follow suit.

“That’s okay, babies. I’m perfectly fine.” You reassure them, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Besides, this is all I need and –”

“Thanks kiddos.” Your husband kindly interrupts as he places his napkin on the table. “That was very sweet of you, wanting to take care of your Mama like that.” His brilliant blue eyes beam with pride as he speaks. “But Daddy’s got this one.”

You’re momentarily taken aback when he stands, picking up his plate as he does. And you’re even more surprised when he motions for you to do the same.

“Can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?”

“Andrew, sweetheart, it’s okay. I promise.”

“Now, please.” It’s an order, that much you know. But at least your handsome ogre has enough sense to take on the word “please” at the end of it.

“Fine.” You huff before standing and following him out of the room, although not before encouraging your children to keep eating while you’re gone. Just because it was Friday doesn’t mean it was time to dispense their normal bedtime routines.

You were only playing a prank, not embracing total anarchy.

Once in the kitchen, you each take up residence in opposing corners. But of course, you’re careful enough to avoid blocking the view of the camera.

“Baby Girl.” Andy exhales, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Do you really mean to tell me that there’s no food left? You really made all that pasta and there’s nothing?”

“Yes, Andrew.” You lie without missing a beat. “I already told you. I trimmed down the recipe because –”

“Because Bianca is gone. Yes, I heard you.” He sets his dish down on the counter, openly scrutinizing it.

“So then what’s the problem?” You rest your back against your pantry while you wait for him to respond.

“The problem – my problem –” Andy is quick to amend, shaking his head. “– is that you expect me to sit back and watch you starve while everyone else eats. And I don’t like it.” He scrubs a weary hand over his beard. “Hand me your plate, beautiful.”

“Why?” It’s impossible to keep the suspicion out of your voice.

“Because I don’t need all of this.” He grunts, taking the plate out of your hands when you don’t comply fast enough. “In fact, I don’t need any of it. You eat and I’ll order myself a pizza after we put the kids down.”

“Andy!” You scoff, which comes out on the heels of a laugh.

“What?” The man is clearly confused by your dismissal of his offer. “I am capable of handling myself, okay? My hands work just fine.” He grates out, making a show of holding up a large, lightly calloused palm.

“But I…I made that plate for you.” You were seconds away from caving and you both knew it.

“And I’m telling you, my wonderful wife, that I want you to have it.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to –” You begin, wrapping your arms around yourself. It was time to fess up.

“Fine.” Andy breathes, taking a second to roll his broad shoulders. “Then we’ll split it.” He reaches for your hand, pulling you into his warm embrace so that he can whisper in your ear. “And then, after we put the kids down, we’ll order ourselves a pizza. Maybe open up a bottle of wine while we wait.”

“Yeah?” You murmur, relaxing as you bury your face in his chest.

God, he always smelled so good.

“Mhm.” He continues, nuzzling his nose against your curls. “And then, once we’re all giggly and buzzed, I’ll convince you to let me make love to you in front of the fireplace. We can even set up a booby trap so that we pretend like the children don’t exist.”

“Wow.” You can’t stop the giggle that bubbles its way past your lps. “Andy Bear, that sounds amazing. But I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?” He rumbles as his brawny arms tighten around your smaller frame. You were pushing your District Attorney beyond his breaking point.

“Because.” Squirming out of his hold, you dance your way towards the oven in preparation for the big reveal. Hopefully your husband would be a good sport about all of this.

“Because?”

“Because…” You draw out the word, even as you go to open the oven to show him what’s inside. “There’s actually plenty of dinner leftover. See?” You throw your arms wide, but force yourself to stop just short of adding spirit fingers because you suspected he wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Baby, I swear…” Andy sighs, his hands slowly sinking into the pockets of his charcoal-colored slacks as he rocks back on his heels. Most likely to keep himself from strangling you, his lovely wife. “Why–what would possess you to lie about something like this?”

“First off, sweetheart, it’s called a prank.” You bridge the gap between your bodies so that you can wrap your arms around his trim waist. “And secondly, I saw it on TikTok. Ever heard of it?”

He glares down at you, which has you instinctively clenching your thighs together. That’s part of the reason you loved riling up your Big Man.

Being a brat got your motor running.

“I take it you have.” You stand on your tiptoes to kiss away his frown. “Well, I fell down the rabbit hole the other day while the kids were napping. There’s this whole, like, subsection that’s just pranks. And the latest one involved these women pranking their guys by serving them a huge plate of food, and then pretending like there’s nothing left for them to eat. The reactions were super entertaining, so I figured I’d test it out, you know? Just for fun.”

You grace him with your most dazzling smile, but unfortunately, he’s still having none of it. His frown only deepens as he tilts his face up towards the ceiling in an effort to summon all of his remaining patience.

“Are you mad?” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip while you wait for his answer.

“Yep.”

“C’mon, Andy Bear!” You pout before placing your hands on his biceps to give him a light shake.”Where’s your sense of humor?”

“Pretty sure I lost it the day you decided torturing me was your new favorite pastime.” He grumbles, although there doesn’t appear to be any heat in his words. “In fact, I have a feeling you just gave me several new grays.”

“Oh, don’t you dare blame me for those.” You tell him, playfully rolling your eyes at his dramatics. “I’ll have you know that you came home with those. I spotted ‘em the moment you walked through the door.” Your sassy response earns you a sharp crack to your ass, making you wince.

“Ow!”

“Brat.” He grouses, even as he presses a sweet kiss to your nose.

“Guilty as charged.” You hum, weaving your arms around his neck. “Besides, I had a feeling you wouldn’t let me starve.”

“Not sure it’s even possible to fail that challenge, Baby Girl. I mean, you’re my wife. My partner in crime. Did you really expect me to just let you go hungry?”

“You’d be surprised.” You mutter, making a mental note to show him a few videos featuring some of the men who’d actually failed the test. “But thankfully you didn’t. And neither did the kiddos. Which is why I will graciously allow you all to sleep inside tonight.”

You let out a tiny yelp when Andy suddenly grabs your ass with both hands, squeezing hard as he lifts you up. Unsure of what else to do, you immediately lock your legs around his waist. Right now you were just going along for the ride.

“Now is that any way to talk to Daddy?” Andy lovingly captures your mouth, lightly stroking his along the seam of your lips. “Especially after you played such a mean trick?” His once clouded blue eyes are now filled with mischief.

“Oh, I’m not sorry. But if it helps, I am willing to delete the video.” Your husband’s eyes go wide, letting you know that he hadn’t even considered the prospect of being recorded. So you keep talking, hoping to distract him. “And I still wanna get you drunk and take advantage of you after we put the children down for the night.” You run your fingers through his neatly coiffed hair, lightly scratching at his scalp with your nail.

“I don’t know if I should trust you.” He eyes you warily, making clear that he still hasn’t quite recovered from your earlier betrayal.

“What if…” You lean in close, lightly nipping at his earlobe. “I could find it in my heart to apologize between then and now? How does that sound, Big Man?”

“I mean I might be interested.” Andy shrugs, gently setting you on the counter before bracing his muscled arms on either side of you. “Out of curiosity, just what kind of apology are we talking about?” He gazes at you with lust-filled eyes, eagerly anticipating your response.

“The kind that’s best offered while on my knees, wearing nothing but a flimsy pair of thigh highs and garters.” You know you’ve got him when you hear him groan low in his throat.

“Fucky, baby.” Your husband hisses, burying his face in the valley between your breasts as his imagination suddenly kicks into overdrive. “Can you be sorry enough to wear the heels too? You know the ones I’m talking about.”

Oh. You knew exactly which ones he was talking about.

“I think so.” You murmur, stroking a tender hand along his back as he struggles to regain his composure.

“Then we’ve got ourselves a deal.” He grips your hips before kindly helping you down. “Now let’s go get those kids fed and off to bed.” Andy grabs your hand, tugging you behind him as you head back to the dining room to see about your babies.

“Slow down, Andrew.” You laugh as your legs scramble to keep up.

“No can do, Baby Girl.” He grunts, picking up his pace. “Daddy’s really looking forward to that apology. So be sure to eat up because…” He trails off when he comes face-to-face with his sauce covered little ones. “...You’re gonna need all of your strength.”

“You can count on it.”

END

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politemenacephd · 3 months

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Arachnophilia (Part Fourteen)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Word Count: 5040 Notes: Voyeurism build up is here, will be dropping that next chapter. For now here's some tension/proper argument w HQ!Miguel and some fluff w Mig

‘You’re sure you wish to return today?’

You paused midway through the very unflattering motion of hoisting your suit over your hips, rolling on the bed like a flipped beach turtle, and turned to find Mig watching you from across the room.

His big red eyes already betrayed his concern as they darted from your face to your body, as did his slowly tapping paws.

You shot him a reassuring smile. ‘I’m sure, Mig! Don’t worry, I have a plan.’

Mig made that same adorable face he always did when he was disgruntled, as his nose wrinkled up and his brows folded in over his big puppy-dog eyes. Your reassurance would never be enough, sadly.

‘You could- stay, another hour’ he offered. ‘They can’t fault you for being a little late.’

You sighed through the nose and finally did up the last hidden button on your suit, snapping it into place.

It’d been a few days since Mig’s confession. You’d managed to snag the extra time away from the society by calling up Jess and going through some early talking points online, but all the time you’d gained had been devoted solely to working through Mig’s worries.

His possessive nature had certain gotten worse since he’d acknowledged his past to you. He startled at every minor noise, he rustled against you constantly to keep you saturated in his scent. He panicked when you weren’t in his line of sight, and he was patrolling his territory more and more.

The worst one though was at night, when he’d hide behind his giant legs and you had to gently coax him out.

It wasn’t easy, but you weren’t opposed to comforting your monster partner. You knew it was going to be hard on him. Today he’d made enough progress to at least let you return for a bit, and that was great, but you knew to expect relapses.

With a slight hop you stumbled to your feet and crossed the nest, carefully taking his hands into yours.

‘Uhuh, I could stay an extra hour. And then you would say, please stay another hour, then another, then another, and then I’m called in for insubordination and I get my watch taken away’ you said, firm but soft.

‘Mi arañita, it’s in my blood to keep you here’ he insisted.

‘Nope, can’t use that excuse anymore. I’m not in heat, am I?’ you said. You tried to keep it light by booping his nose with your finger, but Mig remained tense.

‘It’s in my human blood, to keep you here, is what I meant’ he said, his voice dipping. ‘I just want to know you’re safe. I can’t, know, if you’re not here with me.’

Sensing that he was spiralling you put his hand over your chest. He could sense your heart thumping beneath your ribs, small but strong. It seemed to have an instant calming effect.

‘I’m okay. See? I’m okay. And I’m gonna set something up’ you reminded him gently. ‘Right? I’m gonna go get some stuff while I’m at the HQ, like we discussed. You’ll be able to see my vitals on a screen here so you know I’m safe, and we will- test, you being able to call me, because I know if I give you unlimited reign you will call me every second of every hour. But, you know, I’m bringing stuff back to make this easier.’

Mig grumbled and rolled his tongue against his fangs at your reminder. ‘You… are you, sure, they won’t try to keep you away from me?’ he asked.

‘I’m as sure as I can be, Miggy. I mean Jess clearly got annoyed with Miguel for trying to separate us, remember? I don’t think the elite’s care, so long as we’re not endangering anyone. We’re two consenting adults after all.’

‘A monster and his pet’ Miguel grumbled. You couldn’t help but giggle at his sour tone.

‘A consenting adult monster and his consenting adult pet’ you added. Mig didn’t smile with you but you saw him tap his spider legs a few times, which you knew now meant he was happy. It was like a silent laugh for when he was too worried to laugh openly.

‘Hey. Come here’ you whispered.

You gestured for his foreleg and he stretched it out. You took it between both your hands and raised it your lips, pressing a single kiss to the fluffy little paw, showing no sign of fear or disgust. You then gestured for his human hands.

‘Here. Here, babe.’

Mig outstretched his hands, and with his fingers in your grip you kissed each of his claws one after the other. You could sense his body deflating, slowly losing all of that pent up tension as you showed his body the same love you always did.

‘Pretty spider’ you whispered after the final claw was crowned with your lips. When you looked up he was smiling at last.

‘Pretty spider’ he repeated back. You craned your neck and noticed his abdomen was rustling, the fur on his back gently bristling as his middle legs tapped at the floor. You beamed.

‘Mmm. Happy dance’ you noted.

Mig closed his eyes as he smiled, his old, chiselled face growing soft as he made the dance more overt. He tapped his feet back and forth, gently rustling his fluffy body up against your face. You nestled right back. There was nothing better than seeing that little display.

‘Okay, okay. There we go.’ You gently leaned back after giving him a quick squeeze, your hand flying to your watch. You knew you had to make the portal now or you’d never leave.

‘Guess I better get going.’

With a few clicks a portal to the HQ exploded into the centre of the nest, covering your face in that ethereal orange light. You glanced back over your shoulder and saw that Mig had stopped dancing. It hurt your heart, but it had to be done.

‘Can I have a goodbye kiss, please?’ you offered with your hand outstretched on the precipice of the portal. Mig was eager to take it.

‘Ah- yes, of course mi arañita.’

You should have been wise enough to know that this was a double play on his part. The moment your lips connected his hands were on your waist, digging in deep to the soft flesh beneath your suit.

His lips moved slowly, parting before rejoining as they smothered your own. They were so soft compared to the rest of his ruggedness, soft and full and warm. As his tongue teased your mouth they grew wet.

‘Mm—’

His low moan made your knees weak. It vibrated through your lips and into your soul. His lips parted right as you usually would have left, and soon you were entranced by his tongue.

‘Mm- mmm—’

You forgot the portal at your back as Mig gently rumbled against you, his fluffy body vibrating in a way that made your insides tingle. He dug his claws in deeper, a small dose of shock to widen your mouth, allowing his tongue to go right down your throat.

When he pulled back there was a long and heavy trail of spit between you, one that he licked into his mouth without ever breaking eye contact. You felt that pleasurable tension in your gut triple over.

‘Ah—Mig, I know what you’re doing’ you panted.

He’d held you for so long that the portal had closed behind you. You let out a mildly exasperated huff while he tilted his head, his face sickeningly innocent.

‘Doing what? I just wanted to kiss mi arañita goodbye.’

‘You told me you were incapable of lying, Mr.’

‘I am, yes. It’s not a lie’ he said. The earnest affection in his eyes broke you, and a smile crept back onto your face.

‘Mhm. It’s just- leaving out the full truth, right?’

He coyly darted his eyes to the side, forcing you to grab his thickset jaw and turn his head back. You were on your tip toes to reach him.

‘The full truth, is… I don’t want you to go, but, I know you have to. So I will do what I can to keep you here, because I am selfish. And… I will miss you, when you are gone. Because you make me happy. And, I like having you close’ Mig murmured.

‘I know’ you sighed. ‘I know. I’ll miss you too. And I will be back soon. I promise.’

You bumped foreheads once more before pulling back, and this time Mig let you go.

…

As you flew through the dizzying portal you were surprisingly optimistic.

You were going back to the society, and this time you were no longer alone. No matter what you had someone to go home to, someone to talk to, someone to hold you.

Your perspective on the society had also certainly shifted since meeting Mig, and that was something you had to contend with. Knowing that they were hiding things, these cosmic mistakes they didn’t want to deal with, it bothered you to no end. You’d previously viewed the elites as these unfathomable being, who just had to know best because of where they were, but not anymore. Especially in the case of Miguel.

You felt a little bad, but you hadn’t been fully honest with Mig about your intentions. Yes, you were going back to grab some items for him and to show you were available. Yes, you were returning to ensure your relationship was sanctioned.

But you also had something else in mind. Something a bit more personal. Something for the boss to deal with.

You skipped a few steps as your body was thrown from the depths of time and space, your shoes clacking as you hit the HQ floor. You stepped out into the lobby, into a bustling sea of spiders, and you breathed in the familiar smell of Nueva York. It smelled like spandex, like cleaning fluid and cold park air.

You felt the portal close at your back, leaving you standing alone in this great gathering of your peers.

And then you froze.

Almost half the spiders around you were still, their head craned in your direction. You felt the eyes on every inch of your body. You met their gazes through their masks, and despite you clearly looking at them they didn’t turn or look away.

You frowned. What was going on?’

A new sound filled the quiet buzz of conversation, the worst possible sound you could hear. Muffled laughter.

You spun around only for the laughter to stop, and by the time you’d turned back all the spiders were pretending not to have looked at all. They were deep in meaningless conversation, their heads down, and soon you were once again lost in the crowd.

You could feel your face burning, your cheeks hot and clammy.

Oh, fuck. Shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit, fuck. Did they know? How did they know? Who could have told them?

For a moment your blood ran cold. Wait. Had, Miguel, told everyone? To punish you?

In a brewing panic you started to make your way through the HQ.

All the way out of the lobby and up through the dizzying web of beams you felt eyes on you. You occasionally heard laughter but now you couldn’t tell whether it was aimed at you or not, which only spurred your paranoia, and you only continued to spiral further as you went about your objectives.

You stopped by the lab and grabbed the tech you needed for Mig: a watch for him to programme, a monitor for your vitals, and a few old or nearly scrapped holographic screens that you figured he could fix up. All eyes on you, staring at you through screens and over desks. You hurried out.

From there you made a stop at HR, a pretty run-down and disorganised area compared to the rest of the society, where you grabbed some paperwork Jess had ordered you to fill out. You felt eyes peering over piles of paperwork, soft whispers and curious mumbles hidden behind walls as you piled up the work.

By the time you made it to your last stop you could feel the sweat on your lower back from stressing so hard. Around Mig you felt safe, emboldened, but you were realizing quickly that you were still alone here.

You crept into the open research base and dropped into one of the empty desks. You were here, right back where you started, the day you first met Mig.

You thought of him, back in the nest, and your heart twisted. You missed him.

‘You’re the one, right?’

You jumped as an unfamiliar voice sounded off against your ear. Somehow you’d been snuck up on, and three spider-people you’d never met before were crowding around the back of your desk. Their faces immediately put you on edge; they looked far too familiar with you, far too excited.

‘I- the one, what?’ you stammered.

‘You’re the one who- you know—’

You felt your stomach drop as the spiders broke into playful smiles. You tried to push the chair back and run, abandoning the PC while it was still on, but to your horror the other spiders held you in place. You slumped back into the chair as they offered an overlap of fake coos and soothing words.

‘No, no, hey! Please we’re so curious.’

‘Curious about- what? Don’t- grab me!’ you said, inadvertently snapping as you pulled from their grasp. You could feel other people in the room starting to glance over at the commotion, and it was driving your anxiety way up.

‘You had sex with Miguel’s variant, right? The spider one?’ one of them whispered. The spiders holding you in place were practically giddy as they spoke over themselves.

‘We… they’re, all spiders’ you stammered.

‘No, no! You know what we mean. There’s one that’s like fully half spider, right? And you had sex with him?’

‘I—That’s, nobodies business’ you said defensively. Sadly, your tone only spurred them on harder.

'No come on please, oh my god- does he look like Miguel? Is he that big?'

'Does he have the teeth?'

'Oh god, ew, what's the spider part like? Was it like an actual spider?'

'Did you--'

‘¡OYE!’

You went rigid in your seat, as did the spiders hounding you. Heavy footsteps filled the room as a huge, foreboding shadow slowly covered your body from behind.

‘What’s going on?’

You turned to see Miguel standing over you, his hands on his hips. The spiders almost fell over each other trying to placate him.

‘Hi! Sir, we were just—’

‘It’s fine Miguel we were—’

‘No gossiping. We’re not a rag newspaper, we’re a serious organisation, that does serious work’ Miguel said, his voice slow and cold. ‘Work that I assume you’re currently procrastinating on, since you’re here, and not somewhere else.’

The spiders quickly abandoned your desk, leaving you spinning awkwardly on the spot in your little chair. Miguel had to grab the back to make it stop.

‘Ah, hey, you—’

‘Come with me.’

Miguel didn’t wait for you to respond after cutting you off. He turned and walked in the opposite direction, his presumptuous, authoritative aura gleaming off him like musk.

You thought about saying no, just on principle, but it wouldn’t help. You’d been planning to talk to him anyway. With a slightly reluctant shrug you obeyed.

Miguel led you in silence up through the heart of the HQ building to his office. The whole way you continued to avoid the curious eyes on your back, focusing instead on what you wanted to say to him.

Up the beams, through the corridor filled with anomalies, down the messy side hall and into his office, where at last you were both alone. You shuddered in the gloom, where the only light was a thin lay of blue from above that tinted your skin. It was only here that Miguel finally addressed you directly.

‘I’m sorry they’re bothering you’ Miguel called over his shoulder.

‘Uhuh. Yeah, me too. Strange how they knew’ you said, making no effort to sugarcoat your accusatory tone. Miguel grunted a chuckle as he picked up on the implication.

‘It’s not strange. HR receives filings whenever a relationship needs to be sanctioned, such as- Peter’s and Mary’s receiving crisis training or therapy, or any spiders entering into inter-dimensional relationships. It doesn’t happen often, so when one comes up featuring a Miguel variant and a random spider, and some intern copying it notices the names, they talk. They talk to their friends at lunch, and then they talk to their friends on missions. Suddenly, everyone knows.’

You felt your face burning as he spun this elaborate story. You wanted to believe he was lying, but, it was one thing he and Mig shared in common: they didn’t lie.

‘I didn’t tell anyone’ Miguel grunted as he jumped onto his desk. ‘I understand how- frustrating hormones can be. I don’t blame you for what you had to do.’

‘Uhuh’ you said, your voice wary.

‘I just don’t understand why you’ve still choosing to remain around my counterpart now you’re free’ Miguel continued as he booted up his set, more to himself than to you.

‘Because he’s my friend’ you said sharply.

Miguel glanced over his shoulder, his one visible eye glowing brightly against the dull blue hue. He looked you up and down.

‘I don’t get it’ he repeated in a low murmur. You hated it but his presence still made you slightly weak, and that soft voice was painfully close to how Mig usually spoke.

‘If you were in pain I would have helped’ he said as he turned back around. ‘It’s not like you had no options. Was I really that cold to you?’

You balked at his unexpected confession, especially when said in such a nonchalant way. It was a pretty heavy thing to drop, surely, to admit that he’d sensed your heat and been willing to sleep with you too?

‘You- are you serious?’ you whisper shouted. Your outrage made Miguel chuckle again, something that only made your face warmer.

‘I’m serious, yes. I would have helped.’

‘Oh, oh of course you would have. Just, out of the kindness of your own heart?’

‘More or less.’

You scoffed openly. ‘My god- Do you have no shame? At all?’

Miguel turned again, craning his neck a little further this time to eye you up fully. You saw the thick curve of his back as he arched it.

‘I’d advise you not to be combative’ he murmured. ‘I’m still your superior, and I’m also well aware of what you’ve done. I don’t think you should be the one to tell me about shame.’

‘Why should I be ashamed?! Because I had sex with a nice person I was friends with, because we shared a mutual attraction? Oh my god, how could I!’

‘You let a monster mate with you and almost get you pregnant’ Miguel snapped back, his voice rising ever so slightly.

‘He’s not- a monster’ you said. ‘Not- I mean, physically he is, unusual, but he’s a good person.’

‘You have no idea who that man is’ Miguel impatiently snapped.

‘Yes, I do. Damn it-- He told me! About Dana!’ you blurted.

A brief silence fell as Miguel’s hands went still. Up until this point he’d been typing, casually micro-tasking while you argued at his back, but now he was totally focused on you.

‘He did?’ Miguel repeated back. He sounded shocked, confused, perhaps even impressed?

‘Yes. He- it sounded, horrible. That poor man.’

‘That poor man’ Miguel sneered, his shock quickly turning back to disgust. ‘You didn’t see what I saw. And that’s not your fault, but I’m telling you now, I saw it. The blood on his hands, the blood on his fur, the—face, of—’

Miguel paused and shook his head. ‘He may not have intended to hurt her, but he did. He couldn’t de-escalate, couldn’t control his own strength. He could have ripped the gun out of her hands, or pointed it upwards. His panic killed her.’

‘He was- he was scared, Miguel!’ you argued. ‘He’d just undergone a painful attempt on his life, he was turned into something new, something scary, and then his life was threatened again by someone who was meant to love him!’

‘Yeah, and you know what? I want through the same exact thing’ Miguel spat. ‘I didn’t kill anyo-- … I didn’t, kill, Dana, Did I?’

Internally you were seething. Part of you wanted to just rip into him for what he’d said, for so cruelly bullying Mig for something that wasn’t his fault while making overt passes at you in the same sentence, but you held your tongue.

At least now you didn’t feel at all bad for what you were about to do.

‘I want to- make a proposal’ you said, your voice echoing through the office.

Miguel blinked. His brows went up, slowly, as his eyes darted across your face. He looked surprised. ‘You do, do you?’

You stiffened your resolve as his shadow covered your body. Before you’d have never thought of standing up to your boss like this, and yet, here you were.

‘Yes. I want you to retract the clause that Mig remain isolated from other spiders and people. He’s not a threat and you know that. He deserves the chance to reintegrate, to see that he’s safe to be around other people and to connect with people like him who won’t be afraid. I want you to let him into the society.’

Miguel grunted, his nose wrinkling with disgust. ‘No’ he barked, and immediately he turned.

He thought that would be the end of it, the stubborn fool, but you weren’t interested in begging for permission. If he wanted to play dirty, you would too.

‘Fine’ you said sharply, ‘fine. Let me guess, his genes make him too dangerous?’

‘Wow, newbie, that’s a great point. You’re right. I’ll keep that on record next time someone brings up the idea of letting him join’ Miguel sarcastically drawled. You sneered.

‘Okay. Well, if he has to stay away because his genes make him dangerous, genes that you SHARE, may I remind you, then I suggest for the safety of the society we make it public knowledge.’

You saw Miguel freeze up. He was clearly frightened, as his back muscles popped to indicate he was tensing them tightly, and his biceps were clearly getting more prominent as he clenched his fists.

You had to steel yourself to approach that terrifying visage.

‘What are you talking about?’ he hissed over his shoulder.

‘You know what I’m talking about’ you said, getting closer with each word. ‘You know that you go into ruts, the same as he does. You know that for all the pressure you put on him to stay away from people, you happily engage in that exact behaviour.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Miguel repeated, this time in a far gravellier voice.

‘I know, you sanctimonious asshole, that you’ve also been sleeping with people during your ruts!’ you whisper shouted, your voice slipping through gritted teeth.

Miguel immediately scoffed, trying to play it off. ‘You don’t have proof of that. I didn’t sleep with you.’

‘No, not- me, Miguel, I have proof. I have proof you’ve done this before.’

‘Oh, do you?’ he asked in that same sarcastic, defensive tone.

‘You decided to threaten me with my own medical records, so clearly that’s allowed, right? So, I can bring up that there are definitely files within the society bay detailing god knows how many other members or workers, filled with the same genetic material, covered in webbing?’

The moment you said ‘webbing’ he tensed up. You’d got him.

‘Perhaps a few, anti-venom prescriptions? Emergency birth control?’

He tensed up further, his head going forward as his shoulders rolled. You continued to push.

‘I don’t think the wider society would be too kind if they knew their boss was going into little, horny breakdowns, and then secretly taking out his frustrations on its members—’

At that Miguel spun around, his clawed hand slamming itself into the desk at your back. In barely a second you went from standing to trapped, your back bent against the desk with his enormous arms on either side of your torso.

‘Do you think you’re better than me?!’ he spat, his fangs dangerously close to your face.

‘Do you think you’re better than me, huh?’

You felt all of your previous convictions slip in his presence. God he was terrifying. He wasn’t nearly as big as Mig but he was huge compared to you, easily pinning your body to the desk. You felt the cold metal press into your spine as he bent you back, and your eyes instinctively drifted to his fangs.

You swallowed, hard, and were met with the strangest look in his eyes. He seemed ashamed, almost, as he realized you were scared of him, and yet there was something else there. Something more complicated.

You struggled to claw back a semblance of your previous anger.

‘You know what? No. Not in that sense. But that’s my point. We’re the same, you’re just a—’

‘Don’t say it’ he hissed.

‘Hypocrite’ you spat back in his face. With a frustrated grunt he pulled away.

‘I don’t put anyone at risk of spreading my genes!’ he said, his voice rising with his annoyance. ‘And I don’t touch anyone who I could hurt!’

‘How can you know that?’

‘Because they’re all men!’ Miguel blurted. He had to pause to breathe, his hands now gripped tight to his hips. ‘Or- at the very least they’ve had their reproductive organs taken care of. And they’re my friends, I never- I never approach anyone I don’t know and trust. I just… sometimes, I have to—have, something. Just one. But I’ve never- slipped and, indulged in anyone the way your sweet, innocent Mig has.’

‘You- but you JUST said you would have helped me out too’ you argued back. Miguel scoffed again.

‘I didn’t mean sex. I would have- offered something, for relief, because I know how much it hurts. I can control myself, but I’d rather not smell someone else going through the same agony, that’s all.’

‘Look, my— my point is, you do the same thing you accused Mig of doing. You don’t get to keep him out of the society if you’re allowed to be its head’ you said, trying to bring the subject back around.

‘He killed someone’ Miguel hissed.

‘And you exonerated him, because he was acting in self defence!’ you spat. This time your rage drove you forward, and you slammed your hand down on the desk beside Miguel, caging his tiny waist between your arms.

‘We are dangerous’ Miguel said, his voice even colder than usual. ‘We are not, safe. We are not supposed to be in relationships. I tried to tell you this, but if you won’t listen, I can’t help you.’

‘Oh, I’m the one who needs help?’

To your horror, Miguel suddenly let out a deeply sardonic chuckle. He bent so that his lips brushed your ear, and you froze as he spoke.

‘You fucked a spider’ he whispered slowly. ‘You found a version of your boss, who was half arachnid, and you let it fuck you. Furry legs and all. You nearly let it impregnate you. Yes, you need help.’

‘He.’

Miguel’s eyes darted, barely an inch from yours. You met them. You were shaking, yes, but you still stared him down.

‘He. Not it. I let him, fuck me’ you repeated.

You relished, secretly, in the deep resentment that crossed Miguel’s face. He looked jealous.

‘Why… Why, him?’

You blinked, taken aback by Miguel’s veiled question. You were expecting more vitriol, but instead his face sank as he pulled away from you.

‘What do you mean, why him?’ you asked.

‘You were in heat. I smelled it. You should have been drawn to my scent, but you turned and you ran. You ran back to him.’

You decided to let Miguel hang there for a moment, just to ponder how you should approach this.

‘If you ask that question honestly, I’ll answer’ you said slowly.

Miguel stiffened his jaw and stepped forward again. He was too curious to not take the bait. ‘Why? Why would you pick him over me?’

There it was. The most overt thing he’d ever admit. It wasn’t even really about you, was it? It was about his ego. It was about the fact that in that moment, when he’d grabbed you after your hospital trip, you’d been able to turn him down. You’d stayed loyal to Mig, and not just given in to your animal need so Miguel could satisfy himself with your body.

You could have given him a full lecture on why. His coldness, his mean streak, his little bursts of empathy that were never enough compared to Mig’s constant kindness. The way Mig gave you multiple chances to leave while Miguel grabbed you by the wrist, the way Mig praised you and thanked you and wished to acknowledge your relationship openly without shame while Miguel offered only a shameful coupling he would sooner forget.

You could have said so much. In the end, though, you just shrugged. ‘He’s hotter than you’ you said.

Silence filled Miguel’s office. At first his face was unreadable, but slowly, a smile crept onto his lips. It was an unnerving smile, the ghost of something cruel and cold.

‘Oh. Okay. Okay.’

You took a step back as Miguel turned back to his desk. The orange glow was eerie around the contours of his figure, highlighting his terrifying back muscles one by one as he rolled them.

‘Alright. You can have him here. And I won’t keep people off your back anymore. If you want to know, why I keep what I do quiet, why I keep my partners quiet, you can find out your way.’

You snorted. ‘Deal. Done. That’s all I needed from you.’

You left him there, alone on the desk, and you hurried back to the wider HQ, unaware of the new war you’d started for yourself. Link to next part!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #drider #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spider man 2099 #arachnophilia #smut #smut with plot #drider miguel o'hara #monster human relationship #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara au

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 1 year

Text

Teeth

Part 11

Masterlist

Warnings: Canon typical themes, Billy mentioning his past, voyeurism/exhibitionism, masturbation, *slow nod* dumbasses.

A/N: Apologies if you're vegan/vegetarian/don't eat beef, I usually try to make these things neutral, but in this case, panthers are carnivores and that had a factor in the meal I chose.

Special dedication to @blanchedelioncourt for those two cute checkmarks you see beside my name. Thank you so much my love 💖

He liked meat.

He'd confessed to you on the drive home that he could never pass up an opportunity to indulge on a nice piece of steak, or even fish.

You liked the idea of preparing a filet mignon for him, but with no cuts at home, you'd quickly ordered from the nearest meat supplier, thankful that with today's technology, same day delivery was possible.

You'd agreed on a plan, he had to go to his place to get cleaned up, and he'd be at your door around seven.

Since he wasn't a fan of green beans or broccoli, you decided to do sautéed potatoes, and maybe a few glazed vegetables.

It was exciting, preparing a meal for him, you found enjoyment in the planning process.

The meat arrives at your place at the same time you do, and you examine it, making sure it's high quality, desperate to impress your boss, coming over to your home.

My friend, you correct with a smile, pulling out ingredients and beginning prep work as you close the door behind you.

You spot him, moving around in his place while you work, and you're happy that you decided to have your curtains open, even if to just catch tiny glimpses of him on occasion. Seeing more of him could never be a downfall.

Your mind jumps to the panther, and you let out a blissful sigh, feeling so unbelivably safe for the first time in a long while.

You've just finished with the potatoes and vegetables when there's a knock on your door.

Calm down, you tell yourself, when you realise your hands are clammy with anxiety.

"Hey." You say to him easily, letting him in. He's dressed down in a long sleeve burgundy sweater and jeans, and you definitely try your hardest not to devour him with your eyes.

You'd been able to shower too, tugging on one of your more casual dresses, the comfort and length of it managing to emphasize how much this was not a date. If it were a date, you'd be more inclined to wear something shorter, maybe tighter, but your loose dress hopefully showcased just enough without advertising too much.

"You look nice." He follows up, after saying hello, and you smile and return the compliment...casually... like friends would.

"I'm almost finished. How would you like your steak done?" You ask him, while busy fussing over your potatoes.

"Rare, but, you know you don't have to, right? I would have been fine with pasta."

You have to look away from him, bite your tongue so that you don't say something snarky or flirtatious.

"I wanted to." You respond easily, heating up your cast iron pan.

"Where did you learn to cook?" He asks, coming up next to you to study the little layout beside your stovetop, the garlic and rosemary prepped and ready to go.

"Online," You admit, looking up at him with a little smile, "It wasn't too hard to pick up, I really like eating."

"Good," He murmurs, reaching for a rosemary stem, breaking it in half and bringing it up to his nose to take a deep inhale. Your insides curling tight at how close he is, you want to lean in and press your head to his chest.

"You're so good at so many things." He murmurs absentmindedly, and it's not the heat of the pan that warms your face this time.

The steaks smell delicious as they cook, and Billy hovers over your shoulder, asking questions that you're very happy to answer. You even explain to him the steak finger test, explaining by touching his hands, how you'd know the meat is at the desired readiness.

He takes in information easily, doesn't get defensive, or act as if he already knows. If he has a question, he isn't afraid to ask you.

You might love that about him the most, how easy it is to be around him. There's no condescention or ego in the way, there's just him, and you, and conversation enough to fill the room.

When everything is plated, you reach for the cast iron pan to place it in the sink.

You grab a cloth, wrapping in around the handle, picking up the pan easily.

On the way into the sink, the hot handle grazes your fingers.

You hiss before your body even registers the pain, your fingertips screaming in brutal betrayal at being scorched.

He's beside you instantly, opening the tap to pull your hand under the cool stream.

"Ow, oh f-" You stop yourself, humming in pain.

One of his broad hands is against your back, rubbing in an attempt to soothe as he tries to care for your hand.

You try hard to resist swearing, and eventually he notices.

"You can say 'fuck' if you want, I don't mind."

You look up with him, a pained smile of resistance plasterd onto your face.

"Come on, say 'fuck' for me."

"Fuuuucccckkk." You draw out, letting the frustration of your pain out in one breath.

He laughs, you find yourself smiling along.

"See? We're friends, you can swear in front of me, I'll even go first so that you don't feel shy about it."

After a moment of baited anticipation, he opens his mouth.

"Shit." He says.

"Bitch." You respond, making a game out of the crude words.

"Asshole." He follows up.

You giggle, speaking without too much thought.

"Cock."

The air seems to freeze, holding still, ever patient to pass judgement on whether you've gone too far.

He leans in a little, till your noses are near touching, you can feel your body coiled tight at his proximity.

"Pussy." He whispers, and you feel the ascension of your soul to high heaven.

He doesn't allow the atmosphere to grow awkward with your stunned silence, he pulls your fingers from under the cool water to examine them. There's no pain anymore, and definitely no real damage done.

"Do they still hurt?" he asks.

"N-no," you answer, "It was nothing serious."

Billy nods in understanding.

"We should eat." You utter, doing your very best not to stutter and succeeding.

You offer him a glass of zinfandel, and you take one for yourself before sitting across from him. The wine is ruby red, and though it's advertised as a sweet wine, you don't find it very sweet at all.

You cut your meat slowly, waiting patiently for him to cut into his.

You sigh happily when you see the inside of his steak is an almost perfect rare, appreciating that you came very near the desired colour.

You try not to stare at him, or make him uncomfortable as he brings the first piece up to his mouth.

You're vibrating with worry as he takes his first bite, looking politely down at your own plate and waiting for a response.

A low groan spills from him.

You look up in surprise at his face as your toes curl at the rough sound. It goes right down to your cunt, pulsing with desire since he looked into your eyes and whispered that filthy word earlier.

His eyes are closed, his fingers wrapped tightly around the fork as he chews. Your heart pounds as you realise that his current state of bliss has been caused by you.

He opens his eyes, fixes them right on you.

"That is fucking delicious." He says, his voice low and gravelly as he picks up a piece of potato this time.

You sigh in relief, cutting into your piece next, excited to taste what he does.

It is good, you hum in appreciation as you eat it, relieved, that you managed not to mess this up.

It's only been one meal, and yet somehow, Billy has found himself captivated by you.

No other relationship had ever blossomed so quickly, or made him feel this safe in his vulnerabilities.

Being around you was as easy as breathing, he could laugh, and say the first thing that came to mind and not have to second guess himself because you were so welcoming.

He wonders if all of you would be welcoming to him.

The panther takes the opportunity to insert vivid thoughts of your parted thighs, images of your slick cunt ready for him to take.

He could scent it, between the savoury notes of the meal, was the sweet call of your arousal.

You wanted him, he knew it, and he wanted you too.

He holds himself back from acting on it, doesn't want to destroy the little pieces of friendship he's managed to gather with you. He doesn't want you to think that any of this was motivated by just sex.

"Will you tell me more about growing up?" You ask, three-quarter way into the meal.

He almost chokes on a carrot.

"It's.... not the best story." He responds.

"Oh, it's fine if you don't want to talk about it. I didn't mean to pry."

But he wants to. He wants to tell you about it.

"My mother dropped me off at a fire station when I was born. I have no idea who my father is."

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head.

"Don't be, she was an addict from what I understand, might have been worse for me if she kept me."

You smile sadly at him, reaching across and covering his hand. He looks down at the touch, before turning his hand upwards so that your hands are clasped together.

"The group home wasn't all bad, just lacking you know? A decent family, but with all the important parts missing."

You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

"I ran away when I was fifteen, kind of just jumped from place to place, living off scraps, sleeping wherever was safest, and then I met Frank a couple of years later."

Billy grins.

"Frank saved my life, and then we joined the military together. Gave me a rough brotherhood I didn't know I needed. Served for ten years and here I am."

"Wow, that's quite a story," you murmur, looking deep in thought.

"Why did you run away?"

He swallows, looks away from your inquisitive eyes.

"You know, I just got tired of them."

"Oh."

He shrugs.

"Yeah, well I hope your childhood was better."

You smile.

"Maybe so, I mean, comparatively, but not without its own problems."

He nods in understanding, eager to hear more.

You're almost done with the story of your childhood when there's an odd knock on your door.

Nine taps, with a short pause each third tap.

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion.

"I hope you don't mind, I ordered dessert." He says, standing up, and walking to your door.

He opens it, and you watch him accept a little cloth parcel from the person on the other side of the door with a nod of his head.

Curiously, you slip off your seat and approach him as he closes your door. When he turns, he finds you right before him, examining the item in his hands.

"You ordered dessert?" You ask, confused beyond measure.

"I wanted to surprise you, and I couldn't pick it up before coming here, so I had it delivered downstairs and brought up. I hope that's okay?"

Surprise me? You think, an odd feeling of delight swimming inside of you.

You smile, reaching for the box that he gives easily, and you place it onto your counter, taking care to unwrap it gently.

Your mouth parts when you catch sight of it. It's a lemon meringue, with a strawberry layer beneath the toasted marshmallow fluff, and a beautiful strawberry topping all of it off.

There's only one pie, but it's about the size of your hand, definitely large enough for the two of you to share.

"It looks amazing." You comment, tilting your head to examine the toasted brown waves of the marshmallow fluff.

"It is, I got it from one of my favourite dessert places. The chef's ex-marine, like me."

You smile up at him, grabbing two spoons from your kitchenette and taking the pie into one hand.

"Couch?" You offer, no room for arguement, you ease yourself onto the soft seat, trying your best not to topple the dessert.

He sits beside you, and you turn to face him, offering a spoon in his direction.

"I've never had a meringue before, but I always wanted to try it."

"Is that what you call it?" He responds, "I usually just ask for the lemon pie."

A sound of humour mixed with pain leaves the back of your throat.

"You're lucky they get your order right," you say with a laugh, "One day, you might just get an actual lemon pie."

He hums, taking a small spoonful of the meringue and tapping it against your spoonful.

"Well, here's to getting what you want."

It's an odd toast, but you follow his lead and put the spoonful of dessert into your mouth.

The first flavour you get is the delicious sweetness of the marshmallow and strawberry, the sweet citrus tang of the lemon follows next and the crust rounds all the flavours up into a delicious and fruity finish.

"Fuck." You sigh, closing your eyes for a long moment and simply basking in the flavours that melt right into your mouth.

You don't look up at him, taking another hasty spoonful before sinking right back into your circle of bliss.

You hum at the flavour, the tangy strawberry slices below the marshmallow fluff adds a very interesting taste.

"Sorry." You murmur, absentmindedly to Billy, lost in the flavour.

"For what now?" He asks and you smile.

"For being weird."

He hums.

"Honestly, I'd say the dessert had the desired effect."

"Yeah, if making me fall in love with a pie was the goal."

"So you admit it's a pie, then?"

You let out a little chuckle, looking up at him. He raises his eyebrows at you as he takes another spoonful into his mouth.

"I never said it wasn't a pie!" You shoot at him, "I'm just saying, there's a difference between what you ask for and what this is."

He leans in, teasingly, your heart stutters as he gets closer.

"And yet somehow, I always get what I want." He comments, and you gulp.

Up close, he notices that a few strands of your hair a clinging to your face and are almost in your mouth.

The raises a hand, it hovers over your cheek and you try to keep breathing and not drool while you're at it.

"May I?" He asks, and you nod your head quickly, before he even has a chance to decide against it.

His fingertips are gentle on your cheek, brushing away the strands in small swipes. You sigh at the relief of subtle irritation, giving him a small smile.

Your breath finally stops when he cups your face in his hand, and you feel your eyelids droop. His hand is warm, against your feverish cheek and he's so close that your noses brush.

You mind is screaming at him, with urgency, the words kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me, are chanted inside your head.

He does not kiss you.

Instead, he pulls back, rough palm slipping from your cheek leaving a coolness that wasn't there before.

He checks his watch.

"It's getting late, I should go."

You try to curb the disappointment inside of you by eating the last spoonful of tart.

"Yeah, sure." you say after, standing and piling the spoons onto the few dishes in your sink before washing your hands.

You open the door of your aparment for him.

"I'll see you in the morning?" He asks.

"Mhmm," You hum the affirmative, "Take care." You add in after a moment.

He gives you a nod, and then he's gone.

You wait, back pressed to the door till you hear the elevator outside ding as it reaches your floor. You're patient for a few more moments before you move, grabbing a throw pillow from your couch and screaming into it out of frustration.

Panting, you give the pillow a little punch for good measure.

What an infuriating man he was, tormenting you this way.

You lie there, with the pillow over your face for a few minutes after the frustration has left your body in a fatigued mess.

The lights clicking on in his home catches your attention.

You hated him.

He made your blood boil, he made your body ache, he made you wet and he took no acknowledgement of his actions.

You reach up, under your dress, tugging your panties off in one swift move, kicking it away to be worried about later.

You groan when your fingers meet the soft edges of your dripping cunt, ready and eager for the pleasure it so deserves.

You suck in a deep breath, arching your back and reaching up to unclasp your bra with sticky fingers, pulling it from below your dress before tugging the straps of your dress down.

You sigh happily, breasts exposed to the open air as your fingers meet your cunt once more, sliding up to brush against your clit, you gasp in surprise, truly unaware of how aroused you really were until now.

You wished he would have kissed you, you think about the filthy way he'd dip his tongue into your mouth and explore. His mouth would taste like the lemon meringue you were sharing, he'd groan into your mouth hopefully, like he was tasting something worthwhile, the way he groaned over your cooking earlier.

You sigh, one hand worrying your swollen bud, while you raise the other to pinch at an unsuspecting nipple. Your breath hitches, losing sight of your surroundings as a sharp wave of bliss overtakes for a moment.

The pillow near your face slips off the couch in your shaking frenzy, and it opens up your line of sight to the windows of his apartment.

You groan, imagines him looking at you while you play with yourself, imagining the filthy words he'd say if he could see you.

You turn your head from your exposed window, facing the couch instead so that you can imagine more clearly that he's watching you.

You tug your dress higher, the wetness between your thighs threatening to spill over and stain your couch.

You think about the way he'd hold you to his body, tight, without any room to breathe or pull away.

What would it feel like to sink down onto his cock? Your breath hitches at the thought. Of having him rock you slowly on his lap, his teeth in your shoulder, your dress undone and barely hanging onto you.

You want to cry from how badly you need him.

You turn your head back to your open window.

There he is.

You shudder out a sigh, working your hand faster between your legs.

You can't see much, the lights behind him casting a shadow over his frame so that you can't see much more than his silhouette.

You know he can see you clearly though, your lights are still on, and you're sure every inch of your body is illuminated for him.

You gasp, tilting your head back, the hand on your breast moving to fist the soft couch tightly as you slowly reach your peak.

Your back arches, and your orgasm slams into you. Your thighs tremble, your entire body shaking, all you can focus on is your clit, circling it just right to prolong the orgasm.

Your nipples tighten further, and you only hesitate for a second before you push two fingers into yourself.

You almost scream, automatically clapping your hand over your mouth as you rock two fingers inside of you.

You remember the way he'd said the word 'pussy' not too long ago.

You turn your head, he's still there.

Enjoying the show? You think in his direction, and when you focus a bit more on his shadow, you notice very subtle movements of his arm. You raise your head to focus on him.

Oh god, is he-

Fuck, he is.

He's touching himself while he looks at you.

You hiss, the very thought of him encourages your hand to move faster, with more force between your legs.

Fuck me, you beg in his direction, I don't want to be your friend anymore.

You let out a long sigh, your fingertips just grazing that blissful spot inside of you.

You lose focus of everything the next time you cum, gasping, trembling, struggling to do anything more than feel the absolute bliss flooding your system, so much pent up frustration caused by being around him being released from you on each breath you take.

You sigh, pulling your fingers out of your dripping center, turning in his direction to look over at him.

One hand pressed to his window, you watch his head drop, his open palm fold into a tight fist, the fast movement of his arm slowing into soft strokes.

He must have orgasmed too.

You smile, tugging your dress up to hide your breasts from his view. You know you should move to clean up soon, the wetness of your arousal growing uncomfortable between your thighs, but your eyelids droop instead, looking at him as he looks at you as you drift off to sleep right there on your couch.

You wake up maybe an hour later, sitting up, and yawning, glancing at his dark window for a second before ambling your way to your bathroom.

You go to bed naked, sheets wrapped around you, too drowsy to worry about your modesty.

A/N: Happy Friday! Here is a photo reference for the dessert.

#werepanther!billy russo #monster!billy #monster!billyrusso #monster!billy russo #billy russo #billy russo x reader #ben barnes #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #billy russo smut

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throwaway-yandere · 2 years

Text

"No." (Yandere!Albedo/Reader)

A/n: I got sick but it just so happens I live off of spite so I finally finished this fic. Most characters are a bit/really obnoxious here. Also, the reader's state of mind and relationships with friends are unhealthy so if you're sensitive to the following CW please skip this fic. (If you're wondering why the fic is... Like this then here's me rambling here)

Unreliable synopsis: You kissed the most popular professor on campus. (Subtle yan!fic)

gn!reader

Cw: yandere, unhealthy friendship dynamics with clingy!sucrose & other characters, student/teacher relationship implications, the reader is an eccentric "class clown" with implied mild impostor syndrome, and small mentions of sexual harassment. (I'm not a medical professional so please take the impostor syndrome warning with a grain of salt– just added it in case this type of content is triggering. This isn't smut and it doesn't fully explore the last topic, but still please reach out for support if you are a victim of sexual harassment. Title IX is a very real thing.)

-------

"Does accidentally kissing someone cross a line in Title IX?"

That sentence alone makes you sound incredibly criminal out of context, and it doesn't get better with it either.

Your long-time friend, Sucrose, became fixated on setting you up with a romantic partner after the breakup you had three months prior.

It was not a heart-wrenching tale, if anything, the entire relationship you had with Arataki Itto plays off as a major joke. You dated the man simply because you thought his impulsive behavior was entertaining, and oddly enough, he found your unpredictable temperament alluring. You just never anticipated that the idiot will buy an overpriced toy drum when you asked him to get a coke and "get something for yourself as well."

It's no surprise you permitted him to spend your money. But that wasn't even supposed to be a gamble. That was just an instruction, and he failed HARD. Arataki "I-swear-you-didn't-say-Pepsi(???)" Itto... got you orange juice.

Breaking up was a huge relief. Instead of adopting a façade of the partner he wants, you have at last discovered the temporary freedom to choose over what you enjoy. For a while, they didn't treat you like a court jester; instead, they gave you the tender care you'd reserve for a helpless person.

Sucrose was distraught when you two decided to stop everything after Itto wasted most of your money by falling for Dori's scam. She appeared to be more affected than you two. Sucrose must have thought of you two as "the Golden pair" since she is naturally fascinated by research about personalities and relationships— more notably the 16 personality types. Seeing you two break up was an antithesis to her defense on the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator test. You broke up due to (financial) differences, and there's no unreliable science needed to learn that.

Here lies the problem: Sucrose refused to give up.

You've heard concerns about her callous demeanor in person and online. Some people thought it endearing that you have a friend who genuinely cares about you, while others consider her nagging to be a burden, and rightfully so.

You felt icky after accidentally seeing her list of candidates, yet you can't bring yourself to make a strong effort to stop her. Sucrose lost two of her best friends last year in an accident, and you are essentially the only support that's keeping her sanity in check, but sometimes you feel as though you are risking your health on the line. She had written down some questionably extensive background on every man and woman she thought was worthy... You don't even want to know why Ajax is on that list.

No matter the reason, that didn't stop Timaeus from barfing out his triple-layered peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"W-WHAT on EARTH did you DO this time?!"

Sure is tough being a menace to society.

Hah... You're already on the brink of a mental breakdown and yet you still kept making self-deprecating jokes.

"WHAT'S with THE reaction?" You asked, casually copying his tone before you sank to your seat. "It's JUST a QUESTION."

"We know how you work, (Y/n)!" He knew you were purposefully trying to rile him up, yet Timaeus slammed a fist on the table in exaggerated disgust. "You did the EXACT same thing last time. You asked us 'hOw bAd woUld iT bE iF I datEd a gaNgstEr' and then you fucking did it anyways! What the hell– heck."

Timaeus's outburst was audible throughout the entire cafeteria, yet nobody seemed to care. The other people you shared the table with, Ying'er, Collei, and Tighnari all cast curious glances at you. It's not as though they have never heard of your misadventures before, frankly, whenever something happens they avidly observe it. You're all inseparable because of your shticks. However, apart from Sucrose, Dorian had been awol from your friend group, and it is no less due to the headline you're about to announce.

None of them took you too seriously, which they should have, given the nature of Title IX. As "good" friends, they should've worried over your safety and overall wellbeing.

You could feel tears of fear and frustration swell up in your eyes.

Yet you couldn't be mad at them for reacting this way.

You're the chaotic link– the friend that didn't quite fit in– assigned to the role of being the "funny one." It started with a single joke until you unintentionally formed a false sense of confidence that you're something bigger than what you are. Everyone thinks you're hilarious, and you're afraid of disappointing them. You weren't trying to be funny most of the time, they just want someone to laugh and point at. Even though you are academically above average yourself, without your carelessness and gambles, you practically have nothing to offer this otherwise brilliant population.

Timaeus may not always deliver the right answer in his alchemy test papers, but he's never wrong about you even if he's drunk off of two bottles of Death After Noon. You recall Timaeus specifically in that instance because he was right; you have no future and you won't amount to anything.

In short, your image dilemma can be summed up by something you said high out of your mind in front of the mirror: "I think I accidentally gained an ego after joking about being hot and sexy one too many times, and now I'm being punished for my hubris." (You're never asking Lisa for philosophy book recommendations on Sundays ever again.)

And if it's true that you have no future and that you're nothing more than an insecure fraud, then you might as well come clean right now and let your "friends" break their ties. It doesn't matter, not anymore.

Ying'er laughed heartily. Contrary to her lover, she loves it whenever you act like this since it makes her normally composed and optimistic boyfriend snap and curse... You would know because she constantly divulges pointless details about how "hot" it was in private messages. And you two weren't even that close when she first did that. But now she's practically your unofficial attorney with how many times she played devil's advocate. You'll miss her.

"Why are you already accusing them? Who knows, maybe they're the victim here, babe. You're being too insensitive."

"Yeah, Tim, you should listen to your girlfriend over here." You nudged him and he glared vehemently.

"(Y/n), you're not supposed to openly agree with me, but yeah, why don't you give them the benefit of the doubt?"

You gave Ying'er a weak friendly wink and a thumbs up, feeling repulsed at yourself deep down. It's incredibly flattering for her to insinuate a professor would find you attractive rather than filing a restraining order.

She'll probably hate you once she finds out the truth, right? She did have a crush on your victim.

"This is them we're talking about." Timaeus glared. "They're bound to do something stupid. C'mon, Tighnari, say something!"

Tighnari merely shrugged and stabbed his fork into a mushroom (presumably poisonous, given its unnatural blue color). He had grown tired of dealing with your antics over the years. No lecture had ever worked in the past, and you both telepathically agreed that streak was not going to end today. You're lying about being self-possessed. He knew that whenever this happens, you were trying to be an idiot, and did not allow yourself to be an idiot. There's a fine difference between those two, and he knows which is which.

In a way, Tighnari views you in a more positive light than most of your friends. And he could sense that you have more grave matters to say.

So, he played along to help you set the mood. "I said this yesterday and I'll say it again: we're studying to become botanists. We're growing plants. Our future job isn't to help them grow a brain."

"Facts." You snapped your fingers and smugly nodded.

"Don't just agree with him!"

"You can grow plants all you want but just know my Timaeus right here doesn't need any more growing if you catch my drift~."

"Ying'er." Collei groaned.

"What? I was just saying his height is perfect enough as it is."

"I feel like we're having thirty different conversations at once."

"Your mother is thirty different conversations at once–"

"Mx. (L/n)."

The table went silent. Except for yourself, who's still droning on, unfinished. Everyone noticed the uninvited man in the cafeteria and their lips were silenced.

Here he is.

"–eeegood evening, Professor Albedo." You stood up from your seat and slightly bowed your head down.

It's the untouchable Professor Albedo. The Alchemy Professor on this forsaken campus exudes a breath of freshness even if the scent of chemicals follows him like an affectionate dog. The only person that students would ogle at amid all the balding learning facilitators. Sucrose's mentor. Dorian's 32-year-old brother. The "Kreideprinz".

And the guy that might just sue you for your careless mistake.

Your circle caught the tension between you two and started watching the scene unfold like a car accident.

Professor Albedo cocked his head forward. You never claimed to be one of his adoring fans who can spot his emotions after one look, but your gut tells you that he's more than amused despite his stoic expression. He's similar to Dorian in that aspect.

"I trust that you've read the excerpt I've sent you?" He asked in almost a whisper.

You thoughtlessly lamely pulled up your library-borrowed copy of Title IX. In your perspective, nothing matters anymore, so you might as well let it out there.

Your friends jolted simultaneously, someone even dropped their utensils while Collei hit her knee up the table and hissed at the pain.

"Oh my God..." Timaeus shuddered.

Your friends had the face that collectively screamed "YOU MADE OUT WITH PROFESSOR ALBEDO?!" in all capitals, bold, italics, underlined, shadowed with thick black strokes– whatever makes it more out there. They're not in the wrong to react that way.

In one single move, you broke 2 rules on the so-called Bro Code, one being the infamous "don't fuck my brother" and the second being the lesser known "don't fuck my professor". Not only that, but most importantly you violated a line or two in Title IX.

Leave it to (Y/n) (L/n) to break more than three rules on the daily.

... You really should stop making jokes as a coping mechanism.

The cafeteria started to murmur, urging their seatmates for information they don't have. You released a small, clipped laugh. You should've thought that one through.

Tighnari meets your eyes with a sympathetic stare. You could tell he had more to say, but your heavy heart no longer wished to know.

"... Great work." The professor said just as nonchalantly. No doubt, he tried to salvage your reputation but you sabotaged it yourself. How wasteful. He beckoned you forward with one finger.

"Come with me. We'll talk somewhere more private."

You walked away from your table and gave them one look.

They were incredibly disturbed to see a small sad smile on your face, rather than the wide mischievous grin that they were used to. After seeing that, they all had one emotionally detached thought in mind:

So, it wasn't a joke after all.

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

You neither like nor dislike Professor Albedo.

There are multiple fluffs about how friendly and dorkish he is as a reclusive person, but none of them sparked your interest. You often feigned reactions whenever Dorian expresses his apparent disdain for his more successful brother, and your sly smile barely reaches your eyes. If anything, hearing about the same man over and over again makes him feel oversaturated rather than entertaining. He's too perfect in those gossips that you're bored to tears.

At least the rumors were positively right about one thing: his tastefully braided blonde hair and blue eyes make him no lesser than a portrait of a prince. But no more special than Dorian, in all honesty. You wouldn't be able to know which is which if they wore similar clothes and let their hair down. They're like clones of each other.

Albedo kept fidgeting a hand inside his pocket, and you can't hazard a guess as to what it is. A recording device, perhaps? You pride yourself on your ability to read and toy people like clockwork. That ability, however, does not translate well with Professor Albedo.

You snapped out of your trance as the professor began reading what was on his clipboard.

"(Y/n) (L/n). 27. Graduate School. Taking a Ph.D. Botany program– though if I hadn't known that, I would've guessed you were a music major." Albedo vaguely pointed at your face without looking. "Your tongue would've fooled me."

You flinched. Is he teasing you or scolding you– you can't make sense of his tone. He's too monotonous.

"Professor, are you uncomfortable right now? If so, I could leave if you wish and we can talk via email instead about your complaint."

Professor Albedo eyed you carefully this time, even though he's squirmish. The tone you used to address him and your overall body language differ greatly from how you behave in the company of your friend group. Your professionalism does not match how the rumors perceive you. This is probably the reason why young professor Kusanali didn't believe any rumors about you. He was impressed.

"Am I supposed to be happy that you’re not giving me a moment of your time?” He said. "It's a bit difficult to achieve that state when you have yet to slip out of my mind. You did assault me yesterday–"

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware of that, Professor." You cringed. "But–"

"Albedo."

"Sorry?"

"You kissed me, (Y/n). I think you can call me Albedo."

"Right." You chuckled nervously. "Like I was saying, P-Professor, it's all a major misunderstanding. I wasn't aiming to assault you."

Albedo raised an eyebrow. He did not miss the way you suavely dodged calling him by name. Other than that, assault is a strong word, and he did not expect you to use it as well.

You thought it was a fitting word to use. Albedo barely makes eye contact, and he probably doesn't like being reminded that you stole a kiss from him.

"It's Albedo. So, you were planning to sexually assault another student?"

He is relentlessly quick on the uptake. Albedo sounded like a cop. What he said was correct, absurdly phrased, but correct nonetheless.

"I mean..." You rubbed your hands against your pants. They were a bit sweaty, and you had to accept the fact you were not faking it. You are genuinely anxious. "When you put it like that, it does sound inexcusable doesn't it?"

"It is a positively hair-raising notion, yes." Albedo deadpanned. "And if I had to take an educated guess, you were planning to assault my younger brother Dorian and you mistook me for him instead."

"..."

Figuring that out was a no-brainer. Although Professor Albedo is older than his brother, their appearance and physique make them appear twin-like. Dorian once droned about how it happened due to Albedo's poor upbringing under their aunt Alice's guidance, making his growth stunted. And his tendency to talk your ear out is one of many reasons why your intrusive thoughts often suggest that Dorian had no personality outside being the renowned professor Albedo's younger brother. Hence, you don't absorb a word of what he says. You didn't listen to gossip often cause you figured that you were not one for trivial gossip like the rest of the student botanists.

... And based on the dilemma you find yourself in now, it appears as though you don't have common sense like the rest of your peers either–

"Please stop woolgathering. Is there a more interesting specimen to take note of on the floor? You seem to be more intrigued by what's on your shoes."

You cringed for what you felt like the 1000th milestone at that point.

"Professor, I know that I sound terrible–"

Albedo sighed. "I would never insinuate that, Mx. (L/n)."

"But you keep cutting me off." You said in a questioning tone. It sounded a lot more polite in your head, yet the famous Kreideprinz was flustered by your reply.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry. I didn't mean to. Carry on. You are aware that you sound like a sex offender, and?"

That came out incredibly cold. It felt like being under the cold blade of a frigid prince, and his icy stare and light complexion just adds the cherry on top. The professor said that he wasn't insulting you but his paraphrasing is exactly that. You didn't comment on it, figuring your education is more important than a harsh remark, and continued.

"... The truth is," you took a deep breath. "I only kissed you cause, well, I mistook you for Dorian, and also because I was trying to get Sucrose–."

"Sucrose?" Professor Albedo's eyebrows furrowed. "Sucrose, one of my–"

"Your student assistants? Y-Yes, sir." You nodded hesitantly. "We're best friends– not that it's unsurprising since I am a bad influence and she's a good person. I recently went through a breakup and she's worried about me. Dorian agreed to fake date and make Sucrose believe that she accidentally found us making out in a room to make it more believable but–"

"You mistook me for my brother."

"... Yeeaaahhh...."

"..."

This reminded you of your conversation with Dorian a while back. You asked if he and his brother would switch lives for a day, and he cackled and told you it happens more than the number you were thinking of. The moment you realized who you were kissing, you clung to the sliver of hope that it was Dorian wearing his brother's lab coat. It was not.

You looked down at your shoes again. It's too embarrassing and shameful that your entire lineage will probably be cursed.

"..."

Knowing that you won't talk until he does, Professor Albedo read through his notes for a topic.

"Understandable. I presume you know my brother because you're both on the same course and are on similar schedules?"

"Yes, sir." Should you tell him the whole fake-date thing was Dorian's idea as well?

"It's Albedo to you. And to add to that, Sucrose is under the impression that we're dating."

"I think so, sir."

"That's not a question, (Y/n), that's a fact." He said. "She recently confronted me to ask if we're dating."

You gulped. Moment of truth.

"What did you tell her, sir?"

"What do you want me to tell her?"

You could hear your pulse pounding in your ears.

On one hand, you want her to know what happened, but at the same time that would just blow you and Dorian's cover story.

But was that a smug tone you heard? Is he toying with you?

You bit your bottom lip.

"... Yes, I think? What did you say, professor?"

"Albedo."

You tilted your head. "What?"

"Respectfully, please call me by my name and I'll tell you the answer." He smirked curtly, but it was gone before you could process it.

"S-Sir!"

Albedo shrugged. "Guess you'll have to ask her directly–"

"Sir Albedo–"

"Hmm, I don't recall having 'Sir' in my birth certificate–"

"Albedo! Albedo!" Geez.

He gave a small smile, longer this time. But he was still avoiding eye contact. You puffed your cheeks, embarrassed.

Prof. Albedo has a slightly twisted sense of humor.

None of this was professional, at all.

You felt your face growing warmer. You can't believe this is the same Albedo everyone is crushing on.

You bit back a sharp retort. He sounded a lot more serious in campus gossip, and not the type to pull on your heartstrings like this. Your faith in that image is wearing thin.

The professor laughed. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting such an enthusiastic reply. You don't have to be nervous around me, (Y/n). I figured that if we were going to do this, you could use my first name.

"I refrained from answering. But, if you wish, I can confirm her suspicions. However, I must inform you in advance that I find relationships rather... Tiresome." Albedo robotically sighed. "I struggle to maintain them, so you will have to guide me."

Never in your life have you ever considered the possibility that a professor in your grad school would ask you to fake a romantic relationship with him.

You digressed, not wanting to make a decision just yet. "But isn't your job in danger?"

Albedo then spoke in a genuine trill of amusement.

"Not at all. Besides, I don't care enough to file a complaint about this incident. Also, you're not my student. Suffice it to say, I've thoroughly checked the handbook and consulted the headmaster herself. Rhinedottir sees no problem with this arrangement–"

Probably because she's your mother.

"–Granted, it will not be in full effect unless you give this a go signal. Will you?"

You looked away.

"This situation... Kinda reads like some cheap Harlequin novel, doesn't it?" You muttered.

It's a great offer. But it sounds too good to be true...

... Did he say that he wasn't going to file a complaint in the first place?

The professor watched as your impassive stare morphed into something uneven and sly but unavoidably empty. You clicked your tongue as your hands slip back to your pockets. Albedo could tell you're holding back an ugly laugh.

A switch had been flipped.

Professor Albedo immediately noticed the change in your demeanor and crossed his arms. He's anticipated this much. There's no way he didn't know about your "self-destructive patterns."

How interesting. For both you AND him.

"So, Albedo." You lazily pointed at him. "Something's fishy about this, don't you think?"

"You're too eager to help. I'd get it if you have something to gain from this, like scaring off your fangirls or something, but you fend them off just fine anyways." You grinned.

"I'm flattered that you think I send them away effortlessly." He answered point-blank.

Albedo turned to you, his face dim and heavily affected by his calm resignation.

"It's incredibly taxing work. I've told you before, haven't I? I may seem calm on the surface but people can be... A considerable handful."

His smile belied the severity of his inner turmoil.

But you can't help but doubt him. You don't buy his pitifulness.

You reassessed the situation in an instant. The Albedo you're talking to acts far from the untouchable Chalk Prince from the get-go. His words did not boast his usual research-riddled speech. This act is more than just premeditated.

Sure. You're the sort who is bound by what you "owe," but you can't say you can't empathize with his problems because he didn't seem-- he ISN'T troubled in the first place. And you're almost sure of it.

You believe you're not smart enough to remain in this university. But at least you have faith that you're perceptive and street-wise.

Still, you kept your hollow cheeky grin plastered to your face.

"Then why aren't you taking a less problematic approach? You could say you're dating Professor Alberich– you'd get some people off your back."

Translation: Can't you just bother someone else?

"By attracting other unpleasant folks pestering me about Kaeya instead, yes, seems like a sound suggestion. I'll keep it in mind for future reference."

Translator's note: He's being sarcastic. Stop trying to worm your way out of this one.

Albedo continued. "But right now that's not viable. If you feel guilty for stealing a kiss from me this may be a good opportunity to ease your conscience."

...

"That's it? But you won't report me if I didn't agree to these terms, right?"

"Of course. I have your best interests in mind and simply warned you." He gave you a faint smile, hoping to ease your nerves. "You're part of Rukkha's batch of dean's listers. I don't have the heart to file a complaint."

Rukkha was a great woman, but you don't deserve your scholarships and sponsors. You don't have any talent or skill to truly impress people, and it seems you fooled both Professor Rukkhadevata and Albedo into thinking you're something special as well.

"Professor...."

But with what he basically said just now is that there are no consequences for your actions.

"It's Albedo, and yes?"

"You seem to have reserved some very unrealistic expectations for me. You should be more distrusting."

"... What do you mean?"

"I don't see any reason to accept your offer." You honestly had no idea where this confidence is coming from. Perhaps your class clown persona had slowly rubbed off on the "real" you, and for once you didn't hate yourself for it.

Because you don't want to be in this relationship. It's legal, yes, and you're old enough, but you're incredibly wary. Albedo may be leagues better than Itto but that's beside the point: you're emotionally spent and you're not ready to get to know another person.

"Oh, understood. For starters, agreeing to these terms will make Sucrose less abrasive with her attempts to set you up, and I could help you with connections."

"That sounds as though I'll be abusing your influence..."

You paused.

Did you tell the professor about Sucrose's disturbing attempts to hook you up with people earlier...?

You don't recall ever sharing that bit of information. You made sure to pick your words carefully so Sucrose wouldn't be seen in a bad light. Since when did he...

"What? No, it's not. It's simply a small trade for your cooperation."

"No."

"And– sorry?"

You can see the appeal. You truly do. When you are chosen by someone of greater influence and intellect, it seems almost magical. He could undoubtedly help your botany profession thrive. Most people would conclude that if Professor Albedo chose them from the crowd, they must be extremely unique in comparison to their peers.

However, this is somewhat unethical. This is the kind of scenario you'd find in a shoddy coming-of-age novel that desperately tries to convince you that there are no other elements to consider but love. However, you must also consider your mental health, reputation, education, and other factors that influence every fiber of your being.

Albedo isn't the type of person who would jeopardize your future over a minor disagreement, but you never know with people. People change as much as seasons do. You are a living example of this. Itto would not have used that argument against you if it were untrue.

You have nothing against those who engage in lawful student-teacher relationships, but you're self-aware enough to recognize that you're not mentally fit to enter one. And sometimes the conclusion is as straightforward as that. Besides, you're sick of having others (including yourself) continually doubting your intelligence. Fake-dating a professor will only exacerbate the situation. Rumors will spread that you only earned your grades because of him and not out of your efforts. Dorian already had it rough, and you've learned what it's like through him. Simple self-preservation.

"Thanks for the offer, really, but no. If I'll date someone, even if it's fake, I want to set it under my terms as well."

You scratched your neck, eyes lifeless.

"I'm sorry, Professor. But I genuinely can't see why this agreement will help both of us, I especially can't see why this will benefit you compared to your other options. I could just come out and say I mistook you for Dorian and it's an easy fix to my problems and in turn, you wouldn't have to deal with the stigma of dating a student. I'm sorry, Prof. I'll take a rain check on it."

You shrugged uncomfortably. "Besides, this is still a student-teacher relationship. I'm uncomfortable being in an uneven power dynamic like that. I'd rather date Dorian instead."

...

Shit.

Okay, maybe accidentally implying that you're open to dating his kid brother had to be the second most uncomfortable thing you subjected Albedo to.

You didn't mean to come off as THAT honest.

A test tube must've cracked somewhere around the area cause you could've sworn you heard something shatter. You flinched, but he didn't.

"... Is that so." The professor muttered. You almost didn't hear him from how silent his defeat was.

You sighed in relief so intense that you physically felt your shoulder muscles relax and your eyes roll back. Seems like he gave up.

"I promise that I'll pay you back in other ways, professor. I owe you and I'm sorry. But I must refuse for both our sakes." You said. "I have taken something important from you, and I will respectfully understand if you file a complaint for what I've done. No one should have a kiss stolen like that."

He didn't reply. Albedo stood there, eyes unblinking as he mulled over your words. At the beginning of this conversation, he barely looked you directly in the eye, but now he refused to look away.

You waited for him to say something else and stood there for a solid minute. Nothing came.

"Please, excuse me."

You wanted to say that you left to give him more time to consider but the truth is that you couldn't bare standing there for a second more so you left in a frantic hurry.

It was only when you left did you realize what made you wary of him the entire conversation.

Professor Albedo wasn't breathing the entire time.

-------

Upon unlocking his door, Albedo was greeted by a boy with a face akin to his. He was waiting for him, and in turn, Albedo anticipated that he would be here, too. The boy sat idly and almost casually inside a room littered with wall to wall of red-stringed photographs and texts, and there was not a single hint of disgust or any other natural reaction on his face. Albedo's nose scrunched.

Dorian did not budge from his brother– master's��office chair. He stared back with a blank expression. Most papers were by his feet, crumpled, but not discarded. How could they be, when all pictures centered around one very precious subject:

You.

You, in all forms, poses, and angles make you ineffably you. These are the candid shots that bring out the little moments that Albedo longed to study under a microscope. They didn't need to be dynamic, rather, Albedo adored the simplest pictures the most. Needless to say, images of you resting is the most popular. It's a lot more convenient and easy to take, but that doesn't cheapen the value and elation the professor feels upon holding the finished polaroid up close.

Every time he swapped schedules with Dorian, he couldn't help but be curious about you.

It doesn't stop there. Albedo clicked his tongue as he noticed the journal Dorian held. It was his dog-eared notes he cleanly put together when jotting down your schedule, private life, and other more delicate intricacies. The clipboard he had earlier is nothing more than a silly prop compared to his actual notes. There's something so breathtaking about making the "unknown" into the "known", and the same applies to every bit of your life that he was curious about. Albedo's aware that it's not something he should brag about. Retrieving paraphernalia such as worn-out gardening gloves and locks of hair from your shower drain was not something he acquired robotically. However, he didn't fancy the idea that Dorian read it and found it just as entertaining as he did. He didn't like the idea of sharing.

Maybe you were right.

Maybe he did reserve some very unrealistic and idolized expectations for you. But that was only because he can see your potential. He firmly believes that. It's an awful and objectifying train of thought, but the professor is convinced he'll be the one who can "fix" your people-pleasing issue.

He figured, if he wants to make sure you'd always be with him, he had to conduct some trial-and-error.

Albedo breathed harshly. He forgot how to do so. He never needed to breath.

"Did it work?" Dorian asked. "Did your plan work?"

His eyes went dim.

Albedo didn't answer.

He locked the door again. This time, he allowed Dorian to keep the lights on. If anything, it's a small reward for indirectly helping him. But not even his fellow creation can have what the genius professor of the century desires to attain. He has to face the truth.

Albedo pulled out a recording device from his pocket. You said no. There's nothing he could do about that.

"No."

"No. No. No. No. No--"

He played your refusal over and over again.

He thought he did everything right. He genuinely believed he followed the right procedure in getting you to say yes. What went wrong, then? Albedo doesn't get it. He was sure that he didn't say anything wrong or suspicious as well. You shouldn't have known that he had been following you from that conversation alone.

"No."

He practiced everything for hours.

"No."

Word for word.

"No."

He researched tips and tricks on how to let other people's guard down.

"No."

He thought not pressuring you to do it will make you more willing.

"No."

He even asked Alberich how to subtly flirt with someone.

"No."

So. What went wrong?

"No--"

Albedo slowly blinked before realizing he had thrown the device against the wall in full force. The batteries and their other internal components spilled on the floor. He didn't have the willpower to clean it up.

It's an undeniable error. He still can't believe his approach failed.

Master was right.

"Dearest Albedo, if you can't have them in their most authentic self, then what's stopping you from making an indistinguishable copy?"

#tag: no - albedo #yandere genshin x reader #yandere albedo #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere fanfiction #yandere #yandere genshin imagines #albedo x reader #yandere male #yandere oneshot #ansy-writes

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brianna-lei · 1 year

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Butterfly Soup 2 Asks #1

It's that time again...I-just-released-a-game-and-am-answering-questions-about-it Time!

I get way too many asks to answer individually, so I've consolidated some commonly-asked ones along with a few I thought would be fun to answer!! Sorry if your ask isn't in here!

I put all the lore/character questions first and all the "real world" questions (like about the merch shop) at the bottom. Obviously there's spoilers below so if you haven't played Butterfly Soup 2 already go do that!

LORE

What was Akarsha thinking when she confessed to Noelle that it was her brother who sent the chat message and not her? Did she think Noelle would remember? Or did she know Noelle wouldn’t?

Akarsha thought Noelle would remember. In Akarsha’s mind, that incident was so conspicious and embarrassing, there’s almost NO WAY Noelle would forget it. To Akarsha, this was practically her telling Noelle directly, “I have a crush on you.”

Unfortunately, it was much less memorable on Noelle’s end because she didn’t see Akarsha in that way and genuinely did believe it was just her brother typing nonsense at the time. And it doesn’t help that it was buried in months’-worths of Akarsha’s wacky messages.

When Noelle doesn’t really respond to her confession at the assembly, Akarsha has two theories:

Noelle remembers, and doesn’t like her back

Noelle doesn’t remember (unlikely)

And she doesn’t know which one it is.

You guys are going to hate me for this, but because they’re Disaster Gays it takes them YEARS after that to become official.

As I was writing the assembly scene I kept thinking: If only Min could possess one of them for 10 seconds and just blurt out “I like you, will you go on a date with me”! It would’ve saved them literal years of confusion and turmoil...

Why was Akarsha in handcuffs at the end of the game?

You’ll understand when you’re older. Don’t worry about it!

It was so out of character for Noelle to start crying over Akarsha when she got hurt!

Noelle is so emotionally repressed 24/7 that when something jabs her unexpectedly, she sometimes loses control and it all starts rushing out like water out of a pressurized tube. That's why she randomly starts crying when Chryssa praises her in the first game.

So in my opinion, if she suddenly thought Akarsha was possibly dead or seriously hurt, she'd react how she did (as corny as it is)! I think that part also got colored by something that happened partway through development. My dad fell and hit his head on something so hard that he nearly died! So when Akarsha falls and hits her head, I think I see it as a lot more serious and scary than most players do.

This actually reminds me of a bit I’ve had in my head for many years now! When Noelle's in college, it's her first time in an environment where Asians are a minority. So she doesn't have asian food for a long time, but isn't aware that it's bothering her.

One day Min drives over to her college and takes her to H-Mart, and when they walk in Min goes "ok I know it's Korean and not like Chinese or whatever" and out of nowhere Noelle starts crying

Why do Noelle's joints crack every time she sits or lies down?

Because she’s stiff and doesn’t exercise enough. It’s harmless but whenever Diya hears it, she’s like :(

Is Ester’s webcomic based on/a reference to (webcomic here)?

Nope! Ester was inspired by a few friends of mine, including one who worked on her stories at school in a notebook. Her webcomic’s plot is based on a story idea I had at her age.

Are you SURE X character doesn’t have autism/ADHD? It’s so obvious!

My original answer to this years ago was “I didn’t intentionally do any research on either of those conditions, and I wasn’t aiming to portray them specifically.”

Well..........A while ago, I finally properly started doing research, and a lot of what I learned about autism sounded eerily relatable. So I took every autism diagnostic test I could find online and they all said I was autistic. I’m like 75% sure I am, but at my age I’m not sure I’ll ever get a real diagnosis.

So maybe all my characters are accidentally neurodivergent because I am? I feel like Diya is for sure because I gave her a lot of traits I relate to that I now know are signs of autism.

What are Akarsha and Noelle’s kids like? Do they have any pets?

I think I'll keep it secret for now, sorry! But I saw this comment on Reddit once and this is their family on April Fool’s day. Akarsha is the one faking a heart attack and Noelle is the one making the soup

Before they had kids, Akarsha and Noelle got the most fucked up old cat from the shelter because Akarsha felt sorry for him. He’s affectionate toward them, but he’s rude to their guests like Diya/Min and hisses at them for no reason.

How does Akarsha's parents feel about her and Noelle dating?

Before Noelle and Akarsha started dating, Akarsha's parents really liked Noelle. She made such a good impression on them at the birthday party that she became their Favorite Friend, so they'd ask Akarsha about her a lot.

One day Akarsha watches an LGBT+ movie with her parents and thinks "Since they like the movie so much, they'll be okay with my sexuality!”

Akarsha's dad is cool with it, but her mom isn't. She says those things only work in movies, and that those people aren’t happy in real life. She blames Akarsha's dad for constantly saying fruity things and in the same breath goes "Everyone thinks girls are hot! That's just normal"

She and Akarsha's dad have a few arguments over it and after Akarsha's dad claims he'll go on a "hunger strike" (???) she does come around. She ultimately becomes a very supportive Ally who sends Akarsha random news articles about gay celebrities like Ellen DeGeneres

So by the time Akarsha and Noelle actually start dating, Akarsha's parents are onboard with it. They end up being the family Noelle always wished she had

Real world questions

When is the online store coming back? I’m hoping to reopen it within the next couple months! I’m hoping to restock Min’s jacket and the charms, and I wanna add new prints and plushies of the main four. If anyone has manufacturer recs for any of these that they’re willing to share, please let me know!

Are you going to make a Butterfly Soup 3?

I have an idea for a third game, but there’s a couple other projects I’m busy with (and am pretty excited to show you guys!) so I won’t be making it for several years.

Is it alright if I write a fanfic of Noelle and Akarsha’s wedding/smut/my headcanon of the characters being trans/etc etc etc ?

Write whatever you want! Just please be mindful of younger fans and make sure to tag sensitive content appropriately. And don’t ask me to read it because I can’t! I’m legally not allowed to.* *EDIT: Okay, this was a bit of an exaggeration, but I've heard that it's a bad idea for a variety of reasons! So it's a can of worms I'm not going to open as a creator

#my post #briANSWER #ask #Butterfly Soup #butterfly soup 2

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fourmula1 · 10 months

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summer of cum day 7: multiple orgasms

(previous days)

max/daniel. 839 words. depressed omega daniel universe. for @accidentalf1stan, who is depressed omega daniel's biggest champion ♥

Daniel really didn’t know if he’d ever get here again.

Get to a place where not only would he want sex with his alpha again, but to where he could come, and come again.

And again.

Max has worked two intense orgasms out of him already with just his mouth and his fingers and Daniel is trembling with the anticipation and desperation of more. Since his meds started helping they’ve been a lot more sexually active and Daniel’s grateful for it; for the closeness and security it brings to their bond, for the ability to please his alpha, for the satisfaction he never thought he’d feel again after being knotted by Max.

They’d started slow, just simple, easy sex to test the waters and see how Daniel felt about it emotionally, now that his body had the desire again.

Max had been gentle, sweet, good to him the whole time and not pushed too hard. Never too hard. Just enjoyed taking care of his omega without overwhelming Daniel.

Now, though, Daniel’s sex drive is fully online again and he’s taken with just how good it is to come for his alpha, to show his alpha he’s doing a good job. Daniel whines high in his throat as Max’s fingers ease out of him after his second orgasm – good, but not enough. Not full enough.

“Please,” Daniel whimpers, feeling that lonesome pit in his stomach at the loss of his alpha’s touch. Between his legs, Max pushes up onto his hands and knees, grins at Daniel as he nudges Daniel’s legs that much winder to fit between them.

“Please what?” Max asks, and Daniel can feel Max’s delight. Can feel how happy Max is to be connecting with Daniel, to be re-strengthening their mating bond, to touch Daniel like this again.

“I want your knot,” Daniel whines, catching himself off guard by just how deeply true it is. Since they started having sex again Daniel’s always been happy to have Max inside of him, to feel their connection, but he’s a little taken right now with just how much he wants it. He hasn’t felt desire like this in months. Max has wrung two orgasms out of him already and Daniel still wants more.

“Oh my god,” Max pants, pulling a full lip between his teeth as he nudges Daniel’s knees back to spread him wider, wider still. Daniel can feel how wet he is; slick and messy and it sends a thrill up his spine to know, to know, he’s everything that Max desires.

“Knot me,” Daniel says, reaching down between them to curl his hand around Max’s dick, stroke him a few times, tug to get the point across. “Max, please, I need it,” he says, babbling now until he watches Max nod and feels Max press against him, press his dick inside in a smooth, deep grind.

Gasping, Daniel arches his back as his dick twitches against his belly, still hard despite Max making him come twice. He shivers through a little mini orgasm, dick dribbling a little against his belly as Max hooks his elbows under Daniel’s knees and folds his legs back, folds him in half to fuck him hard and deep.

Daniel can only cling to Max, head tossed back as Max fucks him, moaning for his alpha. He hasn’t had this in so long and he can’t help but to just ride out the feeling. He can’t do anything but take what Max has to give him, feels himself simmering under, floaty, warm, happy, both so deeply in and out of his body at the same time.

Daniel can feel Max’s knot and the way it grows, the way Max has to push a little harder now until finally he locks into place. When he feels Max come inside him, deep and satisfying every omega desire he has, Daniel comes too – again – not even hearing himself and the involuntary little omega coos he lets out as Max fills him.

When he’s through the intensity of it all, coming back to himself out of his omega fog, there’s Max safely on top of him, inside of him, stroking through Daniel’s sweaty curls and pressing kisses over his cheek and nose, nuzzling in. Daniel blinks up at him and can’t help the soft little ‘oh’ he whimpers when he sees the tears welled in Max’s pretty blue eyes.

“I haven’t heard you do that in so long,” Max says, as he leans in to press a kiss to Daniel’s lips. “I missed it, missed you, like this,” he says as he tucks his head down and nuzzles into Daniel’s neck to graze his teeth over the mating mark there. Daniel clings to Max, shivering at the pressure against his mark, feels overwhelmed with it all.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” Daniel whispers as he closes his eyes. Max has been the most patient, loving, kind alpha Daniel’s never felt he deserved.

Max’s warm, deep alpha rumble against his chest is all the answer Daniel needs.

#summerofcum2023 #maxiel #depressed omega daniel #my ficlet

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stupidsexpotflanders · 3 months

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Dr. Chase,the physician from The Land Down Under

In the Season 8 episode "Dead and Buried",Chase appeared in a TV show playing a stereotypically Australian doctor on some skit(there was no Watsonian explanation given for this,I love how bonkers House MD can be). Despite the embarassment when House and Taub found the video,Chase's "first and big role" was massively beneficial to him.

It started on early clinic duty,due to a mistake. Chase was approached by some random teenager who saw him online. She was wondering why the actor was dressed like a doctor in a hospital waiting room;

In response,Chase claimed to be an aspiring actor wanting to make it in show business. He donned a fake but convincing American accent and a beautiful smile. The girl,now smitten by the not-so-fake doctor,asked to take a selfie with him;

The other professional at the scene were fuming and confused at the same time. Chase was hidden in plain sight,there was no way to convince the other patients the guy was an actual doctor;

The way out of clinic duty was discovered,and Chase was over the moon. He looked up the girl's social media,lo and behold,she not only posted the pic with him but also said she wanted to see more of him;

Chase created social media profiles for his character,totally separated from his professional/personal ones(that were very low-key and private,especially after the nude pic fiasco. As for professional fame,Chase didn't need more than he had - Princeton-Plainsboro was cozy and high-stakes enough). The character was named Robert Chase as well. Between the fact that his name was already common and the fact that "Doc from Down Under" had way more fame than "Head of Diagnostics/House's Successor",it would make him being hard to found out with search mechanisms(this particular tactic made Robert love the fact that the surname Červený was far too complicated for the immigration officers that recieved his father in Australia. Robert Chase vs Robert Červený says it all). To top it all,the real "Dr. Robert Chase" might look like an elaborate goof;

Now,onto how Dr. Chase would be able to keep the facade and his medical career. His main method of testing the candidates to Diagnostics Fellows is to have them pretend to be R. Chase - regardless of gender,race or any characteristics. Of course,he's keeping tabs on both the new doctors and patients - same doctors see the same patients. It has a double usefulness - the candidates have to be skilled with deceit and quick on their feet while able to be coordinated by Chase himself;

When it comes to the cases themselves,Chase goes see the patients sometimes,but always in a disguise(glasses,a thick beard,make up to look 10 years older and a British accent(canon have him an American accent for no reason,so let me make Chase a fake Brit!);

Oftentimes,Chase is seen making videos of the Doctor. After a while,his videos had extremely simplified explanations of complicated diseases. The simplifications were done by someone who deeply understood the pathologies,anyone with medical knowledge would see it. The cherry of the cake was when American Accent Chase played the dumb person who needed said explanations(but still struggled to understand them). His underlings found it annoying but overlooked it,because Chase was generally competent and nice overall;

Last but not least - Chase got away with all that BS because competence levels and he was fucking his boss. Foreman is just as batshit,he's classy about it tho.

Just gimme Chase being just as chaotic as House,but in different ways,please!

#house md #robert chase #eric foreman #choreman #foremanchase #foreman x chase #shitpost

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hooked-on-elvis · 28 days

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okay, hiiii! so ahem, I’m not too sure if you’ve watched elvis’ “stay away, joe,” and if you haven’t you really should. although it’s kinda…iffy, he’s so damn fine in there 😮‍💨🫠

I’m really curious about one of his ladies in the film! Quentin Dean, do you know anything or any info as in if they’ve had a bond, or any outtakes?

She randomly popped into my head after watching the wh0rehouse scene in the ‘68 comeback, bc susan henning lowk looked like her in it?!?! lol I think it’s the bangs or sumthin’

But please and thank you, I gotta know!

Hi, Lexy! I'm so, so sorry for taking so long to answer your question, dear. Thank you for reaching me out for information on Elvis' movies, I feel honored you'd think of me for this, really. If there's something I love to talk about, concerning Elvis' career, this is it, his movies — even if it's not always I am lucky finding satisfying info on them, like in this case. 😣

I've spent a long, long while trying to find anything about Quentin Dean and her relationship with Elvis during making of Stay Away Joe (that's why I took so long so answer you) - from Youtube videos to movie magazines articles, but unfortunately I still haven't.

Strangely, Quentin Dean retired pretty quick from Hollywood, after only 4 movies done and very few one-episode appearances in some Western TV shows.

Her acting career (TV and movies) lasted from 1967 to 1969, two years, and it's just bizarre since she was nominated for a Golden Globe Awards for Best Supporting Actress due to her first role on the big screen on the Oscar winner movie (Best Picture) 'In the Heat of the Night' (1967). This movie was released the same year Quentin filmed Stay Away Joe with Elvis (filmed from October 9 to November 27, 1967, released on March 8, 1968).

Quentin Dean prepared for her screen test for the Academy Award Winner movie In The Heat of the Night (1967).

Curiously enough, other than the movies, one of the few TV shows Quentin worked on was The Virginian, created by - guess who! - Charles Marquis Warren, director/producer/screenwriter of Charro! (1969 *updated for minor correction on date -- 'Charro!' was filmed during July and August of 1968 and released in 1969*). Quentin appeared in only one episode of that show, but even so, why would she give up her acting career so fast? She surely had good network in Hollywood... that's just weird. What's worse is that it seems she rarely gave interviews during her acting career and/or denied interviews after retiring from Hollywood, which would explain why her interviews are so hard to find.

1968. Quentin Dean as Saranora on The Virginian (TV Series, 1962–1971) S7. E1 "The Saddle Warmer".

I really tried to find any interview with her, and there must be some, but with a career as short-lived as hers the journalists' interest for details on her acting career is not that big, therefore there aren't modern articles online (that I have put my eyes on) and the existing vintage 60s printed ones weren't scanned and shared online so far, I suppose. 😣 What a shame!

I am confident (or just hopeful) there must be some kind of information concerning her work relationship with EP in books specifically dealing with Stay Away Joe making of, such as "Elvis: Behind The Scenes Speedway & Stay Away Joe" by Erik Lorentzen. I haven't read this book yet, unfortunately. I'm so sorry for not being helpful for now, dear. I tried. I wish I knew something. :( If any friend reading this have already read this book and know something helpful, please, feel free to share what you know with our community. ♥

Well, since we're talking about it already, if you ask me I'd say Elvis and Quentin had a pretty good professional relationship but not as close as Elvis and some of his other leading ladies had. This is pure speculation on my part, but I have a reason to think so. This if one of the movies Elvis did (this one and 'Kissin' Cousins', maybe a few others too, not sure) that Priscilla -- as well as some of the wives from the Memphis Mafia guys -- was right there watching Elvis work in the filming set. I'm not implying Elvis would have had any intimate relationship with Quentin if Priscilla hadn't been there on the filming set or anything but, speaking on friendship matters, it makes sense Elvis would have spent more of his time on set, during breaks from filming, with his gang than with the other actors. Not sure but if so, Quentin wouldn't have many opportunities to get better acquaintance of him, I guess she wouldn't have much to say about him as a person because of this.

What I can say is: below is a "behind the scenes" picture [on the right], not a publicity shot for what I've read. Judging from their faces, Elvis and Quentin had fun working together. ✨ I know, I know... this is not specific but this is what I can share for now.

I'm gonna keep trying to find some information about Quentin's career, and hopefully on her accounts over working in Stay Away Joe. I really wish I could understand why her acting career was so short and what she has done afterwards in her life, so maybe in interviews she shared something about it.

For now, I'm humbly gonna share some of the pictures of Stay Away Joe. And, yes, I've watched it! I've watched all of Elvis' movies.

Stay Away Joe didn't catch my heart at first but little by little it grew on me. Now it is one of my favorite Elvis movies, even tho I still think it's an extremely noisy and a little messy-looking movie too. LOL. Even so it's a good movie... here and there I re-watch it. ♥

Elvis Presley (Joe Lightcloud), Joan Blondell (Glenda Callahan), and Quentin Dean (Mamie Callahan) in Stay Away Joe (1968)

And, to make all of us a little happier, our man:

Stay Away Joe (1968 released, filmed in late 1967)

#elvis presley #quentin dean #stay away joe #1968 #elvis movies #elvis films #elvis fans #elvis fandom #60s movies

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1997yakul · 5 months

Text

Don't Leave Your Lunchbox in the Aisle

.·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　✩　̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ ..·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙　

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

Hey, you! Yeah, you! Stop there!

Na Jaemin needs a tutor before he’s booted off the basketball team and loses his chance at a scholarship. (and probably his mom's respect...) Can you help out?

You have a slightly awkward history, yet still maintain your unbearably ginormous crush? You're the perfect candidate!

☆ ☆ ☆ Sign up here! ☆ ☆ ☆

(masterlist) ☆ (nct masterlist)

.｡.:*♡ Pairing: student!jaemin x tutor!gn reader

Word Count: 7,9k (one-shot)

✧ Tags: unreciprocated crush to lovers(?), angst, fluff, humor, kissing, pining, swearing, detention buddies yay, tutoring, slowburn, You Fell First! He Fell HARDER!(punches wall)

start + end date: September 21 2021 - October 6 2022

✧ Notes: this was written for my lil friend bongbong who likes a slice of the weird jaemin pie. Shes always hyping up my stuff and supporting me in my weird endeavors. Shoutout bongbong!!!!!!!

originally posted on ao3

✩ fic is below the cut! enjoy ✩

There's something weirdly satisfying about the feeling of your sweated out forehead peeling off of your desk. It's sticky and kind of hot, probably due to the piles of blankets you shrugged over your shoulders in a fit hours earlier.

It was a promise you made to your mother that brought you here, the brilliant plan to study at any moment of downtime and then take the exam when you got home from helping her at her work. It seemed sort of.. ingenious at the time..? Now, everything's kind of flipped belly up as you drag your finger in panicked circles across your trackpad. You did submit it, right? Wiping at one of your eyes in horror as you wake your laptop up, there's this white box with black text that stands front and center on the screen before you.

'Assignment is no longer available. Click 'close' to return to classroom homepage.'

"What?" You whisper to yourself, eyes fluttering to the bottom right of your screen. The time reads 1:49 AM. Your hand falls to your desk with a thump, and the blankets on your back slide off pathetically.

This type of shock doesn't send you into a full blown panic, not yet. Tapping the 'close' button, you exhale and watch as the page reloads. Searching for the 'Midterm Exam' assignment ends up being a useless, piteous effort. It's now listed under the locked 'Past Assignments' bar.

"No. I turned it in." You lean back in your chair, shaking hair back from your face as you give yourself another moment to think. "Yeah." It's kind of a lie, you think. Maybe just speak it into existence. Falling asleep in the middle of an online test is simply not possible. Not for you at least. Not one that's worth 50% of your grade. Not one that you were sure you already finished last night after you showered.

"It wasn't submitted, I'm not sure how else to tell you this."

Sometimes, things just fall apart.

"I swear I submitted it. I did it when I got home last night."

Your hybrid schedule due to the pandemic has you at a socially distanced desk for 4 hours every Tuesday and Thursday, and the masks make it hard to see if your teacher has an expression of actual sympathy or just really needs to shit. Eyes alone are not enough to piece it together, you realize. He slips this red piece of paper onto the surface of your desk before moving on to the student behind you.

It's asking for a guardian's signature of knowledge that you failed to turn in your midterm.

Across the room leaned up against the far wall, Na Jaemin holds his red card too. He flicks it loudly, his eyes dashing over the brim of his white sanitary mask from left and right as students pass by.

'the desks are socially distanced but students are allowed to get up and walk around and talk to their friends lollll'

Incomes a text from Chenle from the front row, glittered with emojis of zany faces and tongues.

'stupid af' He texts again, his head swiveling to face you to see if you're checking your phone. He turns back.

'how tf did you get a red card???'

You sigh, brushing hair out of your face before texting back.

'i feel asleep before i clicked the submit button'

'bruh' Chenle replies after a short moment.

'i heard if you do a sport or like lead a club or something the principal will just like let u graduate anyway'

He texts again, tacking on an emoji of a cat smirking.

‘i’ll be fine it’s just gonna suck to get my mom to sign it but she will understand… i got the whole rest of the semester Dw dw’

Your eyes go a little blurry with sleep, sneaking a glance at Jaemin against the wall as you yawn. He's typing something rather ferociously on his phone keyboard. His hair is dyed a chestnut brown, his roots grown out an inch in black, swept forward falling over his eyes.

You have been on the same bus as Jaemin since your 10th year at high school, transferring from an online school experience suddenly after a move. Growing up with close to no one you could consider a friend, Jaemin was the first person who ever caught your eye enough to call it interest. He was peak ‘public school’. He seemed friendly, charming, athletic, outgoing— he was the stop right after yours and was always running after the bus. Waving his arms as he chased it down until someone in the back would call up to the driver to tell him he missed someone. It felt like a scene from a movie, like there was no way that he was not the love interest.

Never did he ever forget to shoot the bus driver this breathless smile as he took the stairs two at a time. So hopped up on adrenaline and determination it made your head spin. In the Summer, the humid mornings with the sun already risen in the sky, dribbles of pearlescent sweat beads would slither down his temples like cobras, and in the Winter, the sky would be dark and ominous and Jaemin would board with a cherry red nose, only visible by the bus' interior lights. Every morning you watched just for that same smile, and every morning each one was more charming than the last. You watched again and again, just to dart your eyes away as soon as he finished giving his thanks to the driver.

Everything changed, whether it was the changing of the seasons or the changing of semesters, everything changed except Na Jaemin's stupidly charming smile. Your pupils would fall to your bag in your lap to twiddle your thumbs and deal with these childish feelings that boil up and bubble over like a science experiment gone wrong.

He was so super popular because of his endless prettiness and confidence. One time he came to school in a crop top and got dress-coded. He was even seen arguing with staff in the middle of the hallway holding the wrist of another student, bickering endlessly until the staff argued back with words just a little too big for him, words that left Jaemin just a little too quiet, and then he would just smile— laugh at it. The girl with him who had tears in her eyes over their failed attempt at a protest patted at his back for them to leave. He moved on, but never gave up. He would try again in a month. He was unstoppable. He’d lose with a smile.

That's probably one of the most disappointing things about the situation of the world right now. It may sound selfish and of such the tiniest amount of importance, but the worst part of the masks and the social distancing was easily missing out on Jaemin's smile each day. No matter if he was pissed off, shocked, confused, disappointed, he would smile that beautiful smile that would make you feel like projectile vomiting glitter.

Somehow everything he did was interesting. Attention-worthy. Your head lifts up from its downward position, relocating to face where you last saw Jaemin, but he's missing.

There's suddenly 3 messages from Chenle.

'after school today, let's go get snacks.’

'oh wait does the red card mean detention?'

'earth to my astronaut?? helloooo'

You sigh, running your fingers along the edge of the thick paper thoughtlessly. "Ouch!" Comes shooting from your mouth, your body jolting in your seat. Your blood oozes in a thick stream from the fresh cut on your finger, instinctually, you draw it to your mouth. The rough papery material of your mask presses to your lips, and shaking your head out of the clouds helps you realize the last minute you lost to your daydreams. There's a stifled laugh from the side of the classroom, and for a moment you split to smile back at them with your usual "Yeah, I'm kind of an idiot sometimes. It's okay!" reassuring aura, but this time it's not a friendly face among your acquaintances of peers, but Huang Renjun and Jung Sungchan.

There's something so unnerving about being laughed at by students who you just have the most powerful sense of superiority complexes from. It's not like they've ever been outright mean, but with students so judicious, sometimes they don't have to be mean to feel mean. Like they must just already have everything so carefully set up for them that they have not a single care in the world. Like they're above high school and probably understand how investing in stocks works (Cool people don’t understand stocks!) and have their life planned out til 40.

The worst part is that Na Jaemin is standing there next to them. His eyes fall flat of emotion, his face is angled down at his phone, but his eyes, heavy-lidded, are staring at you. Your hand slides across your face, arm covering your mask and its fresh blood splotch, turning your head to face the window.

Sometimes you wonder how Jaemin can deal with so much attention. With eyes that seem to always be on him. Of course your eyes were a part of them too… something deep inside hoped he could tell you thought of him differently. It wasn’t just that one day with the crop-top, before that he would get dress-coded everyday for his shoes. He would wear Converse, black on black instead of the dress shoes all students were meant to wear. He used to be given notes to bring home every single day. It took a month or two for them to just give up on him changing for them. Some people saw it as him being stubborn, or said it had to do with how much money his parents made, but you thought it was a small type of heroism.

Detention is packed, seriously packed to the brim, students overflowing the desks and crammed into all corners of the classroom. It's definitely not following coronavirus regulations, but at this point you're less than surprised at your country's 'safety in the education system' plan. More than anything in this moment, you'd pay to get a glance at Jaemin. Wherever he may be smushed, you just knew he must've looked amazing. It felt like an insatiable addiction to just take glances at him throughout the day, like, A Little Fix Here! and A Little Fix There! With a fresh mask on, you felt like you could take on the world, like, sure, you made a fool of yourself earlier– but he probably doesn't know who you are, so it doesn't even matter!

Your phone buzzes from deep inside your bag, and you begin searching for it instinctively before the instructor at the front of the room makes some lame call-out for you to stop. A mere "Oh, shit. Yeah." slips off your tongue before you lean back up to your desk, but your head hits the underside of the hard surface. The quiet class, filled to the brim with students, all turn and stare. Your hands fly to grip at the desk you just hit your head on. Today isn't one for the books, obviously.

"You're alright." Whispers from the windowsill, and your brain shuts down.

It's Jaemin.

His hand is atop your head, petting carefully.

You don't even know how it got there, or when all of this just decided to take place, but today is now absolutely the best day ever. Totally one for the books!

"Thank you." You whisper back. It's kind of coy and cute, and you don't mean for it to come out that way, but your nerves have encumbered you from saying anything even slightly self-assured.

"Take care of yourself." He whispers again, this time, it matches your tone. Bashful. "You hurt yourself a lot nowadays."

"Oh." Comes tumbling from your lips before you can catch it, scrambling for words to act as a proper response to what feels like flirting. Is it flirting or just genuine kindness? So he saw you earlier, is this him bullying you? Why was it so sexy though? Is it Na Jaemin or is it Eros? Aren't they sort of the same thing at this point?

His hand falters from your head, and your own darts up to smooth down any misplaced strands of hair. Jaemin swings his legs back up onto the vent before him, leaning his back against a beam between two large windows. The room is quiet besides some whispering here and there, but before Jaemin can help it, he returns to face your desk again. His legs fall over the edge of the sill again, slouched comfortably. Thighs spread like syrup over hot pancakes, his hands running down his slacks until they pause at his knees, smoothing wrinkles as he goes. He's leaned much further forward now, and his breath is calm. Warm and subtle, he blinks through dark eyelashes and asks

"Why are you so nervous?"

Probably the worst thing to ask someone who is nervous. He continues, "Is this your first time in detention?"

You exhale deeply, there's not even an effort in trying to conceal it. It's like a boulder has just been heaved off of your chest. He isn’t flirting, he’s just being nice. "I should've guessed. You have big eyes that look to explore, but you're keeping to yourself."

Interesting. Almost poetic.

"Would you rather me talk to you?" You ask, suddenly feeling a chill up your neck. When were your eyes ever considered big?

"No." He answers, soft and serious before his eyes squint in laughter.

Short puffs of contentedness leave your nose in muffled exhales. Everything feels so right at this moment. "Same here."

"Too bad." He whispers, this time, the hair that has feathered over your ear brushes against your cheek when his breath reaches you. It smells like coconut and spearmint, he chews gum behind his mask, which is obviously outlawed. You know he’s a rule breaker, but now he’s breaking rules around you… it’s sexier. He's flattening himself out even more now, practically folding to reach his arms to cross over themselves on your desk, head falling atop of them. "Have we met before?" He blinks up at you, kittenish and cute.

Internally, you are scolding your heart like a dog that jumps too much. Down boy! Calm yourself! But the ba-boom, ba-boom grows stronger, louder, and Jaemin is just getting closer, and closer. "I don't remember. I don't think."

"You don't think?" Jaemin repeats, his beaming smile lights up his face, although he's got a mask on to cover the best part, it reaches his eyes easily. Somehow it comes with great beauty and delivers great anxiety. "We're on the same bus. You don't recognize me?"

"Oh!" You beam back with overzealous surprise, you big fat fibber. "You're on bus 127 too?" You nod, his Converse with the tears in the canvas nudging against your shoes.

"Yeah. I thought we made eye contact a few times. I guess my face is more forgettable than I thought. Darn." At this point, his fingers are tracing circles around scribbles on the desk. It's so painfully obvious you've been caught and he thinks it's hilarious to see you suffer so immensely. He knows you've been watching him all this time, it's humiliating.

Something inside, lost in the depths of repressed feelings, clicks in that moment. Like, is this it? Are you just another privileged stupid asshole that has fun messing with people who fall for your amazing face? "Dumbass." You gasp, hand flying up to your masked face, eyebrows darting up on your forehead. "Sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

"Dumbass." Jaemin repeats with a scoff and a laugh. "I'm not a dumbass! You're the dumbass. I'm not blind, you look at me all the time!" He's whisper-shouting and some people are starting to glance over in your general direction. "Why would you possibly stare at a person so much? Because you have a crush."

"I do not have a crush, Jaemin. You wish."

"So you do know me?" He leans back up against the window sill again, his right shoulder resting on the support beam.

The teacher up front smacked the yardstick on the chalkboard twice, dismissing students in a matter of seconds. Jaemin is quick, his foot slamming a strap of your backpack on the floor. You look up, one hand around the free backpack strap, the other pressing down on your desk. You glare at him for a second. "Do you know my name?"

"Y/N."

There's this slow motion moment of silence where you realize, "Wait, you know me?"

"Since the first day back to school. Where you sat in my seat on the bus with your hair all sweated to your forehead and your lunchbox in the aisle." You stare up at him, maybe two or three inches below. Why is blinking suddenly impossible? "You had the baseball cap you used to wear, the red one." He motions a hand to the left side of your forehead, mimicking the brim of the cap. The classroom is empty, your knuckles whitening at the tautness of the pull on your backpack. "Let go for a minute." He asks, and it feels very genuine, so you do.

"I have to go home and study, like now. If I fail this class I'm done for." You push in your desk chair and look back up at Jaemin. "I would really appreciate my bag now." You lay your hands out flat, palm up. Somehow there's tears swelling in your eyes, and if you cry right now, that'll be super embarrassing. So you close your eyes to hold them back.

It's quiet for a second until two footsteps place Jaemin behind you. His hand envelopes a shoulder as he drags a strap over each one. It's scary how careful he is.

"There." He whispers, it's very quiet. "I'm sorry." He says, so quiet it's like he wants to not be heard.

"Sorry." You return, opening your eyes again. The window shines in the brightest sunshine you've seen for a while, you blink a few times and wipe away wetness before turning around. He stands lanky and still, head hanging mysteriously low in shame. "Don't feel bad, sorry I didn't react like how you're used to."

"I'm not used to any response at all, that was my first… statement."

"Confession?" You correct, and watch as his eyes trail back and forth between the tiles on the floor. His hands fiddle at his sides, fingers touching each other all over. You take quick steps and wrap your arms wide around him, feeling the back of his neck in one slide of your palm, his hands reaching back out just a second too late. "Bye." You mumble, prancing itty bitty steps out of the classroom before full-on sprinting down the hall.

'youre so weird Wtffffff why didn't you like be normal omhgh y/n'

'i don't know it was so awkward i wish i was never born'

'but u hugged him AAA'

'it was so bad please i like ran away afterwards it felt like kindergarten'

'its okay dw you can try talking to him more tmrw!'

'i have to focus on school now tho? like what are the fucking odds that the minute i actually am being forced to do better in school is the minute the loml confesses to like, being interested in me…'

'fail the class, join a club. trust me.

HOLY SHIT Y/N, TWO IN ONE. JOIN THE BASKETBALL TEAM!!!

I kind of wanted to join too… and ur like kinda tall… i believe in u'

’chenle i dont like sports and there is nothing in the world that could convince me to join.’

'just do it trust me jaemin is the only good one so even if ur bad u will blend in… plus maybe u can be like omg Jaemin how do i dribble omg i only know how to dribble drool down my jaw staring at u mwahmwah and then he'll be like Oh same let's make out'

‘chenle.'

'hehehehe'

The bus ride is quiet, some gentle stirring every once in a while from the few seats behind you, but your heartbeat is all that you can focus on. The ride is suddenly so much longer than you're used to… every turn the bus makes in the direction of Jaemin's stop is a step closer to imminent doom.

Today is no different from the rest, Jaemin is caught waving the bus down with swinging arms and curved eyes, boarding with a bow before making his way down the aisle. It clicks quite quickly where he is planning to sit. Normally he gets on, takes a few wide steps, and plops himself in one of the first few seats. His eyes find yours almost instantaneously upon boarding, his palms smacking the corners of each seat as he passes them.

"No, no, no, no, no" you find slipping out from under your breath as he nears your seat until he's shoving you in the direction of the window with a giggle.

"Hey, buddy~" Jaemin sings out, smiling dangerously through his mask. His legs spread out wide and his black converse position themselves in opposite diagonals, creating an obtuse angle. Feels like you're back in Trigonometry. Your eyes zig-zag between the seat in front of you and the window out to your right. Ruffling the front of your hair a little, you adjust yourself to face him, just slightly. "There you are." He whispers, his eyebrows smoothing out after a quick bounce.

Your heart takes precaution.

"I was worried you might ignore me, actually."

You hum a little note. "I'm surprised you're not ignoring me. I thought you might've been embarrassed."

Jaemin contorts his face slightly, tilting his head to the side, leaning until it falls against the seat in front of you. "Embarrassed? Why? What happened? I'm sitting here because this is my seat. This is the first time we are speaking." He holds out his hand, offering it. “My name is Jaemin.” His other hand traces shapes into his right thigh, maybe it's a nervous habit.

"Oh?" You catch on quickly, "Nice to meet you, Jaemin." The bus slows into a full stop to pick up a few more students, they take wide-legged steps down the aisle. The boy in the seat next to you disconnects eye contact for the first time since he boarded.

Each small pothole in the pavement rattles the bus gently, but Jaemin turns the small tremors into earthquakes, making sure to knock knees and shoulders at every small jostle, side-eyeing your reaction at each touch. There used to be something so terrifying about thinking of talking to Na Jaemin, like he would be too cool, or just think you were boring… but it's so different now that it's been put into action. He's cheesy, and embarrassing when it comes to showing public affection. This bus-ride twice a week leads to many 'Scandalous Public Transport Assignations,' as Jaemin labeled them. Smiley, tossing winks and sometimes a Brownie Bite from his lunchbox. The 30 minute bus ride would feel like 2 minutes next to him.

“Today, you should come with me to basketball practice.” Jaemin is downing his half of the blueberry muffin you provided him with, speaking with full cheeks. “You can meet the other guys, and…” He brushes crumbs off of his lap. “I want them to meet you.”

“Wow, that’s forward.” You look over to Jaemin, who swallows the rest of his muffin with a loud gulp.

“Too forward? Aren’t we dating?”

“DATING?!” You yell out in shock, which causes multiple heads to turn and face your direction. You pass shy smiles and apologize softly to some people near you, sinking further into your seat. Brushing a strand of hair back with your pinky, you bite at your cheek, trying to think of the right words. Jaemin is sitting next to you, shoulders tense. “Okay, sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Patting him uncomfortably on the shoulder seems to do the trick! That is, if the desired outcome was for Jaemin to appear extremely embarrassed. “I don’t remember ever… agreeing to that.” You smile, and Jaemin’s shoulders drop significantly.

“But we sit next to each other on the bus every single day.” He mimics a friendly wave, “And we wave to each other like this in the hallway!” Jaemin shuffles through his bag until he finds his milk carton. “And we give each other gifts.” His eyes blink rapidly, remembering something. “And you already hugged me.”

Your ears sting with hotness. “Okay, but those are things friends do too. We haven’t even been on a date, or ki...ssed.” Somehow it's hard to even say the word in front of him. Both sets of eyes fall to the floor of the bus. “I know we got close fast, but… If I’m going to date someone, even if it’s someone I’ve liked for a while… I still have standards.” Jaemin looks up and nods suddenly with determination. He brings his empty hand up from his side and offers his pinky.

“Promise me if I do those things, I can tell people I’m dating you.”

Wow. It’s kind of baffling. He’s uncontrollably cheesy and really bad at stuff like this. Maybe romcoms have set your expectations for high school boys a little bit too high.

“Okay. I pinky promise.”

“Stamp it.” Jaemin commands. “Sign it.”

“Copy it.”

“So dramatic…” You push his hand back into his lap and fold your fingers together.

Jaemin is smiling.

Two weeks later, Jaemin frantically texts you 13 times in less than 30 seconds.

‘hhey y/n’

‘this isvery important’

‘Respondpls’

‘My mom saidtaking my phoneaway’

‘Bc failing english and’

‘Help’

‘y/n my bus buddy’

‘PLSSS’

‘M also fail math n scienc’

‘I have an iddddea’

‘REPSOND MYABY’

‘LIFE OR DEATH’

‘CALL 119’

‘WHAT????’

‘JUST CALL ME…!!?’

And so the phone rings.

“Hi, my baby. Here’s the thing, I have this great idea. And it will work. Because my mom doesn’t know about you-”

(Why doesn’t his mom know about you? Your whole family already knows about Jaemin! This is embarrassing. I mean, you have only been talking for 3 weeks, and you did say you wanted to take things slow, so why is Jaemin the one who’s treating this like one big-)

“Agree? It’s a good idea right? Then we can spend time together! Infinite dates!” Jaemin finishes, his breath pouring into the phone in loud intervals as he wraps up his speech. Unfortunately, very little was heard or understood, so a simple- “Of course! Let’s do it!” suffices to make Jaemin happy.

The only downside is you’re completely unsure of what you have just signed yourself up for.

* It only takes 4 seconds with Jaemin’s mother to greet you with: “So you must be my son’s tutor!” to get you up to speed.

“Yes, Miss Na. Here to help with the classes he’s struggling in.” You beam, realizing you are ill-equipped, hands empty besides your special green pen with sparkly ink. “And, um, Jaemin said I should just bring myself- since he has his textbooks with him!” Scratching at your left shoulder, you hope she doesn't notice the bead of sweat forming on your forehead.

“Of course, of course. Well, come in, might I add- you are just as cute as a button! I set out some mango for you. You’ll be okay at the dining room table, I presume?”

“Gosh!” (You haven’t heard that exclamation come out of your mouth in ages.) “Thank you so much, and yes, that’s perfect.” Peering past Jaemin’s mom as you step inside, slipping your shoes off, you notice that his house is much different from yours. The ceilings are very low, wallpaper is seen peeling at the seams, and the floor is scuffed where you stand. Although clean, this house is struggling. Jaemin is at the table, his feet curled up onto a dining chair, making the hole in his sock visible.

“Now, do you have a running rate for your services? I know it looks like we don’t have the most money, but I work long hours and will be able to afford what you deserve. His education is everything to me.” Your heart breaks slightly, and you shake your head side to side.

“This is just volunteer work for the school’s Honor Society, don’t worry.” You make your way to Jaemin, who’s smiling at you from his seat. “The most I might need is… a signature? To mark off my hours...? If that’s okay.”

His mom’s eyebrows bounce in amazement. “Jaemin told me it might cost a bit, so I was really prepared! Please, if you need anything, let me know. Thank you so much. I have a shift in about 20 minutes, so I need to be on my way. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She lets her palm slide down your arm and kisses Jaemin on top of his head, and then she’s gone.

The door slams and you turn your head to Jaemin with fire burning in your eyes. “You were going to have her pay me?! What is wrong with you?”

“You are seriously going to tutor me, why wouldn’t she pay you? I wanted to be fair.” He rolls his eyes and lets his head fall back against his neck.

“But you’re-” your eyes scan the entryway and dining room, fist balling.

“Yes, we are not rich.” He sits up properly in his chair. “Doesn’t mean we just get out of paying for things that you are meant to pay for.” He shimmies in his chair. “We aren’t slimy, and don’t think my mom only took your offer because she was excited to get out of paying. She believed you. That’s why she took it.” His palms fall flat on the table as he hoists himself up.

“I don’t think that!” You argue, “Don’t say that. I don’t think like that. Learn to trust a little, Jaem. I’m your friend, I didn’t want to be paid because I’m your friend. She works hard and doesn’t deserve to have to deal with you failing all your classes because you think not trying is cool.”

“I think trying is not cool? Are you serious? Is that the person you think I am?” Jaemin’s face gets bright red at that one.

You stutter slightly at the sight of him angry. “I didn’t mean that. I just said it, I don’t know why.” He laughs like he’s really hurt, like he’s so baffled he ran out of viable words. You don’t think you want to be here anymore. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s study some English, then.” He sighs out.

You quickly learn that Jaemin is not the type to say something impulsively. That doesn’t mean he won’t crack a joke that objectively sucks or make a funny noise when he realizes he’s been quiet for too long; but rather that when he means to speak seriously, he will think it through thoroughly beforehand. He chooses his words carefully, even if they don’t sound carefully chosen, (his vernacular kind of lacks…) He just wants to be understood in a way where whatever he is expressing is exactly how he wants to express it. This is a great talent, one that you most definitely do not possess.

You’re in the middle of analyzing a poem when Jaemin interrupts you. “I do try. I try really, really hard.”

“I know.” You say, quietly.

“No, you don’t. Because what you said earlier must’ve had some truth to it. At least from your perspective. Now, I want to explain my perspective.” He looks up to your eyes without ever moving his head. His eyebrows furrow harshly as he thinks, and then lifts his head. For the first time in your life with Jaemin, this is the first time he’s looked so serious, the first time he hasn’t been smiling. “You are one of the only people on this Earth; besides my mom, that I actually want to make proud.” He fiddles with his pencil before letting it fall to his notebook page. “Everyone works at a different pace, you know? I work slightly slower, and that doesn’t mean I’m not trying- it doesn’t mean I’m stupid. It just means that I need more time to figure this shit out.” He shrugs in his zip-up hoodie, feeling the end of its sleeve between his fingers. “Who knows, maybe my end product— whether it’s a math equation or an essay, is better written, easier to understand, is...” He displays his palms in a ‘you get it’ manner. “There are a lot of students who struggle the same as me. We all try. It’s just different for us— learning is different. Please don’t just assume I don’t try because I don’t do well.”

Your eyes trace along the lines of his face for a moment before looking down at the sentences on the book below you. “I understand. I’m sorry. I hated how I said that so carelessly. I-I am proud of you. I am proud of you for many reasons. I want you to be proud of me too.” There’s a little silence afterwards, just so he can think about everything, process it. He whispers a “Thank you” and you complete one more problem before he’s back to spacing his eyes around the expanse of the room. It takes a minute or two until Jaemin is back to smiling, but the pain of worry stings his eyes, obviously feeling more than he wanted to let on. He opens his mouth a few times to speak before shutting it with a shake of his head. It hurts your heart more than you expect it to. “I’m only worried if I lose my position on the basketball team…” He stutters for a second, motioning with his hands. Looking away for a moment with his palm over his mouth. “I don’t want to lose this thing I love, and I don’t want to let down my team, and I don’t want to… to lose potential scholarships or let down you or my mom.” He forces this extremely weak smile and twirls a pencil nervously. “So… I’ve got to give it my all.” You lean back in your seat, and watch him come to terms with the feelings he's realizing that have suddenly begun to overwhelm him. “I’m gonna tutor the shit out of you.” His eyes dart up to you, scanning over your face before a smile tugs across his lips. This one is real, like he believes you. His head drops back to the paper on the table before him. “Don’t worry. You’re not losing anything or letting anyone down.” You tap your pen onto the next essay question in his homework, “I won’t let you.”

Jaemin leans over the table far enough that his butt leaves his seat so he can wrap his arms around your neck and rest his chin on your head. It lasts for a moment, then he pulls back, scoots himself in, and picks back up his pencil.

That Thursday, Jaemin and you stay after school. He has basketball practice, and asks you to wait in the gym as he goes into the locker room to change. They don’t wear masks, you guess because it could be hard to play with them on. There’s already a few guys dribbling a ball around and chatting while they wait, their shoes squeaking intermittently. “How do you know Jaemin?” One of them asks, you don’t recognize them from any of your classes, but Sungchan stands slightly behind him, ajar, watching his teammate interact with you.

“Same bus, actually.” You throw a thumb behind your shoulder as if you’re pointing to the bus lanes. They’re actually in the complete opposite direction. You hope he doesn’t notice.

He starts making his way over to you. “Oh cool. He’s one of the best players we've got.” He nods, beckoning for Sungchan to come join the both of you. “This is Sungchan, and I’m Jeno.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N.” Your shoulders instinctively broaden, like some intimidated wild animal. They’re taller than you. Jeno… not by a lot, but Sungchan has quite a few inches on you. Jeno says some stupid thing under his breath, something like… ”Rad,” “Epic,” or “Chilllll.”

Explosive laughter echoes from behind you, and Jaemin is jogging up in athletic shorts and a jersey. “So awkward, Jeno.”

Jeno’s face flushes, he smiles, spinning around in an embarrassed circle, flourishing with the ball between his fingers. “Trying to welcome your newbie, leave me alone!” He bounces off towards the basketball hoop with big bounding leaps.

Sungchan gives a weak smile. “Nice to meet you.” You nod back, if anything he seems more shy than intimidating now. Jaemin pats your shoulder, poking a finger into your lower back to get you to start moving forward with him. You trail behind Sungchan as a few more boys come out of the locker rooms, boisterous enough to get you to turn back to watch them trickle out. Jaemin smiles at you, craning his head over to you, blocking the view of the door.

“I’m the cutest, trust me. Don’t bother wasting your time.” You smile back, turning forward as he pulls his hand back to his side. You believe him.

Jaemin texts you a picture of him with the rest of the basketball team, each one of them cheesing so hard that their eyes are all swallowed up. They surround their coach who in turn, holds Jaemin up on his shoulders. Jaemin has his fingers gripped tightly around a small trophy. You have to pinch and zoom in pretty far to even see the little gold award. Nonetheless, all of the boys look ecstatic.

‘Yessss!!!!!’ you text, littering the chat with confetti poppers and balloons.

He responds with a close up picture of him pouting his lips. ‘Where do you want it?’

You pull up your blankets out from under you, nuzzling your cheek into your comforter. ‘butt’. You type out, searching frantically for a gif after the read receipt pops up.

‘Your wish is my command.’ He responds, signing off the text with an emoji of a peach followed by one of a kiss. You smile big.

Jaemin is the same as always at school, only sometimes he glances over at you, mid-conversation with a friend and nods a slight smile, even across the entire room you never miss it. It’s low effort, but it feels like the best thing in the world. It makes you think to those bus rides where you didn’t know him at all, and how each season he looked more boyish than the rest, floppy and carefree and completely exasperated by his sprint to the bus doors. It was flashing shades of red and white and you wonder what he looks like now. You think to yourself how lucky you feel now. You don’t look away when he boards, or shy away behind the person’s head in front of you. He looks for your eyes and locks into them before you have time to pull your backpack into your lap. He’s calmed down now, like he understands you better and isn’t just being loud to cover up hidden worries. He squeezes up close and leans his head on your shoulder, he’ll lay his head down on your lap, and he will grab and hold your hand like it’s everything he will ever know. The red glow of the interior bus lights slide over the side of his face like a painting and he whispers homework answers like love poems. He’s easy, like it was always meant to be this way. You wonder how you ever lived without him.

It’s nearing the end of the semester now and tutoring Jaemin has been enlightening. His mind is beautiful and he never fails to surprise you with his specially hidden sensitive brilliance. It's dark when you finish up Jaemin's English packet and his mom arrives home with a noodle dish in a plastic to-go box. She sets it on the table and pushes it between the two of you. "I just ate some on the bus home, so I'm full. You two can share if you'd like. Again, Y/N, thank you so much for your kindness. I can sign now, then I'm off to the shower." She smiles. Jaemin gives a side glance that just screams 'She's never that nice to me!' And you can only reassure her that it's no issue, and Jaemin is a determined, creative learner. His ears blush with a saturated pink when his gaze shifts from his mom to you. His mom signs off on your paper and shuffles into a dark hallway behind the both of you.

"No way you actually believe that…" He fiddles with his warm ear between his index finger and thumb.

"Of course. You go after what you want."

Jaemin laughs and his hand falls into his lap. "Right, just very very slowly." You're packing up your textbook as you shoot him a smile.

"And? You said it. Different paces, it's alright. You have such a fun way of going about answering things. You can see in your work that you see the world differently from everyone else. You see it with hope.” You pluck the pencil from Jaemin’s loose fingers and tuck it into your pencil case with a smile. “You're smart."

His eyes light up. "Wow, no one has ever said that to me before. I could kiss you right now."

"But… should you?"

"Should I not?" Jaemin has this smile that glides across his face and eyes blink slowly, like a cat showing its affection.

“You can, if you’d like.”

Jaemin laughs sharply, rocking back in his seat with his palms pressed firm against the edge of the table. His smile falters into a downturned expression of focus. “No, because— I’ve dreamed of this…” He stands out of his seat, turns around and paces a few times across the dining room and through the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” You laugh, standing up to watch him. “Jaemin.” You place your pencil case on the table, folding your arms as he continues pacing.

“Wait, I can’t do it now. Give me like, 5 minutes.” He pauses, turns, faces you, and points. “I need to get you by surprise.” Then continues walking back and forth.

“I don’t want to be kissed by surprise, I want our first kiss to be…” You motion with wide swinging arms. “Like, kind and…” Your hands cup and cradle the air.

Jaemin stares, nods slightly like he’s factoring in a few different possibilities and outcomes, and then returns back to his seat. You stare down at him for a second, and his eyes flicker up to you for a moment before returning to his homework. He spins a pencil around and between his fingers.

“I want to like… make out.” You say softly, watching him from above. He stops pacing for a second, processes, then continues. “I want to… touch you all over.” Your stomach turns harshly, and Jaemin freezes again, his body still. “I want to have—”

“Y/N! You’re still here. You’re usually on your way home by now, aren’t you?” Her voice is slightly stern, your eyes bulge and flicker between Jaemin and his mom. Neither of you dare to move. Your logic is: Maybe if you’re super still, she will forget the last 10 seconds.

It does not work.

She clears her throat, and you see her hair wrapped in a towel, pajama-clad figure just in the corner of your peripheral vision. You think you might pee yourself out of fear. “Need anything else signed? A ride home?” You can only shake your head slowly before turning and swiping a few papers into your backpack, gathering it up and walking to the door without ever glancing back at Jaemin.

“We’re dating. I’m their boyfriend.” He spits out, Jaemin’s voice makes your head whip around, and your eyes skip back and forth between Jaemin and his mom. Your heart is beating out through your ears. “We were going to kissssss...” His words fizzle out and his eyes shift between his mom and you as you attempt your daring escape. He points down at the table, finger pressing into a notebook. “Go.” He whispers, and you both sprint out the door.

The moonlight cuts through the trees as you walk down the street. Jaemin doesn’t usually walk you home, but since the sun has been setting earlier and it’s getting colder, he has been occasionally joining you. He hooks your elbows like a barrel of monkeys.

Jaemin laughs so hard he has to wipe tears from his eyes. “I thought she was going to actually strangle you, throw your body across the room like a doll.” You lean forward and back again as you laugh, Jaemin steps heavy with tireless energy and silent laughter casts over the street.

“We’re-dating-I’m-their-boyfriend.” You mock him, and he shoves you with a shoulder off the curb. You try to catch yourself, pulling your hands out of your pockets a second too late. Jaemin grabs your arm and pulls you back to him, shouting apologies up until you can steady yourself. “You’re so cute,” you whisper. He pulls you into his chest and you lock eyes for a moment, it’s almost romantic before you stick your pinky in his ear. At this point, you’re sure you’ll keep sabotaging yourself out of this excitement until you’re both 80. It makes his shoulders jump and his neck go limp, his arms noodling and recoiling away from your touch. You both laugh until you make eye contact again.

“I like you. I really do. A lot.” He gushes, his fingers sliding their way up your sides to pull out your ears.

“I like you when you’re ugly.” He pushes your nose up, snorting like a pig. “I like you when you’re beautiful.” He lets his fingers trace down your neck, kissing you twice, chastely on your jaw. “I liked you when you took my seat on the bus.” He folds a hand around your wrist. “And I liked you when you left your lunchbox in the aisle.” He kisses again, another time on your cheek.

“But I like you the most, the absolute most…” He kisses your bottom lip, giggling as he moves his way up, angling himself with a slight bend to his knee “…when you like me too.”

☆

(masterlist) ☆ (nct masterlist)

#nct 2023 #nct jaemin #na jaemin #nct fic #nct x reader #gn reader #x reader #jaemin x reader #nct dream #nct dream fanfic #kpop fanfic #nct fics #1997yakul #fanfiction #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic

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mackjlee9 · 2 years

Note

Can I order a Luca Kaneshiro nsfw with the prompt

Person B playing an online multiplayer game with their friends. Person A arrives and tries to have sex with Person B while telling them to continue playing. Person B now has to keep quiet or else their friends will hear them doing the frickle frack.

(Why is frickle frackle so funny to me, what am I 5??)

Luca Kaneshiro x Top!Male!Reader [Lime]

Warning; blowjob.

Masterlist.

Nijisanji EN/Luxiem

Luca was in a Discord call with the rest of Luxiem, they had been planning on testing a game they wanted to stream together for a collab, so they decided to test it and see how it goes before asking staff-san permission.

They had already played a match, and the game seemed pretty interesting, and currently, Luca was just chilling, he didn't need to move his characters at all, so he was just enjoying the chaos in the call, laughing at Vox getting angry, usual Luca behavior. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw (M/n), his roommate, and boyfriend walk into his office.

Showing him a bright smile, Luca greeted him, "Hi, (M/n)," he spoke, and everyone in Luxiem stopped for a moment what they were yelling about to greet (M/n) back.

Even if Luca was wearing headphones, (M/n) heard them clearly, and chuckling, he answered loud enough for them to hear, "Hello, guys, seems like you're having fun."

Faintly, (M/n) heard Vox's loud screaming as he complained that in fact, no, he wasn't having fun at the moment, followed by everyone's boisterous laughter, including Luca's.

After a few minutes and realizing (M/n) wasn't leaving, Luca thought the male was there to watch him play, but he had other plans in mind. Another idea of fun.

Taking advantage of the fact that Luca's character was still immovable, (M/n) pulled the blond's chair back, just far enough away from the desk to be able to crawl under it. Luca was only able to observe him with curiosity.

"(M/n)? What are you doing...?" He trailed on, luckily, no one seemed to hear him. (M/n) pulled the chair back closer to the desk, "You're gonna get hurt there!" Showing Luca a smirk, (M/n) reached his hands to his crotch, stroking his soft cock over his clothes.

Luca flinched at that and he opened his mouth to tell (M/n) something, but the (h/c)-haired male placed his finger against his lips, signaling him to stay silent, "They're gonna hear you if you don't keep quiet, baby~ just relax and enjoy my mouth~" letting out a choked gasp, Luca freaked out and let go of his mouse, pressing his hand against his mouth.

(M/n) hummed at the blond's reaction, enjoying the way his body started squirming on the chair, his thighs closing around his head every few seconds. Having trouble keeping his eyes open, Luca moved his hand away from his keyboard and tangled his fingers on (M/n)'s hair, pushing it to see his face.

"Stop... I-I can't..." He mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, (M/n) began slowly pulling back, making sure his tongue stroked every inch on the underside of Luca's cock, paying most attention to the pulsing vein right before his tip, "Fuck~!" He let out a high-pitched whine, and that did get Mysta's attention.

"Yoo~! Dude, what the fuck was that?!" Luca started freaking out, but before he could answer him, (M/n) wrapped his lips around his sensitive tip and began swirling his tongue around his let, his pre-cum being licked by it before he swallowed it.

"Th-there... was a s-spider on m-my desk," he said with a shaky voice. Even if the rest of Luxiem were kinda reluctant in believing Luca's words, they were also aware of his loud reaction to bugs, so they let it pass. For now.

While everyone went back to focusing on the game, (M/n) kept his eyes locked on Luca's expression, his hands resting on his trembling thighs. Poor, poor Luca~

He was having had a hard time keeping his noises down, usually, he's so loud and whiny when he and (M/n) have sex, but having to keep his hand pressed against his mouth was proving to be a more difficult task than anticipated.

He could always mute on Discord and be as loud as he wants, but that would be kinda sus, so he had to endure it for now.

For as long as (M/n) decided he wanted to suck him off. And that was gonna take a while, (M/n) loves edging and overstimulating him until he's practically crying and screaming how much he wants to cum, however, this situation was quite different than usual, but somehow, the thought of getting caught by his genmates and friends... was turning him on more than it should've.

(I had no idea how to end this, and it sucks)

#nijisanji en #luxiem x reader #luca kaneshiro x reader #nijien luxiem #luxiem luca #luxiem #nijien x reader #male reader #reader insert #x reader #one shot #lime #.mackjlee9 writes

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insult-2-injury · 2 years

Text

The Politics of Power - Chapter 3

Modern AU - Prof!Silco x GradStudentReader

The enigmatic Professor Silco takes you in as his student assistant. It's only one semester, just how hard could it be?

Chap 1 | Chap 2 | AO3 Link |

Header by the wonderfully talented @pomegranatebat :)

Chapter 3

It had been three weeks.

You knew going in that the semester would be taxing, Professor Silco’s busy work in addition to your already immoderate classwork a challenge in itself.

You graded essays, tests, managed to teach a couple of his classes, met with students; everything you’d agreed to do over your numerous email correspondences and had been reaffirmed of on that first day.

You had been right, he was cantankerous; not old in age as much as old in manner, the stubborn refusal to adapt fully to the digital era spelled out in the piles of papers he laid on your desk each day to be graded by hand. The man owned a pricy laptop and was perfectly competent, could no doubt figure out how to move online if he so desired. He just didn’t want to.

It was who he was, you realized. A man who rejected change as if his very sanity depended on bowling through every expectation of him, flush with some rare sort of fire-eyed determination. Looked all the more as if he would burn the world over twice if it meant proving he was right.

And to the utmost misfortune of all those around him, he usually was.

Strange how you’d found you couldn’t get enough of it - something deliciously irate clawing wildly across the heated lining of your belly whenever that intelligence of his showed face. Whenever that tiny, sinister curl of his lips betrayed him, warning of an incoming putdown.

And he loved to put people in their place.

He rarely struck first but always had people marked, you’d noticed; was a cobra coiled delicately in the brush, waiting for his target to circle too close before he skewered into the only patch of exposed skin with precision and speed.

You he seemed to enjoy messing with most of all. You were certain, too, with your impregnable intuition that it had something, if not everything, to do with Vander. And if Vander and him were on the outs, then there was a chance he didn’t believe Vander wrote that glowing recommendation letter for you. So why had he hired you?

Not only that, but it was also the atypical errands you were running in conjunction with the usual work that had you speculating on whether or not he was punishing you, issuing you pointless tasks to waste what little time you had to yourself.

Once he’d had you pick up books for him at the library, a pain as the building was on the opposite side of campus. He had barely looked up when you’d piled them at the corner of his office desk, and you’d watched from your nook in the corner as they sat untouched, gathering a thin layer of dust before he bid you return them, unread. He’d had you draw out a lesson plan in detail only to scrap it last minute. Not to mention the two times he’d sent you down to the mail room to retrieve some expected parcel and you’d return empty-handed and sour, and he would chalk it up to simple oversight.

“Oh, don’t look so cross. I must have already grabbed it today, scatterbrained as I am. Simple mistake.”

But Professor Silco didn’t make mistakes.

Such small things were just innocent enough to pass over the head of a general observer, or perhaps to ascribe to a bout of forgetfulness. But out of a childhood of quiet instability grew a strong intuition, and you caught onto his scent quick.

It was late Friday, nearing the time that he’d normally force you to pack up, send you home for the weekend with a clipped word or two and a curt nod of his head. Your frustration felt a living, breathing thing today, prowling back and forth across your chest like a snarling tiger in captivity. A stack of ungraded essays sat before you, but it was hardly what you were focusing on.

Casual Friday. He wore a crisp black linen shirt, fitted snugly to his wiry frame, buttons fastened to the very top, only a slice of collarbone showing. The gold-cuffed sleeves were rolled up to his forearms as he worked. He wore pants of the same color; tailored herringbone trousers cut off just above the ankle, held at his waist by a black belt with a large, gold buckle. Glossy wingtip oxfords adorned his feet, which were crossed at the ankles.

His gaze darted up from above the hard brim of his glasses to snare your own and you stiffened, hotblooded embarrassment blooming in your chest as you swiftly looked away, hair falling blessedly to cover your expression.

It certainly wasn’t the first time you’d been caught.

Maddeningly, you’d found you couldn’t seem to keep your eyes off him for more than a few minutes, your gaze tracking unwittingly upward like clockwork, as if you and your fixation were attached to some sort of hypnotic pulley system.

Your phone buzzed and you hesitated before opening a text from your mom.

No hello. No how are you. Just a link guiding you to the University of Piltover’s Law School and a text.

Never too late to be a Piltie :)

Involuntarily, your hand clutched around the phone.

You felt the familiar sting, despite knowing there would be no payoff in attempting to please a mother who had never been satisfied with anything in her life. You could do just as she said: attend law school, become an affluent lawyer, but it still wouldn’t be enough. She would want you to be better. And there was always something better.

A prickling awareness hoisted you up from your internal strife and back into reality, your eyes ticking up from the pile of ungraded essays.

How could one ever get used to the shock of meeting that mismatched gaze? Invisible fingers gripped a tight fist of your lower abdomen.

“Yes?”

“You’re tapping your pen.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d scolded you on the matter – your aggravating little habits. Tapping your nails, bouncing your knee, chewing on your pen. Jitters only heightened by the presence of the other occupant of the room.

You turned back around, silent, unapologetic. Another minute passed.

“You’re drumming your nails.”

You hummed the affirmative.

“What has you distressed?”

“I’m not distressed.”

“You’re vibrating.”

“I’m breathing,” you said, becoming mildly annoyed by his persistence. You rolled your shoulders back. “Must have made the coffee strong today or something.”

The following long pause had your gaze flicking up once again to meet his narrowing one.

“So it was you then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the brute who wreaked havoc in the break room this morning?”

You blinked.

“If by ‘wreaking havoc’ you mean I made coffee, then yes.”

Professor Silco exhaled, falling back into the soft plush of his desk chair, fingers propping at his temple, as if he’d been thoroughly defeated, teal eye fluttering closed briefly.

“There I was wishing on the culprit an untimely demise,” he sighed, “And it was my own TA.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“You do realize coffee is supposed to be a liquid, yes?”

“No one else seemed to have a problem with it,” you defended, but he remained unbothered, plucking the wire, rectangular frames off his face and taking his precious time searching the drawer beside for a cloth to clean them with.

“That’s because no one else was permitted the misfortune of tasting it after me.”

“You tossed the coffee I made for everyone?”

Professor Silco regarded you impassively beneath hooded lids, fingers languidly stroking the glass.

“And no doubt saved lives in the process.”

You scowled. “I’m not a barista.”

He adjusted the readers back on the bridge of his nose. “And thank goodness for that. Keep trying and you’ll make me a hero yet.”

There was something darkly amused twinkling in his eyes as he observed the annoyance tugging at the creases of your lips. But instead of allowing the moment to fade, he held it tight, and for each passing second, something pulled tauter between you as your own focus strayed, trailing to the long index finger ticking a light rhythm against his lower jaw.

Vander would be so disappointed in the way you held your tongue. Or would he? The man was a walking contradiction when it came to these things.

He loved to chant things like “Fortune favors the bold,” but the moment you dared shed that cloak of reticence and put a voice to that little flame in the pit of your stomach, you’d receive a look quite puzzling to you - one you thought spoke of an almost haunting, fearful recognition, as if for a blink of an eye he saw a ghost.

So, you just needed to keep your lid on and respect Vander for all he was - a brilliant professor and a good man, yet short-sighted.

Professor Silco shifted in his seat, crossing his legs. You thought, if it were possible, you could reach out and strum that humming connection in the air between the two of you.

You broke first, turning back to the subpar at best essay you’d been grading about the politics of warfare. And as the tension died, your thoughts drifted back to your mother.

Why couldn’t you be enough --No. You couldn’t afford to think that way. How could you ever be enough for a mother whose idea of success was an archaic set of rules, so rigid and stale, impossible to achieve.

You gnawed at the top of your pen as you stared out at the spined ridge of the Humanities building, etched with an eerie beauty against the backdrop of dusk.

Vander had so wanted you to follow in his sizeable footsteps; to mentor under him, become his little understudy. Take up that golden baton with his stamped seal of approval and climb the tallest mountain with it. He was trying. He knew where you came from. But he had his own visions for you and it was starting to feel like everyone had a pretty solid idea as to who you should be except for you.

“Do you plan on finishing tonight?” Professor Silco asked. “Or will I be forced to stay late once more on account of your musing.”

Your nose twitched in irritation as you stared out the window, contemplative before turning to him, the haughty way in which he regarded you down his nose enough to make your decision.

“Sorry, sir,” you said evenly, “I’ll be finished shortly.”

You got to work and didn’t look up until you were finished, until you’d offered nearly every student an extremely generous A.

Whatever game he was playing - if he wanted to clash at every turn, so be it.

~~~

The following Monday, you sat at your first department meeting staring so intently at the bulleted agenda in front of you that the dots began to blur together. You’d already given your little introduction speech, sighing internally when one of the more chipper professors insisted you simplify your existence down to your favorite extracurriculars and your favorite dessert.

Your gaze rose, the pen dangling in your fingers finding an absentminded home between your teeth as you watched Professor Silco lead the meeting, admiring his prowess. He wasn’t the type to open up the room, wasn’t a fan of your more Laissez-Faire approach of things.

No, he’d taken brutal hostage of the space as soon as he’d entered it, just as he always did in the classroom, a subtle but palpable hush falling as he’d prowled in like a lion on the hunt, lanky and unhurried, carrying with him a briefcase and a chilled breeze in his wake. He was in complete control at any given moment, his shoulders so taut it seemed a gale force wind couldn’t shake him. Cutting and often dismissive, but with a peculiar stroke of charisma and unmistakable competence that oddly softened the blow of his incivility.

He liked, no needed to be at the helm, that much was a given. He was stingy with his praise but positively reinforced just enough to make those below him covet those rare moments of graciousness. He was a master, a savant at wielding power to its highest effect.

And you couldn’t get enough of it, the thought of that vie for dominance sending a shock of heat slithering between your legs.

Only when he caught your eye did you realize the bite force you were impressing upon the poor pen in your mouth and you let up, tongue poking out distractedly against the top, expecting his gaze to float on. But it hung there for a moment too long, dropping to your lips almost imperceptibly before flickering away and immediately stealing another glance as he continued to speak, never breaking.

That terrible pull you felt to him - did he feel it, too?

Something dark and impulsive sunk its claws into your animal brain and delicately you pressed your lips to the side of the pen, almost as if in thought. His gaze immediately found your lips again and with a careful inexpression, you darted your tongue out lightning quick, licking a short stripe upward. Your thighs clenched just as his jaw did. And you wondered if you were the only one who heard that slight waver in his tone.

You whipped your head back to the paper in front of you, feeling dizzy suddenly as he started to close out the meeting, but the chime of your name had you jolting to attention minutes later. You stared wide-eyed at Professor Silco.

“I know you requested floor time at the end.”

You most certainly had not. You froze as chairs creaked and the full attention of the room turned upon you.

“Me?” you said stupidly, feeling a blush track across your cheeks. He allowed the moronic question to marinate in the hushed room.

“I just-“ you said, mind frantically throwing out nets to gather your wits. “Yes. I just wanted to say…” Professor Silco’s lip jerked cruelly. “Sorry- sorry, I’m not quite used to being on this side of things yet.” There was murmured laughter and you plastered what you hoped was a sheepish grin on your face. “All I wanted to say was thank you for allowing me to join you this semester. And Professor Silco,” you motioned to him, “I really appreciate the time you’ve taken thus far to accommodate me. I’m more than excited to work alongside every one of you. Thank you.”

What a load of crock, and you couldn’t appear more of a bootlicker if you tried, but it seemed to elicit a positive response.

Everybody filtering out slowly, Professor Silco scrutinized you quietly from the head of the table as you packed up, like you were some rare creature yet to be captured and studied. You stumbled in your haste to the door; grateful he didn’t call you back.

~~~

Fuck.

That had been so reckless to tempt the hands of fate like that. It was hardly anything, what you’d done; he could just as easily have not seen it at all, that brazen little tongue flick, his reaction just a making of your own imagination. And if he had seen it, well, it was nothing more than another one of your silly habits, chewing pens. But oh, had you felt it, and the feeling lingered yet, the dizzying headiness of that second glance, the tight, telling clench of his jaw.

You wanted to toy with that slice of power - couldn’t stop thinking about the way he commanded the room, how his fingers danced through the air like leaves on a breeze. His snakelike retaliation, your forced counterattack.

It had you squirming in your tiny office hours chair that day, the ache between your legs pulsing and persistent, no students showing face to offer any semblance of a distraction. Probably your own fault, tossing all those A’s out like free candy.

Office hours came to an end and you sat for a while longer, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm into the dappled desk as you contemplated.

How were you going to manage for an entire semester?

By dealing with it, sweaty and shamefaced in the privacy of your own apartment, that was how. Sighing, you made your way out of your office and down the hallway to Professor Silco’s.

Entering quietly, you hardly spared him a glance, taking a seat at your little desk and reaching for your paper tray, hand stilling when you found it empty.

“I’d hazard you’re looking for these,” Professor Silco said, lazily lifting the stack of ungraded essays. You swallowed the dryness from your throat before turning politely, fingers clasping in your lap to calm the nervous bounce of your leg. “I can give them to you.” He stood, grabbing the separate graded pile you’d laid on his desk last Friday in the other hand, giving you a pointed look. “Granted we brush up on the rubric again.”

A lazy saunter toward you might as well have been a sudden dead sprint with the paralyzing alarm you felt as he neared. A tall shadow fell across your seat and you became keenly aware of just how damp the fabric between your thighs really was and you crossed your legs, face heating as if you’d been entirely on display.

“I fear, despite our numerous correspondences predating your arrival here, you’ve already stopped pulling your fair share.” Your hands grew clammy, heart a clanging steel drum. “Did you not read these at all or have you always been so charitable?” You craned your neck up at him, hands dropping to frame the outsides of your thighs, mooring yourself. His eyebrow quirked. “A’s for everyone.”

“Not all.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right. The long-winded atonement essay apologizing for not having had the time to complete said essay you gave a B+.”

Your eyes darted between his, trying to get a read. “I thought they all did a decent job.”

“Lies.” You opened your mouth in retort. “And I think you know that,” he purred and you nearly pitched forward from the shiver that danced coolly down your spine. “How is anyone supposed to hone their critical thinking skills when they’re rewarded for such drivel.”

“It was the first essay of the semester.”

“So you were doing them a favor?” You pressed your lips together. “Did you even read these?” He tossed both stacks of papers onto your desk.

“Yes.”

“I know. I saw.”

You studied him carefully. Then why accost you? “I’ll do better,” you murmured, gingerly taking the stack of papers.

“Speak up,” he commanded with a sharp tone, and you shot him a vicious glare.

“I hope you’re not cross with me,” you said before you could put a halt to your rashness, rearranging his own words steadily back to him, “Scatterbrained as I am, simple mistake.”

The irate furrow of his brow contradicted the tilt of his scarred lips, and for just a blink of a moment he looked terribly wicked as his features darkened.

His voice grew deceptively quiet. “I believe you dropped something earlier.”

He reached into his pants pocket and your eyes widened as he revealed the pen. You must have dropped it in your haste to leave earlier. Unwarranted confidence cracking, you went to go snatch it from his hands with a muttered thanks but he held tight, stepping forward until the narrowed toes of his oxfords were inches from your boots.

You were stock still, focus falling to the laces of his shoes before dragging back up to meet his shrewd gaze above you, his eyes glittering as bright and sharp as swords. He was so close – close enough you could stretch out your arm to run it across that shining brass buckle.

“Let go,” he coaxed, your tight-knuckled grip loosening on the pen until your hand hovered uselessly in the air. He offered you a tiny smirk of amusement.

“You know your Gods and monsters. Tell me, do you know of Proteus?”

Your free hand dropped to dig its fingers into your knee. Old man of the sea. Yes, yes of course you did, but you couldn’t free the words from your throat, trying in vain to speak as your jaw worked. You nearly choked when the pen in his hand found a starting point at the hinge of your jaw before dragging down the soft curve, descending beneath your chin to lever it upward in a slow nod.

“Smart girl, of course you do.”

A sharp burst of an exhale at the unexpected praise and he slid the pen across the smooth, sensitive curve of your jawbone – up to tickle beneath your earlobe then down to the point of your chin, swapping sides.

“Proteus’ power came from his ability to change shape at will, to be precisely what a moment required him to be. He knew all – past, present, future. The answers to life’s most poignant questions. Yet he answered to no one. Why is that?”

The capped pen traveled upward to settle briefly into the divot between your chin and bottom lip as he waited patiently for an answer, regarding you as a hawk would a mouse in the grass.

You worked your jaw, waiting for your throat to unstick before you spoke. “You had to capture him first.”

He hummed approvingly. “A difficult conquest. Whenever anyone would attempt to seize him, he could simply change form. Lion, butterfly, a serpent, he could become water to elude grasp. He was wise – knew which form to take in order to fool.”

You gazed up at him, utterly lost within the low timbre of his voice, every satin word slithering down to the growing, aching wetness between your thighs.

“Unless," he continued, "As you said, you captured him. Held him fast.” Your eyes fluttered as he slid the pen up to move around the border of your lips as he went on, tracing the two mountain peaks of your cupids bow lightly before swooping an arc around the bottom.

“If anyone succeeded, and only one ever did - he’d grant them profound insight, answer any questions they asked of him. Even the simplest of truths.” The pen slid up to press against the plushness of your lips in the same gesture you’d performed earlier, effectively shushing you.

“Tell me. Who was it that wrote that letter?”

You dug your fingers painfully into your knee, mouth unconsciously parting against the pen as your eyes darted between his, the accusation fully in the open. And you weren't normally one to fight when the tides had turned so clearly against you, but a wicked excitement was growing steadily, a snaking suspicion gaining tread as his eyes glittered dangerously down on you from above. That he was enjoying this little game of yours.

So, with a tiny quirk of your lips, you finally answered.

“Vander.”

Everyone PLEASE go check out this amazing art of Professor Silco that my darling @deny-the-issue did for this fic. I am losing my absolute marbles over it and they are so incredibly talented. Give them all the love! Fellow ratfolk, I hope you enjoyed! This chapter was a grueling one to write so please, if you feel so inclined - reblog, like, leave a comment or some nice tags. It really does mean the world to know people are enjoying.

Thank you to my wonderful beta readers @sherwood-forests and @x-amount-verbs for talking me through my anxieties surrounding this chapter and for the numerous others who put up with my chaos. I love you all so much and couldn't be more grateful for you.

Yours Truly, Sulty

Click here to be added to taglist!

@steponmesilco @truthandadare @silcoitus @pomegranatebat @rosegirl73 @givemebeansnow @soullessbody @yudunnomelmao @suelemrhoden @artwithvivien @silcossugarbabyy @tweek-tweak22 @lunaoticworld @deny-the-issue @gobletoffables @dogantlers @skidebapp @mazikomo @x-amount-verbs @sweatandwoe

#TPOP #the politics of power #silco #silco arcane #silco x reader #arcane #silco x you #reader insert #vander

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slimearchon · 2 years

Text

Steven Grant x GN Reader Water Bottles and Apple Slices

🍮- is my signature for my fics @slimearchon

Pairing: Steven Grant x GN Reader

Word Count: 1948

Warning: None.

Summary: All of the small ways you subtly take care of Steven.

(Gif not mine credit to owner)

🍮-You knew his body had a hard time dealing with his sleeping disorder, the purple eye bags and bloodshot eyes were a part of him, these were things out of his and your control. You constantly worried about him and his body.

🍮-You knew how dangerous it was for the human body to go without proper rest, the physical and mental strain it has on a person is dire.

🍮-So you made sure to try and lessen the strain on his body for him. Anything to help Steven’s body function at eighty percent rather than the twenty he was usually operated at. You knew his body working at a full hundred percent was unfathomable, to obtain.

🍮-Marc and Khonshu’s nightly escapades never allow his body any reprieve.

🍮-You didn’t want Steven to think you were treating him like he couldn’t take care of himself so you made sure your tactics were subtle. Your first mission was to help him and his body by making sure he drank the required amount of water he needed for his day.

🍮-Water was essential for brain functions.

🍮-“Moondrop did you order something? There was a package in the cubby.” He asked, as soon as he came through the door, the moderately-sized box balanced in his arms. His keys slid from one end of the box to the other when he twisted to kick the door closed.

🍮-He lifts it up and down, testing the weight, “It’s not very heavy for a box this big.” He hummed, setting it down on the table.

🍮-You shot off the couch and bounce his way, “These must be the water bottles I ordered.” You grinned, using the keys on the box to tear open the tape. You wasted no time flipping the box and dumping the contents onto the table.

🍮-Two metal water bottles clunked down onto the table.

🍮-One was a stunning sky blue and the other was your favorite color. You had wanted a bottle that was big enough that he wouldn’t have to refill it too often but also small enough that it wasn’t awkward to carry around the whole day.

🍮-“What are those, love?” He questioned, scratching the side of his head.

🍮-“They’re water bottles. I was shopping around online and saw that there was a buy one get one free deal. I couldn’t pass it up. I made sure to pick one out in a color I thought you would like.” You hummed, dislodging the bottle from its plastic and styrofoam prison, you handed it to him.

🍮-Instead of the regular bottle that you drank from the rim, you bought the ones that had a retractable straw.

🍮-You had noticed that Steven would always drink more if he had a straw in his drink, he felt guilty when using a plastic one so his drinks rarely contained them if there wasn’t an eco-friendly alternative. If you were at a restaurant together and they gave you your drink in a simple cup Steven would barely touch it.

🍮-You calculating avoided his eyes, making it like you were too fascinated with your new purchase.

🍮-You couldn’t lie directly to his sweet mahogany eyes. There was no such deal, you just knew that if he got a look at how much each bottle costs he would ask for you to return it. Steven was also indulgent when it came to spending on you but if you spent on him he was fussy.

🍮-Not wanting you to waste your money on a poor bloke like him.

🍮-His fingers slide across the bottle, liking the texture of the smooth paint finish, the color was to his liking, it reminded him of nice sunny days when the two of you would have picnics in the park and read to each other.

🍮-He was ecstatic that you thought of him.

🍮-“Thank you, moondrop. I’ll be sure to take good care of it.” He smiled, reaching to pull you into his embrace, his warm chest always inviting.

🍮-“Let me go get my laptop, I wanted to shop for stickers together. I already browsed around for a few Egyptian lore stickers you might like, I made sure that they were dishwasher safe.” You pulled him to the couch and grabbed the laptop resting on the coffee table.

🍮-“We can decorate them?” He tilted his head in confusion.

🍮-“Yes, we have to or else someone might steal them. Well, I suppose they can still take them with or without stickers but this way people know it's your bottle. Plus decorating stuff with cute stickers is always fun.” You pulled up the tab you had saved with stickers he might like, in an instant his interest was piqued.

🍮-“Ooh that one is a real laugh, I love history puns.” He reached over to the coffee table and plucked up his glasses, settling them on his nose like an old librarian. “Look this one is holographic, that’s fun innit.”

🍮-The good thing about stickers is that they are fairly inexpensive, he only blinked a few times when you hit the purchased button. You rested a hand on his chest, “Remember we need to decorate them or they might get stolen.”

🍮-“Yeah, that’s true. Have to make sure your gift doesn’t get nicked. I wouldn't want that to happen.” He shook his head, his head aching at the thought of him losing your precious gift.

🍮-From then on he was religiously drinking water. He left the apartment before you when it came to working but he always made sure yours was on the counter filled and ready for you to take with you on your way out.

🍮-He was also very attentive when it came to washing them every other day. “Moondrop, where is your water bottle? It’s wash time.”

🍮-His was already dripping in on the drying rack. You yelled from the shower, soap suds threatening to slide into your eyes. “In my bookbag darling.”

🍮-“Found it!” He shouted, smiling as he made his way back to the sink to clean it. He went out of his way to buy the special scrubber meant for baby bottles and their nipples, wanting to be sure they were properly cleaned.

🍮-He was utterly heartbroken when his water bottle finally fell victim to his clumsy nature. His eyes were glassy as he looked at the new dent his water bottle sported. “How the bloody heck did that happen? I swear I was taking proper care of it, moondrop.”

🍮-You reassured him that a dent in his bottle was nothing to be upset about. The very next day while he was gone you made sure to drop yours off the counter. When he came home you merely said you dropped it during the hustle and bustle of the day.

🍮-You set yours beside his and said, “Look at least they match now.”

🍮-A small smile lit his face at your words, forgetting of his previous worry over the dent on his.

🍮-Your second mission was to make sure he got enough nutrition. That wasn’t as hard to do, his lack of eating was due to his forgetfulness and not because he lacked an appetite. Plenty of times you ordered out of your usual serving size at restaurants and when you finally had enough you would pass it over to him.

🍮-“I’m so full darling, you think you can finish off my plate?” You would ask, sliding your plate in his direction.

🍮-“Of course, moondrop.” He would say, happy to help you out.

🍮-You always made sure there were easy snacks in the fridge.

🍮-They had to be within eyesight and not in the drawers of the fridge or else he would neglect them.

🍮-You were in the kitchen, chopping away at a nice juicy green apple. “Darling, would you eat an apple if I cut you up one? I think they are gonna go bad soon, and you know how I hate wasting food.” You fibbed once again, you had just bought these apples that very week.

🍮-“Sure love, it isn’t right to let food go to waste.” He wandered into the kitchen, looking at your hands move as they cut up the bright green fruit. You fed him a slice over your shoulder, he eagerly munched down on the fruit.

🍮-“Can you get me the peanut butter from the cupboard?” You asked, starting to slice the second apple.

🍮-“Yes, of course.” He turned away to go fetch it.

🍮-With his back turned you quickly cut up your apple and added a few slices from yours to his plate. Making it seem like he got the bigger apple. You smeared some peanut butter on the plates.

🍮-You turned and handed him the butter knife. “Lick that off for me, darling.”

🍮-He took it without hesitation doing as you ordered. He tossed it in the sink when it was licked clean. You grabbed both plates and made your way to the couch. You passed him his plate and grabbed the remote.

🍮-“I think a new documentary just came out.” You hummed, flicking through the rows of movies.

🍮-“Sounds good,” He answered, crunching around an apple slice.

🍮-He leaned into your side, snug against you as he watched the documentary and ate his snack. Once his plate was wiped clean he put it down on the coffee table, now that his hands were free he laid his head down on your lap.

🍮-He picked up your hand and pushed it on top of his head, silently commanding you to scratch his scalp the way he adored. You instantly tangled your fingers into his curls, loving the silky way they felt.

🍮-He tried to keep his eyes open, the documentary was an interesting one, but his snack and your magical fingers were lulling him to sleep. His eyes slowly blinked, each time the action seemed to get more difficult.

🍮-Your third mission was getting him to take small naps, always reassuring him that you wouldn’t let him sleepwalk under your watchful eyes.

🍮-“Take a nap, darling. I’ll be sure to wake you up in a bit.” You cooed, leaning down to drop a kiss on his forehead and then the tip of his nose. He pouted when you pulled back up without pecking him on his lips.

🍮-His drowsy eyes blinked up at your owlishly. “Only nap if you give me a kiss.”

🍮-“I just did.” You chuckled, knowing that forehead kisses weren’t what the man wanted.

🍮-“No, you didn’t.” He huffed, his eyebrows puckering up in his disagreement.

“Oh, you’re right, darling.” You purred, leaning down once again, unable to not tease the man you were a breath away from his lips but you once again neglected them, favoring to rub your nose against his, an Inuit greeting you had learned about from the man himself.

🍮-He didn’t like your little mischief, bringing his hand to clasp behind your head so you weren’t able to lift it away from his. His plush lips slid across yours, his soft lips lazily kissing you. With that, he let you go and settled back down.

🍮-“One hour.” He ordered, closing his eyes.

🍮-“Of course, darling.” You nodded, knowing full well you weren’t going to wake him up in just one hour. He needed at least a three-hour nap with how dark his eyes bags up, you knew they would lighten a bit after his nap.

🍮-You reached around the couch and pulled off the throw blanket you kept draped across the couch. You flung it in the air and had it float down to settle around Steven’s body. The tension on his face melted away with his consciousness.

🍮-“Sleep well, my love.”

This whole fic was just too sweet to write. I enjoyed every second. What are you thoughts? Did you like it? I look forward to writing more for Steven/Marc. Let me know what you think. Please leave a note and reblog. Both really motivate me to write more. 🤍

#moonknight #steven grant x reader #steven grant fluff #steven grant #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marvel x reader #oscar issac x reader #oscar issac #x reader #fluff #moonknight fluff

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princelylove · 23 days

Note

My Prince,

If it would be to your liking, would you share your personal intelligence rankings, which you spoke of in the tags of a previous request, to the court?

Thank you, Your Highness.

Intelligence is classified by your ability to apply things you already know and the skills you already have. You can be bright but slow, or a quick thinker but lack experience. There's many things to take into account when talking about intelligence. This may not make sense, as I am a bit loopy from switching meds recently.

Loosely:

Giorno is obviously at the top. I think it's criminal that his intelligence is listed as a B on his stats. Giorno doesn't slack in any of the things I understand intelligence to be, he applies absolutely everything he has and somehow never misses. Giorno spent his entire childhood figuring social etiquette out the hard way, he's hard wired to figure out what to do and not to do as quickly as possible. To Giorno, survival means being the best of the best. Has he always been absolutely perfect? No. Has he always bounced back? Yes.

Trish is fairly young, it's a bit unfair to put her up against grown men. She takes after her father in many ways- one being how clever she is. She may not understand stands yet, or why she couldn't just stay home and never go out again, but she's very quick to adapt. Trish did well in high school, she had a high gpa and did lots of extracurricular activities, which just means that she's a hard worker. Her ability to adapt and her natural curiosity is what leads me to believe that she's on the higher end, it's just that she lacks experience pre canon. Post canon, she's a force to be reckoned with. A Trish that understands how to fully use her stand, how to do what her father did and make someone disappear entirely, and how to manipulate the public so they think her kidnapping victim lovely darling is on tour with her is a very dangerous Trish indeed. If this is strictly pre-canon, bump her down to the middle-lower end.

Some people may not like Guido being in the top three, but I'm fairly firm on it. Guido's a quick thinker and has managed to stay alive for this long. Does he understand things like infections and germs? Not really. Could he, if you explained it to him? Sure. Guido's street smart- he never went to college, but he reads a lot. He's a curious guy! If something interests him, he'll look into it. He's got great instincts and a ridiculous amount of luck, which isn't intelligence, but often will help him figure out what's going on. He checks for Sale's shadow under a truck, he yells at Narancia for not telling him the stove was on and it wasn't safe to fire his revolver. He knows what he's doing, even if it seems like he's just fucking around until something clicks. That's kinda scientific theory, isn't it? Fuck around and find out? Yeah, he gets it.

Pannacotta... the author Her Highness does not believe in IQ tests, as most people who claim to have a high IQ got it off of some online test made to stroke the quiz taker, but I believe Pannacotta is very intelligent. He's just not socially intelligent, which bumps Trish and Guido above him. He left behind his prissy, rich lifestyle in favor of being homeless for a little while before Bruno found him- he's left behind most manners and forgotten most unspoken rules. In this case, Trish and Guido outdo him. What worth does purely academic intelligence have if you cannot apply it, and it has nothing to do with the situation? Pannacotta is intelligent, but he isn't creative enough to apply what he has. Who makes a vaccine on the spot like that?????? If he wasn't so in his head all the time, he'd probably be a lot scarier. I mean, who thinks to put capsules in things you're not supposed to be touching anyway?

I think it's a bit silly to put Bruno so low when he is, in fact, an adult with a fully developed prefrontal cortex. I don't think Bruno is unintelligent at all, he's a man of average intelligence for his age. He's only so low because everyone above him is not average, even if they pretend to be. An older, more mature Pannacotta would have him in too many categories for comfort. Guido has him in reaction time and blind instinct, and while some may argue that isn't intelligence, it's applying what you've got. Bruno can be a little slow at times mentally, but never in combat. He pauses to make decisions that would take Giorno a split second. He makes mistakes that, although he makes up for later on, he still makes in the first place. He's formidable- he has experience and knows how to use it, but he's not very creative.

Narancia's not all there all of the time. It's not fair to say Narancia's stupid because he isn't good at math or academics in general, you can be smart and have weaknesses. But not Narancia. He's a little lacking. He doesn't try to make up for it at all, but he's figured some things out that he definitely shouldn't have before, saving him from dead last. Narancia has some crazy instincts, but he doesn't really know what to do with them. Instincts don't equal intelligence, but it helps. He'll take credit for anything you're willing to blame on him- FUCK yeah he figured out you're trying to escape 'cause you left some shit on the table. (He felt it in his tummy and got anxious that you're leaving him.)

Leone went through some schooling, but he barely passed. You could always argue that he was too depressed to do his work, but I personally don't believe so. Leone's slow and prone to picking the hard way- not because he's a masochist, but because he's been living off of going "Well, one of these is right." for the past three years. He's just happy he finally got a stable job. His instincts are terrible, his reaction time is shit, he has very slow realization in general- the list goes on. Does that mean you're getting off easy? Nope. He's still taller, and stronger. Doesn't take a lot of brains to pin someone, especially when it's muscle memory. Leone can bump himself up over Narancia eventually, but only because Narancia is emotionally stunted. You have him in the emotional maturity (aha. Leone and emotional maturity?) category, and what else? Get a grip. Leone knows how to do more- makeup and cosmetics is a skill, so is media literacy- but Nara's got him in reaction time, realizing that dots do in fact connect, and learning how to put you in your place at a faster rate.

#request granted #poor leone #a pass is a pass I respect it #yandere vento aureo #yandere leone abbacchio #yandere bruno bucciarati #yandere narancia ghirga #yandere guido mista #yandere giorno giovanna #yandere trish una

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lilith-little-world · 1 year

Text

Sneak Peek of Chapter One|| The Isekai’d Oracle||

This is very short and I will be posting more sneak peeks of the wip chapter and drawings of possible spoilers for future scenes. For clarification, this is a Sun Wukong x Reader, for each chapter my minimum word count is around 10k words, usually, I try to push for 20k. The most I had done is over 50k words for a chapter (still fucking proud of that). It may take a while tho. I will upload the story on Ao3, Wattpad, or both.

Also, this will be unedited and will have a lot of grammar mistakes. There are going to be huge or small changes when the finalized chapter, comes out. So enjoy the first part of the first chapter.

Summary: The reader was pushed beyond her breaking-point, and wishes for a new life. Not knowing, it had set in stone her destiny. Thrown into the world of the Lego Monkie Kid, she earns the title, “Fated Oracle”, who has returned to give her guidance. The bad news, she doesn't have a clue what's happening and regrets ever wanting a new life. Yet she decides not to change the ending but change the path towards it. Will she succeed in not having everyone go threw angst? Is it possible that the Monkey King will not fuck over any new friendships and have everyone mad at him? Let's find out if our precious reader makes the story all fluff or have it ruined by angst and pain.

The campus was busy as any other day. Students walked to their classes, and clubs doing activities or talking to their friends, everyone was enjoying their sunny and bright day. Then there was you, stuck in the campus library, quietly crying. Shame and embarrassment never hit you. Is it so bad to have a break from the constant shit the world dumps on you? Apparently, it is.

The students ignore your display of raw emotions. Nothing new, many students before you, would seek the endless bookshelves. To have a spot to cry in. It's the only area on this campus where the possibility of some alone time exists, even though it was public.

When was the last time you took a break and just be yourself?

You sob while watching an animated show on your barely working laptop. The only thing comforting you on this terrible day. The 2D Lego characters act out the ending of the series. Well, for now, as the foreshadowing of season 4 plays. It had been a while since you had last seen the show. Rather busy with the fuckery of this year. You close the laptop when the screen fades to black. You stare at a random corner, letting your mind think.

The current enemy.

Earlier in the school year, you made sure to be on top of your classes and get good grades, only to fail. How did things get so bad? You did everything right, and chose the “correct path”. So, why isn't everything working out?

A few faces pop into your head, almost in a taunting way. Of people, you can blame this unfair situation you’re in. Yet you didn't have the heart to do so. Still, your infuriated mind replays the memories of how this mess came to be.

Midway into the first half of the semester, your parents had gotten sick with the flu. Sadly, you were the only child that had “enough spare time” to take care of them. It made you miss a few in-person tests during that small period but nothing your overall grade couldn't deal with.

Luckily, your parents had gotten better, soon after. The moment they were in stable condition, you had already packed your bags. Ready to go back to the college campus. Then life decided that it didn't hit you hard enough.

Consequently, your mother had gotten into a small accident at work. The day you were planning to leave. Luckily, it wasn't anything serious, yet somehow, your help was once again needed.

However, what got you upset the most, is how the professors weren't sympathetic to your current situation. Refusing to allow you to retake the tests or projects. Next thing you know, the zeros started to pile up and destroyed your once-good grades. Even though you tried to stay on top of the online work or trying to be part of the group projects yet it wasn't enough. So now you're failing the whole semester because a sorry excuse for a professor wanted to be an asshole.

This was going to be your last year, but that isn't the case anymore. Worse, you don't have enough money left to redo the semester. Dealing with your family and school was stressful enough, but what took the icing on the cake was that you had to work during all this. Being a server for some rundown diner, working late nights. You went beyond your limit and still kept pushing forward. Naively thinking that things would have gotten better.

You tried, and you failed.

What a cruel joke that is being played on you. If only something can whisk you away so you don't have to worry about this anymore. This isn't even the major you wanted to take but had done it to please your parents. Wasting your time on this damn absurdity, trying to play it safe. All because it was the “right path” to choose. Now here you are crying in a damn public library because you ruined your life. If only some greater power takes mercy on you and gives you a new life. A new start.

Then you'll make your own path to choose.

“Hehe, as if someone can be that generous.” You said to yourself. Closing your eyes, taking a breath.

“I don't have time for this. I already wasted enough. I need to be at work soon.”

Quickly pulling yourself together, you put away the laptop in your bag. The world doesn't stop spinning for anyone, after all. Anyway, you can always postpone a good cry for later and you can rewatch the series anytime.

The sun was setting, bringing the cold night. You shiver from the cold winds, regretting not bringing a jacket. Regardless, being cold or not, you waited at the bus stop around the corner. A few others wait along. The minutes pass by longer than usual. Cursing to yourself when you realize the bus is going to be a few minutes late. Another misfortune event on this godfucking day.

The sound of loud rumbling breaks your negative mood. The bus slowly came to a stop, the brakes hissing. A part of you wanted to say fuck it and not go to work today. Nevertheless, your body automatically steps in and shows your bus pass. Already have the actions mesmerized.

‘Guess it won't hurt to be on autopilot.’

That quickly, you zoned out and let your body lead. Only to check in when noticing your stop and putting your bag in the break room.

You put a black collared shirt on top of yours. Getting a hair tie out, you pull your hair back to a semi-high ponytail. It wasn't much but was better than being yelled at for not having it up.

“Alright, time to work and suck up.” You said, mentally preparing yourself.

This job was okay, depending on the night it was going to be. Either the diner is extremely busy or dead, and both are horrendous. Be stuck with countless people and their orders or have nothing to do for hours and get paid less for it.

You really need to find a better job.

“Come on sweet cheeks, customers are waiting already.”

Not caring to give a response to the head chef. Getting the menus, you put on your best smile.

“Hi, welcome, hope your evening is going great! What drinks do you want?”

You scribble down and go back to the counter, getting the drinks on the tray. The bell on the door jingles, letting you know that more customers have arrived.

‘It’s going to be a busy night, huh?’

The small restaurants slowly fill up, soon getting cramped. Luckily, other servers showed up so you didn't have to serve every customer.

“Hey, it's your turn to clean the restrooms.”

“I'm a little busy doing my job.”

Your coworker scowls.

“They can wait a minute or two. The restrooms can not.”

“That isn't my fault, Tom. My job was to wait tables, not clean the restroom. Also, we both know the customers can't for a goddamn second.”

You had never been on good terms with your coworkers. Since you like to mind your own business. Regardless, this person standing in front of you was just rude. Thinking he can boss you around.

“Yes but it's your turn to clean the restrooms.”

“Which I know, and I'll do it after I finish serving this table. You know since that's my job that I'm getting paid for, so it takes priority.”

The chef rings a bell. Tom just smirks at you. Rolling your eyes, you get the plates.

“Remember straight to the restrooms.” He said a little too cheerfully.

You hold back your groan and put on a smile. Placing the plates on the table with a group of people around your age. They chat away, talking about plans or stories. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming. You nearly get lost in it before remembering your job.

“Is that all?”

They nod, not paying attention to your presence. You glance at the clock on the wall. Your shift was coming to an end soon.

‘Better get to the restrooms before Tom has an aneurysm.’

The restrooms weren't even messy. People would rather not use the small area, so it didn't get too dirty. You just swept and mopped, making the room smell pleasant. Didn't even take long before you finished.

“Can't believe Tom made such a big deal out of this. I get that some people just like to be pricks but meeting so many in my life seems overkill.” You said to yourself while taking the bag out of the trash cans.

“Bet that fucker is having a good laugh. Hope he does, at least one of us is enjoying our night.” You dumped the dirty mop water down the toilet.

Now you can end this night and go home. The broom and mop go back to the janitor's closet and take the bags out back. You stop and look at the employee parking. Tom had been bragging about his new car. You slowly walk to it, getting a good look. The car was nice, new, and clean. It also seems he left the door unlocked.

“Fuck it.”

You open the door and tore the bags open. The dirty toilet paper covered the seats. You left the bag there and shut the door. Trapping the putrid smell. A genuine smile finally stretched across your face. Entering back into the establishment, humming. You went to the break room and grabbed your bag. Pulling out your phone and headphones. Ignoring the other coworkers who were on break.

“What got you in a good mood? You looked like you were about to shit your pants when we talked.”

“Oh, I just saw a funny scene out in the employee's parking lot. Some bozo got their car trashed.” You said vaguely, glancing at the man whose face turned pale. He immediately ran out of the room.

“Well see you all later, hopefully not.”

You left the restaurant before the chaos exploded. Only halfway on your trip back home when you finally got a phone call from your boss. You ignored it and tried to enjoy the bus ride.

There weren't many people there. Good, you never liked how these things get so crowded. The bus was oddly going a little faster than usual. You didn't question it, trying to focus on your phone. Scrolling through your feed, until your screen starts to glitch, and words appear.

Welcome back…

There was a loud screeching that tore the air. As the world became a blurry mess.

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