#but man. i went into college on monday and my teacher heard my voice and was like george GO HOME | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daemour · 4 months

Text

Pairing: Yunho x f! yn, mentioned possible woosan

Word Count: 4002

Warnings: cursing, kissing

Genre: Angst, fluff, e2l, school setting (unspecified), E for everyone

Summary: Getting flowers from a secret admirer was the highlight of your week. But with a certain blonde student disrupting your every day, things may change.

Hello @hotteoki <3 I am your secret admirer! It was great getting to know you and I hope you enjoy this! It kinda got away from me, and I do have a bonus woosan drabble that connect to this so i hope you enjoy it! and can you figure out who was giving the flowers?

“Ooh, look how popular you are, (Y/N), you got flowers again!”

Your peace of mind is shattered when you hear your worst enemy, Jeong Yunho walk by and tease you about your secret admirer. “Just because you’re going to die a lonely old geezer doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy my flowers, Jeong,” you snap at him before returning your gaze to the bouquet of wildflowers lying on your desk. Every Monday, an assortment of flowers would be waiting for you, and every Monday Yunho teases you about it incessantly.

Yunho cackles, leaning forward (on your desk, might you add) and poking at the flowers. “What’d you get this time? White and purple lilacs? Cute. This person must really like you, (Y/N)...I feel sorry for them.” He punctuates each word with another poke and you close your eyes, exasperated.

“Jeong Yunho, get back in your seat before I smack you,” you threaten, but it does nothing to intimidate your personal pain in the ass. All he does is laugh and raise his hands in mock surrender.

“Hey man, I’m just saying. You’re so mean to me already, how would you be if they came out and told you.”

You blink at him, barely processing his words before your mouth drops open and you get ready to retort when the teacher comes in and you’re forced to sit down with a polite smile.

“Mr Jeong, please take a seat so we may begin our lesson,” your teacher calls out and Yunho shoots you a smile that you want to wipe off his face before taking his seat.

“I don’t understand what he has got against me,” you complain to your friends as soon as you sit at your lunch table. “Ever since we went into college he’s made it his life’s mission to annoy me. I don’t think we ever interacted with each other in middle school. Or even high school! I know he’s my neighbour or whatever, but he could stand to be nicer.”

Wooyoung slurps on his banana milk, not even caring about your issues, but Seonghwa leans forward, always invested in the gossip. Even if he’s heard the same thing from you dozens of times. “Maybe he likes you?”

You scoff loudly at the suggestion. “Ew, no.” You shake your head and shut down that idea. “Even if he did, that’s no way to get me to like you back! What, I fall into his arms? ‘Oh, Yunho, thanks for making fun of me and putting me down at any moment you get!’ Yeah, that’ll work.”

You roll your eyes so harshly you think they might pop out of your head and Wooyoung finally looks up. “Have you told him to stop?” You open your mouth to object but your friend cuts in again. “Or do you just fight him back and keep playing his game?”

You blink owlishly before sighing and leaning back in your chair. “You know, sometimes you can be pretty smart.”

Wooyoung nods happily before it hits him and his head snaps toward you. “Sometimes?”

Your usual bouquet awaits you when you arrive at school the following Monday. This week it’s white lilies and you stop to breathe in the fresh scent. But to your surprise, something else is sitting on your desk. A packet of mentos sits plain on the desk and you stare at it for a few unblinking moments.

“Do you like it?” You jump at Yunho’s voice suddenly appearing from behind you.

Of course. You whirl around and point at the offender. “Can’t you leave me alone? I don’t know what I’ve done to make you hate me, but really, dude. What lengths are you going to go to? How did you even find out my least favourite candy? Why do you keep bothering me day after day?”

Yunho stares at you, his eyes wide and you almost feel bad. Almost. But you shake away these unwanted thoughts and narrow your eyes. Wooyoung was right—you let the teasing go on for far too long. “Just leave me alone,” you sigh and plop down in your seat and bury your head in your arms, no longer wanting to see your biggest tormenter. (And yes, you are exaggerating.)

Yunho mumbles something you can’t quite hear but you’re unbothered by it and just steadily ignore him. There’s another pause before you hear him walk away and your shoulders relax. But even so, you can’t help but feel guilt for how you snapped at Yunho. Maybe he really didn’t know you were feeling annoyed.

But no, you can’t bend like that. He’s been bothering you for a good part of the school year and even if he thought you were okay with it, surely he should’ve at least gotten to know you before jumping into teasing you.

You have more important things to worry about anyway, such as your secret admirer. Every time you see a new bouquet on the desk, your heart rate spikes and you can’t stop a smile from growing on your face.

But, the more you think about it, the more worried you are about what the outcome of this would be.

And lately, not just flowers have been appearing on your desk. Sometimes, there’s a phone charm, maybe a strawberry milk or two, always something extra alongside it. It’s only made you more curious about your secret admirer, and you can’t stop talking about it to your friends.

In your quest, you’ve narrowed it down to two people, Choi Jongho and Kang Yeosang. Both are in your grade, although you don’t talk to them very often. You just know they’re on the quieter side so would be more likely to prefer secret gifts. Plus, you’ve had projects with both of them so they are at least connected to you in some way.

“Are you just going to spend your lunch doing this?” Wooyoung barges into your empty homeroom during lunch, carrying his lunch as well as a sandwich from the cafeteria for you. He pulls a chair in front of you and sits. “You gotta at least eat. Just because Hwa is sick doesn’t mean I’m gonna feed you in his place.”

You laugh, looking up at him and taking the sandwich. “Aren’t you doing that right now though?” You dodge his swat, laughing as you push aside your gifts of the day. “Anyways, yes. I have my guesses narrowed down, but even if they’re both wrong is just fun to me,” you shrug.

Wooyoung hums, leaning forward to poke at the ring pop. “Can I eat this?”

You can’t help but snort, nodding. “Go ahead. But, you know, I wonder if they’d ever come forward. All I get are gifts and I don’t know if they’d ever tell me how they feel. That's why I keep guessing. I want to know.”

A sigh escapes Wooyoung’s mouth, and he cocks his head. “But (Y/N), what if they don’t want to be known? I mean, maybe they’d just like to be anonymous and just it die after graduation?”

You shrug, meeting his eyes. “I just wouldn’t want to live my life not knowing. Of course it can be scary to confess, but missing that chance would be worse, wouldn’t it? I wouldn’t ever reject them meanly if they turn out to be someone I wouldn’t like. Hell, my two guesses I don’t know if I’d want to date.”

Wooyoung nods, relaxing in his chair. “No, that makes sense. It’s better to get a solid answer than not. Do you think they’ll ever reveal it?”

Yet again, you shrug. “I really don’t know. I would understand if they don’t, but I hope they do.”

Wooyoung opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can, the door to the classroom opens and an unfortunately familiar head of hair pokes through. “What are you doing here, Jeong?” you snap, eyes narrowing. “Can’t even have lunch in peace now?”

A choked sound escapes Yunho’s throat and he looks ready to run back out and pretend it never happened, but he swallows it back and steps into the classroom. “I want to talk to you, (Y/N). I promise it’s nothing bad. Will you hear me out?”

You narrow your eyes and beckon him closer. “Fine. What is it?”

His eyes flick to Wooyoung, who leans back with a face of disapproval. “You can say it in front of me too,” he states, his expression unchanging.

At that moment, you really appreciate Wooyoung. Although he’s the one who told you to set a boundary with Yunho instead of letting him have his fun, he’ll still have your back. Yunho glances at you but you make no move to correct Wooyoung so he sighs and steps fully into the room.

“It’s about the gifts. And no, it’s not a joke,” Yunho quickly adds when he sees your face shift to a deeper frown. “Uh. I was just passing by when I heard you talking to Wooyoung and I figured I should tell you now.”

A sinking feeling starts to grow in your stomach. “No–”

Wooyoung starts to look genuinely regretful that he decided to stay, and you can’t blame him one bit. “It is me,” Yunho confirms. “I wasn’t the flowers.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “You think that helps, Jeong?” You let out an exasperated sigh and a shake of your head. “You’ve been making my life here difficult for the better part of a year and I finally tell you off. And you think adding to my confusion on the secret admirer is going to help? You must be crazy.”

Yunho shakes his head frantically. “No, it’s not just that. Of course, I wanted to show I was sorry but there’s another reason. I…uh. Do I really have to say it in front of Wooyoung?”

You frown, eyes flicking back and forth between them before you sigh and concede. “Wooyoung, could you give him some privacy?”

With a nod and a face of pure happiness at not having to witness what would be awkward for him, Wooyoung practically runs out of the classroom, leaving everything but the sandwich he had brought for you. “What did you want to say, Jeong?”

“I like you, (Y/N).”

Before his words settle fully your head’s already a mess. “What?” You can’t get a full sentence out, just blinking at your classmate, whose ears seem to be turning red. “No, this is another prank, right? You’ve decided that I can’t just have a good time with my friends.”

Yunho steps forward, pleading with his eyes but you scoot back in your chair. “(Y/N), please. I’m being serious. I wouldn’t joke about that.”

“You wouldn’t?” You scoff, even though it sounds a bit wet. “Tell me, why would I believe that? Even if you had left me alone, that doesn’t erase everything else you did to me. You don’t act with sincerity, Yunho. Go away like I told you to weeks ago.”

Yunho frowns and doesn’t go away, only coming even closer. “How can I make it up to you?”

“You can make it up to me by leaving me alone. You can’t expect me to like you after bothering me so much, really now, Yunho.” You shake your head again, standing up and gathering your stuff, pointedly leaving the gifts he had been giving you on the desk. “I should go find Wooyoung now.”

And before Yunho can say anything you leave him standing in the middle of the class as you wander through the halls hoping to pass the time before your next class (thankfully not with him).

“Can you believe he did that?” You groan, pressing your face against Seonghwa’s shoulder as Wooyoung awkwardly pats your back. After successfully avoiding Yunho for the next week, you had to call an emergency movie night with your friends to figure out what to do.

“Well, I hate to say it, but I told you–” Seonghwa cuts off his jibe when you glare at him. “Look, (Y/N), you don’t have to accept him or even be friends. But maybe you could just let him try and redeem himself. He seems genuinely sorry. And if you do that and then still tell him no, maybe then you could feel less conflicted about it.”

“I don’t know if you should do that,” Wooyoung cuts in.

Both you and Seonghwa turn to face him with confused looks. Out of the three of you, Wooyoung was the most realistic when it came to Yunho. Seonghwa wanted it to end up like a storybook romance, while you just wanted to never speak to Yunho ever again. Wooyoung had always been the voice of reason that maybe Yunho just didn’t mean it with malice and was the one to tell you to set a boundary with Yunho in the first place.

“Why not?” Seonghwa frowns, shifting so that he can face the two of you properly. “Out of us all, you’re probably the closest to him since you know his friend, San.”

Wooyoung snorts, waving his hands. “Just because I’m friends with San doesn’t mean I’m friends with Yunho. I just think if (Y/N) doesn’t want to have anything to do with Yunho, then that’s that.” He shrugs, leaning over to grab a handful of popcorn but Seonghwa isn’t letting it go.

“But I feel like it would be good for Yunho to learn how to properly apologise,” Seonghwa argues again. “He shouldn’t expect you to fall for him after he confesses right after an apology.”

You bite your lip and look at your hands clasped on your lap. Both of your friends have a good point, and to be honest, before Yunho had started bothering you, you didn’t hate him. In fact, every so often you had thought about inviting him to hang out with the three of you. You sigh again. “I’ll try. Just till the end of the school year, okay? When I see him with his friends he seems like a genuinely nice guy. Plus, wouldn’t it just make things awkward with you and San, Woo? San is one of Yunho’s closest friends after all.”

Wooyoung shrugs, still clearly unhappy but not willing to fight any longer. “What’s the worst thing that can happen? Yunho’s a cool guy, so I do hope he doesn’t screw it up.”

Seonghwa laughs. “Who knows? Maybe in the end, they’ll fall in love and get married and I’ll be the best man..”

You laugh and shove at him. “In your dreams. You just want to be in the wedding party.”

Seonghwa shrugs, leaning over to rustle your hair. “We all know it's true.”

“Oh, hi, Yunho.”

You didn't even have to find the tall blond this time. He's waiting by your locker. How did he even find out the number? You have no idea, and you’re not too sure you want to know.

“(Y/N), can I say something?” He holds out a bag with all the gifts you had left behind the previous week. “And you can honestly keep these. I don't like these candies anyway.”

“Uh. Sure? Thanks.” You take the plastic bag from his outstretched hands with only a little hesitation. “What's up?”

Yunho blinks, surprised at your willingness to listen, although he quickly composes himself. “Uh. My friend, San, told me I should apologise sincerely, not just saying sorry and then confessing.”

You can't help but smile at that—San and Seonghwa would probably make good friends. “Well, that would be appreciated,” you joke and Yunho’s body relaxes at your short laugh. “I can't fall in love if you go from bullying to loving.”

Both of you realise at the same moment how badly timed that joke was, but Yunho gracefully ignores that. “Would…would you like to go to the library with me after school today to work on finals?” Yunho almost whispers, as if he’s scared you would reject him. And at any time before today, you probably would’ve. But this time, you offer a small, unsure smile.

“Sure.”

And although your brain is screaming at you, your heart is telling you that this is not a mistake.

As much as you hate to admit it, you’ve grown close to Jeong Yunho. and his dumb smile. His jokes that somehow always make you laugh and also want to choke him out sometimes. Even your friend group has warmed up to him. Seonghwa still teases you in private about being with Yunho, but Wooyoung is just as friendly as ever and…also seems to be joining in with Seonghwa on the teasing. You’re not quite sure what to make of it.

But one problem still persists—the question of your secret admirer. The flowers have dwindled, although they’re still showing up. It’s almost finals week and you’re stressing out of your mind over the exams, and sometimes you can’t help but wonder to yourself if the person’s crush on you is dwindling. And why don’t you feel bad about it?

At first, you thought you liked them, whoever they are. You’d smile every time you see the flowers and you were genuinely relieved that your secret admirer wasn’t Yunho. But these days, you look at Yunho, and you wonder what would’ve happened if you had said yes to his confession. Would he hold you gently the way he holds your weekly bouquet to admire it?

“Hello? Earth to (Y/N)?” Wooyoung’s voice cuts through your thoughts, his hand waving in front of your face.

“Ah– Sorry, Wooyoung. What’s up?”

“No, no, you seem distracted.” Wooyoung plops down in front of you, leaning onto your desk and looking up at you with his brows furrowed just slightly. “Is something wrong?”

You shrug. “It’s just that…I’m confused.” You sigh from your bones, propping your head up with your head. “I couldn’t stand Yunho for such a long time, and yet, these days I can’t seem to get enough of him. I look at him and I’m fond. I’m not looking at him and I’m fond. But what about my secret admirer? They’ve been constantly there for me just by giving me flowers. It’s always perked me up. But I don’t think I like them the way they want me to…the way I want to.”

Wooyoong frowns. “What do you mean, the way you want to? You can’t help it if you don’t have feelings for them. And sure, maybe you appreciate them, but it doesn’t mean you have to like them back. It’s not like you’re dating. Hell, you don’t even know who they are. Maybe they won’t give a shit, or maybe they’ll be disappointed but what can they do if they never told you?” He shrugs. “If you like Yunho, just go for it. He’s a nice guy, outside of how he treated you. And a little birdie may have told me that he still likes you.”

You nod, defeated and yet relieved. “That’s true. Hey, Wooyoung.” Your close friend cocks his head, looking at you with wide eyes. “Thank you for your advice. I do appreciate you keeping my head out of my ass and in line. I know I don’t say it enough to you and Seonghwa, but you guys are my closest friends and I love you guys.”

Wooyoung’s smile softens as he leans in to give you a warm hug. “Can’t leave you floundering by yourself, dumbass.”

You slap Wooyoung on the shoulder but don’t break the hug. “Fuck off, idiot. I hope you stub your toe today.” You pause. “Did Yunho really tell San he still likes me?”

You can’t stop pacing the park in front of the school. You asked Yunho to meet you there after the last day of classes, hoping to ask him out, but now you’re starting to regret it. What if Wooyoung and San were mistaken and Yunho no longer likes you? What if he just laughs in your face and tells you it was a farce for a last prank before your graduation? You bring your thumb up to your mouth, biting on the nail as you debate between just playing it off as wanting to go to the arcade, or whether you should suck it up and tell Yunho. Or you just ditch him here and go home and eat a big tub of ice cream. The choice is yours.

You’re about three steps into your last plan of leaving when a warm hand grasps your wrist. “Hey, sorry it took me so long,” a familiar low voice hums. “San needed to talk to me. Hey, did you know–”

“Can I ask you–”

The two of you pause before giggling at the cliche interruption. “You go first,” you offer. “I want to hear the tea.” You wriggle your eyebrows at Yunho, making your friend snort.

“Did you know San likes Wooyoung?”

You blink for a moment before a grin breaks out on your face. “Oh, really? That’s so cute! I don’t know San well, but I know Wooyoung’s pretty fond of him. Hopefully it works out for them!” You’re pretty sure you’re practically sparkling from hearing about this. Wooyoung has always been the single one in your friend group—Seonghwa’s dating this one girl from a different area and they’ve been happy for years, and you’ve had on-and-off partners through the years. It would be nice if he finally liked someone.

Yunho nods, pleased. “I hope so too. They would be cute together. Anyways, what did you want to ask me?”

Ah. You’re pretty sure you’re looking a little sick from how Yunho’s barely hiding his concern behind his eyes. “Uh. So. I changed my mind. See you at graduation!” And hopefully never again.

But before you can back out like a coward and never face Yunho again, you catch a twinkle in his eyes and a knowing smile and you immediately have a sinking feeling in your gut. If your fears are confirmed, you’ll make sure to write a nice eulogy for your friend. “...What did Wooyoung tell San and what did San tell you?”

Yunho chuckles. “Same as what San told Wooyoung, who told you.” His smile somehow grows even larger. “Honestly, the only reason I haven’t killed San yet is because I’d like to see him and Wooyoung get together.”

Your eyes narrow. “Well, I’m not sparing Wooyoung that same courtesy. I sure hope San’s able to keep Wooyoung alive.” You turn away, ready to find Wooyoung to beat him up but the grip that you forgot Yunho had on your wrist tightens and he tucks you into a back hug, his other arm wrapping around your waist.

It feels like time stops as you can hardly breathe when Yunho’s chin rests on your shoulder. “You can fight Wooyoung later, but I think something is slightly more important than that.” And before you can say anything, Yunho spins you around and presses a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Now it really feels like time has stopped for you, but all you can do is stare up at him with your face slowly heating up until you feel you may melt. “Uh,” is all you manage to eloquently say, but Yunho just smiles, waiting for you to gather your thoughts while looking at you softly. “Uh. I think that slightly is a bit of an understatement.”

Yunho bursts out laughing at your admission, leaning in again until his nose brushes against yours. “There’s the (Y/N) I know and love. May I kiss you again?”

You’re pretty sure he can feel the heat radiating off your face, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you nod before whispering out a ‘yes’. And, before you can even blink, his plush lips are on yours again. It feels like a daydream, but as your hands come up to cup Yunho’s face, you smile into the kiss and feel at home in his arms.

#pirateadmirer #pirateeznet #wkcnet #kvanity #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez yunho #yunho #yunho x reader #yunho fanfiction #yunho fanfic #yunho agst #yunho fluff

170 notes · View notes

from-seas-to-skies · 3 years

Text

The Teacher / Bakugou x Reader ♕︎

warnings: NSFW, teacher/student relationship, oral sex, spitting, sir kink, slut shaming, somewhat brat taming, age difference, unprotected sex

words: 5,772

(a/n): Bakugou is 30 in this; reader is younger (college age)

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

One, two, three, four… How long was it going to take until class ended again?

Looking up from your notebook, you stare up at the clock, the large, monotonous face seemingly glaring straight back at you. You don’t know how it happens, but time always moves so slow when it comes to your calculus class. Frankly, you’d rather ditch the class altogether, but if you wanted to graduate from college, you had to pass. Curse stupid curriculums and all that shit.

However, despite absolutely dreading having to stare at numbers for a solid hour and a half, there is a plus side to taking this dreaded class. In fact, it’s the very reason why you signed up for it in the first place. You’ve heard so many wonderful things about it, all from girls and guys alike, and you knew you had to see it up close and personal – rather, you had to see him.

Professor Bakugou.

Age thirty, drives a Land Rover, and, most importantly, single.

He’s about as dreamy as they come; a complete and utter Dreamboat Annie, absolutely huge in both height and stature, intelligent, and handsome. He’s only been a professor for a few years, but it’s been made apparent to the school that he’s worth it. Not only are his teaching methods and lectures incredible, but he’s turned out some of the highest grades your college has even seen. That itself is impress, and, combined with the hype of how hot he is, it’s no wonder people rush to take his classes.

So, when it came time for class schedules to come out, you were excited, needless to say. Despite having a general disliking to math in the first place, you figured this one guy could be what it takes to turn that idea around. Oh, but that was before you first laid your eyes on him.

Shit, you had heard that he was attractive – godly, even – but this? You weren’t expecting this. His biceps alone could crack a watermelon, and his sharp jawline could easily cut diamonds. It sounds cliché, that’s true, but you have no other way of putting it. Words did not do this man any justice.

At first, his constant yelling and crude demeanor were a total turn off. Professor Bakugou was essentially the teacher version of Gordon Ramsay, and you weren’t entirely sure if you liked that or not. However, as time continued, you actually grew accustomed to it. In fact, if he didn’t yell at least once during the class, you’d immediately figured he was having a bad day.

That’s when the thoughts began. Call it infatuation, a mindless crush, whatever, but you wanted Professor Bakugou. Your eyes soon began to watch his large hands flex while he wrote on the board rather than the content itself. You’d watch his forearms flex while he turned the page in his textbook, prominent veins inviting you for a better look. How you longed to touch him, to grab his sturdy shoulders or pull his wild hair. He always looked so good, clothes tailored to fit his muscular frame perfectly.

You’d fantasize about the most random of scenarios, each of them usually ending up with him bending you over his desk at the front of the room. You liked colder days the best, especially since Professor Bakugou had the habit of wearing form-fitting sweaters that outlined his massive pecs or the swell of his arms. You wanted to make him feel better, to sit underneath the desk and suck him off while he taught the rest of the class. Those narrow hips had to be strong, and you’d be damned if you never got to experience their power at least once.

It’s almost as if Professor Bakugou had cast a spell over all of his students. Nearly all of them gushed about how great he was; and, if you were in the proper company, they exchanged fantasies or proclamations about how fucking gorgeous he was. You’d usually grow bitter at these types of conversations. It was a crush, for fuck’s sake. There was no need to get all pouty like some problematic schoolgirl.

Still, the thoughts wouldn’t go away, not when he taught, not when he yelled. His booming voice became a part of your wicked fantasies, wondering how it’d sound to hear him grunting your name or commanding you to spread his legs for him. Again and again, you told yourself that it was fine, that people develop crushes on their teachers all the time. It was only in the dead of night that you’d have your hand stuffed down your pants and mouth moaning his name into a pillow was when you regretted it. It was a phase, nothing more.

And yet, over two months into the semester, and these thoughts still won’t go away. The constant ticking of the clock brings you back down to Earth, your eyes focusing on the problems before you. Swallowing thickly, you loosen your hand, now just noticing how hard you’ve begun to clench your pencil. Your insides feel oddly warm, that pleasant, heavy feeling sitting behind your belly button. Dammit, you mentally curse, this is not the time to be getting distracted.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

If only class could end sooner.

“Right,” Professor Bakugou suddenly says from his desk, “this Friday, I’m holding a study session for the upcoming exam on Monday. There’s only going to be a limited number of seats available, so if you wanna join, here’s your chance.” With his words, he holds a blank sheet of notebook paper up, a rather bored expression on his face.

He must be tired, you think, unconsciously biting your bottom lip. But why?

Around you, students shuffle to the front of the class, waiting for a chance to scribble their names onto the paper. Some seem a bit more excited than others, obviously arching their backs or flipping their hair over their shoulders. With a scoff, you look back down to your work. Did they really think they could catch his attention like that? Yeah, so he doesn’t show off a ring on his finger, but it’s pretty likely that he has people throwing themselves at him all the time. Besides, Professor Bakugou is a strict guy; there’s no way he’d engage in a relationship with a student.

You really shouldn’t be getting your hopes up. It’s pointless to pine after your teacher like that, especially with the risks that come along with getting involved with each other. Still, you can’t help but feel bitter. Professor Bakugou is a god that walks amongst men, so how could you not want somebody like him?

“Alright, that’s all for today. Class dismissed,” Professor Bakugou calls out. Dammit, you spaced out again. Maybe you should get that checked out?

With a sigh, you stuff your belongings into your backpack and draw to a stand. You wish it would be spring already; trudging through snow and ice is never fun, and the fact that your dorm is basically on the other side of campus makes it even more rough. Pulling your coat on and slinging your backpack over your shoulders, you make way towards the classroom door, completely unaware of a set of eyes watching your every move.

“Man, this is impossible,” your best friend, Ashido Mina, groans. “I’m going to bomb this exam for sure!” Sprawled out on her stomach, she squirms on the floor, her face scrunching with her displeasure.

You, on the other hand, sit cross-legged across from her. Notebooks and math textbooks surround the two of you, your laptop and calculator at the ready. Bags of chips and pretzels sit to the side, along with abandoned coffee cups and empty water bottles. Professor Bakugou’s exams were notorious for being hard, but at the same time, if you payed attention in class and studied, you’d succeed. The thing is, though, that neither you nor Mina are the best when it comes to math.

“I thought you went to his study session?” you ask, glancing up from your own notebook.

Flashing you a pout, Mina nervously runs a hand through her fluffy hair. “Well, yeah, but you know how it goes! A secluded area with Professor Bakugou! It’s like a dream come true! It was hard to focus when he’s leaning over your shoulder like that…”

Rolling your eyes, you puff in amusement. “Really? Mina, you know what will happen if you fail this test.”

“Yeah, yeah, but come on! You can’t blame me! You would’ve done the exact same thing!”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh yes you would’ve!” Mina exclaims, pointing an accusing finger your way. “Don’t pretend like you don’t ogle Professor Bakugou during class! He’s one hell of a hunk, isn’t he? I never knew college professors could be so hot!” she gushes, a giggle following her words. “And that study session – oh my god, I nearly thought I was going to heart attack when he helped me solve this one problem. He’s so warm and he smells great!”

You cock an eyebrow at her. “You were smelling our teacher?”

At that, Mina blows a raspberry and waves a dismissive hand. “I’m not Kaminari, sweetheart. I have class. Besides, Professor Bakugou smells like caramel. Can you believe it? I wonder if he uses cologne or feminine soap.”

Caramel, eh? Now that’s something you can get behind.

“You want him to fuck you, right?”

Wait, what?

Narrowing your gaze at her, your brows knit closely together. “What kind of question is that?”

Mina rolls her eyes. “What, like you don’t think about it? Practically everyone on this campus has thought about it at some point or another? I mean, hello! He’s totally Daddy material. I’ve heard that he goes to the gym sometimes here on campus – turns out he’s huge.”

Huge. Of course this is what Mina chooses to focus on. You wish you had a spray bottle to squirt at her horny ass.

“And I don’t mean muscle wise,” Mina continues, a mischievous expression coming to her face. “I bet he tastes like candy.”

“Mina.”

“Why yes, Mr. Bakugou sir! I’ll gladly suck your fat cock for an A!”

“Mina.”

“His ass is really nice, too. I wouldn’t mind pegging him-“

“MINA.”

“What?”

You smack your forehead and groan as your hand trails down your face. “Are you going to study or not? I don’t know about you, but I’d rather graduate than work at McDonald’s for the rest of my life.”

Mina purses her lips at you in an excessive pout. “You’re such a fun sponge, holy shit. I think you need a good dicking down by Professor Bakugou. Maybe then you’d stop staring after him all the time during class.”

Your face heats up at her words, but there’s no way you’re owning up to that. Okay, so yeah, maybe getting fucked by him would be a dream come true, but you’re more realistic than that. “And you’re not concerned at all that he’s our teacher? You know, like he could lose his job and you could be expelled? That doesn’t bother you? At all?”

Mina shrugs. “Meh.”

“Woooow…. You really are shameless.”

“Hey, you win some, you lose some. If I could get that man to put a ring on my finger, then I’d be okay with it.”

“Yeah, because you definitely want to bring your math professor home. Uh huh, great one. Tell me how that goes.”

With a grunt, Mina rolls over and sits up. “Whatever, man. I’m hungry, so I’m going to go down to the dining hall. Wanna come with?”

Glancing at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand, you see that it’s only 5:15. True, you could get a bite to eat, but you’d rather stay back and finish a few more problems. “I think I’ll join up with you later,” you tell Mina.

She nods her head and offers you a small smile. “Suit yourself, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.” Gathering up her things, she unceremoniously shoves them into her backpack and salutes you with a goodbye. After she pulls the door shut behind her, you turn back to the task at hand.

It shouldn’t be this hard to solve these last couple of problems, but your brain is really starting to feel the struggle. A dull ache is already forming between your eyeballs, and you truly wonder if you’re going to make it through this or not. Maybe you should take a break, or at least give your eyes a rest. Still, that little stubborn streak in you tells you to carry on. You only have a few more problems left, and you’re so close to finally finishing!

As you set to work, the digits on your alarm clock change as time drags on. Okay, so maybe you’re demanding too much of yourself. Your brain is absolutely fried, and your headache is spreading. Glancing back up at the clock, luminous green lines glare a 5:31. Jeez, it’s only been sixteen minutes since you last checked, yet it seems as though hours have passed. You really want to finish this study session, but the last problem is throwing you in for a loop.

You’ve already scoured your notes and the textbook for how to go about the problem, but your mind is drawing up with a blank. It has to be because you’re tired, right? It’s not that hard… Or is it?

“Dammit,” you mutter, sitting back and pressing your palms flat against the floor. Again, you look at the clock. Frankly, you don’t want to spend all night pouring over this, and you don’t want to skip dinner, either. You know for a fact that Mina will beat your ass for skipping out on food. “Screw it.”

Scrambling off the floor, you throw a thick coat on and slide on your sneakers. Professor Bakugou sometimes has the habit of frequenting his office during the weekends (or so you’ve heard), and you desperately need to know how to solve this problem. Chances are something similar will be on the exam, and you want to get as good of a grade as possible. Plus, if he is there…

You swallow thickly. Now is not the time to let Mina’s previous words get to you.

And so, with your notebook tucked underneath an arm, you take off.

It’s a damned shame that his office is practically on the other side of campus, but you figure it wouldn’t be too bad to get your body moving after spending so much time hunched over. Now that you think about, you could just email him, but you’re not sure how quick he’d respond. This is a dire moment. Okay, maybe not, but still. Maybe you want to see Professor Bakugou. Maybe.

You’re thankful when you finally enter the building, free of the flurries of snow and the seeping chill. Stomping your feet free from snow, you look around, creeped out yet fascinated by the silent, empty halls. You doubt very many people are here besides lingering staff and the janitors. One could only hope that Professor Bakugou is frequenting his office.

As you draw closer and closer to his office, your footsteps bounce off the walls, reminding you of how alone you are. There’s a fifty/fifty chance that he’s even going to be in his office, yet your heart pounds frantically in your chest. If he isn’t there, you’ll just simply turn around and stalk back to your dorm and hope for the best. If he is there, well, you’re not entirely sure what you should say.

He’s your teacher, dammit. It shouldn’t be this hard going up to him and asking him for help. It’s literally his job to help students out; nothing more, nothing less. Still, Mina’s words ring throughout your mind. It’s just a crush, you remind yourself. Stop getting so worked up about it.

There it is, just straight up ahead – Professor Bakugou’s office.

Like the other offices lining the hall, it’s made from a heavy wood, a frosted window place in the top half with Professor Bakugou’s name printed on it. A simple door like this shouldn’t intimidate you so much, but yet it does. All you have to do is knock on it, wait for a possible response, and then go from there. However, now that you’re in front of it, you somewhat hope he’s not there. Your palms are growing clammy and your throat feels fuzzy.

“Here goes nothing,” you tell yourself, reaching up and rapping on the door.

For a moment, nothing happens. Perhaps Lady Luck has decided to spare some mercy on you, after all. Releasing a pent-up breath you didn’t know you were even holding, you prepare to step back and walk away, but then a muffled come in sounds through the door.

Oh, shit.

You wince as your cowardice floods you with a renewed force. There’s no way you can just leave now, not if you want Professor Bakugou potentially chasing you down. Taking in a deep breath, you turn the brass knob and poke your head inside. “Uh, Professor Bakugou?”

Oh, shit.

There he is, sitting behind an oak desk, hunched down over a stack of papers. He holds up a single finger, a signal for you to give him a moment. Immediately, your eyes skim over his exposed forearms, skim over the tight black turtleneck that fits him like a glove. Rolled sleeves, watch on wrist, and a pair of glasses perched on his nose, he’s just dripping with classy sexiness.

The steady tick tock, tick tock fills the otherwise silent room. It grates on your already wired nerves, mocks you for just standing there, waiting. You can’t help but glance at its face – 5:49. It’s already dark out, winter’s everlasting darkness sapping the Earth’s light. Stepping fully inside the room, you gently shut the door behind you, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought.

After another moment or so, he finally clicks his pen closed, tosses it onto the desk, and leans back in his chair. “Oi – what do you want?”

Removing your notebook from underneath your arm, you hold it out for him to take. “I was… I was wondering if you could explain how to work out this problem?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Professor Bakugou sits upright and glances at what you’ve written. “We discussed this during the study session on Friday.” His eyes dart up to yours. “I’m surprised you weren’t there.”

Is he singling you out right now? It feels like he’s singling you out right now. But wait, doesn’t that also mean that he noticed you not being there? He’s just saying that to say it, right? …Right?

“There was a lot on my mind,” you say softly.

Professor Bakugou sighs. “Alright, come here.” Maybe it’s the gruffness of his voice, but the simple command nearly has you whimpering on the spot. Jesus, you need to get your act together!

“Of course, sir,” you reply, the title subconsciously rolling off your tongue. Skirting around the desk, you come to his side, unaware of him shifting in his seat.

“It’s really not that hard if you put your damned brain to use,” he grunts, picking his pen back up. You notice how the tendons in his hand flex with the subtle movement; actually, now that you’re up close in personal, you can clearly see the veins racing up his forearms, the sheen of blond hairs.

Warmth seems to radiate off of him, just like how Mina said. You wonder if he gets hot easily, or if that’s just the way he is. Either way, you shimmy the slightest bit closer to him, eager to ward off the chill that still clings to you from the outside. He goes into great detail about how to go through each step surrounding the problem; you lean over his shoulder as he goes through the steps, the heat emanating from his skin drawing you in more and more. With each breath, the scent of caramel floods your senses. You’re almost half tempted to press your nose to his nape and get a better smell, but that’d just be creepy. Plus, even if you did that, Professor Bakugou could probably pick you up and literally throw you out of his office.

Still, despite knowing the risk, your mind takes off, just like it usually does whenever you’re in his presence. It would just be so easy to squeeze his thick arms, to run your fingers through his thick blonde hair. Maybe you could push the collar of his turtleneck down, expose his neck and bite the pulse. It’s almost ridiculous just how big he is, how easily he could overpower you. A familiar warmth floods your system, encasing your insides and clutching onto your heart. This is bad – very, very bad.

“Oi, what the hell are you staring at?” Professor Bakugou barks.

Snapping yourself back to attention, you notice him staring at you, his glasses now off his handsome face. If possible, he’s even more attractive up close; thick lashes, full lips, a slight gleam in his eyes that demand power and control. He almost looks entirely different like this, face lax instead of fixed with a scowl. Good lord, you really are whipped for him.

“Oh, um, sorry,” you ramble, eyes going wide. “It’s just that your hair looks really… fluffy…?”

“…Hah?”

You quickly avert your eyes. “Nevermind…”

“You know,” Professor Bakugou starts, voice low, “you stare at me a lot during class, too. You’re not very subtle.”

You wince at his words. “I… I’m not sure what you’re talking about-“

Rolling his eyes, he scoffs and tosses down his pen. “You’re not majoring in theatre, are you? Because you suck at acting.” He flashes you a cocky smirk when you look back to him. “Just admit it – you like what you see, don’t ya? Can’t say I blame you.”

Okay, wow, cocky much. Yeah, sure, he’s an absolute babe, but wouldn’t you think he’d be a bit more… modest?

Now it’s your turn to scoff. “Didn’t know my math professor thought so highly of himself.”

“Tch. Looks like you got a damn mouth on you, after all. Well, if you’re done undressing me with your eyes, do you want to learn how to do this problem or not? I don’t like repeating myself, but I’ll let it slide just this once since I like you.”

Wait, wait, hold up. Did he just say he likes you?

“You’re a good student,” Professor Bakugou continues. “Even if you do focus on me more than my lecture.”

Is this how the conversation was supposed to play out? Because damn you’re nearly shaking, and you still have your coat on. He knows too much, dammit. He’s known this entire time and he’s playing you.

“And yet you could’ve easily told me to stop,” you shoot right back, sick of being prosecuted like this. Sure, it might be a bad idea to pick a fight with a teacher, but this is outside of classroom hours; and, frankly, he can kiss your ass. Crude demeanor or not, you’re not about to let this man push you around.

“Who said I wanted you to stop?”

No. There’s no way he just said that. This big-headed narcissist is relishing in this, isn’t he? Bastard.

“Hate to break it to you, Professor, but almost everyone stares at you like that,” you tell him. You realize you just admitted it to the accusation, but there’s no point in defending it anymore.

“Like I give a shit about the others? Really? You’re gonna talk about them?” He scoffs his amusement and leans back in his chair, thick arms crossing over his chest. “Did you come here to ask me questions about the exam or did you just want to be with me all by yourself?”

You hesitate. Is that really the reason you came here tonight? The whole way here you debated this yourself, Mina’s words circling around your head. No, you’re smarter than this. It’s a bad idea to get involved with a teacher – it’s wrong.

“I’m not going to lie or deny the truth,” Professor Bakugou continues, his voice dropping to an uncharacteristically low pitch. “I’m also not stupid. You’re just as scared as me, aren’t you? Of the repercussions.”

Your mouth falls agape. What is he going on about…?

Slowly, Professor Bakugou sits back up, his face getting dangerously close to yours. Hot breath fans over the bottom half of your face. His eyes are heavily lidded, his lashes kissing his cheeks. “I’m not going to force anything on you,” he murmurs. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Oh my god.

Unable to resist the close proximity anymore, you shoot forward, your hands landing on the arms of the chair; Professor Bakugou’s lips are softer than you anticipated, but in no way is he gentle. Right away he’s clutching the back of your neck, dragging you forward so you’re settled on his lap. The arms of the chair pinch into your thighs at the tight fit, but you could care less. You’re on Professor Bakugou’s lap, you have his tongue in your mouth, his hands landing on your ass and kneading the flesh.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this forever,” he growls, his hands slipping under your shirt and gliding over your lower back. You arch into his touch, a breathless moan slipping past your lips.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you pant.

“I know.”

Fuck, it’s all so good, his tongue licking the inside of your mouth and hands unbuttoning your jeans. A startled noise erupts from your throat as a large hand slides into the front of your pants, cupping your crotch. You buck into his touch, all sense dissipating from your thoughts as you fervently grind into his heated palm. There’s a clutter of paper and office supplies as they hit the floor. Before you know it, you’re rising from the chair, your ass landing on the wooden desk instead.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” Professor Bakugou grits. Your ass is barely on the desk by the time he’s done dragging you forward, your jeans aggressively getting yanked off, your underwear following suit. Your thighs instinctively snap shut at the cold air making contact with your bared skin, but strong hands pry them apart, fingertips kneading into the flesh. “I wanna make you cum with my tongue.”

“Wai- Ah! Fuck!” you cry out, your fingers clutching onto the edge of the desk as his head ducks down, his mouth latching onto your sex. Until now, you weren’t even aware that you were dripping with arousal. Sinful noises spill from between your legs as Professor Bakugou fucks you with his mouth, his lips wrapping around your most sensitive parts.

“God, you’re such a slut.”

Smack.

You cry out as he brings a hand down on the innermost part of your thigh; your nerves quake, your blood pumps wildly through your veins. Again, he slaps your thigh, a growl tearing itself from his chest as he looks up, his eyes catching yours.

“Say it.”

Smack.

“I – I’m a slut,” you babble, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth.

Smack.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m a slut!” you exclaim, voice cracking.

“I expect you to refer to me properly,” he says darkly, his pupils dilating to the point where you could barely see his irises. “Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

A single smirk is thrown your way before his mouth is back on you, his tongue lapping up your arousal. His moves are quick, sensual. It’s clear he’s experienced, and you don’t blame him. Just look at him for Christ’s sake. The man is basically sex on legs, all nicely wrapped up in a turtleneck sweater and a simple pair of slacks. The pleasure only heightens as his fingers come into play, prodding at your hole; the tips just barely push past the muscle, leaving you moaning even louder and clutching harder on the desk. Your fingernails scratch the surface, the lacquer coming off.

“Tasty little brat, aren’t ya?” he drawls. Your entire body jolts as he spits on your sex. “I could get used to doing this.”

“Please, sir,” you plead, desperation filling your voice. You want his mouth back on you. You want to cum. “Please, it feels so good…”

Professor Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Shit, you’re even obedient. How nice.” He redoubles his efforts, then, wet noises filling the room along with your heavy breathing.

“Shit, shit, oh my god,” you babble, your body tensing. Still, his tongue digs in just right and there goes your sanity, flying out the window as you cum.

A deep chuckle fills your ears as Professor Bakugou sucks it down; drawing away, he flashes you his tongue, your arousal coating his tongue before he makes a show of swallowing the last bit of it. Wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, he draws to a stand. The tent in his slacks is obvious, the front of it darker than the rest. Your insides squeeze around nothing, the idea of making him get like that making you feel hotter than before.

You’re hypnotized as he pulls his hands away. His movements are slow and methodical, the clink of his belt echoing throughout the room. Swallowing thickly, you bite your lip as he leisurely undoes his belt and slacks. Blood rushes through your ears, your mind a complete mess. You feel dizzy with want, with the need to sink your teeth into the swell of his pectoral, to claw the plains of his back.

All the air is sucked from your lungs when he finally pulls his cock out, the head flushed a deep red. Your eyes trail over the prominent veins, the fat bead of precum pushing its way out the tip. Fuck, he’s huge, both in length and girth. Whoever told Mina that he was big wasn’t lying. Your legs subconsciously spread even wider, a silent plead for him to fill you up and fuck you raw.

“Tell me you want this,” he husks. He does the honor of unzipping your coat and slipping it off your shoulders before easing you onto your back. The cold from the wood permeates through your shirt, brings a new wave of goosebumps to your flesh.

“Only if you tell me the same thing,” you croak. “Do you fuck all of your students who walk in through that door?”

“No,” Professor Bakugou blatantly says, and you can tell he’s being earnest. “It’s wrong of me to think so, but I’ve been wanting to do something with you since I saw you. It sounds like some sappy bullshit, but it’s the truth. I was too much of a pussy to ask you out for a coffee.”

Something about hearing him confess his feelings to you sets your heart alight. A slight smile tugs at your lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Tch. And you’re a fucking brat.”

Hunching over you, a large hand plants itself by your head while the other guides his cock to your awaiting hole. A shaky breath passes through your mouth as he pushes himself in; the stretch burns, his thick cock filling you up in a way that you didn’t even know was possible.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he breathes. “Look at you, sucking in my cock like that. What a good little slut. I bet you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? I bet you touched yourself while thinking about this very moment, about me fucking you on my desk like this.” A surprised squeak bursts from your throat as he grabs your legs and throws him over his shoulders, effectively bending you in half. “Gotta fuck you nice and deep, right? Because that’s how a slut like you likes it.”

Like this, with your knees almost touching your ears, the tip of his cock hits your soft spot. A pathetic whimper comes from you as he grinds his cock into you, his eyes carefully watching your erotic expressions, figuring out what you like best.

Before long, he’s fucking into with vigor, his hips moving restlessly. His cock pounds into you mercilessly, the slap of skin against skin mixing with your cries. His mouth is at your throat, teeth skimming your jugular before he latches onto your thundering pulse. You helplessly claw at his shoulders, your fingers bunching into the fabric of his shirt. You’re so fucking full, your velvety walls clamping around his cock selfishly. A blend of curses and yes, fuck, you fucking slut fill your ears; he’s panting hard, a slight chuckle breaking through every once in a while.

“Fucking let everyone know who’s fucking you this good,” he grits. “Jesus, look at the mess you’re making…”

“Professor Bakugou!” you whine. “Your cock feels so good… Fuck, fuck, oh my god, yes-“

“Katsuki. My name is Katsuki.”

Katuski.

The name rolls around your brain like a loose bolt. It settles on the tip of your tongue, just waiting to be let out.

It’s when you cum that you shout his name, your walls tightening around him harshly while your nails dig into the meat of his shoulders. A load groan rumbles from the depths of his chest as he follows suit shortly after, his hips moving erratically as his cum splashes against your insides.

The both of you are sweating, panting messes by the time he finally pulls out. You whimper as you clench around nothing, the emptiness a bit too much to bear. Surprisingly, Professor Bakugou – no, Katsuki – is gentle as he cleans you up, his free hand rubbing your side. Swallowing your pride, you clear your throat.

His eyes flick up, land on yours. “What.”

“Do you…” You worry your bottom lip. “Do you want to get coffee sometime?”

Katsuki snorts. “Wow, got a real fucking charmer here, don’t I? How about you come to my place instead and I make you a proper dinner. You didn’t eat yet, did you?”

As if on cue, your stomach growls. Well, you did deny Mina’s offer for dinner, after all. You smile nervously and give him a shrug.

Chest swelling (with pride, you assume), Katsuki flashes you a cocky smile. “I’m a damn good cook, brat. I’ll cook a meal that will have you weak in the knees.”

“Maybe… Maybe you could finally show me how to do that problem?” you offer.

He rolls his eyes. “Will you finally pay attention this time or will I have to pound it into your brain?”

#mha #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #mha smut #bnha smut #empress writes #tw age difference

286 notes · View notes

just-another-muddafucka · 3 years

Text

unwanted visitor*

pairing: max cady x fem!reader

summary: a good deed turns out to be the worst choice you could possibly make... maybe.

warnings: explicit language, slight dub con, fingering, choking, face slapping, predatory vibes, huuggeee age gap (but reader is of legal age), daddy kink

When the last bell of the day rang, you were more than happy to pack your books into your bag and hurriedly get out from behind your desk. All of your frustrations washed away the minute the final bell rang throughout the school. You walked with a pep in your step down the hall and to the left where your locker was. Quickly putting in your combination, you unlocked the metal barrier and shoved your history textbook inside and huffed as you fixed your lopsided headband that kept your hairs away from your face.

“Y/N!” You heard your friends squeal your name as they ran to you, all laughing and talking at the same time.

“If you’re gonna ask me to go to the mall again, the answer is gonna be no,” you giggled and held your binder to your chest as you shut your locker and made sure to rearrange the numbers. “My parents are coming home tomorrow and I have to clean up and stuff.”

“And stuff? What’re you gonna do? Rub one out the last night you’re alone?” Alana, the loud and dirty one of the group, questioned you and made an obscene gesture with her fist and mouth.

You shoved her and covered your blushing face with your binder as your friends giggled around you. You rolled your eyes at her filthy antics and walked in between them. “I’ll let you guys know though, okay? I have studying to do and food shopping.”

“Oh, let me know when you go food shopping. I need to get more snacks,” Beverly, the insanely smart and talkative one of the group, told you as she fixed her glasses on her nose. “I ate too much of everything again and my parents are gonna freak when they see how empty the cabinets are. Especially my dads secret stash. No wonder he keeps a lock and key.”

You and Alana shared a look and laughed. Alana wrapped an arm around Beverly’s shoulders as you three made your way out of the school. There was still a bustle of students here and there - some waiting for the bus, some waiting for their parents, others just loitering. Alana and Beverly were chatting amongst themselves, and judging from the way Bev was sucking her teeth annoyingly, Alana was probably saying something dirty or poking fun. You were in your own head as your eyes scanned your surroundings.

They suddenly landed on a beautiful red mustang parked across the street. The man in the driver’s seat was significantly older than you. You weren’t sure if he was a parent or a teacher, but his eyes never left yours the minute you spotted him. A nudge to your arm brought you back down to earth and you quickly turned your head to focus on your two friends.

“We’re gonna head to the arcade. Danny’s supposed to meet us there. You sure you don’t wanna come?” Bev asked you, furrowing her eyebrows and biting down on her bottom lip with her brace covered teeth.

“I’m sure,” you smiles and fixed the straps of your bag and held your binder tighter to your chest as you took a few steps back. “I’ll see you guys Monday!”

They both bid you a goodbye and went around the school to where the football field was to cut a shortcut. You trotted down the steps and began to make your way home which was just a 10 minute walk, 6 minutes tops if you ran. But do you really wanna run in a skirt? You shook your head to yourself and giggled softly. The air was so fresh and clean. It rained last night and today was a beautiful morning. The smell of grass and flowers overwhelmed your senses as the birds chirped around you.

“Excuse me, young lady,” you heard a gentle southern voice call at you from beside.

You gasped and looked to the side and saw the man you had seen before. He rests one elbow on the the drivers side window as the other rests on the steering wheel. He was wearing a sailor’s hat and had a Hawaiian shirt on, only the top three buttons undone, showcasing a hairy and well built chest with tattoos. He had some on his arms as well and it gave you butterflies. He lowered his sunglasses just a smidge and gave you a charming smile. Up close, he looked so handsome and rugged.

“I sincerely apologize for startling you,” he told you. “Do you, by any chance, know where Collins Avenue is? I’m afraid I don’t have a map and I have a doctor’s appointment.” He seemed so friendly. It made you feel at ease. You stepped closer to the car and looked down the street, missing the way his eyes roamed you up and down.

“You’re gonna go down that street here. And then when you’re about to pass that yellow house, you’re gonna make a right. And then there’s gonna be a blue house at the corner, then you’re gonna wanna make a left and then keep going straight!” You told the directions and gave him a bashful smile, hugging your binder closer to your chest again. “Do you get it, mister?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, darlin,” he huffed and licked his lips, sucking his teeth and tapping his thump against the steering wheel.

“Well, I can draw it out for you if you’d like? I know this neighborhood like the back of my hand,” you giggled quietly, making the man smirk as he bit his lip.

“Would you like to take a seat inside so you’re more comfortable?” He offered and unlocked the doors of his car.

“I’m not allowed to get into cars with strangers, mister,” you told him softly, nervously biting your lip.

“Well look at how smart you are!” He praised you, causing your cheeks to blush pink. He didn’t miss that and grinned wolfishly. “My name is Max Cady. And you are?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you told him, taking a small step towards the car when he outstretched his hand to shake yours. His hand was so much bigger than yours, fingers long and veins protruding on his hand and arm. You swallowed down a whimper at the touch.

“See, now we ain’t strangers anymore,” he winked at you, laughing quietly as you looked down. “I promise you, I’m a respectful man and you seem like a lovely lil lady.” He fingers tapped against his thigh as his knee started to bob, a sign of impatience. But he needed to get you to trust him. He needed to simply wait it out until it was the right time. When your hand touched the handle, something inside of him jumped for joy. “There we go!”

You opened your binder and turned to a clean sheet of paper, pulling out a pencil from its pocket and beginning to draw an outline of where Max needed to go. You can feel his eyes on you as you neatly scribbled down street signs and little squares as houses. His scent suddenly filled your senses. The cologne he was wearing smelled so intoxicating. You wanted to bury your nose in his neck to keep that scent around you. You bit your lip and squeezed your thighs together under your binder, hoping he didn’t realize your squirming. Oh, but he did. His eyes trailed down to look at the exposed skin hidden under your pink checkered skirt, your white thigh highs fitting so snug around you. It looked so soft and supple. He needed to squeeze your flesh and sink his teeth into them to leave his mark. He suddenly wonders if you bruise easily.

“So, you go to this school here?” Max asks you, wanting to make small talk to keep you longer. “I hear it’s the last month before summer.”

“Yes, I do! It’s my last year too, and then I go to college,” you beamed with excitement and he almost found it adorable. “I can’t wait. It’s gonna be so exciting.”

“No kiddin’. What’re you studying?” He licked his lips and looked at your neck and collarbones, suddenly wondering what you’d taste like if he trailed his tounge across. How long would he have to choke you to make you pass out?

“English! I wanna be a writer,” you gave him a shy smile, watching as his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled back at you. Man, was he handsome. “I never asked where you’re from, Max. I recognized your accent.”

“Oh, just a lil town up in Georgia,” he shrugged. “Nothin’ too special, I guess.”

“Georgia? I heard they have great peaches up there. I always wanted to go to a peach farm,” you pouted.

“Can I let you in on a secret?” His voice dropped down to a low baritone hum as he moved closer to you, the heat of just him engulfing you like flames. His breath tickled your ear. “They ain’t that good.”

You burst into a fit of giggles and covered your mouth with your palm. Max chuckles to himself and elbows you lightly. Your skin was soft. His hands twitched as he moved back to his spot. And what perfume were you wearing? It smelled like strawberries and rose water.

“Um, here you go, sir - Max!” You handed him the paper and closed your binder after putting your pencil away. “If you just follow those directions, you’d be out on the main street and then the doctor’s office should be around there. I promise, you won’t get lost.”

“Well, since you’ve been such a lovely samaritan, I do believe you deserve a reward,” he tells you and reaches over to open the glove compartment, the back of his hand briefly touching your knees as he rifles around and pulls out a heart shaped lollipop. “Somethin’ sweet for a sweet peach.”

You blushed and took the lollipop with a soft thank you, sir. You unwrapped it and popped it into your mouth, immediately letting out a soft moan, not even realizing it as you suckle and lick. Max never once took his eyes off you. His face changed into one of seriousness. He need to have you. And if he couldn’t right now, he’d find a way. When you went to look at him, he immediately gave you that charming smile of his.

“How about I take you home? You’ve been so good to me and I would just feel so bad letting you walk alone out here,” he told you and laid a large hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing up and down as he looked into your eyes. Almost hypnotized, you nodded. “Where do you live, peach?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

When Max stopped in front of your house, he took notice of the absence of cars in the driveway. You turned in your seat and gave him a blushing smile. He rests his arm on the seats behind him and spreads his thighs comfortably. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes look down before quickly looking into his again.

“Thank you for the ride, Max. I do hope you get to the doctors office safely,” you told him gently, leaning over the console to give his stubbly cheek a kiss, once more smelling that cologne.

“Pleasure’s all mine, peach,” he grins and tips his hat to you like a gentleman, savoring the little giggles that escape your red tinted lips that was from the lollipop.

He watches as you exit the car, waving back at you as you walk up the long walkway that leads to the steps. When you reach the top, you unlock the door, turning back once more to wave at Max. He gives you a wink as you shut the door. His smile drops from his face at an instant as he puts his car into drive and parks a few houses down. All he has to do is wait now.

When you get inside the house, you drop your bag down with a sigh and envelope the silence that fills up every room. You hated silence with such a passion. It was so quiet, yet so loud at the same damn time. You needed excitement and wonder and boisterous adventures. You trudged up the carpet steps and enter your lonely room. Tugging off your shoes, you neatly put them back in the empty space under your bed, pushing them back just a tad so your bedsheets cover them. You remove your headband and run your fingers through your hair. You sat down on the edge of your bed with a sigh. Coming home to an empty house was the worst feeling you ever felt.

“I need a dog,” you mumbled to yourself and walked over to the radio that sat on your windowsill, sliding in your favorite tape of Queen and smiling happily again when Somebody To Love came on. You hummed along to the lyrics and began to pick up any dirty laundry lying around. You had to make sure the bathroom was in tact as well before your parents came home. You made a mental list in your head of things you needed to do as you left your room and entered the small laundry room just beside yours. You loaded the washer, poured in a small cup of detergent, and turned the novel so that it would start rotating the clothes around.

You walked down the steps and entered the guest bathroom that was adjacent to the back door. You put your handle on the knob and turned it to make sure it was still locked before you left for school and after you came home. Just as you walked down the hallway to check the front door, the familiar Hawaiian shirt caught you off guard in your kitchen. You gasped and pressed your back against the walk beside the steps. Max Cady was standing in your kitchen eating an apple from your bowl of fruits.

“You should learn how to lock your doors, honey,” he tells you, taking another bite out of the apple as he motions with his hand around. “I mean, anybody can just walk in.”

“Wha-What’re you doing here, sir?” You whispered helplessly, feeling as thought you’re about to collapse just from how fast your heart is beating. “My parents will be home a-any minute, you need to go.”

“The calendar says otherwise,” he tells you condescendingly and steps in front of said calendar. He points to a circled date that was tomorrow and reads aloud, “Mom and dad come back.” He turns back to you, seeing the evident fear in your ears and the tremble in your body. “Now, why on earth would you go and lie about somethin’ like that? Your parents taught you about strangers, but I guess they ain’t teachin’ you about lying.”

A small tear rolls down your cheek as you try to muster up a response, but all that comes out is a feeble, “Please.”

Max sets the apple down on the countertop and begins to stalk towards you just as you make a mad dash for the front door. You swing it open just when his strong arm wraps around your waist, lifting you from the ground and throwing you back down behind him, causing you to scream and fall on your hands and knees. He slams the door and chases you up the stairs as you helplessly crawl. You sobbed and fought at his rough hands as they grab your arms to slam you against the wall, making one of the picture frams fall onto the ground. You cried and clawed at his skin, trying to smack his face to catch him off guard.

“Get over here,” he growls and enters your room, throwing you onto the bed and slamming the door shut with his foot. “I do believe you need to learn some manners.”

You cried and hiccuped as you hugged your knees to your chest, desperately holding onto them as grabbed onto your pillows as well. You watched with tear filled eyes as Max turns off your radio. He gets on his knees on your bed. You helplessly shake your head and cried out when he grabbed your ankles and dragged you down onto your back, causing your sheets to come undone and your stuffed animals to become disheveled.

“Please don’t kill me,” you whimpered and closed your eyes tight, feeling his nose against your damp cheek as he chuckles in your ear.

“Kill you? Oh honey, I’m gonna teach you a lesson,” he tells you, his southern drawl becoming thicker. He sits up straight, looking down your body and at how your thighs are trembling, your skirt pooled around your hips to show your tight gray panties. “Look at what we got here.”

You hiccuped and fearfully opened your eyes to see him staring down between your thighs with such hunger. You go to close them, but he smacks your thigh with such force that it makes you cry out. You rub at that sensitive and pained flesh, suddenly wishing that you never interacted with the man. He grabs your blouse and rips it apart, your buttons flying everywhere. You hear some clatter onto the ground as you lay helpless under him.

“I don’t want to hurt your pretty lil self, so how about you just cooperate, hm?” Max sternly tells you, pointing a finger down at you as if scolding a child. When you let out a small, “okay,” he nods in approval. “Now, have you ever been touched by a man?” You shake your head no. “You ever been touched by a woman?” You shook your head no. “You ever touch yourself?” You shook your head no once again. He laughs to himself and rubs a hand down his jaw. “You shittin’ me?”

“No sir,” you weakly whisper. “I’ve been saving myself.” You jump from his boisterous laugh. “What?”

“Well, I never thought of you to be such a holy girl.” His fingers gripped your thighs and he groaned as he saw the flesh turn white before pink. “Sweet, little innocent thing, hm?”

“Yes sir,” you whispered, your thighs trembling as his fingers moved further down until they stopped at the rim of your panties. “W-What’re you gonna do to me?”

“Well, I wanna choke the life out of you and destroy every inch of this body of yours, but I’m a gentleman,” he grins and tips his hat before putting it to the side. “I like you, Y/N, and I think we’re gonna get along just nicely.”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pocket knife, sliding the blade under the fabric of your panties and lifting up in quick succession as he rips the fabric out from under you. He whistles and licks his lips as he first sees your bare cunt.

“Freshly shaved, just how I like ‘em,” he grins and rubs his fingers against the lips of your private parts. You jumped from the foreign feeling and gasped, thighs trembling to fall shut as he applies pressure to the swelling button hidden beneath your lips. “Thatta girl. Just let daddy do what’s best for you, hm?” He forces your thighs further apart and notices a small string of arousal sliding out of your tight hole. “What do we have here?”

You’re nervously panting as you play with the locket around your neck. Max slides his fingers to scoop up slme of your slick and shows it off to you with a filthy smile, spreading his fingers lewdly to show you the strings of arousal that look like saliva.

“I-I don’t know what that is,” you softly tell him. “And I don’t want to know. So can you please leave me alone, sir.” More tears filled your eyes as he laughed at your pathetic attempt.

“Darlin’, we’re just getting started,” he tells you and suddenly roughly shoves in his middle and ring fingers inside your tight cunt, laughing maniacally at the way you scream out from the painful intrusion. “That’s what I like to hear!”

You try to shut your thighs, but his large body and his arm between your legs stop you from doing so. He reaches over and wraps his other hand around your throat, squeezing and forcing you further down ontk the bed. You cough and grab onto his forearm, digging your nails into his tattooed and hairy skin. You kick your feet out as he begins to move his fingers in and out of you in quick succession. You squeeze your eyes shut as you try to distract yourself. But every single one of your thoughts are violated by Max. He squeezes your throat much harder than the last, relishing your weak gasps for air and the wet sloshing of his fingers inside your virgin pussy.

“You think I didn’t notice those little fuck me eyes looking at me inside the car?” He crooned. He removed his hand from your throat, watching with a hungry expression when you weakly gasp for air, your eyes dazy and unfocused. He slaps your cheek condescendingly, loving the small whimpers that leave your lips as he does so. “You wanted me from the start, little peach.” He leans over with a hand planted in the side of your head. You look up at him, thighs trembling even more as he speeds up his fingers, the tips prodding at this sensitive part inside of you that forces more slick to pour out.

“Mmhmmm,” you whimpered softly and threw your head back as your toes curled in your thigh highs. This feeling was so foreign, yet it felt so good. Max knew what he was doing, and yet you didn’t want him to stop. “Please... daddy.”

“That’s my girl,” he grins, crooking his fingers and moving his wrist upward as he ferociously begins to finger fuck you. You gasped and reached down to grab his forearm, but he shakes his head and laughs at your weak attempt.

“Oh G-God!” You squealed, eyebrows furrowing and cheeks burning up as the churning in your stomach envelopes into something bigger and stronger. “I-I feel... I feel... uuhhnnggh.”

“Let it happen,” he growls, slapping you in the face just as you squirt all over his hand and forearm, your juices spilling out onto your bedsheets and his pants. “Look at that!” He laughs as you try to catch your breath.

“Wha-What just happened, Max?” You whispered, feeling so dirty from letting an older man - a stranger - touch you so inappropriately, and you liking it.

“Oh honey, that ain’t nothin’,” he draws out and begins to unbuckle his belt. “We’re just getting started.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

TAGS: Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed <3

@robert-de-niro-only-fans @droogiesanddiscourse @robert-deniro-love

#so um yeah 👁👄👁#this man is making me think unholy things #max cady #max cady x reader #max cady imagine #cape fear #robert de niro

178 notes · View notes

css1992 · 3 years

Text

Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X / Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Almost three months into his new life, Peter was finally able to establish a routine that worked for him. He woke up around nine in the morning, tried to get some sort of exercise done, usually yoga or a jog around the block, then he had breakfast by himself, because both Ned and MJ had class or work before he was even up. After that, he made sure to post something on Just4fans, so people could see it throughout the day, and answered private messages and comments from the night before. Lastly, he headed to his newly created Twitter account to promote the new content and to interact with people there as well – it was a great way to get new subscribers.

That usually took up most of his morning, then he went downstairs to Ned and MJ’s apartment for lunch. He usually ate with at least one of them, except for Mondays and Wednesdays, when neither was home, but even then he ate at their place since he didn’t own any kitchen appliances yet – it was on the priority list, but not that high up, he liked having an excuse to visit his friends every day.

Later, he headed back upstairs and, depending on the day, he would take new pictures and videos or edit the ones he took the day before. Finally, at night, he posted more content on his Just4fans and chatted with his subscribers until it was time for bed.

In the last week of April, on one of his morning jogs, he noticed that just a few blocks away from his building there was a charity called the Bright Future Foundation. He thought the name sounded familiar, but try as he may, he couldn’t remember where he had heard of them. It was only after running past it a few times that it clicked – Mr. Harrington, his science teacher, told Peter to look it up.

The Bright Future Foundation helped kids who aged out of foster care get their lives together. They offered support in the form of scholarships and grants, academic and personal mentoring, and help with internships and employment readiness skills. That was what their website said, as Peter vaguely remembered from his high school years, when he still planned on going to college.

He went inside one day, not really sure why, and when the front desk lady asked how she could help him he just stood there for a few minutes, silent and nervous. She asked if he wanted to learn about their programs, but he shook his head, sticking his hands in his pockets. The woman waited patiently, a motherly smile on her face, until Peter asked if they needed any help.

And that was how volunteering at BFF became a part of his new routine – every Thursday from nine to five, starting in the first week of May. Since it was just a few blocks away from his place, he could walk there instead of taking the subway.

He liked his new routine, it was tiring but it didn’t leave a lot of time for overthinking or ruminating on the past. He never felt lonely because Ned and MJ were always around and he actually made a few friends among his subscribers, which was nice.

For the first time in a while, Peter was feeling happy. And it wasn’t an elaborate, fragile sort of happiness, where things needed to be in perfect place for the feeling to be felt, no. It was the simplest kind of happiness: he had friends, a job, a place to crash and everything was fine. Nothing was perfect, but it was fine.

A few days after he sent Tony the lingerie pictures, he decided to send him the video. He was a little insecure about it, it was 13 minutes long after editing and Peter had really lost it for a minute there, one could clearly tell. He was gone for most of the video, a moaning mess, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, begging for something – someone – that wasn’t even there. It either looked ridiculous or fucking hot depending on the person watching, and even though he was pretty sure Tony would not think it was ridiculous, he still worried just a little, but he sent it anyway. It was still early in the day when he did, some time around noon, and he didn’t expect him to answer any time soon, so went on with his day.

Tony messaged him around 2AM, as usual, but there was no text, just three videos in the chat. In the first one, it looked like he was wearing a suit, he could see the dress pants pulled down and the white shirt pulled up as Tony jacked off for thirty seconds before he came all over his hand. It looked like he was in a bathroom stall, sitting on a toilet, and Peter bit his lower lip, wondering if he was at work when the video was taken.

The second video was similar to the first, but it looked like he was in a garage or something like that – probably the workshop he always talked about –, Peter could see a black shirt bunched up around his waist and sweatpants around his thighs.

Last but not least there was a video of him completely naked, lying in bed, and the video was shot from Tony’s point of view, like he was holding his cell phone close to his face, looking down, instead of propping it up in front of him like he usually did.

They were all incredible and delicious and got Peter rock hard in a second. The boy got comfortable on the bed, lay on his back, took off his pajama bottoms and sighed when his cock sprung free, shivering a little when the chilly night air touched his heated skin. He planted his feet on the mattress and spread his legs, but didn’t do more than that yet.

“That good?” He messaged Tony, cheekily, and the older man started typing right away.

“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my whole entire life and I’m 48, so yeah. That good.”

Hm, forty-eight. So Peter wasn’t wrong in his assumption. He bit his lower lip, a rush of excitement running through his veins. Tony was so much older, almost thirty years his senior. Peter supposed he must be really experienced. He wondered if he usually hooked up with younger men or if in real life he only dated women – it wouldn’t be a shock – but most of all, he wondered what he looked like. Maybe he dyed his hair, but if he didn’t, it was probably mostly gray and fuck Peter if he didn’t have a thing for that.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You broke me. I was in the middle of a meeting when you sent that video, I had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom to watch it. What have you done to me, witch?” Peter wanted to laugh, but it got stuck in the back of his throat with a moan when he slid a hand to his lower abdomen and his cock stood to attention.

“I don’t know about that, but your videos sure got me horny as fuck.” He rolled his hips a little, humping the air, and finally gave in to himself, holding his cock in one hand and the cellphone in the other.

“Is that so?” He could almost hear his voice through the phone – soft, but powerful. He always imagined Tony would sound like that if they ever talked face to face.

“Yes, daddy” And that would always be his default answer to anything he might ask with that voice. He closed his eyes for a second, quickening the pace of his strokes just a little, when his phone beeped again.

“Are you touching yourself right now?”

“Yes, daddy” Peter shivered, imagining Tony’s reaction to that revelation.

“Can I hear you, baby boy?”

He didn’t even hesitate, he started recording a voice message and moaned into the phone, thrusting his hips against his fist as he quietly begged for Tony’s cock, his fingers, his mouth, anything, he just wanted the man to be there taking care of him, making him cum, that was all he wanted, and he wanted it so badly.

He came in just a few seconds and hit send on the voice message before he could overthink it. As he lay there, breathless, staring at the ceiling and trying to gather his strength, he fantasized about Tony listening to it. He smiled to himself, like an idiot, then his cellphone beeped, bringing him back to reality.

“You’re gonna drive me mad, you know that? I’m actually going insane and it’s all your fault. Also, my dick is gonna fall off and that’s on you, too.” Peter had the presence of mind to laugh at the message, but it took him a few seconds to gather enough energy to write back to him.

“That’s a serious accusation, Tony, I’m gonna need all the evidence I can get, so every time you touch yourself thinking of me, make sure to send me proof, ok?”

“Oh, you don’t know what you just got yourself into.” Again, Peter could only laugh, because judging by the amount of videos Tony sent him that day, he really was in for a treat.

Days later, on Friday, Peter got up early to go for his usual jog around the block. He was a little tired from the day before, still adjusting to his new routine at BFF – it was his third week there and they were starting to realize that Peter was a quick learner and very eager to help, so they took advantage of that, which was fine with him, he was thrilled to be able to help somehow.

So after a quick, half-assed jog around the block, he went back home, showered and decided to take the rest of the pictures Tony asked for. The man was still going nuts over the video, he wouldn’t stop talking about it and every day there was a video of him finishing himself off in their chat and Peter could hear his own voice in the background, screaming Tony’s name.

It was both embarrassing as fuck and hot as hell, so the younger man also spent a lot of those last few days in the shower trying to cool down, but Tony was not making it easier.

As much fun as that was, he was curious to see how Tony would react to the new pictures. He realized that would be the first time the older man would see him with clothes on, which sounded ridiculous, but it was true. He didn’t have many pictures on Instagram, but most of them were selfies and there were just a few where it was possible to see maybe a hint of a shirt, but that was it.

So he took the outfit he and MJ picked out and winced, remembering how much it cost, but at least he picked out clothes he might wear some day – if he had a meeting with the queen of England, for example. He put on the light gray suit by Hugo Boss, with a pink shirt with big, white dots by Levi’s Vintage underneath, black dress shoes by Brunello Cucinelli and a Gucci watch he was able to find on sale for half the original price. The whole outfit was worth around five thousand dollars, and was definitely the most money he had ever spent on – well, anything.

He checked himself in the mirror and snorted a little, he sure looked like a spoiled brat, which was probably what Tony meant by “expensive and beautiful”, so that was fine. He styled his hair so it looked effortlessly tousled, but not too much, and set his camera to take the pictures by the living room window.

He took a few pictures on the windowsill, some other leaning against the glass with his hands in his pockets, a few others looking out the window. He posed on his armchair, too, which was the only piece of furniture he had in his living room at the moment and he wished he had a decent dining table so he could pose like he was on a date with the camera, but he supposed those would do.

Once he was satisfied with what he got, he took off the clothes, put them away and went downstairs to have lunch with Ned and MJ. For the first time since he moved in with them, they both had Friday afternoon off, so they spent it together, eating junk food, watching bad TV series and playing really old tabletop games Ned had brought with him when he moved from his parents’ house.

In between a game of Monopoly and Scrabble, Peter pulled his phone out to check his messages, and was surprised to find one from Tony, sent just a few minutes earlier. He checked the time and noticed he must still be at work, so he opened it, assuming it couldn’t be anything too sexual.

“Hey, are you feeling better today? Just checking in.”

Peter frowned for a second, but a quick look at their earlier messages reminded him that he was feeling a little under the weather the day before and he’d told Tony that before he went to bed.

“Hi, Tony! I’m all better now, thanks for asking. I guess it was just allergies or something.”

He didn’t expect Tony to answer right away, but as soon as his message was sent, he started typing.

“That’s good to hear, but you need to be a little more careful with your health, kitten. Just yesterday you said you had an apple for lunch. At 4PM.”

“You’re one to talk.” Peter snorted. They always berated each other for poor eating habits. Peter was a 20 year-old bachelor living by himself and sharing meals with his equally young and dumb friends, so pizza was on the menu more often than not; Tony was a forty-eight year-old businessman with too little time to care. “Did you even eat today?”

“Don’t try to turn this around, this isn’t about me.” Peter rolled his eyes and smiled to himself. “Did you do anything fun today?”

“I took some pictures for you, it was quite fun.” He knew the mention of new pictures would get him interested in a minute.

“Don’t play with my heart, kid. When can I see them?”

“I don’t know...” He teased just a little, because he knew Tony wasn’t above begging and it was fun to watch.

“Don’t be mean to daddy, come on. He’s always so good to you.” Peter smiled, because, yeah. He was.

“I’ll send them tonight, I promise.” He decided, since they would have more time to talk then, if he sent the pictures earlier, Tony would still be at work and Peter would still be at his friends’.

“Good boy.”

“You know I am.”

“What are you smiling about? Who are you talking to?” Ned looked suspiciously at him, so he quickly put the phone down and shook his head with a nervous smile.

“Just a subscriber with a bad one-liner.”

MJ looked at him like she knew a secret, but Ned just shrugged and finished setting up the game. They ended up calling it a draw and ordering pizza afterwards, but Peter went back home early because both Ned and MJ had work the next morning.

Once he got upstairs, he went to edit Tony’s pictures and since it was still a little early to send them, he decided to check his twitter DMs. He didn’t read them very often, he already had his plate full with JustForFans, but every once in a while he checked them and answered as many as he could. Most of the messages were dick pics anyway, he just ignored those. Some others were people being nosy and asking way too personal questions, or worse, asking about Beck. He learned how to talk his way around those, but one message in particular stood out and really got to him.

“I’m so glad you’re doing okay, honey! The way Beck is with his new boy now makes me wonder if he ever even loved you. He sure moved on quickly. You’re better off without him anyway, I always liked you better.”

That sort of comment wasn’t exactly unusual, but that second part caught him a little off guard. Makes me wonder if he ever even loved you. It just – why would she say that? The way Beck is with his new boy. What way, exactly? What could he possibly be doing that made that person assume Beck never even loved him? People thought they were perfect together, they said it all the time, so much so that Peter himself was almost convinced of it for most of their relationship, so why in the hell would anyone think he loved this other guy more? To the point of assuming he didn’t even love Peter in the first place?

He was a masochist, he decided, as he opened Instagram. And not even the good kind of masochist, because there wasn’t any pleasure involved in what he was about to do, just pain. He unblocked Beck’s profiled and fucking looked. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but just looking at the first picture was enough to make him realize it was a terrible fucking idea. It was a black and white picture of him and the new guy cuddling in bed, kissing with soft smiles on their faces, captioned: “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Peter closed the app quickly, he didn’t need to see that. It meant nothing.

That picture meant nothing. That caption meant nothing. Because Beck was a fucking liar, a fucking actor, a fucking illusionist, a fucking – artist. He painted beautiful pictures, he weaved beautiful words, but none of that meant anything. Because it never meant anything when it was Peter in his arms, so why would–

Fuck, he should be over him, so fucking over him. But he really wasn’t, he would go back to that toxic environment if Beck snapped his fingers and that was scary to know. It was fucking terrifying to realize he was one text away from crawling back to him, even after all the humiliation, even after Beck just fucking up and left him with nothing – nothing – he would still go right back to his arms. He still wanted to go right back to his arms.

It made him feel pathetic and weak because he knew that what they had was toxic and abusive. And he had known that for a while, way before they split up. Deep in his soul, he knew he was living a nightmare, day after day, over and over again, but he couldn’t fucking leave. He thought Beck was all he had. He promised him forever. He promised he would always be there for him. He was all Peter had in life, and he had lost so fucking much over the years, he couldn’t afford to lose anybody else.

But he did, didn’t he? He lost Beck. He was in someone else’s arms right that second, professing his undying, fake love.

Peter took a deep breath and held it a few seconds, then exhaled slowly.

He didn’t lose anything, he was set free. He was free and he had a record to break – it had been three days since he last cried about that asshole and he didn’t plan to ruin it.

He closed Instagram and went to his Just4Fans. He posted a few pictures from a phoshoot he did earlier that week that made him feel sexy and confident, which was the opposite of how he felt at that moment, but he was going to fake it until he made it.

In a few minutes, he got lots of comments and private messages with compliments, but somehow none of them was enough to fill the empty spot Beck left when he dumped him.

Well, none except for one.

“Were you planning on giving an old man a heart attack today? ‘Cause that’s how you give an old man a heart attack.” The silly message got a smile out of him, and that was a lot considering how broken he felt.

“Lol. It wasn’t in my plans, no, but now I’m worried. Is the old man okay?” He joked, and immediately got an answer in his inbox.

“He’s waiting for you to keep your promise. Says he refuses to die before he sees some pictures of you? Do you happen to know anything about that?” Peter chuckled.

“Oh, yeah, I think I know what he’s talking about. Hold on a sec.”

He selected his ten favorite pictures with the date outfit and sent them to Tony, feeling butterflies in his stomach for reasons he couldn’t explain. He lay in bed for several minutes, staring at his phone, waiting for an answer, but the older man didn’t say anything, even though Peter could see he was still online. He started to get a little anxious, worried that he had messed up somehow, so he messaged him again.

“Well? Have I finally rendered the old man speechless?”

Almost at the same time as he sent his message, Tony replied:

“I need to see you.”

Peter’s heart almost jumped out of his mouth when he read those words, eyes widening in shock. I need to see you. He read it a few more times to make sure it meant what he thought it meant. It couldn’t possibly – Tony wouldn’t want to meet him. That would be absurd. He was – well, Peter wasn’t sure, but he sounded important most of the time, he was definitely very rich, very hardworking and he seemed like a really nice guy. So really, why would he want to meet Peter. That made absolutely no sense, obviously he meant something different than that, he just didn’t quite know what–

“Please,” said the next message, just a few seconds later.

Peter bit his lower lip, feeling his face grow warmer. Just for the hell of it, he thought – what if Tony did mean he wanted to meet him? What then? Peter couldn’t say yes, that would be insane. He didn’t even know the man, all he knew were little things about his daily life, he didn’t know his last name, if he had a family, if he was married, if he was a psychopath – he didn’t even know what he looked like!

Still, he fantasized about saying yes. But that was just a fantasy. He couldn’t do it, that would be crazy.

Right?

“You won’t regret it, I’ll treat you right.”

Well, fuck. He had to go straight for his Achilles’s heel, huh.

Peter kept staring at the bright screen of his phone, breathing slowly to try to contain his wild heart that seemed adamant to burst out of his chest cavity in the next few minutes. He didn’t know what to say. No, his brain supplied, like it was obvious, because it was, right? He couldn’t say yes, yes was not a viable answer. He had to say no, it was only a matter of how he would say it without hurting the older man’s ego.

But.

Why exactly did he have to say no? He knew there were ate least 99 good answers to that question, but he couldn’t think of one, so–

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer?” Peter asked, even though he wasn’t really worried about that, it was the last thing on his mind, to be honest.

“You’ll know.” He said, plain and simple, and not helpful at all. And still, no flight response whatsoever from Peter’s brain. His stupid mind couldn’t seem to understand that that was clearly a terrible idea.“We’ll meet in a restaurant, the best in New York, and nothing else has to happen, I promise. We’ll have a nice dinner and that’s it. I just need to see you in person.”

That sounded reasonable, didn’t it? A public place, lots of eyes on them. If Tony turned out to be a creep, he could just leave. At the very worst, he’d be disappointed and lose a very generous subscriber; at the very best, he’d get a good meal out of it and who knew what else. It sounded reasonable. So it was probably reasonable.

Right?

“Can I wear this outfit?” He asked, because, well, that was all he had to wear to New York City’s best restaurant – whatever that was.

“You must, baby.” He answered quickly, and Peter smiled to himself. “So I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

He typed a quick yes, but didn’t send it right away. He gave his brain a few seconds to come up with reasons to say no, because he knew there were good reasons for that, but he really, honestly, just wanted to say–

“Yes.”

“Perfect.” He replied right away, as if he had been staring at the phone, waiting for his answer. “I’ll set a time and place and let you know. You won’t regret it, Peter.”

Peter loved all the pet names Tony gave him, they were all sweet and funny, but when he called him by his actual name, it just hit different. It felt good. Like he wasn’t just a pretty picture in a porn app, an expensive hobby, but a person. It was hard for him to remember that, sometimes.

Some other times, it felt good to forget.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark

78 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 4 years

Text

A Good Man - Part 1

A/N: So...this turned out to be much more than I intended. It’s not a one off, oh no, could I ever really do that? It’s going to be three parts (and yes, I am committing to three and three only before this gets away from me), and yes I guarantee you there will be smut. You can’t have professor Javi without some smut, after all. Shout out to the amazing and lovely @rosetophighlander for listening to my ideas and inspiring me! As always, comments and feedback is welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged let me know! xx

Pairing: Professor! Javi x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: none

A GOOD MAN ‘VERSE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

JAVIER MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Javier Peña was a good man. At least that’s what he was trying to convince himself. He was a good man with a bad past. A past he had pointedly left behind in Colombia. But even now, years later, memories haunted him at night - it wasn’t a regular occurrence, but it was often enough. Enough to have him startle awake, drenched in sweat as his chest heaved up and down. Enough to make him feel like a bad man again.

But that wasn’t him anymore - no. He was a bad man then and he was trying to rectify that now by being a good man. He was a good man, and what was in the past was in the past. It didn’t matter it anymore; he had to bury it and let it die. But every time he thought he had, he still found himself plagued by the memories. Shit.

He’d returned to Texas when everything was said and done, and taken up a post as a university teacher. It was boring; drool, but most importantly, it was a safe bet. A college professor, who would have thought? If you would have told him this a few years ago while he was in the midst of the drug war trying to bring down both Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel, he would have laughed in your face and told you to fuck off. But that was then, and this was now, a very different reality with a very different version of him. Well...no. Javi was still Javi underneath it all, the same man he had always been, he was just trying to be the best man he could be. Trying to make right what in his head claimed made him so bad.

He was regimented now, almost to a fault, keeping up a routine that claimed most of his mind that wouldn’t let his mind wander too far off track. Gods, he needed a therapist. He knew he did; it was forever on his to do list. Forever the one thing he would get to eventually because it wasn’t pressing enough. Forever the thing he would do when he had more time. Instead he found solace, a small sense of reprieve in his small four-legged friend.

He was a small, wiry thing with ears that always seemed perked up, colored like sweet milk and honey, affectionately named Stevie, much to Steve Murphy’s chagrin. He served as a good distraction and pseudo-therapist for all that seemed to bother the ex-DEA agent. Sometimes Javi felt bad about how he confided in his little friend but Stevie loved him back all the same, showering him in affection whenever he could.

His routine was the same almost every day, allowing for some variance on weekends. It was strict, almost authoritarian but he had come to have a certain reverence for it. Up at six, out for a jog or walk with Stevie, breakfast for the two of them followed by a shower, at work by 9, a morning class full of mainly bright eyed freshman, followed by office hours where he would check on the dog and then return to eat his lunch by himself, almost always a sandwich, coffee, and some sort of berry, two afternoon classes of disinterested juniors, seniors, and those who seemed to never leave college, followed by a few hours of paperwork and grading before arriving home between six and seven, followed by a simple dinner for himself Stevie. To pass the time he’d read or watch a movie or show, but it was almost always lights out by ten. Sometimes he’d fall asleep quickly, other times it would take him hours. Hours of his brain buzzing with repressed thoughts and emotions that he put off until he fell asleep and repeated his routine the next day.

Weekends allowed for some flexibility instead of the monotonous rigidity. He let himself sleep in longer, go for a long walk with Stevie and have a leisurely lunch, and laze about the house. Sometimes he’d meet up with a friend, usually a coworker from another department and have a drink or two, nothing too excess, before turning in well before midnight. On the rare occasion where he felt restless enough and couldn’t be alone with his own thoughts, he’d go and take himself to a movie, a play, a museum, something that would keep his mind occupied. But by Monday morning he was back to routine. Back to that rigid pattern that kept him on track.

And it had been enough. It had to be enough...right?

»»————-　♡　————-««

Teaching at his alma mater of Texas A&M in the sleepy town of Kingsville had proven to be both a curse and a blessing. When he’d left the DEA, unsure of what to do, what do he really wanted to do with his life now, he had turned his attention back home. One thing had let to another and, surely with some help from his former cohorts at the DEA, he’d lined himself up a fairly easy teaching gig. It wasn’t anything he had ever really given much thought to, but just like his routine, it had become familiar, mind numbing, and easy. It didn’t take much before it had become part of his regimented life.

He enjoyed the almost anonymity of it all; no one really knew who he was, the things, both horrible and great, that he had done, no one knew his previous reputation, no one judged him before they had the chance to meet him. He was, first and foremost, Professor Peña. The students came and went; no one questioned who he was truly was and he never offered. As far as his students were concerned, he offered them the tiniest shred, if any at all, of his personal life. It had it easy - simple - to keep things strictly business.

There had been a few times, a few moments when his heart had almost stopped, that a student would stop by his desk after he’d dismissed everyone and ask him his past. It hadn’t been more than maybe four or five in total, but it had still brought a grimace to his face each time. But instead of completely dismissing anyone, he’d politely decline to answer anything beside easy questions, the kind that were of public knowledge.

Otherwise he insisted that if they ever have any questions related to the course, exams, or homework, they were welcome to come to see him during his office hours. He had a presence about him, not intimidating per se, but firm and strong that usually deterred people from questioning him any further. They almost never came to his office hours; pretty much no one did. Which was completely fine by him because it always gave him a chance to stay on top of the mountains of paperwork the university imposed on everyone.

Much to his chagrin, however, this year the school’s newspaper had decided to start a professor spotlight column in their monthly magazine. Something about connecting students and professors and creating more of a sense of community. A load of bullshit, was what he thought, but he didn’t push the envelope. He wasn’t trying to ruffle any feathers, to step on anyone’s toes; no, he aimed to blend in. But something about having been the man to help bring down Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel made him a subject of interest; naturally it was only a matter of time before eager, hungry eyes were turned to him.

But Javi knew he couldn’t really decline, it would have been against decorum and he wanted no eyebrows raised in his direction. So, he answered the curious student reporter’s questions with basic answers, just enough to give a taste and satiate them, but not enough to have to dig deep. He let them take his picture, let them publish it in their magazine, hoping that not many students would actually read the column, and just gloss over it. He wasn’t sure if he could handle tons of students only signing up for his class for him. He had not plans on indulging them any further into personal life.

But his routine, regimented schedule was all fine and dandy, and surely he thought they would be enough. They had to be enough, right? That’s what he thought. Surely the monotony of teaching countless students would be enough; that’s what he had come to believe anyway. It had worked out for the two prior years, surely it should have been the same going into his third year there.

Until the day you stepped into his classroom on that first day of that brand new semester and school year. You weren’t like the others...you looked excited, alert, like you actually wanted to be there. Like you wanted to listen to him teach. Like you cared. The swarm of students surrounding you barely looked alive, but you did. There was a certain magnetic charm that you possessed that happened to draw in everyone around you, including the man at the front of the room. The man that was determined to adhere to the strict routine that he had concocted for himself; the man that vowed he not stray from his class structure. The man that so desperately just wanted to be a good man.

He hadn’t noticed you at first, keeping his gaze focused on the papers and stacks on his desk, picking up the roll call sheets and running through them with a sense of disinterest. Name after name of students that probably just took the class because they needed some sort of credit. They responded in voices that were barely audible, tones that strongly suggested that they did not care whether he made a note of them being in attendance.

But when he got to your name, calling it out softly, and he heard you confidently and happily respond with a loud here, his deep brown eyes almost jumped out of his sockets. He paused and looked up, taking a moment to push his thick, dark rimmed glasses up his noise, before searching for you in a sea of students. But he knew he had found you when he spied the beautiful face beaming back at him. You offered him the biggest smile he had ever seen within the confines of the small lecture hall.

He was momentarily phased, but the corners of his mouth lifted up slightly as he returned your brilliant smile with the best he could muster up. But before he could get too caught up in anything, even a singular thought that roamed freely, someone loudly coughed and snapped him out of his trance. Quickly switching back to his professor mode, he looked back at the roster and called out the rest of the names, tic marks and blanks boxes galore down the long sheet.

Like his life, his class structure was regimented, and while he thoroughly enjoyed history, he found it difficult, tedious even, to drone on about pre-revolutionary war America for hours. Sometimes it was enough to make his eyes almost glaze over; while it annoyed him that it got to his students as well, he couldn’t always blame them. But there was something about today, the way that you had smiled at him, that sent a spark off deep within him, and something just snapped. He found himself moving more about the lectern, his hands waving more animatedly as he gave his introductory lecture, and most importantly of all, he found himself stealing glances at you. And you met his glances, almost in a challenging way, never looking away when his gaze lingered a few seconds longer than necessary.

But, like everyone else, you were eager to pack up your bag and leave when he was finished and excused everyone. You glanced at him a few times as you slid your notebooks and textbook back into your satchel, wondering if you should introduce yourself, or hell, if he really even cared. But instead of acting on any impulses and potentially making a fool out of yourself, you hitched the bag further up your shoulder and left along with the rest of the crowd, letting them swallow you up and allowing you to blend in. It was the end of the day, everyone was eager to get home, especially after the first day of the new semester. Javier was too; first days were always tiring just alone with administrative tasks and getting to know hundreds of new names and faces. But none of them mattered, not really, they were just more students in an endless sea that he would teach and then forget about as soon as finals were graded and returned.

But somehow...you stuck in his mind. Your face, your curious eyes and soft little smile were already burned into his mind. He found himself musing on it, on how intently you had scribbled down notes, even if he didn’t feel like there was anything to memorize, how your leg bounced up and down the few times your mind seemed to wander as you had glanced around the room, taking in the other students. A low sigh escaped his lips as he slid his paperwork, texts, and other items into his book bag before throwing it over his shoulder. He wasn’t going to let his mind get hung up on you, or anyone or anything else for that matter.

Sure, you were pretty, very pretty, but so were plenty of other students. He wasn’t going to lie to him; he could admit, at least to himself, when he found a student attractive. Sure, you had a smile that had spoken to something within him, but -no. You were one student in a sea of hundreds the had for the semester. You would forget him as soon as you turned in your final and went on winter break. He was sure of it. Javier Peña was trying to be a good man, and letting his thoughts go wild about a student was definitely not part of that plan.

When he got home that evening, he walked in the door and left his bag on the small dresser he kept in the hallway, followed by his keys and shoes before eagerly greeting Stevie. He’d stopped by between classes to take check on him, always making sure he had plenty of food, water, and pets before he had to go back. He glanced around the small kitchen, already pondering what he would make for dinner, knowing he was stocked up on everything he would need for the week. In his retirement from the DEA he had become a meticulous planner, something that easily kept his mind busy, and Sundays had become his grocery shopping days were he loaded up on necessities for the week. It was robotic and allowed for little free thought; routine, routine, routine.

But before he could flick on the soft kitchen light, his hand lingered on the switch, fingers drumming lightly against the plastic plate while he contemplated his next move. Instead of flipping it on, he dropped his hand and grabbed Stevie’s leash off of the counter-top, dropping to his knees as the small dog wagged his tail in sheer excitement at the prospect of a walk. He gave him a few pets as he clipped the lease on, making sure his large ears received a good scratch.

“What do you say you and I go and pick up some pizza, huh? We’ll even get some beer. Call it a guys’ night,” Stevie made a small sound of excitement, clearly acquiescing to Javier’s plan. He stood back up to his full height, his joints crackling lightly as he grabbed his thin windbreaker, wallet, and keys, slipped his shoes back on and walked out the door, his mind already on the pizza place a few blocks away. It wasn’t even anything he really gave too much thought to, it was most certainly not part of his plan. No, this was all new - a break.

It was the first Javier Pena had strayed from his evening routine in almost three years.

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as you stepped through the door of your apartment you let out a long sigh as you tossed your book bag onto the floor and stumbled into the living room, flopping face down on the well worn couch. Sarah, your closest confidant and roommate throughout your college experience, looked up from her book and with a small smirk on her face. She’s gotten out of her classes and finished for the day hours ago.

“First day was that good, huh?” she pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose, as you turned your head to glare at her. She was in her last year of school too but had been smart, so you’d come to realize, and taken more classes than she needed in earlier years so her last year would be a breeze. You envied her and wished you’d done the same; now you were stuck with classes that were long, tedious, and required more thinking than you would have liked.

“I don’t know how I’m going to survive this semester,” you admitted with a heavy sigh; you had no one to blame but yourself. It still didn’t make your little pity party any better, “today’s classes were...boring at best, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a teacher that cared less than my last one. The topic’s already not my favorite, clearly not his, and I have no clue how I’m going to survive the semester, and this stupid class was the only one open that satisfied one of my last requirements. I’m trying to be excited, you know, to trick myself into liking it, but I dunno if that’s gonna work out.”

“If it all goes to hell, there’s always next semester,” she offered with a shrug before closing her book and tossing it on the coffee table, “what class it is?”

“Pre-revolutionary war American history,” you groaned as she gave you a pained look. Nothing about any of the words that spilled forth from your mouth sounded even remotely exciting, “aka hell. Whoever decided that there should be a whole dedicated college course to this subject clearly wasn’t in their right mind.”

“Hey,” she said suddenly, slipping out of the arm chair and trekking into the small kitchen, before rustling through a static of old mail. She was silent for a few moments before letting out a small aha and grabbing something out before tossing it at you, “I thought that class sounded familiar. Isn’t the guy teaching it the one that in the teacher highlight thing for this month or whatever?”

“You actually think I read this?” you scoffed and took the small magazine, shifting through the pages as you tried to find what she was referring to you. You made it almost to the end before finding the small article hidden and tucked away at the back. Quickly skimming it, you found your professor’s small, grainy, black and white picture staring back at you, “Javier Peña. Yup, that’s him.”

“He’s hot,” Sarah quipped over your shoulder as you silently rolled your eyes at her. That was most definitely not why you had signed up for the class. While you weren’t about to admit you mirrored her thought, you couldn’t help but think she was right. There was something about the small photo looking back up at you that suggested he was...very attractive. Hell, you’d seen him in person, and could confirm. The few times you’d gotten a good look at his face, when he wasn’t bent over his notes or facing the board, you couldn’t deny that he was attractive. Tan, golden skin, thick dark hair and eyes, a handsome face. Yeah, he was hot, but you weren’t about to dwell on that, “do you think he’s single?”

“Sarah,” you groaned at her as you read over the article, surprised to find that was ex-DEA, having apprehended some of the most notorious criminals in recent history. He had seemed anything like the man they had discussed in the article when he had stood in front of the class earlier that afternoon, “that is not...no, that has nothing to do with anything. I just need to satisfy a few more credits in history and I’m done. That’s it; nothing more.”

“I’m just saying,” she shrugged before giving your shoulder a playful nudge, “a little eye candy doesn’t hurt. Especially when you’re taking a class like that. Good lord it sounds awful, I wonder how he got stuck teaching that. Was he as good looking in person?”

“Sar-ah,” you said with her namely slowly as you shook your head at her and sat up. She picked her book back up, a small playing across her features, “none of that matters. But, if you have to know, yes. He was very good looking, in that older guy kind of way.”

“Go on...” she feigned innocence but you could already see the gears turning in her head.

“There’s not much less to say,” you insisted, internally groaning, “wore glasses when he was teaching, white button up, I dunno, the average professor look.”

A damned white button up that had fit him perfectly, highlighting his broad chest, trousers that were slightly tighter than they needed to be, and a silver watch had sat on his wrist. Simple, effective, but yeah, a very good look.

“The average hot professor look, “ she sighed wistfully. The two of you, while best friends at heart, were polar opposites in many ways. While you namely cared about classes and just getting it done, she was more prone to getting lost in her daydream fantasies and pursuing matters of the heart, “I’m just saying! There’s nothing wrong with finding your professor good looking, as long as you’re respectful. Besides, he doesn’t need to know if you think about him at night or when you’re with a boy that you wish was a man like him. Besides, Javier Peña. Professor Peña. That even sounds hot.”

“Why are we friends?” you sighed as you rolled off the couch, a tone of amusement coloring your voice, “why are you the way that you are!?”

“You love me!” she called out after you as you made your way to your bedroom, deciding to get a head start on some work so you wouldn’t already fall behind.

“I’m questioning that,” you stuck your tongue out at her as you grabbed the magazine off the floor and took it along with you. You hoped she wouldn’t notice, but you were sure that her eagle eyed gaze wouldn’t miss a thing, “goodbye and good riddance!’

“Have fun staring at Professor Peña!” your cheeks felt warm and you were sure a deep crimson was already creeping into them. You remained silent as you grabbed your book bag and walked into the room, letting the door slam behind you.

Setting the bag onto your desk, you flopped on your bed as you reopened the magazine and looked back at the small picture again, re-reading the article. It didn’t say much about much him, or speak to who he really was. it was strictly related to business, just like he had seemed to be as he stood in front of the class and gave an almost two hour long lecture with no breaks. He didn’t seem much like a man that was running around and taking down criminals in the heat of Colombia. He had just seemed like a tired, worn out, disinterested man. A far cry from what was presented in the short little article.

And yet...you couldn’t help but think of the few times he met your eyes when he’d occasionally looked up from the board or his lecture notes. You swore there had been a smile on his face then, even if it was a small one, but then again, maybe you had been lost in your own delusions as you had watched him.

You’d even done your best to actively pay attention and take notes, both wanting him to know that you cared about class and because you knew it would be your downfall if you allowed yourself to miss anything. Even if it wasn’t your cup of tea, you wanted to give him your attention; it wasn’t his fault that it was a tiresome subject - someone had to each it after all. You’d felt bad as you looked at everyone around, all so zombie like and disinterested, looking like they would rather have been anywhere else in the world. You were sure he had noticed it too.

But you’d already decided to make an effort to actively participate in his class and do your best. You’d quickly scribbled down his office hours and told yourself that if you needed help or had questions you’d ask before you’d let yourself fall behind and struggle. Maybe he didn’t care, he didn’t really seem to, but you did. You somehow felt a need to prove to yourself that you could handle this class, and to prove to him that someone cared, that his efforts were worth it.

As you dogeared the page with his article on it, you closed the magazine and chucked it into your desk. You didn’t know what his deal was, or wasn’t, but you figured you’d be able to something out of him. Maybe learn more about the man from Colombia, and not just the professor that seemed so lost and wrapped up in his own head.

He had seemed so tired, so...run down that for someone reason it seemed to oddly affect you. Maybe it was because you had seen a glimmer of a smile on his face, watching as his dark eyes had crinkled up the few times he caught your gaze, how it almost reached them fully. Maybe there was more to him, maybe there was more to him than he had wanted to give out. But you were determined to find out what it was.

You were set that you would try and pull something out of Javier Peña, even if it was just a full smile. Something about him spoke to you, something had drawn you to something, causing an itch that you desperately needed to to scratch. And you sure as hell would.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Permanent Taglist: @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @yourealegendroger @thesecondlastjedi @bitemerog @rogernroll @secretsweetscollectionblog @sheridans-dynamos @dinkiplier @starrystarrybabe @onexlittlespark @benhardyseyes @marvelstuck @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @wonderwich @a-kind-of-magik @lv7867 @itissnowingandimstuckinside @dessert-hardy @rogertaylors-lipgloss @rogerfxckingtaylor @queenbbarnes @drowseoftaylor @persephonesnebula @mamaskillerqueen @theimpossiblehologramtree @loveandbeloved29 @meddows-rose @onceitbubbles @wonderwoman292 @moondustmemories @spacedustmazzello @queenlover05 @ah-callie @blushingwueen @thisis-theway @el-lizzie @rosetophighlander @rae-gar-targaryen @lavenderl3mons-deactivated20200 @hiscyarika @readsalot73 @huliabitch @ollyoxenfrees @coffeeandtodd @beepbeepsephy @gooddaykate @scarlettwitcher @nerdyknightwritersblog @choicesarcade @arrowswithwifi @everythingaboutnothingstuff @24kgolden @suckerfor-fanfics

Professor!Javi Taglist: @misslolasworld @mrsparknuts

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña #professor au #professor!javi #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #narcos

1K notes · View notes

morceid · 4 years

Text

Peppermint Plucks

SPENCER REID X MALE READER

read on ao3

Summary: When Spencer Reid starts to feel more lonely than usual, Penelope suggests he picks up guitar. Unexpectedly, he finds himself with a crush on his teacher.

Category: fluff

Warnings: implied sexual content

Word Count:1720

A/N: requested by @riley-killjoy ! thanks for the request :)

Garcia noticed first. Spencer had been more absent minded at work recently. He barely finished half of his case files before lunch anymore. Giving his troubling past, it was cause for worry. So she was going to do something about it. After most everyone left the office for lunch she walked into the bullpen and sat on his desk.

“Hey, boy genius, what’s got you slacking recently?”

“What are you, Hotch?” He retorted.

“Come on, I’m being serious! It’s lunch and you’ve only finished a third of your paperwork. What’s going on in there?” She ruffled his curls and pushed them out of his eyes.

“I don’t really know. I’ve just been feeling kind of lonely recently.” Spencer shrugged.

“What are you talking about? Emily brings you coffee once a week, Derek gets you food from that Thai place you love when you're working late, and we invite you out for drinks every Friday. You’ve got people that care about you, babes.” Penelope rubbed his knee as she spoke.

“I know. I guess I just want something more? I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wish there was someone with me all the time. Someone to wake up to. Someone to go to sleep with. Just.. something.” Spencer fidgeted with the pen in his hands and looked at his feet.

“Aw, Spencer, you don’t need someone.”

“But I want someone.” He looked Penelope in the eyes almost urgently.

“Hey, since you spend so much time alone, why don’t you use your time to learn something?”

“Not sure how that would help seeing as I think I’ve learned just about everything, but go on.”

“You remember my ex Sam?” Spencer nodded. “Well, we got together because I started taking uke lessons after I got dumped. He was my uke teacher. He doesn’t teach anymore, but when I took lessons from him I used all of the time I could’ve for crying and I used it to play. Why don’t you give it a try?”

“Fine. I’m not playing ukulele though. Totally not my style.”

“Totally not your style. Got it. Your first lesson on whatever string instrument you please is on Friday.” She got up from the desk and walked towards the elevators.

“Hey, Pen?”

“Yes, sugar cakes?”

“What’s the name of your current teacher?”

“Y/N!” She called as the doors of the elevator closed.

“Y/N..” Spencer repeated to himself.

On Friday Spencer showed up to Penelope’s apartment at 5:30, 30 minutes before Y/N would get there. As Penelope tuned her ukulele Spencer rambled about the history of string instruments and their improvement through the years. He jumped when there was a knock at the door.

Penelope opened the door and Spencer thought he was dreaming. Y/N seemed to be glowing before him. His smile was soft and kind.

“Penelope! Good to see you again. I see you have a friend today.” Y/N said as he hugged Garcia.

“Yes! Y/N, this is Spencer. Spencer, this is Y/N.”

Y/N reached his hand out.

“Oh, he doesn’t-”

“Hi! It’s good to meet you.” Spencer took Y/N’s hand in both of his and shook gently, surprising Penelope.

“You too. Penny told me you’re looking for something other than a uke, so I got some other instruments in my car, but here’s a guitar for now. Pen, why don’t you start showing him some chords as I get the other instruments?” He slipped the guitar case off of his back and gave it to Penelope.

They sat on the couch together and Penelope showed Spencer the chords and how to play them.

“So, what do you think?” Penelope asked.

“About what?” Spencer wondered if Penelope could sense his nervousness that easily. He didn’t normally believe in true love at first sight, but holy hell did Y/N make him. When he shook his hand warmth spread through Spencer’s body and he swore that you could see his eyes turn to hearts. God, he hoped it wasn’t just him being lonely that caused him to think like this.

“About the guitar, silly. What else would I be asking?” Penelope chuckled.

“Yeah, of course, uh, the chords are really easy. Did playing come to you this fast too?” Spencer quickly changed between hand positions and mouthed the letter of each note.

“Definitely not! It took weeks to teach Penelope just two chords.” Y/N laughed as he brought in a violin and cello, each held in cases on his shoulders. The sound of his voice caught Spencer’s attention. He loved how he articulated his words. “Why don’t you try strumming on that?” He threw Spencer a pick.

Spencer gave an experimental flick on the first string before going across all of them. The sound came out strong. Penelope looked shocked as a perfect E flat tone rang through her apartment.

“Whoa! You’re really good. You sure you’ve never played a guitar?” Y/N asked.

“Well, my roommate in college played pretty often but I never learned from him. Always stayed up late because of his playing though.” Spencer said.

“Makes sense.” Y/N sat on the couch next to Spencer. “He ever let you try?”

“Nope. I guess I just memorized what chords he played for fun.” Spencer nervously smiled.

“So, you gonna go with the guitar?” Penelope asked.

“Yeah. It’s familiar. Easy to learn.” Spencer strummed again.

“Okay, well I’ll go practice in my room so I’m not disturbing you.” She got up and ran to her bedroom.

Y/N went over the correct way to strum in order to produce the correct sounds and Spencer got a hold of it fairly quickly. Over the next few weeks Spencer would go to Penelope’s apartment at 5:30 every Friday. Soon enough he began to learn his own song. Lessons would be an hour with Spencer and then an hour with Penelope.

One Friday Y/N stood behind Spencer and guided his hands to the strings. Spencer lightly gasped and tried to seem at ease as Y/N’s fingers touched his own. He smelled like peppermint and sweet candies to him.

“I think we’re alone now.” He whispered.

“What?” Spencer turned his head to look at Y/N in confusion.

“Uh, the name of the song. It’s uh- It’s by Tiffany Darwish.” He took his hands off of Spencer’s and leaned down to shuffle through his sheet music.

“Oh. Okay.”

The next Friday Y/N suggested they go on a little field trip to a guitar shop. It was time that Spencer got his own guitar instead of always using Y/N’s. They found one that fit comfortable in his arms and with the permission of the owner had his lesson in the store. Seeing as they all went in the same car, Y/N would drop off Spencer and then he would go to Penelope’s and they would have a lesson.

Y/N walked into Spencer’s apartment with him. Penelope stayed behind in the car.

“So, this is your apartment? Why haven’t we had a lesson here?” He asked.

“Guess I just never thought to ask.” Spencer laughed.

Y/N moved behind Spencer and brought his hand onto his hip. Spencer turned around swiftly. Now Y/N was holding the small of his back.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” Spencer breathed out.

“I’ve liked you for a while now, Spencer,” he took the pale man's face in his hands. “Can I kiss you?”

Spencer nodded and pressed his entire body up to Y/N’s. The kiss started slow and innocent, but Spencer loved the taste of Y/N’s peppermint chapstick and they slipped their tongues in eachothers mouths. The intrusion made them moan and Y/N pushed them against a wall.

“What will we tell Penelope?” Spencer said as Y/N moved his kisses to his chin.

“Why do we have to tell her anything?” He sucked hard onto Spencer’s neck, where any marks would be hidden just under the collar of a work shirt.

“Oh…”

Monday was the worst day for the weather to be hot. Y/N’s hickeys still hadn’t faded from Spencer’s neck and if he changed into a regular t-shirt from his go bag they would definitely be visible. Against his better judgement, Spencer changed in the bathroom. He’d rather die of embarrassment than heat.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What you got goin over there, pretty boy?” Derek laughed as Spencer sat back down in his seat.

“Leave me alone, Morgan.” He scoffed.

“Nuh-uh. No way. If you got a girl I wanna be the first to know.”

“Not a girl.” Spencer mumbled.

“What was that?”

“He’s not a girl.” Spencer said clearly.

“Hey gu- Whoa! Spencer what is that?” Emily walked in with her coffee.

“Pretty boy has a boyfriend.” Derek stated.

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me? Aw man now I feel bad about setting you up on that date last week.”

“THAT was a DATE?” Spencer nearly screamed.

“Yep. And she’s still wondering why you haven’t called her back. So, what’s his name?” Emily laughed.

“I can’t say it. Also, he’s not a boyfriend. At least not yet.”

“Why not? Too embarrassed?” Now JJ had joined in the conversation.

“No! It’s just-”

“What is it, Spence?”

“He’s Garcia’s ukulele teacher..” He sighed.

“Wow, pretty boy. Wow.”

The next lesson progressed the same as it had two lessons before. Penelope was practicing in her room.They sat on the couch, Y/N’s hands guided Spencer’s on the guitar, and they pressed their bodies together. He showed how Spencer’s hand should pluck at the strings and once he got the hang of it they began singing the lyrics to “I Think We're Alone Now” together.

“I think we’re alone now..”

“There doesn’t seem to be,” Spencer spoke the next lines into Y/N’s lips, “anyone around.”

They began kissing, slow and deep. They pressed together and as Spencer turned more towards Y/N he dropped the guitar on the ground. The sound alerted Penelope and she rushed to the living room only to find Spencer pushing Y/N into a lying position on her couch with his lips. The second they heard her gasp they pulled away from each other.

“Sorry, Pen. He’s just too damn cute.” Y/N laughed.

#spencer reid #reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x male reader #gay spencer reid #penelope garcia #derek morgan #y/n #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #jennifer jareau #fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #fluff #fluff fanfic #pluto writes

270 notes · View notes

alarawriting · 4 years

Text

52 Project #30 (Writeober #15: Mortality): Everybody’s Happy As The Dead Come Home

Ever since my mother died of breast cancer a few years ago, I’ve been making time to go visit my elderly father about once a month. That may be conjuring up the wrong image in your head, so let me clarify. My father’s over 70, but he still has a lot of the energy he had as a younger man. He works as a consultant for the big corporation he spent his entire adult pre-retirement life working for, for about three or four times as much money, and he enjoys it. He’s got an active social life, spending time with friends he had shared with Mom as a couple, and new friends he’s made from his bereavement group or his consulting work. And my sister, the baby of the family, lives with him, and my two younger brothers come to visit him a lot more often, since they live a lot closer than I do. So if you’re imagining a lonely, stooped old man pining away in a house that smells like stale cat food – that’s not my dad, and I can’t imagine it would ever be.

I arrived late on a Friday night, as usual. My sister met me at the door, and actually looked me directly in the eye. Stephanie’s autistic; she never looks anyone in the eye. “Eleanor,” she said, and that was another strange thing, because she almost never calls anyone by name… unless she’s doing it for emphasis. “When you find out, don’t say anything about it,” she said.

“About what?” Most of the time Stephanie makes sense, but every so often she says something that sounds like her mind has jumped ahead in the conversation without realizing all the missing pieces she never bothered to say.

“You’ll know,” she said. “And you’ll want to ask ‘why’ and ‘how’, and I’m telling you that you can’t do that. Don’t ask any questions. Just come talk to me after you’re done.”

“Done with what?” I asked.

And then a voice called me from the TV room. “Lennie? Lennie, is that you?”

Only my mom and dad are allowed to call me Lennie. And that was a woman’s voice. I froze in place.

“Go see her,” Stephanie said, and headed off to her room.

I turned toward the TV room, slowly. “Lennie! Come out and see me!” my mom’s voice called.

I didn’t know whether to be terrified, or to start crying and fling myself into her arms. I walked very slowly, very cautiously, to the edge of the kitchen, where I could see my parents in the TV room. Both of my parents. My dad was smiling.

“Lennie!” my mom said, standing up. She hadn’t been able to stand up without help for months before she died, but here she was, standing up easily. She didn’t look any younger than she had when she died, but she looked healthier. The extreme thinness she’d suffered from at the end after it had metastasized and she’d barely been able to eat was gone; her flesh was filled out, her skin as taut as you could expect from a woman her age, and healthy-looking. Pale, but her natural paleness, not the weird, sallow, almost yellow color it had been at the very end.

“Mom?” I whispered.

“Come here. I need a hug,” Mom said, sounding exactly like she always had – joking, but there was always that note of truth under it. She didn’t wait for me to make my way to her – she never had, not until she was too ill to get up – but came straight for me and gave me a hug, and she smelled like herself. Not like a rotting corpse, not like ozone or nothing or whatever a ghost is supposed to smell like.

When I was a kid, my brother Jeff and I watched the miniseries version of “The Martian Chronicles”. In particular, he was always impressed (and terrified) by the part where the astronauts meet their long-lost loved ones, who turn out to be Martian shapechangers luring them to their deaths. I always wondered, if the people they saw on Mars were dead, how did they fall for it? How did they not know that dead people could not somehow be on Mars?

As I held my mom, who’d been dead a few years now, I understood. They’d wanted to believe. I wanted to believe. Stephanie had warned me not to ask anything – no “how are you not dead”, “how can you be here”, “why are you alive,” nothing like that. I assumed that was what she’d meant, anyway.

“Mom, I’ve been trying to trace some of my past that I’ve forgotten. Do you remember the name of my third grade teacher?”

“Huh.” My mom seemed to be thinking about it. “I think it was Mrs. Wilder, but I’m not a hundred percent sure. Second grade was Ms. Jenner, right? And fourth was Mrs. White?”

“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t, in fact, remember my third grade teacher’s name, and neither did my dad. The Martians in the story had been telepaths; they’d been able to perfectly impersonate the astronauts’ loved ones because they could read the astronauts’ minds. Now I had a piece of information whose answer I didn’t know, and no way to easily confirm it unless Jeff remembered; he was only two years younger than me and had had some of the same teachers. But some of the people I had friended on Facebook were high school classmates, and a tiny number of my high school classmates had also been with me in elementary school, and might remember my third grade teacher’s name.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” my mom said. “What’s going on in your life?”

“Oh, you know,” I said. “Things are going okay. Mom, if I’d known you were here I’d have brought the kids.”

“You can bring them up next time,” Mom said.

This was so weird. My mom was definitely dead. I had seen her body in the coffin, lying in state, looking nothing like she had in life. But here she was, impossibly, and I was holding an almost normal conversation with her. “Have Jeff or Aaron come over since you’ve… been here?”

“Jeff was here last weekend,” Dad said. “And Aaron lives next door, so he’s been over nearly every day.”

My grandparents used to live next door. When they died, my mom and my uncle inherited the house. My uncle bought out my mom’s share and rented the house out, and my youngest brother ended up renting it. My other brother lives in an apartment down in the city; I’m the odd one out, living in a completely different state, with a husband and kids.

So all of them had known, and none of them had told me. I expected Stephanie and Aaron to never tell me anything, but I was more than a little irritated with Jeff.

“Let me go drop off my stuff,” I said, since I was still carrying my bag.

I went back to Stephanie’s room, which used to be my room, a long time ago. The boys used to room together, but my room was too small for Stephanie to share with me, and she had needed a lot of space of her own… so they’d converted the loft in the garage into a bedroom. It had never been warm in the winter, though, so as soon as I moved out, Stephanie had moved in.

Stephanie was, as usual, on her computer. I shut the door behind me. “Okay. What the hell is going on?”

“She’s not the only one,” Stephanie said, without looking away from her computer. “I’ve been doing research. They’re all over the place. There’s no explanation yet, and apparently none of them will talk about it. I asked Mom and she said I was really rude, and sulked and was really passive-aggressive.”

“So we’re not worried about Mom turning into a Martian shapechanger or vanishing, we’re just worried that she’ll get mad?” To be fair, making Mom mad had always been a thing worth avoiding at all costs. “When did she come back?”

“I don’t know exactly, but presuming that she came to see me right after she came back, it would have been Monday around 3 pm.”

“And no one told me? You have my email address!”

“…It just didn’t feel right, telling you something like this in email. I felt like I should wait for you to be here.”

“And Jeff didn’t? And Aaron didn’t?”

Stephanie shrugged. She still didn’t look away from her computer. “They probably felt the same way.”

“Does Dad… know? Like, does he even remember that Mom is dead, or does he think this is normal?”

“I didn’t ask him.”

I sat down on her bed. “Steph, I’m asking you to make an informed guess. Has he said anything to you that would either suggest that he’s aware this is abnormal, or that he isn’t?”

“I don’t read minds, but I haven’t heard anything from him one way or the other. He’s very happy, though.”

“I got that impression,” I told her. I went to the guest room, which used to belong to the boys, opened up my laptop, and sent Jeff a question on Facebook about my third grade teacher.

Mom appeared while I was debating whether or not to also ask him why the hell he hadn’t told me about her. “Lennie, don’t hide in your room. Come out and talk to me and your dad. You need to catch me up on your life!”

Part of me wanted to break down crying. Part of me wanted to run to the car. Part of me was annoyed the way I always used to be annoyed when my mom wanted to spend time with me and I had stuff to do. And part of me hated myself for being annoyed by my mom for any reason at all. She was back from the dead and I wanted to hide in my room? But I wanted to hide in my room because I wanted to do research to figure out if this was really my mom or not. And what had Stephanie meant by “all over the place”? People all over the place had returned from the dead? Why wasn’t this all over the news?

What I said was, “Okay, mom,” and I went out to the TV room to talk to her.

***

Here I was, having a completely mundane conversation with a dead woman.

Yes, my husband was doing well at his consulting business. Yes, my oldest daughter was doing well in college. My youngest daughter had a rough spot a few years ago but was doing better. The daughter in the middle was putting a lot of time into her music, and was getting really good. I didn’t mention that my oldest daughter had gotten a diagnosis of autism like her aunt, or that my middle daughter was failing all her subjects because all she cared about was music, or that my youngest daughter was openly bisexual and dating a nonbinary teen in her class, because those would be fraught topics around here. My mother would be openly disapproving of the failing in school – as was I, but I wasn’t here to listen to a lecture about what I should be doing differently to make sure Rhiannon passed her classes – and she’d be what she thought counted as supportive about the other things. Are you sure it’s a good idea for Janie to have an autism diagnosis on her medical record? Lots of people will discriminate against her, just ask Stephanie, it’s not a good thing to admit to the world. And if Lori wanted to date a person who claimed to have no gender, good for her, but was she sure it was a good idea to admit to the world that she was bi when the world is so prejudiced? Blah blah blah. No. I wasn’t going there, not with my mother back from the dead.

All the questions I wanted to ask. How? How was she back? Why? Was there an afterlife after all? What was it like? Are you absolutely sure you’re not a telepathic shapechanger who wants to eat us? Is anyone else coming back or is it just you? But I couldn’t do it. My mouth wouldn’t make the words, and I felt like Mom being alive was a soap bubble that might burst any moment. If I said she was dead, would she disappear? I couldn’t take the risk.

Now I knew why Jeff and Aaron hadn’t told me. The compulsion not to talk about it, the fear that talking about the circumstances of her death and her apparently-no-longer-deadness would cause her to stop being no-longer-dead. I wouldn’t be able to tell my husband about this, or my kids, not unless they came here. Not without feeling like Mom might disappear if I did.

Which was probably how Stephanie had gotten away with it, in the beginning. If this was some kind of emotional pressure, something emanating from the presence of a dead woman... Stephanie was typically immune to emotional pressure. Or pretended she was, anyway. She hid behind her monotone and her face that barely expressed anything until she couldn’t, and then she’d go and have a meltdown in the bathroom. But she wanted to please Mom. We all wanted to please Mom. So if Mom had told her she was rude for mentioning the death thing, Stephanie would be unable to mention it again. Because she wouldn’t want Mom to think she was rude.

This felt very much like I was in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Dead mother back to life, check. Weird inexplicable pressure not to talk about it, check. But Mom clearly remembered things that had happened shortly before her death, and showed no evidence of knowing about anything that had happened since, unless it was public knowledge. She talked about interests the girls had had three years ago, interests they’d all outgrown since. She talked about my plan to remodel my own garage – I had completely forgotten that was even a thing we’d planned at one point, because I’d lost my job shortly after Mom died and then the money wasn’t there for the remodel. She didn’t know I was working with my husband in the consulting business now, which a telepath would obviously know because it dominates my life nowadays. Obviously a Martian telepathic shapechanger would have to pretend not to know things that supposedly happened while they were dead, but if I’d forgotten about the garage, what were the odds a telepath could pull it out of my head? There had to be more accessible thoughts in there, after all.

I didn’t know what to ask Mom. How do you feel? That was always a good one, back in the day, because Mom’s chronic illnesses meant there was always something she could complain about, but she wouldn’t do it until she was asked… she’d just quietly resent the fact that no one had asked her. But did dead people still feel things? Would that intrude on the topic I wasn’t supposed to talk about? What’s going on in your life? Oh, nothing much, Lennie, I’m back from the dead, how about you?

So I talked about myself. I was learning to work leather and I’d made myself a wallet, but I left it at home, I could bring it to show her next time. I was also learning to repair dolls. The girls had all abandoned theirs and I felt bad about it, so I was cleaning them up and repairing them and putting them in dioramas. Mom was very interested in both topics, and asked if I could repair some old dolls she had up in the attic. I was pretty sure I’d already done it – if it was the dolls I was thinking of, Dad had given them to me right after Mom died, and they were the ones I’d learned on. But was it safe to talk about? Dad wasn’t saying anything; had he forgotten he gave me the dolls, which was entirely possible, or did he think it wasn’t safe to talk about either?

I’d wanted for three years to be able to tell my mom that she was wrong about all the weight loss advice she’d given me because now it had come out that scientists had never proven that fat made you fat and the low-carb diets were probably better for you than the low-fat ones, but I didn’t know if she could still eat. Also, my mom was back from the dead and I wanted to start an argument with her about a topic I’d always hated when she talked about? Didn’t I have anything better to do? That really kind of made me a shitty person, didn’t it?

When Mom had been dying, I couldn’t talk to her about the future. I didn’t know how to bring myself to talk about things she’d never see. I’d never known how much my conversations with her consisted of me talking about future plans until I couldn’t any more. Now I couldn’t talk about the future or the past, at least not the past three years, and large parts of the present had to be left out too, because I didn’t know what would remind her that she was dead and make her go back to her grave. Even though, logically, I knew that was unlikely to happen because Stephanie had done it and had just gotten a rebuke that that was rude.

At the same time… I knew I had to say something that Mom could talk about, because if I just talked about myself all night, later on she’d probably make some passive-aggressive remarks about how everything always had to be about me. In desperation, I asked her if she’d seen anything good on television lately.

“Oh, I haven’t been watching anything in a while,” Mom said. “It’s been so long since I felt well enough to go anywhere, so I’ve been going for walks, and your father and I have been taking trips to museums and historic sites. We’re going to be going up to Boston next week.”

“I have a client up there,” Dad said, “and they want me to do a training thing. And I was telling them, no, no, Boston’s too far, but I remembered how much your mom loved Boston, so I asked her if she wanted to go and she said yes, so now we’re going. We’re going to fly, though. The days I was willing to drive that kind of distance are long over.”

“You could take the Amtrak.”

Dad made a dismissive gesture. “It’s gotten so expensive. Flying’s actually cheaper.”

“When are you going?”

“Next Wednesday we’re going to fly up there,” Mom said, which said something about her opinion of the future, at least. “Your dad’s got his presentations to do on Thursday and Friday, and I’ll wander around the city, and then we’ll spend Saturday seeing the sights together.”

“There’s this fantastic restaurant I went to last time I was up there on business,” Dad said, “and I checked their web page, and they’re still open. So we’re going to go there.”

So Mom could eat. Or Dad wasn’t afraid of talking about eating with her, anyway. Maybe ruled out vampire, but Martian shapechanger was still on the table.

I didn’t literally believe my mom – or the entity that appeared to be my mom – was a telepathic shapechanger from Mars like in The Martian Chronicles. But it was obvious that something so far outside the norm that it was only imaginable by making references to fantasy and science fiction was happening.

I tried, very carefully, “How have you been feeling, Mom?”

“I’m great!” She laughed. “I haven’t felt this good in ages. Sugar’s under control, I can see pretty well, none of the usual aches and pains… I’m doing pretty good!”

Did she remember she had died of cancer? Did she even remember that she’d died?

It was 2 am before I got to go to bed.

***

6 am and I was up and out the door before there was any chance of my mother or father being awake, assuming my mom even slept anymore. But at the very least, she was in her bedroom with the door closed and no view of the driveway I’d parked my car in.

Do I sound like a terrible daughter when I tell you I’ve never visited my mom’s grave? I haven’t been back there since the funeral. I always knew my mother wasn’t really there – that if any part of her had still existed in any form, it wasn’t trapped in a coffin under six feet of dirt. It made it somewhat difficult to find the graveyard, though, because I couldn’t remember where it was, or its name, or which church it was associated with, and it wasn’t exactly like I could ask my mom. When I finally found the place– it wasn’t that hard in the end, my parents live in a small town and there aren’t many graveyards – it took me half an hour to find her grave.

It seemed undisturbed. But if Mom had been back from the dead since Monday, that would have been time to fill in a grave. I went looking for the caretaker.

They get to work early in the graveyard caretaking business, I guess; I found him pushing a lawnmower over on the other side of the graveyard.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“This is going to sound stupid,” I said. “But I got an email from a jerk I used to know in high school claiming he was going to dig up my mother’s grave, and I just wanted to make sure nobody’s touched it.”

“Nobody’s touched any of the graves, ma’am,” he assured me. “Aside from a couple of funerals we’ve had this week, no one’s done anything to disturb the ground here at all.”

“Thanks,” I said, “that’s reassuring. He was talking like he was actually going to do it, but I guess he was all talk.”

“Well, if anyone comes by and disturbs any of the graves, we’ll have them arrested,” he said.

I had my answer. My mother had not climbed out of her grave. Which seemed impossible anyway, now that I knew enough about the funeral industry to know exactly how hard it would be to smash a coffin open, let alone dig through six feet of dirt. I couldn’t rule out her turning immaterial and floating out of her grave, but my mom had seemed very material and biological when she’d hugged me. I’d always thought of ghosts as something that were almost never solid enough to interact with the world, if they even existed.

***

If I was going to get up this early, I was going to get a pancake breakfast at the diner. My parents still think sugarless cold cereal is a reasonable thing to eat for breakfast. They were always night owls; I made myself breakfast and school lunch every morning but the first day of school, every year after about third grade. I was also a night owl, once I didn’t have to get up for school anymore, but I used to make my girls a lunch every night and store it in the fridge for them. Now they’re too old and too cool for Mom lunches. They’re eating something, but it might be cafeteria food, lunch they pack for themselves, or for all I know sandwiches from 7-11 or Starbucks with their allowance.

The point is, I hardly ever get a nice breakfast, because I am hardly ever willing to wake up early enough to cook myself one, and my parents certainly weren’t going to. So I went to the diner.

Normally I don’t talk to anyone at a diner, beyond smiling at them and telling them my order in an upbeat, cheerful voice because waitresses get too much shit from too many people for me to add to it inadvertently. Also because I don’t want them to think I’m eating alone because I’m a sad, lonely bitch no one would love; I want them to know I’m doing this because I really, really enjoy not having to socialize. But today I had something I needed to know.

“I’m a writer,” I told the waitress, “and I’m doing research on ghost stories in the area. Have you heard anything, you know, Halloweeny or spooky? Ghosts appearing, dead people walking around, poltergeists, that kind of thing?”

“Can’t say I have, but I’ll ask around, see if any of the girls know any good stories,” the waitress told me.

And then she took my order back to the kitchen, and I surfed the net on my phone while I waited, and then I got my pancakes, and I ate them. I was chasing the last blueberry around on the plate when another waitress approached me. “Stacy told me you were collecting creepy stories for a book?”

“From the local area, yeah.”

“I don’t know if this is the kind of thing you’re looking for, but… my cousin says that a lady on her street, her husband died a few years ago? But she just saw the guy walking with the lady down the street, having a conversation like the guy never died.”

“Do you think you’d be able to give my email to your cousin and have her reach out to me? That sounds like exactly the kind of story I’m looking for.”

“Uh, sure.”

I gave the waitress my email address. This was probably going to come to nothing; I doubted the waitress would even remember to give it to her cousin. But it’d be really good if I could get the details from someone who knew more about it.

***

Jeff’s more of a morning person than I am. I got a response on Facebook, but I had to wait to get back to my parents’ house, where my laptop was, to read it. On mobile, Facebook will only let you read messages if you have the app, which tells Mark Zuckerberg exactly where you are and what you’re doing with your phone, all the time. I don’t have the app. Sometimes this means I can’t read messages on mobile, but I prefer that to having an evil data empire know everything about my movements.

My parents weren’t awake when I got home. Or they were still in their bedroom. They used to do that a lot. Mom’s desk was in there, and Dad had a laptop… which he usually used on Mom’s desk, since she died. I wondered where her machine was, and if she had made a thing about it once she came back.

“I’m not sure I remember what your third grade teacher’s name was… I can barely remember my own third grade teacher. Were they the same? I can’t remember. I think my own teacher’s name was… Wil-something? Wilber? Wilkins? You’d be better off… well, you’re at the house now, or are you back at your home? Kind of important to know, because I could give you some advice about who to ask, but it’d be a different thing if you were at Dad’s house.”

He meant, “You’d be better off asking Mom, but I don’t know if you know Mom is back from the dead or not.” I was pretty sure, anyway.

I responded. “I’m at Dad’s house. Wondering how I’d be able to tell the difference between someone who’s real and a Martian shapechanger. Could the name have been Wilder?”

Five minutes later I got my answer. “Mom isn’t a Martian shapechanger. It was the first thing I thought of, so I checked.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

That answer I didn’t get until half an hour later. “I… just didn’t feel right, talking about it in an impersonal medium like the internet. I know you have a cell phone and I probably even have your number somewhere, but I remember you’re not the biggest fan of actual phone calls, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

I replied with my phone number and the message “Call me.”

And then I had to sit by my phone, doing nothing important, nothing that would engage my attention in any serious way, waiting for him to call. Which took twenty minutes, despite the fact that I could see that he was online.

Finally the phone rang. “You raaaaang?” I answered in my best parody of The Addams Family.

“I’m pretty sure I must have, or you wouldn’t have known to pick up,” Jeff said. “Of course, I might have buzzed. You could have your phone on vibrate. Or maybe I sang, depending on what you have for a ringtone.”

“’You saaaaang?’ doesn’t have the same je ne sais quoi to it.”

“Wow, how long has it been since I heard someone put je ne sais quoi in a sentence? I think we’re old. I think that’s an old person expression now.”

“What’s going on with Mom?” I asked, quietly, in case anyone might be in the hallway to hear me.

Jeff sighed. “I don’t know what is, but I can tell you what isn’t,” he said. “Stephanie confirmed that she eats, sleeps and goes to the bathroom normally, and I confirmed all of that for myself. The toilet in their bedroom is still broken enough that they don’t flush it unless they have to.”

I winced. That was a level of detail I could have done without. “So, not vampire or undead. How did you solve the Martian thing?”

“On Monday, Dad woke up and she was laying next to him in bed. If the goal was to kill him, it would have made more sense to do it then, before he woke up, than to put on this whole elaborate performance.”

“You’re taking me too literally. I’m not worried about aliens trying to take our family off guard so they can kill us. There’s any number of things they could be up to, and they don’t have to be aliens. Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The Stepford Wives. My Little Pony.”

“…My Little Pony?”

“There’s creatures called Changelings that feed on love. They impersonate ponies and take the love that other ponies feel for the ones they’re impersonating, as food.”

“Kind of psychic vampires mashed up with Martian shapechangers.”

“Yeah, but without the telepathy, so they’re not as good at it as you’d think. It’s a children’s show; they have to telegraph to the kids that these aren’t the real ponies. In real life, anyone who did something like that would be more competent.”

“How much verisimilitude do we need, though? She’s got moles in the same places Mom had moles. She’s missing a toenail just like Mom. Things I didn’t consciously think about, things I might not have remembered if you asked me to describe Mom.”

“That just means that if it’s not Mom, it has the ability to rummage deeper into our memories than we’re consciously aware of. That’s why I asked you my third grade teacher’s name. I genuinely don’t remember. Mom would, I’m pretty sure. Dad wouldn’t and Stephanie and Aaron were both too young.”

“I’m not sure I remember, but when you said Wilder, that sounded like it could be right. Do you know anyone from elementary school? Some of them went to high school with us.”

“I have some Facebook friends from high school, and maybe one or two went to the same elementary we did, but I haven’t been able to locate any actual people that I remember from elementary school. They don’t have a Classmates.com thing that works for elementary—”

“It says it does.”

“It lies, there’s nowhere to enter your elementary in your profile. All it lets you put in is high school, and it’s from a drop-down, not even freeform.”

“Huh. Guess I never tried it. I’m still in touch with anyone I cared about from back then.”

“I literally don’t care about anyone from back then, but that makes it hard when you’re trying to figure out your third grade teacher’s name.”

“If she can probe our memories,” Jeff said, “then nothing you or I know, or ever knew, would be safe. You’d have to come up with something to ask her that Dad wouldn’t know, or me, or Aaron, or Steph, or yourself, but that you know Mom would know and that you know someone else who would know it too.”

“I could ask Mariana for something.” My mom’s close friend and high school classmate was one of my Facebook friends. We don’t generally communicate directly with each other, but I follow her posts.

“That’s a good idea.” I heard the sound of a whistling teapot in the background. “That’d be my hot water for my oatmeal. If you get anything from Mariana, can you tell me about it?”

“Yeah.” I’d wanted to tell him about the story I’d heard in the diner, but no one got between Jeff and his oatmeal. “I’ll talk to you later. Probably online. Voice is making me paranoid.”

“I know what you mean. Do you need me to come up this weekend? I could make a day trip tomorrow.”

“That might be a good idea. I want to talk to Aaron, do you know what schedule he’s on?”

“He works nights now, so you’ll want to get him around 2 pm or so.”

“All right. Enjoy your oatmeal.”

“I will!” he said, putting a ridiculous amount of emphasis into it as a joke.

***

Before I could finish writing a message to Mariana – before I could really start, honestly, because how could I explain why I needed what I needed without admitting Mom was back from the dead? – someone knocked on my door. It was Mom. She was wearing one of her usual kind of shapeless but colorful nightgowns, and her hair was not brushed, so it was kind of a wreck. I noticed for the first time that it was grey. Mom had always dyed her hair since she started going grey, and it had still been auburn when she’d died. I’d never seen it fully grey. “Your dad and I are going to the arboretum,” she said. “Do you want to come?”

“Since when have you been into trees, Mom?” My mother had always been fascinated by history, and to some extent natural history like dinosaurs, but I’d never seen her express an interest in nature per se.

“I never was, much,” she admitted, “but the world is so beautiful. I was always more interested in the way humans shape the world than the way it came out of the box, but things like arboretums, Japanese gardens, zoos and aquariums… they’re made of nature, but they’re made by humans, and they say something about the people who chose to make them the way they are. And you know that your dad has always enjoyed nature.” My dad was interested in science, in general, and considered the natural world part of that. He was not exactly the kind of guy who would go camping.

In the past, I would have said “no, thanks.” I was never all that interested in nature myself, certainly not trees – maybe beautiful rocks or interesting landscapes, but looking at trees wouldn’t have seemed interesting to me. I still didn’t care much about trees… but my mom was back from the dead. I’ve gone much stupider and more boring places than an arboretum with her in the past, and now… if this was really her, if she was really alive again, I was going to spend all the time with her that I reasonably could.

“Sure, I’ll go,” I said. “I’ll take my own car, though. Just give me the address.” I always took my own car if I possibly could, because I’d get carsick if I wasn’t the one driving. “Should I ask Stephanie if she wants to come?”

“Sure, you can ask. I doubt she will, though.”

Stephanie, however, surprised me. “Yeah, I’ll go with you. We’ll meet Mom and Dad there?”

“Yeah.” Dad had texted me the address, so I pulled it up in my GPS. “About half an hour from here.”

In the car, she asked me, “Have you found anything out? I know you were looking into the whole Mom thing.”

“Jeff thinks she’s really Mom. We have a plan to get Mariana to give us a question that we don’t know the answer to, but that Mom and Mariana both would, so we can confirm she really knows things and isn’t just reading our minds. And a waitress at the diner said her cousin has seen what looks like someone else coming back from the dead.”

“It’s all over the place, actually,” Stephanie said. “I’m finding reports from everywhere.”

I glanced at her. “Why wouldn’t this be making the news, then? People coming back from the dead!”

“I feel like maybe no one wants to go on the record.” Stephanie looked out the window. “Nothing on Twitter or Facebook. No pictures of dead people on Instagram. I’m seeing things on Reddit and Tumblr – places where people use a consistent pseudonym, not like 4chan, but where that pseudonym can’t be tied to their actual identity. I’ve posted about it in both places, but I can’t make myself tweet about it.”

“Any idea why not?”

“It—” She shrugged, hands exaggeratedly widespread and head canted forward slightly. “It just feels wrong,” she said. “Like… we’re getting away with something. There’s a natural law we’re breaking here. I can post as toomanymushrooms or u/catonahottinroofsundae and no one knows who I am, but if I post as Stephanie Robbins and I tell everyone that my mom Suky Robbins is back from the dead…”

“What if that brought it to the attention of, what, some kind of authorities?”

“Yeah, pretty much. And even if I was just posting under my own name… I don’t have to say Mom’s name. I don’t have to put a mention to her Facebook in a post. But everyone knows my mother’s name, or they could find out from my name if they wanted to.”

“And you think maybe there are a lot of people with these weird feelings?”

“I don’t think so, I know so. A lot of posts explicitly talk about the fact that they can’t bring themselves to say anything in public, or talk about it with their real names on it.”

“Are they all parents?”

“No. It’s all kinds of people. Best friends, siblings, spouses, children… the only pattern I see is that nobody died a long time ago. It’s all, ‘my brother who died last year’ or ‘my aunt who died two years ago’ or something. Longest I’ve seen anyone talk about was a son who died five years ago.”

A thought occurs to me. “I can add something to your pattern, though.”

“Yeah?”

“You’d expect that, even if everyone with a resurrected relative feels this sense of dread about telling anyone about it with their name attached, because they feel it will, I don’t know, maybe cause the dead person to disappear back into their grave… you’d think somebody would do it anyway because they don’t care. Someone whose alcoholic abusive father came back and they wish he’d go away again, someone’s asshole brother, someone’s former best friend who betrayed them. But so far, no one has. How many people have you seen talking about this?”

“It’s hard to say because no one’s using their real names. Someone might post from their main blog and their side blog, or maybe they have a different name on tumblr vs reddit but they posted to both. But I’ve tracked thirteen separate names, and of those, I can tell for a fact there are at least nine unique ones because they talk about different people.”

“Thirteen isn’t ‘all over the place’.”

“I didn’t mean all over the Internet, I meant people coming from all over. I’ve tracked the UK, California, North Dakota, Ontario, France, India and New Zealand. Nobody’s tagging their posts and no one is willing to contribute to a master list, so it’s hard to find anyone outside of the people I follow or the subreddits I’m in, and I don’t know where everyone comes from. But it’s geographically widespread. I suspect it may also be happening in other places where people don’t generally speak English or maybe don’t have Internet access.”

“And what’s their sentiment? Like, are people frightened? Upset? Excited? Weirded out?”

She took a moment to think about it. “They’re happy. People are happy it happened. Weirded out, yes. But happy.”

“No whacked-out conspiracy theories about how it’s the contrails raining down adenochrome or something?”

“Not from the people it’s happened to. There was one flame war I saw where a religious person was saying that the person whose sister was back from the dead had to repudiate her. She’s not really your sister, she’s a demon from Hell sent to trick you, et cetera. And the person whose sister was back turned out to be just as religious, and they threw a holy fit. Literally. A holy fit.” She giggled. “A whole lot of stuff about how the righteous were coming back and Jesus had granted some people eternal life and this was that, and how dare you call these beings demons when they’re obviously blessed by Jesus himself and you’re the kind of person who would have called for Jesus’s crucifixion if you’d been alive then, and all that kind of thing.”

“Did anyone else who’d had returned people say anything?”

“This was Tumblr. None of the people who have had returns are communicating with each other in any way I can see. I reached out to a few on Tumblr private messaging but no one has answered. The only places I’m seeing conversations about it between people with returns have been on Reddit, because it has a forum structure. Tumblr is more like a whole hanging web of disconnected strings.”

“Still, you’d think that someone would be publishing a news article about it. Even if no one is willing to go on the record with their real name…”

“Maybe it’s not enough people. Nine unique instances, maybe up to thirteen, maybe more in places I haven’t surveyed. It’s not like I have access to literally all of Tumblr, after all. But that’s all I can confirm, and what if there isn’t any more?”

“If anyone came back from the dead I would expect the news to take notice.” I turned onto the final road; the arboretum was at the end of this stretch. “I went to the graveyard today. Mom’s grave hasn’t been disturbed. I checked with the groundskeeper. So either Mom’s body floated ethereally through the grave dirt, and her coffin, or her original body is still in there and whatever she is now, it’s not the same as what she was then.”

“It’s too bad we can’t have her exhumed,” Stephanie said.

“It probably wouldn’t tell us much anyway.”

“She’s younger-looking than she was before. Not by much, and the grey hair hides it, but she’s healthier-looking and less wrinkly. And I don’t see any evidence that she still has diabetes, or that she’s taking any pills at all. I haven’t seen her take any insulin shots, or anything.”

“Huh.” She wasn’t restored to her youth, or her hair wouldn’t be grey and there would be no wrinkles at all. She wasn’t restored to what she was at the moment of death, obviously. She wasn’t restored to what she’d have been at the moment of death without the cancer that killed her, if she didn’t have diabetes anymore. I felt like there had to be a pattern here I wasn’t seeing. I really wanted to talk to some of these other people having this experience.

I pulled in to the arboretum’s parking lot. Mom and Dad weren’t there yet; Dad doesn’t drive like an old man, but he doesn’t drive as fast as he used to, either. “Do they do this kind of thing a lot? Arboretums, parks, et cetera?”

“They don’t usually invite me, and I wouldn’t usually come if they did, so I don’t know. They do leave the house a lot.”

Dad’s car pulled in, and he and Mom got out. For the first time I could remember, Mom was actually moving a bit faster than him. Both Mom and Dad were the kind of people who walked quickly everywhere they went, but for a long time, Mom was slowed down by her various illnesses. Dad was still healthy for his age, but he’d slowed down a good bit since Mom’s death – grief was hard on his health, it seemed – and now Mom seemed healthier than he was.

“Did you know there are people who come here from all over just to see our leaves in the autumn?” Mom said.

I did know that; it was typically a factor in making it hard for me to come visit during the autumn. “I think it’s the mountainsides. There’s leaves turning colors all over the country, but not on mountainsides.”

“In California they don’t even consider these mountains,” Mom said. “They call them hills when they come visit.”

“No respect for the elderly,” Dad said.

“Yeah, these young mountains think they’re all that, but wait 100,000 years and see how tall they are then,” Stephanie said.

We strolled around, looking at the trees, reading what it said on the plaques in front of them. American Elm. Yellow Birch. Eastern White Pine. I’d seen trees just like these my whole life, and a good number of them, I’d never known the names.

“You never think about how beautiful the world is,” Mom said. “We’re all rushing through it, trying to accomplish the next thing. Or entertain ourselves. Read a book, watch TV. So few of us really want to interact with nature.”

“Careful, mom, your hippie roots are showing,” I said, teasing.

“I think if my generation had remembered what we were back when we were the hippies, the world would be better off.”

“We didn’t forget, Suky. The hippies were always big news, but you know as well as I do how many people our age just wanted to go punch a clock, buy a house, vote for Ronald Fucking Reagan… We thought we were the generation that would change the world, but it wasn’t our generation, it was us. People like us, who wanted to see a better world and weren’t content to just live like the sheep our parents were… but there’s people like that in every generation. And they’re always outnumbered by the assholes.”

“Actually, they’ve done a study,” Stephanie said. “The reason generations get more conservative as they get older is that at every point, the poor are more likely to die than the rich, and the rich are more conservative than the poor. So by the time you get to middle age, a lot of the people looking for social justice and diversity are dead. And there’s a lot more dead by the time they’re elderly.”

“I don’t buy it,” my dad said. “There’s entirely too many stupid poor people in this country who are brainwashed into supporting causes that help out the rich people and screw themselves over. They’re not living longer than anyone else in this country. The math doesn’t work.”

“Let’s not talk about politics,” Mom said. “I think we all know there’s something more important we ought to be discussing.”

“Mom?” Stephanie said, and looked at her, which is not a thing Stephanie does very often.

“Suky?” Dad said.

I didn’t say anything. I watched as Mom looked up at a tree and said, “It’s time we dealt with the elephant in the room, don’t you think?”

“Are you going to tell us about—” I couldn’t say anything more. I couldn’t bring myself to make the words.

“About the fact that I was dead, and now I’m not?” She looked at all of us. “I think we should talk about it, yes.”

It felt like there were eyes, watching us. I wanted to yell to my mother, to tell her not to talk about it, that someone might hear… but who? And why would it matter?

“Is that something you’re okay with, Suky?” Dad asked.

“I’m fine, but I’m getting the impression the rest of you aren’t,” she said. “Why haven’t any of you brought it up, except Stephanie, the once?”

“Well, you told me it was rude,” Stephanie said.

Mom sighed. “I guess I did. I’m sorry. This isn’t really easy for me either.”

She sat down on a bench, and Dad sat with her. Stephanie and I sat on a short stone wall around a tree. “I suppose I should start by saying, I don’t really know much more than you do. I don’t have any memories of being dead. I woke up in bed, next to your dad, on Monday morning, and for a while I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten there… I assumed I went to bed the previous night, but I couldn’t remember what had happened the night before. I couldn’t pin down anything I remembered as to exactly when it happened, not in the recent past. And when your father woke up, the shock on his face and the fact that he kept asking me if I was really here made me think, wait, the last thing I remember was that I was in a hospital dying of cancer, so why am I here now?”

“So you don’t remember any kind of afterlife?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I believe I had some sort of existence, but I don’t remember anything about it. When I wake up, I have flashes, feelings that I dreamed something about it, but I can’t hold it in my head long enough to write it down or even talk about it. It just… disappears, leaving behind only the memory that something was there a few minutes ago.”

“You know how unlikely the idea that an afterlife exists is, scientifically, though. Right?” Dad said. “Consciousness is an emergent property of a trillion neurons working together. Imagining that there could be some sort of construct that exists outside the brain and body is like imagining that a video game character could be waltzing around in front of us.”

“And yet I’m here,” Mom said.

“Time travel or a Star Trek transporter with some modifications would make more sense than something supernatural, like an afterlife,” Dad said stubbornly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Stephanie said. “If Mom doesn’t remember…”

“Have you had a medical exam?” I asked.

Mom laughed. “I don’t have health insurance anymore. I’m dead, remember? I can’t even begin to figure out how we’re going to address getting me a legal identity again, and to be honest… I can’t know I’ll be around long enough for it to matter.”

“None of us know that,” I said, “about ourselves or anyone else.”

“True, and it’s going to be hard to travel if I don’t have a legal identity. So I suppose I’ll have to address it eventually, if I last that long.”

“Thank God your state ID hasn’t actually expired yet, or there’d be no way we could fly to Boston. The passport’s expired,” Dad said. Mom had been legally blind when she died, so she’d had a state ID rather than a driver’s license.

“Is there any reason you might not? Aside from the things that could kill anyone?” I asked.

Dad said, “Your mother and I discussed… when she first appeared, I found it nearly impossible to talk about the fact that she’d been dead. When she broached the topic, I could talk about it to her, but I couldn’t tell you kids.” He shrugged. “My working theory is that there’s some kind of alien experiment going on or that time travel is somehow involved, but the fact that none of you kids were able to tell each other about it until you knew the other one knew suggests to me that someone with the ability to directly affect human emotions or thought is, for some reason, making it hard to talk about this. Maybe that means it’s a short-lived experiment.”

“Maybe I escaped from hell and no one wants to talk about it for fear the devil will take me back,” Mom said, but she was laughing. Mom had never believed in hell. Dad was an atheist; Mom definitely had strong spiritual beliefs, but they were kind of a package of woo that included reincarnation and ghosts, even though she’d been raised Catholic.

“There are others like you,” Stephanie said. “None of them have talked about it themselves, but family members or friends have talked about it online, under pseudonyms. I haven’t found any evidence that anyone has mentioned anything under their real names.”

“A lot?” Mom was surprised.

“So far I count between nine and thirteen unique individuals, plus Eleanor heard a rumor that someone who might live in town might have come back. We don’t know any details, though.”

“We need to find them,” Mom said. “I need to find them. I have a second chance at life, and I’m not ashamed of it. I won’t be silenced about the fact that I exist.”

“It might not be the best idea, Suky,” Dad said. “There are a lot more crazies out there than there were when you died—”

“—there were plenty of crazies then, Dee—”

“—right, and even then it wouldn’t have been a good idea. There might be some religious nut job who thinks that if you were dead you should stay that way. Or someone else thinks that you know how you came back, and wants to force you to tell them.”

“Those are valid points,” Mom said, nodding. “And to all of those people who might want to harm me because they think I shouldn’t be alive or they think I know how I came back, I say a hearty ‘fuck you.’ I won’t be silent because there are crazy people in the world. I’m not afraid of death, not anymore.”

“You’re going to risk Eleanor’s kids?” Dad asked sharply.

“I agree with Mom,” I said, standing up. “Nobody should have to keep quiet about the fact that they exist. But I have to tell Will.”

Stephanie made a face. My family doesn’t like my husband. They have justifications, but in the past few years, since Mom died, Will’s gone to therapy and has done a lot of work on himself. Mom was the only one in the family ever willing to forgive anything, though, so I’ve never tried to get them to change their minds.

Mom said, “Well, is he still a total asshole?”

“He’s… been trying not to be. He’s in therapy, and we’re doing couples counseling, and he’s working through a lot of baggage from his upbringing.”

“Why not tell him to bring the kids up and join you here, then. Coming back to life, might as well start a clean slate and see where things go from there. And you’re right, he needs to be involved in the discussion. Your girls, too. They all are old enough to understand what’s going on here, and what could happen.”

“You know I will never stand in the way of anything you want,” Dad said, which is the kind of thing Dad says rather than “I love you”. Things like, “If they ever fail to respect you, I will smite them” – talking about us and our treatment of Mom – or “You have always been my worthy opponent.�� Yes. Sometimes my father talks like a comic book character.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Stephanie said, “but I know you taught me to be who I am to the world and fuck anyone who gives me shit about it, so… same principle. I don’t think you could be you and lie about who you are.”

“And we need to involve Jeff and Aaron,” Mom said. “I’ll call them and get them to come here.”

“We turned off your cell phone ages ago,” Dad objected.

“Dee, we still have a land line. I know we do because I hear it ring, and sometimes you even answer it.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s right, we do.” Dad shook his head. “This world where everyone carries around their phone in their pocket all the time… it’s strange how you get so used to a technological or societal change that you forget that you did it a different way for 67 years.”

Nothing ever stopped my mother when she wanted something strongly enough, if she believed it was right. I hadn’t even thought of the considerations my father brought up before he talked about them, but I’ve never believed it’s okay to hide in conformity and live in fear. I didn’t think Will had ever believed in doing that, either, and my daughters had grown up going to political protests.

“We need to find out more about these other people,” I said to Stephanie on the way home. “See if we can contact them directly, find out if any of the actual returned people are planning on going public like Mom. We could coordinate if they are. Strength in numbers.”

“The religious right are going to crap their pants,” Stephanie said, laughing. “A Deist who believes in reincarnation, is married to an atheist, and has a gay son, came back to life. Jesus Christ hasn’t got a monopoly anymore.”

“That is probably going to be the most fun part of this going public thing,” I said.

***

So now I don’t know what will happen. My husband’s driving up from home with our girls, my oldest younger brother’s on a train, and Mom’s been looking up contact information for journalist friends she had once, checking which ones are still alive, using Facebook – we never deactivated her account – and my dad’s LinkedIn. Stephanie’s found two other people who have family members who came back from the dead, and one of them’s been willing to talk to her in private messaging on Tumblr.

I still have a hard time telling anyone who doesn’t already know, but it turns out, I can write about it without feeling the pressure, the fear. Don’t know if I can post it, yet. I guess we’ll see. I’m hoping that if I can get more information from more people who’ve been through something similar, maybe we’ll find a pattern, a point of commonality… maybe even an explanation for why we all feel this pressure not to talk about it.

Tomorrow we’re all going to talk about whether we’re going to do this or not, but I know my family. What my mom wants, she gets, if it’s possible and if it’s ethical. My husband and my kids are going to be in favor of her going public, and my brothers won’t stand in her way any more than my dad would. So we’re going to do this. The thing we’re really going to talk about is how to keep ourselves safe when we do.

Everything in the world is going to change. I just don’t know exactly how yet.

***

Obligatory notes because I’m so fucking late with this piece:

I have fucked up royally. I went into this without an outline and about 6,000 words in I realized I had attempted to consume a ball of energy larger than my head. This is going to end up being novel length, most likely. I struggled really hard to find a place I could reasonably end it as a short story, and yeah, it is absolutely not an ending. No followup on the Martian shapechanger thing, new idea is brought in and then treated like it’s the climax, protagonist is almost entirely reactive and passive. As a short story, it’s shit.

Unfortunately I found this out after I was already late. Not going to bore everyone with why this was a week late except that it’s allergy season and I’ve been exhausted lately. So there was no time to try to write something else. I hope you found it entertaining, if somewhat frustrating; it’s shit as a short story because it’s plainly a piece of a novel. Which I’m not going to write real soon because I have like 3 novels ahead of this one in the queue, but if I live long enough it will get done.

It’s kinda cute that story #30 falls on the 30th now because I’m late and story #31 is the last of my Spooky 5 Halloween-appropriate stories. But not cute enough to justify how late this is.

BTW, while this is not as autobiographical as “Radio” from Inktober, it is heavily drawn from real life. I altered some things because this is fiction, but the mother and the father in this story are pretty close to real life. Except that my mother hasn’t come back.

#52 project #writeober 2020 #alara's october 2020 prompt fics #spooky5 #late!

54 notes · View notes

applepiry · 4 years

Text

Karasuno University (Chap 1)

Chapter One - How you became the Boys College Volleyball Club’s Second Manager

“College AU - Karasuno University”

Short Fem!Reader x Will Have Multiple Partners

Contains: Jealously? Other parts will have other key words but this is just kind of a first meeting

WC: 2.4k+

Y/N info:

Freshman (18), 5’1 (154 cm), hair that can be put into styles (trying to be as non descriptive with it as i can be!), large chested (D and up), thick thighed, extremely quick for short bursts (can't jump or run for long distances though)

History Major with Art Minor; wants to be a teacher or museum director

Was Manager/Club Advisor for Art Club starting second year due to the dedication she showed the third and second years during first year

Has a mother, father, and two older brothers

“L/N B#2” is in 3rd yr at Nekoma Uni (21)

“L/N B#1” is already married with twin girls, he is a Associate Lawyer in Tokyo (27)

(B#2 lives with him while Y/N lives with parents in Miyagi)

Parents own a bookstore with a small cafe “Cozy Nook” which belonged to grandparents but they needed help so YN and your parents moved back this year.

YN lives in the apartment above the store, and her parents live in the house behind it.

Childhood friends with Kiyoko Shimizu. Back in Middle School you were classmates with Tadashi Yamaguchi.

Moved from Miyagi to Tokyo, Nekoma High, during High School due to fathers job.

Other Notes: All the boys are at least 3-4 inches taller than they were during HS.

I have a headcanon that Tanaka and Noya’s intense possessiveness quirk transferred over to Hinata haha (He was similar with Yachi after all)

Haikyu Masterlist

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

How you met the Karasuno Universities Boy’s Volleyball Team… And became Manager in Training

Monday

Your first day at Karasuno University was going decently, going through your day without much interest until lunch when you ran into your childhood friend, Kiyoko Shimizu, who had basically been your big sister. You two had been from the same neighborhood as children, and she was friends with your second oldest brother. You had formed a quick attachment to her, since she was much nicer to you than your brother was. She had been the manager of the Boys Volleyball Club back in high school, and apparently was here at the University as well.

She asked to catch up, and to meet her after practice had ended. You eagerly agreed, and knew you’d show up a little early to catch a glance at the surely hot volleyball boys. You hadn’t paid any attention back in high school aside from whether they won or lost, due to your own club activities, but you loved watching Volleyball. You actually weren’t too bad at it during PE, either. Surprisingly for someone so short, you were very quick when you wanted to be and were good at diving, since your plush chest and thighs often padded your slides.

After your last class, you went to the library to start on homework you’d already gotten. Once you had finished it, you looked at your phone and chewed on your lip as you noticed a text from Kiyoko, who let you know that practice would end around 7:00. Looking at the time, it was 6:00, and you figured it’d be a good time to head over. Packing up your stuff and slinging the bag across your shoulder, you head towards the boy volleyball’s practice gym.

Sighing to yourself, you’re not really sure what to expect, having never met any of them. Sure, she had told you all about them over text and phone calls but you never had any faces to match up to the stories, then when she had graduated you hadn’t heard anything the last two years about the club. You had become the Manager for your own club, Art Club, second year, so unfortunately had been too busy to even entertain the idea of meeting any of them during high school.

Plus, back then, you had hidden yourself behind glasses (whether you needed them or not), baggier clothing than needed and childish hairstyles, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. You had lacked the confidence to meet any boys, and honestly all boys did was pick on you. But, since then you had dedicated yourself to working on being so self conscious, learning to love your body and self after becoming Manager at the Art Club. Having so many people who depended on you and thought you were amazing was a really great confidence booster.

Getting to the gym at 6:40 due to your rather short legs and the gym being all the way across campus, you hear the rapid squeaking of tennis shoes from outside the door. Slowly, you open the door and crack it open, causing it to creak from the movement. Instantly, you feel eyes snap towards you, hearing a ball slap against the ground at the same time your eyes look up, seeing nearly the entire gym of boys staring at the door. At you.

All of a sudden you see red, but not in the “im angry” way, your vision is literally filled with red-orange hair.

“Hi! Who are you?!” his happy voice fills your ears, causing you to snap out of your trance and stumble backwards.

“O-Oh, hello,” you stutter out and grasp at your bag, biting the inside of your lip. “I’m L/N, I’m here to see Kiyoko-nee-chan?” you say, trying to find her but the boy in front of you was tall enough to block your view. Not a shock, considering you’re likely the shortest college freshman ever.

“Kiyoko?” he repeats, then turns and calls for her, “Kiyoko-senpai! There’s someone here to see you!”

Once he turns his shoulder, you can see nearly everyone in the gym, your eyes scanning over all the tall men. You nearly choke when you see most of them, well over a foot taller than you easily. Your eyes finally land on Kiyoko and you sprint towards her, across the gym in the blink of an eye.

“Woah,” the red head murmurs from the door.

“Kiyoko-nee-chan!” you whine, grabbing onto her for dear life. You had not mentally prepared yourself for so many tall men. Sure, your brothers and dad were tall but there were only three of them. You had only met a handful of guys unrelated to you this large before, as you tended to just avoid men as a whole.

She smiles softly and gently pats your hair, “I told you I would text you when I was done,” she murmured softly.

“It’s getting dark outside,” you murmur to her.

“Woah, that was some dash you did!” said a man with a deep tenor voice. Kiyoko quickly introduced Daichi Sawamura, the Captain of the team. You bowed, thanking and apologizing to him for interrupting their practice and allowing it. He waved it off, saying it was nothing since Kiyoko had mentioned you’d likely be stopping by. This confused you, making you tilt your head. What had he meant by that?

“Wait, wait, who is this that knows our beautiful Kiyoko!?” one of the boys says and your eyes land on a buzzed headed boy who looked like a delinquent.

“Yeah, yeah! Who?” says one of the shortest- no definitely the shortest- of the bunch with spiky hair, bouncing around just like the buzz-cut boy.

“Oh.. everyone, this is my childhood friend, F/N L/N-chan,” Kiyoko’s soft voice somehow fills the gymnasium and they all watch you with interest. “She’s back in town after having been in Tokyo for the last three years,” she added.

“Childhood friend?! What was in the water over there!?” the buzzed boy wonders loudly.

“Right?!” says the short one, “She’s just as beautiful as our Kiyoko!” he adds as he nudges the boy beside him.

Your face gets hot, making you look down in embarrassment, “T-Thank you, s-senpai’s…” you murmur shyly to them both when you realize they’re complimenting you.

Both boys blink and stare at you for a moment before they suddenly begin screaming and running around the gym. “DID YOU HEAR THAT?!” “SHE CALLED ME SENPAI!” you hear the boys excitement in each statement, but you’re not quite sure why they’re so excited. You had only been being polite.

The orange haired boy is in front of you again with a large smile, holding out his hand. “I’m Shoyo Hinata!” he chirped happily. “Wait, did Kiyoko-senpai say you.. went to Tokyo for high school? Which one?” he wondered, tilting his head.

You glance at Kiyoko for a moment and she nods, encouraging you to make friends. You look back at the other, who is a good 20 cm taller than you, while most of the others easily hit 30-40 cm taller, aside from the other short one who perhaps was only 15 cm taller. You take his hand, noting how much larger it is than your own.

“Nice to meet you… Yes, I did, I went to Nekoma...” you nearly whisper, looking into his big brown eyes. They flicker away from you when Daichi begins to speak. You realize you’re still holding Hinata’s hand, and he realizes as well as you both quickly pull away, both looking at the floor in embarrassment. He didn’t get a chance to reply before Daichi spoke.

“Hey team! Come meet L/N-chan!” Daichi said, surprising you. “Kiyoko wants to train her to be the next manager!” he told everyone.

You blinked, looking up at Kiyoko, confused. She smiled her sweet small smile and nodded, “Want to?” she wondered quietly. “I know you know a lot about volleyball…” she added. She quickly explained that it was easier with two managers, and their other manager, Yachi-chan, had gone to Tokyo for college, which left them with an open spot.

You thought about it as the boys all gathered around to meet you. Finally, you nodded, a bit excited to try this out. Kiyoko smiled a bit wider than usual and hugged you tightly. You hugged her back, forgetting all the boys watching the pair of you. When she pulled away, you remembered, your face getting hot again as you fidgeted a bit.

Turning to the team, you bowed, “I’m F/N L/N, pleased to meet all of you!” you do your best to be enthusiastic, keeping your head bowed for a moment before finally lifting your head.

Each of the boys introduces themselves, save from Daichi and Shoyo. Yu Nishinoya and Ryunosuke Tanaka getting rather close to you when they introduce themselves. Koshi Sugawara pulls them away and apologizes before introducing himself with a sweet smile.

You end up recognizing Tadashi Yamaguchi, as the two of you had been in the same class during middle school, and also had a few classes together this year as well. When meeting his giant of a friend, Kei Tsukishima, you nearly fell back just trying to look at his face.

Asahi Azumane introduces himself rather shyly, while Chikara Ennoshita, Hisashi Kinoshita and Kazuhito Narita are all quick and kind. Chikara mentions he’s looking forward to working with you, which makes you fidget nervously with your nails. The last one to introduce himself comes up to you, his body movements stiff as he holds out his hand to you, saying his name was Tobio Kageyama.

Tanaka and Nishinoya are dancing around like idiots, both of them excited to have another pretty girl around all the time. You let out a soft laugh when Hinata joined them, everyone staring at you in surprise for a moment. Your face heated up, shifting a bit as you got closer to Kiyoko. It was definitely going to be an adjustment getting used to the rowdy boys.

Daichi got everyone to start cleaning up, while you, Kiyoko and Coach Ukai started talking about all the things that would go along with learning to be a manager. Since Kiyoko was still here, you’d have less responsibilities but they did expect you to help out whenever asked. You promised them both you’d do your best.

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

“Hey, hey, LN, what was that crazy quick run before?! It was like Zoom!” Hinata said from behind you, causing you to turn to greet him.

“Oh, yeah! I’ve only ever met Sho who was that fast! Like whoosh!” Nishinoya chimed in, appearing seemingly out of thin air.

“O-Oh, well, It’s only in short bursts and I.. erm, can’t do it much else…” you tell them with a soft nervous laugh. “I’m not that athletic, erm, but I do like Volleyball! I watch games all the time, and erm, I can toss a ball pretty okay!” you explain, tightening your hands into fists as you hyped yourself up, trying to push off those nervous jitters. Squeezing your hands close to your chest, you look up at the two before speaking again, “I’m going to do my best!”

Nishinoya was biting his jersey, yanking at it as he nearly screamed, “You’re so cute!” his voice sounding strained.

Tanaka appeared behind Nishinoya and grinned, “She really is!”

Hinata just looked away, but his bright red cheeks betrayed his thoughts.

Daichi appeared next to you and gently placed a hand on your shoulder, “You’ll get used to them. They’re this way with Kiyoko too,” he said, his voice so gentle and yet so deep.

You smiled sweetly at him and nodded, “Thank you for that, Sawamura-senpai.”

“Daichi is fine, no need to be so formal,” he laughed. He gently pats your shoulder and leaves after that, the group gathering to go over the day's events since it was only their first practice this year together.

They mentioned how it felt to have the old gang all back together, and how they couldn’t wait to get to the College Nationals. You were a bit surprised at how focused and intense all of them looked. However, it was quickly overtaken by pride for your new club.

Once the meeting was over, Kiyoko offered to drive you home, telling you she needed to get changed and she’d meet you back here. Standing near the gym, you lean against a pole and fidget with your phone as you wait for her.

“Hey, LN-chan!” you turned to see Tadashi, panting softly as he ran towards you.

“Oh, hey, Yamaguchi!” you say happily, “I had totally forgotten you played Volleyball. I was surprised to see you,” you tell him.

“Same! I had no idea you knew Shimizu-senpai!” he said, nervously fidgeting with his bag. He seemed to be unsure what to say.

“Hey, should we exchange emails?” you ask, holding out your phone and opening it, ready to exchange information. His face lights up and he nods, tapping his phone against yours as the information transfers. Looking up, you see the tall blond behind him, staring at you, your eyes widening a bit, “Do.. you want to, too?” you wonder, tilting your head.

“Tch, no,” he snaps, his head quickly turning away as he begins to stride off.

“S-Sorry about Tsukki! Let’s h-hang out later,” Tadashi stutters out nervously before running off after his giant friend.

“What’s his problem?” you grumble.

“He’ll need to warm up to you,” a deep voice you recognize as Kageyama, standing there near the door.

“Oh, hey Kageyama,” you say, blinking in surprise.

“Can I get your info, too?!” you hear, your eyes landing on Hinata as he pops out from behind Kageyama. Where had he come from? But, you smile and nod, tapping your phone against his as the information transfers and saves. “T-Thanks!” he says, his eyes sparkling and wide.

“M-Me too!” Kageyama says, his voice stiff and formal, even if you are the same age.

“Us too!” “Yeah don’t leave out your senpai!” Tanaka and Nishinoya come around the corner, the two of them holding out their phones as they jog towards you.

After exchanging with them, Kiyoko comes back, and you finally make your leave with Kiyoko. With lots of waves and enthusiastic goodbyes.

Once in her car, she tells you a bit more about the boys and what the team is striving for as she drives you home, and you take all of it in, excited and nervous for everything that this new opportunity would bring.

Next Part

34 notes · View notes

songficsbyrissi · 4 years

Text

Do You Remember? (part 2)

A/N: Here’s the highly requested part 2 that I’ve taken forever to write and release! Click here for part 1!

****************

“Is my daddy late again?” Ashanti questioned aloud as she sat at her tiny desk with her eyes still focused on her drawing.

It was half past 3 and school let out at....3. So yes he was late again.

You sighed deeply coming up to her desk and crouching down. “Yes he is. But while we wait for him, We can do something fun.”

The little girl got excited with a wide smile that matched her father’s. “Like what?!”

You tapped your chin in fake, deep thought. “How about weeeee get some homework done?”

Ashanti poured folding her arms. “That’s not fun!”

“That’s because you’re not doing your homework my way!”

“Really? My daddy says his way is fun.”

You raised an eyebrow glancing at her skeptically. “What’s his way?”

She pulled at her homework sheet from her green and purple Princess and the Frog backpack. She gestured towards a problem that was 5-2.

“There are 5 Black Panthers and 2 of them sell out and support the white man. How many Black panthers are left?”

You stared at the 6 year old in astonishment and tried your hardest to hold back a laugh. You should not be surprised but you still are. Erik managed to sneak his pro blackness in a simple math problem.

“Ok let me show you the fun way.” You tried not to laugh as you went back to your desk, grabbing a bag of assorted candy. As you were doing homework with the girl, she kept staring at you between problems. You looked up at her and smiled.

“What is it, Ashanti?”

She got shy, looked down at her paper, and mumbled something.

“Huh?”

“Can you be my mommy?”

That question completely caught you off guard. You were rendered speechless. You’ve been dating Erik for a couple weeks now but you two weren’t official yet. Even though you told Ashanti you were just friends, she loved you and had high hopes for the future. This was moving too fast.

“You want me to be your mommy?”

“Yes. I don’t have a mommy and I really want one. So can you be my mommy?”

Before you could respond, Erik burst through the door with a big ass grin and one hand behind his back. The hand that was visible was a small jaguar stuffed animal and you saw Ashanti’s eyes grew in happiness as she ran out of her seat to hug Erik.

“Daddy, you got it!” She took the stuffed animal and hugged it tight.

“I had to. For my Princess.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Daddy’s sorry he was late again, baby. Hopefully this makes it up for it.”

You were so focused on the adorably scene in front of you and Ashanti’s question floating in your head that you didn’t even notice Erik coming up to you with a smirk on his face.

“Now for you, I’m sorry I’m late again but I got something to ask you.” He brought his other arm into view revealing a beautiful bouquet of orchids. You instantly smiled at the display.

“I felt like roses are overrated but here’s some pretty flowers for a pretty lady.”

“Thank you, Erik.” You went in to kiss him but remembered Ashanti was right there, watching with hopeful eyes. You pulled him for a hug instead and he whispered in your ear:

“You owe me that kiss.”

You couldn’t help the giggle you released at his words and pulled away. Erik grabbed Ashanti and they said their goodbyes. Your smile dropped once they left. You were conflicted and you needed someone to talk to about it.

“You finally get rid of all your brats?” Your good friend Evan popped inside your classroom. “You’ve always been the last teacher to leave.”

Evan has been your good friend through college that you met in one of your major classes. After graduation, you two were hired at the same elementary school which was great for you because the rest of the teachers were other races. You two were the only the black teachers in the school.

“Awww shit something’s bugging you. Talk to me.” He took a seat in the chair in front of your desk and you sighed deeply.

“So I’m dating someone-“

His thick dark eyebrows rose to his hairline. “What? Wow I’m shocked but I’m happy for you. It was about time you started dating after.......”

You shook your head. “Yeah. I don’t wanna talk about that. Anyways, he’s actually a guy from high school that I reconnected with and he’s so amazing. He’s cute, funny, sweet. I just really really like him.”

Evan furrowed his eyebrows and waved his hand as if he was saying to go on. “He has a daughter. A young daughter. 6 years old.”

Evan’s mouth forced an O in understanding. Due to Evan knowing your past, he understood why this was a deeper issue than it would seem to the average woman.

“And I love his daughter and she loves me! And she asked me to be her mommy.”

“Where’s her mom?”

You waved him off. “It’s a long story. All you need to know is that her mom left her before she could even hold her head up.”

Evan let out a low whistle shaking his head. “That’s tough. Wait, are you even his girlfriend? And his daughter knows about you?”

You had to leave out the fact the daughter in question was one of your students. The last thing you needed was to be judged and/or have that exposed. Not that you didn’t trust Evan, but you weren’t going to take any chances.

“We’re not official but I think he’s going to ask me and this is hard because I really like him, Evan! I like him a lot! I like his daughter! I just never seen myself as a stepmother and I know I was ready to date again but I’m not ready for-“

Evan grabbed your hands to stop you from rambling more. “Re-lax. I can see you really like him and don’t want to lose him but this is a lot for you to sign up for. Just give yourself some time to reflect on it and figure out if the kid is a dealbreaker or not. Once you took enough time, let him know what’s up. Just be honest. Niggas love honesty.” He sat up straight, leaning in. “He is a nigga, right?”

You laughed. “Yes he is.”

Your friend sat back in the chair. “Oh ok. Yeah like I said, don’t stress yourself about it. Keep in mind though that when a nigga has a kid, you’re always going to come in second. She’s his priority and not you. He’ll pick her over you all the time.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Thanks Evan. I had no idea.” You replied sarcastically as he stood out of the chair and grinned at you.

“It’s only because I love you.”

*********************************

Erik was staring at his phone losing his mind. He didn’t know if he should text you first or wait for you to text. This shit was annoying. You technically wasn’t his girlfriend so he couldn’t even get mad at you for texting him back. Damn, he should’ve asked you to be his girlfriend already but he was too fucking scared!

Honestly, you were the furthest he got with a woman since being with Ashanti’s surrogate. Every time he tried to date, the women couldn’t handle the fact that he was a single father doing it all by himself. They couldn’t handle the fact that his daughter came first, no matter what. He warned each of them of this. They acted like they could handle it until he would cancel dates because Ashanti was sick or he didn’t have a sitter. He didn’t feel like he had to warn you. Just had a strong feeling you knew and understood.

What if he’s wrong?

Those women didn’t want a man with a kid and Erik didn’t blame them for that. Shit, before Ashanti was conceived, he wanted nothing to do with single moms. He just wished they didn’t act like they were ok with it and end up wasting his time.

He groaned grabbing his phone and dialing a number feeling his heart racing as he waited impatiently.

“Hi Erik.” A female voice greeted him.

“Nakia, put T on the phone. It’s important.”

“Oh yeah I’m doing fine. Thanks for asking.” His cousin’s fiancée replied sarcastically.

Erik winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry Nakia.”

She began to giggle on the other line. “That new girl has you on edge, I see. T’Challa!”

There was some silence on the other end until Erik heard the familiar male voice pick up.

“T, man, I don’t know what to do. I haven’t heard from this girl since Friday. Nigga it’s Sunday! Last time I saw her, I gave her flowers and we seemed good but now she just ghosted me and now a nigga is feeling like she can’t handle me having a kid or something. Nigga, I don’t know.”

When Erik finished this rant, all he heard was his cousin laughing on the other end. He furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance. He let him go but if he kept going, he was gonna have to cuss him out.

“Wow Erik. You really like this girl.” T’Challa observed with some humor in his voice. “The past girls, you would just pay them no mind but this one....this one is different. A good different.”

Erik exhaled deeply taking a seat at his kitchen table. “Yeah man. She’s different from the rest. I have a feeling that if I lose her....that shit is gonna really hurt.” “Well it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” There was a blanket of silence after T’Challa said that and left Erik thinking. He thought and thought until he came up with the right words to say what he was feeling.

“Shut your bitch ass up.”

On Monday, Erik was on time to pick his daughter up this time. You were hoping he would be late so you could delay seeing him but of course, shit didn’t work out in your favor. However, it did because you saw him but he didn’t see you. You were grateful for that because you wanted to see him but weren’t sure if you were ready to talk to him.

You stayed in your classroom packing up your things when Erik walked into the room. You looked up at him, taking a deep breath.

“Did I do something? You’ve been ducking and dodging me this whole weekend. If I did something wrong, you know you can tell me. I-“

You cut him off before he could go any further. “It’s not you, Erik. It’s really not. You’re an amazing guy and I really like you. I just got nervous.”

Erik was perplexed. “Nervous for what?”

You sighed shaking your head. “It’s just that day you picked Ashanti up, she asked me to be her mommy and I-“

Erik held his hand up cutting you off this time. “I get it. It’s a lot. I’m asking you to accept a lot here and Ashanti not having a mother makes it even harder. I’m sorry.”

You took his hands. “No, Erik! I love her. I see all my students like my own children, especially Ashanti. I adore her. It’s just that...” you sighed deeply not sure if you should even tell him this but you didn’t wanna lose him.

“Kids just never seemed like a possibility for me and when I finally accepted it, it’s kinda happening, it’s a bit overwhelming but I want to be with you and Ashanti. Even though it’s a lot.”

Erik breathed a sigh of relief, touching your cheek. “You could’ve just told me that and I would’ve understood, baby girl. You had me worried.”

You laughed tiredly. “I’m sorry. I’m just really bad with words and I just wanted to make sure I got it out right.”

“Yeah I remember that. Back in Physics, when Mr. Borden asked you the answer to the problem gestured towards that big ass zero on the board and you said “uhh bagel?”

You began to snicker as you covered your face with your hands. “I skipped breakfast that morning! I was hungry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Erik kept chuckling and calmed down, getting serious again. “I’m guessing I don’t gotta ask you my question because I think I got my answer.” He got up from his seat to leave and you stopped him.

“Wait a minute. You didn’t even ask me. That’s not fair.”

This was the first time, in your time of knowing him, that you’ve seen Erik getting shy and nervous. He was stealing your thing. It was cute on him so you’ll let it slide.

“Y/N, will you be my girlfriend? We don’t gotta rush anything. We can still take things slow if that’s what you want. I just....want to be able to call you mine now.” You could feel the tingling in your cheeks as you went around your desk to pull him into an embrace and pecked his lips, smiling.

“Yes. I will be your girlfriend.”

You heard him chuckle. “I probably should’ve said princess.”

You pulled away, raising an eyebrow. “Princess?”

He began to chuckle even more. “Yeah. Ashanti called you a princess and said I gotta kiss the princess. She watches too much Disney. That’s my fault though. Should’ve made her little ass watch a Malcolm X documentary or some shit.”

You started laughing with him, touched that the sweet little girl viewed you as a princess. “I’ll take princess too”

Erik grinned and bit his bottom lip. “So can I take my princess out to dinner?”

“Yes you can.” Tags: @lifelover4u @dessianna1 @brattywriters-anonymous @marvelmaree @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @ljstraightchaser @slimmiyagi @cancerianprincess @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @vibranium-chakra @nerd-lovely @chaneajoyyy @ohliyaxoxo @chefjessypooh @yourfavoritefavorite @airis-paris14 @ljstraightnochaser @quietstorm-73 @msincognito67 @sociallyawkward18 @mychemicalimagines @nerd-lovely @marvelpotterlove @destinio1 @madamslayyy @thehomierobbstark @brattywriters-anonymous @thattinycookiemonster @raysunshine78 @harleycativy @coveredingodiva @izraahh1 @nataliehasgrace @champagnesugamama @destinio1 @rbhp @foulmouthedandfrank @m3ntallygon3

#Erik Killmonger #Erik Stevens #erik x reader #erik killmonger x you #erik killmonger fanfic #erik killmonger x black reader #Erik Stevens x black!reader #erik stevens x reader #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger fluff #erik killmonger fic #erik stevens fanfiction #black panther #black panther fic #black panther fanfiction #black panther imagine

331 notes · View notes

dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

Photo

* * * *

INTERVIEW: SAINT MISBEHAVIN’ WAVY GRAVY

by Richard Whittaker, Dec 21, 2010

One day I got a note from ServiceSpace founder, Nipun Mehta offering me tickets to a new documentary movie about Wavy Gravy. Would you like to go?

I went. Although I was aware of Wavy Gravy as a cultural icon, I really knew very little about him. The film is a eye-opener. Michelle Esrick’s loving documentary, Saint Misbehavin’ - 10 years in the making - is a real introduction to this remarkable man. I'd never heard about Hugh Romney, the man who later became famous as Wavy Gravy. And what a story. I'll mention just one of its surprises: earlier in his life, Hugh Romney was Lenny Bruce's manager.

A few weeks after seeing the film, at Mehta’s urging, I had the chance to interview Wavy Gravy himself.

Richard Whittaker: How are you feeling about Saint Misbehavin’?

Wavy Gravy: Oh, it’s a swell movie. I’m honored to be so well-documented, and the review in the New York Times was embarrassing. I’m not that good.

RW: You said in the film that you’re an “intuitive clown.” Would you mind saying something about what that means?

WG: I’m trained in the art of acting improvisation. That means acting on the spur of the moment rather than doing, say, the focused slow burn and all the traditional clown moves. I don’t do any of that.

RW: So that would be about sensing the moment, what’s there, and taking in who you’re with.

WG: Absolutely—and sensing what’s going on. I was, for a number of years, with The Committee in San Francisco. I taught improvisation at Columbia Pictures. Harrison Ford was one of my students and I’ve taught improvisation at Camp Winnarainbow for over thirty years.

RW: I wanted to ask you about your history. For instance, in New York in Greenwich Village, you wrote poetry, right?

WG: Yes I did.

RW: Is any of it available? And is it something you’d want people to find?

WG: There are a couple of slender volumes out there. I think you’d have to go to Amazon or eBay to find them. I don’t even have copies myself. But other people do and will lend them to me when I need them.

RW: Do any titles stand out for you?

WG: Kaleidoscope and there’s Joe’s Song, which is taught in a poetry class at the University of California at Berkeley. Would you like to hear it?

RW: Please.

WG: Okay. It goes like this: “Once upon and ever since I was a child in a child’s world. I have wept a child’s tears and built a child’s wall of clay and stone and colored years of poems in paint and virgin gold. I sought to build a wall so tall from lion eggs from Gallilee, a brick of song among the dregs of silver nails and lesser men a mile long to kiss the sun and climb again. Once ago and ever now I stood a man on a child’s wall. I stopped and prayed to spider webs and roses of the sea. I spoke as one with all the earth and knew the pain of birth and death to be the same without my wall. Once upon and ever furled I stand alone with all the world.”

RW: That’s beautiful.

WG: I wrote it in 1960 or about then. I don’t write lyric poems very often. These days I mainly write haiku, usually when friends pass away, which is happening more and more frequently from natural causes. Also I’ve been having the good fortune to have my art exhibited, and I do a haiku to go with each piece.

RW: I’m imagining that, as a younger man, you had certain visions and deep feelings that could have been a liability for living the conventional life.

WG: I don’t think I ever had to contend with that one [laughs]. I live in the land of one thing after another. [speaking with an east Indian accent] “The sand only goes through the hourglass one grain at a time,” as some Hindu sage proclaimed. I’ve discovered that to be true.

RW: Did you have mentors who supported you in Greenwich Village?

WG: It was kind of amusing. I was going to theater school at Boston University, which was an amazing theater school. The finest directors in the world would come in and the whole college would read for a part. A freshman could get a lead. It was extraordinary. And if you weren’t cast in the production, you would be cast in the lighting crew or the costume crew or the stage crew. Then there was an upset about theater students not doing their social studies and the university attempted to move the campus of the theater school over to where the rest of the university was laid out. Just at that time, the teachers who had all been hired during the McCarthy blackball because they couldn’t work on Broadway, well, the blackball ended and they all quit. They went to work at the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York City, and they took me with them.

But while I was at BU, I had read in Time Magazine about jazz and poetry in San Francisco. I thought, hey, I’ve written a couple of poems and I know some musicians. I can do that! So I got together with a bunch of artists from the museum school and we proceeded to take the basement of a bar called The Rock on Huntington Avenue. The place in the basement was called The Pebble in the Rock. We put in black tables and black clothes and mobiles and paintings and began doing jazz and poetry. It was the first jazz and poetry done on the East Coast. So I had the privilege of inaugurating the East Coast to jazz and poetry. I persisted in doing it for years in, of all places, Hartford Connecticut. On every Monday I would grab a bunch of musicians and go to Hartford and make substantial money. Otherwise I was going to the Neighborhood Playhouse and reading my poetry in the evenings at the Gaslight Café in Greenwich Village, as you saw in the movie.

RW: That’s an amazing story. There was another thing you said in the film, “put your good where it can do the most.”

WG: Which is the advice I gleaned from one of my mentors, the author and adventurer, Ken Kesey.

RW: Did that kind of focus something for you?

WG: Well, it lit up. It lit up. I had discovered that, somewhat. Whenever I would do a good thing, it made me feel good. I think I heard a preacher of color on television in the late fifties. He said, “It’s nice to be nice.” And that kind of hit a chord for me.

RW: Do you think there’s a mix in what artists do? That in your poetry, part of it was trying to give something?

WG: Hmmm, I don’t know. I was just trying to get out of the way and let whatever was inside of me come to the surface. In the early days, I was not all that consciously altruistic—although, in the early days of poetry, the poets were not paid. We used to pass a cornucopia around after an hour or so and people would put money in it. We made an embarrassing amount of money that way. Myself and Len Chandler, who was one of the first folk singers I brought into The Gaslight, he and I put on these capes with hoods—Len was an African-American and he had a motor scooter. And we would jump on the motor scooter at the end of the evening and drive down into the Bowery and find somebody passed out on the sidewalk. We’d stuff his pockets with money and drive off and find somebody else until we’d given away at least half of what we’d made in the course of the evening. It was a lot of fun.

RW: That’s incredible. What do you think led you to do that?

WG: I don’t know. It just seemed like a fun thing to do. We didn’t need all that money.

RW: Do you remember the moment when Ken Kesey said “Put your good where it will do the most good”?

WG: No. But he told me a lot of stuff—like, “You should honor your mother and your father.” This comes out of the Bible. As soon as I learned that Kesey had written that, I forget how he worded it, I immediately called my mother and my father and honored them verbally as best I could. And it was illuminating for them and for me. Afterwards, I called Ken up to thank him. He said, “Well, it’s just so darn simple.”

RW: I want to ask about giving and receiving. Do you have any thoughts in general, let’s say, about giving?

WG: Giving seems to be easy for me. Receiving is the thing I’m just beginning to learn how to do with grace. It’s a work in progress, like the rest of me. Over the last thirty years I’ve experienced considerable physical difficulty, having had to receive a series of spinal surgeries and spending amounts of time in body casts. You have no alternative, or you starve. So it was necessary. I tell people I learned patience in the hospital. [there’s a pause] That’s a pun.

RW: You’re right! [laughs]

WG: And as my infirmities persisted, I learned to acquiesce to the moment and accept, with as much graciousness as I could muster, the assistance of people who offered it.

RW: I bet this is true for lots of people, that it’s easier to give than to receive.

WG: Right, but as I pointed out, I didn’t have much choice, as with a lot of the stuff that has happened to me in my life. Life situations have presented themselves and it was either sink or swim.

RW: This reminds me of another part in the film. This is at Woodstock. You and the other members of The Hog Farm were brought there to be the police force for the whole event. You called yourselves “the please force.”

WG: We were the Please Force. And we had also set up what we called the Trip Tent.

RW: And there’s a part in the movie where you describe helping a young man who was having a bad acid trip.

WG: As he came in ranting, this three-hundred pound Australian doctor laid on top of him and said, “Body contact. You need body contact” [said with an accent] and then a psychiatrist leaned in and said, [using another funny voice] “Just think of your third eye, man.”

Then I figured it was time for me to make my move. I said, “Excuse me. I’d like to try something here.” And they all backed up. What’s this hippie going to do? That’s when I said, “What’s your name, man?”

RW: And he mumbled something…

WG: I said, “No, your name.” He told me his name and I said it back to him. In fact, I said it back to him several times.

RW: I noticed how very clear and emphatic you were when you got his name. “Okay, Bob. Bob, that’s your name.”

WG: Your name is Bob.

RW: Where did you get the knowledge of using that simple directness?

WG: We’d spent some time on the psychotropic frontiers through the prankster days and beyond. It was not unfamiliar territory.

RW: You knew something about being really concrete, and focused.

WG: And through the greatest professor of them all, professor experience; and from courses at hard knocks university.

RW: You’ve had a lot of hard knocks university experience, I think.

WG: Yes. Well, that’s how you learn things.

RW: You said in the film how you’d found you could get high without the psychotropic assistance. Could you say something about that again?

WG: There are many ways to alter space. I do lots of breathing exercises, and I do mantras. Different people have different recipes to get to a space of consciousness and then to dwell in it for as long as you can, I guess. My own way is an amalgam of many different practices from many different lineages.

RW: You evolved from Hugh Romney doing the poetry to where you were wearing a jester’s hat.

WG: Between poems I used to talk about the bizarre things that happened to me during the day because it was really tedious just reading all these poems night after night after night. Then a guy came along and said, look, skip the poetry. Just talk about your bizarre experiences. That’s how I got into doing stand-up.

Lenny Bruce became my manager. I put out a couple of albums and toured the U.S. —and in fact, something of the world—doing stand-up before these other things came along.

RW: Somewhere you left the jester’s hat and started dressing as a clown.

WG: I was asked, when we had moved to Berkeley in the mid-seventies, to go the Children’s Hospital in Oakland and cheer up kids. On the way out the door of my house, someone handed me a red, rubber nose. I discovered it enabled me to get out of myself and be entertaining to the kids. After awhile, I began to paint my face up as a clown. Somebody gave me a costume, and a clown who was retiring from Ringling Brothers gave me his giant shoes. I worked with kids, with kids who were terminal, even, and did this almost every day for about seven years.

At one point I had to go to a political rally at Peoples’ Park and I didn’t have time to take off my clown stuff. I discovered that the police didn’t want to hit me anymore. Clowns are safe.

RW: Can you say more about what your experience at Children’s Hospital working with kids was like?

WG: I discovered that not only was I helping the kids, I was helping myself. As I began to do this work, I’d gone through three major back surgeries and was in quite a bit of pain. But working with the kids I discovered that as I focused on the children and the pain they were in, I lost track of my own pain.

RW: Is the clown an archetype you can inhabit?

WG: Sure.

RW: Do you think, “I’m a clown?”

WG: I don’t know. I can’t see you.

RW: [laughs] No. I have a long way to go. If I evolved, I might become a clown.

WG: Well, you need to go to camp Winnarainbow. They’ll teach you to clown. It’d be good for you. I think John Townsend said it most brilliantly in The Book of the Clown, “A clown is a poet who is also an orangutan.” But clown comes from the word “clod” or bumpkin, and the red nose indicates they were drunk. But I found all this out later. Suddenly I have these big shoes on and [laughs] a nose and I’m painting my face up, and where does it all come from? I began to study it, and it’s very fascinating, the path of the clown and the jester.

RW: What have you found out about being a clown? What has been revealed?

WG: It enables me to go places I couldn’t go as a regular kind of guy. People feel challenged by people going where I go. But when I put on the patina of a clown I’m no challenge to them in any way.

RW: What do you wish for people when you become a clown?

WG: I wish that they would find joy in the moment. It’s like I expressed in the film, laughter is the valve on the pressure cooker of life. Either you laugh at stuff or you’re going to end up with your beans on the ceiling.

RW: At camp Winnarainbow in the film it showed the labyrinth you have on the grounds…

WG: It’s a unicursal Cretan labyrinth. The oldest one is 3000 years old and was found on the island of Sardinia. The more common labyrinth, like the one you see at Grace Cathedral came about during the 11th or 12th century when Europeans could not go to Jerusalem on pilgrimage. So they developed this other labyrinth, which is different from the Pagan labyrinth, which made it to Scandanavia, to India and somehow to Peru and to the sun temple at Mesa Verde. That’s where I first encountered it when I spent time living with the Hopi Indians for a few months.

RW: How did that happen?

WG: I was enamored of the Book of the Hopi by Frank Waters. And that’s where I first saw the labyrinth. According to the Hopi if there was a condition of planetary emergency the different races would gather on this mesa for instruction from the spirit world. So I showed up. They said, “You’re pretty early.” But they took pity on me and I got to hang out with them for a while.

RW: Was anything given to you?

WG: Not something that I would feel comfortable talking about, but yes—not so much from the people as from the geography.

RW: So you brought this labyrinth to camp Winnarainbow, then?

WG: Yes. I asked Minalanska, who was an elder, what that was. She said, “Oh Wavy Gravy, that’s just the master plan of the universe.” So I borrowed a pencil and wrote it down, and I’ve brought it everywhere I’ve gone ever since. I learned to draw it. Even with my first book, I’d sign it and draw that labyrinth.

RW: Now how do you make use of the labyrinth at camp for the kids?

WG: A teepee at a time, in the evening, the campers get to walk the labyrinth to beautiful music under the stars. If they do good things, they get strokes. If they do bad things they get strikes. Three strikes and you’re out. You can always work off strikes, but you can get enough strikes to be sent home, too. By doing things above and beyond the ordinary camper—for instance, if you get eight stokes in a two-week session, you get to walk into the center of the labyrinth. In the center, there’s also these crystals. You get to take a crystal out of the labyrinth and take it home.

RW: Do you talk to the kids about the labyrinth?

WG: Oh, sure.

RW: What do you tell them?

WG: I tell them that the labyrinth is not a maze. Mazes are designed to get you lost. Labyrinths are designed to get you found. And I ask them to think of each step as a prayer for peace. I tell them you go into the labyrinth and that there’s an energy in the center that I call the spirit of Gaia, the earth mother. I say that if you have cares or problems you can leave them in the labyrinth and come out perhaps lighter than when you went in. And that is sometimes helpful to young people.

RW: In the film you made a comment to one kid that the labyrinth is inside of you.

WG: Oh, I tell all the kids that. The true labyrinth is inside you.

RW: That’s powerful. From the film, I see that your life has been a journey. Do you feel it that way?

WG: Absolutely. It’s been a great adventure.

RW: What are some of the changes from where you were and where you are today?

WG: The things that are the most significant for me in my life are the circus and performing arts camp that I’ve run with my wife Jahanara for over thirty years. We do nine weeks for kids and one week for grown-ups. And the Seva Foundation is another. Through it I’m able to raise funds to help the blind regain their sight. Eighty percent of the blind people in the world don’t need to be—they can get their sight back.

When we first started doing the work it was about five dollars for a cataract operation. Now it’s close to fifty dollars for the operation in third world countries. If you go to SEVA.org you can find out all about us. We’ve helped to orchestrate—it’s going on three million sight-saving operations. I get to put on concerts to raise funds to do that. I’m going to be seventy-five years old in May and I’m looking forward to doing a concert in the Bay Area at the Craneway Pavillion in Richmond and in New York City at the Beacon Theater. And also I’m facing another basic spinal surgery in January. So I’ve got a lot of stuff on my plate.

RW: I know we don’t have much more time, but …

WG: Eternity now, I always say. That’s one of my favorite quotes. And we’re all the same person trying to shakes hands with our self. I think that’s a good one, too.

RW: I like those quotes. It’s clear that you’ve spent a lot of time doing forms of service. Camp Winnarainbow seems to be a service.

WG: Well, my greatest legacy is the children that have come out of camp over the last thirty years. Lots of the kids who started camp when they were seven are now running the camp. And I’m sure it will go on long after I’m gone.

RW: Is that something one begins to learn, that the deepest gifts come when one can look beyond personal wants to take in the needs of others?

WG: That is my want! [laughs] Put your good where it will do the most. I can’t say it any better.

[WORKS AND CONVERSATIONS]

#Works and Conversations #Interviews #Wavy Gravy #Clown #Camp Winnarainbow #service #improvisation

10 notes · View notes

labyrinthof-fan-fiction · 3 years

Text

Fever {2}

Jacob/Bella Twilight Fix-It Fic

Series Masterlist

A/N: Bella acquires some self-awareness. Team let all these characters say fuck. Again, if you don’t like it, don’t read it, this is just me screaming into the void.

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Abandonment

Summary: Months passed since Edward left and Bella has finally reentered the real world, maybe Forks will be normal.

Rating: M

Word Count: 2,478

Walking into school when I was aware of my surroundings was jarring after months of floating in existence. I muddled through classes, thankful that as a senior, most of my teachers taught in a lecture format and I could lose myself while they instructed, by now most had given up calling on me for answers. As I was packing my bag from English I heard a voice call my name. I snapped my head up, Mike stood in front of me. “What? Sorry, did you need something?” I asked.

“Are you working tomorrow?” He asked anxiously, every week he had asked this question. I had been answering on autopilot.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.” I said with a shrug, I always showed up. Maybe in zombie mode, but I was there. And that paycheck was what would be filling my college fund. Or at least giving me a starting point for it.

“It is.” He nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer before he left the room. I finished packing up and wandered into the hallway. My first exchange with someone wasn’t horrible, but I dreaded the next with Jessica. She had been like a fly buzzing in my ear, but something told me that today, I would not be able to just tune her out.

I walked to my seat and glanced over at her. “Hi.” I said awkwardly with a small wave.

Her eyes widened for a moment. “Hello, Bella.” She stated in short accented bursts, but today, she didn’t give me a mindless deluge of her life. She remained silent, she stared at Mr. Varner as he lectured Calculus methods, but her eyes kept flitting over to me curiously. When class had winded down she turned to me. “Do you need help with calc?”

I gave her what I thought was a hopeful expression, “I need so much help.” Then froze, “With calculus, well with other things too, but that’s not your department.”

She chuckled. “I think I can handle calculus. I’m free tomorrow.”

I grimaced. “I work tomorrow.”

She nodded, “Mike had said you were working at Newton’s.” She tapped her pencil on her chin. “We’ll figure it out, we can always stay late sometime to work on calc. The library is open until 4:30.”

I smiled, then the bell rang, the day was over, I had two conversations with classmates who probably thought I was possessed after the past few months, but it was progress. Maybe if I shared it with Dad, he’d feel hopeful. I drove home, the constant weight that had made a home in my chest had lightened. I was surprised to come home and see Dad’s squad car parked out front, he had been working later, I was used to being home alone until he came back from work.

He was sitting in his recliner when I walked through the door, his eyes closed and a quiet snore escaping his lips. I tried to tiptoe in, to let him get a half-decent nap in, but his eyes opened when I closed the door.

“Good day at school?” He asked groggily.

“It was a day, at school.” I shrugged, setting my backpack down and sitting on the couch.

He nodded, “I got ahold of the therapist, Dr. Theresa Gilbert. She said she can see you on Monday after school. We can drive up, we’ll get there by 4 and she said you could start with a session, see how you feel. If you don’t get along she can refer you to another.”

I nodded, one session to start, I could handle that. “Are you sure we can do this?”

Dad quirked an eyebrow. “Your mother and I talked it over, we can swing it, you’re on my insurance plan, it’s not the best, but it will be fine.”

“So I’ll just leave school Monday and drive up to Port Angeles?”

“I’ll drive you.” Dad stated, I started to protest, but he cut me off. “Bells, I want to support you, you can go in yourself, I can sit in the car and wait. I won’t go in unless you want me to.”

“Okay.” I murmured, sensing there was something more to his wanting to go. Not a ‘I’m going to ensure you go’ but more of a ‘I have to be there.’

“You have work tomorrow?” He asked.

“Yeah, Saturdays are my day.” I nodded.

He let out a hum and stood up. “I’ll get dinner started. Let you know when it’s ready.”

I nodded and opened my backpack. I wasn’t worried about English or Social Studies, those two classes I could muddle through. But Calculus was going to be the bane of my existence. I continued working until Dad called me into the kitchen, it was spaghetti, a staple meal for him. Which, the past few months, I didn’t really notice how many times we ate it, but I imagine he did. “Dad, do you want me to start helping cook again?” I asked as I took a helping of pasta and sauce.

“Getting tired of spaghetti?” He teased, but added. “Only if you want to, you don’t have to take over. I can… get adventurous.”

I laughed. “I’ll start doing some meals, get some change in our diet.” I said taking a bite.

He smiled at me and we ate in silence. I washed the dishes before going up to bed, he turned on the TV to watch some game that was important to him. I closed my bedroom door behind me and took a deep breath. The throbbing in my chest was present again, my knees felt weak. It had been a good day, why now? I curled into a ball on my bed and willed myself to sleep. The dull throbbing lulled me to sleep as I counted my heartbeats.

Breakfast the next morning was silent, Dad had left a note on the fridge that he had to go to the station early. Forks barely ever had need of him this early, but after spending a year with vampires, I don’t know how much would surprise me anymore. I put my empty bowl in the sink and walked out to my truck. I let the engine sputter for a moment before it started, rap music started blaring through the stereo and I flinched back. When did I start listening to rap?

Mike was at the counter when I clocked in, “Hey, Bella.” He greeted.

“Hey, Mike.” I returned, putting on my vest and taking a seat next to him. “Busy morning.” I joked, gesturing at the empty store.

He glanced up at me, eyebrows almost in his hairline. “Yeah, busy.” He let out a small laugh. “How are you?”

“I’m here.” I answered, grateful for the bell to sound as a few customers entered. Mike nodded and went to help them. Early on, we learned that I was best at the cash register, and Mike was best with helping customers. Maybe that was just because I had been off this plane of existence for so long. But I was pretty hopeless when it came to the outdoorsy needs.

It must have been at least two hours that he spent going over different items with them before they finally checked out.

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t a grizzly, that thing was bigger than any grizzlies I’ve seen.” The first one, a big burly man with an unkempt beard started, tossing his items on the counter.

“I doubt it, there’s only black bear up here, and they don’t get that big. You’ve probably only seen young grizzlies.” The other, taller and lean with tan skin stated, throwing his items next to the first man’s.

“I’ve seen a full grown grizzly, and whatever was in those woods had at least three feet on a grizzly.” The first retorted, handing me cash when I gave him his total.

“Bullshit, you’re acting like you saw Sasquatch. Probably just your eyes playing tricks on you. You haven’t been the same since you stared into the sun.” The second teased, handing me his cash, a smirk on his face.

“That was years ago, and my eye sight is just fine. There’s a big ass bear in these woods.” Beardy grumbled, stomping out of the store to their truck.

“Don’t mind him, he always gets grumpy when we start trips.” The taller man said, taking his items and following the other out.

I glanced over at Mike who watched them leave then flipped the open sign to closed. He shrugged at me. “What? It’s not like there’s going to be a sudden raid for hiking equipment, especially with those two as our only customers. I can close up.”

“I’ll help, no reason for you to be stuck with the grunt work.” I stood from my stool and grabbed the broom. I started sweeping, I could feel Mike’s eyes on me. “You need something?”

He froze, his hand going behind his neck and he looked a little guilty. “We’ve missed you, Ang, Ben, even Jess, she won’t admit it.”

I felt a blush creep up my neck. “I guess I’ve been a bit of a hermit.”

“Yeah, just a bit.” Mike chuckled. “We’re here if you need us.”

I paused, taking in that statement. I had been so absorbed in myself the past few months, I honestly had forgotten what it was like having friends that weren’t…..them. I know last year I had been consumed by being a part of them that I had forgotten the people who were there for me first when I moved to Forks. “Thanks, Mike.” I continued to sweep, feeling a bit ashamed of the tunnel vision I had been in for the past year. The day I stepped onto the Forks campus I had been obsessed with him. And he didn’t want me, he left me, who was I without him? I finished up and gave Mike a quick goodbye, walking to my car faster than normal. I slammed the door and sped, well, moved as fast as my old girl would, and drove home. I made it halfway there before the tears started to fall. I pulled to the side of the road and threw the truck in park.

I pressed my head against the steering wheel as the sobs continued to tear through my body. I had given an entire year to him, lost myself in the fantasy of being his for eternity. I had been obsessed with immortality, the promise of never aging, never dying. And he didn’t want me, I was just a toy. I had served my purpose of amusement for a fleeting moment of his life, then I was thrown to the wolves. I almost died for him.

I froze when that thought appeared. I almost died…. For him. I put myself into danger for him. My blood was boiling, I had gone to that dance studio and been prepared to sacrifice my life. For what? A year, one fucking year and a few kisses. Kisses that were so controlled and choreographed they might has well have been a peck on the cheek. My radio broke me from my thoughts as a loud, angry song started. I looked over at my passenger seat, the old wrench sat there. Jacob had left it there, “Just in case the hood refuses to go back down, give it a good whack with this and it’ll be good as new.”

Jacob, I hadn’t seen him in a while… I shook my head and grabbed the wrench and slammed it into the radio. I kept going until the sound stopped, the radio that they had installed for my birthday was in pieces. I dropped the wrench onto the truck bench, I stared at the bent and broken plastic. The tears had stopped, the dull pain in my chest was back. I groaned, not sure how I was going to explain the mess I had made to Dad. A twig snapped in the woods to my right. I swore that I saw a flash of movement from the woods as I put the truck into gear. The two hikers had been talking about bears, maybe it was just a bear. Yeah, just a bear.

I tried to quiet my mind as I drove home, I thought today had been a good day, but breaking down in my truck and destroying the radio probably didn’t fit the definition of a good day. I had felt something though, months of floating in a void and I had felt guilty and angry. I pulled into the driveway, Dad still wasn’t home. I checked the messages on the phone, “I’ll be late tonight Bells, there’s leftovers in the fridge. Don’t worry about me. I’ll grab something when I’m home. Love you.”

That was something that had become more common in the past few months, Dad letting me know he loved me. He was always saying, love you, I love you. And I had started calling him Dad, not Charlie. Sure, it seemed like something that would be part of a normal father-daughter relationship. We weren’t normal, or weren’t, and now…. I might have been in another headspace, but somehow we grew closer. I walked up to my room, took a shower and crawled under my covers. “Please, just let me have a normal night.” I mumbled, and closed my eyes.

I was driving through the forest again. It was dark, the trees all looked the same. Every turn, it was the same trees. I glanced at the dashboard, the radio was back in place and the first verse of the song from earlier was blaring on repeat. The trees were a labyrinth, there was no way out. I slammed on the brakes, skidding on the wet pavement. Then I heard a branch snap and turned my head. And he was there, eyes crimson.

“Hello, Bella.” He sneered, I caught my reflection in the window. It was Grandma Marie’s face again. Blood dripped from his fangs. “I told you my world wasn’t for you.” He lunged and I woke up, my heart racing as I tried to catch my breath. I heard Dad shuffling by the door.

“Bella? You okay?” He called, he must have just gotten home, I glanced at my alarm clock, it blinked a one at me.

“Yeah, Dad, sorry, nightmare.” I called back. “Go to bed, I’m alright.”

He grunted, but I heard him shuffle to his room. What was he doing until 1AM? He used to work late when I was younger, I remember a few nights when he was home by ten, but this, something was going on. I laid on my back and closed my eyes. I just hoped that what was keeping him at work late wasn’t of the same nature as that keeping me awake.

#jacob/bella #jacob black/bella swan #team jacob #fever #twilight fic #twilight #new moon fic #what the hell are tags #what is this

3 notes · View notes

basiccortez · 4 years

Text

Defenseless Ch. 1

Synopsis: CJ Jackson, looks like she has it all. Fancy car, fancy house, name brand clothing. Her parents, top boosters to Beverly, with money to make all sorts of situations go away. As well as the Jackson family looks put together, past secrets haunt them. With the new transfer student catching the eye of CJ Jackson, can old friendships be fixed. Or are somethings just meant to stay broken. "I told you, as long as I live, no one would know."

word count: 3.4k

pairing: Jordan Baker x OC (CJ Jackson)

warnings: cursing, talk of death, talk of drug addiction, talk of a juvenile being in trouble, high school boys being high school boys

It was like a heavy cement blocks were tied to her feet. She moved slowly towards the front doors of the place that reminded her of a prison, but with nicely dressed inmates. People passed by her, and just ignored her presence, something she wasn't used to at all. She was used to people flocking to her sides, begging for a party invite, or to be in her next photo shoot, or to be the next guy on her list, or just one dinner with anyone of her brothers. But now, she was blended into the background, like she never existed.

Somehow, she made her way to the front office, just in time for the first bell to ring. It was her first day back, and already half way through the first semester. She had just been released only a week prior to this bright and early Monday morning. Her brown boxbraids were tied back and out of her face. Her makeup was done to perfection, and her clothes; nicely pressed and matched well. She'd rather be dead than look a mess for her first day back.

"Christine Joy Jackson, I'm here to pick up my schedule." She spoke softly to the secretary. The secretary with bright red cat-eye glasses nodded, and pulled out a file, handing a pink piece of paper to CJ.

"You are to meet with Mrs. Riley first, before heading to your classes." The secretary nodded and CJ rolled her eyes, "Welcome back CJ."

"Thank you," CJ sighed and headed down to the office of her favorite person.

CJ made her way down to the east end of the school, where she was too familiar with being in the In-School suspension office. She knocked on the brown wooden door that was covered in papers for recovery centers, planned parenthood, adoption counselors, and local community colleges.

"Come in!" The voice from the other side called out. CJ took a deep breath before opening the door, and seeing Mrs. Riley behind the door. Her dark brown hair was curled and her skin looked flawless. That woman looked like she didn't age a day, but she also meant business, "My favorite parolee, CJ Jackson."

"Mrs. Riley," The teen girl sassed, setting her bag down in the chair next to her, and plopping her body in a chair, "Instructed to see you first."

"Yeah, just some parole stuff," Mrs. Riley said, grabbing a folder out of her desk, and setting in front of CJ. The folder was dauntingly big and felt like it could start a fire at any moment, "As you know, I am your parole officer, lucky for you or not. But know that I don't play around about any of this."

"This ain't my first go around with you."

"Ain't is not a word, now speak like your momma raised you." Mrs. Riley said and CJ rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, "You are on parole for approximately 90 days, as a term of early release from your juvenile detention program. Terms of your parole include, attendance of school is mandatory, unless an absence notice from a doctor. You must check in with your parole officer everyday at 8 AM sharp, and do not be late. You will pass all administered drug tests, and random drug tests can be done as well. Another term of parole is being involved in not only in community service, but as well as a school activity. Your parents have suggested the dance team."

"Over my dead body." CJ laughed loudly.

"Christine Joy, these are the terms unless you would like to serve out the rest of the 90 days in a juvenile detention center." Mrs. Riley said, giving CJ one of her famous glares. A glare that felt like getting the fear of God put in you.

"No ma'am." CJ answered quickly.

"Good, you have till the end of this week to find a school activity. The community service project will be decided for you. Now you'll sign some stuff and be on your way." Mrs. Riley said smiling and handing CJ some papers for her to sign.

CJ's shoes clicked down the corridor as she made her way to her first class, anatomy. The teacher had already started teaching when, CJ opened the door. Eyes fell to her, and immediately the whispers started. The girl swallowed thickly and handed her note to her teacher. She quickly scanned the classroom for an open seat, and found one next to an unknown face.

"All right, listen up, I want you all to do a search on chromosomal DNA and make a slide on how it connects with last week's work on protein." The teacher said. Everyone automatically opened up their laptops sitting in front of them. CJ grabbed her's out her bag and set it in front of her too. The new kid looked around, uneasy about what he was supposed to do. He didn't have a laptop of his own to use, he usually shared one with his mother and younger brother.

"Spencer, right?" The teacher asked, coming over to him. He lifted his head and looked at the teacher, nodding.

"Yes ma'am."

"It's okay if you don't have a computer. Just pair up with a classmate for now."

"Okay, thank you." Spencer said and CJ looked up at him. Spencer tried looking at the boy next to him, who just moved his computer closer to himself.

"Hey, Todd. Keep watching that Logan Paul feed." CJ said to him.

"Whatever, CJ." Todd said and Spencer looked up at the light-skinned girl.

"Uh. . . you can share with me." CJ said lightly, and Spencer nodded. He moved his stuff over to where she was sitting.

"Thank you," Spencer said.

"I'll warn you, my chromosomal DNA knowledge is non-existent at best. And it's also my first day in this class."

"I might be able to help with that." Spencer laughed lightly and CJ moved her laptop in between the two of them. The two of them worked on their assignment, occasionally having to ask the teacher about what some of it meant, since it was both of their first days in the new class. CJ felt like eyes were watching her, and she turned around and noticed an old friend in class. CJ turned back to her assignment and kept her head down, not wanting to draw anymore attention.

When the bell rang, CJ offered to show Spencer to where the cafeteria is. Spencer was thankful that someone besides his new football coach wanted to show him around. CJ was just thankful to have found someone new at the school who hadn't known of her reputation.

"Salad bar, coffee cart." CJ said pointing at various locations in their center quad, "They used to serve sushi on Fridays, not sure if they still do."

"Sushi on Friday? At Crenshaw, we get sushi on Monday, that's all." Spencer joked and CJ laughed.

"Smart, and funny. I'm impressed." CJ said turning to him. But Spencer paused, and his eyes went to a beautiful tall, light skinned girl. CJ shifted uncomfortably as the girl made her way into the quad. Of course Spencer noticed her, she was beautiful and by far the most popular girl in Beverly. A spot that CJ once claimed.

"Layla Keating, Beverly Hills resident sweetheart." CJ said to Spencer, "Dad's some big-time record producer. And I heard they spend every Thanksgiving with the Obamas. And rumor has it, she even smoked pot with Malia last year."

"You must be Spencer," a familiar voice said from behind them. CJ turned and saw the star football player, Jordan Baker walk over to the pair, "Jordan Baker, QB, team captian."

"Baker?" Spencer asked, "Oh so you must be-"

"Yeah, coach is my dad. I'll take it from here, CJ." Jordan said and CJ nodded walking away from the two football players, "Come on, let me introduce you to the team."

"Hey, thanks for the tour." Spencer said before CJ could get too far away from him. She smiled at the Crenshaw boy, and looked down at her shoes.

"Yeah," She said quietly.

"Sushi on Friday?" Spencer asked, and CJ nodded.

"It's a date!" CJ agreed. Spencer looked the Jackson girl up and down before heading off behind Jordan. CJ cringed at the words that she said, before going off to find a table to herself, away from the stares and rumors about herself. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"No, I saw her. Like with my eyes. CJ Jackson is back at Beverly." Asher Adams said to the group of friends as they ate lunch.

"I thought she had like a whole year left?" Hadley said, as she picked at her salad in her lap.

"Daddy's money can get you out of anything." Lucy said giggling, "Bold of her to come back after the shit show she created with everything."

"She's lucky she didn't get more time. Heard Mrs. Baker showed up at the trial and basically bailed her ass out. She was gonna get at least 15 to life," Asher said, embellishing the story a little bit.

"Now that's excessive." JJ said and Asher rolled his eyes.

"She's basically a murderer!" Asher exclaimed.

"No one even knows what she did exactly, maybe she was supposed to get out this early any way." Layla said, trying to defend her close friend.

"So. . . did she have an ankle bracelet? A tear drop tattoo?" JJ joked causing Asher, Lucy and Hadley to laugh. Layla rolled her eyes and picked at her food, as Jordan walked up to the group with handsome young man she had seen earlier.

"Meet the crew," Jordan said as he pointed out different members of the friend group, "This is Hadley, Layla, and up top, Lucy, JJ and Asher." Each of them shook Spencer's hand and Jordan took a seat next to his girlfriend Hadley. He greeted her with a kiss, and took his backpack off.

"I think you and Asher play the same position." JJ said as Spencer took a seat next to Layla.

"What's up, man?" Asher said trying to seem welcoming.

"Oh, receiver, huh?" Spencer asked him.

"Yeah, broke the school record for receptions last year." He said boasting about the accomplishment.

"Me, too." Spencer said and Asher just nodded his head, not saying a word.

"So, how are you liking Beverly so far?" Layla asked Spencer.

"It's okay, I guess." Spencer said smiling up at the girl. Asher looked between the new receiver and his girl questioningly, not liking how nice she was being to him.

"I know it probably feels like lost footage or rich kids from Instagram, but it's not so bad once you give it a chance." Layla said honestly, her browns eyes drifting across the quad to where CJ sat, alone and with a book in her hand.

"I'm sure it'll grow on me." Spencer responded.

"So lay it on me," Asher said breaking up the conversation between them, "Crips or Bloods?"

"Excuse me?" Spencer asked him. Hadley looked questioningly at Jordan and then at Asher, who continued talking, digging himself an even bigger grave.

"I'm dying to check out a Crip walk for real." Asher said putting his arm around Layla, "I've only seen one on YouTube."

"Yo, yo, he's just joking man. Ignore him," Jordan said trying to fix Asher's mistake.

"Asher, you wouldn't know a Crip walk if it bit you in the damn white ass." JJ joked, causing everyone to laugh but Spencer, who was feeling offended by his new teammate.

"Nah, that didn't sound like a joke to me, bro." Spencer said looking at Jordan. The group grew quiet and looked at each other as Asher tried to defend himself.

"Don't be so sensitive."

"Sensitive?" Spencer asked, standing up angrily. All the groups eyes were on Spencer as he grabbed his backpack and pulled it over his shoulder, "Hey, yo, thanks for the welcome." He said as he walked away from the group. His brown eyes scanned the quad, and found a familiar face sitting alone, reading a book. Spencer sat down across from CJ, startling her out of the reading trance that she was in.

"Sorry for scaring you." He said genuinely.

"No, thanks for scaring me. Too entranced into the world of The Field Party series to even notice anything." CJ said, setting her book down. Spencer reached across the table and picked up the book, reading the back of it.

"A small southern town filled with cute boys, pickup trucks, Friday Night football games, and crazy parties to stir up some major drama," Spencer said reading the back of the book out loud, "Can't get enough drama at high school, you need to read about it?"

"It's different to read about it than to live it. Besides, if my parents didn't land here after my dad's retirement, I could've grown up, going to these crazy field parties in so called, Lawton Alabama."

"It makes sense now, Chris Jackson the 3rd, your dad. . ."

"Receiver for the Chiefs, before retiring in 2015, that's the one." CJ said, "And now coach for the LA chargers."

"Wow, that's crazy. I wanted to play under him if he was at Bama, but-"

"Hey!" Layla said, sitting down next to Spencer, "Christine,"

"Layla. I'll see you around, Spencer." CJ said, gathering her stuff and moving tables. Part of her agreement to herself to get better, was not hanging around her old group. CJ still had an hour left for lunch, and went to the only place where she felt welcome in this school.

CJ knocked on the door and waited for the welcome in. The door opened and CJ held up her brown paper lunch sack and had a shy smile on her face, "Can i eat here?" She asked.

"You're always welcome in here, CJ." Mrs. Riley said, and shut the door behind her. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a long pep talk to get CJ to even walk into the girls locker room, and to the dance coach's office. It was an even longer one to get her to open the door and talk to the coach. The coaches and teachers had known about the terms of CJ's parole, and knew that they had to give her a fair chance at trying out for the team.

"Alright, let's see what you can do. You'll learn the dance, and then me, and the other coach, and the captain will give you a mock tryout, and see how you do," The coach, Mrs. Williams said to CJ, "Go get changed, Hadley will give you a uniform."

Hadley stood outside the door, and walked CJ to an open locker. She handed CJ a new uniform and waited for her to change.

"Hey listen,. . ." Hadley started but CJ slammed her locker shut and looked at Hadley, "How are you?"

"How am I?"CJ said looking at the girl who was once her friend, "That's all you have to say to me, after what I went through?"

"CJ, listen, I'm so sorry for what. . ."

"It wasn't your fault, now let me go to practice, since I have to prove to everyone I still deserve to be on a team that I helped build up from literally nothing." CJ said and pushed passed Hadley to the gym. The girl sighed, and could at least tell her friend group that she tried to talk to her.

CJ tied her box braids back, and stretched on the floor with the rest of the team. The girls would stare at her and whisper occasionally, but CJ tried her best to ignore it. Hadley sat down across form where CJ was stretching and faced her. She began stretching too, and CJ just looked at her.

"What are you doing?" CJ asked her.

"Stretching with my captain." She answered and touched her toes with her arms out straight.

"I'm not the captain anymore." CJ shrugged and pulled her legs into the butterfly stretch.

"Well, you and I both know you can out dance Emily Pierce any day."

"She's the captain, oh my god who let that happen?" CJ said and wrinkled her face in disgust.

"Well after your mom stepped down as the head coach, Mrs. Williams took over. Hence why EP is the captain."

"Alright ladies!" Emily Pierce's voice rang out over the gym. CJ groaned and stood up, fixing the black spandex on her body, "We are going to run through Countdown and then learn the new dance. So places!" Everyone moved to their places except CJ, who stood in the back, "Oh CJ, you can um. . . stand next to Hadley."

CJ nodded and stood next to Hadley in the front. When the music started, CJ remembered the dance from the year before. She started moving in the familiar moves that she knew, and obviously caught the eye of the captain who stopped the music almost immediately.

"What are you doing?" Emily asked her.

"My dance, this is my dance."

"Not anymore, this is my dance. I changed things after you up and got yourself arrested. Now stand in the back and follow the group." Emily said and CJ nodded her head and moved to the back.

For the rest of the rehearsal, CJ was quiet and stood in the back, following the moves the Emily was teaching the group, even though she hated every second of it. When practice was dismissed, she was the first in the locker room, taking her uniform off and shoving it into her dance bag. She slammed her locker shut and stormed out of the locker room, running straight into a hard, muscular body.

"Hey, watch-" "I'm so sorry." They both said at the same time. CJ looked up at Jordan Baker, the one person she didn't want to see.

"CJ, you good?" Jordan asked. He could see the red lining of her eyes and nose, as she was about ready to cry.

"Ignore me like you have been the whole day, Baker. I'm fine." CJ said and pushed away from Jordan. She was thankful that her father was waiting at the front of the school. CJ ran down the steps and into her brother who was waiting for her. He engulfed her in a tight hug, and ran his through her hair as she cried. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, at the Baker household, Jordan walked up to his mom, who was unloading groceries into the fridge. He hadn't ever asked his mother about why she took CJ's case, even after everything she had done to his family. But now, that CJ was back at Beverly and constantly running into things in his life. Hadley had said that she seemed civil at dance practice, but Jordan didn't trust whatever CJ was trying to do.

"Hey, Mom." Jordan said.

"Yes, hun?" Laura said and closed the fridge.

"Why did you take CJ Jackson's case?" He asked.

Laura paused a minute and sighed, "I can't discus that with you. Why? What's going on? She try and contact you or Olivia again?"

"No, even worse, She's back at Beverly. Rumors are going around that she got released early."

"And they let her back at Beverly, after all the things she had done?" Laura asked surprised, "Guess money really does get you things."

"Mom," Jordan said somewhat defending his ex-friend, "You know that's not true. Hadley said that she's trying to get her spot back on the dance team, and that she seemed to change."

"Listen to me Jordan, girls like that, who strive off of their parents success and money, don't change. I. . . I defended CJ Jackson because her parents asked me too." Laura said honestly, "CJ didn't want a lawyer or attorney. She plead guilty and was ready for her charge. If you ask me, she should've gotten those 15 years. She is and was guilty for that boy's death, there' no doubt in my mind."

Jordan looked down at his shoes and didn't say anymore. He turned on his heel and walked back up to his room. He hated the feeling that was settled in his chest. He so much wanted to fight against what his mother was saying about CJ. Jordan was one of the only friends in his group to believe CJ. He was also the only Baker who believed her too.

#all american #all american cw #all american imagine #jordan baker #jordan baker imagine #spencer james #asher adams #olivia baker #jordan baker x reader

105 notes · View notes

ohmyhera · 4 years

Text

First time meeting

It was the second day back at school. Nico wishes he could have been there for the first but his flight back from italy had been delayed and there was no way he could make it. Not to mention that he’d had a bit too much complimentary champagne on the way here, afternoon drinking, he scoffed. He thought he got it all out of his system in his college days. But, his college days were far behind him. College Nico wouldn’t be caught dead in anything that wasn’t black,red or littered with skulls and crossbones. He looked down at the faded black and white baseball tee he was wearing that said draw. paint. Create. on it and frowned, at least he kept some of his old aesthetic. He was happy with his clothes and even happier where he was, even if he’s breathed in enough paint fumes to border toxicity. He had his sister, he had his students, he had his very convenient complimentary parking sticker.

He also had his hour-long break to do whatever he wanted.

That sounds like heaven but it was put in place more out of necessity than their consideration for the brunet. He usually spent that time cleaning up the art stations and picking pencils and paint brushes off the floor. Not great for his back but in his four years teaching here he’s learned that slipping on said items is the greater of two evils. Today being the first day was a free draw day so there wasn’t much to do besides pick up pencils and papers. Once he righted his classroom his mind swirled with the endless possibilities. He could swing by the coffee shop around the corner, he could pop upstairs for a bit to bother Hazel, he could laminate name tags! The last idea made his heart soar. Coffee, then name tags he reasoned, then grabbed his wallet and dashed out the door.

It was the second day back at school and Will was already in full swing. He’d been so excited to get back to it that he’d been doing lesson plans since August. He’d flown back in from Texas just a few days ago, with a cleared mind and an amazing tan he was ready to get this started. Each little table had an assigned color with five little name tags around it. Today and tomorrow would be get to know you days, the real learning could start on monday.

“Alright guys!”He said holding up a hand, “who wants to be my special helper and pass out these papers?”

A chorus of little voices chanting ‘me! me!’ rang through the classroom and he laughed lifting another hand to silence them.

“Okay okay!”he giggled, and scanned the room. “I saw Fawna-did I say that right?”

The little girl nodded happily and he continued addressing the class, “I saw Fawna sitting patiently with a quiet hand so Fawna gets to help right now”

The class immediately erupted into an organized objection but he held up one finger and the room fell hushed. He had a three strike rule, if he had to raise three fingers and the class still wasn’t listening they wouldn’t sing a song that day.

“I pinky promise that all of you will get to be helpers this year. We’re gonna be together for ten months, that's a long time”He said with wide eyes, the students mimicked his shocked expression and nodded along.

“That’s longer than forever…”a student said in awe.

“It’s longer than two forevers”Will said, “Hold on Fawna, let me just count these papers”

He quickly ran the pile through..then again...then a third time and pulled a face. He knows math isn’t his strong suit, but he was way off.

“Was wrong Mr.Solace?”A student asked.

“It seems that I made a mistake,”He said.

“A mistake!”The students gasped, he pulled another face and they giggled amongst themselves.

“Alright you silly billies, you heard me! I’ve made a mistake!”He cried and placed a hand to his forehead. The class laughed harder and he finally broke character to laugh with them, maybe he should thank Apollo. Drama classes did come in handy.

“But being serious it’s okay to make mistakes, even adults make mistakes”He said, the same look of awe crossed a few students' faces. He hoped this wasn’t their first time hearing this, but the said truth is that it probably was.

“Is okay as long as you fix it, right?”Tommie asked.

“Correct!”Will exclaimed, “It’s okay to make mistakes as long as you fix them and learn from them”

Maybe it was a little early on in their lives for them to get the complete message but he would drive this point home before they reached kindergarten.

He crossed the room and opened the door to the conjoined classroom across from his. A few whispered words later and he was addressing the class again.

“So”He said, “Mr.Solace is gonna go fix his mistake and print more paper for you guys. Mrs.Mack is next door if you need anything, I won’t be long”

Will left the room and practically raced down the hallway to the copy room. Mrs.Mack was strong but his students were stronger. If he spends more than ten minutes they’ll have convinced her for an early snacktime and to watch the lion king. He looked through the window of the copy room and smiled victoriously, it was empty. Oh he’s gonna have copies for days.

Will left the copy room with triple the paper and double the satisfaction. He may have hooked his phone up to it for activity sheets and he may have made extras of said activity sheets. But whatever he did was his business and he was pleased. He looked up and for a second his brain short circuited. His feet stopped moving and the papers in his hands went tumbling carelessly to the ground. Before him there was a man he’d never seen before, was he a parent? Oh god Will hoped he wasn’t a parent. He had olive skin and black hair and the prettiest eyes Will had ever seen. And he was bending down, why was he bending down? Will’s brain immediately kicked back into gear and realization and shame flooded his being simultaneously. He was staring and this handsome man was cleaning up his mess. He immediately dropped to the ground and scuttled about trying to hide his face and be efficient.

“I-I’m sorry about the mess, you don’t have to worry I got ‘em-”

“Relax”The man said, his voice sounded like an aria, “it’s my free period anyways” Well that made Will feel even worse. He wanted to stress the matter but he bit his lip and continued to scoop up papers. His face was bright red with shame, burning from his neck to the tips of his ears.

“Hey”The man said softly, “It’s okay, really. I’m the art teacher, I’m used to picking up papers, it’s kind of my job”

“I’m Will, Will Solace. I teach the preschool class down the hall”He said and despite the rosiness in his cheeks felt a smile tug on the corner of his lips.

“Nico Di Angelo, it’s a pleasure”Nico said and handed Will the mini stack of papers in his hand.

“Likewise”Will said and graciously accepted them. Nico Di Angelo, god did his name have to sound like music too?”

Before Will could book it back down the hallway, that sonnet of a man began to speak.

“Will”He called out.

“Yes?”Will answered.

“I think I'm teaching your class in a period or two,”He said. Will nodded and as he walked back down the hallway he swears he saw a sparkle in those dark eyes.

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

@fandomkindaperson

#pjo #pjo headcanon #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #solangelo #solangelo au #solangelo headcanon #solangelo fanfiction #fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #preschool teacher! Will #Art teacher! Nico #Will solace #Nico di Angelo

49 notes · View notes

khaoticallykat · 4 years

Text

◇The Prince and The Punk◇

Paring: College AU!Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: You and Ransom never seen eye to eye, during one class in high school you let him know how you really feel and from there it was pranks and bullying all on you. Until you finally went to college, forgetting all about Ransom until you happen to encounter him again, this time at his grandfather's, the famous novelist, Harlan Thrombey. With a research paper that needs to be done to make the grade, are you gonna put up with Ransom's shit?

Warnings: language, bullying.

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: omgggg this is my first time actually formatting a story for Tumblr and I just hope y'all like it. There's gonna be smut but that's wayyy later and maybe in a mini chapter. Thanks for reading 💖

Chapter 1. The Writing Writer

~Flashback~

You drummed your finger along the desk, pissed off and annoyed as you watch Ransom Drysdale, yes, him. The richest kid in school and the biggest piece of shit you've ever laid your eyes on. He was actually an alright guy, for the most part, but you you see beyond his pretty blonde hair, blue eyes and fake smile. He was made to look like an angel, one of those sculptures you see in Italy. He was flirting with your friend as all three of you sat at a table in science class, he has a girlfriend but almost every girl he flirted with, including you, but you harshly turned that off.

"Aw come on Lexi, you're so smart, just help me out?" He blinked his ocean blue eyes at her, she giggled and smiled, about to slide her paper over to him until you grabbed her hand.

"Lexi, don't you think Ransom should have been paying attention to the lesson rather than making goo goo eyes at you?" You asked, gritting your teeth.

"Aw Y/n, I can help him out, it's no big deal." She smiled, you loved her, you really did but even she was falling into the spell of Ransom.

"Yeah Y/n. She doesn't mind, but yet," he looked over at you, it sparked more a hatred in you, "yet you, seem to really mind me? What is it? You like me don't you? Want me all to yourself?"

You sighed, giving him a deadpan expression, "I rather eat razors and then shit them out, you're shitty and annoying and a fake." His smile dropped, Lexi covered her mouth, either in shock or to stifle a laugh. "You act like you're such a king here, having everyone bend to your whim but who are you really? You're a trust fund playboy and I really hope you don't breed, we already have enough shitheads like you in the world."

Everyone in the room was looking at you, clearly you weren't aware of your tone, even the teacher looked shocked.

But Ransom, deep down he should have hated you, but instead, he laughed. He laughed so loud and hard that his was was beet red and tears came down.

"Wow," he chuckled, catching his breath, "fuck you."

From then senior year was filled with Ransom knocking books out of your hand, spilling various liquids on you, thankfully it was tea, water or coffee, he even went as far as cling wrapping your car before homecoming started. You paid him no mind though, you were really good at that, ignoring him and going on about your day, your mom always said that children act out when they want attention and that was one thing you would never give him. He noticed just how much you really didn't care for him, it made him angry, he spent almost every day finding something to inconvenience you and you just brushed him off like dust.

He cornered you in a back room in the photo lab one day after school, you were cleaning up and helping out when the Jock pushed you in a closet, closing the door behind him.

"Oh great. My favorite person." You rolled your eyes, "get out of my way, I have stuff to do."

"You're not going anywhere," He growled, he smelled of sweat and dirt, he must have came from training. "You and I need to talk."

You sighed, shifting in the tight space that Ransom took up, "well I'm listening, but hurry up you stink."

"You're really good at ignoring me, just wondering how and why?"

"You mean how haven't I giving in to your antics? Because you're a child, you act like one and I don't pay attention to boys that act like children," You heard him punch the wall next to you, "just let it go Hugh, sometimes you can't get all the girls to suck you off."

You smirked and ducked under his arm, opening the closet door to see Ransom's two friends, Sam and James sitting on the desk across from the closet. They made eye contact with and quickly looked away, it was clear that they were uncomfortable with the situation. You packed your bag and left, leaving Ransom in the closet to deal with the fact that you just called him by his first name.

"You alright in there man? What'd she do, spit on ya?" James called from the desk.

Sam got up and dragged him out, "come on, don't let some chick ruin the rest of your senior year, after this, we got college girls to look at."

"You're right," Ransom laughed, "I can't fucking wait."

~Present~

After high school, you never saw Ransom, he was basically out of sight, out of mind. College was rolling around and you picked your major of psychology, you were lucky that the town had a college and it was easy to get into. You spent your first few months taking the classes required and studying, your teacher reminded you that the final paper was due months from now, to write a report on a literary author of the time. They assigned everyone an author, when your name came up, you got the author, Harlan Thrombey. The last name rung a bell in your head, but you couldn't tell why. Leaving class you notice many people were in the college colors. Right, football season. You saw some sororities gathered in the parking lot cheering, you didn't want to be part of any of them. You were almost to your car when you remembered why the last name Thrombey sounded so familiar.

Ransom Drysdale was on the back of a pickup cheering and laughing with other guys in their football jerseys, he soon forgot about you after high school. But through his dark, gold rim glasses, he saw you, the same as ever, he was really shocked to see that you even stayed in town, you were really smart, not that he would admit it. Stepping off the back of the pick up, he made his way towards you, you were walking at a fast pace, trying to get to your car before he could catch up and torment you. Ransom saw you get in your little grey Volkswagen and slam the door, locking it behind you. The engine stalled a few times before it finally came to life. Ransom was just getting to your car when you quickly pulled out, almost hitting him. You paid no attention to the speed until you reached the first green light off campus. Taking a deep breath, you looked in your rear view and chuckled, it was childish, but you were glad to get away.

Thankfully it was Friday and you wouldn't see him until Monday, throwing your bag on the floor, you sat at your desk fuming. If all places, why does Ransom Drysdale have to be in the same college as you? You opened your laptop and began looking up Harlan Thrombey, he thankfully had an email, writing out who you were, the nature of your email and a few other things, you clicked the 'send' button and waited.

Later that evening while you were reading, your phone pinged, showing you that there was an email from Harlan. He wrote back that he would be glad to have you over to study his work for your research paper and asked if you could come over Saturday. Doing a small dance of happiness in your room, you replied that you'll be there at noon.

The next morning you wore something that would look rather business casual, most of your clothing was on the darker side so it was easier to match items and stopped in town at the local donut shop before heading to Harlan's. Pulling up you saw a white BMW, the kind that was vintage, it probably ran better than your car double checking your bag once more for your notebook, tablet and charger, you locked your car and walked up to the brick manor. The place was absolutely gorgeous as you took a moment to wonder what the inside would look like. Suddenly two blurs came running up to you barking and sniffing, one was a black lab and the other a German shepherd. They both sat down and looked at the box of donuts you were carrying.

"Sorry, I didn't get anything for you," you frowned, slowly backing towards the steps, "maybe next time."

You rung the doorbell and waited, the dogs followed you and waited by you patiently with their tails wagging. A young woman opened the door, she looked about your age with dark brown hair and bright eyes, "you must be y/n," she smiled, the dogs rushing in almost knocking her over, "Harlan told me you were coming, I'm his nurse, Marta." She lead you into the house which wasn't bare in any area, there were decorations on covering the walls, either with paintings, books, it some strange artifacts. You followed her to the library where you saw Harlan, all grey hair but eyes were full of life.

"Ah, you must be Y/n," he said, turning his attention away from a man that sat in a chair, facing away from you, "I was just talking to my grandson about you, how he should be doing his homework but instead, he's talking of football and girls."

"It's nice to meet you mr. Thrombey," you smiled, walking over to him, "I brought donuts."

The man in the chair stood up, "I know that voice," he turned around, same damn smirk on his face like it was permanent, "ah, of course it's you, my favorite person."

God damned Ransom Drysdale.

You looked like a deer in head lights, "what the hell are you doing here?" You asked, taking a step back.

"Visiting my grandpa?" He said, "bring those donuts over here, I'm starving."

You thought it was a sick joke, but you can see it, the tiny resemblance between Ransom and Harlan. But here you are, trapped in a house with you high school bully. He made his way over to you and opened the box, he was still the same, no respect for personal space.

"I saw you yesterday, but you left," he took one of the chocolate covered ones, "me and you got a lot of catching up to do."

#knives out #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #kat writes #TP&TP #The Prince and The Punk

86 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

Making the Grade

For @fairladymorgana as requested for a Raffle prize!

Warnings: slight non/dubcon elements, rough sex, oral sex, masturbation.

This is (dark)Professor!Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

For any other college student, Friday night meant the party was just beginning. But for you and the twenty other students in Warfare in the Twentieth Century, it was yet another class. It was the most dreaded slot in the schedule. Any professor was certain to have barely fifty-percent attendance and any student desperate enough to attend was faced with a weekly sense of FOMA. Really, for everyone, it was a bad time.

Well, except for Professor Barnes. Of the twenty-one students who hadn’t dropped his weekend-crushing course, sixteen of them were female; including you. It was a poorly kept secret why and you often rolled your eyes at the obvious dopey grins which spread across the faces of your fellow pupils. All along the front rows they sat, elbows on the small table attached to their seats, leaning forward as they admired every move made by the dark-haired instructor. You doubted their attention went so far as actually comprehending his words.

You couldn’t deny that he was an attractive man. He was probably the hottest man you had ever seen in person and yet you opted to hide in the middle rows, slouching as you typed away. Your sole study buddy in the class, Colton, sat at your side, munching on Doritos as he listened. Despite his lack of notes, he had aced every paper so far and you, well, you were struggling. And behind.

Even if this class wasn’t scheduled at the cusp of the weekend, you’d be pent up all until Monday buried under textbooks and academic journals as you struggled to keep stride with your workload. It wasn’t that you were lazy, merely overly-committed. You spent Saturday afternoons at the food bank volunteering, other evenings spent at the library as a an aide to first-years in the writing clinic, and the small amount of time left between classes you spent studying. College was not such a party for you.

Even now, rather than taking lecture notes you were typing away at the paper due Sunday night for that very class. You doubted you’d get it done in time but you were determined to spend every second trying to do just that. It didn’t help that you found yourself distracted by Professor Barnes’ voice every now and then, looking up to find him standing before the front row, describing in detail the tactics developed during the Pacific campaign. You should have been enthralled as it was a topic you actually knew a lot about but instead you were drawn to how his rolled sleeves bunched just beneath his biceps, nearly bursting through the fabric. Goddamn, don’t be like the rest of these daydreaming fools. You had a GPA you actually cared about.

And then he looked higher. His blue eyes catching your guilty ones as you tried to look like you had actually deciphered his words. Why the fuck had you chosen Monte Cassino? The Italian front was your least favourite. Whatever. It didn’t matter, you had to make this sound logical. You blinked at him until he turned his attention elsewhere, his hand drawing out the battle lines in the air. Describing the Japanese bunkers and the coral rock of Peleliu. You could read the slides later but you had to get this draft finished.

“Well, I think I’ll do you all a favour tonight. Go enjoy your Fridays a whole…” He checked his watched, “Twenty minutes early.” He clapped his hands together, “But remember you owe me. Next Saturday,” The class groaned, “I know, I know, I have a life to, you know? Anyways, open house in my office next Saturday. Midterm marks, comments, questions, everything you need to be successful in this course. Please, try to make an appearance.” He pleaded casually but you could here the genuine quality in his voice, “Ten minutes each. I’ll be there noon to five. That’s all.”

“Jesus, Saturday,” Colton grumbled as you were dismissed and he stood, draining the last of his Monster, “He must be desperate. I don’t even know any faculty who are here on Saturdays. The last time I was in the history building on a weekend, I swear I had a paranormal experience.”

“Well, I might just have to do it to get in his good graces. I doubt I’ll get my paper in on time.” You whined, “I should have dropped this when I had the chance.”

“You can’t abandon me like that,” He kidded as you walked down the steps, Professor Barnes was behind his desk packing up as a mob of his fans preened over him. They didn’t really have any real questions, just relative enough to justify their presence. You sighed and looked to Colton. “I guess I should wade into the herd and try to talk myself into an extension...I’ll see you later.”

“I can wait,” He offered.

“I don’t think so. With this crowd, I’ll be here forever. Besides, I know Devin’s waiting for you. Some sports thing tonight or whatever.” You shrugged.

“Yeah, some sports thing,” He scoffed, “Try to wait for them to disperse. They might bite.”

He smirked as he left you to wait for the gradual thinning of giddy college girls. You couldn’t deny that your professor was of the few attractive individuals among the faculty but you weren’t delusional. He was your teacher and by no means a love interest. College was not meant for romance but rather stupid mistakes to reminisce on when you were old and boring. Ha, sure. You had entered your boring phase the moment you stepped on campus.

Finally, the last pair of students left and you tentatively approached Professor Barnes. He raised a brow, the exasperation plain on his face. You hoped that because you rarely bothered him he’d take it easy on you.

“Hey,” He greeted, setting his bag on his desk as if to communicate his impatience to be gone. “Y/N, is it?”

“Uh, yeah,” You smiled shyly, “I’m sorry. I know you wanna go as bad as everyone else but I just um, wanted to talk to you about the paper. I…” You bit your lip guiltily and looked down, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish on time.”

“No?” He said, his tone unyielding, “Well, you’ve known the deadline since week one so I don’t see how it should be a problem now.”

“I know, I just--” You looked back up at him and sighed. It was useless. “Okay, no. I just figured I’d ask.”

He glanced around the room as he thought. “Look, do what you can and hand it in. We can talk about it next Saturday at the open house. If it’s a complete disaster, I’ll consider a rewrite.” He looked down at you pointedly, “Consider.” He repeated sternly.

“Okay,” You nodded eagerly, “Alright, okay. Thank you.”

“We’ll see,” He reminded you, hooking his bag over his shoulder, “Now please, let me go home.”

You actually laughed at that and he ushered you to the door, closing it behind him. The two of you took different paths in the hallway and you let out a breath of relief as you turned the next corner. A little breathing room.

***********

Well, it wasn’t enough. It had been a week and you were still fighting to finish your paper, adding footnotes, adjusting format, inserting points you had completely glossed over. You had failed to hand it in as you saw the pathetic mess as barely worth the bother of anyone trying to read it. Instead you were going to get it right and beg mercy at the open house. Even if it took all night.

Which it did. You fell asleep as the sun peeked in your dorm window, your face across the keyboard. You awoke with a jolt, your screen with a dozen calculators sprawled over it. You closed all thirty-six and printed out your final copy. You looked at the time in the corner and your heart jumped. Shit! It was already five-thirty! You got to your feet, stumbling as you pulled your canvas jacket over your tank top, not even bothering with a bra; you would keep your jacket zipped up. You stuffed your feet into your vans, sweatpants rolled halfway up your ankles as you seized your keys and paper and charged out the door.

Your sides were burning as you reached the history building and tossed yourself into the ancient elevator, bracing yourself against the wall as it slowly lurched upward. You stepped out into the maze of upper hallways and grumbled. You hated the way these offices were laid out as if David Bowie had stolen your baby brother. First you ended up at a set of seemingly forgotten washrooms and then by some records storage, and finally, you felt like you were on the right path; all the signs told you so at least.

‘Professor B. Barnes’ was etched into a placard pointing to the next hall. You turned the corner, hoping he had lingered to finish up his teaching work or maybe another student was overstaying their welcome. As you neared, you realized how empty the building was. And quiet. Colton was right; there had to be ghosts up here.

You heard a moan and it all but confirmed your suspicions. Was it worth possession to hunt down a likely empty office? The moan came again and you tilted your head. No, that was a human. It was deep and luring. You looked at the square clock on the wall; quarter to six. You crept forward, the door denoting ‘Prof. B. Barnes, M.A’. The door looked as if it had fallen open and you got closer and closer, the noise coming from within. Slowly you pushed the door inward, poking your head around and gasping.

The back of a leather chair faced you, a head of dark hair pressed against the top of it as it rocked and the moaning continued. Oh, fuck. It stopped as the small wisp escaped your lungs, giving away your intrusion and you dropped the paper as you turned to flee before he could turn fully to you. Apparently no one else had shown up and your professor had chosen to take advantage of it.

Oh god, you’d just have to take the fail.

You weren’t so lucky as that. You were pulled back as your name bounced down the empty corners of the hallway. You turned back and Professor Barnes released you, his face calm as if he hadn’t been caught. As if you hadn’t seen anything. “You’re late.” He said. He held your paper in his hand, “So’s this.” He held it up.

“I know,” You said weakly, unsure what else to say. You certainly didn’t want to talk about what you had walked in on. “But...I’m sorry, I just, I worked so hard on it.”

He shook his head, looking at the title page of your paper as he flicked it. “Right then, let’s talk and maybe you can convince me.” He stepped aside, standing parallel to the wall as he waited for you to precede him to the office. You were torn between flight and one last grasp at a passing grade. You took the latter and passed him, wringing your hands as you returned to his office. If you acted like nothing had happened, then it didn’t, right?

He followed you, keeping a few feet behind as you sat in the chair which faced his on the other side of the desk. You quirked your lips as you waited for him, the door clicking shut as he entered. Shit. You clutched your knees and hunched forward as he rounded to the other side and sat, steadying your paper on the edge of his desk as he flipped to the intro. He sighed and sat back, letting it go as he slid it onto the desktop.

“I really can’t make exceptions,” He said, “I’m sorry. It looks like a well-written paper but it just wouldn’t be fair. Don’t you think? I mean, how would you feel?”

You nodded and looked down, ready to just leave. He hadn’t even given you a chance. Did he get off on making students squirm? Well, I mean he got off on something judging by his previous activity. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I should--”

“You’d have to have a very convincing reason to make me change my mind,” He interrupted, staring at you as the corner of his mouth twitched. “So, why should I even read this?” He tapped the desk with his finger.

“I...I…” You stuttered, “I’ve just been so busy and I wanted it to be perfect. Between volunteering and all my other classes, which I’m also behind in, I just couldn’t...get my shit together, I guess.”

“Mmm,” He leaned back in his chair as he considered you. Still he didn’t really look mad. You rubbed your neck and he seemed please by the show of nerves. “And you didn’t ask Colton for help? You and him seem close?”

“We study together,” You explained, “But I mean, he’s not much of a help. He’s like an encyclopedia without pages. He doesn’t really write stuff down.”

“You see him often?” He asked.

“Uh, in class, sometimes we meet up at the library,” You forehead creased in confusion, “What does it matter?”

“So you and him, you’re not…” He raised a brow, “I mean. You’re both young college students, it only seems natural.”

“No, no,” You could have laughed, “Ew, no. He’s like a brother; the kind who puts gum in your hair and ketchup packets on your chair.”

He narrowed his eyes, pleased with your answer. He shifted in your chair. “It’s a big campus, there must be a guy.”

“I don’t have time for guys,” You huffed, growing tired of his interrogation. “Look, either you’re going to read it or I’m going to fail. Either one, I’d just like a straight answer.”

“Woah,” He braced the edge of his desk, standing up sharply, “I am your professor. Show me a little respect.” He leaned on the desktop, his tongue poking out and running across his bottom lip as he stared you down. “Take off your jacket.”

“Why--” He raised his hand in a gesture for silence, tilting his head in warning.

“So far you’ve not been very convincing so why don’t you put some effort into it,” He smirked, “Jacket.” He snapped his fingers and you stared up at him and gripped the arms of the chair.

Your mouth opened and shut without a response and you slowly reached up to tug on your zipper, pulling it down as the sound ruffled your nerves. You let it fall open, revealing the grey shirt which barely concealed your nipples. He touched his shoulders, a silent order to remove it. You obeyed, the process awkward as you remained in the chair.

He watched every move and you realized his eyes had strayed from your face, quickly finding the thin fabric of your tee. “I like my students to be comfortable with me,” He methodically stepped around the desk, looking down on you as he came up behind you, “When you’re in my office, I want you to relax,” He gathered your hair in his hands, “And I want you to listen.” He tightened his grip on your locks and pulled your head back so you stared up at him. “I know that’s not one of your better skills.”

Your face burned at his words. It was true that you rarely paid attention in his lecture but it was for good reason. One of his hands snaked around, spreading across your throat as he bent down to speak into your ear. “So, do you think you can change my mind or should I just mark this as zero in the books?” You gulped as his lips grazed your cheek, his breath singing you.

“Wh-what do you want me to do?” You asked in a whisper.

“Ugh,” He groaned, standing as he kept hold of your hair, his other hand playing with the neckline of your tee shirt. “I’ve been asking myself that for the last month. What do I want you to do? Hell, what don’t I want you to do?”

You were shocked. You had been certain you had barely been noticed past the flock of fan girls and yet it seemed the center of attention had kept all of his on you. He knew you sat with Colton and that you never listened. Well, it was easy enough for you not to notice as you were often halfway through a breakdown over your latest assignment.

“First, I want you naked,” He tugged your hair before letting go entirely, stepping back. “Stand and turn around.”

You rose and did as he said, his arms crossed as he waited and watched. You undressed one piece at a time. Vans slipping off as easily as they were donned, jeans unbuttoned with trembling fingers, slid down your thighs, tee shirt messing your hair as you shivered, your panties the last of your defenses. You hesitated before rolling them down, his gaze glued to your breasts at you bent to remove them. Thus you stood before him, bare and desperate for that A. And maybe something more.

“Stay there,” He neared but you were surprised as he passed you. You stood stalk still, listening at the sound of rustling paper and little clicks and clacks. He returned to your view and looked you up and down, his mouth slanted in a lurid grin. “On the desk. Turn around and on all fours.”

“Okay,” You said feebly and made to turn but he caught your arm.

“Call me Professor,” He squeezed your arm before releasing you.

“Yes Professor,” You uttered as you spun around.

You neared the desk, setting your hands on the cleared wooden surface before willing yourself forward. With one leg up, you were already exposed. The next and you were on full display, steadying yourself on hands and knees. You could feel the cool air along your pussy as warmth settled there. Rough hands scared you as they ran the length of your thighs, kneading your ass and spreading your cheeks for a better look at your pussy. You shook and he purred in approval at your reaction.

He pressed against your ass, leaning his weight on you until you felt his lips along your folds teasing you before delving deeper. You gasped at the first taste, the tip of his tongue poking at your entrance, your arousal spilling forth. He ran the length of your sex until he flicked your clit, the twitch it elicited made him snicker into your flesh. He dragged his tongue along your clit again, grazing it over and over as you pelvis flinched unwillingly.

“Ah,” You hissed, trying not to moan though it felt so good. You couldn’t believe this was happening. You were letting your instructor eat you out for a grade. It was like some poorly produced erotica. You clung to the edge of the desk, pushing your back end high as the first whine escaped you, the buzzing blooming and spreading down your legs. Your thighs trembled as he grew more persistent, his tongue agile as it drew forth an orgasm. It had been almost a year since you had been pleasured by more than silicone.

Your breath was laboured as you fell to your elbows, reeling in the after waves. His hands snaked around your legs and pulled them back off the desk, your feet barely reaching the floor as you were bent over. You heard his fly followed by a sigh and a prod along your ass. He guided his tip along your skin until he reached your entrance, hovering there as his hand spread on your lower back. “Now it’s turn. What do you want me to do?”

You lifted your head, looking over your shoulder as reality broke through your haze. You pouted, mortified as you realized there was only one answer. “I…” You swallowed your nerves and forced out your voice, “I want you to fuck me, Professor.”

He smirked and pushed inside roughly, allowing you no resistance as he filled you entirely. He was bigger than you expected. You dropped your head down on your forearm as you let out a low growl. He thrust sharply, allowing a moment between each as you were jolted into the desk. His hand was still on your back, holding you down as he slid in and out. Your pussy thrummed and you murmured in delight as each thrust against your sensitive walls sent a thrill up your spine.

As his motion steadied and his thrust grew closer together, your hips crashed against the lip of his desk and he began to groan. His voice was foggy as he spoke, slapping your ass so that it stung. “Naughty girl,” *slap* “Handing in your paper late.” *slap* “I don’t give easy A’s in my class.” *slap* He gripped your hips, hammering into you as you helplessly bounced against the desk, a withdrawn moan rising as another orgasm shook you.

He pulled out of you, forcing you back and you stood on wobbly legs. He pushed on your shoulders until you relented and fell to your knees before him. You stared up at him, his cock hanging out of his open pants, the untucked tails of his shirt forming a v around the base. He looked to his length, reaching out to clamp your head between his hands and drew you close. “You gotta work hard if you want to pass,” He gristled as his tip slipped past your lips and you opened wider and wider with each inch.

As he entered your throat and met his limit, you slapped your palms against his thighs, gripping him as he led your mouth along his cock. You relaxed your jaw, keeping your tongue taut against his length as he bobbed your head up and down himself, his pelvis working just as hard as he fucked your face. Despite your gags, he did not relent, your nails digging into his flesh. He sank deeper than before as he groaned and you felt a sudden burst of warmth, his cum leaking down your throat as you did your best to swallow, afraid you would choke.

He didn’t remove himself until he was empty, the last drops of his cum and your saliva dripping down your chin. You leaned forward, holding yourself up on shaky arms. He put his cock back in his pants, zipped them up and tucked in his shirt. He knelt before you, his fingers on your chin as he forced you to look at him. “I’ll read it.” He smiled, his thumb rubbed your cheek as you panted at him wordlessly, “Five percent docked for late submission.”

#dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!fic #one shot #request #fic #fairladymorgana #mcu #marvel

2K notes · View notes