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slutforln4 · 9 months

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libertine — joel miller.

synopsis. you've been having sexual fantasies about the substitute professor at your college. when the opportunity to get a better mark on a shitty essay you wrote arises, you take it. quite literally take it.

pairing. professor!joel x student!reader/fem!reader

warnings. smut, a smidge of fluff at the end, masturbation in a public bathroom, joel's got a southern accent that i tried to make obvious in the fic (if it's crappy, 'm sorry), oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, inexperienced and virgin reader, age gap (reader is in their early 20s and joel's in his late 40s), dom/sub dynamics praise kink, dirty talk. idk what else there is...

goes without saying but this is 18+, MDNI. i'm not responsible for what typa media you consume, but beware for your own good.

word count. 2.6k

author's note. i haven't written smut before so here's my shot at the self-indulgent professor!joel hc that i have... hope you enjoy ❤️ part two in the makings if this does well!!

Classic literature didn't come easy to you, but fucking your professor did.

It started off as every normal day at college did— you flow through your entire schedule, some free time here and there, during which you manage to take a nap or catch up on missing assignments, and at the end of almost every day, you were met with the class you hated, but also loved, the most… Classic literature.

The class itself is fairly easy. All you had to do was read some novels, write essays based on topics from said novels and also write a thorough analysis of it. Easy stuff. But you struggled with the essay writing, it just wasn't your thing.

However, you can't say that you didn't enjoy the class. The most interesting part of it being that substitute professor, Mr. Miller, that just transferred in. Him and that Texan accent of his, those deep, brown eyes, that salt-and-pepper hair trailing down his jaw, those luscious thighs and whatever's hiding behind the zipper of his jeans… You can't stop thinking about it.

It’s been occupying your mind for however long he's been working at your college, and you can't help but have those thoughts when it comes to him. From the way he looks, down to the way he talks about love, he’s attractive inside and out. The way he talks about women, though, was the thing that caught your attention the most. He speaks so highly of them that it almost seems like he worships them, which makes you want to fuck him all the more.

The day you decided to put your mind to rest and have your body do the work, Mr. Miller had put up another assignment.

You dreadfully open up your email at the beginning of class, and groan when the body of it reads “Essay about the importance of expressing love in current youth based on your analysis of Romeo and Juliet due next week Thursday, midnight.”

Turning off your phone, you assert your attention back to your professor. He stood there, in his suit and all, looking more delicious than ever as he reminded your class to check their emails. The stern tone in his voice made your insides flutter, and the way he held onto his waist… God, you can't help but rub your thighs together to hide the throbbing between your legs, already feeling the wetness in your panties.

“Alright, pull out ya laptops and open up that website I told y’all about,” Mr. Miller says, and you’re the first one to obey his order. He gives you a look and when your eyes lock with his, he smiles at you. “As I already mentioned in the emails, we’ll be readin’ and analysin’ Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.”

The more he spoke, the less you could pay attention. Your eyes travelled all over his face, his chest, down to his crotch. Even without a hard-on, there was an imprint in his dress pants. Mr. Miller was the type to speak with his hands, resulting in you ogling at the way his fingers move in the air.

Mr. Miller begins talking about how love is portrayed in the tragedy, his tone changing with each point he makes. You stare at his lips, silently wishing they were on your body, somewhere. Anywhere would be fine as long as all his attention was on you. On all the parts that long for his touch.

You try your best to focus on what he’s saying, writing down what you need to remember. Your thighs are clenching together again when Mr.Miller scratches the back of his head, his bicep visible through the sleeve of his jacket. That’s about as much as you can take.

You hesitantly get up from your seat, mumbling a quiet “excuse me” as you walk out through the doors. It must've looked weird, since you ran out the door in such a rush, but you didn't care. Your main concern was finding a bathroom before all the thoughts about your professor fucking you into oblivion could make you cum on the spot.

You hurry past all the staff that are scattered across the halls and barge into the women’s bathroom. It's quiet and you’re sure you're alone, but you still check. “Hello?” No response. You hurry yourself into a stall and lock the door.

You don't even lift the toilet seat when you sit down on it, your skirt and panties on the floor. You spread your legs and put your fingers into a V shape, spreading your lips open. Using your other hand, you gather some of the arousal that’s been leaking out of you for the past twenty minutes and use it to coat your clit as your finger slowly rubs circles on it.

"That’s it,” you can almost hear Mr. Miller talking in your ear. “That’s my girl.”

“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, feeling yourself getting more horny with the flood of thoughts that won't stop. Your finger rubs circles on your clit, increasing the pressure from time to time. Subconsciously, your hand unbuttons the shirt you’re wearing to reveal your bare chest and begins twirling your hard nipple. You imagine it's his hands, that he’s the one pleasuring you. Your finger’s now working at a pace you can't keep up with, quietly moaning out your professors last name when you use the hand that was rubbing your clit to finger yourself.

One finger in and you’re already gasping at the image on the back of your eyelids. You’re imagining it's his fingers in you, his cock in his other hand as he jerks himself off. You put a second finger in and start thrusting it in and out, when the image changes to his hips clashing into yours as his dick hits spots your fingers could only dream of. Your hips jolt against your fingers at the image of his veiny cock so vividly throbbing in your imagination.

You bring your other hand down to your clit, rubbing the throbbing nub once again. “Fuck,” you whimper as you feel your climax nearing. Your fingers curl inside you, and you’re about to let go.

“Attagirl,” the voice in the back of your head says and that’s the last push for you to cum all over your own fingers, your juices leaking out onto the toilet seat. You continue rubbing your clit until your climax wears off.

When you’re back in the classroom, everyone's already left, only Mr. Miller’s sat at his desk, typing away. His eyes look up at you when you enter through the door. “Oh, hey. I kept your stuff safe, since ya left in such a rush.” A comforting smile decorates his face. He’s so considerate it makes your clit throb again.

“Uh, thank you, sir.” You mumble shyly, packing your stuff into your bag and getting ready to leave. Mr. Miller’s eyes are on you when you turn back towards him.

He clears his throat. “I also wanted to speak to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Alright, what is it?”

“Listen, sweetheart. Y’know the last essay I assigned you to write?” He asks, eyebrows raised in question. You bite your bottom lip as you think back on what the last assignment was. When you remember, you nod. “Alright, well… You didn't do too good on it.”

“I know,” you laugh awkwardly, trying to hide the shame you feel. “It wasn't my finest work.”

“Yeah.” He laughs with you in an attempt to ease the situation. “But, uh. You can rewrite it and I’ll raise your mark. Whaddya say?”

You think it over for a moment, before shaking your head. “I think I could…” You’re not sure where this confidence is coming from, but you’re suddenly approaching him. “Get my mark up another way…” Your eyes glance down at his crotch and you bite your lip. When Mr. Miller realises what you’re insinuating, he shakes his head, but his eyes say different.

“Honey, it goes against teacher-student policy, you know that.” He reminds you, but you’re already on your knees in front of him and under his desk, batting your long eyelashes at him to get your way. His bulge grows right in front of your face and you don't think anymore, you just do. Your fingers are unclasping his belt, unzipping his pants and pulling them down. “Sweetheart-” he gets cut off by his dick springing up after you pull his boxers down, precum already leaking out of it. “Fuck.”

You look at him, not sure of what to do. You’ve never sucked a dick before, and the one in front of you would surely end up somehow fucking up your throat. You contemplate just sitting down on it, riding it like you did to your pillow when you woke up from a wet dream about him. That is, until he speaks. “You gonna stare at it or suck it like you wanted to?”

The tone in his voice changed from formal and sweet to deep and dominant, and you’re wet again from just the sound of it. “I’ve never, uh… done this before.”

Mr. Miller nods his head towards you. “Put your lips on the tip,” you do as told, your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock. “Just like that,” he says, his voice wavering. “Now put it in your mouth,” you hesitate to do so, instead wrapping your fingers around the base of his large cock. “Don't be shy, you want your mark up, don't ya?”

You nod, slowly opening your mouth to put more of his cock in. When it hits the back of your throat, you gag a bit. “Breathe through your nose, babygirl.” You do as told and the gagging goes away. “Now, slowly bob your head up and down. Yeah, just- just like that, fuck.” You're bobbing your head up and down on his dick, your fingers working at the base of it. His hips buckle and his dick thrusts deeper in your throat. A moan rumbles in your throat and vibrates on Mr. Miller’s dick, and he has to refrain himself from shoving his whole dick down your throat.

“Fuck, just like that,” he moans. “Good girl.” The praise makes you that much more wet, and you moan against his dick again.

Suddenly, the door swings open and Mr. Miller sits up, looking at whoever entered his classroom. Your mouth doesn't leave his cock, you simply thrust it in your mouth harder, using your tongue to caress his shaft. “Good evening,” he greets the janitor who came in to clean the classroom. “I, uh, I still got some,” Mr. Miller balls his fingers into a fist as he holds back a moan, trying his best to focus on the conversation with your mouth still sucking him off. “I’m still workin’, gimme thirty more minutes.”

The door closes behind the janitor and Mr. Miller leans back against his chair, his eyes half-lidded and looking down at you. He feels his orgasm nearing when you begin pumping the base of his cock again, along with thrusting his dick into your mouth. “I’ll be cummin’ in your mouth if you don't pull away right now, sweetheart.”

Your mouth leaves his cock, but your fingers still jerk him off. A deep moan leaves his lips as a string of hot cum shoots out in loads onto your clothed chest and neck. You’re still pumping his dick when he motions for you to get up. You stand up from under his desk and he’s immediately pulling you closer to himself. You're sat on his lap, dick still hard and rubbing on your belly as his lips connect with yours. He can still taste himself in your mouth and he smirks at that.

His hands are on your knees, but with each kiss, they inch closer and closer to where you need him the most. When he reaches the wet spot on your panties, he grins against your mouth. “So ready for me, hm?”

You nod, whimpering at the soft contact of his finger to your clothed clit. “Yes, Mr. Miller, please-”

“Call me Joel,” he mumbles as his fingers wrap around the waistband of your panties and tug them off of you. He slowly grabs you by the waist and aligns his cock with your dripping cunt.

“Wait-” you pause kissing him when you feel the tip brushing up against your folds. “I haven't- Y’know…”

Joel smirks. “You a virgin, baby?” You nod, slowly. “I’ll take care of ya, I promise.” You feel his finger rub over your hole, gathering some of your slick to rub it on his dick.

His hands slowly lower your waist down, his cock slipping past your folds with ease and you gasp at the feeling of him filling you up. It’s everything you’ve been dreaming of. He’s so big that it feels like you’re being split open. “You okay?” He asks you with a kiss to your collarbone. You nod, your bottom lip between your teeth and hands tightly gripping onto his shoulders. “Good, ‘cause this ain't all of it yet,” he says, voice low and taunting, before lowering you all the way down. You whimper as you feel his cock brush against your cervix.

“Fuck,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss his lips as you adjust to the size of him. Joel just holds you there, not moving you until you’re ready. His fingers find your throbbing clit and start rubbing it, your lips still connected. “Mmh,” you moan, your hips jolting towards his fingers and moving his dick deeper inside of you.

You begin pushing yourself up and slipping back down, a string of moans leaving your lips. “Attagirl.”

You’re riding his cock, feeling each and every inch of him filling up your insides. You can feel every throb of his veins pulsing inside of you and you catch all his moans with your lips. His hands are gripping your hips, pulling you down with more force. The classroom is filled with sounds of skin clashing on skin. You’re moaning and whimpering, his cock threatening to tip you over the edge. “I’m… I-” you can't even speak.

“You what, baby?” He asks, his thumbs digging into your hips with the intensity of your thrusts. “You gonna cum for me? You gon’ be a good girl and cum all on my dick?” You can't manage to speak so you nod, tears spilling from your eyes as you feel your climax approaching.

He’s thrusting up at you, now, his climax approaching him again. You're a moaning and whimpering mess, begging him to make you cum with the broken words you’re mumbling. “Ple- Please… Fu-uck, Joel…”

“Let go for me,” he coaxes, his lips right by your ear. “I got you, pretty girl.”

With a loud moan, you’re cumming all over his dick and you feel his hot liquid fill up your insides with a couple more thrusts of his hips. Joel kisses you again. Like a starving man that hasn't eaten for days on end. He kisses you with passion, with more than just lust behind those eyes.

When you both pull away, he makes sure to clean you up. “You were so good for me, sweetheart.” He praises. “So good.”

You’re not sure what to say, so you just kiss him again. And again. And one more time. Until he’s kissing on your neck again, but he inevitably stops and leans into your ear. “I gotta get to work, baby.”

“Okay,” you say with a sigh. “Thanks for helping me with the essay,” your lips pull into a small smirk as you open the door to his classroom.

“All thanks to you.” He returns the same smile. “Couldn’t have finished it without you.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “You’re so unfunny,” and close the door behind yourself.

#joel miller #the last of us #pedro is daddy #joel x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #professor!joel #student!reader #pedro pascal fic #joel miller x you #praise

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tieronecrush · 9 months

Text

꒰ა ONLY ANGEL ໒꒱

javier peña x f!reader

chapter two: lips of an angel

series masterlist

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

summary: After his return to the US, Javier is trying to settle back into a normal life without the pressures of Colombia and the DEA, but he finds himself feeling isolated with no one to spend his nights with. Now a newly appointed criminology professor at Texas A&M, he is drawn to you, a post-grad student in one of his classes. You’re intelligent and witty, sweet and kind, and he can’t get you out of his mind. To cope with his growing loneliness and to rid himself of thoughts of you, he signs up for an “arrangement service” to connect him with somebody—a sugar baby—he can care for. After he is matched up with Angel, he finds himself developing feelings quicker than he ever expected, but what happens when he finds out Angel is really you?

series warnings: power imbalance (prof and student), sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, discussion of money, criminal activity, judicial systems, graduate school, smut, daddy/papí kink, praise kink, degradation, self deprecation, discussion of self worth, multiple sexual or romantic partners, sex work, cursing, use of spanish, likely more warning so read at your own risk!

word count: 5.1k

a/n: thank you @northernbluess for beta-ing this series for me <333 love you bestie, the only one i'd wanna be a sister wife with

To: TheOnlyAngel

Subject: Nice To Meet You?

Hey,

I got an email that we were matched for Sweet Temptations. I figured I would reach out and introduce myself, maybe get to know you a bit if you are alright with that.

Feel free to call me Javi. I am honestly not sure what else I’m meant to do in an introduction like this. I promise I am normally much smoother than this, or at least more human and less awkward.

It’s nice to meet you, and to be matched up with you, Angel. If that’s what I should call you?

From: TheOnlyAngel

Subject: Re: Nice To Meet You?

Hi Javi!

It’s nice to meet you too, and hopefully, we get to meet in person. These first emails are always awkward no matter how many I’ve sent or received, so please be assured that, honestly, that was one of the better ones I’ve gotten. :)

I normally like to ask what you’re looking for out of this “arrangement” (I hate calling it that, it sounds so impersonal) and maybe you can tell me some fun facts about you if you want to share!

I can go first for the fun facts:

Green is my favorite color

I unironically love the song MMMBop by Hansen (which is unexpected if you saw the rest of my tape and CD collection)

My current favorite movie is Romeo + Juliet that came out a couple of years ago cause Paul Rudd <3

That’s about all that I can think of as I sit in bed and type this so hopefully that is sufficient enough!

TTYL Javi,

Angel

To: TheOnlyAngel

Subject: Re: Re: Nice To Meet You?

Hey Angel

Paul Rudd is pretty likable, I’ll give you that. Is he your type? Cause I hate to break it to you sweetheart but I don’t really look like him. Both have dark hair but that’s about where the similarities stop. And Romeo + Juliet huh? Must be a bit of a romantic.

And MMMBop…it is catchy. I have to stop myself humming it at work these days.

As for what I’m looking for, I guess I just want someone to spend some time with. Whatever comes of it, comes of it, but I don’t want to really have any expectations. Just wanna get to know you, Angel.

Took me a while to think of some fun facts:

I grew up on a cattle ranch right on the border of Mexico in Southern Texas

When I was little (like 9/10 years old) my primos dared me to enter a rodeo for Mutton Busting (chasing a sheep around to try to catch it)

A CD of Selena stays in my car at all times, and yes, I know all the words

Hope those were fun enough for you, Angel.

And I hope you have a good day today.

The emails continued for about a week and a half, Javier slowly became more comfortable with the virtual communications. Angel was bubbly, and sweet, always asking him questions and always interested in hearing about his day or what his favorite book was. It was either his loneliness or a newfound desperation that had his heart skipping when the sound of new mail pinged from his desktop.

It felt a bit strange to have such normal exchanges with Angel and be reminded of the circumstances with his bank statement for the charges that the service takes monthly. With how personable Angel has been even via email, he finds himself forgetting what exactly brought them together. Maybe all the mystery and excitement will wear off when the two of you meet, but something deep in his gut is telling him that isn’t going to happen.

He drags himself away from his desk, no response from Angel yet today. All he can think about is how he hopes there’s a new message when he comes back, gathering his things to head to the lecture hall for the third week of Sociology of Deviance.

In the beginning, he thought this class was going to be a chore to do. Stuck onto his schedule last minute, had new material to cover, and had an annoying Dean of Faculty checking in on him much more often because of it. However, a handful of sessions in, he’s got a bit of a skip in his step to rush over there, the familiar jump in his stomach when he thinks about you.

The pretty fall floral dresses you’ve started wearing with the change in weather, large cardigans pulled over the top. You’ve worn a few flannels over your shoulders, clearly oversized and he feels a prick of jealousy whenever he sees you in them.

Do you have a boyfriend? Are those shirts his?

What would you look like in one of his button-downs?

Christ, the thoughts won’t stop no matter how hard he tries. Another reason why he is attempting to completely throw himself into this new “arrangement”, hoping it would be a means to an end to his crush on his student.

That’s what it is. He has a fucking crush.

He hasn’t had a crush in years.

Laying everything out for the class session, he starts writing the discussion points on the board. At the sound of the door violently swinging open and a rumble of loud footsteps rushing, he looks over his shoulder to see you, belongings in your arms and clearly flustered. His jaw drops open to ask if you’re alright, making a burning flash of eye contact with you before you drop your head, embarrassed, and find your seat.

Turning back to the chalkboard, he shakes his head minutely, rolling his shoulders before continuing his writing, white powder from the chalk coating his fingers. Instead of his normal thoughts of you, he keeps fighting the urge to ask if you’re okay. In the short time he’s known you if you could even say that about your dynamic, he knows it’s very unusual for you to come in that incomposed. He wipes the residue off on his pants, facing the class.

While he teaches, his eyes continue to wander to you, oddly quiet when you would normally be engaged in the discussion. That kid Alex, obnoxious from the jump, is taking up far too much air time in this class, and Javier can’t help the annoyance on his face as he leans back against the desk, arms crossed over his chest as he waits for this kid to finish his long-winded, and incorrect answer.

You scoff audibly at a point that Alex made, piquing Javier’s attention. The two of you make eye contact again, and Javier suddenly unravels one arm from his chest, holding it up toward Alex.

“Excuse me, Alex, I respect your points but I think there might be some counters to your arguments. I want to be able to hear them before we move on,” Javier calls out your name, and his head snaps to you, nodding encouragingly, “What were your thoughts?”

“Oh, um, I was going to say that I don’t think that socioeconomic or social standing is the only explanation for the makeup of the prison system. And I think it’s pretty naive to think that it’s only rich people that get off with less severe punishments.” Javier watches your shoulders tense a bit at the obvious eye roll from Alex, the pen in between your fingers bouncing with nerves.

“Do you mind expanding on that? I’m interested in what you think is another reason,” Javier holds eye contact with you, the slightest smile on his face to reassure you to stand your ground in the argument.

“I mean, to me, It’s pretty obvious that the biggest reason is racial discrimination in the legal process. White people dominate the political landscape and the prejudices, even unconscious bias, contribute to the makeup of the incarcerated population. Judges will give favorable or less severe punishments to white defendants, and of course, class biases are a thing, especially because of the cost of criminal defense, but I think the overt, umbrella reason is racial discrimination in the legal process. It’s built into the systems of government, which is pretty depressing…”

You trail off and laugh awkwardly at the silence in the room, some classmates nodding in agreement while some are unphased, uninterested.

“That’s good. That’s exactly what I was hoping would be brought up by someone,” Javier nods to you, pointing in your direction before he rounds the desk to start writing on the board for students to take down in their notes.

In your seat, you start to copy down into your notebook, glancing up to see him look over his shoulder at you. One corner of his mouth lifts, a smile in his eyes as you try to bite back your own grin that threatens to expose how much you enjoyed his short praises.

From: TheOnlyAngel

Subject: Wanna Meet Up?

Hiiii Javi

I’ve had such a shitty day today, but honestly, I was still excited to be able to come home and talk to you. :)

Do you think you’d be interested in meeting in person this weekend? I’m free Saturday night if you are. LMK!

Hope your day was better than mine!

xoxo,

Angel

Plans were made to meet Saturday night around eight o’clock. Javier had chosen a bar he’d become familiar with on those nights when he couldn’t sleep, when the memories of Colombia were too much when he couldn’t stop thinking about those damn boats that were in his backyard.

The place is small, intimate, and quiet enough to hold a conversation — which he knew from the one or two times he’d picked up someone and brought them back to his apartment. There was always some sort of live music, usually some jazz or folksy blues, that could fill any first-date awkward silences.

In his last email to her, Javier told Angel that he’d be in the back of the bar, at a table for two, wearing jeans and a red short-sleeve button-up shirt. He makes sure to arrive first, getting there a bit overly early at 7:30 to snag a table and order himself a drink to calm his nerves. Pounding the glass back on the bar top, he orders another whiskey neat to nurse until she arrives.

This is a different feeling than he’s had before a date. Nerves aren’t normally his thing when it comes to women, but something about this night feels higher stakes than before.

Get it together, Javi. It’s a date, if it goes horribly, you don’t have to do it again. Plus, she doesn’t even need to be interested in you, this is her job.

When you arrive at the tiny, hole-in-the-wall bar, you nod thanks to the man holding the door for you, rolling your eyes when you get a comment from him that you didn’t ask for.

“Nice tits, sweetheart.” He slurs and sends you a wink that is definitely more of a blink. You slip past him without issue, scanning the small area for the man with dark hair and a red shirt on. At this point, with how many times you’ve done this, you’re normally not nervous to meet these men in person. It’s something you’re obligated to do, like showing up for any other job, and that’s how you treat it.

But this time around, something’s different. Talking with Javier has actually been….nice? He’s responsive and wants to get to know you, never taking more than a day to get back to you. He’s asked you more questions about yourself than anyone else has before and he always, always wants to hear about your day. If you weren’t careful, you could see yourself getting attached.

Well, getting attached if he’s anything like you’ve imagined him. Or who you’ve imagined him to be.

The only red shirt you can spot is on a man sitting at a table toward the back, facing away from the door and toward the stage in the corner where a jazz trio is playing a low, crooning song. Biting back a smile, you start to make your way over to him, admiring him from behind.

It’s broad shoulders and a strong neck, muscles flexing as he adjusts in his seat. His dark, chocolatey hair is combed nicely, so much so that you can’t help but have the thought of running your fingers through it and messing it up.

Dressed in a black dress with blotted red lips, you weave in between people, ignoring anyone else as you keep your eyes on the man you’re here to meet. Javi stays facing forward, watching the band play even as you stand behind him, cheated to his side a bit. Holding your breath, you lean closer and tap him on his shoulder.

“Um, excuse me, Javi?”

At the sound of his name, Javier turns over his shoulder to his right, a smile on his face already from the honeyed kindness in her voice. She did really sound like an angel for a second there before he realized where the sound was coming from.

“Yeah, I’m Ja—“ The sound stops in his throat when he is facing you. Your supple lips with the dainty Cupid’s bow, rouged cheeks, and gentle smile; normally in a nice dress or cardigan in class, but here you’re wearing much less material, more of your skin on display.

What would it be like to kiss it?

No. That is not ever going to happen.

Those doe eyes hold an innate tenderness that he couldn’t imagine ever being privy to, but here he was, under the stare of those and it was making him sweat. He can only imagine what he looks like to you at the moment, eyes wide and mouth blubbering to speak like a fish gasping for air.

You recognized him at the same time, biting the inside of your cheek to hold back the word vomit threatening to come out. If it did, you know you would end up spilling how honestly excited you are that the man you’ve been emailing with has turned out to be Professor Peña. You’ve harbored a bit of a crush on him for the last few weeks, ever since that smile he gave you when you introduced yourself after the first session. It had been burning moments of eye contact, and those gentle encouragements from him.

Hell, after class this week when he praised your counterarguments, you thought about his voice saying “That’s good” over and over while you laid in your bed that night, coming with the image of him over you in record time.

The first word out of his mouth is your name, tone flicked up at the end in a question. He grumbles to himself as he moves to stand up, forgetting his drink on the table.

“Fuck, this is bad…” He whispers under his breath, shaking his head at himself as he runs his hands on the sides of his jeans. “I’m so sorry.”

He steps back to further the distance between you two, awkwardly avoiding your eyes as he attempts to recover his professionalism.

“It’s alr—“

“I had no idea it was you. This is completely inappropriate, I apologize. I should leave, uh, and I completely understand if you need to change out of my class. I know it’s past the cut-off date, but I would help if you needed—”

“Javi — can I call you that?” He considers it for a moment before nodding, rigidity evident in his body, “Javi, it’s alright. You don’t need to apologize, neither of us knew before this moment…But I do have to say, I wouldn’t tell.”

“Uh, I’m sorry — what?”

“I wouldn’t say anything. If you wanted to sit down and have a drink, or a few, and get to know each other like we planned to, I wouldn’t say a word. Even if you weren’t interested after this, I promise, the secret’s safe with me.”

Javier can’t deny how much he was looking forward to meeting the woman he was emailing with. And he can’t deny that he’s had his eyes on you since that first meeting. Hell, he can barely control his thoughts around you.

Of course, it had to be you. The two people he can’t get out of his head have turned out to be only one person, and of course, it’s you.

“If it informs your decision, I would love to get to know you more, Javi.”

He stutters through his thoughts out loud before resigning with a sigh, taking a breath as he forms his response, “Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

“Definitely. Wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. Now, may I join you?” You gesture to the empty chair and Javi nods quickly.

“Yeah, of course. Here, let me get that.” He visibly relaxes a bit, falling into a routine he knows well. Rounding the small table, he pulls your chair out for you before settling in the seat opposite. Shortly after, a server comes around and takes your drink orders, Javier looking to you to go first. After the order is placed, the server leaves the two of you in silence at the table.

Another beat passes before Javier speaks, saying what you both are thinking, “Sorry, I just, cannot believe it happened to be you.”

“Why’s that?” You ask with a lilt of humor in your voice, sitting up in the chair to move toward him, “Don’t think I would be into all this?”

“Yeah, I guess so, but—Actually I should not say what I was about to say,” he chuckles and shakes his head.

“Oh, c’mon, what were you gonna say?”

“Nope, definitely not going to tell you, sweetheart,” he smirks at you and then adjusts in his seat awkwardly, “Oh, ‘m sorry, I shouldn’t have sa—“

“Javi. It’s fine, just relax. You’re not making me uncomfortable at all if that’s what you’re worried about,” you give him a sincere smile, reaching across to hold his arm that’s lying on the table, “It’s actually kind of nice to have those nicknames coming from you and not some other creepy men who contact me.”

“Why’s that?” He echoes your question from moments before, eyebrows raising in curiosity and the same smirk growing on his face, glancing down at your hand on him.

“I shouldn’t say what I was about to say,” you attempt to imitate his voice, laughing at the end when he gives you a look that says ‘Really?’.

“I don’t sound like that, cariño. But that’s a good try. Now what is it that makes me nicer than the other men you’ve seen?”

‘That’s a good try.’ This man.

“And how do you know that? I could be nailing what you sound like to other people. You hear your voice differently.” You poke his arm pointedly, moving your hand toward your lap again. Before it leaves the table, Javier stretches his arm across, catching your fingers with his. He holds them loosely in his, running his thumb across your knuckles as he keeps eye contact with you.

“I’ve heard my voice enough in press conferences that were televised, angel. I don’t sound like that,” he uses his free hand to take a sip of his whiskey, “And don’t try to change the subject. I wanna know what you are gonna say.”

“I could say the same thing to you. We both have our secrets tonight,” you take a sip of your drink and shrug, “You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

“Nice negotiating, cariño, but I think I’d have to have a few more of these if I was going to share mine.” He raises his glass a couple of inches off the table, the amber liquid sloshing around before he sets it down again.

You’d say anything to get him to keep giving you praise like that all the time.

Grabbing your own glass, you lift it to him and smile, “Well, only one of these and I’ll be spilling all my dirty secrets.”

Javier’s jaw notches to the side as you say that, biting his cheek before he takes his hand from yours and runs his thumb across his bottom lip to the corner.

Inside his chest, he feels his heart beating faster and feels his blood rushing south, that same damn smile of yours that you give him from rows away in class doing the same damn thing it does to him there.

Half of him is wondering how he can make you smile like that all the time.

The other half wants to wipe that smile off of your face and have you whimpering.

What would you look like under him?

Jesus Christ, he’s way far gone.

Javier’s had three more whiskeys on top of his previous three. You’ve had about four drinks yourself.

The evening has devolved into something much more casual, breezy; conversation has flowed between you two, finding things in common and swapping stories that have the other laughing. From the serious professor in class, this more easy-going Javi is refreshing to see and definitely makes your crush a lot worse, somersaulting stomach and warm, syrupy flood across your whole body.

The subject has returned to the evening’s secrets, you asking him again to share what he was going to say.

“Please, Javi, it can’t be any more embarrassing than what mine is. I’ll tell you what I was gonna say if you promise to tell me.” You extend your arm, fingers closed into a fist beside your pinky.

He looks at your hand, debating internally before deciding ‘fuck it’ and links his little finger with yours.

“I promise, cariño,” he smiles and nods for you to share, “What are you dying to tell me so that you can hear what I was gonna say?”

“The affection from you is nice cause, I don’t know, you feel…safe. When I first started, I was getting some weird men that wanted to meet, and—This has just been fun,” you resign with a soft smile, “Plus it helps that you’re hot. Got the whole smoldering cop with the porn stache thing.”

“Smoldering cop with the porn stache? I didn’t realize that was a thing,” he laughs, the crinkles next to his eyes deepening before he takes your hand lying on the table, “I’m glad this has been fun for you. After all that shock and awkwardness at the beginning, I think it’s been really nice to get to know you, angel.”

“Alright, I shared my little secret, you share yours now.”

Javier sighs, his thumb rubbing back and forth across your skin. He takes a moment to speak before he meets your eyes, a resistant smirk on his face, “You are really gonna make me say this?”

“You pinky promised! I didn’t make you do that, there’s no coercion here, Javier.”

“Fine, fine. You’re too quick, cariño,” he squeezes your fingers with his, “I was gonna say before that I couldn’t believe it happened to be you ‘cause—It’s stupid, really, but I’ve had a bit of a crush on you since that first class, querida.”

“A crush? The sexy Professor Peña has a crush on me?”

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. Can’t keep ‘em off of you, cariño. Too beautiful. And you’re fucking on it all the time, so goddamn smart. I really am convinced you should be teaching for me,” he glances down sheepishly, feeling exposed from his tipsy confession.

The surface of your cheeks heats up, feeling a tingle down your spine when his eyes meet yours again. Leaning forward across the table, you bite your bottom lip as you drink him all in.

“D’you think I’ll ever be able to properly pay attention in class again after that?”

“You better, sweetheart. Just cause I’ve got a crush on you doesn’t mean you’ll get a good grade. Not gonna go easy on you. Fair’s fair.”

“Mm, I don’t mind it hard. I prefer it that way, actually. Makes it much more satisfying when you finish.” Your tongue wets your lips before you take your bottom one between your teeth, watching as Javier’s eyes darken at your double entendre.

He shakes his head, giving you a knowing look about your mischievous word choice, “Better be ready for a challenge then, angel.”

“Always, Peña.”

It’s late now, verging on turning into Sunday; the hours flew by with each other. Javier noticed the time on his watch, the crowd in the bar was sparse in spots that were full when he got there. When he looks at you, your eyelids look heavy, and those normally wide and bright eyes, eager and excited, look drowsy and content, so close to slipping closed and turning your mind off for the night.

“You ready to head out, angel? We’ll go find you a cab.” He asks with a subtle smile on his face, scooting out of his chair and standing, offering a hand to you.

“Yeah, m’ready.” You rise after taking his hand, hiking your small rectangular bag over your shoulder and stepping closer to him as he switches which hand is holding yours. Right in right, he grips yours from the outside of your palm, fingers lacing together as he presses his left into the small of your back, weaving between the patrons and out the front door.

The air is crisp when the door breaks open, cool air surrounding your warm, alcohol-blanketed bodies. Javier's touch still surrounds you, your right shoulder pressing into his chest when you turn to say something to him.

He takes a step back, allowing you the space to rotate fully in his arms, meeting his eyes and feeling a grin toy at your lips.

“Tonight was nice.”

“It was. Think I should be saying thanks to you. M’glad you had me stay.”

“Yeah? Well, m’happy to hear that cause I was gonna say, if you wanted to keep this up — meeting up, the arrangement all of that — if you wanted to keep it up for the semester, I would happily keep the secret. Y’know, you help me, I help you kind of thing. We just have fun.”

Javier considers the offer, ticking his jaw as he debates internally. On one hand, it’s a massive risk. The two of you could be seen out with each other, or if anyone noticed anything different in class, it could jeopardize his job, and possibly your degree. But on the other hand, if every night with you is like this one, he’s hard-pressed to say no. You’re funny and intelligent and beautiful — sure, there’s the element of how you two met and what happens behind the scenes, money taken out of his account monthly and forwarded to you through the service — but with the way you’ve had his heart pumping from your sweetness and his cock half hard at how turned on you have him constantly, he really can’t find a fuck to give about the risk.

“Alright. If you are in for it, I definitely am, angel,” he grins at you, his tongue poking out to wet his lips when his eyes flit to yours, the faint red lipstick of yours still holding strong.

“Good, Javi. That’s good,” your voice is a purr, a smug smirk playing at your lips when he leans in closer, walking you back towards the brick facade of the bar. His knees nearly give out when he hears those small praises, already waiting for the next time you speak them to him.

“Can I…?” he trails off, the tip of his nose only an inch from yours.

“You can kiss me, Javi.”

Without wasting another second, he catches his lips with yours, gentle at first with soft, delicate kisses exchanged. His tongue slides along your bottom lip, a breathy whimper parting your mouth enough for him to lick into it, melting his tongue with yours. One of his hands moves to hold your jaw, the other stagnant at your hip. A step closer brings him flush against you, quiet moans muffled into each other’s mouths.

The roughness of the brick is harsh against your bare skin on display, the contrasting sensations pooling arousal in between your legs. Javier tastes like tobacco, whiskey, and mint gum; an interesting combination but an intoxicating one. His hand at your hip moves around to your ass, pulling you off the wall slightly and against him, his growing bulge felt against your torso.

Before the two of you can get completely lost in each other, you pull away, hands on his chest. A taxi pulls up at that moment, honking its horn in question if you need a ride. You wave to him and ask for one minute with your fingers, turning back to Javi standing in front of you a bit breathless.

“I should go. Got some reading to do for this class on Monday that I’ve got.”

“Oh, yeah? Hope your professor hasn’t been killing you with the readings,” he smirks back at you.

“Nah, he hasn’t been killing me but seems like he does really wanna give it to me. Must have some high expectations,” your voice is coated with a lilt of teasing, winking at him as you slip from his arms.

He follows close behind to walk you to the cab, a hand finding your back and dropping down to graze his fingers across your ass.

“Think you’ll have no trouble exceeding those expectations, angel. Plus you could always ask for one-on-one tutoring or some extra credit.” It’s his turn to wink, opening the rear door for you and helping you in.

“Glad I have your confidence, Javi. Here, gimme your phone I’ll give you my number.” You reach out and he fumbles it from his pocket, passing it off to you. The information is quickly entered and saved, handing his device back to him and looking up at him from the seat of the cab.

“I’ll be waiting for a call, Javi. And I’ll see you Monday, Professor Peña.” You give him one last look, giggling as you shut the door and he hits the top of the taxi before you drive away, standing there with an idiotic smile on his face.

Javier grew up religious, his mamá dragging him to church every Sunday. He’s only been back to church at the major holidays he’s been home, leaving behind any spiritual side of him. All the concepts of eternal souls and heaven and hell meant nothing to him.

However, tonight, he felt an inkling to believe that heaven was real, and he had met an angel.

His angel.

tagging those from last time: @northernbluess @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsquill @yazsos @cartoon-garbage04 @sugadolly @ilovepedro @lovers-liability @deathwife @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @tbniarq @vee-bees-blog @spidermanfrog @belliezz @joelsflannel

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bloopinggenius · 8 months

Text

☆𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝☆| Yautja x 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 | M/M/M/M/M x Reader

Chapter 𝐈 | Chapter 𝐈𝐈

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs**ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ,ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴀʙᴜsᴇ,ᴅᴇᴘʀᴇssɪᴏɴ,ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ʀᴀᴄɪᴀʟ sʟᴜʀs

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Love was an emotion that Ryia hadn't experienced. She thought that she had from her friends at school, but from what she gathered on the internet and other people, it wasn't. She hadn't felt that sense of warmth through her body when she thought of her friends and she sure didn't from her parents. Her relationship with them was something she would never pray upon her biggest enemy.

When you think of parents, you think of the people who love you, who would protect you in the most dire of situations, sometimes even lay their life down for you but not for Ryia. At the tender age of four, her drug-addict of a mom had burnt her tiny body with scalding hot water almost every three days. It was a hiding game for Ryia. She would be in hiding until she got hungry then proceed to the kitchen to get something to eat, only to not make it out in time where her, already high, mother would find her and beat her. Her father was an absent father. He left the family when Ryia was 2. Now him and his new family are living the high life. Almost every month, they were travelling. Ryia always wondered if that's the reason why her mom abused her. Maybe her mother wanted to travel the world and live the lavish life. But she also couldn't understand why she was being abused. The urge to know the reason of her miserable lifestyle was greater than anything. Sometimes she thought that she was the reason that her mother's dream was hindered. Ryia learnt to look after herself from then on. She went to school with such eagerness, knowing that one day she'd graduate and leave home.

And she did.

Come gradution day and she had graduated and was off to uni on a scholarship. Heaven knows she worked her ass off to become the doctor she was. Even through this, she still helped her mother when she was diagnosed with lung cancer until she passed. Ryia didn't feel anything for the woman, heck she didn't even prepare a funeral. She simply sent her aunt an email regarding her mother's passing and left them to do the rest.

From then on, Ryia mingled around with people who treated like she was the scum of the earth and even had one of her exes call her racial slurs when the relationship ended.

However Ryia was numb to all her bad luck. She never smiled and rarely laughed. Sometimes, looking at her reflection after taking a warm shower, it looked like she was looking through herself, an empty shell with the remnants of it's contents a ghostly appearance. Even with all the money she had, she wasn't happy.

════ ⋆ ⋆ ════

Her life was like this until 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 day. The day she met 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺.

It was a chilly night, Ryia reading a book in the quiet of her bedroom. She had been reading Romeo and Juliet. The story not really interesting her. She was just trying to get a feel of their love; trying to gauge what it's like to be in love. She wasn't dumb. She knew lovers never fell this fast in love; she simply was trying to understand 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲.

She was so focused in reading her book. So intrigued at the way Shakespeare interpreted love. But nothing could have taken all of her focus to the point that she didn't hear the rumble of an engine outside her house. An engine? Why would there be an engine outside at this time? It was very late into the night, the moonlight stretching itself across her room creating a soft halo around her. She was incredibly startled. Confused and wary, she walked up to window to inspect her backyard. Her chocolate brown eyes scoped the area to find nothing.

Nothing in sight. As she turned to leave, she spotted something. The smallest thing ever, she wasn't even sure she would have seen it, but she did. Under the shadows of the tall trees that surrounded her backyard, she spotted wavy air.

Wavy air. Like the skeptic she is, she blinked, several times but the image never left her sight. She was scared. What could have been going on in her backyard at this time. But with the smallest, ant size of bravery, she decided to go check it out. She hoped that with her knowledge of black people dying first in movies, this wouldn't be that scenario. Walking downstairs was hilarious to her. She didn't crack a smile, no, but she did think that whatever she was doing in that moment was the exact thing the killed the dumbest people in movie.

'But this is real life', she thought. Just to protect herself though, she turned on the living room and kitchen lights. You never know what's lurking in the dark. Ryia walked into the kitchen and opened the cabinet above her stove. She got out a flashlight, the thickest skillet she could find, you know just in case and a large pocket knife. You never know where danger lurks.

After acquiring her items, Ryia cautiously walked out the back door to her backyard. The soft rumbling of the engine had stopped so she turned on the flashlight and walked in the direction that she saw the mysterious 'wavy air'. As she walked closer, flashlight helping with her vision, she noticed the waviness got taller and wider. The more she looked, the more she noticed that something was concealed there but she didn't want to admit it to herself. 'It couldn't be invisible, could it?', her thoughts questioning what she saw. All around her she could her a soft trilling sound. The rapid clicks reminding her of a woodpecker. As she reached out in front of her to feel the mystery object, she felt herself being pushed to the ground at breakneck speed; all her safety objects being thrown out of her hands. Everything was muddled for a second. It took a minute to recover and when she held herself up on her elbows, she looked around frantically. Wondering what the hell was going on, she grabbed the closet thing to her which was her flashlight and searched her backyard.

Ryia got up slowly, sitting on her legs before quickly crawling towards her things so she could return home. Whatever the hell was going on she was leaving it to God and running for her life. After getting back up, she turned towards her house ready to run, only to see the same waviness in front of her. Looking to her left she saw the same one still concealed under the trees. What could possibly be in front of her?

She heard the clicking again only this time it felt like it was two steps in front of her. Her head turned towards the sound slowly and what she saw made her drop her items once again. What was once air, was now something that could only exist in horror movies. In front of her, she saw a massive eight-foot tall humanoid creature. It had a huge crest at the top of it's forehead, two golden deepset eyes, no nose but four crab-like fingers on it's mandible. This creature was fucking huge. It's skin was a chestnut brown with black spotting. It looked like all it ever did was workout it's whole life with it's jacked body. It's taut muscles a canvas with the moonlight enhancing the dips of the muscles on it's torso. It wore silver armor, the most pristine she had ever seen. Nothing seemed off about this alien and she was so close to passing the fuck out.

What she didn't expect was to see four more appear behind the brown one. Each with their own bulky bodies made to perfection. At this point, she knew she was a goner. Each creature was around the same height. At the sight of them, she took a step back. At that moment her life literally flashed before her eyes. It wasn't like her life was special anyway. She knew what she was about to do was stupid but she did it anyway. Or attempted to. She turned on her heels and got two steps away before she was grabbed by her arm and thrown towards the other four. Her body slammed into the floor but it wasn't enough to injure her terribly. Her black curls were a mess around her face and her vision was blurry. She saw the tanned creature walk towards her and that was the last thing she saw.

════ ⋆ ⋆ ════

Ra'kar was the leader of his ship. His ship consisted of himself and four other yautja, all of which are his family. He was nine-hundred and sixty five. Culturally, he was an Elder.

His members were made up of his blood brother, Va'tha and three cousins, T'edqah, Vikap and An'tui. They were currently on a hunt. A forest was their destination but their engine became faulty so they had an emergency stop. Where they wanted to land had looked to be some sort of land near a lake but it happened to belong to a human. They hadn't known that the land was occupied so imagine their surprise when the tiny human emerged from her home in scared curiousity.

Her black locks framed her face and fell down her back in soft curls while she used the light-emitting device to help with her vision. She wasn't small by human standards looking to be atleast 5'11. She was curvy but fit and soft looking. One thing was odd though. Her skin was covered in darker patches and scars howerer that didn't take away from her beauty. Her black skin glowed in the soft glow of the moonlight. She cautiously approached the ship but Vikap being the rebel he is, knocked her to ground. She was frantic for sure, his bio-mask showing her vitals escalating. The five of them jumped down from the trees with such gracefulness, walking towards the fallen human.

Ra'kar was ahead of them, only a few steps away from her and grabbed her before she could escape throwing her towards the others. He didn't mean to throw her hard judging by the way she passed out by their feet. They were all confused at how fragile she was.

An'tui was the youngest and was quiet; very rarely socialising with others. "I think you went a little overboard brother", the burgundy-coloured yautja said.

"What should we do with her?" Va'tha spoke up. The dark green yautja was seven-hundred and forty. Being the brother of an Elder had it's perks as he was a seasoned hunter with many trophies adorning his chamber. He had many strong pups and many more to come with all the females constantly flirting with him. It was uncommon however for pups to be so close like he was with Ra'kar. And he also had a secret; one that could get him outcast. It was wrong and considered unworthy for a yautja to mate or be in a relationship with a human. His hidden desire for humans was buried deep within him years ago but the mere sight of this human had his emotions swirling once again. But he could and would be able to handle his emotions.

"We could just leave her here and continue our journey." Vikap snarled out, glaring at the passed out human.

T'edqah, being the medic that he is, gently picked her up, " Let us take her back to the ship. I must examine her for any injuries as i'm assuming that your intentions were not to hurt her?" With a sigh, Ra'kar agreed and soon after they were on their way.

━━━━━━♡ ♡━━━━━━

Hey guys!!👋 Trying something new. I would really love to make this a series so comment down below and let me know if you guys love this and if I should continue.

Sweet love and Peace✌

#yautja #yautja x reader #yautja x human #yautja x oc #yautja x you #predator #predator x reader #predator x human #predator x you #i love these two #romance #black women #black woman

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firstelevens · 4 months

Note

song 25 + sambucky if you're still taking spotify wrapped prompts ☺️

25. Accidentally In Love by Counting Crows

When Sam’s phone goes off, he’s half asleep on his couch, buried under a small mountain of blankets and too congested to even really hear it that well. He only notices because it’s face-up on the coffee table and the screen catches his eye when it lights up.

He extends a hand out from his blanket nest and picks up the phone, wincing at the bright light of the display.

It takes a second of squinting at the screen, but he finally manages to see that the notification is a text from Foggy: ‘any tips on how to handle your honors lit class? no subs available this morning so Hill has me covering’

‘Try not to show any weakness. They smell fear,’ Sam texts back. Then he adds, ‘There’s a Princess Bride DVD in the cupboard, you can get a key from Bucky.’

Foggy’s reply is predictably annoying: ‘does loverboy still think that you and me are dating? do I need to worry about him sabotaging my teaching in a fit of jealousy?’

Sam glares at the screen of his phone but it doesn’t do much, given that Foggy can’t see him. ‘Just for that you I’m not telling you where I put the Luhrmann Romeo + Juliet. You’ll just have to teach the ninth graders about iambic meter yourself next period.’

Foggy doesn’t get back to him for a while, which isn’t all that surprising. The beginning of the school day is hectic enough for a guidance counselor without having to unexpectedly cover another teacher’s class.

He stumbles to the kitchen to make himself tea, a blanket around his shoulders and his phone in his hand, but Foggy doesn’t reply for another twenty minutes. Sam’s head hurts too much for him to remember how neat the supply cupboard was, but he’s hoping it’s not so bad that Foggy’s just elbows deep in useless stuff.

After giving it another few minutes while he takes his next dose of cold medicine, he sends a text to check whether Foggy found what he was looking for.

The reply is immediate: ‘didn’t end up needing the dvd! I asked Bucky for the key and when he heard you were sick he said he’d handle it.’

‘Doesn’t he teach first period journalism?’

‘You’re sick so I won’t make fun of you for memorizing his schedule,’ Foggy writes, magnanimous as ever. Then: ‘there’s like five journalism students so he said he’d just combine them. said he could take your kids for the rest of the day too.’

Sam feels his jaw drop. Covering just one class is more than enough, but the entire day? When Bucky has almost a full slate of classes to teach, too? His face is suddenly all warm, and he’s at least fifty percent sure it’s not the fever.

His head is getting heavy again, and the screen is starting to hurt his eyes, but he manages to get a text out thanking Bucky for covering for him and assuring him that he can just put on movies for every single class.

He doesn’t have to wait long at all for the reply. ‘You’re welcome, Wilson. Now get some rest and stop worrying about your classes; they’ll be fine.’

Yawning widely, Sam types out a quick reply and takes Bucky’s advice, pulling the covers over his head and quickly falling back asleep.

Not having to field questions for subs or keep an eye on his email for questions from concerned students means that Sam isn’t repeatedly getting up when he’s supposed to be resting, and when he emerges from his blanket cocoon that afternoon, he can stand without getting dizzy for the first time in two days.

He celebrates by dragging himself into the shower, where the steam and the decongestant make it so that he regains his sense of smell, however briefly, and he feels more like a person than he has since Friday.

There’s probably an argument to be made for going back to bed, but Sam has never been great at being still, so he throws in a load of laundry and cleans up a bit while he’s on his feet. He’s about to make dinner, too, but then Sarah gives him a talking-to and makes him promise to order food instead, and Sam understands that she will instinctively know if he crosses her.

Sam already has the app open, scrolling through his options when his doorbell rings. For a second, he thinks that Sarah figured she couldn’t trust him to follow through and just ordered the food herself. Normally, he wouldn’t put it past her, but she’s getting the boat ready for a charter tomorrow, so he can’t imagine that she had the time or the cell service.

A peek through the curtains answers the question, though: there’s a familiar sedan parked in Sam’s driveway, a peeling Rutgers decal on the rear windshield.

“If you’re bringing me work to grade, I’m going to sneeze on you,” he declares, as he opens his front door to find Bucky waiting outside.

“I’m not a monster,” says Bucky, looking mildly offended at the thought. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” says Sam. “I can probably be back in tomorrow.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Or you could take a second sick day and actually get better instead of running yourself down again.”

“We’re supposed to be working on that stupid archival project tomorrow,” says Sam. “If I get another sanctimonious email from John about prioritizing my tasks, I’m gonna have an operatic meltdown in the middle of his classroom.”

“Entertaining as that would be, there’s probably another way,” Bucky says. “I’ll handle Walker for now. You just worry about getting better.”

Sam could probably push back if he really wanted to, but he can’t bring himself to be mad about Bucky looking out for him. “Okay,” he says, and Bucky’s eyebrows go up in surprise.

“Really? It’s that easy?”

“I blame the cold medicine,” says Sam. “I’ll be a pain in the ass again on Wednesday, I promise.”

Bucky smiles. “I look forward to it.”

“Well,” says Sam, after they’ve both been silent for a moment. “Thanks for coming to check on me; I really–”

“Wait!” says Bucky, and Sam stops in his tracks, eyebrows raised in question. “I didn’t just come to ask how you were doing. I, um– I wanted to bring you this, too.”

He holds out what Sam now realizes is a bag from the Thai place near the school.

“I would’ve made you soup myself, but I had to stay late with the yearbook kids, and my Ma would kill me if I half-assed her chicken soup recipe, but I know you like this place, so…”

Sam looks from Bucky to the bag of food and back, his eyes wide. “Thank you,” he says, and he can feel how soft his voice has gone around the edges. He probably should make some kind of joke to restore the natural order of things, but he can’t bring himself to do it. “You didn’t have to, Bucky, seriously.”

“I know,” he says, with a little shrug. “I wanted to.”

“Oh,” is all that Sam can manage to get out. “Okay.”

“It’s cold,” says Bucky, once Sam takes the bag of food out of his hands. “I should let you get back inside.”

He starts down the steps and Sam only belatedly remembers to call out, “I’ll see you on Wednesday!”

“See you then,” says Bucky, turning to face Sam and taking the last few steps to his car backwards. “Oh, and thanks for calling me cute!”

Sam feels his eyebrows lift in surprise. He wracks his brain to go over the last five minutes of conversation, but he comes up empty. “Wait, what?”

But all that Bucky does is hold up his cell phone before opening the door to his car. “Night, Sam!”

Suddenly, Sam remembers sending a text earlier today, clouded by the haze of exhaustion and cold medicine. His eyes go wide.

He didn’t, did he?

It’s only Sam’s dignity that keeps him from sprinting for his phone, staying in the doorway until Bucky’s car pulls away.

The second his headlights disappear, Sam throws the door shut and hurries to where his phone is charging on the kitchen counter. It takes two tries for him to unlock it with his face, and then he’s swiping over to his texts, opening up his conversation with Bucky and reading back the last few messages.

His eyes go wide as he reads his own words back.

‘It’s so cute that you use semicolons in your texts,’ he’d said to Bucky. ‘You know I’m not grading these for punctuation right?’

‘Maybe I just want to impress you,’ Bucky had replied.

And then, because that wasn’t enough, apparently Sam had replied, ‘Maybe you already do.’

He’s pretty sure that he’s never recovering from this, but just to make sure he learns his lesson, he texts a screenshot to Foggy with the message, ‘COLD MEDICINE SAM CANNOT BE TRUSTED!!!’

Foggy just sends him back a bunch of cry laughing emojis in response.

#lest you think this is punctual...this prompt is from LAST YEAR #sambucky #the teachers AU is BACK y'all #zainab does ask meme things #hope this anon is still around. sorry it took literally a year.#my fic #spotify wrapped prompts #sambucky and co teachers au

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simonsapelsin · 10 months

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Young Royals WIPs that own my soul

I am subscribed to too many WIPs. I'm excited about them all, but these are the ones for which, when (if?) that sweet ao3 email hits the inbox, I will embarrassingly squeal and kick my feet and drop whatever I am doing to read. I have read some of these surreptitiously at work or even walking down the street.

Sharing because I am procrastinating on doing something super boring. And I love talking about fanfiction and hyping it up. I am so invested in these Wilmons!!

always on the tip of my tongue by royalwilmon

Friends. A decade ago, they could have been more, but that's not what happened. They remained friends. Best friends.

Benefits. Because having a best friend who knows you inside and out can have its perks.

Everybody Loves You Now by lc2l

International pop sensation Simme has announced on Instagram that he will be celebrating the end of his sold out world tour with five consecutive shows in Stockholm starting TONIGHT and running through the week. This will be his first extended stay in Sweden in four years, since he graduated from high school and flew to L.A. to sign a record deal. And what is Wilhelm supposed to do with that.

Get in loser, we're going camping by piebingo

In which Simon and Wille go camping together, except they don’t know a thing about camping and Wille is madly in love with his best friend. Plunge into Wille’s world as he understands his changing feelings for his best friend and watch him decide (and struggle) to do something about it.

In Another Life by embracedthevoid

Wilhelm never returned to Hillerska after winter break, and he has spent his entire life regretting it. Nearly a decade later, he runs into Simon. He had hoped he'd successfully moved on from his feelings after all these years, but clearly, he was wrong. The two spend a passionate night together, expecting it to be their last. That is until it happens a second time when the two come arrangement that suits both their needs. Friends with benefits? No, they'd have to actually be friends for that to be the case.

obviously by grapehyasynth

In their final year of secondary school, Simon and Wille find themselves entering a potent, secret relationship that threatens to upend both their lives. It can't last, but neither can they stop being a part of each other's lives. Over the next few years, even as everything around them changes, even as they hurt and lose each other, they keep finding themselves drawn together. Normal People AU.

Simon + Wilhelm by Kingadrianos

After a significant loss in the Eriksson gang, Simon is sent out to find the one responsible for the death of his uncle: His sworn enemy, the second heir to the Royal smuggling empire (and the Eriksson family's business rivals), Wilhelm Royal. Problem is, they already happen to know each other better than everyone else thinks… A modern Romeo and Juliet AU.

#young royals fanfic #yr fic #yr fanfic #young royals fic #young royals

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shakespearenews · 1 month

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One day, during that time, a mother of one of my students sent me an email. The subject line, in all caps, read, “I CAN HEAR EVERYTHING AND I DON’T LIKE IT.”

We were discussing Romeo and Juliet. Her email quoted things students had shared about whether they believe in love at first sight and if they think that love lasts forever. It was the liveliest discussion they’d had all year. With everyone stuck at home—and given the increased mental health concerns during the pandemic—I was glad my students were eager to talk about relationships and human connections in the cyber world we’d created together. I never fully understood why the parent didn’t “like” what she heard. It didn’t matter. Our classroom wasn’t for her.

#shakespeare #william shakespeare #phones #teaching #education #zoom #zoom school #school #romeo and juliet #parents #parenting #teachers #slate

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fashionbooksmilano · 1 year

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Roberto Bolle An Athlete in Tights

by Bruce Weber

teNeues, Kempen 2009, 192 pages, 127 duotone and 24 color illustrations,23,5 x 30 cm, ISBN 978-3-8327-9196-4, Out of Print book

euro 210,00

email if you want to buy [email protected]

“Roberto Bolle: An Athlete In Tights” celebrates Bruce’s three-year collaboration with the Italian ballet sensation.

Roberto Bolle was born in Casale Monferrato, Italy. At a young age, he entered the Theatre La Scala ballet school. Rudolf Nureyev was the first to notice his talent and chose Roberto to interpret Tadzio in the ballet “Death in Venice.” In 1996, at the end of a Romeo and Juliet performance and just 2 years after he joined the Theatre Company, Roberto was promoted to principal by Elisabetta Terabust who was at that time the Director of the Corp de Ballet. Since then he has starred in many contemporary and classical ballets and he has been invited as a guest artist to work with the most prestigious ballet companies in the world. In recent years, his international acclaim has only grown. Roberto is now the first male Italian ballet dancer to join the American Ballet Theatre as a principal.

In this monograph, Bruce Weber captures the spectacular convergence of artistry and physicality in this dance phenomenon, the grace and beauty that have captivated Roberto’s audiences around the world.

The book is largely pictorial in nature, with original photography and writing by Bruce Weber, original writing by Roberto Bolle, text by D.H. Lawrence, Pier Paolo Pasolini, and illustrations by Paul Cadmus and Jeremiah Goodman.

orders to: [email protected]

twitter: @fashionbooksmi

flickr: fashionbooksmilano

instagram: fashionbooksmilano

tumblr: fashionbooksmilano

10/02/23

#Bruce Weber #Roberto Bolle #athlete in tights #photography books #rare books #ballet dancer #dance phenomenon #fashionbooksmilano

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klbwriting · 2 months

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Not Romeo, Not Juliet

Chapter 12: Merely Players

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: the aftermath of the kidnapping and the start of competition day

Notes: one more chapter after this! Then there will be a sequel! I'm trying to think of a musical theater related title for it so if anyone has ideas let me know, I am stumped

Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch @amberpanda99

All the world's a stage, / And all the men and women merely players

— AS YOU LIKE IT, ACT 2 SCENE 7

Jason knew he couldn’t prove that one of the other seniors sent out the video of him and YN’s conversation, how did he know this? Because for the two weeks between YN’s kidnapping and the Shakespeare competition he tried. Dick had Barbara do a deep dive, but the video was posted to a social media site using a burner phone, a fake email address, and the phone was already destroyed. Even the IP address it came from was some random café where they conveniently didn’t have any security footage from the time that the video was posted. It was infuriating, but it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t still confront them over what happened.

After rehearsal the Thursday before the competition Jason walked over to them before they could run out like they had been. They looked at him, then at each other, then at him again. He didn’t say anything, letting the awkward silence string along, hoping one of them would break. Jackson folded first.

“How is YN?” he asked softly, an almost guilty look on his face. Jason folded his arms.

“She’s healing,” he answered. The silence drew out again and he let it, eyes moving from one of them to the next, trying to bare their souls with his currently green gaze.

“Are you sure she was actually even kidnapped? She was gone for like a night, what if she was just being dramatic? Or out with another guy?” Chelsea said. Jason’s glare shut her up, the other guys taking a step back. He took a deep breath and forced his fists to unclench.

“I got the phone call from her, I saw her face after the cops brought her home, she was not being dramatic,” he said, voice calm but they seemed to sense the danger in it.

“Well, whoever posted that video was right to do it, we should be aware of the kinds of people who are trying to win the competition,” Jackson said. “And the kinds of people who are trying to break into our society.”

“And what kind of people are you referring to?” Jason asked, gritting his teeth a little now. Jackson clearly wanted to be the tough guy right now. He glanced to where Sydney was watching the interaction, and he puffed his chest out some.

“Those from certain places, who don’t know how to act, those who don’t know how to belong,” he said. Jason nodded.

“So, someone like me?” Jason asked. Jackson shook his head.

“No, you were a Wayne, you are a part of our world, YN is not, she’s trying but she was never meant to be going to a place like Gotham Academy,” he said.

“You know I was born in Crime Alley, right? My dad was a degenerate gambler, my mother a drug addict. The only reason Bruce Wayne adopted me was because I tried to steal his tires and he took pity on me when I told him my sob story,” Jason said. This part of his history was always hidden from the public. Bruce had fed out that he was the son of some European friends of Bruce’s who had died in a private plane crash.

“Well, either way, you aren’t an embarrassment like she is,” Chelsea said. Now that they knew who his adoptive father really was they were trying to stay in his good graces like the lap dogs they were. It was disgusting. “Not only that she gossips about others and gets their opportunities taken from them because she’s jealous.”

“Are you talking about that stupid competition last year? Where the actress from here was sleeping with a judge to win and she just, told the truth?” Jason asked. Chelsea glared.

“She should keep her mouth shut,” she retorted.

“I have to pretend to be in love with you in two days and you are making that very difficult right now with your fucked up world view,” he said. Sydney walked over then, standing with Jason.

“YN is really nice you know, and she at least doesn’t seem the type who’s going to peak in high school like some people, don’t you think Jason?” she asked, turning to him. He chuckled a little as the three others wrinkled their noses in annoyance. Of all people to gang up on them the children of Wayne Enterprises and Arkham fame were not the ones you wanted. Even if Jason was pretty much disowned, not like Bruce didn’t know about him by now, he was still powerful in the eyes of the city.

“Maybe people should be nicer to her, if they want others to be nice to them,” he said, still staring at the three of them. They gathered their things, heading out together, heads close as they talked.

“They are seriously such a pain in the ass,” Sydney said. Jason nodded and turned to her. “Do you have any holiday break plans?”

“No, probably just staying home and recovering from this Shakespeare thing,” he said. She nodded.

“Maybe we could hang out,” she offered. “My family is going to Europe, and I’m really not interested this year.” Jason nodded slowly before shrugging.

“Maybe, but I’ll probably hang out a lot with YN, so we’ll see,” he answered. Sydney nodded and waved bye before heading out. Jason grabbed his things, heading home, glad he at least seemed to make a friend while he was at this school. Even if she was part of the Arkham family. Maybe she could get him in to see Joker sometime. His therapist would love that, reopening the traumatic wound of his death and all, but he couldn’t lie, taking a crowbar to the clown sounded really fun.

Saturday morning Jason woke up to a text from YN that just said, ‘you die today Hamlet’ to which he replied ‘so do you’ and he received ‘date night in hell?’ he answered ‘see you there’. He was still smiling as he sat at the table for what Dick promised to be a good breakfast. He plopped donuts from the shop down the street in front of Jason.

“Well, this is better than your cooking,” Jason said. Dick sighed.

“At least you’re in a good mood today,” he said. It had taken Jason over a week to even smile again after the incident with Falcone. Dick was pretty sure he knew what happened in that warehouse but neither Jason nor his doctor were telling him about it, so he just had to guess. He was conflicted about confronting Jason about the deaths, wanting him to feel comfortable talking to his brother, but maybe him reacting the way he did to YN had ruined his trust.

“Ya, I’m good today, gotta be good for the competition, you excited? Today you get to witness my death, although it is significantly less bloody than the first time,” Jason joked, and Dick couldn’t help but laugh. Jason fell quiet after a minute, picking up a chocolate donut that had the Batman symbol on it.

“Sorry about that one, it’s a special they’re running, goes in every box,” Dick said, hoping this didn’t sour Jason’s mood. Jason bit into it, chewing and swallowing.

“Did he ask about me?” he asked. Bruce had to know about him being back, probably also figured out Dick was lying about not knowing who Red Hood was. Did he care? Did he want to see Jason again? “No, he hasn’t asked,” Dick said softly. “I think he’s waiting for you to talk to him.”

“Of course, because I’m the parent, I’m the one who should be mending the relationship,” Jason muttered, tearing the donut in half.

“Why don’t you go get dressed? Maybe call YN, she seems to make everything better,” Dick suggested, standing to go get himself ready for the competition. Jason headed up to the loft, calling YN like Dick suggested.

“Hey Jay, can I talk to you after the competition?” she said as soon as she answered. Jason furrowed his brow.

“Ya, sure, is everything ok?” he asked, noticing she seemed out of breath.

“Yes, we just got word about something for my mom, its not bad, but we’re talking it through while I’m getting ready. I promise I’ll tell you about it after the competition,” she said.

“Ya, sure, I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, go actually break a leg, ok? I really want to win,” she said, making him laugh before hanging up. He sighed, getting into the bare bones of his costume. He would finish getting ready there. His mind wandered to what had happened for YN and her mother, he hoped that something good was happening, they all needed something good right now.

#jasontodd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #redhood #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #notromeo

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