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Title: Inappropriate
Fandom: Easy A
Author:![[info]](https://redbrunja.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=88.3)
redbrunja
Rating: R
Warning: Sexual content, teacher/student
Characters: Olive/Mr Griffith
Author's Note: pornathon fill.
Summary: "Eleven days before the end of the school year, Mr. Griffith visited the personal home of his favorite student, a wrapped book tucked in the crook of his elbow."
Eleven days before the end of the school year, Mr. Griffith visited the personal home of his favorite student, a wrapped book tucked in the crook of his elbow. By just about any measure, his actions were inappropriate; however, given Olive Penderghast's Hawthorne-inspired phase, his wife's indiscretions, and their subsequent divorce, he felt like he was due a bit of misbehavior.
He knocked.
"Were you unable to bear my absence for– oh," Olive said when she saw it was him. "I'm sorry, I thought you were - the 'rents just left and –" her mouth made an adorably awkward moue. "Hello, Mr. Griffith. What brings you to this lovely establishment? Won't you come in?" She gestured towards the rest of the house like Vanna White.
"If this isn't a bad time," Mr. Griffith said, already following her inside.
Olive lead him into the living room, babbling about a family excursion to a farmer's market and how she's opposed to any activity where it would be possible to run into Rhiannon's parents, "especially after that whole non-fair-trade chocolate cabbage fiasco but on general principles as well."
He smiled at her, wider than the (admittedly, quite humorous) story deserved. This was the old Olive, the one from before the rumors, the one who spoke up in his class. More often than not, she had been the best part of his day and while getting a chance to set the record straight had done wonders for (he had observed) both her fashion sense and her overall well-being, Olive was still a silent and guilt-stricken presence in the last row of his classroom.
"Well, think of this as a reward for your skills at evasion," he said, handing her the gift.
She settled herself on the couch and hummed a little as she opened it, ripping the paper.
"Kafka’s Metamorphosis," she said considering. "No offense, but I really hope this remains irrelevant to my life."
He chuckled. "No, it's relevant to mine," he said, sitting down next to her. "I've been rereading it a lot over the last couple of months and realized I wanted to hear what you thought. You're been reticent lately. One might even say humbly silent."
"Yeah, that's what I'm know for," Olive agreed, turning the book over in her hands, inspecting the cracked spine. "My stoicism." She opened the front cover, ran a finger over where he'd written his name in blue ink years ago, when he first purchased it.
"I'm sorry I destroyed your marriage," Olive said, miserable.
"Olive," Mr. Griffiths said seriously, "You are capable of a great many things but wrecking my marriage isn't one of them. It was broken long before you started wearing inappropriate couture to school."
She laughed but added, seriously, "but I wasn't as sorry about your divorce as I shouldn't have been."
"Neither was I," he admitted. He leaned forward, intending– something inappropriate but not as severely as what transpired, which was – she turned her head towards him and he kissed the corner of her mouth, then kissed her fully, and when she made a startled sound and then wrapped her arms around his neck, he leaned her back against the arm of the couch and kissed her deeply, stroking her tongue with his, kissed her with eagerness and enthusiasm and affection, as if this wasn't unprofessional and inappropriate and illegal.
Fandom: Easy A
Author:
redbrunjaRating: R
Warning: Sexual content, teacher/student
Characters: Olive/Mr Griffith
Author's Note: pornathon fill.
Summary: "Eleven days before the end of the school year, Mr. Griffith visited the personal home of his favorite student, a wrapped book tucked in the crook of his elbow."
Eleven days before the end of the school year, Mr. Griffith visited the personal home of his favorite student, a wrapped book tucked in the crook of his elbow. By just about any measure, his actions were inappropriate; however, given Olive Penderghast's Hawthorne-inspired phase, his wife's indiscretions, and their subsequent divorce, he felt like he was due a bit of misbehavior.
He knocked.
"Were you unable to bear my absence for– oh," Olive said when she saw it was him. "I'm sorry, I thought you were - the 'rents just left and –" her mouth made an adorably awkward moue. "Hello, Mr. Griffith. What brings you to this lovely establishment? Won't you come in?" She gestured towards the rest of the house like Vanna White.
"If this isn't a bad time," Mr. Griffith said, already following her inside.
Olive lead him into the living room, babbling about a family excursion to a farmer's market and how she's opposed to any activity where it would be possible to run into Rhiannon's parents, "especially after that whole non-fair-trade chocolate cabbage fiasco but on general principles as well."
He smiled at her, wider than the (admittedly, quite humorous) story deserved. This was the old Olive, the one from before the rumors, the one who spoke up in his class. More often than not, she had been the best part of his day and while getting a chance to set the record straight had done wonders for (he had observed) both her fashion sense and her overall well-being, Olive was still a silent and guilt-stricken presence in the last row of his classroom.
"Well, think of this as a reward for your skills at evasion," he said, handing her the gift.
She settled herself on the couch and hummed a little as she opened it, ripping the paper.
"Kafka’s Metamorphosis," she said considering. "No offense, but I really hope this remains irrelevant to my life."
He chuckled. "No, it's relevant to mine," he said, sitting down next to her. "I've been rereading it a lot over the last couple of months and realized I wanted to hear what you thought. You're been reticent lately. One might even say humbly silent."
"Yeah, that's what I'm know for," Olive agreed, turning the book over in her hands, inspecting the cracked spine. "My stoicism." She opened the front cover, ran a finger over where he'd written his name in blue ink years ago, when he first purchased it.
"I'm sorry I destroyed your marriage," Olive said, miserable.
"Olive," Mr. Griffiths said seriously, "You are capable of a great many things but wrecking my marriage isn't one of them. It was broken long before you started wearing inappropriate couture to school."
She laughed but added, seriously, "but I wasn't as sorry about your divorce as I shouldn't have been."
"Neither was I," he admitted. He leaned forward, intending– something inappropriate but not as severely as what transpired, which was – she turned her head towards him and he kissed the corner of her mouth, then kissed her fully, and when she made a startled sound and then wrapped her arms around his neck, he leaned her back against the arm of the couch and kissed her deeply, stroking her tongue with his, kissed her with eagerness and enthusiasm and affection, as if this wasn't unprofessional and inappropriate and illegal.