Impractical Jokers: [Joker]xReader Collection

Joe x Reader - Have a Little Faith

[PROFESSOR X STUDENT!]

   Maybe you'd flown off of the handle because, deep down, you knew she'd been right.

You had known the second she'd looked at you and smiled her sarcastic smile that you were going to fight her. She just had a face that asked for it, a personality that was the equivalent of nails scraping against a blackboard, a way about her that made you see red - and as she'd approached and made some off-handed remark about how you were 'probably top of your classes because you were fucking your teachers' and that in reality you were 'a dumb shit', you had politely put your books and bag on the table before reaching forwards and slapping her in the face.

Perhaps some would have seen it as you having an unreasonably short fuse. You? You saw it as a means of defending against blatant disrespect, something you've never accepted since you were young. When the student rights herself, palm pressed to her cheek before she brings her own back and moves to hit you in return, you flip into fight mode and shove her backwards before she has the chance to go through with it.

Expletives are exchanged, grueling curses and hissed threats, and an abundance of students are beginning to gather around the edges of the study hall as they lay witness to you taking her haphazardly to the ground, a bunch of choice words flying past your lips.

You don't really remember what happens next. All you remember is arms locking around your own and hurling you backwards, hair flying and arms scrabbling at your captor; and not necessarily to get back at her but becauseGod knows who the hell is holding you.

Cooling off is the tough part, all heaved breaths and outraged retellings of words she'd said to you; how she'd humiliated you in front of your classmates by making you fight her in front of them; how she'd talked shit about all the hard work you'd put in (and, as a mental note, that your relations with Professor Gatto had nothing to do with it). And then you're left to your own devices, thumbs twiddling, palms sliding against one another as you sit in an all too familiar office.

The door clicks open, then closed and eyes look up to find a rather displeasedProfessor leaning against the door. Silence, and a heavy one at that, all choked-back confessions and pleas for understanding.

"...didn't take you for a rough-houser," he finally says and the comment is so off-handed that you find yourself snorting at it, moving to perch on the desk. So long you've been comfortable with him, sometimes you forget who's really in charge. "[Y/N]."

Smile fades and you feel yourself shrinking back as he closes in and hisses: "What the hell were you thinkin'?"

For a moment, you gape uselessly. "She was– you're kidding, right?"

"You can't attack other students regardless of the things they're sayin'– you could get into a lot of trouble for this!" He's not so much angry at you (though that much is a factor of it because since when have you been so stupid?) but the fact that you'd snapped so easily. He's known you for your agreeable nature, your warm temperament; yes, you're sassy and intense when it suits you but they were things he'd come to adore given that they made him laugh. The image of you fighting people... it gives him an unpleasant flashback to his younger days when he'd spend his time evading bullies and doing everything to not get hit. "I don't wanna see you go down for somethin' because someone said somethin' you didn't like."

"Somethin' I didn't– fuck you. She said I was only doing well because I was fucking my teachers!"

He pulls back, lips pursed. The threshold between student and teacher and a pair of lovers has become such a blurred line he hardly understands where he is when you come into conflict; particularly when it's in university days. You catch on to his expression, shake your head slowly.

"Oh my God, she's right, isn't she? You're going easy on me–"

You're interrupted by his hands slamming either side of you on the desk, a finger raising to point at you with the intention of reprimanding you. "Stop. If anythin' I'm tougher on you. I know ya can do well, I don't want ya bullshittin' my course."

Sitting there silently, you take note of his heated gaze. Sometimes you neglect to remember that Professor Gatto is just that: a Professor. And passion for his subject, for the class he's taught for a few years now, overrides any opportunity for squandered marks in a test. Joe senses the apology in your gaze before you even speak, leans in closer and breathes in your ear:

"I'm gonna have to put ya on report or some shit. You'll be seein' me more often."

The teacher is trying desperately not to smirk for he's still pissed but when you tilt your head enough to catch his earlobe between your teeth he weakens.

"Maybe that was my intention."

"Don't push it, [Y/N]. You're already in trouble."

Gatto sighs, pulls back slightly, though his palms still enclose you between his body and the desk. As if he's thinking. contemplating, ruminating, all he does is stare... before he sighs again, shakes his head and lets a small little smile shape his lips.

"And have a little faith, all right? You'd do well regardless of whether you were fuckin' your teachers - and by that I mean me, and it better just be me - or not."