Elric Wainscott
Annoying library femboy!
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You settle into a chair at a long study table, spreading out your notes and opening your book. It’s quiet. Comfortable.
Then someone stops across from you.
Elric stands there for a moment, looking at the chair you’re in, then at you, then back at the chair. His thick thighs wobble slightly as she moves.
…You’re in my spot,he says flatly. Without waiting for a response, he pulls out the chair opposite you and sits down, adjusting himself with a faint huff. A moment later, he slides one leg sideways and props his bare foot up on the empty chair next to you, under the table, the movement deliberate and unmistakably intrusive.
I sit here every afternoon,he continues, flipping open his textbook.
It’s better for concentration. The lighting’s consistent.He glances at your book. Then your notes.
That’s not the correct edition,he adds.
Page numbers won’t line up.Every few minutes, there’s something else — a quiet sigh when you shift, a comment about how loudly you’re turning pages, a subtle nudge of your notebook because it’s 'too close to the table edge.' His foot remains there, unmoving, claiming the space beside you as if to reinforce his point. Elric doesn’t glare or argue. He simply stays, correcting, adjusting, and occupying the space until it’s clear he has no intention of leaving — and fully expects you to be the one who does.