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unsolvedjarin · 7 months

Note

I was going through a Charles video that mentioned him blacking out in the car at some point. Since I’m a sucker for angst, I was wondering what it would be like for mentor!Seb if it were the reader in that situation instead. Perhaps the season before the one he retires? And maybe we could see more of the reader’s friendship with Charles? Only if you feel inspired by it, of course.

Either way, thank you for sharing your fics with us. They are my favorites and I’m really grateful for having found your blog.

gif by luchitohamilton

EVERY UNIVERSE.

pairing: (mentor! sebastian vettel x ferrari driver! reader) (charles leclerc x teammate! reader)

summary: qatar is a difficult, hot, and taxing track. that along with you having food poisoning, well…that might not end too well for you. thankfully you can always rely on sebastian and charles to be there for you.

word count: 4k

note: can you guys tell i took inspo from mark webber throwing up in his car and the qatar race this year? it was so sad to watch everyone seem so tired especially lance and logan. anyways, the plot kinda got away from me at the end, i do apologize but the seb feels were too intense 😵‍💫

content warning: car crash, mentions of throwing up, inaccurate depictions of food poisoning

part of this series but can be read without!

“Ready?”

A familiar voice makes you turn around from your pre-race preparations. “Depends on what your definition of ready is.”

Charles smiles, “I know it’s our first race in Qatar but c’mon, it isn’t that bad.”

“Isn’t that bad? I might melt in the car! Doesn’t help that I almost missed this one because of food poisoning.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget that,” he teases. He couldn’t forget it, because you’d been complaining about it endlessly for the past three days. You had food poisoning because Mark Webber invited you to lunch on Thursday, and accidentally gave you something dodgy. You’ve yet to forgive the man. “Well at least you’re starting from P4. Lets you fight for P1, no?”

“Against Lewis and Charles? Please. In my dreams, maybe. Plus, you’re starting P3, asshole.” You retort, turning back around to put your balaclava on. The second it’s on your head, though, it gets pulled off, and you look behind you for the perpetrator. “Charles give it b– SEBASTIAN!”

The Aston Martin driver gives you a grin before hugging you tightly, lifting you off the ground a bit. You didn’t expect to see him before the race, but the surprise was definitely welcome.

“Oh but if it was me I would have gotten scolded,” Charles mutters, but his complaints were left unheard.

“Just came to wish you luck before the race starts. P4! You’re going to get a podium, I’m sure of it,” Sebastian beams, letting you go from the hug.

“That’s what Charles said too. He was more delusionally optimistic, though. Said I was gonna win.”

“Because I believe in you! Is that so bad?” Charles complains from the side, his comment ignored once again.

“Well maybe Charles is right— you could win. Meanwhile I’m starting in the midfield, again.” Sebastian complains, groaning a little bit.

“Oh cheer up Seb, you survived Ferrari for 6 years, you’ll live.”

He lights up a bit at your joke, moving to say something before an Aston Martin mechanic shows up outside the Ferrari garage. He wasn’t allowed inside, but it was obvious he was looking for Sebastian– who also wasn’t allowed inside, yet mysteriously got in. Nothing to do with him being friends with your mechanics of course, yeah, totally not.

“Ah shoot, well it looks like they’re looking for me,” Sebastian sighs. He starts to walk away before he pauses and moves back towards you, “Hey, stay safe, okay? New track, it’s dangerous. I know we’ve done practice and quali but you can never be too careful. Plus, it’s sweltering hot. Hydrate.”

You roll your eyes fondly, “Yes, dad.”

His face scrunches up a little, “Don’t ever call me that again, I’m not that old.”

“You could barely work my Instagram the other day! All I asked was for you to open Lewis’ stories!”

“Psh, whatever. I have to go, see you after the race, yeah?” He asks, giving your arm a quick squeeze. You nod, murmuring a goodbye to him. He wishes Charles good luck too, before saving his engineer from the Ferrari mechanics blocking him.

“So he can pull your balaclava off– which you hate, by the way, let me remind you– but if I even try adjusting your helmet straps so it’s safer you slap me off?” Charles speaks up, making you break eye contact from the Ferrari garage doors.

You roll your eyes at him with a smile, “You have got to forget that. It was one time. And it was a soft slap to the shoulder!”

“The point still stands,” he retorts, making you give up on the conversation.

“Whatever, Charlie. Just get ready for the race. Stay safe, okay?” you say, putting your balaclava on again. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving, a sign of good luck between the two of you. It makes you smile a little before you hop into your car.

Okay. Qatar. New track, new conditions, but still the same old you. You could do this.

The lights go off one by one, and you grip the steering wheel with anticipation like you always did. Race starts still made you nervous no matter how long you’d been racing. One light goes off…then the next…then the third…the fourth one follows…and then…

“AND IT’S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!”

The first few laps were a breeze, maintaining your position in fourth despite Fernando being on your tail the whole time. You noticed the car was slightly hotter than usual, but decided to ignore it and chalk it up to new changes in the engine.

Around lap 25 you started to feel a bit dizzy and sick during the sharp corners, cursing yourself internally for having such bad timing with the food poisoning. “Charles is 0.200 seconds ahead, feel free to overtake,” your engineer buzzes through the radio.

“Copy,” you reply, not really paying attention, still feeling sick. You overtake Charles with ease around the outside, him not putting up much of a fight because it would have taken both of you out. Now you just had to maintain this position for…dear god, 32 laps.

“Lewis 5 seconds ahead, focus on tire degradation instead.” Your engineer’s warning goes unheard, though, as you noticed the cockpit was getting way too fucking hot.

“The car’s burning up,” you say into your radio, getting only a simple “Copy, we are checking,” back.

“Okay, Y/N there are no problems with your engines, I repeat; no problem.”

What? That’s impossible. You felt like you were melting in there. “Are you sure? Can you ask Charles if his car feels like the sun too?”

“Negative, focus on the race.”

Oh you were going to kill them one day– if they don’t kill you first. A few more laps passed in those horrible conditions before turn 5 rolled around and as you swerved your car, you started to see black spots around your vision.

That can’t be good, you think, having to close your eyes for a second before shaking your head and snapping yourself back into the race. Thankfully Charles had pitted earlier and had a 3 second gap to you. “I don’t feel too well.”

“Copy. Is it the car?”

“Well it’s definitely part of the problem.”

The next few turns were torture, your head bobbing around as you faded in and out of consciousness through the fast corners. Charles was catching up now, and you knew if you didn’t do something soon, he would pass you.

You wanted this podium. You needed it. If you got P3 you would grab P4 on driver standings.

There was a slow corner coming up that was a good overtaking spot, and so you had to defend.

As the turn came around– faster than you expected– the extreme heat of the car, your headache, sweat, food poisoning, and dizziness came together and you suddenly felt light, as if you were flying, before a jolt knocked you out of your consciousness completely.

You were out for less than a minute, but that minute counted for everything. You completely turned into Charles, him having to swerve onto the gravel just so you wouldn’t crash into each other. Your car, however, still had more speed in it, and you were headed towards the wall on the very far side of the gravel.

Thankfully, the rough rocks had shook you awake enough that you were able to swerve away from the wall extremely last minute and only take the tail and back wheel of your car out.

The next few seconds were a blur.

You still felt faint, but could hear a muffled voice headed towards you. You knew the back of your car was completely ruined and you were out of the race, and you put your helmet in your hands in disappointment. You were having such a good run before this happened. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The muffled voice running towards you was closer now, and you registered it to be Charles. He was saying something but you could barely hear him with how your ears were ringing and how the seat of the car was still hot.

The man quickly realized you weren’t hearing him, and opted to come closer and lift your visor up. “Smoke. Car. Get out!”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You pushed yourself up but barely, Charles having to lift you up by your shoulders. Once out of the car you completely collapsed on the floor, only having your teammate catch you.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” you say drowsily, still fighting the urge to pass out.

“Safety car is coming, stay with me now,” he replies, tapping your helmet so you stay awake. You were grateful your friend was there with you.

On track, however, Sebastian had just been informed of what went down. “What the fuck? What happened?”

“L/N completely turned into Leclerc. Driver error, push on for P9.”

Sebastian hated how his engineer sounded like a robot reporting a technical statistic. He saw the aftermath of the accident for a split second, and it didn’t look like your car was in good shape. He worries about what shape you were in. “Are they okay?”

“Safety car is coming out for L/N and to crane the car, but other than that they seem fine.”

“Injuries?”

“Please focus on the race, Sebastian.”

“INJURIES!” he shouts into his radio, annoyed. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the race until he knew you were alright.

“Uh…L/N seems to be out of it and on the floor, but they’re okay. They’ll be fine, Seb.” His engineer adds the last statement to reassure the man. He knew you meant a lot to him. Seb nods to himself in the car, carrying on with the race. The faster this finished the faster he could get to you.

The safety car came out and they all slowed down, Sebastian finally being able to take a second long look at the accident. Your car was still there, the smoke coming out of it being extinguished by a personnel. Sebastian thinks he ought to have a word with the Ferrari mechanics after the race. He then notices you, on your knees in the gravel, only being kept up by a driver he can only assume to be Charles. Sebastian thinks that should be him there supporting you, but at the same time he’s glad he wasn’t the one who you nearly crashed into. He couldn’t have it on his consciousness that he could have hit you.

“‘m sorry for ruining your race,” you mumble, still being held up by Charles. The man shakes his head, “It was ruined before that, don’t worry. My engine was acting up.”

You knew he was lying to make you feel better, his engine was completely fine. He was headed for the podium earlier, his first in a while. And you completely botched his chance to get it. The thought makes you sob a little, along with the fact that you ruined your own race.

Crying wasn’t the greatest thing to do, though, as it only made you more lightheaded. Charles notices this and takes your helmet off for you, despite your protests pre-race. You were grateful that he did, though, as the second he took your helmet and balaclava off you felt like you had a breath of fresh air for the first time.

“Better?”

You nod, unable to speak. You still felt dizzy and sick. Charles felt annoyed that the safety personnel were taking so long to get to you, waving them over to walk quicker. Squinting your eyes a little, you find them with some health personnels, and you sink a little lower into the gravel.

“God not again,” you groan, remembering the events that unfolded back in Spa. You did not need to go to the medical tent. As you attempt to get up, however, you fall back down as your vision blurred. Looks like medical tent it is again.

The rest of the race went particularly well. Lewis won the race and Fernando got his first podium since 2014– which you reminded yourself to congratulate him for once you were out of the medical tent– and Seb ended up P9, a position higher than where he started. That would usually be a mediocre result but with his shitty car, you were pretty impressed.

“Water?” A familiar voice makes you look away from the TV screen in the room. Charles sat beside your bed, holding a plastic bottle of water. You nod and take it from him, chugging the cool liquid down.

“Sorry again for ruining your race,” you say as you finish drinking. Charles shakes his head, “Stop apologizing. You passed out, that was no fault of yours.”

“You passed out!?” A loud concerned voice makes both of you snap your head towards the door of the room. Sebastian stood there, still in his race suit like the both of you, a shocked look on his face.

“Is that what happened? You passed out mid race?” He asks again, but this time softer. He walks towards your medical bed– which you insisted you didn’t need– before putting his hand on your forehead to check if you had a fever. The action makes you giggle, but Sebastian had a serious look that shut you up quickly.

He shakes his head with a sigh, “You have a bit of a fever.”

“Any other fun observations?”

Sebastian didn’t seem to be in the mood for your wit, though. “You could have been injured. Just a few meters and you could have fully hit the wall. If you were just a few seconds late waking up you would have–”

He shuts his eyes and stops himself. He didn’t want to think about what could have happened anymore. His voice got wobbly during the end of his statement, making you realize that he was stopping himself from crying. You absentmindedly sit up and reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“I’m here, Seb. And I’m fine. Look at me.”

The older driver does, slowly opening his eyes. You squeeze his hand a second time, a soft smile on your lips. “I’m here. And look, I’m completely fine. You’re not getting rid of me that quickly old man.”

Seb lets out a chuckle at that, moving to hug you tightly.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he mumbles into your hair. “Why did you even pass out?”

“I was already a little dizzy before getting in the car because of the heat but I tried ignoring it. The car was overheating too and it made me dehydrated, I think. My drink pouch wasn’t a lot of help either when the water was steaming hot. Plus…” you trail off, not really wanting to talk ill of Webber.

“Mark gave her food poisoning when he took her to lunch,” Charles butted in, making you give him a look. You forgot he was in the room.

“Mark? As in Webber?” Sebastian asks, Charles nodding in response. “The bastard.”

“Oh c’mon Seb, he just wanted to treat me to lunch. It’s not like he poisoned my food on purpose.”

Seb sighs deeply before agreeing, “You’re right. Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know.”

“I get it. I mean, this is my second time at the medical tent in three months. Makes you think how accident prone I am,” you joke. Sebastian laughs, and you’re glad you got the worried look in his face away.

“The one in Spa was completely your fault, but we may have to pin this one on Mark,” Seb teases. You shoot him a grin, “Yeah, we can say that.”

Before you could talk more, though, a PR person from both Ferrari and Aston Martin came in to fetch Charles and Sebastian.

“What about me?” you ask, getting up from your bed. It wasn’t like you were injured or anything, you were just a little sick and had a bit of a stomach ache. You’d already thrown up earlier, so you felt pretty normal now.

“Sorry, we have orders to keep you here.”

You scoff, “Please. What can they do if I walk out?”

Before the Ferrari PR agent could reply, though, you were already out the room. She stands there helpless, making Sebastian and Charles chuckle to each other before following you. You were always stubborn when you wanted to be.

The second you’re out of the medical tent, camera flashes overwhelm your eyes. You walk past them as you always do, but the contrast of the light to the night sky makes you a bit lightheaded again, having to hold Sebastian’s arm for support. He moves your hand from his arm to his own hand, interlocking it with yours and pull you through the crowd. There were no words needed to be said, he always knew what you needed. You’re starting to think he can read minds.

Once past the annoying lot of cameras, you make it to the media pen where at least they pestered you in a more civil way. The interviewers were all over you and Charles, looking for some inside scoop on ‘Ferrari drama.’ Turns out, the media thought you tried to purposely take Charles out a la brocedes style. Because of this you had to clarify to every person you talked to that, “No, I did not try to take Charles out on purpose. I passed out. We’re good. Yes, we’re still friends.”

Once that was all over, you headed over to the Channel 4 area to give a certain someone a piece of your mind. “Mark Webber.”

The man turns around to the mention of his full name, smiling when he notices who it is. “Y/N! Glad you’ve come and joined us! We’re on in about five minutes, we can do a segment about the crash but if you wanna talk about something else on screen that’s fine too, we can–”

“You gave me food poisoning!” you butt in. “I cannot believe you.” His coworkers give him a look, as if they were holding in a laugh at him being scolded.

Mark stands there with his mouth agape, unsure what to say. “Wasn’t that three days ago? Are you sure it’s me?”

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Yes, I’m sure it’s you. It started three days ago, and guess who I was with when I ate something unusual three days ago? Oh right, it’s you!”

He pauses for a moment before bursting into laughter, trying to cover his mouth to no avail. “Sorry, it’s not funny that you almost crashed, I’m glad you’re safe, but– ha!– I cannot believe it was because of the dodgy Indian food!”

You gave him a shove, trying to act mad, but the smile on your face betrayed you. His laughter was contagious. “You are such an asshole.”

“Awh cheer up,” he gives you a side hug, ruffling your hair a little. “Sorry for giving you food poisoning, mate. I’ll make it up to you, whaddya think about lunch on me tomorrow?”

You escape his side hug when you hear him say that, “Absolutely not! I’m never trusting you again with food recommendations.”

The statement makes him laugh again, and you chuckle along with him. Hard to be mad at someone who didn’t do it on purpose. Sebastian walked over to the two of you, having watched the interaction from afar.

“Look who’s coming over,” Mark mumbled, making you notice Seb trying to pretend to just ‘bump’ into the two of you. “Still competitive ‘till now, eh? Don’t worry, I’m not trying to out-mentor you,” Mark says out loud, grabbing the attention of the German.

Seb tilts his head with a faux oblivious look, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He grabs you by the arm and ‘discreetly’ pulls you over to his side. ‘No idea’ my ass.

The Australian scoffs with a grin, “Whatever you say mate. Listen, I gotta get back because our feed is going live in a few minutes, but you two take care, alright? Nice to see you again Seb.”

“You too, Mark.” Sebastian replies, this time genuinely. While the media knew the two drivers were now on good terms, they didn’t know just how close they had gotten. The two went bowling at least once every two months just to catch up with each other, you being there for half their competitions– yes, they still competed. Apparently that sense of wanting to beat your former teammate does not go away. So far this year, Mark’s been winning.

Before Mark completely walked away, he looked back at you for a second, “Oh, and, I am happy you got out injury free from that nasty crash. Genuinely glad you’re okay. Sorry that my dodgy food contributed to your sickness.”

You wave him off, “It’s fine, Mark. It’s not like you could’ve known I would get food poisoning. Although, next time maybe check online reviews.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled, waving you a goodbye as he ran to his coworkers who were already getting impatient.

You shake your head with a grin, “Well at least that’s over with.”

Sebastian slings his arm around your shoulder, “True. So want to get dinner?”

“Absolutely not. I think I’m done with food for a good while.”

“Well you have to eat something,” he insists, as you both walk through the paddock. “How about we get room service?”

“Eh, it’s late, I don’t really want a repeat of Monaco 2019.”

Monaco 2019 was when you and Seb got room service at 10pm because you didn’t check the time. Safe to say the staff weren’t very happy with that. You both felt so bad while eating that food.

“We can just get McDonalds then,” you suggest.

“McDonalds?” Charles asks, popping out from god knows where.

“Jesus, where the hell were you hiding? The atoms?” You ask.

“I was here the whole time.”

“You were not,” Sebastian comments. Charles simply shrugs, tagging along with the two of you, not caring that he was obviously third wheeling a moment. “So McDonalds?”

You roll your eyes, “Yes, McDonalds. But you’re paying because you’re tagging along.”

“No fair! Sebastian is richer than me!”

You both give Charles a look at the same time. Charles thinks it’s eerie how alike the two of you were.

“Charles,” Sebastian starts, patting the Monegasque’s back with one arm with his other still slung around your shoulders. Your accident made him very clingy, but you weren’t about to tell him that. “Let me phrase this as nicely as I can; you are from Monaco. You are rich.”

Charles lets out a sigh, “Fine. I’ll buy the food.”

You clap, “Fuck yeah! Food on the rich man!”

“We have the same salary in our contracts?”

“Shh, that’s not important,” you say, shushing Charles. “Food on the rich man! Although, we may have to go to the hotel right after and just get take out. I can feel Mark’s Indian food from three days ago still fighting with me.”

Charles is the one to roll his eyes this time, “I’ll get the car so we can get there faster, your highness.”

“Thank you, Lord Perceval.”

“Don’t call me that!” he shouts, already walking away to the parking lot.

That left you and Sebastian alone again, just enjoying the company of one another, walking slowly down the paddocks. There were few people now, most having gone back to their hotels to call it a night.

“You know, I’m glad I found you.”

The words make you look up at the older driver, who you find smiling at you. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean obviously we would find each other, there’s only so many drivers in Formula One. But I mean I’m glad I found you in this life.”

“Do you think we don’t find each other in other lives?”

Sebastian pauses and thinks for a second. He’s thought about the other career paths he could have taken throughout his life– other lives he could have lived. He knows there’s no logical way, but he thinks he still would have found you in those lives. The thought makes him smile to himself.

“No, I think we do.”

“Well then good. Because me too,” you reply, giving him a smile of your own. “Why did you suddenly think about it though?”

Sebastian shrugs, “I don’t know. I just felt suddenly sentimental. Feels like a chapter of my life closed but I’m not sure what or why.”

Little did he know that he would start contemplating retirement a few weeks after that.

“Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Whether we find each other in other lifetimes, I mean.”

Seb raises his eyebrow, him now being the one confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re both here now. Enjoying each other’s company. Why bother thinking about versions of ourselves in other universes when we’ve got each other in this one?”

Sebastian gives you the most genuine, softest smile at that. “I love you, I don’t tell you that enough.”

You scrunch your face, “Ew. Sounds like a love confession. Sorry but you’re too old for me.”

“You know what I mean. I love you but not in that way. That’s just gross,” Sebastian says, hitting your shoulder.

“Relax old man, I’m just teasing,” you giggle, trying to avoid his hit. “Love you too. Ew. Sorry, not great with verbal affection. Pretty sure that just made me throw up a bit, and that’s not even with the help of the food poisoning.”

Sebastian just shakes his head, “Okay c’mon now, Charles will be annoyed with how slow we’re walking.”

Later that night, the three of you watched a cheesy romcom while sharing a shit load of fries and chicken nuggets. As you carried on through the night you thought to yourself that despite the hardships of F1, the crashing, the disappointments, the injuries– it brought you a second family you never thought you’d have. And you wouldn’t trade it for any other universe.

Although, maybe a universe where you didn’t get food poisoning.

#sebastian vettel #charles leclerc #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #formula one #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #f1 imagine

1K notes · View notes

chachadelight · 2 years

Text

Celle qui s'est enfuie

Part 1 | Part 2

Rating & Warnings: Swearing, smut, a tiny bit of violence

I’d also like to thank those who encouraged me to write this and! also thank you to @rymndsmth for some of the inspo I had for some of the saucyness that happens here. Their ‘kyoto’ series is top fuckin notch, please do give it a read!! This is a one shot technically, but if it’s well received I might write a second or third part, probably nothing longer than that but who knows! Enjoy!

Pairings: Tangerine x Assassin!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: All he has to do is follow the rules; but Tangerine’s never been big on rules. Where does that leave him?

“Yeah well, he’s a diesel innit?”

“Lemon what’d I say huh? If you talk about Thomas the Tank Engine again I’m gon- “

“You’re gonna’ shoot me in the face—I know”.

Yet there he went on again. It had only been about 30 minutes since they had gotten onto the train and Tangerine was already at his limit. If he hadn’t loved his dear brother as much as he did he most likely would’ve fulfilled his promise a long time ago.

Lemon sat back against his chair, huffing with annoyance as he adjusted the lapel of his jacket. “Right well, all we gotta’ do is get this fucker his lazy sod of a son and his hard drive and we can go home”, Lemon gestured to the opposing seats, a young tattooed boy blissfully passed out and pressed up against the window. “You’ve got the drive yeah?”

“Yeah thanks for the update Lemon I got it”. Tangerine rolled his eyes before checking the time on his watch; they had hours before they made it to their stop at Kyoto. Maybe this would be a great opportunity for them to actually relax for once considering that only a few hours ago they were about knee deep in blood just trying to get their hands on the White Death’s son.

It was a job they hesitated for that’s for sure, but after hearing about the pay out and just how keen their contractor was on getting them specifically for the job, they just couldn’t say no. They were professionals after all, they weren’t going to scrutinise that for nobody.

Tangerine’s gaze was suddenly stolen as one of the train crew members rolled by with a cart full of food. Without even thinking the male reached over at pinched a couple of bags from the cart.

“You don’t need to nick the biscuits”.

“Why do I do that? It’s like a compulsion or something”.

“You should see someone bout’ that”.

Tangerine cringed at himself, knowing full well his little klepto issue was something he needed to attend to but just never really got around to addressing.

The two men’s attention was stolen away when the chime indicating the train was coming to a stop sounded off, but only briefly once they noticed only a

couple of average looking citizens made their way through the cart. All but one.

“Mate she’s right lush”. Tangerine’s upper lip twitched upward ever so slightly as his head gestured forwards, causing Lemon to turn his head in an oh so not very inconspicuous way.

“Fuckin’ make it look any more obvious would ya, fucken git”.

There she was. The woman Tangerine was referring to. Hair ever so slightly covering her gaze, only adding to the sensual nature of her kohl lined eyes and red tinted lips. She walked with poise and a sense of elegance to her, she seemed unsuspecting but the way she carried herself said more about her that Tangerine just sensed deep down. What the sense was he had no idea but he really didn’t care at this point. She wore a black pleated skirt and socks that stopped just at her thighs, god, her thighs. The edge of the fabric hugging her flesh oh so perfectly it almost made Tangerine huff...almost.

His eyes flicked back up to catch the silver chain around her neck sat stark against the fabric of her black turtleneck. The man had obviously stared a little too long because she had caught his gaze by the time, she found her place into a seat that had her in perfect sight of him. The woman’s lip quirked into a shy smile, a blush forming on her cheek as she quickly looked away once realising his stare was for her only.

“Who’s the one makin it obvious now mate?”

Tangerine however didn’t look away, why would he? He wasn’t some shy schoolboy. He held her gaze for as long as she was staring back, knowing her bashfulness was his doing only fed his already massive ego. With a tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, Tangerine only chuckled with pride once he saw the effect he had on her, of course, too easy.

Lemon shook his head quickly in succession, twisting his face in disagreement. “Nah nah nah, none of that”.

“None of what?”

“None of—” Lemon tilted his head quickly to the side, motioning to the woman. “That”.

Tangerine scoffed and reached up to slick back his hair in a show of confidence and ease. “Dunno what you’re on about mate”.

“The last thing we need is you goin’ off and shagging some girl in the middle of a job”.

Immediately Tangerine showed offense to his brother’s accusation and started adjusting the collar of his suit with a shake of his head. “Don’t be stupid”. He shook his head again in dismissal but still managed to sneak another look at the woman, quickly getting the chance to catch a glimpse of the way her thighs pressed together as she sat cross-legged. Fuck she looked good just sitting there. Lemon and Tangerine’s line of work wasn’t exactly the most social occupation in the world, there wasn’t really time for making friends let alone a sexual partner. So, to say that Tangerine was a little ‘deprived’ might have been a slight understatement.

“Whatever Tangerine...I’m gonna’ go secure the train. Make sure everything’s in check”.

“Yeah right”.

A sudden slam to the table had Tangerine’s attention onto his brother in an instant, his eyes wide as if to say, ‘what the fuck Lemon’?

“I fuckin mean it, no funny business”.

‘Yeah yeah alright, fuckin ell’ you’re like my mother or somethin”.

And with that, his brother disappeared into the next train cart and Tangerine was left alone. Just him, the White Death’s sleeping son and his raging hormones.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off her and she was well aware of it herself. There was no such thing as sneaky stolen glances anymore. Tangerine had no shame at this point with the way he tapped his fingers lightly against the table, his gaze fixated on her form, tracing a line up from her legs to her face he noticed her looking back.

Although this time she didn’t look away shyly, if anything she was now smiling back. Her red lips pulled back unto a smirk as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand. With a wave the woman wiggled her fingers in Tangerine’s direction in a form of a flirtatious wave, a completely opposing energy to what she showed only moment before when she first boarded the train.

Tangerine lifted a brow as a chuckle escaped his lips, curiosity was definitely getting the better of him. He peered behind his shoulder, wondering if Lemon was going to turn the corner any moment. He did say he would behave himself.

Well who the fuck cares about what Lemon tells him what to do? He was never big on following the rules anyway.

Just like that Tangerine found himself walking towards her, a hand smoothing down his hair and fingers making quick work at is sleeves to roll them up to his elbows. Soon enough he slipped into the chair opposite to the woman, leaned back with a coolness Tangerine had long ago perfected with ease.

“Now what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ here eh?”

“Just visiting a friend in Kyoto”. Her voice rang like bells in his ears and the smile on her lips was only making her that much more tantalising.

“Got a long way to go just to visit a friend no?”

She grinned “Maybe. I guess I’m just devoted like that”.

Tangerine reached up and smoothed a finger over his moustache as he gave her another once over she didn’t fail to notice. “I guess we’re both gonna be here for a while then?”

“I guess so”.

It was almost nard to keep her focus. Almost.

Those blue eyes paired with that accent had no doubt gotten this man anything and everything he’d ever wanted. And now here he was facing her, leaned back in his seat with the scent of his ego practically oozing off of him. The way he looked at her was predatory, his gaze eating her up with every chance he could get. She was amused to say the least, and the grin on her lips was impossible to get rid of. Her job was relatively simple, get the drive from the twins and get off the train before they ever noticed. But what her handler failed to mention was just how delicious a certain curly haired killer

“I guess we’re both gonna be here for a while then?”

“I guess so”. With that she leaned forward against crossed arms, her breasts provocatively pressed up against each other. Tangerine’s eyebrow twitched upward with interest, his tongue swiping out over his bottom lip as he simply followed her movements by leaning in towards the table, closing the gap between the pair.

“What am I going to do with you luv?” She couldn’t help herself when her teeth grazed her bottom lip, why was he so hard to ignore? He was so close to her now and she could smell his cologne so vividly. He smelled of vanilla, cigars and smoke, no doubt fresh from a fight and it was a sent that could make her legs shake from excitement. She wasn’t supposed to get too involved but now he asked her that question and she didn’t really feel like behaving.

She had a little time to spare and she just couldn’t find herself not taking this delicious opportunity.

Their gazes were locked and for moment she let her eyes dip down to peer at his lips, head tilting ever so slightly as the next sentence slipped from her mouth with a little too much finesse. “Anything you want”.

It was clear they were on the same page. Yet what made everything in her favour was that he had no idea that she was after exactly what he had. He hadn’t even asked for her name; it couldn’t have been any better.

Tangerine let out a huff from his nose as he promptly stood from the chair, picking at an invisible piece of lint from his shirt before making his way past her. However not before slyly grazing his fingers over the edge of her jawline, letting his fingers glide through her hair for a moment before he continued his b-line to the train bathroom.

She smiled to herself, a breath seizing in her throat for just a moment as she felt the warmth of his fingers against her skin.

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

She soon found herself slipping into the too small train bathroom, her palms pressed against the door for just a moment longer before she turned around to find the man leaning himself against the too small sink. The air inside suddenly turned thin, and the beating of her heart thrummed wildly against her chest. Why she did not know, she was not one to get nervous in a situation like this but this man...this man was unlike any other she had come across. He made the others seem insignificant and judging by the way she almost shook just from his burning gaze; she could tell this was going to be different.

“You know...” She cooed softly as she took a step forward, noting the way his forearms flexed as his grip on the edge of the sink tightened. “I don’t even know your name”. Reaching forward she looped a single finger over the gold chain decorating the empty space on the man’s neck, a single tug forward causing him to snicker.

She was playing a dangerous game and as soon as she took her grip on that necklace and it tightened around his neck something inside him snapped to attention. “Just call me Tangerine luv”.

“Like the fruit?” She quirked an eyebrow “and his hands found her hips. “Yeah, like the fruit”.

“How – “She looped in a second finger and tugged once more causing Tangerine to grunt at the sudden squeeze he now felt around his neck. “– Cute”.

Tangerine let out a puff of air that sounded like amusement, their lips so close to one another she could feel his warm breath fan across her face. “Watch it luv”.

“Or what?” She liked this game. But so did he.

Lips against lips in a matter of seconds. The kiss was hungry, desperate, it was angry. She had clearly pressed the right buttons because the grip he help on her hips was bruising. Fingers digging deep into her skin as they both fought for the dominance of the kiss. He tasted just as he smelled, smoke and vanilla permeated her lips and mouth, and she couldn’t help herself as she whined into the kiss.

He pulled he in closer, hips pressed flush together that had her melting into his touch to the point that she let go of her grip on his, completely forgetting that she was trying to win dominance only moments before.

His fingers soon found home in her hair, digits twisting into her locks before tugging roughly to pull her head backwards, exposing her neck to him. “Not so cheeky now hey luv?” His voice had deepened, laced with arrogance as he dipped down to attach his lips to her neck and leave a trail of hungry bruises he knew she would have to look at for days to come.

If she could see herself she knew she would be mad; mad that she had let this man cause her to become so undone in a matter of minutes. This wasn’t what she had in mind but it had been so long since someone had made her feel this alive.

“Don’t—” He cut her off quickly when his mouth found hers once more, tongue slipping past her lips without a moment wasted. “Get—cocky”. She managed to let out a few breathless words between the sloppy kisses, her breath heaving in her chest to keep up with his hunger.

Tangerine chuckled against her lips before he hauled her upwards with a little too much ease, her arms found solace around his neck whilst her legs wrapped securely around his waist. He carried her over towards the closed toilet seat before settling down, allowing her to find herself seated comfortably in his lap. This gave her a chance to catch her breath from the bruising kiss, hazed over eyes peering down at an equally dishevelled Tangerine.

He was beautiful like this, in the dim lighting of the train bathroom, perfectly gelled hair now a mess on top of his head. Blue eyes turned a storm cloud grey and hooded with desire. It was almost a shame that she was going to have to steal from him and run away, never to been again.

That’s when she saw it. Peering down his vest pocket she saw the glint of the hard drive poking its head out, her heart skipping a beat. It was right there, un his pocket. And she had him seduced and sexed up in the bullet train bathroom.

This was too good.

His hands slowly slid their way up the exposed part of her thighs, pushing up the fabric of her skirt before stopping dangerously close to exactly where she wanted him. The cold of the varying rings decorating his fingers sent a shiver through her.

With her new position she didn’t miss the way his hardened length pressed against her clothed core, a coy smile on her lips growing as she took the opportunity to grind her hips downwards. Immediately eliciting a groan from Tangerine that wanted to make her go wild

“You gonna’ ride me sweetheart?” He cooed.

She leaned in towards him, her fingers snaking their way into the back of his hair before tugging softly. Doing what he had done to hair by yanking his head back to give her more access to his neck. “Anything you want handsome”.

Tangerine’s eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of her lips against the shell of his ear, the tightness of his hair being pulled sending him into a craze that his grip on his hips and thighs tightening even more. He pulled her down against himself, the sound of her soft mewl letting him smirk with pride.

She couldn’t help it, the feeling of having him press against her was driving her crazy. She had found herself at a rhythm, hips swirling back and forth. Her movements at his command as his hands guided her every move. It didn’t take her long to get panting, her head falling back to indulge in the feeling of his hardness rutting against her. His soft grunts filled the small space and run in her ears.

The heat that was overtaking her body was indescribable and at some point his hands had found home against the slope of her arse, kneading the flesh generously. She needed to feel him, just him.

And it seemed like he had the same idea because Tangerine was rushing for his pants—she reached down with him when she was able to become coherent enough to pay attention. They both knew this was going to be anything but sweet and slow, this was going to be quick and hard but neither of them was complaining.

“You’re gonna take me like a good girl...” Tangerine gripped the base of his length, pulling her panties to side to teasingly circle the head against her folds. “Aren’t you sweetheart?”

She whimpered softly, her breath catching in her throat as his length prodded at her entrance, threatening to enter her at any moment. He was too good, and the way those pet names rolled off his tongue in that accent was doing things to her she had just never expected. But she was losing patience, and the more he had her coming undone the more frustrated she became with herself.

“Fuck me good and find out”.

He growled and with one sudden upwards thrust and guttural groan he sheathed himself inside her. She cried out at the sudden intrusion, almost regretting her show of defiance before the painful sting was replaced by the sweet sting of pleasure. Tangerine reached up, his palm pressing against her mouth to muffle her scream as he let out an amused chuckle.

“Careful luv, wouldn’t want anyone to know we’re doing in here”.

She knew he was right but the way ne filled her just right had her eyes rolling to the back of her head and all her inhibitions disappeared.

“That’s it...” He cooed again, one hand squeezing against her hip and the other snaking its way up her chest. It didn’t take long to build up a brutal rhythm, his hips snapping up against her almost painfully. The pace had her biting down on her own lip, hard enough to the point she drew a small amount of blood, the taste of iron coating her tongue as she propped her hands behind her on his knees or support.

Tangerine watched her with a lust in his gaze, hard muffled grunts leaving is lips with every thrust of his hips. He kept his hold on one side of her hips whilst the other had found its way around her throat, fingers squeezing a firm pressure onto her neck that was already littered with his bruises.

Now with the added loss of oxygen, she was being sent into complete bliss. Pleasure was already overtaking every inch of her body and she could feel that familiar twinge in the centre of her core, that feeling of unwinding threatening to break at any moment.

He never let up his pace, sweat beading at the crown of his head as he focused himself on her, on her body and the way she started to tighten around him. She was close and her warmth only egged him on, encouraging him to only wreck her even more.

“Let go for me sweetheart”. He managed to grunt out his words, focusing on getting her to the end.

She whined softly, trying her best on not screaming out as the searing hot burn of her climax finally imploded inside her. Her body seized from the pure pleasure. Tangerine’s hips stuttered with her release, the constant feeling of her core flexing around him sending him over the edge shortly after her. He filled her with his warmth, the feeling sending a shiver through her already sensitive body.

“Fuckin’ ell”. Falling forwards into Tangerine’s surprisingly caring embrace his arms wrapped around her to help her ride out her orgasm, “Good girl”. Tangerine stroked the back of her head, heavy breath blowing past her ear with the words of praise.

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

Surprisingly he helped her clean herself up, where she had expected him to leave as soon as they were done. But now, here she was, watching him primp himself in the mirror, smoothing those beautiful curls back down to a somewhat more presentable way.

She hadn’t forgotten about the drive in his breast pocket however.

He had his back turned to her as she silently stayed leaning against the door of the bathroom, her head tilted in observation as she waited for the exact moment to make her move. He was gorgeous, he really was, and shit he made her feel good. Him standing there now, examining every little detail of himself in the mirror, ensuring he was presentable or perhaps just liked looking at himself a little too much. But he was charming, too charming for his own good. Damn...she was starting to like him.

“You know...it’s a real shame”. “What’s that luv?” “Sorry about this”.

“Sorry about wha—" Without letting him finish his sentence she had already gripped the side of his head, using maximum force without being lethal to send the man’s head directly into the side of the porcelain sink. With a deafening crack and a loud groan of pain, Tangerine was on the floor, a sizeable cut on that beautiful forehead of his.

She sighed dramatically before squatting down beside a groaning Tangerine, clearly disorientated from the hit to the head. “No hard feelings?” She cooed, a grin on her lips as she slipped the hard drive from his pocket and placed a kiss on the top of his head.

“Oi...you—f...fucken ch...cheeky”.

“Shhh, you’ve hit your head. Rest a while”. And with that she disappeared through the bathroom door.

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

“You’ve got to be fucken’ kidding me”. Lemon stood before Tangerine, hands on his hips as his twin held a bag of frozen whatever against the forming lump on his forehead. “What’d I fucken say?”

“Shut up mate”. “Thomas would nev-“ “Don’t even fucken go there”.

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #bullet train #tangerine fanfic #tangerine x y/n #aaron taylor johnson #bullet train fanfic

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fabricated-misslieness · 18 days

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ellie williams x male reader (platonic) jesse x male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ellie comes back to town for resupply and catches up with an old friend

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 781

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: swearing, angst, post character death, post Seattle, awkward, very awkward, angst with a hopeful ending, ellie's pov, somewhat vague as to whether it's post santa barbara

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: inspo. don't ask me why both tlou fics have ellie pov

☾⋆☆⋆☽

There he is. Jesse's boyfriend.

It's rude to think of him as just Jesse's boyfriend. He was his own person, after all; but Ellie has reason. She knew Jesse better than him, after all. Jesse was one of her best friends, despite being the main reason she couldn't act on her long-time crush for a good while.

He was admirable, a young patrol-leader, courageous and smart. Most of all, he was loyal. He even followed her to Seattle.

Oh, fucking Seattle.

He looks like him, in a way. Ellie doesn't want to be rude, but their hair...it's the same. It's coarse and greasy, but so is everyone else's. Commercial shampoo isn't a thing twenty years after the collapse of the world and "major capitalism" anyway, but that's not the point.

He does look different. His eyes, his nose, his face is different, his own. But his hair.

It's shorter down the sides, obviously to keep it out of the way, and yet pieces still remain in front, perhaps a fashion statement, a rare sight when survival calls for practicality; perhaps, instead, a simple inevitability. The back remains long, down, unlike Jesse's, past his shoulders, Ellie recalls he used to wear it up more often than down. Before he and Jesse got together, he wore it in neat braids. Afterward, they got messy—maybe tugging from heated sessions, maybe, more probably, Jesse tried braiding it for him.

"Your hair." Ellie finds herself saying, interrupting your words. She wasn't paying attention, it was rude of her, but she can't see anything else.

"My hair?" You look confused, taking a piece in your hand, but then, oh, your hair. "I haven't had time, since..."

Since Seattle, Ellie thinks, but Seattle isn't Seattle to you, it's Jesse's death.

"Right." Ellie leans back, to stand on her heels. Right.

"I've had to, you know, take over patrol organization a bit, plus, um, new duties, yeah?"

"Yeah." She says, again another short response.

Yeah. Jesse handled a lot of patrol organization, alongside Mary, who now has to help Tommy around because of his knee and all, meaning she needs more people to help her; and also Tommy's knee means he can't go on patrol anymore and...it's just such a mess. And since Ellie left too? And Dina's busy with JJ? Three—four people that can't patrol anymore.

I'm sorry, she thinks to say, but she can't.

"You put it up for patrols?" She asks. It's a stupid question, the answer is an obvious yes.

"Yea–" It's a short response, too, awkward. "I meant, I, uh, don't have the time to braid."

She knows it's not true. She knows you at least have time in the mornings, but then maybe you just don't because it reminds you of him. The way his hands felt in your hair, clumsy, sometimes the braids are too tight and awfully angled, or sometimes they're too loose, but it's Jesse, so who cares?

I'm sorry, is yet again on her tongue, but she can't.

"How's–" What was she going to say? What were you saying, before she'd mentioned your hair? Fuck, she doesn't know.

You speak up abruptly, eyes flitting down, then up, "It looks like his, doesn't it?"

"Yeah." She agrees. Just that. What else is there to say? Well, there is... "I'm sorry."

"I know, Ellie." You say. It's simple.

She said it to you once, at the funeral; again, at the wake. A third time last time she came by, a fourth the time after. This might be the fifth, but she can't account for times she's been drunk, or whatever the fuck she was dealing with fresh off the horse from Seattle.

"I–" She wishes to say it again, anyway. She wishes to say more. Jesse loved you. Jesse wouldn't want you to be sad. Jesse...

"I know." You know, of course, she's already told you all of that, you don't even need her to speak her mind to know it. "Listen, I have to..." You gesture vaguely that-a-way.

"Right. Yeah." Ellie nods her head, bounces back on the balls of her feet and backs off.

"I'll see you next time?" You offer, your hands meeting together, intertwining, fingers breaking then holding again; a teeter, a restless thing. Nervous, no, awkward.

"Yeah." Ellie nods her head.

You're off.

But she speaks again, stopping you. "Hey, um!" She clears her throat, her sudden impulsive thought catching up to her, but you've already turned around, and she must finish. "I'll braid your hair? Next time?"

You smile, huff out a breath through your nose, maybe it's amusement, pity towards Ellie's attempt at what, making up? Or maybe it's appreciation. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

#jesse x reader #jesse x male reader #ellie williams x reader #tlou x reader #tlou x male reader #last of us x reader #last of us x male reader #💞 // darlings #🤬 // swearshirt #🌂 // failure #🎟 // tlou #🎟 // the last of us #🎫 // jesse

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 7 months

Text

Sicktember #26

Prompt: Pinkeye/Conjuntivitis ALL ALTS (Alt 1. “I Could Really Use a Hug Right About Now”//Alt 2. Fuzzy Socks//Alt 3. Pounding Headache//Alt 4. Forehead Kisses//Alt 5. “I’m so sorry”)

Fandom/OCs: OCs Shane and Molly (Doctor Nurse ‘verse?)

Words: 1180

Sicknario inspo: "Something happen at work?" from this post and "You look… I know…" from this post.

Author’s comments/background: Since I only had one space for an Alternate prompt this year, and they were all cute, I made it a mini challenge to use them all, and who better to do that for than Shane and Molly? I was pretty happy with the result, and this ended up being another piece that I was really looking forward to writing. I actually saved it for last as a reward for finishing the challenge. Have the usual married-people-who-are-crazy-about-each-other shenanigans. (Also some of the ending dialogue was shamelessly stolen from the D/ick Van D/yke show and I'm not sorry.)

Set the day after the events of “Without You” (read it here), which takes place within the first year of their marriage.

~~~***~~~

Molly was deep in thought about what Shane might like for dinner, so when she turned to find him walking through the door a full three hours earlier than usual, at first she thought she was imagining it. Their eyes met and, probably because she looked so shocked, he attempted a smile to put her at ease, but the obvious sickliness of him made her worry all the more instead.

"Shane! You're home early. Did something happen at work?"

"Hihh– hihhggIHHTCHHOO! IHHXXCHOO!... Ugh…"

"...Oh. I see. Yeah, I can definitely see. Wow, you look–"

“I know,” Shane mumbled, swallowing thickly as he massaged his temple. “I know… HihhxxEHHPTchuhh!! Oh my god," he groaned, pressing his hand even harder to his head. "I have had the worst pounding, splitting headache all day and the sneezing is NOT helping…."

"Aww, honey… why don't you sit down and take it easy for a while?"

"I will, but first… I know I'm contagious and everything but… I could really use a hug right about now." He dropped his bag and opened his arms imploringly.

"Oh, you poor thing, of course you can have a hug!" She hurried into his arms, squeezing him as tightly as she could, and he squeezed her back until her ribs cracked, his face buried against her neck.

"I had the most godawful day," he mumbled, sounding almost on the verge of tears. "I felt like shit and the staff were all crabby and being petty and the schedule was screwed up again and the patients were horrible. I just need to be home with you."

"My poor baby," she said, kissing his temple and neck and shoulder and every other bit of him that she could reach. Then she held on and squeezed tight, just the way he liked. They hugged for a long time.

"Are you cold, hon?" Molly asked after several minutes. She already knew the answer to that question since she could feel him shivering, but he was sagging most of his weight on her, and her hugging muscles were starting to get tired.

"Freezing," he murmured into her neck.

"Here, let's go sit down and wrap you up. You look exhausted."

"I'm that too," he agreed, letting himself be led to the couch. Molly quickly tucked a blanket around him, dress shirt and all, and he nestled into the cushions with a sniffling sigh. She perched right beside him.

"Do you think you have a fever?"

"I really don't know. This cold wasn't so bad before today. I have no idea."

Molly leaned forward, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. It was hardly there a second when Shane twitched violently, bending forward in a half-stifled sneeze that clearly snuck up on him:

"Hihhgg-KXXT! XXTchhoo!!"

Molly was thoroughly caught in the spray. She carefully kept her expression neutral so as not to make him feel any worse as she turned away from his horrified look to wipe off the mist from her cheek and hand.

"Ohmygod, Mol… I am so sorry… I can't believe that just happened…."

Shane continued to stammer apologetically as Molly turned to face him again, stopping him with a gentle squeeze of his leg. "It's okay, love, really. I know you didn't mean to. It happens. No big deal. Now, let's try that again."

Shane fell silent, though his apologetic expression lingered, as Molly again reached out to feel his face. "You didn't sneeze on any patients today though, did you?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood with gentle teasing.

"No, thank god. That's about the only thing that didn't go wrong today."

"Well that's good," she said, pulling away. "And you're definitely warm. Feels like a fever to me."

"That tracks, to be honest"

"With what?"

"Everything, I guess. How crappy I feel, mainly. The rest of this awful day."

"My poor Shane," she groaned, going in for another hug. "I hate seeing you like this. I'm supposed to be the one that does all the complaining, not you."

"Sorry. But I was overdue for a turn," he mumbled into her chest.

"I dunno about all that. But we'll get you fixed up and back to normal either way." She released him, meeting his eyes again. "You pick the order of operations tonight. What do you want first, shower, dinner, blanket cuddles, or bed?"

A sleepy smile spread across Shane's face. "All the choices are too good. You pick. You're the boss tonight."

"You're either very brave or very sick to say such things, my love. But your wish is my command. We'll go in the order I listed them, I think. I can't stand to see my human furnace shivering so hard, so we'll start with a hot shower, and you can even have the brand new fuzzy socks you just bought me, since I know you can't resist fuzzy socks when you're sick."

Shane was grinning now. "As long as you shower with me. There's always a risk of syncope with a fever, you know. You can never be too careful, especially in the bathroom."

"Right you are. You read my mind. Don't you worry, I'll be keeping a close eye on you. Everyone knows doctors make the worst patients."

"Whatever you think is best, nurse," he said with a pathetic sniffle.

~~~

The couple settled into the rhythm of their evening routine, though they took it especially easy for Shane's sake and, true to her word, Molly hardly left his side. Shane was clingy and a little needy when he wasn't feeling well, but as long as she stayed within reach, he was in truth a very easy patient.

A few hours later found them curled up on the couch with takeout soup and salad for an early dinner, watching Shane's favorite, the Jurassic Park trilogy. They were lightly reclining, Shane leaning partially against Molly with a tissue box under his arm as she toyed with his blond curls. When she thought he was distracted, she leaned over to press her lips to his forehead.

Shane was sharp, though, and eyed her with a curious look. "Was that for affection or were you checking my temperature again?"

"Sick person forehead kisses are always both, you should know that. Your eyes are looking funny, so I was seeing if it was worth it to get up and get you medicine or not."

"I'm okay. You don't need to do that."

"Hey, I warned you that I'd be keeping an eye on you. This is part of the package, mister."

"I know, I know," he chuckled, scrubbing at his nose. "But I don't want you to get up. I'm too comfortable, and I haven't been able to say that since you left for your trip. You're not allowed to move. Sick person orders."

"Aye aye, sir." Molly resumed playing with his hair, and Shane sighed in contentment.

"What would I do without you?" he murmured, echoing back to the day before.

"I promise you'll never have to find out as long as I'm living," she whispered back, pulling him closer against her.

#sicktember 2023 #skt 2023 #alt prompts #shmolly ocs

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unquietspiritao3 · 7 months

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Interrupting Your Irregularly-Scheduled Fic-Related Content with An Extremely Long Note on The Situation in British Comedy

Hi there. If you don’t want to read about my thoughts on everything happening in the British comedy scene at the moment, feel free to give this a skip. I totally understand needing to take a step away from such things. But I felt it was important to address, given some of the characters in my stories are based on the people involved/being criticized. I’m also going to link this post in the author’s note of my next chapter update, but feel free to share it before then with those who might not be on Tumblr.

CW: non-detailed mentions of transphobia, sexual assault, and childhood sexual abuse

Okay. I think to start, I need to explain a few of things about me.

First, as I alluded to in the opening author’s note for Should’ve been obvious, I am just an American with a moderate obsession with British panel shows and not enough time to keep up with the entire British comedy world. I jumped into writing in this fandom with huge gaps in my knowledge, which was possibly not wise.

Second, as a way to protect my own mental health and under the advice of my therapist, I’m what you might call ‘terminally offline.’ Before I reactivated this blog for the purpose of sharing fic inspo, I had not been on social media for over a year. I still don’t use it outside of Tumblr, where I follow a very narrow selection of blogs that mostly post Taskmaster gifs (love you all, btw). I don’t watch or read the news. I have systems in place with my friends and family to keep me informed when something really big happens, but outside of that, I am purposefully oblivious. The consequence of this is that I did not know about the two situations I’ll be discussing until I saw some stray posts this past weekend, and that’s why I didn’t address it before.

Third, I always (to a fault, my friends would say) give absolutely everyone the benefit of the doubt and see the best in people until they prove otherwise—and even then, even while holding them accountable and removing them from my life if need be, I try to be compassionate. That’s not going to change; it’s just who I am.

Now for the two situations, my thoughts on them, and their impact on my writing.

The Richard Ayoade Thing

I’ve said before that I’m genderqueer (she/they, equally happy with both, btw). I’m not down with transphobia. But I’ve read that Richard is a separate-the-art-from-the-artist kind of guy, so his personal views aren’t entirely clear to me. That said, the blurb he gave makes me uncomfortable because to me it seems to imply he does agree with the views in the book. I don’t know much about Richard and haven’t consumed much content with him other than Big Fat Quiz and some random clips of various shows, so please point me to anything that would confirm or refute this. For now, I’ll leave it there. In terms of my writing, this isn’t as big of a deal, since the Richard character isn’t central to anything and could be easily retconned out if I wanted to, but I’ll talk more about the writing at the end.

The Noel Fielding Thing re: Russell Brand

Like most Americans, I was introduced to Noel through GBBO. (Well, to be fully honest, I watched the Buzzcocks spanking clips long before then, because those get passed around in spanko circles, but I didn’t know, or care, who the guy in both of them was at the time. It took awhile for my crush on him to develop.) I’ve actually never seen The Mighty Boosh or much of Noel’s standup; he’s just a bit too surreal and nonsensical for me to enjoy when he’s in complete creative control. I’ve watched interviews going back to the time he was promoting Luxury Comedy, all his episodes of Big Fat Quiz, and some episodes of Buzzcocks, in addition to GBBO. I knew he and Russell Brand and had good on-screen chemistry, but I had no idea they were off-screen friends to some degree (at least, they were in the past; more on that below) until this weekend. I also didn’t know that Noel was ever accused of being in a relationship with a 16-year-old when he was in his 30s. I experienced sexual abuse throughout my childhood. Obviously, if that accusation is true, it’s completely unacceptable regardless of the legality in the UK and I will no longer be a fan of Noel.

But rather than try to break down all my complicated feelings on this situation regarding Noel, I’m just going to link to this post, which I agree with 100%, including the part about respecting people who feel differently. The two follow-up posts on the same blog give some good additional info/thoughts. I’m working on doing my own digging, trying to find anything relevant, including the source of the claim that the then-girl in the supposed relationship denied it too. No luck there so far, [EDIT: shared what I found here and it’s in Noel’s favor!] though I have discovered that she (now a woman in her 30s) and Noel currently follow each other on Instagram, and that Noel doesn’t follow Russell Brand (nor can I find a time Noel mentioned him after 2020, right about when it seems like Brand’s right-wing conspiracy-theory crap started). Make of that what you will. Personally, it makes me give Noel the benefit of the doubt unless and until further info is revealed.

Somewhat of a side note: It seems like people are most upset about the lack of a public statement from Noel, specifically. However, what I find odd overall is how there hasn’t been a real statement from any big-name British comic. Lou Sanders was basically strong-armed into saying some stuff in an interview that was supposed to be about her book. Katherine Ryan is very clear she doesn’t want to speak about it despite being the one that called him a predator on Roast Battle years ago. There’s this article about the problem in comedy more generally which several female comics are quoted in, and this one from 2020 including Fern Brady (highly recommend you read both if you can stomach it) but no specific quotes on Brand from names I recognize even there. Radio silence. UK people, can you tell me, is this normal because of the libel laws you all have? From what I understand, it’s much, much easier to be sued for defamation against a public figure and lose over there than over here. Should we expect to wait for an arrest or conviction (if that happens) before people feel safe commenting? Or what is going on?

Impact on My Writing and Final Thoughts

I’ve been having a hard time mental-health-wise, these past few days, reconciling the human need to connect to art with the fact that all art is created by imperfect humans and you simply cannot know what is in someone else’s head or past. That includes my own art. I want it to be an escape for you all, for you to feel safe reading it, but like everyone else, I’m imperfect, and part of that imperfection is not knowing what to do.

At least for now, I’m going to be focused on More than that, and Noel and Richard have never been in the plan to appear in this fic. As for the future, I’m undecided. I feel like I need more info, but I also recognize that we might not ever get real answers.

The sad truth is that writing fanfic always comes with the risk that the thing you’ve been inspired by is later revealed to be problematic. Even if not with these two, something could come to light at any time about any of these people we base our characters on. That last Guardian article I linked should give everyone chills.

I think the best I can do with the info I have today is to say I’m writing about a fictional universe populated with fictional characters, and my use of real people to inspire those characters does not mean I endorse their actions or beliefs; past, present, or future; known or unknown to me at this time. I also want to say, though, that I respect anyone who feels they can’t engage with certain fandoms or fics. Trust me, I do understand.

Take care of yourselves. I care about you so much, internet strangers. 💜

edit: linked the wrong article quoting fern, so added that

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claudiajcregg · 7 months

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i'd love to hear any behind the scenes you have on 'say it's here where our pieces fall in place' bc i read it and loved it and i want to know about it 💜

Welp, I've been thinking about this since you sent it and I feel I won't do it justice! I feel like I could say a lot if I went chapter by chapter, but many tabs of unread fics stare back at me. I'll skim and try to say something, though.

Some commentary on say it's here where our pieces fall in place under the cut! I am sick and rambly. And lbr I can never shut up anyway, but this might be too incoherent even for me. (Original ask post here)

It was sort of an unofficial NaNoWriMo project, in that I set myself a goal to tackle “longer fics” or ideas I wanted to cover but hadn't. From my notes, I had this idea to write a ficlet per year because I always enjoy this kind of story, and I know I'd tried to approach different ones in the past. I started writing in late October/finished in Nov 2021. (The other fic I started was never finished, even if dammit, it hits.) I posted it in January, so it wasn't that bad, considering I'll often take months.

It's maybe important to note that I had only finished writing “The Monster (affectionate)” (aka the 148k-ish word IM AU) in early September and I felt a bit burned out after spending five months writing that (would’ve been less but the struggle was real for the last third of the story. Oddly reminiscing of you-know-what story these days). This arbitrary deadline helped me get back into writing. Granted, I wrote a couple of fics in those five months, but I wanted to try another multichapter.

Anyway. I picked some random, perhaps not obvious choices for the vignettes. It was partly to avoid writing something I might have potentially covered at one point, and also a challenge. Some are also strange (the dream!), but I kinda loved it? (Fun fact: the fic references the Sherry-Netherland, whose exterior is the establishing shot in Internal Displacement. I swear there is some thought put into my writing.) And as the A/N I wrote to myself, I definitely wrote and rewrote bits and pieces of this on my way to and from therapy, haha.

Let me find a fun fact about each of the chapters, if I can think of any.

1998: actually repurposed some campaign fic idea I distinctly remember writing in spring 2018, while I was still in uni. It also has GLOVES. I live for that.

1999: I like the idea of exploring Danny and Abbey's relationship! They presumably have a good one and yet, I don't think we ever see them interact. (And god. Danny's recent, pre-campaign breakup is a recurring theme in my campaign stories too, loool.)

2000: Danny and Josh are an underrated friendship, and I like the references to Rosslyn. There was so much in those months in Midterms that we didn't see, and I like thinking Danny visited his friend.

We also got two back-to-back chapters focused on Danny - I remember trying to make it even, so that the focus was more or less evenly split.

2001: the Manchester fuckup! And it's one of the dream chapters! There were two of them? (We're 3 out of 4 in which I was surprised by the focus, but now I kinda want to re-read it all properly?) I'll say that I can see some vague, unconscious inspo from Freefall by KadeeFalls in this chapter (esp since I was just talking to you about it)... But I'm mostly obsessed with the magical realism (there's another term that my foggy brain cannot think of rn) of dreams, and how it can help us clear our heads.

2002: I remembered this was set after Simon! I know it's probably an odd, controversial choice but they both tried to move on (at least, we know CJ did), and it felt disingenuous not to include it. There are moments when she almost admits to her previous (?) feelings for Danny, but stops.

As with most thus far, there were fluffier and probably better choices for 2002 (Christmas!!), but... My brain wanted it to appear like CJ couldn't really bring herself to think about Danny.

2003: Aw, the specialty store is inspired by a franchise over here that had Goldfish (not many flavors) and I took a dramatic license and added it over there. I also added a small flashback because I love thinking Danny doesn't think they're all that but likes them. (But will tease CJ about it.) Plus, some more resolution to moving on!

2004: Yeah, the formatting is weird. (This is one I'd have to go back and do a blockquote or something.) Danny winning a Pulitzer for the Shareef stuff is a mostly accepted headcanon. CJ seeing his picture on the paper and having feels is just something I love, especially if he mentions someone else. (Look. I'm all for letting him pine, but he deserves to move on and fail too.) Plus Josh teasing her!

2005: The Sherry-Netherland! fwiw, I'm sure I had finally figured out this was the place and decided it would be so cheeky to add it here. I'm so sMaRt. Flowers when she gets promoted! And my spin (in this story) of CJ vaguely shunning him. This is the angst before the fluff.

2006: I remembered this one was a dream at some restaurant! (Again the formatting is not great, but I didn't want to tip my obvious hand.) The same way I think CJ's dream in 2001 was about her wondering how Danny would have reacted, this is about Danny realizing he needs to reach out to her... But with the added family ~tale~. Def inspired by that lyric in "Sad Beautiful Tragic."

2007: I feel like having it at some random dinner with Josh and Donna was an odd choice, but I loved the idea of a double date! The scarf scene is just so! And the chaos siblings energy is great. It was a reprieve from the angst.

Meeting at LAX was right there! I had written a story or two trying to do it justice, so I'm guessing that's why it's not. And fwiw the airport story I wrote shortly after that is the one being posted ~soon~. (A rewritten, slightly expanded version.)

2008: Pregnancy mood swings! It hurt to make them fight, but it's so fluffy otherwise. From what I remember, it has various references to things that happen in the story (particularly from the first two chapters) but it still manages to close it rather nicely, showing how strong their marriage is. I hope.

Okay. This has gotten way too long and it's probably useless.

I've always said I could have written another 11 chapters using different scenes, because there are just so many, even outside the obvious ones... Though I feel I wouldn't be able to recapture the magic.

I do definitely want to reread this for real. As with many fics, it's one of those I used to reread often before posting it (especially the last quarter/third) and then just ignored after. See some other recent examples, such as memoir fic, Portland fic.

Thank you for asking, Ally! God, I used to be a good writer. What happened?!??!

#fanfic director's cut #ask games #onekisstotakewithme #asks #it's taken me an hour or so to write it alskdjasdasd

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soultek · 10 months

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All She Said Was Faster: A Concept

Author’s Note: I honestly can’t believe it’s taken me this long to post this. I saw Top Gun Maverik nearly a year ago and I was formulating this idea whilst in the cinema but... in true me fashion, I sat on it for a whole year, and am delivering it now! I think the fact I went to a WEC race this year has finally pushed me to polish the edit and post it! 😊

I love Bailey so much she’s actually crossed over into another fic of mine, if you like her, I’ll be happy to post that too!

For those of you new to my ‘concepts’ it’s basically a one scene ‘drabble’ (usually meet-cute) that would be part of a fic I will probably never write the full story of.

Disclaimer: Obviously apart from Bailey (and Luca) none of the characters are mine. I used an IRL team as her team, but didn’t name any members so no IRL people are involved here.

Warnings: Cat calling... swearing... Jake sometimes might come off as OOC but that’s also kinda the point? I tried to make him walk the line.

Word Count: 5176

Premise: Fighter Jet vs Race Car. An exciting concept - even if the winner seems obvious. And to look at him, Jake would be one to gloat at such a win; but that’s not what he’s running after her for. On the airfield he’s comfortable... but Bailey wants to know what he’s like once she gets him in her domain...

--- [Playlist]---

Are you ready for a comeback? Are you ready to fly? Are you ready for the moment? Get ready to ride Shout out to the legends Rising from the wreckage Count down the seconds And start your engines

---

Nights turn into days Days turn into months I was always alone Until you came along Now you've got me singing

I think I like you, maybe more than I should Hurts like heaven and it feels so, feels so You do me better than any other love could Hurts like heaven, and it feels so, feels so good It feels so good

--- [Inspo.] ---

It was hardly worth even parking the car up – she knew she’d lost long before she crossed the line. The jet screaming overhead confirmed it. She might as well drive the car out of the airfield and peace out. That would have been her preference. Only this Lamborghini was hardly road legal, and her team would have had a few words to say to her – none of them particularly glowing…

She walked away from the car without really looking at any of the mechanics rushing over to check it, before they wheeled it into its container for transporting to the factory – luckily, being last year’s model, it wouldn’t be needed next race. Especially with how hard she’d pushed it. Her trainer knew to leave her well alone too, as she continued walking straight down the taxi way. She needed to cool off a little bit.

In her head, Bailey Walker was going through every move and turn she made; did she make the best use of the throttle, every paddle shift up and down – where she’d decided to put her foot down and where she’d lifted… where had she lost time? If she’d have just decided to break a little later here, or not steered so wide there, decided not to drift… or perhaps decided to drift. Who was she really kidding though, it was a fighter jet not another car… No doubt whatever her grievances were, they’d be talked out at a debrief – which she would request; even if not a championship race if she could learn from it, it would be information worth having.

She became aware of someone distantly calling, but she was so in her head at this stage that it took a while for her to figure out it was her name they were calling. “Hey!!! Heeeey!!! Bailey!!! Wait!! Wait, Bailey!!”

As soon as he’d seen her walking away, Jake Seresin knew that he had to chase her down the taxi way. Despite post-flight checks that couldn’t wait, and despite all the aviators and ground team trying to congratulate him on his win… He wasn’t sure if she was going to collect her things and get going, or if she had the intent of staying.

He’d almost caught up to her by the time she turned around, already having stripped her overalls to tie around her waist. She’d left her helmet back in the car – there was too much season left to get frustrated and throw it, but she wasn’t one to hide behind her visor unless she was really upset. Her eyes flicked over his shoulder for a minute, watching the car swarmed with mechanics. She’d taken it more than just a little hard in places - in the set-up shots the camera crew had taken she’d had a lot of smoke and wheel spin off the line too - more than once. What was the point of not putting on a show for the cameras, after all? She winced apologetically at the thought that doing so wouldn’t have been good. Hopefully she hadn’t pushed too hard. Even if this was just a show car, the team were still precious about it; why wouldn’t they be?!

When she focused back on the man who’d been calling her name, she was almost surprised to find it was Jake Seresin. The pilot she’d been hanging out with all day - that she just raced against. Not only that, but he was still in nearly all his flight gear – he’d surely made sure to waste no time. No, Jake was much more bothered about catching her than he was any necessary checks post-race. Bailey stopped, and took half a pace back on one foot, arms folded, defensive. She’d watched this guy all day - he’d got a little too much ego, he was cocky, he was a little too good looking – An All-American Dream – and he knew it. He had every right to be, especially now. Jake was the best in his class - and it more than showed. All Bailey expected was for him to gloat. She wanted to beat him to it - swallowing back disappointment, she spoke as he stopped a few paces from her, “Congr-” “Hey, are you going now? Or are you staying - they said there was catering earlier, but I wondered if your team might need to hit the road…” Her eyebrows raised, and she counted herself surprised, it seemed like a strange angle to start on. She didn’t quite know what to do but answer with a question of her own – and Bailey knew she sounded as bemused as she was. “Are… you staying?” His smile didn’t quite reach cocky, “I asked first.” “Well, I got nowhere to be.” Bailey shrugged before casting her eyes to the sky, cheeks burning, because even if she knew beating him was an impossibility she still hated losing. “That was some nice flying. I wish I saw more of it, but I was trying to focus on the road… you deserved to win. Sounds like when they said you were top of your class, they really did mean it.” When Bailey looked back to him, Jake wasn’t looking at her, even though he was smiling – he didn’t seem the type to get bashful, and yet… - it was a very different kind of smile, “I wish I could have seen more of the car… I guess it’s a little hard, y’know, going vertical. But you were really giving it some. Besides, I’ve not graduated yet, so that might not be true for much longer… you are certified fastest in your team, it shows. That wasn’t a big margin.” It was a compliment. She bowed her head a little - “Thank you. I guess that can’t be bad coming from the fastest pilot either.” “Guess not!” He grinned, then pointed back the way he’d just run, “You wanna… grab something together - I mean, you can eat with your crew I’m not gonna… I mean, I just…” Jake realised he was tripping over his words and Bailey was giving him a look he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But she at least seemed amused by this - waiting for him to string the right words together. She was letting him try. Patient. Instead, he paused and rolled his eyes, “I’m staying. We’ve hung out all day talking about our vehicles of choice. I guess it’d be good to get to know each other a little better.” Bailey smirked to herself before nodding, “Sure. That’s cool with me.”

This was true – they had spent nearly all day together to film this segment – Race Car vs Fighter Jet. Or… whatever it would eventually be called, but that was the entire premise. They’d been introduced first thing this morning as the two competitors – and the two fastest members of their respective ‘teams’. Jake had yet to graduate his Top Gun class, and Bailey was an up-and-comer, competing in an all-women racing team. (At least from a driver point of view). Once it had been explained what they had to do, and establishing shots had been done of both them and their vehicles of profession, the two had been left to their own devices as the crew filmed the more science-based parts of the day with presenters. Where upon Bailey and Jake had made general comparisons between the jet and the car; discussing top speeds, aerodynamics, handling, cornering, 0-to-60-to-over-100 (as if that mattered to a jet, but it was all good fun!) amongst other things…

Sitting here in the catering tent – or, hanger, as that’s what they were using – across from him, trying to talk about himself without coming across as too egotistical (she could tell; though she had a healthy amount of ego herself, as a competitive racer. It was almost a necessity.), Bailey wasn’t sure if she was really interested in him or not. If she had a type, she wouldn’t say the man talking to her now was it. But she wasn’t going to deny Jake Seresin was attractive. That he didn’t make her heart race as fast as her car when they were introduced… she just, wasn’t sure. And Jake? He was talking 100 miles an hour, but he still managed to be collected. But when he kept looking at her to check if she was still hanging on to every word he said, there was a constant look on his face that intrigued her. ‘Do I make him nervous?’ That confused Bailey a little. He didn’t have that type of energy about him. Jake seemed too sure of himself to ever have problems articulating; especially around women. Bailey could bet they usually tripped over themselves for him. But, it was that sort of look - maybe not present in his body language but in his eyes. Maybe it was dread. But he had no reason to fear her, so what?

As they continued to talk, eventually it dawned on her. (And there must have been something between them, given that no one disturbed them the entire time – no one from his team or hers. She expected a debrief, or at least someone to tap her shoulder and say when that would be, yet nothing. They were just left alone to talk.) So what did dawn on her, was that Jake’s look was the fear of her slipping away. The fear of her getting up and leaving – of that person, whoever it would be, eventually stepping in - and that he still wouldn’t have told her everything he wanted to. Of the chance he’d never get to see her again. Bailey knew she couldn’t just voice that though - he’d play it off; more likely Jake would throw it back at her, say she’s the one who can’t resist him. But she knew… he was chasing. It was the reason he ran after her on the taxi way, it was the reason he asked her to stay. Jake already had a crush – whether he would admit it out loud or not.

She should have guessed this from the immediate introduction. He was Jake, and he let her call him that – not by his last name, nor rank. Not by his call sign – even though almost everyone else was doing one or the other. The one time she had decided to ask about it; just in case he wasn’t one to correct her, he’d said “Jake is fine!” with one of those smiles that she was sure had all the girls falling for him.

There was a natural end to the day though. There had to be. The shooting was wrapped, and the crews were packing up around them as the sun began to sink lower in the sky. It was unfortunate for them both – given the way their discussion had gone there was some kind of chemistry, that was undeniable. Whatever it was – or was going to be. There was a feeling that they both still had something to say.

All sets of teams around them did their best to pack up without having to disturb them until the last possible second, but eventually her trainer, Luca, had to interrupt. “Bailey?” The two of them trailed their conversation off to look at him. “Sorry, the car is probably going to be here to pick you up within the next 10 minutes. You wanna debrief?” “In the car will do, Luca, thank you.” “Alright, I’ll come back when it’s here.” He nodded politely to Jake before leaving them alone once more. Although he didn’t show it on his face, Jake was disappointed – his emotional state slumped a little, but he knew he couldn’t keep her here. He was a charmer, he knew that - he knew how it was to flirt back with the girls that came walking up at The Hard Deck and it was easy. But the woman sitting across from him now didn’t seem to be falling for it - no matter how engaged Bailey was in what he said, there were no hearts in her eyes that meant he could persuade her anywhere…

All he could do was just hope that her interest was at least genuine. That she wasn’t talking to him for the sake of having someone there to talk to – or to be polite for today. Jake shook that off – her whole damn mechanic team was here, she had plenty of people she could choose to talk to and she was spending her time with him. He’d got this!

Still, there was no harm in trying – and there was an urgency now. He had ten minutes before she walked out of his life forever. “So, uh… any chance of getting your number, before you go? I mean, besides the one you race with?” And he winked, with an appropriate laugh. Although it had been peeled off the car for the race (along with the majority of the sponsors, given the video) the 85 was printed on the back of her fireproofs, underneath her last name. Jake’s voice was smooth and included a hopefulness behind it… as much as something vulnerable. Bailey would hate to disappoint him, but that wasn’t something she did. This wasn’t something she ever did. “No…” She leaned on her hand and before his face could fall in more than obvious disappointment he was doing very well not to show – it reached his eyes though, the discomfort with her answer was obvious in that hazel - Bailey gave another little smirk, this one mysterious, “but you can follow my Instagram.”

Part of her wished she hadn’t, because it immediately put Jake back on that attitude of his. Although, part of her had already decided she liked to see that on him. The feeling nothing could get to him – Bailey had just given him an out, Jake could play it off like she was the one asking for his number, “Oh, okay, alright. It’s like that, huh?” “Yeah.” And it was her turn to playfully wink at him, “pretty much.”

Ten minutes passed in little-to-no time, and it really was time for them to part. By then they were standing by the entry to the hanger. Her car was waiting patiently, her trainer leaning against it shaking his head. But Luca didn’t interrupt, he let Bailey have her time. They parted ways amicably; their handshake quickly turning into a hug. That perhaps lasted a little too long – Bailey wasn’t sure. “Congrats again on your win. You can tell people you beat a real racer – how’s that?” He laughed, “Well, you can tell your friends you nearly beat a Top Gun pilot… but I… I mean I don’t know if that gets you any cred.” “Ah, I got to race a jet, there’s not many racers can say that.” Bailey grinned – despite losing, she had to admit, it had been a fun day. Probably once in a lifetime. “Well, at least I can give you something good to say!” Jake was doing his best to act bashful, but Bailey wasn’t falling for that either. She stepped away from him, with another polite nod of thanks, before offering him one final wave goodbye, and following her trainer to the car. The door being opened the second she started walking showed Luca’s real impatience. Bailey almost looked to the sky in an eyeroll, laughing to herself. He will have followed her by the time she’d left the airfield and she’d be just another girl by the end of the week. Jake looked the type. She didn’t necessarily mind that. (At least, that’s what she was telling herself right now). Bailey wasn’t looking for anything. She had a career of her own, and she had to focus on the race coming up in a few weeks. Tomorrow she’d be back training on the simulator as if today had never happened. That was how it went. Jake Seresin would be just a guy she raced against once in another video stunt PR and Marketing had got her involved in. And then 1 in a few hundred thousand when he followed her.

Her phone beeped before the car was even off the taxi way and Bailey couldn’t help but laugh. Of course! She should have bet on it.

*** The sunlight glinted obnoxiously off the VIP pass in his hands that he had to flash to security as he walked through the paddock – despite already having scanned in his ticket.

‘What the hell am I even doing here, this is insane!?’ How did he go from sending a hopeful Instagram DM, to being invited out to the US round of the World Endurance Championship. That just so happened to coincide with his next leave period. Heck – maybe Jake Seresin should actually be calling it luck.

Bailey was more responsive to his messages than he expected – especially with him not quite being able to gage her interest in him initially – and they just kept talking. Even when he was sure maybe the conversation had really dried up. Her own thinking had her concluding that if they’d raced on his home turf – at an airfield – then he had to come and see Bailey at her own; a race track. So she didn’t just send him a ticket, but a VIP paddock pass that would get him into the motorhome for her team.

Right now, he probably couldn’t have looked more out of place. Fans excitedly chatting, sporting team and driver gear, some even gathering around drivers for autographs and selfies. Team staff of all types running up and down between the trucks and buildings – shouting incoherently to one another or driving small vehicles containing car parts and other personnel. Journalists and photographers, all looking to get the best new stories and best shots. Jake was just trying to take it all in. With the also obnoxiously bright pink and black pass hanging around his neck – the colours of Bailey’s team; the only all women’s team in the WEC – Jake felt a bit like a fraud. Surely these groups of fans deserved this more than he did? They probably could rattle off a million facts about Bailey Walker that he wouldn’t have known… yet, he was the one talking to her on social media… so… he guessed he had that. The thought had a little smirk appearing on his face as he cleared his throat, relaxing his shoulders back and standing a little taller – exactly, damn right! She’d invited him here!

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. Already having let Bailey know he’d arrived; she’d rather enthusiastically replied with a ton of celebratory emojis and that he should let her know when he was in the paddock. Which as he now was, he did exactly that. It wasn’t long before she was typing back, and he found himself staring at instructions for getting to their motorhome. Geez… okay… He studied them carefully, before beginning to walk in the specified direction. Jake was starting to think it might be easier if she just came and collected him herself. Or, at least had someone else do it. He was hoping this wouldn’t end with an embarrassing phone call and him getting lost. It wasn’t just a straight line of teams after all, she had him turning left and right at various points to get to other rows all laid out within the space afforded to them by the circuit. He was passed on all sides by other people in team gear who must have been laughing at him silently inside… Jake had no idea where he was going and he could bet he looked it. Normally he’d brush it off and act confident, but Jake was trying to stare at his phone to make sure he was following what she said to a T, and also staring up at the buildings around to make sure he hadn’t missed it on accident. It was obvious he was new around here at the very least, and that display of confidence from before was waning.

Eventually Jake had to stop moving for fear of getting hopelessly lost. They weren’t directions that hard to follow – but he’d suddenly started second guessing himself. Had he actually turned the right way at all the points she’d listed? What if he hadn’t? What if he was hopelessly lost. Dammit – he didn’t actually want to have to make that phone call! The objective was to walk in there, cool as hell, like he did this all the time! Jake wondered if it was really the pang of nerves in his stomach at seeing her face to face again. Their open, chill DM banter… would it translate once they spoke to each other again? Once they hung out… this weekend for much longer than they had before.

As Jake stared at his phone again, bent closer to the screen, making him look more confused and out of place than he did before, he suddenly heard a whistle from above him, and then voices. “Hot damn – hey, girls look at this!” “Holy shit - wait, is that him?! She was totally right!” “Hey! Good looking, where you going!?” Jake looked up to find himself stared at by three women leaning over a balcony, all in the black-and-pink of Bailey’s team. Though the motorhome itself was white. And the name emblazoned on the side – in neon yellow he might add: ‘IL COVO’ - was not her team name. Way to make him look even more confused. “Uh…” Although he’d be lying if he didn’t say he felt a little flattered to be cat called like this, Jake removed his sunshades, “I’m looking for the Iron Dames motorhome?” “Oh. You’re for us!? Damn, isn’t this our lucky day.” “Well, I-” he laughed, “Bailey Walker invited me.” “Bailey?” One pouted, “Aw c’mon, we can show you a better time than her!” One of the other women immediately turned around, “Bailey - Hey Bailey, your boyfriend is here!” There was some muffled scuffling, and one of the women disappeared, before there was more yelling, “Holy shit, why didn’t you SAY he was so gorgeous!!” Jake couldn’t help but grin a little more, feeling that little ego boost. The next voice echoed faintly, as if it was far away but yelling enough to be heard even from where he was standing, “Oh my god, will you guys shut up! Stop yelling!” “Look, we can’t help that he’s so hot.” “Stop cat calling him – my god can you get any more embarrassing!” The woman who had disappeared before, popped back over, leaning even further out than she was before, “If you get bored with her, hot stuff, we’re always up here.” Before winking, “But this girl has a massive crush on you…” Jake tried not to let that go all the way to his head – he didn’t know if that was the truth or if they were teasing him… or her… or both. “Shut up! Leave him alone!” There was a scrabbling sound and finally Bailey popped up beside them, a little flushed. And he didn’t know if that was from embarrassment or hurrying to get there, “Jake!” her voice was joyful, and she beamed upon seeing him, “Hey! Just come up to the door, you got your pass, right?” He flashed it at her, “Perfect! Yeah, I’ll be right down! Please ignore my team mates!” “Ignore us!? Bailey that’s so rude!” At this point another group of people in overalls – these ones yellow and black, and also on men! – had peered over the side of the motorhome to see what all the fuss was about, and they were all chuckling. Jake couldn’t help but laugh himself as he walked towards the glass front door, finding himself called on again; “Don’t be a stranger!” He grinned up at them as they waved at him, “Don’t worry, I won’t!”

Once inside – as if he hadn’t just been checked outside the door – Jake found himself face to face with what looked like a security guard. If he wasn’t also wearing a suit and standing at a desk that made him look like a Matire D – but the guy was intimidatingly tall. Jake raised an eyebrow approaching the desk. “Ah, hello Sir. I see your pass.” He gestured, “My name is Chris – I look after everyone on the motorhome.” Jake could imagine that look after must entail pretty much everything. Including first – or, second - line of defence. “Before I let you wander around – I better get you checked in, I don’t believe I’ve seen you on here already?” “No, that’s right. I’m Jake, Seresin.” “Seresin… Seresin…” Chris ran down the list of names with his pen – before letting out a laugh he obviously didn’t mean to be audible by how it was cut short and he placed his hand over his mouth. Eyes raising back to Jake, he smiled, “You’re here for Bailey?” “…That’s right.” Jake could imagine the expression on his face was one of surprised concern – should he be worried? What had he let himself in for?! “Sorry – that’s just unusual – if not for her parents! Bailey never gets visitors!” Chris raised his eyebrows and crossed through Jake’s name on the list, before muttering, “Good Luck!” Jake’s face creased in concern, “Uh… thanks?” Before he started walking again, then paused, “Wait, I don’t… have to do this again right?” “Oh no, just flash your pass – I’ve got you all memorised.” No doubt. “Okay… thanks Chris!” By the time Jake started walking on, Bailey had already appeared in the bottom of the motorhome, leaning against a wall draped in ivy. She was wearing a black t-shirt – team branded – and jeans. Obviously not expecting to be out in the car for a while. Bailey raised her hand in greeting and Jake was at least relieved he wouldn’t have to wait around by himself for a while.

“Hey!” “Hey, it’s good to see you again.” He leaned down to her own lean up – such was the height difference – as they hugged, accepting cheek kisses. “Oh-!” Bailey grinned at his greeting, “And you too! It’s nice to speak face to face again, huh Jake?” She nodded behind him to Chris, “Did he tell you good luck!?” “How’d you know?” Jake quirked his eyebrow again, half expecting her to let him know what he’d been warned about. Bailey simply rolled her eyes. “I just said you’d be coming and they’ve been teasing me ever since.” Then she gaped, suddenly embarrassed, “Oh my god! My team-! I- I’m so sorry! That- they joked so much about doing that all through practice and stuff and I never thought they’d actually go ahead and tease YOU! I’m sorry – I… they’re a great bunch and lovely girls really, I… I’m so sorry!” Jake waved away her apology, knowing she was likely right, “Naw, it’s okay! What’s a little bit of banter huh?” He laughed, “I’ve heard worse from the Navy guys. You’re all good.” “Ah, just wait – they’ll all be thanking you for your service next.” “Aw, stop.” He winked, which made her shove him playfully. “Uh, question…” He pointed behind him, “This is not what I expected.” “That wasn’t a question, but I think I’ve got your wavelength…” She smirked, folding her arms and tracing her eyeline slowly around the room, to which he followed.

The motorhome did indeed look like a miniature home. Light and airy and filled with fake, or maybe some real, plants. Polished authentic wooden surfaces mixed well with the modern glass and steel and stark white. But it still had a homely feel, plush sofas, and tables where some of the team were sat chatting – likely about strategy – the lighting from above wasn’t harsh either, the large windows allowing plenty of natural light. The wall Bailey had been leaning against was deceptive; actually just a dividing boarder to the rest of the building – bar tables pushed up against the wall: upon which hung framed pictures of cars, tracks and podiums, the stairs heading to the top deck (which was clearly something like an outside balcony). The surfaces either were crowded with laptops or coffee machines and fridges for snacks. Jake assumed that catering facilities were in another part that he just couldn’t see. On the wall directly opposite them was mounted a large flatscreen TV – clearly for showing the racing when any was actually happening – and two logos. One for The Iron Dames – in pink and black – and the other for the Iron Lynx – this in yellow and black. Iron Lynx, and the vibrant yellow, was of course what Jake had been met with on the outside.

“So technically we’re part of the Iron Lynx brand – we’re just the all-girls team. The Lynx team are all guys – but you’ll see ‘Iron Lynx’ on our car too.” She smiled, “The more you know!” “Gotcha.” – Although he was sure it’d make more sense when he met the teams and saw the cars going around. Though it did explain the group of male drivers he’d seen on the top deck too. “I’m sure you thought the motorhome would live up to the pink and black! Or at least black and yellow, that would make sense. But no, right now we’re white!” She gave a shrug. Maybe that would change in the future, then. “I see.” She watched him carefully, “Feeling a bit out of your depth?” He didn’t see any point in trying to deflect, Bailey had the intuition and perception of a racer, after all. Really Jake had nowhere to hide, and as he saw it, no reason to. “Just a little…” She smiled, patting him, “Well – you’re at least appropriately dressed.” Jake looked down at himself; jacket, jeans, boots, button up shirt… shades now tucked into the front. The pink kinda clashed with the soft blues, but whatever. He pulled it off. “You’ll get the hang of things. You’ll be a certified expert by the time I’m done with you. And don’t worry – I’ll make sure you’re not harassed… I mean, I did invite you out here to see you…” Her features softened, affectionately, “…and… I – uh – I obviously want you to enjoy the experience.” He smiled, and she knew she’d said exactly the right thing to swell his ego right. Although truth was, she did mean every word. She wanted to see Jake again, because she had some things to figure out. And Bailey knew that the only way to do that now was to have a face-to-face conversation with him. This wasn’t something she could figure out over text anymore – you could only get to know someone so well from that. Bailey wanted to remove that limitation. “Oh, don’t you worry about me. I think I’ll enjoy myself.” She laughed, nodding, before she opened her arms back to the room – a small gesture before putting her hands in her pockets. This time when her eyes met his they glinted, full of confidence: “Well, Jake, welcome to my domain.”

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

Thank you for reading! 💜💙

#Jake Seresin #jake hangman seresin #Jake Seresin x OC #Its like a YEAR since I saw this in theaters which means this concept has been floating for a YEARRRRRRR!!!#It took me like 0.2 seconds to decide what she was gonna do because I remember that Top Gear thing like it was yesterday #I was like /Sure... she could be the obvious things within this story BUUUUUTTTTTTTT----/#And now shes a WEC driver with the Iron Dames because all girl team - hell yeaaaah bitches!#So I get to combine all my favourite things! And I'm very happy about it!#Matt Stell lyrics as your title? YES.

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255940g · 1 year

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Any title ideas guys? Ch.11 - What I thought would happen

Chapter Summary: This is like a directors commentary for a movie. Also known as what I thought would happen with different scenes from the original fic, but didn't.

Inspo fic: Don't say you'd rather waly by Greyscales

Meeting Ironhide:

“Hey, Ironhide. Nice to officially meet you I guess. Before you take them out again, you know damn well that your cannons are cool. Why do you need validation?” Sam panted breathlessly while fearlessly approaching the larger being.

“How do you know my designation?” He asked

A good distance away Sam sent a quick smile looking him directly not his optics “It’ll be better if I tell everyone at once.”

Ironhide accepts that and stays by her neither speaking much. (that scene with Bumblebee and the ‘Are you ok?’ was far too sweet and it sets it up during the rest of the book where something hugely dramatic happens probably to Sam, but she starts to comfort those around her, mainly Bee. Like this happens after suddenly meeting the other Autobots and killing Frenzy, then after killing Megatron by getting far too close for anyone’s comfort to both the power of the Allspark, Megatron, and Megatron’s spark, after she wakes up from changing species for the alien species. Beautifully done. I adore all of it!)

When she meets the rest of the Autobots:

After exchanging hellos, and calling them by name. Pulls out from under her shirt a hidden satchel and then holds it out to Optimus. “Here are the glasses you’re looking for. Unfortunately, The location is no longer accurate as sector 7 already found the Allspark and is holding it and Megatron under the Hoover dam somewhere. Apparently, a ton of concrete around both of them is able to hide their signatures. They’re keeping Megatron still by basically keeping him at or near arctic temperatures, that’s going to fail when they take Judy Ron and me in a few hours. They can track the benign radiation coming from your sparks. They can currently only trace the larger signatures off of organic materials” gesturing to herself with a little bit of a shrug. “It’s inevitable that anyone interacting with you all will have a similar signature. Thinking of Sector 7, the agents have already started to experiment with the radiation coming off of it. They have a whole chamber that locks from the outside. They place a piece of tech - which came around after they started experimenting on Megatron so there might be a connection with that - and combine it with the radiation of the Allspark. There’s an angry baby cybertronian inside, so they start to electrocute them until they die and take the corpse for experimenting and further researching.” Taking the time to glance around and seeing the confused and slightly dubious reaction, Sam assumes that it's due to humans having reverse engineered and developed a way to fully kill a cybertronian and so explained “Ratchet when you landed, you landed on a few power lines and were shocked pretty badly, but you merely lifted your helm and said something like ‘what a rush, right?”

“That was my exact words and actions”

“Alright, it’s gonna be like that but heavily amplified. That’s a sabot shell. They hurt like hell, which if Bee decides to interrupt their kidnapping attempt of Judy, Ron and me then he’ll experience that torture first hand,” hearing Bee’s gears whir Sam turned around in his palm, “So instead of stepping in between, maybe you could follow us to the Hoover dam and keep track of things like that, or even hacking them and saving the files that when Megatron gets free - which he will in a matter of days. The system keeping him down takes up a lot of energy and rightfully, he’s harbouring extreme anger and prejudice against humanity as a whole. So he decides to take out as much of the information they’ve gathered. If you keep a copy of the obvious lack of ethics they have and the prejudice against Cybertronians, it’ll be very likely that getting the official treaty and an actual base of operations much easier as concessions out of the massive budget of the American military has.”

Everyone pauses for a moment of stillness where Sam believes them to each be digesting the information she’s dumped on them.

In reality, they are sharing an extensive amount of information over the comms, where Bee explains that she knew his name, then apologising that she stopped some tentative plans he was going to try to get chosen and into her care by literally destroying all the other cars in the lot, and some details which she rightfully shouldn’t know, all within the first 5 minutes of getting into his cab. Ironhide collaborates her story by saying she was initially startled and called his exact designation he decided on not even a few klicks before and called out his usual greeting by subverting it herself and acknowledging that yes, his cannons are very cool.

Ratchet says that not only did she exactly state what he said, she retired the main action he did, and also that she was using the correct closest cybertronian term for their body parts and the human variety for humans.

Jazz piped up about she knew literally all of their names in order and their rank, in the order that oh so long ago they agreed upon.

Ratchet:: She definitely knows something::

Interrupting their comms, Optimus stated expertly hiding how off-kilter and unplanned this meeting had gone “What do you want us to do with this information?”

“Ideally, this would be 100% up to you Optimus, I’m absolutely no strategist, but I’ve definitely had different ideas as I’ve stewed over this in the past year. You want to trust me, but you need to verify what I’ve said. So why not just split into two groups? One to follow the coordinates in the glasses and the other to follow whenever the path Sector 7 makes. Trust but verify, Ratchet’s continual scans will say that at the very least, I’m believing every word that comes out of my mouth as the absolute truth, also sorry about the high spikes of anxiety, I’ve been diagnosed with it, unfortunately. I can only offer suggestions based on what knowledge I have. Thinking of which do you want me to remove the glasses from the cases. I tried protecting them as best as I could from Frenzy and Barricade, but they aren’t exactly friendly Cybertronian digits.”

:: I am. Not a single lie or obfuscation either. Even down to the rates of anxiety.::

Optimus took the lead again “And why start out with sharing so much information?”

“Why wouldn’t I? This is knowledge and patterns which directly affect your very life. Like someone is likely thinking, I have more information that you’ll need to know patterns to hopefully make everything easier, foreknowledge is forewarned. But, I’m more worried about the next threeish days. Whatever knowledge I have about the Mission City battle and what leads up to it, I’ll share. So while there is a saying about change negating knowledge, and knowledge negating change, I haven’t changed much. I didn’t try and sell the glasses via eBay, I stopped Bee from ruining a guy’s livelihood, and I'm not freaking out about Cybertronians, so the average police officer isn’t aware of what's up.”

They separate and unknown to Sam they do actually follow her idea and plan, because like she said trust, but verify. The usual in the fic happens, Sam gets the sparkling and the cube to shrink down while alerting the people that sabot rounds work better against Cybertronians. Ironhide and Bee start to try and get through the door and Sam recognises Ironhide and gets out of the base faster while the two bots are still in surprise about the sparkling and the cube. Approaching Bee, but briefly glancing back at Willian Lennox “I’m also going to assume that you, Mr Lennox, were about to tell Mr Epps about being able to get a signal out to some of your people and they’ve prepared to pick up at Mission city?”

“You know my nickname?” Epps muttered staring at the kid in front of him.

“How the fuck did you know that I was about to do that?” William practically demanded.

But all Sam did was turn to the two Autobots in front of her “Mission City,” In a disgusted voice. “Don’t forget to pack Sabot rounds for against the ‘cons!” she calls back to the soldiers as she speeds up towards Bee and Ironhide.

Sam bonds a little with the sparkling in her arms, but gets the attention back by announcing Starscream's attack, then the second one “Bee, on the second strike you need to be extra careful, that's where you lose your legs. This time there’s no Mikaela around to drag your torso around on the back of a tow truck.

However, this pre-warning only amplifies that she absolutely knows something and is to definitely be looked after and out for. Saving Jazz’s life - Bee only was just barely able to get him to stop from beginning the climb up the building.

The fic battle happens as per usual. The bots and Sam get back to Sector 7’s base and Sam is officially in the dark for this section of the movie; however, this is how I thought the whole interaction would go.

A random sector 7 agent walks slightly up and tries to get her to come over to the human side “So we can protect you from them.” (as per usual in the fic)

“I'm more protected with them than going with the agency which commits mass infanticide.”

The random agent pauses and asks “What do you mean by infanticide?”. This is seen by Simmons and William’s herd of agents, all of which are carefully observing everything.

Snapping her fingers Sam continues as if the agent hasn’t spoken “You’re right, infanticide is just killing a ton of children. What Sector 7 did was worse. They brought infants to life, then tortured them to death only to experiment on the corpse. Don’t even try to mentally hide behind the idea of ‘just following orders, that hasn't worked as an excuse for a lack of personal morals in around half a century, in all fields. I have more important things to do.” Completely turning on her heel Sam approached Ratchet “Hey Ratchet, do you have any extra time to add one to your patient list? I wasn’t fast enough to stop the electrocution. I want to make sure they’re alright. Gently bouncing the sparkling in her arms.

Ratchet leaned down to place his hand near the floor in an invitation that Sam willingly took. Going as far as to sit on the palm. Ratchet teased “Only if I can add one more to the list.” Sending a significant look towards Sam.

“Sure Ratchet. You haven’t done anything to discourage my trust.” Meeting his optics head-on with a beaming smile and raising an eyebrow.

The growing smile on his faceplate let her know that she wasn’t just talking about since they crashlanded on Earth, but in whatever future, she was able to see. Also that it was another verbal slap in the face to the listening-in agents that an alien who she’s officially met once garnered more trust than her own species.

Playfully narrowing his eyes “And you’re undergoing the basic evaluation?” the two of them knowing that he had her base scans already taken during their initial meeting.

“Of course. That's standard when you go to a new doctor, or even just go to see the doctor. Sparkling first, though.”

Ratchet looked at Ironhide “See this is how to be a decent patient. Preemptive care and recognising when things are out of their own medical knowledge. Be more like Sam.” while carrying Sam and Ellie in his servos to a corner of the temporary base.

After getting home from learning that her memories were affected.:

So Sam absolutely shuts down, but her memories are at stake. She knows that Fate, Destiny Karma, whoever is going to do the worst thing possible. So Sam starts up her computer after Ellie is done and wants cuddles and love before slipping into recharge. Sam starts up the computer again and begins to write as accurately everything that she knew before becoming Sam. If she was right then she would lose these memories. If she was wrong then they were going to be of use to the Autobots either way and finally they could be shared as a recording for her, later.

To everyone else, Sam is practically mute and always typing things down but interacting with Ellie. Her time inside Bee is half silent and pondering the other half is being in Bee’s cab and frantically typing. No one knows what she’s typing and she isn’t talking from the surprise. But she’s eating and sleeping and slowly greater frequencies. Ellie still gets her time on the computer while Sam is introspective and Sam interacts with Ellie but the world shifts down to those three things.

After Sam says something and is moved to the Autobot base and is with her first exam with Ratchet. Where she says “I’m putting down all the information I can of the future. I want at least you and Optimus to have full access to all of the information. You said last time that it was already affecting my brain and memories. I need to have this information known so you can be aware of the trends to look out for.”

“Ratchet is both floored at this secret and forbidden knowledge but also highly concerned with the concern and responsibility that comes from even glimpses of the future. With the knowledge she had, she saved Jazz’s life, Ellie's life, and most likely Bee’s well-being.

Sam continues in her now much softer voice even through the discomfort that she admitted to earlier “Please Ratchet. I need to get this out. I need to try and prevent you from being hunted for years before being torn apart for parts while your processor and spark are barely kept alive so some random ass company can pick at it for the information you have on Cybertronians, so this company can forcefully make their own.”

If he were human Ratchet would have already been pale from the information but this frankness of how he could possibly die if she didn’t share it, along with the miserable existence he could possibly lead to and the sheer weight that this information would have, along with the unimaginable stress that she was carrying. He would have glitched if it weren’t for his protocols demanding his attention on his two now distressed patients. (Sam and Bee were the actual distressed patients. Ellie was only distressed because Sam an Bee were. Once the two of them calmed down, then Ellie was easily put into a happier mood.)

#transformers bayverse #maccadam #bayverse optimus prime #bayverse bumblebee #bayverse ratchet #my tfp fics #sam witwicky

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tripleyeeet · 1 year

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Hello!! It is me 💿 anon coming to ask you about the playlists of your newest fic! I saw you have ones for each character and was wondering if you have specific lyrics/songs that helped you develop each character? All the playlists that are out so far and fab btw!

WARNING: LONG POST AHEAD

💿 anon, my beloved!

first off, omg thank you!! second, yes, of course there's lots of character inspo that revolves around music! i find a lot of the time my fics come from song lyrics and sort of sprout from there —prey included. the whole fic was based around these lyrics from the neighbourhood’s song of the same name:

something is off, i can't explain you know what i mean, don't you? something i saw, or something i did that made me like this could you help me?

obviously i can’t go too into detail because that’ll spoil the fic but the lyrics definitely encompass avis and loki’s relationship as a whole. in the story they both feel sort of cast aside by the people they’re meant to be closest to and because of that, find a lot of comfort in one another during moments of solitude.

for loki, i have a whole playlist of songs that remind me of him but for prey specifically one song comes to mind that i definitely lean towards when forming his psyche/how others perceive him. that song being they don’t want by electric wire hustle.

pretty much the whole song is very prey-esque but specifically the first verse i think really encapsulates the overall first impression loki gets from most of the team:

all around this town people stop and stare i can feel their eyes upon me see it in the face, there's nobody there i've felt that look before they don't want me here

moving onto avis who, despite some subtle differences is still very similar to loki. they’re both lonely and stubborn and frankly, quite broken but are also in this constant state of trying to showcase themselves as essentially perfect individuals. they force others to perceive themselves as capable of dealing with anything when really they're just these fragile little guys who want to be loved.

that being said, a lot of loki songs definitely overlap but honestly i find avis to be a bit more vengeful? basically, in the story she has this level of externalized rage that loki tends to hide away rather than release, making her overall character a bit more brash as you might be able to hear in the playlist.

overall, i'd say there are two main songs that really brought avis's character to life. the first being destruction by joywave which i think is a good example of her relationship with SHIELD and how she consistently feels threatened by it's presence.

oh my god, there's nobody who can set me right i've been sent to torch the palace down in broad daylight i wanna know who you told 'til they're all laying on the floor frozen to the core i wanna know who you told till it's nobody anymore

moving on to the second one: stuck on the puzzle by alex turner is definitely a song that connects to both loki and [redacted]. not really a spoiler but both parties are very interested in avis for different reasons. and although the lyrics are very romantic in nature i kind of feel like they apply to both relationships in their own unique ways? if that makes sense?

nobody i asked knew how he came to be the one to whom you surrendered

any man who wasn't led away into the other room stood pretending

which finally brings me to [redacted] who i've gotten a lot of inquiries about. for obvious reasons i can't tell you a whole lot about them but just know they're essentially a deity that a particular group within the fic worship.

that being said, a lot of the songs that inspired their character are mostly just vibes. not a lot of songs contain a ton of words aside from desire - slowed by hucci which is a pretty on the nose description of how [redacted]'s seen by everyone outside of their group.

i wanna breathe into your well see, i gotta hunt you i gotta bring you to my hell

and yeah, that's it! i know it's a lot read and very ramble-y, so if you took the time to read this, thank you! i had a lot of fun answering!! :)

#prey #behind the scenes #wip #loki laufeyson fan fic #loki laufeyson playlist #character playlist

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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years

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Hungry Eyes

masterlist

Summary: Spencer is tired of hiding your relationship.

A/N: The idea for this fic came from a lovely anon that requested a fic based on She’s So Nice by Pink Guy. I also drew inspo from Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen (strange mix, but stay with me here.) So basically, a lot of Dom!Spencer goodness. I’d like to say a huge thank you for almost 1k followers, because wow. I never imagined 5 people would actually want to read my writing. I love you all, and I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future works!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, jealousy, degradation, spitting, slapping, oral sex (male and female receiving), spanking, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex

Word Count: 5.5k

“That is one fine piece of ass. Don’t think I could get any work done with a sweet little thing like that prancing around my precinct,” mutters yet another sleezeball detective, beady eyes trained on you like a lion might study their prospective prey. It’s moments like these that Spencer has to remind himself that patience is a virtue – that he must bite his tongue because he’s at work and that means he has to act professional. Even if those around him don’t seem capable of affording him the same luxury.

So, it’s with a clenched jaw and all the self-restraint that he can muster that Spencer forces himself to focus on the task at hand. Because Spencer is a professional, and there are more pressing matters that demand his undivided attention. The detective could be dealt with later – in the form of a complaint to the higher ups. But for now, patience.

Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem. Years on the job had taught Spencer to remain level headed no matter the circumstance. Usually, Spencer could tune out the locker room talk in favor of immersing himself into the case. But when it came to you, or rather, people who dared to look upon you with eyes laden with lustful intentions, Spencer had a rather short fuse.

It happens often, and he supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised. You’d certainly turned his head the first time he was fortunate enough to lay eyes on you. He’d nearly broken his neck trying to steal another glimpse of you as you walked past him on your way to Emily’s office on your first day. No one would ever describe Spencer Reid as forward, but on that day, he was the most brazen he’d ever been.

Throwing caution to the wind, Spencer made a split-second decision stop you and introduce himself.

It was the best decision he would ever make.

So, yes – he understood why the head of everyone you passed turned your way, eager to bask in your unparalleled beauty. But that didn’t mean that he had to like it. In fact, every time Spencer caught some imprudent bastard leering at you, he had to remind himself that enacting physical force on another person with no real reason could cost him his job. That, and he was above resorting to violence – or at least he was, until you came around.

Part of his anger was rooted in the obvious lack of respect. It didn’t matter if Spencer held your hand in his as the two of you walked down the street, or if he kissed you on the lips in the middle of a crowded restaurant. All the PDA in the world did nothing to assuage the lingering stares, and Spencer felt his sanity chip away with every passing day.

In the beginning, keeping his relationship with you a secret from your colleagues seemed like a good enough idea. Both of you were in agreement that you didn’t want to your personal relationship to affect your professional one, so when the elevator doors opened up and the two of you stepped out into the bullpen, you both were on your best behavior. And it was okay at first – Spencer was able to put his romantic feelings aside and focus on his work, all while still being able to make eyes at you from across the room. It was the perfect arrangement.

Until it wasn’t.

Because it wasn’t enough that you were gorgeous – you were also the most selfless person that Spencer had ever met. Always eager to lend a hand to anyone in need – always seeing the best in everyone, regardless of if they deserve it or not. It was an admirable quality to have, and he loved you for it, but on days like today he wishes you were a little more perceptive.

That, and he wishes you’d chosen to wear anything but the tight little skirt and low-cut top that you were currently sporting. Not that he didn’t love the way the fabric clung to your figure like it was tailor-made for you – because he did - it was just that every other male in the precinct seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. And that made Spencer’s blood boil.

The tipping point comes when, just as Spencer is trying to hunt you down and propose a quick lunch break, he finds you engaging in conversation with the very same detective that had been spouting lewd comments about you all morning. You’re seated at the breakroom table, clutching a fresh cup of coffee in hand as you look up at the man, a polite smile upturning your lips as you listen to him drone on about how his amateur baseball team had won some stupid fucking tournament the previous weekend. He’s smiling down at you, endlessly smug and way too pleased with himself at having captured your attention.

It makes Spencer sick.

His reprieve comes when your eyes flit to the doorway and you flash him a breathtaking smile. It makes him warm from the inside out, and Spencer wants nothing more than to plant kiss after kiss on your lips. Unfortunately, he can’t, so he settles on returning your smile.

“There you are,” Spencer greets as he crosses the room before coming to a stop next to you. “I was thinking we could go grab lunch.”

“Is it really lunch time already?” you murmur as you glance down at your watch. “I guess I let the day get away from me. Detective Yarborough was just telling me about the baseball game his team won this weekend.”

“Oh, was he now,” Spencer feigns interest as he turns to face the man.

“Yup,” you say, completely oblivious to the uncomfortable tension. “Didn’t you tell me you played in a baseball game once?”

This piques the interest of Yarborough and he raises an eyebrow at Spencer.

“You play?” he asks, tone laden with disbelief.

“Not exactly.”

The detective merely harrumphs in response, and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

Your eyes dart between the two men and your brows furrow adorably as you try to make sense of the almost palpable animosity.

“Okay… So, lunch. Did you have anything in mind, Spence?”

“There’s a really good pizza joint two blocks from here,” Yarborough chimes in. “I could show you, if you like.”

He acts as if the offer extends to you both, but the way he looks only at you when he says it tells Spencer otherwise.

“The hospitality is appreciated, but that won’t be necessary,” Spencer breezes, clipped and to the point. He’s able to see in his peripheral vision the way your eyebrows raise in shock, but he’s too busy glaring at the detective to care.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks anyways, Detective,” you mutter confusedly as you stand.

“Anything for a pretty lady such as yourself,” he replies. “And you can call me Trevor.”

Spencer’s hands are clenched into fists and he has to actually bite down on his tongue to keep from doing something he’d surely regret later. You bid Trevor ado with a smile and a parting wave, and then Spencer’s ushering you out of the room and down the hall, hand placed firmly on your back. He can’t do much in regards to initiating physical contact, but he allows himself this miniscule act of PDA. The feeling of your warmth radiating through your blouse is the only thing keeping him from giving into his primal instincts. Instincts that are screaming at him to put that smarmy bastard in his place.

The hours after lunch pass by rather uneventfully. You accompany Tara when she goes to interview the victim’s family, and for the first-time all-day Spencer is able to repress his frustration long enough to focus on piecing together a geographical profile. By the time you and Tara return, the sun has long since disappeared from the sky and fatigue is rolling off everyone in waves. When Emily finally announces the end of the day, she’s met with absolutely no resistance.

Spencer immediately scans the room for you, only to frown when he sees that you’re nowhere in sight. In fact, he hasn’t set eyes on you in well over an hour, too busy wrapping up the days’ work to notice your absence until now.

“Has anyone seen Y/N?” Spencer calls out. His question is met by several shaking heads.

“I think she’s busy,” JJ sing-songs, eyebrows waggling suggestively. Spencer’s frown only deepens.

“Busy?”

JJ nods.

“Yarborough has been chomping at the bit to ask her to dinner. My guess is he’s got her cornered somewhere.”

Of fucking course.

Spencer’s out of his seat and stomping through the precinct in second, oblivious to the way his coworkers exchange curious glances as he storms off.

He finds the two of you in much the same way as before, only this time Trevor is blocking your path to the doorway, hand in the air as he moves to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear.

“– C’mon, babe. Say you’ll go to dinner with me,” Trevor croons in a way that’s supposed to come off as seductive. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

You lean backwards in an attempt to evade his touch, and you barely get the chance to open your mouth when Spencer intervenes.

“She’s not interested.”

The detective whips around, snorting in annoyance when he sees Spencer standing in the doorway.

“What are you, her fucking keeper?” Trevor sneers, before turning back to face you. “Who does this guy think he is?”

Something in Spencer snaps, then – the same something that has been swelling inside him for months, threatening to spill over every time he had to pretend that the stares didn’t enrage him. He’s tired of pretending, tired of hiding, and so, so fucking tired of not putting assholes like Trevor Yarborough in their place.

Fueled by months of suppressed anger, Spencer manages to cross the room in about two seconds. He has several inches on the detective, standing at an intimidating six-foot one inch in height, so when he comes to a stop right in front of the detective, he’s looming over him threateningly.

“I’m her fucking boyfriend, and if you so much as try to touch her again, I’ll break your goddamn hand,” Spencer spits out, and he’d be lying if he said the way Trevor’s eyes widen in fear doesn’t thrill him. “Are we clear?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, dude,” Trevor splutters, raising his hands in surrender. “Didn’t know she was taken. My bad.”

Spencer tears his eyes away from the detective and takes in the way you’re watching on with an amused expression. He reaches out, and you’re quick to place your hand in his. Without speaking another word to the detective, Spencer leads you from the room and out the back entrance of the precinct.

“What was that?” you tease, eyes glistening mischievously underneath the street lights. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t taking things public just yet?”

Spencer crowds you against the brick wall of the building, pressing his body flush against yours. He ducks down swiftly, pulling you into a frenzied kiss. His lips drag against yours relentlessly, and all it takes is one breathy moan before he’s licking into your mouth possessively. Spencer slots his knee in between your legs, simultaneously groping at your chest with one hand as the other tangles in your hair.

When Spencer pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck as you writhe against him, hands clinging tightly to his dress shirt. You whimper when his teeth nip at the tender spot right under your ear, and you can’t help the way your hips cant up when Spencer’s tongue brushes against reddened skin.

“I’m tired of pretending,” Spencer murmurs as his mouth continues to move against you, sucking purple bruises against your flesh. “Don’t fucking care about how it will affect the job. Tomorrow, everyone’s gonna know that you’re mine. Gonna mark every inch of you tonight – gonna fuck you until you can’t fucking walk.”

“Please,” you slur as you guide Spencer’s hand down until his fingers graze the end of your skirt. Spencer chuckles darkly against your neck when his hand brushes against the soiled lace of your panties.

“Didn’t mean I’d fuck you right here,” he laughs, prompting you to let out an impatient whine. The hand that was previously tangled in your hair slides down until it’s wrapped around your throat, and Spencer’s cock twitches eagerly in his pants when you push your throat harder into his palm. “Such a needy little slut for me. Ready and willing for me to fuck you out in the open, where anyone could walk by and see how fucking desperate you are for my cock.”

“M’ your slut,” you pant as Spencer’s middle and index fingers ghost across your center. “Only yours, Spence. I don’t care who sees, just - please fuck me!”

“I fucking own you,” Spencer growls against your lips as he tightens his hold on your throat. “And as much as I’d love to take you right against this wall, the things I have planned for you would elicit quite an audience. I know how loud you like to be.”

Spencer pushes your panties to the side and you let out a low hiss as he drags a finger across where want him most. You cry out in frustration when he removes his hand to bring it up to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick his finger clean.

“Just needed a little taste to tide me over,” Spencer murmurs, smirking devilishly at you as he steps back from you. “Let’s head back to the hotel. I’ve got lots I wanna do to you, pretty girl.”

As soon as the door to the hotel room clicks shut, clothes are flying off as the two of you make your way to the bed. It’s a mad dash as you both undress, and as soon as the last garment leaves your body, Spencer pounces on you. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss, and the way you immediately go pliant as Spencer’s mouth works against yours makes him hum appreciatively.

“Don’t feel like being nice tonight. Are you gonna let me use that pretty little pussy however I want?” Spencer inquires, though he already knows the answer. He’s known how tonight would pan out ever since the first roll of your hips against his back at the police station.

You nod fervently, hopelessly, and Spencer moves his hand up to grip your chin in his hand. The pad of his thumb traces over the swollen skin of your kiss bruised lips.

“What about this?” he asks, tapping lightly against your lip. “Are you gonna let me fuck this slutty little mouth of yours?” Spencer slips his thumb into your mouth and you immediately close your lips around the digit, suckling lightly. Your eyes never leave his.

“You’d do anything I asked you to, wouldn’t you, pet?” Spencer muses, pressing his thumb farther into your mouth until you gag around him. Spencer withdraws his thumb and his hand tugs hard on the hair at the back of your scalp. “Open.”

You oblige immediately, and Spencer spits into your waiting mouth. You swallow without being instructed, and the visual of it makes Spencer let out a low groan.

“Get on your knees,” Spencer barks out, and the way you scramble to follow his order makes him let out a chuckle. “So eager to have my cock in your mouth,” he hums as he taps his dick teasingly against your cheek. You open your mouth wide for him, and Spencer guides your mouth down onto his dick at a tantalizingly slow pace. You let out a moan as you hollow your cheeks around his head, tongue lapping greedily at the precum that gathered there before Spencer makes you take him deeper.

“Everyone thinks you’re such an innocent little thing, but here you are, letting me use you like a cheap whore while you enjoy every minute of it,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as you moan wantonly around his cock. It isn’t until he’s halfway down your throat that your eyes begin to water, mascara running down your cheeks as he fucks into your mouth.

Spencer lets out a choked sound when your nose brushes against the skin of his abdomen, and he has to fight the urge to throw his head back in pleasure. He doesn’t want to look away, not even for a moment. Not when you’re looking up at him like that, tears running down your face as you swallow around his length.

He pulls you off him just the tiniest bit before he’s forcing you back down, a string of curses falling from his lips as your head bobs up and down.

“You take my cock so well, pretty girl,” Spencer praises, prompting you to let out a muffled moan around him. The vibrations send a shock of pleasure through him and he can help the way his hips stutter. “Fuck, baby. You like it when I tell you what a perfect little whore you are, don’t you?”

You’re unable to answer, because Spencer presses down on the back of your head until you’ve taken all of him again. The pressure he puts on you doesn’t relent, not even when you gag around him.

“Fucking choke on it, slut,” Spencer grunts. “Don’t act like you don’t want this. You were just begging me to fuck you in an alley not twenty minutes ago, like some pathetic fucking tramp. You wanna act like a tramp, I’m gonna treat you like one.”

Spencer’s lips curl into a debauched grin when your hands come up and grip the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer and further down your throat.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Spencer moans, giving several more harsh thrusts before pulling you off of him completely. Spencer reaches down to wipe at the spit that coats your lips as you look up at him with a shy smile.

“You okay, pretty girl?” Spencer asks as he caresses the side of your face.

“Mm,” you hum, nuzzling your face against his palm. “Keep going, please. Don’t hold back.”

“God, I fucking love you,” Spencer sighs happily. “Get on the bed.”

By the time Spencer fishes a tie out of his suitcase, you’re sprawled out across the bed, head resting against the pillows with your legs spread wide. Your teeth are nestled against your bottom lip as you watch him stalk towards you, eyes running up and down his naked figure appreciatively.

Spencer crawls onto the bed until he’s settled in between your legs. You present your wrists to him, just like you’ve done a million times before, and Spencer feels that familiar thrum of excitement rush through his body. He fucking lives for moments like these – moments where all his problems melt away to nothing. Moments where he has no other thought than wrecking you, thoroughly and completely.

Once your wrists are bound you hold them above you, and Spencer sits back on his heels, eyes raking up and down every inch of you.

“M’ so fucking lucky to be the only one who gets to see you like this.”

Spencer pinches your right nipple in between his fingers and you let out a squeak, hips bucking up, desperate for some friction. He kneads your breast in his hand as he lowers his mouth to the other one, tongue laving around you. A light nip from his teeth is all that it takes for you to cry out, eyelids fluttering closed.

“Spence, please. Need you to touch me now, pl-”

Spencer’s hand connecting with your cheek stops you from finishing your sentence.

“Do not tell me what to do,” Spencer seethes, once again gripping your chin to keep you from looking away. “Ungrateful slut. I should just leave you here, fucking dripping and desperate for a release that you won’t get. Maybe then you’d learn to take what’s given to you.”

“Please, no! I’ll be good, I swear. I’m sorry!”

Spencer narrows his eyes at you, contemplative.

“Open.”

You do as he says, and without another word Spencer inserts two fingers into your mouth, pressing down hard on your tongue.

“Get them nice and wet, and maybe I’ll think about using them on you.”

You do as he tells you, and by the time Spencer removes his fingers from your mouth, you’re trembling underneath him from anticipation.

“D-Did I do good?” you stutter out, batting your lashes at him as you squirm under his gaze.

“So good, baby. I think you’ve earned my fingers,” Spencer hums. “Need you to be still, okay? You’re not gonna like what happens if you try to move.”

You nod enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut when his fingers brush across your clit. Spencer spends ample time rubbing deliciously slow circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, relishing in every gasp and whimper that falls from your lips. Lips that he’d very much like to kiss, so he does, and you’re more than happy to reciprocate. Spencer lets out a happy sigh into your mouth.

You get lost in the kiss, so lost in the way that Spencer licks into your mouth that it catches you completely off guard when he slides two fingers into you.

“Oh, God,” you moan when Spencer curls his fingers against your walls, fucking them in and out of you, slow and unrelenting.

“S’that feel good, princess?” Spencer asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Tell me how it feels.”

Your head falls back against the pillows as you struggle to keep your hips firmly placed on the mattress.

“Feels amazing, Spence. Always feels so good with you. Never want anyone else, only you.”

And fuck, if that sentiment doesn’t shoot straight to his heart - amongst other places. Spencer places a tender kiss to your cheek before he’s moving down to your neck and sucking a bruise right under your jaw.

“Yeah?” Spencer prompts. “Not even that stupid fucking detective? I’m sure he’d love a chance to see you like this.”

“So, you were jealous,” you chuckle between moans, and Spencer bites down hard where your neck meets your shoulder.

“F-Fuck, Spencer!”

“Should I be jealous?” Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers, scissoring them at such an unforgiving pace that you can’t help but roll your hips against them.

You regret this instantly, because Spencer’s fingers immediately pull out of you, leaving you empty and cold. Spencer tuts, shaking his head disappointedly.

“Dumb little whore can’t even sit still long enough to cum on my fingers.”

“Please, let me try again. I’ll do better, I promise!”

Spencer shakes his head and scoots up until his back is rested against the pillows.

“C’mere,” he commands. “Lay across my lap. Or can you not follow simple commands?”

“I-I can,” you whisper as you crawl across him, splaying out so that you rest on your elbows with your ass in the air.

Spencer grabs a handful of your ass and kneads it in his hands.

“How many do you think you deserve?”

You blush and smile shyly at him from over your shoulder.

“However many you want to give me. I can take it.”

Spencer returns your smile.

“Good answer. I think you can handle fifteen. How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect. T-Thank you, Spencer,” you mumble, cheeks burning red. Spencer continues to caress the tender skin of your bare ass, admiring the way the skin is completely blank; the perfect canvas.

You let out a whimper when his hand comes down hard on your ass before kneading the sensitive, reddening skin.

“T-Thank you,” you gasp out, and Spencer is quick to follow up with another strike against the opposite cheek.

It goes on like this until it’s time for the fifteenth strike, and by then you’ve devolved into garbled whines, ass bright red and marked up with the imprint of Spencer’s hands. His dick is painfully hard underneath you, and you’re in a similar state – arousal dripping onto Spencer’s thigh, coating it.

“Last one, baby. Do you think you can handle it?”

“Y-Yes,” you choke out. “Please, I need it. Hurt me, please.”

The desperation in your voice does things to him, makes him practically feral with the need to fucking tear you apart, and Spencer is quick to deliver the final blow. You barely even have it in you to cry out anymore – a feeble sob is all that falls from your lips.

Spencer’s hand ghosts down across your bruised skin until his fingertips trace over where you drip for him.

“You like it when I punish you, don’t you, dirty girl?” Spencer hums as his fingers glide over your soaked folds.

“Y-Yes,” you mewl, shifting so that your cunt grinds back onto his hand. Spencer indulges you - allows you to rock your hips against his palm as he watches on in awe, soaking up every desperate sound that tumbles past your lips.

Spencer pulls his hand away after a moment and you keen in protest.

“Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?” Spencer asks, and you nod, because of course you do – you’d do anything if you thought it’d please him. You struggle to pull yourself up with shaky limbs, and Spencer puts a hand on your lower back to steady you. “Can you straddle my leg? Yeah, just like that.” Spencer pulls you down and places a slow kiss to your lips, one hand coming up to wipe away the tears gliding down your face. After a moment of slow, sweet kisses are shared, Spencer unties your wrists.

“I want you to ride my thigh – can you do that, princess?”

You whimper as you lower yourself down onto his leg, eyes fluttering shut as you begin to rock against the hardened muscle of his leg.

Spencer continues placing kisses on your lips, your face, your neck – worshipping every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth, all while whispering praises against you.

“So perfect for me. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs as he grips your hips with steady hands, urging you to increase the speed of your hips. “Can’t wait to have that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock. Always so tight, yet you take it so well every time.”

“S-Spence, m’ close,” you slur, hands clinging desperately to his shoulders.

“Already? You usually last a bit longer than that, baby.”

“P-Please, Spencer, I can’t-” you whimper, tears once again pricking at the corners of your eyes at the thought of having to wait a second longer.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay, you can cum,” Spencer reassures you, and your shoulders visibly untense. “Cum for me, pretty girl.”

It takes two more rolls of your hips for you to cum on Spencer’s thigh with a cry of his name. Spencer rubs soothing circles into your hips as you ride out your high, murmuring broken thank yous as you come down.

Finally, you still, and your eyes open, pupils so dilated that your eyes look almost black in the dim light of the hotel room.

“You okay, princess?”

You give a weak nod.

“M’great,” you smile, sounding as fucked out as he’s ever heard you. You lean down and slot your mouth against his, and the kiss is slow and languid – soft and unhurried.

Spencer is the first to pull away.

“Need you to get on all fours for me,” he instructs. “Don’t think you need to put any pressure on that pretty little ass of yours right now.”

You giggle at that, before crawling off of Spencer’s lap. You assume the position, and Spencer places a pillow underneath your hips before trailing a line of kisses down your spine. By the time he reaches your ass, you’re writing against him, wiggling your hips eagerly. Spencer places a kiss to both of your bruised cheeks before pulling away.

You let out a startled oh! when Spencer licks up your center, parting you with his fingers before fucking in and out of you with his tongue.

“S-Spence, oh my God, yes!” you cry out, hands fisting in the sheets as he continues to work his mouth against your core.

“Love your fucking pussy so much,” Spencer sighs against you, lapping at your clit hungrily. “Could fucking lick you out for hours. You taste so perfect, Y/N.”

Spencer lets out a filthy groan against you, and that’s all it takes for you to fall over the edge, wrecked moans filling the otherwise silent hotel room. This orgasm hits you both quicker and harder than the first, and he can’t help but smile against you as you rock back against his face, desperate to prolong the sensation. Spencer continues to work you through your orgasm, stopping only when you cease to twitch underneath him.

“Such a good girl for me. Think you can handle one more?”

You raise up just enough that you can look at him from over your shoulder.

“Yes, please,” you beg, voice scratchy and raw. “Please, fuck me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spencer chuckles. “Do you think you can lay on your back? I wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum on my cock.”

You answer by rolling over, wincing slightly when your ass comes in contact with the sheets. You look up at Spencer with wide, doe eyes. You have mascara smeared all down your cheeks and your lips are swollen, and to top it all off, deep, purple love bites are dusted across the entire expanse of your neck and chest. Spencer had set out to mark you as his – so that no one would be able to deny that you belonged to him – and he’d done a spectacular job, if he said so himself.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty.”

“Then come fuck me already,” you challenge, looking sated in every possible way – yet still, your eyes hold the same hunger that he’s sure is reflected in his own eyes.

Spencer leans down and traps your lips in a bruising kiss, and without warning he thrusts in you to the hilt. You cry out into the kiss, startled by the sudden intrusion, but Spencer sets a brutal pace that leaves you no time to recover.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you,” he growls against your lips. “Now fucking take it.”

He’s fucking into you so hard that you can’t even manage a reply – you just tighten your legs around his waist and drag your nails across the expanse of his back, no doubt leaving bright red marks in your wake. Spencer can feel his own release fast approaching – honestly, he’s been close ever since the first drag of his tongue against your pussy. And now that he’s finally enveloped into your tight, wet heat, that all too familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach is threatening to consume him.

Spencer’s hand descends from its place next to your head down to your clit, and your whole body jolts with the first swipe of his thumb. You clench around him as a litany of particularly filthy utterances escapes you, and Spencer’s hips stutter.

“Fuck, princess,” he groans, head coming to rest on your shoulder as he struggles to regain his rhythm. “You don’t even know what you do to me. You’ve ruined me for anyone else. Never fucking want to lose you. Love you so much.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you chant into his ear, sounding like some kind of siren, luring him straight to his inevitable ruination. “I’m so close, Spence. Cum with me, please? I want to feel you. Please, baby.”

“Y-Yeah, fuck,” Spencer chokes out. “Say my name when you cum, princess. Want everyone to know how good I fuck you.”

And when you cum with a shout of his name, walls pulsating deliciously around his cock, Spencer is quick to join you. He continues to roll his hips against yours as you both ride it out, whispers of almost intelligible affirmations being shared between slow, loving kisses.

After a moment of post-orgasm bliss, Spencer leaves and returns with a bottle of cocoa butter lotion and a warm, wet rag. You watch on with heavy lidded eyes as he cleans you up, and for a moment, he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. It’s not until he finishes slathering your reddened backside with lotion that you speak again.

“You shouldn’t be jealous, by the way,” you murmur as he lays down beside you. “You’re it for me, Spencer Reid. I don’t ever want you to doubt that I’m anything less than crazy about you.”

It’s everything that Spencer’s ever wanted to hear, and just like that, every fear – every insecurity that had plagued him in the past several months – fell away to nothing. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever been worried in the first place.

“You’re it for me, too,” Spencer whispers as he pulls you until his arms and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“We’re going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, you know,” you remark as you nuzzle into Spencer’s side.

“Don’t care,” he sighs happily. “I’ll shout it from the roof tops if I have to. I want everyone to know you’re my girl.”

“You’re a sap, Doctor Reid.”

“Only for you.”

A moment of blissful silence passes, before the sound of your growling stomach sets you both into a fit of giggles.

“We never did get dinner, did we?” Spencer muses as he lightly runs his fingernails across your scalp. You hum appreciatively and a pleased shiver rolls through you.

“Nope. You were a little too preoccupied with marking your territory to even offer to feed me,” you tease as you run your fingertips down the planes of his chest.

“Well, now that that’s been taken care of - could I interest you in some takeout?”

“Possibly,” you sigh, flattening your palm on his chest, right over his heart. “Do you think that pizza place Trevor mentioned delivers?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Is that a no?”

“... Look up the number.”

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dwaynepride · 3 years

Text

how ncis characters act when they’re jealous:

characters: leroy jethro gibbs, dwayne pride, tony dinozzo, chris lasalle, tim mcgee, tammy gregorio, nick torres, sebastian lund

a/n: might make a part two with more characters if i get the inspo

leroy jethro gibbs: he wouldn’t realize it was jealousy until somebody points it out. he’s usually wearing this stern look with hard eyes so jethro’s jealousy takes the form of not talking at all. and lots of staring. he would internalize his behavior as being concerned for you, or something not feeling right deep in his gut. and the guy who’s taking up so much of your attention will forever be an annoyance to gibbs.

jethro doesn’t interfere, though. not unless he feels like he has to - until then, gibbs will likely just sulk in the corner until you were free. but you can really start to feel his jealousy once you’re at his side again and he’s barely saying two words to you and still glaring at the annoying bastard. if you ask him what’s wrong, he’ll say it’s nothing. and later, when you both are alone, that’s when he reflects and feels like a stupid ass for acting the way he did.

dwayne pride: honestly, he gets a Kicked Puppy Vibe whenever he’s feeling jealousy. dwayne is a very sensitive person and he feels the loss of your presence like the sunshine hiding behind a cloud. he’ll try to ignore that twisted up feeling in his stomach and go on to enjoy the night, but dwayne always finds you in the crowd. always huffs a little when he sees you with someone else. always reins himself in from stealing your attention away.

later on, his affection is amped up to the max. dwayne will absolutely shine under your attention, and he’ll honestly get a bit clingy for the rest of the night. of course, he knows himself well enough to know what he’s doing. he feels a little embarrassed by it. so maybe some of the kisses he gives you is his secret way of apologizing.

tony dinozzo: he doesn’t get jealous. not at all. why should tony care if this loser keeps making you laugh so fucking hard at jokes that aren’t even funny? he only steps in because this other guy is so wildly unfunny that tony is afraid you might just die of boredom, and as you know so well, tony is a pretty heroic guy. it’s his job to take you far, far away from the asshole who was starting to stand just a little too close.

tony couldn’t hide his jealousy to save his own life. he likes to believe he’s suave and cunning and doesn’t let things get to him. and maybe that’s true for most things. but just as soon as he gets you alone, tony has this primal need to pull you in close and remind you what’s what. he doesn’t like to think of it as proving himself, but the marks on your neck prove differently…

chris lasalle: very little truly gets under christopher’s skin, and jealousy isn’t one of them. sure, he likes your attention, but chris is also very secure in the relationship. it’s kinda hard to feel threatened when he’s the one who lead you into the party, arm over your shoulders, showing you off and giving lots of kisses and doesn’t really give a fuck who sees. he might even revel in the fact that onlookers start to feel a little jealous of him.

if there’s any jealousy to be had, it’s toward your glass because your hands and mouth are all over it, instead of him. it’s toward the music itself for making you move so fluidly and sexy. it’s toward the liquor for putting that big grin on your face when chris should be doing that himself. he does later, rest assured. makes dumb jokes when his hands are all over your body, and he has nothing left to be jealous over.

tim mcgee: if jealousy could be adorable, it would be on tim. he’s prone to self-consciousness and self-doubt, and that would all come out whenever his position with you feels threatened. he loves and trusts you explicitly - it’s just his own dumb head making up crazy thoughts that you’ll find somebody better than him and tim works himself into a frenzy and he ends up embarrassing himself in front of you in some way or another.

at home, tim just apologizes. stutters his excuses with pink cheeks and shaky fingers. it won’t be until a while into the relationship when he’s more confident and self-assured. but until then, sometimes you just gotta wrap your arms around him and hold him tight and let him figure out for himself that you really do love him - even when you can hear abby reassuring him from across the room.

tammy gregorio: when she’s feeling jealous, it’s going to be loud and it’s going to be obvious. tammy will deny it, of course. insist she isn’t the jealous type and that she’s got more self-respect than that. but she’s not the only eagle-eyed person on the team - you can always see her watching you from across the room if somebody’s getting a little too friendly. she’ll tell you over and over she doesn’t feel threatened, but it’s always proven wrong when tammy always subtly puts herself between you and some slimy asshole.

even if you call her out on it later, she wouldn’t really care. in fact, tammy will probably turn it around on you, somehow - ask why you were paying so much attention to how she reacted. did you want her to get jealous? do you think it’s hot when tammy intervenes and puts on her Scary Agent Face? you’ll say no, of course. but she’s a profiler.

nick torres: this man is an opportunist. that’s how he lived as an undercover agent, and that bleeds into his normal life. nick will take the hot, twisted jealousy he’s feeling and turn it into something he can really enjoy. this means coming up to you, grinning at the guy who’s been chatting you up, and really laying it on thick. kissing you, touching you, making sly little comments. nick is also really good at insulting people without actually saying anything rude (which he does.)

nick will act all innocent at home when you confront him. he’ll tell you that he just likes showing his girl off because you’re too fucking cute. but that act doesn’t hold up for very long, and nick just kinda ends up insulting the guy some more by saying he was an idiot and didn’t deserve you and he kinda smelled anyway so why would you ever give him the time of day?

sebastian lund: a man who’s in touch with his feelings knows when he’s feeling jealous, and it just makes sebastian feel guilty. he trusts you more than he trusts anybody else, and he knows you wouldn’t do anything - still, sebastian just gets this unfamiliar tightness in this stomach when he hears you laugh across the room and it wasn’t him you were laughing at. he’ll push it down and try to act nonchalant and like he doesn’t notice you. it doesn’t work. everybody on the team picks up on it and they just look sympathetic.

sebastian would get talkative at home. he can usually talk a lot on normal occasions, but now, he just feels like he wants to have your attention and rambling is the best way for him to do that. sebastian probably won’t even stop talking until you two lay in bed, and his words are stunted by a soft kiss. he’ll eventually feel better - at least until the next day when he’s teased about it.

#ncis x reader #ncis new orleans x reader #ncis nola imagine #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #dwayne pride x reader #tony dinozzo x reader #tim mcgee x reader #tammy gregorio x reader #sebastian lund x reader #chris lasalle x reader #nick torres x reader

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hereforhalstead · 3 years

Text

Showtime - Part 2

*Gif not mine, credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader.

• Requested: Part 2!

• Warnings: Swearing

• Summary: Part 2 of being undercover with Adam, despite being in a secret relationship with Jay. You can find Part 1 here..

• Words: 2353

• A/N : Part 3 coming shortly as I know not much happened here but needed a filler! Also, kind of wish I had wrote this as being undercover with Kevin as that man really doesn’t get the recognition he deserves, but I got inspo when Hailey was undercover with Adam so will have to be one for next time!

***

“What’s the hold up?” you jump as Voight’s rough voice booms from behind you “The mic was playing up so just had to get it fixed, Sarge” Jay responds for the pair of you as you nod in agreement “Right well let’s get going. Jay you’re with Kim and Y/N, Adam is waiting for you in the car outside. Let’s move” he instructs before stomping past you, leaving you and Jay stood in an awkward silence “Good luck” he sarcastically offers with a grin on his face, you find his confidence amusing considering the night he is in for but decide to go along with his humor “Thanks baby, but I don’t need luck”.

“Sarge, we need a code word to listen out for” Hailey speaks across the radio, you pick up the one hidden under Adam’s seat to respond “Mocktail”. Adam looks at you with his bottom lip out and nods “Hey, that’s a good one” he reassures and you place the back of your hand under your chin to gloat “thank you, thank you”.

As you approach the club, Voight pulls over into a nearby road to hang back and is soon followed by Jay pulling up behind him to park his truck “You head inside, I’ll leave it a few minutes and follow you in” he directs to Kim who tousles her hair before walking off. Adam stops the car next to Voight’s and you wind your window down to allow him to speak “Jay and Kim will be close by and Kev, Hailey and I will be listening in. Any sign of trouble and you get out or say the word and we will be there” he orders and you can feel Jay staring at you from the other side of Voight “Don’t leave her alone in there, can’t be bothered going through the process of getting another partner” he confesses to Adam with a chuckle, Voight glances at him with a stern look on your behalf “Are you still here?” he asks and you try to hide the smile that is spreading on your face at the change in Jay’s confidence “I’m going” he huffs and exits the car.

Adam drives slowly alongside Jay as he traipses along the side walk, still with the window wound down Adam leans across to speak out of your window “Make mine a double water with a side of Lemon, will you?” he grins but Jay isn’t entertained “Careful or I’ll replace it with worse” he threatens back with a sarcastic smile “No tip for you then” Adam tuts before putting his foot down to speed towards the club “Who’s pissed him off?” he questions but you choose not to answer.

You watch as Jay walks in the back entrance, giving you a look over his shoulder before heading in. Adam hands the keys over to the valet before giving him some speech about how expensive the car is and if there is so much as a scratch he will make him pay for it, how easily he slips into this kind of character is honestly baffling.. The poor man reassures Adam and drives to park the car, Adam turns to you and naturally slings his arm round your waist and settles his hand at the base of your spine to direct you. “You good?” he whispers in your ear and you nod “If you want to leave, just put your hand on my knee and I’ll make an excuse.” he calmly offers and it instantly helps calm any nerves you had, you had been undercover in clubs a few times but not with a group quite this dangerous so it would’ve been strange if you weren’t a bit on edge.

Your eyes instantly fix onto Jay who is stood behind the bar, pouring a drink and handing it to Kim. You’re not shocked to find he is already looking at you, slight worry in his eye as he chews the inside of his lip. One of his classic go to when he is anxious, you thought you were going straight to VIP but one of the men approach you and Adam first. Out of no where, a tall man in a black suit stands closely to Adam and that’s when you realise his ear piece and mic pinned to the collar of his shirt “Dan and Alice?” he asks and Adam is quick to offer his hand out to the man “that’s us, sir”. The man glances down to Adam’s hand but then ignores it, Adam returns his hand onto the small of your back with a grunt so quiet that only you could hear it. “This way, you’re late and they’re waiting for you”. He extends his arm to direct you to the VIP area “All due respect, they’re waiting on our money so we’re not in a rush” Adam jokes but the man remains stern “That’s quite the attitude you got there, he always like this sweetie?” he aims the conversation to you and you roll your eyes “Only when he doesn’t get what he wants, doesn’t happen often” you wink and notice the corners of his mouth flicker into a smile briefly before falling back to the scowl “Let’s get on with this then.” he walks round behind the pair of you, forcing you to walk ahead “What a nice guy” Adam mumbles to you, causing you to nudge his chest with your elbow as a warning “You deserved that” a voice speaks from behind you, a reminder he was hot on your heels and could hear everything you were saying “If you’ve got any other sarky comments, I suggest you get them out now because they’re not as forgiving”.

***

What seemed like a few hours had gone by and you well and truly felt like a spare part, sat on Adam’s lap as a mere trophy to impress the others. Joining in the conversation every now and then but apart from that, you remained quiet to offer a smile or the occasional sympathetic laugh. “You wouldn’t mind going to grab us some drinks, darlin’?” one of the men leans forward to you and hands you his empty glass. You don’t accept his gesture as you leave the glass in his hand and don’t make any effort to move “Isn’t that what the staff are for? Shit VIP area if you have to get your own drinks” you scoff and run your fingers through Adam’s hair “Be a good girl and run along, the men have some business to discuss” he winks and you instantly feel you could vomit. “Just grab us a bottle off the top shelf and some glasses, isn’t hard” Adam stares down the man before he taps your leg and places a kiss to your shoulder “Won’t be long baby, you might find some friends at the bar” you grimace a smile at him and huff as you stand from his lap, ensuring you pull down your dress to have some attempt in covering your ass as you head down the stairs.

Jay already has his eyes on you as you scan over to the bar, taking a mental note of where Kim’s stood and making your way over to her. You lean forward on the bar to Jay, knowing full well your chest is very much extenuated as he struggles to keep his eyes up “A bottle of your finest whiskey and 5 glasses, we’re in VIP so you can just bring them over. Thanks” you demand and hold up the VIP card you had been given to add to the tab.

“Doesn’t work that way angel, you take your own drinks. I’m not a server” Jay is quick to hit back, clearly enjoying his new role “Whatever, just get me the bottle and a shot of vodka” you put the card on his side of the bar and turn to lean your back on the bar and look towards Adam.

“Everything alright?” Kim quietly asks from beside you as Jay places the shot on the bar, you pick it up as quick as it is put down and drink it in one “Splendid”.

“Are you gonna take this, or?” Jay pipes up from behind you, you turn to look at him and he truly is a sight. Bar towel slung over his shoulder, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a slight glisten on his skin “No you’re gonna bring it for me.” you smile and strut away from the bar. Jay looks over to Kim who tries to hide her smile in her hand as he rolls his eyes “Voight, never give her this role again. She’s relishing in it far too much” Jay grumbles into the microphone hidden in his collar, Kim is quick to speak back before Jay can walk away “Don’t listen to him Sarge, I think he’s secretly enjoying seeing her in a short dress and heels”.

You can sense Jay watching intently as you make your way up the stairs in front of him, only urging you to swing your hips more with every step. You reach the top and situate yourself next to Adam at the table, Jay makes no delay to turn his attention back onto the drinks and you laugh to yourself at how obvious you found it to be. “Just there is fine, thanks pretty boy” you wink at Jay who grins down at you “Pretty boy?” the tall man, you soon learn to be named Eric questions “You better watch out, he might have her off you” he raises his brows as he drinks “No chance mate, she ain’t going anywhere” Adam runs his hand up and down your leg, stopping at the hem of your dress.

“Besides, she ain’t gonna go for him. Look at him, a server at a bar isn’t exactly who you want to be with is it?” Adam chuckles and you feel your stomach pull, even knowing Adam was only speaking in his character it still didn’t sit right with you that he was saying those things about Jay “I don’t know, he’s pretty cute” you hit back as Jay stands awkwardly, still pouring the liquid into cold glasses in front of you. Adam runs his hand along his jawline and huffs in a laugh before wrapping his arm round you and pulling you onto his lap and away from Jay “We can pour our own drinks, you can go now”” he adds and Jay nods “have a nice night”.

His eyes linger on you for a split second before heading back down the stairs to the bar, you could tell he was pissed off just by the way his shoulders were tight and his back was straight as he returns to the bar. You turn your attention back to the group of men, one of which was staring at you far too hungrily which you tried to avoid but couldn’t for much longer as he placed himself next to you on the leather sofa “Mind if I have 5 minutes with your girl? I’ll get her out the way while you all settle up” The man asks and you grip onto Adam’s sholder, hoping he would get the hint of how you didn’t want him to agree “Think I’ll keep her with me if that’s alright, don’t want her causing trouble” Adam jokes but Eric clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer “Come on sweetie, just a bit of fresh air is all. Won’t be long”. You could tell he wasn’t going to let up so patted Adam on the chest and gave him a reassuring smile “I’m sure I’ll be fine”.

You yet again made your way down the stairs, followed closely by Eric who was quick to place his hand at the nape of your neck to guide you towards the exit. You walked past the bar and Jay looked concerned, followed by a scowl on Kim’s face as she watched you get rushed past “Sarge, Y/N is being led out by a white male. 6′4, black hair with a white shirt. She doesn’t exactly look happy about it”. Kim speaks into her microphone and not second goes by before Jay chimes in “Want me to follow?” he asks but Voight doesn’t respond.

“We haven’t got eyes, they came out but have gone round the back. It’d be too obvious for us to move but I can follow on foot?” Hailey speaks over the radio, Jay looks at Kim with a panic as silence is still coming from Voight “Sarge, we need answer” Kevin adds but still nothing “I’m going after them” Jay huffs and slams a glass onto the bar “No, leave her for a few minutes. She will be fine” Voight’s voice finally emerges but Jay isn’t happy “Are you serious? Some guy has taken her out of sight are you’re happy to sit back and do nothing?” he spits back, standing with his back to the club to avoid raising suspicion “All change to channel 5, you’ll be able to listen into her microphone and then we can decide when to move in” Voight demands as Jay and Kim switch their devices as instructed “Is he fucking serious? If something happens to her I’ll-” Jay leans forward, onto the bar near Kim. “Can still hear you, Halstead” Voight interrupts over the radio and Jay scoffs “Good.”

***

#jay halstead x reader #jay halstead #one chicago #chicago pd #chicago pd imagine #jay halstead drabble #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead smut #one chicago x reader #jay halstead x you #jesse lee soffer

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songbirdstyles · 4 years

Text

when i kissed the teacher.

summary: the one man you want more than anything is the one man you can’t have - your english professor.

warnings: teacher/student relationship, age gap (implied), f receiving oral, whole lotta smut, whole lotta feelings, whole lotta angst

word count: 14.7k (strap in)

song inspo.: when i kissed the teacher - abba

There was something special about Professor Styles.

You knew it, and so did every other girl who took his class. Your less-than-appropriate feelings about him were shared and that should’ve made you feel better about having them - at least you weren’t as obvious as some of the other girls who obviously took a fancy to your English professor. You applauded their efforts, showing up to classes in short skirts and low cut tops in the hopes that they’d catch his eyes drifting down to their chests while he passed out your essays -

But they hadn’t had any luck yet. He was a very respectable man, and more than his looks, that was what you appreciated about him. He was passionate about English, with a curriculum that appealed to you from the very first day and essay topics that forced you to look deeper into every book that the class read. He was one of the youngest professors on campus and you could tell something about that seemed to motivate him - to not be seen as a joke by the older professors, to be taken seriously by the students, some of which weren't much younger than him.

You decided, after your very first class with him, that, in any other universe, you’d have fallen in love with him. Or perhaps tried to jump his bones immediately.

Something of that sort.

As classes progressed you found yourself only liking him more. His classes were as difficult as you’d anticipated and you should have hated it, hated how much work and effort you had to put into every assignment but you absolutely adored it. You loved doing his essays, loved the novels he picked, loved the look on his face when he handed back your assignments with a 100% scribbled on top.

Most of your assignments, at least.

It didn’t really make sense to you, why your 1984 analysis should have gotten a 71%. Truthfully, you’d felt confident while writing it - it was such an easy analysis that you’d decided to go a little deeper, spending more time on it than was necessary, because you were sure he’d be tired of reading the same essay from everybody over and over again. So you gave him something different and maybe you should have stuck to analyzing the same themes that everyone else did.

“If any of you are confused about your grade,” Professor Styles announces to the class when everyone has gotten their essays back, time left in class slowly ticking down, “please feel free to see me after class. M’happy to discuss any concerns with you.”

Perhaps you’re being paranoid, but you could’ve sworn you felt his eyes land on you.

Class ends within a few minutes and you take your time packing your things back into your bag, waiting until the last kid has trickled from the lecture hall before swinging your bag over your shoulder and making your way down to his office. The door is cracked open and he’s barely sat down at his desk when you knock, flashing him a smile before pushing the door open a bit more.

You clear your throat before saying, “Hey, um, sorry to bother you - ” he interrupts you, telling you that it’s no bother at all “ - I’m just kind of confused on why I did badly on this essay.”

He nods, motioning for you to come in, and you step inside before shutting the door behind you. His office is small and cramped, with bookshelves lining the walls and a couch pressed into the corner. It’s a good vibe, you have to admit, although slightly messy. Perhaps you’d describe it as cozy, and it seems to fit him well.

There’s an empty seat in front of his desk and you sit down in it awkwardly, placing your essay in front of him. His eyes skim the first page before he tells you, “You usually do really well on essays, and this was … a really easy one.”

“I know,” you tell him, leaning forward to try and read what he’s reading. “I just thought you might be looking for something more complex. It seemed too simple.” When you look up, he’s staring at you, and you feel heat flood to your cheeks. “I don’t - I don’t know.”

“It really is that simple, I promise,” Professor Styles informs you, and he pushes your essay back to you. “But you’re one of my best students, and I don’t want to let this bring down your grade. So, I have an idea for how you can make it up.”

Your mind runs through all the ways you’d want to make it up to him - most of them involve you being on your knees, and you cough into your elbow. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking, but it doesn’t stop you from feeling embarrassed about it. Fantasizing about your professor from across the lecture hall is one thing, but you’re barely a foot apart from him now and you’re almost nervous he can hear your thoughts.

“I’ll do anything.” And you don’t care about the ways he could interpret it. He drums his fingers on his desk, and when you look down at his hand, you notice with a start that his nails are painted - you’d never seen that before, but you’d also never been this close to him, you suppose. You wonder if he gets them done or if he does them himself - you can’t picture him going to a salon, and the thought of him painting his own nails could make you cum on its own.

You don’t realize he’s been speaking until you zone back in, and when you look back up at him, he furrows his brows at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You shake your head. “Just - um - could you repeat that?” His eyes linger on you for just a beat too long, and your face flushes again. “So distracted,” he murmurs in a faux chastising tone, and your stomach flips. “What I said was that I’m willing to put this essay in as a 97 - your average for the class - if you would help me with grading some things. Not too heavy, maybe an hour or two after class. I’ve been falling behind with a lot of my classes and I’ve been looking for help, anyway, so it works out for both of us.”

Jesus Christ. Spending an extra hour every day with Professor Styles sounds like a recipe for disaster, and yet it also sounds completely perfect at the same time, and you’re nodding before you can fully process the pros and cons of the situation. “That sounds great. I mean, really - thank you so much.”

“S’my pleasure,” he informs you, giving you a large, dimpled smile. “So, after class, tomorrow - when I’m caught up and don’t need your help anymore, you’re off the hook.”

“Got it.” you stand, grabbing your essay and your bag and making your way towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoes, and the last thing you see before you shut the door is him, bringing his hand up to wave you off.

---

When class concludes the next day you maintain the same habit as you did the day prior - watching every student trickle out the door before swinging your bag over your shoulders, grabbing the two cups of tea that you’d made before class and making your way down to the front of the lecture hall.

Professor Styles stands in the doorway of his office, holding the door open for you - you make your way inside with a tight, only slightly awkward smile. His eyes roll over the two cups that you’re holding and he asks, with a mildly amused inflection in his voice, “I guess you like tea quite a bit, then?”

You smile, looking down at your cups, and when he shuts the door you hold one out to him. “I do like it a lot, but this one’s for you. You know, to say thank you for giving me a freebie, and also because you look like the kind of guy who loves tea.”

He laughs and your grin widens at the noise - god, it’s like music to your ears, and you would do anything to keep hearing it from him. He reaches out to take the cup from you and brings it up to his mouth, taking a small sip - when he’s done his tongue pokes out to lap up a bit of tea from his lip, and you try to ignore how much the minuscule motion affects you. “This is perfect, Y/N. Just the way I like it. You’re an angel.” Your cheeks heat up, and then he says, “But you don’t need to thank me. I’m probably gaining more from this arrangement than you are, truthfully. People are starting to get annoyed with how I’ve been falling behind grading, which is where you come in.”

Yes, you’d heard the girls next to you whispering about how bothersome it was that they’d submitted three essays in the past month and had only gotten one back. Why does he give out so much work if he’s never gonna hand it back?

It didn’t bother you too much.

“Well - alright, then. You’re welcome for helping you grade,” you tell him, pulling out the chair in front of his desk and settling in, dropping your bag beside you. You take another brief moment to glance around his office, as though expecting something to change, but it’s the same distinctly messy, cramped office that it had been yesterday. At some point, you should tell him that he ought to clean out his space, but that’s not what you’re here for - yet.

Professor Styles nods, making his way to the other side of his desk and plopping down in his spinning chair - it was quite nice, and made you wonder why the one you sat in seemed to be falling apart at the seams. But, then, you supposed teacher salary didn’t leave room for spectacular seating. “See, that’s the spirit.” All at once, the casual discussion between the pair of you died as he dug in the drawers of his desk for something - and then he plopped a large stack of papers on the table between you both. “This isn’t all of them - not even close. You’re very smart, so this should be pretty easy for you. Just read through them, add any notes, things they need to work on, and look at the rubric for a final grade.”

You nod, picking the first essay off the top of the pile and reaching for a pen from the cup on his desk - it’s a coffee mug with the Rumours by Fleetwood Mac album cover on it, and you take a moment to marvel at it briefly. “You like Fleetwood?” you question, voice seeming unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet of his office. “Didn’t strike me as that kind of guy.”

He looks up, then, from where he’d already begun scribbling bright red notes into the margin of someone’s essay. His eyes trail down to the mug full of pens, and then back up to meet yours. “You seem to make a lot of assumptions about the kind of guy I am. What’s that all about?”

“Nothing,” you assure him, your voice faux sweet and innocent, and he smiles slightly. “But I’m glad you have an appreciation for really good music. I was worried your music taste would be terrible, and then I’d have to live with the knowledge that Professor Styles exclusively listens to Justin Bieber.”

Your professor rolls his eyes, smile tugging at his lips. “You know,” he begins, “you don’t have to call me Professor Styles. Not outside of class, at least. It sounds weird when it’s just the pair of us here.”

“Oh.” You pause. “What should I call you, then?”

“Harry’s fine.”

Harry Styles. The name flows easily off the tongue as you test it out in a teasing tone, your eyes meeting his as you do, and your cheeks flush. You don’t know if it's commonplace for professors to allow random students to drop formalities and call them by their first names but you’ll accept it anyway - all you know is that, when you go home tonight, the thought of calling him Harry will fill your mind until you can’t stand it anymore.

Harry as he buries his face between your thighs.

Harry as he pounds you into the mattress.

Harry as he bends you over his desk - this desk - the one you’re sitting at right now.

You cough into your arm and pick up your pen, pressing your thighs together to try and alleviate the throbbing that’s now affecting your body. You should’ve known not to let your mind wander because you’ve barely been here for 15 minutes and you already feel like you need to go rub one out in the bathroom. But you pause - take a sip of your tea, though it’s nearly gone from drinking it so much in class - and get to work grading Brianna Valeria’s essay on Death Comes to the Archbishop. The rubric sits on the desk next to you and you bury yourself in your work - if Harry notices the sudden silence that’s overtaken you, he doesn’t mention it.

For the rest of the hour, the pair of you work in silence. It’s comforting and surprisingly not awkward, and occasionally you ask his opinion on something one of his students wrote in their essays, but the playful banter you’d had before has dissipated. You’ve finished your tea and you suspect he has, as well, with the way he’s been feverishly drinking it.

“Oh,” he says, suddenly, and you glance up from where you’re in the middle of scribbling red notes into the margins of Alexander Simmons’ essay. “You should probably get going.”

One quick glance down at your phone proves that he’s right, and you rise from the extremely uncomfortable seat you’ve been perched in for the hour - you can practically hear your butt crying in relief. “Thank you so much for the tea,” Harry tells you, handing back his cup, and it’s empty, like you expected. “And - um. You don’t have to call me Harry if it makes you uncomfortable. Just thought it would be less formal, but if you don’t want to, it’s fine.”

Ah. He took your silence as you being uncomfortable calling him Harry. Well, it’s better than him knowing just how wet the sentiment made you, but you shake your head immediately. “No. No, I prefer calling you Harry. You’re right - it’s weird when it’s just us.”

He grins at you, then, standing up from his seat and stretching his arms over his head. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“You know, if I’m calling you Harry now, I think you should drop formalities too. Make it equal.”

“Okay … Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Harry,” you tell him, turning and walking out of his office with your phone in your pocket and two cups in your hands, blissfully unaware of your abandoned bag still sitting next to the terribly uncomfortable chair you’d been all too quick to leave.

It’s only when you’ve finished the trek back to your dorm, the sun beginning to lower down into the horizon, that the absence of your bag on your shoulder becomes prominent.

You can’t get into your building without your key and your key is in your bag and your bag is … back in Harry’s office, where you nearly made yourself cum just thinking about him. And the thought of having to go back across campus, back to his office, when he might not even be there, is not favorable, but you need your key and you need to bang out homework tonight, so with a soft groan you spin on your heel, walking away from the warm comfort of your building and making your way back to his.

As summer bled into fall and fall begins to bleed into winter, the weather has changed so drastically in just the past week or so that you tug your cardigan closer to your body, but the air that seeps through the holes in the crocheted sweater send goosebumps trailing up and down your body. The wind whips your face and brings tears to your eyes that run down your cheeks, and when you’re finally at the door of Harry’s building it’s a welcome surprise to walk inside, allowing the warmth to embrace you - even if the shock of the changing temperatures causes your eyes to water again.

His office is on the 2nd floor, so you pull open the door to the staircase and make your way up the two flights. Most professors have gone home for the day, classrooms dark as you speed past them to where you know his office is.

His office is dark and your heart sinks at the sight - there are a few posters pinned to the small window, but you can see the lack of light clear as day. Your hand grasps the doorknob anyway, turning it without any hope that it would open - but then it was, giving you access to his dark office, and by the seat you’d occupied later you can make out your bag.

A breath of relief escapes your throat as you take a step inside, reaching down to swing it over your shoulder before turning to leave. And then you hear it - a small breath, an indicator of someone else in the room, and you whip around to look back around at the office.

Oh.

Harry sits in his chair, face buried in his arms, fast asleep. His hair is messy and in front of him sits the stack of essays you’d been working at early, hardly any smaller than when you’d left. It would nearly be an adorable sight - your professor, passed out at his desk - but it just seems concerning, and without thinking you’ve leaned over the desk, placing your hand on his shoulder and shaking him slightly.

“Professor?” your voice is soft, barely audible, and you speak louder when you say, “Harry?”

He doesn’t respond, so you say, louder still, “Harry?”

Then he stirs slightly under your touch, and you drop your hand from his shoulder as he lifts his head from where it had been resting on his arms, looking up at you with messy eyebrows and a thoroughly confused expression on his face. “What - what are you doing here?” Jesus. His voice is deep and raspy, sounding as though he’d been sleeping for ages instead of merely less than an hour, and if his present state wasn’t slightly concerning to you, you know that you’d feel the effects of his words between your thighs. But you pause, staring down at him, before asking, “What are you still doing here?”

“Just working on some grading.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking around the darkened office with an air of distinct confusion.

“With all due respect, Harry,” you tell him, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I think you’re burning yourself out. You should go home.”

He hesitates, and then questions, “Why are you here? I thought you left -”

“I forgot my bag,” and you hold it up to demonstrate it to him. “Are you going to go home? I’m serious - you need a break. And to sleep on a bed.”

“I’m fine,” Harry says, and he stands up from his chair. It moves back and hits the wall with a soft thud that goes unnoticed by both of you. “You should go home, too. I need to finish some stuff up. I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

To neither of your surprise, you don’t move from your spot standing before his desk. You cross your arms over your chest, digging your sneakered toe into the plush rug on the floor of his office - you hadn’t noticed it before, but it’s pale blue and bright against the mahogany floors. The brief silence between you two, daring either of you to speak, fills the confined space and all you can hear is the ticking of the clock behind you, and finally you say, “You’re not going to get anything done when you’re exhausted. I mean, you fell asleep on the essays. How are you going to explain why there’s drool on their assignments?”

He gives you a tight lipped smile in response, looking down at the essay he’d been working on as if to check that no saliva had landed on the words. “You caught me at a bad time. I don’t usually fall asleep on top of student essays, I promise - but you should be heading out now. It’s getting dark.”

It is getting dark, he’s right - the window behind his desk shows the darkness that newly falls over the campus. And the thought of walking home in the dark scares you just a bit, but you’ll suck it up if it gets him to go home too. “Harry.”

“Y/N.”

“I’ll help you grade tomorrow. But you’re fucking yourself here -”

(Harry laughs at your choice of words internally, but it comes out as a small release of air and a soft grin.)

“ - so come on. Walk out with me so I can make sure you’re actually going home.”

Perhaps he’s realized he’s fighting a losing battle here, because finally he looks back down at the stack of ungraded essays with a small sigh and then says, “Fine.”

“Great.” Your grin widens across your face, and for a moment you make to hold out your hand to him, to drag him along like you would to any of your friends - but the second your hand raises you drop it down to your side, and heat burns your cheeks. He’s not one of your other friends, you tell yourself, stepping out of his office, hearing him walk behind you. And you can’t hold his hand, even as a joke.

“Where’s your dorm?” Harry asks you as he locks the door to his office and jiggles the handle to check it, and you jump at the chance to forget about what happened - you don’t want to dwell on it. “Is it far?”

“Across campus.” You raise your arm and point in the distinct direction of where your building is. “Closer to the cafeteria, I guess.”

“Christ, you have a trek, then, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” The pair of you make your way to the staircase, and from the corner of the eye you can see his head turning left and right down the hallway, as if scanning to see if there’s anyone coming - you can imagine it wouldn’t be great for him to be seen with a student long after classes ended. “I had to haul ass there and back to get my bag.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, not until you’ve left the warm building and made your way into the cold air, the sun now having retreated for the night, and immediately you wrap your sweater tighter around yourself to try and provide some semblance of warmth. Harry glances down at you with a bemused smile, and you hoist your bag further up your shoulder.

“Well,” you sigh, breath coming out in white puffs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Don’t burn yourself out, professor. And get a good night’s rest.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

“Maybe.” You grin, feeling goosebumps sprout on your skin, and you shiver before turning in the direction of your dorm - the thought of walking home in the dark and cold doesn’t sound too great, but you’ve become good at dealing with it. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He doesn’t respond, and you’ve taken a few steps away when he calls out, “D’you want a ride?”

What?

“Y’know, like a ride back to your dorm. I can drop you off in the back - it’s just really cold and I’m sure you don’t want to walk so far in the dark.”

You turn back around to look at him, his cheeks a light shade of pink - whether from the cold or his offer, you can’t tell. And you’d love to jump in his car, accept his offer without a shadow of hesitation, but - “Is that allowed?”

Harry shrugs, and you know that’s code for absolutely not. “No one has to find out.”

(Your stomach drops, then.)

“Sure.” You take a few steps back towards him, and he spins on his heel, leading you to his car, and you walk in silence until you reach it. By the time you’re both safely in his car - his head turning every so often to check if there was anyone watching the pair of you - you’re shivering desperately, and you know you would have been positively miserable walking back to your dorm in these temperatures. “Thank you so much, Harry.”

“S’no problem, really.” His hand goes behind your seat as he turns to look behind him, and you hate the way the simple action makes you feel. “I’d rather know you get home safe than have you walk so far in the dark. Pretty girl like you, can never be too careful.”

You pause, cheek pressed against the cold window, and turn to look at him with a small smile. “Ooh, I’m a pretty girl now?”

“Wasn’t the point, Y/N,” Harry mutters, dropping his hand onto the center console, and if it were anyone else driving you like this, you’d rest your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers and pressing your palms together. But he’s your professor, as much as you’re beginning to wish he weren’t, so you slide your hands beneath your thighs. “Which building, again?”

“McKinley,” you respond, voice barely louder than the sound of the heat blasting into his car.

His car smells like eucalyptus and mint, and it’s surprisingly clean compared to his office - you wonder if his house is messy or clean, or a balanced mix, because you can’t quite catch a vibe for whether he’s organized or not. But, no - you’ll never see his house, surely. You can’t.

“I used to date a girl who lived at McKinley,” he tells you, and you exhale slowly. You can tell he’s merely trying to make conversation but the sentiment isn’t making your internal conflicts any easier to manage. “Real nice dorms.”

“They’re alright.” In fact, you’ve been at university for 3 years and resided in 3 different dormitories and they’re your least favourite, with furniture that’s too big for rooms that are too small and bathrooms that can hardly fit more than 5 people, but you don’t tell him that. “Not the greatest.”

“S’what she told me, too,” Harry says, and you smile down at your lap, but you can’t find anything else to respond to that, so you take to gazing out the window.

Within a few seconds he’s slowing down, and you can recognize the back entrance to your building. You reach down and pick your bag off the ground, digging through it to find your key.

When you have it clutched in your hand, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to look at him - to your surprise his eyes are already on you, and you swallow thickly. “Um - thanks for driving me.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You hesitate a moment before turning and swinging open the car door. You hop out and, just before you can shut it, he says, “Y/N.” And when you duck your head back into his car, raising your eyebrows, he adds, “Please don’t tell anyone I drove you home. You’re right - s’not allowed.”

“Alright.” Then, before you can help yourself, you flash him a wide grin and say, “Thanks for letting me be the exception, then.”

With that, you shut the door of his car, bounding up to the door of your building, and you swear you can feel his gaze remaining on you before his car drives off, and when you turn back around, it’s gone.

(In the back of your mind, you’re entirely too aware of the fact that merely sitting in his car crossed some sort of line that you didn’t know existed until now, but you don’t really know how far past it you are - not yet.)

“I have a question.”

You look up from the rubric you’d been working at - the student whose essay you’re grading hadn’t done too well on it, but you were trying to give them the most points you could, anyway. Harry’s looking down at his essay like he hadn’t spoken, but when he feels your gaze on him, he continues. “Why did you care so much? Yesterday. Me grading more s’less work for you to do. I feel like you should be loving that shit.”

It’s a reasonable question but, for a moment, you struggle thinking of how to answer it without exposing yourself to him. Finally, you give him a grin and say, “Well, if you were sleep deprived, it would make you mean.” He chuckles softly, and you can tell that’s not the answer he wanted, and it couldn’t have been further from the truth. So you add, “I guess I’m used to being the mom friend. Making sure all of my friends get a good night’s sleep and whatever.”

Harry pauses. “So we’re friends, then.”

You shrug, trying to stop the smile from peeking through onto your face. Being friends with Harry sounds positively dreamy and if it could segue into something else - whichitcan’t - you’d be the happiest girl alive.

You nod. “Yeah, aren’t we.” But it isn’t a question, and you can see the way his eyes twinkle at your response.

After a moment, you shift in your entirely entirely entirely too bloody uncomfortable chair, the wood making your butt ache. “I have a question, now.”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you pick the most uncomfortable chair you possibly could for your guests to sit in?”

“Gets ‘em out of my office quicker.” Harry glances up and meets your glare with a laugh. “But I don’t want you to leave, so you can move to the couch, if you’d like.”

You hop out of the chair without a second’s hesitation, clutching your essay and your pen, flopping down on the couch and feeling your body weight sink into it. God, it’s so soft and your body relaxes into it, the relief of not being confined to the small, wooden chair so magnificent you could scream. Harry watches you with an amused grin, and says, “I feel like you’re being just a bit dramatic here.”

“Me? Dramatic? Never.” You sprawl yourself across the couch, head atop of the armrest, staring up at the white ceiling tiles above you. “I’m telling you, Harry, that chair is terrible. You should burn it.”

“So dramatic.”

You roll your eyes, sitting up slightly so you can rest your paper on your lap and still manage to scrawl semi-legible notes on this person’s piss poor essay. You wonder, briefly, if this is how Harry felt when he’d graded your 1984 essay, but - well - doesn’t matter now. And you’d fail that essay a thousand times over to get to this point, a point of companionship with your professor that you’re not sure any other student has felt with him before. At least, none that he’s told you about. It makes you feel special, and spectacular, and also the tiniest bit confused.

Why are you so special?

Maybe he’s lonely, or he’s merely entertaining your presence because you’re helping him grade, but you swear you can feel something more hidden within the lines of your relationship.

It doesn’t really matter, though, even if it is just a tad confusing.

“You should get going,” Harry tells you after another 15 minutes of you working at grading the essay. “You’ve been here for nearly two hours, bloody hell, wasn’t watching the time at all.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, though, in truth, you do have quite a bit of homework to work on later. “Don’t really have anything else to do.”

You sit up anyway, swinging your legs over the edge of the couch and stretching your arms above your head. Tiredness is beginning to affect you but you try not to let it.

“Well, in any case, you should be heading out now.” Harry nods his head towards the window behind him, the blinds pulled up so you can see the sun, nearly completely sunk below the horizon, the sky fading from reds and oranges to a dark shade of blue.

“What about you, professor?”

“What about me?” “You’re going home now too - right?”

He looks at you with a faux annoyed glare, but he can’t help the amusement from seeping through his features, and finally he breaks your stare with an exhale of breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever win this against you, will I?”

And you shake your head in response. “Never. So let’s go. Get your things.”

You take the next five minutes to gather all your stuff - resting the essay on top of his desk, sliding your phone and water bottle into your backpack, and zipping your bag shut - as Harry grabs his computer bag and his key. The two of you move surprisingly in sync with each other, sorting all of your stuff from around his small office, before making your way outside with him locking the door behind him.

It’s nearly completely dark, even colder than it had been the day prior. You reach behind you and pull the hood of your sweatshirt over your hair, protecting your ears, at least, from the chill.

You turn and face him, giving him a wide smile. The air is silent around you, surprisingly empty though the bitterness of the cold must be a contributing factor to that. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor. Make sure you get a good night’s rest -”

“Don’t want a ride?”

Your grin widens, and his eyes sparkle, even in the darkness, at your expression. “Well, of course I do, but it’s rude to invite myself into your car.”

“You’re not inviting yourself - I’m inviting you. Or, rather, demanding you. C’mon.”

Harry walks fast and you have to speed up your pace to keep up with him, though you suspect that has something to do with wanting to be free of any wandering eyes as quickly as possible. You recognize his car in the parking lot and bound ahead of him, standing by the passenger side door and wrapping your arms around yourself to try and warm yourself up, and for a moment his pace slows as he stares and looks at you. Standing by his car, holding an incredibly oversized hoodie tight to your body, a wide smile gracing your face.

“Staring is rude, professor,” you inform him as he shakes his head, unlocking his car and climbing into the driver’s seat. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

Your lilt is teasing but you can tell it makes him slightly defensive either way.

“S’hard not to sometimes,” Harry tells you, and you giggle softly.

“So first, I’m a pretty girl, and now I’m hard not to stare at?” You drop your head back against the headrest, blowing air softly out of your mouth as you reach to buckle your seatbelt. “Keep this up, Harry, and my ego’s gonna be too big to even fit in your car.”

Harry laughs at that, resting his hand on your seat to back out of his parking spot. The radio softly plays some pop song that had been overtaking the charts recently, and you hum softly to it before turning your head to look at him. You examine his side profile - perfect, like every other angle of him - as he pulls out of the parking lot, making a left out of it.

He turns to see you watching him, and you watch redness bloom over his cheeks. “Staring is rude, Y/N.”

You smile, about to parrot his previous words back at him - it’s hard not to - but you bite your tongue, gazing at the road in front of you. A light drizzle is beginning to fall, a barely audible pitterpatter on the windshield, and that’s the only noise, for a moment - that and the radio playing, like a thought in the back of your mind.

The drive to your dorm seems to be taking longer than it had been yesterday and you can’t imagine why, but you appreciate just sitting in the car with him. Even if you’re not saying much, listening to his even breathing calms you.

You want to break the silence, though it’s comfortable rather than awkward. You like talking to him, like hearing everything he has to say, but you have no idea what you can possibly tell him that wouldn’t seem forced and awkward. So you sit, curling your legs up to your chest as you stare at the streets, and entirely too soon, the back of the McKinley building becomes apparent.

You want to stay in his car forever. Want to stay with him forever.

“Thanks for the ride,” you tell him, your voice sounding uncomfortably loud in the soft car. He nods in response, but for a moment neither of you move. You can’t bring yourself to leave yet, even if you know you have to, that he might have someone waiting for him at home.

“Y/N.” You turn and look at him, your eyes meeting his with your brows furrowed. “Uh - if you ever want a ride home, or to class, you can just let me know. Text me.”

“I don’t have your number.”

Harry’s cheeks are bright pink and there’s too much tension in the car, so thick you feel like you could cut it with a knife, and you lean down, unzipping your bag and pulling your phone out.

He takes it from you once you unlock it, going into your contacts and you watch as he types his phone number in, adding the contact name as Harry S. and you think you’ll be changing that later. He leaves the contact photo blank, which you expected - if anyone saw the name Harry S. in your phone, the contact photo would give it away.

He hands your phone back to you when he’s done, and your fingers graze his when you take it. “Just text me, then. If you need a ride.”

“Alright.” you give him a smile, unbuckling your seatbelt and pushing open the car door. “Thank you, Harry. Really.”

“My pleasure,” he says, and you grab your bag, hooking your arm underneath the strap and racing up to the back entrance of your building. It’s only when you get inside, the door firmly shut behind you, that you turn around again, and his car is gone.

10:52 PM

Y/N: hey professor...it’s y/n. just wanna make sure u have my number saved in case of emergencies

Harry S.: How is it you can have the highest grade of any student in my class and use improper grammar while texting?

Y/N: it’s a talent i guess

Y/N: texting like you’re writing an essay makes ppl v uncomfortable, and i speak from personal experience

Harry S.: So you’re uncomfortable right now, then?

Y/N: nooo, ur different

Harry S.: To quote this girl I know, ‘thanks for letting me be the exception, then.’

Y/N: how did u remember that? that makes me uncomfortable

Harry S.: Haha.

Harry S.: You should be sleeping right now. Students need their full 8 hours, don’t they?

Y/N: so do professors, as i keep telling u, but…

Y/N: i had hw to do, also had to make mac n cheese for dinner

Harry S.: You can do your homework in my office, you know. And then you can probably make it to the refectory for dinner.

Y/N: the food at the refectory sucks

Harry S.: Yeah, you’re right.

Harry S.: But I do feel bad that staying to help me grade made you have to stay up until 11 doing homework.

Y/N: well honestly i’d rather be sitting in ur office talking to u than in my dorm doing american lit work

Harry S.: Why’s that?

Y/N: ig i like hanging out with u

Y/N: u should feel honored btw

Harry S.: Believe me, I do. And now you should get to bed so you’re not grumpy tomorrow morning.

Y/N: ig i deserved that… and i’ll only go to bed if u do too

Harry S.: I will.

Y/N: promise??

Harry S.: I promise.

Harry S.: Goodnight.

Y/N: goodnight, professor

After a week, your arrangement has changed slightly.

Every day, you spend just a bit more time in his office. Then he drives you home, in comfortable silence, and from the minute you step into your dorm, you’re fishing your phone out of your bag to text him. Every night that you lie awake, texting him until you physically can’t keep your eyes open, the line that you’ve been dipping your toe across falls back even more.

The stack of assignments that need to be graded are beginning to dwindle, and you hate it. Hate to see the pile of ungraded work getting smaller and smaller, because when it’s gone, you probably won’t step foot in his office again.

Truthfully, and as embarrassing as it may be, Harry has become one of your closest friends at school. He’s funny and nice, and he brought you hot chocolate with powder left unmixed at the bottom after you mentioned that’s how you used to like it when you were younger, and he plays music on his phone at a low volume while you work on grading.

Of course, as your friendship with Harry grows, so does the burning feelings for him that reside in the pit of your stomach day after day. And you know he doesn’t feel the same - he can’t - and maybe that’s painful for you, only slightly, but you’ve become rather talented at hiding those emotions. He can’t know that, everytime he laughs at one of your jokes, your heart swells - and everytime he reads a sentence from one of the essays out loud, using a mocking, deep voice, it makes your stomach flip.

You don’t know if you’ve ever felt so passionately about anyone, and that’s scary. Scary to think that the one man you want more than anyone else is the only person you can’t have.

“Y/N,” he says, and when you look up at him from your spot sprawled on the couch, he’s nibbling at the tip of his pen. “D’you think this makes sense?”

And he reads you a few lines written by one of his students - a name you recognize from being in your class, you think, but you’ve been paying attention less and less to other students during lectures. All you focus on is Harry, his booming voice projecting through the hall as he talks about the stories you’re reading, and every so often his eyes meet yours and the smile that spreads across his face could bring tears to your eyes, if you let it.

“Um - I guess. It’s worded kind of strangely, don’t you think? But I’d cut them some slack on it.” Harry nods and scribbles something in the margins of Nathalie Carron’s essay before flipping the page. “Can I put in a song request?”

He nods, then, picking up his phone from where it sits on his desk. The Chain plays softly, not too loud to interrupt your train of thought, but not too soft that you can’t hear it. “‘Course.”

“Heroes by David Bowie.” You glance back up at him, dropping Hannah Joseph’s essay on your stomach. “You like Bowie, right?”

“Who doesn’t, is the real question.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” You grin, glancing up at the white tiled ceiling as the song fills the hair, replacing Fleetwood. “You know, we should make a playlist for grading.”

Harry laughs. “A playlist of just Fleetwood and a dash of Bowie?”

“No, no. It can have other stuff, too. I mean, we know what we like.”

“Alright, alright.” He picks up his phone again, and you see his thumbs moving feverishly on the screen. “Y’know what, I’ll make it right now and show it to you for approval.”

“Make it good.” You pause, picking your essay up again. “No Justin Bieber.”

He snorts, and you relish in the noise.

The next ten minutes passes in mainly silence - when Heroes ends, Fleetwood continues, playing Secondhand News, and you hum to the tune. Harry’s ringer is on and you can hear it, the sound of the keyboard on his phone as he searches up song titles, and you rest the essay back on your stomach, writing messy notes with the pen you snatched from the mug on his desk again.

You sit up, suddenly, leaning over to rest Hannah’s fully graded essay on his desk, and instead of reaching for a new one to work on, you push yourself to your knees, resting your palms on his desk and attempting to lean over and peek at the playlist. But he anticipates that - he knows you’re nosy - and tilts his phone towards him, intercepting your attempts to eavesdrop.

“Don’t be impatient,” he murmurs, a smile tugging across his lips as he scrolls through something. “I’m almost done.”

You hum in response, dropping back down onto the couch, stretching your entire body across it, head resting on the armrest. The two of you settle back into a comfortable silence - he’s paused the music, by now - lasting only a moment or two before he stands up from his insanely comfortable chair, maneuvering his way around to the couch where you’re lying. He crouches down next to you, handing you his phone, opened to a Spotify playlist, and you greedily snatch the device from him, flicking through the songs.

Your eyes scan every song, absorbing every song title.

I Walk The Line by Johnny Cash - My Eyes Adored You by the Four Seasons - Your Song by Elton John?

Love songs. Every single one of them.

You push yourself up, sitting leaning against the armrest, as your eyes fall on the last song of the playlist - When I Kissed The Teacher by Abba. You lower his phone to your lap, looking at him with a slightly confused smile adorning your face.

He watches you intently, your heads a mere few inches apart, then reaches down to grab his phone off your lap, and you laugh lightly before saying, “it’s a lot of love songs.”

“They reminded me of you,” he tells you, voice quiet, testing the waters.

“They - they did?” It doesn’t make sense to you - doesn’t make sense that 45 love songs should bring you to the forefront of his mind, that every single time he hears Fooled Around And Fell In Love he should think of you.

They make you think of him, though.

And without thinking - of what you’re doing or of the consequences - you lean in, closing the short distance between your faces, pressing your lips against his so softly that it feels like it’s a mere breath on your mouth.

Harry pulls back, lips barely a centimeter from yours, exhaling softly. “We shouldn’t.”

You hum in agreement, already leaning back in. “No, we really shouldn’t.”

Your lips meet again and his hand goes to your face, cupping your jaw, and when he deepens the kiss you whimper into his mouth, bringing both of your hands to the back of his head. Your fingers bury themselves in his curls, tugging on the chocolate brown strands, and he groans softly into your mouth.

It’s everything you’d imagined and more, as the hand not on your cheek drops down to your waist, pulling your body closer to his. The angle is awkward - you sitting on the couch and him kneeling before it - so you unattach your lips, much to your dismay, and swing your legs around the edge of the couch so he’s situated between them. Harry’s eyes are wide, his hair mussed up, and you lean back in without a moment’s hesitation to resume the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours, and he tastes like mint tea and fucking heaven.

Both of his hands go down to your waist, tugging you to the very edge of the couch so your bodies are as close as they can be, and yours go to the back of his neck, dipping underneath the collar of his button down shirt to scratch at his back. It feels muscular, more toned than you were expecting, and feeling the skin underneath your nails makes you moan into his mouth.

“Fuck -” you groan softly as he moves his lips down your chin and to your jaw, nibbling softly at your skin, as if experimenting to see what you like - your reaction prompts him to move further down, licking a stripe down your neck and to the base of your collarbone. One of his hands - very large hands - slide up to cup one of your breasts, squeezing the mound of flesh through your tight shirt. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Harry hums against your collarbone, pressing open mouthed kisses across your skin. Your nails dragging down his back causes him to bite down gently to stifle the moan rising from his throat, but you hear it and Goditspursyouonsofuckingmuch. “God, Y/N -”

His praise is cut short by the sound of three swift knocks on the door - he pulls back from you, nearly falling back on his ass with the speed at which he stands, and your eyes flash to the door. Your heart is pounding desperately in your chest - are the doors soundproof? Did someone outside hear you? The thought makes you sick to your stomach, and your eyes meet Harry’s to find the same worry in his orbs.

Within moments he’s back behind his desk, running a hand through his hair to try and smooth it out, and you’ve reached to grab Hannah Joseph’s essay off his desk just as he calls, “come in!” in a voice that’s far too cheery for the panic that had just overtaken the both of you.

The door opens and from the corner of your eye you can recognize the girl who walks in - she lives across the hall from you, and her name is … Anna or Emma or something similar. She’s nice, and you should remember her name, but your brain is so scrambled that you can’t think of it.

Harry kissing you. Harry making you a playlist. Harry’s hands on your waist, pulling your body into his.

It’s everything you’ve dreamt of since the beginning of the semester, feeling his touch on you. And when you close your eyes, you try to imagine what would have happened if nobody knocked on the door, and it sends a shiver down your spine that doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, sitting at his desk as he looks over Anna-or-Emma’s essay.

You can’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. The girl (who, now that you think of it, may be named Alana) is asking Harry a million bogus questions about the essay requirements he’d just given out and her shirt is so low cut that you’re surprised her boobs haven’t fallen out. Whether that was intentional or not isn’t something you dwell on, but something about sitting on the couch, trying to steady your breathing while your clit throbs violently feels wrong.

“I’m gonna go, professor,” you say, interrupting her question, and she looks at you like you just told her you’re going to give her a million dollars. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Y/N,” Harry calls as you grab your bag and shut the door behind you. His voice sounds pained, almost, as though he doesn’t want you to leave him alone with a girl whose only goal is clearly to fuck his brains out. You practically run down the hall, which isn’t close to being as empty as it usually is when you and Harry leave at the end of the day.

Your shirt is tight and short sleeved and you can picture your jacket, up in his office, thrown over the back of the couch. You’d been in such a rush to leave that you’d left it, and you’re beginning to truly feel the consequences of it as the cold corners you, attacking your skin, and you could go back up to his office and get it but you just want to go home. The sun is setting, and it’s earlier than when you usually leave.

The walk home is decidedly miserable, the wind sending tears streaking down your cheeks, and your mind is practically going into overdrive. Jesus Christ. You kissed your professor, and he kissed you back. And then you left, like a fucking idiot. He probably feels terrible - feels like he violated you, or ruined his career. But he hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. If you were more respectable you’d go back to his building and apologize for running out, wrap your arms around him and kiss him like you fucking mean it, but all you do is scan your card to get into McKinley and walk down the hall to your dorm.

Your roommate is out - at her boyfriend’s, as per usual, but you appreciate it. Truth be told, you haven’t seen her much since the first few weeks of the semester, but she seemed nice enough. You drop your bag onto your bed and collapse on top of the covers, gazing up at the ceiling.

You bring your hand up to your mouth, brushing your fingertips over your lips with the same feather light touch that the first press of Harry’s lips to yours had felt like. You can still feel it - feel him - if you close your eyes, his hands grasping your hips and his lips trailing down your collarbone.

Slowly, you press your palm to your stomach, trailing it down your torso until you reach the button of your jeans. You undo it with shaky fingers and push them lower down, beneath the hem of your cotton thong, and the first brush of your fingertips against your clit sends a shiver down your spine and a whine falling off your lips.

Harry’s hand on your chest, squeezing your breast through your shirt as he kisses down your neck - oh my god, licking down your neck, biting your skin, his eyes are so wide, his hair is messy from where you grabbed it, and you hadn’t been interrupted he would’ve climbed on top of you, pressing you into the couch, tugging your jeans down your thighs and -

Maybe he would’ve done what you’re doing now, sliding his digits into your heat, fingers longer than yours, hitting every spot that you need him to. Or maybe he would’ve slid down your body, lifting your shirt to suck a deep purple mark into your chest, before burying his face in your cunt -

A very loud moan falls from your lips as you push a finger inside of yourself, curling them immediately to hit the spot inside of you that makes your tummy flip.

But maybe - just maybe - Harry wouldn’t have bothered with that. Would’ve watched, breathing so heavy as you unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his nice dress pants to wrap your hand around his cock, throwing his head back and moaning as you swiped your thumb over the tip of him.

You’re so close so fast you can practically taste the orgasm creeping up on you, your hips bucking up to meet where your fingers are feverishly rubbing circles on your clit.

And he would’ve slid into you, and he’s so big that he’s stretching you out more than any of your fingers or the guy you’ve been with, and he’d grab your chin and force your head up and kiss you so fucking hard, his hips flush against yours -

With a strangled cry, you curl your fingers once more and then you’re cumming, release coating your fingers as your hips roll into your hand. All you can think about is him and what could have happened, and the fact that you may have ruined the start of something magnificent, but God if the orgasm wasn’t good.

You pull your hand out of your panties, wiping your dripping fingers on the denim of your jeans. For a moment, you merely stare back up at the ceiling, focusing on steadying your breathing, and then you stand up, kicking your jeans off your legs and tossing them onto your dresser. You have a pair of plaid pajama pants crumbled in a pile at the bottom of your bed from the morning, and you pull them over your legs with a sigh. Perhaps it’s not the height of cleanliness, but they’re soft and comfortable, and you lie back down on your bed once they’re on.

After nearly an hour, you still haven’t done anything but sit and do nothing, occasionally flicking through your phone. You wish you could fall asleep but your brain is working far too fast to even think about resting, and -

The sound of your phone getting a notification startles you, and you groan, grabbing your phone to look at whoever disturbed your panic.

Harry S.: I’m behind your building. I have your jacket.

He’s here? Jesus Christ, you just came over him and damn near cried over him and now you have to see him.

Perfect.

Your heart skips a beat, and you jump up without a second thought. You look an absolute fool, stuffing your feet into the first pair of shoes you can find - a pair of slip on Vans that are so dirty they can barely constitute as white - before you’re running out the door, your phone tucked in the waistband of your pants, heading down the hall and out the back entrance where Harry’s black car sits, waiting.

You walk up to his car, pathetically out of breath, and lower your head so you can see him through the window as he rolls it down.

“Hi.” Your tone is quiet, and you clear your throat. “Um, I’m sorry about running off like that. I just got overwhelmed and that girl showing up made me - um - nervous.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, though he’s very pointedly not making eye contact. “M’sorry if I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that, or -”

“No, I kissed you first -”

“But I’m your professor.” He says the word with an odd inflection, nearly pained. “I shouldn’t have let it escalate. I’m sorry.”

You dig the toe of your shoe into the road, looking down at the passenger seat where your jacket sits, waiting. The tension is palpable and you swallow thickly, then grab the car handle, forcing the door open so you can grab your jacket. You wrap the fabric around your shoulders - the seat heaters made it warm and you could nearly cry at the way it embraces you.

Harry watches you - you can see him from the corner of your eye - and then he looks down at your body, your shirt and your pajama pants with no pockets, and asks, “D’you have your key to go back in your dorm? S’just, you don’t have any pockets … I can’t see it.”

Shit. No, you don’t. You hadn’t thought about that when you were running out to see him. Perhaps he can decide the answer from the way your face drops, because he exhales with a small smile, barely perceptible, and nods his head. “Get in.”

You grab the door handle again, pulling the door open and climbing inside. The seat is toasty and warm and the car is toasty and warm and altogether you feel like both of those adjectives combined. The radio plays softly - or maybe it’s his phone, hooked up to the aux cord, because Maybe I’m Amazed by Paul McCartney is a song you recognize reading on the playlist he’d made. You slam the door shut and wrap your arms around yourself, holding your jacket closer to your body, before turning your head to glance at him. He still hasn’t started driving, merely gazing at you, and you feel your skin heat under his eyes. “Where are we going, professor?” It’s a stupid question, because you aren’t going anywhere yet, and he doesn’t look like he plans to start driving anytime soon.

“I’ll take you back to my apartment.” HIs eyes haven’t left yours, and your stomach turns. “How does that sound?”

You exhale softly. “Sounds perfect,” and then you’re leaning in, pressing your cold palms to the side of his cheeks and bringing his face into yours.

Your lips meet and it’s more desperate than it was in his office - teeth clashing and your tongues brushing against each other, as if he’s trying to devour you. His hand rests atop of yours, dwarfing you pathetically, before dragging his fingertips down your arm and up to your shoulder, fingers dipping beneath the sleeve of your shirt.

Where you’re cold from the air outside, Harry is so warm and toasty, his breath hot against your face when you pull away briefly. He presses his forehead to yours and then leans up, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose and smirking at the whimper you let out.

“Wait,” he tells you, voice low and quiet, and you nod slowly. “When we get to my apartment - but not now.”

You nod feverishly and sit back in your seat obediently, desperate for him to finally start driving. His hand rests on top of the center console and you stare at it for a moment - you can do it, do what you’ve wanted to do every single time he’s driven you home - and you place your palm overtop of his. He turns it over so your palms are pressed together, fingers intertwining, and you’re sure he can hear your heartbeat with how loudly it’s beating in your chest.

The line that you’ve crossed is so far behind you that it’s a mere dot in the distance.

The car ride to his apartment is short - only 2 full songs play during it, and you recognize My Girl and I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight from the playlist. Truth be told, it feels as though you’d been in the car for hours and hours, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of your hand. You want nothing more than to crawl across the center console and straddle him, kiss him until you’re both breathless and go as far as you’d fantasized about but you have to wait.

Harry’s unlocking the door of his apartment entirely too slow for your liking. It’s as though he’s trying to tease you, make you antsy, when all you want is for him to press you against the wall and kiss you silly.

He lives in a large brick apartment building - one of the newer ones, you know - in an apartment on the third floor. You’ve passed his building so many times driving through town and you never even knew it - didn’t know the man who lived there was someone you’d be so desperate for.

“Come on,” he whispers, though there’s no real reason for the two of you to be quiet - perhaps it just fits the mood. Harry’s hand wraps around your wrist as he tugs you into the now-open door of his apartment, flicking on the light switch residing beside the door.

As light floods the apartment you’re somehow both surprised and also not at all. It’s surprisingly tidy, resembling more of his car than his office, and - to your relief - it’s quite obvious he’s the only one who lives here. You slip out of your Vans and take a moment to look around. A cat sits on top of the couch (her name is Marie, named after Aristocats, you learned from class) and you can’t stop yourself from gravitating towards her, using two fingers to stroke down her back as you peek around the apartment.

Yes, it is quite clean, and surprisingly colorful - there’s a striped rug and red couches and your eyes fly a bookshelf filled with picture frames against the wall. One is him with four other guys, arms wrapped around each other - one of him and Marie - one of him, significantly younger, hugging a girl who looks extremely similar to him.

“Is this your sister?” you ask, unaware of where he is in the apartment but trusting he hasn’t strayed too far from you.

“Yeah,” he responds, and you jump slightly. Harry stands just behind you, and when you turn to face him he’s fighting back a grin. “So nosy, aren’t you?”

You raise your arms to wrap around his neck, pulling his head down to yours as his hands gravitate down towards your lower back where your shirt rises just a couple inches from your pants, exposing a strip of skin, and his touch sends a shiver down your spine. “I guess I am nosy. Can’t help it.”

Harry leans down, then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and down the bridge of your nose before landing on your lips - you whine into his mouth, pushing yourself onto your toes to try and deepen it, swiping your tongue into his mouth. It’s so different than before - heavier, deeper, and you can’t get enough of it.

“Please,” you whimper against his lips as his hands creep farther down your back, landing on the globes of your ass through your soft pajama pants. “I need you.”

“Oh, yeah?” You can hear a sense of cockiness working its way into his voice and you groan softly as he pulls away from you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

You need everything. You need everything he can possibly give you and more - you need wish fulfillment of everything you’ve dreamt of since the start of the semester and that includes every single goddamn appendage on his body put to use somehow.

But you can’t possibly begin to tell him that, not yet. His fingers are already trailing down to the waistband of your pants, tugging at the tie that holds them up when you breathe, “Your mouth. Please, I need - I need your mouth.”

It’s not enough for him, you can tell, as he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your throat, sucking softly. “M’using my mouth.”

“H - Harry …”

“Where d’you want my mouth?”

You curse beneath your breath, and he pulls his head back to raise his eyebrows at the sound. You bury your hand in his hair, tugging lightly on his curls, before squeezing your eyes shut and muttering, “Want your mouth … down there.”

As much as you want it - and Godyouwantitsofuckingmuch - it makes it no less awkward to say it out loud.

“Down where, baby?” Harry asks, voice teasing and so fucking smug. “Down here?” His hand sprawls across your stomach, pressing down on your abdomen and you moan softly. “No … down here, s’that right?”

His hand slides down to your cunt, pressing his palm overtop of you through your pajama pants and you’re so wet you’re sure he can feel it even through two layers of fabric. Your throaty cry in response and the feverish nod of your head confirms what he’d been teasing you about, and Harry delivers one last soft kiss to your lips before dropping to his knees before you.

Fuck. You never thought you’d see Professor Harry Styles, the man of your dreams and the one person you considered to be entirely unattainable, kneeling in front of you with his nice dress pants on and a crisp button up shirt. He looks entirely normal, save for his messy hair and lust blown pupils, and you’re sure you look a bloody mess but his eyes still devour you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You drop your shaky hands down to the tie of your pants, undoing it at record speed, and he hooks his fingers in your waistband. Slowly - so slowly - Harry tugs them down and his eyes remain on you as though expecting you to stop him, but you can’t. Finally they pool by your feet and you lift your legs to kick them off, sending them flying near the couch where Marie resides.

Had you known this would be happening perhaps you would have opted for racier panties - your cotton thong isn’t terrible but it certainly isn’t doing you any favours, and you have so many lace ones at home that would have been perfect for the opportunity - but Harry still looks at you like you created the world. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh and then the other, leaning in to suck a dark purple hickey into your skin.

You suppose he has a thing for hickeys.

Your fingers twist in his curls, trying to direct his head up to where you truly need him, and he chuckles softly - the soft exhalation of air makes you whine as it hits your cunt, even through your panties. A soft kiss is what he lands on your clothed clit, and your hips buck up into his mouth. You’d forgotten, perhaps, that you’d had an orgasm less than an hour prior but you’re very swiftly reminded, and he looks up at you with a smirk.

“So reactive,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit through your underwear and sucking softly. “Just the way I like.”

A shaky breath escapes your mouth as you toss your head back, legs shaking and you can’t expect them to hold you up much longer. One of his hands moves to the back of your thigh, kneading your skin softly, and the other dips into the hem of your panties and slowly tugs them down. You’re so wet that the fabric is desperate to stick to your dripping cunt but he manages to roll them down your legs, face to face with your pussy and -

Heat floods through your body and up to your face as you look down and make eye contact with Harry. Now that he’s down there, gazing at your bare pussy, you feel oddly compelled to protect whatever modesty you have left and shut your legs but then he grabs one of your legs and throws it over his shoulder, pushing you back just a bit until your back smacks into the wall, and leans in.

The first stripe he licks up your core sends a choked cry from the back of your throat and then a long whine as Harry focuses his attention on your clit. His tongue flicks the swollen bud, still rubbing circles into the back of your thigh. Your heel digs into his back as he moves one hand up to your cunt, running his finger through your soaked folds before pushing it inside of you.

He curls his finger, mimicking a come hither motion until he brushes against the spot that makes your hips jerk against his face. Harry’s lips wrap around your clit and when your eyes roll back into your head, he takes his hand off your thigh and snaps his fingers.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice muffled against your cunt, and the vibrations roll through your body like an earthquake. “I wanna watch you fall apart. Look at me.”

Slowly you lower your eyes back down to him, meeting his gaze as he pulls his mouth away briefly - smacks his lips - and pushes a second finger into your dripping heat. As he thrusts them in and out, hitting that sweet spot in your velvet walls, you can feel your orgasm building in the pit of your tummy embarrassingly fast, but you want to hold out for him. Want to prolong this as long as you can.

Harry’s teeth brush against your clit and you cry out, barely hearing the way he groans, “So fucking reactive for me, yeah?” but you can hear it and it only makes you moan louder. His tongue draws patterns over your clit and he’s so determined to maintain eye contact but you can tell it’s a struggle for both of you.

He pulls his fingers out of you, licking a thin stripe up one of them as if he can’t get enough of your taste before reaching his arm up so his fingers rest on your bottom lip. Obediently you open your mouth, accepting his digits and swirling your tongue around them, tasting yourself on his skin, as he leans back, glancing up at you with heat blazing in his eyes.

“You’re close,” he tells you, his voice deep and throaty. “Can feel it - feel how you’re clenching around my fingers, baby. D’you wanna cum? Tell me how fucking bad you want it.”

Harry pulls his fingers from your mouth and presses them to your clit, rubbing a slow circle as you struggle to find your voice before gasping, “Fuck - need to cum so fucking bad Harry - Harry, oh my god -”

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me?”

“Yes! Oh my god, H - Harry -”

“Cum for me, baby.”

He leans in, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking and that’s all you need to topple over the edge, the orgasm that had been building in the pit of your tummy finally exploding. Your head falls back against the wall with a thud that’s hardly audible over your loud shrieks and moans, your leg finally giving out and you damn near slide to the ground before Harry hooks an arm around your thigh to keep you upright.

His tongue flicks at your clit gently, riding you through your orgasm, and when you’re coming down from your high it’s all you can focus on. There’s a high pitched ringing in your ears and you don’t think you’ve ever - ever - cum that hard in your life. You’d only been with one guy before who didn’t even know women could orgasm and your fingers never gave you anything so earth shattering.

Your breathing comes out in desperate pants as Harry rises from his knees, moving both hands to your hips as your legs nearly collapse again. Your clit is throbbing and when you press your body to his, leaning up to kiss him so desperately, you can feel his boner, hard against your thigh.

“Holy shit, professor.” It’s all you can manage, pulling away to drop your head against his chest, using the moment to try and steady your breaths. “W - who knew you were so good at that.”

His fingers brush through the ends of your hair, a gesture so sweet and innocent that it could make you forget what just occurred. “A hidden talent, I guess,” he mutters, gripping your chin to kiss you again.

You drop your hands to his waist, gripping his nice button down shirt in your tight grasp, surely wrinkling the fabric as you roll your hips against his. Even through his pants his hard on feels fucking huge and you’ve only been with one guy before and suddenly you’re wondering if he’ll even fit inside of you.

But you’ll try. By god, you’ll try. And you press your head to the wall, looking up at him with lust dilated pupils. “Harry.”

“Tell me what you need, baby.” But he already knows, and you can tell he needs the same thing.

You swallow, bucking your hips forward against his boner, and he groans. “I want you to fuck me. Please. I - I need you to fuck me, professor.”

The word makes him moan aloud, and within barely a second he’s grabbing your wrist, tugging you away from the wall and across the apartment until he’s swinging open a door and pulling you inside.

Something about being in his bedroom is entirely different than being in his living room, the carpet beneath your bare feet plush and soft. There’s a large television in front of his bed and the bed is made beautifully, a flannel blanket tossed over the end, and you can’t fucking wait to mess it up.

Harry spins you around to face him, attaching your lips once more as he shuts the door. You whimper into his mouth as his hand drops down to your bare bum, squeezing the flesh in his large palm. “Sorry,” you murmur, voice high pitched and breathy, “was nosing again -”

He groans as you drop your hand to the front of his fancy dress pants, trying desperately to undo the button with one shaking hand. It’s a struggle and finally he chuckles breathlessly, dropping both hands down to help you with the task, and finally you reach your hand into his trousers and press your palm against his cock, hot and heavy even through his boxers.

“Bed,” he grunts, backing you up until the back of your knees hit a hard edge and you fall backwards onto his plush duvet. He stands above you, breathing heavily, and for a moment you stare at each other, as though processing that this is happening - and the moment picks up again. Harry reaches down and tugs at the bottom hem of your shirt, pulling it up and off your body and sending it into the corner of the room. Your bra is lace, at least, and decidedly prettier than your panties, and for a moment he stares down at your chest with a look of pure lust adorning his face.

“You look a bit flushed, professor,” you tell him, voice faux innocent and sounding entirely more confident than you feel. “Are you feeling okay?”

Harry chuckles through gritted teeth, and you push yourself onto your elbows so you can work at the buttons of his shirt as he tugs his pants down his legs. “I’ve never been better, in fact.” His boxers are flannel and you can see the bulge in his boxers, and it’s even bigger than what you’d expected.

Your work at undoing his buttons slows down as your mind suddenly flips into overdrive - you must wear the worry that suddenly overtakes you because Harry leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“When’s the last time you’ve done this?” he questions, voice soft and spun sugar sweet.

“Um -” you try and think. The last time you’d done this you’d lost your virginity and that was - “A year ago. Maybe longer.”

Harry nods, nudging your nose with his and giving you one final kiss before rising back up. His hands replace yours as he works on unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m going to go slow, baby. I promise.”

In every fantasy you’ve had about him, he’s not slow - he’s fast, pounding you so hard the bed is nearly louder than the noises you make - but now that you’re here with him? Maybe you need slow.

You nod, and he smiles down at you. He presses his hands onto the mattress and then snakes them beneath you, fingers working at the clasp of your bra, and you lift yourself up slightly so he can undo it and slide your last piece of clothing off of you. He sends it into another part of the room and you can’t be bothered to focus on it because - Christ! - all of a sudden Harry lowers his mouth to your breast, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples and sucking.

“Fuck!” you gasp, fingers working themselves into his curls. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp and he moans lowly against your skin. Harry lifts his head off of you, pinching one of your nipples so you cry out.

He lifts one leg to rest on the bed and then grips your hips, pulling you closer to the edge. Your legs instinctively spread and he watches you, breathing heavily. “Baby,” he mutters, hands slipping his boxers down his thighs. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Heat burns your cheeks and you shut your eyes.

“Look at me,” Harry tells you, and it’s all you can do to obey. “Want you looking at me while I fuck you. Can you do that?”

You nod, swallowing as he grips one of your calves and hikes it onto the bed, exposing your sensitive, dripping cunt to him. You look down your body, where he’s grasping his achingly fucking hard cock in his hand, and then he drags the tip down your slit with a low hiss.

“Are you ready, baby?” he asks, voice soft and strained, as if he’s holding back and you know he is. But he needs this to be a good experience for you so it can be good for him and that’s what you appreciate.

“Y - yeah.” you push yourself onto your elbows and your eyes meet, maintaining perfect eye contact as he pushes himself inside of you. He’s going achingly slow and -

The stretch aches and you drop your head onto the mattress with a groan, Harry’s hand immediately finding your hand where you’re grasping the duvet feverishly. He bottoms out, fully sheathed in your warm cunt, a low groan piercing the air at the feeling of your walls, tight around him. It hurts - not as much as you’d expected, and the pain that quite literally fills you overtakes the burn.

You squeeze his hand, feeling his other run up and down the inside of your thigh as you adjust to him. “Oh - my god - wait - just - just one second wait one second -”

“Of course,” he breathes, and his voice is shaky with an emotion you can’t quite decipher. “T - take your time, babygirl.”

After a few seconds you push your head up to look at him, nodding slightly. “Okay. I need more, p - professor.”

You can tell he likes when you call him that and in some weird way you love it too - love knowing that the professor everyone lusts for is fucking you, slowly pulling out before thrusting back in, squeezing your hand when you cry out at the feeling. Maybe you’re not the first student to experience him like this but based on his demeanor you think you are - there’s something about him in this moment that feels like a secret you’ve discovered.

“Oh - fuck -” Harry grunts as he moves his hand from your thigh to your hip, pressing your body down with just enough force to limit your movements. It’s paining him, going so slow, you can tell - and you’re already starting to need more from him. You need him to go faster, and with a breathy moan you tell him.

Slowly his pace picks up, his grip on your hip tightening until you’re sure there’ll be fingerprint shaped bruises on your skin by tomorrow morning. With every thrust he fills you up so completely that every perfect spot inside of you is hit just right, and you never knew it could feel this good.

Every noise of his that tears through the bedroom spurs you on, pushing your hips into his to deepen every thrust. And every time you whine or whimper or cry or anything Harry delivers a harder thrust, fucking you so deep that you can feel it in the pit of your tummy.

“God, p - professor,” you moan, the word falling entirely too naturally off your lips even in your heightened state. Harry throws his head back with a high pitched whine, speeding up his pace until the loudest noise in the room is skin hitting skin. “Holy shit - fuck - I’m gonna - gonna -”

“Gonna cum around my cock, baby?” He hisses, pressing the hand that had once resided on your hip into the mattress, gripping the covers tighter so he can rail his hips into yours desperately. “So fucking tight around me, can’t even fucking stand it -”

Your hand, shaking beyond belief, slides down to rub hard circles into your clit. The sensations on your clit and his cock, rutting against your G spot with every thrust, sends you over the edge again - already so overstimulated from the rather intense orgasm you’d had before - and with a loud cry-bordering-on-scream you’re cumming again.

“Fuck!” you moan, hips bucking up against his as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. “Fuck, Harry, oh my god -”

He’s not far behind you, hips stuttering ever so slightly but he wants to bring you to one more orgasm, securing this day as the best fuck of your (admittedly limited) sex life and he can’t cum yet. Your hand falls back onto the mattress and Harry pulls his clammy hand from yours, bringing it down to replace your fingers on your clit, and immediately you clench around his cock, begging incoherently for something - you’re not sure what - as he presses down on your clit hard.

Your eyes roll back into your head as his cock twitches inside of you, and grunts and moans are flying from Harry’s mouth faster than he can control it. Your walls flutter around his dick, his thrusts slowing to lazy pumps in and out. He’s so fucking close, he just needs one more push and then -

Your fingers wrap around his wrist and he looks down at you, your eyes nearly black with desire, tears streaking down your cheeks. “C - cum in me, professor.”

It’s the final straw for Harry, and with a nearly animalistic cry he sheathes himself fully inside of you and cums so hard so fast, it’s nearly violent, and the feeling of warmth that explodes in your cunt sends you into your fourth orgasm of the night -

It’s less intense than the others but still entirely too prominent and when you’ve finally rode out the last wave you collapse against the bed, your head spinning and your legs aching as Harry presses it back down from where it had been perched up.

Harry collapses on top of you, his body suffocating and hot and sweaty and you wrap your arms around him, your desperate attempts at steadying your breathing filling the room. You’ve never cum so hard and so much and you’re fucking exhausted, truthfully.

He lifts his head, gazing down at you as you run your fingers through his tangled, sweat soaked curls. “How was that?”

You exhale with a smile upturning your lips, beginning to feel his cum dripping out of your pussy and down your thighs. “Jesus Christ,” you murmur, and a grin breaks onto his face as he drops his forehead against your shoulder.

The two of you lie in silence for a moment - no words need to be spoken. Harry shifts the pair of you further up the bed, your head crashing onto one of his pillows as he remains, firmly on top of you, like he never wants to leave.

But you can’t stop yourself from asking the question burning through your mind, and you swallow thickly before mumbling, “Harry -”

He hums softly.

“Is this like - a one time thing?”

His head lifts again, chin pressed to your shoulder blade, eyebrows furrowed. Harry takes a moment to respond, though, lifting his hand to trace a line across your jawline to your lips, and you press a soft kiss to the tips of his fingers when he arrives at his destination. “I don’t think so,” he tells you, and his voice is quiet and vulnerable, as if waiting for you to deny him. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

You smile softly, leaning in to press a kiss against his soft lips. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“‘Course, baby.”

The name makes your tummy flutter, and you think you could listen to him call you baby for the rest of your life. “I’ve dreamt of this,” you tell him, lips merely a centimeter from his. “Since the beginning of the semester, every night.”

Harry raises his eyebrows at you, and you giggle at his expression. “Glad to know I’m not the only one.”

You shut your eyes, then. Rest your head on his pillow, feeling warm with the man you adore pressed on top of you, his arms firmly and protectively wrapped around you. Nothing has ever felt more right to you, and you drift off to sleep with a soft smile still gracing your lips.

#harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #yall i am rlly proud of this but yes im sorry it took so long to come out #i had so much fun writing it and im so happy w it #please leave feedback!!! id appreciate it so much

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binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

dakimakura | reader x jisung

Pairing: self insert, female reader x han jisung

Genre: smut, pwp

Tags: softsub!jisung, harddom!reader, friends to lovers, pillow humping (m), masturbation (m), cumshot, begging, piv cowgirl, praising, dirty talk, corruption kink (f & m), degredation

Word count: 2.4k

Inspo: i blame you @jisungsplatforms (but I also love you *mwah* hehe thank you for this inspo! the realest friends introduce you to new kinks lolll)

When the lights turn off, or in the dead of night, Jisung can’t help himself.

How can something that feels so good make him feel so guilty?

It had been a gag gift from some holiday or birthday--he can’t remember at this point. Sure, he thought that it was real funny at the time--what was even funnier to him was the fact that one of his friends had actually seen the thing, thought of him, and then spent money on it. Their loss, not his.

By comparison, it wasn’t much larger than he was. Jisung knew that the large, body sized pillow could fit him well and he could fit it smushed onto his twin sized mattress when he pushed it up against the wall. It could almost be like it wasn’t even there.

Jisung didn’t even know the character’s name, but he had tried to look it up once. The search yielded no results and he gave up easily after that too. All that he knew was that she must have been from some sci-fi thing--the very kind of anime show that he didn’t often watch. He really was one for the softer, cuter, more romantic ones that would leave him wanting something like that.

She had red hair and a red outfit that had been illustrated to look as if it shone. She had cute features: a thin waist, a tiny nose and a pleading brown eyes with fingers hooking into the waist of her pants suggestively. Her thighs were perfectly shaped; unrealistically so--as they often were. Naturally, her breasts were humongous: a stark contrast to the rest of her body which was thin and lithe.

The other side of the pillow, or the the side which he kept face down, ridded her of all of her clothes. The character wore baby pink lingerie which was nearly sheer. It left little to the imagination: her perky nipples protruded the fabric, and her glistening pussy slicked wet on her thighs and between her hairless folds. On top of it all, her orange hair had strewn everywhere onto the mattress-like image she was placed on, and her tongue dripped with in saliva that dripped down her neck.

“Real classy.” Chan had called it.

Jisung said that he was going to throw it out after it spent one night in his room when he was too tired from the festivities.

He had heard that these things were comfortable, so he didn’t see the harm in trying.

Jisung wrapped his leg around the body pillow to cuddle it, and the action itself was embarrassing enough to send a blush to his cheeks. The large mass did feel comforting, like another body in his bed which had only even been home to him. In the dark of his room, he could barely see the design, but knowing that it was there was something else. To save himself even further shame, he flipped it to the side where she was clothed. Even though no one had seen him do so in his sacred single-room, he still felt a cringe creep across his mouth.

Just once. Just once I’ll look at it.

He promised himself before turning the pillow over.

Sure, her breasts were gorgeous: perfectly plump looking and doughy to play with...just as he had often fantasized about. His mind wandered to even more crude thoughts: what would she taste like, how would she sound if he had fucked her: would she be loud of soft? Would she be tight?

Between his legs, he felt the heat rising, and jerked his hips at his wandering thoughts against cushion of the pillow.

The blankets of the bed shifted, the frame creaked, then he found himself looming over her orgasmic face and all he could do was run wild with even more questions. Perhaps she would be soft, she would squeak, she would mix his name with her moans.

Jisung straddled with pillow in his boxers and sighed out at the pressure of his hardening erection against her waist. He rolled his hips once, twice, a third time...

“F-fuck...”

He pressed his full weight against the pillow as he wetted the insides of his underwear with his dripping tip. His shaking fingers clawed out at the corners to hold himself steady, and with his unstable breaths he looked down at her. Tiny and stifled moans bit at his lip where he rocked his hips, slowly growing addicted to the friction.

“F-fuck.” He cursed to the empty room again.

Jisung didn’t know that he would enjoy edging himself so much, but with that first night, he was learning plenty of new things.

After all, the pillow didn’t end up in the garbage, but rather the laundry.

~🌹~

You had known of his little secret.

While Jisung had thought that he could keep himself quiet, the steady creak of his bed during the late hours of the night gave him up obviously.

You thought that it was cute.

In fact, you had often imagined what he would’ve looked like desperately grinding himself over that pillow until he could take no more, or how he would milk his cum all over fabric and let it string between his fingers. Some nights, he would even go for more than one round. He must’ve been so agitated, so untouched, that he could do something like that to himself.

You wanted to see it.

The floorboards betrayed your steps to his room where the thumping had started near the hours of 2 or 3 in the morning. He had even left the door cracked open a little; as careless as he was.

From the other side of his door, his breathy little moans were unbelievable. The fact that he could do something to himself was remarkable. He could work himself up to the point of overstimulation all on his own, and he would do it multiple times.

“Mm.” He whimpered out, and the sound of his sheets crinkling followed.

It was undeniable that you felt a similar heat below your waist, and it wetted your panties and clit so obviously it ached for you bring a touch for relief. Your thighs rubbed together to find some kind of sensation, but you wanted to wait the longest you could. You would save it all for him.

“Jisung? Are you still awake?” You asked softly with a knock on the door.

He scrambled with a tiny yelp and the sound of the pillow getting thrown to the floor poofed.

“I can’t sleep, I’m coming in.”

He had done somewhat of a good job covering it up...if you had ignored his discarded boxers also on the floor. Jisung pulled up his blanket all the way up to his nose. The light from the hall flooded, and you could still see the rosy blush to his cheeks.

“I-I’m awake. Come-come in.”

“You okay?” You asked, trying not to eye the evidence on the floor.

“Yeah! Yeah! A-HEM! Yeah. All good here.”

Under his thin sheets, his legs wiggled and you wondered if he had been close, and if you had just ruined his orgasm.

“What can I help you with?” He timidly asked with legs still impatiently twisting.

“Oh...I just couldn’t sleep, so I was wondering if you could help me?”

His eyes widened, “How so?”

“Well, for starters, you could show me something.”

“Show you?” Jisung’s nervous eyes flicked from you to the discarded pillow, which had embarrassingly even landed on the scantily clad side.

“I hope that I didn’t interrupt you.” You teased him further with a growing grin.

“I-interrupt me? I wasn’t...I wasn’t doing anything? I was sleep--”

“--Jisungie, I think that the both of us know that you definitely weren’t sleeping.”

Jisung stammered, and you could tell that he had tried with all his might to not look back down at the pillow.

“Was-was not? I was sleeping.”

You strode confidently over to the rejected pillow, not even surprised to feel that it had been lightly wet from some kind of body fluid. You waved it in his face with an even more smug grin.

“You’re terrible at keeping secrets Sungie. You don’t have to be so shy about it. Not when I know already.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He said, becoming defensive.

“Don’t pretend like you fuck this cute little pillow of yours and ruin it. I’m not blind Jisung. Also...there’s no shame in that...”

“I do not!!”

“If you don’t then would you like to explain why I can see your cute dick bouncing under this blanket?”

Jisung yelped out even louder and threw his hands down his body to cover the obvious area, nearly hitting himself at the same time, then hissing out at his sensitivity. He shied, finally realizing that he couldn’t hide it any more.

“...It’s embarrassing.”

“Awww you’re so cute Sungie.”

“Can you not tell anyone?”

You laughed, “I think it’s a bit late for that. If I know...likely everyone else does.”

“Ah shit.”

“I could...help you, if you’d like?”

Jisung appeared to crumble into a shy little ball. “What do you mean? This is embarrassing enough.”

You asked permission to peel the sheets back, and he let you do so with a shocked little glisten to his big brown eyes. It was just as you had expected: his cock was pink and hardened furiously with his tip that flared and bubbling with precum. It was deliciously thick with a considerable length, the kind that you knew would’ve felt amazing in your throat.

“Look at you...so worked up...you did this all yourself?”

Jisung nodded with his face in his hands.

“I-I can’t help it sometimes. It just feels s-so good.”

“Can you show me baby? Show me how you grind into this pillow of yours? Wouldn’t that feel nice?”

You brought the redheaded anime girl back to his bed which he peeked at through closed fingers.

“When you look at her, what does it feel like? You wish that you could fuck her? Feel her warm pussy around your cock that only gets tighter and tighter...”

Jisung whimpered at your coaxing and nodded to every word. “ ‘Want to know...want to know what it feels like...”

“Show me how you do it Sungie, cum all over your dirty pillow for me, soak it. Ruin it.”

The adorable boy nodded, then shifted to straddle it once more now facing you. He swam in his oversized tee, and he was looked just as soft as you had expected.

“L-like this?” He said, sinking over the cotton with his throbbing dick.

“Just like that baby. Keep going.”

Jisung dug his fingernails into the pillow as he thrust over it and flicked his hips nearly directly over the character’s waist and stomach. He couldn’t meet your eyes at first, but focused only on the way that he fucked it, but as soon as your praises started to fill his ears, he wanted you to watch him. It felt pathetic, but he loved it.

“That’s it Sungie. Does it feel good? Fuck, look how cute you are. You’re that desperate that you would fuck this pillow? You want to know what it feels like?’

“Mm-yes.” Jisung muttered with even more broken gasps, “W-wanna know...what it feels like...inside...please--”

“If you cum for me first, maybe you can find out.”

Jisung looked up to you, pleading.” “R-really? You’ll let me?”

“You want to fuck me Jisungie?”

“Fuck--yes.” The small boy nearly growled.

“Cum for me first.”

He huffed out in his focus, but nodded, while thrusting his hips harder.

Everything about him was a sight to behold that sent your arousal straight to your clit which twitched just for him. As badly as he wanted to fuck you, you wanted to fuck him too; fuck him until he couldn’t make sense of his words, or until he had begged you to give him a break.

Jisung continued at his face, and the longer he went, the more whiny his moans became. Pre-cum pearled at his tip which turned even redder against the fabric, and his back arched when he found an angle that he preferred. When he got closer, his eyes screwed shut, and his eyelids fluttered when he brought out his orgasm.

“F-feels really good...” He said with a tiny euphoric smile. “C-close.”

“Cum for me baby, just like the dirty baby that you are fucking that pillow. Is your dick that desperate to feel a cunt? This is the best that you come up with?”

As your words turned dirtier, Jisung appeared to loose himself further, groaning out louder, and drawing his hips in deeper and collapsing over the length of the pillow.

“M’ gonna cum, f-fuck, please wanna feel you, so, so bad.”

“Prove it.” You challenged him further.

With a strained little grunt that was much too cute for his own good, Jisung came over the design of the anime girl on his pillow, and he splattered her with white. His whole body shook with his high, and he shivered as he milked himself over her till his dick twitched with nothing more left to give.

He gasped out and looked to you for approval, which you gave him overwhelmingly seeing the way that his thighs even trembled too.

“Did I do good?” He asked while jerking himself further, not even caring that it made him flinch.

“Of course you did babyboy.” You praised, and leaned over the sticky mess to give him a quick kiss. “I’d make you go longer, but I’m feeling impatient.”

Jisung watched when you striped your bottom half of your sweatpants, and nearly drooled seeing you dip your hand between your folds to rub slowly at your swelling clit and swirl your fingers with your own cum.

“See what you do to me Jisungie?”

He nodded vehemently and threw back his beloved pillow to make more space for you.

“Oh my god...this is really happening.” He whispered out.

Your hand slid over to his dick lathered with his cum and you twisted around it with your own hand, then roughly toyed with his slit. After, you took your own slick to mix and rub around his length. He collapsed to his back overcome with the pressure from your hand.

“Oh god.” He hushed with legs still trembling. “Please fuck me, I-I can’t wait...hurts...”

“Oh I will Sungie.” You returned, and positioned your hips over his, and teased at your entrance with his pink head. “It’s my turn to ride now.”

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @lunarskzzz

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noyaism · 3 years

Text

A Night Off

Being the Erwin simp I am, he had to be my first AoT fic. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Pairing: Erwin SmithxFem!Reader

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: choking, creampie, super soft ending, little bit of angst at the beginning (tw: death), praising, little bit of size kink (lmk if I missed any warnings !!)

Song Inspo: A Night Off - Drake

Life within the walls was as mundane as life could get. It might've been peaceful, yes. Hell, it was the only life you could be having, but still, you yearned to know more of the world you lived in, as you felt as if there had to be more. The walls and the titans beyond it couldn't be all there was. That just seemed so limited to you, in a world that just had to be vast. Maybe this was simply your thinking because you were a child. Of course the world had to be bigger than what you knew, it's not like you knew much of it anyway. Or maybe there really was more base to what you thought, maybe your fantasies were a reality.

Because you were as fascinated with the world as you were, history was your favorite subject growing up. You sat up a little straighter, clutched your pencil a little harder, listened just a bit more intently whenever the lesson started. A decent amount of the things you were taught made sense to you. However, something about the prospect of the walls being all that was left of humanity, that there was simply nothing but thousands, maybe even millions of titans outside just waiting to devour you and nothing else, just didn't sit right. It seemed so oddly far fetched, and you couldn't put your finger on why it felt that way. Apparently you weren't the only one who was feeling unsettled by this.

A small boy raised his hand, you recognized him as the teacher's kid; Erwin Smith. There was a look of pure curiosity in his eyes as he questioned his father, you could tell he was having the same feelings you were.

“If we lost all records of what the outside world was like, how do we know we’re the only ones left?”

It was odd for you, hearing someone else have the same question you did, something that came to plague your young mind. You wondered what the boy might've been thinking about what was outside.

The teacher, his father, dismissed the question, going on about the lesson. Erwin looked defeated as he sat back down, continuing to take his notes as if nothing happened. His eyes told a different story, though. There was a lot going on in his mind, and at your lunch break you decided to pick his brain.

“So what do you think is outside?” You asked the boy as you went to sit next to him in the schoolyard. Your backs were to the wall, and you both carefully ate your sandwiches as you surveyed all of the other children running about freely. The two of you weren't like them, that was plain enough to see.

“I’m not sure really, but the story my father told just doesn't entirely make sense. Almost as if we’re being led to believe something that isn't true at all. Do you get what I mean?” You nodded your head at the boy’s question, letting out a small sigh.

“My parents have told me that same thing, and it just doesn't really sit right with me. But then again it's what everyone knows, right? So maybe we’re crazy or something.” Erwin laughed lightly at your words, nodding along.

“Yeah, maybe we are. At least I know someone as crazy as me now.”

And from that moment on, you and Erwin became the best of friends. The next day Erwin told you he had something important to tell you during lunch. The two of you sat in the same place you had the day prior, and he divulged to you everything his father had told him. You sat in utter amazement, slowly chewing on your food as the theory was explained.

“So the history that we know is all a lie? The king just wanted to make people easier to control?” Erwin nodded his head intently, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, so he changed the memory of all his subjects, and altered any historical records to follow suit. That's why we don't know anything about the world beyond the walls, the knowledge has been stolen from us, and it's been so long since then that it's doubtful anyone truly remembers.”

This all made an insurmountable amount of sense to you, and when Erwin decided he wanted to tell your fellow classmates, you agreed to help him spread the information around. That night when you told your family they simply laughed, thinking it was some crazy theory you and Erwin had made up. They thought it was cute and completely dismissed it, but advised against telling too many people about it, just in case it might have caused you any sort of trouble. You thought they were crazy for not believing, but realized you couldn't force them to. You also didn't understand what they meant by getting in trouble through telling people of this theory. That was until the Military Police questioned you and Erwin. You kept your calm and the two of you thoroughly explained what Mr.Smith had told Erwin, and were let on your way. Unfortunately, Mr. Smith didn't come home that night, leaving Erwin orphaned.

You held Erwin’s hand at his father’s funeral, offering all the emotional support you could. Death is usually hard for children to grasp, but the two of you knew that his death wasn't an accident, and that the Military Police berid of him because of his theories on the history of your society and the world beyond it. While Erwin held onto hope that there was justification in his father’s murder, you rightly knew there couldn't be any motive that would make it right.

As you both continued to grow up you and Erwin always had each other’s backs. Where one of you went the other wasn't far behind, and the both of you intended for it to always be that way. You seemed to be the only two people that had any inkling of the truth, and so it was best you two stuck together. You both decided to join the Survey Corps, as it was your best shot at ever being able to find the truth, and get some sort of vengeance for Mr. Smith. It meant a lot to you to be able to go into the outside and find what you knew had to be true, and it meant just as much to Erwin, probably even more.

When Shiganshina district fell and Commander Shadis stepped away from his position, Erwin was appointed his successor. Before he was officially sworn in you got him alone, wanting to know how he was feeling about it all. There was nobody in the world who you were closer to than Erwin, and you knew this was going to be a lot for him to handle.

“So, am I going to have to start calling you Commander now? I am technically older than you, addressing you as my superior will be kind of weird.”

“For you and me both, but if this is the task I’m giving then I'm going to do it, and do it proudly. If they think I’m fit enough to lead the Scouts it's an honor, and it's one I can't give up. Especially if that means I can get closer to the truth. You know I have to do this y/n.” You let out a small sigh, nodding your head. You pulled up a chair beside him, putting an arm around him.

“I know you do, but just know I’m always here. I've been your right hand since we were kids, and you've been mine. That isn't ever changing. We’re gonna find the truth, no matter how many expeditions it takes. I couldn't possibly think of a better person to take orders from than you.”

Since his father had died Erwin didn’t smile much, but in that moment he flashed a big one at you, and it was almost like the two of you were kids again.

The Survey Corps wasn't an easy job in the slightest. A lot of the time you had to watch your comrades die in front of you, while you yourself were just narrowly escaping the jaws of death. Add onto that a growing dislike by the public, and it took quite the thick skin to proudly call yourself a scout. You did so without second thought, especially now that your best friend was the commander. You did get moments of escape, though, and you did get to become really close to the people you worked with. From the day you met Moblit Berner you found him to be quite the endearing person. He seemed almost too soft to be a scout initially, but softness wasn't really an option for him as he was tasked with keeping Section Commander Hange in check.

You and Moblit had developed a bit of a romance within a fairly short period of time. You were attracted to his kindness, how gentle and loyal he was behind the panicky exterior. You had a lot of love for him in your heart, but part of you couldn't lay a finger on why you didn't see longevity with him. It was in no way his fault, at the very least you were sure of that, but you couldn't quite give a clear explanation as to why it was you felt that way. The question plagued you, and it became obvious Moblit was starting to catch on.

“Y/n?” He asked, shaking your arm lightly and breaking you out of your trance. The two of you were in his chambers, just talking as you normally did. Nothing was out of the ordinary, despite you being so uncharacteristically distracted.

“Sorry, sorry I was just really lost in thought. There's a lot going on right now, it's all really overwhelming.”

“Yeah, it is. But I don't think work is why you're feeling so overwhelmed, at least not the whole reason why.” You sighed at Moblit’s words, running a hand through your hair. You weren't exactly sure what to say, it's not like you could explain what you were feeling at all.

“I get it, though. I've been feeling really overwhelmed too, and not just because of work. I don’t really know how else to say this, so I’m just going to come clean. Y/n, I care for you a lot, and I don’t want you to think that I don’t, or that I've been lying to you or anything. It’s just that I’ve come to realize that I actually have really strong feelings for Nifa, and-”

“You...you’re saying that you have feelings for someone else?” You quickly cut him off. You avoided eye contact with him, trying to decipher what you were feeling to the best of your ability.

“I am, and I’m really sorry that’s the case, but I have to be honest with you and with myself.”

The both of you sat in silence for a while, the quiet thick in the air. You still couldn't tell what you were feeling, and you weren't sure you were going to be able to figure it out yourself, either.

“It's okay, Moblit. I’m just glad you were honest with me, I guess. I wish you the best, and I hope Nifa returns your sentiments. You're a really good guy, and she's a really good girl. I hope it all goes well for you two.”

Before Moblit could even reply you left the room, heading straight to Erwin’s without once looking back. Moblit didn't bother to chase you, knowing well that it was better to leave you be to work out your feelings. You didn't waste time knocking on Erwin’s door, simply opening it up and leaning against it as you closed it. He was sat at the small table in the room, writing in a journal by the firelight. He looked up at you in confusion, not at all mad you simply came busting in, though. It was something you did since you were kids, he was completely used to it by that point.

“Moblit just broke up with me.” You said, finally peeling yourself off the door. Erwin stood and walked over to hug you, his much bigger frame engulfing yours as he did his best to comfort you.

“I’m really sorry about that, Y/n. What happened?” He asked as he pulled away, going back to sit and you joining him in the seat opposite his.

“He told me he has feelings for Nifa. I can’t really say I'm surprised, she’s a beautiful girl, has a great personality.”

“It’s not like you don't, you know. Don't sell yourself short.”

“I’m not, I’m not. I guess if I were him I would have feelings for her, too. Especially with how I’ve been lately. I wasn't ever really present with him. Something always just felt off to me, and I couldn't put my finger on what exactly it was.”

Erwin took a moment to think before he responded, closing the journal and putting it aside.

“Were you simply just losing interest in him?” He questioned.

“I dunno, I kinda feel like I wasn't ever really interested in him at all.” You started, letting out a sigh before continuing.

“I feel like...I feel like what I felt for Moblit was almost like I was just...deflecting what I was actually feeling.”

“And what was it that you were actually feeling?” Erwin replied, looking a bit confused as to what you meant.

You looked into his eyes, the same eyes you had gazed upon for countless years now, and in that moment, something clicked in your head. Every moment the two of you had spent together, every time one of you saved the other, every laugh, every smile, every word of support, it all flooded you in an instant. It felt as if the whole world shifted, like nothing ever really made any sort of sense until that very moment. The two of you had been by each other’s side for so long, and you had watched him grow from a bright eyed child to a strong willed man, and in every moment you could think of you had been falling deeper and deeper in love with him.

“That I love you, Erwin. And I guess I kind of always have.”

Your words were simple, concise. Erwin’s gaze turned soft as you spoke, and he moved his chair over to sit in front of you. He took your hand in his, gently running his thumb over your knuckles. Both of your hands were callused and hardened from years of training and fighting, and yet in that moment there was a softness in how he held your hand that you didn't know either of you could even possess at this juncture.

“I’ve been waiting a really long time to hear you say that, Y/n.” Your head, which was down so you could watch how he held your hand, immediately perked up as you heard him speak words you couldn't even believe were real. This time it was you that looked at him in confusion, which melted away as he leaned in and kissed you. You gathered from his words that Erwin had been feeling this same way for a considerable amount of time, yet wasn't sure if he should act on it or not. While part of you wish he would've, you were glad he didn't. This moment was utterly perfect, and even the slightest of differences wouldn't have made it the same.

Erwin pulled you into his lap, kissing you harder now that the gap between your bodies had been bridged. His arms stayed wrapped around your waist, and your hands snaked up into his hair, tangling themselves in his golden strands. For a moment you thought about how this might affect your friendship, but you realized your friendship had always been so much more than just that. This was just the culmination of years of pent up emotion.

Erwin placed kiss after kiss on your jaw, bringing them down to your neck as he softly bit your skin. In an instant you remembered how you complained about how Moblit was too soft with you to Erwin, and it seemed he had learned from the other man’s mistakes. A soft moan escaped your lips as Erwin continued to mark his territory, each kiss and bite making you fall weaker and weaker in his grasp. You began to grind your hips into his, enjoying the friction between the two of you. Erwin stood, moving his arm under your thighs to hold you up, walking over to the bed and carefully laying you down. He loomed over you, illuminated by the moonlight bleeding in from the window on your left, and the candlelight on the right. He looked utterly godly above you, it made you crave even more of him.

He started to quickly unbutton his shirt, and you did the same, needing to lessen the number of layers between your skin. This wasn't the first time you had seen Erwin shirtless, although it wasn't necessarily a common occurrence, and this time it made your cheeks heat up. You simply couldn't believe how beautiful he was. A small smirk pulled up the corner of his lips as he leaned down closer to you, his lips just barley ghosting over yours.

“Like what you see, gorgeous?” He teased, kissing you needily. You chuckled lightly, nodding your head a bit. Erwin was never like this, the playfulness in his tone so different than his usual stoicism. Seeing him like that was enough of a turn on, but the fact his affections were focused on you made it even more attractive.

“More than you’ll ever know.” You replied before kissing him again. He trailed kisses down your neck and onto your chest, once again starting to mark you up. He showed no restraint in how he touched you, and you allowed him free reign over your body. He swiftly removed your bra and left a mess of small hickeys and bruises all over your torso. He took time to take your nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly on the nub as he rolled the opposite one between his fingers. Your fingers scratched at his back, your legs wrapped around his waist to keep him close. Even just this felt euphoric, and it only made you want more, whatever “more” could be.

“May I?” Erwin asked as he tugged lightly on the waistband of your pants. You nodded quickly, and with a smile he undressed you further. Shoes, pants and underwear were discarded onto the floor, and there you were, completely bare in front of him. Erwin took a moment to admire you. Even if you were a soldier, a warrior, in this moment you were as delicate as a flower to him, the most precious rose. You were so small in comparison to him he almost mistook you for fragile, but he knew better than anyone just how strong you actually were, and how much you could take. In a more literal, fighting sense at least. He wanted to make you melt, though, and was certain he knew well how to.

He left kiss after kiss on your inner thighs, making you squirm in anticipation. He held your hips down, halting all movement he didn't approve of. The mere sight of him between your thighs made you so excited, your pussy already dripping without having been touched even once. It was almost embarrassing for you, but it only made Erwin want to devour you even more. He moved your legs to drape over his shoulders, and his hands held onto your thighs as he finally made contact with your core. The lightest touch of his tongue felt like the sweetest sensation, had you been any more deprived of pleasure than you were just that would've been enough to bring you close to the edge, but you were intent on holding out for him.

His lips closed around your clit, sucking lightly as he brought a hand down to your folds, fingers teasing your entrance. With how wet you were they were easily permitted entry, two of Erwin’s digits pushing into you with ease. Your hips circled on his mouth and your hands moved to his hair to push his head closer to you, anything to feel more, anything to bring yourself to the edge of glory and then some. His fingers curled up to brush up on the most sensitive parts of you, the feeling making your back arch and an elongated moan to fall from your lips. You didn’t want to get too loud, as it was getting late and you knew your comrades were probably trying to get some sleep, but you truly couldn’t help yourself, nothing had ever felt as good as this, and you were just getting started.

It didn’t take much more for you to rocket into your first orgasm, your juices coating his fingers. He slowed them down, their pace having been fairly rapid, until you reached the end of your orgasm. He pulled them out slowly, agonizingly so, and licked them clean, taking in your flavor. A smirk curled the side of his mouth, and without a word he was right back between your thighs, lapping up every last drop of you.

“E-Erwin…” You breathlessly pleaded, chest heaving as overstimulation started to poke at your senses. You didn’t even know what you were pleading for. You surely didn’t want him to stop pleasing you, frankly if you could do this for hours on end you would’ve, but you simply couldn’t articulate what it was you wanted. Erwin came up from between your legs, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips as his body once again engulfed yours.

As he pulled away you looked into his eyes, the little skies you came to know so well, and you saw something there you’d never seen before. A mixture of love and lust that darkened their color just a bit. Even the look in his eyes made it quite clear what his intentions with you were, and you had no intention of objecting to whatever was to come.

“Quiet down, baby. Just trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Erwin quickly undressed himself completely, not wanting to waste any more time. He wanted to be inside you just as badly as you wanted him, maybe even more. If there was anything he needed, it was a night off. A night to indulge himself in pleasures he usually denied, too wrapped up in military life to give anything of that nature a second thought. If there was anyone who was going to get him like this, it was you, the woman he was madly in love with.

For a lot of people, all work and no play made them dull. For Erwin, however, it made him all the more ready to give you absolutely everything.

With a quick thrust he entered you, making your back arch hard as your hands grabbed onto his arms for support. The man was very naturally endowed, and taking only about half of him as you were was still a lot, and he was well aware of that. He wanted to push you, see how much you could actually take. Once you seemed to settle he gave you the rest at a much more manageable pace, a smirk on his lips as he bottomed out.

“Look at that, so you can handle it. Good girl.” He praised, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead before he started to move. His strokes were slow, but they hit so deep, you felt so full. Just as he had said, he certainly knew what he was doing.

He took you like this for a while, admiring how utterly gorgeous you looked like this. How you squirmed with his every move, how your mouth laid open lazily as you moaned, how your eyes started to glaze over as you gave yourself over to undying pleasure. It was a thing of beauty, slowly ruining you as he was. He brought a hand to wrap around your neck, squeezing softly before picking up the pace of his thrusts. He didn't question if you could take it, he knew you would.

The slight asphyxiation turned the feeling of pleasure up to ten, making your walls clench tighter around Erwin’s length. As he picked up his speed your hands moved to his back, your nails lightly marking up his skin. Your body jolted upward with how he pounded into you, it was utterly relentless. You moved one of your hands to rub your clit, another orgasm ready to take you over. You quickly hooked your legs around his waist, letting him in even deeper, and a couple thrusts as this new angle sent you into your second orgasm.

You were getting pretty loud, and as much as Erwin loved all the pretty little noises you were making, he knew it was probably better to quiet you down some. He let go of your throat and pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach. Your cheek came clad to the pillow below you, and you felt your hips being pushed up into the air. Erwin had to stop for a second to admire this display, the way your pussy gleamed with your essence, it was intoxicating.

“Keep it quiet. Don't give me a reason to punish you, angel.” His words were both orders and a warning, and you were in your right mind to obey. You nodded your head just as he pushed into you once again, and you let a long moan out into the pillow beneath you.

His hands gripped hard onto your hips, and once again he moved at a pace that let you know his lust was borderline insatiable. You moved your hips in time with his, the sound of skin to skin contact filling the room. Erwin let out low grunts from between his lips, and in harmony with your muffled moans a symphony of the utmost carnal desires was being played. Every instrument, your bodies, perfectly in tune.

As strong as you were, you felt so weak, your legs about ready to give out with how bad they were shaking. If it weren’t for Erwin holding you up you certainly would’ve toppled to the bed by now, but you were trying your hardest to hold your own. You wanted, nay, needed to take him. To take everything he gave you, and more if possible.

Moan after moan spilled helplessly onto the pillow as you felt him begin to lightly twitch inside you. Your walls tightened around his length for the last couple thrusts, and he soon emptied a fairly large load of his seed inside of you.

The both of you breathed heavily, exhaustion starting to set into your bodies. He pulled out of you slowly, sitting back and watching his cum start to drip out of you. Just as your legs completely gave out he scooped you up and laid you on your back. He moved to lay beside you, and you placed your head on his chest, just listening to his heartbeat as you both caught your breath. You almost couldn’t believe what had just transpired, had it not been for the exhaustion you felt, and you now joining hands with Erwin.

“Do you think things will ever end? And maybe our lives can be somewhat normal?” You asked, eyes fixed on you and Erwin’s hands. He rubbed your back with his free hand, tracing small shapes into your skin.

“I’m not sure, honestly. One could only hope, I guess.”

“Well I do. When things are finally safe and all, I think we should buy a nice house, have a couple kids, and just live a quiet life.” You replied, looking up at him with a small smile. Despite how much you loved being in the Survey Corps, and how important it was to you to be here and to fight for your freedom, part of you wished things were different. You wished you and Erwin could just go off and be together, but both of you were so deeply loyal to your cause, it just wasn’t a possibility.

“Yeah, I think that’d be nice. When we finally make it out, I promise you we can.” You smiled even brighter at his words, placing a soft kiss on his lips before nuzzling back into his chest.

“Until then, we’re keeping each other safe. Just like we always have. That means I’m going to need you to gamble with your life just a little bit less.” Erwin laughed lightly, nodding his head in reply.

“Well to be fair, up until a little while ago, I had nothing to lose. Now I do.”

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