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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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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 3 years

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 3:

“Okay, so that’s about it.” You smile brightly, pressing a band-aid into the boy’s skin. “Thanks for being so brave for me!”

“Mhm. I’m the bravest!”

The child before you beams, all teeth gaps and kicking legs as he bounces in his seat. You’d just given him a few routine vaccinations, and true to your praise, he had been very brave about it. All he’d done was sit there, holding his breath until his face went red, and trying not to grimace. It reminded you of someone else you’d recently treated- someone else who was currently blazoned in all his snarling glory on the little boy’s shirt.

“Oh, I’m sure! Just like Dynamite!” You agree enthusiastically, gesturing to his clothes. You turn your head, catching his mother’s eye from where she sits next to him. “Isn’t that right, mom?”

“Oh, not if I can help it.” She smiles something a little exhausted, but ultimately fond as her son starts making explosion noises. “Not if I can help it.”

If you’re being completely honest, you sort of agree with her. Just a little bit- actually, on second thought a lot.

“If that’s everything and you have no other concerns for me, then we’re about done here.” You say gently. “Do you know where you’re going? I can point you toward reception again if you need it.”

“No, we’re alright, thank you!”

You nod, holding the door open for them as they leave.

When the door closes, and you’re swept back up into silence, you can’t help but think of that interaction as just more proof- more proof that no matter where you were, no matter what you were doing, you absolutely could not escape Bakugou.

When you weren’t actively thinking about him, then you were seeing his face everywhere. He was on television, and he was on the cover of newspapers, and as evidenced, he was printed in perfect grumbling, snarling accuracy on children’s t-shirts. It didn’t help either that every day brought another civilian who was saved by him, and every night brought another small-time criminal who was beat to hell by his fists. You swore he was responsible for a solid 70% of all of your hospital’s traffic- it was pure insanity when you really started paying attention.

You quickly come to realize that Bakugou is a plague; and a horrifyingly effective one at that. You’re not sure how you never noticed it before.

Still, you can’t help but find yourself worrying a little bit. When you think of him, all you can see is his face covered in blood, the pallid hue of his skin under the hospital’s sterile lighting, and the deep-set bags under his eyes. You remember the way he practically fell asleep, laid out and injured on a hospital table. The way he was drifting while you were digging a needle and thread through his skin.

Thinking back on it always makes you a bit sick. No one who wasn’t absolutely exhausted would ever fall asleep in a hospital- especially not in the middle of being sewn up. When you match that to the anger and terror you’d felt, that very first night you’d ever met him, it doesn’t paint a pretty picture. You come to realize that even if Bakugou was an asshole to you, you still wouldn’t wish that kind of mental torture on anybody.

Your rest of your week goes by quickly after that, and by the time Saturday rolls around, you’ve gathered quite a few bones to pick with him. It seemed the amount of criminals you were patching up was only increasing, and their injuries were only getting worse too. Each passing day only brings more lowly criminals and thieves flooding into your hospital, all covered in the same scorch marks, broken bones, and dark bruising. It was overkill, plain and simple, and you knew exactly who the culprit was.

You began to think that, even if it was Bakugou’s job, he really shouldn’t have been digging graves for people who were just stealing purses. There was a massive difference between a super villain and a petty thief, but he didn’t seem to understand that. Dynamite punished everybody just the same. You saw that first hand.

Still, you try to shake off those lingering frustrations. You were on your way to take out his stitches, and you didn’t want to accidently bring them up. Bakugou only mildly tolerated you the last time around, but you were sure that generosity would cease the moment you criticized anything about him. True to his quirk, Bakugou had proven himself to be a teetering powder keg- just a little bit of friction, and he’d explode on the spot.

“On your way to help his majesty?” Your superior remarks, smiling sardonically as you pass her. “Good luck, I’ll be praying for you! Try your best to come back with your head still intact, yeah?”

You nod, smiling uneasily, but your stomach turns a little bit.

That had been another reoccurring theme that week- jokes about how your impending doom was imminent. Apparently, Bakugou had been making a name for himself for years now- a name that was a lot less loved by your hospital then it was the rest of the outside world. You’d been hearing horror stories for days now; tale after twisted tale of nurses and doctors getting chewed up and spit out by his bad temper. It always read as a little strange to you though; in every story you’d heard, he was either hardly injured or on his death bed- no in-between whatsoever. You figure that it didn’t really matter though, the result was always the same. Relentless, explosive anger.

Which you sort of begun to think you were in for, when you opened the door to his scowling face.

“Hey!” You greet unsurely, trying to walk into the room with a confidence you didn’t really feel. Moving past him, you rinse your hands, drying them and then slipping on a pair of latex gloves. You then pull the medical cart over to him, taking out the blood pressure cuff. Just like his last visit. “You ready to get those stitches removed?”

“Yeah. Obviously. Why the fuck else would I waste my time here? Witch.”

Yep. There it is- just what the other nurses and staff were warning you about. His attitude.

“Oh. Okay, so I see we are still using that nickname. Great.” You mutter wrapping the cuff around his arm. You fall back, crossing your arms as you wait to jot down his vitals. There’s angry tension rolling off of him, and you smile uneasily, trying to discharge it with a subject change. “On an entirely different note, though, I did want to congratulate you.”

Bakugou just scoffs, turning up his nose. A beat passes and then he folds, minutely nodding at you to continue.

“You’re not covered in any blood this time! Congrats!” You say breezily, unwrapping the cuff from around his arm. “Guess the third time really is the charm for us, huh?”

Bakugou just looks away, hardly even acknowledging you as he rolls his eyes. You think you see his lip twitch though- just a bit, and it only lasts half a second, but you count it as a success.

“So, any worries about the stitches? You been cleaning them as instructed?” You ask, gently taking his forearm in your hands. You remove the bandages and gauze with feather-light touches. “Wow, you must’ve been. They look pretty good to me.”

When you look up at him, he’s got that same prideful smirk you’d seen before; it doesn’t distract you from his condition though. His skin somehow looks paler than before, skin purple and darkened under his eyes. You see the cut on his head, still hardly healed and scabbed over. He’s overworking himself, but you didn’t need to have any medical background to see that.

“Obviously they look good. You think I’m fuckin’ stupid?” He says.

“No, but I really did think you would’ve exacerbated them by now. Especially with all the hero work you’ve been doing. Which, believe me, I know is a lot.”

“What- you stalking me now or somethin’?”

“Not exactly. Me or somebody else here always end up treating all those people you save.” You tell him, setting his arm down on the empty surface of the medical cart. You try to keep your voice light, keep it entirely void of anything accusatory, but you can’t help your next words. “And every person you beat into the ground.”

Bakugou’s eye twitches when you look at him. He breathes deep, eyebrows creasing.

“Oi- somethin’ you wanna fuckin’ say to me?” He utters, eyes glinting like blistering wildfire. He leans forward, flipping his palm up towards you as it begins to crackle. “Better choose your next words real fuckin’ carefully.”

It’s his tone that catches you off-guard.

You knew it was a stupid move, your comment, but the pure poison in his response surprises you anyway. His voice is dark and angry, smoldering like a low heat as he stares you down. The words are vicious thing, a gripping threat that drips from his mouth, seeming to bite back around his teeth as he speaks it. It makes you shrink. You think that it would probably make even the strongest people shrink.

“No. It’s- I wasn’t. I’m sorry.” You apologize professionally, pasting on your best appeasing smile even as you fight off the anxiety. There’s nothing left to do but try to defuse the situation- so you turn away from him, busying yourself with grabbing a discard tray and your stitching kit. “It’s really wasn’t my business. Shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry.”

Bakugou just huffs at that, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He somehow looks even more annoyed than before and you don’t know what he wants from you. Doesn’t he know how intimidating he is? Why does he even bother acting surprised when people fold for him? Especially if he chooses to address them like that?

You wish you were the sort of person who could stand up to him- the sort of person who could put him in his place. After all, there was no room for arrogance in a hospital, and you’d always thought egotism to be a selfish waste of valuable time. But, even so, you just couldn’t be that person this time. There was a lot you could power though, but you’d never seen hot-and-cold anger like his before. He wasn’t like any of your other difficult patients- none of their threats ever sounded like promises.

There’s tense silence as you start removing the stitches, only the sound of your scissors and Bakugou’s own breaths. You try to keep your hands steady, try to keep focused, but you’re finding it hard to keep still under his intense gaze. You feel he’s looking right through you again, waiting for any excuse to blow up again.

You’re almost done removing them entirely when he huffs, rolling his eyes as he shifts uncomfortably.

“You’re so fucking sensitive, you know. It’s pathetic.”

You stiffen.

There’s a lot you’re willing to put up with- being underappreciated and overworked was pretty much your entire job after all- but Bakugou was really wearing on you. He wasn’t the first patient to insult you, and his comment was far from the worst thing you’d ever been told; but it’s something in the way he spits the insult. Sly and challenging like he knows something you don’t. It makes you look up at him, and all you see are his sharp canines. His smirk and the way he looks down on you.

He’s picking a fight, but there’s no threat. He’s testing you.

It makes your blood boil.

“If you don’t like me, and the way I do my work,” You bite out, staring right back and speaking through own clenched teeth. “Then you shouldn’t have asked for me. No one made you come back.”

“I told you, witch. No cutting corners. You put the fuckers in my arm, you take them the fuck out.”

“Why are you fighting with me?” You ask, swallowing as you try not to shy away from his glare. “I told you last time, if this works better for you silent, then just say that.”

He flares his nostrils at that, setting his jaw. When he goes silent, you go back to snipping away his stitches. At this point, you just wanted to finish as quickly as possible.

“Silent is fuckin’ boring.” He grits, flexing his fingers. It makes the skin on his forearm shift, throwing off your work. When you look at him in frustration, you can see he did it on purpose. “It’s wimp shit.”

“Pardon?”

“I said-” He leans in close, voice low and venomous. It feels like he’s trying to paralyze you with his stare alone, sitting up straight until he’s glaring down at you. “Silence is boring. You’re fucking boring.”

You’d had a long day- you’d had a very long day and he was being extremely rude and your patience was wearing thin hours ago. That’s why you let him break your careful composure- at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“Oh yeah, I’m boring?” You ask in frustration, entire face warming in fury. “I’m boring? Really! At least I don’t spend my entire day blowing things up and beating people half to death!”

Bakugou blinks. He blinks, sucks a breath, and then you watch his smirk crawl slow and sure across the entirety of his face. He got you. He got you to break, and he won, and he knows it.

He knows it and he settles back on his good hand, leaning away to get a better look at your flustered face. He cocks his head to the side, studying and analytical for a moment. He nods.

“There. We’re fuckin’ even.”

“Excuse me?”

“Even. You shouldn’t have fuckin’ pried around in my head and not expected me to pry in yours.”

“That’s what this is about?” You sigh incredulously, putting your scissors down on the medical cart. “Really? You’re still on that- how- how does this even tell you what’s in my head? You’re just insulting me. It doesn’t!”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why are you so fuckin’ pissed right now? Hah?” He squints his eyes, voice smooth and dripping with arrogance. “It’s cause I’m right. You’re so fuckin’ boring when you play nice all the time.”

“Play nice? What the hell are you even on about? You don’t know me.”

“I know that you piss me the hell off bein’ fake. If I fuckin’ irritate you then say so. Don’t put on your fuckin’ kid gloves and try and be professional. It’s weak.”

“No. It’s how I keep my job. Which you know, you wouldn’t understand, because you literally pick fights for a living!” You huff, pushing the medical cart off to the side and stepping back from him. “Actually- you know what, no. I’m done with this. This conversation. Your stitches are out, and you can leave since you obviously can’t stand me and would rather be anywhere but here.”

You watch him flare his nostrils again, a snarl ripping from his mouth. He slams his closed fist down on the hospital bed, eyes like blazing conflagration. Bakugou looks pissed, but more than anything he looks vulnerable. Worn raw.

“I can’t.” He grits.

“Yes! You actually can! Just walk out! Literally just walk out an-’

“God, you’re so fucking dense! I can’t leave without figuring out how the fuck you do it!”

“Do what?” You nearly scream, your owns hands beginning to clench into fists.

“I need to know.” He repeats again, hopping off the hospital bed.

His feet hit the ground, steps like rolling thunder as he nears, broad shoulders and muscular arms casting an intimidating shadow. Bakugou looks like an angry bull storming toward you. Like he’ll obliterate you given even half the chance.

“Take your fucking gloves off.”

You’re scared now, eyes darting over to the door. You knew nobody was doing rounds in the luxury wing right now, and sound didn’t pass through walls that were made to ensure silence. Heart racing in your chest, you size him up, try to think of a way to escape but he’s so close to you and he’s built like a linebacker and-

“Jesus christ. Not like that. Fuckin’ idiot.” He growls, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He stops a few feet in front of you, sneering. “You’re not my fuckin’ type, so don’t flatter yourself. Now, grow the fuck up and take them off before I do it for you.”

You’re not sure what makes you listen, maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s something else, but either way you listen. You pull a glove off, just barely dropping it on the counter before Bakugou speaks again.

“I’m gonna touch your hand- but do not use your quirk. Don’t even think about using it. Just fucking stand there. And don’t freak the fuck out and put up a fight about it. You’re just gonna waste time.”

You nod, hand shaking as you extend it. Bakugou seems to roll his eyes at that, but he surges forward anyways, fingers meeting yours.

You feel it almost immediately. Your heart speeds up, but just slightly, beginning beat against your chest where it had just barely been grazing it before. You breathe deep, close you eyes, focus in on the buzzing of your skin- the way your bones sing of subtle fire. It’s barely there but it feels like warmth. Reminds you of that night, with Bakugou, when you were burning alive. Reminds you of how your bones felt too large and your skin felt too small and there somehow wasn’t enough room in the entire world to hold the weight of your rage.

“You ambient fucking bitch.” Bakugou swears under his breath. When you look at him, he’s fluttering his own eyes open, dropping your hand like it burned him.

Then he steps back and you’re gasping for air. It’s not entirely back again- but it’s reminiscent. There’s an inkling of that bone-deep exhaustion. That weariness that so often stole the air from you lungs and the ground beneath your feet.

“Your quirk. It’s ambient. Through your skin.”

You shrink back even more, blinking owlishly up at him.

“What? You didn’t fucking know? Jesus, how clueless are you?”

“It’s-I-” You drop your head, running a hand through your hair. “I never- I always wear gloves. Always. And long sleeves. Since I was little. Never wanted to take the chance- how did you even know.”

Bakugou seems to turn his nose up at your question. He steps back, further and farther until his back hits the hospital bed. There’s distance but somehow he keeps the air just as charged, averting his eyes when he speaks next.

“Went to sleep. A week ago. When I saw you-”

“What? Bakugou that doesn’t- you’re not-”

“If you’d let me fuckin’ finish,” He glares down at you again, trying to beat you into submission with eye-contact alone. It works and you fall silent, holding your breath as he resumes. “You put me to sleep. Then and three months ago. I haven’t slept peacefully like that in fuckin’ years. So obviously you used your quirk on me. It’s easy. A fuckin’ moron could’ve figured it out.”

“No- but I didn’t touch you! Well, the first time, yeah, I did, but not a week ago. I was wearing gloves and I-”

“When I told you to do the splint over, the sleeve of your coat rode up.” He grits out, cheeks slightly flushing as he averts his eyes. “Then I almost fell asleep. Not like the first time, but still. Asleep. So obviously it’s your fuckin’ skin.”

Suddenly, the ground is ripped out from under you.

Your entire life you’d always been tired. Day in and day out, constantly dragging your feet like you could never get enough sleep. Like there wasn’t enough hours in the day for you to live and be rested.

Was it your quirk this entire time? Were you somehow ambiently draining people of their pain- even if you just accidentally brushed their skin with yours?

You don’t know how you never realized it. How you never put two and two together.

You’d spent your entire life purposefully using your quirk to help people- had then sacrificed days and weeks of your life afterwards tucked away in bed and sleeping off the exhaustion. When you used your power on purpose, depending on the severity of someone’s pain, it would debilitate you. But you still did it- over and over and over again because you wanted to help people. Because you knew you could and that became the only reason you needed.

You’d always just assumed your constant exhaustion to be aftershocks of how often you used your quirk- you never even considered the possibility that it was something you were doing unintentionally. That you were draining yourself with every hug and handshake and high-five that should’ve made you feel better.

You’d always sort of disliked being touched. Somehow always walked away with your skin prickling uncomfortably for as long as you could remember. You just never knew why until now.

“Oi- I thought I told you not to freak the fuck out.”

“It’s- how the hell am I not supposed to freak out about this?” You gasp, hands braced behind you on the counter. “I didn’t know! My entire life! And you met me like, what, twice and you figured it out and- Are you falling asleep right now?”

In your spiral Bakugou had somehow ended back up on the hospital bed. He was still sat up, but his shoulders were completely slumped over and his eyes were half-lidded. He looked completely drained of all previous anger, swaying slightly as he blinked himself back to perfect alertness.

“Yeah. Probably.” He grumbles. “It’s your fuckin’ fault.”

“You barely touched me! How the hell is-”

“Don’t ask me, you fuckin’ leech.” He yawns, hand closed into a fist as he rubs at his eyes. “You’re the one with the stupid goddamn quirk. Not me.”

“That’s- sorry. I didn’t know. Holy shit,” You curl arms around your stomach, eyes widening. “Have I been doing this shit to everyone? My entire life?”

Bakugou groans. Audibly. Loudly.

“You’re the stupidest goddamn idiot on the face of the planet. Swear to fuck, I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“You’re not helping!” You exclaim. “It was rhetorical question! Excuse me for freaking out right now- I’m sure you’d freak out too if you suddenly found out you were osmosis-ing people’s emotions your entire life!”

“Heh.”

“God, and just what the hell are you laughing about? This isn’t funny!”

“Osmosis.” He reiterates, mouth drawn up into a shit-eating grin. “Change your quirk name. To osmosis. Alleviate is shitty and stupid and it makes you sound fucking dumb.”

You bristle again, suddenly shaking any and all tiredness, rounding on him as you seethe.

“You- you are a goddamn asshole! You know that?” You start, stopping just a few feet in front of him. “You come in here, and insult me. Call me boring! In my own fuckin’ workplace! While I’m literally taking your stitches out! And then you tell me how my quirk works- somehow have the audacity to be fucking right about it, and now you’re insulting me? Again?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just sitting there, completely fine, smiling like there’s something funny! This isn’t funny! I’m not funny! This is my life- which you literally have been bulldozing through for months now- are you falling asleep? Again? No! No! Not in my- wake the fuck up! Asshole!”

You’re snapping in his face, just inches away from his eyes, and Bakugou hardly even blinks. He just sits still, calm and sated as you seethe just inches away from him. You huff in absolute hatred and that finally shocks some life into him. He smiles. Tiny and barely-there, but he smiles.

“See, not so nice anymore. Knew you weren’t. Fuckin’ liar.”

You want to scream. You want to tear your hair out and maybe take Bakugou’s too, and scratch and claw until you’re bathing in all the rage you’d accidentally stolen from him. You can’t though- you can’t because suddenly the sun starts to set. It falls behind the horizon line, seeping the gold from his skin and drowning him in sterile, white, artificial pallid-ness. His skin goes translucent and the only color in the entirety of his image are the bags under his eyes. Well, the bags under his eyes and the stark red of the barely-healed slice on his forehead.

You curse your own heart. Nearly collapse under the weight of your own sympathy. Bakugou was an asshole, an absolute, irredeemable dick, and you still wanted to heal him. Help him. Somehow. Miraculously.

So then you’re centering yourself, rubbing a hand down your face to soothe your wound-up features.

“God, you actually do look pretty bad.” You say, all attempts at grace and keeping it professional completely gone. “You really weren’t kidding about needing to sleep, huh?”

“No shit. Leech.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. That’s fine. Trade one mean nickname for another- I mean, hey, at least this one’s accurate right?”

Bakugou does actually exhale a laugh at that remark, limbs a flurry of chaotic movement when he throws himself back on the bed. His head hits the pillow and it’s only seconds before he’s shutting his eyes.

“So, what, you’re just, like, sleeping now?” You ask, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t.”

“I can.”

“This is a hospital, Bakugou.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He mumbles, yawning into his hand. “‘m fuckin’ Dynamite. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“I’m sorry- do you, do you actually think you can ego your way out of rules? Seriously? You can’t sleep here! Not unless you’re critically injured and need like, round-the-clock care.”

He stills, breath evening and you think he’s fallen asleep. Then he’s lazily bringing a hand up, pointing it loosely at his head.

“I’m critically fuckin’ injured.”

“No- you’re not. That’s a cut and it’s already healing and-”

“I need round-the-clock care.”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me?”

“No.” He grunts, flopping as he turns away from you. Then he’s facing the wall, nuzzling into the pillow. “I’m tired.”

“It’s-” You start, but then you’re once again falling victim to your own empathy. One look at his translucent skin is all it takes. “Fine. You know what? I don’t give a shit. Do what you want, I guess. Nobody else is using these rooms.”

“Okay. Leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get the fuck out.” He slurs, cheek pressed up against the pillow as his eyes flutter beneath his eyelids. “Bein’ too loud. Leave.”

“Fine. Enjoy your sleep. Jerk.”

“Leech.”

You nearly punch him in frustration- until you realize that would probably only relax him more; because apparently this really is Bakugou’s world and you were the unlucky one just living in it.

He’s out before you’re even finished packing up. You’re wiping down all the surfaces either of you had touched, just about to leave, when he starts snoring. It’s a soft, almost kitten-like sound, just barely audible over your own breathing. It pisses you off. Boils your blood in your veins because it’s so goddamn humanizing even when he acts like the anti-christ with an even worse temper. It’s stupidly endearing and ridiculously sobering and incredibly, incredibly irritating.

That stupid sound is why you double back upon leaving the room. Why you’re suddenly choosing to reverse instead of moving forward, why you’re suddenly reaching into the cupboard instead of shutting the door behind you.

When you carefully unfold the blanket, settling it gently over his sleeping form, there’s only one thing on your mind.

Fuck being an empath.

--/--

taglist: @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness

#bakugo #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x self insert #bnha bakugo #mha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou imagine #bakugou series #bakugou fic #mha fic #bnha fic

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builder051 · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021 day 5: Misunderstanding

Nat on fire

Small mentions of drug use, sickness, emeto

___________________________

Nat gets the call to action a few minutes past five on Wednesday morning. Her phone, stashed in the bed and still on its charger , begins to blare loudly, as does the pager she’s long since thrown into the depths of the closet. Once she answers one, they’ll both stop. It’s usually convenient, except that today she’s nowhere near either of them.

On a normal morning, Nat would still be in bed. Probably still in the dregs of REM, but lately, she’s just been drifting off at this hour, the drink and drugs in her system wearing down and leaving her to catch a short rest.

That’s not today, though. It’s the middle of the week, and Nat’s not stupid. She hasn’t shot up in two days. She hates to think that small of a break would put her in withdrawal, for she can’t be that addicted, can she? But that’s about the only logical cause Nat can think of for her sudden and desperate urge to leap out of bed and spill her guts into the toilet.

She’s been at it since…midnight? Maybe two. There was definitely a two showing on her glowing digital alarm clock when she dashed past it and skidded on her knees into the tiny bathroom. Hours have passed; Nat can tell without turning around to look at the clock. Her abdominal muscles have begin to hurt from heaving. She’s distinctly lightheaded, even perched up with the support of the toilet seat. Everything tastes like sour tropical fruit and salt and sweat. And Fury has a general rule about not calling before don’t-be-a-dick o’clock.

There’s a pause in the loud ringing from the bedroom behind her, then it all starts up again. Someone’s hit redial. Nat sighs and leans away from the toilet bowl, testing herself before leaving it completely. She’s fine, though shaky, and her throat seems both abraded and extra wet. “Ok,” she says, trying to push out speech without having to cough first.

Nat reaches around in the now-cold bedclothes and finds her phone, lit up and flashing Fury’s name.

“What?” Nat groans, almost before she has the speaker to her ear.

“Well, good morning to you,” Fury says in a clipped, annoyed tone. “What took you so long?”

“I was asleep…”

“Yeah, well, speedy reaction times are still a thing.”

Nat rolls her eyes, but but the movement brings back full-on nausea, so she stops, presses her shaky, slightly damp hand to her forehead, and takes two steps back until she finds the closet door against which to ground herself.

“Romanov?” Fury seems mildly concerned about her. Or maybe the connection of the call.

“Yeah,” Nat answers. “Here.”

“Briefing at 6:30. Trouble’s come up,” Fury explains shortly. “In country, so at least the flight’ll be short.”

“Urgent, uh, stuff…?” Nat hazards, her head more than her stomach telling her she’d be more comfortable back in the bathroom. She’s sure she’s emptied out, but that doesn’t mean the urge to retch is gone.

“Do I call you in for anything else?” Fury asks, as if she’s stupid.

“Well, um—“

“Briefing. 6:30,”. Fury shores up. “We still have a coffee machine.”

“Oh—“. Nat has to move her hand down over her mouth. “I’m really not feeling—“

“You’re up to it,” Fury says. “I promise. You’ll be finished by lunch, and you can all go and have your little celebratory hamburgers and what all.”

Nat’s going to explode. She presses what she hopes is the red button to end the call and throws her phone back on the bed. Then she turns on the spot and runs the three or four paces it takes to re-enter the bathroom. She bends at the waist and violently heaves, bringing up absolutely nothing except a dribble of foamy spit.

“Fabulous…”. Nat wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, then tries to force her fuzzy brain into motion. She needs to go into the office, there’s really no choice there. Then things are largely up to fate; she can sit seasick through a PowerPoint and bum along on a mission where she may or my not throw up on a jet, or she can get to the office and experience things going downhill from there. Nat can’t visualize an outcome where everything goes well.

Once she’s feeling steady enough, Nat gets back to her feet and turns on the bathroom light. She ignores the pale yellowish ring she’s made in the toilet and grabs a brush to see to her hair. Under the sink there’s a dusty gallon jug of distilled water, probably meant for the steam iron left untouched on the top shelf of the pantry. Fluids are fluids, though, and Nat has no Gatorade at the moment, so she unseals the lid and lifts the heavy bottle with both hands in order to take a drink. The water tastes like plastic, but anything’s better than the horror currently festering behind her molars.

Nat wore clothes to bed, a pair of faded black sweats and a SHIELD academy t-shirt, so she doesn’t bother getting dressed. She shoves her feet into tennis shoes without socks. Then she nabs a plastic grocery sack that’s listlessly floating across the kitchen tile opposite the window unit AC and stashes inside a pair of rolled up jeans and her phone. Nat takes her keys from the hook beside the front door, then takes a last deep breath and steps out into the hazy dawn.

It’s humid, and Nat’s car is covered in soft condensation. The moisture in the air settles on her upper lip, making her feel artificially hot and sick all over again. It’s only for a second, though, for once Nat’s in her vehicle, she blasts the cold air until she’s thoroughly chilled. Her hand shakes as she adjusts the temperature again to something more moderate, and it takes nearly the entire ride up the highway for her body to settle.

Nat’s fine, apart from a few hard swallows and intent breaths, until she gets to the side streets leading up to the SHIELD building. Half of them are one-way, and with cars illegally parked at intervals where she’d like to be driving, rather more attention is required than she’s prepared to give at the moment.

Nat’s stomach groans as she manages to squeeze past a crooked PT Cruiser with one tire attached to the curb. She swallows quickly a few times, but her mouth waters, and she isn’t sure anything is actually going down.

The next turn puts her at the entrance to the parking garage. Nat’s grateful that her full-time status lets her whiz past the barrier without having to stop and take a ticket. She loops around the first level, then the second. She’s about to go up the third and park on four, which puts her closest to the correct set of offices and locker rooms, but she’s beginning to taste bile again, and she knows she won’t last.

There’s a cluster of parking spaces in front of Nat, the weird angled ones that are most likely to get backed into by other cars as they escape at the end of the day, but, hey. She needs a spot and she needs one now. Nat means to let the car coast forward into the space, but it stagnates, and she hits the accelerator lightly. She has to slam on the break to keep from plowing into the blockade, and the jolt sends pure agony through her head, which then feeds down her spine, and into her abdomen.

“Fuck,” Nat mutters, trying to open the door and escape without first taking off her seatbelt. She hangs out of the car door, gagging for a moment, then her nausea dispels long enough for her come to her senses, disengage the seatbelt, and completely exit the car.

Unsteady on her feet, Nat clings to the door and hangs her head. Her breaths come fast and light perspiration forms on her forehead. Her throat feels gunky and sore, and she’s unaware of what or how much she’s expelling until she hears the splatter agains the garage floor.

A car horn honks suddenly behind Nat, and she starts, whipping her head around. Headlights nearly blind her, but Nat can make out the silhouette of an open door and someone moving toward her.

“Nat?” A familiar voice calls, and she can see him pick up his pace, running now to close the gap between his car and hers.

Nat curses under her breath, then spits and shakes her head. There’s no real hiding the evidence, not at this point. Best she can do is come up with a convincing lie and hope her body can roll with it.

“Are you ok?” Steve asks, approaching her with arm outstretched. He goes to touch her shoulder, but changes his mind at the last moment and places his palm atop the roof of the sedan.

“Um. Yeah.” Nat clears her throat a little, which burns and brings on a secondary desire to turn her insides out, but she clenches every muscle esophagus to colon and manages to keep it down.

“Are you—?”

“Coffee.” Nat tries to find her voice. “Didn’t quite agree with me.”

“Uh…”. Steve shakes his head. “That’s not coffee.”

Nat turns her head a micrometer and sees him looking at the hideously yellow bile running downhill toward her tires.

“Why are you so interested in looking at my…” Nat accuses. “You know. And why’d you honk at me?”

“That was a mistake.” Steve looks mildly ashamed. “I just traded in for a newer model…” He trails off.

“No matter what year it is, you shouldn’t leave it idling like that,” Nat snaps. She gets a swipe in at her face while Steve’s looking backward at his inappropriate high beams.

“You seem like you’re in trouble,” Steve says abruptly, still turned away. “You’re really sick.”

The flickering fluorescents overhead can’t be doing anything good for her complexion. “Eh. Everybody gets hit sometimes.”

“You shouldn’t have had to come in.”

Nat’s laugh comes out more like a weak, hitching sigh. “Try telling that to Fury.”

“You downplay things. Hard. You know?” Steve’s free hand comes out of nowhere and the backs of his fingers rest lightly below Nat’s cheekbone.

“Get off, you creep—“

“Relax. I’m just checking your temperature.” Steve’s smile looks placating, but his eyes are wide and honest.

“Hm.” Nat sniffs and waits for him to be done.

Steve drops his hand back to his side and nods conclusively.

“What?”

“Just what I thought. You’re warm.” Steve doesn’t waste time. “C’mon, I’ll quit idling my engine and take you home.”

“Nah, I’ll probably ruin your new upholstery.” Nat gulps, disgusted by the possibility of new car smell filling her lungs and sinus cavities. “I don’t know. I’ll just…”. Nat looks into her vehicle, dreading the journey back to her apartment. She shifts her eyes back to Steve. “And I’ll have to beg out to Fury first, anyway.”

“I’ll do it for you,” Steve says. “On my word.”

“You’re not going to take pictures on your phone, are you?” Nat asks weakly. “You’re going to need proof to get past that guy…”

“If you can’t ride in a car, you need to be in medical.” Steve seems to realize he hasn’t broken it to her gently, so he backtracks and says, “With beds, you know?”

Nat wants to disagree. Even if she’s not fit for a mission, she can at least be independent. Take care of herself. But what’s she even thinking? She’s barfing in a damn parking garage, getting rescued by a coworker because she can’t even get up to the right floor.

“Fine,” Nat practically growls. “But no needles.” The nurse babysitting her doesn’t need to see the baby track marks dotting her inner elbow. She’ll keep those to herself, thank you very much. “No IVs. Bed. Bin. That’s all.”

“I’ll make sure that’s clearly communicated.” Steve nods , then jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Let me go park that thing, and I’ll walk you in.”

“Sure…”

Steve vanishes, and a moment later, the offensive headlights dim to something more manageable. His car moves forward and comes to a stop a few places down from hers.

Nat could vanish, too. Run into the building. Jump into her driver’s seat and speed off.

She doesn’t need the help. Or the charity. Or the friendship, really. She isn’t quite sure why, but she stays.

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themasterisathirsttrap · 3 years

Text

Putting Out Fire (With Gasoline) Ch. 2

Guess who’s still alive and just posted a new chapter of Putting Out Fire??

(Still sort of on hiatus, but now having some bursts of creativity, so sorry for the wait and enjoy!

Wow, this chapter took forever. I genuinely forgot how much plot setup happens in the first 10 minutes of 10x11. Very dialogue-heavy from the actual episode this time, but I promise for future chapters should have a better flow. Let me know what you think!

Chapter warnings: Nothing huge this time, aside from violence. But I will place warnings for future chapters))

@twistedgoddessoftimelords

@anteroom-of-death

@justaproudslytherpuff

@hallospaceboyy

@shawtyhadthemapplebottomjeans

As you stood huddled behind Missy, flanked on either side by Nardole and Bill, you felt far more apprehensive than you cared to admit.

Despite this, when you caught Bill’s uneasy look in your direction, you gave a small reassuring smile back at her. You moved closer and playfully nudged her with your elbow, causing her worried expression to soften into a small smile.

You could tell your friend was on edge and not keen on the idea of Missy taking the lead for the distress call mission the Doctor drafted up. You felt the thrum of nerves too, but you knew it was important to keep a calm face if there was any chance of showing the others what you had seen in the Time Lady.

It wasn’t even The Time Lady with whom you had something of a confusing relationship with that had you on edge. You had the feeling that she actually was wanting to take on the Doctor’s challenge to be him for a day, and do it well enough to rub it in his face.

Sure, you didn’t doubt she definitely would scare the lot of you just to make you squirm, but the root of your wariness was less the Time Lady and more knowing that you were jumping at the first distress signal the TARDIS picked up.

Despite knowing the Doctor for months now, you hadn’t quite gotten used to his cavalier approach to life-endangering situations. You had truly only been on a few adventures with him in the TARDIS. This partly had to do with the role you had accidentally adopted with Missy, and partly because you preferred your adventures with little bit more research and more calculated risks than jumping in and hoping for the best.

“Don’t you want to at least do a little digging before responding to the first distress call you find?” You had asked as the Doctor locked in coordinates to the distress signal. “Well, they’re in distress, there’s no time,” he responded brusquely, pulling down a lever beside you as you folded your arms. “You have a time machine. How do we not have time?” He huffed at you, turning his head to give a deadpan stare in response at the fault in his own logic, but you couldn’t help but shake your head and crack a smile as he waved his hand in dismissal.

“He thinks it’s more fun that way, ” Missy teased. To which the Doctor shot an annoyed look in her direction, but didn’t otherwise correct her.

“Figuring out what’s really going on is half the fun. If the Doctor wants to see how I do playing as him, we might as well go with full authenticity. Complete lack of foresight and all.” Missy offered with a sly grin and spun her umbrella with a flourish.

The Doctor had rolled his eyes at her before letting them rest back on you. “It’ll be fine. I promise,” he assured with a quick pat on your shoulder as he passed you.

Yet, now, standing in quiet anticipation as the TARDIS landed, you felt far less sure.

Maybe you were being ridiculous. The Doctor had done this god knows how many times, and it clearly had worked out for him.

But you’re not the Doctor.

You tried to shake yourself off that sudden, stark thought.

“Showtime, ladies,” Missy announced, breaking you away from your thoughts. She met your gaze for a long beat, a smirk playing on her lips as she adjusted her feathered hat to tilt further forward on her head, and tapped the floor with her umbrella for emphasis.

You almost wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. The moment passed as she turned away and swung the TARDIS door open. Upon her first step out its doors, she struck an exaggerated pose, her hand resting on her hip with confident ease.

“Hello. I'm Doctor Who,” Missy said, drawing out the name and pausing for dramatic effect. She stepped out of the TARDIS with a small hop. “And these are my plucky assistants, Thing One, The Tolerable One, and the Other One.” She continued, seemingly addressing no one in particular into an empty control room.

The three of you step out of the Tardis behind Missy. Even you stop yourself from rolling your eyes, but otherwise remained quiet as you reached up and adjusted your, clunky earpiece that fit pressed uncomfortably against your ear.

Nardole sighed behind you and stepped to the side, gesturing to your little group. “Bill. Nardole. Y/n.” Nardole said in a flat tone. “--We picked up your distress call,” she continued, ignoring the bald android and offering an exaggerated wink towards the security camera above as it mechanically adjusted and appeared to zoom in to examine you and your companions.

“—and here we are to help, like awesome heroes.” Missy added, clearly enjoying herself as she swung her umbrella around and gave an extra twirl across the room as she approached the center. She must have felt your eyes on her, as her head suddenly whipped back towards you with a smirk and sent another wink in your direction.

“Yeah, we're not, we're not assistants—“ Bill corrected flatly, annoyed and unamused, but knowing that her words would likely have little influence on the Time Lady.

“Okay, right, what, so what does he call you? Companions? Pets? Snacks?” Any retort you might have tried to muster immediately died in your throat as an alarm began to blare around you, the room’s lights flashing from blue an ominous red. “Oh, someone's watching.”

Evidently unphased by the new development, Missy began to sway back and forth to the tempo of the alarm, kicking her heels out with each step to the rhythm. “Well, that's quite a good beat, really, isn't it?” “—Yeah. Maybe we should be moving on?” Nardole piped in, his wary voice a stark contrast from Missy’s apparent nonchalance.

“Yeah, and he calls us friends,” Bill cut in defensively, visibly shifting from annoyed to mildly offended. “Ew, Doctor. But think of the age gap. “

You knew she said it to irritate the Doctor. But that didn’t stop the quiet huff of indignance from slipping past your lips. It stung a bit more than you cared to admit, your heart sinking slightly at the comment.

You folded your arms across your chest and subtly angled yourself away from her in hopes that she didn’t catch a glimpse of your disheartened expression.

Missy set her parasol down on a nearby chair and unpinned her hat. “Stop mucking about and concentrate.”

The Doctor spoke up again through the earpiece. “Nardole, do something non-irritating. “

“On it, sir!” “Time Lords are friends with each other, dear,” Missy continued, ignoring the Doctor and sounding almost bored as she looked at her reflection in a glass panel. She paused at the reflection and adjusted her hair and examined the state of her makeup, before blowing an exaggerated kiss into the air.

“Everything else is cradle-snatching.”

At that statement, you were truly bothered.

“Sounds a bit limiting,” you shot back, an edge subconsciously creeping into your voice. You still avoided looking in her direction and studied the surrounding control room panels and monitors with feigned interest.

“Glad to hear you think so highly of our company,” you added, furrowing your brow.. Maybe it was stupid to think she saw you as a friend.

You only had visited her nearly every day for the better part of a year. You didn’t realize that you hadn’t even made her species requirement for friendship.

While attempting to mask the layered emotions connected with that realization hitting you, you barely even registered Nardole and the Doctor’s voices as you attempted to keep your expression mostly blank.

Part of you knew that she was likely saying it just to get under Bill’s skin. Yet, you couldn’t help but note that she spoke the words with a little too much conviction to make you think it was entirely a lie.

“Oh, it's a big one. Ship reads as four hundred miles long.”

You tuned out mentally from the rapid back and forth over the earpiece and quietly moved to sit on the nearby chair, ignoring the weight of Missy’s gaze on you.

You didn’t bother looking up and reclined into the seat, propping your elbow up on the armrest and supporting your head on your hand. You dimly realized you might have resembled a bored child as you kept your blank expression, your gaze drifted across the room and looking everywhere but at the Time Lady.

“And a hundred miles wide,” Nardole added. “It's big, even for a colony ship,” the Doctor’s voice sounded through the earpiece

“Anything else?” Your attention shifted again as Missy looked upward, something suddenly catching her attention. You followed the direction of her gaze and your eyes widened.

“Oh, wow.” “It's heading towards a black hole. “ “No….” Missy’s voice suddenly sounded pensive, as she stared up at the black hole through through the circular glass window. Her attention broke away from the black hole and you cursed yourself quietly as you made the mistake of meeting her eyes.

Her words were directed at the Doctor, but her gaze lingered on you. She studied you for another long beat, something unidentifiable flashing in her eyes as her lips twitched downward into a frown.

Whatever silent moment you might have just had passed as the Doctor chimed back in through the earpiece.

“No, it isn't!” “It was,” Missy corrected, studying the ship’s navigational readings overhead. “--heading towards a black hole, until somebody noticed. Now they're trying to reverse away from it. Engines are on reverse thrust, see?” Her tone came off a little less biting than before. You found yourself nodding idly and gazing up at the ominous vortex swirling above you.

“Oh. Well, it's succeeding,” Nardole noted. “Yes...very, very slowly. “ Missy added, seeming to almost float towards where you sat with a casual, predatory grace.

“Explains the distress call, I guess.”

“So, a four-hundred mile ship, reversing away from the gravitational pull of a black hole. Are we having fun yet?” The Doctor asked.

Missy hummed in a pleased sound of agreement, and you nearly jumped at her voice being suddenly close to your ear, teasing in a light voice. “See? We’re having fun. You can stop pouting now, pet.”

You blinked in surprise, tilting your head back and opening your mouth to retort, but a sudden crackle drew your attention back to the wall in front of you. A large screen buzzed to life and the face of a man appeared on the monitor, his voice heavily distorted by static. “Hello? Who's there? Hello? Please report status. “ Missy had already darted half-way across the room towards the screen. You stood, your curiosity getting better of you.

“Oh, hello,” Missy chimed, “What have we got here?”

She studied the man on the screen, casually resting an elbow atop what you assumed to be a pilot chair.

“You're probably handsome, aren't you? Well, congratulations on your relative symmetry. “

You couldn’t help the scoffed laugh that emitted from you at the comment, earning a sidelong look from Bill.

“Who are you?” the man on the screen said, almost accusatory, scrunching his face in confusion.

“Well, I am that mysterious adventurer in all of time and space, known only as Doctor Who,” she said with one arm raised in a dramatic gesture and gusto that wouldn’t have surprised you if she had rehearsed.

You had moved beside her to get a better look at the screen and blinked in surprise as she suddenly wrapped an arm around you and gripped your shoulders with a squeeze. “And these are my disposables, Exposition, Sidekick, and Comic Relief. “ “We're not functions,” Nardole said with a grimace. “Darling, those were genders. “

“--Please, stay exactly where you are for your own safety,” the man on the screen continued, sounding unamused by Missy’s explanation.. “He likes me. So exciting,“ she looked to you with a conspiring look. “I'm coming through,” man on the screen said before the feed abruptly cut-out.

You looked towards Nardole and Bill in alarm, but Missy seemed not at all phased by the man’s brusque announcement. “Hurry, my stallion. And if I'm in the shower, just bring me some beans on toast. That's roughly human flirting, isn't it?” Missy offered you another wink, and you slowly shook your head in skepticism. Her hand briefly brushed across your shoulder as she stepped away. Bill’s face scrunched in confusion. “So, why do you keep calling yourself Doctor Who?” Missy tilted her head, hand resting at her hip as she narrowed her eyes at Bill’s question. “Because I'm pretending to be him. Because that's the whole point of this ridiculous exercise.” She spoke slowly, the scottish enunciations in her voice stronger with each word.

“It's not an exercise, it's a test.” The Doctor said, jumped back in, his voice distorted by a crunch heard on the other side of the line.

“Are you eating?”

Again, the amplified crinkle of plastic through the earpiece. “No. “ The Doctor countered unconvincingly like a child caught in a lie. “Yeah, well, don't test me eating crips!” Missy snapped in irritation at the notion.

You wandered over by Nardole to peer at the screen of the computer he was typing away at with a stern expression.

You couldn’t make sense of what any of it meant, all unintelligible numbers and alien code you didn’t understand, but it still felt more engaging than the listless banter that already was giving you a headache.

“—Yeah, but he's called the Doctor, so….” Bill continued, revisiting Missy’s prior statement. Missy didn’t miss a beat, “--He says, I'm the Doctor, and they say, Doctor who? See, I'm cutting to the chase, baby. I'm streamlining. I'm saving us actual minutes,” she added, leaning into each movement and snapping her fingers at each word for emphasis.

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Bill scoffed, turning away from her. “—Also it's his real name.” “It's what?” Bill said, abruptly spinning back to face the Time Lady. You actually did roll your eyes that time at Missy toying with Bill. Missy slid into the seat beside her, ignoring Bill’s question.

“Slow today, Missy,” the Doctor commented. “All those screens have been angled to a single viewpoint. But not originally, they've all been moved. “ “Which means? “ “Giant ship, single pilot, but not designed that way. Something's happened to the others.” “Yes. And now It's time for you to figure out what. “ With an electronic whirr, the group’s attention shifted to the CCTV cameras moving abruptly and settling onto them. “Uh oh...Someone else has noticed us.” Nardole’s voice remained low, but he rose to his feet in alarm, glancing around with caution.

“Look’s like Big Brother’s not happy…” you attempted in a weak joke, eyeing the camera warily.

“Sorry, what do you mean, it's his real name? Nobody knows the Doctor's real name. “I do, because I grew up with him, and his real name is Doctor Who.”

“-Bill, she's just trying to wind you up.”

“--Chose it himself, you know, trying to sound mysterious.”

“And then he dropped the Who when he realised it was a tiny bit on the nose.”

“--and Mistress isn’t?” you countered. Missy raised a brow, regarding you and your sudden cheekiness with mild amusement. “Well, yes it’s my name, but I go by Missy now so it’s not the same, is it? It’s called subtlety. ”

“Missy, we both know subtlety isn’t in your vocabulary. Now stop teasing them and focus.” “Is she serious, though, Doctor? Is your real name Doctor Who?” Bill pressed and you half-groaned, hoping they would just drop it and figure out exactly who or what was coming. As if on cue, you heard the soft ding of an elevator and looked up as a set of mechanical doors slid open at the far end of the room. You took a harsh intake of air as a bald man with blue skin emerged through the doors, decidedly not friendly, as he raised a gun and pointed it immediately in the direction of your group.

“Oh, you're blue! Nice. I should go back to blue. Ow!” Nardole began in a far-too cheery voice, causing you to jab your elbow harshly into his side to possibly improve your chances of not being shot.

“And armed…” you added under your breath, careful not to make any sudden movements as he visually swept the room and rounded the control panel. You now noticed his erratic, jerky movements as he circled back again, training the gun at each of you.

“Stay where you are!” he ordered. There was a desperate, wild look in his eyes.

You froze, eyeing the man cautiously before stealing a glance at Missy. She appeared calm, but her expression was decidedly stoic. “Stay calm. He's very frightened,” the Doctor warned, his voice mostly even, but betraying his alarm at the situation.

“Deary me, I thought you were handsome, and now you've gone all cross and you're pointing a gun at me,” Missy’s voice dropped from teasing to low and threatening.

“Is this the emotion you humans call spanking?”

If you weren’t fearing for your friends and your own safety, you might have blushed at the way Missy’s eyes lingered on you at the word ‘spanking’.

But the moment was unfortunately undercut by the unhinged alien man pointing a gun at you.

“Are there only four of you? Are any of you human?” the man raised his voice at the word, an an anger and fear in his voice that made your stomach churn.

You sucked in a sharp intake of air as he stepped forward, jamming his gun in front of Nardole’s face. Nardole immediately held his hands up and started shaking his head.

You cast a worried glance at Bill, who met your eyes with fear that you had no doubt was mirrored in your own.

Dragging your attention back to the man, you now noticed the sweat beading across the man’s brow and the slight tremor in the grip on his weapon. Behind his efforts to appear in control, you began to suspect that something happened here that had left him utterly shaken.

“What has happened to this ship and how long have you been here alone? You're looking very sickly,“ Missy pressed. “Two days,” he replied before turning towards Missy in an accusing tone. “Are you human?” “Oh, don't be a bitch.”

The man grimaced. “How did you get on board? Is that your capsule?” “Yep,” Missy replied without hesitation, pointing her thumb over her shoulder at the blue box.

“No.” the Doctor countered.

The man shifted away and up to one of the display panels. You realize that he’s staring at the illuminated numbers above another set of metal doors.

“There, look!” the man pointed across the room, rushing towards a set of display panels.

You knew none of you were out of the woods yet, but you couldn’t help but release a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding at the new distance between you.

Now that he had taken his attention elsewhere, your eyes urgently surveyed the room. You needed to find something to distract him for at least long enough to knock his gun away to buy time. “Three lifts. They're coming,” the blue man spoke again, his voice laced with panic.

He appeared to be right. One hovered at level 0718, and the other two on 0930. “Who’s coming?” you ask. “Super-fast inertia lifts,” Missy noted, nodding towards the display. “Well, what's inside? What's coming up here?” “Things. I don't even know where they came from,” the man shook his head in dismay, fidgeting and becoming more visibly agitated as the numbers dropped with each second. “One of you must be human. They only come up if they detect human life signs.”

Floor 350

“What for?” Bill asked. “They take them away,” the man replied.

“Away to where…?” you pressed, eyeing the man with skepticism. “I'll be right with you.” The Doctor announced abruptly, doing little to ease the growing dread in your stomach.

“Which of you is human?” the man shouted again, causing you to jump at the sudden intensity of volume and emotion in his voice. Training his weapon on each of you with an edge of desperation in his movements. you didn’t dare make a sudden move.

The doors of the TARDIS abruptly swung open, the movement making the blue man pivot and retrain his weapon towards the new arrival. You watched as the Doctor emerged, his arms raised and movements slow, but his keen gaze acutely trained on the danger in front of him.

You froze at the unexpected voice that spoke up. “Me. Me, me. I'm human,” Bill began, and your eyes snapped towards her in alarm. Immediately she locked eyes with you for a brief moment with a loaded look, making the sounds of protest die in your throat and fade into a mortified silence.

“I'm the only one. Just, just me,” Bill continued, her voice firm and assertive despite the fear evident in her eyes.

You bite your tongue. It was all you could do to stop yourself from shouting at her to stop talking and let the Doctor convince the man his systems must have made a mistake. Even that wasn’t enough to stop yourself from the mounting desire to tackle the man while he was distracted. Just to do something to stop this stranger from pointing a gun at your friend.

The only thing that muted the impulse was a sudden sharp sensation at your wrist. A sensation like a vice grip of needle points pressed against the flesh of your forearm and you didn’t need to look back to realize just who was responsible.

Missy stood silently beside you, her movement obscured from the stranger’s view, and her grip stung as she dug her nails down with near bruising insistence. A silent warning to not do anything impulsive.

It was almost sweet, coming from her. But only when considering how little regard you knew she held for human life. You didn’t doubt your arm would be adored little half-moon bruises when she let go. Grimly, you realized you’d be satisfied with simply living long enough to even see them form, given your current predicament.

The Doctor froze at Bill’s proclamation, fear now morphing his shocked expression to one of horror. He nearly leapt forward in desperation, pleading with the blue man. “Please stop this. Stop right there, now.”

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but you're the reason that they're coming. “ The man raised his weapon again. “Put it down. Put that down now,” the Doctor repeated, his voice calm despite his fearful expression. The man shook his head, holding the gun steady with resolution. “They won't come if she's dead.”

Floor 45

“You don't need to do this,” the Doctor pleaded, slowly moving closer with his hands raised to show himself as unarmed. “I can get her off this ship. I can shield her life signs,” the Doctor continued his attempt at persuasion. “You know what, Doctor? I said this was a bad idea,” Bill said quietly, tearing her eyes from the man with the gun and addressing the Doctor directly.

Floor 26

“Please, listen to me. Look at me. Go on, look at me. That's good. That's very, very good. Now, do you see this mad woman sitting in this chair? Her name isn't Doctor Who. My name is Doctor Who.” “—It's not, is it?” Nardole muttered and you fought the urge to slap the friendly android in that particular moment.

The Doctor nearly stood within reaching distance of the man. You suddenly recognized something in this careful posturing that gave you a spark of hope for the situation.

The Doctor aimed to disarm him. Now, he just needed to buy a couple more seconds. Your eyes flicker back to the number display as the lift seemed to pause between floors 8 and 7.

Floor 7

“—I like it. You don't know it yet, but in a short time, you will trust me with your life. And when I save you and everyone on your ship, one day you will look back, and wonder who I was and why I did--”

Both you and Doctor knew he was rambling to buy time, but the sound of the lift’s ding at arrival caused the blue man to suddenly flinch.

You heard the gun discharge before registering what had happened, and your stomach dropped in horror.

“—Bill!”

“—You fucking bastard.”

#reader insert #missy x reader #missy dw #missy doctor who #missy #missy x reader fanfic #missy x reader x simm #gomez!master #simm!master #mostly exposition here but still #the master x reader #doctor who #doctor who fanfic #master x reader #Putting out fire #fanfiction

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randomikemendegen · 3 years

Text

It's nearly 4:45 in the morning (at the time of writing) where I am but fuck it, my brain's creative juices are flowing but my body says no so HERE'S A TEXT POST ABOUT MY OCS AND THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH THEIR RESPECTIVE DORM LEADERS--

(note: I WILL be drawing a relationship chart sooner or later... or in the future, hopefully soon 🤡🤡🤡)

HEARTSLABYUL

Quintin Blanpine — Riddle Rosehearts

At first, their relationship was really.... kind of "cruel", in a way really.

What with Riddle essentially working Quin to the bone, though his reasoning was more of [He needs to build more confidence in himself] and genuinely thought that what he was doing was the right thing. Quintin wasn't PLEASED AT ALL with the treatment, but kept quiet about it...

.... at least until Chapter 1 occured.

They got to actually talking and found that they had some common grounds and became close acquaintances.

(One such thing is their shared thought of Seisear being a huge PAIN to deal with despite his usually good and sincere intentions; another is actually them bonding over the dormitory's hedgehogs and love of crossword puzzles.)

Seisear Marchare — Riddle Rosehearts

A one-sided "friendship" on Sei's part (initially).

Riddle really HATED how Seisear was almost always out-of-control "like a petulant child" and seemed to follow his own sets of rules, thus he more often than not hit the other student with his Unique Magic in order to make him reflect even just slightly.

Seisear on the other hand found Riddle to be quite the "hilarious little prince"~. He always found the redhead's reactions funny, and while he may act terribly uncontrollable, Sei does notice how lonesome and closed-off Riddle seems to be-- it's mostly the reason why he likes to bug his classmate almost all the time~.

(Thankfully it seems like after Chapter 1, they've actually become closer and a little bit more friendly... though Sei still keeps getting collared with [Off With Your Head!] due to how far he can go with messing with Riddle for the laughs~.]

SAVANACLAW

Lala-Phula Tigris — Leona Kingscholar

Kind of an odd relationship.

On one hand, they both act somewhat antagonistic towards each other, on the other hand they're actually... kind of close??? To say the least??? Like, they casually throw snarky words and insults at each other, but they also acknowledge each other as "okay"???

Leona finds Lala to be more like a bothersome kid that won't stop pulling his tail for some attention (if you can call the regular declarations of challenge to be that).

Meanwhile Lala thinks that Leona isn't deserving of being "the king of the pack" (ie. dorm leader, in her own terms) but also begrudgingly accepting the fact that he is genuinely strong and thus respects him.

Raetel Gura — Leona Kingscholar

More animosity here than the previous one that Leona and Lala had, though it's not out of actual malice and there's no actual fighting that's happened so far (except for the first time they met), but there ARE some close calls here and there.

Though they're more prone to hurling insults at each other and getting creative with their wordings on how to best annoy the other instead.

Raetel is GENUINELY livid with Leona, mostly out of the fact that they know that Leona could do so much better but chooses NOT to and instead prefers to usually lazy around.

Leona on the other hand mostly thinks of Raetel just as "that fox-sham of a teacher's kid", along with expressing annoyance at how much Raet gets up in his case.

OCTAVINELLE

Leviotan Genov — Azul Ashengrotto

This relationship is on thin-fucking-ice. Period.

Levi knows Azul's type and thus is ALWAYS wary and cautious of his dorm leader, while Azul notes on how distrusting Levi is and is just as wary of his potential plans and methods in which he can foil him.

Funnily enough though, they actually respect each other to some extent and have some slightly similarities here and there that have even both of them acknowledging that fact.

It's to the point of them actually often being seen talking with each other, though if you inquire about that they'll just reply with "it's just business talk".

Viviane Genov — Azul Ashengrotto

Friends....???? To be more accurate, Vivi sees Azul as a friend (like she does with literally everyone else) while on Azul's end he's not sure if they could even BE called "friends".

They certainly are on good terms though that's for sure.

Viviane can see past through Azul's personality and pick up on how actually lonely he is and how much hard work he had to do to finally get to his current self, so she's genuinely really nice and friendly to him.

Meanwhile Azul's kind of wary about Vivi's sincere attitude and is a bit doubtful, though he doesn't mind it at all now that they're both in 2nd year and even seems to actually take a liking to having her in his company on occasion.

Azul still thinks she would make for a good business advertisement and attraction to Mostro Lounge, but Levi threatens to suffocate him to death if he ever tries to so he'll have to pass on the tempting thoughts.

(NO SCARABIA FOR NOW I'M SORRYYYY :(((( I'LL MAKE SOME SOON I PROMISE)

POMEFIORE

Fuyume Yukitosu — Vil Schoenheit

Acquaintances? Of sorts?? It's,,, kinda hard to describe this relationship.

Fuyume has no specific feelings whatsoever to her dorm leader and is perfectly willing to go/do whatever he asks or whatever house rules there are.

Vil meanwhile likes the fact that Fuyu is among the more obedient (especially to the strict regiments that he makes EVERYONE adhere to) of the Pomefiore students, though he can't help but vocalize on how she should open up more to other people.

Which results in her acting like a confused child at times because she has zero ideas on how to NORMALLY converse with someone, so Vil personally takes to putting her in more social circles despite any plights she may have.

He is slightly bit jealous at how she doesn't need to do anything and still remain beautiful, but that feeling decreases due to the fact that she's basically almost like a wallflower with no life and thus can't help but also becoming strict with her in an attempt to get her to finally bloom.

IGNIHYDE

Ophiou Chos Gorgos — Idia Shroud

Close friends!! They have a lot of shared hobbies, likes, dislikes, and interests!!!

They're even close enough that they call each other with nicknames and are even online friends (they even message each other whenever Idia doesn't wanna go out of his room).

Ophiou does sincerely appreciate and like Idia's companionship (along with Ortho), and is very grateful to have someone he could finally call a "friend", yet he does acknowledge on how isolated Idia is more so than himself and can't help but occasionally worry. He is also still mildly scared of being rejected by his (first) friend because of his eyes.

Idia, meanwhile, is DELIGHTED to find someone he calls a "kindred spirit" and is even more open and honest with Ophi due to this fact. Though even then, sometimes Idia's slightly afraid that he might push him away if he ever gets too heated up about any topic and end up looking/acting creepy.

Regardless, they both game together on occasion and even hold anime marathons. (Of course, Ortho is more than welcome to join in)

Raneus Salpho — Idia Shroud

This relationship, unlike the previous one, is more distant. The two of them don't interact that much, but whenever they do, it's with a comfortable distance between them.

It's not that they hate each other, it's just that sometimes their interests align and it's mostly the reason they interact. (Even though they've known each other from way back, they were still distant towards each other and didn't talk much)

Idia often approaches Ran for commissions in sewing cosplay clothing or even just general merchandise that can be sewn before quickly going back to his room.

Though the few amount of times he actually managed to talk with Ran, he found that they actually had some few common grounds... before Ran ended up (unintentionally) scaring him (again).

Raneis meanwhile is totally neutral to his dorm leader, but is a tiny bit annoyed with how Idia doesn't take care of his appearance and thus often finds himself essentially getting up on his face and even threatens him to take better care of himself. Besides that little nugget, he takes up on Idia's requests with no complaint whatsoever.

DIASOMNIA

Cirnu Alva Valirgethen — Malleus Draconia

Cirnu treats Malleus like a younger brother and you can't change my mind.

Okay okay, but in all seriousness, they have a really close relationship! Almost sibling-like, in a way.

While Cirnu does like occasionally playfully messing with Malleus, it's just harmless fun and she's quick to apologize if she says anything out of line. She (also) looks out for Malleus and feels bad that he's not getting invited to anything by anyone, and tries her best to cheer him up by reminding the other Diasomnia members to NOT forget to invite him to any parties that the dorm may have.

(It's also the major reason as to why, despite knowing about it since way back, she allows and supports Malleus and Yuu to interact with each other.)

Malleus, meanwhile, does sincerely appreciate her efforts in making sure he does get invited to stuff and socializing, he does wish that she would be a bit more gentle in her readings since it's a bit embarrassing.

Especially since she often calls him "boy", despite the fact that even though she IS older than him, they only have a few years of an age gap between them.

Berebis R. L'Ephegor — Malleus Draconia

Another complicated relationship to explain??? Kind of????

On one hand, they've barely interacted with each other, but on the other, Malleus' heard of Bel so many times from either Lilia, Cirnu, Silver, and/or Sebek (definitely more with that last one due to his annoyance with Bel).

So Malleus more often than not decides to go looking for him out of curiosity.

After some awkward distance and general apathy (mostly from Bel's side) for a while, their relationship eventually becomes that of quiet acknowledgement and understanding. And occasional harmless jokes and teasing (from both sides).

Due to Bel being among the very few that neither fear nor revere him, Malleus finds some form of comfort and companionship in him. He's mildly curious as to why Bel is the way he is but doesn't push that topic any further since except for a few times due to being unintentionally more curious than he should.

Bel meanwhile didn't like the fact that the most powerful student of NRC kept approaching him and often ignored him, but eventually relented and decided to converse with Malleus. Only to actually end up slightly come to like how Malleus was different from his initial perception, and now kind of enjoys his company.... but you won't get him to admit it. Ever.

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southsidestory · 4 years

Text

Caged

RATING: Explicit

FANDOM: Hunger Games

SHIP: Odesta

WARNINGS: Rape/non-con, drug use, forced sex work

SUMMARY: Annie’s Victory Tour brings her to the Capitol, with Finnick at her side. He did his job as her mentor when he got her out of the arena, but he can’t look after her anymore. All he can do is play the part Snow has given him. It’s almost simple now, posing for the cameras and obeying his patrons, all with a smile on his face. Pretending is so easy that he can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore. But Annie might be able to remind him.

Read on AO3

With his lips closed, Dionysus looks plain by Capitol standards. Pasty skin, undyed and free of tattoos. Short brown hair, black shoes, dark suit. Colorless, except for the trio of yellow tablets in his palm. My throat itches to swallow down the promise they hold, but I have two questions that need answering.

First: “Will I be able to fuck?”

The dealer laughs, revealing a mouth full of gold and gems. “Like a damn rabbit,” Dionysus says.

Second: “I want to feel nothing, but a good nothing. Can this do that?”

Sapphires flash on his eye teeth. “You’ll see nirvana,” he promises.

I don’t know what that is, or where it might be, but any place would be better than this one.

Red. That’s all I see, at first. Waves and folds of the color spilling down the length of Annie’s skirt. Six feet of fabric fans out behind her, but the top of the dress is spare, sheer wisps that cling to her breasts and shoulders and throat.

“Inspired,” says Sabina. “Her stylist has an eye for drama.”

Her stylist will be lucky to have eyes at all when I’m done with him.

I take a flute of turquoise champagne from a passing Avox’s tray. It tastes like turpentine and sugar, the medicine that District Four mothers force down their children’s sore throats. I drink three glasses in ten minutes. Red still bleeds along the edges of my vision, and no matter where I turn, there’s Annie. Trussed up for Capitol appetites, tribute all over again. When I reach for another glass Sabina touches her too-long nails to my wrist. Tap, tap: bad dog. She kisses me, tongue sour blue slick, and I imagine what a senator’s wife might look like if three weeping mouths opened in the middle of her chest.

Something tugs at my shirt sleeve, jealous but gentle. Annie, drowning in all that District One silk.

“I need you,” she says. Splattered droplets dot her left cheek, a constellation of freckles that shine crimson-wet in the low light.

“Everyone needs me tonight.”

Sabina laughs and Annie pulls away, so I know I've said the wrong thing. That’s what happens when I put pills in my mouth; nothing but mistakes come out.

I say, “Teenage girls,” and give my date a knowing smile. Let her read what she wants into that.

Sabina twines her fingers around my arm and leans in close, smug and conspiratorial. “My daughter’s at that age now. It’s all me, me, me! And they want everything immediately. Nothing pleases them…”

How this is any different from the rest of the Capitol I can’t guess, but I let her go on, nodding and humming my sympathy where appropriate. Oh yes, they’re selfish little brats. Ungrateful, never satisfied. When Sabina pauses to sample a canapé I say how much I hate to leave her for even a moment, but I am Annie’s mentor. Duty calls and all that.

Sabina frowns prettily. “I hope you're this dedicated in all of your pursuits.”

She should know the answer to that already. This isn’t our first date. Still, I feed her a stock innuendo about finishing the things I start.

“Go on then, but be back soon!”

I find my tribute talking to the light crew. A woman with tattooed vines climbing the side of her shaved head shows Annie how to hold a sheet of foil. It’s a clever way to hide from the cameras and I wish I’d thought of it first. Too late for that, because Annie turns her silver shield, and then there’s a lens blinking closer to my well-lit face.

“Perfect,” says Vines. “You’re a natural.”

Annie shakes her head. “No. He’s just an easy target.”

I duck into the bright circle of the light crew’s equipment before the cameras can focus. The heat feels artificial, claustrophobic, like the solar beds my stylist makes me visit. Annie returns the foil to Vines and thanks her for the lesson. I can’t breathe again until there’s ten feet between me and the clicking insect sound of mechanical eyes.

“I thought you were busy,” Annie says. Her voice is so light and casual that, if I didn’t know her, I’d have no idea that she’s annoyed.

“I shouldn't have said that. I didn’t mean it.”

Annie shrugs. “You never mean anything you say in the Capitol.”

Sometimes I forget how much she sees, this girl who’s turned my world upside down in six months. “Where are your tokens?”

Annie grasps at the place over her heart where two sea glass pendants always rest. She looks mildly surprised to catch only empty air between her fingers. “Vibius wouldn’t let me wear them. Said the colors...” She shakes her head, the way you would to get water out of your ears after swimming. “I’m hungry.”

But when I follow her to a banquet table she doesn’t eat a bite. Instead, she stacks gingerbread cubes around a pink chocolate fountain.

“Who’s your date?” she asks.

“Senator Wexler’s wife,” I say.

Annie never looks up, too busy skewering blueberries on toothpicks. She sticks them in the topmost layer of her curtain wall, like heads on neighboring spikes. Two by two by two. Then she says, “Doesn’t the senator mind?”

“Only that he couldn’t come with us.”

Annie tips over the fountain, and chocolate bursts through her gingerbread dam. It creeps along the aisle of white cloth and drips onto the floor. Part of me wants to scold her, because some Avox will have to clean all this up after the party. I don’t, though, because I know how everything shifts after the Games. You might leave the arena, but it comes with you all the same. Alliances replace friendships. Sleep never really comes easy again, because too many things are still awake in the dark. Survival is tangled up with fighting, hurting, killing, and sometimes you need small destructions just to breathe.

“Dance with me,” Annie says.

The train on that fucking dress is longer than she is. “How could I, with you in that?”

I laugh. Everything and nothing seems funny at the same time. Annie jumps a little when I finger one of the slivers of silk covering her chest. Vibius didn’t leave much to the imagination, so I can see the shape of her. Small teardrop breasts, narrow shoulders, long waist. Her nipples peak beneath the fabric.

Somewhere in my periphery a camera flashes.

“Stop,” Annie says, and I want to shake her. That word doesn’t mean anything in this city. A victor should understand the rules by now.

I trace her collarbone. We’re too far away for Sabina to see us, but even if she does it won’t matter. This is what they want me to be.

The preps painted Annie’s lips too, and it makes her look like a working girl. Ripe apple mouth ready to be plucked. If I could I’d spit on a napkin and wipe it all away, same as my mother used to do to get dirt off my face.

She leans into my touch and asks, “Why are you with that woman?”

“Because she can afford my company.”

Annie’s red, red mouth frowns, but I simply smile and step away, tell her to eat something and enjoy the party.

Sabina welcomes me with a soft hello peck to my cheek. I turn it into more, the kind of wet, deep kiss that decent folk back home wouldn’t dream of doing in public. But that’s how I like it, even if I can hear the cameras snapping behind and beside and in front of me. Pretending is so easy that I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore.

These sounds are almost lost beneath the snap of handcuffs closing: footsteps, a full skirt whispering across the floor, the creak of hinges.

The manacles lock around my wrists, pulling my arms taut, stretching until my shoulders lift from the bed and I can feel the blades angling outward. Like clipped wings opening, Sabina said, the first time she bought me. A caged bird poised to take flight. Now she leans forward and bites my neck, just hard enough to mark. It’s always hard enough to mark with Sabina, whether she uses teeth or nails or the back of her hand.

I hear feather-light fabric brushing the carpet, then see something in the gap between door and frame. The briefest flash of red silk. There, then gone.

Sabina strikes me hard on the cheek. Pain vibrates through my jaw and up the side of my face. Stars burst behind my eyes, then in front of them, but I don’t feel distant or dizzy. Everything becomes sharper, brighter. Needles made of sunlight prick my vision, highlighting it all with stinging intensity. If I ever come down I’m going to kill Dionysus for selling me those three little pills the color of daffodils. He promised oblivion but gave me this instead. With every blow the room grows brighter, until all I see is Sabina, haloed in white.

Her mouth closes over me, warm and soft, drawing out all the things I don’t want to give. Then she’s straddling my lap, hands clutching my shoulders, nails digging into my skin. Ten welts spring beneath her touch, bright as pink ribbons down my chest. It’s winter everywhere but between her legs, and there she’s fever hot. Cold snakes down my throat, chokes and burrows inside me until it’s snowing under my skin.

“Finnick,” she hisses. I grip the bedposts and snap my hips up to meet her. I’m shaking from the chill air, the pleasure where a warm body takes mine in and the pain everywhere else. I don’t stop, not until she arches and trembles, mouth open on a whiny cry.

One beat, two, and she climbs off. Leaves me aching, tied up, and filthy while she saunters to the bathroom to refresh herself.

The haze clears, unfreezes, and I remember where I’ve seen red silk tonight.

I scrub until the scratch marks on my chest reopen and the water blushes down the drain, washing away smudged makeup and sweat, fresh blood and Sabina’s come. Not mine, and even though I’m half-hard, I’m mostly thankful. Dates are always worse when a client makes me finish. Steam fills the shower stall, wet and suffocating. Flash-bulbs go off behind my closed eyelids and all I can hear is the endless snapping of camera shutters. I sit on the tile floor, head between my knees, until the water grows cold.

After I get out of the shower and dry off, I pull on the tight blue pants from my date with Sabina and go to Annie’s room. I don’t knock, and when I step inside she jumps. Her dress is curled up in the corner, wilting. All those red folds remind me of a rose, so I turn away. Free of make-up, Annie’s face shines brown and clean. Dark waves fall limply around her cheeks, weighted and damp. By the way she holds the robe over her breasts I can tell she’s not wearing much underneath.

Good. I hope she feels naked. Exposed and vulnerable, like I do.

“You watched us.”

Annie sits on the edge of the bed, legs drawn up close to her body. She whispers an apology I can’t stand to hear.

“Don’t,” I say. She flinches and grasps the sea glass tokens around her neck. Her eyes dart away, focusing on some point along the baseboard.

“Look at me.” I kneel on the floor before her, too close to be ignored. “You didn’t have any trouble looking before.”

The only small mercy I can find is that Annie left before Sabina actually fucked me. But she saw me handcuffed to the bed, and that’s bad enough.

Annie bites her bottom lip, and for a moment all I can see is this same skittish girl, more innocent and less broken, on a different train, blushing under my hands.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “When I saw you leaving with that woman—I didn’t really think, I just wanted to know what was so special about her. So I followed you.”

I thought she wanted to see me, and I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. It’s a good thing that she didn’t want a peep show, that she ran off before she saw the main event. A good thing—but it still pisses me off.

I wrap my hands around her calves and slide down, thumbs grazing the soft skin of her inner ankles.

“Finnick?” Her lips linger on the sound, not quite closing over the question she’s made of my name.

“Open your legs,” I tell her. Because whatever she’s asking, this is the only answer I have to give.

Annie’s breath hitches. She trembles all the way down to her toes, but she’s warm, my girl. I brought her home and that makes Annie mine. She belongs to me in the same way I belong to my sponsors.

When she doesn’t move, I kiss the inside of her right knee, flicking my tongue over a new scar there—a pretty pink thing that’s cropped up since her Games—until her legs shake and unlock. Just as she falls open and willing below the waist, Annie clutches the collar of her robe even more tightly, keeping it closed to me.

Eighteen isn’t so young, I remind myself. Not here, not in this place.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, and that’s all I need.

Beads of moisture cling to the dark curls between her legs. She smells like the Capitol, flowers and spun sugar, but when I put my mouth there all I taste is salt and wet and girl. Her hands scramble for purchase, first on the covers, then in my hair, and she pulls with more strength than I expected. Not as sharply as Sabina, but enough to smart. That’s been done to me so many times that I know it means more and now and harder—though by the way Annie’s thumb brushes over my cheek, I think it might also mean please.

No, eighteen isn’t too young for this, but I might be.

I can feel her looking: eyes on me, on my body, on the things I’m doing. Just like before, when she peeked into that bedroom and watched Sabina getting her money’s worth, and it stirs something ugly and angry in the pit of my stomach. So I pull away, let my mouth part from her with a goodbye kiss cruel enough to make her whine and tug on my hair, to say my name again. No question this time, just a soft plea.

I’m sick of being on my knees, and really, there’s no reason I can’t do what I want. No reason at all. When I stand, Annie’s eyes go to my chest, flickering across the stripes Sabina’s fingernails left behind. I strip off my pants, and her gaze lowers, lingers.

Beneath the robe I find her pliant and panting. Skin damp, nipples hard, breath coming fast and shallow. Greedy, grasping, her touch falls with selfish hunger, and in this Annie isn’t unlike my other lovers. Long legs wrap around my waist, anchoring me to her. She’s warm and wet, whimpering in a way that might sound pitiful if it wasn’t making me so hard. I press against her, teasing. Those little mewling noises grow stronger, tighten together into a full-throated moan.

“Have you ever done this before?” I ask.

Annie shakes her head, then says, “Almost, once, but…”

Her eyes go distant, and she’s about to slip away from me. Retreat to some inner place where her district partner still lives and loves, but I’m not going to let her mind wander, not now when our bodies are tangled up together. I kiss her, our first, and that’s so backwards that I almost laugh.

Beneath my mouth Annie takes a deep, gasping breath. Then she peppers kisses everywhere she can reach. My brow, both cheeks, the tip of my nose. My lips, again and again. The curve from shoulder to neck and the hollow between my collarbones. When her quick tongue darts out to trace the shell of my ear, I shudder. The drugs must have finally worn off, because I feel myself warming for the first time tonight. “Finnick,” she whispers. “I love you—”

I can’t stand to hear that, not from Annie. So I kiss her quiet, slip a hand between her thighs, and slide two fingers inside of her.

“You’re wetter than home,” I say, and it’s true. More so when I curl my fingers, beckoning her forward—closer to me, closer to coming. “Were you like this in the ballroom, when I touched you?”

“Yes?” It comes out a question, eager but unsure. Annie’s not fluent in pillow talk, and something about that sends a jolt through me. All at once I want her, need to fuck her like I’ll die if I don’t. Under me she’s subtle curves and rocking warmth. Open legs, cradling my hips as I push inside—and then I feel her. Tight, slick heat, stretched around my cock, gripping me, pulling me in.

Annie whimpers, but whether that sound is pained or pleased I’m not sure, can’t tell and barely care. “Yes,” she says, even though I never asked. Why didn’t I ask?

In the beginning I go gentle and steady. Then I slow our rhythm, stretch out the slide of skin on skin, and tell her to beg. Love me becomes have me, you can have me becomes fuck me.

For a moment all I can feel are handcuffs snapping closed, grabbing fingers and greedy cunt. I’m angry all over again but still aching, and Annie knows, because her hands untangle from my hair and dart down to cover her ears. But I catch her wrists, drag them over her head and let my weight do the rest.

I spread her arms apart, wide as they’ll go. Pinned, she’s a butterfly behind glass, pretty and splayed. Annie must like being caged better than I do, because soon she shivers beneath me, coming and crying at once. Back arched, small breasts thrust forward, toes curled and legs taut; she’s lovely like this and so tight it almost hurts.

On the low tide of our touch she says those three unwanted words, passes them from her mouth to mine like a hard candy secret.

“Don’t,” I say.

The camera loves me too. I’m sick to death of love.

But then my climax creeps up on me, sharp and sweet, and I can’t think anymore. There’s nothing but Annie beneath me, her body tight and wet around mine.

In the soft moment right after, I feel something new. A warmth, quiet and gentle, as Annie looks up at me with heavy-lidded green eyes. That love she promised is raw and open as a wound.

It’s terrifying. And tempting, which is the scariest part of all.

The knot around her throat unties easily, and I take a green sea glass token with me when I go. It’s all she has left of the boy who loved her, who died at her side. Stealing it is cruel, but I don’t do it out of spite or jealousy. The reason is simple: my patrons always pay, and Annie is no exception.

#odesta #odesta fanfiction #odesta fic #odesta fanfic #finnick odair #annie cresta #thg #hunger games #the hunger games #thg fic

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shhh-no-ones-home · 4 years

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anti-fraternize john wick x reader

+++++++++ Request from @cynic-spirit : "Hi. Thanks for replying. I am a sucker for possessive and jealous John wick. Fluff please. How about they are out and someone tries to get her attention. John tries to hold it for a while because he doesn't want to create a scene. But then she kind of smiles and laughs back at the stranger because of politeness and he loses it. Jealousy kicks in and shows!!"

We are gonna do a small age gap with college!reader cause I had an idea 👀 i do hope you like it! thanks again fro requesting!

Song: fury of the storm by dragonforce

tag list: @cynic-spirit +++++++++

"are you sure about this?"

john asked as i dragged him up the front stairs of the frat house.

"of course, why wouldnt i be?"

he sent me look as we walked in the door, music blaring and lights flashing different colors around the room.

"dont you think its a little public?"

i looked at him mildly annoyed as we made our way to the living room.

"well yeah, thats kind of the point. but if it makes you feel any better none of these people will even remember that we were here tomorrow."

he laughed a little bit as we made our way to the couch on the far side of the room. i had seen my friend and wanted to join her, she said she would meet us here.

"i must say, i dont miss this at all. i kinda skipped out on college believe it or not."

i sent him a fake shocked look.

"no! you?"

he laughed at me. i knew what he did for a living, i knew exactly why he didnt go to school. of course i didnt know everything but i had a good idea.

"y/n!"

my friend called, gaining my attention.

"hey!"

i said, letting go of johns hand to hug her. she had a plastic solo cup in her hand already and had been dancing by herself in the corner of the room.

"how have you been?"

she asked over the loud music. then john touched my arm gently.

"im gonna go get us some drinks."

i nodded as he departed and made his way towards the kitchen through the sea of drunk college kids.

"ive been good, and you?"

she scoffed at me.

"ive been good too but clearly not as good as you, where did you find him?"

she joked, making me blush.

"work."

i said, it was half true. i was a new recruit after all. the only difference was that i still had a decent outside life.

"Isn't he a little old for you?"

she joked. i sent her a look.

"no, of course not."

she sent me a wicked smile, cheersing me.

"you always were one to attract older men."

she said before taking a drink. i smirked at her before noticing a guy dancing closer to us and backing away from him into the small space.

"so? maybe i do attract older men, but we love each other. Isn't that what matters?"

She shrugged, taking another drink.

"and what? You've only been dating a few months yeah?"

i nodded.

"Yeah but John's different, he's... Special."

She sent me a look before holding her cup to her side.

"so was the last guy you dated."

I shook my head at her as the song changed, a few of the frat guys dancing got even closer to us now. I watched as one began to dance at me horribly, making us both laugh.

"maybe he likes you."

she noted, making me roll my eyes as he began touching me lightly.

"at least hes your age."

she said, brow raised as another guy began doing the same thing with her, except she was way more into it. i was beginning to wonder where john had gone. this dude was making me uncomfortable.

"how you doing baby?"

he slurred, holding his cup in the air as he got closer, not that it was possible at this point.

"im fine, thanks for asking."

i said politely.

"you wanna head upstairs? i hear they have a great master bedroom up there."

he said with a wink, i let out a nervous laugh.

"uh no thanks, im taken."

he shook his head, downing the last of his drink.

"oh come on, youre just saying that, itll be fun. i promise."

he said darkly, tossing his cup to the ground. i looked to my friend that was now grinding against the other dude and knew i would find no help from her. Then John appeared out of nowhere with my drink.

"Just the way you like it."

He said lightly before staring down at the guy and taking a sip of his own drink. i was beyond grateful that he had showed up, just in time.

"Thanks babe."

i said a little shaky, and i could see it on his face he knew i was uncomfortable. he touched my arm gently as the guy stared between us. i just looked down, hoping john would take care of this.

"oh yeah, and im supposed to think this is your boyfriend? he looks like he could be your dad."

he joked, highfiving his friend, who was still dancing with Tashi.

"that may be so young man but i take better care of her than you ever could."

i looked up to john as he stared daggers into the dudes head. he just scoffed.

"yeah right old man, i could take you in a heart beat and leave with her fine ass on my arm."

my eyes went wide, looking from johns face to his chest as he tensed.

"that was a mistake my guy."

i said, barely audible, glancing to him quickly. john placed his hand gently at my back causing me to look back up at him.

"what do you want me to do babe?"

he seemed like he was seething. i thought for a second.

"i think no one is taking this ass home but you so go for it. old man."

i said with a wink, he smirked down at me. i knew he would have too much fun with this.

"as you wish."

he stepped forward and the guy swung at him, missing completely. john dodged it and pushed him to the ground in one fowl swoop. a few people snickered at the sight as he quickly stood back up, rearing back for another punch. he swung again and missed, the two of them looking like they were dancing. then his friend joined in, john knocking them into each other. i couldnt help but laugh at the sight. he fixed his jacket and moved to stand next to me, looking proud as ever as the two drunk toddlers tried to stand and push away from each other.

"this isnt over old man!"

john looked at me and let out an exasperated sigh.

"will you get a load of these two with the old man crap? im not that old."

he shook his head, making me giggle as they came at him again. he punched them both one after another, and watched as they each hit the ground with a thud. i held my hand over my mouth to suppress the laugh, but even if i didnt i would have matched the small crowd standing around us. they were all laughing now, including Tashi.

"so, i know we just got here, but wanna ditch?"

i asked and he smiled down at me before nodding.

"wanna try that diner down the street?"

i nodded quickly, being absolutely smitten with him as he lead me to the door.

"hey! what about me?!"

tashi yelled. john looked back at her and beckoned her to join. she did so quickly, running to catch up with us. everyone watched as we left.

"so, i see the appeal now."

she said, light hearted as we made our way to johns mustang. i smiled widely as he opened the door for us both, her climbing in the back. i looked to her as he rounded the car.

"you have no idea."

#wattpad #x reader #john wick #request #imagines #one shot #268

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selfindulgentpoorlywritten · 4 years

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Hip-Check (Matthew Tkachuk Imagine)

Alright y’all, I finally fixed it! Hopefully this version is more coherent now that I’m not drunk off my ass.

Rating: T

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk/Reader

Words: 1572

Warnings: none

Requested: yes/no

Summary: You’re just trying to get coffee after a long night at work. You end up getting a little extra.

Your job fucking sucks. Well, it doesn’t really, you’re just in a bad mood after a shitty shift. Spring and summer are the busiest time of year, which is stressful enough, but also everything that could go wrong did go wrong today. A real Murphy’s Law of a shift. Your propane tank had a leak, so your forklift ran out and stopped at the far end of the dock, meaning you had to walk all the way down and back with the tanks since everyone else was too busy to grab one for you. Then the system went down, so you had to run all your bills to and from the supervisor’s desk for them to put in directly. Then approximately eight million pallets needed to be repaired or entirely re-stacked throughout the seven hours you were there. Oh, and your unbearable coworker with an obvious crush on you— while also seeming to think you’re his personal therapist— kept stopping by your trucks to chat. So over all, super fun day. Or night, rather. You get off at 6am, meaning it’s 6:15 when you get to Starbucks to treat yourself to something sugary and caffeinated before going to give your friend’s daughter a lift to school.

The drive-through is packed, so you decide to go inside and wait in that hellish line instead. At least that way you can play on your phone without someone honking at you for not moving up two feet .2 seconds after it opens up. You’re not really in the mood to be around people, especially in a noisy place after a noisy night at work, but whatever. You open the door, and just before you can go through, someone darts inside in front of you, jostling you a bit. Irritating on its own, yes, but what really gets your hackles raised is that they don’t even say anything. No apology, no thank you, no nothing. Just breeze past you, fucking ram into you, and say fuck all about it. Any other day, you’d roll your eyes and let it go, but not today. Not today.

“Hey man,” you call as you come in the door behind them, “What the fuck?” They turn to face you, looking annoyed, and oh shit. You know exactly who that is, and you don’t really want to piss him off. But you started it and now you’ve gotta finish it.

“What?” he demands, standing tall and crossing his arms over his puffed up chest like he’s trying to be intimidating.

“Did you seriously just do that?” it’s not really a question, more like a confirmation. A bit of an aggressive confirmation, but.

“I’m in a hurry,” he says, like that’s a legitimate excuse.

“So am I,” you’re not, “You don’t see me pushing people.” A few people had looked over when you’d first confronted him, but they’ve all looked away by this point, more interested in coffee than you two, so you don’t feel too bad. That’s the beauty of cities: no one gives a shit what you do so long as it doesn’t affect them. Tkachuk stares you down, but when you just fold your arms and stare right back, he huffs and rolls his eyes. He throws out a “whatever” and turns his back on you. Oh hell no. You get in line behind him, because you’re not about to wait longer than necessary, but this definitely isn’t over.

“Are you fucking serious, dude?” you hiss just loud enough for him to hear. He turns back toward you.

“I don’t have time for this,” he snips right in your face. This close up, he’s huge, and it’s more than a bit intimidating, but your spite carries you through.

“Neither do the rest of us,” you spit back, “You can wait like everybody else. There’s a fucking line anyway.” This is so stupid. You would’ve held the door for him if he’d just waited a damn minute. Something changes in his expression, though, and he deflates a bit. The person behind you clears their throat, and the two of you shuffle forward to fill the several-person-wide gap that had formed. With that second to breathe, your anger starts to dissipate pretty quickly. God, you’ve been so rude to the other customers, causing a scene like this. At least it seems like Tkachuk is starting to unwind, which makes it easier for you to regain your composure.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a pause, like apologizing was akin to bathing a cat, “It’s just--” He trails off, looks frustrated, shuffles up in the line, looks frustrated some more.

“My sister is in town and I promised I’d get her Starbucks for her first day here,” he explains, like he’d rather be admitting to murder, “I forgot about it, so I’m trying to get it before she wakes up.” Oh. That’s actually. Sweet? Obviously it’s still a dick move to check someone in a coffee shop, but the fact that he did it for a good cause helps soothe your anger all the more.

“I just want everything to be perfect, y’know?” he finishes, head still held high despite his hunched shoulders and clenched fists. You’re not usually a touchy-feely person, but you’re nearly overwhelmed with the urge to hug him. You wish your brothers cared that much about you. While you don’t hug him, you do touch the outside of his wrist with gentle fingertips, looking up into his eyes when they snap to you. They’re a disarming shade of blue that you hadn’t really noticed before, and you almost forget what you were going to say. Focus.

“I’m sure she’ll be happy just to have her brother around,” you assure him, all annoyance forgotten, “As long as you don’t hip check her through a door.” Okay, maybe not entirely forgotten. It gets him to laugh, shaking his head a bit, and his posture relaxes. You can feel the muscles and tendons in his wrist and forearm go slack, and for some reason his hands going soft makes you want to hold them. You’re gonna end up in love with the dude by time you leave, at this rate.

“I really am sorry about that,” he says, “I thought I had enough room.” You just shrug and straighten back up alongside him.

“Eh, It wasn’t that big of a deal,” you dismiss, “I just had a bad day at work and took it out on you. Sorry about that.” His brows look much cuter when they’re furrowed in confusion rather than anger.

“You had a bad day at work already?” he asks. You huff a laugh.

“I work night shift,” you explain, “So I guess more of a bad night at work.” You watch as realization dawns on his face, his mouth making a silent “oh”. Then you realize you’re still basically holding his wrist, so you bring your hand back to your side and hope he didn’t notice, so you can avoid that embarrassment. Except he stops you with a soft grip on your fingers, pulling you to the counter alongside him. He snags a pen from the counter and scribbles something on the back of your hand while effortlessly rattling off his order to the barista.

“And whatever she wants,” he tacks on at the end, motioning to you with a jerk of his head.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you say, dumbfounded at how far left this interaction has gone. How the hell did you go from wanting to punch him, to him offering to buy your coffee? Damn, you must be charming.

“It’s the least I can do,” he insists, and you’re not about to turn down a free drink. He plunks the pen back onto the counter and pays after you order, still holding your hand. When you look down, you-- oh. That’s. That is his phone number. On your hand. Your hand. After you just chewed him out in public for being rude, and he gave you his number. What the hell.

“I forgot that we have to wait for them to make the drinks, so this doesn’t have the same effect, huh?” he says, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly with one hand, and leading you to the waiting area with the other. Matthew Tkachuk just gave you his phone number. Maybe you got hit in the head with a box on the dock, and this is all a dream. That would make more sense.

“I was gonna say ‘text me’ and walk away all cool, but,” he shrugs, “Doesn’t always work out that way.” He was trying to be cool. He was going to write his number on your hand and walk away “cool”. Well, if he’s going to give you the opportunity, you’re not going to overlook the chance.

“Damn,” you say, shaking your head facetiously, “Gotta work on your timing.” Tkachuk looks mildly devastated until he realizes you’re joking, which makes you feel mildly powerful. He must really want to see you. The both of you chat for a few minutes, the subject switching between hockey and coffee and family until his name is called. He steps forward to take his drinks and when he turns back to you, he looks conflicted.

“Better go give her that coffee,” you say, “I’ll see you later?” A small smile grows on his face.

“Yeah,” he replies, eyes soft, “Yeah, you will.”

#matthew tkachuk imagine #nhl imagines #ri #andis coping mechanism #pls tell me if this doesnt make any sense

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forever-rogue · 5 years

Text

The Edge of Thirty - Part 3

Summary: Everyone seems to be getting married, having babies, or “growing up.” Except Y/N. Suddenly at almost thirty, reality seems to be crashing down on her – and hard. Nothing seemed as daunting as turning thirty…until she met Gwilym Lee anyway.

A/N: You guys, thanks for all your love on this so far! Let me just say that like it’s 90% relatable content to me, and some of you lot as well, which is brilliant :’) Y’all also totally caught onto me and that fact I introduced PROF Gwil. I couldn’’t resist! Taglist is open! xx

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Language, some sexual innuendos

MASTERLIST

The soft early morning light filtered in through the small of gap of Gwilym’s smartly chosen curtains. The window was cracked ever so slightly, allowing the bustle of London’s traffic to waft in and slowly reach Y/N’s ears.

Letting out a tired, yet content sigh, she opened her bleary eyes, a hand reaching up to wipe away the remnants of sleep. It took her a few moments of looking around to realize she wasn’t at home in her own bed with Deacon curled up at her feet. She slowly started to sit up, attempting to figure out where in the world she was, when she noticed a large lump in the bed next to her. I didn’t she immediately felt a sense of panic set in her bones.

Turning her body slowly, as to not wake up her lover from last night, she let out a small gasp when she realized that it was Gwilym. She hadn’t just imagined that she’d gone home with the sexy English professor last night.

“Bollocks,” she exasperatedly ran a hand through her messy hair, before taking a look down and seeing that she was naked. The only things on her were the light purplish blue bruises that littered the delicate skin of her chest and neck. How had she let this happen again? At least she remembered his name this time.

She was about to slide out from under the covers and make a hasty escape when a hand grabbed onto her wrist and kept her in the bed. Gwilym rolled over and studied her with a piercing gaze that left her feeling more naked and vulnerable, if that was even possible at that point.

“Where you just going to leave without saying anything?” he asked, an unreadable tone in his voice. She couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or upset; a part of her hoped he was upset, that this handsome man wanted more than just a one stand with her. The other part, and at this point she wasn’t sure which was stronger, wanted him to never remember her or their tryst.

“Yeah,” she admitted as she hung her head, almost mildly ashamed that he had caught her like this, “that was my plan. That’s generally how these things work, isn’t? You take me home, fuck me, and then I run out and we pretend this never happened?”

“Is that al you think this is? A one night stand?” he countered, quirking an eyebrow at her as he settled against pillows, his hand still on her wrist, “not for me. Although I haven’t really done this before. Aren’t you a little old to be doing this? We’re both adults, Y/N, and what we did wasn’t wrong or shameful.”

“Oh my God,” she peeled his hand off of her arm and hid her face in her hands, the events of last night running through her mind. She shifted slightly, feeling a slight soreness between her legs that she hadn’t experienced in a long time. He had been good. Very good. The fact that he knew how to please a woman was blatantly evident.

“What?”

“I slept with an old man!” she threw her hands up in exasperation as she staggered out of the bed in search of her dress from last evening. It was laying in a crumpled, wrinkly heap along with his own clothing. Frowning, she picked all of her items up and tried to haphazardly throw them on. Gwil watched her with a bemused expression.

“Middle aged at best,” he reminded her of their conversation from the previous night, “that’s what you had said. I’m a only a few years older, Y/N. It’s not a big deal.”

“Fucking hell,” she tried to get her bra on but it was a struggle with her shaking hands, “this shouldn’t have happened! I should have said no, but you’d to be all...you and I just couldn’t stay away from you!”

“Y/N, love, just stay,” he suggested, resting an around behind his head, “I want you to stay. We can spend the morning in bed, and I promise I’ll make you breakfast and take you home before I have to head into work. My first class isn’t until this afternoon.”

“Class!” she stopped dead in her tracks as she walked around for a clock to see what time it was. She groaned when she couldn’t find anything, digging around for her phone. Unlocking it, she let out a long sigh at the many missed calls and texts from Ben and the school. It was 10:30 in the morning. School started at 9:00.

“Yes...class is at-”

“I start at 9,” she almost shouted at him. He wasn’t likely to have known, she hadn’t told him that she taught young children,which he taught at the university level, “my kids are all alone. Crickle’s going to kill me! He’s looking for any excuse to fire me anyways! I have to go now.”

Gwil got out of the bed, quickly pulling his boxers that had been discarded the night before, reaching for his keys, “let me take you to work, it’s the least I can do. I-I didn’t realize you started early, I would have woken you up.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she put her hands out to stop him, “I just...I’m gonna steal your shirt, okay? I don’t have time to go home but I can’t just wear this dress. I’ll make it up to sometime, okay? I-I’m sorry!”

Gwil wasn’t able to get another word in edgewise before ran out of the room, her heels in one hand, his shirt in the other. A slew of curses was barely audible to him as he listened to her open and slam the door shut in a matter of seconds. He realized he hadn’t even gotten her phone number...they had been too busy with other things to get to that point.

He threw his keys back onto the dresser, before flopping back into his warm bed. It already felt like something was missing as he stretched out and rested his long arm on the spot she had previously occupied where a bit of warmth still lingered.

Something about her had drawn him in such a short period of time. It wasn’t just the fact that they had probably the best sex of his life. The way she rode him, the way she had chanted his name like it was a prayer when she was close, the delicious way she had tasted, the way she had let him be rough and gentle with her - it was all mind blowing. But more than that, it was her aura that had attracted him to her. It was a conglomeration of factors.

But he wanted more. That much he already knew.

As she ran into the busy London street, she pulled on Gwil’s oversized shirt, rolling up the sleeves and tying it off so it wasn’t as long and billowy, but looked purposeful. The shirt still smelled of Gwil, his natural scent mixed with the subtle cologne he favored. It was a look alright, definitely not work appropriate, but she was trying to concoct a story to excuse it. If nothing else she had figured she would run home during her lunch period and quickly shower and change. She was sure she still had the subtle, or not so subtle, smell of sex on her.

Y/N tried to jog to work as quickly as possible, no easy feat in a pair of heels, when her phone started buzzing in her hand again. It was Ben. Of course.

“Hey-”

“Y/N, where the hell are you!? I’ve been calling and texting you all morning,” Ben was practically shouting and she held back the phone so she wouldn’t go completely deaf. She opened her mouth but wasn’t able to get a word in before he continued his tirade, “I thought you were dead! You’re late, and Crickle is furious. Jesus Christ, you better have a good explanation for all this!”

“Ben, calm down,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she quickly crossed the street, “I’m alive, alright? I overslept...there was an emergency last night and I was up late and finally got some and missed my alarm.”

“What on earth could have possibly happened?” there came out the Dr. Jones voice that he so often used on his students and patients. Which basically meant that he saw right through her, “are you okay?”

“It was Deacon,” she lied, surprised by how quickly, and effortlessly, the words rolled off of her tongue, “he wasn’t feeling well when I got home last night, so I had to take him to the emergency vet and I wanted to stay up and make sure he was alright.”

“Poor little buddy,” Ben’s voice melted at the mention of her dog. He too adored the little guy like he was his own, “is he alright?”

“Doing better,” she hated lying and she hated dragging Deacon into the lie but it was the only thing she could think of at the moment. She always had this strange superstition that lying about someone getting hurt somehow actually made them get hurt. It was silly, she knew, but it still crept into her mind, “he’s a tough little guy after all.”

“I’m glad he’s okay,” he seemed to let out a sigh of relief, and she could just picture him sitting at his desk, running a hand through his soft curls. He had a kind soul, often caring more about things than necessary, and always wearing his heart on his sleeve, “do you think you’re going to make it in today? I-I can tell Crickle what’s happened.”

“I’m on my way now,” she almost sighed, crossing another street as the school slowly came into view in the far off distance. It was like an oasis in the desert, calling out to her, luring her in. As much as she wished she could take Ben up on his offer, she knew better than to do so. Crickle would have been on her in an instant, using it as a mark against her to fire her. She had a feeling that smarmy old bastard had been plotting this since the day she and Ben had started working at the school, “I can’t risk not being there today, Benny. He’ll have me axed before I could even get a word in.”

He let out a long breath, but he knew she was right. At least she had a plausible excuse for being late. After all, who wouldn’t understand someone staying up and taking care of their sick pup, “okay, just get there as fast you can. I’ll go and tell the substitute that’s in your room right now.”

“My absolute hero,” she ran across the street, too impatient to wait for the crosswalk to signal that it was okay to go, and earning herself a few honks from the oncoming traffic. She flailed her arms in a sort of pseudo apology as she tried to go as fast as possible, “I’ll call Crickle right now and let him now what’s happened. See you soon.”

Ending the call with Ben, Y/N gave herself a moment to breathe before searching for the school’s number to speak to the insufferable headmaster. She wished it could have been anyone but him, but alas, fate was not so kind, and she’d have to face him regardless. This time she couldn’t even blame anyone else. It was her own fault and she had thrown all discretion to the wind and gone home with Gwil. But there was just something about him, some sort of undeniable animal magnetism that had attracted her to him. Gwilym.

Snapping herself out of her day dream, she dialed the number and listened to the robotic directory, wishing it would go faster so she could just be finished. Upon finally getting a chance to dial Crickle’s extension, she did so, waiting with bated breath while it rang for what seemed like an inordinately long period of time. Upon her contemplation of hanging up, the other end picked up and a dry voice met her ears, “Gregory Crickle.”

“Headmaster, good morning. This is Y/N L/N,” she tried to keep her voice a fine line between cheery and sad, since she was about to have to self her fabricated story once again, “I wanted to call and apologize for my tardiness, I am however on my way and shall be there within the next fifteen minutes.”

“I do hope there is a good reason for your lateness, Miss L/N. Last we discussed, I had warned you about keeping up your appearances,” she could tell there was a smug smirk on his face as sat in his office, his feet probably on the desk as he ate his morning doughnut, accompanied by a cup of coffee as bitter as his soul.

“I’m well aware...sir,” she bit her tongue for a second, fighting back a slew of curses and insults, “my dog, Deacon, became very ill last night and I had to take him to the emergency veterinarian. I stayed up with him during the night to make sure he was okay, but I guess I must have missed my alarm. I was up quite late.”

“It appears so,” was all he said at first. She wasn’t sure if he actually believed her story, but she did her best to try and sell it. Figuring that if she saw him later, she’d even muster up a few tears for added effect, “but I’m sorry to your about dog. I hope he will make a full recovery. You may send the substitute to Classroom 314 upon your arrival.”

“Thank you sir,” she mentally let out a sigh of relief, “your kindness does not go unappreciated.”

“I expect it does not,” he replied. Before hanging up the call he decided to remind her, “do take care to be punctual this week. You never know when those visitors will make their appearance.”

“Yes sir,” she said as he ended the call. Once the line was completely silent she muttered under breath, “you slimy bastard.”

But it didn’t matter - she had gotten off almost scot free and things would be back to normal soon. All she had to go was remained under the radar for the next couple of weeks and everything would be fine. Easy peasy lemon squeezy as her students always reminded her.

“Good morning, my little loves!” Y/N almost shouted as she burst into her classroom, trying to appear as though everything was normal and she wasn’t almost two hours late. They were all such inquisitive little things, asking questions about almost everything, and she hoped, prayed rather, that they wouldn’t zone in on her outfit and question her disheveled appearance.

She had quickly popped into the student’s bathroom, making sure to wipe any old makeup off her face, tied her hair up in a messy, but acceptable bun, and pulled her dress as much as she could.

“Miss L/N, you’re here!” Jenny almost jumped up in her seat, excited to see her favorite teacher. The rest of the class gave her a big wave as she sauntered over to her desk.

“Thanks for covering, Ally,” she gave the familiar substitute a warm smile as she started to pull out her lesson plans for the day, “Crickle said room 314 needs you. I owe you one!”

“Buy me a coffee sometimes and we’ll call it equal,” Ally nudged her side gently before giving the kids a wave of goodbye and heading off to her next assignment.

Turning to face her favorite group of little humans, she took a seat at her desk, before glancing down at the plan she had prepared for the day. She knew she should stick to it, making sure that everything went according to a perfect plan, and be ready to dazzle anyone that entered her vibrant classroom. She may not have exceeded at a lot, but she knew in her heart of hearts that she was a good teacher.

“You see this?” she asked as she held up the intricately designed plans and displayed them to all of her students. They watched her with rapt attention, giving her a collective nod. Once she had crossed around the room, making sure each one of them had gotten a look at the plans, she jumped onto her desk before raising her eyebrow and tossing the papers into the trashcan that sat beside her desk. They all gasped before bursting out in a fight of giggles at the sheer audacity she displayed.

“I’m going to teach you all an important lesson today,” she smiled before going to her whiteboard and grabbing a bright purple pen. She quickly used scrawled out a message she hoped they would take to heart. It was a lesson she too, even as a bonafide adult, needed to remember sometimes. Life doesn’t always go according to plan.

“Plans are silly!” Johnny, a small wiry boy with the sweetest smile she had ever seen, agreed as he read over the words.

“Not always, Johnny,” she said with a smile, “sometimes they can be good. But it it important to remember that not every detail of our lives can just be planned out. Sometimes you have to have a little faith in knowing that things will work out. I had plans for you today, but to learn this lesson well, we’re ditching those plans.”

“What are we doing instead?” her favorite shy boy Brian asked, his little curls bouncing excitedly.

“We are going to spend the day on the playground, soaking up this beautiful sunshine and learning about all the wonderful plants, flowers, and creatures we encounter,” even though she was making this up on the spot, it seemed like a perfect plan. It came naturally and she figured she could finagle her way out of any repercussions should a certain someone spot her, “do we have a plan?”

“Yes!” they all echoed back at her, the smiles on their little faces bringing a smile onto her own.

She told them to get ready to head outside, grabbing their sweaters if necessary when a knock came at her classroom door. She left the kids at it as she opened the door and found Ben standing there, holding two cups of coffee in his hands. The smile on his face dissipated as he looked her up and down. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she cursed herself for opening the door fully and not just poking her head out. Nothing was sad as a sense of tense filled the air.

“Can I speak to you?” his voice wasn’t the usual soft, gentle timbre that she had grown to know over the years. Instead, it contained a tone of disappointment, a bit of exasperation. She knew better than to say no.

“Keep yourselves occupied for a few moments, loves,” she told her class as she slipped out to meet Ben in the hallway. She gnawed at her lower lip, doing her best to avoid his searing gaze. He knew. He knew immediately. In that moment she hated how easily he could read her, how he seemed to know everything about her without either of them even uttering a single word.

“You lied to me,” was the only thing that came out of his mouth. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact, pure and simple. She sighed and stared at the ceiling, trying to remain composed. She had hoped she’d be able to avoid Ben until after lunch and she was able to run home and change. But of course the fates would not be so kind. A sort of karma to be sure.

“I didn’t want to,” she ran a hand over her face, which caused Gwil’s oversized shirt to shift slightly, exposed the marks he had left on her. Ben audibly sighed at the sight, as Y/N tried to quickly cover back up.

“There’s nothing wrong with Deacon, is there?” he adopted a cold tone as he took a step back, shaking his head at her. He tossed the coffees he had been clutching into the nearby trashcan. His distaste and the hurt look on his normally soft face broke her heart. She shouldn’t have lied to him in the first the place, she should have just told him, confessed her sins and feeling ashamed, but at least it would have been the truth.

“No,” she admitted as she trained her attention on the dingy old floor, scoffed with years of wear and tear. He let out a sharp breath through his nose, trying to find the words to accurately describe how he felt. It was a mix of many emotions, but sheer disappointment was first on the list, “I-”

“Save it, Y/N,” his response was snappy and short, a bitter tone clouded his voice, “I don’t want to hear another of your excuses. You lied to us last night and just ended up going home with someone? What the actual fuck? You couldn’t even spend one night with your friends? Then you had to go and lie about it? Look at the state of you, Y/N. You’ve rolled out of someone’s bed and come to teach a classroom full of children looking like a-”

“Ben, don’t,” she finally met his steely gaze, a newfound fire starting to course through her veins, “don’t presume to go on and give me a speech like you’re some sort of saint and I’m the sinner. None of you gave a shit about me last night. None of you even noticed when I got up, none of you bothered to say more than two words to me the whole time. I might as well not have shown up in the first place-”

“Maye Crickle was right-” he tried to interject but she held up her hand to silence him.

“Stop for one second. I get that I’m not like the rest of you; I’m not in love, getting married or having a baby, but I’m still your best friend. As I have been for over twenty years,” she felt stinging in her eyes as looked at him, “but you’ve all gone and started treating me like I’m some sort of social pariah. I’m still just me, nothing’s changed. The only mistake I made last night was meeting you all out. I should have known where I wasn’t wanted. I’m sorry I’m not perfect like the rest of you. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten it all figured out.”

“You still...it didn’t have to end up like this,” he countered and was met with only a curt nod, “I don’t know what to say to right now.”

“Don’t say anything then,” she shrugged her shoulders and bit back her tears, “walk away and leave. Besides, I’ve got a class to teach.”

He turned to walk back to his own office, without so much as another word. Y/N watched him go, wanting to run after him and apologize, pulling him in for a hug. But she didn’t. She remained rooted firmly in place, watching his retreating back as she wished she could take everything she had said. He was her best friend. In almost twenty years this was the first they had had a fight. It felt wrong, so wrong, like a dagger was twisting slowly in her heart. Ben had always been the one constant in her life, but now she wasn’t even sure she had him.

The door to the room creaked open slightly, and Jenny poked her little head out, looking at Y/N with a sad look on her little face. She had probably overheard everything. Y/N gave her the best smile she could muster, ruffling her hair gently.

“Miss L/N?” her voice was small and quiet.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Y/N asked as the small girl stepped out of the room and wrapped her arms her waist, hugging her as best as she could. Y/N felt a wave of emotion at the sweet gesture, and hugged her back tightly.

“I’m sorry you had a fight with your friend,” she whispered softly, “we can be your friends. We love you.”

“I love you guys too,” Y/N said as she dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. How she got so lucky with her kids she would never know, but right now she was glad for her little room of friends.

The rest of the week passed by in an odd mixture of too fast and not fast enough. She had kept her phone on do not disturb for pretty much the entire time, enjoying the little bit of solace it afforded her. But it made it almost too lonely and quiet and her heart ached for her friends.

Most of all, she wanted to apologize to Ben and talk things over, hoping it ended up with them in his office, shooting the breeze as they fueled up on caffeine. Instead the two of them avoided each other in the hallways, looking pointedly away from one another in an effort to prevent conversation.

Her only companion and source of conversation outside of work had been Deacon, and even he seemed to be disgruntled with her. But he had every right to be - she had lied about him, and hadn’t given him as much attention as he deserved lately. Luckily for her, all she had to do was text her neighbor and she’d pop in and check on the small dog.

She tried to win over his affection by getting him a small new army of toys and all sorts of treats but he wasn’t having it. He wouldn’t even sleep next to her at night, opting to sleep in his own little bed on the floor by the door.

Her last ditch attempt to win him back would happen on Friday when she brought him to school with her and let the class the take him on a walk to the park. For whatever reason, and she didn’t know how but decided not to question it, she had convinced the school to say yes to her little plan and gotten permission from everyone’s parents. Something good had to come out of the shitty week, she figured. As she had reminded her students, life worked according to its’ own plans.

Her mind often wandered back to Gwilym, and the sheer thought of him was enough to bring a rosy flush to her cheeks. He had been the total package: good looking, good job, kind, sweet, interesting, and an excellent lover. One of the nights she couldn’t fall asleep due to the millions of thoughts in her mind, she had used the image of him that was burned in her mind to touch herself and eventually bring a release she had ended. It wasn’t quite the same as the real deal but it got the job done. She cursed herself for not at least getting his number. But maybe the universe had a plan in store for them too. Doubtful, she knew, but not impossible.

“You guys were all so great today!” Y/N beamed at her students as they said their final goodbyes to Deacon, who they had fallen madly in love. Deacon had given them all some love, showering them with his little kisses. It seemed that she had won him back over, and it made her happy to know that she had at least someone back on her side.

“Bye Miss L/N, bye Deacon!” Johnny waved at her with a big grin on his face as his mother and father picked him up in the late afternoon sunshine. She gave them a wave as Deacon gave a bark and wagged his little tail furiously.

Slowly her students trickled away with her their parents and caretakers. Soon, it was just Y/N and Deacon left, sitting on the swings and swaying slightly, along with Jenny, who had yet to be picked up. Y/N was worried as more and more time passed and no one came to pick her up. If it was much longer, she decided, she’d take her home herself to make sure she was safe.

“Do you think I should call your parents, Jenny?” she asked as the little girl played in the grass with Deacon who had taken a special liking to her. Jenny shook her head as she petted him, not wanting to leave.

After a few more minutes, some loud footsteps approached and a familiar voice called out, “Jenny! I’m so sorry I’m late, love bug!“

Y/N thought her jaw would hit the ground as she looked at the man who Jenny eagerly ran to. He leaned down and scooped her up almost effortlessly in his arms before kissing the top of her head. Y/N was speechless as she stared shamelessly, cursing (or maybe blessing) the universe and its’ plans.

Gwilym seemed to suddenly became aware of the situation as he stared at Y/N, a bemused smile played on his soft lips. The two of them wordlessly stared at each other for a few moments before Jenny squirmed out of his arms and dragged him over to Y/N and Deacon.

Deacon, being a traitor, ran up to Gwil and gave him a few little barks, pleading for pets which he gladly obliged.

“This is Miss L/N,” Jenny tugged on his arm and pointed at Y/N who was sure her cheeks were a bright crimson by now, “and this Deacon. We took him for a walk!”

“Did you have fun, Jenny?” Gwil asked as he mussed her hair before turning his attention back to Y/N.

“Yes, Uncle Gwil,” she giggled, letting go of his arm as she returned to playing with Deacon. The fact that she had said Uncle Gwil instead of daddy made her feel slightly better. Sleeping with a student’s father would have been mortifying. Uncle wasn’t great, but it was slightly better.

“Hi,” he said as he leaned against the swing set, a smile on his face as Y/N stood up, unsure of whether she should run away or stay. Despite her best efforts, she gave in and a smile worked its way onto her face as she returned his simple greeting, “I’m so sorry I’m late. My class ran late and traffic was an absolute bloody mess. My brother, her dad, asked me this morning if I could get her, he’s at a meeting this afternoon. Don’t worry, I don’t have any children of my own.”

“It’s not a problem,” she said as she cast a look at the little girl and dog playing happily, letting out a slight sigh of relief at his confession, “Jenny’s an absolute sweetheart. Don’t tell anyone else, but she might be my favorite student of all time.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” he gave her a wink as he looked her up and down, “I never took you for a primary school teacher. Let alone my niece’s teacher. What a small world it is.”

“Life is strange in a lot of ways, isn’t it?” she laughed lightly, a sound Gwilym decided he already liked, a lot, “it’s not a job most people would like, but I do love my job. I can’t say that about a lot of things, but that is true.”

“It’s important to have things we’re passionate about,” he agreed, running a hand over his stubble. Like you he thought as she watched her closely. She hadn’t felt his mind much his week, and he had been determined to find her somehow. He just hadn’t expected it to be quite this easy.

“I’m sorry about the other morning,” she lowered her voice so Jenny couldn’t overhear, “I shouldn’t been so short and run out on you like that. On top of it all, I stole your shirt!”

“And I still have your panties,” his voice was low as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. All the little hairs on her body stood on end as she felt the familiar tingling start in the pit of belly. He had her easily turned on, in the middle of the afternoon, in the park with her student right there. But he knew exactly what he was doing, “the black lacy ones. I’m inclined to keep them for myself, but you can have them back on one condition.”

“And just what would that be?” she bit her lips as he watched her closely, taking a fraction of a second to touch a gentle finger to the corner of her mouth. She wished they were alone, somewhere private where she could just have him in that moment. He had come smartly dressed in a suit, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a watch on his wrist, just a smidgen of chest hair exposed from the undone buttons of his shirt. He had no right looking that good.

“Let me take you on a date...a proper date,” he put a hand under her chin and tilted her face upwards so she was forced to look into his ocean eyes, “what do you say?”

She had a moment of hesitation as she considered saying no. Saying no might have been the proper thing to do, especially given the fact that he was a family member of one of her students. But she was already sure about Gwil. There was something in her mind that told her he was the lone good choice in the string of mistakes she seemed to have been making lately.

“Yes,” she agreed with a smile, putting her hand over his and relishing in his soft touch. It was her turn to lean in and lower her voice for only him to her, “but you can keep the panties. I’ll keep the shirt if you don’t mind. I wore it to bed the other night, thought of you while I was wearing it and touch-”

“Uncle Gwil!” Jenny ran back over to them, and they pulled apart quickly, the two of them blushing like school children. He cleared his throat as he turned his attention back to her, “I’m hungry! Can we get ice cream? Maybe Miss L/N can come with us!”

“I don’t know about ice cream, love bug, your mummy would probably not be happy with me,” he laughed as crossed her arms and pouted at him. It only took a few moments before he sighed and gave into her, “fine, we can get ice cream. But, it’ll be our secret, okay? Miss L/N, would you like to accompany us?”

“I’d love to,” she held back a giggle, “but I have to get going as well. I need to take Deacon home and get him some dinner too. But I promise I’ll see you on Monday morning, Jenny.”

“Have a good weekend, Miss L/N,” she waved at her before giving Deacon a last hug goodbye.

“Indeed, Miss .L/N,” he said with a cocked eyebrow, “perhaps I’ll get to be a part of that weekend?”

“We can see,” she teased him before pointing at his pocket, at the large phone shaped bulge, “but you’ll probably need my number first, don’t you think?”

“Ahh,” he said as he handed her his phone, and she quickly entered her number, giving herself a call so she’d have his number as well, “you won’t be as hard to track down this time.“

“I have a feeling it won’t be too hard at all,” she leaned down and called for Deacon to come over to her, scooping him up in her arms, and giving his pointy nose a kiss, “have a good evening Gwil.”

“You too,” he opened his mouth to say something else, but Jenny quickly dragged him away, yelling excitedly about ice cream. She watched him go with a wave before letting out a long sigh. What a small world it was indeed.

As she started to drift to sleep that night, Deacon (finally) back her side, her phone buzzed, indicating that she had a message.

Her face broke out in a grin when she saw that it was from Gwil.

Gwilym: To go back to our conversation from earlier, I thought of you too when I was in bed the other night. Not as good as the real thing, but it got the job done. Used those little lacy panties to clean up the mess.

PS - just so I don’t come off as total sleaze, I really do want to see you again. On a real date. Dinner tomorrow? No nieces, no dogs, just us.

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rantceratops · 7 years

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Coldhearted

I fucking love this episode. With like, the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. Because the animation is fucking flawless and the snow looks beautiful and Wally is 100% amazing! This may in fact be my favorite episode, certainly within my top 5 fav episodes if I had to rate them. PREPARE YOUR ANUS FOR LOTS OF IMAGES BECAUSE 500% OF MY APPRECIATION FOR THIS EPISODE IS ALL THE ANIMATION PORN.

SNOW!

Oh so clever, Greg and co., hiding the first number on Wally’s alarm clock so that is simply reads “16″ on his 16th birthday in a show where the number 16 is a constant theme. I’M ON TO YOU.

You ever notice how Wally has a poster of a female with really long blonde hair on his bedroom wall? Like we all know he’s just being a horndog teenaged boy, but like... GOT A THING FOR LONG BLONDE HAIR OR SOMETHING, WALLY?

Things confirming Wally is a huge nerd: lots of dorky looking action figures, a model rocket ship, a Flash poster, a microscope and lots and lots of books (probably of the science variety... and comics, no doubt), poster of some boxer dude, a poster for some horror movie called Day of Dark, and a piece of art I’ve seen on Jerome K. Moore’s deviantart of Wally, Barry, and Jay in their Flash get-ups. How cute! Also a poster or something that just looks like a pair of shoes on someone’s feet??? Idk about that one, it’s pretty dark. (I would take screenshots but sadly blu-ray format prevents me from doing so, and I don’t already have one saved in my extensive library of screens)

Look at this cutie weirdo singing to himself and doing a little dance in bed

HOW THE FUCK DO THEY AFFORD TO FEED HIS ASS?

“You want surprise just watch Miss Martian’s expression when I collect my birthday kiss!” (keep making yourself think that Megan is the one you really want to kiss, Wally. Like, for real.)

Wally, I don’t want to alarm you, but your dad is definitely Amon from Legend of Korra!

Damn, Mary sure is good, turning on the TV at the exact moment that Iris got to Wally’s birthday wish in her broadcast.

“Spisak Jr. High” And a nice shout out to the voice of our very own Wally West, Mr. Jason Spisak! <3

“Sure would be a shame if I missed my own--” “Surprise!”

“Say Whaaaaaaaat, oh you guys, you shouldn’t have!” What a fucking little shit.

A little shit with the best facial expressions though, amiright?

Okay. Time to stop being silly for a moment as we approach the part that many people have a problem with. This is the part where I crack my knuckles and have a differing opinion than most.

So here we have Wally’s birthday party, and him hinting around that he wants a birthday kiss from Miss M. It’s obvious that’s what he’s wheedling for, anyone with a pair of eyes can see that. And Artemis, who happens to have a pair of perfectly functioning eyes (arguably better than most, considering some of the amazeballs shots she’s made) happens to be standing right next to the little duo as the first exchange happens.

Artemis gets understandably annoyed and, of course, jealous. That’s her crush (that she’s been trying to forget about, but that’s been a huge no-go because it turns out the crush of her crush is dating her fallback crush… this is getting confusing). Trying to get a kiss from another girl. Of course she’s jealous.

I fucking would be, too. It’s a completely natural reaction. Artemis would never, ever admit it even over her dead body, but she wishes she was the one he was wanting a kiss from so bad.

Anyway, even Miss M guesses what he wants, and she decides to give him a kiss on the forehead because she’s his friend and nothing more. Artemis gets some obvious satisfaction from this. Is it petty? Well, yeah, but who ever said jealousy wasn’t petty? We’ve all been in that kind of position, be it with a crush or something else entirely, where something happens that ruins something for someone else and you just can’t help but feel completely fucking smug/happy about it even though you know you’re being an awful person for doing so.

Artemis is glad he gets denied because it means he’s not kissing a girl that isn’t her, and perhaps to another end, she’s smug about it because that means he’s getting denied his crush in the same way she was denied her fallback crush. Like, she knows Megan and Conner are a thing, and she already lost any chance at forgetting Wally via Conner, and now Wally is blatantly being denied his crush on Megan, so Artemis is basically taking huge, huge petty pleasure in him basically getting denied the same thing as her. They both have crushes on two people that are already in a relationship together, and if Artemis has to wake up and smell the coffee about it, then Wally is going to, too.

Is our girl Artemis being petty? Hell yes she is! And that just makes me love her more, because she’s a multi-faceted human being with emotions. Is she reacting in a bad way to said emotions? Yes! But this is all sort of in the same vein that Wally and Artemis meet each other in, where Wally’s bad reaction leads to a bad reaction on Artemis’s part, and then the two of them suffer the belligerent relationship that they do all season because of it. Artemis and Wally are both very raw people.

FUN TIME BREAK: “I know this is all very new and intimidating, but I promise you, someday, you’ll get used to watching Wally eat.”

So majestic!

Back to for serious: Artemis walks up to Dick and Zee and is like “Think we should tell him?”

Look at that devious face, my god Artemis you amazing spiteful thing, you!

“He is the only one who doesn’t know.” “Then, please, allow me.”

Artemis wants to burst his bubble the same way hers was burst. It is, without a doubt, 100% petty and horrible and born of jealousy, I’m not denying that. But it does NOT make me want to throw Artemis under the bus or act like she’s a horrible gargoyle or that she’s a bitch or what the fuck ever. It just makes me more interested in her motivations for this moment, it just makes me want to understand every catalyst that leads to this moment, the frustration. In Secrets, Artemis was mad and angry and mildly hurt because Conner is taken, Wally doesn’t want her, and now she’s stuck with her stupid feelings for a guy that she thinks is unobtainable, and I can understand how said feelings creeping back so unbidden into one’s mind with no other place to channel them would drive them to be spiteful about it when the opportunity arises.

I also just want to remind everyone that Wally and Artemis are 15 year old teenagers (well, 16 in Wally’s case as of this episode, but still). They are teenagers with charged emotions about fucking everything, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. They are not the mature adults they grow into slowly over the five year gap. They’re mature for teenagers in a lot of aspects, sure, with the kind of jobs they have they have to be. But they are still young and learning how to deal with certain kinds of emotions and situations. So to an extent some leniency needs to be given when they act like this. I’m not saying to entirely excuse it, rather just understand it and why and what have you.

Anyway, by the time Coldhearted rolls around, Artemis has been stuck with her Wally feelings again for however long the gap is between Secrets and Coldhearted, and she’s had enough of seeing Wally pine after unobtainable Megan in the same way she was pining over unobtainable Conner. So she’s like, fuck it, I’m telling him.

And she does. With much obvious pleasure.

And on his birthday, no less. That seems to be the major act of heinousness that people can’t seem to get past when it comes to this scene in particular, is that it was on Wally’s birthday. His celebratory 16th birthday where everything should be happy fun time and all that jazz. It’s really hard for me to be bothered about it being on his birthday when it’s so obvious that Wally’s not even all that shocked or hurt about finding out. In fact, I’m convinced that both Artemis and Wally subconsciously knew that Megan and Conner were not interested in them/were taken long before they were actually privy to open evidence of it. They were just fooling themselves because they’re too afraid of owning up to the ways they feel for each other. In both cases, Conner and Megan were fallback/distraction crushes, and never anything more.

Wally literally does not fucking care after expressing his dejected “Oh maaaaan!” after Artemis informs him of the lovebirds. That’s it. That is literally it. Not once in the time we are privy to Wally’s innermost thoughts does he mention anything about Megan and Conner, or even Artemis. His concerns are all for the big League/Team team-up and later on for Perdita. Wally only had something that he subconsciously knew all along confirmed to him, and it fucking sucked, but that’s it. For the rest of the episode and every episode after, Wally has already moved on.

In fact, by Insecurity he has sufficiently matured from the events of Coldhearted and finally decides to “man up” for lack of a better phrase, and actually accept and try pursuing his feelings for Artemis. Pursue them in a real way, not in the exaggerated, ego-driven flirting way that he does with Megan. But in a very real, I’m-really-really-interested-in-this-girl kind of way; the fallback, safe distraction of Megan has been removed, allowing Wally to focus on how he really feels for Artemis.

In fact, I’ll just let Greg’s Spitfire rant speak for me on this one, as he puts it the best:

“Plus, let’s not forget the double-whammy of “Failsafe” and “Disordered”. Here we reveal just how intensely Wally feels for Artemis, and just how much interest each has in the other. The trick is that neither is prepared to take a risk. Rejection from Superboy (such as it was) is nothing compared to the fear Artemis has over being rejected by Wally.

Wally meanwhile is afraid to admit his strong feelings for Artemis, so maintains focus on the safer Miss Martian. Artemis does the same toward Superboy. Both then have to be disabused of the nothing that their crushes are viable. I tend to think that deep down, the revelation about Conner and M’gann’s relationship was less of a shock to each than it seemed. They didn’t want to admit to themselves what they were probably sensing deep down. One reason for Artemis’s extreme reaction to the knowledge, I think, is that she was trying SO hard to think that Superboy was a possibility BECAUSE Wally clearly seemed NOT to be, and so she wanted to having something she could use to push Wally out of her mind.

So in “Coldhearted”, Wally learns some big lessons. Miss Martian is out of the picture-- and that helps to clear his mind. But mostly, he matures solidly in the episode. Now he’s ready to behave differently. [...]”

Part of this is going to wind up leading me into a rant that’s better saved for when I get to Insecurity, though, so I’ll just go ahead and wrap this up.

Basically, I agree that Artemis was being petty and spiteful. She was jealous, I expect nothing less from her. But that just makes her a more amazing character, because truly amazing characters are not flawless, they are human beings with many different emotions and many different reactions and ways of dealing with things. They do not always respond to things in the “right” way.

I’m also inclined to say that someone needed to pull Wally’s head out of his ass at some point regardless, btw. Artemis, in being spiteful, also did him a favor. Not with any kind of just intentions, perhaps, but… anyway.

Long story short: I like this moment, it doesn’t both me, it just makes me enjoy Artemis’s character even more, and it certainly doesn’t warrant her being demonized or thrown under a bus. Nobody is perfect, Artemis is not perfect.

Moving on. I know the vast majority of you will disagree with my assessments, but whatever, let’s both just move on because you won’t change my mind and I obviously won’t change yours.

Leave it to Batman to really crash a party, AMIRIGHT?

“Can’t the Watchtower just blast them out of the sky or something?” “What’s a Watchtower?” *DEEP SIGH FROM BATMAN* Goddamnit Wally you can’t just go around saying shit like that you little shit.

Oh my god they’re all a bunch of little dorks, all excited about a Team/League team-up.

Have I mentioned how much I love their polar stealth and wish it had popped up in more than just two episodes? Like, they’re all so adorable!

“Now that’s a birthday wish come true!”

“Uuuuh, Batman? I think youuuu skipped…” “Kid Flash.”

“A girl in Seattle is in desperate need of a heart transplant.”

Oh Wally, Wally, get your priorities straight, dude. :( That’s what I love about this episode though, he grows up in so many ways and it’s really nice to see him have such a major shift in what his real priorities in life are.

“Who is this girl!?” “Does it matter?” (I almost wrote a fanfic once in which it was an AU, where Artemis was the girl that needed the heart transplant and Wally was delivering it to her. I still wouldn’t mind visiting the idea, I never really did get it quite off the ground but it has potential)

“Speedy delivery boy, at your service…”

Ugh, Wally. It’s like… such a burden to him at first. He’s so much more upset about missing out on the League-Team team up that he files this mission away in his mind as a chore, an errand run, something on the side that he’s being forced into and it’s going to make him miss out on all the fun on his birthday. It’s sad to see him think that way, but by the end of it, it’s a very proud moment to see him having realized that delivering that heart was the best thing he’d done that day, the best way he could have spent his birthday, something he can feel proud of. I FUCKING LOVE WALLY AND I LOVE THIS EPISODE, OKAY?

(Also just pointing out that Wally’s reacting way more negatively to delivering this heart than he remotely acted to finding out M’gann was taken. JUST SAYING. And that if Artemis is at fault for telling Wally about M’gann on his B-day, Wally is at fault for reacting so horribly about delivering a heart to someone that’s dying. They’re both only human though, and I love seeing them both like this. I’m just using this to reinforce my points)

MMM that snow! So beautiful! I remembered before this episode aired I had been desperately hoping there would be a YJ episode with either heavy snow or rain in at least a decent chunk of episode. For no other reason than I love snow and rain weather effects and how they can be used to really set up a scene. (not to mention one of my favorite episodes of Teen Titans, “Haunted”, took place almost entirely in a heavy rainfall setting, and I digged it)

So Wally runs from literally one end of the country to the other in what, under four hours?

Don’t expect half of this rewatch post to literally just be me posting screenshots for their beauty.

He’s so fucking nonchalant about the fact that he LITERALLY has someone’s life strapped to his back. Oh, Wally, my son. *sigh*

“As crystal, babe.” “Then go.” “Guess asking for her number’s pointless...” Oh yes, this is a guy who has clearly just had his romantic feelings completely crushed and shattered. He’ll be mourning for months! MONTHS I TELL YOU. ARTEMIS YOU MONSTER.

“Do you see him!?” “Nope.” “Did you see him!?” “Nnnope.” LOL

“I’m at max speed now, but if I really push it, I can dump this load, save the girl, and still get in on the action!” Oh my god, Wally... DUMP THIS LOAD? LIKE IT’S GARBAGE? I love him so much but UGH. WALLY PLEASE.

And the infamous scene where Kaldur steps on his king’s shoulders to get up in the air for an attack, lmao

Chicken Whizee’s sound like the most disgusting thing ever. Like, literally all I can think of is something gross milkshake with bits of chicken in it or something. *shudders*

Also, Wally, you cannot fucking pay for food with A HUMAN HEART, GOOD LORD.

South Dakota! Been there, seen that.

Go away, Vandal! (man Vandal is legit a scary ass villain in this cartoon, like damn. It scares me when he grabs Wally and shit, like, he could probably break him like a twig and it disturbs me)

Can we just appreciate the actual shock waves from Wally slamming into Vandal at maximum speed?

Wally’s such a fierce fucking fighter when he gets the chance. That’s why I love this episode so damn much (among other reasons). We REALLY get the chance to see Wally at his rawest when it comes to fighting and his speed, like he just lets loose with no holds barred when it comes to Vandal. Speedsters are goddamn dangerous and I LOVE it. (I also love Wally using himself as a human cannonball).

“Go, get out of here! I’ll handle Vandal!” “You’ll “handle” me?” “Little hero, do you really think you have what it takes to survive Vandal Savage?”

Put my baby down you piece of shit!

Wally literally stared death in the face and said, “NOT TODAY!”

Look at him fucking fight! Goddamn it’s so amazing! (also where did your Flash symbol go in that last one, Wally??)

And like, I don’t have a fucking screenshot or gif of it but Vandal punches him and he goes flying backwards and catches himself in a one armed handstand and lands on his feet. HOW FUCKING COOL IS THAT?

“When I heard authorities were (?) off this highway for a speedster, I assumed I’d be confronting Flash himself-- He and I are due for a reckoning.”

God, I’ll never stop being curious about what must have happened between Vandal and Flash to make Vandy say that... color me forever intrigued.

Wolf looks fucking demonic when he bites those wires on that auto-turret, omg.

“Kind of bashing my head into a brick wall here, need a new approach.” I REALLY wish I could make a million gifs of this fight, tbh. I don’t have any screens for some of this shit, nor other gifs saved and it’s a damn shame.

“Dude, you are so running on fumes right now. Battle didn’t help with that, either. But forget the hunger, forget the freezing temp, forget the wind chill! Just go, go!” Atta boy, Wally! Getting those priorities straight!

I honestly always love hearing Zee cast spells, it sounds so cool.

Wally reeeeally needs to work on his brakes.

Now prepare for some cute/sad Wally spam:

Oh man, though... could you imagine if Wally really had legit been twelve minutes off because of that fight, and Queen Perdita had actually died? He would NEVER forgive himself for that. That would eat him the fuck up for like... the rest of his life. Holy shit.

“Twelve minutes... the fight took fifteen...” Oh my god I can’t, he’s so crushed. :(

You can tell he’s so fucking drained throughout this last scene.

Look at him, crawling on the ground to try and get away. He’s NOT going to let that little girl die!

I like how this time Wally is able to power through and punch Vertigo in the face, whereas back in Revelations he couldn’t quite make it and Vertigo just knocks him away.

WALLY DOESNT HAVE TIME FOR THESE AUTOMATED DOORS.

“It’s called, YOU’RE BUSTED, JERKFACE!”

WALLY ILU NEVER STOP BEING SO AWESOME.

Awwwww, Perdita, you had Wally forever at “Souvenir.” <3 I just love headcanoning that they maintain a friendship for like, ever after this. So fucking sweet!

“The sword was cool, but, this just seemed like the right souvenir for the mission.” Hey, this totally echoes what Wally says to Artemis at the end of the Insecurity mission. “Keep the sai. This is the right souvenir for the mission.” Ouch. But more on that when I get to Insecurity)

“The man who finally figured out that the sweetest birthday present a lucky stiff like me could ever get, was seeing that little girl smile.”

LEAVE ME, LEAVE ME WALLY KILLS ME AT THE END OF THIS EPISODE I NEED TO CRY. I LOVE SEEING MY BABIES GROW UP.

#ranty rewatches young justice

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