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#to a first place team in their division
queencvbra · 1 year
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hi I’m back and I’m once again thinking about how the cobra kai student demographic shifted from being a bunch of outcasts all trying to gain confidence and find community with each other to a bunch of rich bullies who were chosen solely for their athletic capabilities as leadership went from Johnny to Kreese and then to Silver and how much that change in demographic further isolated Tory within the dojo itself
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blkkizzat · 2 months
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please write nerd geto ! i’m sure you’ll write something amazinggg
Of course doll! Sorry this took a while I was sick most of December and January whooped my ass with classes starting again but I love love the idea of Nerd!Geto especially a Nerd!Geto with glasses so had to write a whole fic. Hope you like it :3 ♡
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Lessons in Anatomy
“Shall I give you a lesson, Y/N? Do you want me to teach you how to squirt?”
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summary: thanks to some bad choices and party girl ways you're on academic probation and can't afford to fail another test. fortunately your longtime friend nerd!geto is there to give you lessons in both economics and anatomy.
cw: college AU. fingering, squirting, dirty talk, edging, mentions of satosugu, rich party kid shit, incestuous friendships, mentions of reader x other jjk men, mentions of casual sex/hookups, mentions of drinking/drug use, reader is a dumb (and I mean dumb) bimbo, a little bit of a brat too, slight coercion, slight dubcon, virgin!suguru, soft dom!sugu, sex ed!sugu, roleplay as sugu is pre med major, some minor fluff, pet names: slut, bunny etc. a bit of a crack fic too haha. slightly black fem coded, no descriptors. a/n: LOL how this became an 8.2k fic about squirting idk chile... but special shout out to @littlemochabunni who talked me off a ledge when I was being emo and I wanted to scrap the entire thing and start over. w/c: 8.2k
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“I can’t believe I’m here and missing the biggest party of the year!”
You groaned as you scrolled through your stories to see all the pics and vids of your friends living their best drunken lives and happily binge drinking on frat row to celebrate your school’s football league championship win.
Toru just did unassisted keg stand pushups and you missed it! 
You, on the other hand, were stuck studying with Suguru in his dorm room. 
100% sober and being forced to learn 5 weeks of econ, that you never took a single note for, in one weekend. 
Well not forced exactly. 
You and Satoru had practically begged Suguru to help you study this weekend. If you failed this class you would flunk out as you were already on academic probation.
“Well I for one can’t believe you’re dumb enough to attempt to cheat off Toji and Sukuna of all people.” 
Suguru quipped back while pushing up his glasses. He snatched your phone away from you and placed it on the other side of his desk, away from you.
Not that he took offense to the remark, but he too had better things to do on a Friday night than tutoring you. Keggers definitely weren't his scene though and Suguru wouldn’t be caught dead at a party celebrating with those frat monkeys. Even if said monkeys included his childhood friends. 
However, as a pre-med student he’d much rather stay in to write his essay for the clinical research internship he was trying to get. 
“Hey! I didn’t cheat off them for the record! Toji and Sukuna said they had the hookup for the answers!”
You pouted grumbling as you tried to reach for your phone on the other side of the table only for Suguru to take it again. This time he slid it into his pockets, keeping it away from you for good.
“Urgh, it’s not my fault they got the test for ECON 230A and 230B mixed up. I didn’t even know there was a second section!”
Suguru had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at you again. The pilfered test definitely had ‘ECON 230B’ printed in big bold letters at the top. 
You all were idiots. 
Unfortunately for you, you were just a cheerleader idiot. 
The other idiots, Toji and Sukuna, dubbed the ‘The Boom Bros’, were the reason your team even won the championships in the first place. The best defensive backs your college or any college in your division have seen, ever. Not letting an opposing team score more than 10 points the entire season, there was no way in hell they were going down for that right before the championships.
That left you as the scapegoat, which was something Suguru noted that you happily took the fall for.  Although there is a very good possibility of you being a soon-to-be college dropout, your social clout was skyrocketing. 
Word spread among the popular social circles fast on how you ‘saved the big game’. 
Suguru couldn’t care less about football, though he was getting annoyed at all the texts, DMs and messages you received asking where you were. They were making you completely lose the little focus you were capable of, which is what made him confiscate your phone in the first place. 
Sighing, Suguru was pretty sure you would be competent enough to pass if you just applied yourself more to anything other than drinking and parties.
“Y/N, just try to focus on studying, please.”
You pouted, turning back to the textbook in front of you.
How did Suguru’s nerdy ass enjoy studying so much?
Studying, especially anything to do with math, gives you an ick. In fact, you were sure the only reason you graduated from high school and even got into this university was because you played 7-minutes-in-heaven with Choso at the start of senior year. 
It had been a secret double dare from Gojo but you sucked the soul out of that boy in Gojo’s closet that night. From then on, Choso pretty much did anything you wanted that year, including all your homework. Hell, he even wrote your college admissions essays and in turn you gave him some sloppy toppy here and there.
Choso was always eager to feel your soft lips on his cock, so you’re sure he could have thought of a better way for you to cheat so you didn't have to study at all and could be out partying right now. It’s just your bad luck that he was studying abroad this semester with his little brother Yuuji.
Although, even if you did flunk out you weren’t that worried. Worst case scenario if you couldn’t find a career or a husband you could always be one of Gojo’s three mistresses he said he would keep once he was older, married and had taken over his family’s company. 
He had pinky-pie-promised he would take care of you if you needed it and as one of your best friends you knew he was good for that promise. Even if he did make it while you both were partying, tripping balls off acid so hard that Satoru convinced himself your cunt could produce cotton candy. He chewed on your pussy for 2 hours straight one wild night on your group’s graduation trip where he then asked if you would be his future mistress.
But that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted that life for yourself. You liked your independence and Satoru would be alot to deal with, even with 2 other mistresses and a wife. 
Therefore, unless you wanted to resign yourself to that fate, you were stuck with Suguru as your tutor.
It’s not like you didn’t get along with Suguru, he’d been one of your closest friends since you were young along with Satoru. But as you got older your interests kind of drifted apart and you saw him less and less, especially as you got to college. 
You wanted to party and Suguru prioritized studying.
You had missed him. You wanted to have fun with him again.
And this was definitely not fun. 
Reading the same paragraph for the fifth time and retaining shit all of whatever the passage had said about ‘demand curve fluctuations’, you were ready to climb up the walls. 
You began to fidget, still in your cheer uniform from the game earlier. The material of your skirt rode up to your upper thighs when you splayed your knees out and leaned forward to lay your head on the desk face down with an exasperated yawn. 
Suguru shared in your exasperation but directed his towards you with another sigh, looking you over. His weariness at you from your inability to study causes his eyes to linger on your form longer than they should. 
Resting against his desk, your back had molded into a nice natural little arch as your tits pushed forward . Adjusting his glasses Suguru found it difficult to pull his eyes away once they landed on your thighs. Practically leering, Suguru is transfixed by the way the fabric bunched at your hips digs into your soft skin. 
He curses your university’s school colors as the next thing that caught his eye was the bright yellow cheer panties you wore that were tight enough to show the full shape of your cunt. Your panties are so skinforming that they don’t fail to give you camel toe. The indent of the slit between your fat pussy lips is on full display.
You’ve always been attractive, Suguru muses as he feels his pants slightly tighten. But it’s no mystery why you were such a slut now if these were the positions you found yourself in when alone with guys.
“Seeing something you like, Sugu baby?”
Suguru snaps his head up at your teasing to see you looking straight at him, your head still resting on his desk but has since turned to face him. The wink along with the lazy yet knowing smile forming on your cherry stained lips lets him know you know he was staring at your cunt. 
Caught red handed, Suguru rolls his eyes and scoffs as he returns back to the textbooks in front of him while you laugh. Dismissing your question entirely he changes the subject back to studying but can’t resist throwing in a little dig to take the heat off himself. 
“Y/N, can’t you just focus? You’ve barely made any progress… Or is it that you want to flunk out and be reduced to Toru’s mistress or something?”
Fuck, you forgot Suguru knew about that too. (Duh, of course he did. He was the sober one who found you both, taking care of you once your come downs had hit).
Not letting him get away with that shade, the brat in you clapped back as you returned his sarcasm back at him.
“Okay, well high school was one thing but do you want to go through college without getting any play too? Or are you satisfied just from peeking up a skirt?”
Annoyance flashes in Suguru’s eyes. He thought you had some audacity seeing as you were the one who was casually flaunting your pussy for him in the first place. Nevertheless, you continued, using Suguru as a punching bag for your current academic frustrations.
“Your pocket pussy and getting head from Toru behind the bleachers at prom doesn’t count by the way!”
Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose as his tolerance of the situation had officially bubbled over. He was tired of everyone thinking he was missing out on something just because he didn’t want to kill off brain cells partying every weekend or play STD Roulette with casual hookups. 
You bringing up prom was a low blow. It was the first time he’d ever had a drink and Toru had practically begged him. Satoru wanted to know if his head was just as good for guys as it was for girls (spoiler alert: it was).
Also, what you thought just because you fucked around alot it was actually any good?
“Yeah and getting railed by a bunch of banana brained monkey jocks, that counts Y/N? They wouldn’t know what to do with your clit even if it was an actual football.”
Suguru retorted and he watched as your eyes widened with shock then seethed with anger as you finally sat upright in the seat. 
Ding Ding! He had hit a nerve. 
“Oh and you would know what to do, cherry boy?”
Suguru knows he probably shouldn’t push it further. But like Satoru, you always knew what buttons to push to get under his skin. Suguru can’t help but to want to get under your skin as well, especially since he was never one of the ones getting under your clothes. 
“Well I can actually spell clitoris, so that already puts me at an advantage over those ball chasing monkeys. Have you ever even had a real orgasm before, Y/N?”
You started to speak but Suguru cut you off before you could.
“—and I mean one that didn’t come from tripping with Satoru or a toy? I bet you’ve never even squirted before.”
Damn. 
You resisted the urge to chew on your lip, not wanting him to know just how right he was but your immediate silence was telling. Racking your brain, you tried to find a way to get your lick back but found yourself at a loss. 
It was mostly true to be honest. 
A hot and heavy make-out session at a party would typically lead to mostly underwhelming sex and you would have to return to your dorm or wait for them to leave to finish yourself off with your rose or dildo… or both. 
Okay and sure, maybe the one and only time you did really have an intense body orgasm was the time you dropped acid with Satoru but… fuck –Wait…squirting?! Wasn’t that just pee? Gross! 
Satisfied with your small ammunition, after a pause you bit back again.
“Alright, so frat boys aren’t sex gods, tell me something I don’t know. It’s still sex Suguru—” 
You flipped your hair and crossed your legs arrogantly as you continued.
“— sex that you aren’t having, which, duh, is obvious if you think squirting is an actual thing. Because Eww nasty, I’m so not into piss-play, Sugu!”
You waited for his reply, assuring your win but Suguru just blinked at you, dumbfounded. 
The thought of you having won shatters when Suguru erupts into a fit of laughter. Hitting the table for emphasis Suguru was near howling as the glasses fell off his face and he had to clutch his sides for support, keeling over in his chair. 
Suguru couldn’t actually believe that you believed squirting was the same as urinating! 
On second thought, knowing you, this kind of checked out…
Watching Suguru in a fit of hysterics had your face burning with embarrassment as waves of self-consciousness came over you. 
To be honest, you weren’t even sure why you were feeling insecure as this was supposed to be your victory!  This was not the reaction you expected from him at all to say the least!
Just what made this so funny!? Because you didn’t want to piss yourself during sex?! 
“Sugu…”
“Sugu…”
“Hey, Suguru!!!”
Frustrated with him ignoring you and still laughing after failing to get his attention, you jumped up from your seat and marched directly in front of Suguru. Angrily you yanked his head up by his man bun. 
You were so ready to tell Suguru to go to hell for laughing at you. Even if you weren’t too sure exactly what he was laughing at you for, he was still being a jerk right now. 
However the words caught in your throat as soon as you saw his face.
Suguru’s wide grin easily illuminated the dimly lit dorm room. Tears gathered in the crinkle around his eyes and pulled into an expression of such warmth that you were reminded of all the fun times you had together goofing off over the years. You nearly forgot what it was like to see him laugh like this.
So nostalgic you almost forgot he was still laughing at your expense — almost.
“Don’t be an asshole Sugu…” 
Your voice was low, lacking any real bite as all your fire fizzled and was replaced by a pout.
Defeated, you let go of your stiff grip on his silky bun causing it to unravel and frame his face with thick black strands that flowed down past his shoulders. Although it wasn’t the first time you had seen Suguru with his hair down and no glasses, you couldn’t help but stare at him now. 
He had grown much more into his features since high school. 
College Suguru had sharper eyes, a slimmer face with a strong jawline and hair that flowed down to his chest. Not to mention his lanky boyish frame had filled out. The muscles underneath were prominent now even if he was wearing a baggy band tee and sweats. Suguru didn’t go to parties but from the looks of him he certainly didn’t miss going to the gym. 
He didn’t look much like the nerd you knew him to be right now at all.
Granted, you were still a bit salty with Suguru but didn’t want to fight with him anymore. Especially given the way his dark eyes sparkled as he gazed up at you, your heart nearly skipping a beat as if you were really only noticing him now for the first time. 
Sniffling, a cocktail of emotions swirls in you. Moisture pricks in the corners of your eyes despite yourself.
Suguru, who was also staring at you, took notice right away.
“Hey Bunny, I’m sorry...” 
You relaxed a bit hearing the old nickname he and Satoru gave to you back in middle school, you couldn’t remember the last time he called you that. 
Grabbing your hand in his much larger one, Suguru gave your palm a gentle rub with his thumb. His hand was surprisingly soft. 
Despite his sweet gesture, your brow twitched slightly at Suguru’s soft chuckles, still continuing albeit less frequently, at your expense.
“It’s just that… I dunno, I guess I would have expected you to have experienced it at least once before Y/N, it’s definitely not pee.” 
You huffed. You still weren’t convinced it wasn’t pee but now you were more curious than anything.
“And how do you know that Suguru? You’ve made a girl squirt before?” 
There was no sarcasm in your tone this time, just doubt since he would have told Toru and Toru definitely would have told you if Suguru was getting play from someone. 
Suguru to his credit wasn't discouraged though. 
If anything, he seemed to gain confidence on the matter now that you weren’t fighting him, rather looking to him for knowledge, for the first time tonight.
“Well, no, but I did get a 4.0 out of Anatomy last semester and unlike you I actually paid attention in Sex Ed. Also, just because I’m a virgin, doesn’t mean I’m completely clueless. There is a little thing called the internet, Y/N.”
You mouthed an ‘O’— a bit ashamed that you actually thought because he was a virgin who didn’t party he was merely just sitting around clueless to everything about sex.
But what could just reading textbooks and the internet teach him over actual experience? 
Then again, Suguru was practically a genius, if he was saying something was possible you could be sure it was. Still you couldn’t stop your mind racing as you considered his previous words.
You were the one with all the experience so you should have experienced it before, right? 
Maybe the guys you hooked up with weren’t the problem then? Maybe you were. 
“What if– w-what if I’m the problem Suguru? What if I just can’t?”
Tugging you closer, his fingers now interlacing with yours, Suguru’s other hand settled on your hip giving you a warm squeeze. You were so close to him now that his chin almost rested on your belly and Suguru was craning his head up to you with a small sly grin still on his face.
“It’s not a matter of can or can’t Bunny, you just don’t know how. Shall I give you a lesson, Y/N?” 
“Do you want me to teach you how to squirt?”
You felt a bit lightheaded as you considered the words that just came out of Suguru’s mouth. You weren’t shy at all when it came to matters of sex and you had the reputation to prove it. Yet your stomach still did a little flip at Suguru propositioning you. 
Sure you were a bit of a slut and had at least made out with almost every guy in your group of friends, but not Suguru. Not for lack of attraction though, you had teased Suguru in the past but he had always been the responsible one, like an older brother or protector. 
Besides, Satoru was always so needy for his attention. There weren’t often times you were with Suguru alone and he never seemed all too interested in sex either, at least when directly compared to a horn dog like Satoru. 
You didn’t actually know if he was serious though so you decided to make light of it, giggling.
“If you wanted me to pop your cherry Sugu, all ya had to do was ask.”
Suguru smiled back at you, he shook his head chuckling. 
“I’ll only need to use my fingers, Y/N. Besides, this is about you. What I really want is for you to not flunk out, I would miss you, ya know?” 
You try to keep a poker face but you couldn’t help feeling giddy at the fact you were extremely happy to hear Suguru would miss you. You had already missed him and combined with the inkling of new feelings stirring in your chest from seeing your old friend in a new light you feel adrenaline begin to pump through you as you brim with nervous energy. 
“Let’s think of this as a study break from Economics. You had to miss the party but we can still have some fun. You might even learn something for once, eh?”
His hand left your hip in order to push the books and papers on his desk aside and patted the wooden surface. The hand still intertwined with yours guided you over.
“Hop on up, Bunny. It’s time for your anatomy lesson.”
You look at the desk and pause as if you are unsure, biting your lip. 
Thoughts of finally hooking up with Suguru excited and the fact you were nervous whether you would disappoint him if you couldn’t actually squirt flood your mind at once. However when you meet Suguru’s eyes and feel gentle reassuring pressure on your hand your body is already moving towards the desk, making the decision for you.
Your heart is already thudding in your eardrums by the time you settle on top of Suguru’s study desk. Suguru immediately shifts into instructor mode, picking his glasses up off the floor and adjusting them back on his face. 
He directs you to lean back and relax and soon your shoulders are against the wall behind the desk as you are propped up on your elbows. 
You yelp as Suguru startles you by grabbing your hips with a firm squeeze and scooches you flush to his pelvis. Feet propped up to the edge as well all you needed were the stirrups and you could have been at the gyno's office, giggling now at the thought.
“Sugu, you can’t be serious. I feel like you’re about to give me a pap, not an orgasm.”
Suguru’s mouth twitches up into a smirk.
“There’s a reason they have you lie in this position, makes for easier access. If you’re going to squirt I’m going to need to find that slutty lil’ gland of yours and I don’t mean your clit, Bunny.” 
You huffed but you were otherwise agreeable. 
You couldn’t deny you were a slut especially not now with your legs spread open wide exposing your bright yellow cheer-panty clad cunt to Suguru. Laid out like this, the thin layer of spandex is stretched to its absolute limits causing your chubby pussy lips to poke out of the sides. This does not go unnoticed by Suguru who hadn’t taken his eyes off your lower half since you initially spread your legs. 
His Adam's apple bobbed heavily as he swallowed and breathed deeply at the sight of you.
Suguru can barely believe he’s really about to do this. 
If anything he is overconfident in his abilities, despite his lack of actual on-the-job experience so to speak. From all his studying as a pre-med student, books, health articles and yes even porn, Suguru could say he had an in-depth understanding of human anatomy and bodily functions. 
But that didn’t mean he didn’t need to calm himself enough to stop his balmy palms from sweating further at the reality of finally being allowed to actually touch you.
“I’ll be in your care then, Doctor Geto.”
You make a lighthearted joke with a nervous laugh to ease your own anticipation. However the joke has the opposite effect for Suguru and he snaps his head up as if you had activated something in him. 
Suguru’s fiery expression sends shivers down your back. Although as quickly as it appeared it was gone again, replaced by his trademark comforting grin. Even so your fingers pressed a bit deeper into the wood beneath you, steadying your frazzling nerves.
“Well aren’t you a lucky one then, being my first patient ever. You’ll be a good little pussy and listen to me, won't you?”
Suguru is looking down again, speaking directly to your cunt who is tingling in response to his voice. It’s fucking lewd. But then again so is the studious scrutiny of Suguru’s eyes so single-mindedly transfixed to your cunt you wonder if his leer alone could dissolve the cheer panties right off of you. 
You let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding once Suguru finally starts touching you. 
But not your pussy just yet. 
His long thick fingers are surprisingly cool on your skin as they press into your warmth, ghosting just above your knee on both sides. 
Gentle strokes travel down along your inner thighs and up again to lightly tickle the backs of your legs. You tense and squirm beneath him when your eyes meet Suguru’s own.
“Sugu–”
“Patience, Bunny. It’s no wonder you never cum if you’re so used to diving right in. You need to relax first. This won’t happen if you aren’t relaxed, can you try to do that for me?”
You nodded back at him, yet the goosebumps left in the wake of Suguru’s soft caresses had you trembling. So used to rushed thrusts and hurried grasps, you don’t know how to just take it in the moment. 
You had never been touched this delicately before.
Already oversensitive, if anything you felt like the one who was the virgin in this situation.
If Suguru notices, he says nothing. His touches are progressively firmer, the light pets morphing into soft squeezes and circular strokes of the hand once he traverses closer to your core.
“You know Bunny, the inner thigh area is an erogenous zone? Can you say that, Y/N? Ero-gen-ous?
Suguru pronounces the word out for you as his heavy muscular hands make their way to the crease of your inner thighs, his hands once more perilously close to your pussy as he pauses looking up at you again expectantly.
“Say it, Y/N.”
Your cunt clenches at his command and it leaves you stuttering. Heat blossoms across your cheeks from how needy you sound choking out the word. 
“Er-Ero-gennn-ous.”
Suguru rewards you by moving his hands again but to your dismay they pass your core to dig into your hips, his thumbs swirling over your hip bones. He leans his body in closer to you and you break eye contact to turn your head away lest you really start falling apart in his hands.
“Good girl. Ya know, you’re quite bright with the right motivation, Bunny.”
Puffs of moist heat glide over the tip of your ear as his lips are only millimeters away from your skin. His words stimulate a deep in your gut reaching all the way down to your toes, trying to resist how much he’s affecting you. 
Suguru chuckles at your bashfulness.
“Are you always this shy, Bunny? Or does that honor just belong to me?”
You whimpered. You aren’t sure how you got here. 
How was Suguru, a nerdy virgin, making you come undone like this? You didn’t know where the darkness that crept up on the edges of his eyes was coming from either, yet you squirm in anticipation despite yourself. 
You loved it. 
Always a know-it-all, so you would hate to admit it outloud, but Suguru was already making you feel more excitement than any frat boy you had been with. Lack of hands-on experience be damned. You’re losing it as his lips sensually flutter against your collarbone. 
“Y-you s-said only fingers, S-Sugu!”
Your voice lacks any real reprimand as you are arching up into his touches and quivering for more. Suguru obliges as he alternates between delicate nips and open mouth kisses sinfully marking you. Groaning into the crook of your neck Suguru savors the lingering taste of your perfume and the natural saltiness of your skin. 
Returning his attention back to your ear Suguru’s breath trails over your skin until your lobe is once again trapped between his moist lips. He lightly tugs it between his teeth before giving it a sharp bite.
“AHH!”
The sting sends a jolt of electricity shooting straight into your cunt and a strangled noise escapes your lips. Your knees are starting to buckle but Suguru’s quick reflexes stopped your legs from clamping together all the way, bracing you. 
Taking your hands and leading them to the backs of your thighs, Suguru is making you steady yourself back into a spread position for him and gives you strict instructions not to move.
“Good girl… This should be more than obvious now Bunny, but there are erogenous zones all over your body that connect to the pleasure nerve endings here.”
Suguru’s voice is silky as his index finger tows long strokes over the slit of your clothed cunt and applies pressure on your clit for emphasis. Whines fumble out of you when Suguru switches from steady swipes to idle flicks with pads of his fingers and your legs twitch again once more.
“It's important to simulate multiple areas simultaneously and I only have two hands, don’t I? You don’t mind Y/N do you?”
You still can’t bear to look Suguru in the eyes, much less respond vocally so you just shake your head. 
“Feeling good, Bunny? Which do you like better, the strokes or the flicks?”
Your eyes squeeze shut from Suguru demonstrating both over your covered cunt. You try not to tear up but the amount of autonomy you had in this situation was new to you. Embarrassed and vulnerable you’re realizing that in spite of all your sexual experiences you still don’t feel comfortable expressing your needs.
“Hey, Y/N–”
Suguru clutches your face in his massive grip, squishing both your cheeks with a single hand and forcing your glassy eyes back on him. It was hard to focus on what he was saying anyway while you cooed from the feather-like circles he had been drawing on your clit.
“–you have to talk to me. This and sex in general, is just another form of communication. It won't work well and you definitely won’t squirt unless you can express to your partner what feels good and what doesn’t.”  
You are sure he can feel the heat gathering in your cheeks radiating off your skin.
“Stop t-teasing S-Sugu… I-I know you can tell it’s good.”
Suguru eases his hold on you, his smirk deepening at your complaint.
“Oh I can, tell Bunny. Believe me. Your pussy, she’s so sensitive no matter how much you try to hide it from me. But I still need to hear it from your mouth regardless.”
The hand playing with your cunt splays out and Suguru fully cups you in his hands. The pulsing of your clit vibrates against his palm even through your panties.
“If you’re going to be a slut Bunny, at least be a vocal one. Be a slut for your own pleasure...this fat n’pretty cunt of yours deserves it.” 
Suguru’s mouth is mere millimeters above yours, floating suspended both your lips are parted as you’re sharing the same air. The dizzying effect of breathing him in only intensifies with his words.
“Or perhaps you just get off on the idea of being free use?”
Suguru chuckles but doesn’t make you answer that question in favor of pulling back from you to inspect the large wet spot you soaked through your cheer panties from all of his taunting.
Pleased he gives your clothed pussy a smack, the moisture underneath the flimsy fabric evident in the soft squelchy sound that fills the room.
Smack, another moist sound echoes from your cunt.
“Oh, looks like she’s ready. This mouth down here is so much more talkative, Bunny.”
Hooking his fingers in the fabric Suguru peels your soaked cheer panties to the side, whistling at the thick strings of your essence that lingered between your cunt and your panties.
“So fucking wet, the prettiest most obedient lil’ pussy, aren’t you?”
A fleeting thought of sassing Suguru since yours is the first real pussy he has actually even seen up close dissipates as soon as your entrance flutters against his two thick fingers that rub over your uncovered opening. 
Involuntary bucking your hips, the burning urge to feel him inside you is all you care about now, pride be damned. 
You want him.
“Sugu–”
“–Shhh!”
Suguru cuts your pleas short.
“Don’t interrupt Doctor Geto when he’s speaking with his favorite patient, Bunny… Your nasty lil’ cunt is really begging for her treatment, isn’t she?”
You pout at him, quieting down while Suguru rewards your submission by slipping into your folds once more, entering fully past your entrance and into your gummy walls. It’s only a single digit inside you but your pussy is hungrily sucking him in deeper, trying to devour his middle finger whole. 
Suguru murmurs intelligible obscenities from how warm and tight you are. He needs to find that spot. 
Your hands struggle to keep your legs from quaking when you feel his finger, longer, thicker and far more pointed than your own, bottom out before languidly dragging delicious pressure back through you, exploring your walls in search of–
“Found her.”
Your ass jerks up and nearly off the desk entirely when his finger roughly prods into the firm spongy spot within your cunt you didn’t even know existed until now. 
“FAH-FAH-FUHHCKKKKKKKKK–”
Your voice cracks and your vision blurs with tears that finally are cascading down your face smudging your mascara. Your reaction has you missing the wide-eyed look of amazement Suguru gives you utterly entranced by the way your entire body quivered from just a solid tap to the gland. 
Suguru had expected an intense reaction. He’d seen and read about how temporary control of muscles and spasms were common when abusing this spot in women. But the one thing textbooks, articles, nor porn could prepare him for was how fucking sexy you’d be while he was doing it. 
The ache in his pants has him groaning as he has to lean nearly his entire weight into you in order to get your lower half to settle back down on the desk. Pausing his movements inside of you, Suguru allows you to catch your breath.
Still the heavy pad of his finger is weighing down on you with enough force you still need to suck in your breaths, barely able to squeak out words.
“W-Wh-What is th-that S-Suguuu?!”
Suguru tells you not to worry about the actual name. It’s not very sexy, so you won’t remember it and it’s important that you do, so eventually he tells you to just call it the g-spot. 
You groan at the loss of pressure on your g-spot when Suguru removes himself from you entirely in order to bring the finger that had been inside you to his lips. Watching him savoring the essence of your sweet cunt on his tongue, you couldn’t take any longer, finding your voice. 
“Su-Surugu, N-Need–N-need more. P—please!”
Suguru obliges, slapping the fat of your ass teetering off the desk and lifts you as his knee slides under your hip. Leaning into you further, Suguru throws one of your shapely legs over his shoulder. 
“Oh, you found your voice Bunny? Then tell me what my patient wants. Where does Doctor Geto need to touch you?”
“M-my pussy– fuck– p-please Sugu, wanna feel good there. She’ll be so good for you!”
Suguru’s pleased smile is your only warning before two of his large fingers plunge-in and bottom out inside your cunt, knocking against your cervix. Your jaw completely slacks as you groan at the sudden intrusion, allowing Suguru the perfect invitation to your mouth. 
Wasting no time, Suguru crashes his lips into yours. The kiss is sloppy, hot and needy as any cries that attempted to leave you were drowned out in the wet cavern of Suguru’s mouth. 
Fuck, you’re greedy as hell. 
The kiss makes Suguru’s head spin and he loses himself in your sinful hunger as you wrap your arms around his neck and begin to dominate the kiss, sucking on his tongue. Soon Suguru finds himself groaning against your lips and slowly rocking his cock into the back of your thigh. Fuck, your body was too responsive, too eager for him to slut you out on his fingers. 
Suguru couldn’t lose sight of the goal though, you needed to squirt so he needed to take back control.
Catching you off guard, he bullies a third finger– his ring finger, into your cunt as well. Breathless you break the kiss, your eyes sinking back into your head as you meet the thrusts of his fingers with the roll of your hips.  
You aren’t able to control the way your body convulses as you writhe against Suguru. His massive body weighed over you as his hair fell in front of his face, hiding his crazed expression from you. 
Suguru is also panting as he vigorously pumps the appendages into you. In and out, swirling them Suguru’s fingers take special care to zigzag sweet torment over your g-spot. 
You’ve only felt the slight ghostings of this feeling before, nothing so pointed and focused on attacking this spot, while stretching your pussy so well in the process. You want– no need, to feel Suguru’s cock inside you next. 
You could tell he must be huge. Heat was radiating off his girthy bulge as it twitched up against your ass cheek even through Suguru’s joggers. The thought causes the hot iron coil in your stomach to tense to its breaking point, begging for release.
Suguru notices.
“A-Are you gonna squirt for me, Y/N?”
For the first time his own voice is ragged, set on keeping his promise to you.
“S-Sugu, I-I– I want to but I–” 
Your words catch in your throat as tears that are salty to the taste freely flow past your lips down your chin. You are unsure of what exactly to beg Suguru for even if you could do more than unintelligible babbles at the moment. 
It’s coming– you panic— this feeling!
“W-w-ait! Nooo, S–Su–Sugu… I’m g-gonna pee. S-stop, p-puhleaseee!
Your hands slip against Suguru’s shoulders as you try in vain to push him away. So fearful that Suguru was wrong and you may actually piss all over him and his desk. 
Suguru isn’t having it though, backhanding your clit with a harsh smack, his knuckle bullying into your bud. 
The slap was followed by two more in quick succession, his other hand never slowing inside of you. Disregarding your pleas Suguru ventures even deeper into your guts while pressing down on your lower belly.
“I told you it’s not pee, Bunny. You don’t listen very well, do you?”
Suguru hiss at you, the stress of holding himself back as you fall apart on his fingers was nearly too much, he needed you to lay back, be good for him and take it.
“I-I’m s-sowy, Dr. Geto but– I– wanna–.”
You sniffle back more tears, which has Suguru calming himself in order to soothe you again.
“Shh Bunny, it’s okay– now ask your doctor nicely for what you need. Go on.” 
At this point cuming, squirting, whatever Suguru you requires of you in order to release the feral sensations building within you is an essential need to live as much as taking your next breath.
“Doctor Geto, please let me cum! Sugu please! G-gonna s-squirt, gonna squirt s-so g-good for you!!”
“That’s right baby you will… Now squirt on me Bunny, make a pretty mess all over my fucking fingers.”
Timing a particularly hard jolt to your g-spot with simultaneous pressure from over your belly, has you tipping over the edge. Back arching you feel the gratifying release as you squirt hard, fluids spurting all over Suguru’s fingers and spilling down his forearms. The saccharine pleasure of it all is buzzing throughout every cell in your body as your eyes flutter back into your skull. 
Your entire body feels like an extension of your pussy, pulsing in tune with your cunt and you don’t realize you are even screaming until Suguru’s mouth is on top of yours once again. 
Suguru is tongue fucking your wails all the way back into the depths of your throat until they are mere raspy gurgles.
Riding out your orgasm you protest with choked cries as Suguru's hand abruptly leaves your cunt. Yet before you can process what’s happening you’re mewling loudly again once you feel his lips attacking your cunt. Sucking your clit between his lips, his own groans vibrate into your core making you all the more sensitive. 
Your hands fly to him again, tangling up in his long raven locks and trying to push his head away. 
Too much! You were far too sensitive right now for him to be lapping at your over stimmed cunt like a mad man.
“Stawwp–”
Your slurs fall on deaf ears as Suguru continues, only pulling back briefly to shush you.
“Haven’t got it all out. This pretty pussy is so fucking nasty she can give a little more, can’t you baby? I know she can.”
Suguru is speaking to you but he sounds a million miles away, focused only on your cunt as he returns to suckling on your clit, his teeth scraping lightly. He knows your pussy will give him the answer he is looking for soon enough. 
The iron grip his arms have around your thighs holds you down allowing Suguru unimpeded access to dribble globs of his spit into your folds. His tongue flattens over your clit and his eyes smolder into yours before diving back into your pussy. 
So close to cumming yet again your thick thighs clench around him as you unintentionally smother his face deeper into your core. Suguru ignores any need to take breaths, your cunt being the only sustenance needed as he rams his tongue further into your convulsing hole. 
Shaking his head around sloppily, Suguru is goading your cunt into giving him more and more. His tongue is a mere worshiper in the temple between your thighs, begging your leaking pussy to give him the last morsels of your squirt. 
Not having the willpower to deny him, your pussy gushes out more onto his tongue and shamelessly he swallows all of it as you cum all over again.
By the time Suguru detaches himself from your cunt he looks almost as wrecked as you: hair is matting to the sides of his face, his glasses are clouded with slick and your juices are dripping down his chin. 
Although, now that Suguru has had a taste of you he is left craving more. Not letting a single drop of your juices go to waste Suguru is ferally slurping the drippings off your thighs and lowering his head to even zamboni the overflow of your essence off the desk beneath you. Ravenous with thirst for you Suguru is even using his mouth to squeeze out any droplets he could retrieve from your soaked cheer panties. 
You on the other hand could only heave as you gasped for breath. Your legs are still twitching in the after shock of your intense orgasm and squirt session. Dizzy and dazed you feel yourself fading out, unsure of how much time has passed or what Suguru was still doing between your legs until the familiar ring of your phone slowly guides you back into the present. 
Wiping his face with the back of his hand Suguru stands up and pulls your phone out of his pocket.
The phone is still ringing as he looks down at it and snickers. 
“It’s Toru, Y/N. Answer it.”
You give Suguru a frowny pout. You were barely conscious right now, you couldn't handle a drunkenly energetic Satoru. 
Seeing you making no attempts to move, Suguru answers it for you and Satoru’s voice overflows through the speakerphone.
“Y/N! Y/N! Where are ya at!? We need the beer pong queen to make her appearance, I need a partner! Nanamin is too good to beat without you!”
Suguru held the phone out to you but you could respond in labored puffs.
“Y/N is taking a study break, a bit tired after her lesson.”
“–Oh it's you Suguru!”
You end up tuning Satoru out as he’s begging Suguru to come to the party with you which you already knew wasn’t going to happen even if he didn’t just make you squirt all over him. 
Willing yourself to sit up, your body is  immediately revitalized when your eye is drawn to how bricked Suguru currently is in his dark gray sweats. 
Suguru arches his brow in amusement as you pull him forward by the band of his joggers. You hurriedly fumble to untie them, pushing them and his boxers down to reveal his hard cock. 
The sight of it nearly has you squeeing.
You practically have hearts in your eyes as you gawk at Suguru’s cock, it’s the prettiest you’ve ever seen. The way his girth swayed in front of you as pre marbles on the tip has you openly salivating. To say his length and thickness is above average, was a massive understatement. 
You can’t estimate a size but you know he is huge as you eye the a large vein on the underside of his cock that seemed to weigh him down even though fully erect. You squirmed at the thought of that vein scraping inside your pussy as Suguru pounded you.
You need to feel it. Now.
Nevertheless, it isn’t until Suguru snaps his fingers in front of your face did you realize Gojo was now addressing you again through the phone.
“Y/N! You there?! I failed with Sugu! He’s lame! But you’ll be here soon right???”
A sharp contrast to just 30 mins earlier but partying was the last thing on your mind now. You needed to get Satoru off the phone and Suguru’s cock inside you expeditiously. 
“Mhm-nh, Toru sorry, I–I really need to get a good grade. I need Sugu to tutor me a bit more. C-Can’t afford to flunk out!”
Although you had teased Suguru earlier about popping his cherry, you didn’t care if he was a virgin now. He had more than proved himself despite his lack of hands-on sexual experience. 
You weren’t really paying attention to Satoru any longer as Suguru motions for you to lay back again. Readily, you get in position returning your legs to a stirrup pose. 
Suguru rewards your obedience with his cock slapping against your clit.
“Mmmm…FUHH-CK-AH!”
You don’t care that Satoru is still on the line as Suguru is slipping his cock under your cheer panties, rubbing his fat tip along your folds. His cock sandwiched between your messy cunt and the soaked fabric has Suguru groaning at the crazy sensation, he could bust like this for sure.
“Huh? Oh.. OHHHHHH! Haha, I see, I see! Suguru’s lessons are the best, aren’t they Y/N?”
You’re openly moaning now. Barely registering Toru’s words as Suguru grunts, increasing the pace he’s bullying his cockhead across your clit.
“Y-yeah, the besssst-ahhh!” 
Satoru, feeling more than a bit left out, starts pouting over the phone.
“Hey, no fair playing with Bunny without me Sugu! Let me join ne–” 
Suguru abruptly cuts Satoru’s complaints short, hanging up on him while still rutting his tip over your pussy. His pre leaking out in globs and mixing with your own cum still dripping from you.
He wanted you all to himself, for now at least.
Satoru could fuck off.
“Gawwd Sugu–just fuck m–”
You abruptly stop as your face falls in realization when you feel his warm cum pour over your mound and into your cheer panties. 
Suguru is spilling so much of his thick load into you it's even coming out the sides of your cheer panties and running down into the crack of your ass. A few more jerks of his cock through your folds and he is quickly pulling back to tuck his softening length back into his sweats.
“N-no,no no no S-Sugu! Suguru! I-t’s okay you came fast but please— fuck me. I’ll even let you raw me and cum inside puhleaseeee Sugu– need to squirt again all over your cock!”
You don’t know the kind of willpower it takes Suguru to refuse you. 
Probably one of the hardest things he’s done in his life, especially as fresh tears trickle from your eyes and he knows you’d be crying just as adorably on his cock. You were too sexy, too perfect and he wanted to fuck you just as badly as he knew you wanted him to.
BUT– more importantly he wanted to enjoy you more than for a quick fuck and if he indulged you now, he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t be relentlessly tearing up your sweet slutty pussy all night. 
If you didn’t start studying for real you were definitely going to get kicked out of school and he can’t have that, especially not now after this. 
Masking his own lust with a stern instructor voice Suguru chastises you as he ties his hair back onto a bun and begins to give his glasses a proper cleaning before adjusting the books and papers on his desks around you back into their correct piles.
“Absolutely out of the question. Now be a good girl and pull up your panties, Y/N. We have a lot of ground to cover tonight.”
Sticky with Suguru’s cum, frustrated and still horny you groaned loudly but obeyed. You knew Suguru meant business. 
You hoped if you listened to him well enough you’d get what you wanted by the end of the night. It would suck for you to suffer through studying but it was the best motivation you had in literal years. 
Unfortunately for you, Suguru, focused on the bigger picture, had a larger goal in mind.
“Only smart sluts get dick, Bunny. You’d better get an A on that exam Monday if you really want this cock.”
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© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2024. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ.
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a/n: I would be willing to write a part 2 (some time in the future) of y/n popping Sugu cherry or even y/n getting double teamed by 'The Boom Bros' as a 'thank you' for taking the fall for them if there was interest. I'm kind of fond of this little college AU.
Reblog for an anatomy lesson from Nerd!Geto but likes and comments are also appreciated as always!
NEXT is back to my own ficcys! Upcoming: The Nursery - Yakuza!Toji x Y/N - teaser/taglist: ╰┈➤here. Delays cause I've been without my adhd meds and getting the first part of the fic beta'd for once but I FINALLY got them today and was able to finish this fic so hopefully I can get back on track! send me good vibes y'all!
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teamatsumu · 2 months
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compression. (sakusa kiyoomi x reader)
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summary: atsumu is the perfect person to feed your obsession with kiyoomi’s arms.
word count: 1172
warnings: swearing, very mildly suggestive (if you squint), detailed descriptions of kiyoomi’s arms in compression sleeves so it’s not for the faint hearted
tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi
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When you studied Marketing and Communications in university, you didn’t exactly anticipate that your future would include you managing a V League Division 1 sports team. But every day when you went into work, you thanked the gods above that this is where your career path had led you, because that meant you could ogle Sakusa Kiyoomi and his infamous compression sleeves all day.
Oftentimes you were certain Kiyoomi didn’t mean anything by them. For him, they were practical. They kept his arms taut and ready for the ball. They made his movements sharper. He received the ball better. He didn’t have to feel his bare skin on the dirty court. These were all reasons you had heard straight out of his mouth. When you heard him mention them so nonchalantly, it almost made you feel bad for the absolutely sinful- borderline deranged- thoughts you had in your head about the way those sleeves made his arms look.
You were well aware of the kind of thoughts Kiyoomi’s choice of athletic wear caused among his fans. To put it simply and bluntly, they went feral over it. There were whole Twitter accounts dedicated to just his arms, or his chest. And as someone who often managed social media profiles for some of the members, you got to see the most unhinged of these comments with your own two eyes. And you would be the first to (secretly) admit that you agreed with 90% of what was being said, because holy shit did those sleeves do something to you.
Most of the time during practice, you could feel your eyes drift back over to the man in question, wearing a black sports tee and those godforsaken sleeves, working up quite the set as they played set after set to prepare for their next game. As the hours passed, Kiyoomi would get more and more disheveled, curls becoming unruly enough that he would grab a towel, biceps flexing as he ran it over the nape of his neck and dipped into the collar of his shirt. Christ almighty.
You should’ve known that you would eventually get caught. But if it was anyone who would notice, you had expected it to be Meian or maybe Coach Foster. But the person who did bring it up to you happened to be the biggest nightmare in this scenario; Miya Atsumu.
“Ya should be a little less obvious ‘bout it.” He commented when he trudged over to the bench where you sat, grabbing a water bottle and beginning to chug. You tore your eyes from Kiyoomi who now had his back to you, the muscles under his shirt flexing with every movement. You raised an eyebrow at the blond, not yet correlating his words with your hidden obsession. He placed the bottle down and placed a hand on his hip, giving you a knowing smirk.
“A blind grandma could notice the way yer lookin’ at him.”
Your eyes widened and cheeks flamed when he nudged his head in Kiyoomi’s direction, and you knew you had been caught. You clenched your jaw hard.
“You say a single word-”
He threw his hands up as if in surrender, effectively silencing your threat in its tracks.
“I won’t, promise! But there is one thing…..”
You groaned loudly, throwing your head back. Of course, of fucking course he would blackmail you with this.
“What do you want?” You deadpanned, glaring at him and preparing for the worst.
Atsumu looked a bit affronted, as if the mere insinuation that he might want something was preposterous to him. You gave him another tired look, until he sighed and gave up, plopping down heavily on the bench next to you.
“A phone number. Ya know that cute girl who comes by once a month? From the Volleyball Association?”
“No.”
Atsumu’s mouth dropped like a child who just got slapped. “Hey c’mon! Ya didn’t even hear me out!”
You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling a characteristic frontal headache begin to build, courtesy of Miya Atsumu. “I’m tired of setting you up with people, Tsumu! It won’t end well, as always-”
“I’ll get you a picture of Omi with his compression sleeves.”
You give him an unimpressed look. “I can get hundreds of those off the internet.”
“I’ll get you a picture of Omi with just his compression sleeves.”
That made you halt in your tracks. You searched Atsumu’s face for any form of mockery or lie, and you found none. Your eyebrows shot up when you realized he was being serious.
“In the locker room. I can get it for ya today.”
Oh my god. Instinctively, your eyes darted over to the man in question, who was talking to Hinata about something. It looked like volleyball tips since he had his arms before him in a receiving position, and Hinata was rapidly nodding to what he was saying.
“No.” You shook your head. “No, that’s wrong.”
“I’ll take a selfie with him, yeah? He will know there’s a photo. And I can send it in the groupchat.”
You look back at Atsumu, seriously contemplating his offer. He kept yapping, as per usual, thinking that the more he talked, the likelier it would be to convince you. And the bastard was right, it was working.
“No one else will bat an eye. We see each other in the lockers all the time. No big deal.”
You bit your lip in thought. The possibility of seeing Kiyoomi shirtless and only in compression sleeves had your pulse rising.
“And you just want her number in return?”
Atsumu nodded eagerly. You gave him a narrow-eyed glare.
“Send the picture. Then I will give you the number.”
His triumphant grin made it feel like he had already won. “Deal.”
That evening, when your phone pinged with a text notification, you nearly flew across the bed to grab it, opening the picture Atsumu sent in the groupchat with eager fingers and freezing as soon as you laid eyes on it.
Atsumu had held up his end of the bargain spectacularly.
He had taken the picture with Kiyoomi a little further in the background, so he could get the man’s full torso in it. He was facing slightly away from the camera, but his face was turned towards it, capturing the scowl between his eyebrows and the little pout of his mouth. He was gloriously shirtless, still a bit sweaty from practice, and he held his shirt in his hand, one arm flexed as he held it while the other was held carelessly by his side, compression sleeves hugging the cords of toned muscles just right.
There was another ping, pulling you out of your trance and making you realize just how dry your mouth had gotten. Atsumu had messaged you privately.
“My payment? ;)”
You rolled your eyes and sent him the number, immediately going back to the picture and starring it for future reference, a tiny smile quirking up the corner of your lip as you did so.
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foone · 1 year
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Anomalous Item #4742: A set of 173 VHS tapes with blank labels.
When a tape label is filled out (there are provided fields for title, director, and year) and then placed into any functioning VCR, the film listed will play, regardless of if it existed before the tape was played.
This was first believed to be an effect limited to the tapes, ie, the tapes were somehow generating the movie themselves through some method similar to AI art generation, but after initial tests were performed the paratime division discovered the effect is actually antichronological: when played, the tapes don't simply create the movie named, they alter the past so that the movie mentioned was created.
Thus, after a tape is labeled and played, it can be found on streaming services and in DVD rental stores. The directors, if still alive, will recall making the film, and actors who were active at the time the film was "made" will have anecdotes about events that happened in the film.
This can have ripple effects as well; during the 9th test, the film Big Trouble in Little China, 1986, directed by John Carpenter, was created. Besides the immediate effects of creating a new film that hadn't existed, an indirect effect was that the film Alien 2, 1985, John Carpenter, ceased to exist. Instead, the sequel to the 1979 film Alien (directed by Ridley Scott) was titled Aliens and directed by James Cameron. It's believed that by adding a new movie to the timeline of John Carpenter's direction, he no longer had time to direct one of the works he had directed in the original timeline, as he would have been busy directing the newly-added film, and directing roles therefore passed to another director.
Use of the tapes can also implicitly affect the lifespan of directors. In test #17, Researcher J. Calhoun attempted to generate a film that couldn't possibly exist: a prequel to a film made by a director who had died decades beforehand.
According to paratime research, the writing of "Star Wars: Episode 1, 1999, George Lucas" on the tape and the subsequent viewing undid the 1981 death of Mr. Lucas, causing Star Wars: Episode 6: Revenge of the Jedi to come out in 1983 instead of 1985, be titled "Return of the Jedi" instead, and it would be directed by George Lucas instead of Steven Spielberg.
This obviously had additional effects as it didn't merely extend the lifespan of George Lucas by an additional 18 years: at time of writing in 2022, he is still alive at the age of 78. It's therefore believed that the object doesn't unnaturally extend the lifespan of the director, it instead reshapes the flow of time so that any events that would stop them from filming the listed movie do not happen.
After discovery of their history altering nature, the remaining anomalous objects have been locked in secure storage at site #22. No further testing is authorized, and emergency use requires level #6 authorization, which will only be granted in the face of imminent disaster requiring paratime remedies.
Article update[2022-11-20]: an incident occurred where it was discovered that former researcher K. Synnol had acquired one of the tapes (see investigation document 2483 for details) and was attempting to use it for history modification, without approval. The paratime division detected the impending history alteration and an assault team was dispatched. Synnol was apprehended before they could complete the use of the tape, however the label WAS filled out but the tape remained unwatched. What effects, if any, the partial use of the anomalous artifact would have on the timeline is unknown, but in previous testing the film only came into being when the labeled tape was placed into a VCR and watched.
See photo attachment #2, below, for artifact 1B, recovered after the Synnol event.
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fangirl-dot-com · 23 hours
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Drive To Survive
key:
indented italics - flashbacks, display other than interview, screen changes
February 14, 2025 
The screen is dark as the newest episode of Drive To Survive plays. 
The title read “The Rookie.” It was finally time for the episode that everyone had been waiting for since the 2024 season ended. 
The opening scene starts with multiple flashes of cameras. If people watched the 2023 season, they would know exactly what circuit it was. The Elvis impersonators would give it away as well. 
Standing in a circle was the current world champion, two Ferrari drivers, and the Papaya duo. They smiled forced smirks for the cameras. Yet, they dropped them once they realized the cameras were not pointing to them. The Netflix camera filmed them all turning to face the front. Most of the drivers had confused looks. 
“I didn’t know Checo was a Cars fan,” the microphone picked up the words from the red clad Spaniard. 
Max smirked, the camera zooming in on the Dutchman. 
“He’s not.” 
The camera angle changes to the back of a young woman, blond hair bouncing with every step. A red scarf flowed behind her, white body suit sparkling under the flashes of all the cameras. 
The screen flashed the title before a producer chair was put in a spotlight. The camera angle switched to a back view as a driver walked around and sat in the chair. Their face is completely nonvisible from the camera angle, but people know who it is. 
The lights dim before brightening, and the camera angle is back on the chair with the driver. Blond hair reflects the lighting, as well as a nice smile. The episode clapper is in her hands.  
“Please state your name and team for the camera.” 
The woman in the chair took a breath. 
“My name is Y/n L/n and I drive for the Italian team, Scuderia Ferrari.” 
She clapped the black and white box. A loud beep sounded in the studio as the camera crew started to laugh. The girl in the chair started giggling as well, before acting serious again. 
“Yeah, that was a lie. I drive for the best, the Honda RBPT Oracle Red Bull Racing Formula 1 team. Red doesn’t look the best on me. I prefer navy.” 
She smiles, trying not to laugh once more. 
The camera quickly cuts to black and then fades into a clip, that looks similar to a home video. A young girl is smiling for the camera, tiniest helmet in her hand.  
“How old were you when you started karting?” a voice sounded over the video. 
The blond cocked her head in thought. She smiled at the nostalgia that was running through her mind. 
“I was five.” 
The same little girl was now in a kart, doing donuts on a driveway. 
“My parents had gotten me a kart as a present. They had been talking about starting me as soon as possible. I mean, I had toy cars before for practice. My first one was a bright pink Barbie car and I got that when I was 3.” 
The clip changes to a different scene. This time, it was of a karting circuit. Multiple kids were aiming for the first place spot, but a singular pink kart was going around the outside, taking it from them.  
“I remember my first time winning. It was 2008, a few months after I got my kart. All the boys there looked at me weird when I showed up with my hot pink helmet.” 
“Where you scared?” the interviewer leaned in, awaiting the answer. 
“Of the boys? Not one bit. They should have been more scared of me.” 
It was now a black screen, but multiple voices shouted over it. 
“Y/n L/n wins her first feature karting race. 
“That is another win for the female karter! 
“Y/n L/n wins the European Division for karting in 2010! 
“L/n takes the 2012 Italian Karting Division Championship!” 
“Karting will always be a part of me.” 
“Who kept you going?” 
The girl gave a sad smile to the camera as she looked down at her hands. She knew she had given them permission to talk about the subject. She just didn’t know that they’d go right off the bat. 
“My godfather, Lorenzo.” 
The screen changed to a clip of the small girl running to a taller man. The man was knelt down in the grass, arms open wide to catch the running girl. A gentle smile was on his face as he looked at the trophy in the child’s arms: almost too big for her to carry on her own. 
“I believe that without him, I wouldn’t be in this chair. I owe it all to him.” 
The scene changes once again, to multiple clips of an F4 and F3 car crossing the finish line. 
“Y/n L/n wins her first F4 race of the season! 
“Is she going to take home the championship today? Yes she does! Y/n L/n is the 2018 Formula 4 Champion!
“It is a new year and we are seeing a lot of new rookies in Formula 3. Hold on, is that Y/n L/n? Ah it is! So glad to see the girl here today especially after last year! 
One of the regulars on the show, Will Buxton, was now in the seat. 
“What are your thoughts on L/n’s rise in Formula 3?” 
Will leaned in, getting focused. 
“You have to have such a good foundation in your family and close friends, to be supported, to be good like that. Because without good support, a driver cannot be a good driver.” 
“L/n is across the line to take home her first F3 race win. We were seeing her looking a bit down earlier, so I hope this brings her spirits up because she is making history today.” 
“So, I was disowned right before that race that I won in F3.” The blond shrugged. “I really never had any good support other than like three people. At the time, two of them were just staff too.” 
She giggled at the revelation, knowing what Buxton had said beforehand. 
“Another win for L/n, making her the 2019 Formula 3 champion. Ladies and gentlemen, you do not want to miss watching this racer ever again.” 
Somber music now plays in the background. 
“How nervous were you when you made the jump from the Formula 3 division to Formula 2.” 
The girl gave a nervous scoff. “I was terrified.”
Clips of pictures filled the screen. 
“I had just lost the only person in the world who I know still cared for me.” 
“Heir to the Alessandrino Fortune Has Died” 
“Former Italian Karting Champion Lorenzo Alessandrino Has Passed Away” 
“Lorenzo Alessandrino, 2001 Formula 2 Champion, Is Dead” 
“Y/n L/n Makes Motor Sport History as the First Woman To Start in Formula 2” 
“L/n Takes the Formula 2 Feature Race” 
“Y/n L/n, History Maker: First Female To Win a Formula 2 Race” 
The headlines fade into a video of the podium. A 25-year-old Max Verstappen is visible, holding the 1st place trophy. He is seen watching the 17-year-old Y/n L/n shed some tears during her national anthem, while pointing to the sky when it finished. He gingerly stepped out and handed it to her when cued. She graciously took it from his hands and offered him a wide smile. Max stepped back, watching the young girl openly cry in front of thousands. On the inside, he wished he had that strength. 
“I could tell something was off that day.” 
A new driver was in the chair. Male, blond, and in the same team uniform as the female was. Anybody who’s anybody knew exactly who that was. 
He sucked in a breath. “Obviously, I didn’t know her or what she had been through at the time. Now knowing, I wish I had given her a hug.” 
Max let out a chuckle as he reminisced on that day. 
The screen flashed and the woman was back in the chair.
“I knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was.” Her hands waved around. “Max Verstappen, probably one of the greatest drivers to grace the grid. No one just skips most of F3 and all of F2. You have to be great. And that was Max.” 
“Was he your favorite driver on the grid at that time?” 
She let out a snort. “Oh gosh no.” 
Everyone in the studio laughed. 
The scene changed to you sitting next to Charles at one of the debriefs in Las Vegas. You had no clue why they put you there, because last you knew, you weren’t driving. However, they had said something about wanting the pole sitter and you (who had done the fastest lap in FP1) to talk for a bit. 
Your cheeks were a bit heated as you were truly sitting next to your hero. Charles could only smirk at your very shy nature next to him. He watched you rattle off about some part of the car and the balance. 
The Monegasque cut in. 
“See, this is why she is perfect to be Max’s teammate. They could talk all day.” 
Everyone around them laughed, along with you who gave some quiet giggles. You rolled your eyes. 
“Let’s not talk about the fact that you have your own ‘Leclerifying’ hmmm?” 
The girl smirked at the camera. “There was a certain McLaren driver that always tried to get the attention of a select Spaniard. If Lando was obsessed with Carlos. I was obsessed with the other Ferrari driver. I tried to get his attention on Twitter, er, well now X a couple of times. It was still Twitter when I was using it.” 
“Of course I noticed her tweets.” 
A new driver was now in the seat once again. This time, he wore the iconic Rosso Corsa team polo.  
Charles smiled as he looked down at the multiple rings on his finger. His hand came up to his neck to fidget with a certain necklace. His smile grew as he thought on the memories. 
“I thought it was sweet. A young driver was trying to keep up with the big leagues. I’m pretty sure I responded a couple of times. And Sebastian had put in a good word for her.”
“Sebastian?”
Charles’s eyes widened as he smirked. 
“Vettel. He’s known her for longer than anyone here has.”  
The scene changed again. 
The girl was back as she clapped her hands.
“Charles made my day whenever he responded. To me it was probably like if Harry Styles responded to a fangirl’s tweet or Instagram. I always hoped that I’d make it to Formula 1 and could maybe drive beside him.”
“We were told that you know retired driver Sebastian Vettel.” 
The blond smirked, not nervous but confident. 
“Yeah, I know him. He was really good friends with my godfather.” 
She leans forwards and fixes her shorts. 
“It’s kind of how Max was close to the Schumacher family. Lorenzo worked with Seb multiple times in the very early 2000’s when Seb was still in karting. I want to say probably even before I was born as well. He was a little bit older than Seb, more like a mentor. I was able to catch up with Sebastian around 2020 and I got to meet a few more people.”
“People such as?” they prodded. 
“Kimi, Nico, Mark. I’m pretty sure I met Lewis like once though when I was pretty young. Like probably around 2015. I got to watch a couple of Formula 1 races with them in 2020.”  
The camera cuts to a man wearing the Mercedes logo on his polo. His braids are kept nicely as he smiles at the camera. They hand him a picture of you and him in 2015. His eyes are wide as he keeps looking at the photo and then to the camera. 
“This was her?” Lewis questioned, letting out a small laugh. His eyes squint as he tries to get a closer look in the dark room. 
The scene changes once again, the female driver back in the seat.
“Were you nervous that you might not have made it? To Formula 1 after what happened in 2020?” 
The blond looked down at her hands. 
“There were a few years where I was convinced that I wouldn’t.”  
The screen fades to more headlines. 
“Y/n L/n enters a second year of Formula 2 with PREMA” 
“The Future for F2’s Only Female Driver is Uncertain” 
“L/n Is Out of the Last F2 Race of the Season” 
“PREMA Drops L/n for Her F2 Final Season?” 
A clip of a meeting of some sorts flashed on the screen. You were looking quite down as you picked at the end of a table as someone read off a paper. You didn’t even want to pay attention as they were nailing the final nail into the coffin.
“Prema Racing has decided to let go of driver number 89, Y/n L/n. After the 2022 season, she will no longer race for or have any affiliations with Prema and will be replaced by Ollie Bearman.” 
You spoke up. “But I have a contract until the end of 2023.” 
The representative glared at you, before looking back at the page and kept reading. “Since driver 89 has underperformed in the past 2 years, Prema has decided to break contract. Compensation will be sent at a later time.” 
Vito had silently grasped your shoulder to offer you some comfort, but the hurt had already been done. You were going into a season for the first time since F4, you didn’t have a secured future in the sport. 
Ollie was sitting on the other side, watching you sadly as they basically read your death sentence. The camera zoomed in on you playing with a pen. If one were to look closely, they could see tears streaming down your cheeks. 
Will was back in the seat. 
“A driver without a contract or team cannot drive.” 
The scene changes back to the driver. 
“I mean. I had other options. On the side I was talking to Sebastian and even Nico. I was trying to keep my eyes open for something, anything. Except, it turned out that I didn’t need to.” 
More headlines flashed.  
“DAMS To Sign Both Leclerc and L/n for 2023” 
“Y/n L/n Wins First Two Races of the 2023 Formula 2 Season” 
“L/n Wins Her Third Race with Teammate Arthur Leclerc Behind Her” 
“Y/n L/n Makes History Once Again: First Female To Win Formula 2 Championship” 
“Y/n L/n: Youngest Driver To Win F2 Championship” 
The girl is back in the chair, the spotlight on her. 
“I didn’t know that I’d get the championship my final year. I was skeptical. I really thought that I wouldn’t be able to, since it was my final year, I had been dropped, and I had a new teammate. But I had a really good teammate and a better team. They really put everything into me being the best driver.” 
“What did you think would happen after everything was over? You had won the championship with 1 race to spare.” 
The girl swallowed before speaking. “Obviously, I thought I didn’t have many options. At the time, it seemed as though every door was closed. I kept talking to my manager about it, and every time he said he would come back empty handed. I even talked to him that morning, and he just had a sad smile on his face.” She paused. “I knew that even though I could be the champion, I had nowhere to go after that.” 
The person in the chair changed. 
“So, that was all a lie,” Vito spoke to the camera, a smile on his face. 
The scene had changed. Vito Accardi, Y/n L/n’s manager, was seated in a chair. It looked like he was stressing over his laptop. Stella, L/n’s  race engineer at the time of 2023, was seated across from him. He was silently tapping a pen on the table as he looked over the words on the screen.  
“Too many junk emails?” she teased, settling into her chair. 
The male shook his head. 
The screen showed multiple contracts up at once, lines upon lines were highlighted. The headers at the top of each contract showed very recognizable logos. 
He smirked as he looked directly at the camera. “I couldn’t tell her anything until I knew that there was something for certain.” 
“How many teams wanted her?” 
“All of them.” 
The scene changed to a past driver’s get-together: one that no one had seen before. The group consisted of Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, Fernando Alonso, Daniel Ricciardo. An odd group, but they were just waiting around (or hiding on a Wednesday). 
Charles was looking down at his phone, while Max was watching him closely. The Monegasque’s fingers were typing at a lightning speed. 
Lando was the one to point it out. 
“What’s got you in a tizzy?” the Briton asked, pulling Charles out of whatever fog he was in. He quickly turned his phone off. 
“Ferrari is wanting to sign someone else, but wouldn’t be able to do so until 2025. Except her manager insists on a seat for 2024.” 
Lewis had his interest piqued. “It is Y/n L/n?” 
“Yeah. My brother has put in great words for her, along with Sebastian. Pierre also says that Alpine is thinking of options too.  She’s,” he huffed, “very good. Almost a little too good.”  
The other Mercedes driver took a sip of his drink. “Toto was just talking to me about that, but he said the same thing. There aren’t any seats available until 2025. But he wants her.” 
Lando rolled his eyes. “So we’ve all gotten the talk about how all the team principals want to sign her. Even McLaren is speaking about how to get her a seat somewhere. Testing driver or something like that.” 
The older Spaniard spoke up. “It would be foolish not to. She has generational talent. Stroll is looking at her as well.” 
“So are we. Except there aren’t any seats,” an Aussie added. 
Max was quietly reading almost every article he could get his hands on about her. In the back of his mind, he knew that Checo was going to retire after this year (especially after what happened at Mexico). He quickly sent one to Christian, only getting a thumbs up. 
Daniel bumped Max. “You’ve been quiet over there. What are your thoughts on the potential rookie?” 
The Dutchman looked up. “What rookie?”
The scene changed back to the Italian man. 
“I’ve been her manager for years. I knew exactly what she needed at that moment. Sure, I could have told her, but I knew she wanted to race in 2024 and not wait. I’m not her manager for nothing.” 
“How did you get in touch with Red Bull’s Christian Horner.” 
The man adjusted in the chair. “Well, even though she wasn’t on their junior team, the actual brand Red Bull was one of her sponsors in karting.” 
The scene changes once again, this time the Team Principal of the currently reining team was now in the seat. 
“Vito had gotten in contact with me when she first started F2,” the older Briton said. “But we wanted to see what would happen. We took a chance at Max, way back then. But this was a bit different.” 
The interviewer asked, “Because she was a girl?” 
Christian shook his head. 
“Because she was 16 at the start: younger than Max was by two years. Sure, she turned 17 at the end of the season due to a later birthday in October. But, we took a step back to see what she could do, especially now that they changed the age rules after Max. She was dropped by PREMA, and we almost took the chance then to maybe bring her in as a development driver. But, Vito was adamant about her wanting a championship. She wanted records broken, and she did.” 
“How did everything go down? Before she knew.” 
He smiled.
“I called him right after I got the article from Max. Youngest to win an F2 Championship and a female on top of that.” 
“Was everything pretty smooth sailing?” 
He shook his head. “I was advised not to sign her, but I was told ‘no’ for Max and you see where that got me. I wasn’t going to let her go to a team that wouldn’t let her shine.” 
The scene changes to the RB19 being driven out at the mock track for training. The girl’s white helmet was a stark contrast against the deep navy of the car. The camera panned to the mock pit wall. Multiple people pressed buttons as they watched you take lap after lap. 
A much older man just looked on with pinched eyebrows, not really interested in seeing what the girl had to offer.
After the final testing times had been clocked, he stood up and slammed his papers on a table, before he left the pits. Christian smirked as he watched him stalk off. He knew he made the right call for the second time. 
“How did it feel being in the seat for the first time?” 
The girl, back in the seat, responded, “It felt surreal.” 
She kept talking as the screen faded into clips of the car. 
The aerial view watched as the car look several laps: getting close ups and shots of the car going around the corners.  
“I went from having the door slammed into my face to the door being blown to bits.” 
“Did Vito ever tell you that he was talking to multiple people at once?” 
She looked at the camera. “He did. But he knew what I needed. That’s why he’s been my manager since 2018.” 
The scene changes to multiple flashing cameras as the girl walked into the paddock for the first time in Vegas. The cameras followed as she straight up walked to the group of older guys, introduced herself, and followed Max as he walked away. The rest of the guys watched her animatedly talk to the man who hated every second of the Las Vegas Grand Prix. 
“The beginning of your season was filled with a lot of highs,” 
The screen flashes to multiple clips of you raising trophies, especially highlighting your podium in Bahrain. 
“And lows.” 
The female’s eyebrows raised. “No kidding.” 
The scene changes to your car flipping in Suzuka before panning to people’s reactions. Many people immediately stood up. Others put their hands over their mouths. Many stayed sitting, frozen in shock over what they just saw. 
The screen fades to black, but radio messages can be heard. 
“Kid, you have to answer me.” 
“Tell me you’re ok. You need to respond.” 
“I can’t lose you too.” 
Charles was back in the chair. Tears could be seen in his lash line as he exhaled a shaky breath. He closed his eyes, trying to get over his emotions. 
“A crash like that doesn’t happen every day. It was awful, just waiting to hear back from her. Really took me back to 2014. Reminded me of Jules. On the same track. Rain. I don’t think I would have finished the season if she hadn’t made it.” 
The scene changes to multiple marshals standing around the car, trying to get to you. Except, you were trapped. They didn’t want to start cutting, just in case there was a fuel leak. They did not need for the car to catch fire.  
“I remember watching Lewis just turn around,” George said, now that he was in the seat. “He kept shaking his head and muttering. I couldn’t stop crying.” 
“Y/n is a driver who was shy at the beginning, but then got more comfortable with you as time passed. She became precious to everyone on the grid.” Oscar offered a smile, but it fell short as he remembered Suzuka. 
“There hadn’t-” Lewis began, but cut short. He swallowed before he kept going. “There hadn’t been a crash like that since 2014. And the last time it happened, he didn’t make it. I was honestly preparing myself for the worst.” 
Max shrugged his shoulders, trying to be nonchalant. Yet, anyone could see that his hands were shaking just a bit, his fingers picking at his skin. 
“She just wouldn’t answer. And then they got Arthur Leclerc on the radio, thinking that he could get to her. Even then, she didn’t respond for what felt like hours. We were all waiting, on the pit lane, just hoping that she’d start talking soon.” 
“What did it feel like for you in the car?” 
The female was back in the seat. 
“All I really remember was seeing the sky and the grass as I rolled, and then nothing. I had totally blacked out. When I was coming to, I just remember hearing so much through the radio, I didn’t know what to make of it. I think I laughed as I answered. I was just happy to be alive.” 
“We know that was your first DNF. Thankfully the second wasn’t as bad.” 
“No kidding,” she laughed. “My car just doesn’t have very good balance.” 
“You’ve had lots of podiums. Which one was the most fulfilling?” 
The girl looked up in thought. Her eyes narrowed, truly going over her options. She didn’t want to have to talk about certain matters, but she didn’t want it to be brought up later. 
She answered, “Imola.” 
“What was so special or daunting because of it?” 
The blond harshly inhaled, before smirking a bit. “Well, lot of people knew how it ended.” 
The scene changes to multiple police cars around the paddock. The camera barely caught a glimpse of two people being let away in handcuff before panning over to the group of drivers. The lens zoomed in on your face, a big bruise forming by your eye. Max was standing protectively near you as Christian was still yelling at the people in the car. The other drivers can be seen hovering around the scene. 
Max gulped before he sighed. 
“I knew it was bad, but not this bad. I’m just glad that I had gotten to her in time.” 
The female stretched. “Except I got a trophy out of it, so, I wasn’t too sad.” 
The scene changes to the next race, where most of the drivers were waiting for the parade. They could tell that someone was missing. Except, right when Lando was about to bring it up, you walked in. Sunglasses were on your eyes, trying to hide the ugly yellow and purple blotch on your face. Except, it didn’t do too much to actually hide it. 
“Afternoon,” you said, sipping on a drink that you brought. Your fingers took off your glasses, multiple drivers wincing. “It’s not that bad.” 
Lando rolled his eyes before muttering, “They shouldn’t have been allowed back in.” 
Max handed you an icepack, which you grabbed immediately. Logan brought you into a side hug and let you rest against him.  
The Dutchman let everyone know that you had finally gotten your restraining order approved. Smiles adorned the rest of the drivers’ faces at the news. 
An older Aussie was now in the seat. 
“I wasn’t there when she met everyone. But I watched Max let her follow him, in Vegas. It was cute, ‘cause I’ve never seen Max act like that before. But she’ s been a good teammate to him. Not trying to be rude, but I’m also putting myself down when I say this: she has been the best teammate that Max has ever had.” 
The scene changes to you and Max in a car on the way to a race. The two of you are seated next to each other and phones are in your hands. A sudden gasp from you has you reaching over to Max, your hand smacking his chest. 
The Dutchman winces. “What?” 
“Taylor Swift broke up with Travis Kelce. Fernando has his chance.” 
Viewers would have thought that Max would seem uninterested, but his eyes widened and he was suddenly leaning over, trying to get a good look at your phone. 
“You’re lying.” 
“No I’m not. See?” You just handed your phone over and Max was instantly enthralled with the device, fingers scrolling quickly. 
“It’s definitely like they have a competitive sibling relationship.” 
Max watched as you were talking to Oscar, the afternoon after you hit his car. Max smirked as he walked past and bumped you on purpose. Your head whipped around, trying to find who did that. Once you saw Max’s shoulders shake as he walked away, it was over. You quickly said goodbye to Oscar before running up to Max. 
What he did not expect was for you to jump on his back, almost sending him face first into cement. He stumbled but his arms were quick to grab your legs. Your giggles were loud next to his ear, but Max guessed that he’d let you stay. 
“I know for a fact that it’s been good to see Max a bit more carefree. Y/n really brings out the good in him. She really does that to everyone though.” 
Rain was pouring down in Brazil, due to a hurricane in the area. The race had been canceled and Max was just chilling in the garage. His eyes caught your figure walking out into the downpour. He watched as you just stood there, getting drenched. That was until you started dancing to no music at all. 
Max got up from his seat and walked over to a manager. 
“May I?” he asked, the manager nodding his head. 
He plugged his phone into a jack and clicked on a specific playlist that the two of you had made together. Normally, it would be playing while the two of you warmed up to get ready in the car. But now it was playing as you continued to dance. 
Max quickly joined you and bumped you with his hip. The cameras caught you looking up at your older teammate, whose body was quickly getting drenched. Before long, the two of you were dancing in the rain. 
And very possibly, the other drivers joined in too. 
“She really cares for him. It was like they met and clicked right away.” 
Clips of you and Max filled the screen. Walking together in the paddock, signing things for fans, doing stupid things for media day, congratulating each other after races. 
It showed you checking on him after a DNF, wanting a legitimate answer if he was okay or not. Once Max gave the thumbs up and Mitch told you that he was, the cameras in your car showed how your body visibly relaxed after know that he was ok. 
“Sure, they’ve had their troubles.” 
The scene changes to Max passing you in Monaco. 
Your voice was heard over the scene. “What an asshole.”
The scene changed to you not letting Max pass and him hitting the back of your RB20 in Belgium. 
“That was a rookie mistake.” 
The viewers knew that they had deliberately cut a certain action out of the scene, but it was something that they were actually thankful that Netflix cut. 
“But they always apologize and get back to it. I think that’s how she got her first win. She needed to know that they could truly work as a team.” 
The scene showed you and Max giving each other a big hug in The Netherlands after Max won the Dutch Grand Prix. 
The scene changes once more. 
“How was it? Winning in the city of red.” 
“Words cannot express.” 
The screen showed you walking in on that fateful morning, bright orange car in the background. You waved to the crowds, who seemed to get louder with your attention. Your smile brightly shone as you kept walking, only stopping momentarily for a few autographs and pictures. 
“Y/n L/n On Pole in Monza – Youngest Pole Sitter in F1 History”
“There she goes! Y/n L/n has won the 2024 Italian Grand Prix. She was starving, but now she’s been satiated. The youngest pole sitter and turned that into a win.”  
“Y/n L/n – First Female To Ever Win a Formula 1 Grand Prix” 
"Y/n L/n Hailed as 'The Long Awaited' by Italian Fans"
The camera pans to the girl standing on the nose of her car, hands stretched up reaching for the sky. Max, who had DNF earlier, came over. She grasped him tightly, legs around his waist. Christian was behind them, joining in the celebrations. Soon, the entirety of the crew got over the barrier and flooded the area. The two Ferrari drivers, in a respectable P2 and P3, watched as the female driver was almost covered by people. If it wasn’t them, then they were glad it was her. 
The blond returned back to the seat. 
“Let me tell you, the after party was probably my favorite part of the weekend. Well, besides the winning part.” 
“After Monza, how did the rest of the season go.” 
“Well, I did go on to win 3 more races.” The girl smirked. 
Clips of the number 89 car crossing the finish line cover the screen. 
“Y/n L/n takes her second win of the season after Monza in Mexico! 
It showed you waving to the crowds of Mexico, flag draped over your shoulders with a sombrero on your head.. 
“A homecoming of sorts, Y/n L/n wins a third race under the lights of Las Vegas! 
Your fists were clenched as you shook them while your knees were bent. The while Elvis suit kind of glowed against the night sky. 
“L/n wins her fourth race of the season in Abu Dhabi. Ending a perfect rookie year on a high!” 
The crowds watch you get on your hands and knees before your car. Your hands outstretched in almost a mock bow to the machine. 
The scenes show the you hoisting up three more trophies, all while pointing to the sky after each one.  
The interviewer looked down at their questions, before glancing back up at the girl. 
“What was your worst race? One that you didn’t DNF.” 
The girl didn’t even hesitate. “Qatar.” 
“Why is that?” 
She shrugged. “I thought it would be cooler.” 
The screen goes black, but then changes to a very busy scene. People could see medical personelle holding onto a driver by their arms. Their legs all but dragged along the concrete. Lights flashed around as they brought her to a makeshift cot. Her helmet was ripped off along with the cloth under it. You gasped as you tried to catch your breath. Your cheeks were red and your hair matted with sweat. 
“I need an IV and cooling towels now!” 
“Her blood pressure is dropping, she’s going to pass out again.” 
“Hey, you need to stay awake. Do not close your eyes.” 
“Her breath is more shallow, she needs to cool down. Get buckets of ice and water.” 
It changes to a podium, but only two drivers are present. It was supposed to be a Papaya sandwich after Oscar had gotten his first actual race win. They looked worried and barely stayed for the celebrations. 
The cameras followed as the orange drivers as they ran to the Red Bull garage once the podium was finished. They expected to see you still unconscious, since that was the last they heard before the podium. Yet, they were surprised to see you upright and smiley. An IV was connected to your arm, but you were awake. 
Oscar ran, before wrapping his arms around you. 
“Do not do that again. I can’t believe that you kept racing.” 
You smiled up at him and Lando. 
“What can I say? I’m indestructible.” 
“She’s impressive.” A German voices his opinion now that he’s in the seats. “I don’t wish to say it, but I’m glad she’s at the different team. I don’t know if we would have been able to give her the car that she needed.” 
The interviewer looks a Toto for a moment, before continuing. “You think she’ll leave Red Bull at some point in her career?” 
The Mercedes Team Principal shakes his head. “No. She’s going to stay until she retires. I’m sure of it. But who am I to talk about staying with a team forever.” 
The scene changes to you and Max, both casually hanging out. You sighed as you looked down at your phone. Max quirked an eyebrow, but stayed silent, giving you the go ahead to spill. 
“They’re asking again if I’m going to be staying past 2026.” Your arms waved around before you huffed and they fell at your sides. 
The Dutchman rolled his eyes. “Are you wanting to stay past that?” 
You grinned at the older driver. “Can’t go anywhere when I have the best here.” 
The scene changes to the blond female Red Bull racer, back in the chair once again.
“Do you think you’ll ever move teams?” 
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think I will. It seems that every racer’s dream is to drive for the team in red, but not mine. I’ve always wanted to just race for the team that will get me places, and I think that Red Bull can stay on top for many years to come.” 
The interviewer continued. “What do you think you’ll do after Formula 1.” 
She smirked. 
“After, I want to collect. I’m thinking the triple crown. Probably go to endurance racing and then 1 year of Indy. I know I’ll be able to do it.” 
“If you could have your dream team for Le Mans, who would it be?” 
“Either Leclerc in addition to Max. I don’t think I could be anyone else’s teammate ever.” 
Clips of Charles, Arthur, Y/n, and Max showed on the screen. They might look like an odd bunch, but they worked somehow. Arthur had been promoted at the end of 2024 to actually drive for Porsche in the 2025 Qatar endurance race. Late in the editing, they were able to sneak in a clip of the four of you celebrating after he podiumed.  
“So, we heard that you and Max were able to sign new contracts at the end of 2024. How long are the both of you going to stay.” 
The girl thought for a moment, trying to think of how to word it correctly. 
“Well, we both have kind of open ended contracts like Charles signed in early 2024. Christian said that he’ll do his best to keep us there, but we aren’t bound. I plan to stay for a while and so does Max if they keep giving us good cars that can still dominate.” 
“Do you plan to break any more records? You sure had a lot in the past season as well as early years.” 
“How many do I have?” she asked. 
The interviewer counted. “Five.” 
She smirked for the final time for the episode. “Five? That’s hardly enough. Let’s make it interesting and get 6.”  
Everyone in the room laughed at her joke. 
The screen cut to black and the episode ended. Yet when the female racer retired, they went back and added one more thing. 
“Y/n L/n went on to be the most decorated racer of all time. She ended up breaking 22 records in the duration of her entire motorsport career, that no one has been able to touch since.” 
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43-hugs · 18 days
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mr. too late
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summary: he broke your heart senior year of college, and it changed your life in more ways than one. unfortunately for him, his girlfriend is a fan.
warnings: mentions of cheating, brief angst, college!quinn kinda sucks, popstar!reader, if you like a growth revenge plot this one is for you. 
smut below the cut. minors dni also just a note for everyone: pls don’t allow fictional media to create false expectations for u.
word count: 6.9k
University life was made up of a lot of late nights. Late nights studying for a midterm or cramming for a final exam. Late nights finishing assignments and group projects. Late nights running recklessly around campus with your friends. The late night you first met Quinn Hughes was in a crowded house on the Greek side of campus.
The Wolverine’s had qualified for the Big Ten, which wasn’t a surprise to anyone, but college kids didn’t need much of an excuse to throw a party. Quinn Hughes was the man of the hour, playing a key role in securing their placement. 
All the sports divisions were there, congratulating the hockey team and celebrating a step closer to their names on a plaque. Perpetually concussed, the linesmen of the Michigan University football team did not always have the best ideas. One of those bad ideas was starting a mosh pit in the kitchen. You had just been in the wrong place, wrong time, caught between the counter and the sausage fest that mirrored an amateur wrestling match.
“Hey.” The voice was quiet but firm. “Hey!” The voice was thunderous, like a boom in the enclosed space, and they paused just enough for him to get through to you. “Let her get out before you send yourselves back to the hospital,” an arm wrapped around you, pulling you free from where you were rooted, and guiding you into a less chaotic room.
“Thanks,” you were wide-eyed, and if you were nervous in the middle of a football mosh pit, it was nothing compared to the feeling of Quinn Hughes arm around you, and his firm hand at the small of your back. He released you to get the attention of one of his nearby teammates.
“You all right?” he asked, and then reached over you to grab the bottle of water he had his teammate retrieve, and placed it in your hands. “Drink it all before you leave, okay?”
He didn’t stick around when your friends materialized, other than to greet them in passing. He didn’t bother to introduce himself; he didn’t have to. The rink had been chanting his name not long ago. And he would never know yours, because you were a music major, completely removed from his world.
.
When a clip of a song of yours picked up unexpected traction online, you were prompted to release the full song on YouTube. It put you on the map, industry wise, as well as socially at school. Your classmates were supportive and happy for you, the school administration was pleased with the attention their music program began to receive, your teachers enjoyed a marginal amount of extra funding, and your name became somewhat known to your peers.
You tried not to let it get to your head. The last thing you wanted to be was a one-hit wonder. The pressure you began to pile onto yourself caused you to retreat into practice rooms, creating samples and writing lyrics on end. After a couple months, you released two more songs. While they were both still well received, they didn’t do nearly as well as your first.
Having had enough of your moping, and deciding you really deserved it, your friends dragged you out to the local college bar. Your friends had managed to secure a comfy booth and you had drunk enough to feel like yourself again, but like most kids your age, you wanted more.
Leaning against the bar trying to get the bartender’s attention had never been more of a challenge to you than on that night. Was your shirt not cut low enough? You almost gave up when you felt someone approach immediately behind you, pushing you gently against the bar. You looked over your shoulder to see Quinn Hughes, again seemingly to your rescue.
“’Scuse me,” he called over you and the bartender, who hadn’t so much as made eye contact with you, walked right over. Quinn leaned down, lips to your ear, “tell him what you want, sweetheart.” You choked out your order as his arms snaked low on your waist, pulling you against him. Something about Quinn made you let him, made you like it.
“You smell nice,” he murmured, as he rested his chin against the crook of your neck and you watched the bartender make your drinks, letting him melt you. You could smell the beer heavy on his lips and wondered how many he had. He said something to the bartender that made him laugh. You reached out to give the bartender your card and he glanced at Quinn, before ignoring you again.
Historically, Quinn Hughes always had the prettiest girl in the room. Alluring eyes, perfect bone structure, and unquestionably beautiful. You weren’t that and you were painfully aware of it, yet with his hands on you it felt like you could be. With his lips against your skin as he spoke, “You wanna get out of here, pretty girl?”
You knew that you weren’t his type. You should have known better than to go home with him. You finished your drink quickly.
Because damn, did Quinn Hughes look good in red.
.
In the coming weeks, it seemed like Quinn couldn't get enough of you. He would meet you after your classes to walk you to your next, even if it meant he had to sprint across campus to make it in time for his own. He would bring you study snacks and sneak into your dorm. He liked to text you late into the night, and when he really needed you, he would call. It felt like espionage, sneaking around his shared house on campus. He liked the thrill of it, being with you without really being with you. He thought you felt the same. He thought you understood. 
He couldn't get enough of you, until he did.
You should have known better than to fight him into a relationship...
"How can you say you love me but not want to be with me?" You were hysterical, tears free falling as you screamed at him.
"I just can't right now- fuck! We've been over this." He snapped, rubbing his face in frustration.
"Yeah, 'cause you only love me when your dick's wet."
It wasn't your first and certainly wouldn’t be the last fight you'd have that would end with him holding you and apologizing, empty promises, and sweet nothings in your ear.
 ... because being in a relationship with Quinn wasn’t at all what you thought it would be like. You would soon find out that dating Quinn was a lot better than being his girlfriend.
Because maybe if you were just dating, it wouldn't have affected you so much, the way his car would sometimes smell faintly of a perfume you didn't own.
“A buddy of mine borrowed the car to take his girl out, that's all."
Maybe if you were just dating, it wouldn't have mattered that he was buying girls drinks at the bar. 
“They're my friends, I can't buy my friends drinks?"
Maybe if you were just dating, it wouldn't have hurt so much when you broke up and saw him with your thesis partner the next day. 
But if he hadn't done all that, you wouldn’t have written that song that topped charts. You wouldn’t have won all those awards for it, either. Without which you probably wouldn’t have gotten signed to that big record label when you graduated, and you wouldn’t have been able to finance all those music videos. You certainly wouldn’t have had the resources to fully produce your own albums. Not to mention, wouldn’t have had the support to pull off all six headline tours.
Before you could stop to breathe, you were one of the most decorated artists of your generation. You made music for the brokenhearted and the lovesick to scream, laugh, and cry to. Your personality was well received by your fans, finding your initial shyness endearing, and they loved and supported you through all your phases. With media training, you interviewed well, becoming well-liked across the industry. You lucked out when it came to management, and you were sure to thank and credit staff at every chance. 
Your songs were repeated across radio stations, played in retail stores and restaurants, and viral for use on social media apps alike. You were invited to award shows and other high-scale events. You declined offers to endorse luxury brands. You were nominated for awards and rarely walked away empty handed. The you they knew and the person you knew yourself to be were almost one and the same. 
But back when your song list was limited, having to sing songs about how Quinn had hurt you and having them sung back to you night after night- eventually something died inside you.
You stopped feeling giddy infatuation, and when you did you would chase it and stomp it out. That would explain the list of exes that the press was always sure to keep up to date. You hardly recognized yourself when you saw the paparazzi pictures of yourself next to men you knew well but don’t speak to anymore. Your eyes would glaze over, and you were satisfied, feeling no ache, no stir in your chest. 
After a particularly public entanglement, probably the most negative press you had received in your entire career, you had taken a break from touring and writing new music. With wise direction from your managers, you refrained from responding online. Instead, you produced and worked on tracks for your friends, other like-minded artists that saw you eye to eye.
.
.
.
“Oh my god, babe. She’s coming to Vancouver.” Hailey squealed excitedly on her phone on the couch, “Babe, I have to go. Please can you get us tickets?” 
“Who?” Quinn came over from the kitchen, leaning over the back of the couch. He was glad it was there to support him when he saw your face taking up nearly her whole phone screen.
“She won the Grammy for female artist of the year? Forbes 30 under 30?” She tried to make his memory work when he didn’t recognize you by your name. “She’s been pretty lowkey recently, but she’ll be here in August!” She began to read off her phone, “…She invites you to join her on the Era’s Tour, a journey through fan favorite songs from each Era. Oh my god, I started listening when she had like, half of her first song out. Baby, please.” That was all it took for Quinn to cave in. He had always been a bit of a pushover.
It'll be fine, he told himself, and it was. Until his girlfriend made him listen to every one of your songs and watch every one of your music videos leading up to the concert.
He was surprised at how many songs he recognized that he never knew were yours. He'd heard you playing in arenas on the odd game night. J.T. had one on his playlist that he swore his wife put there, though he never removed it.
His girlfriend insisted on playing your music in his car, so 'she could learn your call and responses.' For fuck's sake, he was a grown man learning your fanchants. But when he looked at his girlfriend and saw how happy it made her, he tanked it, swallowed his pride. 
It’ll be fine. The worst part was that he could hear himself in every song. And while there was no way every track in your extensive discography could possibly be about him (you weren't even together in December), he felt villainized with every song.
He'd never admit it now that it's buried in his past, but he does regret the way he had hurt you, and a handful of other girls in his college years. Blame it on being young. Blame it on being stupid. He never thought he'd have to face it the way he did now, or how he was going to have to face you later. Right, he remembered, she wanted meet and greet tickets, and as long as he could afford it, it was hers. 
.
.
.
The day he had been dreading couldn’t have come sooner. He honestly considered faking Covid. But Hailey was so excited, and she was so beautiful, all dolled up in her pretty purple dress and tiara and sparkly makeup. “She wore a dress like this on the cover of her first album, remember?” She spun around for him, and his breath caught. He nodded, pulling her in for a sweet kiss. He was dressed semi-formally to match because he knew she would appreciate it. She didn’t even have to ask. One night, he could sit through one night.
He drove them to the stadium you had sold out and joined the line for the meet and greet before the show. It wasn’t unlike his meet and greets for the Canucks. A long conference room with merch for purchase on one side, and the line stretched out past the door along the other. There was a table situated at the end of the room, surrounded by staff and bodyguards and professional photographers. Hailey had quickly befriended other fans in line and was preoccupied with exchanging bracelets and words of excitement for the night that was only just beginning. The line was long but moved faster than he wanted, faster than he was ready for it to. Soon you were in view.
Nothing could have prepared him for the way he felt when he saw you, like how he felt waking up next to you for the first time. You were seated behind the table, in jeans and a hoodie. Comfortably dressed but already glammed up for the show. It was an interesting juxtaposition for sure. Your hair was tied up and you looked gorgeous. He felt bad when we wondered if you had always looked like this. He hadn’t seen or thought about you for the better part of a decade, yet you still felt so familiar. He couldn’t take his eyes off you as you took a moment with each fan, chatting and signing and smiling for photos. When their time was up, you always waved with an outreached hand and a sad smile, as if you didn’t want to say goodbye. Then, with a bright smile, you welcomed the next like an old friend. Compared to him and his teammates, you were good at this, he thought. 
And you were. You were really good at your job. 
So good, that you barely batted an eye when you saw him there, behind the prettiest girl in the room. He stood back, letting her interact with you and it was clear he was here for her. 
“You look beautiful,” you told her, because it was true. 
“I can’t believe you’re here; you haven’t been to Vancouver since the 1989 tour. I didn’t get to meet you then, but I was there!” You looked up at her with fond eyes.
“Aw, I’m glad you liked it enough to come back," you laughed at your own joke, prompting a giggle out of her, "and I’m so happy we have this chance to finally meet. What’s your name?” You asked, sharpie in hand. Hailey. She had chosen a lot of your merch. Two hoodies, an oversized tee, a tote bag, a deluxe album, a print, and a baseball cap. You signed each one as she told you about how much your songs helped her through tough times and boy problems. You told her that writing them helped you through the same sort of things. She gave Quinn the hat to wear and the rest of the merch to carry before posing for a picture with you. He also took some on her phone for her. You saw him take out his card to pay for her items and adjust the hat on his head. He didn’t take it off. 
“Well, it looks like you’ve got a good guy over there, so hold on to him for me, okay?” You give her a hug before she leaves. He didn’t say a word to you, and it was probably for the best. You didn’t address him because it was clearly her night. It seemed like you had both grown since leaving Michigan, you thought to yourself. You request a tissue from a staff member nearby and dab at your eyes, ensuring the water pooling there doesn’t ruin your makeup team’s hard work. 
.
The opening act had exited the stage, your tour into film had concluded, and the stadium was left in darkness for the next 5 minutes. Screams would erupt here and there, whenever someone thought they saw movement on stage. 
They heard you before they saw you, the intro to one of your songs hushed the chatter. 
Today was a fairytale, you were the prince.
I used to be a damsel in distress.
Firefly-like lights lit up the stage, which could only be described as magical. You appear singing from a grassy hill in a sea of stars that turned into cotton candy clouds, all inside the stadium. You were now in a beautiful cream coloured gown, and with some help from the crew, your hair and dress fluttered in the ‘wind.’ 
He couldn’t remember the last time he felt nervous like this. You had that effect on him. He gripped the steering wheel, and when he felt ready, he reached over to hold your hand in his. He was driving you back from your first real date. He had taken you to a nearby park with a pretty pond for a picnic. He had done all the prep, brought everything you needed, even a pillow in case you didn’t like sitting on the ground. Despite him driving, his leg bounced a little, waiting for the next red light. When it never came, he took the next best thing, stopping at a stop sign routinely. You looked over in confusion when it seemed like he was waiting at the empty intersection, and he leaned across the centre console to kiss you. Only after a series of honks behind you, did Quinn pull away, and even then he took his time.
A strange sense of pride filled Quinn, watching you. He was proud of you, even if it wasn’t his place to be anymore.
When the song ended, the mechanical hill had let you down, and you approached the front of the stage. The intro to the next song had already begun playing and looping while you interacted with the audience. 
“Hi Vancouver,” were your first words of the night, “I hope tonight is as much of a fairytale for you guys as it is for me. You guys know this next song, it’s one of the first I ever wrote. But what you might not know is that the boy I wrote this song about is actually here tonight.” You teased, bringing a hand over your eye, like a sailor looking out at sea. 
And the crowd went wild. Quinn felt his dinner try to find its way back up when the concert cameras scanned the audience, and they began to boo every guy the camera landed on. Even Hailey was sussing out any nearby male attendees. 
“No, no,” you hushed with a soft smile, “I want to thank him, because this is where it all started,” you opened your arms wide, referring to everything around you, “without him, we wouldn’t have found each other. Thank you, Vancouver, for showing up tonight, and,” you paused, looking down the main stage camera, “Thank you for breaking my heart. You probably haven’t heard this song before, but I hope you like it.” 
Mr. Perfect Face, Mr. Here to Stay.
Mr. Look me in the eye and tell me you would never go away.
If asked, he’d say he felt nothing. How he wished he felt nothing. It reminded him of a time where he had repressed his feelings so much that he did.
The breakup was like a page torn out of a notebook, the edges raw and unsightly. Whoever ripped it did so too quickly, too carelessly. You rarely crossed paths post relationship, just as it had been before. Your worlds were just never meant to collide.  You had been commissioned to provide background music at the annual end of the season athletic banquet. You were there before he arrived, seated at a grand piano in the centre of the room in a flowing cream gown. Just playing. He didn’t even know you played the piano. Your fingers danced over the keys, and your eyes would occasionally close and your eyebrows furrow, focusing on the music as formally dressed guests chattered all around you.  He walked past you without a second look. He couldn't decipher your thoughts even if he wanted to, and he didn’t. 
He was wincing so much that Hailey checked to make sure he was okay. How does he tell her that he’s pretty sure the song is about him, and that it didn’t help that she knew all the words. He couldn’t, so instead, “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
I'll bet she's beautiful, that girl he talks about
And she's got everything that I have to live without
This was probably among the hardest songs for you to perform, and not necessarily vocal wise. It reminded you of every time your love hadn't been reciprocated. 
Quinn was a popular guy. He had always been, since joining the hockey team. He was a fun player to watch. He knew it, too, fully aware of his capabilities on the ice. You never pictured yourself with him, and never pined after him as a result of your realistic mindset. If you had paid any amount of attention to him off the ice, you would have known he was one to move on quick.  You'll never forget the feeling of your heart under your own feet when you opened the door to practice room you had planned to meet Rebecca, your graduating thesis partner. She was there, straddling your ex boyfriend's lap.  Safe to say, you submitted the application to end your thesis partnership.
Oh I stare at the phone, he still hasn't called 
And then you feel so low you can't feel nothing at all
Three songs across three albums, a costume and stage change later, you spoke to the audience again while the crew around you put all the pieces into place. 
“I have such an amazing team and am so lucky to work with the people I get to, but this next song is one that I wrote and arranged and recorded myself, because I didn’t have them in my life just yet.” 
For this set, you sat on the roof of a house, with a spotlight as if you were sitting under the moon. You looked around at the crew subtly, wanting to make sure everyone was ready before starting the next song. When you didn’t get the go ahead, you continued talking. 
“You may have heard about an upcoming album of mine. The songs on it are nothing new, but quite the opposite. I like to say they’re from the Vault, because I never thought they’d see the light of day,” you laughed into the mic. The audience had never been so silent, listening intently to your next words regarding unreleased music.
“I know you guys will try and play Sherlock, so I’ll just tell you. I wrote this song maybe a month after Mr. Perfectly Fine, about surprise, surprise, the same boy,” you paused to crack another joke, “I should really get over this guy, huh?” The audience laughed along with you. It was so long ago now.
“It’s a song that I was really scared to write, and then scared to release, and then scared to even have my name anywhere on it because I felt like it was… it was maybe too honest for what I was ready to feel.” 
The crew gave you the green light and you wrapped it up, “But, this song is about acceptance. When you finally stop hurting yourself trying to understand why someone…” your voice faltered, “didn’t love you the way you thought they did, it all becomes so much more clear.” 
This was the first time you would perform the song live, the first time you would perform it in front of anyone other than your close-knit team. You rubbed your arms, and fiddled with your microphone throughout the song, self-soothing as you fought the feelings trying to choke you up. Unfamiliar with the new song, the audience didn’t sing this one back to you. You were reminded of how alone you felt when you wrote it.
You dodged a bullet there, you told yourself. You tried to convince yourself it was a blessing in disguise. Throughout your fast and hot relationship with Quinn, you barely wrote anything new, perpetually preoccupied with him. And when your hands missed the feeling of him, you put them to use on instruments you hadn’t touched in a while. You wrote through the late nights and early into the mornings, pouring your heart out onto paper was the only way you could remove yourself from feeling it ache threefold. Night after night, you lay awake, wondering what was wrong with you. Wondering why you couldn’t keep him. Wondering if you just laid off him, would he still be here with you? You should have just closed your eyes at the red flags, but they had become so bright behind your eyelids. You couldn’t run through red lights forever.   You shut yourself in your room for weeks, crying and writing and crying some more. You’d hug yourself and it was never enough, it didn’t envelope you like his did, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you would never feel that again.
Luckily your voice hadn’t faltered, but when you came to, opened your eyes to a galaxy of phone flashlights, you sniffled. Face wet with tears, you persevered.
Overanalyzed it, front, back, and beside it.
Where else can we go? There’s nothing left here to decode.
Done looking for signs in the gaps and the silence. 
It’s just getting old. There’s nothing left here to decode.
Quinn had to sit down. It helped that everyone was standing around him, a wall isolating him from you. Sure, he bought the tickets, but he didn’t feel like he was supposed to be here. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking, showing up. His throat felt like it was closing, anaphylaxis.
“I’m in my fuckin’ feelings, you guys.” You laughed when the emotional song concluded, inviting the crowd to laugh with you. You moved on quickly, “If you’re wondering, this next song is about the Black Eyes Peas.” It was your tour; he couldn’t escape you, and he looked up at the screen to his detriment. 
You had moved from the roof of the stage house into the bedroom, where the audience could see the silhouette of you changing behind the curtains of the bedroom window. I’m a homewrecker, I’m a slut. He was having trouble breathing, all too familiar with the movements of you taking off your clothes. Tell me who I am, guess I don’t have a choice. All because I liked a boy. Once you had completed your costume change, you came down the stairs of the set house, the camera following you every step of the way, now in a glittery nightgown.  
When you reached the main stage, it glowed pink, the whole stadium blanketed in a romantic hue of red. “This next song is one of my favourites to perform. I think it may be a lot of your favourites, too. Let’s have some fun. Fuck boys, literally haha.. Okay Vancouver, let’s go!”
Think I only want one number in my phone
I might change your contact to ‘don’t leave me alone.’
You said you like my eyes, and you like to make ‘em roll.
When he saw you leave your friends, he knew it was his chance.  He had been playing a dangerous game, seeing how many bottles he could empty before he could catch you alone. He recognized you from the Big Ten celebration party. He was digging the helpless vibe you had going on. When he saw you in the kitchen amidst a football brawl, his body moved towards you before he could process what he was doing. Your friends had cock-blocked him then, but he doesn’t make the same mistake twice. He was drawn to you, smitten with ideas of you. You followed him out of the bar, around to the parking lot, and he led you towards his car. To your surprise, he opened the door to the back seat. You raised an eyebrow, “Real forward, Hughes.” With his hands on your hips he pressed you into the side of his car, flush against you, “You want me to fuck you out here?” He leaned down, brushed his nose to yours, lips brushing against each other as he spoke. Short of breath, you shook your head, lowering yourself into the backseat, his hand guided the back of your head to make sure you didn’t knock the ceiling. With a laugh, he followed you in and locked the door behind him. You had never had sex in a car before. You had never slept with someone on the first date, either, much less before one. (Much less Quinn Hughes) At least his windows were tinted. Was that even legal in Michigan? You wondered, but couldn’t think about it for long. “You into me or the car?” He teased you when you took too long, “C’mere, pretty girl.” He tried to pull you into his lap, but you wanted to impress him, so you squished yourself down in between his legs, on your knees. The passenger seat had already been adjusted all the way forward, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable. “Oh fuck.” You definitely surprised him. You were pleased with yourself, being able to render him silent for a moment. One hand on his clothed thigh, the other on his already hard cock, you went to work on him, all business. While everything pointed towards Quinn being quiet in bed, it turned out he certainly wasn’t. “Fuck, baby, you're so good with your mouth.” It was probably the most rewarding blowjob you had ever given. “Mm, I could fuck your face forever, pretty girl. Can I cum on your face, gorgeous?”  “Mhm,” you responded enthusiastically. Your eyes rolled back, getting used to the feeling of him deep in your throat. You moaned just with his words. He had barely touched you and you were already a puddle in his car. “Fuck, you’d like that?” Quinn’s head fell back with deep groan as his hand reach for the back of yours, pulling you down on him. When he looked down at you, he was alarmed to see you rocking on your heel. “Aw, baby why didn’t you say anything? Your mouth full? Cock got your tongue?” he teased and without words you teased back, removing your mouth from him, tongue lapping at his tip. He took himself in his hand and tapped it on your tongue, your spit following, not wanting to break the connection. Then to your surprise, he slapped it lightly against your cheek. He laughed when you blinked up at him, your eyes wide with surprise and arousal. No one had ever done that to you before, he could tell. His ego swelled at the thought of being your first good fuck. “Sweetheart, I am going to take such good care of you.”
Hailey loved this song. It had to be your most popular one, because the audience was shrieking the outro. It was also the song he heard most played in Rogers Arena, and the one J.T Miller had sitting somewhere in his liked songs on Spotify. “Vancouver, let me hear you!” The track played on past the outro, and he honestly forgot about this part.
“I’ve got great personality but no tits. This song is not about Joshua Bassett. Vancouver, thank you so much, you’ve been splendid.”
This version made even Hailey scream, which made Quinn wonder who this Joshua guy was, because it seemed like a big deal for you to name drop him. The feeling in his chest was familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it.
You were perched at the bar. He had left you for two minutes, just two minutes, to say hi to a buddy of his and when he looked over at you, there was some guy chatting you up. It was some football Chad, bigger than him, and that never intimidated him, but something about it didn’t sit right with him that night.  But he watched it play out. He hadn’t gotten too close to you yet, didn’t try anything on you. He watched you laugh and move to show him something on your phone. When Chad leaned down to look, Quinn stood up.  With a light check to the guy’s shoulder, he made room for himself between you two, wrapping his arm around your waist possessively. You might have found it attractive, if he hadn’t pissed you off then left you alone at the bar. You glared at him, and he glared right back.  “You good here?”  “Yeah, fine,” you bite, and Tyler, not wanting to cause any more trouble than he felt he had, gave you a sheepish smile and dismissed himself with a nod. “What does he want with you?” His tone unimpressed, Quinn watched him leave, back to table with his friends.  “If you must know,” you shook his arm off to face him fully, look him square in the eye, “I’m teaching Ty how to play guitar.”  “Why the fuck does that guy want to play guitar?”  “I don’t know, Quinn,” you sneer in exasperation, “It’s for his elective course. You know, some girls like guys that play instruments.”  “He has a girlfriend, you know.”  “I know. He wants to learn her favourite song. I was trying to show him where he could find the scores.” His words rubbed you the wrong way and you couldn’t keep your cool about it, “What are you insinuating?”  “Oh, fuck off, you know what it looked like.”  “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Q.” 
When he came to, you were finishing another song. He checked on Hailey, who had an arm around the girl next to her, having befriended another fellow fan. She was a people person, unlike you had been. You must have really benefited from the media training, he thought.
“You guys, I’m having so much fun. Are you having a good time?” You were breathing heavily, sweat glimmering on your skin. “Can- Can we get some lights?” You asked, exposing the live band. The audience murmured with confusion and concern, but you were quick to explain, “I just want to check in with everyone. It's hot in here, and I had a couple fainters last show. Does anyone need water? We’ve got guys in the aisles passing out water now. I’ll give out whatever we have up here.” The crowd swooned as you kneeled down and reached past the stage to hand them out yourself. “Take care of yourselves. It is so important, each and every one of you are so, so important to me.”
Yeah, you definitely benefited from the media training. Quinn couldn’t tell if you were doing this for good press, or if you were actually concerned. You seemed genuine, but then again, he couldn’t read you back then. He certainly couldn't read you now. 
It’s a long concert, Quinn realizes, as he checks the time. He had been sitting down for a while, so he got up to stretch his legs, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend’s waist. “You okay?” 
“Yes, I’m having the time of my life,” Hailey reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, giving him a tight hug, “Thank you so much for making this happen. It means a lot to me that you’re here, too."
"Do you want something to drink?" he offers to grab her something from the concession.
"No, I'm okay, I want you to enjoy this too!" 
So he stayed. It's hard to say whether he enjoyed it. If he was being critical, he would say it wasn't stuff he‘d go out of his way to listen to. It just wasn't his vibe or genre. If he was being honest, he was happy to see you doing well. He enjoys making the people he loves happy, and as he watches his girlfriend sing and dance, it didn’t matter that it was your songs.
He thought he was hallucinating when he saw a familiar fucking orca across the stage screens.
"What's this? Oh my gosh. Stop,” you gushed, beaming as you took the hockey jersey from the crew member who ran it over to you. "I suppose it's only fair, since I think I wore one of these in Toronto... I know how much this city loves hockey."
Quinn's eyes widened, horrified, while Hailey jumped and screamed with excitement, along with every other member of the audience. You pulled it over your head, and it covered the short slip dress you had on completely, stopping mid thigh. Once you had adjusted yourself, they handed you a paper and you opened it up, scanning it before reading for the audience. "Heard you were in town, have a great show, and enjoy the best city in the world. Big fans, the Canucks. Awww," you cooed, and the response was deafening, not that you could really hear past your in-ears. You beamed and gave them a spin before showing them your back. Your last name was written across your shoulders, but it was the big 43 underneath them that put a bad taste in Quinn's mouth, although Hailey didn't seem bothered about it at all. In fact, she loved it. 
"Babe, you are so lucky. Can I have one of yours with my name on it?" He frowned, because he liked when she wore his jersey, with his name on it.
"Of course, babe," He said despite his feelings. He would give her anything she wanted. She kissed him on the cheek, just as the arena camera found him. He lowered the hat on his face, and his face in her neck, trying to hide. She laughed, getting the message, but smiled and jumped for the camera all the same. 
“Thank you so much, Vancouver. I can’t wait to check you out tonight,” you chatted with the audience again, allowing for another set change behind you. “I got here at about… four, five? In the morning today.” They rolled everything out, emptied the stage until it was just you. “Not much open at that time, hey?” you laughed, “but it’s the weekend, so I’m looking forward to exploring a bit. Don’t look for me,” you told them seriously. “I’m not that interesting off stage, without all these guys.” You motioned towards the stage crew that rolled out a piano, and the small orchestra joined your band. You thanked them and took a seat. 
“This song reflects a lot about how I feel right now. I don’t want this night to end. I hope you feel this way, too. I hope you made some new friends and new memories. I hope you remember the way you feel tonight. Let’s do this again, someday soon.”
This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go
I’m wonderstruck, blushing all the way home
...
Say you’ll remember me
Standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe
Red lips and rosy cheeks
Say you’ll see me again, even if it’s just in your wildest dreams
The longest night of his life ended with girls sobbing all around him. He held Hailey in his arms, chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all
“Can we see her again?” she sniffled adorably into his chest. He rubbed her back and reached up to brush her hair out of her face.
“Of course we can,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead, making note to save some songs of yours he didn't hate, to play in the car for her. 
.
.
.
.
“Oh my god, babe.” Quinn was getting a bad sense of deja vu. He joined Hailey on the couch and she showed him the article on her phone. 
Pictured was him in your merch at the concert, the cap that Hailey was currently wearing. Side by side with a picture of you in his jersey. Fuck, he glanced at Hailey nervously. “Babe,” he began, sure he would have to explain himself. But she cut him off. 
“Do you know how big it is to be allegedly dating? This is insane,” she squealed, giggling. Quinn sighed in relief. At least she wasn’t mad. He tried to laugh it off. She scrolled through the post as she read it excitedly, “they think she’ll write a song about you! Too bad that’ll never happen. Should we break up so you can date her, so she can dump you and then write a song about it?” She joked. 
“Hey- what makes you think she’d be the one dumping me?”
And they spent the next 30 minutes on the couch, cuddling and debating on what his song would be about, as if you would ever write one.
.
.
.
.
the setlist: today was a fairytale / mr. perfectly fine / teardrops on my guitar / forever & always / the story of us / decode / because i liked a boy / nonsense / enchanted\wildest dreams
edit: changed the gif of quinn
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labs · 8 months
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Hello, Tumblr. Labs division here!
Back in June, we announced our comeback as a new team that would imagine big ideas for Tumblr—and would build them in public (aka with you).
Today we're very excited to announce our first failure. The first experiment we want to loudly, publicly admit didn’t work. We’re pretty excited about this because trying and failing are a big part of learning.
A little background
A few months ago, we ran interviews with lots of people on Tumblr to get a better sense of what works and what needs to be better. 
Among other things, we heard that people discovering (or rediscovering) Tumblr really struggle to understand how to make it work for them. They sometimes don't know how to follow the right blogs to curate their dashboard, or how to use likes, replies and reblogs to interact with a particular fandom. 
And that's just the tip of the iceberg, really! Some might be lucky and have friends to teach them, but many come here to find friends in the first place, and leave feeling lost and overwhelmed.
So here at Labs we're working on ideas to help people discover what makes Tumblr a unique corner of the internet, making it easier for them to find belonging here.
Our (failed) idea
Our first idea was to simplify certain parts of our interface, thinking through each element and putting what is important to you front and center. We called it "Mini"—mostly because it was a cute name.
We started work on the post interface first, because that's the most important part of your experience on Tumblr, and we wanted to improve some of the problems there.
Our goal was to make labels and actions on posts easier to differentiate, and make each post the same height, so diving into a long post is a choice. To achieve that, we designed a new header, a new footer with separate actions, and a mini version of the post:
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As we started to build it, we realized that scrolling through the dashboard after the changes… didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like Tumblr anymore. But we didn’t want to make a decision based solely on our own gut feelings… we needed to ask the Tumblr community. 
An essential part of how we're working in Labs is speaking to people who use Tumblr (and those who don't use it, but could love it) pretty much on a daily basis. So we showed them this idea, and their response was indifferent at best, and confused at worst.
We learned that it's hard to limit the height of a post without sacrificing the magic of reblogs, and that loss was too meaningful for us to pursue this any further. So we're putting it in the trash.
What's next
So Mini didn’t work out! That’s okay. We’ve learned a lot. While minifying posts might not be the answer, there were parts of the idea that worked, and you might even start to see some improvements being tested from what we learned. We’ll see where that goes!
We're working on other ideas at the same time, and some of them are getting a lot of love from people in research. So the next time you hear from us, we'll hopefully have something more successful to share—stay tuned!
With love, Labs division
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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months
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Tim Testing
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader
Summary: After transferring to the Mid-Wilshire division because of toxic male officers harassing you, you find yourself partnered with Tim Bradford. When you are injured during a Tim Test, you hide the injury so he doesn't think less of you.
Warnings: angst to fluff, misogynistic comments and actions toward reader (from police officers), reader is injured and passes out, Tim is a softie
Word Count: 2.5k+ words
A/N: This was such an amazing request!! Tim (and everyone at Mid-Wilshire) would be so welcoming after dealing with something like this, so I really enjoyed writing this one. I hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think!🤍
Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
Picture from Pinterest
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You knew from the beginning that it would be different for you, that being a female cop would have its pros, cons, and tough moments. What you didn’t expect was the men who were supposed to be your equals harassing you and making each moment far worse than it should have been.
Between the crass comments about how your uniform fit, questioning whether it was your time of the month whenever you tried to stand up for yourself, and their inability to trust you in the field, you learn your place quickly.
“I’d like to request a transfer to a different station,” you tell your commanding officer.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because there is no respect, no trust in this station. Looking over my shoulder while I’m trying to work, and having to defend myself against the very people who are supposed to have my back is exhausting and it makes me unable to do my job.”
He sighs, rolling his eyes as he slides a form to you. “Your decision. Though showing how weak you are by moving around every time things get hard, or your feelings get hurt isn’t plausible.”
“And you had to ask why,” you mutter, snatching the paper off his desk and walking out to fill it out in private.
“Hey, princess, before we leave on patrol I need to know you don’t have your gun at the front of your belt,” someone calls. “Don’t want to risk getting killed by your poor aim.”
You remain silent, which makes them quit or spurs them on to push you further. As if your day isn’t going poorly already, they take your silence as a weakness.
“Just her gun? You should be more worried about how her attitude changes if her bra rides up or her hormones spike,” a second voice adds.
“You’re on your own today,” you reply. “I’m on desk duty.”
“Finally, someone put you where you belong.”
The men laugh as they walk toward their shops, and you take a deep breath as the quiet settles over the station. Once your paperwork is complete, you take it to the captain. You can only hope it goes through quickly before you get fed up and quit forever.
✯✯✯✯✯
Your commanding officer yells your name as you walk in, intercepting you on your way to the locker room. 
“Your transfer just came through, you’re expected at the Mid-Wilshire division for roll call first thing in the morning; today’s PTO while we complete the paperwork,” he informs.
You accept the paper he hands you and pretend not to hear as he adds, “I hope they know what they’re getting into and have the patience to deal with you.”
Smiling as you empty your locker, you hope things are looking up. Although, you know it will be hard to open up to new people and trust new cops, even if they are different than your previous team.
✯✯✯✯✯
Entering the Mid-Wilshire station, you cross your fingers that transferring was the right decision. Sergeant Wade Grey is your new commanding officer, and your day (and your future) relies on this meeting going well.
“Sergeant Grey?” you ask, knocking on his open door.
He looks up, smiling as he beckons you inside. Saying your name, he opens a folder and compliments your arrest record. “I was surprised to hear you asked for a transfer, it seemed like you were doing well at your previous station.”
“The environment was making it difficult to do as well as I know I can, sir,” you answer.
Grey nods. “I can understand that. Our people are good, though, so I expect you will fit in well and succeed in all you do here.”
“I appreciate that, sir.”
“And you can drop the ‘sir,’ we’re not as formal as some other stations.”
Blinking in surprise, you look away from Wade when another cop enters the small office. 
“Sergeant Bradford, I’d like to introduce you to your new partner. I will warn both of you this is likely a temporary partnership, but one I trust will do you both some good.”
You smile at Bradford, who tilts his head to the side as he looks you over. It’s clear that he isn’t thrilled about having a partner, having grown used to working alone since becoming a sergeant. As long as he doesn’t treat you like a boot, or worse, like a girl who doesn’t have what it takes to be a cop, you can survive working with him for a few weeks.
What you don’t see, though, is that Tim can look at you and tell you’re a good cop. He reviewed your paperwork and arrest record with Wade yesterday, and he’s impressed by you. You’re good, but you have the potential to be better with the right help. And, for some reason, Wade is convinced that Tim can give you the push you need to be your best.
“Okay, let’s go,” Tim says, turning away as Wade tells you to have a good day.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim acknowledges that you’re not a rookie but warns you from the beginning that you still have something to prove.
“I know you’ve been a cop for a while, but I haven’t seen you in action. Your records are admirable, but I need to see proof that you’re still that good,” he explains. “So, I will test you and challenge you while we’re riding together, but don’t view it as starting over, more like proving grounds than qualifications.”
You nod, remembering something Wade muttered about “Tim Tests,” which you’re sure are unique to Bradford.
“I understand. I’ll do my best, and I want to learn to be better.”
Tim doesn’t reply, and you raise your guard, unimpressed with how shut off he is with you. In general, your past has made you wary around men; after Tim’s insistence that you have something to prove, you are determined to hide everything that could be taken as a sign of weakness. You will do whatever it takes to show you are a good cop, worthy of respect.
Slamming on the brakes, Tim yells, “We’re being ambushed; what do you do?”
“Radio for backup, stay in the shop, stay low, and fire only if necessary,” you answer, nearly robotically, as he catches you off guard.
Tim eases back onto the road, ignoring you once again.
✯✯✯✯✯
Just before your scheduled lunch break, something which you haven’t actually enjoyed in far too long, Tim parks between two old warehouses.
“There’s a suspicious package in the gray building, you’re riding alone and need to check it out,” he explains. “Radio any information as you find it.”
You switch your radio to a private channel with Tim, accepting the call as you exit the shop and enter the building. It’s dark and wet, but you refuse to accept any comments or disdainful looks from Tim if you fail this test, so you will find the package and impress him as quickly as possible.
“7-Adam-9, located suspicious package: brown paper bag situated between steel beams,” you radio.
“Dispatch, requesting additional information,” Tim replies.
You sigh, moving forward to look at the bag because you can’t touch it. When you move, the beams sitting upright in the warehouse shift. Stepping back a second too late, one side of the heavy structure hits the back of your shoulder, shoving you forward into the crate holding the package.
Pain radiates through your shoulder as you move to the side, pulling yourself away from the mess you made with a sharp inhale.
“7-Adam-9, false alarm. Suspicious package is empty. Code 4.”
“Copy 7-Adam-9.”
Taking a step toward the door, you hiss in pain as the pain moves from your shoulder around to your ribs, where you fell against the crate. It seems likely that you broke something or at least got a deep bruise, but telling Tim would be like admitting that you’re weak. So, as you level your expression and cover your pain by walking normally, you decide to hide your pain.
Being labeled weak or incapable, or as before, giving Tim a reason to view you as less than is not an option anymore. Buckling your seatbelt, you press your lips together to keep your pained sounds muted, and the feeling of the seat on your shoulder makes you count down the minutes until you can get out of the shop.
✯✯✯✯✯
As the day goes on, your pain grows in intensity. Each breath causes immeasurable pain, and your stomach turns when you move your shoulder in any direction.
“Wade’s going to ask me, so how’s your first day going?” Tim asks, turning down a residential street to respond to a noise disturbance.
“Fine,” you answer quickly, clenching your jaw to stay quiet.
“Good,” he replies, though his voice sounds different. “Glad you found a station that works for you.”
You can’t tell if his comment is passive-aggressive, implying that you are the issue rather than the station you transferred from. The overbearing pain you’re feeling makes it nearly impossible to care.
“You take point on this one,” Tim offers as he parks by the curb.
“Yes, sir.”
Asking questions and explaining the city’s noise ordinances to the tenant, you’re momentarily distracted from your pain. The moment you turn to return to the shop, though, you’re reminded that your new position isn’t quite as enjoyable as you were expecting.
“Take us back to the station,” Tim says, tossing the shop keys to you.
When you raise your hand to catch the keys, your shoulder screams in protest, and you close your eyes momentarily to hide the pain.
“You alright?” Tim asks.
Nodding, you release a sigh when Tim climbs into the passenger seat, too easily convinced by your answer.
✯✯✯✯✯
After a quick meeting with Wade, discussing your new role, and signing a few documents, you head for the locker room. When you pull your shirt off, you glance in the mirror, surprised to see the size and color of the bruise; your entire shoulder, over to your neck and down around the front of your ribs, is a sickening purple. The yellowish tint around the edges is a sign that it will only worsen before it begins to heal. Attempting to raise your arm again, you feel something shift under your skin and step into one of the bathroom stalls, kneeling as you try to keep yourself from being sick. When you lean your head against the metal wall, the coolness is soothing, and as you finally let yourself acknowledge the pain, it becomes all you can feel.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim opens Wade’s door, furrowing his brows when he sees you’re not there.
“She left a few minutes ago,” Wade answers.
“Her car’s still here.”
“Must be in the locker room then.”
“Why’d she transfer?” Tim asks, stepping inside to close the door.
“I don’t know, Bradford. You’re going to have to ask her.”
Tim nods, turning away to search for you. He knocks on the locker room door, and when no one answers, he opens it and says your name. Once again met with silence, he steps inside and looks around. Your locker is open, but you’re nowhere to be seen. As he rounds the last row of lockers, he sees someone sitting on the floor in one of the bathroom stalls.
Tim says your name, knocking on the door. It opens at his touch, and he catches it before it hits your arm. Kneeling beside you, he looks across your face, pressing his hand behind your neck as he tries to find the source of your unconsciousness. His hand dips to your upper shoulder, and you groan, opening your eyes.
Tim ignores you as you wake, gently leaning you forward as he surveys the bruise where it’s visible past your tank top.
“Stay awake,” he says, moving you again. “Just your shoulder?”
You nod, and he demands to know: “Home or hospital?”
“Home,” you whisper. “But I can-“
“Obviously you can’t,” Tim snaps, his arms gentler than his voice as he lifts you from the ground.
✯✯✯✯✯
You stay conscious, fighting against the pain as you give Tim directions to your home. After getting you inside and as comfortable as possible, he leaves your side to gather a few things before returning. He gives you a glass of water and a few pain reliever pills, waiting until you’ve taken them to lay an ice pack across your shoulder. You take a deep breath at the cold before catching yourself.
“What else hurts?” Tim asks.
“My ribs,” you admit.
He leans you back gently, pushing your tank top to your sternum as he surveys the darkening bruise across your lower ribcage. Gently moving his hand across your skin, he doesn’t feel anything obviously broken, apologizing as you whimper at the pressure. Pulling the first aid kit he brought from your kitchen to his side, he places several cooling packets over your ribs. 
Satisfied that he’s done all he can do for you, Tim moves to sit across from you, making himself comfortable in your living room.
“What are you doing?” you ask.
“I’m not leaving,” he answers quickly, “what if you collapse again?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Tim silences, closing his eyes as he leans back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
You’ve heard that question dozens of times, but previously, it was asked in a much different tone. Always an accusation that you hadn’t handled something correctly or that you should have let someone else do whatever it was that needed to be done. 
When you look back at Tim, his eyes are on you, and you shrug. His eyes narrow as his gaze intensifies, demanding your answer.
“The last station that I worked at made me nervous to tell people things, especially other cops. All of the guys that I worked with harassed me constantly, and they tried to convince me that I wasn’t a good cop because I was a woman. So, I have trouble trusting other police officers with personal things. During your Tim Tests, I thought that if I acknowledged something had happened, you’d see me the same way.”
“Which way?”
“Weak, incapable,” you answer, trailing off.
“They were bad people,” Tim explains. “They may have been okay cops, but no one deserves to be treated like that.”
You nod, licking your lips as your gaze drops to the blanket across your lap.
“Want to tell me what happened today?” he pries.
“The steel beams around the bag?” Tim nods, so you continue, “They fell. One of them hit my shoulder and knocked me forward.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You couldn’t have known that would happen. Besides, you helped me. My last partner would have found a way to blame be.”
“Like I said, bad people. But you… you’re a good person and a good cop,” Tim continues. “I’ve known that since you walked in, but I needed to know that you knew. Getting hurt or being unable to do something on the first try doesn’t make you less of a person, or a cop. Being a woman doesn’t either. And if they didn’t see that, it’s their loss.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, looking into his eyes.
“And my gain.”
You furrow your brows at Tim, but he leans back and closes his eyes instead of elaborating.
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velvetures · 8 months
Text
Vulnerable pt.1?
A/N: A not-so-little thing I've had for a few weeks, and wanted to see if a part two was something anyone would be interested in reading. If so, please let me know. Summary: You try and get Ghost to relax after a harsh mission and find a bit of a quiet moment. T/W: not proofread :)
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Bad intel led to you and your Lieutenant being nearly hunted down and killed by a not-so-small group of arms dealers who caught on quickly to the pair of foreigners lingering just a little bit too close to their sheltered storage garage right in the middle of a market district in the South East. The task force assumed sending in an entire squad would be overkill just for some simple recon information and decided that you and Ghost would be the perfect pair for the job. ‘In and Out…’ Price had said quite offhandedly, sliding the prepared information in two files across the table to you. Only Price’s sources hadn’t double-checked if the area was secure enough for them to enter without full backup on standby. Not necessarily a lethal kind of mistake when bringing you and the Lieutenant into the equation, but there were too many close calls and stray bullets that were clearly heard for either of you to feel super confident in getting away unscathed.
Your only savior was a small farmhouse that had been recently abandoned due to the illegal and dangerous activity that had been surrounding the small city. Modest in size with two bedrooms and running water. Perfect for a makeshift safe house to keep the trackers off your asses until an extraction could be arranged and put into motion. Contrary to belief, the 141 didn’t have the bottomless pit of resources everyone believed they had at their disposal. Which included access to evac and trained air-support teams. This wasn’t a big mission that had a lot of working parts and multiple organizations involved that had enough liquidated funds to through out for a helo and heavy gunners to rescue two operators from the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where.
That means with busted equipment, inoperable comms, hardly enough ammunition to fight out of a wet paper bag, and zero way of knowing when and if you’d be rescued, there was nothing left to do but try and relax in one of the most difficult predicaments. It left you searching through cabinets for maybe some kind of food to keep the both of you while Ghost did one of his favorite things. Pacing the house from window to window looking for the slightest bit of movement. The trouble being, there wasn’t anything for at least two miles in any direction. The people who owned this place were farmers of some sort, and had placed their home right in the middle of crop fields that gave a very advantageous sightline. While that information gave you quite a bit of comfort, it was not effecting Ghost positively in the slightest.
Your relationship with the Lieutenant was complex, to say the least. When you were first introduced it was for a succession of short co-op missions that were nothing if not brief and very impersonal leaving you with more questions than answers about the man who stayed hidden under the mask. Through some talks that you hadn’t been privy to being in the room for, John Price decided that your skills would be more useful to Task Force 141 than for the U.S. Division of Clandestine Service and offered you a position that you couldn’t possibly decline.
By day-in and day-out contact with Ghost, you got a lot more comfortable with him and learned much of his little idiosyncratic behaviors. Maybe a little too well…. He didn’t particularly act much differently towards you in the grand scheme of things, but something in you felt like trust had been developed to where he could depend on you when the situation called for it.
“Go hit the rack, I’ll take first watch.” He called gruffly from the living room where he had moved a chair from the kitchen to sit facing the front door head on with his MP5 resting lazily on his chest.
You couldn’t help but notice just how damn tired he looked under all that gear and through the black smeared around his eyes. He couldn’t be carrying less than one hundred pounds on him right now; even sitting in that chair with it wasn’t a good enough solution. Let you take a moment or two for yourself, stripping out of your tac vest and heavily weighted gear to drop it on top of the kitchen counter with a little grunt. Two days ago you both got the luxury of sleeping, and since then it’s been nothing but being on the run.
This would be the safest place for you that wasn’t in the belly of an evac bird, and the thought of Ghost not taking the time to sleep sat in your mind like a lead sinker. Leaning against the doorway and watching him for a long moment, you start having thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Ones that normally wouldn’t surface if you’d been able to separate working with Ghost from the more personal aspect of literally sharing almost every part of your life with him. Thoughts about how you could make him feel better… even if just for the night. That no one was around for miles and whatever happened could safely stay between the pair of you.
By utter carelessness of your position with the team or lack of fear about how the Lieutenant might respond, you walk into the living room and kneel down right in front of him with your fingers reaching out to unlace his dusty boots. Off instinct alone, you expected and watched as his foot flinched away from you. His whole body jumps and stiffens at the contact and sight of you kneeling on the floor. He quickly pauses and collects himself, taking several moments before his gravelly voice breaks the silence.
“What’re you doin’ Sergeant?” His eyes grew heavy and showed more expression than the rest of his massive body as they flashed with confusion and a little swell of anger. That aloofness didn’t hide that slight guardedness of something that made him uncomfortable in one way or another.
“I’m perfectly capable of takin’ care of my fuckin’ self.” He adds with zero discernible sign of either offense or gratitude. You can’t help but smile tiredly, feeling like you’re attempting to soothe a feral wolf into letting you pull it’s paw out of trap.
“I never said you couldn’t L.T.,” You reply gently, reaching back to start unhooking the laces from their claws on his left foot. “Just thought you couldn’t use some affection.” Smirking to yourself, you can’t help but think something this small being considered ‘affection’ didn’t fit anyone save for Ghost. He was just too hard to approach. Walls so thick and tall that it would take someone with patience beyond that of a human to break through and see what rested behind all of that brash posturing and icy disposition.
“You know affection is something I’m averse to,” he utters, watching yet making no effort to stop you. “What you’re doin’ is unnecessary.” A small sound close to a growl escapes from behind the mask when my hand reaches to the back of his leg to help aid my effort of pulling his boot off.
Chuckling softly and sitting the boot down at your side you respond, “I know you don’t like affection,” You’re already working on the other one, purposefully moving slowly as not to overwhelm or spook him. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it, L.T..” You can’t help but look up at him almost exhaustedly yet still trying to be reassuring.
“M’fine without it.” He spits out quickly, looking away from your face back down to your progress on the laces, his masked face otherwise unreadable. “Didn’t ask you for this shit, Sergeant.” Tinged with an undercurrent of irritation his deep voice sounds near the bridge of turning to anger.
“Mothering me isn’t in your best interest.” He growls low and threateningly in your face as he bends down to grab the boot sitting next to you and giving it a quick look of observation before sitting it back down closer to him. You just finish taking off his other boot and sit it down next to the other without much more of a verbal fight and put a hand on his thigh to steady your sore legs as you get back up to your feet.
“I’m younger than you Ghost, I can’t mother you.” You reply, holding out your hand for him.
He doesn’t make note or stop you from using him to help yourself up, however, Ghost follows your movements carefully… closely. He’s doing everything in his power to hide his emotions, but there’s still a faint twitch of his lips when he looks down at his boots sitting at his side. You’d done something very unusual, and he knew berating you was what he should’ve done. Yet a flinch of a smile was what really moved Ghost’s mouth. It’s gone before it even surfaces, pushed down by the sight. of you holding out your little hand in front of him. The sounds of his deep breathing fill the quiet house as you both sit there unflinching of each other. The Lieutenant shifts in his chair, readjusting his rifle on his chest.
“Go to bed. It’s late.” His repeated command felt softer now. Wavering a bit with you hand still held out and your fingers wiggling a little.
“Come on,” You hold steady and patient.
Reward comes in the form of feeling Ghost’s heavy and large hand falling into yours and gripping just hard enough to allow you the phantom sensation that you’re actually helping him up from the chair, hearing a short grunt as his back straightens up. Without explanation, you lead the Lieutenant through the small house back towards the only bedroom in the house with an actual bed left behind by the owners, pulling him to the center of the room and turning around to face him.
“Put your arms up for me.”
“Excuse me?” Ghost’s frown can be heard from behind the mask. Despite his apparent bewilderment, he hesitantly obeys, extending his arms above his head with an exhale of a tense breath, looking down at you with dark and questioning eyes. “What are you doing now?”
You just smile and hum to yourself softly, reaching out to begin unclipping and unzipping the sections of his tac vest holding it on his upper body and the multiple ammo belts. Carefully draping them over you shoulder as you release his body from them one by one. Seeing the way Ghost’s body sinks into itself with the weight being pulled off after days without rest. You feel his eyes scan over you, over your hands finding ways to take off his gear for the first time in your life, feeling your way through sunch an unusual yet careful act.
“Bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous…” He growls, covering up the feelings of not being so concealed by barking at you a little.
“Shhh.” Your hush does enough to stop his quiet and brooding complaints.
Long enough for you to kneel back down at his feet and work at the thigh straps over his pants and even remove the ankle holster you’d left alone while taking off his boots. He doesn’t resist this part, just watching you undress him bit by bit with half a mind questioning just what had happened for you to start acting so strangely. You’d always been sweet. Much nicer than your job allowed for. Yet even this was quite off the edge of the character Ghost had built for you over the years. This felt downright intimate for just two operators to be doing.
Then again your shared situation wasn’t exactly one of professionalism at this point. You’d been improvising for nearly a full day just trying to stay alive. Once back on your feet, you take hold of his hand again, this time with a little less caution since you’d already touched him there, and begin pulling at the fingertips to slide his sand and dirt-cakes gloves off. Even seeing his bare skin under his gloves be seen in the dim lamplight of the house, Ghost doesn’t do more than flex his fingers once you’ve rid him of the stiff material.
Purposefully avoiding his mask, you get Ghost down to nothing more than boxers and a t-shirt, even with his help at certain parts without him growling more or acting like you were irritating him. While he still gave off a feeling of all-around grumpiness and more than a little confused as hell, you paid it no mind as you led him towards the edge of the bed and pointed to it with a short yet polite command for him to ’sit’. Right away you noticed his hesitation and the way that his shoulders and arms tensed, his attention solely on you, flashing between your eyes and mouth like he was trying to reassure himself that he’d heard you correctly. But with one small tug on his hand, he turns around and sits on the bed with his feet resting on the floor and his arms braced on both sides of him a little stiffly.
“Now what?” His voice held a bit of rasp to it as he tracked your movement from his side, seeing you climb up into the bed and position yourself on your knees behind him. The close proximity didn’t go unnoticed by the Lieutenant as he cleared his throat, once again interrupting the calm silence in the house. His tension filled the small space between you, heating the gap of air, almost electrifying it.
“Just relax Ghost.” Easily touching his shoulders, you begin working your palms flat against the slopes of his muscled neck.
Purposefully but gently rubbing at the stiff cords of muscle and introducing the sensation to him as easily as possible in the case that it was a bit too overwhelming for him all at once. You knew you’d pushed the boundaries with him much further past anything you’d expected to achieve in one night. But now that he was sitting here in front of you, it was hard not to smile brightly that he was trusting you so much. Allowing your hands to be on him. Accepting that you had positioned the both of you in a very vulnerable position that could lead to a lot more violent options than affectionate ones. Torture and nightmares had given more than a fair share to Ghost, yet he was patiently staving off his own clear hesitation so that you could play out whatever this was turning out to be.
Your command went unacknowledged just like all of Ghost’s from earlier had; His breathing steadily slowing down into a deep and rich, relaxed sort of rhythm. Power of your hands and calming attitude worked faster than you anticipated, leaving the massive man sitting between your thighs begin to release. Tension falling out of his body not only under your hands but by sight of his jaw loosening. You’re even lucky enough to spot him trying to take glances at you from the corner of his eye, only to look back ahead since you were in quite the blindspot. Taking your thumbs in a sweeping motion from the edges of his shoulders inward, you apply pressure on the back of his neck and experimentally reach higher up under the hem of his mask. A dangerous game to play. Rumbling sounds of appreciation filling your ears are better than any sort of medal you could earn or bet you’d ever cash in. His head rolls back slightly with each small circle of your thumbs and fingers, pushing against you. Silently asking for more pressure.
“Feel good?” You ask at just a whisper, not wanting to disturb the warm sort of feeling the room has right now by speaking too loud.
Under the safety of his mask, Ghost’s mouth curves into a smile hearing you. He rolls his head back again, arching slightly to accommodate your small hands struggling to find good purchase to keep working at the intensity he’d been hinting at. A much less controllable sound escapes his mouth when you begin working at a very sore spot he didn’t even know was present right at the base of his skull.
“Keep going,” His sleepy-sounding mutter makes your chest ache.
Grinning at the feeling of his harsh accent and sudden domestication you work away diligently down his back carefully and methodically so as to not miss a single thing. And while it’s not necessarily going to help him much, you go ahead and use your fingernails to gently scratch up and down. It’s then a groan interrupts your focus and you see Ghost shift on the edge of the bed. Believing you’d found the end of your time, you leaned back on your heels and expected him to get up and leave you in the bedroom alone. Watching him tug at his t-shirt and pull it over his head to toss it somewhere across the room was how you were told that Ghost did indeed want more. Only his shirt was getting in the way of something he wasn’t getting.
Hearing him give a deep sigh when your fingertips returned to his now bared skin gave you a rush of adrenaline and nearly caused you to wiggle happily that you’d been able to share this with Ghost. He leans back into you a little more, letting your hands and arms take more of the weight as he groans out;
“You’ve done this before.”
“Yeah, but not for a long time.” You answer, eyes smoothing over the muscles rippling as your hands work at them.
“You’re good,” He grunts, closing his eyes and zeroing in on how to focus his attention between your small hands working so efficiently and the conversation he’d begun. “How’d you get so good at it?” His head turns a little, trying to get at least one good look at you. He keeps shifting now, allowing him to keep you just in the edge of his periphery.
“Had a good teacher for a few years,” You answer, working in tight circles over a large ball of muscle fibers all collected just at the edge of his shoulder blade, earning another growling sound from the Lieutenant.
“Teacher? When?” He asks, giving a slow release of a deep breath giving a short indication that the muscle you’d been working to release was getting a bit uncomfortable. Pulling back for a moment just to give him and your hands a break, you hear him make a noise then lean back a little further, pressing his back against you almost like a dog wanting to be pet more.
“Don’t stop.” He requests in a husky tone. You chuckle aloud, returning your hands and taking a less aggressive approach by smoothing your palms over him in less-than-planned patterns, just enjoying feeling his tattooed and scarred skin under your hands as you think about how to answer him.
“A woman in London taught me,” you start, using your nails again on his skin softly. “In the year or so between my U.S. military discharge and acceptance into the task force with you.” You see the effect of your touch on Ghost as it takes him longer to respond and the way he keeps leaning more and more weight back into you, unable to keep himself from subconsciously trying to get closer. Wanting more whether he’d ever admit it or not. There’s no mistaking it between either of you, he’s enjoying this.
“I assume she was special to you.”
It was your neighbor just across the hallway from you. An older woman named Sarah. Eccentric in modern times, you’d always believed she must’ve been a force to be reckoned with when she wasn’t hindered by an aging body and an even more ailing mind. A massage therapist by trade, and a pianist by heart there wasn’t much that Sarah could accomplish without someone helping her once she became limited in movement living on the eighth floor of the apartment building you shared. Back then you didn’t have much in the way of contacts after leaving the country, and it led to a friendship with the old woman living across from you. Sharing stories, eating dinner together, grocery shopping together when she felt like going out, and trading some skills between each other. After telling Ghost this much with your fingers tracing out letters and shapes over his back, you can sense he’s listening carefully. And Ghost is feeling a slight fuzzy sensation building in the back of his brain, spreading out in a warm wave down to his fingertips and toes.
“She taught me massage since at the time I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my life.” Your head falls to the side, examining how the lamplight shines on ghost and deepens the already significant definition in his physique.
Ghost falls against you even more, and this time he lets his head fall back against you. Trying to counterbalance his weight and keep both of you from falling backwards with just him limp he’s becoming, you wrap on arm around his neck and hold his head in the bend of your arm. He gives another sigh, and settles against you heavily. He. looks at you in silence out of the corner of his eye listening to your explanation.
“Why was she your only friend?” You can’t help but chuckle at his question, resting your chin on his opposite shoulder and bringing your other arm under his to begin scratching and rubbing at his chest, feeling deep and puckered scars littering nearly every inch of him.
“I didn’t know anyone else. And you know me well enough to know that I’m not exactly extroverted.” You smile, tracing lightly up and down his well-defined arm. Ghost couldn’t be more comfortable laid against you.
“Sorry to hear that.” His voice low and husky with his mouth so close to your ear. “She must call or ask about you…”
You shake your head. “No. She died just before I joined you all. Her mind was… failing her. And there was some kind of accident in the middle of the night The police told me she was likely trying to get to the bathroom and fell. She apparently died on impact… they didn’t say what, but I think her head hit something.” You explain quietly. “And you and I both know that means lights out. So she didn’t suffer.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he answers as softly as he can manage after hearing the darker part of your happy memories. “How did it become… intimate, like this?” He asks, nodding to the way you were leaned up against his back with your hand tracing over every inch of him that you could reach. The longer you’ve both let this go, the more boundaries get pushed further out of reach, making it hard for either of you to really know where it could end.
You smile with a blush creeping up your neck onto your cheeks, thankful you’re somewhat hidden out of sight. “This isn’t really what she taught me,” You mutter a bit quiet. “When i was massaging you… yes. That I got taught. But this, it’s… just me.”
Out of your sight Ghost’s face flushes slightly as well, his cheeks a warm rose-color. You’re touching him in a way that he’d never expected. But hearing that you’re not just doing it for… relaxation, it’s a heavy but welcome thought. And Ghost can’t help that his body reacts to it with chills raising all over his skin despite the house being perfectly warm. He lets out a deep breath focusing on your words, repeating him over just to ensure that you’re not saying it one way and him interpreting it differently due to your hands being all over him, making him feel so good. Mind racing, heart pounding, he truly realizes just how vulnerable he is under you at this moment.
“I can stop if you’d like?” You offer, preparing to move away from him.
“No,” His hoarse voice gives away his sudden dry mouth. No matter how much your touch is affecting his body, he’s not willing to stop you right now. You’ve crossed into a level of trust that he can’t think to make you abide by anymore. It’s a foreign feeling for him, but he wants to push through it. Hoping he can feel more of you if he just holds on a little longer to this.
“Don’t stop."
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arqhon · 1 year
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឵឵ 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 | 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎
— SYNOPSIS: toji goes into a rutt during a mission with his team, and he gets stuck in a tent with you, his captain.
─ CW/TW: MDNI, military/army au, wolf hybrid toji, soldier!toji, captain!reader, mating cycles/in heat, restraints (on toji), bite mark + some blood, spit, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, pussy drunk toji, slight dubcon
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This has been sitting in my drafts for quite some time now, I hope you love War Pup!Toji as much as I do!! Enjoy the read xx
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When you hear news of a new soldier joining your ranks, you expect a clumsy, bumbling 20-something-year-old. What you don't expect is an old wolf hybrid who towers over you and looks as if he's walked through the fires of hell and back. He’s uncooperative, defiant, troublesome, and a big bully to the team.
The first few missions with him are successful but messy. Toji has a way of doing things on his own or deviating from your orders and doing what he thinks is best. At first, it didn't bother you, knowing that even though he's new, he's easily one of the best soldiers in your division. But when he started to get out of line, treat the team like shit and show you little to no respect, you pulled him aside to talk to him.
"Behave, K9. That's all I ask." K9 is the little nickname you and the squad came up for Toji.
He twitches his nose and nods his head, but you can see in his eyes that what you’re saying isn’t getting through to him.
"I know you're used to flying solo, but you're part of a team now. Communicate with us,” You punch him playfully, he lets you hit him, “and at least try to use your manners."
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand as if to shoo you away, but he can’t stop the corner of his lips from tugging up into an amused smile. “Sure thing Cap’n.”
Soon, you hear news that the higher-ups were suggesting the removal of Toji from your ranks. When the letter arrives at your desk, you're prepared and write a very passionate report back to Yoshinobu.
When Toji finds out, he practically bursts through your door.
"Nanami says you went against Big Man trying to keep me in your squad." He starts. "Why?"
"The team's not the same without you. And I'm not losing one of my soldiers just because he's reported to be insubordinate and tardy when I know for a fact that he is anything but."
Tojis pauses, and it’s almost as if you can hear his thoughts in the silence. "Thank you, Captain." He finally manages to say.
You give him a small smile and nod at the hybrid. "I'll see you tomorrow."
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"K9, how copy?" He hears you through the comms.
"All good, Cap'n." He gruffs out. "Tell me something interesting's gonna happen soon?"
"Negative." You call back. "A commotion is the last thing that we need. Stay on your best behavior, Sargeant."
"Yes ma'am."
"Atta boy, K."
The rest of your team laughs lightheartedly through the comms at Toji’s newfound obedience. Gojo laughs the loudest and the most obnoxious of them all.
"Captain, permission to beat the shit out of this cunt?" He growls, glaring at the white-haired man.
You laugh. "Negative. Not worth our time, K."
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After another successful mission, Gojo and Getou invited the team over to their place for drinks. You had texted Toji, pleading him to come, and to your surprise, he arrived at their house before you did.
"I heard that hybrids liked to be rubbed behind their ears, is that true, Fushiguro?" Gojo teases. "Does a little scratch behind the ears get your cute little tail wagging and shit?"
"That's a myth, Satorou-" He stops Gojo's hand before the soldier can even move. "Don't even try."
You sneak behind him, standing behind the couch where he sits, and then proceed to pet the wolf. You were sure that he had sensed you sneaking, and he could've easily stopped you, but for whatever reason, he didn't and you found yourself combing your fingers through his hair, petting the hybrid as the team kept drinking.
Halfway through the night, when Toji's drank enough to get tipsy, you could even swear that you could feel him purring, a deep grumble from his chest. It brought a smile to your face.
"Wasted yet, K9?" You tease.
"I know how to handle my whiskey, Captain." He hums low. "You on the other hand..."
"What about me, Toj?" You chuckle, moving to lay your head down on his lap like a kitten.
"Alcohol getting to you, Captain?" He quirks his eyebrow up, clearly amused.
"Never." You tap the tip of his nose playfully, and he scrunches his face. "I can handle my alcohol just fine, K9."
"Yeah, sure you can." His arm comes to rest on the back of the couch.
You reach for your bottle, wanting to take another swig of whatever beer Getou bought, but Toji snatches it out of your hands before you can spill it on his lap. You pout, eyeing the bottle of beer like a child whose toy has been taken away from them. Toji sighs.
He taps the underside of your jaw with his fingers. "Open".
You oblige, parting your lips and looking expectedly up at Toji. He holds the side of your jaw, thumb dragging your bottom lip down to keep your mouth open as he pours some of the beer into your mouth.
He wipes away the alcohol he's spilled onto the corner of your mouth with his thumb, and you boldly take his thumb between your lips and suck.
An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Taste good, Captain?"
You nod at him with slow blinks that turn into heavy eyelids. Soon, you've fallen asleep in his lap, alcohol still on your breath, and Toji has to hold back a laugh. He excuses himself and bids the squad goodnight before he carries you to your room, throwing a blanket over your body and switching off the lights. Before he leaves he hears you mumbling under your breath.
"Good boy, K9." You say sleepily. "Good boy..."
If you were awake maybe you would’ve caught the way his tail wagged more enthusiastically than normal.
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On a painfully slow day of filing reports and diving through sheets of paper, Toji knocks at the door of your office, bringing your thoughts away from dreaded paperwork.
"I'm requesting a temporary leave, Captain." He says, back straight, chin up, and hands behind his back as he waits for your response.
You blink at him once, twice, before you close the file that you were reading to give him your full attention.
"Temporary leave?" You tilt your head to the side and furrow your brows. "For what reason, soldier?"
"Doc says I'm due to enter The Season, ma'am." He has a smug look on his face that tells you that he's going to enjoy explaining what The Season is.
"Pray tell, K9, what is The Season?" You sigh, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms, ready for whatever bullshittery Toji has to say.
"Mating season, Captain." He shrugs with a lazy smile.
You scoff, amused by his blunt explanation. "You want me to give you temporary leave so you can fuck around and masturbate for a week? Not a chance, K9."
Toji wets his lips and takes his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it as he thinks of a proper way to explain his reason.
"Doc wants me in iso for the duration of The Season." He starts. "If I were to be around the team during that time, I'm afraid I'll hurt them, or worse."
"You would injure your own team?" You quirk an eyebrow at him.
"Only because I wouldn’t be in the right mind." He explains. "I would be running on pure, primal instinct, Captain. I'd be an animal.”
You hum low in thought. "If Doc says you need to isolate because you're a danger to my team during The Season then so be it. How long will it last?"
Toji clenches his jaw. "A month."
You shake your head. "Absolutely not. We have a mission coming up in less than three weeks and I am not going on it without my best soldier."
"But Captain-"
"The team needs you out there, Fushiguro. I need you out there. I am not going to let you jack off while the guys are out there fighting for their lives. Two weeks max. That's all I can safely give you."
Toji snarls. "Captain, two weeks won't be en-"
"Two weeks." You say sternly. "If your Season lasts longer then you will have to make do during the stake-out."
Toji grinds his teeth, hands balled into fists behind him so tight that they're white.
You glare at him, matching his intense stare. A war without guns.
"Dismissed, K9." You say through clenched teeth.
He lets out a low gruff before he turns on his heel and leaves your office.
Doc was right. Two weeks was never going to be enough. You and the team set up tents in the freezing mountains due south of your target's location. Your soldiers were zipped up and buried under layers of jackets while Toji was dressed like it was a normal sunny day.
"How are you not freezing to death, K9?" You say through chattering teeth.
Still annoyed at you for not letting him leave for a month, and irritated with his own rutt, Toji side-eyes you with a clenched jaw.
You throw your hands up. "Well shit, don't bite my head off, Toj."
He snarls low and guttural, but you let it pass knowing that he's only peeved because he's in his season.
"Captain, tents are ready," Nanami reports back dutifully. "Permission to share a tent with you, dove?"
You smile warmly at the blond. Always such a gentleman.
"What?" Gojo says outraged. "You said you were fine sharing with me! This is betrayal! Cap'n, share a tent with me! I'm heartbroken."
Gojo moves over to you, hugging you from behind and pouting like a child. He sticks his tongue out at Nanami who rolls his eyes.
Before he even knows it, Gojo is lifted into the air and practically thrown in Nanami's direction. The blond has to steady Gojo when he lands and when he looks back to his Captain he sees her guard dog standing menacingly behind her, protective, possessive.
"I'm sorry boys, I can't risk Toji sharing a tent with you guys when he's in Season. I don't want any of you getting shivved in your sleep." You pat Gojo on the back and squeeze Nanami's shoulder.
"How does sharing a tent with you make it better?" Gojo asks, burning daggers into Toji with his eyes.
"I can handle him, Eyes." You say with a smug smile. "Besides, he'll be restrained. I'm only there to keep an eye on him."
At the mention of restraints, Toji lifts an eyebrow at you. He sees a glint of mischief in your eye that he knows all too well and decides to just accept his fate.
Later in the night when everyone's settled, you take out a few ropes and cuffs.
"Captain, what kind of kinky shit-"
"Save it, K9." You cut him off. "This is to keep you from killing me in the night."
"You know your knots?" Toji asks, hesitantly laying back on the bed. "Because if you don't then you're screwed when I get out of these…'restraints'." He says it as if to mock you.
You move to straddle him, ropes and cuffs in your hands, and instinctively Toji's hands come to your waist, holding you steady.
"Hands by your sides, Fushiguro." You say, cool and collected as always.
Obediently, the hybrid brings his hands to his sides and you begin cuffing him to the bed.
"Y'know Captain, I'm starting to think that maybe you wanted to share a tent with me so you had an excuse to tie me up like this." He decides to tease.
"Watch your words, K9, or I'll tie this rope around your mouth too." You huff as you tie him down to the bed across his chest and legs.
"Oh, but you love it when I talk back, Cap'n." He smiles a toothy grin. "Don't you?"
"God you really are insufferable during your Season. It's no wonder you haven't found a- what do you even call it? A partner? Some kind of fuck mate?"
"I mate for life, Captain." You swear you could feel him growling. "It's not my fault I'm picky."
"Beggars can't be choosers, Fushiguro." You pat his chest, signaling that you're done restraining him to the bed. "How does that feel?"
"Tight." He hisses as he tries to squirm away. "Shit, you really don't want me moving, huh?"
"I'd rather not die in my sleep, thanks." You hop off him and pat his cheek. "Good night, K9. Try not to kill me in my sleep?"
He growls with no real bite. "G'night, Captain. Watch your 6."
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You’re woken by the sounds of low snarls, and thuds. You turn onto your side to look at Toji only to find him breathing heavily, chest heaving as he fights against the restraints that you’ve put him in. Against the darkness of the late-night air, you see his green eyes seemingly glow from the moonlight that seeps in through the mesh tent window as he stares right at you, teeth bared and voice low.
"Captain.” Is all he manages to gruff out as he continues struggling to break out of the restraints.
You move to sit up, suddenly aware that the more that the wolf hybrid tugs at his restraints, the more the knots seem to loosen up. You rush to his side, and instinctively he gnashes his teeth at you, letting out a sound so guttural and possessive, it shakes you to your very core.
“Stay still, K9, that’s an order!” You hiss back at him, fumbling dumbly with the rope.
The hybrid only snaps back at you, sharp teeth gnashing at you as he gets dangerously closer to your neck. He whines, pants, and gasps for air, taking in as much of your scent as he can, and when you look at his eyes again it’s almost as if he’s pleading, softening just for a fraction of a second as he lets out a noise so desperate and needy that he hides his face into your shoulder out of embarrassment.
“Captain,” His voice is deep and rumbles through his chest. “Please.”
He drags his teeth across the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and he practically salivates. He drools unashamedly as he forces himself closer to you, straining his wrists against the handcuffs. He pants like a madman, intoxicated by your scent, drowning in the ecstasy of you.
“Damn Season.” You curse under your breath as you move to tighten the ropes and cuffs around his hands only for him to grab your wrists and pull you closer to him so he could sink his teeth into your neck.
You cry out from the pain, tears starting to prickle in your eyes from the unexpected intrusion, but the wolf licks over the bite, cleaning up the pinpricks of blood as he grunts almost animalistically. You feel him smile against your skin, and it gives you the worst kind of goosebumps, the ones that terrify you, the ones that excite you.
“Oh, Cap’n.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I need you.” He tugs hard against his restraints and the metal cuff creaks under the strain.
Your heartbeat quickens, and the hybrid’s ears twitches with delight. He flexes his muscles, and with his newfound inhuman strength, he pushes against the restraints and the rope starts to break.
“I need you. I need you. I need you.” He repeats deliriously, a primal sort of desperation evident in the whine, no, growl in his voice.
He pushes against the ropes again and forcefully separates his hands apart, successfully breaking out of the cuffs. It’s all he needs to capture you and flip you onto the bed so that he’s on top of you, the rope still tied around his torso and coiling its way around his thighs. He spreads his legs apart and the rope breaks. He moves to straddle you, trapping you underneath him as he flexes his arms to rid himself of the rope wrapped around his upper body, then he grabs your wrists with one hand and pins it above your head on his bed.
“Picky.” He husked, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m picky, Captain.”
His free hand snakes its way up your midriff and under your shirt where the warmth of his hand sends sparks wherever he touches. His chest still heaves, like he suddenly can’t breathe or get enough of anything. The clouded look of want in your eyes, the feel of our heart pounding against your chest under his palm, and god your scent, strong and shameless when exposing your need for him. He smells it amongst the sweet vanilla and lilac undertones of your scent, he senses the need that starts to grow within you. He decides to test the waters and grinds down against you, and the little whimper you let out nearly drives him insane.
Much to his amusement, you attempt to fight against him and he decides to entertain you, letting you squirm underneath him as he pretends to try and hold you steady.
“Oh come on, Captain, we both know you can’t win against me.” He smiles sweetly with a dangerously low voice.
“Toji, please.” You huff against him, accepting that the hybrid is infinitely stronger than you but still willing to talk some sense into him. “You’re not thinking straight, it’s ‘cause of the Season and-”
A low grumble reverberates through his chest and he leans down closer to you, the smile dropping from his lips as his eyes narrow and a sincere kind of seriousness washes over his face.
“I’ve never had more clarity than I’ve had now, pretty.” He whispers low, just for you to hear. “I pick you, Captain, and if you’ll let me…oh, the things I would do to you.”
Taken aback by his words all you can do is stare at him wide-eyed and dazed. Toji smiles and hums as he waits for your answer, moving to press kisses all over your cheeks and forehead before he touches his forehead with yours again, inhaling your scent and closing his eyes with contentment. He’s suddenly pulled away from the trance he’s under when he feels you kiss him rough and all teeth and tongue. He grins wickedly against your lips. It’s all the consent he needs.
He lifts your shirt up and over your arms, and you shiver from the cold of the night. Toji’s hands trace up and down your sides, following the curve of your body as he comes to terms with the fact that he finally gets to have you, even if it’s only for tonight. You both rid each other of your clothes, and the wolf hybrid unexpectedly gets off the bed to kneel on the floor of the tent. You tilt your head at him, about to ask why he’s gotten down on his knees before he grasps you by your ankles, pulling you towards him until your cunt is in front of his face. The salacious glint in his eyes is the only warning he gives before his lips wrap around your pussy and he eats you out like a starved man. His tongue expertly swirls around your clit, and he’s messy and desperate. He drools and spits all over your cunt, lapping up as much as he can, committing the taste of you to memory as he inhales through his nose so that he doesn’t have to pull away. He hums against your cunt and it makes you throw your head back and moan his name. You’re loud and you praise him so well, he hopes that the others can hear you.
“You gonna come yet, Darlin’?” He pants, kissing your clit as he looks up expectantly at you.
You nod your head, chest rising and falling with each shallow breath as you grind yourself against his tongue. He smiles and hums against your pussy again which makes your toes curl and your back arch from pleasure. He spits on his fingers before he spreads your folds apart and blows cool air against your pussy. You squeal his name and he laughs before he pushes two of his fingers inside of your pretty cunt and continues to suck and kiss at your clit.
“Come on, Captain. Come for me? Come on my tongue and show me just how good I make you feel.” He sighs against your pussy, resting his cheek on your thigh as he fingers you and circles your clit with the thumb of his other hand. “Why don’t you be a good girl for me, yeah? You moan so pretty. Such a pretty thing, you are. Come for me, Darlin’.”
Your hand flies to cover your mouth in an attempt to silence yourself when you gush around his fingers, coming so hard that your thighs shake as Toji drinks and laps up as much of your slick as he can. He pants like a dog when you calm down, drool dripping from his tongue, your wetness coating his lips.
“You taste so fucking good, Captain.” He chuckles, tasting yourself on his fingers before he moves to straddle you again, capturing you in a heated kiss.
Your hands tangle in his hair and they tug and pull, he purrs low and it sends blood rushing straight to his dick. He grinds and ruts against you, a bead of precum already leaking from his tip.
“Aw, does my little pup want to cum?” You tease, stroking his cheek and feeling him nudge and melt against your palm. “You want to fuck me, hm, K9?”
He nods dumbly, hands pawing your sides, kneading the pudge of your hips desperately. “Please, pretty. I wanna fuck you.”
You trace his bottom lip with your thumb and he gladly sucks on it, looking at you with dangerous, needy eyes. His tongue lolls around your thumb, sucking obediently and rutting his dick against your lower stomach pathetically. He’s heavy on top of you, the sheer weight and size of him so big that he dwarfs you completely. Your free hand moves to wrap around his cock, teasing him by slowly moving up and down his shaft in time with his slow thrusts. He looks down at his cock against your abdomen and he drools at the sight of how deep he’ll be when he’s inside of you.
“Promise to fuck you so good, pretty, I promise.” He mumbles feverishly, head falling to your shoulder as he continues to thrust into your fist. “I’ll fill you up so good, Captain, stretch you out so nice. Bet you’d feel fucking amazing around my cock, hm? Bet I could make you feel even better.”
You feel some of his cum start to leak onto your stomach and he has to choke back a whimper, pulling away so that he doesn’t cum too quickly. He pushes your hand away, cock throbbing from the loss of contact, but he quickly reaches to throw your legs over his shoulders, pushing down on your thighs to expose your sweet puffy cunt to him. He slides his cock against your folds, smearing your slick on your pussy and making a mess on his member. He fights back a moan, but when his tip dips into your cunt he lets out a guttural groan. You let out a gasp and Toji’s hand moves like lightning to cover your mouth.
“Don’t let them hear.” He growls. “I’m the only one who gets to hear you.”
He tries to blink away the haze that he’s in, but when he thrusts himself further into your velvet walls he can’t stop himself from chasing the feeling and pushing all the way in.
“Toji!” You mumble under his palm, legs spreading apart from the way he’s splitting you in half.
You clench around him and all rational thoughts leave his mind and he starts to act on primal instinct. He presses himself closer to you, angling deeper and kissing you so hard that it steals your breath away. His pace starts slow, letting you get used to the rhythm and the stretch before he speeds up, growing more impatient the more addicted he starts to get to the feel of you, to the small gasps and moans of his name.
“Fuck, you take me so well, darlin’.” He whispers against your lips. “Feel so good.”
He hits the perfect spot inside you and it sends you arching off the bed and clinging to his broad shoulders for dear life. You claw at his back, pulling him close to you, fingers scratching marks on his skin. He grins with pride, happy to be marked by you.
Through sighs and moans, you manage to mumble out “Toj, I think I’m gonna-”
He shushes you, kissing the underside of your jaw as he ruts into you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
“I know, Darlin’, I know.” He whispers lovingly. “You can come, Captain. I want you to. Please, come for me. You’re my good girl, yeah? Why don’t you come for me, show me that you’re my good girl. I wanna feel you, wanna see you fall apart and ruined ‘cause of me.”
You pull him in for another kiss and this time he tries to pour all of the emotions he feels behind the weight of it. The want, the need, the desperation to claim and to have you, he puts it all into the kiss and you feel every part of it. He comes before you do, hips stuttering when he cums inside you, filling you up with so much cum that it spills out when he pulls almost all the way out only to thrust back in and fuck the cum back into you. You convulse around him, eyes rolling back as you clench tightly around his cock, milking him dry and he lets you. He stills when he has nothing left to give, and he whispers your name like a prayer, over and over again.
“Felt so good, Toji.” You laugh while trying to catch your breath. “Fuck, that was so good.”
Exasperated, Toji laughs with you and once again presses his forehead against yours. He feels surrounded by you and your scent and he decides that this is what heaven must be like.
“You should be with me for every Season.” He smiles, kissing over the bite mark he left on your neck.
“Yeah?” You tease, carding your fingers through his hair and earning a gentle rumble from him. “You think so, K?”
He lowers his full weight on top of you, putting his arms around you and resting his cheek against your chest. “I wasn’t lying when I said I mate for life, Captain.”
Your heart skips a beat. “What do you mean, Fushiguro?”
Toji draws mindless shapes on your stomach, fingers tracing shakily over your skin. “You aren’t just a fuck mate to me, Darlin’.”
He looks up at you, praying that he doesn’t have to say what he means and spell it out for you. Luckily for him, the look in his eyes tells you all you need to know.
“So what am I?” You smile softly, moving to caress his face with your gentle hands. “Am I still your Captain?”
You really did love teasing him. Sighing with a tired smile, Toji leans into your touch and kisses the inside of your palm.
He moves up to kiss you sweetly. “My Captain.”
reblogs and feedback are appreciated !!
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danihow · 1 year
Text
Fake
Jake x GN!Reader ENHYPEN
Summary: When walking home from the library someone is following you, you call the first person that comes to mind, your fake boyfriend.
Word Count: 2.0k
Warnings: Someone's following reader, fake dating, stress, simping, rain, mentions of fear, and idk what else.
A/N: Am i writing this over this tiktok, yes. Do I also not like this, yes.
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Your life felt like a movie, like a romcom with a surprisingly not that cheap budget.
Sure, it has been a bit too boring for the past few years as you were focused on your grades more than your social life, besides going out of your friends you never did anything far too exciting.
It was almost embarassing that one of the most exciting things you've done in your last three years of college was that one time in your sophomore year where you ran from the guards because you were in the library after closing hours and had to snuck out.
No. It was really embarassing.
At least, you could say your life has not been boring ever since your senior year started, ever since you met him.
Sim Jake.
One of the most outstanding members of the schools' soccer team, almost everyone that knew him were fully rooting for him to be casted in some first division team soon. And, almost every student in your major were too, as he himself was studying your major.
You two have never really exchanged more than a good morning or good luck when seeing each other in the hallways of your faculty, you could've sworn he probably didn't even can recall your name clarily. But you also could've had sworn you would graduate without interacting with him.
You were at least 95% sure about it.
That is, until you were asked by him to tutor him in accountability and finances, a subject he need to nail in order to be graduate with a good score and go to the team he has been receiving calls from, and, for better or for worse, a subject you were amazing at.
Somehow, and you didn't knew exactly when or where, you ended up in a fake dating deal with him.
He needed a tutor.
You needed some excitement.
He was single and in need of forgeting about his ex.
You were bored and didn't mind a 'boyfriend'.
It was perfect!
You thought it was the most bizarre and stupid idea you could think of, and it has been nothing but fun for the last couple of months the deal has been on, you 'felt like you've found a great friend in jake.
But as everything even barely good you had, you ruined it, and you realized it when the smiles he gave you everytime you met to hang out started to give life to something in your belly. When the glances you shot him became subtler, as if not meant to be done. When your eyes started lingering for longer seconds each time he drove you places, admiring the sharp silhouette of his nose and his jawline, the way his eyelashes brushed ever so slightly his cheeks each time he blinked.
You heart got warmer and warmer each time you even dared to look at him, until the heat on your cheeks was no longer ignorable.
You fell for you fake boyfriend.
You fell hard for Jake.
And you were so scared about it.
Your now friendship that blossomed between the two of you and the rest of his teammates, was far too precious for you to ruin it with what you felt, ignoring all the flirty glances and gestures from him. You couldn't even bear the thought of losing your friendship with Heeseung and Niki, with whom you gossiped during training, nor Sunghoon, Jay and Sunghoon who received you with food when you visited his shared apartment; you couldn't bear to lose him.
You had to unfall, ASAP.
Today, almost seven months after staring this messy deal between the two of you, you were decided of getting over this little crush of yours.
The night was really cold, one of jake's forgotten hoodies drapped over your shoulders as you walked to your apartment from the school library, having just finished a project due to monday, your work pal going home for the weekend, forcing you to finale it today. You even had to tell Jake you couldn't hang out with him at his apartment with his roomates to work on it.
The wind was brushing against your face, hair flying everywhere as you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder.
Out of instinct you looked behind you, hoping to find nothing as usual and keep on walking home, but rather got unpleasently surprised to find a man alone all dark clothed walking at most 10 meters behind you.
Maybe he lives nearby. You thought, walking a tiny bit quicker.
But much to your desmay, two turns to the right and one to the left he was now at least 8 meters from you, each time you walked faster he did so too.
You were fucking frightened by now.
Pulling your phone out, you quickly called the first person that came into mind, fingers moving on their own as they typed, in a mere second the ringing was already by your ear.
"Hey." Jake said at the other side of the line, the faint sound of the TV at the background accompained by Heeseung's screams would usually give you a homey feeling, but not today.
"Jake, someone's following me, i'm scared" you muttered rather silently, keeping on with your fast walk, at least 10 minutes more until you got to your place.
"What? Where are you?" He asked, shuffling sounding around, sudden silence in the room. "Send me your live location, I'm going to get you."
"Okay, I- I will." You didn't dare not to do as he said, the amount of time you've heard him this serious could be counted with your fingers, but it someway reassured you.
In less than 5 minutes the sound of a so familiar motor was heard from the end of the block, parking with a scfreching sound right beside you as Jake hopped out of Jay's car, a bee like line traced in his mind all the way to you.
As soon as you were within arm reach he engulfed you in a hug, his arms around your shoulders as he breathed you in, reassuring himself. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do we have to beat someone?" He said as soon as he pulled away, hands now craddling your face with so much care it would've made you melt if it wasnt for the adrenaline running in your veins.
"I'm okay." you whispered, now ashamed as you realized Heeseung, Jay and Sunghoon were in the car too.
"You sure sweetheart?" His question definetly was not doubting you, he was doubting himself, wanting to be completely sure of was he had heard. After your nod, he stared over your shoulder to find noone there as he toon you by the hand. "Let's get you home."
Its was almost ridiculous how quick the silent drive to your apartment complex was, your hand subconciously drawing figures on Jake's trying to calm yourself down from the scare.
The fact that Jake walked you to the door didn't help stop the slowly rising stampede running through you. "I know its too much but... can't you stay?" You asked, not daring to look up to him as you did so, his hands still in yours. "Yunjin isn't home until tomorrow... But you don't have to if you dont want to."
"If you want me to I will." He deadpans, voice so determined that made you look up, his eyes already on you and oh so warm, you doubted seriously what thoughts crossed his mind to make him look like that. "Only if you want me to stay."
"I do." You nod, looking at him as he went to say somthing to the guys, his hands waving goodbye to you as Jay yelled goodnight and drove away. The fumbling of your hand searching your keys being the only thing interrupting the silence between you.
As you walked throught the hallway all the way up to your apartment a comfortable air fell within you, his hand aching to hold yours again, your mind instead focusing on not make a fool out of you at the time of placing your key in the keyhole in the darkness of the hall.
And thanks to someone above, you didn't, easily opening and closing the door behind you two, words falling in a ramble as soon as you licked the lights on. "I know this isn't what we agreed to but..."
"What are you talking about?" He asks, confusion written all over his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips.
"I'm sorry for making you come, I panicked and should've called the cops, I'm also sorry for overstepping the li..."
"Y/N, what are you apologizing for?"
"I overstepped the lines of our agreement, this is fake after all, I shouldn't-"
"Is this still fake to you?" The hurt his voice held made something drop in your stomach, sinking it so far down you could swear is now below the floor.
"W-what?" Your voice was thin, eyes wide as he walked closer to you, one of his hands snaking around your waist without ever moving his gaze from you.
"Is this fake?" He reiterates, his other hand holding yours to place it above where his heart is. "Does the fear I felt at the mere thought of someone hurting you, feels fake?" He starts, eyes so sincere you felt like they were drowning you. "Does the way my heart races as I look at you so close in front of me, feels fake?" He keeps on going, heart beting almost worryingly against your ribcage. " If the roles were reversed, and i was the one hurt, how would you feel?"
"I'd be petrified..." You mutter, unabke to look away from him.
"And its real. See? This..." he says, fingers signaling between him and you. "Us. We are not fake anymore, at least not to me."
"Jake."
"Is this real to you too?"
"Jake..."
"If its not, i can walk out that door and pretend this talk never happened, but if it is, know I'm never leaving now."
"It is."
"Then let me kiss you, for real this time." His voice every second became softer, sweeter, barely above a mutter at the end of the sentence, lips gently falling over yours as he kissed you with so much emotion you felt like melting against him.
"Let me date you, as a real couple this time." He whispers as you broke apart, forehead resting gently on yours, his eyes still closed as his breath calmed itself, mind still running over the fact this was all indeed not a dream. "Let me be yours."
"I was so scared of falling for you..." You whisper against his lips, hands traveling up to rest in his chest. "I was scared of losing you, I-"
"You would never lose me, not when you make me feel like the luckiest guy ever to have you around." He smiles, brown eyes looking so intensely into yours.
"I'd have to say I'm luckier, having the Sim Jake falling for me huh." You had to tease, playing with the wrinkles of his shirt.
"Nah, I'm definitely luckier." He smiles stupidly, a zoo storming throught the both of you.
"Whatever floats your boat." You shrugged, pulling away from him.
"Let's go to sleep love." He chuckled at your teasy smile, pulling you by the hand over to your room. "My sweet, lovely partner." He muttered, hugging you as he fell backwards into the mattress, pulling you with him.
"Why does it sound so different now?" You ask between giggles, resting you head over his shoulder just as you did when you fake cuddled in his apartment.
"Because it real to us now." He mumbles against your hair,, a soft kiss on the top of your head following shortly after. "And I've never been happier to be awake."
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tarjapearce · 7 months
Text
Bad Teachings (Pt. 7)
Older!Miguel O'Hara x Reader
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WARNINGS: A little itty bitty smudge of angst, fluff. Miguel into espectator mode. Tiny bit of jealousy if you squint. Relationship buiding, Slow burn, friends to lovers, tiny bit of Nerdy Miguel
Summary: Getting to know Miguel is as rewarding as a double edge weapon.
Special Thanks to my beta readers @tojismommymilkers00 <3
Pt. 8 Masterlist
The warm touch on your shoulder had lingered a second longer as Miguel said his goodbyes to you.
"Try to get some sleep." He'd mumble with a soft nod, "Goodnight, guapa"
"Goodnight, Miguel."
You couldn't help but look at the shelf with a little smile. A rather pleasant surprise to your aching and bleeding self. A flurry of thoughts came to your mind.
What made him apologize? was the biggest of them all, still, all you knew was he had made an effort first, and such a thing as apologizing was clearly meaningful to you. There were no bad dreams that hunted you tonight. ---------
Miguel's eyes drooped in exhaustion, the triumph over your distress made him close his lids and savor the victory for a moment. Apologizing surely was something he had been doing for quite some years, but that didn't mean it had gotten any easier.
Misunderstandings were just another part of his life, and if he deemed them problematic enough, he'd assess them. Some solved themselves most of the time, but again, a new lesson was learned thanks to you. Communication always leads to better places.
He drove home, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips. No more nightmares came to plague him. ---- Your morning started on the right foot, you found Hobie and exchanged some pleasantries with him, promising to give a little treat for his support back at his shop. Then went to work.
The job was rather easygoing, another day of making people's dreams come true, another day of taking pictures in the company's studio for you to work your magic later.
Bloomsearch had grown, you'd notice a couple of new people that were part of another team. Fingers crossed your workload would be less. After the pictures were taken, you did a bit of editing until your lunch break came.
It hadn't been five minutes since you started eating your salad when your phone buzzed, nearly choking at the name displaying on your screen. Miguel was calling.
"H-Hello?"
"Am I interrupting something?"
"Not really, I'm on lunch break. Just surprised actually"
"Hm? Ah..." He chuckled and there was a little shuffling on his line, "Yeah figured it was better to just call instead of texting."
"You really hate texting that much?"
"I just forget, and wouldn't want to repeat the little stunt we did"
"Right, uhm-"
"What about at four thirty?"
"Hm?"
"After work, to... Julien's Spells"
You giggled "It's Julien's Potions . But yeah, four thirty sounds perfect"
"Well, ahí nos vemos ."
"What?"
"See ya."
"So rude!"
"That's what it means, guapa." A little chuckle.
"Oh... Yeah you forgot I know a peep about spanish."
"Better get learning then"
"Right, right. Nose vemmos "
You butchered the word, he'd probably be hiding his face in his hand out of cringe, but hey, you were trying. ----
Complaints only piled up, thankfully you weren't in the main campaign teams, but your pictures had to be retaken since the client decided on a different packaging at the last minute.
Your name was called by your immediate boss as you were editing. You followed and he took you and your other teammates to a meeting room. Swallowing the sudden anxiousness that took over, you sat nearby the entrance.
Your boss and another elderly man entered the room. He was tall, salt and pepper hair neatly combed to a side, blue eyes that if you look long enough would find something hidden in them. The man was handsome, but something about him flared your mistrust alarms…
He carried himself arrogantly, the way he regarded you all as he entered the room was a bit frightening honestly.
"This is Julius DeSantis, our new Graphic Arts Division Manager."
"Nice to meet you all. As you may know the company is expanding-"
His voice was deep, some of your teammates couldn't help but ogle him, his white hair kind of reminded you the patches of silvery strands in your father's head, his neat lock shaped beard that encaged a pair of thin yet refined lips, reminded you of the Mall Santa's man true identity.
The meeting was over, a pair of icy blue eyes trailing on you for a brief moment.
Of course the talks of how attractive the man was echoed through your section of cubicles.
The I wouldn't mind him talking down at me , along with more of he's such a dilf! And such straightforward as I'd ride him, made you chuckle at the sudden memory of your classmates saying the exact things about Miguel.
Guys in general were a little known territory for you. Of course you'd had little boyfriends here and there, You had one in your freshman year of college but you'd barely see each other to the point you weren't sure that you were still a thing anymore. And then another in your sophomore year that dropped college to chase a dream in another country.
The only one that had met the little yet honest list of standards you had for a guy so far.
You didn't know if it was the weather getting colder as the year slowly crawled towards its end that made you a bit wistful, or the sudden little changes that added as your life went on. But your mood has certainly improved a little since yesterday.
A little sadness remained in the furthest and darkest corners of the mood shelf, hoping to not be noticed.
Four o'clock ticked and you picked up your things, checked out and went for your car. Nervous fingers dialed a certain geneticist, hesitating for a moment to actually reach back, but how would he know where the place was? Because it wasn't registered on the GPS map yet.
Silly girl.
You dialed, it rang a couple of times before his deep voice erupted from the other line.
" Aló? " (Hello)
"Uh... I will send you the location of the parking lot I'll be in."
"Alright, salgo en cinco." (Coming out in five) "Okay?. Bye"
Your mouth exhaled, but you were proud. Concise and precise.
------
You were the first to arrive, and waited inside your car, a black mini Cooper you had bought in an auction for half the price. A little repairs and restores here and there and it was brand new for you.
You scrolled through social media in the meantime, fetching ideas for your hobbies. A few ideas for your own photoshoots and knitting techniques that surely seemed easier than the current one you were trying
Around twenty minutes later, A red Nissan Pathfinder parked in the opposite row you were. An all too familiar car that made your brain flood with memories you thought buried for good.
Miguel stepped out of his car and looked around but frowned upon not seeing anyone. His lab coat was left abandoned on his passenger seat, he wore an olive green button shirt and a deeper shade of green pants, polished black shoes, of course a belt that always accentuated his waist and to your surprise a pair of sunglasses.
You stepped out of your car as he was calling.
"Hey"
His frowning softened upon seeing you.
"Hola, guapa"
"Ready for a walk?"
"Hm? Thought it was closer"
"It's fine, it's just a couple of blocks away. C'mon."
You gestured for him to follow you. You had gone for a black knitted long sleeved Maxi dress and boots. The belt around your waist only added enough seasoning for your curves to pop out. His eyes fell on your waist and a bit lower just to trail on the road ahead. Your perfume guided him through the streets, a soft yet delicious smell of sweet summer cherries.
He stopped you when you intended to cross a street. Nueva York Streets were always bustling with people. His arm before you, shielded you from any intrusion in your personal space, a new wave of people pushed you further and further away from him. His hand however took a gentle hold of your wrist and pulled you closer.
"Agárrate" (Hold on)
You didn't have to know Spanish on this one to understand that he was instructing you to hold on his arms. Your hand squeezed through his arm and secured it as you kept guiding him through the streets.
You couldn't help but sigh in relief and give a little squeal when you stopped before your little treasure.
"We're here."
Your arm let him go and opened the door for him. The outside layout only allowed him to have a little peek into the bar. It turned clearer as he walked in. A little wind chime echoed, announcing your presence.
Some of the tables were occupied, the assistants glanced briefly before attending their own business. Miguel’s face was sure a treat. His eyes scanned through the place, face contorting in confusion, wonder and of course some resignation.
"Welcome, travelers. Allow me to get you a place." The waiter guided you to a more private stall, away from the people and gave your respective menu charts.
"Thanks."
Pearly painted nails raked over the plastic menu, as he examined his.
"You've been here, what would you recommend?"
"I liked the mango muffin and the red berries cold brew. But they have more elaborate dishes if you're hungry."
You both ordered, he went for the 'Tavern's Special Panini' and a cold iced tea. He had a good appetite.
"How was your day?"
You both chuckled as you spoke in unison.
"Ladies first."
"Right. Nothing new to report except I've got a new division boss. Everyone is... swooning for him."
"How so?"
"A dilf, according to my coworkers"
"And according to you?"
"Uh, sure, attractive, but... ever feel that weird feeling upon meeting someone?"
"It's called anxiety."
You scoff. "Oh trust me, I know about it. And it's more like a "I don't trust him sort of feeling."
"Isn't that a bit prejudiced coming from you?"
"Maybe, but I'm trusting my gut. Besides, sure, older men are something else, but I'm not into that much of an age gap."
He chuckled and leaned on his chair.
You rolled your eyes. "But enough on me. How was yours?"
"The usual, people complain but at least this time we got something done. So, it wasn't that bad."
"Glad to hear so."
After a couple of minutes your food was brought to the table and he didn't waste a single second trying it. You snapped a picture of him after taking the first bite of his panini with a giggle.
"That good, huh?"
"Delete it"
"No. I actually like it."
You showed him the picture and he huffed with a roll of his eyes.
"Can I keep it?"
"No."
"Pleaseee?"
"...Fine." 
You chuckled and saved it. "Thank you" You dug into your muffin, enjoyment plastered all over your face.
"This kind of reminds me of something"
"What exactly?"
His eyes turned a bit serious and your lips pursed. "If it's something embarrassing, I'll share one to make it even."
He seemed to consider for a second and exhaled.
"Dungeons and Dragons..." He breathed.
Your eyes went wide then smirked "I'm sorry but that's the most unexpected thing I've ever heard you say."
"I was young once too."
"And a nerd , apparently."
You chuckled but stifled a laugh as he deadpanned.
"I met Peter there."
"Wait... Peter? As in Mr. Peter B. Parker?!"
"You sound surprised."
"Of course I am! Cause you're totally opposites!"
"And?"
"You played with him? "
"And many others, good kind of fun."
You both went silent.
"That sounded...so very wrong." 
He swatted your head gently and you snorted. 
"My god. This feels like getting classified information from a dangerous source."
He chuckled and continued eating, just like you.
"Please tell me that you have pictures of that."
"No."
"Dammit."
You put a hair strand behind your ear. Conversation slowly spreading through many topics. You'd learn that his favorite color was white, red and blue. That his coffee worked better with the least amount of sugar possible. And that he liked sweet bread, something called 'conchas'. He had a sweet tooth. Flan and Tres Leches are his favorites.
Your eyes came fixed on the little soccer ball keychain attached to his car keys. The edges were faded, some of the enamel had worn out. A little smudged outline of a couple of words you couldn't make out since his large hand covered the resin back.
"I didn't know you were into soccer."
His face turned devoid of all emotion for a moment, muscles rigid, jaw clenched and eyes casted at the keychain.
He knew the trinket and the words on it like the back of his hand, like the algorithm he had been working on.
'Number One Papa!' Scribbled in an infant like penmanship with a sharpie, a too round heart next to the last 'a'.
His eyes turned into something you couldn't exactly pinpoint, but it wasn't good. Hand held the little aluminum thing tighter, his thick and mildly labored breaths made you clear your throat, snapping his attention to you. A chill ran down your spine  but words managed to come out your mouth
"I'd love to try some aerial dance."
As stupid as the comment was, he had turned his gears into a different direction.
"Hm?"
"Or dance."
"What's stopping you?"
"I have the movement of a sessile organism." You pinched your fingers together at 'organism, earning a chuckle from him. Amused at your attempt to be science-y.
"Can't be that bad."
"I was the tree in a school play because I moved like them…"
He had to hold back an ugly snort, harder to contain as your brows scrunched.
"Oh c'mon I shared my embarrassing moment! What's yours?"
He took a moment to recover before he cleared his throat. "I was afraid of horses."
You cocked your head "Oh?"
"That's all I'm saying."
You giggled and nodded. "Alright."
The conversation died as you both finished your meals. The sight of a green smudge on his right cheek had caught your attention for a little too long.
"Uh, you have-" Your hands gesture on your cheek, he touched the wrong one, completely missing your cue.
"Open your hand."
He does and you grab it to point at the green sauced smeared area with his fingertips. Your hand, small and elegant against his.
"Why didn't you just wipe it off?"
"Because I don't know if you like having your personal space invaded."
His eyebrow quivered with a mildly amused grimace.
"We've fucked before and you now worry over personal space?"
You sighed at his bluntness. "Just because we did means it's alright to invade people's personal space."
" Como gustes, supongo " (As you like, I guess)
He shrugs.
"How's the shelf going?"
"Sturdy and holding up as it should. Thanks for helping me with it."
"Not a problem."
You clasp your hands together abruptly. "OK, wanna play something?" "Like?"
"Questions."
"Quite curious you are. Aren't we already playing then?"
"Well, I am meeting new people and trying to make new friends, remember? And now that I actually think about it, I didn't know much about you, until today. But, if you are uncomfortable sharing things, it's fine."
" La curiosidad te va a matar, gatita" (Curiosity will kill you, kitten)
"Again, not a peep on spanish"
"Good."
He smirked and gestured for you to continue, indulging you this once.
"What's something new you have recently learned?"
"Some plants react well to blood."
Okay you definitely weren't expecting that. "Uh... what?"
He laughed silently at your alarmed reaction.
"An experiment back in the lab."
"I'm kinda concerned as to what kind of things you actually do for a living"
"You'd be surprised."
"Why genetics though?"
He shrugs.
"Pays well and basically you're paid to fuck around to find out."
"Yeah, I kinda wanna be a geneticist now."
He chuckles
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Why knitting?"
"It's calming. Even though I can't get a technique right and it's costing me a lot of yarn. Anyways, last book you read?"
"Not a book precisely but more like a long ass report about an upcoming research. You?"
"Just finished Camille."
" La Dama de Las Camelias? " (The Lady of The Camellias?)
"I... guess? But yeah. I cried, but absolutely loved it."
"You think that Margarita did the right thing?" His arms lean on the wooden chair's arms, waiting for your reply.
"There are many questionable things she does. But if by the right thing you're meaning her giving up Armand's love so his sister could be happily married? No. I don't"
"Why not?"
"Because... She was about to die. She didn't have much time left. She should have enjoyed her love till the very end."
"Hopeless romantic, aren't you?" "I'm a sucker for tragic romances. But it actually surprises me you know the book."
"A gift, really. I'm not usually into pink novels, but gotta give Dumas some credit. Armando is such... a relatable character."
"Strong willed and quite stubborn?" Reminds me of someone."
"Ouch." "I really hated Armand towards the end though"
"He didn't know about the deal."
"Still! I don't understand that... pathological need to get revenge. He had such a fragile ego." 
"A proud man that has done almost the impossible to conquer a famous courtesan, that does little to nothing in keeping him in the shadows?"
"Hey, Marguerite spoke clearly to him ever since the begining! But he was too... possessive and impulsive."
"Last bit reminds me of someone"
He said as he poked his ear, you gasped playfully.
"At least it was a piercing and not a letter saying awful things or using a friend to make Marguerite jealous."
"I don't justify nor condone his actions, but Armando deserved the truth."
"On that we can agree. Keeping such a thing from him was terrible."
"What would you do if someone pulled a Margarita on you?"
"Depends."
"On?"
"Their excuse. Some things can't be said right away or face to face because they might be too much to digest. But there are things that can be said on the spot."
His eyes twinkled in amusement as his eyes widened softly at your response.
"Still. It's not that easy"
"I never said it was. They didn't communicate properly and that's how they ended up like they did."
"Communication is key to you?"
"Of course it is!. I mean, I might not have as much experience in relationships, but nothing can't work without communication. Not even friendships."
" Cierto, cierto."  (true that) He nodded with a small smile.
"I didn't expect this"
"What exactly?"
"Having fun."
"Are you calling me a bore?"
You snorted. "No. Just... feels different. The first time felt like an obligation. I know you said it wasn't, but I couldn't help but feel like it was."
His eyebrow quirked. 
"And this one feels different. It's fun."
"You looked out of yourself, yesterday. It was odd."
"Odd?"
"You're usually all... like that." He gestured at your clothes, "Pretty. Perfect." It was your turn to frown and cast away your eyes from him.
"I hate that word, y'know?"
"Pretty?"
"Perfect."
"Why?"
"You'd have to tell me something really personal too in exchange."
His eyebrows rose in surprise. You sensed an impending tension so you broke it, clearning your throat. "But I think we've shared enough for today."
He nodded, and you smiled softly.
"Thanks for your concern though. Ready to go?"
"Sure."
"Wait. I'll pay for my-"
His hands stopped yours and he shook his head. " Déjame ." (Allow me.)
"What?"
"You really need to start learning spanish."
"Seems so."
"Consider this my apology."
"B-But you gave me macarons yesterday"
"Still, it seems like a last minute idea for an apology. This is better"
A soft blush crept your cheeks and you couldn't help but nod. "Really appreciated." 
-----
You had gotten a little muffin box for Hobie and his mom, and another one for yourself.
You walked next to Miguel, silence stretched between you both but this time it wasn't awkward or discomfiting, after all you had spoken, it seemed only right. It was comforting even. Knowing a bit more of himself surely offered a new perspective on what made him Miguel.
Your thoughts however were interrupted by your name being called, both couldn't help but turn at the source.
A man, late twenties, athletic looking, kind face with short and styled to a side hair and a mild stubble approached you with a bedazzling smile.
Miguel instantly turned his spectator mode on, and let everything unfold before him.
You held the muffin boxes in one hand as the mystery man hugged you.
"Simon!" Your voice seemed more surprised than anything, as you hugged the young and attractive man with a little fondness plastered in your face.
"Look at you! So... different."
Miguel cringed inwardly as he stepped away from the both, but the hazel eyes from the young man stared at him.
"Oh... didn't mean to-"
"It's fine. Really. This is Miguel O'Hara."
"Friend." Miguel mumbled as he stretched his hand a bit rougher than intended.
"Right. Simon Morvan." He let his hand go
"Thought you'd stay abroad."
"Oh that... heh. No. Sure it was fun but I like it here better" He smiled and you returned it.
"You're staying?"
"Possibly, yeah."
"Nice."
"Mind if I get your number?"
"Sure do."
Miguel noticed that Simon input his phone number into your phone. Giving you the absolute power of a further interaction with him.
"See you then, gotta go. It was nice to see you again, cherie ."
"Same, take care, Si."
You both watched Simon go and then smiled at Miguel. He just chuckled as you made your way back to your respective cars. You gave him a mango muffin and went home. You gave Hobie the little box and greeted his mom in the process. ----
"Thanks for today, it was fun. Sorry for the sudden interruption, though"
Phone rested on your cheek, body tucked under the sheets as you both talked.
" It was interesting seeing you interact with someone else ."
"You say it like you and Hobie are my only friends."
" Isn't that the truth?" He chuckle and you groaned, mildly annoyed
"You're mean. But yeah. It's true. Didn't know you thought of me as a friend."
" And that is?"
"Good. I'm glad to know you think I am reliable."
" You are, guapa."
"Damn, just remembered, might as well start re-learning french."
" How come?"
"Simon is French"
" No mames, qué cliché " (No fucking way, how cliché)
"I certainly understood the last thing, don't be rude!"
" Spanish first, French later.""In order of arrival."
" Spanish first, trust me."
He pressed and you nodded with a yawn.
"Okay, okay. Goodnight, Miguel"
" Descansa, hermosa." (rest well)
------
taglist:
@jkthinkstoomuch @queenofroses22 @del-lightfulling @katitakenway @amylasagna @rositabluemoon @lyrasdrawer @plumplumpurin @damhanallagorm @chibiiichann @tatatida @incustellar @taeecups @vonev
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heliads · 7 months
Text
speak now (or forever hold your peace)
Charles Leclerc finds himself waiting on someone in a church. All of their friends and family are here, but the only person he can think about, the person he's here for, is Y/N L/N.
masterlist
warnings: marriage, death, angst, pining
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They say there’s only two main reasons someone would invite this many people to a church:  a wedding or a funeral. A morbid phrase, certainly, but somehow fitting, as all uncomfortable sayings are. Charles, for one, knows exactly why he’s here today, and the other option is something he doesn’t even want to think about. Not today. Not ever. 
There are many churches in Monaco, but only one would work today. It’s the one right down the street from where both of them lived, him and Y/N, up until the point where Charles started racing and let fast cars and extended contracts take him far, far away from the place that used to be theirs. 
Now he’s back again. Say what you will about fate or destiny, but it does seem to have a clear message. No matter how long Charles runs, he will always circle around far enough to find himself back home. 
That’s the wrong message for today and he knows it. Today is not for thoughts on racing, today is for him and Y/N, Y/N and him. He’s known her since they were both too small to talk but just big enough to know they were meant to be best friends, and now they’re hovering on opposite sides of a church neither of them have really orbited until now. 
Y/N’s parents chose the church, and God knows they’re in over their heads enough as is, so Charles won’t spare another thought towards the location. The place of this event is, of course, insignificant in the long run. What matters most is the life he leads afterwards. 
And what a life indeed. Looking back on it later, and even caught up in the frenetic moment of now, Charles will evenly divide his memories up into two distinct segments:  before this day, and after it. 
The before is marvelous. Childhood friends– they’re better than anyone else, really. Your family loves you because they have to, but your friends choose you because they want to, and that made all the difference. Y/N knew more about Charles than anyone else on this earth who wasn’t a direct blood relation, and despite everything, she still chose him.
It makes no sense, really. How do you grow up watching a boy become obsessed with a team that’ll never let him win a world championship, who will drag away hope just to hold it tantalizingly close, and still believe in him? Charles calls her after every race, the good and the bad, just to hear her voice. Anyone else would get tired of him, but not Y/N. Never Y/N.
It had taken him forever to realize that he loved her. Strange that he didn’t know it until he was old enough to move out of home, but Charles always thought of it like a guarantee, that even if he had nothing he had Y/N, so maybe it was only after they were separated for the first time that he could truly figure it out.
Charles had made her cry when he left. She’d tried not to let the tears out, not in front of him, but he saw the telltale traces of her sadness when he was saying farewell, about to board the plane. Charles had never felt so bad about anything in his entire life, knowing he’d caused Y/N grief, but conversely, nothing ever felt so good as when he’d returned at the end of the season and she’d sprinted into his arms at the airport, back together at last. 
On that day, her head tucked under his chin, both of them physically as close as they could possibly get under the circumstances, Charles finally realized what he knows now in excess:  he was utterly in love with Y/N L/N, and he always would be. 
Right now, the separation between them consists of the white walls of this church and the crowds they’re in. Charles is with his family, and Y/N is with hers, but after this, there will be no more divisions, not really, just the crowd of we-were-here that will make them whole.
Charles knows where he is, and there is, of course, the knowledge that Y/N is somewhere in this very building, just a few doors down but somehow utterly unreachable until the ceremony begins. He hasn’t seen her all day today, actually. Has no idea what she’s even wearing. She’s been prettied up by now, no doubt, a perfect picture of everything he loves, but he will not know until it all starts. 
Charles already knows that he’s going to cry when he sees her, and he tells his mother as much. She clucks her tongue knowingly, then says something about how he always was her emotional boy, even when he was a child. It’s not a bad thing, not always. Sometimes, on days like today, it lets you know that you love someone, and he does love someone. He loves her.
Someone coughs, and Charles flinches slightly, jerking upright and back to reality, out of his head. This is an important day. He’s not going to mess it up just because he was thinking about the past. All he has now is the future, years and years of things that haven’t happened yet and happy memories that he will be blessed to make.
Charles casts a look around the room. His best mates are here with him still, wearing what appears to be the same black suit and trousers. They never officially picked out what they’d wear together, but formalwear always tends to look similar anyway. Not his fault they all have the same taste in suit jackets.
One of his friends from back home stands up, claps him on the shoulder. “You ready to go out there?”
Charles swallows hard, then nods. The sooner it starts, the sooner he gets to the after. He lets his friends go out first, follows them blindly through the innards of a church he hasn’t been to since he was small. He’s half sure that if he just looks hard enough, glances in the periphery of his vision before the ghosts can flicker out of his sight, he’ll catch a glimpse of him and Y/N, shorter than waist height, running from their parents to hide in one of the Sunday school classrooms to laugh and laugh until they were found again.
Instead, Charles keeps his eyes resolutely ahead. The smell of flowers grows almost overpowering the closer he gets to the front of the building, and when his friends pull open the doors to the main room, it’s the first thing he notices, the dozens of sprays of lilies and roses, so many petals that it looks like freshly fallen snow.
His feet slow down once he’s inside, and Charles feels all eyes on him as he processes down the aisle behind his friends. He can see Y/N’s parents already there, front row, then his parents across the aisle from them, his brothers further down the pew. Everyone who knew the two of them are here now, and dry eyes have already started to sparkle.
Charles blinks and he’s at the front of the sanctuary. He looks up at the cross suspended from the wall, breathes in and out quickly, and then he turns and he sees her at last. Y/N, wearing white, but Y/N, perfectly still. Y/N, dead so young, because he is not here for a wedding nor a birth or any kind of happy festivity, but for her funeral.
His knees almost buckle. It takes everything in him to stand over her coffin, to look at her closed eyes and understand that they will never open again. Charles manages to stumble over to his family’s pew and sit down, listening blankly as the members of the church arrive and begin to speak on Y/N’s life, which somehow, impossibly, is already over and done.
Charles can still feel the stares even as speeches are given, memories are shared. They’ve told him that, although this pain is fresh and raw, he’ll be able to get over it in time, because they were both young, and he at least had plenty more years to enjoy even if she didn’t. They click their tongues at him like he’s a child, and express their sympathies. He wants to scream at all of them for not understanding, but of course that would make him seem even more juvenile than before, so he holds his tongue and attempts to keep the tears at bay. It doesn’t entirely work.
Charles knows a lot, actually, more than anyone gives him credit for. He knows what it’s like to sink your whole life into a job that will never give you back anything but your own blood and sweat and tears. He knows what it’s like to love, what it’s like to lose, and exactly how agonizing it feels to sit at the funeral of your best friend, your girlfriend, the woman you should have lived forever with and will now never get the chance. 
Those who would speak have by now, and people start to file from the church again. Charles does not move a muscle, even as his friends and then his family start to shuffle around, fix their clothes, and get up. The tracks of tears are still hot and fresh on his face, so his mother presses a hand briefly to his shoulder and hands him a tissue before directing his brothers to go on without him. 
Charles stays there, watching everyone else depart the room, and he wonders how he is ever supposed to get up and live his life without the one girl who has always been there for him. There has never been any world in which he did not have Y/N with him, and now she is lost to him forever. It is grievously unfair and completely out of his control. He has already been to too many funerals. This one is too final a blow to bear.
Charles is the last one to leave the funeral service. Y/N’s family is kind enough to give him a few moments alone with her in the church. He doesn’t deserve it, not more than them, who had her for longer than he ever did, who knew the secrets he never got to ask about. 
Charles Leclerc sits alone in the church, he clasps his hands together so tightly that the blood rushes out of them from the sheer force of his prayer, and he thinks,
I wish I had married you. 
a/n hahahahhaa
f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey
all tags list: @wordsarelife
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incorrectbatfam · 9 months
Note
I h3ad cannon athat all the batfam members have had/are still in their emo/goth phases.
Example:
Bruce dressed as a bat and punches criminals at night (I also head cannon that he listens to the rolling stones and MCR)
Anyways thoughts?
Also what were the other batfam members emo/goth phases like?
Dick: He was hella neurotic in his late Robin/early Nightwing days. That plus his mullet and guitar tells me he probably tried to live out of a used van he bought for $700 after a fight with Bruce only to come home a week later when someone knocked on his window.
Jason: He's the theater/classic lit goth. When he was younger he would read by the glow of a candelabra even though the lights work perfectly fine. Post-resurrection, he graduates to the biker anarchist who has no problem launching a molotov at a CEO's mansion.
Tim: He's from the 90s. He's sitting in that Y2K grunge-emo-punk gray area where his playlist is a mix of the Clash, Nirvana, and Green Day. He's coloring his hair with Kool-Aid, playing with makeup, ripping his own clothes, and talking about new songs on AOL.
Damian: He's aiming for dark academia, but that's hard to pull off if you know what American schools look like. He annotates the margins of his books with notes he thinks are insightful but are actually just basic observations. Also he listens to Imagine Dragons.
Duke: This kid isn't emo or goth, he is a punk through and through. Sassing the cops? Jumping off a bridge? Leading a ragtag vigilante team? If he wanted to, I bet he can pull off a leather jacket with some homemade spikes while blasting Bad Brains and Death.
Cullen: Canonically, he watches anime and Supernatural, and I've made a lot of Tumblr references with him. He's definitely your quintessential 2010s emo nerd—Black Parade, fandoms, the whole shabang. He also definitely followed Dan and Phil.
Stephanie: She strikes me as the early 2000s pop-punker—think MySpace and Avril Lavigne. She probably had a Not Like Other Girls phase that she quickly grew out of. I can see her cutting posters out of magazines and sneaking her MP3 under an oversized hoodie.
Cassandra: She canonically listens to Killswitch Engage, so I like to imagine what she was like as a baby metalhead. Maybe she thrifted a Pantera shirt and chopped her hair with safety scissors. And at concerts she's absolutely up front when the wall of death happens.
Barbara: I think she dabbled in a little bit of everything without ever outwardly expressing it. Her playlist is all over the board, from softer rock to screamo. She also experimented with makeup a little, like black lipstick, and is more involved in the activism side of things.
Harper: She's definitely industrial punk with a huge emphasis on the DIY aspect of the subculture. She strings soda tabs into chains, turns old screws into boot spikes, and even learned to give herself tattoos. She also absolutely has a drawer full of patch pants.
Carrie: She's a TikTok e-girl, leaning into the pinks and purples along with black and white. She turns fishnet leggings into gloves and has a bunch of animal ear headbands. She also listens to Melanie Martinez and Tame Impala regardless of if they count as alternative.
Kate: Queer people play a huge role in the punk scene and vice versa. I can absolutely see Kate jamming out to an early Pansy Division track or searching places like Bandcamp to support smaller indie artists. Also she has a jacket that says "Nazi punks fuck off."
Alfred: Before punk and its subgenres, Alfred was canonically a delinquent and in that day, delinquency meant gelled-up hair and moving like Elvis. The hair didn't work out for him, but he was able to catch one of the first shows Buddy Holly played in London.
Selina: Alt cultures are based on not having much and working with what you got. Selina would use the five-finger discount at big-box stores and save her money to support small businesses. She also went around listening to free local rock shows on Fridays.
Bruce: He listened to the Rolling Stones before, but his first real intro to the scene was a handmade zine he found on the floor at school. From there, he explored more underground artists and took up journaling as a way to vent his feelings. And then: Batman.
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inthedoghousern · 2 months
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just this once
pairing: oscar piastri x fem!driver!reader
summary: you and oscar are what people would describe as rivals. but a night in monaco, a club, an elevator, and confessions can change everything.
contains: 18+, suggestive content, swearing probably idk, drinking + alcohol, events leading up to sex (?) but nothing too graphic, kinda fluff and angst
5.5k words
a/n: this is too long and there's very little characterization but enjoy i suppose... part II: okay part III: 11:45
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You were smiling as you chatted with a guy at the party. The music was blasting around you and the lights were colorful. You were in Monaco, celebrating your first Grand Prix here. Despite being a rookie, you had placed second in the race, an impressive and historic performance, especially since you were the first woman to do it. 
It felt like the whole weekend had been revolving around you. At the track, there was a sea of fans, journalists, and even employees from other teams coming up to congratulate and talk to you. Now here at the club, it was the same, with stranger after stranger wanting a slice of your attention. 
"So how long are you in Monaco?" He asked leaning against the high-top table, with a sly smile on his lips. “We should see each other again.” Before you could answer, you heard a voice behind you. 
"She's cant, we've got more racing to do. It's the job." You rolled your eyes, the familiar voice belonged to no other than Oscar Piastri. 
You and Oscar’s friendship, if you could even call it that, was complicated. What started as kinship during karting years turned into resentment as you made your way up the motorsport ranks together. F4 British Championship, the Renault Eurocup, F3, F2, the two of you were always close competitors, but Oscar always had an edge. You’d be runner-up to his championships, watched as he got a seat in Formula One while all you could do was keep racing in lower divisions and hope you could prove to any team that you would be a valuable driver. 
But now you’ve made it, it’s your rookie season and you’ve finally started to beat Oscar, and it helps when you’re in a Red Bull. Podium after podium after podium, you’ve already blown Oscar’s impressive rookie stats out of the water. As a result, the rivalry between you has only grown bigger. 
“Oh Oscar you actually weren’t involved in this conversation,” you say giving him a fake sweet smile. He claims he can’t stand you, but here he is going out of his way to make your night difficult. Typical. 
You turn back to the guy in front of you. His name was Alex… William…? You honestly didn’t remember and had no interest in finding out, but it was amusing to see him throw himself at you. Amusing that Oscar came over and has to witness it. "I'm actually here for a few more days," you tell him. You pull your phone out of your bag and slide it towards the unnamed guy. “Put your number in. We can set something up later.” The guy smiles, and you fight back a laugh as Oscar still stands at the table with you two. You had no intention of ever texting or speaking to this man again. 
-
The night goes by in a blur. You’ve lost the guy you were talking to earlier and make your way to the bar to order another drink. Your life feels like some sick joke when Oscar slides up next to you and orders himself another round too. “That guy looked like a prick,” he says. 
You chuckle and nod your head in agreement. “Yeah, he did look like a prick."
The media and fans had characterized Oscar as this nice, young, shy guy. But the Oscar you knew was deathly competitive with a bit of a mean streak. 
“Why do you care though?” I ask turning to him, cocking my head to the side. “Care what guys I talk to at parties? I mean, if that dude was Zak Brown, sure, I’d see why you’d stop me from stealing your seat, but….” I taunt. 
"Alright watch it," he said while shaking his head. You roll your eyes, you know that he can’t do anything in retaliation to your teasing. You were the star now, you were his rival [who’s winning] and you were untouchable.
You finish your drink and turn to the dance floor, “see ya Oscar,” you say flashing him a smile. You can feel his eyes burning your back as you walk away.  
-
This club felt like a time warp. As you danced and talked and drank, you saw gridmates and girlfriends walk past, at one point Lando was up at the DJ booth. Your head is fuzzy and you don’t know what time it is. You push through sweaty bodies to the tables surrounding the room, shuffling around to find your things. Finally, you’re able to find your bag, and luckily your phone is still inside, so you make your way out of the club. You need some quiet and fresh air as you sort out transportation back to the hotel. You were throwing in the towel for the night. 
Outside the music was still spilling from the doors, filling your ears with the sounds from the club. You checked your phone, trying to get it to work. Your vision was slightly blurred from all the alcohol, you were probably drunk.
“Hey,” you hear, it’s him, again. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard Oscar's voice coming from behind you. You couldn't help but feel some nerves running through your body. You had just spent the night ignoring him and now he was here. You didn't turn around to look at him, you weren't sure what would happen if you did.
With your phone finally unlocked, you call an Uber. With that task finished, you turn, feeling wobbly, and when you look at Oscar he looks just as drunk as you. “Hey.”
“I’m leaving,” you tell him. 
"I'll leave with you," Oscar responds immediately, sounding annoyed. "Why do you have to leave so soon?" He asked. 
“Leave so soon? We've been here for hours,” you reply. You don’t address his first statement, but your mind is circling the fact he just decided he was coming with you. He didn’t even ask if he could, if you wanted him to, he just announced it. 
"Doesn't mean it's time to go," Oscar said as he stepped closer. He put his hands on your shoulders, his breath smelling like alcohol. "Why don't we go back inside?" He asked. What was he thinking? You didn't pull away, it was the alcohol. You couldn't stop your mind from being hazy, you couldn't help the sensations of his hand on your shoulder. You put your hands on his biceps in response and look at him in the eyes. “No Oscar, I’m leaving.” 
For a moment, everything felt as if it was going in slow motion. Oscar stood there, his hands on your shoulders, as you looked directly at the most beautiful most infuriating guy you had ever known. You spoke firmly, but it was clear that you were struggling. Oscar was drunk and stubborn as always, he wasn't letting this go easily.
“Hmmm?” I muse. My brain is so fuzzy I almost don’t notice his grip on my shoulders tightening. “I’m leaving Oscar. You can share my Uber back to the hotel, go back inside, or do something else. But I’m going.” Oscar said nothing. He was breathing heavily against you, his grip tightening even more. For some reason, his grip felt good.
"I'll go with you," he said, finally, his voice was low. “Alright,” you respond. You stand, he's still holding your shoulders, your hands still on his biceps. You don't know how long passes, but the Uber pulls up to the curb and you both let go of each other. You climb into the back seat and Oscar sits next to you, his body barely a foot away from yours.
The journey to the hotel is mostly silent, but you catch Oscar stealing glances at you.
“Looks like you partied a little hard for P9, no?” You tease. "Shut up," Oscar grumbled, you were pushing him right to his limits. You knew that he was angry, but you couldn't help but poke fun at him. You felt good when you could get one over on him for once. For the rest of the ride to the hotel, Oscar is silent. Every time you look at him, he quickly looks away. It was a side of him that you had rarely seen, the way he looked so unsure and uncomfortable.
-
You both step out of the Uber and walk into the hotel. It's late at night and the lobby is almost empty. Oscar follows you into the elevator, you can feel the heat from his body radiating against you. The elevator doors close and you are in your own little world. He presses the button to his floor: 6, and you press the button to yours: 9. You both stand side by side as the elevator slowly moves up. 
The elevator rises, and just like the car journey, Oscar is quiet. A quiet that feels so much more intimate in this small space with the two of you pressed up against each other. Neither of you speaks, you are lost in the moment. It's almost as if the elevator is going too slow, or too fast? You don't want this moment to end.
The bright lights of the elevator and the presence of Oscar sober you up a little bit, just a little bit. You’re hyperaware of the floor numbers changing, getting closer to floor 6, where you and Oscar will have to separate. Oscar's body felt warm against you. You wanted to grab him and hold him close to you, but it would be wrong. You knew that he would most likely pull away from you. 
This has to be goodbye.
“Why didn’t you want me to leave the party?” you ask. Oscar didn't expect that question. You could see it in the way his eyes widened before they narrowed back to the previous stoic state. "I didn't want you to leave because..." He said before pausing. He took a deep breath before continuing. "I wanted you to stay, with me." He said, his voice quiet. You don’t respond. What Oscar says makes your heart jump into your throat. You weren’t supposed to be having these conversations, you certainly weren’t supposed to be having them with Oscar, someone who you can’t stand. Someone who can’t stand you. It’s the alcohol you tell yourself. 
Ding.
You’re on floor 6. 
The elevator doors open, and Oscar doesn't move, instead, he looks at you.
You look back, your mind is racing a mile a minute. He is just staring at you, waiting for you to speak. You felt the heat of his body, the smell of his breath, and the beat of his heart. The air felt so heavy between you both. “You’re supposed to hate me,” you say quietly. Seconds are passing and Oscar is still in the elevator with you. If he doesn’t get out soon the doors are going to shut and you’re both going to keep going up to your floor. Oscar still wasn't getting off, he seemed lost in a trance. It felt like the world had stopped as you looked at him. He didn't respond to your words, his breath was so close to your face.
“Do you hate me?” you say just above a whisper. You are staring at each other now. The elevator doors close and continue up to your floor, and Oscar’s still in here with you. 
"I used to hate you," Oscar said, his voice was soft, and you could hear no anger in his tone. "But..." he paused, and the elevator continued to rise. The both of you were standing inches apart. "But not anymore." He finished. 
You wanted to grab him. Hold his face. Kiss him. Let him do whatever he wanted. No stop. This has to be the alcohol. It has to be. What would everyone say if they found out you were thinking these things about one of your gridmates? Your competition. Your rival. 
What would happen if you just went for it? Just one kiss. You know you’d both regret it, but just one kiss couldn't hurt...could it?
Ding. The doors open. You quickly step back from Oscar, regaining your senses. You exit the elevator and don’t care to check if he’s following you. You hope he’s not. 
You walk to your room, still not looking back at the elevator. You get to the door and fumble for the hotel keycard in your purse. You can feel the heat rising on the back of your neck as you think about what just happened between you and Oscar. Your hands were slightly shaking, your heart was beating wildly and you felt lightheaded. You finally get the door open and quickly shut it behind you. You stand in the entryway for a beat before throwing your purse down, taking your shoes off, and lying down on the bed staring at the ceiling.
Was he going to say anything to you in the morning? Would he act like it never happened? What if we both act like this never happened? Was he going to knock on your door?
You lay there in bed, your mind racing. The alcohol was slowly fading away from your system, but the memories were still clear in your mind. You were still feeling the heat of his body against yours and the smell of his cologne. You were so conflicted, you should be upset and mad. You shouldn't be enjoying the thought of him coming to your door and saying more. That was Oscar, you hated Oscar, you weren't supposed to want him.
You sit up. You need to go to sleep and just clear your head of this. You wash your face and change, all the while thoughts of Oscar run through your mind. You look at yourself in the mirror, is that what Oscar saw when he looked at you?
You crawl into bed, you are still on a high after the party and the adrenaline from Oscar. You close your eyes, trying to distract yourself. But as soon as you closed your eyes, you could only picture him. You could picture his lips when he spoke, his jawline. You could picture the look in his eyes when he looked at you. Your mind was so focused on his body, what it would feel like, what it would taste like to kiss him. Fuck.
-
Your heart stops when you hear a knock at your door. You don't know what time it is or how long you've been lying in bed fighting sleep. 
The knock came again; louder this time. You get out of bed, your heart beating quicker with every step you take. Was it even Oscar out there? You reached the hotel door. Your breath was shaky, it felt like your entire body was trembling. This was it. Now you were truly in this. You put your hand on the handle, the knocking continued again, more persistent this time.
As you threw the door open, you came face to face with Oscar. He was standing there, in the same outfit as he had been at the party. He was staring directly at you, his breath was warm as he exhaled. You could swear he didn't even blink at this moment, his eyes were just glued to yours.
“Yes?” I ask. "Can I come in?" Oscar says, sounding a little bit nervous, and more sober than earlier. You’re at a loss for words. A few hours (?) ago the only words you exchanged were about hating each other [or rather, not hating each other], and now he was asking to come into your room.
Oscar was still holding his gaze, eyes locked straight on yours. You could see it on his face, there was something he wanted from you, something that he hadn't been able to communicate until now. "Please?" Oscar said, his voice was low. You had never in the 8 years you had known Oscar seen him like this. 
“Okay.” You move to the side, motioning him inside your hotel room. Oscar walks in and for a moment, neither of you spoke. There was a certain level of nervousness in the way he was moving. He didn't make any attempt to get close to you initially, it was like he was waiting for your permission. “What do you want Oscar?” I ask folding my arms across my chest. “Please tell me what you’re thinking, I can’t do this guessing game thing anymore.”
Oscar didn't respond right away, he was trying to decide what he should say. You could see as he processed through every thought, looking at you as if he was holding something back. After a few seconds, the words came spewing out, he didn't want to waste any more time.
"I want you to kiss me. I want to kiss you. I want you. That’s what I want." Oscar finally admitted.
Your arms fall to your sides and your heart skips a beat. Oh my god. Oscar stands in front of you and your body is heating up, your brain is getting fuzzy, this time it isn’t the alcohol. “Oscar I-“ you don’t know what to say. 
It was like time had stopped for the both of you. Your breaths were shaky, the silence was deafening. You wanted to wrap yourself around him. It was all just adrenaline now, just one kiss, that's what you wanted. 
You stand looking at each other. You don’t know how long passes. You want him too. You really want him. You need him. But the rational part of your brain is screaming for you to stop. You can’t be with him, as a female F1 driver what would the world say if you got with another driver? What would your reputation be? They would call you a slut. But as Oscar stands in front of you, those thoughts, those warnings are fading away…
He takes a step closer. You don’t move away. He’s close now, too close, but you don’t care. You could feel the heat radiating from his body to yours. There were just inches between you two now. You didn't care about anything else, everything in your body was telling you yes. It was either now or never, your reputation would be the last thing on your mind in this moment.
He brings one of his hands to the side of your face and leans to kiss you. But your lips don’t meet and he hovers just above. Waiting. He wanted something from you, some signal that it was okay to go for it. You could taste his breath as he hovered above you, how many times had you wanted to taste him? You hadn't realized until now how strong this pull between the both of you was. Even if it was just alcohol, it didn't matter, your heart felt as if it would explode with this excitement.
“Oscar” you whisper. You’re looking at his lips, then his eyelashes, his eyes. 
“Just this once.”
The words left your mouth in a hoarse whisper like it felt too surreal to speak out loud. One kiss wouldn't hurt, you could tell him that was the only kiss you were going to let him have. He let out a small breath, and then the gap between your lips disappeared. He brought his face down, his lips touching yours. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close as your lips met his. As Oscar's hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, it was just you and him. Nothing else mattered. Just the heat, the desire and the love that had been building deep inside of both of you.
He breaks the kiss and kisses your collarbone, then up your neck, and then he’s right next to your ear. “Yeah, just this once” he whispers. You let out a shaky breath, his voice sent shivers down your spine. What was happening? Every minute seemed to take so long in the moment. The way Oscar's voice whispered in your ear, it felt like a sweet melody. If this was wrong, you would never know. The only thing you knew for sure right now was how much Oscar wanted you, how much you wanted him.
His mouth was warm, you could feel the moisture of his lips press against yours. You grab the hem of his shirt and he puts his arms up as you pull it off of him. When you drop the shirt aside you can’t help but stare at his body. His chest, his abs, his arms. You had seen him shirtless before, it was inevitable with the years of training you two had done together. But seeing him tonight like this, just the two of you, it was different. 
As you stared at him, he was just staring back, his hair was messy from the way you had pulled his shirt off. It felt like this was the only moment in the world.
His kisses were gentle like he was still trying to get a feel for the moment. You were in each other's grip as if you were locked together. The heat was building up, and you could feel your body burning up. Oscar's hand moved to your top now, pulling it over your head slowly, letting you feel every sensation as it fell to the floor. The way he looked at you as it fell to the ground...it was as if his eyes were going to burn a hole into you.
You’re usually quick with comebacks. Confident. But as you stand in front of him, you’re not insecure, but you have nothing to say. No words to taunt him with, it felt like your usual self was far removed from what was happening right now. 
You had never stood in front of Oscar so vulnerable before, his hands running up your body, his mouth kissing your neck. He was treating you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, the way he looked at you it was like he was seeing you for the first time. Oscar lies you down on the hotel bed. Hovering over you, one of his hands on your hip, the other pressed beside your head, holding him up. One of your hands is resting on your stomach, and you reach the other up and run it through his hair. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m sorry for being so horrible to you. I’ve acted…” you trail off. Why are you saying this? Why right now? It was the alcohol, it had to be. 
As he leaned over you, his breath was warm on your skin as he listened to everything you were saying. Your heart was beating so rapidly, you couldn't stop the words coming out of your mouth, but for once, you felt vulnerable in the right way.
"Don't-" Oscar said, pulling away from you slightly. "You don't need to apologize. We’ve both been… I don’t know…Everything has just been building for years, it got out of control, us. Whatever us was- is. I think I’ve always wanted ‘us’ to be this though."
His words make your head spin. "Us". "Out of control". "Always".
Always makes you laugh though, as you think back to when you first met Oscar.
“You wanted this during our Arden days? At 14?” You know shouldn’t joke right now, but everything is happening so fast, and you grasp for some sort of control over what you're feeling. 
He smiled back at you, he couldn't help smiling. One thing about the way you and Oscar's relationship worked, was it was always full of constant bantering and jabs at each other. It felt right to joke now. 
"I didn't say that," Oscar said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But sure, you were attractive back then, even if you were a brat. Yeah, I did look at you during those days." 
A grin spreads across your face. What would 14-year-old you say if she knew you had Oscar Piastri on top of you in a hotel room after you podium in Monaco? She would be horrified. The realization was almost enough to pull you out of the moment. It truly was insane. The way Oscar was looking down at you, touching your body, it definitely did feel surreal, as if this was a dream.
"You remember those days?" Oscar asked, his voice soft and low as he shifted down to rest on his elbow, bringing his face down closer to yours. “Of course.” You say, looking at his face. He’s so beautiful. “You wouldn’t let me win a goddamn race.”
He let out a laugh, he couldn't help it, the humor of the situation had gotten to him.
"Damn right I didn't... are you still bitter about it?" He said mockingly, he was back to his usual self. “Nope,” you say with a smile, “because who just got second in Monaco? My first time driving that track in Formula One by the way.” Even in this uniquely intimate moment between the two of you, you are bickering. But it’s perfect. 
"Yeah yeah..." Oscar rolled his eyes. "You got lucky that's for sure, this race was a mess." He was back to being himself, the cocky, arrogant version that you were always arguing with. But you felt a different type of chemistry with him right now compared to the racetrack, this time it felt deeper than your usual bickering. You laugh and your hands are on his face again. Now that you have him like this, above you, relaxed, yours; you never want it to end. 
You smile and start tracing the freckles and moles on his face with your finger. Just this once. That was the deal. You want to savor every minute of this moment. A moment that after tonight, can never happen again. 
Oscar's eyes drifted down and he watched as you traced his face. It felt a little too perfect, the way you traced around everything...the way his breath felt on your skin...the way he was looking down at you with intent, his attention was just on you.
"I like this," Oscar finally said and his voice was hushed.
So do I. Is what you want to say. But if those words come out of your mouth everything becomes too real, and you’re not sure if you could ever stop what was already snowballing between the two of you. You simply hum in acknowledgment and continue to trace his freckles down to his arms, down to his wrists. You even traced your fingers along the top of his fingers. 
It was like nothing else existed at this moment, it was just the two of you, your bodies, and the heat. The heat was all that mattered. You wanted to see all of him. Commit. Go all the way. But even now you were mesmerized: his bare chest, back, stomach. You want to run your fingers through him. 
Oscar could feel your breath trailing on his neck, the feeling of your fingers trailing down his body, along his chest, and down his stomach. He felt as if any more of him was exposed to your touch, he would fall apart. He was like a hot glass ready to shatter, a moment away from cracking. He was at a loss, he couldn't even think of the next thing to say. All he knew was that he needed more.
Oscar looked at you, his eyes seemed to be filled with pure desire. He was leaning closer to you now, he was only inches away, his breath was touching your lips. His hand brushed past the clip of your bra, teasing every little part of you. Your back, your arms...he was taking his time with this. “It’s okay, you can…” you trail off. Yet again, you’re too embarrassed to say it. You can take the bra off. You hope he gets the hint. 
The smile on his face was almost cruel as he looked down at you. Was he really going to take this all so slowly and deliberately? He paused for a moment and then he slowly undid one of the clips. He did it so slowly and so precise, he was taking this at such a methodical pace, he wanted you to feel every. single. moment. A part of you wants to complain. How slow he was being. Both of your lives were filled with speed, in the cars, outside the cars. But most of you doesn't really care that he's taking his time. Tonight was the only night you’re allowing yourself to be with Oscar like this, might as well drag it out. 
He did the same thing with the next clip, and then slowly pulled down one of the straps. You did wonder how long he was going to take, it felt like your bra was not supposed to be an obstacle, but Oscar was making it one, on purpose. He had turned even such a simple task into something that felt so intimate.
The moment your bra finally came off a whole new feeling of powerlessness washed over you. You felt even more exposed than before. Your skin felt more sensitive, and everything felt more real. Each movement from him felt like it had double its usual meaning. Your breath caught as he pulled your body closer to him. The pressure of his body against yours was making your head spin. You felt so close to him, the warmth between the two of you was palpable. With each of his kisses, you could feel yourself growing even more desperate for him.
You could feel his finger tracing the outline of your shorts, slowly moving towards the waistband, finger hooking around the elastic. It was happening gradually, so it hit harder when he finally pulled down your shorts. Your underwear was the last barrier, and if it came off, this would officially be something that could never happen again. You were lying under just a layer of clothing. He was staring down at you with his intent gaze. You could feel every move of his, every muscle shifting, his breath hot on your body.
“You too, yeah?” You say with a nervous, breathy laugh. Your hands travel to his pants. And he sits up and leans back a bit, you sit up as well, and start unbuttoning them. It was almost comical, how slow you were both going in this moment. But it was also incredibly intimate. The two of you were both teasing each other in a game of cat and mouse. He was taking it in steps, he wanted to tease, to play, to show you how much he wanted you.
Your hands began unbuttoning his pants, inch by inch, you were both working in unison in the slow teasing. When you finish and start to pull the zipper down, Oscar quickly stands up to take the pants completely off. He wastes no time in getting back on top of you. You smile and hold back a laugh. 
His hands are on either side of your head and he’s looking down at you again, you two start laughing. If it was like this one night, how would it have been with you two together all the time? Would you have always been like this? A playful, teasing relationship, where you both were always just messing around, playing jokes on each other.
The two of you are so close, his boxers and your underwear are the only barrier between you now. You are one step away from the edge, one step away from doing something you can never take back. But you also wanted to take that step. It felt so close to happening. It was like your bodies were talking to one another, they craved to touch, to be pressed against each other. Each breath, each movement it felt as though you wanted to become one with each other.
The way the two of you were looking into each other's eyes, you could tell it was just a moment away. Oscar leaned in close to you, close enough to breathe on your neck, “Are you sure?” He asks. You nod and don’t say anything.
He chuckles as you nod. "You're so sure?" You smile and roll your eyes. He’s such an asshole. “Yes, I’m so sure.” Even with your response dripping in sarcasm, it’s set your feelings in stone. You want Oscar Piastri. 
Was it the alcohol in your system, was it the buildup of years of tension between the two of you, a mixture of both? It didn't matter, the only thing that mattered now was this very moment, this very moment with you and Oscar on this hotel bed. It was like the rest of the world would cease to exist, all that was important at this moment was the heat between the two of you, it filled you with such a warm, almost calming feeling. You both knew that this was it, there was no going back. But just this once you could let it happen. 
-
part II- okay part III- 11:45
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gunebuggiesprompts · 9 months
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Word of the Day dpxdc Prompt #9
July 13: Outlandish
Whenever Tim discovers a small video media channel protesting against the Anti-Ecto Act made by the government division called Ghost Investigation Ward, which he had no clue existed, he first believed it to be a huge joke or hoax of some kind. He continued to watch the videos from the mysterious person only going by DP on the channel named by the same thing, wondering if it was actually some elaborate ARG that hasn't gotten popular yet.
Though as he watched the videos, he began to have a creeping feeling that the DP in these videos was serious, as he never hinted to some secret online mystery that he would love to solve. He didn't want to believe the crazy things that DP was saying, who went into deep conversations about ectoplasmic entities, often called ghosts, that lived in some otherwordly place called the Ghost Zone, or the fact that there was scientist who's whole career was for researching that.
That's when he decided to do his own investigation, discovering that the reason he didn't know about the GIW was because they were a secret branch in the government that he could only find by hacking. He discovers that not only is everything that DP is saying true, but it's so much worse, that the GIW was doing things such unethical experiments to straight up planning to nuke an entire dimension.
Tim knows that he has to help take down this government. He only hopes that more people are willing to listen whenever it took him nearly 100 videos to even begin to consider it a possibility. Maybe if he can get into contact with DP, he could team up with him as he seemed to have a lot of knowledge on the topic.
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