Fic: i miss who you are
Title: i miss who you are
Author: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Betas: Lindsay (rowofstars)
Rating: Adult
Genre: Smut, Angst
Word Count: 1525
Characters/Pairings: Quinn, Will (Quinn/Will)
Warnings: Student/teacher sex, spoilers
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize? Ain't mine.
Summary: He knows the real Quinn is buried in there somewhere.
A/N: Inspired by the Will/Quinn fight in 3.02; spoilers. Also pretending that Will has an office like most teachers do without a wall of windows.
She strides into his office, slamming the door behind her, and he looks up, startled.
She stares back at him, eyes blazing, and he knows instantly why she's here, why she came back. He hurt her, he can see that plain as day, and he hates himself for it, but god damn it, somebody needed to knock some sense into her.
"I need to grow up?" she exclaims, jabbing a finger into her chest. "What about you?"
He steps around his desk, moving closer to her. "This isn't about me, Quinn. I'm not perfect, and I've made mistakes, I'll admit it freely. But I'm smart enough to know that they were my mistakes, and not anybody else's. All you've ever done is blame other people for the things you've done wrong."
She looks away from him, and he takes another step closer.
"I tried to help you. But you pushed me away, and you shut me out -"
"And now you're with Ms. Pillsbury. I'm sure she's a lot better than some stupid little girl."
"I said it earlier, Quinn; you're not a little girl anymore. You haven't been for a while. And it's time to take responsibility for your actions."
She stares at him for a moment, the pain evident on her face, even though she tries to hide it, and then moves for the door.
"It was never just about sex," he says, making her stop, her hand on the door knob. He can see the slight tensing of her jaw, and the way her fingers tighten around the dull brass handle.
"I cared about you. I still do. I wanted - want to help you." He smiles humorlessly, shaking his head. "And I miss the old Quinn. The real Quinn. Because all of this -" He gestures at her outfit, her hair, her nose ring. "This isn't you. No matter how hard you try to convince yourself that it is."
She finally looks up at him, her hand falling from the door knob, and before he quite realizes what's happening, she moves towards him in two quick steps and presses her lips hard against his.
The list of reasons he should push her away is innumerable, but he can't, because he really has missed her, so much.
She seemed more at ease, more relaxed, when she was with him, just the two of them, and he wishes he could bring that part of her back, wishes she could be like that all the time.
He reaches up and tugs the bandana from her hair, running his fingers through the pink strands and popping off the elastic holding it back.
"I miss the blonde," he murmurs against her mouth. "I liked you better when you wore pink."
She laughs softly, though there's an edge to it that makes him sad. Her fingers are on the buttons of his shirt, popping them one by one, and his hands drop to the flannel shirt tied around her waist.
Her hazel eyes flick to his face, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. "I think this is more fitting for my bad girl image, fucking a teacher."
Both shirts fall to the floor, her denim vest added a moment later when she shrugs it off, and then his hands are on her hips, turning her so he can back her against the desk.
"It was hotter when you were a good girl, though. And you didn't smell like cigarette smoke then."
He raises his eyebrows, and she shakes her head, pulling him to her for a kiss.
It's a fight for control, to see who gets to lead, and just as he takes over with pushing her against the desk, she steals it back by grabbing his hand and placing it firmly on her thigh.
His fingertips caress her skin, sliding up until he reaches the hem of the short little black skirt she's wearing.
"Like the skirt, though," he murmurs, raising his eyes to her face.
She grins, teeth pressing into her lip for just a moment. "I bet you do."
She shifts as he pushes it up, her legs spreading as he moves closer, and before long the skirt is around her waist and he's pressing against her center. She rocks her hips into him, grinding a little against his erection, and smirks when he groans.
His hand slides from her hip, slipping between them, and she gasps a little when his fingers brush against the elastic of her panties before dipping underneath.
The control is his again as he teases her before pushing two fingers between her folds. She's so wet and tight, clenching around him as he pushes deeper, and it brings back a flood of memories, time spent with her just like this, on his desk here, or his couch or bed at his apartment.
He strokes her a few moments, savoring the way her lips part and her eyelashes flutter, and then withdraws his fingers, because it's been so long, and he can't wait anymore.
Her hands are quick, plucking his undershirt out of the way as she works the fastenings on his pants. He pushes them down as she shifts, her fingers hooking over the sides of her panties as she works them off, and he tugs them the rest of the way down her legs.
He moves to stand between her legs, hesitating before sliding inside of her.
"I miss the dresses." His voice is quiet, and she stares at him, a smirk playing on her lips. "And the braids, and those silly little socks with those shoes."
"You miss good girl Quinn," she murmurs, sliding her tongue over her teeth as she tries to pull him closer.
"No," he says quickly, and raises a hand to her face. "No. I miss the real Quinn." He sweeps his thumb over her cheek, staring intently into her eyes. "I miss my Quinn."
Her smile fades, and something flickers over her face before she yanks him to her, kissing him hungrily.
He buries himself in her, and her teeth scrape over his bottom lip as she gasps, one hand rising to the back of his neck and tugging on his hair.
He braces his hands on the desk on either side of her, jerking his hips hard, because it's what they both want and need.
The pace is fast, a little sloppy, and maybe a little rough, because there's anger underlying everything, anger at each other, at other people, at circumstances, at the world.
One hand grips his arm, the other tight around his neck. Her breath is warm against his skin as short little bursts of air escape her with every thrust, and she cries out softly every once in a while, her short nails digging into the skin of his neck. If he didn't know better, he'd think he was hurting her, but it's just her, the way she sounds and the noises she makes when he's deep inside of her, slamming right into that sweet little spot she loves so much.
It might just be his imagination, but he swears he hears, in one of those little puffs of air, a breathy, "Miss you too."
He turns his head to look at her, still unsure if she actually spoke, but the faintest hint of a smile crosses her lips, and she pulls him to her for a kiss.
Eventually her hand leaves his arm to drop down between them, and he can just feel her fingers against her clit, rubbing and pressing hard, desperate to come.
She finally does, tightening around him as she leans forward to muffle her cry against his shoulder.
A few more thrusts, and then he sags against her. One hand is still braced on the desk to keep from pushing her all the way down, and his other arm slides around her waist to hold her against him.
It's a few minutes before they separate, and neither of them speaks as they put themselves back together. She slides her panties on, adjusting her skirt, and he grabs her vest and flannel shirt from the floor as he bends to pick up his shirt, handing them back to her.
The last thing is her bandana, tied back around her hair. They can't find her hair tie, but it doesn't really matter. Nobody's around to notice it's missing.
She leaves without a word, a hard kiss serving as her goodbye, and it's a long time before he leaves as well.
She turns up in the booty camp a couple of days later, blonde again, white dress, nose ring gone, and the delicate gold cross returned to her neck.
She smiles at him, and he can't help returning it, glad to have back the Quinn they all know and love, at least in appearance.
She looks like her old self, and the kids are thrilled to have her back, but even as she smiles and hugs them all in turn, he can tell there's still something missing, something lacking underneath it all.
He needs to find it, to pull it out.
He needs to fix it.
Author: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Betas: Lindsay (rowofstars)
Rating: Adult
Genre: Smut, Angst
Word Count: 1525
Characters/Pairings: Quinn, Will (Quinn/Will)
Warnings: Student/teacher sex, spoilers
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize? Ain't mine.
Summary: He knows the real Quinn is buried in there somewhere.
A/N: Inspired by the Will/Quinn fight in 3.02; spoilers. Also pretending that Will has an office like most teachers do without a wall of windows.
She strides into his office, slamming the door behind her, and he looks up, startled.
She stares back at him, eyes blazing, and he knows instantly why she's here, why she came back. He hurt her, he can see that plain as day, and he hates himself for it, but god damn it, somebody needed to knock some sense into her.
"I need to grow up?" she exclaims, jabbing a finger into her chest. "What about you?"
He steps around his desk, moving closer to her. "This isn't about me, Quinn. I'm not perfect, and I've made mistakes, I'll admit it freely. But I'm smart enough to know that they were my mistakes, and not anybody else's. All you've ever done is blame other people for the things you've done wrong."
She looks away from him, and he takes another step closer.
"I tried to help you. But you pushed me away, and you shut me out -"
"And now you're with Ms. Pillsbury. I'm sure she's a lot better than some stupid little girl."
"I said it earlier, Quinn; you're not a little girl anymore. You haven't been for a while. And it's time to take responsibility for your actions."
She stares at him for a moment, the pain evident on her face, even though she tries to hide it, and then moves for the door.
"It was never just about sex," he says, making her stop, her hand on the door knob. He can see the slight tensing of her jaw, and the way her fingers tighten around the dull brass handle.
"I cared about you. I still do. I wanted - want to help you." He smiles humorlessly, shaking his head. "And I miss the old Quinn. The real Quinn. Because all of this -" He gestures at her outfit, her hair, her nose ring. "This isn't you. No matter how hard you try to convince yourself that it is."
She finally looks up at him, her hand falling from the door knob, and before he quite realizes what's happening, she moves towards him in two quick steps and presses her lips hard against his.
The list of reasons he should push her away is innumerable, but he can't, because he really has missed her, so much.
She seemed more at ease, more relaxed, when she was with him, just the two of them, and he wishes he could bring that part of her back, wishes she could be like that all the time.
He reaches up and tugs the bandana from her hair, running his fingers through the pink strands and popping off the elastic holding it back.
"I miss the blonde," he murmurs against her mouth. "I liked you better when you wore pink."
She laughs softly, though there's an edge to it that makes him sad. Her fingers are on the buttons of his shirt, popping them one by one, and his hands drop to the flannel shirt tied around her waist.
Her hazel eyes flick to his face, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. "I think this is more fitting for my bad girl image, fucking a teacher."
Both shirts fall to the floor, her denim vest added a moment later when she shrugs it off, and then his hands are on her hips, turning her so he can back her against the desk.
"It was hotter when you were a good girl, though. And you didn't smell like cigarette smoke then."
He raises his eyebrows, and she shakes her head, pulling him to her for a kiss.
It's a fight for control, to see who gets to lead, and just as he takes over with pushing her against the desk, she steals it back by grabbing his hand and placing it firmly on her thigh.
His fingertips caress her skin, sliding up until he reaches the hem of the short little black skirt she's wearing.
"Like the skirt, though," he murmurs, raising his eyes to her face.
She grins, teeth pressing into her lip for just a moment. "I bet you do."
She shifts as he pushes it up, her legs spreading as he moves closer, and before long the skirt is around her waist and he's pressing against her center. She rocks her hips into him, grinding a little against his erection, and smirks when he groans.
His hand slides from her hip, slipping between them, and she gasps a little when his fingers brush against the elastic of her panties before dipping underneath.
The control is his again as he teases her before pushing two fingers between her folds. She's so wet and tight, clenching around him as he pushes deeper, and it brings back a flood of memories, time spent with her just like this, on his desk here, or his couch or bed at his apartment.
He strokes her a few moments, savoring the way her lips part and her eyelashes flutter, and then withdraws his fingers, because it's been so long, and he can't wait anymore.
Her hands are quick, plucking his undershirt out of the way as she works the fastenings on his pants. He pushes them down as she shifts, her fingers hooking over the sides of her panties as she works them off, and he tugs them the rest of the way down her legs.
He moves to stand between her legs, hesitating before sliding inside of her.
"I miss the dresses." His voice is quiet, and she stares at him, a smirk playing on her lips. "And the braids, and those silly little socks with those shoes."
"You miss good girl Quinn," she murmurs, sliding her tongue over her teeth as she tries to pull him closer.
"No," he says quickly, and raises a hand to her face. "No. I miss the real Quinn." He sweeps his thumb over her cheek, staring intently into her eyes. "I miss my Quinn."
Her smile fades, and something flickers over her face before she yanks him to her, kissing him hungrily.
He buries himself in her, and her teeth scrape over his bottom lip as she gasps, one hand rising to the back of his neck and tugging on his hair.
He braces his hands on the desk on either side of her, jerking his hips hard, because it's what they both want and need.
The pace is fast, a little sloppy, and maybe a little rough, because there's anger underlying everything, anger at each other, at other people, at circumstances, at the world.
One hand grips his arm, the other tight around his neck. Her breath is warm against his skin as short little bursts of air escape her with every thrust, and she cries out softly every once in a while, her short nails digging into the skin of his neck. If he didn't know better, he'd think he was hurting her, but it's just her, the way she sounds and the noises she makes when he's deep inside of her, slamming right into that sweet little spot she loves so much.
It might just be his imagination, but he swears he hears, in one of those little puffs of air, a breathy, "Miss you too."
He turns his head to look at her, still unsure if she actually spoke, but the faintest hint of a smile crosses her lips, and she pulls him to her for a kiss.
Eventually her hand leaves his arm to drop down between them, and he can just feel her fingers against her clit, rubbing and pressing hard, desperate to come.
She finally does, tightening around him as she leans forward to muffle her cry against his shoulder.
A few more thrusts, and then he sags against her. One hand is still braced on the desk to keep from pushing her all the way down, and his other arm slides around her waist to hold her against him.
It's a few minutes before they separate, and neither of them speaks as they put themselves back together. She slides her panties on, adjusting her skirt, and he grabs her vest and flannel shirt from the floor as he bends to pick up his shirt, handing them back to her.
The last thing is her bandana, tied back around her hair. They can't find her hair tie, but it doesn't really matter. Nobody's around to notice it's missing.
She leaves without a word, a hard kiss serving as her goodbye, and it's a long time before he leaves as well.
She turns up in the booty camp a couple of days later, blonde again, white dress, nose ring gone, and the delicate gold cross returned to her neck.
She smiles at him, and he can't help returning it, glad to have back the Quinn they all know and love, at least in appearance.
She looks like her old self, and the kids are thrilled to have her back, but even as she smiles and hugs them all in turn, he can tell there's still something missing, something lacking underneath it all.
He needs to find it, to pull it out.
He needs to fix it.