#both between canon and within my work itself.

[orcelito]

OKAY i fixed the most glaring canon inconsistency for ITNL that i discovered last night

which is. the fact that i fully thought the final battle happened in December. but turns out it happened in Octovern!

idr if they mentioned it outright that they were heading there, but they mentioned "humanity's last stand" in December so. i just. fully thought that's where everything happened. but then Meryl mentions Octovern at the end & i double checked and. yea it sure says Octovern on the wiki lmfao.

i'll have to read thru it more carefully (i wasn't exactly reading too closely for details yesterday) to figure out Exactly what the fuck is going on with the locations here. but for now, every reference to the final battle in ITNL has been changed to Octovern

sigh.

[reidsmanuscript]

Cracks in the System

Summary: What happens when a string of murders tied to the District Attorney's office lands on the BAU's desk, a high Spencer Reid struggles through withdrawal, and reader, the genius A.D.A., stumbles upon Reid's darkest secret? Tensions rise as professional and personal boundaries blur, leading to revelations that could shatter them both. Pairing: Spencer reid x lawyer!reader Genre: HEAVY ANGST, a little bit of comfort, open-bittersweet-ending Tw: spencer's addiction arc, no y/n but reader has a lastname and a nickname bc it would be impossible otherwise, mental health issues, mention of food and skipping meals?, imppliead reader's past with drugs and abuse (not graphic tho), canon typical cm violence, reader dislikes gideon as father figure wc: 9.2k! A/N: i always HATED how reid´s addiction got portrayed so here´s my take on it, english is not my first language part I - part II - part III - ...

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In the chill of autumn morning, while the BAU reunited for the debriefing of a case where their help had been specially requested per the District Attorney, old college friend of Hotch, a string of murder had been recently connected due to the victim’s correlation to the office.

Morgan, Prentiss, Gideon, and Hotch sat in their usual spots, reviewing the files as JJ prepared to brief them. Spencer Reid entered late for the second time that week, a distant look in his eyes, his demeanor unusually absent. No one acknowledged his lateness.

JJ took it as her cue to begin. “A string of murders have been committed around the capitol's perimeter, 3 women all killed and found at the surroundings of their home, Sarah Jennings, 23, defense attorney. Found in a downtown alley.." She clicked to the next slide, revealing another victim. "Second, Nicole Hart, 25, paralegal. And finally, Emily Russell, 30, judge. Found just outside her apartment. All victims were killed within a three-month span. Each one of them were found with a different note”

"Your silence speaks for itself."

"Mitigating circumstances should not overshadow the gravity of the crime."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

“M.O.?” asks Prentiss. “Strangulation and multiple stabs to the chest were revealed by the reports” answers JJ.

Morgan adds “So overkill and legal connection, did they knew each other?”

“Families have denied any possibility of any of them being friends with each other” JJ answers.

Reid, who has been anxiously tapping his fingers in the arms of his chair, huffs in frustration, ignoring how annoying his subtle tremor is “So outside a simple note no connection.”

Gideos shoots him a glare but before he can say anything Garcia appears through the tv screen “My dear fuzzy friends, i have found something," She adjusts her glasses and clicks away at her keyboard. "All four victims have recent ties to cases handled by the District Attorney's office, big ones, too. Corruption charges, high-profile lawsuits, political scandals. It's a feast of legal drama."

Morgan leans forward, his interest piqued. "Anything specific about their involvement?"

"Funny you should ask," Garcia says with a wry grin. “Jennings provided testimonies in ongoing cases. Hart did legal research for one of those cases, and Russell? Well, she worked directly with the DA's office on prepping trial strategies. But here's the kicker—none of them worked together. Different cases, different departments. And all of them seemed to be very successful on their own"

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. "So 3 successful women with overkill, that sounds like envy to me"

Reid, his voice laced with a nervous edge, blurts out “Envy could be a factor, but it's also the level of violence. Overkill is usually a sign of a deep personal rage. It's like the unsub is targeting not just their professional lives, but something deeper, maybe the idea of success they represent.”

Gideon glances at the screen. "Any connections between the cases themselves?"

Garcia shakes her head. "Nothing that stands out yet, but I’m digging deeper. Let me keep working on it. I'll be needing access to the information the D.A. office has”

Gideon folds his arms over the table. “If they're found around their personal home it could mean the unsub is following them or getting the information from somewhere else. Someone inside the DA’s office could be leaking it."

Morgan shakes his head. "How do we narrow it down? A place like that probably has dozens of people handling sensitive information."

Hotch rises from his chair. "We need a list of who has access to it and interrogate them, but first, we should brief the DA. If someone in their office is compromised, they need to be aware of the risks."

JJ nods. "The District Attorney requested our help specifically. She mentioned an ADA, Woodvale, her right hand, who might be able to help us get a clearer picture of the internal dynamics in their office.” A photo of you in professional attire, looking sharp with an almost predatory confidence appears on the tv screen while JJ explains how you have been working with all the victims for different cases.

Morgan smirks. "Sounds like she’s got her hands full with this mess."

Reid rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Perfect. Another overachiever."

The team exchanges uneasy glances but says nothing. Hotch sends Morgan and Reid to the D.A. office while Prenttis, Gideon and him go to the victims' workplace. As the team disperses, Reid lingers behind, rubbing his temples in frustration. Gideon notices but says nothing.

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At your office, returning from Judge Gibson’s chambers after pushing for a warrant, your assistant, Molly, looks up from her desk.

"Austin’s waiting in your office," she says, a small smile tugging at her lips.

You thank her and add, “Call the detectives and let them know the warrant is secured.”

As you step into your office, Austin is lounging in the chair across from your desk, a familiar paper bag dangling from his hand.

“Your mom sent you this,” he announces, lifting the bag as if it’s a prized trophy.

You let out a sigh, already knowing what’s inside and taking off the clip that holds your hair in a half pony off, relaxing a bit. “Can you stop going to my parents’ house without me? It’s kind of weird.”

“It’s not weird. She always gives me sweets and pastries. You should see the look on her face when I take them.”

“Well, I’m glad someone enjoys them” you mutter, dropping your leather bag in your chair, taking the bag and peeking inside, finding a full banana loaf and a neatly packed sandwich that your mom always sends every couple weeks to ensure you eat enough and take time to rest.

You grab the loaf and glance back at the door. “Molly, I’m taking fifteen for lunch” you call. As you step toward her desk, handing over to her the dessert, you notice two men standing in front of it.

Neither of them looks familiar, no badges in sight, so they're not cops or detectives. One of them’s dressed too casually to be a lawyer, and the tall one has a leather messenger bag just like yours. He seemed distracted, his sharp features catching the light as he frowned slightly, visibly uncomfortable with the brightness in the room.

Molly glances at you, then back at the men. “They asked to see you, Ms. Woodvale.”

You study them for a moment, your fingers still wrapped around the paper bag from Austin. The tall one stood out, his tousled hair, a quiet intensity in his eyes. You quickly push the thought aside. “And you are?”

The broad one steps forward, offering a warm but professional smile. “Agent Morgan. This is Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, not out of distrust but because an unannounced visit from the FBI rarely means good news. “FBI? What’s going on?”

Morgan’s gaze shifts between you and Austin who is now standing behind you with his arms crossed, casually leaning against the doorframe. “Can we speak in private?” he asks, his tone calm but firm.

You frown but nod slightly, feeling the sensitivity of the conversation, opening the door widely for them to enter, looking at Austin apologetically, and you see him frowned as well but gets the hint.

Austin pushes off the doorframe, clearly reluctant to leave. “I’ll be outside if you need me, Woody.” you would’ve preferred he did not use the dumb nickname he gave you in front of the feds, but at least it softened the tension in the air. It was a subtle reminder that you had allies.

Once inside, you clip your hair back and slip into professional mode as they take in your office, your diplomas, the little wooden chess board your father gifted you when you were 15, your little trinkets arranged through the shelfs. You set the paper bag down on your desk, smooth your blue suit, crossing your arms as Morgan steps forward, his tone polite but serious. “We’re here about the leak in your office. The D.A. suggested you might have information that could help us.”

Your expression hardens, a mix of frustration and worry bubbling beneath the surface. You’d been working to deal with the fallout, but if the FBI was here now, it meant the situation had escalated far beyond your control. “I’m already working with the detectives assigned to the case,” you say, keeping your tone even. “Why is the FBI suddenly involved?”

“Because people are dying,” answers Reid sharply and a bit too harshly, with a too obvious expression.

Morgan glares at him briefly, before stepping in to clarify. “We believe the leak in your office is connected to a string of murders. The unsub is targeting individuals tied to the office, we believe is a male driven by envy towards powerful and successful women and possibly has someone from here leaking personal information. Does that ring any bells?”

Your brow furrows as you digest the information. “Envy over women?” You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “That doesn’t help or narrow anything down in a place like this. And ff there’s someone leaking information in this office, I would’ve—”

“Maybe you’re too close to it to see the cracks,” Reid interrupts, frustration clear in his voice. His gaze is sharp, challenging, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re being dissected under a microscope.

“Excuse me?” The words come out clipped, your irritation flaring at his insinuation.

Morgan steps in, shooting Reid a pointed look that speaks volumes. “What Dr. Reid is trying to say,” he begins, his tone patient, “Is that we’re not ruling anything out yet. We’re here to figure out how the information is getting out, not to place blame.”

Your eyes linger on Reid for a moment. His posture is rigid, his hands curling around the straps of his bag, fingers flexing into fists before relaxing again. There’s something raw about him, an edge that feels out of place but oddly familiar. You can’t decide if it’s irritation, exhaustion, or something else entirely.

“And what exactly makes you think the information is still coming from here?”

Morgan reaches into his jacket, pulling out a thin file. He places it on your desk and flips it open, revealing photos of victims and case files. “These are the people we’ve identified so far. All of them were connected to cases your office has handled in the past 3 months. The timeline suggests the leak is ongoing.”

You skim the photos, the pit in your stomach growing heavier with each passing second. “And you’re sure this isn’t coincidental?”

Reid answers again, his voice tight. “Murders tied to your office’s cases? That’s not a coincidence. It’s a pattern.”

“Reid,” Morgan says firmly, his voice a quiet warning.

Reid exhales sharply, scratching his neck he mutters, “Sorry. I mean... it’s statistically significant.”

You straighten up, your gaze flicking between the two agents. “What do you need from me?”

Morgan’s grin softens the tension in the room. “Your insight, the D.A. said she trusted you to be our inside guide. We think you can help us fill in some blanks.”

You go through the file and nod “Fine. But if we’re doing this, I want access to everything you have so far. I don’t work blind.”

“Fair enough, we will also need a list of the people who have access to sensible information for our tech analyst, and if you can come to our office it would be useful” Morgan says.

“I'll have my assistant send it, let me just get some stuff” they nod and step out of your office, you grab your coat, satchel leather bag swinging it over one shoulder and eyed the untouched lunch.

“She’s going to be pissed if you give that to anyone else,” Austin says from the doorframe. You roll your eyes and bite the sandwich, your mother is an incredible woman and baker, but in your opinion she always excels herself when it comes to savory. “What was that about?” He asks.

“Apparently we have a mole in the office that's connected to murder by someone who’s envious of women” you answer halfway through that sandwich.

Austin’s expression sharpens as he steps closer. “Need me to look into it?” he offers, he’s an experienced private investigator who’s helped you through more cases than you can count. His connections, street smarts, and knack for digging up information have been invaluable to you, especially when things get too tangled for the usual channels. You could call him your best friend; though sometimes you threaten to kill him for knowing way too much about you.

You nod, finishing the sandwich, crumpling the paper bag and walking to the door “I'll text you if I need your help” you leave the office, going through the hallways to find the agents who lead you to their SUV on the way to Quantico.

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At headquarters, you stand in a room in front of the plastic board, all the victims, your ex-colleagues, none of them were truly friends, just girls you have worked with and you have lamented their deaths when you find out. You never thought their deaths could be related, less so to your office. You never thought their deaths would affect you so… personally.

You had already been introduced to the team, they all seemed professional and grounded, though you already knew Agent Hotchner from when he was a prosecutor, you shaked hands with Prentiss, Gideon, and JJ, letting your coat and bag in one of the chair’s arm in the conference room after being hand out the files.

The team gathers around the plastic board, Reid standing slightly to the side, tapping a pen against his palm with restless energy. He was looking at you and the way your eyes moved through the board, like you were physically trying to connect the dots, the way you were flicking your nails unconsciously, it was driving him crazy.

They had given the full profile of the unsub. Male from 30 to 35, probably has a job in the criminal justice world but his work goes unnoticed which lead to him being envious of women and blaming them when it comes to injustice, therefore the accusing notes.

You could think in a couple names from that description, but none of them were capable of murder, let alone how violent the crime scene pictures showed. From the list of people with recent access you had gave out, you secretly wished they were wrong about a mole. Although something sat wrong for you when you looked at the notes, why would someone-

A bright sound cuts through the room and your thoughts, Garcia’s voice, announcing through the screen, “Okay, folks, I’ve cross-checked the office access records with everything we have so far, and guess what? We have a match.” She sounded confident “Someone on the inside had access to all of the victims’ files. And it’s not just anyone. We have a name, and a face.” she announced showing a picture of a Paralegal friend of you, no. “Ana Lopez” Garcia continues, the name sounding almost foreign as it leaves her lips. “She’s been in and out of the office with access to every victim’s file, and I’ve cross-referenced her movements—she’s had a direct connection to every single one of them. And what's more... she had an unusual interest in the victim's case files long before things escalated.”

“it´s not Ana” the words leave your tongue before you can stop them.

Prentiss looks at you with a concerned expression “is she your friend? look i know it can be hard to digest that she-”

“She's very advocate to the victims,” you interrupt, with a voice tight, as you shakes your head. “Ana's been one of the most outspoken advocates for justice in the office. She’s passionate about these cases, about the women who get overlooked. She doesn’t fit the profile. This isn’t her."

“People can do out-of-character things when they’re pushed to their limit” Gideon interjects calmly, cutting through your spiraling thoughts and rambling. His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable weight to it. “We’ve all seen it. The pressure can change people. It’s not always what it seems.”

Hotch nods, already stepping into action. “We’ll have to bring Ana in for questioning. Morgan, JJ, go to her house, Garcia will send you the address.”

Morgan gives a nod, and JJ’s gaze flickers to you, but she doesn’t say anything, respecting the heavy tension that hangs in the air.

You stand still, a knot of frustration tightening in the chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness in all of this. Partially because Ana was a steady paralegal who wouldn´t hand out sensitive information, and partially because you felt there was something else buried deeper, and you needed answers.

“Look… let me dig further into this,” you reach for your phone, desperately avoiding the feeling of becoming someone who clings to conspiracy theories. “How are you planning on doing that?” Hotch’s voice is firm, questioning, but not dismissive.

“You have your sources, and I have mine,” your tone sharp as you speed dials a number. The phone rings once, twice, before it clicks. “Austin,” you step into the bullpen to take the call. “They think the mole is Ana”

“Lopez? That can be it. One time, I saw her take down a guy who was trying to cut corners on a case. She was too righteous about it, if you ask me.”

You exhale sharply, a mix of frustration and confusion clawing, making the room too warm for your liking, leading you to take your navy blazer off and settle it over a desk chair. “I don’t know, Austin. My gut tells me there's something more. I need answers.”

“You think someone’s using her name? Hacking her or setting her up?” Austin asks, picking up on her suspicions.

“Exactly,” you answer quickly. “I don’t know how they’re doing it, but I need you to dig into everything—anything that could explain this. There has to be something we’re missing. Get me answers, Austin.”

“Understood, Captain,” he replies, his voice laced with a touch of humor despite the seriousness of the situation. “I’ll get to work on this and call you with anything I find.” he hangs up.

You save your phone, square your shoulders and take a deep breath, noticing Prentiss walking towards you, concern in her eyes. She stops just a few feet away and speaks gently, “Hey… I know this is a lot, and I know it’s close to home for you. Do you want some coffee? It might help clear your head for a moment.”

You glance at her, tired but appreciative of the offer. A small sigh escapes your lips as you nod. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

She leads you to the break room, a quiet part of the office where the noise of the investigation feels a little further away. The sound of the coffee machine brews in the background as she pours two cups, and you deny when she asks for how much sugar. She hands one before sitting down across from you at the table.

You take the mug in your hands, feeling the warmth seep through, the bitter and burn taste grounding your thoughts. “I get that you’re all just doing your jobs, Prentiss. I understand that. It’s just... as an attorney, you learn to read people. And sometimes, you have to trust your gut. Right now, my gut is telling me I missed something, not about Ana but about all of this.”

Prentiss nods like she understands what you are saying, letting the silence settle between you for a moment “You know you seem young to be A.D.A.” she jokes lightly.

Raising up your cup “That’s what the defense always says before losing” you say back, thanking internally for the attempt to ease up “I'm 22… I graduated from law school at 20 and immediately got an internship… so since then i’ve been working up my position”

Prentiss chuckles softly, leaning back in her chair. “Don't tell me you are a genius too… I can see why though. You’ve got a sharp edge to you—good for the courtroom, probably not so great for poker.”

You chuckle, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Well, let’s just say I prefer chess.” Sensing where the conversation might go, you subtly steer it away, curious about what she meant by too but before you can say more, Austin’s ringtone erupts, cutting through the quiet hum of the break room. You quickly pull your phone out and answer. “Got you answers” he says.

That was enough for you to put him on speaker mode and head back to the room with the rest of the team.

“Turns out Ana had an intern who’s been frequenting closed files, Daniel Reeves” he states, and when you don´t recognize the name it weirds you out. “I don’t recall that name”.

“That’s because he was at the office while you and I were on vacation in L.A. in February,” Austin explains. You’re too focused on connecting the dots to notice Gideon’s raised eyebrows or Spencer’s subtle eye roll.

“Anyway,” Austin continues, “This kid’s good with computers and had access to her credentials. Nobody paid too much attention to him, but an officer told me he’s been prowling around the file room for the last couple of months. I can’t guarantee he’s your guy, but it’s definitely worth looking into.”

“Daniel Reeves…” Garcia says through the desk phone speaker. “Graduated top of his class in computer science, specialized in cybersecurity, and interned with several law firms before Ana’s office. If anyone could hack a system and cover their tracks, it’s him.”

“Looks like he had access to the same systems Ana uses,” Garcia adds “And—oh, this is interesting—there’s a flagged incident from his previous internship. Something about unauthorized access to confidential records, but no charges were filed.”

Hotch steps forward, his posture commanding as always. “Garcia, send the new address to Morgan and JJ. I’ll let them know we found the mole”

“On it, Hotch. They’ll be there in no time.” She answers.

You take a deep breath, rubbing your forehead and letting settle the satisfaction that you are being useful to stop this madness. You glance at the phone, and press the speakerphone off. “Thanks for your help, Austin.”

The voice on the other end crackles with a slight delay, but Austin’s tone is unmistakable “Glad I could help Woody, take care”. You smile faintly at the nickname. “You too,” you say before hanging up and saving your phone in your bag, returning your attention to the team.

Reid, still fidgeting with the files in front of him, looks up briefly, his gaze lingering just a little too long. The flicker of his interest escapes you, your thoughts focused on the notes but you don't acknowledge it, choosing instead to focus on the case.

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There was something oddly familiar about the notes; and, of course, you were the only one noticing it. Since Austin’s discovery, they had brought in Daniel Reeves, who confessed to being blackmailed, claiming he had no idea who was behind any of this, so it was almost a dead end. You flicked your nails unconsciously, if you had a pen you would swirl it and if you weren’t so anxious you would be seated with your leg bouncing.

"Your silence speaks for itself."

"Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice." That one had stuck up with you. Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard. The way it rolled through your tongue gave you the clue of something else. You knew you had used those words before, if you could only place where; thousands of citations, warrants? Your eyes would move from point to point like you were physically searching, your nails would flick faster and faster. Where?

“God, could you stop doing that!?” Reid snaps, his gaze sharp with annoyance, and you look at him with the eyes of a deer caught in headlights.

You have learned over the years to not take stuff thrown at you personally, whether it is an out loud objection, a dirty trick in court with a judge, an inmate yelling at you for getting a sentence, an annoyed face in the search of a judge to sign a warrant, you do-not-take-it-personally.

But the look on Reid’s face made you feel like a 15-year-old misfit again, the girl who would cry, jump, and be on the verge of a panic attack if anyone accidentally touched her or if something too sweet triggered memories of hands creeping up, a teenager surrounded by college students who believed she was a narcissist egomaniac violent freak, a look you were afraid to find in your parents eyes when the therapist had told them about your anger issues and impulsiveness after you had destroyed the lamp in your bedroom, a look of plain annoyance not for what you had done but for who you are and what you represent, a mere obstacle, you were awkward and overwhelmed by everything. For a moment, the confident prosecutor, the woman in charge, vanished.

And you knew everybody in the room had noticed it, even after you had recovered from that second, you noticed it in the look on Derek's face, the way he looked at you apologetically, “Reid.” Gideon said, like a father scold his kid.

“It's okay I'll.. i need a coffee” you excuse yourself out of the room as fast and collected as you can, looking for some air.

In the room Reid senses his outburst has landed harder than he would’ve imagined. “Reid, go back to the scene. Start digging through the evidence again. There might be something we missed.” Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, and he opens his mouth to protest “Now.” Hotch remarks, which stops him from going further.

It was just so fucking annoying, the way she flicked her nails nonstop. Why did nobody see it?. So on his way out he grabs the leather bag that’s in one of the chairs of the room and finds it so irritating when Gideon follows him to notice there’s another satchel, in his desk chair covered with a blue blazer, his satchel.

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You had poured yourself another cup of extra bitter coffee, why did it affect you so much? god it was pathetic, you had faced worse than some guy calling you annoying. Maybe because you haven't seen it coming, maybe because it was so… reckless.

Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard.

Now where the fuck did you know that from? While being focused you sensed someone coming and discovered it was Morgan’s footsteps echoing through the bullpen, drawing your attention back to the present.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low as he stepped into your line of sight. “How you holding up?”

You took a deep breath, trying to center yourself. “I’m fine, just… thinking. I guess.” you tried to brush off, your mind was already elsewhere.

“Look, Reid is going th—”

“I’ve had it worse, really. I mean, law school is not for the weak,” you interrupted, joking, before he could start feeling pity for you.

He huffs with humor and decides to drop the apology on Reid’s behalf. Instead, he leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes watching you carefully “Occupational hazard I suppose... you know sometimes I wonder what happens after we catch the Unsubs”

“Well the fight doesn't end there, it does bring peace to the victims but believe me.. the legal battle sometimes is worse than the haunt.” you stare at the wall as you recall some of the people you have helped over the years.

“What do you mean?” Morgan's brows furrowed as he leaned closer, genuinely intrigued.

“Well…” you began, taking a deep breath, “The system is messy. It’s not like TV where the bad guy just goes to jail, and everyone walks away happy. Families have to relive their trauma during trials. There are plea deals, technicalities, appeals... It drags on. And sometimes,” you pause, gripping your cup a little tighter, “Justice doesn’t feel like justice at all.”

Morgan tilted his head, his voice softer now. “You’ve seen that happen, haven’t you?”

You exhale sharply, giving him a sidelong glance. “More times than I’d like to admit. You work so hard to get the right outcome, and then… loopholes, errors, or even just bad luck. It’s like pouring water into a cracked glass. It never fills up.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “And the people who go through that… they don’t always come out the other side, do they?”

“No, they don’t.” You look down into your coffee, your mind turning over the notes again. “Sometimes they snap under the weight of it all, the pain, the guilt, the blame, the...”

Blame

Your head snaps at him as you realize. “Blame.” That was it.

He furrowed his eyebrows not catching your thoughts “What?”

The cup clatters onto the counter, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway, but you’re already moving, your steps brisk as you head toward the conference room. Morgan calls after you, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. “Hey, hold up! What’s going on?”

You don’t answer immediately, your mind racing as you burst into the room. The others look up, startled by your sudden entrance. Without a word, you grab the bag containing the notes from the board, your hands moving with purpose as you spread them out in front of you.

“Blame,” you say, your voice firm, almost breathless. “These notes and murders—they’re not coming from someone who’s envious, but from someone who’s blaming the system. Not because it didn’t recognize them, but because it failed them!” The words tumble out faster than you can organize them, your thoughts racing ahead of your mouth. You’re not even fully conscious of what you’re saying, already dissecting the next connection in your mind.

JJ steps closer, his brows furrowed in curiosity. “Failed them how?”

“They’re not jealous of the people they’re targeting,” you continue, pointing to the scattered notes as your mind sharpens. “They’re angry. Angry at the system for not delivering justice, for letting them down when they needed it the most.” You reach for one of the notes, holding it up as you ramble. “Look at the phrasing they’re accusatory they’re challenging the idea of accountability, of consequences it’s not about wanting what these people have it’s about punishing them for what the unsub sees as complicity in their pain.”

In your state of mind you barely recall the sound of Hotch’s phone and him stepping out of the room, too focused on looking at Morgan, Prentiss and JJ.

“The profile is wrong” Prentiss says, nodding slowly as she starts piecing it together herself. Her eyes flick to the board covered with crime scene photos and victims’ profiles. “That’s why he’s targeting people from both sides, defense and prosecution. It’s not about personal grudges against individuals; it’s about what they represent.”

“Exactly,” you reply, your voice firm. “He sees them as symbols of a broken system. Defense attorneys, paralegals, judges—they’re all complicit in his eyes. They’re the ones who allowed the system to fail him.”

Prentiss gestures to the timeline on the board. “But what was the trigger? What pushed him from feeling betrayed to committing these murders?”

You take a deep breath, your eyes scanning the notes again. “It’s got to be personal—a case he was directly connected to. Something happened that made him feel like the system didn’t just fail, but actively betrayed him. He have go to the records”

Morgan pushes off the table, already reaching for the phone. “Hey, Babygirl, we need you to go through court files and find something that stands out, any cases around three months ago when the murders started.”

“Okay, do you have anything more specific to know what I’m looking for?” Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker, the familiar clacking of her keyboard filling the room as she prepares to search.

“We need to focus on high-profile cases that could have shaken the system. Look for any parole hearings, controversial verdicts, or any case that resulted in a big upset—something that would’ve made the Unsub feel like the system betrayed him,” He explains, already pacing with his phone pressed to his ear.

"Got it," Garcia responds, her fingers already flying across the keyboard. "I'll start pulling up all cases with defense or prosecution lawyers involved. High stakes stuff."

But before all of you could start digging and theorizing, Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, leaving you all frozen. “They’ve found another body with another note.”

The tension in the room thickens. Your breath takes off and without missing a beat, you all gather your things, it takes you a minute to find your blazer but in the heat of the moment you didn’t question why and how had your bag gotten under it, instincts kicking into gear as you rush to the scene.

“JJ you are with me, Gideon and Reid are already going to the scene” they all nod at the commanding voice of Hotch and you rush to get in the back seat of the black SUV with Morgan and Prentiss.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

In the car you take a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts to be able to think of anyone who can feel betrayed enough to commit murder. The problem is that anyone can feel betrayed enough to have an outburst. Hell, you were no one to talk about outburst if more than a couple times you had imagined yourself throwing something to inmates or smashing their heads against the table when all the evidence pointed at them being guilty and insisted on dragging the trials off.

“Can I ask why L.A. in the winter?” Prentiss' voice from the passenger seat brings you back to the car.

“What?”

“I mean it wouldn’t be my first choice for a romantic getaway” she thinks out loud.

“Ohh.. wait, romantic? Austin is not my boyfriend.. I just don’t like travelling alone” you are quick to correct her. You weren't lying, the statistics show how dangerous it is for women to travel alone and it gave your parents some peace to think someone will be there to keep you company that they trusted, plus he’s a good travel buddy because he knows when to bother and when to not do it.

Prentiss nods, as if taking mental notes, probably profiling you. “I just thought L.A. in the winter was more of a vacation spot, you know? Beaches, sunshine... not really the first place you’d think of for a quiet getaway.”

“They hold the biggest Doctor Who convention there during that time of the year ” you mumble, noticing how both Morgan and Prentiss look at each other as if sharing a thought and before you can ask, the blue and red lights hit you, announcing the arrival to the apartment complex, the crime scene.

You all step out of the car, the place is full of officers and you rush to where Gideon and Hotch are standing, note in hand. You notice how Reid has some urgency to tell you something but when JJ hands you the bag that secures evidence with the note.

"No one is above the law. Except for the guilty who’ve been given second chances."

Glancing at the note, your mind races, piecing together fragments of information, second chances. “Parole,” you murmur “The unsub is a victim, and their victimizer got out on parole!” Your eyes dart from point to point, connecting the dots. “That’s what he means by second chances.”

Hotch nods sharply “Garcia is already going through parole records.”

Just as the words settle, a new idea strikes you like lightning, and you barely take a breath before blurting, “I think I know something about the notes!” The sudden burst of realization sends you sprinting to the car, leaving the team, and a startled Spencer Reid, in your wake.

“Wait-” Spencer starts, his voice tight and laced with something unspoken, but you’re already too far gone to hear the rest, leaving him with panic in his eyes and an open mouth as he was about to say something.

Fumbling through your bag, your hands shake with the adrenaline coursing through you. “Your silence speaks for itself. Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves. Reckless disregard for justice. Second chances...” You mutter fragments aloud, recognizing the phrases. They weren’t random. You’ve read these words before, somewhere specific. A draft of a closing statement? A court transcript? Your fingers move frantically, searching for your phone, your notes, something. Why did you brought your copy of Crime and Punishment? and why did it look a little bit newer than yours? Where's your phone? Where are your files?. Not every criminal can get out on parole—they need good behavior, a stable support system… Maybe you put it in the front pocket.

Your hand grazes something cold and smooth. Glass. Then something sharp, metal. You freeze, pulling the objects into view. Two small bottles of Dilaudid and a needle. Your throat tightens, and you feel the air around you thin and the familiar warm that comes with anger starts to settle down your back.

You glance up, almost instinctively, and your furious eyes land on him. Spencer’s standing a few feet away, his expression is a contorted pale mask of fear, guilt, and helplessness, his eyes wide and pleading as they lock onto yours, making you look away at the full disclosure of a crime scene.

The chaos of the crime scene rushes back to you. The flash of blue and red lights dancing across every surface, the sharp crackle of radio chatter blending with raised voices, the metallic tang of blood still fresh in the air. Officers move purposefully, their dark uniforms a blur of activity as evidence is collected and barriers are secured.

There are 3 things going on in your brain right now.

This is not your bag, it's Spencer’s.

Spencer is an addict.

You are in the middle of a crime scene, surrounded by cops with a full stash of illegal drugs.

You have to think, think fast and now. The unsub, the drugs, the notes, his sharpness, the victims.

You see Morgan stepping out of the building, his sharp gaze scanning the scene. Panic rushes through you like ice water. You shove the Dilaudid and needle back into the bag, your hands trembling as you close it. Your mind races, desperate to piece together what to do next. “Morgan I need you to drive me to my office”

“What? Why?” he looks at you like you are out of your mind.

“I need a file I thought I had it with me but I don't and it would be faster I don't think the words of the notes are random I think I have seen them before in some legal file that could lead us to the Unsub” the words rush, you are rambling desperate to get out that place, clutching the strap of the bag to your chest.

Morgan’s sharp gaze lingers on you as he signals the car. “Get in,” he says before telling Prentiss and Hotch about it and getting in the car.

You slide into the passenger seat, gripping the bag so tightly your knuckles ache. Morgan settles into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, the rumble of the car barely masking the tension between you. As you approach your office building, you mentally rehearse your next steps. Get upstairs, dispose of the drugs, and look for the file. Your mind spins with the weight of the discovery, but you shove it aside as Morgan pulls up to the curb.

You get out of the car and enter the building. It’s past 10 pm so no one is around, except you two, as you get closer to your office you hear a noise somewhere that makes Morgan instincts spark up. “It's probably the janitor” you brush off.

“I’ll take a look” you nod and ask for his phone to call Garcia if needed, he gives it to you as he takes off his gun and you thank whatever mess that cleaning man was making, giving you the opportunity to execute your plan alone.

You open the door and rush to the bathroom taking the bottles out. How could Reid do something like this? Did his team know? The anger, a familiar flame, burns through you as you flush the contents of the bottle and went back to the office to look for the paper bag that had contained your lunch this morning.

It was irrational for you to be this angry at him without even knowing him but it was there, simmering under the surface. How could someone do this to himself? To his team? To the people who rely on him?

The crumpled paper bag from earlier sat on your desk, you broke the needle off, and shoved it inside with the empty bottles to dump it deep into one of the trash cans in the hallway. Out of sight, out of mind. At least for now.

You go through your cabinets, looking for the draft files. “Where is it?” you muttered under your breath, flipping through yet another folder. The contents were a jumble of case summaries, old briefs, and legal drafts, but none of them held the connection you were chasing. You were good with names, especially if it was tied to a legal document, which could be sad but right now is useful when you finally stumble upon a file that felt too familiar. You pulled it out, the edges worn from use, and opened it. A closing statement you’d written 5 years ago during a case.

Lawrence Finch. Larry.

Father of two kids with a wife, family that was taken away from him because in a car accident where the other driver was a rich guy who was too high to understand anything and got out harmless, Evan Grayson was his name. You remember how hollow he looked and how much he had thanked you after you got the guy sentenced. In your closing statement you spoke about the depth of his loss, about the void that could never be filled. You'd used his words, his pain, to hammer home the injustice, the lives lost because of one reckless decision. You remembered how his face had softened in that brief moment of relief after the sentence was handed down. He’d shaken your hand and said, “You gave me my justice.”

Glancing at the words you realize how the words you’d written, once so full of conviction, now echoed in your head, twisted and distorted. The Unsub had taken your closing statement—Lawrence Finch’s words—and turned them into something chilling.

"Your silence speaks for the victims. They can no longer speak for themselves." had become "Your silence speaks for itself."

"Integrity is the foundation of justice. It means holding those responsible accountable, no matter who they are." was now "Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves."

"His behavior demonstrates a complete disregard for human life, a pattern of recklessness that cannot go unpunished." had morphed into "Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

And the final sting, the one that had sealed the fate of the driver who’d taken a family’s life, was now twisted into something far more personal "No one is above the law, not even those who believe their privilege protects them from it." turned into "No one is above the law. Except for the guilty who’ve been given second chances."

He wasn’t just echoing your words—he was using them, warping them into a weapon.

You grab Morgan’s phone and look through the contacts before pressing call “Garcia, I need you to look up something for me,” the urgency was clear in your voice.

“You are not my chocolate thunder but speak and you'll be heard” Garcia responded, always upbeat even when the stakes were high.

“Evan Grayson. I need everything you can find on him—parole status, criminal record, anything recent,” you said, pacing the room as your mind spun with connections you were still piecing together.

"Got it! Give me a second, I’ll dig into the system,” Garcia said, her voice clicking into business mode. A few moments of silence passed, you hear some rustling outside but ignore it, before she spoke again, her tone more focused. “Okay, here we go. Evan Grayson, 27, convicted of vehicular manslaughter five years ago. Served three years, got released early on good behavior.”

“Garcia, they guy murdered almost an entire family five years ago, the only one left was the father Larry Finch, he’s our unsub, he’s been using the words of trial for the notes!” you said, your voice tight. “We need to localize him and inform the rest of the team that-.”

Before you could finish, a scuffle echoed from down the hallway, followed by a muffled shout that cut through the silence of the building. Morgan’s voice calling your name with an edge of panic. Garcia’s voice asking what was going on felt far.

You bolted toward the sound, heart pounding in your chest. The door to your office was ajar, and you caught sight of Morgan wrestling with someone, a blur of motion. The other figure was struggling, trying to break free, but Morgan’s grip was like steel.

"Get down!" Morgan barked, his voice gruff with exertion.

Your eyes widened as you recognized the man, Larry Finch, the very person whose family had been torn apart in the accident. He was here. Right here. In your office. Probably looking for you.

Your mind raced, trying to process the situation, but Morgan didn’t give you time to think. He quickly subdued Larry, pinning him to the ground with the precision only years of training could provide. The fight drained from Larry’s body as Morgan cuffed him, his breath coming in ragged gasps with his gaze towards the officers that were running towards him.

His words pierced the air, heavy with accusation. “You promised me he would never get out! You failed me! All of you failed me!” Larry’s voice was raw, full of grief and rage. This wasn’t the grieving father you’d met 5 years ago, this was a man hollowed out by loss, filled with nothing but rage and betrayal. His words struck deep because he wasn’t wrong, you understood profusely the feelings and you had failed him somehow and maybe if you had known about Evan Grayson getting out you could’ve done something. Those eyes full of hurt and betrayal were locked on you as they pulled him away, Morgan´s concerned gaze on your figure frozen behind the door of your office, with your hands still clenching the statement.

He went to put a hand on your shoulder to comfort you “Wanna step outside for some air?” he offers. You shake your head, moving on to the next task, locking your feelings away “i’ll meet you outside, I just… I need to do something real quick.”. He hesitates but nods and leaves you alone giving your shoulder a brief squeeze as you walk back to your desk, focused on the pace of your breaths and working on keeping them even. You see Morgan’s phone screen with a message from Garcia “i heard noises and called for backup”

So everyone was downstairs. Everyone including Reid. Reid. Dilaudid. Your fault. Anger.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to stay in control and not destroy or throw anything that was at your reach, you grab the black desk phone, speed dialing 9 without even looking. When a calming “Hello?” sounds in the other line you breathe deep again, the grip on the phone getting tighter, you close your eyes, steadying yourself as you grab a pen and paper with shaking hands.

“Dr. Fitzgerald i… i need your help”

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

You step outside just as JJ and Reid emerge from a black SUV. JJ barely spares a glance before rushing toward Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch, but Reid stops. His gaze lands on you, then drifts lower to the satchel slung across your body. His satchel.

Your breath catches for half a second, but you don’t give him the chance. Before he can take a step in your direction, you move first. Quick, deliberate. You make your way to another SUV, open the backseat, and set the bag inside without so much as a glance in his direction. Then, with Larry’s file gripped tight in your hand, you head straight for the team.

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

But it doesn’t stop you from feeling the weight of his stare. From sensing the way he lingers, trying to find a moment, an opening, to talk to you alone. You know exactly how that conversation will go, how the fury and frustration bubbling under your skin will erupt the second he speaks. If he tries, you will yell. And you don’t trust yourself to stop.

So, instead, you focus. You lay out what you’ve found to the rest of the team members, flipping through the notes, explaining the connections, your voice steady despite the storm inside you, trusting that he’ll have the decency to not approach you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement. Reid. He’s walking toward another SUV, the leather bag, your leather bag, slipping from his shoulder as he places it inside without hesitation.

He caught on.

You force yourself to keep talking, to keep your focus on the case, but inside, you're torn. Part of you wants to be grateful that he understood, that he’s playing along. Another part of you hates that he did.

Because it means he knows. And that’s almost worse.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

You watched the chessboard, considering the game’s progress. The case was wrapped up, but you still had some files and reports to gather. More than that, you liked talking to the team, there was something about the spirit of family among them that you hadn’t expected. It was a strange feeling, one that tugged at you.

“Would you like to play?” you heard someone ask you, making you turn around to see Agent Gideon, speaking of “family”, you had noticed how he acted like a mentor or father to Reid, maybe he was. You knew fathers weren't perfect, you guess that extended to figurative ones too, but how could someone so proud of playing that role ignore something as obvious as Reid’s addiction? No help, no support. Did he even know what it was like to battle something like that? did he even know what it was like having an addiction? did he know Reid has one?

“Yes” you answer to him, chess has always played an important part in your life, a way out, literally and metaphorically, a board of 46 squares and more possible moves than the amount of atoms in the universe, a regulated and controlled space, where you had all the control.

You both sat at opposite sides of the board, rearranging the pieces. “Black or white?” he asked. “I'm fine with either”. You didn't believe in luck or coincidences, so when he grabbed both queens and made you pick, drawing black, you didn't think much of it. Mathematically you were at a disadvantage, when two machines play chess, black always loses. But you’d gone through enough to know better than to give up on a weak starting position.

So move after move, you weren't playing to win really, and judging his moves he wasn't either, you can tell a lot from someone's way to play chess. “It's nice to play against someone new you know?”. Gideon glanced for a second at Reid with a brief smile. That made you doubt your next move, because your rage has always made you freeze for a second and erratic the next. How could he?. Yes, you have been avoiding Reid at all costs. No, you didn't know if he and Dr. Fitzgerald had talked. You had helped him in the best way you could've possibly found fighting to not panic too much.

So you hummed in response, letting the wheels in your head turn as you shifted your strategy, so when you started playing to win, the game was too advance for him to do a proper counter attack.

“Checkmate” a smile appeared on your face, the same one when you knew the inmate was going to get convicted, when your closing statement had convinced the jury. When someone underestimated you.

Gideon tilted his head, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. He glanced between you and the board. “Didn’t see that one coming,”

With your fingers still resting lightly on the queen, you paused for a second. “Yeah there's a lot of things you either don't see or choose to ignore, Agent Gideon” your piercing stare and a cool voice, heavy with the weight of frustration.

Gideon’s smile faltered, and for the first time, his eyes showed something more than just the calm resolve he always projected. Your words had hit the mark. He knew it wasn’t just about chess.

You had outplayed him, just as you had outplayed the situation. And just as you had done with Reid, by realizing and taking action, something that clearly no one else had.

After talking to Hotch, reports in hand, as you walked out of the Headquarters and stumble upon Morgan, who gives you a warm and friendly smile as he says hi.

"Hey umm.. I wasn't really able to thanked you the other night after you saved my life, I truly thought it was just a cleaning lady" It felt so shameful how unaware you had been at the danger that night because of your meltdown.

He moves his hand as it was nothing. "Hey I'm just glad I decided to go with you instead of waiting in the car"

Reaching for one of your presentation cards, neatly saved in your new black leather bag, holding it between your index and middle finger to him "Well... I still own a big one. So if you ever need legal help or anything else, don't hesitate to reach for me"

He takes it nodding and reads it out loud your full name with a funny pace "I'll hold on to that one Miss A.D.A. Woodvale".

You laugh at his way to pronounce it, feeling too formal for the moment "Please just.. call me Woody"

He chuckles "Wait like the Toy Story character?"

You chuckled too "Yeah it's uhh.. dumb name but.." you shrug as a friendly smile paints your face as you realize you had made a new friend which was weird for you but felt oddly satisfying as you said your goodbyes and walked in opposite's directions.

Your thoughts wandered to Spencer, against your better judgment, they always did recently. It was infuritating the fact that your mind always went back around him, you couldn’t quite say why exactly, because if you would've have never found out what you did, he would've have stayed as the rude and annoying agent you met once.

But then you remembered the other side of him—the trembling hands, the lost stares, the outburst, the bottles you found in his bag. You couldn’t unsee it, couldn’t separate him from the shadow of his addiction. And it broke something inside you, because you knew what that darkness looked like, how it devoured people whole.

You wanted to reach for him, to offer more than the cold anger and frustration you’d shown, but you were too afraid. Afraid of what it might mean for both of you if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, fight his way out. Afraid that you would fall too, trying to save someone.

You hoped he would get help. You prayed to gods you didn't even believe in for it. You knew all too well what it felt like to be trapped in that cycle, in your body. You couldn’t bear the thought of him staying there, lost.

And so you walked away, keeping your distance, even though a part of you that you didn’t understood ached to stay.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

part II

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[icys-junkyard]

Unova Battle Subway maps

My personal preferred map of the railways (one with blue markers, one with color coded markers)

An alternate map, taking the in-game subway map slightly more literally. (Bonus map with a few non-canon markers I added purely to help myself make sense of the seemingly pointless shapes of some of the routes)

Bonus extra map of the routes taken by Ingo, Emmet, or both of them, for those who want a more specific visual of those routes on their own. (Of course Emmet's line goes through the Pokémon World Tournament lmao)

Misc notes/thoughts under the cut

I'm not a train person, take all these musings with a grain of salt lol

Canon map note: I imagine this map only shows the large, intercity railways. Cities like Nimbasa, Castelia, etc likely have smaller, more complex subway lines all over the city like we tend to see IRL.

Canon map note 2: In an IRL setting, these rail lines are likely far less straight and angular than on these maps and could probably make a lot more sense if drawn with a freer hand and consideration for the landscape, but I tried sticking somewhat close to how it's presented in the game.

International (wi-fi) line: In the game it's the wi-fi line. In a non-game context I imagine this line is one that actually leaves Unova and goes to a neighboring region.

Subwayness: While not all of these lines are 100% underground like they might be in the cities, I like to think quite a few of them are partially or primarily in tunnels. Many lines go across water without a major bridge* on the map, or straight through harsh environments like mountains or deserts, some of which may be more convenient long term to go under rather than through. With the technology of the Pokémon universe, I imagine large stretches of underground train tunnels are entirely possible. (*Maybe there's smaller unshown bridges for the trains, but at least the line that goes right through Castelia's port to an island I'd like to believe could be underground under water)

Battle Subway: The Battle Subway itself likely only runs on these intercity lines.Assuming IRL distances rather than in game walking distances, depending on the length of the line, a lap or two could be a full days work for the bosses. Non-battle trains likely use these same tracks.

Anville Town: The branching path on the Anville line is strange, as it doesn't seem to point toward any known location. It could be pointing toward some unlabelled town or landmark, though I've seen some people posit that it stops at the Celestial or Dragonspiral towers (though they seem too far away for me to agree). My personal headcanon is that rather than the large branch shown on the original map, it's actually two branches going to Anville Town; a large alternate rail to help with rotating/moving trains going in and out of the rail yard there.

Pokémon World Tournament: Located in or very near Driftveil City, it was added in BW2 by Driftveil gym leader Clay. Considering Driftveil is a city, it could have multiple subway stations, one of which just happens to be close to the PWT. Alternatively, it could be a bit of a distance away and thus have it's own station.

PokéStar Studios: Located in or very near Virbank City. As the major intercity lines don't quite hit Virbank itself, I imagine Virbank only has one intercity station near the studio if it's within Virbank itself. That, or it has no intercity stations and one must travel the distance between Virbank and the studio to travel further.

Unity Tower: Literally this train goes through a port and right into the ocean to reach an island. This island is only accessible by boat. I'm convinced this train goes under the seafloor. That or it has a super cool Marine Tube situation where it's a subway tunnel, but the tunnel is transparent and the ocean and water pokémon can be seen out the train windows.

[k-ru-h]

i know i said earlier that my interpretation of curly as a victim of jimmy's manipulation as well wasnt necessarily implied in canon but im gonna double down and say it is. ESPECIALLY with the how fish is made dlc.

curly doesn't only enable jimmys behavior towards anya - he enables jimmys behavior tomwards himself. we know jimmy doesn't fulfill his duties to standard, we know curly was putting up with his shit since day one on the tulpar. curly was the only one implied to also be trained as a pilot, meaning that he took on significantly more work rather than confronting jimmy. he let every awful comment jimmy made towards him slide - he let jimmy put him down and villainise his desire to be happier in life. like, its fucking crazy to get mad at your friend for wanting to change his career to be happier? especially on his birthday?

this isnt to say any of that is as bad as literally being raped like anya was, but what little we know of jimmys and curlys dynamic is that jimmy was bitter and spiteful and would take it out on curly, blaming curly for wanting better for himself. curly never pushes back, implying he's accepted this dynamic - he's accepted jimmys tendency to do awful things and then take no blame (no responsibility) as a quirk, as something entirely acceptable.

if you've ever deeply cared for your abuser, chances are you know that desire to view them as innocent. everything harmful they do to you is fine, and thus everything harmful they do to ofhers has to be fine, because you just cannot reconcile these two ideas in your head. they cant be innocent if theyre harming others, and if theyre harming others, what are they doing to you? curly doesn't behave like an enabler, he behaves like a victim. the men who support rapists everybody labels curly as would push back at their friends actions towards themselves. curly never does this.

as curly is effectively unable to communicate after his injury, we dont get his point of view after being directly violated and forced to acknowledge jimmys abuse within the game itself. the game paints very clear parallels between anya and curly - both pregnancy (especially as a result of rape) and disability (especially as a result of violence) result in a loss of autonomy, unwanted and uncontrollable changes to ones body and in this case- the perpetrator getting away with it. like, the way jimmy twists the tale to make curly out as the bad guy is purposefully reminiscent of men who blame women for "asking for it" when accused of rape. curly caused the accident - jimmy is just an innocent victim of his.

in the last one and then another, curly regrets ever joining the pony express. his thought process sounds a lot like that of an abuse victim (because he and everybody working under pony express is a victim of their abuse, of course): "We're defined by our past, but not slaves to it. We said tomorrow will be different. Today would be the last day. The last one. The last one and then another. And another, and another, and another... " its the cycle of forgiving your abuser because you believe they can change, because you believe you can change and break the pattern, and pushing through day by day, never giving up on them. even if curly wasnt abused by jimmy and jimmy was "just" toxic towards him, its clear he has this pattern of thought deeply engraved in him. we don't know everything jimmy did to him, we barely know of what he did aboard the tulpar, but at the VERY LEAST he exploited curlys trauma for his own benefit. it could be argued curly shouldnt have passed the psych eval, but neither should have jimmy.

lastly, anya and curly clearly serve as parallels in the game. anya is an incredibly capable doctor, she wasnt unable to give him medicine because of disgust - she bandaged him herself, thats far more dirty work. she related to him too much. she saw herself in him - somebody who lost their body and their voice. even without knowing the same man did this to both of them. theyre both victims of abuse, of violation, of a man who could never take responsibility, of a sistem that allowed all of this in the first place. curly shouldnt have enabled jimmy, but curly shouldnt have had anything to enable in the first place. jimmy shouldn't have raped anya, he shouldnt have crashed the ship. pony express shouldnt have abused its workers. whichever regime holds power over it shouldnt have allowed it to happen in the first place. you can acknowledge somebody made a mistake, and yet understand they were abused too. jimmy was exploited by the capitalist society he lived in. if he had access to mental health services, he couldve gotten better. everybody in this game is a victim of circumstance, but jimmy hurt people nonetheless. curly hurt anya nonetheless.

anyways im going to set everybody who says curly "deserved it" on fire to prove their point.

[hollowdeath]

professor potter

pairing: harry james potter x fem!reader AU (18+)

summary: 2 years after the war, harry accepted a position as a substitute professor at hogwarts and recognized you from his years as a student. old feelings come to the surface as you both try to remain professional to keep his position safe.

content warning: slight teacher/student dynamic (they used to be classmates, reader is 18+), mostly slow burn & angst. smut mostly doesn't happen til the end (masturbation, penetration)

word count: 12.5k

a/n: wrote this for fun between working on requests! thank you to everyone who sends them in, they're so good and i'm excited to post more soon! just another fluffy, angsty harry fic taking place in school w a hint of smut...kinda similar to my last one but thats ok ! as always not exactly book/movie/canon accurate i apologize !

it's your first day of your last year at hogwarts, and you're probably the only student here that's not completely thrilled to be back. young witches and wizards running around you in the halls with their robes dragging on the ground, completely in awe with each other at the architecture and moving portraits.

you have to admit, if hogwarts does anything right, it's the ambience. probably the only thing you'll miss after leaving this year is the magic castle itself, particularly the library and your dorm room, which have been your sanctuaries for the past 7 years. there's just no place in the world, even the wizarding world, you've found, that quite compares to hogwarts.

but no, unfortunately, not even the grandiose castle of every young wizard's dream was enough to make you want to stay here even a day longer than you had to. and trust, you were counting down the days.

there was a lot that went into your disdain for the school. after the war in your 5th year, nothing had been the same. sure, the building was restored to its original form and even had some upgrades installed, but the energy within the walls felt so…unsettling.

it had been more than 2 and half years since then, and most students who remember the war well had either graduated or moved on from it. you, however, continued to feel the effects of it every day.

you've had a lot of personal struggles since then mentally, which affects your social life. you've overheard your friends talking about how they don't feel like you're the same person and you inevitably bring them down. it wasn't long after that they stopped talking to you completely. you didn't bother to rekindle the connection; you were ready to leave this place behind anyways, what was the point in faking a friendship for another year?

even without all that, you truly just hated your classes. you actually used to be a scholar student in your day, consistently making the top of the headmaster's list every year until the war. and you still loved headmaster mcgonagall, of course, you don't think that'd ever change, it was mainly the other professors that gave you a hard time. once you showed signs of struggling and burn out, it was like they just completely gave up on you and moved on to the next eager, bright-eyed bushy-tailed 1st year to dote on.

no matter, because again, you were ready to leave for a variety of reasons. even if you had loved your professors and graduated at the top of the class, you still had no friends to celebrate with. and even if you had those so-called "friends" back in your life, you still felt completely alone with them.

and so you laid in bed, the same bed you've had for 7 years now, retracting the ornate trim on the ceiling like you have a million nights before.

you decided to look back at your schedule once more, floating the paper out of its folder in your bag and towards your open hand. you read through it slowly, but nothing had changed. pretty much the worst line up of classes you've had so far. particularly your least anticipated course, defense against the dark arts.

at this point, you'd had more than enough when it came to the dark arts. those death eaters nearly killed you in that war, and actually did manage to kill too many of your classmates and teachers in the process. you saw your second home crumble in front of you, classrooms you grew up in completely leveled and the bridge burned to the ground, so much death and destruction over nothing but power. you resented the dark magic in this world.

sighing, you set the paper down on your bedside table and roll over, attempting to fall asleep. you have plenty of early classes this year and don't look forward to having to wake up with the sun to make it to them on time.

you're wasting time in the bathroom just before your defense against the dark arts, your last class of the day, when your peace is interrupted by a group of girls who come in giggling and talking rapidly amongst each other. from inside your stall you can't help but tune into their gossip. it's the only thing you could hear and, who cares, you could use some good drama.

you tried to dissect their conversation but they were constantly talking over each other, squealing, giggling, and you couldn't understand a thing. after a few moments of craning your neck towards the door to get a better listen, one girl's voice stood out amongst the rest as she asked, "okay, but, who's going to try and flirt with potter first?" her question was followed by many desperate "me!" "me!" "me!"s, a wave of giggling following.

potter. there's no way…

the bells begin ringing, signaling your next class is starting soon, and the girls go rushing out of the bathroom together. you slowly open the stall door and walk to the closest mirror. pale, like you've seen a ghost.

they couldn't possibly be talking about harry potter, right?

just his name had become plenty famous in its own right. the boy who lived; the boy who lived twice. you hadn't heard his name mentioned in a long time, though that's not hard when you've hardly interacted with anyone here in a long time.

you remembered harry from your years before the war that you had shared with him. he was 2 years ahead of you, so it wasn't often you had the chance to speak with him, but he was pretty much as legendary as one student could be at hogwarts. however, whenever you did manage to have a conversation with him, you always thought he was cute. really cute.

okay, so maybe you had a ginormous crush on him your entire time at hogwarts. but so did pretty much every other girl. but you didn't just think he was cute, you admired his gentle nature and timid personality. despite his heroic and outright dangerous adventures, he was always so kind, so humble…

the bells begin ringing again, meaning you're now late to class. "shit." you mutter, grabbing your bag and stumbling through the bathroom door.

you're jogging to your dark arts class with a racing mind, still wondering why those girls would mention potter's name so randomly.

you turn the corner and see the classroom door is already closed. "shit." you mutter again, stomping your foot. now you have to open the heavy doors and draw everyone's attention towards you, quite literally the last thing in the world you want right now.

sighing, you push open one of the doors, making the loudest noises you've ever heard echo throughout the silent classroom. you walk in and, as expected, all eyes are on you.

you grit your teeth and close the door behind you, making your way towards an empty seat in the middle of the room. the silence lingers as your footsteps hit the ground, trying your best not to make eye contact with anyone. you hear a few snickers and whispers coming from behind, and you can already tell it's your old friend group. you roll your eyes, sighing as you drop your weight into the creaky wooden seat.

you hadn't realized, but headmaster mcgonagall was at the front of the room. you noticed once she continued talking, looking up to see her smiling at you. you returned it. you love how she's always liked you despite your grades slipping lately.

you quickly look back down at your hands as people begin to turn away from you, drawing their attention back to mcgonagall as she continues to introduce the class.

"like i was saying, class, we apologize for the change this semester and hope you'll be understanding of us as we navigate this situation carefully. i suspect you'll all be respectful and courteous to our guest as he donates his time to hogwarts and to you, our students."

you look back up, a confused look on your face. what change? what situation? what guest?

it didn't take you long to connect the dots. it's like everything was in slow motion. the girls talking in the bathroom, the guest, the reason all the front rows of seats in class were completely filled with girls…

"please, class, welcome hogwarts' very own, mr. harry james potter."

all at once, your eyes landed on harry, who had been sitting to the side, obscured from your vision by several girls and a pillar. as he walks towards mcgonagall, eager applause erupt from the girls and the boys offer mediocre claps. you're too stunned to react, watching harry intently as he shakes mcgonagall's hand with that same timid smile.

you can hardly believe your eyes. what is going on? why is he here? and how the hell does he look even better now than he did 2 years ago?

"thank you, headmaster mcgonagall," harry says shyly, turning to the students. his eyes immediately fall on you. you try to convince yourself he's looking just in front of you or even past you, but you can feel his stare into your eyes. its the only thing that breaks you out of your shock.

you blink a few times and slump into your seat, feeling your blood run cold at harry's eye contact. he looks down at the desk he's standing at and shuffles a few papers. you sink even lower into your chair. this can't be good.

"uh, well, hello…everyone," harry says awkwardly, earning some flirtatious giggles from the girls just ahead of you. "it's a pleasure to be here, really, despite the circumstances. uh, i'm sure as some of you know…i've been very close with the weasley family for years and feel devastated for bill– uh, professor weasley, that is," harry corrects himself nervously, clearing his throat and glancing at his papers again.

"and when he reached out to me personally, specifically me out of anyone, to teach in his place for this semester, i couldn't say no to him. so, while it's a real honor to be here with you all, please know it's just for this semester and then professor weasley will be back to continue with the lesson plan in the spring," harry explains, looking around the room yet always letting his eyes land on you specifically with a lingering gaze.

harry goes into the schedule for the semester, the skills you'll be learning, and, well, you can't really focus on what else because you're just completely lost in your own head.

harry potter, the harry potter, is your professor for an entire semester.

you were completely dumbfounded. he couldn't hardly be older than 20 years old at this point. he had only left hogwarts just 2 years prior, yet he looked so different. though the glasses and hair stayed relatively the same, he had matured in the face. a slight beard, defined smile lines, and he'd definitely spent some time in the gym…

seeing him in a button up with his old gryffindor tie on drove you mad. is he really getting you worked up in the middle of class by just standing there? you feel like you're 14 again, staring him down in the courtyard from behind a tree.

it doesn't help that you swear he keeps looking at you. specifically you. his gaze is unmistakable at this point, it can't be a coincidence.

you try to stop yourself from having these thoughts and physical reactions. if he's going to be your professor for an entire semester you have to get over this silly crush that was never going to work out anyway. though you're soon turning 19, it makes no difference if he's working with the school, it would never be allowed…

what are you even saying? as if anything would ever happen except in your dreams. all you're going to do is lust for him until christmas and then he'll be gone again, his name nothing but a spoken legend again.

before you can process all he's said, harry announces that everyone's free to leave once you grab a textbook from him. girls are immediately standing up and running to get in line, and the boys are rolling their eyes as they sluggishly follow behind.

you're inevitably the last one, getting a headache as you listen to girls try to ask harry all kinds of questions for a bit of his attention. he mostly just gives simple answers or laughs them off, referring back to the class or the textbook he was handing them in some way to change the subject.

mcgonagall eventually shoos the girls away, which harry thanks her for in a low tone. he hands a book to each of the boys in front of you before it comes down to you. as the boy in front of you is being escorted away by mcgonagall, you briefly catch harry putting the library card of your book inside the front cover before he closes it.

your eyes connect as he hands the book to you, but he doesn't let go. your heart instantly flutters.

"it's nice to see you again, [y/n]," he says softly, letting the weight of the book fall in your hands.

the way he says your name has you frozen in place. his pretty blue eyes have stayed just as mesmerizing. it takes a moment before you're able to wrap the book in your arms, offering him a friendly smile as you softly reply, "you too, harry…"

you're quickly making your way back to your room with the biggest, cheesiest smile plastered on your face. he remembered you. you had barely ever interacted with harry, only a handful of times as far as you could remember, and you were sure he had completely forgotten about you, or at least forgotten your name. you tried to chalk it up to him having access to the attendance records of the class and reading over your name, but you still felt like a giddy school girl skipping along day dreaming about her crush.

when you got back to your dorm, you set the class textbook down on your desk and went to turn around before looking back at it longingly. harry had just put the library card back in the book before handing it off to you. you were most likely crazy, but something inside you was insanely curious to see if he had done something to the card.

you slowly opened the book and took the card out, a blank piece of cardstock except for a fresh label printed at the top. you sigh, almost putting it back before seeing something on the card catch the shimmer of the light.

you give the card a curious look. you turn it in your hands towards the light, trying to see what's on it. before giving up in frustration, a thought comes into your brain.

no…

you dig into your luggage, still unpacked from the day prior, looking for your old ink and quill. once you find them you come back to the card, setting it on your desk as you open the ink pot. you dip your quill in the ink and touch it to the spot you noticed earlier.

as you watched, the ink collected into letters and numbers, forming a message across the dotted lines of the check out columns. you were stunned. harry actually wrote to you in disappearing ink? you thought you were delusional thinking it was a possibility, but here was the proof plain as day:

[y/n],

hagrid's, 8:30pm

harry

you kept rereading the lines over and over before they slowly disappeared, fading away into the paper. you stood back in pure disbelief. what does this mean? obviously it means he wants to meet with you, but for the life of you you just can't figure out why. you two barely knew one another personally, it had been two years since you'd seen or heard of each other again, and now he's secretly inviting you to hagrid's after hours using disappearing ink? as your substitute professor, too…

from 5-8 pm you mainly paced around your room in both lingering disbelief and unbridled excitement. though you had no idea why harry had invited you out in secret, you were anxious just to be in his presence at his request.

you spent forever deciding on your outfit, feeling a bit silly for putting so much effort into this suspicious rendezvous that you were still clueless about.

sneaking out had become somewhat natural to you over the years. you knew all the blind spots of the castle and could hear a prefect coming from a mile away. you were out of your room and walking down to hagrid's completely unnoticed in less than 10 minutes.

on your way down the hill, your mind is racing with possibilities of what this meeting could entail.

arriving at hagrid's hut, you admire the warm glow of the windows and intoxicating smell coming from the smoking chimney – a mix of wood and garlic. hagrid's pumpkins are just beginning to plump up, his yard scattered with overgrown vines.

as you walk up to the door, a wave of anxiety hits you. knocking seems like the most impossible task in the world all of a sudden.

you steady your breathing, let your heart rate slow, and knock before you have the chance to stop yourself.

a few seconds of some rustling can be heard behind the door before it swings open. harry greets you with a warm smile. no longer dressed for class, harry looks quite adorable in a comfy sweater and baggy jeans standing before you in the hut.

"[y/n], you got my message," he says, clearly impressed. you couldn't believe this was real. he really did leave you that note on purpose. just hearing him acknowledge it made your heart race all over again.

"i-i did," you say in shock, searching his expression for an answer to all your questions. why are you here?

harry gestures for you to come in. "well, join me, please," he insists. you politely smile and enter the hut, the smell of food making your mouth water immediately. "smells amazing in here," you comment under your breath.

harry closes the door, looking back at you with a shy smile. "oh, thank you. it's for us, actually." he tells you, nodding his head towards the dining table.

completely set up with a tablecloth, harry has food plated for the two of you on the tiny table, along with tea still steaming on the stove.

"if you don't mind, of course," he checks with you, his voice soft and unsure. you look back at harry, barely able to grasp what's happening before you reply, "of course,"

he suppresses a grin as he gestures to the table once more. "please," he prompts you. you hand him your bag and jacket before taking your seat at the table, admiring the food he prepared for you. you're still lost in thought when harry asks, "tea?" holding the kettle from the stove.

"please, thank you," you reply. he pours you both cups of tea before bringing them to the table with a smile on his face.

as you're eating you notice a record playing in the corner you hadn't heard earlier. it fills the space nicely as you both take your first bites of dinner. "hope you like it, i wasn't sure what to make," he says nervously.

wiping your lips with a napkin, you simply tell him, "it's lovely,"

after another moment or so, harry sits back in his chair. "so…[y/n]..." he sighs. hearing him say your name like that makes your brain fuzzy for just a second before he speaks again. "you're probably, um, wondering why…"

you stifle a laugh at his stalling, getting a hint of confidence as you interrupt him. "wondering why professor potter secretly invited me to have a home cooked dinner with him?"

harry goes still, his eyes searching your expression as a blush grows over his cheeks. he swallows nervously, blinking and shaking his head before attempting to respond. "u-um, yeah, that,"

smirking, enjoying his nerves, you wait for his explanation with your arms crossed and a raised brow. he clears his throat and diverts his eyes from your gaze. he takes a sip of tea before smacking his lips and looking back at you.

"i just, i haven't seen you…" he starts, eyes softening at you. "i-i know we didn't talk much, but…i always cared for you." the last part was hard for harry to get out, a weight lifting off his shoulders in the process.

you were blushing, but more than that you were sweating. this is like something you would dream about as a kid. hell, even just earlier today…

"when i saw you today…in class…" he seemed uncomfortable referencing that. "i just…a lot of memories came back to me," his hands move with him nervously as he speaks.

he sighs and stands up, his body language clearly stressed. you haven't said a word, you simply can't. what could you possibly say?

harry's facing the fireplace, his head in his hands. "look, i just, now that i'm your professor this semester i just think…" he takes a moment to find the words before turning to you. "i had a crush on you. okay? there. god damn it," harry huffs angrily, rolling his head back as he throws his hands down.

"i had a crush on you for like 3 years, it was stupid, and i don't want it to affect my teaching with you. so…i guess i practically set up a fucking date to tell you this, sent hagrid away for the evening for nothing…" he gestures to the table, sighing in defeat.

you're stunned into silence, to say the least. there aren't words to describe what's going on in your head at this moment.

after a moment harry looks back at you, his gaze softening once again. "[y/n]...please understand i wouldn't be telling you any of this unless i thought there was another way i could deal with it. when i saw you today…it was like i was 16 again," a small smile creeps onto his face before he wipes it away.

"and if i didn't tell you now, it's all i would've thought about when i saw you, so…yeah. there." harry says with a huff, avoiding eye contact with you.

before you can even process what's going on, your body reacts for you. you stand up, walking over to harry, getting his attention off the floor. he looks at you almost with fear in his eyes at how close you are. you sigh shakily before speaking.

"harry…u-um, professor potter…" you correct yourself. "please, just, harry…for now at least," harry insisted, his eyes apologetic.

"harry…" you say, suppressing a grin. "you don't have to worry. really…um, it was definitely mutual, to put it lightly…"

harry gives you a surprised look. "really?"

you roll your eyes, taking a step away from him and towards the fire, enjoying the warmth. "harry, you forget who you are sometimes. essentially every girl i knew had a crush on you at one point."

harry's a little flustered at this statement, also taking a step closer to the fire, and towards you. "i-i wouldn't say that, i was definitely not that lucky back in the day," he jokes.

"so those girls that were practically all over you during class today…?" you tease him. "'oh, professor potter, what can i do to get a good grade?'" you mock their voices, giving him puppy dog eyes as you lean towards him before laughing and turning towards the fire. "is that not luck?" you ask with your arms crossed, a smirk hiding your slight jealousy.

harry's silent for a few moments before you look over at him. you see his eyes dark and fixated on you for just a second before he blinks and shakes his head at you, also turning to the fire. "please. they're children. they crush on any slightly older guy they see."

you roll your eyes again at his denial. "some of them were my age, well on their way to being 19. but, whatever you say."

the fire crackles in front of you two, filling the space and creating a warm glow. "besides…none of them are you." harry says. you look over at him, and he's lost staring at the fire. he feels you looking at him and quickly corrects himself. "i mean, nobody was like you, at least to me, back then…" he trails off awkwardly, wincing at his own choice of words.

you adore his nervous antics. he's just the same sweet, timid boy you remember, except he's a bit taller with a 5 o'clock shadow and looks gorgeous in the glow of a fireplace right now.

"i've really mucked this night up, haven't i? i was supposed to tell you about the crush calmly and professionally, with no inappropriate comments, and send you on your way into the night with your first reading in the textbook…" harry sighs, giving you a pathetic look.

"well…" you start. "your first mistake was probably leaving me a secret note, and cooking me a wonderful dinner," you gesture towards the table. harry lets out a pathetic laugh, shaking his head. "yeah, probably."

you don't know why you feel the need to, but you instinctively grab for harry's hand. he gives you a surprised, scared look.

you try to reassure him with a soft smile. "harry, i appreciate you telling me. i hope it can make this semester easier for you."

harry smiles in return, but it's not genuine. he looks like he's holding back from letting you know how he really feels.

regardless, he invited you two to finish up your food, laughing as you both attempted to resume casual conversation without the awkward air.

surprisingly, the two of you naturally begin to talk up a storm, reminiscing on memories and catching up on what's happened since then. harry tells you about his career as an auror and his experiences that lead him to being able to teach defense against the dark arts. when professor weasley's wife had died of sudden illness, the only person he wanted to take his place was harry.

you're hesitant to tell him about your lack of eventful news, practically hiding your face in embarrassment as you admit that your grades have been suffering since the war.

harry put a reassuring hand on your knee, his chair pushed closer to you. you had both long since finished dinner and just talked, enjoying the fire as harry continued to feed it wood every so often.

you looked up at him, melting at how adorable his tired eyes looked through his glasses. "i get it. trust me." he tells you. his voice puts you at ease, and you don't feel quite as embarrassed as before.

"maybe this semester i could help you. if you'd like, of course," harry offers. you smile. "of course."

as you're slowly making your way towards the door to leave, harry watches you search through your bag to find chapstick. as you're putting it on, he continues to watch you. you sneak a glance at him, his face soft and full of admiration.

"you know, if i may say, in the least inappropriate manner possible…" he says with a laugh, causing you to laugh with him. "you have truly only gotten more beautiful after all this time, [y/n]."

looking over at him, you can feel your face form a cheesy grin with blushing cheeks. "well, thank you, that's very kind," you say, putting your chapstick away and taking another step towards the door. "but, really, i should be saying the same about you."

harry waves you away, but you notice the smile planted on his cheeks. "please," he says sarcastically.

he reaches for the door to open it for you, and finds himself rather close to you by accident. you smile up at him, and he nervously steps back.

"u-uh, thank you for coming tonight, really, even if it was a bit weird…" harry says, an embarrassed laugh following. giggling with him, you take a step outside. "it was nice. but, no more invisible ink. just ask me from now on, okay?" you ask, still giggling at him.

harry shakes his head at himself. "will do."

you give him a warm smile before reaching in for a one-arm hug, resting your head on harry's shoulder for just a second before pulling back. "i'll see you tomorrow, professor potter." 

enjoying the shocked and flustered look on his face, you walk away still laughing, making your way up the hill and towards the castle. you heard the door shut behind you quickly after you left, but could feel harry's lingering eyes following you through the window the entire way back.

that night you're laying in bed trying to convince yourself everything that just happened wasn't a dream. if it weren't for your full stomach and muddy shoes sitting by your door you might've convinced yourself it really was all an illusion. rather than dreading the next day of classes, you're actually excited to wake up as it only means you'll see harry sooner.

though you're not sure exactly why. yes you'd had a friendly conversation with him tonight after he admitted his feelings towards you, which still hasn't quite settled in yet…but what happens now? he's still your professor for the next 5 months minimum, and you both know you used to like each other. harry might feel better getting it off his chest, but you were perfectly fine keeping that secret to yourself like you always had. if anything, now it's the only thing you're going to think about every day.

rolling over, you try to fall asleep without thinking about harry too much.

it had been a few weeks since you met with harry that night in hagrid's hut, and things were going…okay, so far.

well, to be completely honest, you had utterly fallen back into your crush on harry harder than you ever had before.

and you tried to stop yourself this time. really, you did. working with harry in class and then stopping by his office at least 3 times a week for his help in other classes was a lot of time to be spending with a professor, and you rather despised just how fast harry made your heart beat or how easily his eyes could distract you.

so you tried your best to convince yourself it was lingering feelings from your past self, even trying to have a crush on other boys in your year to distract your brain. that failed miserably. none of those boys were attractive or interesting on their own, especially in comparison to professor potter…

but you couldn't fool yourself. you still felt the same butterflies seeing harry now like you did in 5th year. when he's talking to you in the quiet of his office, reading your textbook to you, you feel like the only two people in the world. when he fixes your hands to hold the wand properly, or moves your arm for you in the correct pattern to cast a spell, you can't focus for the rest of class. if his eyes linger on you just a bit too long during one of his lectures, a knowing smile growing on his face, you melt in your seat.

there was no denying it. you liked him more now than you ever had before. maybe it's just the sheer amount of time you've spent with him this past month or so, but your feelings for him had never been this strong in the past. there were days where he was quite literally the only thing you thought about, or at least wanted to think about. though you were doing better in your other classes, it was only because of him. you spent barely any outside time putting effort into these classes because, ultimately, you were completely distracted by harry.

and not just the idea of him, but particularly the growing tension you had noticed between you two recently.

you also tried to convince yourself that this was going on in your head. but there were just too many instances of prolonged eye contact, harry sitting a bit too close to you during your tutoring sessions, and lingering hands on your skin that made you question if harry maybe wasn't entirely over his crush either…

not that you tried to make it easy for him. since the semester started, you've been taking some extra time each morning to perfect your hair/makeup, put on your favorite perfumes on days you knew you'd be close to harry, and would even change your outfit completely when going to study with him outside of your school robes to give you a boost of confidence.

not that you needed the boost. lately you could only feel confident in yourself and nothing less. something about learning your life long crush who seemed so unattainable also had feelings for you, and could possibly still, made you feel untouchable. not to mention that any girl you heard talk about him or swoon over him in class just made you laugh to yourself; they had no idea you were with him alone for hours every week goofing off together as he attempted to help you study.

this confidence made its way into other parts of your day outside of harry as well. you were talking more in class, making a few new friends, even going to parties and outings just for the fun of it. you were actually enjoying your time at hogwarts instead of dreading every day. not all because of harry, but it definitely didn't hurt to consider him a friend.

a friend. a professor. an old classmate. a crush. a temporary fixation. your relationship to harry, in your mind, seemed so complicated and sometimes incredibly frustrating. especially when he seemed to flirt with you so subtly. you couldn't stand the, 'is he, isn't he' thoughts. but, at the same time, it just made you more motivated to push the limits to see how he responded.

of course it started with looking good, enjoying his reaction seeing you each day with a small smile and blushing cheeks. then it was making flirtatious jokes and purposefully giving him innocent looks while he rambled about whatever subject to get him flustered and distracted. and, lately, you've stepped it up by wearing shorter and shorter skirts whenever you stop by his office, and have even caught him looking at your legs a number of times when he thinks you're not paying attention.

all this to say, there was definitely tension.

you had to admit you felt a bit guilty, you knew harry valued his position as a substitute professor and was enjoying his time there, and you would feel awful if anything ever happened to cost him this position. he told you about his crush specifically to alleviate it, and your only goal this semester has been to do the opposite.

but, at the same time, you wouldn't act this way if harry didn't also create tension between you two. he also made overtly flirty jokes and comments, even seeming a tad bit jealous whenever you mentioned another boy during your time together. and you weren't stupid, you could tell when he wore the cologne you complimented one time when you were around or had even changed from his school clothes before you came to see him. there was definitely something unspoken going on between the two of you, but you were both afraid of crossing that line and making things complicated. besides, if anything, you both seemed to enjoy this game you were playing of teasing each other in private and then acting normally during class as student and teacher.

honestly, you found it to be insanely erotic, and were more turned on in class than any other time you were with harry due to the secretive nature of everything. his longing gaze as you walk in, his nervous glances towards specifically you, the shift in his voice from talking to one student to talking to you, it was all so subtle yet in plain view. something about wanting what you can't have only made you want it more.

on this particular day, you had been with harry for over two hours studying for an exam for a class you had been struggling with all semester, even with harry's help. you were frustrated, laying your head in your arms with your textbook in front of you, groaning as harry chuckled at you. 

"c'mon, [y/n], you've got this. i mean, you did just fine on this last practice test, better than you have all semester really," harry comments, pulling the paper out of your folder. you lift your head up, giving him a mean look. "i got a 75. barely." you deadpan.

"yes, and that's better than what you have been getting." harry stated, trying to hide a smirk. you throw a crumpled up paper at him. "stop, that's not funny," you whine, also trying to hide your laugh.

chuckling, harry stands up and walks towards the bookshelf in his office. "look, i'm just trying to be encouraging here," he says over his shoulder as he scans the rows of books.

you try to get back to your work, but you're just so utterly confused and upset that you close the book with a huff and lean back in your seat with an exasperated expression. harry hears this and turns to you, giving you a sympathetic smile.

he walks back over, picking up the book in front of you and setting it in your bag. "here, we can be done for today. it's not good to push yourself past your limit."

you sigh as you push back the urge to tear up. "sometimes i just feel so stupid," you say in a soft, despondent voice, staring off into the window across from harry's desk.

harry's watching you intently, and nearly drops to his knees as he crouches beside your chair and catches your eyes in his. "hey, you're not stupid. quite the opposite, actually." he says with a genuine voice. you look away, still not believing him.

"really, [y/n], and i'm not saying this as your professor. back in school i was constantly listening to hermione go on and on about your intelligence and class rank. she was incredibly impressed and slightly envious that someone 2 years below her was actually providing some competition at this school." harry says with a laugh.

you can't help but blush like crazy at this confession. hermione had been your academic inspiration for all of your time at hogwarts, and even still now despite your declining lack of effort. you'd had quite a few conversations with her in the past about classes and certain books or authors you both enjoyed, but had no idea she thought that highly of you.

mulling over this information in your head, harry continued to grab your attention with a soft smile and loving eyes. "you're not stupid. different things are harder for different people. you'll get there, and i'll help you. okay?" he asks.

you smile back at him. "okay."

slowly packing up to leave, you and harry both take your time to gather your supplies as you chat about your respective plans for the weekend. you casually mention a party you were thinking of going to. harry perks up at this. "a party?" he asks, a twinge of concern laced in his voice.

you give him a look. "yeah, ever heard of it?" you ask sarcastically, laughing to yourself. "i guess it's one of the slytherin boys' birthdays, or something like that," you wave off, throwing your bag over your shoulder. "apparently it's going to be massive,"

harry continues looking at you with a hint of concern. "well, just…be safe, yeah?" harry comments, his voice uneasy. you laugh at him again, looking at him incredulously. "yes, professor potter, i'll be careful," you tease him. you know harry gets a little squirmy when you call him that outside of class, and it never fails to make you feel powerful.

"besides, i heard the theme is dress to impress, so you already know i'm gonna look so good," you joke, flipping your hair dramatically. harry's tenseness breaks, letting out a chuckle. "well, still. just…be safe." is all he manages to say as you walk with him to the door.

saying your goodbyes as you separate down the hall, you can still feel harry's eyes on you until you disappear around the corner.

the night of the party, you were still unsure if you wanted to go. when a couple girls from class saw you and asked if you were going, they ended up convincing you to come with them. so, you got changed into a flashy dress that fit you well, fixed up your hair and makeup a bit, and met them in the courtyard to walk to the slytherin common room together. they obsessively commented on your outfit, telling you just how good you looked and letting you know you'd have no problem finding a guy to snog tonight.

but, you don't want any guy tonight. if anything, you were walking slowly through the hallways hoping by some chance that harry would cross your path and see just how good you looked. but you knew you weren't that lucky.

upon arriving at the party, drinks are immediately pushed into your and your friends' hands. they were right about the party being massive, as every square foot of the slytherin common room was packed with slightly tipsy students of all ages dancing to the loud music. you had barely finished your first drink before your friends dragged you over to do shots with them, wincing at the burn it left in your throat afterwards.

as the night goes on, you're eventually separated from all the girls you came with. not on purpose, some of them were playing drinking games, some were dancing, and one had even left the party with a guy she was completely into. no hard feelings, everyone was just doing their own thing. you had a few shouting-over-the-music conversations with a couple classmates and drank another cup of the mysterious alcoholic punch being served before deciding to head back to your room. you informed one of your friends, who asked if you wanted her to come with you, but you insisted she stay.

entering the hallway is extremely sobering. the loud music and colorful lights made it easy to ignore the growing drunken sensation, but you were now nervously navigating the halls of hogwarts, slightly intoxicated, attempting to warm yourself up with your hands over your arms. you hadn't even thought to bring a jacket, of course, so you were shivering as you made your way back to your room.

not long after leaving the party, you turn the corner and come face to face with another person. a boy a year under you, though you couldn't remember his name or anything else about him. you're a bit startled, not expecting to see anyone else, but politely apologize and attempt to walk around him.

"hey. you were at the party, right?" he asks, stepping in front of you to prevent you from leaving. you're slightly annoyed by him already, but your intoxicated state makes you bite your tongue. "yeah, just on my way back to my room," you try to end the conversation there, taking another step to get around him.

but he gets in your way again, stepping even closer to you this time. "what's the rush? y'know you had every guy talkin' in there tonight? sure would be nice to take home the prize," he slurs into your face, your nose scrunching at his alcoholic breath. god, this kid's way more wasted than you.

"excuse me?" you scoff, turning your face away from him. he tries to put his hand on your waist but you slap it away as hard as you can, causing him to wince and give you an angry look. "i suggest you leave me the fuck alone," you announce firmly, stancing your feet apart as you get ready to defend yourself further.

just as this guy's about to try again, this time his hands going for your neck, a voice from down the hall echoes loudly, scaring you both. "hey!"

you both turn, and it's harry.

"i would further suggest you leave her alone, mr. williams," he announces as he swiftly walks towards you. the kid laughs him off. "mind your business, huh, potter? this doesn't involve you," he continues to slur, looking like he wants to fight as harry walks up to him, chest to chest.

"it does now. leave and you'll be lucky i don't have you expelled or rather arrested for sexually assaulting a fellow student on campus grounds after hours, while intoxicated might i add," harry spits at him, his eyes full of disgust and rage.

the kid falters a bit, but the alcohol still has him acting cocky, getting in harry's face. "yeah? or what," he asks daringly.

you get between them and put your wand, hidden in your dress, against the kid's throat, making him stiff with wide eyes. "touch him and i will gladly get expelled for hurting you in ways you couldn't even conceive of in your fucking nightmares. do you understand? get the fuck out of here!" you nearly shout at the kid, causing him to turn and run.

you sigh a breath of relief, but quickly begin to feel the anxiety return as you bring your wand down and look at harry.

you can feel your body shaking with anger and fear, and also shivering from how cold you hadn't realized you'd gotten. your cheeks were flushed, your breathing uneven, and nearly on the verge of tears. harry's eyes were still angry, but he gave you a sympathetic look. he promptly took off his jacket and wrapped it around your shivering frame, enveloping you in a hug in the process. it's hard not to let the tears flow just a bit as you rest your head in his chest. you felt so vulnerable with him in that moment.

"here, let's get you back to your room, yeah?" harry says softly, turning your shoulders and guiding you down the hall. you realize you had sobered up during the ordeal, your eyes focusing and walking straightening out as you follow the corridors. once harry begins guiding you down your hallway, you slow to look up at him with a curious expression.

"how do you know where my room is?"

harry's a bit stunned by your question, searching for an answer before you began to think more. "and, wait," you stop walking and turn to him. "how did you even find me?" you ask breathlessly. harry continues to look guilty as he searches for an answer. smirking, you pull his jacket on you closer.

"professor potter, if i didn't know better, i'd say you were watching me tonight," you tease him in a flirty voice. "surely that's not the case, is it?"

harry looks around you two nervously, clearly starting to feel anxious for his actions. all you could do was smirk. you knew he still liked you.

harry sighs, avoiding your eye contact with a completely red face. "look, i just had a bad feeling about that party, okay?" he says simply. you continue to stare at him with a knowing look. "i couldn't sleep tonight knowing something could've happened to you. something like that fucking kid…" harry gets worked up just thinking about it again before stopping himself and calming down. "i'm sorry. it was wrong of me, and completely inappropriate."

your smirk drops into a soft smile. you can't help but feel your stomach erupt into butterflies hearing him admit he was watching you tonight specifically to make sure you were safe.

you softly put your hand to his cheek, causing him to look at you. he looks apologetic, concerned, and sad, his eyes searching yours as he slightly leans into your touch.

"thank you, harry." you say just above a whisper, your voice genuine and loving.

he sighs again, a bit relieved, a bit sad. his hand goes for yours, holding it for just a moment before he gives it back to you, letting go as he looks towards your door.

"well," he starts off, his voice cracking. "i'll leave you here for the night,"

smiling, you nod and take a step towards your door. you slip his jacket off of you and hand it back to him with a grateful, warm smile. he returns the smile as you're opening your door and waving goodbye at him.

as you're getting ready for bed, you replay the events of tonight over and over. you imagine harry watching you leave your room without you having any clue, meeting up with your friends, leaving the party in a daze, attempting to escape that guy before harry decided he had to step in and protect you.

you felt a bit silly for ever thinking harry's crush on you had stopped. even his subtle clues weren't very subtle thinking back now. maybe back in year 5 you assumed you were crazy for thinking he was looking at you funny, but now, nearing 3 years later, and learning he's liked you the whole time, you couldn't deny his longing gaze.

laying in bed, you decided you had to properly thank harry in some way for tonight, and you knew exactly how.

the next day, you paid a special visit to diagon alley with a friend to buy something special for harry. when she asked why you would ever possibly buy something like that for yourself, you make up some story about needing it for a class. she doesn't believe you, but goes along with it anyway and continues to have fun with you on your sunday out shopping.

you head towards his office in the afternoon when he usually spends his time grading assignments and working on the following week's lesson plan. you practically had his schedule memorized after coming to study with him so often.

softly knocking on the door, harry lets out a, "come in,"

you enter the office and he smiles at you immediately before it falters, his eyes then landing on the wrapped box in your hands. "surprise," you say with a shy voice.

he lets out a huff, looking back at you with a disbelieving expression. "[y/n]..." he carries off.

"it's just a little something," you say as you walk towards his desk, setting it down carefully in front of him. "a thank you, for last night," you tell him.

his eyes move back and forth from the box to your eyes, not knowing what to say. a few moments pass before he stands. "[y/n], i can't accept this…" he sighs. "what i did last night, i mean…it shouldn't have happened that way," he says curtly.

you tilt your head to catch his gaze, giving him a warm smile. "you did nothing wrong," you reassure him. you gesture to the gift. "please," you insist.

harry's shoulders relax, giving you an embarrassed smile as he slides the box closer to him, admiring the wrapping. "this is gorgeous, did you do this?" he asks, pointing at the sparkly ribbon and personalized name card. you proudly smile and nod your head.

harry admires it for another moment before carefully untying the ribbon and lifting the lid off the box. he gasps at what he sees.

a signed, hardcover, gold leaf detailed first edition defense against the dark arts textbook from his favorite auror. he had talked to you about seeing it at the bookshop but not wanting to spend the money or not having the place to display it or whatever his excuse was. you had taken note of this comment and when you saw it wasn't as expensive as harry had made it seem you knew it was perfect.

"[y/n]...you didn't…" he utters, practically falling back in his chair as he continues to stare at the cover. you giggle fondly at his reaction. "go ahead, open it up," you tell him excitedly. he can hardly move, but he eventually takes the book out of the box and admires it in his hands. he flips the cover open, sees the signature, and smiles. then, he looks at the inside of the cover and his expression drops.

"i had it personalized, if that's okay with you," you ask anxiously. on the inside of the leather bound cover you had a pressing engraved that said 'harry james potter'.

harry's in shock, his fingers running across the pressing softly. "[y/n], this is…" he trails off, continuing to admire the book as he flips through it, landing back on the inside cover, admiring his name once more.

"thank you." harry says, looking at you with so much love in his eyes it makes your heart burst. it was worth every penny seeing him in awe in front of you like this.

"well, thank you," you respond, smiling, holding your arms behind your back.

harry abruptly stands up, stepping around his desk and pulling you in for a desperate hug. you're a bit surprised, your arms wrapping around his waist as he continues to pull you closer and closer.

after a minute or so of the most comforting hug you've experienced outside of last night in that hallway, harry separates from you only slightly to look down at you. your faces are close enough to feel the breath of the other person.

you just want to tell him, 'fuck it, who cares, nobody's here, just kiss me, please, release this tension', but before you can even consider it, harry breaks the silence.

"i still love you," he says so softly, his face wincing as the words fall from his lips. your breath hitches. love?

"fuck," harry mutters, almost stepping away from you until you pull him closer to you, putting your lips close enough to his they're nearly touching. "please. kiss me. just kiss me. please." you practically beg, your hand finding its way to harry's neck.

"[y/n], we can't, i can't–" "just once, please, maybe it'll stop if we just, please…" you interrupt him, hoping he understands what you're implying, your noses rubbing together.

harry takes a few moments before practically whimpering as he connects your lips to his, wrapping you in his arms tightly. you immediately melt into him, letting the kiss consume you as your hands pull harry closer to you.

it only takes a few seconds before harry has you up on his desk, his hands gripping your ass under your skirt. the cold of the wood on your exposed skin makes you gasp, and harry's tongue quickly slips past your lips.

it's everything you imagined, and the fact that this is happening in his office is just making you even more turned on. you had played this scenario in your head so many times, and it hardly felt real once it was actually happening. and on the desk you spent so many hours at, pining over him and fantasizing him taking you like he is right now.

after a few minutes of making out and needy groping through your clothes, harry pulls away breathlessly. opening your eyes you see he's completely flushed, his hair slightly messy as he nervously takes his hands off you.

you awkwardly clear your throat, your hands falling to your sides and resting back on the desk. harry takes a step away, straightening his tie and fixing his hair. you hop off his desk and adjust your skirt.

the silence between you is awkward, but there's just nothing to say. the kiss only left you wanting more, of course, it was pointless to ever hope it would quell your feelings in some way.

"well," harry begins, his voice shaky and quiet. "that didn't work."

you let out a nervous laugh, coughing to cover it up. "yeah…sorry." you mumble.

harry sighs. "no, i'm sorry. i'm technically your superior, i shouldn't be doing this to you. leading you on, flirting with you, for fuck's sake, following you around after hours…"

you shake your head. "look, i'm not kissing professor potter, okay? i like you, harry. i've liked you since i was 13. i don't want to ruin your position here either, and i'll stop if that's what you truly want…" you choke up just a bit before swallowing it back. "but, just, please, stop blaming yourself. i want this, too."

the silence returns, harry clearly thinking over what you said as his eyes stare off beside you. you're anxiously shifting your weight, watching his face get lost in his own thoughts.

"i can't risk this job," harry says finally. "i don't give a shit about the money, pay me everything in the world i would still want you…" he mumbles. you feel your stomach drop at this sentiment. you want him so, so badly. but… 

"but…" harry says.

you smile at him sadly, knowing what's coming. "i can't let down bill, or mcgonagall, or any professors or students here who may actually still like me," he says with a dry laugh. "if we ever got caught, and i just know we would, and what would happen to you…i just–" "i know, harry," you interrupt him, taking a small step towards him.

he smiles at you sadly as well. "and i agree. it's not worth it. well, you're worth it, of course…" you say shyly, diverting your gaze before continuing. "but, it's too risky. you deserve to finish out this semester without that hanging over your head, y'know?"

harry stares at you lovingly, no attempt to hide his adoration for you in this moment. "you're truly incredible. you know that?" harry comments softly.

you respond by blushing and crossing your arms. he hums softly, his smile taking over his cheeks. "thank you, really, for everything, if things were any different, i wish…" harry stumbles. you smile at him again. "i know."

harry returns to his gift, admiring the book in his hands over and over before putting it on the bookshelf next to his desk. he admires it there for a while as well before thanking you again.

as you're getting ready to leave, harry stops you for a moment. "if you don't mind, i'd still love to help you in your other classes. and, just, remain friendly in general still, if possible…"

you melt again at his soft demeanor. harry's such a sweetheart it's heartbreaking. all you want is to kiss him again. it's all you've wanted since he stopped.

"of course."

it's the end of the semester, and you have mixed feelings about it. on one hand you're dying for a break from classes. you've done the best you have in years this semester, and it's exhausted you. but you're incredibly grateful, for a lot of things. your new friends, your rediscovered love for hogwarts and magic in general, your overall improved attitude and mentality.

with special thanks to a certain substitute professor…

harry. this semester was definitely a rollercoaster for you when it came to harry. though, towards the end, things fell into place a bit more as you both accepted and embraced your odd, yet effective routine. professional student-professor relationship in public; smitten, teasingly love-sick old classmates in the comfort of his office walls. nothing further than lingering hands, loving stares, and the occasional compliment towing the line of what's inappropriate and what isn't.

though the dynamic wasn't ideal, you grew to love it for what it was. a simple, longing love that wasn't exactly unspoken anymore, but sure felt like it each passing day as you both pretended that kiss never happened.

that kiss. you swear you think about it every day. you long for harry to grab you like that again, to slip his tongue past your lips again…sometimes, late at night, it's all you can think about. sometimes just the thought of it makes you need to touch yourself, remembering how desperate he was for you, the feeling of his lips on yours, sitting on his desk in his office, just the image of it from outside of your own perspective could bring you to your orgasm alone in your room.

to say you were anxiously counting down the days until classes were over and harry technically wasn't employed with hogwarts anymore was an understatement. though you hadn't spoken about it with him, you felt it was okay to maybe consider that he would want to continue things further with you once his substitution was over. you kept your guard up as you knew he could still be uncomfortable with it while you were a student in general. but a large portion of you was practically praying that wasn't the case. you physically couldn't resist him much longer.

you were staying on campus for christmas this year, mostly just to savor your last holiday here, but also to continue seeing harry if possible.

it was the last day of classes, and you learned you passed all your exams with flying colors. you showed up to dark arts class early to inform harry excitedly, and he congratulated you with the same level of excitement.

"i knew you could do it! i told you you were smart." he beams. "i am so, so proud of you, [y/n]."

you want to hug him so badly, he's helped you so much this semester, you wouldn't have cared enough to try and get these kinds of grades without his guidance. but it's too public, and the risk is too high, so you just settle on an awkward high five and laugh emptily.

as other students walk in, you both pretend the moment never happened, and you sit in your seat without looking up from the floor.

the class is simple and rather uneventful as it's mostly everyone's last class of the semester. harry actually hands out christmas cookies hagrid made for everyone, and they're mediocre in taste, but the designs are so adorable you can't resist finishing it.

harry gives you all a speech thanking the class for trusting him to teach this semester, and for being respectful of him and professor weasley's lessons. he talks about how he's always thought about being a professor, but actually ended up despising the paperwork, and just missed his old job, which caused the class to chuckle with him.

he dismissed everyone with a happy christmas, specifically towards you, of course.

your heart aches a little as you leave the classroom and head to your room. you're going to miss harry as a professor, even if it caused complications in other aspects, it was inspiring to see him be so intelligent, helpful, and supportive in class. of course you were biased, you always found him to be amazing, but something about watching him teach a young wizard how to do a spell correctly for the first time just made you admire him so deeply.

you decided to rest for the night, knowing harry would be here for at least another day to collect all his items and clean the classroom up for professor weasley. you could talk to him then, what exactly about you weren't sure just yet, but you knew you had to tie up these loose ends before they drove you mad.

the next afternoon, you're practically one of the only students roaming the halls. most everyone leaves the first day of break to go home, and by christmas there's only a handful of students left.

arriving at harry's office door, you admire it one last time. your little sanctuary away from the world.

you knock, but to your dismay, there's no answer.

you knock again, a bit louder, but still, nothing. you decide to peak in, and notice how barren the desk looks from afar.

fuck. there's no way harry's left without speaking to you first.

you quickly walk to the dark arts classroom just down the hall, hoping he's cleaning and organizing it, but find it empty and dark. your heart sinks. he's gone.

you slowly walk back to your room, deciding you'll grab your coat and visit hagrid to see if harry's with him there. you try not to let your disappointment overcome you, there's still a chance you could talk to him…

entering your room, you immediately head for your coat rack by the window. you start to slip it on when you hear your door close, knowing you left it open on purpose to quickly leave.

you turn around, and it's harry.

you gasp, immediately dropping the coat and running to him, jumping into a hug. he laughs at your reaction, but embraces you nonetheless.

"hi, love," he says softly, resting his head on top of yours. you could hardly contain yourself at the pet name. it communicated so much to you with so little effort.

you look up at him, barely able to believe what's happening. harry looks at you knowingly. this unspoken tension. it was going to be the death of you.

as harry begins leaning in, you crash your lips together with his, immediately engulfing him into a heated, wanting, needing kiss.

harry's more than happy to give in to you. it's clear he's thought about this just as much as you have. he finished all his professor duties as soon as he could so he could officially, finally, be yours.

you guide harry to your bed, pushing him onto it as he gives you an impressed look, clearly intrigued by your repressed desperation.

you crawl onto his lap, immediately pulling him back into the kiss. harry's hands are all over you, finally, after fantasizing about it every night in this very same bed for months.

the kiss is desperate, full of moaning and getting sloppier by the minute. harry's squeezing and slapping your ass so hard you whimper in his arms, your hands gripping his button up tightly.

"fuck, [y/n], need you so bad, please," harry moans into your kiss, his hands sliding up your back. you reach to take your shirt off, left in just a bra and tiny skirt, as you start untying his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

harry's staring at you with hunger in his eyes. "do you even understand how badly i've wanted you? you and these fucking skirts, you must think i'm stupid." he growls, pulling at the hem of your skirt. you blush and stifle a giggle, overwhelmed with how insanely hot you found this to be.

"think that's funny? you think it was funny when i had to stand in class all day and not stare at your perfect legs through your robe? anytime i gave a lecture and just looking at you turned you into a needy slut," harry grabs your hair, turning your attention to him as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt with his other hand. "was that fun for you, hm? did you enjoy teasing me all semester?"

you can't say anything. all you can do is nod. you were so turned on you could hardly think straight.

"i bet it was," he says, examining your desperate expression, his words dripping with desire.

he pulls you in for another kiss, and you help him take off his shirt. his skin was warm, soft, and his shoulders were broad. you moved your lips to his neck, leaving an obvious bite just below his collar to finally mark what was yours.

harry groans, his hands reaching behind your back to swiftly undo your bra. he helps pull it off of you, marveling at your chest. "beautiful," he tells you before attaching his lips to your skin. you hold his head against you, savoring the feeling and sight of harry leaving hickeys along the soft skin of your boobs.

his hand cups one softly as his tongue circles your nipple, watching you through his glasses as you melt into his hands. "harry…" you moan, your hand running through his soft hair.

he continues, starting to suck on your nipple softly with closed eyes, his other hand pulling up your skirt to feel your wetness through your panties.

you immediately whimper and lean into harry's touch, desperate for this for so long. "f-fuck," you stutter breathlessly.

harry smiles, taking his lips off of you to look up at your blushing face. "so wet already," he smirks.

you cover his face with your hands, embarrassed, giggling, continuing to further lean into his hand for pleasure.

he laughs and removes your hands, his eyes full of lust just looking at you in his lap.

"i need you, now," he insists, pushing you further onto his growing erection through his slacks. you let out a breathy moan feeling just how hard he is already. he's just as desperate as you've been for him.

"is that okay?" he asks carefully, watching for your reaction. you laugh a bit. "please. i've waited long enough." you joke.

you help harry take his pants and boxers off, as well as your skirt and panties, leaving you both naked in your room.

he sat back down on the bed, and invited you into his lap again. "just like this is perfect," he says, guiding your hips and admiring your body as you sit with his cock between you two, your eyes barely able to look away from it.

harry pulls you in for a kiss, his hands traveling over your body and stopping at your pussy again, his hand feeling just how wet you are. he moans into your kiss along with you and begins to slip his fingers inside of you, slowly, letting you react to him.

harry pushes further and further into you until you're practically riding his hand, your kiss barely kept together with you bouncing, desperate for more. "please," you insist, your hand gently grasping for his precum soaked cock.

harry smiles, gently pulling his fingers away before letting you guide yourself onto him. slowly at first, you enjoy the feeling of harry's cock stretching you open, whimpering as he watches you intently, his hands supporting your hips. eventually you feel yourself take him completely, your hips flush with his as you start to slowly grind your hips up and down.

harry's a mess, barely able to hold himself together just watching you adjust to his cock. your face twisting in pleasure, your soft whimpers, the tight feeling of your pussy squeezing around him, it was almost too much already.

"fuck, baby," harry's moaning, his hands gripping your hips for sanity. you can't help but giggle, you just love seeing him like this for you after dreaming about it for so long. he's so lost in pleasure already, his jaw slack and eyes dropping.

"i-i'm already, fuck [y/n], you're just so," harry can barely get the words out. hearing him moan your name so filthily motivated you to move your hips quicker, letting your tits bounce in his face as you continued to pick up speed.

"fuck, fuck, fuck," harry's panicking, you can tell he's already trying to hold back his orgasm. you find it extremely hot just how quickly you can bring him to this point. so hot it brings you closer to your orgasm with him, putting your hands on his face to look up at you.

"you feel so fucking good, harry," you tell him, your head rolling back in pleasure. he's in awe of you, his eyes memorizing every single inch of you as you continue to ride him.

"please, please, can you, um…" he takes a second between his words to moan. "please, can you call me professor potter…" he asks, clearly embarrassed by the request.

you rub his blushing cheeks between your hands, his question only making you more turned on. you loved knowing he was just as into the teacher/student dynamic as you had been.

"your cock feels so…so fucking good inside of me, professor potter," you moan, resting your forehead against harry's as you slow your pace, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of him.

harry's eyes roll back, sinful moans escaping his lips as his head falls forward, watching you ride him slowly as he begins slightly thrusting up into you. he looks back up at your eyes, exasperated. "i'm gonna cum if you don't stop," he quietly warns you, clearly feeling a bit guilty at his eagerness.

you smile. "please, please cum for me professor. i've been such a good girl for you this semester, haven't i?" you tease him. 

harry groans pathetically. "so, so good," his eyes are closed, his face twisting with each thrust. "then cum for me, please, give it to me," you beg him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you feel your stomach tensing from your own orgasm.

harry's eyes pop open, his gaze on you softening as his hands find your waist, gripping onto you desperately. "[y/n]..." he moans your name again, and you can feel yourself tipping over the edge. your pace becomes a bit slower as your legs start shaking.

harry moans as he starts to spill inside of you, the warm sensation fueling your orgasm as you both hold onto each other tightly, riding out your highs together.

after a few moments of slow grinding and weak kissing, you carefully stand up from your position on harry's lap. you guide him to your bathroom, where you help each other clean up, with a few more inevitable kisses and longing hugs along the way.

you get dressed into different clothes, and offer harry some as well. he declines, instead putting his clothes back on as he tells you he has to bring all his supplies back to his house.

you help him button his shirt back up and tie his tie before pushing yourself to ask the dreaded question you didn't want to know the answer to.

"so," you say softly. "what now?"

harry looks down at you lovingly, but he isn't quite smiling. "well, i'm no longer employed here," he states. you nod your head slowly, allowing him to continue.

"so, while it's not technically wrong, i'd still like to try and take this off campus, if possible," harry chuckles.

you give him a surprised look. "you want to see me again?" you ask quietly. harry can't help but laugh at you, kissing your forehead as he holds your cheek.

"you have no idea," is all he says before he leans in for another kiss, holding you close, knowing you're finally his.

[ro-is-struggling]

For Your Eyes Only || Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: The three times you and Spencer managed to keep your relationship a secret and the one time you got caught.

Warnings: Garcia!Reader (but the reader's race/ethnicity is not specified, she could be adopted idk), mutual pining, love confessions, reader being a little insecure at one point, suggestive tones, implied smut, possible 14x01 spoilers, canon typical violence, angst with happy ending, fluff

English is not my first language

Word count: 11700 (I'm not even sorry)

Notes: This is based on a dream I had after binging the show so I’m sorry if it’s weird lol

Things between you and Spencer had always been complicated. You first met when you were young and inexperienced when you ended up crashing at your sister Penelope's place after losing your job and apartment all in the same week. She had offered to help you until you could get back on your feet, inviting you to live with her so you could save some money to move into a better apartment. And living with her also meant living with her second family, the BAU, so just a week after you moved in, Penelope organized a get-together with all her friends and co-workers so you could get to know each other.

Spencer stood out to you from the very beginning. He was shy and awkward and too young to be part of the team. You were a little intimidated by him at first. Despite his calm demeanor, he had an intense gaze that sent tingles down your spine every time his eyes fell on you. You felt a little self-conscious under his watchful eyes, feeling as if he was studying you. You knew he was not only a profiler, but also a genius with more than one college degree. There was no way you couldn't feel awkward under his gaze. 

That was until he opened his mouth, rambling excitedly about some random piece of information that he seemed to know a lot about, but that no one seemed to want to hear about. No one except you. You found his enthusiasm adorable and his voice soothing. He was a fascinating person who immediately piqued your desire to get to know him better. So that's exactly what you did. 

It was clear from the first moment that you shared a special spark. Within minutes of meeting you were already off in your own little bubble, chatting as if you had known each other all your lives. Spencer had never felt so comfortable with a complete stranger before, although he supposed it made sense given that you were Penelope's sister. The apple doesn't fall that far from the tree and all. You became friends in record time and fell in love even faster. But, as mentioned before, you were both too young and inexperienced to do anything about it. You didn't quite know how to deal with the feelings you were experiencing, so you did nothing.

You were always afraid that things wouldn't work out well between you, that somehow Spencer would get bored of you and leave you. You didn't want things to be awkward for your sister, you knew that if you two broke up she would feel the need to choose sides and you couldn't let her get into a fight with her friend and coworker because of you. And Spencer... Well, he had almost no experience in love or dating. It had taken him longer than he wanted to admit to even understand his feelings for you and once he did he didn't know what to do about it, so he did nothing. And when you finally went out to live your life on your own, he watched you walk away, burying his love for you in a box with a thousand locks, hidden deep in his heart so he could forget you. But he never forgot you and you never forgot him.

Timing was never right with you. You were perfect for each other, but there was always something that got in the way, as if fate itself didn't want to see you together. Even though your feelings for Spencer never died, you had given up hope that anything would ever happen between you. Apparently it wasn't in the cards for you to be together and you accepted it, settling for living with the what-ifs as your only consolation. At least that was until a new opportunity presented itself in front of you at Penelope's 41st birthday party. An opportunity you were not willing to pass up.

You were once again crashing on your sister's couch that year, only this time it was until you found an apartment in the city near her. Penelope's job was risky and in the last few years she had been targeted by psychopathic killers on several occasions. You hated the idea of her living alone and since you were now in a financial position to choose where to live, you decided to move close to her so that you could come to her aid in case of an emergency. You had to admit that your timing wasn't great since she was in the middle of planning her birthday party, so you postponed your apartment search until after the event, concentrating all your energy on helping her first. Luckily David Rossi offered to host the celebration at his mansion so you didn't have to make any more mess inside Penelope's apartment which was already a mess because of you. And planning such an event was always much easier when it wasn't your house that was going to be turned upside down. 

Spencer was in his mandatory retirement when you arrived, concentrating on his new found love of teaching. For that reason, Penelope hadn't had a chance to talk much with the boy wonder so when he showed up at Rossi's house for the celebration and saw you there he was greatly surprised.

You were laughing with Penelope and Emily and didn't notice his presence until you heard JJ call his name. When you looked up your eyes met his, those beautiful hazel eyes that you still saw in your dreams. It felt as if time stood still for a moment, the world around you disappearing as you became lost in each other's gaze. Memories of moments shared with Spencer came back to your mind in flashes, once again awakening those feelings you thought you had buried deep in your heart.

Spencer looked different, that was the first thing you noticed. He had changed, not only physically but also emotionally. He looked more serious than you remembered and seemed to have matured quite a bit. You didn't expect anything different knowing everything he had been through lately, the change was only natural. However, when he smiled you recognized the Spencer you loved so much. His essence was still there, a part of his innocence and charm still shone in his eyes. That made you smile, you were glad to know that despite everything he was okay.

Penelope was the one who snapped you out of your trance, giving you a subtle nudge in the ribs to bring you back to reality. She knew about your feelings for Spencer, you had never told her, but you didn't need to for her to figure it out. You guys were actually pretty bad at hiding your feelings, which is why she couldn't believe how you still weren't dating. God knows she hadn't stopped trying to push you in the right direction at every opportunity —Penelope loved to play cupid—, but so far nothing had ever worked.

Even though your sister successfully brought you back to reality, you were not able to give Spencer even a few words of welcome. You were still too overwhelmed by his presence, so you preferred to play it safe until you found the right words to express yourself. In the end you didn't get a chance to have a proper talk until late in the evening once everyone present began to show signs that they had had a few too many drinks. You went out into the garden to get some fresh air, getting away from the laughter for a moment to clear your head. Spencer followed you out and before you knew it you were engaged in a casual chat, catching up on things with a level of comfort that was unbelievable considering the level of tension that could be felt in the air when you were together. 

It was always easy to be around Spencer. Despite all the pent up feelings between you, you were able to maintain a good friendship. You didn't see each other very often, but whenever you met again it was as if you had never been apart in the first place. That's how strong your connection was.

"I missed this," you admitted after a few seconds of silence, your gaze fixed on the horizon, lost in thought. "I missed our talks."

"Me too," Spencer nodded, admiring your profile as if he were trying to memorize every little detail of your face. "I missed you." His voice sounded more muffled that time, heavy with the sadness accumulated after years of your absence. The mood in the air changed completely from casual and funny to sad and serious, letting you know that the time for explanations and excuses had come. 

"Why did you leave?" It broke your heart to hear the way his voice cracked as he spoke. You knew about his fear of change and his abandonment issues, he had opened up to you about it a long time ago. You left to take that job three states away knowing full well how much your leaving was going to affect him and now you were regretting it. It wasn't as if it hadn't hurt you too, but at the time you thought walking away was the best option for both of you. 

"I..." You didn't know what to answer. You had a long list of made up excuses you'd thought of over the years, but when you looked up to face him you didn't have the heart to lie to him. Spencer wasn't stupid, he could tell when you were lying, so what was the point? He deserved to know the truth. You deserved the truth. "I got scared and I ran away, just like I always do." You muttered, ashamed of your past actions.

"Scared of what?" Spencer frowned at you, confused by your words. You didn't respond verbally, you just looked at him and that was enough for him to understand what you meant. He could see it in your eyes, the fear, the insecurity. He couldn't believe how he hadn't noticed it before. Suddenly it all seemed so obvious to him that he wanted to yell at his past self for not doing something sooner.

"What we had... I-I never felt anything like that before and it scared me." You finally confessed after so long, keeping your eyes on the floor since you couldn't bring yourself to look Spencer in the face. It felt good to finally tell the truth, even though you felt a little exposed and vulnerable under his intense gaze. But it was worth it if it would finally bring closure to your story. 

"I wish you would have told me." This time it was your turn to look at him with confusion. "I liked you too."

You froze in place, Spencer's voice echoing in your head as you tried to process the situation.

He loved you too.

All this time you had spent wondering how things would have been if you hadn't been such a coward when you actually could have found out if you had just opened your mouth at the right time. Spencer loved you too and you had done nothing but waste time.

But then the cynical voice in your head asked the question you were so afraid of. Why did he love you? There was definitely nothing extraordinary about you, you were the most common and boring person that existed on the planet and he... he was the perfect man. He was sweet and sensitive, effortlessly beautiful and as if that wasn't enough he was also a literal genius. You couldn't understand how someone like Spencer could find someone like you interesting or worthy of his love. Being friends was one thing, but being a couple was a world apart. You were convinced that you were not compatible, despite all the love you had for each other. There was no way a genius like Spencer wasn't going to get bored of you in a matter of weeks. It just didn't make sense. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could react to this new revelation, you were interrupted by your sister's voice announcing that they were about to cut the cake. You didn't even get a chance to look at Spencer before Penelope dragged you back inside, too tipsy to realize she was interrupting a very important moment. 

You had to put on a smile as everyone sang happy birthday to Penelope, feigning happiness when you felt anything but that. Confusion was the predominant emotion, but you also felt regret and a crushing emptiness in your chest that made it hard to breathe. You wanted to be there for your sister, but your mind couldn't stop replaying Spencer's words, having trouble processing the situation. 

You couldn't believe that all this time he had reciprocated your feelings. All the time you had spent mourning for what couldn't be, all the tears you had shed for him, it had all been wasted. You felt like a fool, though you couldn't deny that sabotaging your own happiness out of fear or insecurities was something you did more than you'd like to admit. It was hardwired into your brain, an automatic response that you could almost never stop. And now it was once again too late to do anything about it.

Spencer looked happy as he laughed with his friends, unaffected by the revelations that had just come up in your talk minutes before. It confused you a little, wondering how he was able to go on as if nothing had happened after hearing your confession. But then you noticed a detail that tightened the lump that had formed in your throat.

'I liked you too.' 

He had spoken in the past tense. He loved you, implying that he no longer did. Spencer had moved on from his feelings for you, putting an end to your story. And the worst part was that you had no one to blame but yourself. You were the one who had pushed him away, the one who had run away from your feelings instead of facing them and now you were paying the price.

Your mind was lost in horrible thoughts, imagining how many women had occupied that special place in his heart since you left. That special place you so longed to occupy, that place that should have been yours... that was yours without you knowing it. You wondered who had dethroned you, who had been able to erase you from his heart to take that place. 

Imagining Spencer in the arms of another woman made you feel sick. You knew he could date anyone he wanted —you'd had your fair share of failed relationships yourself over the years—, but for some reason this was the first time it felt real. You hated to think that another woman had come to occupy that special space in his heart, that she knew what it felt like to kiss him or wake up next to him. The thought of Spencer feeling safe and at home in the arms of someone who wasn't you crushed you. You knew you had no right to feel that way, but you couldn't help but feel jealous that someone else had the chance to experience what you fantasized about every night before bed.

Suddenly the room began to feel small, the walls closing in on you as the laughter around you grew louder and louder. You needed to get out of there, to get away from all the noise so you could calm your mind overwhelmed by the swirl of emotions that weighed you down. So you took advantage of Penelope complaining about the lack of ice to escape from there, jumping up from your seat as you offered to get more. 

The kitchen sheltered you from the noise of the party, giving you the peace and quiet you needed to try to work out your problems. You took a moment to take a deep breath, repeating to yourself over and over that everything was fine. It was a big lie, but you were more than willing to fake it til you made it. You poured yourself a glass of water and drank it in one gulp, hoping it would help loosen the lump in your throat. 

'Keep it together, this is Penelope's night!' the voice of reason echoed in your head, trying hard to keep your emotions in check.  You knew she was right, even though you were pretty sure your sister was too drunk at this point to notice the change in your mood, that didn't mean you had a free pass to ruin the party. You had to find a way to put aside what you were feeling for her.

"Is everything alright?" Spencer's voice startled you and you almost dropped the glass you were holding. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. It's just thought that you were taking too long and I wanted to make sure you were okay." 

"Oh yeah, sorry. I needed a moment away from all the noise." You forced a smile in an attempt to let him know you were okay, but the smile didn't reflect in your eyes. You could barely hold eye contact with him as you spoke, which made him think you were hiding something from him.

"I guess they are pretty loud, huh." He walked over to you, leaning back against the edge of the island in the middle of the kitchen. You tensed as you felt his closeness, feeling the warmth of his body against your side as the scent of his cologne assaulted your nostrils. It was as if he was doing it on purpose, as if he knew the effect he had on you and was using it to torture you. But when you looked up at him you were met with his usual innocent expression, with big eyes looking at you curiously as if he was studying you. 

"Yeah and it's been a while since I've been around them, I have to get used to the chaos again." You lied, lowering your gaze. You could no longer stand the intensity of his hazel orbs staring at you as if he could read your thoughts. You knew that was impossible, but what he could certainly do —and very well— was read your behavior. You were sure you were being very obvious and it was only a matter of time before he realized what was really going on with you.

"What's on your mind?" Spencer spoke in a soft tone, breaking the silence that had formed in the room. You bit your tongue, debating whether you should answer his question honestly or not. You wanted to lie, but you knew it was pointless. He would know you were lying, if he didn't already.

"Nothing, I was just thinking about us... about how strange life can be sometimes." You let out a bitter laugh, thinking about how different things might be if only you had done just one thing differently years ago. "D-do you think things between us would have worked?" Your voice was small and unsure, looking up at him hesitantly. You weren't sure if you were ready to hear his answer, but you couldn't contain your curiosity. 

Spencer looked at you, studying your face for what felt like an eternity. You felt small under his gaze, but you maintained eye contact this time. You needed to know the truth, to read in his eyes the sincerity of his words. Only then would your brain know peace.

"I don't know," he finally murmured. "I guess we'll never know."

Spencer's eyes did not leave yours, nor did yours leave his. You felt him moving closer to you, the warmth of his body enveloping you as he tilted his face toward you. You copied his actions without even realizing it, desperate to feel closer to him. It was as if you were in a trance, lost in the beautiful hazel color of his eyes. 

"Yeah, I guess we won't," you said absently, letting the scent of Spencer's cologne flood your system and wash away what little reason you had left. Your eyes traveled to his lips, reflecting the thoughts that occupied your mind. There was nothing you wanted more at that moment than to close the distance that separated you and join your lips in a kiss. You were desperate to know what it would feel like to kiss him, you had been dreaming about it for years. But you knew it wasn't appropriate, so you used your last bit of strength to hold back. 

When you looked back into Spencer's eyes you noticed that something had changed in them. He was looking at you in a different way, with a sparkle you had never noticed in his eyes before. It was... desire. He wanted you as much as you wanted him. He wanted to kiss you too, but he was holding back just like you. You were once again dancing around each other, hiding what you truly felt, waiting for the other to make the first move. You were tired of it and you weren't going to make the same mistake again. 

So you leaned into Spencer, letting him know that you wanted this as much as he did. Time seemed to slow down, making you feel like you were moving in slow motion as you drew closer to shorten the small distance that separated you. The tension in the air was strong, almost unbearable, as you lost yourself in Spencer's eyes, anxiously waiting to feel his lips on yours. 

Your heart raced as you felt his warm breath mingling with yours, the tips of your noses brushing and awakening a wave of electricity that coursed through your entire body. You shared one last glance before letting yourself be carried away by the moment, joining your lips in a long awaited kiss. 

It was shy and experimental, a simple brush of lips that did nothing more than leave you wanting more. Spencer caught your upper lip between his, caressing it with a tenderness that made your knees weak. It wasn't a full kiss, but it was still better than all your fantasies because this one was real. 

You broke apart almost immediately, opening your eyes once again to study each other's expression. Neither of you needed to speak to know what the other was thinking, it was enough to see the glint of happiness shining in your eyes to confirm that you both felt the same. So without wasting another second you brought your lips together once again, only this time in a more confident and passionate kiss. 

You let his lips guide yours, allowing yourself to get lost in the euphoria of the moment. Spencer's hand cupped your cheek, holding your face against his gently to deepen the kiss. His fingertips sparked a warm tingle on your skin and you leaned into his touch, clinging to his lips as you tried to keep up with him. Your lips closed over his lower lip, your tongue caressing it gently asking his permission. He granted it and you didn't waste a second exploring his mouth. He tasted like cake, the sweet blend of chocolate and cream still present on his tongue. 

You didn't want the moment to end. You didn't want to separate yourself from Spencer's lips ever again. You had fantasized about this moment for so long and wanted it to last forever, but unfortunately for you that wasn't possible. You were in the middle of a party and it was already taking too long to get back to the others. If you didn't pull apart now someone was going to find you like this and you didn't want to face the awkward moment, so you reluctantly broke away from Spencer. 

"That was..." he trailed off as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Late." You finished the sentence for him, letting out a chuckle. That kiss was long overdue and you couldn't believe it had taken you so long to get to this moment. "We should get back to the party." You said, making no effort to pull away from him. You were still so close to each other that your noses brushed and your breaths mingled in the air. And that's how you wanted to stay for the rest of the night, even though you knew you couldn't.

"Yes, we should." Spencer nodded, but instead of pulling away from you, he shortened the small distance that separated you even more, bringing your lips together in a quick kiss. You reciprocated immediately, allowing yourself to get lost in him once again.

"I mean it!" You exclaimed, parting from his lips for a second before being drawn into them once more. 

"Me too!" Spencer murmured against your mouth, making you giggle into the kiss. 

You allowed him to distract you with his kisses for a little while longer, taking advantage of the privacy the kitchen provided to explore a little more of whatever it was that you two had. That room was your little refuge, your little bubble in which there was only you and the tension in the air that had followed you all these years. It was your safe place, one where you didn't have to explain what you felt in front of anyone. You only had to look into each other's eyes to understand what you were feeling. Going through the kitchen doors meant facing the real world and that only made everything more complicated.

"I don't want to stop." You confessed finally, leaning your forehead against Spencer's as you looked into his eyes.

"Me neither." 

"Maybe... maybe we should try this out, see where it takes us." You didn't know why you were nervous to speak, you could see in Spencer's eyes that he wanted the same thing you did. You supposed it was because you weren't used to expressing your feelings in clear, concrete words. You hated feeling vulnerable even though you knew you were safe with Spencer. "I want to give us a chance, if you want that too, of course."

"I do! That's all I ever wanted." Spencer gave you one of his big, adorable smiles of his, the kind that made his eyes crinkle and radiated nothing but happiness and positive vibes. It warmed your heart every time he smiled at you like that, genuine joy written all over your face. It was hard not to return the gesture, his smile was so contagious. 

You shared one more kiss, the perfect seal of your deal. Even though you were running out of time, you took a moment to enjoy it, trying to memorize every detail, every sensation, for the future. Spencer took your face in his hands, pulling you closer to him and tilting your head so he could deepen the kiss, making the most of every second you had together. 

It left you completely breathless and a little stupid to be honest. So much so that you almost forgot you had gone there to get ice in the first place. He had to remind you before you left the kitchen empty handed, feeling secretly proud of his skills. 

"Wait!" you called out to him before Spencer disappeared behind the kitchen door. He turned to look at you with a raised eyebrow, wondering if there was something he had forgotten.

"What is it?"

"We should keep this between us, for now at least."

"Oh." He mumbled and didn't need to say anything else for you to realize he was disappointed. 

"It's not that I don't want to tell people," you rushed to say, taking a few steps towards him. "It's just that... you know how annoying Penelope can get with stuff like this. I want to explore our relationship without having her asking me about it all the time." You tried to explain, hoping he understood where you were coming from. 

There was nothing you wanted more than to go out there and shout how happy you were about all this, but your sister couldn't find out about anything yet. She had bugged you to go out with Spencer from the very beginning so you could only imagine how annoying she was going to be when she found out her wishes had been granted. You knew she meant well, but she could get a little intense at times and you'd rather have the freedom to explore your relationship with Spencer without feeling pressure from your sister every second. Besides, if things between you two didn't work out the way you hoped, you didn't want things between her and Spencer to get weird at work. You needed time to process your feelings so you'd be ready to deal with the intensity of your sister's love when she learns the truth. 

"I promise it won't be for long, just until we make sure we... work together, you know." 

Luckily for you Spencer was not angry with you. On the contrary, he agreed with you when you brought up Penelope's attitude to these issues. He wasn't one to share much about his private life anyway, so he didn't find anything unusual about keeping your relationship a secret for a while. He liked the idea of having you all to himself behind everyone else's back. It was as if you had your own separate world, your own little piece of paradise on earth. And that was exactly what he needed at this point in his life, a haven where he felt safe at all times.

So you shared one last kiss before emerging from your little bubble to face the real world, struggling to hide your happiness from a room full of profilers. It was not an easy task, but for that night you had alcohol on your side to help you.

Spencer knew from the beginning that keeping his relationship with you hidden from the team was going to be difficult. They were not only excellent profilers, but also his best friends and knew him too well to notice when he was hiding something. He liked to think that he was relatively good at lying since it was a tool he used from time to time in his work. However, lying to a suspect or an unsub was not the same as lying to his friends. He expected suspicion and curious looks from his teammates at some point in the near future, though he had to admit he was surprised at how quickly JJ seemed to realize something was up. 

It was late at night and the team was stuck in the office finishing up paperwork. Spencer couldn't wait to get out of there to be with you. Tonight was date night and even though you didn't have anything too fancy planned —just dinner at Spencer's apartment, you had learned the hard way that it was best to play it safe with his crazy work schedule—, but still,  he couldn't stop counting down the minutes until he could see you. Things between you were going great and he felt on cloud nine every time you kissed him or held his hand. He couldn't believe that after so long of dancing around each other things had worked out and now he wanted to spend every spare second of his day by your side to make up for lost time.

As soon as Emily allowed them to go home, Spencer was quick to pack up his belongings. He wanted to be the first one through the glass doors, to disappear before any of his colleagues could delay him any further. However, he wasn't quick enough since JJ managed to intercept him before he reached the elevator.

"I've been meaning to ask.... Is everything alright with you?" she asked him, lowering her voice so the few agents passing by wouldn't hear them. 

"Yes." Spencer hesitated to answer, sounding more like a question than a statement. "Why would there be anything wrong?"

"I don't know, you tell me." JJ folded her arms, waiting for an answer. When she got nothing more than a confused look from Spencer, she added, "You've been acting weird lately, like you're hiding something. You got a new phone! And you're always the first to walk out the door." JJ sounded genuinely worried about him and Spencer immediately felt bad about having to lie to her. Although he knew she would understand.

"Whatever it is that's going on you know you can talk to me, right?"

"Nothing is going on, I'm fine!" He tried to convince her friend, speaking in a calm and slow voice in an attempt to reassure her.

"Spence, do I have to worry?" JJ insisted, remembering what had happened the last time he had kept something from her.

Spencer could read the genuine concern in her expression and hear it in her voice as she spoke, so he tried his best to give her an answer that made sense but at the same time didn't give away his little secret. "There's nothing to worry about." He affirmed, giving her friend a warm smile. He appreciated that she cared so much about him, but this time it wasn't necessary. "I got the new phone so I could stay in contact with my students when I'm teaching. Apparently accessibility is a big part of the teacher/student relationship now days and I need to pay more attention to my emails."

That wasn't a lie in its entirety. The truth was that he had bought a newer phone so he could keep in touch with you. He didn't want to at first, but you managed to convince him that more modern technology would make it easier to keep your long distance relationship afloat when he traveled away for work, but it would also help you keep things hidden. Spencer knew that if you wanted your relationship to move forward you had to spend time together as a couple to actually know if you worked well together. And after having to cancel your first date three times because of a case, Spencer decided that maybe it was a good time to upgrade a little. The benefit of being able to communicate better with his students when he taught was an added bonus that had played almost no part in his decision. 

JJ looked at him with narrowed eyes, trying to search his expression for something to tell her if he was lying to her. She still felt he was hiding something, but when he smiled at her she saw pure happiness in his eyes. Then she realized that maybe there was a good reason behind his secrecy. "So I don't have to worry then?" Spencer shook his head and she smiled. "Good."

They walked together to the elevator, changing the topic of the conversation to something more trivial as the metal box transported them to the exit. As they parted ways, Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket and hurried to let you know he was running late, but he was on his way. You responded with a picture of his apartment door, letting him know that you had arrived at his place. He then gave you permission to use the emergency key under the welcome mat so you wouldn't have to wait for him in the hallway. After all, it wasn't the first time you went to his apartment and it definitely wouldn't be the last. 

Opening his front door and finding you there with the takeout food ready to eat gave him a sense of joy he hadn't experienced before. The worries of his job, the gruesome crime scene photos and the wicked look of the unsub they had caught, all vanished from his system the moment you greeted him with a smile, telling him how much you had missed him. You were in your own little world when you got together, one that had no room for the stresses of work or everyday life. There was only peace, happiness and love. Suddenly the outside world ceased to exist, it was just him and you exploring the feelings you had hidden for so long. It was incredibly liberating in a way and made it all worthwhile. He could get used to that feeling.

Spencer wasn't the only one who had trouble keeping your secret hidden. You might not work with excellent profilers, but you lived with Penelope Garcia herself, which was almost the same thing. You thought that maybe the fact that your sister had such a demanding job or that Spencer traveled from state to state on a regular basis would play in your favor —you had no big plans to hide from anyone and Penelope was hardly ever home to pick up on anything anyway—, but you were wrong. Penelope didn't need more than a quick glance in your direction to raise an eyebrow accusingly. 

"You're seeing things." You tried to defend yourself when she confronted you about it. "I think you need to take some time off, the stress is getting to you."

"Oh no, you can't lie to me. There's something going on with you, I can sense it." She insisted, chasing you into the living room and standing in front of the TV so you couldn't avoid her gaze.

"You can sense it?" you repeated in fake disbelief. You were sure she could, she knew you too well not to realize you were hiding something from her.

"Yes! You're glowing, you have this, this... happiness aura you didn't have before. What's going on?"

You rolled your eyes, though you had to bite your tongue to keep from smiling. You did feel like you were glowing and, although it was inconvenient, it was nice to know that others could notice it too. It was the happiest you had been in a long time and it was all thanks to Spencer's company. 

"Nothing is going on, Penelope." You tried to convince her. "I promise."

She looked at you for a moment, squinting her eyes as if deciding whether it was a good idea to believe you or not. Finally she said, "You would tell me if there was something going on with you, right? You wouldn't keep it from me, would you?"

"Of course not! I promise you that when something good happens to me, you'll be the first to know." You felt terrible as soon as the words came out of your mouth. You didn't like lying to your sister, but it was for the best. Your relationship with Spencer was too new to be announced to others, you wanted to be able to enjoy a little more of the privacy and intimacy you were able to have by keeping everything a secret. Penelope would learn the truth eventually, but for now you wanted to keep things as they were. You were sure she would understand.

Penelope didn't say anything, she just sat down next to you and turned up the volume on the TV to watch whatever you had on together with you. You thought you were in the clear, that you had effectively eased her curiosity with your promise, but then your phone vibrated. The screen lit up with a new notification, drawing two pairs of eyes to the device resting on the coffee table. You reached out to grab it, immediately recognizing the contact who was texting you, but Penelope was quicker.

"Who is... 'S plus heart emoji' and why are they asking you if you can go over to their place?" She looked at you with an accusatory raised eyebrow and you almost let out a growl of frustration. How could she be so lucky? You and Spencer hardly ever texted, you always talked on the phone, and the one time he texted you she was there to read it. Fate hated you.

"That's... Sophie, my friend from work." You lied, hoping you sounded convincing enough so Penelope wouldn't ask too many questions. "She's going through a tough break up and I'm helping her whenever I can. Her ex boyfriend is an ass and I told her that whenever she felt bad and had the urge to talk to him she should call me instead."

Penelope couldn't argue much against that, leaving you alone the moment you mentioned broken hearts. Once again you felt guilty about lying to her, but all your worries disappeared when you set foot in Spencer's apartment. The smell of wood and old books hit you as soon as he opened the door, making you feel at home. It wasn't the first time you were there, since you were still living with Penelope most of your secret meetings had to be at his home to avoid being discovered. You were already more than familiar with the place and the beautiful scent that you could identify as the very essence of Spencer. It was your favorite smell in the world since it reminded you of him. 

"I don't think she's onto us, but she definitely knows something’s up." You told Spencer as you snuggled on his couch. You didn't have any plans in mind, you just wanted to feel each other's warmth close by, taking advantage of Spencer's day off to relax together like a real couple. You had your head resting on his chest, listening to the soft beating of his heart as he wrapped his arms around you, his nose hidden in your hair, inhaling the floral scent of your shampoo. It was his favorite scent in the world, associated with happiness and love since he recognized it as your very essence.

"Would that be so bad?" he blurted out without thinking before speaking, letting his heart take over his lips. "Getting caught, I mean. Would it be so bad if the others knew about us?" It was a question that had been bouncing around in his head for a while now. When you had sat down to talk through the implications of your arrangement, you decided it was best to keep things under wraps until you found out if you worked as well as a couple as you did as friends. The point was to keep things from getting weird with the rest of the team —especially Penelope— if things between you two didn't work out. Spencer thought it was a good idea and agreed to wait to announce your relationship to the others. But now that some time had passed since that day, he couldn't help but wonder how much longer you'd keep hiding it.

It wasn't that he didn't like it, he loved your secret dates and sneaky texts. Your relationship had become a kind of refuge, a sanctuary where he could go to escape the outside world. Yet he couldn't help but wonder if maybe the reason you wanted to keep things secret was that you weren't sure how you felt about him. Spencer was ready to let the world know he loved you and thought you felt the same way, but lately he wasn't so sure.

"I mean, w-we were supposed to do this until we figured out if we worked as a couple, right? I-I d-don't know about you, but I think this works, right?" Spencer added, stumbling over his words because of nerves. He didn't want to sound like he was pressuring you, far from it, he was willing to wait as long as he had to for you, but he needed some kind of confirmation that you felt the same way he did in order to ease his anxious mind. "I'm not trying to pressure you or anything, we don't have to tell people if you're not ready... I just-"

"Spence," you interrupted his ramblings, lifting your head from his chest so you could look him in the eye. He looked terrified in the most adorable way possible, looking at you with wide eyes as he waited for a response. "It works." You stated with a smile and felt him relax beneath you. "We work great together. That's not why I want to keep us a secret anymore."

"Then what is it?" You let out a sigh as you tried to find the right words to express what you felt. It wasn't that you didn't want to tell the world how happy you were with Spencer by your side, god knew that keeping your mouth shut was a challenge that was getting harder every day. But you knew that the moment you did, you would lose the special kind of intimacy you had now that no one knew about you. You knew that the moment you made your relationship public you would have Penelope bugging you with her questions, wanting to know every detail after pushing you to date him since day one. And you knew the other members of the group wouldn't be far behind. You and Spencer were like the babies in the family that was the BAU so it was inevitable to have them hovering over your shoulders looking over your shoulder with every step you took.

"I just... I know the second we tell people they're gonna be all over our business and I hate that. I love what we have and after all the time it took us to get here, I just want to enjoy this a little more, have you all to myself." Your answer seemed to be enough to erase the doubt in Spencer's eyes. He smiled at you in relief and you reached up to kiss him. 

The lingering doubts in his mind vanished as he felt the way your lips moved over his, your tongue caressing him in that slow, sensual way that drove him crazy. He let your kisses soothe him, losing himself in you and in the warm sensation that your closeness always aroused inside him. You worked your magic on him, replacing every negative thought in his mind with love and comfort just with the touch of your lips on his. It was amazing how quickly you could invade his mind, making him forget the world around him in a matter of seconds. It was an ability that only you possessed and it showed how madly in love with you he really was.

“Besides, you can't deny that keeping it a secret makes things more... interesting.” You whispered against his lips as you pulled away in need of air. There was a mischievous sparkle in your eyes that revealed exactly where your mind was going and he couldn't help but blush. Flashes of the nights you had shared together appeared in his mind, the sound of your agitated voice pronouncing his name like a mantra as you came undone under his touch replaying in his ears. 

"Those late night calls while your colleagues are only a few feet away, sleeping on the jet or separated only by the thin walls of a motel room." You teased him, your voice low and sultry as you settled into his lap. The atmosphere in the room changed quickly, the tension heavy in the air as you playfully teased Spencer, scattering kisses up and down his neck. You could feel him tensing beneath you, his hands flying to your hips, clinging to your skin in warning.

"Those pictures that I sent you while you were still at work," you purred in his ear, grinding your hips against his. Spencer closed his eyes, letting out a long gasp as he remembered the episode you referred to. Nothing could have prepared him for those messages, seeing you lying on your sheets wearing only one of his unbuttoned shirts and a red lace bra was too much for his poor heart. He had been lucky that his colleagues were distracted, otherwise he would not have been able to hide the clear reaction of surprise and desire that your messages had awakened in him. 

"I thought we were just going to hang out today." Spencer said, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. He tightened his grip on your waist, guiding your slow movements and pressing you against his growing erection.

"I got bored." You pouted. "I wanna play."

Spencer couldn't resist your charms even if he wanted to.

You didn't realize that agreeing to go to a bar with the BAU team was a mistake until it was too late. When Penelope invited you, you thought it would be a good idea to get out of the house for a while and it would give you a good excuse to be close to Spencer. You were prepared for the tension and having to hold the urge to kiss him in front of everyone, at this point it was part of your routine. What you weren't prepared for was how many women seemed to find your boyfriend attractive.

You couldn't blame them though, Spencer looked especially sexy in that black suit with his hair slightly messed up. The knot of his tie was loose and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing the skin of his forearm. Your eyes got lost following the path of his veins, remembering the way they stood out more clearly every time his hand closed around your neck or your hips when you were alone in his room. It was honestly torture to have him in front of you looking so sensual and not being able to do anything about it. Even worse was having to watch every woman in the bar try her luck with him, coming up to flirt whenever he was alone. And there was nothing you could do about it, not without revealing your little secret at least.

"You should have listened to me, little one." Your sister's cheerful voice startled you. You looked away from the woman chatting with Spencer at the bar to turn your gaze to Penelope, who was looking at you with a smile that said I told you so.

"Huh?"

"If you had listened to me when I told you to go for it, you wouldn't have that look on your face right now."

"What look?" You played dumb, taking a long sip of your drink. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You were staring at boy wonder talking with that woman over there." Penelope rolled her eyes, tired of hearing you deny your feelings for Spencer. It had been clear to her from day one that you were right for each other and she couldn't understand how you still weren't together.

"I was not!"

"Are you kidding me? If looks could kill, that poor woman would be on the floor right now."

"Very funny, Penny, but I wasn't looking at them." You tried to lie, avoiding looking your sister in the eyes for fear she might read the truth in your gaze. Keeping your relationship with Spencer a secret was one thing, but hiding your jealousy was something you apparently couldn't do.

"If it makes you feel any better he doesn't seem that interested in her." Penelope continued speaking, completely ignoring your previous comment. "You should go talk to him, I'm sure he'd rather be with you anyway."

"No. You know what I'm gonna do?" Penelope shook her head, watching you drink what was left in your glass in one sip before rising from your seat next to her. "I'm gonna buy another round."

You walked away from the table before your sister could protest, heading to the bar to get more alcohol. You were going to need a lot more to be able to handle this whole situation, otherwise jealousy was going to eat you up inside. You bumped into Spencer on purpose as you walked past him, successfully getting his attention.

"Careful with those, the rest of the team is pretty drunk and I'm going to need your help to make sure they get home safely." Spencer said, appearing at your side only a couple of minutes later.

"I can handle my liquor, I'll be fine." You sounded colder than you intended, mistakenly taking your jealousy out on him. Spencer noticed something was wrong with you right away, frowning at your sudden moodiness.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes!" you lied to him, answering without even looking at him. But you immediately regretted it, realizing that it was stupid to lie when you were doing such a bad job of hiding your jealousy. "No, it's not! That woman was flirting with you."

"No she wasn't!" Spencer said and you looked at him with narrowed eyes, deciding if he was serious or if he was playing you for a fool. It didn't take you long to figure out that the confusion in his expression was genuine and then you couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh.

“You can’t possibly be that naive! Half the women in here have been eye fucking you since we arrived.”

“So what? I don’t care about any of them.” The casual tone in which he spoke was almost as annoying as the women in that bar. You knew he was right, you didn't doubt his feelings for you, but you still hated having to watch all those strangers approach him thinking they had a chance. Spencer was yours and you were desperate to let them know, but you couldn't and it was driving you crazy.

"It's annoying, that's what!" you complained, crossing your arms and pouting. "I can't even hold your hand to let them all know you're mine." Spencer's hand traveled to your cheek, taking advantage of the fact that you were far enough away from the rest of the team to be seen. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his skin against yours. You missed him and honestly didn't know how much longer you could stand it in this place without being able to touch him or have him near you.

"But that's part of the fun, isn't it?" He echoed the point you had made when he had come to you with a similar concern. You suddenly felt the urge to hit him, and you would have if it weren't for that adorable smile on his face. You couldn't stay mad at him when he looked at you with that face.

"You're lucky you're cute." You warned him, pointing an accusatory finger at him and making him laugh.

"C'mon, I'll stay with you the whole night if that makes you feel better." Spencer promised you, helping you carry the drinks to the table with the rest of your friends.

He kept his word, sitting next to you and not moving from his spot, but that didn't make you feel any better. You could still feel the curious glances of the women around him, wondering if he was single, hoping to get a chance to talk to him. You hated it and the alcohol in your veins wasn't making it any easier. You weren't necessarily drunk, but you did feel a little more liberated and uninhibited. You were a little tipsy and something you did a lot when you were in that state was touching and hugging anyone who was unlucky enough to be next to you. That combined with the jealousy that overwhelmed you was a recipe for disaster. 

You started with simple, inconspicuous things, taking Spencer's hand under the table and bringing your leg up on top of his. No one could see you, but it gave you a sense of closeness that calmed your anxious mind. But as the night progressed those hidden caresses turned out to be more and more about satisfying your need for him.

You needed to feel his warmth embracing your body, his lips on yours as he showed you how much he loved you. But, since you knew that wasn't possible —at least not until you left that place—, you settled for resting your head on his shoulder as you chatted, snuggling against him as if you were the only people there, too distracted by the ridiculous way your drunken friends danced on the dance floor. It was as if you were in your own bubble, enjoying your night together as a couple without anyone knowing. It was nice to share that complicity, to look into each other's eyes and understand each other without having to use words. 

"Are you feeling better?" Spencer asked you, taking his eyes off the dance floor to look at you. You smiled and nodded, feeling your heart fill with love as you lost yourself in the changing color of his eyes. You had to try hard to contain the urge to kiss him that came over you at that moment. And you were lucky you did because otherwise Emily, who appeared out of nowhere, would have discovered you.

"Hey guys, have you seen my phon...?" Her voice trailed off when she saw the pose you were in, her eyes immediately noticing your hands clasped together on the table. You pulled away from Spencer as quickly as you could, but you still weren't able to stop a smile from forming on Prentiss' lips - though you were grateful that she had tried to contain it. 

"Nevermind, carry on." She said, disappearing as quickly as she had appeared in the first place. You let out a growl of frustration, hiding your face in your hands as you promised yourself that you were never going to drink again.

Your heart dropped when you heard Emily's voice on the other end of the line telling you that Penelope and Spencer had been kidnapped. You hadn't even cut the call and you were already running out of your apartment, rushing to your car and on your way to the FBI headquarters where two of the most important people in your life worked. Your brain was on autopilot, reduced to controlling your movement and basic life functions. Your mind was blank, too shocked and scared to even try to process what was happening. You knew that the moment you started thinking about what might be happening to your sister and the love of your life was the moment you would lose your sanity, so you tried your best to keep your mind free of all thoughts. You had to stay strong for them, concentrate all your energy on your desire to see them safe and sound again and maybe the universe would listen. 

You lost all sense of time as you paced around the office where Emily had allowed you to wait while they worked, promising to get back to you as soon as they made any progress on the case. You felt like a caged lion, pacing back and forth while muttering to yourself that everything was going to be okay. Both Penelope and Spencer had had this job for so many years, that had to count for something, right? If anyone had the tools to survive a situation like that it was them. 

You felt like you were going crazy locked in that dark office. But then the door opened, revealing a very shocked, but safe and sound Penelope. You ran into your sister's arms, letting tears roll down your cheeks as you clung to her, relieved to feel her sweet embrace once again. You went back to your childhood for a moment, remembering the one time you had shared a hug like that in the past. You had just learned of the fatal fate your parents had met and through tears and sobs you clung to your sister. You cried together for what felt like an eternity, and in that embrace you vowed to always be there for each other. Just as you were doing at that very moment.

“He told me to run, so I did… I left him there, how could I have left him there?” Penelope sobbed into your shoulder, feeling responsible for Spencer's future. Through tears, she managed to tell you how she had managed to escape thanks to him, how she had had a small window of time to run and how she had had to ignore the sounds of the commotion Spencer had created in order to escape —even the sound of gunshots. You'd be lying if you said your stomach hadn't dropped when you heard her say that, immediately fearing for your boyfriend's safety, but you knew that wasn't the time to panic. Penelope needed you to be strong, so you swallowed your emotions so you could comfort her. 

"Penelope, listen to me." you said, pulling away from her so you could look her in the eye. "None of this is your fault, okay? Spencer made his choice, he's a smart man, you know that. He probably has a plan, he knows what he's doing. He's going to be fine, the team is going to find him and bring him back." You tried to reason with her and yourself, seeking to comfort your sister while calming your nerves with your own words. 

"But what if they don't get him in time? W-What if... what if they hurt him before we can get to him?"

"That's not gonna happen, not as long as you're out there using that brilliant brain of yours to help your team to find him." You assured her, giving her a warm smile as you wiped away her tears with your thumb. "You need to stay strong for him right now, alright? You have to help him get back home." It was a plea for help hidden in words of encouragement, a subtle way of begging her to bring Spencer back into your arms. It wasn't fair to ask that of her after all she'd been through, you knew that, but you were desperate. 

You knew she was just as desperate as you were, though, so she nodded at your words, wiping away her tears and letting out a long sigh before putting her glasses back on and heading back to her office to do what she did best. 

Once again you were left alone, pacing around the empty office with your thoughts as your only company. You hated the waiting, the uncertainty and the fear tightening in your chest and making it hard to breathe. You wanted to believe that Spencer would be okay, but the truth was you didn't know. There was no way to be sure the team would get to him in time and the mere possibility that something bad could happen to him was driving you crazy.

Your eyes were glued to the screen of your phone, reading over and over again the last texts you and Spencer had shared as you prayed they wouldn't turn out to be your final conversation. He had warned you that he would be a little late and apologized for ruining your first dinner in your new apartment. You had been quick to reply that it wasn't a problem, assuring him that the extra time would help you finish preparing dinner. Your last message telling him you loved him and to be careful still remained unread and you couldn't help but wonder if he really knew how much you meant it. You hoped he knew how much you loved him and how happy you were to have him in your life. He was the best thing that ever happened to you and you refused to accept that your story would end like this after all you had gone through to be together.

Just as you were about to go to Penelope to ask her if they had any progress on the case, your phone vibrated with a message from her. You almost dropped the device to the floor when you read the words 'Spencer is fine', feeling your muscles relax as a wave of relief swept through your body. You didn't even answer her, opting to go find her to ask her what she knew. However, you discovered that she wasn't in her office, so you went to the conference room where they used to have all their meetings. Then you saw through the glass the crowd of people gathered in the bullpen, among whom you distinguished the figure of Spencer being hugged and kissed by his friends.

You ran out of the office into his arms without a second thought, breaking some speed record in the process. When you called his name he turned to you and your vision blurred with tears as you noticed the purplish red tone on the skin of his temple and the corner of his lips. You hated to see him hurt, even though it was minimal considering the complexity of the situation. You knew things could have turned out much worse, but you still couldn't help but be upset at the image of the love of your life beaten and hurt.

“Thank god you’re okay, I was so worried.” You murmured against his chest as Spencer pulled you tightly into his arms. You let the warmth of his body envelop you, slowly calming your nerves. He was there. He was okay. He had come back to you and that was all that mattered to you.

"I'm okay," he assured you, placing a delicate kiss on the crown of your head. The scent of your hair brought him back home, filling his insides with that warm feeling that only you awakened in him. He was fine, he had you in his arms and that was all he needed to regain his composure.

You pulled away briefly so you could look at him, taking his face in your hands while your eyes scanned his wounds. It was nothing serious, just a couple of bruises that would disappear in a few days. You let your fingers caress his skin delicately before shortening the little distance that separated you, joining your lips in a kiss. You didn't think about the fact that you were in the middle of the office or that the entire BAU team was behind you watching the scene, the world around you wasn't a concern at that moment. You only cared about Spencer and the way his lips moved against yours, showing you how happy he was to be back in your arms too. 

It was a delicate, yet powerful kiss. You didn't want to put too much pressure on his lips so as not to hurt him, but you didn't need it to let him know how much you loved him and how worried you had been about him. For a moment you had thought that you weren't going to get another chance to do that, to kiss him with everything you had, to tell him that you loved him one more time. It was something that terrified you, so now that you finally had him back with you, you didn't want to pass up the chance to join your lips one more time.

However, your beautiful magical moment was interrupted by the high pitched voice of Penelope, who was admiring the scene with surprise.

“Oh my god! You two!”

You abruptly pulled away from Spencer, finally realizing what you had done. You were grateful to have your back to the team, so the only one who could see the panic in your eyes was your boyfriend, who smiled at you in amusement. You knew the situation wasn't so terrible, but this wasn't how you had imagined telling others about your relationship with Spencer. 

"I fucked it up, didn't I?" you whispered so only he could hear you. 

"Yep."

"And they're all staring at us, aren't they?" Spencer looked over your shoulder for a moment, passing his gaze over the group of profilers who were admiring you with surprised and happy expressions on their faces. Then he returned his gaze to your face and nodded, earning a grunt from you as you hid into his chest, seeking refuge from the inevitable comments and questions that were to come.

"I can't believe you two! How could you keep this a secret?" You heard Penelope complaining behind your back, speaking increasingly faster and in a high-pitched tone. "How long has this been going on?"

"You don't really want to know." You told her, emerging from your refuge in Spencer's chest to face your sister. She let out a gasp, clearly surprised by your response.

"How long?" she insisted, almost feeling betrayed that you kept something so important hidden from her for who knows how long.

You and Spencer shared a look before you let out a sigh. "Since your birthday party at Rossi's place." You confessed and Penelope's jaw dropped, unable to believe that you had been able to keep your relationship a secret for so long. "Oh and also, since we're sharing, I don't have any friends named Sophie." You added, amused by your sister's expression.

"Oh I'm so mad right now, but I'm also so happy for you guys! You’re so lucky I love you! Come here!" Penelope enveloped you in a tight hug before you could object. She planted a loud kiss on each of your cheeks, repeating how happy she was for you, before letting the rest of the team congratulate you. 

"I knew I saw something between you the other day!" Emily stressed, remembering when she had caught you together at the bar. Now that she knew the truth it was obvious that you were together, but at the time she hadn't given it much thought. You guys had been dancing around each other since she had joined the team so many years ago, so she thought it was just you being you. She was happy to be wrong though, you two deserved to finally be happy.

You were enveloped in the warm love of your friends, who showered you with positive wishes for your future. It was a nice ending to such a horrible day, exactly what you needed to finally quiet your troubled mind. It definitely wasn't the way you imagined revealing your relationship with Spencer, but you were happy it had happened. It reminded you that as long as you had Spencer by your side and your family close by life was beautiful no matter the adversities.

[midnightshade]

GojoHime: Evidence and Discussion

Jujutsu Kaisen isn't a romance series. It's a horror action series that focuses more on platonic bonds and camaraderie between its characters. That being said, just as any shounen series, it has its fair share of ships, each with its own assortment of crumbs and small details.

GojoHime is a particularly interesting ship to look at. Being a massive fan of it myself,  it's fun to pick through the evidence that supports it. I'd like to share the evidence that I and many other GojoHime fans have found. I'll be starting with the smaller, weaker evidence first and working my way up to the strongest evidence.

Before I start in earnest, I want to clarify that this isn't made to attack any other ship. People can ship whatever they want, and no ship in the series is canon (aside from exceptions like Hakari and Kirara). I like GojoHime so I want to talk about it. That's really it.

With that out of the way, let's begin.

First, let's start with the evidence outside of the manga itself. This one isn't very compelling, but it is cute. In Japan, there is a chip brand called Bakauke. Bakauke has two mascots known as Borin and Barin, who are girlfriend and boyfriend. When Bakauke collabed with Jujutsu Kaisen, Utahime and Gojo were chosen to represent the Borin and Barin respectively, thus being depicted as girlfriend and boyfriend.

Moving on to evidence found within the actual manga, we see that on the splash page for Gojo and Utahime, the print behind them depicts arrows known as a Yagasuri pattern. In Japan, this is a symbol often used for weddings. It's meant for good luck because "a shot arrow does not return," and therefore, a married woman does not (or should not) return to her parents.

We also see depictions of them under an umbrella often used at weddings. Sharing an umbrella is also a common romantic trope in Japan.

Other smaller evidence exists in the form of their phone call. This consists a beeper code, where the number of their call spells out "I like you" in code, and another interesting detail is that Satoru calls Utahime from his recent contacts, implying that he calls her often.

Gojo and Utahime were made to be opposites. Aside from the obvious "opposites attract" trope, it creates a compelling visual story between them. Man and woman, strong and weak, modern and traditional, blue and red. Satoru hates alcohol and loves sweets while Utahime loves alcohol but hates sweets.

Gege said Gojo only puts down his Technique with people he trusts, which we see him do with Utahime. He trusts her enough to have to actively put his Technique back in place after she throws a teacup at him.

Moving on to some of the strongest and most convincing evidence, we have Waka Inoue, Utahime's very own technique, and Gege's past works.

Gojo had a picture of Waka Inoue as his background as a teenager. He clearly finds her attractive, as is common, considering she's a popular model, but the reason why this is important is that Inoue shares a lot of similarities with Utahime.

Both women have noticeable bangs, they're the same height (166cm), and they share a love for alcohol, karaoke, and sports, specifically baseball. Waka is described once as a "competitive crybaby who hates to lose," and as we see in the Anime, Gojo has a way of firing Utahime up and she is also prone to being a bit of a scaredy-cat and a crybaby. We also see her more competitive side come out during the baseball tournament between Kyoto and Tokyo.

Moving on to Utahime's Cursed Technique, as some Japanese fans have pointed out, Utahime's Soro Soro Kinku (Solo Forbidden Area) is based on a real love song about forbidden love with lyrics about a masked lover. The records from the singer, Akina Nakamori, are called Utahime records, and the singer even does Gojo's unlimited void hand sign during her live performances of her song, "Fin."

The most compelling bit of evidence for me is Gege's past works. Two of his three one-shot manga have characters who are very similar to Gojo and Utahime. The male protagonist is usually cocky and teases the female protagonist, while the female protagonist gets annoyed at his antics but is otherwise down to earth and kind.

In Nikai Bongai Barabarujura, the protagonist, Noroma, reminds me of teen Gojo in appearance and behavior. He is "the strongest" who teases Nodoka, the female protagonist, for being weak but has an obvious respect for her drive and inner strength.

In Kamishiro Sosa, we have a similar set-up as before. The male protagonist, Ganji, is very energetic and careless with the female protagonist, Rekko's, feelings, and is seen to have a very similar type of banter as Gojo and Utahime have.

Gege clearly likes that type of pairing, which isn't surprising given the bickering couple and rivals to lovers is a popular trope in romance. It's not unusual for Mangaka to reuse old ideas, and that seems to be what happened with Gojo and Utahime. Even their appearances share similarities.

As you can see, GojoHime has a lot of thought put into it, and it's very interesting to see the little details Gege has put into their dynamic. There's definitely a reason why so many adore this pairing, and I'm glad Gege has paid attention to that.

[luciaintheskyainthi]

what’s your favorite thing about peter parker?

Great question!

There's a few things that make me enjoy writing Peter Parker:

He's a resilient character and I am a mean writer. I enjoy (writing) emotional torment and Peter's consistently a character to get up and keep going (sometimes to the point of obstinacy and self-sabotage, which in and of itself can be an interesting perspective to explore). Ya boi is trying his best and I gotta give him credit for that.

The whole concept of his abilities is neat. Here's this very durable and very powerful young man, sometimes with borderline supernatural elements attached (for instance the Spider Totem storylines), who is determined to make a difference in the world, regardless of how others might think of him. I find that a very endearing quality. Plus it's fun to have a character who's just built different, yannow?

He has a strong moral code and steadfast belief in redemption and forgiveness. The whole 'with great power with great responsibility' thing is at the heart of his character (certainly within the comics and TAMZ / the OG Spider-Man movies... it took a long time for them to get there in the MCU Spider-Man movies and didn't have much of an opportunity/desire to explore it further by the end of NWH). Considering how much he's been put through in both movies and comics, that he continues to attempt to redeem his villains - even those who have hurt him horribly - says a lot about his strength of will. It takes a hell of a lot of courage and moral fortitude to maintain a mindset like that. and I think he serves as a strong moral teaching to readers/watchers.

As a lefitst, I enjoy the exploration of a working class hero and what this really looks like in practice. While I am writing my own stories with the MCU canon in mind, to me it's important to understand the distinctions between Disney's portrayal of Peter Parker (where he is very much NOT a working class hero), and most other portrayals in film/comics (Skip Intro's video on MCU Copaganda is very insightful about this topic, as is VerilyBitchie's video on SM, Class and Militarisation). I'm sure I'll only be partly successful at it, but I intend to explore Peter's character growing beyond the confines of the MCU's characterisation of him. Particularly the 'friendly neighbourhood' aspect of his title that was only ever hinted at but never actually explored in the Tom Holland movies.

(and most importantly from a writing POV) he's smart and he's funny. I love banter and Peter Parker is a character MADE for banter. He's silly and he's petty and he's irreverent and he's a goddamn nerd. And I love him for it!

So.... that's a long way of me saying 'I like Peter for X, Y and Z, but most of all I like him 'cause he's funny' 🙃

[bumblebugwrites]

Are You Mine?

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Summary: For as long as you could remember you and Lockwood had butted heads. Always getting on each other’s nerves, getting in each other’s ways. You basically hate each other. Right?

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Cursing, Angst (like lowkey)

Word Count: 3.8k

If there existed within the planes of this earth a man more detestable than Anthony Lockwood, you had been lucky enough to avoid making his acquaintance. Though Quill Kipps may have made for a close second, you would rather spend an hour locked in a room alone with the latter than fifteen minutes solo with Lockwood in the kitchen of your own home. It had always been that way, with some minor exceptions and though time managed to cool some of the ever-raging conflict between you, you never quite saw eye to eye.

It was a well-known fact that you and George came as a package deal. The brains and his bodyguard, that’s what Lockwood called you. And for what it was worth, it wasn’t too far from the truth. You were, always had been, a strike first, ask questions later kind of girl. Where George had the perspective and the research to see the world in shades of gray, your situation forced you to see only in black and white. Maybe that’s why you and Lockwood had always hated each other so much. Everything was always an act with him, and you simply didn’t have the time to peel back the layers. 

From your very first meeting two weeks after George was fired and you quit to ensure his safety, your chances at friendship had been dismal. The pair of you had been staying in a small, rundown hotel with what little money you could spare from your previous stint of employment, getting by on only one meal a day, a small black coffee passed back and forth and one half of a bagel each. It was miserable to say the least. Needless to say, not many people were looking to hire a fired Fittes employee and his weary sidekick. Then, on the second Tuesday since your loss of employment, George found Lockwood’s ad in the papers and after calling and being informed that you would be given the chance to interview immediately you couldn’t help the small plum of hope that settled deep within your chest at the opportunity. George on the other hand was ecstatic, fantasizing eagerly about his first meal post hiring before even setting foot in the door. That is until it opened, revealing a boy no older than you, outfitted in a freshly pressed suit.

“Mr. Lockwood?” George questioned, as you held back taking him in.

“That’s me, come in.” He signaled you forward with a smile so dazzling you were forced to avert your eyes. Your gaze fixed itself on the ground instead, taking note of the unsullied sill and the doormat, that’s edges aligned themselves perfectly with the jambs on either side. It was pristine. Alarmingly so.

“I take it we’re your first interview of the day?” The boy looked caught off guard by the sound of your voice, but quickly readjusted his features into an easy grin. 

“The rest were here yesterday, so you’ve just missed them.” You quirked a doubtful brow but remained silent and followed as he beckoned you forward into what looked to be a small library of sorts. 

“Normally I do my interviews one-on-one,” Lockwood spoke, looking back and forth between the two of you as you sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch. You felt George shift uncomfortably to your left.

“Well, we’re a package deal. We come together or not at all.” The phrase weighed on your tongue as it left your mouth. You’d been using it all week and where at first it felt simple, some sort of obvious truth, it was growing harder and harder to use. Especially when George had his parents to rely on and you had, well, nothing.

“Right… Well, the tests don’t work quite as well when you’re both in the room.” George leaned over, squeezing your hand in a signal that all would be well, before standing up to move to the hallway.

“That’s fine, I’ll wait my turn.”

After a series of demonstrations regarding your Talent, easily passed as you’d always had a fairly strong sense of Sight and a long wait in the hall for George’s turn, you were back in the room once more. 

“Right then, that’s all I’ve really got for today, so you can be on your way, and I’ll be back to you tomorrow with my decision,” Lockwood smiled, leaning back into his armchair.

“Tomorrow?”

“(Y/N)--” George attempted to place a soothing hand on your shoulder, but you shook him off with ease.

“No. I want to know what is going on here.” Once more Lockwood’s brows arched in surprise, but he kept the remainder of his features under control this time.

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re not excused. You have an ad in the papers calling yourself an agency, but you’re obviously just some sad excuse of a one-man operation, sorry one-boy operation. I mean do you even have a Supervisor?”

“Well–”

“Oh, never mind that, because worse yet, you’ve been lying to us since the moment we set foot in the door. There haven’t been any other interviews, have there Mr. Lockwood? And you had better tell me the truth because I don’t appreciate having my time wasted.”

“You do realize I’m the one conducting this interview? As in I have the power to employ you, or not.” The boyish facade vanished in only a moment and the clear hint of a threat laced his tone, but it didn’t matter, because you were outraged. Act first, think later, right? Your hand flew without hesitation to the rapier at your side and within a moment it was drawn and swinging directly towards the boy in front of you. Not to harm of course, just to return the threat. But he was fast, faster than you’d realized, and by the time your blade was making its descent, he had risen from his seat to meet it with his own.

“I highly doubt you would like to face the implications of attacking me in my own home.”

“I was just leaving anyways.” You resheathed your sword in one quick motion, and began your warpath towards the door, George calling out after you. He caught your arm just as you reached your destination.

“(Y/N) please. He’s actually considered us, that’s more than we can say for any other place.”

“I am not here to be to entertain the fantasies of some boy who’s decided to play grown up for the day.”

“Come on, this seems real enough, he’s certified and everything. Besides, we’re running out of options, and you know it–”

“We can find another–”

“We can’t. I could always go live with my parents, but it will take years for anyone to hire me after Fittes let me go. And you– Well I doubt any of those places from before will take you now, and it’s not like you have–”

“That’s enough George–” You cut him off as Lockwood appeared in the doorway to the library, a knowing look painted across his features. “We should just go. I’ve caused enough of a mess as is and it’s not like he’s making his decision any time soon.”

Your stature deflated as you reached once more for the exit.

“Actually, I made my decision the moment you both passed my test.” You and George spun around in unison. “You were right,” he said, hanging his head sheepishly, “there were no other interviews.”

“So, what are you saying?” It was George who spoke, but Lockwood kept his eyes fixed on you as he made his answer.

“I’m saying you’ve got the job.”

Since then, you and Lockwood had come to a sort of understanding: as long as George was safe you would do anything he asked. Any job, any task, no matter how dangerous. Still, that didn’t mean you would take his shit either, a fact he picked up on rather quickly, and though he never let you in completely, a trait that went both ways, he told you enough to gain your trust and you returned the favor. 

And so it went in the year before Lucy came. You weren’t friends, necessarily, but you knew at the end of the day he had your back, and in return, you had his.

Still, Lucy’s arrival made the waters more murky, as she went about breaking down walls like they were nothing. One night, Lockwood happened upon the pair of you in your shared bedroom, giggling like schoolgirls at a story from your youth, splayed out across the attic bed in identical fits of laughter and though you missed it, Lucy told you in a barely audible whisper that night of how his gaze had lingered on your scrunched up face. How his eyes had softened. How for a moment, the dark circles beneath his eyes seemed to vanish as he stood there in awe. Just a boy looking at a girl. No more, no less. 

“You should have seen his smile,” she whispered, her body turned to face yours beneath the covers of the queen. 

“Trust me I’ve seen the ‘Lockwood Smile’ more than enough in one year of acquaintanceship,” you huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“No, no. It wasn’t like that. It was– He looked so–” She sat up then hands flying at the air as though they might grasp the words she was trying to say.

“He almost looked like a kid. So… unburdened. It was pretty disturbing actually.” She broke off with a laugh. “Look I can’t explain it, but it was like he was actually happy and not just using his dashing good looks to get whatever he desires.” You rolled your eyes at the final bit, but tucked the rest away deep within your heart, stashing it beside that single plum of hope from that very first day on his doorstep.

By the following morning the whole thing was nothing more than a distant memory. You stood, pouring yourself a coffee, watching George scribble away at his notes on your current case when, Lockwood slipped by, swiping the mug from right under your nose.

“That was for me.”

“Well, I pay for everything in this house.” He smirked from behind your steaming cup.

“You don’t even like coffee.” Without breaking eye contact, Lockwood took a long sip and physically incapable of suppressing his reaction scrunched his brow in disgust. Then, parting the drink from his lips he smiled.

“Delicious.”

“You’re such an ass, now I’m going to have to brew another pot.” He shrugged off your inconvenience and took the seat beside George at the table. After putting another pot on, you joined the pair, ditching your previous research in favor of etching your new mantra into the tablecloth. Anthony Lockwood is a pompous ass. Anthony Lockwood is a pompous ass.

“What have you got so far George?” Lockwood questioned, setting down the mug in his hand after just one more sip. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a Type One I think, probably a Lurker.” 

“Excellent, Luce and I should be able to handle that on our own.”

“Lucy? I’m sat right here.” You glared across the table, daring the coffee thief to disagree with you.

“Besides you know my swordsmanship is superior even if she is basically the Stephen Hawking of ghost hunting.”

“Which is why she needs the practice.”

“And there is a wonderful place for her to do so in the basement. Come on Lockwood, it’s like you won’t let me go anywhere since–”

“Since the last time when you acted like a bumbling idiot and almost got yourself maimed?”

“I had the situation completely under control.”

“You fell down a staircase.”

“You can’t keep me on house arrest for forever.” Lockwood groaned and drew a frustrated hand across his face.

“Fine, but if you screw up like that again I’m locking you in the archives with George myself.” With that he withdrew, coffee abandoned on the table. Dragging it towards your person you let out a deep huff.

“It’s like he doesn’t trust me at all.”

“Or maybe he just cares about you?” George suggested, but quickly averted his eyes following a threatening glare thrown in his direction.

It was late when you reached the house, later than you would have liked. Lockwood had forgotten his rapier, so you’d had to turn back, though you had a suspicion it was some sort of ploy to get you to stay home and let Lucy go instead. Still, you held your ground and remained patient. Well as patient as you could.

“Lockwood, what the fuck. You said this place was ten minutes away, that was a thirty-minute metro ride. Not to mention the fact that that man beside us was trying to look down my shirt the whole way here.” You shivered at the thought but continued to fix Lockwood with a glare as you spoke. Through your anger you almost missed the slight shift in his demeanor at the second comment.

“Well, we’re here now are we not? Besides, it’s only a Type One, we’ll be fine.” 

You were not fine. Within only a moment of stepping foot inside you felt the temperature drop dramatically.

“Lockwood–”

“I felt it too.” His face twisted into a more serious expression. Still, you continued inside to further assess the threat. Dropping your bags several feet inside the entryway, you crouched almost immediately to sift through them for the filings when from across the house, a shadowy figure flew by.

“(Y/N)--”

“One second, you did an absolute rubbish job of organizing the kit, I can’t find the filings anywhere.”

“(Y/N), really–” 

“I said just a second Lockwood–” But he cut you off by using two fingers to drag your chin upwards, fixing your gaze upon the glowing figure lying in wait across the room. 

“That is definitely not a Lurker.”

“No shi–” Lockwood was cut off as the ghost unleashed an unearthly scream, launching itself towards the pair of you. The boy beside you was quick to draw his blade and, tucking yourself into a small ball, you rolled deftly out of the way in an attempt to attack the Type Two from behind. Pulling your rapier from its sheath, you took a defensive position as Lockwood struck at the figure from in front. After causing the ghost to dissipate into thin air his eyes quickly sought yours out.

“We need to locate the Source. Now.” With a shared nod, the pair of you began to advance throughout the remainder of the house. Upon entering the kitchen, something caught your eye immediately.

“Lockwood, look.” You pointed your rapier in the direction of what appeared to be a hand carved cuckoo clock, hung high on the wall. “He was a clockmaker, right? That’s what the file said.” 

“That has to be it.” Lockwood nodded in agreement. Moving at a slow and measured pace, you advanced on the clock, before realization hit and you grabbed Lockwood by the arm. 

“The net–” You stopped short as a glow began to form in the upper corner of the kitchen.

“Go, I’ll handle it,” Lockwood ordered and with a final concerned glance in the direction of the ever-expanding light, you set off in a run down the hall. Distant clattering sounds informed you that the ghost had made its appearance in the other room, and you pushed forward harder, now at a sprint.

Skidding to a halt, you all but dumped out the entire bag of kit in your effort to locate the silver net, before grasping its cool material and spinning on your heel. Distantly, you thought you heard Lockwood call your name, though any reason as to why was beyond you until your eyes caught on the ghostly figure just before you. 

Easily dodging its first attempt to harm you, you slid past its grip and through the doorway to the hall. It followed close behind and as your feet pounded against the wood floor, you could feel the atmosphere around you grow colder by the second. Flying in a panicked fury through the doorway to the kitchen, you just managed to catch Lockwood’s eye before an unseen force threw you against the counter. Your head hit the marble edge. Hard. And in a single moment you crumbled to the ground.

All sound in the room became distant, including the noise of several items on the counter’s smooth surface being dislodged with your impact. And then, in a tone you’d never heard before, Lockwood’s voice cut through all the muffled, pounding noise. 

“(Y/N)!” Your head jerked up just in time to watch as the knife peeking out over the counter teetered over the edge. In a single moment of clarity, you angled your body towards the ground, clasping your head with your hands. A piercing pain laced your shoulder and you let out a scream. Distantly, you noticed Lockwood, backed into a corner, swinging wildly with his rapier, fear etched deep within his normally steady features. That was all it took.

Ignoring the sharp pounding of your head, you reached back to dislodge the knife, pulling it from the deep, now severely bleeding wound in your shoulder. It took most of your energy not to call out in pain at the action, but you knew it would only shift the ghost’s attention back to you. Dragging yourself across the floor, you snatched the net from the ground before using the wall to pull yourself up.

Three things happened at once then. Lockwood’s eyes fixed on you from behind the ghost, wide with concern and something else you couldn’t quite place. Simultaneously, your hand made contact with the clock, instantly alerting the ghost to your presence. Finally, the Type Two turned on you. 

In one fell movement, you wrenched the clock from the wall, just as the ghost launched itself in your direction and covered it with the net, the creature disappearing mere inches from your face. Lockwood took a breath. It was mesmerizing, though you couldn’t understand why, that moment of quiet. And then you began to sway.

“Lock–” But the name died in your throat as you began your descent towards the cold linoleum floor. You were out before you hit the ground, though not before you felt the comfort of two arms as they wrapped themselves around you, breaking your fall.

It had been two weeks and Lockwood could still barely look at you. By the time you awoke in the hospital, he was gone, though George and Lucy had stayed, tangled up with you in the hospital bed, a mess of sleeping limbs. Once they awoke, you questioned the pair on the absence.

“Where’s Lockwood?”

“Said he was too busy to wait for you to wake up,” mumbled George bitterly, but Lucy only chided the other boy.

“He was worried sick about you, really. It’s just, well you know. He’s Lockwood.” You smiled at Lucy’s words, but a seed of disappointment planted itself firmly in your gut.

Your arrival back at 35 Portland Row was not much better. Lockwood remained hidden away in the library as Lucy and George helped you through the door. 

And so, the first week continued. Wordless breakfasts in the kitchen, cold greetings in the hall. One time after you accidentally grazed his side in passing, he physically flinched away. 

On the eleventh day, you found yourself near tears with the behavior.

“I think he hates me, Lucy.”

“Lockwood could never hate you.”

It was day twelve of Lockwood’s one-sided standoff when you caught him in the kitchen alone near two in the morning.

“Could you make me a cup?” You’d questioned, coming up behind him to search the cupboard for some bread as he poured himself a cup of tea. Nothing. Not even a glance.

“Come on Lockwood, it’s been days, can you just drop it? I’m fine.” Still no response. No matter. You’d always known how to get a rise out of Anthony Lockwood.

Waiting until he’d set the kettle down to reach for some sugar, you moved quickly, sandwiching yourself between the counter and the boy. For the first time in days, his eyes met yours, though he dismissed the moment with a quick huff and reached once more for the cabinet above your head. You gave him a shove.

“Fuck you Lockwood, talk to me.” His eyes glinted in a warning, but he made no effort to speak. He didn’t move a muscle. You shoved him harder. 

“Talk to me you prick.” He caught your wrists in his hands as you pulled back for another shove and gripped them tightly.

“Say something!” As you struggled against him to give one final push, your shoulder caught at an odd angle and the searing pain from your still healing wound nearly sent you crumpling to the ground. Nearly. As you began to curl in on yourself, Lockwood removed his hands from your wrists and caught you by the waist.

“You’re going to reopen the gash on your shoulder.” He chided, his tone cold, but his arms continued to hold you in place.

“I know that you hate me. And that’s fine. But this– The silence, it’s too much… It hurts too much.”

“You’re an idiot. You acted recklessly and without forethought. You could have died. You could have gotten yourself killed–”

“I was just–”

“I’m not finished,” he continued, his hold on you tightening, “you jeopardized the entire mission with your actions–”

“I saved your life!”

“I had it under control–”

“Oh, like I did with the staircase?”

“I should never have brought you.”

“Because you hate me? Yeah, I know.”

“Because you are nothing but a distraction.” You froze. Body rigid in his hold. He pushed on.

“Because all I could think about the entire time we were in that house was you. If you were safe, if you were– if you were alive.” One of Lockwood’s hands traveled carefully from your waist to your cheek.

“It’s all I’ve been able to think about since the staircase. It’s why I couldn’t bear to go on any missions with you, it’s why I nearly made you George’s bloody research assistant, it’s why– it’s why I nearly fell apart when I watched you hit that oven– when I saw that knife about too–” 

You could hear his breaths becoming labored and his grip tightened once more as his eyes clouded with the anxiety of distant memories.

“Hey. I’m fine.” You reassured him, bringing a hand up to caress his face. “I’m okay, really.”

“I think I’m– I care about you, so much it hurts.”

And there it was, the boyish face Lucy had seen that night in the attic. Young and afraid. Completely unguarded. You really couldn’t help kissing him.

Bunching the fabric of his shirt in your hand, you pulled his lips down to meet yours, and though surprise initially stilled his mouth, he quickly pulled you closer, kissing deeper, pressing forward to meet you. His hand curled gently in your hair, his other arm pulling you closer, closer, as though if he loosened his grip, you would simply slip away. You only pulled back to catch your breath though you could barely convince yourself to do that much as his lips followed after yours, looking to meet again.

“I love you too Anthony Lockwood.”

[princeescaluswords]

Almost Universally Accepted

If you ever wonder why people like me think the Teen Wolf fandom has become fundamentally corrupted by racism, you simply need to recall that there is, as one person on this site remarked recently, an 'almost universally accepted' headcanon among the fandom. Based on a single glance near the end of the first episode of the third season, Tattoo, a large number of people in this fandom believe that Stiles Stilinski helped Derek Hale and his pack look for their kidnapped betas over the summer between Scott's and Stiles's sophomore and junior years. In terms of the television production, this would be the hiatus between Season 2 and Season 3.

At first, it seems a perfectly harmless headcanon, but I believe it's a blatant example of how fandom racism degrades media literacy. Allow me to walk you through my reasoning. To start, most headcanons exist in a neutral state with regards to canon. When you speculate on a character's favorite ice cream flavor or whether they spend Christmases with their grandparents, it is most likely not going to affect how you view the canon. This particular one, however, modifies a crucial canon event, one which establishes both the relationships and a major part of the plot for an entire season. Coincidentally, those relationships and that plot are primary motive forces for the lead protagonist's character arc. Thus, accepting this headcanon requires the viewer to radically reinterpret the starting point of an entire season differently than the production's actual intention. It's such a radical change that any critical thinking requires a person to ask what the goal of this headcanon could possibly be, since it simply cannot fit within the canon itself.

Point One: The headcanon is entirely unsupported. Consider the image at the top of this post. That look on Stiles's face is, as far as I can tell, the sole trigger behind the creation of this suspect headcanon. Stiles makes eye contact with Derek and, apparently, looks guilty to the fandom. From this, Stiles is supposed to be sharing a private moment of remorse with Derek, to which Scott is not privy, about their inability to find Boyd and Erica over the summer.

Even given the possibility that the look on Stiles's face could also be interpreted as genuine concern for the fates of Boyd and Erica, regret that something new is coming for Beacon Hills, or even frustration that Scott is getting involved once more in something dangerous, the headcanon's interpretation does not in any way mesh with the actual lines spoken in the scene.

Derek: A pack of 'em. An Alpha pack. Stiles: All of them? How does that even work? Derek: I hear there's some kind of a leader. He's called Deucalion. We know they have Boyd and Erica. Peter, Isaac, and I have been looking for him for the last four months. Scott: Let's say you find them. How do you deal with an Alpha pack? Derek: With all the help I can get.

If Stiles has been working with Derek all summer to find and rescue Boyd and Erica, this dialogue makes no sense. Wouldn't Stiles already know about the alpha pack and how it works? Why would Derek not list Stiles among the people searching? It would require Stiles and Derek (and later Peter and Isaac) to deliberately decide to exclude Scott. Those who adhere to the headcanon never actually explain why that Stiles and Derek would want to conceal Stiles's participation in the search from Scott, but that's not their point.

Yet, while a conspiracy might explain why they don't reveal the secret here, it doesn't even begin to address while it is never mentioned elsewhere during the season (or any season). It also renders the dialogue between Derek and Stiles and between Peter and Stiles in Chaos Rising (3x02) incongruous. It makes the relationships between Stiles and Isaac and Stiles and Boyd incoherent. It makes the way Stiles treats Derek throughout the rest of the season nonsensical. But that's not all.

Point Two: It shreds characterizations for everyone but Scott. Take Stiles. In the last appearance of Stiles in Season 2, he tells Scott that "you still have me," in an incontrovertible statement of support. Why would a Stiles who made that promise hide this information from Scott; not just in this scene but in every scene about the Alpha Pack to come. If he was trying to keep Scott out of the supernatural things, then he didn't do a very good job; after all, he's the one who tells Scott about the Darach once Stiles discovers it. If he's secretly angry at Scott for something (whether it be not finding him when Gerard kidnapped him or some other fandom-conjured reason such as Scott 'ignoring' him all summer), then why wouldn't he use it when he argues with Scott in Unleashed (3x04), Frayed (3x05), Motel California (3x06) or Currents (3x07)? For this headcanon to be even remotely valid, it has to suppose that Derek and Stiles established a positive working relationship, but Derek is the one person to whom Stiles doesn't bring his ideas about the Darach. Why the sudden and unexplained change in regard?

Take Derek. If Derek trusted Stiles enough to have him help his pack look for Boyd and Erica over the summer, why would Derek so casually and cruelly dismiss Stiles's assistance after the recovery of Isaac ("Not You!"). If Derek is simply trying to keep Scott out of this -- which is actually seen on the screen -- isn't it callous of him to not have tried to keep Stiles out of it? And if Derek is angry enough with Scott not to seek his help over the summer (though this emotions doesn't stop him from accepting and asking for Scott's help visually on the screen), why doesn't Derek ever bring up that he trust Stiles enough to help but not Scott?

Keeping this a secret throughout the entire season doesn't match anyone else's character, either. Why didn't Peter use it to needle Stiles in Chaos Rising or needle Scott in Unleashed? Why does Peter, who is consistently portrayed as manipulative and using other people's misdeeds to excuse his actions ("I'm not the only dysfunctional family member.") not use it to undermine Derek's or Isaac's trust in Scott? For that matter, why doesn't Isaac use it in any of the conflicts he has with Stiles? It simply doesn't fit in with anyone else's behavior or characterizations.

Part Three: It does, however, serve to undermine Scott's role as lead protagonist. This is, at the base, the point. It's not really a starting point for Sterek that they claim it to be; a massive conspiracy doesn't really establish the impetus for their relationship considering how they both canonically treat Scott later. It does, however, serve as a coded way to establish the white male characters in the show as a social group in and of themselves, one from which Scott must be excluded, perhaps because of his inadequacies (he has to go summer school, see, which in Beacon Hill seems to be envisioned as a boot camp-slash-gulag) or his sins (not sacrificing Allison) but there has to be a reason. When you take in the way it doesn't fit into anything happen and doesn't really help what they want to happen, the only logical reason for the creation of this headcanon is that it demonstrates their belief that Scott does not deserve his position as lead protagonist, and that Stiles's professed loyalty is slowly being transferred to a man he had on a list of people responsible for human sacrifices twice.

But it is inevitable that such headcanons go against the themes of the show, the plot of the show, and the established characterizations of the cast, because consistency is not really important to parts of the fandom. What is important is that it suggests the true focus of the story should be where the believe it belongs: any white male character. This ill-fitting whim has become almost universally accepted, to remove a character of color form his position as lead protagonist with a subtext so deep it appears for exactly 2 seconds.

It is indeed racism.

[askchilchuck]

Hey, how can I help you?

(Please read below before interacting)

Hi! My name is Sophie! This blog has gotten enough traction that I feel the need to lay some ground rules for it.

1) This blog is intended to be PG13 so I don’t have to exclude younger fans from participating. I will not be answering anything that wouldn’t fly in canon, or is adjacent to it. Anything explicitly sexual, or can be construed that way will not be answered. This decision was made a couple months in, so do be advised there is some more suggestive content on the earlier posts on this blog. If you don't want to see that kind of content, stick to the newer posts.

2) Nothing related to suicide please. I tried playing it off the first time but between myself and some people around me, even the “KYS 🥰🥰🥰” jokes really aren’t funny, especially recently. Asks including it will not be answered.

3) No firearms. Related to rule 2.

4) Please no spammy asks. I’m honestly not sure how to answer them, and they clog up both the blog itself and the main tags.

5) No political asks. I understand how terrifying the results of the US election are, but I really need this place to be a break from all that. For my sake and yours. We both need spaces where we can recharge from this. Chilchuck doesn’t know what’s going on anyway, he deserves to live in ignorance from it. I love you.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s fun to bully him, but these things cross a line for me. Thank you for understanding.

If you’re an RP blog, you’re more than welcome to interact! Even if you’re not a Dunmeshi blog! I don’t always have the time to do reblog chains, though, so please don’t feel bad if I miss you there. It’s easiest for me if you submit RP as an ask when the box is open. Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause. If you’re 18+ and interested, I also do private RP on my Discord, linked on my Dunmeshi side blog.

IN LIGHT OF DUPLICATE CHARACTERS:

I think that’s awesome and also really funny. I encourage it. We’ve already got a loose MCU/multiverse plot line going on so we can totally make it work, too. Hell yeah. Hilarious. Love that. /gen

Blog lore:

This blog takes place loosely post canon. I try to avoid spoilers, but little things here and there are inevitable. Chilchuck has made up with his wife and they’re currently working on their relationship. Chilchuck is also in therapy. This is for a few reasons.

1) I don’t think he’d actually answer any of these if he wasn’t.

2) He doesn’t talk about it a lot, but it was one of his wife’s conditions before giving the relationship another go.

3) He just. Should be in general and I have control of it so it’s happening lol

My Chil is bi, but in the middle-aged “everyone’s had gay thoughts before” kinda way, cause I think it’s funnier that way. He also gets high from time-to-time now that he’s not dungeneering anymore.

Folks kept turning him into different things/animals, so goldstar/⭐️ anon gave him an amulet to put a stop to that. "Marcus" also altered the spell on the amulet to encompass all transformations, since inanimate objects weren't initially included.

Squeaker also used a device to prevent any crab transformations specifically from occurring, as well as ejecting all crabs within a 20 mile radius.

There’s also a cult stalking him for some reason. (This is an ongoing problem. They haven't hurt anyone, and they seem to only be targeting Chilchuck.)

The TVA (Marvel) is loosely involved as well as previously mentioned. Squeak fixed it (or so she thought. There's now a DMCU situation going on.)

Also, Chil’s knowledge of the blog/Tumblr varies depending on what would be funnier, but generally he’s aware of the internet. He only uses his phone to answer your asks, though. He has no idea how to do anything else and has no desire to. This means he doesn’t fact check people or knows anything about the greater internet experience. No one knows how he got the phone, or how it’s holding a charge. Don’t worry about it.

ADDENDUM:

Chilchuck has recently started googling slang, and anything else that might be confusing or annoying to him. However, he hates the search feature and trying to find answers on individual websites, and will take the AI generated answers without question.

I myself don’t talk in the main posts, unless it’s tagged #ooc. Otherwise, I’ll always talk in the tags if I’ve got something to say. Or replies. Or DMs. Main post is the only place I’m in character unless specified otherwise.

Emoji anons:

•⭐️/goldstar anon

•🦉/owl anon

•👻/ghost anon

•♡/heart anon

•🐭/mouse anon

•🍬/candy anon

•🥣/bowl (cereal?) anon

•🐻🏀/bear basket ball anon

•🃏/joker anon

•🟣/Gojo Satoru

•🪻

•🐦‍⬛

No other heart variants have been claimed. Also, heads up to all emoji anons, I’m going to start using just one tag for your asks going forward to make tagging easier! So I’ll just be using the emoji variant from here 💖

If you want to hang out with me in a less censored environment, I also run @chilfucked and @askchilchucknsfw which are 18+ only. I will ban all minors who so much as breathe on those blogs. I’m not joking.

I also reserve the right to update these rules as time goes on, so please check them again before submitting when the ask box is open again. Thank you!

[nowimjustastranger]

Hello.

I am the one who asked about doing a crossover between stcmo and "You Look Like Yourself ...".

I've written a fanfiction inspired by your AUs, it's called "A chance in a billion" if you'd like to read it.

Here's the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62071840

Still love your writing.

To avoid any confusion, this work is an AU of two of my AU's mashed together and is therefore not canon to StCMO or TASB lore!

Starting off by confirming that, considering Ford 419"3 gets to other dimensions via wormholes (which travel through both space and time), it is entirely plausible that Ford 419"3 could stumble across his significantly younger twin brother in the multiverse.

The very first paragraph just really sucker punches you, especially when it's obvious that Stan is coping with humor. It sets the tone perfectly and establishes Stan's character all within a few lines of inner dialogue. The next few paragraphs give a great look into how Stan wound up in the multiverse as well as Stan and Ford's dynamic, which is clearly strained.

The fact that Stan had a gut feeling about Ford 419"3 is a nice nod to the bond between Stans and Fords, who are bound together by the universe itself to maintain balance. And Stan just straight up ditching his current Ford to go investigate Ford 419"3 is hilarious because yeah, he absolutely would.

Ugh, how soft Ford 419"3 is with Stan is everything to me, indulging him in a scan just because Stan asked him to. Ford 419"3 is a paper man for Stans, no backbone to be seen lol. And the reveal! The way Ford 419"3 just fucking freezes, which of course Stan takes as a negative reaction. The poor bby. I love how Ford 419"3 is so effortlessly gentle even when he's having and internal crisis, catching Stan's wrist in an easily breakable hold- I gdhofxzdhzzhhdgcj I'm totally normal about it, clearly.

Not possessive Ford interrupting their heartfelt reunion, lmao. Love that shit. The immediate switch from sweet and soft to deadly and homicidal is near-instant for Ford 419"3. He's extremely proficient at both close and long range combat, having trained and altered his body to better accomplish his mission. I'd even argue that, between 419"3 Ford's combat experience, body enhancements, and his ability to see into the future, he's one of the most dangerous Fords in the multiverse.

Lee to the rescue! Lee is basically the human embodiment of a chill pill. Dude has calming Ford 419"3 down to an art form, lol. I love seeing their closeness from an outsider's perspective, especially in situations where you get to see that closeness. It doesn't get much better than Ford 419"3 abruptly shifting gears and scrambling to get Lee out of the danger zone when he fearlessly puts himself between two pissed off Fords.

I'm weirdly saddened by the fact that Stan has to announce himself to the Ford he's traveling with when he touches him (and is clearly worried about being hit), but that's probably because I'm so used to Lee and Ford 419"3, who would recognize each other's touch even half dead. I'm cackling about Stan being unceremoniously hauled away though, that's top tier comedy right there.

Lee taking the lead because the Fords are currently useless in their posturing is my Roman empire. Lee is smart and resourceful, able to navigate almost any situation you throw him in.

I theorize that the Ford's aren't speaking English because they're saying some vile shit to each other and don't want Stan and Lee to overhear, lmao.

The way Lee claps back to "Scarry" with "Kiddo" made me laugh, that's so him.

Pissy Ford is being pissy, surprise surprise. Way to stalk off without even using your own scanner to confirm that you are, in fact, leaving Stan with his twin and not just some random Ford. A+ big brothering right there. Smartest dumbass alive lol.

Best believe Ford 419"3 knows that Lee's gonna be insecure about his place in Ford's life now that he found his original brother. Lee is likely to distance himself with the intention of letting the two reconnect, trying to brace himself for (in his eyes) the inevitable separation between him and Ford 419"3. There's no reason to keep Lee around anymore after all, right? Wrong bro. So wrong. Ford's got two younger brothers now as far as he's concerned.

Everything about their interaction in the nest makes me so warm and fuzzy, Stan's finally getting the contact and care that he craves. I am a puddle, your honor. I eagerly look forward to more! I'll be re-reading this often, I can already tell. Thank you for writing this!!!

[kitkatt0430]

Star Wars Rebels fanfic idea keeps spinning in the back of my head, so I may wind up writing something for that eventually.

The idea?

After the Seige of Lasan turned into a massacre, in canon Kallus basically doubles down on believing in the Empire because he has to or else his self image of himself as a good, honorable man falls apart. But his feelings of guilt over it were what let Zeb get through to him years later and accidentally knock over the dominoes that directly led to Kallus becoming Fulcrum.

So what if he had his crisis of conscience earlier. In the wake of the massacre of Lasan, Kallus starts asking questions and he learns this is far from the first genocide the Empire had perpetrated since it's inception. It was, arguably, founded on genocide - the Jedi, the Clone Troopers, the Kaminoans, the Caamasi, and several others. All within the first year of the Empire's founding. The more he digs, the more he finds, and while he doesn't trust the Rebellion because a.) it's a bunch of disparate groups at the moment and b.) Saw Gerrera's treatment of his platoon at Onderon was incredibly fucked up... he knows he has to do something.

Fast forward to the start of the Rebels canon. There's significantly more sympathy to the Rebellion and there are more rebel cells out there, some that have already been forming alliances between sectors though the tendency towards insular thinking is still hampering the creation of a wider Rebel Alliance. The increased Rebel sympathies, even within the Imperial Navy itself, is in part due to an enigmatic broadcast that hijacks Imperial frequencies and civilian frequencies alike. Calling itself the Genocide Report, it has inundated the Empire with top secret details of the decisions behind countless genocides. Notable exceptions being some of the ones that happened in the first year of the Empire's rise. Presumably because so many details, and thus actual proof, has been lost.

The Imperial propoganda machine works hard to dismiss the Genocide Watch as nothing more than conspiracy theories and lies, but the more it reports... and the more those reports can be verified, the more people believe in the facts it presents. It is a major thorn in the Empire's side.

Many Imperial Agents have tried to track down the person - or persons, most believe there's a rebel cell or network of cells behind the propaganda - behind the Genocide Watch. Including Agent Kallus. But, of course, none have succeeded and eventually all get reassigned elsewhere.

And of course the reason no one has found the network behind the Genocide Watch is because it's actually two people. Alexsandr Kallus and a hacker he recruited. Alex finds the information and creates the broadcast information. Formats it in a way to make it both easy to understand while still presenting the facts, then passes it on to his hacker contact who then disseminates the information on their own schedule.

He's gotten away with it for so long that he's honestly shocked he hasn't been caught yet and he's still trying to get info on the Jedi massacre as his final report before he gets the hell out of the Empire and either finally joins a rebel cell (if any would take an ex-Imperial like him) or get somewhere far, far out of the way in the Outer Rim.

Which is what's going on with him when he's sent out to the Lothal sector and comes into contact with the Ghost's crew... right as Kanan reveals himself as a Jedi and takes Ezra as his padawan. This brings in the Inquisitors and Darth Vader, giving Kallus the excuse he needs to request access to the old Jedi Temple on Coruscant in order to gather information on Kanan Jarrus' past... and thus putting him in position of identifying both Darth Vader's true identity and answering the biggest unknown of the Clone Wars - who was the Sith Lord behind both sides of the conflict?

It'd weave in and out of canon - I really like the idea of Kanan finding out Kallus isn't exactly a loyal officer when Kallus kills an Inquisitor to stop Kanan from being tortured. Whether that would actually work in the actual fic (if it ever gets written)... who knows? But the main thrust of the story would be Kallus finally getting close to the answers to questions he started asking after Lasan, yet at the same time his position is getting increasingly precarious as his sympathies to the Ghost's crew continues to grow to the point he's taking risks for them he knows he shouldn't. Not if he wants to keep suspicion off himself and protect the hacker half of the Genocide Report.

[gerlionrise]

 Reign of the Heart P1

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader (female character) Synopsis: In a realm where duty binds hearts and crowns weigh heavy, a fragile alliance transforms into something far more powerful. Amid battles, secrets, and an unyielding desire for a better future, love may prove the most formidable force of all. But can passion thrive in the shadow of the Iron Throne?   AN: Please note that this story is a work of fiction set in the world of «A Song of Ice and Fire», but it does not adhere strictly to the canon of Game of Thrones. I have created original characters and changed certain family names, titles, and locations to fit the narrative. While inspired by the world George R.R. Martin has built, the names and events in this story are not meant to represent the original characters or lore. This is simply a new adventure within a beloved universe. Enjoy! PART 1

Fire Beneath the Frost

The marriage had been forged in duty, not affection. You and Jon Snow were as mismatched as two could be—he, the brooding king of the Seven Kingdoms, reluctant to rule or to wed, and you, the daughter of a slain lord, chosen by the council for your unassuming position and northern roots.  

The union was meant to be a symbol of unity, but within the cold stone walls of the Red Keep, it felt more like a battlefield.  

Jon had grown accustomed to the solitude of leadership, to silence and sacrifice. You, on the other hand, had always spoken your mind, unwilling to shrink in the presence of his brooding glares or sharp words. From the moment vows were exchanged, it was clear that you and Jon Snow would not easily find peace in each other’s company.  

---

The days were marked by arguments.  

“You can’t just make decisions without consulting me,” you snapped one morning in the council chamber.  

Jon looked up from the table, his dark eyes narrowing. “I am the king.”  

“And I am your queen,” you shot back. “Or does that title mean nothing?”  

The council members exchanged awkward glances, clearly uncomfortable with the tension between their king and queen. Tyrion Lannister cleared his throat, attempting to diffuse the situation. “Perhaps we should reconvene later—”  

“No,” Jon interrupted, his gaze locked on you. “This matter is settled.”  

You glared at him, fury burning in your chest, but you held your tongue. Storming out of the chamber would only give him the satisfaction of thinking he had won.  

---  

The evenings were no better.  

Jon rarely shared the royal chambers, retreating instead to his study or the training yard. On the nights when he did return, the air between you crackled with unspoken resentment.  

“You could at least try to act like a husband,” you said one night as he entered the room, his cloak still dusted with the dirt of the training yard.  

Jon paused, his expression hard. “And you could try to act like a queen instead of questioning my every decision.”  

Your jaw tightened, but you refused to let him see how deeply his words stung. “If you didn’t treat me like a figurehead, perhaps I wouldn’t have to.”  

His silence was more cutting than any argument, and when he turned away without another word, you felt both anger and a pang of something else—something you refused to name.  

---  

The tension came to a head one evening at a feast. The hall was filled with the sound of laughter and the clinking of goblets as lords and ladies from across the realm gathered to celebrate a successful harvest. You sat at Jon’s side, your expression carefully neutral as you endured another evening of strained civility.  

But then, Lord Harrick, a southern noble with a charming smile and a penchant for flattery, leaned toward you.  

“My queen,” Harrick said, his voice low and smooth, “you are as radiant as the moonlight itself. Truly, the North does not deserve such beauty.”  

You smiled politely, though his words were overly familiar. “The North has its charms, my lord. It is not so undeserving as you might think.”  

Jon, seated beside you, stiffened. His jaw clenched, and his hand gripped his goblet tightly.  

Harrick, oblivious to the king’s darkening mood, continued. “Perhaps you might grace me with a dance later, Your Grace? It would be an honor.”  

Before you could respond, Jon’s voice cut through the conversation like a blade. “My wife does not dance.”  

Harrick blinked, startled by the king’s sharp tone. “I meant no offense, Your Grace. It was merely a—”  

“She will not dance,” Jon said firmly, his gaze locking on yours.  

You bristled at his tone, the possessiveness in his voice igniting a spark of defiance. “I can speak for myself,” you said, your voice steady but pointed.  

Jon turned to you, his expression thunderous. “You are my wife,” he said quietly, his voice laced with warning. “You will not flirt with other men.”  

“I wasn’t flirting,” you shot back, your anger flaring. “And even if I were, it’s none of your concern.”

Jon rose from his seat, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. The hall fell silent, the tension between you palpable.  

“Come with me,” Jon said, his tone leaving no room for argument.  

You hesitated, your pride urging you to refuse, but the weight of the room’s stares pressed on you. Reluctantly, you stood and followed him out of the hall, your anger simmering just beneath the surface.  

---  

The moment the door to the royal chambers closed behind you, the argument erupted.  

“You had no right to speak to me like that in front of everyone,” you said, your voice sharp with anger.  

“And you had no right to entertain that lord’s advances,” Jon retorted, his eyes blazing.  

“He was being polite,” you said, throwing your hands. “You’re the one who turned it into a scene.”  

Jon stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “He was flirting with you,” he said, his voice low and accusing. “And you let him.”  

“So what if he was?” you snapped, your defiance flaring. “At least he pays me some attention, which is more than I can say for you.”  

Jon’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “Again, you are my wife,” he said, his voice heavy with possession. “Do you even understand what that means?”  

You glared at him, your chest heaving with anger. “Yes, it means being ignored, dismissed, and treated like an inconvenience.”  

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you thick with tension. Then Jon’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist—not harshly, but firmly enough to command your attention.  

“You make it hard for me,” he said, his voice rough with frustration. “Every word you say, every look you give me—it’s like a fire I can’t put out.”  

Your breath caught, the unexpected vulnerability in his words momentarily disarming you. But you quickly masked your surprise with anger. “Then perhaps you should have married someone else,” you said coldly, pulling your wrist from his grasp.  

Jon stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then he turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the chamber.  

---  

That night, you lay awake, the weight of his words pressing on you. You had fought with Jon countless times before, but this argument felt different—more personal, more raw. His admission echoed in your mind, stirring something you couldn’t quite name.  

But even as your thoughts churned, you refused to let your resolve falter. Jon Snow might be your husband, but you would not let him control you. If he wanted your respect, he would have to earn it.  

In the silence of the royal chambers, the unspoken tension between you lingered, a fire smoldering beneath the frost.

[tacitusk1llwhore]

I’ve been thinking about this, and as much as I hate to say it, the lack of queer representation in media (especially MLM relationships) has kind of decimated fandom culture around found family, platonic or even family dynamics between two men.

Now before you get out your torches, I am NOT talking about fun, harmless whatever ships like Bill and Kieran or Charles and Arthur. These men are not explicitly stated to be family to one another in any way, shape, or form, even via the “brothers in everything but blood” route. Their relationships can absolutely be seen through the lens of non-platonic or even leaning non-platonically! More so, what I am talking about is things like people shipping the Robins from the Batman comics together, the Winchester brothers from Supernatural, and what you all reading this will care about, John and Arthur.

Lack of queer representation in media or good queer representation in media, period, has caused a drought of sorts and leaves people scrambling, and that’s where we run into trouble. Trouble with people seeing two men being affectionate with one another in a familial way and rushing to make it something it’s not. “But it’s just fiction; it doesn’t matter!” And that’s where you’re wrong. It does matter because, as I’ve stated before, fandom spaces hold comfort for people who are struggling. Say someone who has a poor home life or has experienced some sibling trauma regarding inappropriate behaviors, and the first thing they come across is someone defending incestual ships because…they want to, I guess? Now I don’t need to state why shipping blood brothers together is bad….I would hope….but I do apparently need to explain why shipping non blood related siblings together is bad.

So here is this unfortunate explanation.

1.) Shipping adopted, step, or even surrogate siblings together perpetuates the idea that adopted, step, or surrogate siblings are not actually family to one another because they don’t share blood. I shouldn’t need to say why this is harmful, but I will for clarity’s sake. People in these family dynamics are made extraordinarily uncomfortable by these ships and this rhetoric because a majority of the time the people writing these things do not know how these dynamics work, nor do they care—they get off on the taboo of it all. As someone with family who is adopted, that is my family. The dynamic I have with them doesn’t suddenly become non-familial or platonic simply because of the absence of blood relations. Seeing people remove this and do these things is deeply unsettling and entirely disturbing for what I would hope are obvious reasons.

2.) Removing familial ties within media that are ingrained within that dynamic is harmful towards the narrative and character itself. This one is more Red Dead focused, but changing or removing Arthur and John’s brother relationship is harmful to the narrative. John and Arthur are brothers in all but blood; they bicker, they remain distant, they argue and have spats and tease each other and do what siblings do, but at the end of the day, they will stop at nothing to help or protect one another because that is what brothers do. They were raised together, they became siblings, they have that undying familial love for one another, and erasing that entirely is a disservice to both of them.

3.) It harms actual queer ships. If you are being shown incest or even pseudo-incest as one of the top MLM ships in a fandom, it is going to do damage to the actual ships or even canon queer relationships within a fandom. This is for 2 main reasons: 1.) People cannot behave normally about ships in fandom spaces. If you say you like another ship, you’re going to get a comment on why (insert top ship) is better, and if one of those top ships is incest (looking at you, supernatural fandom), you’re going to see a lot of defending of incest as well as sexualization of brotherly or platonic relationships. 2.) It turns people away from actually queer relationships. A lot of people deny queer relationships in media, be they lack media literacy, but an equal number denies it because fandoms cannot be normal. When ships like the Winchester brothers or John and Arthur are pushed to the forefront, it is harmful to queer relationships in media because of the actual and correct taboo around the topics it puts a stain on, bringing up actual queer ships, harmless or even all but canon, because people have been exposed to queer ships being surrounded with a harmful taboo, which makes it unsettling at times.

Now, I feel the need to clarify again. I do NOT mean harmless fun little ships. Someone shipping Charles and Arthur or John and Javier together is harmless; they’ve found representation in that, and that’s fine. Fetishizing familial relationships because you see a scrap of affection between two men is not okay; it’s harmful in so many ways because, at the end of the day, fiction can absolutely impact someone’s reality.

This is also an issue you can see in non-queer ships, but as of recently, I’ve seen it sort of running rampant. As of my time in fandom, taboo MLM ships have kind of taken hold, which is because of a lack of representation, because of a lack of proper MLM relationships within media. Ship who you’d like, but PLEASE stop shipping siblings or defending shipping siblings; it is harmful. We need to address the representation problem, but adding taboo around MLM ships is not the way to go about it.

[tinytalkingtina]

Born to Run

Part 1 of Running with the Devil, a Steddie role reversal series

4k words | Rating: E

Tags/CW: Role reversal no upside down AU with some canon divergence, Jock/Track Star!Eddie, Metalhead/drug dealer!Steve, appalachian Eddie, confident bisexual Steve, Eddie has a sexuality crisis but is in denial, Eddie's sleeping mind decides to take matters into its own hands, wet dream (contains spanking and public humiliation), running of both the literal and metaphorical kind, child abuse referenced indirectly (physical beatings that happened in the past)

Read now on Ao3, and be sure to read @little-annie's Part 2 from Steve's POV, "Metal Health will Drive you Mad"

The sex dream within this fic is brought to you by the Week 4 prompt "slap" of the @steddiesmuttyseptember event

Eddie was always a runner. If you asked Wayne, he apparently skipped straight from crawling to toddling around as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. When he got older, it was a release valve, for everything and anything shitty in his life.

He didn’t have to think about his mom pulling a disappearing act, or his dad getting himself arrested (again). The world would narrow until the only sounds he could hear were the rushing in his ears and the smack of his sneakers on pavement.

Running had brought him to where he was now, as he clawed his way up the proverbial high school ranks. Anyone at this party would look at him and only see the triumphant senior captain of the track team, fresh off a successful meet. Every keg stand, every heroic retelling of a close race, every sloppy makeout session with a cheerleader, kept the attention on the Eddie of the present. 

No one needed to remember the wide-eyed weirdo with patched baggy clothes, nearly ten when his classmates would only turn nine that year.

All around him, the crowd ebbed and flowed between the alcohol and the bonfire, the flickering flames and shadows making it hard to tell who was who. Someone stumbled into Eddie, breaking him out of his brooding.

“Whoops, sorry Eddie! Guess I’ll have to make it up to you later.” Before he could say anything, the giggling cheerleader pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. (He knew he went on a date with her about a month ago, but her name eluded him. Tina, maybe, or Vicki?)

He forced a grin back. “Of course you didn’t mean it sugar. Gonna hold you to that ‘kay?”

The girl possibly named Tina swooned at the tiny bit of accent he'd carefully slipped in. Just a touch could be charming to the fine folks of the Midwest, even if what he ended up using was way less Appalachian hick and more refined Southern gentleman than his momma's family had ever spoken in their lives.

As soon as her back was turned, he let the smile slide off. His post-meet high wore off too quickly tonight, and it left him well, twitchy.

An arm slung itself over his shoulder. "Ed my man, this party is wild! Your best work yet dude." Tommy grinned at him, already drunk. Neither of them commented on how close Tommy was pressing himself into Eddie. Or how Eddie wasn't quite moving away. But then again, the two of them had perfected the art of leaving things unsaid after what happened sophomore year, how close they had come to—no.

"Heh, yeah. Hey, where's Carol? She's gonna be pissed you abandoned her."

"Please, Carol's fine. She's busy talking with Lisa Carmichael. Speaking of which, she's really into you. Come on, get your dick wet, you deserve it after that 800 meter. We're fucking going to states!" His last sentence was said much louder, and a chorus of cheers and whoops predictably echoed back from celebratory partygoers. The twitchiness grew.

"I dunno man, not really feeling it tonight." Eddie tried to subtly back up a little bit, but Tommy just swayed forward into his space again.

“Trust me, you won’t be feeling like that when you're balls deep in a nice tight—"

"Tommy will you just fucking stop? What's with your obsession with my dick huh?"

A look of fear and hurt flashed across Tommy's face for a second, before it was replaced with a scowl. Fuck that was the wrong thing to say and danced way too close to the thoughts about—nope, they were not gonna talk about that.

Eddie carefully pat Tommy on the shoulder instead of thinking. "Shit sorry, it's fine, you're just looking out for me, right? I appreciate it, just not uh, really in the partying mood for some reason." 

Tommy managed to recover his grin. "Oh, duh, why didn't you say so? That fucking freak Harrington finally showed up about thirty minutes ago. Sure he's got something that'll make you unwind a bit. Here, have one on me.”

Eddie wanted to snap that he didn’t need pity money. He got the kegs supplied just fine on his own, hadn’t he? But Tommy was still holding himself tensely several steps away. Tommy, who in sixth grade biked over every other day even after his parents had told him to stay away from the trailer park. Who “accidentally” always had a second pudding cup tucked in with his lunch for sharing. Whose summertime freckles were just starting to fade but Eddie knew still trailed down all the way to his—. 

Besides, maybe weed would take the edge off whatever ugly thing kept rearing its insistent head inside him tonight. Help him forget about the looming pressures of the future and the things he wasn’t going to think about, help him feel normal again.

“Thanks Tommy, I’ll try and relax.” Eddie grabbed the money and set off down the path towards Skull Rock, where Harrington always held court. The chill wind rustling through the trees was a welcome respite to his overheated skin.

The walk over to the next clearing was only a few minutes, but by the time Eddie came upon it, the thrum of bass and general teenage debauchery had faded into a low murmur.

Instead, Skull Rock reverberated with the sound of tapping and gentle humming. Eddie’s heart picked up a little.

Steve Harrington made him nervous. It wasn’t necessarily how loud the guy was. Eddie could understand the need to fill a room up. He could vaguely remember a quieter pre-pubescent Harrington before his dramatic transformation, dressed in tiny polos and khakis and halfheartedly kicking around a soccer ball. Now, his entire wardrobe consisted solely of black and red accented with flashy gold rings. The thick combat boots he wore constantly made him tower over everyone else, and the ever-growing collection of tattoos scattered on his body thoroughly scandalized each and every teacher. What they all meant was a perennial topic of discussion amongst the student body.

A voice echoed down from one of the boulders: “Oh hey, look who showed up, it’s Eddie Munson himself! Heard from your sidekick Hagan you’re the reason Hawkins is going to States.”

Steve was stretched out, lounging on the top of the rock, a pair of drumsticks held loosely in one hand.

“Yup, we are. First time in five years actually.” The state championships. There would be college recruiters there, and with them the promise of scholarships that’d get him out of this town. Somewhere far away from the looming threat of the plant bending his back prematurely like it had Wayne’s. Somewhere no one had heard the name of Al Munson.

“Well then.” Steve practically purred as he smoothly jumped down to the ground. He gave his drumsticks a twirl before stashing them in his pocket. “You sure got ‘em, didn’t you Tiger.”

Yeah, there it was. Seemed like sometimes, Harrington could see right through him, like he knew about how his thoughts occasionally strayed to—nope.

Eddie crossed his arms and tried to keep his face neutral. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t you know it’s polite to thank someone when they compliment you?” Steve’s eyes sparkled with amusement. The fucker was toying with him. Worse, he was enjoying it.

Summoning every ounce of cockiness he possessed, Eddie stood up straight. Sure, this close Harrington had several inches on him, but it didn’t matter. Only one of them could throw the party of the year, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the unpopular weirdo in front of him.

“Shouldn’t you be the one thanking me? I let you sell your shit at my party.”

“Got a mouth on you, don’t you.” Steve smirked. “Tell me Munson, what’s stopping me from taking my goodies to, say, the basketball team’s next rager and skipping out on your little get together entirely? Don’t have to dirty my shoes at their parties. They choose to host at a house.”

Eddie gritted his teeth. “Hey fuck you man, not all of us have—”

“Didn’t say I minded,” Steve plowed on, interrupting him. “Maybe I like the fresh air and the…view. Just like to enjoy them peacefully.” He stood there with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in expectation.

Eddie could feel his face flushing but he held his ground. “Never stopped you from helping yourself to our beer.”

“Free shitty beer, just what I look forward to.” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “I gotta say, wasn’t really expecting you to come here. Don’t you usually send someone else to get your fix?”

Eddie shrugged. “Needed a change. And we both know you overcharge Tommy.”

“You’re not wrong about that.” Steve barked out a laugh. “But he deserves the asshole tax. Just weed for you tonight? There’s all kinds of ways to unwind if your usual methods are leaving you…unsatisfied there Munson.”

Vividly, Eddie was reminded of the graffiti scribbled on the walls above the urinals near the gym: Score a touchdown, then score with SH. More often than not, Steve could be found spectating the games, quietly dealing underneath the bleachers. On occasion, one girl or another could be seen emerging from underneath and brushing dirt off her skirt. But there was that other rumor, one that no guy would ever admit to having personal experience with. That if you won, Harrington would give anyone weed for free if they got on their knees for him and—woah there. What was wrong with him tonight?

“Th-think the weed is jus’ fine, ain’t lookin’ for much else.” he stammered out. Shit, why did his accent have to slip now of all times? “I mean, weed is all I need. Those fucking pricks from Greencastle got under my skin.” Assholes thought they were so big, mocking his out of style sneakers. Those shoes hadn't stopped him from shaving half a second off the regional record, but he couldn't help but still feel the barbs from their insults lodged under his skin, festering.

Steve cocked his head as he stared at Eddie with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally he broke into a disarming smile. Eddie couldn’t remember ever seeing Steve sincerely express happiness, at least not from this distance. He would have remembered how prett—how his eyes lit up.

“I’m in a band you know. Pierced Scepter. We play down at this shitty dive bar and yeah, usually it’s a crowd of four drunks and the bartender, but it doesn’t matter. Being on any stage is…fuck it’s awesome. But sometimes it’s a little too much to just pack it all up right after. So I come out here to scream my head off, get it all out. Better off terrorizing the birds than picking fights when my parents are around.” Steve unconsciously rubbed his palm as he laughed humorlessly. “Saves on the screaming matches at home and the. Well.”

“Didn’t realize rich folks got their own hands dirty like that.” Carol’s parents had left the task of punishment to her nanny, preferring to swoop in with carrots after the stick had been administered.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure my dad would say something about how ‘real men are responsible for disciplining their kids so they don’t get soft.’ Though what he considers ‘soft’ changes a lot based on his mood. And whether he’s wearing a belt or suspenders that day.”

“G-d, who knew our dads have something in common then?” Eddie snorted. “Never could keep my old man happy, was always doing something wrong. He took the belt to me so often in third grade I barely could sit down the whole year.” His first time in third grade anyway, the one before he was whisked away to the safe haven of Wayne’s trailer.

“And…I have absolutely no idea why I told you that.” He barely talked about his dad to Tommy and Carol for crying out loud. On visitor’s days he always made up some lie about why he and Wayne were driving close to the state penitentiary.

Steve let out a weird little braying bark of a laugh and shuffled his feet. “Right, you didn’t come here to cry over our daddy issues. Gimme a sec to get your stuff.” Steve reached behind to grab the lunchbox he carried his goods around in. As he did, his jacket slid open enough to show the exposed line of his clavicle above the low-cut collar of his tee. Eddie swallowed hard. Against his will, his eyes dipped lower, noticing a design over the top of his pec in black ink. Oh, a new tattoo.

Eddie squinted trying to make out what it was. “It’s been a while since you gave O’Donnell a reason to lecture us on the ‘decaying morality of the modern day.’ Is that a two headed monkey?”

Delight flickered over Steve’s face. “This? Yeah, it’s new. Supposed to be Demogorgon, the ‘Prince of Demons.’” At Eddie’s blank look he chuckled. “He’s a monster from Dungeons and Dragons, you know, the fantasy game we play in Hellfire Club. It was the final battle of a months long campaign and our characters were trying to escape Demogorgon’s lair. Most of the party was close to death, but at a chokepoint, my character took a last stand and gave the others enough time to escape. Everyone else got out, even if the bastard got me in the end. So, I got this as a tribute to my character's sacrifice.”

Eddie spoke without thinking. “Oh, that’s kind of similar to what Gandalf did: facing off against the Balrog to save the rest of the Fellowship.”

Forget fleeting glimpses of real smiles. The look of surprise Steve gave him was almost comically out of place on his face. “You’ve read Lord of the Rings?”

“While ago, yeah. The Hobbit too.” Back when he first moved in with Wayne, the man had found an absolutely beautiful illustrated set at a rummage sale. Eddie smiled to himself, remembering how excited he’d been to get his first real present ever. “Spent a whole summer running around during the day, then staying up way too late reading all night. My uncle had to confiscate my flashlight eventually.”

A snort from Steve jolted Eddie out of his memories as he realized who he was talking to. “Don’t tell anyone that Harrington, or else,” he ordered as he flushed for the second time that evening, “The rest of your dorky club of nerds better not start bothering me in the hallway just because I’ve read Tolkien. Not going to step in to save them if they forget their place.”

Steve’s expression shuttered as he stood upright. “Right, wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation with the rest of your jock buddies.” Eddie was taken aback by the bitterness in Steve’s voice. “They might explode if you admit to having interests beyond banging chicks, sports magazines, and beer. Your secret’s safe with me. After all, who’s going to believe the Freakshow? Here.” He shoved a baggie in Eddie’s face. “That should be enough for about a week. Now get lost before I double the price.”

Eddie opened his mouth to apologize. But the artificial sneer on Steve’s face made him lose his nerve. He just held out his money as he snatched away the weed. “Thanks, uh, have a good night Harrington. Help yourself to something from the kegs.” He almost made it to the edge of the trees before Steve’s voice called out to him: “Hey, Munson!” 

He froze and turned. Steve had clambered back onto Skull Rock, moonlight and shadows making him look otherworldly and malevolent, towering over the clearing. “Keep that attitude of yours in check next time, or else I might take my services somewhere else. But, if you need more help…unwinding, well. You know where to find me.” That knowing smirk was firmly fixed back in place on his face. 

Eddie couldn’t help it. He finally gave into his impulses and ran.

He didn’t think about those plush lips drawn back into a genuine smile as he quickly navigated back to the party. He didn’t think about those amused eyes seeing right through him as he knocked back a few cups of beer and danced a little with anyone and no one. And he certainly wasn’t thinking about that tattoo surrounded by chest hair as he staggered home to an empty trailer and collapsed into his bed.

“You look so good there, kneeling for me Eddie.” Steve looms over him, those ringed hands on his hips. Eddie realizes he’s naked in the clearing and flushes with embarrassment. When did he take off his clothes?

Any thoughts on how he ended up here are derailed when the wind caresses his body. Oh. Tendrils of air race over his exposed chest and glide over his heavy balls and dripping cock. 

“And look how much you’re enjoying it too.” He’s never been this turned on in his life, and it’s all because of Steve. All for Steve. He’s powerless to prevent a moan from falling out of his mouth. 

“You act so big at school, like you’re the top of the food chain yeah? A real king of the jungle. But you and me, we know better. You’re not a scary tiger at all are you. No, you’re just a cute little kitten.”

Eddie can’t help but whine as he spreads himself wider in invitation.

“Yeah, thought you’d like that.” Steve crooks a finger and gestures for Eddie to follow him. “Come on kitten.” Eddie begins to get up, his legs tingling with pins and needles.

“Mhm, no. I like you better down there. In fact, I think you should crawl.”

He shudders but obeys the sound of that voice, would do anything for it. He stays on all fours as the path unwinds before them, until they come to a door. Eddie moves as fast as he can to follow Steve through, tumbling into the void within. He flails, plummeting until a familiar wax-polished wood rushes up to meet his palms. Eddie doesn’t dare get up from his hands and knees as he lifts his head but-

The gym is filled to the brim. 

Their classmates sit silently, blank looks on their faces as they stare. They’re waiting for something to happen. White hot shame courses through his veins as he desperately tries to cover up.

The voice cuts smoothly through the haze of his embarrassment: “Look at them kitten, they’re all waiting for a show. Let’s give one to them.”

Steve nudges him onto his back. He grabs his wrists and pulls them away from his body, exposing Eddie to the crowd. No! His face is on fire as he tries to fight it, but he can’t seem to break free, his strength sapped away. Steve tightens his hold on his wrists.

“Settle down Eddie, let them see you. You love this.”

He knows Steve is right. He can’t hide how hard his aching cock is, slapping against his belly as he squirms. But he can’t help it, they’ll all know. Faint whispers drift down from the stands as the crowd watches him struggle.

“Please, don’t make me do this,” he begs, but the words get caught in his choked up throat.

“I think you’ve forgotten your place. Maybe you need a reminder that you can’t hide, not from me.”

Steve hauls him up and easily slings him over a shoulder. Eddie lays there limply, frozen and whimpering. He’s unceremoniously dumped on top of a teacher’s desk right at the center line.  Hands come up to squeeze at his nipples, hard. Just the way he does when he’s alone. His cock twitches and drools even more from the groping. 

Eddie blinks, and suddenly the bleachers are that much closer.

“Be happy kitten, all the attention is on you! Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” Oh G-d. Every eye is fixed on him, the buzzing of interest growing louder.

“No, I don’t want this, I don’t want you!” He shouts as loud as he can but the words come out muted and garbled.

Steve barks out a cruel laugh. “God, you’re pathetic. But then you’ve always been so good at lying to yourself haven’t you? You were the one who kissed Tommy, not the other way around. But when he went in for more, you pushed him off and ran away.”

Through the blur of tears, he can just make out Tommy’s face in the crowd, wearing the same accusatory and hurt look he had two years ago.

Steve leans down to nibble at his ear. “And,” he whispers, his voice silky smooth. “Let’s not forget how in the back of your head you imagine me shoving you against a locker and making you take it. Or sometimes, I threaten you with my knife a little out in the woods, yeah?”

Without warning, Eddie is manhandled over Steve’s lap. “Good news, guess today’s your lucky day kitten. I’m going to make you take it until you admit to everyone what you really want.”

SMACK!

The first slap to his ass sounds loudly, echoing around the gym. Eddie nearly swallows his tongue trying to keep quiet. The spectators in the stands let out a gasp for him.

But Steve doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, until Eddie feels like his ass is on fire.

He finds himself pleading for Steve to have mercy, slipping back into the accent he tries so hard to keep a lid on normally.

“Ha, there he is, finally. You can dress yourself up in a varsity jacket all you want, but we all know what you really are. Just a piece of trailer trash. You can’t run from this you dumb hick. Tell me what I want to hear.”

Eddie shakes his head. He can’t. “Fine, then take your punishment.”

Smack after smack rains down on his ass. The pain builds and builds, and the crowd gets louder and louder. But underneath the humiliation, he remains hard and grows even more desperate. Every slap sends him thrusting, his cock trapped between Steve’s muscular thighs. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Ha! And you jocks call me the freak. You’re the one humping my leg and yowling like you’re in heat. Pain turn you on kitten?”

That’s all it takes to push him over the edge. 

He cums to the sound of cheers.

Eddie woke with a jolt and a gasp, his whole body pulsing in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced. 

Trembling, he curled up into a ball and let the tears fall. This was nothing, just a passing thought his brain had gotten attached to. All he had to do was survive the year, and then he could be finally free of Hawkins, and the living ghosts that haunted him.

If only that had been the last time he dreamed of Steve Harrington.

Two weeks later, Eddie woke with a fuzzy head and even fuzzier memories of the night before, vaguely remembering a ringed hand stroking his hair. On his nightstand was a glass of water, some Tylenol, and a note from SH telling him to take it easy. 

After that his dreams changed. Sometimes he wasn’t humiliated at all, and those tattooed arms kept him safe and cared for. It felt worse almost, to have his subconscious offer up such happiness, only to snatch it away when he woke to an empty bed. He didn’t dare spend the night in the arms of a girl at her house, worried he’d reveal himself for the freak he was.

A full month of torment and countless hours of lost slumber later, Eddie finally had had enough. He grabbed his keys and tore off in the direction of Steve's house, praying that Carol wouldn't see his van in her neighbor's driveway at this time of night.

As he rang the doorbell, he didn’t know what to expect. But it certainly wasn’t the sight of a sleep rumpled Steve answering the door in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Somehow, seeing his bare hands felt more intimate than the lack of shirt did.

“Munson? Gave me a heart attack, thought my parents were back a day early. What are you—”

“Hey,” Eddie interrupted, wide-eyed and feeling slightly crazed. “Can we talk?”

Ao3 link

It's finally here! This began life as a brain worm that Annie and I have turned into a whole fully expanded universe. We can't wait to write more with these two :D

Tagging a few folks who showed interest in the original Wiggly Wednesday post (but please feel free to ignore): @eyesofshinigami @augustjustice @griefabyss69 @hairstevington

@dreamy-jeans137 @eriquin @hbyrde36 @hotluncheddie

Thank you to steddiecameraroll-graphics for the runner divider!