#trying line art again for the first time in a million years

[redsea8me]

Bumblebee I do not think that is Ratchet 😭

[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.

[amyispxnk]

My Kind of Woman

Chapter 1: Special.

Series Masterlist

Series summary - Your song captivates Joel the second he hears you that night in Jackson, but he struggles to work up the courage to confess his feelings. With some (very heavy) encouragement from Ellie and Tommy, you two get closer and closer until he finally thinks he’s ready.

Chapter summary - You and Joel finally sit down together after a year of stolen glances.

A/N: OH MY GOD IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I’VE WRITTEN A FIC I MISSED IT SM. Let’s all collectively pray that I actually finish this series, btw. It kind of just came to me earlier today and I barely have anything planned but.. you know me by now.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: alcohol, light language, (kind of) fluff, nothing much really in this chapter

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

“Come on man. We’ve been here for almost two years and you still haven’t made any friends. I see how you look at her- just say something! It is actual torture having to watch you dance around people like this.” Ellie groans dramatically, trying to kick some sense into the man who sits across from her. Joel just grunts, continuing to eat his stew as she looks blankly at him. “She’s nice enough.” She adds after a moment, trying to get him to say something.

After more silence, she speaks again with an exaggerated sigh, “I guess I’ll just go talk to her then, tell her that my old man has a big, fat crush on her. Maybe then you two can-” her smirk falters when Joel interrupts her.

“Don’t you dare go doin’ that,” he grumbles “Y’ gon’ make me look stupid-”

“So you talk to her then! Stop moping around all the time.” Ellie concludes, before standing up and saying goodbye, going to clear her tray and giving him a look before leaving the mess hall.

Joel watches her go before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. First, Tommy was on his ass about making some friends - “You’re scarin’ people, y’know. Givin’ everyone death stares when you walk around, being so.. withdrawn all the time. It’d do ya some good,” he’d told Joel one evening at the Tipsy Bison - and now Ellie was too. And, knowing Ellie, that kid wouldn’t be as patient, probably already concocting some sort of plan to force you and Joel together.

As he leans his head back and mulls over his options, he looks out the window. Of course you’re out there, playing with the kids of Jackson. You’re one of the most popular people in Jackson, always being friendly and knowing just about everyone.

..Except him, of course. You’ve had some small chats with him, but you never really see him. He sees you though, having been.. observing you for the past year, keeping his distance - being respectful, in his eyes, being a wuss, in Ellie’s - and he knows enough about you to know that he probably has no chance with you.

You’re funny, sweet, fucking stunning, and he’s seen multiple guys try to approach you at the bar. Younger, more attractive guys. Mainly, you help teach kids things like art and music at the Jackson school, and you also do patrols a few times a week. On some nights you also sing at the Tipsy Bison when there are events and dances. The band will play, often with you as the lead singer. He always makes sure he’s there when you are.

The first time he saw you was on one of his very first nights in the Tipsy Bison. Tommy had dragged him along, Ellie going too, with promise of a fun night.

He came mainly to keep an eye on Ellie and to get some alcohol in his system, not expecting anything ‘fun’ to happen. Boy, was he wrong.

It had been around half an hour of him nursing his whiskey in the corner of the room when you came onto stage, million-dollar smile on your face as you spoke into the microphone.

“Good evening, Jackson!” You began, already getting a loud cheer from the crowd of people there that night. “It’s great to be singin’ for you again, you know I missed ya! Now, tonight, we got a few songs lined up, but this first one is a special request from Mister Tommy Miller over there!” You had said, pointing over to Tommy who was sitting with Joel, the younger brother grinning widely at you.

The band started and you began to sing one of Joel’s favourite songs from before the outbreak - somehow, it sounded even better in your voice. Joel glared at Tommy when he realised what he had done, and Tommy just shrugged before looking back at you. He couldn’t stay mad at him though, because by the end of it he was entranced by the sweet melody of your voice and how gorgeous you looked singing your heart out under the lights.

You were beaming at the audience after finishing as they showered you with applause, though it took Joel a second to actually start clapping and stop staring at you.

He tried denying it, but, as cheesy as it sounds, it was love at first sight for him.

It scared him, definitely. It had barely been a year since he lost Tess, and although he wouldn’t go as far as saying they were in love, it was the closest thing he’d had to it in decades. To think he even liked you from just hearing you sing one song.. that fucking terrified him.

Which is why he kept his distance for so long. He didn’t know what to do with himself when he realised he actually liked you. He hadn’t had any sort of connection other than Ellie and Tommy in so long, and they were his family. You, though.. you were so different.

He sighed deeply before opening his eyes again, finishing his meal as he watched you smile and laugh in the snow through the window.

A week later, Tommy manages to convince Joel to come to the Tipsy Bison again, promising ‘no funny business’ to go on. Joel isn’t sure he’d really mind.

Time goes by quietly, a simple Monday afternoon not having much going on for them, but then you turn up. He sees you as soon as you walk through the doors, an unfamiliar tiredness in your eyes. It looks like you’ve been on a long patrol.

You look around before noticing Tommy and Joel, walking over with a small smile.

Joel stares daggers at Tommy. “You said no funny business,” he grits, a strange panic flooding his system. Did he brush his hair this morning? Do his clothes look tidy? Did he have anything in his teeth?

“Ain’t no funny business here, brother.” Tommy grins at him, not giving him a chance to reply as you get to their table.

“Hi Tommy!” You smile, hugging him before turning to Joel. “And Joel! It’s so great to see you!”

Joel blinks at you. Fuck, you’re talking to him. He needs to say something back.

“Yeah, you too.” He mumbles, clearing his throat awkwardly.

If you pick up on his discomfort, you don’t mention it, looking around before continuing.

“Are y’all stayin’?” You ask, now leaning forward a little with your palms on the table.

“As far as I’m concerned.” Tommy replies, to which you nod. “Y’ wouldn’t mind if I sit with ya, then?” You ask.

“Not at all, darlin’.” He says, and you slide into the booth with them, starting up a conversation about what you did today, mentioning that draining patrol you just got back from.

“I’m tellin’ ya - morning patrols are like hell on earth, Tommy. ‘S not fair to be makin’ us go out at 6 am.” You groan, to which he smiles. “Nothin’ a little coffee can’t fix.” Tommy replies, which makes you perk up.

“You have coffee? Since when?” You gasp, wide-eyed at him.

“New trade opened, and since Joel here is such an addict, we got our hands on some.” He gestures to Joel, and you look over at him, a smile creeping onto your face.

“I see.. being Tommy’s brother has its perks then? Got you hoarding all the coffee for yourself?” You tease, to which Joel chuckles quietly at, sitting up a little taller.

“Not hoardin’. Nobody else has asked for any.” He tells you, looking into your eyes and trying not to get lost in them for too long.

“And if I wanted some?” You say, tilting your head sideways slightly as it rests on your palm.

“Y’ always welcome to come get some, sweetheart.” He isn’t sure what possessed him to use the pet name with you, but he’s very thankful for it as a soft crimson paints your cheeks and you bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. “Well, thank you.” You reply, before a man comes over to get you your drink. “Whiskey, neat please.” You tell him and he goes off to get it. Joel is pleasantly surprised by your choice. He never really thought about what you might order from the bar, but the fact that you shared the same drink of choice made you even more attractive in his eyes.

2 hours later, Tommy had gone off to handle an issue with the council and you and Joel had been talking and drinking and laughing. It’s around 3 now and he barely realises in time for his afternoon patrol, finishing off his whiskey before telling you, noticing the slight sadness that appears on your face at him having to go.

“Oh! Alright then. I’ll see you around. Have a good patrol, Joel.” You smile at him, and he offers you a small smile back.

“See ya ‘round.” He says before leaving and going back to the stables.

Later that evening, Ellie somehow figures out what went down earlier at the bar (Joel’s already planning on giving Tommy a talking to tomorrow) and makes fun of him endlessly for it, saying that he was apparently so shy when he was talking with you.

“I’d have never thought that someone could make the big, bad Joel all nervous and flustered, but she just continues to prove me wrong. She’s definitely special, huh.” Ellie grins, before bidding Joel goodnight and leaving him with his thoughts.

He hated to admit it, but Ellie was right in saying that. You were special.

Tysm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! 💞

Next Chapter

[brotherwtf]

You knew this was coming.

How about a Gale POV about Fem!Bucky? Whether that first date or just in general. We know he's losing his mind over big, beautiful Bucky, and we need more simp Gale in our lives tbh.

Gale is the most down bad guy to walk the earth God love him for it though

----

Gale couldn't believe Bucky had agreed to a second date. He could barely believe she agreed on a first date to begin with and he was already reeling from the implications.

He couldn't possibly believe that she let him kiss her, not in a million years.

But God, Gale couldn't get her out of his head, she walked past him everyday during the lecture, smiled that charming smile that lit up her entire face, tucked her hair behind her ears to show off her beautiful face, Gale looked out for her every morning and felt embarrassingly sad when Bucky didn't show up.

Bucky was formidable, almost. She was the tallest girl Gale had ever seen, extremely athletic and strong with a strong glare for any person who got in her way. Her hair flowed in waves down onto her shoulder and Gale was glad that she sat behind him because he wouldn't be able to keep her eyes off of her even if he tried.

Bucky was stunning, and Gale couldn't believe that someone as wonderful as her even gave Gale a wayward glance, much less a kiss and a second date.

His hands shook the entire time during their conversation in the park, he wanted to kiss her so bad but he didn't want to ruin anything between them, didn't want to lose Bucky's smile by fucking up one little thing. And so when she leaned back into the kiss and grabbed onto Gale's hand, smiled that damn smile again, Gale couldn't have been more elated.

Their second date was a little more formal, an art exhibit that was rolling through town that Gale had commented on and Bucky insisted they should go visit, causing Gale to blush and try to hide a smile behind his hands. It didn't work and Bucky smiled fondly at him, casually across the lunch table.

Gale stood at the entrance to the museum, nervously fixing his slacks and blue button up, running his hands through his hair so it stayed out of the way. He was fidgeting. He knew he was.

When he saw Bucky he could feel the breath get punched out of him. The sun dress she had worn for their first date was cute, but this dress was stunning. A black, sleeveless dress that fell to his knees, a pair of black boots to make it a little more casual, her hair pulled out of her face with a headband. Gale couldn't stop looking at her. He was speechless.

Bucky wasn't that much taller than him, but she was taller than him so Gale always had to flick his eyes up slightly to make eye contact with her, and he could see the slight pink on her cheeks when he laid eyes on her.

"You look great," Gale says, smiling and huffing out a laugh. He wanted to write a poem about her beauty, a sonnet or a thesis paper about the way her hair fell onto her shoulders, but his mouth went dry just by looking at her.

Bucky smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear and nodding towards the entrance.

"I'm not really used to this high life stuff. If it was up to me we'd only go to baseball games or something," Bucky admits as they walk inside.

Gale shrugs his shoulders, walking alongside her up the stairs towards the exhibit.

"We can do that next time," Gale says and the words hang in the air.

Next time. That means Bucky would have to want there to be a next time, which was still up in the air.

Bucky smiles brightly at him.

"Yeah, we'll go next time," She says, keeping her eyes locked with Gale's as they wait in the line to get into the exhibit.

The exhibit is nice, pleasant with dark lights and the quiet sound of music overlaying it all, but Gale can't concentrate on the art. All he can look at is Bucky as she points out things she finds funny about each of the pieces or an artist's name, asks Gale what each of them mean and which one is his favorite. Gale responds in stride, bravely putting his hand on the small of her back to point something out on the painting, a detail he likes or pointing out where the artist is from.

Towards the end of the exhibit, Bucky carefully links her hand into Gale's nonchalantly, continuing with her jokes and unhelpful commentary as Gale follows behind her, a stupid smile on his face at how Bucky is holding his hand.

They find themselves wandering again after leaving the museum, Bucky talking animatedly about an art class she took in middle school and Gale listens fervently, hanging on every word. They walk all the way back to their apartment, but not before Bucky pulls some animated discussions about the exhibit from Gale. They held hands the entire way home.

"I'll see if I can get cheap tickets for a baseball game this weekend and I can take you," Bucky concludes when they reach her door and Gale can feel his stomach flutter again.

"Of course, Bucky," Gale says with a smile, and he works up the courage to press a kiss to the back of her hand.

Bucky balks at him for a moment before she grabs the back of his head and brings him in for a proper kiss, one that makes Gale's shoulders relax. He runs a hand up her arm, squeezing her shoulder as he kisses her gently, unhurried. It's sweet again, but it still makes Gale's heart pound like no other.

Gale pulls away first and smiles a little stupidly at her, realizing he's smudged her pink lipstick a little bit. He reaches a hand forward and fixes it with his thumb, smiling at her again. Bucky flushes pink, tucking her hair behind her ear again and presses another quick kiss to Gales lips.

"I'll text you, okay? See you in class, Gale. I really like doing this with you," Bucky admits, a slow blush creeping over her cheeks again.

Gale smiles and nods, wishing Bucky a good night before she closes the door on him.

He never even expected a second date, and now he's kissed her twice and is getting a third. Gale was on cloud nine right now.

[walkingnearfoxes]

The Space Between the Lines (Homelander x Reader) - Chapter 1

2.4k words. Teacher Reader. Homelander in an undefined part of the canon timeline. SFW.

There are a dozen teachers who would kill for this job. You’re just not sure that you’re one of them.

(This is so self-indulgent and also my first time sharing any sort of fanfiction with the world. Hope it brings someone some joy :) )

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

The penthouse is unsettling. Something about the furniture arrangement, the way the bright windows reflect off of each piece and refract off one another, feels very fake. You wouldn't be surprised to see this exact setup in a magazine if not for the obsessive amount of American memorabilia surrounding it. The massive flag covering half the windows gives an ominous warning rather than patriotism; it casts half of the space into shadow. To keep yourself from turning and running out the door, you decide to focus on a single portrait of the many spanning the walls. You can pretend to be in an art museum, immersing yourself in your country's history rather than standing in this nationalist shell of a home.

Your eyes land on a painting of George Washington. It comes with a golden plaque on the bottom to detail the year of completion and the artist. Charles Willson Peale. You don't recognize the name, but you know you've seen the painting a dozen times over in your history textbooks. George casually leans against a cannon, a ghost of a smile on his lips to celebrate his victory in the Battle of Trenton. There is something about his posture that catches your attention. While he stands with authority, he is a bit slouched. Is he leaning against the cannon to show us his power, or is the man just exhausted?

You are no art expert, but it certainly looks authentic. Curious, you pull your phone out of your pocket and search for details on the piece. Sure enough, you find an article describing Vought's agreement to take the piece off the Met's hands - for a mere 21.1 million dollars.

You huff a quiet laugh at the number. "Jesus Christ."

"Not quite."

Your stomach lurches into your mouth. With a squeak at a pitch you didn’t even know you could reach, you spin on your heel. You usually are quite vigilant to noises around you, but this smooth voice crept up on you without a single warning. Then again, you had never had a super try to sneak up on you - let alone the most dangerous one.

The Homelander in all of his red, white and blue glory. You grew up seeing his sharp grin in every corner of your childhood. Vought movie marathons with friends, posters along the city streets, even on the lunch boxes of your old students - the blue-eyed hero was everywhere. Seeing him in person was something else entirely. He wasn't quite as tall as you imagined, but he made up for that in his stature. He stood with his hands folded behind his back, his posture perfect, a curious smile on his lips. Everything about him was pristine - almost too pristine. It made him look right at home.

You took a moment to let your pulse slow and find the ability to speak. "I'm so sorry, sir."

His grin grows, and you can't shake the image of a shark from your brain. "Please, Homelander is fine.”

Is it?

You tighten your grip on the heavy backpack you brought with you. The shaking Vought assistant that found you in the lobby and directed you to the penthouse had done little to settle your frazzled nerves. She was very good at telling you what you weren't supposed to do but had forgotten to tell you what you should do upon meeting the Homelander - hence your wandering around the artwork. You swallow and gesture awkwardly at the wall of paintings. "This is an amazing display."

"You like it?" He takes a step forward with his hands still clasped behind him. His eyes drift along the walls and he sighs proudly. "It's come together over the years. Think I'll need to add some more recent ones."

You glance back at the rest of the apartment. "Does Ryan like history?"

He looks at you from the corner of those bright blue eyes. "Right to business, huh?"

Your spine stiffens. "Oh, I didn't...I just meant-"

"Relax," He chuckles with a wave of his gloved hand. "I like it. Take a breath. Your poor heart is overexerting itself."

Before you can react, his fingers press under the strap of your backpack. He slips it off of you like he is picking up a piece of paper, and not a bag weighing you down with three separate textbooks, two novels and a packet of paper. Still, he chuckles. "Damn. You bring the whole library with you?"

Relieved of the backpack that undoubtedly left an indent in your skin, you rub carefully at your shoulder. "I wanted to make sure we had options."

He hums in acknowledgment and places your backpack on the small table at the center of the living room. He opens it without looking back up at you - your hand twitches at your side - and he analyzes your collection.

"Interesting..." He murmurs, and you have a hard time deciphering whether that's a good or bad thing. “All of these are Vought approved?"

Before you can answer, he snorts a laugh and pulls out the hefty social studies curriculum Vought had given you. It’s a mess of highlights, notes, and underlines you blessed it with over the last few weeks. "Well, someone has done their homework...no wonder they picked you."

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Picked" is a strong word. Sure, you had noticed the web postings for private teachers at Vought, but your red flag censors had gone off immediately. For one, the salary was absurd. It was more money than a dozen teachers at your old school made combined. It was a tempting fantasy until you read the rest of the post. Something about it was concerningly vague. While most of the postings read as a regular teacher job, it never explained who you would be teaching. As far as you knew, Vought wasn't starting up schools; they had enough control over kids through every other avenue. So who, exactly, was this lucky rich teacher going to educate? Your instincts flared, and you clicked off to another posting.

But then Vought found you.

You were selected for a teacher's award the past fall, granting you an unexpected spotlight. It proved to be a very mixed blessing. It gave you a stipend to keep up the rent payments - a teacher attempting to live in Manhattan was no easy feat - and a fancy trophy to impress your family, but it also put a target on your back. Teachers with decades more experience than you gave shifty stares along with their congratulations, and it wasn't long before you felt ostracized enough to turn down your school's polite offer to return the following year. Vought was there in moments with a phone call and a salary that was suddenly hard to refuse - and when you made the mistake of talking to your mother about it, it was all over. It was only after taking the job that you were told you would be privately teaching Ryan Butcher - the Homelander’s son. And here you were.

You smile politely. "I'm told I wasn't the first teacher, sir."

He arches a perfectly blonde brow.

"...Homelander."

"There ya go," His smile never fades as he puts your hefty collection of books down on the table, adjusting them to make a perfectly straight tower. “But you're right. You're not the first. Or the tenth."

You blink. "Oh...may I ask why?"

He looks back up at you and says nothing for a moment. You get the impression that he is analyzing you, and you do your best not to shift. You were never enough of a Vought fanatic growing up to remember the full extent of his abilities, but you vaguely recall that he could see through anything except zinc. What exactly was he looking at with you?

He seemed to approve of whatever it was, for he saunters towards you with a smile. "Ryan is...brilliant. Brilliant," He explains - and you note that when talking about his son, there's a sparkle in his eye that's real. "But...therein lies the problem. It only took about a lesson or two before I could see it wasn't a good fit."

So he watches the lessons. You file that away before replying, "He was too smart for them?"

He raises his hands as in those perfectly red gloves. "I am in awe of what teachers like yourselves can do," he says with a chuckle. “You're the real heroes, slaving away to mold the brains of our next generation."

"...but?"

"But the lessons these people come up with," He says with a laugh of disbelief. "You wouldn't believe the bull-...the stuff they tried to tell my son. I finally had to step in and fix it up."

That explains a lot, and you resist the urge to look at the curriculum stack. You can feel his stare and if you didn't know any better, you could swear there was a challenging twitch to that sharp grin.

"...if I may ask. With such a...specific curriculum, why not teach him yourself?" You ask.

He tilts his head. "You're the one with the credentials. Not me."

There is a long moment of silence. You hear the wind pushing against the floor-to-ceiling windows - the ones not shrouded in the American flag. You forget the level floor of this apartment, but it's high enough that you can only see clouds from here. Does he enjoy that loneliness? Or does he use it to look down on the people below?

"Question for you," He says suddenly. "Forget that stack of papers for a second. How would you introduce the American Revolution to my son?"

The American Revolution - the first unit in the Homelander-made curriculum. America simply did not exist before the colonies.

He sees your hesitation and waves his hand again. "Come on, no wrong answers. Tell me what you'd do."

You take a breath and fold your arms across your chest. "I'd probably start with some immersion."

He blinks a few times. "Immersion?"

"Well, I'd ask the students what they would do if they were in the same position as the colonists," You explain. "How would they feel if they had to pay more for everything without anyone asking what they thought."

"Interesting," He nods his head slowly. "So you side them with the patriots right away. Love that."

"Not necessarily."

He frowns at that, his brows drawing together. "Not necessarily?"

"There's always at least one kid who wants to be the devil's advocate," You say, a small smile on your lips as you recall past students. "They ask why they're asked to pay more money. Is it for protection? The Revolution lets them explore different perspectives."

"Does it now?"

You nod with a growing smile. "Not to mention the kids become complete Hamilton geeks."

"Interesting."

You blink, a bashful smile growing on your lips. "Thank you."

"Oh, not what you said. There's a lot we'll need to workshop there," He says with a chuckle. "But your heart accelerated when you were talking about this. You really care about all of this, don't you?"

You can't recall another time where you had felt so aggravated and complimented at the same time. Still, remembering this man's talent at lasering people in half, you settle for replying, "I do."

A wide grin settles on his face. "Then I think this will work perfectly."

The way he purrs that final word gives you a shiver of warning. You unconsciously rub at your shoulder again, sore from the backpack's work on your muscles. "I...hope it does."

He suddenly claps his hands, and you manage not to jump. "Well, let's have you come by tomorrow at nine o'clock—the same time as today."

You frown. "Am I not starting today?"

"Ryan’s filming a commercial today. Something about a video game. Or a book?" He shrugs and settles his hands on his hips. "Buddy keeps a busy life. But he'll be ready tomorrow."

Your teacher instincts cringe at the idea of a kid missing learning on a Monday, but you know better than to comment. You just nod. "I'll be here tomorrow, then."

He grins, all tooth and no warmth. "Wonderful."

The Homelander says nothing further, and you cautiously reach for your backpack. When the hero continues to watch you and not say a word, you become eager to leave as quickly as possible. You take your backpack, leave the books behind, and turn to go.

Only when you have your back to him does his hand fall onto your shoulder.

You barely stifle a gasp, your entire body straightening. In the choice between fight or flight, you settle on freeze.

"Your poor shoulder," He murmurs, his voice dangerously close to your ear. "These muscles are tight."

Before you can reply, he presses. His palm slowly pushes into your muscles in a way that is remarkably not human. You've had massages before, and very few of them could make any progress with the tangle of knots that were your shoulders. He instantly applies the pressure needed to unlock them, and the relief forces a pleased sigh out of you. 

His deep chuckle from behind you is nearly enough to make your heart stop. "Better?"

Your face feels hot. You swallow down and nod. "Y-yeah. Thank you."

The Homelander's hand slowly slides off your shoulder, and you watch as he walks to stand in front of you. "Any time, teach," He winks and then saunters forward. "Come on. I'll walk you out."

You follow him to the exit, your backpack resting on your very relaxed shoulder. The Homelander opens the door for you, giving a small bow with a hand to the hallway. His eyes never leave you. 

"See you tomorrow," He says as you walk past him.

You turn to face him fully and nod. "See you then."

He blatantly looks you up and down, then gives you a playful salute before shutting the door.

As you slowly turn on your heel and head for the elevator, you half expect the walls to turn purple or lobsters to crawl across the ceiling. That whole interaction with the Homelander was undoubtedly some strange dream where reality twisted; there was no other explanation for what just happened.

The ding the elevator makes as it opens sounds surreal and distant, and you exhale as you step inside.

What kind of deal had you just made?

[cieloclercs]

𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 | chapter three

pairings: charles leclerc x senna!oc part: 3/? warnings: swearing i think? charles is a bit of a dick, they finally meet again so angstttt, seb and kimi the best boyfriends!! word count: 6.8k

SAUDADE. in which childhood rivals turned best friends realise they were always meant to be something more

03. wishful thinking

author’s note: sooo they’re meeting this chapter 🫣 sorry guys it’s gonna be pretty tense from here, the slow burn starts now!! 🥳🥳

read it on wattpad!

previous: chapter 2 next: chapter 4

20 January 2021 Rolex Monte Carlo Sponsor’s Gala                                                            Monte Carlo, Monaco                                                                                       

EMERALD GREEN IS becoming more familiar to Noa as the days pass, and she nears making her debut in Formula 1. It’s the colour of her evening gown, the one Raffaella had delivered to her Monte Carlo hotel room earlier that evening inside a sleek Chanel gift bag. She has to admit, if they’re trying to convince her to sign that contract, they’re certainly doing a good job, because this dress is one of the most beautiful she’s ever worn. It feels like a second skin, like ribbons of water flowing through her fingers when she hitches up the skirt a little, walking slowly up the steps to the venue. Camera lenses click and flash all around her. Even if her confidence is shredded by anxiety, dressed like this, Noa feels like a million dollars.

Just like the rest of Monaco, the Salle Belle Epoque is ludicrously expensive, lavish beyond anything she’s seen before. This is the playground of the rich, after all. Its ceilings are high, marble pillars framed with gold stretching far upwards, where they meet the ceiling, like a work of art painted across the sky. It reminds her of Versailles, Noa thinks, the image and embodiment of wealth. It’s intimidating to stand amongst it all, harsh golden lights from chandeliers glaring down upon her. But she keeps her head up high, and clutches at Sebastian’s arm a little tighter. He smiles over reassuringly. He must have done quite a few of these galas in his time. Noa trusts he won’t let her flounder.

The itinerary for the night is planned out to a tee and expected to be followed. First, the press have their fill of pictures outside the venue, something which she is, thankfully, already accustomed to. She’s the showstopper of the night in her emerald dress, and it seems the cameras can’t get enough of her. Noa has to bite back her laughter at Sebastian’s forlorn expression as he’s momentarily pushed to the side. Though he may be a four-time World Champion, he doesn’t exactly try to carry himself with much glamour anymore; much more comfortable with his unruly, one-with-nature kind of look (meaning that Britta almost had to fight him to get him to drag a comb through his hair for the night). “I’ve had my heyday in Monaco.” he tells Noa later, in the car on their way to the venue, “Those years were enough to last me a lifetime.”

Second comes the cocktail reception, in which they await the arrival of all the guests. She has half a mind to call Sebastian out on his earlier statement, as the way he’s going through already his third glass of the night is strikingly similar to his days of partying with Red Bull. Noa holds her tongue though, when they are approached by some of the other guests in attendance. She’ll remind him later, when he’s inevitably struggling to walk in a straight line.

Rolex has branched out further into Formula 1 to mark the beginning of the new season. Looking around, Noa can already spot a lot of familiar faces. There’s Lewis Hamilton, of course, over near the bar talking to the ever-smiling Daniel Ricciardo. As an old family friend, she makes a note to pull the seven-time World Champion aside to catch up before the end of the night – she hasn’t seen him in almost six months, after all. Noa has spotted Seb shooting looks at Kimi Räikkönen from across the room who, like his former teammate, is indulging perhaps a little too much on the complimentary cocktails. Then there’s Max Verstappen, who is standing stoic as ever in a corner with a familiar looking blonde woman. Noa hasn’t seen much of him since her karting days, but she thinks – looking at the slightly uncomfortable expression he wears – he might appreciate seeing a familiar face. She certainly would: well, depending on how familiar, that is.

The one person she really doesn’t want to see appears not to have arrived yet. She isn’t naïve enough to believe he won’t show up; considering he practically rules Monaco, it would be unheard of for him to not be here. Noa can’t see his new teammate, Carlos Sainz, amongst the crowd either, so she assumes the Ferrari representatives simply haven’t arrived yet. She makes a mental note to keep an eye out for the Spanish driver – that way she’ll know roughly when she needs to take herself to the bar to prepare for the undoubtedly awkward few hours ahead.

“Hey, do you mind if I leave you for a bit?” Sebastian turns to ask, eyebrows arched questioningly. Noa smiles, shaking her head. She isn’t blind – her teammate has clearly been dying to go and see Kimi, who is stood, serene as ever, by himself. He tries to play it off, assuring her that he’s more than willing to stay if it makes her feel more comfortable, but once again she shakes her head.

“It’s fine, Seb.” Noa chuckles, “Go see your boyfriend.”

He merely grins at her teasing, leaving her with a wink before making a beeline towards the Finnish driver. She watches with a smirk as they greet each other enthusiastically, a rare smile, which is mostly only reserved for Seb, taking over Kimi’s face. Then she’s at a loose end. She could go and mingle with some of the other guests, put herself out there a little bit, but with the prospect of what is about to come, Noa isn’t sure she has the energy. Maybe she needs a drink to build up her confidence first.

The bar it is, she thinks. Slowly, she begins to make her way through the crowd, stopping to say brief hello’s to those she recognises and to those who greet her first. Their faces only seem to blur together, even though she tries to hold on to them – anything to distract her from her growing anxiety. The bar is almost in sight when Noa is stopped for the final time by a very familiar voice, which brings a surprised, yet grateful smile to her face. She turns to face Max Verstappen, and for a moment all her worries seem to be forgotten about.

“Hi!” she says brightly in response to his equally enthusiastic greeting, wasting no time in wrapping him up into a friendly hug, “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, you don’t say.” Max chuckles dryly. In fact, the last time they saw each other was also the last time Noa stepped foot in the Formula 1 paddock. It feels like an age ago, but at the same time, she knows once she’s back again it’ll feel like she never left.

Hovering to Max’s left is that same familiar-looking blonde woman, smiling hesitantly as Noa pulls away to study her with curiosity. Now, close up, she realises exactly who this is. It takes a moment for the name to click with the face, but as soon as it does, her face lights up into the widest grin of the night.

Max watches this moment pass, deciding now is the time for re-introductions, “Obviously, you already know my –“

“Annie?” Noa cuts him off. His mouth snaps shut with a faint huff, “Annie Beaumont?”

The blonde woman beams ecstatically, “Hi! Oh my God, you remember!” she laughs, hands flying up to cradle her face briefly.

“Of course I do!” Noa cries. In unison, they both surge forwards at the same time, falling into a tight, familiar hug. The Brazilian squeezes her eyes shut briefly, taking in the moment, trying to commit it perfectly to memory. It was strange how she hadn’t even realised how much she missed her paddock best friend until now, when she finally got to hug her again.

“I can’t believe it.” Noa laughs incredulously as they both pull away, “It’s been years!”

Anneliese Beamount had been a near-constant presence at her side around the paddock, when they were both in their pre-teens. Noa would often go to watch Charles’ races, which more and more tended to take place separately from her own as he moved up the age groups, leaving her behind. Annie’s older brother, Luc Beaumont, was a kart racer in the same category, so many of her weekends were spent trailing along after him and their devoted parents. At the same time, Noa was often left at a loose end when Charles raced and she didn’t. So when she bumped into Annie one day at the International Circuit of Zuera in Spain, they immediately hit it off. From then on, at every race they would meet up in the paddock, tormenting Luc, Charles and their other driver friends at every opportunity they got. Noa misses those days now. It was a time where she didn’t have to worry about anything except her next race. A simple time.

“How have you been?” she asks. Annie steps back, glancing up at Max. It clicks in Noa’s head, as the Dutch driver takes her hand in his and gazes back down at her lovingly. She can’t help but let her mouth drop open ever so slightly.

“I’ve been great.” Annie grins, “I am great. We both are. Right, babe?”

Max says something in reply, but she doesn’t hear it. She’s too focussed on the way he leans down to press a kiss to Annie’s cheek, and the way his eyes light up brighter than she’s ever seen them as he looks at her. Slowly, a massive grin spreads across Noa’s face.

“This is so surreal.” She breathes, “I’m so used to you two biting each other’s heads off all the time.” the couple laugh softly, shaking their heads at the remembrance of their former, much more oblivious selves, “This is…it’s different. But I love it.”

One of her prevailing memories from all those years in the paddock is the large amount of time that teenaged Annie Beaumont and Max Verstappen spent getting on each other’s nerves. As one of Luc’s main rivals, she always tried her best to derail the Dutch driver in any way possible. It had led to more than a few very public arguments, and scolding from their parents (as well as a few paddock officials when things really got out of hand). Though, with the benefit of hindsight, Noa begins to remember things a little differently – the way that Annie somehow always managed to bring Max up in conversation, whether positive or negative; the way Max would search for her gaze across the paddock, just to give her a dirty look. Noa isn’t sure how she never saw it before. Thinking back, it was all so obvious. They never hated each other. They were just too proud and scared to admit their feelings.

“I guess you’ll have a lot of questions.” Annie giggles, noticing the still present look of dazed bewilderment on Noa’s face. The Brazilian woman nods her agreement almost instantaneously.

“You have no idea.” She chuckles.

“We should meet up some time.” Annie then suggests, her tone quietening with her slight nerves, “I can give you all the details then?” Noa’s gaze softens. It’s been far too long since they last saw each other. After the nightmare that was 2018, she all but cut everyone off; not just Charles, but everyone who had ever been connected to or associated with him. She just didn’t want to be faced with the reminder of seven years of friendship, poured straight down the drain in one night. It hits her now that in doing that, she also lost the one friendship that may have been able to lift her out of the hole she dug herself into. Noa is ashamed to say that she’s hardly thought of Annie since that day. It’s selfish, she knows, but she needed to wallow in her own grief for a little while, to let it sink in, so she could finally begin to accept it. Well, there’ll be no more wallowing from now on, Noa tells herself. She’s done letting Charles Leclerc ruin her life.

“Sounds perfect.” she grins back at the woman, another former best friend, and Annie’s face lights up like the pitch black sky in a fireworks display, “There’s a lot we need to catch up on.”

“You don’t say.” she smirks. It’s familiar, a memory from the past when they were close enough to tell each other their darkest secrets. Noa has missed it desperately, “You’ve got some explaining to do.” Annie raises an eyebrow. It doesn’t take a genius to interpret what exactly she means. The Brazilian driver grimaces; but really, an explanation is the least she can offer to Annie after everything. She owes her that, if nothing else.

Noa is about to speak again, to ask her what she’s been doing all these years that they’ve been apart, but Max suddenly calling to someone across the other side of the room makes her freeze. He moves slightly away from the pair, as if he’s giving them the option to keep talking, and waves both of his hands over his head. He’s trying to summon whoever it is. Noa’s blood runs cold. Somehow, she knows exactly who Max Verstappen is calling. It’s as if she can sense him.

“Charles! Carlos! Over here!” he yells, seemingly indifferent to the disapproving looks he gains from some of the other guests. She watches as his arms drop, and a bright smile overcomes his face. That means they’ve seen him. It means they’re walking over. Noa’s head drops for a moment to rest her chin on her chest, as she sucks in a deep breath.

“Shit.” She hisses to no one but herself. Annie hears it, and flashes her a sympathetic look. She is the only one of the three faced away from where the two Ferrari drivers are now surely fast approaching. No doubt, Annie can see them. Maybe she can see Charles, and how reluctant he is to walk over while she’s there. Maybe Carlos is all but dragging him. Or maybe he hasn’t even noticed she’s there. That might hurt her more than anything, if she’s still so torn up about the death of their friendship, and he no longer cares.

“You want a drink?” Annie whispers to her. Noa feels a sudden, overwhelming sense of gratitude. She’s quick to nod, the corners of her lips tugging upwards gratefully.

Annie calls over one of the waiting staff in an instant, who are milling around the guests with trays of cocktails balanced precariously in their arms. She takes a glass with gracious thanks, and hands it to over. As soon as the cold neck of the glass in her hands, Noa downs its contents in a single gulp. She lets the liquid burn her throat with a satisfied hum, before dropping her arm and turning to stand beside Annie, who is staring at her in shock. She knows if she looks up now, she’ll see him, probably now standing all but five metres away. But something is stopping her. So Noa instead focusses her attention on her friend – not one of the former nature. At least not any longer.

“That bad, huh?” Annie whispers again. She grimaces.

“You have no idea.”

It’s clear there can be no backing out or running away from this when Max steps forwards to embrace the two drivers, beginning first with Charles before moving onto Carlos. Though Noa still doesn’t look up, she can hear his voice. It sounds exactly the same as the last time she heard it over two years ago; just as smooth and soft, but all she can hear are the harsh words he spoke to her on that night. They’ve tainted every memory she has of him now. It’s all overshadowed by the betrayal.

Noa is snapped out of her thoughts when Carlos approaches, moving away from Max to where she and Annie are stood side by side. He greets the Belgian woman first with a familiar, friendly hug, before turning to her. He smiles, even though she can already tell he knows everything. Noa can somehow always tell. There’s something knowing glinting in his eye, not anything obvious, but just enough to be recognised. It’s the feeling of knowing something about a person that you maybe should not necessarily know. He’s not trying to show it, and he’s probably not even aware of it either – but Noa always has been. Perhaps because her paranoia searches for it.

She pushes the thoughts from her mind, stepping forward with as bright a smile as she can muster to meet the Ferrari driver in the middle. “Hi, I’m Noa.” she introduces.

Carlos’ eyebrows arch, “Oh, I know.” He chuckles, “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.” She doesn’t have time to think about the many possible implications of his words before he’s stepping forwards to wrap her into a hug. Noa accepts it, and it doesn’t feel strange or forced as she may have feared. The exchange is as normal as any other, like there is no tension hanging in the air at all. When she pulls away, she even manages to smile at him, properly this time.

All that evaporates in an instant when she turns, her gaze locking onto those green eyes she’s both been dreading and longing to see for over two years. Charles Leclerc is watching her intensely, his lips ever so slightly parted. For a moment, all Noa can think to do is stare. Though it seems he’s suffering from the same dilemma.

He looks older than when she last saw him, which isn’t a massive surprise, considering it’s now been well over a year since the 2019 season ended. He’s lost most of the soft, childish curves to his face, replaced by sharp, high cheekbones and an angular jawline. The navy blue suit framing his body only adds to this newfound maturity he seems to have gained. It’s fitted to barely within an inch of the limit, tight in all the places it should be, accentuating the muscles in his arms, legs and chest which hide beneath the fabric. Charles has always been attractive – it’s simply a fact she learned to accept as a teenager – but now that seems to have been multiplied tenfold beyond anything she remembers. He looks impossibly good: annoyingly. She’s supposed to be upset with him, yet all she can focus on in those first few seconds are the depth of his eyes and his cupid’s bow lips.

Then she spots the Ferrari logo emblazoned on the breast pocket of his suit. Like someone clicking their fingers in front of her face to snap her out of her daydream, any tenderness or familiarity she may have been feeling towards him in her moment of weakness suddenly fades. All that remains are the familiar flames of anger, licking at her belly. Noa’s eyes narrow. Charles notices the change immediately.

“Uh, we’re going to get drinks from the bar.” Max says, clearing his throat awkwardly in the tense silence. He takes hold of Annie’s arm gently, ready to pull her away with him to give the two some space, “Carlos, do you want anything?”

“Actually, mate, I think I’ll come with you.” the Spanish driver announces hastily, hurrying away from Charles’ side before his teammate can attempt to drag him back. He shoots him a look over his shoulder. Noa can’t quite read it.

“We’ll see you in a bit!” Max calls brightly. The other two cringe at his forced enthusiasm, but follow him towards the bar anyway. As she leaves, Annie looks back at Noa, offering her an apologetic smile. She grimaces, her heart sinking low into her stomach. Now she has no line of defence, no one to fall back on if this conversation – or whatever it is Charles is trying to do by being here – becomes too much. Noa stares down at the empty bottom of her glass until she’s sure they are gone. Only then does she look up, finding a pair of green eyes already watching her.

She doesn’t know it, but Charles’ head is spinning. Everything he’d done to hype himself up before walking over here, and even before, to prepare himself to see her again, quite frankly, goes to absolute shit. He’s completely forgotten how he planned to start this conversation. The words are lost to the uncomfortable silence.

Noa Senna looks almost nothing like the young girl he last saw at the end of 2019, and even less like the one crushed on that awful day the year prior – one of the worst days of his entire life. He supposes it’s to be expected. She is twenty one now, a fully fledged adult now living an adult life. But it’s not just the face that she’s grown up that hits him hard. It’s how much she’s matured; how beautiful she’s become. Charles had always thought she was beautiful, even when they were kids, but nothing quite like this. Noa, stubborn, headstrong, fierce Noa, is now almost nowhere to be seen. A young woman stands in her place, stripped of all her childlike innocence. On the one hand, Charles is in awe of her. But on the other, she’s almost unrecognisable as the Noa he knows – or used to know. Undoubtedly breath taking, yet somehow less full of life. At least as he remembers her. Then again, it has been over two years since he truly saw her, and people can change a lot in that time.

Either way, the combination of shock and awe inside him is killer. His eyes are caught on the way her dress dips with every natural curve of her body. It fits her like a glove. Charles curses himself. He’s making this much harder for himself than he wanted it to be, because suddenly his mouth is dry and he’s too wracked by nerves to formulate any kind of situation-appropriate greeting in his head. He is, to put it simply, lost for words.

“Hi.” He speaks eventually. The moment the words leave his mouth, he cringes. Noa stares back at him in disbelief.

“Hi?” she returns. It comes out as more of a scoff than anything else. For the moment, Charles chooses to ignore it, pushing forwards with a strained smile.

“You – uh – you look beautiful.” He says, gulping when Noa’s expression remains perfectly impassive. He’s not sure what’s worse: gaining no reaction, or gaining the reaction he initially feared when he blurted the words out. Disgust. At least then he’d know what she is thinking.

Noa simply doesn’t quite know what to say. She’s too angry, too wracked with disbelief to find herself flattered by his compliment as she may have been a few years ago, or if she was thinking straight. How does he have the nerve to approach her, after two years of absolutely zero contact, and say something like that? It simply doesn’t make sense to her. The only think she can make sense of is the anger it sends coursing through her veins.

“What do you want, Charles?” Noa asks, a tired sigh slipping past her lips. Her mind flickers back briefly to the promise she made to her father, but in the moment, engulfed by flames, she is blind to it; wanting nothing more than to get as far away as possible from this man and his piercing green eyes. Charles feels his heart sink.

He’s pushing back all the questions he wants to ask her, trying to respect her wishes – to get straight to the point. But oh how he longs to simply sit down and talk to her again: to ask her about her day, to catch up on everything he’s missed in his absence. Instead, Charles focusses on the pressing matter, the one he originally intended to discuss with her, but seemed to forget all about as soon as he caught sight of her once again.

“I take it you know about the Chanel contract?” he asks after a moment of internal debate. Something heavy settles over his heart.

“Yes.” Noa replies. She ignores the flash of disappointment that flares up in her chest at his seeming indifference. But it’s not like she expected him to strike up a friendly conversation – that’s not how things work between them anymore.

Charles nods. He’s fighting for his concentration, mind racing as he tries to remember the rough script he came up with in his head on the car journey here. Yet no matter how hard he tries, the words just don’t seem to want to come to him.

“Do you want to go somewhere a bit quieter?” he speaks up again finally, ignoring the strange look Noa is giving him after his prolonged silence, “So we can talk.”

The Brazilian woman sighs. There are people all around her whom she either knows well or has at least been acquainted with before. Some are even strangers, and at this moment, she’d rather throw herself into a conversation with them than do this. She can see Daniel Ricciardo has joined Seb and Kimi now, not that far away from her, and Lewis is just across the room, talking to newly arrived Mark Webber. Of course, Max and Annie are only at the bar too. She could easily blow Charles off to join them. It would certainly be a much more comfortable situation for her.

But then she’s reminded of her father. Noa makes a point of keeping his trust in her as secure as a lockbox at all times, because he’s done so much for her over the years, she can’t even imagine lying to him. Besides, she knows for a fact that he would never lie to her. Noa has made a promise. As much as she wishes she could go back on it now, she needs to do this. Both for the sake of her potential contract with Chanel, and more importantly, for her father. She’ll just have to grin and bear this one.

“Alright, fine.” She concedes. Charles tries to hide the relief that flashes across his face. Luckily, she’s too preoccupied looking around the room for a quiet place to sit down to notice it, “There are some empty seats over there?” she suggests. He follows her gaze to a small, two-person booth in the corner of the room. It’s both far enough away from the majority of guests for them to be able to have a conversation in private, while also being close enough so they won’t look too out of place. Convenient. Silently, he nods, and they both make their way across the room to the booth.

Charles grabs a drink each for the both of them on the way. He hands one to Noa as she takes the seat opposite him. She doesn’t thank him, but he’s not surprised.

“This is a big opportunity for me.” the Brazilian woman speaks first. He’s a little relieved at that, but only because it means he has to struggle again to find the right words, “I don’t have to tell you how important a sponsorship like this is. I want it to work.” Noa pauses, sucking in a deep breath, “But I don’t know how it’s going to with you there.”

Charles’ eyes narrows. He feels the pain of her words like a dagger, but he feels the accusation stronger.

“They want us both, Noa.” he shoots back. She tries to ignore the way her stomach flips to hear her name spoken from his mouth. “Not just you. This is a package deal. Do you not think I need this as much as you do?”

Her heart drops. A scowl overcomes her face. Those all-too-familiar flames of anger seem to be making a reappearance, despite her desperate efforts to tame them.

“No, actually. I don’t.” she all but spits in reply, “You’re Ferrari’s golden boy. You can do no wrong.” Her voice drops dangerously low, eyes darkening until they’re almost black, “But I’m the first woman to drive in Formula 1 in almost thirty years. I need the safety net.”

Exposure like this is the best thing she can gain at the moment. That way, she builds a loyal fanbase before the season starts – a fanbase that will stand by her, even if things don’t always run smoothly. Noa knows how delicate this whole situation is. She knows that the second her performances start to dip, Chanel and any of her other sponsors could drop her in a heartbeat. That’s why she needs their backing now. Charles on the other hand, is already one of the most popular drivers on the grid. In the eyes of the Tifosi, he really can do no wrong. Sure, he may benefit from the money a deal like this will bring to both him and his team, but he doesn’t need the security like she does. Without it, he’ll still go on to keep his seat without a struggle. Noa might not.

“Are you serious?” Charles hisses under his breath, “Are you really going to make this all about you again?”

His words send her reeling. Her mouth falls open in shock and outrage, but for a good few seconds, no sound comes out. This reminds her so much of the night their friendship ended. The way he’s looking at her now, eyes blazing with anger and frustration, lips pursed as if to hold back the torrent of hurtful words he no doubt wishes to say to her. Noa won’t let it affect her anymore. She refuses to let her eyes prickle and flow with tears as they did then, even if Charles is making the same mistake that cost them seven whole years of friendship.

“Do you really want to start this argument again?” she says, as calmly as she possibly can. The softness of her voice snaps Charles out of whatever spell he is under. Immediately, the anger and frustration, remnants from two years prior, flows straight out of him. All it leaves behind is regret. But he’s past the point of being able to apologise, he knows that. After everything he’s done, no matter how many times he says I’m sorry, Charles doubts there is anything he can do to make it up to her. If the look in her eyes isn’t testament to that fact, then he doesn’t know what else is.

“No” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t.”

“Good.” Noa shoots back. Her voice is as cold as ice, “That’s not why I agreed to talk to you. I’m doing it because I care about my career, and I don’t want our past getting in the way of it.”

Charles nods. He can barely even bring himself to meet her eyes now. The fear of what he will see in them overwhelms him.

He wonders how they managed to get themselves into this situation. Besides the obvious, of course (his own stupid pride). Once – not so long ago in the grand scheme of things – Noa had been everything to him. She was his best friend, his confidant, his biggest supporter, and most of all, the one person he always believed would stay by his side. But, like so many others who came before, he lost her. It may be different, because she’s still alive and well, sitting before him now, so close he can see her rosy cheeks where her blood flows steadily beneath her skin. Noa is still with him on earth, but she’s never felt so distant. It’s a different kind of loss. In a way, it hurts just as much.

The tense silence between them feels so wrong. For two people who had once been the most important presence in the other’s life, this fall from grace is the most dramatic of all. The most heart-breaking.

Someone is calling them before they have the chance to speak again. It’s Sebastian, with a half-full glass balanced precariously in his hand, looking both apologetic and curious. Noa stares at him. She’s torn between feeling grateful that he’s cut this excruciating exchange short, and feeling irritated that he’s interrupting just as she feels they’re finally about to get somewhere.

“We’re going through for dinner now.” he tells them. They both nod in reply, but make no move to stand. Sebastian turns on his heel after that, marching back towards where Kimi is waiting for him. Noa catches her teammate grimace at the Finnish driver, shaking his head. She sighs.

“We should probably go.” Charles speaks up first. A hum is all he receives in reply, yet still, neither of them make the move to stand. This conversation is still very much unfinished. They’ve got a lot to work through if they’re ever going to be able to work together comfortably. One night simply isn’t going to be enough, they realise that now.

Noa watches with raised eyebrows as Charles reaches to pull his phone out of his pocket. He punches the passcode in quickly, tapping a few more buttons before he places it face up on the table and spins the screen around to face her. It’s open on the contacts app. Her gaze snaps up to watch him with an expression he can’t quite interpret.

“If you give me your number, we can arrange another time to meet up.” he explains, “I’ve got some testing to do in Maranello next week, so maybe after that?”

Noa doesn’t reply. She simply continues to stare down at his phone, her eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly.

“You deleted my number?” she asks quietly.

Charles’ lips part, but no sound comes out. His mind stutters for a moment, trying to come up with an explanation. He’d deleted her number almost immediately after their fight, too overcome with fury to pause and think about the potential consequences of his actions. But once he’d done it, there was no going back. In the moment, he’d wanted every trace of Noa out of his life. If only he’d known then how much he would later come to regret that decision.

“It’s fine.” Noa waves him away as he begins to stammer out some kind of excuse, “I deleted yours too.”

Only after she’d tried to call him about a hundred times, but she’s sure he doesn’t need to know that part. It perhaps explains why she never received any answer, but for some reason, that only makes her feel worse. The anger is gone, replaced by the sadness and regret she’s been trying to ignore for months. Noa just hopes Charles can’t sense the change in her demeanour. Though, if he’s still the same Charles she remembers deep down, he’ll be just as in-tune with her emotions now as he was back then.

Silently, she types in her number into the new contact on his phone. It feels strange to simultaneously add her full name into the empty space, rather than one of her many childhood nicknames he’d given her when they were young. It’s so formal – so unlike them, as they used to be, anyway. Noa’s heart is heavy when she slides the phone back across the table towards him, and he takes it, fitting it back into his pocket.

This time they do stand up. The other guests are beginning to file into the dining hall by now, a low hum of chatter settled amongst them which gradually grows softer as each person moves out of the room one by one. Noa notices that Sebastian is waiting for her by the bar. She smiles over at him gratefully. At least she knows he’ll have her back this season, whatever happens.

Just before she can walk over to her expectant teammate, a gentle hand on her arm halts her in position. She freezes, turning slowly at the sound of Charles murmuring her name in a tone so soft she can barely hear it. He hasn’t touched her in over two years, she realises. Not since that night has she felt the warmth of his hand on her skin. Noa hates that it still manages to send sparks coursing through her body, a pleasant shiver shooting up her spine. After all this time, all the heartbreak, and she’s still as weak as ever.

“Noa.” Charles repeats, just as softly as before, snapping her out of her trance. She looks away from where his hand rests on her arm, gaze lifting to meet his eyes. They’re wide, shining with something she thinks is…hope? He takes a small step away from her, clearing his throat nervously. There’s a lot he wishes to say to her right now; some bad, some good, but all of them honest. One thought pushes his way to the front of his mind. I’ve missed you, he thinks. But he can’t say something like that to her, not now. So he settles for another truth; one not quite so risky as the admittance that he’s spent every single day of her two year absence wishing she was there by his side.

“It’s good to see you.” Charles says finally. Even if she’s changed almost beyond recognition, even if it seems as though she’d rather be anywhere but here with him right now, he’s glad she is. It’s been far too long.

Noa can do nothing but stare. She’s not angry anymore, but she’s not sad either. She just feels empty. Charles Leclerc has lost his power over her, just as he lost her friendship over two years ago. Maybe it is a good thing she’s seeing him now. Maybe this will begin the process of gaining closure: of letting him, and whatever they used to be go. Without a word, Noa turns away, striding across the room to where Sebastian waits for her, not even sparing Charles a second glance. He watches the emerald of her dress slide along the floor, and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, she’s gone. Too late to see the regret he wears, his heart out on his sleeve.

“How did it go?” Sebastian asks as they walk side by side into the dining hall. He glances back towards the door, from which Charles has still not emerged.

“It was ok.” Noa murmurs in reply, “All things considered, it could have gone a lot worse.” She lets her eyes wander the room, searching briefly for their assigned table. When she finds it, she taps Sebastian on the arm, and they make their way quickly over, weaving between the other tables so as to cause as little disturbance as possible, “I think we’ll be meeting again to talk in more detail about what we’re going to do, though.” She admits. Sebastian looks to her with raised eyebrows.

“And how do you feel about that?” he asks. He’s not stupid – he can sense the lingering animosity between the two former friends (or at least, Noa’s animosity towards Charles) as clearly as anything. As much as she’s fierce and headstrong, Sebastian has also come to learn that his teammate does not enjoy confrontation. No doubt, they’ll be quite a lot of that in the time it takes for them to figure out how they’re going to move forward.

“It needs to be done.” Noa says with a resigned shrug, “The contract is pretty clear – either we’re both in, or neither of us are. As much as I wish I never have to speak to him again, I care about making this work more.”

Sebastian hums. They’re nearing their assigned table now, where most of the other Formula 1 drivers in attendance are also sat. Just as they approach, he steals a glance at Noa, trying to read her expression in the few moments he has before she catches him. It’s impassive to the untrained eye, but Sebastian has always figured himself to be someone who’s very good at reading other people’s emotions. Despite her callous words, he can see she’s hurting. Noa believes she means it when she says she never wants to see him again. Sebastian knows she doesn’t really. She’s simply telling herself she does.

They take their seats around the table where their name places are set out. Luckily, they are next to each other. Noa is pleasantly surprised to find Max Verstappen seated on her left, with Annie on his other side shooting her a look that says, ‘As soon as this is over, you’re telling me everything.’ Sebastian looks like he’s just won the lottery when he sits down next to Kimi Räikkönen, whose blank expression lifts for only a split second when he sees his former teammate. For a moment, Noa doesn’t even spot the empty seat in front of her on the other side of the table. She’s perfectly oblivious, wrapped up in the distraction of conversation with her fellow drivers.

Then another round of greetings ripple across the table, and she looks up. Charles makes his way towards the seat in front of her, next to his teammate who waits to pat him on the back and shoot him an encouraging look. Noa sighs. Her eyes find Sebastian’s.

It’s going to be a long night.

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noasenna_updates Noa at the Rolex Monte Carlo Sponsor’s gala tonight! She’s wearing a custom made emerald Chanel formal dress, which was apparently especially designed for the occasion! 😍

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[whiskey-bumblebee]

I'm On Fire (Chapter 8)

Pairing: DBF!Aaron Hotchner/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: the final chapter! finally! thank you everybody for encouraging me to lead the story to an ending I'm more satisfied with.

Warnings: Age gap relationship (older Hotch, younger reader), arguments, deaths of Haley and Jack, breaking and entering

Taglist: @littlepeanut03 @rosaline-black @moonmark98 @yuly @jazzymariexoxoc @frogoko @morgthemagpie @laisy @whoreforhondo @ssamorganhotchner @lex13cm @mrs-ssa-hotch @violetlilites @fairy-alix @mercurysrhapsody @art-and-thoughts @rousethemouse

Five years later

You trace your fingers over the spines of the books.

340.2, 340.54, 340.57... There it is. 340.570942 D07. You slot 340.570942 S04 into the gap to the right of D07. Considering you were surrounded by millions of words, it was incredible how much time you spent counting.

One of your colleagues knocks on the shelf to attract your attention, and offers you a smile.

"You're finished for the day. Have a good weekend."

You sigh with relief. "The weekend... What a wonderful word."

"Do you have any plans?"

You shake your head. "Do you?"

"I'm working," She replies. "Someone has to help the grad students find their books on the history of the cultivation of garlic."

"Really?" You laugh, careful to keep your voice low. Although the library isn't crowded, there are always at least a few students studying down in the stacks.

"Yeah. History of the cultivation of garlic. We did have something on it, but damn, I don't know how you can write a thesis on growing garlic."

You smile and shake your head. "I was seeing someone for a while, a PhD candidate from NYU. His research focus was feminist machinima and the phenomenology of the cyborg body. He was just stringing words together, and I think he didn't like that I could see that."

"God. It sounds like you dodged a bullet."

The word bullet takes you out of it for a second. You stare into space, trying to consider the word from each of its angles. Dodged a bullet. Your father hadn't. Had you?

"You okay?"

You nod. "Yeah. Just thinking about him." You're careful not to specify exactly which him you're talking about.

"Forget about him. Go home. Have fun."

"Okay," You breathe, running your hands over your jeans. "I'll see you Monday."

She nods, patting your shoulder.

After a quick stint on the M and the L, you're home. Your keys clink as you drop them into the bowl by the door, and the smooth wooden floor is cool under your socks.

There's soup on the stove, and to your delight, it's still hot.

____________________________________

Aaron is fucking horrified. He doesn't know what he's doing. He can hardly breathe, but then again, that's becoming normal for him. For the first time since the trial, he feels like a criminal. He feels like the kind of person he's usually trying to catch.

"What the fuck," He breathes, and his words leave a fog that hangs in the air for a second, as if reprimanding his language.

He presses the buzzer before he can change his mind. Number five. How long should he hold the button? He releases it quickly, not wanting to generate a buzz any longer than necessary. He notices that there's no camera in the buzzer.

"Hello?"

It's a man's voice, and Aaron thinks he must have the wrong apartment.

"Hello, sorry, is this number five-" He rattles off the address, pressing his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat.

"Yeah, that's us."

Us?

Aaron says your name into the buzzer, and tries to ignore that it's the first time he's ever said the whole thing out loud. "I'm trying to find her?"

There's some rustling, and an exchange Aaron can't quite make out.

"Who are you?" The man on the other end of the line says.

_____________________________________

You've moved to stand next to the phone so you can hear. Andrew holds the phone tenderly between your two heads.

"My name is Aaron Hotchner-"

You shake your head quickly. No. No, no, no. You've just started your new life. You're happy. You're stable. You have a therapist who's walked you through this possibility, although she told you it was incredibly unlikely.

You walk backwards until your back hits a wall, and you slide to the floor.

"No," You whisper.

"Sorry, man. She's not at this address."

__________________________________________

Aaron knows that's not true. Penelope had found water bills paid in your name for this apartment, just three weeks ago. There was no record of you moving.

"Look, I really need to get ahold of her, if there's any chance- Could I just, could you let me talk to her?"

He's pleading now, and it leaves a pit in his stomach. He's no better than a stalker.

"Aaron," You breathe.

All of the tension drops from his shoulders at that. He says your name back to you.

"Please leave. I don't know how you got this address, but-"

"Please, I need to tell you something. Haley's dead, and-"

"I'm sorry, Aaron, but that has nothing to do with me."

Your reply comes without hesitation.

No, Aaron thinks. He didn't take the time off work, fly all the way to New York in a snowstorm, just to get blown off at your doorway.

Aaron is so caught up in staring at the buzzer, this tiny box containing you, that his heart leaps when he hears the door click open, and he turns quickly on his heel, ready to pour his heart out. The words dry up on his tongue when he sees it's not you, but a man. Long-haired, shorter than Aaron. He looks like someone Sean would be friends with. Aaron thinks he probably shouldn't ask about that.

"Hey, man. Get outta here. She doesn't wanna see you."

"Who are you?"

The words pass Aaron's lips before he can catch them.

"I'm Andrew. Now fuck off before I call the cops."

"I need to see her."

"She's currently sitting on the floor crying just from hearing your name. If you'd seen her reaction, you wouldn't let yourself up there either."

Aaron notices that Andrew has left the front door open, just a crack. If he makes a break for it, he might make it through the door, up the stairs, before Andrew can catch him.

"Alright," Aaron sighs, letting his body slump. "I tried."

Andrew softens slightly. "Alright, man. Get-"

Before Hotch hears the end of Andrew's sentence, he slams the man up against the wall and pushes the main door open. He doesn't immediately see an elevator, so he sprints up the stairs, two at a time.

He yells your name when he sees the number five, and pounds his fists on the door. If he had to break all of the bones in his hands in order to get to you, he'd do it. He can hear Andrew coming up behind him, slow, disoriented.

There's no reply. An elderly woman steps out of number six and frowns at Aaron disapprovingly, then sees Andrew coming up behind him.

"Sorry, Elena," Andrew says.

"Andrew," Elena scolds, walking over to him in her slippers. "What's this?" She tilts her head to the side as she looks at his split eyebrow.

Andrew sighs as the older woman gently runs her hands over his face.

"Hotchner, get the fuck out of here," He breathes. "Elena, I'm fine. But if this guy lays his hands on me again, I want you to call the cops."

Elena's eyes widen. "Okay."

Hotch kicks the door down.

You jump at the sudden intrusion, and Andrew was telling the truth, you are sitting on the floor, your eyes glistening.

"Elena, call the police," Andrew hisses, before grabbing Aaron by the collar. "What the fuck are you doing, man? Have you lost your mind?"

Aaron easily brushes him off and squats down beside you.

"Aaron, please go. It's over. You can't just barge back into my life like this."

"Please, let's just talk. If I ever meant anything to you, please just hear me out."

You look over at Andrew. Elena has gone back into her apartment, but you can hear her on the phone.

"Fine," You breathe. "Just for a minute, and then I never want to see you again."

Andrew starts to argue, but you shake your head and get to your feet. You know that once Aaron makes his mind up about something, there's no swaying him. Your stomach twists, thinking about yourself as a mission objective.

You take a seat on the couch, and Aaron stands. It's a small apartment, and he doesn't think sitting next to you would be the right move: too intimate, too familiar. Andrew takes the spot beside you while Aaron's still thinking about it.

You pick up a paper towel from the small coffee table, and dab at Andrew's eyebrow. It doesn't look that bad. You remember one of the anatomy manuals that you'd read while the library wasn't busy, how it said that facial wounds bleed a lot because the skin is thin.

"Does it hurt?" You ask, quietly.

Andrew nods. Aaron rolls his eyes.

"Say your piece," You say, still focused on Andrew. You tip his chin from side to side, checking for any other injuries. His eyes are sharp, focused. Good.

Now that he's here, Aaron doesn't know what to say. He can't even imagine where to start.

"Haley..."

"How did she die?"

"There was an unsub, he broke into my house, he killed them."

Them? Your heart drops.

"Jack?"

Aaron nods.

Your frown deepens.

"Who's Jack?" Andrew asks.

"Long story," You sigh. "I'll tell you later."

"I'm sorry, Hotch, but what does this have to do with me?"

"She was the reason... She was the reason we couldn't stay together. I was scared, fucking terrified, that she had some evidence, something that would get me locked in prison forever-"

Andrew gently tucks your hands back at your sides so he can look at Aaron.

"I think that we have more than enough to get you locked in prison, pal. Assault, breaking and entering?"

You nod, agreeing. "I don't know what you're trying to do here, Aaron. I've moved on. I've spent years trying to forget you."

Andrew looks at you, clearly needing more information than what you've provided. Aaron's curious what you'll say first. This is my ex-lover? I defended him in court and saved him from a lifetime in prison? This is the love of my life? This is the guy I told you about?

"He killed my father."

That's not what Aaron was expecting.

"What the fuck," Andrew breathes. "Dude, you've gotta get out of here, seriously-"

You shake your head. "He was acquitted."

Andrew looks at you, confused.

Aaron is so quick to jump to your defence that he doesn't take a second to think of the implications.

"I did it," He says quickly. "She's right."

Andrew stands up and takes a deep breath, preparing to tear into Aaron. He's puffing up his chest like some kind of exotic bird, and you know that if it came down to it, he couldn't take Aaron in a fight. You're not sure how exactly Andrew came to be injured, but you don't doubt that Aaron had a hand in it.

"Andrew," You say quietly. "Calm down."

He looks at you with sympathy, but there's an uneasiness in his eyes like that of an unbroken horse.

"Respectfully, you just told me that the man who just broke into our apartment murdered your father. This is all the calm I can give you."

"Valid," You reply. "Okay, so, Aaron? What are you doing here?"

Aaron realizes his grand plan is starting to come apart at the seams. He had a speech, he had a plan, he has a second flight back to D.C. booked and ready, but he hadn't anticipated Andrew. How had Penelope missed that detail?

"NYPD, open-"

A police officer raises his hand to knock, and seeing there's no door, steps into your apartment, careful not to trip over the doorknob.

"What's going on here? We had a call from a concerned neighbor."

You look at Aaron, and then at Andrew, and then at the police officer.

"We had a break in-"

"Everything's fine-"

"I'm an FBI agent-"

The officer holds up a hand. "One at a time. Let's start with, why is your door on the ground?"

Andrew shoots a look at Aaron. The officer notices, and when Andrew turns back to the police officer, he takes in the cut on Andrew's face for the first time.

"Did someone hit you?"

"He did." Andrew points at Hotch.

"And who kicked the door in?"

"He did," Andrew repeats, repeating his gesture for good measure.

"So what's the problem?"

Andrew looks at you, encouraging you to tell the story of the last ten minutes.

"Um," You say, looking around.

"Look, if everything's fine here, there are more important things I could be doing."

You nod and apologize quickly, then see the officer out. Elena comes out of her apartment and pokes her head through your doorway.

"Everything fine, Andrew?"

"Fine, Elena, thank you."

She doesn't look convinced, but she leaves anyway.

"Will one of you please tell me what the hell is going on here?" Andrew sighs, running a hand through his long hair.

"Aaron and I used to..." You trail off, unsure how to categorize it. The case is still recent enough that Andrew could easily find news coverage online, and if you say something that contradicts your sworn statements, you don't doubt that Andrew would do anything to get Aaron in trouble.

"Date," Aaron finishes.

You shake your head, offended by his choice of words. "Not 'date'. We never went out anywhere."

"We went out for coffee-" Aaron argues.

"A fast food drive through doesn't count," You rebut.

"You wore a wedding ring for me."

"It was the ring from your marriage to your wife."

"Ex-wife," Aaron hisses.

"Widow."

Aaron looks taken aback at that. A piece of information you'd only learned a few minutes ago, and already you'd hafted it into a weapon.

Andrew holds up a hand and looks at Hotch.

"Wait, you were married?"

You nod. "Haley was his wife." You turn to Aaron. "I'm sorry. She was a lovely person."

"She wasn't," Aaron says quickly.

"Your wife died, so you came to New York to take back your old mistress?"

"She wasn't-" Aaron starts, but he's quickly interrupted.

"Mistress!" You say, louder than you meant to, astounded at his choice of words.

Andrew shakes his head, then stands up. He walks over to the spot where you keep your house keys and plucks them out of the bowl.

"I'm going for a walk. You guys, talk."

You're a moment too slow in covering your mouth and Andrew hears you laugh.

"What?"

You gesture at the keys, then at the broken-down door.

"You don't need the keys."

Andrew puts the keys back down and walks out, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. I'll pay for the door," Aaron says.

You rest your head in your hands, and like your shadow, Aaron follows your movement. He's beside you instantly, a large hand smoothing over your back.

"You know how fucked up it is that I don't even know how to explain you to Andrew?"

"How about you explain Andrew to me?"

That makes you slip Aaron's hand off your back and look at him, confounded.

"What makes you think you have the right to come literally barging back into my life, and then question me about why there's a man in it?"

"You're right, I'm sorry," Aaron breathes, leaning back.

You take a deep breath, fighting all of your instincts not to confess to Aaron that Andrew was great, but he wasn't Aaron, that nobody could ever be him.

"So why did you come here?"

"I thought maybe you'd be waiting for me."

"There's no way we could have worked out. You work with the FBI, for god's sake, you think none of your agents would figure out that you are actually dating the person that you testified under oath, that you had never really met?"

"I don't know. I wasn't thinking. The whole time that we were together, we were always thinking, planning, strategizing. For once, I just wanted to do something without having to have a battle plan behind it."

"I'm happy here," You say, quietly. "I have a stable job, and I like my coworkers, and we have a great apartment in a great location. I'm starting to make friends. I have a partner who loves me and treats me like an equal, not like..."

"A mistress."

You bite your lip. Aaron looks at you.

"What happened?"

"There was an unsub who was stalking me. He killed Haley and Jack while I was away working on a different case. It was about a year ago."

A deep frown pulls at your mouth.

"Jack was only..."

"He was about to turn four."

"Oh my god," You breathe. "Aaron, I'm so sorry."

Aaron shakes his head. "It was terrible, and I miss him so much. But while I was doing everything, going to grief counselling, planning the funerals... I just kept thinking maybe this was meant to be our second chance."

"You got a second chance. That doesn't mean I have to be a part of it."

"There's nobody else who I'd want to be a part of it."

You turn to face Aaron and take his face in your hand. He turns his face in towards your palm, closing his eyes. His eyelashes are as long and dark as ever, even now that his temples are beginning to grey.

"We could move to Rehoboth Beach. Just you and me. I could work as a lawyer, and you could..."

You shake your head. "You don't even know me. You don't know what I do for work. You don't know what I want."

"That's not fair," Aaron says, his voice taking on a darker tone. "We both know what you want."

You look into his eyes for a long moment.

"So you're trying to tell me that you chose wrong? After I gave you every opportunity to leave her?"

Aaron takes your hand from his face and places it gently back in your lap.

"If you tell me that you don't want me, I'll go. I'll go back to Washington and I'll never contact you again. I'll ask that you do the same. But if there's any part of you that wants me, that's thinking about it... Leave him. He deserves better than being your second choice for the rest of his life."

You glance at the clock on the microwave. Andrew's only been gone for five minutes, and Aaron's been back in your life for less than an hour. You shouldn't be thinking about this. You definitely shouldn't be thinking about the fact that when Andrew goes out for walks, he usually walks past Tompkins Square Park, down to the East River, and it takes him at least twenty-five minutes, which means that if you wanted to, hypothetically, you'd have enough time to-

You kiss Aaron.

He's surprised, but he wraps an arm around you, slowly, like he's not sure if he has the right to.

You press your tongue into his mouth first, flicking the tip of it over his tongue, inviting him to do the same. He takes a deep breath through his nose and pulls you closer. You fall into his lap easily, and his hand slips under your the back of your shirt.

He pulls back slightly and breathes heavily. You do too, but you don't let him stop kissing you. His lips move against yours, and then he bites your lower lip. He still knows you like it. You press down against him.

Aaron breaks the kiss first, and looks around for the door to your bedroom. You can see the moment he realizes that he's in another man's apartment. If he were to take you to the bedroom, he'd be laying you down in another man's bed.

He withdraws completely, pulling his hands from your skin carefully, like he's testing if he'll stick to you.

You look over at the front door, and see Andrew standing there. He only went as far as Tompkins.

Aaron doesn't realize that you're staring at something, someone, that you're frozen in place. He kisses your neck. You don't try to stop him, realizing that Andrew has seen more than enough already. You can't lie your way out of this one.

"Wow. Okay."

Aaron's head whips to the left so quickly that you're worried for his neck. He looks at you, lost for words.

You were going to use the kiss to make up your mind, but now that you're looking at Andrew, the soft press of Aaron's lips seems completely irrelevant. You can't do this to him. You like Andrew. He's nice. You have a good thing with him.

It's with a sudden dread that you realize, now that Andrew's seen you, he has a decision to make too, one that will make your choice for you. Just like that, you've lost all of your agency because of Aaron. Again.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Andrew..."

He shakes his head. "I'm not going to compete. If you want me, want me. I'm just saying it's got to count for something that you were alone with him for a second and-" He gestures to you and Aaron.

Aaron bristles at that, and sensing something like a competition, Andrew holds up his hands. "That's it, then."

You frown at Aaron. This is not how you anticipated tonight going.

"Aaron, get out."

Aaron looks shocked, but when you move from his lap, he stands up and walks out without arguing.

"Andrew," You sigh.

He wraps his arms around you.

"Sucks about our door, huh?"

You huff a laugh. "He'll pay for it."

_______________________________

I love you, and I'll always love the memories we have together, but it just wouldn't have worked out. Thank you for understanding. Please give me privacy and let me move on with my life.

You hesitate, and hesitate, and hesitate, then finally press send and relax into the shoulder of the man beside you. His scent is warm and familiar. He wraps an arm around you casually. When you look up into his eyes, you know that you couldn't have made any other choice. This is Aaron. Your Aaron. He smiles.

THE END

[quiet-art-kid]

you can talk for hours about philosophy? try me.

@everydayarsonist Oh boy, can I talk on this, but please remember that these are just my personal opinions based on MY experiences. These topics are very subjective, and while I do have strong feelings about this, in the end I won’t hold it against anyone who disagrees with me. I haven’t lived your life.

 - Peace and love, Silver/Quiet-Art-Kid 

I find the concept of hell horrific because it feels excessive. Firstly, I think you have two types of “bad” people. Bad people who had a choice and those who didn’t (or at least less of a choice). This is a simplification for the sake of time, but if a god made a person with really-wants-to-murder-people disease and then they murder someone, I would argue that most of the blame, not all but most, falls on the god seeing as how the person was given an unfair hand from the start. However, then there are the average people who commit atrocities, but ordinary people with no mental health issues don’t commit atrocities for fun. They have reasons, selfish or noble. They aren’t doing horrible things because they like the feeling of being evil. There have been many accounts of horrible people turning their lives around, so why is there a hard line when you die? I also don’t like the concept of a "forever" hell. We will talk about the seeming social need to punish people later, but for now, let's say that people who have committed the most horrible crimes do need to be punished; forever still seems excessive. Morally I’d still be iffy on it, but I’d be more fine if it was a thousand years maybe even a million, but FOREVER is unfair no matter what the crime was, and that is a hill that I will die on. 

I said I'd be going back to punishment, and I am. I personally believe in reparations more than making the other person pay. I believe in the death penalty only in 2 circumstances. Firstly, this is for emergencies only if the nation quite literally cannot afford to keep a living prisoner. For first-world countries, this is not a problem. They can afford to keep people alive. Secondly, it is when they are a serious threat to everyone around and cannot be helped despite efforts. This one I'm still a bit iffy on, but I do understand it. 

Speaking of punishment I have a neat thought experiment. There is a person. They committed all of THE MOST HEINOUS, HORRIBLE acts a human possibly can MANY MANY times. You have the power to punish them however you please. HOWEVER, all the victims are perfectly okay now, like it never happened. The person in question will never do any of those things again; this is guaranteed, and whatever you choose to do to them doesn’t influence anyone else's life choices. What do you do? 

In my opinion, JUST MY OPINION, mercy is the right choice logically. No people are currently hurt; why increase that number? but it still feels wrong emotionally, and I’m guessing that is because of the society I was raised in and am inevitably a part of tends to view things from an eye for an eye perspective. 

I do want to clarify that I recognize that there is nuance in punishment, and, to an extent, it is useful and necessary.

Another neat hell concept to explore would be the potential of people working together. Even though, if it exists, hell houses the worst of the worst, people are still people. Humans are resilient as shit, and in hell you can’t die and you have nothing but time. Even the worst of the worst humans are still human. I can see some small communities forming in the worst place ever to work together to make it slightly less miserable.

I was also born with the unique gift of being able to have an existential crisis no matter what happens after death.

A: there is nothing forever. That is so terrifying to me to my core. I really don't get how people can just be ok with the concept of not being 

B: there is an infinite afterlife: eventually all stories will be told, all will be learned, and there will be nothing left to get excited about. Maybe it won't happen for a googloplex to the power of googloplex years but that is still not even a drop in FOREVER.

C: reincarnation: I personally don't like the idea of going through life start to finish again and again and again forever and never remembering.

D (honorable mention): When I was a little girl in Sunday school, we learned about heaven. I asked a question about what you can do in heaven. Can your spirit still lift objects? Can you still run, play, etc.? This question probably caught the teacher off guard, and she said, no you just kinda hand out in the glory of God floating. This made a little pit in my stomach, and I remembered being scared of dying and going to heaven for the first time. I was a very active child, dancing, crafting, writing, drawing. It felt like I would be trapped with just my thoughts and nothing to do. That felt closer to a hell than a heaven.

No matter what happens, one thing is for sure: I am terrified, and I will never not be

Something else I’ve noticed is a lot of people use if something is icky or not to determine their morality. For example when people say “Kill all pedophiles” what people mean is kill all child abusers. Pedophilia is a paraphilia; it is outside of people's control. Yes some pedophiles abuse children, and that is horrible, but people who don't meet the criteria of being a pedophile ALSO do that. This might just be me, but I don't believe in thought crime, even if the thoughts are abhorrent; once it turns into action, it becomes a crime, and only then.

People hate on so many things just because they are “gross”. And this might not be true everywhere, but what I've noticed from my world lens is that this applies to executions too. I believe that people see executions that involve less blood and gore as more humane, even if they are actually longer and more painful for the recipient.

Going off of that, and I'm probably going to have to phrase this carefully, I also feel like people sometimes get hung up on rules and not the reason those rules exist. Like I’ve seen a few times people will be calling people with partners that look young (but are adults) horrible things. Sure, it might be gross to you- it’s fine to feel your emotions-but that is still an adult human. The “badness” of child/adult relationships doesn't come from the fact that it “looks icky”. It comes from the fact that the child literally doesn't have the cognitive ability to consent. Similarly, Bdsm is not abuse even if it looks similar because there is that consent. People seem just think bad things are bad becasue thats what society tells them. They don't think about the logic any deeper behind WHY those things are bad and that erks me. 

I  know this isn’t an hour of talking, but it did take me more than an hour to type so…good enough. 

I ran this through a spell checker, but I'm confident there are still some errors, so sorry bout that. Thank you for listening to me preach on my soap box. And remember, these are all just opinions. <3

[rainbowbarnacle]

So I finished playing Pentiment

and I am lying here face down weeping into a pillow. It broke my heart and then it mended it again. Definitely up there as one of the best stories I've ever wandered through in a videogame.

You start out as an artist in the 1500s trying to finish your masterpiece while doing illustration work for the local abbey to make money, and when a sudden murder occurs you're left to try and solve it, but this is just Act 1. There is so much to see and do and read about in this game, it stretches onto this unspeakably detailed journey centered around this town and its people and its history.

I went in without knowing a thing about it other than what I saw in the trailer, and I. had. a. blast. Along with getting to explore various settings in this town, there are a sprinkling of fun mini games that shake things up just enough to keep you from feeling like you're doing nothing but roaming from place to place and reading all the dialogue and flavor text.

The plot goes places you would never guess in a million years, and every new twist and turn just reveals EVEN MORE INCREDIBLE THINGS. There are dialogue lines that will stick in your brain and parts that will make you laugh and parts that will make you cry and parts that will just wrap you up in everything it is to live in this town--its people, its culture, its holidays, its food, its art, its landmarks, how things change, how things stay the same, you will love it all so much as the game goes on. All that aside, the entire concept of a game being a story in a manuscript and all the gameplay occurring inside the little illustrations? That was such a visual stroke of genius, just seeing that drew me in right away. The art style is lovely and the music is lovely and the background noises are wonderful and immersive and I feel like you could spend hours just looking and listening to all of it.

And there's enough of the "book" in there that you don't forget it's a book. When you enter different areas, it interprets this through page turnings. Instead of the usual "bidibidibidibi" sounds you get with videogame dialogue, it's scribbly pen noises or print machine clunking. Characters have different fonts and sometimes the font changes in mid-sentence, and sometimes for violent emphasis there's a SCRAWLING sound like the writer is carving the words into the page with the pen. Sometimes in even worse situations there's even ink splattered among the words.

There is an option to see the text instantly, (as well as a nice accessibility option where the fonts are easier to read if it's too detailed to make out) but I found myself liking seeing the words written out for me with an invisible pen, especially since there are little moments where stuff gets crossed out and rewritten or the writer corrects little spelling mistakes. There's also a ton of replay value--you decide things like what topics your character studied in school, what personality they have, what languages they know, what types of books your character reads, and what skills they have--and throughout the game you can make choices and have special skills depending on what you pick. (Alas, this is not a game that lets you create your own character entirely like you would in, say, FFXIV or Baldur's Gate 3; I'm being a little vague for spoilery purposes, but you'll have fun figuring out what you want to do. I'm already looking forward to seeing what happens in Playthrough 2 when I do things way differently. :D)

It's been an hour since I wrapped up my first playthrough and I'm still reeling at everything. What an incredible, incredible game.

So in short: thank you so, so much @mercurialmalcontent for getting me this for Christmas. <3<3<3

[buggirlbutt]

FIRST OF ALL. SPOILERS. I AM SOSO SCARED OF SPOILING PEOPLE. ANYWAY. OK so I don't ever make original posts and I never go here any more than just reblogging art from my mutuals but. Restoration was so weird I feel like I have to put my thoughts down somewhere. Other people have mentioned some specific stuff that also confused me but since it was already covered I won't go over it unless I feel like it. In no particular order:

-Why was everyone separated. Where was Carolina. Why was Wash in a hospital. WHY DID DR. GREY ACT LIKE THAT. WHY WAS DOC DEAD??????? Where the fuck was Donut. Lopez and Sheila completely disappeared after 5 minutes. Why was nobody friends

-What the fuck was up with Sarge dying. None of it felt real and not in a denial sort of way it just felt like they were gonna have a fakeout with it. Someone else said that Grif and Simmons didn't even try CPR or aloe vera and like. Right???? I kept expecting Sarge to get back up and say something insane like "oh I got all my major organs moved to different parts of my body 10 years ago to keep the blues on their toes heheh"

-On top of that everything Sarge said and the way they all acted felt so weird and fake. He would not fucking say that even on his deathbed. Everyone felt so out of character

-Why the fuck were they trying to straight up fucking abandon Caboose. None of them would ever ever do that what the hell. Running away yes but Leaving??? Not in a million years. It felt like it was only there to pad the runtime a little bit, you 100% could've had Sarge die trying to rescue Caboose without them trying to leave first. Not that I think Sarge should've died because it made no sense

-Where was Donut. Why was Doc dead

-Why did no one care that it was still Tucker in there. Why did Tucker even still have the meta armor?? That feels like something that should've been taken off after the fight, not something Tucker should've kept on for several months afterwards. And I say several months because there's an extremely brief line about how Tucker has been missing for months "again." This was just something that happened multiple times and nobody cared or noticed???? What on earth

-Wash being in the hospital made so little sense. Why was he there. What the fuck happened on Chorus that killed Doc and why was Wash so haunted by Doc specifically. As other people have mentioned, why was his hospital room number the same as his prisoner number??

-Why did Dr. Grey act like that. Wash having an episode and saying stuff about "we" as if Doc were there I can understand but the fucking. The news report? That everyone can see with their eyeballs? Why did she act like that wasn't real either. Everything with Wash in the hospital felt like it was supposed to lead to some reveal of like, the hospital is fake and the government is keeping him there and Dr. Grey and all the other staff are being forced to act like that but no. Apparently they did that of their own free will. What

-Where the fuck was Donut. Why was Doc dead

-For that matter where was EVERYONE?? Why were they all separated??? Nobody fucking cared that Wash was hospitalized and Donut was missing and Carolina was god knows where??? Are they not a fucking family

-Why were the reds so mean???? Grif especially was so mad about everything and like yeah he gets stressed out easily but not to that extent. Good lord

-Also if Wash broke his leg and Doc wasn't real how did his leg. Get unbroken lmao

-OK I think that's everything I can think of. Byebye

-Wait one more thing why the fuck did Grif leave Simmons alone in blood gulch. Simmons now the only fucking member of red team and Tucker and Caboose are the only members of blue team?? That's not. That's not right in any capacity. LOPEZ AND SHEILA ARE STILL AT THE UNDISCLOSED LOCATION. The ending was so fucked up in so many ways

-OK byebye for real

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

So this has been said before and by better people than me, but the thing is, anything worth doing is worth doing badly. 

There are people talking about AI art being somehow valid because it means that “anyone can create art” but—anyone can create art [see this post for some lovely discussion and examples.]. It’s part of what makes us human. Humanity has been unique among all of evolution for creating and sharing art, whether that be stories or music or paintings or crafts. Drawing in wet sand, handprints in concrete. Kids make art on our walls; we wash it off and they do it again. We sing in the shower and doodle on scrap paper. We tell stories because we don’t know how not to, even if it’s a simple as what happened during our day. 

The oldest known instruments are bone flutes from 40000 years ago; likewise, the oldest known paintings. There are oral histories that have been passed down for tens of thousands of years. We yearn to create, to share parts of ourselves in one way or another. We yearn to learn about each other from these shared fragments. There are countless museums all over the world with millions of visitors each year who travel just to see what someone else created, what bits of themselves they gave to the world.

AI “art” isn’t art. It doesn’t create from a soul, it doesn’t share fragments of its self. It steals people’s fragments and mashes them together to make something that may be aesthetically pleasing, but that can never be more than that. It can’t tell a truth because it doesn’t know what truth is.

But in this modern world where everything is commodified, every hobby is supposed to be monetized, everything is supposed to pass some sort of “test”, it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that aesthetically pleasing is all that matters. It’s easy to want to earn those clicks, those likes, to feel validated by something that was mashed together by your keystrokes. It's easy to embrace the pleasant lies.

It’s hard to be bad at something. It’s hard to spend hours making something, to make yourself vulnerable, and have it not live up to what was in your head. But that’s also the nature of being human. Nobody is born good at something; they work at it. And sometimes that work isn’t aesthetically pleasing. Sometimes the story reads awkwardly. Sometimes you hit a wrong note, or spend the whole song out of key. Sometimes the photo isn’t in focus, and the pot is lopsided, and the cake looks like you dropped it. 

Sometimes you scare your cat with the glorious cacophony of learning. 

You can’t get good without being bad first, and looking at what’s bad, and trying again. Maybe this time, your lines will be crisper, even if your proportions are still off. Maybe this time, you’ll have one good sentence, one good paragraph. This time, you’ll play Chopsticks and only be off on a couple of notes; your scarf is lumpy but it’s warm and vibrant. You remember the crumb layer on your cake and it tastes good, and you meant to take a picture of the flower but you got the bee in focus, and the pot is still lopsided but it looks like a Dali clock and you kind of like it. 

Or maybe not. Maybe it will never be Insta-worthy, maybe it will lurk in your word processor for the rest of time, maybe the sketch never leaves the sketchbook and you never sing on stage. But even if it’s bad—it’s still truth. It’s still a piece of you. And that is still a celebration of being human.

If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing badly.

[rivalsforlife]

Upcoming Takarazuka/Great Ace Attorney Musical

Takarazuka Revue, a long-standing all-female theater troupe in Japan, was the first to do an adaptation of Ace Attorney in 2009, with their two musicals Ace Attorney: The Truth Reborn (a musical loosely based on Rise from the Ashes) and Ace Attorney 2: The Truth Reborn Again (a musical loosely based on Farewell my Turnabout). This was followed in 2013 by a Miles Edgeworth-centric musical involving time travel.

Now, ten years since Takarazuka’s last attempt to bring Ace Attorney to musical life, they’re returning with a fourth musical (link goes to official Capcom announcement in Japanese), this time based off of the Great Ace Attorney games.

Like the previous three musicals, this will be performed by Takarazuka’s Cosmos Troupe. It will also be directed by Suzuki Kei, who directed the other three Ace Attorney musicals. According to the official Takarazuka page, as of right now, they plan two runs in July and August 2023:

July 19th - July 26th 2023 at the Umeda Arts Theater in Osaka, Japan

August 1st - August 8th 2023 at the KAAT Kanagawa Arts Theater in Yokohama, Japan

So far, cast lists have not been announced, except that the actress Rukaze Hikaru will be playing the lead role of Ryunosuke Naruhodo, and judging by the synopsis, Susato Mikotoba and Herlock Sholmes will also be present.

A (google translated) synopsis from the Takarazuka page (with minor modifications + square bracket notes for clarity):

A stage adaptation of the blockbuster "Great Gyakuten Saiban" [Great Ace Attorney] featuring Ryunosuke Naruhodo, the ancestor of Ryuichi Naruhodo [Phoenix Wright]! Set in a courtroom, the game "Gyakuten Saiban" is a popular series that has sold more than 9.8 million copies in total. The unique characters and intricately crafted storylines have garnered tremendous support, and have been mixed in media such as movies and TV animations, not limited to games. In the Takarazuka Revue, after its first performance in Sora [Cosmos] Troupe in 2009, "Ace Attorney 2" was performed in the same year, and "Ace Attorney 3" was performed in 2013, both of which were very popular works. Ryunosuke Naruhodo, a college student who aspires to become a lawyer, goes from the Empire of Japan in the Meiji era to study abroad in the British Empire with the World Exposition just around the corner, in order to learn about the latest judicial system. Ryunosuke, who is involved in one difficult case after another, stands up for his client with judicial assistant Susato, but the great detective of the century, Sherlock Holmes, appears... From the famous line "There is an objection!"

From this synopsis, there is little information on what specific cases may be loosely adapted, or what other similarities the musical may share with the games. 

To clarify for English-speaking AA fans, as I understand it, Takarazuka does not translate their plays, so any fans who are interested will have to either wait for fan subtitles or find a way to watch a recording (possibly dvd release, if they’ll do that for this one) without them.

I’ll try to update this post as new information is released. Please let me know if there is anything that I missed or is incorrect that you would like me to add.

[pynkhues]

Why do you think Logan was hard on women, as Shiv said? I'm sure a big part of it is good ol' fashioned misogyny combined with him being generally awful to everybody, but do you think it also has to do with losing Helen and Rose so young?

Oh, gosh, this feels like a question I could probably write a million word answer to, but ultimately, yeah, I do think he’s a misogynist and I do think losing his mother and sister at such a crucial age impacted his relationship to women as a whole.

I also don’t think we can't discount the era he was born into as being crucial in shaping his views on women overall.

I think – prior to the current era of politics with the reversal of things like affirmative action and Roe v Wade – it was pretty normal to view progress as a straight line going up. While that’s shifted recently, I think there is still this tendency to view the past as slowly progressing instead of the absolute swings and roundabouts that it was and is, and I think that idea particularly permeates when it comes to women’s rights. Which makes sense, right? In America, women got the right to vote in 1920, Amelia Earhart became the first woman pilot in 1932, women seriously entered the workforce en masse during WWII between 1941 and 1945, Rosa Parks didn’t give up her seat in 1955, the birth control pill was approved in 1960, JFK signed into law the equal pay act in 1963.

That seems, on paper, like a line going up, but that’s not what reality was.

The reality was that after all those things, women faced extreme backlash, and on top of that, there were these dramatic shifts with established gender roles that shook things up! This was reflected, like most things are, in art.

A million years ago in my film theory class at university, I actually wrote an essay about this and noir cinema, which as an entire genre is about male impotence post-WWII and female empowerment and this new sense of the unknowability of women which men felt extremely personally in this era. This is, of course, embodied by the iconic femme fatale character trope which dominated cinema in the late ‘40s through ‘50s, and is understood to be a figure born of male anxiety post-WWII (and man, if she isn’t great), but that anxiety came from the lack of social services to help very damaged men navigate their return to cities that had drastically changed since they’d left them.

That era was also dominated by the creation of suburbia, which was built as a social reward for these traumatised men and a trap for newly liberated women. It was about trying to remind men of what they’d seen their friends die for, while telling women where they belonged.

Logan came of age in the midst of that social identity crisis (he would’ve turned 18 in 1956! At the late peek of noir cinema!), a crisis that would only be compound with the Vietnam War that his brother would enlist in, and the sexual revolution. Logan’s life was peppered with male failure and violence, and the mystery and the loss of women, in his father’s death and his uncle’s abuse, even in his brother never making it to the front lines in Vietnam; in his mother’s abandonment, his sister’s death and his aunt’s implied absence.

He collects tokens of masculinity in medals of wars he never fought, and he romanticises the unknowability of women like Marcia and Rhea and Shiv, because it’s what he was taught. It’s the era he grew up in, and Logan, as we saw time and time again, is a character who never quite learns.

So why is he so hard on women? I mean, he is, but I also think he romanticises them to an extent that robs them of their personhood, which feeds back into the era he came of age in. Women then were capable, but unknowable, which made them threatening and emasculating, which is exactly how Logan treats all the women he encounters. They’re femme fatales to him until he can unpick their stitches and figure them out and re-cast them as supporting characters to his own story. He’s a 1950s guy, living in the 2010s, and unfortunately, I don’t think that’s all that rare in real life even now.

[jules-has-notes]

collaboration spotlight — Twenty One Pilots mashup by Kurt Hugo Schneider & VoicePlay

VoicePlay fans sometimes joke that the sounds these guys can make are so incredible as to be inhuman. This production took that assertion one step further. Kurt had them record their vocal parts as they normally would, then he sampled and remixed those voices to create something very cool. The result is more electronic than their usual sound, but there's no denying that it's an innovative twist.

This is a video I rarely watch just once, since it can be a lot of fun to pay close attention to what each guy is doing individually and how they all fit together.

Details:

title: Twenty One Pilots mashup (ft. VoicePlay)

original songs / performers: all songs by Twenty One Pilots — "Heathens", "Ride", & "Stressed Out"

written by: all songs by Tyler Joseph

arranged by: Kurt Hugo Schneider

release date: 2 November 2016

My favorite bits:

setting the scene and premise while layering in each vocal part

Layne occasionally glancing toward the others to see if they're going to try to escape the situation

Eli's smooth delivery of the "Stressed Out" intro

Geoff doing some lowkey animation moves in time with his ♫ "wub-wub-wub" ♫ bass line

those crunchy stacatto harmonies on ♫ "I know. it's hard. sometimes." ♫

the ramp up in tension created by the frequency increase on Earl's ♫ "ri-e-i-e-i-e-ide, ri-e-ide, ri-e-ide, ride ride ride ride" ♫

Layne's breathy high-hat line (and whatever cool thing Kurt did to enhance it)

Geoff being able to actually hit the deep tones for ⇓ "Watch it!" ⇓, but still having the fun post-processing distortion to match the original sound

baby's first featured subharmonic drop!

Eli's big old belts and riffs in the final "Heathens" section

Earl bounding into the stratosphere for that last ♫ ⇗ "any sudden moves" ⇗ ♫

each of the guys "shutting down" as their parts end

Trivia:

This video racked up a million views in just three weeks!

The audio track is exclusively available through VoicePlay's Patreon.

Like so many of VoicePlay's prosthetic makeup effects, the coaxial plugs that turn the guys into input / output devices were created by Andy Wright at Makeup & Creative Arts in Orlando.

I'm not sure if they intended for there to be narrative significance to the placement of the plugs, but having Layne and Geoff's near their vocal chords, Eli's in his noggin near the parts of the brain that handle analytical tasks like reading and math, and Earl's near the Superman tattoo on his muscular arm all seem potentially symbolic.

A fan was inspired to draw fanart of the guys a couple months later, which they very much enjoyed.

VoicePlay had released their own full version of "Ride" earlier in the year as an installment in their PartWork series.

Layne and Tony had created a much sillier music video for "Heathens", featuring the Sanderson sisters from Hocus Pocus, as their Halloween offering from PattyCake Productions the month before.

The guys (including J.None) collaborated with Kurt again almost a year later for a rendition of "Waving Through A Window" from Dear Evan Hansen that was released in January 2018.

[nitewrighter]

Hello (there is a prompt at the end of this I promise)

I had a dream about Gency and it reminded me of you bc I used to love love LOVE Gency (still do!) and your fics are so well written and I am so sad that Blizzard fucked up overwatch (and it’s lore kinda?) over the last couple years :(

Also the way they removed a bunch of Gency interactions and are kinda like..changing their relationship dynamic? And the line in the biography story mode thing about how mercy was genjis cyberneticist?? even though she previously was never mentioned to like… do that stuff and that kinda reframes how they interacted pre-fall and its a minor thing but it really just grinds my gears :(

(I pretend it is not canon because i know overwatch better that the current OW2 writers 👍)

And pushing more Pharah/Mercy stuff after literal YEARS of gradual Gency buildup in OW1?

and also the way some Gency artists literally don’t feel SAFE to post their ship art (of a ship that actually has a decent amount of support and is based in canon, mind you) on Twitter.. but that’s more a Twitter thing than anything

i wanted to be into this games lore so bad and i used to have such a good handle on it and now every so often i get this huge wave of nostalgia when i look back over fics from years ago and get sentimental and mad over what was and what could have been (just in general) if blizzard didn’t fuck it up :(

admittedly I haven’t examined what’s going on in the lore of the game too much over the last couple months, so if they revived it somehow or Mr. Developer looked us in the eye and said “Gency is real” then throw this whole thing out the window 😭

Anyways there was a really cool plot to the dream and i was gonna give you a prompt so you could write something akin to it if you ever wanted but I now forgot the plot ☹️ but I love your writing and i hope even in your creative, non-overwatch-related endeavors, all goes well

hmmm but here’s a prompt idea (I don’t know if this would actually be in line with the canon for your overwatch prompts now, it’s more of a what-if):

what if Genji and Mercy crossed paths after the fall of overwatch? Before they started sending each other letters, before the recall, by pure coincidence—maybe before or while Genji was under Zenyatta’s teaching—either way, he isn’t at peace with himself yet. Would Genji try to hide his identity? Would he feel like he isn’t good enough to face her? Or guilty after she goes, missing a one-in-a-million opportunity to connect with her again? Or maybe they do talk, but are obscured and don’t know who the other is until too late? Or maybe they fully know who the other is—what do they say? What do they do? I am super interested to read your take on this prompt if you ever want to write something akin to this!

I am going to. binge all your Gency fics now. Goodbye

First of all... WOW! Thank you for taking the time to write all this! And also thank you for reading my gency stuff. I still love them too, for all my disillusionment with Overwatch and its overall storytelling. I definitely share your sentiments with regards to the fact that the revolving door of writers has basically lead to Overwatch no longer giving a shit about continuity and actual storytelling and just defaulting to what they think will suck the dicks of fanon in the most satisfactory manner. And it's not just writing Gency out of existence either--it's about erasing the tragedy of Widowmaker and the complexity of Reinhardt. It's about reducing Gabriel to a shitty radicalized cop. It's about bringing in characters who make no sense chronologically and have fuck all to do with anything and honestly just heighten the truth of the "stereotype+fetish" joke of Overwatch character design (Yes, I'm talking about Kiriko and Illari). It's about bringing in Mauga 4 years late and acting like they're the cleverest damn people in the world for doing it. It's about expending an absurd amount of narrative and advertisement funding and energy on fucking ASHE of all members of the cast.

Okay--okay--I'm calming myself down.

With regards to your prompt, I'm just going to say, I played the general timeline out between Genji and Mercy the way it played out with very specific reasons. The truth was, as far as character development goes, for all of his love of Mercy (as far as my fic continuity goes) Genji simply wasn't in the mental or emotional space to have a healthy relationship with *anyone,* let alone Mercy. And that's also why I have him mentioning hooking up with Cassidy during his time in Blackwatch in the broad general fic continuity, because it's this very fucked up emotional period for both of them and they have this *very strong link* for a time but as they progress to healthier mindsets they both sort of outgrow each other. Genji moves on to Angela and Cassidy moves on to Hanzo and that's *good* because that indicates they've both grown into their own respective people past being in a really painful codependent state.

The *whole point* was Genji getting away from Overwatch, hallucinating Mercy at his lowest point, and realizing *he* needs to be the person to get himself out of his most fucked up mental corners, and then meeting Zenyatta so that he can develop the right mental tools for that. I'm realizing this is a very western interpretation of this, but then again Overwatch slotted in Robot Jesus with Aurora so fuck it, but if I had to break it down into a solid narrative, it's a Divine Comedy where Genji is Dante, Zenyatta is Virgil, and Mercy is Beatrice. You can have your idealized love and your most beloved mentor, but ultimately YOU have to claw YOUR OWN way out of hell.

If he met with Mercy or made contact with Mercy at any point before Zurich exploded in my fic continuity, that wouldn't give catharsis for ANYONE. The only position they would be in, would be for angst wank. And like, YEAH, I *can* write Gency angst wank that doesn't actually go anywhere and doesn't contribute anything to the characters beyond making them feel sad, but honestly I'd rather write my Anarky-Assassinated-President-Lex-Luthor fic. That's a nice fatty mutton bone I can chew on.

[lycanthropiclesbians]

Hi friend =D have some ✨ love your fandom asks ✨!

2. a headcanon you weren't sure about at first but have come to like!

11. if you're a writer or artist, what fic or piece of art are you proud

16. a tiny detail in canon that you want more people to appreciate

Thank you so much for the ask, my friend!

1: Hmm... This first one is quite difficult. But if I just had to pick something, I might say--and I suppose this doesn't really count as a headcanon, but--in Raphael's issue of the 2007 prequel comics, he meets this old man who, spoiler alert, dies and leaves Raph the Nightwatcher gear.

And my first thought is, this is kind of stupid, because how and why is a human going to have a mutant-turtle-shaped get up. Y'know? The whole situation just seemed so serendipitous, which is fine I suppose, but I just wasn't a huge fan. But the more I think about it, the more interesting it becomes, because it's this whole other aspect to the Nightwatcher business that his brothers have no idea about. Like, he held that old man in his arms as he bled out and died. Did he ever talk to his brothers about that? His dad? Could that have been the real beginning of his pulling away from them, this trauma that only he experienced? I'm just saying, it has some potential.

2: Of the fics I have posted, I would have to say that I'm most proud of good genes. It's short, but I would love to do more like it.

3: One thing I would LOVE to see people talk about: at the end of s4e21: Return of the Savanti, April rushes to tell Master Splinter something very important--something that concerns the safety of his children! But he brushes her off, saying it is probably better if he doesn't know. Then, the turtles emerge from a time portal, their weapons and armor augmented with bone and hide and scales (hell, Donny is carrying a Triceratops skull on his shell), and they don't really want to talk about it right now, and Splinter doesn't even try to ask. I just? ??

They just came back from a three-month impromptu camping trip in the Cretaceous, a planet-killing asteroid breathing down their necks the whole time--not to mention dealing with Savanti again and all that. Why did Splinter act this way? I know it's almost certainly just a bit of poor writing and this ultimately being a kid's show, but like. Can you imagine? Returning home by way of a miracle from some of the harshest survival conditions possible, isolated by 66 million years from everything you ever knew and love, but now you're back and your father... hardly gives you a second glance? What? I get that no time has passed for him, I get that he's used to them getting into strange and terrible things, but like. Come on.

Perhaps the knowledge of all they endured would just be too painful to bear as their father. Y'know? And that's a whole other can of worms. How many times have they stumbled home with broken bones and open lacerations, assuring him that it's no big deal, just a scuffle that got out of hand? How many times does it take for him to not smother them afterwards? How many times before he stops asking? How many times before he won't even listen? And it's not because he's gone numb, it's not because he doesn't care--it's just the opposite! It's heartbreaking every time and he doesn't know how much more he can take, watching his sons, his whole world, put their lives on the line every night, knowing that this is how he raised them to be.

Thank you again for the ask, it made me very happy!!